A Double Birthday Surprise
by WannabeGinger's Wife, Kerstin
We start with the text of a letter sent by a wife...........
Dear Transformation ladies!
Help me give my Husband a Birthday Surprise, please!
This letter is to introduce Karen who has been to you for one or two Changeaways in the past, so she knows what to expect! The reason for this letter, from an under-standing wife, is to give her a special birthday surprise — and it needs your help. So, please do your best — and enjoy the challenge!She knows nothing of the content of this letter but has promised to go along with anything you have been asked to do…… or can think of as extra!!!
We are planning a quiet "night in" for her birthday and, as her wife, it’s up to me to make it special! You can make it so.
The first surprise you can save until the end of a normal Changeaway that she knows about……. The second surprise? It is to be bigger than anything …..it will come at the end (She has NO idea….. she will leave you dressed!) and she won’t know that until you tell her she has to leave her boy clothes in the case. (Hide her case!!! … pretend it’s being put away for security… but don’t let her have it back until the moment she leaves!)
She will have come to London all prepared for a stay in your lovely surroundings. She will feel comfortable and at ease. She will have been shopping for a couple of items before arriving, so will hopefully be feeling quite girly.
The first surprise is that she should stay longer and have two "looks" done. Make her final "look" what you call the "Time of your life", I think you call it. That's how she'll finish up. At the time she's changing, please take her "guy gear" from her.... she won't be needing it. Put is away where she can't find it. I'll come with her to collect it in a day or two. But, please don't let her know it's being hidden!
As first look, please give her a really tarty look…. make her up to be the best hooker in town! Big Hair! (that’s our special fancy together). Make it the brightest lightest auburn wig that you have and, if you have one, one with blonde highlights too! Please take time over dressing her hair; it’s a very special part of her crossdressing and she should be indulged! Ask her lots about her favourite styles and colours and how she’s had her hair in the past…. and how much I love doing her hair ....as an understanding wife!!! Sadly, her hair’s not long enough to set today.
Make-up is important too and she can leave with this look about her face. Top and bottom lashes please, bold red false nails (that she loves and we only discovered how easy they are at her last Changeaway!!), lipstick to match (she’ll have brought a Dior long-lasting lipstick with her… us it only if it matches the nails)…… She will need loads of mascara and eyeshadow…. but a make her have a hooker’s looks, definitely not a drag queen!
I’m sure you’ll have some really sexy clothes for her. Last time she had a Change-away, she found a lovely clingy black lace top that accentuated her bust beautifully (I wasn’t with her but saw the photo!) even if it were a little large. That time, she did say that the tits she was given were just too big (I know…… nice problem to have!!!!) So, this time, please give her "B" cup breastforms…… She felt she was going to fall over with the bigger ones!
When dressing her, please make the basque as tight as you possibly can — she will ask you to make it so and is very used to several inches coming off her waist…… Aim for seven inches, please — start it 36" and aim for 29"…… More if you can. She will have a tape measure with her to check. (If it’s less, there’s a penalty for her: she has to wait a year to do this all over again… some penalty!) Obviously, she wants stockings and suspenders and a pair of lovely black evening shoes…… very "strappy" if you have the, to accentuate her ankles. I’ll leave it to you to decide what you put hookers into beyond the underwear.
Let her enjoy the Changeaway experience that she’s expecting… it will be all she’s hoped for up to this point. It has to be better than the four or five she’s done before though……. I’m relying on you to really get her into character as a girl……
She’s always been a bit reticent in the past and will have been quieter than she normally is around the home. She’s never gone for the tarty look before and if you mean Transformation as the name of the store, then please make her Transform into a real hooker for the day.
Make her act like she’s had a couple of large Gin & Tonics! Make her flirt! (She’s a lesbian when dressed, by the way!)
Then, remind her of the first (little) surprise…….. When she’s making moves towards getting changed, tell her she’s got enough time for staying for a second "look" — more everyday but very pretty please……. Leave the striking make-up on eeven if you feel a change of emphasis is needed. (We are going to be very flirty tonight!)
Dress her in the wig that she will have bought this morning - - - it’s her favourite long Pageboy style; sleek and smooth and turned softly under at the neck. Again, please fuss a lot over this; tell her how wonderful it will be and that it will suit her beautifully. Remind her that it must be her wife’s favourite style on her.
Dress her in a very attentive way please……. because, though she doesn’t know it……., she has to leave the store en femme and walk across a crowded Euston station to reach the car park where she will have left her car.
She has only gone out en femme once before… and that was after a make-up and change in Manchester. This time she has to go a lot further! Just watch the look in her, beautifully made-up, eyes when you tell her. You are not allowed to let her change back into boy clothes.
She will have been very much at ease in your lounge by now; she will be expecting to end the experience with a cleanse and a shower, going back to (petty undies beneath) boring male. You have to give her the confidence, after a shock, to go out there and cross that station concourse to reach her car.
The last thing you’ll need to do is have her choose a pair of shoes for the epic journey of a lifetime. Black, for sure, with lowish, maybe 2" heels; strappy look if you have them. Add the cost to the bill.
Tell her she's not getting changed back into her guy gear - you'll hide that so she can't find it anyway! Don't take any arguments...... push her out of the door if necessary!
Send her out, on her way home to me. We will have a wonderful night — you can imagine what two girls will get up to, can’t you!!!
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Chapter 2
(Turn back time to Six hours earlier — at home).
No you've read the letter I wrote to the staff who'd be giving a special treat I had cooked up for Ginger's birthday — a half-day's experience - as "Karen" at a Transformation salon in London.
He (Ginger!)loves coming to my own salon to have his hair done, and often a manicure, but it does him good to have complete strangers work their magic on him on special occasions like a birthday.
It was birthday breakfast time and we had begun the morning with a customary early morning fuck. My surprise was in three envelopes waiting for him as we sat for breakfast. The outermost envelope contained my very special birthday card. Hand made and perfumed, it was covered in pink flowers and love hearts. I liked to make him feel girly on birthdays. His make-up was very light this morning, being a Saturday on which I was to go to work at my hairdressers' job in town. He had expected to stay at home and play girly until I got home… for another fuck! (or two!).
But no, the first surprise for him came in the second envelope — which he was allowed to read.
My second birthday card disclosed that his present was a ChangeAway session at the nearest Transformation store, in London. He would be spending the afternoon at the salon with a fantasy dressing session, make-up and manicure. He would have false eyelashes (which neither of us can fix to his eyes however hard we try!) as a special treat. A real whore's look would be his! Then, he would expect to shower and freshen up before dressing again as a guy for the trip home. He would then have to tell me all about the experience during the evening — after our third fuck of the day!
"Wow!, darling, you're honey — you know how much I've enjoyed the sessions I've done like this before…… It's a pity they have to end, really, I could always stay longer!"
"Well, I'll be at the salon all day and your hair looks lovely from the roller set we did on you yesterday, you could go into London dressed if you dared." I teased him, knowing that venturing into London would not be something he'd dare to do… it was one thing to come from home to my salon nearby, but into London? Not likely! Never mind, we talked about it and the thought that one day he might do that was planted in his mind.
Little did Ginger know the second surprise that would be found for "Karen" in the third envelope — the one he was not allowed to read!
"There's another envelope that you must NOT read, but give to the girl who welcomes you into the Transformation store. OK? Promise me!?"
I was firm with him….. The whole idea would be spoiled if he read the letter. It promised his total compliance.
Six hours later, the letter was presented and, as expected, he did go into London dressed as a guy for a change on a Saturday.
**************
The letter was read, and the contents acted upon. The "twist in the tail" was not disclosed! YET!
**************
(Four hours later — in the Transformation store).
"I think I'm ready to change now." Ginger (or in his femme name for the day, Karen) said. "I'll just go and undress and shower downstairs."
"Don't be in such a hurry, Karen", said an Assistant, Abi, who had done all of his make-up and really created the high-class whore character that "Karen" now showed off to such effect.
The high heels — higher than he had ever worn before — were really beginning to pain his calf muscles. The ultra-short skirt was clinging so tight to his butt that Karen struggled to keep his stocking tops from showing even when she/he was standing. The false tits that filled his D-cup bra were so heavy that he felt he would fall forwards at any minute.
His own auburn hair was covered in the wildest "big hair day" blonde wig that he had ever enjoyed! His eyes were half-closed — in a seductive gaze — weighed down by the mass of the false lashes, (top and bottom!) and five coats of mascara.
He was LOVING it!
"Sit down and take another coffee… please!", said Abi, continuing. "…. in fact, the letter insists that you do, because there's a little extra surprise for you from your lovely wife, Kerstin.
"What's that, then?" said Karen through his long-lasting ultra-shiny lipstick.
"Well, we can't find the key to your case that holds your clothes for changing. The letter says we have to send you home en femme. So, finish your coffee, stay as long as you like, but then... and off you go!"
"WHAT?????!!!!"
He immediately thought where the car was parked. Right over the other side of Euston station - one of London's busiest commuter stations…. and it was 5.45pm, albeit on Saturday…. but there would be shopping crowds, football crowds…….. people!!!!
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Chapter 3
Stunned silence prevailed while the enormity of the challenge was realized.
"But.......but...but....b...b...b.. I can't go out there like this…. This is fantasy! Women don't actually go out on the street like this….. not in broad daylight! I can't do it!!" Karen said in a panic that overwhelmed him/her.
His mind filled with what this meant — the trick that Kerstin had played upon him…….
"…… As I was saying……. On the contrary, my lady, …." interrupted Abi……. "You have no alternative because this is part of your treat. Kerstin wants you to stay here as long as you like - to gather your thoughts and to prepare yourself for a very different experience……"
Her faced showed that there was no chance of argument. "……..Like you've never experienced before. You can change your look as much as you want — and we'll help you… but Kerstin's made it so that you go out there dressed! She wants you home soon!"
He thought of where the car was parked. It might only be half a mile……. But…… Right over the other side of Euston station - one of London's busiest commuter stations…. and it was 5.45pm, albeit on Saturday…. but there would be shopping crowds, football crowds……… people!!!!
He looked in the mirror beside the reception desk where Abi stood. He looked like the most outrageous hooker that ever plied her trade on the street. The "big hair" had matched his wildest dream. The "fanny belt" of a skirt showed his stocking tops. The nipples on his false tits stuck up like hat pegs in a subterranean nightclub. His eyelashes were suddenly extra heavy.
"Kerstin says in her letter that you should be brave and 'go for it', as she says…. She knows you would have the most sexy look we could create for your Changeaway and fancies you coming home like that. She says she wants a good fucking with you looking just like that. She wants you to practise your walk in here before you go… we have to be the judges of how good that is…… You have to be Julia Roberts' Pretty Woman hooker as you leave here."
Silence. Karen was thinking. He/she couldn't concentrate. Conflicting thoughts rushed through his mind. This had been his fantasy……. Now he was confronted with turning it into a quite dangerous reality. He'd never wanted to flash his tits and thighs where people, particularly men, could see them….. This wasn't something he ever dreamed of, or wanted to do…. He wanted to get home…. Alright…. Kerstin wanted him home fully dressed…….. He'd love that… What a homecoming to look forward to……
There would be literally hundreds of people between him and his car — salvation, the chance to get away……. He cursed his wife and, almost immediately, thanked her…. This had taken some planning. It was her treat for him……….
He was aware that his cock was becoming harder again. He was aroused all afternoon, but had managed to keep things under control in that area…… He became aware that he was dying for a pee. That meant he was acutely aware that his was constrained by his corset, the lacy knickers and the suspenders and stockings…….. he had not peed whilst dressed before……. He needed to pee quite urgently. That too was arousing…… He had to pee as a woman……. He had to remove some clothes…….. He couldn't concentrate at all… He had to get down to the bathroom in the basement…..
He could say nothing to Abi. He turned and stepped down the stairs beside the reception desk, past the two rooms that housed the rails of clothes from which guys made their choice of clothes as a first step towards a day as a girl……. Past the lounge, where photos were take for keep-sakes. Then, to the changing rooms - where dreams began to come real - and the shower, where dreams were washed away.
No wonder women's toilets were always at the end of long queues…. He had so much clothing to remove so that his cock could be free to pee. He had to sit down to pee. He hitched his skirt up.
The corset was so tight, his cock could not spring free. He pulled "her" knickers to the side to expose herself. The tip showed below the tight band of lycra that stretched across her abdomen. It was "her" clitoris. She touched it lovingly and the urge to pee disappeared. She ran a crimson-painted fingernail across the tip and it swelled again. She was in a semi-conscious daze.
Twice more, the fingernail ran across the tip of his cock and her breathing became shallow and rapid……. "Oh, ooooooh, shit!", she breathed quietly as he began to cum, shooting a load of spunk over his fingernails and into the bowl. His hand was wet and, instinctively, he put the fingers into his lipsticked mouth, as any practised whore would do. His/her head fell back, allowing the highly-teased blonde hair to brush his shoulders.
He sat in his changing cubicle. His breath subsiding.
He no longer needed to pee. He needed to see himself in a mirror, to confirm the total and absolute — and wonderful — depravity of what he had just done. He would thank Kerstin in very special ways for making this possible, when he got home.
His breathing slowly recovered. As he looked in the mirror, he began to think that what Kerstin had intended should, indeed, take place. He should walk the walk across the station forecourt. He should parade his/her sexuality for anybody and everybody to see. And if it gave them a problem, well, it was their problem! And if it gave them pleasure, well, it was his pleasure too!
The skirt should, perhaps be a little longer…. and the hair need not be so wild…. but it should still be eye-turning………….. The rest could stay the same… the eyelashes, the stockings, the tits… oh, yes! the tits!!! He/she squeezed then and uplifted them, standing side-ways on to view him/herself in the mirror.
The urge to pee returned…. And he/she had to move quickly to avoid an accident. A flood of pee began almost the second he sat down. His hand strayed back to the tip of her cock and the flow ran through his fingers as he played with the fingernail again.
What a performance, he thought. Women have to put up with this every time they pee. He dried his hand and the delicate tissues of her cock. He was a she, was a he, was a she simultaneously. The dream continued……. But suddenly it was back to reality……
He had to decide how he was going to leave…. and how she was going to get home.
He had to steel himself for the experience to come. He needed Abi's help to moderate the whore that stared back from his image in the mirror….. She could not go out quite like that but a whore he had chosen to be and a whore she would be.
"Karen, let's get ready to boogie!", he said to the reflection of herself in the mirror.
She re-traced her tottering steps along the basement corridor to reach the steps and quickly climbed them…. she was getting good at climbing stair in these lovely high heels. The black patent leather straps clung to her ankles deliciously. The red red red nail polish screamed through the straps across her toes.
"Enjoy that?" Abi enquired, clearly indicating that much of what had happened downstairs had been visible on CCTV…..
"Well, there's no privacy really, is there?", Karen replied. "Now, I do need your help if I'm going to do what Kerstin has decided for me.", smiling with the broad lipsticky mouth that had a trace of his cum betraying the conclusion from his most recent orgasm.
What a slut!, he thought to him/herself.
"Good, you are going….. What a slut!", said Abi, in the nicest possible way….. "How may I help you then?"
"Well, I do need to have stunning hair, but this is for nights at home!", Karen said, pulling at the teased pile of back-combed curls. "Can you find me a long wig that can be styled in long soft curls and put in an up-do?"
"You mean in blonde?" Abi said, turning to the display of wigs that stretched away down the shop. "You mean like a Bet Lynch? A Julie Goodyear?"
"Well, if you could manage that, I would have to handle it, wouldn't I… now I've asked." Karen realised that what she was asking was very little less impactful than what was already on her head. It was too late. Abi was off down the shop, seizing a wig stand with a delicious fall of gold blonde hair that was at least two feet from crown to tip. "This one has a fringe to hide the hair line so we can really make you look good!" Abi cried.
"So be it." Karen breathed to herself. "I do have to have a longer skirt, because this one will give me pneumonia!", she laughed. Losing any recall of the other things she would change, she sat at the mirror where Abi took off the first crazy wig, revealing Karen's own auburn hair covered with a wig cap.
"I love the colour of your own hair." said Abi. "You must look stunning with it set."
"Thank you, honey…" she replied, "……It gives me… us… pleasure…… I do experiment with the colour from time to time. I'd like to grow it longer but that's a problem on my boy days."
"Nonsense!", Abi interrupted…. "You can wear your hair any way you want these days and I think you should go with your instincts. Damn whatever these 'people' think. If you're man enough to walk out of here dressed as a complete slut, you can handle living with female hair all the time. The 'people' will get used to it so quickly, you'll find they forget it's anything but the usual 'you' they see!"
"Do you have many customers who do that….. live as men with female hair?", she replied.
"Of course not……. It's a very select preference that many of our 'girls' couldn't share without a double dose of confidence every day and you can't, unfortunately, get that prescribed!…. But, if you're as confident as I think you are, like going out of here in a few minutes, I'm sure you would carry it off beautifully.".
Food for thought, Karen mused as Abi pulled the new wig over her head.
She held the front of the wig at her hair-line as the cap closed over the back of her head. Abi pinned the hair-piece into the wig cap and 'he' shook 'her' head to let it fall naturally over the shoulders. It felt like heaven.
The next fifteen minutes saw Abi gently slicing through the long fall of blonde tresses, selecting individual locks to create bold rolls of hair to build an up-do that would be sensational. the first layer covered the hair-line and the edges all round the wig itself. The second layer covered the rest of Karen's head and the third and fourth layers built up the height. She sat there mesmerized as the curls built up, one on top of the other, and the blonde hair glistened in the spotlight, its style creating lighter and darker shades.
She would still look like a whore crossing the station complex, but the confidence this hairstyle gave Karen was immeasurable. Abi refreshed her make-up and they both stood back to admire her image in the mirror.
"You'll be gone before they work out what hit 'em!" exclaimed Abi. "Come on, hitch up those tits and let's find you a skirt that doesn't show what you're really made of!"
"You really think so?……. I mean…… Would you go out like this?!" Karen said, staring at her reflection in the glass. "Would you… really?"
"No, of course not, because I'm not a whore…… I may be slutty when I feel like it, but I'm not for sale! This says 'for sale' in a BIG way!" Abi laughed. She could… it wasn't her that was going to mix with a thousand commuters and shoppers and football fans in a few minutes time.
"You just go for it girl! I'll be proud of you!"
"OK, where's that skirt…………. I fancy a long swirly one — maybe black with red around the trimmings, calf length to show off the shoes. There's one on the rail downstairs, I'm sure." Karen said, rocking her/his hips from side to side.
They descended again to the basement, into the room facing the stairs. The rails were full of quite tatty clothes but there it was…. a Spanish-influenced piece of couture. Just the right length, with an elasticated waist and a superb patent leather belt that would match the tarty strappy high heeled shoes he/she was already wearing.
Karen stripped off the little "pussy pelmet" of a skirt that she had worn until now - pausing to look into the full-length mirror as she stood there in heels, stockings, suspenders and corset. Her tits looked too big! she smiled and then she stepped into the Spanish gown.
She swirled her hips and the gown brushed against her stockinged legs.
"Beautiful!", Karen murmured. "Now, that's a high class whore if ever I saw one!", exclaimed Abi. "Now time's getting on…. it's well past six p.m. now……… You have to go and I have to close the store. There's no turning back now. Your bill is paid and Kerstin said to tell you again, she's waiting for you……. She's booked a visit from a whore who will fuck her senseless and you mustn't be late! Your first client!!!"
***********
Karen stood at the door of the Transformation store, looking at the plain brick wall of the station building opposite. A bus passed by and distracted her. How could she do this!??? She turned to walk to the right before crossing the road at the lights by the steps into the station.
The traffic light stayed resolutely at green for the traffic to pass. As she stood there, in all her whorey finery, several people, men and women, joined her waiting to cross the street.
None of them looked sideways but all had 'clocked' her for what she appeared to be….. A woman out to make an impact.
"Corrr, I'd like a handful of those…." came words that would be the first of many, spoken and unspoken before she reached the haven of her car, still half a mile away. She looked intensely at the source of the comment instantly…. and smiled a 'come here' sort of smile…… And two late-teenage boys shrank back into the small group of people surrounding them.
"No balls, eh?" Karen said pointedly, realizing that this was 'upping the game', maybe too quickly. Nobody else spoke and the lights changed to allow them all to cross the street. Karen set forth on her towering heels, striding Julia Roberts style towards the station steps. In her heels, she was taller than most of these people…. and with her hair piled four inches higher, she was definitely the tallest person on view. The sun shone through the piled-up hair like a beacon.
She reached the staircase and took each step individually, remembering not to try to take them two at a time as 'he' would have done if he were not wearing such heels!
He stopped after a few paces along the colonnade as he saw 'her' reflection in a plate glass window. Well, it was part whore, part Drag Queen, she had to admit……… Probably enough to scare the living daylights out of most if not all even red-blooded men. Which was good. He/she no more wanted attention from male passers-by than he/she wanted to be stopped by the Police for behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace…. a charge of which he/she was most certainly guilty!
The lashes which he wore were so thick with mascara, she found it difficult to focus on the image, just taking in the overall impression. If there were other girls on the street around here, she/he would soon be chased away from their 'pitches'.
The first store on the colonnade was the newsagents and book store. Full of people, most of whom had a good view of her as she walked past. Tempted, if only for a minute, Karen decided not to go inside. The car was closer now, though the car park was not in sight, and she wanted to get home to her wife…… or did Abi say, her client?!
"Gerrem'off!!!" "Show us yer knickers!!" "Lovely tits, darlin'…. Lemmie suck 'em for yer!"
Calls came from a small bunch of young men across the square into which she was walking……. A way to threaten any defenceless woman — safety in numbers, they must have thought.
"How much for a blow job??!" came an afterthought from one of them.
That was enough.
Karen changed course towards them. She wasn't about to put up with such insults. As she did so, the louts scattered, clearly realizing her intentions. Her glare transfixed one of them and he stopped as the others ran away. As she reached him, face-to-face, she pointed a lacquered nail right into his chest and said:
"Unless you're willing to put up, I suggest you shut up, little boy. Up against the wall, anytime, and if you're not ready now, come back when you're sober."
The young man ran after his friends without another word and Karen felt the stirrings of a hard-on inside his corset, so much power had been felt over the little worm. It was an experience in itself — and quite something to tell Kerstin when he/she got home.
"You tell 'em, girl!" she heard from behind her where, as she turned, she saw a 40-something woman of no particular beauty or presence.
"I eat boys like that for breakfast!" said Karen as she swept away across the front of the crowded station. Her eyes were focussed on the far side of the concourse where a stream of people were entering the station ticket office…… More than half way to the car.
The encounter with the louts who shouted had somehow invigorated her….. and made her feel more confident. As she walked, she found time to consider what she would be doing when she arrived home. Karen had said, hadn't she, shat she wanted a good fucking… That she wanted a visit from the whore that Karen was playing……… Well, if that was what she wanted, that's how this birthday surprise should end.
She stopped to look in the window of a hairdressers shop near to the end of the colonnade and just teased her hair a little, taking time to look inside to see just what the scene was…… Just like that of his wife's salon…….. A girl sat with her hair covered in layers and layers of foil …… she would be having highlights just like Karen enjoyed. Another was nearing completion of her style and the girl doing her hair was energetically back-combing to create a beehive in the blonde mass that was to hand. A young man with bright red hair sat at the reception desk and, when their eyes met, quickly looked away as if offended by Karen's aura of confidence and outrageous sexuality.
"I'll bet his bum is sore tonight.", thought Karen, knowing that the older man beside the boy was in command there. You didn't need to be a bloody expert in body language.
She reached the corner of the station building and was within sight of the car park signs across the street. His heart still pounding.
The confident exterior hid a crashing turmoil within. What was he doing?!!! Did he ever imagine doing this. How did Kerstin come up with this birthday surprise. Had he ever intimated that he would love to go out, like this, dressed as a hooker, in broad daylight, on the streets of London?!!!
He checked his purse. Her car keys were still there….
What a nightmare it could have been if he had left the bag at the salon, with his keys in it? The salon would be closed now. He would be on his/her own, without credit cards or cash……. or a phone. How would she get home… dressed as she was!???
A voice behind her startled her as she stood at the corner:
"Come here a minute…." A woman's voice.
Karen turned to see a quite sophisticated woman, mid-40s, sable blonde hair with highlights… attractive, dressed in white trousers and a bright orange top, obviously expensive, good shoes, nice heels, well made-up. She was standing only ten feet away. A man shrinking into the background stood perhaps ten feet behind her……. Clearly a couple. She spoke again:
"I said, come her a minute…. I need to talk to you…….."
Karen froze. This was an unexpected turn of events. She wanted to carry on towards the car park…… It was almost within sight. Who was this woman? Karen stood still. Why did she not do as instinct told her and go for the car park? Ignore this attractive woman……..
"How can I help?", she asked the woman…….. remembering to talk in quiet tones and not too much of a Minnie Mouse squeak!
"I have no need to ask what you do for a living….", the woman began, "….. so let me tell you straight away…… We would like you to provide us with, er, um, 'services' I think you would call them….. two of us, together…… We want you….. both of us want you…….."
"In what way?" Karen asked, purposely being obtuse, to give herself time to think.
"Sex, we want you for sex. Simple as that. You look just my cup of tea and my hubby likes to watch and maybe join in after a while……. If that's your sort of service. Nothing heavy. Nothing violent……. though he might end up being a little tied up….. if you know what I mean."
One minute, thought Karen, I'm thanking my lucky stars for having my car and home keys on me so I can get home…. and now I'm being propositioned by punters for a threesome!!! How did this happen?!! And what do I do????? Thoughts flashed through her mind as she felt pressed to answer……
"Not today, not tonight…….. I can't tonight.", she found herself saying. As she thought… fast!
"Do you live in London? I mean, I only do visiting…….."
"Yes, we live in Camden Town. Not far away, at all."
"Then, give me your number and I'll call you tomorrow. I promise……."
"But do you do what we want? Would you…. Could you?", the woman implored.
"Oh, dahling, in more ways than you know, I can do for you!", Karen exclaimed, teasing the woman — never mind the poor submissive male behind her. Her voice was suddenly "Lauren Bacall" in her prime of sexual conquest. Her lips pouted perfectly.
She actually found the woman quite attractive, quite exciting…. A woman so brazen as to ask a whore like her for a threesome, there on the station concourse, in broad daylight!
The woman smiled. She took a lipstick pencil from her handbag and tore a sheet from a little notebook, scribbling a series of numbers — clearly a mobile phone — and a two line address, before handing it to Karen and turning away with a brief "Make sure you call before 3pm"…… And she was gone! And he was gone too!
What a day this was turning into! Karen thought as she surveyed the alternatives……. Off to the car park…….. or stay here and take bookings!!!!! What a surprise she could deliver if they went through with meeting as a three……!!!!!
************
She decided that Kerstin had first call on her…….. She was her one and only lover……. And, of course, Kerstin had already booked her services for the return home…. as soon as possible….. And Karen was getting late! it was beginning to get dark and London isn't a place for a girl to be on the street dressed as Karen was! Anyway, she was on the promise of giving Kerstin a good fucking when she got home.
Her cock was straining within her corset and panties as she reached the car in the basement of the block opposite the station. She paused and let her hands slip down her body, feeling the soft fabric of her top and the wonderful folds of the swinging skirt, accentuating the feel of the underwear beneath. She felt the straps of her bra tugging, the suspenders pulling her stockings. Cross-dressing…. was it something so outrageous? Dangerous, maybe, in today's climate that treated her as a deviant.
Prejudice! She'd show them!
The thought of play-acting a woman's role as a whore, with a female client to please, endlessly, was a rich fantasy; one Karen couldn't wait to get home for enjoy. Her bollocks ached she was needing to cum so much! The feeling of 'being male' could not be lost entirely. She needed a wank.
She sat in the driving seat and turned the starter motor with the key……. She noticed the polish on her fingernails glinting in the half-light…….. She paused to look in the cosmetic mirror behind the sun visor above the windscreen. Close-up, she saw her eyes flash through the curtains of mascara and false eyelashes. She realized she would need to freshen her lipstick before getting home……. Why not do it now ……..to enjoy the taste on the drive home?!
She took the lipstick from her handbag and carefully traced the outline of her lips, coating first the top lip with two exaggerated sweeps, starting with the lipstick in the centre of her 'cupid's bow', first to the left, then to the right. Then, she covered the lower lip heavily, twice over before pursing her lips together and tasting the wonderful creamy consistency.
She was ready. The engine roared in the echoing of the basement as she headed for the ramp, and into the fast-arriving night. "Kerstin, here I come!", she said out loud! "It's still MY birthday!".
************
The street was quiet as she emerged into the fading daylight at the top of the slope rising from the darkness of the basement. Soon a traffic light at red held her up. Karen tapped her glorious red fingernails on the steering wheel. She looked down and felt compelled to run a finger over the fabric of her top where her 'tits' stretched the outline. The light turned green. The car moved into the traffic flow as she turned right, heading north towards Camden Town. Three lanes of cars and buses soon filtered into two as the road narrowed. Her concentration wavered.
For a split second.
It happened in a moment……..
The car on her right moved across too quickly. Into her path. The car to her left moved likewise, but to the right. Into her patch. The impacts were simultaneous. Though their speed was low, there was enough contact to cause damage to both front wings of her car.
The sounds were amplified. It seemed that all hell broke loose, when in fact, the damage was comparatively minor. She braked hard, thanking her foresight in removing the strappy heeled shoes and driving barefoot in the stockinged feet. Had she not, she thought, there was no telling where she would have ended.
As it was, she stopped quickly, as did the other two cars involved. She sat there, her mind blank for a moment, until she realized….. She would have to confront the situation, and the other drivers, and the people who gathered to watch at the roadside. She was still dressed….. quite outrageously…….. and would be there for all to see when she got out of the car. She would have to exchange her details with the others…. ….. Could she carry off the illusion behind which she was hiding her sex? Would they accept that she was a woman, albeit one out for "the kill"??!
She would soon know. As she sat there, the event unfolded fast. One of the other drivers was out of his car, already on the way round to check "she" was ok. Take care…. don't give away the secret, she thought to herself…… He mustn't know…………. She struggled to re-tie the straps of her shoes, taking time because the straps needed to be wound around her insteps and ankles. He hands trembled a little when she fumbled with the tiny buckles. They had to be tight.
"Are you alright??……. Are you hurt??……" he called through the glass, not really seeing her inside…… He knew it was a woman… he could see the hair! The towering curls, so blonde and so controlled and styled, gave no other impression. he peered deeper inside the car as she didn't answer. She could tell he was sensing that this was not just any ordinary woman! He could see the make-up was quite excessive for day-wear……. This was a tart ….. and not a bad looking one.
She felt like a tart…. Well, that's how she was presenting herself. Impressive. Fearing nothing that a male world could produce…. not even this. She decided to get out of the car. It had to be done, whatever he would think…….. She opened the door of the car. The other driver was arriving now, from the other side of the car. He, too, showed concern for "her"……… perhaps until he, too, saw the nature of the woman. She could cope.
She swung her legs out of the car, smoothing he hand over her skirt to avoid showing too much leg. She stood as she emerged and found herself fully four or five inches taller than this guy beside her. Add on the hair and she was maybe nine inches taller!
Play it cool. Minimize the time spent here. Get on. Get home, she thought.
"I'm really fine. You too? Let's check the damage. It's easy to put right….", Karen said, stepping past him towards the front of the car where the other driver waited.
"You ok?", he asked, looking her up and down, clearly thinking "what have we got here??!"
"Don't stare darling…. and close your mouth.", Karen said abruptly. Fucking men! All the same! Of course, she was alright…. for now.
The clack-clack of her heels emphasized that she was taking control of the situation. Her tits were proud, he arse was tight, this was one woman not to be messed with.
The traffic was beginning to build up in a jam behind the incident. She realized that, very soon, if it were not dealt with, there would be a policeman taking an interest — and she didn't need that. All too complicated and time-consuming….. and potentially embarrassing all round. Anyway, Kerstin was at home waiting for a fuck…….. She smiled.
"You have damage, both of you…", she said to the two male drivers. "…. You admit that the collision was your fault….. You do, don't you?……", she said in a more menacing voice…… "…You will give me your insurance information and contact details, and my insurance company will be in touch." End of story!… she hoped!
"Wait a minute…." said one male……
"Wait a minute my arse….. You do as you're told and do it now." Karen snarled at him.
He shrank back into insignificance.
Meekly, they wrote their names and details on pieces of paper and Karen felt she was through the trouble that could have ensued.
Then, "oh, fuck", she thought, she heard another voice: "What's going on 'ere, then?"
"P.C. Plod taking an interest!" she muttered under her breath. A copper had the mis-fortune to be passing and saw the small crowd gathering.
"Nothing to worry you about officer.", she said, trying to lower the temperature of the situation.
"Anybody injured? Any dispute about the cause?", the policeman asked…. doing his duty.
"No, no, no injuries and, yes, these two men admit what happened; they both came out of their lanes into my lane at the same time without looking……..", Karen summed up the situation.
"Driving without due care and attention, sounds like to me….." said P.C. Plod. "I'd better take all your details………. names and addresses please……………"
"Oh, shit, that's all we need……" muttered Karen. Disclosure! Discovery!
If she were discovered, and didn't handle this right, she could be 'done' for "Behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace". Police don't understand that cross-dressing isn't a threatening behaviour!
"No, no, I didn't mean they were driving dangerously……." she retracted her comments from before……
"Nevertheless, young lady…………. " YOUNG LADY!!!!, Karen's jaw dropped! I've passed!
"…nevertheless, we can't have this sort of trouble…. What's your name and where d'you live? Let me see your driving licence. Then you're free to go." Her heart beat faster and faster.
She knew it….. Her full name…. beginning with 'Andrew' would give her away immediately….
"I'll write it all down for you…. You deal with these two and I'll give you it on paper……" Karen said, taking control once more….. indicating the other two drivers who had been silent until now.
"Alright, alright… let's 'ave your names and addresses.", said P.C. Plod, accepting the need to save time.
Karen got some paper from the car and wrote, quickly, giving her surname, first initial, A, and her address. She added Andrew's driving licence number…….. There was a 50% chance it would never be checked…. maybe less. She had to hope…. and even if they did, what could be the problem in a week's time when they contacted him/her……. So, there had been an accident. The other drivers accepted responsibility. He wasn't at fault. What did they mean, it was a woman driving his car… there must have been a mistake…. someone ticked the wrong box on a report…..
P.C. Plod fails again!
He took the paper from her……. There was no way she could give anything false…. The car was easily traced. And he took it……. conscious of the traffic chaos building up. She gave the same information to the two miserable males and received their details in return. They would go home and have to tell their partners that they had driven into a tart's car on the road… and all about her.
She wanted to get home to Kerstin…. quickly. She wanted to freshen herself up ready for the evening's role-playing. Her mind strayed to how she would treat Kerstin and the whore Kerstin was hoping to meet. She would ask for payment as soon as she arrived home……….
"Ok, you're at liberty to go on home now. You make sure you get the repairs done soon.", said P.C. Plod whose eyes, only now seemed to stray over Karen's body in amazement. Maybe he had never worked on the Vice Squad! He was clearly slavering all of a sudden……. Karen smiled coquettishly at him.
********
Kerstin opened the door after the bell had rung twice.
"Honey, what's kept y…….?, she began.
Karen put a crimson lacquered finger to her lips, indicating silence required.
" £100 an hour, honey, in case you're wondering……. May I come in?"
"Of course, I'm so sorry. ….. I've been expecting you!"
"… in advance, please, it's so distracting….." Karen continued.
"Of course, of course…… I thought we agreed £500 for the night."
"We did indeed… and what a night it will be."
Kerstin showed Karen into the lounge room and picked up a bundle of £50 notes from the side table. Karen took them and tucked them into the crease of her bra, between her tits…
Chapter 4
"I'm yours for the night, to do with as you please… or to have me do what you please. There's no rush, so how about a Martini? — their favourite "having sex" cocktail, Andrew/Karen knew would get Kerstin's juices flowing.
(There was no need, Kerstin had been giving herself a really gentle, slow, in-anticipation, fondle between her thighs for the previous half-hour.
"Wonderful, my favourite….." breathed Kerstin, standing at the place where the drinks were to hand. "Ice and a slice?", she enquired.
"Mmmm, tangy….. like your pussy I should imagine.", said Karen in her Lauren Bacall voice.
She moved toward Kerstin to take the drink when it was offered but immediately put is down and took his wife in his arms, his lipstick smelling strongly as he moved his lips towards hers. He kicked his lips, to preserve the colour and add shine.
Kerstin looked up into the eyes of this fabulous faux female — a being she had created for the night.
It was she who had prepared the ground. She had booked Andrew for a half-day's Changeaway session in town. It was she who had kept secret from 'her' the plan to prevent him from leaving the salon back in his boy clothes… to keep him en femme for the night. To make him up and dress him as he chose…. knowing that he would go for the most slutty look imaginable. So be it. He would — and did - find 'herself' out on the street looking that way. Having to get home… or at least to get to his car, dressed as a total hooker.
Just the hooker who stood here holding her in 'his' arms.
He was a she was a he was a she… all day!
She wanted gentle, loving, lesbian sex with this woman who, she knew for sure, knew everything about her body and how to please her. She also wanted to be fucked senseless by the same person, the man who stood holding her in his/her arms.
His lips were close. Kerstin couldn't close her eyes like she usually did when they kissed. She had to keep looking into those darkly-shaded eyes. She marvelled at the lashes, so heavy with mascara.
She buried her lips into his. Never mind the mess it would make of his lipstick, however long-lasting it should have been. The kiss was deep and long-lasting. Their tongues entwined and she eventually closed her eyes, losing herself in the fantasy of being taken by this woman.
He, by this stage, was delighted with the home-coming and the way his hooker-persona was being received. He was pleased that he had insisted on a change of hairstyle before leaving the salon. The wild blonde cloud of back-combed curls that had been there all afternoon was best replaced. The huge pile of blonde rolls was kind-if top-heavy and kept reminding Karen of its presence.
She was pleased with the make-up, no matter how excessively slutty it was…. This was the role for tonight and it needed "in yer face", almost theatrical make-up. He was loving the feel of the tight corset beneath his clothes, the stretch of the suspenders and the closeness of the stockings. Luxury!! The skirt, too, wafted across his stockinged skin. Like a feather. Like a fingertip on a clitoris….. It was heaven. He was pleased with the shoes, too, that gave the height advantage that he was unused to. He, Karen,. was taller than Kerstin for the first time.
Kerstin's hand sought to find his cock but to no avail. It was tightly constrained within the corset and the knickers. She would have to wait.
Karen's fire was rising in her crotch, tight as everything there was bound. She wanted Kerstin and she wanted her …. now! But she would have to wait for her cock to be used. The fire in her head caught her by surprise. She literally tore at Kerstin's silken blouse. Buttons flew everywhere and the final one tore the material. Kerstin's bra was exposed and in a flash, her tits were too. The bra was torn from her, and Karen's lips closed in on the nipples, already hard with lust.
"Oh, yessssssss………" Kerstin growled.
His wife knew now that she was being taken, quite literally, in a direction that she couldn't stop. He would have her in ecstasy within moments. Karen pushed her to lie on the couch, falling to her knees in front of Kerstin's wide-apart legs. Kneeling on the floor, she pulled at her wife's knickers with as much force as she could ….and they yielded. Kerstin's fanny was revealed, with its wet labia imploring her to dive in. Karen knew that he, himself, was close to cumming…. without his cock ever being seen!
He dived in with his lipstick-laden mouth and finished Kerstin off in a salvo of orgasms; she let herself cum and cum again, and again.
Karen, still fully-clothed realized that there was no escape. Her cock was too far gone to hold back the inevitable orgasm that filled his knickers with juice. Kerstin knew at once that she had to lick his clothed groin to get the taste of his spunk. She threw him off balance as she rose from the couch and he fell sideways, giving her the chance to dive under the shimmering skirt…. to devour him/her. Lesbian sex? well, it might well have been.
No words were spoken during all this time.
There was no need. Each sensed the needs of the other with ease. And they lay back, out-of-breath but nowhere near exhausted.
"You bitch!…" exclaimed Kertsin…….. pausing for breath. "You can do that anytime."
"Your call……. but what now?" Those Martinis are going cold! Her husband laughed.
"I want the fucker….", 'her' wife exclaimed. "…and I have a surprise for you later!"
"Where is it?.. and what's the surprise???, Karen demanded.
"Not telling….. It's a surprise! You'll find out soon enough anyway. But the fucker is in the bedroom, ready, just on the bedside table." She said, referring to the ever-faithful dildo that they enjoyed together almost every night. Hand-held, it gave seven inches of delight when sucked, licked, near-swallowed, used to stroke, and inserted into, Kerstin's vagina.
Karen rose to her feet with difficulty. Standing in those heels was not easy. Climbing the stairs in a hurry to get the fucker was going to take time….. "Hurry and you could break your neck, my lover." said Kerstin, her Martini held in one hand and her fingers from the other exploring her cunt. "…. But don't be long!!!"
Karen walked towards the stairs, his stiletto heels holding him back a little. He turned and looked at his wife and said "You have got all night, haven't you?!"
He climbed the staircase, looking over his shoulder a couple of times, to see Kerstin furiously exploring her fanny with her eyes closed and her head thrown back on the couch. If his cock were not hidden away, he would go back down there and shag her, hard, for the next hour!!! But, no, it was not to be. He was a she for the night… or until Kerstin's fancy turned to being fucked.
He reached their bedroom and entered, immediately seeing a wonderful new negligee and dressing gown set laid out on the bed. Was this the surprise? Now, where was the fucker???
There it lay, beside her pillow. It was ready for the night's enjoyment. Karen grasped it with her right hand and it only just closed around the girth — his hand palm measured seven inches, he knew that — and it was seven inches long. Many times, it had been inside Kerstin, only remaining to be seen in outline between her labia. What a great piece of design! Its surface was covered in simulated veins and its tip perfectly formed in the shape of a cock, with skin folds around the sides. Beautiful to suck — as he had many times. Beautiful to push deep inside her.
Karen couldn't wait to get back down there to use it on his wife's pussy.
He noticed a collar on the table beside his side of the bed…. a black leather, studded collar. Was that the surprise? Indeed not. He had worn that many times. It seemed to go very well with his female clothes just now, so he paused to fasten its strong buckle behind his throat. He tightened it just enough. (If she wanted, it would go another step tighter later). With his/her blonde hair high up on his head, his neck needed some adornment. The start had been with him/her the dominant one…. This would fit with that. Maybe later, Kerstin would be the dominant one……
Back downstairs, with fucker in hand, Karen made 'her' entrance into the living room where Kerstin still lay, ….wanking herself.
"Try this, honey." said Karen, first licking, then sucking the dildo before handing it to Kerstin. "Get it right inside you and I'll drive you wild with my tongue. Which is what she did. As her wife squeezed hard on the fucker within her, Karen licked and teased and sucked her labia until the juices ran down her face. At one stage, Karen thought his wife had peed she was so excited. Simply, she had cum and ejaculated…. a rare experience for both of them.
Drinking deeply, Karen eventually rose for breath and said "Delicous!!!!!"
They rested once more……… perhaps aware that the whole night lay ahead of them and they could not carry on at this pace. Kerstin went to 'freshen up' while her husband refreshed his make-up and gave thought to the pace of the evening.
There would be time for both of them to 'be on top' but the way it was going, Kerstin was playing the 'femme' role between the two women. He had to engineer a change in direction — perhaps an hour or two later- when she would become the dominant one and take over. He decided that the next step would be for him/her to undress his/her wife…… Total control…. Kerstin would not be allowed to move or say a word. Unless she stopped him, Karen would take his wife's clothing down to nothing while he, until told otherwise, would remain in his hooker's gear.
He wondered whether to loosen his hair — the rolls of curls were holding together very well — No, it would be a shame, just yet at least. There would be time for things to loosen up all round…... Then, and only then, would he change his/her beautiful coiffure.
Kerstin stood in the bathroom. Thinking. What would the client of a hooker, who had her to themselves at home for a whole night, be planning? As she splashed water on her face, lightly, she sensed she should not change what she had decided earlier, before her husband, "Karen" the hooker, got home.
She had intended to tease his palate with aperitifs and appetizers before going out for a birthday dinner. The pre-dinner, homecoming shagging had gone beautifully. Now it was time for a change of pace.
A stand-off seemed inevitable…… Karen intending to undress Kerstin, without argument. Kerstin intending to take Karen out for dinner after pre-dinner nibbles!
********
The nibbles won!
Of course, they should have. Kerstin was the client. Karen was the hired hooker; hired to do what the client wanted. Kerstin should have the choice. What she wanted…… she got, tonight!
So, they did finish their Martinis. Karen's undressing of his wife would have to wait. With the Martinis, they tasted many different what-post-people-would-call canapés. prawn crackers, smoked salmon with horseradish, oysters grilled with parmesan, olives stuffed with anchovy and goat's cheese brulée. All washed down with crisp Italian Pinot Grigio/Garganega blend.
"Take care with your lipstick, darling.", said the wife.
"I'd rather be eating you than these!", said her hooker.
"We're eating out!", she retorted, grabbing her coat and pulling the whore towards the door.
"Whoa! Let me fix my face and have a pee first." Karen was dying for a pee, having not been since changing into her gear at the salon, some six hours previously.
He/she took a few moments to compose "her"self and, in particular, re-arrange her cock and bollocks that, by then, were suffering from hours of constraint. She then fixed her make-up and took a close look at herself in the mirror. Out loud, she said to herself:
"You can do this, girl. You've been out in the street. You've seen off a punter and got her name for a call. You've seen off two male drivers and a copper who was getting too inquisitive. And, you've seen off the crowd that gathered to look at you. You've passed as a whore. You can go to a local restaurant. Whatever happens…. be yourself!"
The mirror didn't answer.
Back in the hallway, she asked her wife: "Where are we going?"
"Just across the square and into the High Street. I fancy a Chinese tonight. Lots of spice…. to go with my spicy partner!", said Kerstin, pausing briefly. "You have to flirt with me…seriously ……And let me just say, you have to be prepared for other surprises. Whatever I do or say to you in the restaurant……" — she clearly had a plan - ………"………, whatever, you mustn't take it that I'm cross with you. I may appear so, but I won't be… You wait and see!"
Whatever could she mean? What could possibly happen to make sense of that? Karen wondered.
They walked across the garden square in front of the house and into the main street where there were several shops and restaurants. The Chinese, where they were both well known, was crowded with early-evening diners. Karen thought and said: "What if I'm recognized?" to herself.
They were shown to a table that they had used many times — quite central to the restaurant, in full view of most tables. The waitress, Li-Ann, recognized Kerstin and said:
"Where your husband tonight….. You here with girlfriend?"
"Exactly." said Kerstin in reply…. though, she thought, this was some "girlfriend" to be seen with. She thought: "My sex toy, more like!".
They ordered two Tiger beers and studied the menu. Easy-peasy: "A Set Meal for Two…… and more beers in a minute." Kerstin ordered confidently, while Karen viewed the diners surrounding them. No other whores out with their punters, then! Mostly couples having a weekend dinner quietly. Nobody he knew was there, which was a relief. He found his heart pounding again. The fear of recognition… of discovery!
In a slow and uncontrollable way, Andrew's mind wandered. He was suddenly conscious of being a man in women's clothes, sitting in a crowded restaurant on a Saturday evening.
What was he doing there?! Couldn't he control what was now an urge to dress this way?
What would all these people be thinking? Some must suspect his identity.
What's Kerstin thinking right now?
Does she really enjoy what we are doing or will it blow up in my face and she leaves me?
How can I separate my weekday 'me' from my weekend 'her'?
The thought of being exposed… tonight… It was a real possibility………
Fuck it, my cock hurts it's so tangled up in that corset!
Wouldn't it be great to have real tits!
What if I get to like this too much……and I'm not content with just weekends?
How much further will everyday changes, to my hair and skin, go before………
What if Kerstin finds another woman?!!!
There was £500 in cash nestled between her tits…
…… What if the woman at the station would pay that much?
His thoughts were over in a second and the waitress was at his shoulder. Their meal had arrived… mixed starters and Duck with pancakes. Delicious. Karen's favourites.
He/she remembered then… he had to flirt with his wife….. Better begin……..
"Buon appetito, or whatever they say in Hong Kong. Here's to a long night!", he whispered.
He rolled a duck pancake and added the Hoi Sin sauce, pausing to dip the end in a chilli sauce that he loved……. Then he put the roll into his lipstick-laden mouth whilst narrowing his eyes almost to closure between the lashes. "Mmmmmmmmm….", he murmured, licking his lips after each bite. "Thank you for a wonderful treat, earlier, letting me do that…..", he whispered.
His/her wife sparkled at the words. Her eyes became brighter and her lips moistened. "You have no need to thank me…. It's me who had the most wonderful experience of her life! Girls really can have more fun together."
Conversation was quiet between them and subtle themes ran through what they said. Not loud enough for anyone else to hear, despite the closeness of the tables.
Their main course was delayed because the kitchen was so busy.
Kerstin's hand reached out across the table and, in a private gesture of the greatest intimacy, she ran her fingers over Andrew's hand. To a casual observer, it would have been simple between wife and husband. But these tow didn't look like…. could not be…… wife and husband. They were two women……
To anyone taking close interest….. and nobody was………. She was teasing this other woman…. overtly….. sexually.
Karen's eyes widened, her pupils dilated, reflecting the dark surrounds created by the lashes and mascara.
Without warning, Kerstin slapped his face with her right hand. Hard.
*********
Why???!!!, he thought to himself..... Why????!
"How dare you!", she near-shouted… loud enough for the restaurant to hush in a second and for forty pairs of eyes to turn in their direction… in Karen's direction!
That was enough…… Speechless, Karen was shocked but instantly recalled her wife's words: "Be prepared for other surprises…."
Her face glowed where the slap had landed on her cheek. This was designed to test her composure to the limit. Eyeballs drilled into 'her' from every direction. Kerstin sat there with a smirk on her face as if to say "Get out of that!" but she said, more quietly, but audibly….. "Get the bill. We're leaving."
Two women having an argument, or trading insults? One, a conventional (!!??) businesswoman, the other clearly a tart on her night off……. No men in sight!
Kerstin looked towards the window and Karen signalled to the waitress for the bill. It was left to her to apologize for the cancelled meal. She was still in shock but having to cope with the exposure to the surrounding room. People had begun to talk, almost all in hushed voices, clearly speculating about who these tow were and what was the slap all about?!
This was his birthday… some bloody surprise that was!!!
No matter, they had to leave and leave soon. …… Perhaps he should have some fun on the way?
To the couple — complete strangers - on the next table, he said "Surprise, surprise!" in his normal male voice. Deliberate give-away. They both flushed with embarrassment.
On her way out of the restaurant, Karen made her walk into a most exaggerated, almost cat-walk performance. Following Kerstin's lead, her arse swung from side to side as her hips swayed and her feet stepped one in front of the other. Unlike catwalk models, her tits were prominent and made a beautiful impression. Those dark eyes flashed at anyone who dared to stare!
She was loving every minute of the attention she was getting. None of these dummies would know what she was getting when she got home in a few minutes' time. Sex. But not of the nature of the sex that they professed to 'enjoy'. Not just normal sex. Not conventional sex. By any stretch of the imagination, they were going home for "push the boundaries" sex, with eachother's love assured without doubt.
He/she threw some cash into the hand of the little Chinese girl at the reception desk who could only stand and stare in total incomprehension. "See you again?", she said instinctively.
As they entered the street, Karen exclaimed: "You needn't have hit me so hard!!"
"Nonsense, baby. It needed the impact in more ways than one. I'd love to know what they all thought you had said to me…….. That was cute, talking the way you did to the couple next to us though. That'll have given them food for thought!", Kerstin replied.
They faced eachother and kissed, passionately, their lipsticks merging together. They turned and crossed the street, reaching the corner of the square across which they moved with increasing speed — as fast as Karen's heels would allow!
"And you didn't let me flirt for long enough! I was looking forward to that part!" Karen mused.
As they neared home, with few words passing between them, Karen thought of her plan before they left — to take control and take Kerstin's clothes from her, piece by piece. If she got the chance, she would do this. but would she…. get the chance? It did depend on what her 'client' had in mind.
The most significant feeling she experienced walking in the early evening air was that of the perilous nature of stiletto heels. She had mastered them with comparative ease but, as they walked, she marvelled at the poise she felt just because she had done so, It gave her much more confidence as a woman, to be in command of those heels! The swish of her skirt made her feel extra feminine now…. as aggressively as she was dressed and made-up.
As they reached the front door, all the choices had to be made. They were Kerstin's choices. 'He' was at her mercy. She had 'paid' for his/her services for the whole night! The play-acting had to continue unabated.
"Will you get ready to fuck me when we are upstairs?" Kerstin asked. "I need you inside me."
"Sorry, no can do, lover. Not dressed this way. You have to have the fucker again……."
"In that case, I've changed my mind. Go in and wait for me in the bedroom. I promised you surprises and you're about to get the next one!"
"Get your top and skirt off and open the gusset of the corset. Leave the stockings and suspenders and your darling heels on! Stand there and wait for me… and do exactly as you are told when I join you! No messing!" Kerstin grew in her dominant attitude. Her whore did as she/he was told.
***********
When Kerstin entered the room her hands were behind her back, carrying something that Karen couldn't see. Andrew had taken off the outer clothes as she had been told to do.
She, obviously, looked like a woman who was ready for sex………. except that her corset no longer held her cock in hiding. Although not hard, she was evidently "interested". Her manhood clearly would not be forced back into its daytime prison.
"Close your eyes!"
Kerstin revelled in the control she now held over her whore.
She herself was now dressed in fabulous lingerie that flowed in the most feminine way — a pretty baby-doll top and a floaty gown to cover her. Except that the gown wasn't tied. It hung loose about her legs and, at the parting of her thighs revealed a life-like cock……. not a strap-on, a very life-like penis made in soft skin-like material……… It had no means of support. It was "hers" —
……..and it looked ready for sex……….
"You can open your eyes now."
Karen was stunned….. This was, indeed, an unexpected surprise! Kerstin has a penis of her own! It was mesmerizing. She couldn't take her eyes off it…… How??! Then he realized. Kerstin's cock was one part of a double-dildo. She was clearly filled by the other half. It looked delicious, but scary!!!! What had she in mind to do with that!? How much does something so life-like cost?
He had never fancied penetrative sex — well, penetrating anyone but Kerstin - in the time he had been dressing. Indeed, he had never fancied anything to do with male anatomy……. "I'm so deeply heterosexual" he had said to himself almost every day.. and certainly on the days when he was dressing in his bra and knickers and stockings and heels… He thought the same again in that instant. "I'm a guy……!"
"What do you have in mind for that, my lover?", he asked, in his Lauren Bacall drawl.
"I have in mind that you will give me the best blow-job a girl ever had. Now do it… and do it NOW!"
As Karen knelt to do as she was bidden, Kerstin closed the folds of the dressing gown around his shoulders and stroked the back of his neck, below where the mountain of blonde curls remained intact. She caressed the hair with her fingernails, pausing at each roll of hair to feel its change of direction, swirl-upon-swirl……… A Karen's mouth closed around his wife's cock, he forgot all about being penetrated himself. His tongue strayed towards her labia and the beautiful button that her clitoris made.
***********
Satisfied, for now, Kerstin laid back on the pillow in a wonderful post-orgasmic haze. She had no thoughts in her mind except that of ecstasy …… continuing ecstasy. How good it is when a woman knows how to please a woman. No man could really be expected to do that so well… And yet, her man had done so. OK, it took feminising him to this extent, for many weekends in succession, but 'he' had done it for her…… He had always been good in oral sex, but tonight he was passing all previous treats that he had given her…… So what if he now enjoyed dressing so much. It's a free country, she thought. It's really like loving another woman.
He's got right inside my head…… It's just as if he knows how he would want to be caressed if he were a woman himself…… by another woman…… He really is a lesbian, and a very sensitive one too. What luxury!
Karen lay holding her in a close cuddle, Kerstin's face snuggled up against her husband's "tits". Their breathing had become synchronous. Eyes closed, each was aware of the other's comfort with the way they were, and what they had been doing. Karen's cock was still semi-erect. He/she had yet to cum whereas Kerstin was exhausted she had cum so many times.
Not yet satisfied, laying there holding his wife in his/her arms, still dressed in sexy underwear, shoes now discarded but stockings and suspenders still in place, Karen….. or Andrew…. thought at last…… "It's my birthday….. I know I've had surprises…… And the day at the salon was a wonderful present……. And the evening has been planned superbly…. But I'm still wanting a fuck……… I wondered if I was going to get fucked with her cock but that seems not to be the idea…… thankfully!…… But what's next for me?" he said to himself.
He need not have worried……. or felt so frustrated. Kerstin had ideas forming in her head — it was long past their usual sleeping time but both were awake if not highly alert. She concluded a plan that would make his toes curl!!!!
"Your turn now.", she said. "Come over here with me, come on… we're going upstairs." as she led Andrew to the foot of the stairs where she paused and kissed him fully on the mouth and forced her tongue deep into his throat.
At the top of the stairs she told him to go into the bedroom and sit at the dressing table while she freshened her own make-up in the bathroom. As he sat, he studied himself in the mirror. Had he really been that woman in the restaurant? It was like it was someone else who got slapped.
Kerstin re-appeared and stood behind Karen. Without a word, she began to remove one of the folds of brilliant blonde hair at the top of Karen's head. She gently un-pinned the curl and unrolled it, reaching his shoulder at its fullest length. "Mmmmmm, this has potential……", Kerstin murmured.
"What are you doing??" asked her husband. "A lot of work went into that, as if you didn't know." He appeared concerned. "I'm not ready to lose that yet." As he had sat down in the chair, his cock had come fully out from the corset that still constrained his waist. It begged to be wanked…… But his concerns needed to be answered.
"Don't you worry darling, it'll be better even than it was when I've finished. I've done comb-outs all my life and I've never failed yet. And, when I'm done up here, I'll take care of you down there!"
With increasing speed, Kerstin's hands worked un her husband's complex coiffure. His own auburn hair was still hidden beneath the wig on which she was working. His hair would be re-styled tomorrow. He had chosen to be a blonde for his birthday and a blonde he would remain.
She kept the individual curls separate as she unwound them, planning to re-use their structure in the style that was developing in her head. The 'tower' had gone. A 'barnet' was coming!
Kerstin remembered his admiration of a style that was worn many times by the Sixties Diva, Dusty. All highly back-combed and smooth across the top but framed all over the back and sides with teased blonde curls that were each the size of her tiny hands. Back-combing began and seemed never to end. As each curl was thrashed into submission, it was then gently shaped and pinned into place. Each one laid upon the previous one, then eventual crown was six inches high and the sides were six inches proud of his profile.
What a stunning creation! It had taken a whole can of lacquer, it seemed, and Karen was blown away by it.
"It's fabulous, darling….. and so much better because it's your creation!"
"You wait……" said his wife as she came round front to face him and admire her own handiwork. That done, she sank to her knees between his stockinged legs and began to trace a path with her tongue towards the cock that stood proud from the corset. She took Karen's penis in her mouth and very gently nibbled its head.
The response was immediate. Harder now than before, a drop of pre-cum juices emerged for Kerstin to devour. She slipped her husband's cock into her mouth again and got to work in the best way a submissive woman might do with a man. He held her head with his lacquered fingers and relaxed as she did her stuff.
It was no surprise that he would cum only a few minutes later…… No regrets about that. No need to prolong the pleasure. It would be, and was, repeated later. She drank his spunk deeply and then returned to his face where she would share it with him in a deep and luxurious salty kiss.
Now he was satisfied, and a wave of tiredness swept over both of them…… The night was getting shorted and they would soon be needing to wake for the coming day….. And they had yet to sleep!
"You'll need a hair net if you want to sleep with it like that, but you could just go back to being you, with your own hair, if you like…."
"Tomorrow….. tomorrow is another day. Thank you for this wonderful birthday!" Karen breathed before falling to sleep in Kerstin's arms.
AND THAT WAS THE END OF THE BIRTHDAY SURPRISE(S)!!
by Zoe
A Wife's Indulgence
by Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger's life-long partner and Bride
My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. I know of My friend's difficulties in her marriage to Ginger, but for me it's been very different and, I hope, you'll agree, much more fortunate.
How did it all begin? The steps towards a marriage where we are a man and a woman, most of the time, and two women when the fancy takes either of us?
Perhaps it was at my instigation — and perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he wanted it all along…. indeed, I know he did. But then, I must have done too. "They", whoever they are, say that marriages become set in their ways, sexually and in general. They say that some people never get to add spice to their lives. Did we know, when it began, that this was what was going on? Not at all.
We had spiced up our lives in many ways. He had become much more adept in oral love-making than I could have wished; he learned from his ability to "put himself in the other person's place" in business. He was successful. He could easily imagine what a woman like me would wish to have "done" to her. I returned the compliment, though hardly as skilfully. We relish the soixante neuf we indulged so often, and we still do. That would be enough for many couples.
How did what begin, then? My husband's crossdressing. It wasn't really started from his teenage years. Of course, that was the Sixties, when he did experiment, with girly clothes and hair styles. He had long since locked those away as secrets before we married. No, his crossdressing was latent, maybe, but it was no feature of our early married life.
I can remember when the seeds were sewn for the first time. We were talking together in the wonderful warm time after a good long fuck. We had been at it for hours, it seemed. We had made foreplay an art form by this time, coaxing and playing with eachother but stopping short of a climax time and again. Sometimes we ache for release but go on to further, and higher heights of real pleasure.
We were talking, as lovers do, about what we had both enjoyed so much during the time just ended. I purred at the thought of his tongue parting the lips between my thighs; softly and sensually, slowly at times and faster as a rhythm developed…. until I had cum for the fourth, maybe the fifth time. He, by comparison, was still waiting for the first release. I enjoyed it most when, having saved himself for this, and brought me to a time when I couldn't cum again, he pulled himself up and entered my wet and wanting pussy.
He came inside me — which I do always appreciate! - and stayed inside for a while resting upon me as he subsided. He slowly slid down, his face licking the soft spot between my tits, and on and on, his tongue rounding my tummy button……. on his way "south". Soon, he was back in the depths of my Bermuda triangle, as we called it……. (things go in there and may never be seen again!)
He licked and licked as the cum he'd given me slowly slipped away. He brought a face up to meet my own, cum lubricating every inch of his face.. and then my own as we kissed deeply. We laid back together.
How were the seeds of his crossdressing sewn in this moment? Simply, and I don't know what made me suggest it…….. We were quiet, neither speaking for minutes on end. Luxuriating.
"You would taste extra special if you had some lipstick on", I said. Silent......He blushed.
He was silent for several minutes it seemed. His eyes told me that he understood and that it would be true. he would taste better....... But his eyes also showed, for an instant, a trace of his past obsession. He had worn make-up as a teenager.
We were lying in the bed, swathed in a light duvet. The smell of sex was strong in the air.
"There's one on the vanity unit. Go, please, and fetch it."
He didn't move, for a moment or two. He breathed deeply.
"What made you say that?", he whispered. His voice was light, almost joking. He had bought-in to the idea but maybe didn't want to admit it.
"I thought it, so I said it. You smell and taste very sexy………", I said, with equal lightness in my voice, hoping to encourage him.
Crossdressing was never further from my mind. I just knew that it would be incredibly sexy if we both shared a lipstick-laden kiss and, maybe, he would go down on me again wearing that creamy concoction.
He said nothing more, lying still in the bed for another minute or two, breathing more shallowly now. Then he reached over to the vanity unit where all my cosmetics were laid out. I had always worn a lot of make-up having had skin problems myself as a teenager.
The lipstick was an expensive one; a Dior Addiction, long-lasting one. Its case was beautifully sexy too. Our eyes met and stayed fixed upon eachother. He stroked the lipstick gently as he leaned back into the bed. He kissed the case with his lips slightly apart, making a gesture with his eyes that was totally unmistakable. My suggestion had been taken up.
"You first", he said.
Should I do so?, a thought flashed through my mind. What if I did….?
"Oh, no….. my treat is to have you kiss me", I replied.
If his teen years had involved experimenting with clothes and cosmetics, mine were taken up with exploring girl-on-girl experiences. I had been quite a "lipstick lesbian" for a year or two, before we met. So it was right for me if he wore the lipstick.
"Promise you'll kiss me again", he smiled.
"Only if you show me you enjoy it", I teased.
This was the turning point. Indeed, he did show he enjoyed it. He took off the cover of the lipstick slowly, holding the top between finger and thumb. He smelled the stick before slowly twisting the case to have it emerge, a deep burgundy colour with a shaped top. Unused until now.
He smelled the stick again and opened his mouth, lightly touching the top of the colour with his tongue. He was clearly enjoying himself.
He showed me the tip before moving it towards his lips. He had to steady his arms, resting on the bed, in order to get close enough to begin applying the colour to his still cum-laden lips. He licked his lips to remove what had been left behind, making his lips wet again.
"Difficult to apply lipstick to wet lips", I said. "Kiss me first."
He did so, beautifully, lingeringly, and seductively. Making me want more. But then he broke away and the lipstick was at his lips immediately. He made an arching sweep from the centre of his upper lip, first to the left and then to the right. He had obviously watched me do this and, for a man, he did a good job. The outline of his lips was near perfect but there wasn't enough colour.
"More." I whispered.
More indeed, from this moment, he took time to cover his upper lips again and again, leaving the vestiges of a cupid's bow in the centre, before sweeping across his lower lip several times. Each sweep was accompanied by a breathless "mmmmmmm". He was making sure I knew he was enjoying this.
Finally, he licked his lips to let them shine….. No need to apply lipgloss.
He held the lipstick up to me. Gesturing, but saying nothing. Meaning it was my turn. But, no, I wasn't having any of that… not yet. There would be ample time. I just smiled.
"Kiss me, lover." I whispered. "That's what you've earned. You proved you enjoyed that."
We locked together, the taste of his lipstick and the cum blending into a dreamy mist in my head. I had kissed girls before that had done as much for me, but never had the sensation with a man.
He was different. Very different. I was lying in his arms, savouring his kiss and sensing an orgasm rising, even though I hadn't been touched intimately for maybe half an hour. My hand reached down to just help me along that pathway. He continued to kiss me fully on the lips and lipstick smeared across both our faces. I flew into a frenzy for what seemed hours and eventually broke from his embrace. Our lips parted.
He started to move south again but I couldn't bear the thought of cumming again so soon….. "No! No!" I shouted…… "Not because I don't want you to, but please just take me slowly…." My breathing took time to slow. He rested his head on my tits. We laid quietly. Then a lipsticked lip surrounded one of my nipples which remained hard and aroused. Though I couldn't see, I felt a light touch on the other nipple. He was putting lipstick on that one too. The lipstick then was applied to his own lips and he laid back in my arms.
Near exhaustion, I raised my hand and touched his hair, tracing a line down across his forehead and down his nose, reaching his lips.
He kissed my finger and then took it into his mouth. Lipstick around the finger would find its way elsewhere soon. My hand went back to his hair, as I softly stroked his fringe. If he was a girl, he'd have bangs. The rest was, and remains, longer than most guys' hair. I stroked it gently, putting fingers into the top and the sides, stroking this way and that. I raised one thick strand from the crown of his head. I stretched it to its fullest length. It was as long as my own. I smoothed it down again. Something inside me suggested not stopping here. He was in my hands. He had done as I suggested with the lipstick. We would use that again in our love-making.
His hands moved across my body, wrapped is it was in my favourite peach satin nightie. He traced the lace along the tops above my tits and reached up as the straps rose to my shoulders. His hand slid under the straps and stayed there.
The seeds of our enjoyment of his crossdressing had been planted. Here I was with a man wearing lipstick, caressing his hair as he fondled the satin of my nightie. Knowing of his past enjoyment of crossing, and feeling equally attracted to a girl as a boy myself, I reached an unconscious decision. This was here to stay as a part of our loving. Almost whatever he felt.
I touched his hair again and took a strand more tightly, rolling it round my finger. I held it. He twisted a strap from my nightie and tugged it. I pulled his hair again. He almost purred in pleasure.
"Let me brush your hair." I said, not asking for agreement. "Then you can do mine." I reached for the hairbrush beside the bed.
"Not unless you have some lipstick too." was his reply, offering the open lipstick to me..
Slowly, he sat up in the bed and turned his back towards me. He smiled. His lipstick was still smeared but the second application was bold enough. I put colour on my own lips for the first time today. The smell was, again, captivating. The taste, likewise. The feel of the creaminess on my lips was sensual in the extreme.
I took the hairbrush and drew the hair from the back of his head to the side and back towards the other side. I reached over his head and brushed the hair away from his face. It reached over his crown. I repeated the strokes several times, increasingly strongly to remove slight tangles and make it sleeker. I picked up the hair from his crown and, who knows why, I began to lightly back-comb or tease it, perhaps to add volume. Now I know, it was to make the style more feminine. I parted the hair down his head from crown to the front and smoothed the sides. His hair cried out for bangs at the front but the cut wouldn't allow this. I back-combed the crown some more. Oh, if only I could work on the cut, I thought…….
He hadn't moved through all of this. Where was it taking us? We had passed a turning point. The look was very much different to that we had started with on him. Writing this, I know it was my choice rather than his — but he was happily compliant with my suggestions, wasn't he?
He shivered quite suddenly. "I'm cold", he said
It was then I asked if he would be comfortable wearing something slinky……
"Another time" was the reaction to my question.
I had asked if "something slinky" would be nice to wear.
Perhaps it was because it was just as we came to the end of the after-glow felt having made love for what-seemed-like hours. We had ventured into the realms of make-up and things that had tempted me……. Unusually….. You see, I'm the wife……… My name is Zoe. He's the husband. His name is Andy.... for now.
We were exhausted, I told myself — though disappointed — and we turned to sleep. I was disappointed because I wouldn't have offered the idea of something "slinky" to sleep in unless I had thought he would love it. I didn't take it as a rebuff, or an outright refusal, more a genuine, "not now, maybe later".
As we turned away from eachother, I said "Maybe some fresh lipstick to wake up to?"
"Mmmmmmm…." came his response. "You too, though…."
We turned back to face eachother and I turned down the gold lipstick case to reveal the deep burgundy shade of creamy ecstasy…… I lined the outer limits of my own lips, filling the central portion with a thick creamy coat that I knew would last for hours, if left undisturbed!
I faced him, smiling quietly as I could leave him with the feeling that all of this was my idea…. really, honest, it was. His eyes were dreamy as I did the same to his lips as I had done to my own. A line to the margins of his lips with the point of the lipstick, followed by a filling-in to make a beautiful colourful, dark burgundy, slash upon his face.
"Lick your lips before we kiss, one last time." I said — and he did, minimizing the risk of smudging the colour…. before we kissed for the first time the following morning. Long lasting formula, the Dior Addiction lipstick promised. I was determined to test the promise.
AS we turned away to sleep, I thought again of how this had come about. The sex we had enjoyed was always good, but this had been spectacular. I hadn't planned this "diversion" at all. But it had happened. And how much I had enjoyed it. I yearned to do it all over again.
Morning came — perhaps too soon.
I awoke first, looking over at a husband who had turned in the night and who was facing me, his lipstick still nearly faultless. How good he had tasted through that and the delicious cum that he had found between my thighs. I stroked his hair, very gently. The hair that I had played with so provocatively last night. He didn't stir, even at that. I resisted the urge to kiss him fully on those deep red lips, until I had slipped from the bed, refreshed my own lips and brushed my own hair.
As I turned back to join him, his eyes opened. A smile spread across his face, welcomingly. Though barely awake, it seemed that sex was again in his mind — as it was certainly in my own.
Not for long, however, because a frown replaced the smile on his face. A look of… what was it?… Guilt? His face changed and he appeared very confused, even shy. He licked his lips. Gently at first, then quite furiously, removing the colour that had been so lovingly applied. There was a silence. What to be said? It was clear something was wrong. Sudden shyness.
"We shouldn't have…." He began. But the words faltered.
"Shouldn't have done what?" I whispered.
I knew then that the hoped-for repeat of the night's delights were lost — for now if not for ever.
He shook his head. He licked his mouth again, as if to make sure it had all gone.
I had guessed about the experiences of his past, before we were married. Cross-dressing at times; a "hobby" now long since forgotten. Never forgotten — that's for sure….. maybe just put away for "one day". But never forgotten. CDs I have met subsequently confess that "it's never forgotten." Perhaps I had exposed a nerve that once was raw and in need of continuing stimulation, but which had been bandaged and hidden away. My own taste for a fling with another girl — indulged many times in my young days — had likewise been tucked away… but of course, never forgotten.
All seemed lost….. He didn't answer, except to say "I must have a shower."
I lay in bed as he did so. Should I apologize? Not really, it had been a mutual expression of desire, last night. Nothing premeditated. Nothing to say "sorry" for. It was something I had loved doing — and would do again given half the chance. No, I wouldn't apologize. Maybe he felt he should. As though this wasn't "normal". as IF! It was entirely natural and something not to feel guilty about.
We spent the rest of that day "being busy" — as we often did when, having had an argument, neither would apologize or admit being in the wrong.
Leastwise, we did until early evening. It was the weekend. And as it was the weekend, we came to the time when, if either of us fancied the idea, all we had to say was "It's 5 o'clock" and the other would know that it was a good time for a fuck.
I was still feeling quite horny from the night before and so it seemed a natural way to bring us back together.
"It's 5 o'clock….." I said, with my usual "look-in-my-eye". "You busy?…." I asked.
"Not at all……", was his reply. "I was hoping you'd ask."
Another turning point? Should I… dare I, refer back to last evening…….?? I decided not to.
Yet.
I was tempted to mention it. I was tempted to lead in with "slinky" talk, but easily realized that would be a mistake — for the time being.
He approached me across the living room. His smile showed the day's distance was gone. That was exhilarating. He touched my nose lightly with a finger and left it there….. tracing the line down towards my lips and drew me close. We kissed.
"Here or upstairs?" — another frequently asked question! — this time he was the one to ask. So, it was my choice. Here would be nice…… but sex never lasts as long on the living room floor, it seems to me. And besides, last night was "upstairs"…… and I felt like continuing "last night".
"Oooooh, I think upstairs would be best…." I said, taking him by the hand. "..Close your eyes."
I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped my hand inside, playing with his nipples as I did so. He visibly shook…. but didn't repel the sensation. I loosened all the rest of the shirtbuttons and removed the garment by sliding it down his arms…. at the same time playing with a nipple that was, by now, hardened. I leant down, as he stood there, and placed a kiss upon this erect part of his chest, leaving a delightful circle of lipstick around it.
Yes, lipstick. Before the first exchange of words at 5 o'clock, I had freshened my lipstick and mascara, adding some eye shadow as it was "coming up evening time". I wanted to send a message. I was ready for anything.
He laughed. The lipstick was delightful and said only one thing….. "more".
Looking back, this was also a turning point in a way. Lipstick was again in both our minds - impossible to ignore. It was.
I told him to take a shower — to give me time to freshen myself too. And to give me time to think. I decided that it was best to lake things take their own course — not to drive things forward in whatever direction.
I was freshened before he emerged from the shower.
"Leave your hair to dry naturally." I called to him. I fancied running my hands through his still-wet hair. He emerged from the bathroom and, near dry, spread himself across the bed.
"Let me just do my hair." I said, taking a brush from the dressing table and turning to the mirror.
My hair. Before sex, it was something I had to have right to feel sexy. My hair. Once described, by myself, when I was angry with him, as "looking like a tart's"…… Done for him, because he likes it that way. Red — bright red — with blonde highlights framing my face.
I left him on the bed, anticipating. Growing hard. For just long enough for the "tease" to be recognized.
My hair, deliberately, took time, as I played with the style. Making it very much one to "stay in with" rather than be seen out with. I looked in the mirror for a final time. Right……it was…… In fact, I would have fucked myself if it was possible. It does a girl good to feel that way.
A thought flashed through my mind. Would he feel that way if he looked in the mirror as I had?
I turned towards the wardrobe to select a nightgown — the prettiest I could find. Another peach satin one. Or what about the light blue one with lacy trim? As I stood there with the two of them in my hands, I was tempted, again, oh so tempted, to turn to him and offer a choice….. one for me, one for him?
No, not…. yet…….. I knew that one day I would, but maybe not today. I didn't want to push him. I realized that I loved him even more ……. "this way".
I did offer a choice though…… "Which would you like me to wear, honey?"
"The blue one would be lovely." He answered. So I hung the peach satin gown on the wardrobe door.
At long last, hair and make-up done, feeling a Million Dollars, I slid onto bed alongside him, the red circle around his nipple crying out to be replenished.
At the side of the bed, I sat with the folds of blue silk around my body. On impulse, I took several layers of silk in one hand and began to stroke the body that laid beside me. I didn't need to ask permission. He purred quietly.
I toyed with it and the nipple stood hard again.
"Yours need some lipstick too…." He said, completely surprising me. My nipples.
"And how is the lipstick to get there?" I asked with a giggle. Just at the thought. He was hard by now and his cock invited me to climb upon him. For that, I needed no second invitation. I fucked him from above for, it was to seem like, hours.
He said "you must know where the lipstick is.. and what to do with it."
I could reach it beside the bed, even from above him. I found the Dior and put it to his lips, shaping them beautifully with coat after coat, to make sure it lasted. I reminded him to lick them, to avoid losing their shape and intensity.
I played with his nipples a lot. We would cum together, for sure. And we did.
In the delightful afterglow, I found myself thinking about the previous night and the fuck we had just enjoyed. Both had been phenomenal. Both had lasted almost endlessly. Both had a fouisson of indulgence of something we knew would be part of our future. At least I hoped so.
"Fresh lipstick?" The words slipped out of my mouth…. I half regretted it the very moment later. But I needn't have done. What was I saying? We had fucked delightfully. I risked ruining the moment. Too hasty? We lay beside eachother.
I dared not force him further in this direction. I so much wanted anything we do to be his choice — at this time in our lives, we have a lot worth sharing. I needn't have worried.
He smiled. "I've thought a lot during today."
I smiled, in hope rather than expectation.
"Last night…." I held my breath. What was he going to say? Had I gone too far? Had I uncovered hidden desires that he was scared of? Was my "lipstick lesbian" side too strong?
"Last night was heaven." He said. He breathed deeply, as if to prepare for an explanation. His voice was trembling. "…..it was heaven……. and today, I felt it shouldn't have been quite so delicious!"
I felt I had to speak, to relieve the tension, but what should I say? "Ahh, the guilt trip!" I joked.
Was that the right tone? It sounded mocking all of a sudden…. but I didn't mean it so. It sounded like I'd "been here, done this" many times before. I didn't mean that and I had to show him. So I snuggled into his arms and just said "No need".
"Well, there's a risk….. that I might like it too much!" He joked in return, but I knew that he was suddenly serious. He might just do that and he knew it.
"Whatever, is all fine with me." I comforted him. "Little bits of fun can't harm anyone."
" Well, maybe I hope that's true. I loved the creamy taste of the lipstick and the way it must look. And then there was the way you played with my hair…. Will you do that again too? You know how much I love your hair. That was fun." He paused. "……………Can we do that all again?"
We had finished a wonderful fuck. This wonderful man was saying this to me. What could I say, but "YES!" I reflected on the gentleness he had shown during our love-making and the almost girly feelings he was showing about caring for our sensual sharing of temptations. Who's leading who, I wondered?
So, I reached for the lipstick and the hairbrush…………….
(Shall I continue??)
A Wife's Indulgence
Chapter 2
by Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger's life-long partner and Bride
My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. I know of my friend's difficulties in her marriage to Ginger, but for me it's been very different and, I hope, you'll agree, much more fortunate.
It's important to have read my chapter 1 to know how this story began.
Zoe wants to put her relationship with her husband into context, and show how a marriage does grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. Only 24 hours has passed since the first chapter began…
The second evening…… It's 5 o'clock and, it being the weekend, that means time for a fuck, if both of us felt so moved. I did so… and made it clear.
We always enjoyed a fuck at this time - sometimes a real quick one, sometimes a long slow and luxuriating one. Last evening had been a long, long one — and wonderful by any standards. As I prepared myself to make the suggestion, my pulse began to quicken.
Tonight was bound to be different, because of last night….. Maybe not better, hopefully, not worse…. but different, certainly.
Now, we're back upstairs after a morning's "regret", "guilt", or even "shame"…. at least, it had seemed that way. What emotions had he gone through? What turmoil in his mind?
By comparison, I was simply purring over the love-making we had enjoyed together. He was thoughtful and quiet all day — until I had said "It's 5 o'clock, are you busy?" I was feeling like a million Bucks, it's true. How was he feeling — it soon became clear. He was a willing and, indeed, an eager participant in what had been so enjoyable. We both wanted more.
I confess, writing this years later, that it was all unplanned, how it began, but it seemed so natural for us both — maybe not for everyone — but nothing to be ashamed of, guilty about, or regretful for. I say that, even though there have been big ups and downs since then — maybe some of which I'll write about. I guess, you could say that I had opened Pandora's Box without any knowledge of what was inside.
I couldn't foresee or plan for where "it" would go. "It?" .....His crossdressing. There had been none of that up to this time — the second evening. By then, I knew it would go further…... "It" again… It has a mind of its own perhaps. But I didn't know how far and how fast. Looking back, I think it's gone fast enough and the "Downs" have only come when "it" has gone too fast… or too much of a big step at one time.
Back to the evening concerned……. We were beside eachother in bed, or rather on the bed, with the folds of my blue silk nightgown stroking over his body. I reached for the lipstick at his suggestion — at least I think it was his…. or was it mine? I know that I wanted him to use it…..
"You should learn to do this for yourself." I breathed, as I outlined the shape of his lips with the golden-cased stick. The deep burgundy colour looked as rich and as sensual as the night before and this morning when we woke. I would have suggested he wore it all day had he not removed it all before showering.
"Maybe we can go out and buy me my own." He said, between the strokes of the stick across his mouth. "Maybe I should have my own."
"Maybe you should." I agreed. "We should go shopping tomorrow." As I coloured my own lips. "Maybe you'd like some eye shadow?"
Was that another turning point — too soon? In retrospect, it was. A turning point, that is.
We kissed, after both licking our lips to preserve the beauty of the moment. H didn't react to the suggestion - at least outwardly. I would find out when we were shopping whether it had met with his approval and agreement — or whether another bout of regret would ensue.
His kissing became more urgent than before, bringing me to a wonderful, moist-between-the-thighs feeling in no time at all. There was going to be fireworks…. if I as lucky as I hoped to be!
He "went South" very soon, sooner than usual, and lived up to the promise better than ever. As he reached my pussy, I cried out in anticipation…… and almost cruelly, he paused, breathing warm breath over my anxious thighs and the folds of my love nest. He actually paused long enough for me to wonder if he had gone cold…..
What he was doing was tantalizing..... It was just what another woman might do... but not a man!
I smoothed the silk of my nightie over his neck. Not being able to see his face, I couldn't tell his thoughts…. but he was merely teasing me, before his tongue slipped gently into the labia on either side. He tongued me for minutes before straying deep into my pussy. His tongue touched what I now believe to be my "G-spot" deep inside.
His hand moved to the pillow next to my head where, it proved, he had secreted the toy we both loved; my "fucker", a nine-inch long, three-inch round, veined and headed dildo (what a bizarre word) that we called our fucker. It was an old friend!
He regularly brought me to intense orgasms with this lovely thing. It lacked the fake bollocks that so many have, and it wasn't a vibrating version — just a lovely strong, thick "fill-me-up" fucker. I recalled thinking that I would fuck myself if I could… well, in a sense, I had done, many times, when using this toy alone.
He had long ago learnt that my pleasure was especially strong if he licked me with the fucker in place, deep inside. I forgot that its "head" felt so good. But I also remembered that it was even more sensual if placed with the "head" going in last…. so that it would stand out an inch or two, allowing him to like me around a cock that seemed to be mine. The orgasm that followed was phenomenal and left me breathless.
In a moment, I could have my fantasy of a girl going down on me, changing to her — in this case, Ginger, sucking my fucker. Never had I, or we, been tempted to use the fucker on him. He was accustomed to giving it a very thorough licking before penetrating me, so he was no stranger to its more intimate shapes. The second orgasm was equally moving, coming so soon after the first.
We laid back, both needing a rest. We had kissed and fucked for a long time. I realized that we had my having hairbrush close by. Something reminded me. He had specifically asked to have me play with his hair again. He had enjoyed that a lot, I could tell. He hadn't yet cum, but it didn't seem to bother him. His cock was soft but very well, and invited being licked. I loved the taste of his pre-cum juices.
He loved my hair. Hair was his "thing" — or fetish, you could call it. He confessed later — one time when beautifully coiffed in our favourite salon — that he always looked first at a woman's hair, before any other physical feature. He had by then to come to the stage where he evaluated other women's hair by the answer to the question: "How would I look with hair like that?"
"Ready for your hair to be styled?" I asked.
"Ready as I'll ever be." was his answer.
"Then go and moisten it all, towel it dry and come back."
I had decided to give him the full experience of a woman's hair styling. A woman's hairstyle on a man. My husband. OK, This was my instigation. My idea. He hadn't asked for that.
His steps to the bathroom were quick and silent. Those toenails could do with some lacquer and colour, I thought. (How many wives ahve thought that of their husbands? Not too many, I suspect!)
He was back from the bathroom in a flash…….. but naked. Somehow, that was incongruous. He needed to be clothed, in my mind. His body needed to be clothed but he didn't realize that. He sat before me, expecting me to get on with his hair.
At this moment, a thousand thoughts rushed through my brain. He was a willing player in this theatre. He would be delighted whatever I would do. Could I risk shattering that by suggesting he get dressed — and, if so, into what precisely? I had a split second to decide — I know now — and this was a moment that might clearly change the course of the immediate future.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked. "I want you to make my hair as good as yours."
He reached up and touched the kiss curl that swept down beside my ear and up again, a lightly streaked curl that he had once called my "Fuck Me" curl.
His hair was as long as my own, even then, and was ready for rollers, if only quite small ones for the most part. I found myself thinking of how I would set it when his voice came again.
"I said, what are you waiting for, honey?"
Now or never. Would I, should I, suggest that nobody has their hair done when they're naked? Or should I not break the moment and just get on with it…… I could point to the peach satin nightgown still on the wardrobe door. I could point to its matching satin dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door. Both would fit him well enough. But both could send a shockwave through the room that might break the spell that bound us together.
In that moment I decided… Take the chance! He should slip the nightgown and dressing gown on. "Just slip these on, darling. You'll love the feel they give....." I didn't have to make the same suggestion twice. He looked lovely, standing by the wardrobe mirrored door. "They don't do as much for me as they do for you, honey!", he exclaimed.
"You say the most wonderful things. Just enjoy the silkiness...... Now, while we rest, I know that you love my hair and I love you for it too." My mind was made up. "Turn around and I'll do my best — you want hair like mine, you shall have it……. apart from the colour, that is!".
Not then, but later, at a similar moment, his fem name was conceived……. Every CD has to have one and it was his love of my own hair - its style and its colour — that gave him the name Annie. Close enough to Andy, his natural given name.
"Face the mirror, Annie" I instructed him. "You have to see every move."
"Annie???.... Oh, I see......" He immediately got the link....So I can do it myself?" He asked
"No, No, Annie, not unless you want to — one day — no, so you can see the care that it takes and the love I shall put into every curl…… as I roll them up, and as I brush them out when you're dry."
Sensual, this was going to be. We hadn't got near fucking again yet, but already I was yearning for another good fuck to follow. He could detect that, I was sure. He was breathing quite shallowly once again. His heart rate was about 150, I'm sure…….
I brushed his hair though, left and right; from nape to crown; from up and down. No tangles remained. The tailcomb I needed was on the vanitory unit across the room. I left him sitting there to get it. As I returned, he was touching the strands of hair on his forehead, entwining them around his fingers.
"I've never had rollers in my hair." He said with a smile.
"Well, now's your chance, Annie. do you like your new name, my lover?"
"There are worse things to be called. I quite like it in fact...." He answered, his eyes not looking in the mirror, showing a kind of shyness.
I laughed and began in earnest. His hair was already drying so sped was important. The tray of rollers that I usually used on my own hair was right beside where the tailcomb had been. There were more than enough for his head. I guessed around 20 or 25 would do it. Maybe three or four larger ones for the crown but mostly about one inch in diameter, allowing hair of about 3 ½ to 4 inches to be rolled tightly.
"And you've never fucked anyone with rollers in your hair, I'll bet." I challenged him. If this worked, I would have him fuck me with his hair all tightly rolled before I treated him to the comb-out and the resulting style.
"That would be tempting….." His voice tailed off.
"Gotcha!" I thought — that's a contract…….
At this point, again, I confess, I was driving the development of the fore-play — well, I can call it that, as it was "fore" something special, even though we had been fucking for an hour or more already. I lost thoughts of the risks involved. I had thought that he was thinking this was something we shouldn't be doing….. I had thought that he would be scared of getting "carried away" but, there and then, that didn't matter to me at all. I felt I was in control — both of myself (which I clearly was NOT), and of Annie's desires.
Where would this leads us? To his fucking me with my nightgown on and with rollers in his hair — that's where….. And MAYBE, just maybe, the slinky peach satin nightie might get removed when I fucked him in return?
I parted his hair centrally from crown to forehead and placed large rollers either side of this line, high on his head. I placed a second roller either side, further forward, to extend a parting that would run from behind his fringe, to the crown where I then placed two large rollers running side to side — that would create an uplift at the crown.
All of these were rolled tightly, to ensure the curls would hold through some energetic sex that I really hoped was to come, but maybe not last until morning.
I next rolled-in two layers of curls below the crown, incorporating the fringe that would fall to his eyes. This left the shorter hair below ear level that could only go round smaller rollers — but where tighter curls would be found.
Every curl would flow away from the crown. The height of the crown would be determined by the back-combing I might, or might not do. And there it was. Done. I couldn't resist biting his ear, below a roller that was the last to go in. "Mmmmmmmm……" We agreed together! He knew, that I knew, that he was expected to fuck me… and soon! His hands began to wander towards my tits, encased in the blue silk.
"Not so fast!" I said strongly. "You have to have setting lotion spray."
The smell of the lotion just added to the exaggerated atmosphere we sensed as we laid back together.
"More lipstick"…………….. He said!
"For you and for me." I said.
"And what about eye shadow? You said......." He said!
"No eye shadow, no fuck!" I said!
I was yearning to get his cock inside me but the fucker would have to do for now. His cock was still soft and wet....... I'd take care of that later. But for now, I wanted to be fucked... senseless if possible!
I found it beside my pillow, offered it to him to lick, and he slid it gently inside me again.
"Where's the eye shadow?" He asked.
"You'd better find it if you want a fuck, my Annie" I taunted him.
There was a playfulness about this time that would be impossible to create if you tried. It just happened and it was wonderful. It was the sort of intimacy that couples rarely achieve (if achieving is your bag!)…. so few are as lucky are we were then. The world did not exist for either of us in that moment.
He jumped from the bed, desperate to find the cosmetics that were so familiar to me, and so fantastic for him. He wanted the fuck and he wanted the cosmetics.
All of a sudden, from nowhere, I was tempted to play an Ace from the bottom of the deck. He didn't know what was coming.
"And if you touch another cosmetic before you find it, you have to use that as well." It was a taunt, and invitation, a temptation, and there were consequences I had yet to imagine.
Guess if he did?
Touch….. touch…. touch…. that's what I meant…. and that's what I said to my husband, Annie.
"And I mean it...if you touch another cosmetic, you have to use that as well."
He was standing at the dressing table. His hair was tightly wound in rollers and sprayed with setting lotion. He was naked, despite my urge to suggest he wore a slinky wrap of some kind.
He had to find the eye shadow, or else…………… no fuck!
But. But. If he was unable to find it, we were going to fuck anyway, I would make sure of that.
"Where is it? What colour case will it have? How big is the case?" He sounded desperate.
"Can't tell you!" I teased once more. "But you'd better make sure before you choose."
"I can't……."
"You have to, or else you'll end up with a full make-up to go with your beautiful hair."
His cock was huge again by this time, as he stood there. Nowhere to hide… except to push it between his legs and tighten his thigh muscles to keep it hidden. It embarrassed him that he had become so excited. He need not have been. The wetness in my pussy was equal if not greater. To see this honey of a man whom I loved, standing near my bed with his hair in rollers and lipstick over his mouth, meant I was as horny as I had been in weeks.
His cock was hidden. "Hurry up, or your hair will be dry." I urged him.
His hand strayed across the drawer of cosmetics and alighted upon a first package. The burgundy plastic case hid what was inside. Was it eye shadow?
Nothing like it! He had found the pot of foundation that I use every day.
Ideal. He could wear that anytime as far as I was concerned.
"No, my love. That's not it……. But you'll get to know that well when I have showed you how good it makes your complexion. It makes a great base for any other cosmetics you choose."
I was suddenly aware that my tone of voice had changed. It was just as though I was talking to a younger, perhaps inexperienced girl….. Annie, a girl…. not my husband.
My perspective looking back is that this was a turning point for me — if not for him, because he may not have noticed. I was talking that way because I wanted him to be this, or more, feminine. Standing there before me, it was like my teenage experiences with other girls. I relished the memories all of a sudden.
"You shall wear foundation for the rest of the weekend." I said, inviting no argument.
"You meant for that to happen, didn't you?" He said, with a knowing smile.
He later confessed that it was at this time that he began to hope that "things" would go quite a lot further than just a little make-up and "girl-on-girl" flirtation — that he would find himself "given over" to whatever I chose for him. He liked the teasing "game" we had been playing.
"Yes, but only in the moments before you chose it." I confessed.
His cock sprang from between his legs, again, adding a little to his embarrassment. I was conscious that clothing would help and even add to the sensuality of his situation, but maybe he still wasn't ready for that. Something tight around him? I had some nice stretchy lycra foundation garments — body smoothers, they're called……. But no, not …….yet.
He later confessed also that the idea of wearing some of my clothes struck hi at the same time…… a kind-of "sixth sense" struck up between us…… but neither of us said a word about it at the time.
"You'll have to let me deal with that….. (looking at his cock that wouldn't behave itself)… …come here!" I demanded. It was easy to take his cock between my lipsticked lips and begin a delightful, slow but certain blow-job. One that he would remember for the rest of his life! He was, or him, unusually huge that time… such a joy compared to the uncertain, confidence-lacking cock that often disappointed me and made him feel sad.
**********
He was back at the dressing table, but now the daylight from the window had faded. It was getting dark. How long had we been upstairs? His cock was now tiny and I had the taste of his delicious cum on my lips. I was in heaven. My hands were gently playing "down South" as I parted my labia to explore the clitoris that surely pulsed under each stroking. I had cum myself and was wet, quite literally wet.
He was where I had told him to be. Searching for the right cosmetics. His lipstick refreshed already.
"There are too many to choose from here!" He argued.
He needed a clue and so I gave him one simple one…… "Look for a flat little case that's no bigger than your four fingers across. It will have two or three little squares of colour, packed flat."
"Easy!!" He cried, grabbing what proved to be the right package. So there it was, the eye shadow he would have to wear. I knew it was a selection that included a pale purple, a deep dark purple and a white/frosted shade. Wonderfully sexy — for a night out even! Not now, but later.
"Come back here and let's feel your hair……" I said, as seductively as I knew how. "…..let me unroll one of these tight little curls….."
He sat down before me, with the eye shadow in hand, as I reached towards his forehead and unpinned one of the two curls that would make his fringe. It was still damp. I rolled the curl back even more tightly. He winced as the tightness of the curl connected……. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and I told him so. "You're a real honey!" I exclaimed.
Turning, he looked into my eyes, saying "Well, it's my turn to treat you right." Bliss. I dreamed of what was to come. A head crowned in rollers going down on my thighs, parting my labia once again. "I'll try to be like a girl would be. As good as she can be." He whispered. He threw his head back, showing me the full crescent of rollers around his crown. Tight. As I had enforced them. The style I had in mind, as feminine as could be.
It was as if the rollers in his hair shouted "I'm different!" So, when his hands strayed towards my tits, I knew I was in for a treat.. His mouth moved towards the first of my nipples whilst his finger and thumb teased the other, squeezing it tightly. His lips closed in on the first. His teeth closed in around the nipple and he began to nibble, lightly and flirtatiously at first. As the passion rose in both of us again, he chewed harder and harder, to my great delight.
His rollers made me imagine, just for a moment or two… or three, that he was "she" — I had made a long step in the imagined relationship we share in the last few minutes. The look of the man, with his face in part made-up, with his hair in part styled, with his body unclothed but needing satin or silk. But he was still my husband. There have been times, since then, that I have wondered what I started - times when I have wondered if my husband is "still here" because Pandora's Box has many secrets and we had only just explored the very first level.
Before very long, his head was at my bushy little love nest, his tongue was again between my labia. My legs were spread wider than ever because of the rollers in his hair. I leant back and indulged myself even more, floating in a wonderland of pleasure that he bestowed with his tongue. Just as a woman would do for a girl. He was so good at that, he should write a book. He could call it "Confessions of a male lesbian".
My orgasm was thunderous. I literally shook from head to toe for several minutes. Exhaustingly so. I was left nearly shattered. I was out of breath. I was almost unable to open my eyes, but when I did so, there he was……
"I felt chilly….." was all he said, standing there in the peach satin dressing gown that had hung on the wardrobe door. He now looked sensational. He looked female.
The temptation had been too strong, he said, watching me in that wonderful post-coital haze that overwhelmed me. He had seen the dressing gown where I had hung it. I was quiet. He didn't need to ask. He slipped, silently, from the bed. Trembling, he said, his hands had stroked the satin which was refreshingly cool to the touch. He took the garment down from its hook. He had looked over at me and wondered "if I should" — as he put it. He trembled at the thought that this might break the spell under which we were spinning.
"Then come back to bed, darling." As my haze cleared, I motioned to the pillow next to my head. And we hugged. The silk of my nightgown and the satin of his dressing gown flowed together.
In a wonderful slinky melee, the tenderness was overwhelming and it felt we could spend the night just as were, entwined.
**********
There was time, however, to eat a light supper together, to enjoy a glass of wine — as all our activities of the day had been sans alcool……. (as the French would say). I think we both needed a drink — and we deserved one!
I thought instantly that Annie - I decided to call him that all the time we were playing this way - had something important to learn about wearing lipstick…… She had to learn. How to avoid leaving a smear of colour on the glass. What better lesson to teach than with a glass of champagne in our hands. We always kept a bottle in the fridge and there was one ready for us then. A suggestion was easy to make. "Time for fizz??" I asked.
"As if you haven't been fizzing all day!" He said. "I'll get to it." And off he went, rising from the bed in my dressing gown that swept his lower legs. He paused in the doorway and looked back. "This is really ok, isn't it?" He asked. As if he was in need of approval or reassurance.
"Of course, it is darling."
Putting on that dressing gown had been a big step for him — taken all by himself, laden with ulterior motives, or not. Maybe he was just "chilly". Or maybe the satin excited him. A thought came to my mind — again, one of whether to push forward or not at this time. Should I say, as I wanted to: "We'll need to go shopping for something like that for you." Should I push him towards wearing some of my other clothes? What about owning a garment of his own……. perhaps the first of many? Should I risk it?
I decided not to provoke what could be a storm of uncontrolled developments that I couldn't foretell as desirable. I wanted this. He wanted this. It was enough. He would go downstairs to get the drinks. He would walk the length and breadth of the house, in my dressing gown. He would feel the sexy touch of the satin on his skin. This was just wonderful enough.
His hair would be dry by now, that was for certain. Should I let him sleep in his rollers or should we play with his hair to finish the evening. Before sleeping. Before waking once more to who-knows-what. I thought so, as I heard him moving things around in the kitchen. I thought of the phrase "I've started, so I'll finish………"
He returned with a tray, carrying a half-bottle of Champagne and some "nibbles".
"It really is alright, you know." I said, as he sat down. "I love you even more. You're such a wonderful sensitive man. No wonder you can treat me so well. Hold my hand and squeeze me, to make sure I am awake!"
He looked at me longingly, for a long time, before answering. "Love comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes and colours, I know. But I didn't expect ever to be sitting here with a beautiful woman like you, dressed as I am. It's a very different scenario and one that few could understand. But it's feeling right for me…. but only if it surely is for you. I need to have that reassurance. Like this morning. It was how you said… regretful, even guilty."
"Let's not rush ourselves." … was all I could say.
I couldn't wait to get my hands on his hair. To unroll every curler and transform the rolls into curls and swirls around his face. To lift and backcomb the crown. To tease the fringe. To complement the lips that were smiling at me. To add colour to his eyelids as he seemed to want me to do.
But first, the Champagne!
It was a time to lose my thoughts of here and now………………. While we luxuriated in the taste of the wine and the warmth of the sex we were sharing, my thoughts went back to teenage years and the first experiences I could recall of sex with another girl. The heady days of stolen kisses and admissions of "having a crush", of laying awake thinking what it would be like to taste another girl's most private parts — that was what we were told they were — "private parts". The first time that I could recall happened at school, inevitably.
I had felt unattractive since puberty and longed for the long blonde hair of a particular girl. Karen was her name. I loved her sparkling eyes and wide, wide, smile. One day, pretending to be heartbroken at an argument with a boy we both knew, I confessed that I wanted more to be close to her, not to any boy. Then things happened with a speed that was breath-taking. She proved to be an aggressive lover — given the slightest encouragement that I had given her. She led where I followed. She pushed and I succumbed. There were times when we were together that I knew we would be discovered.
Did she care?
Did she hell! We never were. By the time we broke up, over something truly silly, as girls do,
I had learnt a lot about how to love a woman — and how to be loved by a woman. That would help if Annie was keen to learn.
Back to reality. Here and now. Where I was the instigator of such things as I had never imagined to indulge myself with. Whatever willingness I had seen in my husband's joyful role-playing, he was still just a man playing "girly" for a night. I could encourage that without being threatened in any way. I was in control — no matter how much I said to myself that it was a "50:50 thing".
"Champagne… to celebrate…. Wonderful sex with a wonderful woman, Zoe!" He gushed.
"Champagne… to celebrate with a wonderful man, Annie!" I agreed.
"Shall we colour your eyelids before or after we do your hair?" I put the choice to him…. after all, it was his call to make. If it were my call, I'd do the hair last of all. I'd do the eyelids with shadow first and find that they were incomplete without some mascara. I had ignored that possibility in the teasing game, but it was true. He had to have longer lashes, oh and dark silky liquid lines to define his eyelids — top and bottom — to make the eyeshadow have its full impact. That meant eyeliner too! Then, and only then, would I finish the story of tonight, by dressing his hair in the most sexy and feminine style I could possibly create.
All the way through, I would stroke the satin that covered his shoulders.
"I've been longing for you to do the hair, just longing to see how you can make it look. Bet it's going to be difficult but whatever, I'm loving the feeling…….." was his answer.
He related his foray alone into the house a few moments ago:
"I looked in a mirror on the stairs as I went down. It's truly erotic, of all things, to be walking around with tight curlers all over my head. Like I have no choice in the matter. It's going to happen. You're going to dress it, the way you said you would, as much like your own — which I just love!"
His breath was shallow again. "Please do that first Zoe."
My thoughts were elsewhere again: My hair, which he admired, had been as it was for months and months — probably as long as we had been married. Yes, that was it. I had changed the style and colour about six months before we married. For the wedding. I had been a redhead ever since. Mousey brown in the few months before that. Not always that way though! I had been many different colours while we were courting — sometimes he would never know what colour I'd be from one week to another. He always said he loved it, whatever I'd become…… blonde, frosted, beige, sometimes burgundy wine or raven black.
I'd added highlights to my auburn colour in the last days before marriage — so he would see me that way first when we had the ceremony. And I had been auburn with highlights ever since.
Andy loved it so much, it turned out, that his fantasy later became to change Annie's colour to the same auburn with highlights. Now was that my fault? Or his simple preference? When we eventually did it, was that my indulgence, or his? That would come later — and in this story, several chapters later.
Very well, the eyeshadow — and the mascara and the eyeliner — would wait.
I took the first roller in my fingers and tugged it gently, releasing the pin that held it to his scalp. The curl sprang into life and settled on his forehead. The second did likewise. Already, he had a fringe to frame his eyes. I worked back along the parting, from front to his crown, releasing the curls that, in turn, sprang into line. The larger rollers over the crown were wound only one turn, so the curls were much larger and his hair gained height and volume as a result. They sat proudly above the rest which were unwound in lines around the back and sides of his head. All over his head - just like that — wonderfully pronounced and almost formal in their design, each one stiff and kind-of erect.
"How does that look?" I smiled into the mirror and saw his eyes transfixed on the image in front of him. He said nothing.
"Girly enough for you, Annie?" I asked provocatively.
My hands fell to rest on his shoulders, still encased in the peach satin of the dressing gown.
I stroked the material across the back of his neck and ran a finger up into the backmost curls.
Still he said nothing. Had I provoked the wrong thoughts with the "girly" question?
Seconds of silence between us extended into minutes - it seemed - before I took the brush and gently — everso gently — smoothed the curls over. Not disturbing their shape or individuality. Just softening the style slightly.
Still nothing was said.
I took a curl from the crown with the tailcomb and backcombed it gently, right to the roots.
A second crown curl followed. I was making a more elaborate style take shape. Still no words. There were thoughts in my mind that were in conflict. His silence could mean loads of things. Fear, rejection, panic, "rabbit-in-the-headlights", plain embarrassment, or perhaps, disbelief? Alternatively, it could mean I was doing just what was right.
Then, it came, the judgement from the victim!?
"It's just wonderful. I love it. I just love it."
He paused.
"Could you do something with the colour one day?"
I had to answer, honestly, but without committing us to anything.
"Of course, darling, if you would like that. It doesn't have to be permanent. We could have a lot of fun with some of the funky colours that are "wash-in, wash-out" you know. We could do that ourselves and one day you might go to a salon, if you like."
Nothing more was said — but more than one seed had been sewn in that moment. Seeds that didn't take long to germinate, as you'll hear in a chapter that has yet to be written.
"So, to finish the creation, let's deal with your eyes………. and then let's fuck once more before sleep takes us away!" I picked up the eyeshadow that he had found, put the foundation away for another time, and made sure where the mascara and eyeliner were for the finishing touches tonight.
There's more to write.... I'll carry on, thanks to the feedback already received.
Love Zoe
A Wife's Indulgence
Chapter 3
by Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger's life-long partner and Bride
My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures.
Less than 36 hours since the indulgence began, I find myself in a quandary or a dilemma. After a wonderful weekend of love and sex and fantasy, I am facing my husband, Andy, over the dressing table in our bedroom. At home. Protected. Together. Loving. Sharing. He has his hair styled rather like my own. He has deep red lipstick on his face. He is wearing my peach satin dressing gown and he is waiting for me to put eyeshadow on his eyelids. He wants me to do so. He has discovered that these things make him feel sexy — as if he needed to feel more sexy!.
We have enjoyed wonderful sex for hours and hours, drifting in and out of male/female and just a suggestion of female/female lovemaking. He's been girly…. increasingly so. There's joy in my mind because I have loved every minute of the last two thousand (for that's all it is….) and I have no idea where the next 2000 will take us. The quandary is whether that has all taken place too fast. At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sue I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...
"You'll have to hold your head very steady, honey." I told him, knowing that he would flinch when the eyeshadow first was applied. Having anything put near the eye provokes a natural reaction; one that girls learn very quickly to master when first they try using make-up.
"Yes, Zoe, I know. I haven't tried that for years but I can remember. In fact, it was the mascara that gave the most trouble as I remember……"
The tiny brush was easily loaded with eyeshadow from the little palette in my hand. I chose the deep purple for the lower area on his upper eyelids. Its impact was immediate.
His eyes seem to come alive. I swept the colour upward to the edge of the lids, meeting his eyebrows and giving a sultry tone to his face. Then I changed to the lighter purple and swept that across the fold in his eyelid that's deep in the crease above the lashes. Finally, a sweep of the much lighter, frosted shadow completed the look — a vampish aura descended about his face.
"You look really, really sexy, my love." I murmured "… but the look is incomplete without the mascara you said you've used before - a long time ago……. Did you ever use eyeliner? I have some superb quick-drying liquid liner, if you'll let me try it on you."
I noticed that his hands were no longer in his lap. They were stroking the arms that were contained in the dressing gown's satin folds. Moving to stand behind him again, I slipped my hands back to his shoulders and stroked him through the material whilst looking in his eyes in the mirror.
I looked in his eyes, seeking approval to proceed. "Annie, my love. Mascara and liner, or just the mascara tonight?"
One of his hands moved slowly towards his legs and stroked against his thigh. Soon, he had his cock in his hands, covered only in satin. He stroked more and quietly said "Just the mascara, please." So, I turned back to face him with the mascara wand in my hand and as I began he gently wanked himself, the pleasure being all-consuming.
Looking back, I could have felt excluded from this pleasure but my own pussy was so wet still, I could hardly complain. I spread the wand across the lashes that were relatively thin. It would need a serious amount of product to make his lashes look really as vampish as the eye colour demanded. Maybe one day, he should try false lashes, I wondered.
By now, I realized that his face looked distinctly more feminine than my own. He had more than enough make-up on and his hair that surrounded the image I was creating just make the picture hard to comprehend. After all, he was a relatively ordinary guy — not "pretty" as some guys are — he just seemed to take to the look naturally and, whilst still a guy in make-up and hair — he was still a guy ……100%.
His wank ended in a quite quiet (for him) orgasm and his cum made a tasty indulgence for me as I surrounded his cock with my still-lippy lips.
Later, (how much later?), he looked in the mirror and whispered
"You're soooooo clever! Zoe...... You've made me look what I am certainly not… and you've made me feel very sexy about it. It shouldn't be this easy. In really like the feeling…… Is it good for you… tell me…. Is it ok??"
His eyes flashed and he shook his head lightly, making his curls bounce in a very feminine way.
What the hell? This was role-play and much of sex is based on being something that you're not. Who was I to arbitrate on what is and what isn't acceptable. I had been pushing this forward. There was no doubt of that. Was it ok with me… of course it was. He's my husband and we're in this together, I mused.
"Will you sleep this way?" I enquired. "Would you like to wake up this way? remember, I have to work tomorrow and you have a day at home. So you could stay this way for a little longer if you wish." That was the case — I had to wake early to be away from the home for most of the day. He, on the other hand, could stay as he was and lounge around the house if he wanted.
"You could have a nice long bath and freshen yourself up for when I get home."
"I'd like to sleep this way, it's so comfortable. Let's see about tomorrow when it comes."
"Then you should slip out of the dressing gown and use the nightgown that matches it, you know. Girls feel better in nice nighties. I was as encouraging as I could possibly be.
The following morning, as I dressed for work, he woke later than I did and was sleepy still as I returned from the bathroom. I opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. Standing in my bra and panties, I hummed gently as I decided. There were plenty of dresses and suits to choose from.
"I think a boyish look would suit you today." He said. "In fact, as I've enjoyed your things quite so much, I think you should try a shirt and tie from my wardrobe. Then you'd be conscious all the time of what I'm wearing if I stay like this at home."
"Whoa!, that's unexpected!" I said. Now he was moving things forward. Last night's thoughts came flooding back….. . At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sue I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...
But the thought wasn't at all irrational. Maybe I was just in "work mode". "Okay, good idea."
In fact, the day turned out very well indeed.
We spoke on the phone several times and I leant that he was indeed enjoying a day lunging around the house. He had a bath soon after I left and set about restoring his make-up. Surely, he should have taken it off by now? But then, if he took it all off, he couldn't put fresh colours in place the way I had done last evening. The impact would be lost, he said, and he wanted to hold on to it.
I didn't know until I got home, feeling great after a day I had made some bold decisions at work, that whilst I had been in work mode… he had been in "wank mode".
When I entered the house, all seemed quiet. I called out "I'm home!"
Whilst downstairs was quiet and orderly, I wasn't prepared for the scene I encountered on climbing the stairs. It was mayhem, like there had been a burglary. The bed wasn't made, there were clothes everywhere…. my clothes, not his clothes. It wasn't a pretty sight to a tidy-minded girl like me, to tell the truth. What had been going on?!
He appeared at the bathroom door. He had been crying, if he was not still doing so.
His make-up was ruined and streaks of black mascara lined his cheeks. His hands were covered in purple eyeshadow, where he had rubbed his eyes no doubt. There were mascara stains on the nightie that he was still wearing. His hair was dishevelled, not anything like the pretty style in which I had left it this morning.
He confessed that his morning went downhill from a luxury start where he felt really good about the way he looked. He had wanked, he admitted, and he had wanked again some time later. The whole morning was taken up with self-indulgence. The clothes that were spread around the room had been held up in front of him, dress by dress, as he imagined wearing them. He admitted, as if racked by guilt. The wanking left him almost exhausted. He said his bollocks ached. (Too much information!) Then the doubts had set in; his mind back in the guilt of the previous morning.
Next, he took a bath but found that his make-up began to lose its completeness. His skin had sweated and his contentment was replaced by concern for "what we had done". He wanted to remove the make-up but couldn't find the creams to do that.
His cock had risen again and he saw that there was more to this than he knew….. His sexual drive had been hi-jacked, he said, by his looking "this way".
"Well, not the way you look now." I argued, as he looked a complete mess.
"Did you wear any of my dresses?" I asked, kind-of feeling violated…… "Without my permission." I thought to add, but didn't. This had been a "together thing" An indulgence for both of us last night and the night before. Not now. In fact, Yes, I was finding myself angry at him…
Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what I was thinking. He had to justify himself.
"No, please…. darling… It wasn't like that…… No, I didn't — you should be able to tell. I'm telling the truth. I'm sorry I made a mess but I haven't…….. worn…. any of them…."
"Well, it doesn't seem that you've taken much care…. and look at yourself… Look in the mirror You look like Elizabeth Bloody Taylor in a hysterical fit!" I rounded on him, unwittingly.
Oh, shit! This was all going wrong…. It had been wonderful — for both of us — last night, and even this morning. Now we were on the verge of an outright fight….. Too fast… that was the trouble. I knew it! If only we hadn't gone so far…. so soon if you want to say….. But he shouldn't have done this, especially with my clothes!
"Deep down, I want you to enjoy yourself, darling." I said, falteringly, "…..but I'm not so sure, at all, about you doing this alone. It was my mistake…. I even suggested it…. I didn't think you'd stay dressed all day… sill less end up in such a state. For goodness' sake, go and have a bath again. The cleansing products are all beside my bathroom vanitory."
He looked at me in an apologetic sideways look, and turned his back without a word.
The bath water began to run. The steam indicated that the water would be punishingly hot. The vanitory drawer slammed shut. He had found the cleansing creams. Now he was resentful. What did he expect!?
I sat on the side of the bed, close to tears. A wife who had indulged herself…. and her husband…. in something she couldn't control. What was I to do? Apologize? — well, no……. I'd tried that a moment ago and it didn't ring true. We had decided on this track…. we had gone along with eachother. We found ourselves in the mess we'd suddenly found ourselves in.
The best way would be to fuck ourselves out of it….. Lots of people can't do that; they harbour grudges that mean sex suffers. Luckily, we weren't like that…. We usually could "fuck ourselves back to normal" in times of trouble. And this seemed to be one… and this seemed the best solution….. But I still had my concerns. I was disappointed we had reached this. I enjoyed everything we had done. As he had. Now he was all guilt-laden, I had to make him comfortable… if we weren't to lose what we had begun.
I stayed on the bed, his shirt and tie feeling somehow reassuring to me. I had worn his clothes all day… well, some of them. I had felt close to him. He had worn my nightclothes. Hopefully, he would have felt close to me, before becoming overwhelmed. Hopefully he would have had me in his mind as he wanked. I certainly thought of him many time in my own little world when I was giving myself pleasure. My thoughts surrounded how much I had fancied him as a 'her' last night — well, almost a 'her'…… He/she looked lovely then, not as she had done a moment ago before we separated. Then again, I still fancied him as 'him'. A fuck as "he and she" would be the best way to calm things down.
Would we ever get back to "he/she and she"? I hoped so.
But not in a rush! I had to put the brakes on.
He seemed to have done that to himself in any case.
A fuck. That's what we needed.
When he emerged from the bathroom, his skin was almost red all over. The heat of the bath had been intense. Steam wallowed out from the doorway behind him. His hair no longer in soft curls, but rather slicked back behind his ears. Wrapped in just a single bath sheet, almost from shoulder to toe, he stood there…
"Soooooo sorry! I messed up, big time, didn't I?
It was early evening and I was tired from the day's work. I needed a drink.
"Two martinis??" I said.
"Not half!!" He replied.
We had often used the suggestion of a Martini as double-meaning for a fuck, after we had the Martini!
"Just ice and a slice? Don't get dressed. Just stay as you are, my honey." I implored him. "Just dry your skin and powder everywhere. That'll make you feel good. And then we can talk over a drink, downstairs."
He smiled. He was recovering his equilibrium from the pre-bath skirmish. Anger had subsided.
He followed me down the stairs after a few minutes. Whilst I had poured the two Martinis, which were big ones, he had clearly spent time brushing and arranging his hair. He had parted it centrally from forehead to crown, just as I had set it last night. He had drawn a comb through the rest to leave waves left and right. He had really tried to create an impression -and it was noticed.
"Your hair looks nice." I complemented but said nothing more. We touched glasses and said "Cheers" before sipping the nectar. As it was the first alcohol of the day, it really hit the spot. We sat together on a warm sofa in the living room.
"How was your day at work?" He enquired, just as a "wife" would do to a "husband" — there was a curious role reversal at play here, without any conscious action on either part. I had been at work. He/she had been at home. A fuck on that basis wouldn't work to restore the balance between us. This rapport was for tomorrow, or later. Today was for him to be him and me to be her.
"Work's not for now." I reached under his towel and felt for his cock. It was small and subsided — presumably from all the wanking of the daytime. "The Fucker's for now." He said, admitting that he wasn't ready. "I'll get it." And he ran up the stairs, two at a time!
The rest of the evening, we played all over the house. Fucking on the sofa, on the floor, in bed and even on the stairs. Exhausted, we retired to be… this time to sleep, at gone midnight.
My concerns of early evening time were allayed for now but I faced a choice — probably in the morning. I expected to find a changed man. But changed in what way. Would he be the dominant, or rather male, one? Or would he be girly again? What did he expect of me? To push back, or for me to be fucked as she by he/him?
In a single day, I had gone from almost a "lesbian wife" when we woke up, to mildly cross-dressing in his clothes, to an offended "wife of a closet CD", to a happy-to-be fucked-by-hubby type of wife. Which of these was I happiest to be? I really didn't know — but as the story will unfold, I will find out.
As I drifted off to sleep, I ran my hands through my hair on the pillow. My silky red hair. Maybe it was time for a change?
Chapter 4 will follow soon
A Wife's Indulgence
by Ginger's friend, Zoe
chapter 4
Andy's wife, Zoe, here again I'm getting some control over how my desires are shaping my husband in ways he, nor I, perhaps ever expected... We are gently moving towards his being girly when he fancies being girly... not all the time.. but whenever! This is requiring an intensive first phase.
……The story so far has been one of my thoughts and actions as the wife of a young man who had, shall we say, a tendency to cross-dress. It had been developed, unwittingly, in his college days. He had helped a friend during her time as a junior hair stylist. Along with two other friends, he had volunteered to be a model in a hairdressing competition. Little did he know, this required his being a girl for the duration of a major event. He'd been left with a subconscious fetish which would under-pin the games we were playing.
The Morning After.
I remember as if it was yesterday. My husband and me. Last night we'd had just survived a pig of a day. A beautiful start with my hubby dressed and "glammed-up" for me. My day at the office wearing a shirt and tie of his, to remind me of the way he would be dressed all day at home……… It all had gone "pear-shaped" when I returned home, to find him in a mess…. a complete mess. He had over-indulged himself and got into a state where my dressing skills were wasted. If we were to go on with my plans, to expose his girly side, we would have to regress and recover…. fast!
We had done so. His feelings of guilt assuaged, we had made love last evening - for hours - and slept soundly, caringly, gently, together. All wasn't lost. He hadn't "got it up" but had used our little fucker with his usual skills….. I was well and truly fucked by the time sleep came around. It was heaven. ……Though I remember wondering if this would be a pattern for behaviours in future.
Would it be me indulging my passion for his transformation, followed every time with his getting carried away with the idea and ruining everything? Was it me ruining everything/ Should I stop pressuring him? Was I pressuring him anyway? He'd broken down yesterday but, tomorrow, ……?? The first phase had obviously been too intense.
I loved the feel of him, I imagined him dressed as I had enticed him to be. Underwear to die for. Soft and silky. His girly "side" exposed. His face made-up with the most expensive cosmetics.
I could find for him. As subtle a look as I could create. (There might be times for a Tart to emerge in him, but for now, subtle and girly was good). He agreed. In two days, he had become quite choosy about his cosmetics. So, OK, he'd cracked a little yesterday. Tomorrow was to be better.
That told me my plan was taking shape well.
I woke the next morning, again well before he did. I showered and caressed my own skin with a great soft bath sheet. I smoothed my skin with moisturizer. I massaged my tits and played with the nipples which responded quickly. I was horny — especially after the fucker last night.
"Go shower, honey!....... Andy! Are you listening to me?" I implored him as he woke. "Get ready for me".
Sleepily, he rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. While he was there, I forced myself to decide how he would spend the day. Was I to let him alone with himself, like yesterday, and risk him having another set-back? Or should I plan his day for him? Not give him any excuse to go wanking the day away. I thought so. He would do as I told him and stay on "my" track.
My thoughts from the night-time became formalized; my plan was hatched in the time he was away! He returned from the bathroom, wrapped in a bath sheet and with a towel around his head, hiding his hair. He smiled, looking down at me on the bed. "Zoe, my honey, You're gorgeous….." He began.
"Not half as gorgeous as you are, honey." I said. "Come here and cuddle me." The towel in front of him rose slowly indicating an excitement stirring. "I want you to fuck me, just the same as last night….." I continued. "Mmmmmm…." he purred.
"But not now……………….Tonight!………" "Oh, you TEASER!!!" he exclaimed, frustration sweeping over.
"I want you to spend all day getting ready. This is a big test. Nothing like yesterday……. You've got things to do every hour of the day… and if you do them well, we'll be ideally set for a wonderful night tonight." (When has a wife laid out such ideas?, I wondered).
"Why not now?" He asked.
"Because, you're not ready!……." I said, purposely missing the point.
"Yes, I am, Zoeeeee, I am…….." He pointed to the divide in his towel where his cock now emerged. "Really, I am!"
"Not in that way…." I joked seductively. "That's the 'extra' you promised me….. well, I mean the rest of you. Today, my girl, you'll be a girl for me when I get home. Then, and only then shall we fuck eachother senseless!"
"Aw, c'mon Zoe...... What things do you have for me to do, then?" He enquired suspiciously.
"Nothing you wouldn't find easy. No need to worry.....Annie... honest..... Nothing that will change your appearance permanently. Just things that you'll relish and maybe like to do some more."
It was my intention, quite literally, to make sure that he was occupied all through the day -a long time when you're alone. A long time when other temptations are around you. I wanted him to savour every little aspect of a "Girl's Day IN". My initial idea to send him out shopping was a step too far I decided. He could do that maybe next week. Not dressed outwardly, but underneath! But not yet. Not today. Today was for him "at home, but organized".
If it worked, and if he kept his side of our promise, I would come home to a pretty husband who was ready to fuck!
"What things!??? Let's get a coffee and sit down to run through what you'll be doing." quietly, flirting, I whispered.
We sat at the breakfast table, both in our soft bath sheets. The coffee was hot and there was a spicy atmosphere. "I'm getting to like the idea." He whispered back. "This is all I have to do… lounge about all day?"
"On the contrary, Annie my honey. You won't have much time for that! Before I leave, we'll set your hair and you'll have to deal with that once it's dried — maybe before lunch. You can stay in the towel if you wish but you might like to use my long satin dressing gown. Your hair will take half an hour to style. Then I'll leave. It's up to you if you want to allow it to dry naturally, or whether you want to use the domed salon dryer I have in the spare room. As you'll be in rollers, I'd suggest you use that. It will be the only time you have to 'lounge around'!!"
"I can read some of your girly magazines then, Zoe? … Catch up on some make-up and beauty tips?" He mocked me… or rather himself. He knew he had to do all of this if we were to have that fuck when I returned from work!
I paused to reflect on what was going on here. I'm deeply in love with this man who, for whatever reason, isn't a great confident butch, macho, alpha male…… he's got a lovely tender side which I adore. That manifests itself in the way he loves me…. he can put himself in my place anytime — and especially when we're making love. I've tempted him to indulge me. I like the feel of him when he's "being girly"…. and he doesn't object at all. What could possibly be wrong??? Nothing….. nothing at all, but it's not surprising to have slight concerns if you're 'pushing back boundaries' like I am.
"Quite right, you can. In fact, there's another task for you! I want you to find at least three beauty procedures that we both can try next weekend, from those magazines…… Both of us!" I joked… but I meant it, and he knew I meant it!
"The next thing you will do, before getting dressed, is to take my tube of Veet and remove all the hair from your tits. Not the whole of your chest — just your tits. If I am to nibble your nipples when we're fucking, I want no hairs in the way. Understand?"
"Mmmmmm….I like the sound of the nibbling, darling." He said as he leant his head back. "There are some real bonuses in this, I'm beginning to think."
"Well, you're not at all finished with that….. When you've finished with the Veet crá¨me, you'll want to moisturize your tits and that could take a while! There's some Chanel5 Body Lotion on my dressing table. Take your time and luxuriate in the wonderful perfume while you soften your nipples…. for me!"
I went on, knowing the effect that would have on him and his libido. "Don't you DARE use the lotion on your cock! No wanking today…. I want you all for myself when you cum in my pussy!"
And I wasn't joking! "Wank today and this has to stop!" I threatened him. (I hoped and prayed he wouldn't let me down.) "Don't you DARE let me down!"
"I won't, Zoe honey, I promise. Yesterday was a mess and I'm sooooo sorry for that!" He wimpered.
"OK, Annie, enough said." I continued. "That will take you to mid-morning and you're not even dressed yet. So, next, I want you to choose some undies to wear. You can go through my underwear drawers and LOOK — but DON'T TOUCH ….. until you've made your choice. NO rummaging through them all and getting tempted again!" I was scolding him for yesterday really, just as much as I was threatening him with something I hoped wouldn't be necessary.
"Put on the sexiest undies you can find. Leave the suspender belt and stockings I've laid out until later. Now, do the same with my shoes. We're lucky that you're only a size larger than me… you'll fit some of the shoes I've stretched as I've worn them. Then, you're alone remember, you can parade around the bedroom in heels and undies….. with your hair in rollers. What a picture! I insist that you call me at the office and tell me exactly what you've been doing and what you've chosen to wear. I'll then give you some hints about how to deal with your hair."
"What a morning!" He breathlessly murmured, clearly finding the talk of this making him horny once more.
"DON'T you dare soil my knickers!" "Before we have talked, and before your light lunch, you can go to my wardrobe and you can choose anything from the right-hand side.... The dresses and blouses on the right... got it? Don't even look in the left-hand side. That is all my more everyday gear and you don't want to look 'everyday' do you? When you've m,ade yor choice, call me again."
By this stage in his briefing, I had set the scene for more than enough of my fantasy for my homecoming. However, this would not keep him occupied for the whole day. In my plan, I had yet to get him dressed in his outer/boy clothes, style his hair and do his make-up… and nails! yes, his nails could be very time-consuming, couldn't they? I thought. He must have used nail polish before and so he could be set a high standard of finish even though he would be "out of practice".
"OK, so your hair would be dry by then, ready for styling. Your tits would be shaved and moisturized and you'll be dressed in my undies and shoes. And you'll have chosen which of my dresses you'll be wearing when I get home tonight..... oh! and all before lunch!!"
I re-capped for my own benefit as much as his. Where to take him next? I decided that his lunch could wait — he had to practice eating without messing his lipstick. Before that, his hair should be taken from its nice tight roller-set and allowed to relax before styling. So that meant, hair and make-up, then lunch — a light girly salad and a slimline tonic water... NO GIN!!
"You'll next have to go to the vanity unit and look at yourself in the mirror. All girly, you'll be, with your hair in nice tight rollers. Make time to absorb the image you'll see. Then begin to remove the rollers. Annie! Now listen, this part is important.... Start with the larger ones around your crown. Leave the smaller ones around the nape of your neck until last. Leave each curl as a springy roll against your scalp. Go slowly, taking care with each one — they're all precious. Don't whatever you do, get the hair in a tangle. Feel the way the curls are placed in different directions. Enjoy the experience….. and remember, …. leave your cock out of this; tucked away." I pictured him doing this as I talked him through the instructions. Just the thought of him doing this essentially female thing make me slightly wet around the pussy. Delicious.
"When you've taken out the last one, admire yourself in the mirror again!" I meant for him to take as much time as possible over this. "You'll be calling me on the phone very soon after, so keep the details and the way you're feeling in your mind. I'll want to hear all about it!"
Sharing……. that was the essential part of the plan. I would insist on hearing every detail and how he was feeling during such a feminine past-time.
"You don't get to call me until you have your make-up sorted out. So, still at the dressing table, you'll find I've laid out some of my delicious cosmetics for you to use. DON'T over do it! Remember…. 'Less is More'……… Less is more attractive. So, use light foundation and blusher, bright but light eyeshadow, a little mascara, and as much lipstick as you like!"
That would take a while because he was unlikely to get it right first time.
"Use the foundation all over your face; make sure you cover where your beard growth comes and well beyond. Go down your neck. Get up to your hair-line. Cover your cheekbones. Lightly cover your under-eye areas and the lids too. That will make your eyeshadow take better and last longer. Finish off with some blusher on the big brush. If you like the look it gives, we'll get you some crá¨me blusher that will be easier for you, next time. Be very careful NOT to get any product on my lovely slinky dressing gown that you'll still be wearing!"
I imagined him doing this, alone, half-dressed in my undies with his hair in curls, wearing low-heeled stiletto shoes, sitting at my dressing table.
"Next time?" he said, almost flirtatiously. His eyes looked like Diana's — everyone knows "that" look that she gave to the cameras all her life.
"Choose your eyeshadow with care and use at least two colours — one for the brightness — a white or silver — and the other for vivid colour - I'd suggest blue because there's a brilliant blue in the palette. Finish your eyes with mascara….. and remember! that's the tricky one! Go gently… it doesn't matter how many strokes of the brush you make…. just keep adding that intense black shade. I'll do something with my liquid liner when I get home…. I can't expect you to do that yourself…. yet!"
I had plans for that stage…………….. but a long time ahead.
"Finally, Annie, you can indulge your love of lipstick and put as much as you like of whatever shade you want… there are several to choose from………. Get right up close to the make-up mirror. Admire your new look. Take pleasure in this "you" that you can see……………….Then, you must call me. Sitting at the dressing table…………………. Oh no, there's something I've forgotten — before you call — go back to the wardrobe and select a pair of stockings and a suspender belt to wear. Put on the 'garter' as they call it someplaces. Take off your shoes and smooth your hands over your legs. Don't worry about the hairs there - we'll deal with those another day - and slip those wonderful 7-denier stockings up your legs. That's one of the sexiest feelings a girl can experience. And then fix the stockings to the suspenders. The front ones are easy but you may have trouble with the ones at the back. Be patient. Don't get in a flurry; you'll get hot and bothered. Take your time."
He was still silent, his head tilted back, clearly imagining the wonders of what was to come.
"……………….Then, you must call me. Sitting at the dressing table…………………" I said.
A frown spread over his face………………. "What if I make a mess of it? What if you come home and find me with mascara everywhere again and other stuff………??? It's wonderful to think about doing all of this but……." I had to stop him…. Build his confidence……
"Don't you worry, Annie, my lover. You'll do fine. You know how much you fancy doing this so just take your time! I trust you to go for it the best way that you can and I'll help you with any little mistakes……. You know how much I fancy you — boy and girl — let's just enjoy ourselves. Now, go and find me a shirt and tie to wear from your wardrobe. be prepared to justify which dress you have chosen and WHY!!"
I had changed the subject. He was distracted once more. No longer haunted by yesterday's loss of confidence. I had saved the situation.
It was getting late and I had to be leaving for work in less than half an hour. I had to set his hair in that time… and we hadn't sorted what he would be doing all afternoon. Was there enough time? Maybe not, but I'd still love to come home to find him as we had described and agreed already. If all that took longer, I could easily arrive home and style his hair.
Quickly, as I was waiting for him, I went to the hand basin and wetted my own hair. I ran to the dressing table mirror and took my canister of hair mousse — L'Oreal's Elvive extra strong hold for colour treated hair — and I piled a handful into the crown of my now wet hair.
I worked it through and combed the hair flat to my scalp. As boyish as I could make it in just two or three minutes. All to add to the role I might play on my return — androgynous at the very least. In fact, I quite was taken with the image I saw. But I needed lipstick! I was just finishing a double dose of my favourite Dior's Diorific, long-lasting, Gypsy Rose.
He sat at the dressing table, having laid the shirt and tie on the bed, removing the towel from his head. His hair was just damp, a little too dry for my liking so I sprayed it heavily with Chanel's eau de parfum and added a similar handful of styling mousse as I had used myself a moment before.
"This will make sure the style lasts tonight." I smiled at him.
There was no time to lose. I combed his hair through for a last time and sectioned a lock from his crown. I took the first and largest roller from the tray and began to wind it into his scalp. Tightly, it had to be. he needed to feel the tug of each and every roller. Another followed, my hands moving swiftly. In a minute or two, the whole of the top of his head was covered. There would be a wonderful curly style to make as a result tonight.
"We have other things for you to do before I get home, so listen carefully. First, when we have talked together on the phone and shared some of your experiences, I want you to have lunch… a light lunch that's only there for you to practice not spoiling your lipstick! So, a salad will be perfect. There's plenty to find in the fridge. You can have no more than a glass of wine….. again, whatever you choose to drink, it's for you to practice not leaving lipstick on your glass. You must lick the glass before sipping — like I do myself, always, and you've noticed. That will prolong the lips of those luscious lips!" Small details but important ones, I thought!
As I rolled his hair, I gave instructions. "Then, I want you to wash your hands in warm soapy water. Do the same with your toes. Then, you must dry them very carefully because your next task is to shape them and paint them with nail polish. Take an emery board and file them to a perfect shape. Never mind their length — they can grow longer in time..." (I had plans!!).
"....Then, you should apply a base coat to each and every toe and finger nail. It's clear and helps the colour you'll be using to take better. It also has a strengthener to harden your nails for the future. (He would have claws to die for, one day!). Finally, and with very thin coats, you'll have to apply the colour. You should wait for each to dry over 10-15 minutes. Slow and clean sweeps of the brush. Don't "dab" at the nails……. And you'll find it wonderful, the smell of the polish and the texture of the nails when you've finished."
Then you can return to the wardrobe to get your chosen dress or skirt and blouse. You'll know exactly which one because you'll have described it in inute detail when we talk on the phone. You will KNOW why you chose that one. I leave the reasons up to you! Make sure they're nice and girly won't you, darling Annie! Only then will you be ready to receive me on my return."
His eyes closed as I was saying all of this. I hoped he was listening and taking in the details.
I could tell he was somehow submerged into the total experience he was having.
I carried on, working with smaller rollers around the level of his ears and below. Just an inch in diameter there, but there was enough hair to roll around two or three times. Tightly, angled this way and that. I was creating a style from my imagination. How would he look? Heaven knows, but it was the process that was important - more than the ultimate look, s much as I wanted it to be soft, silky, fluffy and girly.
Soon, we were done and I had to dress myself and leave. "Don't have the dryer on too hot, my love. Take time and enjoy it and you won't damage your hair either. When you're finished, leave the rollers in to allow your hair to cool and fix the set better. Have a wonderful day"
Now might be a good time for him to add some thoughts. I'll return in my next chapter with my homecoming that day (Day 3) and how he had done with meeting my instructions.
LOL Andy's loving Wife, Zoe
I've asked him to recall the time when we were "just beginning"………………..
A Husband's indulgence of his Wife's passion.... or his own?!
>WannabeGinger
I've asked him to recall the time when we were "just beginning"………………..
HI, my name's Andy, and I've never tried writing like this, especially not about something deeply personal lile...well, my dressing..... It's great to have a wife who understands..... Where to begin... well, near the beginning...... It was college days for me... none of this "when I was eight..." malarky.... I was a testosterone-filled young man of 17...... when it began......
It's easy to recall college days. It's less easy to recall the time when my wife and I began to "play games", games that involved my feminine side… which I now firmly embrace.
I know I'm not homosexual. I know I'm not "trapped in the wrong body". Looking back, I don't know when I came to terms with the "me" that just loves the feminine side of life……… Just occasionally. It must have been at this "just beginning" time.
In my college days, I wasn't one of the "guys" especially. I did my studies. I kept out of major sports, not having the brains to avoid the need to study at weekends. I did enjoy the beers with other guys some evenings but never went on the 'binge' as many did. Maybe this made me a little different from the rest.
I did enjoy hanging around the Students' Union where there was always a good social scene, especially with the girls. I got close to quite a few of them and enjoyed romances with a small number… well, actually, just two. Call it love? No, I don't think so, but maybe being in love with the idea of "being in love".
I certainly fancied getting inside their panties……. in the more usual sense of the words.
I fancied the idea of breaking my 'duck' as far as sex was concerned. I particularly came to admire a girl called Karen who was studying for a Hair & Beauty qualification. She was a peach! Her long dark hair was lustrous and shining. Just invited a touch. She, on the other hand, didn't invite me to touch anything else! I came to learn that she was uncertain of her sexuality and was most probably bisexual. I was good to have as a friend, but platonic was all it would ever be, it seemed. Well, I'd like us to go further. I could have handled that "bi-" side to her! Perhaps we were always going to be "just good friends".
However, a time came when she needed help. It's my story but it was written by that close friend "in the first person", as though it was he/she involved. and you, dear Reader, may have read my account of that time in my life. This brought me much closer to another of Karen's friends…… Ginger. (There was another girl, Margot, who was definitely of a lesbian tendency and had a scary Mother who was probably that way inclined as well). Ginger was a darling. I fell head over heels in love for her…… I say "for her" because she clearly didn't fall over backwards "for" me……. at least initially, she didn't.
I just adored her. Her body was wonderful….. I think the kind word is 'pneumatic'… all the right curves in all the right places….. Tits to die for, and a face to match.
Ginger was also helping Karen with her hairdressing training. There was to be a competition. Ginger also volunteered to be a model for Karen in that competition. Margot did too. So, what did I do? …..I volunteered, without knowing what was involved at all. That led to my dressing. That led to my having my hair styled and coloured. That led to my living with Ginger for several months. My darling wife, Zoe, knows the rest of the story and it does not bear telling here.
When Ginger and I split, I put my dressing away in the metaphorical "box" that most CDs have in their minds. Push it away. Hope it doesn't return……. at least not in an embarrassing way. Keep the lid on the box. T hat was my mantra.
Months went by. I began to ease up on feeling that I might yet go back to dressing. My hair colour reverted to natural. No longer did I have to tell friends and family that I'd dyed my hair 'for a laugh'. It was behind me.
I was a solo guy, looking for a girl, like many of my mates.
My conundrum stayed in its "box". Thoughts of cross-dressing were banished. But I guess I did indulge my fetish increasingly. That was for Hair… beautiful shiny, styled and conditioned Hair. better still, beautifully coloured Hair. It occupied my waking thoughts and my "going to sleep" thoughts. It occupied my masturbations. It occupied many of my fantasies. Often, I would be the subject of the styling and colouring. Often, I would be left with a fantasy hairstyle to die for! It was always accompanied by dream-like fantasies of the underwear I would be wearing... At this time, it wasn't in my mind to go out and try to "pass" as female. No way. I was firmly in the closet!
Every day I would be distracted by the hair that women I worked with, or passed in the street, had as their "crowning glories". I noticed that women who cared for their hair, generally cared for themselves much better than others. They used the right amount of cosmetics, and used them well. They dressed with impeccable style and confidence……… Just as I thought I might, if I were dressing still — which I wasn't. I did imagine their underwear, and before long, the temptation to buy some for myself returned. By now, I was in employment and earning a good salary. No problem then to pass by quite stores at quiet times where they sell quite beautiful lingerie. I concentrated on bras, suspenders, stockings and camisoles. Enouh to make many a lonely evening just pure bliss!
A few would be my fantasy lovers, playing games with their hair as I fucked them wildly.
Rather few did that in reality. Indeed, none did, until I met my darling wife. Heaven would, therefore, have to wait.
I loved my private thoughts. They recurred and developed. I adored many women's hair. Indeed, countless women, some celebrities, some just everyday adorables I saw in the street or on the train. I imagined how I would look with their styles re-created. Such is the world of the fantasist I had become.
My hair grew as long as I thought acceptable in "polite society" — long enough not to draw derision from workmates, but long enough to play with when I was alone. I became quite adept with a styling brush and even worked with rollers. I practised setting my hair when I knew that I had a long weekend without commitments. I even dallied with colour, albeit temporary rinses, when I knew I'd have enough time before work on Monday for the colour to disperse.
I read some stories that I found on a wonderful website — Crystal's Storysite. I found the story of my dreams with Marti B and her story "Two Fifteen" where a young man takes up every ounce of his courage to go into a salon and, little by little, have himself gradually transformed. I SO much wanted to follow his path. Only problem came at the end where, instead of keeping up the joy of his femininity with return visits to the salon, he drifted off for months only to return fully transformed and living as a woman. Too far for me, that one..... It confirmed in me the vieq that I needed to be feminine, just some of the tiem.... Go the whole way? heavens no! Kiss guys and get fucked by them? NO THANK YOU! Guys have disgusting habits - i know, I Am one, remember! Why would any sane woman want to have one fuck their brains out. No, No, far better to fuck woman-to-woman. By the time I was 20, I knew I was a lesbisn!
Changing sex was never my idea. Never in my mind at all. Not even tempted as far as my wife and I were able to push our experimentation with my looks. Not even tempted when indulging oral sex as girl and girl (well, one with added extras, ok). I'm a bloke at heart. I may love to transform my face and my hair and I may love to wear slinky underwear, but deep down, I'm a bloke and I love to fuck.
That's me really. That's how I'd express myself and when she asked for my contribution to her side of our story, I have thought as I wrote and this is what you're ending up with, my friendly reader.
I can remember the first few days that she's describing in this story only if I try hard. It all seemed to happen so fast. I do remember the flirtation and the first playings with lipstick and the first time I did wear her undies. Those were precious moments. I do emember the day soon after when I lost the plot completely and she found me as a very sad case having been alone all day.
We did make up after I recovered my sense of proportion. I wouldn't do that again — wank myself five or six times in a day, strewing her clothes about having been tempted to wear them….. Then the 'reconciliation' that evening. We fucked beautifully as boy and girl. The next day, I had expected to go back to being a guy but no! She insisted — though I might have had a choice, I'm not sure — I think she insisted that I spend the day getting 'girly' for her. I've done this many times since then…. and always I hope I get a little better. That day, I was making mistakes… but having the cool to slow down and go back, cleanse my skin, for example, and try again. It seemed to take for ever. But what a day!
We've talked about it many times. That was a crucial day for the way we are now — the way we are as lovers and husband and wife. Am I glad for that day!!!
I'm sure Zoe will worite you more. She seems to have got her teeth into this project... with Wannabeginger, her friend's, help!
Andy...... or as I am today, Annie. xx.
A Wife's Indulgence chapter 5
by
Zoe, a friend of Wannabe Ginger
I am only three days into my story of the early days of my husband's development into a "sometime" boy/girl. Earlier chapters tell how it was all at my instigation. Earlier chapters tell readers that I'm sharing this true experience with how we began. I hope other wives may benefit. I'm trying to report happenings on the way whilst also recalling the feelings I had at each stage.
There was never a conscious plan in my mind at the outset, but one did evolve, quite rapidly. Whilst there were occasional set-backs, I can tell you now, the pathway was very well worth treading. I hope you like the way the narrative develops. Feelings aren't always easy to verbalize.
The rest of day three.
I left my husband Andy at home and set off for work, a little late that morning because of the time it had taken to give him a briefing on what was required of him. I had intended to keep him busy for the whole of the day, giving him a series of tasks that would bring him to the stage where I would return from work that afternoon.
He would be dressed in my undies and shoes on my return. (He could choose any of my dresses to wear during the day, if it so pleased him. He would have combed-out his hair, styled as I had roller set it that morning. He would have mastered make-up on his own for the first time. I was really looking forward to getting home. We were on the promise of a delightful fuck this evening and I intended it would be one to remember!
During the day, he was to telephone me, once he had dressed and reached the stage of completing his make-up and polishing his toes and fingernails with vampish nail polish,
I couldn't wait for the call, although I knew it would take several hours for him to reach that stage and have the courage to call. I wanted him to be proud of what he had done, all by himself. I wanted him to be proud of resisting the temptation he'd given in to the day before.
The ride to work was uneventful, the drive being short and just after rush hour. It gave me more time to reflect on the briefing I had given him. If he could manage all of those things, I'd love him to pieces!!! We would fuck like crazy that night!!!! Before reaching my workplace, I began to plan the evening that was to come in my mind's eye. I could "see" him as Annie, his new alter-ego, when I got home.
I expected he would look a real honey!!! I would tell him when he phoned to dress only in those undies and my peach satin dressing robe, but he was to know exactly the dress he would wear later in the evening.
I had a surprise for him in the telephone call we would have. I would tell him how I'd not only used the shirt and tie of his to wear to work. I had also borrowed a pair of his nice tight jockey pants that would keep my pussy cosy and warm…. and wet. There was also another surprise — inside the jockey pants — which you, dear Reader, may speculate about. More of that later.
Arrival home would be something to savour. I'd imagined him meeting me at the door, dressed sooooo sexily that I would gather him/her into my arms and kiss everso so softly so his/her long-lasting lipstick would be saved (for later). I'd run my hands over his/her sleek body, encased in the satin robe. I'd finish on his/her nipples and give them a very very hard squeeze through the satin.
I'd say nothing more than "show me your nipples." They had better be soft and hairless, the squeeze making them erect. I'd inspect them and, if satisfactory, I'd lay him on the sofa and kiss them sensually. I wouldn't bite them… until later….. though I'd tease him with my teeth. While laying together, I'd seek out his undies and find where his cock was restrained in beautiful lace. I'd run my hands along the tops of his stockings and up the suspenders to his waist.
All very lightly, teasingly, sensually, expecting his cock to break free.
If it was not to do it by itself, I would free it from the lace take it in my hand. Knowing that, if he did cum, there would be time for him to recuperate before we made love later. That could be his treat — and mine if I got to swallow his juices. Again, gently though — no teeth. "That" might come later too.
We would then move to the bathroom where I would freshen my make-up and slick-back my hair again with some water. He would have his make-up inspected and, I was sure, have my correcting hand to make perfect his illusion. I would play the girl/boy role for now…. I'd be in control. He/she would be taken step-by-step through the evening but always knowing that my pussy would be "his to play with" later.
What he wouldn't know then, or for a while longer, was that the surprise inside his jockey pants was the wonderful dildo that I was using right now — on my drive to work! My pussy was warm and wet, just thinking about what treats were to come.
I had been tempted while he was still in the bathroom after waking this morning. Seven or eight inches long, I quietly pushed it into my love-nest with its head protruding just an inch or two. All day, I was having the joy of squeezing it to exercise my pussy muscles for the evening's entertainment. Occasionally, I would go to the ladies' room and moisten it in private, maintaining a state of permanent readiness for the fucking I was to enjoy later.
On arrival home, I would expect Annie to go down on me at some stage and find the tip of the fucker there. I would have him explore all round it and suck it as if it were mine….. fully completing the girl/boy role reversal. He might fear being penetrated with it at some stage but that was not in my mind at all. I would discard it and implore him to fuck me hard with his own cock to consummate the evening.
Even writing this, recalling my thoughts at the time, my pussy is getting very wet indeed. In fact, a repeat evening — lock, stock and barrel - could be a very good idea!
"Enough of this." I thought to myself as I arrived at work. The fucker would keep me pulsating all day. I had much to do before he was to call. I expected the phone to ring around mid-day. However, I wasn't prepared for the reaction of colleagues in the hairdressing salon where I worked at the image I presented. Very different to my usual 'look'. I pushed the door into the salon and immediately heard a "WOW!" from Hayley, the Colourist. "You look stunning!" She said. "I'd fancy you if you really were a guy! What's all this about?" She exclaimed.
Maybe the androgyny had gone a bit far!
"Seriously?" I flashed my eyelids at her. "I just fancied a change today." I laughed. I could have said "I rather fancy that idea."…. but there would be too many complications down that route.
"I love the hair…." said Hayley, "……… I might try that myself one day." The slicked-back lok accenturated the power of my well-mascaraed eyes. o
"You'd be surprised the way it makes you feel." I said, meaning every word. It was true. The change in my own hair had made a difference to the way I was feeling. Then, there were the clothes I'd taken from Andy's wardrobe. My femininty was maske,d but only just... the beauty of my ample tits was there for all to admire. I even admired them myself in the many mirrors at the styling stations.
I was certainly "up for it" if anyone wanted to give me trouble today (as I was to find out later!)
The salon owner came from the back of the room and was equally surprised. "My goodness!" she said, "......very interesting…. You should explore this look - we might have clients who would follow your lead!". She touched my arm. "What does your hubby think? Some men might not take it well." I was tempted, feeling as assertive as I was, to tell her that he had loved the look as I kissed him goodbye in his undies and satin robe with his hair in rollers! Of course, I shouldn't betray him/her in that way.
"Oh, he's loved it. I guess you mean some guys would be threatened by a shirt and tie, but he's very sure of himself. It's only for once….. I guess……. and to check out people's reactions." Maybe, he would feel threatened when I got home with this dildo between my thighs, but who was to know?? There was work to be done and I had clients' hair to style.
Hayley said she'd talk to me later…… she had an idea for the colour of my hair in this new style.
The morning passed relatively uneventfully, with my pussy responding to every change in posture that I made. The outer lips were now flowing with juices that I could almost taste as I stood at the styling station, standing over the women whose hair I was working on. I found myself being more adventurous with their hair. I was making suggestions to each of them to change their styles and have more fun…. "like I've done" was my punch-line.
My 11.45 cut and style was a typical example: A 40-something woman, tall and busty, with a figure that was evidently corseted beneath a business suit, who asked me "what made you change?" I answered her question with a question:
"Could it be that you're asking because it's time for a change for yourself?" I said. I wasn't prepared for the rely, but there it came, in the confidence shared only between women and their hairdressers:
"Well, as you mention it, yes indeed. I've been finding my husband is much less assertive these days and I'm wanting to change the dynamics a little. maybe, my taking over the assertiveness bit would work. I quite fancy the idea of a little swapping of roles... In fact, I'm very much of a mind to do just that..."
I replied, in my best conspiratorial tones, "well, if you did make some changes, I wouldn't stop at just the style of your hair. I'd get a new set of underwear.... you'd be amazed how empowering a subtle change can be...."
"What d'ya mean...?" she asked.
"I mean get some boxers to go under that suit. And I'd take of the bra. Buy a man's shirt too, and maybe a man's leather jacket. I've been meaning to get one myself. Then you can give your pretty underwear to your husband! 've just done that myself. As I say, you'll be surprised how empowering it could be!"
All the time, I imagined my husband at home, perhaps struggling with, but getting through the tasks he had been set. Mid-morning, he would used the depiliatory crá¨me on his tits. He would have moisturized them. He would have dressed in the most wonderful undies I had. By now, he would have put on the stockings, smoothing them over his long legs and he would have paraded around the bedroom in those heels.
"You're kidding me!" the client exclaimed, but intrigued - I could tell. "Are you kosher!?"
"Indeed I am, it's been on my mind for a while and, just like you, i reached a moment when it all seemed to be a timely idea!" I thought, enough is enough. She'll either do, or not do, what I had suggested.
I began to yearn for the fucker between my legs to be Andy's, or rather Annie's, cock.
But then, I also longed for the fucker between my legs to be my cock, my very own.
I couldn't remember ever standing behind a client and thinking so intently about sex. My mind wandered a little too much and I became conscious that now she was talking and I hadn't heard a word she'd said! I was throbbing. "
"......... and so how would you change my style, if I'm to dress that way?......." she was asking. "........would you go for a crop? I mean, your hair is lovely, but it's slickednot cropped."
I fashioned a shorter, yet feminine, style but, when she asked me, I slicked it down the way mine had been that day. Off she went, looking forward to an interesting evening when she got home. little did her husband know what was coming! I'd told her, if it was to their liking, she might come in for a white blonde make-ove next time. I kinda expected I'd be seeing her the next week.
It went on the same way, until after lunch, with my pussy throbbing, I was startled when i heard: "What did you hear me say just then?" said one woman……… "Oh, I'm sorry, I was miles away!" I said, half apologizing, half resentful…….. (bad attitude)………
"I said don't take so much off cutting round the back there…..!" she was quite irate. "Don't tell me you were miles away!"
Oh dear, I should retreat and apologize properly…. but then something inside me said I shouldn't …… something man-ish…… something telling me to be masterful……. this woman should do as I tell her….. She was a new client to the salon and had just had Hayley do her a new colour — a deep shining burgundy shade.
"You'll look much better if we do as we agreed…… You liked the idea of a wedge-profile at the back, to emphasize your new colour…… I thought……… let's just go on and see — you'll like it, I'm sure." Gosh! I was taking control in a way like never before.
"But…." she started…….
"No buts! You will like it." I wasn't taking prisoners on this one. She should do as I told her.
And in the end, I was right. (….but not before I'd put the salon's reputation on the line). She did love the new cut and thanked me for pushing her to accept it. I found I had a client who would return. But I was left with a feeling that was rooted in the fucker between my legs. I thought about it and thought about it. I pictured its shape and the way the head was so life-like, and the life-like veins along its shaft. I felt for then as I squeezed the walls of my love-nest together.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm……………………………..
At that moment, the telephone rang and the call was for me.
"Zoe... it's yours...... sounds like Andy, but not quite like Andy really...." Hayley said.
"Tell him I'll call him back!...." I said. I was due a break and so took my mobile phone into the rest area where currently no other staff were.
It was Andy of course, but he did sound different.....and it sounded like he had spent a wonderful morning.
Words poured out of him, so fast I thought I would drown…………….
"Can't imagine….. Sooooo sexy…… Undies…….. Putting them……. smoothing….. shaping…….. mirrors……. shoes… heels…. high enough……. shaping my legs…… Wonderful…… cosmetics…. foundation….. wasted — used too much - …… had to wash…. sorry to waste…… tried again…… got it better…. less IS more, you're right……. lovely silky feel on my skin…….. Blusher, too powdery…. can't get the hang of that……. eyeshadow…. now there's a joy…. spent hours playing…… such a difference….. eyes come to life…….. mmmmmmmmm...."
He paused for breath.... " ....mascara, trouble again….. bit of a set-back….. had to remove the eyeshadow and start again…… nearly poked my eye out….. smudged it….. cleaned it off again…….. then, at last……… got it right at last…… stunning! looked at the mirror again and again… can't believe…… and then the lipstick….. oh, my goodness…… absolute dream….!!
"So, you've enjoyed yourself, have you?" I asked.
"Oh, yesssss…..! Zoe... yesssss..!!" was his reply. "But how has your morning been?" He asked the good wife's question. "Oh it's been interesting, honey…. very different. And I'll tell you all about it later. The new look has certainly made an impression! One of the girls, Hayley, said she fancies me!
"Oh, she's the one I fancy there……. Oh, apart from you that is!" He said quickly, realizing a slip of the tongue.
"Well, maybe you'd be in luck — it seems she likes boyish girls so maybe she likes girly boys too!" Teasing him was something I was beginning to enjoy. "It'll be a long time before she meets you looking the way you are now. You are mine... and mine alone!" I had to move on. Andy needed instructions for the afternoon and I needed to get to my next client.
"How was the dryer? Have you removed all your rollers?" I needed to know as he had to take care of the hairstyle next.
"Yes, it was fine and I did as you suggested…. It's quite an experience sitting under the dome of the dryer, just reading a mag. I found one of your professional ones… one with dozens and dozens of hairstyles and colours in it. Some on celebs and lots done by stylists in salons like yours….. It was really a gorgeous way to spend half an hour or more…… I found several styles that you might agree — and I thought — might suit me."
That was significant. He had been reading for pleasure and found some hairstyles — female hairstyles — that would suit him…. He was now in the mind-set of considering his appearance and how to make the best of it.
"Some wouldn't 'cos my hair's too short now… but even those could work if I grew it longer. Anyway, I did find some interesting articles and photo montages that showed the coming years' fashions and, d'you know, I think I'd look better in last year's!! Specially the blouses and summer dresses. i think the colours are much less flattering this year."
He was actively thinking about dressing and the colours that would suit him. That was a real change! He had never looked in a magazine - even one for men - before. He was obviously pre-occupied with growing his hair…. what joy! I was going to suggest that we have a fashion show with his trying on many of my dresses and doing a 'cat walk' for me.... We would do that soon! buAs for his hair, I would love him to have longer hair, so that it would be more fun to work on him! Sooner rather than later, maybe!
"No time to talk about that now…. (I said stalling, playing for time!) There's your hair for today to deal with and, Annie, I'm expecting great things of you, honey!" That was true…… This was here and now and he had to do what was expected.
he interjected: "The curls are all un-rolled and they've cooled down well. I didn't get in a tangle at all when I took them out…….. It was really mesmerizing watching the way they took shape on my head after the rollers came out. I thought of you at work. You must do this every day on hundreds of women….."
"I do darling, I do… but you have to do this for yourself — like I do at home. You've watched me do it countless times…." Reassurance….. reassurance….. build his confidence……
"Yes, but never imagining I'd have to do it on my own hair….! You'll have to do it more times before I get good enough."
I had to take him through the process of turning his raw curls into a soft and flowing style that had body and femininity…… Although his hair wasn't long at that time, it would look perfectly acceptable if he did it right. And I wanted him to get the hang of doing it for him/herself. I spend my life cutting, rolling and blow-drying other women's hair. I do my own. He/she can do his/her own!
"You'll be fine, honey. Let me tell you how to make it easiest for you……. First, get yourself a drink and sit at the dressing table. You have got your undies on haven't you?" yes, he had, and some suspenders, stockings and shoes.
"OK, so now study the shape of your own face — you might not have done that for a while. Look at its shape and contours. Look at the way you look so very different without hair about the place. try to ignore the tight curls…. look at the face only for now. Think how it needs to be softened. Where do you need your hair to frame your face. Where are your best points that can be emphasized…. by putting hair elsewhere. You're creating more of yourself as an illusion by doing so."
(I realize now that I was getting over into a bit of psychology here… maybe a bit too deeply.)
"OK, OK, but what do I do with the curls!!???" He interrupted anxiously. Typical male!
"Cool it, honey…. I'll tell you now. You should first run your fingers through the curls… first of all because it will feel wonderful, and second, because it will loosen the rigid form of the curls themselves…. You have next to merge them into a complete whole… not a set of individual rolls.
Just stroke your scalp as the hair runs through your fingers. It's a beautiful feeling, for a beautiful girl like you, Annie."
There, I had said something that was 'over the line'. In these three days, I'd never called him a 'girl' before…… Maybe a mistake………
He hesitated. "Zoe.......Won't that spoil it?" Uncertainty crept in again…….
"No, my love, just do as I suggest — it's the way we always do it…. and when you've done it a few times, you'll find it really easy. This is how you learn to control your hair and make it really sexy."
"OK, if you say so……. what do I do then?"
"You stroke your stockings and feel the sensuality of them.... OK?!" I teased.
"It's different doing it for yourself to me doing it for you or another girl. You take the rolls you can't see, one-by-one, all around the nape of your neck, and you take the round brush and brish them through. One-by-one. You loosen the curl but keep its shape. You want a flattering softness to develop but with the shape of the curl maintained.
I was re-telling what my Hair & Beauty College lecturer had told me years ago. I had a mental picture of her, "tarted up to the nines" as they did in the 90's………. High blonde chignon, which I could even remember the colour….. Baby Blush from a Born Blonde range…. Clairol, I think — don't know if you can buy it now……
"Then, when they are feeling right, take the hand mirror and look att hem. Do they flow? Do they have shape? Are they feminine enough? Then, you should move up to the crown of your head. There will be six larger curls running round from ear to ear, then another six in a cluster around the crown itself……. Pick them up, again one by one and brush them gently through. Leave the first six as they are once you've done that….. they'll add volume enough lower on your head. The real volume comes from the last six. This is what will make the look so special on you."
"Th…th….thank you for making this so easy….. XZoe... I do love you....." ….he stammered. I could tell he was nervy about this part of the whole day. "I sooooo want to get this bit right. You know how much I love hair… everyone's hair… yours, mine…. every girls'…….. Thank you."
He showed a real desire then to get this right…. I loved him all the more for it….. After all, he was a passenger on this ride….. I was in the driving seat.
"Now, I have to go soon… I have to get back to work." I said. "There's one thing left to do with your hair…. spray it with clouds of hairspray to fix it in position. I'll run my fingers though it later just for fun but, until then, it needs fixing. Next, there are two or three things to be done before
I get home. You must eat and drink — a salad and a juice I suggest. You must practise eating and drinking without messing your lipstick! Remember what I do, every time, …..you must lick the glass to stop the lipstick staying on the galls, and you must eat with you mouth closed likewise, for the same reason. You must have faultless lipstick when I get home!. Tidy the home, make sure that there are treats around the place to discover when we're fucking….. make sure any toys you fancy are in place, within reach."
"OK." He understood. Preparation — for a night of endless fucking.
"Oh, and one thing, I didn't tell you. very soon after I get home, I want you to take off the pair of your jockey pants.......that I'm wearing now! There's a little surprise inside them for you!".
There, the promise was made…. The fucker had to stay where it was until home-coming! Though, he still didn't know what the surprise would be!
We closed the call with loving words. He remained nervy, evidently, but I did all I could to make him(her) feel good about what was in store……….
I returned to the salon and worked through the three women who were my clients for the afternoon. Thankfully, no late night working tonight. By 5.30pm, I was back in the car having learnt how difficult it is to pee whilst having a fucker in your pussy. Impossible!!!!
The car rolled through the traffic jams going home far too slowly for my liking. As it was growing dark, I was able to slip my hand inside my trouser fastening and explore the jockey pants. No wonder men had little joy from underwear like this. It was only sexy for me because I knew what he/she was wearing to greet me at home! How dull. How lucky we girls are to have wonderful undies to enjoy every day!
I looked in the car's rear-view mirror. I saw the androgynous face that I'd worn all day. The hair slicked back and still parted, razor-sharp from the crown to the hairline. I felt the fucker in my pussy, or rather the tip of my cock between my thighs…. now that would be a man's treat! The female—to-nearly male transformation I'd undergone today was an added, and until this morning completely unexpected bonus. One I'd like to explore more…….
I decide to call him/her from the car, to increase the expectation and sense of wanting……
He/she picked up the phone and, as soon as she heard my voice, promptly dropped it.
"I hope you like what you see…… I hope I've done it well…….. I can't wait to see you…… Please hurry…." was all I got from him.
Please help me with your feedback, dear Readers! Love, Zoe xxxx
A Wife's Indulgence chapter 6
by Zoe,
A friend of WannabeGinger's
My day at the salon had been enlightening. I came home a different woman, knowing that my husband would be a different man! Androgyny appealed to me more than I'd expected….. There were unexamined corners of our relationship that we might probe this evening. He/she, I knew, was nervous. I, too, as his wife, was nervous but also extremely excited! I couldn't wait to reach the driveway at home……
The Homecoming
The call on the phone was brief. I wanted his expectations to be accelerated. He had to know I was nearing home. When the car drew up, he would almost be having heart failure, his pulse racing for sure.
