Following my outfit’s suggestion, I rolled past my floating drawers, which were now pressing against the sleepsuit's invisible fingers, and got up. I expected to be stopped by an invisible hand or two before I reached the bathroom, but it didn’t happen. There were clean towels and washcloths on the shelf above the clothing rack opposite the bathroom, but just to be sure I checked inside the bathroom. There was another full set of towels and things in there. How many people were they preparing for, anyway?

I walked into the bathroom, then by instinct I turned around to get something for my feet after the shower. But Pinkie was way ahead of me -- when I turned around, there was a bottle of body wash, a pair of slippers, and a small zippered shaving kit bag hovering into the bathroom. 

“Wow,” I said, “you don’t miss a trick.” The bag lowered itself beside the sink, as the shower turned on and adjusted the temperature of the water. I reached for a washcloth before stepping into the shower, but as soon as I did, an unseen hand grabbed each of my wrists and held them by my sides. Not strictly at attention, but enough to know who was in charge.

The bodywash and a washcloth hovered past me into the shower, after which the hands holding my wrists began pulling me toward the shower. The washcloth lathered up and began washing me by itself. There was no sensation of a hand moving it around, it really was washing me on its own. Neither was the water bouncing off an unseen body in the shower with me.

But Pinkie made herself felt, as unseen lips caught mine and began hungrily kissing mine. Pretty soon the hands holding my wrists let go as arms wrapped around my neck. I didn’t feel an entire body there with me, though; the washcloth and body wash continued with their task of washing me unhindered by the form kissing me. I remember thinking, If this is a hint of what Sheila can do, this is going to be a lot of fun.

I expected an entire body to soon be there with me in the shower, but there was never more than the lips kissing me and the arms around my neck. Even when the washcloth reached my nether regions, it only slowed down a bit, lingering at its task but not taking the opportunity to play. I was surprised and even a little disappointed, but my outfit had already reminded me, I had some necessary business to take care of with Sheila later.

* * * * *

After being showered (doesn't sound right) and shaved, I was led from the shower by the unseen hands, as hovering towels began drying me off. Just like the washcloth, these towels didn't give the impression of being moved by invisible hands, but moved around by themselves, even as invisible arms wrapped around my sides in an affectionate embrace. 

Once that was done, a bottle of lotion rose into the air, squeezing its contents into hands unseen except for the lotion cupped in their fingers and palms. Lotion was squeezed into at least six hands, which set about making sure that every inch of my skin from the neck down was properly moisturized. Of course, being male, my involuntary reaction to all this invisible attention… stood out, leading the closest hand to tend to the protruding part, lovingly gripping and squeezing much more than was needed to massage in some lotion. I responded by adding more lotion…

* * * * *

After the shower and with all the personal attention I was getting, I felt like luxuriating in the room for a while. Sure, it was “just” a motel room, but it was plainly not the abandoned relic I thought it was when we first rode here. I couldn’t help but wonder what Pinkie and the others had in store for me next.

Just outside the bathroom there was a floating bathrobe heading my way. Unseen hands held me in place as the bathrobe moved behind me and slid itself over my outstretched arms. This was a surprise and… a little awkward, since I was still naked otherwise.

“Um, shouldn't there be some underwear?” I said. An invisible finger pressed against my lips, as an equally unseen hand wrapped around my “handle” and gently pulled me forward into the room. 

My drawers, still fully tented, hovered up to me. I expected another episode like the one that preceded the shower, but they just turned around and lowered themselves for me to step into.

“You’re not gonna try anything funny, are you?” I asked, looking down at the drawers. They shook back and forth, a clear “no.” I sighed and stepped in, watching as they rose up my legs, stretching their waistband to fit over my own erection, which still had an invisible hand wrapped around it. The hand didn’t budge as the drawers settled into position. There was no visible evidence that there was a hand gripping me but I still felt it.

“Claiming your territory?” I asked jokingly. The hand actually slid up and down, again with the drawers showing no visible sign of a hand inside them. I was joking, not expecting any response. “So what's Sheila gonna have to say about that?” I asked.

“You still have a lot to learn about the way we work,” replied an unfamiliar female voice. It came from my empty outfit, which was no longer shaped like an invisible version of me. The voice was quite similar to Sheila’s, but the shape in my clothes was definitely different from Sheila’s -- bigger and rounder in the chest and butt. 

My eyes were immediately drawn to the boob-shapes stretching out what I had already started thinking of as my former shirt. The pants were similarly filled out in the shape of hips they weren’t designed to be filled with, as the outfit strutted toward me.

