In Her Body

The late afternoon sun slanted through the blinds of the suburban living room, casting long shadows across the hardwood floor. Linda strode in, her heels clicking with purpose against the wood as she shrugged off her navy blazer and draped it over the back of the couch. At 45, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who'd spent years climbing the corporate ladder--tall, toned from her morning runs, and still striking in her tailored skirt and crisp blouse. She reached down to adjust the sheer pantyhose that clung to her legs, a habit she never quite shook even after shedding the rest of her business armor. With a sigh, she kicked off her heels and padded toward the kitchen.

"Ken, you home?" she called, her voice sharp but warm, the kind of tone that expected an answer.

Upstairs, Ken slumped on his bed, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. At 20, he was back from his sophomore year of college for the summer, his duffel bag still unpacked in the corner of his old room. Average in every way--height, build, looks--he'd spent the last two months dodging questions from his buddies about why he hadn't scored a summer fling. Truth was, he hadn't scored much of anything in the romance department, and it gnawed at him. Worse still, every time his friends came over, their eyes inevitably lingered on his mom--Linda, the "hot MILF" they wouldn't shut up about. It'd been that way since high school, and the bitterness had settled into a quiet simmer beneath his skin.

"Yeah, I'm here," he shouted back, his voice flat. He didn't move.

Linda appeared at the base of the stairs, hands on her hips. "You gonna come down and eat, or do I have to drag you? I made lasagna."

Ken rolled his eyes and hauled himself up, trudging down the steps. "Fine. Not like there's anything else to do around here."

They sat across from each other at the kitchen table, the clink of forks against plates filling the silence. Linda, now in a loose sweater over her skirt and pantyhose, glanced at him over her glass of wine. "You've been moping since you got back. What's going on?"

"Nothing's going on," Ken muttered, stabbing at his food. "Just bored."

"Bored?" Linda raised an eyebrow. "You've got a whole summer ahead of you. Get a job. Go out with your friends."

"My friends are idiots," he snapped, louder than he meant to. "All they do is talk about--" He stopped himself, cheeks flushing.

Linda tilted her head, sensing the shift. "Talk about what?"

He glared at his plate, the simmer boiling over. "You, okay? They talk about you. How you're so hot, how they'd kill to--ugh, it's disgusting. And you just strut around like you don't even notice."

Linda blinked, caught off guard. "Excuse me? I'm not 'strutting' anywhere, Ken. I dress for my job. I'm not putting on a show for your little buddies."

"Yeah, well, it doesn't matter what you think," he shot back, shoving his chair back as he stood. "I'm sick of it. Sick of being the guy whose mom gets more attention than he does. Maybe if you didn't flaunt it all the time--"

"Flaunt it?" Linda's voice rose, incredulous. She stood too, towering over him in her stocking feet. "I'm your mother, not some coed chasing after validation. You think I like being ogled? Maybe if you stopped sulking and actually talked to a girl, you wouldn't be so obsessed with what your friends think!"

The air crackled between them, tension snapping like a live wire. Ken's fists clenched. "I wish you'd just--ugh, I wish you could see what it's like being me for once!"

"And I wish you'd grow up and stop blaming me for your problems!" Linda fired back, her eyes blazing.

A sudden, inexplicable jolt ripped through the room--a flash of light, a hum that vibrated in their bones. Ken stumbled, dizziness crashing over him, and Linda gripped the table, her vision swimming. When the world steadied, Ken blinked and found himself staring down at... himself, slouched and red-faced across the table. His hands--her hands--shot to his chest, feeling the unfamiliar weight beneath the sweater. Linda's body. He was in Linda's body.

Across from him, Linda--or rather, Ken's body--gaped back, her voice coming out in his lower timbre. "What the hell just happened?"

Ken didn't answer. His hands were still moving, tracing the contours of the blouse, the skirt, the pantyhose that hugged his--her--legs. A strange thrill shot through him, curiosity overriding the shock. This was his mother's body... and he was in control.

Ken's fingers lingered on the hem of the skirt, the fabric smooth against his--Linda's--skin. The sensation was alien, electric. He shifted in the chair, feeling the pantyhose stretch taut over his legs, the subtle compression both foreign and oddly captivating. His breath hitched as he glanced down, catching sight of the blouse stretched over a chest that wasn't his, the faint outline of a bra beneath. This was insane. This was his mom's body. And yet, here he was, inside it, every nerve tingling with a mix of disbelief and something he couldn't quite name.

