Bikini Beach: Desperate Times free porn video

Bikini Beach: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures Synopsis: Fred's life is coming apart, and in his desperation, he is gambling on a very extreme strategy. After a meeting with Anya at the park, however, he discovers a new, less final way to save what's important to him. [email protected] ********************************************************************** Bikini Beach: Desperate Times, Desperate Measures Most of you know me. You've seen me countless times, I'm sure. And yet, if you met me on the street, there is no chance that you'd recognize me. I prefer it that way; I'm a little...embarrassed by my occupation. To say that it's unusual would be an understatement. Unlike many models, I can bask in my anonymity, content with a perfectly normal - or mostly normal - life. It all started a couple of years ago. Things weren't nearly so rosy then as they are now. I used to work in the IT department of a dot-com company. Hah, that's a joke! At the end, I _was_ the IT department. What started as a very promising career move ended up being a cruel joke by the fates. One month after I exercised my stock options, the market tanked. To make a long story short, I had to sell at a huge loss to avoid major tax liability. That wiped out our savings. Oh, yeah. I forgot to mention. I'm married. Elise and I met in college; she was a sophomore when I was a senior. When I got my bachelor's degree, she quit, preferring marriage to the rigors of getting a degree. Elise is about average height and quite shapely. Auburn hair, brown eyes - what can I say? I was helpless before her charms. And me? I laugh. I'm not much to look at. Six-foot nothing, one-hundred sixty pounds. Light brown hair, and strong Norse features - at least, that's what my grandpa Ole always said. I'll never win a contest on looks. But obviously, something caught Elise's eye. We're quite happily married now, but for a while, it was touch and go. As the company slowly sank, Elise and I started fighting. It was hard on our kids, Jeremy and Melissa. Jeremy's grades started to sink, and Melissa got pretty withdrawn and rebellious. With no savings, saddled with a mortgage payment we could no longer afford, we were living hand-to-mouth on what was left of my salary and Elise's job as cashier at the local WalMart. Things kept getting worse. My car was repossessed; I ended up with a third-hand broken-down Ford Escort. The kids needed some major counseling to handle the situation; hell, Elise and I needed some counseling. But with the cutbacks, we didn't have any health insurance, and so the counseling didn't happen. After one royal knock-down drag-out argument that lasted most of a night, I moved a few things into my office at work. To my thinking, it really didn't matter; it saved on gas and frustration commuting, and besides, I spent so much time there anyway. Of course, that added to Elise's burden, so our weekend battles became even more heated. I knew the worst was coming with my job. One day, we were all dreading it; the next, it happened. It wasn't like we weren't ready; my own resume had been on the street for a few months. But the entire area was suffering, and jobs were rare. I didn't get anything. I went from a high-flying IT manager to an associate PC salesman at a department store. At least it was a job. We were stuck in a quagmire. Elise talked about finishing school, but we couldn't afford to give up her income. There was no way we could sell the house; the housing market collapsed right with the job market. We owed more than it was worth. A lot more. Slowly, day by day, we slipped further and further behind. The creditors were starting to call. And I was raised too proud to file for bankruptcy. I was at the brink of disaster. No matter what I tried, what plan I came up with, there was no way forward. We were ruined. As I sat, evening after evening, wallowing in self-pity, I began to think that it was my fault. Everything that Elise and the kids were suffering through was because of some poor judgement on my part. If only I'd stayed with the big government contractor. If only I'd have bailed at the first sign of trouble. If, if, if. Let me tell you, when you start to dwell on all the ifs, you're pretty close to rock- bottom. Counseling would have caught the dark turn my thoughts were taking - if we could have afforded it. Black thoughts engulfed me, thoughts originating from a depression so deep as to leave me helpless. And strangely, the thoughts started leading to a desperate gamble to save Elise and the kids. There was one ace left up my sleeve. We had mortgage insurance on the house, and the company had left me with a life insurance policy. It wasn't much, but it was a couple hundred thousand - enough for Elise and the kids to pick up their lives and start over again. Slowly, my twisted plan took shape. Late one autumn morning, after the kids left for school and Elise started a double shift at WalMart, I sat at my computer and typed a note explaining that I still loved Elise, and I was sorry that I couldn't provide the kind of life she deserved. I was going to take my own life so she could escape the poverty trap I'd led my family into. With the note done, I e-mailed it to Elise. She'd find it when she got home - probably around eleven that night. I carefully took the photographs of Jeremy and Melissa from the frame on my desk and tucked them into my shirt pocket. I did the same with our wedding picture. Somehow, I think I was expecting the familiar images to comfort me as I set about my own demise. I marched out the door of our house for the last time. The plan was simple; I'd drive along the coast road as fast as the little car could go, and then deliberately swerve into a bridge support pillar. At nearly ninety miles per hour - I'd checked to see just how fast the little car could still manage - and with no seat belt, I calculated my chance of survival at almost perfectly zero. I was lost in a strange trance as I drove. Everything passed in slow motion, like I was already separated from time itself. Signs I'd never noticed seemed to float ethereally by the car. And then I noticed the sign. Bikini Beach water park. Funny, but as often as I'd driven that road, I'd never noticed it before. I turned my attention back to the road. And then, I turned back to the sign. Something about it seemed to be beckoning to me. My mind, twisted as it was by my mission of doom, reformulated my plan. Okay, so dying in a flaming twisted wreck didn't seem so good. It wouldn't be fair for Elise to have to identify my remains. But if I just simply drowned.... I gave my glove compartment a quick check; the sleeping pills were still there from all the nights I'd actually slept in the car to avoid another fight with Elise. New plan. Take a large dose of pills, then go to the deep pools. I could barely swim, and if I were tired too, well.... I smiled to myself. If I drowned at the park, maybe Elise could sue the pants off the owner as well. My foot switched from the gas to the brake and I turned into the parking lot. Still not knowing why, I walked slowly across the hot asphalt toward the ticket booth. There was no line at the booth, but a steady stream of women, young and old alike, walked directly to the entrance turnstiles and entered the park. I stepped up to the booth nervously. The young lady inside smiled sadly at me. I felt a chill run down my spine; it felt like my soul was naked before her, and she understood my predicament. "Hello, Fred," she said, her voice matching the sad look in her eyes. "I'm glad you decided to come." So bent on my own destruction was I that I didn't even notice that she'd called me by name. "I'd like