His Mom

Mark had never heard his mother scream before. Now that he had her voice, though, the scream didn't just ring out in his bedroom, but through his whole being. He stared at his reflection in the mirror atop his bedroom dresser and let the reality sink in, heart racing, palms sweaty. Mark had been transformed into his mother.

She was a beautiful woman. So was he, now. Long red hair, cascading down his back. Pale, freckled skin. Large breasts. Mark had always heard from his friends how desirable his mother was, how she was the object of their nightly fantasies. He'd laughed it off, telling his friends that they were disgusting. Now that he was that object, though, it felt different. Scarier.

The door to Mark's room banged open and his mother, his real mother, ran in. Mark watched her as she took in the image, her own image, wearing his pajamas. A look of confusion, then terror, then something else. Her eyes took on a glazed, distant quality, then rolled back.

There was no way that Mark could have caught her before she hit the floor, but he was at her side when she woke up a moment later.

"Mom!" he said in his own mother's voice, "Mom! Wake up! You fainted!"

"What the... who are..." she muttered, looking up into her own green eyes.

"It's me Mark," he said, helping his mother sit up, feeling the annoying restriction of his pajamas, obviously fitted to his former body.

"But, how?"

"I don't know," Mark answered, "I went to bed and I was normal, and when I woke up I was like this."

He indicated his new body by grabbing his milky white breasts.

"Stop that, it's indecent," his mother commanded.

"Sorry," he muttered, dropping his hands, "but I don't know what to do! I'm you now, I think, except you're you too! Mom! What should I do?"