The Fifth Morning

Sunday morning arrived quietly.

Soft light slipped through the blinds in pale stripes, stretching across the bedroom floor and creeping slowly up the side of the bed. The apartment was still. No clatter from the kitchen. No television murmuring in the living room. Just the faint hum of the building itself waking up.

Five days.

Five days since Craig had fallen asleep on the bus and met a smug, infuriating ancient god who apparently thought rewriting a man's life was an entertaining hobby. Five days since his reality had been flipped on its head, leaving him reeling each and every day when he woke up.

The nap Craig had meant to take yesterday afternoon had turned into a full night's sleep.

Honestly, his body had needed it.

It had been a long five days.

Craig stirred beneath the blankets and blinked awake slowly. For a moment he lay there without moving, letting the quiet settle around him. The fog of sleep lifted easily. His muscles felt rested, loose. Even the soreness from the basketball game had faded to a dull memory.

That surprised him. Normally a sudden burst of exercise would leave him stiff for days. Craig stretched lazily and rolled onto his side. Memory returned in pieces.

The game.

Dinner.

The humiliating shorts.

Frank's comments.

Craig groaned softly and rubbed his face.

Today was another day. No point in dwelling on yesterday's humiliations. Today would have plenty of new ones.

With a sigh he pushed himself upright and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Bare feet touched the floor. Pain shot instantly through the arches.

"Ah!"

Craig jerked his feet back instinctively, wincing as the familiar sting rippled upward through his calves. The sensation had become annoyingly predictable.

A glance down confirmed the situation. At some point during the night, the clothes he'd fallen asleep in had vanished. Again. Gone were the YES DADDY shorts and red top he'd worn to bed. In their place was a lavender nightie made of sheer fabric that clung lightly to his body.

Craig stared at it in tired resignation.

"Of course," he muttered.

The heels he'd kicked off before collapsing onto the bed sat beside it on the floor. Without hesitation he reached down and slipped his feet into them. Relief came instantly. The pressure eased. The familiar stretch through his calves returned, and the ache faded.

Craig stood carefully. Better. Much better.

Now there was a more immediate problem: his bladder.

Craig moved quietly to the bedroom door and cracked it open just enough to peek into the hallway. Silence. No movement. Frank's door remained closed.

Good.

The last thing Craig needed this morning was his roommate spotting him wandering around in a sheer nightie.

Again.

With quick, careful steps he slipped into the hallway. The heels clicked softly on the floor as he hurried to the bathroom. The short trip felt like a stealth mission. Every sound seemed louder than it should have been. Craig half expected Frank to step out of his room at any moment and catch him mid-stride.

Fortunately, the apartment stayed quiet, giving Craig the chance to relieve himself in peace. So much of his life felt out of control. Despite his clothes, despite standing in ridiculous heels, standing alone in front of the toilet, relieving himself, felt like the moment of normalcy he needed.

A minute later Craig slipped back into his room, door closing behind him with a soft sigh of relief.

Undetected. Success.

Now came the part he already knew was coming. Craig stood in the middle of the room and took a slow breath.

Five days had been enough to reveal the pattern. Every morning something changed. Every morning some small piece of the life he’d known vanished or transformed into something else. And Craig knew exactly where to look first.

The dresser drawer slid open with a soft scrape. Yesterday, the last remaining artifact of his old wardrobe had been sitting there. Socks. Plain. Ordinary. Male. The final holdout. Craig already suspected what he was about to find.

Still, the sight inside the drawer made him sigh. Stockings. Fishnets. Pantyhose. Thigh-highs in lace and satin. Several garter belts lay folded neatly beneath them. Craig picked up a pair of black fishnets and let them dangle from his fingers.

"Well," he murmured.

That answered that. The socks were gone. Erased like everything else.

Well... almost everything.

Despite all the magical interference, Craig held on to the fact that he was still himself. Nothing that Eros had done had actually changed him. Yes, he was a man stuck wearing women's clothes, thrust into a world that thought it was the most normal thing in the world, but he was still Craig. And in a life that felt out of control, this gave him a small glimmer of peace.

Something caught his eye. Off to one side of the drawer sat a couple pairs of tiny pink ankle socks decorated with little bows and hearts. That was something, at least. Clearly feminine, but still socks. Maybe he could wear them with his wedge sneakers. A small laugh escaped his lips unbidden, surprised at how quickly he was willing to compromise with Eros' plan for him.

Craig dropped the fishnets back into the drawer. The socks aside, everything else in there was very sexual. It was obvious that Eros didn't want Craig to become a wallflower. Whoever Craig's soulmate was, she apparently enjoyed someone willing to put on a show. The only question he had was if Eros was done with him now that his wardrobe had fully transformed, or if more changes were on their way.

"Might as well get it over with," he muttered.

Craig pulled open the next drawer. Underwear. Lace. Silk. Colours he would never have imagined owning a week ago. His hand hovered over the selection. Just before he made a choice...

His phone buzzed. Craig turned toward the nightstand. A text notification glowed on the screen. Frank. Craig picked up the phone.

FRANK: My mom's invited us over for dinner tonight. Want to go?

A smile spread across Craig's face almost immediately. Frank's mom had practically helped raise him. Growing up, Craig had eaten so many meals at that house he might as well have had his own chair at the table. The thought of seeing her again warmed something simple and comforting inside his chest.

He typed back quickly.

CRAIG: I'd love to.

The reply came almost instantly.

FRANK: Cool. I'll let her know. Let's leave around 4. She says her new boyfriend is coming and asked us to dress up. She wants to make an impression.

Craig stared at the screen.

His stomach dropped.

Dress up.

A week ago that would have meant a button-up shirt. Nice jeans. Maybe a blazer if he felt fancy.

Now?

Craig slowly lowered the phone.

"Shit."

His thumbs tapped out a quick reply anyway.

CRAIG: kk

The phone dropped onto the nightstand. Craig dragged both hands down his face.

"Shit shit shit."

Dinner was hours away, though. Plenty of time to panic later. For now... he just wanted a shower.

Craig grabbed yesterday's shorts from the hamper, the magic having neatly placed them in the hamper when it changed his sleepwear into the nightie. His YES DADDY shorts would do fine for a morning around the house. A fresh pair of panties came from the drawer. From the closet he pulled a soft baby-blue top with delicate ruffles along the neckline.

Then Craig turned back toward the bathroom.

Basketball had been fun. Exhilarating, even. But the smell clinging to his skin reminded him that fun had involved a lot of sweat. Crossdressing nightmare or not, one truth still remained.

Craig needed a shower.