My boring job was writing copy for advertisements. I do mean boring, but at least it made me some money and allowed me to pay my bills. I worked from home, sometimes busy and sometimes I have quite a bit of time to waste away. My longtime dream was to write fiction. Over the years I have made many attempts, even submitted them for publication but the rejection letters kept coming.
My job was okay, a way to make a living but not very inspirational as far as a career goes. I was now twenty–six years old, living in an apartment in the metro Phoenix area. The apartment was not the best, but was adequate for my needs. It was situated near the University, probably the only reason the rent was affordable. I was not a student, so my interaction with my neighbors was almost non-existent. I lived on frozen entrees, having never even learned how to boil water. I could handle a microwave, the only thing in my kitchen that got utilized.
In my writing I used the pen name Priscilla Hearthrob, corny but a lot better than my real name, Peter Walker. Yeah, I know so boring. I had read in a book that an author trying to sell an erotic story using a male name was doomed from the start. So Priscilla became my pen name. Now with what Francine is suggesting that was probably a very unwise choice of pen names.
One luxury I allowed myself is getting my hair cut regularly. Not in a typical male style, but long and feathered. Since I kept it in a ponytail most of the time it made little difference in my everyday looks. I used a salon in town owned by a longtime friend. We went to high school together, took a lot of the same subjects, and enjoyed the same things in life. When she changed her appearance and decided to go to beauty school, I was taken back some. I visited her often, even allowed her to practice her newly acquired skills on me. She was the same person just more at peace with herself.
While I toiled away at my writing, she bought a beauty shop and then another and now she has varied interests in lots of businesses and is quite wealthy, the salons her main business. When she is in town I am hugged to death as soon as I make my way into the salon. She knows it embarrasses me, the smile on her face is huge and she prolongs the hug to the extreme. We talk often and I have been invited to her house for dinner many times. Except for the first time, I have managed to come up with excuses to not go. The first time she had other guests and I was spared her focused inspection. Her company is always desired but she has a way of seeing through your façade and right into your inner person. So to keep some of my secrets secret, I just avoided going there.
Simone has always been my stylist when I get my haircut, so when I showed up for my appointment she was waiting for me. I was seated in her chair and she placed a cape around my shoulders. The chair was leaned back and my hair shampooed and conditioned. Her technique for shampooing is almost an art form and so erotic. Normally it would take about five minutes, but she stretches it out to a half hour. It feels so good, goose bumps all over the place, my mind shutting down and just soaking up the vibes. I had my eyes closed enjoying my massage, wondering if she did this for all her customers. Then I felt the cape being moved some and then two pair of hands on my body. One set was holding me down massaging my shoulders and upper arms, the other set unfastening my belt and pulling my pants down my legs.
I tried to set up to see what was going on, my pants disappearing, soon my socks and shoes were also on the floor. Next my boxers fell prey to Francine, her giggling and laughing at the expression on my face. Simone was still massaging my shoulders, I wanted to reach down and try to keep my pants from being removed, but the massage felt so good, so my half hearted attempt to stop her died before it even got started. Now, it is too late as they are already history. The cape was again spread over me and Francine pulled up a stool to talk to me. I was blushing red, naked under the cape and sporting something I preferred not to be seen with at this particular moment.
Simone set the chair back up and started cutting my hair just like nothing had happened. Francine just stared at me, her signature smirk plastered on her face. I managed to get out why, in a pathetic little voice, sounding more like a little girl than a male. We were towards the back of the salon, nobody near us, so the conversation could remain private.
“Today we are going to handle your reluctance to visit me at my home, that I can assure you. Simone is going to take her time with your hair, if I get truthful answers you might end up looking as you normally do. If you lie to me or withhold pertinent facts it is going to be a long day for you, and most likely will require a new wardrobe to fit your new figure. So do we have an understanding or should I just leave now and let Simone have her way with you?”
I squeaked out I understood, trying desperately to swallow getting the frog in my throat to move some. Her first question was a doozy and made me blush again only this time harder. She wanted to know if my reluctance to come to her house is because I was trying to hide a secret from her. I nodded my head vigorously as Simone held up a piercing gun to my ears. The threat implied and imminent. The smile Simone sported was like a kid with a new toy, just let me loose and I will be extremely happy.
