Eighteen Again

A father unexpectedly swaps bodies with his eighteen year old daughter and has to go to school in her place until they can swap back in Eighteen Again, only available on Body Swap Stories and Smashwords.

I’d picked up my daughter from her cheerleading practice and hopefully scared off the young jock trying to get into her pants. Now, it was just a normal night at home until the freak electrical storm swapped me into my daughter’s body.

Now we have to pretend to be each other until we can figure out how to swap back. Which means I have to dress like her, talk like her, and go to school like her. It doesn’t help that my daughter is, uh, well endowed.

But something’s going on with me. My hormones are going wild. I’m restless and warm and…oh god…I’m so, so horny. I can’t help it. I have to touch myself. I have to explore this tight body. I have to know what it’s like to feel everything before we swap back. If we can swap back.

I have the windows of my daughter’s car rolled down as I drive to try to air out the grease smell left by the mechanic. I feel a bit ridiculous crammed in her small hatchback. Even with the seat pushed all the way back, to an outsider I must look like a gorilla hunched over the steering wheel, my head nearly grazing the roof, elbows akimbo. I told her I would pick her up after her cheerleading practice and I’ve opted to surprise her with her newly repaired car.

The sun is setting as I pull into the school parking lot and find a spot near the football field. They’re out there by the bleachers, still practicing. A group of football players who’ve just finished up practice are passing them, their heads turned to watch the cheerleader skirts flapping as they jump and twist and cartwheel and reveal acres of smooth young skin. I remember being eighteen and thinking the same thing they’re probably thinking. Today, I’m thinking that if they touch my daughter I’m going to smash them.

I squeeze myself out of the car and stand before running my hands through my bushy beard. I stretch, muscles strung taut, before leaning on the roof of the car to wait. I’ve always been a big guy and I play into that persona. My wife, Megan, calls me a mountain man. Sometimes even affectionately.

As the wind starts to pick up with storm clouds rolling in from the east, the group of cheerleaders breaks up, grabbing their bags and some heading towards me in the parking lot. I can make out my daughter, Sophia, among the group. She’s surrounded by a few others. laughing away, her brunette ponytail bouncing at each step. Popular, like her mother, and with her mother’s gentle good looks. Slender face. Soft, upturned nose. Rosy cheeks. And she’s built like her mother.

My wife has what romance novels might call ‘ample breasts’. Megan, herself, calls them ‘way too big’. I call them perfect. Too big to fully fit into my hands. Megan wishes she’d had breast reduction surgery when she was young. We’re discussing that for Sophia. I don’t like to think about my daughter’s body like that but the fact is that Sophia is eighteen and attracting more and more attention from guys. I can’t blame them but that doesn’t stop my hackles from rising whenever I catch them ogling her.

Halfway to the parking lot she’s met by one of the football players. The other cheerleaders peel off and my little girl is left alone talking to a tall, dark haired young man. His body language is confident bordering on cocky. I can hear Sophia’s tingly laughter from here as he makes some remark. She has her backpack slung over one shoulder and she twists back and forth slightly as they talk. She’s in her white-and-blue cheerleader outfit – frilly skirt, skin-colored leggings and tight sleeveless top. I know where his eyes are.

I recognize her girlish flirtatiousness from her mother and I roll up my sleeves and move towards them to nip this in the bud. Sophia is so fascinated with this young man she doesn’t even see me until I’m almost behind him. Then her eyes flick to me.

“Oh, dad, hi,” she says.

The young man turns around and the smile flickers from his face as I loom over him, arms folded.

“Hey sweetie. Who’s this?” I say, glaring down at the young man.

He meets my eye and doesn’t shrink away, standing a bit taller. He gathers his bravado and smiles up at me. God, he reminds me of myself at that age. That just makes me worry about my daughter all the more.

“This is Logan,” Sophia says, touching his arm. “He’s on the football team.”

“Hi, Logan,” I say, offering my hand. He takes it and we shake. I squeeze his hand firmly—perhaps too firmly—but he doesn’t flinch. “Mr. Baxter,” I introduce myself. I release him and look at my daughter, finished with him. “Ready to go, sweetie?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow, Logan,” she says, following me back to the car.

When we’re back in the car – me squeezed into the passenger seat – she admonishes me. “Dad, don’t be so embarrassing. Gawd!”

“I’m just looking out for you.”

“Not everyone is out to get me,” she says as she starts the engine. “Sometimes people are just being nice.”

I scoff. How do I tell her I don’t want her to end up like me and her mother without sounding like an asshole? Pregnant and quickly married at eighteen. The whole trajectory of my life changed. It’s not that I wish I didn’t have a daughter. I just wish I had her a little later in life. And that my wife and I had slowed down our hormones enough to think ahead and grab protection.

“Guys like Logan are being nice because they want something from you.” This is as close as I dare talk to my daughter about sex. Already I can feel my cheeks flushing, my gut tightening with embarrassment. Her mom is supposed to talk to her about this stuff.

Sophia senses my embarrassment and twists the knife. “What, daddy? What do they want from me?” She says, feigning innocence. She glances at me and laughs, her pretty pink nails flashing as she covers her mouth. “Oh my god, you can’t even talk about it. Not everything is about sex, dad.”

I’m quiet for the rest of the ride home. I’ll have to talk to Megan about talking to Sophia. The idea of talking to my daughter about her body makes me tongue-tied. Not something I really want to think about.

The first peel of thunder booms as we pull into our driveway. Fat drops of rain quickly become a downpour as we sprint into the house. My wife has brought home takeaway. The brown bag sits on the coffee table in front of the television, Megan on the couch behind it. I give her a perfunctory kiss on the cheek and take a seat next to her, digging into the bag for my burger. Sophia takes hers and sits on the armchair beside the couch, running her hand casually beneath her skirt to straighten it beneath her as she sits. Not for the first time, I wish the cheerleader outfits didn’t show off so much skin.

Read the rest on Body Swap Stories and Smashwords.