The idea of putting on the skin of Ashley Wright makes you hot and bothered. She wouldn’t let you touch her breasts, or her ass for that matter – no woman would, not even Jessica unless she’s downright drunk. Doing so as her adds a whole new layer to that experience, since you’d feel what it’s like to be touched there. (And it wouldn’t look so odd if you touch yourself, too!)
You feel bad about her, though. You could turn her back first and see if she can recover – you don’t want to be accomplice to murder – but that motivates you to try her first, for if she can’t be turned back, someone has to become her. And this might be the only chance you’ll have to wear her and experience what’s like to be a woman.
You undress and grab her skin, turning it until the slit on her back faces yours. Just that has your thing rock hard, making you wonder if you’ll end up with a bulge. You choose to try her legs first, so you sit on her bed and stretch hers into yours. The skin feels slimy and sticky, and you fear your feet will rip her thighs, but as they stretch and bulge, they don’t tear. It’s like wearing socks, but the insides are full of thick glue that clings to your skin.
The result is spectacular, though. You flick your toes, and they move flawlessly. You stand up and you almost fall – just with one leg, it feels as if you have shrunk. The leg you’ve wrapped in hers doesn’t feel like you’re wearing something – it feels silky and smooth, and your foot touches her rug as if nothing was within.
You carefully lift her up to waist length when you hear the doorbell ring. You start to panic, as you’re not even dressed. You need to buy some time, and that can only mean putting on her head. It's another struggle as you adjust your nose and cheeks, but the sticky sensation ends quickly; instead, you feel your hand rubbing her short, messy hair, and her soft, round cheeks, and her thin lips.
Immediately, you scream at the top of your lungs, hoping nothing goes wrong. “Hold on a second. I’ll be there soon!” To your fortune, even as her skin hasn’t fully melded into yours (her chest and torso have awkwardly glued into yours, and her arms are flailing limp before you), her voice comes out of your mouth without a hint of distortion.
You hope this gives you enough time to put her on, and rushing her arms inside proves to be a challenge. You need to fondle her breasts so they meet yours, but your mind isn’t registering your success. Putting on her clothes is equally time-consuming, as you never had to wear a bra in your life (let alone squeeze large breasts into them), and the pencil skirt has a tiny zipper even your (newly) slender fingers can’t grasp – and her round, shapely ass isn’t helping to close it.
You take so long to dress up that, by the time you open, no one’s there. You do notice someone moving away, and you call her out, wondering if she was the one calling. “Excuse me...!”
“Oh, Miss Wright!” The middle-aged woman turns around and greets you, approaching closer. You don’t recall seeing her around, but then again you rarely step at this side of the neighborhood – Jessica’s the closest, but even she’s a couple blocks away. About the only ones you do are crotchety Mr. Ferrell and the late Mrs. Gertrude.
“Hi. You were calling, right?”
“Yes,” the woman says, straightening up her one-piece long dress. The judging look she gives you – or rather, your choice of attire – all but proves her conservative outlook.
“Sorry - I failed to catch your name.”
“I thought you knew from the first time,” she rebukes you, making you pause. “It’s Edna, from the house next to Helen.”
Helen? She helpfully points you to her neighbor’s house, and you identify it as the one that gave you the creeps moments ago.
“I’m worried about her – I've heard strange noises recently, and I could swear I saw a man coming out from her house.” You peg her as gossip – a worried, yet disappointed one – but at least she feeds you some important information.
“A man?” you ask. “Did you see how he looked?”
“I couldn’t - it was too fast. I just hope it’s not a thief – poor Helen has almost nothing to her name, as you know.”
As I know? This isn’t good for you – though you have her looks, you know nothing about Ashley, and explaining why may be tougher than you think.
“We should go and check,” you say, trying to judge her reaction.
“Well, I was about to ask if you did. You usually check on her. I still don’t know how you two became friends, but I know she trusts you.”
That doesn’t satisfy your nerves. You know nothing about the woman living on that house, other than what Edna’s feeding you. You feel self-conscious about this whole thing, but you can’t back down.
“I haven’t been able to. I... I was about to change when you called me, after all.”
