A New You: Volume 5

By Emma Finn

“MORE GREATNESS FROM THE BEST WRITER IN THIS GENRE”
Are you tired of your life? Do you wish you could have a change; be someone else; leave your boring existence behind? If so, come to Nockton Vale and perhaps that dream can come true.
The latest volume of A New You contains another six dark tales of transformation:
a beautiful brunette who risks being trapped as an obese fast food worker;
two slutty girls who find out what it feels like to be a workman and a French maid;
a young man who wants to start a new life but never imagined it would be as a woman;
the ongoing travails of a little girl stuck in the body of a fifty three year old dinner lady;
and the arduous journey of a man and woman who find themselves trapped in the bodies of identical twin girls lost a long way from home.
Nockton Vale is a nice place to visit but you really wouldn’t want to live there.
“MS. FINN GETS INTO THE CHARACTERS’ HEADS AND MAKES US REALLY FEEL WHAT THEY ARE FEELING AS THEY ARE TRANSFORMED”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Emma Finn
• Release date: Sep 14, 2015
• ISBN: 9781517359386

Emma Finn

Emma Finn is an exciting and prolific author who has been publishing popular stories online for years. She releases a new book every one to two months right here and posts new chapters free online every day on: http://transformation-stories.blogspot.co.uk/ & http://emma-finn-thrillers.blogspot.co.uk/

Book preview

INDEFINITE

OVERHAUL

1

I'm looking for something new, I said, with a slightly embarrassed smile. I'm tired of who I am and how far I've come.

The old man behind the waxy counter screwed up his face and peered right into mine. I could hear his breathing, dry and scraping. A complete change? he asked.

I felt a little self-conscious as he eyed me up and down. I suddenly didn't feel as though trusting my future life to his judgement was such a good idea, despite what I’d heard about his services, incredible though they sounded. In fact I didn’t know whether to really believe it.

According to the stories, this man was supposed to be able to set a person up in a new life, complete with a fresh appearance and friends, even family. He'd alter their memories so they could function in their new profession and be able to fit into their new social life. He could apparently even make slight modifications to their personality.

It was a trade. You’d take on someone else’s life and they would have yours; sometimes for a short time and sometimes longer. Sometimes permanently.

Friends of mine had actually done this, just for a week or so, and come back with wild tales of being someone else. The ultimate holiday, one of them called it. Talk about leaving your worries at home.

It wasn’t a public service with an advertising campaign. This wasn’t something that was well known. It was totally under the radar; word of mouth. And it was clearly tied into the legends of Nockton Vale. It might even have largely contributed to them. This old man had found a way to make it work for him and he wasn’t letting it get out. He was maintaining the secrecy. Presumably because he knew that if it did ever become common knowledge then he would no longer be able to control it. If the world learned you could come to Nockton Vale to turn into somebody else then millions of people would descend on the town overnight.

He had to be making a fortune. Had to be. Probably saving up to buy himself a tropical island or something.

I wasn't so interested in the idea of a short term exchange myself and I told him as much. I intended to go in for the more expensive, but in my case definitely necessary, indefinite overhaul. I wanted to leave my life behind and start off somewhere else, as someone else.

It's not that my life was all bad; in fact I was counting on this fact to attract somebody to swap with me. I was fairly well off and not bad looking. I was a young professional in my mid thirties. I was tall enough to be an impressive figure if I wanted to be. I had just had enough of it all. I wanted another shot: a complete change, as the man had said.

So I'd plucked up the courage and withdrawn the cash, and I stood there in his little backstreet Barton shop, feeling too big for the place really, and not too sure if it was a stupid mistake.

So, he said in his grating, shuffling voice, do you have any idea what kind of change you're looking for? Do you know the kind of person you might like to be? He lent forward on the counter and peeped down at my feet as he spoke. I stepped back a little, not sure I should go any deeper into this. I could see myself regretting it all in the not too distant future. Hmmm? he said.

I... well... I always just, you know... I said.

The old man raised one of his eyebrows.

I’m jaded, I said. I feel like I’ve done everything open to me and the life I have isn’t enough. I... I guess I’m fascinated about... trying out a totally different way of being. After I found out about this place; after I heard of you; it’s all I could think about. I felt silly. I glanced round at the door and considered leaving, but before I could extricate myself he spoke again.

I have just the thing you might like, he said.

I wasn't sure how I was supposed to respond exactly.

