Alien Exchange Program

by Lubrican

Chapters : 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5-16 Available On

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Chapter Two

The reality of the situation still hadn't sunk in as they started back to the campsite, walking side by side.

"I can't believe this is happening," said Craig. "This can't be real."

"It is real," she said, tersely. "The question is, what are we going to do about it?"

"What can we do about it?" he asked, helplessly.

"I don't know," she said, miserably.

"What are we going to tell Mom and Dad?" he asked.

She thought. It was going to be impossible to keep this a secret from their parents. She didn't want to tell them, because she already knew what their response would be. They wouldn't believe it. But if they explained their theory of what had happened, then at least they could say they'd been truthful, should anything get out of control. She couldn't think of what that would be, but the future was completely up in the air at this point.

"We have to tell them," she said.

"Like they'll believe us?"

"I know they won't, but we still have to tell them."

"Okay, why?"

"Because when you have your first period, and freak out, they need to have a basis to understand why you're freaking out," she said.

He stopped.

"Fuck!" His jaw dropped, but then he recovered a little. "That's going to happen to me?"

"Unless you get pregnant," she said. It was a joke, but he didn't think it was funny at all.

"No fucking way. I'm not going out with guys. You're not going to date until this gets fixed."

"Yes I am," she said, sweetly.

"Not while I have control of your body," he growled.

"I'm not talking about my body," she said. "I'm talking about yours." She smiled. It was weird, but she thought she might enjoy some aspects of being "a guy." She could do what she wanted, go where she wanted. She didn't have to worry any more about guys hassling her, or worse. She felt powerful. She raised her brother's arms and flexed them. She watched the muscles bunch and felt the power in his body.

She thought, "I could get used to this."

That thought was followed instantly by astonishment that she could feel good in a male body. It was insane.

"You're not going to make me look like a faggot," he said.

"I don't know what I'm going to do," she said. "I have no idea what's going to happen to us. That's why I think it might be a good idea if Mom and Dad know what happened, even if they don't believe it at first."

"I think you're crazy."

"I think you'd better be more cooperative, or I'm going to go up to Jerry Lindstrom and plant a big, wet kiss on his lips," she said, calmly.

"Fuck!" he said, explosively.

"And I told you to stop cursing with my mouth!" she snapped.

She saw her image slump, and her sad face look up at her.

"Do we really have to do this?" he asked.

"I think so," she said. "What other option do we have?"

"They won't be able to fix this," he moaned.

"No, but at least they'll understand what we're going through." She sighed. "Eventually."

When they got back, their parents were actively engaged in preparing breakfast. Today that consisted of scrambled eggs and sausage, with salsa on the side. Bananas had been laid out, and yogurt as well, as another option. Their mother looked up as they approached.

"Better now?"

"Yeah," they said, together.

They looked at each other. That simple response reminded them that they were still twins. They often said the same thing at the same time. Secretly, both were pleased by that. They had always been close, which nobody thought was unusual. The competition they had engaged in lately had more to do with adolescence and peer pressure than any real desire to lessen the bond they had always felt.

And now, the simple act of answering together somehow made things better. They would get through this, somehow, and they'd do it together.

Their dad stirred the eggs and moved the cast iron skillet containing them off to one side, away from the active flames. He stood up.

"Have a seat. We're waiting."

His meaning was obvious. They weren't waiting for breakfast to be finished cooking. They were waiting for an explanation.

Craig looked at his sister. The fact that he was deferring to her wasn't strange, in the sense that he usually deferred to her when they had done something they were in trouble for. She was better on her feet at creative bullshitting. But it bothered him, somehow, maybe because he was in a girl's body, that he didn't step forward to take charge. He watched her ... his sister ... in his body ... preparing to do what she always did.

Except, for their parents, it wasn't going to be what they were used to.

"You're not going to believe what we tell you," said Carly.

"Why don't you let us decide what we believe and don't believe," said their dad.

