Ian Carnell is a 32-year-old man with an unpretentious and approachable demeanor. He has an average build---neither particularly tall nor short, with a physique that suggests a balanced lifestyle. His features are subtle and unobtrusive, with a gentle face that exudes calmness and friendliness.

He wears a classic, well-fitted pale gray button-down shirt, which complements his understated personality. The shirt is neatly pressed, with the collar sitting comfortably around his neck and the top button casually undone for a relaxed yet tidy appearance. His brown slacks are simple and practical, made of a comfortable fabric that allows ease of movement, and they fit him well without being too tight or too loose.

Ian had been eyeing a sports car that he couldn't afford. He couldn't afford it without a deep discount, that is. But he knew he couldn't negotiate the price down enough to get what he needed. He wasn't blessed with the looks or persuasive personality. He would need help and he knew where to get it.

Ian walked to Janice Gibbons house. He rang the bell and waited for her to answer the door. When she opened to door to see a man that she didn't know, she was stunned for a second. Ian looked into her eyes and his essence bore into her mind, pushing Janice's personality out of the way. Looking through Janice's eyes, Ian saw his body standing motionless at the front door. His eyes had a vacant look, his mind had been transferred to Janice's body. There wasn't any personality to look back at his new body.

Ian, now Janice, took hold of Ian's arm and led him into the house. Janice sat him down on the couch. She knew that he would be fine. Focusing on Janice, he had access to all that she knew as well as all she remembered.

Janice was a force of nature at 51, a woman who had long ago mastered the art of turning heads and bending wills with nothing more than a glance and a sway. Her medium-length light brown hair cascaded in soft waves just past her shoulders, framing a face that blended sharp, knowing eyes with a perpetual, sly smile that hinted at secrets she might share---for the right price. But it was her figure that truly commanded attention, particularly her shapely butt, a testament to years of strategic workouts and an unapologetic embrace of her curves. She dressed almost exclusively in light-colored apparel---creamy whites, soft yellows, and pale pastels---that clung just enough to highlight her assets without ever veering into overt vulgarity. It was a calculated style: elegant yet provocative, like a whisper that promised more.

Her personality was an intoxicating mix of charm and cunning, wrapped in an unbreakable confidence that made her seem invincible. Janice knew exactly the effect she had on men, especially the younger ones whose eyes would glaze over with a cocktail of admiration and desire. She reveled in it, not out of vanity alone, but because it was her ultimate tool---a weapon she wielded with precision to gain advantages in negotiations, favors, or simply the upper hand in everyday encounters. She wasn't manipulative in a cruel sense; she saw it as empowerment, a way to level the playing field in a world that had often undervalued women like her. All these qualities now belonged to Ian...including Janice's name. Confident to her core, Janice walked with a purposeful stride, her posture impeccable, exuding an aura that said she owned every room she entered. She didn't seek approval; she demanded it, and more often than not, she got it.