"Ken!" Linda's voice--or rather, his own voice--snapped him out of it. She was still in his body, leaning forward with his hands planted on the table, her expression a mix of fury and panic. "Stop pawing at me and figure out what's going on! This isn't a game!"

He flinched, jerking his hands away from the skirt as heat crept up his neck. "I-I'm not pawing at anything! I'm just... this is weird, okay? I don't know what to do!"

"We need to fix this," Linda said, her tone clipped even in his deeper register. She straightened up, running a hand through his short hair--her hair now--and grimaced. "God, your posture is awful. Stand up straight."

"Seriously? You're critiquing me while I'm stuck in you?" Ken shot back, but he stood anyway, wobbling slightly as he adjusted to the shift in height. Linda was at least four inches taller than him, her athletic frame lean but powerful. He caught his reflection in the glass of the kitchen window--her reflection--and froze. The woman staring back was all sharp cheekbones and poised elegance, even with the sweater thrown on. He turned slightly, watching the way the skirt hugged her hips, and a smirk tugged at his lips despite himself.

Linda caught it. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he said quickly, but his voice--her voice--came out higher, softer, and it threw him off all over again. He cleared his throat, trying to mimic her usual confidence. "Just... you're taller than I thought."

She narrowed his eyes at him. "Focus. We need to figure out how this happened. What did you say right before it hit?"

Ken frowned, replaying the argument in his head. "I said I wished you could see what it's like being me. And you said--"

"--I wished you'd grow up and stop blaming me," Linda finished, her jaw tightening. "Great. So we yelled at each other, and now we're... what, cursed? This isn't a fairy tale, Ken."

"Yeah, well, tell that to my legs," he muttered, shifting his weight again. The pantyhose rubbed slightly as he moved, and he couldn't help but glance down at them, fascinated by how they caught the light. He bent one knee experimentally, watching the sheer fabric shimmer.

Linda groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose--her nose now. "You're unbelievable. Stop playing dress-up and help me think."

"I'm not playing anything!" he protested, but his hands drifted back to the blouse, smoothing it down over her stomach. Flat, toned--years of discipline he'd never bothered with. He caught himself wondering what else he could feel, what else this body could do, and a flush of guilt mixed with curiosity burned through him. "Okay, fine. Maybe it's temporary. Maybe it'll wear off."

"And if it doesn't?" Linda demanded, pacing now. She moved awkwardly in his body, like she wasn't sure how to handle its slighter frame, its softer edges. "I've got a presentation tomorrow, Ken. I can't show up like--like this!"

Ken snorted, crossing her arms--his arms now--and immediately uncrossing them when the sensation felt too strange. "Yeah, and I've got... well, nothing, but I'm not thrilled about being you either. What if your boss hits on me or something?"

"Don't even joke about that," she snapped, but there was a flicker of real worry in her--his--eyes. She stopped pacing, staring at him. "We need to retrace our steps. Maybe if we say it again--"

"Like reverse the wish?" Ken interrupted. He straightened up, mimicking her earlier stance--hands on hips, chin tilted. "Okay. Uh... I wish you'd stop being such a nag and swap back?"

Linda glared. "And I wish you'd take this seriously and get out of my body. There. Happy?"

Nothing happened. No flash, no hum--just the hum of the fridge in the background. Ken sighed, dropping her hands. "Well, that was a bust."

Linda rubbed his temples, muttering under her breath. "Fine. Let's think this through logically. Something triggered it. We'll figure it out tomorrow if we have to. For now--" She pointed at him. "Don't do anything stupid in there. I mean it."

Ken grinned, a mischievous edge creeping in. "No promises." He turned toward the stairs, feeling the unfamiliar sway of her hips as he walked, and called over his shoulder, "I'm gonna go... uh, figure this out."

"Ken!" Linda barked, but he was already halfway up, her heels dangling in his mind's eye as he headed for her room.

Ken closed the door to Linda's bedroom behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet space. The room smelled faintly of her perfume--something floral and expensive--and it hit him all over again: he was in her body, standing in her sanctuary. He turned to the full-length mirror propped against the wall, and there she was--tall, poised, staring back with his own uncertain expression twisting her features. He raised a hand, watching her manicured fingers wiggle in response, and let out a shaky laugh.

"Okay," he muttered under his breath, her voice still jarring to his ears. "This is real. Holy crap, this is real."

