"Everything's moving to the back patio. Sarah says there's a surprise!"
A round of squeals rose up from the girls in the bathroom, and Jon surprised himself by joining in right on cue, his own voice rising to the highest pitch in the room. He really had started to assimilate, he marveled to himself. Jon quickly got the head he was currently working on into an acceptable state, and then followed the line of girls through the McMillan mansion and out to the back patio, where they were greeted with a surprise, indeed.
Sarah stood out front in the middle like the MC at an awards show, arms outstretched on either side of her, indicating the rows of garment racks that had been assembled along the patio. Each rack was just full of bikinis on hangers in every style and cut and color you could imagine.
"As some of you should know," Sarah began as the last stragglers stepped out the sliding glass door and onto the cedar planks of the patio, "yesterday was the launch of this summer's line of bikinis. And as all of you should know, my mom is always gifted a whole collection of bikinis every season as part of her work." Every resident of Lake Point knew that Susan McMillan was the world's preeminent professional bikini model. "And while we have a lot of closet space, it doesn't go on forever. So my mom has given me permission to gift every person here this evening one bikini from last year's season, so that we can make room for this year's collection!"
A round of cheers rose up among the girls, and while Jon did join in, it suddenly felt artificial again. What was he going to do with a bikini? How was he going to relate to these girls when they started talking about bikinis? With school gossip, he at least knew who the people in question were. And with TV shows he hadn't seen, he could learn about them by listening. But a bikini? He didn't have the body for one. He had obviously never worn one. He didn't want anybody to see him in one. How was this going to work out?
Nevertheless, when all the girls got in a line to go up and pick their bikinis, Jon dutifully joined, and waited, and chatted excitedly with the girls around him. He tried to steer the conversation away from topics of Sarah, but the closer they got to the front of the line, the harder that became. It didn't help that Amber Levine, one of Sarah's biggest sycophants, was positioned just before him in line.
"I can't believe all of these were worn by Susan McMillan," Amber gushed, and continued to exchange words of adoration with the girl in front of her, until they reached the front of the line. And with nobody in front of her, Amber turned around to Jon. "I mean, nobody in the world looks better in a bikini than Susan McMillan," she said as Jon became increasingly nervous. "Not that Sarah doesn't look great in one. Her mom is probably the only person who looks better."
And then Amber was called up to select her own swimsuit, and Jon felt an energy building up inside of him. Something needed to resolve. He wanted to run, but he needed to keep fitting in with the popular girls. And they were all patiently waiting for their turn to pick out a--
"Jon!" Sarah called with a barely-perceptible note of venom in her voice. "It's your turn, do you want a bikini as well?"
Despite what Sarah may have expected, however, and despite what Jon had been feeling just a moment before, he suddenly found that he did. He really did want a bikini. His face broke out into a smile as he approached the racks, and examined his options, and expressed his thank-yous to Sarah over and over and over again, in just the same way as all the girls before him had. After just a minute, he found that there was one bikini in particular that seemed to be calling to him. Bubblegum pink, with sparkling rhinestone designs over the cups and the bottoms, Jon somehow knew that this was the bikini for him. It was a strange thing for him to know. But he knew it nonetheless.
And so he took its hanger off of the garment rack, and maneuvered back towards the main house, where an older woman (perhaps an employee of the McMillans) was directing traffic. "There are a lot of good rooms to change in," she said as Jon approached. "Oh, you picked out a very special bikini, didn't you?"
Jon couldn't help but blush.
"I think it was one of Mrs. McMillan's favorites, and it was certainly one of Sarah's. She used to model it in her bedroom all the time. But I bet you want me to tell you where you should be going."
"I think I know where to go, thank you," Jon smiled as politely as he could while moving past the woman, back in the direction of the foyer. On the way, he passed a framed poster hanging from a wall. It was a blown-up centerfold of Susan McMillan, Sarah's mom, wearing the exact same bikini that Jon was now holding in his hands.
He stopped. He took in the image before him, really drank in every detail. Susan's long, smooth legs meeting together at the rhinestone triangle whose strings pulled upwards towards her waist. Her slim, taut belly was made to be shown off under a bust that was almost precariously contained by two more rhinestone triangles. Susan's boobs were even bigger than Sarah's, and looked even more impressive as they were framed by perfectly slim arms that crossed beneath them with a casual confidence.
Every detail suddenly felt important. Essential. Jon needed to memorize every pixel on the poster.
And then he made his way to the great marble staircase that was just before the foyer, climbed up the stairs, made his way halfway down the hallway, took a right turn, and opened the first door on his right.
