The world tilted, then settled. I was no longer upright, no longer even truly me, Alice. I was… a package. A tight, unyielding plastic sheath encased me and four other identical pairs of boy shorts. The air, or lack thereof, pressed against my fabric 'skin,' a constant, suffocating reminder of my new reality. The price tag, a crude white rectangle, was slapped onto my clear plastic prison with a decisive thud. I felt a faint tremor as it was pressed, then the adhesive sealed it in place.
I was placed on a shelf. I could tell by the slight hum of the fluorescent lights above, the faint, chemical scent of new fabric, and the distant murmur of mall sounds – generic pop music, muffled announcements, the occasional burst of laughter. My vision, or what passed for it now, was limited to the blur of the shelf above and below me, and the slightly distorted shapes of the items facing me. The other four pairs of shorts in my pack were my closest companions, pressing in from either side, making me feel even more confined. I was the middle one, the most squished, the most thoroughly flattened.
This was it. This was what Karla had forced me into. The very thought made a phantom blush creep up my cotton ‘cheeks.’ All those novels, all those fantastical transformations I’d devoured in the quiet solitude of the library… they were never quite like this. I always imagined becoming something grand, something important, or at the very least, something that could still observe the world with some semblance of dignity. Not… this. A pair of plain, logo-banded boy shorts. The irony was palpable. The shy, introverted Alice, who spent her life hidden behind books, was now a public display of… underwear.
The thought was terrifying. I was completely at the mercy of strangers, or, more hopefully, Karla. Oh, Karla. My boisterous, dominant, completely unapologetic friend. She had to come back for me. She was the one who dragged me here, after all. She wouldn’t just abandon me, would she? The thought gnawed at my non-existent stomach.
Minutes turned into what felt like hours. I couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even think properly without the constant reminder of the plastic film pressing against me. My hopes soared with every approaching set of footsteps, only to plummet when they passed by. I heard snippets of conversation – disinterest, price comparisons, the rustle of other packages being examined. Each time a hand reached out, my non-existent heart would pound, only for it to bypass my package entirely, reaching for a different size or color of something else entirely. It was excruciating, a silent torture of anticipation and disappointment.
Then, a shadow loomed. It was bigger than the others, and familiar. I felt a tremor of anticipation. A hand, with fingers I recognized even through the distorting plastic, reached purposefully towards my pack. Karla. It had to be Karla! A wave of relief, so potent it almost made me feel lightheaded (if boy shorts could feel lightheaded), washed over me.
"Aha!" a voice exclaimed, unmistakably hers, cutting through the mall's drone. "Found them!"
The hand closed around my package. Not a gentle grasp, but a confident, almost possessive squeeze. I was lifted, jostled slightly, and then tilted. I could barely discern her face through the plastic – a victorious grin, a glint in her eyes. I could almost hear her silent, teasing laugh. Oh, she was enjoying this far too much, wasn't she?
I was scanned a loud beep echoed. As I was placed into a flimsy plastic bag, along with a few other items – a t-shirt, some socks. The bag rustled around me, the sounds of the mall fading as we moved. I felt a slight swaying motion, the distinct rhythm of someone walking. We were leaving the store,We were leaving the mall. Hope surged, quickly followed by a fresh wave of apprehension. What now? What would she do with me?
The journey home was a blur of bumps and jostles. The plastic crinkled and groaned around me. I tried to focus on the positive: I was out of that dreadful store. I was with Karla. This was temporary, right? It had to be. The fine print I hadn't read earlier suddenly loomed large in my non-existent mind. What if it wasn't temporary? What if I was stuck like this forever? No, no, Karla would never let that happen. She was teasing, but she wasn't cruel. She couldn't be.
Finally, the movement stopped. I felt the bag being lifted, then set down with a soft thump. The ambient noise changed – the familiar quiet of Karla's apartment, punctuated by the faint hum of her refrigerator and the soft clinks of her unpacking groceries. I waited, suspended in breathless anticipation.
A hand reached into the bag. My package was extracted, held aloft for a moment in the soft glow of her living room, then set down on a soft surface – probably her bed. I could hear the rustle of the plastic as Karla’s fingers worked at the seal. My heart, or what was left of it, beat a frantic rhythm. This was it. The moment of liberation.
A sigh, a tearing sound, and then… air. Fresh, cool air rushed over me. The oppressive pressure of the vacuum-sealed plastic lifted, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, I could truly "breathe." One by one, my four identical brethren were removed from the package. I felt the subtle shift in pressure as they were pulled away, leaving me exposed, vulnerable. Then, it was my turn. Karla’s hand reached in again, pulling me from the pack. I was held up, dangling. I could see her face clearly now, a mischievous glint in her eyes, a smirk playing on her lips.
"Well, well, well," she said, her voice laced with amusement. "Look what the cat dragged in. Or rather, what I dragged in." She gave me a little shake, causing me to ripple. "My very own Alice-underwear."
My phantom cheeks burned. Oh, this was even worse than I imagined. The humiliation was exquisite, a blush spreading through my cotton fibers, and yet, a strange, faint thrill, born from the very novels I devoured, threaded through it. This was real. This was happening.
Karla chuckled, then turned. I felt a slight drop as she pulled something else off. Moments later, after a quick rustle of fabric, a new warmth enveloped me. I was lifted, pulled up over a curve, then another, my fabric stretching, then settling into place. I was being worn.
The air around me was warm, slightly humid. I could feel the soft pressure of skin, the slight friction of movement. I was exactly where I hadn't wanted to be, and yet, where a part of me, the part that lived in those fantasy novels – the part I’d never admit to anyone – had always wondered about. I was form-fitting, snug around Karla’s thighs and waist. Every movement she made, I felt. The swing of her leg as she walked, the slight stretch as she sat down, the subtle shifts and undulations of her body.
"Comfortable, Alice?" Karla's voice sounded from above, a knowing lilt to it, as if she could hear my every panicked thought. I couldn't respond, of course. I was just fabric. But she knew. She knew what I was feeling. The sheer indignity, the utter novelty, the strange, inescapable intimacy of it all.
I was Alice, the shy, bookish girl, now a pair of logo boy shorts, intimately connected to my only friend. My fabric self absorbed the warmth, the scent, the very essence of Karla's movements. This was either the most embarrassing moment of my life, or the most bizarrely fulfilling, in a way only a girl who read too many transformation novels could appreciate.
The day wore on. I experienced every step Karla took, every stretch, every slight adjustment. I was so close to her, closer than I had ever been to anyone. It was overwhelming, a constant stream of sensory input that was entirely new and strangely profound. I felt the subtle tension as she laughed, the relaxation as she sat on the sofa to read (oh, the irony!), the slight shifts as she moved around her apartment, performing mundane chores.
It wasn't just the warmth or the proximity. It was the complete relinquishment of control, the total surrender to another's will. My shyness, my introversion, meant I often felt out of my depth in social situations, always trying to control my reactions, to maintain my composure. But now, as a pair of underwear, I was stripped bare of all agency. I simply was. I was used, I was worn, I was a functional object. And in that complete lack of control, there was a strange, unsettling freedom. A freedom from the constant self-monitoring, the internal monologue of awkwardness.
When Karla finally changed for bed, I was carefully peeled off, along with the rest of her clothes. I felt a distinct coolness as I was removed, then a gentle bundle as I was tossed into a laundry basket. My immediate surroundings shifted from the warm, soft contours of Karla's body to the rough, cool confines of dirty clothes.
"Goodnight, Alice-undies," Karla said, her voice softer now, devoid of its earlier teasing edge. "You did good."
A wave of exhaustion, a phantom sensation, washed over me. I was still a pair of shorts, still trapped, but at least I wasn't vacuum-sealed. The dark, musty confines of the laundry basket were my new temporary prison. I was no longer warm, no longer intimately connected to Karla. But I had been. And the thought of tomorrow, of potentially being worn again, of enduring another day as Karla's personal underwear, brought with it a complex mixture of dread, embarrassment, and a tiny, undeniable spark of… something else. Something that felt an awful lot like curiosity. The bookish girl in me, the one who devoured tales of transformation, couldn't help but wonder what new experiences this bizarre existence would bring.
Perhaps Karla hadn't just indulged my "fetish." Perhaps she had opened a door to a new, utterly unexpected chapter in my very shy, very bookish life. And for the first time, I wasn't entirely sure if I wanted it to close.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
More by this author
