I was in the office of the editor of the magazine I worked for. Myself and three others were summoned about projects for the next edition of FemaleWorld. A new type of publication published monthly about the happenings in the world of the female. There was articles about clothes, cosmetics, female owned businesses, anything that related to the world that the female lives in. I was the token male journalist, there only because it would be discrimination to not allow males to work there. It was no secret, in fact when I was hired I was told that plainly and upfront. Of the sixty-seven employees of the publication I was the only male.
Vivian was asking each of us what story ideas we were considering for the next edition. So far I had been regulated to do stories on female owned businesses, essentially just info on them, what they sold and a little history about them. Debbie was pursuing the new legislation in congress that affects women’s rights.
Barbara was doing a story on a company that had discrimination charges filed against them, hiring females at lower salaries that their male counterparts. They thought there would be an out of court settlement soon, and that was big news.
Nancy was following a CEO that had started a business recently, selling franchises and building new locations rapidly. Since the country was still in a depression this was news and she had gotten an exclusive interview with her for the magazine.
Vivian turned to me and asked what I had in the works. I named several companies that were female owned and said probably one of these will be my focus. She looked the list over than handed me a sheet off her desk. “Randy, it is time you started pulling your weight around here. This is a female owned business that exceeds the normal parameters for such a business. They turn males into females, so I want an in depth article from one of the males that has been converted, about the procedure, the price, why they wanted to do it, everything that has anything to do with this. I want a feature length article, pictures, quotes, interviews, everything.”
“Now here is your chance to show me what you can do. Your journalism degree is at stake here, produce what I want or your job gets changed to a secretary. A bit harsh maybe, but so far my attempts to motivate you to do something other than the minimum have failed. So this month we try a different approach. Any questions?”
I just sat there staring at the wall in back of her desk. I noticed the others leave, let out a breath that I had been holding on to and decided to do the same. Vivian caught me before I got out the door. “You have the ability, but will not step out of your comfort zone. If it is anything that you have not done before you will not embrace it. Call the number at the top of the sheet and stick your neck out. Now get out of my office.”
I could see her stance, I really had not contributed much to the magazine. In the back of my mind I knew something like this or worse, me getting fired, would soon be on the horizon, but never had the guts to step up and change things. I now had no choice, get with it or become a secretary.
I made the call, not really knowing what to ask for or how to ask about it. I was transferred to one of their consultants, she listened to me tell her about wanting to do an article on the transformations. She suggested that I come in, she would go over everything with me and then I could decide what might be best for my article. I made an appointment with her for later in the day, then tried to do a little research on the business. It was a chain, with quite a few branches spread over the U.S. They went by the name of Turnabout Gurl Salons, they were, in fact, a full service beauty salon that catered to the male gender.
That seemed to be against the grain of other female owned businesses. They were not interested in helping the female succeed, they were out to convert males to females. I had a feeling that our readers would like to read about it, so I resigned myself to stick my foot in the water. I arrived early and was promptly led to an office in the back and introduced to Dallas. She was familiar with my phone call earlier, and would be able to answer all my questions. I had a hard time concentrating on my words, her appearance and confidence made me feel very nervous.
I never was strong willed, often someone could change my mind by just disagreeing with me. I remember debate class in high school. You can imagine how horrible that turned out, I lost every debate I had, just listening to my opponent causing me to cave and leave the podium unable to voice any opinion.
She could see where I was at a loss for words, either coherent or otherwise. She suggested that I experience one of the basic packages, they would be glad to snap a few photos of me being transformed to my female self, also answering any questions I had along the way. I was pretty sure that was not the way to go, but again not able to express myself, I received an appointment to start the transformation tomorrow at eight AM. I nodded my head and left the salon. Just like that I had been talked into this, apparently without any refusal from me.
