Chapter 1

I had just sat down in the wicker chair on my porch, and pushed my long brunette hair away from my face as a jogger slowly made her way down the street. A woman in her twenties wearing a sports bra and spandex shorts. Nice athletic body. Tight ass. 

I hadn’t seen her before. I wondered if she moved here recently. Apparently I held my gaze on her entirely too long because she looked at me, smiled, and waved.

I, in response, raised the unopened beer bottle in my hand, “Cheers!”

That’s when her smile faded, her eyes got wide, and she picked up her pace.

I shrugged and leaned back in my chair and attempted to twist off the cap of my beer. The grooves hurt my young sensitive skin so I covered the bottle cap with my shirt and tried again. This time the bottle cap came off and I took a swig. I made a satisfied sigh as I tasted the cold beer. 

That hit the spot.

My name is Jack Baker. I'm a police detective currently on administrative leave. No fault of my own, I might add. 

Screw that jogger for judging me. I am on my front porch drinking my beer. I am a 42-year-old man for Christ’s sake. Although, to that jogger and everyone else, you’d think I was a 14-year-old girl on her parents’ porch drinking her dad’s beer. 

Nope. It’s all mine.

I folded the bottle cap with my hands, a feat harder than it used to be, then flicked it into the patchy grass of my front yard.

I took another long swig of beer, put the bottle on the table next to me, then put my feet up on the wicker ottoman. I eyed the green nail polish that came with these feet, then wiggled my toes. Maybe I should look into nail polish remover.

Another pedestrian - this time a guy walking his dog - gave me a weird look.

“What the fuck are you looking at?” I yelled. On instinct I reached down to my Glock which was sitting in my lap.

That’s when the man picked up his pace, too. He had to tug at his dog who stopped to sniff my mailbox.

Like I said, I must’ve been a sight for those people passing by. A petite 5’2” 14-year-old girl wearing a baggy shirt and baggy shorts. No shoes. No bra. A belt tied tightly to make sure the shorts and boxers didn’t fall down.

These were my clothes. My house. My beer. My gun. It just wasn’t my body.

Obviously, that’s why I was currently on administrative leave. 

Something, something, a 14-year-old girl can’t be a police detective. I should sue for age discrimination.

A cool September breeze tickled my hairless skin and reminded me yet again that I was in a foreign body. As if I needed any reminder. I’m reminded every goddamn second. Every time I walk, or reach for something up high. Every time I open my mouth and hear this mousy voice. Every time I look down and see the outline of a teenager's modest breasts and not my ample member.

So like I was saying, I’m Jack Baker… or at least I used to be. That was before I somehow was forced into the body of a teenage girl.

It all started just about twenty four hours ago.

* * *

It started off like every other day in my adult life. Wake up alone, drive to get a coffee, and head to the station to work on my caseload. For lunch I went to my favorite sandwich shop and got a pastrami sandwich. My doctor tells me I should really change my routine because my blood pressure is high. My blood pressure is high because I’m a detective, ya dick. I’m trying to save lives. What do doctors know anyway?

So there I was at the station working on my case. My current case this week? A missing teen girl. I had met with the parents earlier in the day so they could fill me in on the details. You know, the usual. Their daughters age, description, photo, any reasons they could think of that she’d run away. 

The parents were this upper-middle-class couple and couldn’t fathom their perfect daughter running away and therefore kept shrugging when I’d ask why she would. They said she was at the mall with friends one day, and suddenly she was gone. 

Classic runaway.

I got the friend’s names and contact info, and assured the parents we’d be in touch and we’d find their daughter. As I sat at my desk with my coffee, I looked over her file and the picture her folks gave me.

Emma Kincade. Born April 16th. Age 14. 5’2” 105 lbs. Brunette hair, hazel eyes.

A cute girl. The picture of the perfect All-American girl. Lots of friends. Enrolled in a lot of activities at school. Straight-A student.

