This was my first year at a private college, although my sister has been going there for several years. I had attended a junior college for the last one and a half years, but my parents decided to send me to the private college after receiving my last report card. My grades were the reason for the change, they were less than what they anticipated, truth be known, they were atrocious.
I had passed, well barely passed was more appropriate. In fact, only one class saved my butt from being kicked out of school, that class being gymnastics where I managed a B. That lonely B kept me one-tenth of a percentage point above the minimum grade to stay in school. My sister had a 3.9-grade average, had been on the student council, a cheerleader, and a member of the school orchestra and choir.
Compared to her I was a total failure, thus the edict from my parents. Either go to the private school or pay my own way from now on. I wanted to get a better education since my prospects were less than ideal without it. The depressed economy has made a believer out of a lot of young college students.
It used to be if you had a college degree, you could get a decent job, now that same degree will get you nothing. The requirements for obtaining employment now depended on the choice of schools and the specific subjects studied. My sister’s college had a long-standing record of placing graduates in well-paying jobs. At her college the emphasis was on participation, networking, communication and appearance.
Since I couldn’t afford school without my parents help, I guess I will now be attending my sister’s school, the Southern Belle Woman’s College. The college had only recently, started accepting male students but kept the name it has had for over fifty years. I was one of those males, and now due to my poor performance, a student at a woman’s college. When your friends ask where you are going to school at, the topic of conversation cannot change fast enough. Several times I had been forced to admit where I was going to school, the laughing continuing for quite some time.
I was christened Dana Jo Walker at birth while my sister had been given the name of Diane Jo Walker. We were named after two of our Mom’s closest friends since they had meant so much to her. Dana is not normally a boy’s name, but I managed to get through life with only a minimal amount of teasing and bullying because of it.
One thing not helping the situation was that I was five foot nine inches tall, although I only weighed one hundred thirty pounds, clothes notwithstanding. I was not really tall for a male, but when most of your fellow students were shorter, it did give me an advantage. I got my father’s blond hair, but my mother’s softer features. No one in my family had much hair growth except on their head, due to some Indian heritage. Dad could never grow a beard although he tried often, and neither of us had any body hair to speak of. With my blond hair, that only accented my lack of follicular development. Blond hair and my light toned skin, and a sunburn in an instant was possible if I didn’t slather on the sunscreen.
All of these characteristics plus the name Dana, then add in a women’s college, and I was suddenly knee deep in poop. Why couldn’t Diane have gone to a regular university with a normal name? I could see my next two years as a real challenge, not just improving my grades, but surviving the bigger goal.
My sister knew it was a make it or break it type of situation for me. She made a sincere effort to help me adjust to the school, knowing that it being a former woman’s college would make it harder for me. She helped me pick classes that I could do well in, thus helping me get my GPA up to a more respectable level. My first semester was English Literature, Conversational French, Business Mathematics, Psychological Theories, and Female Studies. The last one was not my choice, but Sis managed to convince me that it was an easy course, with every student getting an A in it. Besides, she was sure that I might enjoy learning a little about the superior gender. That statement delivered with quite a smirk.
The first few weeks were not too bad, the subjects were not difficult, the teachers making the courses enjoyable. I thought I was on track to getting the kind of grades that Mom and Dad were expecting of me, but overconfidence had got me into trouble in the past. My last semester was a prime example of this overconfidence. I had foolishly told my parents that I was on track to obtain a C average in all of my courses. The actual results made the situation much worse, I barely managed a passing grade.
This school had always been known for the involvement of its student body in nonacademic activities. I was constantly approached by my counselor to get involved in extracurricular activities of some kind or another. The school pushed the students to get a well-rounded education, even reaching out to experience something different. I asked Sis what she thought might be of interest to me since it was obvious that my counselor was not going to let it drop.
She got this huge smile on her face, then told me she had something in mind, but she had to check on a couple of things first. She would let me know that evening. I wondered about her sometimes, usually when she smiles like that, it is not in my best interest. I do have to admit that she has not steered me wrong since I started here at Southern Belle.
The school gives out grades every six weeks, to ensure that each student knows where they stand in each class. Since today was that day, I stopped at the main office, to pick up my progress report. I was very wary of opening it since I had not convinced myself that I was doing as well as I thought I was. Sis found me at lunch in the student union, wanting to see how I was doing. I handed her the report and asked her to open it.
She giggled as she took it, opened it, and then straight-faced, told me it might be better if I found an excuse to stay away from our house until my parents had gone to bed. My facial expression went from anticipation to depression in a few seconds. She set by me at my table, rubbing my shoulders, telling me that it might not be as bad as I had envisioned it to be. Working in fast food is always a possibility.
Finally, she erupted in laughter, pointing to my face, and telling me that my expression was priceless. It turned out that I had got a 3.4 GPA for the first six weeks. She hugged me, kissed me on the cheek, telling me that I had finally found somewhere and something I could excel at. I was mad at her first, but finally saw the humor in her treatment of me. I was so uptight that I had readily bought into the fact that I had failed again. The good report lifted my spirits through the rest of the day. I was almost looking forward to going home tonight.
Both Sis and I still lived at home. Our parents were not poor by any means but insisted that we commute to keep the expenses down to a manageable level. In fact, this summer both of us got new cars. Unfortunately, they were both low-priced economy cars. Two cute little VW bugs in white, with burgundy interiors. I would have preferred something a little more masculine, but Dad got a really good deal on them. At least, it was a new car.
Sis beat me home since her last class ended an hour before mine did. When I walked in Dad had been waiting by the door. I was not allowed to go any further until he saw my grades. I slowly handed over my report, then took off for the kitchen. I guess he figured I had messed up again as he glanced at the report. Finally, he connected with the fact that I had made considerable progress in the first six weeks and complimented me on it.
That is a first for Dad, but I had managed to take any ammunition away from him. I got a big hug from Mom, her telling me that she was so proud of me. We had a nice dinner, with Mom fixing her vegetable lasagna for us, a favorite of mine. The sauce was so good; it made you want to declare yourself an Italian citizen to be able to experience it again. Diane and I cleaned up the kitchen, washing the dishes and putting the leftovers away. Then Diane asked me to come to her room.
I followed her up the stairs, then into her room. We had our bedrooms upstairs, with the master bedroom downstairs. It made it a little more private for us. We sat on her bed after she had found some music for us to listen to. Some oldies, although we were not raised in the fifties and sixties, we loved that music. As the Beach Boys serenaded us, she told me of the activities that she thought I might be interested in doing.
We had both studied music since early childhood, Diane and I both playing guitar. Since Diane played more than me she was much better, but I knew all the basics, and my fingering was flawless. That was her first suggestion that I join the orchestra. I was never a fan of orchestras, for one thing, the music they played was not my cup of tea. I started to object, but Diane told me that she had joined a small group of musicians that were playing pop music mostly. They could use another guitar, and they would love for me to join them. Apparently the orchestra encouraged these groups, as it taught the students more versatility in their musical endeavors.
Her next suggestion caught me flat footed. The school was expanding their cheerleader squad to include a few males, mainly for some of the more intricate lifts done in competition. Diane was a member of the squad, in fact, she has been on the varsity squad since she started here. She had suggested me to their coach, and I had been asked to try out for the squad. I was very reluctant to tackle this one since cheerleaders tend to be females, add a male named Dana, with an androgynous figure and face, and I could see a lot of trouble with this one.
She wanted me to do this since the girls were fairly good and had their sights set on competition, both state and national. I told her that I would have to think about it, but not to get her hopes up. I really couldn’t see myself doing this.
Since I had enrolled at Southern Belle during midterm, technically a sophomore, her next idea was that I run for class council. The elections were held in the spring, with the winners serving their terms the next school year. The Council had six members from each class, a total of twenty-four individuals. From that twenty-four a council president was elected by the students, namely the council candidate with the most votes.
It is basically a popularity contest for the position of President. Since hardly anyone ran for the student council, it was usually easy to secure a seat in the body. The council handled all the student functions at the college. Homecoming, Prom, student dances, graduation activities, and all other student functions. They also helped with fundraising for several of the charities that the student council supported. Last year over thirty-six thousand dollars was raised to operate the clinic on campus for women that desired help with their pregnancy. No abortions, just help with the baby, both financial and emotional.
While we were listening to the California beach songs, I tried to reason in my mind what activities would be worth doing and what ones would interest me enough to stay enthused. Diane’s musical group interested me, but to join I would also have to participate in the orchestra. I guess that could be put up with since I really liked to play the guitar. Her ensemble was playing for all the dances that the students participated in, a favorite of the attendees. I agreed to her suggestion that I join her group, with her telling me when rehearsals were for both the group and the orchestra.
