But Carly stretched religiously, as do most dedicated runners. And the quality of her leg muscles, along with that missing sixty pounds, made them arguably stronger than his more heavily muscled ones. There was much less bulk around his new waist, and the tightness in his chest and shoulders he hadn't noticed until it was given to his sister, was gone too.
Granted, his breasts intruded on his thoughts a lot. They seemed to be in the way all the time, though he didn't really bump them with his arms very much. They felt astonishingly heavy at first, but he got used to that quickly. The net result was that he felt like this new body was almost magically agile. The hike was amazing, because he didn't tire at all. When they got back to the campsite, he felt like he could have gone miles farther. There was one moment when he took a deep, cleansing breath, just enjoying the feel of it, and was distracted when his breasts seemed to expand. But that passed, and on impulse, he stood flat-footed on one side of the campfire, bent his knees, leaned forward, and then straightened them, leaping with both feet together. He landed clearly a foot beyond the edge of the campfire. He was amazed.
This body had some clear advantages!
The rest of the day was spent in that kind of reflection as well. He did not, in fact, dwell on things, sexually speaking, until it was time to get ready to go to bed that night. He'd only peed once that day, and since they'd been at the campsite when that urge hit him, the camp restroom was handy. This time he'd gone into the female side. It had felt strange, and he'd looked around before going in, as if afraid he'd get "caught" violating the sanctity of the women's john. Then there had been a moment of worry that some other woman would be in there. There wasn't, though, and he relaxed, once he was inside.
He'd peed sitting down plenty of times. That was the only safe way to pee when you had morning wood. Again, his urine ran hot against the insides of his "new" labia. It was uncomfortable in the same way that not retracting his foreskin was uncomfortable. His actions were, therefore, partly muscle memory of the body he was in, and partly his mind telling him something needed to be done. By the time his hand had reached, and two fingers had expertly pushed skin in a way that pulled his labia apart, he hadn't really thought about what he was doing.
It was the first time he'd behaved like the gender of the body he was in.
Getting ready for bed wasn't weird. Their parents, since they'd had showers the night before, just before they'd been abducted, suggested that baths could be pushed to the next night. Another reason getting ready for bed wasn't as weird as it might have been was that they weren't at home, where there were mirrors, and privacy, and light to see by.
In fact, neither youth got into the deep water until they actually crawled into their sleeping bags.
Since they weren't actually acclimatized to their new bodies yet, each just naturally went to the same sleeping bag they'd always used. And an interesting thing happened to them both.
When Carly crawled into her bag, her nose was assailed by the combined scents of her body wash, shampoo, and ... girl.
When Craig did the same thing, his nose detected a muskier, manly scent.
Some scientists have done studies and claim that one reason people aren't attracted toward close family members, as potential sexual partners, is that the scent of a close family member of the opposite sex is unappealing. These scientists estimate that condition exists in as many as two thirds of the population.
Of course that leaves a third of the population that won't find the odor of a close family member to be objectionable.
Twins, as it turns out, are almost always in that third. And in this case, the twins' bodies reacted to the olfactory stimulation in ways that amounted to sensory ambush.
They got horny.
In Carly's case, the all too familiar erection came into raging existence. It wasn't painful, because all she had on were a pair of jockey shorts. She'd thought about that only briefly, because sometimes, when she went to bed back at home, all she wore to bed were her panties. It made her feel deliciously naughty to do that. She kept a T shirt by the bed, and in the morning, slipped it on before she left her room to go to the bathroom.
Craig, however, hadn't been in a perpetual state of heat all day, like his sister had. In fact, he'd never felt the deep, throbbing power of female arousal in his belly. This body didn't have balls, which he was used to feeling respond to a woman, or a thought, or a picture, or a bikini, or a commercial, or almost anything else. It felt like a stomach ache, except it didn't hurt.
It most certainly didn't hurt!
Carly's response was a soft groan of frustration. The fact that her hand went to the front of her jockey shorts was, as Craig had already experienced, mostly muscle memory. When a man has a hardon, it's just natural to touch it. But this time there was no thick denim between her hand and her penis to dull the sensation. And this time there were no family members watching.
This time ... she could explore what things felt like down there.
Five feet away, Craig's hand went not to his missing cock, but to his belly, above where the pleasant ache was. Soft, slim fingertips pulled up the T shirt his mother had given him to wear over his now bare breasts, and traced an irregular circle on the surface of the skin he had just uncovered.
It tickled. It felt good. But it only made that deep, odd feeling expand.
For the first time, he reflected on how his fingers had access to a pussy.
And it was dark. No one would know.
Slowly, the fingers he'd been unconsciously stimulating his uterus with, drifted toward the panties that were almost no protection for an exciting frontier of exploration.
*****
Fran had nodded off and was almost asleep when she heard a soft groan. Her maternal instincts kicked into high gear, which meant that a special part of her brain lifted its metaphorical head and listened, a sort of sentry, peering into the darkness. The rest of her brain went into stasis, ready to drop further into sleep if the sentry assured her everything was okay. If the sentry sounded the alarm, that part of her was already awake, and the rest would soon follow. It was a complicated kind of arrangement most men would be unable to understand, but which every mother develops within minutes after the last, exhausted push in the delivery room.
