Sex Swap

Manny

My daughter’s getting herself into trouble again. And I’m right behind her.

“Maricruz! You better not leave the party with that Delgado boy!” my ex-wife hollers across the parking lot, her voice as shrill as an ambulance.

My ex-wife Ariadna’s thick reddish mane bobs around my favorite pair of tits in the world under a skull and crossbones T-shirt.

She’s still three inches taller than me and striding with too much purpose to be ignored. Her eyes drift from our daughter to shoot daggers into my neck. “Manny, you’re supposed to be setting an example.”

I let my sixteenth cigarette dangle, hands stuffing my jean pockets. “You mean a good example?”

Realizing I have no idea which one to pursue first—my wife or daughter—I grind the cig with my boot, feigning to be cool.

One more minute and the two of them are going to walk right past me, where I’ll be smitten with both. I can’t have that.

Hello, girls, Daddy’s home.

Attempting to shake off a lifetime of hanger-on bad luck, I tug my black cactus print T-shirt over my belly. My break with casual stubble and knockoff Ray Bans is over, goddammit.

I stride forward.

“Peaches!” I call. “Stop at the car. You can use your phone when we get home.” I spare a quick glance for Ariadna. “No, she can’t see the TikTok Newkid vids, babe.”

My daughter’s big blue eyes sense my encouragement, and then she’s making her way to my 2010 Camaro. I try not to feel disappointment at not being needed yet.

“Oh fine,” Ari responds through gritted teeth, following Maricruz. She looks at me, wind snapping her beautiful blaze of hair. “You always side with my daughter.”

“It’s ‘our.’”

“She’s American-born. Not Peruvian like you. You want her to aspire to superhero nonsense instead of getting a skilled trade.”

I run my pointer finger along my upper teeth. A nervous tic. “We Airborne Rangers don’t play with toy weapons.”

She rolls her eyes but smiles when Maricruz isn’t looking. I planned to get Ariadna in bed tonight but didn’t count on our daughter joining us tonight.

Ari really still hasn’t spoken to me since the divorce, which was finalized right after winning my Eisner Award. A comic book about a retiring SEAL with PTSD and a talkative cat got me a payday.

After which, Ari informed me that my tracking skills were zero in the bedroom. Still, we’d agreed to split and be there for Maricruz.

Here I am thinking I might get to bang Ariadna this time around, but so far…every parent-teacher conference calendar full of disappointment.

By “full,” I mean… Oh Christ, there’s that statement again.

A group of single moms stares at me over the hood of a red Honda Civic. Daughter-chasing dads merely look me up and down, checking out my tattooed arms and road miles.

Ariadna’s English switches to Spanish. “Maricruz went back via the rear entrance.”

A dramatic sniff. “Just as I suspected—”

Our friends all comment on how I let Maricruz dress, but what can I say? My daughter’s curves are just a physical manifestation of my genes. They inspire envy, tears, and hate, and I’m happy to take my kid to therapy for that kind of thing. But I can’t do anything until after I win the lottery.

I focus on Ariadna, who’s separated from me by three feet, a galaxy, and a purse with a butt plug for a keychain. And feel amused.

Maricruz has been on the planet for 18 years, and her mother has no idea. Thinking about my daughter’s budding sexuality is as painful as 500-degree oil in a frying pan, so I drag a hand down my face. Especially since she’s meeting a boy out back.

A cherry lollipop knocks a green tic tac out of her mouth, and Ariadna catches it. Amused, I adjust my crotch.

“No shared custody this summer. She’s living with Ma.” Ariadna hangs up, her jaw dropping in defiance.

“You divorced me, not her!” Bingo. I work off the motorcycle jacket I’ll need for America’s Next Top Chef later, tossing it over my shoulder.

“We can talk about those…shady videos you have on your phone on your own time.” Hand on hip, she tosses me a ponytail.

I move in closer. “Have you missed me, Peaches? I haven’t seen a pair of blinds that could keep out my peeping-daddies.”

As her phone buzzes, her mouth opens and closes. The merry-go-round in the distance whines with activity. Ariadna stares at me over the boundary of a racehorse motif purse, her lips pursed. I only wish I was in on it.

