Dylan Leaves

Dylan made his way upstairs, following the jeans outfit that first greeted him, and staring at the denim butt the whole time. It seemed odd to be staring at a shapely butt and thinking about his wife. In the past she'd be far from his thoughts on such an occasion.

The outfit turned to Dylan once it reached the ground floor, holding out its sleeves. "It's good to see you again, Dylan," the outfit said, as it went in for a hug.

"Um, good seeing you too," he said nervously, has he wrapped his arms around the outfit, resting them against the denim butt.

"Mmm." The outfit responded to Dylan's hands with a soft moan. In a whisper, the voice continued in Dylan's ear. "It'll be great if you and Erica get back together. We could see each other all the time."

Dylan pulled away slightly. "I don't think she'd be OK with that, if she ran off when you all started moving around," he said. "Besides, would y'all still be up and about when she's around?"

"I don't see why not," the outfit said, backing up a couple of steps from Dylan. "She was here when we started moving around, after all. And it has nothing to do with her, anyway. You heard that news report. This is worldwide. Didn't you see clothes outside on your way over?"

Dylan shook his head, as they began walking toward the front door. "First I knew of this was when I got here, and that big-girl outfit with a West Indian accent was coming on to me in the living room."

"Hmm… and wound up charming your suit off you," the outfit said with a laugh.

"How's that funny?" Dylan retorted, though he was fighting to keep a straight face himself.

"Usually you were the one trying to charm women out of their clothes," the voice said. "This time it was the other way around -- clothes charmed your clothes off."

"Ha ha ha," Dylan said. "I just hope I still have stuff at home that I can wear. And that I'll be able to replace whatever up and left."

"I'm sure you will," the outfit said, extending a sleeve toward the door. "You're still wearing the t-shirt you wore here, at least, and all the stuff you left here is still inert. You should be OK."

"I just hope I can find her," he said, sounding much less insistent than when he said the same to the curvy athletic outfit. He stepped outside but, as he reached for the doorknob, an invisible hand closed over his. Dylan turned and felt but didn't see the warm hand clasped over his, then looked up briefly at the collar of the floral top before lowering his gaze to the filled out tube top inside it.

"You could just hang out here," the outfit said. "She's gotta come back home sometime. But remember that no matter what happens with Erica, you'll still have me and all the outfits in the basement in your corner, hoping that you'll come back. Even your drawers inside that dress." The voice chuckled. "I can't help wondering what that was all about."

"No idea," he answered, only noticing that the clothes were moving toward him just a split second before unseen lips met his. When an insistent tongue pressed against his lips, he let it in and pressed back. This is what he had come over here for after all, and the outfit knew it. Only he was hoping to kiss Erica, not an outfit of her clothes mimicking her shape with an invisible facsimile.

He let go of the door knob and wrapped his arms around the outfit, his hands coming to rest on the round but petite butt. For a few moments it was easy to forget that this was only a strange copy of Erica and not Erica herself. Until a voice whispered two words softly in his ear, "Come back," during the kiss.

That brought him back to reality. He broke the kiss, awkwardly sidling away and stuttering, "I gotta, gotta go. I-I gotta find Erica."

But once he got outside, he saw the empty parking space where his car used to be. How was he gonna find his wife on foot?