This choice: She stays outside, giving you time to get into Jen's uniform • Go Back...Chapter #79Easy Ways To Spot A Shapeshifter by: imaj   The door doesn’t move. “Oh hurry up Jen,” comes Trisha’s voice from the other side. That gives you a few minutes at most you figure, so you move quickly and start stripping the real Jen.
Her uniform is a deep, vivid, red that is cut close to reveal her figure. You start with the silk scarf round her neck, removing it and folding it carefully before placing it on the counter. Her blazer comes off next, revealing a plain white blouse that hugs Jen’s figure tightly. Her chest heaves as she breathes, doing interesting things with the way the blouse clings round her breasts. You might have stopped to stare once, but you’ve got an identical pair under your own clothes. You can always look at them later.
You decide to unbutton the tight blouse next, with the way she’s settled on the floor it looks ready to burst open. As you undo the buttons, Jen’s breasts spill out. They are ample, but look as if they might sag if it were not for her bra. It’s the bra of someone that needs support, not to look sexy – plain white with no frills or decorations, just sturdy and practical. As you place the blouse and bra by the rest of Jen’s clothes you notice you were right: Her breasts do sag a little.
You also notice she’s wearing one of those bodystocking tights things, the ones that come right up to the stomach and help keep it flat. Of course, wearing her imago like you are, and knowing her memories as you do, you know that her belly is starting to run a little flabby.
Her shoes come off next, shiny red leather with a practical short heel. Those you leave on the floor. Jen’s pencil skirt is the same deep red as the blazer. You unzip it carefully, working it round her ass and pulling it down past her feet before adding it to the growing pile of clothes. That just leaves her tights, including the tummy tucker, and panties. The former have to be removed carefully to avoid any runs, the latter you pull away roughly, revealing a dark thatch about her crotch. Evidently she dyes her hair.
That’s the last of Jen’s clothes. You drag her into one of the stalls and wedge her onto the toilet seat. Then you hastily remove your own clothes and pile them on top of Jen’s sleeping body. You wedge the door to the stall shut. Hopefully no one will discover her until she wakes up later. By then you should be in London.
You catch sight of yourself in the mirrors. Your new face is beautifully made up, perhaps a little strong, but Jen has done a good job of concealing the effects of age. The rest of your body shows its age more, little touches of fat showing here and there, things not quite as firm as they might have been in the past. Jen wouldn’t have been your first choice, but she’ll do – you’re only going to be her for a little while.
Workmanlike, you start donning Jen’s clothes. You stuff those ample breasts into her bra, lifting them up and taking the weight off your back. The panties and tights follow quickly. With the tummy tucker in place, your new body shape looks svelte. You turn left and right quickly, feeling how Jen’s persona admires the changes it makes.
Now for the uniform itself. You start with the blouse, letting Jen’s memories guide you towards leaving the top button open. The gap leaves a small window for your cleavage to peek through and another Jen memory prompts you that your breasts will jiggle nicely through it in the tight confines of the blouse. The uniform skirt feels equally tight as you zip it up. It’ll constrain your movement in a way you’re not used to, so you feel out through Jen’s memories: small steps will help, it seems, especially once you get the heels on. Then you tie the scarf into place, again relying on Jen’s memories to get it perfect. Finally, you pull on the blazer, buttoning it closed. You hadn’t noticed earlier, but there’s a little gold nametag pinned to it. Gazing at it in the mirror, you still manage to read the reversed writing: ‘Jennifer Moore – Senior Cabin Crew’.
You let your ruby painted lips part and smile Jennifer’s smile. Perfect.
The other two attendants are still waiting outside the toilet. Trish looks up as you exit and grab hold of Jen’s suitcase. “About time,” she says sullenly. “All fixed up,” she adds, causing a little tremor of jealousy to flare deep in Jen’s persona. Trisha is a good ten years younger than Jen and it shows.
“Actually Trish,” you reply, letting Jen’s feelings of scorn loose. “I had a little toilet emergency that needed sorted.”
