What About The Ritual

 PART ONE

The past week has been one of the strangest in my life, and yet also one of the best experiences I've had in a long time. Now, as the week was drawing to a close, there was a sense of melancholy, the kind you felt as your vacation was drawing to a close. I wasn't quite ready to go back to the way things were, yet I'd certainly had my fill. All I had to do now was pack my suitcase. Or rather, find Greg and get him to do it. Technically, it was his, after all.

I hadn't heard much from him this morning. It was like he was avoiding me, drawing out the inevitable. Which was ridiculous, he was the one who had gotten the worst end of the stick this week! And yet, I couldn't find him anywhere in the house.

Eventually, I thought to check the back yard, and there he was, resting on the porch. He was topless, stood in the last beams of the available sun, and quietly puffing on a cigar, which made me frown. "Hey," I called out as I approached. "What are you doing out here for?"

"Soaking in the sun, smoking a cigar." He replied nonchalantly.

"I can see that," I grumbled. "I just wish you would've asked first. Those cigars were a gift, I don't like wasting them on such frivolities."

He merely grunted, and blew a puff of smoke out into the breeze. "Believe me, I already know." He tapped his bald noggin with a grin. "I figured it was a special occassion for me. The last chance I'd have to smoke one, given how you're supposed to -" He paused for a second. "How I'm supposed to head home today."

"Yeah, yeah. Just wrap it up quick. We still have to do the ritual before your mom gets here, or you'll be stuck being Grandpa Greg until Thanksgiving, at least."

"MbeIwntbgrmpagreg," he grumbled under his breath. Something nonsensical, before he raised his voice. "Maybe you should pack if you really wanna get rid of me that badly."

"Excuse me?"

"Pack my bags while I finish this cigar. Or else it'll go to waste. Then we can do the whole switcharoo."

I tried to think of a comeback, but I could only grumble. As much as I hate him smoking my vintage cigars, I also don't want it to be wasted halfway in. And it wasn't as if Greg had packed much, I could be done in half an hour, tops. Besides, I was done arguing about these totems once again. I gave him a final death glare, before turning back to the house with a huff.

----------

The first day after the change was pretty good. I had boundless energy that I hadn't felt in decades, and I was raring to make the most of it. I had the whole day planned out, much to the behest of Greg, who wanted nothing more than to rest, and watch TV. His whole demeanor had changed almost overnight. He'd become grouchy and irritable, complaining about pretty much everything he set his sights on. Of course, being fifty years older was going to be a toll on the lad, but it seemed almost like a caricature.

I eventually recognised what he was experiencing was nicotine withdrawal. He mellowed somewhat after I allowed him to smoke my pipe. Begrudgingly, of course. It's practically a family heirloom. I offered to show him how to use it properly, but he managed to pack the tobacco and light it like a pro. In fact, it dawned on me that I couldn't even remember how to use a pipe at all. It was a horrid feeling. Something I would do every single day, like clockwork, extinguished from my memory...

Even weirder, the sight of Greg smoking didn't feel me with jealousy, or envy. It made me feel disgust. Unpleasant. Like the mere thought of tobacco felt icky, the smoke settling in my body. Is this what Greg used to feel when he saw me smoking? He did use to excuse himself if I sat down with him, pipe in teeth. I know it's a nasty habit, but the revelation was eye-opening. I hope I can recall those unpleasant feelings when we swap back. Nicotine withdrawal is a sonnuvabitch, but maybe I can finally quit the habit. Then again, despite Greg's apparent hatred, he took to the pipe like a duck to water. I supposed the swap makes fools of us all.

While Greg had gained some composure after breakfast, he was still testy about taking me about taking me around the city. But in this new reality, I'm apparently still learning how to drive. It's usually second nature to me, and yet when I sat at the wheel, I could actually feel the gaps in my knowledge gnawing at my brain. Knowledge that Greg was suddenly well aware of. It's hard to explain this lack of knowing something you used to. It's a hollow recollection, like the vestigia of deja vu.

