An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 5

The evening with Ginger had left my head in a spin. We hadn't made love to eachother but we were closing in on that, I could tell.

We both wanted it to happen. Equally, though, the pathway towards my playing my part in the training of our friend, Karen, as a hairdresser's Apprentice was leading us both towards making love as two girls not boy-and-girl. Could the two be separated? Was one coming nearer because of the other?

I was about as confused as a young heterosexual male could be. My love for Ginger was deepening fast. She was the most incredible creature I had ever met. What had started as a ruse to get closer to Karen, whom I had fancied beyond belief too, had led me to Ginger.

I had now spent several evenings getting my hair done in increasingly feminine styles. And I had enjoyed almost every minute of it. Ginger had too. She had confessed to taking a real hit from my being there. Karen had shown me no sexual attraction. More so, she had let it be known that Margot's advances on her were welcome. They would soon be lovers, if they weren't already. I hoped that would be true of Ginger and me.

My thoughts turned to the prospect of the competition. I wasn't to become a blonde …….Yet. A brunette now, with my hair growing longer day-by-day. What would Karen do with us all? Would we all have the same colour and style? I had been told to keep trying to set my own hair, so it got used to being styled every day. Ginger would help, but I had much to learn for those solo nights when I had to try for myself. Slowly, I was getting better and better.

But here I was, facing another evening with the girls. Now we were just two weeks away from the competition that Karen's salon had put her in for. We were to be her three models. Tonight, there was to be more practice towards that goal. What would it involve? Ginger didn't know, but she had told me that there were aspects to the competition, beyond the hairstyling and colouring, that I had to face up to.

There was make-up. There was clothing. I hadn't considered either.

I sat over a lonely breakfast — my parent having left the house early - wondering about what was to come. My hair was in a mess. A "just slept in" mess. I had to wash it, even though it would be washed and set tonight. No colour this time. Not before the competition event. The colour it was now, darkish brown, wasn't very attractive. The cut was still good but it was growing and the ends were again less than razor sharp. I felt dowdy — yes, that was the word. Unattractive. I would not like Ginger to see me right now.

A shower, then a few rollers in my hair and I'd be better. What a way for a college boy to spend a morning.

The shower was hot and refreshing. I shaved as close as I could though it wasn't really necessary to shave every day. I wrapped a towel round me and headed for the bedroom. I had brought a few rollers home from one of our evenings — and I had kept them hidden away — not so easy to explain as hair that was getting longer and, when worn rough, not styled curiously.

The quite pronounced red colour that I had been briefly had been explained away as a "bit of a giggle" and that seemed to satisfy the parents.

My mother's hair had been all the colours of the rainbow in its time so there was nothing surprising in her son having a go with the same fun. Her hair now was a blonde shade, quite light and very shiny, with the extra frisson of a fringe and under-colour in a very light auburn. Very sophisticated, she had said and I had to agree with her. She had said, not long after my debut with the auburn rinse, that she'd "help me next time" — meaning she expected there to be a next time!

I was on my way to the bedroom when, passing the parents room, I noticed that her make-up was all over the dressing table. She was usually such a tidy person, there would be nothing to be seen. They must have left the house in a hurry this morning.

It was all there. I wasn't aware that she used the same Christian Dior range from which Ginger had drawn the lipstick last week.

The lipstick we had shared.

The lipstick that tasted and smelled so wonderful.

The lipstick she had put on my own lips, and then her own, before we had kissed for so long and so sensuously.

The dressing table was littered — it called out for attention.

It was irresistible. Standing in my towel, with my longish hair now in a few rollers across the crown, I thought, why not?? There was no danger of being disturbed. I would be alone for at least a couple of hours.

Before I knew it, I was at the mirror of the dressing table, lipstick in hand, gently applying the wonderful sweet-smelling creamy preparation across my lips. Quickly got the hang of it with very little straying over the lip outlines. That warm feeling began to arise again inside me; this was highly sexy thing to be doing. OK, I was all alone but the thoughts of Ginger doing this to me were real. I sat back on the bed and stared at myself in the mirror.

There was someone there whose face looked more female than male, whose hair was long and crying out for more rollers to control it, and whose maleness could only be seen between the legs. I stroked myself gently. The climax was intense. There was so much of it. My hand was full. There was no place to go or to put it away. I had to lick my hand and, without gagging, to get rid of the evidence.

Then I heard the sound from downstairs. A door opening and closing. Footsteps!

"Hi, honey, I'm home — forgot a few things so I've had to rush back…. Where are you????" Came my mother's voice.

I was in her room!

I had to escape from her room! I made for the door as the sound of her steps began the climbing of the stairs — luckily just out of sight of me leaving her bedroom door. Never mind how the room was left — get out! I made it to my own room. Face still covered in lipstick, hand still sticky, hair still wet and rollered, heart pounding. I was safe in here — there had been a rule for years — we all had our own personal space — in our rooms! Within moments, I had crashed to the bed, ….my own bed. I was safe.

"I'm in my room - just had a shower." I called. I was suddenly conscious that her lipstick was still in my hand. My lips were still red. She wouldn't come in, and I certainly wouldn't go out. Not like this.

She was very understanding but I doubted that she'd be "that" understanding. I had no tissues to wipe away the lipstick as I knew I should. A handkerchief would need explaining in the wash, so I was stuck with it.

That taste!

That smell!

She was pottering around, maybe expecting me to emerge from my room. Trapped! My hair was beginning to dry as it stood, half rollered — a mess that would be a mess all day if I didn't do something with it. There were footsteps all around the house as she gathered the things she was missing.

Could I get on with the extra rollers I had planned to use to dry my hair on?

I found myself suddenly emboldened — why not? And why not leave the lipstick on?

The remaining rollers were tucked away in a drawer, well away from discovery. The tail comb that went with them was there too. The drawer was opened and my hands reached in for the treats within. There were just five rollers in place and I was slow at the beginning but the first extra roller went in below the crown quite well. No straggly bits! The second and third took time with repeat rolling needed. These helped define the parting. By the time the seventh and eighth were in place, I was getting much quicker and then……

There came a knock at my door. Oh, Hell!!! What could I do? Just froze.

"Just on my way, darling!" came the words that acted like a defibrillator. My heart jumped back into life. Would she "pop her head round the door"????

No, she was already off down the stairs.

I looked at myself — what did I look like!?

Like a tart, to be honest. Hair in rollers, lipstick — too much of it — and a towel that had fallen to expose a limp, "just-cum", boy's "boyhood". What a state to be in.

The house became quiet. But then I thought, now she's gone, I really will be alone this morning. I had gone "so far", what was wrong with it? What would be wrong with going a bit further? The rest of her make-up beckoned. Her bedroom beckoned. Ginger had said I couldn't wear make-up or clothes for the first time at the competition. I had nothing else to do today — before the hairstyling this evening. I could really get into the role.

It was a disaster. I made a total mess with the other make-up items. The foundation that I found was obviously for the skin overall. That went on OK but I used too much. Worst of all was the mascara. I knew exactly where it should go but only succeeded in putting it everywhere else — on my eyelids, out on my temples, even down on my cheeks. The eyeshadow wasn't much better. The colour, brown, was all wrong and made me look half-dead, and I also put this in the wrong places too. There was an eyeliner brush that I tried, succeeding only in poking myself in the eye and making them water with tears in bucketfuls. The lines ended up looking like Liz Taylor's Cleopatra! I was not made to be a make-up Artist!

With that, I gave the clothes a wide berth, as they say. I was conscious that the make-up would mark the clothes if I did anything at all wrong — which I was bound to. I had no shoes. So, altogether, my experiments in make-up and clothing we a disaster. I realised I would need help. I didn't quite expect where it would come from that evening. I dried my hair and removed the rollers after letting the hair cool. I sat for a while, hair in rollers, just musing over the confusion I had felt this morning. I was getting nowhere. A clean-up was needed.

