I pulled into the mall parking lot, hoping to find a space to park that wasn’t miles from the entrance. I often come here to shop, well truth be known, to dream of actually being able to purchase items from these stores. Two years out of college, but still, no full-time job made shopping a luxury that I couldn’t afford. The degree that I had in finance looked good on paper but never delivered as advertised.
I was a B student throughout college, participated in school activities, even managed to serve a year as class president, but all of that had no impact on job opportunities. The job choices in finance seemed to disappear as I walked across the stage to receive my diploma. I have found several part-time jobs to keep me in food and pay rent, but that lucrative good job is still not in my future. Unfortunately, these part time jobs tended to be with fast food establishments. That is the reason for today’s visit to the mall. Maybe a miracle was in my destiny, at least, I sure hope so.
I had found a basic apartment in the city proper, not the safest area, but still a step above the slums. It is convenient to public transportation and to several areas of fast food establishments, one of which I was employed at when I found the apartment. Shortly after signing the lease for the apartment I got a job at one of the other fast food places, thus ensuring adequate income to keep my head above water, well barely above water.
Yes, even though the apartment was crap they still wanted a six-month lease signed to be able to move in. The main reason for the apartment in this location was I didn’t have to rely on a car to get to and from work. The possibility that my car would be there the next day is also one of those unknown facts of life, especially in this neighborhood. Being an older car, and looking like a junker, probably helped in that regard quite a bit.
I needed something better for a job, to break me out of a less that enviable future. I knew that if I kept working the two part time jobs, things would get worse at some time as they always do, and I would be stuck in a less than desirous apartment, with not enough money to pay for it or keep myself fed. I had been looking for other jobs since I graduated college, but after countless interviews, I am still no closer to finding one. Since the regular nine to five jobs in finance or any other associated field are not existent, I decided to try modeling, having worked as a model for a while in college. The mall model search, the most recent opportunity in my quest to find something.
Several of the local modeling agencies had put together a model search, supposedly looking for the next supermodel. It was heavily advertised in all the local media and judging from the number of people in the center court; their advertising dollars were well rewarded. I was aware that most of these searches were only ways to sell modeling classes and professionally done portfolios, but I could dream, couldn’t I.
Still, when things are not going as planned, one must be open to other avenues to get to the planned target. In other words, it won’t hurt to take a stab in the dark for a possible chance at success. I made my way to the center court where the search was being conducted. Lots of young women and girls were already there. The model searches were primarily aimed at females, but the newspaper ads also stated a need for male models. Since birth, I have been a member of that group, males not models.
Although I am fairly tall, five foot ten inches, I was very trim and only weighed one hundred thirty pounds. I did not have a typical masculine physique since my shoulders were not wide with my waist tapering in a little before widening to my hips. My facial features were soft, my hands and feet are below average, and my body had very little hair on it. I was considered handsome by most individuals, at least, the few woman who had accepted a date with me had thought so. Handsome these days does not mean you are desirable, just that you are a possibility.
I did have a little prior experience, modeling for a department store, their male college fashions, the first two years of college. That lasted until my height started making me stand out a little more than average. My height became a problem when I became noticeably taller than my female counterparts at least that was their excuse when I was informed that my services were no longer needed. Since that time, however, modeling, in general, has embraced models with more height.
I hoped today my height would help me gain a foothold on a new career. I found the registration desk, signed in and left my portfolio. There were only three other male candidates signed up for the search. Typically in these model searches, the females went first on the schedule, followed up by the male models at the end.
The typical routine was an interview with a three-judge panel, made up of agency people, a walk down the runway, and then if singled out, a session with a photographer. In most cases, that is where a pitch is made to update their portfolio or take a few advanced courses to correct an obvious shortfall.
Setting aside my lack of getting a job, I was a typical male, somewhat interested in sports, although team sports were not my cup of tea. Tennis turned out to be my rising star, I least I thought so until I was embarrassed, no humiliated, by a young upcoming female participant with the last name of Williams.
I had a somewhat normal childhood, two loving parents, a sister, and a grandmother that pitched in quite often as a substitute parent, while my Mom and Dad were busy working, supposedly to obtain the American Dream. My sister, Beth was the typical older sibling, caring for me to a degree but never enough to allow any interaction or sharing of her life.Grandmother had to assume the duties full-time when our parents were killed in a plane crash, during a business trip overseas. In a way, she was a better Mother than our birth Mom since her love and caring for us showed in all of her interactions with us. Our parent’s death affected both of us quite severally, but Beth managed to bounce back quicker. I lost my way for several months, causing my Grandmother to seek psychiatric help for me. I attended several sessions but decided not to pursue any further treatment.
It was enough though to get me moving again, at least, I quit my moping and mood swings. When I finally got involved in my college studies, I resumed a typical male existence. Studying, studying, a little partying, very little tennis, and almost no fraternization with the opposite sex. I liked them, and I was fascinated my them, but not able to keep any kind of dialog going between the female and me. After greeting them, the tongue got tied, and the brain decided that talking with a female was counterproductive to whatever I am supposed to be doing and went to mush.
I watched from the food court as they worked their way through the hundreds of prospective models. Finally about three P.M., they finished with the females and started with the male participants. Surprisingly, all four of us were called up as a group and asked some questions. I noticed for this part of the search that a different person had replaced one of the original judges.
She asked some very pointed questions of the other participants but did not ask me anything but the regular standard questions. We each made our walk down the short stage, a raised runway setup for the search. The other three participants were dismissed after the walk, without any further actions. Also a normal occurrence for some of these model mall searches, the males not as likely to sign up for more photos or lessons. After completing the runway walk, I was asked to accompany the new judge to a makeshift studio set up in one of the empty stores. It had some convention backdrops placed around the room, with some decorative accents of plants and pottery scattered to add to the decor.
She introduced herself to me, a Ms. Cynthia Parker of the Turnabout Gurl Salon. I told her my name was Mark Russell, a college graduate with a degree in finance, trying to find a career in modeling. She asked me what type of modeling I was interested in, and what lengths I would go to achieve this. I told her I am open to most types, not interested in any one specific type of modeling.
As far as my commitment goes, I would do most anything to gain a start in modeling. A degree that is doing nothing for me and two part-time jobs are definitely an incentive to be flexible. She smiled, then told me to step up on the platform, and strike some poses for her. I did as she requested, and she took over a hundred pictures of me. The poses were a little strange for a male model since in the past I had only been posed in a typical standing position, with my hands at my sides.
She had me twisting this way and that, hands on my hips, face turned to the side, even leaning forward a little with my hands up at my breasts. I presumed that she just wanted a wide range of poses to choose from, so I cooperated the best that I could. I figured that at this point, I would be asked to update my portfolio or sign up for some advanced classes, but the pitch never materialized.
“What does the Turnabout Gurl Salon have to do with modeling?” My curiosity getting the best of me. I was informed that they were a full-service salon specializing in helping their customers realize their true potential. They were looking for some models to use in their advertising to show just what the salon could accomplish. They did have a modeling school and agency for commercial customers, but she was only looking for a model to do some advertising with.
With revenues of over a million dollars in the last year, they were now looking to expand, a total of ten more locations this year. Their advertising budget this year was more than three hundred thousand dollars. They wanted new faces, not professional models, but models that maybe their customers could identify within the ads. I couldn’t see where a female customer looking at a male model in an ad would help the salon bring in more business.
I was impressed with the size of their operation but wondered where a male came into the picture. It sounded like most of their business was with female customers. Ms. Cynthia apparently guessed my question, describing some of the customers that have taken advantage of their services.
“Most of the customers are male, although they want to leave the salon as women. They are gender variant individuals who want to express their feminine side. There are also quite a few natural female customers that have discovered that we excel at turning nondescript males into absolutely gorgeous females. Hence, they figure that we can make them look even better.” I still could not see the connection between a male model and these individuals who want more femininity.
I asked how I figured into this scenario. She told me she couldn’t divulge that info yet, but after reviewing my pictures, if selected, I would be told everything required of the modeling position. She made sure she had my current contact information, telling me that I would be hearing from her in the next few days. I doubted her sincerity, since several times in the past, I had been told that, but the phone never rang. I made my way out of the mall, pretty sure that I had wasted another afternoon on a wild goose chase.
In the next few days, I kept busy at my part-time jobs, but quite often my mind would return to her words. I couldn’t believe that they did that much business with a male clientele wanting to express their femininity. I even looked up their website, got the address of the local salon, so I could go to see for myself if they were as described.
Two bus rides later I was at the location of the salon. Indeed, they were very real, and the salon is quite large, in a well-to-do neighborhood. The decor is lavish, and “oh so” totally feminine. Colors in pink hues, lacy-ruffled drapes, and flowers adorned the salon. By the look of their parking lot, they were very busy. I didn’t have the nerve to go into the salon, though, sure that I would never hear from them again.
Two days later, I received a phone call from Ms. Parker. She wanted to meet me for dinner to discuss a possible modeling contract. “Do not get your hopes up since the contract will depend on your willingness to meet certain criteria.” With a hesitant spring to my step, I started to pick out some clothes for the dinner. At least, this is farther than I had progressed before in my attempt to have a career in modeling or even a job other than part-time. Maybe there is a chance to escape my dismal future.
I met her at the restaurant, a five-star establishment known for its excellent food and lofty prices. By another stroke of luck, the city bus went by the restaurant, allowing me to save some time and expense. I sincerely hoped that Ms. Parker is paying for tonight, knowing that I couldn’t afford this level of quality.
