The Look And How To Get It

by Poi Lass

I picked this club on purpose, of course. Not far from the target, big crowd, lots of dark corners. I lose my pursuers easily, slipping to the front of the line while the bouncers make an issue of their not fitting the dress code. It probably won't take them long to get in -- although knowing their sort, they'll make such a violent scene about it somebody will call the cops on them.

I do hope so.

*No you don't. We don't need that kind of attention. Technically, Cal, we are the criminals here tonight, remember?*

Like I need reminding. *I'm* the one who's been doing all the work...

*Stop moaning and get Changed. We don't have all night, you know.*

Jackson is never very fun when he can't come on a job in person. Even though he's actually not much good as a field agent. Gets too stressed under pressure.

*At least I can keep my mind on the job for more than five seconds at a time. Bathroom. Change. Now.*

Yeah, yeah.

I push my way through the club, finally get to the ladies. I have to wait in line a few minutes, and I spend the time examining myself in the mirror, getting a few deservedly admiring looks. If anyone knows about the beauty of the human body, it's me, and the form I see in the mirror is a very, very, beautiful one. I'm very tall; endlessly long legs; voluptuous hips and bust; great bone structure; full, pouty lips; dark, shiny hair; wide, green eyes; and smooth, creamy, to-die-for skin. In fact, all in all, I am an incredibly desirable young woman, even if I do say so myself.

Not for much longer, though.

I slink into a stall and get to work. I swing my sweet, stylish little backpack onto the hook on the back of the door, and take my clothes off. I picked my outfit carefully this morning, since I knew today would be the day it hit the fan. A dress so short and sheer it's practically a scarf; no tights, no jewellery, and the thinnest, tiniest strappy sandals I could find. It takes me no time at all to undress; I wrap the clothes up nice and small and put them on the back of the toilet.

Then I stand, naked, spread my feet apart so I've got a good, firm stance, and close my eyes. Jackson knows enough not to speak to me, or try to hurry me when I'm Changing Major.

I concentrate on locking out all the distractions around me; the women's chatter, the flushing of toilets, the rhythmic beat of the music that gets louder every time someone opens the door. I start to form the picture of my new form behind my lids.

When I first started Changing my whole body, instead of just the Changes Minor -- skin, eyes, facial features etc. -- I could only do it in front of a mirror, and it was easier if I had a picture or something to work from. But my memory and my imagination are a lot more disciplined now. It's only a couple of minutes before I feel I have the picture of my new body lodged firmly enough in my head to start the Change Major.

It's hard to describe how I do it, I just -- do. It hurts quite unbearably actually; muscles spasm, skin stretches, bones lengthen, body fat relocates. After the first time, I very nearly stopped doing it for good, but there's no gain without pain, right?

I work as fast as I can, and Jackson's distant, soothing presence in my mind helps, but it still takes almost seven minutes. That's a record actually. I'm quite impressed with myself. A Change Major like this one used to take me just under an hour.

*Keep moving, Cal. They'll be looking for you, and they may be aware of the nature of your powers by now.*

There's a small pile of hair and dead skin cells around my feet and flaking off my body. I gather up the lot and flush it down the toilet. Then I grab the stylish little backpack from the hook, and pull out my new outfit.

Lycra is in, baby.

The skimpy shorts I slip into don't leave anything to the imagination, but then, that's the idea. I want to be noticed. I tie on a pair of very expensive and fashionable runners, then I grab a teensy little bottle of baby oil and rub just a bit on my rippling chest, arms and legs.

*Aren't you going a little over the top? We really don't have time for this.*

God is in the details, Jackson.

*I hate to be the one to break it to you, baby, but you are not God. I know it must come as a shock...*

I pull on a skintight black fishnet vest, and my transformation is complete.

*Fishnet vest. You are such a cliche.*

The stylish little backpack turns inside out, most of its thin material gathered up inside it until it's really more of a bum bag, with just enough room for the dress and sandals. It's a work of genius actually. Took me weeks to make it.

*Stop patting yourself on the back already, you'll break something.*

Aw, pooch, you don't need to worry about that. You know how flexible I am.

I slip out of the stall, apologising copiously to all the women crowded in the bathroom, telling them I simply *couldn't* go in the men's, there was, well, you know, on the *floor*, and these are brand new shoes, aren't they just *dahling*?...

**sigh* Don't overdo it.*

I carefully examine myself in the mirror again, to make sure I haven't made any mistakes.

Oh my, my, my. I'm a total babe. It was a nice body in my head, of course -- but you never really know just how well it's going to turn out until you see it in the flesh. But this...tall, dark, handsome, with beautifully defined muscles, one *hell* of a body, and oh, sweet Jesus, the face. The cheekbones, the eyes...I've really outdone myself. I'm getting hot just looking in the mirror. I wish I was somebody else so I could sleep with me.

*God, you're obsessed. Bloody nympho...*

Shut up, Jackson. It's not my fault. You *know* how horny I get after a Change Major.

*Well, you'd better hurry up and get out of there then, hadn't you? And then Daddy Jack'll take care of it for you...* He sends me a vividly erotic image of just how he's going to 'take care of it,' and the lycra shorts are suddenly a lot tighter than they were thirty seconds ago. I damn near moan out loud, and have to hold onto the basin as the heat rushes through me.

Oh sweet lord, but he can be a cruel bastard sometimes.

*I try.*

I let him catch a glimpse through my eyes of my new self in the mirror; I knows he's going to like it too. Jackson prefers me as a man. I've tried to open his mind to the different, but equal, attractions of the female form, but he insists it's just not his thing.

*It's the way I'm built, sweetheart. We can't all be as...infinitely open-minded...as you.*

And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?

*It means you'll fuck anything with genitalia and an IQ higher than a potato.*

That is *completely* untrue. I cannot *believe* you would say something like that about me.

*You're right. I'm sorry.*

Huh. Thank you.

*You've never been that picky about IQ.*

Lucky for you.

*...Get moving. You're wasting time. They'll be all over the place by now.*

Ha. Got him. 10 points to me.

I duck back out onto the main dance floor, and yeah, there are lots of FOHers wandering about. Maybe I should hit on a couple...that would divert suspicion from me. The notion is entertaining, but Jackson is not impressed.

*Don't even think about it.*

God. Telepaths can really be a pain in the butt at times.

*I heard that.*

See what I mean? I don't really need to bother though, they're already being harassed by some of the regulars. One of the other reasons I chose this club. As a general rule, the gay community tends to be pretty tolerant of mutants. In theory at least. A kind of, 'been there, done that, didn't much enjoy it' attitude to prejudice, I suppose. So they don't really have much patience for the Friends of Humanity. The dears...

*You really are a patronising bitch sometimes, Cal.*

I'm not a bitch anymore, sweetie. Call me bastard...or...*Master*.

*In your dreams.*

Oh yes. And what wonderful dreams they are...

But it's true, I'm not a bitch anymore. I made the Change; ten minutes ago I was a woman, but now I'm a man. And I really *am* a man right now. After a while my thinking processes will even start to change a bit; I become a slightly different person with every Change Major. Anyway, I pass an enjoyable moment or two, watching the FOHers try to blend into the background. They don't exactly fit into the club scene with their suits and ties, and the little black boxes in their sweaty little hands. Idiots. I learned how their mutant detectors worked ages ago -- and how to change my body so they didn't work on me. I let them follow me this far so they'd think they had a chance to retrieve the loot.

Which they most certainly don't.

I dance around outrageously for about twenty minutes, shake my gorgeous new bootie, and get picked up by a very sweet man called Brian. He asks me back to his place; I accept, of course. I could just walk out; now that I've Changed they'll never recognise me, but I'm not exactly dressed to blend in myself. Easier to have cover, and a lift away from the scene of the crime.

And Brian is very nice as it happens. Gorgeous as well. We make a cute couple, and wistful, envious eyes follow us out of the club. Mm, and he's got a lovely car too.

*Penis compensator.*

Is that jealousy I hear, pooch?

*I don't get jealous. And don't call me pooch. And just get on with it, would you?*

Brian takes me by surprise when we get to the car, puts his arms around me and kisses me passionately. Oh yes. Very, very nice.

*Cal.*

Oh, my lord, and he's got such amazing hands too... Oh God... Oh... Mmm... Oh *yes*...

*CAL!*

...I was just getting into character.

*Why don't you just get into the car instead? We haven't got all night. Honestly, you've got the attention span of a bloody rabbit in heat...*

I resent that. I think that's very unfair. I can't help it if my powers give me...urges. But I get into the car. I suspect Brian is normally quite a careful driver, but he's breaking speed limits tonight.

I have such great taste in bodies.

*Oh my God. So many sick comments to make, so little time...*

Unfortunately, Brian doesn't live as far from the club as I'd hoped, and I'm afraid I'm going to have to do something a little bit unpleasant to him.

*Aw, poor Brian.*

He stops outside a rather attractive block of flats, and we go up. We make ourselves comfortable on his couch. He moves in to kiss me again. Whereupon I twist him around, clamp my arm down on his neck, and hold it until he passes out. It takes several minutes, he's quite a strong man. Works out, I'm sure... Lovely muscles... Mmmm...

*Mind on the job, Cal. Mind on the job.*

I soothe him as best I can as he struggles against me, but he's understandably quite frightened. I really do feel bad about doing this.

*Especially to someone with such amazing hands.*

He really didn't do anything to deserve this -- although it probably isn't very smart to take people you don't know home with you, even if you are a very nice, strong, young man who works out...

But I do hope it doesn't scar him for life or anything.

*He'll get over it. He's a big boy.*

How sympathetic.

Once he's out, I lay him carefully down on the couch, and look around for a bit of paper or something.

*...Cal...what are you doing?*

You're the telepath. What the fuck do you think I'm doing?

*Wasting time.*

It is never a waste of time to write a polite note to a nice stranger, apologising for leading him on, knocking him out, and stealing his car. It's good manners and good manners never hurt.

*Fine. Why don't you make a note of his phone number while you're at it?*

I ignore that. Jackson is clearly in a very petty mood this evening. I leave the note on the coffee table, and take the keys to Brian's penis-compensator car. I drive for a few more miles, just to make sure I'm out of range of the mutant detectors, and that I'm not being followed -- although frankly, that's pretty unlikely by this point. Still, paranoia is a way of life, and it beats Buddhism, as Jackson always says. I'm not sure what it means, but then I don't think he is either.

I park the car in a residential area, and make a note of the address. I'll have to send Brian a postcard, let him know where it is. Another car pulls up beside me as I get out, and I climb into its back seat.

"Miss me?"

"Unbearably. Your clothes are in the bag there."

Jackson does a U-turn and heads out of the city, as I pull the portable computer out from under the seat and start it up. I scrounge in my bum bag until I find the disk that all this was for, then I open up the e-mail program, and open each of the files I copied from the FOH. In a matter of minutes, their regional and national long and short term plans, and their lists of known and suspected mutants, have all been forwarded to other members of the Mutant Underground.

Sometimes I just wanna have Technology's babies.

Of course, the whole operation would've gone a lot smoother if I didn't have to beat a few people up to get the right passwords. But still, you can't have everything.

As an afterthought, I copy a couple of the more violent memos to the Daily Bugle and Helix, then I shut down and slide into the front seat.

"Aren't you going to get dressed?"

"I thought you might like a closer look at my new body first. I really like this one. As long as Brian doesn't go to the police, I think I'll keep it awhile, so you'd better get used to it. A Change Minor or two is all I plan on making for the indefinite future."

So he stops at a traffic light and looks over at me. A smile I rather like the look of flickers around his mouth, as his eyes slowly take in my body, stripping me naked and putting all sorts of wonderful ideas in my head. I subtly wriggle around a little for him, hoping to put ideas in his head too, but all he says is:

"Very nice, pooch. Now put some clothes on. You're getting baby oil all over the seat."

God. Honestly.

It's enough to make a man turn lesbian.

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