Gender Swapped By Aliens! Page 5

  On the vanity I found a contacts case along with the solution for the lenses. Apparently my eyes weren’t a natural yellow. I didn’t have any experience with contact lenses as a man; I had just gotten a pair of reading glasses before the aliens changed everything.

  After poking myself in the eye a couple of times, I managed to get the contacts out. The room turned blurry at the edges. On the vanity was a pair of glasses with black plastic frames. I slipped these on and then smiled into the mirror. Behind the glasses, my eyes were hazel; that seemed like an improvement to me.

  I wasn’t sure what to do with myself. I didn’t see a phone or tablet like most kids my age would have. I scanned the bookshelf, settling on a copy of The Wizard of Oz that had probably been there for years.

  Dorothy’s house had just landed on the Wicked Witch of the East when my eyes closed. At some point later I felt a hand take the book off of my chest. A shiver ran through me, but it was replaced with soothing warmth as downy covers enveloped me. Another hand—or maybe the same one—plucked the glasses off of my nose. Hair was swept away from my face and then lips brushed against my forehead. “Goodnight, sweetie,” Mom whispered.

  “G’night, Mommy,” I squeaked. Then, warm and safe, I fell asleep.

  ***

  I again woke to Mom calling for me, only this time it was, “Billie, time for school!”

  School? I had finished my doctorate more than a decade ago. With a tiny sigh, I remembered I was a teenage girl now, which meant I would have to go to school. Yuck, high school. I hadn’t had much fun with that the first time around.

  I sat up in bed and then flailed around for a lamp. When the light came on, I put both hands to my mouth to stifle a scream. Overnight my room had become almost exactly like Karen’s, with toys and dolls all over the floor. The posters for hard rock bands were now for boy bands. And pink. Pink was everywhere: the walls, the carpet, the furniture, the bed I sat on, and even the baggy shirt I wore.

  Inside that baggy shirt was…nothing. My breasts had completely disappeared, leaving me totally flat. I pulled back the covers to find a smaller, pear-shaped body and chubby legs with adorable little toes. In a tiny voice, I lamented, “I’m a kid!”

  The bed was the same height, but it took more effort to get my shorter body onto the carpet. The edges of the room were blurry; I turned back to the nightstand to find the glasses I had worn to bed were bigger and squarer. They felt heavier when I put them on my nose.

  Only then could I toddle across the room, to the vanity. Along the way, I felt hair brushing back-and-forth along my ears. When I got to the mirror, I gasped to see the dark brown pigtails I sported, along with a line of bangs over my forehead like when I had been a bimbo secretary. My cheeks had turned pudgy and dotted with adorable freckles; even I wanted to give them a firm squeeze.

  Lifting my shirt, I saw the tattoos were gone now from my tummy. So were the piercings. I still felt a metallic tang in my mouth; opening it, I saw I was wearing braces.

  Tears bubbled in my eyes. I was a little girl now. Those mean aliens hadn’t been satisfied with making me a teenager; they had to make me younger. How old was I? The braces meant I probably had my permanent teeth, so maybe nine or ten.

  “This isn’t fair,” I whined to my reflection.

  There was a tap on the door. “Billie? Are you up?”

  “I’m up, Mommy!” I called out.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, young lady,” Mom said. “Go get your shower. Breakfast will be ready when you get out.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” I grumbled. I opened the door to find Mom waiting for me. I felt my face turn warm to realize I only came up to the bottom of her breasts now.

  She tousled my hair. “Hey there, sweetie. Have nice dreams?”

  “I guess.”

  “You go get ready.”

  I nodded and then scuttled across the hallway, into the bathroom. I again felt my face turning warm as I took off my oversized T-shirt and little white shorts. My entire body was pudgy and hairless, still that of a child.

  At least my chubby hands could turn the faucets to start running warm water. As I waited for it to get to optimal temperature, I clawed at my hair to get out the rubber bands holding it into pigtails. Somehow I looked even younger with my hair loose and glasses off.

  It was good to step into the shower and let the curtain and steam hide me from the world. The water had farther to go to reach me, so it didn’t seem as powerful as when I showered as a grown man. I scrubbed in shampoo, doing my best to lather up all of the hair that went to nearly my flat rear.

