Chapter 3

The hike continued, but Carly noticed almost none of the scenery they were walking through. She was too fascinated with paying attention to her new body. Or at least one part of her new body. When she had grasped her penis, it had felt good to touch it. It was a new kind of "good" in her mind. Both the feel of the thing between her fingers, and the feeling in the thing between her fingers was completely new. She recognized it as the same thing she probably felt when she was turned on. An erection meant her body was turned on ... right?

But this was a different feeling than what she was used to. What she was used to was for her nipples to tingle and for something deep inside her belly to almost writhe. This was all centered just slightly below that penis. Her mind told her that meant it was in the testicles, but since she'd never actually touched "her" testicles, it felt off kilter, somehow.

Automatically, her hand reached between her legs and found the bulge that she knew those testicles were under. Just the touch of her fingers on the outside of her jeans filled in a blank, and, suddenly, she thought of them as "hers." And by touching them, she confirmed that that was, in fact, where the center of turbulence was in her body.

As she contemplated all this, her senses noted that the stiffness in her penis was fading. She could actually feel it getting softer. It was astonishing. If this happened very often, how did boys ever concentrate on anything?

She realized she'd been walking, but hadn't seen anything. She'd been on autopilot. Everything looked normal. There was her body, walking ahead of her. Right now she thought of that as half her body and half Craig. Still, she couldn't resist admiring her form.

Just like that, she could feel things firming up down there. It was already in "the comfortable position" so she didn't have to do anything, but she could feel the differences happening.

The question was... why was it happening?

They came to a clearing, where there was a railing that protected people from falling off the cliff below it. The view was spectacular. Carly acknowledged that view, but part of her mind still monitored her groin, and noted that the boner was softening again.

"Let's rest a while," said her father.

"Everybody drink something," said Fran, pulling bottles of water from her back pack.

Carly looked around. There were five other tourists at the overlook. Two were an older couple, who reminded her of her grandparents. Two more also appeared to be together, and were maybe in their twenties. The guy was a hunk. She examined the woman with him and dismissed her as competition, even though they were together. It was automatic. She didn't even realize what she was doing.

The other one was standing apart. He was maybe fourteen or fifteen, too young to be out here by himself. That issue was resolved when the older couple wandered over to the boy and suggested they continue. She decided he must be their grandson.

She looked back at the scenery, her eyes wandering over far away trees, and strata in rock walls that would take days to climb. She saw movement on the opposite side of the ravine, but couldn't determine what it was.

"Shall we go?" asked Fran. "We're having stew for supper, and it takes longer to prepare. I want to get back earlier rather than later."

Carly turned, and saw the young couple were in an embrace, kissing ardently, apparently unconcerned that others could see them. She idly wondered what it would be like to be that woman.

And her penis, which had softened while they rested, sprang back to life.

She waited until they got back, and her mother was involved with putting the stew together. Their dad was sitting in a lawn chair, reading.

"Come with me," she whispered to her brother.

"Where?" he asked, his voice loud.

Carly shot him a glare and announced, loudly, "We're going to the bathroom."

"All right," said Fran, who paid no further attention to them.

She waited until they were twenty-five yards away.

"Your penis won't behave itself!" she hissed.

"What do you mean?"

"It keeps getting hard!"

"I told you it does that," he said.

"You didn't tell me it would do that all the time."

"It doesn't do it all the time," he argued. "Just every once in a while."

"Well it was hard almost the whole hike," she complained.

"Really?" He looked surprised. "That's strange."

She stopped. "Why?" She was suddenly worried.

"It just doesn't do that. Not unless I'm around a bunch of hot girls or something. Like at the pool? If there are a bunch of hot chicks at the pool, in good bikinis, I have to wear a jock strap under my suit."

"Well, there weren't a bunch of hot girls around today," Carly pointed out.

"What were you thinking about?"

"What do you mean, what was I thinking about?"

"I mean what were you thinking about. If I think about hot girls in bikinis, that can give me a boner."

"I wasn't thinking about hot girls in bikinis, that's for sure," she snorted.

"Okay, so what were you thinking about?"

"I don't know. Nothing. We were just walking along. I wasn't thinking about anything."

"Yes you were. You can't help but think about something. For example, I was thinking about Rhonda Tackmeyer, and how now that I'm in your body, I could invite her over for a sleepover, and when it was time to change into PJs I'd get to see her naked."

"You're kidding," said Carly.

"Nope. And that was just one fantasy I thought about. Except that they always get ruined."

"Why?" asked Carly, automatically.

"Because if I had Rhonda over, there would be hours and hours of girl stuff before the naked part, and I have no idea how to do all that girl stuff. It would never work."

"I don't like Rhonda Tackmeyer anyway," said Carly. "She's a slut."

"Which is the whole purpose of getting her naked," said Craig.

"Do I have to remind you that you're missing the part you want to use on Rhonda Tackmeyer?"

"Yes, but I could do everything else," he said.

"Everything else?"

"You know. Lesbian stuff."

"Ewwww."

"I know that's not your style," he said, "but what else am I going to do? I'm for sure not going to let some guy climb between my legs. Now that's an ewwwww thought!"

Carly thought about her very own, very secret vibrating dildo, which was carefully hidden in the very back of the bottom drawer of her night stand, under a pile of paperback romance novels. It occurred to her that that dildo, which she loved to pieces, was of no use to her now whatsoever.

But the thought of that dildo caused the tingle to burst into life in her balls.

She had an epiphany.

It was his body, reacting to her thoughts. It wasn't random at all. He was right. Whatever she'd been thinking about had caused all those boners.

So what was she thinking about?

"We have a problem," said Craig, who had had a sort of epiphany of his own. In bringing the little fantasies he'd had out into the open, where the light of day could illuminate them, it had finally sunk in that if he wanted a sex life ... it was going to have to be that of a girl.

"Shhhh!" she said, holding her palm up.

"What?" he asked.

"I'm thinking."

To his credit, he stayed silent, and let her think. What percolated in her mind was the fact that, for a lot of the hike, she'd been thinking about ... herself. Except it wasn't her any more. It was him in her body. She'd been thinking about her body, and how she liked it. But the brain having those thoughts had been hooked up to a pair of balls.

She'd gotten a boner for herself!

Craig's journey of exploration, in terms of his new body, wasn't as thoughtful as his sister's. That's not to say that he forgot his mind was now inside a female body. Not at all. He just didn't burn as many calories thinking about it as Carly did.

An argument might be made that one reason for this was because, unlike Carly, he wasn't horny all day long. He didn't notice that fact. Being horny was the kind of thing that, because it was more or less constant, became something one stopped noticing. Like wearing clothes. You don't think about how your clothes are touching your body every minute of the day. They're still there ... you just get used to them.

So when that constant, low level testosterone buzz wasn't there any more, it simply removed an unconscious distraction that let him notice other things. Such as how light he felt, and how powerful his legs were. He was more flexible. He felt like he could run faster, jump higher and climb tall things without getting tired at all.

This wasn't wishful thinking. Carly weighed sixty pounds less than her brother. Most of that weight was muscle, so you'd think he'd feel less powerful without sixty pounds less of muscle. But the fact is that carrying around sixty pounds uses a lot of muscle, and muscle, unless it is stretched frequently, begins to tighten up. At some point, there is a zero sum point where, while you bulk up, that bulk isn't as useful as it looks.

But Carly stretched religiously, as do most dedicated runners. And the quality of her leg muscles, along with that missing sixty pounds, made them arguably stronger than his more heavily muscled ones. There was much less bulk around his new waist, and the tightness in his chest and shoulders he hadn't noticed until it was given to his sister, was gone too.

Granted, his breasts intruded on his thoughts a lot. They seemed to be in the way all the time, though he didn't really bump them with his arms very much. They felt astonishingly heavy at first, but he got used to that quickly. The net result was that he felt like this new body was almost magically agile. The hike was amazing, because he didn't tire at all. When they got back to the campsite, he felt like he could have gone miles farther. There was one moment when he took a deep, cleansing breath, just enjoying the feel of it, and was distracted when his breasts seemed to expand. But that passed, and on impulse, he stood flat-footed on one side of the campfire, bent his knees, leaned forward, and then straightened them, leaping with both feet together. He landed clearly a foot beyond the edge of the campfire. He was amazed.

This body had some clear advantages!

The rest of the day was spent in that kind of reflection as well. He did not, in fact, dwell on things, sexually speaking, until it was time to get ready to go to bed that night. He'd only peed once that day, and since they'd been at the campsite when that urge hit him, the camp restroom was handy. This time he'd gone into the female side. It had felt strange, and he'd looked around before going in, as if afraid he'd get "caught" violating the sanctity of the women's john. Then there had been a moment of worry that some other woman would be in there. There wasn't, though, and he relaxed, once he was inside.

He'd peed sitting down plenty of times. That was the only safe way to pee when you had morning wood. Again, his urine ran hot against the insides of his "new" labia. It was uncomfortable in the same way that not retracting his foreskin was uncomfortable. His actions were, therefore, partly muscle memory of the body he was in, and partly his mind telling him something needed to be done. By the time his hand had reached, and two fingers had expertly pushed skin in a way that pulled his labia apart, he hadn't really thought about what he was doing.

It was the first time he'd behaved like the gender of the body he was in.

Getting ready for bed wasn't weird. Their parents, since they'd had showers the night before, just before they'd been abducted, suggested that baths could be pushed to the next night. Another reason getting ready for bed wasn't as weird as it might have been was that they weren't at home, where there were mirrors, and privacy, and light to see by.

In fact, neither youth got into the deep water until they actually crawled into their sleeping bags.

Since they weren't actually acclimatized to their new bodies yet, each just naturally went to the same sleeping bag they'd always used. And an interesting thing happened to them both.

When Carly crawled into her bag, her nose was assailed by the combined scents of her body wash, shampoo, and ... girl.

When Craig did the same thing, his nose detected a muskier, manly scent.

Some scientists have done studies and claim that one reason people aren't attracted toward close family members, as potential sexual partners, is that the scent of a close family member of the opposite sex is unappealing. These scientists estimate that condition exists in as many as two thirds of the population.

Of course that leaves a third of the population that won't find the odor of a close family member to be objectionable.

Twins, as it turns out, are almost always in that third. And in this case, the twins' bodies reacted to the olfactory stimulation in ways that amounted to sensory ambush.

They got horny.

In Carly's case, the all too familiar erection came into raging existence. It wasn't painful, because all she had on were a pair of jockey shorts. She'd thought about that only briefly, because sometimes, when she went to bed back at home, all she wore to bed were her panties. It made her feel deliciously naughty to do that. She kept a T shirt by the bed, and in the morning, slipped it on before she left her room to go to the bathroom.

Craig, however, hadn't been in a perpetual state of heat all day, like his sister had. In fact, he'd never felt the deep, throbbing power of female arousal in his belly. This body didn't have balls, which he was used to feeling respond to a woman, or a thought, or a picture, or a bikini, or a commercial, or almost anything else. It felt like a stomach ache, except it didn't hurt.

It most certainly didn't hurt!

Carly's response was a soft groan of frustration. The fact that her hand went to the front of her jockey shorts was, as Craig had already experienced, mostly muscle memory. When a man has a hardon, it's just natural to touch it. But this time there was no thick denim between her hand and her penis to dull the sensation. And this time there were no family members watching.

This time ... she could explore what things felt like down there.

Five feet away, Craig's hand went not to his missing cock, but to his belly, above where the pleasant ache was. Soft, slim fingertips pulled up the T shirt his mother had given him to wear over his now bare breasts, and traced an irregular circle on the surface of the skin he had just uncovered.

It tickled. It felt good. But it only made that deep, odd feeling expand.

For the first time, he reflected on how his fingers had access to a pussy.

And it was dark. No one would know.

Slowly, the fingers he'd been unconsciously stimulating his uterus with, drifted toward the panties that were almost no protection for an exciting frontier of exploration.

Fran had nodded off and was almost asleep when she heard a soft groan. Her maternal instincts kicked into high gear, which meant that a special part of her brain lifted its metaphorical head and listened, a sort of sentry, peering into the darkness. The rest of her brain went into stasis, ready to drop further into sleep if the sentry assured her everything was okay. If the sentry sounded the alarm, that part of her was already awake, and the rest would soon follow. It was a complicated kind of arrangement most men would be unable to understand, but which every mother develops within minutes after the last, exhausted push in the delivery room.

The sentry detected breathing that was too fast, and an almost silent grunt. Skin rustled against cloth. But nothing sounded alarming. A moan followed, and the sentry tensed. It sent a tendril of warning to her sleeping self, which roused enough to evaluate the information the sentry was providing.

The children were uneasy.

Evaluation took place. That the children were uneasy out in the wild was understandable, under the circumstances. There would probably be a lot of that for a while.

She told the sentry everything was fine, and dropped off into real sleep.

The sentry, having been told that soft moans, and rustling cloth were nothing to worry about, paid no attention as the teenagers five feet away from it masturbated.

Many say that masturbation is instinctive. Any grandparent will tell you about a granddaughter who, while playing horsey by riding on your shin, will unconsciously rub against your leg. Any parent will tell you they've had to tell their little boy to stop playing with himself, only to be told, "I wasn't playing with anything!" The fact is that sexual organs enjoy being stimulated by touch. We just don't recognize that on a conscious level until puberty. Until then, it's simply another part of the body that occasionally needs brief attention. Like scratching. You itch ... you scratch to ease that itch. You don't think about it. You just do it.

But puberty changes everything. When puberty gets going, the itch doesn't just go away, like it used to.

It demands more scratching.

And, under the right circumstances, enough scratching finally eases the itch.

The problem is that "the right circumstances" to Mother Nature, means sexual intercourse.

In times long past, we acted much like we see a pair of dogs act now. If you've watched dogs mate, what usually happens is that the male shows interest. Eventually, he tries to mount the bitch. If she isn't interested, she walks out from under him. If she is, she moves her tail to one side. He's ready, and moves into an instinctive position, whereupon he starts thrusting. He might not hit the target right away, but keeps trying. Once he does make it go where it's supposed to go, things happen quickly. A bulb near the base of his penis expands, locking things in place so that, if she changes her mind, she can no longer just walk away. More instinctive movements happen and, presto, puppies.

With humans, back in the day, it was remarkably similar. A man would show interest. The woman either threw things at him, screamed and ran away, or just hung around. Maybe she smiled, something dogs aren't able to do. Eventually they'd lie down together, something that's instinctive and much more comfortable than standing up. Again by instinct, he'd try to roll on top of her. If she was receptive, she let him. If she wasn't, it was too late to walk away. Either way, he'd begin the same, instinctive thrusting movements that the male dog makes, not aiming, exactly, but just trying. If she was receptive, she was lubricated so that, if he happened to hit the target, he could slide inside easily.

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