A Turn for the Worse

Alex slowly opened his eyes. The sex had been great. Greater than great. If Alex had been a poet he could have approached a description of the level of pleasures that Pete had brought him to. As he was, Average Alex, he only knew what he felt. And Alex felt great.

Taking a deep breath, Alex began to wonder what the day would have in store for him. So far, since the world had begun reshaping itself around Alex, every move had led to sexual pleasure, success in business, a world made to please him. It had screwed up his family, but at least they had seemed happy. Yes, Alex was beginning to look forward to what would happen next. The world was his oyster, and he was in the mood for seafood.

"Alex-Sue!" came a woman's voice somewhere nearby, "get yer ass out of bed!"

Alex sat up, confused. Alex-Sue? Who was that? Then he looked down.

What he saw was the last thing he anticipated. He'd just had a long night of sexual bliss, experiences he'd never had before, but nothing that would end him up dressed as he was. Instead of sleeping in his boxers and no shirt as he was accustomed, Alex was wearing a bra and panties. Not just any bra and panties, either. It was a matching black lace set, but the cups of the bra were made of, instead of black lace, the Dallas Cowboy logo, as was the front of his panties. All sitting atop his middle-aged male body.

He looked ridiculous.

"Alex-Sue!" came the woman's voice again, "I'm not gonna say this again! Get up!"

Something inside Alex quivered at the tone of the woman's voice. He didn't know who this woman was, but deep inside his soul he knew she meant business. He also knew that he should obey. So he did. He climbed from the bed, a bed that the previous night had been a luxurious king-sized bed, but was now a small twin mattress and boxspring, sitting on the floor of a small bedroom.

"I'm up!" he shouted, hoping it would appease the voice. He heard nothing else from the shouter, but it didn't solve the rest of his problems. Alex found himself not standing in his fantasy-created room, in his fantasy-created house, with his fantasy-created girlfriend. Instead, he was in the small, poorly furnished room of what looked like a young woman. By the looks of the clothes in the closet, a woman who liked to show her body off. Only the clothes weren't sized for a young woman. They were sized exactly for a middle-aged Alex Alexander. Sweat began to bead on his forehead. Something had gone wrong.