Laundry of Another Self (Patreon)

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" A loud female voice suddenly jolted Dylan out of his daze. He had just tumbled out of the dryer drum and was now trying to make sense of what had happened. His brain was desperately fighting off panic. Everything around him looked the same as in his usual laundromat: the same machines, the same dim lighting, even the graffiti on the walls was familiar. But something was off—terrifyingly off.

He tried to stand, but an unfamiliar heaviness in his chest and a strange, tingling sensation all over his skin made him sink back to the floor. His gaze dropped to his body, and Dylan froze in shock. Narrow hips, delicate feminine tattoos on his legs, and… a chest, bouncing with every movement, like he was carrying two unruly balloons under his shirt. His fingers instinctively touched the two mounds protruding from his chest.

"What the...?" His voice broke into a high-pitched, feminine tone, and he gasped in surprise. He had been a man just a few minutes ago, and now everything had turned into a nightmare. Before all this, he'd seen something strange inside the washing machine—a small door, barely noticeable among the metal parts of the drum, like it had been added recently. He'd opened it, and there it was… the same room, the same laundromat, but reflected like in a funhouse mirror. The light seemed dimmer, the colors more faded. Without much thought, he'd crawled inside and, to his shock, tumbled out on the other side—right onto the cold floor.

"Are you deaf or something?!" the woman’s voice snapped again, this time sounding more annoyed.

Dylan was still lying on the cold floor, struggling to comprehend how he’d ended up back here. But something was clearly different. He lifted his head and saw the laundromat owner standing there, her expression a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. Her bright red lips twisted into a displeased grimace, as though she was witnessing some repeated foolishness.

"Do you hear me, girl?!" The laundromat owner stepped closer, her heels clacking loudly on the tile. She was clearly irritated, but her voice carried a hint of weariness, as if she'd seen scenes like this more than once. Dylan was still trying to calm down, his mind racing to process what was happening. He pushed himself up onto his knees, glancing down at himself again. Everything was still there: the female body, the chest, the narrow hips. This wasn’t a dream... this was real. But what was going on?!

"Gi-girl? What the hell?!" Dylan shot a glance at the open washing machine, where he’d just emerged, feeling the soft, silky strands of long hair brush against his skin, giving him a strange sensation. It all felt like some cruel joke, but too real to be a hallucination. He flicked the hair back in frustration, trying to focus, but his body still felt foreign and uncooperative. His small hands braced against the far wall of the washing machine drum, searching for that little door, but he could feel the woman’s shadow looming over him.

"What are you doing?!" her voice was sharp enough to make him flinch. He frantically tried to find any trace of the small door he’d come through, but there was nothing. Just smooth metal. No exit. No "other reality." Just him, trapped in this woman's body, and this laundromat owner glaring down at him.

"Don’t break anything in there! Are you high or something?" The woman crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing with suspicion.

Dylan whipped around, his long hair flying, brushing against his face like some silky, alien thing. He was trembling all over, struggling to pull himself together. Panic was rising again, and this female body—so soft and unfamiliar—made it hard to focus. The washing machine drum was smooth, no sign of the mysterious door. In desperation, he pounded his fist against the metal, but the dull sound only echoed through the laundromat.

"I wasn’t... I’m not... I was… someone else," Dylan muttered, his new voice sounding embarrassingly high and strange. He had no idea how to explain to this woman that just minutes ago, he had been a man, an ordinary guy who just wanted to do his laundry, and now he was stuck in a woman's body.

"Someone else?" The woman raised an eyebrow, looking him over from head to toe. Her gaze lingered on his legs with their feminine tattoos, his narrow hips, his chest. She seemed to be taking in the absurdity of the scene—a girl sitting on the laundromat floor in nothing but her underwear, like some runaway model from a photoshoot. "Sweetie, you’re definitely not right in the head. Should’ve smoked less of that crap."

Dylan scrambled to his feet, but his legs buckled immediately, and he grabbed onto the washing machine to keep from falling. The woman just shook her head, clearly not understanding what was going on.

"Listen, honey, you better get out of here before I call the cops, okay?" she said, squinting at him, her voice carrying a faint threat. She leaned forward, losing patience.

Dylan tried to protest, but the words caught in his throat. He looked at his hands again—small, delicate. His legs were trembling, refusing to hold him steady, only adding to his sense of helplessness. He knew how ridiculous it would sound if he told her the truth, but staying here any longer seemed dangerous; the woman was obviously serious, and Dylan could tell how strange he looked.

Slowly, he raised his hands to show he meant no harm. "Alright… I’ll go," he said, his voice still irritatingly high-pitched, but he tried to sound as calm as possible so the laundromat owner wouldn’t suspect anything even weirder. "Sorry… Just... not a great day."

The woman gave him a cold look, her arms still crossed over her chest. "Yeah, no kidding," she muttered, softening just a little, though the wariness never left her face. "Just don’t come back here with that crap, alright? This ain’t a rehab center."

Dylan nodded, fumbling for words. "Yeah, of course... It won’t happen again." His hands were still trembling, and he realized with horror that if he were in her shoes, he wouldn’t believe himself either. Normal people don’t just change bodies, especially not into women.

He slowly backed toward the door, his legs shaking from the unfamiliar lightness and the strange distribution of weight. He just needed to get out. He had to leave, and then… what? He had no idea. Not a clue where to go.

As he reached the door, the woman kept her eyes fixed on him, watching as he struggled to maintain his balance. She wasn’t going to help him, just waiting for him to leave and not cause any more trouble.

Dylan reached for the door, opened it, and stepped outside. The cold air hit his body, and he suddenly realized he was standing outside in nothing but underwear. Right in front of the laundromat, in plain sight. Damn it... His new female mind instantly grasped the absurdity and vulnerability of the situation.