Chapter 1

I’m Walter Holt. I was born in 1944 and grew up on a small farm in rural Illinois. My parents were religious, and I was not, so I endured the chores, church, and school. To escape the farm at eighteen years old, I went to college. My parents thought I was taking agriculture, but I took business accounting instead.

When the ‘Police Action’ started, I was chock-full of Mid-Western patriotism, so I joined the Army. I ended up in the Signal Corps because I could type. I never shot a gun at anyone in anger.

When I got out, I married my wife Sandra, and eventually, we had a happy life with two kids and five grandkids.

I was 87 years old when I woke up and felt my usual headache from sinus issues. Then I realized I’d awoken more because I was having trouble breathing. My heart is pounding. I was panting hard and fast and could not seem to get enough air into my lungs.

Ulp. I could not see very well after I opened my eyes. The bedroom is always very dark for sleeping. I realized the night light from the hall was quite dim, and it was like I had gunk in my eyes.

I was getting very short of breath and knew I was in deep trouble. My CPAP breathing machine was screaming, having a hissy fit; it was trying to fill my lungs with air. A loud whistle from the air squeaking around the face mask drove me nuts.

I realized I was immobilized by the ability to get enough air. I pushed the mask tight to my face, which was no help. I could not get enough air. I couldn’t figure out what was happening to me.

I knew my wife Sandra did not hear my distress. We have separate beds, and she is pretty much deaf, so she could not hear my wheezing. She sleeps like a rock all night long, unlike me.

This isn’t anything like I expected. I felt little pain, but I began to feel so very tired. It is as if my body was too exhausted to go on. I could not get my breath as I labored harder and faster, and the CPAP continued to whistle at max air volume. I knew this was very bad and watched as my eyesight dimmed.

Reborn

I was dreaming when I heard a voice I didn’t know say, “I hope you make better use of this lifetime.”

After a pause of unknown duration, I heard a door shut, and then I heard a sound I recognized from my youth. I jolted awake because I thought I had heard the last few strikes of an old-time grandfather clock. What?

I sat up in bed and looked around. Most strange! I did not recognize this room. The possible recent memory of a grandfather clock chiming further befuddled me.

There was dim light coming from the hallway to the left. I didn’t hear anyone up and about. Whoever slammed the door was either very quiet or had left. It also might be the rest of a dream.

My hair got in my eyes somehow, which is strange. I moved my hand up to sweep the hair away, realizing I had long hair and that the arm and hand I see are small and thin.

I pushed the covers off and saw that I appeared to be in an adolescent boy’s body. I had on underpants of a strange sort. The underpants are some kind of boxers, but they have a cloth tie in front. Untied, they would slide down. The opening in front would allow easy access, but if I had a hard-on, it would likely embarrass me by popping out.

The next thing I noticed is that I stink. I stink quite a bit, and it’s pretty sour. This is not an old-man geezer kind of smell. It’s a sick-like smell.

How did I happen to be here in a different body? A search of recent memories gave me a big hint that I had died as Walter. So, how had I ended up here in someone else’s body? My memories are all from myself as eighty-seven-year-old Walter.

My heart was slowing down from the possible door slam. It started racing again as I began to get frightened about my immediate predicament. Shit, who was I? Where was I? Was there someone in the house, or did they just leave the house? Whatever I did, I would need to explore my surroundings.

Feeling lightheaded, I slid out of bed and sat on the edge for several minutes. My dizziness slowly passed, so I headed to the open doorway. For some reason, I felt weak, fragile almost. Was it the sickness?

I gingerly peered around the door down the hallway to the left and rotated my head the other way. It ended a few doors down. I still saw or heard nobody. All is quiet.

The right hand of the hallway had dead-ended, so I quietly moved the other way. I didn’t want to wake anyone while I snooped.

I came out into a main room with chairs and a couch. I could see a kitchen-dining room past the main room; it had a light on. That’s odd. The light looked like an old-time bare fluorescent light.

