From Shifti

Xanadu story universe

The drawers of jeans and shirts mocked Grant silently as he sat naked on the edge of his bed. In the week since Xanadu he'd taken to sleeping in as late as possible, still on extended vacation time from work and trying to spend as much time as he could hidden under the sheets. He lived alone so in theory he could spend all of his time at home walking around in the nude, but he'd found that to be less and less comfortable as time wore on; oddly enough, it made him feel almost as self-conscious as the alternative.

Grant hadn't changed significantly when the curse had hit the convention, indeed most of the physical differences in his body were so subtle that he hadn't noticed them until he'd got home later that day and spent some time with a mirror. A few changes in proportions, the loss of some hair, a perfect skin complexion... Really, he could live with it; he'd completely dodged the bullet compared to virtually anyone else who'd been caught up in the still-unexplained magic event there. He'd seen people turned into animals, monsters, and even in one case a vending machine. But physical changes had been only one of the effects of the strange magic, and he hadn't escaped some of the others so easily.

Grant sighed and stood up. Might as well get it over with. Let's see what's in store this time. Once he got started dressing he moved with quick efficiency, making mental note of which underwear, socks, pants and shirt he grabbed. He'd worn all of these before, and though he hadn't determined a pattern yet he hadn't given up on eventually finding one...

His socks turned tan, their fabric thinning as it started climbing up his legs, and Grant grimaced as his underwear turned silky and tightened slightly. His shirt and pants fused at the waist and began fading towards the same shade of dark blue as the texture of their blended fabric became finer. Then the most dramatic change happened, the pant legs pulling up to his knees and billowing out as they merged together. It was all over in about five seconds, and Grant turned to the full-length mirror he'd set up in the room a few days ago.

The dress was a dark blue evening gown this time, slinky and form-hugging, and Grant's socks had become fairly normal flesh-tone nylons. The dress' neckline was lower than Grant would have liked but at least it had shoulders and a back, giving him a little better coverage than usual. Grant checked the outfit over, lifting the edge of the dress to find plain white panties in place of his underwear. Grant sighed in relief. Sometimes the curse gave him much sexier undergarments than that and even though they weren't visible he'd still change out of them if they were too extreme. This time, though, the outfit seemed acceptable.

Grant sighed again, letting the hem of the dress drop and absently brushing it smooth with his hand. Not acceptable, not at all; he was still a guy, damn it. And not even a transvestite guy, who wore women's clothing on purpose; he'd never even considered it before. Just one time, one damned time, a favor without thought or consequence...

Grant had gone to the convention with an old friend of his from college days, a woman named Sarah. Sarah was a seamstress, a professional tailor, and the costume-rich environment of the convention was a gold mine for people of her profession; she'd brought along a selection of clothing to show off and possibly sell or enter a contest in.

She hadn't got that far when the magic had hit them. They'd still been in the hotel, where Sarah was working on fixing a flowing pink dress that had somehow suffered a tear on the trip. Grant had had a slim build even then and Sarah's dress dummy was back at the shop, so she'd asked him to wear it briefly while she made a few small adjustments.

They didn't even notice when the change happened. It was only when Sarah had finished her adjustments and the dress came off that they realized that the normal clothing Grant had worn underneath had mysteriously vanished except for his underwear, which had even more mysteriously turned into frilly pink panties. Grant had assumed that Sarah had pulled off some sort of incredible gag on him, and Sarah had assumed that Grant had done the same to her. They would probably have convinced each other that neither of them had anything to do with it in fairly short order but before they got a chance Grant had pulled on a pair of shorts to cover the panties. The shorts turned into a miniskirt before their very eyes, short circuiting the entire conversation.

They'd tried every piece of clothing he'd brought with him, and every one of them had turned into a dress of some sort moments after he'd put it on. And frustratingly, they changed back to normal moments after he took them off again. He also tried the women's clothing that Sarah had brought for the show; anything that was a dress to begin with stayed the same, and anything that wasn't changed into one.

Grant shook his head and went into the bathroom, the blue dress swishing against his nyloned legs as he walked. It had been a week now and he hadn't got used to it; he didn't want to get used to it, and had resolved to hold out against getting used to it until he somehow found a cure. But until then there were some things he'd just have to accommodate.

Looking into the medicine cabinet mirror, Grant saw a pair of small silver stud earrings in his earlobes. He didn't bother trying to remove them; jewelry that appeared when he put on clothing was a part of the magical outfit and would only vanish again when he took the clothing off. The curse apparently insisted on accessorizing, right down to a touch of makeup and a hairdo. Grant brushed his soft brown hair half-heartedly, trying to get the stylish wave out of it and considering trimming it again. It wasn't very long, only brushing his shirt collar had he been able to wear one, but it had grown back to that length after he'd cut it shorter only four days ago. The curse seemed to have decided this would be the minimum.

The physical changes to Grant's body had been subtle but effective. He was still fully male, but he was an extremely feminine male. His waist had slimmed, his hips slightly flared and his legs more shapely, and his hands and feet had become significantly daintier. He'd even suffered a hint of breast development - just enough to be noticeable and give the appearance of cleavage when the neckline of whatever he was stuck in went low enough to show it. Sarah had described them as 'tasteful sub-A-cups.' He preferred to think of it as 'chest fat.' His face was still quite recognizably his, though again with a more feminine bone structure and with his adam's apple smoothed away entirely. It wasn't so bad when he was naked; he was clearly a guy, even though an unusually pretty one. But when all of that was accentuated so thoroughly by the female clothing...

Grant brushed his teeth, trying not to look into the mirror any more. He didn't need to shave, of course. Then when he was finished freshening up he headed back out to the kitchen for breakfast.

A week since the convention, six days actually, and Grant was already starting to run out of ideas. He'd been a virtual recluse for most of that time but he had felt reasonably comfortable talking on the phone; he was able to force his softened voice down close enough to its original register that people he knew would recognize him, or at least not suspect anything unusual about him. He'd made arrangements for more time off from work, made excuses to avoid his other friends for the time being, and had spoken with various other victims from Xanadu seeking some clue or advice to overcome his problems.

His case was somewhat unusual, though when you got right down to it they all were in some way or another. Most people who'd been in clothing of the opposite gender had simply changed genders themselves. Furthermore, most people afflicted with clothing curses like his own at least had the advantage that the effects were consistent; any given set of normal clothing would always change into the same set of alternate clothing each time it was put on. Grant's clothing couldn't seem to remember what to be from previous days aside from insisting on becoming some sort of dress or skirt. It forced him to search for a new "reasonably acceptable" outfit by trial and error every morning, and some days he wasn't as lucky as he had been today - if one considered a blue evening gown luck. On previous occasions he'd wound up dressed as some sort of belly dancer outfit, once as some sort of princess complete with an unremovable diamond-encrusted tiara, and even once in a voluminous white wedding dress. It sometimes took three or four hours of changing clothes before he settled on something.

