You should.

You can’t resist calling them back, you don’t know why. “Hey Caitlyn thanks for calling back. I know it’s not a lot of notice but can you be here at 11?” The voice on the other end asks.

“Sure thing Mark, I’ll try, if I can make the bus I should make 11.”

“Ya I know, get out of Jersey already.” He says with a little laugh.

“Yeah yeah, soon as I sell my screenplay.” You say as you hang up the phone. Shaking your head, “Woah, that was weird. Wow I am writing a screenplay?” You ask yourself looking at your reflection. “Who are you Caitlyn?”

You google the phone number and discover quite easily that it belongs to a place called Java Time in Manhattan. Opening your closet you smile as you see all the dresses hanging up neatly. There is also several low shelves with tops, skirts, and some leggings. Another couple of drawers are full of colorful underwear. You google the company work uniform and find it doesn’t really have one other than a black apron with their red logo. Quickly you pick out a pair of long white socks and pull them on, they stop just above your knees and feel amazing. It takes a bit to decide on the best underwear but eventually you pull on a black and pink thong bikini, it might actually be a swimsuit, but it looks nice, and covers your cock much better than you expected, it is fat enough to still leave a bulge but unless someone was staring it isn’t really noticeable. Over all of this you opt for a black skirt that is just long enough to slightly overlap the socks, and a button up white short sleeve shirt. Not seeing any shoes you head down the hall towards the front.

You discover your trailer is rather short with a tiny kitchen mostly filled with a cute pink dining table with three mismatched chairs. The living room has a very soft looking black leather couch and a green cloth recliner, the couch faces a wall mounted 40” flat screen with a low table under in that has a small dvr box and what you assume is a computer attached to the tv. In front of the couch is a TV tray table with a keyboard and mouse and a pair of remotes. There is also a footstool that is baby pink vinyl shoved to the side that has the butt plug suctioned to it standing at attention. “Oh, I remember you.” You say with a smile. Next to the front door is a small closet where you find several pairs of shoes and pull on a pair of already tied black running shoes with neon pink laces.

A set of keys hang on a hook by the door, you grab them, then look around for a purse. On a chair in the kitchen you find your purse and a pink and black helmet. “Oh, I might have a motorcycle.” A quick search of the purse reveals money, makeup, deodorant, tissues, more makeup, and a card wallet where you find your license, and yes you have a motorcycle license as well as a concealed carry permit for a gun. All in all you find $144 in mostly small bills. Your license lists your name as Caitlyn Ann Taggart, 5’5” 135 lbs, red hair, green eyes. You grab your compact and check yourself before heading out, “Oh shit I’m filthy, how did I forget to clean up? I’m going to be so late.”