”Dylan wasn’t really quite sure what to think, a naked and overly-sexualised version of his deceased mother smiling back at him on the screen.“A...right Dylan, I can tell this is making you a little uncomfortable,” Gareth said.“You think?”“Tell you what, how about you and I go somewhere for breakfast? Just me and you?”“But it’s Monday? I’ve got school and you’ve got work.”“I’ll call school and tell them you’re sick. And as for work, I’m a god. They’ll do whatever I say.”“Alright, but no. If I could get one of those... Beneath were these words:When I saw about Living On Land and poems and read your stuff I thought you would understand so I sent you this, only it's not fiction it's real so don't publish my name or email PLEASE!Intrigued, and wishing to publish the poem – it fitted our name perfectly – I wrote back saying: Of course I won't, but can you give me a name of some kind, a nom-de-plume, something to identify you?He wrote: Alright, use Wendy. When we were little, my. " I could think of worse arrangements then this," he replied. "After all, this is the chance I’ve been waiting for. You and I are in a bed again, why we could screw all night if we wanted too." Are you nuts?" I exclaimed. "With mom and dad right in the same room, they’d hear us right away." No, they won’t," Billy countered. "We’ll be really quiet and they’ll never know the difference."To prove his point, Billy silently reached under the covers and began massaging one of my breasts."Stop that,". I watch in a mixture of amazement and apathy as my manhood draws withinme and my new womanhood takes shape. I gaze in admiration at my own body,a stunning 34D-24-34. The only thing remaining that has not changed is myhead both inside and out. I watch as my hair grows out, retaining itssilky black color. My hair now falls to the middle of my back, with aseductive curve along its lentgh. I feel a slight pain as my facereshapes itself to a beautiful young womans face, with full, naturallyred lips.