a...ticket. Please." The pretty brunette handed me a ticket as if she'd been expecting me. "This is a one-day pass. It expires at midnight. And please remember to shower. Health department regulations, you know." Numbly, I took the ticket, then joined the line of people waiting at the turnstiles. A couple of girls looked at me and started to giggle, but when I looked at them, the giggling stopped, replaced by looks of surprise before the eyes darted away. I'm sure my face was an unpleasant mask of black determination, a grim outer sign of the doom I felt in my soul. The men's room was strangely quiet and small. It seems odd now, but at the time, I barely noticed. I stripped off my clothes, then pulled on the swim trunks which were somehow in my hand. For the briefest of seconds, I wondered how I'd come to be holding them, since the only trunks I had were still at home in my dresser. But then I pulled on the shorts and stepped mechanically to the shower, twisting the lever and stepping under the warm stream of water. My strangely-heightened senses marveled at how the water seemed to be massaging every fiber of my body, leaving my muscles tingling and refreshed in a way I hadn't felt for months. The strange thing was, the tingling didn't stop when I shut off the shower. Little things were feeling odd, but not alarmingly unusual. The shower handle seemed higher at the end of the shower than it had mere moments before when I'd first turned the shower on. The shower seemed infinitesimally larger, as if it had grown ever so slightly. Even the locker room, outside the shower stall, seemed subtly changed. As I stepped out of the shower stall, I got the odd feeling that my balance was off. My casual stride seemed altered somehow, like my center of balance was lower. I could feel my hips moving side-to-side as I walked, ever more hesitantly, toward the door. Something wet slapped at my neck, and annoyed, I swatted a hand behind my head. With the awkward jerk of my arm, I felt something move on my chest. Something tugged and pulled against my pectoral muscles in a way I'd never felt before. It seemed as though a weight hung from my chest. I frowned, displaying my frustration and irritation at these minor nuisances. Up until now, the heightened awareness had been interesting, even fun. But now it had gone overboard, I was convinced, sending jumbled messages from my body to my brain. To highlight the absurdity of what my brain was trying to tell me, it seemed as though my feet were smaller, exposing less skin to the tile floor and thus not being as chilled! Of course, this was a totally preposterous notion I assured myself with my well-practiced left-brain thinking. And then I turned the corner and saw the mirror. The abrupt shift in my thinking slammed my logical left-brain. All the facts had been gathered, filed neatly into categories for later analysis. Even as I'd been walking, the analysis had begun. I can vividly remember, just milliseconds before I rounded the corner, that the facts weren't making any sense, that the hypothesis required to have the data fit was an impossibility. But, as I said, I saw the mirror. The impossible was suddenly confirmed as not only possible, but also real. My left-brain struggled to fit the new data, to somehow, impossibly rationalize my reflection in the mirror. It failed, and in a desperate attempt to deal with the inconceivable, it turned control over to my under- utilized right brain, which in turn panicked. All the right brain could think of doing, given the facts so neatly laid out before it, was to scream. There I stood, staring open-mouthed at the impossible reflection of a young semi-nude girl, and screaming just like the stereotypical girl would. I even sounded the part, higher in pitch and lacking in the resonance of standard male vocal apparatus. After what seemed an eternity, but in reality was only about a minute, my left-brain decided it had had enough rest. My head dropped as I moved my gaze from the mirror to my actual body. On my chest were a pair of magnificent feminine orbs, easily a large B if not C cup. My hands, transformed somehow into the fine delicate feminine shape that they now held, shot up toward the breasts. And yet, somehow, though I desperately wanted to touch them, as if to prove that they were a mere illusion, I couldn't will my hands to move that last centimeter. They stopped, cupped, just shy of the mammaries, their female shape belying the fact that I'd been male scant moments earlier. Clinically, I noted that my fingernails now extended half an inch beyond my fingertips, with a coating of light burgundy or maroon enamel. Between my breasts was a valley inviting my gaze downward. My stomach had none of the well-toned and defined abs that I'd struggled to keep, even through the marital problems and hyper- extended work hours. My stomach was flat and smooth, extending to a moderately narrowed waistline. Further down, I could see that the swim trunks had been altered as well; now, instead of generic boxer shorts, my hips and crotch were clad in a modest but still revealing bikini bottom, a scanty bit of light blue spandex which barely covered my crotch. The sides of the bikini rode high on my hips, revealing shapely curves that were impossible for a man. Though I couldn't see, I could tell from the feel that the changes had affected my posterior as well; I knew that when I looked, my ass would be rounder and more womanly. My hips extended down into smooth legs, barren of hair and seductively curvy, ending in petite little feet with painted toenails, unlike my male size thirteens. There was no getting around the one final check. My right hand slid down slowly, inexorably, until my fingers caught the waistband of my bikini. I held my breath as I tugged outward, pulling the bikini away from my body, trembling with dread anticipation. Finally, I acknowledged the last bit of evidence, and with a soft slap, the waistband snapped back against my tummy. It was gone. My manhood. My dick. The big _it_. My crotch was empty. Well, not really empty. Just devoid of a male sex organ. The main problem was that what I _did_ have was female apparatus. My right brain tried to force a panic attack while I contemplated the totality of the change. Fortunately, my left-brain caught the move and force my emotions back into check; now was definitely _not_ the time to panic. I could feel the tug-of-war raging in my head; my logical half wanted to fully analyze the situation, to see if it was some elaborate trickery or illusion, and if not, to understand how such a change could have been manifested. But my emotional brain, already charged with dark emotions from my current quest, wanted to cry out in anger and rage. It wanted to find and punish whoever was responsible for this assault on my identity. I glanced back at the mirror, at the face I now wore. My hands shot to my cheeks. I was pretty! Not gorgeous, but also far from homely. I had the face of an attractive young woman. My eyes looked bigger and softer; I rationalized that since my face was smaller, they only looked bigger. My lips were definitely fuller than they had been, but only a little. For some reason, I was relieved that I didn't have the full pouty lips I'd seen so often on strippers and sex idols. As quick as the thought came, it vanished, leaving me puzzled as to its origin. My cheeks were a bit more defined, enough to make me look more feminine. Gone was the rugged chin and strong manly nose. My new nose was smaller, more refined, and ever-so- slightly upturned, giving it a graceful and dainty appearance. My chin was soft and smooth, devoid of the perpetual five-o-clock shadow that had plagued me since puberty, and without the squared