I eventually untangle myself from Susan's grasp, managing a "Thanks for humoring me with the workout. It means a lot." She nods, the muscles rippling from the post-workout pump as she strips off the tank top to wipe her forehead, my old body's sweaty abs and pecs on full display, and I'm suddenly breathless again. This damn body and its urges; it's like a race car, ready to go.
"No problem," she mumbles, then grins as a sudden idea strikes her. "But next time, we're doing yoga. I can't wait to teach you downward dog." I'm no yoga expert, but I'm pretty sure that's the one where I'm bent in half with my ass up, and suddenly I'm practically vibrating with excitement. No, bad. Do not want! Yes, yes we do, Susan's body tells my brain, and I lose the argument.
"I'm game," my mouth replies before my brain has a chance to intervene, and she lights up in a smile. We head to the kitchen and I take over, blending a 60g protein shake, mixing in my usual spattering of banana, oats, and so on. Handing it to Susan, I gesture, "Drink up."
She starts to drink, gagging slightly at the taste, and pinches her nose, trying to tilt her head back to drink without tasting, and a glob of protein shake lands on her chest. Without even thinking, I step over, using my hand to wipe the creamy white liquid off my old body, and Susan practically chokes, only just managing not to spray more protein shake across the room - and on me.
"I need another shower," Susan mutters, and I agree. The only problem is that the tension between us has only continued to ratchet up, and so -
"Same," I confess. "But I think you're going to need to help me with this hair again." Did I just say that?
"Sure," Susan agrees, a little too eagerly, and I gulp, wondering what I just signed myself up for. Once more, we end up in the bathroom, stripping naked and walking into the shower. We haven't showered together in probably a year, and now this is our second of the day. If only it weren't under these circumstances, I complain to myself.
As expected, my old body is rock hard, the erection so painful it's leaking precum down the shaft as we step into the shower, and I try to move around Susan, but she accidentally moves the wrong way and suddenly she's pressing into my back once more, and I push my butt back against her as I flip on the shower. "Careful there," I say in a voice that seems way too breathy for my own comfort level, and the shower begins.
"You keep jabbing into my ass," I complain at one point, as she mutters an apology.
"Has a mind of its own," and I know exactly what she means. Deciding to torment her, I offer a suggestion, and take a half step away, reaching back and I AM NOT GRABBING A HARD COCK grabbing the giant erection, forcing it horizontal, and stepping back into her so it runs between my legs instead of up my back. There, much better.
And then she shifts her weight and the shaft runs across this new thing I've just discovered called a labia, those veins bumping against it as she sways forward, and I have to extend one hand, bracing it against the wall of the shower before I almost fall over. This was a mistake, I immediately think to myself but she's lathering shampoo into my hair and I lean back against her, my now smaller body nestling into her broad chest. Before long, I find my hips making small movements of their own accord and I'm biting my lower lip, one involuntary hip roll away from impaling myself on it.
Ed, you need to fucking stop, I warn myself. Susan finishes rinsing my hair and grabs a washcloth, squirting a quick dab of bodywash onto it and starting to run it down my neck, shoulders, and then across my breasts, and I'm gasping for air as she knows exactly how to touch this body. She's driving me insane, intentionally getting me as horny as fucking possible just to tease me, knowing that we can't do anything about it.
"All done," she finally says, and it's all I can do to not collapse onto the shower's tile floor, begging for sex. I have to get her back for that, my pride demands it, so I step away, the boner popping free from between my thighs and I suddenly miss it, before I turn toward Susan, glaring up at my old body's familiar face, and reach out a hand out, wrapping Susan's delicate fingers gently around the tip of the cock. I slowly slide it down the shaft, feeling every vein as I go, stopping at the balls. A gob of precum is leaking from the tip and I grin, knowing the impact I'm having.
"You got a little handsy there," I warn here, stroking my old body's cock twice, grip firm as I do. Then I release my grip and jump out of the shower, grabbing a towel and starting to dry myself off. The growl of absolute frustration from the shower feels good, like I'm at least staying even in the points department.
Susan showers quickly, muttering under her breath the entire time, and steps out about the time I finish drying myself off. Wrapping the towel around my torso, she begrudgingly helps me with a hair dryer, and then we head to the closet. Neither of us are really able to meet each other's eyes after that shower, the game of "body swap sex chicken" revving up and down at a dangerous pace. We can't allow it to happen. It's just wrong, on so many levels. And yet ...
I pick out a pair of boxers, snug jeans, and a tight gray t-shirt for Susan to dress my old body with, humming as I appreciate the pecs and biceps straining the tight fabric. That was a good choice, I look fucking good like that, especially with the post-workout pump. Susan returns the favor, handing me a pair of panties and an emerald green tennis dress to wear. Realizing that I don't have much of a leg to stand on if I complain, I dress, and glance at myself in the mirror, noting idly that this is a great look on Susan's body.
