Trey is in for a surprise when he goes to clean out the dressing room at his job...

“Trey, can you get the clothes out of the dressing rooms, please?” my boss, Cynthia, asked.

I grabbed one of the few loose shopping carts and wheeled it back to the dressing rooms. They were always full of unwanted stuff, especially on busy days like this one. Threadz was one of the few cornerstones this mall had left, and so whenever people were tired of the Barnes & Noble or done eating at Five Guys, they usually came to us. That generally meant every girl in a fifty mile radius was trying on clothes, and I was usually the one who had to clean up the dressing rooms every hour or so.

It wasn’t a particularly difficult job, and it gave me the chance to check out conventionally attractive girls my age, so I didn’t have much to complain about. I got paid to leer and imagine who was trying on the bras, what more could a guy ask for? Especially one between girlfriends and two weeks away from going back to school and being just another loser. Plus, Cynthia knew I was perving and didn’t care so long as I kept my hands to myself and did my job. She knew the girls did the same to the guys who shopped there, so it wasn’t like I was the only hormonal weirdo.

I reached the dressing rooms and groaned audibly. The first one I checked was so full, you’d think an entire van load of people tried on clothes. In fact, that may have been the case, as there’d been a group of women who were in looking for party clothes about a half an hour ago. It would take so long to put those clothes back out on the rack that I almost considered leaving them for Amanda or Pam to do later, but I brushed that thought aside and started piling them in the cart, like I was supposed to.

After about five minutes, I had most of the clothing cleaned out of the first dressing room. The pile had gone from a mountain to a small hill left on the bench that stuck out from the wall. It was about then I noticed the shoes. Threadz was pretty much just clothes, because another store, Tapz, was affiliated with us and thus their sales were also essentially ours. Still, we had a modest shoe selection in the store, mostly high end boots and heels for women and very classy dress shoes for men. If we ended up selling even one pair of shoes, it was a good shoe sale day for us. Sitting on the floor under the bench were no less than ten pairs of women’s boots, all neatly arranged like they’d been tried on in assembly line fashion.

I sighed. This wasn’t going to be a fun day. Especially since I had four other dressing rooms to clean out. People had no sense of courtesy anymore, just leaving stuff lay about like they did. I wondered what went through their heads when they were done trying things on. “Let’s just leave them here, the employees get paid to pick them up for us!”

Who was I kidding? That’s basically how I was anywhere that wasn’t Threadz.

I picked up a purple long-sleeved crop top and let my mind wander away from the cleaning toward whoever had tried it on. Based on the neckline, it had clearly been intended for someone with a generous amount to show off, which meant it was probably the same woman who’d tried on the black DDD-cup bra that was hanging from a hook on the wall beside the mirror. If I’d seen her, I hadn’t noticed her, but then again I saw a lot of gorgeous women or girls my age in the store, so they kinda blended together at times.

I tossed the top in the cart and proceeded to get back to the rest of the clothes. Next was a pair of jeans that looked like they’d barely fit anybody, I held them up to my own legs and turned toward the mirror again. I was so very many sizes bigger than whoever was supposed to wear them. I wasn’t entirely certain I’d ever seen a woman that skinny, much less had them come into the store and buy jeans like that. I knew we had jeans that small, but never actually sold a pair of them.

Discarded under the jeans had been a pair of panties that matched the bra that hung on the wall, so I assumed the woman had tried to coordinate her outfit. It took me a second look to realize that it was a thong I’d found there, which told me the woman was either really into discomfort or was trying to arouse somebody, and I had to admit it was working on me. Imagining whoever this had been was almost getting me to the point of a hard on. I tried to calm my thoughts before finishing up with the clothes, because if any of the women that worked at the store saw me with a stiffie, they’d think I was jacking off to the clothes. Again, not that they didn’t have the same reaction to the male customers, in their own ways.

I had just about finished up with the clothes on the bench when I remembered the bra on the hook. It had basically been staring at me the entire time I’d been cleaning up the dressing room. I went to grab it and throw it in the cart before I did the same with the shoes…

…But it was gone.

“What the hell?” I said aloud for no real reason.

I looked at the shopping cart to see if I’d grabbed it at some point without realizing it and discovered that not only had the cart somehow migrated into the dressing room, the dressing room door was shut and locked.

Panicking, I grabbed at the lock and turned the small knob, but nothing happened. The door was still locked. I turned it again, and still nothing changed. I pounded on the door, hoping to draw someone’s attention, and nothing happened. Anxiety was welling up inside me, because whatever was going on just wasn’t the slightest bit normal.

I backed away from the door and sat down on the bench. There was an explanation for this, I just couldn’t figure out what it was, not from in here. The only solution I could think of now was to call Cynthia and see if she could open it from the outside, and hope she didn’t think I was playing a prank on her. I reached into my pocket and…

…Didn’t get there. Something was holding my hand away from my pocket!

