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I dug into the stack of clothes I had excavated from their wooden tombin the closet. There was a leotard I ignored before. It was a light-grey cotton one with shoulder straps starting short above the waist anda white stitched-on belt. I slipped into it, then fitted the stirrupsand donned the sweatbands around my wrists. I stood up and let a handglide over the different clothes. The silky texture of the spandexcatsuit, the smooth, soft cotton of the leotard covered my hairy skinand felt alien to my touch. It was kind of sensory overload. My skintingled to my own touch as if done by someone else, while my handsreported they'd touched a female body back to my brain. Quite confusingand intriguing at the same time.I stepped in front of the mirror once more and was shocked. Gone wasthe pink sausage. Leotard and accessories accentuated some parts whilehid others and most of all took away the dominance of pink. Not that Ireally got a figure right there, but it somehow reminded me more ofgirls. He stopped briefly at the mirror of her vanity. His hair was still mostly dark, but had a lot more silver in it now. Still, he didn't look his fifty years either. A few extra wrinkles here and there, a semi-crooked nose from his time in the service. He'd never have a flat stomach again, but he didn't have a beer-belly either. All in all, Nick was still a reasonably good-looking guy.Nick pulled his dirty tee shirt over his head, walking towards the clothes hamper. He glanced out their bedroom window, and froze.Carol Abbot, their next door neighbor and one of Darlene's very good friends lay outside in her backyard on one of her lawn chairs. Though ten years younger than Darlene, the two of them had taken to one another almost immediately the day Carol and her husband Greg had moved in. That was a little over a year ago now. What caused Nick to stop dead in his tracks wasn't the fact that she was laying out, she did that often. He'd gotten used to seeing her running around half the time.
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