Witless Protection Program

"I don't know," I said, then added, "I don't think I paid for them."

"Oh, your owner did, of course," she said slapping her forehead like she'd said something very stupid.

I sort of laughed at her belated adherence to our collective cover story. "Of course." Now I remembered rehearsing this part of my cover story while riding in a bus with the other girls. Possibly early that day, possibly the prior week. At the time, I didn't remember anything concrete about the medical mishap except that I'd gotten a special bonus shot that no one else had gotten. I wasn't to speak of it so I didn't make anyone envious. But clearly they did envy my lips.

Plump red lips that I could just make out by looking down through my ridiculous eyelashes. I blinked, trying to refocus my eyes, because beyond the lips were two enormous breasts attached to my chest. I had the biggest breasts in the room. They were fairly obvious implants. Not to the degree of looking like hard 'bolt-on' hemispheres, but they were completely out of proportion with my torso, and were far too prominent and round for their size. I could feel their weight, but despite my rediscovery of their existence, they hadn't sprouted on my chest overnight. While I'd been amnesiac my back had already learned to expect the tug as a matter of course.

"Can I look at myself?" I asked.

They giggled. "Sure Honey!"

Nothing could have prepared me for the huge-breasted bimbo who looked back at me from the mirror. And 'bimbo' wasn't a pejorative descriptor in my case; I was wearing a collar with the word "BIMBO" spelt in rhinestones, in case everything else about my affect wasn't explicit enough. Precariously standing in high heeled sandals, I steadied myself on the countertop with hands done up in acrylics, which in turn forced my knockers together and up between my upper arms until they threatened to escape my crop-top, which in turn rose to expose a trim, almost delicate waist that flared into twerk-ready hips.

But matters got, if anything, more bimbotic above my collar. First there were my tautly-swollen lips that were completely impossible to achieve through natural means, then fluttering above them were my fake-looking lashes that drew attention to my large, pixie-like eyes. Which now communicated less innocence and more vacancy. I was undeniably hot, but I also looked ridiculously stupid.

And Honey Suckle was ridiculously stupid. Suckle was the wrong surname, I knew, but I couldn't immediately summon the correct one, and anyway I had other things to process as I recalled the cover identity that had been drilled into me while I'd been an amnesiac. I couldn't recall how I knew these things, but I knew they were true. One of them was that I, as a matter of fabricated public record, had failed the written part of my driver's test, that I had no formal education past primary school, and that I was considered borderline illiterate as well as innumerate.

Some of the people in the room with me truly were functionally illiterate now, despite their previous lives as... some sort of very smart people. I felt a sense of danger when I tried to think of it, and I remembered that I wasn't supposed to give anyone the impression that I knew more than Honey Suckle was supposed to. I set the topic aside for later consideration in private.

"Do you like the gloss?" the goth asked.

"I do," I said, a bit surprised to find that I wasn't lying. "What's your name again?" I asked.

"Jade," she said with a friendly smile, and reintroduced the others. "This is Kayley, Nikki, Brandy, and Amber. Welcome to the Hot House."

They all giggled at the need to remind me for perhaps the dozenth time, but it wasn't judgmental laughter. The general friendliness made me feel better about the fact that I'd ended up with the wrong group, under the wrong identity, in the wrong body.

The Squad

I had originally planned to move out of Phoenix House as soon as I had some money and steady employment, but while I did collect suspiciously large tips whilst walking dogs, the expense of clothing that fit my body was higher than I would have thought possible and of course my employment was anything but steady. No property manager who looked at me and my complete lack of credit history thought I was worth the taking a risk on. And, by the time I had grown enough of a nest egg to pay rent significantly in advance, I'd grown to appreciate the friendly positivity of living in the Hot House with beautiful women without inhibitions or an iota of ill intent.

"I love your tits so much, Honey," Jade told me one evening after waking me from a nap by gently paddling my breasts so she could watch them undulate atop my chest. She was sitting on my tummy in her underwear, but she didn't mean to be sexy about it. She just was.

"Thank you," I responded with a yawn, "What's up, Jade?"