I turned and saw the culprit and nearly screamed. The bra was keeping me from reaching for my phone!

“What the hell?!” I shouted loud enough that somebody should’ve heard me. If they did, they didn’t acknowledge it, as no one came to the door and tried to open it.

I had to have hit my head on something and passed out. That was the only explanation I could come up with for this. Clothing didn’t just grab people. So clearly, I must’ve hit my head on something. Maybe I tripped on something on the floor and hit the bench on the way down? Somebody was sure to find me soon and wake me up, help me deal with this concussion I clearly had to have.

Please let that have been what happened…

I was stirred from this train of thought by another one of the bras that I’d picked up from the bench and thrown in the cart. This one grabbed my other hand and yanked it upward. The first bra did the same with that hand, practically crucifying me against the wall. I looked at the mirror and saw the bizarre sight of me pinned to the wall by lingerie and very, very desperately wanted to wake up from whatever nightmare I’d somehow become embroiled in. This was almost unbearably insane.

The shopping cart moved forward just a bit, all on its own, just like everything else seemed to be doing, and came to a stop just at my feet. Shirt sleeves shot out from sides of the cart, each pair grabbing at my pant legs and pulling as hard as they could.

I couldn’t take it anymore, I shouted, “Help! Cynthia! Anybody!” As the clothes struggled to rip my pants off of me, I heard no one outside the dressing room. How the hell was no one hearing me? The store had been full of people when I came in here!

As my screams continued to fall on deaf ears, the shirts finished tearing my pants off my legs and moved upward, toward my boxers. Apparently, those were a little easier to remove, because the shirts took almost no time to do so. I felt like I was going crazy watching this happen, and between that and the lack of interest from anyone outside the dressing room, I was hopeful that my initial assumption of this being a concussion-induced hallucination was true. I wasn’t positive of course, but hopeful.

The bras pinning me to the wall started to move, to reach for the bottom of my shirt. They pulled upward, letting my hands away from the wall just long enough for my shirt to go flying over my head and onto the floor, along with the rest of my clothes. I didn’t even notice when my shoes and socks were pulled off, but there they were, discarded like the rest.

By this time, I gave up the screaming and worked on getting free from the possessed clothing. The bras held me in a vice-like grip while the shirts that had removed my pants had worked their way onto my legs, holding me down on the bench equally as forcefully as the bras. I didn’t have a whole lot of give to wiggle away from whatever the hell was going on. I grunted and groaned, but it was no use…

The cart moved again, backing slightly away this time. The clothes inside it began to move, something buried deep within struggling to get out just as much as I was. Eventually, the article made its way to the top and revealed itself, much to my horror.

The thong.

If an article of clothing could be said to be studying someone, the panties were doing just that. The underwear sat there, moving slightly to my own miniscule movement. “What are you doing?” I asked, completely aware how crazy it was to talk to a piece of clothing, but this whole thing was crazy, so a little more really didn’t mean anything. The panties continued to ‘glare’ at me, offering me nothing resembling an answer to my question.

At least, not until it jumped at me.

I tried moving my legs, tried getting away from it, but somehow the thong thing managed to bypass the shirts holding my legs down and started to worm its way upward, toward my crotch. There was a kind of electric tingle as it moved across me, a sensation I couldn’t really describe because it sounded ridiculous, but basically it felt like the hair on my legs and crotch were being sucked inside me.

The thong secured itself on me, which was itself a weird feeling as the thin strip of material that constituted the back of the underwear slid between my ass cheeks. It was probably the closest I’d ever come to having a wedgie, but it was like it was supposed to be that way. I suddenly had an intense curiosity as to why women intentionally subjected themselves to this kind of discomfort.

My thoughts were then disturbed by a new feeling: that of my balls shrinking. I of course couldn’t reach for my junk, seeing as my hands were still stuck to the wall by the bras, but I tried to squeeze my legs together in some effort to ‘hold’ my balls in place. To say that it didn’t work would be as much of an understatement as possible without that statement literally being underground. Seconds later, it wasn’t just my balls shrinking. No, I felt every inch of my oldest friend slowly contract upon itself, with squelching noises that sounded like fingers in a mayonnaise jar to go with it. Finally, when it was over with, all I could feel between my legs was the thong, covering a hole no man should have.

“What the fuck is going on here?!” I screamed in breathy panic. That this could’ve just been a concussion-induced nightmare had stopped being a possibility as I felt the silky fabric of the thong against a pair of lower lips I didn’t have five minutes ago.

