Mitzi; At Last A Job

I am nineteen and unfortunately still live with my Mom. Graduating from high school two months ago, but still hunting for some kind of job. I doubt college will be an option since my grades have been so dismal, and our finances are so tight. Mom would have helped with my tuition for the first couple of years, but I had to match the funds dollar for dollar. That didn’t happen, any attempt for some type of job failed miserably. Even the fast food places turned me away.

Mom had raised me pretty much by herself, since Dad had vacated the premises years ago. I don’t remember him, probably too young to have much recollection as to his looks. No reason was even given by her, it was a subject that we never talked about. She was a good parent, making me learn and practice what I learned. Instead of doing it for me, I was taught what to do, then I had to do the deed myself. Simple tasks like calling the school if I was sick, to more involved ones like obtaining my own car insurance.

The car was Dad’s old car which he left when he vamoosed. I did receive an allowance every month, so when I had passed my school’s drivers-ed course, I wanted badly to drive the car. Well, I had to call around to find the most reasonable car insurance, mainly one I could afford. Then go there in person to arrange and pay for it. Boy, what an education I got from that experience. I had to make all kinds of concessions on the policy to be to afford it. My allowance just wouldn’t allow anything more than a bare minimum. I ended up being able to drive one hundred miles a week, and nothing after dark. That was enforced by a monitor installed on my car to advise the company of my driving times, a monitor that I had to pay for.

I tried every trick in the book to make my Mom feel sorry for me in hopes that my allowance would be increased. Her simple reply, “Get a job and you will have money to do what you want.” The job front sucked, my small stature, youthful appearance and crappy grades in school teamed up to deny me any kind of employment. Although I was nineteen, I looked fourteen, I know later in life I will appreciate that fact, but now it was making my life flat out miserable. In a lot of instances, I wasn’t even allowed to fill out an application, one look and I was told they had no jobs to offer.

I had recently heard of a job at one of my Mom’s friend’s place of business. I overheard Mom taking about it with one of her friends, just not any details. Maybe nothing, but at least a chance. I was interested, but knew that I would have to do several things before applying. The first task was to somehow make myself look older. Sally, Mom’s friend lived next door and she worked as a beauty technician in town. She was good, had a large following and worked six days a week. Not because she had to, but because of the level of business she had.

She had, over the years, helped with my hair, since Mom had trouble even doing her own hair. Mainly trimming off my split ends and advising on what hair care products to use to keep my hair healthy and growing. All through high school I grew my hair out, it was a status symbol for me; I was different with long hair and not some part of a click or group. More than a time or two, I was accosted by some females just wanting to run their fingers through my hair. Weird, but so satisfying. There was other confrontations too, those not so satisfying, mainly involving the male bullies of our school. I did get plenty of practice in running though.

I asked Sally’s advice on how I could be made to, look older. When I got a huge smile from her, I should have stopped at that point, but she had suckered me in again. The next Saturday I was over at her house being made over. She layered my hair, than applied some light touches of makeup to my face. I immediately started to rise, the use of makeup was not what I had in mind to look older. She pushed me back down in the chair and made me wait until she was finished.

The image in the mirror was older, unfortunately also slightly feminine. I was told that some more mature clothing would give me the look I was seeking. There again I should have asked questions or run for the hills. I did neither.

It was later that I found out the job was at Sally’s salon, a greeter and customer service representative. Since I had not one single alternative, I swallowed my pride and decided to drive down for the interview. I didn’t have much hope, either for the job or that I would take it, if offered. I somehow couldn’t see myself working in a beauty salon.

I had worn some dress slacks and a dress shirt, essentially my church clothes, when I went. No tie though, if the job required a tie I would pass on it. I told the receptionist I was here to apply for the job and then was shown back to an office in the rear of the salon. A tall regal looking lady got up from behind her desk and approached me reaching for my hand in the process. She introduced herself as Francine, the owner of the chain. I was shown to a sofa, then she sat next to me and we talked.

Although my grades have always been sub-standard, I have always had the gift of gab, if you can call talking to anybody about anything, the gift of gab. It just flows out of me, any topic, any subject whether I know anything about it or not. In school, I knew everybody male or female. Maybe not as a friend, but could and would interact with them often. Francine and I talked for quite some time, her telling me some about the salon and me elaborating on my failure in finding a job. I guess she made some type of decision, as she got up and left me for a few minutes. She came back with their uniform, a smock type of outfit in shades of burgundy and pink. She handed it to me, told me to change in her bathroom and then go to the salon and show her what I could do.

