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It's really inevitable in TG fiction, isn't it?

Dr. Maroo opens a closet in one corner of the lab and pulls out a biohazard suit. "Technically, this isn't supposed to leave the lab building," he says, "but I think it's more important that we get you home without you being noticed." You nod agreement and put the suit on. It's quite baggy on you, and slipping your tail down one leg is a little awkward and bound to make sitting uncomfortable, but at least it hides the fact that you're an anthropomorphic cat. You're not looking forward to the idea of six months cooped up in the house, but the idea of being the center of a media frenzy is even worse.

Chelsea leads you out the employee entrance to her car. You direct her to your house, and a brief car ride later, you're home. "All right," she says. "You get inside. I'm going to go pick up supplies. Drop the shades and don't let anybody but me inside."

You nod and head indoors as she climbs back into her car. After pulling down the shades and locking all the doors, you take the hazard suit off. You're a little more comfortable now, but your clothes still fit you all wrong. This is going to take all kinds of getting used to, but right now you'd rather not focus on that. You head up to your room, throw Close To The Edge on your battered old turntable, and sit down to play some video games.

A couple hours and a few albums later, there's a knock on the front door. You run downstairs, slightly nervous, but relax when you see Chelsea through the peep-hole. You open the door and she comes inside, carrying more bags than you thought humanly possible.

"I'm just glad the lab is paying for this," she says, carrying the bags up to your room and beginning to pull out all manner of clothing. "I didn't know exactly what size you are, so I made a maximum and minimum estimate and got clothes at every size in between. We'll figure out which one fits you, and then return everything else."

You simply stare as she pulls out the various clothing items she's purchased. Aside from the underwear (and even that is plain white and free of any frills or lace,) most of it is pretty gender-neutral; solid-color women's shirts and jeans, but there are a few skirts included. Chelsea notices your ears angling back as she pulls out the skirts and chuckles. "Sorry," she says, "but I had to get something for you to wear while I put tail-holes in the jeans. I won't be trying to gussy you up, I promise. Although if you do get used to the idea, I thought of all kinds of outfits that would look just adorable on you."

You sigh and shrug, and she continues to unpack her purchases. Out come...oh lord, those are tampons, aren't they? You groan audibly.

Chelsea shrugs. "Doc wasn't sure if you'd actually have a period; he thought, given the whole cat thing, that you might wind up with an estrus cycle instead, but we're hoping not. I imagine the last thing you want to be dealing with is turning into a sex maniac at regular intervals, and I certainly don't like the idea of having to keep as close an eye on you as that would require. So we're hoping for a menstrual cycle, which means mess."

"But," you moan, "I have to stick those...inside?"

She nods. "I guess I can understand your hesitation, but I figured that having to adjust to a weird sensation is probably better than potentially having to wash off dried-up blood and fluids, which is what would probably happen with pads. I mean, you are furred down there, I assume?"

You shrug. "I haven't looked. I guess...I guess I'll just have to get used to it, I suppose."

She smiles. "That's the spirit. Just try and get through this, and I'm sure the doc will figure out how to change you back before you know it. Now come on, we've got to figure out which of these will fit you."

You stand there for a moment, not sure what to do. Chelsea sighs. "Come on," she says, half-smirking, "strip. You've got nothing I haven't seen before. Except for the fur, anyway."

Hesitantly, you begin to pull off your clothes. You feel awfully self-conscious, getting naked in front of a woman, but you somehow don't feel aroused; you hope that doesn't mean you're attracted to guys now, but you try not to think about it.

The fitting is supremely weird. It's strange enough just having breasts, but to feel them held up against your chest by the soft fabric of a brassiere is truly bizarre. Nor does the other underwear feel any less weird; although Chelsea has bought men's briefs as well as panties, she has you put them on backward, slipping your tail through the fly. The feeling of fabric laying flat against your crotch is even more disturbing than the bra. "I'll get some tail-holes in the panties while I'm doing the jeans," she says. "They'll fit you a little better."

After a little experimentation, Chelsea figures out what size fits you, and gathers the other sizes back into the bags. She helps you into a skirt and shirt. "I've got to return the rest of these," she says. "I'll pick up some more clothes in your size while I'm at it, and when I get back I'll put the tail-holes in the jeans and panties. Until then, just put up with the skirt, okay?"

She leaves again, and you groan softly. If simple things like changes in underwear can leave you so disoriented by new sensations, it looks like your hope to get through this by merely ignoring the changes isn't going to last.

Written by nothingsp

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