Monday, November 10, 1997

Fiction: Wardrobe Machine Malfunction

NEW!  You no longer have to worry about buying clothes!  Our tele-clothing service will dress you automatically!  Download the latest fashions from our website, and PRESTO!  You will be wearing a complete outfit, without even having to move!

This was the ad for the newest teleporter gizmo.  You pick your outfit, step into the machine, and it tailors the latest styles for your precise measurements and zaps the new clothes right onto you.  I tried it out at the store.  You walk in there naked, and program whichever outfit you want to wear, and it just snugs onto you before you know what hit you.  It was an amazing idea: no more having to shop for hours in the stores, trying to find clothes that fit.  You could get the exact clothes you needed, just like that, in your exact size, and instantly.  It wasn't cheap, but it sure was convenient.

So, unable to ever find time to shop for new suits, I bought one.  I loved it.  Snazzy suits, thousands to choose from, and instantly on me.  I even got the ties I needed just like that.  The damned thing even gave you a good pair of underwear.  It was too perfect.  It had to screw up.

I had slowly abandoned all of my own clothing.  This was just far too convenient.  Even on weekends, I stepped directly into the machine after a shower, and presto, some bumming around clothes.  I had come to rely exclusively on this machine for my clothing needs. 

So one day, while browsing through the catalogue, I picked the first non-descript pair of jeans I could find.  Some of the clothes weren't presented on models.  I picked worn blue jeans and a white t-shirt, white sports socks and sneakers.  It zapped on my clothes, and I went about my business.  Somehow, something felt different.  The fit wasn't quite the same as it usually was.  It was somewhat tighter on the waist, and my briefs felt a little high cut.  I thought I might even have been wearing a thong.  But it wasn't in any way uncomfortable: quite the opposite.  I felt extra-snug, and a little exuberant.  I think they even made me a bit horny.

I ran a few errands in town, and when I got home, I needed to piss.  I unzipped my pants, and digging for my dick, felt silk.  Silk?  I thought.  Why do they zap me silk underwear?  I pissed without even thinking about it.  The thought of silk underwear almost made it impossible to piss.  It got me thinking of the kind of underwear that women wear, and what that kind of underwear covers.  Also, the silk felt really nice against my skin.

So I went on that day, even hornier than before, thinking of how sexy my girlie looks in her undies.  Ooooh, those curves, those beautiful round little curves!

I only noticed much later when I returned to the bathroom to take a dump that I was, in fact, not only wearing silk underwear, but women's silk underwear!  I was shattered.  The panties I had been wearing all day had lacy trim all around them.  There was no mistaking them for some kind of effeminate men's briefs.  They were women's panties.  But what could I do?  I had to take them off, and run around without underwear for the rest of the day.  I knew that it would be quite uncomfortable, but I had no choice.  I noticed the tag in my jeans as I pulled them back on: "Jeans for women."  But at least they weren't as noticeable.

Clearly, I had made a little mistake.  I chose women's clothing instead of men's.  I would have to make sure that the people responsible for my machine heard my complaint.  I strode to the phone, undies in hand, ready to give them Hell.

Just as I picked up the phone, I realized how stupid it would sound.  First, I would have to admit that I just wore women's clothing all day, and that was just not something that I was prepared to do.  They would know my name, and they would all laugh at me.  "You wore women's clothes all day, and you didn't even notice?" they would ask, disbelieving.  I turned livid with shame.  What an embarrassing mistake!  I could never complain.  It was my own stupidity that got me into this fix in the first place.  I would have to be careful in the future.

Months later, it happened again.  I felt a little snug in my clothes as soon as I felt them on me, and I suspected immediately what had happened.  I checked the programme on the machine:  "Men's casual weekend wear: worn-in jeans, briefs, sports socks, white t-shirt, sneakers."  That was exactly what I had been careful to order.  I peeked into my pants, and saw, to my horror, that I was indeed wearing women's underwear again.  I simply could not understand it.  Nor could I forgive it.  I mustered all my courage and called their toll-free hotline.

"Tele-clothing services, Amy speaking, how may I help you?"

"There's a problem with my machine."

"Yes sir?  What is the machine doing?"

"It's not giving me the clothes I ordered."

"Could you give me more detail?  Is it not fitting properly?"

"Yes, it fits perfectly."

"Is the colour wrong?  Is the style a bit different?"

"The colour's fine, but the style's not right at all."

"All right, sir, I'll need your account number to look into it more closely."

I read her my account number.

"Men's casual weekend wear: worn-in jeans, briefs, sports socks, white t-shirt, sneakers," she read.

"That's what I ordered."

"And what did you receive, sir?  Can you describe it to me?"

"It gave me the wrong kind of underwear."

"It didn't give you briefs?"


"What did it give you, sir?"

"It gave me, uh, well. . ."


"It's kind of embarrassing."

"We can't solve the problem unless you tell us exactly what it is, sir."

"Well, it gave me, uh, women's underwear."  My shame had taken the fight right out of me.

"Women's underwear?  Are you sure, sir?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"Can you read me the UPC code, sir?  Maybe they're just a particular style of men's bikini briefs."

"They're definitely not men's briefs."

"The UPC code, sir?"

I blushed as I undid the top button of my pants to get a look at the panties, suddenly realizing that I was still wearing them.  "Hold on a minute, I can't see the tag."

"It should be on the back, sir."

