Lucy

The text was from Lucy. She wanted me to send her some pics of myself in some of my sexiest outfits, to see which one she wanted me to wear to Britney's birthday party. Jeez, she was such a control freak. Shouldn't it have been up to me what I'd want to wear? Not that I really wanted to wear anything that was considered sexy for a guy in this messed up world, or go to the party at all, least of all with Lucy Smith. I sighed, realizing that it was entirely my fault that this was happening. If I had only just stood my ground when she asked me to the party, I wouldn't have had to deal with any of this. Another text appeared, asking me what I was waiting for. A control freak and impatient too. I sighed again, then texted back that I had to dress up to take the photos and that she should just wait.

Okay, now for something I vowed never to do - wear a dress. All of my dresses, not to mention blouses, skirts, halter tops, skinny jeans, tank tops, short shorts, even shoes, were all tailored to fit my body, but still ... a dress was a dress, whether it had room in it for breasts or not. Frankly, it was humiliating wearing something so feminine. But in this reality, it wasn't seen as feminine. It was masculine. I had only been out of the hospital for about a week (my injuries weren't that bad, which was good, but being stuck in this universe was way worse, in my opinion), so I was still trying to deal with the absurdity of my situation. I tried to ignore it as much as possible, but it seemed that I wasn't going to be allowed even that.

Reluctantly, I opened my closet, which was now twice as large as it used to be (there has to be room for all those shoes, right?), and looked at my choices. Thinking about what would look the sexiest on a girl in my own universe, I decided to choose ...