"Your nips is what," she said, playfully grabbing my popped nipples and using them to wiggle my boobs.

"Stop that," I told her, but I didn't try to get her to let go and she didn't.

"You like it," she said and stuck her tongue out at me. "We're going to a strip club."

"Good for you," I said, "Let me know how it was."

"No, you have to come!" Jade whined.

"Why?"

"Because it'll be so funny! Everyone will think you're one of the dancers because you're so big. We might get, like, free stuff."

"I don't know," I said dubiously.

"I know. You have to come."

"It's not like you girls are so small," I said, poking her 34F bra as proof.

"They're big, but not J-cup big," she said, and played with my breasts some more to illustrate her point or perhaps just because she enjoyed watching the waves propagate through my flesh.

"I'm only a J-cup because I'm smaller than you are," I said, "I would just be a G cup in your band size."

"Whatever, just G-cup," Jade mocked, giggling, "They still look huge on you. Please?"

"Okay," I said, too flattered to resist.

"Yay! Nikki already picked out clothes for you! I'll do your makeup."

"Presumptuous," I muttered without heat.

"You love it," Jade said, and I didn't try to object.

Soon enough I was looking as much like a stripper as Nikki and Jade could manage, though then I wore a faux-fur coat over it. By the time we got there we'd mostly forgotten about the plan, and honestly we weren't all that much more sexually dressed than the women there for a hen do, and definitely better behaved. We got a certain amount of attention from the fellows, but none seemed brave enough to approach a half dozen in a bunch, so we abandoned what remained of our plans to play at being strippers, or at least at pretending I was. But then an actual stripper came over to see if she could get one of us to pay for a personal dance, and the other girls quickly decided I should be the lucky recipient.

Angel was very expensive, it seemed to me, but undeniably also very good. At first I was just fascinated by her sheer athleticism and grace, but then she leaned in to murmur in my ear, "would you like me to touch you?" In another life I would have been too petrified to say anything, but Honey Suckle wasn't so shy.

"Yes!" I said, loud enough for the other girls around me to hear and cheer.

They cheered even louder as Angel began to run her hands up and down my body, with occasional pauses to make sure I was still okay with the liberties she was taking. And I was more than okay. I was soaking wet, in fact, and I think Angel knew it. I bit my lip to contain myself, but even so by the end of the dance I was a wreck.

"That was fantastic!" Brandy congratulated Angel, patting her on the back in a hearty way that betrayed just a bit of her previous personality, "I thought poor Honey was going to blow!"

"Did you want a dance as well?" Angel asked with a raised, perfectly-plucked eyebrow and a saucy Mexican accent.

"Oh, too rich for me," Brandy said, "But just watching you and Honey was more than worth it!" Brandy handed off the cash she'd collected to pay for the dance, and added a nice tip on my behalf. "So what do you think? Would Honey here make it as a stripper?"

Angel looked at me and gave me an encouraging wink. "Of course. Ella es muy caliente," she said.

"Oh my god you're so hot," I told her, and she burst out laughing.

"I'm glad to hear you think so," she said, without the Mexican accent this time. "You're one of the hottest girls I've ever seen, and I've seen a lot of hot girls."

"Are you very famous?" I asked, worried that maybe we should know who she was.

"No, not really," Angel said with a quizzical look.

"Oh, I just got the impression that you were, like, an old pro. Not like old old," I tried to recover, "I just meant experienced on the stripping circuit."

"Well, I've been stripping for about a year and a half now and I've seen a lot of touring acts come through, but no, this is the only place I've danced."

"You could be famous, I know it!" Nikki offered supportively. "My dream is to become a stripper like you once we finish probation."

Angel politely refrained from inquiring into the 'probation' Nikki mentioned, which was a bit disappointing because it presented no opportunity to explain that it didn't mean we were all jailbirds. Not that being in a probationary period of a rehabilitation program for underage victims of sex trafficking was more glorious. And, because none of us could even remember anything about our supposed previous lives, it was perhaps better that the subject didn't come up.