appearance so treasured by past movie-stars like the Duke. And my hair! It was a light brown, almost strawberry blonde in appearance, although I knew that hint of red could be an artifact of the lighting. Though it was wet and hung limply about my neck, I guessed that the style was feathered from bangs in front to just past shoulder-length in back. A knock interrupted my self-analysis. I felt my jaw drop, and I suddenly realized that I was about to get caught in this body - and that I was going to have some explaining to do. My hands clutched automatically over my exposed breasts even as the door opened. The stab of bright sunlight momentarily hid the intruder; when the door banged shut, I could see it was the brunette from the ticket booth. She gave me a knowing smile. "I was beginning to wonder if you were coming out." I stared open-mouthed at her for half a lifetime. "You...know? You know I changed?" She smiled pleasantly. "Yes, Fred, I know." She held up a bikini top, which she'd somehow produced. She grinned. "Yes, I made the swimming trunks the same way." My mind raced. She was one hell of an illusionist. Or.... My left brain ruled out the other possibility, but my right brain kept reminding it of one of Sherlock Holmes' principles. When you've ruled out all other answers, the one that remains, no matter how illogical, must be the truth. It had to be.... "Magic," the girl confirmed. "My grandmother and I use magic to run this park." She got a wry grin. "By the way, my name is Anya. It's a pleasure." The grin faded. "I hope." Quite abruptly, she sounded deadly serious. I gulped. It was as if she knew the mission I'd been on. "Fred Lewis." Then I shook my head, feeling silly. She knew that. She'd called me by name at the ticket booth. Anya nodded, barely smiling. She stepped around me, to the locker I'd stashed my gear in. Deliberately, she pulled out the bottle. "I hope you won't be needing these." She slipped the sleeping pills into her pocket. I started to object, then I dropped my gaze. I'd been caught, and I knew it. Slowly, everything started to come unglued; it felt as if every stitch of my life's tapestry were coming unfurled at once. My mind reeled under the assault of a year's worth of bad memories. And then, somehow, the dark clouds of my mind parted for a second, illuminating my intentions, and I staggered in the sudden light. I started to collapse, and Anya caught me, guiding me to one of the benches. "I brought you here," Anya said slowly after I'd cried for at least ten minutes, something I hadn't done since fourth grade. I looked up, into her soft sympathetic eyes. "I could feel your dark thoughts, and I knew I had to do something." "You...brought me here?" Anya nodded. "I had to do something!" she said in protest. "You were about to throw away the gift of life! I...couldn't let that happen." There was pain in her eyes, an unspoken agony that I felt rather than saw. "I don't understand." The words sounded distant, as if someone else was speaking. "You...brought me here? How?" The corners of Anya's mouth turned up ever so slightly. "Magic. I...sensed your thoughts." She tried to suppress a shudder, but failed. "I...helped you think that the car crash idea wasn't good, and I substituted the drowning idea." It wasn't making any sense. None of it. "But why...?" Anya shook her head sadly. "Your...decision...would have a profound impact on your wife and children." She saw my eyes widen. "Oh, yes," she said slowly. "I may not be as good as grandmother, but I'm learning to...read...the future." "So you turned me into a girl?" My mind mulled the possibilities. "So...what? You changed reality or something?" Anya shook her head. "No, nothing that drastic. You've just turned into a girl. It's just a local change, affecting only you." She flashed a little grin. "It's much easier that way. Bending reality is really hard work." I felt my eyebrows lower into a frown. "So if I'm still me..." I shook my head. "That means nothing is changed. I've still got nothing to live for." I dropped my gaze to the floor, tasting bitter defeat once more. Anya lifted my chin so she could look me in the eyes. "I've given you a chance to think. A chance to look for another way." A sudden grin crossed her face. "As Spock would say, there are always alternatives." My mouth dropped open; she'd read my mind and knew that the Star Trek quote would get my attention. I sat, dumbfounded, contemplating what she'd said. Anya had a serious expression. "Promise me you won't do anything drastic in the park," she said in a soft but commanding voice. She stared at me, sensing my hesitation. "Promise me." I knew she wasn't going to let me leave without a promise, and I knew she knew that once I gave my word, I'd never go back on it. "Okay, I promise." The answer came slowly, but when I glanced up, I saw that Anya was satisfied. "Now why don't you go out and have some fun. Try to relax." She stood and pulled me to my feet. "I've always found that when I quit thinking about a problem, the answer appears." Then she noticed that she was still holding the bikini top. "Oh, and put this on. Grandmother really doesn't like topless sunbathing." I took the small wad of blue fabric, and with an ease that startled me, I put it on as if I'd been doing it all my life. Anya read the surprise on my face, and she laughed. "When you change, you kind of inherit some feminine skills." She took my arm and led me to the door. "By the way, you really can't go by Fred here." She eyed me up and down, and I felt my cheeks redden. "Not like that, anyway." "Felicity," I said softly, speaking the first word that popped into my brain. "Huh?" "Felicity." I turned to Anya, a half-smile creeping onto my features. "It was my grandmother's name, and if I'd have been born a girl, dad said they'd have named me Felicity." Not quite knowing what to expect, I let Anya lead me out of the locker room. A couple of ladies glanced my way, their faces bearing a knowing little smile, and I looked away even as the red stain of embarrassment lit up my cheeks. "Does everyone here know...that I've been changed?" I finally asked Anya. She laughed, a very delightful and pleasant sound. "No, not everyone. And if you just relax, no-one else will know either." I glanced around, and saw that she'd been leading me deeper into the park. I saw women and girls strolling about, happy and carefree, all enjoying the amenities of the park. Slowly, it dawned on me that I wasn't seeing any guys. I turned to Anya to ask her. She must have read my mind again. "No, there aren't any guys here, Felicity." She smiled as she used my 'adopted' name. "This is a haven for ladies, a refuge from the prying and lecherous eyes of men." It sounded just like it had come from a sales brochure. "So you won't have to worry about any guys hitting on you." I nearly stumbled; to be honest, I hadn't considered that angle. "Uh, Anya? When do I change back? Or do I?" Anya seemed taken aback by my question, then she laughed. "Just changing you into a girl wouldn't solve your problems, and it would have made more for your family. So yes, you do change back. Sometime around midnight, when the pass expires." "Oh." "Anya!" A voice was calling out behind us. "Anya!" Anya and I turned in unison, looking down the path to see who was calling her. One of the staff, prominent in her Bikini Beach polo shirt, came trotting up to us. "I thought I saw you coming down this way." Anya frowned at the intrusion; I guessed that this was about business. "What's up, Vicky?" Vicky gave me a quick once-over, then turned her attention to Anya. "Greg is at the front gate. He said it's important." Anya's frown deepened. "Why doesn't he just come in?" Even as she spoke, I could see the answer