"Hold on.  I'll have to take them off."

I put down the receiver and slid out of my pants and undies.  I found the tag: "40920-83831," I read.  I heard her tapping at a keyboard and humming as she waited for the information to come up on her screen.

"Hmmmm. . . it seems that you have indeed received women's underwear, sir."  I could hear her giggling a bit.

"What's so funny," I thundered.

"You've been wearing women's underwear, sir.  I'm sorry, I don't mean to laugh, it's just that--"

"Don't give me that!" I screamed.  "I want a full refund and a new pair of underwear!  And I want it now!"

"Yes sir.  Right away sir.  Just re-order the underwear that you want, and we'll zap it right onto you.  We truly regret the error."

I hung up the phone and stormed back into the machine.  They sent me my proper underwear, and I went on with my day.

The very next day, it started getting serious.  I ordered bumming clothes again, but I didn't get anything even close to what I ordered.  This time it gave me a long dress.  Underneath, I had a matching set of panties and bra.  I was both furious and acutely ashamed.

"Your orders are coming in wrong!" I thundered over the telephone.

"What do you mean sir?"

"I'm getting things that I can't wear!"

"What's wrong with the clothing, sir?"

"It's not what I ordered."

"I'm sorry sir, but it seems that you've had this problem before?"


"I think we'll have to send someone over to service your machine, sir.  When is a good time for you?"

I set up the appointment for later that day.  Only after I hung up did I realize that I was still wearing a dress.  I couldn't get through again all day.  I tried to change into something more comfortable in the machine, but it was disconnected.  "Warning," it read, "disconnected because of network problems.  Please wait for repair crew."  I was trapped in a dress, waiting for people to come and fix my machine.

I expected men to show up.  But it was a pair of women.  Men would have laughed it off.  Women were cruel and merciless.   They didn't have to laugh.  Their looks said it all.  It was the most embarrassing moment of my life: wearing women's clothes against my will in front of other women.  Still, it was better than being totally naked.

I waited for them to leave before I got changed.  I was getting sort of used to wearing a dress.  It was pretty damned comfortable, I had to admit.  But I also had to admit that it was strictly for girls.  I wouldn't be caught dead wearing a dress again. 

I pushed the buttons, and waited for my proper clothes to zap on.  Imagine my anger when I stepped out of there wearing a one-piece women's swimsuit.  It was so snug upon my body that I felt trapped inside it.  I had never worn anything like it before.  It was so high-cut above the thigh, and so smooth.  I felt more than a bit ridiculous.  I tried again, for the same outfit.  This time, I ended up in a long black skirt, a coloured mini-t black stockings and high heels.  I felt the skirt brush against my legs as I stumbled out again.  I couldn't believe it.  I had to try again.  And again.  Each time I wore another feminine garment.  Nothing out of the batch was even remotely masculine.  I was conducting a fashion show of women's clothes.  I must have tried on thirty different outfits.  I was less and less surprised each time.  I was getting more and more embarrassed.  I could not get out of women's clothing.  I couldn't call back for more repairs.  I was trapped.  I even tried ordering women's clothing, hoping to get men's clothing in return.  I got exactly what I ordered.

I could do no more.  Here I was trapped in women's clothes.  Nothing I did would get me anything else.  I was being forced to dress like a girl.  But I had to keep trying.  Perhaps if I tried just underwear again it would work.

I ordered boxers, and ended up in black lace panties and a matching bra.  I ordered matching silk panties and a bra, and got exactly what I ordered. 

I was beginning to have a bit of fun with this.  I could only laugh at my misfortune.  I ordered a bathing suit again, and got it.  It was as interesting to wear as before.  I walked around a bit in it, and found it very arousing to have my dick so gently and softly squeezed.  I traced the trim with my hands as I would have had the bathing suit been on a girl.  I was starting to ham around, acting like a girl.  I was getting curious.  I wanted to try everything that I had never worn before.  I ordered a bikini.  It was fabulously sexy.  I ordered all sorts of lingerie.  I picked out a garter belt and silk stockings. 

Finally, I ordered the sexiest lingerie I could find, but received plain old boxers instead.  I was crestfallen.  Then I realized that this was what I wanted all along.  I had spent the whole day trying on women's clothes, and had actually liked it.  I swore to never fall into that again.

The next morning, getting ready for work, the machine zapped me again.  I gasped in horror again as I found myself wearing a silk teddy and stockings.  Worse, the machine didn't let me go.  I was strapped in somehow, struggling to get out.  All I could move were my hips.  I struggled to get out of the machine and the lingerie, but could not.  Each gyration of my hips produced an incredible amount of pleasure.  I tried to fight it, but it would not let up.  I dropped to the floor when it released me, just before I climaxed.  All crumpled on the floor, I could feel my sexy stockings caressing my legs.  I struggled to regain my composure, and fought the urge to finish myself off.  I managed to control myself, but could not bring myself to remove the lingerie.  I felt so sexy in it.  The suit I had ordered fell out of the machine somehow.  I looked at it and put it on to go to work.  But I still wore the lingerie underneath, and could barely concentrate all day because of what I had on under my clothes.

I came to look forward to wearing women's clothes.  I prepared myself every day for it, and became increasingly satisfied.  I tried on everything.  I wanted to wear everything feminine in that catalogue.  I began to shave my legs.  Then the rest of my body.  I wore only women's underwear under my clothes from then on. 

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