Instead, Angel looked at us all appreciatively and said we'd do very well for ourselves if we decided to become dancers. I thought maybe she looked more at me than at the others, but she didn't leave anyone out. I mean, we were all looking pretty hot and slutty, and I thought we had a right to be proud of ourselves in that way.

When Angel had moved on, Brandy clapped happily. "This is the best squad. Thanks for bringing us together, Honey!"

"Me?" I said, shocked. "I didn't do anything."

"Well, it was because we had to help you remember stuff, and we all sort of had to work together to show you stuff. And you let us dress you up and all that. It's really fun!"

"I'm your mascot?" I asked, laughing through my embarrassment.

"That's not what I mean," Brandy said, giving me a reassuring hug.

"More like our Barbie doll," Jade said wryly.

"Yeah! Only hotter," Brandy added.

"Barbie, or Bimbo?" I asked, plucking at the rhinestone 'BIMBO' collar around my neck.

Nikki laughed and hugged me. "I knew you would love it!"

"Well, thank you for giving it to me," I said, not wanting to tell her that I wasn't exactly in love with it. For the evening it fit the theme, and I wasn't above wearing it around the Hot House to amuse my mates, but I wasn't about to wear it anyplace else.

"Us thick girls gotta stick together," she said before releasing me.

We did, too. None of us could make it on our own, so we helped each other out. We took turns being Jade's dummy for her various assignments as she worked toward getting a certificate of cosmetology. My memory continued to improve but remained unreliable, so I didn't attempt to join Jade despite being almost as talented. So, I remained as a dog-walker and saved money in the bank account Brandy set up for me. Most nights one of us joined Nikki at her pole dancing classes when she wanted more comfortable company than the athletic career women who comprised most of the other students. Brandy, being the only one of us with a high school diploma, replied on the rest of us financially because she was continuing her education at a two-year college. Kayley borrowed us as photographers and fellow partiers as she constructed her Insta influencer persona. Amber, being quiet, conscientious, and conventional, excelled in her internship as a shop assistant at a high end boutique, but while she had every prospect of being hired at the end of the six months, pay and hours were dreadful in the meantime.

In the military I'd also served in squads and teams, and we'd relied on one-another, but never with such reliable good nature and lack of resentment. And lack of boundaries. I wasn't entirely reconciled to the cavalier invasions of my personal space and privacy, but they never batted an eye at any indiscretions they caught me in. When Nikki walked in on me watching porn, she excitedly shared her own favorites with me. Kayley not only didn't mind catching me attempting to frig in the tub (and being somewhat stymied by my nails), she fetched a vibrator to help. Amber borrowed my clothes but returned them with pockets cleverly sewn in. If I, or anyone, needed anything, Jade or Brandy would assemble us to search for a solution.

And of course, if ever anyone wanted to go out for an evening on the town, they could count on at least one or two of us to accompany her.

The Secret

One secret I had to keep, however, which was that I was not only keeping my memory refreshed on transgenic virology and related technologies, I found myself staying up at night to read the literature more than I ever had before. I strongly suspected that some mixture of new neural growth and the loss of some old memories and skills had enabled me to learn and retain information like I hadn't since I'd been a teen the first time around. Forgetting what exactly my real name was and who Ronald Reagan had been seemed to have freed up space for me to remember information that was of more immediate use, such as how to layer lip gloss for maximum reflectivity, and also the respective advantages and disadvantages of presenting plasmids in the intercellular medium to oncovirally-potentiated cells, versus direct mimiviral delivery of DNA to the cytoplasm for DTS import.

This study of developments in my former field was only occasionally in service of answering the occasional questions I received from REDOWL; I also just found it so much clearer and more diverting to follow now than I had previously as 'Mackenzie.' I'd always bring up some porn in a browser window to switch to in case anyone barged in on me, and I'd read late into the night.

Then, one late night, I noticed the laptop's camera light had turned on after I had opened it up but before I'd actually put it on my lap. Perhaps because it wasn't seeing anything except a blank wall, it turned off again after a second or two, but I caught it, and I knew then that someone was spying on us. On me, I was sure, though hopefully they didn't know who it was because it was a shared laptop. After that I could no longer do anything except actually view porn, which I did in order to maintain continuity. Continuity, plus the usual reasons.

