A porn star.

"The girl I was talking about was trying to talk me into all sorts of different things, hell I didn’t even know what most of them were. I was just an average dude I played a lot of video games but I didn’t really go for all that fantasy stuff.”

“A guy you say.” He says cutting you a slice off his apple, “So why the drastic change?”

“Oh you know, porn I guess.” You say with a shrug. “I was watching all sorts of anal teen videos and I guess I just typed in one of their names as what I wanted to be, I think it was Vikki, no way did I think that would work.” You can’t help but laugh, taking the slice with your sexy little hands. “So America doesn't even exist anymore?” You ask the rough looking man, his face sort of hiding under his beard and hooded jacket. He wears slightly to big looking dark brown work pants and combat boots. With a big backpack and 12 gauge shotgun on his back. A revolver is holstered on his hip. Looking down you see that your NuYu body is pretty much exactly like the girl in the video. Seems you are now about 5’4” and maybe 110 lbs with sexy B cups a slender, like, 23” waist, amazing perky ass, and like the best legs ever. Your skin is deeply tanned, you imagine one of your parents was most likely had Latin American heritage, and your hair is sort of reddish brown and falls to between your shoulder blades.

“Not really, no. Hell civilization is basically done. Come on I will give you a ride to dome city. The mayor wants to meet you.”

“Me? Why?” You ask suddenly aware that a large sheer white sheet is all you are wearing. “I need some clothes if I am going anywhere.” Then you think about his story and your friends.

“Wait, shouldn't we revive the others, I can't be alone right?”

“Sorry babe scrounges like me find one of you vat bods out here in the wasteland every so often. I didn't revive you, I just opened your pod. Look around, if this was a factory, you are all that's left. More likely someone else made you, took your pod this far, and some critter got em. As for clothes, here.” He tosses you a pair of brown leather knee high boots with 6” platform heels, a tiny tartan skirt and a little white shirt that barely covers your perky tits. “Now come on, I don't want you getting killed on me.”

You start with the boots, then top, finally asking, “Why are you helping me?” as you pull on the tiny skirt that barely covers your ass, then roll up the sheet. He gives you a belt so you can loop it through the bundle and wear it like a backpack.

“Hell, umm, the mayor wants to meet you vat bod types that’s all.” You can tell he is probably lying, yet what alternative do you have? He reads the worry in your face and adds, “Come on, where else do you have to go? You wouldn't last a day alone.”