dawning on her features. "The ad shoot," she said. She gave me a quick glance, and I could see her concern. "If he's here...." She seemed to be concentrating for a moment, her eyes half closed and her brow furrowed. Then she looked up at me and smiled. "Come on, Felicity. Let's go see what Greg needs, then I'll finish your tour of the park." Apart from learning that Greg was Anya's boyfriend, I learned nothing during the walk back to the gate. I noticed a rather average looking guy standing by the turnstile, watching with a detached interest as girls came and went from the park. I knew, instantly, that he was attached, and while he was watching the girls walk by, it wasn't with any interest. But as we neared, his eyes riveted on Anya and he broke into a smile. I knew that this guy was Greg. He was several years younger than me - and probably still a student. He had a very exuberant grin, a boyish innocence that was reminded me of all the new hires at my old company. Full of youth and hope and ambition, unaware of the perils that awaited them in the fiercely competitive real world. Someday, I knew, Greg's optimism would be dashed, to be replaced by a more realistic cynicism. Anya stepped through the exit gate and gave him a quick hug. I was left alone, standing inside the gate, wondering why I was there. "Problem?" she asked. Greg sighed. "Can't fool you," he said in mock protest. "One of the models came down with food poisoning." He looked very unhappy. "So Randy isn't going to be able to finish the job and we won't get paid." Anya looked very troubled. "And you've already fronted the models..." Greg nodded. "About three thousand," he finished. He rolled his eyes. "I was hoping maybe you could..." Anya shook her head; she knew what Greg was going to ask. "Nope," she said simply. "Once - maybe. But not again. Remember? You agreed." Greg nodded slowly. "I know," he said. Then he looked up, right at me. His eyes were focused on me like laser beams, scanning me up and down. I felt a chill run down my spine. "But if your friend here..." Anya glanced at me, then she got a wicked grin. "You know, that just might work." "What are you talking about?" I asked nervously. I sensed that the two of them were up to something, and I didn't like the feeling it gave me. Anya nodded to Greg. "Meet you in the office," she directed. He started walking toward a low gray building, while Anya took my hand and pulled me the same direction. "Greg is an amateur photographer," she explained. "He and a fraternity brother bid on a job for a department store chain. They got the bid, but one of the models had to back out. What Greg fears is that if they don't have enough different models, they'll lose the contract, and the money they've already fronted to the models." We paused a moment to step into the building, into the water park's office. Anya gestured toward a chair, and I sat. I felt my actions were odd; for some reason, my legs refused to splay out at a relaxed angle from my slumped body; instead, I sat upright, and my left leg crossed automatically over the right one. I shuddered when I realized that it was a very ladylike action. Greg joined us. He sat down the way I would have, had I been a guy. "Okay, I'll get right to the point. We're doing a photo shoot for the ladies' clothing section of a spring sale catalog." I felt my jaw dropping open. "Ladies'...clothing?" I glanced at Anya and saw her nod. "You want me to model...ladies' clothing?" Greg glanced at me, puzzled, and then slowly, his eyes widened. "Oh," he mouthed softly, and in that one sound, he indicated that he knew everything. Anya glanced at me, then back at Greg. "Why don't you wait outside so we can talk?" She scooted him out the office door, then came back beside me. Before she could say anything, I laid into her. "What the hell do you think you're doing with me?" I demanded. "First, you change my body. And now you want me to pose in ladies' clothes for a catalog?" Anya let me rant, all the while staring impassively at me. Finally, she laid her hand gently on my arm. "There are always alternatives," she said. I shut up, rebuked by the words of Spock. "Look, Fred," Anya said bluntly, "you were going to kill yourself for some insurance money. Now, with a little temporary change, you have an opportunity to make some money - and still be around for your wife and kids. That sounds like a pretty good opportunity if you ask me." I frowned. The logic of what she was saying was perfect. Still... "But as a girl? In girls' clothes and stuff?" Anya grinned. "Look on the bright side." She watched my mouth drop open; how could there be a bright side to any of this. "No one except you, me, and Greg, will ever know it was you. No one." She sensed that my determination was softening. "There's a five hundred dollar modeling fee, and if any of pictures are used, a bonus of fifty per picture." She nodded as I grasped the potential. "That's more than you make in a week at your sales job. And it's just for one afternoon of photos." I was torn. A ray of hope had entered my miserable life. And yet, that ray had a downside that was, frankly, weird. Sure, this looked good. But for the long term... "I don't know," I mumbled. "It'll help. But only for a few days." Anya nodded to me. "Right now, you need to take things one day at a time." She sensed my hesitation, and she continued. "Which is easier? Thinking about modeling girl's clothes, or thinking about your kids' faces as they stare into their dad's casket? Oh, and one more thing you hadn't considered. When you left a suicide note, you invalidated your insurance." She watched as my jaw dropped open; I hadn't considered that. "Your policy has a suicide clause. Your family would have lost you, and gotten nothing out of it but grief and misery." I flinched. Her comment was dirty pool, and she knew it. Slowly, I began to realize that I'd been so wrapped up in my own problems that I hadn't given serious consideration to how it would affect Elise and the kids. I looked back up at Anya, fighting tears. "Okay, when you put it that way, it doesn't seem so bad." The ride with Greg to the studio was deathly silent. He knew that I'd been changed. He was polite enough not to say anything, and I sure as hell didn't want to talk about it. I just sat there in my skirt and polo shirt and sandals, letting the wind blow through my hair as I stared blankly ahead. Yes, even my clothing had changed, from a pair of Dockers, a T-shirt, and tennis shoes into a very female outfit. The white skirt was sexier than I would have liked; it ended about two and a half inches above my knee, exposing a _lot_ of my curvy legs. I wouldn't have minded the polo shirt so much except that it was a snug fit, with the result that it emphasized the curves of my breasts. The open toes of the sandals displayed my painted toenails. I shuddered again at the thought of just how feminine I looked. At least I wasn't wearing any of the makeup that was in my purse. Oh, yeah. Purse. As in a woman's handbag. Another little gift of the change. Packed with makeup and other woman's things - including, to my horror, a couple of tampons. This nightmare just seemed to go on and on. My first impression of Greg had been correct; he was a college student working for a few extra bucks. That made me feel nervous; what kind of photography studio was I going to? If it even was a studio? Maybe he and his partner were just working out of seedy warehouse space somewhere in the shadier side of town. The more I thought, the more nervous I got. I had all of thirty minutes experience being a woman, and here I was out on my own, unescorted, with a guy I barely knew, going to a job I had never contemplated at a location I didn't know. It