He turned and hobbled into the back room. Watching him walk so painfully, I couldn't help wondering why he didn't use his process on himself. Why deal in perfect lives while you yourself are old and cracked? Couldn't he sort himself out with a new body to keep the pain away? Or maybe he couldn’t get anyone to swap with him. That made sense. He was so old; nobody would want to.

He pottered in the back just out of sight for a few minutes, humming now and then. He had a notebook in his hand and chuckled to himself as he reached for the phone. It was an old fashioned one with an earpiece you had to hold, the kind of thing you could pick up in expensive department stores with an anachronistic dial stuck on the base.

He dialled and paused, waiting for the other side to pick up and in my tepid uneasiness I started to absently wander around the store. The clothing stacked on most of the surfaces was totally diverse in nature. There were children’s clothes and up, right through to the dowdy old fashioned styles favoured by the older generation. Both sexes were amply accommodated for. I lifted a layer or two and found the outfits to be sorted, apparently in terms of sex, then age, then material wealth. It was like a furniture store to suit anyone, regardless of caste or upbringing. There were aisles I hadn't seen before leading to willowy grottoes of clothing it seemed would never be sold.

Was this part of his rumoured process, or a by-line? Or, more likely, part of his cover? For such a secretive operation, he needed a base where he could be found and conduct business.

Now that I had a moment to think, I questioned why I was here. It seemed preposterous that it would work and equally preposterous that I should go through with it if it did. The towering piles of clothing made me uneasy. They made me remember hiding from my father in the wardrobe as a child; being found and beaten for my disobedience.

The old man said Goodbye to the voice on the other end of the line and set down the receiver. As I stepped back into view he was looking right at me.

Everything is prepared, he said. I have contacted someone who is compatible with your vision, someone who would also be happy with what you have to offer. He smiled. You’re very lucky. The party has had to be patient for a long time while a suitable mate was found; someone willing for such a total change. It could have been you who had to wait, but as it is, we shall be able to set you up right away. He bunched his note up into a ball in his fist and dropped it into a drawer behind the counter. I looked toward the door, considering leaving again, but it didn’t feel right to go now.

So what will happen? I asked.

We wait, he said. It shouldn’t be long until she gets here.

Wait a minute, I said, suddenly alarmed. She?

When the other party arrives, the transfer will be completed immediately and you can go on to live your new lives in peace.

Hang on, I said, trying to catch up with what he was saying. "You said she. The person coming here is female?"

The shopkeeper turned away from me and began rustling around in a pile of trinkets laid out behind him. That's right, he said. You’ll be exchanging your body and life with a woman.

2

I was reeling. I tried to put it all in perspective but the heavy incense odour in the air was breaking my concentration.

A woman?

The shopkeeper stepped back a little and let his expression go blank. Yes, he said. A woman. You will become a woman; and quite a wealthy one at that. It won’t be long either. She was close by and in her car when I called.

I put my hand to my forehead; stunned by the implications.

If he was telling the truth; if everything my friends had told me was true; in a lot less than an hour I wouldn’t be male anymore. I would be female. I would wear dresses and have smooth legs and a pretty face. I'd wear my hair long and apply make-up every time I went out.

This was a shock. To say the least.

I was expecting to set off into another life but I had never dreamed I wouldn’t be male.

Seeing my consternation, the shopkeeper said, You wanted a complete change.

I was dumbfounded – no two ways about it – but... the idea did have some merit the more I thought about it.

Women had it comparatively easy in some ways. There was less pressure and expectation on them to succeed and provide. The idea of being beautiful, even desirable, was kind of interesting. I didn't want to get involved in any way with guys – I didn't think, Great! Now I'll be able to pursue men. I had no interest there – but the notion of being sexy was intriguing. And I wasn’t a tranny or anything but women did have a lot more going for them in terms of what they could wear. Maybe an exploration of that would be a fascinating new adventure. Maybe there were some good sides to it.

The more I thought about it, the more I came to think that maybe it would be a good thing after all. I hated my life enough to want to change it. Maybe becoming a woman was the furthest I could get away from that.

The old man started to explain what would happen. I took a seat on a stool against a wall (rather appropriately) full of women's dresses.

When she arrived we would be prepared and the transfer would be done. I would slip into her body, and to aid my immersion in her life, many of her memories would be written over mine: stuff about her routine and the requisites of any profession. Further, he would alter our basic personalities to give us mannerisms appropriate to our new form.