We had waited for five minutes before we were seated in a corner booth, which allowed quite a bit of privacy. I ordered a salad from their extensive list and white wine for a drink. I ordered light because I wanted to convey to her that I was not an extravagant person, just out for anything that I could get for free.
Ms. Cynthia smiled, telling me that I was very smart ordering light since high-calorie food could devastate a girl’s figure. I was wondering if the reference was to an apparent girlish figure that I would soon be sporting. We talked generalities for a while, with me telling her that I had perused the salon. She asked if I had gone in to look around, with my response being I couldn’t afford the obvious elegance of the place. We finished our salads and ordered some tea to sip as we talked.
She wanted to be clear up front. “The modeling job is for a male that is being given beauty treatments to express his feminine side. Other than a few male before pictures you will appear as a female in all of the advertising material.”
“You will be offered the contract if you agree to several conditions of that agreement. Your employment would be as a salaried model for advertising, including personal appearances. The terms of the agreement dictate fifty to sixty hours a week that being the minimum hourly requirement. I would be starting out as a hand model, modeling nail polish for the salon.”
“Each couple of weeks, you will take on a new area of cosmetics or clothing. They are a total service salon being able to take an individual from naked to a ball gown, without leaving the salon.” The clothing surprised me since I thought that they only offered beauty services.
“To minimize expenses, you will be required to maintain the female persona 24/7, and this condition is no doubt the catch to the whole deal. It would be too expensive to have to redo feminine appliances, hair, and makeup several times a week to handle the schedule of appearances and advertising shoots.” I started to respond, but Cynthia asked me to wait until she had made the entire presentation. Then we could discuss any questions I might have.
After so long without a job, it sounded good to be offered a permanent job in modeling, but the 24/7 living as a woman was maybe the deal breaker. Then thinking of the place where I lived and the two part-time jobs that were leading nowhere, I wondered if it was sane to turn down any job offer, not matter what the requirements.
I recovered my thought process as Cynthia made another point in her presentation. “The fact that the salon often made a male into a female it will be necessary for most of the advertising to show the before and after pictures of my transformation. You will have to be aware that any friends or family could become familiar with your new lifestyle. On these two conditions, there would be no negotiating. I would be offered the contract if I agreed to the conditions.”
I again tried to speak up, but Cynthia wanted to finish first. “The contract is for five years with options for five more years. All feminine appliances, makeup, clothing, travel, and beauty services will be furnished as part of the contract. She smiled again, “the salary would be sixty-five thousand dollars a year, with one-quarter percent of the gross income as a bonus.”
“This last year, the bonus would have been three thousand dollars. With more new locations that should double or triple in the upcoming years.” She asked if I might be interested in the offer. I told her I was interested but had lots of queries. I was eager to start the questions, but Cynthia had other ideas. She asked me to follow her to the salon for a glimpse of what I would be doing, telling me that we could talk there more.
She paid the bill with the total amount well over two hundred dollars. The food and wine were excellent, but that was a lot to pay for salad and wine. I turned red as we left the restaurant, how was I going to tell her that I had to take a bus to get here tonight. She saw my face, and I think she figured it out. She took my hand and led me to her car, a BMW sedan that was just gorgeous. As she drove, I apologized for trying to deceive her; my car might not have made the trip, so I decided to go the public transportation route. She just smiled, you have nothing to apologize for.
I followed her into the salon and was surprised to find out that Ms. Cynthia was known to everyone. The receptionist greeted her by name and told her that a private room had been set aside for me. She gave her the room number, and we proceeded to the back. The salon had a central area where services could be performed, but also a number of smaller private rooms along the two side walls.
As we entered the room, there was already a technician seated at a table waiting for us. Cynthia allowed me to sit and then told Gloria what she wanted to be done. I was wide-eyed as all of this was going on. Apparently, Gloria was aware that a manicure was to be done since she had already laid her tools and polishes out on the table. Cynthia told me to relax as Gloria would work on my nails.
She would answer questions afterward, but felt that I needed to see an example of how my new life would be with some of the changes. I was going to say something, but the words never came out. I just sat there with a dumbfounded look on my face. Gloria started filing my nails into nice ovals. Then she surprised me, by roughing up the top of the nail with the file.
After she had finished up with both of my hands, she used stick on forms to frame my natural nail and add support for the extension. On this form and over my existing nail she painted an acrylic substance extending my nails by half an inch. She put my hands into a lighted box and told me to keep them there for ten minutes. When the time was up, she checked my nails, finding the acrylic overlay hard.
Again she filed my nails, after removing the form, until they were perfect ovals. I was fascinated by the look of my nails. In fact, I was still looking at the nails in a trance like state when Gloria asked what color I wanted on them. I stuttered a bit but told her to pick the color. How did I know what color I wanted on my nails, I wasn’t even sure I wanted the nails in the first place? She picked Candy Apple Red, a bright vibrant red, adding three coats to my nails after applying a base coat to start things off.
Then a top coat that was very shiny to seal off the polish. Back under the lights in the box for another twenty minutes, and I was pronounced done. I couldn’t keep my eyes from looking at my elegant sculptured nails.
Cynthia made her appearance at that time, telling Gloria that she had another customer in the next room. I thanked Gloria for the beautiful nails as she was leaving. Cynthia set down in the chair that Gloria used, asking me how I liked the nails. I told her they were mesmerizing so much so that I couldn’t keep from looking at them.
I was drawn back to a harsh reality when Cynthia told me they were semi-permanent lasting for at least six months. My mouth opened and stayed that way for quite a while. I told her that I just couldn’t wear them all the time since I would look ridiculous as a male with feminine nails. She smiled, knowing that I had got the point of her little charade.
I would not be able to shift back and forth between the sexes after I got started. I was at a loss for words, once that realization became embedded in my mind. Here was my big chance to land a good job, but the sacrifice necessary to maintain that was maybe too much to bear. I sat there for several minutes considering my options. Back to my narrow existence, or a new job, but at a price.
Cynthia told me she would take me home, and for me to take the time to decide what I really wanted to do. I was told she would pick me up tomorrow morning in time for breakfast and then back to the salon to discuss my decision. I asked if she had discussed with her bosses the offer and my inability to decide what to do.
She smiled, since it was apparent that my natural hair coloring was blonde, she would help me by telling me the real situation. A couple of minutes later, I learned that Cynthia was the franchise owner, of soon to be six locations. She felt that I would be perfect for the job if I could handle the rest that went with it. She handled most of the advertising for the parent company, including taking the pictures used.
The ads would be seen nationally, and my travels would be to all two hundred seventy-five locations of the Turnabout Gurl Salon. The photo shoots would be done locally, though, in one of Cynthia’s salons and the surrounding area.
The trip home was quiet, as she drove with me in deep thought. I was worried about people seeing my nails, elegant and feminine as they were, but no one seemed to notice earlier, as we walked through the shop out to the car. At my apartment Cynthia walked with me to my door, with several neighbors looking at me, but no comments were made. She gave me a kiss on the cheek, telling me that she would be by promptly at nine o’clock in the morning.
I watched as my feminine hands removed my keys from my pocket and opened my door. How such a simple thing as polished sculptured nails, could make such a profound difference in one’s outlook, is staggering.
I changed clothes into an old football jersey, may I add one way too big for me, and got comfortable on the couch to take in a little TV. I set there for several hours but don’t remember a thing that I watched. I do remember looking at my nails quite often, though. My mind tried to make some sense of what had happened in the last few hours.
I finally got that carrot that was always just out of reach, but to live 24/7 as a woman; my mind just couldn’t put that in perspective. I awoke a couple of hours later, still sitting in front of the now silent TV, and decided to see if my dreams tonight might give me some indication of what I should do. Once my head hit the pillow, I did not remember a thing until the alarm sounded at seven A.M.
I would normally work at one of my part-time jobs today, but with the nails, I decided it might be wiser to skip today’s work. I decided that the meeting with Cynthia was more important, so I called in sick to my job, then took a shower and got dressed. I kept it casual since looking like a handsome man was not what Cynthia was after. Every few minutes my eyes would focus on my feminine nails, causing me to sigh.
I was still without a decision on what I would do, and Cynthia was going to be here in just a few minutes. The image in the mirror that faced me, as I checked to make sure I looked alright, was a conundrum of sorts. I was dressed as a young man, but my hands screamed feminine woman. Then there is the money, sixty-five thousand dollars the first year is quite an inducement.
Promptly at nine Cynthia knocked on my door. I opened the door inviting her in. She asked if I had a restful night, knowing that I was probably over-thinking the decision I had to make. I told her truthfully that I didn’t remember a thing from last night. Earlier I had wondered if we were going to eat in somewhere, or if was just going to be a drive-thru on the way to the salon. That question was soon to be answered apparently.
I asked her if I was dressed alright for breakfast, her response was that I looked quite good, especially the bright red feminine fingernails. After my face had returned to a more natural color, I grabbed my wallet, and we left. We walked to her car, with several of my neighbors getting a good look at my nails. One young woman, a college student, told me how much she admired my nails.
She even asked me where I had them done. I responded the Turnabout Gurl Salon. She giggled at the name but told me she would get with me later to get their number. I couldn’t believe her reaction. Here I was a male, with very feminine nails, and all she wanted was where I had them done. Cynthia giggled too, at the exchange, holding my door for me as we made it to her car. I wasn’t sure last night, but today she drove a Volvo sedan, with a very plush leather interior. The car was quite new, a beautiful silver color with a light tan interior. I thought that her car yesterday was a BMW, so Cynthia obviously has two cars.