was to my profound relief that we turned into a large strip mall and parked opposite a bona fide photographer's studio. I even recognized the place; we'd had the kids portraits done here a couple of years ago. As we walked in, me still quite nervous, Greg called out, "Randy, we might be in business after all!" I assumed it was Randy that came out of the back. He was dressed like Greg - casual college student - and he looked, if anything, a year or two younger than Greg. He stopped abruptly when he saw me. I could feel his eyes critically scanning up and down my body. "Hmm," he mumbled. "Maybe..." He turned to me. "You have any experience in modeling?" I shook my head. "No." The word was soft, tiny. Randy rolled his eyes and sighed. He glared at Greg. "We need a model, not an amateur," he snapped. Greg held up his hands defensively. "Anya said she'd do okay." Anya's name had an electric effect on Randy. He froze, his mouth half-open in protest. Slowly, he turned back to me. This time, I felt naked under his scrutiny. He reached out and lifted my chin; instinctively, I pulled away. "Well," he finally muttered, "she's got potential." He turned, finally acknowledging me. "Go in back and get changed. The outfits are numbered on the hangers. Start with number one." He strode purposefully to the back of the shop. Greg glanced at me and shrugged. "He always gets like this when he's shooting," he explained. "You should have seen him the day we shot over at the park." He led and I followed him to the back of the shop, and he pointed to the dressing room. "Go and get changed. We've got a lot of work to do." I heard some female voices around the corner, and I guessed that other models were busy posing. Not knowing what else to do, I nodded and opened the door, determined to get this over with. I came back out like a frightened rabbit. Greg saw me, and he got concerned. "What's wrong?" he asked quickly. My eyes were wide as saucers. "There's a...girl...in there!" I stammered. "A naked girl." Greg frowned. "What did you expect? Dancing bears?" "But..." I started to protest. This was getting weirder with each passing moment. "She's...naked!" Greg took my arm gently. "Look, I don't know if you realize it or not, but right now, you're a girl, too." He shrugged his shoulders, and I realized that not only did he know the secret of Bikini Beach, but he'd probably been changed a few times himself. "So there's really nothing strange about seeing another girl naked. I know it's weird the first time or two, but you get used to it." The door opened, and the girl walked out. My jaw dropped further; she was wearing only underwear! Greg, on the other hand, didn't seem to notice. "I think Randy's ready for you, Renee," he said nonchalantly. She nodded and walked casually toward the other room, where, presumably, Randy and the cameras were. "But...she's in her underwear!" I protested anew. Greg's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. "I thought...Anya told you!" Now I felt really scared. "Told me what?" Greg gulped. "This is a lingerie shoot," he finally said, sounding a bit embarrassed. "We're shooting models in lingerie." I sank against the wall, totally stunned. "Anya didn't tell me," I finally snapped, trying to stand tall and firm. "And neither did you!" I was just about to turn and walk out when I got a brief mental image of my wife and kids looking over a coffin. I know it was Anya's doing, and it sent a shiver up my spine. I sank back against the wall and swallowed hard; this was going to be totally embarrassing - no, make that humiliating - but I really didn't have any other choice. After taking a few deep breaths, I opened my eyes and glanced up at Greg. I could see sympathy in his eyes, as if he knew the depth of my plight. But he couldn't. Not unless he like Anya.... "Okay, I guess I'll do it," I mumbled. "It's not like I have a lot of other choices." Greg went back to his job, which as near as I could tell, was gopher for Randy. I went into the dressing room and picked an empty chair. Slowly, feeling both nervous and embarrassed, I stripped naked, then I took the first outfit down. I blushed. I'd have given anything to see Elise in an outfit like this; it was a red lacy demi-bra with matching panties. I felt weird as I pulled the panties on; on the one hand, I was putting on ladies' underwear. On the other hand, the panties felt nice. Soft, smooth, silky. Almost erotic. I felt a chill run down my spine - again. Next, I picked up the bra. If I hadn't seen Elise put on a bra for the years of our marriage, I would have been confused. As it was, I slipped it on, using the same technique Elise used. And to my total surprise, I got it on as if I'd been doing it for years! Just as I was adjusting one of the straps, the door opened and one of the other models came in. She smiled at me, and I blushed. I was a guy. Usually, anyway. But she didn't know; she thought I was just another girl. Without giving me a second thought, she stripped off her bra. Her boobs were smaller than mine, and not as perky. I recoiled at the thought; here I was, in a dressing room with a disrobing girl, and all I could think of was that I had better boobs? Did this mean the magic had made me weird? I felt a surge of panic; was I going to be attracted to guys? How much had I been changed? Greg called through the closed door, and I swallowed hard. Do or die time. Time to parade out for the photos. I felt my hands shaking as I opened the door. I tried to smile confidently; it was difficult. In only underwear, the breeze from the air conditioner was chilly. I glanced down, and in horror, I saw my nipples standing erect, as if to poke through the suddenly inadequate bra. I shook like a leaf as I followed Greg to the other room. Randy glanced at me, then I saw him shake his head at Greg. I'd forgotten to put on any makeup and comb my hair. Sighing, Greg sat me down at a small vanity strategically located for last-minute touchups for the models. "This will only take a second," he said soothingly. I know he could see me shaking. "You've done this before," I said with certainty as he expertly applied a touch of blush and some light eye shadow. Greg smiled. "Once or twice." He picked up a tube of lipstick pursed his lips. "Like that." When I mimicked him, he applied the color quickly. "Actually, it's more like dozens of times." I felt myself frowning. "So are you...like Anya...?" Greg laughed softly. "No, she's the one with the magic. I'm just a normal, everyday guy." He leaned back, then he picked up a brush. A few quick tugs and my hair met his satisfaction. "Okay, that should do it. Now just relax." Randy manipulated my pose quite professionally; even though he made it clear that his only interest was in getting good pictures, I felt helpless and vulnerable, standing as I was in only underwear and in a shapely feminine body. His every touch was a cause for alarm; my skin seemed so much more alive, more sensitive, more _sensual_. Though it was a sensory experience, I felt that this body was betraying me simply because I was noticing these things. My mind was racing as I struggled with the internal conflict and mixed signals. Was I enjoying being a woman? Could it be that I liked the pleasant tingling of arousal as the satiny fabric of the very feminine bra caressed my sensitive and erect nipples? Or was I hyper-sensitive because I was so out of place, that the sensations were making me feel paranoid? After a few shots, Greg peeked over Randy's shoulder. He whistled appreciatively as he looked at me posing. I felt a shudder of embarrassment, a pang of self-consciousness at my situation. "She's a natural," Randy said softly to Greg, but not so softly that I didn't hear it. My