Still relatively drunk and compliant, you nodded in agreement. Your eyes immediately jumped to Randall as he finished stretching, his marvelous mammaries stretching the material of otherwise lose fitting shirt and momentarily exposing the slender waist hidden underneath. Setting his drink down on the coffee table, not bothering to tend to the uncorked wine bottle, he led the way to the stairwell, you following closely in tow. As the two of you ascended the stairs, you could not help but find yourself entranced by the hypnotic motion of his perfectly round posterior which still managed to announce it's shape amidst the bagginess of the sweatpants. Your lowered inhibitions were assaulted by the ever present temptation to grab it. You managed to resist, not needing another faux pas to soil your troubled evening.
As you reached the hallway, you saw a light illuminating the room at it's end. You walked a few more steps before ducking halfway into the one of the rooms. Sensing he had lost you along the way, Randall turned back to you.
"Tim, what are you doing?" he asked, confused.
Feeling confused yourself, you replied, "Going to sleep in here." Randall didn't bother responding. He rolled his eyes, and walked back to you, swiftly grabbed you by the hand and continued to drag you down the hallway. Like the state of the rest of the house, Randall's bedroom had been significantly improved since your last visit. Your drunken mind noted the suspicious absence of pink, Miss Card's trademark color. You made your way to the bed. You took a pillow from the assortment which lay meticulously arranged at the head and proceeded to make yourself comfortable on the floor.
"Timothy Connors, get in that bed this instant!"
Hearing Miss Card's voice give you an order like that, shocked you sober enough to comply. You tentatively sat on the side of the bed and then lay down.
"Sorry to go all Miss Card on your ass, but you were being ridiculous, Tim," said Randall with a sigh. "You act like we've never slept in the same bed. We used to do it all the time." It took a minute for you to realize that he wasn't referring to the escapades of recent weeks. The last time you had woken up in Randall's bed, he'd nearly taken your head off before he remembered that it had been his booze induced idea to bring you in there to begin with.
"Well, last time..."
"Look, I remember what happened last time. I'm sorry about that, so just freaking relax. Okay?" He sighed. "Tim, you can get more, uh, comfortable," he said, eying your shoes. Feeling rather embarrassed, you kicked your shoes off on the floor. You could feel yourself slowly coming around, the **** gradually working it's way out of your system. There was simply no way that you were going to be able to sleep in your jeans and based on the vibe you were getting from Randall, if you didn't loosen up, he would give you shit about it until you did.
Speaking of the **** working it's way out of your system, you realized that you really had to pee. You finished removing your shirt and jeans, tossing them aside on the floor before getting up and padding into the attached bathroom and shutting the door. As you trotted over the to the toilet and started to relieve yourself, you took stock of your surroundings. Randall's bathroom was nothing short of impressive. It sported two sinks, a large tiled tub, and a separate enclosed shower area. After flushing, you maneuvered to wash your hands when sitting on the countertop next you was none other than a familiar pink friend.
Miss Card's large pink dildo surprised you. The last time you'd seen it had been cast aside on the floor of Randall's apartment, not twenty minutes after you'd inadvertently walked him furiously masturbating with it.
Thinking about that night filled you lustful feelings you attempted to dismiss. Your heart still ached from the break up and based on what Randall was wearing, it felt presumptuous to assume something was going to happen.
Returning to the room, Randall was nowhere to be seen.
"Randall?"
"Be right back, Tim. I forgot something. Just get comfortable," he called out, his voice eminating from down the hall. You hopped back on the bed. You got the feeling that Randall was up to something. Comfortable this, comfortable that, you thought. What's the deal? Why does he keep telling me to get comfortable. Sighing, you relaxed into a pillow.
