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Standing in the hall of the “BodyPort” office in Bucharest, Clark Harper could barely breathe. It had been only fifteen minutes since waking up in the new body, but the feeling was as if he had been dressed in a ridiculously stupid clown costume and forced to go outside. Only Clark would actually have preferred the clown costume to this.
In the mirror before him stood a woman with short blonde hair and a serious look, wearing a tight red off-shoulder dress, black tights, and long earrings. A blush lit her cheekbones, but it wasn’t some girly flirt — it was the nervous trembling breaking through. And as if that wasn’t enough, there was also this round belly, quite noticeable and with its own weight, pressing in with every movement. Even the dress itself seemed tighter in that place. The woman was six months pregnant.
Clark caught himself thinking: ‘…And I, ugh, I mean she, looks kinda okay…’ and immediately cursed himself. Inside came a hysterical whisper: ‘Oh God, Clark! Did you seriously just check out some pregnant slut?!’
He yanked his hands away from his hips, but put them back right after, because it was steadier that way in heels. The dress instantly stretched across the breasts, the soft round shapes swaying with every movement in a strange new way, making it feel like the neckline was about to reveal more than it already did.
And at that exact moment, a dry voice came from behind:
— So… we’re processing a refund? Did I understand you right?
Clark spun around. In the doorway stood the office coordinator, Simona Popescu — a strict brunette in her mid-thirties, dressed in a gray business suit. On her face was the faint irritation of a manager who had explained the return policy for the tenth time already, though this time it wasn’t caused by that.
— Refund? — Clark coughed, but the voice that broke out was high, female, with a slight rasp. He pressed his palm to his throat. — Yeah… I mean no!
Julia raised her eyebrow:
— Mr. Harper, you just said you’d sue us, even though we warned you back in our U.S. office that we didn’t have any bodies matching your requirements here.
— Me?! — Clark took a step forward, then froze, the heel trembling and his belly dragging down unpleasantly. He glanced at it like it was some kind of cruel joke and only gripped the red dress tighter with his fingers. — I didn’t say I’d sue you! I said… shit, I said this is humiliation! Besides, I’ve got a meeting in forty minutes! — He clutched his throat again, not believing this female, slightly smoky voice was flying out of his mouth. — I need to speak, and I look like…
— …You look great. If you were dressed like Carmen Radulescu, who came in here this morning, — Simona lifted her eyes from the tablet and gave Clark-in-the-red-dress a sharp, measuring look. — Then maybe I’d agree with your statement. But we — she put stress on the word — invested good money and our best stylists to turn… what we had to work with, into a presentable woman in such a short time. But it seems you didn’t appreciate the bonus of my guidance.
The girl was clearly showing her dissatisfaction, since she had been the one dealing with all this trouble since early morning, when the request came in from New York for a VIP client. That part Clark didn’t know, nor did he know that instead of recognition for her work, she had now received a reprimand from her bosses for “excessive initiative” after Clark’s outburst. And now Simona was looking at him not as a client, but as a personal problem she wanted to throw out the door.
— I think you shouldn’t be talking like that to someone who has my level in your company — he said, sliding his palms over his hips, — especially to clients of my level...Full story (11 000 characters - 3 parts) is open to subscribers here or on Patreon