Dianne left in the early afternoon and Meghan’s parents were still a few hours away from getting of work. I sat in young Miss Cafferty’s bedroom, laptop flipped open upon her desk, staring at an email in her ‘Drafts’ folder with the subject line: ‘Hey Garner—Read This’. It was undoubtedly another of her cute but confusing missives meant to ease me further into our own private ‘trading places’ reality show.
I was still bikinied, but now had a large beach towel wrapped about me from chest to thighs. Encased in its fluffy moist bulk, I felt like an enormous multi-colored segmented grub. The baby was quite active at the moment, fretting in my belly. It managed to somersault onto its head and now its butt was high and to the left, just under my ribcage. I could plainly feel it’s posterior and lower back jutting toward that side, while the upper right side of my belly was now much less hard.
One never gets used to this sort of thing. Especially when one is not supposed to have a womb in the first place, let alone a womb as full as Meghan’s.
Before I whet my curiosity on whatever Meghan had to tell me, a complicated but intriguing line of thought sprang to mind. Let me try and spell it out for you here.
In the present moment I was Meghan and it was June 6th. Meanwhile Meghan was me, but she was me in the past, the me of mid-November in the previous year. But conceivably there was also a present Garner, a Garner of right now, a June 6th Garner who was not being piloted by Meghan. So this June 6th Garner was, I had to assume, also me.
Thus if I called my phone number right now, or sent an email to my account, I would be able to have a conversation with myself!
The implications of this possibility were fascinating.
I could ask future me all sorts of things like what I had gone through from November to June. He would know an entire half year’s worth of history and happenings that I did not. To think what I could do with that knowledge…
The temptation proved too strong. Using Meghan’s email, I sent off a short email to my own June 6th email account. I assured myself that it was really me and not some deranged high school senior by including a few pieces of historical information that only I would know. I kept things lighthearted and casual, though I’m not sure why I felt I needed to break the ice with myself. I mean, my future self would instantaneously remember me writing this to him in the first place, right?
I couldn’t wait to hear what he/I had to say in response. Hopefully he/I’d send back the winning lottery numbers for a few major drawings in late fall, and I could play them when I returned home. But wouldn’t that mean that future me was already rich? Maybe I should have asked him/me that, too. Geez, all this past and future causality was giving me a headache.
With that lark completed, I opened Meghan’s draft email to me and read:
Welcome back! I summoned you again and I’m so happy you wanted to come back! I’m bigger now as you can obviously tell, so I totally needed a break. I’m in finals week at my school and since you’re an accountant or whatever, I decided now was a good time to swap. My math exam is tomorrow morning, which you will rock way better than I ever would. Physics is Wednesday, so I hope you don’t mind sticking around a bit longer than last time. I’ll let you go back home after that, I promise!
Some other things you should know. My friend Eric invited me over to watch a movie at his place tonight with some friends. I said I’d go. Mom thinks it’s a study group so no problems there. I’m sort of seeing Eric but not really. It’s not serious, I’m kind of into him or whatever. I mean I don’t love him or anything. And no, he’s not the father, why are you so nosy? Just kidding! (But I know that’s what you are wondering)
So heads up Eric might try and make a move. Up to you how you want to play it, obviously, just remember its me that will have to deal with the consequences. I probably would make out a bit. He’s a good kisser. Again, sorta up to you.
The other thing I wanted to mention was do not under any circumstances try to contact your present day self. Sooner or later you might get the idea that this is a good idea.
I can’t stress this enough, don’t do this. Only bad can come of it.
What you need to understand is this. My world is an alternate reality from the one you live in. There is a good chance that some version of ‘Garner’ exists in my reality, maybe even one who has your same phone number, same email, etc. But this person, as similar as they might seem, is not you. It’s a version of you. One out of an infinite number of possible yous. Whoever they are, the events of your past won’t line up exactly with theirs. They will at best think you’re crazy and at worst have no idea what you’re talking about so what’s the point in reaching out?
Attempting to contact this person won’t help you at all. In fact, any contact is much more likely to cause some pretty unexpected and terrible things to happen. Like sci-fi style weirdness. People aren’t meant to interact with their alternate selves. Don’t make me explain to you the phenomenon known as ‘Reality Bleed,’ because you won’t like what I have to say.
