Thigh-Highs and Existential Dread

Wyatt hadn't meant to stare, but honestly, would anyone blame her?

Gary stood beside her at the bus stop looking like the lead in some all-male reboot of a Britney Spears video. Short pleated skirt that swished when he shifted his weight, tight short-sleeved blouse with buttons left undone to show off the black bra beneath, a grey blazer, sheer black thigh-high stockings, and the kind of high heels that required core strength and a pact with the devil. Considering the fact that Gary had never worn heels before, Wyatt was amazed at how well her best friend was keeping from turning an ankle.

Wyatt swallowed. Hard.

Not because of Gary's outfit—she was kinda getting used to seeing him dressed like this, which was insane in itself—but because of the new feelings seeing Gary in these clothes had begun to stir. In her old life, she would never have thought of Gary sexually, not in the least. But seeing him in short skirts and heels had lit a fire in her, and she was having a difficult time coming to terms with it.

And it wasn't just her. She could see the look on Gary's face when she rounded the corner to the bus stop. Thirty minutes earlier she had pulled on a pair of jeans, a polo shirt, and sneakers. A practical choice for a school day, no matter what form her new body took. A moment later, her clothes had been replaced by a tiny red leather dress that looked like it was painted on, and matching thigh-high boots. A few days earlier she would have been horrified to be seen outside in clothes like that, but now she felt a special thrill seeing Gary's eyes look her up and down, mouth agape.

They stood together in silence, waiting for the bus, knowing that they should talk but unsure what to say. Wyatt tried not to think about last night. They'd said goodnight, Gary unpacked and moved in, Wyatt moving across the hall. Three more times she'd called him by his name, his new name, Lisa, before she left the room. By the end, Gary had been a good sport about it, not even correcting her on the third time, just smiling with tired eyes. There had been a moment, just before she left, leaning on the doorframe, where she'd almost leaned over and kissed him. It was instinctual, something she didn't plan, didn't think through.

Luckily she had caught herself.

Having another spark incident would have just made things worse.

It didn't mean she didn't bring herself to orgasm before she fell asleep, one hand between her legs, the other playing with a nipple, with an image of Gary in that pencil skirt running through her imagination.

The sun was warm as they waited. Nearby a robin sang its morning song. But the pair of friends were silent as they stood side-by-side. She kept sneaking glances at him. She couldn't help it. Ever since the transformation, something about him pulled at her. Magnetic. Like gravity had shifted and she happened to be standing too close. He smelled good, too, which made no sense, because Gary was not a cologne guy. But now everything about him seemed... alluring.

"So," she finally broke the silence after a few minutes of listening to birdsong, leaning one shoulder against the bus stop sign, which made her cleavage swell in a way she absolutely did not intend but also didn't entirely mind, "You left early."

"Sorry," Gary said quietly, "I couldn't take Chet Lisa-ing me anymore. I had to get out."

"Understandable," Wyatt giggled, enjoying the turn of events that had made her bully of an older brother have a crush on Gary Wallace. "Any ideas about money?"

Gary sighed through his nose. "No."

She let out her own defeated breath. "Same. And we're dead if we can't get those components. I texted my guy a list of what we'd need, he said he could get everything together. He's going to give me a number later today."

Gary smiled. "That's good, at least. Maybe it'll be cheaper than we thought."

"Doubt it," Wyatt answered. "He's not known for being cheap. He's known for being discreet."

"Damn," Gary said, smile vanishing as quickly as it had appeared.

"So," she tried again, the smile tugging at her puffy lips without permission, "how'd you pick out the outfit?"

Gary tensed so hard she could practically hear the muscles in his shoulders contract. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Come on. It's not that bad," she said, letting her voice dip into something soft, coaxing. "You've got the legs for it."

He shot her a stare sharp enough to cut glass—pure are-you-kidding-me misery.

"It just..." Gary paused, then sighed, "I wasn't planning on dressing like this. But then I started thinking about our calculus test, I kind of zoned out, and next thing you know I'm at the breakfast nook dressed like this and your brother is looking down my top! I've done up the buttons on this blouse three times, but every time I lose focus my fingers undo them again automatically."

"That's... wow..."

"I don't know how to stop it."

"Yesterday," Wyatt said quietly, "when I was on the bus home, I started zoning out, too. When I started paying attention I had my hand in some dude's lap rubbing him off. He didn't even act like it was out of the ordinary. He just looked at me as if I were some young man sitting next to him."

"This is crazy."

"Super crazy."

Again, silence fell over the pair. Their whole lives together the pair had never had a problem finding things to talk about, but now there was so much they were afraid to say. Out of the corner of her eye she watched him, this man in a skirt, this object of her infatuation. She wanted desperately to say something, to tell him to look at her, to enjoy the show she was inadvertently putting on. That it was for him.

But then something shifted.

His eyes flicked down.

Lower.

Lingering on the curve of her cleavage.

Victory.

And then he jerked his gaze away, colour rising up his neck and into his cheeks.

Wyatt felt the reaction like a spark between her ribs. A warm, quick flare of pleasure. God, she loved him looking at her. Loved the attention. Loved how it made something deep in her chest bloom, alive and hungry. Like an addict, she was starting to crave that feeling. From anyone, really—but mostly from Gary. Even though she knew she was sex in heels, she was aware that men looked at her like a short, nerdy young man. Only Gary could see her for who she really was.

Who she really wanted to be.

The bus rumbled down the street toward them.

"So," she said lightly, tilting her head, letting her hair fall forward just a touch—because somehow she always seemed to move like that now—"want to sit together?"

It wasn't innocent. She couldn't even pretend it was.

Gary didn't hesitate.

"No."

Wyatt laughed softly. It wasn't an insult. Not really. Just him trying to survive the morning. Just trying to avoid another spark.

She stepped toward the opening bus doors, heart racing in a way she refused to analyse too closely.

Because she wanted him to sit with her.

And she wanted things she really, really shouldn't want.