"I'm just warning you that the story will seem fantastic, and unbelievable," she said. "You're going to think we're pulling a prank, or telling a tall tale, or maybe even outright lying, but everything we're about to tell you is true."

Her mother moaned, "Oh, Jack, they really are on drugs!"

"Be quiet, Fran. I want to hear this," said Jack.

It struck Craig, inside his now female body, that his mother did exactly what she was told to by their father. She didn't look happy about it, but she followed his orders. It was the first time in his young life that he actually saw the dominance of a man over a woman in such a subjective way. He suddenly felt helpless. It was an unusual and somewhat terrifying feeling, and when the tears began to spill out of his eyes, he was suddenly glad he was in a female body. It was the first time in his life that he felt like crying was normal, and that nobody would make fun of him for doing it.

He thought, "I don't want to stay this way, but maybe it has its compensations."

"We don't know everything," said Carly. "And we understand even less, but we were sitting here last night, roasting marshmallows."

"I found the bag, still half filled, ground into the dirt," Jack commented.

"I don't know about that," said Carly. "We were sitting here, and suddenly there was this light all around us, like a beam, except it was like a hundred cars with their headlights on high." She took a breath, but nobody interrupted her. "And then we woke up and it was morning. We couldn't remember anything. We don't actually know if we slept in our chairs ... or not."

"That's ridiculous. If you woke up in your chairs, where else could you have slept?"

"There's more," said Carly.

Their parents just stared at them.

"I'm not really Craig," she said.

"Of course you're Craig," said Jack.

"What I mean is that the person you're talking to right now, is Carly. Somehow, my mind got transferred into Craig's body. And his got put into my body." She pointed at her body.

It was silent. Their parents kept staring at them. It went on so long that she had to fill the silence.

"That's really all we know. We don't know how it happened, or where we were when it happened. We think maybe aliens abducted us, and they caused it. I know that sounds crazy, but that's all we can think of to explain all this."

Jack looked at Fran. He opened his mouth and started to speak. Then he closed it, and remained mute. Fran looked at him, and her face showed only confusion. At length, he opened his mouth again, and finally spoke.

"Maybe you're right. Maybe they are on drugs."

The pan of eggs sat over ashes, its contents uneaten, and grown dry and cool as time had passed.

The interrogation had been unrelenting for a full hour. The kids had sat, helplessly, unable to answer questions.

"Was it acid?" asked Jack, at one point. "Did you take LSD?"

"No," they groaned, again together. Now Craig spoke up, in his sister's voice.

"We're not bullshitting you, Dad. I've never taken drugs in my life, and I'd bet my life that Carly hasn't either."

Jack blinked. Both of them had been talking about each other like that, referring to the other as if it were the person who should be making the noises coming out of their mouths. It was eerie, because they never screwed up. It was like they had practiced this bizarre prank for ages. He clung to the idea that this was all some kind of joke. Except that no crack had shown in their defenses for an entire hour. His stomach growled, and he glanced at the eggs. They were ruined. They'd chew like rubber now. And the sausage had had time for bacteria to grow on it that nobody should eat. He unconsciously used a coping mechanism by reaching for the pan and dumping the contents into the coals of the fire. It would be a cold breakfast for them all, this morning.

Fran suddenly spoke, addressing the person who looked like her son.

"If you're actually Carly in there, tell me where we went that day after I bought you your first bra." She looked over at the form of her daughter. "And don't you utter one word." She looked back at Craig's body.

"You mean to Zales?" asked Carly.

Her mother looked tense. "Why did we go there?"

"You said it was to celebrate me becoming a woman."

Fran blinked, and leaned forward.

"What did you want that I wouldn't buy for you?"

"I wanted to get my ears pierced, but you said I had to wait until I was fifteen."

Fran leaned back, so hard that the lawn chair rocked back, lifting the front legs off the ground an inch.