I looked at the uniform, then at her, then back to the uniform. I have no idea why I went to the bathroom to change. My mind was dead set against it, yelling and screaming for me to just walk out. I liked Francine, she listened to me, offered advice, but nothing was pushed on me. Like right now, here is the uniform, change in the bathroom and go to the salon and show her what I can do. No threats about if you want the job this is what you will have to do to get it. Her approach kind of threw me off balance, leaving me not sure what to do. So without much thinking I took the smock and headed to the bathroom.

I slipped out of my clothes and put the smock on. Thinking back hours later I could have just slipped it on over my pants, but none of her employees wore them that way, nothing covering up their legs. I decided to do the same. It came down to mid-thigh, looking like a dress on me. I surveyed my image in the mirror, swallowed hard, and left the bathroom. I had taken my ponytail out before I ventured into the salon, again I am not sure why. My sneakers looked a little out of place, but since they were white, it was not something hitting you over the head.

I walked around the salon, getting watched by both customers and employees alike. After my first circuit, I stopped at the hair dryers, sat down next to a lady without a magazine and introduced myself. She was bored having to wait until her hair was dry. From her first words she sounded a little masculine, but that was what the salon was all about. I asked her what style she was getting, then complimented her on her choice. I asked about her job, it turns out she was self-employed, helping people with their investments. Her stylist came and checked on her hair, then tuned off the dryer and took her back to her booth. I gave her a hug, telling her I enjoyed talking with her.

The front was getting busy, several people in line at the check in desk. I proceeded there, took their names, then looked to see who their stylist was. As I had been walking around, I had paid attention to the name badges, so I could at least point them in the right direction. The few that were early for their appointments, I got them a drink, sitting and talking to them while they waited for their stylist to finish with their last customer.

We talked about the salon, about the miracles they performed on a daily basis. All three ladies were products of the salon, former males now enjoying life as a female. They asked about me, I told them I am interviewing for a job here, if I am here next time, we can catch up on what happened. I spent five hours talking with everybody, a few while they were waiting to be picked up by their S.O.

After I finished with a lady, when her ride appeared, Francine came to get me. I was led back to her office, several of the customers I had talked to wishing me luck. They had heard I was here on an interview from either myself or one of the other ladies I had talked to.

I sat back down in front of Francine’s desk as she sat in her chair after getting a drink for herself. “Well, did you like your afternoon?”

I smiled. “Yes, it was very enjoyable. I love to talk to people, your customers are so special, that inner desire to be something more than they are, a tribute to their being.”

“For what you did today, what do you want as pay?” I looked at her, stared a more likely description of my look. I have no idea what to say. Getting paid to talk to people and be nice to them, what a conundrum.

My reply, “I have no idea what would be a fair wage, I do like the people and would love to work here. How about we leave that up in the air until time for the first paycheck. Then you pay me what you think I am worth to your business.”

“Okay, that sounds fair; you do realize that all my employees dress as a female don’t you? A few are females, but everybody who works here does dress as their female persona. I prefer the uniform, but will allow suitable female dress if you desire to go that way. Heels are mandatory though as well as makeup and a feminine hairstyle. That also includes polished nails and appropriate jewelry. You will receive adequate compensation for those things you need, but all beauty services are free to any employee. If you agree to the above, be here at seven in the morning, we will get you decked out and you can start right after lunch. Forty hours a week, eight hours a day, alternate weekends in your schedule.”

Francine gave me a hug after coming around her desk, I tried to slow things down, I was not so sure about dressing as a female for the job. I was stuttering real bad, words coming out but no sense to their order or meaning. She grabbed my hands. “Try it for a week, if you are still against it after that time, I will look for someone else. You are good at it, surely just slipping on some female clothes could not make it that bad that you wouldn’t desire the job. You have been in a dress for five hours, everybody you talked to thinking you are a natural born female, now what has suddenly changed?”

She was right, but saying it and living it are two different things. I got hugged, tender and sincere. I walked over to the bathroom to get my clothes, looked inside and let out an audible sigh. No clothes. I looked back to Francine, a smile on her face. She held out a small purse, so I took it looking inside. Sure enough my keys and wallet were inside. I started to say something, but thought better of it. If I took the job this would be my future, so another deep breath and I headed to my car. Again the feeling of being not sure what to do returned, now having to go home dressed as a female suddenly a part of my life.