All day, I had been having the joy of squeezing the fucker that he didn't yet know was in my pussy. My pussy muscles were ready for the evening's entertainment. I would expect him to go down on me very soon after I got home and find the tip of the fucker there. I would have him explore all round it and suck it as if it were mine….. fully completing the girl/boy role.
As I thought of this, nearing home, I squeezed my thighs together yet again and, this time, sitting in the car seat, I was conscious that the fucker was on the move. Where there was just an inch or two outside before, the wetness allowed another inch or two to emerge. I had three or four inches of a cock between my thighs! I was getting a hard-on! Or it felt like it……. WOW! I wanted to get home and kiss his lovely lipstick-laden mouth………….. The jockey pants were stretching to breaking point. If I wasn't careful, I'd cum, I was certain of that.
Faced with the choice of stopping the car and indulging that temptation, or going the last mile or two to get home, I opted for the latter. I would get to cum a dozen times tonight, I was certain of that! The fucker remained as far emerged as it now was…. I could live with that. I looked in the mirror again…. man's hair, girl's face.
The car reached the house, almost on auto-pilot. I wanted to get my hands on him/her…. now! The horn sounded unintentionally as I opened the door. More cause for heart failure for him!
I put the key in the lock of the front door….. and entered.
At this point, I wasn't in control… for sure. Events would unfold in a way that I might fantasize would happen, or maybe dread. It would all go according to my (supposed) plan or it would all go horribly wrong like it did early last evening. I, an instant, I prayed it would go wildly and excessively well! And there he/she was!……….. Before me in the hallway.
Perhaps inevitably, I saw a guy in a girl's bedtime clothes…………. "Annie....." I said, you're gorgeous!". There he was. Praying for approval. It didn't matter at all. We would take care of the imperfections of his first attempts. In the long run, he would be girly enough - if not to "pass" - to be convincing, with me, at home.
His hair was flat….. Oh, damn, I thought, I'd forgotten in my hurry on the phone… I'd omitted to tell him to back-comb the crown to give it volume and height. It looked a little bit "mousey" - that would have to change and soon!
His make-up, in fact, was very well done indeed and so I complimented him there immediately.
"Darling, those eyes!!!" I exclaimed……. "….and those lips! Come here!"……. I ran to him and gathered him up with my arms around his waist. His arms were flung around my neck. Boy/girl clinch reversed.
I paused before kissing his lips, to accentuate the pleasure with a moment's more anticipation. My tongue passed across my lips, slowly. He mimicked this seductive little motion too.
Then we kissed, softly and gently at first, seductively on my part, and then flirtatiously on his.
At that minute, I was kinda glad that he was still a guy in my bedtime clothes…… Those three or four inches of the fucker between my legs were now clasped between my thighs. There was work to do and I felt good that I could make a significant improvement….. in a way, I guess he'd hoped I could even though he wanted so much to have my approval. His hair would be first —I had to admit my mistake in forgetting the back-combing. Then, I would take care of his eyeliner. Then he would need a lot of help in posture…. more than anything the way he was standing "shouted" uncomfortable!
"Ooooooh! Annie, I doooo love you!" I said, squeezing his waist. "Let me see your nails……."
Ahhh, there would be a need for help there too! He had tried his best I'm sure but there were traces of polish all over the place. The finger nails were god on his left hand but sadly misplaced polish surrounded the nails on his right.
"Trouble with being right-handed….." I said gently. "No worries, there's a technique you will learn. You did well with this one…" I continued, holding his left hand. "These are beautifully shaped and the colour is perfect. The shape on the left is good too — it's only the aim you're taking!" My hand strayed up his satin-covered arm.
"I wanted so much to get them right….. " He said hesitatingly. "…but no matter how hard I tried the polish wouldn't stay where I put it… Zoe, my hand wasn't steady and I guessed I was using too much. But it was exciting…. and that probably didn't help!"
The satin felt glorious to touch.
Confession! He was excited!
"It's very exciting darling, I'll put it right and show you a few tricks when I I've had a shower….. but before that, …. come here!" Another clinch, a prolonged and quite deep kiss this time. Hell, the lipstick would be ruined but that could be put right. I felt both our spirits rising….. and our cocks.
I slid my hand inside his dressing gown to feel for his tits. Inside… what joy! I found his lacy bra inside a satin camisole. "Oh, Myyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!" I purred. I stroked the skin over his flat smooth chest and rounded on the nipple, squeezing it hard and digging my own long finger-nails into the sensitive little button. I would eat that later!!! He recoiled but didn't object. His eyes flashed - the mascara making them dark and sultry, the bright blue colour of the shadow making them bright and enticing at the same time. "Oh, o..u..c..h……! He whispered.
I slapped his arse, quite hard, and said "Now, you make the Martinis — strong ones — and I'll take a shower. I'm going to have you for dinner tonight!" Stunned, because I'd never said anything like that before in our lives, he skipped away to do my bidding. I saw him go and thought about it. I really hadn't, had I? Ever. Told him that he was mine to have.
This must have been another example of the way I had been dressed all day, and the dildo grasped between my thighs, showing through in most butch behaviours. I was in control. He was doing as I told him. Partly, it was so that he would get a good fuck tonight. Partly, it was because he was being girly to my boyishness. Our roles were being reversed quite nicely thank you.
God! I felt horny at that moment. I felt the cock both inside me and outside me. Don't let anyone tell you that the 'G-spot' is mythical...... It's real! My pussy's lips were holding it fast. He did not know what was in store, but he'd soon find out! He might fear being penetrated with it at some stage but that was not in my mind at all. I would discard it and implore him to fuck me hard with his own cock to consummate the evening.
I stood in the shower, stroking my skin, smoothing the silky lotion over my whole body. slowly,
I explored my tits…. thinking how like my own his nipples had felt. He had no boobs, as such, but we could make him feel that he had in due course. I ran water through my hair which had been scalp-tight all day. Should I come out of character and re-do it my normal style? Or should I stay boyish for a while? Decisions, decisions!
Decided…. hair boyish, clothes girly in the extreme. Fresh make-up. Keep the dildo. That would be spicy. Like a guy in a dress… like he looked. I drilled a parting through my hair — razor sharp.
"Are the Martinis ready??" I called down the stairs. "I'll not be long, honey!"
"Ready and waiting." was his reply. I quickly dried my skin and powdered all over. I took the most feminine, flowing summer skirt from its hanger. No bra — not for me today. I took a fresh pair of jockey pants from his side drawer — the ones from the day were soooo damp. The dildo was still there and I couldn't resist a push and a pull! As it slowly slid over the lips of my pussy,
I shuddered with expectation of what was to come…. or cum! Not yet! Enough! I turned to the mirror and admired my own image. Beautiful flowing girly clothes topped with sleek hair and stunning make-up. "Cock" hidden. Shoes? Which shoes…….?? Boys' trainers (for oddity?) or heels (for seduction?)
Heels!
Down the stairs I strode, pausing briefly to locate him — he was in the lounge, sprawled across the sofa with his legs akimbo, showing more than a "glimpse of stocking"….. something shocking?, oh no! The peach satin fabric glistened. He looked wonderful. Still a guy in my undies, but wonderful.
I can remember it as if it were yesterday, now I'm writing the memories down. What a beautiful way to spend an evening!
As I reached the foot of the stairs, he stood and came over, again putting his arms around my neck 'girl on guy' style. "You look stunning, Zoe!", he murmured. His hands ran over the sleek hair at the back of my head and the nape of my neck. "Mmmmmmm…..!, he purred. I responded with my hands around his waist once more and our lips came together.
"I'll fix your eye make-up when we've enjoyed our Martinis, then I'll make more of your hair! OK?". I could hardly wait. Because he would be made to eat my pussy on the way to those delightful experiences.
I don't know what he was thinking of just then because these were promises we'd both looked forward to. I saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes but then it was gone in a second…. and he didn't even know about the dildo yet!
When I began planning what we were doing, I had thought about a strap-on but I was very glad now that I hadn't done that. This was our own fucker that we'd shared many times… and oh! so many times had I cum with its delicious form inside me! It was only right that we should share it some more. It was there for an effect on his mind — to emphasize the strength of my commitment to him however he wanted to be girl, boy, boy/girl, or whatever.
""OK, whatever you say, my lover. Here's your Martini. You can take me anytime, ..anyplace, ..anywhere, as they once used to say."
"Let's take them upstairs…………………………..!"
We were on our way! I led him by the hand and, on reaching the fourth stair and standing above him, I sat down. "Now, …..I want you now! Eat me first! Please, darling!" I said hoarsely, the man in me coming through and the "man" in my pussy getting a hard squeeze. The folds of my dress were soon parted as he sank to his knees.
The jockey pants were revealed. The moment was about to arrive. God knows how I'd been waiting for this all day. His breathing was shallow, probably as he was close to cumming himself.
I felt his hair in my hands and grabbed hard — this one wasn't going to get away! I was in control.
His tongue felt its way along my thighs towards my pussy where it loved to play. His lipsticked lips leaving a trail no doubt as evidence! His hands stroked the backs of my knees. The jockey pants were a barrier. But he buried his face in there — as he often did into my lacy panties like the ones he was wearing now.
Then, he tumbled to the surprise…… "Wha…….!???... Zoe??" came from deep between my thighs…..
A split-second later, his head emerged and I saw mascara-laden, eyeshadowed eyes as he said "Ohhhhh, you beauty!!!…………………………………"
He tore at the jockey pants to expose the lips of my pussy and the clitoris that was begging to be creamed. He took my cock in his mouth and his lips closed around it. As I squeezed and the dildo pushed outwards, my erection was complete. He licked slowly to avoid gagging on my cock and I began to shudder uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced came over me. My mind went blank for I-don't-know-how-long.
I'd left him behind and regretted that for a moment as I woke to find his head on my thigh and his tongue just reaching my clittie. I'd not waited… but I couldn't wait! Hours through the day meant I was cumming now, ready or not!!! Damn….. His breathing was slower now. I wondered if he'd cum in the meantime but it proved to be the case that he hadn't ejaculated. I noticed though that he was playing with one of his nipples as he kissed my love nest, his other hand stroking the satin of his camisole. "Zoe, my Zoe, you're a truly beautiful woman." was all he said.
We had to go on — to greater heights of ecstasy. I had to make sure we didn't lose this wonderful moment. Could we move? How could we move? I wanted my cock out and his cock in me. As I had these thoughts going through my mind, his tongue continued to have its effect and, sure enough, I was on my way to cumming again. My breath became short and my eyes closed as wave after wave of another orgasm engulfed me. God, he was good at this!!!!! knowing just what a woman wants.... Time and again, my body quivered as his tongue surrounded the now-superfluous dildo. I was cumming just from pure lust.
It seemed like hours later that I slid the dildo out into my hand, wiping it across his lips before taking it to my own mouth to enjoy the taste the juices of my own cum. Not a word was spoken beyond my own two words……
"Annie... It's....... Your turn!…………………….."
Stroking the satin, I slipped the dressing gown from his shoulders. And so we climbed the stairs. His satin gown was now left behind us and his camisole, bra, panties, suspenders and stockings created the image of the girl I was about to mouth-fuck.
Wrong! As we reached the bedroom, his hands took over, swinging me towards the bed. The dildo dropped beside the bed. The martinis were spilled. In a moment, he was above me as I lay on my back. He was fighting the lace of my panties around his cock. Soon it was free and he was able to enter me, submerge in me, drown in me. He grabbed handfuls of my hair as he rested on his arms.
I had this girl on top of me, her hair curled, her eyes bright and dark the same time. Her lacy bra and silky camisole in my hands. Her stockings and suspenders rubbing down my thighs. Thrusting into me. Her cock was fairly firm but not huge and hard. Nothing like the fucker before it. But then, I thought in a lucid moment, a girl shouldn't have a full cock to fuck with - and nor really should this boy/girl I loved so much.
"Then, before, I was a girl… now I'm your guy." He said forcefully. I was no longer in control. For a while, he could lead. He could be in control. He could dominate if he so wanted. Looking as girly as he did, the wonderful confusion of our genders was complete.
In the after-glow we relaxed in the lounge. Our make-up restored and our exhausted bodies recuperating. There are no words to describe the feelings then. Looking back from months ahead, where we are now, this was an earth-shattering day in out relationship. It set the tone for the future that, thank heaven, goes on.
We're still together and we're loving the way we're able to love eachother. He is still "she" occasionally — like once or twice every week — and I'm in androgynous mode maybe once a week. But without that day, who knows what might have been? Remember, only the day before, he was a wreck having wanked himself senseless whilst I was at work. So much better to have reclaimed my plan and given him this day's preparations to make while I was at work.
There are many other things to tell you, my Reader, like how we have created a wardrobe for him/her, and how our role reversal works in practice. That's for a later chapter. I have to go on……
We recovered over another Martini and I moved to suggest that we make something more of his hair — to put right my mistake earlier. We then had to work on his fingernails. Advice on his posture would wait for another day. He was still lounging there like a guy would do but no matter.
"Your hair, my darling…." I whispered. "You did really well with the comb-out, and I have to apologize for forgetting one thing - we need to back-comb the crown to give you some lift and volume. We'll leave the curls lower down as you've made them… all petal-like laying on one another. Beautiful. But the crown needs some serious back-combing!"
"I can't wait, lover." he murmured.
Readers’ comments have helped me revise this chapter, and the subsequent ones…. So, please, if you think you’ve read this before — and you may have — give it another chance; you’ll find more ‘dressing’ and maybe less ‘hairdressing’ which many of you seem to prefer. LOL, Zoe xx
A Wife's Indulgence chapter 6
by Zoe,
A friend of WannabeGinger's
My day at the salon had been enlightening. I came home a different woman, knowing that my husband Andy would be a different man! Androgyny appealed to me more than I'd expected… There were unexamined corners of our relationship that we might probe this evening. He/she, Andy/Annie, I knew, was nervous. I, too, as his wife, was nervous but also extremely excited!
I couldn't wait to reach the driveway at home……
The Homecoming
The mobile call on the phone was brief. I wanted his expectations to be accelerated. He had to know I was nearing home. When the car drew up, he would almost be having heart failure, his pulse racing for sure. He knew what I expected of him/her. Annie was to be there, already for bed. She had to choose some of my most feminine lingerie. I hoped she would choose well. I fancied being led t oblivion by a beautiful girl tonight…… “See you very soon, lover!” I said.
All day, I had been having the joy of squeezing the fucker that he didn't yet know was in my pussy. My pussy muscles were ready for the evening's entertainment. I would expect Annie to go down on me very soon after I got home and find the tip of the fucker there. I would have him explore all round it and suck it as if it were mine….. fully completing the girl/boy role.
As I thought of this, nearing home, I squeezed my thighs together yet again and, this time, sitting in the car seat, I was conscious that the fucker was on the move. Where there was just an inch or two outside before, the wetness allowed another inch or two to emerge. I had three or four inches of a cock between my otherwise girly thighs! I was getting a hard-on! Or it felt like it……. WOW! I wanted to get home and kiss Annie’s lovely lipstick-laden mouth………….. The jockey pantsI’d stolen from his bedroom drawers were stretching to breaking point. If I wasn't careful, I'd cum, I’d cum…… I was certain of that.
Faced with the choice of stopping the car and indulging that temptation, or going the last mile or two to get home, I opted for the latter. I would get to cum a dozen times tonight, I was certain of that! The fucker remained as far emerged as it now was…. I could live with that. I looked in the mirror again…. man's hair, girl's face. I had been dressed in his clothes all day — and I had enjoyed the feeling… the feeling of being in control.
The car reached the house, almost on auto-pilot. I wanted to get my hands on him/her…. now! The horn sounded unintentionally as I opened the door. More cause for heart failure for him!
I put the key in the lock of the front door….. and entered.
At this point, I really wasn't in control… for sure. Events would unfold in a way that I might fantasize would happen, or maybe dread. It would all go according to my (supposed) plan or it would all go horribly wrong like it did early last evening. I, an instant, I prayed it would go wildly and excessively well! And there he/she was!……….. Before me in the hallway. Looking stunning. There was Annie, my husband.
Perhaps inevitably, I saw a guy in a girl's bedtime clothes…………. "Annie....." I said, “…you're gorgeous!". There he was. Praying for approval. It didn't matter at all. We would take care of the imperfections of his first attempts. In the long run, he would be girly enough - if not to "pass" - to be convincing, with me, at home.
The nightdress was perfect, hiding his bum, but not reaching her knees. The shape of the breast panels was inviting and his nipples were upstanding, unusually so; asking to be tweaked. He wore garters and stockings in pure white. I would get closer to those later! Over the top, his satin dressing gown made for a slinky finish.
His hair was flat….. Oh, damn, I thought, I'd forgotten in my hurry on the phone… I'd omitted to tell him to back-comb the crown to give it volume and height. It looked a little bit "mousey" - that would have to change and soon!
His make-up, in fact, was very well done indeed and so I complimented Annie there immediately.
"Darling, those eyes!!!" I exclaimed……. "….and those lips! Come here!"……. I ran to him and gathered him up with my arms around his waist. His arms were flung around my neck. Boy/girl clinch reversed.
I paused before kissing his lips, to accentuate the pleasure with a moment's more anticipation. My tongue passed across my lips, slowly. He mimicked this seductive little motion too, her lips glistening with saliva.
Then we kissed, softly and gently at first, seductively on my part, and then flirtatiously on his.
At that minute, I was kinda glad that he was still a guy in my bedtime clothes…… Those three or four inches of the fucker between my legs were now clasped between my thighs. There was work to do and I felt good that I could make a significant improvement….. in a way, I guess he'd hoped I could even though he wanted so much to have my approval. His hair would be first — I had to admit my mistake in forgetting the back-combing. Then, I would take care of his eyeliner. Then he would need a lot of help in posture…. more than anything the way he was standing "shouted" uncomfortable!
"Ooooooh! Annie, I doooo love you!" I said, squeezing his waist. "Let me see your nails……."
Ahhh, there would be a need for help there too! He had tried his best I'm sure but there were traces of polish all over the place. The finger nails were good on his left hand but sadly misplaced polish surrounded the nails on his right.
"Trouble with being right-handed….." I said gently. "No worries, there's a technique you will learn. You did well with this one…" I continued, holding his left hand. "These are beautifully shaped and the colour is perfect. The shape on the left is good too — it's only the aim you're taking!" My hand strayed up his satin-covered arm.
"I wanted so much to get them right….. " He said hesitatingly. "…but no matter how hard I tried the polish wouldn't stay where I put it… Zoe, my hand wasn't steady and I guessed I was using too much. But it was exciting…. and that probably didn't help!"
The satin felt glorious to touch.
Confession! He was excited!
"It's very exciting darling, I'll put it right and show you a few tricks when I I've had a shower….. but before that, …. come here!" Another clinch, a prolonged and quite deep kiss this time. Hell, the lipstick would be ruined but that could be put right. I felt both our spirits rising….. and our cocks. He still didn’t know…….. I had a cock waiting for her!
I slid my hand inside his dressing gown to feel for his tits. Inside… what joy! I found his lacy bra inside the satin nightie. "Oh, Myyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!" I purred. I stroked the skin over his flat smooth chest and rounded on the nipple, squeezing it hard and digging my own long finger-nails into the sensitive little button. I would eat that later!!! He recoiled but didn't object. His eyes flashed - the mascara making them dark and sultry, the bright blue colour of the shadow making them bright and enticing at the same time. "Oh, o..u..c..h……! He whispered.
I slapped his arse, quite hard, and said "Now, you make the Martinis — strong ones — and I'll take a shower. I'm going to have you for dinner tonight!" Stunned, because I'd never said anything like that before in our lives, he skipped away to do my bidding. I saw him go and thought about it. I really hadn't, had I? Ever. Told him that he was mine to have.
This must have been another example of the way I had been dressed all day, and the dildo grasped between my thighs, showing through in most butch behaviours. I was back in control. He was doing as I told him. Partly, it was so that he would get a good fuck tonight. Partly, it was because he was being girly to my boyishness. Our roles were being reversed quite nicely thank you.
God! I felt horny at that moment. I felt the cock both inside me and outside me. Don't let anyone tell you that the 'G-spot' is mythical...... It's real! My pussy's lips were holding it fast. He did not know what was in store, but he'd soon find out! When Annie saw it, she might fear being penetrated with it at some stage, but that was not in my mind at all. I would discard it and implore him to fuck me hard with his own cock to consummate the evening.
I stood in the shower, stroking my skin, smoothing the silky lotion over my whole body. slowly,
I explored my tits…. thinking how like my own his nipples had felt. He had no boobs, as such, but we could make him feel that he had in due course. I ran water through my hair which had been scalp-tight all day. Should I come out of character and re-do it my normal style? Or should I stay boyish for a while? Decisions, decisions!
Decided…. hair boyish, clothes girly in the extreme.
Fresh make-up. Keep the dildo. That would be spicy. Like a guy in a dress… like he looked. I drilled a parting through my hair — razor sharp.
"Are the Martinis ready??" I called down the stairs. "I'll not be long, honey!"
"Ready and waiting, Zoe." was his reply. I quickly dried my skin and powdered all over. I took the most feminine, flowing summer skirt from its hanger. No bra — not for me today. I took a fresh pair of jockey pants from his side drawer — the ones from the day were soooo damp. The dildo was still there and I couldn't resist a push and a pull! As it slowly slid over the lips of my pussy,
I shuddered with expectation of what was to come…. or cum! Not yet! Enough! I turned to the mirror and admired my own image. Beautiful flowing girly clothes, topped with sleek hair and stunning make-up. "Cock" hidden. Shoes? Which shoes…….?? Boys' trainers (for oddity?) or heels (for seduction?)
Heels!
Down the stairs I strode, pausing briefly to locate him — he was in the lounge, sprawled across the sofa with his legs akimbo, showing more than a "glimpse of stocking"….. something shocking?, Oh no! The peach satin fabric glistened. He looked wonderful. Still a guy in my undies, but wonderful.
I can remember it as if it were yesterday, now I'm writing the memories down. What a beautiful way to spend an evening!
As I reached the foot of the stairs, he stood and came over, again putting his arms around my neck 'girl on guy' style. "You look stunning, Zoe!", he murmured. His hands ran over the sleek hair at the back of my head and the nape of my neck. "Mmmmmmm…..!, he purred. I responded with my hands around his waist once more and our lips came together.
"I'll fix your eye make-up when we've enjoyed our Martinis, then I'll make more of your hair! OK?". I could hardly wait. Because he would be made to eat my pussy on the way to those delightful experiences.
I don't know what he was thinking of just then because these were promises we'd both looked forward to. I saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes but then it was gone in a second…. and he didn't even know about the dildo yet!
When I began planning what we were doing, I had thought about a strap-on but I was very glad now that I hadn't done that. This was our own fucker that we'd shared many times… and oh! so many times had I cum with its delicious form inside me! It was only right that we should share it some more. It was there for an effect on his mind — to emphasize the strength of my commitment to him however he wanted to be girl, boy, boy/girl, or whatever.
""OK, whatever you say, my lover. Here's your Martini. You can take me anytime, ..anyplace, ..anywhere, as they once used to say."
"Let's take them upstairs…………………………..!"
We were on our way! I led him by the hand and, on reaching the fourth stair and standing above him, I sat down. "Now, …..I want you now! Eat me first! Please, darling!" I said hoarsely, the man in me coming through and the "man" in my pussy getting a hard squeeze. The folds of my dress were soon parted as he sank to his knees.
The jockey pants were revealed. The moment was about to arrive. God knows how I'd been waiting for this all day. His breathing was shallow, probably as he was close to cumming himself.
I felt his hair in my hands and grabbed hard — this one wasn't going to get away! I was in control.
His tongue felt its way along my thighs towards my pussy where it loved to play. His lipsticked lips leaving a trail no doubt as evidence! His hands stroked the backs of my knees. The jockey pants were a barrier. But he buried his face in there — as he often did into my lacy panties like the ones he was wearing now.
Then, he tumbled to the surprise…… "Wha…….!???... Zoe??" came from deep between my thighs…..
A split-second later, his head emerged and I saw mascara-laden, eyeshadowed eyes as he said "Ohhhhh, you beauty!!!…………………………………"
“Annie, you’re just perfect…” was all I was able to say. She looked all of the woman I wanted her to be tonight.
He tore at the jockey pants to expose the lips of my pussy and the clitoris that was begging to be creamed. He took my cock in his mouth and his lips closed around it. As I squeezed and the dildo pushed outwards, my erection was complete. He licked slowly to avoid gagging on my cock and I began to shudder uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced came over me. My mind went blank for I-don't-know-how-long.
His tongue traced the lips of my wonderful wet vagina, teasing the most sensitive areas just the way she would want if she were a girl. She just knew how to do that!
I'd left him behind and regretted that for a moment as I woke to find his head on my thigh and his tongue just reaching my clittie. I'd not waited… but I couldn't wait! Hours through the day meant I was cumming now, ready or not!!! Damn….. His breathing was slower now. I wondered if he'd cum in the meantime but it proved to be the case that he hadn't ejaculated. I noticed though that he was playing with one of his nipples as he kissed my love nest, his other hand stroking the satin of his camisole. "Zoe, my Zoe, you're a truly beautiful woman." was all he said.
We had to go on — to greater heights of ecstasy. I had to make sure we didn't lose this wonderful moment. Could we move? How could we move? I wanted my cock out and his cock in me. As I had these thoughts going through my mind, his tongue continued to have its effect and, sure enough, I was on my way to cumming again. My breath became short and my eyes closed as wave after wave of another orgasm engulfed me. God, he was good at this!!!!! Knowing just what a woman wants.... Time and again, my body quivered as his tongue surrounded the now-superfluous dildo. I was cumming just from pure lust.
It seemed like hours later that I slid the dildo out into my hand, wiping it across his lips before taking it to my own mouth to enjoy the taste the juices of my own cum. Not a word was spoken beyond my own two words……
"Annie... It's....... Your turn!…………………….."
Stroking the satin, I slipped the dressing gown from his shoulders. And so we climbed the stairs. His satin gown was now left behind us and his nightie, bra, panties, suspenders and stockings created the image of the girl I was about to mouth-fuck.
Wrong! As we reached the bedroom, his hands took over, swinging me towards the bed. The dildo dropped beside the bed. The Martinis were spilled. In a moment, he was above me as I lay on my back. He was fighting the lace of my panties around his cock. Soon it was free and he was able to enter me, submerge in me, drown in me. He grabbed handfuls of my hair as he rested on his arms.
I had this girl on top of me, her hair curled, her eyes bright and dark the same time. Her lacy bra and silky camisole in my hands. Her stockings and suspenders rubbing down my thighs. Thrusting into me. Annie’s cock was fairly firm but not huge and hard. Nothing like the fucker before it. But then, I thought in a lucid moment, a girl shouldn't have a full cock to fuck with - and nor really should this boy/girl I loved so much.
"Then, before, I was a girl… now I'm your guy." He said as forcefully as he knew how. I was no longer in control. For a while, he could lead. He could be in control. He could dominate if he so wanted. Looking as girly as he did, the wonderful confusion of our genders was complete.
In the after-glow we relaxed in the lounge. Our make-up restored and our exhausted bodies recuperating. There are no words to describe the feelings then. Looking back from months ahead, where we are now, this was an earth-shattering day in out relationship. It set the tone for the future that, thank heaven, goes on.
We're still together and we're loving the way we're able to love eachother. He is still "she" occasionally — like once or twice every week — and I'm in androgynous mode maybe once a week. But without that day, who knows what might have been? Remember, only the day before, he was a wreck having wanked himself senseless whilst I was at work. So much better to have reclaimed my plan and given him this day's preparations to make while I was at work.
There are many other things to tell you, my Reader, like how we have created a wardrobe for him/her, and how our role reversal works in practice. That's for a later chapter. I have to go on……
We recovered over another Martini and I moved to suggest that we make something more of his hair — to put right my mistake earlier. We then had to work on his fingernails. Advice on his posture would wait for another day. He was still lounging there like a guy would do but no matter.
"Your hair, my darling…." I whispered. "You did really well with the comb-out, and I have to apologize for forgetting one thing - we need to back-comb the crown to give you some lift and volume. We'll leave the curls lower down as you've made them… all petal-like laying on one another. Beautiful. But the crown needs some serious back-combing!"
"I can't wait, lover." he murmured.
A Wife's Indulgence chapter 7
by Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger's
The best day of my life was unfolding. Pausing for breath before still more intense love-making, as we laid back with our Martinis, I, Zoe, considered the future. We, Annie and me, couldn't survive if we were going to fuck like this every day.
Moderation in all things!
I'd have to create the way towards this being a regular part of our lives. Until then, we should make the most of the uncontrolled lust that had overwhelmed us.
I took Annie's hands and studied them. "Nails first." I decided for him. No choice. "Then I'll add something to those eyes… those pretty eyes. Then we'll finish off your hair and your can parade for me. Show yourself off a little, my girl." The dominant male was consigned to memory for a while. I wanted him back as my girl. The light hairs on his forearms were soft to the touch as I prepared to complete his manicure. Hang up the phones!! I thought!
The nail polish was an easy task. Some acetone and a cotton pad. They were cleaned up within a minute. The polish was located and the bottle opened. That wonderful smell pervaded the surroundings. I sometimes could swear that I smelled it in my sleep. Sooooo sexy.
I took hold of his right hand — the one that suffered from his 'cack-handedness' and very slowly I put two separate and quite thin coats of polish on each nail. He turned his hands around and admired them. Obviously comparing my work with his own…. "Zoe, my darling, I think I did very well… considering!", he rejoiced. His hands would make him an asset in his future days as a girl.
"Now, turn towards me...... away from the mirror, honey. I'm going to transform your eyes. You've done wonderfully well with the mascara and the eyeshadow. You've succeeded in bringing together total femininity with a kinda "come-n'-get-it" look. Your eyes were the first thing I saw when I came in the house. So, I come and got it!!!!" He blushed, and turned his chair away from the vanity unit. “You need eyeliner now, Andy” I said, reminding him of who he was……
He blushed, visibly….
I reached for the creamy liquid eyeliner that I'd planned to emphasize his look with. My face closed in towards his. I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Close your eyes now and keep them closed." Up close and personal, this was. Removing the brush, its pointed tip laden with dark black colour and I swept it across the two eyelids. First the right, then the left. He would be expecting something special.
As if the black were not enough, I then reached for another pot of colour and removed another pointed brush. This one was coated with a vivid blue that also sparkled in the spotlight above the mirror. A blue flash across his eyes as well! It complemented the eyeshadow beautifully.
"Keep those eyes closed! Annie... no peeking! You'll ruin the effect." I said shortly… I wasn't finished yet. His lipstick needed attention. All the kissing had worn it away somewhat. It needed freshening for what I hoped would come later. As I toughed his upper lip with the stick, he smiled broadly. "That's the way! The wider the smile, the fuller the lips!" was my response.
I turned him back to the mirror so he could admire my work with the eyeliners. Standing behind him. "Wonderful!"…., we said in unison.
What to do with is hair? It was several hours since it had been washed. The drying process for the curls round his crown was long since forgotten. The rest of his head bore superbly folded curls. But they were rather flat. Otherwise, somehow, the fucking hadn't disturbed them much.
The top was flat and somehow lifeless, largely because it was there that I'd grabbed his hair in mid-fuck. There was no style about it. I had to re-do the crown to make the best of his look tonight.
"You'll hate me for this…." I said, "….but I've got to put some of your hair back in rollers for a while." There was no question. This would regenerate the intimacy of earlier moments. As I did what I had to do to arrange the equipment, I was conscious of moving around for the first time without the cock in my pussy. There were no jockey pants here either. As I moved across the room, cool air wafted over my love nest and I was moved to twirl as a girl would do.
"Strictly Cum Dancing!" Andy chipped in, laughing out loud. "You're right, I'll hate you for that so get on with it and do your worst!"
"You wait, my boy! You'll have such backcombing after this you'll not be able to leave the room!" His crown hair that was about four inches long in those days would look great.
"Next thing, you'll have me sleeping in them, I guess." he chipped back.
"If that's your bag, boy…. You're on…. tonight!" He teased me, so that was a promise! And it was Annie's idea!
Looking into the mirror, he was forced to watch me wet his top hair and start to roll up the curls that would eventually adorn the style and make it memorable. Only six or seven rollers were needed. They were tight……. so he felt every move. Then I turned the hand drier on to full power and heat — none of the cool and slower drying under the domed hood. This was urgent.
The hair cooked quickly, changing colour back from dark to lighter as it dried. It took a few minutes. Soon, I was able to remove the rollers. I did so slowly, looking him in the eyes in the mirror as I did so……… Emphasizing that I was again in total control…….. His eyes were riveted to the image before him. He was deep in thought. His hands continued to stroke the satin of his camisole and he occasionally traced the lacy outline of his bra. Feeling very girly, no doubt.
He whispered, slowly and deliberately, "Zoe....... You know you could penetrate me with your cock if you want. I mean, if you want to carry on where we were going… before …….."
"Before you fucked me, you beautiful man!" I interrupted him.
So, he was going for this in a big way. But that wasn't in my plan at all………
"Well, yes, and you must know - er….. I have to say it again…. I'm only interested in you, darling… I'd expect people to say I was homosexual saying you can fuck me but I'm not……. I'm your guy, and your girl, and if that means………" His sentence trailed off. This was serious.
I had to reassure his again about my view of his sexuality.
"You beautiful, beautiful man!!!! Andy…. Annie! I can't imagine fucking anyone else! But for now, you'll do the fucking - or you'll fuck me with our fucker. The one we share."
The curls, no longer in their rollers, lay on his head. I seized one and ran a brush through it from end to end. I held it as high as it would go. Then I took a comb and began to work on it…. back, back, down, down to the root. As it developed into a cloud, I swept it to one side. Grasping a second curl, I did the same, sweeping it to the other side as I finished.
Three, four and five followed. The hair from these needed to be paced and spayed with hairspray before the last two were done. They gave him at least two and a half inches extra height before the curls swept over to make the final silhouette.
Curls six and seven I folded left and right across the front, to make a Sixties "feather style" — less back-combing and more substance to the rolls. I sprayed them and put long hairpins in. If hairstyles had titles, this would be "Touch me if you dare" …. and touch it I would… later! His hands continued to trace lines across the soft, silky lingerie that covered his body and his thighs. I paused, to join him, tracing the line of lace that defined the breast areas. Annie would be needing tits.. before long!
Throughout, his eyes had been fixed on mine and the way my hands were moving through his hair. He was studying his own image as it changed… from "guy with curls" to "girly". His make-up somehow ensured that the final look was "all girl"…. so different to when I got home. I had, indeed, had an effect. The bright blue slash across his eyelids intrigued me. The black eyeliner only serving to push the blue "in yer face".
My work was complete. My labour of love. I stood back, allowing the folds of my skirt to brush across his satin-covered back. I couldn't resist picking up the straps of his bra and the shoulders of his nightie and sliding my hands on to his shoulders.
"You're really pretty, sitting there, you know." I whispered so quietly he almost didn't hear.
I was falling in love all over again, but this time with a girl….. or a boy/girl if you insist…. This love was as deep as I felt for him when he was "just a boy". Now he had an added dimension which I found immensely attractive. Not just in terms of sex. It was opening a new sphere of caring — caring for another female entity…… The body was the same, but the way it worked was different. His responses to my initiatives when dressed this way seemed to be different to the way we are when we are girl and boy. He, as she, as Annie, was (and remains) softer and more lovable somehow. I guess I must have changed a lot in those first three days. Maybe I was becoming a lot less soft and lovable. Maybe we'll have to ask him…………
"Touch me if you dare hair" it was and I dared…… I reached up again and let the back of my hand caress his hair where the tighter curls were to be found beneath the crown and above the nape of his neck. Those shoulders were vulnerable. They invited a kiss. The hair was fragrant. It, too, invited me to bury my face within it. I stood behind him/her….. Had I chosen, and had the dildo been to hand, I could have taken him there and then. The temptation to fuck the boy of my dreams was growing stronger and I knew it had to be resisted.
Three days not yet complete but we had travelled miles along my road. I had a feminized husband in the making. How far and how fast to go? At this rate, he'd be living full time as a girl by the weekend! We have to go easy.
I turned him to face me and took one of his hands and pulled it towards my neck. I got him to run it over my smoothed down hair.
"Set my hair for me, please. I want to go curly again. Spiral curls on tiny rollers. You can do it."
This should be a way to give him a different focus. To calm the lust we both were indulging. To give a rest and change direction. To put thoughts of fucking him out of my mind — and his if he were dreaming that way. It was enough to know I could.
"Let me try without instructions first."
"Well, would you mind if I changed before you begin?" I asked, wanting to get into my bedclothes as a prelude to more rampant sex later. I'd choose black, with the red ribbon trimmings and a pair of the highest heels I possessed. "Why not?", he mused…… to which I had no answer.
I was wearing next to nothing so the change took no time at all. Off came my floaty summer dress and there was nothing more to remove. I was naked with only a pair of shoes. These I changed for the high black stilettos and I crossed the bedroom floor to select the nightie from the wardrobe. Indeed, black, lacy and sheer, with red ribbon trimmings it was. A whore's "special" it looked.
Now I was ready to be his whore. But he was still in stockings and suspenders, a bra and camisole.
So, I had to be her whore. After all, why shouldn't lesbians have whores?
"Let's play games!" I said returning to the dressing table…………
The rollers were tiny and they were to be tightly tied. He/she sprayed my hair before taking strands up and on to them. There were dozens. It took rather longer than I expected but the effect was maintained. The eye contact through the mirror was intense and continuous. By the time he was done, with a directional styling pattern that meant the curls would all spiral southwards when unfurled. It was time for another martini…….. and to feed eachother with treats.
He had done as I instructed?, leaving treats around the house for me to find? He had!
"Go look for them, now." He/she demanded. In the bedroom, there were few places to hide. I looked through the wardrobes but found nothing — except the idea for what he might dress in later…….. I looked behind curtains and on high shelves, only to find what he'd placed on a side table out of sight from the bed. A plate of ice with four oysters embedded upon it! The food of love — if you don't count music, that is! I had never eaten an oyster whole until that day. Whether they have aphrodisiac properties, I can't say, but we've celebrated special sex days with them ever since. Not Martini now — cold, cold chardonnay.
As I brought the plate to him, he was again squeezing at his nipples. "Let me try that, please" was all I could say. "Eat an oyster off them then!", he challenged me. So I did.
Having eaten the oyster, I turned my lips back to his nipple and gave it a gentle but distinct bite……
"oh, o..u..c..h…!" (again) he said.
"There's more…..", he began. "Oysters?…." I asked. "No, treats…… go find 'em!", Annie teased.
Not in the bedroom, so where?? I couldn't guess.
"In the bathroom."
I looked everywhere, eventually finding a huge cock-shaped carrot which made me die laughing!!! "Did you say I could have you????" I giggled. "Not with that!", she roared in mock horror.
What would this "lady's whore" be expected to do next, I wondered.
"You'll find some crudités with avocado in the lounge……. I want to lick the sauce from your belly button and you can choose where you lick some from on me." And Annie disappeared…. Where was she going? I went to the lounge as instructed. Where to put the sauce on her????
The "small" of his back, above the "bikini line". That's where my tongue would go! Face down on the floor where a luxurious long rug was laid out.
He returned with more of the wine. She sat on the sofa and beckoned me over. "You look wonderful with your hair like that." He said this, admiring his handywork with the tiny rollers that would make my curls….. and make my day!
"Yours does too, honey." was my honest reply, looking at my own back-combing skills. Heavens… I was beginning to share this fetish he has for hair, in all its shapes and shades.
"Lay down…….", he indicated the sofa…….. And I did. He raised the hem of my nightie so that my abdomen was his to do with it what he wanted. The vision of his hair, make-up and underwear provoked such confusion in my mind. I knew it was he and yet, he looked even more like she! And then she/he took fingerfuls of the creamy sauce and put it in my belly button. I t was cold, having been in the chiller. Involuntarily, I flinched. A shiver spread across my body and tiny goosebumps appeared everywhere! "You make me purrrrrrrrrrrr!" I said, covering myself in the shock……….. "Do me some more!".
Immediately, his face — with its lips shining and its eyes blazing beneath curled and back-combed hair — sank towards my tummy. His tongue emerged between those wonderful lips and I felt on the point of orgasm just looking at him/her. The sauce on his lower back followed with equal impact.
An hour later, having discovered several other delicacies around the house, between intervals of almost casual fucking, we lay back on the bed and talked. It proved to be more sexy than could be imagined. We talked about eachother, and ourselves, and our self-image….. and the confusion we were introducing. A Psychologist would say we were bonding with the past experiments and making them acceptable…. as a prelude to what was to be the way it would be from here on, between us.
"What made you think of us doing this?", Annie enquired, almost studiously.
"My love of being a girl…… and recognizing that you have this delightful side to your "being" that meant you'd be willing to share it."
"How could you be sure of that Zoe?", he said, doubtfully.
"I couldn't — it could've all gone wrong… and it nearly did."
"I can't promise it won't again…. this is wonderful, but it is a bit extreme…..", she confessed.
"OK, if you feel that coming over you, tell me. It'll be alright…. really….. We should do only what we both want to do…… Suggestions welcome of course! We'll ride any storm. That's what girlfriends do for eachother....... Will you be my girlfriend? Annie... Will you?!"
Annie purred quietly and, without a word, indicated a very positive acceptance of the invitation. Her tongue reached toward my nearest ear-lobe and then traced itself up into my hair-line and down behind my jaw-line.
My new girlfriend smiled quietly, as if reflecting on the uncertainty that under-lay his last words….
Annie would probably break with the whole idea more than once in the days and months to come. What was important in my plan — and this talk was helping to reinforce this — what was important was we could recover. I could still have this vulnerable "girl" in my arms.
"I know it doesn't mean you're gay - I hate that word — you're not going to get carried away and go off hunting men to sleep with. I know that…….." Annie needed reassurance. I went on. To give her ...... More reassurance. "I've never understood why a homosexual man would want to shack up with a guy who's special love is cross-dressing. And you're clearly not 'trapped in a man's body' like some TG people say they are. You're just finding out the joys of cross-dressing. It's that simple."
"Mmmmmmmmm…………", he purred, stroking the lace of his bra. His cock rising again.
"So what about you?", my question putting the ball in his court. "What made you receptive to the whole idea?" I would appreciate knowing where to direct further ideas so they'd be acceptable to him/her. "There's been some reluctance, but there's also been a great deal of very willing indulgence!" I smiled lovingly, touching the fringe of his hair and the curls either side of his face.
"Oh, long story — long ago....." She paused........ "I've always had this fetish for hair and girly things . Ever since college days. Clothes are part of that I guess. Girls' clothes. I've not told you all the details but you know I was heavily involved with one girl then — and several mutual friends. She was 'Ginger' because of her natural hair…… Where you're "auburn" and I love it, she was very 'ginger' and I loved that too."
I knew a bit about that time in his life — I knew he'd cross-dressed briefly — a few weeks, or months? How else did I know that he'd found mascara difficult?! He went on to tell me more and how, some time later, the relationship with Ginger had finished….. and how he had "put the CD idea in its box and (thought he had) thrown away the key."
I wanted him to know — as he surely did — that I wanted him now both as a man and as a woman. For as long and as often as he would be happy.
"Darling, tonight is being wonderful, I know you agree. But you must know that you have the choice — when to be a boy and when to be girly…. I'll say it again. No pressure. I just love you either way — and I love your special 'extra' package that no other girl I know possesses."
He interrupted. "Zoe…. I love it enough to ask if I can have some things of my own…. to keep out in the open, just between us. I don't want anyone else to know — this is private stuff."
That was a "crossing point" — into another phase… and far sooner than my plan envisaged! It might have taken three months if I was lucky, I had thought… but three days!!!???
"Oooooh! Sure we can — I'd love it if you could - We could go shopping, couldn't we? I happily enthused.
"Just undies, …and make-up, you know. No outside clothes. I've no need to go out and 'BE' Annie for anyone else but you. I want to be a girl just for you!". He was emphatic. His cock was clearly throbbing.
This is the way it's to be. WOW! prayers answered, I thought.
We lay there, continuing to talk.
"How does it make you feel when you've dressed like this? I'm intrigued to know… because I've felt very different today and I've only been half as far as you have!" I genuinely wanted to know, because there had been an effect on my behaviour today — and all I'd done was wear his jockey pants and a shirt and tie…….. Oh, and I'd done my hair differently, of course.
"Your er... assertiveness… has been a significant part of my acceptance of this." Annie said, slowly.
"Don't worry, baby……. I wouldn't push as hard as this if you weren't so willing….."
His face dropped…… "You don't think I'm being too much of an easy lay in this, do you? Well, I mean, I don't drop my knickers for any girl with a cock between her legs!" And he looked up again, smiling. "I just feel so sexy when you've put these things on me and you've made me capable of doing make-up that transforms me so…. and your piece de resistance is the hair……
I just love the way it feels to the touch…. OK, it's not long enough yet, but I think you've done wonders with what's there………"
YET??!! yes, I heard him right. I think he was hatching plans of his own.
"When you say 'yet', what d'you have in mind, honey?" I probed him…… was it a throw-away line, or did he mean something deeper?
"Did I say 'yet'? … ", he sat back….. "…then I must have meant 'yet'. How long could I grow it before going out would be a problem — given the people we know?
"People are very relaxed about the way we all look. I'd say that a chin-length page-boy bob cut would be good — that would make a short pony-tail and who doesn't have a pony-tail sometime in their lives!? Longer than that….. makes a longer ponytail. I think it should be cut perfectly for a girl's style and whatever pony-tail you have, ….you have!" My thoughts began to run away with what I was saying…. I forgot myself a bit…… Don't go tooo far…. Don't rush him!
He went on with his own train of thought….. "You see, I like it dressed as I am round here. And I've no worries about wearing make-up on working days when you're out and about so I look and feel attractive when you get home…… It's the weekends that I'm less able to be confident about. What if people call in unexpectedly?"
"Annie has to hide." I put it bluntly.
"Exactly,…." , he conjured up a picture in his own mind…… "Frightening!"
"Not at all, unless you want to go much further with this…..?" I had to test him out.
"No, that's exactly the point. The thought frightens the living daylights out of me — being discovered by anyone else but you." He admitted.
"Tell me more about why this is different, honey." I coaxed him to open up some more.
"Well, it's hard to describe…." I remember this bit very well as I'm writing……. "There's a big part of me wanting to do this, more and more in fact, and there's a little part of me that says it's wrong ……. No, be honest with myself, there's a quite a big part of me says it's wrong. The worry is that I really hope you don't feel this is stealing anything from you — your "self"; the girl in our marriage…….. I mean, there's only room for one woman……. what did Diana say? 'There were three in this marriage and it got crowded', or something…… I really don't want to crowd you in any way………… I'm not stealing your identity… lovely though it is and if I were a girl I'd want to be like you more than anybody else……."
Crumbs! Complicated stuff……… I had to reflect on what he'd said….. Maybe it was true. What was I doing? Giving some part of myself away???? In giving him this wonderful hairstyle and make-up, was I forcing myself to go "andro"? In giving him that make-up, should I stop wearing cosmetics too? No fear — I wouldn't do that… I love prettying myself up. In letting him "inside my knickers" — quite literally — was I giving him the girl's role?
"Absolutely not! ", I uttered, half answering these questions in my own head, and partly saying that he was to be himself — as a girl or a boy…..
Plenty to think about as we drifted off to sleep at last; me in my nightie, him still in his camisole bra, panties, stockings and suspenders. We should have taken off our make-up but neither could be bothered, such was the contentment between us.
************
We're into the days subsequent to my plan's initial phase — my plan to get my husband Andy to enjoy the feminine side of his character, Annie. So much had happened in the first three or four days that I knew then that we had to take a breather and maybe slow down. If the behaviours and enjoyments we had reached were to become a regular part of our lives — as I hoped they would — then a "slow, slow" before another "quick, quick, slow" phase was in order. So, I had to create the right atmosphere. It began the next morning…….
***********
The rest of the first week
We awoke the following day with my husband still dressed in his/my undies and with his make-up and hair still — as far as possible after a night's sleep — still girly. We both awoke together but I had already planned how this morning would be….. He needed to be a boy again, just for a while.
"Up you get — you can shower first…." I began. "A fresh start, Andy my lover. Shampoo that hair, cleanse you face and get yourself dressed, big boy style please."
"OK, hon, you're right. That would be good."
No make-up, no hair styled, no knickers — let him feel good about himself as a guy today….. Let's do usual things, I'd tell him. We would save any 'playtime' until later - or maybe even tomorrow. I'd judge things as we went along. I kept with me the image of him as he removed his female underwear and went into the bathroom to shower. As I looked at his disappearing torso, his hair 'big' from last night, it was a girl as much as a guy going in there. It would be the guy in him coming out again in a few minutes.
I'd spend the day in gorgeous femininity at work and then return refreshed.
He needed to be organized again though. He had work to do at his home-office desk, I knew that. However, I needed to keep him in touch with his 'herself'……. He didn't know yet, but….. I'd send him on a (first) shopping trip on his own……. As a guy, I'd planned to send him to the local department store to buy a lipstick. And then to the local M&S store to buy some underwear…..
Just one lipstick. (He would be sent back to buy other things there in the coming days but wasn't to know that today. He was to get to know the cosmetics counters well over a few days…… and the girls there would get to know him.)
He'd grow to like that, I was sure. I would insist that he told me all about each trip when I got home each evening. In minute detail…. Who said what; how he felt; how he made his choices.
It would be less likely for him to get known at the M&S underwear department — they change staff too often and the service isn’t nearly as ‘personal’.
"Hurry up, darling." I called — I had to shower and get ready for work. It was a busy day at the salon that I couldn't be late for. Miss your first appointment and they all get behind from the start. There was a regular client in first thing who had a complicated colour job to be done as well as a cut — big business for the salon and, in any case, a woman whose hair I enjoyed working with.
"Be done in a minute!" came his reply. And soon enough, there he was, wrapped in a towel, his hair all wild and natural, his face devoid of make-up. The only give-away to our days of role-play was the nail polish on his fingers and toes. "You can't even get away with that……." I said, pointing to the offending items. "Remover pads at the ready!".
He was done with that by the time I returned from the shower, I too now wrapped in a towel with my hair all wild and no make-up…… The only difference between appeared between the folds of his towel! Yum, yum! I thought………….. And I knelt down in front of him!
***********
And then I was late for work!!!!
***********
"Sometime today, Andy...... anytime you feel like a walk to the shopping centre, I want you to go shopping. We have to get you some things for yourself and there's no reason not to start today. We'll do it slowly, one or two articles at a time……. “
He was to be dressed as a guy for this….. No question. How much he disclosed of his “interest” in these things was up to him!
“First, I want you to visit the department store where they have a wonderful array and choice of cosmetics. I want to find you home tonight with your very own lipstick — that you’ve chosen for yourself. You must go in and take your time….. I suggest the Christian Dior counter — they have the best choice and also the sexiest counter staff. You’re to pick up one lipstick tester and rub it across the back of your hand — to assess the colour. Then another, and maybe another. By then, you’ll have attracted the attention of the saleswoman. She’s offer assistance and …. Well, you can play it as it comes from there. You have to find a reason why you want a lipstick — any lipstick — and then you have to have her help you make a choice! Simple!!!”
“just one? “ he asked. “One is enough for you, my girl…..!” I retorted. “…. Because you have another purchase to make.” Andy’s eyes narrowed…..
“So, today, you're also to go to M&S. Easy to find, you've been there lots of times. But you've not been to Women's Lingerie. At least not with me, you haven’t! So go there and find it — it's on the first floor, hidden away a little, so it's very discrete."
"What am I looking for?", he asked quietly, his face betraying his thoughts. "What's she expecting me to do…. try things on???!" Now, whether he wanted to or not, that was a bridge too far, for now!
"You're looking for knickers, plain and simple… or rather not… rather more as pretty as you can possibly imagine…. I'm talking lace… lots of lace…… and maybe ribbons and bows. You'll find lots on different cuts and styles. There'll be high leg ones, French-style ones, and bikini ones, and ……thongs … but don't even go there! You have to choose one pair….. no more… just one….. that you fancy. You might like to check out if they have matching bras… but don't buy one of those today....... just check they've got them to match… because I've got an idea that you'll need one someday quite soon!"
"I like the sound of doing this… I really do…… but won't the salespeople think I'm odd…..?
"Well, I guess they won't because Annie, you are!!" I replied, teasing him mercilessly. "No, no, they get guys in there buying knickers every day, I'm sure. And it's not as though you need to ask for help. You just need to know your size…. Your size as a woman."
"Well, what size am I???" he said searchingly.
"I doubt you'll want to ask them, eh?" I teased again. "You'll be an English size 16 or 18… and I've no idea of what that is in European measurements."
"And you're a 14, are you?" he asked, almost too casually……..
"Yes, but why do you ask?" I said, feigning surprise but knowing it meant he was trying to judge his size — in my knickers — against his own.
"Oh, nothing, no reason…." he said, unconvincingly. I let it rest. He would have to work it out for himself and if that meant trying my undies on again, well, so be it.
"Is that all? All I'm supposed to buy?" he asked as if disappointed.
"Yes, for today, that's all you get!" I flirted with him and left the house for the day.
On the drive to work, I reflected on how fast to push the process. The next few days should be gentle….. little steps at a time…. no great surprises. No causes for alarm. No shocks to the system but gentle securing of the steps we'd already taken, "him/her" and me. That's why he was to buy only one pair of knickers on this first visit to M&S.
As soon as I arrived at the salon, I was immersed in the needs of that first quite demanding but interesting client's hair. Mid-50s lady, tall and elegant, carried herself well. Always well dressed — spent a fortune on her clothes. Always immaculately made-up. Perfect nails, Probably very good at sex. Crowned her image with a sandy, beige blonde bob.
I mused over something Annie had said a day or two ago, while I was applying the client's colour…… "Could we do something with the colour (of his own hair)?" he'd asked…….. and I'd suggested something not very permanent — maybe some jazzy temporary rinse…. hhmmmm.. I thought about that……. Maybe next week? Maybe. Hair's his fetish, after all. Maybe the same for both of us?
The day was enjoyable — lots of variety, lots of different clients, all wanting something different. Some new clients, again wanting new treatments. That's what I love about my job…… and what I'm beginning to like in my hubby!
Mid-afternoon gave a break in my appointments book. I thought I'd give him a call. Maybe tease him some more — in a nice way. The phone rang and rang at home. No reply. Good! That meant he was out and maybe I'd find him in M&S searching for a pair of sexy knickers. Maybe he would even be checking his preferred purchase against the bra selection… there had to be a match!
"Hi, I can't get to the phone so please leave a message." said his voice-mail. What to say? Pausing for a second, I teased him anyway: "I doooo hope you've found what you're looking for honey, and I dooooo look forward to seeing you wearing them tonight!. Love you!" That would make him smile, I hoped. My pussy was wet just at the thought of my home-coming, remembering the way I'd left him this morning, towel hanging open, cock smothered in lipstick after the blow-job I'd just given him. Ok, so his cock hadn't been huge but I'd milked him just the same. The taste of his cum came flooding back. Yummmmm!
My last client was, I knew, one of the few outright lesbians who came to the salon. She was a beauty and revelled in the way she looked. She flirted with all the stylists, me included, and today was no different.
"Not changed your mind over my offer last time I was here Zoe?? It's still open. Your place or mine…. You can do what you like with me so long as I get to do the same to you." she said, lowering her voice to an almost discreet level.... "You can read me poetry before we fuck eachother if you like." And she meant it! (She knew my love of poetry…….)
She went on… "You can choose the colour for my hair this time, darling — make me red if you feel submissive, make me blonde if you fancy being on top, and make me black — blue black — if you want me in the dark."
It was unreal. She'd asked once before. Hairdressers do have the oddest conversations on the quiet with their clients — and I've had a few — but she was a first!
For once I was tempted……………. (and she went home blue-black!) The rest of the day passed uneventfully…..
I, too, stopped off at M& on the way home, wondering who would have served Annie earlier in the day. I fancied a new body-shaper and so I went in to get one.
Home-coming was a more low-key affair than the day before — it could hardly be otherwise. Andy greeted me at the door and hugged me round the waist as my hands reached for his neck - very much a boy — girl clinch. I was delighted to taste lipstick on his lips — he'd obviously found a "birthday suit" coloured stick in my selection on the dressing table. Tasty! Otherwise, he was all boy tonight…. except, of course for the hidden delight he'd have bought, as I instructed.
We kissed for a long time, our tongues exploring. I licked all around the outline of his upper and lower lips, tracing the cupid's bow shape he'd fashioned above and the full sumptuous curve below. No husband I knew would greet his wife this way….. the little counted for a lot. He'd been thinking 'sex' almost all the day I reckoned.
"You look wonderful…." he began, "… I've soooo been looking forward to you coming home and I've had a great day…. I've got lots of work done and that gave me time to go to M&S like you said I should……. Oh, boy, that was an experience……. It wouldn't be for you maybe but, well, there was no need to go to the men's department. It's a boring in there….. I headed straight for the women's area like you said…. the lingerie was over at the back. I had to walk through some delightful clothes to get there — some you'd look really good in. I kinda got 'shopping' in my system if you know what I mean………"
"You look wonderful too, Annie, my honey…… Why don't you put on some more lipstick — 'cos it's all gone — and let's talk more about eachother's day….. I can't wait!"
I wanted to savour these moments. He was quite so excited it was amazing. Enjoy shopping??? A guy?! This was a FIRST!
He made tea as I sat in the lounge, busily attending to things in the kitchen.
"Did you wear lipstick all day?" I asked, half expecting that he had — but hoping that it had just been for my home-coming. "No, darling, you didn't suggest it, so I resisted the temptation."
There! Sharing… Just for the home-coming… that was what I wanted!
"You beauty!" I exclaimed. "….Quick, do as I say — loads more!!!! … Oh, and I'd prefer you with colour this time!"
"Annie" reached into her pocket and produced one of my slim Christian Dior lipsticks and went to the little mirror by the door. His manner showed me that he had been practising with this moment in mind. He made the shape of his lips exquisite. I was beginning to like this!
“I didn’t tell her why I wanted the lipstick, but I did nejoy the coosing! There are sooo many to choose from!” he eulogized.
"Mmmwwahhhh!!" he mouthed, as he blew me a kiss, theatrically.
Tea first, then talk……. I wanted to know all about his day. "Tell me how it felt going in to the M&S store, knowing what you were there for… let's begin there." I asked.
He was off! On a diary……. "Oh, no, it began before that — when I left here, I had a really warm feeling inside… as if everyone who I passed knew where I was going. One or two smiled "hello" and I took that to mean 'we know where you're going!' Bet they didn't though! But then again, I'm sure my heart beat faster because of it. M&S has lots to offer — why can't men get the same amount of choice in the clothes they wear… Anyway, you were right. I found the things I was looking for under the eagle eye of a Sales Supervisor who seemed to notice me as soon as I got in there…… She didn't say anything for a while, as I was looking….."
He went on, hardly pausing for breath. "…….The important thing you said was to look for a matching set of bra and knickers - well, there were some where they were together….. with suspenders too…… and some where you had to look in separate aisles. I think she thought I'd been there long enough when she came over and asked if she could 'help with anything'."
He was clearly excited just telling me about something so everyday and ordinary….. Excited!
"I said no thanks…. well, I could hardly ask her to measure me as a 16 or an 18 could I? Anyway, I'd already decided I was a 16 and to risk them being a bit tight. So it was obviously time to make the choice………. And so I got these…", he said as he unzipped his chinos and allowed them to fall. Stepping out of them, he said…. " D'ya like them, Zoe, honey?"
I loved them… and told him so! I pulled him down on to the sofa and kissed him again.
"You're such a cutie! They're just right……… You're going to enjoy things to go with them. We'll get you a shopping list — today was just a taster. The next thing I want you to do, tomorrow, is to go back and find that same woman and ask her for help… in choosing the bra to go with these lovely knickers……. and to choose another set…. another bra and some more panties. There's no doubt she'll be pleased to help you."
Reassuringly, I was telling him it was OK to go out on his own and buy feminine things.
"But what size bra should I buy? I've no idea…….. I know what size you wear but… but your tits are much bigger than mine! I'm not growing tits…….."
The spectre of changing his body shape clearly was a sudden revelation and it bothered him…. More reassurance needed.
"No, honey, no, no , no…… Well, we can measure you here and that will be fine…… and no, you're not growing tits. (yet? I wondered.) I can tell you exactly the size you need…… but then, there is a belief that 70% of all women are wearing the wrong bra size, or 'cup' size….. and you should really start off in the right size. (Wait for it, I thought, deep breath…..) The best thing would be to ask the woman you met to measure you. I'd guess a 38A."
(There, I'd said it… risking him 'sharing' the experience with another woman…. but the enhancement of the fantasy carried me away, I well remember).
Annie's face flushed red and I went on….
"You can choose a really quiet time in the store… like very first thing in the morning…. and you can invent a reason…….. the classic one being 'a dare or a bet that you've lost' or a fancy dress party that you're going to……. She'd understand……."
She'll understand all right……. She'll understand that you're very nervous about cross-dressing but she won't be shocked, I thought to myself. You won't be the first and you won't be the last that she's seen.
"….. and while you're there, have a look at the corsetry racks…. you'll find things called 'body shapers' that a nice tight lycra body wear — cover you from tits to pussy. Just look!"
His face was a study……. Was I really telling him to do this? Should he really approach a total stranger and ask her to measure him up…. for a bra!? He was torn between wild excitement and total embarrassment……. between 'should I?' and 'shouldn't I'? He remained speechless for some time…. I remember it as well as if it were yesterday.
(He subsequently confessed that he'd thought about asking the woman for 'help' himself when he left her the first time….. It was a temptation. He hadn't thought about how to explain or excuse the need to be measured for a bra… he would just have, well, said that's what he needed. He knew she would have guessed what was behind it. She had been so friendly, he didn't really care. His dilemma over my suggestion was whether he should admit to me how much it excited him!)
I had planned to suggest that he go further in his shopping trip tomorrow — and visit the department store's cosmetics counters — but I thought again, enough was enough on that day. How wonderful that he would be going back to buy much more intimate female clothes tomorrow. Our secret — to share with eachother.
For the rest of today, though, he would be all boy. I wanted fucking tonight and I meant for him to know it….. whether it was him, or the fucker we share, or both…. I was hot for it. I resisted the urge to take him there and then. A Martini seemed like a good suggestion!
**************
The morning after was like the others recently, except that he wore no undies, no make-up and his hair was boy-style today. Nevertheless, we were both feeling very sexy and a follow-up to "last night" was very much on both our minds — gently, lazy, hazy fondling and petting eachother. His tongue was in good form that morning. I was able to cum, and cum again, as the waves of pleasure flowed over me. Annie knew how to please a girl! We finished with me giving a good old fashioned blow job to "my man".
My man who was going shopping again today.
**************
After the goldrush!
"You were right. Bra size 38A cup — was what she told me I needed." He began his description of his day the following afternoon. We settled down to exchange our news, like before, but my day at the salon hadn't been notable in any way. My mind had been 'elsewhere' of course.
"She came over to me after I'd been there a little while, examining the bras this time. "Forgotten something?", she asked me……. as if she knew the answer….. I was prepared for that or some-thing like that… ", he claimed! "….. and so I said she was right, I needed a bra to go with the knickers I'd bought yesterday. I'd planned to say they were a present for my wife and I forgot the top half!…. And that I wanted another set. …but half-way through I thought why lie? Because she'd be shocked? I don't think so! She didn't strike me as the type who'd be shocked by anything …… so I just said "yes, a bra to go with the knickers — these ones — and maybe another set, too."
So, he'd done it… no excuse or explanation………
"So, what did she say to that?" I asked. It could have gone two ways… she might have said "fine, here you are… " and left him alone, ……..or she might have said "fine, do you need help?" A lot rested on this, or rather which, question.
She did the latter…... asked him if he needed help. Now that could have been in the choice of style, or it could have been in the sizing.
She chose the latter.
He continued…. "she asked me…… "What size do you, er.. she paused, …..does the lady need?"
WOW — make your mind up time! We both thought.. "This was IT!"
……. and he went on obliviously…….
"…..So I said, well, my wife says a 38A but that this should be checked……. and d'you know what? … the crafty cow made me come clean….. she said 'Well, where is your wife?", probably thinking that you didn't even exist and I'd made up being married ….. So I bare-faced it…. I said "Oh, it's not for her, it's for me."
Brilliant. He'd 'come out' to a complete stranger. It was all part of his admission to himself that he was, indeed, is, a cross-dresser and, now, doesn't mind people knowing. He later admitted to me that this was one of so many critical moments but one he looks back on with special pride.
"Well done, I'm proud of you. You must tell me a bit about her and how she handled the revelation, …well done….!" I hugged him and let my hand stray towards the satin of the knickers that were now within my reach.
"It was so scary…… before I knew it, she was saying "Come this way" and marching off to the fitting room,, smiling at me over her shoulder. There was no other customer near us so I felt kinda safe not being threatened…… if she'd had other customers, I guess this would never have happened. And d'you know, she treated me just as if it was you standing there… but all the time I felt that she was really understanding… you know, wanting to make it easy for me… in fact, to help live out my fantasy — which she clearly knew we had entered……
"Slip off your top…" she told me, "..is this your first fitting?" she went on……. And so it was. She put her measuring tape around my chest, both below where my tits would be and right across the nipples and then she measured something across my back, letting me face the mirror and see her attending to me…. You know, I think I was falling in love! She was soooo kind. She told me to slip my top back on and then said I should look for 38A bras….. and probably an 18 in panties next time. I just wanted to hug her!"
"Good job you didn't!" I exclaimed…… ".. but you've found someone you can go back to, which is nice. I doubt she'll forget you. What was she like? — I want to know so I recognize her when I'm in there next time."
He thought for a moment and said "Well, she's blonde — that lovely beige colour with some light and some darker part, all quite highly styled with curls you can see are separated. She's tall, about 5ft 9 or 10, and well, ...shall I say, she'd more a size 20 than a 12! Aged about 45, nice legs……
"Enough!……" I said. He really had fallen in love! "Well, she's done you proud. So off you went to select your purchases?"
"Indeed, she didn't follow but she did say "see you soon, I hope". So, I hope so too!" "Love!"
I thought that his day as a boy had been the right thing to do and I was right. He had woken as a guy, and we had screwed as boy and girl. He had gone out as a guy and he had bought female underwear as a guy. Excellent. He remained in 'boy' persona.
"So, you now have two bras and two pairs of matching knickers?" I asked. "Indeed, I do.", was his reply. "I'll show you them later."
My decision to leave it at that tonight was also right. I had quite intentionally slipped a phial or two of temporary hair colour into my bag as I left the salon. I thought that it might be nice to play with his suggestion that we "do something about the colour" of his hair. But he'd indulged my fantasy in spades today — better than I could have hoped or planned for. This was working! Not too fast, again I told myself.
We spent the evening relaxing and, for the first time in a while, not gagging for sex. There was all the time in the world for that! Boy and girl…… albeit boy-in-knickers. Bedtime was wonderful. A pantomime almost. He made a show of opening his parcels and putting on his new purchases. Beautifully done. He was really enjoying himself and I loved watching….. I kinda appreciated, for the very first time, how guys get a kick out of striptease….. That was what it was…. unstrip ------- tease!
Needless to say, the teasing worked well, for both of us!
And then. again, we slept.
****************
I had more in store for his next excursion but decided that today would be a rest day……. He could dress if he wished but nothing new to push the boundaries. That could wait until tomorrow.
My plan didn't require a total transformation at all, nor an immediate one. I wanted to make us enjoy subtle (subtle!!??) changes on a gradual basis……… What had happened so far was more than expected…… Maybe I myself was getting a little concerned……… Now, he seemed to be" in the driving seat"… but then again, no he wasn't —
He had bought himself a lipstick — a first one at least. He would buy more! I had put him through the trips to M&S. I had determined that it was knickers only first time and bras and knickers next. It was me that suggested the "help" he should ask for.
No, I was in control. This is Zoe's party.....
As we sat over breakfast coffees, I casually said "Be a boy again today?" and his response was immediate: "Oh, I think so… a girl can have too much of a good thing!" He had work to do that would take him out, he explained, and he wouldn't be back until after my usual arrival time.
"Well, you could always wear those lovely undies, darling Annie." I suggested.
"Mmmmmm, I was hoping you'd say that, Zoe. That'll be enough just for today though." He replied with a smile and a suggestive look that meant tomorrow would be different.
My husband Andy's falling into the role he was beginning to play; the coquettish girl/boy; when the opportunity arose, was encouraging.
He was clearly loving the way we sparred with eachother in little moments like these. Maybe tomorrow would be a good time to move things along. He knew nothing of my next suggestion.
I have asked Andy to remember the time, in that first week or so, and what his feelings were. He's offered the following comments to clarify just how willing he was at this stage to go on with the process of building his female alter ego…… Here is what he's written.....
**********
Andy/Annie writes………
I understand what Zoe is doing here...... She has asked for my take on what was happening that first week...... It's too long ago to remember in detail — at least three years now — but that was a time when I was going through a lot of changes and some of them were welcome, some were not.
When my wife took the first steps, suggesting such mild fantasy play, I was really ready for a little escapism. It probably helped that my college days had brought me quite a lot of experience in girls' clothes and hair & beauty. Those had been totally absorbing for several weeks and, while I was still living at home, something to keep secret from parents and share with friends. The girlfriends I shared the hairdressing competition with were stunning — they were all very focussed, as I was, on helping a friend to get practice in her job and, later, to help her win a novices' competition. That I'd spent hours as a girl at the time, and really loved the way I was treated as one of the group, meant that now, in my twenties, my wife's suggestions found me very susceptible to CD playing!
I was ready for it — though up to that time I'd never have suggested anything to my wife like dressing in her clothes, or using her make-up, or having her style my hair. She started it — and to this day, I'm still thankful she did. She's the love of my life and, now I can respond to her in two ways, she can feel able to play two roles herself. I love her when she cross-dresses... in some of my guy gear..... But "Andro-her" comes out much less often than my Annie, i.e. me, but she/he's very welcome when she/he does.
We have found a wonderful way to indulge both our fantasies. It's not been without its set-backs and losses of confidence (mainly on my part) but it means I'm able to be a girl some days as well as living as a guy. There is a heaven… really!
Zoe returns……
There, you have a little interlude between my writings that may give a picture of where we are today. Now, back to how we got here……
So, he went off to his business meeting that day, dressed in his undies but, to the world, a guy in a business suit. The bra and panties were his secret. A secret that only I shared. Heaven. His outer wear is conventional, his hair long but natural.
This was a Friday — the end of the week. Playtime could follow; uninterrupted for three nights and two days. How would I make the most of that? I spent most of Friday planning the details. I knew overall that I wanted us to have sex as often as we could, in as many guises as we could.
He would be she. He would be he. I would be she. I would be he.
He would be Annie. He could be Andy. I would be Zoe, but I could be a "he", couldn't I?!
He would be going tomorrow to the department store to get some lipstick. Maybe Sunday, he would be going again, this time to buy some more cosmetics. I had the hair colour from the salon. Maybe tonight we could play with that. He had asked, after all! I said "jazzy" and I meant it — this was a purple/burgundy shade. Maybe I could take home some paint-on silver for a 'flash' to go with it, around his temples…… where I would set his kiss-curls …….. Lovely ideas!
As I stood with my clients, my thoughts made me wet around the pussy. How delightful! What was he thinking, I wondered.
Friday night home-coming was strange for me… He wasn't there. I hadn't heard from him during the day either. I was longing to see him — and begin to make him "her" again. There were plans to put into place……
Having made sure there were Martinis in the fridge, I went to the bedroom. His fresh underwear came to hand and I laid it on the bed, together with my peach satin dressing gown. I would give him that to have for himself from tonight onwards. He could even come with me to buy a replacement at the same department store. Maybe I'd watch him from a distance as he went to the cosmetics counter and asked for more help. I laid "our" cosmetics on the dressing table.
I found the fucker that we both loved so much…. the dildo that would fill me up later. Hell, why not have a little pleasure first, before he returns?! So, ………I did.
There, alone on the bed, I writhed and wriggled with delight as the fucker went in and out. I took it out and sucked it well. Joy!
Nothing yet done with my own appearance, I was surprised when I heard his car arrive on the drive. Got to get ready! I ran to the bathroom and into the shower.
There was something natural about the way my hair stayed as it was at the end of the shower — slicked against my head as before. I carefully applied styling mousse to make it stay like that.
"Had a good day??? I'm just in the shower." I called when he came in downstairs.
"Brilliant! Fancy a Martini?!", he replied.
What to wear? He was still in his business suit……I went into my little dressing room.
"Come and get changed first!" I implored him — I wanted him out of the man's things… now!
"OK, it's been a hot one, so I need a change.", he agreed. He'd find the clothes on the bed!
He climbed the stairs and came into the bedroom…. "Wow! No secret what you have in mind!", he exclaimed, with a sudden excitement in his voice.
"Exactly! You have three minutes to shower and change." I teased. Enough time for me to choose what I should wear tonight. If he was to be in a dressing gown and underwear all evening, should I be in male drag to reflect his looks? Why not — there's a first time for everything, I thought.
A wave of nerves came over me, standing in our dressing room…………. — was this another step — and one too far? I stood before his open wardrobe... What clothes should I choose? His clothes...... Uncertainty swept over me for a milli-second as I looked in the mirror. It would be right with ultra-glam make-up…….. surely. A wolf — or a vixen - in sheep's clothing?
He was finishing his shower as I fastened the hipster jeans and the CK shirt. It was tight across my bra-less tits but that would only serve to confound the image. My nipples stood proud.
I slipped on a pair of his, very male, shoes. (Pity he wasn't my size in shoes, I thought…. we'll have to take care of that soon).
His footsteps from the bath we quiet and I turned to see him, wrapped in the bath sheet, standing at the doorway of the dressing room. His hair was wet and wild.
"Well, helloooooo………", he whistled quietly.
He saw a woman --------- alllll woman -------- wearing his clothes with her perfect make-up and sleek hair, beckoning him to come for a kiss.
My lipstick was messed in a minute… but it was then all over him…. 'him' as he soon wouldn't be. He would be Annie..... and I might just fuck her tonight!
"You look stunning.! Zoe, have I ever told you I love you?!", he said appreciatively.
"So do you, honey, even before I've got my hands on you! Oh, and yes, you have!", I replied.
Ohhh, did I have plans!
"Keep the towel on, leave the undies for now, and bring this to bed….", I said, handing him the fucker that I had played with before his arrival.
"With pleasure.", he beamed in agreement.
No knickers, no bra, no make-up, no hairstyling…. just him as he was made…….. What better way to start an evening of making love?
*************
Later, after two more Martinis, I suggested that he got dressed — which he did — before I made the most of his hair and matched his make-up to my own.... glamourous!. He was more than willing.
He wasn't prepared for the revelation that came next. Sitting him at the mirror in the bathroom,
I said: "Colour by Schwarzkopf………. you asked if we could…. I say we can!", holding the phial of colour up for his inspection.
"It's the colour of your favourite wine — shiraz, my darling … a deep burgundy purple…… You'll look absolutely stunning! It'll condition your hair as well, making it easier to set on the rollers. Don't fret — it doesn't last….. well, not very long……. Well, three washes perhaps……. you can handle that, can't you? It's a very fashionable colour…… lots of girls are asking for this at the salon……."
Silence.
"I chose this one because I think it'll suit you really perfectly…… You can choose other colours another time if you like…. I can bring the colour chart and swatches home with me if you like…. Or you can look at them when you next come to pick me up at the salon. In fact, I could do it for you one night at the salon. That could be fun. A real girly experience — for both of us!"
Silence. A stunned look. Was I serious? Well, I was, but his look made me wonder……..
"Oh, yes please, Zoe darling……… You know that hair is my "thing" and I can't wait to have you play with mine…….. I'd love to come to the salon - I'd love to become a regular client — and have you work your magic. By all means, let's try this colour. It sounds wonderful, but please can I come to the salon before long……….. Nobody there knows me so I could be a complete stranger for you to take on. You just tell me when my hair's long enough for you to do your best work on."
His words flowed like a river — impossible to stop.
So, I took the step of adding a little more moisture to his hair — it was partly dry. I stood behind him, both of us looking in the mirror as I parted his hair left and right, combing the colour through thoroughly over four or five minutes. By then end of this time, it was ready for rinsing — too long and the colour would become excessive.
I sent him to the bathroom to rinse the colour away and, as I stood there in his tight shirt, jeans and shoes, I thought "not a bad looking guy, I'd like him to fuck me sometime." Narcissism, eh?
I arranged the rollers and pins across the dressing table, and set the silver colour that would adorn his kiss-curls as the final surprise.
He returned, asking only "Are your tits comfortable in there….. Can I play with them later?"
Cheeky!!!
The rollers went into his hair with ease, the conditioner in the colour adding body. The style that came to my mind was a variation of the previous one — with its crown moved much further forward. There would be a fringe and a whole body of hair going back from his face. The silver would be painted on to the fringe and the kiss curls at the sides. I would back-comb the top to form a small bouffant and make as much as I could of the hair to the nape of his neck. That was where we have to grow its length.
Beautiful! I dried it with a hand-dryer, to make it much quicker. He appeared to think it was all over when I combed-through the rolls of hair once they were freed from the tightness of the rollers.
I was conscious that his breathing was quite shallow. The towel hid whatever he was feeling between his legs.
"Bouffant. Beautiful……" I whispered, and went on….. "But not enough….. I have extra colour for your lovely kiss-curls…….Silver streaks!"
His breathing quickened and he closed his eyes. I had lost him. He was about to cum. I had to be quick so threw myself around his chair and into his lap. Too late, he had cum, uncontrollably. Just from the thought and the talk about what I was doing. Wow! He was loving this. My own pussy was wetter than ever now and I couldn't resist the touch….. the featherlight touch….. so I loosened the jeans and let them fall. My hand slid inside and I too had a wonderful orgasm….. Right there and then, as we shared the experience.
Stay with me, dear Reader, for the rest of Friday night and recollections of his visits to the cosmetics counter that weekend.
Back on the roller-coaster too!…………………………….
A Wife's Indulgence
by Zoe
from a friend of WannabeGinger
chapter 8
My tale continues into the second weekend of my husband's growing delight in the freedom to dress in my, and now a few of his own, feminine clothes. I am beginning to work wonders with his hair — which he loves- and I'm about, tomorrow, to send him to select his own cosmetics from the local department store. Before that, we have Friday night! (Chapter 7 started the evening's joy!).
We resume, at home, early evening at the end of the week. A whole weekend of delights in prospect. To tell the truth, I can recall feeling totally shagged out after a day on my feet at the salon and then a wild affair over Andy's hair when he arrived home, culminating in wonderful wanking that we both indulged……
He proved that it's possible for a guy to be talked into orgasm with just his hair being talked about. I proved that missing his cum was no disincentive and that featherlight fondling of my own fanny, standing there with him, was enough. I was drained! Delightfully!
We looked forward to the weekend; a time in which he would go back to the department store and buy some more cosmetics - to try to find the woman he had been seen by before. I would then meet him for coffee in the high Street - outside the shopping precinct - and we would explore some of the smaller fashion houses where more personal service is guaranteed.
But back to the moment in hand! I had yet to apply the silver highlights to the hair that framed his face and began by restoring the back-combing of the bouffant crown I had created in his beautiful wine-coloured curls. I felt that they belonged to me now. They were mine — for me to do whatever I wanted with the. I would appear to give him a choice but, in reality, whatever his hair would be like in the future would be my design!
As I back-combed, his eyes closed.
He had asked if he could come to my salon… soon…. and he later told me that was what he was imagining there and then. Calling the salon, using a name
I wouldn't recognize, making an appointment with "Zoe" - asking for me by name - as his stylist/colourist, and turning up with me expecting someone completely different, and putting himself in my hands to do my dream creation.
He did do so, but then that's a story for another time.
I left him to his thoughts as my hands worked through his hair, sectioning off the individual curls and giving them as strong a back-combing as I felt they could take. tonight wasn't a time for half-measures. I do dooooo bouffant when I try!!!
The silver highlights were there to complete his/her look for the evening if not the whole weekend. The shiraz colour would last through three washes but the silver would be gone in the first. High-lighting meant getting 'up close and personal' in front of him — obscuring the view he had of the mirror.
He was very vulnerable, I thought, sitting there facing me with his eyes closed, trusting me to do this… to make him girly again…… It made me love him more. That trust I couldn't betray by pushing him too far. We had to work on what he would find acceptable, and what he would not. That was for the next time we 'talked'. Not for tonight. Tonight was for crossing his dress and fixing his beauty… and sex, lots, lots more of that.
He had become she... again. Annie sat before me.... and I loved her even more!
So, when I had started, all Andy had seen was his bouffant crown, in glorious dark red….. When I had finished, and after painstakingly stroking the colour wand over strands of her hair, finally, I let Annie twirl the seat. She saw for herself. She looked in the mirror….. and was breath-taken! I had to admit it was one of the most creative results of my hairdressing career — and one that promised greater enjoyment in the future. He/she looked wonderful. I just had to kiss Annie deeply and lastingly. Tonight was going to be very special indeed.
"Darling, Zoe, you're marvellous." Annie purred. "I couldn't have hoped to look this good. I just adore the colour and the style is shaping up so well. I just can't wait for my hair to grow some more! Can you show me some style books to see how you want it to be when it's longer? I can't wait… It's just the most important element in the image I have of me as a girl……"
She was running away with herself…… to become herself!, I was obvious. The hair was the key.
"Whatever you wish, Annie, my love….." I interrupted him, mid-flow, "…but remember we have to go gently, in all of this, we have to take little steps….. this has been a bigger one but there's no half-way house in hair colour — you gets what you buys!" I advised him.
"Half-way, of course…. half-way in the stunning colour… what's that half-way towards then?"
I couldn't answer. In fact, the change I'd made, albeit with a temporary rinse and paint-on masque which wouldn't last, was the most dramatic colour change in Annie that I could have made.
"Not in the shade, my darling… only in how long it would last. This is temporary… it sits on the shaft of your hair and washes away very soon. It can still be there if you want it tomorrow when you go shopping, but it won't last beyond the weekend."
"D'you think I should keep it for going out? I mean, what will people think?" She paused.
"When you're going out to buy lipstick? And maybe other cosmetics too? I don't think there's a worry there, do you?" I taunted him. Andy was still under there... somewhere! "We'll have to go on to the clothing stores as wel, I think... I said, tauntingly.
What he was to do tomorrow was another step - I'd said a small one then but now know it was another massive one……..
The lipstick was close to hand, so I gently tipped his chin upward and applied a light coating of colour. Casually, I said "This satin gown that you're wearing now is yours, it goes so well with the new 'you', I want you to wear it often and to buy things like it. OK?"
He purred in response once again, no words seemed necessary. I thought then, I've got him hooked. I kissed him again and led him down-stairs to where I had prepared a lovers' meal — light and seductive tastes. Sesame prawns with light garlic dip, a half-dozen oysters, some melon with parma ham and a bottle of chilled Garganega di Venezie. Eaten with fingers, sipped with lipsticky lips, just delicious!
Before we reached the kitchen, I prepared him for this and another surprise by saying "Close your eyes, honey, because there are some treats on the table and, by the way, I've invited a friend to join us." He stopped at the door, eyes closed. "Whad'ya mean….????" quite clearly freaked out at the prospect of somebody else joining us with him dressed as he was.
It was a joke…. There was a third place laid for dinner at the table, but the friend I had invited was our dildo, ….our fucker, …..our soul-mate! He didn't know that. Maybe I'd made a mistake. Quickly, I tried to reassure him/her.
"Don't be concerned, my love. I wouldn't embarrass you; you're too precious for that. It's a little bit of fun for us both…. Open your eyes!"
There, before him, was the faithful pleasure-giver we both adored, all eight inches ready to eat!!.
"You wicked woman!", Annie cried. "I was petrified for a moment! Zoe! promise me you won't ever do anything like that again, will you?! My heart must have stopped beating then! I nearly fainted!"
"No promises on that score my love. Who knows, one day you might be relaxed enough not to care who sees and knows you in your alter ego."
(I couldn't imagine that for a minute. I expected that this whole charade would stay between us, as it has done over three whole years. I haven't been concerned at all about that — indeed, it's been beautiful to share it just between the two of us. OK, he's been 'out' at times, but that's been fuel to the flames of his excitement. That's all.)
"I'm not going to be able to do that…. never in a month of Sundays!" He seemed very certain and I couldn't blame him. I felt so outrageous when just in my "andro" guise, I needed the make-up to balance out the impression… to be "She/He" always. I couldn't go further. But just thinking of dressing myself made me wet around the pussy once more. I had caught sight of myself in another mirror on the stairs………
"I want to know that you want me." I said in as suggestive a voice I could muster. "…… Show me how much your taste buds appreciate me…." "Why not… you're the most tasty woman in the world.", he answered.
We ate seductively, each taking a turn to pass something between our lips and finish by licking them, leaving a gloss to shine. Occasionally, I picked up the dildo and passed it to him, saying "Lick me… lick me now!" …..and sure enough, he did.
We talked about the plan I had for tomorrow… his first foray to the cosmetics counter.
"You should be all boy on the outside, OK? What you're wearing underneath is up to you. Your hair can stay as it is, with the highlights, or you can rinse it in the shower in the morning and only the purply red will remain. Your choice. You will go on your own so you don't feel "pressured." (There was no point in telling him I would follow and observe him.)
Annie was taking this all on board, then asked: "You said to take my time, so I will. I may even stop for a coffee before going in for the 'kill'! Just another lipstick, you said. For daytime or for night-time?"
"Oh, night-time, darling. Real vibrant colour — that's what you need to buy. You can wear some of your first purchase, your Rimmel 'Birthday Suit' lipstick, when you leave the house if you like. You'll know it's there but nobody passing you in the street will know. Only the girl at the counter is sure to know. That should be fun — so she knows it's for you whatever you say or excuse you use!"
"Terror!", she laughed. In fact, she wasn't the slightest bit afraid, sitting there at home.
I dimmed the lights where we sat. As the 'meal' wore on, I became increasingly tempted to slip the dildo inside myself and have him/her lick me….. Eventually, the temptation was too great to bear. Quietly, I slipped my chair away from the table and spread my legs. "Eat me! ….. eat me NOW!", I implored her….. and, sure enough, she did!
The evening was taking shape exactly the way I had planned. Further sex, increasingly hedonistic, was sure to follow.
Her lipstick was refreshed before he approached me. "I can just taste you, Zoe, you honey.", she said as if in a dream. His head sank towards my abdomen and on toward my love-nest. The satin folds of his gown laid over my legs, softly caressing the skin. His tongue penetrated the folds of my wonderfully wet labia and found my pussy waiting. Soon I would cum, and cum again… The dildo went in and soon I was in a multiple series of orgasms that I wanted never to end… as this wonderful female man was serving me!!! His hair hid his face as it was buried between my thighs.
I stroked the curls in his dark red hair. Truly, he made a wonderful lesbian lover for me. Soon enough, after it seemed like hours, we laid back for a pause in play.
What could I do in return? Have him fuck me with his own cock….? I found it outside the knickers he was wearing. Fuck me through my own knickers! Yes!, though only semi-aroused, it was warm to my touch. I sensitively stroked the insides of his thighs, took him firmly in hand and guided him towards me.
He couldn't sustain what hardness he had and clearly felt fraught at the prospect of failing me. Crisis! His old lack of confidence crept back. And the more it went on the more it bothered him. He was so worried, he lost it completely. As if I was worried…. we were making wonderful love. What's a bit of penetration, or a lack of it, between friends? "I'm so sorry.", he said as he paused in his sorrow and then, as if undeterred, found the dildo — our fucker — and mounted me with it between his thighs, forcing himself to simulate fucking me. That is how much he cared.
(In his confusion, he thought — as he told me only recently — that was what two girls would end up doing when one needed so badly to be fucked as I clearly had shown I was).
I wanted to make light of the whole thing…. if was, after all, no worry to me.
What to do next?
I let him simulate for a while before thinking…… this game could have two sides………
So, after a while, and after simulating an orgasm myself, I said, quietly: "Two can play at that game!" With which, I took the fucker from him and pushed him over on the bed, face down. He had said I could penetrate him if I wanted……. I just wanted to show him that I could…….
….if I wanted to! But tonight, I didn't want to! So I simulated fucking his arse, pulling him up to take it doggy-style, pushing the fucker in between his buttocks……..
Then, reality clicked-in again…. I had been dreaming… that would have been the last insult to deliver to him in such a situation. I had, indeed, faked an orgasm… He felt a little better and promised "It'll be better tomorrow" as we subsided.
Enough was enough — time to sleep and make well for tomorrow…………. We removed eachother's make-up and freshened our faces. I changed into a truly feminine nightdress and he/she chose to sleep naked. Whether he/she or I went off to sleep first, I can't tell, but I remember dreaming of what I should see in the department store tomorrow and how my "girlfriend/she" would be feeling on arrival home!
*************
More Shopping!
Saturday morning dawned and we were up bright and early. He/she had to be off to the store. Showered and dressed, we had a light breakfast among the detritus of last night's diner sexuelle, and items of clothing strewn about the house.
Not knowing what he/she was wearing under his very conventional weekend chinos and tee-shirt,
a new way to ask what was under there was needed.
"Feeling light and soft inside? Under that rough exterior?" I tried. He knew.
"Oh, yes! Lacy — lovely!"
"Fancy the "Birthday Suit" lipstick?"
"Oh, YYYYes please!"
"Good for you…. come here; let me put it on you." I insisted. I wanted him to have perfectly shaped lips when he approached the cosmetics adviser….. No other make-up though. He was to go out strictly 'low-key'. "Highlights gone, I see." I commented. "I'd like them back."
"The secret with cosmetics buying is to know what you want but to have the adviser help you find it! Good customers get freebies if they're lucky, so keep her talking. Ask what she thinks. You are going there for a lipstick for special nights out. Do you want something sheer red? … or plum and purple? With your hair, plum and purple shades would go best…. ask if she agrees. She'll probably compliment you on your hair shade….. and may even ask if the lipstick's for you. Shock! Horror! Discovery! If she doesn't, well, you can tell her if you want. A bright red could look tarty and any pink shade would clash, so I'd say avoid them. But see if she agrees."
"What if another customer comes by when I'm talking with her?" He asked this, concerned if his private moments would be broken.
"She'll deal with that. She'll ask the other customer to wait for a few minutes but suggest she tries a few things from her big display case. The woman won't pay you any attention — unless you make yourself noticed." I teased him a little more.
"How? What d'ya mean?", he looked concerned.
"Well, if you're trying on the lipstick on your mouth — that'll certainly get you noticed, you girly thing you!". I laughed. "A girl always tries out lipsticks on the back of her hand…. so, you swipe two or three across here….. (showing him).. and she can compare the shades and decide which would look best on her lips. You can do tat, can't you?"
"Well, that way I won't be as noticeable, will I?"
"Exactly. Now, if you're lucky, and the store isn't busy first thing after opening, she might just put some on you…. like in having a make-over — you see girls having those all the time, don't you? …. Do you fancy that?!" Again, I was teasing him………… but sowing a seed for him to choose, if he fancied being made-up in the full light of a department store!
"Long way away, I think, honey.", he said. "But not never???" I taunted again.
"Oh, never say never….", and he paused in deep thought for some time….. I said nothing, wondering what he would say next……. He looked out of the window and, as he did so, his hand strayed to the hair around the nape if his neck. he felt for the curls, twisting each one as it came into his fingers. He patted and primped the crown, feeling the way the mousse gave it body. Thinking what thoughts? Not never? No, never say never.
Hmmmmm. That set me thinking too. Just look at how far we.. or rather he/she, had gone in a few days…. Just a week and here he was, ready to go out to buy his own cosmetics, having already gone out to buy underwear. Having made love to me as both man and woman.
"I must be going. Can't keep the shop staff waiting, can I?", he said with a lightness in his voice. It was questionable though to what extent he was gee-ing himself up for the challenge. He told me later he promised himself that he would not go into the store if he paused at any time during his walk to town; if he hesitated, he could change his mind. if he didn't, he couldn't. But if he didn't hesitate, he had to go in and go through with what we had agreed he would.
Kissing this wonderful man for a last time before he left, I said, "Just enjoy the whole experience, lover. And come back and tell me all about it, like before. I want to know every detail. If you like it a lot, having bought just a lipstick, then maybe you can go back later and buy something else — say you forgot it, maybe some foundation or eyeshadow. Now that would get your face known in there, wouldn't it! Go on, now. The store opens in 15 minutes."
"Not the sort of things a shy boy like me does every day.", he said, in equally taunting mode. His step was light as he left the doorstep where we had kissed lightly — lightly enough not to spoil his lips. I watched him walk off towards town, letting him get ahead before setting off myself to observe. This was an experience I wanted to share! OK, if he saw me and I was discovered, I'd 'come clean' and say I couldn't resist seeing him take this step….. apparently all by himself.
His clothing gave no clue as to firstly what he was wearing underneath and second, that he was off to do a most feminine of things……… I adored him even more, just for his doing this willingly.
The walk to town was straightforward from our home, but it had enough turns to make following him an easy thing to do. Would he hesitate? Would I come across him round the next corner, or the next? The answer seemed to be no. He walked really quickly….. So much so that the doors of the store were still closed when he reached them. That didn't count as hesitation…..
He stood there, with a small number of others, waiting for the doors to be opened. He ran his hand through his hair….. absent mindedly really, but it obviously made him aware again of the changes we had made to his appearance last night. He looked anxiously at those around him. They paid him no special attention. Well, lots of guys dye their hair these days. OK, the red was a little dramatic but hell, 'live a little!'. I'd seen that his highlights had been sacrificed, but he was right — we can have them again soon.
The doors of the store began to be opened by a pretty young girl, blonde and rounded, just lovable. His type, for sure. He smiled at her and said something….. he was good with strangers. She answered what must have been a question…. she pointed to a distant point; he must have asked her where the cosmetics department was to be found.
But he knew! We had discussed it. Last night. As I followed him into the shop, I realized what he was doing. He was engaging her in conversation and he was checking himself out to proceed. Did she see his lipstick? If she did, there was no indication. Did she look at his hair…. well, certainly she did. I was close enough to see that she herself had blonde highlights within the base blonde colour of her hair. pretty. If he had turned then, he would have seen me. But I escaped detection.
On he went, towards the cosmetics counters, all brightly-lit in the far distance. Lots of spotlights, many pretty salesgirls, a wonderful aroma of the fragrances and other products they sell, I can almost taste the atmosphere as I write this. He didn't pause anywhere….. He slowed his pace only when he was within twenty yards of the nearest counter. As he did so, I cut out of the main avenue through the store and observed him from aside, pretending to be interested in some costume jewellery there. He was looking at the brand names on offer: Lancome, Clarins, Max Factor, and many others, before narrowing in on the Christian Dior counter on the far side.
"Go for it, girl!" I said under my breath. I willed him to make the approach. As he arrived there, he found no sales assistant to help or bother him. It meant he could browse for a short while. Helpful to be here as soon as the store opened, just as I thought. Very few customers, even fewer sales assistants! But not for long.
He stood in front of the huge Dior cosmetic display. Fascinate by the colours and shapes of the packaging and the range of products there to choose from. He looked around — for the first time a little nervously. Would he 'cut and run'? No question of that…… No hesitation on the way in; he was here to buy!
Maybe a minute or two passed — it seemed like hours! — and then she came over………..
She had been talking with another woman at a neighbouring counter but had evidently left husband to his own interests for a little while. Then, she swooped, but oh, so slowly!
About 36-40 years of age, dressed in an immaculate powder blue/grey suit, and strutting her stuff in 3" heels of black patent leather, she clacked across the stone floor. "Angels at 10 o'clock!" She wore a vivid blue neck-tie that matched the vivid blue of her eyes and her azure eye shadow. From the distance I watched, it was impossible to see the perfection of her complexion — though perfect it no doubt was. Her lips were the most tantalizing dark cherry red and the whole aura was topped off with the most elaborately styled coiffure — yes, it was a "coiffure", no doubt done by her herself — there had been no time to come to a salon like my own.
I admired its creativity. An 'up-do' is too small a word for it. Savagely pinned to her scalp, the length was all available for the dressing on the sides and top. The curls mounted one upon another and vertical kiss curls adorned her cheeks. The colour? Oh, the colour… or should I say colours! She was probably an English mouse brown under it all. But the variations upon it were stunning. She had raw slashes of golden blonde separated by distinct lines of chestnut red and a darker, mahogany. These blended into a superb array of top- and side-curls that made the overall image one of "I am in charge here". And she was.
My view was uninterrupted so I could take all of this in before husband spotted her. She approached him from behind and so he only saw her at the last moment. He was shocked it seemed and, as she went behind her counter, she began to speak. I couldn't hear her words but her body language was perfect. She was selling from the moment she laid eyes on him.
She asked him questions — which I wanted to hear in detail later — and she listened to his answers.
Slowly, as he talked, her eyes roved about his face and then about his body. Quite distracting really, if you're having a conversation with someone. But all the time, she held his gaze. He could not leave staring into her eyes for a minute.
She would, by now, have 'sussed' his reason for being there. She would have seen his all-too light lipstick and realized, whatever he would say, that the lipstick he said he wanted would be for him. To use on himself — either alone or with a partner. She knew now. It would be a very short time before he knew that she knew! Then, what would he do? He had to go through with this — he had promised himself.
Next thing, I saw her reach into the display and bring up three lipsticks. She returned to the display and brought up a lip pencil. I hadn't even talked with him about those! He/she had never used one, that was for sure. Then, I saw her take his hand and one-by-one, she applied the three lipsticks to the back of his right hand. She then pointed to her own lips, clearly explaining what lip-liner could do.
It was Annie who studied her face intently, hearing every word, smiling occasionally.
Before long, it was clear that a selection had been made… and a lipstick and a lip-liner pencil were bought….. That was it. I turned to get out of the way of his exit from the store. Only when a looked back, did I see that the conversation had continued…..
To cut a long story short, he came away with foundation - Dior's best for everyday living for a girl — and eyeshadow……. exactly in the palette of shades that would 'go' with his/her new hair colour.
I ran out of items to be 'interested in' around the store before he — the buyer - and she — the seller - finished his purchasing. I had to make an exit. Looking forward to his description of the whole encounter, I hurried home. There was no time to go to the fashion shops.... That could wait! Take your time! I thought......... Saturday was proving to be better than I could have hoped.
************
More revelations!
Back home, I prepared the house for a relaxing 'rest of the day'. If that meant sex…. so be it. If it didn't, I could wait. The morning's excursion had kept me warm and wet between my legs and so there was a good excuse to indulge myself with the fucker until he returned.
When husband came through the door, it was as if I'd been there all morning. I was laying on the sofa with my legs spread apart, the business end of the fucker in my hand, the thicker, rounded end, inside my wet little pussy. I was practising squeezing it with my vagina muscles whilst stroking it as if it were my own cock. I must have made an impression…….
"Well, hellooooooo! Have I had a good day… and so have you!" He laughed, immediately sinking to his knees before me and taking the fucker in his mouth. He nearly swallowed the whole thing before his lips reached my clitoris and all the bells began to ring!!! Hell, he knew how to make me cum!!!
Later, and it must have been much later, we sat together talking again. He was excited and insisted on telling me all about the encounter — the one he didn't know that I'd observed. I sat spell-bound by the enthusiasm and total indulgence he displayed…..
As he told me all of this, I just looked at him in adoration. What a super guy I'd married!
"It was heaven, honey — just like you said it could be. I got to the store before it opened and I just waited with a few other people for the doors to be opened. I was nearly wetting myself the thought of what I was going to do. There was never any question: I was going to do this…. I couldn't let you down, you giving me these wonderful undies to share…. I asked a young lady from the staff where the cosmetics area was and she was very helpful. She was a honey, really, and I talked with her for quite a while. I knew where I had to go anyway — but it was good to talk to someone before meeting the sales assistant lady.
There was no doubt when I got to the right place that I was early. Nobody around — several counters weren't staffed. So, I browsed the various counters and found the Dior one — it seemed right to go for theirs. I looked at their display and suddenly, from nowhere, came this beautiful creature. She was maybe ten years older than me…. and boy! was she ready to sell me some-thing!? She was immaculate — her hair, her clothes, her make-up; she was 100%, full-on, "you're mine" — her eyes were riveting — I just couldn't take my eyes off hers. She was clearly studying me….. All in the first ten seconds…. Then, she said "What may I ask are you looking for today?" It was as if she already knew.
I told her I was here to buy some lipstick. "Oh, for everyday, or for a special evening perhaps?", she asked.
"A special." I told her. "Hmmmm", she thought and clearly pondered my face and said "Would this be a special evening for you or your partner?" Well, what could I say….? "Well, it's for me seeing as you ask. I'm, er… going out this evening." All the confidence I had drained away in a split second, it seemed. Zoe - you can't imagine it...... or perhaps you can..... I was totally transfixed by her mouth and her soft smooth skin."
"Have you worn lipstick often?", she asked, pointedly looking at my lips. Again, I faltered, What should I have said? Best be honest, I thought. "Well, I'm getting practice." That sounded like a good answer. it seemed to satisfy her. "Like this morning, eh?", she laughed, emphasizing that she knew I'd worn lipstick today."
He had not been embarrassed by the question. He'd just lost the confidence that we'd built before he left home. Lost it in the face of this fine looking woman — a woman who didn't mock or treat him with disdain. She was a consummate sales professional…… Here was a buying signal.
"I told her that I needed a choice of evening colours and she then confounded me totally by asking if I wanted a lip-liner pencil too! Needless to say, I'd no idea. So I asked her to show me — like you said to do. And she did. She put three lipsticks on the back of my hand and said that the lip-liner would go with all three. Then she showed me how her own lips were outlined in a deeper red than the lips themselves. She wasn't going to let me go without one of those too!"
As far as I could tell, by this stage, he was in full role-play mode, acting the way any girl would do when buying cosmetics for the first time. And he loved it.
"Then, as I was getting ready to pay and leave… she says……
"Now, you need foundation to help with the whole picture. It can make your skin look radiant and it'll smooth out any slight imperfections that you want to hide." What a woman!".
"Like my acne scars, you mean?????" He rushed on. "I just had to buy some….. Oh, and she sold me some eyeshadow too. She said that would go very well with the hair colour I'd chosen… See….she knew all about me. How did she do that?"
I got a moment to say something between his breaths….. "She used her eyes, honey — that's all." And she had done so. She had read all his needs, all of his uncertainties, and she'd made the sale. I thought I should get to meet this woman..
"So, the you left the department store and what did you do next?" I pressed for details of his morning as he'd clearly spent at least another half-hour at the shops — while I was otherwise engaged with the dildo.
"Well, I was almost exhausted so I went for a coffee down by the M&S store and I sat in the sunshine there before going in to look around.", he said casually — all-too-casually!
This wasn't part of the plan, but I was intrigued. He had gone on, without me.... and into the shopping centre and to the M&S store where he had bouth his panties before.
He rushed on with his story… which was becoming a confession: "What the hell, I thought, I'd like to buy one of those body shaper things you described — that hold in your tummy and thighs and that give you a bra shape integrated at the same time. I got one in a gold lacy lycra finish. I do hope you like it!"
And then he came home. To me. To tell me. To share his experiences with me. heaven!
The rest of the day was quiet by comparison. His having been shopping, my having spied upon his exploits, his buying more than planned, my coming home for a play, his going to M&S as well, my hearing his description…. what could surpass these things?
I suggested that he get undressed and show me his body shaper. We spent the rest of the day slipping from lazy sex to casual browse-feeding and occasional wine-drinking…… What a way to spend a Saturday!
Again, though, as quiet times engulfed us, I found myself wondering about where our confused sexualities were taking us. I knew I was a sound hetero-girl. I may have dallied with bi-experiences in the past, but now I had Annie… I had no need. Annie was once a firm hetero-male and professed still to be so. She'd never experienced a homosexual urge in her life. Still hadn't. She, as a he, wasn't gay…… He wasn't homosexual… but Annie had exclusive leanings towards being a lesbian!!!! What a man! I loved every inch of her, all the more!
...the story continues..............
Sunday arrived and we spent the day reading, catching up on the newspapers, television, writing a letter or two, and being quiet and calm. Take it easy. That was important to do. Slow the down-hill rush in sexual encounters and experimentation. There was plenty of time!
A Wife’s Indulgence - chapter 9
By Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger’s
Sunday passed quietly, the way weekends used to be. Reading the papers, phoning friends, taking care of jobs around the home, flirting occasionally, hoping for a god fuck later on. This time it was a little different. We were ten days into my planned changes for my husband, Andy. Only ten days, and so much had happened. It was right to take "time out". I hadn't hoped that we would come this far, this quickly. But we had.
He was dressed in his own pretty underwear and had borrowed a light and quite feminine top to wear with a pair of cotton trousers, my cotton trousers. Today, I was "the wife". My own gear for the day was ultra-feminine, so I could look upon him/her as my girlfriend.
Later that night, I wanted to talk over what we would do next, sometime, but no rush. Andy’s femininity was developing very nicely indeed — and faster than I could possibly have anticipated.
He kissed me fully on the mouth as he went to the kitchen for a drink. His lipstick tasted wonderful.
"Martini?", he asked. It was only 4pm……. but hell, why not?! "If you mean it how I think you mean it, then yes please." I replied. Take it slowly, I thought.
"Oh, I do mean it.", he answered.
The taste of his lipstick lingered on my own lips. How nice, he was thinking nothing of wearing lipstick all weekend. Just treated it as matter-of-fact…. he wanted to look and feel good, so he wore his lipstick. After ten days, that was a milestone long passed.
We lounged around with Martinis in hand, chilled out in the extreme.
"I'll take a shower in a while." He said, in a carefree way. "…… Can I use some of your Chanel Five Bath Crá¨me?" Clearly, he wanted to emerge feeling very feminine from his bathroom venture. "Of course, my love. But you might make more of the fragrance if you took a bath and took more time. " I ventured to suggest. "Good idea!", he/she answered, the "she" side coming through again.
"Make sure you cleanse your skin and get rid of all your make-up, darling Annie. I know you only have a light amount on but a girl has to take care of her skin……!" I teased as he set foot on the stairs.
"Not so much of the 'girls' until I'm changed pleased.", he replied.
"You'll find a tube of Veet on the handbasin in the bathroom. It's a depilatory crá¨me and I think you're ready to use one of those." I remember saying, not knowing how he would react. "You just follow the instructions on the pack — it doesn't take very long at all and your skin can be lovely and soft for a week or more."
"Just where do you suggest I use it then?" His reply indicated no rejection of the idea. "Don't you shave your legs? I mean, I'm sure you do. Where else do you want the hair to go from?"
Well, that was a leading question……..
"Darling, wherever you'd feel comfortable with softer silky skin…….. I'd suggest you do shave your legs — you can Veet them another time, but put the crá¨me on your tits and down to your bikini line…… You can use it round your balls because it's for sensitive areas….. and your cock would be lovely for me to play with if it were completely clear of hair…….. Just use your imagination…. If you were a girl… use it where would you want to be touched….. and there's your answer!".
I couldn't be plainer than that. Womanhood called!
Little did he know that I had planned to spend Sundays this way every week in future… And little did he know that I intended to make Saturdays and Friday afternoons his 'girly' days… every week from now on. Could I pull it off? Could I get his agreement? Better still, could I get Annie to suggest that arrangement???
I lounged back in the sofa and finished my Martini as the sounds came from the bathroom. He was evidently enjoying himself greatly. A depilatory…… that was quite a step too….. Nothing permanent, of course…. it could all grow back………… but it never has, dear Reader…. it never has because it's one of the most feminine feelings, smoothing your own hand, adorned with nail polish, over soft hairless skin….. that a man can experience! How far would he have gone? I couldn't wait to find out.
"How's it going?" I called up, hoping for an invitation to join him/her.
"I never knew I had so much hair!!", he shrieked in reply, "…..and it's all gone!"
I rushed up the stairs and burst into the bathroom…… He had just stepped into the bath and was luxuriating in the mellow-smelling foam. I wanted to jump in there with him.
"If it works that well on the body, I'll give up shaving my face…… That would be a wonderful release from male-ness… Have I ever told you how much I hate shaving my face!???"
"You might have to leave it on for an hour… so shaving is something you're still stuck with, I'm afraid." I giggled.
I knew that hormones would do the trick but had no idea in my plan that we would go that far… and nor have we since…… I like my boy's / girl's cock too much to risk it losing interest because of hormone overload!
Annie was in the bath and quite vulnerable and I couldn't resist taking advantage of the situation. She lay there, up to her shoulders in a warm bathful of beautifully fragranced water. Gently, I slid my hand in and under the water, soon finding the skin of his thigh. It was soft and smooth to the touch. Gently, I explored… down towards his knee, then up towards his…… you got it! His lovely hairless cock. He had used the crá¨me all over his cock and his balls. Totally smooth! His cock was already engorged if not fully erect. My hand slid over the shaft and reached the tip where the head was crying out for a wanking. He had not indulged himself — but I wondered how long he could have left it, lying there as he was, before he'd gone for it……
His own hand joined mine and the rhythm of the stroking became established. Not enough to over-excite him… but fast enough to excite me! My pussy was soon very wet though not available to touch. It was hidden beneath my casual clothes. The fucker was called for!
Satisfied that he was nowhere near cumming, and yet totally absorbed in pleasure, I was able to leave him for just a few moments.
I traced my steps into the bedroom to find the gorgeous pleasure-giving toy. Beside the bed where we had left it last evening. I picked it up and gave it a good licking — covering both ends….. The 'usual' business end and the base which fitted so well when I felt like I wanted a cock of my own….. Which end to use this evening? I couldn't get in the bath with him and, even when he would get out to dry himself, I would not be ready to be fucked….. So, it was the 'base' end to start with… to give me the feel of a cock between my thighs that I loved so much.
I slid my fingers inside myself to prepare for the moment to come….. standing there with one leg up on the bed, I found myself "very accessible"! I parted my labia and explored my little clitoris which was more than ready…. already! A girl’s finger knows exactly where a girl’s pleasure comes from…… I began to tremble as the wave of an orgasm came upon me…….. I had to sit on the bed and allow nature to take its course. I had one of those "promising" orgasms that I knew would be followed by others that evening. My legs shook and my back arched as I groaned with pleasure……..
Before I knew it, Andy was at the foot of the bed, swathed in a pink bath sheet, kneeling as he forced my legs apart. His tongue descended into the bush that hid my little love-nest and he began to drive me to even greater heights of ecstasy. All I could sense was this fragrant half-woman with his/her skin protected by her towel giving me the most gorgeous licking I could ever have dreamed of.
All around the fucker his/her tongue traced its path. It slid in and out. His skill would have matched any lesbian's use of a dildo and, more importantly, her skills with her tongue excelled them all!
For the first time, I slipped into a fantasy where he became she and she was making love to me - I had a lesbian orgasm with him for the first time……(and not the last!) Heaven! I was glad I hadn't wanked him off in the bath… there were delights to savour for later in the evening….. and a mouthful of "her" cum was high on my agenda!
As he/she stood up, I was conscious that all she had to be feminine with was the fragrance she wore. No nail polish, no make-up, no clothes, no hair set to die for….. Just a him smelling like a "her". And I fell in love all over again. What a wonderful man Annie was to go along with my fantasy like this!
No words had been spoken for it seemed like hours……..
No words were necessary. After my passion subsided, eventually, there was time to settle on the bed, slipped under the duvet. He was naked, I was half-clothed with the fucker discarded next to my pillow. He reached over me and took it, taking it into his mouth and giving it another good licking, end-to-end, deep inside, a nibble to its head……. Oh, how seductive he made that seem.
But he was a guy, being a guy, smelling like a beautiful girl. I ran my hands through his wet hair, making curls around my fingers, quite tightly. To which he purred with pleasure.
I ran my hands down to his chest where I was able to find a nipple and give it some serious teasing. Making a clawing motion, it hardened delightfully.
"You can do that again for me, anytime!" I whispered, breaking the silence.
His wonderfully smooth skin yielded to my touch and he snuggled up even closer.
"Can it be that what we've been doing has made us better lovers than before?…. I mean, there's just such an intensity……" His train of thought led him to go quiet again.
He was right; there was a great deal more passion in our love-making that week than before. Had we grown tired of eachother before, I wondered. There were certainly more ideas and greater expectations all of a sudden. Maybe we had got in a bit of a rut as far as the bedroom was concerned……
The bedroom, the living room, the stairs!!!!! We were now having sex in all corners of the house. The appearance of this new character in our lives……Annie…… a character I had invented, it has to be said, had enlivened our sex life.
"Just enjoy it, my love." I said warmly. "You're much more randy these days.. and that makes me so much more horny I can't imagine going back….."
"Going back to what? Just being you and me? Not being you and me and someone else besides….? Just how do you think we can do that now… I'm just loving what we're doing and, so long as it's just for fun between us, what could be better?" He appeared concerned that I might be taking a step back perhaps? Not in the slightest.
I reflected on my plan for Andy/Annie.. and us. What had already happened was much faster than I had dreamed would be the case. Perhaps I thought he would resist more than he did in his initial "wobble" and the minor crisis that precipitated then. Gosh! That seemed such a long time ago but it was just a few days.
I thought how the steps we'd taken had been joyful, even if he had other "wobbles" to come. Really, I had to be prepared for them.
The latent lesbian in me had not been hidden for as long as maybe it should have been but I was already along the way towards his being my "girlfriend". Maybe both our sexualities were moving towards eachother. What an intriguing scenario.
Ten days on, I had him wearing underwear and make-up. His personality had softened dramatically. I, too, had changed. I was wearing my more boyish clothes but I had not given up on the make-up. The change in me had been equally noticeable. I became more assertive and certainly more so when we were in bed. I had taken the initiative in sex much more than I had previously.
"I've loved the way you've let me take the lead in bed much more than before, my honey. Does that make you feel good? It sure as hell does make me so."
"Mmmmmm. I don't mind admitting it, the pressure to always be the one to start things off was getting to me like I'd never said. It's a great thing to have you start things going. I mean, I like to seduce you sometimes but I find it's a wonderful feeling being led, so far, that you're in charge and I don't have to think about what to do next. That was always a problem for me. Well, not always, but frequently." He was being very open and honest. I had to be so too.
"You know, you make a very nice girlfriend."
"Well, thank you….Zoe, my love.", he said, smiling.
"……. you do too. I mean, I don't need a boyfriend. That's not what this is about. I love you boy-to-girl and it seems girl-to-girl. When you're making love to me, I can really feel how a girl feels when she's treated right."
"Give me a kiss, darling Annie." I mused as I moved closer to him. And we kissed for a while, with no pressure to get randy at all. Just like two girlfriends would do who were comfy with eachother.
My thoughts then went back to my plans for him/her. Where would we be in, say, a month? … or three months… or a year? I didn't want, ever, to lose my husband. That much I was certain about. I wanted him as my lover, for ever. My male lover. I'd read stories about transgendered people and "people born in the wrong body" and men going off to leave their families and find life "as a woman".
No thanks.
I was going to keep him. No hormones then, no thoughts of surgery. Ridiculous. This is about sex and love - or love and sex — it's for fun! Evidently, we both have fetishes… and these need to be indulged.
A month's time? Well, I thought, it would be perfect to have him like this every weekend. Too soon? Probably. OK, three months' time? More likely. Every Friday he would get up as a guy and go to bed as a girl. In between, he would rid himself of all those male habits and behaviours. He would make himself as feminine as he could for my arrival home.
And then I hit upon a positive push towards that goal…. I would have him come to me at the salon for a hair style and some pampering.
Yes! This seemed like a good time to consolidate where we were and what I had in mind. We had taken time out for the last few days…… until this "bath-time"!!!
My thoughts spilled out: "Darling, there's no way I want to go back to "just you and me" as you call it. I love there being three of us in this marriage…. and it isn't the slightest bit "crowded"…. as Diana once said! Quite the contrary, I'd love it if we can see the way to make this part of our lives together."
"What do you suggest, my honey… 'cos that's what I'd like too… for it to be something we know to look forward to. It's been a bit breath-taking so far…. I've loved every new idea but, phew.. when's another coming??!!"
"Precisely, my lover……." I paused, choosing my words carefully. "…… I'd like us to look forward to, say, a couple of days a week, a couple of evenings and bed-times too, when we can know that you'll be your alternative self and I can take care of "her"…… Maybe, I can be boyish at the same time, sometimes?"
"A couple of days a week? How d'you mean?" He pressed me to say what came next.
"Alright, how would it be if when I left home for the salon on Friday mornings, we would know that you'd be all girly by the time I got home? Then, you could stay that way through Friday night, Saturday. and into Sunday which we can finish like tonight. With you bathed and smoothed and back into boy's gear?"
"I like the sound of that."
"Better still, what I'd really like you to do is come to the salon every Friday afternoon and have me do your hair…….. like a regular customer……. with nobody there knowing that, in fact, you're my darling husband who spends his weekends as a girl!"
"Do you mean coming in dressed? I don't think I could do that…. I want this to be private, between ourselves……" His face showed real worry now.
"No, no, no. You misunderstand me. You being a girl is MY province! Nobody else should share that! No, I mean you should come to the salon as a client with your own requirements…. which I then deliver. It's up to you if and how you explain why you want to come to have me cut, set, style, and maybe even colour your hair…… It's a free country. You want a feminine hairstyle…. You have to explain that — but you don’t need to say WHY! I'd be delighted to do it for you. You’re another customer."
I was imploring him to go along with the idea.
"Well, I've been out with it looking extraordinary, so I guess it's no different.." He agreed!
"It's no different to your going to the cosmetics counters and the underwear department in M&S. So what? You'll just have to call and make an appointment. You have to do that. You must call yourself and book in with me. Just say you've been recommended to me. Whoever takes the call will take care of your arrangements."
I was becoming very 'matter-of-fact' about the whole idea but, in truth, I was feeling quite horny just suggesting the arrangement.
"None of the girls there have met you…. yet!….. So you'll be a complete stranger to them. I'll just act like we've not met either…….. I'd love to have you tell me just how you want me to do your hair in the hustle-bustle of the salon. I think you'd love it… knowing how hair is your 'thing', honey!" I wanted his inner-fantasies to run riot.
He sat on the side of the bed, wrapped in his huge bath towel. He said nothing for a moment or two. His hand strayed up to his hair…. He stroked it, turning to the mirror on the dressing table…
"So it stays as our secret? How much do I have to tell them.. your colleagues, that is… And have you ever had a guy come in with such a request before — won't they think….?" He still seemed uncertain about the entry into the salon and how things would go with my fellow stylists. "Whether or not they've done it for someone else, I'd feel everso vulnerable……"
"To what, my honey? Vulnerable says something nasty might happen. You really really don't have to worry. They're a super bunch of girls and they'd love to help I'm sure. Don't you know that we girls are attracted by men who have a pronounced feminine side to their personalities. You'd just be one that's had the courage to indulge it. They'll love you, believe me!"
I needed to get a commitment here…… This week would be an important one if we were to set a routine in place that brought him to my bed as a beautifully coiffed and dressed girl every Friday evening. How much did I want that then?! My Annie! And only ten days after we started……. This was going better than I could have dreamed.
"You just call like any customer would. You tell whoever answers that you've been recommended to have your hair done by Kerry — that's the name I use at the salon as you know — and you book a time for Friday afternoon. Try for around 2.00pm; just after lunch. That will give me enough time for what I have in mind…. but more of that later."
"What do I ask for. They'll need to know, surely."
"A shampoo and set. Be very explicit. It's not a cut and blow dry. That's what all our male clients have. You want something different, don't you? You want your hair set…… They'll know what you mean if you say that. That means rollers and a hooded dryer for a time. They need to know because the diary plans my workload and I won't be with you all through."
"So who will be then?" Mild consternation. It wouldn't just be me doing his hair.
"Well, there's the shampooing. I don't do that. You'll get the Apprentices to do that. We have two. One is Penny, she's a honey. Just out of school. Very attractive. Going through a bit of a 'Goth' phase but stunning for all of that — she's got blue-black hair and has a flash of crimson hair at the side. She specializes in a different colour of lipstick every day as well. She has the clothes to match and the salon's clients love her . She would love to do your shampooing."
"I like the sound of her already…..", he mused.
"Then there's Huw, the young man who's also learning the trade with us. He's a delight and well-suited to hairdressing. Gay as a day in springtime, he is. Not in a feminine way… he's more into body-building and fitness. Probably screws like a Black and Decker power drill!"
"Him, I'm less keen on, thank you very much!" Andy’s face showed total recoil…. perhaps we should keep them apart, I made a mental note.
"Who else would I meet, then?….. I mean, who else might get their hands on me? He needed to know just how much our privacy was going to be invaded, it was clear.
"Well, there's Emma the Colourist. She's a delight but in a different way. She is soooo skilful in the way she analyses and recommends colours for clients, she's an absolute star! If you were to choose to have a colour job done, then I would trust her to do it best of all. After all, I do colours myself but only really for clients whose hair I know very well……. And you could say I know yours, but then again, nobody there is to know that are they? You're a stranger!"
This would be wonderful theatre to be played out if I had my way.
"I'd like to play with the colour but shouldn't we do that here at home?" He was uncertain.
"Well, the salon's colour choice is much more varied……. let's leave it till you get there, eh? Anyway, before that we have to set up how you'll look."
This was true. I had to get him thinking about how he would present him/herself. on arrival at the salon in just a few days' time. He would be' all boy' in the days in between now and then.
"If it's Friday afternoon and we're going to spend the weekend as you suggest, then how do I come to the salon dressed. What do I wear? Do I come as a guy or…..? I can't pass myself off as a girl, that's for sure……… Help!!!!"
I had to take control here….. He was in no position to decide. Boy Monday to Thursday, girl Friday to Sunday. That was the way it would be.
"Well, honey. You get up on Friday like the boy you've been all week……….. And you stay that way till lunchtime……."
"Then you can borrow some of my boyish things. First of all though, you need girly undies. You can wear some of your own knickers and, if you really feel bold, you can wear a bra as well. Then, I'd suggest a pair of tights — to save the hassle of suspenders and stockings. Now, my boyish things…. the yellow trousers would look good, and the bronze shirt. The shirt is dark enough to hide a bra if you're wearing one. You should comb your hair into as boyish a style as you can…… that'll make the most of the transformation you'll enjoy at the salon. And that's it. You're ready to face us! You can walk or drive to the salon. There's always parking, but you might fancy the walk home looking so special — as you surely will!"
OooooooooooooH I was looking forward to this!!!!!!
It was Sunday evening now and the week ahead was going to be as "normal" as I could make it. If it were not, how could the weekends be special? I decided to be brusque and organizing. I sent him off to get ready for bed and, maybe, a little sex before sleep.
**************
Monday and Tuesday passed very quickly and I was looking or listening out at the salon for a call from a new customer who had been recommended to come to me for hairdressing. Nothing had come. Hubby's behaviour had been entirely normal during the mornings and evenings. He was in "boy" mode. It was almost as though the weekend had been forgotten. I had to venture to ask when he would be calling when we talked on Tuesday evening.
We sat over dinner, talking about what was in the national news and about eachothers' day and how things had gone. Everyday stuff. There had to be a moment for me to ask……
"The salon's very busy just now. My diary's nearly full up……. (I had kept slots free on Friday afternoon but he didn't need to know that). I was wondering…… when you might be calling?"
"I'll do it tomorrow… honest….. I'm just struggling to find the words…….." (Nothing wrong in that). "I'm just not sure how to start….." (Oh, come ON!!! I felt like saying).
"Well, we did talk about that and it's up to you… really….. It's not difficult." (I felt like I was talking to a twelve year old!)
"OK, OK, I will…. honest. I'm really looking forward to it. D'you think I should ask for a colour as well as a shampoo and set?"
I repeated myself, quite shortly: "Well, we did talk about that and it IS up to you… really….. It's not difficult. It's a question of whether you want to enjoy yourself that extra bit…. You don't have to… Really, we can do a colour here, or you can forget it…." I was losing my patience but the last thing we needed as an argument about this. If it went that way, the weekend would be a disaster, I could tell.
"OK, OK, I'll think about that some more. I was thinking about the clothes I'll wear and I'll try on those things of yours in the morning on Friday. I'm sure they'll be right."
The evening closed with some really quite rampant sex which was great fun and we went to sleep exhausted. It was clear that even talking about dressing and having his hair done made him feel really sexy. ……………Me too! I slept with our lovely fucker between my thighs!
I left him the following morning with a reminder to call the salon, urgently. He didn't need to know that there was an appointment waiting for him in my schedule for Friday.
"Remember, I'm known as Kerry at the salon!"
I overheard the conversation from just one side when he called at about 9.15am. The phone was answered by Emma, our Colourist ……………………
"Hello, yes….. that's right….. Kerry? Yes, she's our top stylist………."
"Oh, yes…. do you mind if I ask who recommended you to us?…."
"Oh, not to worry……. We're delighted when someone is so pleased they send a friend along. Now, what can Kerry do for you?"
I could imagine him at home, having summoned up the courage to make the call. I thought how much I loved him… even if there were no 'her' to his personality. I vowed that I would make him especially happy that night in bed!
Emma continued…… "Friday…. let me look…… Yes, she has two free slots in the afternoon. What time would suit you best? Oh, before that, what would you like doing… a cut & blow dry?………"
"Oh, really , ……a cut and a shampoo and set….. right…… That's interesting…. Of course, we can do that for you — it is for yourself, is it?"
"Right, and your hair is fairly long is it?" "…..Hmmm, OK, well, there would be no problem at all. Kerry loves to meet a new client and get to know what they really want. Is that all you need… the shampoo and set?"
The next words showed that he hadn't chickened-out at this point. He must have asked what other services we offered.
"…..Well, we do conditioning treatments…. and even colour too…… Have you ever thought of that?…….. You have? Oh brilliant! …. Well, my name's Emma and I'm the Colour specialist here and I'd be the one to take care of you if you wanted to experiment a little. Have you ever coloured your hair before……?"
Emma listened for a moment, then went on: "No, no. Kerry could do that for you but it's just that I'm the specialist and she's extra busy this week. I'm busy too but I would love to take care of your hair……"
"Wow, that's really cool of you to say so…. well, we should wait until I see you, so you'd better come in 15 minutes earlier and, as soon as you arrive, we can talk about what would suit you best. I mean there are lots of choices for you to make. You have to think whether you want just a temporary rinse that lasts a few washes, or if you want to have it semi-permanent and be the same colour for four or five weeks. What's your basic shade?"
"Oh, classic English mouse, eh? And what colours have you done it before?"
"Really? That's so cool! Mahogany and Burgundy are your favourites…… They're quite bold colours aren't they. No, they didn't last, I understand, but I bet they were fun to have!"
He really had been charmed by Emma's approach. She had made him quite relaxed on the phone. It told me that she would do a perfect job on him when he arrived. I wondered what she would end up giving him as a colour!
"OK, so we'll see you on Friday, just before 2.00pm. Oh, what's your name for the diary?"
Panic at the other end of the phone — he couldn't use our married name!
"Spell that, please…. oh… p..a..r..t..o..n……….. No, I won't make a joke, you've heard it too many times, no doubt. Bye bye…….." And Emma put the phone down.
"Bye bye, Dolly!" I heard her say. Couldn’t resist it!
"You'll never guess, Kerry……..", she called over to me. "You have a challenge on Friday!"
"What ever's that?" I asked, feigning surprise.
"You have a guy coming in who wants a cut and set….. and I may even get to do him a colour!"
"A cut and blow-dry, surely?" I went on with missing the point.
"No, indeed not. He was very specific. He wants a cut and a roller set. He said he has a style in mind but wants to look in our style books. He wants a girly-do!" Emma was insistent. "He sounded really nice……. just like the brother you wish you'd had… or I wish I had."
The time and date was arranged. There could be only one point of turning back — and that would be for him to chicken out on the whole deal. I would make sure he wouldn't do that. Even if I had to call him ten times on Friday morning to secure his compliance. I decided to go home via M&S and buy him some extra clothes to wear on the day. After all, I knew his sizes and he deserved them!
**************
When I got home, he couldn't wait to ask me: "Did you hear? I called! I spoke to a honey of a girl called Emma. She was fabulous. I really felt I knew her already. She said nice things about you but she wants to do a colour on me if I choose to have one…."
Gushing, he was…. He really had got the bit between his teeth on the plans. I felt it was easy to close in on the colour idea.
"So, it sounds like the colour's a possibility then?"
"More than that….. it's not if, but which…. colour that is!" He had decided.
"Well, in that case, you deserve a new outfit for the day. I just passed by the stores and bought you this pair of girls' chinos and an almost-but-not-quite pretty shirt. I think they'll suit you very well. And I got you this pair of sandals which have a low heel and straps around the ankle. They'll be super on you but I suggest you drive to the salon. Not so easy to walk home in these!"
I did, indeed, make his even complete with a sex session that rivalled any we had enjoyed in the last couple of weeks. I knew how much he liked to go down on me with the fucker in my pussy with its head outside. There was something vaguely suggestive of a blow-job on another guy about that, but what the hell. He never admitted to that and, genuinely, I'm sure he's never felt that way about it. He describes it as my being a girl with an extra… just the way we describe him when he's full-on in girly mode! That evening, he had the most exquisite orgasm and then went down on me into his own cum.
Deeee……lightful!
**************
The next two days flew by, still with his boy-mode behaviour intact…….. although I could tell that his girly side was raging away under the surface. I was tempted to suggest that he wore some lipstick while I was out but I didn't. He was thinking about such things enough as it was. He was almost tormented by the waiting that he had to endure. How much did I enjoy that!!
Heaps and heaps!
My work at the salon continued in its routine but Emma was constantly reminding me of Friday's prospect. I think she was looking forward to the day at least as much as I was.
"What do you think he'll be like? Will he be girly anyway… or will he be a regular guy? I do wonder if we've seen him before? I don't recognise the name but you would…. wouldn't you, Kerry,….. I mean…. Parton…… I wonder if he'll want to go blonde….? He didn't mention having been a blonde before……… Maybe I can persuade him……. Better start with a rinse."
"All in good time." I tried to calm her enthusiasm. "He'll probably be very nervous and we have to take care of that. Put him at his ease. Don't rush him. Maybe I should talk to him about the style he would like before we talk about colours???? I want to put him at ease."
"Of course, I won't rush him….. Maybe, just maybe, he'll become a regular. I mean, this is probably a one-off, right? But wouldn't it be great to see him back here…? Emma was lost in a dream!
Damned right it will be……. That was my plan, for sure…. He would be doing this most Fridays from now on and he would certainly become known at the salon…. If not as my husband, but as my 'special client on a Friday'!
***************
Friday morning dawned and I had to leave for an early appointment. All I could do was lay out his new (girl's) trousers and the pretty shirt, his bra and knickers and his strappy shoes and a pair of tights. These were a special high-sheen finish.
I told him to make sure that he showered very well indeed and shaved to within an inch of his life, leaving it late enough for no stubble to re-grow before evening. No make-up for the visit to the salon (just in case he had thought it would be alright)…… and he was ready for me to go. I kissed him fully on the mouth and said "I will see you later. Don't be late and do decide about that colour before you get to see us at the salon."
**************
And off I drove, with my heart in my mouth!
**************
His arrival at the salon five hours later was a revelation.
I was busy with a client so didn't see him come through the door but, knowing the time was coming for him to show up, I was glancing towards the reception area every minute or two . I was finishing a complex cut on a gorgeous thirty-something who I could have fancied if I were a guy…and did fancy on the sly! She had a geometric bob-style that required absolute precision to show off the wonderful colour that Emma had done for her earlier.
And there he was. Standing there.
Talking with Penny, our young female Apprentice. Penny seemed to be in control of this new customer. He looked like the proverbial Ugly Duckling. His hair was completely unkempt. His face, though freshly cleansed, wore a very uncertain look. Not a smile, not confident like I'd hoped he would be.
Nervous? For sure.
His clothes, however, redressed the image rather. He did look like a guy in quite girly clothes… but the casual observer would say he was a guy…. until they saw his shoes! The shoes were the killer! They were anything but a guy's! Heavens, had I chosen well!! His ankles showed just a breath of stocking, slightly shiny… beautiful. They betrayed any sense of true maleness. This was a guy wanting to be turned into a girl for the day.. or the weekend!
I really hoped he would leave, two hours later maybe, feeling much better than he did right then.
Penny clearly asked him to have a seat and offered him a drink which he declined. He sat on the small bench in the full glare of the street where people passing could see him. I had toyed with the idea of having him moved but decided that was part of a woman's experience coming in there. Just as much as leaving with hair done and feeling stunning.
I couldn't hurry the final phase of the cut that I was doing so when Penny came to say that my next client had arrived, I suggested he talked with Emma first. I looked across towards him and saw that he was immersed in the style selection books that we have for clients to see on arrival. There was plenty for him to look over - and fantasize about - in there.
Emma could hardly be restrained and was there in a flash, sat beside him/her ….(yes, he was that, between the two, sitting there. Either he could be a boyish girl who'd come in for a make-over, or he was a girly boy who had come in for exactly what he was going to have!).
Their conversation was lost in the noise of the salon.
How much I wanted to hear what was said.
Emma told me later that he had thought about having colour done and was certain he didn't want a permanent colour "yet"…..
"YET!?" I loved him more!
"But,…" she said, he was 'up for' as wild a temporary rinse as she could give him…… which, she said, gave her a dream ticket! He had added that he would come back if he liked what she did!
"COME BACK!" …. Oh, YES!
She would do an unusual thing with a temporary rinse…. she would use foils and apply two different colours. That would be sensational. It would take ten or fifteen minutes longer but would be worth it. I would have him/her to myself by half-past two.
"What colours will you use?" I asked, as she hadn't said.
"You wait…. it'll be a surprise for you too!"
Before I knew it, he was walking towards the shampoo basins where Penny and Huw were arguing.
There was a squabble going on over who should shampoo him/her. And it was a vocal squabble. Emma had to intervene. Thankfully, to save him/her being freaked out, Penny won the selection and Huw wasn't allowed to get his hands on my husband. Right decision.
The wash took a while as penny did a luxury job. Then, out of my sight, Emma led him/her to her colouring station and got to work with the foil squares, sectioning the hair this was and that as I knew she would be doing.
By the time twenty minutes had passed, I was finished with the cut and had sent my previous client on her way, looking stunning, if I say so myself. I hoped my husband would be as beautified.
Waiting at my styling place, I looked in the mirror and briefly admired my own girly reflection. I owed it to him/her to make the 'her' look as good as me. Then I saw the customer come round the screen beside me. The colour of his/her hair was stunning. The mousey-brown was now a mix of vibrant amber and gold.
"Wow" I murmured involuntarily…….
"You look stunning. ….Emma, well done you!" I said, as Emma stood beside her client basking in the praise. "I hope you'll keep that formula for next time!" I said, assuming now that there would be a next time for this, my husband's weekly transformation.
"Isn't it wonderful? I'm so delighted!" said Emma.
"I didn't think it was possible."…….was all he said.
"You wait until it dries — you’ll be stunned! I've got lots to work with now." I said, toying with strands of his hair. "…..and more when it grows a little, I hope. Now, you know my name’s kerry, how do you like to be known?" I said deliberately provoking him a little.
"Mmmmm…." was all he said!
“No, no, I need a name… I can’t call you that!” I teased him.
“Annie”.
"Come and sit with me, Annie. Tell me what style you have in mind. Let's look in those books and see if we can choose something just right………. Not too much cut…….. Let's plan for it to grow a little….. Get rid of these split ends…. But let’s keep what length you have and make the most of it. You said you might want it grown some?"
I took a brush and swept his hair to the left and to the right. I parted it at the crown, and then swept it from the sides, each in turn. I brushed upwards from the nape of his/her neck. My thoughts had already been formed but I decided there and then to change the plan… because of the impactful colour. I decided a heavily styled and mousse-d concoction would look best. Smooth over the top of the head, high at the crown, with a little back-combing and then wild curls brushed upwards from the nape of the neck to behind the crown. That would show the colour off, and it would be easy for Annie to master for herself….. if she had my help at home!.
And so it was. The suggestion met with Annie’s immediate approval and we got to work. Cutting his wet hair first and then getting on with the styling. The curls would be tight around the back and the rollers very small. Over the top, they would be as large as possible, to give volume and height.
Perfect.
One drawback. I hadn't thought of. Penny had won the shampooing, so Huw was to help with the setting….. He was to pass me every single roller and be close as each was tightly wound into my husband's hair. Too close for comfort? Inevitably, but again, a woman's experience.
Under the dryer for half an hour at least. Huw had to take Annie to the banks of dryers at the side of the salon. Huw had to offer the drink. Huw seemed to be everywhere!
"Not my type." Annie told me when Huw brought him back to the styling station.
Dressing his hair, I was conscious that the colours went well with the shirt he was wearing. Standing above him, the highlights glinted perfectly. I was conscious, only now, that I could see the outline of my husband's bra under the shirt. No doubt, he was revelling in the tightness across his chest and also the way his knickers folded around his cock. I couldn't tell but I'm sure that he was hard-on all the way through this particular afternoon. Delightful! And all mine — for later!
His eyes were transfixed upon my face as I worked. His smile had long since replaced the uncertain, unconfident look when he had arrived. He was, indeed, enjoying him/herself. I worked the back-combing hard to make the most of the length of his hair. It may have hurt a little but, what the hell? "No pain, no gain!" I said, as he winced a couple of times.
Soon, he was ready to admire the cut and the style.. and the colour… in the hand mirror that I held behind him. "I do hope it's what you'd been longing for." I said, inviting a statement of satisfaction.
"Oh, yes, I should have had this done months ago." He confessed.
"Well, what do you have planned for this evening?" I asked, as if I didn't know.
"A cosy night in, I guess…… With someone special."
"Well, I guess you'll be wanting to get off home to dress for the evening, won't you?" And with that I ushered Annie — my lover - from the styling area to the reception desk where she would pay for the experience she was enjoying.
"That's more than I've ever spent on my hair…", he said, handing over his credit card, "…. but it's been worth every penny." He paused. He thought for a moment. Then, he said….. "Would you have an appointment free at the same time next week?"
With a knowing smile, I said: "Well, let's see now….." Opening the salon's appointment book, I cast my eye down to the gap in the diary that I had been careful to have left. Just in case……
"Perfect. Same time, same requirements?"
"Oh, yes please…….. A set and the colour again please, if Emma can be free too."
Well, whatever she was doing, she would be. I would make sure of that!
And with that, Annie handed me the largest tip I’d ever received in my life as a hairdresser — and she left the salon…. feeling (and I may say looking) "a million dollars". She/he walked across the street to the car park with an air of confidence, even on those low heels. From the back, it looked like a young woman who had just been dolled-up to go out on the town tonight.
"His name is Annie." I told Emma, who giggled.... "Well, I'd like to get hold of her gun!"
I made a mental note to give Annie tuition on the best way to walk as a girl, as this was one clue to there being more to this 'girl' crossing the street than met the eye.
**************
Back home, and before I arrived there at the end of the working day, he showered, shaved again and moisturized his/her complexion and applied some basic make-up, leaving the exotic aspects for me to complete later that night. Just concealer, foundation, lipstick and the like. Without dressing again, he slipped into his dressing gown to move around the house with ease. Then, he prepared a light supper for the two of us, like a good 'house husband' should.
She/he was set up for the weekend. Goodness knows what he would have done if a random caller had come to the house.
He told me he had lounged around for an hour then, before putting on all his undies beneath the dressing gown, stepped into those strappy shoes again and got ready for my arrival home. That meant making sure we had everything in the bedroom just the way we would want it. Clothes for me, Martinis, fragrances, and last of all the 'fucker' that played such a complementary part in our love-making.
How delighted I was that he had no hang-ups about my enjoyment of the dildo. It meant so much that he could satisfy me several times while his own cock would be good for once - or if we were lucky, twice - a night. He would even give it a long and seductive licking and a half-down-the-throat job….. just as (he said) he imagined girls would do for eachother if there wasn't a guy around. Ohhhhh, yum, yum!!!
Chapter 10 will follow….. where we move on to this being customary each week and some further steps are taken along the road to our double-life together……
(And some more reflections from Annie him/herself)
Written by a loving wife who, with her husband's tacit agreement, embarked upon a plan to introduce a third person, Annie, into their marriage, this life story has reached just 2-3 weeks into the process. It does not involve submission or domination, transgendering, or homosexuality. It does involve graphic sexual experiences from time-to-time, as the rejuvenation of our love lives has been a wonderful consequence of my plan.
A Wife's Indulgence
by Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger's
(Chapter 10)
This story describes the indulgence of one woman's (my own) desires by a loving husband who finds himself enjoying a new aspect to his existence. This chapter includes his reflections in those early days. He/she has now been a girl every weekend for three and a half years.
At the end of the last chapter, Andy was waiting for me to return home on the evening of the same day in which "Annie" had come to the hair and beauty salon where I work to have his hair cut, styled and coloured for the first time "in public".
I've asked him to pick up the story with a few thoughts of his own......
It's a long time ago now, three and a half years, and a lot has happened, but I can remember many of my feelings from those early weeks of my "change".
After a long time, I had married. Zoe, my bride, was… sorry, is!, a stunner and I love her very much. She has the longest legs imaginable and so is as tall as me. She wears her clothes with style and great variation. She has many looks, all of which I love and admire. She's a redhead, as most of the loves of my life have been. She's a hairdresser, which helps her keep ahead in that part of beauty care. She is always experimenting with a new look, stunning new clothes which all of her wages are devoted to, and maybe new cosmetics to match.
Our love-making was great in the first few years we were married. The only problem I ever had was being always the one to initiate the process. As much as she would always respond… well, nearly always, it was down to me to make the first move and begin it. And, d'you know what, I didn't always want to be the one. For a start, I wasn't always certain that I was ready and, if that was the case, I might lose it mid-way. And I did sometimes, which disappointed us both. But it made me feel guilty. She did tend to take it personally. Like I didn't fancy her enough……. Well, nothing was further from the truth.
When all "this" began, "this" being my cross-dressing with my wife actively involved, there had been some instances of "losing it" and maybe a need to "pep-up" our love-making was in order. Whether others would go this path is up to them. We did.
The recollection of being offered lipstick is an easy one to share. Imagine, if you will, there being a long, long session of good ol' fashioned fucking. It reaches a "pause". Many times, that is needed, to enable the loving to go on for longer.
I had always let Zoe know that I liked her to wear make-up. The more the better really. It's a statement of "being different" for a girl, in my view. It's saying "you can't have this but I can."
Offering the lipstick to me broke that. In effect, she was saying "you can have this too…. let's share something else." Quite whether that was what was in her mind when she did so, I don't know. But there was a sudden and dramatic surge in my libido, tired though I may have been. Wow! did I find the touch of the lipstick electric!.
Memories of how much I had enjoyed those evenings with the college girls came flooding back. How sexy did it make me feel?! And now a wife putting me in the same position. Was it right or was it wrong? I got a huge rush of adrenaline…. but should I let myself go with this? Maybe that was the cause of a later "panic attack" when I nearly ruined every-thing….. as I've done, I admit, a couple more times.
That first evening and night-time were wonderful and there was nothing in my head that thought this would lead to dressing in the clothes I wear happily now, each week.
After I had the panic of thinking I would get dependant on things like this, there was the time, the next day I think it was, that I came out of the shower, stark naked with all the lipstick removed and she comes out with these words about hair…. about knowing that hair was my "thing" and how much she knew I loved it…… It's true, it's definitely my fetish and I'm happy to admit it……… But then she suggests that I have my hair set…… in rollers! She's sitting there with her own hair all red with beautiful highlights…… and she's taunting me — almost daring me — to let her set my hair on rollers.
Sweet dreams are made of this…… Who am I to disagree (courtesy Annie Lennox)
So I agreed…… And so she did. She actually started putting rollers in my hair. Once begun, there was no turning back…… No chance for another panic attack. And my cock got bigger and harder…… And, I recall, we had sex very soon after with me with my hair in rollers! Don't tell everyone, I thought. This has to stay a secret! Seriously, I was then in a position that she was in control……And I really didn't object.
I liked it when she unrolled the hair and started styling it. I wanted her to back-comb it. There was a girl's style in there somewhere…… I wanted her to let it out. And she did.
Could I be thinking that? Well, I was! Looking back, I could have stopped at any time. She wouldn't have forced me. I was a willing participant. I blessed the closeness we were sharing. With her standing close behind me. Her pussy only inches away. I longed to lick her again and get my tongue inside her…… and to work with the "fucker" we share.
The dildo is now, but wasn't then, an important part of our love-making. I enjoyed giving it to her then…… occasionally. And I enjoy it more now it's a part of both our boy-girl and girl-girl love-making. I can fuck her with it when I am no longer rampant myself, and I can fuck her with it as a girl might occasionally do with a female lover.
The ideas for new things to try always seem to have come from her….. Like when she suggested that I might go and buy myself some knickers for my own use…… What a brilliant thought that was. Little did I know that she would follow me to the M&S store just to play the voyeur! And the cosmetics counter at the department store…… Those were things I half dreaded before I went out and did them! How could I, an ordinary guy, go into a cosmetics place and have some things tried out on my own face? Well, I didn't think I could, but I did. And the salesgirl was the most charming and helpful and sensitive person I could ever have wished.
Like the lady in M&S. Maybe she had people go in with my sort of requests regularly. How am I too know? All I know that was 100% my first time! I even went back to her and bought a lycra body-shaper. Wonderful! I couldn't have gone back there if she had made me feel as embarrassed as I was when I started. No, she just made me feel at ease as I looked through everything on sale. First, the underwear, then other things…… There was a moment when I might have rushed out of the shop without buying, scared of "looks" from all around. But no, it was her kindness that kept me in there and made me buy what I wanted.
…………And what my wife wanted me to buy!
I can't believe it was only a week later that the whole "go to the salon" thing happened. We had enjoyed some stunning sexing the days between. We had been fucking like little rabbits, whenever we could……… and wherever we could. I especially enjoyed the time on the stairs when we just couldn't wait to get upstairs! I tripped in my satin dressing gown and brought her down on top of me, as I recall. I just had to get at her pussy. There and then!
Was any of this down to the clothes and the lipstick and the hair…… Of course, it was!.
I genuinely feel that Zoe had, by this time, only a week later, taken on some of my fetish- and developed one of her own…… having me dressed and making love with her as a girl.
She has admitted this now…… it was as early as that! Funny, I'd never taken her for a girl with bi-tendency.
Perhaps she isn't. Well, she's no lesbian, that's clear. Perhaps, she's just a very sexy lady. Perhaps I'm just a very sexy guy. What's certain is that I am still free of any homosexual inclination. Naturally, with all we've done, there must be suspicion that this is my true persona…… Well, I wondered myself, but as much as I get into a girl's identity, from time-to-time……as I do every weekend now……I have never dreamt of involvement with another guy. No, ……Another girl…. for sure! I'm proud of my lesbian leanings.
Zoe has reached the point in her story where I agreed to go to her salon and have my hair done. What a step that was! I didn't feel able to go out fully dressed as a girl, I can remember well. The fear of the embarrassment of meeting people I knew was to great. Knowing my luck, it would have been a certainty… and what would I have said? Out in the real world… No Sireee… this was fantasy! It was bad enough being at home all dressed up in my lingerie with my make-up done and my hair all set……… What would I do if the door bell rang? HIDE!!! So, going out was a real test.
Booking the appointment was a first challenge. I know that she's known in the salon as Kerry. She made sure that I didn't talk to her…… She had other girls answer the salon's phone for the whole week. She even pressed me to call when I had left it three days! Emma was the girl I spoke to. She's a honey! I nearly fell in love all over again when I met her for the first time.
"Kerry" made it easier for me. That morning. She purposely chose and left out clothes that were a-sexual. Plain (yellow) trousers…. well, ok, it was summer, and a shirt……albeit a slightly girly one. She said it was up to me to choose if I were to wear a bra…… Of course, I should wear knickers…and I did. But the bra? I agonized about that. Going out for the first time…… Bravery took over and I did wear it……which pleased her no end, as she told me later before giving me the most ecstatic blow-job she ever had done.
It was the shoes that were the give-away……… Those strappy, slightly-heeled sandals were a delight and, for some strange reason didn't make me hesitate for one minute. On went the stockings and on went the shoes…… However awkward they tended to make me walk…… (and Kerry told me how to walk better when she next saw me…… apparently, she said, I had looked like Julia Roberts going stalking a client in "Pretty Woman"!!
I took that as a compliment!!!
Before I knew it, I was in the car, driving to the salon and parking across the street. What must I have looked like??!! A guy in a girl's outfit, going to get his hair done!
Which is what I was……
That was the day that I guess I felt this was going to be alright. I took myself there. I went in and said who I was. I was greeted by Emma who I had spoken to on the phone and, eventually, I sat with her discussing what I had in mind for my hair colour! Just like anyone who went there. Just like any woman who went there. Sitting there in my yellow trousers and shirt, my bra and knickers and my stockings and strappy shoes. Emma made me feel totally at home. She took me away and spent half an hour doing my colour. It was longer before I even saw "Kerry", though of course, she had seen me.
The colour was a delight. The cutting was precise but a simple trim. The look in Kerry's eyes as she did it, though, was very seductive. She was sending messages about that evening to me that I could not mistake! The styling, with rollers, was a dream. And the dressing, with the back-combing, was beautiful. I felt totally spoiled! As I left, I joked that I'd never spent so much on my hair…… Little did I know what hairdressing bills would become over the months after that!
I left the salon with not a care in the world about what passers-by might be thinking about me. They probably didn't even notice! I was still a guy in girls' clothes but somehow, I thought, it really doesn't matter. So what if I'm a guy who wants to dress this way?
Homeward, driving the short distance, I guess I got some sideways looks at traffic lights. Again, so what?! I resisted the temptation to blow a kiss in the wrong direction at one stop. The guy concerned would have been stunned!
When I reached home, I scurried inside the house. I had read some stories about neighbours who come calling when they see someone "different" arriving home.
Thankfully, all our neighbours works away from home. I'm the only one with a home office ……… and the only one who cross-dresses!
Everything had to be ready. Martinis and a subtly-placed fucker beside the bed. Then, I got myself ready……… Fragrance applied to my neck and chest……… and along my bikini line. I did my basic make-up. I thought Kerry could finish the job with a little more glamour later. Wearing only the satin dressing gown, I had some trouble with a hard-on and occasional wetness on my thighs. This proved too much temptation so I had a gentle wank as I luxuriated in the dream of being a girl waiting for her girlfriend to arrive home. OK, if that's being a bit too honest, so be it. I felt nothing of my maleness apart from the cock in my hands. I felt I was a woman with a cock. I dreamed of staying this way. I was glad I was booked to go back to the salon, same time, same requirements, next week.
My hair, needless to say, was done to perfection! Time for underwear…… Use your imagination! The bra and knickers and the camisole from M&S. The stockings and suspenders from Kerry's drawer. Then, time for the shoes!
I tottered downstairs in my heels and made the supper and lounged around before checking on my underwear. My cock was now quiet inside the knickers, seeping cum-juice gently. Ooooohhhhh! Just the recollection……!!!!
By the time Zoe got home, I had done the house-keeping thing and made everything right for a night of sex and romance.
As I remember it, she spent a little while telling me how wonderful I looked and how fantastic it had been to have me in the salon, before she disappeared upstairs to get herself ready too. I wondered why she wore a headscarf…… something I'd never seen her wear before.
When she returned, I felt myself nearly cum in my knickers, so gorgeous did she look. Any guy like me would pay a fortune to see his wife look quite so stunning.
She came down the stairs looking like a dream. She had the most feminine dress imaginable — something she had bought and kept secret. It was palest lilac with lace and a very tight, corseted waist. It was quite short, reaching the knee but allowing lots of leg to be seen. No doubt there were stockings and suspenders under there. Her tits stood proud and partly-revealed. She stood on 3-inch heeled LK Bennett floral pumps.
Her make-up was stunning……… if a little threatening, it was so glamorous. Her eyes flashed with bright eyeshadow, mascara and liner. Her complexion looked faultless. Her lips were wild crimson. Her smile was devilish.
Her hair…… now I realized why the headscarf………her hair was dressed high and what she had hidden was the change to the colour of her highlights. previously blonde…… (and much envied by me in recent days), they were like tiger-stripes of pure white.
No doubt, she would tone them down again before work on Monday, but for now they shouted "Fuck You, Fuck Me!".
Let me allow her to take up the story where she left off. ……………………… LOL, Annie.
**************
That evening, one to remember for ever, was set off as soon as we kissed at the foot of the stairs. I was holding my husband in his dressing gown and underwear, ready to complete the image he needed to have made for him. Our eyes met and we paused before the first kiss. I had practised the best possible seductive 'look' and used it to perfection. He/she was putty in my hands. This would take all night!
But I wanted a fuck there and then. I wanted to fuck this guy who I had married and who stood before me in his sexy underwear and dressing gown with his face barely made-up and his hair looking perfect. I wanted to eat his pussy!
I released him from my embrace and slipped down to the floor facing him. I slipped my hand inside his dressing gown and easily found his knickers which were bulging with cock. It screamed to be eaten! I took it out without difficulty and admired the wetness that surrounded the head. Another bead of pre-cum appeared at the tip and I closed my mouth around it, drinking the taste with joy.
He stroked my head with the satin of his dressing gown, careful not to disturb my hairstyle. My girlfriend? Not yet… This was my husband in girls' clothes. If this was the first week, let it be the first of many!
It was impossible to speak with my mouth full of cock. He seemed not to want to talk either, so we went on as if by sixth sense, knowing what eachother wanted next. He shuddered as he nearly shot into my mouth but managed to resist. Enough……! I stood again and gave him the taste of his own pre-cum in a long delicious wet kiss. My indelible lipstick remained, crimson red. His, by now was spread across my own mouth and his cheeks….. He would have to attend to that soon.
We took the stairs to the landing, leaving his dressing gown at the foot of the climb. We reached the top where he silently slipped his hands under my skirt and found the corset barring his way to my pussy. Silly woman! I thought to myself. But no…… The struggle to unbutton the crotch was a way to make him all the more excited. My pussy would be all the wetter for the time it took him to get inside. Bliss!!!!
His mouth buried between my thighs and the suspenders and stockings he found there. Plenty of time… no need to rush. But soon enough, his fingers parted the labia and revealed my love-nest. His lipstick-smeared lips were soon closed over the wet opening and he found my clitoris with his tongue. "Ohhhhhh……Oooooh………Aaaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!"
Before it seemed a moment had passed, but in truth it was nearly an hour, I felt myself cum with an intensity that was unrepeatable.
Still, no words had been spoken.
"Youuuuuuu beauty!!!", was all he said!
My thoughts ran riot. This was heaven. My ecstasy would be repaid. I lay there in the after-glow of a wonderful orgasm. We needed to share something else.
"Let's have those Martinis before they get warm, honey." I purred
And so we did. Martini always made his face flush a little which, with make-up, made his skin almost glow. I stroked his/her cheek and admired the way he had got the basics of his cosmetics just right. My job was to build on that and make him more for tonight and for the weekend. Friday night……… All night! That was my plan!
We sat on the bed and lazily drank our drinks with a view to a lazy supper and an evening of pure delight. Friday nights would be like this in future if I had my way!
And we talked. About the day. And about the salon visit.
"Emma was so kind to me, I was really stunned by the way she looked after me and told me what she could do and how, and asked me what I would like most of all and…… then she did it!!! Has she worked for very long at the salon? Is she a real friend of yours? What did she say after I'd left/ What did she say before I got there??? Do you fancy her…….?? 'Cos I'd understand if you did…. I mean, I fancy her, that's for sure. She's delightful. I'll bet she's good in the sack!"
I said we talked. I meant he/she talked and I listened……..!
It was evident that he/she was very impressed!
"But, oh… then it was your turn, my honey and I loved every minute of being there with you, doing my hair and being so skilful with the way you designed the style and put it into place and I love the result…. I hope you do and I hope you'll do it again for me next week….and thank you sooooo much….!!
OK, so she/he was delighted with me too………
No "how was the rest of your day?" … yet. I was getting a bit miffed…… this was all "me", "me", "me"…… really it was…….. Then, I thought…. how girly is that?!
Woah! This is suddenly deeply psychological stuff……. I mean, had the experience at the salon had more than just an effect in his/her looks? Couldn't possibly…. could it? Looking back, I guess it may just have done. I had to respond like another girl might do and I probably wasn't prepare for that there and then.
Then my "Annie" asked… "And how did you get today?"
"Very well thank you,….." I began. "It was an ordinary day — well, busy as Fridays are, until I had a special client arrive — a new one, someone I'd never looked after before. It was quite exciting really because, until he arrived, I didn't know exactly what he wanted to have done." The 'third person' description seemed to fit ok, so I continued……
"Yes, exciting's the right word, because he had booked only a couple of days ago and he had asked for me in particular….. and more intriguing, he had asked for a 'shampoo and set' which is unusual to say the least. And when Emma asked him if he meant a cut and blow dry, he said absolutely not. He wanted his hair set on rollers. So she took that in her stride and asked him if there was anything else he wanted, like a colour?? And do you know what?…… He said he'd talk about that when he came in…… so, he was clearly up for that too. So Emma told him to come early and spend time talking with her as she'd be the one to do the colour if he decided to have one. And, by that time, she was really intrigued and hoping he would say yes!"
"Goodness, would you expect him to be gay or something?" Annie asked, keeping up the role play. "Tell me some more about today then."
"No, darling, we have quite a few guys with 'special requests' and I'd say that most of them are certainly straight. There are a lot of guys out there who like to explore hair and beauty without being homosexuals. These guys just like the feeling they get, maybe dressed as well, but they couldn't dream of dating another guy." All of which was true. "I kind of find that attractive." Which was also true. A lot of 'us' girls do." Which is also true! "Some look like guys in skirts, but others can look quite believable." Which, strangely enough, is also true.
"So what did he look like, this guy, when he arrived…..?" Annie inquired. "…. and how was he dressed?"
"Well, he was brave to go out, I guess, looking as he did…….. I mean, he could have been a guy or a girl when he arrived but most people would have guessed. His clothes were his-and-hers really. I've got lots like then, but the real give-away was the shoes. He'd had the courage to wear stockings and lovely strappy shoes with low heels. No doubt about those. Very sexy."
"And he just strolled into the salon?" He/she said with an incredulous tone. "Surely not, in the middle of the day?!"
"You'd better believe it, honey. Bold as brass, he… er, she… well, whatever… crossed the road from the car park and came in directly. Emma found out, in talking, that this was the part that made him/her feel confident enough to go OUT at the end of the session in the salon. He nearly cried-off and went home without coming in."
"Brave guy!" Annie said breathlessly. Her eyes looked like a tear was welling-up inside and he/she was clearly touched by the moment.
"I really admired him, darling Annie, because he wasn't at all confident but yet he went through with the whole 'getting out of the car and crossing the street' bit… and coming into the salon to meet complete strangers. That takes guts. He'll make a truly gutsy lady if he ever wants to."
"I can just imagine.", he said, again almost in a whisper.
"It seemed to me he had a great time with Emma. She really spent time talking with him about hair colours and how they work and how long each would last on the hair…. and asking him how long he fancied a colour lasting…. assuming that he would choose to go through with a colour treatment. And he did! Brave boy! Emma told me after he left that she absolutely thought he was a doll!"
"And how was it for him? Did he say anything to you while you were working on his style?" This was 'girl talk'. He/she was into character 100% of the way. "Did anyone make fun behind his back?"
"No, nobody made fun of him. And as far as what he said, he talked only when I put questions to him. It seemed he was a bit overwhelmed y the whole experience but he did say how much he enjoyed the way we all treated him just as we would any client. He like it so much he's coming back next week. I wonder what we'll get to do then. Even if it's just the same all over again — a colour and roller set, we'll be delighted!"
"I'm sure he'll be back if you looked after him so well."
**************
Sex that night brought a new situation — a problem and, also, an unexpected opportunity.
Foreplay, something that we both love and enjoy extremely — so much so, it often is enough to satisfy us — went on as usual. Seductive talk. Finger-light touching. Lingering kisses lips-to-lips. Slow unbuttoning of clothing. Tweaking of nipples once revealed. Occasional clawing with long fingernails. Tongues exploring unusual corners — napes of necks, eyelids, fingers, tummy-buttons, nipples (both his and mine)….. all came in for treatment.
Long before we explored eachothers' cock and pussy.
It was one of those times when we both were very excited… maybe too excited… and he "lost it". His hard-on subsided and he was very embarrassed — it didn't matter to me and I hope I made that very clear. We could carry on with ease. There are lots of things a couple can do without a hard cock….. but this was different. He didn't want to use the dildo for some reason. Maybe it was because he was clad in his beautiful underwear and still wearing some make-up. His hair was ruffled but still very girly…….. As I remember thinking to myself…. "what the hell? there are lots of things two girls can do without a cock that hard enough for a fuck!"
And that made me think. There are things girls do that guys don't and maybe this was a chance for him to learn something new.
"Darling, you mustn't feel bad about that. Just cuddle me and we'll take it easy for a while. You know, there are many times when I don't cum during sex but that's because girls feel different about it. I can have the most wonderful time without ever cumming…. without ever having you inside me. I hope you can tell from the way I am. Equally well, and this is no secret between two girls, there are time when you want your partner to fell that he or she has given you so much that you have to cum. You just have to. But sometimes, you don't need to. But you have to show that you've have a special time…….. so you fake it."
"What d'ya mean…. Have you faked it for me many times?", he said incredulously.
"Well, just a few times…. and I love the reaction it gets in you. I'm perfectly happy and I want you to be, so I fake it… just very occasionally." I said, as honestly as I could.
"You mean, it's that indistinguishable?"
"Well, it seems to be……….. And you could do it too, I'm sure."
"Me?…….. h,h,h, how??!!", he stuttered……..
"Let me show you… it's dead easy if you know how. Remember the film that Meg Ryan did where she was in a diner and just put on a show all by herself, sitting over a coffee with this guy…."
He remembered. It was one of the top 100 movies' best moments.
"How could a guy do that?", he said, disbelievingly.
"Let me show you……. if you're prepared to try it next…. for me, for your Zoe!" I teased him.
There was a moment when it seemed Annie would refuse the whole idea. After all, not many men admit that their women fake orgasms and he was clearly one that had not made the connection in the past when I had seemingly been satisfied when the sex had been at best 'ordinary', or 'one-of-those-days' when I'd never cum no-matter-what (which we all have), or when he had been so clearly ready to cum he was unlikely to stop.
Recognizing this, I realized there was no point in confronting it and wanted to avoid suggesting this was 'ED' on his part. So, I switched from reassurance to 'learn-how-to-be-a-girl' mode. But everything I said was whispered and accompanied by a fingertouch over the satin of his underwear.
"There are times when we two girls are making love and I'll be going quicker than you and I'll be getting near to cumming. …………. I paused and smiled………… When that happens, and when you think I'll be more excited……… if we can cum together, …it's then that you should do this." I told him/her, almost in 'third year at school sex lesson' tones.
"You should let your mind wander….. Shut out thoughts of anything outside what we're doing. Imagine you're the most beautiful girl you ever saw. Imagine you had her gorgeous long auburn hair and wild green eyes and soft skin. Imagine the way you're dressed now, ready for sex…. and to be loved. Slip your fingers into your mouth and wet them wonderfully, tracing the line of your lips in the creamy lipstick you've found there, before we begin to kiss. Then, when I take you in my arms, you slip your fingers into my pussy and find me really wet already. So, then, you slip your fingers into your own love nest. Find the tip of your cock and the foreskin that surrounds it. Slide your finger inside the skin that's just your pussy's labia… very lightly indeed, you stroke the tip of your cock. OK, so it's not rock hard yet…. so that helps…….. caress your labia, darling….. tease then with a crimson-lacquered fingernail….. stroke them with the tips of a finger."
