She snorted through her nose. "I mean, you're doing it right now," she said with a tone that was half annoyance, half amusement.I sighed. "I-I guess,"... I began, realizing with a dawning recognition of the blatantly obvious that she was right. "I don't know what's wrong with me..."But I did know, though the admission was shocking to me. All night long I'd been sneaking glimpses of my friend's long legs, studying the firm muscle of her calves; the way her strappy heels had pulled them into tight. She reached forward and picked it up, my heart missing a beat and I pleaded with her to put it down, but the twinkle-eyed girl ignored me and rotated it in her hand. "Please, don't press anything."She cackled as her thumb closed over the button, as it pointed towards her; I cried out, but it was too late: her laughter, turned to a startled gasp and her spare hand delved into her short shorts, groaning as she located her slit. "Fuck," she cried between pants and stared at me with a lustful. Looking deep into his owneyes, he tried to find some vestige of his former self ? someindication that the "eyes were the mirrors of the soul". All he coulddo was focus on the soft arch of his eyebrows, and the length of hiseyelashes. He grunted and backed of, giving him a better view of whathe had become.His gaze strayed to the bag of razors, and the shaving gel, stillsitting by the edge of the tub where he and Sandy had left them.Bending over and picking up razor that had nearly completed. At the same time she upped hiscosmetics to include obvious eyeliner and lipstick, more blush andeyeshade. He didn't need artificial lashes because his natural ones hadbecome so thick from the drugs his wife fed him. He only had to darkenthem, which he was soon doing on his own, along with the rest of 'puttingon his face'. Without telling Larry, Tanya had his boss make another e-mail announcement, this one that everyone should call Larry 'Cindy'. Sheliked it because it would remind him of.