I never enjoyed working under time constraints, which was ironic, given that I worked in IT. A glance at my watch told me it was 4:30, giving me forty-five minutes to get ready and meet Richard in the lobby. He was my client, part of the intricate con game I played, and we were marking a faux one-month anniversary with a weekend in Miami. It's strange, pretending to celebrate milestones with someone you're manipulating, especially when I have an actual girlfriend, Brianna, waiting for me back home.
Today was different, and I was falling behind. My computer was having trouble programming the nanites, microscopic machines I’d used for the last year to transform my appearance. This technology allowed me to undertake my peculiar line of work, but it was acting up, and I couldn't figure out why. I still had to figure out the outfit I was going to wear to the airport.
To that end, I ran across the hall to what had once been the guest room but was now the place where I conned wealthy men. There was a vanity mirror in one corner, complete with luxury brand cosmetics, and a closet full of more shoes and outfits than I’d ever imagined needing. Hanging on the closet door was an extravagant evening gown that I’d worn a week prior; I kept meaning to bring it to be dry-cleaned.
Inside the closet was every style of women’s clothing you could think of. Well, okay, it wasn’t every style; I didn’t have any aliases that required goth outfits or anything that would cause people to mistake me for a prostitute. I was rummaging through my dress selection when I heard footsteps behind me.
Turning around, I saw Brianna, looking frustrated as usual. Her brows were knit together, a sign of disapproval, yet her eyes showed concern. Our relationship had become complex since she discovered my secret life, but she stayed. "Sometimes, I wish you were just into cross-dressing; it would be easier for me to deal with," she said. "Most girlfriends don't have to rummage through their boyfriend's closet to find an outfit."
"That's because each of my personas wears the same size you do, so you can borrow them if I don't need them.”
“That doesn't help, Marcus,” Brianna said, frustrated. “I feel like I'm in competition with imaginary women.”
“It's no competition,” I reassured her, pulling her close for a kiss. “If it bothers you so much, why don't you leave?”
“I'm not sure,” she shrugged. “Maybe it's like looking at a car wreck; I want to see what happens.”
“Your confidence in me is inspiring. Now, come on; I need help picking out what to wear tonight.”
Brianna reluctantly complied, walking over to the dresser, where I had a binder containing profiles for all my aliases, complete with brief biographies and photographs. "So, who are you going out as tonight?" she asked, rummaging through the binder. "Nadia, the flight attendant for Emirates, or Shantae, the black girl who thinks she's the next Vivica A. Fox?"
I walked over and took a quick glance at the binder, knowing that Brianna only used those two examples because they were adjacent to one another in the book. Nadia and Shantae were my oldest active disguises. Nadia was an Emirati immigrant with a limited command of English who worked as an Air Emirates flight attendant. Shantae was an aspiring actress from Brooklyn who had appeared in a few regional productions directed by her boyfriend, a playwright.
"Neither of them; Nadia is still working on the Dubai-London route, and Shantae and her boyfriend are having a bit of a disagreement."
“I’m still amazed by the complexity of your aliases. How do you keep them all straight in your head?” she asked, her voice tinged with a mix of awe and concern.
“All part of the act,” I said with a grin. “For the marks to believe in them, they have to live.”
“You could give that alien from American Dad a run for his money.” Taking a breath, she added, “Not that I care, or that it even matters; but why is Shantae fighting with her boyfriend? Is she upset that he’s starting to listen to the acting troupe’s complaints?”
“What complaints?” I asked, genuinely confused.
"That the company's worst actress gets the lead roles by sleeping with the director."
For a second, I looked over at Brianna, my expression a mix of shock and confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, she forgets her lines half the time and improvises things that have nothing to do with the plot." She once more flipped through the binder and asked, "So, who are you going out as tonight?"
When I reached the right page in the binder, I interrupted her and said, "I'm going as Colleen, and it will be for the weekend. Richard is taking me to Florida for a romantic vacation."
