Flight Risk - Part 2

 

I followed the signs towards the tube and tapped Alicia’s Oyster card against the reader, feeling a sense of relief as the gate swung open.

As the train approached my destination, I caught a glimpse of myself in the window’s reflection—the girl staring back was still an enigma. I swallowed hard, adjusting the strap of Alicia's bag on my shoulder.

Finding Windermere Road was easy enough. The house loomed before me—a charming two-story townhouse with ivy climbing the brick walls and flower boxes blooming with bright daisies.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped onto the porch. My hand hovered over the doorbell, trembling as I pressed it. The chime echoed through the house like a tolling bell.

A moment later, the door swung open to reveal a woman in her late forties with warm brown hair streaked with hints of gray. Her eyes widened as she took in my face.

“Alicia!” she exclaimed, "You’re here! How was your flight?"

I stood frozen on the doorstep, panic coursing through me. This woman was clearly someone important in Alicia’s life—her mother?

“It was fine,” I attempted a Londoner accent (it paid to be a theater kid), forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace, “Just a bit long, you know?”

She stepped aside, inviting me in with a wave of her hand, “Come in, darling! I’ve made some tea. You need to hydrate after that long trip! Your father and sister will be home soon.”

The living room was cozy, filled with soft furniture and family photos lining the walls. My eyes darted from picture to picture, trying to glean any piece of information about this life I had suddenly inherited.

“Everything okay, sweetheart?” her mother asked, concern knitting her brow together.

“Yeah, just a bit tired,” I replied, “I didn’t sleep much.”

“Oh, dear. Would you prefer to get some shuteye?”

I hesitated for a moment, weighing my options. I had to make a choice—either retreat further into this life or confess my bizarre truth. I opted for the first; I needed time to plan.

“Actually, that sounds rather pleasant,” was I being too British?

Her mother nodded, her gaze softening, “Your room is ready for you, love. Go on upstairs; I’ll bring you the tea.”

I followed her directions and made my way up the winding staircase, my heart pounding in my chest. There was a master bedroom, what looked like a teenage girl’s room, and finally a room that looked like it belonged to a college student. The clothes hanging on a rack were similar in style to the clothes in Alicia’s duffel bag.

I sank onto the edge of the bed, my head swirling with thoughts. How had I ended up here? I stared at the ceiling, the familiar feeling of dread creeping back in. I was supposed to be a kid… Just yesterday, I had been a 16-year-old boy, looking forward to vacationing with my family. Now, I was a 24-year-old British woman.

A soft knock interrupted my thoughts. It was Alicia’s mother, balancing a tray with a steaming teapot and two cups.

“Here you go, darling,” she said softly as she placed it on the bedside table.

“Thanks, Mum,” I replied, as I slipped under the covers of the duvet.

She smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear, “Get some rest. I’ll call you when supper is ready.”

“Fuck me,” I whispered, my mind still racing as she closed the door behind her.

My hands rested on her bare stomach. The sound of the teapot gently clattering against the porcelain cups echoed in my mind, reminding me that I had to keep pretending. Pretending to be Alicia.

“Why me?” I whispered into the stillness of the room. “What do I do now?”

I started reacting to the uncomfortable tightness of the bra around my chest. I knew I had to remove it, but I hesitated. The thought of removing her bra made me feel like a creep, yet the constricting fabric was unbearable.

Slowly, I reached behind my back and fumbled with the clasp. The hook slipped free, and I let out a sigh of relief as the bra fell away. While her cropped tee was still obscuring her breasts, but I could feel them jiggling more than I had anticipated. It was strange, disconcerting. I was a boy trapped in a woman’s body—how absurd it felt, yet here I was.

My curiosity immediately peaked upon noticing her nipples subtly poking through the fabric. Perhaps a quick feel wouldn’t hurt —just to understand what it felt like.

It was the kind of body I would typically have jerked off to. No one could get me in trouble for this, right? Alicia was trapped in my body somewhere far away on the other side of town for all I knew.

I cupped her breasts gently, amazed by their softness and heft in my hands. A shiver ran down my spine as my fingers grazed over her hardening nipples, causing a strange twinge of pleasure to shoot straight to my groin.

I was touching a total stranger’s breasts.

I slowly lifted up her t-shirt, at first revealing the plump underside of her breasts.

Suddenly, a noise broke through my spiraling thoughts: footsteps coming up the stairs. My heart raced anew as I quickly pulled the duvet over myself, hiding any trace of what had just transpired.

The door creaked open, and I held my breath. Alicia’s mother stepped in.

“Supper is ready, sweetheart!” she said gently, “Daddy and Jennifer are home.”

I nodded, forcing a smile to mask the turmoil inside me, “Okay, I’ll be down in just a minute.”

As she left, I took a moment to collect myself, my heart still hammering in my chest. The remnants of my curiosity faded into a dull shame as I realized how surreal this situation had become. With a deep breath, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed and stood up, feeling the weight of Alicia’s body again—its curves, its softness.

I grabbed her bra back off of the bed and scrambled to put it on. After a few awkward moments, I managed to secure the bra and adjusted her shirt down to cover everything properly. A deep breath steadied my nerves as I looked in the mirror one last time, running a hand through her golden hair.

I had a family dinner to attend as Alicia, and that meant playing the part flawlessly.

I made my way downstairs, each step heightening my awareness of this unfamiliar form. The scents wafting from the kitchen were both comforting and alien; garlic and herbs mingled together to create an inviting atmosphere.

My heart raced as I took in the scene—Alicia's father was already seated, a jovial man with a salt-and-pepper beard and a bright smile that beamed like sunshine. He glanced up at me as I walked in.

“There she is!” he exclaimed, his voice rich with affection, “We were just talking about you.”

“Oh?” I managed to say, attempting to infuse my tone with casual interest despite the whirlwind of confusion inside me.

“Your sister was telling us about her school project,” he replied, patting the empty chair beside him, “Come sit down; dinner is almost ready.”

Swallowing hard, I slid into the chair next to him, deliberately avoiding eye contact. Across from me sat Jennifer—a girl who looked to be around sixteen. My actual age.

I tried my best to join in on the conversation, feigning interest in Jennifer's stories and laughing at all the right moments. But inside, I was a mess. My mind was reeling with questions and confusion, each one competing for attention.

As we ate, Alicia's father asked me questions about my day, and I struggled to come up with believable answers on the spot. The pressure of keeping up this charade was overwhelming, and I longed for a moment alone.

Finally, we finished our meal, and I helped Jennifer clear the plates while Alicia's parents chatted with one another. Once we were in the kitchen alone, Jennifer turned to me with a mischievous grin.

"I have something to show you," she said, grabbing my hand and pulling me towards the stairs.