Scott decided to look himself over, get presentable, and then keep his date with Ophelia Oliver.
During the games at Lydia's party the night before, Rhoda had commanded Scott to ask someone out on a date. In response, Scott had asked Ophelia to meet him at his usual spa and workout center. Ophelia was definitely a girl, but she was also a middleweight on the boy's wrestling team. She kept her hair in a crew cut, and she'd dressed for the party in a sleek silver nylon unitard. She wasn't petite or dainty by any means, but she was definitely in shape. In fact, her powerful frame and bulging muscles were a bit intimidating.
It was definitely a party of sexual oddballs. Scott wasn't sure why he'd picked Ophelia, or why she'd accepted. Perhaps he'd admired the way Ophelia obviously cultivated her unique physique. Perhaps he'd sensed unity with the fastidious care he devoted to his own appearance. Some people, after all, called him narcissistic, and he supposed that's why Lydia had invited him to her party.
Since the incident with Dale, however, narcissism was the least of Scott's oddities. What use was physical culture and conditioning if an ordinary substance like shower water could remold him like putty? Could he possibly maintain his previous appearance? Should he? He'd been making good money as a male model, but was that still possible? The Speedo and underwear ads, at least, seemed to be goners.
When Scott finally checked his appearance in the reflection of a large store window he nearly puked. It wasn't so much his overall shape, which hadn't changed, or even the appalling absence of his dick and balls, which no one else could see. No, it was the sight of himself, still with most of his masculine good looks, wearing a skirt!
Scott didn't know why the shower water had changed his pants into a skirt. As far as he knew, no one else's clothes had been affected the same way. Was he lucky in that respect of unlucky? Scott didn't know. He only knew that the skirt looked terrible, and that somehow he needed to cope with the whole situation.
The skirt's fabric, for starters, was all wrong. The wool gabardine had been fine for men's slacks, but as a skirt it just didn't hang right. What's more, the cut was off. Magic shower water, obviously was no substitute for a good tailor. The skirt's pockets posed problems as well. Not only were pockets seriously out of style on skirts, but they were bulging with Scott's wallet, cell phone, keys, handkerchief, small change, and other items. That didn't look right at all. Even worse, the skirt clashed disasterously with Scott's monogrammed dress shirt, brown argyle calf-length socks, hairy legs, and wing-tip shoes.
From there the situation only got worse. Scott had taken no other clothes with him, and he didn't have time to go home before Ophelia would be waiting at the spa and gym. With no other recourse, Scott took out his cell phone and called Dale.
"Hey, dude, I don't blame you for being angry with me," Dale began. "I mean, it was a total accident, nothing deliberate, but I'm really sorry about it."
"That's not why I called," Scott explained tersely. "You know, that magic shower water stuff of yours also turned my slacks into a skirt: an ugly, misshapen skirt that clashes like broken class with the rest of my outfit. I've got a workout date with Ophelia Oliver in half an hour and I look like a frump. There's no way I can get a pair of slacks tailored in that amount of time. Now, where do you and Sandy buy your shoes, stockings, and accessories?"
Scott got a few odd stares as he hurried to his car, but at least no one freaked out and called the police. Twenty minutes later he'd driven to Blair's Exceptional Boutique, met Blair and his wife Bobby (or at least so they said), and purchased a handsome brown leather bag that held his stuff, tan flats that matched his skirt, and black opaque pantyhose that hid his hairy legs. The skirt still had its unstylish pockets and odd hang, but at least it looked better with nothing in the pockets.
When Scott got to the gym and spa he found Ophelia waiting just outside the front entrance. She was wearing a yellow sports bra that showcased not only her firm high breasts, but also the rippling muscles in her arms, back, and abs. Below that she wore a pair of white cotton and spandex short shorts that clearly outlined her dimpled buns of steel. Above her custom-fitted running shoes and ankle-length exercise socks were two taut and powerful calves and a pair of smooth creamy thighs that seemed capable of crushing boulders.
"Hi, Scott, nice to see you again," Ophelia greeted him. "Thanks for showing up. For some reason, not that many guys like working out with me."
"Oh, no, I always keep my appointments," replied Scott who, despite his best efforts, still felt terribly awkward in his skirt. "Uh, look, though: I know we're only here because of Lydia's party game. If you want to say that just being outside here for a few minutes fulfills that obligation..."
"No, not at all," Ophelia replied, then she reached behind Scott's waist and pulled him towards her.
"Hmmm, are you like those guys Jon, and Jeff, and Joseph at the party last night? 'Cause I'm not feeling anything where it usually counts. You got a pussy under there?"
Five seconds and his secret was out, Scott moaned to himself. There was no point in denying it, though. Ophelia would find out soon enough. So would everyone, Scott realized.
"Uh, yeah, as a matter of fact I do have female sex organs now," Scott admitted.
"Now? So it's a recent change? I think you should you tell me about that, and about your outfit, Scott," Ophelia insisted. She sure wasn't letting go of him, either. Scott doubted he could get away without creating a major scene. Instead, he let Ophelia rock their bodies against each other as he told his story.
At first, Scott didn't recognize his own arousal, or at least the arousal of his new sex organs. Then he recoiled, then relaxed after a while, then learned to enjoy it. He was pretty sure Ophelia was enjoying it too. He was pretty sure neither of then climaxed, though.
"That's an interesting story, and quite a predicament you're in," Ophelia remarked at the end. "I know you're the member here and I'm the guest, but I do know this place. Why don't you let me be your guide? I think first we should visit the spa for a nice waxing and massage, then we'll get you some new workout clothes at the pro shop. After that we'll change together so I can explain how everything should fit. Then we can try some tumbling or judo. Laps, weights, and stationary bikes are alwasy good. What do you say?"
"How are we going to change together? We can't use the same locker room," Scott objected. Actually, he had quite a few objections, but that seemed the most serious.
"Why not? If anybody makes a fuss you can just show your credentials. Is that a problem? You're not one of those fraidy-cats who sneaks around in a bathrobe or a towel, are you?" Ophelia taunted.