His cock was rising again as I talked. This was a beautiful experience in the making. But it didn't get hard. It was beautiful… just the way I was talking did that. He had closed his eyes. He was doing as I was suggesting. His hands were gently working away on his cock and it was soaked with pre-cum juices. I had to work hard to resist giving him a blow-job there and then!
"Then, leave the tip and run your fingers down the sides to find the base of your cock — you'll find there's a bone in your pelvis that's just like where my clitoris is…… start to rub there hard… really give yourself a wake-up….. Imagine you have a girls' clitoris yourself….. Really throw your mind into it……… Use those fingernails on a nipple now…. really dig in there, make it zing…."
His breathing increased in pace and was becoming quite shallow, but his cock remained semi-hard, soaked as it was, but nothing he could penetrate my pussy with.
"Now you're really, nearly there…… Let yourself go………. It's in your head……… It's in your clitoris……. It's in those lips…….. Taste your own lipstick…….. Kiss your self…… Now give me a Meg Ryan performance…….. It's for me to see you cum………. Cum…. NOW! Cum my wonderful bitch…….. Cum, NOW!"
And within moments, he/she did! Her head threw backwards and she moaned out loud…… Her hand rose to run her fingers through her heavily curled and lacquered hair. She did it! What a performance! It made me as wet as I could have been……… My hand slipped between my own thighs and I was on the way to cumming almost immediately. As "she" rested gently after "cumming". I felt a wave of exquisite pleasure run through my entire body… Wowwwwwww!!!
And that was the Friday night of our first weekend that had begun in the salon…..
**********
Saturday began lazily with his/her dressing after showering. The first rinsing of the hair flooded the shower with colour and caused a drama queen moment as he/she feared it would all be lost. ……No fear. Unlike the previous week when the silver masque on the auburn had disappeared, the two-tone temporary rinses just faded a little on the first wash.
It soon became clear to me that the time at home couldn't be taken up with sex all day, every day, for three days a week! Much as I should have loved it, there was no chance of sustaining the spontaneity and the passion we were enjoying! And yet, he/she couldn't really go out much; he/she wasn't either boy or girl……. he was still a guy in a frock! Looking good, but not good enough!
This was a conundrum that I hadn't foreseen! A pleasant one… but……… What to do now???
I had to involve him/her in the thought process.
After we had breakfasted and read the papers, both of us lounging around in light shirts and chinos, we sat together over a coffee in the kitchen. As we talked I was transfixed by the outline of the bra that showed beneath the shirt he was wearing.
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" I asked, not-at-all tentatively. It was a statement of fact not a question. "Rhetoric, that's called, isn't it?"
He/she mused over what to say for a moment and then he voiced exactly what I had been thinking, as he said: "Well, it's just wonderful. It really is. I'm actually feeling myself during the weekdays and like somebody completely different once Friday comes around. I hope you've seen a change in me……….?"
"Well, definitely I have. You're a more confident guy when you're a guy…… and you're making a honey of a girlfriend when I need one! I just love you both!" I said what I was feeling. "You're a very believable girl (I lied, that was going too far, just yet!) …… when we're here together and when we're making love. You pass the test for a very very empathetic lesbian lover. You really do. If dykes were all like you, there'd be no heterosexual women left!!!"
"That's very kind of you to say….. but I really know that I'm just a guy in a bra and undies and a dress now…….. I mean, I like the look of what I see in the mirror but….. Convincing, I ain't!"
"Nonsense…. " I started to argue…..
"…no.no, hear me out…… I don't look like a girl I would fancy as a guy would…… and it's ok really 'cos I don't want to attract any guys…. not at all………. But I'd like to get better at looking more like a real girl…… so your girlfriend is a 'head-turner' the way you are, darling….."
"Well, then, if you won't accept my compliments….. " I retorted….
"…no, no, no! You don't understand. When we are two girls, I want us to be stunners……. You must tell me what more I have to do to be convincing to just you… never mind anyone else. Just you. You're the only one that matters, lover!"
Where to begin?????
This was time for honesty but honesty can be hurtful………..
I thought carefully — and said only some of this: "We have to go shopping for a lot of clothes for "her". For Annie. She needs to have a separate dressing room, wardrobe and vanity unit for her girly days. We have to stock the wardrobe with lingerie, with stockings and shoes. We need blouses - so she will leave mine alone!. We need skirts - so she will leave mine alone!We had to use less make-up, not more….. we had to make everyday cosmetics what we use, not glamorous ones. Keeping the others for special occasions only. Then we had to be more moderate with his hair…. which may mean permanent colour, I thought…. but ease-up on the wild temporary rinses! More importantly, there was his deportment — he had to learn to walk as a woman…… and that would take time! And then, there was his voice. Would he see reason in taking lessons? Girls talk so differently to guys…… Oh! So much!
"Darling, I love the way you are….. Really I do. And you must realize that this is very early days. You've been dressing for just two or three weeks. You have to be patient……. I guess you have to think how you want it to be when we reach what I will call "steady state"……. Where we are "going steady" as boy/girl and as girl/girl….. Because that's the way I hope we can reach…..
"Well, that's what I've grown into hoping for…….. ", he said quietly. "…. if that's ok?"
"Of course, it's more than ok…. it's wonderful to hear you say that. I'm going to help you all I can — this is MY idea, remember!"
Chapter 11 will follow and move the story on from here……… Annie, Andy and I knew by this stage where we hoped to go…………… and how far………where we differed was perhaps how fast. Only time would tell when more steps would be taken. Look forward to news of "Three Months After"
LOL Andy's Wife, ( Kerry at the salon, Zoe at home ).
Chapter 10 finished with me, Zoe, more in love than ever with my man, "Annie" in his guise as a girl…… weekends only, and even more than before, weekdays and workdays, as the guy I married. After that first wonderful weekend following a salon visit, there was little doubt he would call at the salon, as arranged, for his appointment the next Friday. I spent all week looking forward to it. Meanwhile, our love-making, on weekdays, was on a new level!
A Wife's Indulgence
From Zoe, a friend of WannabeGinger’s
(Chapter 11)
We were sat in front of the television, having finished a TV supper. Andy was in full bloke mode — beer open beside him, pasta bowl scraped clean! He hadn’t shaved today which made me think….. he needed to keep clean shaven for the weekends. I was a little irritated perhaps, so I opened my conversation with a question, to lead him to where I wanted him to go.
"It's Wednesday evening, honey. Have you thought about your salon visit this week?" I enquired. "You have to have some ideas for your stylist and your colourist, you know."
He mused for a while, his thoughts wandering. I could almost hear him thinking about the previous weekend and how it had begun. The colours in his hair were more muted now, having been washed a couple of times. The colours were still noticeable but nothing as striking as when I'd seen him leave the salon on Friday. He hadn't set his hair since Sunday, so it was simply left in a rough "he/she" shaggy style. He hadn't worn make-up since Sunday either. Forbidden in the way were to spend our lives. Boy in the week; girl at the weekend; that was his….. er, her!
"Oh, yes, I've been thinking long and hard about that!", he exclaimed.
"Well, tell me all about your thoughts.", I insisted but…..
"Oh, no! I have to tell my stylist and colourist when I see them!", he interrupted.
Oh…. OK, quite right, I thought…….. if he's playing this role for real, that's the way it should be. I was his stylist but I wouldn't know what he wanted until he came into the salon. Nor would I know what he would be asking of Emma for the colouring.
"Fair enough, you're right, of course.", I agreed…….. cursing!!!
"You know, this whole way of going about things has changed me a lot, in a very short time.", he said, clearly priming himself to "talk" about his dressing.
"When I'm out during the week, perhaps down at the shops or walking the streets, I'm noticing the ways that girls dress and present themselves in ways that I'd never noticed before. Instead of having an "ogle" and dreaming of giving them a shag — which is what guys do, isn't it? — I find myself thinking about the way they've created an overall look and how their clothes and hair and make-up all fit together….. and I find myself wondering how it all might look on me!"
"Well, I make no secret of looking at guys and imagining how they would make in a fuck…… natural, isn't it? But then again, I do look at girls the way you do too….
I paused.
It's part of my job, looking at other women……. assessing how they look, how they could improve things… especially their hair, which is something I can influence and change…….", I went on……
"…. There isn't a woman on this planet whose hair I couldn't change for the better…….. in fact, you're a good example…. you just let me do my stuff and … voila!…. your hair is stunning compared to how it was."
"So we both spend our lives looking at other women, then!", he said triumphantly.
"But you go on to think how you might look….?, I invited him to elaborate.
"Oh, yes, now I do… that's what's changed the most. I look at their hair, their make-up - if I'm close enough — and I look at their clothes. I can't get enough of it! I spin stories in my mind about the way I'd look with 'this' hairstyle, or 'that' hair colour, or 'this mascara' or 'that lipstick'! And then, there's the clothes… where I have less experience, of course, and less imagination. Of course, if I see a right tart tripping down the street in four inch heels and a peroxide beehive, well, THEN, I can imagine myself….!"
"You're becoming quite a tart at heart, aren't you?!", I teased him/her. "Just be careful, because girls get reputations! I hadn't thought of you as a tart, really I hadn't, but maybe we can have sex with you really going for the character someday!"
The Julia Roberts character in Pretty Woman came to mind again!
"Well, honey, I'll be whatever you want me to be!", he drawled in a high class hooker's kind of drawl.
"You just get thinking about what you want at the salon this week…… that's for the future, maybe. This week, you have to come in with an idea…. something we can work with, Emma and me." I left him in no doubt.
Sex that night was brilliant. What was in his mind, I can't be sure, but we played for hours and finally laid back……. literally, "shagged out".
Wonderful!.
************
Friday came around and I reminded him of our conversation before I left for the salon. He assured me that he had a really different new look in mind that could be fun for "his stylist and his colourist" to work on.
I left him still as a guy, in EVERY respect, as he lay on the bed, naked and gently wanking as he said "Bye, honey. Look forward to seeing all of you later!".
As I drove to the salon, I was warm and wet between my thighs, thinking of his arrival later!
He confessed to me later that night that he had cum almost the minute I had left. He was yearning for me to see him at the salon because he was going to try a full-on girly outfit, no unisex clothes this time, for his visit.
He confessed also that he was only nervous about one thing. Not being "sussed" as a guy by people in the street, no; just the possible embarrassment of getting a hard-on beneath a dress. Having it show. So, he spent the morning experimenting with ways to hold his cock out of the way. Major problem! He dressed in bra, suspenders, stockings and panties. His cock got hard. Instantly.
He had tried tape on his cock……… but the brain waves and local humidity "down there" rendered that useless. He had tried the body shaper, but that would prevent him having a pee when he wanted. So, he tried almost every pair of my knickers — high-legs, frenchies, every kind — but none had contained him. No good.
So, he wanked himself again, to reduce the likelihood of embarrassment, and tied a thin satin cord around the head of his cock, and passed both lengths through his crotch. He reached around his back and pulled the cords up between his buttocks and over his hip bones, bringing them forward to tie in front of his - now empty - pubic hair. It worked well……… UNTIL, he confessed, his cock started to rise for a third time! He had tied the cord quite tight at the start…. so, by the time he was even only "half hard", he was imprisoned! By his own hand! His cock, therefore, just went on growing. And he couldn't wank another time…… He literally could not cum… if he tried………!
"Whatever did you do then?!" I cried when he was telling me all of this, late in the night. The thought of injury was all-pervading. He could have lost his cock in a crescendo of an aneurysm if he wasn't careful.
"A cold bath!" That was all he could think of…. and just as well he did. It had the desired effect. The hard-on subsided and his cock was eventually freed. A lesson learnt!
"DON'T you ever do that again!" I chastised him…… "I want that cock for myself!"
***********
That was all later when he told me — after the salon visit.
***********
He had, indeed, spent a lot of time on his dressing before setting off for the salon. He wore the same shoes and stockings as the previous week but above these, he/she wore a wonderfully feminine blouse, in a white/pink floral pattern, and a lovely summer skirt that flared from the waist. Indeed, so much so, it accentuated his/her waist beautifully. It moved with his/her body as she crossed the street from the car park. Well, I know… because I was looking out for her to arrive!
She wore little make-up… just some foundation, mascara, eyeshadow and lipstick.
She had washed her hair, so the last vestiges of the temporary colour rinses was gone, but she had volumized it well with mousse and strong back-brushing.
She looked superb. OK, the walk across the street was definitely male…. (I'd have to work on that!)… but the overall impression was a guy doing a very good job of being a girl!
"Take me as you find me!", he/she said when Emma greeted her/him at the door saying "Wow, you look perfect today!" And she was right. My tutoring was paying off! We had spent much of last weekend with him learning from me many of the subtleties of "being a girl" "I enjoy being a girl!!" (Cue Doris Day!)
The salon visit went much the same way as the first. I avoided contact with “Annie”, apart from a wave across the salon and a "Hi, Annie!" "Hi, Kerry!" greeting. It was all I could do not to go over and ear-wig on the conversation about his/her preference for colour this week.
I looked across at her, my husband, sitting in the chair with Emma beside her, talking over the colour charts and the swatches of hair in the books they were studying. Which colour, or colours, would he/she choose? The hair was still quite short, by girly standards, so the choice of colour would be important for the way I would be styling it in an hour or so…….
"Hey, daydream!…." said the client I was working on. I was clearly miles away in my thoughts……. "I'm SO sorry!", I apologized. "Something I have to do this evening and I just forgot where I was for a second! Do please forgive me!"
"No worry….", she said. "…. I thought he was rather special too!" Clearly, she'd seen the object of my gaze. "What tremendous self confidence that guy must have.."
She went on. "….. Has he been coming here long?"
There was no way I could avoid the question. She was wanting information!
"Oh, the guy…. Annie he's called when he’s here. No, he's only just started with us but we hope he'll become a long-term client, just like you. It takes time to know what a client wants to have done with her hair and then to advise her the best way to achieve the look she wants. We have two or three guys who come to us for service and he's just the next one. It's quite flattering that they'll trust us, don't you think?" My answer was enough, I thought.
"Well, I'd like to meet a guy like that — it would be fun hearing all about him….. or her, should I say?"
He's mine! You get no introductions from me, lady! I thought.
"Well, he's quite a private individual — at least he seemed so when I cut and set his hair last week. Now, ……….what shall we do for you today? An updo I think you said last week, didn't you? Are you going out anywhere special?….."
*************
Annie and Emma finished their talk quite quickly, which must have meant that he/she had come in with ideas to work on. I saw them flip through several colour charts. It would remain to be seen what would be the result.
Emma signed across the salon to indicate that she would be taking around 30 minutes so that meant there would be no permanent colour for Ginger this week.
His mousey brown, typically English, shade was a fair base for many colours, except blonde of course. I found myself wondering if he would look good as a blonde. Maybe one day……
*************
He came over from the colouring area with his hair wrapped so I couldn't tell what colour he was…….. Emma accompanied him. All was revealed after he sat down in my chair facing the mirror.
Surprise, surprise!
Though darker because it was wet, there was no doubt that Emma had given him the colour he had asked for which must have been my own shade of auburn! If I had felt it was unacceptable, I could have made them change it there and then but I guess I took it as a compliment. It looked fabulous really. No highlight, just the lovely warm base shade.
"Semi-permanent this time.", said Emma. "It will last for 6-8 washes and you'll have the colour for longer. That will help you get used to the change and maybe prepare for something more long-lasting next time. Happy?"
"You must be right, Emma.", he said, smiling broadly. "Now what can you do to make the most of that, Kerry?", he asked of me.
My heart skipped a beat. His/her hair wasn't nearly as long as my own but it made me think that one day, just one day in the future, we would have matching styles and colours. I really fancied that idea. I had only just gone for a perfect cut bob style that hung to my chin length. That meant I had to focus on the way to cut his hair so that it would gr ow quickest into the style for her that I currently wore. That back and sides had to grow faster. The crown was near enough long enough and would grow with time.
"It'll take time, but you'll have to be patient, so I will cut only the slightest amount today, just to even up the ends and encourage it to grow. It can be quite feminine if you're convinced that's the way you want to go." I looked at him — her — as if the question was pointless to ask…… she was sitting before me. He would be waiting at home!
"Oh, I've got all the time in the world.", he enthused. So we set to work and, after rollers and drying with a loving comb-out and back-combing, within an hour, Annie was ready to leave the salon. He/she gave me and Emma a peck on the cheek after making a booking for another appointment the following week. Friday again. Same time? Yes. Same services? Probably. Beautiful. He was hooked!
After the door closed and we watched him cross the street for the car park, Emma said something strange. "You know, it's almost like you two have known eachother before. I can't say why but it seems dead obvious to me. I think if either of us asked him for a date, he'd have your number long before mine. Am I wrong?" She looked at me quizzically.
"Can't think what you mean, honey.", I answered. "…. in fact, I think he's more attracted to you than me." Which I doubted, but it was clear there was an affinity between them. "Does it bother you that he's exploring his girly side? It doesn’t seem to, at all!" I asked.
"Not at all. I think that's something that guys should experience if they want to. It's quite clear that he's not gay at all. He hasn't given Huw a second glance and Huw's a very attractive guy — if you're a guy — I would guess.
"Oh, yes, I'm quite sure this fella's a hetero. He loves girls… maybe a bit too much!" I laughed and moved on to my next client. It was a busy day.
**************
Annie disappeared from view as he got in his car. His white/pink floral blouse was just right. His lovely summer skirt that flared from the waist swished as he swung his legs into the car. He checked his face in the car's rear-view mirror and refreshed his lipstick just like any girl might do. And he was off!
He went home via the shops in town and called in to M&S to buy a new nightie. He'd been talking about that and said only the previous evening that he might do this. He also said he hoped he might track down the helpful woman who had assisted him with his first purchases. But I didn't expect him to do that fully dressed (as he was when he arrived and when he left the salon).
*************
My day was busy but the time seemed to drag. Every client seemed to take for ever to finish and it was with a sense of relief that my 5pm cut and blow-dry arrived. If I could get this done fast, I would be home by six. The client was a guy of about 17. His hair was long and in poor condition so it needed at very professional cut and conditioning. As I took care of him, I found myself imagining how he would look with an updo. His features were quite effeminate and he would easily have made a passable girl. I decided to play a little before going home! The trim was complete.
"Have you always worn your hair nice and long?" I enquired.
"Since I was about 14, I have. It's only been cut occasionally since then, that's why it's quite so long. I like it this way." he answered in a quite matter-of-fact way.
"You could have a lot of fun with it, instead of the ponytail, if you wanted. Have you ever thought of doing more with it?" I asked, leading nowhere in particular.
"Well, it's funny you should….." he stopped, overtaken with second thoughts about what he was going to say.
"Funny? In what way?" I asked, as gently as I knew how.
Silence. He looked in the mirror.
Silence.
"It seems that you have… but don't worry if you don't want to talk about it." I said gently. "We have lots of guys come in for really quite experimental stuff."
Silence.
"Like what?", he said, tentatively.
"Well, like a guy today came in for a colour with Emma, over there, and then a set and styling with me." I said, in an equally matter-of-fact way.
It was true. I didn't mention that the guy, Andy, came dressedas Annie in some of my own clothes and wore some make-up and made a passable woman.
"Hmmmm…….", he was thoughtful before saying…….. "Maybe, one day…."
"Well, you think about it. Meanwhile, why don't I show you how your hair would look in a nice high updo…… nobody will see and you might get a feeling for it. It's quite long enough."
Without waiting for his reply, I started brushing his long hair quite vigorously, making the hair at the roots tight to his scalp and holding the length high upon his crown. There was a good deal of hair to work with now the conditioner had added volume. I pinned it hard to his scalp and then folded lengths out into individual curls that I pinned, one-by-one, against his head. I gradually built the petals out from the centre, leading to a very full profile that he could see developing in the mirror. It was quite a "seventies" look by the time I had finished.
If I got more clients like this I could start a separate salon for boy/girl clients!
I thought of Andy at home… Just wait until you have this length in your hair! Annie took over in my thoughts. I wanted to get home. I had teased this guy enough…. In fact, I think I made myself another client there and then! His hair had to be unpinned but he left with a high ponytail and I had little doubt that he would fall into the trap!
The hair in my hands had to be unpinned — sadly so because I had created something rather beautiful. Before returning the hair to a simple ponytail, I whispered "Don't try this at home!", knowing that there was no doubt, if I was a good judge of personality, that this guy would be working with the pins to make the same style as soon as he got home.
Good luck to him!
"You can always come back to us for help, you know!" I said, teasingly but meaning what I said!
"Thank you so much - I'll think about it lots!", he replied, and with that left the salon.
*****************
That was the second week of Annie's visits to my salon. The home-coming was tremendous with him dressed as her awaiting my return. She/he gathered me at the door and planted a long lingering, and very lipsticky, kiss on my mouth before twirling her skirt to show me how she was dressed.
This would be the pattern for the coming weeks.
Two Martinis poured and waiting. A new style of dressing each week as she/he went to the high street to pick something new to wear. That way, her wardrobe was built slowly but progressively, with a little advice from me from time-to-time.
There were gaps in her wardrobe that needed to be filled. Her shoe collection needed to be about ten times the size it was in those early days. Her underwear was perfectly sufficient, but she did buy new items occasionally when she saw some things that made her feel especially sexy. Notably, she bought some high definition, ultra-slinky support stockings that gave her legs a real sheen….. the week after she shaved her legs for the first time. (I so loved the feel of his legs through those ultra shiny stockings).
It was the fourth or fifth week that he/she indulged my wish that she had a manicure in the salon. (We do a while-you-wait service while clients are under the dryers). Thereafter, her nails were perfect red talons through the weekends and it was another "back to being a guy" thing to clear the polish from his nails on a Sunday night. It soon reached that stage where he would keep the polish on until the Monday morning!
By the sixth or seventh week, I noticed, he moved his appointment at the salon to earlier in the day. Instead of early afternoon, so having plenty of time in the morning to prepare, he moved to late morning appointments, so that he "could do other things in the afternoon". Like what? I pressed him for the details not long after.
"Well, I'm finding there's not enough time for shopping if I leave the salon around 4pm…… I know now why girls spend so long shopping! I want to look at more things and spend more time, maybe asking for help from the assistants."
He was fully into his role play now. He was not fazed by the thought that some people would still "clock" him as a guy in a dress. What the hell? Did he care? After only two months, no, he didn't! He wanted to look his best but if he was sussed and it gave someone else a problem, well, "Tough….. It's a free country and I'm not causing a breach of the peace!", he would say.
I loved him for it. I couldn't have imagined such eager participation……… and yet, the guy I married was still there……during the weekdays, HE was my man - and I loved him for that ………… still do!
Sex with him as a male was mixed; sometimes he was rampant and almost insatiable. Other times, he would lose his hard-on and still be embarrassed by that, fearing I would take it personally. Other times, the dildo, our "fucker" that we shared, was used to great effect whether or not he was hard enough.
He confessed to adoring the use of the fucker in a way that I hadn't appreciated — though I had loved it — where the head of the dildo was the last part to go in my pussy, meaning that his mouth could envelop it as it emerged, feeling like I had a cock of my own. As he parted my labia and licked my clittie, his mouth would surround a life-like shape of a cock……. So, in another way, we became a girl with extras, and a boy with extras! What a couple! What luck!
**************
My plan to live together as man-and-wife weekdays and wife-and-wife weekends was nearing conclusion, although I was sure there would be further developments.
My purpose in writing this autobiography started with a hope to encourage other wives with similar inclinations to my own to press on with a simple plan such as this. I was lucky. My husband became a willing and, then, active participant in bother the fantasies and the realities of becoming a girl for some time each week..
By the end of the third month of our "experiment", Ginger had a full (enough) wardrobe of female clothes. Enough for him to play his/her part in the washing and Ironing! He/she had a lovely collection of shoes which saved him stretching my own which are a size smaller. She/he had a wonderful array of lingerie and underwear.
We even, by then, had recalled the talk about the looks of a tart and had gone and bought him a really sexy outfit which I found and surprised him with. The piece de resistance was the Julia Roberts blonde hooker's wig that I bought to go with it. "Wow!" is all he said as I put it on his head. Blonde, heavy fringe and bangs over the cheeks, it shouted "Fuck me!". And I did… almost immediately! That wig was for the home only!
He was able to go out of the house, as she, fully dressed in a way I never expected he would, but it suited him. maybe I would have preferred to keep "her" as my own secret but, what the hell?, "Annie" was out there and I couldn't contain her!
Her visits to the salon were almost routine now……. After three months, of course, we knew exactly what this client wanted and we moved him/her progressively towards more and more sophisticated treatments. The manicures became mandatory. A full facial make-over was offered and accepted willingly on a few occasions — "big nights out"???… or rather occasional "big nights IN!"
But most of all, his hair became more and more the part that made his femininity convincing. I began to know that the woman who left the salon would be the woman that I would meet — and make love with — at home, every Friday.
The length of his hair improved with time, reaching the stage where, with an extra 3-or-so inches all over, he could have a bob-cut with a wedge shape that would gradually grow longer still; getting closer and closer to a likeness of my own hair. His/her rollers got larger and larger. The sleekness of the hair, (aided by an exceptional cut from me!) was crucial. Annie soon became able to shake the head from side-to-side and have the length swing in a most feminine way! He/she loved that when it was possible for the first time.
By month Four, Annie's hair was still being coloured semi-permanently and the style was getting longer. He/she liked the auburn colour that was tried out in week two or three. E mma spiced it up occasionally with a flash of colour painted on to the temples or across her fringe. Her favourite client never complained and was always the first to suggest new touches. He/she was revelling in the attention given in the salon.
I was perhaps worried that my Annie might start to refuse to go back to being male for the majority of the week — on a Sunday night/Monday morning….. like with the retention of the nail polish…. but there was little sign of this.
(…………..and there remains no sign as I am writing this three and a half years later. Annie is still Andy, my husband, in the week and my wife at weekends!)
The conclusion of my story is rather tame, perhaps, because this is how we have continued…. over three more years……. Annie still comes to the salon on a Friday and we have wonderful times continuing to experiment with Emma's help on the colours and my own with styling. The make-up and nails are routine… isn't that just beautiful!!?? WE are deliriously happy as 'man and wife' and 'wife and wife'.
There has been no coercion or forcing in this process. Andy has had a wonderful new side of his character discovered…… as I have done. He is nowhere near being tempted to "go out and catch guys for sex". He remains a totally heterosexual guy… and a sometime beautiful woman whom I love.
Let me just describe the most recent visit to the salon and you'll see how true this is — and how much our lives have been changed by a simple suggestion all that time ago.
Last Friday.
We woke up in our newly-created bedroom suite.
We have rearranged our home to accommodate a total bedroom experience — the whole top floor of the house that once had four bedrooms now has a magnificent Master/Mistress bedroom with a huge bed. This is attended by two dressing rooms with full wardrobe facilities. One for me and one for him! But the one for him is larger! Why ever is that, I hear you cry!
Simple, his dressing room is larger because he has two ways to dress……. himself and herself! The wardrobes now have a full set of clothes for him as a male and another as a female.
The smallest bedroom has been converted into a beauty salon — for the times when we don't want to go out, but feel the need to be pampered — or to pamper eachother!
The bathroom is a delight — with a walk-in double shower as well as a very large bath — for whenever the mood takes us that way.
Even though it was a working day, we made love as husband and wife. He gave me a really good fucking, so much so that my toes were tingling all day!!
We then showered together and dried eachother with the huge bath sheets we now enjoy — pure luxury!
He donned his "boy" dressing gown and I slipped into my satin robe. We descended the stairs and took breakfast together before getting dressed for the working day.
Friday breakfast was a hasty affair, in view of the time we had "lost" fucking.
What a way to start the weekend!
I left him for work as he went off to dress — as a boy — for the morning's work he would be doing at home. He was due at the salon for eleven thirty. Hardly worth dressing in his boy things really…….. so he chose to lounge around in his girl's dressing gown while he made some phone calls. Ha, Ha! If only some of those contacts could have seen him!
Writing that makes me think how fortunate we have been with the acceptance of most of our friends to whom changes in Andy must have been dramatic. Most of them took the first impact of dramatic hair colour change in their stride. It became quite a laugh between us. What was he doing next?! What colour would they see him next time we had dinner together?!
It was always easy to explain… that he just fancied a change and, as it was of no consequence for work, he could choose whatever he wanted. All of our friends know I am a hairdresser so it was easy for them to see how we could experiment.
Of course, we didn't let them see the changes in the way he was dressing — even when they came for dinner at the weekend. On those few occasions, he had to come out of his girly persona for a Saturday evening… but we made sure he was back into character by the time we switched out the bedroom lights!
Only when Emma came to dinner did we go through with the "being a girl" thing because, by the time of that dinner, a fter nearly three months, she knew that Andy and I were the "item" — she had never met him as my husband previously.
"Lucky girl!!….", she said to me as an aside during the evening. "You see, it was true, he did have much more of an affinity for you than for me. I could tell it was so. The personal chemistry is electric. I bet he's a fantastic fuck!" She was clearly very jealous indeed — which I found quite stimulating, given the attractiveness of both her and him! If I ever thought of a three-some, Emma would be my choice!
Maybe one day! I know she'd be "up for it"!
Annie's most recent visit to the salon brought me one great surprise. After she had been talking with Emma for at least half an hour, and looked through every shade chart she had and talked and talked and scoured many magazines and style books, they went off to the colouring area, out of my view.
It took much longer than normal for him to appear with his hair colour finished so I went over at one point, intending to complain that my appointment schedule was getting screwed up….. to find Emma barring my way through to see him…. "You can't come in!!", she exclaimed.
Then, a few minutes later, all was revealed. Instead of Annie's auburn semi-permanent, which I had expected just to be retouched, there he was…… a real "carrot top!" for the first time. He had gone truly GINGER! OK, there were subtle highlights of a strawberry blonde colour weaved into the head, but overall the impact was stunning! I couldn't wait to touch the hair…. I reached out and lightly fondled the hair beside Andy’s right cheek and then his skin there too. Wonderful!
I spent longer than ever styling his hair, with the most intricate pattern of rollers wound tightly across his head. This would be my masterpiece! It is as long as my own hair now so there is plenty of choice for styles. This last weekend — remember he’s had three years to grow his hair now - has seen him with a wonderfully curled chin-length style that has the sides curled outward in a seventies-style "Farah" flip and the crown backcombed to give height and volume. The streaks make back-combing very tricky, otherwise they lose their definition, but careful hands like mine can handle that.
He/she had her nails manicured again but with a much different colour - you can't have the same old crimson that set off the auburn so well, I told him — A fiery orange tip to each finger was needed. His own nails have grown to a very nice length — a half-inch beyond the fingertips. Friends have begun to notice the length of his nails and that was more difficult to laugh-off, but what the hell!
Off he went, to go shopping on the way home. Three years now, he looks confident in him/herself…. so much so, as I looked at his/her "walk", I knew that we had cracked that maybe final aspect to his being a girl. And don't we both love it.
I still get fucked from Monday to Thursday. My husband is there for me whenever I want him, and if he isn't, there's our lovely fucker for my pussy! I get girl-on-girl sex from Friday to Sunday and she/he has a new life to enjoy. Life couldn't be better. Nobody needs to go beyond this level if they're happy — and we are! Sorry, dear reader, if you were expecting a crescendo of bondage (though we might try that one day!), forced feminization, homosexual sex, gang-bags, or hormones and gender reassignment.
Enjoy life!! I'll leave the final words to Andy — who now really IS a redhead!
Dear Reader, Thank you for coming this far on our journey. I'm delighted that Zoe has written the account, or the autobiography, of our three years' exciting journey. I could not have imagined where this would lead when the first step was take. In fact, I have to read Chapter 1 again to remind myself.
Zoe hoped that other wives would see how such a wonderful existence can be created if they just have the courage to make the first suggestion, if they feel their husbands might be inclined the way I am.
Please, I implore you, ….. TRY IT! ……….YOU'LL LOVE IT!
Lots Of Love,
Andy / Annie xxx
by Wannabeginger
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 1
A young man, keen to spend time with some pretty girlfriends, finds himself entangled in what proves to be a joyful girly experience.
It seemed like an easy thing to go along with when she first asked. "Let me wash your hair, she said, "now I have this apprentice's job at the hairdressers, I can get practising for my first day". Little did I know where it would lead.
We are both in our late teens; about the same age, been at school together, never date as such, but always been good friends. Both looking for a job after leaving school — neither of us knowing just what we wanted to do. She had always had an interest in hair and beauty, which meant she was always a good looker. A job in hairdressing seemed to be a good step. I, by comparison, had no real idea of a career - needed time out, even a 'gap year' before deciding.
Apprentices have to do all the very basic things that get done at a hairdresser's — meeting and greeting the clients, preparing them with gowns, washing their hair and settling them down with a coffee before the Stylist should take over. Those were the easy things, she said, but washing the hair wasn't so straightforward. Getting close to the client, almost intimately close, laying hands on their heads, running water through their hair, putting sweet-smelling shampoo on and working it into a lather, drawing fingers through their hair — sometimes long hair — needing great care. Needing to be conscious that many clients see this time as a first time in the day to be really relaxed. For many, having hair washed by another, usually younger person, was a real treat — a little luxury in a busy day. Some talked, but some just closed their eyes and made the most of being pampered………
So she said; that was what it would be like for her, as an Apprentice, to be dealing with people in such a way.
She liked the idea — but she knew that a lot could go wrong in all of that — some clients would feel the water was too hot or too cold, water would go in the eyes of some people, much to their discomfort. Some would feel the motion of her hands as too forceful, others might feel it would last too little time, others too long. All of this made her want to have plenty of practice.
It seemed the least I could do to help. Who knows, I thought, it will bring us closer together and we might even end up dating eachother. After all she was a really good looker, when I thought about it.
It was to be two weeks before she started her job. Before then, she hoped, she could get practice with her best friends; as many as she could. Several of her girlfriends had agreed to have a 'wash and dry' with her. Would I? Should I? Yes, why not? There can be no harm I thought, and maybe a benefit one day.
My own hair wasn't long, but it hadn't been cut for the last school term — getting ready for college life maybe; nobody seemed keen to get shorn this summer. So it was just a few inches long, almost the same all over, falling well over my ears and the collar of my shirts. It was mousey-brown, typical 'nothing' in colour and needed washing on a very regular basis. So the idea of having it washed, rather than having shampoo streaming over my eyes in the shower, appealed a lot. I had often had my hair washing at the hairdressers, in one of the 'back-wash' basins. I had felt the relaxation that can be had, laying back while it's being done. All the more, the idea of this pretty woman of my own age doing this to me appealed.
I didn't, for a moment, think that there would be a sexual overtone to the treatment I was to receive. Maybe it would lead, as I said to our getting closer. Who was to know? So, I agreed I would play my part in her preparation for this new job. It was no surprise to learn that three other friends, all girls, had agreed to join in. We would spend an evening at the home of the Apprentice. We would all have our hair washed in turn and she would dry our hair individually. There would be coffee and Cokes available. Her Mum and Dad would see we were not disturbed.
It was a great fun evening. We all arrived nearly together. Now I should name those present and describe them each in turn. The Apprentice is called Karen and it was her home in which we met. Karen was then 18 — this will be a long story — and Karen had stunning eyes; green eyes, that went with her light brown hair. That was the cut to chin length in a pretty pageboy bob; perfectly smooth and straight, which I admired. It invited a touch. Her hair had been different colours through school — always eye-catching. She always looked after it; always in perfect condition. She had been a brunette, like now when I first met her. Before long, she had gone blonde — well, it was summer, and she went a very delicate light golden blonde, almost pastel, certainly not brassy like some of her classmates. She had been no more than 15 then, but clearly had an appreciation of what the word "class" meant, when it came to beauty.
Her hair went darker as that first winter approached. Not for her, not then, were dark roots allowed to appear on her head. Not until one time later, when it was intentional. Over the next year or two, she was always the one in school that surprised others with frequent changes of her looks. Most often with her hair — it was easy, she said. Fascinating. From brown, that first winter, she went a wonderful warm auburn, almost burgundy colour. The more I think of her then, the more I think that red hair suits her. The next summer, she laid lovely blonde highlights into the red under-colour; doing this all herself with well-known brands of do-it-yourself home colours. By the time she was 17, she had experimented with raven, almost 'blue' black, and white blonde. That was when she purposely let the blonde grow out a little, leaving what a styling article in a magazine she'd read called "come to bed roots". The raven black had not suited her. Too harsh it was, but it might not stop her trying it again. What suited her was the change — each time — and the reaction of others to her distinctive looks. That was up to last year. Since then, she had been brunette, sometimes with blonde highlights, sometimes not.
Throughout, the cut of her hair was immaculate — that was where she relied on others to take care of 'the look'. A friend's mother was a part-owner in a local hairdressing salon and a cut was always available so Karen used the friendship to its fullest benefit, having a cut every two or three weeks — keeping the pageboy she loved immaculate — sometimes longer, sometimes much shorter, but always immaculate, smooth and inviting a touch. No wonder, really, that she was now taking hairdressing up as a career for the future. Creativity found its expression in her own hair. Why not turn it to good effect on other people's hair?
It was to become a fascination for me.
She was moderately sized —perhaps a size 14 or so; her face was pleasantly rounded and her lips looked very kissable, framed as her face was with this pretty, touchable brown pageboy bob. She wore very little make-up. Her skin was flawless and a little lipstick was enough, for everyday wear. Her eyes were highlighted with eyeshadow for evenings. The more I thought, the more attractive she became.
This was one such evening. The three girlfriends who arrived together, just before I did, wre clearly less adventurous than Karen. They each had lovely hair, don't get me wrong, but all needed a better cut and perhaps some advice on conditioning and colour too. Not surprisingly, one was naturally fair, another a brunette and the third a real raw, bright natural "carrot top" ginger — "Spice" they called her. They laughed and all made me feel at ease when I arrived… "Nice to have a guy along with us girls" said Kerstin, the brunette, "Karen needs unisex experience" said Margot, the fair-headed girl, and "it'll be more fun with you around" said "Spice". We all settled with little more introduction from me than "I expect Karen's told you why I'm here — I hope it's going to be a lot of fun, and a help for her". Karen was the warmest of all, saying "it's more appreciated than you know; it's so kind to have someone offer his time unlimited while I'm learning and he couldn't be a nicer guy… or have nicer hair to work with". What did she mean by that?, I wondered.
There is no denying that, looking back, something sexual dawned at that moment. Just a warm feeling and a look in my eyes must have betrayed my thoughts. "It's all strictly business though……", said Karen, "………….Coffee or Coke, for anyone?" This was going to be an evening to remember.
We talked for a while, about trivial things. From time to time, the conversation became a bit "girlie" but no matter, I was enjoying the company of three really quite attractive girls and there was no competition or need to be macho with them — nobody to impress. Unexpectedly, I could even express an opinion on some of their girlie topics, fashion and styles of clothes. It wasn't long before the conversation got round to Karen's new job and why we were here. The question of favourite hairstyles and hair colours came up - again, I was free to express opinions just as the girls were doing. What did it matter if I was the only one to say how much I liked highlighted hair; ok, I had to agree with them that highlights would involve a lot of work to keep them looking good, but my opinion was debated just as much as any of theirs. I didn't imagine it being this way, but I enjoyed the first half hour we spent together.
We had to remember what we were at Karen's home to do. "Who's to go first?" asked "Spice"; "Well, all girls together, I'd say…" said Karen, "…………..Any objections?" There were none and, secretly, I was pleased…. By being the last, I would be able to see (and savour) what was to come for myself. It wasn't long before the long fair hair of Margot was under the stream of warm water and shampoo was in Karen's hands, poised to work on Margot's hair. Margot looked up at Karen and smiled. "Go ahead", she said. There was a tiny pause, no longer than the blinking of an eye, but a pause it was — a pause that said "this smile is special". Karen's hands began to work their way over Margot's head, gradually entering the long strands of now quite darkened hair; no longer was it fair - as hair darkens when it's being washed. The lather began to rise as the hands worked their way back and forth across the head. I watched, somehow hypnotized, finding something incredibly fascinating about the vision before me.
Margot's eyes had closed, after that smile — what had it meant — of course, it had meant "Go ahead"…. But the meaning hadn't stopped there. In my mind, the words to follow were unspoken but unmistakable ….. "Go ahead and kiss me". Was that what Margot had meant to say? If it had been me in her place, as it would soon be, if the smile were the same; then, that's what I would be meaning.
The shampoo raised a rich lather than Karen stroked liberally through Margot's long hair. It seemed to take for ever to rinse through but the time came when there was a need to wrap Margot's hair in a towel for it to be dried later, and for "Ginger Spice" to have the same treatment as Margot had just enjoyed.
Her hair was shoulder length too — just like Margot's — so there was plenty of work to be done with her. I began to wonder who would be doing Karen's hair — her immaculate pageboy cut - if it would be washed at all. Perhaps not. Perhaps another time. Perhaps I might be asked to wash her hair………
Spice's hair also darkened significantly when it was made wet — but it was still very red. The shampoo had the same effect — as did the smoothing of the lather over and through Spice's red tresses. Again, it was hypnotic. Spice closed her eyes, as if luxuriating in the attention she was getting from Karen. Over and over again, the later flowed and then, eventually, the rinsing began. Karen's closeness to the other girls became electric……… I was enjoying this far more than I had expected to.. and perhaps more than I ought to have done. Spices' eyes opened and she smiled at Karen. "This salon has a special way with new customers!" she said "… and I do like it — the way you make a girl relax!!". Karen's return of the smile did more that show pleasure — she was delighted that Spice had entered into a bit of a charade — play-acting the scenario of being a new client of the salon where Karen was to work. It added a tough of realism. It pleased Karen. I should do the same if I could.
Spice's hair was wrapped in another towel, ready to be blow-dried by Karen. My time was nearly up — it was my turn next…. "My hair will dry all over the place unless you take care of me now", said Margot. I sensed the likelihood of a trauma if she weren't attended to immediately. Her tone made it clear; Margot wanted Karen's attention and she wanted it NOW! Karen's eyes met mine — fleetingly — and it was clearly better for me to volunteer to wait rather than have Karen go ahead as she and I'd expected. "Please", I said, "Margot's right — she should be finished off before we go any further. Your styling skills need to be used too, Karen." It was the right thing to say. Margot got her way and, by the look she gave me, Karen was pleased to avoid a fuss. Me? It didn't matter one way or the other — I was still to get to see what was in store for me. I found myself fixated on Karen's pageboy hair again — it was so smooth and shiny — as only a regular cut can bring. It moved together, framing her face, defining her neck as the hair turned under and met her skin. My eyes couldn't turn away.
Margot moved to the chair in front of the mirror above the dressing table and Karen stood behind her. The towel was taken away and Margot's hair looked like thatch! It really did need attention. As Karen began to comb-out Margot's hair, it was as though Spice and I were less than mere observers to what was going on.
There was eye contact between stylist and client that was unmistakable - just as it had been before the shampooing. There was a smile, returned from one to the other, as Karen ran her comb through Margot's long fair hair. She did this gently, so as to avoid breaking the hair, or causing tangles that would be tough to remove. She started the hairdryer which brought a rush of sound into the room — suddenly, I was aware that nobody had spoken for, it seemed like, several minutes. Karen teased the sides of Margot's hair, inviting comment and, I gathered, approval to do something more than a simple plain drop-sided style. More smiles. Spice and I exchanged glances, quite unintentionally - her rather obvious reaction told me that I wasn't alone in what I was thinking. Spice smiled at me, her red hair framing her face and I returned the smile with extra warmth. "I'm noticing hair much more tonight - I do wonder why?", I thought.
The dryer worked its effect on Margot's hair as Karen ran her comb, and then her hands, through it. Karen made no efforts to apply any extra treatments to Margot's hair — this was to be a cut & blow-dry; nothing more…. Not this time. This was all each of us was to have…. This time.
As her hands ran through Margot's hair when it was nearly dry, the hair became quite remarkably "big" — that's the correct term…... "Big hair"…… Just the work of her hands allowed Karen to give volume to Margot's plain style — parted down the middle with a very full fringe and the sides dried curling away from the face. If it had highlights, her style would have been a 1970's "Farrah" — the style of that decade, copied by thousands of "teen/twenty-something" girls. But Margot had no highlights, so this was a more modern and understated style; feminine and yet easy to manage. Margot didn't strike me as a "spend hours on it" girl when it came to her hair. She did, however, keep concentrating on the image of herself in the mirror — or was it the image of Karen? I couldn't escape the thought that it was a bit of both.
By the time Karen had finished, we could all agree that her first "client" looked stunning. Karen was modest in the face of all our praises and just promised that he hoped she would improve…. Next time. She clearly had plans that this was to be repeated. Well, she was thinking that and my involvement hadn't even begun. When was my turn? I felt like asking but decided to just "go with the flow" — after all, it was fun being here and there was no pressure to wind-up the proceedings.
Ginger's hair was drying, by this time, of course and I was conscious that the same problem would arise with her hair if it were not dried soon — wrapped in a towel, her face looked plain without the wonderful crown of bright hair around it. Bright was the word — with it, her eyes lit up, without it, they just cried out for something. It was right that she go before me. The red hair tumbled around her face as the towel was taken away. "Wonderful", I murmured. Spice may have heard. Karen made appreciative noises as she began to dry the hair now in her hands. The dryer made the same rush of noise, the strands of hair were teased and combed the same way. The shoulder length looked fuller with Spice —something to do with redheads having more hairs than blondes, maybe — her hair was undoubtedly thicker and stronger ; it rose naturally, giving height and body; quite unlike Margot's which was more sleek and softer but which needed effort to give it volume. Spice's hair finished with a high crown, swept back from there, with a central parting that gave way to flipped-up tumbling curls that swayed on their own as her head was turned.
So that was that — the two girls were both finished and more than an hour had passed in a flash - I had hardly been aware of the time, except when the speed of drying had become an issue — I was still untouched.
"Now it's your turn", said Karen. "Still game???", she smiled. "Still game!", I said "…… if it's your evening to do guys in the salon".
"Oh, but sir, you'd be welcome anytime here", she answered.
"Even when there are girls around, having all sorts of treatments?", I asked…. (getting into the role play).
"You'd be surprised, sir, how many men have just the same treatments!" Karen teased in reply. "You're here for a shampoo and set, are you?".
"Whatever you say", I answered — That was the deal — I agreed to turn up and have Karen wash my hair. It had to be dried, so that was part of the deal. After all, there wasn't much to my hair — at the time of this first evening - so the drying wouldn't take long. Or so I thought.
"Is the water too hot?" I was asked after settling down at the basin. Karen stood above me, her hands full of shampoo, just like before with Spice and Margot. Karen smiled. "Not too hot", I replied, even though it was hotter than I'd expected. "Good, the hotter the water, the better the style", she said. The lather had a very special aroma. It was thick and felt wonderful as her hands ran through the length.
My own hair wasn't long and it was a lot shorter than the two girls who now watched me take their place. A lot shorter than Karen's perfect pageboy. But it hadn't been cut for the last school term. So it was just a few inches long, almost the same all over, falling well over my ears and the collar of my shirt. It was mousey-brown, and it went darker when it was wet. My typical 'nothing' colour nevertheless. It was true that it needed washing on a very regular basis.
So the idea of settling back here and having it washed, never mind if it was extra hot, was better than having shampoo streaming over my eyes in the shower. Karen's idea had appealed a lot. I felt the relaxation that can be had having your hair washed, laying back while it's being done. My thoughts came back as soon as she started.
All the more, the actuality of this pretty woman of my own age doing this to me appealed all the more. Unlike when she worked on the two girls' hair, she talked the way she would in a salon; asking had I been happy with the way my hair was, whether I had thought of changing it in any way, when I had last had it cut, and where. All of this took me more into the role play. I answered as fully as I could, making up little scenarios along the way.
Well, I had been quite happy the way my hair had been for years, I'd never been able to spend a lot on its care but always found hair an important part of being myself. Ther had certainly been no changes over the last year as it had grown without regular cutting, but maybe it was time for a change. It needed conditioning that was certain.
After the shampoo was washed away, Karen picked up another plastic bottle and filled her hands with a creamy liquid….. "Conditioning it is then, if that's what you need, and I think you do". This time, all the more, her hands moved slowly across my head, as she worked the soft and sweet-smelling cream into my hair. Round and round her hands went, every swirl feeling good and making me all the more relaxed. She smiled again and, turning to the other two, said "I think he's becoming just a little spaced-out — you should have asked for the same — we could be here for some time!" She smiled again, right into my face, and my breath caught a heady mix of her personal fragrance and the conditioner's essence. How could I do anything but smile in return — I really could get to like this sort of treatment. It was different to a salon or, still less a men's barbers' shop. I'd long ago stopped going to the barber's — women and men together was the norm in any case. But this was different to the salon I'd been to before. Nobody there came "that" close, it seemed to me.
The conditioner was finally washed away and my hair, once towel-dried, left to be seen in the mirror. It needed to be dried. Ginger and Margot finished talking on the sofa and got up. They came across to where I was sitting, with Karen close behind me. "What will you do with him next, Karen?" asked Margot, "…..now you've got him where you want him! "Is that where you want him?" asked Ginger, "….. and if so, what's next?"
"Oh, yes, that's where I want him." said Karen, "….. but he's just given me an idea — when he said "Whatever you say", when we talked about drying". "Well, we two girls both had a blow-dry, can't he have the same?" asked Ginger. "You couldn't do a lot with hair that length, though, could you….." Margot added. "…just blow-drying it".
"Exactly what I was thinking" said Karen "But I could do a lot more if he'd let me set it on rollers, couldn't I?" She looked in the mirror — seeing me not believeing what I had just heard her say. "Couldn't I?", she asked, looking straight into my eyes, smiling the same way as before. I was kind-of speechless.
"You said 'Whatever you say', didn't you?" She paused. "a…a…and I need practice with rollers and the two girls' hair is dry and styled and yours isn't; it's all warm and wet and ready to be styled". Her eyes never left my own in the mirror. I had still said nothing.
"Yes, yes…… go on!!!" said Ginger. "We'd love you too — and nobody else need know!" "I'm sure Karen could make a neat style for you with rollers and nobody could tell how it had been created", she went on. "I wouldn't need to be a girlie style." Karen chipped in, to force the agreement. Margot had said nothing up to this time but added "the agreement was 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter. I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".
This was a defining moment in the whole evening — I had said nothing, but I was, indeed, all hers to do whatever Karen wanted. Rollers? Me? Whatever would I end up looking like after a set with rollers? "……..Whatever you say", I said.
My hair wasn't long, but it was long enough, they all agreed. "We'll use the largest ones we can so the curls don't get too tight", said Karen as she reached for the box of tricks that contained her combs and pins and papers and foil strips (what were those for, I wondered? Oh, yes, I remembered, highlights get put in with foils). Nevertheless, the rollers looked quite small to me. They were no more than an inch in diameter; I supposed that they couldn't be bigger, so hair that was 2-3 inches long would go round with ease.
There was no backing out now. The first roller was in Karen's hands. She sectioned the hair around the crown of my head with a comb. It had a pointed end and a normal body. She saw my eyes on the comb. "It's alright, you won't get stabbed by this… It's got a point so your hair can be divided for each roller in turn. We use the same type of comb when we're highlighting hair — weaving different colours into small strands of the hair." She sectioned the hair right on the crown and started to wind the small lock of hair onto the first roller. It now looked huge!!! Right on the crown, winding backwards towards my neck. Karen rolled it once, then around again, as far as she could go. She pinned it in place. "There, that wasn't too bad, was it?" she asked. "The first of lots, by the look of it", said Margot. "You'll get at least twenty around there, I'd say!", said Ginger.
"Twenty????!!!" I said, "You must be joking — tell me you're joking!!!"
"Not at all…..", said Karen. "At least twenty… so we'd best get on! Her comb got to work with increasing pace. The second roller went in at right angles to the first, diving a parting forward from the crown. The third went to the left, opposing the second and making the parting clear. A fourth went in to the right of the crown. The fifth to the left. A sixth and seventh went alongside the second and third. The pattern was taking shape. I was rooted to the spot. What would all of this look like when it was finished?
Karen's "salon chat" had got going again now, as she warmed to the task of putting all these rollers across my head. She asked was this visit for a special occasion? Had I ever thought of growing my hair long? Had I ever set my own hair on rollers and had I found it easy? Did I especially admire any celebrity's hair and if so, who?
My answers got me back into role play with ease, taking my mind off the question of how I would look when she had finished. "No, not for a special occasion, more of a celebration of finishing the school year — college had been cool but, by the time the term ended, there was a need to chill out and relax". "I'd certainly though to grow my hair long" and, in fact, I said "where I've reached now is a step along that way — I might let it grow a lot longer".
"You must let us help you with that….", she interrupted, "…. you should know that a good cut is essential if you're growing your hair — keeps the ends from splitting and so the hair grows faster. Maybe, we'll cut your hair next time, if you want", she finished. "Take my hair, for example, I couln't have a pageboy bob like this without having a cut every three weeks. Even with that frequency, the length grows all the time." She was right.
The hair that framed her face was exactly that — a perfect testimony to a good regular cut. I resolved then that I would take her up on the offer — and do it regularly…… Even if that meant a roller set again.
"I'd like that". My answers to her chatting continued. Had I ever set my hair on rollers myself — no, certainly not and no I didn't think it would be at all easy!
Did I admire any celebrity's hair? Well, to tell the truth, too many to name just at the time. All I could say was…. "hmmmmmmmm" as I thought through the names of people whose hair I always noticed whenever I saw them. None of them were men. This was easy role-playing but, quite unexpectedly, I was thinking as though the talk of which I was a part was between female hairdresser and female client. In my own mind's eye, I was thinking as I would expect a girl would in a hair salon.
The rollers were now almost all over my head. The last four making a row around the back of the head, above the nape of my neck where the hair was too short to be dealt with. "I need to keep that hair straight and in position" said Karen. "Give me a moment….." and she left the room. "Setting lotion", said Ginger. "I'll bet she has none". "Well, we could go all out and get some…" said Margot. "Not with me like this!" I said quickly. "Oh, you're shy!!!", she replied.
"I've got some at home and that's only a minute away" said Ginger. "Cool…" said Karen as she came back in — "I'd hoped to borrow some from my Mum, but she's out of it just now. We will just talk while you go, eh?" Ginger left in a hurry and was back in a very few minutes. In the meantime, we continued the "salon chatter" - just who were the celebrities that they, and I, admired as far as hair was concerned. Christina Aguilera, maybe, Posh Spice, Pink was cool, we agreed -all the most modern icons were musical. What about in the past? Blondie, now there was a hairstyle! What about Cher — all those colours she chose. What about the "big hair" groups before that — Diana Ross, for example…. And Dusty Springfield — she was a real icon. "She was gay, you know." Said Margot. "…wonderful voice and so vulnerable".
Ginger was suddenly back in the room, no sooner it seemed than she'd been gone. "Good news and bad news", she said, with a glint in her eye. "I do have some setting lotion — or rather mousse….." - so that was the good news -"….. but the bad news is that it's a coloured product. I use it when my own hair is off-colour or going a bit dull. It really is quite bright…. but it does wash away very quickly…. Honest!" So that was why there was a glint in her eye — it was coloured and would make a real difference on my hair…… I couldn't possibly…… No…… They coluldn't be serious….. Or could they? "It would wash out really quickly, it says on the pack.. look, you can see……. ' washes out in 2-3 washes' …it says…… and they couldn't say that if it didn't… it's not permanent at all….. really!" Again, I was speechless.
'Whatever you say' 'Whatever you say' 'Whatever you say' came back to me. I had really said that without thinking. "You did say 'Whatever you say', didn't you?" said Margot, and added "Like I said before…. the agreement was 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter. I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and — again - clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".
"He may be all mine", said Karen, "… but there's one problem, you can't put a mousse like that on hair that's already set. We'd have to start over again and we don't have time — even if he pleaded with us to do that — even if he'd always wanted to be a redhead, like Ginger". Which I didn't… or hadn't… before…. before now but, maybe, when I thought about Ginger's hair.. and the question of who I'd admired, one name that didn't come out before was "Ginger Spice" — how wonderful was her hair???? Not now, not as Geri.. not the same at all….. Really red, like Ginger Spice….. Hmmmmmm!
"So we can't do that this time." Time was indeed racing away — my hair had to be dried and then we would be finished. What would I be left like — to go home???
"We'll have to use a hand drier", said Karen "…then I'll dress the style and we're all finished — thanks you all SO much for your help — this has been great and I've really appreciated your time and being willing to play your parts.
The hairdryers' sound rushed once more, the jet of hot air was directed close into my scalp. "Is the dryer too hot?" I was asked after settling down at the mirror again. Karen stood above me, her left hand grasping the dryer, just like before with Spice and Margot. Unlike their hair, mine did not flow freely in her other hand.
Karen smiled. "Not too hot", I replied, even though it was hotter than I'd expected. "Good, the hotter the air, the better the style", she said. She kept the jet of air moving all over the array of rollers - some were rolled up and back, some vertically around the sides, and a parting remained visible from crown to forehead, with a single roller making a fringe. It seemed to go on a long time. "Good, the hotter the air, the better the style", remained in my mind. Perhaps it was just as well that there was no setting mousse, coloured or otherwise.
Karen stopped the dryer and unwound a first roller. The tight curl sprang back from her hand and resumed its place — it was almost as though the roller was still in place.
"Beautiful" murmured Ginger. Margot remained passive and thoughtful. Karen began to unwind the other rollers. Each curl behaved the same way, springing back to the original place. Those on the crown were wound against their natural tendency so stood above where they had been pinned. "Some nice natural lift there" were Margot's first words, "…. they'll need some attention, Karen. Some backcombing, I'd say, otherwise, they'll not make a style of any kind."
Backcombing??? What did Margot have in mind? To me, backcombing meant huge hair, great folds of curls, usually swept upwards, Joanna Lumley style! What could this have to do with me and what we had done. Again, I was speechless — what was the point? "Good, the hotter the air, the better the style", 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter" Margot's words all came back again. "I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and — again - clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".
"You're right, Margot" said Karen "Until I've done whatever I want!".
Curl by curl, starting at the crown and working around the head, Karen grasped each lock of my hair. She stroked each curl gently at first, running the tailcomb through the hair, before grasping it tightly and pulling the hair up and away from my scalp. That in itself wasn't uncomfortable, but what came next was! The comb was repeatedly drawn back from the tip of the curl to the roots, time and time again, just as I began to remember seeing in television programmes — why had they been showing this - Barbara Windsor's hair came to mind — that's what you got with backcombing — blonde, brassy and BIG! Well that couldn't happen with mine — it's not long enough….. but it didn't stop Karen getting on….. "I didn't expect to practice backcombing at all — but I know it's something you need to know how to do. I hope I'm not doing it to hard…….!!!!".
"No, it's not hurting…. (though it was)…….Whatever you say" and "I don't think you have much choice in the matter" were phrases I had to say. "I think I have to stay until you've done whatever you want to do with my hair".
Each curl was dealt with one by one, leaving the parting and fringe until last — so it was difficult to tell in the mirror the way the style was taking shape. Finally, these were teased into place with the same hard back pressure on the curls along the parting. Some more combing was put into the crown, to lift it above the surrounding curls that were now merged into one another. The separate curls didn't have individual outlines, but the overall look was curly, smoothed over to give the final shape.
It wasn't a boy's hairstyle, by any stretch of the imagination. But it wasn't too girlie either. Just curly under the overall shape, with the nape of the neck straight under the smoothness hiding the rows of curls above. It could have been worse.
"Lacquer!"
"What!??"
"Lacquer! — that's what backcombing depends on." said Margot.
"Now I do have some of that" said Karen…………… and the overall job was finished, with clouds of hair spray; strong hold, firm hold, call it what you will. It seemed to set hard within moments.
How to deal with this, now that Karen had had "her practice".
"When can we do this again — you're so kind to have come this evening! Please, let's agree when????" implored Karen.
Could I do this again? It had been great fun. OK, so the outcome was a little "OTT" but we call all handle extremes from time to time.
"I'd like to bring the coloured mousse next time", said Ginger, quietly.
"I'd like to confirm this marvellous client's request for a cut, next time," said Karen — pointing to me…….
TO BE CONTINUED
(Previously published in Crrystal's Storysite, around 2004... now seeking a new audience!)
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 2
It had all gone according to plan. In the days since I had spent an evening with the three girls, Karen, the hairdresser's apprentice, and her friends, Ginger and Margot. With college down for the summer break, there was plenty of time to see them and to make occasional reference to the way things had been between us. Relaxed, at ease, playful almost. Karen's practice for her new job had gone well. She had done two excellent wash & blow-dry treatments for Margot and Ginger. Their long hair had been wonderfully done. And she had done a wash & roller set on my hair. My much shorter hair. My boy's hair. She had taken photos of us all, including my rollered stage that was quite unreal, thinking about it.
It was all to give her experience for the new job, in advance. I had willingly volunteered to have my hair washed and dried. Little did I know that the outcome would be my having more than twenty rollers wound tightly into my hair and narrowly escaping having coloured setting mousse used to fix it in place. As it was, I had watched in the mirror as the rollers went in, as my hair was dried, and as the curls they produced were combed out — backcombed, really quite hard, to leave a smoothed style that rose up from the crown of my head. The curls were disguised in the backcombing, but it was hardly the style I'd expected when I had agreed to take my part in the evening. It had been fun. There had been an occasional lapse into role-playing — the customer and the stylist; making up thoughts of what would be said between the two; how long I had such a style, had I ever thought of growing my hair much longer, had I ever changed its colour? I had answered yes to most of the questions; they seemed the logical answers to give.
They had made me think.
As I had gone home later that evening, as I had showered, as the water had swept away the curls that had taken so long to create, as it eventually went on to remove the style and all the lacquer that held it all in place. I regretted its effect. I went to sleep that night, knowing that I would make sure that we did the same again, and soon. What would those photos look like?
I had walked home that evening in the dark, wondering what would be the reaction at home if I was seen by my parents. I made sure I wasn't! Straight in and up the stairs, shouting "I'm off to have a shower!" I wish I had just gone to bed, savoured the whole evening some more and woken in the morning — to have the inevitable shower. That would be my plan next time — to savour and enjoy the look of myself in the mirror — to focus on the enormity of the change in myself. To imagine what it could turn into….., next time.
I had taken a real 'shine' to Karen — and her wonderful Pageboy bob, shiny and straight, curling under at the ends and framing her face. I had admired Ginger's beautiful red hair — how much it was a natural red, and how much it was assisted, I couldn't tell. (She has said she used the colouring mousse, so it wasn't all nature's gifts, that was for sure). Her hair was much longer and, being thick and strong, fell around her neck in glorious waves of red. Then there was Margot. I couldn't make my mind up about Margot. Her hair was plainer, fair and straight, with much less body than Ginger's or Karen's. Even so, it looked lovely when Karen had finished styling it. What I couldn't decide about Margot was the way she was often smiling at Karen, in a kind of suggestive way… almost a "come-to-bed" way. Surely not. Margot was also the one to intervene when there had been discussions about what to do with my hair — I recalled it vividly:
"…..the agreement was 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter. I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".
And I was.
But that was a week ago. I had seen them all individually and sometimes together or in pairs. We were no nearer setting a date for the next time to "help Karen". She hadn't asked, but then, nor had any of the rest of us. Perhaps she didn't want to call for help too much. Perhaps she was waiting for one of us to volunteer. Well, I reached a decision: today was the day to suggest it — would it be a repeat of the last time? Quite probably — she would want to do that.
"What a great idea!", said Karen when I brought the conversation round to "another evening like we had before, with Margot and Ginger". "It was very helpful, and we did so much in just one evening. Was it alright for you, really?", she asked, smiling that smile again. "I mean, you didn't feel it went too far?"
"Whatever you say" was what I agreed to", I answered — "That was the deal we made — I agreed to turn up and have you wash my hair. It had to be dried, so that was part of the deal. After all, there wasn't much to my hair - so the drying wouldn't take long. …..Or so I thought!". I laughed. "I didn't expect to wind up, wound up like that!"
"But it was OK, was it?", Karen appeared concerned. "No, no, it was cool — or rather it wasn't too hot, like you asked about the water and the dryer through the rollers", I made light of the experience, even though, just talking about it made me smile and get a quite warm feeling that I couldn't quite explain.
"There are some extra things I'd like to practice, if we do it again", she said.
"Like what?", I asked "Same for all of us?", wondering what she had in mind.
"Well, not quite, because your hair's a lot shorter than theirs is — though it's grown even in the last week. I thought I'd set their hair in different ways. Margot could have a lovely sleek French pleat — you know, where the hair is swept off the face, smooth around the sides and into a roll at the back, with the top backcombed strongly to give it height. If she were willing, I'd love to put some highlights in to brighten up the colour of her hair." She had it all planned, I could tell.
"…so what for me and Ginger?" I had to find out what she had planned.
"For Ginger, a set on the biggest rollers I can get into her hair… to allow me to dress her hair like for an evening ball — "Big Hair", they call it. It would make the most of the colour, don't you agree? — and I need practice in doing that".
"Whatever you say", I answered — "That was the deal — we all agreed - so, what do you have in mind for me; the same as before?"
She smiled that smile again.
"Well, like I said, there are some extra things I'd like to practice, if we do it again", she said. "Your hair isn't long enough to do great fancy things with - yet — so we have to make the best of what we have".
"Yet???", I thought and then realised I'd said! "Yet???".
"You heard", said Karen "There are some extra things I'd like to practice, if we do it again", she said. "…..the agreement was 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter. I think you have to stay until I've done whatever I want to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and clearly meant it. "You remember Margot saying "He's all yours".
I did.
"So what do you have in mind? You still haven't told me.""
"Ginger's last words that evening: "I'd like to bring the coloured mousse next time". I need to try setting lotions and mousses and things like that — and if it adds a little colour, well, no harm done, it washes out quite easily and quickly. And, as your hair has grown a lot in just a week, I could use some bigger rollers, to give more height — it would look cool!"
"Will the colour show a lot on my hair - it's a nothing sort of colour really — what would it be like?" I asked, half of me scared of the idea, and half of me thrilled — more time close to the is increasingly gorgeous woman.
"The colours are as subtle or as bold as you choose. It's all a matter of choice. We could use Ginger's mousse from home, whatever colour that might be, and we could use one that you could choose for yourself. But that would mean your going to the shops and choosing. There are hundreds to choose from."
"Would you think a red was best?" I asked, tentatively.
"Probably, it would be, because you can't go blonde with your colour, without something permanent — and I did say "Your hair isn't long enough to do great fancy things with - yet — so we have to make the best of what we have".
"You keep saying "yet"…. What do you mean by that Karen?" I had to ask.
"I mean, this was good for a first time — I hope there will be more. And it sounds like we've got another one soon, at least, that's all".
"So, not blonde?"
"No, not at all……. Darker brown, like mine, is OK but it's not very adventurous, is it? And you could go darkest, darkest black — you can even get "blue black" products that are really cool…… the blue highlights are really cool…… But I think red would be best for you. And there are plenty of reds to choose from."
"Ginger's hair is adorable" I said, involuntarily. "It's a real head-turner when you see her in the street". I paused for thought. "I don't think I could get anything near that, could I?"
"It all depends — why don't you go and see what's there in the shops? The pictures on the packs of the products you can buy are really quite life-like. Honest. If you've got any doubts the staff will be happy to help you".
Karen was seriously suggesting that I go to the beauty counter and ask about these products. And maybe, just maybe, I might.
We agreed on the next Saturday evening, provided that Ginger and Margot could make it. They subsequently agreed it was ideal. Ginger even remembered that she had offered to bring the colouring mousse when I called to ask when would be best for her.
"Remember??, I said, "I'd like to bring the coloured mousse next time" It was meant then, and it was meant now. I quite fancied the shopping trip that Karen had suggested but Ginger had clearly not forgotten her wish.
"Tell me about it, Ginger", I asked "Tell me just how red it will make my hair and how much like yours…. Your hair is beautiful".
"Thank you", she said. "Your hair is like a blank canvas — there is a very basic shade on which almost any colour will take very well; not like mine; mine is red and red alone; I could go blonde, but when I last did that, it ended up carrot coloured. If I ever go blonde again, it will be what they call a "Strawberry" shade — almost peachy/pink". But that's a professional's job. When I add colour myself, I darken the red, making it much richer. They call this Auburn."
"Would it suit my hair, with the 'nothing colour' base?" I asked, almost knowing the answer, but getting an unexpected tailpiece to the message. "Beautifully", she answered. "I'll bring it along and we'll try it — see how you like it. You might even end up wanting to stay this colour".
The next couple of days, until Saturday, dragged by very slowly. My mind wandered often to what was in store. I hadn't seen Margot, so had no idea of what she was thinking but expected she'd just go along with Karen's plans. I ended up not being able to resist "window shopping" in the beauty department of the local department store. It's one of those places that, unlike a supermarket where you're left alone to make your choices, you get pounced upon by immaculately made-up women of a "certain age". I certainly got my treatment from one such lady. She was a redhead herself — quite a striking woman who just shouted confidence.
"Can you find what you're looking for?" , she asked, after I'd been staring into the ranges of hair colours for what seemed like hours — probably a minute and a half! What could I say? "I want a non-permanent colour, in an auburn shade" was all I could think to say - it had been on my mind ever since I had talked with Ginger….. that was what I did want. Non-permanent. As red as can be!
"It's for you, I presume?", she asked
No beating about the bush with this one… she could tell it was for me… useless to say otherwise. "Yes, it is, a really bright colour, but not a permanent one". I said.
"This is what you'll do best with — everyone starts with a product like this one — called Harmony — it's very easy to use — No, it's not a mousse — if you want a mousse, you'll need something like………….. this!" She pulled a small aerosol can from the lower shelf. "That will give the bright colour you seem to want, and not last long at all — perhaps that's what you want." She was taking control, I wasn't going to get away without buying something! I just knew it.
"Look at the range of Harmony colours… there's all sorts there……… there are several reds — there's natural light auburn - rather ginger that one; and copper, and there's natural dark auburn - that's redder and really quite attractive; there's mahogany — that's much darker brown with deep red; then, there's one called burgundy — which is how it sounds- a deep dark red wine colour…… or there's aubergine - that's a darker shade too, but it's almost a purple overtone. So many to choose from — specially for someone like you that's, well, trying things out for a first time?
"Yes, a first time……."
"If I were you, I'd go for the Natural Dark Auburn — it's a really sexy red and glows really warmly — you'll love it. It'll last a bit longer than a mousse, but then, you're not going to worry about that, are you?" She almost mocked me, daring me to say I couldn't handle the colour lasting for 2-3 washes.
"OK, that one it is….." I said and paid up quickly.
"Would you like some special shampoo for coloured hair?" she added. "Not likely!". She was quite a scary woman really, now I come to think about it.
Her identity was revealed when we met for the "next time".
The "next time" came around quite quickly. The evening was arranged. Back to Karen's home, like before. Just the three girls and me, like before. Karen welcomed us all in one by one; this time I wasn't the last to arrive. Margot had been there just for a few minutes. "You must be the guy that met up with my mother in the beauty department…." said Margot, almost as soon as I saw her. "She talks a lot about customers she meets in the beauty department and they don't get many guys asking for advice."
"I was hardly asking…… " I said, "… it was more like she pounced on me while I was just looking….." "Ahh, 'just looking' — that's what they all say the first time, she'd tell you" was Margot's answer.
"Oooh, do show me what you've bought" Karen exclaimed. It wasn't that exciting, a very standard shop-bought colourant really — nothing to go wild about. "It's so cool that you went to this extent — you're really a honey!", she exclaimed. Good enough for me, I thought, if she's thinking better of me for something quite so simple, I could go for this in a big way. There was no doubt, Karen was getting all the more attractive to me, the more she went on about how helpful I was being. Maybe Ginger in particular, was a more stunning girl to look at but….. "Hmmmmm."
I'd lapsed into thoughts like this when Ginger arrived — all excited. She had run the last few yards, knowing she was a bit late. "I'm really ready" she puffed, "…it's just that the bus was late after I had to go back home to get the mousse I'd promised to bring — remember???" she looked at me eye-to-eye and winked with a smile.
"Who's going to go first?", asked Karen. I found myself suddenly aroused —there was no mistaking the feeling — but was it for the closeness of Karen, or Ginger — more so than Margot - or was it for the simple thought of what was to be done. I'd enjoyed being last "last time" - so I answered first… "My turn first, 'cos I was the last when we got together first time." There was no disagreement. "Will you have the colour you bought?" asked Karen, "…or will you prefer Ginger's mousse? That's a setting mousse so it will help the style….. and will you have the rollers again?….. and can I backcomb it just like before…. your hair's got longer, it should look great!".
"Whatever you say", I answered — "That was the deal — we all agreed".
"Then I say ……. The mousse, the rollers and the backcombing!" said Karen.
"And what about us??" said Ginger and Margot — almost together.
"I thought I'd set your lovely hair in different ways. Margot, you could have a lovely sleek French pleat — you know, where the hair is swept off the face, smooth around the sides and into a roll at the back, with the top backcombed strongly to give it height. One day, if you were willing, I'd love to put some highlights in to brighten up the colour of your lovely fair hair. It would add lots of body."
She had it all planned, I could tell.
"…so what for Ginger?" I had to find out if she'd changed what she had planned.
"For Ginger, a set on the biggest rollers I can get into her hair… to allow me to dress her hair like for an evening ball — "Big Hair", they call it. It would make the most of the colour, don't you agree? — and I need practice in doing that".
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Ginger. "I could feel quite sexy like that!"
"You'd look very attractive like that; very 'lipstick'… if you know what I mean." Interjected Margot, who hadn't said anything about her own coiffure.
"Let's go for it, then", Karen said as she launched me towards the washbasin, "but let's take a photo each stage, can we?". Of course, snap, snap, snap! Soon my hair was wringing wet again, darker in shade as before, and the water was as hot as before. The same stylist/client chatter ensured. "The mousse, the rollers and the backcombing! — are you going out somewhere special tonight?" Karen asked her client. "Let's make it very special!". "To do that, I need to trim your hair and get rid of all of these split ends — it will make your hair much softer and it will grow much faster." So, out came the scissors and, sure enough, she trimmed and trimmed all over my head, removing very little but shaping the hair all over.
The mousse was an amazing colour when Karen put on a pair of latex gloves and took a handful from the aerosol and spread it all over my head. The light above my head seemed to make it twice as vibrant as I'd expected. "Wow!!! — will that be the final red????". "…..will it stain my skin???!", I cried.
"No, no, no! The chemicals show up that way and it's a marketing gimmick I'm sure — the colour on your hair will take on the natural shade of your own hair and that will dampen it down…. A little!" Karen reassured me. I wasn't to know until the drying had been completed just how bright the red colour on my hair was to be.
The red strands of hair were wound on the rollers — beginning with the larger ones than before, arranged around the crown of my head — winding back from a point further forward, I thought. There was a real lift in the way the style was going in — still with a parting to left and right but I could tell, this was different. The rest of the rollers went in rows around my head — again, more than twenty. Then the drying had to de done. But not before another photo — with my hair in rollers. This time Karen took three shots — front, side-on and over-the-crown and back.
Karen decided that a wash for Ginger would come next though —because her hair would take a long time to dry, it being so thick and lustrous. Margot's would be done last. Ginger's was wash done at length — I looked on, quite dreaming that one day I might wash that wonderful hair myself. Then, as Karen wound Ginger's hair on to the most huge rollers I had ever seen, Ginger took care of hand-drying my hair. Margot was, a little, excluded — at least it seemed, as the three of us were involved together. It didn't seem to bother her; she looked fixedly at Ginger and Karen. She was clearly enjoying the view and absent-mindedly began to play with one of her nipples through the fabric of her blouse. I averted my gaze — the last thing I wanted was confrontation over something like that!
Ginger's hair was set by Karen, and dried by Margot, whilst my hair cooled after the drying. I knew it had been hot, again, so the curls I had would be tightly-formed. Karen took a couple of really close-up photos for her portfolio. Mine were mixed in with those of the two girls I was modelling with. With us each in rollers, it was difficult to tell who was who; only the size of the rollers gave me away.
The time had come for them to be removed and the styling to begin. One-by-one, Karen removed the rollers, starting with the smaller ones around the sides and back of my head. Each curl — now a deep red colour, sprang back into position where they had been set. The larger rollers on the crown of the head were left until last. The colour there was brighter, as the curls were hit by the spotlight above the mirror. What a colour! The curls sat there for a while, almost demanding to be touched. Thoughts raced through my mind — what was I doing here??!!! There was no way that this could be called "boys' hair"….. this was getting out of hand….. but in a strange way, I couldn't bear to stop it — which I guessed I could if I protested.
"Whatever you say", I remembered again that I had answered — "That was the deal — we all agreed". I guessed I had to sit back and see what came to pass.
"You'll have to sit there while I wash Margot's hair and get her ready", said Karen. "but while you're waiting, you can dry Ginger's hair — that will be a treat for you." It was! While I did that, playing the hot stream of air over Ginger's glorious red rollered-curls, we chatted, the same "salon chatter" as Karen and I had done. "Are you going somewhere special? Have you had your hair this way before?" I asked "my client". Indeed, she was "going somewhere special". "You must let Karen take a photo before the rollers are taken out", I said, quite wanting to hold the image that I had before me.
Meanwhile, Margot's long fair hair was washed and treated the same way it had been before. I overheard Karen say "You must let me put highlights in your hair someday". "Well, if you do, they'll have to be striking ones — I don't want anything subtle!" was Margot's reply. "That will be for next time, then", said Karen - "…for today, you're having the beehive and French Pleat — that will be striking enough!". Margot's hand strayed towards her nipple again as she smiled at Karen, oblivious to the pair of us, Ginger and me, who were watching.
I was next into the styling chair, with Margot's hair washed, I was ready for the comb-out and the backcombing that was promised. Part of me was kinda scared, the other part kinda exhilarated. What would it finish out like? I was soon to find out.
Karen teased each curl with her tail-comb, watching each one spring back tightly. Then she caught the first curl and started to work on it. She ran the comb through and through it…… There was no way that this could be called "boys' hair"….. this was getting out of hand….. and then she began the backcombing; gently at first and then harder and harder. The red hair was now like a mist, not a firm curl. Then, the second curl got the treatment; the same, then the third and fourth, and so on. Soon, it was all ready for the dressing; smoothing the style, retaining the clear legacy of the rollers but now set free with the height that the backcombing had given. Finally, Karen sprayed my hair repeatedly with firm hold spray - "Lacquer!!" she said, "…where would we be without it?!"
I sat apart from the mirror but within viewing range, able to admire my own reflection whilst Ginger's hair was the next to be dealt with. Karen had said "For Ginger, a set on the biggest rollers I can get into her hair… to allow me to dress her hair like for an evening ball — "Big Hair", they call it. It would make the most of the colour, don't you agree? — and I need practice in doing that".
And it did…. And she did! Ginger's hair formed lustrous handfuls when released from the rollers. Touchable. How I suddenly began to envy Karen the part she was playing in our treatments. She was deciding how we would look. She was putting her ideas into effect. Ginger's hair began to take on an "Eighties" look — "Dallas or Dynasty, which was the more outrageous for the BIG hair??" said Ginger.
Her hair was combed and looped and pinned and, with some held up, the style was now exposing her neck. Karen backcombed just a few strands of the wonderful red hair and laid them in tendril curls across the crown. Ginger's face was framed with what the Americans would call "bangs" I thought….. very touchable.
She too received a cloud of hairspray to give hold — a gentler hold than my own. And she was done — much to her own, and Karen's delight. "I have to have several pictures of this!" she exclaimed. "So must I!" I thought but didn't say.
Margot's hair now needed drying by hand and the severe beginnings of a French Pleat began. Karen drew Margot's hair close to her, its length falling through her hands. She pinned it all severely down a vertical line at the back of Margot's head and then proceeded to wind the length into the roll that was to control the hair all the way from her crown to the nape of Margot's neck. Tight and sleek, it shouted "control!" Now, Karen was in complete control. Karen stood back and admired her work, the top of Margot's head still to be completed. "Yes," she said, after thoughts lasting more than a minute, "… highlights round both sides would look great!" Margot smiled "that" smile again, "bright, bold and very distinctive", she agreed.
Karen reached for the tail comb with which she had backcombed my own hair and began to give Margot at least as harsh a treatment as I had had — time and again, she worked the hair high and drew the comb back against the shaft of the hair — and again, a mist of hair, this time fair not red, was created. Karen smoothed the beehive top into a smooth outline, fully four inches above Margot's crown. "Wonderful!" murmured Margot. "You look good enough to kiss……." breathed Karen. "What's stopping you?" said Margot, looking Karen in the eye with a "Come and get me" look. What would happen — Ginger and I were both equally stunned — what would they do? What should we do?
I looked to Ginger and a thought flashed through my mind — it takes two…. I thought, and they're a two and that leaves us as a two — never mind my admiration for Karen that had been developing. "Ginger, you look better than good enough to kiss……." There was no time to be concerned, would she let me kiss her? Indeed, she would, said the smile that spread across her face… and so we kissed, before anything happened, before Karen's answer to "What's stopping you?"
My head began to spin, the kisses went on and the atmosphere became electric. This was as far as it went but the questions were more numerous now than ever since we began helping the Apprentice to practice her skills. We had practised washing and drying and setting, rolling, combing-out and now colouring. Then we had started kissing — not on any price list for a hairdressers that I had even known. What would come next. Was there to be a "next time"???
Funny, as we ended, nobody thought to pick up the camera.
I went home determined to avoid my parents but also determined to sleep with my hair as it now was. Tomorrow could take care of itself.
TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 3
I did as I had promised myself. I got home from the second evening with "The Girls" and made it up to my bedroom without encountering parents. What their reactions would have been, I still don't know — a young man's dream coming true.
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 3
I passed their bedroom where the door was open. I slid past and closed my door, opening it only to head for the shower the following morning. That was after a wonderful night of imaginings; just how my hair could be done. What would Karen come up with next. The touchings became intense and it was no surprise that I brought myself to a climax with just the thought of back-washing, colours, rollers, drying, styling and backcombing. What a dream — with Ginger and Karen central to it.
*********
It was a week later before I called Ginger, not knowing whether to call Karen beforehand. I wanted to see them both again, but for different reasons. Ginger's attraction had overwhelmed me. It had turned my admiration away from Karen who, whilst still attractive, couldn't be the focus of my attention. Kissing Ginger, which was all it was, had led to a wonderful warmth that I treasured each time I thought back to the second evening we had spent with Karen, and with Margot. Margot somehow didn't figure in any equations I could compute. Ginger was the focus; now I fancied her to pieces! She had responded very warmly and our kissing developed a passion. I couldn't tell about the Karen/Margot thing that got going at the same time.
"Hi!" she said, excitedly, I thought. "I was hoping you'd call!". I wished I hadn't left it a week.
"I hoped we'd see eachother again", I said
"D'you mean at Karen's, or somewhere else?" said Ginger, in a way I took she hoped I'd say "somewhere else". To have answered that way wouldn't have been the whole truth. I wanted another try with the hairdressing experiments that Karen wanted to practice. There was no way to deny that was getting quite fixated on the whole hair "thing". Wherever I went, in the street or in shopping precincts, or in pubs or on trains, I would now notice women, first of all, for the condition, style and colour of their hair. More than that, in just 2-3 weeks, my thoughts had changed to "how would that look on me?".
These were not boys' hairstyles, these were very much what I had begun to fantasize about for myself — the more fashioned, and the more highly-styled, the better. The more boldly coloured, the better. Highlights fascinated me. Red hair, in particular, fascinated me. Long hair was good. Short, highly curled and combed-out hair was good. So many different styles and colours. Crazy colours got special attention. I could always pick out the wild colour among a hundred mousey-browns and "Miss Average" cover-up-the-grey colours.
"Well, certainly somewhere else, that would be great — we could go to a bar or take in a film maybe?", I said. "And, maybe, we could have another try at Karen's, if you're happy to….." I trailed off the sentence, not knowing how she would respond.
"You're sure you can handle that?" she asked, showing real concern of a kind that maybe I hadn't seen in her, or anyone before. "Sure, why not?", I answered.
"Well, it's all fine for now; just so long as you're happy with it all." She indicated no reason for the previous question. "We can do that again, sure — d'you have a day in mind, or have you talked with Karen?".
"No, I haven't but let's fix a day for us to go out together first, eh?" And so it was fixed. We would go out together, just the two of us, the next Saturday. That date, which is what it was, was wonderful. We talked, we laughed, and we much enjoyed eachother's company. We agreed to do it again — maybe within the week. During the date, there had been little mention of the evenings with Karen and Margot. Ginger seemed to know more than I did, but it didn't bother me. When Ginger mentioned the two other girls, it was clear that she did. She said that Margot and Karen were staying in that night. It was said in a way that suggested more.
More than "staying in". But how was I to judge. We did talk about how the "hair" thing started and Ginger confessed her surprise that a guy like me would be willing to take a place in something like that — however it had started. It wasn't in my mind that it would "go that far", I said, meaning that I'd expected just to have a cut and blow-dry.
"Not many guys would do that", she mused. "So, I wondered why you did." Should I answer with the truth — that I had wanted to get close to Karen? Maybe I should — what other reason could I come up with? There was no feeling like that I had come to express to myself more recently — that the hairdressing itself was attracting me.
"It was Karen, then………….." I said. "Before you got into my heart. I just fancied her. I thought she was cool. I admired her. I thought her hair was especially cool — and when she said she'd be a hairdresser — it was a' no brainer' as a way to get closer to her. Then you and Margot came round — and that was cool too."
It was logical. I was admitting to fancying another girl before I'd got to know this wonderful redhead. A redhead who had chosen the hair colour I had used — or was used on me. She had chosen it. It was close to hers. It was bright and very red — and she had chosen it.
"It's all thanks to you that I'm talking abut becoming a redhead", I said. "And I'm grateful for that."
"You know Karen wants you to try a permanent colour, don't you?" she teased.
"Not permanent….. maybe one that washes out in 2-3 shampoos; that's all." I said.
"You don't know that. You may have bought one that does that but you won't know that when she starts to put the colour on your hair next time. She'll use the brush and section it all nicely; little by little. She'll tell you that it has to wait for a 'few more minutes' when you ask 'how much longer'. Then a few minutes more. You'll be dyed perfectly by that time and there will be no way of turning back."
I was unsure of how to react — that was going too far and I wasn't ready for that. "How do you know all that?" I asked.
"I just heard them talking — they're getting quite close, as you'll have noticed." Ginger replied. "You know, you must have been able to tell, that Margot is strictly a girl's girl. She's been so for a long time but only now is getting confident enough to be 'in your face' more. She's come on to many of us, and Karen's just finding out what it's like to be the subject of Margot's attentions. She seems to be liking it."
"Have you ever had a fling in that direction?" I asked, expecting to be told to mind my own business. But I wasn't. Ginger smiled. "well, she came on to me a few months ago but I'm not really susceptible. I like my male contact too much. But, then, it doesn't mean I wouldn't experiment."
Then, it came, a phrase that shook me: Ginger said "You don't know how much the last couple of evenings have hit on me. You're a real honey, you are — it's been such fun."
"Why not let's call Karen and fix another evening?". We said, together.
Karen's reaction to the call was delight; simple delight. "Margot said you wouldn't call and I'm pleased you proved her wrong", she said. "How would next Wednesday evening do you? Can Ginger come then too? It would be good, because I would like to cut your hair a little more this time. It's growing nicely now we've got rid of those split ends and we can shape it well now, I think. Ginger's too — I think an 'up-do' would be ideal for her."
"Cutting? What's in your mind?" I asked, unsure of how much would be taken off. It was true that my hair had grown fast since the trim last time round. Another couple of weeks seemed to have added quite a lot to the length, both on the crown and on each side.
"The basic shape has been started for the style I think will suit you best. The crown will need to be set high, like before, but the sides need to be less curled, more close to your cheeks. Like the beginnings of a page boy 'bob' cut, tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more. The colour will set that off so nicely — and, of course, you can wear it 'rough' during the days. Nobody will know, well, apart from the colour. Are you alright with that?"
"Whatever you have in mind, you know that" was my reply, like before. "But the colour won't be permanent will it?" I added. "I'm not ready for that."
"The pack you bought at the Department Store will be fine." Karen came back instantly. "It's a short-lasting, 3 shampoo, product. It washes away quickly. You'll see. Don't be concerned."
"What will you do for Margot, if we're having these things done?" I asked her.
"Ahh, big change for her, if she'll let me. Highlights were the things we talked about — it's fascinating how they go in and change the look of a face. Margot said 'distinctive, nothing subtle' so that's what she'll get. I need the practice, and I want more shots for my photo portfolio. The first lot look great!".
So, Wednesday it was to be. After a date with Ginger at the weekend, when we talked of everything but the hairdressing experiences, I was ready for the third session. How would it end?
Margot was with Karen by the time that Ginger and I arrived at the house. Ginger's words about the use of a permanent colour had troubled me over the few days since we had agreed to get together again. Karen and Margot were deep in conversation with the first lot of photos in their hands. We spent quite a while looking through them. I must confess to a curious feeling, seeing myself with hair rolled up and then in the final styles that Karen had created. Quite curious, indeed. Whatever next?
There was the (now) usual chatter to start with and then the question of who should go first. It had to be Margot — she had not been first yet — so her long fair hair was combed through and Karen reached for her trolley that had several trays of coloured pastes and creams, together with a pile of foil squares — I had seen those in use in hairdressers before, but never seen them used "up close". Karen said she would explain all she was doing, as if teaching students — the way she was being taught by more experienced colourists where she works.
The key points were to grasp enough hair for each strand that was to be bleached. She talked with Margot about how many strands to colour, and how bold the strands should be. "To frame my face, a bold strand either side, she said. "Then a mix along the parting, or perhaps something like the 'undercolouring' that's everso fashionable now — where the whole of the lower half of the head is blonde…. Either way I'd like it making a third of all the hair blonde, maybe?" she asked.
Karen's reply was clear: "That will be very bold indeed - you might want to start with less — we can always put more in another time. Would you want to be like Debbie Harry out of Blondie…. Not many people can carry that off, Margot", warned Karen. "Why worry? Let's live a little!" was Margot's answer. "And what colour should the streaks become; what toner will you use? I'd like it quite pastel coloured, not yelloooooow blonde!"
Margot was getting into this now — for the first time she was quite animated in the way she talked. As Karen pasted the bleaching mixture on each strand of hair, she almost purred with pleasure. Her eyes never moved from the mirror and the hands that were, one-by-one, laying little foil parcels across her head. By the time the job was finished, Margot looked quite quite different. She took Karen's hand as the last foil packet was placed. She squeezed the hand and smiled, saying "I can't wait to see how you've done this!" Karen smiled back and said "Time will tell — you'll have a half hour to wait at least before we can continue. In that time, we'll have Ginger's hair washed and rolled-up, and then we can continue." "Did you take a 'before' photo?" asked Margot. "Oh, no!!! Well, we'll have to take others. Let's get the foils into the records!" said Karen.
So, I was to be last again. Not to worry, this was proving to be fascinating all over again. Highlights were a great attraction. For a moment, I thought to myself, 'how would they look in my hair?' perhaps it was best not to utter that out loud — they'd be trying them out before I could blink! But how would they look? Now, they would be permanent. How to explain them away? No. 'Don't even think about it……', I told myself.
Karen turned to me and said "Would you wash Ginger's hair for me please? I have some preparations to do for her set and there's not enough time to get you all done." Just as if I was the salon Junior that she was employed to be now. Would I????? There wasn't a moment's thought. It would be a delight — after all, it's an intimate thing to do, to wash another girl's hair……. Another girl??? What was I thinking?!
There was time to take a photo or two more.
Ginger's hair was easily washed. It's thickness and luxuriant waves were wonderful in my hands as the water made them even heavier. The colour darkened as the shampoo ran through the hair. My hands moved round and around her head. Sensual pleasure could only be defined this way. It was a fantastic experience and one I could prolong only for a while as Karen arranged all the rollers that were to be used to set Ginger's hair. "You can do this for me again" said Ginger as she looked up into my eyes as I stood above her. "I can't wait", I whispered.
Her hair was rinsed and Karen suggested that I comb it through, just once. Then Karen took over and wound that wonderful red hair over the huge rollers that were lined up on the trolley beside her. There were huge rollers, even along the nape of Ginger's neck.
The hair there was wound upwards away from the neck — clearly to help the 'up-do' take shape. The rollers were wound very tightly, to make sure the style would hold its shape. How much back-combing would be needed, I found myself thinking. And how much would I be getting? The time for that was coming. Karen sprayed setting lotion all over Ginger's rollered hair and put her under the salon-style domed dryer that she had brought home from work. "So much more effective than a hand dryer with rollers", she said. "Got to get a photo of that, as well!".
"And now for you!" Karen said, looking pointedly towards me. "Last chance to change your mind! …… or are you sticking with 'whatever I choose' like before? After all, it was what we all agreed." "No changing your mind!" said Margot. "Only if you're sure!" said Ginger.
"Are we talking the cut, or the colour?" I had to ask.
"Both, ….(she paused)……if you're willing." answered Karen.
"Tell me again about the cutting? What's in your mind?" I asked, still unsure of how much would be taken off. My hair had grown fast since the trim last time round.
"Like I said, the basic shape has been started for the style I think will suit you best. The crown will need to be set high, like before, so nothing cut from there. And the sides need to be less curled, so we'll set them more close to your cheeks. Like the beginnings of a page boy 'bob' cut, here at the back, it needs to be tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more. If you have it, the colour will set that off so nicely — and, of course, you can wear it 'rough' during the days. Nobody will know, well, apart from the colour. Are you alright with that?"
Heart in my mouth, my pulse began racing and suddenly, I was speaking. "Whatever you have in mind, I said…… you know that" …….was my reply, like before. "But the colour won't be permanent will it?" I added again. "I'm not ready for that." The fact was that the mousse had given wonderful colour to my hair for just one wash — and then it was gone. I'd been disappointed by that.
"The pack you bought at the Department Store will be fine. Did you bring it with you? Ohhh, you did!!!! Wonderful! You are such a honey, going along with this!" Karen came back instantly. "Is it true that Margot's mother helped you choose it?" There was nothing to say.
"It's a short-lasting, 3 shampoo, product. It washes away quickly. You'll see. Don't be concerned. The cut will look great and this will set it off perfectly. ………….. Is this for a special evening out?" Karen said, as she lapsed into "salon chatter", like previously. What could I do but join in. Quickly, a thought came to me — over the words that Ginger had used. I can wash her hair again soon. How to pick up on that and let her know?
"Yes, indeed, I want my hair done for a special evening. I'm taking my girlfriend out on Saturday and we won't have time to do my hair but I'll be washing and setting hers before we go out. She has wonderful thick hair and it takes an age to wash. So, my own has to be easy to manage just now. The cut has to make it just fall into shape." The "dice" were cast, the water flowed and my hair was washed.
Karen missed the connection and said "well, you won't escape a good setting after I've cut your hair. Its grown quite a lot since the trim we did last time. I'm sure we can make a real style with it now.
"Here goes……." She said, "Like I said, the basic shape has been started for the style I think will suit you best. The crown will need to be set high, like before, so I'll cut nothing from there. The main change is here….." She touched the nape of my neck and ran her fingers along my collar. "It needs to be tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more".
The scissors began to work across my each side of my head. Karen stretched each strand of hair tightly, checking for the symmetry that had to be created on both sides of the head. The length of my hair over the cheeks was suddenly longer that I had imagined. The parting was very carefully lined up — no mistakes; this was precision design, or rather it was Karen's first attempt at precision hair design. Then, she combed through the longer hair on the crown of my head, and said "maybe a larger roller there now" to herself. Finally, she began to work on the back of my head… where I couldn't see what she was doing. There seemed to be quite a lot of activity with the scissors. How much was coming off?
"Hey, wait a minute!" I almost shouted. "Don't complain…." Margot said. "No, let me finish." said Karen firmly. "It needs to be tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more. What you're getting is called a 'Wedge', and it's half way towards a beautiful page boy 'Bob' cut". A Wedge?? I'd not heard of that before. Nobody mentioned a Wedge…….
"I had a Wedge years ago." offered Ginger, maybe hoping to make me feel better. "It grew out very well and made my hair look very well cared-for whilst it grew."
How much longer was my hair going to get? I suddenly felt a bit out of control of this situation. How would this be disguised in my day-to-day world? How could it be made to be "rough" so nobody would notice or comment? "Can we just talk about this?" was all I could say.
"There's no time for that," said Karen, "…and in any case, I've started on one side and now the other side has to match — it would look crazy if I didn't finish it — trust me it will look great — you'll love the look it will give you."
"And in any case…." Margot chipped in. "….. and in any case, you can't forget you agreed to whatever Karen thought was best. She's got you now and you have to! Oh, and lastly, with this, you'll look just as good as a girl or a boy. I could quite fancy you either way." Her words shocked me. I looked towards her. Margot's head covered with foil parcels that held the bleach on the strands of her long hair. She smiled that knowing smile. She knew that there was something in my look at her — could I fancy her too?
"What d'ya mean — I'll look just as good as a girl or a boy?"
"Work it out for yourself" Karen answered back.
"Am I going to finish this cut, or not?" said Karen. "I have to. It's completely out of balance back here…" pointing to the back of my head.
"Believe me," said Ginger, "…it has to be completed and I'll love it — so you will. Just trust Karen and she'll make a great style for you. Never mind how boyish or girlie it looks. She needs the practice and that's what we're giving to her."
So, the cut was completed.
All the discussion meant that it was time to remove the bleach from Margot's streaks and to apply the toner to get rid of any yellow tones there would be. My hair was left damp — to be finished later. Ginger's hair was almost dry under the hood. There was still so much for Karen to do. Margot's streaks — for that was what they were, not fine highlights — were treated with a toner that would take 10-15 more minutes to finish. Her hair would then be set like last time, on huge rollers to create a tight French Pleat. The only difference this time compared to last would be the streaks of pastel blonde that seared their way across the smooth sides of her head and over the back-combed crown. Ginger's hair was allowed to cool after coming from the dryer before Karen set about styling it in the most wonderful up-swept creation. Folds and rolls of hair were combed and gently laid in place. Others were teased and stretched and back-combed to give stunning waves up from the temples to the crown of her head. Simply stunning. The camera had to catch these moments and at last I was able to take some really close-up shots.
That left me as the last to be finished off. But one thing had been forgotten — or rather I thought it had. My hair was still wet. The colour pack was close to hand. There was another pause. I said nothing. It could, of course, always be done next time. Next time??? What would that bring if we were to do this all over?
"If we let you off without the colour this time….." Karen said, recognising that maybe I'd been a bit pushed for the cut to have been quite so clearly a style like it was. "If we let you off without the colour this time, ……..would you let me have free rein next time?"
The time had come to get some reference points about where this was all leading. What did Karen, and maybe Margot, have in mind. This was getting to be more than practice for Karen's learning of the art of hairdressing. Or was it? She had done different things on each of us, each time we had got together. So maybe it was all good really — just as we'd agreed. But there had been no talk of changing my mind.
"Free rein sounds rather 'permanent' to me." I said, not giving away if I was up for it, or not. "I guess it sounds like it, too." Ginger chipped in. "But that could be cool in a way, because I just love what you've done so far — well, what we've all done or rather had done!" Ginger's eyes shone. She smiled in a way I had begun to take a special just for me.
"I haven't said no", I said looking back at her in a way that I hoped said "You're special too". "I just find the not knowing what's to be done just too much to bear. Surprises of this magnitude are just too much — and I don't get to look forward to what's to be done. If I go red this evening, what do I end up with next time you practice something different on me, Karen?"
"Don't let out the secret" said Margot — she clearly knew what was in Karen's mind. Maybe she had even suggested the idea, whatever it was to be, to her in the first place. Margot's highlights almost flashed as her sleek hairstyle shone. Her eyes flared and she shot glances to Karen and back to me, sitting at the styling mirror.
"I think it's only fair if we all talk about what's planned for any of us." I said. "Otherwise it's no go." I don't know that I meant it, but I'd said it.
"There's no plan, it was just an idea that we had, Karen and me, before you two got here." Margot said, in bit of a climb-down. "No, no, of course not, …." said Karen. "We just talked about how your hair would look if it went on getting so much more… well, you know, attractive." She went on. "All it was, we thought, that your hair is growing and it's going to look good with the Wedge as it does. The top is already smooth, and if we use the bigger rollers, the style will fall just right. We thought that if you now have it red, as you wanted, that would make a wonderful base for more colour development next time. There's a process called 'undercolour' that I've used on myself but never tried to apply on anyone else — and I'd love for you to be the first for me to try it on." Almost without taking a breath, Karen had moved the ball-game on. I was to have colour, here and now, and that was not to be the end of it — there was to be "development"…
Ginger had listened to Karen's words. I was certain she was already ahead of the game and knew what Karen and Margot had in mind, so I turned to her and asked "What do you think of that, Ginger?" It was important that I knew before saying anything at all. "What development do you see coming?…" Ginger asked Karen. "Would it be red under the longer parts of his hair, and another colour on the top?"
"Exactly." Said Margot. Karen followed quickly…. "Well, yes, actually, red as the dark auburn of the colour that you've bought….. but maybe permanent — because it would look odd after a very short time if it were only semi-permanent. Just 2-3 washes it would need to be permanent — a proper tint. And then on the top section, we thought a blonde shade. Of course, that would have to be permanent, because the colour would have to be bleached right out…. But we'd make it… sorry, I'd make it a nice pastel shade of blonde — nothing brassy or yellow."
"What do you think of that, Ginger?" Her opinion mattered more than anything now — this was a critical moment. If she said this was too much, too far, I would have to call a halt to it all. The thought flashed through my mind that I wanted her to say "Go Ahead, it's cool". It was gone in a flash. What would I say if she didn't answer, or left it to me alone. The other two were putting about as much pressure on me as they possibly could.
"Go Ahead, it's cool". And that was it. Within minutes, my hair was having its semi-permanent colour applied — all over — fully with me in the knowledge that there would be blonde "over-colour" applied next time. There was going to be a next time. I knew it. These girls had me with them with no route of escape. Just because it was my choice.
I could handle the looks I would surely get with the colour that was going on — a Wedge cut in a rich dark auburn. Set on quite large rollers, the crown was lifted above the smooth sides of my hairstyle. The back of my head had shorter hair, as Karen had cut it under the longer section on the top. The smooth sides and rear of the crown actually curled under a little — the shape of things to come.
When the colour was rinsed out and my hair was dried, the girls took turns with eachother to touch the hair that Karen had finished styling. My hair. Red all over. In fact, deep auburn all over. Shaped in a "Wedge". It would be more difficult to wear rough in the coming week — I could explain the colour with a laugh to anyone who commented. But this was special. Ginger had approved. I asked her if we could meet in the coming week as she took the last couple of photos.
"Sure," she said. "That could be fun………. Ginger Two!".
Sure enough, the days that followed proved how difficult it can be to wear hair rough when it has been so tightly styled. It always wants to follow the way it's been styled. The crown won't sit flat, the sides cling to the cheeks, and over all, the red colour left a strong impression that all was very different to my past ways of having my hair. This must have raised the question "Why???" which nobody seemed to want to ask. My mind was often caught wandering back to the evening we had spent together —and forward to the evening I planned with Ginger.
That day came round very fast, and I called at Ginger's home as we had arranged. By then, I was ready for a night on the town. I had done my very best with my hair, given that I couldn't use rollers myself. I could do a little back-combing though, and I was quite pleased with the Wedge that I had re-created in my dark auburn hair.
When I arrived, it was clear she was not at all ready to go out. Her hair hadn't even been washed. "When are we going out?" I asked. "When you've washed and set my hair, like you promised." Ginger smiled and took my hand. This was fore-play of the most wonderful kind.
TO BE CONTINUED……………IN CHAPTER 4
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 4
It was indeed a night to remember. I had arrived at Ginger's house expecting to go out on the town. I had done my hair as best I could, with its red colour, a glorious deep dark auburn, and its Wedge shape cut. I had back-combed the crown and smoothed the sides, using as much setting lotion as I could without drowning! And she wasn't even ready! Hadn't even washed her hair! But that was the catch….. that was for us to do together. It would be a long night.
Ginger's kiss was warm and inviting. I had promised her this the last evening we had met with Karen and Margot. I would was her hair before we went out. I would set her hair before we went out. And, if we went out, we would have a great time on the town, and if we didn't go out, we wouldn't!…… We would have a great night in!
It proved to be the latter and a great fantasy took even more shape. Even though we only kissed and showed affection, the intimacy we shared was electric. For me, and I think for Ginger too. Just the two of us. We started with a drink and a little flirtatious talking. How long had I admired her hair? She asked. What was it that attracted me to her? How would I change her appearance? All of these questions she asked without a sign of hesitation. Was I happy with the way my appearance was changing? Had I thought how much different I was looking now? Did it matter that the girls said I'd look as good as a girl, even though I'm a boy? Did I really think I could wash and style her hair as well as Karen could? Did I know that it made her feel quite randy, just the thought of us doing eachother's hair?
Ginger had clearly decided that tonight was a night to remember.
We kissed. The taste of her lipstick was sweet. The look in her eyes was so very sexy. He had used much more make-up than I had ever seen her use tonight. She looked wonderful, I told her. The whole 'being together' thing made me feel very randy too. How wonderful was that! We agreed it was. Time slipped by as we talked. We would never get out at this rate. "Let's do your hair" I whispered.
And so we did. Ginger's wonderful red hair flowed through my hands as the water saturated it. The shampoo and conditioner did the same. My hands ran through it again and again. Sensual movements across her scalp traced pathways through the now deep dark folds of her hair. Then the water to rinse away. Her hair was heavy and would take an age to dry. But no matter! We continued to talk as, after towel-drying her hair, Ginger handed me the tray of rollers on which her hair was to be dried. I had to decide how and where to place them. How would any style I could create be anything but a mess?!!!
"I'll guide you", she said, increasing the seductive tone in her voice. "I'm sure you'll make me look wonderful!", she added. "I'm completely in your hands." What she said was meant absolutely. She was. In my hands, completely.
Roller after roller went in as I gently combed each section out beforehand. The conditioner helped. There were very few tangles in her thick forest of hair. I chose to put in a parting — a centre one, that would be easiest. Like my own set, the crown would take care of itself, four or five, in her case huge, rollers went into place. There were many more to the sides and down the back, to the nape of her neck. Most were rolled under, to give a smooth outline, but the lowest ones were wound outwards, with the idea of a 'flip' style. I thought of Pussy Galore in the Bond film, Goldfinger. She was a blonde, but the hairstyle she had was a dream. Ultra-smooth. Sometimes flipped out, sometimes flipped under. Ginger's hair was a little longer now, but the style was unmistakeable. Roller after roller. As each went in, our eyes met in the styling mirror.
Then, they would be dried and the style combed-out. And the crown back-combed a little for lift. Beautiful!
As her hair dried, Ginger's flirtation continued as she complemented me on the way my hair had grown. She said how much she liked the auburn colour and the way I had managed to style it so well myself — I didn't tell her how long it had taken and how many re-starts there had been as I had wound rollers the wrong way and failed to section the hair properly. This had been a labour of love! She offered to finish my style off once her own hair had been combed-out.
I took time over the removal of her rollers. Each one was a work of art, so I took time with each one. I gently unwound the curls and then combed through each one in turn…… slowly and almost seductively. My eyes switched from hers in the mirror to the folds of hair in my hands. This was heaven! I could tell that Ginger's appreciation was growing by the minute. She too found this incredibly sexy.
The resulting "flip" style was perfect for the shape of her face. She seemed very pleased and, when the styling was finished, stood and clasped my hands in her own and kissed me fully on the lips. But our night was only just beginning.
Ginger insisted on combing my hair before we were ready to leave. She lost no time in doubling the amount of back-combing in the crown of my hair, and used extra setting lotion to ensure that the sides were sleek and shiny. The sides now reached the level of my mouth, with the Wedge shape taking them up over my ears to just two-thirds of the depth of my neck.
Out we went, dressed smart but casual, both in what I'd now have to call gender-neutral clothes - sloppy jeans and open tops. Footwear was different, however. Ginger in her stiletto heels and me in my flat deck shoes. It occurred to me that we were probably a similar size in our clothing, for what that mattered, I didn't know. ………. Then.
The evening flew by. We talked of when we would meet again.
At Karen's place. With Margot. Would I still be willing to go along with what Karen decided to do with my hair? Ginger asked. Did I remember that she had said it was really quite sexy, from her point of view?
How could I forget!
I told her that I did intend to go along with the whole idea, so long as she still thought that way. To end up with a wedge cut that was growing, coloured deep auburn under a pastel blonde top section, that was what I was going to agree to have done — there was no surprise when I admitted to being nervous about the whole idea, uncertain that I should go through with it, but at the same time, fascinated and fixated by the whole process.
The washing, the intimacy of the 'giving yourself over' to a stylist to 'do whatever she wanted'. The escalation from a wash and set, to rollers, then to a temporary colour, and a cut into a style that was anything but a 'boy's cut, then to what we were talking about now. All in a matter of a few weeks. All captured on camera — though we hadn't seen more than the first few shots.
"You'll come to love it", Ginger said — "I'm getting to like the whole idea already and you're really a "STAR" for going on as far as you have. There's ways that you can make it go slower. You can always say you want your hair to grow a lot more before anything major like the blonding. Honest. Karen will understand."
But did I want to slow down? Did I know where it was leading? No, of course not. It was just a great deal of fun, with girls that other guys weren't getting near. That was the bonus. It was easy to cash-in on the access that I was getting to these superb young women. I turned to Ginger again and simply said "Kiss me", please" and she did, deeply and over a prolonged period.
Our tongues entwined, passions rising and yet, we had still progressed no further. We were alone, but the time for anything deeper wasn't there yet. I fancied Ginger more than ever. I had styled her hair. She had freshened my hair too, with the extra backcombing. We were ready to rock and roll! The dark of the evening and the interior of the nightclub enabled me to leave my hair exactly as she had left it; high on the crown, smooth to the sides, now over my cheeks, the cut to the neck exposed with the top section — still red — falling down and curling under, just a little.
Heaven! We parted again, after more kisses and a promise to see eachother again very soon.
The planned "next evening" with the four of us was delayed. The next week, two of us, Ginger and Karen, had to be elsewhere. That would leave Margot and me; just the two of us. I found that just a teeny-bit scary, so pleaded "things to catch up on" in making my excuses on the phone.
Margot seemed annoyed, in fact, I'm sure she was. "You should come round here to my home." She said "Well, you'd be missing out", was all she said when I refused. Missing out on what? Something to do with my encounter with her Mother was all I thought.
By the time we saw us as a foursome again, it was nearly a month later. Karen was full of the things she had learnt (and wanted to practice). The rest of us listened quite happily as she proudly told us of the new skills she was building. She was being trusted in the salon where she worked, with more and more relatively simple treatments.
There was a "Models" scheme where customers could come in and have their hair done — like we were doing — for free, so long as they too didn't mind what was to be done. OK, they weren't offered colouring if they hadn't specifically asked for it, but most had a cut, many a blow-dry, and some a roller set.
Karen said a few had colours but she really wanted more experience in that department — so she was very much looking forward to tonight!
My heart was racing by now. Could I go through with the permanent colour, the bleaching and the toner? My hair was quite a bit longer now than when we had begun. The rollers that Karen had used first time would be completely wrong now. My hair would go quite frizzy if she were to roll me us so tight now. I could enjoy the softer curls that the larger rollers would give. The longer top section of my hair now covered my ears at the sides. The nape of my neck was visible in the mirror, but the hair from my crown came down to an inch or so above the nape. "Just the place to kiss" said Karen as she looked at what she had to work with now.
"Ginger and Margot will have the same as last time", she said "…because I need practice in those styles again — if that's ok with you two?" It clearly was.
"But you are going for something different, am I right?" she said, looking into my eyes in the styling mirror. "You are, aren't you!" It wasn't a question this time.
"………….your Wedge will look soooooooooooo cool!!!!" she exclaimed.
"Not until I know what colour of blonde I'm going to be, you're not doing anything!" I cried. "You said not yellow. You said pastel. What does that mean, for goodness' sake!?? I've see a hundred blondes this week — I can't take my eyes off them, but not for the usual reasons — I can't get out of my mind which I would be most like. You say not yellow, but not many are really yellow. Pastel could mean loads of different things — and I'm fascinated, but I'm not at all sure about this." She had to respond.
Margot said nothing. Ginger chipped in with "It's only fair — if he's going to be ash blonde, it's one thing. If he's going to be beige with a hint of strawberry, then it's very different." She was right. I had seen some really different shades that were clearly the result of a lot of thought and choice. Not for me the brassy haystacks that you do see, I thought. It could be white blonde. Then, it could be beige — I liked those I'd seen. It could be ….. oh so many shades. "Karen, what are you saying we should do?" I asked.
Karen began to speak but hadn't said more than "What I…" before Margot snapped "This is enough, you have to say if you're in this or your not. Never mind who has a plan or what could be done — you have no choice. Do you understand?" There was a venom in her eyes. She was taking over. Why be so harsh?
Margot went on. "OK then Karen, tell him about the competition and the reason for the portfolio of photos. You can let Ginger in on that secret too, because she knows nothing about either." Ginger's eyes and mine met — what was this all about?
With a rather apologetic smile, Karen explained that her workplace had entered her into a competition for Apprentice hairdressers and there were events coming up in which she would have to perform several processes and create styles using models. T
he evenings we had been meeting were proving to be better preparations that her salon work and she had no models from the salon — even thought they were getting people in for free hairstyles and colourings. She wanted us to be her models, and the first event was in about three weeks' time. Not much time for practice.
"More than that, I can't say." she said. "Apart from the need for there to be three models……"
"We have three……." interrupted Margot.
"Yes, but the event is for female hair…." said Karen, "….and we have two girls and a boy." Her words hung in the air.
It was then that the words from last time "either as a girl or a boy" began to take on a whole new meaning. Ginger was silent. Margot was too, at last.
I sat and thought for a moment that seemed like an hour. I sat with my dyed auburn hair, cut in a Wedge-cut with the crown still lifted by the rollers I had tried to put in myself this morning with some reasonable success. Another three weeks and it would have grown still more. I saw a boy in the mirror. A boy with a woman's hairstyle. Never mind how I wore it rough in the daytime, this was a very well presented style for a hairdresser's model to be wearing. A female model.
"It's a big thing to ask, I know" Karen said, breaking the silence, "… but I'd still like you to be in the event. You know, as my third model. You'd be on show and I'd quite understand…… There would be a lot of people there, from lots of different salons, together with people from the sponsors — who are a maker of Colourants."
"It's not a big thing to ask…" said Margot, harsh as ever, "……. It's what you agreed to — whatever Karen wants. Simple as that. You can look like a girl … or a boy …. — we've seen it — and you will do what Karen wants."
"Hold on a minute, that's really not fair — that's not anything like as far as he must have thought it might go when he said yes, originally." Ginger came to my defence. "It's a huge thing to ask."
"It's a big thing to ask, I know" Karen said again. "Look we don't need to decide tonight — we can just go on with what we were planning to do; just to take it easy for one time. Then next time, we can hear your decision after you've had time….."
"There just IS no time" said Margot. "You have to plan the styles and the colours you'll use — to be Apprentice of the Year starts here. There will be several heats and, if you don't get past the first one, the rest doesn't matter."
I had still said nothing. My mind was still racing. Sponsors? Colours? Lots of people? How had all this suddenly happened? But, then, here I still was, voluntarily. I had chosen to be here. I really liked what Karen had been doing, really…… I loved the way it had been bringing Ginger and me closer together. Margot was perhaps the only problem — nothing could satisfy her, it seemed. Really, I wasn't prepared to be bullied this time — she had misjudged me.
I was ready to respond and nearly began to speak for the first time in minutes, when Ginger offered her thoughts, which obviously mattered very much to me. She had been the one to defend me or at least give me time to think, by saying what was, and wasn't, fair to ask of me. Her words clinched the decision. But it wasn't what I had expected to say.
"Since we have been willing models in your practice sessions, Karen, we have all gone along with your ideas. Along the way, two of us have become a bit closer in other ways and we've liked being together. I don't want that to change. In fact, I want us to get closer together and all I wanted to say was that whatever your "third model" decides, he'll be very special to me either way. I won't think any less of him if he goes along with the things that you're now suggesting — or if he doesn't. I'm finding him increasingly sexy and could get a real hit from being next to him on your model stage, with us both having you do our hair. Karen, you should be pleased he's come this far, not be disappointed if he goes no further."
So, instead of refusing to go on, it turned into a willing agreement. I was committing myself to a whole different set of experiences that I had never imagined would come from a simple offer to have my hair washed by a girl friend who I fancied very much and who was starting a new job.
I still fancied her in a way, Karen that is, but I had come to be much more strongly attracted to Ginger. She, in turn was talking like it was such a sexy thing to be doing, that I couldn't stop myself saying "Then it's alright by me. I'll be one of your three models for the competition, if it means so much to you."
There was a sudden clamour of excitement from the three girls around me. In different ways, they each had a reason for some great enthusiasm.
For Karen, it was that the competition would go ahead — she could stand a chance of going forward to a second round when, doubtless, she could choose another model to take my place.
For Ginger, inexplicably, it was that we would be together, as Karen's models, and she had promised herself just how sexy that would feel - and how sexy that made me feel.
For Margot, it was something different; something I couldn't quite make out. She didn't fancy me, that was certain - not I, her in the conventional sense. She had made clear that she rather fancied Karen more…… but we won't go into that here. No, it wasn't attraction towards me at all.
Karen felt she had more of an explanation to give. She started with a change of plan for this evening but explained it was a result of the rules of the competition. "There can be no major changes to your hair this evening. We're only three weeks away from the event and, on the night, the stylists have to be working on hair that is as natural as can be. That's so the judges can see the "before and after" on each model. They have to see her without any recent "big events" — like major changes of colour — and they don't want to see anyone with roots growing through from a colour treatment — and you'd have roots showing if we did what we planned tonight."
"Roots!!!!" I cried…… "I'd never thought of roots!"
"You'll get used to them." said Margot quietly.
"Don't worry, there will be none of them for you because we're not going to do any permanent colour tonight — but I thought you'd like another semi-permanent wash; that's last a bout 5-6 washes; just enough time to take us up to the event." She did have this planned, I thought, but what the hell?!
"Do I have a choice in the colour?" I asked, expecting the answer to be 'no'.
"You do, indeed." replied Karen. "Then let Ginger choose for me." I said.
"You're sure? How cool!" Ginger exclaimed. "Let's look at the shade chart!"
"Don't take too long —we have lots to do." were Karen's last words as she pulled Margot towards the washbasin. "For Ginger and Margot, it's the same as last time — more practice for me in the 'Big Hair' and the "Sleek Pleat" that I'll do for the competition.
Margot's hair was washed and the rollers were going in by the time Ginger and I had finished selecting the colour I was to have on my hair this time.
Nothing lighter - that was to be saved for three weeks' time. Same colour all over, that would be fine. Different to the colour I'd have when Karen treated all three of us in front of an audience and a judging panel!
That ruled out reds. (Pity, I thought, I like myself as a redhead). Browns just didn't get my pulse going at all. That leaves black — you don't see many girls with truly black hair. What was it had been said to me? You can get black tones that are so black, they're blue black. Was there something so different as that? No, it would be too distinct — both for everyday (that was going to need some explaining!) and for the step change at the competition. No, it had to be brown.
"How about the brown of your hair, Karen?" I said, intentionally flattering her. Hers was a rich dark brown and, though she had been many colours over the months I'd known her, it was one that suited her well. Her Page-boy Bob cut was shown off to great advantage by the sleek condition of her hair and the wonderful cut.
Margot's face was a study in rage — for quite what reason, I could guess. Flattering the object of her attentions, I was! She was obviously outraged but, to my amazement, said nothing.
I was tempted to wind Margot up some more. Would I dare? Might be tempting fate. I decided not to. I had thought to say that her Page-boy was what I'd dream of ending up with — which could be true. But then, there was Ginger's gorgeous flowing tresses. How wonderful are they?!
"You could be right," Karen mused, "it would be more neutral and make a reasonable base for the changes you'll have on the night. We can do it with permanent or semi- permanent colour. Makes little difference."
"Semi- would be quicker now, wouldn't it?" I said and Karen agreed. So that was the way it went that evening. My hair was given a dark brown wash that would last five or six times.
Ginger had another stunning "Big Hairdo" and Margot had the Pleat once more. Her streaks were growing away from the scalp and would give a problem in another three weeks' time, I thought. Best to leave that to Karen to overcome.
I had still not seen many of the shots. "Next time", she said. "We'll have a good look through them. I have to choose the best for a display and they may get used in a press campaign about the Sponsor's involvement in the event. All three of you could have your faces in the magazines!"
How widely would my face appear, I wondered. Would I get recognized for who I was? I had been caused little embarrassment by the work so far. A few questions, that was all. I had been able to fend off deeper enquiries with ease. "It's just a post-College phase" was all I would say, with a laugh.
We parted that evening and I walked Ginger home. It wasn't far and the conversation was muted. We neither seemed to want to make the first major comment on what we'd agreed to. I was sure there would be more to it than simply sitting on a stage and having my hair done.
"Will you come in?" Ginger asked. "I think there's one aspect that hasn't been mentioned and it should've been." How could I not find out? I entered her flat with a quizzical look on my face. Was she party to a secret, or was she telling me something she knew that Margot and Karen felt I didn't need to know yet? It was all clear to me, or so I thought.
We sat and I was bursting to know what she knew — or thought she knew. "Tell me!"
Ginger was pensive. It took her time to choose her words.
"You do know that the competition is for female hairstyles, don't you — and you do know that you'll end up with a stunning, but distinctly female appearance? It's inevitable and that's what you've agreed to." She said. "And you do know, I love you for it — you're a real STAR!" Where was this leading? I answered that it was and I was pleased she thought I was… a star! But…………
"Well, with female hairstyles come female clothes and female make-up. You must have thought that through." Well, to tell the truth, I hadn't. In fact, when it dawned, as she said these words, it was the very first time that I had thought of the image I would have to present on the night. My clothes were always casual and never took much thought. I certainly didn't have any "girlie" things — if they were needed. As for make-up, that was another thing entirely. I couldn't possibly do that — I wouldn't know how, for a minute!
"These events are usually quite 'OTT' for want of a better term. The colours are always bolder, the make-up is always very pronounced, the atmosphere is electric. You'll have to get into the part. It can't be the first evening that you wear a skirt and blouse and the right underwear and some decent shoes. Nor can it be the first time that you've had make-up on, bold make-up at that!"
Clearly, I had no concept of the complete transformation that I would undergo. Clearly, I would have to look like a girl with a stunning hairstyle, not look like a hairdresser's model. Not only did I have to think about the consequences of the hairstyle and how to live with it afterwards, I had to deal with being somebody different through the whole process. I had to look as much of a girl as Ginger and Margot would be. Bold make-up, stunning hair……………… underwear? A dress and blouse? Shoes??? Where would I get all of these things in the right sizes?! And when? There was very little time. Still less time to get used to wearing them all. Panic was a good word to describe what I was feeling and Ginger instantly picked up on this.
"You'll need help, I know" came comforting words. I knew I couldn't go back now. I should've thought it through. "You'll have to have some make-up to get the feel of it. You'll have to try on some clothes. I've got some make-up that would be a start — though it won't be as bold as you'll need. And I've got some clothes that would be something like your size - I'm a size 14 and you might well fit some of my clothes, even though you're taller — it just means your skirts will be shorter. You can use my tights; that'll be fun for you. Shoes? We'll have to get larger ones than mine for you -with reasonable heels but not stilettos.
"It's late." I said rather numbly. "I have to go."
"Not before you taste some lipstick." Said Ginger. "You really should. It's quite wonderful and well worth getting used to. Let me put some on your lips. Now."
I was like putty in her hands. She reached for the slim tube that contained the Christian Dior lipstick. It was a wonderful peachy red, ideal for a redhead like her.
My eyes closed as the creamy stick passed over first my top lip, from the centre to the right, then from the centre to the left. Then across from side to side. Picking out the 'cupid's bow' in the centre. Then it went from left to right across my lower lip. Then from right to left. The taste was wonderful. Of course, I had tasted lipstick before when kissing girls. Never had I appreciated the intensity of the taste. The whole experience was unimaginable. You have to taste it for yourself — and immediately, I knew I would taste this again and again.
"They don't all taste as good as this one" said Ginger, clearly detecting the great enjoyment I was experiencing. "Not do they smell quite as good, either." She was right, there was both the taste and the smell to enjoy. Intense and memorable.
There was no question, I would leave it no time at all before having the rush of adrenaline that was clearly running through my lips, my cheeks, my chest, may hands and everywhere else through my body. To some it could have been an orgasm, but then I knew what they were like and this wasn't one! But it was close. A first experience of a lipstick, at the hands of a girl I fancied to bits! How perfect was she!
"Now, we should see how it tastes on eachother." she said, putting the lipstick to her own lips and beginning to spread its colour, left and right, over her top and lower lips. Wonderful. Did it look as good on me as it did on her? I couldn't tell. But I desperately wanted our mouths to meet in a kiss that would last for ever.
She raised her hand to my neck and pulled my head towards her own. Her hands were spread over the short hair at the nape of my neck and the longer hair that came down from the crown of my head. She smoothed the hair as she pulled our lips together. Her hand ran down the length of my hair as we kissed.
TO BE CONTINUED…………………… IN CHAPTER 5.
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!
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 6
Ginger's home was shrouded by the rain as I walked towards the door. This evening was going to be special. I had made sure that I had shaved more closely than ever before. I wore a cool denim jacket, crisp white shirt and blue chinos. Male. As I had left the house, Mum's words confirmed it was right. "You're looking good tonight — is it an important date?"
I nodded and smiled. "You could do with fixing the colour again, honey — it's growing out and fading at the same time." Her own hair showed the value of constant care — you would never see roots in her hair (and she wasn't about to follow the fashion of showing roots intentionally!)
Male.
I wanted Ginger to receive me that way. However we ended up. I would start the evening more male that she had seen me over the last six or eight weeks. My hair couldn't be changed. It was now long and the colour was still brown, ready for the competition, although it was fading and my own colour showed quite markedly at the roots. I had purposely dried it rough and pulled the longest parts, from the sides of my face, up with a band. Metrosexual, they called it. Indeed, I was becoming the best example of metrosexual man.
So much so, I had my metrosexual undies with me. The ones that Ginger had been with me to choose and to buy. She had even selected the colour, the lightest silvery blue, with plenty of lace. The knickers were 'long leg' to be the right size and not too tight — no thongs for me thank you very much. The bra was lined with soft fabric and finished around its edges with the most delicate lace. It was stretchy, though, and clung to my chest.
Ginger showed me how to gently push the skin of my "pecs" into the cups of the bra to show the nipples off best. The suspender belt was long and its straps were stretchy too. Long enough, they were, to reach the stockings that still remained in their packaging. I had yet to experience the clingy softness of stockings on my legs. The simple idea was extremely sexy!
But that was not for now. That might be for later. Now, I was Male. Indeed, even then later this evening, even if all of those things were worn, even if my hair was done again into the most wonderful style, back-combed high, and even if the make-up was double glamorous — even if my transformation was complete for the first time.
Now I was to be Male.
How glad I was. It was right. As soon as I saw Ginger at the door. A vision of femininity, she was. From head to toe. Beautiful hair. Pretty face, squeaky clean with no make-up yet. A pretty dress that was shaped closely to her figure, placing the right emphasis on her 38B bust and tiny waist. Her long legs were silky smooth in the sheer stockings that I knew would be just like the pair she had chosen for me, for tonight and for the competition night. She was ALL girl tonight!
As I entered her place, I smelled her perfume. It added to the heady concoction that was building in my mind. "You look and smell wonderful." I said. "You too." She replied. We kissed and lingered before moving into the living room where there we two glasses already poured. "Aperitifs." Ginger said. "Martini. Dry." No choices — Martini was evidently for special evenings.
"I've not tasted Martini." I said. "Well, you should, and you will." Ginger said, moving closer, offering the second glass. The atmosphere was again best described as "heady". It would get more so with a little alcohol and a great deal of "intention".
It was clear that we both were in the mood for love and a first sexual experience together. Our hands touched. Our eyes met and our lips closed in on one another's. There was a pause in the moment that it dawned, we would have sex as boy and girl. We were bound to — there was no escaping it, even if one of us wanted.
The kissing became more prolonged and the alcohol took its effect. The Martini had exactly the desired effect. The kissing turned to passion. Our tongues searched out eachothers inner cheeks. The moment was right. The moment was NOW.
Our hands explored eachother's clothing. Buttons and zippers were undone. Garments were removed within moments. There on the floor in the living room, we joined in a wonderful near frenzy — simple desire let loose. All of my fantasies about her were coming true.
This wonderful girl was mine and I became hers, there and then.
We were lost in a tangle of arms and legs and tongues and nipples and even the hairlines of eachothers' precious fantasy hairstyles. I kissed her ears and licked all along the nape of her neck, my tongue straying into the glorious red curls that she had combed out until they shone, before I arrived.
The love-making was wonderful. The way our passions entwined. Time became suspended as we explored every way in which we knew how to please the other. She gave as good as she got!
Once the passion had been fulfilled and the moment of each of our climaxes, with hers repeated, passed, we lay in a gentle huddle each of us listening to the other's breathing. Pulses no longer racing. Warm in our arms, joined together.
Time meant nothing to me. It was Ginger who spoke but didn't break the spell that had woven around us. "We have to practice — we can do that better!" She laughed and then said, "if we're very lucky!!!" I laughed too. When? Was all I could wonder. When could I be in this wonderful woman's arms again?
"But this isn't what we're here for. You're on a promise, as I remember!". Ginger's words were soft but insistent. "You're here for more than that." Her words were unmistakable. "Nothing can make the evening better" I said, genuinely meaning that there need be no other activities tonight. Meaning that I could happily spend the evening in the afterglow of a truly passionate girl/boy experience. "Nothing at all."
"Ahh. You don't get away that easily. You have to earn your treats if that's what you've been doing. Have you been going along with the hairdressing just to get inside my knickers!??? …….You should be ashamed!!". She taunted me.
"How far will a boy go to get to have sex with a poor vulnerable girl like me?!" "Even going to the shops with me to buy some undies for yourself!…. even letting me buy them!" Her words gathered enthusiasm for the play-acting she was indulging in.
"I'm going to steal all the clothes you came here in, so you'll have to wear some of mine!"
There could have been a grain of truth in what she was saying. Perhaps I did get into this to get this far — but it was probably with Karen who I had fancied all the more beforehand. Perhaps Ginger had been an "unattainable" dream. But the, perhaps not. Perhaps the hairdressing was really for its own sake. This sexual encounter had become a wonderful "spin-off".
There was no secret that I was enjoying the hairstyling and how it was making me look. Perhaps I had gone too far with the make-up but I didn't think so. Ginger stood there, expecting an answer — or at least a protest.
"You'll have to wear some of mine, was what I said!" she cried.
"You're a wonderful, beautiful, fantastic lover, and I'd love to do that all over again." I said — hoping, but not knowing, if it was in my powers to come to a wonderful climax again so soon. "Well, you can't!" Ginger replied. "You're here to be transformed."
My clothes were strewn all over the room, along with some of her own. She suddenly jumped to her feet and gathered almost all of my clothes into a bundle. "There!……." she exclaimed. "I have them all! Now what will you do?!"
She was right. There were no other clothes. Her dress lay on the couch. It had clung to her body beautifully. She still wore the stockings that had made her legs look so silky smooth. Her bra and knickers and suspenders were still on her as she soon made clear, "You have your own undies with you, don't you? You promised you would bring them here. So let's start with them. Where are they!?"
I motioned towards the small parcel I'd left by the door.
" The bra should be first, then the suspender belt, then the stockings. Then we'll see how sexy it makes you feel dressed in such girly things. And then we'll see if you're up to having sex all over again like you say you want. Then, and only then, can you put on the panties to hold you in for a while."
I had no choice — but to go along with this charade. It was clearly her plan and I was a willing partner in her game. "I'm going to watch you." Ginger said, her eyes sparkling with a seductive glint. "You know that this really hits on my hot buttons, don't you?!" I did indeed, and it was hitting mine too. "Take your clothes off — all of them!". As Ginger watched, I tried my best to make it seductive in return. This ended, leaving myself standing in the centre of the room, stark naked. Naked at first, I reached for the bra I had brought with me. It was that wonderful shiny, silvery blue. The lace was beautiful. It was a delight, just thinking of putting it on.
"When do we get to do my hair, then?" I asked, prolonging the anticipation of fastening the bra. Ginger said nothing. "We could start with that." I suggested. Ginger again said nothing. She simply looked at my helpless, used, manhood that was beginning to awaken again — just at the thought of my hair being dressed again, not to mention dressing in her clothes and the undies I had brought.
"I'd said I'd prefer it if I dressed after my hair was done." I said again.
"Then come with me and we'll find something comfortable for you while we do that." Ginger's tone had changed. She was much less the loving, accommodating girl that she had been while we made love. She was more forceful in her tone. There was no question. I was to go with her.
She led me to her bedroom and in a quite off-hand manner, held me a nightie, a silvery blue nightie with lace, one that matched the bra and other underwear we had bought in the shop the day before.
"After we went shopping, I went back and bought this for you — it completes your set. It all matches. You must promise to wear it from now until the competition. Put it on now, and we'll do your hair — then you can do mine, and after that, we can dress you and do your make-up. Your complete transformation."
Could this girl be more perfect? How did she learn to read a boy's passions and get the timing right? Was a complete transformation what I wanted. Could it be, given the way we had just made love as boy and girl? Her insistence grew. "Put it on, now! I can't wait to see you and feel you in it!" She really meant that. I could tell just how aroused she was becoming —as, indeed, I was myself.
The wonderful long silky garment went to the floor and I simply stepped into it. I drew it up my legs, over my hips and on to my body. By this time, a problem arose — quite literally! The nightie became mis-shapen as my cock grew in size again. Before I could raise the shoulder straps of the nightie into place, she exclaimed:
"We can't have that! A nightie has to be sheer and smooth and flat at the front below the boobs — and as you haven't any of those yet, ("Yet!!??), you certainly can't have anything else showing! Pull the straps over your shoulders immediately!" I did as she demanded. There was no alternative. Each strap slid over the shoulder and the lacy front clung to my chest. My flat, male chest. What did she mean… Yet!???
"Now lift the hem of the nightie!" Again, no chance to do otherwise. I did so and exposed my now very full cock that stood out towards her. Ginger was close enough to reach out and clasp it gently between her hands. She squeezed me, gently at first and then more strongly. Her had began to push towards my pelvis, and then back towards the head of my cock.
Slowly, everso slowly. And back. And forth. My mind was again in a spin. I stood, clasping the hem of this wonderful silky blue nightie, my own hands having nothing else to do.
Ginger slowly sank to her knees before me and her hands drew my cock towards her. Pulsating, I was ready for love-making again, but could do nothing. Her lips gently curled towards the head of my cock and she began to devour me.
One of my hands strayed from the hem of the nightie. Up towards the breast line of the nightie. I began to fondle the nipple through the lace as she took my cock in and out of her mouth. Deeper and deeper she seemed to go. More and more my nipple became hard and the skin around it wrinkled in pleasure.
As my hand caressed my nipple, my thoughts moved to my hair, that was how this all began, washing my hair with Ginger watching.
That became colouring my hair with Ginger deciding the colour I should be. It led to a cut, that was now growing out. Again, she had encouraged me. Tonight, it had become part of the transformation I was to have done. My other hand slipped to my hair, leaving the hem of the nightie to fall around Ginger's head as she knelt between my legs in front of me.
My hand ran through my hair, its length now full and its thickness growing. Its style had evolved, from firstly being just a long mess that had no shape, to now being a true style with panache, its ends now blunt cut with the curling under at the level of my jaw line, its crown raised with backcombing that I could do myself, and the nape of its neckline still cut close - where the colour would be dramatically changed for the upcoming competition. Shortly after the thoughts of my hair broke through, I felt a dazzling, sensational orgasm, my cock still deep within her mouth.
I could do nothing else but ease my cock from her mouth and pull her to her feet. Kissing her firmly on her wonderful mouth, I parted her lips with my tongue and shared the cum that had been mine a moment before. She was close to bringing herself to an orgasm and so it was, with a deep kiss, she trembled with exhilaration and we fell together on to the sofa nearby.
We stayed there, she in the clothes she had been wearing, me in the nightie that she had insisted I wear. We lay there for fifteen or twenty minutes, both breathing shallowly and purring with pleasure.
Eventually, it was she who spoke first. "Now we have that obstacle out of the way, we have to do your transformation. And once we have done that, I want you all over again, my boy…….. my girl with a cock!"
"You're truly wonderful, you know that." I said, still breathless. "What a way to deal with a small obstacle like a cock, temporarily in the way."
"Temporarily….. hmmmm," she said thoughtfully. "We can't keep having that happen — and, in any case, I want to save you for later. Wait here a minute." Her words were an instruction. What I was to wait for, I couldn't guess. Soon, she was back with her hands behind her back. "Lift your nightie and close your eyes!"
I did so, and within a moment felt her hands cradling my cock — surely not more love-making, not so soon! "Eyes Closed!!"
I felt manipulation, I felt something being put under my balls and then over, from both sides, my cock. It was tight. It had a tightening feeling. Back over and under, behind my balls. Up and over again. This time further up the shaft of my cock. Tighter now. The third time, whatever this was went under my cock but not behind my balls — just around my cock - which was growing again. "No! You must not let that happen again — not now!!" she commanded.
It was evidently some material, something very stretchy, that was enclosing my balls and now my cock. Under her control. Finally, after another wrap-around, she passed the material down between my legs, pulling my cock down — very tightly - to where it would be out of sight.
Ginger moved behind me and pulled on both sides, taking the material behind my body. I was strapped tight. She tied the ends together behind my back, as if in a thong. "That's better — now I know where to find you when I need you!" she said, as if to my cock, without reference to me. "Hair wash, make-up, drying and styling, and then to try the last of the undies we bought you when we went shopping together!"
Over the next half an hour or more, my hair was washed, as before but with extra conditioner to make it shine. Ginger towel-dried it all over, and then added fewer rollers, but bigger ones, to make the style I was now getting used to. It was near enough a Pageboy Bob, with long sleek sides, a raised crown and the ends of the length turning under. To the back, the shorter hair at the nape of my neck was nearly covered.
It was the same colour all over, apart from the roots now, this did not matter at all but it did make me wonder, looking in the mirror that Ginger held to show me how the rollers had gone in. It made me wonder if I would ever have this "under-colour" effect put in. My hair was still brown, still rather dull if you ask me. I was beginning to want a little — no a lot — more exciting colour. The initial experiments had left their mark on my psyche.
When the rollers were entwined, and I had become transfixed with Ginger as she was now the one controlling what my hair would be like, we were ready for a glass of wine. With that, Ginger said, we should discuss my make-up and how best it would look — what colours did I fancy, what tones in the eye shadow and lipstick. She started with a liberal covering of base foundation, to prepare the skin. This covered my lips and I asked why this should be — "To make it longer lasting and more kissable….." she replied. "You do expect to be kissed after all this, don't you?" Her voice was teasing again, but in a gentle way. My love for her knew no bounds!
Ginger's next steps were to work on my eyebrows, which were lined in brow rather than black. She took a brush to the eyebrows, and decided that several stray hairs needed to be plucked to give better shape. Ouch! That hurt! Ouch! Again… and again. On and on, she went, until she was satisfied. I could not tell how much damage she had done there without getting closer to the mirror. I was later to find that she had been very gentle and reserved in the eyebrow plucking that she had done. I found this out the evening before the competition. That was when Margot's mother became a controlling influence in the "Models Make-up" practice.
Ginger's skills with make-up were remarkable and before long, my hair still rollered, I was facing a female in the mirror. My eyes had a wonderful blue haze of eye shadow. My eyelashes were curled and covered in blue mascara. I had not experienced the false eyelashes when we were last together but Ginger had come prepared with a wonderful long pair of spiky lashes for me. This took the longest time and caused the most discomfort. Eyes streaming, and mascara beginning to run, we had to pause — in fits of laughter.
Eventually, the lashes were in place and I was stunned by the change in the look of my eyes in the mirror! Absolutely stunned. Almost as much as the hair had transformed my looks, so the lashes added a wild sexiness that I hadn't seen before. Ginger was enraptured "I never thought they'd look so good! I must have a pair for the night of the competition!"
My cheeks were swept with crimson blusher. Most of all, I was fixated by the lipstick — the same Christian Dior shade that Ginger had used when we first kissed. The taste was unmistakable. I decided there and then that I should buy one for myself. All of the cosmetics were Christian Dior. Wonderful!
My hair was dried with a hand held dryer, in front of the mirror. The rollers were, again, quite huge on the top and crown of my head. This allowed my eyes never to leave Ginger's face. She knew how wonderful she had made me feel. Her hands soon began to remove the rollers after my hair had been dried and allowed to stand to cool.
Before starting on removing the rollers, she asked "Have you ever slept in rollers?" To which I answered "Not yet." There!… I was doing it now. I could easily envisage going to bed like this. Even having sex whilst in rollers — there would be a thrill! As such thoughts entered my mind, my cock again began to rise. Held within its sheath of elastic lace, there was nothing it could do — except swell, deep down between my thighs.
Ginger took the first roller and began to unwind it, her eyes stared directly into mine. "All of this is being done in secret and that means you're missing the experience of sitting in a salon having your hair styled. You should try that one day."
I think Ginger sensed my arousal, saying "The style will be simple tonight. I think it's time you had a beehive! Like my "Big Hair" that turns you on - why not!".
She was right. Larger rollers, my hair now reaching the desired length. It was ready for a change — and I could live with that. After all, the colour was going to be done next week. Why not an extravagant style now?!
She began to unroll the set and the other curls, that now looked huge to me, sprang into the places they had been dried. I felt an irrepressible desire to run my hands through the curls. They just invited a touch. But of course, I didn't! I had to leave them to her to deal with.
She began and, with what felt like increasing ferocity, Ginger created a wonderful cloud of hair around my head. At one stage, I swear it stood nine or ten inches above the scalp — in all directions.
She then swept the stray pieces into place. It was time for the lacquer. Clouds of spray were coming at me from all directions. Her brush began to sculpture the style out of this cloud of brown hair. How I wished it was RED!
As the style took shape, the pressure in my restrained groin was almost unbearable. She had tied me in very tightly, even when I was small down there. My cock was now much much aroused. The thought of her mouth around it came flooding back. The hair was swept this way and that, taking a wide and high outline in the mirror. It was very much a "Sixties" look that I loved within a moment. The nightie still clung to my chest. My nipples were doubly sensitive. All of this was becoming too much to bear. My heart beat faster and Ginger became aware again. Aware of my arousal, aware of my mild discomfort.
"Just take it easy." she advised. "We have plenty of time and this hairstyle needs care in the finish. You're going to look stunning!"
With the make-up she had applied so expertly, and now the hair back-combed and lacquered, there was time for a pause. I sat back in the chair and admired my brunette hair and make-up. There I was, sitting at the dressing table mirror, clothed only in the silky blue nightie and with a female face and hair adorning my picture of myself. Thoughts came to mind that said I could almost fancy myself as a girl. I had lost none of the masculine appreciation of the female form — except that now, that form was my own!
We never did get around to styling Ginger's hair that evening. We made love yet again — this time with my transformed vision of womanhood and her still gorgeous feminine form. Confusion could have over-whelmed me but everything told me that this was hat we both wanted — nobody could write a book about such an encounter — so early in a love-life that we were beginning to share. Ginger clearly wanted me as a male and also as a female — but both of her lovers had a cock for her! My dreams collided with eachother. I had never thought of such a situation. I was loving every minute and she, too, was as horny as hell because of the way I was able to take on board the transformation that I had. Deep inside her again, time and again, my lipstick found its way not only to her lips, but to her nipples, to her thighs and to her love nest. My hairstyle was so well set, I emerged it seemed hours later, with a perfect style — well, nothing that a brief comb-out wouldn't make perfect.
As we lay after making love again, I began to think about the walk home. I was dressed in female underwear. I was wearing full, and very colourful, make-up. My hair was now in the most dramatic style I had yet experienced. If I walked home like this, I'd be arrested! If I walked home in Ginger's outer clothes, I'd still be arrested — for soliciting!
There was no alternative - Ginger's family were away for a few days. I could not go out — I had to stay. It would allow me to sleep in what I was wearing, wake in the morning and, I hoped, make love again with Ginger……………. after removing all my femininity!
After all, there was the weekend coming — and the hairstyling competition!!!!!
TO BE CONTINUED……………………………….
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 7
We woke the following morning and I made it to the shower first. I was determined, again, to be male and to make love as a male …….with Ginger taking the female role. We had made love that way for the first time last night. We had made love "as two girls" as well — but with one having a cock. And we had loved every minute.
I had slept in the nightie but removed it quickly. I just had to remove the nightie which for some reason felt out of place. I did this by delicately slipping the shoulder straps aside and sliding the garment down. First over my chest, where my nipples stood erect., then down over my hips and to the floor. There I stood, still with hair to die for, with my face still made up with colour and style enough to be a photographic model. My eyes were the fixation now. The lashes, oh! The lashes! I really should not have slept in them. They were still tightly stuck in place. The trouble was that the mascara and eye shadow around them were now a complete mess — just as though I had applied them myself, which of course I hadn’t. I looked like a Panda Bear.
It had to go — all of it. I peeled the lashes from my eyelids - OUCH! — that wasn’t easy and I made a hash of salvaging them — no re-use for them then! Such a pity. Another pair would be top of the shopping list! The cleansing cream took an age to shift the colours that I saw in the mirror. Perhaps the shower would do better.
Whilst I stood at the dressing table, I studied my finger nails. They were the one part of me that had been neglected. Would I have to have a good manicure to complete the illusion that would have to be created for the competition?
My sleepiness meant that I showered at length. Washing my skin all over, I cleansed every pore. Some areas were more difficult to do than others. My eyes did take for ever to cleanse. Maybe the colours and the cosmetics were especially hard-wearing. My mind wandered back and forth. I thought of the bliss of the previous night. To have made love the way we had. To have experienced wonderful boy/girl love-making and, in a sense, girl/girl love-making. I marvelled at the experience. I just imagined myself again in both guises. I thought of myself, first as a male, second as a lesbian, at the same time loving the same beautiful girl. I wondered what she would be thinking (or what she had dreamt about) when I returned to the bedroom. Ginger would be laying dozing and this would allow me to admire her. My love for her had burst upon the very being of my existence. She had loved me both as a boy and as a girl with a cock.
Was this all just as a result of preparing for a competition — all the result of helping a girl-friend to get experience of different hairstyling processes?
The shower was hot and very relaxing. My hair had need of a thorough wash, to remove all the lacquer and the back-combing, and a thorough conditioning to prepare it for what was to come — colouring, styling, drying and finishing. Quite a set of treats in store! My mind wandered again to what was to be the activity of the day — and where it was leading.
By the time the showering and hair treatments were finished, I stood in the shower as a male, unmistakably. My hair was long, sure, but the rest of me was unmistakable the male that had enjoyed his love-making with a beautiful girl the night before. My cock began to rise again. Where had all of this libido come from?! He word fetish wasn’t one I had used ever, but I think I knew what it meant now. That was really what I was experiencing. It was. The towel I used to dry myself was warm and surrounded me like a blanket. I rubbed my skin and found great warmth in the feeling having done so. I combed my hair through with a huge plastic comb that I found in the shower. It must have been Ginger’s. It was slowly drawn through the length of my hair, with me imagining myself in her position. Then, with a towel wrapped round my hair, there was a towelling wrap that was ideal to finish off with.
Waking Ginger with a gentle kiss, having licked her cheek and found the wonderful nipples beneath her nightie, I went on to lick her abdomen and finally, I found my way with an eager tongue, to the nest between her thighs. I parted her legs began to play. Time stood still. The tastes and the textures I found were unbelievable — and they were all hers! As she reached a first climax, I cradled her in my arms and left her to luxuriate in the pleasure — pleasure that would be repeated.
Quietly we talked of the coming day’s plans. We had to be at the venue for the competition by 5pm. The evening would last from 5.30pm, when the judges would see us "before", until late in the night, when they would judge us "after" what Karen had done with us. This meant that it would be a long evening. Before that, however, Karen wanted us to get together to be told what she intended to do with our hair, and also how we would have our make-up done. My mind began to wander again — what absolute joy was in store!
Ginger went to the bedroom and, after some time doing what I couldn’t be sure, came back dressed in casual clothes - she said that mine were to be much like hers; not surprising because I was borrowing from her wardrobe. My own clothes were shabby and there was no time to go home for fresh apparel (or to go to the shops to buy new). Ginger was insistent that I wore underwear but not that we had purchased together.
Ginger said that we should try on some other underwear that she had bought for me. A corset, she said, would give me better shape. She held up a boxed garment for me to open. It was blue and silky, like the rest of the underwear I had worn. However, this was made of tight elastic, or lycra; it was a "firm control" garment. Before, I had been wearing the suspenders, the stockings and the bra. This took the place of all three.
There was an important first item. Ginger also held up the elastic lace band that had held my cock out of sight the night before. My cock restraint. Something that I had been forced to wear under the nightie. I couldn’t wait for it to be put back in place, even the thought of it exerting great pressure in the rising of my cock.
"This is to be put on under the underwear, it’s absolutely essential." said Ginger. "Just so I know exactly where you are at any time." She said to my cock as she tied the lace in place. My cock refused to subside, making the strapping difficult. Ginger was frustrated by this and, the more she fumed, the harder my cock became. "You’ll have to stop that!" she commanded. "But I can’t!!!" I exclaimed.
"We’ll see about that……" she said, as she examined her finger nails. I hadn’t noticed that they were so heavily lacquered in a crimson enamel. "We’ll see!!!"
Gently, but insistently, she clawed her nails down the length of my cock — down, and up, and down again. The effect was electric — both incredibly sexy, but also totally distracting. I lost my hard-on within seconds. "Great!" she exclaimed. "Now for the tie…………!" The lacy band was tied around my balls and my cock once again. Tighter than even before. The ends of the lace were pulled firmly down between my thighs and tied like a thong behind me, once more.
"Got you!" Ginger exclaimed. "You’ll need to get used to that."
The knickers lay on the sofa bed. In the same shimmering blue with lace trimmings that had made my nightie look so wonderful.
I felt the pressure from the black lace restraint that went around my balls, over my cock so many times - behind my back. My cock was held back between my legs but we both knew it was already bursting to be released. No such luck. There it was to stay for now. How else could I stay inside the corset that was the last item to be worn? Its lycra, satin and lace construction meant a close fit to my body, with long sides, there was no question of my slipping out of control.
She told me how to put the corset on — by stepping into the garment and pulling it up first over my hips, then over my abdomen, then over the waist until it reached my chest. By this time, I was taking shorter breaths. Firm Control! Now I knew the meaning of the words! The cups were then to be settled over my chest — with little to put in them, the ‘B’ cups were a sorry sight. Ginger showed me again how to draw the flesh from my ‘pecs’ up into the cups and, when this was done, I actually could boast a pair of ‘B’ sized tits!
Then, I fastened the corset’s suspenders in place, the long straps hanging loose down my legs. They, too, were blue and lacy. The dream intensified.
Now, where were the stockings? Their little package appeared lost. I found myself almost desperate to find them — I wanted the feeling of the sheer nylon encasing my toes, my insteps, my ankles, my calves, my knees and my thighs…… up to their being fastened to the suspenders. Where were they??!
"Where are my stockings??" I shouted.
"You have to say please, to get them!" Ginger teased me.
"Where are they!!???" I cried.
"I’m wearing them — to warm them up for you! I’ve stolen them!" she giggled.
"You’ll be surprised what you’ll find with them." She implored me to go searching under her chinos, so I did, still wanting a fresh packed pair of stockings to myself.
She slipped her chinos down and there, between her stockinged thighs, was a cock-shaped vibrator. "You’ll have to kiss this before I’ll give up the stockings." She dared me.
"I got it in case all of this took your mind off making love — but it doesn’t seem to have been a problem — but you’ll have to kiss it anyway — we’ll both play with it later". So there it was, a cock for me to suck - her cock! Then I could get the stockings.
As I knelt down, my hair suddenly crashed into my consciousness again — it was going to be incredible — ……… in fact, it felt like it was! I began imagining……..
It was actually heavy! All of the back-combing had given it such volume, and all of the lacquer had given it such body, I could feel a real weight around my head as I went down on Ginger’s cock. My head was spinning once more — Was I dreaming?
She giggled loudly, allowing my lips only briefly to encircle the vibrator. She whipped it away and said "Only teasing — you get the stockings fresh and in their little pack — you can have my cock later, but only if you want it! Oh, by the way, you do still have to say "please" for the stockings!"
Reality checked in again. I was facing her, dressed in my corset, with no other vestige of femininity. My make-up gone. My hair plain, brown and crying out for a set. And there she was, making me say please for a pair of stockings. What on earth was I doing????!!!
I was given the stockings in a cellophane and card pack. I unwrapped the pair and gently slid my hand into the first, to roll it before stretching it up my left leg. The clasps of the corset’s suspenders were tricky — I had never worn one before! After three attempts, and a near laddering of the stocking, the first was fastened, tight. The second, on my right leg, was easier — I could easily learn this! The ones around the side, and especially the backs of my thighs proved really tough….. I was near exhausted when they were all six fixed in place.
So there I stood, corseted tightly, stockings to die for and needing shoes!
Now all that was left, was to get my "tits" arranged. Ginger’s instructions were clear. "Pull the weight of your tits into each cup. Let’s see how big your boobs are!" This took me into even deeper uncharted territory. This was Ginger! This wasn’t Margot — now almost forgotten — or her scary Mother! This wasn’t Karen either. This was the girl I fancied so much now and had made love with only an hour ago. She was commanding my final steps in a transformation!
There I stood, hardly elegant but encased in feminine clothes with my soon-to-be bouffant hair around my soon-to-be made-up face. "Now there’s just a little left to do before we can let your cock free!" Ginger exclaimed.
We had to prepare ourselves, our hair and our skin, as the base on which the Apprentices would be working. No colour, no style, casual clothes. But we had to have clothes for the event chosen for us. That’s where scary Mother of Margot was to come in. With that and the make-up she was in charge of. Before that even, we had to see Karen and hear what she had in mind for our hair styles and colours.
Ginger insisted that we comb eachother’s hair out before leaving. This was naturally a pleasure for me — both to have my hair combed and to do hers too. It was now seven or eight weeks since we had begun this adventure. In that time, my own hair had seemed to grow strongly. It had been collar length when we began and, after the shaping and trimming that Karen had done a few weeks before, its growth had quickened. The sides were now chin-length. The crown was long and the back had reached a length where it covered the "under-cut" of the Wedge style. I could have, if I wanted, pull the hair back into a pony-tail — indeed, many guys my age wore their hair that way. I preferred to leave it long and swinging as a Pageboy Bob will do if the hair is in good condition. Only when it had been rollered did it have the smooth and sleek shine that I had begun to love. That had been how Karen’s hair had been at the start.
Ginger led me out of the house. We had a little shopping to do before we met with the other girls. Shopping first! After that, the next thing was to find Karen and Margot. Margot’s Mother would surely find us, so there was no need to go looking for her! It was late morning when we set off. I felt quite at ease, leaving the house with plain casual clothes.
We passed the Department store where I had first encountered the "Woman in Red". What a lot had happened since then. We didn’t go in. Ginger was keen to reach the Nail Salon a few doors beyond. We were going to need nails for the evening, she told me, and this was the best place to find the right ones. Her own fingernails were very much her own — beautifully manicured and of even length. My own were a disaster — despite my efforts, they were uneven and nibbled in places. Ginger had scolded me for the lack of care I continued to show to my hands. "A manicure!" she ordered!
Somehow, I hadn’t been prepared for that — quite why not remains a mystery — there had been talk about the importance of immaculate nails at some time in all of this. There had been Margot’s Mother with her "talons" that shouted "Sex!" Then there had been Ginger’s own nails that clawed my erect cock into submission not long ago.
A manicure it was to be. I was introduced to the Manicurist, Crystal, who led me to her treatment table. "Have fun!" said Ginger. "Where are you going?!" I said, stunned that she was turning to leave the Nail Salon.
"Oh, nowhere special……." She answered enigmatically. I was left with no option but to sit as directed in front of Crystal and watch as she began a treatment programme that lasted nearly an hour. She asked me about my diet and how I had looked after my hands (not at all, it was true!). She asked if I used moisturiser or lotions to soften the skin — which I never had done. She asked what nail polish I was usually preferring — which, of course, I couldn’t name as I had never worn nail polish before! She asked if I had thought about false nails — which I hadn’t for a moment.
"Well, you really have a lot to learn!" she summed up the situation she saw. "We’ll have to start with the basics and move on from there. I hope you have time!"
She applied a gloopy cream to the skin on my hands and rubbed it all over, back and forth, along the fingers to their tips and back to the palms of my hands. She rubbed the cream in deeply and spent minutes massaging each finger. When satisfied, she took a further cream to apply to my finger nails themselves. "This will soften the nail before we deal with your cuticles." Cuticles?? What were they? I had never heard the term. "These imperfections around the beds of your nails" she explained.
My fingers were again cleaned and then submerged in a warm bath of another solution that, she told me, would make the cuticles easy to remove.
All the time, she looked at me closely, making it clear that a male hand and a female hand were the same to her. Turning a male hand into a female hand was not a great challenge. Maybe she had done it dozens of times before.
She dried my hands and then turned to a tray of tools that look like a medieval torture chamber’s kit. There were knives and rasps and files and prodders and pokers and scalpels, not to mention the polishing equipment I could see waiting — I would feel that before long! Beyond the tools were sets of false nails, all of a neutral colour. I wondered but soon realised, yes, I was to have a set of those — all on Ginger’s instructions, quite clearly!
"I have plenty of time." I said. "How long does it take to get nails as wonderful as your own?" I had already admired Crystal’s long shapely nails. They were a deep crimson red and had a high shine, clearly build up in several coats, to reach absolute perfection. "There’s not a flaw in any of them." I complimented her.
"Thank you, you’re very kind." She said, her eyes meeting mine. "You could have nails like mine in a couple of months, I’d guess….., if you promised not to nibble at them!" She knew all about me. Her eyes were a deep brown colour and they were immaculately made-up. I could tell that this girl was a real professional where beauty was concerned.
As she busily worked on my nails, we talked of this evening’s competition — about which Ginger had told her in advance. She wanted to know a lot about how I had become involved and why. I couldn’t say that I had been attracted to Karen more than Ginger, so overlooked that part, but went on to explain how, for me, it had been a ruse to get closer to a girl I had fancied for a long time.
"I thought I’d be helping by having my hair washed and dried, that was all. We, at first, that was all in fact." I began.
"Did you never imagine that it would change into something more involved? You must have thought it through — after all, what help is a wash and dry?" She scorned.
"Well, actually, it became something more very quickly. But I guessed it wouldn’t make a big deal…. I had my hair set…. On rollers… Karen said it would be good practice and she was doing it on the other two girls."
"There!!! You should have realised immediately — the OTHER two GIRLS is what she said………… It wasn’t going to be long before that would be the way you thought of yourself!" She wanted to know much more, I could tell.
"That’s not right at all. It was just a few rollers to start with. The first time and they didn’t change my appearance much at all. Then. They didn’t, then." I really struggled to explain to her. How I had been in control, at least I thought I was, then.
Crystal’s hands had stopped working on my nails for a little while. I wondered what she was to do next, but there was no motion at that point.
"My hair wasn’t this long, not then." I indicated raising my hand to my own cheek. Her hand followed and she touched my hair. Again, I felt a warmth rising between my thighs — which reminded me of the undies and my cock restraint that Ginger had suggested I should wear all the day. Again, they were that silky satin and shiny blue lace. The corset was exerting such pressure, it was never far from my mind. The stockings were silky smooth chafed by the fabric of the chinos I was wearing over the top.
I was brought back to the "here and now" suddenly.
"I’ll bet you can wear a whole head of rollers now!" she exclaimed. "What style do you wear when Karen does your hair — and will it be the same in the competition this evening?"
"It’s changed since we began." I was warming to describing my own hair and how it had changed over the weeks since we had begun our "Girl’s Nights" and it allowed me to remember each stage in the process. "As it’s got longer, I’ve had a styling cut to develop what Karen called a Wedge Cut — long at the sides and back from the crown but short up the neck, leaving and undercut step. We coloured it all just once or twice — with a semi-permanent auburn rinse — which I really liked a lot." I then remembered how that had made me feel — the confusion about whether I should be enjoying this or not.
"I had a spooky encounter with Margot’s Mother in the Beauty department of the department store just along the road from here — I was to meet her later too!" That memory hadn’t faded. It became clear that Crystal knew Margot’s Mother well when she said: "Ahh, yes, I know the lady concerned — she’s a client of ours here. She has probably the longest nails that I have ever seen or treated. Quite how she keeps them that way, none of us know!"
I preferred not to think! I went on: "After the cut, my hair seemed to grow faster. Karen said it was because of its improved condition…. But I think it was down to me wishing it would!" I really think that was true — the rate of growth, and also the thickness of my hair seemed almost to double from that time on — and look at it now!
"Karen wanted to practice all sorts of other processes and, along the way, she put highlights in Margot’s hair which I must say I’d like one day." That was true — I would like highlights… why hadn’t I thought of that before!?
"Then…." The story went on…. "just when we had talked about me having a permanent colour for the under-layer of my style, everything changed. How much it had been planned, I’ll never know but there was news of this competition, so it was bye-bye colour change until then, they said"
"So you’ve been wanting to colour your hair since then and they’ve not let you? Crystal’s face was a study. "Why ever, when you were willing, would they not let you do such a thing? I’ve coloured my hair a hundred times and it’s never been a problem to make a change — even after when the last one was only a few days ago.
"No idea, apart from it being something to do with the judges seeing a ‘before and after’ view of each model that the stylists will be working on."
"That’s a pity, because I can’t see what you’d be like with other than the plain colour you have. The style is easier to imagine. What colours would you have wanted to be?" She asked and really set my mind racing.
Meanwhile, her hands were preparing my own for the polishing of the nails — still no varnish or undercoat or anything.
My mind ran through the colours — some real, some fantasy — that I had dreamed of having for my own hair. When I thought, it was a real rainbow from blue-black to pastel blonde. I know now that many men with the fetish that I enjoy will have thoughts like these, some of them twenty times a day — even if fewer of them put the fantasy into reality by actually having a colour change. More of them should do so! After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Someone close might take time to understand — but they will. After all, changing your hair colour doesn’t mean you want to change your gender.
Back to my fantasy and Crystal’s question. She listed attentively
"Brown… brown is dull." I said with feeling. "Mousey brown, like I am naturally, is dullest of all! It cries out to be enriched! So, my first thought was towards Chestnut Brown — rich and with reddish glints. I’ve stood in front of the hair colour ranges in the drugstore many times, just looking at the ranges. Chestnut is good, but not bold enough! Auburn……. Now you’re talking! That was my first choice and it will always be special — in fact, if I’m going to have a "usual" colour for myself, I think it will be auburn. I just love its richness and the way it shines in the sunlight. When the hair is back-combed, it gives wonderful lights to a flat colour from the bottle. Then, if I’d be able to, just to make it more interesting, I’d add some lighter highlights to the auburn. Whenever I see a woman with auburn hair and highlights, I’m now finding myself deeply jealous!"