Grant stared at the phone, trying to think of what other avenues he could try. He'd spoken with several 'wizards', people who'd gained magical powers of various sorts as part of their own transformations. They'd had no luck trying to counteract other peoples' curses though one of them had helpfully offered to turn Grant into a woman - an offer Grant had instantly refused, after which he'd avoided talking to any more such people. However he might be dressed, he was still a man and he wasn't about to change that.

Grant was beginning to suspect that he wasn't going to find the magical solution he was hoping for, at least not anytime soon. So what was left? Assuming no magical cures, assuming he had to continue dressing like this... Grant rested his face on his hands, wrestling with despair. He hadn't told his friends or family what had happened yet, hadn't told his boss or coworkers. How could he possibly convince them that he wasn't a freak? He couldn't even really control what sort of dress he wore, let alone that he was wearing one at all; it would only be a matter of time before he wound up having to go to work in fishnet stockings and a spandex miniskirt.

Grant sighed. It might finally be time to take Sarah up on her offer.

Sarah had been very apologetic after they'd got over their surprise at Grant's problem and had begun to grasp the nature of what had happened at Xanadu. She considered his problem to be her fault. In a way it really was, even though she certainly hadn't known what would happen when she'd asked Grant to serve as a temporary model and Grant didn't blame her for it. Once it had become clear how Grant's curse operated she'd offered to provide him with a new wardrobe for free. Grant had declined, not seeing how that would help any.

But now that he'd experienced more of the vagaries of the magical clothing he was stuck with he began to see one clear advantage; if he got some clothing from Sarah that wouldn't get reshaped by the curse when he put it on, he could wear the least revealing and the least sexy dress his curse would allow and stick with it consistently. It would be only the tiniest of improvements, but Grant was willing to grasp at a few straws by now. He picked up the phone. Sarah answered his call immediately, and agreed just as quickly to receive him at her store; she sounded very glad to finally have her offer of help accepted, and eager to see him again. She'd been calling him regularly to check up on him, but he'd always brushed off her offers to come over.

Grant felt a little guilty about how guilty Sarah felt, and how he'd avoided talking to her for days now; he'd felt more comfortable speaking with people he didn't know and who didn't know how he looked. But if he was ever going to be brave enough to come out of his self-imposed exile to face the world in a dress he would have to start by at least being brave enough to feel comfortable around Sarah.

Grant got up from the kitchen chair, smoothing the dress and shaking his head. How could he get comfortable with this? Maybe I should go back to my room and try out other outfits, see if any turn into something better... oh, the hell with it. Grant picked up his car keys and wallet, grumbling about the complete absence of pockets in women's clothing. He almost wouldn't mind if the curse provided him with a purse instead, but evidently that particular accessory wasn't covered by it and he wasn't about to go buy one himself. Though perhaps if Sarah had one handy...

He slipped his nylon-clad feet into his shoes, several sizes too large for him now, and braced his hand against the wall for a moment to keep his balance while they were reshaped by the curse. They shrank down to just the correct size, their upper halves splitting into a mesh of blue leather straps while the soles arched and heels sprouted. Grant wobbled slightly and looked down at his shoes with a frown; the heels were about four inches, much higher than he would normally consider wearing. But the shoes matched the dress, as always, so he'd have to change the whole outfit if he wanted to try again.

Concentrating on keeping his ankles straight and trying to suppress the bouncy sway high heels normally gave his gait, Grant stepped outside and made his way to the elevator. He hoped none of his neighbors would spot him until he was far enough away that they wouldn't draw a connection between the woman he appeared to be and the man he really was. He'd been lucky in that regard so far, at least.

Sarah's store was tucked away at the end of a mini-mall about an hour's drive away. The drive itself was no problem, aside from some minor trouble with the heels of his shoes while working the pedals that was easily solved by taking them off while he drove. Grant actually kind of enjoyed it, despite the nagging sense of being on display; it was good to get out of the apartment for a bit and assuming he didn't do anything stupid that got him pulled over he was perfectly secure in the car.

The short trip from the car to the door of Sarah's tailor shop - named "Seven Seams", for some reason Sarah had never mentioned - was a little tougher. It was a Saturday afternoon, there were people outside shopping, and Seven Seams was clearly a women's clothing store. Grant slipped his shoes back on and then spent a few minutes sitting in his parked car trying to overcome a minor anxiety attack. Come on, you've been wearing women's clothing for a week now, he berated himself. You were fine walking around in high heels in public back when you left Xanadu. Get over it already. But the days he'd spent isolated in his apartment at home had only made things worse; he'd been brooding and fretting about being seen like this the entire time. He finally forced himself to climb out of the car after waiting for a moment when nobody seemed to be nearby. He straightened his dress with as much dignity as he could muster and then marched resolutely inside.

The shop was small, filled with racks of clothing in a small retail area beside a large counter where specialty orders were handled. Grant had been here several times before and the familiarity was somewhat reassuring, but he was still nearly paralyzed with tension until he confirmed that no customers were present. Grant let out a sigh of relief and walked over to the counter. "Sarah? You in?" He called out.

"Be right out!" Sarah called back from somewhere in the depths of the back room. Grant waited while a sewing machine whirred briefly; Sarah was always fiddling around with clothing even when she didn't have any special orders to work on. She quickly finished whatever task she'd been in the middle of and popped into view behind the counter. "There we go, I was... wow." She stopped and stared at Grant. "That dress, it's one of the magic dresses out of nowhere?"

Grant blushed bright red and nodded. "Yeah. Got 'lucky' today, I guess."

"Wow," Sarah repeated. "It looks just like... uh, sorry, I didn't mean to obsess like that. Come on back here, there's nobody else in the shop this afternoon. Tell me how you're doing and what you need."

Grant went around the counter to follow Sarah into the privacy of the workshop in back. The room was even more crowded than the area out front, almost claustrophobic from the stacks of cloth bolts and shelves filled with spools and various other implements. Grant found a spot to sit on one of the small workbenches, kicking his shoes off with a sigh. Xanadu had given him feet that could handle high heels without discomfort but they were still awkward and annoying. "I need a dress of my own," he admitted. "I hate spending hours trying on clothes trying to find something that looks right, and always having to settle for something like this -" he gestured down at his slinky blue gown "- that looks so damned pretty. I want something normal."

