I awoke the next morning to the sound of a busy shopping mall parking lot. Cars driving back and forth, the occasional horn, people talking, etc. Ugh. And this is why I like living in the woods. Mumbling curses under my breath, I slid out of bed and glanced around my van. Sure enough, it was still packed full of yesterday's purchases and a quick glance down confirmed that I still had an enormous rack, blonde hair, and no penis. It either wasn't a dream, or apparently multi-day dreams are in scope. The only rational thing to do is assume it's real and keep moving, I guess.
With a sigh, I used the van's chemical toilet, then changed into a fresh pair of underwear. I, uh. Look, the lacy ones weren't as bad as I had thought, okay? They looked cute on me. That's why I put another pair on, instead of the less-feminine full coverage bikini briefs. And then I put on leggings again, because why not? I could wear the hiking pants when I went hiking. Plenty of women walked around shopping districts in leggings, that wasn't weird.
I did skip the bra for now, though. Just hanging out in the van, I didn't want to deal with trying to get it clasped again, so a simple t-shirt was enough up top. A little baggy was good, too. Slipping my new hiking shoes back on, I hopped out of the van, noting a quite visible bounce in my upper torso as the unrestrainted boobs jiggled. Whoops, I idly thought as a guy walking by accidentally walked into a parked car. Maybe I should have worn that bra.
Shrugging, which once again made them bounce, I made my way over to a coffee shop and ordered a breakfast sandwich and a - hmm. Normally, I just order a large black coffee. It's simple, it gets the caffeine into my bloodstream as quickly as possible. But ugh. Am I right? I don't want to drink that.
"A large caramel latte, extra whip," I said to the barista with a smile as she rung up my order and I walked to the To Go counter to wait. I leaned against the wall, folding my arms under my breasts as I waited, idly glancing around the restaurant as I waited for my name to get called. A woman in her thirties met my gaze, an incredibly hostile expression on her face as she stared back at me. Huh? Confused, I glanced around, but nobody was standing near me. When I looked back at her, she was still glaring in my direction.
"Order for Tiffany," a barista shouted. Sigh, it always takes forever to get my order. I swear these places serve the cute girls first, making the rest of us wait. But what was this lady's problem? I glanced around the coffee shop again, trying to figure out what was making her so mad at me. Once again, she met my gaze with a death glare. I pointed at myself in confusion and she nodded at me, almost snarling at me. What the fuck?
"Order for Tiffany," the barista shouted again. Oh, shit. That was MY name. Whoops! I giggled slightly, having forgotten my own name, and shrugged at the woman giving me the evil stare while I picked up my coffee cup and sandwich, turning to walk out. Yeah, the chest bounced a bunch. Oh. OH! Her husband was standing next to her, looking like he'd just been read the riot act, and my tits were about to knock someone out. Okay, yeah. My fault on that one. Sorry that your husband can't keep his eyes to himself.
I walked back out of the coffee shop, feeling her eyes burning a hole in the back of my head - and probably her husband's eyes on my ass as the door closed behind me. Note to self, next time I should probably wear the bra in public. If only to save other people's marriages. I giggled again, shaking my head slightly at the situation. Since when do I giggle? I don't think I've ever used that word before yesterday. With a sigh, I climbed back up into my van, settling down into my computer seat, placing the coffee on my desk and the breakfast sandwich next to it.
As I chewed, I looked over the haphazard mess that my van had become. For the last five years, it had been neat, orderly, a haven of engineering and precision. Everything had its place. Now, I had trash bags filled with receipts and tags from purchased clothing, in addition to scattered piles of clothes over almost every surface. I was going to need to clean this up at some point.
First, I needed to get some of my guy things out of the way. I picked up the torn and dirty clothes from the fateful bike ride, feeling a clink from the pants as I did. Puzzled, I sat down and pulled them into my lap, digging through the pockets. Inside a thigh pocket, I found my GoPro, which I vaguely recalled placing there as I picked up the debris and stumbled home. It wouldn't power on, but that wasn't a surprise as the case was cracked and the lens shattered. I managed to pop it open and retrieve the SD card from within, spinning to turn my computer on and inserting it into a reader.
The software automatically detected the new video files and synced them over as I clicked a few buttons on the mouse and launched the video player app.
"Hey chat, it's me, Tim. Ha, ha. There is no chat, it's just me rewatching my glory days on this video when I'm old and wrinkled. Anyway, let's get ready to ride a modified Alpine trail out here in Willamette National Forest."
My old face stared at the camera, my old voice echoing from the speakers, as I took in the sight of my bike, the van. I fast-forwarded through the video, not paying attention to the epic trail ride, until I got near the end and slowed it down to normal speed once more.
"Fuck you, Frank! And fuck your 0.3%!" echoed in the quiet van as I watched my bike start to slide, my skilled hands whipping the tail into position and leaning, straightening to recover. I saw the tree, heard the crunch of impact, then a blur of sky and forest as the action camera spun wildly, followed by a series of thumps as objects hit the ground. The camera rolled a few times, coming to rest staring at my face, but the viewport wide enough to see the whole carnage.