It was a familiar bedroom with a pink motif, and pictures of Sarah on the walls. Jon could remember practicing his singing in this room. But he wasn't there to sing, he was there... for something else.
Jon closed the door behind him, not caring if he was supposed to be here or not, and began to strip off his clothes. And then he was naked. Naked in Sarah McMillan's bedroom, staring down the business end of a bikini that was probably worth more money than his house. Was he really going to do this?
That was a silly question. Jon knew what his wish had been making him do all day. He'd heard Amber downstairs say how good Sarah looked in a bikini. He'd heard that woman say that Sarah modeled this very bikini in this very bedroom.
And he knew that he was about to do it better. He didn't have a choice in the matter.
The string bikini bottom was soon in Jon's hands, and then it was between his legs. He pulled the strings taut to rest above hips that stuck out in both directions more pleasingly than they ever had before, tightened the knots to sit just at a narrow waist that was higher than his natural waist had been. As the piece of clothing found its comfortable resting place, Jon found his hands running themselves down the skin of his smooth, slender legs, down to his perfectly-shaped calves, where his eyes followed to spy his dainty feet tipped with pink nail polish that perfectly matched the fabric of his bikini.
Of his bikini. This wasn't Susan's bikini anymore, and it wasn't Sarah's. It was Jon's. Jon was going to own this bikini, in every possible meaning of the word.
The bikini top soon followed its compatriot's path onto Jon's body, as nimble hands wrapped its strings around his back and behind his neck. Jon's shoulders rounded out and narrowed, as his arms became slender and lithe. His hands shifted into perfect proportions, polish to match his toes materializing on his nails. And then his bust.
The image of Susan McMillan from the poster downstairs reverberated within Jon's mind. His legs matched the poster. His hips matched the poster. His belly matched the poster. His arms matched the poster. His shoulders matched the poster. His skin was hairless, his crotch was flat (did that mean... Jon didn't want to think about it), his body was perfect with one exception, which was about to correct itself.
Jon turned to the full-length mirror that hung on one wall of Sarah's bedroom and saw the perfect image of a bikini model, only marred by a pair of sad, empty cups. For a moment. And then they began to fill. Like balloons inflating right there on his chest, small bumps formed within Jon's cups which then got bigger, and bigger, and bigger.
Despite himself, it made Jon feel good. He was coming closer and closer, cup size by cup size, to meeting his goal to look better in this bikini than Sarah ever did. And then he could model it in this very bedroom with more skill than Sarah ever had.
Jon shook his head, causing his beautiful locks to swing through the air and settle back down in perfect placement. Was that really what he wanted?
No. It wasn't. But it's what he needed. His life would feel hollow and unfulfilled until he'd done these two things better than Sarah McMillan.
So as his bust finally, mercifully, rounded out into Susan McMillan's natural, full E-cup size, Jon felt his knees bend in just the right angles, felt his arms cross just under his bust in exactly the right position to emphasize it, in exactly the same position as they had been in the poster downstairs, and he looked in the mirror and saw, from the neck down, a mirror image of Susan McMillan, modelling her signature bikini. Because, of course, Susan McMillan was the only person in the world who looked better in a bikini than Sarah McMillan.
No, Jon realized. He didn't look just like Susan McMillan. The proportions were Susan's, but Jon still had his youth. He was still the same age as Sarah. His skin was just a bit brighter, he had just a touch fewer imperfections. Susan's proportions with Sarah's vitality.
He looked better than the both of them. His chest puffed up in pride, and that confidence made him look even better. And his hair was the crown that capped off the entire look.
Jon still had his own face, the last apparent remnant of his true identity. But even before the changes, he hadn't started growing a beard yet, and his boyish face atop his model's body and framed by a stylist's hairdo hardly even looked out of place.
Jon looked good, and he knew it. He took three steps towards the mirror, then executed a perfect spin on his toes and walked, one foot in front of the other, to the back of Sarah's bedroom before spinning once more and returning, just as sensuously, to the mirror, maintaining eye contact with himself the whole time.
Jon owned this bikini, and he owned this body, and even if Sarah may never know it, he owned this bedroom as well. But he knew it.
And then a switch flicked off inside of him. Jon had completed his goals, and his compulsion had backed off just a little bit. Jon was back in control, just a little bit.
He took a deep breath and let it out in a ragged gust. He'd have to go back downstairs eventually, but he could take a few moments to collect himself.
How in the hell was Jon going to fix this?