  I found myself more distressed at having to run the soap over my prepubescent body. It should be a relief since I had been a man not to have to touch breasts or feel a woman’s curves, but I had gotten used to them in six months as a bimbo. They might have been girly, but they had also been a sign I was an adult—a very attractive adult.

  It took an act of will not to break down into sobs. That was something I would have to be careful of now; as a child my emotions would be running a lot closer to the surface. I only hoped I was mature enough not to throw a tantrum when I didn’t get something I wanted.

  I finally turned off the water and then stepped out. There was a fluffy yellow towel on the counter that was big enough to go around me at least twice. As a woman I would use a second towel for my hair, but as a child I figured split-ends didn’t matter anymore.

  I scrambled into my bedroom as quickly as I could. I opened a drawer. Pink. Everything seemed to be pink: T-shirts, sweatshirts, and blouses. In another drawer I found mostly pink jeans, leggings, shorts, and overalls. With a sigh I took out a pink T-shirt and blue jeans. Feeling a chill, I took out a pink sweater.

  Mom was in the kitchen, stacking pancakes on a plate. Karen sat at the table, looking the same as the day before. “Hi, sweetie!” Mom said.

  “Hi.” I sat down opposite Karen. I had to resist sobbing again when I found my feet could no longer touch the floor when I sat. I looked down shyly at my empty plate. It didn’t stay empty for long; Mom slid a trio of pancakes onto it, topping them with a pat of butter and a lake of syrup. “Thank you.”

  She tousled my damp hair. “You’re so polite this morning.”

  “I’m polite too,” Karen whined.

  “Of course you are,” Mom said. She gave Karen’s hair a tousle as well. “You girls hurry up and eat. The bus will be here in forty-five minutes.”

  “Yes, Mommy,” we said at the same time. As she ate, Karen paused to open her mouth, displaying mashed-up pancakes and syrup. When I grimaced, she started to giggle.

  “Mommy, she’s being gross,” I whined.

  “Karen, eat your breakfast. Don’t play with it.”

  “Yes, Mommy.”

  Of course Karen showed me a mouthful of food a minute later. I resisted the urge to tattle on her; as the big sister I was supposed to be more mature. It was markedly different from when I tucked Karen into bed last night, but again our relationship had changed. I was no longer the prodigal sister returning home; we were just two little girls fighting for the love of our doting mother.

  My tummy was full after two pancakes. I forced myself to eat the third anyway. I washed it down with a glass of milk—boring white milk, I lamented. Why couldn’t we have yummy chocolate milk?

  After I finished with my breakfast, Mom insisted on going into the living room to brush my hair. Whenever the brush snagged, I winced with pain. Besides being more emotional, I wouldn’t have much of a pain tolerance now. Tears stung my eyes as Mom yanked back hard on my hair, splitting it in half.

  “No pigtails,” I whined. “They’re for babies.”

  “OK, sweetie. How about braids? You look so pretty with braids.”

  “Fine,” I mumbled.

  Mom’s hands weaved my hair with expert precision. In no time I had a braid dangling over each shoulder. It didn’t make me feel much more mature than the pigtails, but it was a little more grown up.

  She gave me a
hug and then let me up. “Your lunchbox is on the counter. And I think someone left her backpack on the couch last night.”

  “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

  “It’s all right, sweetie. Is your homework done?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good. You make sure to pay attention in spelling. I don’t want to see another B+ when report cards come home.”

  “I’ll try, Mommy.”

  “That’s my girl. Go on now.”

  I hurried back into the kitchen. Instead of brown paper sacks, there were two plastic lunchboxes on the counter. I guessed the My Little Pony one was Karen’s. That left me with the Bratz one. I cracked it open to find a peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich, juice box, bag of chips, apple, and chocolate pudding cup; the same lunch Mom had packed when I was a little boy.

  As Mom had indicated, there was a pink backpack propped on the couch. I swung it off the couch, grunting at the weight. What did I have in there: lead weights?