We drove to a restaurant a couple of blocks from the mall, and after parking went into the lobby. I was terrified of being recognized with my new adornments. A hostess greeted us and we were shown to a table near the front of the restaurant. As she was handing us the menus, she saw my feminine nails. She held my hand and asked me where I obtained such beautiful nails.
I replied at the Turnabout Gurl Salon, this time, Cynthia handed her a business card. One more time, my face reached a bright red similar to the color of my nails. We ordered with little comment from anyone. I was stared at quite often, and small conversations were started as they looked my way. About half way through the meal, I noticed that I no longer tried to hide my nails. I guess that my mind figured that the world was not going to end, just because I now sported long feminine nails.
Cynthia noticed the change, commenting on the fact that I had finally accepted my fate. The meal was delicious, but I left some because I was full. It was almost like my body was adopting a new diet to preserve a possible female figure.
After she had paid, we headed to the salon, since the traffic at this time of the morning is almost nonexistent, we made good time. Arriving at the salon, I am escorted to her office and offered a seat. She sat behind her desk, staring back at me. I definitely didn’t know what to say or what question to ask.
After several minutes of silence, she asked if I had any more questions of her. Looking at my hands perched on my lap, a typically female position, I shook my head no. Since she is apparently not going to start the conversation, I asked her if I handled myself in a manner that was satisfactory to her this morning. She smiled, telling me that as a pretty, young, attractive girl, I would be the object of many people’s attentions.
That usually required a period of adjustment, where you get used to the attention. Most attractive women learn this at a young age so that by the time of high school or college it becomes normal to them. I conveyed to her that I wanted the job very badly, but truthfully I was scared to death of the living as a woman 24/7.
Another smile, but, this time, she told me that any new experience always has some aspect of it that requires getting used to. I swallowed hard, telling her that I would take the job, but hoped that my fear and anxiety would not embarrass her or her company. She assured me that I would be fine, but told me to get prepared for the attention that I now would receive.
She pulled a folder from her desk drawer, taking a contract from it. I glanced over it and signed on the dotted line. She made me a copy and then placed her copy back in the folder. I was next asked if I wanted to slide into this gradually or did I want to immerse myself totally in the role. What was with her, it took me all night to decide to take the offer and now another decision to make. All of this was really upsetting, it was a sound financial move on my part, trading two part-time incomes for a fabulous yearly salary was a no brainer. The fact that it required me to live as a woman though made it a very difficult decision to live with.
She explained that I could gradually appear feminine in small steps, about a week apart, or just bite the bullet and go home to my apartment as an attractive woman tonight. The choice was mine, one might be a little more embarrassing, and the other might be a little harder to adjust to. I tried to put some words together to respond, but my mind was definitely in an overloaded state.
Too much to decide, too much to try and justify. The subject was changed somewhat, as Cynthia asked what relatives would need to be told what I had signed on to do. I replied that my sister was the only one left of my family. Some aunts and uncles, but they really never had anything to do with me.
Then I remembered Grandma; she would be the hardest one to tell. She and I were never very close until my parents died in that plane crash. I thought of her as my Mom since she cared for me far more than my real parents. Maybe she would understand since she seemed to be able to look through you to your soul as she talked with you. During that time, we became true friends, opening up our hearts to each other.
Since she lived a couple of hundred miles from me, we did not get to see each other very often. Communication by phone once a week was observed to keep each other abreast of what was happening in our lives. At seventy-five years old she was quite independent living by herself in a senior’s apartment complex. My sister probably would accept what I intended to do, but Grandma might be a problem.
I had given Cynthia a little of the history of my family, so she was listening to me and apparently thinking of the best way to help me communicate my new circumstances to both of them. A suggestion was made by her to invite Grandma up for a day, maybe a nice lunch, but allow her to see what I would be doing so she could form her own opinions on my new career.
Cynthia would convey to her that the job was real, and my photos would be used to promote the salon. If there was a problem with her, she told me she would ensure that she was returned to her senior’s apartment. It sounded good to me since I had no other ideas on how to break the news to her.
Regarding my sister, Cynthia suggested a dinner at a nice restaurant, with a private booth so that I could show her and try to explain what was going on. In both cases, I was told that any expenses would be picked up by the Salon.
While Cynthia was informing me of her ideas on the possible revelations to my family, I was trying to decide if I wanted to inch into this or just jump in. Both scared the crap out of me, jumping in might waylay some of the fear of what was next, but to start living and acting like a woman tomorrow was equally scary.
I decided to ease into the situation gradually, taking each bitter pill one at a time until I was cured. When I told that to Cynthia, she laughed. I didn’t see anything really funny about my statement, and then when she explained it to me, I was able to see the funny parts. My thoughts were all based on the fact that I would loathe and detest any feminine change, but as with my nails, I was constantly looking at them and admiring them as if I desired them from a female perspective.
It was conceivable that the loathe and detest part might be changed to desire and love. I was informed that she would start tomorrow with my before pictures at different locations in the area. My beautiful nails would be removed for these shots since after more of my individual transformations were added in the next few weeks, it would be hard to get any before pictures.
Then starting with my nails, I would receive specific treatments changing every week or so, to achieve the desired conversion to that of a female. When I was not involved in photo sessions, I would be evaluated at the salon to determine what makeup, hairstyle, jewelry, and clothes would be necessary. This time, pictures would be taken as I was subject to each treatment. Again essential for their advertising.
She did, at this time, suggest that it was entirely possible for me to be popular and definitely recognizable because of the advertising. I hadn’t thought of that, but could see that it was probably going to happen. What I was going to do about it was another matter, probably nothing considering that was what I was being paid to do.
She suggested for my meetings with my sister and grandmother that a temporary change in my appearance be done so they could see what I would look like after the treatments. The transformation easy to do and undo when the meetings are completed. They would remove my nails this afternoon, with the before pictures starting in the morning.
She asked if I had several changes of fairly fashionable men’s clothes that I could use for the photo shoot tomorrow. I told her that I had several to choose from and was asked to bring them with me tomorrow. Next question is what type of transportation I had? I could only tell her that my seven-year-old Toyota is all I had.
She suggested that she send the limousine for me in the morning, because of my need to bring several changes of clothes, but also consider using it for all my trips since I would not have a driver’s license in the correct gender once my treatments started. She thought that the before shots would take two days, and then a quick transformation so that I could handle my sister and Grandmother either Thursday or Friday.
Back at the salon Saturday for my nail treatments and the nail color photos most of next week. I asked her if it truly required a week to get the nail color shots. With one hundred seventy-five colors she thought it would, indeed, require a week.
She asked if it would be alright for her to make the arrangements for my sister and grandmother. I nodded my approval as she called Gloria to get me so my sculptured nails could be removed. Gloria led me back to a private room and soon my fingers were soaking in a bowl of acetone. She told me it would take some time for the nails to come loose.
In the meantime, she is going to give me a pedicure since that would not show when I dressed as a male. As she started on my feet, I am asked if I enjoyed my nails. I started to say no, but at a quick look at Gloria convinced me, to tell the truth. I told her that I loved them, more than she realized, but I suspected that she already knew that. The look on Gloria’s face told me that she had guessed right, I was a big fan of long elegant, feminine nails.
Besides the foot massage, which was to die for, the relaxation from having your feet filed and polished is exquisite. This time, when she finished up, I was sporting a rosy pink polish. My feet were truly pretty, such a change from previous days.
Cynthia caught me as Gloria is finishing the pedicure, asking me if I am comfortable with where I lived. I told her it was alright, the cheap rent, the reason that I lived there, not because I liked the area. She asked if she could get me an equally cheap rent in a better area, would I approve. I told her gladly, but my lease was just signed for six months, with five months remaining. She stated that she could handle that easily, then get me a moving company to perform the actual move.
Cynthia suggested the move since once I was living as a woman, my risk at the present apartment would be substantial. Young females do not live in borderline areas as there is so much that can go wrong. I had never thought of that, but it did make sense, a male does not have the same vulnerability as a female.
With regards to my car, she suggested that I sell the car for whatever I can get for it since driving for me would be limited due to my license. I agreed, and she told me that she knew of someone that deals in old Junkers that might be interested. Since the car was at my apartment on the street, she would have it picked up there if I was agreeable. She did ask what I wanted for it, but I told her I would settle for anything to get rid of it.
The limo was summoned, to take me home, and Cynthia suggested that I call my sister tonight and arrange to pick her up on Thursday night at seven for a nice dinner out. My grandmother is scheduled for Friday at a ten A.M. pickup and lunch at noon. Except for lunch, the meeting would be at the salon so she could see what I would be doing. She also suggested a couple of beauty treatments for my Grandma as a treat.
I agreed as the limo pulled up outside. It was a BMW stretch limo with all the amenities. The driver asked me my address, and we were on our way. She asked if I was enjoying myself; my only reply was that it was too soon. Twenty minutes later we arrived at the apartment. I walked to the door, but several neighbors seemed to be lingering, apparently looking to see my pretty nails again.
The college student did approach me but seemed to be disappointed that my nails were back to male mode. I told her that they had to be taken off for a couple of days so some photos could be taken, but later in the week, they would return. She asked again where I had them done, and thanks to Cynthia I was able to give her a business card. It was pointed out to me at the salon that the business card allowed them a twenty percent discount on a set of sculptured nails or acrylics.
She was thrilled with the info, but I sensed she wanted to ask about why I had feminine nails, the question never surfaced so we went into our apartments. I did find out that she is moving to another apartment, also. One close call was all that she needed to change her living quarters.
That evening, for some reason, my hunger never surfaced like it usually did. I nibbled on some crackers and dip, with some bottled water to wash them down with, satisfying but not healthy.
I decided to face some of my fears and called Grandmother. We traded recent happenings in our lives then I found the courage to tell her about the new job I had gotten. She is delighted with my success and seemed happy when I invited her to lunch and a glimpse of what I would be doing.
I gave her the details of when I would pick her up, and told her to wear something nice since we were going to a fancier restaurant. I received the you should not be spending your money on taking me out for lunch talk. I finally convinced her that I could handle the expenditure and told her I would see her Friday, I did, however, warn her to be open minded about what she would see.
Next was my sister, I knew she would have far more questions than Grandmother, but decided to see if I could get through this without divulging too much. In a way, I am looking forward to seeing her, dressed as a woman. We have always been close as siblings go, but there seemed always to be something missing, at least from my perspective.
Always topics that were evaded because brother and sister did not usually talk about these subjects. Never the close female bonding that seems to exist in a woman to woman discussions. After she had answered, we covered what is new with each other, and then I told her, I got a job as a model. She is ecstatic about the news, wanting to know all the details. I tried to be a little vague, just telling her that it was with a local company, doing photo shoots for their advertising.
She wanted to know who the company was. Finally, I gave up and told her it was the Turnabout Gurl Salon in town. I sensed a hesitation in her voice, but she sounded happy for me. I invited her out to dinner Thursday night, telling her that I would pick her up at seven. I informed her it was a nice restaurant, and we should dress up a little.
Her only remark was she couldn’t wait to see what I would be wearing. I tried to throw her off a little by describing one of the outfits I wore when I went out. I wasn’t sure she bought the story, and I would have to wait until Thursday to find out. Hopefully, she would be alright with my new job. I always looked up to her and respected her opinion on all things. Since this was my future for the next five years, it is important to me what she thought.
After the phone calls, I did manage to select several nice masculine outfits for the before pictures. I placed them in a suit bag that I had appropriated somewhere in my past. I tried to watch a little TV but ended up going to bed shortly after that. Too soon, my alarm clock decided to puncture my tranquil morning. I showered, dressed and tried to make sure everything I needed for today was with me. Shortly after checking my list twice, the limo pulled up outside.
The driver came to the apartment, with me emerging as she is approaching. She carried my suit bag, and we were on our way. The drive to the salon was quick, with Cynthia waiting by a large cargo van. The limo driver placed my bag inside and then made her way to the driver’s seat. Cynthia gave me a kiss on the cheek, and I was led into the van. The inside is quite spacious, with several Captain styled chairs in the middle of the van facing each other.
Along with Cynthia, is another of the salon’s employees. Her name is Janice, and she would be doing my makeup today for the before photos. Cynthia made some small talk, but I could tell she was focused on the task today. The first stop is a municipal park, one well known to the locals of the city. Among other things, it had a lake, some hiking trails leading through some heavily wooded areas, and a small amusement area.
The amusements were only some swings; a merry go round, and a large jungle gym with very ornate bars in a maze of shapes and sizes. The merry go round is only functional on the weekends since the city had no funds to operate it through the week.
Cynthia and the driver started setting up her equipment while Janice proceeded to apply my makeup. Her exact words were that Cynthia only wanted enough to mask what little masculinity that I had. The comment hurt me at first, but after careful consideration, it was correct. I am not that masculine, only needing a little makeup or some feminine clothes to change my image totally. I guess I know why I was picked for the modeling job.
The makeup is minimal, a concealer, foundation, and some lip gloss. I still saw the masculine me in the mirror, but barely, as my image had been quickly changed to that of an androgynous, somewhat plain looking individual. While Janice finished, Cynthia had laid out my clothes into three possible outfits. I changed into the first outfit, and I was led to the edge of the lake where a ramp led out into the water.
Cynthia explained how she wanted to do the shoots, each area in the same outfit, with as near as possible the same pose. Then, when we come back in female mode, we will have a before and after, that will be identical except for the transformation. It took us over three hours to complete the shots at the park. In several areas Phyllis, the driver had to erect large umbrellas to channel enough light, to take an adequate picture.
The next stop is the public library. The same type of shots, showing an individual doing normal things like reading a book, glancing at a magazine, were the focus of these shots. Since we were only taking the before pictures, it is hard to visualize the finished advertisement.
Lunch is next chicken salad with iced tea at a local diner for me. A little chit chat, but mainly Cynthia going over the shots as she ate, on her laptop. She seemed pleased with the morning’s work, but to me, it was a little overboard on the details that were going into the shots. I couldn’t see the expense of different locations since the actual before and after photo seemed to be the crux of the advertisement.
She seemed to read my mind, though as she asked me what I looked for in an advertisement. I told her, first something that catches my eye, then a believable story or point that makes me want to indulge in the service or product, followed up by details that make me want to buy or use the services.
As she explained, the familiar location to the local people conveys that the service or product is not manufactured by some national advertising agency. Also, a customer will feel a lot more comfortable with a model that is not threatening, in an environment that conveys normal in every way. Seeing a male that is low on the macho scale, in a local setting, who is able to transform into this goddess of femininity is what we are after.
I must have looked bewildered because Cynthia asked what part do you disagree with. I had always believed that I was a fairly handsome male, but low on the macho scale is for some reason threatening to me. However, the comment of transforming into a goddess of femininity is too much for even me to comprehend.
She smiled looking at me with concern in her eyes. She reminded me of the conversation, where she told me, that adjusting to my new life would test me to the utmost. She agreed that I am handsome, but not in a macho way. My features are less edgy than most males, and my thinness is far from average for a macho, muscular male.
Those same features would work to my benefit as befits a goddess of femininity. She is giggling as she mouthed those last few words. I am told just to wait until the before pictures are finished, and then as I am transformed for my meetings with my relatives, I would see the truth in her words. I sighed deeply knowing that she might be right, but not sure if I could handle the truth in that case. For one thing, how does a goddess of femininity behave? All of a sudden some thoughts rushed into my overworked mind, I am going to be viewed, judged, and treated like a sexy, attractive female. It took me several minutes to come back to earth, the thoughts still deeply affecting my thinking.
The rest of the afternoon, she took almost five discs of pictures of me in various locales, including a grocery store, a service station, an art museum, and a cleaners. I was puzzled why a cleaners was chosen, but told that women often have items that have to be dry-cleaned, hence a place that they often do business with, a place that is familiar to them.
The art museum was fun as she posed me next to all the portraits of fashionable women and romantic couples. Her glib ad-libs often got me to blush as she told me to pretend to be kissing the guy in the couple portraits. Of course, the resulting photos were fantastic, especially the color on my cheeks.
I wondered after all of these locations where we could go tomorrow that would be any different than today. At the end of today, I found out. I was informed that the limo would pick me up about five P.M. tomorrow because the day’s shots would be all at a night club. She asked me what I had in clothes that might be dressier than normal.
I told her that I possessed a three-piece suit, in a blue pinstripe. She agreed that would do, telling me to wear it when I am picked up. We went back to the salon, where several of her technicians were waiting for me. They measured me everywhere and held endless samples up against me matching the skin on my face and body. At one point, I am naked as they measured every place a measurement could be obtained. Cynthia watched from the side, smiling at me from time to time. She must enjoy humiliating me as I tried to remain positive and professional.
Shortly after that, the limo picked me up, and I was returned home. Even though there was no physical exertion today, I am beaten and totally confused. Fortunately, my mind turned itself off as my head hit the pillow. I found that later when I had to use the bathroom, that I had failed to remove any of my clothes.
Now down to my boxers, I climbed back into my warm bed and was fast asleep. I didn’t remove myself from my comfy bed until almost one o’clock. I fixed myself a small sandwich and a cup of tea; after that, I headed to the bathroom. A shower is needed, including washing my hair. That completed I got dressed, to kill some time I browsed the internet looking for male to female photos.
I am utterly amazed at the number of absolutely gorgeous females that I found, although, in some cases, it was hard to be certain. It did occupy my time until the limo arrived. As the driver held the door for me, I slipped into the large interior. It was about a thirty-minute drive to the club, where the photos were to be taken. It is still too early for much activity at the club, but Cynthia used the time to get a lot of shots of me at a table, at the bar, heading to the restroom and numerous other background shots.
Shortly after seven P.M., the club started to get busy, with the band starting at eight P.M. Once the band started she started getting pictures of me dancing. Then she got one of the cocktail waitresses to dance with me for several numbers. Then her assistant returned from the ladies bathroom wearing a very sexy LBD, and we danced both slow and upbeat numbers for several hours. Finally, she seemed to be satisfied with the amount and diversity of the pictures, and we left.
Another stop at the salon to make sure nothing else was needed for my transformation tomorrow. I was told the limo would pick me up promptly at seven A.M., and I would leave the salon to pick up my sister at six thirty that night. All of my treatments would be captured on film for use later. At times, I could close my eyes and still see the flashes go off on the camera.
