Friends in Shitty Situations The New World of SwapTech chapter 11 by bodyswapbabe

Jonas stayed frozen in the stall, arms clamped over his body, the slick, sticky horror of the soiled suit clinging in all the wrong places. His face was red-hot with shame, his body tense and trembling. The air inside the stall was a hellish fog of heat, latex, and shit smell.

He cleared his throat. “Uh—hey. Sorry. Hi. I—um. I’m in a bit of a situation here. I kind of, uh…” He hesitated. “Had an accident. In my suit. I need help. Like, clothes. Can you—could you maybe grab something? Anything?”

A pause.

Then the woman laughed. Not cruel. Just surprised. “You’re serious?”

“Do I sound like I’m kidding?” he said. “Please. I can’t go out there like this. It's a... white suit. Or it was.”

Another pause. Then a soft, amused, “Okay. Hold tight. I’ll see what I can do.”

She left.

And Jonas waited. Ten more minutes of pure hell. His thighs were cramping from hovering, his arms sticky, and every shift of his weight reminded him how awful everything felt in that ruined spandex.

Finally—

The door opened again. Soft knock on his stall.

“I got you something. Couldn’t find anything super normal, so… this is what we’re working with.”

Jonas reached under the stall and pulled the outfit inside. It was shiny. Strappy. Black and red with gold accents. A lot of cutouts. Like, a lot.

“…This is a stripper superhero costume.”

She giggled. “I figured it was either this or a Deadpool romper in XXXXL. This one doesn’t really have a size—just kind of... ties where you need it.”

Jonas sighed. “Guess it’s better than being the shitty version of Power Girl.”

Peeling the ruined bodysuit off--and the contents inside splatting to the ground--was perhaps the grossest experience of his life. He did his best to wipe himself clean with paper towels, muttering apologies to the gods of dignity. Then, with shaking fingers, he slid into the new outfit.

It was... Ridiculous.

The bottoms barely qualified as shorts. The top was all crisscrossing straps that barely held his breasts in place—every movement made them bounce like they were auditioning for their own anime series. His whole ass was out. His sideboob had cleavage. And his midriff could’ve doubled as a wrestling mat.

He stepped out of the stall slowly, red-faced, arms stiff at his sides.

The girl was leaning against the counter, sipping a Coke. She was in cosplay too—some kind of glam rock version of Rogue from X-Men, with green highlights in her white-streaked hair and leather cutoffs over thigh-high boots. She looked him over, eyes widening.

“Oh damn. You pull that off way better than I expected.”

Jonas glared. “I look like a porn parody of myself.”

“Well, yeah. But you own it.”

He sighed, turned to the mirror, and grimaced. “I can’t believe this is my life.”

She shrugged. “Could be worse. Could’ve shit yourself outside the stall.”

“…Fair.”

Jonas extended a hand. “Thanks, by the way. For, y’know. Not screaming and running out.”

She grinned and took it. “Name’s Trish. I work the LARP gear booth. What should I call you? Power Girl 2.0?”

He smirked. “Jonas. Don’t ask.”

Trish winked. “No judgment. Come on. Let’s get you some actual clothes before someone tries to hand you singles.”

He followed her out—ass jiggling, tits wobbling, and pride somewhere deep in the sewer pipes below.

But at least he wasn’t alone anymore.