I was now in love with Ginger. I fancied her in a way that I dreamt would soon lead us to making love together. Boy and Girl. Man and Woman. This is heterosexual attraction at its most powerful.

And yet, the next time I would see her, I would be being subjected to the same treatments as she would be — to her hair, to her face with make-up! And she would find it sexy!!! How confusing a situation had I got myself into?

Then, there were Karen and Margot. They clearly were attracted to eachother. That was intriguing in itself. They say that men are intrinsically curious about lesbian relationships. There… I had used that word for the first time… Was Karen a lesbian? No, I didn't think so. Was Margot? Very probably. They made a fine couple, I had to admit — a "lipstick lesbian" pair, they're called. Would Karen ever, or never, find me attractive? Confusing.

My rollers were now dry and my hair needed combing-out. I would do my best. As I did so, that warm feeling returned and I felt very sexy once again.

Karen called on the phone later that afternoon. "We're going to go the Margot's this evening, if that's alright with you. I've spoken with Ginger and she's cool about it. Nothing special except we can get some help there that I can't get at home. Nothing to worry about."

Her tone was matter-of-fact. There was nothing to be concerned about but I'd guessed that it was something to do with what Ginger had said about cosmetics and stuff. I was fore-warned at least. After the thoughts through this morning, I was almost looking forward to whatever this would bring.

On the way there, I thought long and hard. If Ginger was happy with this, more than happy in fact, and she found it sexy, and I found it increasingly sexy, and it kept me in touch with these girls, who was I to change my mind.

Why we were going to Margot's wasn't clear. By the time I arrived there, my hair had collapsed from the set I had tried to give it. Not enough setting lotion or spray. It was now flat to my head with the sides reaching well down over my cheeks. The back was straight, reaching down to an inch above the nape of my neck where the 'under cut' hair was now quite untidy. It was less than a perfect style. The colour had faded and I was now a mixture of my own non-descript mousey colour and the brown that had been semi-permanent on top. The five or six washes had come and gone.

Again, I was looking dowdy, I thought. I was soon to feel much more so.

I knocked at the door that was the way in to Margot's home. I waited. Before long, I heard a voice from inside that I half recognised, but it wasn't any of the girls. The door opened and there, to my astonishment, was Margot's Mother. The woman from the Beauty Department at the local store was here before me. I had been very uncomfortable with her in the shop. I was even more uncomfortable now.

A striking redhead, as I remembered her, she beckoned me in saying "So, we meet again. I'm so pleased. Margot has told me all about you and, after we met in the store, I've followed what you've been up to with interest."

What was she doing here?! This was supposed to be private, between the three girls and me. Margot was behind her, looking just the way I had last seen her — in total control. "You're on time, that's good." She said. "We have lots to do!".

I still hadn't spoken.

"All three of us need a hair wash first, then Karen will tidy up the hair with a trim and she'll set each head in turn. While the hair is drying, we have to experiment with the make-up we'll be wearing on the night of the event."

I still hadn't spoken, but the look on my face told her that it was no surprise.

"Ahh, so you guessed!" said Margot. "I thought it would be a nice surprise. Karen wanted to tell you, but I thought that you should work it out for yourself. We all have to look equally stunning. That's where my mother comes in. She's the expert that we need to help with making-up our faces. Karen hasn't got the time and, well, we're going to be the models, so we can't do it, can we?!"

I did at last surprise her when I said "Well, Ginger let me into the secret because she had guessed that herself. I hadn't, of course. But that's all cool with me."

Surprised? I think it really disappointed her — she would have preferred it if I had needed to be forced into agreeing to have the make-up. Little did she know I had been experimenting, ahead of this moment. OK, I hadn't been successful, but it meant that my mind was made up — I was "going for it", with Ginger's loving support. Now, where was she? And where was Karen?

"You're probably wondering where the other two girls are." Said Margot's Mother. "They will be a while yet — they have gone to get some materials from the salon. They have a great selection of cosmetics there that we can choose from. While we wait, I thought I would tell you about the look we want to create on the three of you."

I studied Margot's Mother — scary or what!!

She was crazy, at the very least. I was almost fearful of being left alone with her. Her flame red hair was matched by flame red nails — long, claws really, ready to scratch the living daylights out of a little boy like me, or a little girl as she seemed intent on making me. Yes, those nails haunted me — a vision of her, painting the nails with sweet-smelling nail polish. She had an ability to convey thoughts with ease. "These could be yours, if you're not careful" came to my mind. Long, long nails, perfect talons.

Her stare was fixed. This woman made me feel distinctly uneasy. It was easy to see where Margot got some of her traits from. The two of them sat in the lounge where we were to wait. One, the redhead; the other, the long, now-streaked, lighter-haired girl. "So tell me, I'm really very much up for this. Whatever have you got in mind? I won't be shocked." I said. I wasn't going to be intimidated by them, especially not Margot's Grande Dame of a Mother!.

In fact, I meant what I said. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Possibly, I could end up having to walk down the street as they planned me to be. As it was, it would be in the competition hall. On a platform. In the spotlight!

"The three of you will have different hair colours and lengths and styles. This means there will need to be minor differences in your make-up. But you'll essentially look like the same girl with a different hairstyle, that's the idea." The Mother said as she got into her stride.

Me. Look like one of three girls. ……..By now, I wasn't at all fazed by that.

"You'll each have the same foundation; a mid-tone that suits a redhead, a fair haired girl and, finally, whatever colour we work out that you should be". I wondered if she knew of the plan for my two-tone style. "Then, you'll all have the same long eyelashes. They are essential in the strong lights that will shine on the stage. You may not have had eyelashes before and they do take getting used to — so you'll have those tonight for the first time".

Eyelashes! I really hadn't expected them. My face betrayed it.

"Ahhh, they're not as much of a problem as you might think. In fact, they make a girl fell really vampish, I can tell you! Just enjoy the feeling. We'll gave to get right up close in their fixing, so I'll take care of you! Then, there will be the same mascara. I'm torn between using darkest black and a bright vivid blue. The blue would go well with Ginger's colouring, and maybe yours if you're to be a redhead, but it suits many blondes less well - unless you remember the blonde in ABBA, what was her name? Her eyeshadow and mascara were always vivid blue — ideal for a blonde. The same goes for the eyeliner. Probably best to be darkest black. Finally, you'll need blusher on your cheeks and that needs to be pronounced too — all because of the lights."

"I really like the sound of that - all of that." I said, not flinching over the lashes that I would still find difficult to have put in place.

"Well, we'll have to surprise you how good we can make you look." Said Margot.

Not intimidated, I smiled and said "How good Karen can make all three of us look. Oh, with the help of your mother too." OK, I was accepting that this woman was now involved. What threat could she be? To me, none. To her daughter, none. To the other two girls, none. There now, I was talking of myself and the other girls as one and the same.

In this context, I was seeing myself now as "one of the girls". That would change as soon as Ginger returned. With her, I was anything but "one of the girls", and yet, when we kissed through the lipstick that she had put on me that first time, it was a special moment.

Karen and Ginger arrived back from the salon soon after. They carried boxes of packs of cosmetics — not High Street brands, but clearly a great variety. Enough to do all of us twenty times over. This was to be a first. The first of how many times?

The hairstyling session went much as before. each of us was washed, conditioned and combed-out. Margot's Mother took no part, apart from watching the proceedings. Margot showed no affection to Karen in the way she had before, but I made clear whenever I could, that Ginger was very special to me. She responded, likewise. Soon I realised again that I was really growing to love her.

Karen was in enthusiastic mood. "We've got all we need!"

"He knows." Said Margot. "He guessed!"

"Great! That means we can get on — so long as it's all right with you?" She looked into my eyes. "Ginger suggested it was fine, so it's fine." I said, making clear, I hoped that things were growing between Ginger and me. Ginger just smiled — that lovely smile.