Everything was different. The cold upholstery on my naked thighs, the uniform riding up when I sat, the looks I received as I walked to the car, everything so very different. I made it home, now to face my Mom. As I entered, I mouthed my normal greeting. “Mom, I am home.” She came out of the kitchen looked me over, then approached me giving me a huge hug. I was dragged back to the kitchen, made to sit at the kitchen bar, then she handed me a glass of iced tea. She sat next to me, wanting to know all about my new job.

It eventually came out that Sally had called her, telling her that I would be home looking a little different, but now in possession of a new job. I need to thank Sally, it made my life a lot easier. Just how do you tell your Mother that her son got a job as a female in a beauty salon? Not the easiest subject to broach. We talked for quite a while, the conversation was not stilted as in the past, I even joked a little with her, a never before occurrence.

She giggled when I told her that my wages had not been decided yet. She reached over running her hand through my longish hair suggesting that I might look better as a blonde. I got the hint, but decided to play along with it. “How about a strawberry blonde, Mom, I am sure it would look good with my coloring?” Another look, this time her wide smile showed her acceptance of my gender female statement.

I helped with dinner that night, making salads and some homemade dressing from scratch. Never had done it before, but with Mom’s instructions, it was fairly simple. She had made a meatloaf and complimenting gravy, along with the salads, a pleasant meal indeed. I helped wash dishes, as she dried them, another first for me. Of course, I had to wear an apron to keep my uniform clean for tomorrow. I went to my room to slip out of the uniform, deciding on an over sized t-shirt for bed.

The events of the day had drained me, not physical, but mentally. I laid in bed staring at the ceiling thinking about what I had committed to today. A life as a female, hair, makeup and nails effectively ending my present male existence. I know this is only my first job, so other possibilities may materialize later, but for some reason, I doubted I would stray far from the job at the salon. I awoke early, anxious to get to the salon for my first day. A young male anxious to dress as a female, and work as one, definitely not something you find often these days. A quick shower, fresh underwear and the smock were donned, then I ran a brush through my hair and almost ran out the door.

When I arrived at the salon, Sally steered me to one of the treatment rooms. I was relieved of my body hair, a cream doing the job in less than an hour. I never had much to start with now I had none. Yesterday when I was wearing the uniform my legs were very female looking, only a light fuzz on my upper thighs, now smooth as silk.

Then breast forms were glued to my chest, appropriately sized for my age and small body. I was surprised by the weight of them, much heavier than I had imagined. A lacy bra came next, the feeling of the band around my chest not the most comfortable, but I appreciated the way it helped with the motion and the weight of my new appendages on my chest.

Next was my first pair of panties, a garter belt and then some sheer stockings. The stockings caused all kinds of sensations on my smooth legs, then, when attached to the garter belt, the pulling of the garters as I moved kept me constantly excited. The dress was next, today that is how it was referred to, instead of the uniform. I think the uniform name for yesterday was just to keep from freaking me out. Sally touched up my hair, applied a little cosmetics to my face, then a necklace and a pair of earrings were handed to me. While I was looking at the earrings she pierced my ears, slid the new earrings into the virgin holes and helped me with the necklace. In less than an hour the male me was completely wiped out.

I was deemed a Mitzi, my new name for the new image. Since my old moniker was Malcolm, anything at all was acceptable. I checked myself in the mirror then headed to the salon proper to start work. I mingled with the customers, talked about their clothing choices, their hairstyles or helped them choose a new style from the many books of hairstyle ideas they kept in the salon. It seemed like only an hour or two and it was time for lunch. I had heard that the deli right down the street was good, so I made my way there. I was a little nervous, being out of the salon on my own. In the salon, I felt comfortable among the stylists and customers, but out here, there was no support group.

I decided to take my selections back to the salon and eat in the lounge they had there. As I made my way back, I was approached several times by a male, since the sporting goods shop was right next door to the salon. I smiled, the same pickup lines I had heard or used myself tried on me. I let then down easy and continued back to the salon. Suddenly faced with things from the other side of the gender front, I had a new perspective about being female. Night and day difference between the sexes in everything. Being dressed as one and talking with them making the facts sink in to my little mind in a special way.

