Her clothes are taken

Jenn hugged herself, water cascading over her bare skin. She tried to focus on the rhythm of it, tried to convince herself she was blending in, just another sweaty gym-goer washing off the day.

From the other stalls came the hiss of showers, the slap of flip-flops, the banter of men completely oblivious to her. She risked a glance at the top of her curtain. Her shirt and towel sat draped there, limp and dampening from the steam. At least they’d be dry enough to throw on when she bolted.

Then came a voice, closer than the rest.

“Hey, whose stuff is this?”

Jenn froze. Her eyes darted upward. A shadow shifted across the curtain.

“Doesn’t look like gym clothes. Looks like…” the man’s voice trailed off, chuckling. “Dude, is this a women’s shirt?”

Jenn’s throat closed up. Before she could even whisper a plea, a hand reached over the railing. Her shirt vanished. Then her towel.

“Ha! Look at this lacy little thong,” the voice snickered. "Some cross dresser must have left it behind."

The air rushed out of her lungs. Her last shred of modesty, plucked away in the middle of the men’s showers. She pressed herself back against the tile, naked, trembling, water beating down as her only cover.

“Must’ve been left behind,” another voice chimed in, amused. “Take it to lost and found.”

Their laughter echoed, fading as the thief walked away with her clothes.

Jenn’s hands flew to cover herself, even though no one could see through the curtain. Her mind spun, panic clawing at her chest. I’m stuck. I’m completely stuck. Naked. In the men’s locker room. With nothing to wear.

She pressed her forehead to the cool tile, teeth clenched. This was no longer about embarrassment, this was about survival of dire humiliation. She had to get out… somehow.