I confessed that was the reason, then she continued in her questioning, Simone laying the piercing gun on the counter for now. “Let me make a guess, you have an inner female that you have squashed for your entire life, and she wants out. That is why you have you hair cut this way, borderline feminine, so that you can dream a little yet still appear as a male at other times.” I again nodded my head, this time the words would not come out. I did shed a tear or two, I guess in relief, since my secret is now out at least to Francine.
Well we need to fix this problem and very soon. “Since you are a writer, I need you to pen a story where a male is coerced into helping a longtime friend in developing a new market for feminine clothes. The protagonist in the story wants to show his readers what loving one another is all about. Not the stupid macho male way, but a caring, mutually beneficial relationship based on showing the partner how wonderful love can be and the many ways it can be shown without penetrative sex. The main character, a male, dresses as a female, lives his life as one. A person that can swoon a female and have her yearning to be made love to again, even minutes after having her last orgasm. Then can head out for a lunch with her girlfriend and an afternoon of shopping.”
So you have a week, I know you can do it, the pieces you have shown me are examples of what I am asking for. Just make a few alterations and we are ready to go. I am going to advertise the book at the salon and give out free copies to all who ask about it. I will publicize your picture, and a short biography all across the nation, telling all about the author of this book, and about loving one another. So do we have a deal or does Simone get to have her fun.
No pressure here. Okay, just one little word yes, then Simone can make one minor change to keep you focused as you write your literary masterpiece.
I was lost in hundreds of thoughts, one week, my picture, feminine clothes, love without penetrative sex, and a huge bunch of others that seemed to be in a mixed up pile at the back of my mind. I somehow managed a yes, but started to add conditions. Francine placed her finger on my lips and smiled.
“Yes, is all I needed to hear. Now let Simone have her fun and I will see you at my house one week from today at seven P.M. sharp with the finished story. On that day I suggest you let Simone make you presentable before you come to the house or I will have to call in my specialists. I can’t just have anyone at my dinner table, can I?”
Then she had the nerve to kiss me, hug me and leave me open mouthed as she went about her business. The kiss was on the lips leaving me open mouthed and panting for additional air. Simone was already winding curlers in my hair, her smile conveying her approval of what just happened. I raised my hand to object. Simone just leaned forward gave me a hug and placed my hand by my side, discussion over with. One more try, this time I tried to verbalize my feelings, two fingers on my lips to stop my protest and then she went back to adding curlers to my hair. I let out such a huge sigh, Simone whispering in my ear that maybe I should spend the time coming up with more ideas for my story. You definitely do not want to disappoint Francine by not having the story finished, the repercussions might be a little hard to get used to and fairly long lasting.
I closed my eyes, now not able to see my image in the mirror in front of me, but still feeling as my hair is wound tight around each curler. Simone finally had all my hair in curlers, I opened my eyes just a tad, saw my image in the mirror and quickly shut them tight. Any maleness I might have laid credit to had vanished, a female was the only image I saw. A female in curlers getting ready for a date or a special night out. I groaned out loud, Simone giggling away at my distress.
A hair dryer was set up behind me, turned on and I sat there for forty minutes as my hair was drying. Then Simone resumed her styling, removing the curlers, nice big bouncy curls of hair forming as they were being removed. A brush was taken to the fluffy curls, the resulting hairstyle framing my face with longer tendrils of curls at the back of my head. I will never be mistaken for a male with this hairstyle. I looked at my image, just staring at the mirror. Finally Simone got my attention suggesting that I head home and get started on the story. If I wanted to hang around the salon she could pierce my ears, then maybe some makeup. I stood up attempted to pay her for her efforts even if I was not thrilled at the results.
“Francine handled the bill, and also your transformation later in the week so that you can appear at Francine’s to show her your story. Be early I have several things I need to do for you before she will accept you. Now give me a hug and get out of here. I looked around for my boxers, but of course they were not there. I pulled up my pants quickly, tightened the belt to hold them up and slipped into my shoes. I skipped the socks, any more time in the salon and I feared Simone might change me a little more.
Simone did confide in me that the feminine hairdo was to remind me that my secret was out, no use spending time trying to deny the facts. A reminder of my meeting with Francine later in the week and the need to finish the book on time.
As I walked out of the salon, I was watching to see if everybody was looking at me. Surprisingly no one did, I was treated just like another female, my hair leaving little doubt of my gender. I got in my car and headed home, I did stop at a drive through to get some food not remembering that I looked like a female until I was already in line and had given them my order. I pulled down the visor, looking at the image. All I saw was female, I noticed my voice even pitched itself a little higher without any effort on my part. I was referred to as a lady but did get my food without problems and completed my journey. At home I sat at my breakfast bar, nibbling on my takeout trying to figure out what went wrong today. I guess it boiled down to Francine getting fed up with me making excuses for not coming to her house and taking action.