The salon seemed to be ready for me tomorrow, as everybody said they had everything needed for my makeover. The fact that the salon is still open and doing business at ten-thirty P.M. is astounding. No wonder they did over half a million dollars in revenue last year. Next stop is home, I am not quite as tired as last night, but only lasted for about an hour before I am again in dreamland. I awoke later that night sleeping on the couch, which is where I had been sitting watching TV.
The next morning came too early, but thankfully I had been told just to throw on some clothes, and they would handle everything at the salon. I did manage to grab a sweet roll on my way out to the limo. When I arrived at the salon, I was greeted at the door by several of her technicians. That was Cynthia’s name for her beauticians and stylists.
Led to a back room and told to remove all my clothes is the first order of business. I am blushing red when my male equipment decided to make an unscheduled inflated appearance. I am helped onto a table-like fixture and strapped down. I asked about the restraints but was simply told that some people reacted badly to the upcoming treatment, and it is to ensure that neither the technicians nor the client are hurt.
Finally, one of the girls felt sorry for me and got me a cold washcloth to help my wayward appendage to return to a more relaxed state. With one gal working on my legs and another working on my chest and arms, I am waxed as smooth as a baby’s bottom. The restraints are a good idea because the pain is definitely noticeable, I caught myself several times trying to swing my arms to the treated area.
When the technician moved between my legs, that is when I was pleading for them to stop. Believe it or not, I am told that it gets easier every time it is done until I will no longer notice the pain. After she had spread the hot wax on my nether regions, the other gal placed a wadded up towel in my mouth and told me to bite down hard on it.
I did as instructed, but it was quite some time until I had some feeling return to that area. Just when I thought I was finished, they released the straps and told me to turn over. No, I screamed, thankfully the towel is still in my mouth, or there would be more hostilities and words thrown around. It wasn’t until later that I would admit that the second half of my torture was not as bad as the first. They even waxed between my cheeks, and the cheeks were not the ones on my face, much to my embarrassment.
Who is going to see me naked between the mounds of my bum? After they had finally got all of their jollies by torturing me, they rubbed a sweet smelling cream all over my body. They released the straps, and my front side is treated with the same cream. The cream they used would prevent any hair regrowth for quite some time. The feeling of no hair on my body was quite different. It seemed to make every inch of my skin extremely receptive to any touch or air current.
As the cream is rubbed in over all parts of my body, I am sure that my male member would make some appearance, but the waxing had apparently made enough of an impression that he decided to stay in hiding. Looking in the mirror on the wall, most of the traits that helped to identify me as a male had been erased. The gender of the image staring back at me is almost sexless, closing one eye that image is all female.
Cynthia informed me she had sold my car, handing me a check for twenty-five hundred dollars. I was amazed since I had only paid two thousand dollars for it when I bought it. I asked why so much, Cynthia telling me that a favorite customer of the salons father is the one who deals with used cars, and he is beholding to the salon for all they do for her, so he tries to make sure we get preferential treatment. In fact, both limos were bought from him at quite good prices. He had a collector that is interested in that year and make, so it was easy to sell my car at a premium price.
A different set of gals came into the room. One technician is between my legs, and the other is working on my chest. They cleaned the areas with alcohol and for a minute I thought I was going to be red in the face again when certain parts seemed to twitch. The gal anticipated my reaction and grabbed me strongly and applied a little pressure.
Sure enough, things remained normal. She fitted something around my equipment, but I could not tell what it was. My attention is diverted when Cynthia came into the room. She asked how I am doing, wanting to know if I am having fun yet. That last said with a big smile on her face. I tried to keep back the tears, but my emotions were off the chart. I knew that this is what I signed up for, but it is almost more than I could stand.
While she is holding my hand and comforting me, the gal had attached the appliance to my crotch. She used a liquid around the edges to secure the item to my skin. I am afraid to look, for I had an idea that I was now looking like a female in my lower regions. Cynthia picked up a mirror to show me my new vagina while the other technician is adding a liquid to my chest. Then two silicone blobs are positioned on the marks that she had placed on my chest earlier. She held them for a while, making sure that the glue is set.
Then both my vagina and my new titties were treated with makeup that blended the edges, making it appear to others that all of this is mine. They helped me to set up, the new weight on my chest is definitely noticeable. I am handed a bra and a pair of panties to make myself a little less uncovered. Cynthia helped me with the bra, adjusting the straps to where it felt better, making it much more comfortable.
I stood up to put on the panties and again the movement of my titties is really profound. I did manage to get the panties up finally, thankful for any articles to cover me up. The bra is different, the feelings of having my breasts supported totally unexpected. I had managed to remove some in my earlier days but putting one on and wearing one was not in my repertoire. I couldn’t feel a touch to them, but having them supported in a bra felt good somehow.
The floor length mirror at the end of the table I had been perched on showed an image that is totally not male. Even trying to stabilize my breaths caused my new breasts to quiver like jelly. Thankfully I am helped into a robe, blocking out the feminine image for a little while, and then moved to another room.
This room a dentist type chair instead of a table, but I suspected the torture was to continue. Another tech presented herself, and the chair is leaned back. Apparently, my face is the new area of interest. This time, Barbara is the leader of the attack. She made marks on my eyebrows both as to thickness and length. More of the hot wax followed, and then two quick jerks and my now pencil thin eyebrows were there for all to see.
That seemed to change my face from a little bit male to definitely female. I know that I am now sporting the typical female breasts and a female mound down below, but my new eyebrows seemed to confirm boldly that the body is now female. A nearly clear lipstick is carefully put on my lips after they had been lined with a darker pink color. It tingled for a while then nothing.
I didn’t think that was all there was to my makeup but remembered that my sister always puts on her makeup after she had done everything else. Barbara noted my puzzlement, telling me that the lipstick is a lip plumping formula, and soon I would have the kissable lips of a female. That last said with a beautiful smile on her face. Just what I wanted, a pair of lips that screamed female, puffy enough to make them quite noticeable on my face.
I guess it was just a part of their job, but all of Cynthia’s employees were so kind and considerate. Often it seemed that they could read my mind. I was treated like I was the only customer of the salon. Barbara told me not to mess up my lipstick, and she would see me later for the rest of my makeup.
Gloria is back to do my nails next, pushing her cart of nail delights ahead of her. Today’s treatment would entail me receiving an acrylic set of fingernails. With practiced ease, she worked on my cuticles, smoothed any rough edges and then matched acrylic extensions to each of my fingers. Then with a tube of superglue, my acrylic extensions are glued to my nails.
Under the ultraviolet light for several minutes, then a base coat of polish. Next, is the color, today’s choice is a pinkish red with a name of Early Sunrise. Three coats of that polish followed with a top coat that sealed my fate for a few days. Of course, my toes were color coordinated too in the same color polish. Gloria is smiling as she headed off to her next customer, reminding me to be careful with the extra length. These nails are at least three-quarters of an inch past my normal male nails.
I knew that I would not be doing anything that required any dexterity since my nails would reach any object long before I managed to arrive myself. Yes, they were that long, but I will have to admit they are quite beautiful, my eyes managing to focus on these, and not much more. Like when I first got my feminine nails a couple of days ago they seemed to draw my undivided attention.
Cynthia decided at that moment the need to partake of food, and I am invited to lunch. I looked at my body with all the female adornments, but only in lingerie and a robe. A smile spread across her face, but no words were spoken as she dragged me to a double set of doors on the other side of the salon.
She almost pushed me through the doors, with me trying to cover myself some, only to find that a small cafe occupied the space. I was led to a table, managing to get somehow comfortable in the chair, no thanks to my new added equipment. Sitting in the rather rigid dining room chair, I am aware of the lack of something between my legs, an uneasy feeling but also enticing in a way, definitely something I am not used to. Several times my hand wandered down there to check out the changes.
A waitress came over to the table to get our orders. I knew what the expected meal should consist of, ordering the taco salad and iced tea before anyone informed that is my only choice. Cynthia applauded my response, saying I am catching on fast to my new identity. Lunch is pleasant, the chit chat about my morning transformations and my opinion thereof. I relaxed a little more since no one really laughed at me, to them it is just a part of my job, a part that I seemed to be more than qualified for.
After some of the other technicians had returned to their duties, Cynthia asked how I am holding up. I told her that it is still weird, but I am managing to handle things better. She asked me what type of relationship I had with my sister. I recounted many of the stories about our childhood, then telling her of our relationship after my parents died.
Our camaraderie moved to a much higher level during this time. I conveyed how we would talk for hours about many subjects, sharing our personal thoughts and desires with each other. We were still close, but my job search had put a bit of a damper on our relationship since a lot of my time was spent trying to find employment.
I thought that we could connect a little more since I now had a job. I just hoped that Beth could deal with my conversion to the dark side. Cynthia’s ears perked up with the dark side remark. I had to explain to her that my kidding of my sister from early in my high school years always revolved around the fact that to be a female was always dark since no one ever understood women in any of their thoughts or deeds.
Now several years later I was now of dark origins, to what degree, to be determined. I got a giggle from Ms. Parker, as she welcomed me to the dark side. Cynthia had a meeting to go to but informed me that my next scheduled treatment was in room 4A. I headed there after spending several minutes trying to get the robe to cover more than it was apparently able to do.
Walking into the room I was greeted by a regal looking lady, she was a stylist with the salon and would be working on my hair today. A lot of her regal look was because of her height. She told me that she was six foot two inches without heels, but in truth, her regalness is because of how she acted. Her confidence and actions more than fit the definition of a monarch. Her name is Patricia, apparently my hair stylist for the foreseeable future. First, she washed, then conditioned my hair, a simple task, but it left me feeling quite privileged after the fact.
