Working Out Issues

"I don't think this is gonna fit," I winced.

I pulled off the pair of pants I was trying on and double-checked the sizing on the tag. Damn it. I really thought these ones were gonna work.

Luckily there was a department store just down the block from our apartment building. I had actually been there pretty recently, just to buy my new hygiene and styling stuff. But that time, I had been wearing a sports bra under my baggy shirt. This time, I was actually gonna have to try on clothes, and I didn't want anyone accidentally catching a glimpse of that! So I was standing in the men's section, with my braided hair tucked under a beanie, just wearing an oversized t-shirt and an old pair of sweatpants with the drawstring tied extra tight. Underneath I was wearing a plain black pair of sports briefs, which were oddly comforting, even with my dick still tucked back. I had just gotten used to how it felt, I guess. I was also wearing the pair of women's sneakers I had borrowed from Adam's box when I realised I had actually lost weight in my feet. But they looked pretty unisex, so I wasn't worried about it.

What I was worried about was the fact that I no longer knew what size pants I wore. Obviously my old size was now way too big. But I had only been wearing women's leggings for a while now, so men's sizes were a little confusing. Somehow every pair of pants I tried on was either super baggy, or way too tight on my butt. Sure, there were a couple that kinda fit, but then I had to belt up the waist really tight, and the legs looked super wide. They were nowhere near as flattering as my leggings, and it was kind of disheartening.

The other problem was, after ten minutes wandering around trying on different pants, my back was starting to get sore. Without the support of a sports bra, I could really feel the weight of my chest. I sighed and put another pair of pants on the counter outside the changing room. The middle-aged lady at the counter nodded sympathetically.

"Having trouble finding the right size, love?" she asked. She had really short hair, but she had spiked it up with gel, kind of like a more punk Ellen. It looked pretty good. The nametag on her shirt said "Ashanti", which didn't really suit her.

"Yeah, I've been losing weight recently, which I thought was good, but now it seems like nothing fits," I said.

"Ah, that bites," she shrugged, "You should be talking to the new girl, she goes on and on about the right sort of clothes to wear for weight loss. Me, I say just wear what makes you feel good. Congratulations on getting in shape, though!"

"Oh, I've got a long way to go, obviously," I said. She shrugged again and hung the pants back on the rack. "Um, you don't happen to know if there are any styles of pants that would have, like, a narrow waist, then wide hips, and then narrow legs?"

She clucked her tongue, "I could maybe help you out if it was women's clothes, but menswear isn't really my specialty I'm afraid. Hey, look, I was thinking of ducking out for a smoke, do you mind if I just leave you unattended for a few? You seem trustworthy."

"Oh, uh, sure," I laughed. I reached back to rub my aching back for a moment as I watched Punky-Ellen-Ashanti sneak out the Employee's Only door. The way she mentioned women's clothes kind of gave me an idea. I mean, I knew my size in leggings, was it really crazy to just buy a couple pairs of women's pants? Slacks and jeans were really just the same for either gender, anyway. It was just, like, the difference between skinny jeans and normal ones.

With my mind made up I quickly crossed into the women's section, grabbed a couple pairs of totally normal looking pants, and after a brief hesitation, a plain white work blouse as well. And a plain black t-shirt for the bar. Surprise, surprise, they totally fit. I had just changed back into my sweats and folded up my new clothes for the self check out, when I stepped out of the changing room and came face to face with another saleswoman.

"Hey! Are you buying those? Do you need help checking out? Do you want any other style options?" she gushed. Instinctively I jerked backwards, clutching my new clothes to my chest. She followed me back into the stall, "You didn't leave anything here did you? The changing rooms aren't meant to be unattended. Was Lucy at the counter? She always sneaks off. Are you looking for fall outfits? With your complexion I would definitely recommend navy or grey. Or you could go with lighter colours in the red and orange family to bring out your peachy undertones. Do you live in the area? I haven't seen you here much. Is this your first time?"

She looked at me expectantly, as if I was supposed to know that after eight questions was obviously the natural point in the conversation for me to start talking.

"Uh, I'm actually good, thank you..." my eyes flickered down. She wasn't wearing a nametag, but she was holding one in her hand, "...Lucy."

"Oh, this isn't mine," she said, waving the nametag around. She had her long black hair back in a ponytail, with shorter bangs at the front. The ponytail swung around as she gestured wildly, "I swear to god, this place is run like a freaking madhouse. I want to organise the clothes by trends. It would make it so much easier to coordinate. People in this area just don't know how to dress, I swear. No offense. But people need help. I wish I could just pick out someone's whole wardrobe. Ugh. Give me half a chance! Is your back okay?"

I was leaning against the side of the stall, just... breathless. I honestly hadn't caught a single word of what she was saying.

"No, yeah, I'm totally fine," I said, "I actually have a really urgent meeting to get to. So I'm gonna..."

"Yeah of course," she said, "The checkouts are that way. Did you bring a bag? I can--"

"Okay bye!" I waved and scuttled away as fast as socially acceptable. Wow. I was actually feeling light-headed after that conversation. But the important thing was that I had clothes. As I was heading towards the self checkout, I passed through the women's underwear section. I noticed, somehow (okay, maybe it was because of my aching back) that one of the nude bras on display was the same band size as the sports bras I had been wearing. On a whim, I grabbed it, and quickly paid and headed to my car so I could change and head to work.

I didn't need to try the bra on. It had the same number, so it should fit fine, right?