But why the story, it seems like something excessive just to get me to come to her house. Then I suddenly remembered the comment about a new market for feminine clothes, and me being touted as the author and highly publicized in the process. Oh gawd, she is making it so that I have to live as a female in the future. She can’t do that to me can she?
My brain was over loaded so I ended up taking a nap after I finished my takeout. When I got up I went to my computer and tried to get started writing my masterpiece. Francine had mentioned that I already had parts of what was needed, I just had to put them together in some kind of logical format. I reread the stories I had written copying selected excerpts and pasting them on blank pages. Then I tried to put them in some kind of order, leaving space where I needed to write a connecting paragraph. By midnight I had forty pages of writing, not sure if this was the direction she was expecting, but for the first day and considering my mental condition it was all I could come up with.
I quit for the night, then took a soothing bath, using bath salts and oils. It was a frequent habit of mine, a little enjoyment of things that I longed for, but for the most part unattainable. Now every trip past a mirror showed my feminine hairdo in all its glory, causing me to pause and take a closer look. For the next week I wrote, edited, changed and otherwise manipulated all of this into a story. I would re-read it, throw up my hands in disgust and start changing the story again.
It was Thursday morning when I released my time was nearly up. I called Simone asking her if she had a few moments for me. She had a slot around noon, so I quickly invited her to lunch my treat. It was not the first time we had lunch together, but still somewhat a rarity in our relationship.
I grabbed my manuscript and headed out. I managed to get to the restaurant a few minutes before her, we hugged and were seated in the very front of the place right next to the window. I was still nervous about my hair, I had been out a few times, but my nerves were shattered by the time I made it back home. Simone took one look at my tousled locks and opened her purse removing a brush, stood and started repairing my hairstyle. I was beet red, here in the restaurant right in their front window and my hair being brushed and put back into the feminine style. She finished her repair, a bigger smile I have never seen on her face. She knew I was embarrassed, but thought nothing of it. It was a least ten minutes before I could utter any words, I started half a dozen times but two or three words was all I could get out. Finally, I handed her the manuscript and stared at the table, lost in thought.
We ordered out food and drinks as she read the story. I was amazed at how fast she was moving through the story. Finally she laid the manuscript down and looked my way. I waited as the waitress removed our empty plates, then looked at Simone for some sign of whether she liked it or not.
“You need to quit your job today, after Francine gets a chance to read your story you will be in such demand. Come back to the salon with me and I will make a few more changes to your appearance. Tomorrow I will finish the changeover, your masculinity will now be gone forever.
I tried to talk to her about what I thought Francine was setting me up for, what few words left my mouth were such a mix of gibberish, I doubt anyone could have discerned what I was trying to say. Simone handled the situation by dragging me out of the restaurant after I paid the check and right back to the salon.
I was firmly put in her chair, told to shut up and let her do her job. I tried several more starts on a conversation but each attempt died a slow death as the words never materialized. I was thinking them but nothing left my mouth. I finally gave up, got comfortable and watched more of my masculinity fade away. Simone noticed my change, smiled and told me that what I am fearing is what I should have done years ago. Instead you suffered along, a glimpse here and there of what might have been. Now Priscilla is here to stay, whether you want her to be here or not.
My eyebrows were thinned, way too much in my opinion but nobody cared for what I thought. Face wise I looked quite feminine, the only thing missing was some makeup. The cape that had been laid over me was removed and she took her scissors and cut my t-shirt off my chest. My mouth was open as she performed that task, then I tried to swallow my tongue as she laid a pair of breast forms on my chest. I raised my arm to protest, but she calmly picked up the piercing gun and put the first pair of studs in my ears. My arm suddenly was by my side, a lesson quickly learned.
She then glued the forms in place, telling me that I did not have to worry about the forms coming loose. She guaranteed her work. The bad part was that she had placed my hands on the form to hold them in place as the glue dried. The forms felt so real, squishy and quite jiggly. I even imagined the nipples on the breast form getting hard. Can you imagine a male with breast forms and he feels the nipples getting hard. It can’t be long before the guys in the white coats show up.
Story Incomplete At Present
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker