Tammy and I collected a modest pile of jeans in a few different sizes, and I made for the changing rooms to see what actually fit - but she stopped me. "Hold up there, Stu, we're not done yet. Still need to decide what to do for you up top."

"Huh?" I said, frowning. "I thought we were gonna hack up some of my shirts with a sewing kit or whatever." I wasn't thrilled about it, but we could use the ones I wasn't too attached to, and it beat the alternative...

She shook her head. "Uh, no," she said. "Under the shirts."

"Um, wait," I said, realizing what she was getting at. "I...don't actually need anything like that...?"

Emma came over to me, casually reaching down to turn her head in my direction as she did, and put a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Hate to break it to you," she said, "but...you kinda do."

Tammy nodded, looking just a bit embarrassed for my sake. "Stu, we all saw how you're, uh, built this morning. You don't need support, but your, uh, 'assets' are fairly detailed, and I'm gonna guess you probably don't want everyone on campus taking notice of that."

Emma was too far from herself to reach over and give a nod, so she gave my shoulder an affirmative squeeze. "I mean, you're only getting away with it now because that top is on the starchy side. If you're really gonna wear those same old worn-out T-shirts...sure, they're not tight-fitting, but without a bra or camisole they're gonna drape in a pretty revealing way. Especially if that 'skin' causes static cling."

I squirmed, feeling myself rev up, my body quivering as I wanted to blush and couldn't. There was no reason for this to feel any more awkward than our whole situation did, but I couldn't help it...

Tammy gave me a sympathetic look. "Hey, if you're uncomfortable with anything...girlier, we can just get some plain stretch camis. You don't need anything more, just something for contour, and they're way less fancy than even what you had on last night."

"It's, uh..." I tried to suppress a grimace. "It's just...the principle of the thing, I guess."

She shrugged. "Yeah, I guess - but those're basically your options. You can go without any layering, but you're gonna attract more attention that way, which you said you don't want."

The Muzak switched to something generically mellow and soothing, but it didn't help matters any - there were no good options here. I wasn't a cross-dresser, and I wasn't thrilled with the idea of wearing women's underwear; on the other hand, I really didn't want to draw more attention like this than I would just being like this. Tammy and Emma probably knew what they were talking about, but...could I really...?

I huffed in irritation (another odd respiratory tic, come think) and felt even more irritated at the sound: something like the chuffing of a steam locomotive raised to a pitch about halfway to "whistling teakettle," filtered through the same shimmering metallic something-or-other as my new speaking voice. As if this wasn't all ridiculous enough...

Get it together, I told myself. Are you really that insecure? This is a temporary necessity, that's all - just until we can use the machine again. But no matter how much sense it made, no matter how I tried to rationalize it to myself, it still felt weird and awkward to think about. If only dealing with issues was as simple as talking myself into believing what I chose... Still, there wasn't much choice. "Fine," I sighed. "Let's just get this over with..."

Tammy nodded. "Of course. C'mon, Em."

Emma shook her head. "Actually, I was gonna go look for some button-up tops, if you're cool. Not much I can add to that discussion."

The subtext was clear: she'd been hoping to get me in something fancier than what Tammy had suggested, and she'd lost interest once that was off the table. I tried not to get irritated with her; at least she wasn't nagging. "Sure," I said, "that's fine. We'll meet you up front?"

She nodded and went her own way. Tammy led me to the other side of the women's section, through an unsettling forest of disembodied mannequin torsos modeling various tops, past the displays with rows of different bras, and back to the aisle where they kept all the plain, no-frills stuff. She spent a minute or two browsing before gathering up a few different pieces and turning to me.

"Okay," she said. "You can try these on, then we'll come back here and grab a few of whichever fits best. I can guesstimate for socks and underwear, but these we want to check."

Reluctantly, I followed her to the changing room, took the clothes, and went in. "I'm gonna go look for sewing stuff while you're in there," Tammy called from outside. "Back in a few. Hey, are you okay with snaps?"

