Once you've arrived at the girl's house, your first port of call is to check the closet for anything that might be suitable to wear in a job interview; ever since the Body-Port machines had become widely used, it was a regular occurrence for people to show up to meetings and the like in the wrong body. The generally accepted standard was you should look reasonably smart in the body you had, and not worry too much about it.
Although you felt rather awkward rifling through an eight-year old's underwear, you soon pick out a couple of dresses that might be suitable and head into the bathroom to try them on. However, before you strip off you have a quick look at yourself in the mirror. Everything looks strange from this angle, and seeing a chubby, blonde haired kid squint back out you from the mirror instead of you normal body makes you feel rather ill. You shake your head, still trying to get to grips with the whole idea, and begin changing.
Disrobing down to your underwear, you put the first dress on. However, you soon realize it's far too short to be appropriate for a business meeting. With a sigh, you fling it away and grab the other, longer garment, pulling it over your head and then realizing it has a zip up the back. Now thoroughly missing your suit, you head through to the next room to find Joshua Jones.
"Hey, uh, Mr Jones?" You ask slightly uncertainly.
"Call me Joshua." He said.
"Okay. Then, ah, call me Jonathan." You say.
"Whatever you say, Jonathan. What did you need?"
"Could you help me with this dress?" You say, trying not to blush. This whole situation is just... unnatural. Two grown men occupying the bodies of a young girl and her mother, so one can go to an interview without travelling.
You turn around, and Joshua starts zipping up the back of the dress. It's tight, very tight, but you suck your newly rounded belly in as best you can and eventually he managed to get it fastened. Breathing lightly in the constricting outfit, you do your best to shift it around and get comfortable. Meanwhile, Joshua is massaging his hands.
"Are you okay?" You ask.
"Yeah, yeah." He says. "That zipper was a b-" He cuts off the swearword suddenly, then remembers you aren't actually a little girl. "Sorry, after a while, you lose track of who's in who's body. I once had a family where the six year old was in the adults body, and vice versa. I got in some trouble by swearing in front of their kid."
We both laughed, but that made me think.
"So you must be in other people's bodies a lot. How often do you get back to your own?"
He looks rather wistful.
"Only on holidays." He replies. "I technically live in Italy, but they rent out my body to tourists. Even when I do go back, nowadays it feels more like just another stranger's body."
"That sounds awful." I grimace.
"Yeah, well. You get used to it. When's your interview, anyway. If you have some spare time you could have a look around town."
You go to check your watch, but are confronted by nothing but bare, pale skin. Instead you glance up at the expensive-looking grandfather clock in the corner.
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