We started at the skate park downtown, where a part of my brain had unlocked these spectacular tricks that I was putting to the test on the half-pipe. When I wasn't skidding off of my board, that is. But even the pros take a tumble every now and then. And It felt good to get knocked about, while still being able to get up and give it another go. I could never do that at my old age. Greg, meanwhile, sat on the outskirts of the park with the newspaper, giving the crossword a go, smoke billowing from his pipe. 

Then we went to the activity center that opened recently, with rock climbing, and laser tag, and one of those inflatable obstacle courses. It was like young heaven, and just the best way to exhaust all of my pent up energy. Unlike Greg, who decided he would rather go and browse the antique market down the road, like a boring, old man. Finally, we went to a fantastic pizza joint where I practically ate an entire extra large pizza to myself, while Greg mostly stuck to the salad bar, and a glass of ginger ale.

After my day of fun, I was fully prepared to swap back. I didn't need to continue pretending. And I really didn't want to face going back to school. However, Greg was still insisting we stick to the week. Even after a day of crosswords and salads, he still wanted to remain a grandpa. At this point, I was more than worried about my first day back at school in four decades. I was prepared for the worst. Not even my original worries of not understanding the current curriculum or being up to date with the latest trends. Was there a life-changing exam? Was someone bullying Greg? Or even threatening his life? Whatever it was, it was bad enough to make him want to stay a grumpy, old man.

So that first day back at school was... alright, actually. It turned out that I was one of the more popular kids. Not only that, but I'm an ace tennis champ, with colleges already lined up, begging me to take their scholarships! I didn't even have to worry about my classes. Much like how I lost my driving knowledge, and gained skateboarding skills, I'd somehow gained general wisdom elsewhere. It was nice to let my brain go on auto-pilot, and feel myself be one of the guys. Every other day at school was more of the same. A lovable jock with perfectly average grades that people let pass due to my charming, dopey personality. I really could not fathom why Greg was so afraid of going back.

He won't admit it, of course. Whenever I bring up the topic of swapping back into our own bodies, he manages to find an excuse or a diversion tactic to delay things even further. He didn't even seem happy with his new life. Whenever I came back from school, he was on the sofa smoking his pipe, and watching old game shows. It was pathetic to see. He was a shadow of his former self.

----------

As I zipped up the small suitcase Greg had brought with him, I cracked a grin. I don't know why I was complaining, it took me all of fifteen minutes. Now all I had to do was wait for Greg to come back inside, and I'll be the man of the house again. Old, obese, and wrinkly with hair in weird places. Dodgy joints, and poor eyesight, stuck at home with nothing to do all day...

How was he doing anyway? I peeked outside the window, looking down on my wizened grandson. He was still smoking his cigar, now sat down as the high fences cast the back yard in dim shadow. But Greg wasn't just smoking, he was doing something peculiar. I watched as he massaged his chest, feeling his hairy pecs, almost transfixed. Then he would rub his stomach, run a hand through his beard, and even stroke the top of his bald head. If I didn't know any better, he seemed to be aroused by his body... 

His hand drifted further down his belly, slipping down to his jeans. He unzipped the front, shoving his mitt into his underwear before slipping out his cock and balls. I gasped and turned away from the window, cheeks red. He wasn't doing what I thought he was doing... Was he? Quickly, my eyes darted from house to house. Our backyard was well secluded, but was it that secluded? I couldn't help but drift my focus back down to Greg, who was slowly rubbing his fist up and down his cock, coaxing it into an erection as he first stroked his beard with his free hand, then slipped down to his chest, teasing his nipples. I was transfixed by his apparent lack of embarrassment as his strokes grew heavier, and quicker. Then in a sudden moment, he groaned aloud and shuddered as he spread his seed across the lawn. He slowed down, resting after such an excursion, before taking the stub of his cigar from his lips, and crushing it into the patio floor. I ducked back down, hoping he didn't catch me staring.