Now, why would this girl run away? These were the types of cases where when you start to dig deeper you find a dark ugly secret or two within the family. I was expecting the parents to have red flags. Maybe the dad is involved with the mafia or is an abuser. Maybe the mom is a librarian. I don’t know. But so far, each of them ‘checked out.’

I was about to contact Emma’s friends about her last known whereabouts when I got a call from a patrol officer down near the train station. Our missing girl was spotted looking to jump town.

I quickly grabbed my blazer, left my office, jumped into my car, and drove to the scene. With my siren on, I dashed through the city streets and arrived at the train station in a brisk ten minutes.

I turned off my siren and lights and conspicuously walked into the train station and up to the ticket counter. I usually dress in a blazer and jeans to avoid alerting people that I’m a cop. I pulled my badge out of my coat pocket and flashed it at the ticket agent and I walked through the gates.

I scanned the platform and found her sitting on a bench staring off into the distance. She was dressed in the school uniform of one of the prestigious private schools in the area. Plaid skirt, white blouse, knee-high socks and white sneakers. I slowly approached her so as to not spook her.

“Emma,” I calmly said. I held up my badge in a non-threatening way.

I had hoped she would come to me and tell me how running away was a mistake and she would follow me to my car where I would return her to her parents. Case closed. Jack is a hero. Again.

But that’s not what happened.

Instead, Emma bolted. Exactly what I didn’t want to happen.

“Wait!” I called. “Emma! Your parents just want you back.”

As we both ran, other people waiting for the train jumped out of the way, minding their own business.

When Emma got to the end of the platform she came to an emergency exit. She attempted to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. She turned to me and stared at me like a deer in headlights.

“Please,” I said in my most non-threatening tone. “I’m a police detective, Emma. Your parents want you home. This can be over.”

Maybe I just have that effect on people, but she turned and jumped onto the tracks.

“Emma, no!”

“Don’t make me go back there!” she yelled back at me. At least she acknowledged why I was there.

Then she climbed up onto the other platform and started running the other way. Once again, the onlookers didn’t care.

“Shit!” I cursed. I looked down at the tracks and off in the distance to see if a train was coming. The tracks were clear, so I jumped down.

As I landed my knees let me know that they didn’t appreciate that. Years of sports catching up with my joints. I’m getting too old for this shit.

I climbed onto the other side of the platform, grunting the entire time.

I expected her to be faster, but she kept bumping into people because this side of the platform was more crowded than the other.

I managed to catch up to her as the crowd got thicker. I was out of breath and wheezing. Maybe that doctor was right about eating right and exercising. Nah, fuck him, I got this.

Once again, I had held up my badge, hoping the crowd would part for me and block Emma from passing. Then Emma, with nowhere to turn, would change her mind and rush back to me, realizing her mistake. Fast forward to me being a hero.

But that’s not what happened.

A heavyset white male in a hoodie came out from the crowd, then grabbed Emma and pulled her in tight to him. 

Emma started to struggle to escape the stranger’s grip.

He then pulled out a gun and held it to her head which caused her to freeze in fear.

I quickly pulled out my gun and pointed it at the man. “Whoa, hey.” I said. “You don’t want to do this, pal.”

The man started walking backwards holding Emma. 

Now, the crowd started to part.

“I’m not here for you,.” I told the man with the gun. “I don't even know who you are. I’m here for her.”

Emma’s hazel eyes stared at me. Pleaded for me to help. Now she wants my help.

The man kept walking backwards as a train thundered into the station. He watched me as he walked. His cold, dark eyes were unforgettable. 

I never saw someone with black irises before.

The gunman kept looking at me. Then Emma. Then the train. “No, you put the gun down, cop,” he yelled to me.

“You know I can’t do that,” I replied. “Release the girl, put your gun down, and we can both have a nice chat. All three of us can walk away from this.”

A curious thing then happened. The man put his hand on Emma’s face. Emma’s eyes fearfully turned to his hand. Then they rolled backwards. Emma’s expression changed from one of fear to one of confidence. 

