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Back in 1952, as I remembered it ... well, Mom was no June Cleaver. She dressed nicely enough for housework and got dressed up for church on Sunday. But makeup? What the fuck?What she was saying didn’t really make a difference since I couldn’t respond. Considering my first thoughts, it was better that way. She rambled on and on but I wasn’t able to pay attention. I guessed they were giving me morphine or something like that because I was getting incredibly scrambled messages from my brain. I guess that’s what the voice had warned me about. I was trying to integrate my memories as an eighty-year-old with my memories as a fourteen-year-old, only they weren’t exactly my memories. They were the memories of someone else who lived in what was now my body.I recognized some things as they flashed past. My house. I could tell it was the same house but it looked different. The yard was neatly mowed, so maybe my version two self had been responsible enough to take care of it before he tried to. We looked straight in each other eyes. I began to sweat under my dress. I saw that Naomi had redden a little. She sill seemed very composed. Was it coldness on her part? I didn't think so and still don't think so nowadays that we know each other more. What did she thought about what was happening? Our hands linked together, they were warm and gently pressing. We were smiling. Very moving glances were exchanged, she blinked several times. Our lips were touching. We were now kissing. The silence was heavy, but we didn't feel it, we were alone in our new world. This was so new to us, we were shaken by uncontrolled movements. We were French kissing, and progressively, we moved towards her bedroom.We shut the door and she pushed me on her bed! I was completely blocked and didn't know what to do next. My cousin was less shy than me and very fast she unlocked my dress and exposed my breast that was very hard. I hadn't bra because the dress was studied to sustain my breast. My panties were.
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