You were in heaven. At least, close enough to heaven. You couldn't believe how sexy it was to watch someone so beautiful do something inherently mundane. Randall maneuvered the voluptuous body he now inhabited through the rest of his shower routine. You gazed on as he skillfully and dextrously shaved Miss Card's lean calves and shapely thighs. He stopped for a moment, seemingly gazing downwards at his crotch (a feat you imagined to be rendered significantly more difficult with the massive mammaries he now bore).
Sounding amused, Randall smirked, "Perhaps its time for a little shave?" He rubbed delicately at his crotch. "Heh... Naw, maybe next time." Placing the razor down, he turned back to the shower head, ducking his face into the spray, pulling his long dark hair tight behind him. Deeply entranced by the lines of water running over Randall's silky smooth skin, not even the sound of the him turning the shower off could wake you from the drunken fantasies dancing in your head. Ten seconds pass. Shit! you think. He's gonna fucking see me! You try to move stealthily back to your seat on the couch, though you realize you aren't quite moving with the finesse you'd like, courtesy of your **** state. Before you are able to sit back down, Randall's voice calls out, "Tim?". Fuck fuck fuck. I knew I should've been more careful, you cursed yourself. "Tim?" he calls, just a bit louder.
"Uh, yeah?" you stammered. Your pulse raced, your mind rushed to the absolute worst conclusion it could. You were positive that Randall would be dubbing you "King Perv" any moment.
"Hey. Could you be a pal and grab me a towel out of the closet? I forgot to grab one before I got in. You know how it is."
You breathed a deep sigh of relief. I am not doing something so stupid again, you drunkenly promised yourself. "Sure thing," you answered, moving to the hall closet. Stealing a glance toward the bathroom, Randall's face and a bare shoulder were peaking out from behind the shower door ready to meet your gaze. He smiled a thanks at you. You smiled in turn, but couldn't help lamenting that at this distance you couldn't see through that door quite as well. Opening the closet, you found a variety of sheets, towels, and other assorted linens. Most of them pink, Randall's redecorating obviously not extending past the entertainment center quite yet. Tugging on a towel on one of the mid-level shelves, you inadvertently toppled the stack. Setting one aside, you noticed what appeared to be a small, black DVD case nestled into the adjacent stack. Curious, you withdrew the case and replaced the towels. The sound of water running in the shower started again.
You examined the case briefly, opening it to find a few discs, clearly personally made. Each disc seemed to have a date, all ranging within the last year. The case was predominantly empty. Despite your haze, one date in particular caught your attention. It looked to be made perhaps a month before the accident. Holy shit! you thought. Why would Miss Card hide these away? Realizing that the mystery could wait to be answered, Randall was still waiting for a towel.
Closing the closet door, you picked up the towel and headed back towards the bathroom. Randall stood soaking in the running water. As you drew near, he made no move to acknowledge your basically unobstructed view of his naked body. Though the booze in your system emboldened you, the idea of actually stepping into the bathroom with such a desirous beauty, naked and practically within reach to be overwhelming. Oddly, the thought occurred to you that the only way to make this situation awkward was if you didn't go in. You gave a like knock on the shower door, doing your best to play it cool.
Randall snapped back into a more aware state, turning off the shower and moving to open the door. "Did you get lost?" he said with a chuckle.
"Sorry," you said sheepishly. "Knocked over some towels..." Standing before you, naked in all her glory was Miss Card. Her long, dark mane of hair draping over her shoulders, full ripe breasts hanging proudly. The thick, dark nipples and recently enlarged areolas drew your eyes with magnetic like ****, save only a glance at the dramatic curve of her narrow waist to her wide, womanly hips. I really do need to find out that bra size... you silently resolved.
"Tim? The, uh, towel?"
Flush with embarrassment, you hand it over. Between the beer and the situation, you were positive you were blushing deeply. "Sorry," you muttered.
Wrapping the towel around himself in a traditionally feminine style, he said, "Nothing to be sorry about, Tim. I guess when it's just you and me, I slip a little too far back into Randall mode. I get so excited at being able to be myself, to hang around you, I forget that I'm driving the Boner Generator 5000. Sorry about getting you all flustered. I can't really help it, ya know?" He moved past you toward the bedroom. "I'll be right out. Just getting dressed. Then back to party time!" The cheer in his voice had a slight, but distinctive "****" sound to it.
Silently, you cursed yourself. Staring like that had basically been a direct acknowledgement of the elephant in the room. Through all of the jests and teasing, Randall was obviously struggling with his **** identity as a woman. How could he not be? One minute, he was just another teenage guy like you. The next, he's **** to deny himself and his identity, essentially having to pretend to be your super babe of a teacher non-stop. Clearly, this was a struggle that was taking it's toll. His best friend behaving like the rest of the males on the planet was not what he needed. Having a sexual history together only complicated matters. More than anything, you needed to turn this around. Being decently a decently buzzed, horny teenager was not gong to make this easy on you, but you were going to try. If Randall threw you a sexy pass at the end of the night, you weren't going to say "no", but given this turn of events, you were determined to man up and earn your best friend title. You were just glad that Randall hadn't caught you peeping on him!
As you sauntered your way back to the living room, you remembered that you were still holding the case you had retrieved from the closet. The time to tell Randall about your find was now. However, as the minutes ticked by, you weren't feeling so sure. Why would Miss Card stash something like this in the closet? Not for the casual observer... As you turned these thoughts over in your mind, you started to worry that if Randall opted to watch what was on the discs now and they contained something scandalous or sexual, he might not take it so well. You decided that the best course of action was perhaps to hold onto them for now. I'll just have a look when I'm at home and "discover" them next time I'm here, you rationalized. You didn't know if that was the best move to be making, but it certainly seemed like the right one at the moment. Hearing the bedroom door open, you quickly dropped the case and kicked it gently under the couch. Gotta remember it's there...
Randall bounced out into the room, both literally and figuratively. Far from traditionally sexy attire, he was clad simply in a men's superhero t-shirt and some plain cotton shorts (pink ones, naturally). The shorts were practically painted on, clinging to his figure in a way you could not possibly ignore. Worse still was the t-shirt. I looked like something Randall would have worn before the accident. However, on his new body, it was stretched to its limits attempting to contain his impressive bustline. The outline of his large, hard nipples made it clear that no bra was underneath. You were suffering.
Thankfully, Randall's mood seemed at least somewhat improved as he declared in a chipper voice, "Time to get back into the swing of things! You ready for me to mop the floor with you?"
"Are you talking about grading papers or Call of Duty? I'm confused," you retorted.
Randall narrowed his eyes at you. "Dude, I'm gonna grab and beer, then I'm gonna beat you like you stole something!" He laughed. Even with Miss Card's melodic voice, his laugh and tone of voice were iconic of Randall. Assuaging your fears about the kind of damage you had done, you settle into the couch, beer in hand, finally ready to get to gaming.
The rest of the evening was reminiscent of the days you had been longing for. You talked and laughed and drank long into the night. Despite solid efforts on your behalf, Randall predominantly trounced you in Call of Duty, maintaining the "champion" status that he so ceaselessly touted. Good natured jabs were traded and the two of you reveled in your endless stream of inside jokes. Life was good. In the moment, you found yourself actually forgetting that it wasn't just Randall, the way he used to be, sitting with you. The shots and beer you continued to down served to enhance the mood.
As the night wore down, the threat of dawn was on the horizon. Up for nearly 24 hours after an arduous Friday of well executed deceit and an evening of revery, you could feel yourself start to crash. Randall looked worse, exhausted and every bit as drunk as yourself.
"Bed?" you asked, wearily.
"One more beer?" countered Randall.
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