A nerdy guy holding a Captain America lunchbox, two slices of pizza in a plastic bag, and a mug of Modelo laughs. “She wants to be Daredevil,” he says, turning to walk away. “Can you blame her?”

Maricruz has hopefully reached the back alley, which is where I will be sleeping if I don’t get my ex into bed tonight. All of which will happen if she finds out about my neighborly fucks. That’s why I’m going on the offensive.

I focus on Ariadna, take her purse, and pull off the keys. “What’s our bedtime story tonight?” I say, licking my lips. “Satisfy me, Peaches.”

Heart in my chest, she clutches my T-shirt. “What do you want, you hunk of comic book dork?”

I finger my chin, drawling the word dork.

I’m a hell of a comic book musician, but I don’t need to be Clark Kent to see that her pupils are glassy and her lips are parted.

She’s eyeing my mouth like a disco ball she wants to climb, nude. She knows I’m in a…unique…spot, and if I ask her to suck my hardcore harlequin clown, she will. But I’m here to win. To get all the way back in.

Given the look of excitement on my ex’s face, I can only assume she’s game for pony-play, too.

“I want…” I scrub my chin. “Once your boys-in-training have had their fun, you and I are going to … eh…do overtime on your homework.”

“Fuck.” She closes her eyes. “You monster.”

I stroll, surprised at my unsteady knees. Oh yeah, brother, Mom’s On Tap All Night, Perry Como is singing karaoke in a lower head. It’s good to be family.

“You’ll have to use your mouth,” I tell her, keeping my voice down so she doesn’t hear more than a growl. “I want you covered in honey, honey.”

“Whaaaaaat?” Thank God she wasn’t drinking hot coffee.

“Cough syrup.”

She fakes me out, eyebrows reaching her hairline.

“I’ve been coughing.”

She’s about to say, “You want to see me suck your penis like a rodeo clown,” when Maricruz’s absent-minded smirk returns.

My daughter pirouettes while wielding her phone. Her focus on the device is understandable because even when she’s happy, she’s such a big deal in the micro-communities she flits between that she can’t keep up.

“Ready to go…Dad?”

“What took you so long?” Ariadna breaks the silence, her mouth locking on to the word “dad” in an ill-timed way.

My daughter’s white teeth sink into the side of her whistle. “I forgot my panties in the locker room.”

Ariadna’s cheek muscles lock while hitting her phone like a loose slot machine lever.

“I’ve never seen a locker room so big—”

“Did backup waste-basket commando drag Murph home again? You know you can talk to me about things…” I start, draping one arm over Ariadna’s shoulder, the other over Maricruz’s.

She puts away her phone and hugs my side. Ariadna hovers inches from my collarbone.

“Maricruz, Mom needs to pre-order a Daenerys Targaryen towel for her friend, Ryder. Will you show me his friends list? The gaming one. The Avatar Book…or whatever the hell it’s called. But not at lunch.”

Her gaze drifts to me. “Do you have to be so…dirty?”

I ignore my ex-wife’s heart-shaped ass weaving through the parking lot to the car.

“Of course. You want to have my baby, sweetheart; we’re going to do some dirty dancing.”

Left with a garage door opener and the keys to our three-bedroom, I’m following Maricruz from the car, hiding my amusement behind a smoked-out snicker, when destiny whips in on four rubber tires.

A three-truck collision takes place right in front of me.

Brake squeals, screaming metal, and I only have time to dodge a flying tire before a semi jackknifes, doing a somersault before landing in a plume of smoke and shrapnel.

The world’s first cognitive dissonance moment happens while I skid across the sidewalk, patches of green grass drawing blood. I mouth the name of my first-grade teacher and haul ass over to the wreckage.

Primed by years of mustache-hero comic collecting, I execute a manly shoulder roll as firemen peel out their eardrums with screwdrivers.

As soon as I get to my feet, I see all three drivers are dazed…but walking airbag-waitresses are handing everyone oxygen, so I start looking for signs of actual damage.

I trip over a business envelope, ignoring an EMT’s instructions to “get out of the way.”