My helmet had been sheared off, my skull was cracked open and I could see brain matter spilling out onto the forest floor. My chest was caved in, at least one rib protruding from my chest. My left leg appeared to be backward, obviously broken, and oh fuck. I ran to the toilet and vomited my entire breakfast back up. Tears welled in my eyes and before I knew it, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I vomited again, dry-heaving this time, as nothing came out. I spat a few times into the toilet before trying to stand on shaky knees, making my way back to the computer.
I rinsed my mouth out with some water, quickly peeking at the screen. The video file was still playing, but nothing was happening. My destroyed body was still laying there. Dead, I thought to myself. I died. There is literally nothing else possible in that scenario. I fucking died. I covered the portion of the screen with my body with a shaking hand, fast-forwarding the video file as it played for another thirty minutes until the battery on the camera finally died. Nothing else had happened. My corpse just lay there in the dirt for close to an hour before the camera turned off.
But how am I here? I closed the video file so I didn't have to stare my dead body anymore and slumped back into my chair. Magic was the only explanation I could come up with. I mean, obviously magic was involved in turning me into this body. But I guess magic also brought me back from the dead? Does that make me a zombie? A sexy blonde zombie with big tits? I laughed, an edge of hysteria in my voice. No, I'm not a zombie. I'm just a very confused dead guy right now, though.
Okay, so let's think rationally about this. Hah, what a fucking moron. There is no rational thought possible. You fucking died. Rationality goes OUT THE WINDOW. Shut up, me. I'm going to fast-forward through the irrational part and just deal with the now. Now seems rational enough. What do I do next? It certainly doesn't seem like there's any going back. We crossed that bridge and burnt the motherfucker behind us.
I need some fresh air to clear my head. But I don't have a bike. I should buy a bike. Oh, I need to buy a phone, too, so I can text Gwendolyn. Okay, maybe that's the solution for right now. Let's focus on a few small tasks that I can do, trying to restore a little normalcy, instead of thinking about the fact that I just watched a video of me dying a pretty fucking gruesome death.
Luckily, I was in a shopping district with a lot of options. I rubbed at my eyes a little, trying to make it look like I hadn't just been crying and throwing up my breakfast, before I stepped out into the morning light.
My first stop was the nearby AT&T store. I'd been a longtime customer of theirs, so adding an extra line onto the plan wasn't a big deal. I took care of most of the paperwork online, agreeing to an in-store pickup. Luckily, the college kid working the Saturday morning shift was too busy staring at my chest to ask for an ID before I collected the phone, quickly retracing my steps to the van.
Inside, I unboxed the phone and plugged it in to charge to full. All my life, I've been an Android user - it's just so easy to customize and tweak. Apple always looks down on you, assuming that you're going to use their design principles, their UI choices. But the phone was cute, and so I bought it. If I really cared about customizing something, I could always use my old phone, right? This one was just for me to use as Tiffany, which meant it wouldn't get used much at all.
When it powered up, I dug through my trash bag of receipts and plucked the REI one from the pile. Gwendolyn had bad handwriting, but she'd clearly tried really hard to make it legible on the receipt, and the little heart was a cute touch. I created a new contact, saving it, and started to compose a text.
"Hey Gwendolyn, this is Tiffany. I realized I gave you the wrong number. This is my phone number and I am returning your text message."
Lame. Holy shit, what kind of a loser writes a message like that? You're never getting laid.
I deleted the message without sending and tried again.
"Hey, Tiffany here. I accidentally gave you the wrong number. Sorry about that."
Oh God, we're screwed. We got raised from the dead, given a smoking hot blonde body by a magic woman, and we're fucking it up so bad we are still going to die a virgin.
"Hey, this is Tiff! I am so sorry, I gave you the wrong number - too much wine! Please forgive me?
Before I could talk myself out of anything, I clicked send. Shit, is there an undo? I shouldn't have sent that.
She hates me. She's not going to reply. Or she gave me a fake number. Why would she do that? She seemed so into me. FUCK. What do I do now? I got up and paced the van, panic surging through my veins. This was a mistake. Dying a virgin isn't the end of the world, okay? I've done it once already! There's no shame in doing it a second time.
My phone dinged. SHE REPLIED!
"LOL! No problem, glad you didn't ghost me. Boss glaring at me, store is slammed with customers. Gotta work. Talk tonight?"
WE ARE SO BACK!
"YES!" I shouted with joy, blushing as my voice echoed off the van walls. Oh man, what a relief. I felt like I'd just sprinted a mile, my body was shaking with adrenaline and coated in sweat. How did people do this shit? It was so much easier to just not ask people out.
"Yes please! Have a great day! Can't wait to hear your voice!" Bloop, message sent. I collapsed back into my chair, a smile nearly splitting my face in half. Today was going to be amazing. I sat bolt upright in the chair, a thought occurring to me. I needed clothes for a date. Oh no, what do I even wear to a date?
Okay, deep breath, Tim. One thing at a time. We got a phone, next we need a new bike. Then we can worry about the next problem. Like a date with a smoking hot redhead.