On the student council involvement I left it up to her, if she wanted to run my campaign, I would participate. If it was up to me to get elected, I wanted no part of it. I thought that comment would get the idea dropped very quickly, but Diane just smiled telling me that next year I would be a part of student council. She has always been very good at organizing things, given a task she manages to find a way to get it done satisfactorily.
We talked about the cheerleading gig, with me still not wanting to participate. Sis managed to get me to come at least to the tryouts, hoping I would reconsider. That big smile of hers reappeared, announcing that the tryouts were tomorrow at four P.M. How convenient for her to bring it up, the night before the tryouts. I told her that I would indeed come to the tryouts, after my last class, but not likely to participate in them.
She went to her dresser and retrieved a lightweight pair of sweats, in a shade of green for me to wear tomorrow. My regular school clothes of jeans and a t-shirt would not allow me to move as required. I stared at the green sweats but decided just to put up with it, since I was sure that I would not make the squad, I even doubted I would try out for the group.
As I attended classes the next day, my proposed new activities were occupying all of my mental capacity. It was fortunate that a quiz or test was not on the agenda since my mind had checked out. Finally, my last class was over, and I headed for the gym, trying to remember how Diane had talked me into this.
Sis met me at the area used for their practice. I was shown to a room where I could change. Looking back at the events of the last twelve hours, I realized where I had made a mistake. I had not tried on the sweats. They fit, just a little too well. The expression that they were painted on applied. I was extremely fortunate that I had decided to wear a nylon brief, instead of boxers. Every curve of my body was on display.
When I looked in the mirror, there was no Dana in the room, at least not the masculine version. On second thought maybe just change back into my male clothes and pass on the tryouts. I looked for my male clothes, both them and Diane now missing. I gave a heavy sigh and walked out to the gym. Unfortunately, our parents had always stressed doing what we had promised, no matter the consequences.
About twenty young women greeted me, plus three males that were waiting to try out for the squad. I tried to stay in the background away from the main group. The men were told to go with one of the girls while the coach told the girls to line up. I started to head in the direction of the males but was called back by the coach. Reluctantly I joined the girls in line. I wanted to point out their mistake but was so embarrassed to be perceived as a female; I decided just to keep quiet.
The coach told a couple of the existing members of the squad to run through a couple of the routines. Of course, Diane was one of these women. I got a big Cheshire cat type of smile from her but chose to ignore her. They would show us the routine, and then we would try to copy it.
After running through twenty routines, the coach called us all together, telling us that we had all made the first cut. She wanted an individual picture of each of us, and then we could take a break while they compared notes on our performance. After our pictures had been taken, I noticed that another teacher was loading them on a laptop. Then apparently running them through a program.
Every once in a while, the coach would be called over to look at the results. Several times, they both looked over at me after one of these conversations. Even Diane was included in one of the conferences. As Diane walked over to some of her friends, a huge smile appeared on her face. This couldn’t be good for me. My hopes of being rejected for the squad were looking feeble.
About twenty minutes later the coach started meeting with each individual trying out for the team. There was a lot of squealing as the girls and guys were told of their evaluation. As always, not everybody made the squad. Some of them were told they would be accepted to the JV squad, and if a position on the varsity squad became open, they would be eligible.
I ended up being last, making my nerves just that much worse. Diane was called over too, as I was being evaluated. She sat next to me and held my hand as the coach told me of her evaluation. I was told that I was more than pretty enough for the squad. My movements were fluid, and my timing was right on. Then she stopped to show me an image that was on the laptop screen. It was my head on a woman dressed as a Southern Belle. This image is what we would like to talk to you about, though.
For several years, the college has wanted to adopt an image as a mascot. Since the name of the college is Southern Belle, what better mascot than a real Southern Belle. When the student council came to Coach Jameson with their request, it was envisioned as a lady from the old south, dressed as a Southern Belle, dancing along with the cheerleaders encouraging the students to join the game, and support the school.
They have had no one that might be able to bring this mascot to life until now. Coach Jameson was looking me directly in the eyes, as she finished that statement. I quietly informed her of her mistake in presuming that I was a female. She smiled, informing me that Diane had told her of my true gender yesterday. Now I was lost, they know I am a male, yet they want me to portray a female mascot. Since a few of the other cheerleaders were hanging around near our conversation, it was decided to move to the coach’s office. Once there, I reminded them of the obvious fact that I am not a female.