As I entered, reception was swamped. I took my sandwich and drink to the back, and came back to help out. I steered several to their stylists, found some magazines for others and talked to a few until their stylist was free. When I had handled the last of the crowd, Francine was there smiling at me. She grabbed my hand and led me back to her office. There on her sofa table was my sandwich and drink. I was situated on the couch and told to eat my lunch.

She sat next to me asking how today was going. I tried to play it down, but she had been watching me all morning, unbeknownst to me. She told me that she wanted to train me to handle the receptionist duties as well, in case I needed to fill in sometime. After lunch I was to spend some time with Valerie, to learn her job. She also wanted me to spend some time with Sally, learning about hairstyles and facial shapes so that I could help customers pick an appropriate hair style for them.

I hope you are happy, and will continue to work for me in the future. You attitude is good and your work ethic is outstanding. You just need some time to adjust to the gender role. Try your best and I think you will be pleased with the results. Now go see Valerie and let her show you how to handle reception. I spent the afternoon there, by quitting time I was handling it with no problem, booking appointments and checking out customers after their beauty services. I was amazed at the number of females that were actually males, a further indication of the skill of her employees.

I dragged myself home, the low heels that I had been given rough on my feet. Several times I stopped to rub my sore feet, giggles and smirks from the other stylists as they watched me. Once home I got hugged at the door, Mom wanting to see the new enhanced Mitzi. She had dinner ready for us, I helped carry it to the table and we sat down and enjoyed her efforts. I again helped with the dishes, something I was expected to do now since I was now a member of the female gender. It was a pleasant evening after all. Mom showed me how to remove the makeup Sally had applied, it was expected that I would be doing my own in a few days. Tomorrow, a set of nails were to be applied, a requirement of the salon. Every day a little more added to the female impersonation, I presume to keep me from panicking.

The thought of me panicking for a moment made it to my consciousness, but the smile and feeling of contentment passed over me eliminating any thought of me panicking about my changes. I was looking forward to getting a set of nails tomorrow, maybe a nice red or burgundy polish to go with my light brown hair.

When the salon opened at seven I was already there bringing up the appointments for the day, eager to get started. Sally was working today and took me back to their manicurist and introduced her to me. She had been on a vacation and I had not met her before. We instantly hit it off and were deep in conversation as she prepared my nails. An hour and a half later I had ten long talons painted in a burgundy polish with some nail art on my little pinkie finger. It was a cute little kitty, white and cream in color laying on its back with its feet in the air. I was amazed at the detail of the nail art, a painting in polish pulled off a transparent sheet and applied to my nail.

I gave Mindy a hug when she finished, so proud of my new nails. I was like a little kid with a new toy, showing anyone who would look my nails, my voice filled with bubbly excitement. On the days that followed I was taught how to do my makeup, them made to practice on my face until I could put my feminine face on convincingly.

Lots of jewelry was on the agenda for the next day, bracelets, necklaces, rings and more than a few earrings for my newly pierced ears. Since my holes were lasered in, I could change my earrings anytime I wanted, the other techs giggling as I changed my jewelry five times that first day. I was fascinated at the change in my appearance, by changing the earrings and necklaces. I guess you can safely classify me as a jewelry junkie now. Although jewelry enthusiast sounds better.

It was ten days after I first started at the salon that I was given a set schedule, reception now my responsibility three days a week. Valerie handled the other four days just as she had before I entered the picture. Of course, talking with the customers was still a high priority, something I relished anytime I had a few moments free from reception. On the days I was not scheduled up front, I made my rounds often, even doing a little stocking of beauty supplies when things were slow. I received several small raises and was encouraged to make additions to my wardrobe often, all compliments of Francine.

I got in the habit of greeting Francine with a huge hug when she was in town, giving her lots of kisses on her cheeks, while she giggled away. I guess she enjoyed it, since as soon as she saw me she held out her arms to welcome me. Sally and I became special friends, often going out to dinner during the week. Our favorite spot a cozy Mexican place that served the best snacks, and drinks all figure friendly, of course. We often spent the majority of the evening there, giggling, laughing and hugging as we parted. We talked about the salon, the customers and about our lives. All shared within the friendship that we shared between us. I always made sure to thank her for my introduction to the salon, a life changing event that I will treasure forever.

At last a job, a job I so adore and look forward to every day. A full time job for Mitzi, female now for the rest of my life, a fact there is now no doubt about now.

Story Complete For Now

© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker

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