“Eat a full sandwich,” I whisper, passing him to join the “I got the best spot” crowd at the bar.

Cigarette butts smolder everywhere, the Italian sandwich metro stop in shambles.

“What do you want me to do?” I say to myself, making my way back to where I lost the contents of my pockets earlier. “Take a selfie and tell the nurses at the ambulance center that I’m a born hero?”

“You can do that at home,” I growl, my feet and heart trying to pull me back toward home, where the mashed potatoes and tacos are still warm.

There’s a rectangular metal case resting in the outlined-case area.

I pick it up.

It says “TOP SECRET” right on the top.

No dilemma here, considering I used to be a member of the Bobbacus Signals Ensemble and can keep a secret boner until I’m five drinks deep.

My curiosity craves violation.

I pocket the heavy-duty lunch box and check over my shoulder for any cops.

Once in the house—where I still live with my ex-wife and daughter (yes, I’m working out, motherfu*)—I bolt through the side door and retreat to my man cave, which I’ve humorously dubbed “the basement.”

I lock the door, place my prize on the floor, and set about jamming a flathead into the cracked combination lock.

Inside are two pairs of what appear to be “Beats by Obama” headphones in neon pink trim, as well as an instruction manual in Chinese.

I try the first pair and push a bunch of buttons to no effect on my inner monologue. They laugh in the face of bottom-dollar circuit breakers and wish for salmon-colored pajamas with stripper names on the front of their cotton underwear.

I try the other pair.

No better results.

I’m about to take a piss and call Ariadna a sexy nurse when I realize the package came with two headbands. Duality means symmetry.

As I’m heading for the bathroom, my daughter walks in and puts on the other pair of headphones, issues a loud yawn, and starts toe-tapping to music.

The moment my daughter is in reach of voice-activated chaos, I nudge the Bluetooth button on my headphones.

A bright red light shines on the right-side earpiece. It doesn’t transmit FM, but ISS (International Spice Station).

There’s a blinding flash and then—darkness.

I wake up in the dark, feeling dizzy, unable to get my bearings. As my fingers grope for the novel Eisner award on top of my dresser, I catch a glimpse in the mirror of my daughter tucked into bed.

No, that’s wrong. It’s me lying there.

I shake off the vertigo.

I’m sitting on my bed, arms outstretched. I recognize the butt-glossy color of my perfect lips. Which also belongs to my daughter. I run to the bathroom and splash water on my face.

Looking back at me is my daughter.

Holy shit, I’m my daughter.

“I’m going bonkers bonkers,” I say, the whine echoing in my ears, making Ariadna moan in the master bedroom.

Cross-eyed with fear, I look to my left…wherein lay myself. “Maricruz!” I yell, shaking myself. “Kiddo!”

My daughter pops awake, making the same expression as me in a Taco Monday food fight. “Papa, what’s going on?”

We don’t reach any kind of satisfactory conclusion on Maricruz’s body, but she has an epiphany—with her eyes closed for five seconds.

“You found headphones at a collision and brought them home. There’s a manual in the box. We switched bodies.” My daughter’s being clever, explaining it to me this simply.

A foreshadowing, one that won’t go unnoticed if this is all just, uhh…Zoom psychosis.

We try on the headphones to give instructions but find this gem: “You must wait 48 hours for your Bluetooth/Demon Theft-Ray dongles to recharge.”

“Motherf*!” we both exclaim. There’s a code for swapping back (thank, baby Jesus), but we have to wait 48 hours to use it.

“It’s okay,” my daughter says in my voice. “I don’t have shit to do this weekend.” Pause. “I’ve got a job at Supply Battery, need quick electricity. You gotta go in for me. What about you?”

My tongue is cacti at the bottom of Ariadna’s candy purse. “I had plans with Mom to Netflix and Chill. You’ll have to sub in for me. It’ll be easy.

“Mom wants to naked and chill? What?”

Airdrops of shame cross my musings, so I shake my head. “Let’s run over to your boyfriend’s house and bone him for fun,” I suggest.

No one approves of that plan.

“We have to switch lives for 48 hours,” I say. “But let’s not slobber over how much we love Ariadna or engage in any sex talks with her!”