Sarah nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, it's very nice, but it isn't really good for everyday use." She leaned in close to peer at the dress. "Perfect quality fabric, though, and... well, never mind. I'm sorry, I should be helping." She stood back up and went over to a shelf where a stack of folded clothing rested. "I've been thinking about this a lot, and I've picked out some ideas from the racks. Things that look ordinary. Want to see?" She took a gray sweater off of the top and held it up.

Grant nodded with a sigh. He'd played dress-up like this before, back at the convention when he and Sarah had first been trying to determine what his curse entailed. The only difference this time was that he was expecting to pick one out to keep for indefinite future use. A somewhat significant difference, all things considered...

Sarah tried to push the envelope of Grant's curse, giving him a dozen near-dresses and other relatively "masculine" outfits that were each in their turn transformed into completely different full-blown dresses when Grant tried them on. She tried out a long overcoat as well but it shrank down into a small jacket that did nothing to conceal. When Grant started getting frustrated she grudgingly switched to a different stack of clothing; these were all dresses and skirts, but they were at least somewhat plain dresses and skirts. Grant felt a little heartened when some of them remained untouched by magic when he put them on and he reminded himself not to be too picky - he had resolved that he would take at least one of them home with him, no matter how attractive it turned out to be.

He ultimately settled on a long, pleated skirt of dark plaid fabric, and a dark green shirt that went well with it but was almost normal for a guy. Grant tried to be happy with it; it reminded him a bit of an overly-long kilt. His socks even remained as socks when he put them on with it, and while his shoes still changed dramatically - into shiny black pumps with silver buckles - they at least had relatively low heels.

Sarah suggested going back to testing the limits of his curse again once Grant had decided on it, but Grant was thoroughly sick of trying on more clothing at this point; he had his 'plain' outfit, and the whole point of picking it in the first place was for it to be stable. Besides, he'd been dressing and undressing for... Grant blinked in surprise at the clock on the wall. Five hours? It was definitely time to go. Packing his old male clothing into a bag, Grant begged off of Sarah's invitation to go out to a restaurant for supper instead. He was hungry, sure, but he wasn't ready for that. It was great hanging out with Sarah again, he almost didn't mind the dresses so much when it was with just her around, but he needed some time alone again.

Grant headed home. The pumps were much easier to drive in than the heels and though the long skirt was a little cumbersome when seated at least it covered his bare legs well. He may not have been ready for a restaurant but he did feel daring enough in his new high-necked shirt to stop at a drive-through; Grant chalked that up as a very positive accomplishment, both in terms of getting over his fears and in not having to cook anything when he got home.

He still wasn't sure if he'd ever be able to face his friends and family wearing the thing, but at least it was a small step. Grant watched TV for a while, then eventually hung his new skirt up in the closet and stripped down for the night.

Grant woke up with a start early the next morning. Something was different; the feel of the sheets on his naked skin was wrong. He threw off the cover and surged groggily to his feet, nearly tripping on the silky cream-colored nightie he was wearing. Grant immediately turned to face the mirror.

"Oh hell, even at night now?" The nightie was short, satiny, and extremely sexy. He blushed in embarrassment as he became somewhat aroused by his own reflection, something he'd tried hard to get over in the previous week.

Nighties must count as 'dresses', Grant realized, and slipped the thing off over his head to toss on the floor. Seconds after coming to rest, it lost its sheen and unfolded into an ordinary bed sheet. Grant looked back at the bed, confirming that a sheet was missing, and breathed a sigh of relief. He must have simply got tangled enough in it while he slept for his curse to consider it an attempt at clothing. That had never happened before, but he'd never tried it before either.

Day seven. Still discovering new things... But at least he had a stable outfit now to fall back on. He pulled on a pair of underwear, which shifted to reassuringly mundane panties, and then put on his new green skirt and shirt combo.

The shirt's color immediately began to fade. Grant watched in surprise and dismay as it turned white, developing frills and buttons on the front as it split all the way down to the waist. Grant sighed again, this time in disappointment. But the long pleated skirt stayed the same, so this wasn't a complete loss. He tried putting on one of his old shirts instead and it changed the same way; for whatever reason, his curse had decided that this was how the top that went with this particular skirt should look now.

So why had it not done this to the green shirt last night? Grant shook his head and headed for the bathroom to take a shower. He wasn't about to admit a setback, this must just be another little detail of the curse that he hadn't encountered before. He'd figure it out eventually.

Grant was up earlier than he was used to lately, but he was wide awake now and in any case wasn't interested in lying in those sheets again any time soon. He killed a little time with his usual morning routine of checking what sorts of outfits his old clothing changed into today, quitting when one of them turned out to be a latex tube top and miniskirt that were devilishly hard to get back out of again. Back to the stable clothes, shirt aside.

Then it was opening time for Seven Seams and he phoned up Sarah. This sort of clothes-shifting nonsense was exactly what he'd hoped to get away from by getting real women's clothing, and perhaps she'd have some idea why it hadn't worked. "Hey, Sarah? It's Grant. Something went wrong with the shirt I got from you yesterday. I put it on with the same skirt as before, but this time the curse triggered and changed it."

Sarah was silent for a moment. "Into a white buttoned blouse with frills?" She asked after a pause, sounding worried.

Grant frowned. "Yeah. How did you know? It didn't change yesterday."

"I think you should come back down here, Grant. I need to show you some designs and get your input."

Sarah wouldn't explain further over the phone. She'd tried enticing him out of the apartment with mysteries before, but this time she sounded quite serious; Grant slipped on his shoes - low-heeled shiny black pumps again, at least that hadn't changed too - and headed straight over. This time he was able to get out of the car at Seven Seams with only slight hesitation, driven by nervous suspense. Sarah was waiting inside with a spiral-bound sketch pad and as soon as he entered she handed it to him.

The page it was open to showed a quick but detailed drawing of an outfit much like the one he was wearing... correction, almost exactly like the one he was wearing. "You drew this? When?"

"Last night after you left," Sarah admitted. "I'm sorry, I didn't like your choice of top to go with that skirt, and I thought to myself... I imagined what I'd put with it instead. And sketched the design out. Do any others in there look familiar?"

Sarah's sketch pad was thick and heavily used. Grant started flipping through the pages, and almost immediately started getting a sense of deja vu. The drawings were all done fairly quick and rough, but most of them closely resembled outfits that he'd actually worn in the past few days. "You've been seeing what I was wearing somehow?"

