It was an advertisement in a local publication, Southwest Beauty Magazine; this issue had pictures of females with distinctive hairstyles and makeup. All of the pictures were shot in and around the Valley of the Sun. The magazine made its money from selling ads for local beauty salons, clothes boutiques and even medical professionals offering enhancements for the female figure. I saw this publication when I was at the beauty salon to pick up my wife after her weekly visit. She had been delayed a little, and I was browsing the magazines as I waited for her.
The ad caught my attention, wanting a model for hairstyles and makeup, either sex okay, but needed to have hair at least fifteen inches long. I figured the ‘either sex okay’ meant that they used male models in their business. I had a job, one that I had been at for four years now, but still at the entry level position that I had started with. Something better would be quite welcome. I copied the ad information and email address, deciding to send them an email later this evening. A long shot, but you never know.
My wife now finished, we decided to eat out tonight, a frequent occurrence after she had gotten her hair done. Dinner was excellent; we had tried a new place in town that specialized in Tex-Mex food. I am not sure what the difference is between Tex-Mex, and regular Mexican food is, but their food tasted real good, the portions large and the prices quite reasonable. Definitely a place we might eat at again.
At home we went about our normal activities, changed into some more comfortable clothes and fixed ourselves some tea. Since my wife is a business consultant, she had a few things she had to take care of tonight, so she adjourned to her office to handle them. I went to the third bedroom where I kept my computer, and drafted an email response to the ad. I told them my height and weight that my hair is indeed fifteen inches or more in length, a brunette color and quite thick. I presently had a job but was trying to upgrade it to something with a future. I gave them my cell phone number and told them I could send a picture if necessary, plus any other details that they might require.
I reviewed it several times, then hit the send button. I had hopes but knew realistically that they were slim at best. The next few days passed like usual, nothing out of the ordinary happening. Then that night on the way home from work, I got a phone call. I pulled over to a nearby parking lot, since the police were getting quite anal about driving and talking on the cell phone recently in our town. Several of my friends having to pay some hefty fines or lose their license, so I decided to opt on the safe side.
It was about the ad wanting to know when I could come by to speak to her about it. Her name was Betty, the owner of the business hiring the model. I asked where she is located and found out it is only two blocks from where I am at. I told her the situation, and she wanted me to come right over, she would be waiting for my arrival.
I was a little nervous, dressed in my regular work clothes, nothing impressive, but at least they were clean and neat. I drove past the place the first time I went down the street, it turned out to be a drive leading to the back of a piece of property, the number just posted on a little sign at the side of the drive. The house along the street is not much to look at, but the house at the end of the drive is huge. Two stories with a multitude of windows facing every direction. Quite impressive from the outside, I wondered what the inside would reveal. I parked over to the side of the house and walked up to the front door.
The lady answered the door, a very attractive middle aged female, blond hair and a really curvaceous figure. I am sure at one time, she has been a model, or still is. I am invited in, and we climb a set of stairs to a well-lit room, the walls covered in windows. The late afternoon sun poking in from all angles makes the room quite impressive, the high beam ceiling making it look twice its actual size. We set in a wicker sofa and chair grouping over to the side of the room, her starting the conversation, wanting to know all there is to know about me. I give her a shortened version of my life up to now, then asked, what is entailed in the work if I am hired? She grabs a camera off of an end table, points me to a spot in the center of the room, and starts giving me instructions on what she wants me to do.
As I make the required movements, she is taking pictures of me, then against the back wall I see my pictures appear on a backdrop. I am mesmerized by the images, almost losing track of what she is telling me to do. Then she has make a pose or two with my hair loose on my shoulders, having me twist this way and that. She spent about thirty minutes taking all kinds of pictures of me in poses I would never have come up with. In fact, a couple of them she had to explain how she wanted me to pose in more detail, her directions, the first time, not getting me in the proper position for the photo she desired.
When she laid the camera down, she went to a computer terminal over by the window, and took one of the images from her picture taking session, and manipulated it into an ad like you would see in a women’s magazine. The way she had me posed for that particular shot, hiding my male characteristics completely. Surprisingly it only took her about twenty minutes to produce the ad.
We went back to the love seat, and she explained a little more. “I use only one model but have that model experience many different hairstyles, colors, and different makeup styles. In my photography editing, I make that person look different, then sell the finished ads to my customers. You notice that in the ad that I did, you appeared as a female, even though you are dressed as a male, with no makeup and no female clothes.”