The sentry detected breathing that was too fast, and an almost silent grunt. Skin rustled against cloth. But nothing sounded alarming. A moan followed, and the sentry tensed. It sent a tendril of warning to her sleeping self, which roused enough to evaluate the information the sentry was providing.
The children were uneasy.
Evaluation took place. That the children were uneasy out in the wild was understandable, under the circumstances. There would probably be a lot of that for a while.
She told the sentry everything was fine, and dropped off into real sleep.
The sentry, having been told that soft moans, and rustling cloth were nothing to worry about, paid no attention as the teenagers five feet away from it masturbated.
*****
Many say that masturbation is instinctive. Any grandparent will tell you about a granddaughter who, while playing horsey by riding on your shin , will unconsciously rub against your leg. Any parent will tell you they've had to tell their little boy to stop playing with himself, only to be told, "I wasn't playing with anything!" The fact is that sexual organs enjoy being stimulated by touch. We just don't recognize that on a conscious level until puberty. Until then, it's simply another part of the body that occasionally needs brief attention. Like scratching. You itch ... you scratch to ease that itch. You don't think about it. You just do it.
But puberty changes everything. When puberty gets going, the itch doesn't just go away, like it used to.
It demands more scratching.
And, under the right circumstances, enough scratching finally eases the itch.
The problem is that "the right circumstances" to Mother Nature, means sexual intercourse.
In times long past, we acted much like we
see a pair of dogs act now. If you've watched dogs mate, what usually happens is that the male shows interest. Eventually, he tries to mount the bitch. If she isn't interested, she walks out from under him. If she is, she moves her tail to one side. He's ready, and moves into an instinctive position, whereupon he starts thrusting. He might not hit the target right away, but keeps trying. Once he does make it go where it's supposed to go, things happen quickly. A bulb near the base of his penis expands, locking things in place so that, if she changes her mind, she can no longer just walk away. More instinctive movements happen and, presto, puppies.
With humans, back in the day, it was remarkably similar. A man would show interest. The woman either threw things at him, screamed and ran away, or just hung around. Maybe she smiled, something dogs aren't able to do. Eventually they'd lie down together, something that's instinctive and much more comfortable than standing up. Again by instinct, he'd try to roll on top of her. If she was receptive, she let him. If she wasn't, it was too late to walk away. Either way, he'd begin the same, instinctive thrusting movements that the male dog makes, not aiming, exactly, but just trying. If she was receptive, she was lubricated so that, if he happened to hit the target, he could slide inside easily.
At that point, though, things are different than in the rest of the animal kingdom. Humans evolved to be bipedal, which means that, after the sex act, the female can rise into an erect position and, finally, walk away. But that would allow all that precious genetic material the male just deposited in her to drain out, because unlike other mammals, her vaginal tract isn't horizontal when she walks.
So Mother Nature came up with the ingenious solution of enabling the woman to have an orgasm which, in theory, tires her out so much that she wants to lie there for a while afterwards and just rest. Or bask in the afterglow, or whatever. The point is that while all males have an orgasm that sends the seed of life into the female (or over her egg cluster or whatever), only the human female has an orgasm which is intended to give all that seed time to take root before it drains out of her body.
And that was fine for hundreds of thousands of years.
But then civilization, which developed as a survival technique, started messing with the natural order of things, and developed some rules that were not natural.
And one of those rules was, "You can't just have sex with anybody you feel like!"
Those first rules were along the lines of, "That's (she's) mine and you can't have it (her). If you touch it (her), I'll hit you with this rock."
But pretty soon, people didn't want to carry around a rock any more, and guarding your food and woman was a full time job, so culture was developed so that somebody could stay at the house, guarding all the important stuff there (the food and women,) while you and your buddies went out mastodon hunting, or whatever.
And that led to more rules.
And since I know all this is tedious, I'll cut to the chase and advance a couple of hundred thousand years, where we find ourselves in a culture where not only can you not have sex with anybody you want to, you can't have sex until a specific set of conditions is established, which can take months of dating rituals at a minimum, and marriage at a maximum.
Along the way, somebody figured out that, while you couldn't have sex with who you wanted to, if you rubbed things just right, it didn't matter, because you felt like you'd had sex anyway.
Good news travels, but it also isn't all that odd for people to re-invent the wheel either.
Of course, in the case of Craig and Carly, good news had traveled a long time ago, and both were well aware of the joys, both practical and emotional, of self-pleasure. Both, in fact, engaged in that practice on a regular basis.
But they'd never done it as a member of the opposite sex.
And while it may be instinctive to touch, and rub and try doing things you've heard about, that doesn't mean you'll be any good at it the first few times you give it a shot.
It is that exact phenomenon that led to a mixture of pleasure and frustration that first night, and created the sounds that Fran's sentry perked up its ears at.
