“Am I getting another visitor?” I said. I wasn’t exactly in the position to be sarcastic, but I was.

“No, not a visitor,” Rosa answered. “We realize we’ve been way too kind with you. We even let you wear your street clothes. That’s going to stop. Right now. We’re taking your clothes and putting you in a uniform.”

“That’s not my uniform,” I said, pointing at the leggings.

“That *is* your uniform,” Della corrected.

“But those are women’s leggings,” I said, “and anyway there’s someone in them. Isn’t there?”

Seemingly in response to my question, the leggings… well, they “deflated” enough to be able to pass through the bars to my cell. Once inside, they filled out (beautifully). Once they walked over to me, I instinctively waved my arms around above them, making contact with nothing but air.

“Sit down on your bunk and remove your pants,” Della barked.

I balked. Then something grabbed my around my chest and dragged me back onto the sleeping bunk. My pants then undid themselves and slid down my legs.

“Raise your feet,” Della ordered. I didn’t, so something grabbed hold of the pants and pulled them. I reached down and grabbed the pants with both hands, winding up being dragged around the cell by whatever was pulling on my pants.

“You’ll just wear yourself out and then we’ll get them off you anyway, so you might as well go along,” Della said wearily.

I began to see her point. I stood up, waddled over to the bunk, sat down, and raised my feet, after which the pants removed themselves from me.

My mind began racing while I tried to figure out what they had in store for me. As I stewed, the leggings rose from their seated position on the bed and stood at the ready.

“Raise your feet again,” Della said. I did, and the leggings slipped over my feet and up my legs. It felt weird to see these filled-out leggings on me and know that I wasn’t the one filling them out. I’m sure that my expression must have given away what was going through my mind, because just then Della snickered and said, “If you think that’s something, watch this.”

Before they could show me what “this” was, I spoke up. “I know I’m supposed to be a prisoner and all,” I said, in a shaky voice, “but could you give me a minute to deal with this? This is all so weird…”

Rosa and Della huddled. I couldn’t hear anything they said, but I could see a bemused look on Della’s face. “OK,” she finally said, “we’ll give you a minute or two. But don’t try anything funny.”

I stood up and looked down at the “phantom” form filling the leggings I was wearing. It was just mind-boggling. I patted the leggings on the behind, half-expecting to feel it.

I didn’t. I don’t know why that surprised me, but it did. I mean, I hadn’t suddenly started feeling anything different, as if they had done anything to me. In this place, though, it seemed like anything was possible.

I sat down again on my bunk and started squeezing the leggings on both thighs, and again I didn’t feel a thing. I could see these things on me, but my legs registered nothing. But then, as if responding to my touch, the leggings stood up. That is, they stood me up.

Folks, let me tell you — the sensation of being moved by clothes I was wearing, but not in control of, and women’s clothes at that, was not pleasant. At least, not intellectually. A particularly male automatic response indicated otherwise, though, to which the leggings responded by gently squeezing my crotch. It actually felt like a hand was squeezing me from outside, though there was no one there. Which, of course, changed my mind only slightly about having to wear these clothes in the first place. I found myself wondering what would have befallen a woman in the same predicament.

“Are you finished yet?” Della snapped. “We have to get on with this.”

I sat down, sighed deeply, and told Della that I was ready for whatever. Then she and Rosa demonstrated what “whatever” was.

A long-sleeved sheer mesh shirt, with solid black chest panels pushed out, as if over feminine endowments, floated down the corridor outside my cell. Actually, “floated” isn’t quite right -- the shirt moved as if it was on an invisible woman walking down the hallway, its chest jiggling slightly with each emulated step.

“Please tell me you’re joking,” I pleaded.

Della and Rosa just laughed. Rosa assured me there was no joke.

The shirt was exciting to look at, but I wasn’t looking forward to wearing it. No matter what it was I was supposed to have done, I was firmly convinced that those curves are NOT supposed to be seen on a man. Never mind that I was already seeing feminine curves in the leggings I was being forced to wear.

The shirt just hovered there outside my cell for a few moments. I noticed something balled up in one of the breast pockets, but then again I would automatically notice that area.

The shirt squeezed between the bars and entered the cell. It held its sleeves behind it, as though clasping hands behind its back. Then its buttons began undoing themselves, one by one.

After the first couple of buttons came undone, I noticed a weird-looking panel sewn on the inside of the shirt collar. It looked almost like a brand label, except it appeared to be made of foil, and it had a short wire hanging from it. The other end of the wire was attached to a matching label-panel. “Why does this shirt have a wire and an electrode on it?” I asked.

“You’ll see,” was all the answer I got. “In the meantime, extend your left arm.” I did, and the shirt sleeve pulled up over it. As the right sleeve pulled up over my right arm, it became apparent what was in the shirt pocket. Gloves.

I looked down at this shirt, wondering what was next. As I did, the gloves removed themselves from the shirt pocket and slid themselves over my hands. They were sheer mesh, just like the shirt.

“Now button the shirt,” Della said. I knew they could make me do it if I didn’t willingly comply, but I just couldn’t do it. The result of buttoning this shirt would give an uninformed onlooker the impression that I was a man with a woman’s physique (or that I was a strange-looking woman), and even though I was pretty sure there were no innocent bystanders here, my male pride just would not comply.