“The pay for the job is fifteen hundred dollars a week that includes all beauty services and clothing. I want a five-year contract to ensure you are available for future ads. If I sell a major advertiser your services and sign them to a yearly contract, you will receive five percent of that contract paid at the conclusion of that year.” She opened a women’s magazine and pointed to quite a number of their ads, all ones she did. I looked at the models and noticed the similarity in their bodies and faces, yet the ads looked so different from each other.
“You will appear as a female quite often, a hairstyle that I have utilized on you, sometimes lasting for several weeks. Unless you want to go to the trouble of removing cosmetics most days, you will be returning home in full makeup. You have mentioned that you are married, wives sometimes not accepting of this type of job for their husbands, I suggest that you either bring her by or have her call me. I will explain all of the details of your proposed job, so she is well informed. Then you two talk it out and let me know your decision. Most of my previous models, all males by the way, have opted to dress as a female 24/7 to make their life easier.”
Yes, my previous models have all been male, so you are not the first. I just sat there, no words coming from my mouth, I did hear the part about talking with my wife, and I dialed her number. When she answered, I told her I love her; I have a chance for a new job, and please let Betty explain what I will be doing. Her giggling confirming that I was tongue tied, quite often I would find myself this way, and this is always how I resolved the situation with my wife. In other words, let someone else explain things to her. I presume she is somewhat used to it by now since it has happened often over the years.
They talked for quite a while, from Betty’s side of the conversation she seemed to be answering questions that my wife might have. I didn’t understand some of her replies, what I heard, not making any sense to me. Finally, the conversation ended, the phone handed back to me, my wife telling me to stop and get some takeout and then come right home. Before I could respond she hung up, I was not sure if that is a good sign or of I am in deep do-do. She did marry a male, not someone earning a living as a female hair and makeup model.
For some reason, I decided on tacos and burritos, stopping at our regular Mexican restaurant, not the Tex-Mex we had used when she had her hair done. I got four tacos and two burritos, the size of their selections more than we would be able to consume. I got some soft drinks and headed home. I pulled into the drive and slowly approached the side door leading to the kitchen. I hoped I had not damaged our relationship, maybe just considering it, is making me less in my wife’s eyes. She met me at the door, taking a good look at me as if she was trying to see something in me that she had not noticed before.
I quickly moved to the kitchen bar before she could say anything. I set the food out; Pat had already set out paper plates and silverware and some glasses for our drinks. I started to say something, but she put her finger to my lips. “Just wait, we will talk about all of this later. Just enjoy the meal and relax.” Easy for her to say, I was the one who had stupidly applied for the job. I had convinced myself that I had damaged our relationship with the deed, maybe I could salvage something in the long term.
I ate the food, doubting I actually tasted any of it. My mind was racing, how am I going to make this right with Pat, her male husband now to be seen as a female with feminine hairdos and makeup? I worried all through the meal, when Pat was done, I cleaned up, her just sitting at the kitchen bar looking at me. I tried to start conversations, but she just answered in one word, and the topic died. Now I was sure that I had caused the end of our marriage. Pat has never been this way; now she sees me at something less than what I was. When I finished, she took my hand and led me to our bedroom. She sat me down on the edge of the bed and asked, “Tell me the entire story from the beginning.”
I told her where I had seen the ad, at her salon and the contents of the email that I had sent to Betty. I told her of the phone call today, and what happened when I went to her studio. She asked how Betty had posed me, even having me show her some of the poses. She took a hairbrush off her vanity and brushed out my hair after she had released my ponytail. By now I was becoming panicky, I knew it would only be minutes before she told me to get out, a wonderful marriage ruined because I didn’t think things through before I acted. Pat got up again and went to her vanity picking up a mascara and lipstick. She approached me, but I put up my hands to block her from putting them on me. She slapped my hand, and I gazed at the floor.
She lifted my chin, using the mascara on my lashes, each stroke seeming to seal my fate. Then she applied the lipstick to my lips, carefully adding several layers, one on the other. As soon as she finished, I lowered my head and started crying. She smiled. “Good thing I used waterproof mascara.” The tears were streaming down my face, such a stupid move on my part; then Pat scooted closer to me. She took my face in her hands and made me look at her, then tenderly she kissed me on the lips. Before I could react, her tongue found an entrance and she was exploring my mouth with quite a bit of enthusiasm. She twisted my face a little more and then laid me back on the bed. Her lips pressed harder, and her tongue is rapidly probing my mouth.
