The studio doors slam shut behind you. You tottered out in this woman's preposterous heels to the parking lot and found that other people seemed out of sorts too. Lots of people in fact. A car ran into a telephone pole, sparks still trickling down from the cable lines dangling above. The car's radiator was spewing vapor and the burly man still sitting in the driver's seat was crying like a baby. Some people stopped to watch while others ran by, concerned about their own predicament.
Then you realized that you didn't know anything about this woman whose body you now possessed. She looked like a supermodel; her skin-tight dress, heels, and voluptuous figure attested to that. Her dress having built-in cups that pushed up her boobs and forming a mouth-watering valley of cleavage. It was a strappy, white dress that looked too small for this woman's waspish waist and hips. Well, now you were wearing that dress, and you could also feel the fabric of a thong wedged tight against your new bulbous butt.
"¿Quién soy? Recuerdo que durmiendo en clase, luego de repente estoy aquí. ¡Esta de la chingada! ¿Por qué todavía estoy hablando español?" You wailed. Your creamy, bolted-on tits rising and falling with every rushed breath you take. For some reason, this woman's brain was automatically translating your English thoughts into Spanish by the time they reached your lips.
You really had no choice but to head back into the studio if you wanted any hope of finding out who this woman is or where she lives. Putting two and two together, a woman looking like this wouldn't last long, alone, on the streets. Not especially during this crisis which seemed to affect so many people.
The studio had cleared out over the past 10 minutes. Camera crew abandoned their posts, lights and film tapes still running. Taking off her heels in favor of a pair of flip flops laying nearby, you then explore the receptionist desk, changing rooms, and back office for clues. Sadly, you couldn't make head or tails of all the junk laying around. Which bags belonged to whom?
Another woman in her early 20's, about the same age as your body perhaps, approached with a buzzing cell phone.
"Marisol, tu fono..." She said, placing it in your hands. Sighing, she added, "toda es desmadre afuera también... oye, has visto mi cuerpo? Soy Juanita."
You just shook your head, feeling Marisol's wavy locks swishing against the back of your neck. The bodyswapped young woman brushed past, leaving you to inspect the buzzing cell phone. Immediately you recognized the number as belonging to Nick Donnelly. Could it be the woman calling? Is she currently in your body at school, or is it someone else?
Marisol's heart beating furiously in your chest, you place the phone up to your ear and answer: "Hello? Do you know what's happening right now??"
Except that's not what you said. Instead, your panicked voice shrieked, "¿Hola? ¿Sabes lo que pasando ahorita?"
The voice on the line was definitely yours. But in a frustrating twist, you couldn't understand a single word it was saying! It was speaking quickly, so maybe you just didn't hear it right... even though nobody was left in the studio. People were talking outside and occasionally you heard a crash or bang from some unidentified source.
"Disculpe, no puedo entenderte. Habla más lento, por favor." You asked.
"... somehow we switched bodies. I'm having a hard time trying to understand you, but I know you must be scared." She said, although most of it was lost on you. "Looks like I'm in a school, so there must be a teacher who can speak Spanish around here. Can you hold for just a minute please?"
It sounded like she was asking you a question. Knowing that you should be able to understand English, yet utterly failing to grasp anything the other speaker was saying, you stammer, "Si, si, esa es mi cuerpo. Me llamo Nick Donnelly."
"Nick Donnelly, yeah I figured that out." She replied crossly. "I'm Marisol Rivera." So that was her name. The woman who switched bodies with you. It was still hard to believe that you were having a conversation with yourself... and struggling at that.
"I'm gonna stay on the line until I find someone who can help make it easier for us to communicate with each other." She explained, while you tried in vain to parse what she was saying. "It looks like whatever happened to us happened to almost everyone else too. All of a sudden, everyone in class was freaking out. I've never seen anything like it."
She continued to prattle away in English while you found a seat in a nearby dressing room. Locking the door, you put the phone on speaker mode, take a seat and stare slack-jawed at the beauty in the mirror. Gorgeous shoulder-length brown hair looked tussled and messy. Marisol's brown eyes blinked back at you, covered in a light coating of eye shadow. Her cheekbones were pronounced and her upturned nose looked small compared to her large, fleshy lips coated with a sleek, transparent gloss. Her arms were stick thin but her thighs were big and pushed out the hem of her dress. A dress which was a little too short and borderline slutty. Christ, what kind of a model is this woman?
Just then, you heard your voice pipe up. "You still there, Nick? I have some news I need to tell you..."
What does she say?
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