Jim gave his Courteney Cox breasts one last fondle -- the costume seemed to be his real skin and flesh now, entirely a part of him, but somehow that felt only proper -- and got dressed. Black lace underwire bra, combination black pantyhose and panties, then a low-cut little red dress with a short skirt: the shade of red went beautifully with his Courteney skin. High-heeled black pumps, surprisingly comfortable, fitted his little Courteney feet perfectly. He put little garnet earrings into his pierced Courteney earlobes, and from the purse that went with the costume he took out lipstick and blusher and touched up the makeup that had a few minutes ago been indelible paint on the Courteney mask. With an exhibitionistic wriggle of delight at his perfectly female appearance, Jim flounced out of the dressing room, purse in one hand and his bundled-up Jim clothes under his other arm. Jim walked up to the counter to pay for his costume. He put his Jim clothes on the counter and with difficulty fished out his wallet from his jeans and took out his credit card. The shopkeeper picked it up, looked at the photo of Jim on it, then looked at Scott's new face. "You don't look like the photo on this card," he said, "but we'll let that pass." Jim laughed Courteney's laugh to perfection, and the old man ran Scott's credit card through. He had to do it twice, because the first time Jim signed the form without thinking, and the signature read "Courteney Cox" in what the real Courteney would have sworn was her own handwriting. By concentrating, Jim made his delicate new hands produce a facsimile of his usual signature. The old shopkeeper put the other Courteney clothes and Scott's own in a bag, and, purse on one arm and bag of clothes in the other, Jim left. Then he clothes in a bag for him,
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Mon Jun 28 01:22:13 2010