MY face.As I brought my arms up in front of me I marvelled at the differences Icould see: the gaudy nail varnish; the exposed cleavage. My armsweren't...fat, but there was no muscle definition. My skin wasn't firm atall. I could press my fingers into it. It felt so soft and smooth."I'm an 'ore," I said, grinning at the tawdry slag in the mirror thatwinked suggestively back at me. "I'm a slag. I'm nothing but a cheapfuckin' prossie."Oh, this was good. It was really bloody good.My voice had. I had no choice but to buzz the intercom to get in. I pressed the button and waited but there was no response. It was a warm, humid night and I could feel s sheen of perspiration on the exposed parts of my body which didn’t help with my dwindling patience. I kept buzzing until I heard a “Yeah,” with a bunch of music pounding in the background.“I’m looking for Ben Martin”, I said.“Who?”“BEN MARTIN,” I said louder.“Just a minute,” said the voice.After a couple of minutes I noticed the camera on. More

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