Just as your mind started to drift, a rustle in the room caught your attention. Randall stood near the edge of the bed clad in a long, black silk robe. It was closed, pulled tight across his frame. The waist tie highlighted his slender waist, accentuating the wideness and his hips and volume of his phenomenal bust. Gone was the ponytail, his luxurious red-brown locks hung past his shoulders, settling on the tops of his breasts. The spectacles were absent and a brilliant shade of red lipstick shone on Randall's full, sensuous lips. There was a faint, flowery smell that had taken residence in the air of the room. Though you had sobered some, Randall standing there looking like a pin-up model with one too many pieces of clothing, made you wonder if this was some drunken dream. Perhaps you had passed out somewhere.
"So, Tim, what do you think?" Randall asked, as though he had come in wearing a new t-shirt he wanted your opinion on.
"It's, uh, great buddy," you managed to say. You were unsure of what was going on. "Um, uh, where'd you get it?"
"It's just a one of the gift's I got for Miss Card's birthday. Thought I'd test it out on you. See what you think."
"Cool."
"Cool?" said Randall, a mischevious smile crept onto his face. He cocked a hip to the side and pulled at the tie. As the robe opened, Randall pulled his shoulders back, allowing the garment to slide to the ground, piling around his feet. You sat up off the bed, wide eyed. A stunny set of black lingerie adorned the feminine figure before you. Black, ruffled bikini cut panties with a tiny, brick pink bow at the top. Small black triangles hid Randall's nipples from view while a set of strings aranged around his neck and back struggled to hold his breasts aloft. A set of black fishnet sleeves covered the majority of his arms while a matching set of garterless fishnets clung to his slender calves and shapely thighs. Finally, Randall stood perched on the highest heels you'd ever seen him wear, about six inches, closed toe, with a small platform. His posture was alluring and suggestive, aided primarily by the heels accentuating the curvature of his legs and the tilt of his pelvis.
"So, I'm guessing you like the other gifts. I'm sure Amanda and Carla would be pleased to know they work. The girls **** me to get them." The incongruity of his posturing and outfit with the Randall's casual tone of speech was confusing, but arousing. "Hey, Tim," Randall said, snapping you out of your trance. “Just relax." He looked at you with eyebrows raised, trying to reassure you.
You lay back on the bed, your hands holding your erection flat. Randall eyed the tent in your boxers and smiled. He was clearly enjoying the effect he was having on you. Randall sashayed to the bedside, taking a seat beside you.
"R-r-randall? What are you doing?"
The way he was acting was making you nervous. The other times the sexual tension had been present in the past few weeks, your interactions with Randall had been awkward. He seemed to oscillate between excuses and flat out ignoring your sexual trysts. Now, Randall exuded confidence. There was no hint of shame or embarrassment in wearing that attire. He seemed comfortable using his inherent sex appeal to arouse you.
"Improving your mood. Look, Allison was a bitch, Tim," Randall said, matter-of-factly. "And I hate seeing you so beat down. Who dumps someone at a
dance? I don’t care if it was the end of line or not. Nobody deserves that, let alone my best bud. Now, I told you things were going to be better.” Randall crawled onto the bed beside you. “I told you that I would make things up to you, Tim.”
“But, uh, Randall…” Your heart was thumping. You didn’t know how to explain yourself. Randall could see you devouring his body with your eyes. You had done this before and you wanted it to happen again. Randall must have known that much. However, when you looked at the barely clothed body of your best friend, you felt nervous. The last time you’d seen the naked body of Miss Card it had been on the DVD in your room and Randall was still skittish at the notion of sexuality his body now represented. In many ways, his demeanor made it feel more like you were in the presence of a sexually healthy 30 year old woman more than a teenage guy playing coyly with the body he was trapped in. These confusing feelings coupled with the strain of your breakup and intoxicated state were making you decidedly uncomfortable.
"What's wrong, Tim?" asked Randall, concerned.
"I just... don't... ya know... Allison... s-sex, been drinking... the break up, and well..." you stammered incoherently. "I don't know if I have it in me..."
"Tim, no excuses. It's been a hard night for you. I'm trying to take care of you, buddy," he said frustratedly. "You're not making this easy on me." He thought for a second. "Do you remember what you told me when Tara broke up with me?"
"Ummm..."
"You said the best way to get over a girl was to get under another one."
"But Randall you're not really..."
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