The idea of that seemed captivating but also revolting. I was in no way effeminate. The idea of becoming so was against my nature. But still...

Still...

It would be an amazing escapade.

As he rounded his description of the process to a close I sat back with a smile on my face and imagined being a beautiful girl. I wouldn't have to worry about finding a girlfriend in future. I'd need look no further than in the mirror. I chuckled.

Then the shop door opened with a little jingle from the bell by the ceiling.

I turned my head to look, but the door got in the way of my view. All I could make out through the misted glass was that the new arrival was female.

The moment had come far sooner than I could have expected.

It was about to happen. It was going to happen and it was too late to back out now.

She was here and I was about to meet her.

3

Her voice was feminine and a little high-born, but I liked it. She was dismissing someone who remained outside. They were to remain with the car while she was inside. She told them she would miss them and they seemed confused, then she pushed back the door and stepped fully into view.

The first thing I noticed was her build. She was no bathing beauty this woman. She was plump, though not what you'd call fat, just fleshy. Her arms were by no means slim but still held a form that made them pretty despite the extra bulk. Her legs were the same. Though fleshier than I might have hoped, they retained a pleasing curve.

But her shape was only the first thing I had not expected. She was older than I was by at least ten years, maybe fifteen or twenty, it was difficult to tell. Her bearing was strong and matronly though very feminine, and was suggestive of someone used to getting her own way. Her skin had such a radiant, youthful quality that made her true age difficult to determine.

She was wearing an expensive looking blouse made of red silk with sleeves that stopped half way down to the elbow. A black, business-like skirt hugged her hips down as far as the knees, just high enough to leave her curvaceous legs in view from the calves down. Her feet were in heels: the kind that were sort of half way between highs and flats. The skin of her face was unblemished, no real wrinkles, only tiny feathery etchings, but her neck sagged beneath the chin, curving down to its base. Her nose was straight and pointed down, giving her an almost regal air and resting lightly on top of it was a pair of large, round spectacles. Another shock; another weakness; played off by her big brown eyes.

Her hair, finally, was a very dark, oaky brown, cut straight. She had a low fringe just above her eyebrows and at the back it dropped directly down onto her shoulders. She was a striking woman despite her more advanced years and figure.

She let the door swing slowly shut behind her. The bell jangled again. She stood in the middle of the floor and looked expectantly at the shopkeeper, who was busily fiddling with something out of my view behind the desk.

I watched her from my vantage point, trying to decide if I'd seen her before, but she turned her head slowly around until her eyes fell softly onto me. She looked at me severely at first which made me feel guilty for having been watching her with such a probing eye.

Despite my initial reservations, I had been seduced by the possibility of an exchange by this time. I stared at her, wondering what it would be like to see out through those big brown eyes myself. Her expression changed, scrunching up for a moment, looking perplexed, then softened. She smiled, then she opened her mouth to speak and her almost husky, feminine voice came pouring out, refined and lovely.

You're perfect, she said to me, still smiling benevolently. She turned and glanced back at the old man who remained behind his desk fiddling away. Just what I was looking for. She looked back to me. Perfect.

And quite oddly, I felt the same way about her.

I had never in my life wanted to be a woman but now that the chance had been offered to me; now that I had seen her; I wanted it. Even though she was older and chubbier than I was. Even though she had to wear glasses.

I couldn’t explain it.

It might even have been part of the magic somehow: this growing desire in me to push forward with this.

I wanted it and I wanted it now.

I'd been sitting all this time but that suddenly seemed inappropriate. Rather anxiously, I stood, coming up in front of her. I blurted out an introduction when I could think of nothing else to say that seemed suitable.

I know, she replied, and I remembered the phone call during which he'd probably told her all the details I'd described to him when I first arrived.

And, er, who.... who are you? I stammered.

She smiled at my shyness. I could see her wondering what it would be like to be me. Had a woman like this, so commanding in her bearing and words, really chosen to be someone like me? Had she come in and asked for a young man in a boring job who was a little too repressed for his own good? Or was I the only thing close to what she wanted that had come along in ages? The only young man, if that was what she wanted? But I could see it was; that I was exactly what she was after.

She was eyeing me with the same bird-of-prey look I'd given her. She was looking me up and down like the old man had when I arrived, making little calculations about my suitability, I was sure.

My name, she said finally, is Sarah. Sarah Jordan. Though only for a short while longer. The