“That reminds me...” She points in the direction of your house, startling you. “That man went the same direction – just as you left, actually. You sure you didn’t see him?”
You shiver, as Edna just gave you a big detail. Could it be that the creep hounding Ashley came from this house? “Maybe, but I was distracted. My... ride couldn’t arrive, so I returned.”
“You should watch who you’re going with, Miss Wright. Helen would be disappointed to hear about that.”
You feel she’s using Helen to judge Ashley – and you want to call her on that – but she’s got a point. (Just not the right one.) “I think we should check on Helen before anything, though. I’m starting to worry.”
“Yes. We should.”
Soon, you lead her towards Helen’s house. You notice all the curtains on her windows are closed, save for one. As you peer inside, you can barely notice the figure of a woman sitting on a couch seat with a walker nearby. The flash of the TV set doesn’t help a lot, but she seems like she’s melting into the couch, very relaxed.
You knock on the window, wary of the woman’s reaction – both from Edna and from the one inside. “Hello?” You peek again and see no reaction. “Hello?” You knock again and close your ear towards the window, listening to an ad for a supplement to aid with arthritis. You peek once more and notice she hasn’t moved an inch, not even to touch the remote lying beside her.
“I hope she’s alright,” Edna says, finally showing some concern. “I told her she should watch her diet, but--”
Diet? You wonder. There are only a few conditions that would cause someone to faint because of diet. You improvise with the first thing that comes to your mind.
“Maybe she’s shocked by that man you saw, but I’ll check her sugar nonetheless.”
“Right.” She follows you to the door, and as you check around, you notice there’s no spare key. There are some envelopes addressed to one “Helen Morris”, which you also take. You move around and notice a wooden fence with a door, but no way to vault over it.
As you try to move some boxes to jump over, Edna stops you. “What are you doing, young lady!? Men could see you!”
“How else am I gonna go in?”
She takes a deep breath and huffs. “At least let me ask Gerald if he can ask Fred for the ladder.”
The name “Fred” is familiar to you – you deduce it must be Mr. Ferrell’s first name, as you’ve heard your dad mention it a couple times – and you figure Gerald must be her husband, but that doesn’t give you any relief. You might be able to handle Mr. Ferrell, but not the other man.
After half an hour, you see two men – a bald one in his mid-fifties and Mr. Ferrell, wearing his plaid shirt and suspenders to hold his large belly – carrying a large ladder with some difficulty. You almost lean to help them, but you recall that you’re a lady now, and that would be most unbecoming, according to Edna.
“Ashley,” Edna’s husband Gerald greets you, a bit too effusive for your liking – or Edna’s, who immediately threw a fierce glare at him. “Something wrong with Helen?”
“She’s not responding,” you tell. “I need to get to her back door.”
“Better you than me,” Fred Ferrell claims as the two men place the ladder and hold it in place. “Can’t stand her bleating.”
As Fred and Edna bicker – the latter claiming that there must be a reason why she doesn’t like him – you take off your pumps and hold them as you climb the ladder. The two men hold it tight – something that Edna doesn’t like but that you find amusing – as you step up, and you can’t help but feel that Gerald’s desperate to peek. Fred does, as Edna berates him.
You notice there’s overgrown grass but nothing else to step on, so you sit on the top of the ladder and drop in. You utter an “I’m okay!” to them, then make an excuse to keep them on the other side. “I’ll go and check on first. If something happens, I’ll tell you.”
“Scream if you find something,” Gerald shouts at you. “We’ll be there.”
As you move around, you notice the backyard is basically abandoned – a ruined garden, an empty pool and a weathered summer table. You rummage around until you find a key under a pot filled with loose soil and open the door. You notice a couple things – an insulin pen that proves that Helen’s diabetic, but also a foam tray that suggests she must’ve eaten.
You move in and check on Helen, only to realize why she didn’t answer. Sitting on the couch seat is an empty and deflated skin, proving that the creep must’ve worn her before moving up to Ashley. You really can’t tell Edna, Fred and Gerald about this.
But then, you hear Helen’s phone ring – both on her side table and on a phone near the kitchen. You need to act quickly before any one of them starts to suspect.
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