They are your stepchildren

Kaitlin–now Becky–and Andy–now Curtis–walk into the room. Your former mother has somehow been regressed in age. She’s a petite and vivacious but very curvy blonde co-ed, probably about the same age as you. Your former brother hasn’t changed too much in build, but his face looks a little more mature, his skin slightly darker and his hair curlier like his father’s.

Your new memory and the orderly’s paperwork confirms that Becky and Curtis are David’s children, and your stepchildren now that you’ve married him.

“But I’m their mother,” Becky insists.

“I understand the process of receiving new memories can create confusion,” the orderly says, “so just give it time. Don’t put too much stock in ridiculous ideas like that. We’re always careful to match every family’s new identities to their old ones so that you don’t get too much of a shock.”

“But it’s not right! She can’t sleep with him! I can’t be his daughter!”

“Ma’am, if you don’t calm down, we will have to sedate you.”

David steps in, putting his arms around his slender, young daughter. “Look, there’s now point in getting out of joint here. What’s done is done. He opened one arm, motioning for you and Curtis to join in a family hug. “This is our family now.”

Becky doesn’t seem too convinced–heck, none of you are. But there’s no fighting it, no way to appeal. The orderly remains implacable.

So after a few more hours of orientation, you hop into a van that takes you to your new house in the suburbs of a different city. Wardrobes have already been purchased. Your husband has a job that starts Monday. You are, at least for now, a housewife. The kids are enrolled at the local community college.

The sun has long set by the time you’ve settled in. You’ve just hopped out of the shower. Your towel clings to your damp, bronzed skin, too short to properly cover your bubble butt. You make your way to your room–the room you share with your husband–when you hear voices.

“So what if we’re not married on paper,” you hear Becky say. “You and I know the truth, Robert.”

“It’s David now. And that doesn’t matter.”

“It’s the only thing that matters.”

You peek around the doorway. Becky is leaning over the bed, where David is lying, his shirt half undone. She has arched her back, sticking out her ass and presenting her tits in as enticing a way as possible.

That bitch was trying to seduce him!

Except it isn’t working. David slides over to the other side of the bed. “Look, I just … I don’t feel that way about you anymore. I look at your body and I just see … I see my daughter. Fucking you would be just as wrong as fucking Jessica was when she was my daughter.”

“She still is your daughter, you moron!”

“Except when I look at you, I see a sweet, innocent young woman. And when I look at her … well….”

You feel yourself getting wet as you listen to your fath–husband describe how he feels about you. How looking at your body turns him on. Suddenly you understand how the physical and mental changes the FBI worked on the four of you reinforce each other: your body is backing up your new memories, just as David’s body is telling him which woman to want.

Becky, fed up, storms out in a huff, blowing past you without so much as a word. You slip into the bedroom.

David looks up at you. He stands, comes closer. You can smell him. Your man.

He reaches out and puts his hand on where you’ve wrapped your towel around itself.