“Get your hands off her!” I yelled. “Put your weapon on the ground!”

Just as Emma’s expression changed, so did the man’s. He suddenly looked confused as the arm holding the gun started to lower.

Emma then pushed him away. 

I then bum-rushed him and tackled him to the ground. I looked up at Emma who looked like she was scheming. Please don’t run away again. We both made eye contact and I noticed her hazel eyes were now black like the man’s.

Then she did something I didn't expect. She walked up to me while I was still holding down the gunman. She made the same motion the man did and put her small hand on my face.

That was a weird thing to do to thank me. I had expected a hug and a hero’s “thank you.”

But again, that’s not what happened.

I suddenly felt a tugging. No - a pulling. That moment when you’re on a slide or a rollercoaster when you feel that pull of gravity. Then you fall.

The train station spun around me and it felt like I was falling.

When everything stopped spinning I was looking up at a mirror. No. Down. I was looking down at myself. No, it wasn’t a mirror, because he smiled at me. He too, had cold dark eyes. He then pushed me aside and ran down the platform.

The man who I had subdued watched him run off and stood up without seeing me standing there.

Wait, wasn’t I on top of him?

Then he jumped onto the train without even looking back at me.

I was paralyzed by nausea. All of the other people waiting for the train were done watching the scene and boarded the train.

Why didn’t I pursue him? It didn’t matter. I wasn’t here for him anyway. I was here for-

Wait. Where’s Emma? I looked around but saw no sign of the teenage girl as the train doors closed and it pulled away. 

When the train left, and all of the arriving passengers were walking towards the gates, I was left alone.

My gun was still on the ground. I reached over to pick it up and saw my hands. My hands were small and dainty. Very much like Emma’s. I held them up and realized I was wearing different clothes. I was wearing what Emma was wearing. I looked down at myself to see the blouse, skirt, and socks she was wearing.

I felt a cool breeze hit the bare skin of my knees and I defensively crossed my arms and legs, and hoped the people on the other platform didn’t notice a 42-year-old man in a schoolgirl outfit.

Everyone on the other platform minded their own business.

I put my hands to my face, and instead of my stubble, I felt smooth flawless skin.

“What the fuck,” was all I could mumble. What I heard was not my voice.

I wasn’t confused for long. I fancy myself a pretty good detective. I saw ‘myself’ run away. I saw what I’m wearing. My hands. My face. My voice. It was obvious. So, as much as I didn’t want to believe it, no matter how impossible it would seem, I came to the only logical conclusion. I was in Emma’s body, and my body just ran away.

I have seen some weird shit in my days with the force, but this is beyond anything I’ve ever dealt with.

Does that mean Emma is in my body?

I needed help, so I picked up my gun and tucked it into the skirt’s waistband and walked out of the train station.

I found my car where I left it. There was only one problem. I didn’t have my car keys. Those were safely in my jeans pocket. On my real body, which I was no longer in possession of.

I begrudgingly walked back to the ticket counter, this time badgeless.

“Can I help you, honey?” the lady at the ticket asked with a smile reserved for when adults talk to kids.

I could see a hazy reflection of myself in the ticket counter window. The reflection was that of Emma.

I wanted to put her in her place for using that tone with me, but instead I swallowed my pride and simply asked her to call the chief of police.

* * *

I wanted Chief Hamilton, not the whole goddamn department.

What happened next was a whirlwind. The police came to pick me up, but I had a hard time convincing them I was Detective Jack Baker. Instead they took my service pistol, placed me into a car, and drove me back to the station.

I sat there in the station getting asked a whole bunch of questions I didn’t have answers to. Another detective, Joey - a real prick who got transferred to this department last year - kept asking me over and over again. Why did I run away? Where was I heading? Was I being abused at home? 

I could hear the chief shouting from his office, “Where is Jack?”

“Joey, can I have a private chat with Chief Hamilton?”