"Good Lord, Jack, they may be telling the truth!"

"Come on, Fran," he said. "It's not possible."

"I never told you about that trip to Zales. I never told anybody about it. It was something I wanted to be one of those little things between a mother and daughter."

"You got her a charm bracelet," said Jack. "I remember that."

"Yes, but I didn't tell you where we went ... or that other part."

Jack looked at the image of his daughter.

"She told him about it. You know how they are. They tell each other everything. They act the same. They say things at the same time. They're twins, Fran!"

"Ask him something only your son would know," said Fran, gesturing to their daughter's body. Her usage of the pronoun "him" was observed by all present. It was profound, in the minds of the two teens, and gave them their first spark of hope that someone might actually believe them.

"Okay," said Jack, aggressively. Then he went silent.

A full minute later Fran spoke again. "Jack?"

"I'm thinking," he growled. "It has to be something only Craig would know."

"Ask me about one of our hunting trips," said Carly's body. Carly had never been hunting. She didn't like guns. It was something her brother had teased her about.

Finally, Jack spoke.

"How many times have I taken a shot at a deer and missed?"

"Over all three hunting trips we've been on?" asked Carly's body.

"Yes, all of them." Jack folded his arms across his chest.

Carly's body ticked them off on her fingers.

"Four," said Craig, with Carly's voice.

"Four?" Fran goggled. "You missed the target four times? Where did those bullets go, Jack? You told me you always hit what you aim at."

Jack looked uncomfortable, but ignored her. He looked at his daughter.

"How many times have you missed?"

"Once," said Craig. "Unless you include that first time, when you said I had buck fever and couldn't shoot. You said I'd missed the perfect chance. Does that one count?"

"Jack, you never told me any of this," complained Fran. "I let you take him out there because I knew it was important to you, but you assured me that nobody could get hurt except the deer. If you two are just shooting willy nilly, those bullets could end up anywhere, Jack."

"Nobody got hurt!" snapped Jack. "We were in the middle of the woods, for Christ's sake. It's no big deal."

"If it's no big deal, then why didn't you tell me?" argued Fran.

"Because no man wants to admit that he missed," he finally said.

"So you lied to me because you wanted to look all macho." Fran looked disgusted.

"I didn't lie. I just didn't tell you everything," he complained.

Fran looked at her son's body.

"Did he tell you that he couldn't shoot a deer, or that he missed when he tried to?"

Carly shook her brother's head.

"We never really talked about the hunting trips. I mean he said it was fun, and that cleaning the deer is messy. I think he just told me that part to creep me out. He said they ate the heart raw, because the Indians claim that will make you more of a man, or something."

"That wasn't really true," said Carly's body. "We never really ate anything raw. You were right. I was just messing with you."

"Son of a bitch!" barked Jack, who was suddenly ghost pale. "It's fucking true!"

That fact affected the adults so much that Fran didn't even scold him for using language like that in front of the children.

It is one thing to accept a premise as fact, on a cerebral or academic level. It is another entirely to accept it on an emotional one. This phenomenon leads to situations in which you know something is true, but have a hard time believing it anyway. If you need more detail, or are a researcher, I'll hook you up with the Austin family. Well, I'll tell them what you want. Don't be surprised if they aren't interested in trying to prove things to you that took them months to adjust to themselves.

During that first day, there was very little "adjusting" and a lot of questions. Pretty much everybody asked questions. Both teens and adults had questions, but of a different variety. The kids were asking questions from a viewpoint of, "What do we do now?" For the adults, there wasn't anything to do, except try to understand how this had happened. And that diversity of viewpoints was, quite possibly, what led to the eventual resolution of the whole mess.

What was that, you ask? Well, you will learn of that in due time. To be fair - and by "fair" I mean to put you on the same shale-covered mountainside that the kids were on, where every step might cause you to slip and fall off the mountain - you are going to have to take the same journey they took. Thank your lucky stars it isn't literally the same journey. But don't get all miffed and stop reading because you're too impatient to know how things turned out. As I said earlier, this could happen to you, and it would be handy if you knew what to do about it.