Diane asked the coach if she could explain it to me. The coach agreed with Diane, as she stated the obvious to me. You are eminently qualified to portray our mascot, you have the moves, you are the right height, and you have the strength to dance the routines wearing a much heavier costume than the typical cheerleaders outfit.
My mind finally started adding one and one and getting two. I guess it would require someone with a bit more energy to dance the routines wearing a large voluminous dress. The dress in the altered picture had a huge skirt, maybe five feet across, being held out with lots of petticoats. It has been the intention of everyone involved in this to keep the identity of the mascot a true secret. Diane, Coach Jameson, and I, if I accept, the only ones to share in the identity of the Southern Belle.
I stupidly asked if I accept what will I have to do, besides wearing the costume at functions. Diane again pointed to the image on the laptop. The dress, of this era, typically showed a lot of cleavage. So titties would be required, also, since the underwear would be on display a lot of the time, as the skirt is maneuvered during the routines, a feminine lower torso would have to be portrayed. The fact that other than a laptop image, no actual work through has been accomplished, it would be a learning experience as I get into the role.
She imagined that living the role 24/7 would probably be required to keep in character. Now I began to squirm a little. The idea of being the mascot had been fascinating, maybe something I might enjoy. To live as a woman 24/7 to be that mascot, not so much. I told the coach I doubted that I would be interested, but I would think about it. I would let her know in a couple of days my decision.
I gathered up my clothes, as they suddenly re-appeared next to my backpack and headed to my car. Diane caught up with me as I entered the parking lot, asking me to come with her to dinner. She wanted to talk to me and not at our home. I was a little hungry but told Diane that I would not change my mind. She insisted that she just wanted to talk about it so that I had all the information to make an informed decision. I eventually gave in, with us leaving my car in the parking lot and took her car to a little diner several blocks from the campus. Although it was the student’s favorite hangout, busy at lunch, but in the evenings the crowd was sparse. She found a cozy booth in the front corner, near the window, but not conspicuous.
Drinks were ordered while we decided what we were having to eat. After ordering our meals, Diana started the conversation. She wanted to know why I was so dead set against the idea. My reply was duh, living as a woman 24/7 just might have a little to do with it. Her reply, if you haven’t tried it, how can you discard the idea. Diane, I am a male, at least in name and looks.
After seventeen years of living as a member of the male sex, then change over to the female lifestyle scares me to death. I know nothing about living as a female, just the idea frightens me. We paused as our drinks are delivered, then resumed with Diane trying to get me to see that it would not be that much different, then the life I am presently living. I tell her that is absurd. I don’t dress as a female, wear makeup, or get the attention that men give females.
We are interrupted again as our food is brought to us. We paused our conversation as we ate our meal. The food here is real good, not the typical fare. Diane ordered the Chicken Mushroom Swiss Burger while the Avocado Monterey Jack Burger was my choice. I know neither of the burgers was good for a feminine figure, but they were so good, besides I had not agreed to join the cheerleaders. After the waitress had removed our plates, our discussion resumed.
I asked her point blank why she was so determined in getting me to live as a female. There was silence for several moments as she debated what her response was going to be. Finally, she blurted out because you are a woman at heart, and you need to finally face the situation. That left me speechless. I was getting ready to protest the accusation, when the part of my mind that keeps all of my deepest secrets, decided at that moment to interject its two cents with, not with my approval.
All of a sudden, I was not sure that all of this was wrong. Doubt can be a mighty force to be reckoned with and always at the most inconvenient times. The fear was still there, believe me, but I was no longer sure that this was as wrong of a choice as I had envisioned it to be. Being a female and my sister, Diane could smell victory and just smiled. I wasn’t ready to give in yet, but I was very aware that I was wavering.
I finally conceded that I would try the idea out, but if I looked ridiculous or couldn’t handle the costume it was over with. I was shocked at how fast Diane moved, as she attacked me giving me a kiss and hugging me until I was nearly out of breath. Her first words were tomorrow; we will find out how convincing Dana can be as a female. My appointment was at eight A.M. in the morning to be feminized, and we would know whether I passed by lunch. Great, something more to dread, but in a way I was looking forward to it, I just didn’t know why.
Apparently, that is what she and Coach had determined to be the next logical step in making the mascot, namely me a part of the squad. The task of turning me into a more believable female had been given to Diane since the identity of the Southern Belle was supposed to be a secret. The fewer people involved, the better.