Sarah shook her head. "No, I don't think so. Some of the things you changed into yesterday when the curse triggered on non-dresslike clothes were in here already, but they were new to you, right? I drew them the day before. That's what really started making me think, I knew I recognized the designs."

Grant flipped more rapidly, scanning through pages and pages of dresses and skirts. Then suddenly the art changed, switching to a more detailed and time-consuming style depicting all sorts of other types of clothing besides dresses. Grant's heart was racing; he was sure he'd never worn anything like these, it had been nothing but dresses and skirts since Xanadu. "I think I know when you reached this point in the book."

"Yeah. Xanadu." Sarah sighed. "I thought it was just inspiration, from seeing you in all those nice outfits, you know? Suddenly, all these fashion designs started popping into my head. Dozens a day. They were all really good, and I sketched them all down as fast as I could. I wished I could record the details better." A wry, haunted grin; "I guess I was getting my wish all along."

"Holy shit, it really was you after all," Grant muttered. Then at Sarah's hurt reaction he immediately backpedalled; "not your fault, I mean, not your fault. But you were involved. I was modeling your design at the con when the curse hit me, and I've been doing it ever since."

"I'm so, so sorry, Grant!" Sarah sounded on the verge of tears. "I just felt so full of ideas, I had to get them all out. I was so sure it was you inspiring me, not the other way around!"

Grant sighed and looked down at his skirt, idly rearranging a pleat that had folded out of place. "I don't blame you, who knows how this stupid magic is really working... oh. Oh! Don't worry, Sarah, this is a good thing! Please... can you try designing me a nice, normal man's outfit?" He handed her the sketchpad hopefully.

Sarah took it, wiping her eye with the back of her hand and hurrying over to the counter. She picked up a pen, turned to a blank page, and paused to think for a moment. Then she began to draw in quick strokes, arcs and lines coalescing rapidly into a recognizable form. Grant looked over her shoulder, and sighed in disappointment when she finished.

"That's a Catholic schoolgirl uniform," Grant pointed out gently. He didn't look forward to wearing that one at some point in the future.

"I know, I know." Sarah's voice was tense with frustration. "Ever since Xanadu, I've been thinking up designs... but this is the only kind I've been able to grasp. Let me try again."

A tight black dress this time, running all the way down to the ankle but split to the thigh and leaving the arms and shoulders bare, with incredibly high heels and an elaborate necklace. Scratch the schoolgirl outfit; Grant didn't look forward to that one. At least not with those shoes.

"Alright, let's just stay calm for a moment here. Clearly... clearly, the curse has affected us both."

Sarah nodded sullenly, staring at the pen in her hand as if it had betrayed her. "Maybe if I try to stop drawing."

"Maybe... but I don't know if that'll help." Grant took the sketchpad and started flipping through it again. There were designs in here that he hadn't worn yet... "Hey. Did you draw a nightie design last night, too? No frills, but really short and sexy?"

"No... I've thought about some since Xanadu, though. I didn't jot any of them down, I don't make undergarments or sleep wear so I didn't see the point. Why?"

Grant sighed. "Somehow, I don't think that the drawings really matter." Xanadu's magic had somehow fixated Sarah's subconscious on designing dresses, perhaps because that's what she'd been doing when it hit. And he - he of all people - had been locked in at the same time to be the model for all of her ideas. At least he hadn't been turned into a mannequin or something.

"I'm sorry, Grant," Sarah repeated. Grant gave her a hug, in part because he needed one himself.

"It's okay, I guess... at least we're figuring some more things out. We know where this wardrobe is coming from now, though the selection is still out of control. It's a start."

Sarah nodded, finishing the hug and stepping back to look Grant over again. "Yeah. Maybe if I'm part of the problem, I can really do something to be part of the solution. I can make you all kinds of-" She broke off with a self-conscious laugh. "No, maybe I shouldn't. My clothing is the problem."

"We'll see, we'll see." Grant gave his skirt a little swish, watching the pleats settle nicely back into place; perhaps this was simply the best that he could get for now. "I probably should try to be less picky. I'm sorry too, I didn't want this to become a burden on you."

The store's door opened before Sarah could reply, admitting a customer. The customer didn't look twice at Grant but all the same he was anxious to get out of sight. Sarah evidently had business to attend to with her too, so they both quickly wrapped up the conversation. "Here," Sarah handed Grant the notebook. "Maybe I won't think of as many new designs if you've got this."

Grant accepted the book gingerly. "Okay. Uh, when you're done here, do you want to come over to talk about this some more?" Sarah nodded, gave Grant's arm a quick squeeze, and then went to intercept the customer. Grant hugged the notebook to his chest and hurried out the door to the relative privacy of his car.

Grant glanced at the notebook lying in the passenger seat next to him at every stop along the way home. He kept resisting the urge to hurl it out the window, reminding himself that it probably was just an ordinary notebook and not really the source of the curse on him. On him and Sarah both. Perhaps even just Sarah, mostly; now that Grant thought about it Sarah was quite clearly the most appropriate person to have been affected like this by Xanadu's magic. She had wanted to be a fashion designer for as long as Grant had known her, from college days even. He had never wanted to be a transvestite himself, he'd just got sucked into this by accident. Grant sighed, gathering up notebook and wallet and keys to carry to his apartment, wondering again whether he should get a purse.

But now that he knew he wasn't alone in this, that Sarah was directly involved too, perhaps he could finally make a little headway. Grant closed and locked the apartment door behind him, kicking off his shoes in relief and collapsing to a seat on the sofa with a relieved sigh. Made it back again. He put the notebook on the sofa beside him and spent a moment adjusting the skirt's cloth over his knees, trying to get comfortable while pondering his next step.

He could look through the notebook again, perhaps see what surprises his wardrobe still held in store for him. There were experiments he could do to see if the notebook really was itself magical; destroy pages to see if the designs on them stopped showing up in reality, maybe try his hand at drawing some himself. But Grant was half convinced it would be pointless and half convinced he might royally mess things up - he'd survived a week so far, after all, a few more hours until Sarah got here after her shop closed wouldn't be unbearable.

More like five or six hours... Grant looked around the apartment and realized what a mess he'd let it become in the past week. He'd had a lot on his mind, and nobody was supposed to visit anyway, so everything not related to clothing in some way had just piled up. "Better get started on that first," he decided. If he couldn't avoid embarrassment about his clothes, at least he could avoid embarrassment about his apartment.