The adults ran out of questions first. Unfortunately, the plethora of questions - from both viewpoints - did not generate many answers. To distill it all down to the common denominator, we'll just say it was basically like this:

"What are we going to do?" asked the kids.

"The only thing you can do is go on with your lives until we can figure out whether or not this situation can be resolved somehow."

"I can't live life as Carly," groaned Craig. "She's a girl!"

"There's nothing wrong with being a woman," sniffed Fran. "You're a beautiful young woman, now. You should be proud of your femininity."

"I am not a young woman!" barked Craig. "Being stuck in my sister's body does not make me female!"

"Well you're going to have to learn how to act like one," said Jack. "Because if you don't, people are going to think there's something wrong with you."

"There is something wrong with me!" wailed Craig.

"What I meant," said Jack, calmly, "is that if you can't act like your sister, you're going to end up in the loony bin, and there won't be anything your mother or I can do about it. Not right away."

This gave Craig pause.

It was clear that Carly wasn't excited about impersonating a male either, when she said, "And that means I have to act like Craig?" His voice, powered by her mind, sounded sad about that, but both Fran and Jack had already begun adapting to the situation, and their reaction to the bizarre visual things going on around them had already lessened.

"Yes," said Fran. "At least for now. Don't worry. Your father will think of some way to fix all this, and then you can have your body back."

"Me?" croaked Jack. "I have no idea how to fix this!"

"You'll figure it out," said Fran, with complete confidence.

"Really?" That was Carly, making Craig's voice sound like an alto.

"No pressure there," said Jack. Sarcasm dripped in his voice.

"What if he can't?" asked Craig, who had tensed Carly's entire body. "What if this is ... permanent?"

"Then you'll just have to do the best you can," said Fran.

"What does that mean, Mom?" asked Craig.

"What it means is that, if it's permanent - and it could be some temporary result of the al-" She stopped. Everybody knew she'd almost said "aliens" and everybody knew why she'd stopped. "It could be a temporary result of whatever happened to you," she finished. "But we won't know which it is until some time passes. So until then, the two of you need to teach each other how to act, so that nobody outside this family finds out that this happened. It's hard enough for your father and me to believe this. Nobody outside our family ever would. And I do not want my children confined in some institution."

"The booby hatch," said Jack, as if her statement needed clarification.

"Stop that!" snapped his wife. "You'll scare them."

Jack laughed. It was both explosive and completely inappropriate for that particular situation. The other three were shocked, and it was obvious on their faces. He didn't bat an eyelash, though. Instead, he just stared at his wife.

"You think they aren't already scared?"

"You're not helping," she said, her voice level.

"Listen to me," he replied, his voice just as firm and level. "The single thing they need to concentrate on most in the world is that they do not want to end up doing something that will lead to the kind of questions that will, in fact, land them locked up in a room with rubber walls. Political correctness isn't what's needed here. Raw truth and a clear understanding of the dangers they face is what they need to guide their actions right now. And this beginning time is the most dangerous time of all, because they aren't used to this yet. They need time and training to be able to pull this off. We can't just hide them away, because that would cause its own set of questions. They can't avoid their friends forever, because that would cause questions. In fact, the only way I think we're going to pull this off at all is to just move, where nobody knows us and nobody will see any differences between how they used to act, and how they act now!"

"Calm down, Dear," said Fran, soothingly. "It's not as bad as you think. Both of them are bright, intelligent kids. They understand the stakes. They'll do whatever is necessary to protect themselves. And everybody knows that teenagers are erratic and unpredictable. If there are any little slips, people will think it's that."

"Or we can say we were messing around," said Craig, who was already imagining what kind of "slips" he was likely to make. Like going into the guys bathroom in a public venue, without thinking about it.