He stepped closer to the mirror, tilting his head to study her face. Linda's face. Sharp jawline, faint lines at the corners of her eyes that spoke of years he hadn't lived. He ran her hands through her hair--dark blonde, swept into a loose bun that he tugged free, letting it fall around her shoulders. It was softer than he'd expected, and he caught himself twirling a strand before dropping it like it burned.

His gaze drifted lower. The sweater hung loose, but the blouse beneath clung just enough to hint at curves he'd never dared think about. Not like this. He hesitated, then lifted the hem of the sweater, exposing the fitted blouse tucked into the skirt. His hands--her hands--hovered over the buttons, trembling slightly. This was wrong, wasn't it? But the curiosity gnawed at him, insatiable. He unbuttoned the top one, then another, revealing the edge of a white lace bra.

"Whoa," he breathed, stepping back. His heart pounded in her chest, a rhythm faster than he was used to. He caught the flush creeping up her neck in the mirror and turned away, suddenly self-conscious. But the pull was too strong. He glanced back, slipping the blouse off one shoulder, marveling at the smooth skin, the faint tan lines from some long-ago vacation.

Downstairs, Linda slammed a cabinet shut, the sound jolting him out of his trance. "Ken, what are you doing up there?" she yelled, his own voice carrying an edge of exasperation she'd perfected over years of parenting him.

"Nothing!" he called back, too quick, too guilty. He yanked the blouse back into place, fumbling with the buttons. "Just... uh, chilling!"

"Chilling, my ass," she muttered, loud enough for him to hear. He could picture her--him--pacing the kitchen, probably digging through the fridge for something to stress-eat. She'd always been the practical one, the fixer. But what was there to fix when neither of them had a clue how this happened?

Ken turned back to the mirror, smoothing the blouse down and adjusting the skirt. The pantyhose caught his eye again, the way they shimmered as he shifted his weight. He bent one leg, then the other, watching the fabric stretch and cling. A sudden impulse struck him, and he kicked off the sweater entirely, leaving just the blouse, skirt, and hose. He struck a pose--hand on hip, head tilted--like he'd seen in some magazine ad, and smirked. "Not bad, Mom," he said to the reflection, half-joking, half-mesmerized.

The door flew open.

"Ken, I swear, if you're--" Linda froze mid-sentence, standing in his body with a glass of water in hand, staring at him. Her jaw--his jaw--dropped. "What the hell are you doing?"

He spun around, arms flailing to cover himself even though he was fully dressed. "I-I wasn't doing anything! Just... looking!"

"Looking?" Her voice climbed an octave, cracking in his tenor. "You're preening like some runway model in my clothes! That's not 'looking,' that's--that's creepy!"

"It's not creepy!" he shot back, her voice rising to match. "It's my body right now, okay? I'm just figuring it out!"

"It's my body," she snapped, storming in and setting the glass down hard on the dresser. "And you don't get to 'figure it out' like it's a toy. Button that up and put the sweater back on, now."

Ken crossed her arms, defiant. "Why? You're always so uptight about everything. Maybe I want to see what it's like to not be invisible for once."

Linda's eyes--his eyes--narrowed. "Invisible? You think I don't feel invisible sometimes? Running a department, raising you, and still getting judged for every damn thing I wear? You don't get it, Ken. You don't get any of it."

He faltered, her words cutting deeper in his own voice. But the defiance held. "Yeah, well, maybe I do now. Maybe I get why everyone's always staring." He turned back to the mirror, striking the pose again, exaggerated this time. "Maybe I like it."

Linda lunged forward, grabbing the sweater off the floor and shoving it at him. "Put. It. On. I'm not kidding."

He snatched it from her, their hands brushing--his rough fingers against her smooth ones--and the contact sent a jolt through him. He stumbled back, clutching the sweater to her chest, and for a moment, they just stared at each other, breathing hard.

"This is messed up," he muttered, finally breaking the silence.

"You think?" Linda shot back, but her voice softened, just a fraction. She rubbed his face--her face now--with his hands, looking as lost as he felt. "We need to fix this, Ken. Before you do something we'll both regret."

He nodded, pulling the sweater over her head, but the spark of curiosity didn't fade. If anything, it burned brighter, flickering at the edges of his mind as he followed her back downstairs, her heels still clicking in his imagination.

Ken froze mid-motion, the sweater bunched in her hands, halfway over her head. Then, with a slow, deliberate tug, he yanked it back off, letting it drop to the floor between them. Linda's eyes--his eyes--widened, her grip tightening on the edge of the dresser as she stared at him, incredulous.