Dishes, lunch, tidying, vacuuming. It took a while but at last he had the place looking better than new. Sarah phoned to indicate she was closing shop and heading over, and so Grant spent the rest of the time finally looking through the notebook. He kept notes of his own as he went, recording which sketched designs he could remember wearing and in what order. Even though he now had a better understanding of his curse than before there still seemed to be a large random factor in the selection of outfits, jumping around through the sketches without an obvious pattern. He'd occasionally wound up with the same outfit twice on different days, and some of the designs in the book hadn't shown up in the real world yet. He'd also worn some that weren't in there at all - presumably designs Sarah had thought of, but hadn't had the opportunity or interest to draw.

He was relieved when the door buzzer went off and he hurried to let Sarah in; perhaps she would have better insight into his clothing selection. But before he had a chance to broach the subject Sarah took one look at him and made a dismayed sound. "What did you do to that skirt?"

Grant glanced down in surprise. "What? I was cleaning up the place, that's all." He'd managed to avoid spilling anything on it, but the cloth had got a bit dusty and the pleats were in disarray. He brushed at it with his hands. "I'll stick it in the wash tonight."

"No, no, no." Sarah shook her head. "That particular one could probably survive machine washing, but it'll last much longer if you do it by hand. And you'll need to do a lot of ironing to keep those creases straight... do you even have an iron?"

Grant was caught somewhat off balance by the topic. "They've always just turned into my pants and shirts again," he explained. "I've never washed women's clothing before."

Sarah frowned, then laughed and shook her head again. "I'm sorry, Grant. Long day at work, I didn't mean to jump down your throat. I'll help you out with this too, it's only fair if I'm going to be supplying them."

Grant nodded. "Okay. It's my only stable outfit right now, so I guess I should learn how to take care of it better." They proceeded into the living room, where Grant had the sketches and his notes spread out on a table. "Any ideas about how to get me out of women's clothing altogether, though? That would help more than anything else." Grant would still have his feminized figure to deal with after that, but he suspected it could be adequately disguised with the proper clothing - the opposite of what he was currently forced to wear, which did nothing but exaggerate it.

"Sorry," Sarah sighed. "I tried coming up with a few more relatively 'butch' designs, even allowing for them to be skirts, but it's like there's a hole in my mind that I fall into whenever I think about this stuff." She smiled wryly. "I'm not sure whether it's a blessing or a curse for me. So many ideas but all in this one area. If it goes on for long Seven Seams is probably going to become a titch more specialized in it."

Grant rubbed the bridge of his nose tiredly. "At least it won't interfere with your career much. Maybe if I talked to some of those wizard wingnuts from Xanadu, now that I know more... I really need to get cured soon. I can't keep blowing off work for much longer without telling the boss what's really going on."

Grant worked for FlexTech, a local company that manufactured flexible industrial tubing - though he had nothing to do with the manufacturing itself, his job was in the administration office doing paperwork. Sarah looked thoughtful. "You know, I think I might be able to put together an outfit that falls within your magic's limits, but which is still perfect for a business environment. Hm... professional, very professional and sophisticated. And sassy, sort of sexy..." She trailed off, pondering the design.

"Hey. Hey, wait!" Grant interrupted her and she snapped out of it with a start. "I'm not going to work sexy," he told her firmly. "At least not in-a-dress sexy. I'm a guy, and I don't want other guys seeing me that way. Especially not ones I know. Let's focus on trying to cure this completely, okay?"

Sarah nodded. "Sorry. Still coming down from work, it's hard not to think about stuff like that."

They talked for a while about other options. There were a lot of various magically-empowered people who had come out of the con, and many still coming forward every day, but none of them had thus far been able to perform an outright cure of anyone else; they'd only managed various tweaks and modifications to the unique curses that other conventiongoers had received, often making them worse in the process. Sarah was a little leery about the idea of approaching some of them herself, something Grant understood completely considering he'd sworn off of their proposed tinkering himself already. But they decided that it might be worth a try - if they could get a hold of someone who was both available and who seemed sane.

"Could take a while," Sarah warned.

"Yeah. But hey, progress. I can't complain."

"Well, then." Sarah leaned back in the sofa with a sigh. "To totally change the subject, how about some supper? I didn't pick up anything on the way back."

Grant winced. "I haven't prepared anything. I ate a late lunch, and all I've got is TV dinners - I've been bacheloring overtime. Want to order a pizza, maybe?"

"Hm." Sarah looked far from thrilled by that idea. "I was thinking I'd like to treat you to dinner, actually."

"Eh? A restaurant?" Grant's heart skipped a beat at the thought. Sarah had been trying to get him out of his self-imposed hermitage all week with similar offers, but rejecting them was easier over the phone. "I don't know..."

"No one's going to know it's you, Grant!" Sarah assured with a touch of exasperation. "It could still take a long time to fix this thing, who knows how long. Are you going to stay hidden forever? You look fine, trust me. You look great, even."

"Well..." Grant blushed in embarrassment. But Sarah did have a point, and Grant had resolved to try moving on with things, so he finally decided to relent. "Okay. But someplace private, please?"

"Of course. I'm really hungry, though, so let's get going quickly. I'll wait out here while you get changed."

"What?"

Sarah patiently explained to Grant how much of a mess he'd made of his skirt while cleaning up, and although it didn't seem so bad to him he ultimately decided to trust Sarah's judgement on matters of clothing - she was the expert, after all. He grudgingly went into the privacy of his bedroom to put on a fresh pair of jeans. They turned into a backless black dress slit right up to the hip, not at all acceptable, so Grant tried again. While he went through clothing looking for something he could go out in they discussed where to go, and they ultimately decided to go to Kramer's Garden. It was a good restaurant, with nice atmosphere and reasonable prices, but most importantly as far as Grant was concerned they had very private booths.

Even so, Sarah had to keep hold of his hand and take the lead the entire way in. Grant hadn't been able to try out as many outfits as he would have liked thanks to Sarah's urging to hurry up after his third one, and he'd been forced to settle for a lavender cocktail dress with a bow on the front. It didn't quite reach his knees, the neckline and back were both way too low for his preference, and it came with rather a lot of jewelry - earrings, a gold necklace with a heart-shaped pendant, a hair clip, and a gold bracelet. It even came with light red nail polish.

It was actually not all that bad, and the shoes that went with the outfit had quite reasonable heels for a change, but Grant was feeling especially sensitive about it going out like this for the first time. Sarah did all the talking and only after the waitress had led them to a booth, given them their menus and left did Grant finally murmur "I don't think this is a good idea. She stared at me."

"Only because you're acting odd," Sarah sighed. "Nobody's going to think anything if you just act a little more natural, I promise. You look fine. Totally convincing."