already-crimson complexion turned even redder. I think my mind kind of shut down for self-protection. I don't really remember a lot about the rest of the photo session. The best I can remember, it was an endless stream of makeup and lingerie; changing from one set to another, pose after pose. Some pictures were solo, some were with the other girls. I wore lingerie that I never knew existed. Bras, panties. Demi bras. Teddies. One-piece shapers. Corsets. Bra, panty, and garter combinations. And the endless barrage of flashes. It was almost eight when we finished and I got back in my regular clothes. Greg gave me a ride back to the park, to my car. Slowly, the fog was lifting from my brain; as I climbed from Greg's car, I wondered if it had really happened - had I just spent the better part of the day as a lingerie model? It seemed so unreal, like a dream. Still dazed, I started across the parking lot toward my car. "Felicity!" I heard the call from behind me, but it had no meaning to me. "Felicity!" Again the call. It was annoying. I turned, just to see who was calling to whom. To my surprise, it was Anya calling - to me! She was walking briskly out of the park, and she was trying to get my attention! "Well, how did it go?" she asked as she neared me. I know I still looked a bit dazed. "Okay...I think." Greg had caught up to me as well. I'd been in too much a stupor to realize it. "Yeah, the first time can be kind of disorienting." Anya smiled. "I understand you did quite well." She gave Greg a quick wink. I know I had a confused expression. "Greg called while you were dressing," Anya explained. "Randy thinks you're a natural." I didn't know whether to blush or scream. "Uh, thanks. I guess." Greg held out an envelope. "You almost got away without this," he explained. I opened the envelope and pulled out the check. I glanced up, then back down. "We assumed you're freelance, which means you have to take care of the reporting and deductions," he continued. I glanced back up. "I can't cash this!" I finally stammered. I held the check out to Anya. Anya glanced at it, then she dropped her head, shaking it in disbelief. She finally held up the check to Greg. "You made it out to Felicity Lewis," she scolded. Greg started to say something, then he realized what he'd done. He nodded sheepishly. "Sorry," he mumbled. He trotted back to his car, returning in a few seconds with a new check. He gave it to me, and I saw it was to F. Lewis. "That should work, shouldn't it?" Despite my confusion, and anger at being truly identified as Felicity, I smiled. "Yeah." Then a sudden thought intruded on my moment of peace. I turned to Anya, feeling panic-stricken. "Oh, my God!" I nearly screamed. "The note! Emily..." It took a second, but Anya realized what I was talking about. "Oh, damn!" she swore. I turned. "I've got to get home." Anya grabbed my arm. "You can't," she said firmly, and as I struggled to get free of her firm grasp, I realized why. I wasn't Fred. I felt the panic surge through my veins. Elise normally waited until after she and the kids had dinner to check her e-mail, but it was well past that point. "She's got to have read her e-mail by now! She's probably called the police already!" I felt tears starting to leak from my eyes, tears of helplessness and shame for what I'd done. "What are we going to do?" Anya sighed heavily. I guessed that she felt guilty for not having seen the entire thing through. Her eyes closed for a few seconds, and she seemed lost in concentration. Finally, after what seemed hours, she opened her eyes. She grasped my arm, quite firmly. "Hang on." The world exploded in a shower of light, and I flinched involuntarily. I felt as if I were swirling through a gigantic whirlpool, torn between a tug on my arm and the forces around me. I dared not open my eyes; the experience was frightening enough without some Twilight Zone effects as well. I felt another force and heard a soft pop, and there was suddenly firmness under my feet. I pried my eyes open slowly. Anya stood beside me in the den of my house. Elise was sitting frozen at her computer, staring open-mouthed at the monitor. Her face was ashen, and her cheeks were tear-stained. Who knows how long she'd been staring, reading and rereading my suicide note, shocked so deep that she was frozen in disbelief. When she heard us, she turned, her mouth dropping even further open as she saw us appear. "Who...?" she finally started to stammer. It was easy to read the confusion in her voice. "Who are you? How...?" She looked faint; I guess I could understand that - if two strangers had magically appeared behind me, I would have freaked out, too. Anya placed her hand gently on Elise's shoulder. "It's okay, Elise," she said soothingly. "It's okay." Elise didn't look soothed. "Who are you? What...what are you doing here?" She glanced at me, and I felt myself redden. "How...did you get here?" Anya smiled her warmest smile. "Magic, Elise." She glanced over Elise's shoulder, and her face darkened. I felt the same chill. I could read the computer screen, the damning words I'd penned only hours ago, the words that told her that she was now a widow. Guilt at what I'd been trying to do smashed at my senses, leaving me reeling. Anya was good, that much was certain. "Elise, we came here to tell you - and show you - that Fred didn't take his life," she said calmly. "I...managed to convince him not to." "Who are you?" Her voice was rising; I could tell that Elise was moving from being stunned by our appearance to wariness and alarm. Anya glanced at me. I felt fear; how could I tell Elise that I was her husband? "Friends," she said. ********** "Magic," Elise mouthed again, staring all the while at me. I blushed yet again. And yet, I knew that she was almost convinced. I knew everything - how we met, where I proposed, even the little hourglass shaped birthmark on the inside of her left thigh. But still she harbored doubts. Elise was very intelligent, and, this time, that was working against Anya and me. Despite the evidence piled before her - our appearance, a little demonstration by Anya, and the fact that I knew things only Fred would know - she was having trouble accepting the existence of magic. "Magic," I answered softly. Even as I uttered the word, Elise's grandfather clock began to chime softly. Twelve chimes. Midnight. I glanced at Anya, who nodded to me. It was time for the ultimate proof. I felt my body starting to shift. Unlike the change in the shower, I was acutely aware of the changes. I could feel my bones changing, the muscles stretching and growing around them, the tingling in my scalp as the long strawberry blonde hair retracted, leaving me with my dark brown masculine haircut. I glanced to see the fingernails drawing back in even as the enamel faded. All the while my body was changing, my clothing was changing as well, the fabric flowing like liquid as it reformed itself into the clothes in which I'd started the day. In seconds, it was over. Fred was sitting on the couch next to his wife. "Convinced now?" Anya asked slyly. "Oh, my God!" Elise cried over and over as she stared. Then, with tears falling from her eyes, she threw herself around me, holding me more tightly than ever, her body shaking as she cried on my shoulder. I heard a slight pop, and I knew Anya was gone again. Elise still clung to me, bawling her eyes out. When she let go, my eyes were stinging. I felt ashamed of what I'd nearly done to Elise. "I'm sorry," I mumbled. Elise took my cheeks between her palms. "Fred Lewis," she said, her voice quavering between scolding and fear, "don't you ever, ever do that to me again!" Her tears began to flow anew. "I promised to stick by you for better or worse. We'll get through this. Together." She