Let's Go

The front door clicked shut behind him with surgical precision.

Trevor froze. Listened.

No voice. No movement. No sounds of drawers or television or kitchen cabinets. The house was still.

Perfect.

He toed off his sneakers and carried the shopping bag by the handles like it was radioactive, stepping as lightly as possible across the tile. The contents rustled. Every sound felt amplified. Trevor winced. He avoided the hallway light switch and made his way upstairs in darkness, his heart in his throat.

The last thing he needed was for his mother to call out, "Whatcha got there?"

He didn't think he could survive the conversation.

At the top of the stairs, he paused again, listened, then slipped into his room and shut the door. Locked it. A second lock clicked into place with a satisfying snick.

He exhaled—then grinned.

The bag hit the bed with a papery thump, and he ripped off his shirt like it had personally offended him. The shorts followed. Then his boxers. Naked, he grabbed the bag and tipped it out. A cascade of colors spilled across the blanket—lace, mesh, satin, ribbons. Treasure.

Trevor sat on the edge of the bed, staring.

This was for science. That's what he told himself. Research. He needed to know if new clothes made the powers return. That was it. That was all.

Except… that wasn't all.

His fingertips brushed a lacy black top with tiny cap sleeves and a plunging neckline. The fabric was sheer, the sort of thing he'd never have looked at twice in his old life. He swallowed. Then picked it up and held it against his chest. Cool to the touch. Soft as mist. He could see the lines of his collarbones through it.

Trevor’s fingers trembled slightly.

He picked out the panties next. Not just panties—barely-there, high-cut things with a pink satin front and a whisper of mesh across the hips. They looked delicate. Feminine. Absolutely not his size.

Except… they were.

Trevor stepped into them, sliding the fabric up his legs. His breath hitched. The waistband kissed his hips as it settled into place. The material hugged his skin—cool, then warm. A slow flush rose in his chest. He adjusted himself, gently, finding a position that fit.

His heart was thudding. Not just because of the powers.

No. He pushed that thought away. It wasn’t important.

Then came the top. He slipped it over his head and let it settle. The sensation was electric. The fabric kissed his chest, his sides, even the dip of his spine. Trevor caught his reflection in the dark window. A sliver of midriff showed. He raised his arms and saw the shape of his ribs through the fabric. It was ridiculous. It was wrong.

It was incredible.

From the pile, he picked out a pleated micro-skirt. Black vinyl. Tiny. He stepped into it. Pulled it up. It sat too high, barely skimming his thighs. One wrong step and—yeah, probably not street legal. But when he looked down, he felt…

Good.

Wrapped. Different. Like he’d just put on a costume—but maybe one that wasn’t a costume at all.

The whisper came again, that quiet thrill he hadn’t asked for. You like this. He shut it out. This was about powers. Not this other thing. Not this twisted little flutter in his chest.

"Okay," Trevor said to himself, clearing his throat. "Let's go."

He picked up his phone and started the stopwatch app. Clicked start. If the powers had a timer, he was going to track it this time. No more guessing.

He turned toward the window, heart pounding in his chest.

The cool night air slid against the glass.

He placed his hand on the window latch, then looked down at himself one more time. Lacy top. Slutty skirt. Satin panties. Bare legs. It wasn’t just a look.

It felt like a transformation.

He wasn't Trevor Tapper right now.

He wasn't sure who he was.

But he was about to find out.

He opened the window and climbed up onto the roofline outside.