"You’d have to have that done professionally, wouldn’t you?" She asked "The simple auburn can be done at home and there are lots of products in lots of wonderful shades — I’ve used them many times myself." Crystal enthused.
"You’re right — I can hardly set my own hair on rollers…." I admitted, "so putting highlights in would be really difficult… and, in any case, there is a real sense of being given a special treat when someone else does your hair. I guess that’s what’s made me go on… and on… with the Girls Nights."
"What about going blonde? I’ve been blonde lots of times and it really makes a girl feel different, I can tell you! Crystal’s smile was broad, and very, very sexy. Her eyes lit up again.
"Hmmmmmmmm……" I paused…….. "I have yet to find out what it’s like but I have long ago decided that when the chance comes, I’ll grab it willingly! I had expected to come away from an evening with a blonde top and an auburn under-level in this Wedge Cut that Karen had done. I had even insisted that I would on agree to it if I got to choose the colour of blonde — there was no way I wanted to be a ghastly brassy yellow blonde!"
Crystal’s eyes narrowed. "You should have seen me only a few months ago — I purposely went for a the most tarty, bright, yellow ringlets — just to see what it would do to the people I met, and more interestingly to the people I knew well. They ALL treated me differently, I can tell you - I slept with four men I had never slept with previously in that time!"
"So that fits with the common view that blondes have more fun, then!?" I teased. "Anyway, as I don’t want to sleep with men — and certainly not four different ones, thanks…. I’d really fancied a beautiful pastel blonde colour — probably a strawberry shade….. even a little on the pink side, for evenings, maybe. Ginger’s promised me that we’ll explore that, whatever Karen has planned for tonight."
"Tonight! Heavens, look how the time has gone! Ginger will be back now your hour with me is up!" Crystal exclaimed. "But then, you’re finished pretty much. Look!"
I looked down — and to my surprise, the fingernails that I had come in with were gone. They were hidden by the most wonderful crimson, perfectly-shaped nails. Whilst I had been in my fantasy of hair colours, she had been putting the finishing touches to colour on my own nails — not false ones "They’ll be even longer, still yours, if you come back to see me again — maybe a consultation on your own, if you like." said a Crystal that I now saw as a really attractive future friend.
No sooner had we talked a few seconds more but Ginger arrived back in the Nail Salon. Looking gorgeous. Her smiling face told me that she was pleased to see me again — I beamed broadly back and stood as she came in. Crystal told us that the treatment had been so enjoyable, it was "on the house" - I made a mental note to send her flowers.
It was mid-morning now and we had a while to spend in the shops before we were to meet the "other girls" for the afternoon’s preparations. Karen was going to brief us on the hair styles and colours we would be having. Margot’s Mother was in charge of the make-up (and maybe, it seemed, the clothes we were to wear). My mind returned again to the corset, its suspenders and the stockings that covered my legs. Ginger suggested we had time for a spell of window-shopping: "We can talk cross-dressing items if you like. I rather fancy that. Do you?" Guess my response!
TO BE CONTINUED……………… IN CHAPTER 8
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 8
We walked away from the nail salon on the morning of the Hairstyling competition, Ginger and I, like two window shoppers with no cares in their minds. Indeed, there was no care in my mind at all. I had just finished an hour or more at the hands (quite literally) of an attractive young woman.
She, Crystal by name, had given me a manicure that I never thought I would have. My nails were now perfectly shaped — if a little short - and beautifully coloured with crimson nail polish. I'll never forget the smell of that lacquer as it was applied to the nails. It had been put on whilst Crystal and I were talking about the hair "event" in which I was to play a part that evening.
I had been introduced to her by Ginger, who had taken an increasingly decisive part in my progressive and wonderful transformation.
I had agreed to take part in a "Girls' Evening" to help a friend, Karen, who I fancied hugely, to get some practice in her chosen career as a hair stylist.
All of this swam in my mind as we walked.
I was now close to taking part in a hairstyling competition as a model for Karen to prove her skills. Less than three months after we had begun, my hair was now no longer tousled and rough, but rather it was sleek and smooth, reaching chin length in a Pageboy Bob cut. The 'under-cut' halfway style was rapidly being forgotten. It was a fairly ordinary shade of brown, richer than my own naturally mousey brown shade, but rather dull to be truthful. But that was set to change this evening — it was very much a colour and style event!
As we walked, I thought just how much attention I now paid to the hair — the styles and the colours — of all the women and girls that I passed in the street. No longer did I find myself unable to do anything but "ogle" their tits. I was now paying much more attention to their hair and their make-up, the shape of their faces and whether their hair was styled the right way. Did I fancy having my own hair that way/ Did I fancy having my own hair that colour? Fantasy, maybe, but a definite fetish had developed. So, what could be wrong with that?
"What are you dreaming about?" Ginger asked, seeing my thoughtfulness.
"Oh, just how great it is just being with you, that's all." I said, hastily — perhaps too hastily, because she picked up on this.
"I already know you too well, you were miles away!" Ginger knew me very well indeed, it was clear. "Are you thinking about the undies you're wearing? Do they feel good? Or, are you thinking about your nails? Do they look good?! Or, are you wondering about tonight and how you'll look?"
"None of those, none at all." I said "I meant what I said — I'm thinking how lucky I am having you to pull me through all of this and still find it good to be with me — I'm so lucky! I was just thinking how much I've changed. I pay so much attention to you now — what you wear, how your hair is, how your make-up is. You're gorgeous and I want you to know that."
It was meant genuinely and taken so — she squeezed my hand and we walked on.
We arrived at the shopping mall and spent some time just "window shopping" — something I had never dreamed of doing before. We stopped and admired all sorts of things - beauty products, hair products, jewellery, accessories and even 'chick-lit' books and journals. Ginger seized upon a Hair journal, just called "Hair" — a thick volume of hundreds of styles and colours. It was amazing how much it contained, as I could tell as she flicked through the pages.
"let's have some fun over a coffee…. I'll buy this and we can go through choosing which styles and colours we would most like from Karen this evening — then we can see how close we get to the real outcome, when she does her stuff! How about that?"
"Sounds good to me." I said, happy to be doing something quite so intimately with a wonderful girl like her. She bought the magazine and we headed for the nearest Coffee House. We sat ourselves at a round table with a good view out into the mall. This meant that I could see attractive hairstyles on the passing women and girls in the centre. Ginger was happy with this and we settled down for a time.
"Hair" proved to be fascinating. I had never seen so many hairstyles and colouring advice, and models and … and… and… it all brought home, again, what the evening promised. At the end of the event, we would all have been photographed in the same way that these hairdressers' models had been. Maybe our pictures would find their way into magazines. Karen certainly had a good portfolio of shots from the start through the evenings we had spent together. There had been some changes, of course, but I suspected, none as great as we would have tonight!
"Let's choose our three favourites while the cappuccinos cool down." Ginger was getting into this in a big way, I could tell. "You choose three and I'll choose three, then we can compare. Choose styles and colours that you'd love to have for yourself!" She gleamed a smile and squeezed my hand again.
"You're really a honey!" I exclaimed for the twentieth time, it seemed.
"Look tonight's going to be special, so let's enjoy it while we can." She mused.
I scanned the first few pages, but few styles appealed. There were many close cropped cuts, some bizarre bright colours, some "how to get rid of frizz" advice. None were right. Then came the tenth or twelfth page, with four styles that were long, one blonde, one brunette, one red, and one multicolour highlighted — blonde and red on brown. The hair was long enough to fall over the model's shoulders. It was the same girl with the four different colours, the same sleek but slightly waved style. Not bad for a starter! I thought and must have murmured approval.
"You like her, don't you?" Ginger asked. "S'alright — I do too!"
"It's the highlights that hit me." I admitted. "I would go for those if I had the choice - it's the way the red and the blonde go together on the brown base shade. It's lovely." My cock was testing the restraint between my legs to the limit by this time.
"You're right, but it wouldn't do for me; not with my all-over red. I could look for something similar but with lighter highlights, couldn't I? Then, we could be streaked the same way!" She giggled. I could tell, this was proving to be fun for her, but she wasn't "poking fun" at me, in any way at all.
On we went with scanning the magazine. The band around my cock would not ease.
Ginger found a complete contrast to her own colour and style — remember — bright auburn and "big hair", in a sleek updo with rolls of curls above a severe up-sweep to the back and sides. The colour was, not her red but a very fashionable chestnut brown. "Very 1950s!!" I said. She laughed and said "Not a lot wrong with that!"
My own second choice came soon after — as the cappuccinos became drinkable and the people passing the café seemed to disappear from view. My second was an updo, like Ginger's first. It was perfect, with a split parting central to the head, with wild waves of hair flowing first down then upwards over the sides, ending up gathered at the crown where they met the severely upswept hair from the neck. It was blonde. A beautiful pastel beige shade. "A nightmare to keep the colour up to scratch!" said Ginger. "You'd have to have the roots done every other week! Unless, of course, you were to wear the roots as a kind of fashion statement!"
"Just think how that would feel, let free at bedtime as you lay on the pillow. It would flow all over the place! How wonderful to have sex with hair like that to play with!!" Maybe I was going too far, but that was in my mind. I was close to orgasm.
"Oooooh! You monkey!!!!" she shouted, quite literally. Eyes all around us turned in our direction. What could we be talking about to create that outburst, they must have been thinking. Whoever they were, looking at us, we would have made a curious sight. Especially on closer inspection. A boy and a girl.
A boy wearing unisex gear — a blouse as a shirt, with shadows or outlines of underwear slightly on view and, what's that??, yes, nail polish. His hair long and clearly well cared-for but in an intermediate style — neither male nor female. She……. A very pretty girl with luxurious red hair, an elfin face and a smooth complexion. Her clothing feminine though her size might have been larger than average. Just good friends? No, clearly something deeper underlay their relaxed togetherness. Were they lovers? A casual observer would probably have little doubt that they were. Let them look, I thought. We have a right to be here.
My gaze scanned around the tables that surrounded us and into the open hall between the stores. There were many more women than men around. There were few that I could honestly say that I would have found attractive. On the nearest table, just as we were, I could see two young women -until Ginger's outcry, deep in conversation. One was a natural brunette whose hair had been coloured too long ago for her roots not to be a matter of choice. One day, I wondered, would I choose such conscious 'lack of concern' for my appearance? — of course, she cared; the roots were a statement. Her fishnet tights, tight bodice and short skirt added to the her "I'm up for it" projected persona.
Her companion was almost a perfect Gothic girl — her blue-black hair fell in a curtain down her back; razor blunt cut, with bright purple highlights framing her face. A set of earrings told the story that this look was for keeps — for now. She too was "up for it" if anyone cared to come on strong. I could imagine them both being a good ride at a party! More than that, I could imagine going dressed like either to a party — just for one night. More than that, I could imagine that they would end up in bed together. More than that, I imagined being one of them, with the other — just as, recently, I had been with Ginger.
The brunette with the roots caught my eye and had noticed that I was staring - because I must have been — at the pair of them. She fixed me with a stare and very slowly half-opened her mouth and ran the tip of her tongue all around the line of her lips, top and bottom. The implication that oral sex was on offer, not just to me but also to anyone, was unmistakable.
She said something quietly to her companion and the Goth looked my way, smiling a very over-seductive smile. There was definitely a gauntlet being thrown down. "Come and get it" was the message. "I think we could score if we said just one word!" I said to Ginger who, until that moment was unaware of the fleeting exchange. "Not at 11.30 in the morning, we wouldn't!" she laughed.
The Goth and her friend got up to leave. "I'll remember you." was all she said.
We had time for another cappuccino and returned to the magazine to finish our game. My third style jumped from the very next page — probably my most favourite style, in my most favourite colour — and all very suited to everyday wear. It was a plain cut Pageboy Bob, cut to a length just below the chin, cut severely into the nape of the neck with the outer layers curled under to make a perfectly smooth outline. The fringe was absolutely horizontal. The style was much like Karen's hair had been, and remained, except that the colour was a wonderful rich and vibrant auburn — my favourite! The setting guide, showing the placement of rollers, if they were used, was right beside the picture that filled nearly the whole page. Of course, some would have the style blow-dried but there's much less sexuality in a blow-dried style. The rollers… the very process of rolling the hair in its neat sections….. promised much more! I was conscious of pressure as my cock grew again, restrained as it was.
"I knew it!" exclaimed Ginger, "I knew there would be something like that and it would be the one you'd choose! Bit predictable, my honey!" She said. And she was right! That would be me, in the days to come - well, some of them at least!
"Come on, let's drink up and go for a walk." she added.
"Not until we've found your third style." I countered.
It did not take long. Ginger's eyes lit up on the very next page of the magazine. Here was a blonde. "If I have one life, let me live it as a blonde" said an advertising slogan years ago, I remembered. "My skin tone would be all wrong but I'd just love to try being blonde for a while." She whispered. The shade was a mellow strawberry and it was so delicate that I resolved, there and then, that we would do Ginger's hair that colour — one day.
The style was a rampant tumble of curls that gave extra dimensions to the colour. Some curls appeared darker than others, some others almost baby blonde. The condition was wonderful, so the individual curls could shine. They had not been brushed out at all. Just left to tease the on-looker, almost saying "touch me, if you dare!" The styling pattern showed a huge mass of curls to be set into the hair, all at different angles to eachother. Completely the reverse of the styling behind the highly disciplined Pageboy Bob that I would wish to have. The model's eyes faced direct into the camera. They spoke to me, saying "Tonight……. This could be you!"
We stayed a while longer at the café, just "people watching" as passers-by took our attention. It was good to be there. Then, Ginger's mobile phone cut the quiet that had settled between us.
"We're in the shopping mall, watching the people. That's all. No, we've been taking it easy this morning so we're ready for what you have in store for us this evening." It was Karen, evidently checking on our whereabouts. "No, we stayed together last night at my place." Checking where we had been last night, too. "No, it was a quiet night." Karen's questions were a bit insistent, it seemed. "What were you doing?" asked Ginger.
It's difficult to gauge the tone of a conversation when you only hear one side, but I got the distinct impression that Karen was less than pleased that we had spent the night together. She should complain! She was making no secret now of her affection for Margot. I wondered if they might have spent the night together too.
"Shoes??" Ginger said, puzzled. "What do you mean, shoes??" Her voice showed no other emotion than confusion. "You mean you haven't got a pair of shoes the right size for a 'certain' person? Oh, hell!
She meant me. I knew it — Karen had phoned to tell us that I would have no shoes to wear for the evening — and it was clear I couldn't go barefoot!
"But I thought Margot's Mother was taking care of all that sort of thing — the whole outfit?" Ginger continued while I began to rack my brains to think where we could find a pair of shoes to fit my feet, in time for the evening's event.
It turned out that Margot's Mother had gone away for a couple of days and would not return until early evening — in time to do the make-up for us three, but not early enough for a dress rehearsal for the clothes we would be wearing. That was to be done at the hall where the competition would be held. She was to bring everything there around 3.30pm — and now wouldn't be back before 5 or 5.30pm.
"You'll have to get Margot to take us to her house — she's around, surely?" Ginger pushed for the easiest solution. She didn't stop to think about Margot's scary mother and what she would say to us going round to her house hunting for shoes! "OK, we'll see you there in about twenty minutes." Ginger finished the call with Karen and explained all of this. Margot's Mother would be stressed in the extreme if we turned up with enough gear only to be partly dressed, but then again, she would be stressed to have us in her house. We were about to find out why.
"it's funny that we've never been to Margot's home, us girls." Said Ginger as we walked away from the café. "never mind these evenings we've been together, that's not what I mean — we've known eachother for a long time but I can't remember going there. I've only seen her other a few times."
"She's really scary, that woman." I said, with feeling — I was rarely scared by anyone or anything, but this was an exception! "I met her the first time in the Beauty area in the department store and I didn't know who she was. The thing was, she didn't know me either but, instantly, she knew why I was there. She knew I was looking for something for myself. Spooky, I call that. I mean, how could anyone have realised that, just a few days before, nothing like buying hair colour would have come into my mind?"
"I've no idea. Margot doesn't talk about her much at all. I do know her Dad left the family a long while ago. I remember Margot saying that he was "very much under Mum's thumb" - she probably kept him locked up and never let him out!"
Margot's place wasn't far away and she was outside waiting for us when we got there. Her hair was towel-dry; she was preparing for this evening when Karen had called. "Now, you two, there are places in the house you mustn't go so just follow me into the lounge and we'll see what we can find for your feet —we have to make you as girly as possible, don't we?" Jibes like that were wasted on me — I was going through with this so she couldn't make me uncomfortable. "Oh, do go easy!" said Ginger, coming to my defence. "It's ok, it's cool, no worries." I chipped back.
Why couldn't we go places in here? I wondered. It sounded like Margot had something to hide.
"Help yourselves to a Coke. There's some on the table. I'll be back in a minute." she said as she left the room. Ginger and I looked at eachother. The room was dark. The carpets and curtains were burgundy red. The chairs were black, or so grey they seemed black. The pictures were mainly etchings, most of the having a very slight erotic feel to them. The lighting was low and, even in the middle of the day, it was dark. Sinister was the only word to describe it.
No words passed between us for a while. I began to wonder what Margot was doing.
"Did you ever know her home was like this?" I whispered to Ginger.
"Not at all, though I've never been here before." was her answer.
We both seemed to sense that something unsaid was in both our minds. This wasn't the usual semi-detached suburban home that it suggested it was on the outside.
Margot's footsteps were coming in the hall. Our eyes turned to the door and in she came. Margot was a sight changed dramatically from before. She was wearing a leather body suit, just like the Cat Woman movie. The stiletto heels that had made the sound of her heels on the passageway floor were all of 3 or 4 inches tall. She carried a pair of the boots in her hand — for me!
"Don't be surprised. Karen wants us to make an impact on the evening and Mum has the right gear to do that — she's got these in every size we'll need." In a matter-of-fact way, she must have expected us not to react in any way other than "oh, ok", but that was far from our response.
Ginger caught her breath faster than I did. "You cannot be serious!" she exclaimed, McEnroe style. "That's only suited to a tart's convention!"
"Oh, don't be so conventional!" said Margot - Mum's already agreed it with Karen and there's no debate — and when Mum says so, Mum means so!"
I almost stammered what was in my mind. "I can't go out like that….."
"OK, you tell Mum that you can't. See if I care!" was her response.
"The black leather will give the impact we need and the hair styles and colours will shout the loudest — nobody will be looking at the other models!" Margot was warming to the task of justifying the choice of outfit. "Nobody at all will be expecting this — so why not use the gear we have got to advantage. Even if the other stylists are half as good as Karen, they won't even be in the contest."
"There must be an alternative…." said Ginger, leaving half the sentence hanging in the air
"Not to make our hair styles and colours really stunning - and that's what will win the competition for Karen. Imagine it. Your stunning red hair against the black of the leather….." She paused. "….and my highlights, which will be bolder than ever. And whatever colour and style Karen has designed for our third girly here, too!" Margot looked directly at me as if to say "get out of that!".
Again, I had been speechless apart from indicating that I'd rather be seen dead outside than dressed that way - which was how I was feeling. After all, this was going to be an evening of extremes in any case. I was going out fully transformed, willingly, into a female, happily appearing in front of dozens of people, maybe hundreds, as a hairdresser's model. It wasn't necessary to do that looking like a Hooker on a bad night, was it!? But Margot was almost as scary as her mother once she got going like this.
"Feel it." Margot half commanded us to touch the leather of her costume.
"It will be far too hot, much too much in that skin under the lights and with all the dryers going….." Ginger began to protest.
"No pain, no gain!" Margot cut her off. "I'm up for it." We could both see that she meant it — maybe it wasn't just her mother that was making this decision.
"Does Karen know?" I asked. "And what will she be wearing?" ….There, I had as much capitulated that she would get her way, in the expectation that Karen would be similarly dressed. "Oh yes, of course. She will look the part completely."
"What do you mean, your mother has these in all different sizes. How come? And what for?" Ginger and I said the questions almost in unison. Why could she "just have them when we needed them?
Margot's face was a study. For an instant, she didn't know what to say or how to explain what she had said. Then, she was back on the offensive.
"You may as well know, she has loads of stuff like this. She doesn't just wear it herself. She, er, knows lots of people who like to dress this way too. She's well into singles and doubles and small groups. A bit of domination, a bit of cross-dressing, and frequent girl-on-girl stuff. There's no secret. Where she works, in the Beauty department, she can spot people who are interested a mile off!"
I didn't want to be pushed into this, so diverted the conversation as best I could. It turned out the Ginger was, not surprisingly, in agreement.
"Let's leave it for now, until Karen gets here. I'm much more interested in how she's going to be doing our hair. It's time we knew!" I cried.
Ginger picked up the theme and said "You're absolutely right. She can't keep us in the dark any longer. I'm really looking forward to how we'll be looking." She came over to where I was sitting and stood above me, facing me, and began to stroke my hair — my hair that was still a plain brown tousled collection of strands and loose curls, neither male nor female, just waiting to be worked upon.
Margot was about to protest yet again but Karen's arrival prevented going further down the road she was heading. She arrived at a pace. She had been running. There was clearly a lot to tell us.
"I have to tell you the whole timetable, now. And when you hear it, you'll understand that we have to get going, soon! There's so much to be done."
At last, we were to know what was to come.
"Right, it's lunchtime now — we only have time for a salad so I have some here for us. We can eat as we rehearse. We have to be at the Hall where the event takes place on two separate occasions. The main event begins at 5.30pm so there's the deadline we are working towards/ Before that, we have to present ourselves to the judges at 2.30pm so they can see the models in their unprepared, undressed state."
"Undressed!!!!?????"
"No, stupid, with your hair un-dressed. Not coloured. Not cut. Only by seeing you that way can the judges see how much of an impact the stylist has on the head over the whole evening. You go to this without make-up and in everyday clothes."
"E-E-E-veryday clothes?" I stammered. "I don't have any outerwear. I have underwear — like I'm wearing now. But I have no outer wear."
"Don't worry. Don't forget…." Said Ginger. "You're close enough to my size to ware my gear for that part of the event. "Apart from the shoes — I don't have any shoes your size."
"Brilliant!" said Karen. "But from then on, you have to be convincing as a girl, like the other two. The more feminine you can be in the afternoon, the more you'll be convincing in the evening. You look pretty good now, by the way. I'm still so truly grateful to you for coming this far. It's being a real adventure and I love you for it."
"Wow" I thought. Karen had never said anything like that to me and she was clearly meaning every word.
"When do we have the make-up done?" Ginger ventured to ask.
"Easy. You wear daytime make-up — all of you! — for the afternoon and then the evening make-up is done after the colour and cut but before the comb-out and final styling. There will be a photographer around most of the time so they'll catch the whole process. You mustn't be shy! The more photos they take of a set of models, the more likely they are to be the winners! So tease them!"
"Tits!"
"What????"
"Tits!" I said. "You want me to be girly and I have no tits!"
All the talk of what was to come was beginning to get to me. I was beginning to feel quite horny and, if we were alone, Ginger and I would be getting together — if I had my way!
"Men!" said Ginger. "Tits mad, always!" She laughed out loud and so did we all — except Margot, who scowled.
"There are things here that will suit you in that way." She said, referring to her mother's collection, no doubt.
The fact remained that I was getting into a state that, later in the day, would be a problem. I had that very tight restraint between my legs, hidden from view by the blue satin and lace knickers that I had been wearing all morning. My balls were feeling like they would burst. My cock just had to be released.
"We have to go back to your place, Ginger." I said without indicating why. She was in eager agreement but said "Only when we know the rest of what we have to do, and how we're going to look when Karen has worked her magic."
"OK, let's be quick. After we've been seen by the judges first time, at 2.30, there will be three hours for the colouring. We are allowed to do this in our own salons and so we'll go there immediately. You'll still be in everyday clothes and make-up. That's a long time but we'll need every minute, because you're all having colour — and quite intricate colour too." Again, my restrained cock began to pulsate.
Karen continued: "We use the salon for all the colour work. The other girls there aren't allowed to do the work, but two of them will be helping with the parts that aren't essential. I have to do all the colour selection, the applying of the different colours to the hair, the checking of its development and the deciding when it's reached perfection. They can do the washing off, and providing the foils where we need them for highlights and stuff…. They're really looking forward to helping. The other stylists will have the same help in their own salons."
"How many other competitors are you up against?" I asked, out of genuine interest, but also to find out how many people were going to be around when I finish up in all my glory as a female, …… as a hairdresser's model.
"I think there are twelve of us. No more than that — but each has three models And then, there are the judges — about four or five, I think. They're all local salon owners and expert colourists and stylists themselves."
"Oh….." she continued, "and none of them know that you're a boy! There's nothing more important than continuing the pretence. You have to be a girl, all the time. Nobody should be in any doubt, or we'll be disqualified."
"Well, you'd better make a special style for my hair, hadn't you!" I exclaimed.
Margot had remained silent throughout this but said "Don't be concerned. Mother's expertise with the make-up will give no chance for doubt." The way she said that, there was no room for doubt, it was true. Still scary.
"You still haven't told us about the styles and colours we'll be wearing tonight!" said Ginger.
Karen took the next fifteen minutes explaining to each of us what was involved in our own particular style, its setting and construction, and also its colour. As she explained, she worked our hair gently through her fingers. Just watching her do this to Ginger and Margot was enough, but when it came to my turn, I was breathless in the extreme. It was a treat that kept my restrained cock nearly bursting from the knickers that were the only thing between me and embarrassment.
The time had come to leave for Ginger's home to find me those "everyday" clothes that I was to wear for the first encounter with the judges.
TO BE CONTINUED……………………………in chapter 9
FEEDBACK PLEEEEEEEASE!!!!!!!
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe ginger
Chapter 9
We walked back to Ginger's home. I mused over the last few hours as we walked. The morning of the Competition had flashed by as Ginger and I sat in the café sipping cappuccinos and watching the world go by. We had been to the nail salon and I now sported crimson nails. I had talked with Crystal, the Nail Technician — why was she called that? — she deserved something more sexy…. Talon Queen! She had worked wonders with my relatively short nails. The café had seen us exploring a magazine with hair styles and colours that we both might fancy.
I was still dressed in Ginger's most unisex outer clothing — all that had been available this morning after we had woken and made love. I had resolved that I would be "up for" anything that today would throw at me. Whatever Karen had in mind for a hair style and colour. After the description that Karen gave last evening, I had a good idea of what would be done, but how it would look, I couldn't possibly imagine! It was awesome what she had described! Pure fantasy! Whatever Margot's mother would dream up for make-up. Whatever clothing we were to wear — although the last was going to test my resolve, maybe!
We were to go back to Ginger's and change. We had to choose clothes in which the judges of the competition would see us in the "Before" part of a "Before and After" judging process. They had to see each stylist's three (female) models with their hair completely unattended — un-cut, un-coloured and un-styled. Everyday feminine clothing would be fine and, of course, I had none, so had to borrow more from Ginger. I would keep the corset and stockings that she had provided this morning.
My hair was still a relatively dull brown. Its length had reached past my chin for the most part. The cut had been designed to promote the length, reduce split ends and enhance the condition. Nothing more had been done over the past few weeks, apart from several "practice" roller sets and step-by-step cutting to improve the shape. I had grown increasingly fond of that roller setting part of the process. Here was something incredibly sexy. The winding of the hair around the rollers fixated my gaze into the mirror every time. The rollers got larger. The curls got larger. The style got more and more feminine. As the dryer played on my rollered hair, I gave thought to having sex with Ginger whilst the set was taking shape.
I was hooked.
Ginger knew this. She encouraged me. In fact, she had become hooked too. As we set eachother's hair, it became a natural kind of foreplay and we had enjoyed sex several times after the comb-out stage…. but never yet whilst I was still in rollers, nor her for that matter. It had become "Boy and Girl" and "Girl and Girl", separately and together. She was hooked. What a wonderful girlfriend.
"Penny for your thoughts." She said.
I told her, finishing just with "Don't let's give up on this, whatever tonight brings."
"You try and stop me!" was her reply.
We reached the door of her home and entered. Neither of us wanted to eat. My cock was still restrained and in need of release. We had an hour… and oh, how we wanted to use it!
"Keep the corset and the stockings….." Ginger whispered as we settled on the bed. "….. I like the feel of them." She unwound the lacy lycra that had entwined my cock and balls all morning. Blessed relief! We sank into a wonderful haze of gentle-at-first lovemaking. Increasingly urgent, she pulled me towards her and an hour passed in what seemed like seconds.
For me, the best time was the endless oral pleasure I was able to give her, bringing Meg Ryan-like orgasms for real, time and time again. I felt entirely female in those minutes that hung together, seeming like hours. I explored the wonderful anatomy of her pussy, rthe wonderful folds of skin with their nerve endings jangling, the beautiful button that rsponded to the slighted lick of a tongue.... Absolutely fabulous!
We laid back, each satisfied — she, several times over - for a while before showering. Showering together is an over-rated pastime but, in this case it became great fun. We emerged, towelled ourselves dry and then blow-dried eachother's hair.
"Everyday make-up is what was ordered…." Ginger stated with authority. "Let's get to it!" I had to make sure that I shaved as closely as I had ever done before that. There was no place for the slightest stubble or facial hair. I soaped my skin with the hottest water I could bear, remembering I should chill it with freezing cold water afterwards to avoid flushing. I shaved once and then again.
For speed, Ginger did her own make-up before turning to mine. Light foundation would be enough, with some eye shadow and a little mascara. "You'll have lashes tonight, wait and see!" Ginger teased me. I could put on my own lipstick, she said — and I could now, with ease!
The choice of clothes was hers to make. We walked to her wardrobe and I was entirely in her hands. "You should put the corset back on, so that means the stockings too. Go on, you can work the suspenders." Her tone was very matter-of-fact. There appeared to be nothing unusual in what she was saying to her boyfriend.
Could we be called Girlfriend and Boyfriend? I'm sure we could! We had now made love many more times than lots of couples would have.
Still, these were unusual words to pass between a couple, from Girl to Boy!
"What about my cock?" I asked, conscious that the corset was tricky to get into, let alone with a cock that was stirring again.
"Oh, come here!" Ginger said. "Do you mind?" She asked, flashing her fingernails — meaning that the clawing action that put paid to me last time was about to happen again. "Oh, ouch!" I smiled. This was worth it — no pain, no gain!
Ginger chose a long flowing skirt and a blouse with a ruffled front for my "everyday" outfit. Neutral. Nothing to attract great attention. More of a contrast to whatever we would be wearing for the final judging. The idea was to make as much of the transformation as possible between "Before" and "After".
Ginger chose a similar outfit for herself after selecting a matching set of lacy pink bra and knickers that I thought would be gorgeous for myself sometime. Really! I must contain these thoughts that are hitting me increasingly often!
Then, I thought: I still had no female shoes!
Not only that, I still was lacking in the tits department!
"Easy…." said Ginger, "for the shoes…… with the daywear you're in, your own trainers will do — they're not a pretty colour, but they are white and they're almost new. Here… put on these short socks, yes, over the stockings, they'll make you look like the girl in "Grease", Olivia what's-her-face! I'm sure she ended up getting screwed in that movie! Remember when she came out with her ski-tight lycra on and her hair all curled and streaked? Wow, was that sexy! I nearly wet myself, and I was only 12! I fell in love with my first girl movie star!"
It seemed to answer the need and there were no shoes to wear besides the trainers. Then, I gestured towards my bust "that wasn't there".
The tits were another problem. "Don't know what we can do about them!" Ginger exclaimed. "Stuff your bra with a couple of my pairs of knickers — how about that? You can even use ones I've been wearing if you like!"
"Oh, I don't want people to think I'm kinky!" I joked…., reaching for her linen basket. Two pairs of pink knickers later, I had a respectable bustline. Nothing outrageous, but just right.
I now had my make-up done, my clothes all in order and my hair left all forlorn and crying out for styling! Ginger would have none of it. She refused to do anything with it, just towel-dried as it was. "It has to look plain. Just like my own has to."
We compromised. Ginger had two plastic clasps that were nearly as long as the back of my head. They're all over the place on countless girls' heads if you look. Ginger took a tough brush and drew all my hair back at the sides and up from the nape of my neck. She produced a pleat with my newly-washed (plain brown, remember) hair. Plain Jane was a name that would have applied. She soon had me attending to her own hair in the same way. This was tricky to do because her hair is much thicker than my own, and a two- or three inches longer. So, her pleat was a beautiful crowning style — one which I thought immediately that I could live with myself!
We were ready to go to the Hall where the event was to take place — for the first viewing by the judges. This was it. Never mind having been out with polished nails and my hair done previously. My first attempt to pass as a girl before anyone who didn't know me — apart from Crystal at the nail salon, but she had already guessed or been told. She had been very complimentary in any case, but this was the beginning of the challenge that would last several hours.
We walked towards the town centre and the Hall, for inspection. Glances passed between us and other groups of girls that we saw. Nothing suggested anything unusual.
I began to feel quite in the role that I was to play. It was odd to have my hair up and away from my neck. I quite like the feeling and told Ginger so. "Maybe, you can wear it that way more times! Especially if it makes you feel girlie!"
W got closer to the Hall. The number of people around was no more an no less, but I did notice a few girls with what you'd say were "Model" looks; big eyes, high cheekbones — maybe these were some that we would be up against in the competition. We entered the Hall up a long series of steps. I wasn't prepared for what was in there.
I just didn't know what to expect — not the least of it was the raised platform, so that the audience (the audience!!!!???) could see….. but also the lighting rig above the platform — the lights were already shining full flood down upon the chairs and mirrors that stood in a circle. There were fourteen places — each with three chairs behind for each "team" of three models. It was like the stage at Wembley Arena. I was struck by wondering how many people would be coming … just to watch me have my hair cut, coloured and set!
Ginger grabbed my hand. "Aren't you excited?, I am, I really am!" she exclaimed — and the few people who were already inside looked around to see where the shouts had come from.
To tell the truth, I was already over-awed. Excited, in a sense, but just struck by what I'd agreed to get myself into. My cock stirred again, just at the sense of the total inescapability of what was to happen — I was in up to my neck in this, quite literally, and there was no way of escape, even if I wanted it. I thought of making love with Ginger, looking at her as she stood beside me, and my cock really began to remind me how different I was to all the other models.
I had to focus on being as much like them as I could be. Act girlie! Don't overdo it! I smoothed the blouse and the skirt. I looked in a mirror and, just as before at the house, I double-took on the girl I saw there. It was me. How would I look when the make-up and hair had been done. My heart beat was rising. If I wasn't careful, I'd cum in my pants just at the thought. I had to avoid that! I had to cover myself and soon found the exit — to the toilets! Which to go in? The Ladies, of course! To even have thought I could have walked through the door marked Gentlemen was absurd!
There were a couple of girls inside, preening in the mirrors — more mirrors — (they seemed to be everywhere!) and I passed them by into cubicle. I sat to compose myself. I couldn't have peed even if I wanted to, so tightly was my cock tied up. The two girls were talking and I couldn't do anything but listen.
"I've done lots of these before." said one. "Me too, ever been really left with a colour or style that you had to get rid of the same night?" said the other.
"Oh, of course, the more that you go to, the more you know that the stylists are on an ego trip and want to shock everyone else." said the first in a matter-of-fact way. "Well, I've never had that trouble….." was the response. "…pity really, I should think it's quite fun to be out shocking people!"
I paused and thought to myself. Karen's ideas were quite shocking in their way — quite a complex and difficult set of processes — for all of the heads she would be styling tonight. I began to hope that nothing would go wrong. I didn't want to shock too many people. I began to think about how I'd handle that……
"Are you still in there???" Ginger shouted through the cubicle door. She had come to find me because I had taken so long. My cock had subsided, thankfully, so I was free to emerge. "They're getting ready for the first inspections. The room's full!"
And it was. All the fourteen stylists places were taken. Each wore a tunic with the sponsor's logo clearly visible……. "Because you're worth it!" There were more than thirty models already milling round in the middle of the platform. Among them, I could see Karen and Margot. Margot's Mother was nowhere to be seen. Her skills would be applied later. Margot still looked surly — when would that girl cheer up??
Karen, on the other hand, was bubbling. "How cool is this??!! Thanks Sooooo much for going through with this, all of you!! I've decided who to work on first. Guess which one of you!" "You!!!!!!" she said pointing at me directly with a broad smile. Yes, I was to be first onto the platform, first to have the total transformation that was promised. I was not going to have the chance to see what to expect with the others going first. I would end up as the model that the others would be made to look like.
Around me, I was conscious of these countless women — some of them very attractive and most of them experienced in what was to come. I saw redheads — first, in a crowd, I always picked out the redheads — and blondes. There were two or three women with jet black hair as well. Few had brown hair like my own. I wondered why. The judges would see much less change in the blondes and the jet blacks. Maybe that was why Karen had kept our hair as neutral as possible — apart from Margot's streaks and Ginger's natural red that had been enhanced for years.
Few of the girls were wearing their hair 'up' — again, I wondered why. When the judges came to look at us, they would make up their minds before reaching each of them, whereas, with hair up, they'd have to stop and ask for it to be released. How cool was that — to feel hair that had been tied set free. I felt the wave of warmth again as my cock responded. This was going to be a troublesome night if I didn't get a grip on that responsiveness!
The stylists were called to assemble their groups of models around their tables and mirrors. The judges were about to enter the room. There was a hush and Ginger squeezed my hand again. Karen put her hand on the nape of my neck and gently stroked the hairline that was showing as my hair remained tied up in the clasp that Ginger had found. She stroked the hairline again. "You're going to look stunning!" she whispered quietly. "Thanks." Was all I could muster in reply.
The judges began their tour along the line at the far side of the circle of mirrors. So, we would be halfway through the inspection. The first two or three tables almost all looked the same — all blondes, all highlighted, all tousled and shoulder length. Apart from being very predictable, it struck me that their hair was already done! What could the stylists do to show their skills. A good cut, maybe.
The next three or four mirrors were surrounded by a mixed bag of models with styles of hair that were, at best, a rag-bag of shapes, colours and styles waiting to be put in order. There was no great attraction in any of them and, whilst I could imagine my own hair long, highlighted and tousled, these were often short — even cropped — or frizzy curls in a mess. There was one white blonde, whose cropped hair was stunning, it's true - but she looked too boyish for comfort — I thought that I was the only one cross-dressing for the show! Nobody would have rushed to run their fingers through her crop, that was for sure!
Likewise, there was a girl with an aubergine coloured mop that attracted attention as she shook it quite wildly. Again, what was the stylist to do to make something of that? I'd look out for her with interest in the final dressing and judging.
The judges were getting closer. There were five of them. Two were male and quite mildly camp to use a term. Neither was effeminate, but you could tell that they were quite content in their ways. One had light highlights in his hair, the other a harsh "Number one" cut all over. Not my style at all.
The other three were female. One was tall and totally commanding of all the attention. Her red hair was piled high with tendril curls swept around her head. A triumph of construction. I could just imagine how long she had been in rollers and how many pins there were holding that lot up so high! I really could imagine my own hair done like that for a special occasion! I nudged Ginger and said "One day…….. do me like that will you?"
"Ahh, so you really do 'wannabe', don't you!" she smiled.
"Too right!" was my reply.
The other two female judges were older, clearly successful salon owners in their own right. One had a shock of blonde highlights to the front of her head, framing her face, with a dark crescent of curls behind, clearly heavily styled and set, enhancing the impact of the blonde around her face. Her bust was huge and her heels were high. I quite expected her to topple forwards at any moment. The last of the judges was a shorter, quite petite lady. Her clothes were smart and tailored. Her hair was suitably set to match, the crown combed high and the ends flicked up in a 'touch me' kind of way, the colour was a melee of blonde and darker shades. The roots were clearly intentional. I studied her again. More than the others. I just had a 'double-take'. There was something about her that made me wonder.
I wondered, quite why I don't know, whether she might just, like me, be a "he". She was perhaps in her mid-30s. Her hair was just that bit too 1960s to be true. Its colours were just that little bit girlie. The roots were definitely intentional and, in the circumstances, maybe just a little out-of-place. Her make-up was also a little heavy and dated…. Like mine was probably going to be when applied later this evening.
Her body was be-suited in a tight-fitting garment that accentuated her bust. Her stockings, or tights, were shimmering lycra and of a dark flesh tone with a seam up the back of each leg. Her shoes were shiny patents with 2-3 inch heels.
Whether she was a he or not became irrelevant as the three judges descended on our 'pitch' around the mirror. The conversation was rapid-fire questions and, from Karen only, answers. It was as though we were expected, as models, to be deaf dumb and blind. Questions were asked about the hair Karen was to work on. How experienced was she with "these heads"? What were her stylistic intentions? What were the potential problems she anticipated?
Of my own hair, Karen said it was lacking body to carry the style she intended to develop but that would be compensated for with what she called lots of "volumizing mousse". Karen released my hair from the clasp that had held it up away from my neck and my hair fell loosely over my ears and around my chin. I shook it, almost flirtatiously. It was good to feel it free again. With Ginger's hair, it was the very wonderful nature of her own colouring; how could it possibly be improved? She said she believed that she had a way in mind. With Margot's, the issue was different. The condition and the lack of good cutting in the past meant that there was a real challenge, Karen said, but she would do her best.
The three of us looked at eachother in amazement, Margot and I as if to say "thanks a bunch, Karen" and Ginger as if to say "I don't know what you're worrying about — we're all going to look the same in the end!"
The judges, no sooner there, were gone. I was left with my thoughts about judge number three. "She" had looked long and hard into my face in the mirror for a while. It was as if there was an unspoken word between us. Neither Ginger nor Margot commented and the thought passed quite quickly.
The time was coming for us to leave the Event Hall and to make for the local salon where we would have the basics of colouring and conditioning, and also the make-up for the evening, done. We were to go to the salon where Karen was employed and where several of her colleagues on the staff of the salon were waiting to help. They were allowed to no nothing material to affect the style or the colour that we would each undergo. But they would help speed things up by taking instructions, mixing colours, closing the foils that Karen was to apply to our heads, place us under the accelerator lights and such like things.
Ginger squeezed my hand as we approached the door to leave. "You'll have a load of fun with this!" she said as we went down the stairs into the crowed street. I was still in my near unisex gear but close to my skin there were the constrictions of the lace around my cock and the corset, not to mention the stockings that clung to my legs or the bra that hid under the plain blouse.
My hair was still free of that clasp, ready and willing to be attended to at the salon.
TO BE CONTINUED………………………… in chapter 10.
FEEDBACK..... PLEEEEEASE!!!!!!
The day of the competition accelerates. The models move to the salon "Blonde Ambition" where the colouring is at last applied. The boy's supposedly hidden secret is discovered but not betrayed and Karen's plans for the style are revealed.
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe ginger
chapter 10
Ginger, Margot, Karen and I left the Hall where the competition was to be staged, and where, later that evening, our hairstyles would be finished and judged. Before then, we would spend several hours at one of the local salons where, under the eagle eye of a judge — or a deputized salon owner - the stylists would work their magic and transform us into the glamour pusses we had to be for the competition's finale.
The walk was a short one and we were to be using a salon just opposite the one that Karen worked in as an Apprentice. This meant, perhaps, that working in a competitor salon, she might have a bit of a hard time, relying as she would on the juniors and others to do the necessary assisting that would allow her to concentrate on the design, colouring and styling on all three models. Female models — in my case, female for the day. It had gone well so far and we were now in the realms where nobody would know that I was a guy helping a girlfriend in her efforts to win the prize. I didn't know what the prize would be so, as we entered the salon, called Blonde Ambition.
(I wondered why? As if couldn't figure that out!)
I asked Karen what the prizes would be. The third prize was a complete set of hairdressers' styling gear — "everything you could want" Karen explained. "The second prize is a weekend in a London stylist's salon, working with some of the top media-friendly, always-in the-news-and-journals stylists. That would involve maybe seeing work done on a few "B" or "C" list celebrities. Finally, the overall winner is going to receive a month's full training in the same place, but actually working with a top stylist as their "Number 2" — seeing them cut, style and colour countless heads. It's going to be SUCH a thing to win — such a boost to a girl's career!" Karen nearly exploded with hope!
"And then, there are prizes for the models!………………..!" She said, as we entered the salon. Ginger went in first, followed by the other three of us. The sight inside was stunning. "Blonde Ambition" alright!
Every one of the girls in the salon — there were no guys to be seen — were blondes. More than a dozen of them. Their hair was immaculate — all of them — and each had a different shade of blonde. One was truly "white" — unashamed peroxide! Hers was a spikey crop cut — not one I'd even want, I thought. A second girl's hair was ash blonde, almost a blue-grey shade. Now that was more like it. It was set in a rough-cut wild "coupe" style, clearly with more styling mousse than I'd ever used. The third was blessed with long golden blonde tresses that fell to her shoulders, parted centrally and curled in loose ringlets that flowed as she walked — indeed, preened herself — around the salon. Fourth was the salon's owner - she, who would be out judge for the afternoon. Her hair was suited to her mid-40s age, set in more of a structured style, back-combed but leaving the curls from her rollers clearly visible and the whole style in a glorious pastel shade of peach blonde. The rest were away from the reception area of the salon, so would come into sight soon.
Marvelling at the sight of these women, I could still not forget the words Karen had used on the way in. Nor could Ginger and Margot. Margot was first to fire a shot:
"We get a prize??? What can it be??? A weekend away for two???" Her eyes flashed in Karen's direction. There was no doubt in my mind what Margot had in mind if that was the prize! "No, not that, but if I win I'll treat us!" Karen replied.
"No? If it's not that, what can it be?" asked Ginger who had been very quiet as we had walked from the Hall through the shopping precinct. As we stood in the salon's reception area. Karen couldn't keep the secret any longer. "It's a year's treatments for hair and beauty at a top salon, every month — hair cut, colour and styling, make-up and beauty treatments…… plus, and this is the amazing bit…… being used as a model in a further six competitions around the country — all expenses paid! Just so long as you don't object to whatever the stylists concerned will do with your hair, and no matter how outrageous the make-up might be. There will be pictures in magazines and…. WOW!"
My mind was racing — how could that all be true — and how could we possibly take them up on that. Ginger could, of course, and maybe Margot. But, then, what about me? I had got used to slipping from male to female over the last few weeks — but it was only ever for an evening or two. Maybe a whole day once or twice.
This was shaping up for a total transformation every other week, sometimes for days on end. Whilst I would dream of nothing more wonderful than travelling all over the place with Ginger, and Karen too, it was something to get my head round that I don't think I was ready for.
Karen produced her camera, reminding me of the early times she had wanted to take photos of the evenings we were spending together. There had been fewer shots taken in the recent past but she said tonight was a special event and she wanted lots of pictures.
One of the salon's Apprentices was briefed to take as many shots as she could over the coming hours. Close up of the techniques were especially important. Sequences on the individual models, too, were required — to document just how total the transformations we were undergoing would prove to be.
"Who is the Stylist and which of you are the models?" said the salon owner, whose name was Stephanie. Karen introduced herself and the three of us. "We'll be visited by one of the main judges before long and you don't have much time, so we had better get on!" Stephanie's mode of dress was much like one of the judges, perhaps the one I had second-guessed might be rather in the same situation as I found myself.
I was suddenly conscious again of the tightness of my corset and the smoothness of my stockings, held as they were by the suspenders that came with the corset. My bra was also tight — enough — but not too tight. Of course, it still lacked the stuffing that would give me the shape of the tits I needed for the image I was creating. My cock, still restrained, was wet, wetter than I could have imagined. I was nowhere near cumming, but I was undoubtedly in a permanent state of arousal.
"Could you live with that?" Ginger whispered to me, meaning the year's treatments and the travel to competitions. "I could if you could, and we did it together." She finished, telling me in no uncertain terms to "go for it!". A phrase came back to me from the first or second time we had met together in all of this series of "girls' evenings" and it was true…..
That first evening. "What will you do with him next, Karen?" Margot had asked "…… now you've got him where you want him! "Is that where you want him?" asked Ginger, "…… and if so, what's next?"
"Oh, yes, that's where I want him." Karen had said, "…… but he's just given me an idea — when he said "Whatever you say" "Exactly what I was thinking…… But I could do a lot more if he'd let me set it on rollers, couldn't I?" She had looked in the mirror — seeing me not believing what I had just heard her say.
"Couldn't I?", she asked, looking straight into my eyes, smiling the same way as before. I was kind-of speechless.
"You said ‘Whatever you say', didn't you?" Ginger had said.
Suddenly, I was back to reality, to here and now. Back in the salon, surrounded by blondes — well, all blondes apart from Karen, Ginger and me. "Well. Whatever you say" I murmured to Ginger. Click, Click! The first photos were taking with us all off guard — just looking like four girls in a salon's reception. Four girls with hair that would be transformed. Yes, even Karen would have a fine style by the end of the event, it was clear.
"I'm to be the first." I volunteered, knowing that there would be plenty of time to enjoy what as to come and that there would be lots to see in what was done to the other two girls. My thinking had completely gone over to thinking of us as three girls despite the obvious constraints around me that reminded me of my maleness. "Good! Come this way!" said Stephanie.
Karen had told us that we would have our hair combed and prepared for colouring almost immediately. We were all to expect foils to be laced into our hair because the colour was multi-tonal — with highlights and lowlights. Karen would already have selected a base colour and the shades for the highlights. She had to be the one to do that and to apply the colour in all the right places. The assistants could only do the non-technical things. (And take those photos).
"Before you go, there's another good reason for you to have the first colour…" she told me, "……. Your hair is going to be the same colour as the other girls" — her voice slowed as she said the word — "but it's not as long, so we need time to add some extensions to add to the length and give scope for the same elaborate style. So hurry along……….."
I was stunned. Nothing had been said about this when she briefed us about the style and colour we would all have. How could I have this?!! Extensions last for weeks! That much I knew.
Standing in the salon's entry to the working area, I stopped with my mind racing back to what had been promised. Karen had said our three heads would be styled the same and coloured to match. This meant some radical change for each of us, but different in each case. They would all be based on Ginger's base colour as it was the strongest and most distinctive - and perhaps the toughest to change.
Margot's mousey hair, albeit with the blonde streaks, could be changed with ease. My own, mid-brown shade, would be easily coloured….. red! Just as I had hoped. I didn't give thought to the length needed when Karen said we would each have a half pleat with the top of our heads highly bouffant and back-combed and the length tied at the crown with ringlets falling down behind. The length of the hair that was left "down" would be styled and flipped up at the ends. The bounce in the flip curls would contrast beautifully with the bouffant top, the highlights and the ringlets. I didn't think of the length of Margot's hair that would allow the ringlets and length to be very full. Nor did think of the wonderful lustrous thickness of Ginger's hair that meant the crown of her head could be piled high and the same flipcurls to fall to her neck.
My own hair was long enough for one or the other. Of course, it wouldn't work the length it was. But I hadn't thought about that. My mind flashed back. Back through the reality of what had been my fantasy at the beginning.
I was now accustomed to having my hair back-combed — in fact, I quite liked that. In fact, I was looking forward to that! But that would use much of the available hair, even though I was able to swing my hair at past chin length, well on to my neck. It felt great! But is wasn't long enough to be half held up in a pleat, nor was it thick enough to have ringlets of any length at all.
How could I live with extensions — how easy are they to remove if you need to get rid of them? I had no idea. Once again, I was kind-of speechless.
"You said ‘Whatever you say', didn't you?" Karen patted my bum. She actually patted my bum to send me on my way. Still speechless!
Of course, I did. That's what I had said!
Stephanie led the way.
Two more blondes were waiting at the mirror and chair where I was to be coloured. There was a trolley with countless trays, some with foils — soon to be all over my head, some with pins or brushes — the stubby kind that is used to apply the colour to strands of hair and work it though thoroughly. Finally, there were the dishes on the top of the trolley, each with different coloured pastes in them and a couple of plastic bottles with coloured liquid in them. The pastes were different in colour. One was coppery grey, another a beigey colour, a third was deep mulberry red and the last one was actually blue!!!
The foils glistened and the pungent odour of the colouring pastes hit my senses. This was all for mmmmmm…..me!
The blondes both smiled and the chair was moved back for me to sit down. The first girl, whose hair was long and streaked with thick bands of two different shades of blonde, all upon a dark brown undercolour, said "Wow, have you got a change in store! I really love the mix of shades that you're having!" I may have blushed, it was meant as a personal compliment. Here was a really pretty girl telling me that she envied how my hair would look! "Oh, me too!" said the other blonde. " I can't wait to see the final effect — you will come in and see us in the salon after the competition, won't you? Maybe tomorrow, whilst the style still looks at its best?"
Her hair was corn-coloured blonde with purposely grown out roots — nobody who worked here had hair that was anything but intentional. She had gone for the tarty look for the time being. She matched this with torn jeans, an off-the-shoulder blouse and make-up that shouted "fuck me!"
I just smiled and took in the fantasy of the whole surroundings. This was like a dream and I was a central player. The look in the mirror told me that I was quite convincing in my femininity, just because, up to this point, just because of the very ordinariness of my clothes, hair and lack of make-up. I could hardly refuse to come back and see these gorgeous girls. As I was about to speak, Ginger was brought over to sit beside me to the left and Margot soon arrived at the mirror to my right. Looking to both sides, we were "under starter's orders!".
By then, my hair had been combed and sectioned and Karen had arrived. "You ready???" she smiled. "Thanks again for going through with this, right through to this stage. I'll have to find a way to really repay your kindness. I haven't forgotten how we started. You look quite stunning as you are." She whispered the last words, clearly wanting to make sure that Margot heard nothing. Meaning as a girl, she fancied me as a girl.
Ginger looked across. "You OK?" she said, seeming concerned. She knew the enormity of what I was undertaking. "You'll look great!" were her final words.
The first foil was lifted and placed under the strand of hair to be coloured first. Instead of one side of my head being done first, followed by the other, Karen laid the foils across my head from side to side. This meant the strands would not follow a central parting. She applied each colour in turn to the strands she lifted, some grey/copper paste, some beige, some deepest red and some that crazy blue! I knew I would not end up with blue strands — those would be the lightest blonde. The deep red strands had an extra portion of blue paste to exaggerate the colour applied.
Karen's hands sped through my hair, working the parcels around the back and sides as quickly as possible. Her assistants worked fast — just as they knew Karen had to, with three of us to colour. The smell of the colouring pastes was extreme, but in a way it was haunting - I would never forget it. The way the brush swept the colours along each foil fascinated me in the mirror. The way Karen folded each parcel in half, and then turned in the sides and clipping the foil to my scalp. Time and again, I was mesmerized by the way her hands worked. Eventually, the final foil was applied and sealed tightly.
I was conscious that two or three photographs had been taken of me in an almost totally helpless situation - unable to change anything that was going on. How many of the pictures would find their way into a magazine article or a newspaper piece about this competition? Would the models be named?
Karen then instructed one of the blondes, the one with the bold highlights — not the roots - to apply the deep rich red paste to the rest of my hair; all of which had escaped the foils. She was allowed to do this by the rules of the competition. The blonde took care not to disturb the foils as she worked while Karen moved on to Margot who was to have the same treatment to her, much longer, mousey-brown hair.
Her eyes became immediately fixed upon Karen and she never once looked away. She was trying to convey what could only be described as lust. She was flirting right before the rest of us. The process for her took as long as it had with my hair; the same mixture of colours from the same trays, and the same deep red colour for the hair that had not been foiled. The length of Margot's hair made the foils need to be somewhat larger but otherwise she and I were treated the same.
Looking to the other side, as I sat with the colour on my hair "developing", I saw that Ginger's trolley was rather different in as much as the colours of the pastes in the trays were different. The blue paste was the same, and so was the deep red, but the others contained pastes of other colours that, presumably would produce the same result as our colours would but on Ginger's much more strongly coloured natural shade. I looked at Ginger, as I was now able to look around freely. She was a stunner really, and I was undoubtedly falling in love. It was on two levels. She was so very attractive, any red-blooded male would want to get inside her panties. On another level, I was sitting there virtually "in her panties" — or rather panties she had bought for me! And the corset, and the stockings and the bra! All of them could have been hers! I loved her all the more for going with what had rapidly become a fetish that, once indulged, and now a hundred times indulged, I doubted I would ever be able to break.
Karen worked so fast, she was unable to have the usual "stylist/client" chatter. The blondes assisting, too, were unable to break concentration. So, silent it was.
A timer's bell awoke me from the musings I had been focussed upon. My time was up! It was time to rinse away the colours from my hair, but first the foils had to be removed. That took a very short time as the blonde — with the roots, not the streaks — worked adeptly; she had done this before. "I love the look that you've created…" I said to her, "…… but why quite so tarty?" I asked. "Just love it! It may scare some guys away but I'm not at all bothered. I'll be all sugar and flowers next month — life's too short to stay the same all the time." She mused, smiling broadly.
"How right is that!" I thought to myself. "You must be the same, going for this transformation!" she said, "What made you go for it?" she asked. I nearly blew my cover and the illusion in a single second. I nearly said "…to get a girl to go out with me." Of course, that was true, but it would have posed more questions than it answered. "Have you ever modelled for a hairdresser before?" said the girl, her blondness framing her face. "Not once, but it won't be my last time." I answered.
The water cascaded over my head at the back-wash. The smell of the coloured pastes was replaced with shampoo fragrance and my hair was soon running free through the water and I lost sense of reality again. There is something totally mesmerizing about having your hair washed by another girl; at least, in my mind there is! I kept on thinking. My scalp was being massaged by the blonde — with the roots. A cut was all that was left at this stage.. or was it… no it wasn't…. there were the extensions to apply.
As she finished and put sweet smelling conditioner through my wet hair, finally combing me through after a last rinse, I looked aside at Margot and Ginger, both festooned in foils as I had been only moments ago. The young assistant with the camera took a photo along the line of the three of us — another one for the album. There was no doubt that I was secretly delighted that this was being kept as a record of the transformation that I was enjoying so much.
My hair was finally rinsed and towel-dried, leaving me with clingy wet ringlets down the sides and back of my head. It was to strands drawn from these that my new hair extensions would now be added. They would add enough length to enable Karen to work a cascade of ringlets down the back of my head, matching those of Ginger and Margot. Wonderful feminine ringlets. (Just listen to me! I thought!!!)
I was aware of another member of the salon's staff approaching who was to be the one to carry out that process. She was the only Afro-Caribbean girl there, (I later found our she was called Jo-Jo), and her own hair was braided in tiny plaits. Each of these then burst into a wonderful mass of brightly coloured extensions — strands of fake hair, mostly 10 to 12 inches long - some a light blonde, and some a bright shocking pink — great, great, stunning, fantastic, want some, want some…… were words that came to my mind immediately. I knew now that my own hair was coloured in several distinct and different shades of blonde, beige, copper and red. The extensions were laid out on the tray on the top of "my" trolley and Jo-Jo began to work more magic into my hair. Every strand was passed through her hands over its full length, some were divided into two to introduce variety. A small number were fixed right along my hairline at the front.
The extensions were to be left long and straight, not plaited at all, and their fixing was obviously going to be near-permanent. I could tell by the tightness of every single attachment.
"How long will they last?" I asked tentatively, not really knowing whether I wanted the answer to be "a day or two", or "a month or two" — how would I cope if it was the longer? I would soon begin to find out when Jo-Jo said "about six weeks before you need them tightened some more, or have them taken away — whatever you choose. Most girls love them and want to keep them. Are you growing your hair — is that why you're to have them in?"
What was I to answer? Six weeks — there was a lot of everyday life between me and six weeks from now — it had been one thing to wear my hair increasingly long and red for a while, then brown as it got to chin length. This was entering a different ball-game.
Suddenly, a surprise came. "Anyway, why is a guy like you having his hair done this way?" whispered Jo-Jo. Quite out of the blue, like a bolt of lightning, her words hit me.
She fixed me with a stare in the mirror — she had meant what she said. I hadn't been mistaken what I'd heard her say. "A guy like you…." Jo-Jo smiled knowingly. "What do you mean?", was all I could say. She couldn't have guessed. How could she have guessed? She had. How? My mind was in a whirl. "You know what I mean…… it's cool, there's no worry. I won't tell. I just wondered why." Jo-Jo was keeping her voice down. "It's your hands, my love, they're a dead give-away - yours are no more girlie hands than your average bricklayer's! Well, seriously, no more than any office working boy's perhaps. They may have lovely red polish on them but they betray your little secret!"
I must have blushed to the extent that little needed to be said. She knew. I couldn't, and needn't, deny it was true. She had guessed correctly. "It's a long story." I said. "It's surprising what a guy will do for a girl he fancies to pieces. One thing has just led to another and, funnily enough, I've ended up falling for another girl instead — and she's involved in this too. How it will finish, I've no idea, but I'm in it up to my neck now so…. Whatever happens, happens!"
"You're one cool guy, you know that." said Jo-Jo, half admiringly.
Ginger clearly hadn't heard all of this but I was going to have to ask her what she would think, not least about the six weeks' lasting of the extensions. How would she see me through such a long time? I looked at her sideways — she was having the foils removed from her hair, just as Margot was on my other side. I couldn't tell how their colours had developed any more than I could tell on my own — their hair was wet and needed conditioning. There were clearly some blonde highlights in both heads — just as there was in my own but more than that I couldn't tell.
"How is everything going?" said an unfamiliar voice. It was Stephanie, the salon owner and judge for the hours we were with her and her staff. Her peach blonde hair was back-lit as I looked up at her in the mirror and it made a cloud or halo of beautiful pastel shades around her face. "Fine, just fine." I said.
"That's good, you have two visitors — the first is the lady you met earlier and who will be one of the main competition judges this evening." My mind flashed back again.
There were three main judges. One was tall her red hair was piled high with tendril curls swept around her head. A triumph of construction, I had thought. I could just imagine how long she had been in rollers and how many pins there were holding that lot up so high! I had nudged Ginger and said "One day…….. do me like that will you?"
The other two female judges were older, clearly successful salon owners in their own right. One had a shock of blonde highlights to the front of her head, with a dark crescent of curls behind. The last of the three judges was a shorter, quite petite lady. Her clothes were smart and tailored. Her hair was suitably set to match, the crown combed high and the ends flicked up in a ‘touch me' kind of way, the colour was a melee of blonde and darker shades. I just had a ‘double-take'. There was something about her that made me wonder.
It was her, the third judge. She had caused me to wonder, quite why I don't know, whether she might just, like me, be a "he". Here she was again, moving into view in the mirror that faced me. She was definitely in her mid-30s. Her hair was just that bit too 1960s to be true. Its colours were just that little bit girlie. The roots were definitely intentional and, in the circumstances, maybe just a little out-of-place. She was a Debbie Harry lookalike. Her make-up was heavy…. like mine was probably going to be when applied later this evening.
"Hiya!" she said, "you're looking good, all three of you!" she said to Ginger, to Margot and me. "I hope you're enjoying the experience." We all responded in the right way — of course, we were. She turned to Karen. "What made you choose the multi-tonal colour?" she asked. "It's very tough to get right and, under competition timing, even more so." Karen was ready for the question and went into some long description on the technicalities of colour strength, absorption and shade variation that depends on the substrate colours…… At that point she lost me and I could only fix my attention on "Debbie Harry", the judge, and the question in my mind. Suddenly, and without warning, because she had been working away all the time, Jo-Jo broke the spell when she said "There, they're all done!" meaning that all the extensions were all in place.
I shook my head from side to side and experienced the wonderment of hair that brushed my shoulders for the first time. What a wonderful feeling. Guys should not be able to feel this way, I thought. I looked in the mirror and wonder how it would look when finally styled and dressed. Though I couldn't make out its colour for definite, this was utter heaven! (And, I still had to be cut, rollered and styled, when we got back to the competition hall.)
"I said there were two visitors." Said Jo-Jo. "…………here's the second." There, in the entry to the styling area, was Margot's Mother — that scary woman.
I remembered the first time that I had seen her — scary or what!! I had thought she was crazy, at the very least. I remembered I was almost fearful of being left alone with her. Her still flame red hair was matched by flame red nails — ready to scratch the living daylights out of a little boy like me, or a little girl as she had seemed intent on making me. Yes, those nails haunted me — a vision of her, painting the nails with sweet-smelling nail polish.
Her stare was fixed in the same way. This woman made me feel distinctly uneasy. It was easy to see where Margot got some of her traits from. The two of them stood in the styling area where we were. One, the redhead; the other, the long, now multi-tone haired girl. I still wasn't going to be intimidated by them, especially "Mother". I mentally christened her the Wicked Lady.
Ginger and Margot's hair was now rinsed, conditioned and combed. All that needed to be done, for now, was done.
"Make-up next, for all three of you!" she said, looking around for the appropriate places to take care of us. There was a dedicated make-up salon on the first floor above the hair salon. That was where were shown to. Karen had some finishing off to do so left us as we ascended the stairs. Margot insisted on being the first to have the beauty treatment — so Ginger and I could see what was in store for the two of us. "You're going to love this, baby." She said pointedly in my direction. Her mother's eyes glinted in anticipation.
"Lashes first!" the Wicked Lady announced, producing little plastic boxes with what looked like giant spiders in them. "Well, eyeliner before the lashes, then…….." The lashes were truly huge — I mean, I had seen such flappers on theatrically costumed models, though I had never been on stage myself. They were huge! More than an inch long, and curled to extreme! "We'll thicken them up with lots of mascara, don't worry!" The Wicked Lady was already warming to her task.
I stared in amazement as the plain, colourless face that was Margot was transformed. First, eyeliner made Margot's eyes much larger. Then, the lashes were fixed and, immediately, her eyes were larger than life! A thick layer of foundation was applied all over her skin from hairline to neck. The eyes were accentuated with three colours, from dark purple near the eyeline, through to light lilac around the brows. The Wicked Lady stood back and admired her handiwork. Margot was purring with pleasure. Mascara added thickness to the lashes alright. By now the colour of Margot's face was vibrant. Blusher over the cheekbones completed the look.
The lipstick was left until last and strangely, was left without being done. "We'll do that to finish you all off." Said the Wicked Lady. It had taken longer than I thought and time was passing. We were due back at the event Hall in less than an hour. Ginger's face was made-up next and the same colours were used. The purples and lilacs were clearly chosen to off-set the strands of colour in our hair. Though we could not yet see how that would work, because our hair was all damp and awaiting attention later, the "look" was taking shape. Ginger had a high natural colour, far more so than Margot (or myself), so her presence in the room was all the more electric. She looked stunning. Those eyes, especially!
My own turn at the make-up chair was a revelation. No matter how many times you look at make-up being applied to others, it's completely different having it done to yourself. I was acutely conscious of the closeness that Margot's Mother built into the time she was working on my face. Her breath almost drowned me. Her eyes were close to mine as she put the lashes in place with great precision. How I fought against blinking! How the tears nearly came, each time her fingers came near to my eyelids. As she slowly applied the foundation, the blusher, the eye shadow and eyeliner, I closed my eyes hoping to keep the full impact of the change for one final shock. The purples on the eyes were so impactful, it would be worth waiting for.
As Ginger's lips and Margot's had been left, so were mine but when I opened my eyes, the full effect was stunning. We each looked like those magazine models that you see and think "no, never……!" "And now the lips — something special! ….. turn away from your mirrors, you're not to see this until I'm finished." Came the instructions from our make-up artist. She produced some cosmetics from her bag that were still in their packaging. "This will last longer than you could possibly need tonight, so there will be no need for re-touching." She began by outlining our lips, top and bottom, one by one. Facing apart, we couldn't tell what was coming.
She then returned with a long lip brush and began to paint our lips from the tube that she held in her hands, away from our gaze. "It won't be permanent, but I'm told this lasts 3-4 days, it's so good." She looked into my eyes. "I thought you, in particular, would enjoy that." No need for the menacing tone, I was resolved not to be intimidated, even though I hadn't a clue how I would manage with lipstick for the next 3-4 days… but then, with hair extensions and multi-toned highlights, I was evidently booked for 3-4 days as a girl, at least.
She finished quite quickly and spun our three chairs to face eachother. Our lips were all the deepest burgundy purple that you have ever seen. We were told to ‘blot' the lips on tissue before a further, final coat was applied. It tasted wonderful. I could really get used to this.
"You'll need to get used to this, gorgeous." said Ginger, squeezing my hand. Again, my heart skipped several beats. The preparation, apart from dressing before going to the competition hall, was complete. Margot's Mother, the Wicked Lady had done her stuff.
TO BE CONTINUED
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 11
It occurred to me, as we sat in the salon having had our hair coloured, washed, conditioned and, in my case, "extended", that I hadn't given nearly enough thought in last few hours to Karen who was doing all the hard work. The girl I was so attracted so at the outset — so attracted that I was now nearly half-way transformed into a dazzling female hairdresser's model — Karen had become invisible whilst she was working so hard to transform my hair. I had thought that she would succumb to my charms and that we would end up as Boy & Girl together at the end of this.
She was still a very attractive young woman and, as I began to focus on her for a moment, she looked prettier still. She was clearly the object of Margot's affections (and attentions) now and I wondered just how much Karen was going for that "Girl-on-Girl" stuff. Bi-curious, they call it, I think. I could understand the attraction. Her own hair had yet to be styled for the evening. Just now, she was in working clothes and her hair was very plainly swept back into a straight pony-tail. I wondered how she would present herself to the judges and the audience. The three of us were certainly going to make an impact — she had to do so herself, to be as memorable as the girls who wore her coiffured artwork.
"You're pleased with this so far, aren't you?" she asked, noticing my prolonged stare in her direction. I smiled. "You're a star!" I said. My eyes were heavy with lashes and mascara and I was conscious that the look I had given her was nothing short of outrageous flirtation. "And you're still a guy, under there!" she laughed. "Forgive me, I like it rather too much." I replied, very, very truthfully.
Her eyes lingered a little long on my own as she looked in the mirror. Captivated, for a moment longer than I could have hoped. I tried to reconcile the mild flirtation that was going on here, with the evident bisexual attraction that she had showed with Margot. Karen clearly was attracted to her, but then her very "being" with me told me that she wasn't exclusively as "girl's girl". Was it my increasingly feminine appearance that had stirred this? If it was, I'd be the last to complain. "You could do this again for me, with no competition in store, if you'd like to." I said, with conviction.
"You have to change clothes before we return to the Hall…." came the authoritative voice of the Judge who had over-seen the work on us in the salon. "Where are your clothes?" I didn't know, nor it seemed did Karen, or Ginger, or Margot. "They're all here in my case." Came another familiar voice. It was Margot's Mother again. She had brought clothes for us all from her "store" at home. Of course, Margot had said she had loads of clothes in loads of sizes — but never explained why she had them. The case was full of female attire — some of it ultra feminine, the rest, to say the least, was fetishistic; strappy leather stuff.
It turned out that the Wicked Lady took in visitors who liked to dress in certain ways, and perhaps "be under her spell" for a while. She had leather gear and all sorts of equipment that one might expect in such a profession.
She produced three leather trouser suits, skin tight with high-heeled black boots - all sleek and sexy but quite, quite unsuitable for me, I thought, as she held them high. These were followed by three of the most exquisite flowing evening gowns — a light pure shimmering electric blue in colour. They came with stockings and shoes to match. "Now it matters not — you can all wear the same, or two can wear leather and the other a gown. Or two can wear gowns and one the leather! Any way is fine — whatever, you'll each off-set the impact of the others. So, you choose."
For me there was no debate. It was to be the shimmering blue gown. I hoped that Ginger would choose the same and, quite frankly, I couldn't care what Margot chose. Ginger did, indeed, choose the blue gown. "It will go best with our hair!" she exclaimed. "Great!" I pounced on her hand and squeezed it hard.
Margot, quite as expected, had to be different and slunk over to the leather trouser suits and fondled them. "This will be mine!" she whispered. She held the tunic across her bust and looked directly at me, saying "You'll enjoy tying me into the basque that I want to wear under this!" As if I would. She had to be joking because she had mis-judged me for any thoughts I might have that she was at all sexy. I was getting as scared of her as I was of her Mother now.
Karen said she was going to finish off her own hair — an important part of the image we would be creating in the competition — while we changed for the show. She had started the afternoon with her hair in a pony-tail. Her lustrous brown hair had been washed and for the last hour she had been working on us with her own hair in rollers, save for two parcels of foil at the front on each side, framing her face. Just what would those turn out like, we wondered?!
The salon's owner ushered us towards a small changing room that we were to use to put on these clothes. It was impossible for more than two of us to get in to the room at the same time and still have space to breathe.
Ginger and I went in first — the two evening gowns together — both excited but perhaps in different ways. Ginger was enjoying the prospect of the competition and helping Karen. I was just over the moon about being in there with her! But was I? There was a full length mirror in this small room and, as I took off my plain clothes from today, and saw the underwear that I had been conscious of all day — but had forgotten what it really looked like — I began to think differently. I was studying my shape from different angles.
I looked at the hair and the make-up. I tossed my as-yet unstyled hair across my shoulders. I became transfixed at the totality of the look of myself, almost for the first time today.
"Floozy!!!" exclaimed Ginger — who had seen the look in my eyes. "You're flirting with yourself, even! When do I get a look in?" She was right. I wanted so much, in that moment to kiss her again. I moved in her direction, parting my burgundied lips as I did so. "No, no!!! Not with our make-up on — it would spoil it, no matter how indelible they say it is! You can wait! In fact, you have to wait!" Ginger was suddenly strict in the way she talked.
"Oh, I love it when you're in charge!" I said. My constricted groin began again to give me discomfort. My cock pressed against every restraining thread.
I would have laid Ginger - or she would have laid me — there and then. There was a significant chance that I would embarrass us all if something didn't distract me. If I were to cum then, it would have been a disaster!
It was time to step into the fabulous shimmering blue dress but first I had to take the stockings that would match it from their packing. I opened them carefully and took the first in my hands. I slid a hand into it, taking great care not to snag the nylon with my newly-polished nails. Up an up, over my wrist, I spread the sheer microfine fabric. I sat and placed the toes of my right foot into the stocking. My heart slipped a beat, it was so suggestive of what more was to come. I drew the stocking up my calf and over the knee, stretching it towards the suspender that was attached to my corset. The first suspender snapped into place with ease. "You've done that too many times!" exclaimed Ginger, seeing the ease with which I accomplished this.
The second and third suspenders proved to be almost as easy, but the final, fourth one, was out of reach! I could catch the suspender or the lacy lip of the stocking — but not both! "Here, my lover! Let me take care of that." Ginger whispered gently.
The second stocking proved to be the same and Ginger helped with the final suspender - closing up behind me after she had finished and whispering in my ear "When I get you home, I have those off you …. Last of all!" Her lips parted and her tongue ran across the nape of my neck, right under the mane of coloured hair that I now had as my own. I shivered in near ecstasy. "Careful!" I said "Lipstick on my collar!!!"
I looked again into the mirror. There stood a girl in stockings, a corset and little else, apart from wonderful make-up and a mane of half-prepared hair. The highlights in the hair changed as I tossed my head. Shafts of blonde, copper and red glinted through with a dark red base glowing in the bright changing room lights.
Ginger took the dress from the hanger and held it for me as I stepped into it with great care. I had not put on the shoes I would wear, so there was no danger of snagging the flowing fabric. The dress needed to be fastened at the back and Ginger obliged. My corset was holding me in quite well, but perhaps not sufficiently for the tight bodice on the upper part of this dress. "Breathe in!" she whispered. She fastened the hooks and slid the zip to the top.
"I still have no tits!!!" I breathed quietly. "What the hell can I do about that?" was Ginger's reply. "I'll have to ask 'that' woman, I guess." I said.
Ginger's stockings and matching blue dress took very little time to get into. Her tits filled the bodice beautifully. So much so I pleaded with her to let me tweak her nipples before we left the changing room. This caused her to go into fits of giggles and there was clearly no chance of that kind of entertainment for now. "Let's get you some tits!" was all she said.
"Margot! Get a move on!" said her Mother as we emerged from the changing room. "There's no time to lose — get into your leathers immediately!" Margot obliged but, as she entered the changing area, said to me "Pity about the tits!" Thanks, I thought.
"Can you help with that problem?" I asked her mother in a matter-of-fact way.
"Naturally, I know many men and boys that like to be better endowed in that area, so I took the precaution of bringing a pair of falsie breast forms for you. They're only a 'B' cup size but that should be enough for you."
"We can't have me doing a Dolly Parton on you — I'd steal the lime-light." was my reply. Fight fire with fire with this woman, I thought. Give as good as you get. It so happened that just for a split second, my mind filled with a picture of myself just like Ms Parton — but though the tits were huge, my focus was on her hair…. and the wonderful creation that would be mine if I were her, just for a minute! Strawberry blonde… I was going to be strawberry blonde one day!
Back to reality. "Put these in your bra and do it now. Let's have no more of that." Mother said coldly. I did so, and funnily enough, I was delighted with the effect — not to big, but very noticeable.
The silicone breast forms were cold — in fact, very cold, at first, but the soon warmed and, as I reached in to settle them in place, I found I was able to gently pull the tissue of my own pectorals upwards, to add some weight to the tits as well. I was delighted! I looked down at the choice of shoes that were laid out for us to choose from. There were only two pairs that would fit feet of my size. One was a pastel yellow gold pair with three inch heels — the colour wouldn't suit at all with the blue of the dress I was now wearing. The other pair were black, strappy "numbers" with three inch heels too — like I had never worn before. How could I manage in them, gorgeous though they looked. The straps were think patent leather and were long enough to be stretched around the leg more than once, crossing and crossing again. The buckles were small and made sure that the straps were held tight above the ankle.
It had to be the black pair. I would have to master walking in stilettos fast!
All the time as I put the shoes on and fastened the straps, I was conscious, my hair swung back and forth, adding to the feeling of femininity that I was sinking into. The very sweeping of the hair on my neck and shoulders was enough to distract me continually. The hair was, however, drying. Too fast it seemed. "Shouldn't we be getting on?" I asked, still seated, not knowing how those heels would feel when I stood up. The sight of the heels and the straps were, again, more than enough to have a reminder of the restraint between my thighs.
Karen answered. "You're right. It's not good for the eventual style if the hair dries too much unstyled. I'll freshen it with moisture when we get there but, for now, I'll pin your hair up in a clasp. That will conserve the condition of your hair." She did just that, to both Ginger and me. Our hair was brushed upwards into what Karen called a chignon - which sounded very French.
I looked in the mirror and, still, the highlights were visible. As the hair was closely wound to my head, they appeared as bold streaks in the bright lights of the salon. Ginger's hair remained a gorgeous dark coppery red colour. The nape of her neck cried out for me to plant a great lipsticky kiss upon it…….. but she wouldn't let me near. "Later!!!!" she flirted.
Karen sat at a mirror and carefully removed the foils from the strands of hair that framed her face. Just two broad bands of colour. She quickly moved to the basins where the bleach that she had been treating her own hair with was removed. White blonde had replaced the underlying brown for a stunning impact under the lights in the hall tonight. Karen was the last to change and — as Margot emerged looking exactly like CatWoman in the movies — Karen entered the changing room, emerging it seemed only moments later.
Karen's outfit was "regulation" Hairstylist's "uniform" — there was no difference between them allowed, it seemed, in the rules. I noticed that her nipples were showing very proudly through the tight top. She was a pretty sight as she took the lead of this team of three models that she was soon finally to transform in front of a huge audience.
"An audience!!!" I said out loud, quite unintentionally. "Yes, an audience. What's made you think of them just now?" asked Ginger. "They won't bite!"
No, but they most likely will guess. I thought. Guess that I've no right to be there. Guess that I'm a guy not a girl. Guess that I must be gay — what a strange word. They'll know from the moment I get on the stage. What if there's a fuss? An inquiry? A revelation? What if I'm named in front of all of them? My faced flushed the brightest red — never mind the blusher that covered my cheeks. I felt as though I would break into a sweat — that would be no good for the make-up — and that would make it worse — more likely that I'll be discovered. A panic was setting in just when Ginger took my hand — she could tell instantly what was going through my mind. "Don't be concerned, honey. You look fabulous — you look just like the other two of us. You look good enough to kiss right now."
My heart was beating a hundred times faster than normal as we said our goodbyes to the stylists and staff of the salon. Their blonde hair, in all its shades and variations, looked stunning. I resolved to return to tell them all about the competition, no matter what was the outcome.
So, the time had come to step into the street
The sun was shining as we emerged. Passers-by parted in their tracks as we made a direct line for the opposite side of the road and the short walk towards the Hall where the event was taking place. I was conscious of the gentle wind on my neck. My hair was still suspended in its clasp. We looked a true theatrical party as we walked. Ginger and I in our matching shimmering blue dresses and strappy-heeled shoes. Ginger had opted for shoes to match those that I had chosen. Her hair glistened in the sun.
We contrasted vividly with Margot in her leather suit and the high heeled boots that inevitably went with it. Her hair, like mine, was wound to her head and showed only the highlights in the sunshine. Karen by contrast had pure shiny curtains of hair each side of her face, with the bold blonde streaks moving coolly as she walked. Her "uniform" gave an air of authority as she led us towards the doors of the Hall where others were arriving.
I could tell from the variety of hair colours around me that the show was going to be an absolute extravaganza - and one that I would be right in the middle of. I had calmed by this time but the nagging doubt of being discovered lingered. If Jo-Jo in the salon could tell, how could it fail to be the case that others inside would know. "Hands" she had said it was my hands that gave me away. All of a sudden I became conscious of my hands. Did they look too big?, too awkward?, too prominent? What could I do to disguise them. I wasn't carrying anything — there was nothing a model needed to carry. They suddenly felt 15 inches across and weighed two pounds each! I looked down, seeing the crimson nail polish and gained some reassurance. Those couldn't possibly be a guy's hands, could they?!
We reached the doors that led into the Hall. I was caught between a small group that were, like us, models for another stylist. It was a shock to be separated from Ginger, not to mention Karen and Margot. Were they in front of me, or behind me? I couldn't tell — for a moment, I was alone, it seemed. Alone among a sea of young women who looked, every one of them, just like I had seen myself in the mirror. Bold make-up, long eye lashes, hair yet to be styled but clearly coloured in special ways. I looked just like them.
I could tell that if things didn't change soon, I would cum in my pants no matter what distraction would be possible.
A blonde, right in front of me, turned and looked me in the eye — "Don't you push me, bitch!" she said in the most aggressive tone. I was struck dumb. My voice hadn't been trained at all for the role I was playing. If I answered in my own voice, I'd be done for! I had been talking in a softer tone whenever I was dressed, it was true, but that would not be enough to save me. I could say nothing. The blonde stared into my eyes. Not a flicker. I could give nothing away. I stared back, as though looking through her face into the space behind her head. "Tart!" she cursed. "Slag! You stand no chance — look at you. Too bloody posh for this place!"
She was trying to provoke a response and the more I held my silence, the more it annoyed her. Just as she was about to launch more of a tirade, the crowd squeezed through the doors to the Hall and we were separated. The more I thought about the exchange, with a woman who was no more than six inches away from my face, the more I thought that she hadn't guessed that I was a guy not a girl. My confidence soared.
I looked behind me and found Ginger's face among the crowd. She was a few feet away and had seen the exchange with the blonde. "Nice lady." she mimed with a smile. I passed a tall girl with jet black hair and blue streaks as I made a bee-line for Ginger. We moved closer to each other and our hands met. "What was that all about?" she asked. "Beats me, probably jealous!" I crowed with a laugh.
The "back stage" area was crowded. I was conscious that here were only about five guys among sixty or seventy people. They must have been other stylists in the competition because I could see no other guys dressed and made-up the way I was. Really, I felt kind of special. If the rest of them knew…..
Ginger and I studied the other models who were milling around us, trying to work out which were likely to be the biggest competitors to us. There many who were looking the way we were. All made-up and glamorous but without the crowning glory. It was a headache dividing my attention between those I would happily sleep with, dividing them from those I found no attraction in. It said a lot about my taste in women. The more outrageous and, dare I say, tarty they were, the more stunned I was. Quite the wrong approach, especially when Ginger was a real "class act" and Karen was a stunner too.
Of course, there were the classic "celebrity" styles — the Jennifer Aniston (which I admit I would love to try just once with the cut and the highlights), and the Christina Aguilera (again, the tartiest of them all, and one look I would willingly try for myself) and a Madonna or two, and a Beyoncé — now there was a look-alike to envy. Clearly, when dressed, their hair would be stunning… but was it what the judges would be looking for? I very much doubted it -where's the creativity in creating yet another one of any of them?
We grew more confident — we had good looks and good make-up. Our clothes accentuated the make-up and would do so for the hair. We had a good chance, we agreed. Margot soon muscled in on our quiet conversation saying "We have to make the maximum impact — you'll both have to really over-play being so sweet, while I play the savage!" We wondered how she proposed to do this but didn't dare ask her! "Your tits look good…." she said to me, with a smile or a sneer — one of the two. "Thanks" I replied. "Just keep your hands off!"
An announcement came, quite loudly, addressed to us all. "Will all Stylists make their way to the podium. The competition will begin in five minutes."
No instructions for the models. We wouldn't be far behind. I was right, the five guys I had noticed had left the back stage area and would be with the other stylists up front in the hall. I looked around. I was alone in a room of more than forty women of my own age and I had blended in with the surroundings. I really felt that there was now no danger of discovery of my little (or rather my huge) secret. My heart continued to race. My thighs continued to relay messages from a constricted cock. Ginger chatted incessantly. She looked superb. This was near heaven! I just had to remember to keep my hands as far out of view as I could. They would be a give-away and that would be a disaster, from every point of view.
As I waited for the call to enter the Hall, I thought back over the events of the past few weeks and the recent days. How I had been transformed willingly into a hairdressers model — that was the easy part, to give Karen practice on the techniques she was here to demonstrate. Then, the crucial transition, when it was announced that there would be a competition and that Karen needed models — female models — to show what she could do with various heads of hair. My hair had been short, then.
Then things had moved on. It became clear that I would have to have my hair coloured — not with a temporary rinse, but with permanent tints and bleaches and toners. How was I to have dealt with that at home? How was I to explain the changes they would see? It had been no problem with Mum. She had been every colour under the sun in all the years I had been conscious of her appearance. All through the first changes I'd undergone, the growing of the length and the first colouring, she had been keen to encourage me. She saw no harm in it at all. Her current blonde with a darker fringe was one of many changes she had enjoyed. She even suggested I should try it. Dealing with Dad's reaction was what had stopped me going home in the last week. I had pretended to be away on a visit with friends. No sense in drawing too much attention to myself. In that time the length had reached where it was before the extensions and the colour had been a base shade but still very much not my own. Time to bow out. Then the extensions idea was mentioned. That was the end of it. Sometime, I'd need to go home, but not tonight.
All of those thoughts flashed by in a matter of seconds. The crowd around me sensed a growing excitement in the audience that we were to be styled in front of. Several hundred pairs of eyes would soon see us as we emerged from back stage into the bright lights of the stage. None of us yet wearing the hairstyle we would finish up with this evening.
Margot was suddenly at my side and was whispering. "Take it all in — this is a first for you. Just think about it all. Just think how much fun it could be to be a girl all the time, to be part of this circus, to be a model for other stylists. Just remember the prizes that are on offer. You could be doing this for a long time. But you'd have to ass as a girl all the time." She was right of course, if we were to win this competition, or even come second, there would be no end tonight — there would be much more to be a part of.
Margot was whispering still. "There's one thing you should know. My Mother has you in her sights. For some reason, she fancies having you for herself. You mightn't be aware of it but she really does want to bed you. She has these fantasies fro time to time but I've rarely seen it as strong as with you."
"Me? Sleep with your Mother?! You have to be kidding!" I retorted.
"No, no! No sleeping. And you'd be doing nothing with her — she would be having you. All girlied up, you'd be ripe for her to fuck senseless. She has several really huge dildos — and some smaller ones she'd use to begin with. As you got used to them, she'd use a bigger one, and a bigger one. You'd be surprised how much you'd take!" I shuddered at the thought. "Never! She'll have to rape me." The words stuck in my throat.
"Oh, that's part of the idea."
I resolved to keep the greatest possible distance between myself and this girl and her mother. I had been right to find them scary all along. I had been right to see them as a threat — even if it wasn't in this specific way. "NO WAY!!!" I shouted — for all in the hall to hear. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned in our direction.
There was a moments pause before the loud sounds of a hundred conversations was resumed. Ginger had already arrived at my side, having been three our four steps ahead of me. She looked me in the eyes — my gloriously lashed, shadowed and lined eyes, and she saw the near terror in them. She looked Margot in the eyes — and saw the malevolent gleaming they contained. "Clear away, bitch!" hissed Margot.
"Not on your life." Ginger replied. She turned her back on the other girl and took me by the hand, pushing forward within the crowd to get us away from Margot.
"Just relax and enjoy tonight — we'll keep as far away from her and her mother and get away together when it's all over. Then I want you home with me. I want all of these clothes off you and I want us together." She sparkled quite literally and Margot was forgotten. "Boy and girl — that's what we'll be tonight. You inside me."
"I can't wait." I said, through lipstick-laden lips and as my brightly coloured eyes flared, I moved to kiss her. In a room full of five hundred people. I would have kissed here there and then, if she had allowed me.
Karen appeared at our sides. "Are you ready?……" she said, "…… everyone has to find their places. We're over here. I'm afraid the lights are very bright but you'll get used to that, and it will show off the colours in your hair beautifully. I just hope I can do them justice with the styles I've planned for you. Thanks you so much, again — you must know how much today is meaning to me." As we talked, a photographer approached and took several shots of us — stylist and models together.
I wondered what the whole sequence of photos would look like — especially from my own part in all of this — from start to finish in my transformation. From an ordinary guy with longish hair, plain colour and no style….. to what I was about to have the final finishing styling touches - shoulder length, luxurious conditioned, red - so red — streaked with copper and blonde over a burgundy under-colour, all styled in a "semi-up" style, the crown backcombed and a semi-pleat or chignon tumbling the curls of streaked ringlets down the centre of my head to the nape of my neck.
Looking around, as the small groups of a stylist and three models clustered together round their mirrors and seats, I saw again that there were probably four other groups that we should be expecting to give the strongest competition. Models who were strikingly beautiful. Their hair was clearly a wonderful base for creative styling. Some were blondes, some redheads like us, and others were raven headed, with blue-tinged manes that couldn't fail to inspire admiration. There was one black stylist who had three striking black models, each of which had electric colours woven into their hair; pink, yellow, blue, green and white. How would they look when she was done with styling?
We sat at our places and took a deep breath. Karen talked us quietly through what she would do and with which of us she would do the styling first. It would be Ginger first, then Margot and finally me — the girl on the end. I was pleased it would be that way — once I was done, the judging would begin and the result would be closer. Each of us would have our hair lightly rinsed to prepare for the styling; first with rollers and the driers, followed by the individual comb-out.
As the whole stage erupted in a fury of activity, with ginger the first to be worked upon in our group, my thoughts about my total external femininity flooded through me. Contrasting with my internal male-ness, my love for Ginger — as both boy and girl that I could now be — and my quiet lust for Karen.
My constrained cock was in a permanent state of arousal. Beneath the dress, the corset and the other underwear I was wearing, tied with a strand of lace between thighs that were closely encased in stockings attached with suspenders, thought to myself…. Oh boy, do you love this? …….or do you LOVE this?! I was reassured that my feelings were all male — there were two women that I wanted to make love with. There was no question that I wanted to swap my gender or, more importantly, to play "gay" games with other guys — why would anyone ever want such an experience? I'd be happy playing my gay woman role with either Ginger or Karen and I'd hope that Ginger would be with me for always.
Ginger's hair was now rinsed and Karen was at her mirror, starting the process of rolling Ginger's hair up for the final time. The very act of one girl rolling the other's hair slowly, precisely and progressively sent shivers down my spine. This was an erotic image like few others I had ever seen. The rollers made a peculiar pattern on Ginger's head. The red of her hair and the colours of the streaks that would highlight the style were clearly visible. Mine would look the same in only a few minutes' time. The contest was nearing its crescendo!
TO BE CONTINUED……………………….
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 12
A change of pace.
The world had nearly stopped still.
Ginger's red hair was wound, round and round.
My thoughts followed in a slow spin.
This was a fantasy — but it was real.
The sights and sounds bombarded my senses.
Ginger.
She was the focus of all my attention.
Her hair, gloriously red but laced now with highlights.
Wound, round and round. The rollers hypnotized me.
Her dress, shimmering blue. Like my own.
Her tits proud beneath.
Her lips, so kissable, beckoned in the mirror.
The pins fixed the rollers tight.
Her make-up faultless. Like my own.
Karen's hands, working like lightening.
Other people were speaking, but I heard nothing.
Ginger's eyes met mine. My heart beat faster.
Wonderful, fleeting memories of lovemaking
Flooding my mind. My lipstick tasted good
Ginger and I locked in caresses we'd shared.
Her rollers were all wound. Karen was done.
Margot was at the washstand. Her hair being rinsed for the final set. Ginger stood and was led to the dryer. I sat, taking in the scene. Around us, other young, and often beautiful women, sat with their hair in various stages of undress. I was one of them, despite my hidden masculinity, I was one of them.
"Won't be long, little girl". Margot sneered as she sat down. She was next to be styled. "Won't be long till this is all finished and we can go home." She meant home with her and her Mother. Not likely, I thought.
Karen's hands began to work on Margot's hair, making the same precise incisions with the tail comb, separating the locks of hair that would be rolled this way and that. The hair was long, longer than mine even — even with its extensions. Each roller seemed to take an age to wind up. "Sex!", it shouted. To me at least.
My fixation with rollers was getting stronger every minute. First, it had been the colour. Now that was done, on all of us, it was the styling — and that meant the rollers. Margot's hair was smothered in thick white styling mousse.
Ginger's hair in rollers, with her face beautifully made-up, made me want to consume her. There and then. We were dressed the same. Soon my hair too would be rolled and set the way hers had just been. I would be under a dome dryer, just like she was. My heart pounded in my chest. My lips were dry. How I wished for more lipstick. Surely Margot's Mother had some.
"There's no way." I said to an unlistening Hall that shouted back the sounds of a hairstyling competition. It was deafening. I meant, there was "no way" that I was going anywhere with those two.
The whole atmosphere was crowding in on me, like I was under the influence of some narcotic or other. Nothing was further from the truth. My head was clear.
It was simply that I was now a mere boy, dressed more femininely than I could ever have imagined, with my clothes, my make-up, my nails, and finally my hair transformed. I was conscious that more photos were being taken. Click! Click!
Under these clothes, my cock was constrained — fit to burst — in lace, firstly to hold me down. Then, in panties and a corset, to which my stockings were attached with lacy suspenders. My cock was straining — but why. Why not just subside and enjoy every minute? Tell that to your cock in the middle of an erotic wonderland!
The rollers were wound through Margot's hair. She never lost eye contact with Karen in the mirror as Karen worked. "Fuck me, fuck you" thoughts exuded from her. Was Karen flirting, or was I imagining that? I hoped she would save some of that for when she was rolling my hair. My wonderful red hair that was now streaked with lighter red, copper, gold and blonde. My hair that would be set in a semi-chignon, with ringlets down the back and curled up, flipped ends.
Karen put the final roller into Margot's hair and the job was done.
My turn next.
Karen led Margot to the dryer beside Ginger. There were now women under half the dryers around the staging. Soon I would be joining them. Margot flashed a look in my direction. She gestured to my tits. Her hands told me to bolster them up — they had gone a little flat. I could do nothing but oblige.
Ginger smiled and I saw her run the tip of her tongue across her lips. She pouted a kiss in my direction.
My hair was rinsed and Karen spoke, for the first time it seemed in ages. "You said we could do this again, any time." She was right, I had indeed said so — in hope not expectation.
"Well, if Ginger will let me, I'd love to. There are so many other things I would like to try — just to experiment with your hair — I do hope you'll let me."
I felt a warm sensation between my legs. Too much, just too much. Hold on to it! I shouted inside my head. It was recognizable. Could it be contained? What a disaster if…… I let go totally. "I would adore it." That's all I could answer, looking into her eyes in the mirror.
My hair was damp. The tray of rollers was brought alongside.
I looked in the mirror. Long, straggly hair ran down the sides of my face and Karen began to run a comb and a brush gently through each stand of hair. The highlights glistened in the stage lighting. The conditioner allowed the hair to pass freely between the teeth of brush and comb. Somehow, it seemed that I had more highlights in my hair than I had thought. The base colour was a much darker red, because it was wet. The concoction was a mess — waiting to be styled into bliss.
Karen took a handful of white mousse and began to work this through my hair. She parted it into large sections. The hands raised the first roller to my head. The strand of hair was stretched high above the crown.
The tips of the hair were tucked around the roller, high above my head. In my mind, I thought the hair was 20-25 inches long. She wound it and wound it around the roller, finishing with a very tight pinning to the scalp. Ouch!!
"No pain, no gain!" said Karen. I had heard that before. But this was such pleasure!
"We have to work faster, because your hair is long and it's got the shortest time to dry!"
My dream recalled those first times when Karen had worked on my hair. "…..the agreement was 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter. I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". Margot had meant it. She had turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".
And I was.
But that was weeks ago. I had been cut, coloured, set, backcombed, styled and "extended" to get here. All in the interests of helping Karen practise her hairdressing skills. But, in doing so, I had awoken feelings of a highly erotic and sometimes confusing nature.
I was close friends now with, well at least two, girls that I fancied to pieces. One of which had indulged me in sexual experiences to die for. The other had made that happen and, in her own way too, had made suggestions of the same to come.
This was perfect.
OK, so it had led to my cross-dressing. Is that a sin? Of course, it isn't.
It had led to my cross-dressing willingly. Is that a sin? Not at all.
A second, and a third, and a fourth roller were soon in the crown of my head- The size of the rollers seemed larger than ever — but then, my hair was now longer than ever. Karen lost no opportunity to stretch the hair over each roller, to accentuate the tension on the hair for the eventual style to be long-lasting.
The eye contact continued and she transfixed me in the mirror.
"Let's talk about how we can get you more practice, Karen, it will be a pleasure in every sense." I said with a smile. "How long will my extensions last? And how long before the colour looks like it needs to be gone?"
"Gone!???" Karen said almost in horror — "What do you mean, gone!?" She looked hurt. "I hope you're going to have it re-done when the roots begin to show - so about three weeks, minimum. The extensions will be loose by then, so they will need tightening. "You're not going to lose this for at least six, or maybe nine or ten weeks, I hope!"
I sank into thought deeper than ever before - ten weeks!!!!
Roller after roller followed as I thought. Click! Click! More photos.
How was I to live with all of this done to me though that time?
I hadn't been home for the last two weeks. But then my Mum was not stupid, by the time I left to "stay with friends for a while", she must have known there was things going on that I hadn't told her. By then, my hair had been coloured red for the first time, and the cutting had left me with a pageboy Bob-cut that was easily recognizable.
Mum and I had even talked about it, in the context of colouring hair being "a bit of fun" and something that "everyone was doing these days". She had been quite encouraging. She had even suggested a deeper red colour that would be suited to my colouring. This was surprising, at least. She hadn't seen me for the last two weeks —and what a transformation there had been in me since then.
My rollers were finished, with the final touches being vertical "kiss curls" in front of each ear.
"Wait! I have an idea!" said Karen. She unwound those last two rollers, one each side of my face. She reached into her bag and removed a plastic pot, two squares of foil and a brush.
"I'm glad I thought to bring this…..."
She unfolded the foil and combed the strand of hair from my right temple into the foil.
"You're getting a bonus! Two extra highlights! One each side of your face!"
Before I could say a word, the bleach was applied and the foil was folded. "It will have to dry with your hair." The roller was re-wound and pinned tightly against my cheek. Ouch! "Shhhhhh!!!!" I was told firmly. The second strand was stretched and the paste from the pot was painted on the hair. The roller was re-wound.
It was done.
A mobile dryer was brought to the chair where I sat. I looked again into the mirror — to see a young woman — whose cock was recovering from its past indiscretion — her make-up looking reasonably fresh despite the excitement she was feeling, under a dryer with her hair rolled to perfection. The styling gown hid the shimmering blue of the dress. My tits were noticeable, my lipstick shone and my fingernails glistened.
"Just sit back and enjoy!" Karen's words were calming. I guessed she could tell that I was in a state of extreme erotic pre-occupation.
Ginger's hair was, by now, very much ready for final styling. I would soon see that way we were all to look — more or less the same — with Karen's style coming to perfect completion. How much height would she put in? How much of the hair would be up in this chignon? How much would be left to fall to the shoulders, and flick up?
I always thought that flicked-up hair shouted "Play with me!!!"
The unwinding of Ginger's rollers was almost as sexy as their being put in place. This time, instead of wet strands of hair that obeyed the stylist, there were wonderful curls that sprang to life when released from the confines of their rollers.
Karen let each and every one of Ginger's curls cool for a moment and, for that instant, she was sitting in a complete globe of curls, each one turning this way and that. It made a totally convincing style that could have been left just as it was, just with hairspray to hold it. It called for me to run my fingers through it all.
Ginger shook her head, just once, and the whole crown of her curls moved as one.
If there had been music, it would have been right.
I felt imprisoned under the dryer, my hair in tightly-wound curlers. The foils at my temples reminded me of the colours already woven into my hair.
Ginger looked in my direction. She smiled. I remembered this morning — love-making seemed a lifetime ago. I wished we were together again. The vision of the pair of us. We'd be together again before the end of the day.
I could hear nothing under the dryer. The rush of air drowned out any conversation around me. I was left with my own thoughts. I soon saw Margot being flirty with another stylist who approached her under the dryer some places away from me.
Ginger's hair was too much to bear. Karen took a big styling brush and began to work her magic. She gently brushed the curls , separating the hair into broad sections. The highlights of pastel blonde and dark red emphasised the rich coppery red of her natural shade. Around the crown, Karen began to back-brush the hair. In moments, she had created a high bouffant top but she didn't stop. She carried on working, making the shape of the top-knot larger and larger.
The hair, by now, stood three-to-four inches above Ginger's scalp — it was now dense un unlikely to fall as Karen began to smooth the top over and gather the length together into a knot at the top of Ginger's crown. Her hair was gripped tight and the length then combed through. Again, the highlights in the hair reflected the stage lighting — so bright.
Karen combed through Ginger's sleek rolling curls that fell to beyond the nape of her neck. She pulled tow strands from either side of ginger's face, just above her ears, and pinned them to the line of hair separating the crown from the length below. Then, she took these strands and made pin-curls that wound along that divide. Each strand seemed to have a different colour now.
Karen took a pair of curling tongs from their power source and tested the heat against her wrist — it seemed too hot for a moment. She began to stretch a part of the length of Ginger's hair down to her shoulders before winding the hair back upward and holding it there, motionless. It seemed for an eternity. Then the wide tongs were released and the hair sprang upward in a huge, glorious flip-curl. A second strand followed into the tongs. And a third. And finally a fourth. Each sprang back as the first had done, making a perfect flip curl all around Ginger's exquisite neck — where tonight I would kiss her.
Ginger's top-knot was the last part to call for attention — the tongs were raised again as Karen turned this into a wonderful cascade of feminine curls. Each one was individually set in place. Every one, once pinned, was fixed with a cloud of lacquer. These styles would last, it seemed, for ever.
The photographer stepped forward and took five or six shots of Ginger's head, from all angles — it would make the front pages tomorrow, if I had my way, she looked so beautiful.
Ginger made way for Margot at the styling mirror.
The same process, very nearly, was repeated. As my hair dried, I watched again as the hair was removed from the rollers and the curls shook down in the same way as Ginger's had done. In the same way that my own would do.
I thought for a long time — unable to talk or hear anyone else. I thought about the transformation I was undergoing. I thought about my masculinity and my deep desire for Ginger. What was I doing? I had reassured myself that this was no expression of a desire to change my gender. I remained all male — all the desires were real. The more I thought about her, the more I loved Ginger, not just for how she looked, but for how kind and considerate and loving she had been.
Getting myself into this advanced stage of passing as a female, with the truth known only to a very small number of people, however, was stunning. How could it have been quite so easy? OK, there had been practice sessions, but those dealt with the external expression of a femininity that I was discovering in myself. But it didn't bring any desire for sex with my own gender.
How would I cope with the transformation back to being male? Did I want to transform back? What would Ginger think in the cold light of day — tomorrow? What next? The day after? I had enjoyed all of the trappings of being a girl today. There was a confidence about the way I could sit here among other girls, with beautiful make-up and fingernails and this underwear and the dress in which I sat now. The stockings that caressed my legs. The heels that I wore.
Could I give them up — of course not! I decided there and then, that the fantasy could continue for as long as Ginger felt comfortable with our being girls together. That would just as long as there was the sexual connection we enjoyed. How I would square this at home would be another matter. My Mother would not be expecting to meet me as a girl — even though she had seen the beginnings of the changes in my hair at least - heaven knows what my Father would say! I wouldn't be going home for a while!
Margot's hair had reached the stage where the crown was created, highly backcombed as before. The flip curls along her shoulders had just been created by the hot tongs and the cascade of curls down the back were being finished off. Her highlights, which looked blonder than before - and blonder than my own - were now bright in the spotlights from the lighting rigs above us.
The mousse and spray had set her hair much more rigidly than Ginger's had been. This somehow suited Margot — who was very much into "control", so it was good for her hair to be so tightly set.
Suddenly, the rushing of air from my dryer was cut. From behind, I heard the words "You're next! Your turn to be made as pretty as your friends." The front of the dryer was raised and, face-to-face, I turned to meet the eyes of the judge who had been at the salon. The woman I had just a sneaking feeling had more to her than met the eye! I had just the slightest suspicion. I looked at her again. Her hair was immaculate — but then it would be — she owned a salon and could have her hair done professionally every day. Her make-up was immaculate. Same story.
He was dressed as a woman of her age should be — tightly dressed in a business suit that was brightly, but femininely, coloured in a lilac shade.
Then I realized what had made me think something more about her — her hands. They were quite unwomanly. Unfortunately, like my own were, clasped as they were in my lap. "You know, don't you?" I said.
"Of course, I do." she answered. "But then I've met dozens of girls like you in my time and why would I ever disclose their secret? You'll have to become a regular at my salon so we can get to know each other. I'll be able to help you choose the very best looks every time. You can have such fu with such lovely hair like you have."
"You're very kind — but this may not be something that lasts." I said, almost apologizing.
"Don't you believe it. Once you've come this far, the genie's out of the bottle and he won't go back inside!"
She was probably right.
She led me to another styling mirror where Karen was waiting for me. She was ready for my final, total, complete transformation to begin.
She removed the net that had encased the rollers, allowing my hair time to cool as she took the foil from the two strands of hair at my temples. The two extra highlight were bright white and I thought not quite in keeping with the rest of the beautiful colours I knew were in my hair.
"Don't worry, precious lover." Karen whispered. "We have some toner for them that will finish them beautifully while I comb out and dress your hair."
Having said so, she combed the two strands through, held foils to each, and applied two dabs of a different coloured paste. "Strawberry blonde!" she said.
TO BE CONTINUED >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>
An Apprentice Needs Help
by Wannabe Ginger
Chapter 14 (includes 13, - I'm superstitious!) and Happy Epilogue!
Karen was poised to begin the finishing of my hair. As the last of the three models, the three girls, I knew now what was coming. The rollers were still in my hair but the dryer was well behind me. I was cooling whilst Karen paid attention to the two strands of now highlighted hair that would frame my face. They were being toned down from a bright, almost white or platinum blonde shade, to what Karen promised would be Strawberry Blonde!
As the foils were re-sealed, Karen looked at my face in the mirror in front of us. Framed in rollers, make-up still almost perfect - it would need re-touching — there was little doubt in my mind that I would pass off the whole event without discovery. Apart from the one judge, who had promised not to reveal my secret. She herself being transformed and living as a woman, running a successful hair and beauty business. I could just see her in the corner of my eye. She walked around the platform on which this theatre was being played out. Her hair, I thought again, was suited to her mid-40s age, set in a highly structured style, backcombed but leaving the curls from her rollers clearly visible. The whole style in a glorious pastel shade of peach blonde. No, there would be no problems now.
Karen continued looking, saying nothing. She smiled. She was studying the shape of my face, I guessed, just making sure of the way the style would work.
"You're such a star!" she whispered. "I could eat you!"
"Well, the feeling's mutual!" I replied, meaning exactly what Karen knew I meant.
"That's what girls do best for each other."
Her tongue slid across her bottom lip and back across the Cupid's bow that formed her top, lipsticked, lip. Outrageous flirtation it was.
"We have no time now — your rollers must be removed and we will transform you into the finished article — make you one of three triplets who look just the same." Karen said as she warmed to her task. The photographer appeared again. Click! Click!
The first roller was removed, from the front of my head. The hair seemed longer as it was unwound, than I had remembered it. I suppose it's the way the roller stretches and straightens the hair shaft. The curl sprang into the lock of hair that had been released. A huge bouncing roll of hair fell forward across my eyes. My instinct was to raise my hand, as if to catch it. Karen spotted this and instantly warned me. "Hold still!" My hand gripped the arm of the chair on which I was seated. I was helpless and powerless. "Whatever you need to do." I said. "Exactly!" she replied.
That first curl seemed to have every colour that had been put into my hair within it. It was red, oh how wonderfully red, but it had a shaft of blonde, another of copper and another of brighter red.
Karen's hands were unrolling a second strand of hair, then a third — either side of the first. These would be drawn back towards the crown of my head when the backcombing started. These too had highlighted strands that shone in the stage lights.
In the mirror, I could see another model's hair being styled — she was an outrageous blonde with hair that was longer than almost any other model's. The blonding had been quite dramatic — I wondered what natural colour was hiding under there! Her hair was being wound into a pillar of curls stacked high above the crown of her head. Every last strand had been pulled high and fastened securely, leaving what looked like a huge ponytail at first. Then, the stylist was sectioning the gloriously thick mane into pieces that were, one by one, being twirled into rolls and tubes that stacked one upon the other. By now, they were at the third row around the crown, probably nine inches above her head…. And there was more left!
I was sure that the work in that style would earn the stylist a place in the prizes, at least. Her two other models had different styles, one was a very untidy shaggy style — which I didn't like at all — very informal and streaked with blonde. Just a mess really — that would set the stylist back… or maybe it wouldn't with the contrast to the piled-high blonde. The third of her models was a raven headed, Mediterranean girl whose hair was a huge tumble of ringlets. Almost jet black. She had cleverly put very fine streaks into the hair to accentuate the curls. Indeed, this girl was a serious contender for a prize.
My attention had been distracted from the work going on above my head. By now, at least six or seven curls were unrolled and Karen was working increasingly fast. Each curl was allowed to rest on my head before anything was done with it. The ninth, tenth, eleventh unrolled; all still the same diameter; and all holding the same volume of my extended hair.
Karen paused for a minute.
"We must check those kiss curls." She said, meaning the strands that would be at my temples, toned strawberry blonde. She unpeeled the first of the two foils — "Perfect!" she said, reaching to the other and removing the foil.
Try as I might, I couldn't tell what they would be like when dried — all I could see was that the colour was nowhere near as white as before. The toner was removed there and then. Still, I couldn't tell what they would be like — except that they would be different to both Margot and Ginger — neither of whom had highlights there.
They made me feel just that extra little bit more feminine. My thighs tensed again. The restraint was as tight as ever and the arousal had come back. I was conscious of the wetness around that area but there was to be no release — for hours!
The underwear, too, reminded me that whatever I was looking like on the outside, there was a real paradox in the way I was feeling — a boy's body, encased in female clothes — alright, that's more than enough of being unusual. The make-up and the hair were external signs that enabled me — and would enable me to continue — to pass as a girl. But having complete underwear — that was a matter of my own choice, nobody else's.
And now I was loving it! I consciously posed for the photographer for the first time.
Click! Click! "This will make a fabulous collection in an album and the press." He said. The press??!! I hadn't thought it would get that far!
There was more to this than helping Karen with her work and this competition. There was more to this now because I had become very close to Ginger — and she to me — dressed this way. Made-up this way. With my hair being done this way.
The genie out of the bottle — that was very true.
Karen was beginning to work on the removal of the last of the curls, more than twenty-five rollers were now cast aside. The smaller ones, marginally smaller, from the nape of my neck, we combed through once. She began gently brushing them through. It was an incredibly sexy feeling. Looking at myself in the mirror. I could certainly fancy someone that looked as good as I surely soon would.
My thoughts lurched back to the early days of this process. To when I had gone home the first time with hair that was coloured. Treating it very much as a laugh, I made light of its significance. My Mother had been home and had been cool about the whole idea. Her own experiments with her own hair colour over the years made sure of that.
She too treated it as a laugh. "So many boys do these things, these days…" she said. "Not like in the Sixties, but I'm sure loads of us then would have done, given half the chance. Made our boyfriends do that, I mean. We just went as far as long hair — everyone did."
My mousey-brown hair had become a much richer shade. I had been quite expecting a reaction; only hoping it would be cool. She said it would be 'ok' with my Father. So it proved to be. In fact, I'm not sure he had noticed before, one evening, Mum said that she'd grown used to the colour of my hair and really quite liked it. She suggested that she'd help me choose the colour "next time". If that wasn't approval, I couldn't think what was. Dad kind-of murmured tacit approval. It was funny that he seemed almost to avoid the issue.
With the competition in mind, for several weeks, that colour sufficed for me- Karen's intentions were that I should not change the shade at all and, as the colour began to fade, it had become less noticeable. Dad never mentioned it again, but Mum had repeatedly drawn attention to my hair.
One time, when she had returned from the salon having herself had a change of colour, she said I should try her colourist — "She's very good and would really do it well… if you'd go to her at the salon." I declined, saying that I'd be too shy for that — being among all the women having a colour done. Little did I know that I would soon be doing that …. brazenly!
Another time, she said she was going to the department store and could easily fetch me a home colouring product, if I'd tell her the colour I'd like. We did talk about it that time and, maybe I was tempted. She had discovered my liking for really auburn shades and we talked about alternatives.
She was on the point of leaving with an "order" before I said I really shouldn't, not then — knowing that the competition was only 2-3 weeks away. So there it rested.
Back to reality - to "here and now"………
Karen brushed each curl through carefully, preserving what would finally make the style so…. So!!!
She put a clasp into the locks that covered the top and the crown of my head.
She combed the lower strands, those that were most heavily extended, into a curtain across the back of my head — well, I think that's what she was doing. It was difficult to see in the mirror. My gaze was fixated on the process that was unfolding before my eyes. Before my heavily made-up eyes. The lashes fluttered but, weighed down by mascara, moved slowly. Almost vampish, they were. Surrounded by glorious eye shadow. Fixated, that was the word. I couldn't shift my eyes from the vision.
Karen then took a pair of the most enormous electric curling tongs from the shelf beside her. They were ready to transform that curtain of hair into a rolling, springing, bouncy flip curl. All around my neck. The sides spread out wide until, unexpectedly, Karen turned one side, the right, inside upon itself. Rolling the front of the curl to line the cheek. It was instantly recognizable. It was Pussy Galore, from the movie "Goldfinger". Honor Blackman's wicked wicked woman. An early focus of my sexual fantasies, she was.
This left the top and crown of my hair. Thick, with extensions, there was enough for her to separate three or four strands, clasping them again out of the way of the next stage. "Backcombing!" she exclaimed, "….. you've always liked that, haven't you?!!" Karen said, with her eyes drilling into my own in the mirror.
"You got it!"…. I replied…… "Whatever you decide!" That was the contract we had. I was completely in her hands. Powerless. But in one sense, I could control something. I could control where this would lead after the competition. Hat was enough, for now.
Karen was soon to backcomb the whole of the front section of my head. The hair from my temples, not including the highlighted strands, we also included. So the whole of my face was surrounded by two or more inches of backcombed bliss! Once it had been combed to within an inch of its life, my hair was smoothed to form a bouffant top, from which, or around which, the semi-chignon would be gathered. The backcombing did tend to blur the definition of the highlights in the main body of the hair but most were still easily recognized. The blonde, the gold and the copper all were woven together.
The strands that would form the tumble of curls behind the crown and down the back of my head were now released from the clasp. We were nearing completion! It seemed as though a hundred pins were needed to secure that top backcombed part. Each took a few seconds, but the pinning seemed to last an hour!
Karen's hands worked their magic on the remaining twirls of hair — forming curls that rolled upwards and around the crown of my head. They stood above the bouffant part, clearly visible in the mirror as I looked. These final curls must have been fully three or four inches above my head. They cried out to be touched!
"Take it easy, we're nearly done." Karen whispered in my ears. But we weren't! The part I longed for most — to see the tumbled highlighted curls arranged at the back, and then lacquered into place - would still take time. I was loving every minute.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ginger…………..
She smiled and her lips formed words clearly: "Just wait till I get you home!"
At last, the clouds of lacquer were applied and I knew that the dressing of my hair was complete. The time for judging was approaching. I stood, for the first time in nearly an hour. I felt a little unsteady on my feet. Partly because of the height of my heels. Partly because of the heady atmosphere and the obvious flirtation that I had seen in Karen's eyes. Partly because of Ginger's closeness and the continuing admiration between us. So many factors. The heat of the lights. The brightness of the mages in the mirrors. I felt almost drunk, even though I had touched no alcohol for hours.
As I stood my hair swirled around my shoulders, quite stiffly, it was true, but the effect was electric. I tossed my head backwards.
Click! Click! — another photograph. Pure luxury. The feel of the hair on my skin.
My dress, hiding the constraining underwear, looked perfect. Ginger was approaching and, with a kiss to my cheek, as girls would do in such a circumstance, greeted me with the words "You look perfect!" I returned the compliment, saying, "Only because Karen's made me look as wonderful as you do." Our matching clothes, with our similar hair (that differed only in the intensity of the colouring) made us look like twin sisters.
The third, Margot, rose from the seat where she had been sitting. I was expecting a degree of jealousy in whatever she would say — after all, she had increasingly been gunning for me, it had seemed.
Quite the contrary.
"You both put me to shame." she said. "I think you'd win without me."
He was wrong, in fact. Her own hair looked as wonderful as our own did. The streaks in her hair and the collage of curls that framed the back of her head were nearly identical. It was perhaps only the choice of her clothing that really was a mistake. OK, it made a contrast with the floaty, feminine creations we were wearing but, in all honesty, the S&M style catsuit was too strong in my view.
"Not at all!" Ginger and I both exclaimed.
We stood, the three of us, each with our "1980s Big Hair", quite dramatically coloured, all with highlights frosting in the strong lights above us.
All around us were other groups of models with their hair receiving the final touches — the extra curl here, the extra backcombing there. All around, there were stylists doing their most extravagant extra pieces of "technique" that would differentiate their girls' hair from all the others.
Karen had worked marvels with "Us three Girls". Whatever the outcome — and to tell the truth, I really couldn't care, except for Karen — this had been a most incredible and memorable night. Life could hardly be the same again after this. Ever!
There were some dramatically different styles and colours on the female heads all around us. There were bright flashes of 'electric' colours, razor cuts of incredible geometry, flowing trails of Raphaelite curls — in reds and blue-blacks and blonde. There were styles piled high in topknots, with equally as many as long sleek Cher-like styles. Who could make a choice out of all of these.
The judge with the glorious pastel shade of peach blonde appeared at Karen's side.
"You have do SO well!…..", she said, "You're placed Third overall!".
We didn't know, but the judging had been going on all along. All through the evening, the stylists were under scrutiny. We would all have had heart failure each time a Judge came past, if we had known!
Third place.
I began to re-live the moments when, faced with the choice of going through with the whole competition, or refusing.
Margot had said "OK then Karen, tell him about the competition and the reason for the portfolio of photos. You can let Ginger in on that secret too, because she knows nothing about either." Ginger's eyes and mine had met — what was this all about?
Karen explained that her workplace had entered her into a competition for Apprentice hairdressers and there were events coming up in which she would have to perform several processes and create styles using models. She wanted us to be her models, and the first event was in about three weeks' time. Not much time for practice.
"More than that, I can't say." she said. "Apart from the need for there to be three models……"
"We have three……." Margot had interrupted.
"Yes, but the event is for female hair…." said Karen, "….and we have two girls and a boy." Her words hung in the air.
It was then that the words "either as a girl or a boy" had begun to take on a whole new meaning. Ginger was silent. Margot was too, at last.
I had sat and thought for a moment that seemed like an hour. With my dyed auburn hair, cut in a Wedge-cut with the crown still lifted by the rollers I had tried to put in myself that morning. A boy with a woman's hairstyle. A female model. That's what I was now, standing there.
Loving every minute.
"It's a big thing to ask, I know" Karen had said again.
"There just IS no time" said Margot.
Back in the reality of the competition hall, I had still said nothing. My mind was still racing. Third Place! Sponsors? Colours? All these people!!!? How had all this suddenly happened? But, then, here I still was, voluntarily. I had chosen to be here. I loved the way it had been bringing Ginger and me closer together.
The moment before I agreed to go on with the competition, Ginger had said something like "whatever your "third model" decides, he'll be very special to me either way. I won't think any less of him if he goes along with the things that you're now suggesting — or if he doesn't. I'm finding him increasingly sexy and could get a real hit from being next to him on your model stage, with us both having you do our hair. Karen, you should be pleased he's come this far, not be disappointed if he goes no further."
So, instead of refusing to go on, it turned into a willing agreement. I committed myself to a whole different set of experiences that I had never imagined would come from a simple offer to have my hair washed by a girl friend who I fancied very much and who was starting a new job.
We hugged — all four of us; Karen and her three "girls" — Margot, Ginger and me. If we could have danced, we would have danced. I had completely forgotten what prizes we, or rather Karen had won. It really didn't matter. We had not come first but that didn't matter at all, either. The prizes were being awarded.
Our presentation passed in a blur, with words from the principal Judge that complemented Karen on her abilities and also her choice of models - for the symmetry of their hair in colour, length and condition.
Second prize went to a stylist from the far opposite side of the stage. Her three models were all bright, bright blondes. One Pastel, one Ash and one Gold. All of them had perfect Pageboy Bobs. Not a hair out of place. Sleek and sexy. All had bold fringes that framed their faces, almost hiding their eyes. The cutting had given them the edge over our more highly styled creations.
The First Prize was eventually awarded to a stylist who had re-created the Spice Girls — well, three of them at least. There was Ginger Spice, whose hair was a perfect copy of the original "Geri"; bright red with bold slashes of blonde framing the face. A "Posh" had a perfect pageboy Bob cut and a black model had a "Scary", with bright highlights woven into a tumble of crazy curls that seemed to fill the room.
What was so creative in that???!!! We all looked in amazement. The judges had perhaps been conned. OK, there were hairdressing skills — different skills — needed to create each look. That as enough to get into the competition, but the stylist had shown no originality at all.
We looked at each other, happy that we had won an award, but at the same time feeling cheated — well, for Karen, at least, who had worked so hard. She had made all of us look fabulous — fabulously feminine. She deserved First Prize. The three of us agreed. We hugged her hugely. The closeness of this short moment was electric. Its intimacy was remarkable.
The photographer was again at our shoulders. We needed to fix our make-up, we were told. The final photographs were to be taken.
By now, I was dreaming of going home to Ginger's place. It was all becoming just a little too much. But for Karen's publicity — the photos had to be taken. She would be noted for the future.
Ginger squeezed my hand for a moment. Our eyes met.
We both knew what we meant. It was time to go.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Chapter 14................
An Apprentice Needs Help
by
WannabeGinger
Chapter 14 (Epilogue)
Two hours later, after the conclusion of the Awards ceremony and a few Bacardi Breezers to celebrate Karen's great achievement — coming third, among more than twenty stylists, we were back in Ginger's flat. well, at least Ginger and I were. Margot had left immediately with her scary Mother and Karen had divided her time between talking with us, two of her models, and talks with her fellow competitors, many of whom she knew well.
I sat back in a chair, lingering thoughts of the whole experience rolling over me. The lasting impression from the finals were simple — that I had passed as a girl. I had wanted to do it well — and I had! With Ginger's help, especially, in the preparations, and with Karen's magic tough with my hair in the competition hall.
A flash back came of a moment in the Bacardi-filled haze of the celebrations. Another stylist, introduced to us as "Copper" — not because she'd ever been in the Police, (or perhaps even screwed a Policemen!) but because of her glimmering copper hair — a variation on mine and Ginger's….. Copper was sat behind me on the couch in the bar. I felt her touch in the middle of a general conversation. Nothing was said at that moment, but she stroked and then threaded a lock of my hair through her finger. Right from near the nape of my neck.
Not a word then, but it was an intimate moment, with a previously-unknown woman — at her instigation. She could only mean one thing — she wanted to be close….. to me! I sat, riveted to the spot. I had only glanced in her direction a couple of times, admiring her work on her own models. Work that, in the end, went unrewarded. She was unplaced in the competition.
Her hand slipped softly through my smooth curls. I was, I remembered, both flattered and slightly shaken. Was this the normal way these people behaved? Seems like it — and I did.. like it!
The conversation went on, many of the stylists talking about the next competition event in 2-3 weeks' time. How would they change their approach if they hadn't been successful. How they would build on their success this time, if they had been.
"I'd poach your models, Karen." whispered Copper.
At the same time, she tugged hard on the same curls from the nape of my neck and, with that, got up to leave. She looked over her shoulder at me as she left. "I mean you." she said. — and was gone!
I hadn't the time to say a word. Ginger hadn't heard any of this — and I was pleased she hadn't. I didn't want anything to spoil our home-going — to her flat. And there I was.
In jeans, boxers, a shirt, and socks… not stockings any more, regretfully. No suspender belt, no knickers, and no bra! Was I going "cold turkey?" — no, it just seemed right to have changed into my "boy things" now the event was finished. Ginger didn't quarrel with that. When we got back to the flat, she suggested we both take a shower — separately this time! — and then relax for what was left of the evening.
We sank into eachothers' arms, emotionally drained and physically drained too. We kissed like boy and girl though we looked like girl and girl — and that was the way I felt we were — for now.
Too little time, before sleep would engulf us. Just enough to take of make-up - the make-up that made me feel so feminine. I studied my now un-made-up face in the mirror, touched the hair that adorned my head. They say that narcissism is the only kind of love where you don't have to say sorry…. and they are wrong! I did, for a moment, just pause to reflect on just what I had done — how far I had gone today. And where would it lead?
Thoughts of "being stuck like this" came through — would I ever give up being a boy? No, not likely! not at all likely.
I couldn't destroy that hair style — so much like Ginger's, so much to be saved for the morning, I should sleep in it just as I was. But after a shower.
I showered as carefully as I could. Ginger lent me a shower cap which she said usually covered her hair when it was in a roller-set and drying slowly.
My hair had survived the shower, in as much as the colour was strong and permanent. The extensions, too, were strongly secured — they would last for weeks. The style wasn't saved, however. It was washed out as the spray ran through, so I was left with shoulder-length auburn hair — which Ginger helped me do into a pony-tail. She removed all the bobbie-pins that held the style. Nothing too girly. "Let me brush it through." She said
I looked about. This was definitely a girl's flat - it was "girly" in the nicest sense of the word — a bright and feminine place. All the furnishings and fabrics were perfect. Everything was tidy — a place for everything….. and everything in its place. Not like my own drab and boring bedroom at my parent's house. There, I didn't call that "home" — maybe now was the time to leave there.
It was however too soon to think of this place as "home" — as much as I had begun to dream of sharing my life with Ginger. As Girl and Boy, and occasionally as Girl and Girl. There might be difficult weeks ahead — how to cope with changes that had rushed through my life recently. Too soon to think of suggesting we share a place together — sharing her clothes was wonderful enough!
We climbed into bed with great sighs of exhaustion. No sex tonight — neither of us could raise the idea we were so tired in a post-excitement kind of way. Had it all really happened? Indeed it had. Ginger's soft silken bed clothes felt wonderful on my naked body. "You'll lok lovely in this." Ginger said, holding up a silken floor-sweeping nightie for me to wear. Heaven is too simple a word for the feeling.
The night slipped by too soon. Dreams came and went, too many to recall but doubtless I had rehearsed the events of yesterday. Over the whole day, I had relaxed into the role of a female on the outside but never forgot the "me" inside.
I woke and lay awake for maybe an hour in the middle of the night. gazing at Ginger asleep in the shadowy room. I thought long about the question that most people would ask…. and ask of themselves… if they had done what I had done…… "…doesn't this mean you're gay?" How I hate that word….. Gay is the last thing many homosexual people feel — and yet I was elated, delighted, happy, confident…… relaxed…………. as a girl. Am I gay? Not at all. I knew, now more than ever — if I had ever doubted. I looked at Ginger and felt love for her, desire for her, lust even. She's a stunner and I have to make her mine! The worry in my mind is that she will be asking herself the same question: Is he gay? I have to convince her.
And yet, when we are together, playing Girl and Girl — doesn't that change things? Does it mean she has a lesbian streak to her personality? So what if it does, I guess. Maybe, after all, I'm a male lesbian. What a great concept. I remember Billy Connolly once saying, in a stage show, that he must be a lesbian — because he likes all the things he thinks they do together! Good thinking.
I looked again at Ginger, asleep by my side. What a stunner!
I'd love her, whether I were a boy or a girl.
I thought about Margot and her Mother; would they be around in Karen's next competition? Would it be the same? I wondered what Ginger thought of the two of them. She knew I'd fancied Karen and we both knew that Margot had "made a move on her". I couldn't expect Karen to end up in Margot's arms for good. maybe she was just "experimenting, or maybe she is genuinely "Bi-"?? Who knows? The coming weeks might tell.
The first wakings in the morning, we embraced closely. My cock rising, we refreshed eachother's lipstick and we turned urgently to love-making that we'd not been able to even think of the night before. This way, that way. She on top, me on top. My tongue on her wonderful clitoris, her wonderful lips surrounding the tip of my cock and swallowing the rest. Doggie style — she behind me as well as me behind her. Exhausting, we continued for an hour or more. Finally, we laid back, purring.
We said little for a time. Words weren't enough to describe the joy we had shared. We showered, together.
Later, we talked about such things over breakfast and endless cups of coffee. "Just experimenting" was her verdict. Margot, on the other hand, was "just too much like her Mother" said Ginger.
We talked about how I should take care in that department — the Mother being evidently a very dominant female where any male was concerned. I should steer clear of her… "Unless, of course, that interests you!" teased Ginger.
"No, darling, there's not the slightest chance of that." I replied.
"You're not going to falter then?", she enquired.
"What do you mean?" I asked, probing where her thoughts were going.
"Falter, in playing the role you've developed for yourself.. Not male some of the time? Female, some of the time? And so, different to what Margot's Mother would have in mind for you?"
"Ginger, honey, I would love to be whatever you want me to be — and that's not me trying to be cute. I have no interest in whatever that woman may have in mind."
I said and meant, from the depths of my heart. "If you want me to be that way only once in a blue moon, I can live with that. If you wanted me to live as a girl, I'd have more of an issue — I'm wanting to be "your guy".. but "your guy with extras!"
A silent prayer left my mind — I prayed she wouldn't say "once in a blue moon will do".
We were settled with coffees, lounging around.
"You fancy us as two lipstick lesbians, do you?" Ginger said in a hushed and seductive way.
"That's exactly how I see us, from time to time." I matched her breathlessly.
"Well, that would be fine with me, so long as your 'extra' features frequently!."
Time had come for a trip home — to face the family — because I knew I couldn't stay at Ginger's permanently. So, if there was to be time at home, it had to be on agreed terms. As I now knew what terms I could stay with Ginger.
I had to start somewhere.
"If your family is truly mixed-up, as it sounds, I can't imagine what reaction you'll get." Ginger said, not entirely helpfully. "And it'll depend on how you break the subject. And it'll depend on whether you want to be dressed at home, at all?" Which raised a question.
"Should I ever disclose this to my family?" I asked her. "Whadya think?"
"Will you be comfortable doing so? Will you be comfortable carrying on with the secret you have? What will you say about having a girlfriend like me?" She didn't help. I didn't need questions. I needed an opinion. "……………What would you do?" I asked.
"What would I do if I was dressing as a boy and having sex with a guy???" She looked incredulous. "I think I'd say nothing…..!!!!" She exclaimed. "… though now you come to mention it…………If I dressed as a guy, and dated you dressed as a girl, that would make more sense!" She said, I think, half joking……..
"You're just too pretty." I retorted. And we kissed longingly.
Time had come for a change of dress. Socks, not stockings. So, no suspender belt. But definitely the sexiest panties I could find! On with the shirt and chinos, the trainers and the 'sloppy-Joe' top. Nothing could be done about the hair colour (or the extensions) — the ponytail would have to do.
"How about a little retail therapy before you go to your parents' house?" Ginger asked. "I can bring what you choose back here."
Joy! The basis for life together taking shape!
THE END
by WannaBeGinger
First time…..
Musings from WannabeGinger
For all of us, there are many “first time” for many things in our lives. Here are a few of my own.
Chapter 1
The first time I realized I was in love, I was six years old. Her name was Susan Moore. Really, Susan May Moore. She had a middle name which stuck in my mind. I thought she was wonderful. I sat in class and looked at her endlessly. I wanted to hold her hand.
That proved to be easy. Her home was on my way home from school. In those days, parents didn’t always come to meet us at the end of school days. As there was no major road to cross, we could walk home. Us, together, with group of other kids. One day, for the first time, I took her hand….. And she didn’t let go until we reached her garden gate. Next day, it was easy……
My next “first” was wondering what it might be like “being a girl”. I didn’t ask anyone….. But I did think about that. I was about eight. I had no sisters, only two brothers who were much older.
The first time I was unfaithful — to Susan — was when I was sat next to a new girl in school. Her name was Riva and she was Jewish and she had brilliant red hair. Susan’s hair was mousey-blonde and not well-shaped. Riva’s was blunt-cut in a pretty swingy sort of style.
The first time I tried anything that might make me understand what it was like to be a girl happened when I was nine. We were at my brother’s girlfriend’s house near Christmas. His girlfriend had a sister…. Angie. I excused myself for the rest room but found my way to Angie’s bedroom next door. A pair of panties of Angie’s found their way into my pocket. I wore them that night.
The first time I thought it would be nice to be a girl was that night. Not for always. I was, and still am, a boy. But I liked the feel of the panties. They made me feel somehow relaxed. I thought it would be nice to wear other girly clothes…. And have girly hair like Riva’s… or Susan’s for that matter. I was hooked.
The next day, for the first time, I started to look out for girls’ hair styles and colours….. and their mothers’ too. I started to imagine how it would be to wear other clothes of theirs, and how it would be to have my own hair styled the way theirs was. A lifetime’s fetish was borne — female clothes and female hair!
The first time I went out wearing panties was when I was twelve. It felt good. I kept wondering what people might say if I was knocked down by a car in the street and I’d be taken to hospital…. And discovered! That I wasn’t 100 per cent a boy, but maybe 1 per cent a girl. I got this very pleasant warm feeling when I let those thoughts wash over me.
By the time I was thirteen, I was wearing panties regularly. For a first time, I went shopping for girly things. I had been to Marks & Spencer and bought some…. They were nice little lacey knickers that held “me” in quite tightly.
Chapter 2 will take me through puberty……………..
First time.......
Musings from WannabeGinger
For all of us, there are many “first time” for many things in our lives. Here are a few more of my own.
Chapter 2
How did I have the money at age 13 to buy myself some panties? Simple: the first time I needed money for that purpose, I decided I would get myself a job. It didn’t take long for me to find myself getting out of bed at 6am to go delivering newspapers. The pay was crap but I didn’t waste a single penny. The first time I set up a savings scheme, it was my “pantie fund”
The first morning I delivered the newspapers, I spent most of my time just thinking of what I should buy with my wages…. And how would I feel going to buy girls’ underwear? That was easy — I would feel great! I would be promising myself hours of comfort with nobody knowing I was wearing such girly things.
The first questions I had trouble with were more speculative. What would people think? What might they say? I rehearsed my answers to their improbable questions. “They’re for my Sister who’s not well at home….” “I just have a list of things to buy……” “Can you help me make sure I have the right size?...... yes, she’s two years older then me.”
I didn’t have a Sister — so this was the first time I had to invent someone to help in my dreams. What if I did have a Sister? Would she understand my feelings? I really had nobody to talk to…. Imagine talking to other boys at school about liking the feel of lacey panties?!
The first time I did venture into Marks & Spencers, it was dead easy. A busy Saturday in town. Everything was on display. I only had to get past the Matronly woman who was on patrol… but she was behind the cash des serving customers. I was safe away from there and looking intently at the available underwear. So intently, I didn’t sense the approach of a young Assistant who asked quietly “Can you find what you’re looking for?”
The first time I used the lies I had rehearsed, they worked. It proved to be very easy… which built my confidence to go back another time. The ill Sister, the list, the size advice. The girl Assistant smiled a wonderful smile - what she was thinking I have no idea! She took me to the sales desk and served me, my purchase going into an anonymous bag.
I left the store with my hear soaring. I had underwear of my own… for the first time! Four pairs in a single pack. That took a month’s wages! But they were worth it! For the first time, I whispered to myself “Because I’m worth it!”
The first time I went out wearing my own underwear, that very same day, I went back to town and hung out with a few guys from school. I knew what they didn’t know… that I was somehow a little different. I had to admit it to myself — for the first time it dawned — I wasn’t 100% like them.
On the way home, I pondered, silently, for the first time: what would a bra feel like?
I also thought that I perhaps wasn’t quite the same as my two Brothers. No way would I talk with them either; they were several years older then me and had girlfriends of their own of course.
Washing my panties proved to be a very much more difficult thing to do. No chance to put them “in the family wash” of course. No chance to get at the washing powder in the utility room where the washing machine lived. For the first time, I had to think laterally — and the answer was there in my room; the liquid soap used as a face wash. I looked in the mirror as I washed my panties…… How could I get rid of those damned acne spots!? I had begun to hate my face.
I dried the panties secretly behind the heating radiator in the bedroom. Easy. By just 13 years of age, I was left to my own to clear and tidy my own space. My bed wasn’t due for a change of sheets. This was my home within the home. I felt safe — safe enough to wear my panties every night as well son those days when there was no sports lesson at school.
I knew that was risky. What if I got injured in the school yard or damaged my clothing, …and had to strip off? The risk was a strange catalyst to continuing thoughts that I might need to buy some other underwear.
Being 13, I was late in developing sexually. Most of my class mates were putting on inches in height almost every week. But I knew my time would come. For that time-being, I was shorter than most of my peer group, and a little over-weight. And I had a spotty face. I didn’t love myself at all. I knew that girls wouldn’t love a spotty git like me. I wasn’t happy.
Unless I was wearing my underwear.
There were girls at school that I admired. I secretly dreamt of being with them. When they were girls together. I wouldn’t have minded being the “Ugly Duckling” — nowadays, the “Ugly Betty” — if I could just spend time with them instead of the guys around me. I didn’t have close friends among them. These thoughts brought my first awakenings of sexuality. I felt more than warm when I thought about the girls and being with them.
I had been growing my hair, despite being told I needed a haircut almost every week by both my Mum and my Dad…. and even my Brothers. “Leave me alone” I would say. Truth was, I had for the first time wondered what my hair would look like if it was made to look girly.
The “pantie fund” was now the “undie fund”. I had thought more and more about the feeling a bra might give. So, I resolved to buy one, perhaps two. Lacey ones, to match the panties. That meant another visit to Marks & Spencers. For the first time, it meant going in and handling bras with all their mysteries of size and cup shapes. Soon I had the money.
My newspaper deliveries were accompanied by distant thoughts…… Bras were so much more feminine…. That was a first too — “feminine”…. What was that all about?! When could I wear one?! Of course, I had no idea. Only under thick sweaters or fleece coats. Only when everyone was out of the house — Mum, Dad, Brothers.
The first time an opportunity presented itself. I had not got the time to get to the store and buy myself one. Home alone. Panties on. Standing in the bathroom. I looked into my Mum’s make-up drawer, to see all the cosmetics that she used so well. For the very first time, the word “feminine” came back. Before I knew it, the lipstick was in my hand.
I didn’t apply it well, but I did enjoy the experience. So much so, I found myself with the most huge hard-on that I had ever imagined possible. It was impossible to contain within my lacey panties. For the first time, the panties and now the lipstick had an effect on my body. In a haze, with no premonition, I turned to walk into my Mum and Dad’s bedroom.
For the first time, I searched out where she kept her bras and found them, in small drawer in her dressing table.
Chapter 3 will take me through puberty, with all its set-backs and broken dreams, to a more comfortable time.
First time…..
Musings from WannabeGinger
For all of us, there are many “first time” for many things in our lives. Here are a few more of my own.
Chapter 3
There I stood, lipstick tasting creamy on my lips, with one of my Mum’s bras in my hands. It was black and lacey. It was quite a thing of beauty in my teenage mind. How did it fasten? How would it fit? Why was it so attractive? What would anyone say who walked in now…?! Mum, or Dad, or a Brother? How could I explain what I was doing? I had no answers. And yet, I had this compulsion to put the bra on myself. To feel what a girl feels.
Of course, girls think nothing of it — the experience is an everyday thing, so it’s unnoticed, no doubt. But the first time?? This was my first time….
Girls get their first time experience of wearing a bra with their Mums, I’m sure. Then it’s special. They’re growing up into young women. I couldn’t feel that. I had no Mum there to share it with. If she were there, what would she say if I asked if i could try a bra on? I'm a boy, for Chrissake! I couldn't ask... of course, I couldn't. I’ve read stories about young men who have had understanding Mums to share a first wearing of a bra and panties with. Some have even been the driver of the idea. Mums who wanted a daughter.
I’ve always thought these were excessively unreal….. but maybe such things do happen. Lucky boys, I say.
I struggled with the bra. It seemed to have a mind of its own. My arms went through the straps over the shoulders ok….. but the cups where my tits would go turned inside out. My tits? What tits? Oh, if only…. For the first time in my life, I wanted tits!
How many times since that moment have I wanted tits! Of my own!
Off came the damned thing and I turned it inside-out, or inside-in I guess. Arms back through the shoulder straps. Now there it was, hanging loose with the chest strap flapping down either side. How to get them to join up, behind my back? I grabbed at each one in turn. Why hadn’t I looked at them before putting it on again? They felt like snakes.
(I later learnt the trick of fastening the bra at the front and sliding the strap round to the beck before putting arms through the shoulder straps. Why doesn't anyone tell you that when you're a thirteen year old boy!?)
I looked over my shoulder and saw that the bedroom door was wide open…. What if someone came up the stairs? They would see directly in to where I was standing…….. I crossed the room and cautiously looked outside, and listened….. Nothing could be heard. Nobody about….. the bra continued to flap, the cups staying across my chest.
I could do this…… I was sure……….
I reached behind me again, this time in front of the mirror. I was captivated by the scene. There I was, my panties looking perfect, my bra looking a total mess, and my face smeared with lipstick. My hair was tousled around my face. I must do something with that….
I thought then for the first time how important hair is in my appreciation of a woman’s beauty. How much I felt it was important for my hair to be right if I was to play a girl in my secret dream.
What a dream.
That bra strap in my left hand was more difficult to grasp than the one in my right. That was ok because the right side had the hooks in it. The left side had the eyelets that needed to be located by the hooks.
I had to stretch the fabric of the chest strap. The elastic had plenty of ‘give’ in it. The bra was also quite a bit larger than my slender body needed. After all, Mum was a 5ft 7inch average woman whose size wasn’t as small as she would wish!
Good for me… to get this beautiful lacey creation on to my back.
Getting my arms behind my back was awkward — unusual for sure. I never had cause to put my hands right up behind my back. If I was a girl, I realized for the first time, I’d have to do this every day. I continued to struggle. My mind was focused on nothing else.
Success! For the first time, I caught a hook into an eyelet behind me.
Damn! It was a top hook and a bottom eyelet. I could tell it wasn’t quite right. The strap across behind my back cut into my flesh a little. It wasn’t flat across there like I knew it should be. What should I do? Un-do it and risk not connecting again…. Or risk it? I decided to risk it……
Success! Second time lucky….. or thirty-second time more like it. The bra felt snug across the front but now there was too much slack in the adjustment for it to fit well. After all, Mum had a larger frame than me. But it was good enough…. Good enough for me to stand and look in the mirror again.
There I was, just me, being the ‘me’ I could be in my dreams.
I went back to the bathroom, where Mum did her make-up. I wiped the lipstick from my lips and took time to re-apply it, avoiding looking at my acne-marked face as best I could. Geez, how I hated those zits! The lipstick went on smoothly. For someone with no practice, I think I did better than could be expected. the colour was deep burgundy red. The outline of my lips, taken slowly, was easy to follow.
I took Mum’s hair brush and spent some time moving my hair around. I had washed it in the shower that morning so it was easily shaped. I divided it with a central parting, allowing each side to fall down to my ears, and a little beyond. I made a transverse parting in front of the crown and brushed the hair back from there, leaving a raised crown Satisfied, I returned to the bedroom.
For a moment, I was conscious that time had been running by so fast. I had over-stayed my welcome in Mum’s private space. The bra had to come off…….. I paused for another long appreciation of the image in the mirror. Yes, for a first attempt, this was really a girly me.
Off with the bra! Easier said than done. The whole process in reverse. Undoing the hooks and eyelets was a nightmare. It seemed to take for ever.
Once removed, the bra had to go back in the drawer where it had laid before my attack! I put the bra back in where I had taken it from. I laid it as flat as I could, remembering that the cups had been folded in ‘spoon-style’ and the straps had been under them. Now, was that drawer open or shut? I couldn’t remember. When I had come in… could I see in the drawer? I had to know — to leave it as I had found it.
To get that wrong would invite suspicion. How did Mum usually leave that drawer?!....Panic!
I had to make a decision. All of the other drawers we shut. So I shut this one. Only time would tell if Mum thought there was something unusual. And maybe I’d never know, because, probably, she would say nothing.
I walked back to my bedroom wearing only my lovely panties, determined that the next purchase with my wages would be a bra, as I had already planned.
I sat in my room for a while before getting dressed, covering up my wonderful panties with my boy clothes. All the time, in the mirror above my desk, the lipstick looked good. It tasted so gorgeous. Surrounding my face, my hair looked really nice.
My thoughts went back to that little Jewish girl, Riva, whose ginger hair was so beautifully styled in a bob cut. For the first time, I wished I was a redhead, not a light mousey-brown.
Chapter 4 will take you on to my mid-teens and the many first times that come at you like a tsunami when you're 15, 16, 17......
First time.......
Musings from WannabeGinger
For all of us, there are many “first time” for many things in our lives. Here are a few more of my own, from the time I had realized……… I was a little different
Chapter 4
As I sat on my bed, wearing panties and lipstick and not much more, my thoughts were miles away. I was back in Junior school. I was with Riva, my little Jewish girlfriend. Well, she wasn’t my girlfriend really. She didn’t know that I was in love. I was, now I know it, in love with being like her. Looking like her. Having a Mum like hers, a Mum who would take me out to have my hair cut as nicely as Riva’s was.
For the first time in my life, I just escaped from being ‘discovered’. I heard footsteps on the hall floor. Solid pine floors make noise the way carpets don’t It was Mum, or was it a Brother…. Quick! I had to remove the lipstick and remove the panties…. Quick! The footsteps were gone. The feet were climbing the stairs.
I smeared the lipstick off my lips with a handkerchief….. That would have to be binned. I could never have it go through the wash. I tore the panties off my legs. I threw them into the corner of the room, under the bed. They could be retrieved later. For the first time in my life, I felt my heart banging in my chest, rattling my ribcage. I was stark bullock naked when I heard Mum call “Are you in, son of mine?” She always called me that. And then, the door opened. In those days, privacy wasn’t a right enjoyed by teenagers.
In those few seconds, I had grabbed underpants — boys’ underpants — and a pair of trousers. My top half was naked. All was well. We talked briefly as I finished dressing, but not before Mum had looked a little closely at the marks across my back — where the bra strap had been when improperly fastened — “That looks uncomfortable..” she said, her sentence hanging in the air.
I can recall it, even today, fifty years later.
“Oh, yeah…. I fell on the sports field yesterday…” I answered.
Off the hook? Yes! She seemed content with the explanation and we moved on to what was happening the rest of the day. For the first time, I knew what a “narrow escape” was.
--oOo--
The buying of a bra was uppermost in my mind. I couldn’t use Mum’s underwear because she was all the wrong sizes for me. Wrong chest size, wrong tits size, so wrong cup size. I now know I would have been a 34A when she would have been a 36B or 38C. I did, in fact, buy a 34B bra the next week, when my savings allowed.
After school one day, I went back to the same Marks & Spencer store. To the same department. To the same aisle of merchandise. To be met by the same young lady who had helped me previously. At least the old dragon Supervisor was nowhere to be seen. The young lady clearly remembered me. “Hello again.” she said. “…..Is your Sister still unwell?” she continued, recalling my excuse….. “What’s on your list today?”
Did I detect a touch of mockery — as if she knew really why I was there? Was her smile a little sly and ‘knowing’? Thinking back, it might have been. But that passed and she helped me to find the range and the size of bra that was needed. “Matching the panties, I remember now…” she said. “…Did you get it right last time?” She was in fact being very helpful, with no different ‘agenda’.
She was, perhaps, seventeen or eighteen years old, taller than me, with a slim body and small tits under her company uniform. She wore no make-up but her eyes sparkled. Her hair was long; touching her shoulders and it was sleek. Beautifully kept, considering her ‘day job’.
For the first time, I fell in love with an ‘older woman’!! She, of course, didn’t know that.
She led me to the pay desk and I stood in a queue. The garment in my hand was almost burning hot! Well, it felt so. How soon could I get out of the store, get home, and get wearing this beautiful thing? “Are you alright?” asked the Assistant. She had seen how I was distracted, I guess. “Oh.. yes, oh, definitely.” I replied. “Well, if you come back, do ask for me if I’m not around”, she said — and was gone! I paid as quickly as I could, hoping not to be spotted by anyone I knew, and left the store. My heart was pounding again.
--oOo--
I reached the safety of my own room at home. The bra was still wrapped in the plastic M&S bag I had been given. The house was empty. Dad was still at work. Mum was out at friends. My Brothers were both later coming home from school than me.
Did I have enough time? Surely not. Best to keep it until I was alone for half a day… minimum!
--oOo--
Later the same week, again after school, but before I had tried on my bra, I heard voices downstairs. One of my brothers was talking — to my Mum. “I tell you, Mum, there are a girl’s panties under his bed…. Honest” “No, you must be mistaken….” She replied. “Well, you see — he’s too young to be messing about with girls, Mum. You have to check him out.”
Bastard! I thought…. But of course, that’s one thing my Brother is not. We have the same Father. But why would he “grass me up” as the saying goes — why would he “shop me” to someone I trust and who trusts me. Bastard!
My mistake was leaving those panties in my room — down by the back of the bed. Shit! Why did I forget to pick them up!?? I went back to my room, retrieved the offending item and put them with my bra in the bag at the back of my closet — where the sun never shines!
Mum never did say anything — but maybe she looked to see if what my Brother had said was true. The Bastard — I found a niggling stream of hate for him — he’d always been the one who’d bully me if he got the chance……. Bastard!
The panties were retrieved. They were never mentioned again. But then nobody knew why they were there. Nobody suspected that they were MINE! Not for the first time, I was very relieved indeed to be alone I my room. I still had to wait for a time to wear both my bra and the matching panties. Another warm feeling, another hard-on. This time it needed attention!
Chapter 5 follows — can you guess what happens?
First time…..
Musings from WannabeGinger
For all of us, there are many a “first time” for many things in our lives. Here are a few more of my own, from when I knew that I was a little different.
Chapter 5
Over the following few months, and past my fourteenth birthday, I gradually added to my store of girly underthings. How I treasured them! I grew confident in going out whilst wearing both a bra and a pair of panties. The danger of discovery seemed to shrink as my confidence grew.
The first time, I simply went back to the M&S store and looked around in the undies department. No sign of my friendly Assistant, but the Dragon Supervisor was there! I took delight in passing her by on my way through the racks of nighties and negligees. Her raven black hair added to an almost Goth image. She must have been 90 years old! I was so scared walking by. Delighted to ba able to, but scared nevertheless.
I grew accustomed to finding times and days when the rest of the family would be busy doing other things. I adopted the ‘Nerd’ image that every 14-year-old is allowed to adopt. My older Brother — the one who had “shopped” me over the panties — was seen less and less around the home. Good riddance, I said to myself.
At school, we were given the first sex education lessons….. Can you believe that? At 14 years of age. It was all about frogs bonking and making little frogs to start off with. Wham-bam-thank-you-Mam. It explained, and I knew by then, why a hard-on was hard. It didn’t explain what to do with it. But, by then, I knew. It explained where to put it… if you wanted to make another frog. But I hadn’t been sure about that Girls’ anatomy had been a mystery. We boys joked about them having “fannies”, without knowing what a “fanny” was. For the first time, I wondered what it would be like to have a “fanny”.
It wasn’t long before — for the first time, and very much not the last — I went to the make-up counter in the local department store; John Lewis. A place where the major cosmetic houses all had beauty “therapists” waiting for customers to submit to make-overs and stuff like that. They also had a free-to-pick section, where the Maybelline lipsticks and the Max Factor lipsticks could be found. Maybelline looked more teenaged. Bigger choice of colours. Some wild colours too! That would be the range. The purchase that day was one to remember. I grabbed the first Maybelline one that I could get my hands on.
I literally ran home, knowing the house would be empty for the whole afternoon, and got those panties and my bra out! No more risking Mum’s cosmetic drawer. I had my own! Hidden away. A hard-on came on soon, with that warm feeling I so enjoyed. And the thoughts of the pretty girl in the M&S Lingerie department. I’d love to find her fanny!
The sex education moved on swiftly. We reached the stage of STDs — even then unpronounceable words were used…… all of them sounded very nasty and suggested that putting your thing in a fanny could get you into trouble. Better to play with it yourself really. We were told we were all “heterosexuals” — which was difficult to say, but here was also a part about people called “homosexuals” who were dangerous, people who wanted to play with eachother but were both boys…… Eeeee-yuk!
Playground games became full of “poofs” and “homos”….. Instead of “Catch” or “Tag” or “It”, the poor sod who was “It” became the “Poof” who could clearly infect the rest with his wish to play with eachother. Eeeee-yuk! For the first time, those games became “edgy”. What we now call “social exclusion” was common — especially if anyone showed the weakness of hating being called a “Poof” or a “Homo”, even in fun.
I knew that, if anyone … anyone at all…… knew I wore panties and a bra when I was at home, I’d be branded for ever as one of these outcasts. I resolved never to get caught, or to tell anyone about my secret. That was the first time I felt the need which I have felt many times since, to be absolutely secret in what I do with my clothing.
By now, age 14, coming up to 15, I started to add to my collection of girly things. I wondered about getting some stockings.. or pantie hose perhaps. I wondered about the feel of the nylon on my legs. What would it be like? I didn’t have much hair on my legs at all, so it would feel smooth.
Back I went to M&S, but this time to the self-select racking for pantie hose and stockings.
Decisions! Stockings needed suspenders. They were over with the bras and panties. …. Maybe another time? But what size to get? S.? M.? L.? XL.? XXL.?........ What colour? “Natural?”, “Bronze?”, Misty Grey”, “Midnight?”.
I went for “Midnight” in size “S”… spot on! No need for advice. Advice on how to put them on might have been helpful! I laddered the first pair in minutes. Never got them above my knees! That was expensive. How to do that?! Nobody to ask. Perhaps a sly watch while mum put hers on would have to do.
Not so any problems with lipstick. I got lots of practice and soon became quite good at it. I loved the “cupids bow” that models in the fashion magazines Mum had. I remember the first “make over special” that was published in “Woman” magazine. A woman with Rita Hayworth hair tumbling all down her shoulders. She had the most beautiful shape to her lips. I followed the example, time and again. Gradually, I got the outline right. I filled in the rest with that lovely creamy colour.
Her eyes were bewitching. Beautifully outlined with what I soon knew to be liquid eye-liner. Darkly loaded lashes with what “Woman” told me was the latest in mascara. I sat in my bra and panties at a mirror and worked on my lips, planning one day to work on my eyes… and my hair!
My hair was becoming much better than I could have hoped. It was still relatively short but this was the decade of hair getting longer. Nobody commented. I made a point of washing my hair almost every day. I got an evening delivery job, with a local tradesman, that added more to my disposable income. I bought my first bottle of hair conditioner.
Whilst buying that, for the first time, I took time… time to see the range of hair colours that were on sale in the drugstore/chemists. Box after box after box, with alluring smiling women’s faces looked back at me, saying “go on, give us a try!” I should think not! All the boxes said “semi-permanent”, “lasts 6-8 washes”, or “permanent”, “contains ammonia”. Don’t be stupid!” I told myself. But these women’s hair was fabulous…..
By the time I had mastered (or misstressed?) the technique of slipping my legs into pantie hose, with my panties and bra, and my lipstick, I began to feel ready for something to bring it all together. No outer clothes. I wasn’t planning to go out dressed, but … something was lacking. Obviously, I couldn’t afford shoes. But they would be wonderful… and I promised myself… one day, I would buy myself some strappy sling-backs with pointed heels like Mum wore…… What size were we both? Was Mum the same size as me now……?
The temptation rose again, like it had with her panties the very first time. No worries about disturbing the way they were stored. I could put them back undetected in the racking in her wardrobe. I knew I was a size 5 now; but had no idea of Mum’s size. But I did know she had a fabulous pair of heeled black shoes. But before I could move, I heard a Brother's footstep in the hall.
I looked for an afternoon when I could go in to Mum and Dad's bedroom and try the shoes out.
Meanwhile, my shopping at the drugstore went on. I went back to the hair colours. Was there anything that would wash-in, wash-out? I looked and looked. I hoped nobody was noticing me. And they weren’t I looked all along those boxes again. No luck. They were all unusable by someone like me.
Then, right at the end of the shelf, there were some small packs with sachets tumbling out of them. “Hint of a Tint” it said on every sachet. "Lasts 2-3 washes". well, I could ash my hair three times to get rid of it...........
Chapter 6 finds me in a much safe place, with all my elements so far in place.
For all of us, there are many a “first time” for many things in our lives. As I grew up, I encountered many choices; whether to do, or not to do, certain girly things. Here are a few more of my own dilemmas and experiences, once I knew that I was a little different.
Chapter 6
At school, I was the butt of many jibes. All were to do with my spotty face. None were to do with what I was “inside”. Inside, I was both a boy and a girl. I wanted desperately to be liked by the other boys. I played their games with energy. I wanted to be liked by the girls, so I tried to talk with them, not in the way other boys did. I wanted to be like them. Like a girl. I kept that hidden away, deep inside.
My wearing of a bra and panties, occasionally and always in secret, was an expression outwardly, of some turmoil internally. My wearing of lipstick, at the same time, brought me closer to my real self. But I knew I was a boy and had, for the world, to be seen to be a boy, a young man.
“Scabby” I was called. “Poxy” was another nice one. I had to swallow it and not show that it was getting to me. Which it was. It hurt. And all the more I wanted rid of those zits. I wanted clear fresh skin. To off-set my girly side. I spent hours under ultraviolet lamps to rid myself of spots.
I went back to the family doctor enough times to get referred to a Specialist at the hospital. Hence the UV treatment. Did it work? Not so far as I could tell. I did get sympathy from several of the girls. That was great — for the wrong reasons — but great nevertheless. I was a spotty boy who wanted to spend some of his time as a girl.
At no time did I find myself thinking of boys and all the kissing stuff that girls spoke about. Eeee-yuk! No thank you! At times, I was surprised how they talked when boys, apart from me, weren’t around. The idea of “tongue tennis” for example, was a common theme. None of them had kissed a boy yet…. But they knew all about how to do it!
(We are talking the early 1960s here…. When young people like me matured later than today’s generation.)
One of them, my girl friends, tried to help me, in an unsuspecting way, when she suggested that my spots would at least be hidden if I used some of what she called “concealer”. I was at her house with a couple of girls one afternoon. Concealer? It sounded right to me. It turned out to be her Mum’s “foundation” crá¨me. She found the jar and put a finger-full over the worst of my spots, slowly, almost lovingly….. (in my dreams!)
It did work, although it may not have done the spots any good….. It made my face look better in the mirror. Maybe I should buy some at the drugstore, I thought. I needed a new lipstick anyway.
When my next shopping venture to the drugstore was possible I went back to the hair colours. Again, I hoped nobody was noticing me. And, of course, they weren’t. I looked for the small packs of “Hint of a Tint” as it said on every sachet. They all looked the same. The writing was very small because the individual package was small. One wash in each sachet. One wash that would infuse my hair with obvious colour. Would I dare? Could I get rid of it, if I did?
I wished I had worn my bra and panties out shopping that day. It would have felt right…. I needed a new lipstick so paused in my search for hair colour and went to the lipstick ranges where I had been before. The same shade as before? Maybe something a little redder! I chose and added the first item into my wire basket.
Back to the hair colours. I knew I'd not be able to go through with the colouring, but, hell!, a girl can dream! “Raven Black”, “Blue Black”, “Burgundy”, “Warm Auburn”, “Wild Cherry”, “Rich Chestnut”, “Golden Brown”, “Honey Brown”, …. The list went on and on…… The names were quite seductive. “Buy me, buy me!”, they seemed to say. Perhaps i could just buy a pack and keep it in my secret stash...!
Then my attention was diverted. Further along the shelf. There was another brand, in the same section. I hadn’t seen that these were all called “Toners”. There was a whole shelf devoted to brand called “Born Blonde”. Every one was a different toning colour for blonde hair. If your hair had been lightened… bleached, blonde. Oh.. WOW!
“Baby Blush”, Beige Blonde”, “Wild Strawberry”, “Pink Rose Blonde”, “Peaches and Cream”, “lightest Ash Blonde”, “Ash Blonde”, “Platinum”, …. On and on, the list went.
But those would need bleach. That’s permanent, I told myself. Don’t be stupid! In your dreams, baby. Could I imagine myself as a blonde? Well, if I hadn’t before, I did at that moment. There was no way I would be bleaching my hair — not for a while at least but “never say never” is a good principle to adopt.
So, it was back to the “Hint of a Tint” range. After all, I thought. I’m gonna go for this - one day - and what will anyone say if I mess up? In other words, who cares if it lasts for six washes and doesn’t come out? Answer? I do! i don't think I could bear......
A sachet of “Burgundy” went in to the basket. Should it have been “Wild Cherry”? I wasn’t sure at all.
My homecoming that day was filled with excitement. Mum was out again. Dad was away on business for the week and my Brothers were both staying late at college. The house to myself!! My excitement was uncontrolled. I bounded up the stairs…..
A choice? Dress in my panties and bra first? Or go find Mum’s shoes that I wanted to try on with my pantie hose? Or, maybe, before changing, perhaps I should shower and use the rinse on my hair? Decisions, decisions!
The bra and panties won the day, with ease. I felt most at ease when I was wearing them. A sort of peace swept over me as I fastened the straps of the bra. For the first time, I pushed some scrunched-up tissue paper into the cups to give myself shape.
Oh, if only I had tits! If I was a girl, I’d have tits — just small ones. Not huge melons like I’d seen in those magazines that some of the guys at school wanked with. I new they did. They never seemed to stop talking about it! I knew what wanking was now, though I wasn’t very good at it. Every time I dressed, I found myself with a hard-on. It was a bit of a nuisance, but it was quite easy to get rid of. Not a huge pleasure, sadly. Every time I thought of the girl in M&S who helped me choose my panties, the same happened. I did love her!
I slipped into the pantie hose — more easily now that I had practised how to get both legs in and to pull the stockings up over my thighs and the pantie section around my waist. And how to smooth them over. One day I would get a pair with seams down the back. Seams were very sexy, I recall, I thought for the first time. Now I needed shoes. Even now, I know how I felt.