My daughter beats her chest at this. “You got it, moonbeard.”

“What time do I meet up with Ariadna tonight?” I ask, not quite as geniusy.

“In a couple hours at our place,” Maricruz says while looking in the bathroom mirror, her lips split. I tell her where to find Ariadna’s favorite oils and which playlist to play.

Maricruz as Manny

Shit, my alternate ego has to kick in.

Mom’s on the couch now, two glasses of rosé pink wine next to her.

“Drink up, doll,” she says, handing me one.

I’m a lightweight as far as drinking goes, but I take a swig.“It’s smooth,” I say.

Ariadna giggles. “Of course it is. It’s like you’re drinking hot hands!” she says, watching me down the glass.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“Sorry, I’m thirst…y.” I give her a conspiratorial wink.

“Well, good news, there’s plenty more. Here.” Ariadna tops off my glass again.

My mom is a juicy leg of Michigan pork with a head full of red fire ants and appreciates a challenge. She nuzzles me while shoving her face into my facial tresses. Ariadna’s ignored the horror movie on Netflix in favor of patting my dad bod.

By the fourth glass, I’m getting a little sloppy and can’t hear her “moans” properly.

She’s stroking my leg. “I love you, honey.”

“I love you too,” I croak, hoping my father would say the same thing.

She leans back, arching. “Can you unbutton my blouse while I stretch?” She has a plaid button-down over a tank top.

I can only gulp, but I have to be the man of the house, right?

“Y-yeah,” I whisper, getting to unbutton.

Her big boobies squeeze against the double-locked tank top. Her breasts send epic root beer can/funnel comparisons through my mind.

They serve as focal points.

I get down to the tank top/whitefish crop, and Ariadna grabs my hands, plops them on her tits, and opens her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Maricruz won’t be home for hours. Come here,” she whispers, pulling me into a kiss.

I’ve never kissed a woman before, but I watch a lot of telenovelas and know to keep my tongue involved.

Ariadna does more, sucking my tongue into her explosive bacon bits milkshake. I’m hoping I’m not a bad kisser. If I mess this up, it won’t be for lack of trying.

Ariadna breaks away. “Wow! You haven’t kissed me like that in years.”

She takes off her shirt and bra, releasing the finest mashed-potato-patty boobs I’ve ever seen out in the wild. They’re big and discounted at Christmas. I’ve seen them before—pie for dessert, pecan for breakfast. I squeeze them as I wish I was sucking on their keys.

“I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I like it. Stand up,” she instructs.

I stand up, temporarily immobilized as Ariadna pulls down my pants and boxers and discovers my starry-eyed-emoji boner. “Oh, wow! You’re so hard,” she giggles.

Before I can ask if that’s a normal occurrence for a man in his forties, she sucks me into her hot, violin-swallowing lips and moans. She’s going for volume, spit, and style.

My own mother, I would normally be horrified if I saw this. But it is the best feeling of my young life.

Ariadna falls back and plays bongos with her boobs.

“F*ck ‘em.” I’ve never cursed…but I try to hit people with the best I have.

I shoot my pecker between Ariadna’s knockers while she lubricates them with ex-husband spit. I’m guessing I’m doing real good, since she’s shaking.

“I’m overdressed.” She pushes me back, stands up, and strips off her sweats and panties. She’s gone full Brazilian, so there’s little hair. “Hungry?” she winks.

It’s my first time seeing a beav in the wild, but I’m starving for it like I’m Chewy in a spaghetti factory. I kneel between her legs, breathe in her aroma, and lick her.

“I’m so golden retriever,” she moans with every X-rated lick. “Yeah…oh God, I need…I’m so…right there…put a finger inside.”

I do as I’m told, smiling. Considering I’ve never had the pleasure, I shake my head. I’m living the dream on my first try.

I take it slow so she can get as much pleasure as possible. She’s so delicious. I can understand why Pops is so popular with the neighborhood MILFs…he chows down.

“Oh God! Uhhh…I’m close…so close. Two fingers!”

I tongue her slit, using two fingers to push her toward climaxing. Damn, Ariadna is soaked. Her juices are so