Indiana Jones - Alternative Casting

Gregg answered the door eagerly, almost tearing the package from the poor deliveryman’s arms. With a scribbled signature, he went back inside his home, grinning. The box was weighty and covered with customs labels and notes. He set it on his table, excited, beginning to open it.

Tonight was the annual costume party at Gregg’s work. He was new to the company so had never attended yet, but he had grown used to his colleagues telling him all about the great costumes everyone wore. There was an unspoken rule that everyone leant into their costumes a little – one year, their notoriously authoritarian boss had apparently dressed up as a supervillain, much to the amusement of his employees. Gregg had spent far too long thinking about his own costume. He wanted it to represent him perfectly, and after a weekend spent mindlessly watching old films, he was struck by an idea.

Indiana Jones. He was everything he wanted to be – adventurous, charming, and with a womanizing streak that Gregg one day hoped to imitate, though currently was without success. He had even been growing out his stubble to complete the look and perfectly match the rugged hero he had been idolising. The package was the final step for completing his costume. After hours spent trawling through different online stores, he finally settled on one he wanted – a complete outfit, complete with accessories, and appearing to be good enough quality to be mistaken for the real deal.

As he unpacked the costume, Gregg grabbed the convincingly dirty white shirt, holding it up against his torso as he quietly hoped the sizing was correct. Ordering from abroad, he had heard horror stories of size mismatches. Sadly, he could see it was several inches too short across his shoulders. Gregg had checked the website in detail, making sure it would fit, but as he looked at the packaging once more he realised it wasn’t just the wrong size, it was the wrong gender, ‘Women’ being written in bold lettering across the plastic wrapping. Had he ordered the wrong costume by mistake?

Gregg wasted no time in opening his laptop to check his confirmation email. Sure enough, the truth was there: he had ordered the correct costume, even paying extra for the express delivery. Clearly the shop had made a mistake. He briefly considered emailing the company back and demanding a refund or the correct costume, but the party was tonight, and he had no time to lose. He looked over the packaging once more, as if trying to convince himself that he had misread it earlier and that his evening wasn’t going to be ruined, but the costume was undoubtedly for a woman. He could see more text, no doubt garbled by whatever translator the foreign company had used, ‘Most fit one size’. Curious, Gregg tugged on the fabric of the shirt, finding it far stretchier than the clothes he was used to. Would there be enough give in the fabric to fit him and still have a convincing costume? Desperate for the costume to work, Gregg stripped down to his underwear and began to put it on.

First, he squeezed the shirt on. While it was definitely stretchier than he thought, the shirt still struggled with his more masculine frame. The buttons were tight across his chest, the fabric at its limit. The sleeves barely came down over Gregg’s forearms, and he rolled them up over his elbows to at least give the illusion that they might fit him when unfurled. The trousers were more high-waisted than Gregg remembered seeing in the films. They felt loose around his rear, the fabric clearly made for a curving female behind rather than his flat male one. Much like the length of the shirt sleeves, the trouser legs barely came down to his ankles. The boots were more like riding boots than the practical footwear Gregg imagined the famed archaeologist wearing, coming to just below his knees. The leather clung uncomfortably to his feet, his own much too long and wide to fit into the women’s boots. He was glad that he wasn’t walking to the party. Strangely, Gregg noticed the slight heel, raising his height by a couple of inches. Gregg had splashed out on the ‘premium’ version of the costume, complete with all the accessories he could want. He slung the satchel bag over his shoulder – half expecting it to be replaced by a handbag. Threading the holster and pouches onto the belt, Gregg pushed it through the loops on the trousers. He pulled it as tight as he dared, the trousers already clinging far too closely to his waist. He looped the iconic whip through the belt, and moved over to the mirror, shaky on his heels.

Gregg could see his shoulders slumping in disappointment at what he saw looking back at him. The costume didn’t look good at all – he just looked like a man desperately trying to squeeze into clothing far too small for him. He noticed the hat on the table still – perhaps it would look better once it was complete? Gregg squeezed the brown fedora over his head, and then felt a sudden change take over him. He felt dizzy, staggering back against the table for support. The lights in his home flickered for a second. In a moment, he blinked, and the strange feeling passed as if it had never been there.

The hat felt less snug against his head, sinking lower now almost to Gregg’s brow. Gregg moved his hand up to feel it and brushed his knuckles against his chin absentmindedly. Instead of the rough stubble had had been perfecting, his skin was smooth and unblemished. His jawline felt sharper, his chin upturning. He looked at his nails, confused, noticing that they were no longer bitten and worn but instead perfectly manicured. There was a strange weight on his back, and he could feel a ponytail brushing back and forth against his neck. Then, Gregg froze in shock as he looked down at the rest of his body.

