The cloud of smoke took a peculiar amount of time to clear. Naturally, Nathen assumed this is what made him rather dizzy. No, the real confusion came when he looked down and found himself sitting in a rather large and luxurious bed.

He blinked.

Oddly enough, he was looking at a woman's body. He smirked a bit, admiring her breasts. She was rather well endowed.

He looked up, expecting to find her face, but, to his confusion, no one was there. Nathen furrowed his brow, looking back to the delicate body. He reached out a tentative hand- only to jerk back in shock.

His hands were certainly not soft and delicate. Well, maybe a little bit more soft and delicate then he'd like to admit, but no- not this much so.

And the boobs- those were, somehow, his?

He felt an odd wooziness overcome him as he realized he found himself attractive.

That is if this was truly him.

With a spurt of energy, Nathen decided it wasn't, and sprung from the bed, spinning around twice before rushing to the vanity.

He found himself laughing, for what would have taken him one long stride previously now took three.

He looked like a mess. Come to think of it, he felt like a mess. A trickle of blood framed his face, and he wiped it off. The source wasn't apparent, but he knew exactly where it had come from. His left temple. Or, more accurately, Her left temple. The left temple of Sarah Clarke-Jones.

It suddenly occurred to Nathen, this was just a dream. He cackled, running his hand through his now blonde hair. He wondered if the color was real, and spent a moment rummaging through the drawers of the vanity. While he found an extensive collection of makeup, it seemed the hair was authentic.

Thinking of makeup, he licked his lips, admiring the lipstick he had on. It was red, the type of color one might describe as "Juicy". 

After a quick intake of breath, he uttered the words "Hello beautiful", and, as if in response, he gave his reflection finger guns. His reflection returned the gesture, as reflections do.

He did a sort of twirl, admiring his newfound figure with a chuckle. It took him a while longer then he'd admit to realize he was wearing nothing more than panties and a bra.

So Nathen took four steps over to the closet, and began looking for something to wear.

He found himself digging through boring sweater after baggy sweatpants, searching for something less.. lazy looking. Eventually he found himself a pair of black skinny jeans, and a even darker black shirt, with an impressively low neckline and lace top.

The real struggle, Nathen found, was trying to walk in the heels he had picked out. After several wobbly steps and near accidents, he switched the shoes out for some simple boots. Although they didn't exactly suit his attempted "sexy allure", they were comfortable and he could walk in them.

It wasn't long before Nathen got bored of snooping in this womans room. He figured this dream was really, a waste of his time. So he pinched himself.

Nothing happened, of course.

So Nathen shrugged and left the room, looking around the bland hallway.

The scent of waffles greated his nose, and a small smile crept along his lips.

Nathen followed the scent into the kitchen, where Mr. Clarke-Jones was cooking waffles, and very narrowly avoiding burning them.

Matthew turned to greet Sarh "Oh! Good morning honey-oh wow- you look... wow." 

Nathen uttered a vague "Do I?"

This sent Matthew into a sputtering frenzy- his girl was never one to be vague or mysterious, but this smolder had him a mess. "Of course! I-I mean, you always do Sarah, but, I mean, wow, just, what's the occasion?"

Throughly amused, Nathen let out a soft chuckle "Oh, nothing, I just thought to dress nicely today. You're burning the waffles."

Matthew spun around, to find indeed, he had burned the waffles. He quickly shuffled them onto a plate, hoping to salvage them. It wasn't long before he gave up, and just dumped a mountain of syrup on each, before handing a plate to his wife.

Nathen took the plate, and slowly cut a piece, holding eye contact with Matthew. He found making the chubby man flustered was amusing.

The second he put the waffle in his mouth a new wave of confusion set in.

This waffle tasted real. Incredibly real. Shockingly real. He could taste every burnt crumb, feel every sticky glob of syrup, the metal of his fork clashing against his teeth. His eyes sunk to the plate. He could hear the very knife scraping against the waffle as he cut it.

And that was really not dreamlike.