“Yeah, whatever,” replies Trisha, tousling her hair. The word bitch bubbles to the top of your thoughts.
The third attendant, the young man, rolls his eyes at this. Jen’s memories tell you his name is Clive and she doesn’t get on well with him either. “We don’t have time for this,” he says caustically.
You look at your two new co-workers, momentarily disassociating yourself from Jen’s persona just to put down the bile she feels for them. Well, you think, this will be fun…
*****
You duck round the curtain and into the little service area between the first and economy class sections of the plane. As the senior member of the cabin crew, Jen is in charge of the other too, even if they do make for recalcitrant underlings. She usually selects herself to spend most of the flight looking after the first class section – that’s where the wealthy people are. From your outsider looking in perspective, it seems a little tragic that you’ve just spent the last thirty minutes flashing your aging boobs at wealthy looking businessmen.
Trisha glances in your direction as you draw the curtain back into place behind you. Jen’s feelings towards her co-worker leave you on edge and you have to fight down the urge to be catty towards her. “You know, I was just thinking Trish,” you begin, in a trying to be polite voice. “Maybe you’d like to do first class this flight.”
Trisha looks up at you, her eyes roving about your face as she tries to work out why you are giving up one of Jen’s jealously guarded privileges. She doesn’t know that you’ve also spent the last half hour looking for Rick, and now you want to check the aft section of the plane. It doesn’t surprise you that he wasn’t in first class. Rick doesn’t seem like the kind of person who’d willing part with more money than he needed to.
“I don’t know,” Trisha replies, gesturing at what she was doing. “I was kind of in the middle of something.”
You take a quick look at what she just indicating. Jen’s memories tell you she’s clearly just pretending to work in order to take a quick break. “I’d really owe you a big favour,” you add though gritted teeth.
Trisha smiles like a cat. “Oh all right then,” she answers, trying to sound like she’s only accepting grudgingly.
“Thank you,” you say, forcing a brittle smile, before squeezing past Trisha and into the aft section of the plane.
You spot Rick almost instantly. He’s right at the back of the plane in an aisle seat, struggling to make himself comfortable. You suppress a grin, he’s sat himself as close to one of the emergency exits as possible. You can’t go straight up to him, that would be too obvious. Instead you pick your way down the aisle, stopping at several of the cramped seats along the way: An old woman that needs help switching on the light above her, a boy of ten struggling to adjust his seat. There’s a couple of men you stop at and bend over to talk to for no other reason than Jen would find them attractive – staying in character is important.
Finally you reach Rick. “Everything alright sir,” you ask politely. He is unsuccessfully trying to stuff a small pillow behind his head. “Let me sort that for you.”
Rick looks at you suspiciously, but no more so than he does with everyone. “Ok,” he says. You lean over and adjust the pillow for him, causing your generous breasts to swing very close to his face. You have to suppress Jen’s disappointment as he ignores them. It’s not so much that she would ever be interested in Rick, just the complete lack of any reaction needles at her.
“Is that better,” you ask. Rick mumbles incomprehensibly, but judging by the way he’s no longer struggling to get comfortable, you assume the answer is yes. “Perhaps I could get you a drink Mr Bredon.”
Rick goes very, very still. His eyes flick from side to side and he licks his lips. Then he relaxes a little. “When we get to London,” he says very quietly. “You and I are going to have a little chat squirt. I’ll be waiting for you in the arrivals area.”
For a few seconds you consider denying his accusation, pretending not to understand what he’s talking about, but you stare into his eyes. Rick might seem calm on the outside, but his eyes show a storm ready to break.
“How could you tell,” you ask, whispering.
“Don’t make me say ‘but I never told you my name’ squirt,” hisses Rick. “You’re in enough trouble already.”
You stand up and walk stiffly back down the aisle. Rick seems angry, and you feel more than a little guilty about your stupidity in following him onto the flight. You resign yourself to taking your punishment on arrival.
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