Then a comb through my hair to see what she had to work with, smiling when she did so. A couple of times, she referenced her notes, finding out what Cynthia desired in regards to my hair style. A pasty liquid, with a very odorous smell, was applied to my hair, and then the hair is wrapped in plastic so I could sit under a dryer for about thirty minutes.
After the hair had been processed, it was rinsed again, then blown dry with a blow dryer. I was able to see my hair as it dried, noticing that the color was now several shades lighter. It was not all one color, but a blend of blondish tones from platinum to a medium blonde. After getting the new blondish hair dry, she started cutting it, concentrating mainly on the ends of my hair.
She told me that I had a bad case of split ends, whatever that was and that the cutting and conditioner that was used would correct the situation. After ten minutes of cutting she is happy with my cut, then taking a few strands of my hair winding them around a curler after spraying them with setting gel. She dried the curl with the blow dryer, then unwound it to see if my hair would retain a curl.
The curl was tight, bouncing to and fro as she freed it from the curler. Her only comment was it never fails, males have hair that can be curled and styled, but women’s hair is just straight and lifeless. Soon my whole head is covered in curlers of different sizes and colors. Back under the dryer till I felt that I had been cooked to perfection. After she had checked my hair for dryness, she started removing my curlers.
As she removed each curler, the hair would spring back as if it was still in the curler. Once that task was finished, she started combing the curls out. They would relax some leaving my hair curly, but not as tight as before. The lightening of my hair made me look much less masculine, as the multi-tone color softened my features and framed my face with color.
I guess that a lot of the difference between male and female hairstyles other than the length is the color. Males usually have one color hair that is lifeless and boring. She worked on my hair for over an hour, getting it just right. She told me later; she would add extensions and cut my hair into the proper style for my face. This was just for my family, and to get me used to having curls and color. The look is quite feminine, quite a departure from my greasy one color ponytail that is my standard hairstyle.
When she is finished, I got the mist of hairspray that ensured that my hairstyle would hold up for all to see. Next, I am moved to another room for my makeup. Barbara started on my makeup keeping me informed of what and why she is doing each step. I am not aware of all the names but informed that concealer, foundation, rouge, eyeliner, mascara, eyeshadow, lip liner, lipstick, and lip gloss were used.
I had been watching in the mirror, but still, could not believe my eyes. Gone was the masculine persona of Mark, totally gone never to reappear. Since Mark was never very masculine, you can imagine with the work being done to me the impact that resulted. I stared in the mirror for quite a few moments trying to see where he had gone. There was not a trace of any masculine person left. Nothing, absolutely nothing.
About that time Cynthia made an appearance, she looked me over, but also watched me looking at my image in the mirror. Her comment that Mark seems to have disappeared finally brought me back to the present. I looked up at her with a questioning gaze, with her telling me that I now should know what a goddess of femininity looks like.
After I had calmed down a little, swallowing several times trying to gey that lump that is stuck in my throat to move, I again looked at my image in the mirror; my complexion is flawless, perfect in every way. I tried to remember what my sister looked like when we were in college. She also looked goddess-like when she really dressed up, but never this good.
Hair and makeup are completed; I thought that was all that they could do to me. I did look like a woman, my breasts, vagina, nails, and hair all confirming that I was indeed a member of the female sex. Wrong again, jewelry had not been introduced into the mix yet, and I would soon be sporting a full array of women’s jewelry.
It started out with earrings, and since I didn’t have pierced ears, that was handled with great enthusiasm. The piercing gun got quite a workout, but I passed when they asked if I wanted my nipples pierced also. Three earrings in each ear, a hoop, and two studs converted my ears into a feminine delight. The studs had sapphire stones against a silver finding while the hoop had miniature sapphire stones all along the curve of the hoop. Incidentally, the hoops are two inches in diameter and swung to and fro caressing my neck from time to time.
Next is a matching necklace, with a silver pendant that touched my cleavage as it situated itself between my breasts. The pendant had a grouping of sapphire stones in a heart shape accented by a silver filigree design around the stones. Of course, a matching bracelet and anklet are necessary to complete the picture.
Next, is the clothes from lingerie to a gorgeous dress. Even though I had a pair of panties and a bra on they insisted on a corset as the proper undergarment for the dress. The corset is absolutely beautiful, a lace and satin concoction in ecru that screamed femininity. It was placed around my body, and the front busk is fastened up.
Then it is positioned on my torso, as my bra is released and removed. The cups of the corset are nestled underneath my mammaries and after a few more adjustments the laces are tightened some. At one point, I was asked to grab a hold of two rings hanging from the ceiling. As I did that, I felt the corset being tightened around my body taking up the slack as I stretched to grab a hold of the rings.
When I tried to release the rings, my body is trying to return to its previous position, but that is now impossible since the corset had remolded my torso. I quickly reached back for the rings since it is much more comfortable that way. Meanwhile, the corset is tightened some more causing, even more, distress. The tightening went on for about thirty minutes before she finally relented. I must admit that young lady had some real talent, since she took four inches off my waist, never breaking into a sweat as she did so.
She suggested that when I let go of the rings that I keep my arms above my head and then slowly lower them over a fifteen to twenty-minute period. Breathing is hard with the corset on, the gal lacing me in suggested that I take shallow breaths and more often. This did help and after the twenty-minute period, I was able to lower my arms and breathe in a normal manner, normal that is for a person wearing an extreme corset. The breaths are small and more frequent since there is no way that my lungs could intake or expel much with the garment firmly attached to my body.
Next, is my dress, a strapless LBD in a spandex type of material. It fit me like a second skin, showing every curve and nuance of my feminine body. I wondered if the dress would be too much for my sister, but I guess a truly representative image of what I would be doing is more important. The dress zipped up the back and as I am being zipped up the dress molded itself to my body. The heels next, a five-inch stiletto pump with a bow on the vamp.
It did take me several minutes to master the heels, and mastering the heels is not technically correct. I was able to teeter along in an upright manner without wobbling too much, although the stride is greatly shortened, and I could feel my butt wiggling as I made my way across the room. I wondered about the height of the heels but told just to take shorter steps, and to allow my hips to move to fit the gait. After twenty minutes of this, I am able to move in a fairly feminine manner, although I would not be running any races with this footwear.
Cynthia came over to check me out, smiling as she took in my appearance. She asked me how I liked my new image, but I just stuttered a response. This is all so new, and the image I saw in the mirrors is so unlike me. She had me sit in a nearby chair, actually, only the edge of my butt is on the chair since the corset made bending not impossible, but very difficult. By the time I got to the restaurant, I would be able to sit normally, the information told to me, but I had my doubts.
She returned to her previous question, trying to get me to talk to her about my thoughts. I stammered out to her that I loved how I looked, but at the same time that my looks scared me to death. It is like I have been transported into another realm, totally at odds with what and how to do anything. She grabbed one of my hands, telling me that if I took everything slowly, that most of my problems would solve themselves.
You are a female now, and if I acted as one, there would be people that would help and comfort me. To let myself be that feminine goddess of beauty would open doors and windows of opportunity for the rest of my life. Tonight she asked me to unwind, enjoy my sister’s company, talk a while and let what comes naturally happen. Then tomorrow she said we could talk some more about the feminine experience.
Now, the part that I dreaded, meeting my sister; the limo arrived a few minutes later, and I am hustled to the awaiting car. I did receive a hug from Cynthia and good luck before I am eased into the limo. She handed me a new cell phone, actually an I-Phone to be exact and told that her private number is already programmed into the phone. The number to summon the limo is there as well if I needed it.
The drive to my sister’s apartment is nerve wracking as I ran various scenarios through my mind. Luckily before I could make many conclusions we arrived. The driver opened my door and helped me out. I went through the lobby and pressed the button for the elevator. My heels click clacking on the tile floor. Up to the fifth floor and then down the hall to her apartment, I was almost sick as I reached her door. I am not aware of me teetering in my heels since my mind is riveted on how my sister would react to my new appearance.
I took a deep breath and then pushed the doorbell. It had seemed like forever before she opened the door, but I am sure that it was less than a minute. She didn’t look surprised as she very carefully scanned my new image. She took a step forward, then embraced me as a sister. Hugs and cheek kisses are abundant, and she whispered in my ear that she is pleased to meet the new me.
I am stunned, for the last hour I had been worried sick, for nothing. I am dragged into her living room, and she appraised me again. She even poked me in a couple of places as she strived to see how much was me and how much is padding. I giggled at her efforts, telling her that if she damaged the merchandise she would have to pay.
I told her I had a limo waiting, as her eyes went up a notch or two. She grabbed her purse, and we headed down to the lobby. My driver opened the lobby door for us, then the door to the limo as we seated ourselves for the ride to the restaurant. I wasn’t sure which one we would be dining out since Cynthia had made the reservations. It turned out to be the most expensive Japanese Steak House in town. The restaurant featured the chefs who cooked at the table, exhibiting their skills with knives and pans.
We are immediately escorted in by the hostess, past several people waiting to be seated. I didn’t even have to tell her who I was; I just hoped that we got the correct table. We were shown to a private room, and wine was served for us. All of this without me opening my mouth. Beth is impressed and leaned over to ask if this is affordable. I told her my new employer is picking up the tab.