"See? They'll be fine, Darling. Don't get your blood pressure up."

"If this isn't an excuse to have high blood pressure, there is no good excuse," said Jack, still fired up.

"Of course there's no excuse to have high blood pressure," said Fran, firmly. "Don't be silly. Speaking of which, did you take your medicine this morning?"

"No," he said, a little grumpily. "My morning routine was, shall we say, interrupted?" There was more sarcasm in his voice.

"Well , go take it," she said. "I don't want to have to deal with this alone, and have the fuss of burying you piled on top of it."

Her calm, matter of fact attitude was a little unnerving. It almost suggested that possibly having to bury her husband was the least of her concerns, at this particular moment.

He stalked off towards the tent. Fran turned back to her children.

"This isn't the end of the world," she said, her voice low. "You two might as well have been each other anyway. You know what I'm talking about. You finish each other's sentences. You like the same things and you think the same way. With a little practice, this won't be as hard as you think. And it really may be temporary, some kind of shock to your psyches or something. For now, just talk to each other and teach each other how to be each other." She looked confused. "Did that make sense?" she asked.

"Yes, Mom," said both teens together.

They looked at each other. They were used to doing that ... saying the same thing at the same time. It was not something that had genetic roots, regardless of what their parents thought. When they had been small, they had noticed the reaction of the adults around them when, occasionally, completely by accident, they said something together. They thought that reaction was funny. And it got them extra attention. So they practiced doing it. And, perhaps, unknown to them, there really was some genetic component to it, because after a while, they didn't have to glance at each other, or make any signal to pull their pranks. After a while, it just became natural. It wasn't magic or anything. They simply understood what the likely answer to a question was, or the likely remark to some stimuli, and then said it at the same time. If they were right, it sounded like "Twin Speak" and if they were wrong, nobody noticed.

The same thing happens with siblings who aren't twins. They answer or say things at the same time. Sometimes they say the same thing. If you're the parent of multiple children, you've heard it happen in your own family.

In any case, not to belabor the subject, by the time Jack got back from taking his blood pressure medicine, Fran had more eggs cooking, and the kids had their heads together, talking quietly.

"We're not going back home early," announced Jack as he approached his family.

"I don't remember anyone saying we should," said Fran.

"Don't you want a doctor to examine them?" he asked, frowning.

"What good would that do?" she asked. "Their bodies aren't injured, and a doctor can't see their minds. A doctor wouldn't believe them anyway. You know that."

"I don't want to take them to a doctor," he said. "I just thought I was going to have to talk you out of that. And I assumed they'd want to go home."

"Why? What can they do at home that they can't do here?"

"And without any of our friends showing up before we're ready for that," added Carly.

"Oh," said Jack, trying to salvage his dignity. "Good, then."

"And we mustn't let this destroy our vacation," said Fran. "We haven't finished recharging. We may as well try to get used to it as soon as possible."

"Isn't that what we're doing?"

"We planned to hike the Cascade Canyon trail today," said Fran, ignoring his barb. "I think we should still do that."

"So do I!" argued Jack.

"Then stop stomping around and making decrees, like you're the king of the world, or something," said Fran. "The children have enough to worry about without their father going all macho on them."

"I'm not going all macho!" he groaned.

She gave him a long, level stare. "Oh yes," she said. "I forgot. You already went all macho on me back after that hunting trip."

Jack stomped over to his son and took him by the shoulders. Then, remembering that this wasn't his son, he moved to Carly's body and did the same thing. Still, it was very strange, and it gave him pause.

"Craig?" he asked.

"Yeah?"

It was Carly's voice, but the instant reply reassured him that he was, in fact, talking to his son.

"Let this be a lesson to you. It is impossible to understand a woman. My children have been abducted by aliens, and their minds have been switched, and what's my wife all fired up about? She's all fired up because one day, five years ago when I brought home a deer to put meat in the freezer, I forgot to tell her I missed when I fired at the first one!"

