Ashton had no recollection of how he got here. All he remembered was he was walking to meet a friend at a bar near his apartment building. He remembered going past an alley, a narrow one that never seemed to ever get the trash taken out of, and from there his memory failed him. It had to be where it happened, where he got abducted.

He had to have been, he thought, because he never would have agreed to anything like this! He woke up on the operating table and at first thought someone had dressed him up this way, in this vintage woman's dress. At least for the first few seconds until his senses started to sharpen and feeling returned, and then he quickly realized that he was much more than just dressed this way.

He sat there, looking at himself, giving his dress and stockings a few curious brushes with gloved feminine hands, realizing how much smaller and softer his new hands were than his previous ones. He looked down at his stocking-covered legs, and and examined his dress, stopping once he got to near his breasts or the hemline of his skirt. He did not want to go past that point. He was not ready for that yet.

Instead, he looked at the room, which he guessed, was how an old operating room might have looked. Or, at least this was what someone thought it looked like.

He didn't know the how or the why, and he had no idea whose body this was or her fate (he hoped she was fine, but he had no way of knowing). All he knew was whoever did this, they certainly had a strange sense of nostalgia to them. He knew at least that much.