A female friend of yours, who's been improved

You get up, using the remote to turn off the TV as you do so. Crossing the foyer, you see an Asian girl standing by the front door, her ruby-red lips parted in a smile. She's wearing a tiny leather skirt, a white halter top, platform heels, and her choker necklace reads "MIRANDA."

Miranda Lee was -- is -- your best female friend, but last you saw her, she was petite and flat-chested with a pockmarked face. Now she's stunningly beautiful, about eight inches taller, and voluptuous.

"Thought you could use your homework for the weekend," she says. She rummages through the satchel she's carrying and comes out with a paperback book. She hands it to you: "The Erotic Adventures of Tom Sawyer," by Mark Twain. "We're supposed to write three pages on Becky Thatcher's dissatisfaction after she and Amy Lawrence are trapped in the cave with Tom. Personally, I think she'd rather have been in there with Injun Joe."

"Uh, thanks," you say.

"Miranda, would you like to stay for dinner?" you hear from behind you. You turn around to see your mother; her "a little more comfortable" outfit is not much more than a babydoll nightie. "I'm just making spaghetti, and I've got plenty."

"Sounds good," says Miranda. "My parents are spending the night with some friends, so I was just gonna have a TV dinner or something."

"Then I'm glad I can give you some real food!" That's definitely something your mother would say, but it's still incongruous coming from this scantily-clad hottie. She goes on, though: "It'll be ready in about half an hour, so if you want to keep my son entertained..."

"Oh, I do," says Miranda, looking at you and licking your lips.

As the two of you walk upstairs to your bedroom, Miranda says, "Of course, since you took a sex day today, maybe you're not in the mood for me."

You don't want to ruin anything. "I'm always in the mood for you."

"Don't make me vomit," says Miranda with a smile, as you gesture her ahead of you into your bedroom. She sits on the edge of your bed. "So what'd you do today? How many girls did you fuck?"

"Uh, it's a long story," you say. You sit in the swivel chair at your desk and turn to face Miranda. Holy crap, she's beautiful -- beautiful enough that you're completely ignoring her melon-sized tits because you're drawn to the needful look in her almond-shaped eyes, surrounded by long lashes, emphasized by the heavy makeup that's standard in this world that you shaped with your power. They're the same eyes she's had all along. You realize that all you've done, really, is given her outer beauty that matches her inner beauty.

Your heart's beating faster. Your mouth has gone dry.

"Well?" she says in a mock-demanding tone.

You're in love. Not lust, but love, and it's making you want to reveal your secrets to her.