From Danny to Estelle The Remote of Transformation chapter 7 by bodyswapbabe

Danny was crouched on the carpet surrounded by LEGOs and cereal crumbs, babbling to himself in toddler-ese and wearing a T-shirt with a dinosaur on it that said “CHOMP CHOMP, I’M THREE!”

 

Ethan knelt beside him, watching. “Hey, buddy.”

 

Danny looked up and grinned, a bit of peanut butter stuck to his cheek. “Hi Efan!”

 

“Wanna see something cool?”

 

Ethan pulled out the Morphisizer and pointed it casually.

 

Danny’s eyes lit up. “Cool!”

 

Ethan had left their neighbor (and Danny's babysitter) Estelle’s Instagram open on his phone earlier, and there she was: poolside, smiling with one arm beneath her heavy chest, her other hand holding a margarita.

 

“You wanna be tall like Estelle?” Ethan asked Danny, half-joking.

 

“Stel-luh!” Danny giggled. “Stel-luh funny!”

 

Ethan shrugged. “Alright, kid. Hold still.”

 

He pressed the button.

 

The den flashed white—and for a second, the world shuddered, like someone had sneezed inside reality. When the light faded, the LEGOs were scattered across the floor, cereal everywhere, and where Danny had been… stood Estelle.

 

Not in Estelle’s usual confident pose, or even dressed like her. She was squatting awkwardly on the rug, blinking with confusion and sucking on her fingers.

 

She still wore the dinosaur shirt—but now it barely covered her cleavage. The sleeves were torn, the seams popped. Her pants were a shredded mess around her hips, the waistband visibly stretched beyond its limits by Estelle's shapely ass. Her long, tan legs poked out at weird toddler angles, and her enormous feet—painted toenails and all—kicked at a half-crushed sippy cup.

 

Ethan stared. “…Danny?”

 

Danny looked up at him with Estelle's big brown eyes, tilted his head, and said: “Efan, I go poop.”

 

Ethan blinked.

 

“…You what?”

 

“Poop,” Estelle repeated, then started trying to pull at the waistband of the tattered sweatpants like a confused toddler unsure how to undress.

 

“Oh my god,” Ethan whispered. “Oh my GOD.”

 

Danny reached for a Duplo block and tried to shove it in his mouth.

 

Ethan snatched it away. “Nonono—no choking hazards for you!”

 

“Efan, I wanna snack.”

 

Ethan turned back toward the Estelle-bodied creature sitting on the carpet and chewing on a string of torn pajama elastic.

 

“You’re… Danny,” he said slowly. “Right?”

 

He beamed. “Uh-huh. I got big!”

 

Ethan squinted. “What’s your favorite color?”

 

“Red!”

 

“What’s your bedtime?”

 

“Never!”

 

“…Where’s Mommy?”

 

“Upstairs kissing Daddy's boobies.”

 

Ethan put a hand over his face. “Okay. Jesus.”

 

He’d crawled closer while he was thinking, one hand dragging along the carpet and knocking over a juice box like a drunk model at a photoshoot.

 

“I wanna PBS!” he declared, jabbing a long acrylic nail at the TV.

 

His arm jiggled in all the wrong ways for a toddler. His breasts were practically resting on his knees. And his face—Stella’s perfect makeup, her lip gloss, her lashes—still tried to make expressions that belonged on a three-year-old. She stuck her tongue out. Crossed her eyes. Picked her nose.

 

Ethan leaned back on his heels, mouth dry.

 

“Okay. Okay. This is fine. I can… I can fix this. This is temporary. Just gotta reverse the polarity or whatever.”

 

He fumbled for the remote.

 

She suddenly stood—well, stumbled—to her feet, half-naked and giggling, tugging on Ethan’s hoodie. As she stood, Ethan could smell the residue of the aforementioned 'poop'.

 

“I got sticky! I need new pants!”

 

“Please don’t say that in Estelle’s voice,” Ethan muttered.

 

Just then, footsteps echoed on the stairs.

 

Lisa’s voice: “Ethan? Sweetheart? Did you get Danny dressed?”

 

Ethan panicked. “Uh, y-yeah! Working on it!”

 

He turned back to the woman-child beside him. “Okay, look. You’re gonna play along, alright? Just… don’t say anything weird. Please.”

 

“Can I say butts?”

 

“No.”

 

He giggled.

 

Lisa entered the room a moment later, heels clicking. She didn’t blink at the curvy bombshell in a shredded dinosaur shirt. “There’s my big boy! You’re growing so fast, huh?”

 

Danny ran over and hugged her waist. “I pooped in my pants!”

 

Lisa laughed like it was the most adorable thing in the world. “Ohhh, that’s okay, sweetie. It happens.” Then she blanched, smelling it. "Ugh, Ethan. Can you handle it?"

 

Ethan stood there, stunned.

 

His mother—smart, perceptive, brilliant Lisa—was cupping Danny’s chin, brushing his hair, calling him Danny, and wiping cereal dust off his enormous bosom like it was a normal day.

 

“I’ll go throw these in the wash,” she said cheerfully, lifting the last pieces of torn toddler sweatpants off the floor. “Can you help her—him—into something clean, Ethan?”

 

“…Sure.”

 

Lisa kissed Estelle-Danny on the forehead and left.

 

The two of them were alone again.

 

Ethan slowly turned toward the towering toddler in a model’s body.

 

She blinked. “Do I get pants now?”

 

“…Yeah. Yeah, you get pants.”

 

He looked toward the stairs, where the sounds of his parents’ laughter had shifted into something lower. Groanier.

 

Then back at this impossibility of flesh and behavior.

 

Whatever was going on, he was the only one who saw it.

 

And that meant one thing:

 

He needed to keep testing.