She pulled back a little, took another look at my face and then resumed the attack. I was panting from the action, breathing hard, but not one coherent thought was able to escape my mind. She then pulled back just a little, then started kissing my eyelids and ears. This is something she has never done before, but in between gasps for air, I was moaning like an orgasmic female.
It wasn’t much longer until I did orgasm, the things she is doing to my body way more than I could handle. I tried to gain the upper position trying to make love to her in return, but she resisted keeping me on the bottom then gently encouraged my head between her thighs. Bringing her to orgasm with my tongue is not something we often did, I don’t think I had the skill to make her satisfied, but we had done it a time or two. I didn’t mind, any way to bring her pleasure is fine with me. I worshiped at her alter, for quite a while, her twisting and squirming, signaled a sign of my success.
I wondered what made the difference from when I had performed the act before. When she reached the point of climaxing, I nibbled on her clit and was drenched in her juices. I cleaned her up, until she pushed me away, telling me she is so sensitive down there right now, she had to have a respite for a while. She was splayed over my body, her head on my chest and her legs wrapped around my lower body. I didn’t let her go, hugging her tightly in my embrace until we finally drifted off to sleep. I did smile at my last sight of her pussy, lipstick all around her nether regions, not often that a husband and wife can experience that.
When I woke during the night to go potty, she was lying next to me with her head on one of her hands; her arms bent at the elbow to keep her head up. She smiled, then reached over and kissed me. I wanted to talk, but the need to go to the bathroom won the battle. I returned to find her sitting up in bed watching me very closely. I started to tell her that I would turn down the job since it seemed to bother her immensely. She pushed me down on my back, then laid on top of me. Her face inches from mine. “You will do no such thing! I now have a lesbian lover, she is rich, and will be quite beautiful, and I want to spend the rest of my life with her!”
Any further attempts at communication were met with kisses; soon I forgot what I wanted to say, along with what my name was. We fell back to sleep, at least I did, and the sun breaking through the window in the early morning hours, the only thing preventing any further sleep. I had work today, so I dressed and headed to the office. On the way, I called Betty, and told her I would take the job, I would give notice this morning. I would call her if they wanted me to work my notice, but as cheap, as they were I doubted it.
She told me to call as soon as I knew, she might be able to get me an appointment at the salon today. Wow, she does seem to push things, much faster than I was comfortable with, but a new job, a new boss, and the boss is always right in my book.
When I walked into my boss’s office, he stared at me, very seldom did any employees dare to ask the boss anything other than when he wanted a job done by. I set down in front of his desk, his stare and eyes boring holes through me. I asked him if he wanted me to work a notice, he stuttered and finally asked if all of my work was caught up. I lied and told him it was. He smiled and told me to get out; my last check would be mailed to me. I knew he would soon regret that move; my two biggest accounts had yet to be signed to contract, my departure most likely costing the company their contract. I did have all the paperwork finished, but the files that housed that information were on a USB drive tucked safely in my pocket.
I had wised up a couple of years ago when a similar occurrence involving a friend happened. The friend got screwed royally by the company. You live and learn, and I had learned the secret to keep employed and have a secure job. Now that is no longer necessary, thankfully.
When I called Betty, she was thrilled, telling me I had an appointment after lunch at the Turnabout Gurl Salon for my first hair styling and makeup. I asked if she was sure, she giggled. “Yes, I am sure, but you seem a little hesitant.” I confessed I was scared, nothing like this has ever happened in my life before. She only replied, “Ask for Stephanie or Francine, telling them that you want the works. You will be shocked at the results, but I want you to try it for a week. If after the week, you want out of the deal, I will allow it, but I am so confident of you staying with me, that I will add a bonus of three weeks additional pay for the first week if you go with the entire package.”
Maybe the entire package would not be too bad if I actually knew what that package consisted of. That afternoon I arrived at the salon asking for Stephanie or Francine. Apparently, Francine was out of town on business, but Stephanie is here and will be right up to greet me. A very gorgeous female came to get me; holding my hand, as I was led to one of the offices in the back. I sat down on the edge of her love seat, as per her instructions and she wanted to know what I needed today.
