Brandon climbed back in his car, now twenty three years old and still aging. He started the engine again, making sure his glasses were securely on his nose, and turned back into traffic. He made the rest of the trip to the salon without incident, though by the time he got out of the car he was sporting a pair of a cup breasts. He was almost in the salon when his phone went off, the ring tone a rather lewd gasping of a woman.
Brandon couldn't help but smile at the ringtone. That always turns a few heads. Wait, am I actually proud of that? What is wrong with me? Brandon stopped berating himself to answer his phone.
"Heeeey! Jordan here, did Heather give you a call?" the phone asked.
Brandon wasn't sure what to say at first. Heather? Was that the strange call from before? Oh well, might as well run with it. "Um... yes."
"Are we on tonight?"
"Yeah, you bet. I just need to get too an appointment at the salon."
"Oh! Don't let me tie you down. I'll see you tonight. We're meeting at Heather's, got it?"
"Gotcha," Brandon said, before hanging up. He briefly wondered how much of that conversation he had faked and how much he actually intended, but then decided not to waste any more time and headed into the salon.
Freddy continued to search for a bottom to go with his shirt, picking up one and then tossing it aside. As he went, the shirt in question continued to change, growing tighter, the material shifting.
Finally he found a pair of plum colored leather pants that hugged his legs wonderfully, showing off every curve. They felt a little loose at the hips and rear, but that wasn't a real problem for Freddy. He looked himself over in the mirror, smiling at his reflection.
"{Damn, I am working this outfit,}" Freddy said, before slapping a hand over his mouth. The problem wasn't that his voice was of a higher, sultry pitch, or even what exactly he had said, but rather that he had said it in perfect spanish. {Why did I just say that in spanish? Why can I understand what I just said in Spanish? Why am I thinking in Spanish?}
Steve Farber looked back down at the shirt Brandon had given him. He suppose it wasn't so bad. After all, while 'Foxy Lady' was a rather embarrassing short of shirt to be wearing, it wasn't so bad compared to what Brandon usually seemed to wear. Besides, he could always change when he got home.
He pulled into the driveway, only for his phone to go off. He pulled it out and tried to look at the caller ID, but apparently he had gotten coffee on the phone too, frying the screen.
Sighing, Steve slipped opened the phone to answer it, hoping it wasn't one of his ex girlfriends...