I had Brandy use my money to buy me a laptop of my own after that, both for privacy and because I wanted to try working with some of the more technical software tools that I'd previously assumed would be too hard to learn for someone already pushing forty. Now that I was biologically and mentally so much younger and more pliable, I thought I might have another go.

Because I also had a great talent for forgetting, it quickly slipped my mind that someone was trying to spy on me, or at least one of us.

Thespian

My ability to remember practical things didn't come back all at once, which was a problem for me in the initial job arranged for me by Phoenix House, the charity that ran the program in which we were all enrolled. I initially assumed I would have no trouble as a shop assistant in a clothing store, working for a very patient young woman who couldn't have been much over twenty years old. The problem was that I would occasionally space out about what I was doing so I'd have to go back and ask, and, more fatally, I just didn't seem to be able to remember where the store was with any reliability, leading to arriving egregiously late on several occasions. I think my manager was both relieved and sorry to fire me. Relieved because she didn't want to have to deal with my stupidity, but sorry because she knew I was trying my best.

From there I also quickly got myself fired as a temporary receptionist, though there I'm not sure how much was my fault. I could and did type fairly quickly, and I didn't forget that many of my tasks. It wasn't my fault if half the men in the office were always making excuses to loiter by the front desk. I did at least last long enough to start what became my third, more successful round of employment as a dog walker.

In the meantime, a 'social worker' whom I identified as some kind of agent came by every evening to check in on us and make sure we were learning 'life skills'. This included some extremely basic maths such as making sure we knew how to compare the amount of money we had in an account and how much something we wished to purchase cost, and determining if we had enough to buy it. The reading lessons were of similar complexity, and it struck me that she took careful note of who was struggling less, and I made sure not to excel too much in those very simple skills. Other lessons seemed curiously tailored to a rather less than intellectual lifestyle.

Surrounded as I was by women who seemed to embrace the cosmetological and pop-cultural lessons, I found myself pulled into them as well. It helped that I seemed rather gifted at my newfound skillset in a way that earned me the respect and admiration of my peers, which had not been the case in my before-life. Not that I had been disrespected then, but it had always been unremarkable at best amongst elites who were smarter, more experienced than I was, acceptable as someone to offload lesser tasks onto because I worked hard and arrived with a security clearance. Honey Suckle, meanwhile, was first amongst equals entirely on her own merits. My merits. And if they hadn't been my merits before the CHANGE, well, they were written directly into my genes afterwards.

The combination of need and affinity provided plenty of motivation to fully inhabit my role, like a particularly dedicated method actor. The only exception I made was to respond to the covert questionnaires from REDOWL that I was occasionally passed when hired to walk a fellow's dog. In the first couple months of my new life, they were always technical questions about how the CHANGE worked, or at least about the operation of mimiviruses. Any relationship with an ongoing investigation was difficult to discern, as I felt like they must have already known the answers to the questions posed to me, but it was useful to have regular opportunities to refresh my mind on the topics so I didn't forget them.

No questions asked me about myself, however, and I was distressed one day to discover that beyond the word "Mackenzie", I couldn't remember what my name had been, nor could I call up a memory of what exactly I had looked like. I was sure I would recognize a picture of myself, but as I didn't have one, my previous identity became ever more blurred. I could hardly even decide when my new one had begun; the best I could manage was the birthday on my identification.

Inexorably, my Honey Suckle act was becoming more real to me than that other person who had been named Mackenzie.

-Thickening-

The Plot

"Pretty soon, girls won't even need implants like ours," Nikki said, gossiping about an unproven new treatment available in a foreign country I probably knew something about in my previous life.

"Implants aren't so bad," I said, feeling at my breasts and trying to remember what they had felt like before augmentation. Only belatedly did it occur to me that I shouldn't trust any memories of what I'd been like before.

"Well, not everyone gets really natural-feeling ones like we did," Nikki said, squeezing her boobs with a slight frown. "Though natural isn't really better. Kinda saggy."

"Your breasts aren't saggy," I told her firmly, both because they weren't, and because if her breasts were saggy, what were mine?