Search the rest of the place.

You sit down on the toilet to think for a moment. You reason that the more you uncovered about Lateesha Jone AKA you, the better you chances of figuring this all out. You hope.

Reluctantly you check the nearby waste bin. It’s ickier than most of this cheap small dump but you only find normal crap - used tissues, ear cleaners, empty bottles of toiletries and spent toilet rolls.

Pulling back the shower screen you find nothing in the shower but a a shower needing a good clean. The tiles are held to there with mold it seems. Evidently Lateesha wasn’t into housework. You could relate. Hmmm how long had you been here?

You move back into the bedroom and start to go through the drawers. They are jammed closed tight and overloaded with clothes and it takes every bit of your small weak bodies strength to pull them open. Within you find female clothes. Skimpy ones. Silken, sheer, translucent. They feel pleasant to the touch and you feel a wistful desire that is … sexual? “Shit.”

And some sex toys. Handcuffs. Nipple clips. A battery powered dildo. You turn it on and it vibrates numbingly in your small hand. Does it look well used? You’re no expert on these things but your intuition tells you that the well worn handle is a sign of regular action. Your forgo your usual expletive as you tuck these toys back under the nuns outfit.

There is a box full of cheap jewellery. Nothing of much use.

Your stomach rumbles. You realise you’re hungry. Kitchen? There is a door out to the main living room but it might be shared space… can’t walk around in your skimpy underwear. The idea is not unappealing but it’s not you, you decide.

You grab the least skimpy clothes you can, a pair of skin tight shorts and a tight low cut top. Dressing is unusual with breasts and curves but you manage. Hopefully this is just a dressing in girls clothes is a temporary activity. You slip on the sandals, admire your tiny feet with cute toes, and then head out of the bedroom into the living room come kitchen.

The kitchen is bare. No food. The living room is crudely furnished. Dirty and spartan. There is a purse on the coffee table.

“Shit yeah!” You grab it. It’s got a rolled and elastic banded was of cash and there is a phone in there too. The wad contains about a grand in used tens, twenties and fifties. Evidently you get paid in cash. That’s not great.

You turn the phone on and it recognises your face and unlocks. You check your email. It’s full of junk mail. Your bank app. Your account is empty. No transactions.

You rammage and find no plastic cards in your purse either. Your purse…

Back to the phone you see no recent calls or messages. Did someone wipe it? Possible. The photos. Well. Lucky you looked at these in private. Is that you?! And. Two or three guys? “Shit…”