I ventured into the hallway and through into Mum and Dad’s bedroom. Carefully closing the door in case of discovery, I knew exactly where the shoes would be. I opened the door of the closet where they would be. Neatly arranged in their racking. The black pair. With the heels. The heels that looked so high! I picked them off the rack. I sat on Mum’s side of the big double bed, knowing I had to smooth the covers when I left.
I reached down and for the first time in my life and pushed my first foot into a feminine shoe. All the straps were tricky to control, but I got there with relative ease. Compared with the first pantie hose experience! The second was easy too. I looked down for a moment to admire the look of my stockinged ankles in their strappy shoes. Heaven!
I stood up and smoothed the covers of Mum’s bedside. I took a step towards her full-length mirror so I could see how I looked. I stood there. In my parents’ bedroom.
And then it happened…… That awful dreaded moment when I heard a call from downstairs…. …….I hadn’t heard the front door open and close. No footsteps downstairs. “You in??”
My damned Brother. The younger of the two. The one I knew had ‘shopped’ me over the panties months before. Shit! ………Shit! Shit! Shit!
My door was closed. My bedroom. My own space. Could I get back there? As a family, we didn’t invade eachother’s spaces, unless invited in.. That wouldn’t stop him. He was coming upstairs and he’d come in. For sure, he would come in and find me. Here. Standing in front of the mirror. In my bra and panties, and my pantie hose. With shoes in my hand
All of my last two years of secret dressing flashed in front of my eyes. I was in a panic-ridden daze.
But then, I thought, he wouldn’t come in to Mum and Dad’s room. Would he?
Chapter 7 will tell you and how I coped with the next hour.
A “first time” for being “discovered” is every boy/girl’s fear. The writings in this series are all genuine and true. This was my first time — on that brink. The cliff-hanger cut between two chapters is just “writer’s licence” to add some flair into what was, actually, terrifying!
Chapter 7
I stood motionless in my Mum’s bedroom. Careful not to make a sound. Praying that the door would not open. Praying that my nasty Brother would not come in and discover me. Me, his little bully-taker.
I was wearing my panties and bra. What would he make of those? He would love to tell Mum what I was up to when she was out of the house. I was wearing pantie hose and a pair of her sexy black strappy shoes — the ones with the heels. What would he make of those. He would make life misery for me.
The door between us wasn’t very solid. The catch was only a modern cheapo latch. It would open on a breath. I held mine (my breath that is). Dreading the urge to cough, I swallowed hard. There was a taste of sickness in my mouth. I was even brought to nausea at the thought of his finding me. The seconds that passed seemed like minutes. The minute or two that I stayed quiet seemed like an hour.
His footsteps went on down the hallway, towards his bedroom. “Little shit. Must be out somewhere…” I thought again — for I had thought this many times — what had I done to make him dislike me? My other Brother was a really nice guy. I looked up to him. But this one was always the “one in the middle”. My elder Brother was the guy I wanted to be like when I grew up. He was soon to be married. His fiancee was always nice to me, whereas the other Brother’s girlfriend treated me the way he did — contemptuously.
There had to be a way out of this situation for me.
Before I could reason with myself, I felt a wave of emotion run over me. Something I have felt several times in the years that have followed. How could I have got myself into this stupid, stupid situation? How could I risk being found like this? How would the people who heard about me react… I hated the thought, and more importantly, for the first time in my life, I hated myself.
Not for the spots on my face, or the fatty tissue that surrounded my stomach, or for the nervous way I dealt with other people, especially girls. I was a really dislikeable person. More than that, it was clear I wasn’t a good looking girl and never would be. Who was I kidding, standing there like this? Fucking idiot. I had to get this clothing off my back and get back into normality. I had to put those shoes of my Mum’s back immediately. And get those panties and pantie hose off…. Or the bra.. Which first? The shoes!
Call it damage limitation. The less I was wearing when finally discovered, the less explaining I’d have to do. “Well, I’ve done it for a dare….” No. “Well, I just wondered what it would be like….” No. “Well, I’ve got a part in a school play….” No. “Well, oh, Fuck!....” I tore at the pantie hose, laddering them a dozen times, I stuffed them into… Shit! Nothing to put them into! I took the panties off and put them with the ruined hose.
Then I tugged at the bra straps. In my haste, a strap pinged off, leaving me with one shoulder strap and the back strap. I tried to reach the back strap but failed….. I pulled and pulled, the straps digging into my flesh, leaving red marks that, even on their own, would take some explaining.
The bra was ruined too. The panties were the only survivors.
I listened at the door. No sound from along the hallway. Should I risk returning to my room. I had to. So, I did. The door closed behind me. Mum would never know I’d been in there….. or would she? Did I shut the closet door? Did I smooth the covers? Yes, I knew I’d done that much… Only time would tell, if at all. I crossed the landing hallway and entered my own room, shutting the door firmly behind me.
- ooOOoo -
Nothing ever did happen from that “close encounter of the third kind”. My Brother never knew. My Mother never knew. But I knew.
I knew that I was going dangerous things. It would be better to put these things away in the trash and forget about them.
But I could keep the panties, couldn’t I?
Life became deadly dull all of a sudden. I seemed to spend all my spare time playing records in my room or hanging about on the street corner with mates. Aimless…. At 15 years of age?
Reading this, you may have guessed my Dad wasn’t around the home a great deal. So my Mum was a much stronger influence on my life. I would have liked him to be around. There would have been questions I would have wanted to ask him. Not about sex, but about relationships. About what he would have done in circumstances that I faced every day. I did get to spend more time with Mum that I might otherwise have done. Being the youngest in the family.
Then again, would I have wanted to be the same? I knew from an early age that Dad was a wayward character. Odd comments about his behaviours before and after I was born revealed a lot. Why was I seven years younger than my brothers? Answer; Dad was “elsewhere”, with other ladies. “He always was one for the ladies”. Such like that told me he was selfish and quite a handful for my Mum. Now I thinkabout it… I was wanting a Dad, but not necessarily that one.
Could I talk to Mum about my feelings about liking girly things? Well, maybe one day… But the longer it went on, and the longer I grew, the less likely it was I could…
She was ‘gone 50’ by this time and beginning to be run down by an oppressive Mother of her own and a husband who worked, ate, slept, worked, ate, slept, went away, came back, worked, ate..…. Their younger days were different. We still have pictures of the pair in the late 1930s when they went to dinners in truly stunning outfits. Mum was truly a glamorous lady in those days.
- ooOOoo -
Back at school, I threw myself into boys’ games. My knees were cut to pieces as I played ball games like never before and injuries were commonplace. I didn’t spend quite so much time with the girls but it was interesting to see how welcoming they were when I did join them to sit and talk. Maybe I had some capital in life’s bank for the future.
By the time I was well past 15 years of age, I think it was, the memory of that nasty afternoon at home was fading. I still had the panties, and oh, did I mention the lipstick? No reason to throw that away really, was there? Not really. I still relished quiet hours when I could use it.
I was taken away on a holiday to Jersey, in the English Channel Islands that summer. My parents took me, but not my Brothers, to a holiday village ( which was ssooooo 1960s! ) for a couple of weeks. Meals all provided on site, no need to leave the campus, entertainment all provided every evening. The campus was nearly on a beach with golden sand. It had a pool too. Plenty of families like ours; some with two or three children. A few with loners, like I was. We slept in “chalets” (of which I had a “single berth” which was as small as the cupboard under our stairs at home!)… The chalets were all in rows, all the same.
I loved the whole experience. Why? Well, for the first thing, my parents let me alone to find my own amusement. Second, there was a family in the next-door chalet and the next one beyond that.
This family was a man and woman, with three children. Three children, all girls, all maybe a couple of years older than me. Maybe 16 or perhaps 17. The oldest one might have been 17. My impression was, in fact, that the two blonde girls were Sisters and the darker-haired girl was a friend invited along for the holiday. They were really quite remarkable.
During the days, they were joined by a gorgeous 17-ish red-headed girl who was just a friend for the holiday. She was rather lovely too. They all paid a lot of attention to their looks. Lots of filing and painting of fingernails and setting of hair and suntan spreading.
I had no idea of their names but, as a four-some, they made delightful eye-candy for a 15-year-old like me. I didn’t even have to go to the pool… unless they went to the pool, to spend wonderful times, behind my sunglasses lenses. I particularly found myself admiring their body beautiful attentions. They painted their nails, they combed and rolled their hair. The old imaginings of looking after myself that way came back.
I really loved the thought of having my nails covered in bright red lacquer and top shine polish. I really admired the way they set eachothers’ hair so precisely that, every evening, they would turn up with immaculate coiffures at the dance hall. They sat around the pool with their hair drying in the sun. Even now, I remember just how curiously attractive they were.
Their one-piece bathing costumes were beautiful — so up with the trends of the 1960s; bright colours, slimline fittings, accentuating their fast-developing figures. This was the time that my male hormones ran riot for the first time. Everything else before had been kindergarten stuff. For day after day, I found the irrepressible urge to go somewhere secret and wank myself senseless. Four times a day, maybe. It can’t have been good for me! As I did so, I imagined being with them, individually, and doing all those things that the boys’ magazines talked of boys doing with girls. Then, on other occasions, I thought of being just like them. Being the fifth one in their circle. Painting my nails, rolling my hair, trying on different lipsticks (did I mention the lipstick?) and wearing a stunning bathing ‘cossie’. So, I can see now, there was a heterosexual side to my thoughts, and a transvestite side.
Chapter 8 will take me back to the end of school and the things I did outside the home at 16 and 17 years of age.
Growing up as both a boy, inwardly at times and outwardly, (and as a girl, just inwardly,) presents dilemmas and conflicts — some happiness, some sadness. “I am fifteen, going on sixteen….” said a daughter in the von Trapp ‘Sound of Music’ family…..
Chapter 8
Jersey was to prove to be my best ever holiday so far. The rest before this one had been dull — in the extreme. Never before had I been close — as close as this — to girls of nearly my own age. OK, these were a year or two older but that was a bonus. To them, had they known of my admiration, I would have been a worm that crawled out from under a stone. To me, they were just perfect… and all so close to hand. If only I could have the courage to talk with just one. To get introduced, maybe.
But no, I wasn’t going to get my hands on them! Nor they get theirs on me!
I had plenty of time to reflect on my feelings now. The heterosexual side of me was running riot. The feelings were all over me. But in the quiet of the night, some nights, those other feelings and fantasies came back! (Did I mention the night-times?). Then, there were times at the poolside.
When had I started feeling the way I did then? I spent time thinking. Regretting?, sure. Glad, sure. Mixed up?, sure!
The ‘no brothers’ aspect of the holiday was brilliant. I could be myself without bully boy number 2 picking on me. He was off somewhere with his girlfriend. That would give him grief. Her parents were very strictly “hands off our girl” and there he was, taking her away….. for what!!?? (Well, surprise, surprise, they ended up getting married four months before their first child was born!) Went into rented accommodation with a job in Birmingham. Served them right, I say.
I rather fell in love with the younger of the two blondes. Her older Sister’s hair was gorgeous and curled over maybe twenty or thirty rollers. It turned under across the nape of her neck, inviting a kiss to be placed there, no doubt. The blonde colour was a mixed honey and dark natural shade.
But the younger girl’s hair was a much lighter blonde, the same curls were everywhere but the nape of her neck was blunt-cut in a way I could imagine being perfect for me, for my hair… if it was set that way. It was so blonde, it was unlikely to be a natural shade, but there was not a sign of roots to betray cosmetic lightening. My previous interest in girls’ hair was now on fire! In those days, it was called a “Gypsy” style. Plenty of height in the curls at the crown. Sleeker below the ears. My hair would have been almost long enough.
The holiday passed and I never did get to talk with these little beauties. I returned home for the next school year to begin. I would soon be 16. Examinations, studies, no social life. Staying in at home. Mum went back to work so was always out of the house during the day. I was often “home alone”. My older Brother got married in September and moved away — just 20 miles but that was it, he was gone. Dad was still working, going away less, but still coming home to eat and go to sleep in front of the telly. 56 years of age. I will not be like him at that age, I thought. (And I wasn’t!)
I still had my lipstick and, soon enough, there I was back in Marks & Spencer’s store, buying some new panties. Brilliant! I had enough to be able, on the days when there was no sport at school, to wear them 24/7 I resisted buying a new bra for all of a further two weeks. My Saturday job was paying quite well (I settled for a job in Sainsbury’s Grocery store, having been tempted to apply for a Saturday boy/girl job at a local hair salon.)
One day, I thought, perhaps a salon job would be for me, but I wasn’t ready for that.
Before long, my cosmetic pouch contained some foundation (or was it ‘concealer’?) which helped me with the lipstick. I could make really a well-defined outline for my lips with hat as the base coat. (We are talking mid-1960s, pan-stick, pale pale pink lips and deep dark black eyes). That brings me to the eyes……. The mascara and the eye shadow. I tried my Mum’s out and made an incredible mess of my face. I almost poked one eye out which brought me to tears. I looked like a crooked panda.
I had fallen in love with Dusty Springfield earlier in the year…. 1965. Or was it the year before? So, I had posters of her all around my bedroom. I literally drooled at the sight of those beautiful eyes and the huge hair she wore. The earliest pictures had her in “country girl” petticoated skirts and frilly blouses, which I loved. Her tits were so small, they could have been mine! Then she became a bit of a drama queen and, with her own television show every Saturday night, became the most glamorous girl I ever dreamed to loving. It was only ten or twenty years later that she confessed to be “moved as much by a woman as a man”. In other words, she was at least bisexual. When I heard those words, years later, I knew I was a lesbian! I’ve not been moved by a man — any man — ever. Billy Connolly once admitted as much — because he “enjoyed doing what they do”. I think he was right!
With the freedom that I was beginning to enjoy, with the regular money from a Saturday job coming in, I was able to think beyond the “stash” of clothes that I had collected together. All underwear. No shoes. No outer wear, like blouses or anything feminine like that. But there was enough for me, and my bedroom. My secret. The risks of discovery were fading. Brothers both gone. Dad away until predictable coming-home times. It was only Mum’s return from the place she worked, each afternoon, that was uncertain. Vigilance had to be my driving force when dressed as far as I dared.
The holiday had preyed on my mind ever since we returned from Jersey. As I did, on many occasions that autumn, stand in front of my mirror with panties and bra on, with lipstick on. Wanting to complete the illusion. Wanting to see myself fully dressed.
Mum’s dresses and skirts or blouses were all too big for me, growing in stature though I was. If I had the joy of having a Sister, I’m sure she would have helped me out. I rather began, for the first time, to imagine myself as my very own Sister, when I was part-dressed. There was no way I could (yet) afford to buy blouses or skirts, or dresses — this was before the days of Bon Marche, new Look and H&M. That would have to wait.
My mind turned to the girls from holiday. With their rollered hair and swimming cosies beside the pool. I could buy a swimming cossie in the sales that were coming up at the end of the summer. Perhaps I should look for one with those slightly padded cups that would make it look like I had more tits than I did. Oh… if only I did!
More than that, the holiday images in my mind kept on returning to those rollers in the girls' hair. At 16, my hair was getting longer. At least as long as the younger blonde. And then I resolved to try something quite outrageous. To have my hair washed and set in a salon.
It didn’t take too much imagination. I chose a suburban location not far from home in north London. Golders green was a nice Jewish enclave, easily reached by bus from where I lived, but not on anybody’s ‘usual’ route going anywhere. There must be salons there. I was certain I could find one. I hatched a plan.
As an irate Father (I had one of those, but he wasn’t irate with me very often), I would call a salon and say, insistently, that my Son was to “have his hair washed and set in a girl’s style”…. Implying “whether he likes it or not” or “to teach him a lesson”. It took courage, once I’d found the listing in Yellow Pages, but it didn’t take me long.
I wish I could remember the name of the salon, but I can’t I chose the one that was the most female sounding…… or maybe it was something funky, like “Curl up and Dye”. I wish I was there now. It took two and a half minutes to book an appointment. About a week ahead of the time I called, I would be on the bus, going to Golders Green. I would wear as much female clothing as I could lay my hands on… underneath! I’m sure the receptionist who took my call would not have been fooled for a minute — my voice could hardly be taken for an adult, a Father’s.
The day soon arrived. After several breathless days of me asking myself… what have you done?! And telling myself…. you can’t go through with this! I let Mum leave for work. The appointment was for 11.00am. Half an hour’s bus ride away. I had to leave in time to be outside the salon in good time. I dressed in my panties and decided I would risk the bra — what if it was seen somehow? Well, I’d have had the joy of its tugging at my shoulders and back. What would anyone say? Nothing! I had to be there in enough time to walk back and forth across the road to see inside the salon. To chicken out if I did lose my confidence. Or to see the stylist waiting for me!
I caught the bus, into the unknown!
Chapter 9 will take me through the door into a whole new world that lives with me today. Sweet 16 and never been kissed, no longer!
Experiences live with us for ever. It’s only when you write tracing back your earlier days that you feel what you felt then.
I felt lonely.
Chapter 9
I didn’t know that the bus would take me through the door into a whole new world that lives with me today. I was indeed Sweet 16 and never been kissed, sitting there on the bus heading for an appointment with who I couldn’t say in a place that would either prolong my dreams or shatter them.
I was indeed lonely. Sure I had mates at school. I played games with them in the school yard. Never was I a tough one. There were plenty of guys who were aggressive and loud and rather not the kind I wanted to hang out with. But then, I wasn’t that clever, so I didn’t want to be associated with the geeks and swots who would pass all their exams with ease and go on to rule the fucking world. Why couldn’t people just be normal, middle-of-the-road guys like me?
Normal… hold on! Was I normal…? not on your life. Riding a bus, wearing female underwear, going to get my hair shampooed and set in a girly fashion. Was I really doing this. In the middle of the day. In broad daylight. I looked about me in the bus.
Several older people, going to spend their pensions. Several men going to work in trades — builders and plumbers, roughed up clothes, unshaven. Eeeeyuk. I never wanted to be unshaven. I was having to shave once a week and hated it. (Still do). I wasn’t very good at it and always seemed to leave straggly hairs in places or cut myself and bleed. Eeeeyuk. Did I not like shaving. Fuck it. girls don’t shave. What luck to be born a girl!
Luckily, the shave had been clear and close the day before and didn’t need repeating the day of the bus trip. I had smoothed some of Mum’s moisturiser over the skin before leaving the house, carefully replacing the top and putting the bottle exactly where it had been placed.
I knew the place where I had to go, only vaguely. The phone book had told me where the salon was. On the main road into the centre of this suburb. I began to get anxious that I would miss the right stop. I nearly left the bus twice before I needed to.
Then I saw it, the salon with the name I forgot, out of the window. Request the stop… ring the bell. I did so and got off with a couple of other people. One was a teenage girl. She was taller than me, but not by much. Her skirt was up high on her thighs. (A “fan belt” we called those). She had a magnificent mane of light auburn hair that fell across her shoulder in a sleek curtain. I thought instantly of the red-haired girl in Jersey.
This was an omen. An instruction, I thought. I had to go through with this whole idea. No turning back. The redhead stopped to cross the road. Towards the salon side of the busy street. The redhead in Jersey had her hair set on larger rollers because her hair was set in a straight style with a fringe or bangs to frame her face. She was a beauty.
She walked past the salon and out of my life for ever.
I, on the other hand, walked past the salon, peered inside and walked on. In the fleeting glimpse, I saw that it was already quite busy. There were probably six styling stations in front of mirrors. There was a bank of dome-shaped dryers along the facing wall. All behind a glitzy glass reception desk where a quite-tarty, very Jewish mature lady — probably a hundred years old I thought, was sitting. She had a blonde beehive. With curls rolled at the back.
That was all I could see. The stylists were there but I couldn’t see them in detail. In a moment, I was past the salon’s door and outside a little café next door. I was early for the appointment, by at least 15 minutes. I had time to reconsider. But then, I didn’t really. The decision had been made for me. By the redhead. On the bus. By the redhead, in Jersey. I was going in. I really was. But a Coke would steady my nerves — or give me a shot of caffeine to hype my senses!
I took strength from the thought that, if my bully-boy Brother could see me now, or rather see me in an hour’s time, I wouldn’t care. What he would think did not matter to me in the slightest. Equally, my Father’s opinion would be negative but would not sway me from my decision. My Mum, on the other hand, I wasn’t sure about. Would she be appalled and horrified? Or would she gather me up and say that she loved me anyway, whatever I wanted to be? I didn’t know. The one who did matter and who I wouldn’t want to see me, was my elder Brother. His opinion would matter. He would probably be the same as Mum would be. Appalled or supportive? I would want his agreement, if not his complete understanding.
How could he, or Mum understand what I didn’t even understand myself? I was a boy with a part of me feeling he wanted to be a girl sometimes. I began to feel, as countless people since have said, that transvestites are different from transgender people. I wasn’t a girl “trapped in the wrong body”. I didn’t want to have a husband and settle down for life. I wanted girlfriends and a wife one day.
Time was coming, I knew it. I had to get up, walk out of the café and into the next-door shop and say “Hello, I have an appointment…” So, I did. No giving in to the temptation to walk past just once more… and then run away!
“You….. have an appointment?” said the Beehive. I gave the name I had given on the phone. Same letter to start the surname, but not the same name. I mean, who knows how I could be traced if I gave them a real name?? “Come this way, you’re stylist will be Angela….” (This was in the days before names like Jasmine, Juliette, or Jemima were common in salons everywhere — sorry girls with “J” names!) Angela was a nice homely Jewish girl with tightly-curled dark red hair that wasn’t much longer than mine. Well, the curls hid whatever length of hair she had.
I was conscious that my underwear was tightening around me… or was it? No, I was just aware of it in this heightened atmosphere. I had equally nice undies as Angela, I had no doubt. I studied her face, as another woman might. Not a stunner. “Hello, I’m Angela….” she said, a gown put around me “ Sit here and lay back, and Rachel will shampoo you”. I’ll see you in a minute or two.
It was amazing…. I had said almost nothing except my “name” and to confirm my appointment. And yet, here I was, for the first time in my life, I was lying back at the washbasin in a female hairdressing salon, about to have a roller set and styling. I nearly nearly …. Well, I thought I might cum in my lovely panties. There was a sudden sexual charge in my head. Talk about mixed up — my emotions were all over the place.
Now, with a gown on I laid back. I was trapped. Nothing I could do. I couldn’t run out without making a scene. Did I really want to do this? Did I really want to do that? No, not such a scene. So, I was trapped. I felt the eyes of other women (other??) boring into my being from their mirrors, or from their dryer positions behind me. I could feel the collective… “Who the hell…?” question… the “What is he doing….?”
It was obvious, I was a He in a sea of Shes.
When my wash was done, Angela took me to her station and pulled the trolley with rollers piled upon it towards me. It was then, for the first time, that I was able to relax and enjoy what was to come. The initial shock had worn off. I was in there, and I would relish every roller going in.
“How would you want your hair today?” asked Angela.
“…… er…. um… however you think best..”
Space doesn’t allow me to write more detail of the next hour, but when I was released from under the domed dryer where I had been locked, I was placed at the mirror in the styling position nearest the door and reception desk. I sat there with rollers tight all over my head, apart from the back.
The Beehive came to check me out. She smiled knowingly in the mirror. What did she know? “Had a stand-off with your Father?” she enquired. Not knowing if she was being sarcastic, or merely saying what she had read into the situation, I smiled and said “yes, for sure!” meaning it was so, so true. “Well, we’ll show him. You have enough here to make a good impression…. Ange’s very good with the styling.” End of conversation.
Back came Angela, who proceeded to unwind every roller with care, leaving each beautiful springy curl as a separate roll as they cooled. Then, ouch! The back-combing began.
— oo00oo —
I have thought many times since, many hundreds of times, how much of a defining moment this was in my life. Never having been able to pass as a woman — well at least in company — this was as close as I could ever have been to a truly female experience. I have been shopping many times for both outer- and under-wear, happily browsing and not caring for other’s thoughts. I’ve had may hair done since, though not for some years. I have coloured my hair. I have had full make-up and make-overs. I have spent whole days in Changeaway salons. But my secret has been guarded. Especially since my marriage.
But going home, on that bus, with my underwear on, and my hair set in curls, I was in a kind of unrepeatable heaven.
And still, I was lonely. Perhaps I still am.
— oo00oo —
When I got home, the reality that Mum would be home within an hour dawned upon me. I dressed in some more clothes, ill-fitting though Mum’s clothes were, and I put on my make-up.
OK, I still looked like a boy who was dressing up as a girl. But the hair was the transforming extra aspect that I had dreamed of… and it was worth every penny of that week’s wages to have this look. I would r-live that day a thousand times before writing this today.
Chapter 10 brings an end to “never been kissed”.
Experiences like my salon first timer that day live with me for ever. It’s only when you write tracing back earlier days that you feel what you felt then. The more I think about it, the more I know, I felt lonely. Little did I know that, before the year was out, I’d have had my first kiss with a girl.
Chapter 10
The end of the salon day came within an hour of my return home. I had dressed and made-up my face. I had studied my reflection in Mum’s full length mirror. For the first time, and because of my hair that was styled in a style that could only be described as feminine, I began to feel that I might one day satisfy myself with a female self-image. That day, of couse, I was still a young man in some girly clothes. But that didn’t matter — it was the “doing” of what I was doing that made me comfortable and at ease, more relaxed somehow. I had relaxed in the salon as the stylist, Angie, put in those rollers so nicely and tightly.
I wished I had relaxed enough to engage her in conversation. Bless her, she did try, like she did with all her ladies when they’re being styled. Had I got plans for the weekend? Going out somewhere perhaps? Had I seen the Coronation Street programme that was on last night? Was it a programme I watched? Oh, it was,… who was my favourite character? All she got from me was one-line answers, I’m sad to say. I would have enjoyed myself a lot more than I did — and I did really enjoy myself! — if I had given her full answers to the questions. I did tell her that I thought that Elsie Tanner was a top character. I did really think that. We only had black & white television at home then so I couldn’t appreciate quite what a go-er Elsie was. I had seen magazine pictures — TV Times and the like, so I knew she was an auburn-haired raver! Her clothes were very “right” for a northern English middle-aged woman who used her body to good effect.
As I thought of her, I was absent-mindedly patting the curls on my head, feeling the way they reacted to a little pressure. They were totally “set” it was true and I loved the feel of them. I got close to the mirror as I applied my lipstick again……. Elsie was a good kisser, I’d bet.
Then I realized, quite suddenly, how fast time had been passing. It was nearly time for Mum to get home from work. I had bunked-off school so she wouldn’t know that I had been absent on my adventure — and never would do about this time. Maybe another time I might get reported by the school and have to provide an explanation of why I wasn’t at school. But not today. But she would be home soon. I had to remove the clothes of hers that I had tried on. Carefully, putting them back in the right drawers, having remembered which was closed and which was not. I put everything on her dressing table back where I had found them. I knew I was playing with fire.
I stood in my undies, and took a last look in the long mirror. I knew I had to wash those curls right out of my hair!!! And fast!! For the first time, because of my cross-dressing, I was overwhelmed by an impossible urge to cry my eyes out. I couldn’t help myself. Tears ran down my face. I so loved the salon experience, among all those other women, that I couldn’t wait to do it all over again. I resolved that I would even if it was months before I could.
The bathroom had no shower unit. Not even a flexible hose from the bath taps. I usually washed my hair in the bath. But there was no time for that. I filled the hand basin with water —
The water was proved to be too hot when I plunged my head in after a last caress of the curls. I was so sad to know that they would be gone within minutes….. After they were first made wet, I ran my fingers through them and found they gripped my hands….. almost saying “don’t do this!........” I reached out for the shampoo and found hot water draining down my neck and into my bra straps.
The bubbles became thick very quickly — so much had I over-dosed myself on the shampoo. Easily, I stroked the velvety foam and gradually felt the resistance of the curls, once so tight, relax and disappear. The tears welled-up in my eyes once again. It was gone. My lovely set hair….. Rinsing the shampoo and washing the hair again, I felt bereft. But also cleansed, in the sense of my inner self being washed of the desire to cross dress. What a mixed-up little boy I really was.
Drying my hair, I heard Mum’s car stop on the driveway outside the house. I had to get out of my panties and bra, and get my boy things on. Quick! It was easy to do that, but time didn’t allow me to finish drying my hair. What the hell. It was gone… My “set”, ….my lovely curly set.
By the time she was in the house, I was downstairs and pretending to have been there since school would have finished. She knew that school times were flexible in the year I was studying, so any time would have been fine for me to be home. She asked if I had a good day, to which I said, Oh, yeah!”…. maybe a bit too enthusiastically perhaps. She turned to look at me, saying “That’s good, honey……. Have you just washed your hair?... It looks a little different…..”
Think fast! An explanation….. “er..er…Yeah, some bully boy put chemistry materials in my hair from behind in class…… I had to wash as soon as I got home.”
“Well, it looks nicer than usual — more curly than usual if you ask me…” Mum said, genuinely meaning what she said. At least my explanation fitted. Phew! Later, I looked in a mirror and saw what she meant. There was a curl of a sort in what were usually straight strands. I rather liked that.
oo00oo --
Time passed slowly that autumn. School work got I the way of every social activity apart from sports. I stuck to my plan of wearing my panties but not my bras for as many days a week that I could. I washed them separately from the family wash and had several pairs by the time Christmas was coming round. Difficult to dry them in secret. Dreaming of getting more of what I wanted out of life, I gave myself the joy of a “Wish List” if I were lucky enough to receive what I really wanted this year.
Shoes!! My own beautiful strappy high heeled shoes. They didn’t even have to be HIGH.. just a couple of inches would make all the difference. And stockings! The shoes wouldn’t look at all right without sheer stockings to highlight them. That meant a third wish…. A suspender belt or garter, to fasten the stockings, or perhaps a light corset…. Now that would be very feminine indeed wouldn’t it?
Sadly, none of these gifts arrived on Christmas Day. I got aftershave, instead of Eau de Toilette. I got socks instead of the stockings. I got trainers instead of the heels.
1966 dawned with my first New Year’s Eve party with friends not family. I was allowed to sleep over at a friend’s house with a couple of other guys…… Only just in time did I appreciate the importance of NOT wearing panties, however much my New Year’s wish would be to wear girly underwear every single day of the year of 1966!
The party was a complete success. Everybody nearly died laughing we were so happy.
Given my feelings about being seen to be a girl, or feeling like I was at least partly a girl. At least in my head… I actively considered, for the first and only time in my life, what it would be like to fall in love with, or even have sex with, any of these guys. It was ludicrous.
They were all my own age, for a start. They were loud and lairy and make jokes about shagging and farting and being sick, oh, and about football and poncey pop singers who were the sweet-hearts of the girls they fancied. It was ludicrous also, because they all had penises, like I had a penis, and I could not begin to even think about what they would do with theirs, because I knew what mine was for and it wasn’t for anything they might do if I fell in love with one of them. Eeeeyuk!
My love of girls was never in doubt, and has never been in doubt. This was just a usual teenage thought that was easily dismissed. Thankfully, nobody in the group of four of us was thinking about the same thing so all went well. The party was a gas! I drank beer for the first time. Quite a lot of it — one of the guy’s Fathers was very liberal and had a very large beer and wine store. Even when we were pissed, nobody wanted to play anything but vinyl 45s and LP 33s.
Never having had a girlfriend, and going to an all-boys school, I was yearning to spend some time with girls, like I had dreamed of doing when on holiday. Those four girls in Jersey never left my mind. I wished I could meet someone like them. How could this be achieved? Not in my neighbourhood at my age. I was still six months away from joining a Youth Club.
There was a column in one of the teen magazines that were coming to the market at this time. It was a fore-runner of what became known as “Lonely Hearts”. Sergeant Pepper’s Lonely Hearts Club Band was released the following year, I believe…. There was a hopefulness about finding friends that way, in an innocent way. To write to someone who you’d never met. Maybe confide some inner secrets to share. To be true friends……
So I wrote off to the magazine’s box number. I used my real name and my real address. The idea was that you wrote a short box advertisement about yourself and, through a ‘box number’ you would get letters from people who liked the sound of you. Molly from north Essex wrote back.
To cut a long story short, by the time summer came, Molly and me, we were arranging to meet. It turned out to be the very same day that England would play in the final of the soccer World Cup. How could I forget that day? What the hell! For the first time in my life, I had a date!!
I met Molly for the first time, took her for a coffee at a café near the place we met — halfway between north London and north Essex and I took her to the cinema. I’ve long forgotten what the film was. The reason is not bad memory but more the memory of waiting only a few minutes before slipping my arms around her. And then turning to her and moving in for a kiss. And then spending half the film with my hand up her skirt ferreting about for what I wasn’t yet sure! I remember it so well…… She was a brilliant kisser.
And all the time I kissed her, I dreamt I was a girl myself.
Needless to say, our love affair was short-lived… and I had missed the World Cup final!
Chapter 11 finds me in real trouble with a real girlfriend, a local girl, and what would become a long-term relationship; even though I was only 17 by this time.
Kissing girls was brilliant and the burning desire for more intimate moments was strong. I had experienced little affection in my first 16 years really. So, I felt a little less lonely until the letter she wrote dumping me… Still, after necking with Molly in the dark, I was still mixed up. Wishing I was another girl.
Chapter 11
Knowing the hand up the skirt trick was a mistake, I had worked out for myself, I had nobody to ask how better to get onside with a girl. None of my mates were skilled in this department. No Brothers to ask, no Dad as approachable as I needed. Could I open up with Mum? I had no alternative. She would understand. But, no disclosure about the hand up the…..jaxci!!
“Mum, have you got a minute or two…?” There! I had dared myself to try…..
“Yes, honey, How can I help?” she answered with a kindly smile.
“Well, it’s like this…. I’ve not had many girlfriends and, well… you see…. It’s difficult… There’s a lot to think about and…. Well, I just can’t….. you know…. Er….
“Enough!” she smiled. “Don’t worry about what you say…. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, I’m sure.” She wanted me to open up — perhaps for the first time, we might have a deep and meaningful conversation. Mother and Son. What couldn’t I say to her? Well, how about I feel like a girl sometimes…. That’s what I couldn’t say to her. I looked at her again, remembering the picture on the landing passage upstairs of her and Dad in her most elegant days. Married in 1937, it would have been taken about then. Elegant. Nice word.
Conscious of the silence, I had to say something…. “Well, we haven’t talked much about me and girls and stuff like that. I mean, I have been out with a few girls you know and I’ve got… well, one big question. Why would girls want to kiss someone like me?” “Because you’re a good looking boy who will treat them right.” Came the answer.
“Yeah, but if I was a girl, I’d rather kiss another girl than kiss me….”
I wanted to say more but something stopped me. I knew what it was but… no hope.
“Honey, that’s nonsense. Girls don’t go kissing other girls anyhow….. Well……, Err…” Now she was stumbling with her words….. Maybe talking about lesbians was off limits.....
“Lesbians, yeah, I know Mum — I know enough about that…. well enough to have kissed girls and to know that it’s great and I can really understand them… lesbians that is. But I can’t understand wanting to kiss guys….” I was in a tangle, knowing what I meant, but not saying it.
“Now, honey, you shouldn’t be concerned with that. You’ll know when the right girl comes along and it will all seem natural.” She hadn’t answered my question, but then again, I hadn’t asked my question. What was that? Something like: “Mum, if I told you I felt like a girl sometimes, but still wanted to kiss girls and be a guy with them, is it normal?” Lesbians back in the closet for now!
An opportunity lost, like so many before I thought. I can’t talk with my parents. But then again, I didn’t know anyone who could at my age.
-- oo00oo --
Weeks passed by and I was occupied with school work and learning to drive a car. Heavy! Concentration needed. No time to focus on girls and my feelings, except that now, on Friday nights, I was able to go to a local Youth Club.
Others of my mates were going and there were girls there too. From a local girls’ school and from the mixed-sex comprehensive academy not far away. I knew enough of the guys, and many of the girls, if only by sight. We hung out, drank Coke and listened to music. The girls sometimes danced — it was the time of dancing around a handbag on the floor… the handbag had nothing in it except perhaps a lipstick, but the dancing enabled the ones with a good figure to advertise the fact and the ones who had no tits, or weighed too much, had to hide.
There were school dances to go to and those were good markets to catch a partner for a few weeks to come; which meant having someone to kiss on the bus on the way home, and on their doorstep as your “said goodnight, see you next week?” For the first time, I kissed a girl with my tongue in her mouth. Her lipstick tasted good….
But not as good as the lipstick I had at home. I had not forgotten.
Every Friday night, back home, I put on my lipstick before going to bed and did what 17 year old boys do. I got better and better at holding back before I would cum. Most usually, I was dreaming about one of two particular girls at the Youth Club, or alternatively, about my experiences back in the summer at the hair salon.
In my heart, I knew now that I was different from all of my friends. Unable to talk with them, I just knew that none felt the same way. And I certainly didn’t want them to know. Tears came occasionally at the prospect of never being able to share such a scandalous thing… yes, scandalous… good word. How people would laugh and mock me if they knew.
I’d be the Danny La Rue of the school! The one who got the girl’s part in the school play. But was I a Drag Queen, like Mr La Rue….. not when I found out he was gay, I wasn’t. I did love his costumes and I wouldn’t miss his television programme on mainstream BBC television on a Saturday night. The wonderful dresses. The tightly-fitted dresses. What corsets must be under there?! I dreamed of trying such corsetry and it would be fifteen years before THAT dream came true! And the hair… the wonderful wigs he wore… usually blonde and piled very high, but occasionally flamboyant red!
Yes, I dreamed that the salon would one day do my hair that way……
-- oo00oo --
When Angie had put all my hair in rollers — there were twenty one in total, covering the front, the sides and the crown of my head. The ones closest to my face were only one-inch in diameter, the ones on the crown maybe one-and-a-half inches. The style made a false ‘crown’ near the front and all of the rollers above that were set back towards the crown and beyond.
Angie had put a net over the whole array — quite why was never explained — and I was taken across to the dryers. I was sat between a young Mother on one side, who I later saw was a bright bright blonde, with long sleek hair to her shoulders. I was sat between her and a more mature lady, who I later saw was like the receptionist; a big bouffant! When her hair was styled, I saw just how much backcombing would do to create height and width. I was able to look around at all that was going on. Colours going on in one place, sharp cutting going on in at least two stations. Angie was doing a colour on another young lady while I was under the dryer. I know there was colouring now — at the time I just saw trays of gloop being plastered all over these women’s hair.
I looked again and, just as I was told my drying time was up, the big bouffant had turned into the most wonderful ‘up-do’, with rolling curls an integral part of the style. Imagine sleeping with that in place, I thought to myself!
By then, Angie had me in the seat… and the backcombing began.
I watched in wonderment — but total silence after telling her to do whatever she thought was right. She had been told it was a female style… a feminine style I had said on the phone — without explanation. I kept my mouth shut — stupidly so. Every curl was combed out separately and left sitting aside from the next, in a leafy pattern.. Very feminine, if only it was longer! How I wished...
She could clearly see by the way she had placed the rollers, that there was only one way to go.
By the time I left the salon, my hair was in danger of cracking because there was so much lacquer sprayed into it. I was in heaven as I walked down that street. I think I got some side-ways looks from people who had seen me come out of the shop. But what did I care?
-- oo00oo --
Hallow’een came and the school dance was upon us. Not a costume affair — just a come-as-you-are party night with a live band who played — badly — cover versions of the hits of the previous three or four years. We all danced that night…… pairing off was a bit of a lottery because, just as a guy made a move towards a girl, it was just as likely another guy would step in ahead of him. I was kinda lucky because the girl I had in mind was a girl I had talked with at Youth Club….
And yes, the two of us started to dance, danced on, and left for the bus home together. We kissed for a long long time on her Mummy and Daddy’s doorstep. Tongues and all! She was only 15 and it turned out later — much later — that I was her first real date. Well, there was a coincidence, she was my second, but my first “real” date. Molly was history. Oh, how I wish I had gotten some experience with one of those girls in Jersey the previous summer!
She would never know my secret. I would have real trouble keeping it so.
However long we were dating, I would make sure she would never know that I’d really like to get inside her panties…. In a special way.
That meant never making the mistake of wearing panties when we were going out together. Still less it meant making sure my bras, of which I now had three, were right out of sight. It also meant that I would never ever imagine her kissing another girl — except me.
Cross-dressing was put on the back burner for the time being.
Chapter 12 leads me to more open discussion with my Mum and back to the salon where my secret was safe.
A regular girlfriend and fewer opportunities to dress myself look like the future. My desire to cross dress won’t go away and the risks of discovery increase by the day. And there’s the question of going to Uni or not. Maybe that would be ideal and maybe I could meet others with the same feelings as me. Maybe Mum can give me advice, where nobody else can?
Chapter 12
Another occasion with the chance to talk to Mum in private came around before long. Dad was out playing stupid golf like he did every Saturday morning. Men only. No women, No kids allowed on the course. All very clubby. Mum was happy with this — happy to get him out of the house, I guessed. She was alone in the kitchen when I approached her. I thought, start about going to Uni — that would be a good place. For the first time, I made the first approach.
“Mum, I’ve been meaning to ask…… If I get through my exams, do you think it would be good for me to go to Uni?” “Of course, dear, you know we want what’s best for you.” “And would that mean me living away from home?” “Oh, I expect so — it’s all part of the experience, isn’t it? meeting new and different people.” We went on for several minutes, talking all about where I might study and what subjects and who I might meet there if I didn’t go with local friends to where they were thinking of going.
I went quiet for a moment or two, finding a way to turn the conversation in the direction of the sexual side of being at Uni.
Exaggerating a nervousness that I genuinely felt, I said “Look Mum, …” I suddenly changed the course of the talk…. “There are things I need to know before I go….” ….
“Like what, darling?” she asked, curious at my change of angle and tone.
“Well, about contraception and stuff…….”
“Ahhh, indeed, you’ll have to talk to Dad about that! It’s your responsibility. Never take it for granted that a girl will be on the pill. Most are these days it seems, but you can’t be sure.”
“Ok, I will — talk to Dad. But what about guys getting together with other guys… and girls with other girls…..”
“I’m surprised you ask, really I am…. Do you have feelings in that direction?” she asked, obviously concerned all of a sudden.
“Well, no, not at all, but what if I’m …. Well, you know… I’m …. Well, if someone’s keen on me?”
“Do you think someone is, honey? Do tell me.”
“No, no, not at all……. It’s just that I’m smaller than most guys and……”
“Darling don’t you worry. You have a lovely girlfriend and that’s the best deterrent to anyone else….”
Again, this had not gone the way I wanted. I wanted to tell Mum that, if I went away, I’d like to take girly things with me because part of me feels this way. And I didn’t and so, again, I was alone. With my thoughts. I knnow now that I was very unlikely to 'outt' myself to my Mother. So few of us do. The few mostly meet incompreheension and the disclosure is wasted, with shell-shocking results perhaps.
Disclosure, or 'outing' has been said to be something that is "done to" a transvestite person. Sometimes maliciously, sometimes by mistake.
I felt no fear of the disclosure itself at this age.... but great fear of the ridicule that my peer group would inflict on me. I didn't feel guilt, because there was nobody to whom I had given my love in return for their unquestionning love. (I have felt that since, especially when nearly divorced because of even the slightest suggestion that I enjoyed crossdressing).
Like 'Drea, to whom I give my thanks, the fear of discovery through the files of the "family" PC is too strong to bear. I'm not good enough at burying secrets within the memory there, so I am still vulnerable.
-- oo00oo --
Back to age 17:
On the days I felt able to wear my panties, which were fewer now I had a regular girlfriend, there was a new experience to indulge. I read an article — which is always dangerous because “articles” put ideas into your head….
Yes, I read an article about “sitting down to pee”, which crossdressers apparently did or still do (I know I do). And to make this more feminine, the idea was, said the article, to “tuck and tape”.
To tuck one’s bollocks back up into the groin area where they originally came from and to tape the skin that’s left empty across the length of the penis, forcing it down and backwards.. so that you pee the way a girl does. Apart from the tucking bit — which I thought would hurt — the rest seemed to be a great idea. For times when I went out. How much more secret could anything be?
I never did manage to tuck properly. There was no way, without incurring agony of an unspeak-able level, that I could get them inside… and then, I thought, how do you “un-tuck” them?? No, no, that wasn’t for me, I thought after the very first attempt. But the taping seemed quite ok, with my panties to hold me in, it was impossible to stand up and pee. I felt really quite girly, even though all this rummaging with bollocks, scrotum and penis made an unwanted focus on “boy-bits” that, when dressing, I didn’t want.
Saturdays, during the daytime were good days for this. I could engage in taping at least and sit with my panties round my ankles, peeing ‘downwards’ just like every girl would. I laughed out loud once at the thought I had, of a girl trying to pee standing up in a men’s room stall! I guessed there might be girls that felt the way I did — I mean, wanting to be guys for an occasional time? Did they? Were there female-to-male crossdressers?
Well, you couldn’t tell, could you… the way girls’ fashion was going, it was very easy indeed for girls to go out wearing guys' clothes… even their husband's or boyfriend's. It was ok for them… ok to look ‘androgynous’, that was the word…. Ugly word really. Why were girls allowed to do that when a guy like me couldn’t dress in a girly way and go out. I resented that.
-- oo00oo --
School days passed by, with examinations for Uni entry getting closer. Dates with my new girlfriend became more and more intense and the kissing more and more prolonged and, as far as I was concerned, more passionate. Would we end up having sex together? I hoped the answer was “yes, and quite soon”! The opportunity for privacy was a big issue.
The solution for that issue came when I passed my driving test. This promised freedom — freedom from staying in eachothers’ houses when parents were out. That was always a passion-killer, as I know from my own kids’ experience. We could, and soon did, have sex in the back seat of the car I’d bought.
We were an “item” as today’s terminology describes a couple. 18 and 16 we were. So, so young!
For the first time in my life, I had “wheels”! The freedom gave me the opportunity now to explore the surrounding suburban sprawl of London near my home. Inevitably, somehow, I found myself back in Golders Green. Where my salon experience had been first enjoyed.
I drove past the salon. I saw the Reception desk inside as I stopped the car. Angie, “my stylist” was at the telephone talking animatedly to someone. She didn’t see me — and wouldn’t have recognized me either, for sure. I headed for home, resolved to call her.
I phoned and booked another appointment. This time, I used my own voice (the same I’m sure as my irate “Father’s”) and said I had been told to book myself in for “more of the same”. The Receptionist — the blonde Bouffant — remembered me well and said so. “Did we do what was required last time?” she asked, obviously trying to engage me in a little conversation I paused, and for a moment I stammered: “We… we… w… Well, I guess it did. I kinda liked it which wasn’t intended, I’m sure…… my Dad’s lost patience with my hair growing so long….”
“Ahhh, we thought it was something like that. I did say we’ll shake him, or show him… Well, if he’s not completely satisfied, we’ll have to do and even better job for you this time. Would you like Angie to take care of you again?” she asked.
“If that’s possible, yes please.” I found it easier to talk this time. The first time, I had been like a rabbit in the headlights, unable to speak… “She was very kind last time.”
“And is there anything you would like done differently?” Bouffant continued, prolonging the conversation.
“I don’t think so, …” pausing for thought, I said……. But the words failed to come out…… (One of your temporary colour rinses would be nice…..) …. No, nothing different…. unless Angie thinks of something….”
End of conversation. I was upstairs in my bedroom, trousers off, panties down, tape ripped off, wanking hard, before I could think.
Youth Club that evening was great. The walk home to my girlfriend’s house was slow and we talked about so much that we could do together. It was perfect. I knew that, if we were together for long enough, I would get serious about her. If I went to Uni, I would want to keep her as my girl at home. It would be two more years before she went to Uni herself.
-- oo00oo --
“So you say your Dad’s lost patience with your long hair?2 Angie asked as I sat in her chair after having my hair back-washed again. The salon was very busy. It was mid-day on a school day when again I had bunked-off lessons. I had driven to Golders Green.
To this day I can recall the conversation with her. It was relaxed and, I believe, just as normal as that she would have been having with other clients as she set their hair.
“Did Beverly ask you if you wanted anything done differently to last time?” Angie asked me, looking into my face in her mirror. “Beverly, who’s Beverly?” I replied. “Her, Out there….. She owns the place.” Angie replied, in a tone that wasn’t endearing. “She’s told me to sell you a colour rinse. Anything to get you to spend some more money!”
“Well, it’s my Dad’s money….” I answered. “..but, really….” I felt courage drain from my veins, “… really, no, maybe next time…. (there would be a next time!) ….Just do what you did before, only have fun with it. I really don’t mind. It will offend him more if I seem not to care.!”
Angie started with the rollers, with a broad smile on her face. “OK, you said it!”
An hour and a half later, having paid good money to look girly from the neck up, I left the salon, pausing to look in their mirror by the door. I had a centre parting with a fringe and bangs curving round the cheekbones. My ears were covered now, as my hair had grown longer. The crown was back-combed high and the back shaped into my neck. “Forgive me if I cut a little shape into the style, won’t you?” Angie had said, going ahead without any agreement from me. I forgave her, but this was now more of a feminine style than I’d expected. How would it looked when it was washed out?
Chapter 13 brings a first time for me, pre-Uni, to buy and try some girly outerwear.
Maybe Mum can give me advice, where nobody else can? I was lonely…… When I wrote that yesterday, together with ‘Drea’s painful words about the hurt from others, I started thinking about the time I was in this situation. We are talking 1967/1968. Of course, there was nobody to confide in. Life was different then……… (No hairdressing in this chapter, by the way!)
Chapter 14 (There is no chapter 13!.. that would be unlucky!)
At the time I was a young adult, struggling with my personal issues, it is important to remember that this was not the 21st century!
There was no Internet. There not even any personal computers. No typewriters with memories. No places to store thoughts apart from shoeboxes in the wardrobe. There were no Social networks. There were no Blogs. No Facebook, No Twitter. No acceptance of “Diversity”. No acceptance of “deviation from the normal”. No clubs where people who were different could meet.
No understanding that we’re all male or female, but that there are positions on a continuous scale between the two. On a scale of plus 5 to minus 5, I am, and always have been, at point 2 or3 on the male side. In other words, there are parts of me over towards the girly side.
Crossdressers were nowhere to be seen. If they had emerged onto the street, they would have been branded “Queer”, just like any homosexuals who were still facing legal prosecution if found engaging in what homosexuals engage in when they are together. If anyone knew about it, crossdressing was evidence of homosexuality, I’m sure. It’s what poofs wanted to do to attract eachother. No understanding that crossdressing and wanting a sex change are not inextricably linked. No understanding that the majority of crossdressers are in face most certainly heterosexual, usually men, who admire the opposite sex greatly. Likened to being a lesbian, in those days, being a crossdresser meant you didn’t exist!
This was the dark ages!
That’s why I was lonely. That’s why I wasn’t like my friends at school. That’s why I stayed at home more than others. I had nobody to talk to about what really mattered. What was all-embracing. My conundrum.
If I had been gifted with sites like the Big Closet, or Crystal’s Storysite, or Sapphire’s Place….. There would have been heaven on earth. Even if there were sections in the Municipal Library marked with such a classification as “Transvestism” or “Crossdressing”, there would probably have been queues of people lined up out the door to get access.
But then there were few if any books on the subject.
I remember reading (and how I got my hands on the book I’ll never recall) a book about a French transsexual. The book was called “Coccinelle”. Then there was another, which I think was serialized in a Sunday newspaper, which was all about a woman called April Ashley. These had been published a few years before — around the late 1950s. They were books for weirdos about weirdos.
That’s what I was made to feel about myself, from the very little I could see publicly, I was most definitely a weirdo. That’s why I was lonely. That’s why I wasn’t like my friends at school. That’s why I stayed at home more than others. I had nobody to talk to about what really mattered. What was all-embracing. My conundrum.
In the late 1960s in England, the media were less in evidence, but no less powerful, than they are today. Imagine then, against this background, that the BBC, the public service broadcaster, should commission and show on prime-time Saturday night television, a variety show featuring the country’s only celebrated female impersonator.
Everyone knew that pantomimes at Christmas had “dames” who were played by men. They were the Ugly Sisters in “Cinder-fucking-rella”, for example (my apologies to the cast of ‘Pretty Woman’). That was ok, because there was always a “principal boy” who was played by a girl. The men were “drag queens” (all of whom were weirdos) and the women were “actresses playing a part”. So they were respectable.
So, I felt classified as a weirdo. I didn’t feel that I was weird. This was part of me being “me”. And I really didn’t want to play around with other guys. I was not homosexual. (Nobody had used the word ‘gay’ at this time). I wasn’t a “queer” or a “poof”. All I would crave was the freedom to dress at home, indoors, out of sight, in the way I wanted. As a girl, a pretty and if possible glamorous girl.
And I had nobody to explain that to.
In my own little space, I coveted the looks and the clothes that made the pop music divas of the time who they were. I plastered the walls with pictures taken from pop mucus magazines. English female singers were in great demand then. Sandie Shaw, Cilla Black, Lulu and Dusty Springfield, all looked down at me from the walls. I looked back at them, imagining I was their guy… I was their lover.
Or sometimes, I was “them”, or dressed, styled and made-up like them.
The dresses they wore on television and in these pictures were wonderful, colourful and totally glamorous. My, admitted now, fetish for hair was rampant by now. I loved their different hairstyles and colours. But I couldn’t be them. I couldn’t even be “like” them, because there was no doubt, I was male. So I wanked, frequently and excessively, feeling guilty as I did so — because you were meant to feel guilty about it in those days. It’s what guys like me, any guy of my age I’m sure, but you weren’t meant to feel good about yourself when you finished.
18 years old now, facing life-changing school examinations, I might be at Uni by the autumn. There was pressure all around. Pressure to grow up. Pressure to stop being childish. Pressure to keep a girlfriend and be totally normal.
That took constant work and effort.
My girlfriend was great and a friend and mainstay. There was no way I would shatter the relationship I was building with her by saying “oh, by the way, can I borrow a bra and some panties of yours?” Weirdo! She would have screamed and run out of the room, never to be seen again. Hell’s teeth!!! I could not let that happen.
And yet, there was my stash of clothes in my closet at home, my collection of make-up (which by now included mascara, despite me still being absolutely useless at applying it).
I was trapped between the “Devil” — my cross dressing — and the “deep blue sea” — my girlfriend. The Devil would not let go of me, the deep blue sea was inviting me always to “dive in”. How easy could it be to run with both? Answer, well, it ebbed and flowed emotionally.
People talk of the “Elephant in the room” — the issue that nobody wants to mention. Well, I had my own elephant! When I dressed, I may secretly have hoped that Mum would “discover” me, as had nearly happened with a few close shaves in earlier years. What would I say? The question frequently flashed through my mind. Maybe it would be good to have it out in the open. I so wanted to confide in somebody. But the risk to my relationship — which was now a love affair — was too great to allow it to happen.
I dressed in my underwear. I used my make-up. I dreamed. But I couldn’t wear Mum’s clothes any more — not only had I grown to reach her size, by now I was of a larger size. I would have been an English ‘size 16’ and she a svelte ‘14’. But I was by now thinking that my look was incomplete….. incomplete without some pretty outerwear. Perhaps a blouse and skirt, or perhaps a full-length dress. Something sheer and feminine, but not too figure-hugging. My figure was only the result of paper stuffed into the cups of the bras I had now had to replace with a larger size. 36B or 38B seemed the next step up.
So, with my underwear on, for the first time I went out and headed for the shopping centre, where Marks & Spencer’s store was. I should have loved to wear some lipstick and this time I could! For the first time, my most recent shopping trip had included finding a Maybelline stick with natural skin colour. So much was the fashion at the time for the palest possible lip colours! The taste bore be up to exhilaration all the time I was shopping.
Chapter 15 will reveal my most treasured acquisition….. a blouse and floaty flowing skirt!
Back to my story of the bittersweet experiences in my mid-teens. Dangerous times! The risk of discovery heightened by every choice I made. My first trip to go buying outer clothes and my first car drive home with my hair just set.
Chapter 15 (There was no chapter 13!)
I decided to combine two firsts, believe it or not. This is for real. I would never have done what I did in the neighbourhood where I and my family lived. Golders Green was far enough away. There was a new shopping mall, called Brent Cross, which had been built the year before. Marks & Spencer was a flagship store.
It was a spur-of-the-moment decision — to combine the hairdressing with the shopping. That came after the hair salon visit, so it wasn’t as easy as it would have been — to go shopping before having my hair set in a girly style. Of course, it wasn’t. But I found a new reserve of bravado. What if complete strangers did think I was curious, a subject of laughter? What if they thought I was a ‘poof’ or worse, the new term for homosexuals, a ‘bum bandit’? Did I care? No, I decided I didn’t care. Because I wouldn’t be seen by them again, so they could laugh all they wanted.
My clothing was purposely loose and unfitting — I could be boy or girl under the shirt and loose trousers. In fact, I was girly under there — my panties were used to this! The bra was unused to such a trial but coped well, being undiscovered at the salon — at least I thought so.
There was no mistaking the femininity of my hair. It was highly-styled, I had a centre parting with a fringe and bangs curving round the cheekbones. My ears were covered now, as my hair had grown longer. The crown was back-combed high and the back shaped into my neck. Angie had gone ahead with a cut without any agreement from me. I forgave her, but this was now more of a feminine style than I’d expected. I thought I would have to wash it out immediately I got home.
That was what finally persuaded me to go to Brent Cross. It would prolong the enjoyment. I could park my little old car in the car park, the one nearest the M&S store.
Before I left he car, I checked my hair in the rear-view mirror. It looked wonderful. I opened my purse and took out the flesh-tinted lipstick. Well, no reason NOT to enjoy the moment. I ladled my lips with plenty of creamy colour that was unnoticeable from more than three yards away. OK, the counter assistant would notice but I’d only be with her for a minute, paying cash.
(Remember, these were the days when a 17/18 year old could not get one of those new-fangled credit card things. Many stores didn’t accept them anyway).
A final check in the mirror and I reached for the door handle. Soon I was across the car park and entering the mall. Uncertain exactly where the M&S store was, I sought out a store directory. Just beside an escalator, a moving staircase that went up towards the second floor).
Marks & Spencer was right beside where I was standing. On two floors. On the ground floor, there were household items, and men’s clothing amongst other things. Don’t need any of that, I thought. I need the Women’s section.
So, it was up that staircase to the array of underwear, like the other store I had bought my panties and bras.. And there, stretching away from me, beyond the shoes raking, were the skirts, the dresses, the flowing trousers, the lingerie and nightwear. I stopped as it stunned.
“Can I help you?” I was asked within a few seconds of standing still. “No no, I have to find blouses and I can see them..” I answered the helpful assistant. As I moved on, I felt her eyes drilling into the back of my neck. She knew! She saw the lipstick, for sure! Stupid boy! Why did I wear it? Stupid. Too much of a give-away. What if she called the store detective? What if she called out after me?
Of course, none of these things happened and I reached the blouses and lovely tops that girls were wearing in 1967/68. Bright colours, new fabrics, sheen and shine, ruffles and flares. Beauties!
At the end of the first display, there were further racks of much more conservative, dare I say dowdy, clothing — the sort my grandmother would wear. The first rails were much more what Mum would wear. Too old for a girl of my age……
“My age?” I said out loud. People did turn to see who had said something out into the ether…. Oh, it was that boy over there, or is it a girl? Must be… look at her hair1 I imagined them thinking. Is he a poof? Is he a bum boy? Lock up your kids!!.....
No, no, no. Nothing of the sort. Nobody paid the slightest bit of notice. But there I was, another first….. The first time I had thought of “a girl of my age”…… Jeez, this hairstyle and these surroundings, and my bra and panties…. They all made me feel soooo girly!
I needed to find fashions for girls of my own age. There! I said it again…. to myself.
“You need to find fashions for girls of your own age?” asked a stranger’s voice next to me. “Well, you’ll find them over the far side. Over there.”
I nearly had heart failure. But in a moment that person was gone. I saw the backside of a mature lady, maybe 50+, who worked for the store as a Supervisor. Not like the Dragon at my previous branch. I decided it was time to get over there, make a choice, pay and get out.
The Teens area was full of girls from a local school who were going along every row and rail, taking blouses off the hangers and hanging them in front of themselves. Many tried to accentuate the very small tits they had. I reflected that the tits I made for myself with folded socks were probably too big. I tried to keep away from these little tarts — for that’s what they were — but they wouldn’t go away. None of them noticed me in particular but I guessed if they did — and if they spotted my lipstick, all hell would break loose. Inhibitions and they did not go together.
But there I was. My hair looked better than many of theirs. Unusual, but not impossible, for a boy to wear. Perhaps it wasn’t so bad…. OK it had been styled and back-combed a bit, and the fringe and bangs surrounded my face. But I was a boy… Why was I there?
“To look for a present for a Sister”. That was why. That’s how I would explain my being there.
I reached the most promising rail with brightly coloured cotton/nylon shiny fabrics. I rustled along the rail to find the size I thought I would need….. A choice between a 36B and a 38B. How would I choose which.
“What are you looking for, sweetie?” Someone asked nearby….. Actually, I was asked….. Did I have an answer? Yes……
“I’m looking for a blouse as a present for my Sister…” I said, furiously eating what remained of the lipstick that was still on my lips.
“Oh, neat….” Said a 16 year old girl in school uniform. Pan-stick make-up and a blonde streak lining her fringe. One of many among her friends. “Here, you lot!.. This guy wants help choosing a blouse….” “What??!!! Came the collective chorus. “Heeee wants a blouse???” said another one of the girls, incredulously. She was a lovely redhead.
Within three seconds, I was surrounded by a rugby scrum of 16/17 year old girls. Something a boy of my age would have dreamed of and never once expected to have happen. “Why do you want a blouse?” said one. “Is it for you?” said another. “Cool, if it is!” exclaimed another…….. They were clearly on my case. I had been rumbled…. My face must have begun to blush…. But then, magically, I remembered… my explanation… Confidence flooded back into my veins, like another time before.
The first girl said “That’s what he said first of all…..” and the rest looked at me in a different light. “That’s cool too — if you’re buying something really fashionable for her. How old is she?” There was a need to create an imaginary Sister — and quickly…..
“Er… she’s, er… two years older than me; makes her 19. She’s at Uni. Doesn’t get to spend money on clothes hardly at all….”
Within a minute, I was faced with three blouses to choose from, out of twenty or more that had been considered by the group. The choice had been accompanied by dozens of questions directed at me, to which the answers were not listened. It had to be one of these three. I had to choose. There and then. I settled for the prettiest, girlie-most pink and white swirly-patterned blouse which, because it was made of what it was made of, would hide the bras I would want to wear under it. Layer upon layer of stuff I’m told was man-made chiffon.
Shepherding me off to the pay desk, one of the girls… the one who had said it would be cool if the blouse was for me…… sidled up and said “I do like your hair. It’s really nice. Do you wear it that way all the time?” To which I replied, “…only when I’m feeling like it". ....Not what she was expecting. I would like to see you again I thought.
--oo00oo--
Back in the car, having paid twenty pounds of my hard-earned wages for this blouse, I sat back in the driving seat. Breathless. Going over the encounter in my mind. What should I have done differently?
I thought.
And I concluded. Nothin!
I handled the attack of the clones very well!
--oo00oo--
I returned home and parked the car along the street from my home. I had to make my re-entry to the house. Like before. Quick. Quiet. Unobserved.
That nosey neighbour woman, in particular, had to be avoided. She would blow the whistle.
“Your Son looks different these days, doesn’t he? All a bit girly, I think. Is he quite normal??......” I could hear her over the back garden wall. Taunting my Mum. Well, she would do if she saw me like i was. But she didn't!
I made it. The house was quiet. But like before. I had to hid my purchases and get my hair washed. Sadly, so sadly, it had to go — this wonderful coiffure….. Nice word that. I didn’t do French at school but that word stuck! I had a coiffure. It had said so above the door of the salon. Poncey word really. Implies style and French self-admiration. Can’t stand them. Never could.
The wash-out was the same, except the curls were more difficult to flatten, to eradicate. I dried my hair off, again just before Mum walked in.
“More chemicals down your neck, Honey? You should have them do it more often — it looks nice again.”
!... should have them do it again…….
“I’m off to study Mum.” I answered, thinking of how much I wanted that blouse and my bra to get together. It would have to be tomorrow!
Chapter 16 brings us to “tomorrow” — don’t say it never comes!
First time…..
Musings from WannabeGinger
My first (and only) steady girlfriend hit me in my mid-teens. 17, I was, 15, she was!! This was the Sixties….. But everything wasn’t THAT relaxed! (…not where I was living at least). So I wasn’t yet ready to go out en femme as they call it. Girlfriend time was weekend time, so weekdays were the only possibilities for dressing…..
Chapter 16
I had been to M&S and bought that blouse — my first — and was sitting on my bed after Mum’s arrival, dreaming of going out en femme, but knowing I wouldn’t dare… not yet… perhaps when I went to Uni.
No, I had my stash of clothes that was getting bigger…. There was the blouse had helped create a look that was “me”, used with a pleated skirt that was my Mum’s — it was the only one that fitted me around the waist and was the right length. All the rest of her clothes were beyond my use.
I couldn’t risk dressing while she was in the house…. Personal space had meaning in those days but was regularly invaded — especially by Brothers but also, occasionally, by Mothers.
So the new blouse was added to my stash, unworn, but cherished..
I needed some nightwear. That would be ok; nobody would come in my room at night……
Another week’s wages would soon be invested. I lay awake at nights, dreaming of going in and selecting the most wonderful silky, satiny, full-length nightdress that was ever designed. It could be a present for someone…….. It would have been wonderful…. To come home and wait for dark… and to slip into it for the whole of a night… and to wake with its silken folds caressing my arms and legs, and yes, maybe my chest. I wished I had tits. Fully-functional, erectile tits…. One’s that stood up and took notice if they were tweaked, or nibbled, or scratched, or caressed by the folds of a …… There I go, dreaming again. Round in circles……
So, yes, I did go out and buy that nightdress. It was easy. Too many to choose from, that was the enjoyable part, but all affordable (if you didn’t spend too much on beer like most teenaged boys)
I was approaching my 18th birthday when — for the very first time — I slept that way. And nobody knew. Nobody at all. It was easy……. I dreamed that I was Marilyn Monroe, or some other movie star…. Julie Christie was a favourite. Doctor Zhivago was a stunning film. I took my girlfriend to see that one……. Fabulous!
My weekends were spent with friends, and this one girl in particular. Not a stunner, but very attractive to me at the age I was…. It seemed easy; we made good friends and enjoyed eachother’s company.
We weren’t good enough friends for me to confide my secret though. But we soon became good enough friends for sex in the back of the car. Yes — there…. Well, nowhere else to go!
Parents were not THAT understanding — certainly hers were not!
Of course, I never wore a shred of anything from my feminine stash of clothes at the weekends.
Opportunities for dressing were becoming fewer and further between. Examination preparations, socializing and family intrigues, all conspired to cut my dressing off nearly totally. For the next year, until I went to Uni, I was confined to dressing in nightwear before going to bed. I laughed out loud some nights… imagining what would happen if the house caught fire and I was forced to evacuate the building…… in my nightie!
Thankfully, that never happened. But I did come perilously close to being discovered because I left my bedroom curtains open one night and stupidly undressed in the full light of the bedroom window. Whether I was seen, I never knew and, to this day, can’t speculate what would have happened if I had been.
I dressed less and less. Was I ashamed? Well, to tell the truth, I may well have become so. Not consciously, but remarkably. Like any crossdresser, the last thing imaginable was to have my parents to discover me dressed. Nor would I have been able to explain myself to my girlfriend of, now, several months’ standing.
University beckoned. I looked forward to greater freedom. Meanwhile, normality took over. “Things” took their natural course and we found ways for sex to be enjoyed in less extreme situations. As might be expected for someone with a “remote” Father, there had been little sex education in my life. Thus, those first experiences were fumblings that led to quite inadequate conclusions. I would cum too soon. She might not cum at all. And yet, she couldn’t say what she wanted me to do to make it all much better for her. Or so I could tell. I wanted so much to please her that I tried too hard… and so lost it at critical moments. All of which made me feel quite inadequate.
Then something really curious happened. It led to my becoming much more of a “successful performer” which is a term I literally hate…….. Sex shouldn’t be a performance. It should be shared joy. But, having “performed” so poorly in our early love-making, I found I was able to “perform” much more energetically, and reliably, if I used my imagination. Not to imagine I was making love to Marilyn, as many of my mates would have been doing. No Siree! I performed better if I imagined I WAS Marilyn….. Marilyn making love to another woman.
It was then that I discovered the joys that have sustained me through forty years of love-making; oral sex became the mainstay of my pleasure, and my pleasure giving. Recollections of the first "going down" on my girlfriend are very hazy. I know I wasn't forced. I know I felt I wanted to do this. I know it was a natural way to give greater pleasure to a girl. I imagined a girl "going down" on me so many times, it was second nature when I finally did so. To great effect. She surprised herself, finding an intensity of orgasm that neither of us admitted later we thought possible. She couldn't wait for more.... and I, for my own satisfaction, couldn't wait to give her more!
And there began one of my continuing fantasies that, in many variations, have lasted for forty years. And so, back to my theme of First times ….for everything.
--oo00oo–
Aged 18, with a girlfriend aged 16, ready that summer to go off to Uni., my life was about to change for ever. I would no longer be living at home. I would be in student culture, subject to student temptations, just like any other guy. (Except I had my own special temptations to face).
I had to plan how I would keep my stash of clothes a secret — either if I took it all to student halls of residence, or if I left it at home where it might be found in one of Mum’s “clear-outs2 that she did from time to time. After all, if I were not living there, she might decide to clear my room of much of the stuff I had accumulated as a teenager. What a surprise she might have if she did.
My clothing store was buried deep in the back of the closet where the sun never shone! I had everything by now. From underwear, to night wear, to blouses, but as yet, no skirts or dresses. The nearest I cam to a flowing skirt was a pair of flowing flared trousers that Mum had discarded as being very passé… the wrong style, the wrong colours….. What the hell, they were feminine and they fitted! Well, with the adjustable waist they did.
With them I could make a passable female from head to toe!
Except for shoes…… increasingly, I wanted a selection (yeah!) of shoes to choose from when I could dress……. So infrequently did I do so, the cost of shoes was prohibitive (and remember, this is in the days before charity stores had plenty to offer from the discards of beautiful ladies!)
Shoes were a problem; I was now larger in my feet than Mum ever was or would be. A size 7 (UK) was already on the large size for any women’s selection and that’s what I needed. Mum was a size 5 so, when aged 14, they were great fun.
So, reluctantly… oh, so reluctantly, I took the decision to leave my stash of clothes… stashed away in my room at home; sans a skirt and sans shoes. I would put my crossdressing on a shelf in the back of the closet where it belonged. I would risk discovery in one of Mm’s ‘clear-outs’ and I would be “normal”.
For the first time in my life, I had a purge! Not to the extent of throwing everything away, but at least in terms of denying myself access to the clothes I loved so much. I even decided to leave the nightwear and the panties and bras behind. My crossdressing migrated into my psyche; into my dreams and fantasies, always when alone. When having sex, I would be “normal”; I would concentrate on my girlfriend — or the occasional one-nighter at college dance nights.
I couldn’t resist taking a couple of my favourite lipsticks away to college with me. For security and comfort only, you understand — not for wearing ‘out’. The rest of my make-up went with the clothing. Into the closet you go!
That left my hair.
My alter ego had wonderful hair that I could only imagine emulating….. But it had grown. Beautifully. To beyond the length I ever imagined. By the time I went to college in the September of that year, it lay on my shoulders. What passed for a style was much as before — a central parting with a fringe and bangs to the sides, a crown that could be back-combed and ends that could be flipped at the toss of a curler! Poorly cut, I had to admit. But it had potential. Poor condition, maybe, but that’s easily fixed….. I needed to get it cut before going away. It needed to be male enough for everyday, but female enough for solo self-indulgence sometimes.
Luckily, this was a time for experimentation. With colour. Loads of guys and girls were now turning up with their hair coloured differently. I hadn’t dared, but felt increasingly left behind. It could be done with ease. But I lacked the courage to have it done in a salon, which I should have adored to do. No, for me, it was a trip to the multiple chemists, Boots, in the High Street near home.
Their hair colouring display had always been magnetic; drawing me in and urging me to buy. At last, for the first time, I gave in and made my purchase.
Nothing too drastic. Nothing permanent. Nothing to go lighter. No bleach!
A temporary rinse in Burgundy! I took my time, studying the alternatives. Caring not who looked
Chapter 17 follows.
Ready to leave home for Uni, I had endured a “purge” — my first — something that comes to us all at times, deciding to leave my stash at home. I knew my clothes might be found hidden away, but equally felt that my co-students at Uni wouldn’t be ready for a fully-fledged crossdresser in our first semester.
Chapter 17
I was not booked to have shared accommodation in the University hall of Residence. I would have my own study/bedroom. So I figured I could take my night-wear, including bras, panties, stockings and suspenders, to enjoy in the secrecy of my new home. When being visited by girlfriend or family, they could all be hidden, no problem!! I also took a few basic cosmetic items, with which I was gradually getting more skilled. I still looked back at myself in the mirror and saw a bloke with make-up on, but from further away, with some clothing, and with my hair done, I felt passable to myself — which is what matters.
My hair needed a cut, and as I indicated last time, it could be given some colour. Such were the ways that times had moved on.
Bob Dylan didn’t mean this aspect when he sang “The times, they are a-changing” but he was not wrong.
Come mothers and fathers
Throughout the land
And don't criticize
What you can't understand
Your sons and your daughters
Are beyond your command
Your old road is
Rapidly agein'
Please get out of the new one
If you can't lend your hand
For the times they are a-changin'.
So there I stood in the store called Boots, holding in my hand a sachet of the temporary colour rinse that I had almost given in to years ago — aged 13 was I? — called Inecto’s Hint of a Tint. Washes out in 2-3 washes, it said….. So, nothing permanent….. If it all went wrong it would be easily remedied. Just shampoo-in, like any normal shampoo or conditioner.
I had lost the previous sachet which I had lacked the courage to use…. Wherever did that go? Maybe it was found but never mentioned? How many clues had I left for the family over the years? Stray pairs of panties? Oh yes, there was a case of them being found, but never mentioned. They probably thought I was precocious and having sex with girls who were so precocious themselves that they left their knickers under the beds they slept in!!
To cut a long story short. The temporary rinse was a disaster — well, first time, it was probably bound to be. The only positive side of it was that the condition of my hair improved dramatically. Soft and volumized, it was marvellous. Not so the staining of my scalp and around my hair-line. Smudged bright stains of a near-purple colour stared back at me as I dried the past-chin length hair.
Nothing was written on the pack about taking care with exposed skin….. And that wouldn’t help with the parting that shone through between the sections of my hair! Oh, hell! What to do?
Then I saw the stains on the bathroom basin where I had chosen to do this deed. They took a lot of effort to remove and I didn’t have proper bathroom cleaning products to hand….. Damn!!
And everyone would be coming home soon — well, at least my Mum, and Dad too. And I was to go out with my girlfriend that night. Damn! What a mess. Why did I do this?! I was in a panic, now I know, looking back. Blind panic. No time to enjoy the look of the hair. No time to imagine it set, in secret. No time to dress in my undies or night-wear.
I didn’t want to look like this! It wasn’t meant o go wrong.
(I would do this again, many times, over the years. Learning by your mistakes is a great way to advance. But I didn’t appreciate this, just then).
To cut a long story short, it took three more washes to get rid of the staining to my skin and scalp, meaning I lost all the benefit of the colour I had so longed to behold. The bathroom ceramics were equally tough but eventually relented by giving up their purple stains.
Isn’t it strange how extreme the colours appear when applied to get subtle shades into boring mousey-brown hair… or any hair… for that matter? I’M SO SORRY TO HAVE GONE ON QUITE SO LONG…. MY DEAR READER, BY NOW, YOU’LL HAVE GATHERED WHEN MY HAIR FETISH, WITHIN MY LOVE OF DRESSING, WAS SET IN STONE, VELVET COVERED, IN MY HEART.
--oo00oo--
My last few weeks before going to Uni were idyllic………. Looking forward to a whole new experience, it was clear that the relationship with my girlfriend was strong would last beyond separation. We had cemented this with two birthday events which, as young people, were special.
She bought two seats at a Dusty Springfield concert — a “come-back” event really but which promised to be truly memorable. It did prove so to be. I loved every minute. All of the wonderful lady’s classic tracks, and a few emotive ‘covers’ of other singers’ work. Some Carol King songs, some Tamla Motown winners and some soulful R&B classics. I always preferred her ballads. We still have all Dusty’s vinyl albums, all with their magnificent, flattering sleeves and pictures.
Knowing she enjoyed variety stage shows, which were all over the London stage at this time, I got us two tickets for the Palace Theatre — one of the City’s largest venues — for the show starring Danny La Rue. In his own words, “an old tart that made dressing up respectable”…. Or was it “dressing up as an old tart made respectable”?? not that it matters.
She loved every minute from the front row of the circle. The show was done for us! Needless to say, I enjoyed the show for rather different reasons. The glamour! It was so in-yer-face as to be ridiculous, but then, that’s the illusion intended. What do I remember most? The corsetry and, of course, the wigs….. Not just on the star of the show, but on all the dancing girls with legs that reached to the top of their arms! We still have the programme from the show somewhere in an album. I must look it out someday.
But I remained true to my purge. The clothing stayed in the closet where, one day, I would go back to find future pleasure. Pleasure I was to deny myself for three years.
There were no GLBT organizations in the Uni where I was to study, as there are very active groups such as these everywhere in the 21st Century. The most anyone could find would be a small group of (now called) gay guys who would be seen together. No street marching. No militancy. No “demands for equal rights”. But then again, no crossdressing in the street if you wanted. (I didn’t!)
The more I think about it, the less I would have wanted to be classified in that “homo” way, in any case. I didn’t feel homosexual — I didn’t identify with those people who, only two years before, could have been locked up for illegal sexual activity. I was no poof… I was no queer. I was no bum bandit…… I was a normal straight guy with just a special interest. An interest that was not catered for in literature or, except in the limited case I mentioned, the theatre. Danny La Rue had his own cabaret club in Hanover Square in London’s Mayfair. I would not have dreamed of going there — either for the cost, or for the probability that queers would be hanging round looking for boys of my age. No thanks!
So, I remained a secret — closet — crossdresser. One with a girlfriend and a special love of feminine things. Nowadays, we can be recognized, us heterosexual crossdressers (I never liked the word transvestites), recognized as men who love women so much they want to emulate them. I’m comfortable with that description. But sadly, it was never imagined to be described thus in 1968.
--oo00oo–
My arrival at a provincial University was uneventful. I settled in to studies well and my attention was diverted only by serious drinking and frequent parties. All part of growing up. I didn’t choose to be celibate, celibacy chose me. I was still spotty and not an attractive girl-hunt-me guy.
That was ok. I had a girlfriend who loyally waited for me for the semester breaks, during which times we made love as many times as we possibly could.
She seemed happy to run with a relationship that kept us both happy. She was studying at school and, having a boyfriend at Uni, was something of a celebrity; someone to be envied by girls of her own age.
Our love-making was increasingly tender and I think skilled. We found ways to pleasure eachother and bring lasting satisfaction. She said she talked often with the girls about having climaxes, or orgasms, that many of them seemed not to have experienced.
All due to my prowess with my tongue…. we laughed, in private. I did so love the taste of her.
Her skill with her lips around my boyish apparatus grew gradually better and better. I often turned back on herself to avoid cumming while she attended to me….. I feared any girl’s revulsion at receiving a mouthful of my spunk. Why on earth would a girl relish that? I knew I wouldn’t. Really, I could NOT imagine kissing or licking or sucking another guy’s dick. Over the following forty-plus years, I never have and never will.
I did find an outlet for my dressing in the Uni drama club. Somehow, I made it somebody else’s idea that we should perform some Shakespeare in the original medieval format where young men played the female roles. It was hard to forego the role of Juliet but I did a storming performance — in my first-time-ever transgender role — as Titania in Midsummer Night’s Dream. That’s now the one play, whenever it’s performed, that I insist we see at London’s Regents Park Theatre — open air performances, usually by stunning casts. My favourite Titania has always been the Polish-born stunner, Rula Lenska. A gorgeous gorgeous redhead with a husky, oh-so-sexy husky voice!
We used costumes from the stores kept within the college and, naturally, relied upon great amounts of elastic to fit the different girths of each performer. My Titania, being an outrageous Queen of the Fairies, allowed me to be clothed in flowing robes of green and orange, ballet shoes which stretched to accommodate my now size-8 feet and a flowing red wig with bundles of curls falling over and below my shoulders. Luckily, we had a great Drama school associated with the Uni so were able to rely on their girls to do our make-up. I was in heaven!! I learnt my lines assiduously and can even now anticipate the next lines through most of this wonderful comedy.
I often wondered how much insight into my predilection for transvestite roles was recognized among my fellow performers. I did get other roles as the terms rolled by. My girlfriend did only once ask “Another girly role? You’ll have to be careful not to like them too much.” As a tease, just as a tease.
Meanwhile, as chapter 18 will show, I had to prepare for life in the real world, getting a job, and getting married.
The years at Uni passed so quickly. Reflections of my life beforehand come flooding back, together with those from my years of academic study. I reached graduation with the greatest sense of gratitude for the ending of my life in the classroom/lecture theatre. Ready for a new life, I had some decisions to make about my special interest, my “Major” (in fashion, haircare and beauty)!
Chapter 18
The first decision was whether or not to purge my habit completely. Sadly, I had dressed only rather infrequently at Uni — so much for the freedom I had hoped for; there was still very little freedom in a conventionally-run system like the British Universities of 1968 to 1971. But nevertheless, I cherished my time as a girl, whenever I could make the time available in the degree of secrecy I needed. Not for a moment, yet, had I shared my crossdressing with others who might (or would definitely) enjoy the same past-times as I.
My girlfriend was still the same girlfriend at the end of my course as she had been at the start. A little older, for sure, and a little heavier, if I dare to mention it. But I had grown to love her. It hadn’t been a sudden “falling” for eachother, but rather a growing together. She was in total ignorance of my love of feminine things. I was pretty much convinced of that.
She didn’t know that, when we made love, I would often be imagining myself as a girl, doing things to a girl that I’d love to have done to me, if I was a girl!
Looking back, I must question myself about how fair it was that this situation had developed while, at the same time, our relationship moved inexorably towards marriage.
Should I have told her my secret? Conventional wisdom in the 21st century is that I should have done. But this was the late 1960s. Still hung-up! Loosening up… sure! But still hung up about something as ‘different’ as crossdressing.
I fancied the idea of being married, of sharing a home and a life together. She felt the same. We talked a lot about it from mid-way through my absence on the college course. We informally began to start saving money as best we could for a deposit to buy our own home on a mortgage. This meant really that it was she who did the saving. I had no regular income and there was only a small government grant for (squat-like!) living and Uni course expenses. My parents, luckily, were prepared to pay for my living expenses. Therefore, such money I had or could earn could be spent on dating, drinking and having fun with the two of us as equals.
Should I, could I, risk all of that for the sake of not having a guilty secret? I decided not. I had to keep my secret. And that meant agony over whether to purge myself or not.
--oo00oo–
Before marriage, my mind wandered back through what I would be giving up if I did thoroughly cleanse my life of all things to do with dressing. Which I concluded that I firmly intended to do.
There were other “Firsts” that I have yet to mention which had taken place either before of during my time at Uni. Here are but a few:
--oo00oo–
Once I had learnt how to apply mascara to my eyelashes, (having stabbed myself in the eye too many times but persevering), I bought eye shadow and eyeliner which, like Dusty’s was kohl black. I made terrible mistakes in those early attempts. Firstly, I fell into the trap of ignoring the guiding principle of “less is more”. Less make-up is more impactful, I know now, but took a long time to realize. (Well, there was nobody to tell me so!)
One time, I recall, I covered the entire upper and lower eyelids with black powdery shadow before lining the upper limits of both eyelids with black eyeliner pencil. I left long tails off away from the outer margins of each eye.
Dusty would have loved me…. But I realized, when I looked back away from the close-up to the mirror, that I looked like I died last week, or alternatively I was a Goth or Vampire! It all had to be washed off and the process started again.
Another time, again a ‘first’ I bought a pair of Eyelure Eyelashes, “falsies” if you like. The fashions of the year 1965 demanded the Mary Quant look from earlier in the decade. Make-up was heavy, eyes emphasized and accentuated. I was surrounded by girls with sharply-bobbed or back-combed hair and huge false eyelashes. I so much wanted to be like them, I HAD to get some of those lashes. Mere mascara was totally insufficient. Little did I know but the glue that is or was supplied with these lashes is like the glue I had made Airfix model airplanes with as a kid. It was glue, ok, but it wasn’t ideal for sensitive tissue round the eye. It peeled off in balls when too much, inevitably, was put on the lashes. That meant the glue would be found all over the eyelid as I tried, incompetently, to fix the lash along the line of my own eyelashes. I really needed help! But who was there to ask for that help. Nobody. At least nobody in my circle of friends, male or female.
So, for the first time, I had to get professional help — like I had done with the cutting and setting of my hair. Like I had so far ignored when buying clothes. I sorted out a story in my mind — it was gifted to me by Titania! I (would tell a beautician that I) was going to appear in a local AmDram performance of “The Dream” and I needed a make-up, including eyelashes!
Where should I go? (Bearing in mind I had no reason to be going anywhere with exaggerated lashes in place!) I just fancied the experience. My story would fit — because I’d already played Titania and could describe the role; I only had to invent the playhouse and company I’d be “working with”. I had therefore to use a Beautician’s salon relatively near to where I was living. That was either in my Uni city or near my parents’ home in north London. This was my final year, so I chose the first of these. There was little time enough to be at home with my girlfriend. At Uni, I did have spare time, for sure.
I chose a salon at random. I stalked the place several times, to see the type of clientele that used the place. Most seemed to be middle-aged, with just a few younger “Glamour Puss” types; you know the type; all tits and no brains. That’ll do, I thought!!
On approaching the salon, I was curiously and extremely nervous. All of a sudden; just like that first time going into the hair salon in Golders Green.
It proved to be totally the right place to choose. The story about Titania didn’t even raise an eyebrow. I was asked if I wanted a full eye make-up, rather than just the lashes… to which I answered “Yes, please” and for the next 20-25 minutes, I sat back and luxuriated in the cleansing, preparation, base foundation applying and colour application to make (what I couldn’t yet see) my eyes more beautiful than they ever had been. Finally, the lashes were stuck in place, with the right theatrical glue, and curled (along with my own sparse lashes). My eyes watered uncontrollably, so unusual was the feeling. My eyelids felt SO heavy.
And then I looked….
Into the mirror……!
Now, Dusty WOULD have loved me! Perfect! I left the salon after the darkness had descended, so I wouldn’t be discovered! I made my way back to my flat-share that had been home for more than a year. And the flat-mates who lived with me!
How to avoid confronting any one of them?
Sunglasses….. After darkness had fallen….??? Yes, that was my way of hiding my eyes, just in case I encountered a flat-mate… which, of course, I didn’t. I got back to the comfort and safety of m own room. Having no clothes with me, all I could do was complete the make-up with the foundation, blusher and lipstick that I had kept with me for nearly three years. Washing it all off, hours later, made me cry over my crossdressing for another……… first time.
Another “first” I remember came about the fourth or fifth visit I made to the hair salon — so I would have been about 15 years old, maybe just 16. 1966. I was travelling home on the bus, tight shortish curls all over my head this time. That Gypsy look of the time. I found myself staring at another woman across the aisle from my seat. Her hair was curly like my own, but it was blonde; bright peroxide silver blonde. And the curls were tight, even tighter than my own. My mousey-brown hair didn’t compare with hers.
I promised myself that, one day, I would be a silver blonde. It took me thirty years before I had the courage to go that far!
Instead, I bought that temporary rinse that I never used that year. It was two years or more later that I started experimenting with hair colour that would wash out less easily than it “says on the can!”
--oo00oo–
I’ll describe some other “firsts” later, Reader dear. Until then, back to the dawning of the real world. Forgive me if the following sounds gloomy and depressing. I don’t mean it to be so; my life was very good in those days.
After arriving home from Uni, with all my worldly possessions thrown into a suitcase spewed over my bedroom floor, I had a final discussion with myself about the decision to get rid of all my femme clothes and stuff. All of it. All of it lovingly accumulated over the previous five or six years. The panties, the bras, the stockings, the suspenders, the blouses, (now three of them), the trousers (“pants”) — but no skirt or dress. The make-up; lipsticks, foundation, blusher, eye liner and shadow.
I couldn’t risk it. Being discovered and having to explain.
We had set the date to get married. We got a loan to buy our first home. It was tiny and, among other things, had no places to hide… anything. I would have to lock my dressing away. Inside my head. I needed to anyway. It was dominating my everyday thoughts.
It’s now said that men think of sex ten times an hour, all day, every day. Well, a crossdresser thinks about his underwear ten times more than that…… and his hair….. and what other women are wearing….. and their make-up… and their hair. Often, we think of nothing else! Joy!! But it gets in the way of the rest of life. I loved to dress….. but all good things must come to an end — for a while, maybe.
Now, life was about getting married and setting up home. I had to think of other things. So I went through a purge. It all was put in a thick plastic sack and I took it away. It was put in somebody else’s trash….. It couldn’t be risked being found in my own house’s rubbish bin. How could that be explained? I don’t think easily!
So, this was the first “first” that I truly hated. I was miserable for days. Far from shutting my thoughts away, they became more dominant than ever. How I loved looking at other women — as I still do forty years later. I love them. I love the way they look. Their animation. Their attraction.
My first purge ensured I would never be free of this. I had thought maybe I would live down my obsession. Maybe it would go. Maybe I’d be normal in my own eyes as well as others’ — I hadn’t felt “normal” for several years. I didn’t hate myself as some of us do. But I didn’t think I was “normal”. Not at all.
I walked down the aisle in Church with not a single strand of femme clothing on. Without a strand of hair set on a curler. Without a vestige of make-up. I was a Boy again.
The one legacy left at the time was my skill in making love a special way. As if girl-on-girl.
Chapter 19, as yet unwritten, will explore the (rare) firsts in my early married life.
Our marriage upon us, my (now) wife and I planned the honeymoon and our subsequent life together. As man and wife. As he and she. As a couple that had made love enough times to know eachother very well — and to know what gave eachother pleasure. My regrets at ridding myself of the trappings of a crossdresser were not to be short-lived. Or so I thought.
Chapter 19
We secured the buying of a house with the benefit of our saving her wages and a (for the time) huge mortgage of £4,500. We had no money after we had paid for that, and the food, and the petrol, insurance and repairs for the car. No money at all. No new clothes, certainly, for either of us. In my case, no new boy things or girly things, my girly things having been thrown in the trash.
We both started new jobs within six months of the wedding. Local jobs — friends all dispersed about the country, so few local friendships; these would take time to build. Mainly through workplaces. With nine hours a day at a desk, the distractions were few. For me, working in a little town outside London — where we could afford to live — didn’t have many beauties to admire.
In my idle times, though, my thoughts wandered and inevitable returned to my dressing, and my love for the feminine. Feminine what? Anything!! I was in limbo in the sense that my conventional life was full, and busy, and enjoyable. But the limbo came from there being little or no fantasy. Love? Yes. Fantasy? No! It would go on like this for months and months.
Memories came back of the difficulties and insecurities that I had experienced. In particular, the shopping excursions I had made. Where did the courage — if that was what it was — come from? Was it the naivety of my youth? Or was it blind stupidity that I got away with? Probably the latter. I had been naíve and so hadn’t let the fears overcome me. Fears of discovery. Of ridicule. What would have been the torture from school-mates if they had known that I wore panties most days? Would I have found a girlfriend if it had been common knowledge?
Would I have been branded a poof or a queer? — probably , no, certainly. This was the 1960s.
But I had done these dare-devil exploits and survived. I had bought female clothes in a female department of a major retail store. I had bought cosmetics in a major high street drug store. I had been to a hair salon, eventually nearly a dozen times, and had my hair set in increasingly curly or back-combed styles. I had gone out in public like that — before running home to drown the styles in a flood of tears.
Just being in there, in the shops and in the salon, with several women who were being served the same way, was absolute bliss. It was being a girl.
My home had been both a refuge and a potential disaster area; what if Mum had found my stash of clothes? But she hadn’t. She might have said “Are these yours, young man?” I would have been forced to confront myself…. And give an honest reply. I never needed to have that conversation that I had practised many times. How I would admit that I did enjoy dressing in such clothes. That I did feel girly at times. And that, no, I wasn’t a homosexual and, no, I didn’t want to fuck or be fucked by a man. I would admit only my love of women and confess I loved them so much, I could identify with them more than the males around me.
The only difference, now I was married, was that the clothes were gone. The cosmetics were gone. The hairstyling was gone. But now I had a Wife, instead of a Mother. There was nothing for her to “discover”, except perhaps inside my head.
There might be clues. I had to guard against that. I could easily read the ‘Cosmopolitan’, the ‘Seventeen’ or the other girly magazines, but I shouldn’t express opinions about their subject matter — unless asked by my Wife what I thought. The classic questions were unwinnable: “Do you think I’d look good in that one, or this one?” “Yes, the first…..” “Why? …don’t you love me in the second one?” “Would my hair look good like that?” “Oh, yes, I like that..” “Why? …. ..don’t you like my hair the way it is??!”
The real honest answers — that couldn’t be spoken — would be: “Yes, the first, but I’d like to try the second for myself.” Or, “I love your hair the way it is, but would you let me try that style for myself?” Dead give-aways they would be. Don’t even think about going there!
There was so little published material about crossdressing in those days. Articles on homosexuality would have covered the topic — as though queers all want to pick up girls, or lookalike girls? There were a few publications about sex changes, usually male-to-female that had their origins in gender dysphoria; a term that didn’t exist until twenty years or more later.
Simple adoration of the female form, its clothing, its styling…….. came in the form of Playboy magazine and its derivatives. Top shelf stuff. “Brown paper packages, tied up with string…. These are a few of my favourite things….” (apologies to Julie Andrews!)
I do remember the launch of a top shelf booklet titled “Forum” which was designed for the discussion of all sorts of sexual preferences and practices. It sold for an affordable price and I did buy a few copies. Rarely did crossdressing get a mention, but when it did, the reception was favourable and understanding.
Meanwhile, we had to put up with the good old British practice of the “Pantomime Dame” every Christmas, on stage; grotesque parodies of even half decent drag queens. Hardly the characters that would encourage those who don’t dress in the clothes of the opposite sex to understand those of us who do.
Then, maybe three years after — three years after marriage and one year after the birth of a child, there came a ‘first’ that led, albeit after a long delay, a turning point in our love-making. Abilities to ‘go down’ on eachother were well established. Indeed, essential for the completion of satisfying fucking between us.
We were quite good at that. But I did sometimes have a loss of a hard-on, which was taken as a lack of ardour (I think that’s the word) on my part. Taken personally, those occasions inhibited us and made me worry about my ‘performance’ (again…. How I HATE that word!)
The turning point came one evening, returning from the theatre, or a dinner out somewhere, we embarked on a fuck when quite tired. Both of us. And not a little drunk. Both of us. Quite why my hands did what they did, I’ll never know, but as we undressed eachother, I reached out to her vanity unit where her cosmetics were laid out. And I took her lipstick. Carefully removing the cap, I artistically traced the rich creamy colour across my Wife’s lips. Top and bottom. Even making a Cupid’s Bow in the centre of her top lip. In the full light of a single bedside bulb, eye-to-eye, with what can only be called seduction going on..
I think of that night now and am certain that I had tasted her lipstick when we kissed earlier in the evening and I was struck by the wonderful taste of a new Dior. I wanted to taste it again.
Freshly applied, then urgently kissed, I ended up with lipstick all over my face.
By then, I was more than ready to kiss her pussy and drive her into oblivion. Even more enthus-iastically than usual, I plunged my tongue deep between the folds of her pussy, seeking out the places where I knew pleasure would be real and easily built, and the perfect final button which would be easily pressed when the time came. The taste of the lipstick drove me. Drove me to greater and greater experimentation.
Or was it that I ended up wearing lipstick as much as she and her pussy did?
Of course, I know now that it was that. The taste was from my own lips, or could have been. Whatever, the love-making was sensational. I had never, literally never, cum so intensely or for such a long-lasting time.
I didn’t do then what I did some weeks or months later, which I shall come to soon.
The next time we made love, I repeated the initiative and, as the saying goes, a star was born! The next time, and the next, I traced the Cupid’s Bow upon her lips and the love-making was just sensational.
We didn’t talk about it but we both knew that something had happened that night. No complaints!
Actually, we didn’t talk about what gave eachother pleasure sexually, ever. The conventional wisdom today is that couples should…. Talk. Preferably with the bedroom lights ON! Most nights, our lights were firmly OFF!
Perhaps it was weeks later, after another evening out, returning home with both of us ‘the worse for wear’ from good wine and good company, more seduction came into play at the bedroom door, or perhaps it was downstairs. Wherever, it doesn’t matter.
I took a risk.
Opening her purse, I took out her delicious Dior Addiction stick in a shade I recall was “Bordeaux” and I put the creamy concoction over my own lips first, carefully mimicking the shape of her lips, before applying the same to them. I must have thought about it many times… but I made it seem spontaneous — a “carried-away-on-the-spur-of-the-moment” thing. Our eyes met and the gaze became fixed. We were unable to break the spell. She knew instantly just what I would do with my wonderful lipsticky lips.
The rest is history. Indeed, in a thousand moments of elation and also of sadness, there’s a fabulous song that brings that moment back. It goes like this…..
Red, red wine
Goes to my head
Makes me forget that I
Still need her so
Red, red wine
It’s up to you
All I can do I’ve done
memories won’t go
memories won’t go
I just thought, that with time,
Thoughts of you would leave my head
I was wrong, now I find
Just one thing makes me forget
Red, red wine
Stay close to me
Don’t let me be in love
It’s tearin’ apart
My blue, blue heart
Thanks, from the bottom of my heart, to Neil Diamond who wrote the song, and who sang it for us at London’s O2 Arena this summer…. And to all those artistes who covered the song. Apart from Mr Diamond, UB40 were probably my favourites…. With a reggae version. What a stunning and powerful song, to prompt such deep-seated memories.
--oo00oo–
We have made love countless times — literally thousands — with my lips, and hers, coated in wonderful deep, deep colour. Why? …because it makes us… well, to be honest, it makes me… feel sexy. And her too. I have no doubts at all. The doing of that is a fetish thing that works for us both. And for me? It does have the faint tinge of being someone I know I am inside.
Other firsts were few in those years of my twenties. Crossdressing, or the love of it, never left me.
Many of my gifts to my wife were given with my own fanciful idea that one day I might wear them. Nightdresses, in particular silky ones or shiny satin ones, were a recurring offering. Blouses too, especially feminine ones. Just going in to the stores where they could be found, like M&S before, when I was buying for myself, the lingerie collections always were attractive and I bought my wife many over those years. The new High Street chainstores, especially Next, always had good selections, as did some of the London exclusive stores, like Debenhams and Selfridges on Oxford Street. There was also a new chain that sold girly clothes for the “taller” lady, called Long Tall Sally; I never did buy in there but browsing was great fun!
I eagerly read the occasional article in magazines, or on television. But there were so few.
I contented myself with some mild pornography, I have to admit. And in this, I have to confess that my self-interest probably hurt my wife a lot in those days. For a first time, I bought a magazine when travelling on business.
Working for a Scandinavian company, I found every street corner shop sold magazines in a very open fashion. Men and women together, Men and women with very interesting “toys” to play with. Women together. Where else could I find some quality-produced anthologies of “lesbians” having sex sessions together.
I knew they weren’t lesbians. I knew they were being exploited. But the pictures were nicely presented and perfect to imagine myself in there with them… as one of the girls.
The first time I came home with one, I thought we might talk about sexy things. Instead, we “read” them together before I got aroused. It was insensitive and I should have apologized. She never complained but they were obviously for me, not for her. A “bad” first if ever there was one.
In another direction, my work took me into central London regularly. I recall more than once going out of my way to pass by a wig maker’s salon that I had seen in London’s West End. Crawford Street I think it was. Their range, mainly sold by mail, was magnificent. A range of the most gorgeous highly-styled wigs, all intended for everyday wearing. The cheaper ones were made by welding the cheap Asian hair into plastic caps like bathing caps — easy enough for a woman to wear for a short time, but incredibly hot, even on a cool Spring day.
The more expensive ones were made with better quality human hair — most probably Chinese where girls at that time sold their beautiful heads of hair to pay for their limited education (which the State did not provide). This hair was woven into continuous bands that encircled the head, attached to an elastic net which allowed the wearer’s head to breathe naturally.
The store sold several branded ranges of wigs, some attributed to celebrities. My favourite was Dolly Parton’s range. Advertized as blondes “of many colours”, there were also superb blacks, browns, chestnuts, even greys, and most attractive of all, spun gold and auburn; the red collection.
I could see that Shoppers were allowed to try the wigs on, ostensibly before making a purchase. The place was empty of customers.
Clearly, I remember standing outside the shop, adoring the displayed heads in the window onto the street. Surely, I stayed too long and the Receptionist caught my eye through the window. She waved her hand very discretely, beckoning me in.
My hesitation was natural. Never having been inside before. But then, I figured, I wasn’t known there. What possible harm would it do to browse?
There was an array of mirrors to sit in front of, plus a quiet fitting room, where those of us who wanted some privacy were encouraged to go for fittings. It was perfectly possible to try on a dozen or more in half an hour before making up my mind to “come back another time”. A return visit drew no recognition from the person serving, though it was she who had beckoned me in the first time.
The third visit came soon enough and then I did the unthinkable — I bought myself a lovely lovely thick bobbed-style in that dark burgundy colour that I love so much. If I had my time over again, I would buy a lighter auburn, still bobbed-style, with blonde highlights. (…there I go, into dreamland again!)
When I got home, I had to do better than hide it. I walked in, brass-faced, and announced that I had won it in a sweepstake at a customer’s offices, explaining it would have been rude to refuse. As the salesman I was, one could never rebuff a customer.
So now “we” had a wig in the house! And temptation!
Chapter 20 will move us on to the time when, inevitably, my dressing began again. In my deepest dark secret. And then there was my first visit to a Transgender store; Transformation.
Sadly, dear Readers, my writings have lost their interest for many people and the number of hits received for my recent chapters have fallen and fallen. I must be boring everybody, which lowers the satisfaction I get from writing. So, reluctantly, I’m making this my Last Time of writing on the subject of First Times. Here are the firsts I would have written more about……..
Chapter 20
My first times……………
(not in chronological order…. Try to guess which came first, second, third…..
Wearing lipstick and freshening it up in the street, caring not who saw.
Having false eyelashes fitted.
Having my own eyelashes dyed.
Crying when I threw that wig away.
Having a fully-dressed “Awayday” at a Transformation store in Manchester, wearing my own underwear and staying over keeping the make-up until morning.
Buying a pair of black sling-back stiletto Heels (and hiding them carefully in the garage).
Buying a pair of silicone false tits (and having nowhere to hide them).
Being told by my wife that I would have to leave home if I was a Transvestite because she knew I would abuse our children if I was.
Wearing a nightdress in the bedroom.
Shaving my nipples and underarms.
Buying a full length corset with buttoned gusset that would allow me to have sex while wearing it.
Having highlights put into my hair in a salon where I might have been recognized.
Wearing lacy panties with my Wife’s ok.
Writing my first CD story and publishing it on Crystal’s Storysite.
Having a “Make-up and Change day”; Wearing full Transformation make-up, my own sky blue skirt and jacket, wig (the burgundy, bobbed-styled one), slingbacks, stockings, suspenders, bra and waist cincher.
Going out fully dressed after a “Make-up and Change day” returning to a budget hotel fully dressed.
Being stopped by a policeman for standing too long on a shop corner in Oxford Street while having a wank through my trousers.
Finding Big Closet/Top Shelf after Crystal’s Storysite “went technical”.
Talking with a Lesbian about making love to a woman.
Having girl-on-girl sex with a really beautiful so-called/self-styled “lipstick Lesbian”..
Finding my wrists in handcuffs that my Wife had bought as a surprise.
Having my hair pinned back and a half-head “fall” gripped into the back and dressed high with petal-like curls for a glam “turnabout” party.
Hiring a full length evening gown for the turnabout party.
Buying a leather collar, in case she wanted to tie me some more… which she did.
Buying a dildo and using it to give my wife pleasure she would learn to love and anticipate.
Having the dildo used on me by my Wife, for a one and only time.
Buying a strap-on dildo when my libido was at lowest ebb, but never using it.
Getting a prescription for Cialis.
Buying estrogen cream and rubbing it into my tits.
Removing my body hair with Nair.
Panicking when dressed on hearing my wife’s car arrive back earlier than expected.
Running to the shower to remove make-up and other evidence of my dressing when nearly discovered.
Remembering that I had not put away the wig where it belonged after using it.
Buying my own “barely enough” lipstick to wear all day.
Renting a corseted gown and high-piled curl wig for a (once only) Hallow’een Party.
Every time (is a first time) when I have purged my stash of clothes and cosmetics.
Renting a flat where I could hide all my dressing clothes, fetish wear and cosmetics, and decorating it in ultra-feminine colours and furnishings.
Refusing, for the first of not-so-many times, when a guy came on strong to me.
Dreaming of actually changing my gender, and then realizing that’s not what I want out of life.
Being thankful that, if my Wife accepts that I have given up my dressing compulsion, I can continue to live my dreams through my writings.
There you are, my darling readers. You may not believe these, but they all fit into a life after marriage of forty years.
No, no regrets!
Here is a story I published on Big Closet some time ago…. Which I hope you’ll read again…
Indeed, many crossdressers have lives filled with regrets. They/we have to console ourselves with the high spots, the wonderful interludes in which we indulge ourselves. Before we feel guilty, or before we hastily hide away things that will betray our desires.
We can't summon the courage to disclose our feelings to someone we love — wives, girlfriends, whoever…. Could they ever react positively? Not on your life! Worse still, we may throw the "baby out with the bathwater" at times, believing that we can do without indulgence of our feminine instincts.
We throw away the clothes we have kept hidden. We ditch the cosmetics that we struggle to learn how to apply with care. We even put a beautiful wig into the trash; the wig that finally transformed the image in our mirror and made us feel whole, or wholly female.
I've been there and done all of these things. More than once. And yet…… the impulse is still strong.
In the street, I admire women I see, usually for their striking and beautiful hair at first; then the facial features and how make-up highlights the best aspects for them. I admire their clothes, it's true, but only as part of the whole picture…. the illusion that I would hope to adopt, if they're "my type" of girl.
So what do I do? I buy more clothes, or at least underwear, of my own. I can wear my wife's clothes when she's not around (I'm lucky) and can buy her things I might fancy for myself. Then, what do I do, I chicken out and throw my things away again.
I read and write CD stories, living through them the fantasy that I can't bring into reality………….. The Big Closet is the best of them all, because Readers like you give feedback and comments happily, but it can't be logged onto my "favourites" for fear of discovery. I do enjoy a visit to a Transformation salon occasionally, when business travel permits or gives an excuse.
I call myself Karen when I'm dreaming, in memory of a client who was a wonderful (GG female) businesswoman with striking green eyes. She was tall but made the most of it; no fear of heights, she wore high heels that accentuated her shapely legs….. as I should do. She had a wonderful fall of highlighted blonde hair which I continuously dreamed of copying, if only my own hair would grow fast! We could have made music together.
Regrets, there's another. I read loads of stories that deal with TG and surgery, S&M and dominance, forced feminizations……… these aren't for me (though with my wife we have played such games for fun)……. I just wish… I just wish…. for gentle, understanding of the desire for a boy to be more like a girl, just now and again.
So, I keep my secrets "back in the box"… Pandora's not a lady I could live with. I tried to disclose all of this to my wife one time, but she hit the panic button! The limit I'm left with is to wear lipstick from time to time……… if it makes me feel better…….. Oh, so much more could be beautiful.
How can a wife be involved willingly?
………….But, through it all, when there were doubts, I wish I'd done it "my way".
... And most times, I did!
Be happy,
Love Ginger. xx
I’m indebted to several readers that have helped me get over what was a bad day at the office and encouraged me to resume the autobiographical theme that I have been developing. I have put my concern about the Ratings and Hits away in a box and will no pay attention to them again. So, here we go again!
Comments, or more importantly shared or contrasting experiences, will be very welcome if you can spare the time to write. The chapters that follow will continue to be autobiographical. These are actual events that I’m re-living.
Chapter 21
Having reached my Twenties now, I am married and a family is on the way. I have a job that means I am travelling regularly. Time away from home brings temptations for many young men — and most often in the direction of easy sex, no-strings, no-consequences. Even in the early 1970s, unwanted pregnancies were very avoidable.
Other temptations, though, became occasionally very pressing in my life. Opportunities to dress were never out of my mind. As much as I had promised myself I would stop this thing, the reality was that it was virtually impossible to deliver on that promise.
I had nothing worth mentioning in a stash at home. I had forsaken the ownership of pretty things and contented myself with paying close attention to the girls who worked around me in the company’s offices where I was based. Further, I was able to get out and visit salespeople in the field and that meant a roving eye was un-noticeable. I relished the times when I could get out there and admire the fashions and the ways girls were wearing them. Some of our salespeople were young ladies whose business dress was always required to be impeccable. That had the result of my spending days sometimes with some very “tasty” ladies!
One of the aspects of this time that I’m less than proud of was a tendency to be a bit of a voyeur. I’d while away spare time just standing in the street watching the world go by… most often in the vicinity of a hair and beauty salon where I’d see the clients come and go, seeing the transformations they enjoyed. I’d just pretend to be waiting for someone.
Bit sad really.
Around this time, I did read a small advertisement in a newspaper — remember them? — in the days before the Internet. It was short but sweet. “Transvestites Exclusively!” and gave a phone number. It proved to be within reach of home but far enough away to be secure (an hour’s drive away). A session with access to a wardrobe was promised when I phoned. I booked a date and time. I drove to the location — on a house-boat on the River Thames near the stately home of Hampton Court.
This ended sadly too — I sat in the car park nearby but couldn’t raise the courage to risk being “caught” by someone I didn’t know in suspicious circumstances. What if there were more than one of them there? What if they wouldn’t give my clothes back once I was dressed? What if….??? Yeah! Sad or what?! So I sat there… and then drove home with my tail between my legs, and certainly, my dick tucked between my thighs. I was 24, going on 14.
So many “might have beens” in all our lives when you think back. What if I’d gone in and let myself be dressed and made-up by a total stranger? Maybe a lady who loved CDs?!
My crossdressing life came back to me when, two years later, I discovered the existence of a small chain of stores that catered for crossdressers’ needs. With stores in London, Manchester and Birmingham — and I think for a while, in Bristol and Newcastle, a group called “Transformation” was unique at the time.
The stores advertised clothing in the right sizes for males who wanted to be “transformed into beautiful women”. There were shoes in sizes up to UK 10 — my own needs answered! (Good shoes are SO hard to find in such a size, much to my regret!) They even had high-heeled stiletto boots which were unobtainable anywhere else! There were wigs of most colours and many styles. There was plenty of underwear, some of it very trashy, some of it a bit BDSM, some of it quite nice but no threat to the M&S range I had always chosen. The clothing side was well sorted by the person who started and owned the business. Herself a transgendered lady who clearly had business sense.
There were plenty of books and magazines, mainly sourced from the US I guess; plenty of she-males, some having sex with eachother….. hold on… this is getting a bit heavy (for someone who couldn’t even cross a car park and go into a perfectly ordinary looking property).
The store’s clothing was rather cheap and not very nice but it was designed to meet the needs of a certain clientele — one that included blokes that liked wearing frocks, like I did! (I know, at times, it’s not easy to take yourself seriously, isn’t it?)
I discovered years later that Stephanie, the owner had started a hotel for TVs to go away to for weekends in the company of other crossdressers together. I don’t know I could ever have done that — never did anyhow.
What I did find intriguing, and eventually did succumb to enjoy, was a service called “Change Aways” where people like me could go and have a make-up and change into a range of clothes that were kept for the purpose. There was a menu of “Looks” that could be chosen. Anything from “Tarty” to “School M’am”, From “Business Lady” to “Night-time Slut”, and many more. All tastes catered for!
For a first time, spending a half hour in the shop in London, then going back another couple of times — and finally conquering the fear from watching from the other side of the road — I decided I would go for it… Go for a half-day’s transformation into a beautiful woman (..ha! Ha! ..as if! But having the experience would be fun!).
On a first planned visit, when time off from work was not critical, I made the trip to the London store. For the first time I had the courage to go in, to say that I wanted an AwayDay experience and to pay up front for it. I was asked what look I would like and the not-so young lady helped me to choose…. As it was my first time, of course, I chose the tarty or slutty look. I’d expect that 90 percent of their clients do the same. Tarty. Whore-ish. Loads of make-up, short skirt, fishnet pantie-hose, big false tits on a push-up bra, see-through blouse, and a blonde wig that was so huge it was to keep me awake at nights for weeks after!!
After half an hour’s make-up, I was free to choose my clothes and once dressed and be-wigged, to go upstairs to the lounge area where there were magazines, tea or coffee and lots of mirrors! There was also another crossdresser, already dressed, sitting in the lounge.
This was the VERY FIRST TIME I had ever met another crossdresser. I had seen them, seen photographs of them. Imagined meeting them. But never had. There I am in the most tarty get-up imaginable. What a slut! Lips pouting and hair falling all over my shoulders, my skirt ending half-way up my things. And I realized my mistake.
This other “girl” had clearly done this before. She was dressed in a smart suit, the skirt of which ended just above the knees. The blouse was plain white and demure. Her fingernails were long and bright crimson. (Why hadn’t I asked for false nails and lashes?!). Her make-up was modern and quite under-stated except for her eyes which were captivating; three shades of blue eyeshadow with dark blue eyeliner and simple feminine false eyelashes. She had done this before alright! I wished immediately I had gone for the “less is more” look. I would do — next time.
Her shoes were white with low 2-inch heels. She had simple pearls as her jewellery and a pearl ring. (My jewellery was flashy and blingy…. Not right really, except for the tart I was playing). Finally, her hair was a classic brown bob-cut, chin length with bangs framing her face.
Now I knew what a ChangeAway could do for a girl.
One of us had to say something.
She began, not unkindly, saying “You’ve not been here before, have you?” …and I laughed.
I had to. There was she, looking really very good — though I knew she was a bloke like me. There was me, looking like a tart who had no chance of scoring. It had cost us the same amount of money to get to look the way we did. But her money had been well spent. But I had enjoyed every minute.
I answered, “Um, obviously not. Have you been here often? You look so good.”
“Thank you, honey, and yes, indeed I have. Every month I manage to get away for some relaxation and I don’t know a better place. You look like you need that — relaxation, I mean.” I remember her words — I’ll remember them as long as I live. We talked for an hour or more, neither of us using overtly feminine voices, but rather more hushed and gentle tones. It turned out that she was a few years older than me and had been dressing since she was a teenager. She felt able to pass as a girl in the real world but didn’t own much of her own gear. So she went to “Transformation” as a regular customer.
I left the store determined, next time, to follow her example — and get the quality right.
--oo00oo–
(I’ll come back to another “Transformation” in a later chapter — the first time I went out dressed!)
--oo00oo–
My Twenties continued with few excursions into the world of a CD. I always avidly followed articles in the newspapers if there were any on the subject. I spent a lot of time just observing the girls and women around me — where I worked, in the street, on television. Marvelling at their style and clothing, I found myself always imagining myself in their place. But my desire to dress was always beaten by my fear of ruining what was a good lifestyle. Locked inside my head, my secret desire was hidden away.
I was conscious that my love of things feminine was at odds with the increasing media fervour for the acceptance of the (suddenly respectable) “gay” world. This was 1976……
There appeared to be droves of “Luvvies” who had broken out of the Theatre and Dance worlds to become mainstream. To make gays very much mainstream. It would take years but, in the same way, crossdressers were the great “unmentioned”. We didn’t even warrant a word. It would even take five more years before lesbians got the same billing as gay men so what chance did we have?!
My love of the feminine things in life grew stronger — if that was possible. My feelings about homosexuality and the position of gay men in particular grew more convinced. I didn’t ever want to go in that direction. The idea of sex with a man was just not for me (sorry, guys!). I was quite attached to my dick and so gender reassignment was not of any interest to me at all. I was, and still am, a guy who is a girl from time-to-time. Then, I was 27 years old.
I adored, and still do, the changes in fashion, style and the “just being” of a woman’s life. So, in 1976, I revelled in the way fashions were going after the liberation of the Sixties. Inexpensive dresses, skirts, shirts and blouses were all within reach. (But I had none of my own now, there being nowhere to keep them hidden).
It was important that I did pay special attention to my wife’s interests that were similar — talking at length for as long as she wanted, about the clothes she wanted to buy for herself, going shopping with her, enthusing about how well some clothes suited her, counselling her if I felt others “didn’t suit”. As a young Mother, it was important for her to re-gain her femininity and not be just “Mum”. Her clothes budget was twice or more than mine, but I had the enjoyment of choosing girly things. Was that a bad thing? I don’t think so. I tried to do the same with her hair and make-up, carefully trying not to get “too involved”. (I did keep some lipstick for myself for occasional indulgence).
My choice of magazine had always been female-oriented, so it was easy to get our reading material to coincide. (I kept my interest in football as the ‘boy’ end of my reading). I didn’t go as far as reading ‘Pride and Prejudice’ or other romantic novels that she loved, but I would sit through the movies, paying attention to the female characters and their ways of dressing. No prizes for guessing why.
I could hardly be lonely. Everything, in a conventional sense, was horribly normal. And I was enjoying it all. Being a father was great. Being a Husband was great. I thank the Lord that I wasn’t caught in the “wrong body” dilemma that many people confess to feeling (and eventually to giving in to). I was lonely, in truth. Because I had nobody to share my pressures with. Work was pressurized, but in a different way. Life at home had its pressures — like getting back to regular conventional love-making. I couldn’t always “perform” (that horrible word again).
But in my quiet “alone” moments, I had company…. My dreams. My thoughts of being comfortable and dressing as I wished were enough. Literally nothing of any consequence in my world of dressing happened for the next two years. I kept the lid firmly on my “can of worms”.
My world was nearly ruined one winter’s day when I was in London with time on my hands. My movements gravitated to Oxford Street, the City’s main shopping avenue. I hung around, as I often did, just watching the world — and the women — go by. It wasn’t long before I found myself being stopped by a policeman for standing too long on a shop corner for no good reason while having a wank through my trousers. He evidently thought I was “hanging loose” because he told me to open my coat. Nothing to be seen. No offence caused. No offense committed. I was moved on with a caution. He knew what I was doing, but couldn’t prove anything wrong.
Again, sad really, and witness to my being isolated — in my crowded world. Aged 29 now.
Indulging in more active “body care” — in ways which wouldn’t be greatly noticed — especially by my wife, I started carefully, by removing my body hair with Nair. It was easy to find in Boots the Chemists self-service counters. This was better than my first attempt — which involved shaving my nipples and underarms. My wife didn’t notice. Perhaps just as well she didn’t. But then again, it showed she didn’t pay me much attention.
I took to using moisturizer much more than before, with an easy explanation if questioned — which I was not. I would have pointed to the hard lines and acne marks that now graced my complexion.
Buying my own “barely enough” lipstick to wear all day. Not inside or when leaving, home. But in the everyday world. Nobody seemed to notice. If they had done, it was “sunscreen”.
But all of this was a long way away from my teenage years when I had grown my hair and had it set, worn panties and bras almost all the time……. I was in denial! Like it hadn’t happened. Like it was someone else, not me, in those past years.
Enough now. Chapter 22 will follow when time allows. Having reached 30 years of age, and having come back to the writing desk, I’m comfortable and hope, dear reader, that you are too. So, from my own “reality show”, I’ll be back soon. Happy Christmas! xx
Keeping “in the closet” brings stresses and strains that most of us bear with some difficulty. They are more difficult to bear in your Thirties than your Twenties, as it must be for women in general. Lost youth, spreading waistline, peaking libido, and “wishing for what might have been”….. So it was for me.
Chapter 22
My theme is of “First times….” So I shall not go into repetition of my dressing experiences which continued from my Twenties. It’s sufficient to say that I was limited — or rather I limited myself — to wearing the panties that I kept hidden away, the lipstick that I carried with me most of the time, and the hair and skin moisturizer products that hit me with their advertizing messages. I bought bras but then threw them away because they couldn’t be explained if found. I wore some of my wife’s clothes when she was out and about — her career having resumed no the children were older. The stress of putting the clothes back as though they hadn’t been moved was immense. Perhaps that was part of the thrill now — being discovered was a real risk…. But it was obviously worth taking because I took it at least once a week!
--oo00oo--
Thankfully, my career was becoming successful. I had reached Marketing Manager at the age of 32, Marketing Director at 34. I was required to go on occasional international trips which presented temptations of their own. This was the early 1980s when corporate liaisons were more and more common. But I resisted those. I met beautiful women and really enjoyed their company. Secretly I enjoyed their company very much more than my lecherous colleagues. Their objective of having a screw with as many as they could get their hands on was never in my mind. The possibility of taking home an STD most certainly was.
The closest I came to being seduced, quite literally, was in the arms of a young lady on my staff after whom I lusted but never dared to go after. She was in a very emotional state, having broken up with her no-good “shit of a man”. She had taken on too much booze — if she hadn’t why would she try to seduce her boss? (I naively thought!). I had dreamed of that moment…. Her arms round my neck, my hands in her hair, her tongue down my throat…… But I broke off like a scared cat! Leaving her there, in her room, I skedaddled and ran. What if I caught an STD? What if I found her blackmailing me? What if she saw I was wearing panties?
That was it.
I was wearing lovely lacey pink panties. Stretchy ones that hugged my body. Kept my cock in tightly. Not tucked, but tightly hidden away.
She would know something nobody knew at the company. What if she threatened to tell? No risks were worth taking like that. I would be branded as a pervert. She might brag that she had “had the boss”. Even if she didn’t blackmail me, she would eventually tell a mate of our encounter. And my panties.
Why didn’t I just go on and enjoy myself? The risks were totally hypothetical. Answer: Chicken!!
And I loved my wife and kids.
To this day, I have “kept myself to myself”. I have “kept my dick zipped”.
Surely, better that, than screwing around and worrying about hiding the consequences?
But the world doesn’t accept (or didn’t then, in the Eighties) that having a deep desire to dress in the clothes of the other sex to your own is acceptable. It’s now not the same as for other once-thought-of-as-perversions. Gradually, it seems, that having sex with someone of your own sex is not “abnormal”. That’s even taught in schools… even how to do it! I do resent that when there is no compassion or understanding (still less acceptance) that crossdressing isn’t “deviant” either. Perhaps the trouble is that there are so few of us, relative to the number of homosexual people, that we are put in the classification of “nutters”?
(Enough already….. Put away the soap box! Stop the campaign for now!)
--oo00oo–
Returning to my theme of “First times…”, there are a number of events that are difficult to place in a real time-line. Which came first.. the corset or the eyelashes? Wearing lipstick and freshening it up in the street, caring not who saw, or talking with a Lesbian about making love to a woman? Or dreaming of actually changing my gender, and then realizing that’s not what I want out of life.
The eyelashes came first — on another visit to a Transformation store — this time in Manchester. Out for a couple of days with an “accompany visit” with a member of the company’s Sales team, I stayed overnight at a budget hotel (one that I would re-visit, dressed, but more of that another time).
After work was over, I consulted my road map and drove to the suburbs of northern Manchester where the store was located. (I had seen a map in the leaflets in the London store). Later the same year, I would go back and have a Make-up & Change service and leave the shop fully dressed.
This time, for my first time — after trying to fit them myself more than a dozen times — I asked for a pair of false eyelashes to be applied…… I should have asked for under-lashes too but was quite so excited, I forgot! The lady who served me was happy to accept that I was going home to dress and go out but, as I had said, “just needed help with my eyes”. She made them up fully, with liquid eyeliner, shadow and mascara too. I left the store like a Drag Queen in “drab” (boy’s clothes).
Fluttering and flashing my eyes in all directions on the way back to the car, I found that these appendages made my eyes water! Not in tears, I looked like I was crying…. With the mascara streaming. I had no tissues in the care. “Shit!” I shouted to myself as I stepped in the car and looked in the driver’s mirror. Another of my less successful ventures, you might think and I would have to agree. I did have a subsequent visit and did have the lashes again, being taught how to manage the discomfort that girls feel with lashes batting away in their field of vision.
Makes me smile, every time I think of that curse when I got in that car. I looked like some diva who had her heart broken by some lover who’d left her.
I dreamt of Dusty, my darling, and all the years she would have spent with her eyes like a Panda’s — how I would have changed places with her! All those years ago, how in love I felt for her. And then, to find out, that she fancied other girls…. Just made me want to be her girlfriend for a while.
Forgive me, if you can……… Just read what follows:
I think I'm goin' back
To the things I learned so well in my youth
I think I'm returning to
Those days when I was young enough to know the truth
Now there are no games
To only pass the time
No more colouring books
No more trees to climb
But thinking young and growing older is no sin
And I can play the game of life to win
I can recall a time
When I wasn't ashamed to reach out to a friend
Now I think I've got
A lot more than a skipping rope to lend
Now there's more to do
Than watch my sailboat glide
But every day can be
A magic carpet ride
A little bit of courage is all we lack
So catch me if you can, I'm goin' back
With heartfelt thanks to Gerry Goffin and Carol King (who is in the UK just now)... and to my dear Dusty.
The corset? That came later! A consequence of a waistline that was growing and a growing curiosity about how it would feel to be severely constrained in something like that — something that had a bit of a Fifties/Sixties cache about it. Again, it was easy to find in what had become my favourite store. The ubiquitous Mr Marks and Mr Spencer’s emporium! As before, I cruised through the Ladies’ Fashions, past the blouses and the girly shirts, past the skirts both long and short, past the stockings and pantie hose, through the bras and camisoles and slips, ending up at the corsetry range, cunningly placed against the back wall, right next to the changing rooms.
A first thought was ridiculous. If I found the right corset, could I take it in there and try it on? Of course not. For one thing, the changing rooms were ‘communal’, meaning that ladies changed in open court, able to see eachother, for better or for worse. For another thing, the store was busy and people were coming and going. I had to buy what I thought was the right size and get home to try it on. I knew that a 36B bra would fit me but a 38B would be more comfortable. These came with a proportional-sized bum measurement; probably 40 inch in my case.
That was the simple part; then, did I need a long fitting? Probably yes. Did I want an integral bra or just a corset up to under the tits (which I didn’t possess). Or did I want a waist cincher? Did I want suspenders or garters attached? Did I want black? — probably, or did I want white?, or flesh coloured?, or pink? Did I want one with pantie legs or an open gusset? Lacey or not?
Tooo many choices!!!! There was a danger that I would be interrogated by a member of staff if I didn’t get on with making a choice…… I felt eyes drilling into the back of my head!
A 38B, long length, with bra integrated, with suspenders attached (came with 6), black…. Or, oh, no! flesh coloured, with an open gusset. With lace, not plain. Now, where would that be…??
“Can I help you?....” ….came the inevitable question. From a very attractive young woman of my own age. “….Can you see what you’re looking for?”
Struck dumb, like an average teenager, I mumbled….. nothing much, I just mumbled. Why hadn’t I prepared for this?!
“You’re looking at corselets, is that right?” “Yes, I am.” “Do you know your size?” She KNEW!
It was for me! She KNEW! “Er, well, actually… not really.”
Shit! I was embarrassed beyond belief! Would the floor open up and swallow me? Please, make it do so! Make me invisible. My cheeks must have been crimson.
“Well no worry… you do know about our returns policy, don’t you. You can bring an item back, so long as the protective lining is still in place, within 30 days. If a garment has been worn, it’s not returnable. Is that clear?”
“Yes, yes, of course. I think I need a 38B in a long size.”
“Well, good, that’s a start. Now a 38B, long length, ….with bra integrated?” “Yes, please.” “…. would that be with suspenders attached (it comes with six) or not?” “Er, well, … with…”
“And what colour? How about black…. or perhaps flesh coloured, after all, white’s a bit boring, isn’t it?” “Well I suppose so…. er, flesh coloured, with lace.”
“Good, now we’re getting somewhere… and lastly, what about pantie-legs or with an open gusset?” “Oh with the gusset please.”
I am amazed, just re-living the encounter, that I didn’t collapse with heart failure there and then. I had been SOLD a corselet by a young WOMAN, who clearly assessed me as a buyer for MYSELF — and she did not bat an eyelid, she just went on professionally doing her job. And she made the sale. Open questions; …either? or? No negative answers possible. I was hooked.
She reached out towards the end of the display and, sure enough, there was what we had “agreed” I wanted. “Oh, one final question: Firm control? or Natural?”
Cue for further embarrassment but an urgency came over me, “Which do you think? Which do most women want?” “I would recommend the Firm Control… no particular reason but I think, in your case……” “Sold.” I said and she turned away with a smile towards the central pay point across the store. I followed her, quite meekly. She was very good at her job. As I followed her, my eyes studied her form. She was what today we call “Mad Men style”; hour-glass figure, perfect legs, her shoes inside low-heeled court shoes, all crowned with medium-length copper hair in a swingy style that moved as she did. Sadly, I never saw her again.
Back in my home, clutching the bag containing this beautiful creation, I took ten deep breaths after closing my eyes. Heaven….. but where to hide the purchase?! Simple….. in the bottom drawer of my office desk in the spare room. Nobody would look there.
--oo00oo--
Wearing lipstick and freshening it up in the street, caring not who saw happened around the same time — though it’s difficult to place all these events in precise sequence. I was travelling on business - it happened to be to Newcastle-upon-Tyne in northern England. I was staying in a standard business style hotel, Dinner was not included and I went in search of “an Italian” — there’s a good Italian community in Newcastle so I wouldn’t be disappointed.
I had my corselet on, (so that says it was after the last ‘event’ in my story) but I didn’t have the tits padded. I had mastered (or should I say “mistressed”?) the way to get myself into the wonderful figure-hugging body shaper, but lacked the confidence to emphasize or accentuate my body. The closeness of the garment , all over, was just brilliant. Every move I made, every twist and turn, told me that it was one of the best decisions I had ever made — to buy such a thing.
The Italian meal was spectacular and the half bottle of Brunello made me feel very warm and content. I left the restaurant and traced my steps back to the hotel. Feeling the slim shape of my lipstick in my hand in a coat pocket, I drew it out and — on the street-lit sidewalk — applied the creamy concoction to my upper lips, shaping a Cupid’s bow, before running the beautiful product twice over the lower lips. I rolled my lips together to smooth the overall effect. I was ecstatic.
I briefly found myself dreaming of actually changing my gender, street-walking as I was, and being a whore. But then, realizing that’s not what I want out of life, I told myself, “you’re better than that!” So I headed back to the hotel, tasting the lipstick as I went. I crossed the reception area and aimed for a lowly-lit bar for a nightcap drink. Alone. In a city centre hotel bar. But my heart was beating fast again. My corselet gripped me with renewed fever. I wished I had tits to fill its cups.
Chapter 23 will come after Christmas, as it has yet to be written. In that, I shall deal with the occasion when I first found myself talking with a Lesbian about making love to a woman. God bless!
Musings from WannabeGinger
“Wishing for what might have been”….. So it is for me. The story of many of our lives, perhaps - my succession of “First times” has gone on, and on. Returning to my theme of “First times…”, there are a number of events that are difficult to place in a real time-line. Life-changing moments, many of them, the next one I recall was talking with a Lesbian about making love to a woman.
Chapter 23
Everyone, please note - I have deleted the chapter here against my wishes but have been advised that the Agency concerned was too easily identifiable, and consequently, so too were the personnel involved. My apologies if you have come here hoping to read my continuing autobio.... I shall continue undaunted! love, Ginger xxx
One thing changed for me that evening. It was my first time to go OUT dressed. It was my first time to go OUT in costume. But what changed for me, and I have never changed back, is that I sat down to pee, just like the lady I was that night. The effort of rummaging through the costume was so intense, there had to be a lasting effect! And I have ALWAYS sat down to pee, ever since.
It makes a girl a girl.
Chapter 24 hasn’t been written yet, but will explore some of the new sexual experiences that I feel are attributable to that Agency party. Some were fun, some were disasters. Through them all, my dressing has emerged, locked in my psyche, if not in my everyday life.
With renewed apologies for having to censor my last chapter, for the truths revealed were too recognizable, I continue! “Wishing for what might have been”…. So it is for me. What happened with the Agency had an effect on many things in my life. There’s more pure sex in this chapter — no apologies — but my dressing will return!
Chapter 24
The love-making after the party was great for both myself and my “Wife-y”. It would lead to much more experimentation between us but, ultimately, to a severe ultimatum (from her to me).
Our role reversal for the party, as I tried to indicate before, released a different attitude in Christine, my wife. She had looked really good in her male gear, just as I had looked at least passable as a bloke in a dress. She was very assertive that night when we got home from the party. She took the lead in ways that I had never known her to do. Ways that I enjoyed hugely.
I found that this took away all of the pressure “to perform” — a term I absolutely HATE with a vengeance (mainly because I failed to “perform” on many occasions around that time. My late 30s were a time of falling confidence in a lot of ways. To find us romping away playing with few inhibitions was a joy.
Christine found that I would respond when she pinned me to the bed with a vice-like grip on my wrists, sufficient for her to have a really rampant ‘ride’ on an unusually stiff cock. She also enjoyed riding me with her pussy over my face and having me delve deeply into the beautiful folds of her lips down there. She chose, for the first time, to give me a long and luscious oral until I could cum with such force I had nearly lost consciousness. Wow! Was this a direct result of a night’s crossdressing?!
I thought so, maybe even believing that Christine was getting to enjoy that side of me. She had always guessed, I’m sure, but hadn’t been sure. She also hadn’t revealed anything about her more dominant side.
(Please don’t be concerned, dear Reader, this is real life and it’s not going to go off up some bizarre S&M fantasy. The activities that follow were real and may not have lasted too long — I mentioned an ultimatum, remember?)
Over the weeks that followed, I contained my delight about the way things were going by imagining my own part in this to be of a female — perhaps a little submissive female. My love life had rarely been better. I wasn’t dressing for any of these encounters. My mind took me to places where I enjoyed myself more than enough.
Christine didn’t mention my dressing again after the night of the party, nor did she suggest that she dress in a male fashion either. We had simply been ‘released’ by the party.
My birthday that year — 1988 — brought me a surprise package. Along with several boring, everyday gifts (you know the sort of thing!), I found one small extra gift, wrapped in shiny red paper with a crimson ribbon and bow tied around.
Christine had a sly smile on her face when she gave it to me saying “These are for quiet nights in at home….” Her hands were unusually tipped with wonderful bright red nails — I couldn’t resist pausing to admire them.
But then I couldn’t wait to find out what she meant but carefully un-picked the bow and opened the parcel. To my surprise, a black velvet pocket-bag revealed a pair of cuffs. Something I had heard that people enjoyed but had never explored myself.
“These are for me?....” I asked, also smiling. “They are indeed, honey…… but….” was her reply.
“But? But what??....” I asked. “But I may ask for them sometimes, if you’d agree.”
I would rather have had a lovely nightie or a bra, panties and suspenders… but….. beggars can’t be choosers! I responded urgently, saying “Whenever you like my darling…..!”
“Then just do as I say, and do it now…… Go shower and wash very carefully. You have seven minutes and I’m counting. I want you back here on the bed before 7.43! I shall be ready for you. Be prepared to give yourself up to me… you are MINE!” I got up from the bed.
Oh, if only I were wearing some beautiful undies…… For the first time I WANTED to be discovered! But I had none to be found in. If only I were wearing make-up! But I had none to wear. I just had to do as I was told.. and fast. I left pieces of clothing all along the passageway to the bathroom where I arrived stark bollock naked. The shower was hot and left me gasping. The towels were warm and fluffy and luxurious. I towel-dried my hair and briefly gave thought to its (then) lack of style. I HAD to do something about that.
I went back to the bedroom having, also briefly, thought about putting on Christine’s sexiest, white satin, dressing gown which hung on the bathroom door. But I thought better of that — just the thought gave me a nice stiff cock to go back to the bedroom with. All of this was too good to have dreamed of — on my birthday!
Back on the bed, I found Christine with just her bra and panties on. Lovely, lovely…… She had brushed her white blonde hair and it was now piled high on her head in a chignon. Her lipstick was full and fresh.
She rose to stand face-to-face. She took hold of my cock, her eyes not blinking, as she said “Pleased to see me?” Which naturally, I was. “Not half as pleased as I am to see you.”
She very deliberately reached for my right wrist with her left hand, leaving my cock in her right hand which was now gripping me hard, her fingernails causing discomfort. There was more of that to come, as she said “Pick up one of the cuffs… NOW!” Her eyes stayed fixed on my own.
I did so. The cuffs were within easy reach. She released her grip on my cock. For a minute. Within seconds, the cuff was in her ‘free’ hand. It proved to have a quick-snap lock, engaged by her closing the cuff over the wrist that had delivered it. Immediately, her hand was back on my cock. The second cuff dangled.
“Do the other one yourself”. Her instruction was clear. “No, wait a minute…. You hold this… “(she said, handing me my own cock)….. “and put your arms behind your back. NOW!” So I did so. The lock of the second cuff snapped shut and I was again face-to-face with this woman who was now in control.
“You enjoy what’s to come, and then you can return the favour…”
So, I was on a promise!
--oo00oo–
An hour or more later, I was satiated, exhausted, and knew that the compliment was to be returned. Christine was, by now, as horny as hell. She had cum a couple of times when her pussy was riding my face, oh, and another when she felt me cum inside her. “Double-top” we called that.
(I’ll spare you the details of how that came about, dear Reader).
She gently removed the cuffs from my wrists as I lay there on the bed. It was clear that she would want to be seduced as expertly as I had been by her. I didn’t have the wrapping of the gift to offer, so I needed surprise somehow else. I stood up and put on my own short dressing gown. Sadly, not a sexy item at all really.
My mind ran wild but came up with nothing……. I decided to do the reverse of what she might be expecting… and, at the same time indulge a little fantasy of my own. Before I got started, my cock rose again, a bit embarrassingly….. First, I would dress her and do her make-up and her hair, as if we were going out on the town.
“Stand up, my wife!” I commanded — in a most unusual way for me; I don’t ‘command’ anything much. And she did. We stood face-to-face. Now, go to your vanity unit and sit down….. Take your cuffs with you. I stressed the word “your” as the cuffs were now no longer “mine”….. (They became “ours”).
As she sat, I looked her in the eyes in the mirror and my hands took her by the wrists behind her back. I slipped the cuffs on to her slender arms and admired them, along with those wonderful crimson nails. I knelt down behind her and kissed the backs of her hands. My tongue traced the lines on the cuffs above the hands. Then, I licked the fingers and sucked the fingernails, allowing Christine to study her own reactions in the mirror.
I have already said she was as horny as hell. Well, I was right in doing what I was doing. She let out a very quiet moan as she squeezed her thighs together, raising the tempo towards a climax. Already aroused, she was ready to cum. So I spun the stool on which she was sitting and, with her now facing me and away from the mirror, I pushed her thighs apart and went down into the glorious pleasure park that opened for visitors that minute.
All I have ever learnt about tongue-fucking a woman came into play and I was soon lost in my own dreamworld. How long I was in there, I have no idea. She still had her lovely panties on so I pushed them aside with my tongue and held them aside with a finger. My other hand took care of her clitoris that was all pink and wet by now. How many times I heard her cum, I cannot recall….. maybe not at all, maybe ten times. Whatever, we were both overjoyed…. But I was not yet finished.
Turning her stool to face the mirror again, I took the pins that held her hair out and laid them on the vanity. Her hair fell to her shoulders and the brush I took in my hands was easy to run through it. Avoiding vigorous brushing, the clean waves of hair tumbled just as I hoped they would. Parting the hair centrally, I pinned the hair from her temples back to the crown…. Gwyneth Paltrow style.
Her selection of cosmetics beckoned. The foundation was light and easy to apply with a finger or two. The eyeshadow was also light to apply. Less is more — I remembered. She wouldn’t want to look like the tart I usually ended up being. Then I dared to put on some liquid eyeliner. My hands weren’t steady enough and I gave that up as a recipe for disaster. Likewise the mascara. So I turned to the lipstick that we had so many times put upon eachother’s lips whilst preparing to fuck. Easy. I leant back and admired my handiwork. Her eyes still needed defining. An eyepencil would be less risky, so that was what I used.
She was allowed to look at herself. “Stand, now.” I whispered. She stood there in her bra and panties — which I so was jealous of! “Find some stockings. And a suspender belt.” I was insistent — she would now fetch and carry, and I would put the clothes on her. The belt was first.
As she did so, I told her to sit again at the vanity. I knelt at her feet and rolled the first jet black stocking into a roll which then went over her toes and ankles…..
Within minutes, I had dressed a woman entirely myself. We paused only to release the cuffs while a beautiful sexy blouse was laid upon her shoulders and her arms threaded into the sleeves. The cuffs then went back on. She was dressed when she finally stood after I put on the highest stiletto-heeled shoes that she owned on her dainty feet.
My words then to her will not be repeated here but she was left knowing how much I loved her, how sexy she was that night, and what a wonderful lover she was.
I then pushed her back onto the bed, parted her panties and got back in with her pussy… I was tongue-fucking a beautiful woman, just in the way another beautiful woman would do. The more I did this, the more I felt like the male lesbian I knew I had become.
I didn’t want to fuck other women besides Christine. I certainly didn’t want to fuck with any men. This was the Promised Land!
--oo00oo–
As our lives extend, there are fewer “first times” to report, it’s natural. Keeping on doing what gives pleasure means repetition not new frontiers all the time. Increasingly, the experiences we find anew are further spaced apart. So it was in the months after “that” party.
A few new experiences come to mind, although I can’t be sure if they’re in the right order, chronologically.
Having my own eyelashes dyed. Yes, that was one. I had always wished my eyes were more distinctive and could never manage with false lashes myself. So having my own lashes dyed was an alternative worth trying. I did make it clear, when booking an appointment “for the local theatre”, that I wanted only a very light change of colour. And that was what I got. It was the most bizarre experience of my life, having this done to me (and I have had some bizarre experiences, as you know!). Talk about “up close and personal” with the beauty assistant, Chloe by name. I was pleased with the result and, if Christine noticed, she didn’t say anything.
Then there was the time when I found myself buying a pair of silicone false tits (and having nowhere to hide them). That was another visit to ‘Transformation’ in London. I had been given a bonus from work and fancied indulging myself.
So I went to my favourite high street store, bought a new bra and proceeded to strut my stuff with what felt like genuine tits! I loved myself a little more. That’s something I had rarely done before…… and not much since either. Such is the lot of a dedicated Crossdresser.
That same event led to my shaving my nipples and underarms. After all, a girl can’t have nasty hairy armpit, can she?! I kinda liked the way it was all flushed away in the shower. Again no comment from Wife-y, Christine…… but then when did she ever look at my armpits??
At this time, aged 39, I was tempted again to buy some more clothes and to risk keeping them hidden. I was tempted also to go on some ‘fieldwork’ visits where I could stay away from home and maybe indulge some dressing which I had denied myself for several years now. The sex at home was much better than it had been for years. I was enjoying my inner-self fantasies… but I felt ready to try a little more.
This led me to a visit to Manchester and to a budget hotel room by the M6 motorway that is the main north-south artery around the city. I knew that the ‘Transformation’ business had its first shop in this area and that it was far far away from my being discovered if I went there.
Booking a room in a hotel, I knew a ‘chain’ where there were few services like Reception 24/7, Night Porter, Restaurant and such. It was literally, a room for the night. After 8pm, the doors were controlled by access keys that were the room keys.
I stopped on the drive north from London and went shopping. I bought a white cotton blouse with a lady’s business suit in a pale lilac, stockings and suspenders, bra and panties. All from a local Marks & Spencer store and a nearby Bon Marche store in Macclesfield, near the M6. I would rely on ‘Transformation’ to provide shoes for my size 9’s (which are tough to find shoes for ANY where!)
Having checked-in, I drove the remaining seven miles to the shop in a north Manchester suburb, went in immediately after parking the car, allowing myself no time to have second thoughts or ‘chicken out’. I walked in and said that I wanted a “Make-up & Change” service and showed my bag with its contents.
The shoes were going to cost me, big-time. So, too, would the wig. My own hair was nowhere near long enough for the look I was hoping to create. “Certainly, love!” was the reply from the (quite) mature lady assistant who served me. (There were three of them on duty serving. One was younger but obviously new to the business, the other two were older and quite used to people like me and their wishes).
We spent time choosing the wig (which I loved and prolonged, trying on at least four!) and the shoes, of which there were only three pairs to suit my needs. The wig was a fall of auburn curls, with feathery bangs, the length reaching my low neck, and with highlights framing the face.
Within an hour, I was changed, served with tea, made-up and be-wigged. In my business suit, I looked better than I could have dreamed or hoped. In the many mirrors surrounding the dressing room, I looked, if a little tall, ready for the world. I was so glad that I had bought and brought my own clothes. My previous ‘Transformation’ Awaydays had offered a charity shop selection of clothes to wear.
Several photographs were included in the cost of the service, so I posed as any girl would. However, none were close-ups of my upper body and face and hair which I would have liked. They did show, remarkably, that my legs looked good in stockings. I was right proud!
And I left the store, having paid and said my thanks. I left the store! I went out into the street — not in a party costume like before, but in a woman’s outfit, with a woman’s hair, shoes and attitude!!
It was now 5.15pm and getting dark. Walking to my car, I took deep breaths and enjoyed the feel of the clothes. Catching my reflection in a shop front, it was easy to stop and admire the image. Reaching the car, and pausing, I got in and drove away, unaware of and uncaring of the thoughts of any passer-by who might have seen me. I didn’t want to go and meet other people. I didn’t want to get mixed up with shopping crowds or travelling commuters.
I spotted a nearby public park which appeared to be quiet and yet still open. So, risking being mugged I now realize, I went in and sat quietly enjoying the approach of the evening sky.
Content with life. But what would my wife say. Was this betraying her?
Chapter 25 will show that it was.
My previous chapter started with some of the best love-making Christine and I had ever had. After a ‘turnabout’ party, we had explored ways for both of us to be in control in bed. The chapter ended with my taking the chance to dress in public for the first time. I asked if that was betrayal. I was to be proved right that it was seen to be just that.
Chapter 25 — Being discovered
A sit and a walk in the park gave me confidence. I may not have looked better than a bloke in a dress (and I may have been risking a mugging) but I felt good. My evening in full femme attire proved to be a great experience. I did walk ‘on the wild side’ by purposely encountering other people, though not speaking to them. (I wasn’t ready for that!).
The feel of the shoes and the stockings was intensely feminine. The practising of walking in stilettos was hugely challenging, but ultimately euphoria-inducing. The sensation of my hair brushing my neck and surrounding my face was just an answer to prayers uttered so many times. The feel of my painted fingernails was like claws ready to pounce…. albeit on another woman. I sat in a motorway service café drinking coffee before going back to watch television in my budget hotel room.
The following day, I did my fieldwork with the Company’s employee and set off for home at around 4.30pm. It took four hours to drive home. I had worn the underwear from the previous day to keep my own illusion of femininity alive… never mind how I would manage the arrival home and the disrobing before bedtime.
I had destroyed all the outerwear from the previous day — the business suit, the shoes and anything else, except the wig. I could NOT give up that wig, it was so wonderful. It was, you’ll not be surprised to learn, an auburn tumble of curls that reached just below chin length. Its colour was lighter around the bangs and fringe. Perfect. It looked fabulous in the photograph that I was given by the ladies in the ‘Transformation’ salon. (One free with every ChangeAway session, more available at a price). I looked just like the business woman I was portraying in my own mind — not a slut, not a tart, not a hooker, not a French maid, not a dominatrix… a normally-dressed woman-about-town.
As I set off, I loaded my lips with colour and put on that beautiful wig. So what if people in other cars — in traffic jams especially — looked across and saw a guy in a big hair wig?! Indeed, in a couple of traffic jams, I did purposely refresh my lipstick in the car’s rear-view mirror. As I drove home, I re-ran the previous day’s experience in my mind. It had been worth every penny of the £135 it had cost me, not to mention the cost of the shoes, the cost of the business suit and the cost of the beautiful wig.
All I was left with were the panties, stockings, suspenders, the wig and the lipstick. I would have to find another place at home to hide them.
Arrival home found Wife-y sitting at her computer, doing more working things. She was working 12 hours a day having found herself promoted into ever more senior jobs once the kids were settled at senior schools.
Everything went well and the evening closed with our settling in bed together, as usual.
The following day was just as normal. She went off to business and I “worked at home” the whole day, finishing my report on the fieldwork experience.
There was enough time for me to put everything away in a box in the garage where there would be no need for her to ever go looking.
There was nothing left to chance. Life was good and I didn’t want anything to disturb the situation.
--oo00oo–
Life went on with ease for several weeks thereafter. My thoughts occasionally — no, frequently — returned to the stash in the garage. Especially the wig.
The lipstick I kept accessible because there was the chance that it would figure in our love-making, just like before. Just making us both feel sexy. Adding a taste to my tongue-fucking. I was obsessed with that, I know it now. That’s what girls do for eachother. That’s what I do for my wife.
Apart from that — my crossdressing in my mind, I began to read. I began to read stories about my ‘special interest’. The ‘Transformation’ store had some books — all very poorly presented but they gave an outlet to my imagination.
--oo00oo–
Everything came to a sudden crisis, however.
At the age of 42, with a family of teenage children and a wife that was increasingly successful in her job, I had survived the trauma of losing my job as a Marketing Director and finding myself pushed into a poorly-managed service sector business where I was tasked with starting a new division for anew market. I gave that my best shot and made a success of it. The problem was not the business, it was the people. They were a very unco-operative bunch of men who would say one thing to the business owner and another to me. They would ‘slag off’ my efforts to the owner and refuse help when I asked for it from them. A recipe for a short-term fix; income, but unhappiness. A travelling time of two hours to and from home at both ends of each day didn’t help. I was fu*cking crazy by the time I got home each day.
I was therefore not prepared at all for the day when I got home and found, for once, my wife not working at her PC. Not working. She had a drink in her hand.
It was clearly not the first drink of the day.
She sat there, simmering.
She sat there with a small square of something on the table in front of her.
I couldn’t make out what it was.
“Who the fucking hell is she?!”
I didn’t know what she meant — quite literally, and so I said so. I can remember every word of this conversation. In fact, it has helped me recall many conversations with others since that time.
“Who is this?” she shouted……. “Who?!” Throwing the square of card across the table, she spat the words “Who the fuck is it?”
Holy shit! I thought…. It’s the photo from my ChangeAway day. It was ME…. Dressed. Dressed as a woman, with all the crossdressing clothes and accessories I had enjoyed so much that day. In a flash, my secret was out. She knew!!!
Looking like her… I looked at the photo and I realized, I looked like my Wife. I had created a version of her. Not her, but as much like her as I could have created. The clothes were not dissimilar to what she wore for business. The hair was not unlike hers, although it was a lighter shade of red than hers.
“Who is this fucking tart?!” she said once, then again, then again. I was still dumb-struck.
Then it became suddenly clear. She thought I was ‘playing away’ with another woman. She did, in her purple mist of anger and jealousy, fail to look closely at the face in the picture. She didn’t recognize that it was me… her husband. Dressed.
She thought that this was a rival. A lover probably. A mistress.
I know my mouth was moving but all that came out was a gabbling sound of “…. Er, um..errr… oh… no….. it’s… well, can’t you…. Umm…. Now, can I …. Well….. Oh, shit! No, it’s not like what you’re thinking at all…..” that was all I could manage.
“Oh, no, of course it’s not what I can see it is…..” She grabbed the picture back and she tore it into shreds. She scattered the pieces as she said “You bastard!! You absolute bastard….”
Oh, FUCK!!! I thought in an instant. What the fuck should I do? Tell her the truth? Or go along with her supposition and suffer the consequences? Try to play out the mistake she was making and get over it? Or try to rationalize with her that it was in fact me… doing what comes naturally — and blow a hole in her view of me. Well, having a mistress would do that, wouldn’t it? In a different way….. Fuck… Impossible! No-Win situation.
I chose the disclosure of my secret route. I had never screwed around in our time married. I had never slept (silly word) with another woman. I had always fought shy of the risks in having affairs. I knew most men that I knew had secret affairs. I didn’t
My “affair” was with myself. My dressing.
Would she understand that? Well, I was about to find out.
Her anger had not subsided but the vehement shouting had calmed. Her face was red with rage. Her accusation stood. I was screwing and she wasn’t having any of it.
“Let me explain…” I started……
“Fuck your explanations…..” she cried, as tears began to flood in place of the rage. “Fuck it!”
“Honey, it’s not what you think at all. I’m yours and I always will be…. This is different…..”
“Different?!! How fucking different does it have to be. If you’re screwing another woman, you can go screw yourself for all I care…..!”!
“No, no….. I’m not…… That…. Well, see it this way…. That wasn’t another woman……”
“Well, who the fucking hell was it?” (She never swore.. this was a tirade I had never heard before).
“Who was it? Father fucking Christmas??!!”
“No, darling…” “Don’t you Darling me….” “No, honey, it wasn’t a woman, it was ….. me….”
“What?”
“Yes, it was me….. I was dressed……..”
There was a cold, quite nearly a minute-long, silence. She stared at me…… Her gaze saw me differently now. I could see a degree of hate in there, mixed with incomprehension, mixed with fear.
Quite the worst way to find out how deep-seated your Partner has a secret that you’re unaware of. Or perhaps had suspected but never had confirmed. Or perhaps …..
Quite the worst way to tell your Partner about your own secret.
I realize how much stupidity I had shown in many ways. In keeping the secret. In hiding the evidence. In letting a detail be discovered. In not having opened discussion about my dressing years before. In getting her to see…. Maybe even enjoy….. After all, she had enjoyed crossdressing and going to that party as a guy…..
My hatred for myself was sudden and intense. Enough almost to make me physically sick.
I began to plead…. (quite the wrong thing to do really). “Forgive me, darling. It’s not important. It’s a silly, stupid stupid part inside me that … I promise…. I’ll shut down. I’ll stop.. it was only once. It wasn’t serious. I didn’t have sex with anyone… I didn’t….. Please believe me. It’s harmless. And ……… There’s part of you that will think I’m a pervert.. and I’m not. I’m not homosexual.. I’ve never been that way and that makes me sick to think that you would, or could think I might be, ‘cos I’m not…….”
My gabbling tailed off into her tears and my own now. We were both crying…..
“You will stop… Oh, yes, you will stop. Or you will move out of this house…. In fact, I think it would be better if you did. You bastard… How could you??? What if the kids saw you? What would you say to them? Don’t give me that “Two Mummies” shit…. There will be no Two Mummies in this fucking house…. You fuck off if you think there will be….”
"No,please, darling. There’s no need. I will stop. I will. I’ve thrown away all of that stuff… really, I have." (I lied).
“You lying bastard. I bet you haven’t.” Christine again spat the words at me.
“I honestly have…. Or I will, if there’s anything left.”
“How long has this been going on?” she asked, more calmly.
“Since the party….” (I lied). “I got a taste for … well, it’s fun…… to me…. It’s fantasy. I’d just enjoy the feeling of the clothes and the look in the mirror. I know it’s stupid….. I don’t make a convincing woman.. but I don’t ever expect to… I mean, I didn’t… and I won’t….”
“Not before then?” she probed.
“No, not before then.” (I lied again).
“You’re a liar….. I’ve seen lipstick smears on your face now I remember. And I know that my clothes move around in their drawers sometimes….. And I wondered why, but it never crossed my mind…”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I have rummaged a bit….”
“And worn my stuff…. Haven’t you? Go on, admit it….”
“Well, yes, more than once.”
“Are you a fucking transvestite?? Because if you are, you’re history… You can leave…..”
“No, that’s not how I feel about it. I simply get a good feeling from girly clothes and things….”
“I’m not having a bloody pervert in this house with my kids….”
“I’m not, and I’m not a danger to them… Please, please…. Don’t ever think that I would harm them. Really, you can’t…… Don’t imagine……”
Betrayal? Chapter 24 asked if Wife-y Christine felt betrayed. As you can see. She did. But there is a way back, as life today proves. There are other tales along the way of this true story. I hope, dear Reader, you will follow the next steps… in chapter 26.
The worst possible scenario had happened. Why oh, why had I not explained about my dressing before now? Before marriage even? Too late to control the way the news was received. Life in ruins. How can anyone possibly recover what is so precious after such a stupid mistake?
Chapter 26 — Once discovered, never trusted
“I’m not having a bloody pervert in this house with my kids….” The venom in her voice!!!
“I’m not, and I’m not a danger to them… Please, please…. Don’t ever think that I would harm them. Really, you can’t…… Don’t imagine……” The pleading in my own.
Silence fell on the pair of us. She, too furious to speak more. Me, too panic-stricken to move.
She curled up on the sofa. Me standing, helpless, wanting to gather her up, but scared to move in her direction. The first time in my life, I now realize, that I experienced true FEAR.
A thousand thoughts rushed through my confused brain. What was she thinking right now? What could I possibly do? How could I convince her that I was not (indeed, still am not) a pervert that she so much loathed. Convince her that I wasn’t a danger to our kids. That I wasn’t likely to be a child molester, just because I enjoyed dressing in female clothes? That I wasn’t homosexual? That I actually felt sick at the thought? Of what? Of sex between two men. That I still loved her, and always would. That sex was something I wanted to be better at. More assertive, but couldn’t be, for some reason. Why? I didn’t know (and still don’t). How could I make amends? How would she accept my promise — which I had yet to make — that I would throw away any vestiges of my dressing and never ever dress again? That I would put it all behind me? That I wanted to be with her more than anything in life? That I just adore her?
The thoughts rushed on and on through my head, as I stood there.
The pieces of the photograph were still strewn about my feet. It was so ironic that she had first attacked me because she thought I was secretly seeing another woman. Hadn’t even looked in detail at the picture. Hadn’t recognized me as the woman she saw. Dressed in the business jacket and skirt, the blouse, the stockings and shoes that were all regulation business-woman’s wear. Topped off with the wig that was more her colour than many I might have chosen. There, in that choice, was the reflection of how much I loved her. So much that I chose a wig that could have been hers. OK, it was a little bit lighter and sexier, I thought, but it was HER I was in some way emulating.
Her eyes were closed and she was sobbing quietly. The tears were tears of anger. Of resentment. How could I? How dare I? She must have been thinking. How fucking selfish I was.
Fucking selfish would have been right. After all, it was MY secret……
“Why did you lie to me?” was all she said, quietly now.
“Darling I didn’t lie….” I pleaded again……
“Oh yes you fucking well did. You lied every time you went out like that…”
“It wasn’t like that…. And it’s only been a couple of times…..” I tried to excuse myself, but she believed not a word of it.
“Fucking liar! FUCKING LIAR!....” she shouted again. “I don’t want to see you… Get out of my sight! Go… Go, NOW!”
I reached down to put my arm around her, in a gesture asking for conciliation.
Only I was met with a barrage of fists and a shout of “Don’t you come NEAR me!, You hear? Don’t you try to touch me!”
I was beginning to fear she would have woken the kids who were sleeping upstairs…. So I left.
Where would I go? Where could I possibly go at this time of night? I began to wish I was back in Manchester in that grotty Budget hotel where I had gone back after going out dressed for only the second time in my life…… Well, it was the First time really. The turnabout party couldn’t be counted. That wasn’t ME, or only me, going out dressed. That was a party. And she had enjoyed it. And she had been dressed as a guy. And she enjoyed that. The sex had been wonderful… There must have been a connection. What was the harm. I had only dressed this once to go out. As a woman. In the street. In the park. Driving the car. Arriving back at the hotel. In the motorway services. Not being noticed, as far as I knew. Not trying to pick up men for sex like some whore or other.
Yes, it was totally selfish. But we all do selfish things at times. Don’t we? Of course we do.
She does selfish things….. My Christine. She’s not a pure bloody saint.
I felt a rush of resentment of my own, albeit briefly, when I felt that my sins were small compared with many people I knew of or read about every day in the newspapers. What had I done that was so BAD? Nobody was injured or died. What I did wasn’t perverted — in my own eyes at least, nor in many people’s eyes. This was the 1990s now, not pre-war England, not pre-1960s England. For fuck’s sake, it was legal for men to have sex with eachother almost ANYWHERE now! Even more, it was natural for two women to be attracted to one another.
And that was how I felt, when I was dressed, or when my mind was in my feminine mode. I couldn’t readily explain how that occurred. How it was a strong urge sometimes, and yet easy to put away at other times. I didn’t try to explain it (to myself, even), that I was a man locked up in the wrong body. Gender reassignment wasn't ever, and isn't now, on my agenda. I had long before accepted myself for what I am. Accepted that I would never transition, never be transgendered.
Sadly, I picked up the overnight case that I had taken to Manchester, still with my dirty linen and a few items of femininity remaining… and I left the house.
--oo00oo–
The bitterness of that night will live with me for ever, as will the few days that followed and the telephone calls that I made to Christine’s mobile number while she was at work.
I decided not to call home, although the kids would be wondering where I was. I wondered what she would have told them. It turned out to be very general and inconclusive… “Dad’s got to stay away for a few nights more… on business”.
My calls were not answered on the first three days — during which time I had gone home and taken some clean clothes to wear. (I had to be back in the office, at work as if nothing were different). So my next attempt was to leave messages on her voice mail. I even wrote out what I wanted to say beforehand. I practised what I wanted to say — and the way of saying it. Putting emphasis in different places.
The main stream of my messages was as I had been thinking it should be. To try to give reassurances. To make is abundantly clear that there had been isolated instances of what I had done and been ‘found out’ doing. That I loved her still and needed her love in return. That there were ways to work things out. That I wasn’t some kind of sex criminal. That I could and should be trusted. That everything I owned had been destroyed. (Which was true apart from the lipstick that I clung to, and wore in my isolation those few nights). That I intended to honour my promise never to dress again. That I wasn’t wishing to change my sex, or my gender, or whatever some psychologist would call it. That I was ashamed of myself and my poor performance in bed……
The list went on, but I kept the messages short, even-tempered, increasingly less “guilty” in tone. Increasingly optimistic that she would have me back in the family home.
And then I waited.
On the fifth day, there having been no response until that time, there was a message:
“I have heard your messages. And we do need to talk… Be at home tonight. Make it after dinner, so the kids will be in bed. Let’s be two adults about this… Bye.” Very business-like. Almost curt but not aggressive or hating in tone.
Born an optimist, like most marketers, I hoped it was a good sign. Tonight, after dinner.
A bunch of flowers. The least I could take as a peace offering.
The whole afternoon found me rehearsing the different ways that the conversation might go.
“Fail to prepare and you prepare to fail… “ I thought, ….not my motto, but true nonetheless.
There was a chance that she had seen the light and remembered the turnabout party and I would find her dressed in male gear, ready for sex with me when she had dressed me in some of her clothes….
Probability?? Less than 1%. (I was joking to relieve my own stress).
There was the chance that she had decided that the marriage was over, that she was so sickened and disgusted with me and my dressing, that she wanted a D.I.V.O.R.C.E. immediately if not sooner.
Probability?? At least 50%...maybe even 70%. (The most likely outcome — it had to be countered).
There were many alternatives between those two scenarios.
Firstly, she might have decided that we would “live together, for the sake of the children”.
Probability?? Maybe 10%. (So, a real possibility).
Alternatively, she might have believed my messages, that all was consigned to the trash and I would never, ever, dress again, and that it was just an aberration.