  By the front door were a variety of tiny shoes. I tried on a pair of sneakers with Barbie on them; the shoes fit with room to spare. I set down my backpack so I could bend over to tie the laces. My stubby fingers had a little trouble, again bringing up the urge to bawl or to wail for Mommy to come help.

  I finished the second shoe when Karen came racing into the hallway. Mom had combed her hair and pinned it back with a couple of butterfly barrettes. She wore pink overalls and a white-and-pink-striped shirt that made her look impossibly adorable.

  She grabbed a pair of Minnie Mouse sneakers that were nearly as big as mine. “Can you help me tie them?” she asked.

  I sighed as if she had asked me to solve an impossible math problem. “Fine. You’re supposed to know how to do this already.”

  “It’s faster if you do it,” Karen said.

  “If I keep doing them for you, you’ll never learn.” I did the laces for her anyway, though I wasn’t sure how much quicker it really was than if she had done it herself.

  “Jackets, girls,” Mom called out.

  “Yes, Mommy,” we answered. On hooks by the front door were two puffy winter jackets—pink, of course. I took the bigger of the two and then handed the other to Karen.

  With that we were finally ready to go outside. Despite the jacket and sweater, I still felt a chill run through me. Most of it was the cold, but some of it had to be the thought that soon I would have to get on a bus and go to school. I didn’t even know what grade I was supposed to be in. Third? Fourth?

  I nervously twitched at the end of the driveway. I could see the schoolbus’s blinking red lights down the road as it picked up some other kids. I pointed excitedly. “Mommy, the bus!”

  She led Karen over to stand next to me. Then she bent down to give Karen a kiss on the forehead. “You girls behave yourselves. Don’t get into any trouble.”

  “We won’t, Mommy,” I said.

  Mom gave me a hug. “Watch out for your little sister.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll be right here when you get off the bus.”

  “Will you have cookies for us?” Karen asked.

  “Only if you’re good.”

  Karen pouted at that, too little to understand that Mom would have cookies no matter what. Mom took a step back to give us some room as the bus squealed to a stop. I had a moment of déjà vu, remembering when I had been middle-aged Lynn Fong. I was even shorter now, but at least no one would expect me to have exact change.

  I clomped up one step and then another, until I reached the top. Karen squeezed past me to race down the aisle. She threw herself onto an empty seat in the middle. With a sigh I sat down next to her. I hugged my backpack in my lap as the bus got underway.

  ***

  It was a noisy, albeit uneventful ride to Benjamin Harrison Elementary. I got to my feet and then started to shuffle off with the other children. My stomach was probably fluttering a lot worse than any of theirs. I shouldn’t be here. I should be a big girl—or boy. I had children of my own: Mark and Tonya. No, that wasn’t right. Their names were…Mike…and Tammy.

  I sighed with relief. The aliens were finally getting to me, all their reality distortions eroding my memories. I would have to be more careful. I would have to keep reminding myself of Michael and Tammy and…Jo Ann? No, that was their name for her. Her real name was—

  “Denise!” I blurted out. I broke into a run. She stood next to a tree, a cell phone pressed to her ear. As I got closer, I realized that I would only come up to the center of her chest now. She was still a grown up.

  She smiled and then lowered the phone. “Hello, Billie. You’re looking pretty.”

  “Thanks,” I mumbled, my voice suddenly shy. I was a little girl and Denise was a grown up. It wasn’t fair!

  “You better get to class,” Denise said. “You don’t want to be late.”

  “Yes…ma’am,” I said, correcting myself at the last moment. It would be rude for me to call her “Denise” now.

  She put her phone back to her ear to continue her conversation while I trudged away. I hoped the other kids couldn’t see my silent tears or else they would think I was a baby. I discreetly wiped at my eyes and then followed the crowd inside.

  “Are you sick?” Karen asked me.

  “No. Just, um, allergies.” I forced a smile to my face. “Hey, I bet you don’t know what classroom I’m supposed to go to.”

  “Do so.”

  “Do not.”

  “You have to go to Mrs. Cauffield’s classroom.”

  “Oh, really? Which one is that?”