The first two buttons of the shirt had come undone – not through him unbuttoning them, but instead being forced open by the breasts that now hung from his chest, perky yet soft, his nipples brushing against the shirt’s fabric. As if in a dream, Gregg pushed them, gasping as he could feel not only the sensation of touching them, but of being touched. He yelled in surprise, and then immediately placed a smaller hand over his now puffier, pouting lips when his voice came out high and feminine.

He walked over to the mirror, somehow steadier on his feet now that the boots fit him better. Looking back at him, impossibly, was a beautiful woman. Whereas on him the costume looked strained and stretched, on her it fit perfectly – accentuating every curve with a teasing bit of cleavage on display. It was as if it was tailor made for a female Indiana Jones: a similar style, but with a few feminine touches to make it stand out from the usual outfit. Gregg moved one hand around, watching the woman in his reflection do the same, her face incredulous. “What’s happened to me?” he mumbled, his voice now a soft soprano. He walked closer to the mirror, looking closer at the woman’s face. He pulled a few faces, finding it strange how his muscles had adjusted. He wasn’t unhandsome before, but the woman he had somehow transformed into was an absolute stunner. He could already see that a dash of make up was across her face, emphasising her natural beauty. Curious, Gregg pulled the waistband of the trousers out, finding that his manhood had gone. His comfortable boxers were replaced by a pair of lacey panties, and he knew that beneath them was something he was very unfamiliar with.

Gregg took a few more steps, watching himself in the mirror. Despite the oddity of his situation, he was feeling strangely confident. The woman he had become walked with purpose and a natural smile. He kept trying to keep calm and collected, but unthinkingly his hands kept wandering to his breasts or playing along his hips. This was a body he was sure that many women would be envious of, and he was somehow completely in control of it. He knew he couldn’t go back now – the costume was his to wear. He thought to the impending party – if people wouldn’t be able to recognise him, would he even be able to get in? As he took another look at himself, cockily tipping his hat, he realised something – if everyone was going to be in costume, why worry about what he looked like? It didn’t matter if he was no longer himself – tonight, he was Indiana Jones.

An hour later, Indiana was at the party. She found herself to be a natural socialiser. Conversation came easy, and everyone wanted to talk to her. After a few drinks, she was already feeling the effects, reasoning that this new body had a much lower tolerance to alcohol than she was used to.

“Your costume is great, by the way”, the man said to her. “Indiana Jones, right?” She was gradually getting used to looking up to talk to people. Even with her heels, she had lost several inches in height.

“Thanks! That’s right”, Indiana said, smiling. “It only arrived today – I was glad that it fit.” She looked over the man’s costume. He was dressed in a tight cat suit, a pair of small black ears on his head. “What are you supposed to be?”

“Catman. Obviously”, the man teased, laughing.

“Don’t you mean Catwoman?” Indiana asked.

“No, Catman. You know, from the comics? DC, Simon Kyle, the burglar?” Indiana furrowed her brows, confused.

“Sorry, I’ve not read that comic”, she said.

“That’s okay, he’s not the most recognisable character. Unlike Indiana Jones, for instance!” the man said, gesturing to her outfit.

“Yeah! I’m no Harrison Ford, but I think I can pull it off!” Indiana said, tossing her ponytail behind her.

“You mean Harriet Ford, right?”

“What?”

“Harriet Ford. Please don’t tell me you bought the costume without watching the films!” The man joked.

“No, I saw one recently! I promise.”

“Look, here”, the man said, getting out his phone. He typed quickly, bringing up the poster for Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade. It was just as Indiana remembered, but with a few key differences – instead of Harrison Ford on the poster, a beautiful, albeit rugged woman was there in his place. She looked at the other faces, surprised to find all of them gender swapped. “You don’t find too many male protagonists from that time period”, the man explained. “But I guess that’s just the way things were back then”, he added thoughtfully.

Indiana looked around the room and began to notice some of her co-workers. She knew that their company was predominantly men, but she noticed there were far more women at the party than she had expected. Two of them had just walked in, giggling that they were wearing identical Supergirl costumes. In the corner, a female version of Rorschach was chatting with a woman dressed as a convincing Luke Skywalker, but as Indiana took another sip of her drink, she realised it was probably Lucy Skywalker instead. It looked like it wasn’t just her that had changed to fit the costume, but the world that had changed to accommodate it.

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Here's the winner of my Patreon poll! I'll probably run another one of these after this round of commissions is done with. Thank you for voting on it, and I hope you enjoy reading it!