I was not very hungry, so I got a couple of things from the drive-thru on the way home. I did manage to write an intro to the article, about the salon and some of the things they did. I realized when I had put my thoughts to paper I hadn’t even found out what their basic package covered. I went to their website and was astounded that the basic package could be any of the twenty that they offered. I tried desperately to remember if she had said which one would be the best for me. I did remember that she wore a gorgeous blue silk skirt suit, and managed to fill it out perfectly. Between her looks and her attitude I was lost, something that often happened.
In school I tried to date often, but when the time came for the date I was closer to a mute than a human. I would get lost in their looks, hardly talk to them, more often than not the date would end early and that would be the last I heard from them. The few that I managed to find the gumption to call for another date, politely declined, I guess washing their hair is a time consuming task for a female.
I did read over the basic package descriptions, some of them were very eye opening. There were quite a few pictures along with the descriptions, none of them looked like a male. I immediately thought they might be using females in the pictures, maybe there is a story there, some deceitful advertising to promote their services. I checked them out on the internet, not one unfavorable comment from anyone anywhere. Maybe they are just good at hiding their deceit. Sleep did come eventually, I was nervous as hell so took a tranquilizer that a doctor had prescribed for me to ease my nerves. An hour later I was asleep and didn’t remember a thing until the alarm went off. I dressed casually, not sure what I would look like afterward, then headed to the salon.
As I entered I was led back to a treatment room and told to disrobe. My technician for today was Carol, her friendly smile and sexy voice soon had me relaxed and totally naked. I was laid back on the table and a cream was applied all over my front side. She kept up a steady chatter asking what I wanted to know about their business and procedures. I really wasn’t all together yet so I just asked her to describe what she was doing and how it fit into the grand plan.
She did and before I realized it I was hairless both back and front. She moved my feet into stirrups at the end of the table, spread them wide and began working on my groin. I was aware of it, but yet somehow disconnected at the same time. I felt junior being manipulated, it felt so good and then nothing.
Then she moved to my chest, cleaning it with alcohol and laying two perfect examples of a female’s upper anatomy on it. She marked the location and soon they were attached to me, moving when I did. That did get my attention some, I grabbed them with my hands to steady the movement and felt the touch of my fingers. Oops, let them go quickly and lifted my head to see what was happening. Yep I had breasts, sizable to boot, at least, in my opinion they were.
I turned to look at Carol and saw another woman standing there. As my mind finally put two and two together I realized it was Dallas from yesterday. She took my hand and held it, asking if I was alright. My closing my eyes and opening then several times in succession, I guess clued her in to my situation. She asked if I had taken anything for my nerves, I nodded my head in the affirmative, my mouth still unable to spew anything in a coherent manner. Dallas set next to me, still holding my hand. Carol had noticed that I was really out of it so she summoned Dallas to make sure everything was alright. Looking directly in my eyes and holding my head so that I had to look at her, she told me they would complete the treatments, then we would talk again. Nothing is permanent, so stay relaxed and we will work it out later when you have returned to the land of the living.
As she released my head I nodded quickly up and down then had to hold my head as that hurt. Both Carol and Dallas giggled at my actions, had a few words with each other and then Dallas left. I was helped into some panties and then a bra to help minimize the breast movement. Carol giggled as I rubbed the front of the bra and whimpered a little. Moved to a salon chair and then leaned back to have my hair shampooed and conditioned.
I kind of came to for a minute to see my hair being wound on rollers. My shoulder length hair consumed a large number of curlers, the different sizes each in their own colors made for a funny looking head of hair. I giggled at the sight, a further indication of my still drugged mind. Underneath a dryer, a warm but not hot stream of air coaxing the moisture from each strand. I am sure they were letting the drugs wear off, rather than trying to dry my hair. When Carol came to take me back to her chair, I was a little better, seeing my feminine image in the mirror as I set down caused my mind to snap too. I was a female now, the breasts and curlers in my hair making quite a convincing argument for my new gender.
Story Incomplete At Present
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker