Michael checked his small carry-on again, then set it down on the floor. He extended the handle and took a hold of the grip, then started to walk. He felt the wheels smoothly roll as he was mindful both of where the carry-on was and where his feet were.

He looked down after a couple of steps and watched how he took the next few steps. So weird seeing this sight, navy blue loafers pantyhose-covered legs. He used his other hand to tug at the hemline of his skirt, making sure it was even.

He shook his head, now his only original part, and laughed. He never thought he'd have to adjust his skirt, but he also never thought that a trip to the hotel bar would land him and a flight attendant with their heads on each other's bodies either, but here he was.

For her part, she was handling it very well. Obviously she wouldn't be able to do her job properly given the lack of a uniform, so her and him would just be on the flight back as passengers. He was so glad that by chance she lived in his city. At least this way they could exchange clothes, they could help each other adjust, and they could vouch for each other if other people questioned them about it.

As for him, he just wore her uniform, the only real clean clothing she had. He had to admit himself as he walked out of the hotel room and saw himself in a mirror, he did look great in it. Her body was in great shape. He grinned, his attention moving to the uniform. He, at least at first, worried that people might assume he was one of the crew on that flight. Seeing his head on her body, he had to laugh. No, he thought, I think people will figure out pretty quick I'm not one of the crew!