Eight A.M. came way too early, in fact, is was more around seven when she dragged me out of bed. I was told to put on sweats, tennis shoes, and nothing else. I was handed a glass of OJ by Mom as Diane, and I left the house. As the door closed, I did hear, have fun girls. I gave Diane the evil eye but have never been able to do it as well as the true females of the family. We got in her VW and took off for a destination unknown, at least, to me.
About forty minutes later, we pulled into a private drive leading up to a Victorian house that rivaled many a movie mansion. There was a valet, a lovely petite woman to get our doors, and then park the car. We walked up to the two large doors, adorned with intricate scroll work, and then into a lobby that was just fabulous. Diane told the receptionist that I had an eight o’clock appointment. She checked her computer, then told us to go up the stairs, and our stylist would meet us there.
What I noticed on the wall was a sign touting the name of the salon. It read Turnabout Gurl, where we bring out the feminine in you. As we passed a couple of the rooms where the doors were open, I saw several customers getting hair styled, nails done, or makeup. A very beautiful woman met us, a few more feet down the hall. She led us to another room and opened the door for us. There was a beauty equipment scattered along the walls of the room, and a padded table in the center.
The table was what you would expect to see at a doctor’s office. I was asked to remove all of my clothes and set on the table. I waited to see if she or my sister was going to leave the room, apparently that was not in the cards, so I began to strip. Now down to my birthday suit, I set on the table. Gloria introduced herself, then asked me to lay back on the table. First on the schedule was removing all of the hair from my body.
I was asked what method I preferred, waxing or chemical. Before I could respond, Diane told her that chemical would be the one I would chose. Gloria looked at me with a puzzled expression, then got the necessary supplies to perform the task. Gloria started with my back after she got me to turn over. The cream was rubbed into my skin, not missing a single spot on my backside. I was informed of the need for me to lay perfectly still until the cream could perform its task. After about thirty minutes, she started removing the cream using small towels.
When she finished, she took a washcloth and wiped any excess off, then rubbed a soothing lotion all over my posterior. Next I was asked to turn over, and my front was subjected to the same treatment. After finishing my front, I was able to see the results. The simple act of removing all of my hair changed the appearance of my body drastically. I looked softer and curvier, definitely not what a male was supposed to look like. I never had much body hair, but when what little you do have is removed the difference is quite noticeable.
If it had stopped there, it might have been bearable. The smooth skin all over my body was feminine, a touch to my skin sent shivers all over my body. There seemed to be a lot more than hair removal on the agenda for today as Gloria made preparations for the next procedure.
Gloria told me to relax for a while as she finished setting up for the next treatment. Several boxes were removed from the cabinets and a light on a stand was moved over to the side of the table. She marked several spots on my chest with a marker and also along my male appendage. Then a spray was applied to each area. She also put the spray on several items she removed from the boxes, on the counter. She excused herself and told me to relax; she would be right back.
I tried to get Diane to tell me what
she was doing, but my sister was being coy, not telling me anything that I hadn’t already observed. Several minutes later she returned and lifted two of the items off the counter, then placed them on my chest where she had made the marks. She lifted my hands and placed one each on the breasts now adorning my chest. I was told to hold them until the adhesive set. I was shocked, I had boobs, breasts, whatever you wanted to call them and they were being attached to my body.
Part of my mind was yelling and screaming, you’re a male, and males do not have breasts. The rest of my mind was apparently absent without permission. I just laid there with my hands on my breasts, in a totally different world from a few minutes ago.
Gloria meanwhile had split the table at my crotch, creating two halves. She pushed half apart until it formed a V. She stepped in between the two halves and started attaching something to my groin. My mind was still glued to my hands on my titties, only faintly realizing that something was now covering my penis. Finally, things started to come together, and I raised my head to look at my groin. Then I fainted.
When I came to, Gloria had one hand, and Diane had the other, and they were trying to calm me down. It took several minutes for my mind to get back to the place where I was when I fainted. I lifted my head again, trying to see if what I saw before was an aberration. Nope, it wasn’t, I now had a very feminine slit, which was very obvious since all of my body hair had been removed. I started to panic again, but Diane managed to get me to focus on her, as she told me everything was going to be alright.
She told me that I still had my equipment, but now it was concealed by my vagina. My vagina, now that was a statement to consider. To all who now viewed my body, I was female that brought out the tears in buckets. Diane held me as I bawled, rubbing my back as she tried to comfort me. Twenty minutes later, I managed to stop the tears and looked her in the eyes. I wanted to know why I had to do all of this to be a stupid mascot for the school. Gloria slipped out for a minute or two while Diane tried to explain things to me.