“OK, so when did this happen?” I said, motioning toward the outfit, which stopped just beyond my reach, with invisible hands against its wide hips.

“When did what happen, honey?” it responded. Honey?!  I just pushed on for the moment. 

“When did you decide you had to look like this?” I said, never taking my eyes off my shirt’s new chest. Though there was no body inside it, the shirt’s chest actually expanded as the outfit’s voice sighed. I was sure that was done only because I was staring so hard.

“I decided I was going to look like this as soon as I was able to move around on my own,” the voice said. “I look like this now because… well, why not, really?”

“I can think of a few reasons, actually,” I said, “but the main one right now is that I need clothes to wear for the ride back.” Not that I was sure I wanted to wear clothes that could decide to fill up with air and walk around, let alone look like the opposite sex. But I needed clothes…

“Have you forgotten what you rode here in?” was the answer, as I heard movement behind me. Both the blue riding outfit I wore on the ride over, as well as Pinkie’s pink riding outfit, had removed themselves from their hangers and were inflating themselves to the shapes they had last been filled out to. Once they were inflated, the outfits approached each other, wrapping their sleeves around each other as they drew in for a kiss. I could see the indentations from unseen fingers at the end of the blue outfit’s sleeves as it grabbed at the shiny pink outfit’s butt.

“That’s nice,” said my old outfit, in a dreamy voice. “Gives me a couple of ideas, actually.”

“Does it?” I said, turning to look at the outfit again. My eyes locked on the shirt’s chest again, but then I looked at the shirt’s empty collar, and then finally at the empty space above the collar, at my own eye level, where there would be a face if there had been an actual body in this shirt. 

Sure, the outfit was filled to a fuller shape than Sheila’s, but with all these moving clothes around, and Sheila being my introduction to all this, I couldn’t help wondering if maybe, just maybe, I was being punked. I had to ask.

Looking at the label inside the shirt’s collar, I said, “Are you Sheila?”

“Am I Sheila?” the voice replied with a chuckle. I saw the shirt’s chest move with the chuckle, but I resisted the temptation to look down. I needed to concentrate.

“What I am is kinda complicated, actually,” the voice continued. “But shortest and most accurate answer, no.”

“OK,” I continued. “But is Sheila in the room?”

“Believe it or not, that one’s even more complicated,” the voice said. “But again, shortest answer is no.” The voice laughed outright this time, and I looked right at its chest as it did. 

“What’s so funny?” I asked.

“I knew you were gonna try to tease info out of me almost from the moment you first saw me in Melissa’s office,” the voice said. “I did tell Melissa a thing or two, just to ease her superstitious mind.”

“You told Melissa what you are but won’t tell --?” I said. I stopped myself, because I was about to claim ownership, when this outfit, with all its curves, had clearly thrown off my ownership, if clothing can do that.

“Calm down,” the voice said, as the outfit drew closer. “I doubt she believed a word I said. She probably thinks Sheila and I were part of some elaborate trick. But enough about her. When I decided I was gonna look like this at some point, I had also decided on something else I was gonna do, something I couldn’t do as an inert shirt.”

Before I could ask what that was, the outfit moved in smoothly for a kiss, pressing its chest against me and wrapping its sleeves around me. The hand in my drawers was long gone.

I expected that I would just be met with invisible lips, but almost immediately it became clear (ha!) that this was a full invisible face. A tongue pressed against my lips; I parted my lips and pressed my own tongue against the invisible one. As the kiss continued, the voice, which unsurprisingly didn’t depend on the lips or tongue, said softly, “Betcha never thought you’d be doing this with anything that came from your closet.”

I sure didn’t, but unlike the shirt, I’d have to break the kiss to answer. It could wait…

* * * * *

“So what are you, actually?” I said.

“Your old shirt, paired with your old pants,” the voice responded, moving its sleeves under its boobs to lift them with unseen hands. “Don’t you recognize me?”

“You just said that what you are is complicated,” I said. "And if you're just my old shirt, how are you able to speak? How are you able to kiss me? How are you filled out like this? I get the impression that you're actually a solid woman who is somehow invisible… though I don't know how to explain that either."

“What I am is your old shirt,” the voice insisted. "Come see for yourself." The shirt raised its sleeves in the air, and then the shirt's bottom hem pulled itself out of the pants and rolled up a bit, looking like it was being done by invisible hands.

