April stood staring in the mirror, crying. Three times she had scrubbed off her makeup and reapplied it, and three times it came out exactly the same: at least twice as much as she normally wore (hell, she was lying to herself, it was a lot more than that). Too much eye shadow, eyeliner. Too much blush, a trashy red lipstick she never remembered buying, and she looked like a prostitute.
Worse, her breasts were humongous. A pair of milky white DD's that shook like a bowel of Jell-O with even the slightest movement. They looked ridiculous on her--on her petite teenage frame, she might as well have had a pair of watermelons hanging off her chest.
April had tried to find one of her old bras--the ones that said 34B on the back--to see if she was just imagining things, to see if they still fit. But her head had clouded again, and then she remembered (or at least half-remembered) that she didn't own any bras. She found them too restricting.
And now she was wearing a white, skin tight cutoff T-shirt that stopped just above her bellybutton. Her large round nipples could clearly be seen through the thin material, and across the chest the word "Easy" was written in hot pink lettering.
She didn't know where it had come from. April knew she would never buy such a trashy shirt (no matter how wet it got her just thinking about wearing it). If she were ever seen in public wearing something like this her rep would be permanently destroyed!
But, no matter how many times she tried to return it to the closet and pick something else out, she kept grabbing the same thing and squirming back into it before she even realized what she was doing.
Then there were her pants. Or rather, her lack of pants. Right now, all she wore was a pair of black thong panties and six inch high heels.
Her fashion sense had completely vanished from her mind, and the thong was the only thing she could find that 'went with' the shirt. She couldn't change no matter how hard she tried, and now she looked like some slut about to enter a wet T-shirt contest.
She was fighting a losing battle, and her time was nearly up. Her date would be there any minute. Or rather, her first date. Initially she had only called and made plans with Jon for seven o'clock. But then, her mind had felt fuzzy again and she had immediately called the other three boys who had left messages on the machine and scheduled dates for eight, nine and ten. She had also called up her ex-boyfriend Dan and asked if she could stop by around midnight, "just to talk."
Her parents were out of town. There was no one around to stop her. What the hell was she doing?
The doorbell rang.