Washing, rollers, colour, drying, styling, back-combing. All were coming. The wash and rollering were to be done for all three of us. No colour — "No not until the event itself. The judges have to see the impact of the work we do — so they want to see the before and the after. Before the hair is cut, coloured and styled.

I thought - Oh yes, and then eyelashes, mascara, eyeshadow and the rest. Oh, I could handle all of these. Whatever Karen's wishes are!

The eyelashes would be a trial because I was sure my eyes would not stop watering — and indeed, tears seemed to flood from my eyes, but eventually, a pair of long lashes were affixed and my make-up was complete. That was after the hair was washed, conditioned and towel-dried for all three "girls".

We were all ready for the rollers to go into our hair when Margot's Mother chose to intervene. Looking directly at me, she said "There's something wrong here." None of the rest of us knew what she was on about. "Definitely." She said.

"Explain, Mother" said Margot, in a way that I was later to understand was primed.

"You're clothed wrongly for this event. It has to be right. You have to change."

She clearly meant me — my clothes. "I have nothing to change into." I said.

"Oh, but you do! We have lots of clothes here that will suit you well."

"Well, I said we'd have to surprise you how good we can make you look." Said Margot a moment later. So this was what she had meant.

Karen and Ginger looked at eachother, the implication dawning on them. "I did say you had to face up to this, didn't I?" said Ginger, coming closer to where I was seated. Her perfume filled my senses. She was on-side with this. Another "point of no return", I guessed. That warm sensation inside was running high on all of this. If I wasn't careful, I would cum at just the thought.

My mind was set. But, now this was another step.

They both looked at me, Margot and her Mother, daring me to refuse. If I did, they'd have won. But if I didn't, in a way, they'd have won too. I was in a no-win situation again. What it meant was that I had to go with gut feelings, instincts, and what mattered most was Ginger. Would she still see me as a boyfriend?

Ginger's wonderful red hair was combed down each side of her face. It was darker than usual, making her even more stunning. "I'll still love you, if you do it."

Her words, again, clinched the decision. He had told me anyway. Beforehand. This just confirmed it. We could be together.

Just a few minutes later, there I was in the bedroom. There were several outfits spread over Margot's bed. They were there for me to choose from. Margot wanted to stay and see me choose. Her Mother spared me that. Karen and Ginger promised to love whatever I chose. "Don't you dare be long!" I was told. So there I stood, in Margot's bedroom, faced with a choice of her clothes and her Mother's clothes. Even down to the shoes that, in her Mother's case were size 8, just like my own.

I really wasn't ready for this but had committed myself. Maybe another time I would relish this experience. For now, I just wanted to get back to the hairdressing. The first item that I picked was a long, deep burgundy coloured, skirt which was quite plain. To go with it, I chose a white blouse that had a frilly front that seemed to work well. The neck wasn't high, so it wouldn't interfere with my hair. A good choice. I returned to the room where the hair was being attended to.

"Not good enough!" exclaimed Margot's Mother. "You have no underwear!" Well, she was wrong. I did have the boxers I had arrived in. This was clearly not enough.

"You ignored the underwear laid on the bed! Go back immediately and get the prettiest ones on that you can find!"

The underwear? The bra and knickers and the long slip that were there? Was she serious? Indeed she was. I saw from the broad grin on Margot's face that she had been waiting for this moment. What a pity I hadn't foreseen it, worn the bra and knickers and brazened it out! "This will make your transformation complete…." she said, keeping that smile. "……then we'll see how surprised you are to see how good you feel with the way we can make you look." Said Margot.

I would not let Ginger see that I was weakened by this. I could not. I would not. She had to see me go into this with her blessing. "He's already tried mine!" said Ginger. "He knew this was coming and so we got together! I think he looks cools and we even talked about buying him some of his own!" ...........NONE of this was true! NONE of it, at all! But she had come to my defence. In a moment, she had thrown back the dominant words and trumped them with her own.

