Recognize Me - town headswap faceswap bodychange latina busty hugeass ageregression culturalchange

1

— Jerome, tú... ¿no me reconoces en absoluto? (Jerome, you… you don’t recognize me at all?) — forgetting for a moment that she was speaking Spanish and brushing a strand of long black hair behind her ear, Sofia asked. Her large silver hoop earrings chimed softly, and the thin chain with a pendant swayed slightly on her neck.
Jerome stood by the doorway of the small room, still gripping a plastic cup of beer. The music behind the wall boomed with bass — the freshman party was in full swing — but here it was quiet enough to talk. He frowned as he looked at the girl in front of him: a bright Latina in a tight black strapless top that hugged her full breasts, and light-blue high-waisted jeans with three buttons, clinging snugly to her hips.
— Whaaaat?! Speak English! — he growled, trying to act like the tough guy he had carefully been shaping himself into since getting into Santa Monica College. He stepped closer, boldly eyeing her from head to toe, and added with a filthy smirk: — Maybe you’ll start doing what you called me here for?
Sofia flinched and instinctively stepped half a pace back. Right away, as if on purpose, her breasts — the ones she had been living with for two years now — bounced heavily, pulling the top painfully tight, and the hoop earrings clinked again, revealing her awkward movement more loudly than any words.
— No… — she shook her head quickly. — I no… no’ this. I no for this.
Jerome snorted and leaned closer, still smirking, as if testing how far he could push.
— Then why’d you latch onto me, huh? — He pretended to inspect her pendant, the shine of the buttons on her jeans, then paused his gaze where the top was barely holding its ground. — Party, a separate room, pretty girl. It’s obvious.
— I… I speak… — she forced out. — Bad English. Leetle. You… Jerome, yes?
— And why does it even matter who I am? Fine, if it makes you feel better, — he snorted and took another sip of beer, — Jerome Harper. Happy now?
Sofia swallowed. Something inside tightened painfully, and for a second she forgot what to do with her hands. Her fingers found the hem of her top on their own, as if trying to cover what couldn’t be covered. She realized she only made it worse, because the gesture caught Jerome’s attention, and she jerked her hands away. Her breasts bounced again, and Sofia quickly pressed her palms to her sides, pissed at her body — the body that had been like this for the last two years since waking up in that lab he’d gone to for “the easiest 150 thousand dollars in his life.”
— ¡Mierda! ¡Malditas tetas! (Fuck! Damn these tits!) — slipped out of her before she realized it, noticing that it only amused Jerome. Or did it? That smile was starting to scare her. It wasn’t the lazy, filthy smirk he’d given her a moment ago. It had become… attentive. Too attentive. Especially to her breasts.
— Ha, — he exhaled shortly. — You’re fiery.