Probability?? Maybe 5% or even 10%..... (Far less likely than the DIVORCE option).
Other options came and went in my mind. These were the scenarios that I had to rehearse my responses for. I didn’t know which would be the one. But I knew which I hoped it would be.
I clung to the 5% chance — that I could and would do “cold turkey” from my dressing. That I would self-impose my own version of “re-hab”.
--oo00oo__
Returning to the hotel where I had stayed for four nights, in solitary confinement, I sat for an hour drinking the strongest black coffee I could make through heavily-lipsticked lips. I studied my face in the mirror and began to laugh at myself. Who would credit this vision? A bloke wearing lipstick… for enjoyment?! Sad, or what?
I cleaned it all off before leaving the hotel room and driving the twenty minutes to the house.
--oo00oo–
The outcome of the conversation we had that night was much the way I had hoped it would go.
….With several major provisos. Conditions Christine would impose. On me. And my life.
We would go back to living together, although sharing a bed was out of the question for now.
We would never speak of this whole affair with any other living soul.
We would not speak of it between us, either
We would (or rather I would) keep our (i.e. my) clothes closets open to view at all times.
We (or rather I) would allow inspections of our private spaces at any time the other decided.
We would not buy, discuss or keep any literature, magazines or books, on my “special subject”.
We would not go to the theatre or see films where my “special subject” was portrayed (so, no Pricilla, Queen of the Desert then!).
But, one day, maybe, we would explore eachother again. If we survived the coming months.
--oo00oo–
So my 5% wish had come as true as it might have been possible to.
My dressing was now on complete ‘hold’, indeed, complete eradication. I knew I had to avoid any chance of being discovered in the same way again. The only way was to stop dressing, no matter how much it hurt to do so. Chapter 27 will reveal how I have done since.
The months pass after any cataclysmic situation that a couple like us endured, if you’re lucky. And I count myself as lucky. Christine’s demands were met. Her limitations imposed on me concerning my life. If I wanted to stay married, this was the end of my dressing. Could I meet that demand, of all of them?
Chapter 27 — Never trusted
We did go back to living together, although sharing a bed was out of the question for now. That was probably no loss, seeing that my “performance” (still hate that word) in bed had by now waned to insignificance. I would have gladly engaged in what women do for eachother if she had been willing.
We never did speak of this whole affair with any other living soul. It’s not something that is casually brought up in polite conversation, after all! We did not speak of it between us, either (It was the classic case of ‘the elephant in the room’ that nobody wishes to mention.
I did keep my clothes closet open to view at all times. So no hiding place at all for anything I might be tempted to buy for my own pleasure. And I did allow inspections of our private spaces at any time the other decided. And Christine did her inspections, I have no doubt.
Literature on crossdressing, of any kind — even the odd newspaper article continued to be forbidden
and we never went to the theatre or see films or television programmes where crossdressing was shown, for factual or entertainment reasons.
Deep down inside, my hope was, one day, maybe, we would explore eachother physically again. And we seemed to survive the following months. My dressing was on complete ‘hold’, indeed, it was completely eradicated
--oo00oo–
If we were to get back to some kind of intimacy, it would be possible only with a very long process of rehab in our personal relationship. For years, sex had been something we had “done” when I initiated the idea. Years ago, I had made the mistake of shunning Christine’s advances when she did, just a few times, make the first move. Even in those days, I guess, I was worried that I might not be able to “perform”…. Geez, how I hate that word….
So, I chose my times very carefully and, not always, but sometimes, we got closer together and a warmth seemed to develop in our co-existence (for that was all it was). Nothing heavy. In the very olden days, it would have been called “petting” and that’s what seemed to be acceptable.
Little did I know, realize or suspect, Christine was waiting for this to develop into something more and, in my unconfident way, that wasn’t likely to happen. So, maybe she got bored — after all I had learnt about how women should be coaxed into receptiveness, I was falling short on the urgency stakes! (It is impossible to please some people, some of the time).
“Enough of that…. I’m tired. Goodnight..” was a frequent ending to a promising start.
What means could I find to make sure that, when “the time” came, I would be prepared for “performance”? Wanking was enjoyable but most of my fantasies were - not surprisingly — concerned with dressing or being that “other woman” that would make love to, or with, Christine. The result of that was an unsatisfactory preparedness for a good old fashioned fuck, “when the time came”. So, it was petting…. Endless petting.
This was, dear Reader remember, before the days of Viagra or Cialis or other therapies for my problem. They were being talked about. And certainly joked about. They would not be something that people, men like me, would go to their family doctor to discuss.
Choosing the time to “go south” even proved nearly impossible. Even fantasizing about wearing girly bedroom clothing was only partially successful. But it was a start. And that’s how it began. Petting turned into the long-lost art of tongue-fucking.
As joyful as ever, it became possible to get Christine to lie back and lose herself in her private delights (whatever they were — we had never discussed what our private fantasies were…….
In fact, the more I think of that, the more I honestly believe that there might have been a way for me to introduce the whole idea of crossdressing……. Who knows? We might even have found that it became part of “us”??)
But it was sufficient for me to treat her to the delights of the intense orgasms she was perfectly capable of having with my tongue where it now found itself again after many years. For me, it was enough. In fact, more than enough. I could be the woman in bed that I wanted to be. OK, without the wonderful underwear, or nightwear that I so desired.
But that was all in my head now. Locked in there. With no key. It was like a chastity belt.
In fact, until I wrote those words, I have never thought of it like that. But it was true. I didn’t need a chastity belt for my dick — it wasn’t performing well enough. But what I was living with was s a chastity belt for my brain and my emotions.
No wonder I couldn’t let go.
Many times, in those days, I felt Christine reach her climax and found myself totally detached from the experience. I loved the fore-play. I loved giving her the pleasure. But it somehow wasn’t me, in there with her.
For the first time (remember the title of my serial?)………….
I gave myself the name by which I now, and still, know myself. I thought of myself as “Ginger”. And in my fantasies, that’s how people would talk to me. That’s how I would call myself when my dreams turned to picking up girls for woman-to-woman sex.
Ginger was a lesbian from the very start!
Ginger was, and remains, a glorious redhead. The author’s name I now use was developed then. We’re talking about the time of the Spice Girls’ popularity and what more appropriate for a (now middle-aged crossdresser) than to be named after “Ginger Spice”.
The wonderfully pneumatic breasts, the tightly-corseted yet ample figure, the powerful thighs beneath a ‘pussy-pelmet” the beautiful red hair with the blonde stripe streaks…… And the “come to bed with me” eyes that Geri Halliwell had were a perfect fixation in my chastity-belted mind.
So, in my mind, I actually became that glorious redhead.
She would be the girl who would make love with Christine.
She would be the lipstick lesbian that I always dreamed I would be, dressed in chic feminine business-like wear, usually skirts with flowing blouses and high-heeled shoes, stockings and delicious underwear. She would have make-up that was expertly applied and most certainly of the most expensive brands available. They would go shopping together and stop to eat meagre organic food with a bottle of slightly intoxicating sauvignon blanc. They would be very obviously a little more than just girlfriends.
She wouldn’t have a dick, this girlfriend. I would tuck my boy bits away if I could….. Oh! No! That would be a grave mistake. Christine would be alert for anything like that. No. she wanted a dick. She would want penetration… well, at least sometimes.
How could I give her that, given that chemical help was still some years away?
Answer: buy one. Buy her a toy. Buy her a dildo (strange word, I always thought) and fuck her with that. I could do that. It would be a bit embarrassing the first time it was introduced but, there had to be a way. After all, there were plenty of stories about girls giving eachother a very good time without either of them having a dick, but with them sharing a dick.
So the purchase was made — but it wasn’t a dick-shaped one at first. It was a smooth and quite thick tube with a vibration device. Very acceptable. In fact, I didn’t really need to introduce it in the middle of a love-making session and find Christine not objecting at all. I could have wrapped it up and given it to her as a birthday present!
The vibrator served us well. Or rather, it served Christine well. She was soon accustomed to the variety of uses; from deep deep sensual burying, to fleeting teasing external touching. What girls would do for eachother.
Our love-making remained infrequent but, when it was good, it was very good. I remembered the times when it was bad — and it was awful!
The dildo came into our lives a few months later. By this time my performance had suffered greatly — primarily from my own obsession with being “the girl with the girl”. I had never been an assertive lover or a macho kind of a guy. Now I was nearly neutered. I’m now aware that other medication I took starting about this time would have been the cause of (what I hate, as another word to call) impotence. I couldn’t have fucked even one of my fantasy females from the previous thirty years even if I had tried or had the opportunity.
So, I felt that it would be right to buy a toy that had more shape for her. Christine would enjoy something like that, I thought. And I proved to be right…… I did buy a toy that had straps which could be used to simulate a good fuck. But I never had the emotional strength to bear the humiliating reaction that I feared I would get, once I had bought it. The thought of being there shafting away with a strapped on dick distresses me even now.
So I removed the very realistic toy dick from its straps and threw them away. Why I ever thought to buy such a thing, I cannot imagine. But the dick that remained was more than realistic enough to be very different from the vibrator we had been accustomed to using. It was long, it was round and the surface was threaded with what were evidently engorged blood veins. The head was heavily shaped in such a way as to stimulate every corner of Christine’s “within”.
She adored it from the very first moment I used it. I found a way to lick her pussy while the dick was in her and the result was ecstasy… pure ecstasy.
But it was me, her girlfriend taking her to these heights of pleasure.
She didn’t know it, but she was now married to Ginger, her lesbian husband.
And this is how it has stayed. We enjoy the love-making. She, for the physical pleasure. Me, for the mental imagery within my chastity-belted head.
I no longer dress, dear Reader. I know that to do so would kill off what remains of my marriage — which you will appreciate is quite a substantial part of what we had before the calamity.
My exploration of the world of crossdressing is now within myself. The regrets I have for not having found the right way to introduce Christine to my desires are strong and will never go away. But to come out with all of the baggage once again would kill the relationship stone dead. And for what?
For me to let loose the ‘real’ me inside???
What a penalty there would be to pay.
My heartfelt recommendation to anyone who has these emotions in middle age, or even later, is to resist them firmly. Find ways in which you can be true to yourself within your head…. But let go of the dreams of physical manifestations of your femininity.
An old age spent lonely and isolated, no matter what the impulses drive you towards, is a penalty not worth paying.
and I'm heartfelt in my sadness for that.
What I really meant to say was...........
it's a penalty not worth paying
in my personal circumstances.
I hope nobody you know was upset.
Live your dreams within your self.
Be happy.
You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars. You have a right to be here.
With thanks to the author of “Desiderata” a poem from 1927:
Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, and remember what peace there may be in silence. As far as possible without surrender be on good terms with all persons. Speak your truth quietly and clearly; and listen to others, even to the dull and the ignorant, Avoid loud and aggressive persons, they are vexations to the spirit. If you compare yourself with others, you may become vain or bitter; for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. Keep interested in your own career, however humble; it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time. Exercise caution in your business affairs, for the world is full of trickery. But let not this blind you to what virtue there is; many persons strive for high ideals, and everywhere life is full of heroism. Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. Neither be cynical about love; for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment it is as perennial as the grass. Take kindly the counsel of the years, gracefully surrendering the things of youth. Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. You are a child of the universe, no less than the trees and the stars; you have a right to be here. And whether or not it is clear to you, no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. Therefore, be at peace with God, whatever you conceive Her to be. And whatever your labors and aspirations in the noisy confusion of life, keep peace in your soul. With all its sham, drudgery and broken dreams; it is still a beautiful world. Be cheerful. Strive to be happy. --- Max Ehrmann, 1927
they too have their story.
Wanting to stay married, I knew that was the end of my dressing. That was ten, no nearly fifteen, yes! 15! years ago. The Internet proved to be a gift from heaven. I started writing fiction in 2000 after I had been reading Sapphire’s and Storysite’s wonderful selection of TV/CD/TG fiction. The site gave me connections with others who felt the way I always have. Caitlin Rose, Marti B…. so many of you wrote so well. I got inspired! Now I’m reaching the end of my autobiography, I feel the urge to go for some fiction again!! Watch out for me girls!
Chapter 28 — Epilogue
The evolution of the Internet and the creation of some wonderful websites meant that I wasn’t alone, even though I had, and indeed still have, no close confidantes with whom I can share my love of “cross country”. That is why I crave the commentary from readers who have been kind enough to read my efforts.
If anything, my writing encouraged my deeply-held desire to be a beautiful woman who is stylish in her dressing, luscious in her beauty care and adorned with the most wonderful hair that heaven could create. In my dreams I am a positive and persuasive communicator, a good listener and a seductive lover. If only my early experimentation in marriage could have involved making my wife laugh with me and to enjoy and share at my desires. If life could be started over again, it would be different.
Once I had made the final promise, to stop all my dressing and never to mention the subject again, I was committed — some might say committed to a mental institution — committed to an apparently ‘straight’ lifestyle. In this, my meaning is ‘straight’ but not as in ‘not gay’. My readers, you should know me by now, I never was and never will be a gay male. I may see myself as a lesbian but that’s as far as my homosexuality has ever taken me.
For the first time (remember?.... that’s how this autobio began??) I gave myself a birthday treat, one year to the day after my resignation from the CD world. My treat was to have a full day’s ChangeAway at the ‘Transformation’ store in London. It’s easily reached by train from where I live and the deal allows a double transformation that lasts the whole morning and afternoon, or the afternoon and evening.
I’ve done this every year since. On the same day. I choose from a menu of ‘looks’ each time I go. I’ve been a Slutty Whore with superb fishnets, suspenders and bra with breast inserts, big big hair and OTT make-up.
I’ve been a Business Woman, again with a tight tight corset and bra combination, high heeled court shoes, and seamed stockings but under-stated makeup and precisely-chisel cut bobbed hair.
I’ve been a Bride with the most wonderful meringue nest dress, fairytale bra and panties and wonderfully upswept hair. and….
I’ve even been a Dominatrix, with the tightest basque you ever did wear, high energy striking make-up and a black wig with slashes of blue and blonde streaks!
No longer a shrinking violet (because time is not on my side) I get involved with the very helpful ladies who assist with dressing on these occasions.
Whereas when I first went to ‘Transformation’ for a “transformation” I hardly said a word, just enjoying what was done to me. I made choices about the dresses I wore, the ‘look I wanted’ and just let them get on with the job. I didn’t stay in the lounge for long to savour the enjoyment, but rather showered and left too quickly.
Nowadays, I talk continuously with the ladies there, asking them about what the do for other clients, what they like doing most for girls like me, and what they would do with my figure, or my make-up, or my hair when I come back next time. Lots of ideas!!
I have seen myself grow in age with these repeated visits. I’m far far from a possible ‘pass’ in the street which I once felt confident enough to risk.
I’m now not just a guy in a dress, I’m an old guy in a dress who cannot go out! The Transformation studio is therefore a resource for the now unthinkable.
I’m Ginger. I wannabe more but know now I’ll never be. But I’m content with that. With my writing and my stories, and my dreams.
I love you all, my dear readers and promise to continue to write for the few who really appreciate my work. I thank them all and hope I can comment enough on their works too.
Thank you Erin and BCTS in general.
I love you all!
Lots of love,
Ginger xxxx
An extract, by WannabeGinger
To do what? To let a loving wife find confirmation that her husband did in reality indulge himself in dressing in girly things and enjoy make-up and hair, all in secret. What you are about to read did happen to me.
m>You may not have read it as the latest parts of my serial First time…..Musings from WannabeGinger. What started off with first hesitant steps in my dressing has turned into a life story. Now it has reached a crisis which warrants separate description and hopefully to a wider audience.
Being discovered
After years of my secret being readily, and carefully, concealed, we had reached the stage where we were blessed with some of the best love-making Christine and I had ever had. After a ‘turnabout’ party, we had explored ways for both of us to be in control in bed. The serial found me - in reality - taking the chance to dress in public for the very first time. I asked myself if that was betrayal. I was to be proved right that it was seen to be just that.
A sit and a walk in the park gave me confidence. I may not have looked better than a bloke in a dress (and I may have been risking a mugging) but I felt good. My evening in full femme attire proved to be a great experience. I did walk ‘on the wild side’ by purposely encountering other people, though not speaking to them. (I wasn’t ready for that!).
The feel of the shoes and the stockings was intensely feminine. The practising of walking in stilettos was hugely challenging, but ultimately euphoria-inducing. The sensation of my hair brushing my neck and surrounding my face was just an answer to prayers uttered so many times. The feel of my painted fingernails was like claws ready to pounce…. albeit on another woman. I sat in a motorway service café drinking coffee before going back to watch television in my budget hotel room.
The following day, I did my fieldwork with the Company’s employee and set off for home at around 4.30pm. It took four hours to drive home. I had worn the underwear from the previous day to keep my own illusion of femininity alive… never mind how I would manage the arrival home and the disrobing before bedtime.
I had destroyed all the outerwear from the previous day — the business suit, the shoes and anything else, except the wig. I could NOT give up that wig, it was so wonderful. It was, you’ll not be surprised to learn, an auburn tumble of curls that reached just below chin length. Its colour was lighter around the bangs and fringe. Perfect. It looked fabulous in the photograph that I was given by the ladies in the ‘Transformation’ salon. (One free with every ChangeAway session, more available at a price). I looked just like the business woman I was portraying in my own mind — not a slut, not a tart, not a hooker, not a French maid, not a dominatrix… a normally-dressed woman-about-town.
As I set off, I loaded my lips with colour and put on that beautiful wig. So what if people in other cars — in traffic jams especially — looked across and saw a guy in a big hair wig?! Indeed, in a couple of traffic jams, I did purposely refresh my lipstick in the car’s rear-view mirror. As I drove home, I re-ran the previous day’s experience in my mind. It had been worth every penny of the £135 it had cost me, not to mention the cost of the shoes, the cost of the business suit and the cost of the beautiful wig.
All I was left with were the panties, stockings, suspenders, the wig and the lipstick. I would have to find another place at home to hide them.
Arrival home found Wife-y sitting at her computer, doing more working things. She was working 12 hours a day having found herself promoted into ever more senior jobs once the kids were settled at senior schools.
Everything went well and the evening closed with our settling in bed together, as usual.
The following day was just as normal. She went off to business and I “worked at home” the whole day, finishing my report on the fieldwork experience.
There was enough time for me to put everything away in a box in the garage where there would be no need for her to ever go looking.
There was nothing left to chance. Life was good and I didn’t want anything to disturb the situation.
--oo00oo–
Life went on with ease for several weeks thereafter. My thoughts occasionally — no, frequently — returned to the stash in the garage. Especially the wig.
The lipstick I kept accessible because there was the chance that it would figure in our love-making, just like before. Just making us both feel sexy. Adding a taste to my tongue-fucking. I was obsessed with that, I know it now. That’s what girls do for eachother. That’s what I do for my wife.
Apart from that — my crossdressing in my mind, I began to read. I began to read stories about my ‘special interest’. The ‘Transformation’ store had some books — all very poorly presented but they gave an outlet to my imagination.
--oo00oo–
Everything came to a sudden crisis, however.
At the age of 42, with a family of teenage children and a wife that was increasingly successful in her job, I had survived the trauma of losing my job as a Marketing Director and finding myself pushed into a poorly-managed service sector business where I was tasked with starting a new division for anew market. I gave that my best shot and made a success of it. The problem was not the business, it was the people. They were a very unco-operative bunch of men who would say one thing to the business owner and another to me. They would ‘slag off’ my efforts to the owner and refuse help when I asked for it from them. A recipe for a short-term fix; income, but unhappiness. A travelling time of two hours to and from home at both ends of each day didn’t help. I was fu*cking crazy by the time I got home each day.
I was therefore not prepared at all for the day when I got home and found, for once, my wife not working at her PC. Not working. She had a drink in her hand.
It was clearly not the first drink of the day.
She sat there, simmering.
She sat there with a small square of something on the table in front of her.
I couldn’t make out what it was.
“Who the fucking hell is she?!”
I didn’t know what she meant — quite literally, and so I said so. I can remember every word of this conversation. In fact, it has helped me recall many conversations with others since that time.
“Who is this?” she shouted……. “Who?!” Throwing the square of card across the table, she spat the words “Who the fuck is it?”
Holy shit! I thought…. It’s the photo from my ChangeAway day. It was ME…. Dressed. Dressed as a woman, with all the crossdressing clothes and accessories I had enjoyed so much that day. In a flash, my secret was out. She knew!!!
Looking like her… I looked at the photo and I realized, I looked like my Wife. I had created a version of her. Not her, but as much like her as I could have created. The clothes were not dissimilar to what she wore for business. The hair was not unlike hers, although it was a lighter shade of red than hers.
“Who is this fucking tart?!” she said once, then again, then again. I was still dumb-struck.
Then it became suddenly clear. She thought I was ‘playing away’ with another woman. She did, in her purple mist of anger and jealousy, fail to look closely at the face in the picture. She didn’t recognize that it was me… her husband. Dressed.
She thought that this was a rival. A lover probably. A mistress.
I know my mouth was moving but all that came out was a gabbling sound of “…. Er, um..errr… oh… no….. it’s… well, can’t you…. Umm…. Now, can I …. Well….. Oh, shit! No, it’s not like what you’re thinking at all…..” that was all I could manage.
“Oh, no, of course it’s not what I can see it is…..” She grabbed the picture back and she tore it into shreds. She scattered the pieces as she said “You bastard!! You absolute bastard….”
Oh, FUCK!!! I thought in an instant. What the fuck should I do? Tell her the truth? Or go along with her supposition and suffer the consequences? Try to play out the mistake she was making and get over it? Or try to rationalize with her that it was in fact me… doing what comes naturally — and blow a hole in her view of me. Well, having a mistress would do that, wouldn’t it? In a different way….. Fuck… Impossible! No-Win situation.
I chose the disclosure of my secret route. I had never screwed around in our time married. I had never slept (silly word) with another woman. I had always fought shy of the risks in having affairs. I knew most men that I knew had secret affairs. I didn’t
My “affair” was with myself. My dressing.
Would she understand that? Well, I was about to find out.
Her anger had not subsided but the vehement shouting had calmed. Her face was red with rage. Her accusation stood. I was screwing and she wasn’t having any of it.
“Let me explain…” I started……
“Fuck your explanations…..” she cried, as tears began to flood in place of the rage. “Fuck it!”
“Honey, it’s not what you think at all. I’m yours and I always will be…. This is different…..”
“Different?!! How fucking different does it have to be. If you’re screwing another woman, you can go screw yourself for all I care…..!”!
“No, no….. I’m not…… That…. Well, see it this way…. That wasn’t another woman……”
“Well, who the fucking hell was it?” (She never swore.. this was a tirade I had never heard before).
“Who was it? Father fucking Christmas??!!”
“No, darling…” “Don’t you Darling me….” “No, honey, it wasn’t a woman, it was ….. me….”
“What?”
“Yes, it was me….. I was dressed……..”
There was a cold, quite nearly a minute-long, silence. She stared at me…… Her gaze saw me differently now. I could see a degree of hate in there, mixed with incomprehension, mixed with fear.
Quite the worst way to find out how deep-seated your Partner has a secret that you’re unaware of. Or perhaps had suspected but never had confirmed. Or perhaps …..
Quite the worst way to tell your Partner about your own secret.
I realize how much stupidity I had shown in many ways. In keeping the secret. In hiding the evidence. In letting a detail be discovered. In not having opened discussion about my dressing years before. In getting her to see…. Maybe even enjoy….. After all, she had enjoyed crossdressing and going to that party as a guy…..
My hatred for myself was sudden and intense. Enough almost to make me physically sick.
I began to plead…. (quite the wrong thing to do really). “Forgive me, darling. It’s not important. It’s a silly, stupid stupid part inside me that … I promise…. I’ll shut down. I’ll stop.. it was only once. It wasn’t serious. I didn’t have sex with anyone… I didn’t….. Please believe me. It’s harmless. And ……… There’s part of you that will think I’m a pervert.. and I’m not. I’m not homosexual.. I’ve never been that way and that makes me sick to think that you would, or could think I might be, ‘cos I’m not…….”
My gabbling tailed off into her tears and my own now. We were both crying…..
“You will stop… Oh, yes, you will stop. Or you will move out of this house…. In fact, I think it would be better if you did. You bastard… How could you??? What if the kids saw you? What would you say to them. Don’t give me that “Two Mummies” shit…. There will be no Two Mummies in this fucking house…. You fuck off if you think there will be….”
2No,please, darling. There’s no need. I will stop. I will. I’ve thrown away all of that stuff… really, I have (I lied).
“You lying bastard. I bet you haven’t.” Christine again spat the words at me.
“I honestly have…. Or I will, if there’s anything left.”
“How long has this been going on?” she asked, more calmly.
“Since the party….” (I lied). “I got a taste for … well, it’s fun…… to me…. It’s fantasy. I’d just enjoy the feeling of the clothes and the look in the mirror. I know it’s stupid….. I don’t make a convincing woman.. but I don’t ever expect to… I mean, I didn’t… and I won’t….”
“Not before then?” she probed.
“No, not before then.” (I lied again).
“You’re a liar….. I’ve seen lipstick smears on your face now I remember. And I know that my clothes move around in their drawers sometimes….. And I wondered why, but it never crossed my mind…”
“Yes, I’m sorry, I have rummaged a bit….”
“And worn my stuff…. Haven’t you? Go on, admit it….”
“Well, yes, more than once.”
“Are you a fucking transvestite?? Because if you are, you’re history… You can leave…..”
“No, that’s not how I feel about it. I simply get a good feeling from girly clothes and things….”
“I’m not having a bloody pervert in this house with my kids….”
“I’m not, and I’m not a danger to them… Please, please…. Don’t ever think that I would harm them. Really, you can’t…… Don’t imagine……”
Betrayal? I asked myself if Wife-y Christine felt betrayed. As you can see. She did. But there is a way back, as life today proves.
The worst possible scenario had happened. Why oh, why had I not explained about my dressing before now. Before marriage even? Too late to control the way the news was received. Life in ruins. How can anyone possibly recover what is so precious after such a stupid mistake?
Once discovered, never trusted
“I’m not having a bloody pervert in this house with my kids….” The venom in her voice!!!
“I’m not, and I’m not a danger to them… Please, please…. Don’t ever think that I would harm them. Really, you can’t…… Don’t imagine……” The pleading in my own.
Silence fell on the pair of us. She, too furious to speak more. Me, too panic-stricken to move.
She curled up on the sofa. Me standing, helpless, wanting to gather her up, but scared to move in her direction. The first time in my life, I now realize, that I experienced true FEAR.
A thousand thoughts rushed through my confused brain. What was she thinking right now? What could I possibly do? How could I convince her that I was not (indeed, still am not) a pervert that she so much loathed. Convince her that I wasn’t a danger to our kids. That I wasn’t likely to be a child molester, just because I enjoyed dressing in female clothes? That I wasn’t homosexual? That I actually felt sick at the thought? Of what? Of sex between two men. That I still loved her, and always would. That sex was something I wanted to be better at. More assertive, but couldn’t be, for some reason. Why? I didn’t know (and still don’t). How could I make amends? How would she accept my promise — which I had yet to make — that I would throw away any vestiges of my dressing and never ever dress again? That I would put it all behind me? That I wanted to be with her more than anything in life? That I just adore her?
The thoughts rushed on and on through my head, as I stood there.
The pieces of the photograph were still strewn about my feet. It was so ironic that she had first attacked me because she thought I was secretly seeing another woman. Hadn’t even looked in detail at the picture. Hadn’t recognized me as the woman she saw. Dressed in the business jacket and skirt, the blouse, the stockings and shoes that were all regulation business-woman’s wear. Topped off with the wig that was more her colour than many I might have chosen. There, in that choice, was the reflection of how much I loved her. So much that I chose a wig that could have been hers. OK, it was a little bit lighter and sexier, I thought, but it was HER I was in some way emulating.
Her eyes were closed and she was sobbing quietly. The tears were tears of anger. Of resentment. How could I? How dare I? She must have been thinking. How fucking selfish I was.
Fucking selfish would have been right. After all, it was MY secret……
“Why did you lie to me?” was all she said, quietly now.
“Darling I didn’t lie….” I pleaded again……
“Oh yes you fucking well did. You lied every time you went out like that…”
“It wasn’t like that…. And it’s only been a couple of times…..” I tried to excuse myself, but she believed not a word of it.
“Fucking liar! FUCKING LIAR!....” she shouted again. “I don’t want to see you… Get out of my sight! Go… Go, NOW!”
I reached down to put my arm around her, in a gesture asking for conciliation.
Only I was met with a barrage of fists and a shout of “Don’t you come NEAR me!, You hear? Don’t you try to touch me!”
I was beginning to fear she would have woken the kids who were sleeping upstairs…. So I left.
Where would I go? Where could I possibly go at this time of night? I began to wish I was back in Manchester in that grotty Budget hotel where I had gone back after going out dressed for only the second time in my life…… Well, it was the First time really. The turnabout party couldn’t be counted. That wasn’t ME, or only me, going out dressed. That was a party. And she had enjoyed it. And she had been dressed as a guy. And she enjoyed that. The sex had been wonderful… There must have been a connection. What was the harm. I had only dressed this once to go out. As a woman. In the street. In the park. Driving the car. Arriving back at the hotel. In the motorway services. Not being noticed, as far as I knew. Not trying to pick up men for sex like some whore or other.
Yes, it was totally selfish. But we all do selfish things at times. Don’t we? Of course we do.
She does selfish things….. My Christine. She’s not a pure bloody saint.
I felt a rush of resentment of my own, albeit briefly, when I felt that my sins were small compared with many people I knew of or read about every day in the newspapers. What had I done that was so BAD? Nobody was injured or died. What I did wasn’t perverted — in my own eyes at least, nor in many people’s eyes. This was the 1990s now, not pre-war England, not pre-1960s England. For fuck’s sake, it was legal for men to have sex with eachother almost ANYWHERE now! Even more, it was natural for two women to be attracted to one another.
And that was how I felt, when I was dressed, or when my mind was in my feminine mode. I couldn’t readily explain how that occurred. How it was a strong urge sometimes, and yet easy to put away at other times. I didn’t try to explain it (to myself, even), that I was a man locked up in the wrong body. I had long before accepted myself for what I am. Accepted that I would never transition, never be transgendered.
Sadly, I picked up the overnight case that I had taken to Manchester, still with my dirty linen and a few items of femininity remaining… and I left the house.
--oo00oo–
The bitterness of that night will live with me for ever, as will the few days that followed and the telephone calls that I made to Christine’s mobile number while she was at work.
I decided not to call home, although the kids would be wondering where I was. I wondered what she would have told them. It turned out to be very general and inconclusive… “Dad’s got to stay away for a few nights more… on business”.
My calls were not answered on the first three days — during which time I had gone home and taken some clean clothes to wear. (I had to be back in the office, at work as if nothing were different). So my next attempt was to leave messages on her voice mail. I even wrote out what I wanted to say beforehand. I practised what I wanted to say — and the way of saying it. Putting emphasis in different places.
The main stream of my messages was as I had been thinking it should be. To try to give reassurances. To make is abundantly clear that there had been isolated instances of what I had done and been ‘found out’ doing. That I loved her still and needed her love in return. That there were ways to work things out. That I wasn’t some kind of sex criminal. That I could and should be trusted. That everything I owned had been destroyed. (Which was true apart from the lipstick that I clung to, and wore in my isolation those few nights). That I intended to honour my promise never to dress again. That I wasn’t wishing to change my sex, or my gender, or whatever some psychologist would call it. That I was ashamed of myself and my poor performance in bed……
The list went on, but I kept the messages short, even-tempered, increasingly less “guilty” in tone. Increasingly optimistic that she would have me back in the family home.
And then I waited.
On the fifth day, there having been no response until that time, there was a message:
“I have heard your messages. And we do need to talk… Be at home tonight. Make it after dinner, so the kids will be in bed. Let’s be two adults about this… Bye.” Very business-like. Almost curt but not aggressive or hating in tone.
Born an optimist, like most marketers, I hoped it was a good sign. Tonight, after dinner.
A bunch of flowers. The least I could take as a peace offering.
The whole afternoon found me rehearsing the different ways that the conversation might go.
“Fail to prepare and you prepare to fail… “ I thought, ….not my motto, but true nonetheless.
There was a chance that she had seen the light and remembered the turnabout party and I would find her dressed in male gear, ready for sex with me when she had dressed me in some of her clothes….
Probability?? Less than 1%. (I was joking to relieve my own stress).
There was the chance that she had decided that the marriage was over, that she was so sickened and disgusted with me and my dressing, that she wanted a D.I.V.O.R.C.E. immediately if not sooner.
Probability?? At least 50%...maybe even 70%. (The most likely outcome — it had to be countered).
There were many alternatives between those two scenarios.
Firstly, she might have decided that we would “live together, for the sake of the children”.
Probability?? Maybe 10%. (So, a real possibility).
Alternatively, she might have believed my messages, that all was consigned to the trash and I would never, ever, dress again, and that it was just an aberration.
Probability?? Maybe 5% or even 10%..... (Far less likely than the DIVORCE option).
Other options came and went in my mind. These were the scenarios that I had to rehearse my responses for. I didn’t know which would be the one. But I knew which I hoped it would be.
I clung to the 5% chance — that I could and would do “cold turkey” from my dressing. That I would self-impose my own version of “re-hab”.
--oo00oo__
Returning to the hotel where I had stayed for four nights, in solitary confinement, I sat for an hour drinking the strongest black coffee I could make through heavily-lipsticked lips. I studied my face in the mirror and began to laugh at myself. Who would credit this vision? A bloke wearing lipstick… for enjoyment?! Sad, or what?
I cleaned it all off before leaving the hotel room and driving the twenty minutes to the house.
--oo00oo–
The outcome of the conversation we had that night was much the way I had hoped it would go.
….With several major provisos. Conditions Christine would impose. On me. And my life.
We would go back to living together, although sharing a bed was out of the question for now.
We would never speak of this whole affair with any other living soul.
We would not speak of it between us, either
We would (or rather I would) keep our (i.e. my) clothes closets open to view at all times.
We (or rather I) would allow inspections of our private spaces at any time the other decided.
We would not buy, discuss or keep any literature, magazines or books, on my “special subject”.
We would not go to the theatre or see films where my “special subject” was portrayed (so, no Pricilla, Queen of the Desert then!).
But, one day, maybe, we would explore eachother again. If we survived the coming months.
--oo00oo–
So my 5% wish had come as true as it might have been possible to.
My dressing was now on complete ‘hold’, indeed, complete eradication. I knew I had to avoid any chance of being discovered in the same way again. The only way was to stop dressing, no matter how much it hurt to do so. Chapter 27 will reveal how I have done since.
This story is a synthessis of an earlier work - one which, in many chapters, gained a great audience - more than many of my serials - So, in an effort to publish to a wider audience, composition has been made and a further book (2) will follow. For those who resent authors recycling their work - forgive me!
My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. I know of My friend's challenges in her marriage to Ginger, but for me it's been very different and, I hope, you'll agree, much more fortunate.
How did it all begin? The steps towards a marriage where we are a man and a woman, most of the time, and two women when the fancy takes either of us?
Chapter 1
Perhaps it was at my instigation — and perhaps it wasn't. Perhaps he wanted it all along…. indeed, I know he did. But then, I must have done too. "They", whoever they are, say that marriages become set in their ways, sexually and in general. They say that some people never get to add spice to their lives. Did we know, when it began, that this was what was going on? Not at all.
We had spiced up our lives in many ways. He had become much more adept in oral love-making than I could ever have wished; he learned from his ability to "put himself in the other person's place" in business. He was successful. He could easily imagine what a woman like me would wish to have "done" to her. Me?? Well, I returned the compliment, though hardly as skilfully. We relish the soixante neuf we indulged so often, and we still do. That would be enough for many couples.
How did what begin, then? My husband's crossdressing. It wasn't really started from his teenage years. Of course, that was the Sixties, when he did experiment, with girly clothes and hair styles. He had long since locked those away as secrets before we married. No, his crossdressing was latent, maybe, but it was no feature of our early married life.
I can remember when the seeds were sewn for the first time. We were talking together in the wonderful warm time after a good long fuck. We had been at it for hours, it seemed. We had made foreplay an art form by this time, coaxing and playing with eachother but stopping short of a climax time and again. Sometimes we ache for release but go on to further, and higher heights of real pleasure.
We were talking, as lovers do, about what we had both enjoyed so much during the time just ended. I purred at the thought of his tongue parting the lips between my thighs; softly and sensually, slowly at times and faster as a rhythm developed…. until I had cum for the fourth, maybe the fifth time. He, by comparison, was still waiting for the first release. I enjoyed it most when, having saved himself for this, and brought me to a time when I couldn't cum again, he pulled himself up and entered my wet and wanting pussy.
He came inside me — which I do always appreciate! - and stayed inside for a while resting upon me as he subsided. He slowly slid down, his face licking the soft spot between my tits, and on and on, his tongue rounding my tummy button……. on his way "south". Soon, he was back in the depths of my Bermuda triangle, as we called it……. (things go in there and may never be seen again!)
He licked and licked as the cum he'd given me slowly slipped away. He brought a face up to meet my own, cum lubricating every inch of his face.. and then my own as we kissed deeply. We laid back together.
How were the seeds of his crossdressing sewn in this moment? Simply, and I don't know what made me suggest it…….. We were quiet, neither speaking for minutes on end. Luxuriating.
"You would taste extra special if you had some lipstick on", I said. The room went quiet. Silent...... He said nothing. He blushed.
He was silent for several minutes it seemed. His eyes told me that he understood and that it would be true; he would taste better....... But his eyes also showed, for an instant, a trace of his past obsession. He had worn make-up as a teenager.
We were lying in the bed, swathed in a light duvet. The smell of sex was strong in the air.
"There's one on the vanity unit. Go, please, and fetch it."
He didn't move, for a moment or two. He breathed deeply.
"What made you say that?", he whispered. His voice was light, almost joking. He had bought-in to the idea but maybe didn't want to admit it.
"I thought it, so I said it. You smell and taste very sexy………", I said, with equal lightness in my voice, hoping to encourage him.
Crossdressing was never further from my mind. I just knew that it would be incredibly sexy if we both shared a lipstick-laden kiss and, maybe, he would go down on me again wearing that creamy concoction.
He said nothing more, lying still in the bed for another minute or two, breathing more shallowly now. Then he reached over to the vanity unit where all my cosmetics were laid out. I had always worn a lot of make-up having had skin problems myself as a teenager.
The lipstick was an expensive one; a Dior Addiction, long-lasting one. Its case was beautifully sexy too. Our eyes met and stayed fixed upon eachother. He stroked the lipstick gently as he leaned back into the bed. He kissed the case with his lips slightly apart, making a gesture with his eyes that was totally unmistakable. My suggestion had been taken up.
"You first", he said.
Should I do so?, a thought flashed through my mind. What if I did….?
"Oh, no….. my treat is to have you kiss me", I replied.
If his teen years had involved experimenting with clothes and cosmetics, mine were taken up with exploring girl-on-girl experiences. I had been quite a "lipstick lesbian" for a year or two, before we met. So it was right for me if he wore the lipstick.
"Promise you'll kiss me again", he smiled.
"Only if you show me you enjoy it", I teased.
This was the turning point. Indeed, he did show he enjoyed it. He took off the cover of the lipstick slowly, holding the top between finger and thumb. He smelled the stick before slowly twisting the case to have it emerge, a deep burgundy colour with a shaped top. Unused until now.
He smelled the stick again and opened his mouth, lightly touching the top of the colour with his tongue. He was clearly enjoying himself.
He showed me the tip before moving it towards his lips. He had to steady his arms, resting on the bed, in order to get close enough to begin applying the colour to his still cum-laden lips. He licked his lips to remove what had been left behind, making his lips wet again.
"Difficult to apply lipstick to wet lips", I said. "Kiss me first."
He did so, beautifully, lingeringly, and seductively. Making me want more. But then he broke away and the lipstick was at his lips immediately. He made an arching sweep from the centre of his upper lip, first to the left and then to the right. He had obviously watched me do this and, for a man, he did a good job. The outline of his lips was near perfect but there wasn't enough colour.
"More." I whispered.
More indeed, from this moment, he took time to cover his upper lips again and again, leaving the vestiges of a cupid's bow in the centre, before sweeping across his lower lip several times. Each sweep was accompanied by a breathless "mmmmmmm". He was making sure I knew he was enjoying this.
Finally, he licked his lips to let them shine….. No need to apply lipgloss.
He held the lipstick up to me. Gesturing, but saying nothing. Meaning it was my turn. But, no, I wasn't having any of that… not yet. There would be ample time. I just smiled.
"Kiss me, lover." I whispered. "That's what you've earned. You proved you enjoyed that."
We locked together, the taste of his lipstick and the cum blending into a dreamy mist in my head. I had kissed girls before that had done as much for me, but never had the sensation with a man.
He was different. Very different. I was lying in his arms, savouring his kiss and sensing an orgasm rising, even though I hadn't been touched intimately for maybe half an hour. My hand reached down to just help me along that pathway. He continued to kiss me fully on the lips and lipstick smeared across both our faces. I flew into a frenzy for what seemed hours and eventually broke from his embrace. Our lips parted.
He started to move south again but I couldn't bear the thought of cumming again so soon….. "No! No!" I shouted…… "Not because I don't want you to, but please just take me slowly…." My breathing took time to slow. He rested his head on my tits. We laid quietly. Then a lipsticked lip surrounded one of my nipples which remained hard and aroused. Though I couldn't see, I felt a light touch on the other nipple. He was putting lipstick on that one too. The lipstick then was applied to his own lips and he laid back in my arms.
Near exhaustion, I raised my hand and touched his hair, tracing a line down across his forehead and down his nose, reaching his lips.
He kissed my finger and then took it into his mouth. Lipstick around the finger would find its way elsewhere soon. My hand went back to his hair, as I softly stroked his fringe. If he was a girl, he'd have bangs. The rest was, and remains, longer than most guys' hair. I stroked it gently, putting fingers into the top and the sides, stroking this way and that. I raised one thick strand from the crown of his head. I stretched it to its fullest length. It was as long as my own. I smoothed it down again. Something inside me suggested not stopping here. He was in my hands. He had done as I suggested with the lipstick. We would use that again in our love-making.
His hands moved across my body, wrapped is it was in my favourite peach satin nightie. He traced the lace along the tops above my tits and reached up as the straps rose to my shoulders. His hand slid under the straps and stayed there.
The seeds of our enjoyment of his crossdressing had been planted. Here I was with a man wearing lipstick, caressing his hair as he fondled the satin of my nightie. Knowing of his past enjoyment of crossing, and feeling equally attracted to a girl as a boy myself, I reached an unconscious decision. This was here to stay as a part of our loving. Almost whatever he felt.
I touched his hair again and took a strand more tightly, rolling it round my finger. I held it. He twisted a strap from my nightie and tugged it. I pulled his hair again. He almost purred in pleasure.
"Let me brush your hair." I said, not asking for agreement. "Then you can do mine." I reached for the hairbrush beside the bed.
"Not unless you have some lipstick too." was his reply, offering the open lipstick to me..
Slowly, he sat up in the bed and turned his back towards me. He smiled. His lipstick was still smeared but the second application was bold enough. I put colour on my own lips for the first time today. The smell was, again, captivating. The taste, likewise. The feel of the creaminess on my lips was sensual in the extreme.
I took the hairbrush and drew the hair from the back of his head to the side and back towards the other side. I reached over his head and brushed the hair away from his face. It reached over his crown. I repeated the strokes several times, increasingly strongly to remove slight tangles and make it sleeker. I picked up the hair from his crown and, who knows why, I began to lightly back-comb or tease it, perhaps to add volume. Now I know, it was to make the style more feminine. I parted the hair down his head from crown to the front and smoothed the sides. His hair cried out for bangs at the front but the cut wouldn't allow this. I back-combed the crown some more. Oh, if only I could work on the cut, I thought…….
He hadn't moved through all of this. Where was it taking us? We had passed a turning point. The look was very much different to that we had started with on him. Writing this, I know it was my choice rather than his — but he was happily compliant with my suggestions, wasn't he?
He shivered quite suddenly. "I'm cold", he said.
It was then I asked if he would be comfortable wearing something slinky……
"Another time" was the reaction to my question.
I had asked if "something slinky" would be nice to wear.
Perhaps it was because it was just as we came to the end of the after-glow felt having made love for what-seemed-like hours. We had ventured into the realms of make-up and things that had tempted me……. Unusually….. You see, I'm the wife……… My name is Zoe. He's the husband. His name is Andy.... for now.
We were exhausted, I told myself — though disappointed — and we turned to sleep. I was disappointed because I wouldn't have offered the idea of something "slinky" to sleep in unless I had thought he would love it. I didn't take it as a rebuff, or an outright refusal, more a genuine, "not now, maybe later".
As we turned away from eachother, I said "Maybe some fresh lipstick to wake up to?"
"Mmmmmmm…." came his response. "You too, though…."
We turned back to face eachother and I turned down the gold lipstick case to reveal the deep burgundy shade of creamy ecstasy…… I lined the outer limits of my own lips, filling the central portion with a thick creamy coat that I knew would last for hours, if left undisturbed!
I faced him, smiling quietly as I could leave him with the feeling that all of this was my idea…. really, honest, it was. His eyes were dreamy as I did the same to his lips as I had done to my own. A line to the margins of his lips with the point of the lipstick, followed by a filling-in to make a beautiful colourful, dark burgundy, slash upon his face.
"Lick your lips before we kiss, one last time." I said — and he did, minimizing the risk of smudging the colour…. before we kissed for the first time the following morning. Long lasting formula, the Dior Addiction lipstick promised. I was determined to test the promise.
AS we turned away to sleep, I thought again of how this had come about. The sex we had enjoyed was always good, but this had been spectacular. I hadn't planned this "diversion" at all. But it had happened. And how much I had enjoyed it. I yearned to do it all over again.
Morning came — perhaps too soon.
I awoke first, looking over at a husband who had turned in the night and who was facing me, his lipstick still nearly faultless. How good he had tasted through that and the delicious cum that he had found between my thighs. I stroked his hair, very gently. The hair that I had played with so provocatively last night. He didn't stir, even at that. I resisted the urge to kiss him fully on those deep red lips, until I had slipped from the bed, refreshed my own lips and brushed my own hair.
As I turned back to join him, his eyes opened. A smile spread across his face, welcomingly. Though barely awake, it seemed that sex was again in his mind — as it was certainly in my own.
Not for long, however, because a frown replaced the smile on his face. A look of… what was it?… Guilt? His face changed and he appeared very confused, even shy. He licked his lips. Gently at first, then quite furiously, removing the colour that had been so lovingly applied. There was a silence. What to be said? It was clear something was wrong. Sudden shyness.
"We shouldn't have…." He began. But the words faltered.
"Shouldn't have done what?" I whispered.
I knew then that the hoped-for repeat of the night's delights were lost — for now if not for ever.
He shook his head. He licked his mouth again, as if to make sure it had all gone.
I had guessed about the experiences of his past, before we were married. Cross-dressing at times; a "hobby" now long since forgotten. Never forgotten — that's for sure….. maybe just put away for "one day". But never forgotten. CDs I have met subsequently confess that "it's never forgotten." Perhaps I had exposed a nerve that once was raw and in need of continuing stimulation, but which had been bandaged and hidden away. My own taste for a fling with another girl — indulged many times in my young days — had likewise been tucked away… but of course, never forgotten.
All seemed lost….. He didn't answer, except to say "I must have a shower."
I lay in bed as he did so. Should I apologize? Not really, it had been a mutual expression of desire, last night. Nothing premeditated. Nothing to say "sorry" for. It was something I had loved doing — and would do again given half the chance. No, I wouldn't apologize. Maybe he felt he should. As though this wasn't "normal". as IF! It was entirely natural and something not to feel guilty about.
We spent the rest of that day "being busy" — as we often did when, having had an argument, neither would apologize or admit being in the wrong.
Leastwise, we did until early evening. It was the weekend. And as it was the weekend, we came to the time when, if either of us fancied the idea, all we had to say was "It's 5 o'clock" and the other would know that it was a good time for a fuck.
I was still feeling quite horny from the night before and so it seemed a natural way to bring us back together.
"It's 5 o'clock….." I said, with my usual "look-in-my-eye". "You busy?…." I asked.
"Not at all……", was his reply. "I was hoping you'd ask."
Another turning point? Should I… dare I, refer back to last evening…….?? I decided not to.
Yet.
I was tempted to mention it. I was tempted to lead in with "slinky" talk, but easily realized that would be a mistake — for the time being.
He approached me across the living room. His smile showed the day's distance was gone. That was exhilarating. He touched my nose lightly with a finger and left it there….. tracing the line down towards my lips and drew me close. We kissed.
"Here or upstairs?" — another frequently asked question! — this time he was the one to ask. So, it was my choice. Here would be nice…… but sex never lasts as long on the living room floor, it seems to me. And besides, last night was "upstairs"…… and I felt like continuing "last night".
"Oooooh, I think upstairs would be best…." I said, taking him by the hand. "..Close your eyes."
I unbuttoned his shirt and slipped my hand inside, playing with his nipples as I did so. He visibly shook…. but didn't repel the sensation. I loosened all the rest of the shirtbuttons and removed the garment by sliding it down his arms…. at the same time playing with a nipple that was, by now, hardened. I leant down, as he stood there, and placed a kiss upon this erect part of his chest, leaving a delightful circle of lipstick around it.
Yes, lipstick. Before the first exchange of words at 5 o'clock, I had freshened my lipstick and mascara, adding some eye shadow as it was "coming up evening time". I wanted to send a message. I was ready for anything.
He laughed. The lipstick was delightful and said only one thing….. "more".
Looking back, this was also a turning point in a way. Lipstick was again in both our minds - impossible to ignore. It was.
I told him to take a shower — to give me time to freshen myself too. And to give me time to think. I decided that it was best to lake things take their own course — not to drive things forward in whatever direction.
I was freshened before he emerged from the shower.
"Leave your hair to dry naturally." I called to him. I fancied running my hands through his still-wet hair. He emerged from the bathroom and, near dry, spread himself across the bed.
"Let me just do my hair." I said, taking a brush from the dressing table and turning to the mirror.
My hair. Before sex, it was something I had to have right to feel sexy. My hair. Once described, by myself, when I was angry with him, as "looking like a tart's"…… Done for him, because he likes it that way. Red — bright red — with blonde highlights framing my face.
I left him on the bed, anticipating. Growing hard. For just long enough for the "tease" to be recognized.
My hair, deliberately, took time, as I played with the style. Making it very much one to "stay in with" rather than be seen out with. I looked in the mirror for a final time. Right……it was…… In fact, I would have fucked myself if it was possible. It does a girl good to feel that way.
A thought flashed through my mind. Would he feel that way if he looked in the mirror as I had?
I turned towards the wardrobe to select a nightgown — the prettiest I could find. Another peach satin one. Or what about the light blue one with lacy trim? As I stood there with the two of them in my hands, I was tempted, again, oh so tempted, to turn to him and offer a choice….. one for me, one for him?
No, not…. yet…….. I knew that one day I would, but maybe not today. I didn't want to push him. I realized that I loved him even more ……. "this way".
I did offer a choice though…… "Which would you like me to wear, honey?"
"The blue one would be lovely." He answered. So I hung the peach satin gown on the wardrobe door.
At long last, hair and make-up done, feeling a Million Dollars, I slid onto bed alongside him, the red circle around his nipple crying out to be replenished.
At the side of the bed, I sat with the folds of blue silk around my body. On impulse, I took several layers of silk in one hand and began to stroke the body that laid beside me. I didn't need to ask permission. He purred quietly.
I toyed with it and the nipple stood hard again.
"Yours need some lipstick too…." He said, completely surprising me. My nipples.
"And how is the lipstick to get there?" I asked with a giggle. Just at the thought. He was hard by now and his cock invited me to climb upon him. For that, I needed no second invitation. I fucked him from above for, it was to seem like, hours.
He said "you must know where the lipstick is.. and what to do with it."
I could reach it beside the bed, even from above him. I found the Dior and put it to his lips, shaping them beautifully with coat after coat, to make sure it lasted. I reminded him to lick them, to avoid losing their shape and intensity.
I played with his nipples a lot. We would cum together, for sure. And we did.
In the delightful afterglow, I found myself thinking about the previous night and the fuck we had just enjoyed. Both had been phenomenal. Both had lasted almost endlessly. Both had a frisson of indulgence of something we knew would be part of our future. At least I hoped so.
"Fresh lipstick?" The words slipped out of my mouth…. I half regretted it the very moment later. But I needn't have done. What was I saying? We had fucked delightfully. I risked ruining the moment. Too hasty? We lay beside eachother.
I dared not force him further in this direction. I so much wanted anything we do to be his choice — at this time in our lives, we have a lot worth sharing. I needn't have worried.
He smiled. "I've thought a lot during today."
I smiled, in hope rather than expectation.
"Last night…." I held my breath. What was he going to say? Had I gone too far? Had I uncovered hidden desires that he was scared of? Was my "lipstick lesbian" side too strong?
"Last night was heaven." He said. He breathed deeply, as if to prepare for an explanation. His voice was trembling. "…..it was heaven……. and today, I felt it shouldn't have been quite so delicious!"
I felt I had to speak, to relieve the tension, but what should I say? "Ahh, the guilt trip!" I joked.
Was that the right tone? It sounded mocking all of a sudden…. but I didn't mean it so. It sounded like I'd "been here, done this" many times before. I didn't mean that and I had to show him. So I snuggled into his arms and just said "No need".
"Well, there's a risk….. that I might like it too much!" He joked in return, but I knew that he was suddenly serious. He might just do that and he knew it.
"Whatever, is all fine with me." I comforted him. "Little bits of fun can't harm anyone."
" Well, maybe I hope that's true. I loved the creamy taste of the lipstick and the way it must look. And then there was the way you played with my hair…. Will you do that again too? You know how much I love your hair. That was fun." He paused. "……………Can we do that all again?"
We had finished a wonderful fuck. This wonderful man was saying this to me. What could I say, but "YES!" I reflected on the gentleness he had shown during our love-making and the almost girly feelings he was showing about caring for our sensual sharing of temptations. Who's leading who, I wondered?
So, I reached for the lipstick and the hairbrush…………….
Chapter 2
My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. I know of my friend's difficulties in her marriage to Ginger, but for me it's been very different and, I hope, you'll agree, much more fortunate.
It's important to have read my chapter 1 to know how this story began.
Zoe wants to put her relationship with her husband into context, and show how a marriage does grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures. Only 24 hours has passed since the first chapter began…
The second evening…… It's 5 o'clock and, it being the weekend, that means time for a fuck, if both of us felt so moved. I did so… and made it clear.
We always enjoyed a fuck at this time - sometimes a real quick one, sometimes a long slow and luxuriating one. Last evening had been a long, long one — and wonderful by any standards. As I prepared myself to make the suggestion, my pulse began to quicken.
Tonight was bound to be different, because of last night….. Maybe not better, hopefully, not worse…. but different, certainly.
Now, we're back upstairs after a morning's "regret", "guilt", or even "shame"…. at least, it had seemed that way. What emotions had he gone through? What turmoil in his mind?
By comparison, I was simply purring over the love-making we had enjoyed together. He was thoughtful and quiet all day — until I had said "It's 5 o'clock, are you busy?" I was feeling like a million Bucks, it's true. How was he feeling — it soon became clear. He was a willing and, indeed, an eager participant in what had been so enjoyable. We both wanted more.
I confess, writing this years later, that it was all unplanned, how it began, but it seemed so natural for us both — maybe not for everyone — but nothing to be ashamed of, guilty about, or regretful for. I say that, even though there have been big ups and downs since then — maybe some of which I'll write about. I guess, you could say that I had opened Pandora's Box without any knowledge of what was inside.
I couldn't foresee or plan for where "it" would go. "It?" .....His crossdressing. There had been none of that up to this time — the second evening. By then, I knew it would go further…... "It" again… It has a mind of its own perhaps. But I didn't know how far and how fast. Looking back, I think it's gone fast enough and the "Downs" have only come when "it" has gone too fast… or too much of a big step at one time.
Back to the evening concerned……. We were beside eachother in bed, or rather on the bed, with the folds of my blue silk nightgown stroking over his body. I reached for the lipstick at his suggestion — at least I think it was his…. or was it mine? I know that I wanted him to use it…..
"You should learn to do this for yourself." I breathed, as I outlined the shape of his lips with the golden-cased stick. The deep burgundy colour looked as rich and as sensual as the night before and this morning when we woke. I would have suggested he wore it all day had he not removed it all before showering.
"Maybe we can go out and buy me my own." He said, between the strokes of the stick across his mouth. "Maybe I should have my own."
"Maybe you should." I agreed. "We should go shopping tomorrow." As I coloured my own lips. "Maybe you'd like some eye shadow?"
Was that another turning point — too soon? In retrospect, it was. A turning point, that is.
We kissed, after both licking our lips to preserve the beauty of the moment. H didn't react to the suggestion - at least outwardly. I would find out when we were shopping whether it had met with his approval and agreement — or whether another bout of regret would ensue.
His kissing became more urgent than before, bringing me to a wonderful, moist-between-the-thighs feeling in no time at all. There was going to be fireworks…. if I as lucky as I hoped to be!
He "went South" very soon, sooner than usual, and lived up to the promise better than ever. As he reached my pussy, I cried out in anticipation…… and almost cruelly, he paused, breathing warm breath over my anxious thighs and the folds of my love nest. He actually paused long enough for me to wonder if he had gone cold…..
What he was doing was tantalizing..... It was just what another woman might do... but not a man!
I smoothed the silk of my nightie over his neck. Not being able to see his face, I couldn't tell his thoughts…. but he was merely teasing me, before his tongue slipped gently into the labia on either side. He tongued me for minutes before straying deep into my pussy. His tongue touched what I now believe to be my "G-spot" deep inside.
His hand moved to the pillow next to my head where, it proved, he had secreted the toy we both loved; my "fucker", a nine-inch long, three-inch round, veined and headed dildo (what a bizarre word) that we called our fucker. It was an old friend!
He regularly brought me to intense orgasms with this lovely thing. It lacked the fake bollocks that so many have, and it wasn't a vibrating version — just a lovely strong, thick "fill-me-up" fucker. I recalled thinking that I would fuck myself if I could… well, in a sense, I had done, many times, when using this toy alone.
He had long ago learnt that my pleasure was especially strong if he licked me with the fucker in place, deep inside. I forgot that its "head" felt so good. But I also remembered that it was even more sensual if placed with the "head" going in last…. so that it would stand out an inch or two, allowing him to like me around a cock that seemed to be mine. The orgasm that followed was phenomenal and left me breathless.
In a moment, I could have my fantasy of a girl going down on me, changing to her — in this case, Ginger, sucking my fucker. Never had I, or we, been tempted to use the fucker on him. He was accustomed to giving it a very thorough licking before penetrating me, so he was no stranger to its more intimate shapes. The second orgasm was equally moving, coming so soon after the first.
We laid back, both needing a rest. We had kissed and fucked for a long time. I realized that we had my having hairbrush close by. Something reminded me. He had specifically asked to have me play with his hair again. He had enjoyed that a lot, I could tell. He hadn't yet cum, but it didn't seem to bother him. His cock was soft but very well, and invited being licked. I loved the taste of his pre-cum juices.
He loved my hair. Hair was his "thing" — or fetish, you could call it. He confessed later — one time when beautifully coiffed in our favourite salon — that he always looked first at a woman's hair, before any other physical feature. He had by then to come to the stage where he evaluated other women's hair by the answer to the question: "How would I look with hair like that?"
"Ready for your hair to be styled?" I asked.
"Ready as I'll ever be." was his answer.
"Then go and moisten it all, towel it dry and come back."
I had decided to give him the full experience of a woman's hair styling. A woman's hairstyle on a man. My husband. OK, This was my instigation. My idea. He hadn't asked for that.
His steps to the bathroom were quick and silent. Those toenails could do with some lacquer and colour, I thought. (How many wives have thought that of their husbands? Not too many, I suspect!)
He was back from the bathroom in a flash…….. but naked. Somehow, that was incongruous. He needed to be clothed, in my mind. His body needed to be clothed but he didn't realize that. He sat before me, expecting me to get on with his hair.
At this moment, a thousand thoughts rushed through my brain. He was a willing player in this theatre. He would be delighted whatever I would do. Could I risk shattering that by suggesting he get dressed — and, if so, into what precisely? I had a split second to decide — I know now — and this was a moment that might clearly change the course of the immediate future.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" He asked. "I want you to make my hair as good as yours."
He reached up and touched the kiss curl that swept down beside my ear and up again, a lightly streaked curl that he had once called my "Fuck Me" curl.
His hair was as long as my own, even then, and was ready for rollers, if only quite small ones for the most part. I found myself thinking of how I would set it when his voice came again.
"I said, what are you waiting for, honey?"
Now or never. Would I, should I, suggest that nobody has their hair done when they're naked? Or should I not break the moment and just get on with it…… I could point to the peach satin nightgown still on the wardrobe door. I could point to its matching satin dressing gown on the back of the bedroom door. Both would fit him well enough. But both could send a shockwave through the room that might break the spell that bound us together.
In that moment I decided… Take the chance! He should slip the nightgown and dressing gown on. "Just slip these on, darling. You'll love the feel they give....." I didn't have to make the same suggestion twice.
He looked lovely, standing by the wardrobe mirrored door. "They don't do as much for me as they do for you, honey!", he exclaimed.
"You say the most wonderful things. Just enjoy the silkiness...... Now, while we rest, I know that you love my hair and I love you for it too." My mind was made up. "Turn around and I'll do my best — you want hair like mine, you shall have it……. apart from the colour, that is!".
Not then, but later, at a similar moment, his fem name was conceived……. Every CD has to have one and it was his love of my own hair - its style and its colour — that gave him the name Annie. Close enough to Andy, his natural given name.
"Face the mirror, Annie" I instructed him. "You have to see every move."
"Annie???.... Oh, I see......" He immediately got the link....So I can do it myself?" He asked
"No, No, Annie, not unless you want to — one day — no, so you can see the care that it takes and the love I shall put into every curl…… as I roll them up, and as I brush them out when you're dry."
Sensual, this was going to be. We hadn't got near fucking again yet, but already I was yearning for another good fuck to follow. He could detect that, I was sure. He was breathing quite shallowly once again. His heart rate was about 150, I'm sure…….
I brushed his hair though, left and right; from nape to crown; from up and down. No tangles remained.
The tailcomb I needed was on the vanity unit across the room. I left him sitting there to get it. As I returned, he was touching the strands of hair on his forehead, entwining them around his fingers.
"I've never had rollers in my hair." He said with a smile.
"Well, now's your chance, Annie. do you like your new name, my lover?"
"There are worse things to be called. I quite like it in fact...." He answered, his eyes not looking in the mirror, showing a kind of shyness.
I laughed and began in earnest. His hair was already drying so sped was important. The tray of rollers that I usually used on my own hair was right beside where the tailcomb had been. There were more than enough for his head. I guessed around 20 or 25 would do it. Maybe three or four larger ones for the crown but mostly about one inch in diameter, allowing hair of about 3 ½ to 4 inches to be rolled tightly.
"And you've never fucked anyone with rollers in your hair, I'll bet." I challenged him. If this worked, I would have him fuck me with his hair all tightly rolled before I treated him to the comb-out and the resulting style.
"That would be tempting….." His voice tailed off.
"Gotcha!" I thought — that's a contract…….
At this point, again, I confess, I was driving the development of the fore-play — well, I can call it that, as it was "fore" something special, even though we had been fucking for an hour or more already. I lost thoughts of the risks involved. I had thought that he was thinking this was something we shouldn't be doing….. I had thought that he would be scared of getting "carried away" but, there and then, that didn't matter to me at all. I felt I was in control — both of myself (which I clearly was NOT), and of Annie's desires.
Where would this leads us? To his fucking me with my nightgown on and with rollers in his hair — that's where….. And MAYBE, just maybe, the slinky peach satin nightie might get removed when I fucked him in return?
I parted his hair centrally from crown to forehead and placed large rollers either side of this line, high on his head. I placed a second roller either side, further forward, to extend a parting that would run from behind his fringe, to the crown where I then placed two large rollers running side to side — that would create an uplift at the crown.
All of these were rolled tightly, to ensure the curls would hold through some energetic sex that I really hoped was to come, but maybe not last until morning.
I next rolled-in two layers of curls below the crown, incorporating the fringe that would fall to his eyes. This left the shorter hair below ear level that could only go round smaller rollers — but where tighter curls would be found.
Every curl would flow away from the crown. The height of the crown would be determined by the back-combing I might, or might not do. And there it was. Done. I couldn't resist biting his ear, below a roller that was the last to go in. "Mmmmmmmm……" We agreed together! He knew, that I knew, that he was expected to fuck me… and soon! His hands began to wander towards my tits, encased in the blue silk.
"Not so fast!" I said strongly. "You have to have setting lotion spray."
The smell of the lotion just added to the exaggerated atmosphere we sensed as we laid back together.
"More lipstick"…………….. He said!
"For you and for me." I said.
"And what about eye shadow? You said......." He said!
"No eye shadow, no fuck!" I said!
I was yearning to get his cock inside me but the fucker would have to do for now. His cock was still soft and wet....... I'd take care of that later. But for now, I wanted to be fucked... senseless if possible!
I found it beside my pillow, offered it to him to lick, and he slid it gently inside me again.
"Where's the eye shadow?" He asked.
"You'd better find it if you want a fuck, my Annie" I taunted him.
There was a playfulness about this time that would be impossible to create if you tried. It just happened and it was wonderful. It was the sort of intimacy that couples rarely achieve (if achieving is your bag!)…. so few are as lucky are we were then. The world did not exist for either of us in that moment.
He jumped from the bed, desperate to find the cosmetics that were so familiar to me, and so fantastic for him. He wanted the fuck and he wanted the cosmetics.
All of a sudden, from nowhere, I was tempted to play an Ace from the bottom of the deck. He didn't know what was coming.
"And if you touch another cosmetic before you find it, you have to use that as well." It was a taunt, and invitation, a temptation, and there were consequences I had yet to imagine.
Guess if he did?
Touch….. touch…. touch…. that's what I meant…. and that's what I said to my husband, Annie.
"And I mean it...if you touch another cosmetic, you have to use that as well."
He was standing at the dressing table. His hair was tightly wound in rollers and sprayed with setting lotion. He was naked, despite my urge to suggest he wore a slinky wrap of some kind.
He had to find the eye shadow, or else…………… no fuck!
But. But. If he was unable to find it, we were going to fuck anyway, I would make sure of that.
"Where is it? What colour case will it have? How big is the case?" He sounded desperate.
"Can't tell you!" I teased once more. "But you'd better make sure before you choose."
"I can't……."
"You have to, or else you'll end up with a full make-up to go with your beautiful hair."
His cock was huge again by this time, as he stood there. Nowhere to hide… except to push it between his legs and tighten his thigh muscles to keep it hidden. It embarrassed him that he had become so excited. He need not have been. The wetness in my pussy was equal if not greater. To see this honey of a man whom I loved, standing near my bed with his hair in rollers and lipstick over his mouth, meant I was as horny as I had been in weeks.
His cock was hidden. "Hurry up, or your hair will be dry." I urged him.
His hand strayed across the drawer of cosmetics and alighted upon a first package. The burgundy plastic case hid what was inside. Was it eye shadow?
Nothing like it! He had found the pot of foundation that I use every day.
Ideal. He could wear that anytime as far as I was concerned.
"No, my love. That's not it……. But you'll get to know that well when I have showed you how good it makes your complexion. It makes a great base for any other cosmetics you choose."
I was suddenly aware that my tone of voice had changed. It was just as though I was talking to a younger, perhaps inexperienced girl….. Annie, a girl…. not my husband.
My perspective looking back is that this was a turning point for me — if not for him, because he may not have noticed. I was talking that way because I wanted him to be this, or more, feminine. Standing there before me, it was like my teenage experiences with other girls. I relished the memories all of a sudden.
"You shall wear foundation for the rest of the weekend." I said, inviting no argument.
"You meant for that to happen, didn't you?" He said, with a knowing smile.
He later confessed that it was at this time that he began to hope that "things" would go quite a lot further than just a little make-up and "girl-on-girl" flirtation — that he would find himself "given over" to whatever I chose for him. He liked the teasing "game" we had been playing.
"Yes, but only in the moments before you chose it." I confessed.
His cock sprang from between his legs, again, adding a little to his embarrassment. I was conscious that clothing would help and even add to the sensuality of his situation, but maybe he still wasn't ready for that. Something tight around him? I had some nice stretchy lycra foundation garments — body smoothers, they're called……. But no, not …….yet.
He later confessed also that the idea of wearing some of my clothes struck hi at the same time…… a kind-of "sixth sense" struck up between us…… but neither of us said a word about it at the time.
"You'll have to let me deal with that….. (looking at his cock that wouldn't behave itself)… …come here!" I demanded. It was easy to take his cock between my lipsticked lips and begin a delightful, slow but certain blow-job. One that he would remember for the rest of his life! He was, or him, unusually huge that time… such a joy compared to the uncertain, confidence-lacking cock that often disappointed me and made him feel sad.
**********
He was back at the dressing table, but now the daylight from the window had faded. It was getting dark. How long had we been upstairs? His cock was now tiny and I had the taste of his delicious cum on my lips. I was in heaven. My hands were gently playing "down South" as I parted my labia to explore the clitoris that surely pulsed under each stroking. I had cum myself and was wet, quite literally wet.
He was where I had told him to be. Searching for the right cosmetics. His lipstick refreshed already.
"There are too many to choose from here!" He argued.
He needed a clue and so I gave him one simple one…… "Look for a flat little case that's no bigger than your four fingers across. It will have two or three little squares of colour, packed flat."
"Easy!!" He cried, grabbing what proved to be the right package. So there it was, the eye shadow he would have to wear. I knew it was a selection that included a pale purple, a deep dark purple and a white/frosted shade. Wonderfully sexy — for a night out even! Not now, but later.
"Come back here and let's feel your hair……" I said, as seductively as I knew how. "…..let me unroll one of these tight little curls….."
He sat down before me, with the eye shadow in hand, as I reached towards his forehead and unpinned one of the two curls that would make his fringe. It was still damp. I rolled the curl back even more tightly. He winced as the tightness of the curl connected……. He looked absolutely gorgeous, and I told him so. "You're a real honey!" I exclaimed.
Turning, he looked into my eyes, saying "Well, it's my turn to treat you right." Bliss. I dreamed of what was to come. A head crowned in rollers going down on my thighs, parting my labia once again. "I'll try to be like a girl would be. As good as she can be." He whispered. He threw his head back, showing me the full crescent of rollers around his crown. Tight. As I had enforced them. The style I had in mind, as feminine as could be.
It was as if the rollers in his hair shouted "I'm different!" So, when his hands strayed towards my tits, I knew I was in for a treat.. His mouth moved towards the first of my nipples whilst his finger and thumb teased the other, squeezing it tightly. His lips closed in on the first. His teeth closed in around the nipple and he began to nibble, lightly and flirtatiously at first. As the passion rose in both of us again, he chewed harder and harder, to my great delight.
His rollers made me imagine, just for a moment or two… or three, that he was "she" — I had made a long step in the imagined relationship we share in the last few minutes. The look of the man, with his face in part made-up, with his hair in part styled, with his body unclothed but needing satin or silk. But he was still my husband. There have been times, since then, that I have wondered what I started - times when I have wondered if my husband is "still here" because Pandora's Box has many secrets and we had only just explored the very first level.
Before very long, his head was at my bushy little love nest, his tongue was again between my labia. My legs were spread wider than ever because of the rollers in his hair. I leant back and indulged myself even more, floating in a wonderland of pleasure that he bestowed with his tongue. Just as a woman would do for a girl. He was so good at that, he should write a book. He could call it "Confessions of a male lesbian".
My orgasm was thunderous. I literally shook from head to toe for several minutes. Exhaustingly so. I was left nearly shattered. I was out of breath. I was almost unable to open my eyes, but when I did so, there he was……
"I felt chilly….." was all he said, standing there in the peach satin dressing gown that had hung on the wardrobe door. He now looked sensational. He looked female.
The temptation had been too strong, he said, watching me in that wonderful post-coital haze that overwhelmed me. He had seen the dressing gown where I had hung it. I was quiet. He didn't need to ask.
He slipped, silently, from the bed. Trembling, he said, his hands had stroked the satin which was refreshingly cool to the touch. He took the garment down from its hook. He had looked over at me and wondered "if I should" — as he put it. He trembled at the thought that this might break the spell under which we were spinning.
"Then come back to bed, darling." As my haze cleared, I motioned to the pillow next to my head. And we hugged. The silk of my nightgown and the satin of his dressing gown flowed together.
In a wonderful slinky melee, the tenderness was overwhelming and it felt we could spend the night just as were, entwined.
**********
There was time, however, to eat a light supper together, to enjoy a glass of wine — as all our activities of the day had been sans alcohol……. (as the French would say). I think we both needed a drink — and we deserved one!
I thought instantly that Annie - I decided to call him that all the time we were playing this way - had something important to learn about wearing lipstick…… She had to learn. How to avoid leaving a smear of colour on the glass. What better lesson to teach than with a glass of champagne in our hands. We always kept a bottle in the fridge and there was one ready for us then. A suggestion was easy to make. "Time for fizz??" I asked.
"As if you haven't been fizzing all day!" He said. "I'll get to it." And off he went, rising from the bed in my dressing gown that swept his lower legs. He paused in the doorway and looked back. "This is really ok, isn't it?" He asked. As if he was in need of approval or reassurance.
"Of course, it is darling."
Putting on that dressing gown had been a big step for him — taken all by himself, laden with ulterior motives, or not. Maybe he was just "chilly". Or maybe the satin excited him. A thought came to my mind — again, one of whether to push forward or not at this time. Should I say, as I wanted to: "We'll need to go shopping for something like that for you." Should I push him towards wearing some of my other clothes? What about owning a garment of his own……. perhaps the first of many? Should I risk it?
I decided not to provoke what could be a storm of uncontrolled developments that I couldn't foretell as desirable. I wanted this. He wanted this. It was enough. He would go downstairs to get the drinks. He would walk the length and breadth of the house, in my dressing gown. He would feel the sexy touch of the satin on his skin. This was just wonderful enough.
His hair would be dry by now, that was for certain. Should I let him sleep in his rollers or should we play with his hair to finish the evening. Before sleeping. Before waking once more to who-knows-what. I thought so, as I heard him moving things around in the kitchen. I thought of the phrase "I've started, so I'll finish………"
He returned with a tray, carrying a half-bottle of Champagne and some "nibbles".
"It really is alright, you know." I said, as he sat down. "I love you even more. You're such a wonderful sensitive man. No wonder you can treat me so well. Hold my hand and squeeze me, to make sure I am awake!"
He looked at me longingly, for a long time, before answering. "Love comes in all sorts of shapes and sizes and colours, I know. But I didn't expect ever to be sitting here with a beautiful woman like you, dressed as I am. It's a very different scenario and one that few could understand. But it's feeling right for me…. but only if it surely is for you. I need to have that reassurance. Like this morning. It was how you said… regretful, even guilty."
"Let's not rush ourselves." … was all I could say.
I couldn't wait to get my hands on his hair. To unroll every curler and transform the rolls into curls and swirls around his face. To lift and backcomb the crown. To tease the fringe. To complement the lips that were smiling at me. To add colour to his eyelids as he seemed to want me to do.
But first, the Champagne!
It was a time to lose my thoughts of here and now………………. While we luxuriated in the taste of the wine and the warmth of the sex we were sharing, my thoughts went back to teenage years and the first experiences I could recall of sex with another girl. The heady days of stolen kisses and admissions of "having a crush", of laying awake thinking what it would be like to taste another girl's most private parts — that was what we were told they were — "private parts". The first time that I could recall happened at school, inevitably.
I had felt unattractive since puberty and longed for the long blonde hair of a particular girl. Karen was her name. I loved her sparkling eyes and wide, wide, smile. One day, pretending to be heartbroken at an argument with a boy we both knew, I confessed that I wanted more to be close to her, not to any boy.
Then things happened with a speed that was breath-taking. She proved to be an aggressive lover — given the slightest encouragement that I had given her. She led where I followed. She pushed and I succumbed. There were times when we were together that I knew we would be discovered.
Did she care?
Did she hell! We never were. By the time we broke up, over something truly silly, as girls do,
I had learnt a lot about how to love a woman — and how to be loved by a woman. That would help if Annie was keen to learn.
Back to reality. Here and now. Where I was the instigator of such things as I had never imagined to indulge myself with. Whatever willingness I had seen in my husband's joyful role-playing, he was still just a man playing "girly" for a night. I could encourage that without being threatened in any way. I was in control — no matter how much I said to myself that it was a "50:50 thing".
"Champagne… to celebrate…. Wonderful sex with a wonderful woman, Zoe!" He gushed.
"Champagne… to celebrate with a wonderful man, Annie!" I agreed.
"Shall we colour your eyelids before or after we do your hair?" I put the choice to him…. after all, it was his call to make. If it were my call, I'd do the hair last of all. I'd do the eyelids with shadow first and find that they were incomplete without some mascara. I had ignored that possibility in the teasing game, but it was true. He had to have longer lashes, oh and dark silky liquid lines to define his eyelids — top and bottom — to make the eyeshadow have its full impact. That meant eyeliner too! Then, and only then, would I finish the story of tonight, by dressing his hair in the most sexy and feminine style I could possibly create.
All the way through, I would stroke the satin that covered his shoulders.
"I've been longing for you to do the hair, just longing to see how you can make it look. Bet it's going to be difficult but whatever, I'm loving the feeling…….." was his answer.
He related his foray alone into the house a few moments ago:
"I looked in a mirror on the stairs as I went down. It's truly erotic, of all things, to be walking around with tight curlers all over my head. Like I have no choice in the matter. It's going to happen.
You're going to dress it, the way you said you would, as much like your own — which I just love!"
His breath was shallow again. "Please do that first Zoe."
My thoughts were elsewhere again: My hair, which he admired, had been as it was for months and months — probably as long as we had been married. Yes, that was it. I had changed the style and colour about six months before we married. For the wedding. I had been a redhead ever since. Mousey brown in the few months before that. Not always that way though! I had been many different colours while we were courting — sometimes he would never know what colour I'd be from one week to another. He always said he loved it, whatever I'd become…… blonde, frosted, beige, sometimes burgundy wine or raven black.
I'd added highlights to my auburn colour in the last days before marriage — so he would see me that way first when we had the ceremony. And I had been auburn with highlights ever since.
Andy loved it so much, it turned out, that his fantasy later became to change Annie's colour to the same auburn with highlights. Now was that my fault? Or his simple preference? When we eventually did it, was that my indulgence, or his? That would come later — and in this story, several chapters later.
Very well, the eyeshadow — and the mascara and the eyeliner — would wait.
I took the first roller in my fingers and tugged it gently, releasing the pin that held it to his scalp.
The curl sprang into life and settled on his forehead. The second did likewise. Already, he had a fringe to frame his eyes. I worked back along the parting, from front to his crown, releasing the curls that, in turn, sprang into line. The larger rollers over the crown were wound only one turn, so the curls were much larger and his hair gained height and volume as a result. They sat proudly above the rest which were unwound in lines around the back and sides of his head. All over his head - just like that — wonderfully pronounced and almost formal in their design, each one stiff and kind-of erect.
"How does that look?" I smiled into the mirror and saw his eyes transfixed on the image in front of him. He said nothing.
"Girly enough for you, Annie?" I asked provocatively.
My hands fell to rest on his shoulders, still encased in the peach satin of the dressing gown.
I stroked the material across the back of his neck and ran a finger up into the backmost curls.
Still he said nothing. Had I provoked the wrong thoughts with the "girly" question?
Seconds of silence between us extended into minutes - it seemed - before I took the brush and gently — everso gently — smoothed the curls over. Not disturbing their shape or individuality. Just softening the style slightly.
Still nothing was said.
I took a curl from the crown with the tailcomb and backcombed it gently, right to the roots.
A second crown curl followed. I was making a more elaborate style take shape. Still no words. There were thoughts in my mind that were in conflict. His silence could mean loads of things. Fear, rejection, panic, "rabbit-in-the-headlights", plain embarrassment, or perhaps, disbelief? Alternatively, it could mean I was doing just what was right.
Then, it came, the judgement from the victim!?
"It's just wonderful. I love it. I just love it."
He paused.
"Could you do something with the colour one day?"
I had to answer, honestly, but without committing us to anything.
"Of course, darling, if you would like that. It doesn't have to be permanent. We could have a lot of fun with some of the funky colours that are "wash-in, wash-out" you know. We could do that ourselves and one day you might go to a salon, if you like."
Nothing more was said — but more than one seed had been sewn in that moment. Seeds that didn't take long to germinate, as you'll hear in a chapter that has yet to be written.
"So, to finish the creation, let's deal with your eyes………. and then let's fuck once more before sleep takes us away!" I picked up the eyeshadow that he had found, put the foundation away for another time, and made sure where the mascara and eyeliner were for the finishing touches tonight.
Chapter 3
My husband's now known as Anne. I'm his wife, I'm someone who wants to put our relationship into context, and show how a marriage can grow if both parties develop eachothers' interests and pleasures.
Less than 36 hours since the indulgence began, I find myself in a quandary or a dilemma. After a wonderful weekend of love and sex and fantasy, I am facing my husband, Andy, over the dressing table in our bedroom. At home. Protected. Together. Loving. Sharing. He has his hair styled rather like my own.
He has deep red lipstick on his face. He is wearing my peach satin dressing gown and he is waiting for me to put eyeshadow on his eyelids. He wants me to do so. He has discovered that these things make him feel sexy — as if he needed to feel more sexy!.
We have enjoyed wonderful sex for hours and hours, drifting in and out of male/female and just a suggestion of female/female lovemaking. He's been girly…. increasingly so. There's joy in my mind because I have loved every minute of the last two thousand (for that's all it is….) and I have no idea where the next 2000 will take us. The quandary is whether that has all taken place too fast. At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sure
I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...
"You'll have to hold your head very steady, honey." I told him, knowing that he would flinch when the eyeshadow first was applied. Having anything put near the eye provokes a natural reaction; one that girls learn very quickly to master when first they try using make-up.
"Yes, Zoe, I know. I haven't tried that for years but I can remember. In fact, it was the mascara that gave the most trouble as I remember……"
The tiny brush was easily loaded with eyeshadow from the little palette in my hand. I chose the deep purple for the lower area on his upper eyelids. Its impact was immediate.
His eyes seem to come alive. I swept the colour upward to the edge of the lids, meeting his eyebrows and giving a sultry tone to his face. Then I changed to the lighter purple and swept that across the fold in his eyelid that's deep in the crease above the lashes. Finally, a sweep of the much lighter, frosted shadow completed the look — a vampish aura descended about his face.
"You look really, really sexy, my love." I murmured "… but the look is incomplete without the mascara you said you've used before - a long time ago……. Did you ever use eyeliner? I have some superb quick-drying liquid liner, if you'll let me try it on you."
I noticed that his hands were no longer in his lap. They were stroking the arms that were contained in the dressing gown's satin folds. Moving to stand behind him again, I slipped my hands back to his shoulders and stroked him through the material whilst looking in his eyes in the mirror.
I looked in his eyes, seeking approval to proceed. "Annie, my love. Mascara and liner, or just the mascara tonight?"
One of his hands moved slowly towards his legs and stroked against his thigh. Soon, he had his cock in his hands, covered only in satin. He stroked more and quietly said "Just the mascara, please." So, I turned back to face him with the mascara wand in my hand and as I began he gently wanked himself, the pleasure being all-consuming.
Looking back, I could have felt excluded from this pleasure but my own pussy was so wet still, I could hardly complain. I spread the wand across the lashes that were relatively thin. It would need a serious amount of product to make his lashes look really as vampish as the eye colour demanded. Maybe one day, he should try false lashes, I wondered.
By now, I realized that his face looked distinctly more feminine than my own. He had more than enough make-up on and his hair that surrounded the image I was creating just make the picture hard to comprehend. After all, he was a relatively ordinary guy — not "pretty" as some guys are — he just seemed to take to the look naturally and, whilst still a guy in make-up and hair — he was still a guy ……100%.
His wank ended in a quite quiet (for him) orgasm and his cum made a tasty indulgence for me as I surrounded his cock with my still-lippy lips.
Later, (how much later?), he looked in the mirror and whispered
"You're soooooo clever! Zoe...... You've made me look what I am certainly not… and you've made me feel very sexy about it. It shouldn't be this easy. In really like the feeling…… Is it good for you… tell me…. Is it ok??"
His eyes flashed and he shook his head lightly, making his curls bounce in a very feminine way.
What the hell? This was role-play and much of sex is based on being something that you're not. Who was I to arbitrate on what is and what isn't acceptable. I had been pushing this forward. There was no doubt of that. Was it ok with me… of course it was. He's my husband and we're in this together, I mused.
"Will you sleep this way?" I enquired. "Would you like to wake up this way? remember, I have to work tomorrow and you have a day at home. So you could stay this way for a little longer if you wish." That was the case — I had to wake early to be away from the home for most of the day. He, on the other hand, could stay as he was and lounge around the house if he wanted.
"You could have a nice long bath and freshen yourself up for when I get home."
"I'd like to sleep this way, it's so comfortable. Let's see about tomorrow when it comes."
"Then you should slip out of the dressing gown and use the nightgown that matches it, you know. Girls feel better in nice nighties. I was as encouraging as I could possibly be.
The following morning, as I dressed for work, he woke later than I did and was sleepy still as I returned from the bathroom. I opened my wardrobe, wondering what to wear. Standing in my bra and panties, I hummed gently as I decided. There were plenty of dresses and suits to choose from.
"I think a boyish look would suit you today." He said. "In fact, as I've enjoyed your things quite so much, I think you should try a shirt and tie from my wardrobe. Then you'd be conscious all the time of what I'm wearing if I stay like this at home."
"Whoa!, that's unexpected!" I said. Now he was moving things forward. Last night's thoughts came flooding back….. . At this rate, who knows where we might end up. And I'm not sure I know if I want to go there. Well, I'm not sue I want to go so fast. So, like him feeling regrets yesterday, now I'm concerned...
But the thought wasn't at all irrational. Maybe I was just in "work mode". "Okay, good idea."
In fact, the day turned out very well indeed.
We spoke on the phone several times and I leant that he was indeed enjoying a day lunging around the house. He had a bath soon after I left and set about restoring his make-up. Surely, he should have taken it off by now? But then, if he took it all off, he couldn't put fresh colours in place the way I had done last evening. The impact would be lost, he said, and he wanted to hold on to it.
I didn't know until I got home, feeling great after a day I had made some bold decisions at work, that whilst I had been in work mode… he had been in "wank mode".
When I entered the house, all seemed quiet. I called out "I'm home!"
Whilst downstairs was quiet and orderly, I wasn't prepared for the scene I encountered on climbing the stairs. It was mayhem, like there had been a burglary. The bed wasn't made, there were clothes everywhere…. my clothes, not his clothes. It wasn't a pretty sight to a tidy-minded girl like me, to tell the truth. What had been going on?!
He appeared at the bathroom door. He had been crying, if he was not still doing so.
His make-up was ruined and streaks of black mascara lined his cheeks. His hands were covered in purple eyeshadow, where he had rubbed his eyes no doubt. There were mascara stains on the nightie that he was still wearing. His hair was dishevelled, not anything like the pretty style in which I had left it this morning.
He confessed that his morning went downhill from a luxury start where he felt really good about the way he looked. He had wanked, he admitted, and he had wanked again some time later. The whole morning was taken up with self-indulgence. The clothes that were spread around the room had been held up in front of him, dress by dress, as he imagined wearing them. He admitted, as if racked by guilt. The wanking left him almost exhausted. He said his bollocks ached. (Too much information!) Then the doubts had set in; his mind back in the guilt of the previous morning.
Next, he took a bath but found that his make-up began to lose its completeness. His skin had sweated and his contentment was replaced by concern for "what we had done". He wanted to remove the make-up but couldn't find the creams to do that.
His cock had risen again and he saw that there was more to this than he knew….. His sexual drive had been hi-jacked, he said, by his looking "this way".
"Well, not the way you look now." I argued, as he looked a complete mess.
"Did you wear any of my dresses?" I asked, kind-of feeling violated…… "Without my permission." I thought to add, but didn't. This had been a "together thing" An indulgence for both of us last night and the night before. Not now. In fact, Yes, I was finding myself angry at him…
Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized what I was thinking. He had to justify himself.
"No, please…. darling… It wasn't like that…… No, I didn't — you should be able to tell. I'm telling the truth. I'm sorry I made a mess but I haven't…….. worn…. any of them…."
"Well, it doesn't seem that you've taken much care…. and look at yourself… Look in the mirror You look like Elizabeth Bloody Taylor in a hysterical fit!" I rounded on him, unwittingly.
Oh, shit! This was all going wrong…. It had been wonderful — for both of us — last night, and even this morning. Now we were on the verge of an outright fight….. Too fast… that was the trouble. I knew it! If only we hadn't gone so far…. so soon if you want to say….. But he shouldn't have done this, especially with my clothes!
"Deep down, I want you to enjoy yourself, darling." I said, falteringly, "…..but I'm not so sure, at all, about you doing this alone. It was my mistake…. I even suggested it…. I didn't think you'd stay dressed all day… sill less end up in such a state. For goodness' sake, go and have a bath again. The cleansing products are all beside my bathroom vanitory."
He looked at me in an apologetic sideways look, and turned his back without a word.
The bath water began to run. The steam indicated that the water would be punishingly hot. The vanitory drawer slammed shut. He had found the cleansing creams. Now he was resentful. What did he expect!?
I sat on the side of the bed, close to tears. A wife who had indulged herself…. and her husband…. in something she couldn't control. What was I to do? Apologize? — well, no……. I'd tried that a moment ago and it didn't ring true. We had decided on this track…. we had gone along with eachother. We found ourselves in the mess we'd suddenly found ourselves in.
The best way would be to fuck ourselves out of it….. Lots of people can't do that; they harbour grudges that mean sex suffers. Luckily, we weren't like that…. We usually could "fuck ourselves back to normal" in times of trouble. And this seemed to be one… and this seemed the best solution….. But I still had my concerns. I was disappointed we had reached this. I enjoyed everything we had done. As he had. Now he was all guilt-laden, I had to make him comfortable… if we weren't to lose what we had begun.
I stayed on the bed, his shirt and tie feeling somehow reassuring to me. I had worn his clothes all day… well, some of them. I had felt close to him. He had worn my nightclothes. Hopefully, he would have felt close to me, before becoming overwhelmed. Hopefully he would have had me in his mind as he wanked. I certainly thought of him many time in my own little world when I was giving myself pleasure. My thoughts surrounded how much I had fancied him as a 'her' last night — well, almost a 'her'…… He/she looked
lovely then, not as she had done a moment ago before we separated. Then again, I still fancied him as 'him'. A fuck as "he and she" would be the best way to calm things down.
Would we ever get back to "he/she and she"? I hoped so.
But not in a rush! I had to put the brakes on.
He seemed to have done that to himself in any case.
A fuck. That's what we needed.
When he emerged from the bathroom, his skin was almost red all over. The heat of the bath had been intense. Steam wallowed out from the doorway behind him. His hair no longer in soft curls, but rather slicked back behind his ears. Wrapped in just a single bath sheet, almost from shoulder to toe, he stood there…
"Soooooo sorry! I messed up, big time, didn't I?
It was early evening and I was tired from the day's work. I needed a drink.
"Two martinis??" I said.
"Not half!!" He replied.
We had often used the suggestion of a Martini as double-meaning for a fuck, after we had the Martini!
"Just ice and a slice? Don't get dressed. Just stay as you are, my honey." I implored him. "Just dry your skin and powder everywhere. That'll make you feel good. And then we can talk over a drink, downstairs."
He smiled. He was recovering his equilibrium from the pre-bath skirmish. Anger had subsided.
He followed me down the stairs after a few minutes. Whilst I had poured the two Martinis, which were big ones, he had clearly spent time brushing and arranging his hair. He had parted it centrally from forehead to crown, just as I had set it last night. He had drawn a comb through the rest to leave waves left and right. He had really tried to create an impression -and it was noticed.
"Your hair looks nice." I complemented but said nothing more. We touched glasses and said "Cheers" before sipping the nectar. As it was the first alcohol of the day, it really hit the spot. We sat together on a warm sofa in the living room.
"How was your day at work?" He enquired, just as a "wife" would do to a "husband" — there was a curious role reversal at play here, without any conscious action on either part. I had been at work. He/she had been at home. A fuck on that basis wouldn't work to restore the balance between us. This rapport was for tomorrow, or later. Today was for him to be him and me to be her.
"Work's not for now." I reached under his towel and felt for his cock. It was small and subsided — presumably from all the wanking of the daytime. "The Fucker's for now." He said, admitting that he wasn't ready. "I'll get it." And he ran up the stairs, two at a time!
The rest of the evening, we played all over the house. Fucking on the sofa, on the floor, in bed and even on the stairs. Exhausted, we retired to be… this time to sleep, at gone midnight.
My concerns of early evening time were allayed for now but I faced a choice — probably in the morning. I expected to find a changed man. But changed in what way. Would he be the dominant, or rather male, one?
Or would he be girly again? What did he expect of me? To push back, or for me to be fucked as she by he/him?
In a single day, I had gone from almost a "lesbian wife" when we woke up, to mildly cross-dressing in his clothes, to an offended "wife of a closet CD", to a happy-to-be fucked-by-hubby type of wife. Which of these was I happiest to be? I really didn't know — but as the story will unfold, I will find out.
As I drifted off to sleep, I ran my hands through my hair on the pillow. My silky red hair. Maybe it was time for a change?
Chapter 4
Andy's wife, Zoe, here again I'm getting some control over how my desires are shaping my husband in ways he, nor I, perhaps ever expected... We are gently moving towards his being girly when he fancies being girly... not all the time.. but whenever! This is requiring an intensive first phase.
……The story so far has been one of my thoughts and actions as the wife of a young man who had, shall we say, a tendency to cross-dress. It had been developed, unwittingly, in his college days. He had helped a friend during her time as a junior hair stylist. Along with two other friends, he had volunteered to be a model in a hairdressing competition. Little did he know, this required his being a girl for the duration of a major event. He'd been left with a subconscious fetish which would under-pin the games we were playing.
The Morning After.
I remember as if it was yesterday. My husband and me. Last night we'd had just survived a pig of a day.
A beautiful start with my hubby dressed and "glammed-up" for me. My day at the office wearing a shirt and tie of his, to remind me of the way he would be dressed all day at home……… It all had gone "pear-shaped" when I returned home, to find him in a mess…. a complete mess. He had over-indulged himself and got into a state where my dressing skills were wasted. If we were to go on with my plans, to expose his
girly side, we would have to regress and recover…. fast!
We had done so. His feelings of guilt assuaged, we had made love last evening - for hours - and slept
soundly, caringly, gently, together. All wasn't lost. He hadn't "got it up" but had used our little fucker with his usual skills….. I was well and truly fucked by the time sleep came around. It was heaven. ……Though I remember wondering if this would be a pattern for behaviours in future.
Would it be me indulging my passion for his transformation, followed every time with his getting carried away with the idea and ruining everything? Was it me ruining everything/ Should I stop pressuring him?
Was I pressuring him anyway? He'd broken down yesterday but, tomorrow, ……?? The first phase had
obviously been too intense.
I loved the feel of him, I imagined him dressed as I had enticed him to be. Underwear to die for. Soft and silky. His girly "side" exposed. His face made-up with the most expensive cosmetics.
I could find for him. As subtle a look as I could create. (There might be times for a Tart to emerge in him, but for now, subtle and girly was good). He agreed. In two days, he had become quite choosy about his cosmetics. So, OK, he'd cracked a little yesterday. Tomorrow was to be better.
That told me my plan was taking shape well.
I woke the next morning, again well before he did. I showered and caressed my own skin with a great soft bath sheet. I smoothed my skin with moisturizer. I massaged my tits and played with the nipples which responded quickly. I was horny — especially after the fucker last night.
"Go shower, honey!....... Andy! Are you listening to me?" I implored him as he woke. "Get ready for me".
Sleepily, he rose from the bed and went to the bathroom. While he was there, I forced myself to decide how he would spend the day. Was I to let him alone with himself, like yesterday, and risk him having another set-back? Or should I plan his day for him? Not give him any excuse to go wanking the day away.
I thought so. He would do as I told him and stay on "my" track.
My thoughts from the night-time became formalized; my plan was hatched in the time he was away! He returned from the bathroom, wrapped in a bath sheet and with a towel around his head, hiding his hair.
He smiled, looking down at me on the bed. "Zoe, my honey, You're gorgeous….." He began.
"Not half as gorgeous as you are, honey." I said. "Come here and cuddle me." The towel in front of him
rose slowly indicating an excitement stirring. "I want you to fuck me, just the same as last night….." I continued. "Mmmmmm…." he purred.
"But not now……………….Tonight!………" "Oh, you TEASER!!!" he exclaimed, frustration sweeping over.
"I want you to spend all day getting ready. This is a big test. Nothing like yesterday……. You've got things to do every hour of the day… and if you do them well, we'll be ideally set for a wonderful night tonight." (When has a wife laid out such ideas?, I wondered).
"Why not now?" He asked.
"Because, you're not ready!……." I said, purposely missing the point.
"Yes, I am, Zoeeeee, I am…….." He pointed to the divide in his towel where his cock now emerged. "Really, I am!"
"Not in that way…." I joked seductively. "That's the 'extra' you promised me….. well, I mean the rest of you. Today, my girl, you'll be a girl for me when I get home. Then, and only then shall we fuck eachother senseless!"
"Aw, c'mon Zoe...... What things do you have for me to do, then?" He enquired suspiciously.
"Nothing you wouldn't find easy. No need to worry.....Annie... honest..... Nothing that will change your appearance permanently. Just things that you'll relish and maybe like to do some more."
It was my intention, quite literally, to make sure that he was occupied all through the day -a long time when you're alone. A long time when other temptations are around you. I wanted him to savour every little aspect of a "Girl's Day IN". My initial idea to send him out shopping was a step too far I decided. He could do that maybe next week. Not dressed outwardly, but underneath! But not yet. Not today. Today was for him "at home, but organized".
If it worked, and if he kept his side of our promise, I would come home to a pretty husband who was ready to fuck!
"What things!??? Let's get a coffee and sit down to run through what you'll be doing." quietly, flirting, I whispered.
We sat at the breakfast table, both in our soft bath sheets. The coffee was hot and there was a spicy atmosphere. "I'm getting to like the idea." He whispered back. "This is all I have to do… lounge about all day?"
"On the contrary, Annie my honey. You won't have much time for that! Before I leave, we'll set your hair and you'll have to deal with that once it's dried — maybe before lunch. You can stay in the towel if you wish but you might like to use my long satin dressing gown. Your hair will take half an hour to style.
Then I'll leave. It's up to you if you want to allow it to dry naturally, or whether you want to use the domed salon dryer I have in the spare room. As you'll be in rollers, I'd suggest you use that. It will be the only time you have to 'lounge around'!!"
"I can read some of your girly magazines then, Zoe? … Catch up on some make-up and beauty tips?" He mocked me… or rather himself. He knew he had to do all of this if we were to have that fuck when I returned from work!
I paused to reflect on what was going on here. I'm deeply in love with this man who, for whatever reason, isn't a great confident butch, macho, alpha male…… he's got a lovely tender side which I adore.
That manifests itself in the way he loves me…. he can put himself in my place anytime — and especially when we're making love. I've tempted him to indulge me. I like the feel of him when he's "being girly"…. and he doesn't object at all. What could possibly be wrong??? Nothing….. nothing at all, but it's not surprising to have slight concerns if you're 'pushing back boundaries' like I am.
"Quite right, you can. In fact, there's another task for you! I want you to find at least three beauty procedures that we both can try next weekend, from those magazines…… Both of us!" I joked… but I meant it, and he knew I meant it!
"The next thing you will do, before getting dressed, is to take my tube of Veet and remove all the hair from your tits. Not the whole of your chest — just your tits. If I am to nibble your nipples when we're fucking, I want no hairs in the way. Understand?"
"Mmmmmm….I like the sound of the nibbling, darling." He said as he leant his head back. "There are some real bonuses in this, I'm beginning to think."
"Well, you're not at all finished with that….. When you've finished with the Veet crá¨me, you'll want to moisturize your tits and that could take a while! There's some Chanel5 Body Lotion on my dressing table.
Take your time and luxuriate in the wonderful perfume while you soften your nipples…. for me!"
I went on, knowing the effect that would have on him and his libido. "Don't you DARE use the lotion on your cock! No wanking today…. I want you all for myself when you cum in my pussy!"
And I wasn't joking! "Wank today and this has to stop!" I threatened him. (I hoped and prayed he wouldn't let me down.) "Don't you DARE let me down!"
"I won't, Zoe honey, I promise. Yesterday was a mess and I'm sooooo sorry for that!" He wimpered.
"OK, Annie, enough said." I continued. "That will take you to mid-morning and you're not even dressed yet. So, next, I want you to choose some undies to wear. You can go through my underwear drawers and LOOK — but DON'T TOUCH ….. until you've made your choice. NO rummaging through them all and getting tempted again!" I was scolding him for yesterday really, just as much as I was threatening him with something I hoped wouldn't be necessary.
"Put on the sexiest undies you can find. Leave the suspender belt and stockings I've laid out until later. Now, do the same with my shoes. We're lucky that you're only a size larger than me… you'll fit some of the shoes I've stretched as I've worn them. Then, you're alone remember, you can parade around the bedroom in heels and undies….. with your hair in rollers. What a picture! I insist that you call me at the office and tell me exactly what you've been doing and what you've chosen to wear. I'll then give you some hints about how to deal with your hair."
"What a morning!" He breathlessly murmured, clearly finding the talk of this making him horny once more.
"DON'T you dare soil my knickers!" "Before we have talked, and before your light lunch, you can go to my wardrobe and you can choose anything from the right-hand side.... The dresses and blouses on the right... got it? Don't even look in the left-hand side. That is all my more everyday gear and you don't want to look 'everyday' do you? When you've made your choice, call me again."
By this stage in his briefing, I had set the scene for more than enough of my fantasy for my homecoming. However, this would not keep him occupied for the whole day. In my plan, I had yet to get him dressed in his outer/boy clothes, style his hair and do his make-up… and nails! yes, his nails could be very time-consuming, couldn't they? I thought. He must have used nail polish before and so he could be set a high standard of finish even though he would be "out of practice".
"OK, so your hair would be dry by then, ready for styling. Your tits would be shaved and moisturized and you'll be dressed in my undies and shoes. And you'll have chosen which of my dresses you'll be wearing when I get home tonight..... oh! and all before lunch!!"
I re-capped for my own benefit as much as his. Where to take him next? I decided that his lunch could wait — he had to practice eating without messing his lipstick. Before that, his hair should be taken from its nice tight roller-set and allowed to relax before styling. So that meant, hair and make-up, then lunch — a light girly salad and a slimline tonic water... NO GIN!!
"You'll next have to go to the vanity unit and look at yourself in the mirror. All girly, you'll be, with your hair in nice tight rollers. Make time to absorb the image you'll see. Then begin to remove the rollers. Annie! Now listen, this part is important.... Start with the larger ones around your crown. Leave the smaller ones around the nape of your neck until last. Leave each curl as a springy roll against your scalp. Go slowly, taking care with each one — they're all precious. Don't whatever you do, get the hair in a tangle. Feel the way the curls are placed in different directions. Enjoy the experience….. and remember, …. leave your cock out of this; tucked away." I pictured him doing this as I talked him through the instructions. Just the thought of him doing this essentially female thing make me slightly wet around the pussy. Delicious.
"When you've taken out the last one, admire yourself in the mirror again!" I meant for him to take as much time as possible over this. "You'll be calling me on the phone very soon after, so keep the details and the way you're feeling in your mind. I'll want to hear all about it!"
Sharing……. that was the essential part of the plan. I would insist on hearing every detail and how he was feeling during such a feminine past-time.
"You don't get to call me until you have your make-up sorted out. So, still at the dressing table, you'll find I've laid out some of my delicious cosmetics for you to use. DON'T over do it!
Remember…. 'Less is More'……… Less is more attractive. So, use light foundation and blusher, bright but light eyeshadow, a little mascara, and as much lipstick as you like!"
That would take a while because he was unlikely to get it right first time.
"Use the foundation all over your face; make sure you cover where your beard growth comes and well beyond. Go down your neck. Get up to your hair-line. Cover your cheekbones. Lightly cover your under-eye areas and the lids too. That will make your eyeshadow take better and last longer. Finish off with some blusher on the big brush. If you like the look it gives, we'll get you some crá¨me blusher that will be easier for you, next time. Be very careful NOT to get any product on my lovely slinky dressing gown that you'll still be wearing!"
I imagined him doing this, alone, half-dressed in my undies with his hair in curls, wearing low-heeled stiletto shoes, sitting at my dressing table.
"Next time?" he said, almost flirtatiously. His eyes looked like Diana's — everyone knows "that" look that she gave to the cameras all her life.
"Choose your eyeshadow with care and use at least two colours — one for the brightness — a white or silver — and the other for vivid colour - I'd suggest blue because there's a brilliant blue in the palette. Finish your eyes with mascara….. and remember! that's the tricky one! Go gently… it doesn't matter how many strokes of the brush you make…. just keep adding that intense black shade. I'll do something with my liquid liner when I get home…. I can't expect you to do that yourself…. yet!"
I had plans for that stage…………….. but a long time ahead.
"Finally, Annie, you can indulge your love of lipstick and put as much as you like of whatever shade you want… there are several to choose from………. Get right up close to the make-up mirror. Admire your new look. Take pleasure in this "you" that you can see……………….Then, you must call me. Sitting at the dressing table…………………. Oh no, there's something I've forgotten — before you call — go back to the wardrobe and select a pair of stockings and a suspender belt to wear. Put on the 'garter' as they call it someplaces.
Take off your shoes and smooth your hands over your legs. Don't worry about the hairs there - we'll deal with those another day - and slip those wonderful 7-denier stockings up your legs. That's one of the sexiest feelings a girl can experience. And then fix the stockings to the suspenders. The front ones are easy but you may have trouble with the ones at the back. Be patient. Don't get in a flurry; you'll get hot and bothered. Take your time."
He was still silent, his head tilted back, clearly imagining the wonders of what was to come.
"……………….Then, you must call me. Sitting at the dressing table…………………" I said.
A frown spread over his face………………. "What if I make a mess of it? What if you come home and find me with mascara everywhere again and other stuff………??? It's wonderful to think about doing all of this but……." I had to stop him…. Build his confidence……
"Don't you worry, Annie, my lover. You'll do fine. You know how much you fancy doing this so just take your time! I trust you to go for it the best way that you can and I'll help you with any little mistakes……. You know how much I fancy you — boy and girl — let's just enjoy ourselves. Now, go and find me a shirt and tie to wear from your wardrobe. be prepared to justify which dress you have chosen and WHY!!"
I had changed the subject. He was distracted once more. No longer haunted by yesterday's loss of confidence. I had saved the situation.
It was getting late and I had to be leaving for work in less than half an hour. I had to set his hair in that time… and we hadn't sorted what he would be doing all afternoon. Was there enough time? Maybe not, but I'd still love to come home to find him as we had described and agreed already. If all that took longer, I could easily arrive home and style his hair.
Quickly, as I was waiting for him, I went to the hand basin and wetted my own hair. I ran to the dressing table mirror and took my canister of hair mousse — L'Oreal's Elvive extra strong hold for colour treated hair — and I piled a handful into the crown of my now wet hair.
I worked it through and combed the hair flat to my scalp. As boyish as I could make it in just two or three minutes. All to add to the role I might play on my return — androgynous at the very least. In fact, I quite was taken with the image I saw. But I needed lipstick! I was just finishing a double dose of my favourite Dior's Diorific, long-lasting, Gypsy Rose.
He sat at the dressing table, having laid the shirt and tie on the bed, removing the towel from his head. His hair was just damp, a little too dry for my liking so I sprayed it heavily with Chanel's eau de parfum and added a similar handful of styling mousse as I had used myself a moment before.
"This will make sure the style lasts tonight." I smiled at him.
There was no time to lose. I combed his hair through for a last time and sectioned a lock from his crown. I took the first and largest roller from the tray and began to wind it into his scalp. Tightly, it had to be. he needed to feel the tug of each and every roller. Another followed, my hands moving swiftly. In a minute or two, the whole of the top of his head was covered. There would be a wonderful curly style to make as a result tonight.
"We have other things for you to do before I get home, so listen carefully. First, when we have talked together on the phone and shared some of your experiences, I want you to have lunch… a light lunch that's only there for you to practice not spoiling your lipstick! So, a salad will be perfect. There's plenty to find in the fridge. You can have no more than a glass of wine….. again, whatever you choose to drink, it's for you to practice not leaving lipstick on your glass. You must lick the glass before sipping — like I do myself, always, and you've noticed. That will prolong the lips of those luscious lips!" Small details but important ones, I thought!
As I rolled his hair, I gave instructions. "Then, I want you to wash your hands in warm soapy water. Do the same with your toes. Then, you must dry them very carefully because your next task is to shape them and paint them with nail polish. Take an emery board and file them to a perfect shape. Never mind their length — they can grow longer in time..." (I had plans!!).
"....Then, you should apply a base coat to each and every toe and finger nail. It's clear and helps the colour you'll be using to take better. It also has a strengthener to harden your nails for the future. (He would have claws to die for, one day!). Finally, and with very thin coats, you'll have to apply the colour. You should wait for each to dry over 10-15 minutes. Slow and clean sweeps of the brush.
Don't "dab" at the nails……. And you'll find it wonderful, the smell of the polish and the texture of the nails when you've finished."
Then you can return to the wardrobe to get your chosen dress or skirt and blouse. You'll know exactly which one because you'll have described it in minute detail when we talk on the phone. You will KNOW why you chose that one. I leave the reasons up to you! Make sure they're nice and girly won't you, darling Annie! Only then will you be ready to receive me on my return."
His eyes closed as I was saying all of this. I hoped he was listening and taking in the details.
I could tell he was somehow submerged into the total experience he was having.
I carried on, working with smaller rollers around the level of his ears and below. Just an inch in diameter there, but there was enough hair to roll around two or three times. Tightly, angled this way and that. I was creating a style from my imagination. How would he look? Heaven knows, but it was the process that was important - more than the ultimate look, s much as I wanted it to be soft, silky, fluffy and girly.
Soon, we were done and I had to dress myself and leave. "Don't have the dryer on too hot, my love. Take time and enjoy it and you won't damage your hair either. When you're finished, leave the rollers in to allow your hair to cool and fix the set better. Have a wonderful day"
Now might be a good time for him to add some thoughts. I'll return in my next chapter with my homecoming that day (Day 3) and how he had done with meeting my instructions.
LOL Andy's loving Wife, Zoe
I've asked him to recall the time when we were "just beginning"………………..
A Husband's indulgence of his Wife's passion.... or his own?!
>WannabeGinger
I've asked him to recall the time when we were "just beginning"………………..
HI, my name's Andy, and I've never tried writing like this, especially not about something deeply personal like...well, my dressing..... It's great to have a wife who understands..... Where to begin... well, near the beginning...... It was college days for me... none of this "when I was eight..." malarky.... I was a testosterone-filled young man of 17...... when it began......
It's easy to recall college days. It's less easy to recall the time when my wife and I began to "play games", games that involved my feminine side… which I now firmly embrace.
I know I'm not homosexual. I know I'm not "trapped in the wrong body". Looking back, I don't know when I came to terms with the "me" that just loves the feminine side of life……… Just occasionally. It must have been at this "just beginning" time.
In my college days, I wasn't one of the "guys" especially. I did my studies. I kept out of major sports, not having the brains to avoid the need to study at weekends. I did enjoy the beers with other guys some evenings but never went on the 'binge' as many did. Maybe this made me a little different from the rest.
I did enjoy hanging around the Students' Union where there was always a good social scene, especially with the girls. I got close to quite a few of them and enjoyed romances with a small number… well, actually, just two. Call it love? No, I don't think so, but maybe being in love with the idea of "being in love".
I certainly fancied getting inside their panties……. in the more usual sense of the words.
I fancied the idea of breaking my 'duck' as far as sex was concerned. I particularly came to admire a girl called Karen who was studying for a Hair & Beauty qualification. She was a peach! Her long dark hair was lustrous and shining. Just invited a touch. She, on the other hand, didn't invite me to touch anything else! I came to learn that she was uncertain of her sexuality and was most probably bisexual. I was good to have as a friend, but platonic was all it would ever be, it seemed. Well, I'd like us to go further. I could have handled that "bi-" side to her! Perhaps we were always going to be "just good friends".
However, a time came when she needed help. It's my story but it was written by that close friend "in the first person", as though it was he/she involved. and you, dear Reader, may have read my account of that time in my life. This brought me much closer to another of Karen's friends…… Ginger. (There was another girl, Margot, who was definitely of a lesbian tendency and had a scary Mother who was probably that way inclined as well). Ginger was a darling. I fell head over heels in love for her…… I say "for her" because she clearly didn't fall over backwards "for" me……. at least initially, she didn't.
I just adored her. Her body was wonderful….. I think the kind word is 'pneumatic'… all the right curves in all the right places….. Tits to die for, and a face to match.
Ginger was also helping Karen with her hairdressing training. There was to be a competition. Ginger also volunteered to be a model for Karen in that competition. Margot did too. So, what did I do? …..I volunteered, without knowing what was involved at all. That led to my dressing. That led to my having my hair styled and coloured. That led to my living with Ginger for several months. My darling wife, Zoe, knows the rest of the story and it does not bear telling here.
When Ginger and I split, I put my dressing away in the metaphorical "box" that most CDs have in their minds. Push it away. Hope it doesn't return……. at least not in an embarrassing way. Keep the lid on the box. T hat was my mantra.
Months went by. I began to ease up on feeling that I might yet go back to dressing. My hair colour reverted to natural. No longer did I have to tell friends and family that I'd dyed my hair 'for a laugh'. It was behind me.
I was a solo guy, looking for a girl, like many of my mates.
My conundrum stayed in its "box". Thoughts of cross-dressing were banished. But I guess I did indulge my fetish increasingly. That was for Hair… beautiful shiny, styled and conditioned Hair. better still, beautifully coloured Hair. It occupied my waking thoughts and my "going to sleep" thoughts. It occupied my masturbations. It occupied many of my fantasies. Often, I would be the subject of the styling and colouring. Often, I would be left with a fantasy hairstyle to die for! It was always accompanied by dream-like fantasies of the underwear I would be wearing... At this time, it wasn't in my mind to go out and try to "pass" as female. No way. I was firmly in the closet!
Every day I would be distracted by the hair that women I worked with, or passed in the street, had as their "crowning glories". I noticed that women who cared for their hair, generally cared for themselves much better than others. They used the right amount of cosmetics, and used them well. They dressed with impeccable style and confidence……… Just as I thought I might, if I were dressing still — which I wasn't.
I did imagine their underwear, and before long, the temptation to buy some for myself returned. By now,
I was in employment and earning a good salary. No problem then to pass by quite stores at quiet times
where they sell quite beautiful lingerie. I concentrated on bras, suspenders, stockings and camisoles. Enough to make many a lonely evening just pure bliss!
A few would be my fantasy lovers, playing games with their hair as I fucked them wildly.
Rather few did that in reality. Indeed, none did, until I met my darling wife. Heaven would, therefore, have to wait.
I loved my private thoughts. They recurred and developed. I adored many women's hair. Indeed, countless women, some celebrities, some just everyday adorables I saw in the street or on the train. I imagined how I would look with their styles re-created. Such is the world of the fantasist I had become.
My hair grew as long as I thought acceptable in "polite society" — long enough not to draw derision from workmates, but long enough to play with when I was alone. I became quite adept with a styling brush and even worked with rollers. I practised setting my hair when I knew that I had a long weekend without commitments. I even dallied with colour, albeit temporary rinses, when I knew I'd have enough time before work on Monday for the colour to disperse.
I read some stories that I found on a wonderful website — Crystal's Storysite. I found the story of my dreams with Marti B and her story "Two Fifteen" where a young man takes up every ounce of his courage to go into a salon and, little by little, have himself gradually transformed. I SO much wanted to follow his path. Only problem came at the end where, instead of keeping up the joy of his femininity with return visits to the salon, he drifted off for months only to return fully transformed and living as a woman. Too far for me, that one..... It confirmed in me the view that I needed to be feminine, just some of the time.... Go the whole way? heavens no! Kiss guys and get fucked by them? NO THANK YOU! Guys have disgusting habits - I know, I Am one, remember! Why would any sane woman want to have one fuck their brains out. No, No, far better to fuck woman-to-woman. By the time I was 20, I knew I was a lesbian!
Changing sex was never my idea. Never in my mind at all. Not even tempted as far as my wife and I were able to push our experimentation with my looks. Not even tempted when indulging oral sex as girl and girl (well, one with added extras, ok). I'm a bloke at heart. I may love to transform my face and my hair and I may love to wear slinky underwear, but deep down, I'm a bloke and I love to fuck.
That's me really. That's how I'd express myself and when she asked for my contribution to her side of
our story, I have thought as I wrote and this is what you're ending up with, my friendly reader.
I can remember the first few days that she's describing in this story only if I try hard. It all seemed to happen so fast. I do remember the flirtation and the first playing with lipstick and the first time I did wear her undies. Those were precious moments. I do remember the day soon after when I lost the plot completely and she found me as a very sad case having been alone all day.
We did make up after I recovered my sense of proportion. I wouldn't do that again — wank myself five or six times in a day, strewing her clothes about having been tempted to wear them….. Then the 'reconciliation' that evening. We fucked beautifully as boy and girl. The next day, I had expected to go back to being a guy but no! She insisted — though I might have had a choice, I'm not sure — I think she insisted that I spend the day getting 'girly' for her. I've done this many times since then…. and always I hope I get a little better. That day, I was making mistakes… but having the cool to slow down and go back, cleanse my skin, for example, and try again. It seemed to take for ever. But what a day!
We've talked about it many times. That was a crucial day for the way we are now — the way we are as lovers and husband and wife. Am I glad for that day!!!
I'm sure Zoe will write you more. She seems to have got her teeth into this project... with WannabeGinger, her friend's, help!
Andy...... or as I am today, Annie. xx.
TO BE CONTINUED……………IN CHAPTER 5! YOU’LL FIND THIS IN BOOK 2!
Again, to reach a previously unreached audience, I have made a composition of the latter chapters from a previous work. Please enjoy if this is your first reading, and please forgive me for recycling, if it’s not!
by
Zoe, a friend of Wannabe Ginger
I am only three days into my story of the early days of my husband's development into a "sometime" boy/girl. Earlier chapters tell how it was all at my instigation. Earlier chapters tell readers that I'm sharing this true experience with how we began. I hope other wives may benefit. I'm trying to report happenings on the way whilst also recalling the feelings I had at each stage.
There was never a conscious plan in my mind at the outset, but one did evolve, quite rapidly. Whilst there were occasional set-backs, I can tell you now, the pathway was very well worth treading. I hope you like the way the narrative develops. Feelings aren't always easy to verbalize.
Chapter 5
The rest of day three.
I left my husband Andy at home and set off for work, a little late that morning because of the time it had taken to give him a briefing on what was required of him. I had intended to keep him busy for the whole of the day, giving him a series of tasks that would bring him to the stage where I would return from work that afternoon.
He would be dressed in my undies and shoes on my return. (He could choose any of my dresses to wear during the day, if it so pleased him. He would have combed-out his hair, styled as I had roller set it that morning. He would have mastered make-up on his own for the first time. I was really looking forward to getting home. We were on the promise of a delightful fuck this evening and I intended it would be one to remember!
During the day, he was to telephone me, once he had dressed and reached the stage of completing his make-up and polishing his toes and fingernails with vampish nail polish,
I couldn't wait for the call, although I knew it would take several hours for him to reach that stage and have the courage to call. I wanted him to be proud of what he had done, all by himself. I wanted him to be proud of resisting the temptation he'd given in to the day before.
The ride to work was uneventful, the drive being short and just after rush hour. It gave me more time to reflect on the briefing I had given him. If he could manage all of those things, I'd love him to pieces!!! We would fuck like crazy that night!!!! Before reaching my workplace, I began to plan the evening that was to come in my mind's eye. I could "see" him as Annie, his new alter-ego, when I got home.
I expected he would look a real honey!!! I would tell him when he phoned to dress only in those undies and my peach satin dressing robe, but he was to know exactly the dress he would wear later in the evening.
I had a surprise for him in the telephone call we would have. I would tell him how I'd not only used the shirt and tie of his to wear to work. I had also borrowed a pair of his nice tight jockey pants that would keep my pussy cosy and warm…. and wet. There was also another surprise — inside the jockey pants — which you, dear Reader, may speculate about. More of that later.
Arrival home would be something to savour. I'd imagined him meeting me at the door, dressed sooooo sexily that I would gather him/her into my arms and kiss everso so softly so his/her long-lasting lipstick would be saved (for later). I'd run my hands over his/her sleek body, encased in the satin robe. I'd finish on his/her nipples and give them a very very hard squeeze through the satin.
I'd say nothing more than "show me your nipples." They had better be soft and hairless, the squeeze making them erect. I'd inspect them and, if satisfactory, I'd lay him on the sofa and kiss them sensually. I wouldn't bite them… until later….. though I'd tease him with my teeth. While laying together, I'd seek out his undies and find where his cock was restrained in beautiful lace. I'd run my hands along the tops of his stockings and up the suspenders to his waist.
All very lightly, teasingly, sensually, expecting his cock to break free.
If it was not to do it by itself, I would free it from the lace take it in my hand. Knowing that, if he did cum, there would be time for him to recuperate before we made love later. That could be his treat — and mine if I got to swallow his juices. Again, gently though — no teeth. "That" might come later too.
We would then move to the bathroom where I would freshen my make-up and slick-back my hair again with some water. He would have his make-up inspected and, I was sure, have my correcting hand to make perfect his illusion. I would play the girl/boy role for now…. I'd be in control. He/she would be taken step-by-step through the evening but always knowing that my pussy would be "his to play with" later.
What he wouldn't know then, or for a while longer, was that the surprise inside his jockey pants was the wonderful dildo that I was using right now — on my drive to work! My pussy was warm and wet, just thinking about what treats were to come.
I had been tempted while he was still in the bathroom after waking this morning. Seven or eight inches long, I quietly pushed it into my love-nest with its head protruding just an inch or two. All day, I was having the joy of squeezing it to exercise my pussy muscles for the evening's entertainment.
Occasionally, I would go to the ladies' room and moisten it in private, maintaining a state of permanent readiness for the fucking I was to enjoy later.
On arrival home, I would expect Annie to go down on me at some stage and find the tip of the fucker there. I would have him explore all round it and suck it as if it were mine….. fully completing the girl/boy role reversal. He might fear being penetrated with it at some stage but that was not in my mind at all.
I would discard it and implore him to fuck me hard with his own cock to consummate the evening.
Even writing this, recalling my thoughts at the time, my pussy is getting very wet indeed. In fact, a repeat evening — lock, stock and barrel - could be a very good idea!
"Enough of this." I thought to myself as I arrived at work. The fucker would keep me pulsating all day. I had much to do before he was to call. I expected the phone to ring around mid-day. However, I wasn't prepared for the reaction of colleagues in the hairdressing salon where I worked at the image I presented. Very different to my usual 'look'. I pushed the door into the salon and immediately heard a "WOW!" from Hayley, the Colourist. "You look stunning!" She said. "I'd fancy you if you really were a guy! What's all this about?" She exclaimed.
Maybe the androgyny had gone a bit far!
"Seriously?" I flashed my eyelids at her. "I just fancied a change today." I laughed. I could have said "I rather fancy that idea."…. but there would be too many complications down that route.
"I love the hair…." said Hayley, "……… I might try that myself one day." The slicked-back look accentuated the power of my well-mascara-ed eyes. o
"You'd be surprised the way it makes you feel." I said, meaning every word. It was true. The change in my own hair had made a difference to the way I was feeling. Then, there were the clothes I'd taken from Andy's wardrobe. My femininity was masked but only just... the beauty of my ample tits was there for all to admire. I even admired them myself in the many mirrors at the styling stations.
I was certainly "up for it" if anyone wanted to give me trouble today (as I was to find out later!)
The salon owner came from the back of the room and was equally surprised. "My goodness!" she said, "......very interesting…. You should explore this look - we might have clients who would follow your lead!" She touched my arm. "What does your hubby think? Some men might not take it well." I was tempted, feeling as assertive as I was, to tell her that he had loved the look as I kissed him goodbye in his undies and satin robe with his hair in rollers! Of course, I shouldn't betray him/her in that way.
"Oh, he's loved it. I guess you mean some guys would be threatened by a shirt and tie, but he's very sure of himself. It's only for once….. I guess……. and to check out people's reactions." Maybe, he would feel threatened when I got home with this dildo between my thighs, but who was to know?? There was work to be done and I had clients' hair to style.
Hayley said she'd talk to me later…… she had an idea for the colour of my hair in this new style.
The morning passed relatively uneventfully, with my pussy responding to every change in posture that I made. The outer lips were now flowing with juices that I could almost taste as I stood at the styling station, standing over the women whose hair I was working on. I found myself being more adventurous with their hair. I was making suggestions to each of them to change their styles and have more fun…. "like
I've done" was my punch-line.
My 11.45 cut and style was a typical example: A 40-something woman, tall and busty, with a figure that was evidently corseted beneath a business suit, who asked me "what made you change?" I answered her question with a question:
"Could it be that you're asking because it's time for a change for yourself?" I said. I wasn't prepared for the reply, but there it came, in the confidence shared only between women and their hairdressers:
"Well, as you mention it, yes indeed. I've been finding my husband is much less assertive these days and I'm wanting to change the dynamics a little. maybe, my taking over the assertiveness bit would work. I quite fancy the idea of a little swapping of roles... In fact, I'm very much of a mind to do just that..."
I replied, in my best conspiratorial tones, "well, if you did make some changes, I wouldn't stop at just the style of your hair. I'd get a new set of underwear.... you'd be amazed how empowering a subtle change can be...."
"What d'ya mean...?" she asked.
"I mean get some boxers to go under that suit. And I'd take of the bra. Buy a man's shirt too and maybe a man's leather jacket. I've been meaning to get one myself. Then you can give your pretty underwear to your husband! ''ve just done that myself. As I say, you'll be surprised how empowering it could be!"
All the time, I imagined my husband at home, perhaps struggling with, but getting through the tasks he had been set. Mid-morning, he would used the depilatory crá¨me on his tits. He would have moisturized them. He would have dressed in the most wonderful undies I had. By now, he would have put on the stockings, smoothing them over his long legs and he would have paraded around the bedroom in those heels.
"You're kidding me!" the client exclaimed, but intrigued - I could tell. "Are you kosher!?"
"Indeed I am, it's been on my mind for a while and, just like you, I reached a moment when it all seemed to be a timely idea!" I thought, enough is enough. She'll either do, or not do, what I had suggested.
I began to yearn for the fucker between my legs to be Andy's, or rather Annie's, cock.
But then, I also longed for the fucker between my legs to be my cock, my very own.
I couldn't remember ever standing behind a client and thinking so intently about sex. My mind wandered a little too much and I became conscious that now she was talking and I hadn't heard a word she'd said! I was throbbing.
"......... and so how would you change my style, if I'm to dress that way?......." she wa asking.”........would you go for a crop? I mean, your hair is lovely, but it's slicked not cropped."
I fashioned a shorter, yet feminine, style but, when she asked me, I slicked it down the way mine had been that day. Off she went, looking forward to an interesting evening when she got home. little did her husband know what was coming! I'd told her, if it was to their liking, she might come in for a white blonde make-over next time. I kinda expected I'd be seeing her the next week.
It went on the same way, until after lunch, with my pussy throbbing, I was startled when I heard: "What did you hear me say just then?" said one woman……… "Oh, I'm sorry, I was miles away!" I said, half apologizing, half resentful…….. (bad attitude)………
"I said don't take so much off cutting round the back there…..!" she was quite irate. "Don't tell me you were miles away!"
Oh dear, I should retreat and apologize properly…. but then something inside me said I shouldn't …… something man-ish…… something telling me to be masterful……. this woman should do as I tell her….. She was a new client to the salon and had just had Hayley do her a new colour — a deep shining burgundy shade.
"You'll look much better if we do as we agreed…… You liked the idea of a wedge-profile at the back, to emphasize your new colour…… I thought……… let's just go on and see — you'll like it, I'm sure." Gosh! I was taking control in a way like never before.
"But…." she started…….
"No buts! You will like it." I wasn't taking prisoners on this one. She should do as I told her.
And in the end, I was right. (….but not before I'd put the salon's reputation on the line). She did love the new cut and thanked me for pushing her to accept it. I found I had a client who would return. But I was left with a feeling that was rooted in the fucker between my legs. I thought about it and thought about it. I pictured its shape and the way the head was so life-like, and the life-like veins along its shaft. I felt for then as I squeezed the walls of my love-nest together.
Mmmmmmmmmmmmm……………………………..
At that moment, the telephone rang and the call was for me.
"Zoe... it's yours...... sounds like Andy, but not quite like Andy really...." Hayley said.
"Tell him I'll call him back!...." I said. I was due a break and so took my mobile phone into the rest area where currently no other staff were.
It was Andy of course, but he did sound different.....and it sounded like he had spent a wonderful morning.
Words poured out of him, so fast I thought I would drown…………….
"Can't imagine….. Sooooo sexy…… Undies…….. Putting them……. smoothing….. shaping…….. mirrors……. shoes… heels…. high enough……. shaping my legs…… Wonderful…… cosmetics…. foundation….. wasted — used too much - …… had to wash…. sorry to waste…… tried again…… got it better…. less IS more, you're right……. lovely silky feel on my skin…….. Blusher, too powdery…. can't get the hang of that……. eyeshadow…. now there's a joy…. spent hours playing…… such a difference….. eyes come to life…….. mmmmmmmmm...."
He paused for breath.... " ....mascara, trouble again….. bit of a set-back….. had to remove the eyeshadow and start again…… nearly poked my eye out….. smudged it….. cleaned it off again…….. then, at last……… got it right at last…… stunning! looked at the mirror again and again… can't believe…… and then the lipstick….. oh, my goodness…… absolute dream….!!
"So, you've enjoyed yourself, have you?" I asked.
"Oh, yesssss…..! Zoe... yesssss..!!" was his reply. "But how has your morning been?" He asked the good wife's question. "Oh it's been interesting, honey…. very different. And I'll tell you all about it later. The new look has certainly made an impression! One of the girls, Hayley, said she fancies me!
"Oh, she's the one I fancy there……. Oh, apart from you that is!" He said quickly, realizing a slip of the tongue.
"Well, maybe you'd be in luck — it seems she likes boyish girls so maybe she likes girly boys too!" Teasing him was something I was beginning to enjoy. "It'll be a long time before she meets you looking the way you are now. You are mine... and mine alone!" I had to move on. Andy needed instructions for the afternoon and I needed to get to my next client.
"How was the dryer? Have you removed all your rollers?" I needed to know as he had to take care of the hairstyle next.
"Yes, it was fine and I did as you suggested…. It's quite an experience sitting under the dome of the dryer, just reading a mag. I found one of your professional ones… one with dozens and dozens of hairstyles and colours in it. Some on celebs and lots done by stylists in salons like yours….. It was really a gorgeous way to spend half an hour or more…… I found several styles that you might agree — and I thought — might suit me."
That was significant. He had been reading for pleasure and found some hairstyles — female hairstyles — that would suit him…. He was now in the mind-set of considering his appearance and how to make the best of it.
"Some wouldn't 'cos my hair's too short now… but even those could work if I grew it longer. Anyway, I did find some interesting articles and photo montages that showed the coming years' fashions and, d'you know, I think I'd look better in last year's!! Specially the blouses and summer dresses. I think the colours are much less flattering this year."
He was actively thinking about dressing and the colours that would suit him. That was a real change! He had never looked in a magazine - even one for men - before. He was obviously pre-occupied with growing his hair…. what joy! I was going to suggest that we have a fashion show with his trying on many of my dresses and doing a 'cat walk' for me.... We would do that soon! but as for his hair, I would love him to have longer hair, so that it would be more fun to work on him! Sooner rather than later, maybe!
"No time to talk about that now…. (I said stalling, playing for time!) There's your hair for today to deal with and, Annie, I'm expecting great things of you, honey!" That was true…… This was here and now and he had to do what was expected.
he interjected: "The curls are all un-rolled and they've cooled down well. I didn't get in a tangle at all when I took them out…….. It was really mesmerizing watching the way they took shape on my head after the rollers came out. I thought of you at work. You must do this every day on hundreds of women….."
"I do darling, I do… but you have to do this for yourself — like I do at home. You've watched me do it countless times…." Reassurance….. reassurance….. build his confidence……
"Yes, but never imagining I'd have to do it on my own hair….! You'll have to do it more times before I get good enough."
I had to take him through the process of turning his raw curls into a soft and flowing style that had body and femininity…… Although his hair wasn't long at that time, it would look perfectly acceptable if he did it right. And I wanted him to get the hang of doing it for him/herself. I spend my life cutting, rolling and blow-drying other women's hair. I do my own. He/she can do his/her own!
"You'll be fine, honey. Let me tell you how to make it easiest for you……. First, get yourself a drink and sit at the dressing table. You have got your undies on haven't you?" yes, he had, and some suspenders, stockings and shoes.
"OK, so now study the shape of your own face — you might not have done that for a while. Look at its shape and contours. Look at the way you look so very different without hair about the place. try to ignore the tight curls…. look at the face only for now. Think how it needs to be softened. Where do you need your hair to frame your face. Where are your best points that can be emphasized…. by putting hair elsewhere. You're creating more of yourself as an illusion by doing so."
(I realize now that I was getting over into a bit of psychology here… maybe a bit too deeply.)
"OK, OK, but what do I do with the curls!!???" He interrupted anxiously. Typical male!
"Cool it, honey…. I'll tell you now. You should first run your fingers through the curls… first of all because it will feel wonderful, and second, because it will loosen the rigid form of the curls themselves…. You have next to merge them into a complete whole… not a set of individual rolls.
Just stroke your scalp as the hair runs through your fingers. It's a beautiful feeling, for a beautiful girl like you, Annie."
There, I had said something that was 'over the line'. In these three days, I'd never called him a 'girl' before…… Maybe a mistake………
He hesitated. "Zoe.......Won't that spoil it?" Uncertainty crept in again…….
"No, my love, just do as I suggest — it's the way we always do it…. and when you've done it a few times, you'll find it really easy. This is how you learn to control your hair and make it really sexy."
"OK, if you say so……. what do I do then?"
"You stroke your stockings and feel the sensuality of them.... OK?!" I teased.
"It's different doing it for yourself to me doing it for you or another girl. You take the rolls you can't see, one-by-one, all around the nape of your neck, and you take the round brush and brush them through. One-by-one. You loosen the curl but keep its shape. You want a flattering softness to develop but with the shape of the curl maintained.
I was re-telling what my Hair & Beauty College lecturer had told me years ago. I had a mental picture of her, "tarted up to the nines" as they did in the 90's………. High blonde chignon, which I could even remember the colour….. Baby Blush from a Born Blonde range…. Clairol, I think — don't know if you can buy it now……
"Then, when they are feeling right, take the hand mirror and look at them. Do they flow? Do they have shape? Are they feminine enough? Then, you should move up to the crown of your head. There will be six larger curls running round from ear to ear, then another six in a cluster around the crown itself…….
Pick them up, again one by one and brush them gently through. Leave the first six as they are once you've done that….. they'll add volume enough lower on your head. The real volume comes from the last six. This is what will make the look so special on you."
"Th…th….thank you for making this so easy….. Zoá«... I do love you....." ….he stammered. I could tell he was nervy about this part of the whole day. "I sooooo want to get this bit right. You know how much I love hair… everyone's hair… yours, mine…. every girl’s…….. Thank you."
He showed a real desire then to get this right…. I loved him all the more for it….. After all, he was a passenger on this ride….. I was in the driving seat.
"Now, I have to go soon… I have to get back to work." I said. "There's one thing left to do with your hair…. spray it with clouds of hairspray to fix it in position. I'll run my fingers though it later just for fun but, until then, it needs fixing. Next, there are two or three things to be done before
I get home. You must eat and drink — a salad and a juice I suggest. You must practise eating and drinking without messing your lipstick! Remember what I do, every time, …..you must lick the glass to stop the lipstick staying on the galls, and you must eat with you mouth closed likewise, for the same reason. You must have faultless lipstick when I get home!. Tidy the home, make sure that there are treats around the place to discover when we're fucking….. make sure any toys you fancy are in place, within reach."
"OK." He understood. Preparation — for a night of endless fucking.
"Oh, and one thing, I didn't tell you. very soon after I get home, I want you to take off the pair of your jockey pants.......that I'm wearing now! There's a little surprise inside them for you!".
There, the promise was made…. The fucker had to stay where it was until home-coming! Though, he still didn't know what the surprise would be!
We closed the call with loving words. He remained nervy, evidently, but I did all I could to make him(her) feel good about what was in store……….
I returned to the salon and worked through the three women who were my clients for the afternoon. Thankfully, no late night working tonight. By 5.30pm, I was back in the car having learnt how difficult it is to pee whilst having a fucker in your pussy. Impossible!!!!
The car rolled through the traffic jams going home far too slowly for my liking. As it was growing dark,
I was able to slip my hand inside my trouser fastening and explore the jockey pants. No wonder men had little joy from underwear like this. It was only sexy for me because I knew what he/she was wearing to greet me at home! How dull. How lucky we girls are to have wonderful undies to enjoy every day!
I looked in the car's rear-view mirror. I saw the androgynous face that I'd worn all day. The hair slicked back and still parted, razor-sharp from the crown to the hairline. I felt the fucker in my pussy, or rather the tip of my cock between my thighs…. now that would be a man's treat! The female—to-nearly male transformation I'd undergone today was an added, and until this morning completely unexpected bonus. One I'd like to explore more…….
I decide to call him/her from the car, to increase the expectation and sense of wanting……
He/she picked up the phone and, as soon as she heard my voice, promptly dropped it.
"I hope you like what you see…… I hope I've done it well…….. I can't wait to see you…… Please hurry…." was all I got from him.
Chapter 6
My day at the salon had been enlightening. I came home a different woman, knowing that my husband would be a different man! Androgyny appealed to me more than I'd expected….. There were unexamined corners of our relationship that we might probe this evening. He/she, I knew, was nervous.
I, too, as his wife, was nervous but also extremely excited! I couldn't wait to reach the driveway at home……
The Homecoming
The call on the phone was brief. I wanted his expectations to be accelerated. He had to know I was nearing home. When the car drew up, he would almost be having heart failure, his pulse racing for sure.
All day, I had been having the joy of squeezing the fucker that he didn't yet know was in my pussy. My pussy muscles were ready for the evening's entertainment. I would expect him to go down on me very soon after I got home and find the tip of the fucker there. I would have him explore all round it and suck it as if it were mine….. fully completing the girl/boy role.
As I thought of this, nearing home, I squeezed my thighs together yet again and, this time, sitting in the car seat, I was conscious that the fucker was on the move. Where there was just an inch or two outside before, the wetness allowed another inch or two to emerge. I had three or four inches of a cock between my thighs! I was getting a hard-on! Or it felt like it……. WOW! I wanted to get home and kiss his lovely lipstick-laden mouth………….. The jockey pants were stretching to breaking point. If I wasn't careful, I'd cum, I was certain of that.
Faced with the choice of stopping the car and indulging that temptation, or going the last mile or two to get home, I opted for the latter. I would get to cum a dozen times tonight, I was certain of that! The fucker remained as far emerged as it now was…. I could live with that. I looked in the mirror again…. man's hair, girl's face.
The car reached the house, almost on auto-pilot. I wanted to get my hands on him/her…. now! The horn sounded unintentionally as I opened the door. More cause for heart failure for him!
I put the key in the lock of the front door….. and entered.
At this point, I wasn't in control… for sure. Events would unfold in a way that I might fantasize would happen, or maybe dread. It would all go according to my (supposed) plan or it would all go horribly wrong like it did early last evening. I, an instant, I prayed it would go wildly and excessively well!
And there he/she was!……….. Before me in the hallway.
Perhaps inevitably, I saw a guy in a girl's bedtime clothes…………. "Annie....." I said, you're gorgeous!". There he was. Praying for approval. It didn't matter at all. We would take care of the imperfections of his first attempts. In the long run, he would be girly enough - if not to "pass" - to be convincing, with me, at home.
His hair was flat….. Oh, damn, I thought, I'd forgotten in my hurry on the phone… I'd omitted to tell him to back-comb the crown to give it volume and height. It looked a little bit "mousey" - that would have to change and soon!
His make-up, in fact, was very well done indeed and so I complimented him there immediately.
"Darling, those eyes!!!" I exclaimed……. "….and those lips! Come here!"……. I ran to him and gathered him up with my arms around his waist. His arms were flung around my neck. Boy/girl clinch reversed.
I paused before kissing his lips, to accentuate the pleasure with a moment's more anticipation. My tongue passed across my lips, slowly. He mimicked this seductive little motion too.
Then we kissed, softly and gently at first, seductively on my part, and then flirtatiously on his.
At that minute, I was kinda glad that he was still a guy in my bedtime clothes…… Those three or four inches of the fucker between my legs were now clasped between my thighs. There was work to do and I felt good that I could make a significant improvement….. in a way, I guess he'd hoped I could even though he wanted so much to have my approval. His hair would be first —I had to admit my mistake in forgetting the back-combing. Then, I would take care of his eyeliner. Then he would need a lot of help in posture…. more than anything the way he was standing "shouted" uncomfortable!
"Ooooooh! Annie, I doooo love you!" I said, squeezing his waist. "Let me see your nails……."
Ahhh, there would be a need for help there too! He had tried his best I'm sure but there were traces of polish all over the place. The finger nails were god on his left hand but sadly misplaced polish surrounded the nails on his right.
"Trouble with being right-handed….." I said gently. "No worries, there's a technique you will learn. You did well with this one…" I continued, holding his left hand. "These are beautifully shaped and the colour is perfect. The shape on the left is good too — it's only the aim you're taking!" My hand strayed up his satin-covered arm.
"I wanted so much to get them right….. " He said hesitatingly. "…but no matter how hard I tried the polish wouldn't stay where I put it… Zoe, my hand wasn't steady and I guessed I was using too much. But it was exciting…. and that probably didn't help!"
The satin felt glorious to touch.
Confession! He was excited!
"It's very exciting darling, I'll put it right and show you a few tricks when I I've had a shower….. but before that, …. come here!" Another clinch, a prolonged and quite deep kiss this time. Hell, the lipstick would be ruined but that could be put right. I felt both our spirits rising….. and our cocks.
I slid my hand inside his dressing gown to feel for his tits. Inside… what joy! I found his lacy bra inside a satin camisole. "Oh, Myyyyyyyyyyy!!!!!" I purred. I stroked the skin over his flat smooth chest and rounded on the nipple, squeezing it hard and digging my own long finger-nails into the sensitive little button. I would eat that later!!! He recoiled but didn't object. His eyes flashed - the mascara making them dark and sultry, the bright blue colour of the shadow making them bright and enticing at the same time. "Oh, o..u..c..h……! He whispered.
I slapped his arse, quite hard, and said "Now, you make the Martinis — strong ones — and I'll take a shower. I'm going to have you for dinner tonight!" Stunned, because I'd never said anything like that before in our lives, he skipped away to do my bidding. I saw him go and thought about it. I really hadn't, had I? Ever. Told him that he was mine to have.
This must have been another example of the way I had been dressed all day, and the dildo grasped between my thighs, showing through in most butch behaviours. I was in control. He was doing as I told him. Partly, it was so that he would get a good fuck tonight. Partly, it was because he was being girly to my boyishness. Our roles were being reversed quite nicely thank you.
God! I felt horny at that moment. I felt the cock both inside me and outside me. Don't let anyone tell you that the 'G-spot' is mythical...... It's real! My pussy's lips were holding it fast. He did not know what was in store, but he'd soon find out! He might fear being penetrated with it at some stage but that was not in my mind at all. I would discard it and implore him to fuck me hard with his own cock to consummate the evening.
I stood in the shower, stroking my skin, smoothing the silky lotion over my whole body. slowly,
I explored my tits…. thinking how like my own his nipples had felt. He had no boobs, as such, but we could make him feel that he had in due course. I ran water through my hair which had been scalp-tight all day. Should I come out of character and re-do it my normal style? Or should I stay boyish for a while? Decisions, decisions!
Decided…. hair boyish, clothes girly in the extreme. Fresh make-up. Keep the dildo. That would be spicy. Like a guy in a dress… like he looked. I drilled a parting through my hair — razor sharp.
"Are the Martinis ready??" I called down the stairs. "I'll not be long, honey!"
"Ready and waiting." was his reply. I quickly dried my skin and powdered all over. I took the most feminine, flowing summer skirt from its hanger. No bra — not for me today. I took a fresh pair of jockey pants from his side drawer — the ones from the day were soooo damp. The dildo was still there and I couldn't resist a push and a pull! As it slowly slid over the lips of my pussy,
I shuddered with expectation of what was to come…. or cum! Not yet! Enough! I turned to the mirror and admired my own image. Beautiful flowing girly clothes topped with sleek hair and stunning make-up. "Cock" hidden. Shoes? Which shoes…….?? Boys' trainers (for oddity?) or heels (for seduction?)
Heels!
Down the stairs I strode, pausing briefly to locate him — he was in the lounge, sprawled across the sofa
with his legs akimbo, showing more than a "glimpse of stocking"….. something shocking?, oh no! The peach satin fabric glistened. He looked wonderful. Still a guy in my undies, but wonderful.
I can remember it as if it were yesterday, now I'm writing the memories down. What a beautiful way to spend an evening!
As I reached the foot of the stairs, he stood and came over, again putting his arms around my neck 'girl on guy' style. "You look stunning, Zoe!", he murmured. His hands ran over the sleek hair at the back of my head and the nape of my neck. "Mmmmmmm…..!, he purred. I responded with my hands around his waist once more and our lips came together.
"I'll fix your eye make-up when we've enjoyed our Martinis, then I'll make more of your hair! OK?". I could hardly wait. Because he would be made to eat my pussy on the way to those delightful experiences.
I don't know what he was thinking of just then because these were promises we'd both looked forward to. I saw a flash of uncertainty in his eyes but then it was gone in a second…. and he didn't even know about the dildo yet!
When I began planning what we were doing, I had thought about a strap-on but I was very glad now that I hadn't done that. This was our own fucker that we'd shared many times… and oh! so many times had I cum with its delicious form inside me! It was only right that we should share it some more. It was there for an effect on his mind — to emphasize the strength of my commitment to him however he wanted to be girl, boy, boy/girl, or whatever.
"OK, whatever you say, my lover. Here's your Martini. You can take me anytime, ..anyplace, ..anywhere, as they once used to say."
"Let's take them upstairs…………………………..!"
We were on our way! I led him by the hand and, on reaching the fourth stair and standing above him, I sat down. "Now, …..I want you now! Eat me first! Please, darling!" I said hoarsely, the man in me coming through and the "man" in my pussy getting a hard squeeze. The folds of my dress were soon parted as he sank to his knees.
The jockey pants were revealed. The moment was about to arrive. God knows how I'd been waiting for this all day. His breathing was shallow, probably as he was close to cumming himself.
I felt his hair in my hands and grabbed hard — this one wasn't going to get away! I was in control.
His tongue felt its way along my thighs towards my pussy where it loved to play. His lipsticked lips leaving a trail no doubt as evidence! His hands stroked the backs of my knees. The jockey pants were a barrier. But he buried his face in there — as he often did into my lacy panties like the ones he was wearing now.
Then, he tumbled to the surprise…… "Wha…….!???... Zoe??" came from deep between my thighs…..
A split-second later, his head emerged and I saw mascara-laden, eyeshadowed eyes as he said "Ohhhhh, you beauty!!!…………………………………"
He tore at the jockey pants to expose the lips of my pussy and the clitoris that was begging to be creamed. He took my cock in his mouth and his lips closed around it. As I squeezed and the dildo pushed outwards, my erection was complete. He licked slowly to avoid gagging on my cock and I began to shudder uncontrollably as the most intense orgasm I'd ever experienced came over me. My mind went blank for I-don't-know-how-long.
I'd left him behind and regretted that for a moment as I woke to find his head on my thigh and his tongue just reaching my clittie. I'd not waited… but I couldn't wait! Hours through the day meant I was cumming now, ready or not!!! Damn….. His breathing was slower now. I wondered if he'd cum in the meantime but it proved to be the case that he hadn't ejaculated. I noticed though that he was playing with one of his nipples as he kissed my love nest, his other hand stroking the satin of his camisole. "Zoe, my Zoe, you're a truly beautiful woman." was all he said.
We had to go on — to greater heights of ecstasy. I had to make sure we didn't lose this wonderful moment. Could we move? How could we move? I wanted my cock out and his cock in me. As I had these thoughts going through my mind, his tongue continued to have its effect and, sure enough, I was on my way to cumming again. My breath became short and my eyes closed as wave after wave of another orgasm engulfed me. God, he was good at this!!!!! knowing just what a woman wants.... Time and again, my body quivered as his tongue surrounded the now-superfluous dildo. I was cumming just from pure lust.
It seemed like hours later that I slid the dildo out into my hand, wiping it across his lips before
taking it to my own mouth to enjoy the taste the juices of my own cum. Not a word was spoken beyond my own two words……
"Annie... It's....... Your turn!…………………….."
Stroking the satin, I slipped the dressing gown from his shoulders. And so we climbed the stairs. His satin gown was now left behind us and his camisole, bra, panties, suspenders and stockings created the image of the girl I was about to mouth-fuck.
Wrong! As we reached the bedroom, his hands took over, swinging me towards the bed. The dildo dropped beside the bed. The martinis were spilled. In a moment, he was above me as I lay on my back. He was fighting the lace of my panties around his cock. Soon it was free and he was able to enter me, submerge in me, drown in me. He grabbed handfuls of my hair as he rested on his arms.
I had this girl on top of me, her hair curled, her eyes bright and dark the same time. Her lacy bra and silky camisole in my hands. Her stockings and suspenders rubbing down my thighs. Thrusting into me. Her cock was fairly firm but not huge and hard. Nothing like the fucker before it. But then, I thought in a lucid moment, a girl shouldn't have a full cock to fuck with - and nor really should this boy/girl I loved so much.
"Then, before, I was a girl… now I'm your guy." He said forcefully. I was no longer in control. For a while, he could lead. He could be in control. He could dominate if he so wanted. Looking as girly as he did, the wonderful confusion of our genders was complete.
In the after-glow we relaxed in the lounge. Our make-up restored and our exhausted bodies recuperating. There are no words to describe the feelings then. Looking back from months ahead, where we are now, this was an earth-shattering day in out relationship. It set the tone for the future that, thank heaven, goes on.
We're still together and we're loving the way we're able to love eachother. He is still "she" occasionally — like once or twice every week — and I'm in androgynous mode maybe once a week. But without that day, who knows what might have been? Remember, only the day before, he was a wreck having wanked himself senseless whilst I was at work. So much better to have reclaimed my plan and given him this day's preparations to make while I was at work.
There are many other things to tell you, my Reader, like how we have created a wardrobe for him/her, and how our role reversal works in practice. That's for a later chapter. I have to go on……
We recovered over another Martini and I moved to suggest that we make something more of his hair — to put right my mistake earlier. We then had to work on his fingernails. Advice on his posture would wait for another day. He was still lounging there like a guy would do but no matter.
"Your hair, my darling…." I whispered. "You did really well with the comb-out, and I have to apologize for forgetting one thing - we need to back-comb the crown to give you some lift and volume. We'll leave the curls lower down as you've made them… all petal-like laying on one another. Beautiful. But the crown needs some serious back-combing!"
"I can't wait, lover." he murmured.
Chapter 7
The best day of my life was unfolding. Pausing for breath before still more intense love-making, as we laid back with our Martinis, I, Zoe, considered the future. We, Annie and me, couldn't survive if we were going to fuck like this every day.
Moderation in all things!
I'd have to create the way towards this being a regular part of our lives. Until then, we should make the most of the uncontrolled lust that had overwhelmed us.
I took Annie's hands and studied them. "Nails first." I decided for him. No choice. "Then I'll add something to those eyes… those pretty eyes. Then we'll finish off your hair and your can parade for me. Show yourself off a little, my girl." The dominant male was consigned to memory for a while. I wanted him back as my girl. The light hairs on his forearms were soft to the touch as I prepared to complete
his manicure. Hang up the phones!! I thought!
The nail polish was an easy task. Some acetone and a cotton pad. They were cleaned up within a minute. The polish was located and the bottle opened. That wonderful smell pervaded the surroundings. I sometimes could swear that I smelled it in my sleep. Sooooo sexy.
I took hold of his right hand — the one that suffered from his 'cack-handedness' and very slowly I put two separate and quite thin coats of polish on each nail. He turned his hands around and admired them. Obviously comparing my work with his own…. "Zoe, my darling, I think I did very well… considering!", he rejoiced. His hands would make him an asset in his future days as a girl.
"Now, turn towards me...... away from the mirror, honey. I'm going to transform your eyes. You've done wonderfully well with the mascara and the eyeshadow. You've succeeded in bringing together total femininity with a kinda "come-n'-get-it" look. Your eyes were the first thing I saw when I came in the house. So, I come and got it!!!!" He blushed, and turned his chair away from the vanity unit. “You need eyeliner now, Andy” I said, reminding him of who he was……
He blushed, visibly….
I reached for the creamy liquid eyeliner that I'd planned to emphasize his look with. My face closed in towards his. I could feel his breath on my cheek. "Close your eyes now and keep them closed." Up close and personal, this was. Removing the brush, its pointed tip laden with dark black colour and I swept it across the two eyelids. First the right, then the left. He would be expecting something special.
As if the black were not enough, I then reached for another pot of colour and removed another pointed brush. This one was coated with a vivid blue that also sparkled in the spotlight above the mirror. A blue flash across his eyes as well! It complemented the eyeshadow beautifully.
"Keep those eyes closed! Annie... no peeking! You'll ruin the effect." I said shortly… I wasn't finished yet. His lipstick needed attention. All the kissing had worn it away somewhat. It needed freshening for what I hoped would come later. As I toughed his upper lip with the stick, he smiled broadly. "That's the way! The wider the smile, the fuller the lips!" was my response.
I turned him back to the mirror so he could admire my work with the eyeliners. Standing behind him. "Wonderful!"…., we said in unison.
What to do with is hair? It was several hours since it had been washed. The drying process for the curls round his crown was long since forgotten. The rest of his head bore superbly folded curls. But they were rather flat. Otherwise, somehow, the fucking hadn't disturbed them much.
The top was flat and somehow lifeless, largely because it was there that I'd grabbed his hair in mid-fuck. There was no style about it. I had to re-do the crown to make the best of his look tonight.
"You'll hate me for this…." I said, "….but I've got to put some of your hair back in rollers for a while." There was no question. This would regenerate the intimacy of earlier moments. As I did what I had to do to arrange the equipment, I was conscious of moving around for the first time without the cock in my pussy. There were no jockey pants here either. As I moved across the room, cool air wafted over my love nest and I was moved to twirl as a girl would do.
"Strictly Cum Dancing!" Andy chipped in, laughing out loud. "You're right, I'll hate you for that so get on with it and do your worst!"
"You wait, my boy! You'll have such backcombing after this you'll not be able to leave the room!" His crown hair that was about four inches long in those days would look great.
"Next thing, you'll have me sleeping in them, I guess." he chipped back.
"If that's your bag, boy…. You're on…. tonight!" He teased me, so that was a promise! And it was Annie's idea!
Looking into the mirror, he was forced to watch me wet his top hair and start to roll up the curls that would eventually adorn the style and make it memorable. Only six or seven rollers were needed. They were tight……. so he felt every move. Then I turned the hand drier on to full power and heat — none of the cool and slower drying under the domed hood. This was urgent.
The hair cooked quickly, changing colour back from dark to lighter as it dried. It took a few minutes. Soon, I was able to remove the rollers. I did so slowly, looking him in the eyes in the mirror as I did so……… Emphasizing that I was again in total control…….. His eyes were riveted to the image before him. He was deep in thought. His hands continued to stroke the satin of his camisole and he occasionally traced the lacy outline of his bra. Feeling very girly, no doubt.
He whispered, slowly and deliberately, "Zoe....... You know you could penetrate me with your cock if you want. I mean, if you want to carry on where we were going… before …….."
"Before you fucked me, you beautiful man!" I interrupted him.
So, he was going for this in a big way. But that wasn't in my plan at all………
"Well, yes, and you must know - er….. I have to say it again…. I'm only interested in you, darling… I'd expect people to say I was homosexual saying you can fuck me but I'm not……. I'm your guy, and your girl, and if that means………" His sentence trailed off. This was serious.
I had to reassure his again about my view of his sexuality.
"You beautiful, beautiful man!!!! Andy…. Annie! I can't imagine fucking anyone else! But for now, you'll do the fucking - or you'll fuck me with our fucker. The one we share."
The curls, no longer in their rollers, lay on his head. I seized one and ran a brush through it from end to end. I held it as high as it would go. Then I took a comb and began to work on it…. back, back, down, down to the root. As it developed into a cloud, I swept it to one side. Grasping a second curl, I did the same, sweeping it to the other side as I finished.
Three, four and five followed. The hair from these needed to be paced and spayed with hairspray before the last two were done. They gave him at least two and a half inches extra height before the curls swept over to make the final silhouette.
Curls six and seven I folded left and right across the front, to make a Sixties "feather style" — less back-combing and more substance to the rolls. I sprayed them and put long hairpins in. If hairstyles had titles, this would be "Touch me if you dare" …. and touch it I would… later! His hands continued to trace lines across the soft, silky lingerie that covered his body and his thighs. I paused, to join him, tracing the line of lace that defined the breast areas. Annie would be needing tits.. before long!
Throughout, his eyes had been fixed on mine and the way my hands were moving through his hair. He was studying his own image as it changed… from "guy with curls" to "girly". His make-up somehow ensured that the final look was "all girl"…. so different to when I got home. I had, indeed, had an effect. The bright blue slash across his eyelids intrigued me. The black eyeliner only serving to push the blue "in yer face".
My work was complete. My labour of love. I stood back, allowing the folds of my skirt to brush across his satin-covered back. I couldn't resist picking up the straps of his bra and the shoulders of his nightie and sliding my hands on to his shoulders.
"You're really pretty, sitting there, you know." I whispered so quietly he almost didn't hear.
I was falling in love all over again, but this time with a girl….. or a boy/girl if you insist…. This love was as deep as I felt for him when he was "just a boy". Now he had an added dimension which I found immensely attractive. Not just in terms of sex. It was opening a new sphere of caring — caring for another female entity…… The body was the same, but the way it worked was different. His responses to my initiatives when dressed this way seemed to be different to the way we are when we are girl and boy. He, as she, as Annie, was (and remains) softer and more lovable somehow. I guess I must have changed a lot in those first three days. Maybe I was becoming a lot less soft and lovable. Maybe we'll have to ask him…………
"Touch me if you dare hair" it was and I dared…… I reached up again and let the back of my hand caress his hair where the tighter curls were to be found beneath the crown and above the nape of his neck. Those shoulders were vulnerable. They invited a kiss. The hair was fragrant. It, too, invited me to bury my face within it. I stood behind him/her….. Had I chosen, and had the dildo been to hand, I could have taken him there and then. The temptation to fuck the boy of my dreams was growing stronger and I knew it
had to be resisted.
Three days not yet complete but we had travelled miles along my road. I had a feminized husband in the making. How far and how fast to go? At this rate, he'd be living full time as a girl by the weekend! We have to go easy.
I turned him to face me and took one of his hands and pulled it towards my neck. I got him to run it over my smoothed down hair.
"Set my hair for me, please. I want to go curly again. Spiral curls on tiny rollers. You can do it."
This should be a way to give him a different focus. To calm the lust we both were indulging. To give a rest and change direction. To put thoughts of fucking him out of my mind — and his if he were dreaming that way. It was enough to know I could.
"Let me try without instructions first."
"Well, would you mind if I changed before you begin?" I asked, wanting to get into my bedclothes as a prelude to more rampant sex later. I'd choose black, with the red ribbon trimmings and a pair of the highest heels I possessed. "Why not?", he mused…… to which I had no answer.
I was wearing next to nothing so the change took no time at all. Off came my floaty summer dress and there was nothing more to remove. I was naked with only a pair of shoes. These I changed for the high black stilettos and I crossed the bedroom floor to select the nightie from the wardrobe. Indeed, black, lacy and sheer, with red ribbon trimmings it was. A whore's "special" it looked.
Now I was ready to be his whore. But he was still in stockings and suspenders, a bra and camisole.
So, I had to be her whore. After all, why shouldn't lesbians have whores?
"Let's play games!" I said returning to the dressing table…………
The rollers were tiny and they were to be tightly tied. He/she sprayed my hair before taking strands up and on to them. There were dozens. It took rather longer than I expected but the effect was maintained.
The eye contact through the mirror was intense and continuous. By the time he was done, with a directional styling pattern that meant the curls would all spiral southwards when unfurled. It was time
for another martini…….. and to feed eachother with treats.
He had done as I instructed?, leaving treats around the house for me to find? He had!
"Go look for them, now." He/she demanded. In the bedroom, there were few places to hide. I looked through the wardrobes but found nothing — except the idea for what he might dress in later…….. I looked behind curtains and on high shelves, only to find what he'd placed on a side table out of sight from the bed. A plate of ice with four oysters embedded upon it! The food of love — if you don't count music, that is! I had never eaten an oyster whole until that day. Whether they have aphrodisiac properties, I can't say, but we've celebrated special sex days with them ever since. Not Martini now — cold, cold chardonnay.
As I brought the plate to him, he was again squeezing at his nipples. "Let me try that, please" was all I could say. "Eat an oyster off them then!", he challenged me. So I did.
Having eaten the oyster, I turned my lips back to his nipple and gave it a gentle but distinct bite……
"oh, o..u..c..h…!" (again) he said.
"There's more…..", he began. "Oysters?…." I asked. "No, treats…… go find 'em!", Annie teased.
Not in the bedroom, so where?? I couldn't guess.
"In the bathroom."
I looked everywhere, eventually finding a huge cock-shaped carrot which made me die laughing!!! "Did you say I could have you????" I giggled. "Not with that!", she roared in mock horror.
What would this "lady's whore" be expected to do next, I wondered.
"You'll find some crudités with avocado in the lounge……. I want to lick the sauce from your belly button and you can choose where you lick some from on me." And Annie disappeared…. Where was she going? I went to the lounge as instructed. Where to put the sauce on her????
The "small" of his back, above the "bikini line". That's where my tongue would go! Face down on the floor where a luxurious long rug was laid out.
He returned with more of the wine. She sat on the sofa and beckoned me over. "You look wonderful with your hair like that." He said this, admiring his handywork with the tiny rollers that would make my curls….. and make my day!
"Yours does too, honey." was my honest reply, looking at my own back-combing skills. Heavens… I was beginning to share this fetish he has for hair, in all its shapes and shades.
"Lay down…….", he indicated the sofa…….. And I did. He raised the hem of my nightie so that my abdomen was his to do with it what he wanted. The vision of his hair, make-up and underwear provoked such confusion in my mind. I knew it was he and yet, he looked even more like she! And then she/he took fingerfuls of the creamy sauce and put it in my belly button. I t was cold, having been in the chiller. Involuntarily, I flinched. A shiver spread across my body and tiny goosebumps appeared everywhere! "You make me purrrrrrrrrrrr!" I said, covering myself in the shock……….. "Do me some more!".