You can’t just show up dressed as a female, especially if they can see you are not a real female. I am sure you remember back in high school when several of the football team decided to pick on you because they thought you were gay. Now fast forward to now. You show up half female, half male, and you are going to pay a severe price. If you look like a genetic girl, you will be the focus of many a male, but it will be manageable. Would you rather fight off romantic interest, or fight for your life. That is your choice.
I managed to compose myself somewhat, and shortly after that Gloria returned to the room. I was asked to sit at one of the tables along the wall. It had bottles of fingernail polish on it and all of the other tools for doing manicures. Gloria took my fingers, inserting them into a bowl to soak. Diane and her discussed shades of polish as my fingers soaked in the liquid. Gloria lifted my right hand out of the bowl, drying it off, then started filing the nails.
She shaped them into nice ovals, after removing the cuticles around the edges. Then she went through a box of fake fingernails, finding the right size for each of my fingernails. She applied superglue to the nail and the extension, then fitted them to my fingers. They extended, at least, a half inch past my fingertips. Then the light was moved over to the table and turned on. It was an ultraviolet light casting a purplish glow to my hand. My left hand was next, her doing the same thing to those fingers. The left hand was inserted under the light, joining my other hand.
Gloria asked if the accessories were just temporary or long term. Diane responded long term, as the situation stands now. I wondered what they were talking about. What accessories were they referring to, and what was long term. I looked directly at Gloria and asked her what she was talking about. She glanced at Diane, then responded to me. Your hair removal is semi-permanent. The chemical kills off the hair follicles, only a few hairs will regrow. After a few months, they will also die.
Your breasts and false vagina are removable if the right glue is used. I had instructions to use the better glue. With no hair, there is no reason to remove the forms, what we also refer to as accessories. Since the better glue was used, it will keep them secure for at least six months. The forms use a synthetic skin that breathes just like real skin would. It also transmits touch to the underlining tissue. You will feel when someone touches your breasts just like a woman would.
To my horror, I was told that my new vagina can be used for sex, with me being able to feel everything inside of it. With regards to your new nails, they are permanent with the gel glue we used. The UV light sets the gel, making the nails bond with my fingernails permanently. The pale pink polish is semi-permanent, but you can use other colors, and change them as needed to match your clothes.
Way too much information for me to process. First thoughts indicate that I will be living as a female for quite some time. I started to get mad at Diane for pushing this on me, but sitting here at the table; I feel good about things. I look down at my new breasts, yes, my new breasts. They look good, and as I move a little to look at them, they move with me.
Having my male equipment tucked away feels a little different, but for some reason, I don’t miss it. I never was a male that lived only for his male appendage. The fact that I never got into the masturbation thing was an indication that I just wasn’t interested in sex that much. I won’t have to worry about it now since everything is neatly tucked away and inaccessible.
Diane was staring at me the whole time that I was running all this information through my mind. We have been always close, too close in some instances, but able to know what our counterpart is thinking. Her smile was infectious as we all moved to Gloria’s styling station. As we exited the room, Diane moved next to me and reached over to pinch my newly acquired nipple.
I was shocked when I felt it, but the real shock was the sensation that moved through my entire body. I felt faint, weak in the knees, and the sensation seemed to go on and on. Diane ended up supporting me until I could regain my bearings. I looked up to her, trying to see her expression. She mouthed the words; you haven’t felt anything yet, then smiled that Cheshire cat smile of hers.
Gloria’s styling area was a small room attached to the first, but with different equipment. I was seated in a typical salon chair, then covered with a smock to cover me up and keep any cut hair from sticking to me. She proceeded to comb through my hair and make small sections, clipping each section separately. Then working from the back, she would undo each section, cutting the hair to even its length, then move on to the next section.
After she had done each section, the chair back was lowered, and my hair was shampooed and conditioned. A towel was placed around my hair and the chair was returned to the upright position. Gloria next combed my hair to remove any tangles, then proceeded to put my hair in curlers. The curlers were quite large, my hair wrapped around each curler three times. The hair around the nape of my neck was put into a little smaller curler, but the curler was placed up and down instead of sideways. I had a bad feeling that I would soon look a lot like a famous child movie star.
The dryer was scooted over behind my chair and then lowered over my curlers. Gloria handed me a magazine, it was the latest edition of Glamour, then turned on the dryer. The heat was comfortable, but not obtrusive. Of course, I couldn’t hear anything other than the sounds of the air assaulting my hair in the curlers. I tried to read the magazine, but the things happening to me were more of a concern.