We had talked for a couple of minutes before the chef made his appearance, asking us what items from the table we would like to try. The center of the table had a large tray holding bowls of rice, fish, meat, shrimp, vegetables, about fifteen different choices. The chef took our choices and placed them on the grill, and then with much fanfare he chopped, diced, flipped them through the air, and then served them on our plates.
Beth loved the show, but I was still worried about what she would say about my new job. The food was excellent, the wine even better and with our plates only half eaten we paused before Beth asked if I am happy. I stared a little at her, what an unusual question to ask. I told her that I was pleased to get finally a job that didn’t involve burgers or tacos, but yes I am happy.
She giggled a little but set closer so she wouldn’t have to talk as loud. She was not interested if I am happy on the surface; she wanted to know if down deep that I am pleased with my life and the way it is headed. I nodded my head, then told her that in our past relationship, there seemed to be something missing between us. Today and now, I feel that is not the case. I am not sure what that something is but I feel closer and more tuned to you than ever.
I started to tell her about the interview, but Beth interrupted me asking if I had other plans for the tonight. I told her, no, and she suggested that we go back to her apartment to relax and talk. It sounded good to me, so I took out my cell phone and called the driver to pick us up. Beth smiled, telling me that she would now have to contend with a spoiled little sister. I asked the waitress for the check but am told that all of that is handled already.
The drive back to her apartment was not that long, noting that a lack of worry made the time pass much faster. We made it up to her apartment, then to her living room. I sat down and immediately went to remove my heels. While Sis is blatantly laughing, her comment that I am apparently aware of the disadvantages of being female. I nodded my head and rubbed my feet to ease the discomfort.
After Sis had asked me to stay the night, she led me to her bedroom and dug in her lingerie chest for a nightie. She pulled this small almost non-existent piece of material out and handed it to me. I gave her a dirty look but decided to go along with the joke. I told her I would wear it if she would wear one just as brief. She smiled and dug again for another bit of fabric. I undressed, laying my clothes on her bed. I turned to see if she is doing the same, and her eyes are riveted to my crotch.
She walked over and asked if I still had my male equipment, rubbing her finger over my new vagina. I never knew this side of Beth, aggressive and quite the daring young female. She took advantage of our closeness and reached behind my back to loosen my corset. With the corset looser, she cupped my breasts and squeezed a little. I knew that I would have no feeling, but I moaned as if I could feel it. She dropped her hands immediately as if she was hit with a jolt of electricity.
I took advantage of her inaction and slipped the nightie over my breasts, then pulled the G-string panty up my legs and into place. She stared at me then suggested that we needed to talk a lot about what I had apparently done to my body. I am doing everything I can not to break out in laughter, but the laughter won, and I almost wet myself with laughter and giggles.
Beth couldn’t understand my emotions and is getting upset. Partly because I am not taking this seriously and part because I am still laughing at her. I suggested she slip on her nightie and we go out the living room and get comfortable. She stopped at the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of wine and poured herself a glass. She downed it in one gulp, then refilled it. I asked her where mine was, and she handed me the bottle and glass.
She set down on the couch and looking straight into my eyes wanted to know everything from the start and do not leave anything out. She emphasized everything then poked me when I didn’t start right away. I made my way through all of the happenings of the last week from the mall model search to the dinner tonight. She listened through all of this without comment, in fact when I quit with the story she remained silent. I looked at her, wondering what she was thinking, still not knowing what she thought of my new job or my radical change in appearance.
She confessed she didn’t know what to think of my new life; her first thought is her jealousy of me. Here before her sets her brother, a better-looking female than she is, with a better job, and probably soon to be spoiled rotten by her employer. What divine power could allow something like this to happen? She laughed and giggled, but I suspected some of that last statement is the truth.
“After all, I have gone through to find a decent job I am not going to trade with her, but I could get her into the salon at greatly reduced rates.” That brought a smile to her face, but she wondered what she would have to do to get her discounts. I simply responded that all she had to do is be my sister and accept me as I am now. She fiercely hugged me, almost squeezing the breath out of me, not hard to do with the corset still firmly attached to my body. I did mention that she has loosened it, but had not removed it.
During all of this, I noticed her eyes constantly scanning my body to see what other changes had been performed on me. At one point in the conversation, she asked what name I was going to use since Mark didn’t seem to fit me as well as it used to. Cynthia and I had decided on Marissa, once my female image materialized on the ads.
We talked for quite some time, with her trying to access my feelings about all of this. I tried to tell her that I am still unsure of them, but for a change, everything felt right somehow. I enjoy dressing as a female, the clothes are so scrumptious, and the attention I get as a female is great, maybe not if romance and sex are included, but having doors opened, being talked to with interest is a definite advantage. Maybe after a while, I will not be so excited about the changes, but as of now, I welcome the difference.
The job looks like it will be a dream come true, I get to travel a little, do a lot of things I never dreamed of doing. There is a future with the job, unlike any of my previous employment, and I want to see if I can overcome some of the hurdles that have always held me back. For once someone has faith in me that I can perform basic skills and advance to higher levels.
We talked until the wee hours of the morning, but I finally had to call a halt to the conversation, knowing that I had to meet Cynthia early in the morning and that Mom was due for lunch. I asked her if she thought Mom would approve, but Beth reserved comment. I did notice a sly little smile that peaked out before she hugged me and we wandered off to bed.
I slept in her guest room, out like a light as soon as my head hit the pillow. I did set the alarm, knowing that I couldn’t be late today. I dressed in the same clothes from last night, the corset a lot more comfortable since I couldn’t get it off last night. Sis loosening it some also helped. I guess my body is making the adjustments it needed to since it figured it was going to be stuck in it for some time. Sis was still in bed, so I gave her a kiss and told her I would see her later. I called the limo, and she must have been waiting since she was there almost immediately. The ride to the salon is uneventful, she helped me out of the limo and got the door to the salon for me. I entered, and reception called Cynthia to advise her of my arrival. Several of the girls came up to get me, and soon I am naked and being fussed over. Naked that is except for the corset.
That is the first thing they did, my corset was tightened again, I think this time they exceeded the tightness by quite a bit. After I am checked for anything that might need repair, I am dressed again, this time, a burgundy business suit with a pencil skirt. Needless to say that stockings, along with a slip had been added to my body before I slid into the skirt. I hoped for a suit with pants, but no such luck.
Taken to one of the stations my hair is worked on, fluffed up with the help of a curling iron and then sprayed with hairspray. I heard a little commotion from the front desk, as Cynthia brought my grandmother back to my station. I am immediately hugged, her one and only comment is you look absolutely gorgeous. My mouth is doing the guppy imitation, as Cynthia seats her in the adjoining chair. They fuss over her, redoing her makeup, a more youthful appearance the result. They change her hairstyle a little, a few more curls than before and then Cynthia announces that the limo is here.
They had finished my makeup; my purse is handed to me, and we leave. The ride to the restaurant is quiet, grandma with my hand in hers checking me out. No questions, just admiring the new look that I presented. We arrive and are quickly seated in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Another unexpected question, are you happy? Why did she and Sis want to know if I was happy, surely they could see over the years that my life has been satisfactory for me?
“Yes, for once I am happy with what life has dished up for me, I am not used to dressing up as a female, but everything that I have experienced so far is wonderful. I can’t wait for the next day, to see what new things might be experienced.” After saying that I did doubt the sincerity of some of them. So far the things done to me are not a problem, but I haven’t taken into consideration that I will be living as a female for quite some time. No reverting to pants, short haircut, or a male body for the duration of the agreement.
Then add in the exposure to the public, and everyone knowing of my change and maybe all is not as good as I make it sound. Cynthia had warned me about this, but I really didn’t realize how deep the involvement would be.
The conversation revolved around what I would be doing when she heard that I would be in ads, both my male and female photos she seemed excited. I asked her why surely some of your friends will be critical of my life. Well, she wasn’t going to handle it that way, as soon as the first ad came out, she intended to go to her friends and show them the pictures, telling them that her son is going to be a super model, like Andre Pejic. I chuckled at that; it might work; she is obviously proud of me and for that I am thankful.
We talked as we ate, about little nothings like two females might. Like last night, I connected with her more than in the past. The conversation is not stilted, there are no pauses as one tries to figure out what to say, it just flowed along. I found out that she always wanted to be a model when she was a teenager, but family and finances kept her from ever trying her hand at it. That something had never been brought up in conversation before to either Beth or me.
We finished the meal and then rode back to the salon in the limo. I asked if she would like any more beauty treatments today. She smiled but declined. Then I had an idea, I asked her if I scheduled a spa day, would she come and enjoy it with Beth and me. You could see the tears in the corner of her eyes; I just smiled then told her I would set it up, then send the limo for her. She was quiet, I don’t think she trusted herself to say anything, so I leaned over to her and gave her a hug and kiss, whispering in her ear that I loved her. Since the hug lasted so long, I think she liked it.
The limo left to return her to her home as I walked in the door to the salon. I proceeded to Cynthia’s office to thank her for her help with my family. She didn’t have to do this for me; it was not part of the contract for her to make sure my family is alright with my new job. I knocked on the partially open door, and she called me in. I found a seat to the side of her desk and slid my bottom into it as gracefully as I could muster. She complimented me on my grace, then asked how everything went with my sister and Grandmother.
I relayed the events and the words expressed, and she smiled. She told me that both had confided in her that my changes were for the better and wanted to make sure that I never received a chance to revert to the male image. She told me that my sister called this morning, and my grandmother talked to her after her arrival before she was brought back to me. Sis barely waited till I left before she had the telephone lines busy, telling Grandmother the news. Now I know why Grandmother was not that surprised.