Immediately, his face — with its lips shining and its eyes blazing beneath curled and back-combed hair — sank towards my tummy. His tongue emerged between those wonderful lips and I felt on the point of orgasm just looking at him/her. The sauce on his lower back followed with equal impact.
An hour later, having discovered several other delicacies around the house, between intervals of almost casual fucking, we lay back on the bed and talked. It proved to be more sexy than could be imagined. We talked about eachother, and ourselves, and our self-image….. and the confusion we were introducing. A Psychologist would say we were bonding with the past experiments and making them acceptable…. as a prelude to what was to be the way it would be from here on, between us.
"What made you think of us doing this?", Annie enquired, almost studiously.
"My love of being a girl…… and recognizing that you have this delightful side to your "being" that meant you'd be willing to share it."
"How could you be sure of that Zoe?", he said, doubtfully.
"I couldn't — it could've all gone wrong… and it nearly did."
"I can't promise it won't again…. this is wonderful, but it is a bit extreme…..", she confessed.
"OK, if you feel that coming over you, tell me. It'll be alright…. really….. We should do only what we both want to do…… Suggestions welcome of course! We'll ride any storm. That's what girlfriends do for eachother....... Will you be my girlfriend? Annie... Will you?!"
Annie purred quietly and, without a word, indicated a very positive acceptance of the invitation. Her tongue reached toward my nearest ear-lobe and then traced itself up into my hair-line and down behind my jaw-line.
My new girlfriend smiled quietly, as if reflecting on the uncertainty that under-lay his last words….
Annie would probably break with the whole idea more than once in the days and months to come. What was important in my plan — and this talk was helping to reinforce this — what was important was we could recover. I could still have this vulnerable "girl" in my arms.
"I know it doesn't mean you're gay - I hate that word — you're not going to get carried away and go off hunting men to sleep with. I know that…….." Annie needed reassurance. I went on. To give her ...... More reassurance. "I've never understood why a homosexual man would want to shack up with a guy who's special love is cross-dressing. And you're clearly not 'trapped in a man's body' like some TG people say they are. You're just finding out the joys of cross-dressing. It's that simple."
"Mmmmmmmmm…………", he purred, stroking the lace of his bra. His cock rising again.
"So what about you?", my question putting the ball in his court. "What made you receptive to the whole idea?" I would appreciate knowing where to direct further ideas so they'd be acceptable to him/her. "There's been some reluctance, but there's also been a great deal of very willing indulgence!" I smiled lovingly, touching the fringe of his hair and the curls either side of his face.
"Oh, long story — long ago....." She paused........ "I've always had this fetish for hair and girly things . Ever since college days. Clothes are part of that I guess. Girls' clothes. I've not told you all the details but you know I was heavily involved with one girl then — and several mutual friends. She was 'Ginger' because of her natural hair…… Where you're "auburn" and I love it, she was very 'ginger' and I loved that too."
I knew a bit about that time in his life — I knew he'd cross-dressed briefly — a few weeks, or months? How else did I know that he'd found mascara difficult?! He went on to tell me more and how, some time later, the relationship with Ginger had finished….. and how he had "put the CD idea in its box and (thought he had) thrown away the key."
I wanted him to know — as he surely did — that I wanted him now both as a man and as a woman. For as long and as often as he would be happy.
"Darling, tonight is being wonderful, I know you agree. But you must know that you have the choice — when to be a boy and when to be girly…. I'll say it again. No pressure. I just love you either way — and I love your special 'extra' package that no other girl I know possesses."
He interrupted. "Zoe…. I love it enough to ask if I can have some things of my own…. to keep out in the open, just between us. I don't want anyone else to know — this is private stuff."
That was a "crossing point" — into another phase… and far sooner than my plan envisaged! It might have taken three months if I was lucky, I had thought… but three days!!!???
"Oooooh! Sure we can — I'd love it if you could - We could go shopping, couldn't we? I happily enthused.
"Just undies, …and make-up, you know. No outside clothes. I've no need to go out and 'BE' Annie for anyone else but you. I want to be a girl just for you!". He was emphatic. His cock was clearly throbbing.
This is the way it's to be. WOW! prayers answered, I thought.
We lay there, continuing to talk.
"How does it make you feel when you've dressed like this? I'm intrigued to know… because I've felt very different today and I've only been half as far as you have!" I genuinely wanted to know, because there had been an effect on my behaviour today — and all I'd done was wear his jockey pants and a shirt and tie…….. Oh, and I'd done my hair differently, of course.
"Your er... assertiveness… has been a significant part of my acceptance of this." Annie said, slowly.
"Don't worry, baby……. I wouldn't push as hard as this if you weren't so willing….."
His face dropped…… "You don't think I'm being too much of an easy lay in this, do you? Well, I mean, I don't drop my knickers for any girl with a cock between her legs!" And he looked up again, smiling. "I just feel so sexy when you've put these things on me and you've made me capable of doing make-up that transforms me so…. and your piece de resistance is the hair……
I just love the way it feels to the touch…. OK, it's not long enough yet, but I think you've done wonders with what's there………"
YET??!! yes, I heard him right. I think he was hatching plans of his own.
"When you say 'yet', what d'you have in mind, honey?" I probed him…… was it a throw-away line, or did he mean something deeper?
"Did I say 'yet'? … ", he sat back….. "…then I must have meant 'yet'. How long could I grow it before going out would be a problem — given the people we know?
"People are very relaxed about the way we all look. I'd say that a chin-length page-boy bob cut would be good — that would make a short pony-tail and who doesn't have a pony-tail sometime in their lives!? Longer than that….. makes a longer ponytail. I think it should be cut perfectly for a girl's style and whatever pony-tail you have, ….you have!" My thoughts began to run away with what I was saying…. I forgot myself a bit…… Don't go tooo far…. Don't rush him!
He went on with his own train of thought….. "You see, I like it dressed as I am round here. And I've no worries about wearing make-up on working days when you're out and about so I look and feel attractive when you get home…… It's the weekends that I'm less able to be confident about. What if people call in unexpectedly?"
"Annie has to hide." I put it bluntly.
"Exactly,…." , he conjured up a picture in his own mind…… "Frightening!"
"Not at all, unless you want to go much further with this…..?" I had to test him out.
"No, that's exactly the point. The thought frightens the living daylights out of me — being discovered by anyone else but you." He admitted.
"Tell me more about why this is different, honey." I coaxed him to open up some more.
"Well, it's hard to describe…." I remember this bit very well as I'm writing……. "There's a big part of me wanting to do this, more and more in fact, and there's a little part of me that says it's wrong …….
No, be honest with myself, there's a quite a big part of me says it's wrong. The worry is that I really hope you don't feel this is stealing anything from you — your "self"; the girl in our marriage…….. I mean, there's only room for one woman……. what did Diana say? 'There were three in this marriage and it got crowded', or something…… I really don't want to crowd you in any way………… I'm not stealing your identity… lovely though it is and if I were a girl I'd want to be like you more than anybody else……."
Crumbs! Complicated stuff……… I had to reflect on what he'd said….. Maybe it was true. What was I doing?
Giving some part of myself away???? In giving him this wonderful hairstyle and make-up, was I forcing myself to go "andro"? In giving him that make-up, should I stop wearing cosmetics too? No fear — I wouldn't do that… I love prettying myself up. In letting him "inside my knickers" — quite literally — was I giving him the girl's role?
"Absolutely not! ", I uttered, half answering these questions in my own head, and partly saying that he
was to be himself — as a girl or a boy…..
Plenty to think about as we drifted off to sleep at last; me in my nightie, him still in his camisole bra, panties, stockings and suspenders. We should have taken off our make-up but neither could be bothered, such was the contentment between us.
************
We're into the days subsequent to my plan's initial phase — my plan to get my husband Andy to enjoy the feminine side of his character, Annie. So much had happened in the first three or four days that I knew then that we had to take a breather and maybe slow down. If the behaviours and enjoyments we had reached were to become a regular part of our lives — as I hoped they would — then a "slow, slow" before another "quick, quick, slow" phase was in order. So, I had to create the right atmosphere. It began the next morning…….
***********
The rest of the first week
We awoke the following day with my husband still dressed in his/my undies and with his make-up and hair still — as far as possible after a night's sleep — still girly. We both awoke together but I had already planned how this morning would be….. He needed to be a boy again, just for a while.
"Up you get — you can shower first…." I began. "A fresh start, Andy my lover. Shampoo that hair, cleanse you face and get yourself dressed, big boy style please."
"OK, hon, you're right. That would be good."
No make-up, no hair styled, no knickers — let him feel good about himself as a guy today….. Let's do usual things, I'd tell him. We would save any 'playtime' until later - or maybe even tomorrow. I'd judge things as we went along. I kept with me the image of him as he removed his female underwear and went into the bathroom to shower. As I looked at his disappearing torso, his hair 'big' from last night, it was a girl as much as a guy going in there. It would be the guy in him coming out again in a few minutes.
I'd spend the day in gorgeous femininity at work and then return refreshed.
He needed to be organized again though. He had work to do at his home-office desk, I knew that. However, I needed to keep him in touch with his 'herself'……. He didn't know yet, but….. I'd send him on a (first) shopping trip on his own……. As a guy, I'd planned to send him to the local department store to buy a lipstick. And then to the local M&S store to buy some underwear…..
Just one lipstick. (He would be sent back to buy other things there in the coming days but wasn't to know that today. He was to get to know the cosmetics counters well over a few days…… and the girls there would get to know him.)
He'd grow to like that, I was sure. I would insist that he told me all about each trip when I got home each evening. In minute detail…. Who said what; how he felt; how he made his choices.
It would be less likely for him to get known at the M&S underwear department — they change staff too
often and the service isn’t nearly as ‘personal’.
"Hurry up, darling." I called — I had to shower and get ready for work. It was a busy day at the salon that I couldn't be late for. Miss your first appointment and they all get behind from the start. There was a regular client in first thing who had a complicated colour job to be done as well as a cut — big business for the salon and, in any case, a woman whose hair I enjoyed working with.
"Be done in a minute!" came his reply. And soon enough, there he was, wrapped in a towel, his hair all wild and natural, his face devoid of make-up. The only give-away to our days of role-play was the nail polish on his fingers and toes. "You can't even get away with that……." I said, pointing to the offending items. "Remover pads at the ready!".
He was done with that by the time I returned from the shower, I too now wrapped in a towel with my hair all wild and no make-up…… The only difference between appeared between the folds of his towel! Yum, yum! I thought………….. And I knelt down in front of him!
***********
And then I was late for work!!!!
***********
"Sometime today, Andy...... anytime you feel like a walk to the shopping centre, I want you to go shopping. We have to get you some things for yourself and there's no reason not to start today. We'll do it slowly, one or two articles at a time……. “
He was to be dressed as a guy for this….. No question. How much he disclosed of his “interest” in these things was up to him!
“First, I want you to visit the department store where they have a wonderful array and choice of cosmetics. I want to find you home tonight with your very own lipstick — that you’ve chosen for yourself. You must go in and take your time….. I suggest the Christian Dior counter — they have the best choice and also the sexiest counter staff. You’re to pick up one lipstick tester and rub it across the back of your hand — to assess the colour. Then another, and maybe another. By then, you’ll have attracted the attention of the saleswoman. She’s offer assistance and …. Well, you can play it as it comes from there. You have to find a reason why you want a lipstick — any lipstick — and then you have to have her help you make a choice! Simple!!!”
“Just one? “ he asked. “One is enough for you, my girl…..!” I retorted. “…. Because you have another purchase to make.” Andy’s eyes narrowed…..
“So, today, you're also to go to M&S. Easy to find, you've been there lots of times. But you've not been to Women's Lingerie. At least not with me, you haven’t! So go there and find it — it's on the first floor, hidden away a little, so it's very discrete."
"What am I looking for?", he asked quietly, his face betraying his thoughts. "What's she expecting me to do…. try things on???!" Now, whether he wanted to or not, that was a bridge too far, for now!
"You're looking for knickers, plain and simple… or rather not… rather more as pretty as you can possibly imagine…. I'm talking lace… lots of lace…… and maybe ribbons and bows. You'll find lots on different cuts and styles. There'll be high leg ones, French-style ones, and bikini ones, and ……thongs … but don't even go there! You have to choose one pair….. no more… just one….. that you fancy. You might like to check out if they have matching bras… but don't buy one of those today....... just check they've got them to match… because I've got an idea that you'll need one someday quite soon!"
"I like the sound of doing this… I really do…… but won't the salespeople think I'm odd…..?
"Well, I guess they won't because Annie, you are!!" I replied, teasing him mercilessly. "No, no, they get guys in there buying knickers every day, I'm sure. And it's not as though you need to ask for help. You just need to know your size…. Your size as a woman."
"Well, what size am I???" he said searchingly.
"I doubt you'll want to ask them, eh?" I teased again. "You'll be an English size 16 or 18… and I've no idea of what that is in European measurements."
"And you're a 14, are you?" he asked, almost too casually……..
"Yes, but why do you ask?" I said, feigning surprise but knowing it meant he was trying to judge his size — in my knickers — against his own.
"Oh, nothing, no reason…." he said, unconvincingly. I let it rest. He would have to work it out for himself and if that meant trying my undies on again, well, so be it.
"Is that all? All I'm supposed to buy?" he asked as if disappointed.
"Yes, for today, that's all you get!" I flirted with him and left the house for the day.
On the drive to work, I reflected on how fast to push the process. The next few days should be gentle….. little steps at a time…. no great surprises. No causes for alarm. No shocks to the system but gentle securing of the steps we'd already taken, "him/her" and me. That's why he was to buy only one pair of knickers on this first visit to M&S.
As soon as I arrived at the salon, I was immersed in the needs of that first quite demanding but interesting client's hair. Mid-50s lady, tall and elegant, carried herself well. Always well dressed — spent a fortune on her clothes. Always immaculately made-up. Perfect nails, Probably very good at sex.
Crowned her image with a sandy, beige blonde bob.
I mused over something Annie had said a day or two ago, while I was applying the client's colour…… "Could we do something with the colour (of his own hair)?" he'd asked…….. and I'd suggested something not very permanent — maybe some jazzy temporary rinse…. hhmmmm.. I thought about that……. Maybe next week? Maybe. Hair's his fetish, after all. Maybe the same for both of us?
The day was enjoyable — lots of variety, lots of different clients, all wanting something different. Some new clients, again wanting new treatments. That's what I love about my job…… and what I'm beginning to like in my hubby!
Mid-afternoon gave a break in my appointments book. I thought I'd give him a call. Maybe tease him some more — in a nice way. The phone rang and rang at home. No reply. Good! That meant he was out and maybe I'd find him in M&S searching for a pair of sexy knickers. Maybe he would even be checking his preferred purchase against the bra selection… there had to be a match!
"Hi, I can't get to the phone so please leave a message." said his voice-mail. What to say? Pausing for a second, I teased him anyway: "I doooo hope you've found what you're looking for honey, and I dooooo look forward to seeing you wearing them tonight!. Love you!" That would make him smile, I hoped. My pussy was wet just at the thought of my home-coming, remembering the way I'd left him this morning, towel hanging open, cock smothered in lipstick after the blow-job I'd just given him. Ok, so his cock hadn't been huge but I'd milked him just the same. The taste of his cum came flooding back. Yummmmm!
My last client was, I knew, one of the few outright lesbians who came to the salon. She was a beauty and revelled in the way she looked. She flirted with all the stylists, me included, and today was no different.
"Not changed your mind over my offer last time I was here Zoe?? It's still open. Your place or mine…. You can do what you like with me so long as I get to do the same to you." she said, lowering her voice to an almost discreet level.... "You can read me poetry before we fuck eachother if you like." And she meant it! (She knew my love of poetry…….)
She went on… "You can choose the colour for my hair this time, darling — make me red if you feel submissive, make me blonde if you fancy being on top, and make me black — blue black — if you want me in the dark."
It was unreal. She'd asked once before. Hairdressers do have the oddest conversations on the quiet with their clients — and I've had a few — but she was a first!
For once I was tempted……………. (and she went home blue-black!) The rest of the day passed uneventfully…..
I, too, stopped off at M&S on the way home, wondering who would have served Annie earlier in the day. I fancied a new body-shaper and so I went in to get one.
Home-coming was a more low-key affair than the day before — it could hardly be otherwise. Andy greeted me at the door and hugged me round the waist as my hands reached for his neck - very much a boy — girl clinch. I was delighted to taste lipstick on his lips — he'd obviously found a "birthday suit" coloured stick in my selection on the dressing table. Tasty! Otherwise, he was all boy tonight…. except, of course for the hidden delight he'd have bought, as I instructed.
We kissed for a long time, our tongues exploring. I licked all around the outline of his upper and lower lips, tracing the cupid's bow shape he'd fashioned above and the full sumptuous curve below. No husband I knew would greet his wife this way….. the little counted for a lot. He'd been thinking 'sex' almost all the day I reckoned.
"You look wonderful…." he began, "… I've soooo been looking forward to you coming home and I've had a great day…. I've got lots of work done and that gave me time to go to M&S like you said I should……. Oh, boy, that was an experience……. It wouldn't be for you maybe but, well, there was no need to go to the men's department. It's a boring in there….. I headed straight for the women's area like you said…. the lingerie was over at the back. I had to walk through some delightful clothes to get there — some you'd look really good in. I kinda got 'shopping' in my system if you know what I mean………"
"You look wonderful too, Annie, my honey…… Why don't you put on some more lipstick — 'cos it's all gone —and let's talk more about eachother's day….. I can't wait!"
I wanted to savour these moments. He was quite so excited it was amazing. Enjoy shopping??? A guy?! This was a FIRST!
He made tea as I sat in the lounge, busily attending to things in the kitchen.
"Did you wear lipstick all day?" I asked, half expecting that he had — but hoping that it had just been for my home-coming. "No, darling, you didn't suggest it, so I resisted the temptation."
There! Sharing… Just for the home-coming… that was what I wanted!
"You beauty!" I exclaimed. "….Quick, do as I say — loads more!!!! … Oh, and I'd prefer you with colour this time!"
"Annie" reached into her pocket and produced one of my slim Christian Dior lipsticks and went to the little mirror by the door. His manner showed me that he had been practising with this moment in mind. He made the shape of his lips exquisite. I was beginning to like this!
“I didn’t tell her why I wanted the lipstick, but I did enjoy the choosing! There are sooo many to choose from!” he eulogized.
"Mmmwwahhhh!!" he mouthed, as he blew me a kiss, theatrically.
Tea first, then talk……. I wanted to know all about his day. "Tell me how it felt going in to the M&S store, knowing what you were there for… let's begin there." I asked.
He was off! On a diary……. "Oh, no, it began before that — when I left here, I had a really warm feeling inside… as if everyone who I passed knew where I was going. One or two smiled "hello" and I took that to mean 'we know where you're going!' Bet they didn't though! But then again, I'm sure my heart beat faster because of it. M&S has lots to offer — why can't men get the same amount of choice in the clothes they wear… Anyway, you were right. I found the things I was looking for under the eagle eye of a Sales Supervisor who seemed to notice me as soon as I got in there…… She didn't say anything for a while, as I was looking….."
He went on, hardly pausing for breath. "…….The important thing you said was to look for a matching set of bra and knickers - well, there were some where they were together….. with suspenders too…… and some where you had to look in separate aisles. I think she thought I'd been there long enough when she came over and asked if she could 'help with anything'."
He was clearly excited just telling me about something so everyday and ordinary….. Excited!
"I said no thanks…. well, I could hardly ask her to measure me as a 16 or an 18 could I? Anyway, I'd already decided I was a 16 and to risk them being a bit tight. So it was obviously time to make the choice………. And so I got these…", he said as he unzipped his chinos and allowed them to fall. Stepping out of them, he said…. " D'ya like them, Zoe, honey?"
I loved them… and told him so! I pulled him down on to the sofa and kissed him again.
"You're such a cutie! They're just right……… You're going to enjoy things to go with them. We'll get you a shopping list — today was just a taster. The next thing I want you to do, tomorrow, is to go back and find that same woman and ask her for help… in choosing the bra to go with these lovely knickers……. and to choose another set…. another bra and some more panties. There's no doubt she'll be pleased to help you."
Reassuringly, I was telling him it was OK to go out on his own and buy feminine things.
"But what size bra should I buy? I've no idea…….. I know what size you wear but… but your tits are much bigger than mine! I'm not growing tits…….." The spectre of changing his body shape clearly was a sudden revelation and it bothered him…. More reassurance needed.
"No, honey, no, no , no…… Well, we can measure you here and that will be fine…… and no, you're not growing tits. (yet? I wondered.) I can tell you exactly the size you need…… but then, there is a belief that 70% of all women are wearing the wrong bra size, or 'cup' size….. and you should really start off in the right size. (Wait for it, I thought, deep breath…..) The best thing would be to ask the woman you met to measure you. I'd guess a 38A."
(There, I'd said it… risking him 'sharing' the experience with another woman…. but the enhancement of the fantasy carried me away, I well remember).
Annie's face flushed red and I went on….
"You can choose a really quiet time in the store… like very first thing in the morning…. and you can invent a reason…….. the classic one being 'a dare or a bet that you've lost' or a fancy dress party that you're going to……. She'd understand……."
She'll understand all right……. She'll understand that you're very nervous about cross-dressing but she won't be shocked, I thought to myself. You won't be the first and you won't be the last that she's seen.
"….. and while you're there, have a look at the corsetry racks…. you'll find things called 'body shapers' that a nice tight lycra body wear — cover you from tits to pussy. Just look!"
His face was a study……. Was I really telling him to do this? Should he really approach a total stranger and ask her to measure him up…. for a bra!? He was torn between wild excitement and total embarrassment……. between 'should I?' and 'shouldn't I'? He remained speechless for some time…. I remember it as well as if it were yesterday.
(He subsequently confessed that he'd thought about asking the woman for 'help' himself when he left her the first time….. It was a temptation. He hadn't thought about how to explain or excuse the need to be measured for a bra… he would just have, well, said that's what he needed. He knew she would have guessed what was behind it. She had been so friendly, he didn't really care. His dilemma over my suggestion was whether he should admit to me how much it excited him!)
I had planned to suggest that he go further in his shopping trip tomorrow — and visit the department store's cosmetics counters — but I thought again, enough was enough on that day. How wonderful that he would be going back to buy much more intimate female clothes tomorrow. Our secret — to share with eachother.
For the rest of today, though, he would be all boy. I wanted fucking tonight and I meant for him to know it….. whether it was him, or the fucker we share, or both…. I was hot for it. I resisted the urge to take him there and then. A Martini seemed like a good suggestion!
**************
The morning after was like the others recently, except that he wore no undies, no make-up and his hair was boy-style today. Nevertheless, we were both feeling very sexy and a follow-up to "last night" was very much on both our minds — gently, lazy, hazy fondling and petting eachother. His tongue was in good form that morning. I was able to cum, and cum again, as the waves of pleasure flowed over me. Annie knew how to please a girl! We finished with me giving a good old fashioned blow job to "my man".
My man who was going shopping again today.
**************
After the goldrush!
"You were right. Bra size 38A cup — was what she told me I needed." He began his description of his day the following afternoon. We settled down to exchange our news, like before, but my day at the salon hadn't been notable in any way. My mind had been 'elsewhere' of course.
"She came over to me after I'd been there a little while, examining the bras this time. "Forgotten something?", she asked me……. as if she knew the answer….. I was prepared for that or some-thing like that… ", he claimed! "….. and so I said she was right, I needed a bra to go with the knickers I'd bought yesterday. I'd planned to say they were a present for my wife and I forgot the top half!…. And that I wanted another set. …but half-way through I thought why lie? Because she'd be shocked? I don't think so!
She didn't strike me as the type who'd be shocked by anything …… so I just said "yes, a bra to go with the knickers — these ones — and maybe another set, too."
So, he'd done it… no excuse or explanation………
"So, what did she say to that?" I asked. It could have gone two ways… she might have said "fine, here you are… " and left him alone, ……..or she might have said "fine, do you need help?" A lot rested on this, or rather which, question.
She did the latter…... asked him if he needed help. Now that could have been in the choice of style, or it could have been in the sizing.
She chose the latter.
He continued…. "she asked me…… "What size do you, er.. she paused, …..does the lady need?"
WOW — make your mind up time! We both thought.. "This was IT!"
……. and he went on obliviously…….
"…..So I said, well, my wife says a 38A but that this should be checked……. and d'you know what? … the crafty cow made me come clean….. she said 'Well, where is your wife?", probably thinking that you didn't even exist and I'd made up being married ….. So I bare-faced it…. I said "Oh, it's not for her, it's for me."
Brilliant. He'd 'come out' to a complete stranger. It was all part of his admission to himself that he was, indeed, is, a cross-dresser and, now, doesn't mind people knowing. He later admitted to me that this was one of so many critical moments but one he looks back on with special pride.
"Well done, I'm proud of you. You must tell me a bit about her and how she handled the revelation, …well done….!" I hugged him and let my hand stray towards the satin of the knickers that were now within my reach.
"It was so scary…… before I knew it, she was saying "Come this way" and marching off to the fitting room,, smiling at me over her shoulder. There was no other customer near us so I felt kinda safe not being threatened…… if she'd had other customers, I guess this would never have happened. And d'you know, she treated me just as if it was you standing there… but all the time I felt that she was really understanding… you know, wanting to make it easy for me… in fact, to help live out my fantasy — which she clearly knew we had entered……
"Slip off your top…" she told me, "..is this your first fitting?" she went on……. And so it was. She put her measuring tape around my chest, both below where my tits would be and right across the nipples and then she measured something across my back, letting me face the mirror and see her attending to me…. You know, I think I was falling in love! She was soooo kind. We had a conversation and she was kind enough to say that I had more than enough up here" to fill apretty lacy bra with an "A" or "B" cup. Her suggestion was to take the "A" cup and see how it was, adding a pair of silicone pads to "boost my bust" before thinking of the "B" cups. So, a pair of inserts was added to my bag. She told me to slip my top back on and then said I should look for 38A bras….. and probably an 18 in panties next time. I just wanted to hug her!"
"Good job you didn't!" I exclaimed…… ".. but you've found someone you can go back to, which is nice. I doubt she'll forget you. What was she like? — I want to know so I recognize her when I'm in there next time."
He thought for a moment and said "Well, she's blonde — that lovely beige colour with some light and some darker part, all quite highly styled with curls you can see are separated. She's tall, about 5ft 9 or 10, and well, ...shall I say, she'd more a size 20 than a 12! Aged about 45, nice legs……
"Enough!……" I said. He really had fallen in love! "Well, she's done you proud. So off you went to select your purchases?"
"Indeed, she didn't follow but she did say "see you soon, I hope". So, I hope so too!" "Love!"
I thought that his day as a boy had been the right thing to do and I was right. He had woken as a guy, and we had screwed as boy and girl. He had gone out as a guy and he had bought female underwear as a guy. Excellent. He remained in 'boy' persona.
"So, you now have two bras and inserts, and two pairs of matching knickers?" I asked. "Indeed, I do.", was his reply. "I'll show you them later."
My decision to leave it at that tonight was also right. I had quite intentionally slipped a phial or two of temporary hair colour into my bag as I left the salon. I thought that it might be nice to play with his suggestion that we "do something about the colour" of his hair. But he'd indulged my fantasy in spades today — better than I could have hoped or planned for. This was working! Not too fast, again I told myself.
We spent the evening relaxing and, for the first time in a while, not gagging for sex. There was all the time in the world for that! Boy and girl…… albeit boy-in-knickers. Bedtime was wonderful. A pantomime almost. He made a show of opening his parcels and putting on his new purchases. Beautifully done. He was really enjoying himself and I loved watching….. I kinda appreciated, for the very first time, how guys get a kick out of striptease….. That was what it was…. unstrip ------- tease!
Needless to say, the teasing worked well, for both of us!
And then. again, we slept.
****************
I had more in store for his next excursion but decided that today would be a rest day……. He could dress if he wished but nothing new to push the boundaries. That could wait until tomorrow.
My plan didn't require a total transformation at all, nor an immediate one. I wanted to make us enjoy
subtle (subtle!!??) changes on a gradual basis……… What had happened so far was more than expected……
Maybe I myself was getting a little concerned……… Now, he seemed to be "in the driving seat"… but then again, no he wasn't —
He had bought himself a lipstick — a first one at least. He would buy more! I had put him through the trips to M&S. I had determined that it was knickers only first time and bras and knickers next. It was me that suggested the "help" he should ask for.
No, I was in control. This is Zoe's party.....
As we sat over breakfast coffees, I casually said "Be a boy again today?" and his response was immediate: "Oh, I think so… a girl can have too much of a good thing!" He had work to do that would take him out, he explained, and he wouldn't be back until after my usual arrival time.
"Well, you could always wear those lovely undies, darling Annie." I suggested.
"Mmmmmm, I was hoping you'd say that, Zoe. That'll be enough just for today though." He replied with a smile and a suggestive look that meant tomorrow would be different.
My husband Andy's falling into the role he was beginning to play; the coquettish girl/boy; when the opportunity arose, was encouraging.
He was clearly loving the way we sparred with eachother in little moments like these. Maybe tomorrow would be a good time to move things along. He knew nothing of my next suggestion.
I have asked Andy to remember the time, in that first week or so, and what his feelings were. He's offered the following comments to clarify just how willing he was at this stage to go on with the process of building his female alter ego…… Here is what he's written.....
**********
Andy/Annie writes………
I understand what Zoe is doing here...... She has asked for my take on what was happening that first week...... It's too long ago to remember in detail — at least three years now — but that was a time when
I was going through a lot of changes and some of them were welcome, some were not.
When my wife took the first steps, suggesting such mild fantasy play, I was really ready for a little escapism. It probably helped that my college days had brought me quite a lot of experience in girls' clothes and hair & beauty. Those had been totally absorbing for several weeks and, while I was still living at home, something to keep secret from parents and share with friends. The girlfriends I shared the hairdressing competition with were stunning — they were all very focussed, as I was, on helping a friend to get practice in her job and, later, to help her win a novices' competition. That I'd spent hours as a girl at the time, and really loved the way I was treated as one of the group, meant that now, in my twenties, my wife's suggestions found me very susceptible to CD playing!
I was ready for it — though up to that time I'd never have suggested anything to my wife like dressing in her clothes, or using her make-up, or having her style my hair. She started it — and to this day, I'm still thankful she did. She's the love of my life and, now I can respond to her in two ways, she can feel able to play two roles herself. I love her when she cross-dresses... in some of my guy gear..... But "Andro-her" comes out much less often than my Annie, i.e. me, but she/he's very welcome when she/he does.
We have found a wonderful way to indulge both our fantasies. It's not been without its set-backs and losses of confidence (mainly on my part) but it means I'm able to be a girl some days as well as living as a guy. There is a heaven… really!
Zoe returns……
There, you have a little interlude between my writings that may give a picture of where we are today. Now, back to how we got here……
So, he went off to his business meeting that day, dressed in his undies but, to the world, a guy in a business suit. The bra and panties were his secret. A secret that only I shared. Heaven. His outer wear is conventional, his hair long but natural.
This was a Friday — the end of the week. Playtime could follow; uninterrupted for three nights and two days. How would I make the most of that? I spent most of Friday planning the details. I knew overall that I wanted us to have sex as often as we could, in as many guises as we could.
He would be she. He would be he. I would be she. I would be he.
He would be Annie. He could be Andy. I would be Zoe, but I could be a "he", couldn't I?!
He would be going tomorrow to the department store to get some lipstick. Maybe Sunday, he would be going again, this time to buy some more cosmetics.
I had the hair colour from the salon. Maybe tonight we could play with that. He had asked, after all! I said "jazzy" and I meant it — this was a purple/burgundy shade. Maybe I could take home some paint-on silver for a 'flash' to go with it, around his temples…… where I would set his kiss-curls …….. Lovely ideas!
As I stood with my clients, my thoughts made me wet around the pussy. How delightful! What was he thinking, I wondered.
Friday night home-coming was strange for me… He wasn't there. I hadn't heard from him during the day either. I was longing to see him — and begin to make him "her" again. There were plans to put into place……
Having made sure there were Martinis in the fridge, I went to the bedroom. His fresh underwear came to hand and I laid it on the bed, together with my peach satin dressing gown. I would give him that to have for himself from tonight onwards. He could even come with me to buy a replacement at the same department store. Maybe I'd watch him from a distance as he went to the cosmetics counter and asked for more help. I laid "our" cosmetics on the dressing table.
I found the fucker that we both loved so much…. the dildo that would fill me up later. Hell, why not have a little pleasure first, before he returns?! So, ………I did.
There, alone on the bed, I writhed and wriggled with delight as the fucker went in and out. I took it out and sucked it well. Joy!
Nothing yet done with my own appearance, I was surprised when I heard his car arrive on the drive. Got to get ready! I ran to the bathroom and into the shower.
There was something natural about the way my hair stayed as it was at the end of the shower — slicked against my head as before. I carefully applied styling mousse to make it stay like that.
"Had a good day??? I'm just in the shower." I called when he came in downstairs.
"Brilliant! Fancy a Martini?!", he replied.
What to wear? He was still in his business suit……I went into my little dressing room.
"Come and get changed first!" I implored him — I wanted him out of the man's things… now!
"OK, it's been a hot one, so I need a change.", he agreed. He'd find the clothes on the bed!
He climbed the stairs and came into the bedroom…. "Wow! No secret what you have in mind!", he exclaimed, with a sudden excitement in his voice.
"Exactly! You have three minutes to shower and change." I teased. Enough time for me to choose what I should wear tonight. If he was to be in a dressing gown and underwear all evening, should I be in male drag to reflect his looks? Why not — there's a first time for everything, I thought.
A wave of nerves came over me, standing in our dressing room…………. — was this another step — and one too far? I stood before his open wardrobe... What clothes should I choose? His clothes...... Uncertainty swept over me for a milli-second as I looked in the mirror. It would be right with ultra-glam make-up…….. surely. A wolf — or a vixen - in sheep's clothing?
He was finishing his shower as I fastened the hipster jeans and the CK shirt. It was tight across my bra-less tits but that would only serve to confound the image. My nipples stood proud.
I slipped on a pair of his, very male, shoes. (Pity he wasn't my size in shoes, I thought…. we'll have to take care of that soon).
His footsteps from the bath we quiet and I turned to see him, wrapped in the bath sheet, standing at the doorway of the dressing room. His hair was wet and wild.
"Well, helloooooo………", he whistled quietly.
He saw a woman --------- alllll woman -------- wearing his clothes with her perfect make-up and sleek hair, beckoning him to come for a kiss.
My lipstick was messed in a minute… but it was then all over him…. 'him' as he soon wouldn't be. He would be Annie..... and I might just fuck her tonight!
"You look stunning.! Zoe, have I ever told you I love you?!", he said appreciatively.
"So do you, honey, even before I've got my hands on you! Oh, and yes, you have!", I replied.
Ohhh, did I have plans!
"Keep the towel on, leave the undies for now, and bring this to bed….", I said, handing him the fucker that I had played with before his arrival.
"With pleasure.", he beamed in agreement.
No knickers, no bra, no make-up, no hairstyling…. just him as he was made…….. What better way to start an evening of making love?
*************
Later, after two more Martinis, I suggested that he got dressed — which he did — before I made the most of his hair and matched his make-up to my own.... glamorous!. He was more than willing.
He wasn't prepared for the revelation that came next. Sitting him at the mirror in the bathroom,
I said: "Colour by Schwarzkopf………. you asked if we could…. I say we can!", holding the phial of colour up for his inspection.
"It's the colour of your favourite wine — shiraz, my darling … a deep burgundy purple…… You'll look absolutely stunning! It'll condition your hair as well, making it easier to set on the rollers. Don't fret — it doesn't last….. well, not very long……. Well, three washes perhaps……. you can handle that, can't you? It's a very fashionable colour…… lots of girls are asking for this at the salon……."
Silence.
"I chose this one because I think it'll suit you really perfectly…… You can choose other colours another time if you like…. I can bring the colour chart and swatches home with me if you like…. Or you can look at them when you next come to pick me up at the salon. In fact, I could do it for you one night at the salon. That could be fun. A real girly experience — for both of us!"
Silence. A stunned look. Was I serious? Well, I was, but his look made me wonder……..
"Oh, yes please, Zoe darling……… You know that hair is my "thing" and I can't wait to have you play with mine…….. I'd love to come to the salon - I'd love to become a regular client — and have you work your magic. By all means, let's try this colour. It sounds wonderful, but please can I come to the salon before long……….. Nobody there knows me so I could be a complete stranger for you to take on. You just tell me when my hair's long enough for you to do your best work on."
His words flowed like a river — impossible to stop.
So, I took the step of adding a little more moisture to his hair — it was partly dry. I stood behind him, both of us looking in the mirror as I parted his hair left and right, combing the colour through thoroughly over four or five minutes. By then end of this time, it was ready for rinsing — too long and the colour would become excessive.
I sent him to the bathroom to rinse the colour away and, as I stood there in his tight shirt, jeans and shoes, I thought "not a bad looking guy, I'd like him to fuck me sometime." Narcissism, eh?
I arranged the rollers and pins across the dressing table, and set the silver colour that would adorn his kiss-curls as the final surprise.
He returned, asking only "Are your tits comfortable in there….. Can I play with them later?"
Cheeky!!!
The rollers went into his hair with ease, the conditioner in the colour adding body. The style that came to my mind was a variation of the previous one — with its crown moved much further forward. There would be a fringe and a whole body of hair going back from his face. The silver would be painted on to the fringe and the kiss curls at the sides. I would back-comb the top to form a small bouffant and make as much as I could of the hair to the nape of his neck. That was where we have to grow its length.
Beautiful! I dried it with a hand-dryer, to make it much quicker. He appeared to think it was all over when I combed-through the rolls of hair once they were freed from the tightness of the rollers.
I was conscious that his breathing was quite shallow. The towel hid whatever he was feeling between his legs.
"Bouffant. Beautiful……" I whispered, and went on….. "But not enough….. I have extra colour for your lovely kiss-curls…….Silver streaks!"
His breathing quickened and he closed his eyes. I had lost him. He was about to cum. I had to be quick so threw myself around his chair and into his lap. Too late, he had cum, uncontrollably. Just from the thought and the talk about what I was doing. Wow! He was loving this. My own pussy was wetter than ever now and I couldn't resist the touch….. the featherlight touch….. so I loosened the jeans and let them fall. My hand slid inside and I too had a wonderful orgasm….. Right there and then, as we shared the experience.
Stay with me, dear Reader, for the rest of Friday night and recollections of his visits to the cosmetics counter that weekend.
Back on the roller-coaster too!…………………………….
Chapter 8
My tale continues into the second weekend of my husband's growing delight in the freedom to dress in my, and now a few of his own, feminine clothes. I am beginning to work wonders with his hair — which he loves- and I'm about, tomorrow, to send him to select his own cosmetics from the local department store.
Before that, we have Friday night! (Chapter 7 started the evening's joy!).
We resume, at home, early evening at the end of the week. A whole weekend of delights in prospect. To tell the truth, I can recall feeling totally shagged out after a day on my feet at the salon and then a wild affair over Andy's hair when he arrived home, culminating in wonderful wanking that we both indulged……
He proved that it's possible for a guy to be talked into orgasm with just his hair being talked about. I proved that missing his cum was no disincentive and that featherlight fondling of my own fanny, standing there with him, was enough. I was drained! Delightfully!
We looked forward to the weekend; a time in which he would go back to the department store and buy some more cosmetics - to try to find the woman he had been seen by before. I would then meet him for coffee in the high Street - outside the shopping precinct - and we would explore some of the smaller fashion houses where more personal service is guaranteed.
But back to the moment in hand! I had yet to apply the silver highlights to the hair that framed his face and began by restoring the back-combing of the bouffant crown I had created in his beautiful wine-coloured curls. I felt that they belonged to me now. They were mine — for me to do whatever I wanted with the. I would appear to give him a choice but, in reality, whatever his hair would be like in the future would be my design!
As I back-combed, his eyes closed.
He had asked if he could come to my salon… soon…. and he later told me that was what he was imagining there and then. Calling the salon, using a nameI wouldn't recognize, making an appointment with "Zoe" - asking for me by name - as his stylist/colourist, and turning up with me expecting someone completely different, and putting himself in my hands to do my dream creation.
He did do so, but then that's a story for another time.
I left him to his thoughts as my hands worked through his hair, sectioning off the individual curls and giving them as strong a back-combing as I felt they could take. tonight wasn't a time for half-measures. I do dooooo bouffant when I try!!!
The silver highlights were there to complete his/her look for the evening if not the whole weekend. The shiraz colour would last through three washes but the silver would be gone in the first. High-lighting meant getting 'up close and personal' in front of him — obscuring the view he had of the mirror.
He was very vulnerable, I thought, sitting there facing me with his eyes closed, trusting me to do this… to make him girly again…… It made me love him more. That trust I couldn't betray by pushing him too far. We had to work on what he would find acceptable, and what he would not. That was for the next time we 'talked'. Not for tonight. Tonight was for crossing his dress and fixing his beauty… and sex, lots, lots more of that.
He had become she... again. Annie sat before me.... and I loved her even more!
So, when I had started, all Andy had seen was his bouffant crown, in glorious dark red….. When I had finished, and after painstakingly stroking the colour wand over strands of her hair, finally, I let Annie twirl the seat. She saw for herself. She looked in the mirror….. and was breath-taken! I had to admit it was one of the most creative results of my hairdressing career — and one that promised greater enjoyment in the future. He/she looked wonderful. I just had to kiss Annie deeply and lastingly. Tonight was going to be very special indeed.
"Darling, Zoe, you're marvellous." Annie purred. "I couldn't have hoped to look this good. I just adore the colour and the style is shaping up so well. I just can't wait for my hair to grow some more! Can you show me some style books to see how you want it to be when it's longer? I can't wait… It's just the most important element in the image I have of me as a girl……"
She was running away with herself…… to become herself!, I was obvious. The hair was the key.
"Whatever you wish, Annie, my love….." I interrupted him, mid-flow, "…but remember we have to go gently, in all of this, we have to take little steps….. this has been a bigger one but there's no half-way house in hair colour — you gets what you buys!" I advised him.
"Half-way, of course…. half-way in the stunning colour… what's that half-way towards then?"
I couldn't answer. In fact, the change I'd made, albeit with a temporary rinse and paint-on masque which wouldn't last, was the most dramatic colour change in Annie that I could have made.
"Not in the shade, my darling… only in how long it would last. This is temporary… it sits on the shaft of your hair and washes away very soon. It can still be there if you want it tomorrow when you go shopping, but it won't last beyond the weekend."
"D'you think I should keep it for going out? I mean, what will people think?" She paused.
"When you're going out to buy lipstick? And maybe other cosmetics too? I don't think there's a worry there, do you?" I taunted him. Andy was still under there... somewhere! "We'll have to go on to the clothing stores as well, I think... I said, tauntingly.
What he was to do tomorrow was another step - I'd said a small one then but now know it was another massive one……..
The lipstick was close to hand, so I gently tipped his chin upward and applied a light coating of colour. Casually, I said "This satin gown that you're wearing now is yours, it goes so well with the new 'you', I want you to wear it often and to buy things like it. OK?"
He purred in response once again, no words seemed necessary. I thought then, I've got him hooked. I kissed him again and led him down-stairs to where I had prepared a lovers' meal — light and seductive tastes. Sesame prawns with light garlic dip, a half-dozen oysters, some melon with Parma ham and a bottle of chilled Garganega di Venezie. Eaten with fingers, sipped with lipsticky lips, just delicious!
Before we reached the kitchen, I prepared him for this and another surprise by saying "Close your eyes, honey, because there are some treats on the table and, by the way, I've invited a friend to join us." He stopped at the door, eyes closed. "Whad'ya mean….????" quite clearly freaked out at the prospect of somebody else joining us with him dressed as he was.
It was a joke…. There was a third place laid for dinner at the table, but the friend I had invited was our dildo, ….our fucker, …..our soul-mate! He didn't know that. Maybe I'd made a mistake. Quickly, I tried to reassure him/her.
"Don't be concerned, my love. I wouldn't embarrass you; you're too precious for that. It's a little bit of fun for us both…. Open your eyes!"
There, before him, was the faithful pleasure-giver we both adored, all eight inches ready to eat!!.
"You wicked woman!", Annie cried. "I was petrified for a moment! Zoe! promise me you won't ever do anything like that again, will you?! My heart must have stopped beating then! I nearly fainted!"
"No promises on that score my love. Who knows, one day you might be relaxed enough not to care who sees and knows you in your alter ego."
(I couldn't imagine that for a minute. I expected that this whole charade would stay between us, as it has done over three whole years. I haven't been concerned at all about that — indeed, it's been beautiful to share it just between the two of us. OK, he's been 'out' at times, but that's been fuel to the flames of his excitement. That's all.)
"I'm not going to be able to do that…. never in a month of Sundays!" He seemed very certain and I couldn't blame him. I felt so outrageous when just in my "andro" guise, I needed the make-up to balance out the impression… to be "She/He" always. I couldn't go further. But just thinking of dressing myself made me wet around the pussy once more. I had caught sight of myself in another mirror on the stairs………
"I want to know that you want me." I said in as suggestive a voice I could muster. "…… Show me how much your taste buds appreciate me…." "Why not… you're the most tasty woman in the world.", he answered.
We ate seductively, each taking a turn to pass something between our lips and finish by licking them, leaving a gloss to shine. Occasionally, I picked up the dildo and passed it to him, saying "Lick me… lick me now!" …..and sure enough, he did.
We talked about the plan I had for tomorrow… his first foray to the cosmetics counter.
"You should be all boy on the outside, OK? What you're wearing underneath is up to you. Your hair can stay as it is, with the highlights, or you can rinse it in the shower in the morning and only the purply red will remain. Your choice. You will go on your own so you don't feel "pressured." (There was no point in telling him I would follow and observe him.)
Annie was taking this all on board, then asked: "You said to take my time, so I will. I may even stop for a coffee before going in for the 'kill'! Just another lipstick, you said. For daytime or for night-time?"
"Oh, night-time, darling. Real vibrant colour — that's what you need to buy. You can wear some of your first purchase, your Rimmel 'Birthday Suit' lipstick, when you leave the house if you like. You'll know it's there but nobody passing you in the street will know. Only the girl at the counter is sure to know. That should be fun — so she knows it's for you whatever you say or excuse you use!"
"Terror!", she laughed.
In fact, she wasn't the slightest bit afraid, sitting there at home.
I dimmed the lights where we sat. As the 'meal' wore on, I became increasingly tempted to slip the dildo inside myself and have him/her lick me….. Eventually, the temptation was too great to bear. Quietly, I slipped my chair away from the table and spread my legs. "Eat me! ….. eat me NOW!", I implored her….. and, sure enough, she did!
The evening was taking shape exactly the way I had planned. Further sex, increasingly hedonistic, was sure to follow.
Her lipstick was refreshed before he approached me. "I can just taste you, Zoe, you honey.", she said as if in a dream. His head sank towards my abdomen and on toward my love-nest. The satin folds of his gown laid over my legs, softly caressing the skin. His tongue penetrated the folds of my wonderfully wet labia and found my pussy waiting. Soon I would cum, and cum again… The dildo went in and soon I was in a multiple series of orgasms that I wanted never to end… as this wonderful female man was serving me!!! His hair hid his face as it was buried between my thighs.
I stroked the curls in his dark red hair. Truly, he made a wonderful lesbian lover for me. Soon enough, after it seemed like hours, we laid back for a pause in play.
What could I do in return? Have him fuck me with his own cock….? I found it outside the knickers he was wearing. Fuck me through my own knickers! Yes!, though only semi-aroused, it was warm to my touch. I sensitively stroked the insides of his thighs, took him firmly in hand and guided him towards me.
He couldn't sustain what hardness he had and clearly felt fraught at the prospect of failing me. Crisis! His old lack of confidence crept back. And the more it went on the more it bothered him. He was so worried, he lost it completely. As if I was worried…. we were making wonderful love. What's a bit of penetration, or a lack of it, between friends? "I'm so sorry.", he said as he paused in his sorrow and then, as if undeterred, found the dildo — our fucker — and mounted me with it between his thighs, forcing himself to simulate fucking me. That is how much he cared.
(In his confusion, he thought — as he told me only recently — that was what two girls would end up doing when one needed so badly to be fucked as I clearly had shown I was).
I wanted to make light of the whole thing…. if was, after all, no worry to me.
What to do next?
I let him simulate for a while before thinking…… this game could have two sides………
So, after a while, and after simulating an orgasm myself, I said, quietly: "Two can play at that game!" With which, I took the fucker from him and pushed him over on the bed, face down. He had said I could penetrate him if I wanted……. I just wanted to show him that I could…….
….if I wanted to! But tonight, I didn't want to! So I simulated fucking his arse, pulling him up to take it doggy-style, pushing the fucker in between his buttocks……..
Then, reality clicked-in again…. I had been dreaming… that would have been the last insult to deliver to him in such a situation. I had, indeed, faked an orgasm… He felt a little better and promised "It'll be better tomorrow" as we subsided.
Enough was enough — time to sleep and make well for tomorrow…………. We removed eachother's make-up and freshened our faces. I changed into a truly feminine nightdress and he/she chose to sleep naked. Whether he/she or I went off to sleep first, I can't tell, but I remember dreaming of what I should see in the department store tomorrow and how my "girlfriend/she" would be feeling on arrival home!
*************
More Shopping!
Saturday morning dawned and we were up bright and early. He/she had to be off to the store. Showered and dressed, we had a light breakfast among the detritus of last night's diner sexuelle, and items of clothing strewn about the house.
Not knowing what he/she was wearing under his very conventional weekend chinos and tee-shirt,
a new way to ask what was under there was needed.
"Feeling light and soft inside? Under that rough exterior?" I tried. He knew.
"Oh, yes! Lacy — lovely!"
"Fancy the "Birthday Suit" lipstick?"
"Oh, YYYYes please!"
"Good for you…. come here; let me put it on you." I insisted. I wanted him to have perfectly shaped lips when he approached the cosmetics adviser….. No other make-up though. He was to go out strictly 'low-key'. "Highlights gone, I see." I commented. "I'd like them back."
"The secret with cosmetics buying is to know what you want but to have the adviser help you find it! Good customers get freebies if they're lucky, so keep her talking. Ask what she thinks. You are going there for a lipstick for special nights out. Do you want something sheer red? … or plum and purple? With your hair, plum and purple shades would go best…. ask if she agrees. She'll probably compliment you on your hair shade….. and may even ask if the lipstick's for you. Shock! Horror! Discovery! If she doesn't, well, you can tell her if you want. A bright red could look tarty and any pink shade would clash, so I'd say avoid them. But see if she agrees."
"What if another customer comes by when I'm talking with her?" He asked this, concerned if his private moments would be broken.
"She'll deal with that. She'll ask the other customer to wait for a few minutes but suggest she tries a few things from her big display case. The woman won't pay you any attention — unless you make yourself noticed." I teased him a little more.
"How? What d'ya mean?", he looked concerned.
"Well, if you're trying on the lipstick on your mouth — that'll certainly get you noticed, you girly thing you!". I laughed. "A girl always tries out lipsticks on the back of her hand…. so, you swipe two or three across here….. (showing him).. and she can compare the shades and decide which would look best on her lips. You can do tat, can't you?"
"Well, that way I won't be as noticeable, will I?"
"Exactly. Now, if you're lucky, and the store isn't busy first thing after opening, she might just put some on you…. like in having a make-over — you see girls having those all the time, don't you? …. Do you fancy that?!" Again, I was teasing him………… but sowing a seed for him to choose, if he fancied being made-up in the full light of a department store!
"Long way away, I think, honey.", he said. "But not never???" I taunted again.
"Oh, never say never….", and he paused in deep thought for some time….. I said nothing, wondering what he would say next……. He looked out of the window and, as he did so, his hand strayed to the hair around the nape if his neck. he felt for the curls, twisting each one as it came into his fingers. He patted and primped the crown, feeling the way the mousse gave it body. Thinking what thoughts? Not never? No, never say never.
Hmmmmm. That set me thinking too. Just look at how far we.. or rather he/she, had gone in a few days…. Just a week and here he was, ready to go out to buy his own cosmetics, having already gone out to buy underwear. Having made love to me as both man and woman.
"I must be going. Can't keep the shop staff waiting, can I?", he said with a lightness in his voice. It was questionable though to what extent he was gee-ing himself up for the challenge. He told me later he promised himself that he would not go into the store if he paused at any time during his walk to town; if he hesitated, he could change his mind. if he didn't, he couldn't. But if he didn't hesitate, he had to go in and go through with what we had agreed he would.
Kissing this wonderful man for a last time before he left, I said, "Just enjoy the whole experience, lover. And come back and tell me all about it, like before. I want to know every detail. If you like it a lot, having bought just a lipstick, then maybe you can go back later and buy something else — say you forgot it, maybe some foundation or eyeshadow. Now that would get your face known in there, wouldn't it! Go on, now. The store opens in 15 minutes."
"Not the sort of things a shy boy like me does every day.", he said, in equally taunting mode. His step was light as he left the doorstep where we had kissed lightly — lightly enough not to spoil his lips. I watched him walk off towards town, letting him get ahead before setting off myself to observe. This was an experience I wanted to share! OK, if he saw me and I was discovered, I'd 'come clean' and say I couldn't resist seeing him take this step….. apparently all by himself.
His clothing gave no clue as to firstly what he was wearing underneath and second, that he was off to do a most feminine of things……… I adored him even more, just for his doing this willingly.
The walk to town was straightforward from our home, but it had enough turns to make following him an easy thing to do. Would he hesitate? Would I come across him round the next corner, or the next? The answer seemed to be no. He walked really quickly….. So much so that the doors of the store were still closed when he reached them. That didn't count as hesitation…..
He stood there, with a small number of others, waiting for the doors to be opened. He ran his hand through his hair….. absent mindedly really, but it obviously made him aware again of the changes we had made to his appearance last night. He looked anxiously at those around him. They paid him no special attention. Well, lots of guys dye their hair these days. OK, the red was a little dramatic but hell, 'live a little!'. I'd seen that his highlights had been sacrificed, but he was right — we can have them again soon.
The doors of the store began to be opened by a pretty young girl, blonde and rounded, just lovable. His type, for sure. He smiled at her and said something….. he was good with strangers. She answered what must have been a question…. she pointed to a distant point; he must have asked her where the cosmetics department was to be found.
But he knew! We had discussed it. Last night. As I followed him into the shop, I realized what he was doing. He was engaging her in conversation and he was checking himself out to proceed. Did she see his lipstick? If she did, there was no indication. Did she look at his hair…. well, certainly she did. I was close enough to see that she herself had blonde highlights within the base blonde colour of her hair. pretty. If he had turned then, he would have seen me. But I escaped detection.
On he went, towards the cosmetics counters, all brightly-lit in the far distance. Lots of spotlights, many pretty salesgirls, a wonderful aroma of the fragrances and other products they sell, I can almost taste the atmosphere as I write this. He didn't pause anywhere….. He slowed his pace only when he was within twenty yards of the nearest counter. As he did so, I cut out of the main avenue through the store and observed him from aside, pretending to be interested in some costume jewellery there. He was looking at the brand names on offer: Lancome, Clarins, Max Factor, and many others, before narrowing in on the Christian Dior counter on the far side.
"Go for it, girl!" I said under my breath. I willed him to make the approach. As he arrived there, he found no sales assistant to help or bother him. It meant he could browse for a short while. Helpful to be here as soon as the store opened, just as I thought. Very few customers, even fewer sales assistants!
But not for long.
He stood in front of the huge Dior cosmetic display. Fascinate by the colours and shapes of the packaging and the range of products there to choose from. He looked around — for the first time a little nervously. Would he 'cut and run'? No question of that…… No hesitation on the way in; he was here to buy!
Maybe a minute or two passed — it seemed like hours! — and then she came over………..
She had been talking with another woman at a neighbouring counter but had evidently left husband to his own interests for a little while. Then, she swooped, but oh, so slowly!
About 36-40 years of age, dressed in an immaculate powder blue/grey suit, and strutting her stuff in 3" heels of black patent leather, she clacked across the stone floor. "Angels at 10 o'clock!" She wore a vivid blue neck-tie that matched the vivid blue of her eyes and her azure eye shadow. From the distance
I watched, it was impossible to see the perfection of her complexion — though perfect it no doubt was. Her lips were the most tantalizing dark cherry red and the whole aura was topped off with the most elaborately styled coiffure — yes, it was a "coiffure", no doubt done by her herself — there had been no time to come to a salon like my own.
I admired its creativity. An 'up-do' is too small a word for it. Savagely pinned to her scalp, the length was all available for the dressing on the sides and top. The curls mounted one upon another and vertical kiss curls adorned her cheeks. The colour? Oh, the colour… or should I say colours! She was probably an English mouse brown under it all. But the variations upon it were stunning. She had raw slashes of golden blonde separated by distinct lines of chestnut red and a darker, mahogany. These blended into a superb array of top- and side-curls that made the overall image one of "I am in charge here". And she was.
My view was uninterrupted so I could take all of this in before husband spotted her. She approached him from behind and so he only saw her at the last moment. He was shocked it seemed and, as she went behind her counter, she began to speak. I couldn't hear her words but her body language was perfect. She was selling from the moment she laid eyes on him.
She asked him questions — which I wanted to hear in detail later — and she listened to his answers.
Slowly, as he talked, her eyes roved about his face and then about his body. Quite distracting really, if you're having a conversation with someone. But all the time, she held his gaze. He could not leave staring into her eyes for a minute.
She would, by now, have 'sussed' his reason for being there. She would have seen his all-too light lipstick and realized, whatever he would say, that the lipstick he said he wanted would be for him. To use on himself — either alone or with a partner. She knew now. It would be a very short time before he knew that she knew! Then, what would he do? He had to go through with this — he had promised himself.
Next thing, I saw her reach into the display and bring up three lipsticks. She returned to the display and brought up a lip pencil. I hadn't even talked with him about those! He/she had never used one, that was for sure. Then, I saw her take his hand and one-by-one, she applied the three lipsticks to the back of his right hand. She then pointed to her own lips, clearly explaining what lip-liner could do.
It was Annie who studied her face intently, hearing every word, smiling occasionally.
Before long, it was clear that a selection had been made… and a lipstick and a lip-liner pencil were bought….. That was it. I turned to get out of the way of his exit from the store. Only when a looked back, did I see that the conversation had continued…..
To cut a long story short, he came away with foundation - Dior's best for everyday living for a girl — and eyeshadow……. exactly in the palette of shades that would 'go' with his/her new hair colour.
I ran out of items to be 'interested in' around the store before he — the buyer - and she — the seller - finished his purchasing. I had to make an exit. Looking forward to his description of the whole encounter, I hurried home. There was no time to go to the fashion shops.... That could wait! Take your time! I thought......... Saturday was proving to be better than I could have hoped.
************
More revelations!
Back home, I prepared the house for a relaxing 'rest of the day'. If that meant sex…. so be it. If it didn't, I could wait. The morning's excursion had kept me warm and wet between my legs and so there was a good excuse to indulge myself with the fucker until he returned.
When husband came through the door, it was as if I'd been there all morning. I was laying on the sofa with my legs spread apart, the business end of the fucker in my hand, the thicker, rounded end, inside my wet little pussy. I was practising squeezing it with my vagina muscles whilst stroking it as if it were my own cock. I must have made an impression…….
"Well, hellooooooo! Have I had a good day… and so have you!" He laughed, immediately sinking to his knees before me and taking the fucker in his mouth. He nearly swallowed the whole thing before his lips reached my clitoris and all the bells began to ring!!! Hell, he knew how to make me cum!!!
Later, and it must have been much later, we sat together talking again. He was excited and insisted on telling me all about the encounter — the one he didn't know that I'd observed. I sat spell-bound by the enthusiasm and total indulgence he displayed…..
As he told me all of this, I just looked at him in adoration. What a super guy I'd married!
"It was heaven, honey — just like you said it could be. I got to the store before it opened and I just waited with a few other people for the doors to be opened. I was nearly wetting myself the thought of what I was going to do. There was never any question: I was going to do this…. I couldn't let you down, you giving me these wonderful undies to share…. I asked a young lady from the staff where the cosmetics area was and she was very helpful. She was a honey, really, and I talked with her for quite a while. I knew where I had to go anyway — but it was good to talk to someone before meeting the sales assistant lady.
There was no doubt when I got to the right place that I was early. Nobody around — several counters weren't staffed. So, I browsed the various counters and found the Dior one — it seemed right to go for theirs. I looked at their display and suddenly, from nowhere, came this beautiful creature. She was maybe ten years older than me…. and boy! was she ready to sell me some-thing!? She was immaculate — her hair, her clothes, her make-up; she was 100%, full-on, "you're mine" — her eyes were riveting — I just couldn't take my eyes off hers. She was clearly studying me….. All in the first ten seconds…. Then, she said "What may I ask are you looking for today?" It was as if she already knew.
I told her I was here to buy some lipstick. "Oh, for everyday, or for a special evening perhaps?", she asked.
"A special." I told her. "Hmmmm", she thought and clearly pondered my face and said "Would this be a special evening for you or your partner?" Well, what could I say….? "Well, it's for me seeing as you ask. I'm, er… going out this evening." All the confidence I had drained away in a split second, it seemed. Zoe - you can't imagine it...... or perhaps you can..... I was totally transfixed by her mouth and her soft smooth skin."
"Have you worn lipstick often?", she asked, pointedly looking at my lips. Again, I faltered, What should I have said? Best be honest, I thought. "Well, I'm getting practice." That sounded like a good answer. it seemed to satisfy her. "Like this morning, eh?", she laughed, emphasizing that she knew I'd worn lipstick today."
He had not been embarrassed by the question. He'd just lost the confidence that we'd built before he left home. Lost it in the face of this fine looking woman — a woman who didn't mock or treat him with disdain. She was a consummate sales professional…… Here was a buying signal.
"I told her that I needed a choice of evening colours and she then confounded me totally by asking if I wanted a lip-liner pencil too! Needless to say, I'd no idea. So I asked her to show me — like you said to do. And she did. She put three lipsticks on the back of my hand and said that the lip-liner would go with all three. Then she showed me how her own lips were outlined in a deeper red than the lips themselves. She wasn't going to let me go without one of those too!"
As far as I could tell, by this stage, he was in full role-play mode, acting the way any girl would do when buying cosmetics for the first time. And he loved it.
"Then, as I was getting ready to pay and leave… she says……
"Now, you need foundation to help with the whole picture. It can make your skin look radiant and it'll smooth out any slight imperfections that you want to hide." What a woman!".
"Like my acne scars, you mean?????" He rushed on. "I just had to buy some….. Oh, and she sold me some eyeshadow too. She said that would go very well with the hair colour I'd chosen… See….she knew all about me. How did she do that?"
I got a moment to say something between his breaths….. "She used her eyes, honey — that's all." And she had done so. She had read all his needs, all of his uncertainties, and she'd made the sale. I thought I should get to meet this woman..
"So, the you left the department store and what did you do next?" I pressed for details of his morning as he'd clearly spent at least another half-hour at the shops — while I was otherwise engaged with the dildo.
"Well, I was almost exhausted so I went for a coffee down by the M&S store and I sat in the sunshine there before going in to look around.", he said casually — all-too-casually!
This wasn't part of the plan, but I was intrigued. He had gone on, without me.... and into the shopping centre and to the M&S store where he had bought his panties before.
He rushed on with his story… which was becoming a confession: "What the hell, I thought, I'd like to buy one of those body shaper things you described — that hold in your tummy and thighs and that give you a bra shape integrated at the same time. I got one in a gold lacy lycra finish. I do hope you like it!"
And then he came home. To me. To tell me. To share his experiences with me. heaven!
The rest of the day was quiet by comparison. His having been shopping, my having spied upon his exploits, his buying more than planned, my coming home for a play, his going to M&S as well, my hearing his description…. what could surpass these things?
I suggested that he get undressed and show me his body shaper. We spent the rest of the day slipping from lazy sex to casual browse-feeding and occasional wine-drinking…… What a way to spend a Saturday!
Again, though, as quiet times engulfed us, I found myself wondering about where our confused sexualities were taking us. I knew I was a sound hetero-girl. I may have dallied with bi-experiences in the past, but now I had Annie… I had no need. Annie was once a firm hetero-male and professed still to be so. She'd never experienced a homosexual urge in her life. Still hadn't. She, as a he, wasn't gay…… He wasn't homosexual… but Annie had exclusive leanings towards being a lesbian!!!! What a man! I loved every inch of her, all the more!
Dear Reader, Thank you for coming this far on our journey. I'm delighted that Zoe has written the account, or the autobiography, of our three years' exciting journey. I could not have imagined where this would lead when the first step was take. In fact, I have to read Book 1 again to remind myself.
Zoe hoped that other wives would see how such a wonderful existence can be created if they just have the courage to make the first suggestion, if they feel their husbands might be inclined the way I am.
Please, I implore you, ….. TRY IT! ……….YOU'LL LOVE IT!
PLEASE READ MORE IN BOOK 3 (……IT WOULDN’T ALL FIT IN 2!!)
Lots Of Love,
Andy / Annie xxx
Along the way, we were helped by the encouragement and friendliness of several correspondents, not the least including ‘Drea Dimaggio, Rita, JoanneBarbarella, Alison Mary, Jessicac119, Diane24, Ole, mittfh, and Rachel76m. To all of you, our thanks!!!
Told a tale on me................
Lipstick on your collar
by WannabeGinger
(with apologies to Connie Francis)
Lipstick on my lips told a tale on me
Lipstick on my lips said I was untrue
Bet your bottom dollar, you and I are through
Cuz lipstick on my lips told a tale on me, yeah
You said it belonged to another, made me stop and think
Then I noticed yours was red, mine was baby pink
I was thinkin', me as Mary Jane, lipstick all a mess
I wasn't smoochin' your best friend, I made all the mess
Lipstick on my lips told a tale on me
Lipstick on my lips didn't mean I was untrue
Bet your bottom dollar you and I are through
Cuz lipstick on my lips told a tale on me, girl.... yeah!
You walked in quietly and found me in my own special little world. I didn't hear you coming in and had no time. No time to hide.... and the lipstick on my lips gave me away. You flew into a rage. No time to explain. Now you've gone and left without hearing.... what I want to say....... It's a little part of me, I wish I'd shared before.
I'll put lipstick on your collar, if only you'd come back. My love.
I have summoned up courage to go back to the original story, originally published here on Big Closet which was written from the heart with no planning at all. Readers’ comments were helpful all through, so now, I have tried to develop the characters to be the real life people that they are through the events that really took place in the early part of the tale. The fantasy parts which make the second half will be revised and embellished. I hope you like it!
Chapter 1
He had rehearsed what he would say many times over.
He had summoned up courage.
He wanted to share his visions of past experiences.
Whether she, Jenny, would enter discussion, he couldn’t be sure.
But he felt confident she would. She had cut his hair many times now.
In her little village salon. Usually first appointment of the day. When it was quiet.
She tended to work on her own each morning. Another stylist came in for afternoons.
It would be quieter. Better if no other clients were there.
This time.
Previously, there were often “women of a certain age” there, having their sets and colours.
It was time to dress. His wife had left for her trip that would last several days.
He went to his little stash of clothes to find what he was looking for.
As he dressed in his underwear, his comfort was all-embracing. Softness. Slinkiness.
He slipped into his panties, fastened the suspender belt and rolled up the stockings.
Over the painted toenails. The nail polish glinted. He liked the shimmering shade of red.
He had painted his nails yesterday. Keeping your toenails hidden is easy.
His bra matched the panties, with lovely lace surrounds. Crystal blue satin. Slinky.
He stood back and looked in the mirror, and couldn’t resist putting on the shoes.
As he sat on the bed, the stockings pulled this way and that.
High heels. To die for. Towering stilettos. Crazy really, but sexy. Oh, so sexy!
Size nines. Difficult to find. But worth every penny he had spent on them.
Strappy. The black straps were slim, and wound around his ankle, tiny buckle-fastened.
He couldn’t go out in them — he couldn’t drive the car in them…. So, off they came.
He looked at the makeup tray, neatly laid out on his wife’s dressing table.
She was now away for several days. It was safe. It hadn’t always been so. She knew.
She knew that he would be dressing while she was away. But she wanted none of it.
He was not tempted by the cosmetics. Not now. He was going out. To the salon.
8.30am. He was waiting outside the salon. Where was Jenny? She was a little late.
He watched her arrive from behind the driver’s wheel of his car.
Could he go through with it? Of course, he could. Plan B was just to have the usual cut.
Plan A was to say how much he’d appreciated the cut she’d done last time….
When he was having his 60th birthday.
She had left it a little longer than usual — but he liked it that way.
He would tell her why.
Why he wanted hair she could style, ……… differently.
She greeted him with her usual smile, her brunette hair tumbling past her chin in waves.
“How are you today? Lovely sunshine so early…” she laughed. “Come in.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?!” he replied.
Jenny pottered about finding her styling tools, comb, scissors and suchlike.
Andy’s mind turned and he fund himself humming a Scissor Sisters song.
“Sit down, Andy” she said.
She fussed with the gown that encased him as he sat before her mirror.
Underneath, his bra and panties felt good. His tits didn’t show because of the sweater.
The sweater covered the blouse.
He wished now he had dared to put on some pale lipstick that morning before leaving home.
He had thought about it again as he waited for her, sitting in his car.
But he hadn’t…..
“How do you want the cut this time?” she asked. “A little more off as it’s summer?”
“Well not really….” he hesitated.
“…… You did it really well last time and it was just right because I had a party that weekend…… A “big” birthday… with a “BIG ZERO” and I felt it looked just right.”
“But that was six weeks ago!” she laughed. “Must have some more off now!”
“Well, maybe….. You see I thought then how my hair has changed over the years…. Since I was younger. It’s been awfully conventional for the last twenty years! It wasn’t always like that….”
He paused…… Plan A…. Should he go on? Did she care??? She ran her fingers through his hair.
“In what sense? How has it changed?” she asked, with her head tilted as she looked at him in the mirror. “How has it been… and did you like it better before?” Genuinely interested, she was.
He was encouraged. “You see, I’m sure people’s hair reflects their personalities and, maybe, they do change over time.” he ventured, knowing where he had planned to go with the conversation. “I’m very different now than when I was, say, twenty and at University.”
“Of course we all are…..” she agreed, “Everyone of us changes…so what were you like in your twenties?”
Andy was ready to plunge……. Jenny began to comb his hair, this way and that, as if in thought as to how she would style his hair……. But she didn’t start the cutting…..
Jenny was a talker — he couldn’t get his planned words in edgeways… “You usually have a wash and cut, don’t you?” she asked, and was right. Andy enjoyed having his hair washed. “Come on over to the shampoo basins.”
He was about to say what he was wanting to say, when Jenny went on talking, “I bet you had long hair when you were twenty. Didn’t you tell me one time that you’d had a ponytail?! Was it then? When you were twenty? I can just imagine….!” she said, teasingly.
“Well of course, we were at Uni and nobody spent money on having their hair cut. I didn’t get it cut for three years!” Andy laughed. This was almost what he’d planned to tell her first…… “Lodgings at Uni were great. We had a group of seven of us — three guys and four girls. Perfect!”
“How perfect?” Jenny asked, puzzled by the inequality of numbers.
“Well, one of the guys was gay, so that meant there was me and another guy with four girls!” Andy thought back to the sleeping arrangements and how relationships were built and changed over time there. “Perfect!”. They all remained good friends, though they hardly ever saw eachother now.
Jenny laughed again, fully understanding the meaning of what Andy had said.
“And your ponytail? Was that perfect?”
“Well, it wasn’t at the outset…. It was all a mess really, just scragged back to keep it all out of the way. I didn’t pay it much attention - or look after it at all really……. At least, not in the first year. ……But that all changed around the time of the Students Union Winter Ball that Second year.”
Andy was beginning to warm to his story and Jenny kept herself busy with the shampooing. Andy laid back in the near horizontal chair that sloped up to the basin where his head was rested.
The water coursed over his head. Her hands massaged the shampoo in gently. His undies felt comforting. The straps of his bra were tight as he was outstretched in the shampooing chair. His stockings felt reassuringly tight on their garters. He was right not to have worn the stiletto-heeled shoes. How crazy would that have been…….?!
“How did the Ball change your hair? I don’t get it…” asked Jenny, not understanding at all.
Andy thought about his fetish…… Well, all three he could count… hair, make-up and underwear. At the age of sixty, he really should have grown out of such compulsive fetishes…..
“That year, it was a Winter’s Turnabout Party” he smiled as his mind flooded with memories. “You know, one of those where the guys all go as girls and the girls go as guys….?”
“Indeed I do,” said Jenny. “I’ve been to several myself and they’re usually great fun — so long as people enter into the spirit of the occasion!” “I remember one special one, on a cruise boat……” Jenny started — but Andy was in full flow now………
“You’re right there, but I really didn’t know how much I’d be entered into the spirit…..! It kind-of ran away with itself once one of the girls in our house, Sarah was her name, that’s right, Sarah. She teased me about my hair and said I had no right to go as a girl with a mop like mine. She insisted that it had to be cut and conditioned…….. But she was doing a Hair & Beauty course at the local polytechnic so said she’d do it for me……
“What did she do? Give you an ‘Up-do’? or something?” asked Jenny, getting more curious.
“That’s not the half of it.” replied Andy. “She just took me over — I started with clothes that I found in the charity store - We were lucky that our college was in a well-heeled town that had a wealthy population, so the charity stores often had really quality stuff……”.
His eyes closed to avoid the random dribbles of shampoo that were just getting close to his eyes.
Andy recalled the Ball gown that he had found for himself for just ten quid….. It was perfect, flowing, full-length. Green with lighter slashes of colour. The neck was high and the shoulders covered. He would still have had to shave his chest…. Something Sarah had insisted on. Then he found some fantastic green shoes to match is gown…….
Jenny had paused in rinsing his hair as he had gone quiet with these thoughts.
“And….????” Jenny broke his thoughts with a smile. “And then….???? Did she cut it all off!”
Back to reality.
“Not at all. She said it had to be conditioned because I’d taken such lousy care of it…….. So, ok, we agreed she could do that much. She’d do it on the Wednesday before the Ball on the Friday night. She didn’t tell me what she had in mind…..”
“Sounds like great fun to me.” said Jenny. “I’ve done this for several guys in my time.”
“Not like Sarah did, I’m sure….” Andy went on….. “….Don’t you believe it.” she replied.
“Come the Wednesday, Sarah sat me down and combed my hair through and said it had to be conditioned…… So that’s what I expected she’d do. She put some quite evil smelling stuff all over my hair with a tough little brush, really working it into the hair, and then said I had to wait for it to ‘develop’ — and, to help it she combed it through and wrapped my head in clingfilm. What she didn’t tell me was that the ‘conditioning’ would come later.”
He was into the story now. No turning back…
“What she’d actually done was bleach it completely. I thought it took a lonnnng time before she said it was ‘done’ and, because I couldn’t see what was going on, I just thought it had needed a lot of conditioning.”
“Bleach?? You mean. She was turning you into a blonde for the Winter Ball?” Jenny exclaimed.
“Too right…. But I didn’t know that for a while after……” Andy went on.
“Tell me more — let’s step over to the mirror.” Jenny suggested, wrapping a towel round Andy’s wet hair..
“We didn’t have a mirror like yours, so I couldn’t see. So she washed off the so-called ‘conditioner’ and I was none the wiser. Then she trimmed my hair. I should’ve noticed. The trimmings must’ve been blonde….” Andy though briefly — did he know then? Yes, he must’ve….
Jenny had combed his hair through by now and was beginning her trimming of his, now grey, hair. But she seemed not to be taking much hair off at all.
“How did you feel then?” she asked, not knowing what he would say.
“Well, kinda curious…. I guess…..” Andy paused.
“……But I didn’t know it was blonde…. I was thinking about how she would style me.”
Jenny wanted to know more: “Did you discuss a style for the Ball?”
“Not until then…… It was just about then she asked me if I had a style in mind.” he said. “She said she had plans of her own but mine might be better…”
Again, as the memory flooded back, Andy wriggled in the chair in front of Jenny’s mirror. The bra and panties were snug. The stockings and suspenders were tight. The nail polish, he knew, would be glistening on his toes.
Don’t girls have more fun than guys!!?
Chapter 2
Sarah had listened to Andy’s ideas for the style he would want for the Ball. They were not very original………. “I said just leave it long on my neck but pin half up above the crown, no bangs, no flick-ups, no curly bits. Sarah’s idea was already much more developed.”
“Sarah told me to hold still because she was cutting my hair very precisely.” he said.
“She told me that if we were going to the Ball in character, we had to do it properly.”
“Properly? That’s a good Cornish word!” Jenny interrupted. “In character? ….. Did that mean she meant for you to be a celeb or something?” She had not begun trimming Andy’s hair yet.
Andy felt able to continue: “It seemed so — in her mind at least — though she hadn’t told me who.”
“So, you were going to be an actress or someone famous — she might have asked you who you’d like to be! Who did it turn out to be? Who were you at the ball? Jenny was fascinated.
Time was passing — Andy thought — and soon another customer would come into the salon. Soon his fantasy talk with this lovely girl — well, 40-something — this lovely woman, would have to stop.
“She didn’t let me choose — though I was delighted with her choice when I found out — she just went right on with the cutting and conditioning. The comb, I remember, felt silky smooth as it went through my wet hair. Quite unlike the tangled mop that I’d had in the ponytail. I remember being conscious that the hair was shorter — she must’ve cut quite a lot off…”
“While she dried my hair with a hand dryer, she went into details about what ‘doing it properly’ meant…….. She said I had to wear some really quite glamorous make-up, and ear-rings that dangled — she had some of her mother’s, she said — and we had to go to the Stage and Party rental shop in town. They did lots of theatrical clothes for hire really cheaply. I didn’t know what a ‘halter neckline’ dress was, but she said I must have one. They’d do me shoes too. “Heels, she said. You’ll have to try heels and see how women suffer!” Then, she said, she’d do my nails. And very glam make-up.
Andy looked at Jenny in her mirror. “By then, I knew this was going to be no ordinary Party!”
“I should think not…. How superb!” Jenny answered “I worked on Cruise ships for a few years before coming here to Cornwall — or back to Cornwall.”
(Jenny was Cornish through and through, from her curls to her wellies! That’s what Andy liked about her).
“We had some wonderful parties where guests dressed up to the “Nines”, and many were like that.”
Andy continued, not letting her know the character Sarah had planned for him to be at the ball.
Then, the salon’s phone rang…….. “Please take that.” he said to Jenny. So she did. He only caught half the brief conversation,
“Oh, hello there.” “Yes, lovely day…” “That’s right…. Highlights…..” “Well, we said about three hours, didn’t we, that’s why we wanted to start at 9 o’clock…” “Oh, alright then.. let’s have a look in the book…. Yes, quite understand…. Before the weekend… of course……” “Well, Friday later in the afternoon — how would that suit…? I’ll stay late to finish you off… yes, I know it’s a special occasion.” “See you then.” Jenny finished the call. Said “Damn!” and returned to the styling chair where Andy sat.
“Big customer — always has lots of colouring done and comes in ‘reglar’ for a styling. Can’t afford to put her out! So, that’s Friday buggered — have to get to the pub late!” Jenny laughed — it’s business and the customers is always right, thought Andy. “It means we have plenty of time now.”
They turned back to Andy’s story, and his hair today….. Jenny had to start the cutting.
“Leave it longer, please. I just like it so.” said Andy.
“OK, it’s your call.” Jenny replied, combing the hair back off his face. “Tell me more, Blondie!”
“What, about the ball? Oh, yes….” Andy had lost his thread a little.
Where had he reached?......... Oh, yes, Sarah had told him what doing it ‘properly’ meant.
“She dried my hair straight and then revealed that it was Blonde!.........” Andy said now quite excited once more.
“She spun me round and showed me a mirror… and there I was….. Really quite a yellowy kind of blonde…. Bit tarty really…….”
Andy smiled to himself, remembering the stunning look that he saw in that mirror. Was that the moment at which he began his love affair with looking like a girl? It probably was. Forty years later, sitting here now, in Jenny’s salon, he knew it was so.
“She was very pleased with her handiwork and had made it all sleek and soft……. All one length below my chin……. A Bob she called it. No fringe or bangs… But she said I could have those if I wanted. What did I know!?! And she said she wanted to tone the colour before the Ball. I didn’t object to the tarty yellow, in fact….. funny how you get used to a change so quickly!”
“So what did she plan to do with your hair as a style?” Jenny asked.
“She didn’t say. She just said we had to continue the next evening. Meantime, I had to face the world with blonde hair — all sleek and flowing. I really did enjoy the feel of it.” Andy sighed.
“Did enjoy the feel of it…” Andy lapsed into deep thought at that moment, as Jenny combed and decided now how to cut his hair. He was conscious that, under his sweater, his blouse and bra would be perfect if he were sitting in this chair as a woman. His panties, stockings, suspenders and painted toes, likewise. One day, he might venture to the salon dressed. One day, Jenny might get to know him as his alter ego.
“How did that go? How did your flatmates react to you as a blonde…. And what about the rest of your college class?” Jenny pushed him into more recalling of that evening.
“They were cool about it. After all, we were a real mixed bag of lay-abouts and typical student youngsters. In fact some other guys said they’d maybe do something similar.” But then, it was just a blonde change, cut perfectly, ok, but it could be feminine, or whatever.
“We were all going to the Hire store the following day.”
“I just treated it as something I’d decided to do and got some help with doing. “ he reasoned.
“Then there was the Ball….. How did you prepare for that?” Jenny wanted to know all about it. She was getting on with cutting his hair now and just asked occasional questions to prompt Andy’s story along. Jenny could tell, even at this stage, that Andy’s hair was going to get longer in the coming days and weeks. He wanted it that way, she could tell.
“The Hire store came up trumps. Choosing clothes was easy — there was plenty to select from and Sarah had already found the halter neckline dress for me to wear. It was a slinky gold shimmering satin job…. And a pair of size nine gold stilettos to go with it. Ten Quid to hire the lot — bargain! She also got me a new Marks & Spencer’s body stocking that would cover my chest and upper arms to hide my pimples. That would feel very nice, I was to find out later!”
“shit!” Andy thought immediately… how would Jenny react to that? Jenny seemed unmoved.
That shopping had been done the day before the ball, he told her.
“We had a dress rehearsal the night before…. But I still didn’t know who my character would be! “More important, there was the makeup and the final hairstyling to be done. That had to wait until the following day — it seemed like the whole day!” Andy meant that so much.
“Oh, and I haven’t mentioned Sarah’s costume and how she would be dressed….. We got her a pin-stripe suit — a small-size man’s suit . She was to flatten her tits and wear one of my interview shirts and ties. Her shoes had to come from the same theatrical lenders that all my tat came from. She was going to slick her hair down and go for a “City” worker’s character; she’d look like the Julie Andrew’s character in Victor/Victoria, the film that came out later.”
“I kinda like girls dressed that way sometimes….” said Jenny wistfully.
“She looked stunning, I have to say.” he admitted.
The dress rehearsal had given Andy confidence to “go for it” as he said…. To do it “properly” as Sarah had said. He was going to be the “Belle of the Ball”. All blonde and shimmering gold. They agreed that Sarah would go for a really sophisticated make-up look for him. Not at all tarty any more.
“I still didn’t know who I was to be when I sat down on the afternoon of the Ball. Sarah said she wanted to tone my hair — whatever that meant, I didn’t know. Then she said she would set it. Whatever that meant — I was soon to find out.”
She had resolved to work on his hair in the afternoon, before she dressed him as the unknown celeb. That meant toning his yellow-blonde hair with a professional toner — a beige blonde that was almost peach in colour…. Baby Blonde by Clairol.
Sophisticated. Feminine.
Who else could it be but Marilyn Monroe? But Andy didn’t know that… then.
He was re-living the experience. The wonderment of what was being done to him. “The toning didn’t take long……. I just sat there waiting for whatever she was to do next.”
Then, he smiled again, as he recalled how Sarah had tested the change in his hair colour before washing out the toner. She then reached for the tray of rollers and told him that he would be going for soft curls, lovely feminine curls, that would frame his face. He hadn’t expected that, at all….. no curls, he had said! What did Sarah care?!
He sat in Jenny’s chair, as she reached the closing stages of his cut. Loving the reminiscences about his first hair colour and set. It had changed his life. It really had.
“It was then that she told me to look forward to looking like Marilyn Monroe…. I nearly died! You have got to be kidding! I said. No way! You can’t get me to look anything like that glorious woman! I dare you!!! I said to her. Then I realized what I’d just said.”
His memory was crystal clear about that moment.
“You dare me, you dare me? Sarah said…… OK, she said………” Andy blushed at the thought. “You will be my Marilyn!” Sarah had said. And so it was to be.
“She reached for this tray of rollers and began to section my hair off into small sections. Then she wound each strand round a roller… some were really big, and others quite small. Some went around the crown of my head, others ran around the sides and the nape of my neck……”
“…..And they were tight… I mean tight!”
“I’m not surprised,” Jenny interrupted, “….. The tighter the rollers, the better the set!”
Andy had then been put under the domed dryer that Sarah had at home for her studies. The rushing sound of the hot air nearly blew him away, he said.
He recalled how being under the dryer he felt especially feminine, sitting there telling Jenny about this experience with his underwear closing in around his body. Andy knew that his crossdressing in later years was all due to that one week at Uni, when the Winter Turnabout Ball took place.
“So, it took half an hour or more and then Sarah took me out to let the rollers cool, and the set take form, which gave her the chance to start with my make-up.” Andy’s smile told Jenny that this was now a full-scale conversion and transformation. Something that Andy was not to forget. Jenny now saw deeper inside her customer than before.
“She put a beige sort-of creamy powdery stuff — which I now know is foundation — after first covering a couple of blotches with something thicker — concealer, they call it, don’t they?”
He sought Jenny’s confirmation — and she nodded. Her final trimming of the hair below the nape of his neck meant that she was done.
“TELL ME HOW MARILYN TURNED OUT”, she said. “I think I can imagine — I think you’d have made a great Marilyn.”
Chapter 3
Andy had reached the point in his story that he hadn’t dare to think he would with Jenny.
He was indulging himself. This was his fantasy. He was opening his soul.
That he could transport himself back to his 20s, through the eyes of a gorgeous lady.
His hairdresser. She certainly had encouraged him to tell his story.
Thoughts flashed through his mind. He had gone much further than he intended…….. They had reached the stage where, he had told Jenny, on the afternoon of the SU Winter Turnabout Ball, his girlfriend and flatmate of the time, Sarah, had him bleached, toned, rollered and dried, and ready for make-up as Marilyn Monroe. With foundation covering all his blemishes, he was ready for eyeshadow, mascara, blush and lipstick. Ooooh, that wonderful rich red lipstick He recalled how the rollers tugged in his hair as they cooled after leaving the hot air of the dryer.
Jenny was patient with him as the thoughts flew through his mind. She smiled at him in the mirror. She wanted to know more about the ball itself. “Get to the bit where you ‘made your entrance’!!” she implored him. Tell me how you looked and felt….!”
But Andy was still deep in the experience of being made-up and combed-out. He wasn’t yet the woman he would be for the whole night. And Sarah had let him look in a mirror.
“When she started, I was a bloke with long hair…. Then, I was a bloke with long blonde hair….. Then, I was a bloke trying on dresses and stiletto-heeled shoes…….. But I was still a bloke! It’s just incredible what a change I felt come over me when I had those rollers in my hair and was having make-up put on my face. I can’t explain it really, but I didn’t feel like a bloke any more.”
He stopped, mid-flow, and thought for a moment. That’s because I wasn’t…. a bloke any more!
“That’s because you weren’t..” Jenny interjected, quietly. She looked at him in a different light.
“No, that’s true……. You understand, don’t you…. It was, like, this woman’s face emerged where mine had been…… A pretty face, almost…. It wasn’t a bloke’s. It was cool — the make-up. Sarah had said that “properly” meant not being excessive with the cosmetics. It meant a “Night time” look but not tarty, not like a Drag artist….. And she did it so well….. I couldn’t believe it.”
Andy was getting a bit breathless at the thoughts — shared with Jenny. He hadn’t thought of this experience in such depth ever since…… He certainly had not intended to open up in this way with Jenny — not this time. His underwear reminded him…. So far — don’t go too far.
“And then she started to take out the rollers from my hair. I remember almost wanting them to stay in for ever…. Can you understand that? I can’t explain it at all, but that’s how I felt.”
“It sounds like a very intense experience, Marilyn…….” Jenny said, crossing the line into taking part in this fantasy recall. Andy was suddenly conscious of feeling very horny indeed. His seated position hid a growing warmth and congestion in his panties. There was a danger that he might cum and that would be a disaster. He had to resist that urge at all costs.
“She took them all out, one-by-one and left them to rest in the shape of the curls that had been formed — and there I sat, with my make-up all done and this tumble of blonde rolls set free around my face….. I could’ve had them left like that — it was a style in itself.” Andy meant it. Many times since then — in salons where he had found space and time, he had asked for a roller set and comb-out, just for the joy of that look in the mirror.
He had planned to tell Jenny about other birthdays in his 20s and how his hair had changed through time. But this story was taking far too long for that. Maybe he’d tell her about that another time. She certainly seemed to be pushing him, whilst finishing his styling with mousse and the hand-dryer. He didn’t pay attention.
“And finally, she combed your hair out?” Jenny asked tentatively, her brush tugging at his hair.
“Oh, yes indeed! She took each roll and made a wonderful curl of it, laying them out before gently brushing it through to make the classic Marilyn style — you know, the side-parting, the flip over the ear, the height at the crown, and the soft under-curls the other side. All in baby blonde….”
“And then you stepped into your halter-neck dress and the stilettos?” Jenny breathed.
“Not before the body stocking and the bra and panties and suspenders and stockings!” Andy joked in mock horror.
“And how did you feel?”
“Like a million dollars!”
“Clearly.”
The doorbell rang and another client entered Jenny’s salon. The spell was broken. His hair was cut. Jenny had finished. It was time to leave. He looked in the mirror in front of him. His face was framed in what can only be described as a shag style — roughly dried and roughed-up….as if he’d been shagging somebody. He liked it. Quite what Christine would make of it if he kept it that way until she got home, he couldn’t tell. But Andy vowed to tell her more, another time. There was so much to tell. As he walked away, back to his car, he wanted to get home and put on that make-up.
Chapter 4
A second visit to the salon — rather sooner than expected.
“Twelve Thirty…… ok, then…. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Andy.”
Jenny was surprised he had called so soon. But he had. The very next day. After his most recent appointment. When he had opened up about his past.
12.30pm was the end of her working day on a Saturday. Jenny liked the afternoon to herself. So, even if the appointment ran over, she would be free say around 1.30pm. He couldn’t need much doing…. He will have only been in three weeks before. What an intriguing man!
Yesterday had ended rather abruptly, she thought; Andy had left so soon after telling her about his Winter Turn-About Ball at Uni. She wanted to know much more about his “Marilyn”……
Perhaps she wouldn’t plan anything definite for that afternoon; three weeks from this coming Saturday.
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Andy put the phone down. His heart racing inside his chest. He was breathless.
He had done it…… Not only had he told her his story….
He had now booked another appointment. It would be easier a second time.
To tell her more.
He had gone over and over the previous day’s appointment at Jenny’s salon.
He had loved every minute. Secretly, because his wife was away, he felt guilty.
But then, thinking about it, he had no right to feel that way. It was her choice.
Not to be involved. To tolerate. To know he dressed when she was away.
Christine would be back from her trip in a day or two — in the meantime, Andy could play with make-up and clothes to his heart’s content. Indulge himself.
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Two days later.
Christine arrived home as planned and he greeted her with passion. They were still good friends as well as occasional lovers. His confidence had never been high and to welcome her home with suggestions that they go and have a good time in bed before anything else was unthinkable A big hug, a long kiss and two cups of tea!
“You look different…” she said. She did notice.
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Three weeks later
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He sat outside her salon, waiting for Jenny’s last client of the day to leave.
Now, Christine was away again. She wouldn’t notice another haircut.
Saturday was a busy day for Jenny and she was evidently running late.
He had chosen to ring and tell her by phone that he himself would be late.
He apologized but she said not to worry at all.
He was wearing his nice undergarments again. Stockings and suspenders, and chemise. And he had been to M&S and bought himself a new bra and matching panties. He wore a shirt that was of a darker colour — so that his bra straps wouldn’t be visible when Jenny was up-close-and-personal, as she would be for the next hour!
He sat there telling himself again what he had told her.
About Marilyn……. He was Marilyn Monroe at that Turnabout Ball, 40 years ago.
He told her about the halter-neck dress, in its gold satin. And the bodystocking.
And the bra and panties. And the make-up.
And most importantly, about the way his flat-mate Sarah had done his hair.
She had bleached it and toned it to a beautiful baby blonde shade.
She had rollered it and set it, beautifully, in a classic “Marilyn” style.
He had loved it…. But just how much, he hadn’t said. But he would.
In the next hour or so.
He was going to tell her how that Ball had changed his life. Conventional though he looked now.
The last client left, closing the door to the salon with a cheerful wave, “See you soon!”, he heard.
What would Jenny make of him after that? He wondered…….
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“Hello again!........ Can I call you Andy?” Jenny said imploringly.
“Of course you can, Jenny; suits me.” Andy responded, secretly overjoyed at this familiarity.
“Well, what can I do for you today?” she asked him.
“Just carry on like we were doing last time — give me a wash and a trim please…”
“Oh, I was hoping to send you blonde all over again!” Jenny exclaimed — there being nobody else in the room to hear her. “You’d obviously enjoyed yourself that first time….”
“Just a wash, now….” Andy looked down, over-come with sudden shyness. Damn!!!
“Hey, I was just joking….” Jenny retracted realizing she might have over-stepped the mark….
“Come on over to the wash basins and we’ll get you gowned-up…..” I was hoping you’d finish off your story that got stopped when you had to leave last time…… About you… And Marilyn….?” Jenny genuinely wanted to know more about Andy and his experience as a teen/twenty year old.
And to find out why he was back in her salon so soon?!
Soon enough, her wish was granted. Once Andy sat in the shampooing chair, with his head laid back in the crescent of porcelain and the water began to flow, he relaxed.
Totally.
This was heaven!
Jenny ran her fingers through his hair — almost newly-cut. There wouldn’t be much trimming to be done this time. “I’ll get some special conditioner for you…” she said, echoing the treatment he had received from Sarah, all those years ago. She had called it ‘conditioning’ when she bleached his hair that first time...........! She had tricked him that first time.
He said nothing. He shivered……. In excitement.
Re-living that day,… at Sarah’s hands.
“While I do that, you have to tell me more about the night you went as Marilyn.” Jenny implored him. And that was enough. It was as if the floodgates opened. His defences down, he began……
“You must keep this all to yourself, Jenny…..” (Pause) “You must. Because I’ve never told this to another living soul — except those who were at the Ball, of course. I fell into the part I was to play — from the moment I slipped on that beautiful dress…… well, maybe from the time my hair was set just so. Sarah said it would be simple — guys as girls and girls as guys… but she didn’t tell me that we could feel the way I was feeling….. I just spent the whole evening adoring the glamour ………” He paused wondering if he should say what he was thinking……
“….and feeling just so feminine…….. Impossible, I know…… Look at me now…” Andy was almost back there as he spoke, Jenny could tell.
“You mean, the clothes and the make-up and hair made you actually feel you were female???.” Incredulous, she was prepared to believe it… only if she heard some more. “Like, how did this manifest itself?”
“Well, jealousy for a start… I found myself admiring other girls’ dresses, I mean GUYS’ dresses….. . I couldn’t resist imagining myself in theirs. They were in characters, like I was, one was trying to be Doris Day, another one Sophia Loren,,,,, Everyone was different.” Andy’s reminiscences were vivid. “I remember thinking, why didn’t I do more with jewelry.”
“Then there was their hair and make-up…. And then found myself hating them for looking cooler and sexier than I felt…… Just one or two of them. Some were awful! ….Just those two. (His mind wandered back — two guys had done almost as good a job in dressing as he had.)
And there were girls there as girls….. But it was those dressed as guys that had style that I really admired…….. Those I really did get jealous about. - their clothes.... I do remember there was one girl who had the best and most beautiful figure — lovely tits, just big enough to be beautiful… not too big, and they were served up on a most wonderful platform brassiere that showed them off to perfection….. all surrounded by pink and white lace, just covering her nipples. She wore a man’s suit with the pink and white lace blouse revealing everything…… I just wanted to have them…. Not like to eat — like a guy — but to literally have them for myself, for my own….. My tits that night were just packed cotton wool. Although, I have to admit, mine looked good peeking out from the halter neckline.”
Andy paused again….. Almost shocked at the way he had lost his previous inhibitions.
While he talked, Jenny washed away the conditioning treatment and towel-dried Andy’s hair.
“She sounds good enough for anyone to eat!” exclaimed Jenny.
Jenny hadn’t been prepared for such openness so soon in the conversation…. She had only just washed his hair and Andy was describing deep deep emotions about a long-ago event. She was quietly stunned. Hairdressers hear lots of things in confidence, but…… No client had ever disclosed such things to her before. Some had secrets she now shared, but this…..????!!!!!!
Andy’s thoughts focused on the girl with the man’s suit, the pink blouse and the big tits. “Well, I made sure that we exchanged numbers before we left the Ball…”
“And did you get to meet her again??”
“Nah, she proved to be a huge cock-tease, nothing more.
“So, what happened after the Ball? — to you and Sarah?” Jenny enquired, wondering if Sarah and Andy had survived in a relationship.
“We went home that evening — to the flat in the house we shared….. and we fucked as woman and man — still in roles for the Ball. She had a toy that we played with.” Andy laughed at the thought.
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Andy had now moved from the shampooing basin to Jenny’s styling chair, the talk had moved on to Sarah and how their relationship changed after the Ball. It was clear to Jenny that the Winter turnaround had been deeply moving for him and that Andy would have been a changed man after his night as “Marilyn”. He had so loved that dress…… And those shoes! ……And he had so loved the hair!
Jenny took time to assess this man who was now in her care….. She felt she could do whatever she wanted with him. He was vulnerable, but so willingly so! She was determined, in that instant, not to take advantage of his vulnerability. That didn’t mean not encouraging him to go further with these disclosures…. About feelings as much as what had happened..
“Did you stay as lovers after that?” she asked him, expecting a positive answer. “Did you want to? I mean, was she your first, your last, your everything?!”
“Well, in a way, we did… I guess….. Stay together. It was a big house we shared so if you’re asking did we move in together, the answer’s no, we stayed separate….. and yes, we did screw from time-to-time but we both had other friends in the house, and elsewhere in Uni. In our class and subject groupings. We are talking more than thirty years ago — this was all new to us… and everyone was keen to explore….”
“Where did it lead you…. Next?” Jenny asked, thinking that Andy’s experiences hadn’t followed on from the Ball…….
“Best thing of all was the halter-neck dress — I paid the penalty for non-returning to the hire shop and kept it. Said it had been ruined by drinks going over it…… But I kept it to wear.” Andy admitted. “I did say, don’t tell anyone, didn’t I? You won’t will you?”
“Who would I possibly tell?” Jenny said — almost as a whisper.
“Go on……”
“Well, Sarah and me, we were always close…. Didn’t stop us having rows of course….. Like the month after the Ball….. we had a real up-and-downer….. She got really intense about me and the roots in my hair that were showing dark…. Well, within a few days, they showed. And she was insistent that they were cool and I should let them grow out — let them show…… I’d already made it clear that being blonde was cool and I wanted to stay so…… She went off on a ‘bender’ about how the roots would be how I should wear my hair….”
“Leave the blonde, and show the roots?” Jenny asked.
“Yeah. This was before Debbie Harry made it cool to look trashy. When I said I was going to get them done — the roots, bleached again — by somebody else if she wouldn’t do them for me — she nearly blew a gasket. She wanted to be in control, I guess. She wanted my hair to be ‘her creation’ and wouldn’t have anybody else meddling with it.”
Andy thought how his student lodgings were a place for all sorts of late-60s partying with pills and wacky-baccy to get high on. This had led to some wild wild nights, many of which found him dressed again. He got to be known for his party dresses and vivid make-up. Most often it was Sarah that helped him, but there were others as time passed by. Most ended in the sack with Andy at the end of the evenings.
“So, you stayed blonde?”
“Naturally!”… Or at least, very Unnaturally!”
“And did Sarah do your roots for you? ….or did you go elsewhere to get them done?”
“No, in the end, Sarah did them — kept in control, I guess….. She insisted on choosing the shade of toner I would wear…… And she insisted we change that regularly. After that, she did my roots every ten days or so… People got used to me as a blonde…… They only noticed when Sarah got a bit carried away with her toner selection…… Then, they did comment…. Steely- blue-grey, Strawberry and pure Ash blonde were noticed!” I was blonde for months and I can claim to have been living proof that “Blondes do have more fun!” Sarah wasn’t the only girl to be keen on my look — I was in heaven really.”
Jenny looked into the mirror. Into Andy’s eyes. She delved deep into the soul of this attractive greying man who sat in her salon chair, now it seemed, totally dis-inhibited.
“And what about your clothes? You kept the dress….. Did you keep anything else? And did you buy anything else???”
Jenny was pushing now for an admission which she almost knew now she was going to get — this guy had learnt about cross-dressing and was enjoying it by then.
She combed his towel-dry hair this way and that, toying with it as her scissors took tiny lengths of hair from all around his crown. She could picture him now — as a blonde — wearing that gold satin halter-neck dress, pouting like Marilyn Monroe, with luscious red lips…..
“I didn’t get any more clothes of my own then — it was tough being a student and there wasn’t much money left after beer and take-away Indian or Chinese meals………… On party nights I was able to borrow party clothes from two or three of the other girls about the house. Luckily, they were similar in size to me — a size 14 did me fine. I had kept the underwear from the Ball so that made me comfortable………. Didn’t make me show myself off at all — this was a kind of house where you’d get a name as a bore if you didn’t lighten up most times….. So I kept myself to my own room and, when Sarah came, she indulged me.
“So you were a blonde for your next birthday - how old were you then?”
“Twenty one. I stayed so until the Ball the next year…..”
“What happened then? Was it the same format??” Jenny asked, feigning excitement.
“It was….. and Sarah and me had another argument……. “
“What about?”
“Oh, a whole lot of things….. I suppose we’d been almost an item but not an item for too long. She wanted to do me as Marilyn again, and I thought that was last year… I wanted something fresh. She didn’t think I should spend money on clothes… I had an evening bar job and felt it wasn’t her business…..” She wanted me to stay blonde, I was bored with it. Andy sighed, deeply.
“It did get a bit heavy. Pity really.” He regretted the inevitable split in the relationship with Sarah that followed. “I had a great time with her. I’m sad I didn’t last longer. But we both seemed to be moving on. She was going to leave the college and do a practical year in her work - then she wanted to move to London. Which I couldn’t do — I still had a year at Uni. left to complete.”
Jenny found herself with her hands on Andy’s shoulders. She had finished the tiny amount of trimming she had been able to do on his hair. She had brushed his neck to remove the stray strands of hair. She had dried his hair lightly with a blow-dryer and curling brush, folding the longer strands of hair under to smooth the finish. And she had put the brush and dryer down to reach for the mirror, so she could show Andy her handiwork. But her hands were on his shoulders.
His eyes met hers in the mirror. Conscious of his bra straps being just one fold of fabric away from Jenny’s finger-light touch. He shivered with excitement but only smiled into the mirror.
It was electric.
In that moment. Something changed between them.
But neither would say anything.
After all, she’s twenty years younger than me. He thought. After all, he’s a customer, a stranger, and he’s that much older than me. She thought. Jenny didn’t feel the bra straps as Andy expected she would She didn’t need to.
“So, there you were, all ready to go to the Ball with nobody to dress you…. Sounds like Cinderella!” Jenny felt able to make a mocking jibe like that, in a very good-natured way, because she felt now that she knew this guy quite well…… In a short time, she had seen inside his long-ago “Twenty-something” head.
“What was it the girls said to Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’….. Cinder..Fucking..Rella!?? Yeah, that’s just how I must’ve felt at the time. She wouldn’t dress me, and she wouldn’t do my hair any different…….” Andy was really regretting the break-up with Sarah that followed.
“Well, what could I do? I was angry and I had nobody to do what I wanted doing…. So, I went out and blew a week’s wages on having my hair coloured and set, and I blew another week’s wages on a new dress that would go well at the Ball. Actually, that was two weeks’ wages!”
Jenny understood very easily the conundrum that Andy had faced. He could, of course, have given up on the whole idea and not even gone to the Ball. He could have sulked and stayed home. But something deep inside him had told him “no — you want this, so go and get it!” So he had gone out and got it…….. from complete strangers. That took courage in a way…. but may have been easier because of “no come-back”. What a man!!
“So you wanted a new look….. What was that? And who did you get to create it for you?..... Or did you try to create it yourself?” Jenny could envisage any one of these scenarios. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, but her work on his hair was finished.
Andy smiled….. “Trying myself wasn’t an option — it all had to be done in the day of the Ball…. And my skills with mascara and foundation and lipstick and eyeliner and eyeshadow were crap! And there was nobody else in the house who’d help. So it was up to me to find a salon, or two salons — one for hair and one for make-up. It was tricky approaching strangers but then I reasoned, it’s their job so why would they have a problem? Just because I was a guy….. And I explained about the ball — which was true….. I can’t have been the only one…. But maybe the only one to look quite so good!”
He flashed his eyes at Jenny in mock flirtation.
“I’d have loved the challenge….. How did you choose which salons to go to?” Jenny said, with genuine interest. She also meant that she would have loved to have been Andy’s first salon stylist.
“Simple really, I chose a salon in a quiet part of town — University cities have many back-lanes and quiet places. You get to know them. When you want a quiet pub or a shop that’s not on the High Street… So, I summoned up some guts and just waded into a little salon, not unlike your one here. It had a nail and beauty bar next door which was owned by the same girl, I guessed. Big deep breath, and in I went.”
“Did she know about the annual Ball for the Uni?”
“She did —and she said she’d had other customers too so “what did I want?” Like, nothing fazed her, so I just rolled out a list of things I wanted to create a different look — not Marilyn. She was behind me. I wanted big hair — this is the Seventies remember — and I wanted glam make-up. She could choose how she styled me. The biggest change was that I wanted to be a blonde no longer…. I wanted to be a Redhead… really a firey redhead!”
“But weren’t you a beautiful blonde at the time?”
Jenny found this hard to believe.
“Yeah, but I’d been blonde for nearly a year. My hair was three inches longer. I’d been every shade of blonde you could imagine. I wanted to be different — almost so different people wouldn’t recognize me at the Ball.”
“Why Red??” she asked, intrigued.
“Redheads are sexier!” … at least he was honest. What better reason?
Andy shifted in Jenny’s styling chair and his underwear came back into consciousness. His stockings were still tight and clung to his skin. His suspenders dug into his thighs a little — no pain, no gain! — His chemise was cool against his skin and the panties… well, the lace was gorgeous…..
Jenny’s hands slipped from his shoulders. She was suddenly conscious that they shouldn’t be there.
“My hair was chin length by this time, or slightly longer, and I wanted it in a more wavy style. I’d been a bob-styled head to long enough. And she did as I asked. The set was on large rollers but very tightly wound and very much saturated with styling lotion. I ended up CURLY!”
“And the make-up?
“Jenny, you’d not think to look at me now, but I really got given the look of the Seventies — Dallas-like! Long talons for finger-nails, fake lashes and loads of mascara. Lipstick to die for — long-lasting… lasted until the following morning I have to say!”
“And what clothes did you choose?”
“Dallas!! Shoulder pads and very tightly-waisted. The most expensive thing I bought was the waspie corset. I found it in an Oxfam store. It cost me three quid, that’s all! To give me a waist. Nobody recognised me at the ball! I loved it — every minute of it, all night! The question was what would I do the following day? People had gotten used to me as a blonde. Now I’d gone missing. Then this Redhead turns up. That’s a story worth telling.”
Jenny’s hands rested back on Andy’s shoulders. She looked at him in the mirror.
“To look at you now….. I’d never have guessed! Do you want another appointment?”
Chapter 5
A third visit to the salon is arranged — with what on the agenda?
That Saturday appointment — with just the two of them left in the salon — was to be repeated. Last time, Jenny had asked him if he wanted another booking. Of course, he did! But he waited until next day to phone. This time, his reaction was immediate. Jenny was delighted.
His story had drawn her in and locked the door… Jenny had to know more. Andy wished he could lock the door and stay in the salon all day. But that second visit had to end.
She knew that he had fought with Sarah, over his hair and clothes how he should look. She had wanted him to do the “Marilyn” thing again for a second annual Turnabout Ball at Uni. Andy had wanted to move on. And yet, she had wanted him to let his roots grow through his baby blonde curls. He wanted now to be a Redhead — and had gone and got himself “done”. He had bought “Dallas” style clothes — ok, from a second-hand store, but they were the epitome of 70’s/80’s glamour. He had bought a waspie corset……. To savagely tighten his waist. And more shoes!
She knew all of that. The third appointment was set for another two weeks’ time. Three visits to the hairdressers in five weeks! Andy was loving this. Even at his age and stage, he was excited. He found it so easy to talk to Jenny. She was a brilliant listener.
His wife Christine would be home the chosen Saturday so he needed and excuse to absent himself from home. He would be going to get some DIY stuff……
He thought about her as he made a coffee. How much he had wished, so many times, that she would relent in her aversion to his dressing. It was harmless, after all. He had been clumsy when he tried to involve her in his little dressing game. She reacted immediately and badly. Big mistake! Such a shame…. Their marriage had changed because he had been so unthinking as to think that she would want to make love with a woman….. or a bloke dressed as a woman….. Clumsy, he had been — and now he paid the price, every time.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Andy sat outside Jenny’s salon in his car again — a quick visit to the DIY store would support his alibi. He’d say he had stopped at the pub and got talking too….. Enough for an extra hour, maybe 90 minutes. That wouldn’t be unusual. Christine would be busy. She wouldn’t worry if he took all day, probably.
The final customer of Jenny’s morning left — he’d seen her before — obviously a regular. Big woman, with big hair!
He locked the car and walked across the parking area, conscious of his heart rate rising. His breath was shortening too. Raw excitement. He put his hand on the door handle. And in he went.
“Well, hello to you…. Andy, isn’t it?” “It is, indeed.”
“A trim….. again?” Jenny said, teasingly. Her smile was welcoming. “It’s great to have you back…. You qualify as a regular now!”
“And what does that mean?” Andy enquired.
“Oh, unlimited time — if time allows….. And today, you’re in luck…… It does!”
“I’d love to stay all day, but sadly, I have to be home by Two — 2.00pm, only an hour away — but I’d like to take you up on that another time.” Andy said, apologetically.
Jenny was disappointed and didn’t mind letting her disappointment show. She frowned.
“I’m really sorry, honest, I am…… I‘ll book to come back….” Andy said, falteringly.
“Maybe a late evening then?” Jenny suggested. How could he refuse? “No pressure then!”
“I’d love that.” Andy paused. “…Really, I would.” he said, meaningfully.
“Then come to the shampoo basins. I can’t trim dry hair as well as when it’s all wet and pliable.” Jenny tugged at the hair on this head, now resting in the basin’s neck shape. She tugged it a little more and ran her fingers through it before turning on the water.
The underwear he had slipped into this morning was suddenly in Andy’s consciousness again. His wife would probably kill him if she knew. But then, there was a secret challenge in that — getting away with it. It was her choice really, he thought to himself. If only she hadn’t reacted so badly…… He’d promised never to do such a thing again. But she knew he did — she must have — it didn’t make it any better but……
Jenny over-rode his thoughts……. “When I’ve trimmed your hair, will you tell me more about the Ball you went to as a Redhead? Please……. It was a pity you had to stop last time….”
Andy, leaning back in the shampoo chair, looked into her eyes. His stockings and suspenders were stretched and the bra straps taught beneath his shirt. The shampooing took less time today.
“Not lots to tell really, about the second Ball, I mean. I was on my own this time- though I was among friends and people who I knew. We had a great time, dancing like girls did in those days — round handbags on the floor. Then I got asked for a dance by a couple of really cool girls in “Dude-suits”, you know….. pin-stripe jackets and trousers. Tight blouses and plain make-up… Big contrasts to the guys like me dressed up to the “Nines”……. One of the girls asked me if “he” could walk me home and I couldn’t refuse. The role reversal thing really took hold that night….”
Andy smiled at the memory…. As he walked to the styling chair and sat before the mirror.
Jenny combed and snicked away with her scissors, taking only tiny strands at a time, this time.
“Did “he” kiss you?” asked Jenny.
She combed his hair vigorously against its natural way of lying.
“Very much so — she…sorry, he… took the lead just as supposed ……. I’d never been French-kissed like I was then….. I’d done it lots but never had someone take control. “Tonsil Tennis” it was called when we talked about it in the days after….”
Jenny was thinking about Andy’s hair all through the conversation.
“So, the Redhead met “her” match… Did you see eachother again?” she asked, expecting a “yes”.
“Yeah, in fact, we went out together for quite a while. I reverted to my ponytail and guys’ clothes as you’d expect and we made a good couple.”
He reflected for a moment — that was true; they were a really good couple.
“She was studying for a PhD in Psychology so was at least three years older than me….. I did wonder, quite often, if she was secretly psycho-analyzing me…but I guessed not in the end.”
“How so? What convinced you?” asked Jenny.
“Well, she never probed into how much I had obviously enjoyed that second ball…. But I had no reason to expect she would — I never probed her about wearing guys’ clothes the same night either. People do write whole PhD theses on such subjects…!”
Jenny was near enough finished with the haircut. But only a tiny dusting of trimmings surrounded the styling chair where Andy now sat..
“Did you love her?”
“Well, that’s too strong a word ……. I fancied her tremendously, if that’s what you mean.”
“I guess that’s enough. What attracted you to her?” Jenny wanted to know. She needed to know what turned this guy on.
“Her dress sense, I guess — she could make really ordinary clothes look fabulous — she just had style. And then there was her sense of humour. Really sexy..” Andy smiled once more.
“And her looks?” Jenny still couldn’t picture this girl.
“Tall, bobbed hair, brown, big eyes — lovely big eyes. Slim. Tiny waist. Suited the suit.”
“And her name?” He still hadn’t named this one.
“Bobbie” Crazy really — Jenny was too young to remember the song “I wanna be Bobby’s girl”
Andy thought… In that case Bobby was a guy…… In his case, he wanted to be Bobbie’s girl and Bobbie was a girl!
Jenny had finished Andy’s hair and was using the blow-dryer to finish off. She took a handful of styling mousse and, before he could say anything, smothered his grey.hair with it. She took her brush and, again, brushed his hair against the natural way it would lay. Spikey!
“You could look cool with a modern style like this….” Jenny said, playfully.
His bra straps tightened as he took a sharp intake of breath.
“No, no, er, ….no, I don’t really….” Andy stammered, knowing that he had to be home soon.
“Why ever not!” Jenny exclaimed. “It would be cool……. You could even be a Redhead again. Really. …….I have some really stunning temporary colours in my selection of mousses. Shall we try some??”
Had she gone too far? She wondered
Their eyes met in the mirror. She knew. He knew she knew….. He wanted to do that……
But he couldn’t. …He didn’t dare. Time was too short. He had to be home in less than twenty minutes. It was bad enough having mousse where there was no mousse when he left home.
How would he explain that??!
“You really are special.” Andy murmured, “But no, really, we can’t….. Not this time.”
“Next time……?!” Jenny went for the “kill”
“Will you let me… next time…. Next time you come into my salon,,,,,,,, Wearing your clothes?”
She knew! Now he knew she knew…. Of course, she would have known…… Andy near panicked.
His heart nearly stopped beating.
J
enny’s hands had slipped to his shoulders again, the residue of the mousse sat on one side. That could be a dead give-away when he got home, he thought.
“I want to help you recall everything about those days.” Her eyes transfixed his in the mirror. “You will come back, won’t you?”
She meant it. This wasn’t just an invitation to come back — like before.
It was an instruction.
Chapter 6
Andy had gone home last time with his hair trimmed and played with by Jenny. After the shock of her styling him “spikey”, they had laughed out loud. He enjoyed her company. Even at his age, he found himself fancying her to pieces! She was lovely. Clearly at ease with herself. No longer married, she was a free spirit. In control of her own little business. Good with people. Fun to be with and, it was proving to be, quietly understanding of the story about himself that she was encouraging him to tell.
He wasn’t spikey when he left the salon, although the stiffness of the styling mousse had left his hair quite different to touch and to look at. But it didn’t matter. When he got home minutes later. His wife hadn’t noticed. Nor had she noticed him go upstairs and change his clothes……. Removing the underwear that he so loved. She had swallowed the idea of his going to the DIY store and meeting a friend who said they should have a beer together.
He carefully laid the clothes he had worn into the dark recesses of his wardrobe, where the sun never shone! He always put his own clothes away, even when freshly laundered.
He was confident that he wouldn’t have them discovered.
Even if his wife thought he had a stash of such things.
Even if she perhaps knew his fetish hadn’t been forgotten.
Even if he ran the risk of discovery.
He was himself…….. and occasionally, herself!
When could he go back to see Jenny? His diary had been at home, so he was unaware of when his wife would be away again — on one of her “girly” weekends.
That would be when he would go back………….
****************
Jenny thought for a long time after Andy had left last time. She had really enjoyed the time… short and playful though it was.
Yes, it had been in a way she couldn’t describe, or have foreseen, or have expected.
She recalled the touch on his shoulders — several times — and his reaction. He was such a nice guy. There was something special…….. And he could talk.. even more than she herself did!
“So what if he’s different?” she said out loud, ….to her mirror.
“So what if I was a bit pushy?”
“So what if he didn’t say yes or no?” (Which he hadn’t.)
“So what if we didn’t fix another appointment?”
“So what if he doesn’t call back?..... if I scared him off” she said, sitting down, still transfixed by her own image in the mirror. “I hope you didn’t!!!” cried the mirror’s image.
What Jenny experienced was a mystery to her. She wanted this nice, seemingly gentle guy to become a friend…. And yet she had been tempted to push him further and faster than he might have wished to explore the past feelings he had.
She thought for a long time. He’s a genuinely nice guy. He’s married and happily involved in a secret passion that’s been with him since University days. He keeps it secret. He’s too old to turn about more than in his mind’s eye. What’s wrong with that? Nothing. If I can help him, what could be better?
“Getting serious!” she smiled to the mirror.
****************
Andy did call. His next appointment, and sadly not just another a week or two later, had to be in the middle of the day…….. A month later because he would have been travelling on business and had not been near the salon at convenient times.
And it had not gone according to plan — for either him, or for Jenny.
The salon had been busy.
There were women everywhere. Even though it was a tiny salon, the place seemed full of people. Rollers, Foils, Bleaching, Backcombing. Hot air blowers. Any conversation would be overheard. Not ideal at all. Disappointing. So Andy asked for the same style of cut and the same — very slight — amount of cut.
He left with his hair quite a bit longer than was usual nowadays.
The conversation was perfunctory. Shallow. About nothing in particular. How were her horses? How was business? How was his work? How did “that DIY” go? He couldn’t say, not in the crowded room. There may only have been six people in there… but that was four too many!
“Please come back again, Sir!” said Jenny as he left, paying for his wash, cut and blow-dry….... He gave her a healthy tip and smiled.
“Perhaps at a different time of day?” Andy said, both expectantly and hopefully. He got the response he wanted.
“Oh, I do agree. Saturday afternoon worked well…. Or perhaps last appointment on a Thursday?”
And he was gone. He would call.
****************
So, it would be the last appointment on a Thursday. When his wife was away for the night in London, with her girly friends. Going to see ‘Calendar Girls’ on the stage. OK, he’d gone with her to the film. It was ok. But she wanted time with her girlfriends. Nice dinner. Chat… loads of Chat, none of which any husband or partner would understand.
When he called, Jenny answered. It had been two weeks and she had those conversations with the mirror several times. But he called. She was delighted. He could tell from her voice.
“What time’s your last booking?” Andy asked. “I can do any time…”
Jenny thought. How long to finish the woman who’d be the last in before him. She was a high maintenance client. She would be having roots tinted, a cut and a set. It was the set that would take the time…… Maybe she could be convinced to have a blow-dry….. for a change….. with loads of lacquer!
“I’ll be free around 5.30….. maybe fifteen minutes later…… Or earlier if I can!” Jenny said, as if anticipating a problem.
“No problem at all. I’ll be there for 5.45 then…..” Andy paused….
“How long might this take?” he asked…… meaning ‘more than just a cut’.
“Well, it does depend, on lots of things. But I’d say an hour or maybe longer.” Jenny was hopeful.
She thought she knew what he meant. He meant what she’d said about colour.
She thought it would take at least that long, if she played around with his style as well.
She realized that she didn’t know his name, beyond “Andy”.
She reflected on the booking, there in front of her mirror. She should treat it as a simple wash and cut, l ike before. She would continue the conversation, just asking him about the past.
She wanted to ask. What was this lady with the PhD like, who was older than him. What did they do together. Did he consider them to be ‘an item’ at any time. Did his first girlfriend ever come back into the frame. Not too many questions, or he’d clam up. She was sure of that.
She wanted to get inside his head. How did he really feel about his exploits with his hair and with ‘turnabout’ parties. How did his friends get used to his different looks?
Jenny had never had a customer like Andy.
O
K, sure, she had dressed the hair of guys who were “going to a party” when she was sure they were doing nothing of the sort. OK, she knew that — in the Seventies — there was a lot of ‘gender-bending’ that people enjoyed as a natural thing to experiment with. That was all before the world started classifying people as “gay”, or “not gay”, it seemed. There was almost something wrong with you if you were NOT homosexual.
Andy clearly wasn’t.
Jenny liked him.
Andy put the phone down, his heart racing as before. He had made the appointment.
He would be free for the Thursday night and the whole of Friday. His wife would be home late the following day, having stayed over in town. The whole of Friday too!
He spent much of the next hour in deep concentration, putting aside how the Thursday would pan out. He had a job to finish. He ran his hand through his hair, repeatedly but absent-mindedly. Not thinking. He would wash it tonight, and just imagine what Jenny might do with it.
His mind tripped into “what to wear” mode and he thought of the few things he had kept — apart from the underwear that he so loved and kept refreshing. That halter neckline was always just too over the top — he hadn’t needed to shave his chest to carry it off all those years ago, but he most certainly would now. Then there was the “Dallas” ensemble that was “OTT” in another way — not revealing, but skin-tight and glammy. Trouble with that was how much weight he’d put on. Even with the ‘Bodyshaper’ he’d bought from M&S and which held him in quite well…..
Damn!
He thought. He needed new clothes! He decided to select the right underwear for now.
Two weeks to go! Trepidation! …… What would the salon visit bring……??!
Maybe, just maybe, he would buy some new underwear……?!!
****************
He did. Buy new underwear. Beautiful lacy panties and a bra to match — one with underwiring to squeeze what he had into shape. And suspenders, with a pair of firm control stockings that would give shape and shine to his legs. They would be hidden under his outer clothes, but that didn’t matter at all. He knew they were there. He could feel them.
Reluctantly, he decided not to wear — or even buy — any girly outer clothes.
There was a real danger this whole experience would run away with him if he wasn’t careful!
On the Thursday in question, he kissed his wife goodbye at the station — and off she went to gather with her three friends. Four of them would be on the London train at pre-breakfast time.
Five hours — all for the theatre and a night out. He could do without Calendar Girls. And he could do well with the time alone!
As he left the station, he drove back to the village with his mind racing ahead of time.
It wasn’t even breakfast time yet…… He would have a bath and he would spend time doing anything but DIY all day. He would walk for a while, taking in the cliff-top views and the hazy sunshine. He’d be thinking about the evening to come…… Maybe, just maybe, he would rustle though his wife’s skirts and tops to find something comfortable for the daytime. He wouldn’t wear those to the salon…… He couldn’t……
An hour tonight! Or at least an hour or maybe more, with Jenny in the little salon down in the village. He couldn’t wait.. but he had to!
The day passed slowly. His mind wandered back to Uni days then to other times he had yet to tell Jenny about. There was lots he could — he just felt he could — tell her.
Four O’Clock……. Then Four thirty came round, then it was time to prepare. He had his undies on. He’d had his bath this morning. He shaved as close as he possibly could, leaving clear skin. Today was already one of the best of his life. The anticipation was overwhelming. He did feminine things that he rarely could think about doing, let alone do!
Did he dare wear foundation, and maybe lipstick?
No, he couldn’t do that.
He’d love to, but he couldn’t…… The undies would be superb…and, like before, enough!
Five O’Clock came round, and Andy looked at the clock nervously. Jenny would be busy — she wouldn’t be thinking about him……
How wrong he was…….
Jenny had the roots of the woman, who was her last client before Andy, pasted with tint. She was running behind…. This was going to take longer than she planned… . Especially if she wanted a roller set — That would take them past Six O’Clock……
“I do think your hair would look super if you’d let me blow-dry it and style it the way you’ve described….. You might be able to take care of it yourself if I did…. Well, just sometimes…. You know…. Freshen up your look before going out?” Jenny asked the woman, almost imploring her to agree……. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
“No, no, Jenny. You’re much too good as a stylist for me to compete…. Anyway, I just love sitting back and enjoying your work!” broadly smiling, “Mrs. Bouffant” said. So, rollers it had to be. When the tint was washed out, the rollers we started. Jenny worked like a demon to get them in and get “Mrs. Bouffant” under the dome dryer. Heat full on! She gave the woman lots of extra roly-poly curls to make it seem good value! It was now Five minutes to Six.
But this meant that, whilst she was doing that, Andy came into the salon.
Jenny said, not knowing she was about to make a joke at her client’s expense…… “Sit down, Sir. Please, …make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you in a little while but “Mrs. Bouffant” here has a special occasion to go to!” Mrs. Bouffant couldn’t hear a thing under that dryer on full blast.
Mrs. Bouffant would have laughed like a drain! Soon, she was out from under the hood. Jenny worked fast to remove all the rollers . She combed the mass of curls through and began to back-comb the style into shape. It was going to be “big!” Andy could tell. He studied the woman for a while, She was probably around his own age. She was dressed in a very modern way, almost funky…. Her dress was vivid in colour and covered her shoulders. It was flattering to her “ample” bodywork. A size 18 at least. She was really enjoying the experience she so frequently was given at Jenny’s. Clearly, she liked to be pampered.
Andy smiled and studied her hairstyle… It was certainly a work of art!
He had always liked elaborate styles…. He reflected again on how he came to be there. He had dared to venture out in beautiful underwear. He had dared to steer the conversation with Jenny towards his college-day flirtation with dressing. He had dared to go back to her salon. His dreams were becoming reality…. If only in such a limited way. He was loving every minute. His thoughts turned to an eventual time, he hoped, when he would go out fully dressed, perhaps for a two-girls dinner in a quiet restaurant….. with Jenny.
It would be far more likely to happen with her than it ever would have with Christine. How sad it made him to think again of how clumsy he had been when he ventured to suggest that he might dress with her help. Christine had over-reacted, he felt, but on reflection, it was understandable. She had married a guy…. She didn’t want to be married to a man part-time, and a woman part-time……. So she had shut him out. Her sex life didn’t include him. She was probably getting her tricks elsewhere……. With who, he wondered……..
He sat and watched, without saying a word. Jenny occasionally looked in his direction, only to find him exploring the books of hairstyles from the coffee table.
Eventually, Mrs. Bouffant was done, had paid and was gone. He and Jenny were alone.
There was a moment’s silence and Andy felt he had to break the ground before them. Summoning up some courage, he said…
“Jenny, thank you for suggesting the end of the day. Last time I was in, it was just like bedlam in here. You must live your life like that….. It’s much better for me to be here now… I enjoy talking with you so much, it’s best like this…………..”
Jenny smiled and said: “Well, we can take as long as you like this evening. Shall we begin with a wash?” She noticed the peeking of a stocking between his socks and trousers. She looked more closely at the outline of his shirt, noticing that there were give-away lines that betrayed the bra that lay snugly beneath.
Andy had spent much of the day in a skirt and blouse of his wife’s, through which his bra could be seen with ease… If anyone cared to look. But he had been alone. Feeling comfortable. The stockings and suspenders, bra and panties remained, but otherwise, he was in “boy gear”.
“I’ll just close the door.” Jenny said, reassuringly. She turned the key in the lock.
Andy’s heart skipped a beat. Sixty years of age — what had he gotten into?!
“I’m delighted that you decided to come back, Andy” Jenny whispered, spoof-Stage-style with a finger over her lips. “We can enjoy ourselves a little, unlike when the place is so busy…”
Andy thought “Perhaps I should’ve dared to wear some make-up” but said nothing for a moment.
Then, “You make the place feel so welcoming.. I mean, not just for me, but for everyone.”
“Well, I do try, but it’s not as if I have to work at it…. I just like people coming in through that little door. They’re all so different……” Jenny was genuine in what she said. “Take you and the lovely Mrs. Bouffant, as I called her…… You couldn’t be more different…….”
“Perhaps on the outside…” Andy ventured and then stopped……..
“How so?” Jenny asked, almost reading his mind…….
“Well, she’s a lady, I’m a man……… But, er….. um… well…. There are, er… things inside us that are similar….. Like she wants to look good…. And, er.. to make herself something more than she is.. if you, er….see what I mean……” Overcome by nerves.. from nowhere…. Andy stopped.
WHY was he hesitating, almost stammering…… where had these nerves come from???!!
“Hey, hey…. Take it easy…” Jenny interrupted. “…. Don’t be stressed… It’s ok, really it is….. Let’s take a few minutes…. Sit back down…. Tell me about your time since you were here…..” She wanted to calm him down — to divert his attention. “I’ll make you a coffee……”
Andy drew a deep breath and sat back down where he had been looking st the styling books. Recovering his composure took longer than he thought…. He said nothing for a while as Jenny made the coffee. He just sat fumbling with the styling books, not really looking at them, more occupying his hands….
Jenny came over and sat beside him and talked as if nothing had happened.
“There now, two coffees. How’s your week been this week? What have you been doing?” She went on and the conversation slowly opened up. Andy was conscious again that he was sitting here dressed in beautiful women’s underwear, talking with a gorgeous woman who was about to ‘do’ his hair….. How she would ‘do’ it, he wasn’t sure — would he have any choice? Probably so, but what choices to make? Andy sipped his coffee as they talked until Jenny decided it was time and that Andy was ready, to move on.
“Now, last time you were here, we just did you a trim and a wash, didn’t we? I got the distinct feeling that you were wanting me to do some more, but the place was too busy. Am I right?”
“Well, yes, you are…….” Andy replied.
“And we’d talked about your early days, hadn’t we, when you were changing your hair quite a lot, weren’t you?”
“Well, yes, you’re right….”
“And you had the chance to enjoy special parties, shall we say, dressed differently?”
“Well, yes…”
“Andy, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Jenny smiled, one of her “winning” smiles.
“You guessed”….” Andy laughed, relaxing for the first time since arriving.
“I couldn’t avoid guessing!....... How could I not? The way you talked….. And you were a blonde for a whole year and then went on to be a Redhead……… Why did you choose to change?” He had never explained….
“Oh, simple really, I’d got bored — even though Sarah had changed the colour quite often, I was bored with it, and everyone around me kind of accepted that was ‘me’ — so I wanted to change the ‘me’ they saw. Bit of a shock tactic, I guess. And then there was the argument about my roots and Sarah wanting me to wear them.. like a fashion statement. I’d always been phobic about them.. She knew that… I had her bleach the roots every two weeks…… “
“But that doesn’t explain why Red??” Jenny asked.
“Better Red than dead! I suppose” laughed Andy. “No, I’d always loved Redheads through my teens and being blonde hadn’t been my choice — Sarah had pulled that surprise on me… But we kept my hair blonde as it had the “wow” factor, I guess….”
“So, Red was your first love?”
“Indeed it was……… Red hair is sexy — d’you know what I mean……. About that time, I do remember, there was a programme on telly, called “Rock Follies” and I fell in love with Rula Lenska, the Redhead in the show. She was gorgeous — still is, though you don’t see her much….. Beautiful red hair in a riot of curls….. Stunning!”
“I see,…. Andy, it’s time to think about you…. You were looking in the styling books here,…”
Jenny said, picking one up. “….. ….. Do you see any styles here you remember … any that were really attractive?.......” She placed the book firmly in his hands and sat back, saying nothing more.
She wanted him to engage with the whole spectrum of women’s hairstyles that were in the book…
Silence………….
Andy thumbed through the pages, very slowly, admiring several styles but saying nothing.
Jenny watched, closely, seeing which styles he paused upon, and which he passed over quickly. Andy clearly only had time for styles with long hair. Some perfectly smooth and straight, some with lustrous curls flowing, some with tighter formal ‘dressing’ and some attractive ‘up-dos’. None, it seemed were short. Femininity, for him it seemed, was coupled with long hair.
All of which made Jenny certain that the ‘ little surprise’ she had waiting for Andy would be right. He hadn’t had long hair for ages and ages. Tonight, he could have it if he wanted.
“You haven’t chosen any….” she said, pushing him just a little.
“There are too many…” Andy replied quite wistfully. He loved too many of them.
“OK, narrow them down then… Just look at this section — for Redheads…….” Jenny folded the book to reveal where, among sections for every hair colour, Redheads were clustered together… “Just choose me three…. So I really know what you like….”
Andy was deep in concentration now… loving every minute. He looked up and just said “You’re very special, you know that…” She laid her hand on his, on the styling book, and smiled. She knew he was in her hands, totally.
After a minute or two, he said, “There…. Three…… The first is this one,….” He had chosen a fabulous auburn pageboy Bob, with sleek sides and a full fringe, raised at the crown with light back-brushing.
“Second, this one…” A beautiful arrangement of burgundy-coloured curls, large ones, with some lighter highlights. The curls were those that stood up all around the model’s head by two or three inches, evidently “set” but inviting hands to be run through.
“Lastly, this one….” An up-do, arranged with a short fringe and a cluster of tightly piled curls at the crown and down to the nape of the neck. This was more a light auburn almost straw-berry colour. The back of the head was shown in detail, with the curls pinned to the head.
T
he models for the photographs were all stunning, which exaggerated the attraction of their hair. Their make-up was faultless, their clothes were simple but superb. Beauty, Andy thought, really is in the eye of the beholder. Then, he looked again at Jenny. She too, is stunning… Confident, Easy-going, Great sense of humour, Great looks…..
“And which one of these would be your first choice?” Jenny put him on the spot.
For a reason — though Andy didn’t know why.
“The last one, the third…. It’s just so feminine…..”
“And you’d had your hair like the first style — the Bob — before? What about the second one? Ever been that curly? Ever had highlights?” Jenny’s professional curiosity came to the fore.
“Well, the first, for sure…. I was like that both as a Blonde and as a Redhead. I did like the feeling — so smooth and I thought sexy too. The Curls — oh, the Curls! That’s my Rula Lenska look — If only I had…… But no, not as lovely as that.”
Jenny sat back and thought for a while and made her decision. She would play Andy’s game this week and keep the surprise for next week. Then, and only then, would she ask him to come to the salon dressed. She’d do his make-up and then work some magic to create that style.
“Alright, Sir, we have a contract — for tonight — and one night only — I’ll style your hair and by the time you leave here, you’ll be a Redhead! Not permanently… But you’ll be able to over-night with it until tomorrow…… I told you that I had some fantastic colouring mousses…. Now’s the time for you to choose the colour you want to be!”
Andy knew this moment was coming — or hoped it was — and couldn’t believe that Jenny had just said that. S he put a shade selection chart in front of him, with dozens of different tufts of hair, probably synthetic, laced into a card which described each one.
“I have to tell you that colours will be quite vibrant when applied to your base colour.” Grey! Andy’s hair was a mixture of several, some white, some dark, strands. Pepper and Salt, Jenny had called it. Very attractive, but not to everyone’s liking.
“Vibrant??” Andy asked — as if it meant any different… He wasn’t going to be walking down the street or meeting people he knew…… The more vibrant the better, he thought.
“Well,…” Jenny admitted, “…. You can never be sure because of how porous the hair is from person to person. Some absorb much more colour….. But it doesn’t last beyond one or two shampoos….. You get a really bright almost crimson with this one….. A deep burgundy wine colour with this one…. Bright pink with this one….. Cobalt blue with this one….! There are so many. Obviously, they don’t really come out as wild with brown hair as a base… But with yours….. It’ll be great fun!!”
Andy felt a rush of excitement. He would be going home a Redhead, so why not indulge!
“I’m in your hands, dear lady. You know what your clients want better than they do, I’m sure!”
“Tonight, Andy, you’re staying with quite short hair, but you’re going home spikey and bright Burgundy — Sharon Osborne’s colour if you know what I mean!”
He did know…. And that would be delightful. Sharon’s hair was always attractive…..
And so Jenny moved him to the shampoo basins and gave him a long slow, quite sultry, wash. She then towel-dried it and moved him to the styling chair where he settled just as before. Nothing had changed. She sectioned the hair and just trimmed a few loose ends.
“You’ll find it grows faster as you let it grow — as you are doing, aren’t you?” She had noticed.
“
Tell me, about life as a student, some more. Did the parties affect the way you saw yourself at all? I mean, they sound very impactful to me.” Jenny probed. Andy thought through those early days, how he settled into being known for his projected image. How time at the flat set him up for dressing I his now favourite way… What should he say.
Deep in thought, he stayed silent for a while.
Then, when Jenny had sectioned the hair again, she turned to the top tray on a trolley with rollers, pins, dishes and bowls, selecting a tube of something from the lower shelf. That was the colour! She was concentrating hard so Andy’s quietness meant nothing… Andy knew. It was about to begin. He hadn’t had his hair professionally coloured for twenty five years or more! Where was he going with all this? There was no turning back now!!??
Jenny took a wide stubby brush and spread the colour mousse across the first section of his head, behind and below the crown, pasting the ‘goo’ as she called it to the left and right of the parting. She then slid the point of her tail-comb through the hair and made another section. Andy watched in the mirror. Absolutely transfixed….
“I have to work quickly, because the colour develops fast……but slowest at the back, so that’s where I started.” Jenny said, her hands racing through the work she was doing.
Another section, more ‘goo’ and more pasting.
Andy’s thoughts wandered as he studied his reflection in the mirror. Jenny’s did too.
While she worked, neither felt they needed to say anything.
Andy thought how fortunate he had been to have found, in her, the response that probably no other woman within a hundred miles would have given him. He was very lucky. He was glad he had been brave enough to start on this path. Who could tell where it would lead. He found this woman immensely attractive. Not just that, she was hugely empathetic towards him. She was indulging him in his secret obsession. He felt the stirrings of love for her. As she touched his hair, the feeling was electric. He loved the feeling of the clothes he wore. He knew he would never go out — never ‘pass’ as a woman. ………But that didn’t matter any more. He had never really thought he could.
Jenny’s thoughts flew beyond the work her hands were doing. That was easy. She had coloured hundreds or even thousands of women’s hair in just the same way. It was routine and she was good at what she did. What made this so different was this man. He had trusted her. He had let himself be vulnerable. He had exposed himself to possible ridicule. He was obviously sensitive and caring. He had now hidden his irresistible craving from his wife. Mainly to protect her from being hurt or aggravated, and to keep the marriage together...
He wasn’t especially good looking and, at his age, the possibility of his going out dressed the way he dreamed was ridiculous. But he had trusted her with his secret. Let him sit here with his underwear on, luxuriating in the feeling. How could she help him any more?
***************
Three hours later, back home again, standing in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring his own underwear and the look that Jenny had helped create, he was at peace with himself. It was not going to get better than this.
Jenny had finished his hair off, leaving the colour long enough to be a vivid red!
He had told her about the way those parties in his college days had changed him as a young man. How he had grown increasingly happy in himself, among the other students who accepted him for what he was. He had many times been asked if he were attracted to other guys — to which he was able to answer with complete conviction. He was not homosexual. He had never seen himself in the arms o another man…. Not even when he was dressed. He more saw himself having girly days with the female students, enjoying retail experience, coffees and salads together and talking endlessly……
Jenny had finished his hair and stood back to admire her handiwork.
Then, she had suggested…. He wouldn’t have dared to ask… She had suggested that he needed a little make-up to complete the look… “Otherwise, you’re a bloke with a funny haircut!”, she had said. She had used her own cosmetics. Foundation, which covered his many skin blemishes. Eyeshadow, which gave a flash of bright blue. Mascara and Eyeliner, which made his eyes much more a bold focus of his face. And lastly, some lipstick which suited his colours, a deep browny-red with a matt finish. Long-lasting formula. If he was careful, it would last long into the night.
So there he stood. At home, in his bedroom. Oh, if his wife could see him now.
Oh, no! That wouldn’t be good…. However much he wished it could be so.
At this distance from the mirror, looking fantastic. He felt.
The underwear was gorgeous. All slinky and sexy. His tell-tale bulge in the panties had been dealt with in his excitement as soon as he got home. He’d have to find a way to deal with that if he were to dress with another person around.
The bra was snugly fitted. He’d pushed up what chest body mass he could and was pleased with the effect of a bustline. The panties matched prettily. The suspenders were tight and the stockings.. the sheer flesh-coloured stockings were tight and his legs looked shapely. Now, where were those shoes, with the heels!!?
I
n the back of the wardrobe, where the sun never shone!
***************
At this point, dear Reader, you’re to be given a break — having enjoyed the edited and amended story, please pause to give me some feedback! The rest of the story will eventually be treated in the same way and hopefully you’ll enjoy the second half as much as you’ve enjoyed this, entirely true foundation of the story. Lots of Love, WbG xx
Regrets, I've Had A Few
by WannabeGinger
But then again, too few to mention……… I don't think so!
Indeed, many crossdressers have lives filled with regrets. They/we have to console ourselves with the high spots, the wonderful interludes in which we indulge ourselves. Before we feel guilty, or before we hastily hide away things that will betray our desires.
We can't summon the courage to disclose our feelings to someone we love — wives, girlfriends, whoever…. Could they ever react positively? Not on your life! Worse still, we may throw the "baby out with the bathwater" at times, believing that we can do without indulgence of our feminine instincts.
We throw away the clothes we have kept hidden. We ditch the cosmetics that we struggles to learn how to apply with care. We even put a beautiful wig into the trash; the wig that finally transformed the image in our mirror and made us feel whole, or wholly female.
I've been there and done all of these things. More than once. And yet…… the impulse is still strong.
In the street, I admire women I see, usually for their striking and beautiful hair at first; then the facial features and how make-up highlights the best aspects for them. I admire their clothes, it's true, but only as part of the whole picture…. the illusion that I would hope to adopt, if they're "my type" of girl.
So what do I do? I buy more clothes, or at least underwear, of my own. I can wear my wife's clothes when she's not around (I'm lucky) and can buy her things I might fancy for myself. Then, what do I do, I chicken out and throw my things away again.
I read and write CD stories, living through them the fantasy that I can't bring into reality………….. The Big Closet is the best of them all, beacuse Readers like you give feedback and comments happily, but it can't be logged onto my "favourites" for fear of discovery. I do enjoy a visit to a Transformation salon occasionally, when business travel permits or gives an excuse.
I call myself Karen when I'm dreaming, in memory of a client who was a wonderful (GG female) businesswoman with striking green eyes. She was tall but made the most of it; no fear of heights, she wore high heels that accentuated her shapely legs….. as I should do. She had a wonderful fall of highlighted blonde hair which I continuously dreamed of copying, if only my own hair would grow fast! We could have made music together.
Regrets, there's another. I read loads of stories that deal with TG and surgery, S&M and dominance, forced feminizations……… these aren't for me……. I just wish… I just wish…. for gentle, understanding of the desire for a boy to be more like a girl, just now and again.
So, I keep my secrets "back in the box"… Pandora's not a lady I could live with. I tried to discloe all of this to my wife one time, but she hit the panic button! The limit I'm left with is to wear lipstick from time to time……… if it makes me feel better…….. Oh, so much more could be beautiful.
How can a wife be involved willingly?
………….But, through it all, when there were doubts, I wish I'd done it "my way".
Be happy,
Love Ginger. xx
Pure fiction, inspired by two great British Comedians, one of whose characters was the First Gay in the Village. This Queen, however, is anything but gay, unless you count finding out that you’re a lesbian after coming out as a crossdresser! No such village yet exists but, who knows, one day….
Chapter 1 Behind closed doors
Having lived in the village in the English Cotswold hills for three years or more, Andy and Christine knew that, if they had secrets, then others who were their neighbours would have secrets too. They didn’t care — although they liked all of the others in the village very much. Not to engage in the Swingers’ parties that they thought probably went on, but then, they weren’t secret enough — just the odd phrase that was used in the pub occasionally - were they?
It wasn’t that they were prudish, far from it, but Andy and Christine just didn’t fancy screwing with others’ wives and husbands. Perhaps that made them more conventional than the rest. They couldn’t be sure. After all, if the others were all screwing away like mad spring rabbits, whatever else could be going on… behind closed doors?
Sometimes, like this evening, they spent time with a bottle of wine, speculating about what other residents got up to in the privacy of their own homes………..
It was a small community. Just a dozen couples, that’s all. Much of an age as they were themselves. Late-30s mostly. Enough to have been around the world a few times.
Nobody was gay, as far as they knew, apart from that one couple……. Nobody was unhappy in their marriages or partnerships. Nobody was out of work, so all had more than enough money — after all, this isn’t an inexpensive part of England in which to live.
There was a significant lack of gossip — something that, when they moved in, they expected would characterize village life. “Everyone knows everyone else’s business” some people said. But clearly they didn’t. “When you think… we know so little about any of them… really….. don’t we?” they often said to one another.
There was no scandal — nothing! In three years, there had been no scandals worth talking about.
Andy and Christine had their own secrets, that made them increasingly curious about the rest of the village. After all, if they got up to slightly naughty things behind their closed door, what could possibly be going on behind those other doors that faced them across the village green. They were of that age where naughty things made love-making fun.
They speculated whilst drinking several glasses of wine on a Friday evening and found they could agree on the many naughty things that their neighbours enjoyed.
Andy started it first. “We have to find a way to find out…. What do they all do, besides a healthy fuck now and again?”
Christine agreed. “Yes, indeed, but you can’t just come out with a direct question, like, say asking Cathy “Ever tied Johnny to the bed and given him a blow-job???? ….I mean, I’m sure she’s giving him a blow-job most weekends, but tying him up??.... She might be, but I don’t know her well enough to ask….”
There was no evidence that Johnny ever submitted to bondage games.
“Hmmm……” Andy was thoughtful. “She could give me a blow-job anytime…..!”
Andy was clearly attracted to Cathy, that was for sure.
“Andy!! How dare you!! For that, you’ll pay a penalty tonight!” cried Christine.
“Hmmm… Promise???!” said Andy, smiling. “I’m not sure I see Cathy and Johnny as bondage people really anyway. However, I do think he’d really be one to appreciate her dressing in a very sexy way, maybe a film star way….. I mean, he’s a bit schizo…. All talk and no trousers, I’d say. Probably a voyeur of some kind, just likes to watch her….. D’you think she’d make a good Julia Roberts? The red hair would help….”
Cathy was a fiery redhead.
“Nah, whatever….” Christine snorted, not being an admirer of this Cathy woman. “No, I’m sure she’s grey under that red….. I’d see her more like a Meryl Streep’s Cruella Deville. But then he’s quite attractive…….” Cathy and Johnny were what was known as ‘arms length’ lovers — not married, both with successful jobs, his taking him travelling overseas quite often, hers mainly UK-based. He was “something in Financial Services”. She was a Buyer for a couture house.
“Ohhh, miaowww! Catty about Cathy, or what!” taunted Andy. “But maybe you’re right….” He resolved one day to test out the theory about her dressing very sexily.
He went on, “And then, there’s Jenny and Peter….. They’re always acting suggestively when we go out to the pub as a group. They would be good for a play-acting night… seeing as they like Amateur Dramatics…… They’d do a great “Thomas Crown Affair — she’d be a cool Faye Dunaway and, oh no, he’d never be a Steve McQueen…. Would he?..... Anyhow, he’s an Accountant — what would he know about seduction?! Seduced by balance sheets, he is! Perhaps the acting takes him out of himself?”
Christine struck back. “Oh, I’ve always fancied Steve McQueen…….. but then you fancied Renee Russo in the second take on that movie didn’t you? And I preferred Pierce Brosnan… now he could have me anytime, any day!” laughed Christine.
“That makes a penalty for you too!.... but you’re right, that Renee Russo was something else!” smiled her husband. “That was some sexy encounter, in both the films…..” Jenny could pull that off, I think. She’s got real ‘come-to-bed eyes’ if you ask me.”
“She’s the one that doesn’t need to work — born into money as the saying goes. But she’s very nice and considerate with all of that.” Christine clearly liked the woman.
“Has she ever shown those eyes to you, my darling…?” asked her husband of Christine. There was more than a hint of a suggestion, or maybe a 5% possibility that Jenny would be “as moved by a woman as much as a man. “You mean, she might…. Well, quite possibly…… Now wouldn’t that set the village tongues wagging?!” “A lesbian scandal… too right it would!”
The evening’s speculation was warming up. Two couples down — and how many more to go?
“So, now we have one couple with her dressing sexy to catch him. Another playing seduction scenes with eachother…… one of them maybe being a lesbian? But that’s quite tame really……… If Cathy and Johnny and Peter and Jenny don’t do bondage games, who does?” asked Christine, warming to this line of conversation. She moved over to the other sofa and sat next to Andy, gently unbuttoning his shirt…. Well, it was more than a shirt. She reached inside and tweaked his left nipple…. Hard, but playfully. “Owwww!......” he said, curling with pleasure.
The next couple of neighbours came into contention.
Christine went on, “…Well, there’s Pamela who is very stern at times and can give a very dark frown if you, I mean, if I, say the wrong thing at the wrong time….. She could get on top of Jack if he put a foot wrong.”
Andy, too, was beginning to enjoy this speculation. “No doubt she would…. “Our Pammie”….. And she might be jealous of you when you get playful, my darling.” Andy’s eyes twinkled at the thought that ran through his mind. “I’ve always thought that Jack was a bit of a coward where she’s concerned. Never says a word, if you notice, when she’s around. He’s all full of bravado and his big career when we’re at the pub, just us fellas, but with her, oh! No!..”
“D’you think she spanks him, if he’s been naughty??!” Christine laughed, intrigued by the thought. “Perhaps she’s got one of those straps, or paddles…..!”
“Did you mean a strap-on…. You don’t….? You can’t…. er, ….mean it…! She wouldn’t, would she…?? I mean… Give him one with a strap-on???..... Phew! He’d have to be very naughty…!” Andy went a little cold at the thought. He had never once dreamed or really expected that people he knew did that sort of thing….. But successful men sometimes are the most submissive when they get home, aren’t they? “So is there any swinging
But then again, people he knew probably didn’t do what he and Christine had been doing for a long long time….. They did keep their secrets very secret. They made sure.
Three couples dealt with.
“OK, then, so who do we know around here that’s a real expert with a dildo? A trusty fucker?” Andy ventured to enquire.
“You mean, like we enjoy with our little fucker…. You know how much I enjoy that, especially when your tongue goes around……” Christine was playing with Andy’s nipple a lot now, so much in fact that she was losing the thread of the conversation.
“Yes, I think that would be Cathy, of all the people we’ve mentioned. I’m sure she’d know how to get the best out of one of those beauties. Especially if it had a little buzz-box inside…!” Andy said and raised an eyebrow waiting for his Wife’s response.
“You mean a vibrator? Oh, yes!” Christine agreed, her mouth now only an inch from Andy’s bra-covered nipple.
So, it was Cathy — Cruella Deville - for the dildo and vibrating tricks, Johnny for the voyeur’s role, Jenny the actress who might swing ‘both ways’ and Peter who’s the Accountant who does ‘AmDram’ seduction scenes with his wife, and there was Pamela who’s very stern and domineering with Jack who may take a dildo or strap-on on a quiet night in at home. All those without the two of them….. And there was Andy and Christine. Quite a start for just one village.
“Well, at least it’s not Midsummer Village….. we would all be dead by now!” (Andy guffawed with laughter. Midsummer Murders was always his source of derision about the standards of crap that was served up on British television).
Exploring who lived in the village besides these people, Christine said, “What about the couple who own the village store, next to the pub on the green? They have been in the village since they were married and took over the store from her parents. She’s always very friendly but I don’t see him around at all……” Andy thought for a while and answered, “I suspect he’s running a cannabis farm in his greenhouse in the garden and runs wild drug-fuelled parties when we aren’t here. Perhaps they’re all at it! maybe she’s so nice ‘cos she sells the weed as a special extra on any orders they get!”
“Now, you’re being daft…” exclaimed Christine. “…As if there’s a drugs farm going down here in the wilds of the countryside!”, and she paused, only to begin again saying, “…. But then again, it might explain why she is SO helpful!!!!” Andy answered very soon after she finished.
“OK, so now we can add them and their drugs parties to the dildo and vibrating tricks, the voyeur and the actress who swings both ways with her husband who seduces her in public, and the man who’s wife does him with the strap-on while being very stern, and then there’s you and me…….”
Four couples and themselves too…
“…..And what we get up to on a Friday night, a Saturday and a Sunday……. In secret!!!”
“Now, you’re forgetting the awfully prim and proper pair who probably “do it” once a week and only once a week, and always in the “missionary position” with him on top and her with her legs spread wide while he thrashes away as fast as he can and she thinks of what’s to have for supper, and it’s all over in about three minutes….” Christine had a clear picture of what went on in the house next to the pub. Andy thought again and said that he was sure that Christine was right in what she said. “Surely, the world would be a dull place if we all did it “their way”…. But, I suppose, that’s the way it was before the Sixties and the Seventies brought more freedom….”
Five couples and themselves…….
“Well, the two guys that run the village chemists and deli took advantage of that as soon as they could didn’t they? Living here all quiet or years before we got here, minding their own business and behaving like a pair of bookends. Then, as soon as Civil partnerships become legal, before you can say Elton and David, they’re hitched!” Andy was overwhelmed in mock outrage. “I mean, you would never have guessed that they were gay, unless you noticed the athleticism of their morning runs around the village and the houseproud way they take care of their little shop and fawn over the few tourists we get through here.”
“That’s so right… you would never know….. Mwahhh! Mwahh!” Christine blew Andy a couple of gay kisses as both laughed happily.
Six couples and themselves……….
The lovers sat back and slowly adopted a gentle fore-play routine that they did most Friday nights. Andy’s lacy blouse was now undone. His delicate perfume hit his lovers nostrils suddenly. Christine rummaged gently inside Andy’s top, her fingers tugging the bra aside to let her lips finally enclose the nipple that she lost no time in biting. Quite hard…… She loved her husband’s wearing of a bra during the weekends they spent together. “Your penalty is to have those nipple grips that I bought you for Christmas on for at least half an hour. Let’s see how much you can bear of them!”
Andy was used to them now but still experienced a luxurious kind of pain when his tits were gripped by the metal teeth of the peg-like clamps on the ends of the silver chain that Christine would then tug mercilessly. All very voluntary, this was. He pretended to be oppressed by this and pleaded with her not to treat him so badly, but there was no escape. He had to suffer just a little bit tonight. In fact, he did much prefer the silky satin and lace of his other bras. And panties.
And the slinkiness of his stockings. And the stretchiness of his suspenders. And the tightness of his stiletto-heeled shoes.
Of course, Andy and Christine had their little secrets that nobody knew anything about. Who doesn’t (have secrets!)???
Andy wearing bras and panties, and stockings and suspenders, and shoes, wasn’t the end of his crossdressing. Only at weekends. In private. He could wear a nightie at bedtime, after he had taken off his daytime make-up which he wore only around the house….
He spent weekends being “Astrid” and, after Christine had rolled his hair up for the night, he would sleep with Christine as her wife.
Not forgetting that, again at weekends only, Christine was “Christopher” and dressed in ‘proper English country style’ with brogue lace-up shoes, corduroy trousers, a ‘hound-tooth’ check shirt and had her hair slicked back, 1930s style, and her face scrubbed to bring out the complexion of the raw English man within her. And a pouch in her boxer shorts to simulate a hard-on. Just like Andy’s bra was filled with padding to simulate his female breasts.
“You really are the first Queen in the village, my darling!” said Christine.
“And you’re the first Jack of Spades, my love….” He/she answered.
--oo00oo–
Where does this conversation lead….? Find out in chapter 2’s fantasy “coming out”.
Pure fiction, inspired by two great British Comedians, one of whose characters was (I’m told) the Only Gay in the Village. This Queen, you may suspect, is the First, but not necessarily the ONLY Queen in this village. No such village yet exists but, who knows, one day….
Chapter 2 Behind other doors
Andy and Christine were speculating over a glass or three of their favourite wine…. A very delicious Aussie Shiraz……. In the guises of Astrid and Christopher.
“So, we have Cathy and Johnny, Jenny and Peter, Pammie and Jack, and two Missionaries… Who are we missing?” recounted Andy. “If they are all up to what we have dreamed up for them, this is one seriously sexy village! If they’re not, perhaps we could encourage them a little?”
Christine smiled but said, shyly “Ooooh, you wouldn’t, would you, Astrid, .... I mean…. Tell anyone… or ask anyone…. What they DO do??.... I mean, how would you start a conversation? ..... I’d have to be very drunk to get into that stuff with other people — people we don’t really know more than to say hello to in the street!”
“You’re remarkably reserved all of a sudden….” Andy said as she slipped the blouse from his upper body, revealing the bra that he had been wearing all evening.
“Well, I’m a shy girl, underneath what looks like boy gear….” Christopher was wearing what she wore most Friday evenings…. Men’s wear. The low light in their living room would allow a casual observer to see a man and a woman enjoying a quiet táªte-á -táªte - the only difference in this case was that the man was the woman and the woman was the man.
“You? Shy?? I don’t think so!” Astrid exclaimed, but quietly. He had not developed a girly voice and spoke in his normal tones. Perhaps, one day, he might raise the tenor a few octaves. “it wouldn’t be difficult, with a third glass of this in your hand…..” he said, indicating the wine in his hand.
“What would I say? And would I say this while dressed girly style, like you are now?” Christopher was envisaging the scene that Andy was painting for her…
“Oh, yes, we’d be boy and girl when exploring what others do… me, boy… you girl…. To have just appeared as we are, would have stunned most people, it would be so unexpected in this sleepy little place.” Andy went on. “It would come best from you to the other lady involved. Let’s say we had Cathy and Johnny round for dinner. Like I said before, you wouldn’t ask a direct question, like, say asking Cathy “Ever tied Johnny to the bed and given him a blow-job????” But you could lead in by saying something like… when you’re just the two of you….. “Johnny seems to be an adventurous sort of guy, would that extend to the bedroom?” Or I could say to Johnny, “It’s good to live in a nice quiet place where what we do at home stays at home…. Do you find that?”
Astrid’s skirt, panties and stockings were comfortable, tucked up on the sofa where they say. His hair was in rollers and his make-up quite profound, for evening wear. He felt good. He was with the one and only man he would ever want to be with. Other women? Well, perhaps! But as he sat on the sofa, he reflected how luck he was that Christine enjoyed the same charades as he did.
And being Christopher, from time-to-time.
“Well, we haven’t done that yet, and we probably won’t….. “ Christine continued. “There are others who live here that may have their different secrets… I’d bet that they don’t enjoy what we enjoy…… I mean, you really are the First Queen, my love. What about the new house at the end of the village — the one with the Jaguar and the 4-by-4? What are their names?”
“That’s Emma and Justin…… Poncey name that….. She’s really nice, I think but he’s a bit of an arsehole…… Another…. Seems like I’m not keen on many of the blokes who live here!” Astrid laughed at himself. “That’s because you’re a girl’s girl, my honey…. You don’t seem anything you like in the shop window so you don’t buy, except from me!!” Christine teased him.
She went on, “I would think that they play Trivial Pursuit with a difference — What was the world record for the number of people fucking in a Mini?.... or maybe Cluedo — was it Miss Scarlet, on the dining table, with the dildo??!!” The pair thought for a moment about the fun that could be had designing a sexy version of some games for adults.
“I think they’d need at least six people to make such a game interesting… assuming that each game ends with people pairing off and going and doing exactly what Professor Plum might have fancied doing, or Colonel Mustard…..!”
“Perhaps we should ask them in for dinner too?...” Astrid said, half seriously. “…she’s at home all day without kids so perhaps you could have a close girls’ talk with her too?”
“What about the man and woman who own the farm on the edge of the village?” Andy just thought of the wife in that pairing. “…. She’s a handful, I’d expect! Muscles on her like a weight-lifter. Bet she’s a rough and tumble lady. Lucky man! I could imagine them having a tumble in the hay barn…. Whoahhh!”
“Yes, indeed, you must be right…..Astrid… I love the idea of hay barns, in fact I’ve always had a bit of a fantasy ever since I saw that Bond movie, “Goldfinger” where 007 is trying to persuade Pussy Galore that she’s not “immune” after all — she was the pilot who had a flight of blondes, all of which were clearly her playthings… Honor Blackman, that was her name — the actress — tight leather gear and perfect face and immaculate hair…. and he just threw her into the hay — but not before she had thrown him over her shoulder! Beautiful woman!” Christopher elapsed into her first crush on a film star. That woman had the most beautiful breasts, tightly confined with black leather. her team of blondes were also similarly dressed and their breasts shouted "squeeze me" "suck me!" "pinch me!" "bite me!!" Christine had wanted to do all of those things in her teenage crush.
“Hmmmm…. A very pretty Pussy, if ever I saw one!” said Andy. He, too, thought of Honor Blackman's wonderful tits. His fantasises didn't usually extend to domination, but in her case, Pussy Galore could have done whatever she wanted with him! He imagined her wonderful melons right in front of his lips, covered in lipstick - the lips not the breasts, yet!, and how he, or rather as she, would plaster the nipples with crimson creme! His mind so obviously wandering, Christine shook his arm and Andy awoke with a start....
“What are their names, the two at the farm….. Is it Nick and Angie? I think it is.”
Christine agreed with all Andy had said and the names were confirmed…… “We’re building up a list here — seems like an invitation list for a party. If only to find out what these people are like close to hand and to see if our suspicions could be confirmed.” She paused and then asked Andy, looking into his eyes through the mascara and eyeshadow….. “Do we agree there are no other Queens in the village?”
“I’d hope not!” Andy exclaimed. “I don’t want competition! I’m the prettiest one, apart from yourself when you’re you, Christine… not you, Christopher!”
Christopher thought about that and paused again……. “You know something, you can be prettier than me at times and I don’t mind at all. It’s what makes you, you!”
She kissed Astrid and whispered… “time for the skirt to come off, my love….” And Astrid obeyed.
This left him/her standing by the sofa with just the bra, the panties and the stockings…. “Now, put the shoes back on, my honey. I want to see you parade… you’ve got it, so flaunt it!”
An answer to Astrid’s repeated prayers. To “do the catwalk” as they called it. To “model” what he/she was wearing, for Christopher’s approval.
“Your panties are too full!” he/she said….. “We must deal with that… Come here!” Indicating where to stand, right in front of his/her eyes. Sitting still on the sofa, Christopher fetched Astrid’s penis from within the lacy panties and soon slipped her lips around its head. Just standing there, in his lacy undies, Andy was in heaven. His pleasure lasted more than long enough, so skilful was Christine in managing just how much stimulation Astrid could have before she would cum. And cum Astrid did. The ‘problem’ was dealt with. Christine tucked the now tiny appendage back where it belonged. Inside the beautiful lacy panties. Christine smoothed Andy’s stockings down his thighs.