2

— Jerome, no, no lo hago... — cursing the fact that because of the mental adjustments done for the project she couldn’t change her language abilities at all, not even when she tried to relearn her once-native English, Sofia let out a deep breath and lifted her gaze, thinking that all of this was a very, very bad idea. But since she already came, she had to at least try. She pushed her face forward a little, remembering her plan and already opening her mouth to say something, when suddenly Jerome’s lips crashed against hers, and right after that his tongue pushed in, greedily exploring her mouth.
Sofia’s eyes flew open in horror. Her whole body locked up in shock, her arms hanging limp at her sides. Jerome, on the contrary, acted aggressively. His hands landed hard and commanding on her waist, pulling her close, and one immediately slid lower, grabbing her ass.
Sofia gasped, choking on surprise, a strangled whimper escaping her. Her brain refused to function from the shock, and her body froze, unable either to push him away or respond to the kiss. But Jerome was too forceful and too sure of himself; he tore his lips from hers for just a moment, to say, breathing heavily:
— What’s wrong with you — he breathed right into her face without pulling back — stop pretending you don’t want it, you came here yourself.
His hand still lay heavy on her waist, her breasts were pressed painfully and far too obviously between them, and low between her legs warmth spread, as if her body was deciding for her again. Sofia finally snapped out of her trance and shoved both palms against his chest.
— No! — burst out of her. — I no… no like this! You no un’erstan'!
She pushed him clumsily, unsure — and it was still enough to make him step back a pace. Though not without an irritated snort.
— Oh really? — he smirked, tilting his head and letting his gaze slide over her body again. — You walk in here, look at me like that, touch yourself… and I’m supposed to believe you just came to chat?
Sofia shook her head sharply. Her earrings clinked again. That damned built-in program — dressing her like… like a whore! Even though back there she had been just a waitress!
— I… I wan’ talk, — she blurted out, stumbling over words. — ’Bout… ’bout eksperimen’. ’Bout Town.
She realized she’d said too much. All of this was classified, and any contact with anyone from her past life was strictly forbidden. If anyone who knew about it found out… she wouldn’t escape prison. A women’s prison? Or… or a men’s? The thought sent goosebumps rushing over her skin.
The words hung in the air.
— Town? — Jerome repeated, no smirk now. He slowly placed his cup on the small table by the door, as if afraid to spill the beer. — What the hell do you mean, what Town?
Sofia froze. Her heart slammed somewhere in her throat.
‘Idiot. That’s it. You buried yourself.’
— I… I no mus’ talk, — she said quickly, turning her back to him. Her jeans stretched tight over her wide hips, bouncing softly, and that involuntary motion instantly made her clench her teeth. — Forgue’. Please. This is misteik.
— Stop, — Jerome said sharply.
He didn’t touch her, but he stepped forward, blocking her path to the door. Sofia went still, feeling everything tighten in her lower back — not even from his closeness, but from the realization of how vulnerable she was right now, in this body, in these clothes, in this role.

3

— You kiss me first, — he continued harshly, — then you scream in Spanish, then you say some crap about some Town, and now just “forget it”?
— I no kees! — she turned sharply, almost desperately. Her earrings clinked again. — You no hear! You no leesen me at all!
— Then explain, — he crossed his arms. — Slow. Normal.
— Hey! You two! How long you gonna fuck in there?! — a shout came from behind the wall, cutting through the bass and someone’s laughter, — you ain’t alone here, you know!
Sofia jerked with her whole body. Her cheeks flared, her stomach twisted tight. She instinctively tried to wrap her arms around herself, but how the hell do you do that with tits that never went anywhere and only got in the way. She dropped her hands fast, ashamed of her own helplessness, and pressed them to her sides, forcing herself to stand straight.
— Fuck off! — Jerome barked toward the wall. — Do your own shit!
He turned back to Sofia, irritated now, but that shout clearly knocked him out of his usual persona. No smirk.
— See? — he threw. — It’s a party. People. So talk fast and without all this… — he waved vaguely, — theater.
Sofia swallowed.
Here it was. Now or never.
— I… I… my rostro (face)… ugh! FACE! — she almost growled at her own tongue. — Loo’! Un’erstan’!
She jabbed her finger into her cheek, then into her eyes, trying to make him see past the body. Her hand trembled, the earring chimed again — painfully loud in this pause.
— You… you loo’ here, — she tapped the bridge of her nose. — No here, — she threw her hand down sharply, instantly regretting it. — I no this! I… I.
— You want me to recognize you… by your face? — he asked slowly.
— Yes! — she almost exhaled the word. — I your… I…
She swallowed again. Her throat felt dry.
‘No. No-no-no. I should not have done this!’
She dropped her gaze — right onto her damn cleavage. Her legs felt rooted to the floor. Her head screamed only one thing: Run! Run far away. But the cursed body didn’t obey. Again those stiff words from the card and the cold voice of the man in the lab coat surfaced: “Sofía Ramírez — 22 years old, born in Colombia, recently moved to the US. Shy, polite, non-conflict, but… (God, that pause — she still twitched remembering it)… but with a body any porn star would envy. You’re lucky, Mr. Harper…” Everything else faded two years ago. Why lucky, what he meant — it all lost meaning. Leave. Just leave.
She stepped toward the door, but Jerome’s hand landed on her shoulder. She snapped her head up, ready to bark something — but froze when she saw his face had changed.