I reached for where I expected to find an invisible midriff, but my hands met only empty space. I hummed, waving my hands around inside the shirt, and then inside the pants, again finding just space.

"See?" the voice said. "Nothing in there." But then I reached down into the pants and rubbed against the seam between the leg openings, which I'd never be able to do with a solid body inside the pants.

"Ooo-ooh!" the outfit squealed, writhing in obvious pleasure, though it was just as obvious that there was no body in these clothes -- somehow the clothes themselves made up a body.

"But… if you're just my old clothes," I said, "how are you able to shape yourself like this?"

“I’m really not sure how I'm able to do any of this," the voice said. "Probably something to do with chemicals and DNA and radiation or some other mundane thing that was suddenly not so mundane.”

I cut in. “You mean, you don’t know?”

“Honestly, no, I don’t,” the voice said, as the shirt gave an emphatic shrug, setting off a chest jiggle. 

"And that doesn't… bother you?" I said.

"Why should it?" the outfit said. "I mean, do you know why a specific egg and sperm combo came together to make you, instead of someone else?"

"Never given it a thought," I admitted.

"Well, there you go," the voice said. "I mean, I like all this. Before I could only do whatever you did while you wore me. Now I can go where I want when I want, do what I want when I want, and even make myself look like this if I want." The outfit punctuated "this" by raising its sleeves to its fabric breasts, pressing invisible fingers against them and squeezing.

“But… any of my other clothes could come to life at any moment?” I said, as if my old shirt had answers about other clothes that it -- well, that she couldn’t or wouldn’t provide about herself.

“Possible, I suppose,” the voice said, with another enthusiastic shrug, “but I don’t think you have to worry about going home and finding an empty closet or anything.”

“Now why’d you have to go and put that idea in my head?” I said, a little agitated.

The outfit burst out laughing, and it was great to see all those curves in motion. But once she had composed herself, she said, “Look, this is fun, but really, we have to get you back to Sheila. I’ll still be around, so there will be plenty of chances for us to… catch up.”

“You’re not jealous?” I said, looking again where eyes would be if she were more than just filled-out clothes.

“You would expect me to be, right?” she said. “I was there first, after all, but I chose to leave your place to seek out Melissa. It’s no one’s fault that nothing developed there…”

“What did happen with you two, anyway?” I said.

“Nothing, really,” she said. “I mean, she’s a cute girl, but she never stops talking!” My sentiments exactly.

"Do I get to have some breakfast before we leave?" I said.

"I think the girls have breakfast ready for you when we meet up," the outfit said. "So let's get you dressed."

A dresser drawer opened, and a folded black t-shirt and black drawers rose from it. The drawers lowered for me to step into them, then pulled themselves up my legs. I had a hunch that my outfit, which was watching, was not responsible for it. I had to ask. 

Looking at the shirt's chest, I asked, "Are you doing this?" 

She answered, "Are you asking me or my tits?"

"Huh?" was the only coherent reply I could come up with, knowing, or believing at least, that there was no body filling out my shirt. She convulsed with laughter, and again all the movement of those nonexistent boobs was entrancing. 

Once she composed herself she answered, "No, it's not me."

"Is it you, Pinkie?" I continued, looking at the hovering and still-limp t-shirt. The response was a quick and barely audible peck on my left cheek from unseen lips. But at that same moment an equally invisible tongue licked behind my right ear.

"Wow," my outfit said, with a dreamy tone to her voice. Apparently she could sanse Pinkie's actions in a way I couldn't. "She really--" she started, then moved her sleeve as if to cover her mouth.

"What's wrong?" I said, raising my arms for my shirt to slide on.

"I was about to share info that's not mine to tell," she said, as my shirt slid down over me. The unseen hands pulling the shirt down moved upward against the shirt, resolving into arms that wrapped around me and pulled me into a real kiss.

My outfit sighed, apparently in response to my face compressed against nothing, then said, "We'd better hurry up and get you to Sheila, before I spill her beans and get myself in trouble."

"Spill her beans?" I said. "How can you spell her beans? Or did she tell you stuff about herself that she hasn't told me yet?"

"Um, yeah, about that," my outfit said, a bit sheepishly. " I, um, spent the night with her last night and I… learned some things."

"You… spent the night?" I said, not getting it. I mean, they're clothes, right? How could they spend the night with each other? What could they do?

"Yeah, we spent the night together," my outfit said, "just like you spent the night here with Pinkie. It's different for us than it is for you solids, but yeah we spent the night. We figured we had the opportunity, and we both remembered Melissa's suggestion…" she trailed off.