“No.” He then proceeded to ask me the same questions again.

Everything I said was going over Joey’s head and he wasn’t believing me. I decided to try a different tactic. I should tell the story from Emma’s point of view.

“Listen, Joey,” I said.

“Officer Towson,” he corrected.

Prick. “Officer Towson,” I repeated. “The truth is I was at the train station. Then I saw Jack - I mean Officer Baker - approach me. I ran. He chased me. But then this guy came out of the crowd and grabbed me. He thought Jack was there for him. He had a gun. Jack then subdued the perp. Next thing I know both Officer Baker and the perp ran away.” 

“Why would Officer Baker run away?” Joey asked.

“I already told you. We swapped places! The real Emma ran away. I’m Jack!”

His eyes wandered down to my bare knees. I was sitting with my legs spread apart. There was nothing to see as the skirt was long enough, but clearly I was putting impure thoughts into Officer Prick’s mind. 

I closed my legs, smoothed out the catholic-schoolgirl skirt and sat upright. First thing I do when I get out of here is find a pair of pants. I think I hated Joey because he reminded me of myself sometimes and I don't like looking in mirrors. 

“Can you tell me more about this man with the gun?” he asked.

“Yeah. White male. One too many pancakes. One too many chins. Dark blue hoodie.”

“Did you get a good look at his face?”

“Yes, I did.”

At least that convinced Joey to break out of the loop of questions we were I. He took me over to the forensic artist to sketch the gunman. I made sure the artist focused on his fat nose and his cold, dark eyes.

When the artist was done, it was just Joey and I again, with him asking the same questions. Then I saw Emma’s parents rushing through the police station. Great. They were the last thing I needed while trapped in this body.

“Emma!” Mrs. Kincade screamed. “We were so worried about you.”

I was never much of an actor. If I was, I could have at least acted like my ex-wife’s ideal husband. Acting like a teenage girl? No clue. So I just smiled. 

“You’re grounded young lady,” was all the empathy Mr. Kincade could muster.

One sentence and I already had enough of this asshole. They were polite earlier in the day to Officer Jack Baker. Is this how they treat their daughter, Emma? “I demand to see the police chief,” I reiterated.

“He’s busy trying to locate our missing detective,” Joey responded.

“I already told you where he is.” God, Joey is a prick. I’ll never help him with his reports again.

“You know what, fuck this,” I said, standing up.

“Emma!” Mrs. Kincade scolded. “Watch your language.”

I ignored them and marched right into Chief Hamilton’s office like I’ve done thousands of times. Officer Prick put minimal effort into stopping me. 

Chief Maximilian Hamilton. “Chief,” when we’re at the station, “Max” when we’re throwing back beers and shooting pool. He had a phone in his hand and looked at me as I shut the door behind me.

“Miss Kincade,” he said sternly, placing the phone back in its cradle. “You’ve caused quite a disruption today. What can I do for you?”

“Max, it’s me,” I said. “It’s Jack.”

“That’s Chief Hamilton, young lady.”

“I’m not Emma Kincade. I’m Jack Baker.”

“Where is Jack? Is this some kind of prank?”

“This isn’t a prank, Chief. I’m Jack. I’ve been working here for 20 years. I went to your bachelor party. I paid for three lap dances. I walked your drunk ass home.”

His eyes went wide at me, then he looked at the glass door where Joey and the Kincades were on the other side of it wanting to intervene. He motioned for them to go away and he would handle this.

“If you’re Jack, then what’s your wife’s name?”

“Ex-wife,” I replied. “Cheryl.”

“Why’d she leave you?”

“She wanted a newer model.”

“No, she left you because you’re an asshole.” He cracked a smile. This was our usual banter, he actually helped me get through the divorce. A lot of nights of bourbon. “Jack?”

“It’s me, Max.”

He then shook his head and opened up his drawer and started rummaging through papers and business cards.

“What's up, Chief?” I asked, unsure of what he was doing.