4

He looked at her like something finally shifted into place and now refused to go back.
His brows slightly drawn. Lips parted. And his gaze too focused — but no longer on her breasts. On her face.
— Wait… — he said quietly.
His hand was still on her shoulder, but now the touch felt different.
Sofia jerked, knocking his hand off.
— No touch. — she exhaled. — I go!
— I… — he stopped, as if he had no idea what words to even use. — You now… you… this can’t be…
Another step toward the door, but Jerome stopped her. He spun her toward himself sharply.
Sofia stumbled over her shiny loafer, her breasts swung to the side, but Jerome caught her before gravity took over.
— Look at me, — Jerome forced out. His fingers on her forearm tightened and then immediately loosened, as if he got scared of his own reaction. — Say… who are you?
— No… no touch, — Sofia jerked, somehow convinced he was still holding her, and then fell down. — I go. I… meestake.
— You look like… God, this is bullshit! total bullshit! — Jerome began, pacing back and forth, — two years have passed—
Sofia lay on the floor on her side. The cold surface pressed unpleasantly into her thigh, her loafer slipped off, her heel slid out, and her leg looked pathetic, almost helpless. The fall wasn’t hard, but her body reacted fast: her breasts dropped heavily, pulling downward, exposing her nipple.
— Shit… — Jerome kept muttering, not noticing what he had been staring at just minutes ago. — Two years. He disappeared two years ago. And you…
He stopped, stared at her still sitting on the floor. Now the sight was strange to him:
Sofia flinched at that sharp, strained tone, remembering her boss from that café in the “Town” where she had worked the last two years as a waitress. She instinctively tugged the edge of her top — clumsy, too late — and the motion only made it clearer how little control she had over herself or her body right now.
— No yell… — she breathed out, swallowing with difficulty. — I… I no on purpose.
She pulled her knees up, curling inward, trying to cover herself however she could, pressing her Boobs against her knees.
Jerome turned away sharply, ran a hand through his hair like he wanted to scrub the image out of his mind.
— I… — he stopped, then exhaled through his teeth. — He disappeared two years ago. You understand what I’m saying?
Sofia sat, hugging her knees to her chest, hunched over, as if trying to become smaller.
— I un’erstan’, — she said quietly. — Better than you theenk.
Jerome still stood with his back to her. His shoulders were tense, like he was holding too much inside at once.
— No call. No message, — he said flatly. — He was like a father to me, you get that?! — he stopped, then snapped, turning toward her. — Talk! You his daughter?! He out there somewhere?! Somewhere in Latin America fucking girls like… (he spat) forgetting his family and everyone who cared about him?!

5

Sofia flinched as if he had struck her with a word. She pressed her knees tighter to her chest and immediately regretted it: the soft weight of her breasts pressed into her forearms, the top stretched, her breasts spread heavily — she felt as if she were inside this body for the first time again, realizing she couldn’t even “curl up” the way she used to as a man.
— N-no… no like tha’, — she exhaled, swallowing. — I… no daughter. No… hija. No.
Jerome narrowed his eyes.
— What the hell are you mumbling?! Go back to your daddy and tell him we don’t need anything from him!
A knock hit the door, and Jerome immediately barked:
— Occupied! Get lost!
The knock came again — harder, ruder. Behind the door came a drunken giggle and a muffled female voice:
— Hey, Jer, whaaat are you dooo… it’s me!
— I said get lost, you fuckin’ slut!
Sofia curled tighter, squeezing out only:
— D-detente (S-stop…) She no. I…
A silence hung behind the door for a second. Then — an offended scoff, heels on the floor.
— You’re outta your mind, Jer?! — the woman’s voice grew sharp. — Open the damn door, you hear me?!
— Leave! — he roared. — Right now!
A one-second pause.
— Yeah fuck you too, asshole! — came from behind the door along with the loud clack of heels, now clearer than the bass and laughter outside.
— Shit… — he hissed through his teeth, turning back to Sofia.
She was still sitting curled up, and something about that clearly affected him — his tone immediately lowered, turning calmer.
— Listen. Okay. Fine. Sorry, — he said. — I… I went too far, okay?
She slowly lifted her head.
— Wha’?.. — she breathed, uncertainly, with that same accent that always betrayed her before she could say anything important.
Jerome exhaled and rubbed his face with his hand.
— It’s just… your father, he’s an asshole, — he said dully. — Turns out he’s alive… sends his daughter instead of coming himself…
Sofia froze, feeling as if an invisible slab fell onto her.
— No… is no like tha’…
— People probably tell you this a lot, — Jerome added, still looking past her, — but you’re like his damn copy.
Something in Sofia’s chest felt empty and heavy at the same time.
— Copy… — she whispered barely audibly. — Sí… Copiar…
She instinctively lowered her head, her hair falling over half her face.
— Copy, — Jerome repeated hollowly, as if tasting the word. — The eyes. The forehead. The nose. Even the damn lips! How did I not see it right away?
Sofia pressed her lips together. Her hands tightened on her forearms on their own, and she felt under her fingers the softness, the warmth — that same body that kept stopping her from being heard.
— He ask me, — she said quietly. — To bring money… much money…
Jerome snapped his head up.
— Money? — he repeated. — What money, for fuck’s sake? I don’t need anything from him!
— Cash… cash monee, — she answered, trying to drag the situation at least into something resembling order. — Envelope. Through me.

