You hear the creak of the front door opening downstairs.

Having finished with your very powerful release, you sit up, grab the paper towels, and clean yourself off. You strip off your shirt, having managed to, uh, "spill" a bit on this one, and grab a new one to change into. Then you finish dressing yourself, sit down at your computer, and begin writing a long journal entry about the day, recording it all for posterity. You've done this since the end of junior high, although admittedly you've never before written an entry quite as crazy as this one.

Journalling helps order your thoughts and process your experiences. Even if nobody will ever read it but yourself, getting it all off of your chest is a really relieving experience. You write about Amanda, Smita, Emily, and Laura, and as you do, you realize that you've literally spoken to more girls your age today than you have at any previous point in your life, ever. Even when you haven't used the device at all, you've somehow been a bit surer of yourself, a bit more confident. Is it a side-effect of the device? you wonder.

It certainly could be, but you have no way of knowing, and the instant you ponder experimenting by taking it off, a wave of panic hits you. You begin to sweat, and your heart begins to pound, as though you were at the top of a rollercoaster looking down at the plummeting drop before you. You close your eyes, focus, and breathe slowly, calming yourself, and then you realize this isn't the first time this has happened. Every single time you have even considered removing the Manipulator, you've been hit with that feeling of dread, but when you stop to analyze the feeling, you realize you don't know why. It's just a visceral reaction to the thought of taking it off.

That can't be a coincidence, you think. This isn't just simple worry about not having the thing's abilities. It has to be doing something to me. That thought worries you... but the fear of removing it is far greater. Plus, you think, I basically deserve it, don't I? I've had no problem using the thing to my advantage; it only makes sense that it would use me in return.

You glance at the clock by your bedstand. 5:04pm already; your mom will be home soon. Boy, will that be interesting. How is she going to react when Laura declares to her that she's a closet nudist? You imagine she'll definitely be shocked, but... traumatized? Angry? You've opened quite the can of worms here, and while you know you can easily "fix" things using the device, you hesitate to use it on your own mother.

Why the hell not? your id cries. You were fine using it on your sister, after all.

Yeah, thanks for that, you respond dryly. I'm still coming to terms with what I did there.

Oh, give it a rest, it retorts. Nobody was hurt by what you did, and like you said before, you're just helping her shed her inhibitions. Wouldn't this entire world be better if we could all do that? Get rid of all the anger, hatred, judgement, resentment, and just give in to love and pleasure?

Lust and pleasure, you mean.

Love, lust, what's the difference? your id continues.

You sigh. And that, you think, is why you're my id, and why you need to be kept in check.

Fine, fine, it finishes. But consider this: love is basically due to chemicals in your brain. Lust is due to different chemicals in your brain. Are the two really all that different?

You hate to concede that your inner beast has some tiny semblance of a point there, but it does, and you're about to argue the point further with yourself when you hear the creak of the front door opening downstairs.

"Kids, I'm home!" you hear your mother call from downstairs. She still calls you "kids" despite both of your ages; sometimes that bothers you, but other times you just find it endearing, a reminder of your close relationship. Today it gives you a bit of a shudder in your chest, as you steel yourself for what's about to happen. You head downstairs, hoping Laura has the sense to broach this whole topic gently.

She did not, in fact, broach the topic gently. The stairs face the living room, and beyond that, the front door, so as you walk down them the scene is revealed to you. The first thing you notice is a totally bare butt. Your sister's butt. Which is accompanied by her bare legs, feet, back, and, well, everything else. The only thing she's wearing, in fact, is that white scrunchie in her hair.

She faces your mother, who is dressed in her woolen winter coat, standing in front of the half-open door, keys still in her hand and face frozen in bewildered shock as she stares at her extremely nude daughter. She turns her head as she sees you come down the stairs, and almost incomprehensibly blurts out "Samcoveryoureyesthisinstant". Instinctively you do so, stopping short and ludicrously shielding your eyes with your hand.

"Oh please, Mom, he's already seen me," you hear Laura sigh, and you swear you can hear her eyes rolling in her voice.

"He's already..." your mom repeats, obviously having trouble with this concept. "Laura," your mom says, slowly, "why... why are you standing there naked?" It's obvious to you that she's carefully, deliberately controlling her reactions, trying to find a logical explanation for what she sees.

"God, Laura, thanks for breaking it to her gently," you mutter.

"Oh, shut up Sam," she retorts, "and for god's sake, take your hand off of your eyes." You sheepishly do so; Laura has turned her head to talk to you, but other than that the scene before you hasn't changed one bit. "I figured the best way to do it would be to get it overwith, like ripping off a band-aid."

"Get what overwith?" your mom snaps.

"Letting you know that I've decided to be a nudist," Laura explains.

"A... nudist," your mom repeats, in a still-shocked but cynical tone. "Just gonna go around naked everywhere, letting everybody ogle you, in the freezing cold."

"Of course not!" Laura counters. "I'm not an idiot, mom. I know what people out there would think, and only an idiot would go out there without a coat on. I'm just gonna be nude here at home."

Your mom has definitely shifted from "oh my god what the fuck" mode to "oh, this oughtta be good" mode, as turns, she tosses her keys and purse on the table next to the door, and starts to remove her coat. "Oh," she tells Laura, "I see. Just at home. Walking around nude."

"Yeah!" Laura exclaims. "Why not? Why bother with clothes when we're here in a nice, warm house? Why take the time to choose an outfit and get dressed? Why create all the extra laundry? Heck, you wander around in just your bathrobe in the mornings -- that's practically being naked right there! We're all adults here, we keep things clean, what's the big deal?"

"Because it isn't right!" your mom replies in an exasperated tone. "We... we don't do that. We don't walk around with everything hanging out. It's..." She struggles to come up with further protests, before simply ending with, "...it's not right." She looks up at you, with questioning eyes. "Sam," she says, "you... she said you already saw her. You knew about this?"

A pang of guilt ripples through your chest, and you swallow and nod. "I, uh, I found out this afternoon," you explain, which you rationalize is at least part of the truth.

"And... you're okay with it?" she continues, in an almost pleading tone. You feel awful about her discomfort, and the fact that ultimately you're the one responsible for it. But there's no turning back now. You take a few steps forward, until you're standing almost side-by-side with your sister, but you make sure to stay separate from her so it doesn't feel like the two of you are ganging up on your mother.