Unfortunately, my question wasn’t answered by words but by more clothing escaping from the pile in the cart. The thong was followed very quickly by the jeans I hadn’t thought would fit anyone. Just like the thong had, the jeans managed to ignore the existence of the shirts holding my legs down and slid themselves onto me. I understood now why the thong had given me an impromptu shaving, because otherwise the jeans would’ve met the resistance of leg hair that would’ve made them difficult to put on. Instead, it was like my legs had been greased up and prepared for just this moment, as the jeans had no issue encasing my hairless legs in tight denim.

It was at this time I realized that I was sitting slightly different than I had been before, and a quick realization told me why: my ass had grown. Not by a little, either, no. I had what could best be described as a dump truck of an ass. If any girls from school saw me now, they might actually be jealous, and that was a disturbing thought. How the jeans had ever fit over it was beyond me, especially since shortly after they managed to get themselves on, a belt emerged from the shopping cart and tightened itself around me. The growth in my ass had distracted me from the similar growth in my hips, as well.

I looked down at my feet, now diminutive and dainty, looking every bit like a pair of girl’s feet and really that’s exactly what they were. I watched as my toenails suddenly took on a purple color, a magical pedicure right before my eyes. Following that came one of the pairs of boots I’d tossed in the cart, a pair with a noticeable wedge heel to them. To the absolute surprise of no one (well, mostly me, since the only other ‘person’ in the dressing room was the possessed cart of clothes), my feet almost felt sculpted to the boots, like I was being reshaped specifically for the clothes that were forcing themselves upon me.

And that was when I realized that was exactly what was happening. No real woman – much less a teenage girl – had these kinds of proportions unless they actively made themselves into this kind of cartoonish caricature of femininity. I didn’t even know if the clothes that had chosen to latch onto me had been tried on by the same woman, they had just been the ones I’d taken a moment to fantasize about. Whatever the correlation, I had a sinking suspicion I knew which one was about to come next.

I was proven right immediately after that thought, as the bra from the hook that had been holding my hand to the wall fell onto the bench beside me, replaced quickly by another article of clothing to keep my hand pinned. Within seconds, the bra was in the air, hovering just in front of my now hairless chest. I didn’t even realize that, much like my legs and crotch, the hair below my neck had also shrunk away inside of me. never to be seen again.

The bra almost literally passed through me, as if I wasn’t there until it needed me to be. Once it was situated properly, I started to feel my upper frame shrink, much in the same way my lower body had grown. My body had taken on an almost fantastical hourglass shape, with but one, no two important things missing, But with the bra positioned exactly where it needed to be, I knew that wasn’t going to be an issue much longer. The outrageous part was that the silky material didn’t even feel out of place, like the thong had. In fact, the thong no longer felt like it was wrong, either. It was like having a female body shape meant that female clothing was suddenly right, in a sense.

Drawing me back to the here and now, it was just like I’d known would happen: the bra was starting to fill. It was just as odd a sensation as my dick sliding inside of me had been, only this time it felt like a pair of water balloons on my chest were slowly being filled. First my chest was flat, then the mounds appeared, then they grew. As they grew, the material of the bra… Caressed them, for lack of a better term. soothed them as they continued to grow until they perfectly matched the size on the label.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror and saw the most horrific thing possible: my male head on the body of an impossibly curvy girl. An impossibly curvy girl wearing nothing up top but a bra, but an impossibly curvy girl nonetheless. I watched as my arms shrank and my fingernails grew and took on the same purple polish as my toenails. The picture was almost complete, I just had to wait for the finale, apparently. And a shirt.

The shirt was the next thing to happen. I wasn’t at all surprised to see the same purple crop top that I’d started this whole escapade with. Much like the bra, it effectively phased onto my body, and just as I’d suspected when I’d checked it out earlier, it was flattering my cleavage almost excessively. It clung to me almost like a second sin, and the outline of my bra was pretty noticeable through the thin material.

My bra. How had I come to accept those words in that order so quickly?

I looked in the mirror again and still the image of a teenage boy’s head on an exaggeration of a teenage girl’s body stared back at me. I wanted to break down and cry about this, but as that inclination occurred to me, things started taking the turn I expected them to.

The first part of my face to change was the overall shape. I had what I would’ve called a defined chin, the kind of square jaw that people joked about on comic book characters from the 60s and 70s. I had always assumed it gave me a bit of a pretty boy look, and had hoped it would get me some luck with, well, girls like I was becoming, apparently. Now I had the softer lines and more rounded face of a girl blossoming into womanhood. My cheekbones had raised slightly, giving me that “Aren’t you adorable?” kind of look.

Next came my lips. They didn’t quite become the Instagram-model-duckface kind of lips, the kind with that unnatural pout that just looked obnoxious, but they were definitely fuller, more… Kissable? I’d definitely kiss me if I were dating me.