6

Jerome blinked, as if he had just heard something completely out of place in this chaotic night.
— Through you… — he repeated slowly. — What are you, a courier? A mule? What the hell even… Why didn’t he come himself?
Sofia drew in a heavy breath, looking away. Why he didn’t come himself — because she did. Because he truly wasn’t here anymore, and only she was.
She lifted her head slowly. Her hair slid off her face, revealing her eyes — too familiar, too foreign at once.
— He… — she said after a pause. — He ask for forgive.
Jerome blinked again. Then let out a short humorless laugh.
— Oh, of course. He asks for forgiveness. — he jabbed a finger toward the nightstand. — Through his daughter, at night, at a party, in a freshman room. Makes fucking idiotic sense. Maybe at least tell me where he is?
Sofia lifted her palms as if shielding herself from his words, but froze at once: the strapless top had slipped a millimeter, and she pressed it to her breasts in panic — and then something inside her seemed to click, snap open.
— Here… — she whispered, unable to contain the emotion, realizing she suddenly didn’t care about anything anymore: secrecy, being hunted, the money, prison.
Jerome froze.
— What do you mean — here?
Sofia inhaled sharply. Her breasts rose; the top stretched dangerously; she instinctively held it in place.
— Here, — she repeated. — In front of you.
Jerome stared for a second. Then snorted.
— You’re insane. You’re… you’ve lost your damn mind.
Sofia shook her head sharply.
— No. I… Reechard.
He recoiled as if struck. Stood still for a moment. Then burst into loud, panicked laughter.
— No… — he forced out between breaths. — No, no, no… — he ran a hand over his face. — This is too much. This… some kind of sick joke, right? A camera? — he looked around, expecting someone to jump out with a phone. — Where are you filming this?
Sofia didn’t move. Every second stretched like cruelty. Especially because she no longer cared about “secrecy,” consequences, or anything else.
— I no joke, — she said quietly.
His laughter cut off instantly, as if sliced.
— Get out of here, okay? — Jerome stepped closer. — And tell your old man I don’t need his fucking money.
He stood for one more second, as if waiting for her to say something — anything — that would let him either explode or stay. But Sofia kept silent, looking down, her hair hiding her face. Then he exhaled sharply, turned away, and walked toward the door. Halfway there he threw over his shoulder, voice dull, almost without anger:
— Tell him… — he stopped, scoffed bitterly. — Ah, fuck it.
The door slammed. Party music burst into the room for a split second, then was cut off again.
Sofia was alone.
She slowly lowered her hands, and then her legs, which seemed to slide down on their own, freeing the softness of her breasts, which stretched the top again and pulled downward.
The secrecy she was supposed to guard about her true identity suddenly felt like some ridiculous spit slowly sliding down her cheek.
Even her own nephew didn’t believe her.