The skirt is short, almost cheerleader short, and flirty, and the top has a zip that I leave mostly undone, providing a good view of this body's cleavage. Susan always did have great tits, and age hasn't changed them a bit. I twirl a little to watch the skirt bounce and Susan swallows hard, suddenly needing a wardrobe adjustment as those jeans run out of room.
We head to the living room, sitting on the couch, and my old body's weight causes enough of a depression in the cushion that I end up sliding toward Susan, my body resting comfortably against hers. Her phone (mine now, I guess) pings with an incoming text message, and she grabs it, passing it to me to unlock. I do so and she glances at it, wincing.
"The Morgans are inviting us - and most of the street - over for a BBQ tonight. I'd forgotten to RSVP and Sharon is pestering me. What do you think?" She looks down at me and I'm torn.
"I, uh." Shit, this is going to be a bad idea. I am going to regret every second of this. "I think we should go," I muster, and she blinks. She knows I hate social gatherings, especially with our neighbors. "If we don't magically end up back in our normal bodies by morning, we're going to need to pass as each other for at least a few hours at work tomorrow. This could be a test run."
She sighs and texts back that we'll attend, asking if there's anything we can bring. "Just yourselves!" is the reply, but Susan shakes her head, "We'll at least bring a bottle of wine." She places the phone back down and turns to me, "Okay, so what do you want to do for the next few hours?"
I shrug, and we stay there, bodies pressed against each other on the couch, unsure of how to spend time together. This sucks, I realize, and then I realize one other thing. That I want to fix this. That I don't want to stop cuddling on the couch, that it's okay if that is our day together. "I'm going to get a book, you stay there," I announce, and bounce to my feet, tennis skirt flipping around my waist as I scamper out of the living room.
Digging through Susan's bedside table, I find a book that I recall her having read last month and grab it, bringing it with me as I nestle back into position alongside my old body. Susan instinctively moves her hand, wrapping around my shoulder as I tuck under her armpit, opening the book. "I didn't grab your current book, I grabbed an old one so you're not missing anything," I tell her, and she smiles down at me.
"Very thoughtful of you," and I grin back, and everything seems great for a minute. She grabs the remote, flipping on the television, and I pop open the book. The title looks like every single cheap grocery store bodice ripper you've ever heard of: "Tides of Temptation - The Tempestuous Tease of Tessa" with a half-naked woman clinging to a hunk of a man, a desert island in the background.
The next two hours seems to pass by as I'm enthralled by this book. I've never been a big reader, okay? History books, a magazine article on reloading techniques for my hunting rifle, stuff like that. However, this story has captivated me and I'm entirely too invested in it, cheering as Tessa faces off against the square jawed Marine who washed up, half-dead on the same island as her, poking him with a stick as he clambers to his feet, warning him to stay on his side of the island, even as she feels her loins begin to catch fire.
Before long, the lingering glances, the touches, the throbbing as she accidentally backs into him while he's helping her rig a new tent, it's all too much for this body and I find myself grinding my thighs together, gritting my teeth and flushed. By the time they fuck for the first time, a desperate, angry coupling as her body screams yes but her mouth says "I'm a brat, you need to ignore my words and pound that cock into me," I'm panting, praying that Susan is too distracted by the television to figure out what's going on here.
She chuckles down at me, "So how's the book? I remember that one being a little mild, but it's a good one to ease your way into the genre."
I stare up at her in disbelief, "Mild? This is mild? I need another cold shower. Or maybe I'll break the rules, stepping out to the bedroom and starting a journey of personal exploration."
Susan growls at me and I feel this body whimper as the book falls from my fingers, an absolute flood of lust pounding through my body and drenching my panties. She leans down, those strong hands grasping my sides, and she tickles me, as I squirm, landing my back and laughing as I try to get away from her. Chuckling, she chases after me, my old body looming large over Susan's small one as she continues running those fingers over my rib cage, then one hand on my thigh, tickling as I can't help but giggle and squirm.
Before I know what I'm doing, I wrap my legs around Susan's waist, drawing her close, and I feel that cock once more, rock hard through layers of denim and cotton, and I'm gasping for air. She leans down, lips brushing against my neck and I moan so loudly I'm sure the neighbors can hear it. Like a bucket of ice water dropped from on high, I immediately squirm free, sitting up straight, hands in my lap, face red, as I stare at the television. "What the fuck is wrong with us?," I wonder aloud, not even sure what I'm referring to.
Susan snorts, sitting up, an expression of sexual frustration twisting my old countenance, as she replies "We used to fuck like that all the time. There's nothing wrong with us."
"You are not shoving that cock into me, Susan. I am still your husband, I'm not a blow-up doll for you to have sex with," I protest, pointing a finger at her and she scoffs at me.
"Flip that skirt up again and count the seconds until you're begging me to slide this cock into that drenched pussy. My body's begging to get fucked, the harder the better. The only question is if you've got the balls to let it happen."
The blood drains from my face as I stand, pure horror and disgust warring with the lust in my body, and I turn, stalking from the room. Behind me, I hear Susan whisper "Shit" as I slam the door behind me.