Go back home

"Kim" leans to kiss you and you welcome her tongue with yours, already aroused by the foreplay. However, instead of embracing her in order to continue, you gently put her off.

-Sorry, next time.- You turn her down. She pouts disappointed, nonetheless you focus and reshape into Kim's young figure. She crosses her arms still annoyed and you raise an eyebrow, waiting.

-What?-.

-Well, there can't be two of me.-.

Besides, you would add, it doesn't matter if she can read your memory or else: no one could ever impersonate you, least of all an old hag with hair regrowth. She remolds into her form, thus you nod satisfied.

-Much better.-.

-Spoilsport.- She mumbles in a very inappropriate way for her age. You run your hands on your body, once again contemplating your perfect, nubile form. Yes, it's all yours, yours and nobody else's.

-Thank you for your hospitality, Miss M. I'll take a walk. See you!- You singly hum and you exit the door, leaving her rumblings behind you.

Outside the weather is nice, the temperature is warm, and you feel light as air. Your anxiety now gone, you march fiercely and oblivious of your previous fears. You're no longer pretending to be Kim, you are her, and you are simply strolling like any other girl: the width of your skirt is no more a surprise, the weight in your chest the same, and your long hair jolting as you move, too. It's a fresh new sensation and, at the same time, a familiar confidence the one running through your gorgeous body.

Trish sticks her head out, spying on Kim until she has disappeared around the corner. Then, she slams the door and gambols in the living room, her heels playfully clapping; she quickly clears her throat and closes her eyes, and when she re-opens them she is a few inches lower. Giggling with her new voice, she cups her perky tits.

-Honey!- She calls her son, scurrying to his room: -Mommy needs your help!-.

You proceed easily and stiffly, from time to time catching the looks that some guys give you, on the street or in the gardens. They would take a hit if you gave them a chance, instead you occasionally toss your hair and sketch a hinted smile, just to make them wonder if you have noticed them or not; being an attitude that drove you crazy, it's surely working on them too. Some, you have to admit, are quite good-looking. Others, meh, you would like their wives to catch them red-handed, those pervy old men. But you're not some cheap party girl: you're Kim Harris, and any boy has to grind to get a mere occasion from you. Plus, right now your pussy is for one and one only.

Brooding over these thoughts, you've finally arrived. Beaming once again, you open the front door and step inside.