Yes

I still looked like me—but something felt off. The flared jeans, the brown boots peeking out underneath, even the fleece-lined jacket and my curly blond hair—it all reminded me of my ex. Granted, her hair had been much longer, but still. It was like I’d been transformed into the femboy version of her.

Maybe that’s why the floral dress caught my eye earlier? Because it reminded me of something she would’ve worn?

Not just her, my brain corrected. Most of your exes had this look, more or less.

Yeah, most of the girls I went for were usually blonde, busty, spunky women, often with a bit of country-inspired fashion mixed in.

Then, an idea started to trickle in.

“Wait, hold on—” I mumbled, just as the large closet doors swung open. I barely managed to jerk out of the way in time.

"Alriiiight, are we good, Trent?" Ravi asked as he strutted out, swinging his hips slightly. His tone made it clear it wasn’t really a question.

"Peachy," Trent muttered, still adjusting his crotch and tugging at the waistband of his jeans. He was wearing a tight T-shirt with pink lining on the sleeves, collar and bottom, which insisted on riding up his waist no matter how much he pulled at it. The jeans were baggy, but even then, they still clung to his ass in a way that was downright unfortunate. Worse, the waistband dipped just enough to reveal the white band of his briefs.

He looked like a thick-muscled bimbo—eerily similar to the kind of woman Trent himself would have thirsted over in the past.

Wait… hang on?

Listen, you didn’t want to wear the leggings, so this was our next best option," Ravi said, completely unbothered.

"Oh yeah, trading one bulge for a slightly less noticeable bulge," Trent shot back.

"Why am I wearing overall shorts?" Alroy huffed, tugging at the hem of his outfit.

"Because everything else kept sliding off your tiny ass," Ravi replied without hesitation.

Alroy scowled but didn’t argue. He wore a pastel yellow fitted tee under moss-colored overall shorts, his outfit completed with matching yellow socks—probably Ravi’s insistence—and plain black-and-white Converse sneakers. The look screamed cutesy and boyish, again eerily reminiscent of the kind of girls Alroy would usually fawn over.

Okay. This was getting too close to home. Had we actually been turned into—

My thoughts were cut short as Nadim finally stepped out.

Somehow, Ravi had managed to wrestle the hideous puffer jacket off him and instead swapped it for the only loose button-up top in the entire closet—a deep burgundy color, left fully unbuttoned, likely to help hide his… assets. He paired it with high-waisted, loose-fitting light brown slacks, a pair of polished brown loafers, and an assortment of gold bracelets, rings, and a chain. The whole look gave off a classy, semi-wealthy vibe—the exact kind of woman Nadim usually zeroed in on at parties.

That’s when two realizations hit me:

One, Ravi had the supernatural ability to dress anyone, in any gender, and still make it work.

And two, all five of us—former desirable playboy bachelors—had somehow been turned into the femboy versions of our types.

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