"You're kidding!" said Margot. "Well, that makes him all the more of a honey in my eyes!" said Karen. "So, you liked the feeling?" said the Mother from hell — as I was coming to view her. "Did it turn you on, just a little bit?"

What right had she to ask? I reacted strongly. "I'd say it was none of your business and that we'd better get on with Karen's evening, don't you? This has lost the point of why we're here, with all your interventions. Let's just "Do Hair!"

If we did that, Karen said, we would lose the make-up practice, but we could do that next week — just a week away from the competition. By then, we might all have cooled down. So, my bra and knickers would wait. Ginger and I agreed. Margot stayed silent and her Mother flounced out of the room.

Whether we would have a make-up Artist next week was very much in question by now. Karen did her best to develop into her regular salon chatter and both Ginger and I indulged her to the full while Margot sat, as some clients do, staring into the mirror and saying nothing. It had all gone "pear-shaped" from her point of view.

I did keep the skirt and the blouse, and the pair of size 8 shoes. Their heels were quite high and the straps were strange on my ankles. But they did add a certain "something", I had to admit. I lapsed into a girlish pose, inadvertently. I was clearly not averse to the role I was playing. Just as I had been this morning with the narrow escape from detection by my own Mother. I was certain that I couldn't live in this character all the time, but to dive into it from choice from time to time, now that could be really hard to refuse.

Karen talked about the cut I would have next time or at the competition. She talked about how my fringe had become totally out of control, leaving my forehead open and ruining the shape of my face. I just had to have a fringe cut in. It would go with the longer Wedge-cut that I had now. She commented on how the length had grown at the back, leaving her the option to cut a savage step in above the nape of my neck, or to allow the length to come all to the same level - a pure Page-boy Bob cut, like her own. As I looked in the mirror, I just wondered what name I'd have as a girl.

After all, I would need one on the evening of the competition.

She talked of Ginger's great weight of hair and how it might be lightened. She too might change the parting or the fringe that she had been wearing for weeks, if not months. They explored her previous cuts and styles; which had pleased her most?

Margot was resistant to any of this. She sat there as her hair was rollered, wincing if it became too tight, complaining if it were not "too tight".

The rollers were done. The dryers roared. The styling began, as before. Again, we came away with the Wedge, the "Big Hair" Flick and the French Pleat. The same three styles as before. Would we keep them next week and for the competition?

There was little to take photographs for Karen's portfolio in what we had done this evening. She took a few shots in any case, just to complete the record. I was to be stunned the following week when she showed us the difference between the way our hair had been when we started and now.

We were about to leave. I realised that my hair was complete and I was still wearing the skirt and blouse. The blouse would be tricky to remove without destroying the style. What was I to do? There was no alternative. Remove the skirt and heeled shoes, but keep the blouse for the walk home. Just as well I hadn't put on the bra, Ginger said quietly. "But you can try mine on anytime!" she said in a whisper, reminding me that I hadn't yet thanked her for that intervention.

"You're a star, Ginger! I'll wear any of your clothes any time!"

As we were about to leave, the conversation paused as Margot's Mother re-appeared. All sweetness and light, she was. She said how much she had enjoyed our being there, that she hoped to see us next week and that the make-up was so important that she would really do her very best for all three of us…….. girls!

"Don't forget to return the blouse, will you?" she said to me, "..unless you find it just your style. Remember, it does need a bra underneath."

"Well, there's a whole week before we're here again," Ginger said, picking up where we had left off in our one-to-one conversation. "We could do it all again, just the two of us if you like and my whole wardrobe could be yours, you absolute honey!"

I walked her home and we talked about almost anything but hair and make-up, or clothes — male or female. We arranged to meet over the weekend, this time at Ginger's place. I arrived home exhilarated. Almost ignoring the way I was dressed, I studied the way my hair, again, was set in its now longer Wedge style, with the sides pointing forward over the lower part of my chin — yes, no longer on the cheeks, but below them, at the front. The crown was higher than ever and the back waiting for the blunt cut Karen was promising.