  Karen huffed with irritation. “I’ll show you.” She stomped in front of me a lot more confidently than I felt. We passed by a few classrooms with crude drawings on the walls. One of those was probably Karen’s. Around a corner and then at the end of the hall was Room 117. Karen pointed at the door. “See?”

  “That’s real good,” I said. I patted her on the head. “Thanks, squirt.”

  “Don’t call me that!” she whined.

  “Fine. Just go get to your classroom before someone calls Mommy.”

  “Bye-bye!” she called out and then scurried away.

  I pushed open the door. The problem now was I didn’t know which of the two-dozen desks belonged to me. I could just pick one at random, but then I would look like an idiot. I went to the back of the room to take off my backpack and coat. The jacket I hung on a hook. The other girls and boys had their backpacks by their desks, so I kept that with me.

  I hovered by the hooks, trying to appear nonchalant. As more kids came in, the number of possible choices dwindled. I was down to just three possibles when Denise walked in. “Good morning, Mrs. Cauffield,” the other kids said.

  “Good morning, kids.” As Denise sat down behind her desk at the front of the room, her eyes met mine. “Billie? You want to have a seat?”

  “OK.” I heard kids snicker as I plodded down an aisle, towards an empty desk. When I sat down, the kids laughed louder.

  “That one, Billie,” Denise said, pointing to a desk at the front of the room.

  I valiantly fought back tears as I took my seat. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Cauffield.”

  “It’s all right, Billie. When you get to be an old lady like me, you’ll forget lots of stuff. Speaking of, who remembers what we were talking about yesterday for history?”

  As Denise began to lecture us on the American Revolution, I tried to slouch down to the point she couldn’t see me. Those mean old aliens! They had not only made me a child; they had to humiliate me further by having Denise be my teacher. It wasn’t fair. I wasn’t supposed to be a little girl—

  The first time my tummy rumbled, I thought it must mean I was hungry. The next time it came less as a rumble and more as a pain that made me squeak. It didn’t feel like the same kind of pain as when I had to poop. I slouched down more in my seat, putting a hand to my tummy.

  Denise was lecturing us about photosynthesis when I couldn’t help groaning with pain and doubling over on my desk. She turned
to look at me with concern. “Billie? Are you all right?”

  “I…I gotta potty,” I said, which made everyone laugh.

  As tears clouded my eyes, Denise patted my back. “It’s all right. I’ll give you a pass.”

  “Thank you.”

  Denise wrote out a yellow slip of paper that I tucked into my pocket. There were still snickers and chuckles as I scurried away. The pain in my tummy was getting worse. Had Mom’s pancakes done something to me? Or maybe I was coming down with something else. It might even be my appendix.

  I raced into the bathroom, where a girl was doing her makeup at one sink. She looked like a miniature version of Denise, except her hair was longer and curly. She had to be a year or two older than me, mosquito bumps showing under her T-shirt. I gaped at her, my pain momentarily forgotten. “Tammy?”

  “What do you want?” she snarled.

  “N-n-nothing.” The way she looked at me was the way a wolf looked at a rabbit. I was younger than my own daughter now! And in the social hierarchy of elementary school, that meant I was her victim if I hung around too long.

  I bolted into the nearest stall. I locked the door seconds before another pain doubled me over. I whimpered, though I tried to keep it down so Tammy wouldn’t hear. Through the crack in the door, I saw she had gone back to her makeup.

  I shuffled back from the door and then dropped my pants. When I did, my eyes widened. There was blood in my panties! As I watched with horror, a few more drops trickled onto my panties.

  If I had kept calm, I would have realized what was happening to me. But I reacted to the blood the way a little girl would; I fumbled to unlock the door and then staggered out with my pants around my legs. “I’m bleeding!” I shrieked.

  “What are you talking about?” Tammy growled. She twisted her lipstick back into the tube to glare at me. “You cut yourself?”

  “No. It’s coming out of me where I pee.”

  Tammy began to laugh. “Oh my God! Are you serious?”

  “What’s so funny? I’m bleeding!”

  “Christ, your mom hasn’t told you anything, has she? I guess she wouldn’t. I mean, you’re still a little baby.”

  “I am not!”