"And I guess if I want to know anymore, I'll have to talk to Sheila right?" I said.

"That's right," she said. "So let's get going."

I turned to Pinkie's riding suit, which was doing a little big behind me. The suit stopped dancing and waved both its glove-hands at me.

"Good morning," I said, looking at the suit's empty collar, "though it feels weird saying that to you when you've been with me almost from the second I woke up."

My outfit chuckled. "That was Pinkie," she said. 

"And this is not Pinkie?" I said, motioning toward the pink suit.

"Yes and no," my outfit answered, as the suit held both gloves out in front of it, palms down, and moved both gloves in a kind of topsy-turvy motion, what Fred Sanford used to describe as "shaky."

"But before you ask any more questions," my outfit said, " we need to get you dressed and back with Sheila.

"OK," I said, "so what do you have for me next, not-Pinkie?" The pink outfit put its gloves on its hips as the blue riding suit, the one I'd worn the day before, motioned toward itself.

"I guess that makes sense," I said, looking at the blue suit, "since I wore you here, and the only other clothes I have here look like this now." I turned and motioned at my old outfit.

She moved her sleeves to put invisible hands on her own hips. "And what's wrong with looking like this?" she said. Of course with no face to look at, I could only tell if she was really upset by her voice, which didn't really sound angry.

I took a chance. "Absolutely nothing," I said, putting an arm around her waist while palming her fabric chest with my other hand. "I just never expected my clothes to end up shaped like this without anyone wearing them, that's all. Or with someone wearing them, for that matter."

"For your infor-mation," my outfit said, "I'm wearing myself, thank you very much. Now let go of me and finish getting dressed. And there’s been a change of plans. I rode here on Abs’ bike, but the limo followed me over. Abs talked Sheila into letting the two suits have the day to themselves. So we’re going back in the limo.”

The pink outfit clapped its gloves together, then grabbed one of the blue outfit’s gloves and squeezed it. I looked quizzically at them, then at my outfit. She chuckled. “You';; hear that story when we meet up with the others.”

Just then there was a knock on the door, though it unlocked and opened on its own. On the other side was the outfit that I met in the limo the day before -- Sheila’s black mesh shirt made to look like an almost-topless woman was wearing it with nothing under it, along with the black leggings and mesh gloves. The outfit held up a sleeve, with the matching glove moving just past the end of the sleeve, tapping its wrist with the other glove. Funny that empty clothing would use the same gestures as humans to say “time’s a-wastin’.”

“OK, OK,” my outfit said. “I know we’re running behind. We all got a little… caught up. Our guy here still has to get dressed, and then we’ll be ready..”

The mesh shirt and leggings strode past me and my old outfit to the blue riding suit, unzipping the jacket and pulling out a folded pair of blue jeans and a blue-patterned polo shirt. It handed the clothing to me, then crossed its sleeves below its chest. Not a word was spoken, but the message was very clear: “Hurry up.”

I don’t know what their hurry was, other than whatever timetable Sheila had set up, but I was beginning to get hungry. I quickly pulled on the shirt and jeans, noticing as I did that Pinkie’s duffel bag made quick work of hovering around the room collecting the various clothing items and gadgets that were lying around.

Once everything was packed away, I gestured toward the door. “Lead the way,” I said, wanting everything in front of me to enhance the view. I assumed everything had been packed away but I soon heard the slapping sounds of feet in flip-flops. I turned, but the flip-flops I saw behind me had no feet in them, at least not visible ones. The bag of toiletries hovered above the flip-flops as they approached me. A hand slapped my behind as another one nudged my back.

Wow. When even indulgent Pinkie is eager to get going, it’s time to go.

Once we got outside, I looked my outfit up and down, and asked, "Did Sheila know you were doing this while you were here?"

"I didn't know I was gonna do this now," she said with a laugh. "But I knew I was gonna do it soon, and figured, 'why not now?' "

"I wonder how she's gonna react," I said, as Pinkie's duffel bag hovered into the open front passenger door of the waiting limo. The empty suits, though, quickly mounted their bikes, waved their goodbyes, and took off for who knows where.

"I guess we're about to find out," she said. But Pinkie seemed to be OK with it. I figured that had to mean something…

"So you're not switching back for the ride?" I said.

"Nope," she said, putting her sleeves at the bottom of the swell of her breasts and lifting them with invisible hands. "This is for good."