You are an asshole. You have always been an asshole, since the first day I joined the damn company. An asshole and a sexist sleaze, I would like to precise. Probably, under the definition of asshole in the Illustrated Encyclopedia your Facebook profile picture would come before the actual butt hole.

That's why tonight it's going to be just so good.

It was your stupid plan, actually. You wanted me out of this business dinner, leaving the stage for you to shine in front of our boss, the client, and your poor gold digger girlfriend. You wanted to humiliate me and, in your chauvinistic mind, what better method to get me out of the scene than turning me into a woman?

Guys like you are so fucking predictable.

You stared at me for good five minutes, after we gobbled our drinks, expecting God knows what effect. You really think I did not notice the purple tinge in my cocktail, the alkaline smell of the Swapper pill inside the drinks you were so suspiciously eager to buy.

I just stare back, looking at you growing uneasy, fidgeting, until you excuse yourself to the toilet. I take another sip of Champagne, taking my time, staring at your tight ass before stalking behind you.

I found you bent over the sink, panicked as you touch your face as if it could help to stop your beard from disappearing, your hair from lengthening down your back.

You don't really notice me until I am close enough to smell your shitty cologne. "Wow. You are a fucking cutie", I comment, as you stare at me in horror.

You used to be just a bit taller than me. Now you barely reach my chin and the Armani business suit you were so eager to show off hangs off you like an oversized pyjama.

"How do you even...why..."

I can't be bothered with explanations, so I just show you my identity card. Betrix Douvall, it says.

You look at me, confused.

"Why the fuck are you showing me your sister?"

Dickhead.

"It's me, you absolute imbecile", I hiss. "Been on the Swapper since day one. Business is just so much easier when you have a dick. You really thought I wouldn't notice?"

I grab you by your now oh-so-tiny wrist.

"For tonight, and God knows how much longer as I am sure you didn't even bother to read the instructions, you are going to be my perfect little girlfriend. You will help me to get that fucking deal and to keep Marcus happy. No bragging, no boasting, no whining. Or I will expose your sleazy ass for Marcus to fire. This shit is not exactly legal, after all."

You look at me in horror.

"And what about Kate?"

"Text your girlfriend, tell her that you are very very sick. Tell her she can enjoy the dinner, it's already been paid for anyway."

"She will recognize me, she..."

" No. She won't. Here."

I throw you a lovely skin tight dress with matching high heels and a bag of makeup. It was supposed to be for my post transformation night out, but seems like it's getting a much better use.

"Tsk. You are definitely going to stretch it" I say, appraising your shapely bust.

"And oh, I might have forgotten the underwear. You don't mind, don't you?"