Chapter #7Your crush from school by: DougTF   Your faceted fly vision sees what looks to be about four dozen of Anne, your crush from school who was actually a year behind you, but way out of your league otherwise. She has a dynamite figure, is good at sports, and is genuinely a nice girl as opposed to one of the common type who think Mean Girls was an instructional video. You have wanted to be with her, to ask her out, and yes, fantasized about her and her body. Well, now that your shapeshifting fantasy has come true, what better way to put it to use than with Anne? She is in street clothes, carrying a pool bag, and as she heads toward the women's locker room, you zoom after her, managing to avoid a man who swats at you as you do so.
You get in the door before it closes after her, and zipping around numerous women in varying states of undress is enjoyable, even if your vision makes it a kaleidoscope that is a bit hard to focus on. But, you follow Anne, and she takes out a nice blue one piece swimsuit, hanging it on a hook outside a shower, while she undresses: oblivious to the fact a fly is watching her intently. But, when she steps into the shower, pulling the curtain closed, you see your chance. Zipping down, safely out of sight between the shower curtain and the door to this enclosure, you shift back to yourself, sweating in nervousness as well as ever mounting anticipation. The stall next door is empty, and you grab Anne's swimsuit, ready to toss it over the wall into the next stall: there is no convenient way to get rid of it otherwise, and it's not like you can afford to have Anne notice she now has two swimsuits. No, you're going to replace it with yourself.
You pause, because if you do this, if you ditch her swimsuit, and turn yourself into its duplicate, you will be stuck. Not trapped by your powers, but by your need to keep yourself and abilities secret. You toss that swimsuit over the wall and Anne puts you on, and you are basically committing to being her swimsuit for the foreseeable future. Worn, folded, washed, stored, treated as nothing more than some spandex lycra for days. Weeks. Months. Maybe even years until there is a chance to turn yourself back without risking discovery. Do you REALLY want to be just a swimsuit, possibly for years?  indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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