I grabbed my phone from the counter and scrolled through her social media. A few quick updates showed she and Ron were somewhere tropical, living it up on their honeymoon. The photos displayed sun-kissed skin, laughter, and cocktails with little umbrellas —far from the cozy living room where I stood.
With a sigh of relief, I sank onto the plush couch, feeling almost giddy. What was I going to do with this new body? I plucked up a remote control.
A reality show blared in front of me, a bunch of glamorous women arguing over who wore what at a party.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at how entirely ridiculous it was—me, a teenage boy, analyzing catfights over outfits and relationships in the body of my mom’s best friend.
It was surreal to think that I now had a similar body to those women on the screen, with all those curves… And now they were arguing about some guy they were crushing on.
I looked down at Carol’s generous cleavage. I had never been in a serious relationship before, and now I found myself in the body of a woman who was married and had just gone on her honeymoon.
Maybe I didn’t have to just sit here and watch. Why not indulge in this new persona a little more?
“Poor souls,” I mused, “Must be hard being single… I’m so lucky to be a …married woman…”
I stood up, swaying slightly as I got used to the way my hips moved in that tight dress.
A smile crept across my face as I caught sight of an array of shoes lined up under Carol’s bed —a treasure trove of heels, flats, and boots.
With a mischievous grin, I slipped on a pair of strappy heels that somehow managed to elongate my legs even further.
I strolled into the kitchen, my heels clicking against the tiled floor, feeling more like a queen than a confused teenager. What would Carol do in her own home? Probably make herself a drink or prepare something fancy for Ron.
I opened the fridge, scanning the contents that were decidedly more adult than what I was accustomed to—a half-empty bottle of white wine caught my eye. How fitting! I poured myself a glass.
“Cheers to you, Ron,” I declared with playful confidence, raising my glass high as if he were lounging next to me instead of basking in tropical paradise, “What do you think? You think I’m beautiful, don’t you?”
I could almost imagine how Carol—or rather, how I—would look through his eyes: an alluring woman in that form-fitting black dress, effortlessly elegant, with a glass of wine in hand. I hadn’t realized how easy it would be to channel her personality.
“Of course you do,” I giggled, a mischievous edge to my voice as I envisioned his approving nod, his utter adoration.
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