stared deeply into my eyes. "Together. Okay?" I was slowly realizing just how badly I'd scared her with the note. It shook me. "Okay." Elise wasn't about to let me off that easily. "Promise me you'll never do anything like that again." I muttered an okay, but she wasn't satisfied. "Promise!" she demanded. My eyelids dropped to mask the fluid welling from my tear ducts. "I promise," I answered. She hugged me again, and then she pulled back. She stared at my chest. For a second, I felt panicked - had something gone wrong with the magic? Was I still part girl? But Elise pulled an envelope from my pocket. "What's this?" she asked. I reddened and looked down. "After I changed, Anya's boyfriend came by the park. He was going to tell Anya that they'd lost a deal on photographing ads for a catalog because a model was sick. When he saw me," I was really blushing now, "he asked if I'd take her place." Elise's eyes widened. "You spent the afternoon...modeling?" I nodded. "That's my paycheck." "But...you were a girl!" Elise protested. Then slowly she added up the facts. "So you were modeling girl's clothes?" I looked away even as I flushed a brighter shade of crimson. "Lingerie," I mumbled, embarrassed like I'd never been in my life. ************** The money helped stave off a couple of creditors, but within a week, we were back to square one. I didn't know what to do, but I knew I couldn't go through with my last plan. Somehow, Anya had said, things would work out. It was Sunday afternoon. We were sitting on the patio, enjoying one of the rare days when neither of us were working, when I got the call. Anya wanted to see me at the office. And Elise, too. When we got there, Anya and Greg were waiting. I glanced nervously at Greg; how could I face him, knowing that the last time I'd seen him I was a woman? "Sit down, please," Anya invited. "Coke? Sprite?" I took a Coke; Elise had just water. After she'd served the drinks, Anya sat down. "You're probably wondering why I've summoned you here?" she asked. Greg snickered, and she elbowed him. "Well, it's funny! You make it sound like a mystery novel or something!" Anya rolled her eyes. "Greg, show them the proofs." Greg opened a notebook and started flipping through a lot of photographs. Elise looked at one or two, then she stared at me. Hard. I blushed and turned away. I was humiliated beyond belief by having done the pictures in the first place; now Greg and Anya were displaying them - to my wife! I sat and stared into a remote corner of the office while the three of them flipped through the pages. Finally, I couldn't hear any more turning pages. I turned my head back, only to see Elise staring at me. Her eyes were wide and soft, and she had an almost awe-struck expression. "What?" I asked sharply. Elise shook her head the tiniest bit. "You...you're good," she said admiringly. I felt my jaw drop, then I snapped it shut angrily. "No, really!" she said. "These are really good." I glanced at Anya, and she nodded. So did Greg. "The CEO thinks so, too," Greg said. "The phrase he used was 'wholesome beauty'. He liked it. As a matter of fact, he asked - no, he demanded - that we get you in some of the pictures for the spring lineup and the swimsuit line." My jaw dropped open again. This sounded crazy, impossible. I was being offered a job...but modeling women's clothes! Greg read my confused thoughts. "The job pays five thousand," he added. I glanced at Elise, and saw her mixed emotions. On the one hand, it was a job, and the money would go a long way. And she was proud of me for the job I'd already done. On the other hand, it meant I had to turn into a girl again. "No," I answered softly but firmly. "I...can't. Not again." Elise took my arm. "But it's a job, honey," she pleaded. Her voice betrayed her inner conflict. Elise's pleading and the logic of a job were weakening my resolve. It _was_ a good opportunity. A thought occurred to me. "Where, and how long?" Greg looked down, and I instinctively knew it was bad news. "Next week. All week." He sounded sheepish, as if he knew I wasn't going to like the rest of the news. "And it's in Atlanta, at the company headquarters." I let my eyes close as I exhaled slowly. I found my head shaking. "No," I mumbled. "Not for a week." "Fred." Elise waited until I looked at her. "We need the money." I closed my eyes again and nodded. "I know. But...." "But nothing. We need the money. And it's a job." I knew Elise was right. I knew I was trapped and had to take the job. Desperation does that to a man. I glanced at Anya. "So how will this work?" Anya bit her lower lip. More bad news. "You'll have to have a pass for as long as your trip." "I'll stay a girl the whole time?" Anya nodded. I let my head fall into my hand, the heavy weight of my thoughts propped up by my elbow and the arm of the chair. I felt the weight of the world on me - Elise was right; we really needed the money. But a girl? For a week? I hadn't enjoyed the time I'd been changed before, and this was going to be much worse. But we _did_ need the money.... Finally, I lifted my head. All three were staring at me. "Okay," I finally gave in. ********** The flight was awful; the guy next to me tried to hit on me the entire trip. I ignored him, and he tried. I was rude, and he tried again. He was getting a bit tipsy, and he tried even harder. I felt very self-conscious - how do women handle boors like that guy? Fortunately, we landed, and I escaped his unwelcome advances. I felt the cabbie leering at me through his rear-view mirror. The porters were helpful - too helpful. More lustful gazes. With a great sigh of relief, I shut the door behind me, safe within my room. At least for a while. I'd never been intimidated by big cities before. There was always something to see and do. But now? I huddled the rest of the day in my room, afraid to show my face. I wondered how women faced these things on a day-to-day basis. Then I realized that they'd grown up with it, and they had learned how to deal with these kinds of situations - or to ignore them. But me? I was a guy in a girl's body, and I realized, to my surprise and horror, that I knew nothing about how girls act and react to the world around them. I was a babe in the woods, so to speak, the ultimately na?ve little girl in the jungle of the big city. About eight, my hunger was past ignoring. I feared going out to the hotel restaurant, but after scrimping for so long, room service seemed a horrible extravagance. I went carefully down to the restaurant, paranoid and watching around me. I felt like I was being examined, lusted after, by every guy in the place, and that even after I made sure to wear the least revealing, least flattering dress Elise had packed for me. Dear Elise. She'd known what I'd be up against. And bless her heart, she'd prepared. There wasn't an outfit in my suitcase that wasn't concealing or plain. Granted, I had a bigger bust than she did, which made some of her outfits tend to display my, uh, curves a little more than I would have liked. Still, she did a good job. I escaped the restaurant and returned to my room unmolested. But it was still very unnerving! I woke early and showered, then spent a considerable amount of time drying my hair. I'd tried to control the process instead of letting the instincts take over, and as a result of over-aggressive toweling on my head, I'd gotten my hair totally tangled and snarled. I wanted to scream or cry from frustration by the time I got the tangles out. By the time I got dressed and got some makeup on, I realized that it was too late to get breakfast at the restaurant. Now, not only was I alone, female, and frustrated, but I was also late and hungry! Fortunately, I'd done a little recon the night before, and