The Devil Wears Prada (or A Sex Change Fashion Tragedy)

"I don't fucking care!" Armand Almani was furious.

"She was supposed to be here now, and I need to make this photo shoot today, or else Comso will kill me. Get Isabelle here now, as you promised!"

The problem was that world famous fashion model Isabelle had decided that she was too damned important to be in Paris today. She was on Barbados, and there was no Concorde.

Richards was fucked. He had to find a solution!

Belle C. Bubh had a nose for trouble. She could sense it miles away, like a hyena smelling blood.

She entered the scene as the drama queen she was. Prada handbag. Next year's Gucci. Poison by Dior.

"Hmmm, sweet Richard. Maybe I can make you a deal. I get your soul and I bring you Isabelle. What do you say, my dear?"

"Sure Belle, by all means gloat. Where do I sign?"

"Here dear. There is no need to read it."

He didn't have much of a choice now, did he? Life long servitude to Belle was better than having no future in the fashion business at all.

"Oh Richard! Not with your pen. In blood, darling, in blood!"

"Ouch, you cut me!"

"Armand is waiting!"

He dipped the offered stylus in his blood and signed the paper.

"Thank you Richard, or should I say..."

It was like a lighting bolt had struck him and fell down on the floor in pain, convulsing.

"Ooooh, God. That hurts!"

"Sure!" Belle said and looked down at him in contempt. "Beauty equals pain. It always has."

Richard could feel his body changing, bones being rearranged, flesh being reshaped. He was getting thinner, much thinner.

Small mounds of soft flesh appeared on his chest. He grabbed them, in shock. These are tits, his mind screamed - looking for a way out.

His skin darkened to deep, creamy, chocolate brown. His lips became fuller, his face feminine, his hair dark black.

"Well, Isabelle, you look beautiful!" Belle said. "Now, hurry up. Get Ronald to brush up your make up, and start working!"

A few minutes later Richard found himself posing for Armand in the body of Isabelle.

"Raise your chin, babe! Turn your head! Look aloof! Now, give me sexy arrogance! Give me sultry eyes, baby, sultry eyes!! Hmmmm, you are soooo sexy!"

The strange thing was, amidst all the confusion and despair, Richard AKA Isabelle felt sexy, desirable, and extremely feminine. And for each photo taken, she fell more and more into the role of the famous fashion model.

Several hours later Armand was satisfied. "All right, Isabelle, that's enough for today, but don't forget the show in Milan tomorrow. I need you up on that catwalk!"

Belle was waiting for her by the door. "How was your day, darling. Happy?"

She had to admit that she was. "But I am so hungry I could eat a horse," the new Isabelle said.

"Keep on dreaming, baby. This is hell, remember. You have had your last steak. From on there will only be salads and expensive tall asparagus for you. By the way, Richard called."


"Richard?" Vertigo!

"Yes, Richard. Armand's assistant, or former assistant I should say. Turns out he is in Barbados. I can't imagine why. The police has arrested him for drug possession, and he has no ID. You are not to send him his passport, do you understand?"

"Yes, madam," Isabelle replied.

Images from istockphoto. There is absolutely no relationship between the model depicted and the fictional character of this story. Click on cap to enlarge!