Cynthia confided in me that they used a few photos of me in a general ad the salons run, just snippets, no explanations, it was a male picture, then followed by a female picture, both in succession. All of the salons have had phone calls asking for more info; mainly they wanted to know if the two pictures are the same person. All the responses were yes, it is the same person, the new spokesperson for the chain of salons.
So guess who gets a change of schedule, Francine wants a series of new ads featuring you within the next two weeks. Tomorrow you start earning your keep. I mentioned about the nail polish ads; she just smiled, that and a whole lot more. The first ads are going to be set in the salon, as you experience each procedure to transform your body from male to female. The limo will pick you up tomorrow at seven A.M., and you will be in the salon till five P.M.
The stylists are set up for you, as soon as you get here, they will essentially do every procedure again for the camera. We will also get some general salon shots as you spend the day. During the afternoon, we will squeeze in some of the nail polish shots. You will have a different set of nails, for the nail polish shots we want the glamor of the nails and the color to stand out. They will be applying a new nail that we have been working on, extending an inch and a quarter past your fingertips. I wouldn’t plan on doing any typing for a few days with those new extensions.
I gulped when I heard the length of the new nails, but I guess for nail color photos they do serve a purpose. It would be more than typing I am afraid; that will be affected. The new ad should start to be run by next weekend, and we will be giving your name and before and after picture. If there is anybody else you need to inform before this becomes public knowledge, the next few days seem to be the time to do so. I told her that we have already covered the ones close to me, anyone else just a casual friend or acquaintance.
I got a hug then sent to the limo. The driver pulled out but headed in a direction that I am unfamiliar with. She pulled up to a covered entrance and got out, to get my door. As she helped me out, I am given a set of keys to my new apartment and told what unit it is. I used the swipe card to enter the lobby and followed her directions down a hall to 6C. I used the key and entered the unit. Much nicer than my old one, the security a must have according to Cynthia.
I thought about my presentation now, skirts and blouses, breasts and a vagina, nails and makeup, certainly different than before, definitely more at risk. I tried to picture myself, coming back from a shoot, skirt and heels and facing someone menacing. The shivers that spread up and down my back, a wake-up call to my vulnerability now. The movers had done a thorough job, my clothes hung in the closet, my bed made, and even my bathroom items put neatly on the counter. The only thing they didn’t put up was my I.D. and personal papers. Looking at the male picture on the I.D. there is no similarity to the image in my mirror now.
I found a note on the kitchen counter, apparently from Cynthia. Her opening words were a surprise, then followed by information on the apartment. It is a female singles only complex, and yes you are a single female now. Your sister has been given a key card for the lobby door, but she doesn’t have a key to the apartment. Everything is being taken care of by the salon, some food had been put in the refrigerator, but subsequent items are your responsibility. I did hint to your sister that she might be of assistance tonight since it is a new apartment and you are by yourself.
I think you will find that you are more emotional, vulnerable, and in need of companionship now than when you were portraying a male. Hope you enjoy, if you need anything, please call me anytime. Then right on cue, my doorbell rings. I walk over to the door and look through the peephole. Sis is there with a big grin on her face. I open the door and am attacked by a blonde tornado. I got hugged to death; then she pulls back to scan any new changes in my appearance.
I convey to her that I just got here myself, read Cynthia’s note and she rang the doorbell. I haven’t even looked through the apartment yet, other than a brief look in the master bedroom. We strolled through the apartment looking at everything; I just know that Sis is jealous to the core, this apartment is on a par with hers. The kitchen is spacious and includes a lot of appliances that I have never been able to afford. The refrigerator is loaded, but I did notice no junk food, only fruit and vegetables, yogurt, and healthy items. There are a couple of bottles of wine chilling in the door of the refrigerator.
We headed back to the bedrooms, my bed covered with a lacy bedspread with several cute stuffed animals waiting for me to join them. I walked over to the walk-in closet and looked inside. When I had glanced in the room earlier, I thought my male clothes were hung there. On closer inspection my male clothes were gone, a feminine wardrobe, the only inhabitants of the closet. The dresser contained only lingerie, and the vanity had makeup displayed in front of the ornate mirror at the back of the vanity.
After checking out the bathroom and the guest room we headed back to the kitchen and sampled a bottle of wine. I am no wine connoisseur, but Sis approved, it being one of the better California selections from several years ago. We sat in the living room talking about anything and everything, and then the subject turned to what I would be doing the next few days. Although she didn’t say anything, I could tell she is jealous of what I have now. I had an idea but had to wait until she is out of the room to pursue.
She discussed her job some; she is a personal assistant for a CEO, the company dealing with managing people’s portfolios. They did not deal much with stock market people, mainly the more conservative ones interested in the long term slow growth of their money. She took a ladies room break and as soon as she cleared the room I called Cynthia on my new phone. She answered and wanted to know what I needed. She was afraid that I didn’t like the apartment. I squeezed in my question first before Sis came back.
I asked if I could invite her to move in with me. Cynthia burst out in an infectious giggle that turned more to outright laughing. She told me to move the note from her aside and look at the copy of the lease beneath it. I did so and noticed both my name and my sister’s name on the top of it. I quickly asked Cynthia if this had been discussed with my sister. She told me no, whether you invite her to join you is up to you. Now, no more excuses do you like the apartment? I told her it is fantastic; surely I need to pay some to offset some of the expense. She said I should wait for a couple of days until some of the photo shoots are over; I think you will find that we will get our money’s worth out of you with little difficulty.
Now hang up and tell your sister the good news. I did just that although I had to wait until she had fixed her makeup and hair. Can’t have the younger sister showing up, the older sister especially since she is a he.
She made her way back to the couch, and I asked her if she liked the apartment. She loved it was her reply. “You are so lucky to have a company like this to work for.” We went to the master bedroom, and I dug through the dresser to look for nighties. I found a pair of nighties, not quite as risqué as the one’s sis had loaned to me, but cute none the less. I told her to change, and we will watch a chick flick and drink wine. She bounced off to the bathroom again returning faster than the first time. I took my nightie and did the same.
Back in the living room, we scanned the menu on the home entertainment center and found several films already loaded on the TV. I poured two more glasses, and we settled in to watch the film. It is a classic chick flick, we cried, we giggled, we hugged, and as the credits played on the screen, I asked her to move in with me. She stared at me trying to figure out what I had said. I asked her if her hearing is okay, she nodded her head, and then I asked again if you will move in with me.
She understood this time and squeezed the shit out of me, I finally pried my body loose from her embrace, then giggled at her reaction. She wanted to know what her part of the rent would be; I told her nothing as long as I am employed. I suggested that we put some money away every month for that eventual day when I don’t have a job anymore. I told her that I would help her move when she is ready, and told her that since I am the prettier sister I get, the bigger bedroom. That started a pillow fight that lasted for quite some time. We would hit each other and then collapse on the floor giggling.
Eventually, things calmed down a little, we cuddled in the master bedroom and soon fell asleep. I woke early, even before the alarm and started getting ready. I kissed her on the forehead as she started to wake, then headed down to the limo. The ride to the salon is much shorter, and I am in the salon thirty minutes early. The gals that are to work on me are already there and start my treatments. Cynthia’s assistant is manning the camera till Cynthia comes in, catching on film the removal of the little hair that has managed to re-sprout on my body.
Looking in the mirror, my body seems to be more feminine; I doubt that just removing my body hair again could cause an increase in femininity, but you never know. From one technician to another my transformation to the female gender was recorded for the upcoming ads. It was quite late when I managed to exit the salon, into the limo and then to my new apartment. Sis was waiting for me, had transformed some of the food in the cabinets and refrigerator into something that smelled heavenly. I was starved since I only had a power bar earlier in the day. Cynthia did extract a quite sizable amount of work from me, I did close my eyes often but still could see flash bulbs going off. We cleaned up the kitchen together, a simple task that I really enjoyed. Helping Sis do things seeming to make us so much closer. We talked for a while, then went to my bedroom to get dressed for bed. I found another set of nighties for us to wear and we talked for a while.
Cynthia had already arranged for Sis to get moved, that would be done tomorrow, then her apartment would be cleaned for her, and her lease terminated. All handled for her, she had such a huge smile on her face, her younger sister providing the connections to arrange all of this. After several impromptu yawns we cuddled in my bed, and soon both of us were lost to dreamland.
The days settled into the same routine, almost fifty percent of my time in the salon, the rest before a camera of one type or another. The ads were running more now, several people now recognizing me on the street. When it was my time to grocery shop I would often spend time talking to people that recognized me, the first question always are you really a male. After a few weeks I got into the swing of things, the hardest is the ten to twelve hour days when we were shooting a new ad. I did have the weekend off, but often spent it at the salon having a facial or some other beauty treatment. Of course, I dragged Sis along, I was especially fond of my waxing days as Sis got handled the same way.
The ads were a great success, the salon busier every time I used it. Cynthia opening a couple of more locations, even adding on to the main salon I used. From Francine came the word that the same was happening all across the chain.
I often reflect on my luck that day, surely it had to be luck for me to be chosen to be a salon goddess. Other than cook something to eat every once in a while I don’t lift a finger to do anything anymore, my sole job is to be the prettiest Goddess of the salon. Maybe making that wish on that falling star was the right thing to do, who will ever know.
Story Complete For Now
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker