The following day, Randall stops you after class to talk

The following day, the pattern repeated itself like clockwork. For the entirety of the week, things had been low key, easy. Normal. After being **** through the proverbial mud since the accident this summer, it has consistently felt like you were desperately trying to juggle one to many balls. By shoving Randall to the side, life was manageable again. By making Allison a priority you finally transitioned into a more physical relationship. You were making more friends. You'd finally started your college applications, successfully getting your mother to quit her incessant nagging. However, despite the respite from all of the drama that seemed to surround Miss Card, both and the new one as well as the old, you found yourself moping.

Even with the added weight of his situation and maligning of your friendship, it hurt not having Randall around at all. Still, you were far too frustrated to give in. Randall had put you through the ringer with sexual frustration, confusing situations, and an overall lack of consideration. You didn't want to let him off easy, but as the days had rolled by, it became harder and harder to maintain. It didn't help that Randall's efforts had become increasingly ****, the last of which teetered on the edge of begging, or Allison's continued insistence that the two of you make up. As a result, you still found yourself distracted by Randall. You still felt frustrated that after nearly a week of the silent treatment, Randall still didn't seem to understand that this was a direct reaction to his ignoring you. You reasoned that if he figured that out, maybe you could ease up without feeling like a pushover. Until then...

As fourth period drew to a close, you prepared yourself to make a beeline for the door. Grabbing your backpack, you quickly stood up and started to move with the crowd when a voice rang out, loud and clear.

"Not so fast, Mr. Connors. I need to discuss a couple of things with you before you head off to your next class." There was no way to avoid it. Randall had you cornered. Other students turned and looked you briefly as they filed out the door. No way to pretend you didn't hear. Your heart raced, anticipating the confrontation. "Shut the door, please," he called to last student, Miss Card's dulcet tone at the same time sweet, yet commanding.

Shit, you thought. Here we go.

"Why don't you come have a seat," said Randall, not yet giving up the role. You plopped down at one of the desks in the front row. You sighed heavily. Beaten by a power play. How cheap... He got up from his own desk, taking slow commanding steps toward you punctuated by the click-clack of his high heels. Despite the circumstances, you couldn't help but admire the wide curve of his hips and they rolled to and fro, encased in a tight black knee length skirt, contrasted by the white blouse sitting high atop his waspish waist. No matter the situation, you could not help but run your eyes over Miss Card's sultry physique. Randall's unbelievably orb-like breasts bobbed with each step, their movements clearly visible under the blouse. A blouse which appeared to have some buttons experiencing a degree of strain, tiny striations encircling the topmost few. Randall stopped in front of you, his beautiful face twisted in frustration, eyes glistening. His hip cocked to the side, one hand upon it, Randall struck what you assumed was an unintentionally feminine pose. "Dude. What. The. FUCK?" Randall's words crept through Miss Card's appearance.

"What are you talking about, Miss Card?" you asked in mock confusion, forcing yourself to be defiant.

"Don't give me that 'Miss Card' bullshit, Tim!" Randall slammed his hands on the desk. "You've been avoiding me all week. You don't return my calls or texts. What's your fucking problem?" Randall's face was in front of yours, the top of his blouse fully exposing the majesty of his cleavage. Your breath caught in your throat. The effect Miss Card's body was having on you was as potent as ever. Delicate hands on the desk, topped by long, red nails. When were they that color before? Full, ripe breasts were in view. The sweet scent of her shampoo, body wash, perfume, whatever was wafting into your nostrils, intoxicating you with every breath. Her face, such a beautiful face, was mere inches away. Those full kissable lips. You could just lean in and kiss...

You caught yourself. Good god, you thought, I was thinking about kissing Randall! It was shocking to consider. In all of the sexual encounters the two of you had engaged in, not once had you kissed. After spending some much intimate time with Allison, you felt traitorous for even considering the possibility. Randall's eyes had not wavered from you, obviously expecting an answer. However, you were awash in anxiety, your stubborn defiance having given way to a profound ambivalence. Unsure of what to do, you did little more than look back between Miss Card's piercing gaze and voluptuous breasts framed by the window of the blouse.

Catching your rapidly darting gaze, Randall smirked. "Still not talking, huh?" He strained up. "Seems like something has caught your attention." He slowly took a seat on the corner of your desk. "Ya know, they keep growing, Tim," Randall offered matter-of-factly, cupping the breast nearest to you. "Can't really see why... but if they get any bigger, I'm going to have to get some new clothes." He pulled his shoulders back, slowing arching his back. The buttons on the blouse were holding on for all they were worth. Randall's voice grew sensuous and heavy with lust. "Mmmmmm... Can I let you in on a little secret, Tim?" He giggled femininely. "I kind of like it..." he whispered seductively in your ear. "What about you, Tim? Hhhmmmm... Do you like it?"

You were flabbergasted. Arguably the biggest erection you'd ever had was rubbing uncomfortably on the inside of your jeans and your heart was racing a mile a minute. Though arousal left your mind feeling fogged, the standout thought in your mind was When the fuck did Randall learn how to do this?! Sexual tension aside, his behavior was disturbing as it was arousing. Randall had been an unabashed tease since his transformation, but this was different. There was no doubt in your mind that Randall was using every sexual tool at his disposal to manipulate you into talking to him. Remembering the last conversation you had, you felt guilty for leaving Randall alone for a week when he was teetering on edge with such an identity crisis. This behavior was very, very womanly. Some part of you worried that you had pushed him to be this way.

"Still no answer? Okay." Randall's tone switched, becoming cold and indifferent. Standing back up, he said, "Perhaps I can just find out who else is interested in these... Maybe George..." Randall knew exactly what he was doing.

The venom in that name riled your anger. "Fuck you, Randall," you said through gritted teeth.

"What was that?"

"I said 'Fuck YOU!" you shouted. "You know why I haven't been around? You know why I haven't returned your calls?" Your rhetorical question hung pregnant in the air. "Because your a dick! A giant porn-sized, meaty, motherfucking dick! I can't take it! You have seriously pissed on every bit of sympathy I have for you. So you lost your body. It sucks. I get it. But for all of your 'You're my best friend and always will be' bullshit, you've hung me out to dry at virtually every opportunity. You treat me more like a student or kid fucking brother than a best friend, Randall. Being the only person who acknowledges you AS YOU, you have a funny way of appreciating it. You only confuse the shit out of me. You're a cock tease, which you make ME feel guilty about. You talk me into fucking you, then never want to talk about it again. Which isn't very fair, considering I cheated on Allison to do it! I've done nothing that hasn't been in support of you and our friendship. Is that enough of an answer?" You took a deep breath. Randall sat down quietly at the adjacent desk and put his head down.

You couldn't believe you'd unloaded like that. You'd never done anything like it before. It was a great and terrible feeling. The relief of all the garbage of last few weeks felt good to get rid of, but based on how Randall was taking it, you guessed it might have been a step too far. In the course of a minute, you'd slammed hard on every hot button issue Randall had. It made you feel like a jerk.

"I'm sorry," whispered Randall, from beneath the shelter of his arms. "I'm so sorry, Tim." He slowly lifted his head. Tears were streaming down the sides of his face, his eye makeup ruined. He gave a pitiful sniffle. Guilt ridden, you knelt by the desk and Randall quickly embraced you, sobbing into your shoulder. It was uncharacteristic of Randall to display so much emotion, but you were starting to accept that it was par for the course. Slowly, it wound to a close.

"Tim, things are going to be so different from now on. I promise," he said hurriedly. "I've been so self-centered and caught up on this whole thing that I stopped thinking about how it was affecting you all together. I won't shove you to the side again. I'm going to make this up to you, Tim. Just wait and see!"

"I'm sorry, too, buddy. I shot my mouth off more than I should. The whole George thing..."

"Sorry about that. He's just a friend. Honest. I'll stop han..."

"No," you said. "I've been bent out of shape about that. I can't be selfish either. Look, if George is your friend, he's your friend. I'm cool."

"A-aa-are you sure?" he asked timidly.