I almost walked straight into a minefield. My Mum and Dad were both still up and awake. I was again trapped — in the garden, facing the house with its lights on. This wasn't a situation I was ready to face, especially after the stand-off with Margot and her Mother. I just had to wait. I wasn't ashamed. I just knew that the explanations would take too long, might not go right and needed rehearsing in case I ever was discovered — whether that be "this much" in feminine form, or more so! This morning had been "more so", that was certain.

Eventually, the house became quiet. I went in and went to bed. I removed the blouse, without too much damage to my hair and couldn't resist putting restorative touches to the style before going to bed. I woke early, again with a knock at the bedroom door.

"Up you get!" was the call from my Mother……….. Would she come in this time? Again, I was trapped! One of these times, it was going to happen. Discovery. How could I cope with that? Again, the desire to continue faltered. Could I really go through with the competition? No, my mother didn't enter the room. She didn't see me with my hair still styled the way it had been last night. How would I have handled it if she had?

Knowing her, she'd have sat me down and talked about it…… She'd probably tell me that she had her hair this way one time. Maybe, she'd tell me that she'd had highlights in it and, just maybe, she'd suggest I tried them. Maybe she'd tell me she'd always wanted to have a daughter to share her joys in hair and beauty with.

"By the way….." she said through the door, "… you haven't seen a lipstick of mine anywhere have you? I seem to have lost one." Where had I put that? I hadn't returned it. Fool. Guaranteed discovery! Did she suspect that I might have it? Surely not! There was no reason at all. "I was sure I left it on the dressing table yesterday morning."

"Nnnno, Mum, not at all — no idea where it could be." I replied. Was that a tremble in my voice? How stupid — and how much more stupid not to know where it was. Where had I left it. Not the bathroom. Not in her bedroom. Where had it been put when I ran into my room on her return? "Not to worry." She said. I would have to make sure it was returned in a way that wasn't suspicious.

The phone rang, despite it being so early. It was for me. "Someone called Ginger, sounds very nice." Called my Mother. I had to wait until I was alone upstairs before going to the phone.

"Hi. I've been thinking." She said, conspiratorially. "We have unfinished business from last night. I loved the way you were quite so relieved when I stuck my words in about the undies. I couldn't bear to see you suffer. Then I thought that you might well like to have some bought for you, to keep just for yourself. I mean it. I want to be there and buy you some as a present. Are you up for it? You couldn't try them on in the shop, of course, but we can have a fitting session here if you like. I'll even let you comb-out my hair too…….."

Crisis! I had to get to the city centre in less than an hour and I was still undressed, still had my hair lacquered and back-combed and still had lipstick on. Urgent need to repair the situation. The lipstick was easy to remove. The hairstyle less so — it had to be a shower and a thorough shampooing. Conditioner too, otherwise I'd be wearing hair like a haystack on the up-coming night of the competition.

An hour later, we were in the local shopping centre, Ginger and me, standing among the bras and knickers that would fit any and every size — provided you knew the size — of body that wanted them My body now wanted them, in Ginger's hands. Not for their own sake; but for the fantasy she was creating.

As we had arrived, she said again "You know this is only because it's you and you're very sexy when we do these things? There's no harm and nobody can possibly get hurt. You're a wonderful boy and I'm delighted we've found another side to you — and to me, too."

The matching bra, panties and suspender belt were chosen. I had to have a suspender belt for the stockings that she would buy me also, Ginger was adamant. Long legged stockings, to cling to the thighs high up. An 'A' cup bra was all I needed "which is a pity, as I'm a 'B' cup. Good thing we're both needing a 38 inch bra." she said. "When you wear mine, we can pad you out a little."

And so it came to pass that I was able to go to the next "Girls' evening" with my own underwear — to really spook Margot and her Mother. Before then, though, Ginger introduced me to her own lingerie in another evening and, again, I dreamed I'd combed-out her magnificent hair. But that's for another Chapter………………

TO BE CONTINUED……………IN CHAPTER 6!