My eyes were next. I kept my natural amber eye color, but they looked so much bigger and more innocent, like I’d never seen anything bad happen to anyone at any point in my life. There was now a sort of glow to them, as if I radiated some sort of positive energy. Where the hell I got positivity from would be anyone’s guess, but at least I looked like I had it.

My hair grew, reaching my ass in nanoseconds. It took on a glossy coat, clearly the effect of actually spending time tending to it rather than just washing and combing it every morning. I think it even lightened a few shades to a more hazelnut color that would’ve looked perfect on any girl I knew from school instead of me. Oh, who the hell was I kidding? It looked good on me, thanks to whatever was going on.

Then came the makeup. No, I didn’t apply any myself, as my hands were still pinned to the wall, but I was wearing it now. Blush, mascara, eyeliner, and of course a purple shade of lipstick that matched my nails perfectly. I could only assume this purple theme was because a purple shirt had been the first thing I’d picked up, because otherwise I had no idea where it was coming from.

Last but certainly not least ended up being jewelry. Earrings attached themselves out of nowhere, a heart-shaped locket suddenly hung around my neck and bracelets adorned my wrists from sheer nothingness. The picture in the mirror seemed to be complete, now. The boy named Trey nowhere to be seen in it.

“Are you done now, whatever the hell you are?” I asked, and naturally found myself surprised at my new voice. Soft, gentle, yet full of venom and spitfire at whatever had decided that I needed to be this girl instead of my old self. Naturally, I received no answer.

The bras keeping my hands against the wall and the shirts keeping my legs from moving retreated back into the shopping cart, as if they had never escaped from it in the first place. I lowered my arms and found my hand resting on a purse that hadn’t been there before, yet another mysterious change to add to the list of things that had just happened to me in the last… I didn’t know how long.

I reached into the purse and found my phone, unsurprisingly. The weird thing was that nothing about the phone itself changed. Sure, there were selfies of the girl I’d become, up to and including nudes that I’d probably snapped for somebody I shuddered to think had probably been a boyfriend, but other than that it was exactly the same. Same numbers in my contacts, same apps installed, same everything. Checking the time told me it had been sixteen minutes I’d spent being transformed into whoever I was now.

Cautiously, I stood up. I wasn’t used to heels, for obvious reasons, and that hadn’t suddenly changed despite my new appearance. I was unsteady, uncertain, very clearly unready to take even one little step in them. I shivered when I realized that the heels hadn’t even given me that much of my former height back. I’d been 5’11” before. If I was 5’3” now, I’d be surprised.

“Take it easy, Trey,” I told myself with that new, sweet sounding voice of mine, “just one foot in front of the o–”

I was cut off by the dressing room door opening and Cynthia standing there, a look of surprise on her face.

“Kayla, what are you doing?” she asked, and I could only assume that Kayla was supposed to be me.

“I… Um…”

She pointed at the shopping cart. “You didn’t try on all of that, did you?”

I looked down at the cart, then back up to her. “I mean, I…” I had no idea what to say. I didn’t even know what I could say.

She sighed. “Girl, you need a little more self-control when it comes to shopping. Your mom was telling me the last time she was in here that you had more clothes than you were ever going to wear.”

Meekly, I managed, “I guess I have a problem?”

She nodded. “No kidding. Now, I hate to ask you to do this on your day off, but can you cover Adam’s shift? He came down with some fever or something and you’re already here, so I figured I’d ask.”

I blinked. On the one hand, it would take me away from figuring out why this had happened to me. On the other hand, it kept me occupied so I didn’t go home and find out what awaited me there. I’ll be honest, the prospect of finding out what kind of daughter I was to my parents was a little daunting. “Um… Sure, Cynthia. I’ll go get clocked in right away.”

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, because I was not looking forward to working a double shift on a day like this one. You should’ve seen the mess Eve had to clean up in there earlier, it was like a whole van load of women were trying on clothes for a party or something.”

Cynthia turned and left, going elsewhere away from the girl she somehow knew was her employee, despite the fact that I wasn’t the same person she’d told to clean out the dressing rooms earlier. Completely oblivious to whatever had happened to me.

I took a few steps to ease myself into walking in heels, something that was much easier in a dressing room stall than it would’ve been out there in the world. At least we didn’t have a uniform or a dress code or anything like that, so although I looked like a girl out to wrangle up a date, I was still technically dressed for work. I’d just have to come up with some bullshit for why I was wearing a crop top to check people out at the cash register.

As well, at least after all these changes, I still had a job. Yeah, they thought of me as some girl named Kayla, but better that than just ending up another anonymous face they saw buying clothes. The only downside was that I didn’t know how I related to anybody anymore. Was Adam still my closest friend here, or was it Katie?

I left the dressing room, cart pushed ahead of me, and let out another sigh. I’d definitely get to the bottom of this some day, but for right now, I had to get back to work.