I passed the grandfather clock. My goodness, I had not seen one of those in over sixty years. It’s a standard windup clock with the pendulum swinging to and fro. I saw the key inside the glass door on a shelf. I could hear the quiet mechanism inside clicking, hinting that it was an expensive clock.

My heart was beating a mile a minute, and I was very thirsty from the dread I felt over my situation or the sickness? I headed towards the kitchen and the dark area near it.

I glanced to the right and saw a half bath. I saw a glass on a cup holder, so I grabbed it and drew a glass of water. I don’t know why I was so weak, but I didn’t feel much hunger. That’s not normal for a young boy before the crack of dawn. This body must have been sick for a long time to not feel any hunger.

As I gulped the water down, I noticed the mirror. Not wanting to disturb the household, I eased the door shut and pushed the light switch on. It was a two-button rocker switch. Push the top button for the on and the bottom for the off. The light is a small fluorescent tubular bulb without a protective shield.

What I saw was a shock. By modern U.S. standards, this body is that of a tall and very skinny adolescent boy. A quick examination showed no scars, so I was unsure what was happening.

The questions I had in my mind were legion. I have a light off-white skin color and dark black hair. It’s a stark contrast.

I still have a mild headache in the back of my head. Is it from being in bed too long?

My mind was reminded that I still had my eighty-seven-year-old memories. What happened to the young version of this boy’s memories? I closed my eyes and concentrated. Nope, still only my old self in a strange new and youthful body. That boy appears to be gone. The question is, would he come back and fight me for the body?

I seemed alone in this body with no explanations about who I was. I was young, but this house was no house I had ever lived in. Did I even have the same family? Probably not. Why was I in a different place?

I turned off the light, entered the living room, and looked at the clock. I noted it was saying 5:16. It had been the 5:00 o’clock bonging that woke me earlier. I had a lot of thinking to do, so I headed back to what I presumed was my bedroom.

I sat on the bed, which was easy because I didn’t have my former fat gut in the way. Still feeling weak, I laid back. I had a whole basket full of unknowns and few knowns.

I had no idea if I had the same family, name, neighborhood, city, country ... was I even on the same planet? I am still determining when or where I was. Did I speak the same language?

I was in danger of telling people I had no memories of this family. Worse, I had to be careful not to talk like an adult and keep all of my previous memories out of any conversation. How do you do that?

I came to the conviction secrecy is vital to my immediate future. I can never share my previous life experiences with anyone.

After sitting there for a while, I felt a little better and decided this was this boy’s childhood home. It would be OK for me to be up at this hour. Some snooping is required since I am baffled at the situation I find myself in. It bothered me enough that I was shaking.

I went back to the living room and walked around looking at things. I saw a picture of a bride and groom. They were not anyone I knew. Where are this boy’s parents? I had never lived in this house. What are their names?

I found mail addressed to James J. Edson on a small roll-top desk in the dining room. It didn’t matter much since their names would be Mom and Dad anyway. Or would they? It could be Father and Mother, or Mutter and Vater, or all I knew. Shit!

I learned from the letter that we lived in Michikinikwa, The Indian Lands, wherever that was. I had grown up in Cincinnati in my previous life until we moved to Tampa, Florida. I was twelve then.

My father was close to his family in Pittsburgh and only moved after his parents had died. My dad was mid-thirties when I was born.

The biggest thing I noticed was there was no sheetrock or plaster on the walls or ceiling. In its place is shiplap, which was used a lot in my version of the Old West. The molding at the floor and ceiling level looked like 1 X 2s and is squared and rather plain looking. The ceiling is also shiplap style, which I found particularly odd. It does not look right to me.

In the kitchen, I found a calendar. It had regular dates in the top left corner of each day. There is also a five-digit number, which I interpreted to be Julian dates. I knew about Julian dates because of my prior military service. I turned the page, and the twelve months are there, but the spellings differ.

Better yet. I found the morning newspaper “The Michikinikwa Weekly of the Ohio Valley.” It’s dated June 12th, 1954, a Wednesday. In 1954, I was nine years old. In this version of 1954, I was evidently older.

The reference to Ohio Valley could have been more helpful. The Ohio Valley starts in Pittsburgh and ends west at the Mississippi River. The Ohio Valley includes seven states. It incorporates all the rivers and tributaries of the Ohio.

I scanned the headlines and delved into the paper a little. None of the news made much sense to me. I will have to be careful and let that absorb for a few days by paying attention and letting things sink in. How much is a young boy supposed to understand about the news?

The newspaper might be from yesterday. Michikinikwa appears to be an Indian name? Ohio is replete with Indian names. I don’t remember the word or phrase Michikinikwa at all. So, I don’t know where I am. Is this Wednesday the 18th? Great, I am still determining where or when I am.

If this is 1954, this most assuredly isn’t my 1954. This looked like a typical house, plain and old-fashioned, from before the turn of the 20th century.

There is an ordinary-looking newspaper. But it uses a font that looks much more ornate than Times Roman. It covers local Michikinikwa news and has strange comics I needed help understanding.

What gives here? I did not see a television or radio as I glanced around. Very spare indeed.

I heard a noise, and a small girl came running down the hall, calling, “Donny, Donny, are you better?” She was wearing a sleeveless top and nothing else. I think she may be my baby sister. Better yet, I guess I am Donny, which is probably short for Donald. Donald Edson?

“Where are your pants?”

“I never wear them to bed. I am a big girl, you know that.”

She jumped on me on the couch, where I looked at the paper.

“Read me the funnies, Donny.”

“Yes, ma’am!”

“You’re silly.”

“You must be my sister because you’re silly too.”

My heart went out to her. I had a baby sister! What a little doll baby. It would be great to have a little sister. I’d had kids of my own and many grandkids. I love kids.

I turned to the back of the paper to the comics section. I started reading the simpler ones to her, tracing along the comic with my finger so she could put the right pictures with the words. She’s curled up on my right side while I read to her. She pointed out what comics she was interested in.

One thing of note is that the comics were strange for several reasons. The comic relief in each was odd, or the humor escaped me. There was no color. The comics are all family-oriented and lopsided with many females.

About ten minutes later, I heard a flush down the hall, and a possible older sister (16 or 17?) came walking out. As she entered the room, she scolded our baby sister. “Bethy, (short for Elizabeth?) why did you make so much noise? I was trying to sleep.”

Wow. I was thunderstruck. She’s wearing a thin, full slip, which looks like that’s all she has on. The top is held up by tiny strings acting as straps. As she walks, the top area of the slip moves around, displaying a lot of teen breasts. The top is giving me peeks at her titties as she moves. They have sharp points atop firm cone-shaped tits. It was a short slip showing her lovely legs.

You can almost see her tits because the top conforms to her shape so well. As she had walked, there was no wobble. She must have very firm titties due to her age. This is quite obviously not ‘my’ 1954, I thought as my dick tried to escape my flimsy underwear.

If that’s not enough, you can see the occasional shadow at the top of her legs as she walks. That indicates she’s not wearing panties, and her muff matches the dark hair on her head.

The slip just comes down to the upper thigh, so an awful lot of exceptional teenage leg is on display. Good God, she’s a really lovely girl.

“Carrie (Caroline?) I wanted to see Donny. He’s up and OK. He is reading me the funnies like he always does.”

“Yes, but you used your outside voice and woke up the whole house.”

Carrie came over, placed her hand on my forehead, and smiled.

“She sure did!” A woman said as she came down the hall. (My Mom?) She’s wearing a similar slip that comes to mid-thigh and is similarly skimpy. She came over to me and put her hand on my forehead.

As she leaned forward, I was struck by the sight of a generous amount of titty. That’s something my old Mom would never have done - ever. Good golly, she is one hot lady. She’s apparently in her early thirties. To my old 87 y.o. Mind, she was prime young stuff.

Alright, this is NOT the world I am from. The female dress here could not be more casual.

My 1954 was highly conservative. These three should all be wearing long pajamas or nightgowns. Even something covering their feet.

This place has not come out of the Victorian age yet. What gives here? Where the hell am I, and better yet, who the hell am I?

The woman said, “Good, your fever broke, and you barely feel warm. How do you feel?”

“Alright, I guess, but I don’t feel like doing much.”

“Yes, you were a pretty sick boy. The doctor said you likely had a cerebral hemorrhage, and then you caught a fever. She said hemorrhage can happen to anyone at any time. She said a weak artery in the head sometimes bursts at a weak point. That’s what started it. You had us all very worried.”

“The fever was because you were weak after two days of not eating, and you caught something. She said you would either pull out of it or you wouldn’t. Looks like you’ll make it now. Hmm. It seems like a miracle cure. You were very sick only last night.”

“Give me a hug,” she demanded.

I stood up as Bethy slid off me. I stepped up to my new Mom, and she held me, and I held her. Bethy came and hugged my leg and Mom’s leg as we hugged each other.

This was odd on several levels. Mom obviously had no bra, which likely meant she had no panties. The semi-nakedness bugged me a little, making me feel uncomfortable.

My traitorous dick realized I was holding a beautiful, well-built woman. She is a hotty.

Her smell is all woman. Her warm, softness surrounds me. Holy shit, she gave me a boner.

This Mom held me longer than any mother I knew from my previous life. She has to feel my boner.

My Mom certainly never would have hugged me like this. My original Mom was a dispassionate person who showed little warmth. My mother was all about duty and propriety.

My new mother stepped back, held me by my shoulders, looked at me, and smiled. She glanced down and beamed at me. WTF?

Bethy continued to hold onto my leg. I was embarrassed by all the attention. Although welcome, Her warmth and love made me feel something beyond familial love.

“Bethy, quit hogging our brother,” Carrie said.

Carrie continued, “Elizabeth, can’t you see you’re making Donny uncomfortable.”

I was happy Carrie said that, as it stopped Bethy from being strange. Her lower half is nude, and it just felt wrong on my leg.

I loved the attention but was uncomfortable. Carrie stepped up and gave me a long hug. Be still my heart. A heavenly teenage girl is in my arms, and I feel every detail of her front. She does not remark about the boner, and seems to settle into it comfortably. It’s so very, very odd.

As we came apart, she gave me a long peck on my cheek as I trailed my hands over her ass. “I’m glad you are back, baby brother. You were out for six days,” she said. She also glanced down after having felt my hard-on pressed against her.

“Me too, Big Sister, me too.”

“How did I survive without food?”

“Grace fed you.” My’ new to me’ mother said.

“Grace?”

She gave me a strange look. “Yes, she’s a neighbor girl, and she has a three-month-old baby, so she came over, and you took right to her milk. She shared her baby’s breast milk. It was the only thing we could think of.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed, the doctor told us it might work. We tried feeding you, but you couldn’t chew or swallow. One taste of Grace’s milk, and you happily took to nursing her. By the way, she said you owe her for this.”

“Owe her?”

“She said she would tell you what she wants from you later.”

“Ooookay...”

The family went about waking up and chatting. My new mother was usually addressed as Mum in the English tradition. Bethy sometimes called her Mummy.

Mum said, “Sally is coming over today. Do you remember her being here yesterday?”

I had a sudden flash coming out of the fever. A girl with legs intertwined with mine, a naked girl curled all around me. I remember my first groggy thought was, “What the hell?” Just lay there and enjoyed the tender breasts that my face was being held against. Somebody young and female was cuddling me.