"What are you doing?" she demanded, his voice rough with a mix of anger and disbelief.

Ken crossed her arms, the blouse still half-unbuttoned, the skirt hugging her hips as he shifted his weight to one leg. The pantyhose gleamed faintly in the bedroom light, and he could feel their pull against her skin--a sensation he was starting to relish. He tilted her chin up, meeting her gaze in his own slouched frame, and a smirk curled her lips. "I'm not putting it on," he said, her voice steady, defiant. "How you gonna make me?"

Linda's jaw dropped, his features twisting into an expression he'd seen a thousand times--pure, unfiltered exasperation. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He took a step closer, her height giving him an unfamiliar edge as he loomed slightly over his own body. "You keep bossing me around like I'm still a kid. But I'm in your body now, Mom. What are you gonna do about it?"

For a moment, she didn't move, her breath catching in his chest. Then she straightened up, squaring his shoulders as best she could in his less-imposing frame. "Ken, I'm warning you. Put the damn sweater on, or--"

"Or what?" he cut in, stepping even closer, close enough to see the faint stubble on his own face--her face now. He could smell his own deodorant mixing with her lingering perfume, a bizarre clash that only fueled the surrealness of it all. "You gonna ground me? Take away my phone? You're not exactly in a position to pull rank here."

Linda's hands--his hands--clenched into fists at her sides. "This isn't a joke, Ken. That's my body you're screwing around with. My life. You don't get to just--just strut around like it's yours to play with!"

"Why not?" he shot back, her voice rising with a confidence he'd never felt in his own skin. He turned to the mirror again, running her hands down the blouse, smoothing it over her curves with an exaggerated flourish. "You've been doing it for years. Walking around in your fancy suits, your heels, these stupid tights--everyone staring, everyone noticing. Maybe I want a turn."

"Those 'stupid tights' are part of my job," she snapped, her voice trembling with barely contained fury. "And you don't know the first thing about what it's like to live in that body. The looks, the comments, the constant pressure--"

"Yeah?" Ken whirled back to face her, her hair swinging with the motion. "Well, I'm getting a crash course now, aren't I? And you know what? It's not so bad." He kicked one leg out, flexing her ankle so the pantyhose caught the light, then ran her hands up her thighs, feeling the texture under her fingertips. "Kinda fun, actually."

Linda lunged forward, grabbing her arm--his arm--in his rough grip. "Stop it," she hissed, her eyes blazing in his face. "You're crossing a line, Ken. This isn't some costume you get to try on and toss aside."

He yanked her arm free, stumbling back a step in her body, the sudden movement sending a jolt through him. Her strength surprised him, the way her muscles tensed under his control. He steadied himself, then leaned in, her face inches from his own. "Maybe I don't want to toss it aside," he said, quieter now, but with an edge that made her freeze. "Maybe I want to see how far I can take it."

Her breath hitched, his chest rising and falling fast under her control. "Ken, you don't know what you're saying."

"Don't I?" He straightened up, towering over her again, and unbuttoned another button on the blouse, letting it fall open just enough to expose the lace beneath. His heart--her heart--hammered, a mix of adrenaline and something darker driving him. "You've always been the one in charge. The perfect mom, the perfect boss. Now I've got the reins. So tell me--how you gonna stop me?"

Linda's face--his face--paled, then flushed red. She took a step back, her hands shaking slightly. "You're going to regret this," she said, low and dangerous. "I don't know how we got here, but I'm not letting you ruin my life over some stupid power trip."

"Then do something about it," he challenged, spreading her arms wide, the blouse gaping further. "Go ahead. Make me."

For a heartbeat, they stood there, locked in a standoff--her in his body, him in hers, the air thick with unspoken threats and raw, unshaped emotions. Then Linda turned on his heel, storming out of the room and slamming the door behind her, leaving Ken alone with her reflection and the pounding of her pulse in his ears.

He looked back at the mirror, her eyes staring into his, and a slow, reckless grin spread across her face. "Game on," he whispered, and reached for the skirt's zipper.

Ken stood there for a moment, the echo of the slammed door still ringing in his ears, Linda's--his--footsteps fading down the hall. Her bedroom felt like a charged space now, a battlefield where lines had been drawn and crossed. He turned back to the mirror, her reflection staring back with that wild grin he barely recognized. His fingers hovered over the skirt's zipper, trembling with a mix of nerves and exhilaration, but then his gaze dropped lower--to the pantyhose.