I held up a business card and scanned it. “I need someone to confirm your story.” he replied picking up the phone. “As crazy as it may seem.” He motioned for Joey to come in and told him. “I would like to hold Miss Kincade a while longer for questioning.”

“Is Emma in trouble?” Mr. Kincade, who barged in front of Joey, barked.

“No,” the chief said, looking at me with that expression I’ve seen before. He was doing me a huge favor and he just wanted me to play along and be patient. “She’s got some additional information I’d like to hear.”

I nodded in acknowledgement and silently mouthed, “Thank you, Max.”

* * *

A half hour later, I was brought into the interrogation room. I was happy to be alone without the judging glare of the Kincades and the creepy glare of Joey. 

Chief Hamilton and an older woman I didn’t recognize, joined me at the cold metal table.

The Chief had us sit down and introduced his guest. “This is Judy Hathaway, Headmaster of the Puellae Aurora Academy.”

Judy Hathaway appeared to be a woman in her 50’s. Her brown hair was kept short and was starting to show signs of graying. Must be from having a school of all girls. She wore a navy blue women’s business suit. All-business.

“Puellae Aurora?” I repeated. “Is that the all-girl school out in the sticks?”

“You must be Officer Jack Baker,” she smiled warmly.

“That’s me,” I proudly proclaimed. I looked down at my schoolgirl attire. “More or less.”

“Tell me about what happened,” she encouraged.

I turned to Chief Hamilton. “Like I told Joey out there. A man with dark eyes put a gun to Emma Kincade’s head. Then she managed to push him away, then she came to me - and then I felt dizzy and I woke up as her - as Emma.”

“Did she put her hands on your face like this?” she asked, leaning over the table and replicating the same motion I had seen before. 

When she touched my face, I didn’t feel a pulling like I did with Emma, but she clearly knew what had happened and how. “Yes, she did.”

“And did the man do that to her?”

“Yes.”

“A Jumper,” she declared, nodding her head in self-confirmation.

“A what?” Chief Hamilton asked.

She was still looking at me. “You’ve been displaced, detective.”

“Displaced?” I echoed.

“By a Body Jumper or Hopper or Slider,” the headmistress explained. “A person who can jump from body to body.”

“It felt more like a slide,” I added.

“This can't be real,” the chief stated in disbelief.

“And yet here your detective sits,” the headmistress replied with a motion towards me. “In a 14-year-old girl’s body.”

I nodded. “She has a point, chief.” I looked at a very confused Chief Hamilton then at Ms. Hathaway. “What makes you an expert?”

“I run a school for… special students,” she replied. “I’ve seen this before.”

“Then you know how to fix me?”

“That, Officer Baker, would require you to find the Jumper - or Slider - as you prefer, before they move to a new body.”

“Great,” I said, placing my hands on the table. “Let's go find him. I had the forensic artist make a sketch-”

“You’re forgetting,” Ms. Hathaway pointed out. “If you’re in Emma’s body that means, the Slider is in your body. And the person in the body of the man who pulled a gun on you? That’s the real Emma.”

“So we need to find both of them so we can put that fuck back in his original body.”

“It’s likely that’s not his original body either. There’s no telling how many times they jumped bodies before you met them.”

Just hearing that made me realize I had my work cut out for me.  I was eager to get started, so I stood up. “Let’s go then.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Chief Hamilton sternly stated. “We will assign another detective to this case. In order to keep you around for an extra two hours to see Ms. Hathaway, I promised you would go home with your parents.”

I was in a state of shock, I pointed back at the door. “Those aren’t my parents.”

“They are Emma Kincade’s parents and you are Emma Kincade until we can fix this.”

“But, Chief,” I complained, ironically sounding a lot like the person I currently looked like.

“Jack. You have to trust us.”

“What about work?”

“We’ll place you on administrative leave until then.”

“But, I can help-”

“Jack, I’m not about to have a 14-year-old girl assist with an investigation. Go with the Kincades. Enjoy your paid time off.”