I told her I was now employed by Betty Pix, and I presume I will be a regular customer from now on. She smiled, taking my information down making a preferred customer card on me. She told me that Betty had arranged a hairstyle and an evening makeup for me, but did I want any additional services. I asked her about the ‘works’; she raised her eyebrows a little, but then took the time to explain what it entailed. Essentially, anything a female needs in beauty services including body molding is included in the works. I asked about the price, Stephanie telling me that anything done for Betty is paid for by her company.
She told me they could start on my hair, washing and conditioning it while I decide. The treatment I got for the next twenty minutes was wonderful. Gwen did my shampooing and conditioning, massaging my scalp until nothing could be heard but my purring. When she stopped, I looked up and asked if she was done. She nodded yes, and the disappointment on my face must have shown quite a bit as she giggled at me. I cheered up a little when she told me I would be in twice a week for the foreseeable future, many more massages possible.
For some reason, I decided to try the works, Stephanie warning me that a few of the body molding treatments would be with me for several months, but everything else could be reversed in a couple of weeks. I really don’t know why I am considering going all the way, the extra money did cross my mind, but I don’t think it is the sole reason. I guess the realization that I would be living as a female for quite some time, maybe had a bearing on my decision.
Stephanie made sure that I was positive about the changes, penis one day, tits and vagina the next, is quite a change for any individual. I was told I would be there until eleven that night, then would have to come back tomorrow for another couple of hours. I called Pat to tell her of my schedule, warning her that unless she wanted me to stop, the male me will be gone by tonight. Her only comment was, “I can’t wait!”
For the rest of the day, it is a whirlwind of activity, starting with a cream applied to every inch of my body below my hair line. Eyebrows wiped away, chest hair gone, along with the hair on my legs, arms, back, and underarms. It felt decidedly different, the soft, smooth skin reacting to any breeze or touch. A different cream is applied to my beard area, left on for thirty minutes, and then wiped away. With one more treatment, I would no longer have any hair growth on my face or neck at least that is what I am told. The body molding came into play next, my feet in stirrups, spread wide and the technician playing with my male apparatus. I felt my balls being pushed back up where they came from, uncomfortable at first, but the discomfort faded away after an hour.
I felt some sticky substance being used on my equipment; then a blow dryer turned on to dry the glue. Once dry a piece of skin like substance was glued over the area, and when I lifted my head, I no longer looked like a male. I had a female slit, just like my wife’s, entirely too convincing, I thought back to whether they had only covered it up or somehow I had slept through them removing it from my body. There is some feeling coming back from the area, and as I was freaking out, it twitched, reminding me it was still there. The tech told me that the new accessory is fully functional, and I could orgasm. When she briefly inserted her finger inside me, I almost passed out the sensation, totally unbelievable and so intense.
I stared at the ceiling, what had I allowed to be done to my body? I am sure that Pat will not like her play toy messed with, but that point is already passed. Breasts are next, apparently, as a large machine is wheeled into the room. I am hooked up to the machine and the vacuum from the pump is encouraging excess tissue and skin into the cups that were attached above my nipples with adhesive. The suction proceeded to a cyclic off and on, while keeping any tissue already there trapped in the cups.
As it was doing its thing, my ears are pierced, the laser used guaranteeing that the holes would not close up. After that, I received extensions for my fingernails, which were long and elegant. They used a glue that bonded the extensions to the nails permanently, the darker red polish making them oh so feminine. With the base coat, three coats of red polish and the top coat there was nothing left of my former masculine hands. The extensions extended a half inch past my fingertips, encouraging any glances my way to only see slender feminine fingers.
The pump kept suctioning my new breasts out of my chest, every time I looked at the progress, the cup was slowly filling. Probably too late, I realized that I will now have breasts just like my wife. The slit at my groin pushed me into the strictly female category. Since my penis is glued away and the breasts being sucked from my chest are taking quite some time to materialize, I was made painfully aware of how long they will be with me. Female now, both in looks and now in employment.
As the breasts were finishing up they washed and conditioned my hair, then set it in curlers. The image in the mirror in front of me was somewhat comical. Hair in curlers, soon to be breasts on my chest and long polished fingernails on my hands. She was starting on my makeup, after selecting a multitude of cosmetics that matched my complexion. My mouth was open most of the time, as the image changed in front of me. Each application of another cosmetic erasing more of the former male image I had when I entered the salon.
Story Incomplete At Present
© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker