“You look like a model,” she said. “You should get paid to try things on.”

We found the dressing rooms, with an attendant at a little desk outside “You can only take three items inside at a time,” she told us. “And your boyfriend can’t go inside with you.”

“Aww,” said Jack grinning. I just rolled my eyes at him.

He handed me a sparkly top, the stretchy denim pants, and a nude (it’s a color, damnit) 32DD bra, one with underwire. “Get dressed and come back out so we can see how you look.”

The attendant nodded at the suggestion, too. “You look like a model,” she said. “Target should pay you to try things on.”

Jack winked at me as I scooted inside, blushing.

The booth was small but large enough for one person. I took off the flannel shirt and my t-shirt and stared at—at my tits!—in the mirror. They looked like huge, soft mounds of flesh. The nipples stood up as soon as the air conditioning hit them, and the darker flesh around them crinkled up, too. If I’d seen such a sight only yesterday, I would probably have had an instant hard-on.

Something stirred at the sight of my naked chest, and did I feel myself blush? I didn’t have that much experience looking at tits, but they seemed, well, perkier than you would expect for such large ones. Any legendary pencil tucked into the fold under my mounds would be safe from falling, but they certainly did not sag. Was it a tiny bit of pride in how they looked that I felt?

I wasn’t sure how I felt. Not turned on in the way guy-me would have been, but they were nice, and I certainly felt something when I looked at them. I twitched my shoulders, then bounced on my heels. They moved in delightful ways. “Omigod!” I whispered. Right then, I knew I could have the interest of almost any man I wanted.

Did I want that?

Maybe. It did seem like it could be…advantageous in some circumstances. Jack had mentioned Jane Russel, who had undoubtedly parlayed her assets into a film career, backed up by only minimal acting talent. I hoped I really was a better actor than Jane, but I felt sure my tits were better than hers. Rounder, firmer, if maybe not quite as big.

I blushed at my thoughts, cringing at the evidence of a feminine ego. Still, that realization changed things. I thought back about Mr. Harrelson, and Chad, and Jack. When I was with them, I had nearly all of their attention. They looked at me constantly, talked directly to me, asked questions, offered advice and opinions. They engaged with me. And not just with my chest, with me.

Sure, that had happened sometimes with the old Billy but not with the same intensity and perseverance. The interest anyone had shown boy-Billy had been casual or practical, either unimportant or important only for some task.

But girl-me grabbed them. I felt myself blushing again and realized that I was just standing there, nude from the waist up, staring at the mirror, as if I had myself been grabbed by my image.

“You okay in there?” Jack’s voice called through the doors.

“Yes. Shut up,” I said before he could ask anything else. I picked up the bra and held it up to my chest. Yes, these cups would fit. The wires (actually some sort of stiff plastic) at the bottom of each half-globe gave them shape. I reached behind me, with an end of the bra in each hand, and manipulated the hooks and loops together with only a little difficulty. Snug, but not too tight.

I slipped the straps over my shoulders and adjusted them to the same sort of fit. Something still wasn’t right; I felt lumpy and a little uncomfortable. With my hands inside the bra cups, I lifted my breasts and let them fall, finding their own more comfy positions. The wire understructure acted like a hammock for them. That was lots better, especially after I did it a second time to find the optimum placement for my girls.

I looked in the mirror again, amazed at the sight of the sexy girl in her nude-colored bra. Unexpectedly, I giggled, clapping my hand over my mouth when I did.

Outside the changing room, I heard Jack’s chuckle. “Having fun?” he asked.

“Shut up,” I said again.

I twitched my shoulders and bounced on my heels again, admiring my movement and biting back more giggles. I felt absurdly pleased with myself, but my blushes were probably bright enough to attract moths.

I pulled the sparkly top over my head next, seeing in the mirror something I hadn’t noticed before: the sparkly bits were the scales of a cartoon mermaid lying on a beach under a palm tree, reading a book. Okay. Jack’s sense of humor? The top fit, and for casual, summery sort of clothing, it looked good.

I unlaced and kicked off my sneakers, which now seemed to be made of suede instead of canvas. I stood up and immediately realized I had shrunk several inches. What the hell? I examined the high tops and discovered that they had a hidden high heel. Oh, Damn. I stood and looked at myself in the mirror. Without the heels… I looked shorter. I wasn’t so tall for a girl after all, but I was above average.

Five-foot-seven or eight? Something like that. Nothing for it, though, my feet even felt weird without the heels, like a pulling sensation in the back of my ankle. It looked like I’d be wearing high heels from now on. I shook my head, I definitely needed to get changed back.

I slipped out of my jeans and pulled on the stretchy denim pants Jack had picked out, not the pink ones. They were a tight fit, all over, from ankles to waist. I imagined I could feel the fabric straining to cover my now huge round ass, but when I looked in the mirror, I saw only a good close fit and no sign of strain. “Huh?” I said. My butt did look big, but I decided it was only generous, not extravagant.

The jeans fit, maybe a little too good. I pulled the shoes back on but didn’t tie the laces, the cuff of the jeans covering the top of the suede. My bottom half looked as if it had been dipped in dark blue textured paint. Something was making me smile, though: the idea of Jack looking at the me I saw in the mirror and not being able to look away? Something like that.

It occurred to me that I was enjoying this. Well, every actor is into make-believe, and what goes with that but dress-up? And what guy wouldn’t enjoy having a beautiful girl to put into anything he wanted to see her wearing? Beautiful girl? Well, yeah. I had to admit that, even if it was me I saw in the mirror. “I’m gorgeous,” I whispered.

I must not have been quiet enough. I heard Jack snort. “Told ya. Now come out and let us see.” The salesgirl giggled, Jack had probably charmed the socks off her already.

“Just wait….” I breathed.

“We’ve been waiting,” Jack faked a whine. Then, apparently to the girl, “Why do women always take forever to get dressed?”

I turned back to look at myself in the mirror again. I wondered vaguely what I would look like in a Little Black Dress or an evening gown. Platform sandals with rhinestones? Why was I thinking about dresses and high heels? I peered closer. My pale complexion was flawless, my deep gold eyelashes long and thick, my lips coral and rose, and a hundred other colors of pink. “I’m not wearing makeup,” I whispered, again not quiet enough.

“We can get you some,” Jack offered. “Now, get out here.”

I opened the booth and stepped out, sticking my tongue out a bit, knowing just how sexy Jack thought that expression was. No time to wonder if I wanted to look sexy to Jack, I didn’t really have a choice. It’s showtime, I told myself.