Grant fingered the pendant nervously, glancing down at where it rested in the false cleavage of his chest fat. Sarah really did have a point, one he'd been trying to avoid accepting or even thinking about. He could pass effortlessly as a woman, and it was only when he worried about being recognized that he started giving off conflicting signals.

"Maybe if you didn't take this all so seriously," Sarah suggested quietly. "Try pretending it's a game. See if you can fool people, try to fool them. You'll feel more comfortable when you realize how easy it is. You're in disguise, undercover."

Grant nodded. "Okay... okay, I'll try." He took a breath, straightened his shoulders, and nodded again. "Right. I'll do it."

Sarah grinned. "Good. Now pick your meal. If you win, it's all on me."

It took the waitress five minutes to get back to them, a delay that would ordinarily have been annoying but which in this case gave Grant sufficient time to rehearse his lines. "I'll have the quarter chicken," he requested, trying not to think at all about his voice; as with the rest of his body, it had been feminized enough to sound natural for a woman if he let it. "And a coke."

"Would you like fries or a salad on the side?"

The question nearly threw him, but Grant recovered quickly. "Fries, please."

"Gravy?"

"No, thank you."

Sarah ordered next, and then when the waitress left Grant broke into a small grin. "Think I did it."

Sarah rolled her eyes. "Oh what a challenge that was." Then she chuckled and patted Grant's hand reassuringly across the table. "So, let's talk. Nothing to do with the convention, nothing to do with clothing. Not boy talk and not girl talk, just friend talk. What have you been up to lately aside from all that?"

It took a little while to come up with something, the topics Sarah had mentioned had rather dominated his life for the past week. But trapped in the apartment as he had been he'd watched a heck of a lot of TV, and once they got talking about that Grant found that there were enough things it could lead to to keep them going.

They got their food and they ate, with Sarah refraining from making any suggestions on how to do it in a ladylike manner - perhaps she's just being nice, or perhaps I'm really a natural, Grant mused. Either way, he resolved not to worry about it and just carried on. A group came in and was seated in the booth opposite theirs, and Grant was worried for a moment, but they barely even glanced at him.

When they finished and the waitress came around to pick up their plates Grant hesitated only a moment before ordering a small slice of cheesecake for desert. He'd become quite tired of bachelor chow and was enjoying having a real meal for a change. Sarah passed on dessert but nodded approvingly at Grant.

Grant finished that too, and then Sarah paid the bill; Grant was relieved she'd made the offer already considering he'd left his wallet behind. Then they were out the door again, and Grant let out a tremendous sigh.

"Feeling better?" Sarah asked with a grin.

Grant stretched his arms. "Yeah. I guess I've been making some of my problems for myself... I don't want to be a girl. But I can pass for one, and girls are normal, so pretending to be one is okay." He paused. "Though I'm still worried what my coworkers and my family will think of this, no matter how I explain it."

Sarah waved her hand dismissively. "Later, later. Confidence will help all of that, and you're building it up bit by bit. I'll help as much as you need."

Grant nodded. "Thanks. For now, I'm stuffed and tired. Let's just go home."

Sarah dropped Grant off at his apartment building again, promising to stop by again the next evening with some more 'plain clothes' from Seven Seams. Grant went up to his apartment alone, passing a neighbor he recognized along the way and giving him a polite nod despite the puzzled glance he got. Didn't recognize me, Grant gloated silently to reassure himself. You just don't see well-dressed women around here much, do you?

God, what a thing to feel smug about. Grant locked the apartment door, kicked off his shoes, and retreated directly to his bedroom to retire. He paused for a moment before stripping out of the lavender cocktail dress, though, stopping in front of the mirror to look himself over again.

He patted his slender abdomen, not at all affected by the large meal he'd eaten, then put his hands on his hips and thrust out his chest slightly. "I don't look strange. I look fine." Until I figure some cure for this, I guess I'll just have to take solace in that. He unzipped the dress and slipped out of it, the makeup and jewelry vanishing as the cloth slipped over and off, then hurriedly got rid of the panties too.

Now he looked like a guy again. A strange guy with a girlish figure, like he had some sort of subtle hormonal problem. Grant sighed and turned out the lights before climbing into bed. At least I don't have to go naked in public. Some Xanadu peoples' clothing curses forced exactly that, usually in combination with some sort of very nonhuman shape.

Really, he didn't have it so bad. He just had to get used to it.

The next morning Grant woke bright an early again, though this time not because of a surprise nightie out of nowhere; his various adventures the previous day had started to push his sleep pattern back towards the normal routine. Grant decided that was a good thing and forced himself to get up right away.

Grant sat on the edge of the bed, yawned and stretched, then stared for a moment at his drawers of traitorous jeans and shirts. My stable skirt still needs a wash. So Sarah said, at least. Grant was tempted to wear it anyway but decided against it; appearance aside, he wanted to learn how to treat such clothing properly so it would last him longer. He got up and slipped on his first outfit of the day.

Fishnet stockings held up by garters, a short black skirt with a white lace apron overtop and ruffled white fabric filling it out underneath, a full-boned bodice that did everything it could to make him look bustier... "Gah! French maid!" Grant started searching for the fasteners, which were somewhat difficult to locate. "Where were you yesterday when I cleaned up the place?"

The next outfit was less spectacular, though also less practical; a full-length armless red Japanese silk dress with an embroidered dragon pattern snaking its way up his body. It covered his entire front, but the dress was so restrictive that he could take only extremely short steps. He struggled a bit getting that one off too. His stable green skirt was starting to seem more attractive again.

The third turned out to be a better option than the first two, however, despite revealing far more skin. A short peach-colored skirt that went only to mid-thigh and a plain white tank-top that exposed a long stretch of midriff, the tight fabric showing off the contours of his chest fat in a very noticeable way despite its relatively low profile. His hair pulled back into a short ponytail aside from bangs hanging out in front, and three gold studs appeared in each earlobe, but other than that there were no accessories.

Grant considered his appearance and found himself nodding in approval. He looked sort of like a female tennis player, athletic and maybe a little boyish. "Boyish is good. Though..." Grant touched his chest with a brief second thought; would he be able to pass properly for a normal woman? "Oh yeah. A boyish young woman, definitely. Typical." He should have known by now that Xanadu's curse always managed to make him look attractive and female - that is, Sarah's clothing-designing skill did.

He reached under his skirt and adjusted his panties - plain beige, but a little satiny - and nodded. Still quite fully male underneath it all.