Carly, once her hand had dithered a bit, finally reached inside her underwear and grasped her cock. She squeezed it, tentatively, marveling at its texture, and the combination of both hard and soft. She had, in fact, felt one before, but that had been under conditions that were both hurried and frantic. Mark Thompson had more or less forced her hand onto the penis he'd released through the zipper of his slacks. It was after the Sadie Hawkins dance at school, which she'd invited Mark to, thinking he was cool, and handsome, and funny. It turned out he was a prick, both figuratively and literally.
She hadn't know exactly how to jerk him off, having never anticipated actually doing that, but as it turned out, it hadn't mattered. Her few, quick jerks had resulted in a mess being made and she had demanded to be taken home. So she hadn't had a chance to really explore a penis before this. Certainly not with the time and access she now had.
Eventually she lifted her hips and pushed her briefs down, below her balls. She briefly examined them with her fingertips. They felt full and round, and the skin there felt thick and tough. She was astonished at how sensitive they were to squeezing. She plucked at a few of the wispy hairs sprouting from there, and tried to imagine shaving them all off. It had been hard enough shaving her own pubic hair.
Suddenly, she thought of Craig, only a few feet away from her. That bald pussy was his now!
As her hand gripped her new penis again, and started to explore it more thoroughly, she wondered if he was doing the same thing she was doing.
*****
Craig was, in fact, exploring his new sexuality, just like his sister was. He'd tried to get access to a pussy for years, but had never pulled it off. Now, suddenly, he owned one!
He had some theoretical knowledge about these mystical body parts. Gingerly, he let his slim fingers explore, unsure of how firmly to press, as he tried to find the apex of his new sexuality. When his finger blundered into his clitoris his whole new body jerked, and he groaned from a mixture of surprise, ecstasy, and a dash of terror that somehow, somebody would find out he was doing this.
He pulled his finger back, but almost immediately it crept back towards the magic bump. He "knew" girls like to have this place rubbed, so he set about trying to rub it. Unfortunately, his male mind was used to doing things much more firmly than he should have done things, and he pressed too hard. It felt good, but it also felt bad. Two minutes later, he'd found a happy medium, concerning the amount of pressure, and things felt distinctly good.
But that's all it felt ... just good. Really good ... but just good.
It was a lot like that little girl, unconsciously rubbing on grandpa's leg. It felt good, but she didn't know what she was doing.
Craig knew what he was doing. He just didn't know how to do it well enough to actually have an orgasm. In fact, he didn't know what an impending orgasm would even feel like. When he'd been in his own body, he could tell when he was about to pop. He could even slow down or speed up in such a way as to control when he popped.
But this, while it felt good ... was also a bit frustrating.
Then he remembered he had a vagina, too.
His finger left off rubbing his clit, and moved to find out what the inside of a vagina felt like.
*****
Five feet away, Carly was enduring something remarkably similar to her twin brother.
She also had some putative knowledge of how this worked. And she found that gripping her shaft, and stroking up and down felt really good. It was a little amazing, because it was an entirely different kind of good than she'd ever felt before. Again, it had a lot to do with those balls in that full, thick-skinned sack that hung below what she was gripping. But now there was a strange happy feeling inside the penis too. And that happy feeling moved in concert with her hand as it stroked. It was amazing. She'd heard that boys jacked off all the time. Now she understood why. It just felt fucking fantastic!
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The problem was, she was afraid the thing would erupt. She knew what that was like too. Mark's stuff had gotten all over her dress when it went off. She'd had to sneak that dress into the washing machine before her mother could notice the stains. Now she had the power to produce that same, viscous, runny stuff that had caused so much trouble before.
She didn't want that to happen. It would make a mess inside her sleeping bag. She almost giggled as she thought that she could blame such stains on previous behavior by her brother, before they were abducted. But if there was as much as Mark had produced, it would make some kind of wet spot.
No, she didn't want it to go off.
But it sure felt good to stroke it.
Ten minutes later she was surprised, because she'd spent much longer stroking her own than she had Mark's. Mark's had gone off almost immediately. But hers did not.
She was also both more turned on ... and more frustrated because she couldn't figure out a way to get relief without making that mess.
*****
Craig was amazed at the feel of the inside of his vagina. It was hot, for one thing, scalding hot. It was tight too, gripping his slim finger firmly. And yet it gave, and flexed as he moved his finger around. He reached deeper and two things happened. One was that his fingertip encountered something knobby and firm. It felt like one side of a very small donut, with a hole in the middle. At the same time, the pad of his hand pressed on his clit, and zings of happiness shot to his nipples. That had happened before, while his finger was mauling the little organ, but only intermittently. Now, this different kind of stimulation was just right to send signals to his nipples on a more consistent basis.
His left hand came up and pushed his T shirt higher, until he could find and pinch one of the happy nipples.
He moaned, softly, and his breathing increased to not quite a panting rhythm. At the same time, the finger inside his pussy curled, and the sensitive fingertip encountered a slightly rough, slightly leathery patch of skin on the top of the vaginal canal.
Alien Exchange Program Page 5