Colleen Hawthorne, a 25-year-old Vassar graduate who could easily make her way in the world but preferred to take the easy way out, was one of my newest disguises. Brianna scoffed. "Colleen Hawthorne is the easiest disguise you've ever worn; if you were both in the same room, I wouldn't be able to tell you apart."
"Well, I do like to put some of my personality and charm into my aliases."
"So tell me, Richard is one of the men you're sleeping with?"
Richard was one of my newest clients. Our relationship was one-sided; he spoiled me rotten and I gave him little in return. "No way, I'd never sleep with a man old enough to be my father." Taking a breath, I added, "After Addison's broken condom incident, I cut back on that kind of thing."
Brianna laughed, saying, “It's kind of weird that your most successful guise is as a dumb blonde; she probably wouldn't know what to do if she did get pregnant.”
Turning back to the closet, I said, “Hey, you know what they say: Blondes have more fun. Besides, Addison's not that dumb.”
Oh, please; she once asked me how the people who made the maps at the mall always knew where she was.”
I looked blankly at Brianna for a moment before saying, “Fine; I’ll give you that one. Now please, help me pick out something to wear.”
Pushing her way past me, Brianna retrieved a green backless dress. “As much as I hate this entire situation, even I have to admit Colleen always looks amazing wearing this.” Handing it to me, she said, “I wonder if you’ll ever get tired of these clothes?”
I ignored Brianna’s remark, my attention caught by an alert notification from my computer. The soft chime seemed to echo in the room, a herald of what was to come. The nanites were finally done being programmed. I could feel my heartbeat pick up slightly, anticipation and trepidation mingling in my chest. Walking across the hall with the dress, undergarments, and a pair of heels, I got the nanites into a syringe and injected them into my arm.
The effects were almost immediate, a strange tingling sensation rushing through my body as the nanites went to work. I could feel the microscopic machines activating under my skin, a sensation both foreign and familiar at the same time. The dull ache that came next spread throughout my body as it began to change shape. When I first started doing this, the pain was excruciating, almost unbearable. But I'd solved that problem by including a sedative in the nanite concoction. Even though the agony was now just a dull ache, the transformation still felt incredibly strange.
I watched in awe and curiosity as my breasts, hips, and buttocks began to fill out like balloons being inflated. It was a sensation that never failed to intrigue me. The way my body shifted and molded into something entirely new was nothing short of miraculous, a testament to the incredible technology I had access to.
I felt a tickling sensation as my hair began to cascade past my shoulders; a quick glance in the mirror revealed that the color had changed from black to brunette. My fingers and limbs shrank, as if my masculinity were candle wax melting away, a surreal and oddly fascinating experience. The transformation between my legs was something I had grown accustomed to, but it always sent a shock through my system.
The entire procedure took about five minutes, and as it unfolded, I was overcome with a range of emotions. There was a thrill to the process, an exhilaration that came from reshaping myself, becoming someone new. But there was also a sense of loss, a mourning for the person I was leaving behind, if only temporarily. The experience was an intoxicating blend of excitement, curiosity, and even a touch of sadness.
When it was finished, an attractive 26-year-old woman stood naked in the bedroom. Brianna knew she shouldn't be in the room at this point, so she left me to dress privately. I got dressed, did my hair and makeup in ten minutes, and then walked into the main room with my luggage.
After a brief hesitation, she reciprocated, and dare I say the kiss bordered on intimate? The kiss ended, and I looked at her, saying, "You seemed to like that. Perhaps we could try some new things once I get back."
“No, thanks,” she replied. “When you get back, you might not want to be like this for a long time.”
With that, I made my way down to the apartment building's lobby. Richard’s car was waiting outside, with Farnsby, his chauffeur, standing by.
As I got into the car, I saw Richard sipping from a glass of scotch. "Hello, my darling," he said.
"Hello, Dickie-bird," I replied, playing the part. "Are you prepared for an unforgettable weekend with me?"
“I should be asking you that,” he replied, playing along.
“Absolutely,” I said, sliding a perfectly manicured hand across his knee.
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