I knew the hotel had a coffee shop. But when it got there, it had a line of waiting customers - probably like me, they'd run behind and were trying to grab a bite. I sighed and glanced at my watch - I was really going to be late if I didn't high-tail it now. My stomach answered this thought by rumbling. To make matters worse, a young businessman noticed me glancing anxiously at my watch. He gallantly said I could go ahead of him if I was in a hurry. I smiled as I said thanks, not sure if my features were going to appear as just plain thankful, or send some kind of sensuous signal to the guy. Inwardly, I hated myself for having gotten into this mess. If only. If only a million other things had gone differently.... I sighed to myself as I paid for my bagel and coffee. I was stuck with this as a job - at least temporarily - and that meant I was stuck spending some time as a woman. I'm sure the cabbie was leering at me as he drove me to the studio. I didn't have time to notice; I was busy eating my bagel and cream cheese and drinking my coffee. The coffee did it. Some caffeine in my system helped calm my jangled nerves. At the same time, it felt...different. Almost exhilarating! I felt very energized, like I could walk through the photo shoot in minutes. I walked into the studio with a definite spring in my step. As I entered, I glanced around and saw the old grandfatherly gentleman sitting patiently in a chair. The receptionist took my name and even as she started to check her list, the man stood and strode to my side. "Miss Lewis?" he asked in his warm friendly voice. I turned from the receptionist. "Yes," I answered cautiously. I didn't know this old man, and I was uneasy to the point of being paranoid. He smiled warmly. "I'm Mr. Randall, the CEO of...." He didn't finish; I'm sure he thought I was going to faint or something. My eyes bulged when I realized that I was talking to a multi- billionaire. _The_ Mr. Randall - Warren P. Randall the Third, the man whose name was synonymous with lingerie and fine women's clothing, had been waiting for me. "I'm...Felicity. Felicity Lewis," I stammered. I didn't really know how to greet a CEO. "Yes," he smiled warmly, "I know." He took my arm gently and led me toward the back of the studio. "Some of my staff are here, and I'd like you to meet them before you get started." I didn't know Warren P. Randall from his face, but his name.... Two companies ago, I'd worked on an intranet project for his corporation. The corporation, while not the largest lingerie maker in the country, was the largest privately held company which specialized in that line, and other women's garments and accessories. The Randall family had started and successfully built the company from a small corset shop in New Brunswick, New Jersey, into the huge corporation it now is. One thing I'd definitely noticed on the earlier job - unlike some competitors, they didn't go for unrealistically proportioned models in sexy poses. The company had a wholesome image that seemed somehow out of place. In retrospect, I should have felt nervous about being led around by a rich old man. At the time, however, I had no experience, and being in awe of a billionaire who took time to meet a lingerie model, thoughts of trouble just didn't occur to me. 'Some of his staff' was an understatement. There was Emma, the vice president of research and development, Arthur from marketing, his sister Bea from advertising, and several assistants and deputy assistants. If a bomb had exploded at that moment, I think the company would have lost its top three tiers of management. "Now, Bea, don't you agree that she's perfect?" Mr. Randall gushed proudly after introducing us. Bea, I guessed, was about fifty-five. Shorter than me, she was stocky. Not fat, but solidly built. She wore her graying hair in a tight bun, and her face was worn with experience. Her lips were pursed tightly all the time, and with her old-fashioned glasses, she looked a bit like a librarian. I felt like I was being examined under a microscope as she gazed up and down my body. "Yes," she finally said, and her voice had a soft quality that belied her somewhat harsh appearance, "I think she'll do nicely." She pulled the glasses from her nose, dangling them on a chain around her neck. "Assuming," she continued in a stern tone that matched the piercing glare she was giving me, "that you meet the standards of our little company." I withered under her gaze. "Uh, I'm not sure I follow," I said cautiously. She frowned as she continued to stare at me. I honestly didn't know what she was talking about, and she didn't seem willing to give me any hints. Mr. Randall came to my rescue. "What my sister is saying," he said in a fatherly tone, "is that we work very hard to protect the image of our company." His gentle face took on a slightly more stern appearance. "We did a little background check on you," he continued. My eyes widened, and I felt panic rising in my throat. If they'd done some background checks, then.... "And, much to our delight, we found nothing that could prove...embarrassing...to the company." Bea's face softened - a little bit. "We don't like to discover that our models have seedy backgrounds," she said. "Alcohol abuse, exotic dancing," she said the words as if they were distasteful, and I knew that, to her, they were, "you know, that sort of thing." "Oh." I felt a ton of weight lift from my shoulders. "Uh, no, I've never done any of that." "And we like it even less when our models move on into those sorts of...disreputable professions." She half-smiled, and instead of feeling relief, I suddenly felt nervous. "Warren, I'll handle it from here. Why don't you go back to your office and try to be useful?" There was an air of familiarity about her comment, as if it were an inside joke. But it was also clearly a command; she was in charge from here on out, even if Mr. Randall was the CEO. We went back into the dressing room of the studio. Bea shooed out a pair of ladies, company employees I surmised, and she sat me down on a sofa. "Do you sleep around?" she asked bluntly. I know the shock showed on my face. "I beg your pardon?" "Do you sleep around?" she repeated. I shook my head. "No," I managed to croak. "But you had to have seen the report," I managed to add. I felt terribly uncomfortable with Bea's questions. "Are you a virgin?" "Uh, yes," I whispered while I dropped my head, blushing. Just after I'd changed for the trip, Anya had mysteriously hinted that my body - my female body - was still virginal; at the time, it seemed odd. Now I understood why. Bea watched me squirm, then she laughed. "You know, it's always interesting to see how a girl reacts to that question. And I know it's terribly personal, too." She smiled. "But you see, we have to make sure our models fit the image of the company." She sat back. "I knew from the first glance that Warren's judgement was right." She read my puzzled expression. "Your outfit. Very conservative. Very lady-like." She nodded approvingly. "You'd be surprised how many models show up looking like ladies of the evening, and then expect to model our lines of clothing." I nodded dumbly. I guessed that I'd passed her inspection. "Stand up." Without hesitation or question, I stood. "Take off your clothes, please." I stared at her, my mouth slowly dropping open, not sure I understood the order. She looked directly at me. "Take off your clothes." Slowly, uneasily, I obeyed, slipping off my skirt first and then unbuttoning my blouse. I stepped out of my shoes and skirt as my blouse slid off my arms, leaving me standing in my panty hose, panties, and bra. From her pocket, Bea produced a tape measure. Quickly, expertly, she took my measurements, jotting them down as