Bimbo Construction Kit -3-


Don dresses for his first night out as Donna, giddy with fear and joy.


Day One, Evening

Paul the prick left me standing there with my mouth hanging open.

After I closed the hole in my face, the first thing that came to my mind was to grab some of my stuff and catch a bus back home. I couldn't think of anyway to explain things to my parents so they wouldn't call the school and try to fix it. I nearly chewed my lower lip bloody.

There didn't seem to be a good alternative so I decided to at least get ready in my best stuff so maybe Paul wouldn't get scary again.

I wandered back into the bathroom and looked at myself in the mirror. I've got a soft, almost round face which certainly isn't very manly but with my hair up in a turban did I really look like a girl? I hoped I did, I believed I did but now I had the first outside testimony that yes, I actually did. Paul the prick, said I did.

I took the turban off and dropped it in the floor to begin soaking up some of the water that had spashed out of the open shower door while Paul watched me take a bath. With a fresh towel, I patted my hair to absorb more water then I used a big tooth comb to detangle. I had nearly shoulder-length hair cut in a unisex shag, light brown except that the ends were mostly blonde from the sun in the desert where my parents lived.

I debated getting a pair of scissors and cutting myself some bangs but I chickened out.

Dropping the sarong towel into the mess on the floor, too, I pushed all three towels around with my feet as improvised mops then I hung them in the shower stall to dry a bit before going into the hamper.

Naked, I stood in front of the only full-length mirror in the room. I tucked everything I had between my legs and squeezed my thighs together, arching my back. I loved that I had no hair anywhere, I even loved the feel of naked flesh between my thighs. I could imagine that that was how having a pussy felt since it seemed so different from how things usually felt down there.

Back at the bed, I picked a lacy pair of pink panties and pulled them on, keeping things tucked back. Then I pulled on the padded girdle which would give me some shape at hips and butt and keep things from moving around.

I picked the rosy pink bra and quickly fastened it behind my back, that had taken some practice. I put the jiggly plastic inserts in which made me look like about an A-cup. I wished I had more of a waist but I had accidentally left my waist-cincher buried in my closet back home; I hoped my Mom didn't find it.

Though, truth to tell, I looked to have more trouble now than a mother three hundred miles away would be able to cause me.

Remembering Paul's advice about doing my makeup first I decided that it made sense to avoid getting foundation or blusher on my outer clothes so I got out my meager supply of cosmetics and went to the bathroom.

The soft beige foundation went on so smoothly over my hairless face, it felt like silk. I dithered a bit then did my eye shadow next. Well, I started to then decided it mattered which dress I would wear, the blue Hawaiian print or the little black cocktail dress, to how I should make up my eyes.

I finally chose mauve and silver for my lids with deep turquoise for the folds and just a thin line of silver below my brows. A plum colored pencil brought out my pale brows and plum mascara mad it all come together. If I have one good feature, it's my eyes; they look big in my small face and their blue-green color is just odd enough to be striking.

Never have managed to learn to do eyeliner, though. I really need to have someone show me how; when I try on my own, I end up looking racoonish.

Blusher, lipliner and lipstick, all in berry shades of pink, maroon and red to finish up. I used a lipbrush to paint lighter highlights and darker curves onto my lips then some translucent powder to set them.

I carefully pulled the black rayon cocktail dress over my head and settled its flirty skirt around my padded hips. I thought I looked pretty good in the mirror but I remembered the three laws of fashion. Accessorize. Accessorize. Accessorize.

I brushed my nearly dry hair forward then shook it back, carefully pulling a few damp strands just exactly where I wanted them. With three plum-colored plastic hair clips, I made things stay pretty much in place.

A plum and scarlet scarf concealed my too-thick neck and a wide plastic belt in the same colors gave me the appearance of a waist. Plastic clip-on earrings in silver and scarlet, a multi-colored beaded bracelet and scarlet-and-black low-heeled pumps completed my appearance.

I giggled to see Donna in the mirror again. It had been nearly two months since I had been able to dress this fully and I didn't think I'd ever looked so good before.

I wished I had nail polish, time and skill to make my hands look good but a costume jewelry ring provided a nice touch. A couple of spritzes of my drugsstore eau de cologne and I was about as done as I could get.

I practiced sitting, walking, standing while I waited for Paul to come back. I could hardly contain my excitement. I'd be going out in public for the first time as a girl--on a dinner date no less. Of course, Paul was a prick for forcing me into this but I forgave him until I thought of his last remark.

Did he intend to force himself on me whether I would or not? I didn't know. It happened to real girls all the time, date-rape. That worry combined with the anxiety of my public debut to leave me almost sick with dread before I heard Paul's key in the door.

I stood, paralyzed between the desks at the far end of our little roomette. I would have hid in the bathroom but that would actually have been closer to him when he entered.

He stared at me then smiled. "You cleaned up pretty good, I might even make a few guys jealous tonight."

I thought I might burst with feeling; fear and joy, anxiety and pleasure and a hundred variations on a theme turned my legs to spaghetti.

Paul tossed a package at me. "I noticed you didn't have any pantyhose. Put those on, grab your purse and let's go. My steak isn't getting any rarer."

Grateful for the gift of the pantyhose and giddy with relief that he seemed genuine about liking how I looked, and I quickly slipped a pair on and wiggled them up under my skirt with my back turned to Paul's sniggers. "How did you know my size?"

"They got height and weight charts on the packages," he said. "Besides, they only come in three sizes, short, tall and fat. Guess which two you ain't."

"I'm not tall," I said.

"For a girl, you're more than average tall. What are you, 5'9"?"

"Not quite," I murmured. It was really about to happen. I would be going out in public dressed as a girl on a date with a tall, not bad-looking college boy who had bullied me into this. My insides turned to ice water.

Paul quickly changed his shirt, ran a hand over his beard stubble and decided not to shave. I wondered what his stubbly cheeks would feel like against my smooth ones.

"Got your stuff in your purse?" he asked, reaching for me.

I held up my one good, black leather handbag containing cosmetics and little else. Paul grabbed my other hand and towed me out the door.


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