Grant didn't have any special plans for the day yet, so he went on to the usual morning routines of bathroom and breakfast. He felt like he really should have some sort of special plan though, anything other than just sitting around like he'd been doing lately. Sarah's notebook didn't excite his interest, he'd already gone over it thoroughly the day before. Besides, he needed to get outside and go somewhere. The trip to the restaurant yesterday had been nerve-wracking but in hindsight it was just what he'd needed.

With that vague goal in mind, Grant put on his shoes to see what they'd become. To his delight they became slim white ladies' running shoes; not a fraction of an inch of unnecessary heel and no pointlessly exposed toes. Grant laughed. "For once the curse is listening to me!" Probably sheer coincidence, but he wasn't going to look a gift horse in the mouth. He picked up his wallet and keys... still no pockets.

"That's it. I'm going to buy a damned purse."

The local mall wasn't far, and had a large department store that provided a nicely anonymous and gender-neutral shopping environment. Grant set his jaw and headed out of the apartment, hurrying down to the car before there was any chance his decision on the purpose of his mission or on the outfit he was wearing might change.

It was a Monday morning somewhere between rush hour and lunch so the mall was sparsely populated and Grant got a parking spot right near the door. He took a deep breath, got out of the car, and tried to walk in a casual manner not betraying any of his nervousness. But despite all the skin his outfit showed and his concerns about 'boyishness', nobody he passed seemed to give him a second glance - except for a couple of guys Grant caught checking out his legs appreciatively.

He wavered for a moment between embarrassment and smugness and managed to settle on smugness; they clearly had no clue. Reassured, Grant relaxed a little and allowed himself to put some of the feminine sway into his hips that he usually worked hard to suppress.

The department store was very large, but the women's clothing section was easy to find. Grant walked through it a few times, surveying the selection without looking like he was surveying the selection, and then finally stopped at a table filled with discounted purses. He didn't need anything fancy, so something from here should suffice... he rummaged quickly, and picked out a small black faux leather one. It would be quite large enough for his needs, considering he would never need to carry the many other accessories in it that real women seemed to.

Grant slung it experimentally over his shoulder and glanced over at a nearby mirror. It looked nice, too. "Okay, so I'm buying a purse." Like so many other things he'd been fretting about it didn't seem as bad now that he was actually doing it. So long as nobody knew he was really a guy, he was the only one who knew what he was doing was wrong. It was almost exhilarating.

Grant headed over to the nearest register and plunked down the purse. "$15.47," the cashier announced after running it over the scanner. Grant opened his wallet and fished out his Visa. The cashier looked at it, glanced at the back... "Could I see an ID?"

Grant blinked. Had he forgotten to sign it? He started rummaging through his wallet; he only had ten bucks in cash, and there was no way he could show a picture ID and get away with it. "Uhmm... shoot," Grant announced, heart racing but staying calm. "Sorry, I don't have any with me. Do you really need to?"

"I think it'd be a good idea," the cashier answered in a tone that suggested she meant 'yes, absolutely.'

Grant winced. "Um... can you keep this here for me while I pop down to the ATM machine, then?"

"Sure." The cashier handed back the Visa and set the purse aside. Grant thanked her and retreated quickly out of the store.

Just my luck I'd get a cashier who's hard-nosed and pays attention to details, Grant grumbled to himself as he hurried down the mall toward the bank, walking as fast as he could without drawing undue attention. He checked the back of his credit card, confirming that he had indeed signed in, and wondered what the cashier's problem was. The answer came a moment later and he smacked himself on the forehead with a sigh. He certainly didn't look like a 'Grant' right now. She must have been worried the credit card was stolen or something.

He'd nearly blown his own cover, giving out a blatant clue to someone who noticed it, but she hadn't caught on. Grant was becoming more confident in his ability to pass as an ordinary woman with every risk he took, and although it wasn't what he really wanted to do, it was the alternative that had been scaring him more - that people would see him as a guy in women's clothing instead.

Grant took out a hundred dollars, not wanting to be caught short again all the same. As he headed back he passed another guy whom he noticed ogling - this time his chest - and despite his embarrassed blush he decided that it was time to really test himself. When he got to the department store he didn't go straight to the cashier to finish his purchase, instead turning toward the ladies' wear department again.

The twin pads of fat on his pectorals were not what Grant would call breasts if he saw them on a normal man's frame. But with his slim and feminine figure, and the tight tank-top stretched flatteringly over them, he was becoming very self-conscious about their slight jiggle as he walked. Since he was already buying one article of women's apparel today it was time to do something about that as well; he would buy a bra.

It was not as easy a concept to consider than a simple handbag, of course. Setting entirely aside the psychological issues, he had only a rudimentary knowledge of what the various shapes and sizes meant. Sarah had described him as an A-cup back at Xanadu, but she hadn't actually measured him - details like that had been far from their mind at the time. And Grant wasn't about to ask one of the salespeople for advice, no matter how daring he felt right now. Grant wandered uncertainly through the lingerie section hoping to find some sort of sign or label that would help him out.

But then he realized that once again he was fretting over nothing. It didn't really matter what size bra he bought; his curse would make sure it fit perfectly, as long as he could get it on in the first place. He took the nearest sports bra that looked reasonable, and also a backup just in case, and then headed back to the cashier where he'd left the purse.

The cashier regarded him somewhat suspiciously as he paid for the three items in cash, but Grant kept a smile on his face despite his racing pulse; I dare you to notice. "Sorry about that, I borrowed my husband's card without thinking," he added sweetly. The lie caught a little in his throat but the cashier just nodded and seemed to accept it - or to not really care.

Grant took his purchases and headed back out to the car, on the verge of breaking into a run, and then as soon as he was safely inside he burst out laughing instead. "Oh God, I've finally gone nuts, I bought a bra." he gasped, letting out some of the tension that had built up during his little adventure. "And I got away with it," he chuckled as he ran out of steam. He finally gave a little sigh. He was still deeply confused and embarrassed about what Xanadu had done to him, but he felt better being able to do whatever needed to be done to adapt. He hadn't even needed Sarah to spoon feed him.

He transferred his wallet and keys to his new purse, and then sat staring for a moment at the bras. Grant wanted to try one on but even safe inside his car was no place to be doing something like that; even as a guy he'd feel strange changing clothes while sitting in a parking lot. But he was still feeling psyched to brave the public eye and didn't want to go home yet just for the sake of a few minutes' privacy...

Grant had an idea, and the audacity of it gave him momentary pause. But I'm testing myself, right? Let's go to the limit before my nerve fails. He folded one of the sports bras up in his purse, slung the purse over his shoulder, and headed back into the mall.