"Huh?"

"You know, snap fasteners - for the shirts. I can't do buttonholes without a machine, and I hate those iron-on zipper things. Plus, they'll help hold the hems in place."

"Uh, that's fine, I guess," I answered. I only half-understood, but I really didn't care as long as I could keep wearing relatively normal clothes.

She left, and I set the underwear aside; it still felt awkward, and I wanted to try the jeans on first. I painstakingly peeled off the borrowed pair; they really were unreasonably tight, though the friction from my felt "skin" didn't help. I tried a couple pairs before finding the most comfortable - fairly loose-fit but not in danger of slipping, and not too figure-hugging. Luckily, Tammy had found a couple more in the same size; that should do it for me. After all, if I couldn't sweat, I wouldn't need to change them too often.

Which left the underwear. With a sigh, I unbuttoned my borrowed shirt and stood before myself in the mirror again. The light of day didn't make it any less strange, but without that initial panic, I only felt weird and unsettled looking at the thing that was me now, rather than totally overwhelmed. I thought back to the dismembered mannequins. Tammy was right; I was detailed enough that, had I passed myself on the street in a faded, worn-thin T-shirt, I definitely would've noticed, nipples or no.

I took one of the camisoles she'd picked out and held it up gingerly. It was simpler than what I'd gotten in the change: just a sort of sleeveless undershirt in a stretchy fabric, really not too different from some exercise jerseys. It was cut short; she must've gone with this to work around my key. The fact that it only went to the midriff and the thin little straps over the shoulders were about the most defineably "feminine" things about it. I guess I can work with this, I told myself, if I have to.

Hesitantly, I slipped it over my head and pulled it down into place. Nope, it was too small. From what Tammy and Emma had said, it was probably supposed to fit snugly, but this was noticeably tight around my ribcage (well, the part of my torso shaped like one) and my "breasts," modest though they were. I discarded that one. The next fit much better - just snug, not uncomfortable. It worked alright with my key, too; it bunched up a little over the top of the shaft, but it wasn't too noticeable.

I took a look in the mirror and saw what they meant - it stretched over my bust and smoothed out the details into a simpler shape that betrayed less of the underlying anatomy. Having a bust in the first place was still a problem, and this didn't hide the fact, but at least I'd draw less attention this way. For now, though, I took it off and set it aside.

The last one was bigger, so I didn't bother with it. Dressing in my borrowed clothes again, I exited to find Tammy waiting for me. The fabric/crafts section wasn't that far away, but I was still impressed that she was back already; she could really move, when she needed to. "Hey," she said, her caudal fin flipping idly back and forth, "any luck?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm good on pants now, and, uh, this one seems like the right size."

"Great," she said, smiling. "We'll go get a few more of those, and put the other stuff back."

"Well, I probably shouldn't need any more," I said. "Emma was right, I'm not gonna be sweating or anything as long as I'm like this."

She shrugged. "Okay, but I figured we could get a couple full-length ones and cut them up the back, in case you weren't comfortable with only having a T-shirt over the midriff. And you're still gonna need some other colors."

"I don't really care how it looks," I said. "It's not like anyone else is gonna see it."

Tammy laughed. "It's not for showing off, Stu, it's for not showing off. Say you wear a dark bra or cami under a white top - it's gonna show through, especially if we're talking about some of your shirts. So you want a couple different colors, to minimize that."

I shrugged in resignation. She was probably right, but I just wanted this whole thing to be over already. We put the other stuff back and grabbed a few of the right-size camisoles, long and short. While we were back in the no-frills aisle, Tammy pointed out another item on the shelves. "Figured those might suit you a little better than the panties," she said.

It was something that I was only vaguely aware existed: women's underwear that wasn't panties or thongs. This was...again, not something that changed much about my situation, but another little scrap of quasi-normality in the midst of the insanity. With a grateful nod, I grabbed a pack of simple, boring solid-color boxer-briefs, ran them by Tammy to check the size, and headed out to the registers.