Fran sniffed. "You didn't forget to tell me ... you decided not to."

"It was four years ago, Dad, not five," said Craig, who couldn't have told you why he corrected his father in this situation.

Jack stepped back. A look mild horror came over his face. In his mind, the same thing he'd just complained about, concerning his wife, had just happened again.

"Oh my God!" he gasped. "He's turning into a girl already!"

"I'm not turning into a girl!" growled Craig, for perhaps the ninth or tenth time.

"I know," said his sister, soothingly. Then she grinned. "You already are one!"

"Stop that," came their mother's voice, from behind them. Their father, who was leading on the hike, neither turned around or said anything. He had apologized to Carly/Craig, (he looked like Carly, but was Craig), saying it was the stress of the situation that had made him say that, but hadn't said much since then.

Carly walked behind "herself" in the line. It had been quite interesting, because, for the first time in her life, she'd gotten the chance to see what her body looked like as it performed various tasks. Give a girl a mirror, and she'll watch herself for hours. A guy generally looks only until he's convinced everything is perfect (or that nothing else can be done to improve on the train wreck he sees), and then walks away. But girls love a mirror.

And this was even better than a mirror, because she could see all sides of herself. She could see how the muscles in her calves tightened and relaxed, as Craig put her body through its paces. She could see the swell of her hips, and how her butt cheeks rose and fell as he walked. She'd had to help him get dressed. She'd chosen her favorite jeans shorts for him to put on, with the thin checkered shirt.

It had been comical. When they got into the tent, and began disrobing to change clothes, he couldn't get the bra undone. He could get her arms behind her, which he said was amazing, but her muscle memory was overcome by his inexperience and his fingers couldn't make the catch of her bra work.

Then, after she helped him, and he pulled the bra off, he stood stock still, looking down at "his" breasts.

"Wow," he whispered.

"They're just breasts," she giggled. "See if you can put this on." She handed him a clean bra.

That was comical too. In the end, she had to help "her" fingers complete the task.

"I'll never be able to do this," he groused.

"Yes you will," she said. "Now, put this on, but leave the top two buttons undone and tie the tails in a knot just below your breasts."

"Stop calling them 'my' breasts," he complained.

"They are yours!" she hissed. The look on his face made her moderate her attitude. "At least for now."

"So I can do this?"

He reached, cupped the breasts in question, and squeezed them.

It was quiet in the tent.

"I guess you can," she finally said.

"Wow," he sighed. "That is so weird!"

"You'll get used to that too," she said. "They're just breasts. Every girl has them."

"I'm fully aware of that. But I've never had any. And I certainly never had access to any I could look at and touch and play with whenever I feel like it."

She tilted her head.

"I guess they are fun to play with ... sometimes." She looked down at her crotch. "I guess I have something new and interesting to play with too. Isn't that right?"

"Shit, Carly!" gasped Craig.

"Well if you get to play with my breasts, then isn't it only fair that I get to play with your penis?"

"Oh, man," groaned her own voice. It was still shocking to hear her voice saying things that she wasn't actually saying.

"Maybe we should move on," she said. "Tie the shirt like I told you to."

"That will leave my belly bare," he said.

"Obviously."

He stood still.

"I get it," he said. "I mean I know why girls do that. They want to show off their bodies. But this feels really weird. I think I'll just leave the shirt regular."

"No. You'll make me look like a tomboy, and I don't want to look like a tomboy."

"It isn't your body anymore," he countered.

"So I can wear a pastel pink shirt with a shawl collar and white bell bottomed pants?" she asked, sweetly.

He frowned.

"Okay. I get it," he said. "But this makes me feel gay."

"I know you're not gay," she said, firmly. "And nobody else is going to know there's a boy in that body. Nobody will pay any attention to you."

"Except all the guys who stare at me," he said.

"Guys don't stare at me that much," said Carly.