The women's restroom was almost disappointingly mundane inside; the only difference between it and the men's room was the extra toilet stalls replacing the missing urinals. Grant went into the farthest one from the bathroom door and locked the stall securely. He sat down on the toilet's edge and remained motionless for a few seconds, listening to the activity of the two other women who were present, and then when he'd reassured himself that they hadn't noticed anything amiss he quickly stripped out of his tight white tank top.

It turned back into a normal guy's shirt immediately and Grant folded it carefully on his knee. Then he pulled out the bra and slipped into it, finding it surprisingly easy to get the straps settled correctly into place. It was on the large side, perhaps that helped... "Eep!" Grant clapped a hand over his mouth, unable to completely stifle the surprised exclamation as the bra tightened and molded itself to his chest. The fabric changed from white to beige, and it developed lacy edges. He'd had long experience with undergarments magically snuggling up tight to his body from putting on underwear, of course, but this was somewhat different. The bra lifted and accentuated his chest fat rather more than he'd expected. He was having a really hard time not thinking of them as breasts now.

Grant put his shirt back on and then after it had shrunk back down into a tank top he shook his chest experimentally. The bra did reduce the distracting jiggle almost to nothing, and perhaps more importantly his nipples no longer visibly dimpled the shirt; despite the cleavage enhancement he decided this was probably the best way to go after all. He let out a relieved sigh, picked up his purse, and headed back out into the mall.

He picked up some quick lunch at the food court and then after he'd eaten he went on to do some grocery shopping - his stocks of food at home had been severely depleted over the past week. He still felt a little paranoid about discovery, but the fear was becoming more exhilarating than paralyzing. Grant realized that he might actually be starting to have fun with his near-perfect disguise.

That realization marked the end of the day's adventure. Grant had forced himself out here to get used to dealing with his curse and overcome some of his fears, not learn to enjoy it; he was still disturbed by the idea of transvestitism even after being an involuntary transvestite himself for over a week. It would take a lot longer than a single day's success to overcome that. But Grant still felt positive about what he'd managed as he headed back to the apartment to wind down.

Sarah phoned ahead to let him know she was on her way, and Grant acknowledged without mentioning any of the things he'd done that day. She was amazed to discover them when she came inside, bags of groceries still on the kitchen table and Grant's chest fat still snugged up in a bra, and Grant couldn't help but grin. Sarah chuckled and quipped "you're pretty when you smile," turning Grant's cheeks bright red but not quite managing to dislodge the expression.

Then Sarah held up the new outfit she'd brought with her from Seven Seams, and Grant's mood turned serious again. It was a gray knee-length skirt, a white silk long-sleeved blouse, and a matching gray women's business blazer. "It's really close to the design I thought up last night for you to go to work in," Sarah admitted. "I hope it'll be close enough to not get randomized by the Xanadu magic."

Grant nodded silently, laying the clothing out on the couch. He'd got over most of his resistance to being seen by strangers today, people who would at least accept him as a normal woman without second thought, but it would be a far different matter finally giving up his hope to get this curse lifted before anyone else that knew him found out. "I'm not sure if I can use this yet..."

Sarah smiled encouragingly. "Even so, let's see how it works."

Grant sighed, nodded again, and stepped into his room. He slipped off the tank top and peach skirt, leaving on his shoes in the vague hope of somehow retaining their functionality. Then he pulled on the gray skirt and buttoned up the blouse, and waited for a moment to become accessorized. His shoes promptly dashed his hope for them, sprouting long, thin heels as they opened up and turned black. His socks turned black too, climbing his legs to become full nylon pantyhose, and a plain silver necklace appeared. Grant checked his ears - back down just one stud in each lobe - then examined his makeup dubiously. There was a bit more than usual, and his nails had dark red polish... but it did look quite professional, he had to admit. He tugged on the blouse a bit, wishing it buttoned up past his cleavage and wondering if perhaps he should go braless again. It was the only discretionary part of his wardrobe now.

Sarah knocked on the door. "All done? I want to see how it came out." Grant sighed, draped the blazer over his shoulder and walked back out into the living room. Sarah examined his clothing intently, asking him to turn this way and that to display it all. "Interesting. The details changed a little... I bought those clothes, I didn't make them myself. Didn't even tailor them. But I think it's got my style of stitching now. And it matches what I thought it should look like exactly."

Gee, thanks, Grant thought as he slipped the high heels off his feet for the time being. But he didn't really blame her; Xanadu's magic was subtle sometimes and it had grabbed them both. They'd probably have to do a lot of experimenting like this to figure out all of the details... And it would probably take a lot of time.

Grant sighed. He couldn't delay the inevitable forever, and perhaps by confronting it as he had today he could at least get it over with. This outfit was probably the best office clothing he could hope for in the short term, shoes and all. "I'll call work tomorrow," he announced with resignation. "I probably won't go there tomorrow... I've got a lot of explaining to do first. But soon."

Sarah stayed the evening, eating supper with him at his apartment this time. She had a fair bit of teaching to do, explaining the proper care of women's clothing and giving some tips on what was appropriate to wear under what circumstances - within the confines of the outfits he would have access to, of course. And she also measured Grant's chest, declaring him to be a 34A "for future reference." She seemed a little jealous about how Grant hadn't needed to be fitted for his current bra, and probably never would need fitting thanks to the magic at work.

When she finally left, Grant's mind was whirling. Each day seemed to be bringing new revelations and frighteningly new experiences now and just when he thought he'd got a handle on them the next day's looked to be worse. He would have to somehow explain his appearance to most of the people he knew, people who hadn't been there from the beginning to see that this was all just a colossal coincidence rather than something he'd brought on himself. He'd only get one chance at it.

I need sleep. Grant removed his 'business dress' and hung it carefully in the closet, then slipped out of his panties and fumbled with the catch on the back of his bra. It was always so much easier taking these off when someone else was wearing them... Naked and as male-looking as possible again, Grant shut off the lights and climbed into bed.

He lay motionless for a few minutes, wide awake and trying to figure out what he was missing. He'd become used to sleeping in the buff a lot more quickly than he had wearing women's clothes... But then he realized that his comfort level with the clothing had finally caught up.

Grant took hold of the bed sheet and pulled it around him, tucking it in close around his body and then lying uncertainly in wait. Five seconds later the sheet turned silky and slid over his skin as it shrank down around him into a skimpy negligee. Grant blushed intensely but the darkness concealed his embarrassment and it faded quickly.

Despite what he'd be facing tomorrow Grant slept well that night.

End