After Mrs. Johnson stopped yelling at Sarah, Tina told them that she could hear Jeff and that Jeff was OK. They tried everything they could, but they couldn't turn Jeff back.
Without anyway to turn back the discussion quickly turned to what they should do with me. If I couldn't become a human again then I was the same as any other bra.
We discussed it before coming to an understanding that as Sarah was the only one I fit it only made sense I would go with her. My mother cried of course, throwing around promises that they'd never forget me. Past that there wasn't really anything else to do, I said my goodbyes through Sarah before she climbed back into her car and drove home.
"I'm sorry this has happened Jeff, I swear I'll take good care of you though, I swear!"
It was reassuring to hear her so worried about me. We made it back to her house where she wore me for the rest of the day. It was a life I had to get used to, but still we were at least able to talk which was quite nice.
As it got late Sarah climbed into bed for the night, "Night Jeff."
"Night Sarah. Sleep well."
And so she drifted off to sleep. I lay on her chest thinking over the events of the previous day, how crazy this had all been and how hopeful I was for the future.
The next morning when Sarah woke up I was shocked when she took me off. "Sorry Jeff, but I can't wear dirty bras all the time, once your clean again I'll wear you again!" With that she tossed me rather carelessly into a laundry hamper.
I'd much rather she had taken me directly to the wash so I could be clean as soon as possible, but I understood that was a bit much to ask for. Still, it was rather boring just lying there in a laundry hamper, no different than any other piece of clothing lying around me. For the first few minutes it was funny to think about how nice the surrounding clothing smelled. The scent of my girlfriend, or former girlfriend now I guess, stuck to them.
After a day or so of lying in the laundry hamper someone finally picked it up and carried it down to the laundry room. It was Sarah's mother, I had met her before when I was still a man, she's a really nice lady and she seemed like a terrific mother. My respect for her grew seeing that even at Sarah's age her mother was still willing to do her wash for her, it's the little things that go a long way I say.
She took the surrounding clothing in handfuls throwing it into the washing machine, grabbing me along with a tank top and tossing us into the dark machine. Once all of the contents of the hamper had been emptied into the machine she shut the door and started it.
Water poured into the machine flooding the chamber we were in. I didn't need to breathe anymore so I really didn't mind it, my clothing brain enjoyed becoming clean and having any filth cleansed from my fabric. The load stopped after an hour or so of running, I along with the rest of the wash waited in anticipation for Sarah's mother to return and move us to the dryer.
The time finally came and we were scooped up by the handful and tossed into the dryer. She swiftly threw in a dryer sheet and away the machine began. If I thought the washing machine felt nice, man did the dryers warm heat feel great. My fabric was warm to the touch by the time the cycle ended. It brought back memories of that warm happy feeling when you pull your clothing out of a recently finished dryer. It brought a smile to my non-existent face to think I could bring that feeling to someone now.
Sarah's mother once again returned to throw us into a laundry basket, carrying it up the stairs and throwing it onto Sarah's bed. Now I lay in the basket waiting for Sarah to come home and put me on, I would be lying if I said I wasn't excited to talk to someone again.
Sarah eventually came home and seeing the basket of clothing on her bed raced over digging through it for me. Peeling her current bra off she placed my cups over her breasts strapping my straps behind her back.
"Hey Sarah how's it going." I cheerly asked.
"Pretty good, and you?" She asked without thinking.
I laughed, "Just lying around, so nothing much.'
She giggled as she sat down on her bed. She told me about her day and how life was going, I was more then happy to listen, especially as this was the highlight of this new life of mine. Being close to her and having someone to talk to was all I could ask for.
She wore me to bed again that night, in the morning she declared, "Jeff I had an idea. How about I wear you as part of my night wear, that way I can wear you more often!"
I was happy to hear that I would get to be wore more, so I agreed. So became our routine of wearing me to bed as she told me about her day.
As days turned to weeks then to months our routine began to wein. We began to stop talking as much, not because we didn't want to, but because there just isn't much to talk about.
After a year or two everyone had as good as forgotten about me. My mother and sister moving on with their lives, and Sarah seeing me as just another one of her bras. It made sense, after not talking for so long you begin to think it was crazy to even imagine your ex boyfriend turned into a bra. Those feeling shifted into those of this bra reminding her of me, not being him. So I rode on her breasts once a week at most, continuing to enjoy the simple existence of being a bra. I thought about saying something occasionally, but once it was clear she had forgetten I was alive, it seemed cruel to pull her back in to this reality. I wanted her to be happy, and a life where she talked to a bra just seemed to weird to force her into.
Eventually I began not fitting her quite as well as I once had when she first found me. Years of strain as well as her own growth. Everyone knows the clothing they own that doesn't fit quite as well as it once did, the items you let fall to the back of the dresser and wear only if it's your last option. That was what I became, seeing the light of day only when she opened the dresser to grab another bra.
One afternoon light poured into my dresser drawer, looking up I saw Sarah's mother. I was curious what she might be doing in Sarah's dresser, was she looking for something? She dug through her shirts and jeans, moving from one part to another grabbing some. Looking down I saw those she grabbed were being thrown in a box, there were words on it, but I had forgotten how to read long ago.
She got to my drawer and grabbed me along with a few other bras. She murmered to herself, "She can't keep hoarding all this stuff she doesn't wear..."
I was dropped into the box, panties falling on top of me covering my view. The reality was hard to piece together for my brain that hadn't done much thinking in a long time. But clearly this wasnt ideal. The box I was in was carried down the stairs of Sarah's home, then out the front door to Sarah's mother's car.