Ms. Hathaway extended her hand to me. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Officer Baker. Perhaps we’ll be seeing more of each other.” She gave me a creepy smile.

“Right,” I said, shaking her hand.

“Chief Hamilton,” Ms. Hathaway asked. “Can I speak with you in private?”

The chief nodded, and I was escorted out of the interrogation room by Joey. The prick put his hand on the small of my back and I swatted it away.

Another officer whom I’ve worked with on several cases, Officer Rasputin, came up to me. “Hi, Emma. This was found at the train station.” She was holding a tan purse.

I smiled at her and took it from her and continued until I was greeted by the Kincades who looked impatient and ungrateful that their daughter was found alive.

“Can we go home now?” Mrs. Kincade asked.

I nodded my head.

* * *

I expected a silent ride home.

But that’s not what happened. 

I was given a stern lecture by both of Emma’s genetic donors about running away and making them miss their golf outings or whatever the fuck they thought was more important than their daughter’s safety.

I did my best teenage girl impersonation and just tuned them out. It wasn’t hard. I had already learned how to tune my own parents out.

While they were on and on about… whatever… I was examining Emma’s purse. Wallet, unused train ticket for today to Pittsburgh. Pittsburgh? I wonder what’s there. That’s a good clue I should give to the investigators tracking the real Emma. Although, since I have the train ticket, she’s going to need to buy a new one. What else is in here? Chapstick, hairbrush, light blue glittery cell phone, feminine products. Whoa. I quickly put that last one right back in the purse. She didn’t have much money on her. Her wallet had her student ID and a single credit card made out in her mother’s name. I wonder if that’s how she paid for the train ticket.

When we got to the Kincade's house I stood in the same living room I was in only eight or so hours ago.

This time, I noticed a third person. A middle aged hispanic woman who paid no attention to us. I smelled dinner. Did the Kincades have a live-in servant?

Yes. Yes they did. Her name was Carmen, and she treated me better than the Kincades. And her dinner was excellent. When I praised Carmen for such a good meal, Mr. Kindcade gave me a disapproving glance as if I was to not interact with her.

The lecturing by the Kincades continued throughout dinner. No wonder this girl ran away. Shit, I want to run away too, and I’m getting paid to be here.

I excused myself from the table, citing an emotional day.

The Kincades said something about homework and missed assignments but I just said I was going to bed.

I retrieved Emma’s phone from her purse. Jesus.  When I was 14, I didn’t have a cellphone.  Kids these days. I was about to toss it aside when I noticed it had one of those fingerprint locks on it. I decided to try it. Unsurprisingly, my fingerprint unlocked it. Damn, something finally goes my way.

I sat there the rest of the evening, going through her phone. The digital life of Emma Kincade. Her photos of her and friends. Pictures of her playing lacrosse. Pictures of her with her family. She seemed happy enough.

But then I found the folder hidden away in her phone. Chats with some boy named Jacob. She complained about her parents being overbearing. He insisted she come live with him and escape “the wardens,” as he put it. The time index on all of those messages were late at night and they shared some very personal information. Some, very erotic. He lived in Pittsburgh. Well, I solved why she was running away to Pittsburgh.

Then there was the photo of said boy. He looked much older than Emma. 18, maybe?

Is this where she was still going? What would this boyfriend of hers think about her showing up in the body of the Slider?

I kept thinking I should still be on this case. I should also get this cell phone over into Evidence.

I felt a familiar feeling in the foreign body. I had to piss. I’ve been avoiding it for at least an hour.

I left Emma’s bedroom to go to the bathroom. I stopped and stared at the toilet. Not that it was any different than any other toilet I’ve seen, but I was very aware that I lacked the equipment to stand to piss.

Let’s get this over with.

I slid down the skirt, then the panties and sat down and let it flow. Shit, how much did she drink before I slid into her?