It was a lot to process. I have a lot of teen hormones running through me, and even I haven't done anything so brash as that this week. But it made a lot of those weird moments finally click into place. He was the one who researched the totems, insisted that we swap, then kept putting off the inevitable swap back. He was playing up his grumpiness, despite those tiny moments where he appeared happy, even thrilled at being a man. Because it was an act. He never wanted to swap back. But why? Before I could question things further, the doorbell rang.

I answered the door to my daughter Mabel, a strained smile on my face. "Mom!" I cried, getting a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach at the word. "I didn't think you'd be back so soon!"

"Well, I managed to slip away a little earlier than planned. Where's your grandpa?"

"Outside." I nodded my head to the back of the house, making sure I stayed ahead of her. Who knew what Greg was doing now. To be safe, I shouted down the hallway, "Hey gramps, mom's here!"

With the early arrival of Mabel, we had lost the opportune moment to swap back. And yet, as I guided my daugher through to the dining room, I noticed that those two totems were still tucked up high on the shelf I couldn't reach. It only further proved my hunch, that Greg hadn't even considered setting up the ritual. Speak of the Devil, he came into the room, now wearing a thin sweatshirt, and looking a little sheepish as he spotted the two of us. 

"Hey Mabel," he grumbled in his gravelly voice. "I wasn't expecting you so soon, I would have prepared some coffee for you."

"Oh, don't worry about that, dad. Traffic's a bitch, so the sooner we leave, the better." Mabel turned to me and asked, "So, have you had a good time with grandpa?"

I looked over to Greg, and he had the most guilty look on his face. I only smiled and said, "I've had a great time. We learned a lot about each other."

"We sure did," he replied a little nervously.

"I can't wait to do it all again sometime!" I added, before opening my arms for a hug.

He looked shocked, but stepped forward, and embraced me. I heard him whisper in my ear, "What's your angle? What about the totems?"

"Don't worry about it," I whispered back. As we unlocked from each other, I gave him a wink, and added, "I'll just go get my stuff, and we can head home."

As I ran up the stairs, I heard Greg suddenly call out, "Hang on, let me help you."

"He's a strong boy, dad. He can get it himself."

"No, I insist!" 

I heard him clambor up the stairs behind me, and we entered the bedroom together.

"I'm sorry I left things too late, but what's with the change of heart?" He asked as the door closed. "You've spent all week pestering me about the totems and now it's all fine?"

"Well, after thinking it over, I came to a realisation. You're not ready to swap back, and I don't want to force you into it."

He scratched at the back of his neck, and grumbled. "I mean, I guess I could be Grandpa for a little longer, if that's what you really want..."

"Greg..."

"Okay, you got me," he sighed as he sat back on the bed. "I like being old. It's weird saying it out loud, but I do! I could do without the dodgy back, but I like my beard, I like my tattoos, I like smoking my pipe, and having hair on my chest and not on my head. But I didn't mean to, at first. I thought I'd be pleased to give it all up. But as the week progressed, I just kinda settled into it? Everyone has high expectations for me at school, mom's always pushing me to be the best, and it can be overwhelming. But then I swapped with you, I became a retired man who doesn't have to do shit for anyone, and has the time to finally relax... It's just nice..." He sighed, and rolled away from me. "I'm sorry, that must be weird to hear."

"No, I get it." I sat down on the bed next to him, and stroked his head, the way I did to soothe him. He used to have a full head of hair back then, but it still sufficed. "After being you for a week, I understand the pressure you're under. Except, I see it as something to strive for. I could never achieve what you already have, so to have the chance, even for a week? It's like a dream come true. And obviously, I enjoy being young, and scrappy again! But I shouldn't be, this is your time I'm taking. So just know, whenever you're ready to swap back, I'll be there."

He smiled, and pulled me into a big hug before we went back downstairs to say our final goodbyes. And as I walked out of my front door, suitcase in hand, I could see that mischievous little glimmer of Greg's younger self as he waved us goodbye. He no longer had to put on an act, he could be happy as the old man he had become. Maybe in a few months time, I'll get the call saying he wants to swap back. But I would be just as unsurprised if those little totems suddenly go missing the next time we see each other.