Denise Brewster, head of Research and Development at McMillan Industries, was looking for her boss's wife. She'd followed the woman here, convinced she was having an affair...information she'd be able to use.
She'd followed her to this bizarre party in an unmarked hotel conference room. No one questioned her being there...apparently if you knew about it, they assumed you were invited.
It wasn't the A-list type of party she expected of Susan McMillan. There were people of all ages and walks of life. She could easily blend in. Already, two guys had hit on her, but she'd rejected them. Was this some sort of singles mixer? If so, why were there children here? What was Susan into?
She began to move, trying once again to spot Susan when someone ran by and slapped a nametag on her...hard, and grabbed hers. She was confused. Two men ran past her, trying to catch the runner.
She suddenly felt flushed and looked down at the nametag. 'Hello, my name is Jon.' Below that, she was wearing her usual sexy business attire: a sexy white blouse, a very short black miniskirt, and black 3-inch heels.
The nametag suddenly changed. 'Hello, my name is Dennis.'
"What the hell?" She mumbled. Then her breasts deflated, like someone had let the air out of a pair of tires. It did, however, give her a better view of her black skirt rolling down her legs, turning into a pair of sheer black pants...then the material changed, growing coarser...black denim. She suddenly lost her balance and fell on her ass as her heels vanished from under her. She looked at them. They'd become a pair of sneakers, and her pantyhose a pair of white socks.
As Denise stood up, something dropped inside her pants, pressing against the denim in the crotch. Oh no, not that. But the panic was short lived as it, and the corresponding changes began to feel normal.
A sixteen year old boy wandered off, several teenage girls his age suddenly seeming much more interesting.