Why I hadn’t tried to stop Diane was puzzling me. I had just went along with what she had suggested, now sitting under a hair dryer, with titties and a vagina. Not to mention the nail polish and lengthy nails. Trying to turn the page of the magazine, my hand had brushed up against my breast, the problem was I felt the touch. It was like the breasts were real, impossible you say, but the feeling was there. Gloria checked the dryness of my hair several times, finally decided that my hair was dry enough. The dryer was pushed back to the wall.
She removed the curlers, but the curl stayed intact, actually the curl was tighter than it was on the curler. With a pick, she began to loosen the curls, pulling them out a little. If the curl persisted she used a little heat to persuade it to obey. She went through all of the curls each getting attention, then she started back again going through all of them again. When she finished I was covered in hairspray as my entire head was doused in the cloud of mist. I managed to catch glimpses of my image in the mirrors when I was turned in the chair. I knew they were trying to keep my look from being seen until they had finished, but from what I caught small glimpses of I looked like a grown up Shirley Temple.
Next Gloria worked on my makeup, adding layer after layer of foundation, blush, eye liner, mascara, eye shadow, lip pencil, and finally lipstick. It felt funny in a way, but not that unusual. I did key in on the lipstick, my lips were slippery and had a distinct taste to them. Diane told me to thank Gloria, which I did, and I was led to another part of the salon.
The area which we entered was more luxurious than the rest, carpeted with exquisite furniture in groupings scattered around the room. Wallpaper and framed paintings adorned the wall. There was racks of clothes next to several of the groupings, and to one of these I was led. I remind you that I was still naked, since the cape that had hid my lack of clothes was left with Gloria.
A rather tall woman approached us and Diane introduced us. Her name was Karen, she would be my fashion consultant for today. She went right to work, measuring me again, with my enhancements. She then went to the rack and started selecting garments for me to put on. The first was a ruffled panty, and I do mean ruffled. My whole rear end was covered in layer and layer of lace. Next was what I would call a slip, but only covering my chest down to my waist. I was told that was called a chemise.
Diane grabbed my hand and led me to a rail running along the wall of the room. I was told to steady myself and raise my right foot. As I did so a shoe was slid on to my foot and a buckle was fastened around my ankle. Soon my other foot sported the match. I knew it was heels since when I put my foot down I suddenly became taller. Diane supported me a little and I was led back to the middle of the room.
Then Karen pulled out several very large slips. I stepped into each and they pulled them up to my waist. I could not see any of my lower extremities with all the layers of fabric. The final piece of clothing was the dress. It was not on the rack that Karen had been pulling from, the reason being it was too large to fit there. The top of the dress was a tight fitting bodice that just barely covered my assets. From the waist down, there seemed to be yards and yards of material gathered to the narrow waistline.
They had to drop it over my head to get it on my body. It took both of them to manage that, since my hair and newly made up face had to be avoided. Diane straightened the dress and Karen pulled up the zipper at the back of the dress. I thought they were done, but Karen then started buttoning the sixty-five little buttons up the back, apparently covering up the zipper. My first thought was how I would ever get in and out of this dress by myself.
Karen and Diane conferred for a few minutes and then I was led over to a grouping of three mirrors. As I approached the mirrors I noticed a gorgeous woman approaching the same mirror. It took me a few minute to realize that the image in the mirror was me. I stuttered, I gasped, a feminine squeal suddenly erupted from my lips, and then I fainted.
When I returned to the now and present Diane was comforting me as I laid on the floor. When she saw I was waking up she smiled, at me then in her best I told you so voice commented, that I turned out far prettier than any of the girls had thought. They helped me up to a couch near where I was sitting, but I found with that much skirt and slip I could only gently lean against the couch. I knew that I was supported some, but I could only feel the slips against my buttocks and legs. We talked for a while with several sales associates commenting on how pretty I was.
Finally things seemed to return to normal, whatever that was, and Diane suggested that we see what type of movements I could handle. We tried dancing a little and I was able to handle the skirts in a ballroom type of dance. Anything else didn’t show since the skirts covered everything up. Next we tried some of the cheerleaders routines, but again with the huge skirts, nothing was seen other than some body movement on my part, but hand movements were seen.