"Yes they do. I see them do it. You're kind of a babe, Carly."

"Aww, thank you," she said.

And then it was time for her to change. She didn't have any trouble getting undressed, or redressed, but she still paused, when she was naked, and stared at the appendage hanging between her thighs.

"Talk about weird," she whispered.

"You'll get used to it," he said. "I don't even think about it unless I get a boner."

She looked startled.

"Do you think that will happen ... to me?"

"I don't know. Maybe. I mean sometimes they just happen to me, and I don't even know why."

"What do I do if that happens?"

"You just move it up and to the left."

"To the left?"

"It points a little left when it's hard," he said. "It's more comfortable if you put it up and to the left."

"This is so weird," she whispered.

"You're telling me?"

Now, as her body walked in front of her, and she got the chance to see what her butt looked like, and how narrow her waist looked, compared to the swell of her hips in those jeans, she liked what she saw. It was completely different from looking at herself in a mirror. She couldn't explain why, but there was no comparison. She looked good, and that made her full of both relief and happiness!

Suddenly she stopped. There was something wrong in her groin. Strange tingling things were happening down there. It was almost like what she felt when she got turned on, but different in ways she had no frame of reference to use to describe it.

"What's wrong?" asked her mother, who had stopped behind her.

The other two had kept going, unaware she had halted, but then stopped and looked back when Fran spoke.

"I don't know," said Carly. "I might have pulled a muscle."

"No way," said Craig, bringing her body back towards her. She looked at her bare midriff. Even her belly button looked good. "I'm in too good of shape to pull a muscle just walking along this trail."

"It's your sister who something's wrong with, not you," pointed out Fran to the person who actually looked like her daughter.

"I meant my body ... my old body ... is in too good a shape to have pulled a muscle," said Craig.

"Well something's wrong," said Carly.

"Where?" asked Fran.

"Right ..." Carly pointed with one finger at the zipper of her pants. That zipper was bulging for some reason. "... there," she said.

Her body moved toward her. Her brain told her it was Craig, but she still thought of that body as her own. She saw her hand reach and felt it squeeze the front of the body she was in.

That squeeze felt good!

"I told you that happened sometimes," said Craig. "It's just a random boner. Do what I told you to do."

"You two talked about erections?" gasped Fran.

"And what to do about them?" Jack joined in the astonishment.

"Not that," said Craig. "I just told her where to move it, so it would be more comfortable."

"And that makes this better?" asked Fran, sounding almost hysterical.

"Just move it," said Craig again.

Carly moved her hand to the material that she had to admit her penis was pushing against. The jeans were tight. She had no idea how to make the thing under the cloth move.

"I don't know how to do this," she complained.

"You want me to do it?" asked Craig.

"No!" gasped both parents, again in tandem. It had been bad enough to see their daughter walk up to their son and casually reach to feel his crotch.

Neither twin noticed their parents' consternation, nor would have understood, had they seen their faces. They reacted as twins, now, who just normally wanted to help each other if there was a problem to get through.

"You can suck in your stomach and reach inside to move it," said Craig. "But you don't want to do that in public. If you don't want anybody to see what you're doing, you kind of push on it to make it shift a little. But if it's pointed down when it gets stiff, you're screwed. In that case, you either go to the bathroom to do things, or duck into a doorway or whatever.

Carly sucked in her stomach, which felt different than she was used to. But everything felt different than she was used to, so she didn't really dwell on it. Carefully, she put her right hand into her jeans. She slid by the waistband of her jockey shorts, but without the thickness of the jeans in her way, it was easy to find and grasp the offending member. It moved easily, at least a little bit, until the jockey shorts wouldn't stretch any more. But when she let go, it seemed to settle into a comfortable position, as if it actually knew where to go.

She pulled her hand out.

"That's better," she said.

"I'm not sure I can take this," said Fran.

"Yes you can, Dear," said Jack. "I'm not doing this alone, either."

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