Fully clothed, Jon left the bathroom. "Finally," said Zoe, emerging from her bedroom, clad in her usual sleeping accoutrements of a black silk miniskirt and matching slippers with 6-inch heels, and slamming the bathroom door behind her. Jon paid little attention.
Karyn looked at herself in the mirror. She'd been forced to scrunch her eyes shut briefly, and when she opened them, she was wearing a red miniskirt, red platform heels, and a red corset-style top that covered not one inch of the beautifully shaped and sized melons that were on her chest.
There was a picture of her and Jon on Jon's desk, in a frame painted with the words "Best Friends." In the photo, she was wearing short shorts, high heels, and some sort of strappy contraption that left her breasts totally exposed.
The stack of Playboy magazines that she had pulled out from under Jon's bed had disappeared.
The model on Jon's Sports Illustrated swimsuit calendar was facing the camera, wearing only a smile and a bikini bottom.
As she contemplated all this, Jon walked into the bedroom and said, "Whoa, hey, Karyn."
By reflex, Karyn covered up her breasts as best she could, one with each hand. The wishing rock pressed against her right nipple. The sensation was pleasurable. The look on Jon's face was confusion.