About that time, the cheerleader coach came in. Her mouth came open as if she was trying to say something, but no words were heard. She did manage to regain speech eventually, complimenting me on my appearance, then asked Diane if I could perform any of the moves that had been planned for the mascot. Diane and I showed her what we had tried, with her agreeing that would not be an option. She and Diane sat talking for a while on the couch that I wished I could set on, but since I was stuck in the upright position I walked around the room a little.
My heels were alright, but just standing made them hurt far more than walking around. I was daydreaming like I usually do, swaying to the music that the dress salon had piped into the room. For some odd reason I started pretending that I was a real girl in a beautiful dress at a grand ball. I pretended that I was dancing with my partner and he was swinging me around as we moved around the dance floor. Then when the music stopped before starting on the next track, I pretended to reach up to my partners face and kissed him. My lips were puckered for the kiss, my eyes closed, then I felt his lips on mine.
I swooned and then twirled around a couple of times, then to my horror Diane started laughing. I opened my eyes and both her and coach were giggling at me. Diane had jumped up and was the one who had kissed me. Diane told Coach that I often did that, the daydream part at least, that was how crazy I was. Then both her and Coach seemed to think of something and were soon huddled in conversation. I heard bits and pieces, but did not understand what they were saying.
Coach went to retrieve her digital camera, wanting to take pictures of me as the Southern Belle. They had me pose in every way imaginable, even taking a few as I danced around the floor. After reviewing the pictures taken it was decided that they had enough to show the rest of the college people. I was helped in changing into a more traditional female costume, a pair of black pants, matched with a black and gray sweater.
I know for one thing, it was considerably lighter, the belle dress with all the slips was extremely heavy. I touched up my lipstick and they dragged me off to the mall. The mall was to test if I could pass as a female without detection, a fete that I didn’t think would happen. After three hours at the mall, countless changing rooms, and a multitude of different outfits, the verdict was in. No one even hinted, that I was anything other than a genetic female.
I guess that sealed my fate, unless the college didn’t approve of the image for their mascot, I was assured the role. We headed home, then it hit me, I had to face Mom and Dad looking like a female coed. I am sure that will not go down well with Dad, although he has never openly pushed me to be a typical male, I know my reluctance at participating in any sports has left him slightly disappointed in me. As we got closer to the house, my fear became more real, getting out of her car, I was sweating and my stomach is doing flip-flops.
I entered the house, Diane pulling me along. Since she yelled we are home as she entered the house, there is no chance for me to escape to my room. Then I thought with the permanence of some of the things done to me, it wouldn’t do me any good anyway. What I postponed tonight I would have to face in the morning. Dad came out of the living room, looked me over from head to toe, then approached me and to my shock hugged me.
I stood there, mouth open, and let myself be hugged. It was done tenderly, holding me gently and pulling me closer to him. Then Mom came out of the kitchen and attacked me. She oohed and awed as she carefully scrutinized my appearance, pushing Dad farther away so she could take in all of my appearance. I was also hugged by her, with her whispering in my ear that I am so pretty. Never once in all of that time did my mouth find its way closed. I was in awe, my parents were not shocked, accepting that their son of eighteen years was now apparently their daughter.
Mom dragged me over to the couch and set with me, still looking at my changes and smiling that big smile that Mothers often sport with regards to their children. My mouth finally closed, but ten million questions seemed to spring to life. How did this happen, are these my real parents or did they get replaced somehow?
Diane had set in one of the side chairs in the living room, smiling at the actions taking place, apparently she had a lot more to do with this change than I ever thought possible. I guess I had been manipulated, by the master, not even seeing where any of this was possible several days ago. Now I am firmly entrenched as a college coed, quite a nice feeling.
I did become the Southern Belle mascot, dancing away at every game. They found a male dancer to accompany me, we mainly did waltzes at breaks and halftime. Then I would join the crowds after the game. In a way I enjoyed the attention, getting hugs and sneaky kisses all evening. When the school had a dance or at homecoming and prom I was there, my dance card more than full for the entire evening. Eventually my identity leaked out, the male attention now even more than before I was the mascot.
Although she won’t admit it I am sure Diane is jealous of me, her brother prettier than her and can pick any boyfriend she wants from among her many male suitors. We are still very close, I had assured her I will speak to a couple of my male admirers and get her a dreamy date for prom. Now as soon as the bruise on my arm fades away I can wear sleeveless tops again. Sisters can be so moody at times, just because her former brother is prettier than her. I can’t help it if I am gorgeous.
Story Complete For Now
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker