Dress Up - Part 2

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,” I said to myself in a mock toast, lifting the glass as if Ron stood beside me, “You think I’m beautiful, don’t you?”

“Of course you do,” I giggled, taking a sip.

I spent the next couple of hours rummaging through their things, wine in hand, getting steadily tipsier and tipsier…