Theme park experience The New World of SwapTech chapter 7 by bodyswapbabe

The heat hit them like a wall as they stepped through the animatronic shark jaws marking the entrance to SwapLand. The air smelled like sunscreen, waffle cones, and artificial fog. Rory immediately made a break for the nearest map kiosk, jumping up to smack the button that made the park layout animate with glittery overlays.

“Volcano raft ride!” he shouted. “It shoots real lava!”

Nolan, hovering a few feet behind, squinted up at the display. “That’s not actual lava. It’s just steam and red lights.”

Rory wasn’t listening. He was already off again, zigzagging between families and stilt-walkers in pirate sleeves. Fitz automatically reached out to grab his younger son’s arm, only to pause, realizing too late he didn’t have the same height or reach anymore.

“Rory! Stay close!” he called, voice sharper than intended. It came out too high. He winced.

Miriam sidled up beside him, eyes behind sunglasses, smile barely suppressed. “You okay?”

“I feel like my skin doesn’t fit,” he muttered.

“Your skin fits great,” she replied, mock-encouraging. “That tank top? Ten out of ten.”

Fitz glared at her. Or tried to. It came off more like a squint through his own new bangs. He tugged them out of his eyes with frustration and adjusted the flannel shirt tied at his waist for the hundredth time. The low-rise jean shorts were worse, somehow—cut higher than he’d realized when getting dressed in a rush. And he’d become hyper-aware of every step: the softness of his thighs brushing together, the springier gait, the ridiculous sway his hips now seemed to adopt no matter how carefully he tried to walk.

“It’s not funny,” he muttered.

“I know,” Miriam said. “I’m being supportive.” She leaned in. “But your wedgie is a little funny.”

“Dad’s a girl,” Rory whispered to Nolan with the same breathless awe usually reserved for movie monsters.

Nolan frowned. “He’s not a girl. He’s just… stuck in one.”

“I know. But it’s still weird. He’s got, like…” Rory made two vague, cupped motions in front of his own chest and then broke into a giggle.

Fitz flushed. “Okay! Let’s—let’s look at the map.”

He crouched near the oversized map board, trying to hide behind it. The motion compressed things he wasn’t used to compressing. He stood back up.

Miriam reached for the folded paper map in her bag and handed it to him like a peace offering.

“Here,” she said. “Distract yourself with logistics.”

He accepted it, grateful for something concrete to focus on. “Alright. If we take this main path to the left, we can loop through Tropico Canyon, hit Lava Plunge and Thunderpants Canyon, and be back near the entrance in two hours. That’s assuming we keep lines under twenty minutes and take a break for snacks by one—”

“Fitz.” Miriam touched his arm. “You’re allowed to just… enjoy this.”

He stared at her. “Enjoy what?”

She shrugged. “Your vacation. Your kids being goofballs. Being someone else for a few hours. Maybe even… being a hot girl in July.”

He gave her a look. “I’m wearing sandals. My ankles feel naked.”

She grinned. “Your ankles look great.”

They made it to the ride line after Rory nearly launched himself into a passing parade of costumed dancers. The Lava Plunge queue wound back and forth under faux palm trees while mist sprayed from overhead fans.

Nolan stood dutifully between his parents, arms crossed, reading the ride rules posted beside them. “It says you can’t ride if your sleeve’s unstable. Are you stable, Dad?”

Fitz blinked. “I—uh. Physically, yes. Emotionally? We’ll see.”

Miriam laughed.

When their turn came, Fitz climbed into the boat, trying not to make eye contact with the teen ride operator scanning wrists. The seat was slick and low. The shirt rode up. Fitz crossed his arms again, conscious of every bounce, every tiny shift.

The ride launched with a lurch. Rory screamed in delight. Nolan’s eyes went wide but he stayed quiet, knuckles white on the safety bar.

Fitz gritted his teeth. At one point, a spray of warm mist hit his chest, making the tank cling in all the wrong ways. He wanted to sink into the boat’s floor.

When they disembarked, Rory was dripping and beaming. “That was SO COOL. The geyser shot RIGHT into your BOOBS, Dad!”

Fitz made a strangled noise. Nolan handed him a napkin, politely looking away.

Miriam gave him a gentle pat on the back. “Survived your first park ride as a bombshell. Proud of you.”

They found a shaded bench near a churro stand. Fitz collapsed onto it, twisting awkwardly to find a way to sit that didn’t make him feel like he was flashing half the park.

“Okay,” he said, exhaling. “We’ve got a couple of hours until they finish fixing my body. Do we… keep going?”

Rory jumped. “YES. Thunderpants next!”

Nolan folded the map with practiced care. “We can avoid the water zones. If Dad’s worried about his shirt.”

Miriam gave Fitz a long, thoughtful look.

“You’re the dad,” she said. “But if you ask me, the kids aren’t the ones who need convincing.”

Fitz watched Rory imaginary swordfighting with a churro and Nolan checking line wait times on a park app.

He sighed. “Alright. But only if we stay in the dry zones.”

Miriam offered her hand, helping him up. “Deal. Come on, short shorts.”