When I came back to the bedroom, Carmen had just finished laying out a pink camisole and flannel pajama bottoms on the bed. “Goodnight, Miss Emma.”

“Goodnight, Carmen.” I picked up the camisole. Hell, no way am I wearing this.

I put the camisole down as I heard Mr. Kincade alarm the house from downstairs. I’m not sure if he’s keeping people out - or in.

I looked at the window and found the standard security window sensor. These sensors operated off of magnets. I just needed to make sure not to break the magnetic hold on the internal switch.

I searched the room for something magnetic and found a flat magnetic disk stuck to a whiteboard. I pulled it off and affixed it behind the window sensor. 

As I slowly pulled up on the window I saw the magnet latch itself to the sensor. No alarm or chime. Success.

I continued opening the window.

Emma’s bedroom was on the second floor. Thankfully, there was a porch overhang right below the window. I retrieved Emma’s purse and slung it over my head, then climbed out the window, and carefully crawled down the roof. When I got to the end, I lowered myself to dangle off the roof and jumped to the grass below. I expected my knees to scream with agony. Instead they didn't. I stood there stunned. Wow - to be young again.

The Kincades are surely gonna be pissed their daughter ran away yet again. Hopefully it won’t ruin tomorrow’s garden party.

I made my way down the street on foot so I could put distance between the Kincades and myself before pulling out Emma’s cell phone and calling an Uber.

Naturally the Uber driver wanted to know why a 14-year-old was hailing an Uber at 11 o’clock at night. I simply said I was at a party and some underage drinking started happening and I was trying to get home. Naturally, the driver felt a civic duty to drive me anywhere. Of course, I wondered why a 14-year-old had the Uber app on her phone to begin with.

* * *

I had the Uber drop me off two blocks from my house. My car was not in the driveway. I wonder what they did with it. Was it towed from the train station? Was it at the police station now? Did the Slider return for it?

I walked up to my front garden and retrieved the hide-a-key from the squirrel statue that was placed next to the two dead azaleas that Cheryl planted. I put the key into the door and entered the dark house.

I was worried that the Slider was here. After all, he has my body, wallet, and keys to this house. If I was him, I’d come here too.

I silently made my way to my bedroom and retrieved my personal Glock from my underwear drawer in my nightstand. I made sure it had a bullet in the chamber. My dainty hands barely fit around it and it was heavier than I remember.

I quietly surveyed the rest of the house making sure I was alone.

When the house was clear, I returned to my bedroom. I needed to get some sleep. I also wanted to get out of these schoolgirl clothes. Especially this bra. I retrieved a t-shirt from my dresser.

I took off my knee-high socks first. And noticed the green painted nails. The blouse was next. Then the skirt. I couldn’t help but look down at the body I was now entrusted with. Thin. Petite. Kinda athletic. I thought back to those lacrosse pictures.

I reached behind and fumbled with the bra strap. I’ve prided myself in being able to remove women’s bras. Jack Baker has a way with women. It’s just a shame they can only tolerate me for so long before they leave me. 

The bra strap popped off and I discarded it onto the bed. Now don’t get me wrong. I love breasts. I loved them on my wife, on my girlfriends, and on my lovers. I never considered having my own pair. I resisted the urge to look and feel and instead put my T-shirt on.

OK. Then I felt them through my shirt. Hey. I’m a guy. Don’t judge. You would too.

I was surprised. I was expecting some magic sensation. Instead it was just like feeling up two bags of fat. It wasn’t sexy at all.

I climbed into bed slightly disappointed at that revelation. Or maybe - just maybe - I don’t know how to use them. Which disturbed me even more because my former lovers loved when I touched their breasts. Unless they were all faking it.

I finally dozed off in my own bed, trying to forget the day’s events. 

Hopefully this was a dream. Hopefully I will wake up in the morning as Jack Baker again. Or if I don’t, hopefully the department finds the Slider who has my body, we can switch and I can put this weird episode behind me. Then I can wake up as Jack Baker again.

But that’s not what happened.