Other than that, have fun! And thanks for the help with my finals!
Um, oops? Oh crap. Crap crap crap.
This wasn’t good at all. I just couldn’t keep well enough alone, could I? I knew reaching out to myself felt wrong. And what the heck was ‘Reality Bleed?’ You know what, I didn’t want to know. I just prayed that the email I sent as Meghan went to ‘alternate reality me’s spam folder if it even went through at all. With any luck it would never ever be read.
On top of the possible ‘unexpected and terrible’ things that I might have just unknowingly unleashed, there was also the fact that I was now stuck as Meghan for at minimum 48 more hours. I had two finals to take, and now had some kind of boyfriend to hang out with, in just a few hours at that.
Speaking of sexual relationships, there was also the perfect storm of frustration/stimulation I’d been dealing with lately.
The real me hadn’t had sex in almost 6 months which was hard enough to deal with as an adult male. Now pour that hamstrung mindset into the hormone filled container of a teenage girl, no, strike that, the hormone supersaturated container of a pregnant teenage girl. Finally, take that psychologically hard up, physically supercharged body and have it delicately fondled for a half hour by another teenage young woman while it lay in the hot sun.
I swear you could hear my libido humming like a hydro-electric dam.
I stood up and frowned. Had I really felt so, well, there really is no graceful way to say this now is there, had I really felt so horny when I was Meghan’s age? Or was this a product of something else? Maybe this was all in my head. Maybe it was because I was now old and knew that I shouldn’t have the opportunity to feel a body crave this way. Was my mind making things worse?
I unwrapped the towel from my body and entered the bathroom. My short hair was kinky from having dried in the sun. My skin smelled vaguely of sweat and chlorine. I couldn’t tell you why but I sniffed under one arm and wrinkled my nose. There was the bitter smell of exertion there.
I turned on the shower and let the water run, cycling up from cold. As it did I untied my top and hung it over the curtain rod. I shucked my bottom low, wiggling my hips from side to side because I couldn’t bend forward very easily, and lifted one foot up, then the other, feeling like a very pregnant flamingo. As I lifted my bikini bottom up to the curtain to dry it passed by my face and I, well, I couldn’t help it.
I brought the stretchy material close to my nose and I sniffed. The sweaty smell of my underarms and the chlorine smell of the pool was there, but under this was the musty smell of Meghan. The smell of her excitement from this afternoon. It made my eyes roll back into my head. I didn’t go all in and rub the damn thing on my face, but it was close.
When I finally hung them up I noticed that I was, as I’d earlier heard Dianne say, “Nipping Out.” And I doubted it was from the cold, as the bathroom was already steamy from the running water.
I got in the stall and let the water turn my pale skin pink. I couldn’t tell you when I applied the bodywash to Meghan’s loofah, or when my borrowed body became lathered and slick. With my bare hands I massaged the soap off my skin, starting with my neck and shoulders, moving down.
My breasts were large enough that I needed to lift them up gently where the rounded swell of their curves pressed against my ribcage.
My belly was easier, there really wasn’t any way to stand in the shower where it didn’t get struck by water. I closed my eyes as my hands rubbed lower, as my questing fingers met the first curly tangle of hair. There was an impossible throbbing somewhere down below, an obscene amount of blood had rushed to my genitals, I felt fat and thick down there as my index finger passed out of my hair and into my flesh.
First I lightly explored my lips, running my nail along one edge. I was big enough about the middle that I had to hunch forward slightly, as if I was trying to hug myself. My finger feathered back until my lips ran out, dallied on the ticklish skin of my taint before drawing back toward the fold. There I added my middle and ring finger, binding those three digits together before cupping them into a gentle claw. I then rocked the claw back and forth until my hood slid up and there…
Please forgive me if I lost track of time. Time enough for the water to begin to cool. And don’t misunderstand, or imagine something happened which did not. I was far too inexperienced, too frightened, in a weird way, too over eager, for something to happen. Which is not to say that it had been a waste of time, or that I hadn’t gotten anything out of it.
I was definitely more relaxed as I toweled off. And a bit more eager to visit Eric this evening, too.