“My turn now, said Astrid, sinking to his knees. At first his face was level with Christopher's tits, so Astrid squeezed them... hard! Through her shirt and the binding she had applied to flatten her tits, failing badly as the nipples were still proud! Christine's eyes went blurry as she responded immediately. Astrid rested between Christopher’s widely splayed legs and unbuttoned the fly of the trousers Christine had been wearing. Inside Astrid found the very ordinary man pants that Christine wore when she was being “Christopher”. Inside them, she — Astrid — found the smaller of the dildos they kept for evenings, it was just big enough to give Christopher the feeling that she had a hard-on between her thighs. Astrid set that aside and buried her face into Christopher’s sweet pussy. He loved the taste of her — Christine — with the added spice of his own lipstick.
--oo00oo–
Morning dawned and Saturdays were always leisurely times in Astrid and Christopher’s household. A glass of Aussie pinot chardonnay fizz went well with warm English muffins and a mug of hot strong tea for breakfast. Coffees and the newspapers followed, regular as clockwork, and before they knew it, the morning had passed.
Every Saturday morning, Christopher unrolled Astrid’s hair from its setting and used the skills in hairdressing that she had from doing her own hair, to make Astrid look perfection. His hair was mostly one length which suited large curlers with longer hair at the crown, which allowed fullness to be added with some back-combing. Its colour was still Andy’s natural mousey-brown. Astrid then put on her own daytime make-up that complemented the sweet summer dress that she wore over the same sexy underwear she revelled in.
Christopher, once he had dressed his husband’s hair, allowed her to shave his face… very gently. Of course, there was very little hair to remove but they pretended that his stubble had grown again and wasn’t the way Astrid wanted to kiss his cheeks. Christopher then dressed in his usual manly weekend country wear…. A rough shirt with cord trousers and boots.
While Christine dressed as Christopher, Astrid set about putting lacquer on her own fingernails. Andy had become quite proficient at this since Christine gave him her first lessons. His nails were quite long now — long enough to be impactful in the bedroom!
“I’ve remembered some people we forgot last night!” Andy called as he put the hard top coat on his nails and Christine came down the stairs, looking in every sense the man he wished he had married.
“How could we forget Samantha and Brian? They may live in a little cottage but I would expect that they have huge sexual appetites, wouldn’t you?” Andy clearly had time for this couple.
“Oh, yes indeed.” Christine said — she too had not perfected a manly voice so it was with her normal gentle tones that she replied. “You can tell it in their eyes…. I often ask myself when I meet new people…. Do they? And very often the answer is… “probably not!” but in their case, I should think they’re going at it like blind rabbits in summertime!”
“Would he be a Queen — even for a day? Do you think?” Andy asked….. “Bearing in mind, I don’t want competition……….”
Christopher put on his manly guise and replied “in my book, she would make a good Queen — she’s quite slight in build and so would fit some pretty clothes….. I think I could make her see the attraction of playing the girly role — if I tried, or had the chance to try!”
Andy paused at the mirror by the kitchen door and said “I’m really wanting to go out for a walk today. The weather is so lovely. I wonder if we went out we would get away with being who we would like to be… if anyone stopped us in the street. I mean, it could be embarrassing for them as well as us…”
“If they recognized who we were, it would…. But we could try passing as complete strangers…… Might be best to go into the pub and have lunch just as if we’ve visited the village on a tour round the Cotswolds, like so many people do. We would have to make eachother look even more different than we do just now….. Not over the top in any way… Tourists around the Cotswolds don’t do “over the top” do they?!”
It was decided that the lunchtime date at the pub would be what they would do. Both secretly had wanted to do this for months — since their weekends en femme and en home had become their usual practice. Christopher took Astrid upstairs to her vanity unit where the cosmetics were to be found. He applied some foundation and a little blusher where Astrid had put very little after waking. She then added a second colour of eyeshadow to complement the first applied earlier and then gave a good thick coat of mascara to Astrid’s eyes. Lastly he allowed Astrid to apply her own lipstick — this time a long-lasting Dior one.
Astrid admired herself in the mirror and Andy’s voice said “Thank you darling, I feel ready for the world!” She stood and beckoned Christopher to sit at the mirror. She combed his hair strongly and made it all sleek to his head. “You had a really good shave this morning darling. I do like to see a man well groomed.” Andy smiled into the mirror and his wife smiled back at him.
Astrid stood in her underwear and remembered to complete the final part of her transformation.... cotton padding for her bra. Most of the time, and certainly when at home, Astrid's hest was unadorned with padding. Christopher enjoyed playing with Andy's nipples too much to let padding get in the way. but if they were going out for a walk and to end up in 'company', Astrid needed to be more shapely, and that meant having the illusion of a bust to be proud of. Andy chose how much padding would be enough. Christopher intervened and suggested "at least twice as much!". So, tweice a smuch it was. The 'B' cup bra was full! The stretchy lambswool sweater that Astrid put on was ideal for the shape Andy wanted, even if it was a bit on the larger size than he might have planned if left to him/herself.
The white sweater was complemented by the flowing floral skirt that Andy stepped into and slid up his stockinged legs. he tightened the belt as hard as he could, offering an almost 1950s look. He added light trainers, such as a girl such as he would wear for a country walk. There was bright sunshine and no risk of rain. Andy swished his skirt from side to side and again thought "I enjoy being a girl!",
“Ready??”
“You bet!”
Ch.3 not written yet but lunch out (and a first meeting) beckon our lovers.
Pure fiction, inspired by two great British Comedians, one of whose characters was (I’m told) the Only Gay in the Village. This Queen, you may suspect, is the First, but not necessarily the ONLY Queen in this village. No such village yet exists but, who knows, one day…. Now, Astrid and Christopher get out and about..
Chapter 3 Outside the front door
The weather was lovely. The sun shone on the village street which Andy and Christine could view from their front windows. Andy had wondered if they went out for a stroll, whether they would get away with being who they would like to be.
They had speculated about passing as a couple, female and male, or being discovered for what they really were, underneath. A man and a woman. Underneath their clothes of the opposite gender.
They had decided to ‘go for it’.
It was decided that the lunchtime date at the pub would be what they would do. Both secretly had wanted to do this for months — since their weekends en femme and en homme had become their usual practice. Weekends were a time for subtle, country wear. Nothing exaggerated as they might indulge in their evenings together… like the evening to come, they hoped.
Having breakfast was a relaxed affair, Andy enjoyed lounging about in his lingerie and sipping coffee, watching Christine get organized for the day while still wearing her dark blue very male towelling dressing gown. Astrid had yoghurt and fruit while Christopher enjoyed a full English fry-up breakfast, just as most blokes would do. The coffee was strong, Astrid’s was frothy and milky, Christopher’s was all black, no nonsense.
Time came to climb the stairs and to get ready for the day’s frivolities. Time did allow, however, for a little more intimate frivolity before clothing themselves. Astrid quickly reached for the lipstick that was sitting, waiting, on the vanity unit. She then parted the front of Christopher’s dressing gown as they stood by the bed. Andy often did this on a Saturday morning, so Christine knew what was coming next. She was going to get tongue-fucked by this lovely woman who was her Husband. Well, he was her husband five days a week… and didn’t she just love days Six and Seven! She sat down on the edge of the bed and Astrid knelt before her.
Gently raising her legs on to Astrid’s shoulders, Christine lay back on the bed. Astrid’s eyes focussed on the parting of her beautiful partner’s pussy. The wonderful folds of sensitive velvet which he knew so well were ready and moist already. His lipstick tasted very sexy this morning, unusually so — perhaps it was his subconscious anticipation of what was to come. Going out in full femme style.
This made his caressing of Christine’s pussy especially energetic. It wasn’t long before she was lost in a haze of pleasure while Astrid’s cock stayed between her thighs, patiently waiting for her Wife to cum.
And, of course, she did.
--oo00oo–
Andy’s patience was rewarded and he, too, would cum, for him quite spectacularly. It was comparatively rare these days, his pleasure being so great when he had Christine in such a position. But it was worth waiting for. This one. His bollocks felt like they were totally drained. That was a cum and a half!!
But time had to wait now. It was time to freshen up and get dressed for the day.
Having sorted out their hair, ……. Andy wearing a bouncy, swingy style and Christine a slicked back “boy’s” with a quiff, all-male, ……. they attended to their needs for make-up, Christine wearing none, and Andy being made-up lightly by “her” “husband”, Christopher.
The two went to their alternative closets in the dressing room which was ‘ensuite’ to their bedroom,
It was important, they felt, having dressed at weekends for several years now, that they had a choice of costumes to wear for different occasions.
There were all sorts of clothes; some for glamour nights in for two, some for everyday ‘just’ being wife and husband, some for night-times and for sex…. The list went on. One rail in each closet had ‘normal’ day-wear. It was anything but ‘normal’, except for them….. The rest of the world might have thought it was deviant at the very least. But they loved it; just being a couple. Him and her. Or rather, her and him….
Today’s choice was quite easy, given the sunny day but fresh cool temperatures. Astrid chose her favourite skin-tight slacks in black, and a loose girly shirt which wouldn’t hide her bra too much if it weren’t buttoned too tightly. (After all, if you’ve got it, flaunt it!, she thought). She reached for the soft cotton padding that would fill the bra where the tits she dreamed of having would have been. She packed the bra tightly, so that her ‘breasts’ stood proud through the shirt.
Andy’s female shoes were suited to a walk on country paths, but not messy woodlands, so she dared to go for the open-toed sandals which would expose her delightful lacquered toe-nails to view. The nails always made her feel just that bit more feminine if they were on view.
Christopher opted for heavy shoes, suited to walking miles if needed, thick walking socks, denim jeans which were male-cut, allowing her to wear them very tight around her bum. She decided not to wear the small dildo between her thighs that she sometimes used on days like this. It did make her feel very sexy but, today, it would wait until they got home this afternoon. On top, with her tits bound with tape to hide their luxurious nipples, she chose a tartan check shirt. For outer-wear, she chose a black fleece with a motorsport logo, emphasizing her butch persona for the day.
Astrid would later choose a pretty pink anorak in a soft cotton fibre. As they stood with eachother at the front door, each looked at the other and they agreed, they made “such a pretty pair and that they would never leave”, recalling Carly Simon’s “You’re so vain”….
Andy smiled into the mirror and his wife smiled back at him. And then a thought occurred to him. Before opening the door, he said, “How could we have forgotten?”
“Forgotten what?” Christopher asked, blankly.
“Where we’re going, after our walk….. we’re going to the pub….. “
“And….??”
“And there’s another couple, and a barmaid too, who we haven’t even considered in our analysis of the people we live with here….!! While we walk, let’s include them in our thinking…. I mean, the pub is always the heart of the village, wherever you are, isn’t it? I bet there’s not much that goes on that they don’t know about. But then, there’s the oddness that there’s no gossip in the village here. You’d think….”
“Oh, I know what I think…” Christine chipped in. “There are so-called evenings at the pub that we’ve never been to…. What about a Quiz night?! There could be things going on….”
Andy latched on to the implication. His mind switched back to the Monty Python sketch in a pub…. One of his favourite pieces of comedy of all time… He fell instantly into Eric Idle mode.
“Nudge, nudge, wink, wink, say no more…. Interested in photography, is she…. Yer wife… Nudge, nudge!? Photography…. !?” Complete strangers engaged in, from one side at least, very unhealthy banter. The very conservative target for the game was obviously not engaged in any kind of hanky panky, never mind intimate photographs!
Christine warmed to the idea. “Well, there’s a way in to ask the Barmaid…. Is there a Quiz Night, or perhaps a photography club meeting…. Know what I mean… nudge, nudge! Say no more!! I could try that on with her….. being the man in our relationship, she might not be surprised…. She might even let me into a secret!” Christine was suddenly keen on chatting up the Barmaid. “I’ll do that… never know, if I fancy my chances, I could be “in” there, if you know what I mean…… Nudge, nudge!!”
“Cheek of it!” exclaimed Astrid…… “You have a tasty wife at home who’s up for anything you might suggest. You take care to leave the barmaid out of it. I only ever did fancy three-somes, with girls anyhow.” Her cheeks flushed with a mock embarrassment. “Not with another bloke.”
Still standing in the hall-way, they looked eachother up and down, admiring their ‘alternative selves’ and they then shared a hug and a long loving kiss. After that, Astrid had to refresh her lipstick in the mirror, a pause before they emerged from their home!
“Ready??”………………… “You bet!”
--oo00oo--
As the pair walked the pathways around the village, they drank in the sunshine and felt the gentle breeze though their hair. They held hands and easily dropped into the characters that they would be all day. There would be no acknowledgement of their true genders. They were Woman and Man. They were Wife and Husband. No words were needed for some extended time, before they would get round to assessing other villagers’ private interests.
Andy’s thoughts went back to the time when he and Catherine had met. In that indeterminate time in the past when boys were boys and only boys…..girls were girls and all pretty or alternatively, well, androgynous if they chose to be. It was acceptable for girls to look almost like boys but not for boys to look like girls. He was very attracted to Christine for the way she looked, the way she acted, the way she dressed and for her positive approach to life. He, by comparison, was rather unconfident, insecure and often ill at ease with being masculine. Catherine suited his dream of an assertive yet perfectly feminine girl.
Deep inside, he wished he was feminine. A girl…. Not so much as to want to change his sex. But he felt he could easily be a girl. Not that this would mean him being attracted to men. Far from it. He loved women for all things feminine that they were. He was jealous of them really. He was jealous when Christine would, from time to time, dress in a totally glamorous and sexy way. She could become a vamp, a sex kitten, out to seduce. She could seduce him any time she wanted.
Christine was also lost in thought, but she wasn’t thinking of the past. Not at all. She was thinking of the future. Where was all of this leading? Where would they be in a week or two — a month or two, or a year or two? She enjoyed their life together. It wasn’t what she had planned for herself when she was younger. She planned a successful career, and had forged success often at the expense of the men she worked with. She watched them. She could play them at their own games. She was more than their equal. She was superior. Not that she felt superior to Andy. They were complementary.
Their individual strengths worked well together. She was happy for him to play the girly sometimes. It brought the manliness that she knew she had within to the fore. Walking as they were today, she was the guy with the girl on his arm. It made her feel moist between her thighs. She now wished she had brought the little dildo with her!
The circuitous walk led them through the lanes around the village until they came to the Church at the top end of the High Street. They sat on the bench among the snowdrop flowers that were there in glorious profusion. It was a lovely time of year.
The occupants of the pub, including the barmaid, had not been discussed but, seeing as they were fast approaching lunchtime, it was right to speculate about whom they would encounter in the next few minutes. “Bev, the barmaid, Brian and Bitchy Belinda, the owners, three to reckon with.”
“The barmaid is the easy one to suss out…” said Astrid as she briefly refreshed her lipstick in the mirror of the hand compact that Christopher had given her on her birthday. “Bev’s the original slut… and I love her for all of that. There’s no hiding place for a man when he goes in there. She’s waiting for all and anyone in trousers. I think she’d bang the bed like a shithouse door in a gale!” (Such a blokey comment! ..thought Christine).
This gave a jolly illusions that Christopher could imagine. “Legs apart, feet in stirrups, tits hanging out of a blouse around her neck. What a sight!! Lovely, Gagging for it, people might say! What do you think gives her away, as a slutty lady, I mean?”
Astrid had no doubts. “The length of her skirt, the leopardskin top and the wild highly piled blonde curls. That hair is so bleached it could have been in the sun for a month! She’s altogether too much like Bet Lynch in Corrie…. And you know what she was like!”
“Indeed, this barmaid has obviously modelled herself on the ultimate slutty slapper…. But don’t you just love her!” Christopher exclaimed.
Her husband couldn’t disagree. In fact, Andy had always fancied a romp with the barmaid whenever he went into the village pub. He had never had the courage to chat her up with that in mind. To tell the truth, he was more interested in the construction of her hairstyle. Was it all her own hair, or was it a hairpiece, pre-styled and added like an extension/ probably the latter of the two, he thought. If only he could have the same….
“So, she’s game for a romp in the sack with anyone, are we agreed?” Christine asked.
“Yes, too right, we are!” Andy replied, sighing deeply at the thoughts he had just had. In a flash, he thought of Bev’s tits and how they had been served up, when he last saw her, like two melons on a serving board, on a shelf…. Just the thought made him feel a hard-on start. Getting his lipsticked lips around Bev’s nipples would be fun!...........
As they turned a corner, they were confronted by another couple from the village, out for a morning stroll. They recognized this pair as Cathy and Johnny, the first cuple they had analyzed in their talk about the rest of the villagers. Cathy said “Good morning” with a cheery smile, and Johnny smiled as well. Christopher answered with a bold “Good morning to you too… Lovely weather!”
And the moment was past. Both men and both women setting off to continue their walks. Andy and Christine had not been recognized. They were past their first test. But neither said a word. Andy had held his breath through the whole 30 seconds of the event.
“So what kind of people hire a barmaid like her to work in their pub?.....” Christine went on. She knew that Andy had nearly fainted!
“………..People like Belinda and Brian…… I called her a bitch and I think that of her…. She’s never been at all civil when I have been in the pub with you… as just you and me. She looks at customers like she’s superior to them in every way. I dislike the woman!” Christopher clearly had strong feelings about this woman.
Andy was surprised at the vehemence in Christopher’s voice, but then had an idea. “Perhaps you could flatter her outrageously before suggesting that you and she get together… You, Christopher, might stand a chance of ‘pulling’ if you pitch it right.” Andy paused, developing his idea in his mind, but saying no more.
“How could I do that, with us being casual tourists in the village?…. Never been here before. Never likely to be staying. What do you mean?” Catherine was genuinely lost. What was Andy getting at?
“I think it might be interesting, if we find that we are not ‘clocked’ as who we really are, if we actually said we were visitors who were taking on Andy and Catherine’s cottage while they went away for a few days. We could be their house-sitters, couldn’t we??”
“You mean be ourselves as we are today, for several days??? I like the idea of that. But it would only work if we are accepted as strangers, not as the people we really are. Do you think it’s going to work???”
Well, you know how I feel about Belinda… what do you think of Brian?” Christopher asked.
“Bit of a wanker if you ask me…..” Andy considered his reply. “….. With a wife like her, he’s probably not been successful at anything he’s tried. Might just be in the right job at last. Certainly not someone who would be able to stop his wife going off and screwing with a total stranger who just moved into the village.” Andy went silent, thought again, and said, “Don’t you even dare think of a threesome or a foursome with those two. Screwing her might be fun just the two of you… I’d enjoy hearing your report on the encounter!”
Belinda fitted the description well — a bitch of the first order. Sophisticated, she thought, but really just full of airs and graces that a pub landlady shouldn’t have. Posh voice, suggesting an education she had never had. Country landowning background, she would like you to think, but probably a Farmer’s daughter. Rides horses, but may not own more than one. Hob-nobs with the property-owning classes of Oxfordshire.
“Nice tits…..” said Christine…. “…. Maybe Christopher could tell her, she has nice tits….” Not half as nice, or half as visible as Bev’s, thought Astrid.
They had spent quite some time sitting on the bench in the sunshine and it was now time to venture towards the pub, to have a drink and to have some lunch. They decided it was a good idea to try the ‘strangers staying in Andy and Christine’s cottage while they are away’ story and see if they were accepted as the strangers they were professing to be.
As they got up from their seat in the sunshine, Andy was suddenly struck by a feeling of his confidence as Astrid, as a woman for the world to meet, draining away. They had seen people at a distance on their walk. They had even passed cheery waves and “Good morning” greetings, but now, it was ‘make your mind up time’… Am I ready to go through with this?, he asked himself silently, not wanting to betray his thinking to Christopher, her female husband. It didn’t take more than a second for “him” to realize that Astrid was hesitant….
“What’s the matter, honey?, You look ashamed of something….?”
“No, darling, I’m not ashamed, and I love you for bringing me to this point in our lives…… but I have never developed a speaking voice to convince anyone of my femaleness….. I may try at home, in private, and you’re very encouraging, but….. be honest…… I don’t sound feminine enough? ….Do I? …. Be honest… And if I can’t, or don’t, I have to say nothing…” Astrid’s male voice trembled.
“You will do fine….. Just think how girly you look and how girly you feel. This is meant to be fun… it’s not torture!! I love you very much, man or woman, and I’ll show it by kissing you in full view of everyone in the pub.. You wait and see!” Christopher was suddenly masterful again.
They reached the door of the pub. Pausing for just a moment to kiss his “wife”, Christopher sqeezed “her” hand and pushed open the door.
--oo00oo--
Bev greeted them as they entered the pub. “What will you have, dears." Neither Belinda or Brian were anywhere to be seen. But Bev’s breasts were there for everyone to see… and admire. Andy’s gaze fixed on them in a totally un-feminine stare…….
“Eyes off!” whispered Christopher….. “They are mine!!”
“Two beers — one a pint for me, the other a half with lime juice for my lovely wife, please.”
Chapter 4 will reveal the encounter, with Bev and, later, with “B&B”.
Pure fiction, with events unfolding in a way that may surprise some villagers… or may release some inhibitions among others? No such village yet exists but, who knows, one day….
Chapter 4 Inside the pub’s front door
Bev, the busty barmaid, had greeted Astrid and Christopher as they entered the pub. The place was busy but not crowded and they could be served immediately. They both stood at the bar and Christopher ordered for them both, which in itself was unusual because Christine rarely ordered drinks or food. It was their custom that Andy should do so.
Christopher’s voice was firm and controlled, as masculine as you might wish, so not unusual. Andy admired his wife’s confidence “Two beers — one a pint for me”, she said, “…..the other a half with lime juice for my lovely wife, please.”
The dark beer flowed into the glasses and Astrid’s eyes were forced to look at that…. he had been told not to admire Bev’s lovely tits for any longer….. Well, he thought, they are magnificent! Bev’s breasts were set up on a ‘balcony’ bra, one with extensive padding and ‘uplift’. The tits were separated with a gorgeous — literally gorge-ous — gorge between them in which Andy could imagine his face buried and his lipstick smothered all over them! He felt the straps of his own bra tighten as he breathed more deeply. His own padded bra offering no such display… but he wished it could have! He was warming to the enjoyment that is possible if being out ‘in public’ can bring a lack of surprise for a man dressed as he, Astrid, was today.
“That will be four pounds seventy, thanks…” said Bev, smiling directly into Christopher’s face, not reading his femaleness at all. To Bev, this was a man with his wife, out for a country walk. Strangers she had not met before. “Will you be having food with us today?” she asked.
“Probably…” was her male customers answer as she looked at her wife, who said nothing. Andy was struck dumb again — his confidence in his female voice was very thinly stretched. She just smiled at Christopher who paid for the drinks before the moved away from the bar to sit by the un-lit fire.
“Take it calmly, honey…” said Christine to her husband. “You look delightful today and I do love the way your hair is set. It’s really girly and suits you well”.
Christine felt confident in her male guise now. She had left the house, guided Andy round the pathways that encircled the hamlet that was their village home. It was very small really. Too small for there to be secrets but, remarkably, the games they played at weekends were not, to her knowledge, known by anyone else. So she felt confident that he escapes into masculinity would remain their secret. She had no idea where this weekend would lead them. But they would remain woman and man, wife and husband. They would be Christopher and Astrid, because Christine and Andy were “away” for the weekend.
“Why, thank you sir!” said Astrid. Andy’s hand subconsciously rose to touch the hair that framed the left side of her face. She was so pleased she had set it lightly before they left the house. A country walk can make a mess of a girl’s hair so some setting mouse was worth the extra time before leaving.
“This is going really well… Are you enjoying yourself?” Astrid whispered as she looked across the room, her eyes following Bev and those magnificent tits of hers. “I hope you are, because I really am……”
“I’d enjoy it more if you took your eyes off that woman’s tits…..” Christine retorted, “ While I agree they are superb, they don’t make a good topic of conversation. Let’s just accept that you would love to have a pair like them and that we must do something to get your desires satisfied….!!” This was Christine’s event, hers to plan and put into action. “Now, who do you feel confident enough to engage in conversation then? I mean, we can’t sit here and wait for somebody to come up to us and suggest we talk intimate things, can we….. It’s our party and we have to plan what we want to happen…”
Christopher was in organizing mode. Andy always admired Christine when she got going… things did happen and he always marvelled at how easily they got started. He was unsure of his role, to tell the truth, he was being drawn along in the slipstream of this wonderful woman’s driving force for an experience….. He was convinced he was the only crossdresser in the Village where they lived. He was even more convinced that, even though he had not been ‘clocked’ by anyone so far, in a minute somebody would come through the door of the pub and instantly recognize him as Andy, not Astrid.
He was conscious of the light mascara on his lashes feeling absolutely normal for a girl to be wearing. The lipstick too. The clothes he was wearing were just as any girl would wear. He felt he was, indeed, a girl in every sense. He looked across the bar at other women that were there. Yes, “other women” was how he saw them. Nearest, there was a couple of what today are called “yummy mummies”, each dining out with a friend, each having a child that they were ignoring. One was a raven-haired woman, hair over her shoulders, with dark eyes and almost perfect complexion. She wore a tight leather jacket over a shocking blue blouse that accentuated the colour of her eyes. The jacket clung to her body, emphasizing her bust and waistline. Her tight black leggings and black high heeled boots completed the ‘look’. If she were Andy, Astrid would have fancied this woman greatly. Her friend was, by comparison, rather dowdy, drab looking. Her hair was mousey-brown and not styled in any particular way. her clothes were ordinary in the extreme and Andy felt confident that he, or rather Astrid, would be more attractive than this woman could possibly be.
Not that Andy wanted to be “attractive”, well, not to men at least. He wanted to look feminine, to be pleasing to another woman’s eye. Not necessarily in a sexual way. More in a mutual admiration kind of way. He would wish that other women would accept him as one of their number, as an attractive member of their ‘club’.
“I thought you were going to ask the people behind the bar about Quiz Night…. And ask in such a way that you might be asking about other, er…, um…. ‘activities”. In other words, Sandy expected “Christopher” to make the running…… Which she was perfectly happy to do. “I don’t mind at all….. maybe you’ll just have to watch me and learn…… Wife of mine!” Christopher taunted Astrid slightly. “But if I’m to take the responsibility for getting us into something more interesting, you are going to have to order the food we will have for lunch… and you can start by going over to your busty girlfriend and ask for a menu! Now, do as you’re told!”
Before she could get up, Astrid saw the pub’s owners emerge from the back room, the kitchen, behind the bar. Clearly, the number of people was reaching a time when the bar staff needed help. Astrid realized she would have to attract the attention of one of them. And that meant speaking, possibly in a louder voice than Andy had hoped would be needed.
“Wait for a minute….” Christopher said. “…. We should take careful note of the way these tow interact with the barmaid and with the customers, not to mention eachother. Before we get involved with them.
They sat back and sipped their beers for a few minutes, making ‘small talk’ whilst watching their surroundings.
Andy spied another couple of women. Older this time. Well-heeled, money-ed and a regular feature of the pub on a lunchtime. They were deep in conversation. If they were locals, or villagers, they would be the sources of any gossip, he was sure of that. he studied them for a while. Country casuals clothing — again, expensive — and stout shoes. Their make-up and hair was strictly ‘county’ style. Hair like Margaret Thatcher’s, make-up like Joan Collins’. The intriguing part was that one of the women was wearing fishnets — fishnet stockings. Perhaps there was a secret there to be had? Neither were women they had considered on their review of villagers’ life.
There was a group of three men, dining over a lunch of beer and sandwiches. Probably escapees from an office in Burford, the nearest small town. Nothing remarkable about them. None of them local villagers. None of them likely to be a ‘catch’ if Astrid were ‘out on the pull’ — which she certainly was not!
Christopher looked at the same people, finding nothing remarkable in the women but her female persona did assess one of the business-boys as a truly attractive catch. Metrosexual, they called his look these days. Very good grooming, immaculate suit and shirt, probably has a tattoo at the base of his spine that only a few will have seen. Could be a target for transition if the idea of spreading crossdressing about the place caught on. Yes, indeed, that was one to make a note of. If ‘he’ went to the bar, Christopher would be up there immediately and would engage him in conversation.
Belinda and Brian were working the bar now. Bev had been sent into the back bar to deal with the ‘no meals’ drinkers. Belinda was taking food orders and so it was time for Andy to get the menus. Deep breath, Astrid!, he thought, as he got up and took the ten paces to the bar. Every item of his female clothing tugged at the skin over which they were placed. His shoes, in particular, wanted to make him unsteady, but he resisted…… walking to Christopher’s delight, with a nice turn of the bum. “Look at me”” Andy wanted to shout…….or even sing……. “I enjoy being a girl!!”, but he dared not. To have done so would have caused a scene of total confusion.
He looked Belinda in the eye and asked “May I see the menu for today, please” with a coy smile.
Belinda looked at Astrid and, without a betrayal of anything but “it’s a customer, do what it wants” she handed over the menu and pointed in the direction of the blackboard above the bar, saying “We do have some lovely specials on the board today. You might like to try one of those…. Can I get you some more drinks?”
Belinda appeared very much to Andy as any landlady of a successful pub might do. She was quite statuesque in build, a bust not as impressive as Bev’s, but very good looking nevertheless. Her white, lacy blouse was quite tight, the outline of her bra clearly seen beneath. Her tight black skirt clung to the curves of her waist and bum. Her black stockings looked sharp and her shoes were nicely heeled. She was well turned-out for the job she did. Professional.
“Well, we’re nearing the end of ours but we’ll probably want a bottle of wine with lunch, so no, thanks, not just now.” Astrid replied in as girly a way as she could manage. It was girly enough.
Belinda answered, saying, “We’ll come over to take your order in a few minutes..” So Astrid turned and walked the ten paces across the bar, her eyes locked on Christine’s who was watching her husband ‘strutting her stuff’. What poise!
“Well done, darling…” Christopher said to Astrid as she sat down. “Well done. The whole encounter. You are woman through and through. It can only be if someone catches you in profile that your face will be recognized. You look wonderful”.
“You’re being silly, I can’t be… anyway, you look to be a real hunk today Fancy your chances with Bev, when she gets back?” Andy teased Christopher.
“I might just feel like it. She looks game for a laugh at least, and the figure on her, and her way of dressing, and her face and hair all point to her being very much ‘up for it’, if I’m not mistaken. You asked if I was enjoying myself and, the more we sit here, the more the answer is yes, very much indeed. I’m just wondering why we haven’t done this before…”
“Done what?” Astrid said, knowing what the answer was going to be.
“Gone out as a couple and actually got involved with other people. I mean, I know you like going for a walk alone, and I have done the same. You have gone to London and you’ve been out in Manchester as well, dressed as you are. Well, why haven’t we done this together, so close to home like we are? Is it that this is risky? I mean, being discovered by strangers isn’t nearly as scary as being discovered by people you KNOW!” Christine rambled through her thoughts until Astrid brought her back to the issue in hand….
“You mean we’re risking having to ‘come out’ as what we are, and be known for that… for always? Yes, indeed, it’s risky… But I am enjoying myself, so what the hell!” Andy was now relaxed by what had happened at the bar, in his exchange with Belinda. She had not ‘clocked’ him as a guy in a dress. She had taken him for the woman he appeared to be. The woman he was.
Soon, Bev was back in the lounge bar where the food was served. She came directly to Astrid and Christopher’s table and asked if they had chosen their meals. As she took their order, Andy was again transfixed by Bev’s breasts and by her hair. The breasts towered over her, not close enough to reach our and touch, but almost! Then there was the barmaid’s hair. It’s piled-high blonde petal curls looked stunning. Andy wanted, one day, to have his hair done that way. It’s always the hair that completes the illusion, he thought.
Bev took their food order and asked if there was a need for further drinks. “A bottle of your Aussie Shiraz would be ideal…”, answered Christine in her most authoritative male voice. “…..And some mineral water”.
“Have you worked here long?” Astrid suddenly found the courage to ask…. “A lovely looking girl like you could find a top job in Burford, if you wanted one….” She then summoned the confidence to smile at Bev in a “come hither” seductive way……. She implied that she would give Bev a job anytime. Something happened, in that moment, and Bev paused before asking if there was anything more she could do for the couple of strangers whom she had not seen before.
“No, nothing just now, thank you…” Astrid answered. Christopher said nothing until Bev was out of listening range. He said quietly to his wife, “You really do fancy her, don’t you?” To which, Astrid said, “No need to worry, darling… I fancy being like her… A bit of a tart…… that’s all!”
Astrid and Christopher sat back and waited for their food to arrive. The wine came sooner and Bev filled two glasses, saying “This will make you warm on a bright cold day like today!”
“You’ve made me warm already…” said Astrid again in as girly a voice as he could manage.
“Thank you, you’re very kind…” she replied. This girl Bev was sure to play a part in the village life that Andy and Christine might plan if today’s adventure went well.
“Down girl!” said Astrid’s husband when Bev moved away. “You hardly know the girl!”
It was Belinda that brought their food because Bev was occupied serving other customers across the bar. Belinda was every bit the good hostess as she made sure that the two lovers had everything that they wanted…. Apart from Bev, that was now in their minds.
“She’s a bit like a Madam in a brothel, if you imagine for a moment..” Christopher said after Belinda had withdrawn. She could run a good bordello, I’m sure… in fact she may be doing so right now. I wonder if you can rent rooms here by the hour…..?? Here in darkest Oxfordshire… could it be so??!!” Christopher laughed and went on, “…..And, for what he’s worth, the husband looks like he’d be better off in a maid’s uniform serving the customers on that side of the business!!”
Andy nearly collapsed in laughter at the thought. He had never understood some men’s pre-occupation with Maid’s and what they got up to.
The pub was now crowded, and as their food arrived, the spare chairs at their table became occupied with two people, a man and a woman, who the lovers recognized. It was the couple, Jenny and Peter who they had assessed early in their imaginary review of who’s who in the village.
They had thought that these two would be good for a play-acting night… seeing as they like Amateur Dramatics……
Andy remembered their analysis…….They thought of Jenny and Peter doing a great “Thomas Crown Affair — but on seeing her, he thought, …this woman’s no cool Faye Dunaway — she’s hotter than that. Renee Russo???? Him, however, no Steve McQueen and certainly no Pierce Brosnan.
Would they recognize Andy and Christine in their cross-gender roles? The answer was soon to be clear….
“D’you mind if we join you?” asked Jenny, sitting down as she spoke. It was impossible to refuse. The pub was now quite full. She looked quizzically at Astrid but said nothing.
“Of course, please do.” Andy answered in his now flourishing Astrid voice. Practice as indeed improving her tone and pitch. She didn’t sound theatrical or at all manly. Christopher had been impressed at the short time it had taken. He squeezed Astid’s hand in encouragement.
Andy recalled Christine’s assessment…. She’s got real ‘come-to-bed eyes’ if you ask me. And she was right! But Andy was now looking through Astrid’s eyes. Christine clearly liked the woman. And through Christopher’s eyes would see Jenny as a hot prospect for some ‘getting to know you’ enjoyment. For her own purposes, Astrid thought Jenny was very attractive too.
The problem was this Peter character. Unspoken, the reactions of both Astrid and Christopher were negative. The guy was a loser. (Except that he had this Jenny in tow! Lucky loser??) He was all the words that people use to put such a guy down — numpty, pillock, bozo, plonker….. All of these applied in his case.
Christine and Andy continued to eat while the other couple engaged in quiet conversation. Though they were close at hand, neither pair really tuned in to what the others were saying. Then Jenny spoke.
Looking directly at Astrid, she asked, smiling, “I’m sorry to interrupt but I’m sure I recognize you…..” The question was pointed and required a direct answer. It was clear that Astrid and Christopher didn’t know this couple but of course, Andy and Christine did. Buying some time to think of a response, Astrid said “Well, I’m really not sure….. I don’t think so…… We haven’t been in here before, but it’s very nice isn’t it?....... We’re strangers to the village…..”
“But you really remind me of someone — what do you think Peter? I mean, there’s a real likeness to someone we know… Who can it be?... In fact, you both look familiar.”
“Dunno.” said gormless Peter in his best Accountant-speak.
Christopher took control of the situation after a few seconds’ thought. Christine had planned for such a situation, among many replies she had for questions that she thought might come up. Andy was surprised when she said “I think I know…..”, her voice getting deeper in tone. “You’re thinking of our Brother and Sister who live in the village…… We’re often thought of as looking the same… me like my Sister, Christine, and Astrid like her Brother, Andy. We’re here house-sitting for them for a few days while they’re away….”
Andy was thunder-struck… What a brilliant reply….. Assuming they hadn’t been ‘clocked’ as playing cross dressing, it was a coup! Disbelieve that if you want! He was ready to reinforce the parts being played but Jenny came back with “Well, I can see it now… You really are very similar… both of you….. I’m Jenny and this is Peter, we live at the top end of the village just a few doors away from you… I mean, from Andy and Christine.” Jenny was the talkative one. Peter looked dumb, and frankly, disinterested, Christopher thought.
So, now Andy and Christine had siblings staying in their home ‘for a few days’ while they were ‘away’. Would this mean just the weekend, or did it mean they had the chance to stay as Astrid and Christopher for longer?
Chapter 5 will reveal a close encounter within the village…….
An interval, call it chapter 5 if you wish, while the author goes away for a couple of weeks’ “R&R” away from it all — with no laptop!
Chapter 5 Inside the pub’s inner door
Andy and Christine were finishing their meals and thinking of ordering coffees when Astrid felt an urge which could not be contained….
“Jeez, I need to pee..” she said in a whisper. Not having planned to be away from home for quite so long, the “call of nature” was strong and had to be answered.
“Well, you know where it is…” said Christopher, pointing to the “Ladies”. “if you went into the other you would be guilty of ‘behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace’, so it has to be the ‘other’ one!” Christopher thought this was acutely hilarious and could not help himself but laugh, albeit in a kindly way. “Off you go!”
The other couple of diners were now into their main meals and paid no attention to Astrid’s departure for the ‘facilities’.
Andy looked both ways across the bar as he rose to walk the nearly full length of the building to where Ladies had to go. There was less of her swagger in her step this time. More, she was crossing her legs to get there in time.
Of course, as is the case with Women’s Rooms all round the world, there was a queue. Two other (yes, “other”) women were waiting for just two toilets to be vacated. This would take time.
Astrid felt acutely conscious of her situation. She admired the hand-etched picture on the wall of the passageway. It was of several ladies in full daytime gowns of the 1840s or 1850s. Hair piled high, waists cinched in, pastel china doll complexions, surrounded by horses and pretty flowers. Improbable that they were ‘from real life’.
Astrid said not a word to the two women in the queue. She simply smiled demurely and looked away.
Suddenly behind her, she heard a voice she knew…. Her fellow diner….. “Jenny” who found no place for silence in her life. “Good God, why do we always have to line up before we can pee? Us girls! Always it’s us in a queue! Why can’t the men give over some space! I wish I could pee standing up!..... What about you?...” she asked, clearly talking to Astrid…. Who, of course, had spent most of his life peeing when standing up.
“I.. er.. well, you’re right, there should be more spaces for us, girls….”
“Too right! If we all pee’d up against the wall, they would have to do something about it!”
On that interesting thought, the two cubicles were vacated and the occupants washed their hands and left. The other two waiting were gone in behind the closed doors.
“You know, you really are familiar I’m sure we’ve met before. Did you say you are Andy’s Sister? I didn’t know he had one….”
“Oh, indeed. We just don’t see a lot of eachother really. We live a couple of hundred miles away so the chance to get together is rare.” Andy replied, doing her best to talk in that girly tone she had been using.
“Oh… right…. Where have they gone? Andy and Christine?” Jenny went on with her inquisition, forcing Astrid into a conversation she had thought would come, but not so soon….. “Oh, they’re in London for the weekend and we are house-sitting for them. Gives us a break from being up North…”
“Where’s that? Where do you live?” Jenny was less than polite…..
“Well, if you need to know, we live in Prestbury — it’s part of Manchester”
“Oh…. Don’t know anyone from up there, I don’t.” said Jenny. Not likely to find many to get to know either, thought Andy.
And with that, his female toilet cubicle opened and Andy was able to escape from this woman’s grips. “Silly cow!” said Astrid……
He had sat down to pee for much of the last three years. It was a simple statement of his girly persona, but to do it in a Ladies washroom, this was a FIRST!.....
Chapter 6 will be longer and will come in 2-3 weeks’ time. Ciao, my Sisters!
After the interval, or chapter 5, the author returns to her keyboard having enjoyed a couple of weeks’ “R&R” away from it all. Some development of the storyline has been conceived in her mind and she hopes her readers enjoy getting further into life in this sleepy, but quietly boiling, English country village! Some readers’ comments have helped a lot!
Chapter 6 — back in the bar, and beyond
Astrid loved to pee sitting down so she lingered. There is something very feminine about just enjoying the feeling of pretty panties around stockinged ankles. Something very tempting to gently fondle and re-arrange the contents of a matching lacy bra. Something delicious about the thought of refreshing her lipstick, petting her hair, and an admiring glance in the mirror before returning to the world. Andy was revelling in this. In his disguise as Astrid. He resolved to be more flirtatious when she returned to Christopher who was waiting in the bar.
By the time Astrid emerged from her cubicle, Jenny was already out of the traps and ready for the race back to their shared table. Astrid studied her briefly in the mirror as she fixed her own hair. Jenny looked to be very confident in herself. Jenny was an attractive woman. Even as Andy, he would have fancied her. Her blonde hair was arranged casually in an above the shoulder ‘flip’, not naturally blonde but well maintained. Her make-up was quite pronounced, perhaps in keeping with her liking for amateur dramatics. Astrid would later find out just how much enjoyment Jenny got from her drama. She was casually dressed for the visit to the pub and a meal with her husband.
“You would like it here if you visited more often…..”, said Jenny to Astrid. “Funny that your brother and his wife go out when you do arrive, isn’t it?” She was probing, perhaps not hiding that she found the situation more than unusual.
“Not really….” Astrid answered, “…. We’re quite different people, it’s more unusual that his sister should get on with Chrisine’s brother, if you ask me….. We just hit it off when we first met, before Andy and Christine were first married.”
“Ah, yes, well, we mustn’t keep the others waiting. I’m only halfway through my meal.” Jenny closed the conversation and opened the door back to the bar, inviting Astrid to go in front of her. Astrid didn’t know, but Jenny took the opportunity to study Astrid quite closely. Her white sweater fitted her closely, covering her bust that was of normal proportions for her height. Her floral skirt was quite girly and right for the occasion. Her footwear was simple, summer style trainers. Her walk across the bar was a little direct, but most people wouldn’t have noticed it was a little boyish. Jenny didn’t make any conclusions but thought that Astrid could be an interesting friend. Not that she knew Andy and Christine well.
While the two ladies had been away, Christopher and Peter had been talking, though it must be said, Christine confessed later, she had done almost all the talking. Peter was a very hard nut to crack in the conversation department. One word answers, no questions in reply. Christopher had found herself in danger of prattling on, just to cover the possible silences that would have developed if Peter had been the one to push the talk. He just didn’t have the skills. Christine wondered what he would be like ‘in the sack’ and smiled at the thought that followed.
“Well, we have to get the bill and make tracks now.” Christopher said in his best masculine tones. “Enjoy the rest of your meals. Come on Astrid, we have places to go and people to meet. Goodbye now.” He led the way and astrid followed. They paused at the bar to pay for their meals and drinks. Bev, the Barmaid, was back on duty and was full of good cheer. “Do come back! It’s been delightful to see you here…”
“Not half as delightful as you my dear.” Said Astrid, Andy’s eyes falling on the cue to Bev’s ample breasts. Christine noticed and immediately slapped Andy on the bottom and said “Come on, my girl, it’s time to go!”
As they left the building, Andy looked at Christopher and, seeing his wife dressed the way she was, enquired, “Now, my Mister, did you make it with lover boy while I was having a pee?”
“Not a chance, and not a wish either. You can keep him if you want him.” Christine answered.
“Me neither, not my type… and not anybody’s type I’d say.” Came Andy’s reply.
“So, we have one part of the pairing that we might both like to get our hands on, am I right?” said Christine quickly. “I would say I’m in with a chance with her. What about you?”
As they turned the corner waling away from the pub, Astrid answered, “Why, I don’t know what you mean, my darling. As if there was a possibility that a blonde like her would like a little girl like me.”
“You under-rate yourself, my wife….. You look wonderful to me, and I’m sure she owould see the same in you as I do. So, do we invite her for dinner next time we see her… and put up with poe-eyed Peter tagging along?”
“Oh, no! He’s the problem. We would have to get her on her own. But maybe she would like three girls in a bed? You, me and her?”
“Hmm maybe…..” Christine was lost in thought. They had never had such an experience. Where was today leading??
--oo00oo–
The afternoon was a typical balmy English summer day with gentle breezes cooling the warmth of the sun. The couple were bathed in sunshine as they crossed the lane towards the village shop where, as they passed the door, they were met by another couple of the village’s residents. Andy, particularly, loved the feeling of Astrid’s wearing a skirt that flowed with the breeze.
Pammie and Jack were a couple that did not take a second glance to ‘read’ for what they were. Pammie was tall and exceptionally thin. Dressed in dark colours even on this bright summer’s day, she looked as stern as she had been described when Astrid and Christopher had talked last night. From the top of her near-blue/black coiffure, to the tall strappy shoes that encased each calf in straps of black leather that she wore — totally inappropriate for country living — everything about this woman shouted “I’m in charge!”
Jack, however, looked anything but intimidated by this vision and had clearly developed a “F*** you” mentality that meant newcomers such as Astrid and Christopher would have to take as they found him. His clothing shouted “money!” and he obviously expected admiring glances. They strode past the crossdressed lovers without such as a second glance.
“There is more going on there than meets the eye!” said Astrid.
She went on, “Last night you said you thought she was so much in control that she would use a strap-on on him. Now you’ve seen them closer, do you stand by that?”
“Well there’s only one way to find out….” Said Andy turning on his Astrid-heeled shoes.
Calling after the dark and mysterious couple, he called in his best Astrid voice, “Excuse me, excuse me….. heelo!......” Gaining their attention, the couple looked back towards her. “What do you want?” Pammie asked bluntly. Astrid saw deep into her heavily-mascara-ed eyes and felt penetrated even by the stare.
“I was, er, wondering….” Astrid said, “… if you knew Andy and Christine up at the cottage… up there….?” Andy knew full well that the couples were only on the barest of acknowledging terms when passing in the street.
“No, hardly at all, they keep themselves to themselves…. Why do you ask?” demanded the blue/black rinsed woman. Pammie flicked her hair back to get a good look at Astrid.
Andy noticed that the woman’s hair was lined with grey roots, only short ones, but nevertheless, betraying her age. With the blue/black hair she looked ten years younger, but with roots showing, she was fully 45 or even nearer 50 years of age.
“Oh, nothing really, no reason, except that we’re staying at their place while they are away and they suggested that we talk with people in the village while we’re here.” Astrid was finding it hard to keep up the voice she had been practised in using for the whole day. Perhaps tiredness was setting in and her tone had dropped a couple of octaves.
Pammie looked at her. As if, almost, she was looking through her…… Astrid felt a little shiver. Jack still said nothing, struck dumb maybe, because of the over-powering strength of his woman. Another lamb to the slaughter? Thought Astrid. Perhaps he’s encased in leather straps under all that conventional, but expensive, male couture?
“My name’s Pam by the way, and this is Jack…….”, she said looking at Jack like he was a worm or something. ”Well, we do wish we knew them better…..”, said Pammie, “…don’t we Jack?” she looked casually at him to make sure he was paying attention. Nothing was said by Jack. “Don’t we, Jack? I said, Don’t we?” Andy got the feeling that Jack might be in trouble when he got home. Jack nodded in a superior sort of way, clearly not engaging with these lesser mortals.
Christopher had become a little fixated on this woman’s hair and the age that her greying roots betrayed. Was she really older? Everything about her, apart from that, suggested she was more their age — late 30s — with all the energy that rampant sex would demand of her. Oh, yes, Christine was sure she was up to that! As Christopher, she was going to have to try to get closer to Pammie. He was equally fixated by the dark stockinged legs and the strappy shoes she wore.
“We’re staying for a few days, that’s all at the moment but getting together would be nice” said Astrid, still working on the feminine voice that she didn’t now believe was at all believable. She felt good as a girl, but the effort in completing the vision of being a woman was proving hard to manage. She loved every minute. She felt good as a girl. She felt more confident with Christine beside her wearing her manly gear and being so confident. They made a great ‘reverse’ couple.
“I’m sure they’d like to get to know you too…. Jack, where exactly do you two live?” asked Astrid, making polite conversation, and trying to involve the taciturn husband in the conversation.
“Ah, we’re up there on the right of the main street in the dark older cottage”, answered Pammie. “Everyone knows it as that. the dark one….. People told us it was haunted when we bought it but we’ve never seen any ghosts! But it is a little dark inside…… which doesn’t bother us at all because we like things that way. Don’t we Jack?” Jack said nothing “It’s worth mentioning though, as many people might find it a bit creepy… especially in the cellar under the kitchen. It’s huge and there’s plenty of space for doing things down there.”
Astrid and Christopher looked at eachother, both having the same thought at the same moment. What goes on down there then?
“Oh, right,….” said Astrid, in a whisper. “Interesting….. “
“We must get on… Nice to meet you both.” Said Peter, making his only undemanded contribution to what had been said all the time they had been together as a foursome. He clearly wanted to get away, or to imply that he had better things to do than talk to these two peasants in the village street.
As they separated and went on their different ways, Astrid and Christopher would not have seen Pammie smack her husband’s bum. More control being enforced. Pammie and Jack, if they had turned to look, would have see Andy and Christine walking away, hand in hand, like boy and girl, Andy’s skirt swinging in the breeze and her hair ruffled by the same zephyr. They would have seen Christopher stop their walk and pause to kiss her wife.
--oo00oo–
This was turning into a far better day than either Andy or Christine could have hoped for. There had been plenty of time to relax into their roles as wife and husband. Plenty of time to assume the gender of their alternative roles. Enough opportunities to have been “read” for what they were.
All of this made them, without a word spoken, both to feel emboldened. Ready to take more of a risk even than having a meal in the pub had been.
They reached the village store and Christine said “Shall we?.....” To which, Astrid replied, in what could best be described as a “faux Southern Belle” voice “Why, honey, why not!?”
The store was evidently in the front room of one of the cottages on the High Street of the community. It had been a shop for many years and it turned out that the shop had been owned by the parents of one of the (now) proprietors. Continuity, that’s what villages like this one approve of. Christine led the way into the shop, opening the door and ushering his ‘wife’ through. Astrid found herself in something of a ‘time warp’ where produce was displayed in random fashion all over the room. There was a small counter at the end, behind which stood the lady who, with her husband, were the owners. It would have been ‘fusty’ if it were not for a bright halogen lighting system which was the shop’s only consideration to the 21st century.
The lady was a stunning Asian woman with long, very dark brown hair and wide, large eyes. She was dressed in a brightly coloured sari costume and a hue smile. Her lips were an understated red and her eyes were outlined in a liquid liner. Her dress did nothing to hide her ample breasts. Astrid noticed them instantly, leading Christopher to become bored with his wife’s growing breast fixation. “I’ll kill you when we get home, if you don’t stop!” she said.
The shopkeeper’s husband or partner was nowhere to be seen. Wanting to appear as helpful as she could, the lady offered assistance, “Can I help you find what you need? We have most everyday things people want.”
“Yes, yes, we need some bread and eggs and some milk too. And my husband wants some beer to take in. We are only here for a few days so we need to know what else you can provide…..” said Astrid as she walked around the small room.
“Will you be here for long?” the woman asked. “And is there anything you need to know, or we can help with?”
“Not just now, thank you, …” said Christopher, her manly tone seeming sufficient for the situation even though Astrid did look sideways at Christine thinking that the manliness was wearing off, like his own feminine tones. “….. we are staying at Andy and Christine’s place for a few days while they are away.” There was nothing to indicate, as they had thought the night before when talking about the various people they were to encounter, nothing at all, to suggest that this little shop might be a source of cannabis weed for a quiet smoke. Perhaps the husband was out at the back tending the plants! Andy thought.
“Well, we are always here for anything you need. My husband’s parents owned the shop for forty years before we came in and saved them all the hard work. We stick by everything that kept them in business all that time. Whatever the customer wants, we’ll find it.”
Whatever? Anything?!! Astrid’s eyes widened in surprise but that was all. Nothing more was say apart from the payment for the goods they bought and Astrid and Christopher left the shop.
“I’ll bet we could surprise them with some of the things we might like them to find for us, don’t you think?” said Christopher to his wife. Then, as he finished his sentence, he spotted another place they could call in across the street.
“I just forgot, even last night, there’s another service business that Astrid might like to visit! The little hairdressers that I’ve been to before.” Christine said. “Little Heidi in there is a superb hairdresser and you’ve never ever had your hair set professionally, have you my darling? I’m sure that Heidi could do you a cool job if you just let her”.
Astrid’s eyes flashed at the thought. Could she carry off the pretence of being a woman in the intimate environment that involves one woman getting so close to her as to lay her hands on the very hair that grows from her head? How much more intimate could it be possible to be…. Outside of the bedroom?
Find out how Astrid and Christopher get to know other members of their community in chapter 7.
A new character, one who is especially well-connected in the Village is someone that Christine feels that Andy should meet.
Chapter 7 — Through the looking glass
“I just forgot, even last night, there’s another service business that Astrid might like to visit! The little hairdressers that I’ve been to before.” Christine said. “Little Heidi in there is a superb hairdresser and you’ve never ever had your hair set professionally, have you my darling? I’m sure that Heidi could do you a cool job if you just let her”.
Andy’s eyes flashed at the thought. Could he carry off the pretence of being a woman in the intimate environment that involves one woman getting so close to him as to lay her hands on the very hair that grows from his head? How much more intimate could it be possible to be? He had a surge of desire to find out.
“You really do know how to show a girl a good time, don’t you!” Astrid exclaimed as they crossed the sleepy little lane that was the village’s High Street.
They approached the small courtyard that faced the street. It had been a working farm with stables in years long ago. The hairdresser’s salon occupied the middle two tiny cottages which had been stable stalls. There was very little room for anything but a one-to-one business like Heidi’s.
The white painted walls were contrasted with bright orange door and window frames. It was the most modern frontage of any in the whole village. Some attraction to clients, young and old alike. The door was an original stable door, split in half, the top half being open to the bright sunny morning.
Andy was unusually breathless at the sight of the door being open — no turning back, Heidi was inside and could see the couple approaching.
“What will you ask her to do? It’s your choice, my lover.” asked Christine of her husband.
Nearing the door, Andy asked “What do you suggest? I mean, you’ve just had the idea….”
They paused before entering. Heidi had turned back to attending to the client whose hair she was setting in rollers.
“It really depends… On how long we are staying here as Astrid and Christopher. If it’s just the weekend, I’d suggest a really nice tight set with big rollers to make for volume and height. If it’s to be for a longer period. In other words, if we’re playing these roles for a week or two, you could go mad and have the colour livened up and a perm maybe.” Christine was letting him choose — something that would determine the course of their immediate future.
“I might just wait and see what she suggests….” said Astrid. “It could all depend on her….. “ And he put his hand on the door handle, pushing the old door forward into the cosy little salon.
The walls were white, the place a little like a bathroom with mirrors all around and three chairs facing individual stations where clients were sitting. Heidi was the only stylist and clearly had no staff of her own. One young woman, dressed in jeans and a tight top, was sitting up from a back-wash basin with hair wrapped in a towel, Another, a woman in her 30s, her body swathed in a pink salon wrap, was facing her mirror with a forest of aluminium foil strips all over her head, clearly having highlights. - Andy fancied having highlights - The next mirror was empty and the final one, where Heidi was styling, saw a mid-40s woman, her pink salon wrap was parted so Andy saw she was quite well dressed and clearly someone who had “money”.
Heidi was an average sized woman, with a nice tight bum and quite attractive breasts — Andy fancied a fondle of those - she was perhaps aged 40, with a tumble of dark brown curls pinned back in a loose and untidy chignon. Her dress was a country-style calf-length one and her shoes were the ultimately comfortable, slip-ons. All-in-all, though she was very attractive, Astrid thought that Heidi should do a little more to present herself to her clients as the successful (small) business woman that she was. She clearly was enjoying her work. Talking “nineteen to the dozen”, she was evidently at ease with all and any client who would come in for service.
“Come in my dears, I’ll be with you in a minute…. Have a seat behind the door… There’s a magazines if you want…….. We haven’t got you down for an appointment, have we?.... Never mind…. Now, let’s get these last few rollers in and you can be under the dryer…. What a lovely day it is out there… Wish we could all be out there….. “
(chat, chat, chat…. Heidi went on…..)
Andy looked at Christine… or rather Christopher, and whispered…… “You could have a ’number two’ cut and look really cool…..” A number two in England is short for close-cropped hair, al one length and very butch.
“Shut up and look in that book of styles there beside you….. You had better have something in mind before you talk with her….” Christopher retorted.
“Good idea, let me see….” said Astrid, reaching for the copy of ‘Hairdressers Journal Spring collection’ with its colourful front page. A bright redhead stared forth at Andy. Her hair was, curiously enough, quite close to his in length but was gloriously thick in its volume. How Andy wished that he could have hair as lustrous and manageable as this model’s. He went on, thumbing through the pages of the magazine, finding style after style that he would absolutely love to have as Astrid’s crowning glory. Some were long, some were up-dos, some were wild curly frizzes — which Astrid hated with a vengeance — and some were perfect creations of both set and colour.
Astrid was looking sideways into one of the mirrors as she combed the pages for something ideal. If she were to stay this ordinary mousey-brown that she had been born, then a highly-styled set would be very enjoyable…. It wouldn’t stop me coming back in a day or two for a re-style, thought Andy. As he had that thought, he caught a glimpse of Heidi in her reflection.
She was studying him. Andy was sure. Natural professional interest probably. Looking at the next client so that she could have a suggestion for a style before they even began her “consultation”. But the look lasted just a fraction of a second longer, before Heidi smiled. Astrid returned the smile, having been noticed as noticing Heidi’s gaze. All over in a moment.
When the client with the rollers was settled under her dryer, and the Highlights client had been checked, Heidi went to the shampoo-ed lady and explained,
“I’ll be with you in a moment, after I have dealt with these kind people who have waited…”
The last client smiled and moved to the chair where the rollered woman had been styled.
“It’s kind of you to come in today. How can I help?” Heidi said in a helpful voice. She was used to meeting strangers and there was nothing new in this encounter. Although, later, she would confess already to just a sneaking feeling that all was not quite what it seemed. As expected, the woman in the couple spoke first.
Remembering that she had to drop into her girly voice immediately, Astrid said “We’re staying over for a few days and wondered if you might have an appointment free for me. Oh, and one for my husband if that was possible….” Andy thought, in triumph, that if he was to have a make-over, then Christine would get the same too.
Heidi studied Astrid for a moment before she asked “Would that be for a cut, or a styling, or something more? It makes a big difference on the time we’d need”.
“Of course, “ said Andy, “… well, it rather depends on what you might suggest. I mean, we do have plenty of time so it rather depends on your appointment book.”
“Let me have a quick look, …come over to the mirror here.” Heidi indicated the mirror beside her little desk where stood her cash box and some hair products for sale. Heidi stood behind Andy and looked over Astrid’s shoulder and directly into Andy’s eyes. “I think you could be ready for a change, don’t you?”
“ A change, in what way?” asked Astrid.
“Well, the length needs to be tidied up and the layers put back in to help your style, but I was thinking more about the colour. How would you think highlights would suit you… I think they would look lovely……. We can do a good price for those, depending on how many, and how many shades you would choose….”
Andy’s heart skipped a beat before he reacted, without looking at Christine, as he said “You have a customer! I think I would love to have you take care of that - you can tell me how many and what shades would suit me best……… when we have more time. Thank you……. When could you do that, and when could you do my husband’s hair? Perhaps at the same time or just to arrive when you have finished with my needs?”
Heidi looked at Christopher and responded with ease. “That’s a nice boy’s style you have there, but I’d suggest that you have something of an under-cut, to give more movement. It’s a little too slicked for summer, if you ask me….. Will tomorrow be alright with you? Tomorrow afternoon. Perhaps later……?” Christine felt that Christopher's hair wasn't entirely unknown to Heidi.
“That would be fine with us,” said Andy. “Maybe 3.30 for me and what time for him?....”
He looked at Christine for the first time since opening the door, finding that she was glaring over the unexpected inclusion of her own hair in Andy’s plans for a double make-over.
Heidi thought for a moment and said “Maybe a little later, perhaps 4.30 for you and 6 o’ clock for him….” Her voice paused and the tone changed before she said the word “him”.
“Won’t that make it a late finish for you?” asked Astrid, for no particular reason.
“Not at all. I like to do my clients who have different needs a little late in the day. And it seems to me that you would fit into that. We can take our time, can’t we. You said you have lots of time….”
Astrid looked at Christopher. Christopher looked at Astrid.
Chapter 8 will reveal Heidi’s own special interests and her knowledge of the Village’s network
It seems that Heidi will be central to whatever happens in Christine’s plan for Andy and the extra time she wants them to stay in the village as Astrid and Christopher.
Chapter 8 — The plot thickens
In Penny Lane there is a crimper showing photographs
Of every head she's had the pleasure to have known
And all the people like to come and go,
Stop and say hello (with loving appreciation of Lennon and McCartney)
……………....
As they left the tiny salon, Christine looked over her shoulder, through the half-open stable door. Heidi was watching them every step of the way.
“She knows….” she whispered, although whispers were not needed, “… she knows about me, I’m sure, that I’m the me she has styled for in the past. I could tell….. The way she said I needed more of an under-cut and more movement in my hair. But I don’t think she knows you, so, even if she suspects, she can’t be sure…….”
“She was giving me very penetrating looks that told me she was thinking…..” Andy smiled
“Probably just professional interest, in what she could do with your hair, honey. You look so good today, I’m convinced she won’t know…. Well, not for sure….” Christine hugged his waist.
Andy was enjoying this. So, Astrid chipped back, “OK, maybe, but what about when I’m in her chair, and she’s got me.. Hands-on… She’s bound to know. But then, do I care? D’you know what? I don’t! Let her say something — it’ll be sexy just finding out how long she can resist before she comes out with what she knows….. With both of us.”
Walking down the little High Street, they were soon out of sight of the watching crimper.
Andy paused, thinking quickly about the scenario he was developing, and then he went on.
“ I’ll be in there for an hour, or more than that, before you come in. I bet you she’ll have cracked long before you arrive. Then, like she may have done with me, she’ll find it tempting to keep you guessing whether she knows…… In fact, I could conspire with her to lead you on, playing you in your male role….. How about that? Let’s see if I can persuade her to do that after she has ‘outed’ me to herself! What fun!!”
Christine was delighted at that. Andy was now fully and totally involved and committed to the play-acting that she, Christopher, was hoping would develop.
“You mustn’t dare lead her to ‘out’ you before she chooses. I want to hear all about how that happens, and how you enjoy what comes before I get to the salon. You have an hour and a half to enjoy before I arrive.” Christopher sounded jealous.
“What cums before you get there…. If anyone cums, it will be a disaster! I shall wear that girdle you bought for me but I haven’t yet worn……. And a pantie-liner just in case I do!” Astrid almost shuddered with pleasure at the thought of cumming without being engaged in sex, just being pampered.
Christine’s plan evolved another step, just there and then. “If we can involve Heidi in discussions about her other customers and what their characters and passions might be, we could really learn a lot that would help open up this apparently hung-up little community. I’m sure she’ll know many secrets, or have suspicions that we’ll enjoy hearing.”
Christopher tightened his hug around his wife’s waist. Astrid looked into his eyes and smiled. “I do so love you, you know! What fun this is, just even talking about tomorrow! I can’t wait to get you home…..” His knowing smile told Christine that she was on a winner.
There she was, walking down the street, thinking how much she loved this lovely man. A man who was so much in love that he would play someone so feminine, that he would go so far as to try, and succeed, to pass as a female in the street, before taking her home to give her a great night in the sack.
She knew she had a choice. She could let him have her as a woman. She could let him have her as a male. Or she could choose to be a male and have him as a female. What a thought! Christopher laughed out loud, he felt so good! What would he choose? What would Christine choose? What did Andy want?!
Andy was quietly but very excited by very similar thoughts. Astrid, too, was yearning to get home.
“I don’t think we should be seeking out any other people today…” Astrid said, keeping her voice in training. “After all, we have some thoughts about several couples and we’ll no doubt meet others, maybe tomorrow morning, before we go back to Heidi’s.”
“No, no, you’re right…” said Christopher, his male voice deepening again, “we have enough to go on. The question I haven’t shared with you is what we might do with any information we have or might get. Where do we want this all to go. I mean, do we want to shake the whole place up like it will never be the same again? Or do we just want to test the waters and be awfully shy about it and just share an idea with one, or maybe two other couples?”
“And Bev at the pub?..... And Heidi????” Astrid laughed. “I love them both. Can’t leave them out. No way!”
“Ah, yes, Bev, the blonde. I hadn’t forgotten her…. but I had thought she’d be mine….. in fact…. We’ll have to fight over her!” Christopher too laughed out loud.
“Let’s sit on the bench and watch the world go by, before we go home.” suggested Astrid, enjoying the feel of her underwear and the free-flowing girly clothes she was wearing. This idea brought immediate approval from her ‘husband’ who courteously swept a few twigs from the bench where she would be seated.
They sat in silence for a while. The village was quiet in the afternoon sunshine. There were no other people out for a walk, it seemed. All the doors were closed.
Birds sang in the breeze. Otherwise, this was England at its quietest best. The cross-dressed lovers enjoyed every moment. Their genders merged. They were one and two, and three and four….. Lovers. But Andy had to get straight in his mind how he would handle to encounter with Heidi, all alone for an hour and a half, the following evening.
“If Heidi knows, or even just suspects that you and Christine are one and the same person….” began Astrid, “.. Perhaps we shouldn’t play games with her and do all this ‘will she, won’t she’ stuff. Might it not be better for me to push it, like, early on after I’ve gone in to have my hair done? I mean, I could ask her how she seemed to know you when we met today. That would give her the chance to say how she thought you were Christine but playing a game….”
“Then what would she think about you? Aren’t you going to try to pass yourself for real? ……. For the girl you wannabe?” Christine didn’t seem to like the sound of the ‘up front’ disclosure while she wasn’t in the salon. Before she had a chance to control the way it went…..
“If you ask me, you should play it for real. Be the woman you look as you are. The woman I fancy soooo much I could eat you right here and….” Christopher’s voice trembled as he described hid desire for his wife sat beside her. His hand slipped on to Astrid’s thigh and the silky feel of her nylon stockings excited Christine. Andy’s thighs spread a little further apart. Imperceptibly, maybe. But as any lover will know who has fondled the inner thigh of their lover and detected a tiny ‘give’ under featherlight pressure, there was an invitation to caress a little further.
Christopher looked over Astrid’s shoulder and, seeing nobody in sight, moved his hand towards Astrid’s pantie line where her cock was now straining within the lacy creation that Andy had enjoyed putting on so much this morning.
“Promises, promises!” laughed Andy, breaking out of Astrid mode for a moment. The thought of shagging in the High Street in full view of everyone who might pass was so ludicrous Andy nearly fell off the bench laughing. “Later, later! I insist!”
The couple fell silent. Christine did want to be in control… or rather, feeling as she was as Christopher, she definitely saw it as her place to dictate when and how her own gender was disclosed and, more importantly, how Astrid’s real identity and gender were admitted to Heidi. Heidi was clearly becoming an important part of Christine’s plan for Astrid.
Christopher hummed a song…. Very familiar, but words came easily to fit their different situation.
…….Very strange
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue country skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
In Penny Lane there is a farmer with an hourglass
And in his pocket is a portrait of the Queen.
He likes to keep his tractor clean
It's a clean machine
He laughed again but stopped at the Trumpet Solo
A Farmer with an hourglass, corseted figure maybe?
Their thoughts returned to the following day. A lot of planning had to go into this if it were to be so much fun.. So deliciously tempting.
“Ok, Ok, I’ll keep my secret for as long as I can. I’d love to. You must know that. But what I’ll do if she challenges me about myself is another thing. What do I do then?”
Andy was giving in, but didn’t want to. Any barrier he could find would be offered. “What if she just says ‘well, I can tell with your partner, so what about you….?’ What do I say then?”
“You make the transition from ‘girly girl’ to ‘girly man’ and start flirting with her….. madly! That’s what you do….” retorted his ‘husband’. “….We want her on board with what I have in mind.”
By the time they had strolled on home, everything seemed right with all four of their worlds. Andy’s. Christine’s, Astrid’s and Christopher’s. They all felt in control of what had happened today. And more importantly, they felt able to decide on what should happen the following day. At their own pace.
They saw no more people on the short walk. It was that time of day. It was getting closer to a traditional time for Andy and Christine. To enjoy a Five O’ Clock Fuck.
They had never enjoyed that after a walk crossdressed as they were. The roles and genders were reversed from their usual. It was incumbent upon Christopher to make the first move. It was incumbent upon Astrid to flirt with her husband. Who would begin?
The man’s responsibility, for sure? Should it not be Christopher? Many readers will agree.
It should be Astrid, other readers may say ‘of course’ but Astrid was hesitant. Was he to transition to be Andy and to demolish Christine’s guise as Christopher? Or was she to fall into ‘his’ arms and let ‘him’ have his way?
Astrid had felt very feminine all afternoon and therefore reached towards Christopher’s shirt buttons, looking up into his eyes and saying “I’m yours, my darling. Yours to please me with. Just try me, and fly me!” She licked her lips and realized there was no lipstick upon them. None at all.
Seeing her tongue pass across her lips, Christopher said “Astrid…. You’re not wearing anything at all on your face. Why don’t you go and freshen up while I make you a Martini Extra Dry? It may only be Four-Thirty but that means we have plenty of time.” Astrid turned away to do as Christopher had bidden, only to feel the hand of her ‘husband’ on the zipper of her dress. The folds of the garment separated and her bra became visible.
The padding that filled the cups of Astrid’s brassiere pressed on Andy’s chest, reminding him that, to the world, all day today, he had breasts. A beautiful feminine figure. He had. Astrid had.
“Well, why not… and I may slip into something more comfortable while I do.” said his ‘wife’ as she took a first step up the stairs towards her bedroom where her cosmetics and lingerie would be found….
--oo00oo–
As Christopher climbed the stairs just a moment later, he sang to himself, but in Christine’s voice,
(again, with devoted attribution to Lennon and McCartney)
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
Four of fish and finger pies
In summer, meanwhile back
Behind the benches in the middle of the churchyard
A pretty nurse is selling poppies from a tray
And though she feels as if she's in a play
She is anyway
In Penny Lane the crimper perms another customer
We see the trannie sitting waiting for a trim
Then the trannie’s wife rushes in
From the pouring rain...
Very strange
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue country skies
I sit, and meanwhile back
Penny Lane is in my ears and in my eyes
There beneath the blue country skies...
Penny Lane.
Chapter 9 will not be explicit, dear Readers, but you will learn which of the four lovers took part this evening. The chapter will focus on Heidi’s discoveries and her revelations about the village and its community players.
Before Christine’s plan for herself and her wife Astrid can be finally planned, it’s Five O’ Clock and, in this house, whenever possible, Five O’ Clock means a Fuck. Sometimes a very short tempestuous one, sometimes a long, luxurious lingering one. Tonight, Andy thought, in view of the day’s exertions in the village, it promised to be the long lingering, luxurious kind. As she climbed the stairs, Christopher thought differently.
Chapter 9 — A plan is decided
Astrid had climbed the stairs and progressively shed different pieces of her outer-, then her under-wear, leaving them at different places up the stirs. The bra and panties, she kept on into the bedroom where, in the minute or so before her wife arrived, she was able to touch-up her lipstick and brush her hair. The shedding of the clothes was certainly erotic. The shoes were cast off immediately — outer wear suited to country walks. They could be replaced with her stilettos later. The rolling of the stockings down to her ankles and then their hanging on the stairs was pure luxury.
The skirt and then the blouse were lovingly placed where Andy’s ‘husband for the night’ could not fail to pick up if he wanted access to their bedroom. So, when Christopher entered, there he found Astrid, standing at her dressing table in just her bra and panties, oh, yes, and the stiletto-heeled shoes she loved so much. Andy was finishing the re-touching of his lipstick before brushing the hair that would, tomorrow, be the bridge between the couple and Heidi, their ‘mole’ in village society.
Christine stood in the doorway to the bedroom and said nothing, just admiring her ‘wife for the night’. Pretending not to notice, Astrid picked up the hairbrush that lay on the dressing table and, looking straight into the vanity mirror, carefully lifted three or four curls from around the crown of her head and back-brushed them, everso gently, just to give some renewed height and style. Tomorrow, highlights will make me look so much more girly, Andy thought to himself. He could hardly wait.
Still in his male attire, albeit with the unbuttoned shirt which Astrid had disturbed, Christopher was still very much the male. Christine’s tits were uncomfortably bound and her chest was notably flat compared with the ample breasts that Andy admired and loved to fondle so much. Andy turned and, with a brief startling motion, reacted to a man seeing him dressed as he was, near naked, in heels, in only his bra and panties. Christine looked so much the male.
A beautiful satin dressing gown was draped across the back of the chair and was only a hand length away, so Andy swept it from its resting places and swirled it around himself, thus emphasizing the femininity of the Astrid he had become.
Christine stepped forward, removing her shirt as she did so. The trousers she wore were tightly belted around her waist and it was only a heartbeat before the belt was released and the trousers fell to the floor. Beneath, Andy saw that Christine had the most beautiful pair of white lacy panties and her maleness seemed to melt away. His wife’s femininity made the most sudden come-back imaginable. Her tits were indeed bound, and cried for release, and her panties invited a tongue to push them aside. Astrid’s tongue was, indeed, very ready.
Christine raised her right hand and ran her fingers through her slicked-back hair, ruffling it into a tousled mess, neither manly, nor girly, but inviting to the touch. In an instant, the couple engaged in a deep and long, and quite penetrative kiss.
--oo00oo–
The explicit content that might have appeared here
may be read in a separate chapter, 9B, should readers
wish to know how the hour or two that followed
brought two women together at the end,
(but through what transitions in between?)
The Five O’ Clock Fuck was indeed luxurious.
--oo00oo–
As the two lovers laid back in the after-glow of their passions, now woman and wife together, they shared a deep bliss that passed their awareness. It was unimaginable that they could be otherwise. They loved eachother so deeply. They knew eachother’s sources of delight. And they indulged them.
Five O’ Clock fucking lived on!
Andy and Christine lay on their bed. Christine uttered the most welcome word that Andy could have wished to hear.
“Martini?! said his wife.
“Ooooh, a large one…. Please!” he replied. He watched as Christine rose from the bed and steeped into her wedge-heeled fluffy, feminine bedroom slipper. Her “brothel creepers”, she called them. Andy resolved to get her to buy him a pair for his next birthday. She swept off to find the martini bottle, two glasses, some lemon slices and some ice.
“Ice” said Andy to himself. He had heard of all sorts of interesting things that can be done in bed with … ice! More so, he remembered kissing Christine’s pussy with an ice cube in his mouth…. It had driven her wild. Maybe he would do that again before long!
Before long, she was back, two glasses in hand, the ice chinking in the glasses that were misted in frost. “To enjoy these,” whispered Christine, you need… no, we both need, lipstick! So, rather than sit on the bed, she rose again and went to the vanity mirror and its collection of joyful treats below. She picked up “his” deep crimson crá¨me, and then her own brighter pink creation. She returned to the bed and began to colour Andy’s lips once again. How much he adored the smell and the flavour! He closed his eyes and just “went with the flow”.
Christine did the same for her own lips and rolled them inside to set the colour before briefly licking over the upper and then the lower lip. Ready for action….!
But not yet. There were plans to be made and discussed.
The plan that was to be hatched for the following day was another such source of delight.
Potentially.
It might all go horribly wrong. It might be a total failure - one that might result in their being ostracized by the rest of the community for having dared to show their crazy, some might say perverted, sexual appetites. But potentially, it might open the community to untold enjoyments, sources of mutual pleasure and changed relationships for the future.
They hoped it would be the latter. They believed the community was ready for its inhibitions to be released and conquered.
“So, by the time we have both had our hair done tomorrow, you expect that we will have been taken into Heidi’s confidence about several couples, perhaps the ones we have seen or met briefly. She will have told us all she knows about the ways they amuse or entertain themselves. With encouragement, she will have told us what she knows of their sexual interests……” Andy summarized, seeking confirmation. “… And what do you intend to do with this knowledge?”
“Well, I have gone further than this…. What you don’t know is that, while you’re in the hairdressers being made to look even more lovely by Heidi, and perhaps quite semi-permanently,
I shall be busy in another direction.” Christine had a surprise up her sleeve.
“How so, and with whom?!” countered Andy, unsure of where this was leading.
“It’s my intention to meet Bev when she leaves work at the pub. It will be shortly before your appointment at the salon, so I will have plenty of time, always supposing that Bev will give me the time I need. I’ll have plenty of time to get the same information off her, so we can compare notes.” Christine had really thought this through. In her guise as Christopher, who is a complete stranger to the village, there was the real chance that Bev might not see through her masculinity. Bev might even like to feel she was being seduced.
If she were, so much the better! thought Christine.
Andy’s remembering of Bev was so fixated on her tits that he was lost in thought for a moment.
Christine had seen this idea of talking with bev while Andy was being pampered I the hairdressers as a way to get in with Bev in front of Andy who, she knew, fancied Bev like he was on high octane gas! But Andy could do nothing while he was having his hair highlighted and set by Heidi, now could he… or she?!
“Fair game.” Mused Andy, resolving that he would, one day, by hook or by crook, have those tits of Bev’s in his teeth! “Look, we have to start somewhere…. Tell me again, how you see us finding out about everyone else’s secrets.”
Christine had plans that Andy didn’t know about. In fact, she had been plotting this for some weeks. She had become a little bored by county living, even if it was only at weekends. It needed spicing up and the last 24 hours had confirmed in her mind that now was the time to ruffle a few feathers. “Tomorrow, we spend time with the two people we know who know most everyone in the village. If anyone knows a secret, it will be one or other of them. So, we need to ask probing questions and rely on the answers to tell us what to ask next.”
“Ok, Ok,….” cut in her husband, “.. but what if we get nowhere…?”
“Then, you, my husband, lying there in your underwear, will be asking the wrong questions! I’ll have none of that negativity. You…. (she paused)….. You… have to make sure you get the answers we need…..”
“ It’s not rocket science…….You have to start with general things about the village. Is it a sleepy place? Is everyone like close to other people?....... or are they all comparative strangers? Where do they get together, if they do? Does anyone organize get-togethers? What do they do there? Is it all frightfully Churchy and goody-goody? Or is there more going on? Just get them talking. I suspect they’ll do the rest, especially if they, themselves, are game players.”
“ok, ok…. So, when do I come clean about my… er, our, little secrets then? Is that the way to get them to open up? I mean, you do intend that I come out of the hairdressers fully disclosed as a guy who likes doing what I do….. er, what we do? Right? I mean, I’m easy with that….. “
“Of course, it’s a way to be paved for us to walk down. I see the end of the road being a truly open community where we’re just the Orchestra Conductors and the rest of the village is playing the tunes. In case you’re harbouring any hope that Heidi hasn’t already ‘sussed’ you as a crossdresser, I think the sooner you get round to that, the better…. If she doesn’t get in first!” Christine was convinced.
“And yet you think that Bev didn’t clock you as a girl in brogue shoes and country trousers?” Andy simulated amazement. “She must have been blind…..”
“Cheek!!” exclaimed Christine. A moment ago you were saying how good I look as a guy….. You should be careful or I might decide to stay like that for longer… Just because I’m back here on the bed with you.. girl-to-girl…..!”
So the discussion went on, with Christine coaxing Andy towards the open questioning that he was to be using with Heidi and at the same time, making herself sure about her approach to Bev.
“Now, the crucial questions are concerned with who are the people who are most open to ideas in the direction we want them to go. Right?” Christine was certain. Andy seemed less so.
“Well, yes, I guess so, but you haven’t explained your vision of where that place is that we want to go…. To find ourselves in….. with some of these people…. Or all of these people?”
“Well, to take the last point first, my answer is “the more the merrier”. It will work ok with just two or four…”
“What will??!!...” interjected her husband again….. “What is ‘IT’??”
“It, my lover, is a free and open village where we may all be wedded to one man or woman but we all enjoy learning about the various ways we each like to explore different forms of love-making. I don’t mean it’s a Swinger’s Paradise, I mean it’s a learning opportunity. Something where we can go away, if we want, to enjoy other things that we may never have thought of doing with eachother.”
Now, at last, Andy understood. “So, I can be Andy, and I can be Astrid, whenever I want without anyone worrying? I like that idea. If there’s another Astrid in the village, I’ll be happy, and like your Christopher, there might be another one of him….”
“I expect there will be at least one of each, if not more… and there will be some that have never thought of trying our games themselves — who will end up finding there’s nothing quite like it!” Christine helped Andy understand more of her vision……
Still laying on their bed, where the sex had been so satisfying, Christine began. “So, let’s just think again about what we know so far about the people we share this space with…. It might help us ask the right questions of Bev and Heidi.”
Andy started it first. “What do they all do? Let’s assume, is enjoy a healthy fuck now and again?”
“Again and again if they’re lucky! Christine agreed. “Yes, indeed, like the next-door neighbours, Cathy and Johnny. They seem to be modern and open people, from what we know after a year of their being in that house. Has Cathy ever tied Johnny to the bed and given him a blow-job???? I’d say of course she has….I mean, I’m sure she’s giving him a blow-job most weekends, but tying him up??.... She might be, but I may not know her well enough to ask….yet! I envisage getting to know her much better.”
“Hmmm……” Andy was thoughtful. “If Johnny ever submitted to bondage games, I’d think he would get deeply interested in that science and want to do lots of experiments. I said before, I do think he’d really be one to appreciate her dressing in a very sexy way, maybe a film star way…... You said you’d think she’d make a good Julia Roberts, didn’t you? The red hair really is beautiful….” Cathy was a fiery redhead and Andy’s fetish for hair was easily indulged. “She might have some leather stuff to make herself in control.”
--oo00oo--
Christine was absent-mindedly stroking Andy’s hair and forehead as they talked. She reflected on the attractiveness of this man in her arms. Who, just a year or two ago, would have thought that she would be loving such a carefree and happy-go-lucky guy who was equally at ease as male or female? She had never set out to find such a person. It was just pure luck that they had found eachother. And pure luck that he had disclosed his enjoyment of playing in female clothing when they talked one time about their deepest most confidential yearnings. He wanted to be a man, of that there was no doubt, but he wasn’t confident of being male. His sexual prowess was always under threat from his own low confidence and low self-esteem. That, alone, however, didn’t account for his tendency to act in a feminine manner. Not at all. That was much more derived from his love and admiration of the women he had met, worked with, dated and loved. None had yet encouraged him in his feminine leanings. None, that was, until Christine herself had given him the freedom to express himself. She loved him hugely! He loved her for all she was, both as a man and as a woman. She was delighted to accept that.
--oo00oo--
Unmarried, it was clear that Cathy and Johnny were secure partners, in a long-term stable relationship. He did work away from home a lot so they were known as ‘arms length’ lovers. Both had successful jobs, his taking him travelling overseas quite often, hers mainly UK-based. He was “something in Financial Services”. She was a Buyer for a couture house.
“She spends a lot on clothes and always looks very well turned-out. I guess much of that comes from the place she works in London. I’ve seen they have an outlet in Oxford and the clothes in there are very expensive indeed.” Christine mused, not without a little jealousy. “She has a hundred pairs of shoes, I kid you not, and I would love to have every single one of them!”
Andy laughed “Ah! The Imelda Marcos of the Cotswolds!! There will be pairs and pairs of high-leg leather boots with long, long laces and spikey heels! I think I’d love some myself! Maybe, one day, darling, you can buy me some…. Better still, you can take me shopping to buy some!”
“I’ve only had one conversation with Cathy since they’ve been in the house. It was not long after they moved in. She told me all about her work in the couture house and the models they have to have the clothes on for catwalk shows and stuff. She sounded quite envious and explained that she did like theatrical pastimes. I’m not sure if she actually acts in the plays but she’s involved with local ‘AmDram’ productions, for sure. When we can, we should engineer a meeting with her, maybe with, or maybe without him, and find out more. theatrical women have ‘hidden depths’ you know!”
“I’d be pleased to get in the deep end with her!” said Andy, again crossing the penalty line for Christine in the jealousy stakes. “Your penalty for that is that you shall cook dinner tonight!” Christine would hear no protest. She would, she said, sit back and watch as Andy did the cooking…. While she, relaxing with another Martini, would gently masturbate in front of her wife.
It was going to be one of those nights.
--oo00oo–
After dinner, and a little more foreplay for their eventual retirement to bed, the lovers resumed their discussions about what they should find out about other couples in the village.
Chapter 10 will explore a little more background to neighbours and those that Christine and Andy were now pursuing.
If you’re of a sensitive disposition, and maybe explicit description of the joy that a crossdressed husband and his crossdressed wife can have in intimate love-making is not to your liking, then please return to the series of chapters that make up the story of Andy, Christine, Astrid and Christopher.
There will be further delights contained in the chapters to come. For those others who believe that a man and a woman can be a woman and a man, read on!
Chapter 9B — The Five O’Clock Fuck (starts in the same vein as chapter 9)
Astrid had climbed the stairs and progressively shed different pieces of her outer-, then her under- wear, leaving them at different places up the stirs. The bra and panties, she kept on into the bedroom where, in the minute or so before her wife arrived, she was able to touch-up her lipstick and brush her hair. The shedding of the clothes was certainly erotic. The shoes were cast off immediately — outer wear suited to country walks. They could be replaced with her stilettos later. The rolling of the stockings down to her ankles and then their hanging on the stairs was pure luxury.
The skirt and then the blouse were lovingly placed where Andy’s ‘husband for the night’ could not fail to pick up if he wanted access to their bedroom. So, when Christopher entered, there he found Astrid, standing at her dressing table in just her bra and panties, oh, yes, and the stiletto-heeled shoes she loved so much. Andy was finishing the re-touching of his lipstick before brushing the hair that would, tomorrow, be the bridge between the couple and Heidi, their ‘mole’ in village society.
Christopher stood in the doorway to the bedroom and said nothing, just admiring her ‘wife for the night’. Pretending not to notice, Astrid picked up the hairbrush that lay on the dressing table and, looking straight into the vanity mirror, carefully lifted three or four curls from around the crown of her head and back-brushed them, everso gently, just to give some renewed height and style. Tomorrow, highlights will make me look so much more girly, Andy thought to himself. He could hardly wait.
Still in his male attire, albeit with the unbuttoned shirt which Astrid had disturbed, Christopher was still very much the male. Christine’s tits were uncomfortably bound and her chest was notably flat compared with the ample breasts that Andy admired and loved to fondle so much. Andy turned and, with a brief startling motion, reacted to a man seeing him dressed as he was, near naked, in heels, in only his bra and panties. Christine looked so much the male.
A beautiful burgundy satin dressing gown was draped across the back of the chair and was only a hand length away, so Andy swept it from its resting places and swirled it around himself, thus emphasizing the femininity of the Astrid he had become. The stiletto-heeled shoes cried out to be worn, so Astrid bent down to slide them on to her superbly feminine feet. Andy imagined wearing these beautiful creations all day long, binding smooth stockings that he would choose to wear.
“Why, Sir! I didn’t see you standing there!....” Looking up, Astrid breathed in almost a Marilyn Monroe-esque invitation. “…Come in, please do.”
Christine was silent and, after a brief pause, stepped into the room, saying nothing at first. She wanted the maleness that she had created to linger. She wanted the power that this beautiful woman, her husband, was prepared to offer.
Her mind, for an instant, wondered what she was doing now. Was she a lesbian? Was she a transgendered woman becoming a male? Was she just a woman in love? She reached the instant conclusion that she was just that. A woman in love. In love with a beautiful woman who just happens to be her husband.
Then he spoke, Christopher taking control. “You look wonderful, my darling….. I love the shoes and those heels are to die for. They make you so, oh so, attractive. You stand, so… provocatively. Come into my arms please, darling, do so, now. I need to hold you in my arms.”
Astrid looked at her husband, still dressed as he was but with the open shirt that betrayed her gender by revealing the binding across Christopher’s tits. Astrid ignored this distraction. She wanted to be held by this man, this handsome man. Though the same height as she, Christopher somehow became larger than life in Astrid’s mind. She sank into his arms and looked upward into his eyes. Into what he knew were Christine’s beautiful eyes.
Astrid’s tongue passed over her crimson lips and invited a kiss. Christopher felt a yearning between his thighs where there was no cock but should have been. Christine thought to herself, “I have to fuck this woman, somehow.” She looked towards the drawer beside the bed where she knew she would find the toys that gave her so much pleasure. She would be able to be so indescribably sexy that Astrid would be hers… all hers…. All night!
Astrid continued to look up and her thoughts were much the same as her husband’s. “I have to eat this man’s pussy, and I have to do it soon!” Andy’s consciousness of his bra and panties was heightened. His feeling of the shoes that made it difficult to stand up was heightened. His desire to live as a woman was heightened. If tomorrow would bring a chance to live as a woman, he would be exhilarated. If Christine were to be his husband or his wife, he didn’t care. Whatever she found to give herself pleasure, he would work hard to confirm.
Standing together in their bedroom, as they had done before, with Andy dressed as he was, but so rarely with both of them crossdressed, the moment of decision arrived. A decision that neither would take alone, neither would discuss, but that each would know was the right one. Would it be soft and slow and gentle and relaxing and luxurious? Or would it be a rampant, half-crazed fuck that would be over in minutes but that would meet the needs they both were feeling.
There was time to be soft and gentle.
There was time to be slow.
There was time to luxuriate
But, instinctively, both knew it wasn’t now ……not now. Now was the time for passion. The time was for a fuck of devastative intensity. They were woman and wife, and man and husband and they were ready for a fuck.
Astrid pouted her beautiful red lips and inched upward to Christopher’s waiting mouth. Again, she licked those lips and Christine fell upon them in a tight and tongue-dominated game of oral ‘explore me’. Looking behind Astrid’s head into the vanity mirror, Christopher saw herself in almost a Clark Gable pose.
Astrid had fallen into his arms, now he would pleasure her all the way as far as he was able. No cock, but he had his mouth. And Astrid had no pussy, but she had pleasure zones to explore.
The kiss between them was urgent, almost violent. It pointed towards that ‘no return’ place where day became night, light became dark and cold became hot, quiet became noisy…… and orgasms just kept on coming… or cumming!
Christine reflected, just for an instant, how lucky she was to be a woman. How lucky she was that she could experience orgasm after orgasm, increasingly intense, unlike Andy who would cum only once. She would try to let Astrid into the secret of multiple orgasming.
Masterfully, Christopher firmly but gently pushed Astrid’s shoulders back and moved her waist inward towards him. Naturally, she buckled at the waist and went down on to the bed. Astrid wanted to kiss Christopher’s pussy and to explore within him to reach his labia, his clitoris and his G-spot. Astrid knew where they all would be found. Strangely .........in a man… but they would be there. But Andy didn’t get the chance.
Christopher had already parted the folds of the burgundy gown, revealing Astrid’s bra and panties.
Her legs were folded and the heels of her shoes dug into the mattress, raising her thighs to where Astrid’s cock could easily be seen covered only by the lace of Andy’s panties. His hard-ons were never truly hard, Christine knew, but the intensity of the fantasy they had created as sufficient. Christopher knew that he could take a full cock into his mouth and indulge Christine’s deepest desires.
As he went down, Christopher’s hand delved into the drawer of toys that were oh so familiar. His hand came to rest on the vibrator that he, Christine, held as her favourite. She often indulged herself with it in quite quiet times some afternoons, when the house was free. Christine knew that Astrid would enjoy the vibrator, the way she herself did. Maybe this was the way to help Astrid join the club of girls who can cum time and time again?
Once engaged in orally pleasuring Astrid, Christopher took the lacy panties that had been pushed aside of Astrid’s cock and twisted them around the near-hard penis she held. Tightening it, Christopher found that Andy’s penis responded well. Indeed, it grew beautifully. Christine enjoyed the sight and covered Astrid’s balls with her lips. Christopher didn’t share the male concern that, whoever sucks your balls might bite! He sucked ever harder and Astrid flinched only once.
Andy, laying back, thought only that, for once, he wouldn’t actually care if he lost his bollocks in a fucking accident. What would he care? If he had no balls any longer? He still had his bra tight around his chest. He still had his panties across his abdomen. He still had those beautiful shoes on his feet. He still had lipstick on his lips. He still had his eyes made-up quite glamorously. And he still had his hair beautifully set, albeit somehow mussed up from the last few minutes’ fucking.
He, Astrid, was in heaven. And in went the vibrator.
Not far, thought Christopher. Us men don’t give up our virginity that easily. And Christine knew that Andy had always been resistant to being penetrated. A very little, for a first time, would be all a loving husband would do for him. After tensing herself suddenly, Astrid relaxed. And the vibrator went in a little further…. And out…. And in again….. And out again.
Without warning, Astrid reached orgasm and her cock gave up its load. Christopher licked it up greedily as Christine always did. It was involuntary. Astrid was unable to control herself, much as she had intended to. Out of breath, she fell back into the pillow. She had wanted to save herself for later. She had wanted to give her husband a good time too.
But there was plenty of time for that.
Christopher sat up from his crouching position over his wife’s body. He looked in amazement at the ripples of burgundy satin that were strewn beneath Astrid’s body. The bra she was wearing remained tight. The panties were all-but invisible, like a thong, no more. Andy’s, or Astrid’s, cock was now limp and tiny, laying on a fold of burgundy fabric. This was truly a she-male.
Christine had seen movies and books, but she had never really believed that it was possible to create something so beautiful that “she could be a he” without gender reassignment. That a man could reaches such a stage where has was a woman, but wanted to go no further with a transition. Christopher looked down at Astrid in wonderment, and love.
Instantly, she wished that Andy would, or could, experience a second and even more orgasms. At that moment, she wanted Andy “inside her”.
The time for more intense passion was now. To revive Andy. To have him fuck her as Christine. But also to love her as Astrid would.
The time was right to remove the masculine and concentrate on the feminine. Her femininity.
She removed the shirt that had been unbuttoned in the original foreplay. She removed the binding from her breasts, allowing them to respond to the stimulus of their freedom. Her nipples hardened. The tits took a more swollen shape. Christine lifted both with the palms of her two hands and offered them to Astrid as she lay on the bed. But before Astrid could move, Christopher’s last vestiges were gone. The trousers she wore were tightly belted around her waist and it was only a heartbeat before the belt was released and the trousers fell to the floor. Beneath, Andy saw that Christine had the most beautiful pair of white lacy panties and her maleness seemed to melt away. His wife’s femininity made the most sudden come-back imaginable. Her tits had indeed been bound, and had cried for release, and her panties invited a tongue to push them aside. Astrid’s tongue was, indeed, very ready.
Christine raised her right hand and ran her fingers through her slicked-back hair, ruffling it into a tousled mess, neither manly, nor girly, but inviting to the touch. In an instant, the couple were engaged in a deep and long, and quite penetrative kiss. As woman and….. whatever Christine chose to be.
She chose to be female. She chose glorious femininity.
She went to the vanity mirror and selected a different lipstick to that worn by her husband still lying on the bed but now following her every move intensely. As Christine returned braless to the bed, Astrid enjoyed the way his wife’s tits moved like they always did. Clamouring to be taken in hand and kissed and loved. So that was what he did. As soon as Christine reached the bed, Astrid rose and clasped the woman’s head, running hands through the no-longer male hair and pulling the face closer, pulling their mouths into contact. Merging their two lipstick shades together and enticing eachother’s tongues into battle. Soft, caressing battle now. Each encouraging the other now. To take full advantage of their femininity.
Within moments, Astrid’s face was buried in Christine’s bushy love nest. Her tongue already exploring the inner folds of the labia that were now thoroughly wet and lusting for more. Christine reached down between her own thighs and spread the labia wide apart, so that Astrid could reach every corner, fold and crevasse. So that her tiny clitoris would get the attention of this passionate female.
Astrid knew what Christine was wanting, but played a teasing game with her fingernails, first stroking her lover’s labia and then mildly scratching the hood of skin that almost but not entirely covered her clitoris.
Christine was losing contact with the reality of the situation. She gently pushed two of her fingers into her pussy and began to search for her own G-spot. Which was easily found. She pressed hard and softly, in alternative pulses as her orgasm rose, Andy’s face buried once more and his tongue pushed Christine into the ecstasy she had been dreaming. Her hips began to arch and the thighs either side began to shudder as she final found herself able to cum. Exquisitely.
Astrid, by now, had revived from Andy’s earlier orgasm and, though again not entirely hard, he had enough to lift himself into the right position alongside Christine who had raised one thigh to open access to her pussy for Andy’s penis. Not having to support himself above her, but approaching her from behind, he slipped inside his wife at just the right moment… as she was to cum for a second time. Lucky girl! Thought Andy. One day I’ll be able to do that!
--oo00oo–
Enough already! I hear you cry!) let’s leave our lovers to recover and return to the main theme of the story of The First Queen in the Village!
Whether you have read chapter 9 already or have yet to read it, go back to resume where we had got to!
After setting forth into the unknown, both Christine and Andy have been unmasked very early on in their afternoon encounters. Bev and Heidi proved to be more perceptive than even the two Lovers expected. But what will they reveal to them in return?
No explicit details are contained in this chapter, so no need for CAUTION.
Chapter 12 — The afternoon that Bev and Heidi……really did!!
“Yes, I’m lucky…”
“Lucky enough to find acceptance, then?” The final fly was cast……
“Acceptance?........” Christine knew she was hooked now.
“Yessss…. As you are. I mean, you make a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but you’re something more, aren’t you?
--oo00oo--
“While we’re doing the colour, you can tell me how a guy lives like you do. It must be great fun! We don’t get many guys in here.”
The Andy within Astrid came rushing back. Heidi had sussed his situation, but appeared totally cool with the whole idea.
Andy knew that he, too, was hooked.
--oo00oo–
Bev smiled and stretched out a hand towards Christopher. “It’s Ok with me, it really is. I’m sure you’re even more attractive as your real self than you are as you are now. I’ve never met anyone who’s confident enough to do what you’ve done…. I’m sorry if I’ve spoilt the party a bit but I couldn’t resist……” Bev’s words petered out into nothing as she looked for a reaction from Christine.
Christopher was non-plussed. He had not expected to be sussed quite so easily. It was a bit of a disappointment really. He was enjoying being the male. His last two days had been fun. His Christine self had been there, of course, but she had been hidden away — apart from at bedtime… oh, and at lunch time…. In fact, Christine had had a very enjoyable day really. But he wanted the Christopher illusion to go on. At least for a little longer.
“Acceptance…” he said, “…we all need some of that……. Would you mind…. Just for a little longer……” He longed to seduce this woman. He needed to get her talking to him as he had planned as well. Perhaps the seduction had to wait. Maybe Bev would be as interested in being seduced by a woman dressed as a man, as she might be being seduced by the man she had met.
“As long as you like, my honey.” Bev agreed, thinking herself that this was a unique experience in the making. She was a very sexual being and the whole situation was without precedent in her life, so what the hell?, Why not go with the flow….!?
“Tell me more about yourself Christopher. Please. Are you married? Do you have kids? Where do you live? I want to know so much more about you. A man like you must have stories to tell.” She looked him in the eye. Taking his request and running with it. She would play him for the male this woman wanted to be for a while. Then, Bev thought, I might just seduce her myself.
“Well, yes, I am married. My wife’s called Astrid and, in fact, you met her very briefly. We’ve been married for ten years and both have good jobs. We travel quite a lot so we meet lots of interesting people and go nice places too. We like new experiences…”
“I can tell that…” Bev smiled before apologizing.
“Yes, we do. And we have a little property on the outskirts of the village. We don’t know many people well here. In fact, we hardly know anybody. We’d like to get to know people much better but we’re not sure how we should go about that.” Christine’s male voice was straining to keep consistent.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t like another drink? Another gin, maybe?”
“Another gin would be perfect. I’m thirsty…”, Christine answered, “…I met my wife when I was working for a Swedish company and she was living in England with her Swedish parents. She was born in England so you’d probably never know….” Her male voice faltered again but she recovered and Bev said nothing. Christine reflected on how difficult it is to maintain the whole person illusion for a whole day. But, then again, she thought, the hours we spent in bed weren’t multi-lingual!
“And is your wife much like yourself?” Bev asked, quite unashamedly and pointedly, meaning she wondered if Christopher’s wife was also a crossdresser.
There was no need for Bev not to know, sooner or later. “Oh, well, as you ask, the answer is very definitely yes. It suits us both very well. In fact, we were wondering if there were other people with similar interests around here. I mean, it’s not easy to get to know people in the first place and, perhaps a little more tricky……” Again, Christopher’s voice faltered. “….. well, I’m sure you understand.”
Bev thought for more than a few moments. There was something going on here and she was sure that she could be a part of it. She was single, unattached, very curious and actually quite inexperienced. So why not tag along for the ride?
“Oh, surely so. I do understand. When I came here, I knew nobody and it’s taken me a long time to get to know even half of them. But some are especially nice and easy-going.” Bev said, her thoughts now racing.
As she began to pour the second gin and tonics, the obvious question came to Bev’s mind. Was this woman gay? Did she go with other girls? Bev had lesbian friends. Who didn’t? She had found one or two really attractive. Not butch ones, thank you. But she had no real experience, or even understanding, of the desire that some people have to dress in the clothes of the other sex. But she wanted to find out.
--oo00oo–
Heidi was an average sized woman, with a nice tight bum and quite attractive breasts — Andy fancied a fondle of those - she was perhaps aged 40, with a tumble of dark brown curls pinned back in a loose and untidy chignon.
Her dress was a country-style calf-length one and her shoes were the ultimately comfortable, slip-ons. All-in-all, though she was very attractive, but she had said nothing since those words about guys not going into her salon.
We don’t get many guys in here. Heidi thought about those words and the guy sitting in her stylist’s chair. “Have you had highlights before.. er….? I’m sorry, what is your name so we can get to know eachother?” Heidi asked, to loosen up the conversation.
“I’m called Astrid and, actually no, I haven’t had highlights before. …. But I do adore the look of them and I’m very excited about having some myself. I’m only worried about the upkeep and how to keep them looking good……” Astrid began to loosen up. Andy was, in fact, frozen with nerves. He had been discovered with such ease. He must look like some numty pervert, a bloke in a frock. A man who couldn’t convince anyone he was a girl…… He couldn’t wait, to tell the truth, to get out of Heidi’s salon as soon as he could.
Perhaps sensing this, and to make Andy feel at ease, Heidi said, “Well, Astrid, you have no need to worry, especially if you don’t mind the expense of having them re-done occasionally. Highlights are very attractive but they need taking care of….. I’d like to see you every three weeks so they always look freshly done. Can you bear that?” Heidi wanted to make this guy feel comfortable, so he would trust her to take care of his hair for a long while. He could easily pass as a woman with people who didn’t know him, or have the chance to be up close and personal as she herself now was.
“Can I bear that…..? Nothing would give me more pleasure!” Astrid answered.
‘In fact’, Heidi thought, ‘when she had first seen him, in the doorway of the salon, with that guy who must be her husband, I was almost certain… in fact, I didn’t even wonder whether, this was just another female client. Just someone she didn’t know. Then there was that husband. Didn’t she know him from somewhere?’
Back to the job in hand. Heidi thought that Astrid’s hair had potential to look very nice indeed. Very feminine even, if it were treated the right way. The way she would do it herself. She thought of exactly the style - she knew it was in a styles book that she kept for clients to wander through while they were waiting for service.
She set off across the salon which, apart from herself, Lottie and this ‘woman’ Astrid, was now deserted. She found the book of styles and said, “Here, have a look. This is what I have in mind….. You could wear it this length until perhaps you grew it a little longer. Would you like that?”
She stood back from the chair for a moment, studying how and where to make any trimming do the best for Astrid’s hair to grow. Growing the hair was the answer. If this guy wanted to pass as a woman, then he had to grow his hair to below chin-length, even to his shoulders. She left Astrid to think what Andy would look like…..
“Oh, yes, indeed, very much. That’s how I’d like to look”. Astrid said, thinking of the pretty model in the styles book. She was lovely. She had a chin-length bob with her brown hair highlighted to make her blonde-but-not. The colouring was obvious. Bold, emphatic. No messing. No doubts. Andy was disappearing.
In standing back, Heidi caught sight of herself in the mirror again. To her reflection, she thought, ‘I should do a little more to present myself to my clients if I’m going to get males coming in like this in future. I’m clearly enjoying my work’. Her thoughts kept coming. ‘I’m evidently at ease with all and any client who would come in for service. So what if one or more is a male dressed as a female?’ She studied Astrid’s hair even more closely. ‘I’m not having a man look more feminine than me, not in my salon!’ she thought, before getting back to work.
She was ready. To embark on one of the most fascinating stylings that she had ever attempted. She wanted to get the guy talking, even though she, herself, usually did all the talking. She confirmed the picture of the style Andy wanted…. Plus streaks of different blonde shades.
“Well, then let’s make this style our eventual goal. We can’t have that today, but we can begin to move towards such a style and colour. Happy? …………Now, tell me more about yourself, Astrid. ……Please. Are you married? ……Do you have kids? Where do you live? …I want to know so much more about you. A woman like you must have stories to tell.” She looked Astrid in the eye. Taking his efforts to find femininity and running with them. She would play him for the female this man wanted to be for a while. Then, Heidi thought, I’ll find out what she and her husband are up to.
Astrid relaxed some more. “Well, yes, I am married. My husband is called Christopher and, in fact, you met him before you ever even saw me. I think you may have cut and styled his hair. It was his idea that I should come in and see you. We’ve been married for ten years and both have good jobs. We travel quite a lot so we meet lots of interesting people and go nice places too. We like new experiences…”
“I can tell that…” Heidi smiled half knowingly before apologizing. She now knew who the husband was. It was that woman who came in asking for a slicked-back wet-look Princess Diana style from all those years ago. They were both in drag! This couple were both having a laugh! They clearly didn’t care at all what people think….. Well, good for them, the young hairdresser thought.
“Yes, we do. And we have a little property on the outskirts of the village. We don’t know many people well here. In fact, we hardly know anybody. We’d like to get to know people much better but we’re not sure how we should go about that.” Andy’s female voice was straining to keep consistent.
Heidi decided that she would do her very professional best to turn this guy’s hair into something that she, as a woman, would be proud of. Something that could be really developed the next time he came into the little salon. He was not leaving before he made another appointment. That was for sure.
As she began to trim the split ends from Andy’s hair, the obvious question came to Heidi’s mind. Was this guy gay? Did he go with other guys? She had no real experience, or even understanding, of the desire that some people have to dress in the clothes of the other sex. But she wanted to find out.
Heidi soon finished trimming and asked Lottie to start preparing the bleach and toning pastes for the highlights. She herself went to the corner to bring the trolley that held all the aluminium foils that she would be using to separate Astrid’s highlights from the base colour of her hair.
“Now, before we do the highlights, do you want to liven up the base colour of your hair, like the all-over undercolour? It could look really lovely if you were to have a red shade under there, with the blonde and I think strawberry highlights. Let me see if I can find a picture….” Andy sat there, still frozen. He was out of control. This is what Christine had decided for him and he was unable to protest. It sounded a lot more drastic than he had thought…. He knew he wasn’t going to be offered an option. Heidi thought it would look lovely. And Heidi would get what Heidi wanted.
She had gone to the corner of the room again, looking for another book; a shade chart that illustrated the colours she could use. Would there be such a picture…. With a redhead having blonde highlights?
Whilst she was looking, Lottie came over and whispered…… “I couldn’t help overhearing. Am I right? This is a guy we have here? I’ve never been this close to a “trannie” before. Is he for real? All dressed up like any other woman we have as a customer? Is he serious?”
“Darling…” Heidi replied, “…whether he’s serious or not, this is what he wants so this is what she gets! She’ll look fabulous, if I have anything to do with it.”
There was no such illustration, unfortunately, so Heidi had to remind Astrid that she had allowed her to choose the colour of the highlights. So, therefore, she chose that Astrid would become a redhead under the blonding. The foils were applied and the little packages sealed with their potent colouring agents. Then, to complete the process, the rest of Astrid’s hair was doused in a different coloured paste. Andy knew he was trapped and had no option but to watch his masculinity fade away.
He stared into the mirror….. and remembered the job he was there to do.
--oo00oo–
Bev floated a few questions that she believed would ascertain whether Christopher was gay, playing gay, or somewhere outside that scale. She asked him about where he and his “partner” took their holidays. Everything sounded boring and strictly conventional. She asked him if he knew the clubs in Oxford, which he did, but he didn’t mention a notably gay haunt. So she pressed on that button, but to no response. If he was hiding that, he was doing is well, but then had no need to. ‘There he was, sitting in her bar, dressed in the opposite gender’. ‘So, he’s not gay’, thought Bev. ‘How does that work?!’
Christine saw exactly where Bev was going and decided, although she felt attracted to this slutty woman, that this was not the time to indicate any lesbian tendency. What the hell. She was bisexual and had not a thought to hide the fact. What was it that her beloved Dusty Springfield once said? — “she was equally moved by a woman as a man” - that was her too.
Christopher decided the time was coming to uncover some of the Village’s secrets. It meant opening up his true self and disclosing his secret about his, er… his wife.
“Now you know a bit more about me… and you’ve guessed about my partner… my husband that is, I wonder if you know whether there are other people in the village who might find our lifestyle acceptable? I mean, take yourself, for instance. You can tell me… You’re a hugely attractive woman. Would getting to know us and other people better be something you’d want to try?”
“Oh! Sir! So forward!...” Bev joked in shock horror. She looked around the bar to check it was still empty, as if she were sharing a secret in wartime…. Careless talk costs lives and all that.
“….but to answer you. I’d say yes… and there are several quietly conservative people who are anything but that…… who would too.!”
‘One down, how many more?’ thought Christopher. “Tell me more….!”
--oo00oo–
Andy’s eyes shifted from the mirror only on each time that Heidi came to check on the processing of the colour in his foils. Her visits were regular as she had no other clients to serve. Time was getting on. He had no information about other villagers and their secrets… and yet he had let all his own fly! If it was tennis, it would be “Advantage Heidi!”
Realizing that it would not be long before the foils would be taken away and his hair shampooed and the styling would begin, Andy decided there was no better time than now. Heidi came over again.
In a much less female voice, Andy said, “Now you know a bit more about me… and you’ve guessed about my partner… my husband that is, I wonder if you know whether there are other people in the village who might find our lifestyle acceptable? I mean, take yourself, for instance. You can tell me… You’re a hugely attractive woman. Would getting to know us and other people better be something you’d want to try?”
“I wondered when you might get round to that….. You can’t be the only people in the village… can you… people who….. well, yes, I’m sure there are….. “
Heidi’s thoughts were confused. They tumbled towards her like an avalanche. She hadn’t expected him to hit on her. ‘I mean, isn’t he gay? This guy sitting dressed in women’s clothes in my salon? Isn’t he trying to pass himself off to catch a male lover? Don’t they all?’
“There must be others…” she stalled, her thoughts going on in overdrive, ‘I mean, there was that boy at school who everyone knew was queer. But he didn’t dress up. He might have been softly spoken but…. I suppose, …. Gay boys? …they go for six-packs on other guys more than pretty clothes and faces, and hair!’
Suddenly Heidi was conscious of the silence. Then Lottie chipped in,
“There’s the boy and girl in the big house. They can’t get on with eachother and their parents do nothing about it. That’s all because they have wanted to transgender for years — since before going to Uni. Neither is gay. Leastwise, I know she’s not because I was struck with a crush on her and she didn’t want to know.”
“Do you believe that comes from their parents? Maybe the Mum or the Dad has a tendency towards transgender?” Astrid probed. “Oh quite probably…” Lottie answered. “Then there are the pair Cathy and Johnny… they must live down your end of the village…. She’s been known to show off the bondage stuff she likes so much…. I think she takes him a long way down that path at times. In fact, I know it for a fact, because I’m friends with the girl that does her manicures and pedicures. She said that once he had both too… not long ago, that was. Nail polish and all. Who knows what else?” Lottie was proving to be a better source than Heidi, Andy thought.
“I took him for just being a voyeur…. Someone who doesn’t get involved…” said Astrid, fuelling the fire a little. “Oh, I don’t think so…” said Heidi, “when I last cut his hair, I could tell that there was some leather under the tee-shirt he wore, and she is a fiery redhead, isn’t she… and you know what they can be like….. You’d better watch out Astrid, becoming a redhead today might transform your personality…!” teased Heidi.
“Also, down your end, there’s Jenny and Peter. He’s away all the time and she must get up to mischief while he’s away……don’t you think?” said Astrid……
“Leading the witness your honour!...” laughed Heidi. “I wouldn’t know but another customer is madly in love with Jenny. She seems to believe they’re going to run away together one day.”
“Strewth!..” said Astrid, “… are there any heterosexuals in this village???
“Apart from myself?” retorted Heidi. “And me…. I’m over my crushes…” said Lottie in her own defence.
“Yes, of course there are…. Heterosexuals that is…. They just keep to themselves. “But we can’t be sure… Who fits into that group?
“Maybe some are, like Pammie and Jack? They have loads of money, don’t they? Astrid had turned the discussion again. “Did you do her hair that blue-black colour Heidi? It looks awfully severe.”
“No, not originally. She’s been that colour for years. She was a Goth when she was a kid and stuck with it ever since. He had blue-black hair when they first arrived in the village too. I just keep hers the way it is. Her neighbour did once say that they make an awful lot of noise late at night, when they’re ‘at it’!”
“That neighbour would be the woman from the couple with the two kids that are just out of Uni and don’t get on…. The ones that might swap their clothes…. Or the son might…. Steal his sister’s clothes. Is that right?” Astrid was beginning to get lost among all the things that seemed to be going on around here. She wasn’t the only one. Lottie, too, was increasingly confused.
“It’s time to finish your processing, Astrid. Lottie, please shampoo our lady guest and get her ready for the final styling.” said Heidi as she opened another of Astrid’s foil packets. This was duly done and Astrid was returned from the shampoo bowls to the styling station in front of the vanity mirror where she had begun at least an hour and a half previously.
--oo00oo–
Back in the bar, Bev had confirmed some of the details that Astrid would later report that evening, but Bev’s interesting comments came about three couples that had not even been mentioned in the Lovers first walk around the village.
“There’s Sam and Sam who live in the second new house, next door to that pair Justin and Emma. You know, the one where she’s at home all day and “gets visitors”. Well, Sam, the man, is a lazy good for nothing who’s never done a days work in his life. A real sponger… and Sam, the girl, she comes from a wealthy family and it’s her money that keeps them going. He’s the sponger. Probably is crap in bed. That’s why she gets the visitors. All hours of the day and night.”
Bev went on “The next house beyond the pub is owned by Sally and Norman. She’s the second wife. He’s the second husband. Both from couples that divorced. Both cited for unreasonable behaviour, though nobody knows the details. Argue all the time, often out loud, don’t care a damn. Probably couldn’t get on with anybody, so I’d put them down as a ‘keep clear’. No discussion after that.
“Then there are my darlings of employers, here at the pub. Belinda and Brian. He’s a naughty boy. Always trying to get inside my knickers. And she knows it. Always trying to catch him at it. Of course, I lead him on, just to get him into trouble. Not enough to get myself sacked though….. He’s a raw, meat eating stud muffin… or so he thinks. I’m sure that, if he ever caught up with me, or caught me unawares, he wouldn’t know what to do….. So he’s good for a laugh. She? She’d bite your husband’s balls off if she knew you were who and what you’ve admitted that you are. I’ve no problem with you, my handsomeness, but she would ‘go ape’ if she had a trannie in her pub… still worse, two of you!..........so watch out!
Forewarned is forearmed, thought Christine.
--oo00oo--
“I never knew that…. You do learn when you get talking, don’t you?” said Lottie. Talk in the salon had progressed.
“What about Justin and Emma then?” asked Astrid, not wanting to miss a couple who had got a mention. Heidi spoke from a position of knowledge. “Emma’s very flirtatious all the time. She’s all over that Justin like a rash, even in the street. I’d bet they’re at it like rabbits all day and all night,” said Heidi. I can tell when they’re sitting in my chair here… You look them in the eye and you think “Yes, they do!” or you think “No, poor sods, they don’t”… And that Emma, she does!”
Astrid’s hair was now ready to be styled and Heidi wanted to make sure that her client would come back next time. She stroked the wet and newly-coloured hair, this way and that, making Astrid, or rather Andy, feel quite aroused. She pulled the hair down over each ear to check the length was equal. She spun the chair round to check the fringe was level. She ran her fingers strongly through the length while looking into Astrid’s eyes. “Now, look at the colour…. Please tell me you’ve never seen anything quite so gorgeous. Tell me that your Christopher will love you for ever when he sees you!”
Astrid purred at the thought.
“Now, let’s finish you off. How would you prefer it? Blown dry and curled or set on rollers? The rollers will take about twenty minutes longer and you’ll have to be under the dryer……”
Andy looked at his delicate feminine watch and thought. It was now twenty to six. Christine would be home by now. Andy wanted to share his news with her and to hear her news too. Reluctantly, the decision was made for him by the clock.
“It has to be the blow-dry but make it curly please…. And can I come back for a set tomorrow or the day after?”
“Of course, and of course. Come in any time and I’ll fit you in, won’t we Lottie?” Lottie nodded, looking again at this man, the like of which she had never ever encountered in her life. Thinking about him, she rather fancied what she saw. Unique though he was, Andy was silently making a conquest.
So the blow-dry it was. The style was full and the volume as heavy as could be with the length. The highlights shone. The redhead that Astrid now was had a blonde aura about him. She was totally and utterly delighted. Andy had never been happier,
And Christine could tell that when she entered the cottage a few minutes later. She had skipped down the street, her summer clothes making her feel chilled in the evening air. Was that her nipples that she felt standing up against the top she was wearing?
Andy was in heaven.
Chapter 14 (no #13!) will consolidate what the Lovers know, and, thanks to the idea of one reader, may include a digest of the runners and riders for the 2.30 at Newmarket, so you know who all these people are!.
Andy and Christine spent the evening before their ‘day of research’ just relaxing in the glow of an early evening bout of love-making. Andy remained in his Astrid mode. Christine relapsed into her married-woman-with-CD-husband mode.
Their love-making left them bound together, entwined, their matching nighties in slippery satin with lacy fringes keeping their libidos warm. Christine refreshed the bright crimson lacquer on Astrid’s toes. Astrid brushed and played with Christine’s no-longer-manly hair. They ‘fore-played with no particular desire to go into a full late night’s sex. Fore-play was just all they both desired.
Chapter 10 — The day of research!
After breakfasting in their nighties, each swathed in a matching satin dressing gown and sexy pink, low-heeled slippers, Astrid and Christine went upstairs and talked through the day again. Christine began to hope there would be a detour back to bed, if she was lucky. But no — that was for later, her husband said.
They were going to spend the morning just observing life in the village. Christopher would be in evidence once Christine had dressed and got into character. Astrid would remain as she had been the previous day. She had put her own hair in rollers, without Christopher’s assistance, and was ready to unroll and style her hair in a more curly style than yesterday.
If they came across any people they recognized, they would play the “staying with Andy and Christine” routine.
Christopher would choose a simple white shirt and blue chinos outfit, his shoes being slip-on deck loafers, his breasts once-again bound to suppress their impact on even a casual observer. “I really find this the most difficult part of my disguise,” Christine said, “…my tits just don’t want to be crammed in here…!”
“I wish I had tits to cram somewhere.” Answered Andy, “My problem is the lack of feeling in tits that are just padding for visual effect. I really really wish I had real tits. Tits that respond to..., the way yours do, that respond to a tweak, or a bite, or even just the caress of a satin blouse. You girls don’t know you’re made, you really don’t!”
Christopher smiled, “Oh, yes, I do… I love my tits…. |In fact, I’m almost ready to undress and give them to you to play your most wonderful tunes upon! I can feel them, under the binding, all crackling with power and swollen….. tell you what, you can have them tonight!” Christine was taunting Andy. She knew how jealous he was of her natural endowments.
“Look, we must get back to the plans for the day….” insisted Andy, as he struggled to get into the light control corselet that would confine his cock and bollocks for the whole day, keeping them under control, keeping him needing to sit when he wanted to pee, reminding him that, when he was Astrid, Andy didn’t need anything male about him. He fastened the three small press-studs that closed the garment between his thighs. Astrid sat back, feeling relaxed. She was a girl again….. well, she still had things to do top make her feel really girly……..
“Let’s go out for coffee and a stroll. Let’s see if we can see the neighbours and strike up a conversation, as Christopher and Astrid, that is.” Christine’s voice was turning towards Christopher’s.
“Why, darlin’, Ah’d jus’ love that!” purred Astrid in a mock Southern-Belle breath.
She fluttered her eyelids, though they were as yet un-mascara’d and un-shadowed and un-lined. As she sat at the dressing table mirror, she glanced at her own reflection and began to unroll her curls. “Ah’m jus’ lovin’ the thought of mah hair bein’ done this aftanoon!”
“Silly girl! You can’t talk like that all day!” chided Christine, becoming school-m’am-ly all of a sudden. She was fully dressed now and her feminine voice was at odds with the maleness of her Christopher guise. Both of the lovers laughed at the incongruity of a Southern-Belle, half-dressed woman and a male counterpart with a school-m’am-ly voice.
“Are we mad? … or are we mad??!!” Astrid said in her best female voice.
“Not at all, my darling. We are the only people in the village who give in to their feelings and don’t care who knows. I mean…. What if… no, what happens when we are discovered? When we ‘come out’ to the village? When these people with their secrets and their hang-ups find out… Will they be with us or against us???” Christopher exposed the flaws in their logic. Would they be able to handle either way — acceptance? Or rejection? It could go either way.
After all, Christine had been thinking about this a lot longer than Andy. It was her plan to ‘get him out of the closet’. And if that meant play-acting that she cross-dresses from female to male as a diversion, well, so be it. It was being fun. She had really enjoyed being in the pub yesterday. Acting male… and then coming home and being as girly as she ever was. Making love to her husband as her wife. Christine accepted that she had a bisexual streak in her. She loved other women. She loved her husband as a woman. There was no need for her even to think about having affairs with other men. Christine was Christopher today. Astrid was his wife. To the world. They were lovers. Which was true.
Andy’s prowess with the hair styling was accelerating so fast. Christopher showed his appreciation by slipping behind his wife and raising his hands to touch her hair. They both looked in the vanity mirror. Astrid’s curls were all unrolled and lay in springy coils over Astrid’s scalp, waiting to be brushed out. Christopher’s fingers beat Andy to it. The curls were loosened and, when Andy saw how they laid, he said “enough, already…! That’s how I want it to look when I get to see Heidi!” He took the canister of Elnett hair spray and sent a cloud all over Astrid’s head.
Astrid rose from the dressing table and walked to the special wardrobe that contained all ‘her’ special clothes. The bra she chose from the drawer was a flesh-coloured one with pre-formed padded cups. She slipped two inserts in to boost the size of her bust and, unthinkingly, drew the folds of skin from her armpits into the cups, again to add volume. Andy didn’t have big ‘moobs’ but what he had, Astrid loved and used to the full!
She selected a swingy cotton summer dress once more. Her favourite white dress with a vivid and vibrant pink and red rose pattern. It had a broad white faux-leather belt that was a wonderful one that cinched his waist in quite tightly. Astrid’s underwear cried out in appreciation as the soft cotton slid over her clingy corselet. She tightened the white belt as far as she could, its bold brass buckle centred on her tummy giving a ‘Fifties’ waist which Christopher loved on her. Shoes to match added a care-free zing to Andy’s feeling of exhilaration as Astrid felt ready to face the village.
“You look wonderful, darling.” Christopher smiled.
“You look very handsome too, my honey. Now. Of you go. Let me finish with my make-up and I’ll join you downstairs.” Astrid said, and winked at her husband.
She turned to the mirror once more, as Christopher left the room. Her thoughts turned to how much she would fancy Christopher if she were a gay man. He had a great look about him and there was something there that said “be gay, be mine” But then Astrid was Astrid and Andy wasn’t gay. He was a heterosexual man who was very much in love with his wife and that was great for them both. OK, she was play-acting to make him feel girly. Wow! How many wives would do that if they knew their husband dressed? Not many, he was sure.
Andy picked up the concealer and foundation, wishing as he always did that teenage acne had not been so unkind to him. Anyhow, the products he had found were excellent and created the illusion that he wanted. Smooth skin. He added some blusher to accentuate his cheeks. Not heavily. This is daytime and Astrid shouldn’t appear as a real bit of a ‘slapper’ in broad daylight. “Essex Girls are evening girls” she whispered to herself, and winked again at the mirror. No worries about being a bit of a slapper at night though! “Essex is fair game after dark!” she said out loud.
“What was that?” called Christopher from downstairs. “Oh, nothing at all!” was her reply. She continued with her cosmetic routine.
Astrid’s eyes were in keeping with his brownish hair, greeny-hazel coloured. They did need some help. Andy’s prowess with mascara would have to get better, so he opted for the principle that ‘less is more’. Less mascara and more accentuation from the eyeshadow and eyeliner he used.
When finished, he sat back and admired Astrid’s handiwork in the mirror. Just enough time to finish with lipstick. Again, not tarty — this was daytime, so a refined and under-stated pearly pink was the right shade. Astrid rolled her lips together once the creamy concoction was applied. Delicious!
She took a final look and stood to get the full-length impression in the long mirror on the wardrobe.
All girl!
Astrid left the bedroom and descended the stairs to the kitchen where Christopher was waiting for her.
“Right, baby, finish your OJ and coffee and I’ll do the same. We have to dress and get out there.” She took Christopher by the hand with a “Sure, honey”, and led him out of the kitchen and out to the waiting world.
As she left the house, into the early sunshine, she felt her heart skip a beat. She was beginning not to fear anything about being dressed as she was. No fear!!
Discovery, or revelation to the world of what was, until now, secret, held no concerns for her. She was a woman today and, until she chose not to be, she would stay a woman…. Even if the world found out that she was male, under the beautiful clothes she wore. No longer a ‘bloke in a dress’. She was out with ‘her husband’. And she had no fear that his feminine gender would be revealed. When it was revealed, she could handle it… as Christopher could.
They had chosen to meet and greet the world as they were. Wife and husband.
How long before they were “rumbled”?
Astrid knew that when they were back home in bed tonight, they would be wife and wife. Two women making love. One choosing to make love to a woman, the other choosing to make love to a man playing the role of a woman. Two lesbians whose love was indivisible. Proud to be. Proud to be known to be, if the world wanted it that way.
--oo00oo–
As they walked up the sleepy village street, arm in arm, they thought about each house as they passed by. Thinking about what they knew of the occupants. Not a lot, in truth. They were looking forward to finding out every last detail of their neighbours’ lives, and to explore whether all or any of them would wish to reveal their deepest secrets, and maybe to explore if any could be persuaded to enjoy some new experiences.
At the first house, next door to their own, their neighbours Cathy and Johnny came to mind and they agreed that Cathy would be an acive participant in anything they might have planned, whereas Johnny would only be there as a ‘watcher’ and, as Christine hadn’t taken a liking to Cathy, but rather fancied Johnny, there was not a high priority in engaging with them.
Next door, they had assessed Peter and Jenny as intriguing — their amateur dramatics interests would make them good candidates for fun-filled evenings perhaps?
Beyond, the village store might be a good source of information, especially if there was a ‘weed’ factory going in the back rooms. They would have contacts. She….. what was her name?.... seemed friendly The recall of the words “missionary position” might mean that they weren’t very experimental when it came to sex. Her name was Crystal, that was it, Astrid recalled. “I think she’s a lot more sexy than you do.” He ventured to Christopher.
“Then we have Pammie and Jack in the cottage across the road.” Christopher said, as they walked up the narrow lane. “You seemed to take her for quite a dominant sort, didn’t you, my love. Someone who wants to be in charge. Someone who’d maybe enjoy a little feminizing of her hubby?” “Well, yes, indeed. She seems to me, from the little I’ve seen, to be very much one who drives the direction in what they do in almost everything. So, if we were to engage with her….. he’d have to follow.” Astrid was enthusiastic about those two.
Christopher stopped in his tracks and looked to their left, at a break in the line of houses “Hey, now there’s a place we had forgotten…. Up there…. Behind the gates and down the driveway. You don’t think of those people because they’re behind the main spine of the village. There’s a couple, maybe in their 50s so older than us, and they have a couple of 20s-aged kids….. a boy and a girl….. Never seen them all together. Sometimes parents and one kid, sometimes the other. I guess they’ve been at Uni in the years since we’ve been in the village. They look very similar, the kids do.”
“Can you remember their names?” asked Astrid. “I think the Father’s name was Todd and the Mother’s name was Andrea or was it Mary?, though I’m but not sure …again, I can’t recall.. I will in a while, when I’m thinking about someone else.. The kids were both named beginning with “J”.
I know the Mum was a very well-dressed and well-groomed woman. He was much-travelled and so has money to spend on their clothes and the home and the general lifestyle. I’d bet they indulge their children in whatever they want….
Now there’s the farm next — we know them, Nick and Angie, both up for a roll in the hay we agreed, didn’t we. She’s er, shall we say, known to be “busy” while he’s away travelling or out shooting with his mates. They have kids that are, like all of them in this village, treated to whatever they want. The oldest is away at weekly boarding school, isn’t he? Probably getting buggered by the House Master in good English public school tradition! Shouldn’t think his parents care, as he’s out of sight, out of mind. The other two are quite young for parents already in their 40s.”
Astrid was the next to stop them. “I’ve remembered ……. The kids at the big house — the ones in their 20s — You were right, they were both at Uni when we talked with the parents and they’ll be down for the summer now — might even have graduated. His nickname was “Jester”, short perhaps for Julian, maybe, the boy that is. The girl was Jeanette but was known as Jess. Confusing or what?”
“Whatever made you remember that?” asked Christopher.
“Oh, I got a letter from someone with a similar name and it made me think of them.”
“I think the kids would be good to have in our ‘special interest’ group. Kids who have seen the world, maybe doing ‘gap year’ travels. They’ll have made all sorts of wild friends — it’s what kids do these days. Wish we were thirty years younger??!!”
“You bet! But we do quite well as we are, especially in this little corner of England. Now, were’ at the pub again — how is it we end up here so often?! Shall we go in for a drink?.... even if it’s only 10.30am and the bar’s only serving coffee??” Astrid led the way before Christopher answered.
“Yeah! Right on! We might even find Bev… and I might even get to arrange to see her at the end of the afternoon shift while you’re having your hair all beautified!” whispered Christopher.
Sure enough, Bev was in the pub, serving early coffees. In fact, it was so early, she had no customers. Her face lit up when she saw Christopher and she immediately crossed to the table where the were getting seated. Her blonde hair was especially styled for the day and, as it was only mid-morning, it was exactly as she wished it to be. She couldn’t resist, however, touching it as she spoke, her eyes flashing in a cheeky “nice to see you” way. Her tight blouse betrayed the pointed cups of the bra she wore, Madonna style.
“Good to see you back so soon!...” she began, “…have you settled in to Christine and Andy’s cottage?”
“Oh yes, Bev… it’s Bev, isn’t it?” replied her manly customer. Astrid looked aside, beginning to get jealous of the attention Christine was already paying to the blonde tartlet with the tight waist. “We couldn’t resist coming back to see you as soon as we could after yesterday.”
“Oh, surely not, to see me…....?”
“Why not? You make the place run so smoothly.” Christopher complimented her and made her blush. “Let’s have two coffees, cappuccinos, please, with extra shots.”
When Bev returned, the place was still empty. The couple took their coffees and mused over the walk so far. When the time came to pay and get on their way, Christopher decided to ‘go for broke’ when he said “Thanks for those. Are you expecting a busy day?”
“Not especially, not like yesterday…. By the time I finish, there will still be plenty of business. Why do you ask?” Bev was curious.
“Oh, nothing really. It’s just that Astrid here is having her hair done this afternoon and I wondered if you might like to spend an hour after you get off work. We’re keen to know a bit more about how the village works……”
“Well, I’d like that, I really would. A nice way to relax….. Now, you know I’m Bev, but who are you?”
Christopher explained how ‘he’ and ‘his wife’ were staying in Andy and Christine’s cottage at the end of the village for a few days while they were ‘away’ and how, they thought, one day, they might come and live in the village themselves. As wife and husband. Bev studied Christopher’s face, paying little or no attention to Astrid, and said “Ooh, that would be nice…. We need a few new faces around here.” And clearly, she meant what she said.
--oo00oo–
When Bev left the couple alone to have their coffees, Astrid could bear it no longer. She had to know the plan that was in Christopher’s mind. She looked at him and whispered, “Christine, I love you with all my heart and I wish we were still in bed… now… but seeing as we’re out here in the world as ‘ourselves’, you just have to tell me, in detail, where you’re leading me. I think I like the idea, but I have no idea what it really is. Where are you going with this?!”
“It’s easy, it’s very simple…. You would agree, would you not,, that this is a very discreet community. Too discreet for its own good?” He paused. Astrid nodded, conscious for a moment of the mascara around her eyes and the taste of her lipsick. “Well, we have a way open to us to loosen up the whole place, for its own good. What I have in mind is a whole village where crossdressing is the norm for the males They all become “chicks with dicks”….and where the females can choose either to dress, as I’m doing just now, or to be females too. Personally, though this is fun and I’m really enjoying being your husband, I’ll be among the second group. I want us to have the chance to live as a pair of lesbians. Girly girls,…… but one of us with special assets when we’re in bed. I still want your cock.. Understand? Capisco? Savez? Get it?”
Christopher paused and Astrid sat back in her chair, sipping her coffee. “And the way to get there? How’s that? Seems like a big ask to me! I love the idea….. After all, I’ve been a chick with a dick for a while and it suits me beautifully. Do you mean I should live like that all the time? I mean… no Andy?” The thought made Andy nervous for some reason, uncertainty crept into hisvoice.
“Only if you choose, my darling. As I said, I love you and your cock — you come as a package and I need everything about you. Living as two girls would be fun, just as living among a crowd of crossdressed men could be wonderful. It would be up to each couple how they lived. The thing is, once we get a couple of couples involved, there will be interest from others, especially the women. Once they see what fun they can have with their men feminized, there will be others who will push their partners to join in.” Christopher was done with his explanation. Christine sat back and enjoyed her coffee as well.
“I hope they have as much fun as I'm having, darling. ....So we approach them, do we…? The more likely couples we choose. That is, after we have the inside information from Bev and from Heidi? When do you plan to tell them who we really are?” Again, Andy was nervous about the disclosure, even though Astrid could see the way through to a fine future.
“There’s no better day than today. We don’t know half the people in the village, but among the half we know about, there’s enough to start with. Heidi will get to know about you very soon after she gets up close and personal with you. Bev, well, Bev will just have to be told if she doesn’t already suspect about me.
Chapter 11 might introduce a few new names from around the village and get us to where Bev is in Christopher’s hands ….. and Astrid is in Heidi’s!!
No explicit details are contained in this chapter, so no need for CAUTION.
Chapter 11 — The afternoon that Bev and Heidi……did!!
As she stepped down the stairs, her stockings an hand, Astrid thought ‘what a lucky girl I am’. She thought of her wife who loved her enough to treat her the way she did, to treat her as an equal, to love her both as a man and woman. A wife who is as attractive as a girl as a guy. A woman who loved making love and being loved. She felt her clothes swish as she took the final step with a skip, her strappy white sandals holding her feet tightly.
She clasped the small vial of nail lacquer in her right hand and made for the lounge where she would paint her toenails before putting on her stockings — the final touch before she was ready for the world.
It was already 3pm — so long had their enjoyments upstairs taken. There was not much time to lose. Bev would be waiting for Christopher and, at 4pm, Heidi would be expecting her at the salon.
Christopher continued to watch his husband enjoy herself all the way down, before following her downstairs after adjusting his shirt in the mirror. Christine paused for an up-close inspection. Gee, she was pleased she had no need to shave. How could guys put up with that crap? Every day?!! Her complexion was smooth and rather unmanly, but what the hell, the overall impression made her feel good. This was a guy who was out to pull a brassy barmaid. Christine particularly liked the almost slutty look of her suitor from the pub. It made her feel all the more male for the day.
Astrid was taking great care to get the nail polish on her toes in the most perfect way that she could. Of course, she wasn’t proficient, so there was bound to be a mis-hap and, sure enough, Andy had to start over again on the second foot. The first was really professionally done. He admired his handiwork. But he admired it too much. As soon as the lacquer hit the first toe on the next foot, he realized that he had overloaded the small dipping brush. Astrid’s hand wavered and the toe was immersed in too much paint! “Damn!, Damn!..... Damn!” he said out loud.
“What’s the problem, honey?” asked Christopher, coming across from the foot of the stairs. “Oh, I see…. I’ll get you some acetone and a tissue…”
“I have the tissue but forgot the acetone…..” Astrid was disappointed. She wanted to do this all herself and do it well.
Christopher returned with the acetone lacquer remover from upstairs. “Here, let me do it for you. I like putting lacquer on your toes and I’ve done it before…. Let me help…”
Astrid felt tears welling up in her eyes….. She wanted to do this herself…… But she managed to hold the tears back, knowing how crying would mess up the carefully applied make-up… especially the eyeliner and mascara.
“No, darling. I have to do this for myself…..”
“Ok, Ok, you do it darling. I’ll get myself finally ready outside so’s I don’t distract you. We do have time, so take it. And if you want, I’ll set off to meet Bev before you have to leave for the salon.”
Astrid smiled a faint smile, uncertain if she could do this actually. The problem was that, being right-handed, she found it difficult to paint the lacquer on her left foot. She soaks the tissue in acetone and wipes away the excess lacquer. Ready to start again!
(The author pauses at this point to enact the process of painting her own toenails and, sure enough, finds it no more easy than ever. But, heavens above, she manages to complete the adornment of her own toes without making the same mistake that Astrid has made!! Woo-hoo!)
It takes longer than she thought but the final result is beautiful. Astrid sat back and admired her handiwork as the toes were allowed to dry. The temptation to rush the process and to put on the sheer stockings that she loved so much was resisted. The lacquer would be spoilt if it were not dried fully.
Astrid said to herself out loud, “Geez, I do love the girly feeling when I have such red toenails!” She admired the white strappy sandals that she would be wearing. Their low heels were enough, just enough, to bear the skip in her step, her girly steps, that she would be making up the street. But before putting them on, there were the stockings. She picked them up and almost absent-mindedly ran them through her hands. It made her think that she needed moisturizer for her hands. They needed to be as soft as they could be. Especially if there was to be no nail polish on the fingernails. She didn’t have time for that…. Or did she….? No, she didn’t,…. As much as she would have loved to have that as the finishing touch….. ‘Maybe tonight?’ she said out loud again.
She picked up some moisturizer from the kitchen and applied plenty to her albeit manly hands. She wished, in that instant, that she had been born with a smaller frame. OK, she and Christine were of similar build, but it would have made life so much easier if she, Astrid, were lighter and smaller than Andy had been born.
Never mind the ‘being born in a man’s body’ thing…. Astrid just would have loved to have had a woman’s body. Maybe, she thought, the ideas for her to develop tits of her own would come to pass.
As she walked back to the lounge, she pushed her bra upwards, hoping to accentuate what little cleavage she had been able to create. Her bra straps twanged against he skin, giving a delicious feeling.
She bet down and touched the lacquer on one of her toes. It proved to be dry. Dry enough to roll the stockings and slip them up towards her thighs. The first went on a breeze. As she stood, to fix the clasps to the stocking top, she looked at the outline of her leg. She was blessed with quite long legs and stockings certainly made them look very feminine indeed. She closed the final clasp, to the back of her thigh, and smoothed her hands over the sheer nylon. She shuddered with beautiful joy of the feminine thing she had become. She recalled that climax while they had been making love. In her head. A woman’s thing…… Oh! Joy!
On went the other stocking. With similar ease until the clasps evaded her. It took quite a time, with the third and fourth proving very elusive to fix. Enough o make Andy break into something of a sweat.
He was conscious of this. “Girls don’t sweat, they glow” he had once been told….. A few deep breaths caused his heart rate to slow and the feeling of a sweat to disappear. He fluffed his hair in the mirror, thinking again how it was this that would be his very next, and perhaps quite major change in his appearance.
Heidi had suggested highlights for his hair. How far to go with those? Whether to or not? Whether to make them subtle or bold? Phew! There were thoughts to be had on the walk up to the salon. He fluffed the unstyled hair again. After the shower she had taken, it was neither girly nor boyish as it was.
“Are you ready???” came a cry from outside. Christopher was getting impatient and was wanting to get up to the pub where Bev would soon be waiting. He imagined her tarting herself up before emerging to meet him. Christine felt quite wet between her thighs at the prospect.
“Yes, I am. I’ll come with you even if it means I’ll be early at the salon. I’d quite like that, I think. I’ll be able to see how Heidi runs the place. After all, in any case, I think it’s going to take me some time in there. I’ve no idea what time she closes.” Astrid closed the door behind her to find her handsome husband waiting at the garden gate. She felt very girly, to be walking out with a guy like him.
Even though she knew who and what he was, Andy fancied Christopher. Astrid also fancied Christine…. Hugely. If either attraction was the stronger, it was Astrid’s attraction to Christine. Girl to girl. But….. Andy recalled the old saying that we are, none of us, 100% heterosexual or 100% homosexual. Right now, Astrid was no longer feeling 100% lesbian…. “Confusing? If I’m confused, what will he be thinking?” Astrid said to herself under her breath as she walked towards her husband.
“What did you say, honey/ By the way, you look fabulous.” Christopher knew how to melt a girl’s heart…. Not surprising, after all, being a girl himself. Astrid fell into his arms and said “Wish me luck.”
“You’ll need no such thing. You’ll love every minute. Heidi’s a brilliant hairdresser. I know that for sure. I’ve always been delighted with what she’s done with mine.”
“Yes, but….”
“No buts, mo maybes… he’ll make you look stunning. Even more stunning.”
“Yes, but….”
“But what!???”
“But, what shall I say if she says she’s worked out who I am. Who we are….? How do I handle that first question.” Astrid clung to Christopher’s body.
“She’ll make it very easy for you, I’m sure. That’s not the issue. You need her insights into other people in the village. So, if it makes it any easier, why not confess your secret early on. It will save you the embarrassment of being discovered, if that’s what’s worrying you.” Christopher had a practical woman’s angle on this, provided by Christine’s understanding of her husband’s reticence.
“Ok, ok, it’s not a big issue. This should be fun…. This should be the first day of the rest of our lives… our different lives. This place may never be the same. It all depends on the next hour or two…… You’re such a great visionary, you know. This is all down to you, Chrissie. You’re the most fabulous woman I’ve ever known and I love you so very much. Take my hand and let’s play ball, as Pierce Brosnan said in the re-make of the Thomas Crown Affair”…….” Astrid found happiness again. All Christine had done was listen.
“You always loved the vision of that lad in that film, didn’t you.” Christopher began. “What was her name again?” Astrid jumped in, enthusing, “Renee Russo, that was her, what a stunning redhead she was. So, so sexy…… There was that part in the film where they went away to some Caribbean island and he burned a Monet painting just to taunt her about what he possessed and what he knew. Then they fucked all night. There was nothing shown that a young audience couldn’t see, but all the grow-ups in the audience just loved every minute. I bet there were many marriage beds rocking that night when the people got home!”
“I remember it well.” Christopher said as they arrived at the door of the hair salon where his wife would be spending the next two or three hours. He kissed Astrid gently on the lips, careful not to mess with her lipstick this time, and turned on his way towards the pub at the top of the village. Again, he thought, they had seen not another living soul on their walk. This was such a quiet community.
Astrid turned away and opened the half-stable door and she looked inside. “I hope you don’t mind if I’m early”, she said, as she looked across the room. It was quite crowded, albeit with only three customers either waiting or being styled. Heidi was alone as the stylist, but there was a young lady who was clearly acting as Heidi’s shampoo girl or junior stylist. She was at the little desk by the door.
“Come in, come in,” she said. Astrid was later to find out that her name was Charlotte, shortened to ‘Lottie’ by Heidi.
--oo00oo–
Christopher headed off to reach the pub where he hoped to find Bev waiting. He had a load of questions to ask her but, in the back of his mind, Christine was thinking that she hoped to push in the direction of a sexual encounter with Bev before long. Not to rush her… Ladies don’t like that. She would find the opportunity to begin a little ‘wooing’ of this attractive-in-a-slutty way girl.
Christopher pushed the door of the bar, half expecting it to be closed and bolted as the pub was not open all day at this time of year. But the door was open. He went in a surveyed the now-empty bar. All the customers had left, rather as he hoped they might have. There was nobody behind the bar either. The place was silent.
Christine thought about calling out to the back room but chose instead to wait for her target to arrive. She sat, as any man would, at the bar, playing with a card mat which served to dry any spills of beers or other drinks. She piled several on top of one another. She flipped one over, playing as she had seen Andy do many times when idly sitting in a bar. “Geez, men are easily amused!” she said out loud, when to her surprise, a voice behind her said “Aren’t they just!?”
Bev had arrived from a side room and entered the room quietly. Christopher didn’t know that he had been watched for several seconds before Bev said what she said, to surprise him. Bev obviously wanted to be ‘on the front foot’ in this conversation.
“You been there long?”, asked Christopher.
“Long enough…”, said Bev in a crafty, knowing sort of way.
“I’m pleased to see you..”, said Christopher.
“Not half as much as I am to see you……..”, confessed Bev. “You see, I’ve never met anyone quite like you before and I couldn’t resist accepting your offer when you made it.” Bev smiled, as if suggesting, ‘your turn’. Of course, Bev knew. She knew that Christopher wasn’t a Christopher……. But she wanted to play him along…. Like a fly-fisher plays a salmon with a fly. Bev could be seen as a brightly-coloured fly, teasing her prey and getting him to bite. Again and again, if she could she would cast the line and fly the fly. Keeping the salmon on tenterhooks but not actually on the hook for landing.
Christine suspected as much but played along. Her Christopher voice was still deeper than her own. She played the role.
“You look very fit today, if I may say.” She looked Bev up and down, admiring her magnificent breasts encased in the still tight blouse, one of a different colour to that she had been wearing previously. This was a purple one. A deep, “fuck me” colour. Her skirt was pencil-thin and tight on the hips, white with a flash of matching purple. Her shoes were heeled, thought not impossibly high. A higher class whore than previously seen perhaps! Christine admired her. She felt very drab by comparison.
“Will you have a drink?” She asked Bev.
“On the house. I’ll have a gin and tonic. A large one. What about you?” Bev answered.
“I’ll have the same thanks.” said Christopher.
“So, not a pint of something heavy?” Bev replied suggesting something, but not saying what.
“No, no, I keep that for evenings with my mates…..”
Bev looked him straight in the eyes. “Right, I’ll get them in and we can talk. I do suppose that’s what you want to do? To get to know each other”
“That’s the idea. Let’s see what we have in common.” Christopher’s answer opened a door for Bev to walk through if she wanted to. To stop playing her game or to continue?
“Oh, I’m sure we’ll have lots in common. You seem like a fit man yourself. You said you’re called Christopher, right? Well, Christopher…” she paused, “.. What does Christopher do for a living?
Christine was taken aback for a second. She hadn’t actually given any thought to Christopher as a character outside of her plan. “Umm, well, I’m a creative at an advertising agency in Oxford. I design the campaigns after clients give us a briefing and we develop campaigns for them.”
Bev swallowed the lead, continuing to practise her ‘fly-fishing’ routine. “Must be fun….. Do you work with interesting people?”
“Oh, yes indeed. People of all sorts. And different products too. We’re working on a cosmetic range just now. Hugely enjoyable. Very creative….”
Bev could contain herself no longer. “Interesting people like yourself, then? I mean, you’re quite different, aren’t you? Handsome man like you, must have loads of friends……..”
“Yes, I’m lucky…”
“Lucky enough to find acceptance, then?” The final fly was cast……
“Acceptance?........” Christine knew she was hooked now.
“Yessss…. As you are. I mean, you make a great guy, don’t get me wrong, but you’re something more, aren’t you?
--oo00oo--
/
Astrid was seated on the only spare chair in the salon. There was a lot of chatter among the others in the room and Andy did his best to join in. There was talk about the forthcoming summer fair that people were organizing for the village charity. She and Christopher would be expected to run a side show if they were there on the day — which Andy hoped they still would be. There would be fun in choosing a game, depending on how far Christine’s plan got by the time of the fair!
‘Lottie’ was as much a part of the conversations and was responsible for finishing off one older lady client’s set, spraying her with lacquer and removing here gown before taking her payment.
Heidi, meanwhile was putting the finishing touches to another lady’s colour processing. This woman, too, was having highlights. Heidi explained that this was quite a complex treatment as the lady had chosen not one but three colours for her highlights to be woven together. Heidi said she liked doing things like that. It made her skills develop so she could do better and better services for her customers. Lottie, meanwhile shampooed the third woman’s hair and sat her at the only remaining vacant styling position. The woman looked at herself in the mirror and said very little.
When Heidi finished the highlighting, she put the woman’s head under the special developing lights that accelerated the time she needed to finish. Lottie would then wash the colours out and the woman would be ready for her set or blow-dry, or whatever…... Andy thought but didn’t say “I’d love a blow job with Heidi! And to give her something similar in return” but he told himself he was way away from that level of intimacy with this woman he hardly knew.
Andy continued to read his copy of “Hello!” Magazine with all its showbiz gossip and pictures of Royalty and similar stuff. He didn’t get to see that sort of material very often and there were plenty of images of women that he would dearly love to look like in there. Astrid looked with envy at Rihannah, Lady Gaga, Madonna, Adele, Kerry Katona and Jessie J. from the current crop of girl singers. She marvelled at their hair and their make-up. She lusted over the immaculate clothes they wore for the cameras. She wished that she could be photographed that way.
Minutes passed and the two other customers reached the end of their appointments. The highlights were indeed beautiful. The woman had lustrous long hair and had decided to take bold streaks into the front half of her head and a more subtle blend of narrower strands over the back. She looked almost, but not completely blonde, from the front where golden and ginger streaks lay together. The back was more frosted. A lovely creation. “But too much for me.” Astrid said to herself.
The woman who said little had said even less and departed with a conventional blow-dried bob style. One that Astrid always loved and wished for if only she could grow her hair longer. Perhaps she was entering a phase of her life when she could. Might make life difficult for Andy but, what the hell!, she mused to herself.
So, the time came, sometime after Astrid’s appointment had been set for, when she was alone in the salon with Lottie and Heidi.
There was a prolonged discussion, during which Astrid had to remain focussed on using her girly voice to maintain the image she wanted to project top these young woman. That of a late-30s woman who took pride in her appearance and who was looking for a change in her appearance.
“What work do you do…er… What may I call you?.... asked Heidi, standing over Andy and looking at him in the mirror.
“Oh, that’s easy. Call me Astrid, please do….. I work in a Publishers company in Oxford. It’s ever so boring really. I do need a change… in fact I need a lot of changes…..” Andy meant that more than anybody knew!
“What would you like to do then?” Heidi asked as she played with Andy’s hair, lifting section, twisting others. She was clearly thinking through alternative styles for Astrid’s hair. She wondered just how much of a change this customer wanted. She looked into the eyes that faced her and her thoughts went off at a tangent.
“Fashion, I think. Something in fashion. I need something that’s a lot more fun. Something that would be a surprise. I’m ready for that. I suppose that’s why I’m here today. I fancy a change in the way I look.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place, hasn’t she Lottie?”
Lottie nodded but said nothing. She just smiled. She was learning about the ways Heidi interacted with different customers. She had seen the ‘change’ moments before. Heidi gave consultations and ideas freely. Customers knew and liked that, so they came back more often.
More questions. “Have you thought of having extensions in your hair?” Heidi said.
“Not really, I think they’d be too much bother…..”
“Ok, I think you might be wrong there, but lets think… How long is it since your hair was cut? It looks like just a few months…. Getting to this length. You do need some split ends taking off. That will help it to grow faster, if that’s what you want.”
“Oh, yes indeed. It’s been that long and I know it needs conditioning and the ends sorting out. I’d really like to get beyond my chin length, which means there’s a way to go yet.” Astrid was fully into her character now. Andy was a mile away in her mind. She kept her eyes focussed on the stylist’s mirror in front of her. She briefly wondered how Christopher was getting on.
“That’s easy — split ends are no worry. The length will take two or three more cuts, over two or three months and we’ll get you closer to where you want to be. You may want to be careful with a ponytail…. I see that the ends probably get damaged when you hold it back now. I wouldn’t do that for the next little while. Give the hair a chance to strengthen.”
Astrid knew she was right. The little ponytail that she made up sometimes was often hard to get out and the hair did split. This girl knew what she was talking about.
“The good news is that I think highlights will look really good on your head and we can do a stunning selection for you today. Will you let me be the judge of what colour or colours will suit you best? Heidi was in full ‘customer service’ flow now.
Her tangential thoughts came back from moments ago as she stopped talking. In fact, they were boomerang thoughts…….
We’ll put the colour in your hair here and then I’ll put you under the developer like you saw the other client before. Is that Ok?”
“Sure, it’s wonderful, thanks” Astrid answered.
“While we’re doing the colour, you can tell me how a guy lives like you do. It must be great fun! We don’t get many guys in here.
Andy came rushing back. Heidi had sussed his situation, but appeared totally cool with the whole idea.
Chapter 12 will get the information that Christine and Andy need, but not before their appointments are finished.
Taking things easy, Christopher and Astrid were enjoying their day of research into the proclivities of their neighbours in the village. Coffee had set them both up, as had the talk about having sex. Unsaid, both resolved that they would fore-go lunch and head for home before the joys of the afternoon.
Explicit details are contained in this chapter, so CAUTION if it might offend you.
Chapter 11B — The day Bev and Heidi……have to wait!!
Mid morning and the walk around the village had not really told them anything they didn’t already know about the neighbours — just a few added details that might be helpful in building rapport with the couples, or individuals, that they chose to involve first in Christine’s scheme.
“What I would like is to open up this place to our kind of enjoyments. I think there are wonderful things out there in the world around us but a secret community that isn’t shared by outsiders could really work very well. I think it should start on just evenings, maybe getting people to dress when they get home, just as a couple-thing if you like. Then, I think we should encourage these couples to meet ourselves and then eachother….. and we could help them by getting people we trust from outside to help. Heidi, if she’s willing, could do classes for those who can’t handle their hair, or their partners’ hair. We could find a local Avon cosmetics representative and, if she’s a likely helper, get her involved. And then we could bring in a dress designer — perhaps from one of the shops that specialize in fashions for taller ladies — there’s a good one in Oxford where we have bought some of your clothes….” Christine was in full flow now.
Astrid let her go on, taking in the fullness of what this would mean. It seemed as though Andy was sliding into the background….. Because if all these other people were dressing at night at home, they would expect to see him living in female clothes all the time, as a role model. As an example. He had no problem with that, now ha head Christopher’s assurance that his cock was needed in the overall scheme of things. Andy didn’t want to go for this ‘transitioning’ thing that he had read about. He liked his cock, even if it wasn’t as responsive as he would ideally like. It was ideal for fore-play and girly love-making.
He chipped in, saying “Let me get one thing straight though……. I’m going to be a girl for much more of the time. Is that what you’re thinking? “
“Yes, that’s what I’m thinking, my darling girly lover. But I meant what I said. I want you as my husband. We can live as two girls together for the world to see, but when I get you home, I want Andy back.” Christine smiled at him and touched his cheek, pressing one finger upon her husband’s lipsticked-lips. As they were both dressed, there was nothing wrong with the two of them standing in the quiet street and engaging in intimate conversation. Christopher’s hand slipped to cradle Astrid’s chin and their lips met in a glorious kiss. Right there in the sunshine. In the open. Wife and husband Astrid and Christopher.
“Let’s forget about the walk….. Let’s go home.” Christine whispered. Andy knew what she meant. Without a word, he took his husband’s hand and led Christopher back down the street towards their cottage.
On the way, Astrid continued checking what Christopher had in mind. “I’ve read — as you have — about ‘transitioning’ and it seems to me there’s a long way to go before that was an issue and, is I said, it’s not what I want, you know that…..” Astrid paused.
“And you point is…?” Christopher enquired….
“Well, my point is that I’ve followed some biographies of trannies who have moved in that direction and followed many of them through to gender reassignment and they way they live now as women beyond surgery. You know I would rather not do that and you have said you want my cock so we’re agreed……?” “Yes, And you point is…?” Christopher repeated……
“Well, what I’m getting at is that I would quite like to go a little way along that path, if you would agree. I mean…. Well, it’s hard to say…. How far…. But far enough……” Astrid was suddenly, unaccountably, nervous and slightly embarrassed. What she wanted from Christine was her agreement perhaps to try to develop tits of her own. Astrid loved tits. They were the only point at which her jealousy of the female form became obsessive. Oh, apart from hair and beauty…. Oh, and nice slinky clothes…
“Far enough to….?” Christine prompted.
“Far enough to try to develop my own breasts…… There! I’ve said it…… I’d love to have tits like your glorious wonderful kissable beautiful tits!..... I’ve never said so before… but… well, it seems like we’re moving…. Positively, towards living differently….. and…. Well, If I’m going to live as a girl outside the bedroom, then I want to have tits I can be proud of…. Would you go along with that, my honey. You know, I wouldn’t if you didn’t want me to….. But I do love them so… your tits, that is…..”
Christopher hugged his wife and said, “Darling, if you want tits, you shall have tits. Lovely natural ones…. And that means medication. You know, don’t you…… I mean, there are implants but they never look natural to me….. You promise me that you’ll be patient and take your time, taking the necessary medicines, then I’m with you and I’ll love you all the more for them! You know that I love my own tits and how you treat them when we’re making love. Well, I could do the same…. Nothing would give me more pleasure that that…. Well, before I give you a blow-job that is… I do so like that….”
Suddenly, the two were conscious that they were standing in the street talking about the most intimate details of their sexual identities, as if it didn’t matter who heard.
They kissed again and set off towards the cottage.
“We could get the medicines on the web with ease, I’m sure…. There are on-line pharmacies…… We could start you off on oestrogen ….. but you must promise me not to get too moody. That does happen, I’m told….. It’s simple HRT for females and I’m sure countless me experiment with that.” Christopher had some knowledge of these things.
“Don’t be such a bitch!” said Astrid….. “There would be fur all over the place if we both got pre-menstrual tension! I want to have it if you’re having it!” She laughed, but Christine thought Andy meant it.
“Things would go faster if you took another medicine. It’s for heart troubles but has a wonderful side effect called gynaecomastia. It’s called spironolactone and men who take it do tend to grow tits quite nicely. Put the two together and — though it would take a while — you could have a lovely bust, with enough to make your bra no longer need padding, in a few months — well, maybe a year. Would you like that?” Christine knew the answer before she said that.
Andy cuddled up close to his husband as they walked and Astrid said “oh, darling, this is turning into a very special day……”
Christopher though as they walked. He told himself that this was what he had planned. Completely and totally voluntary, willing transformation of his husband into his wife. To live together with her as two women, as lesbians, with the added extra advantage of a good fucking with his husband’s cock when he wanted. Christine was in heaven.
They reached the door of their cottage, unseen by any of the neighbours. As they crossed the threshold, Christine closed the door behind them whilst at the same time staring to remove Astrid’s clothes. He motioned towards the stairs and Andy did Christine’s bidding. Half-clothed, he reached the top of the stairs and turned. Christopher had followed her and was unbuttoning his own clothes. Astrid sank into his arms as he reached the top of the stairs. Her still crimson lips sought out his plain unstained mouth and Astrid’s tongue parted it, finding its way into a deep throated embrace.
With unaccustomed force, for a woman of her size, Christine pushed Andy towards the bedroom and, not stopping, pushed Astrid onto the bed. Dressed only in her corselet, her stockings and bra now, Christopher easily sprang the poppers that held the corselet across between Astrid’s thighs. Andy’s cock was there for the taking. Semi-erect, it was there to play with. Resting on her elbows above her wife’s prostrate position, Christine gave it a healthy slap to bring more life to the cock she so lusted after…..
“Ohhhh, ouch!!! Do that again!! Please!!” whispered Andy. So Christine did.
“You beautiful girl!” she said…. “I’m going to have you for lunch!”
--oo00oo–
Once satisfied, Christine laid back on the bed and invited Andy to return all her favours. His lipstick needed refreshment before he would bring himself to seek out the fantastic love nest between Christopher’s thighs. He returned to the bed and, for a moment, studied the man he was about to tongue-fuck. As much as he loved being a ‘chick with a dick’, Andy loved making love with a ‘guy with a pussy’.
Christopher’s legs were soon spread wide and his pussy was there for the taking. Astrid went down with her creamy lipsticked lips and began to trace gentle trails with her tongue across the already wet and waiting labia he found. Christopher’s clitoris beckoned and Astrid teased it, wafting her tongue past it again and again, until Christine was ready to cry out.
Christine’s first orgasm was a very long and complex one. Her thighs shuddered and her head flew from side to side. She grabbed Andy’s head and forced it deeper between the thighs that he knew so well. He came close to asphyxia but that only served to enhance his experience. Christine enjoyed a second orgasm almost before the first had finished and with that Andy felt himself cum.
There was little left of Christopher now in this bed. Two women lay side by side in the all-consuming aftermath of coincident orgasms. Their breathing was synchronized. Their hands gently moved across eachother’s bodies. The pause was essential.
But it was not to last. Christine wasn’t finished.
“Call me a bitch!?” You’ll pay for that!” She took Andy’s cock in her hand and began to rhythmically caress it, the strength of the touch growing quickly. Her other hand scratched at the fabric of Andy’s corselet and the suspenders that held his stockings up. She felt in complete control. She was going to do whatever she wanted with Astrid…. Or with Andy…… This woman beneath her looked like Astrid, but she knew she had Andy’s cock in her hand. Involuntarily, his cock grew again. He was unable to stop it, or hasten it. She had him where he could do nothing but be taken.
“You call me a bitch….. No, no… You’re MY bitch!” Christine said. “When I have finished with this, your cock is going away for the rest of the day and the whole of the night. Tonight, I will fuck you as my wife and you will love it. You will make yourself as pretty as you can and I shall have you.” The second time that Andy felt himself cum was extraordinary. His cock was by no means fully erect but Andy knew he had cum in his head, as a woman would. He didn’t need his cock for this. He had never cum just through thoughts before. There had always always been a physical handling up to and beyond his orgasms. This time was different. Christine was wanking him, yes, but his head took over. This was a female thing.
He loved the feeling, and knew he would want to do that again… and again…..
He wouldn’t need even to be touched. He wouldn’t need to have his cock erect. He would want it hidden away.
—oo00oo–
Christopher had to re-create the male image of herself and hide Christine away. This afternoon, he was hoping to seduce Bev. Whether or not the barmaid guessed that he was a she, or whether she accepted that he was a he, for the time being, he wanted to look good. To look his best. He was going ‘out on the pull’ and, with luck, Bev would be putty in his hands.
So Christopher’s choice of clothing was modern and city-slicker style. No more the country squire, hound-tooth check jacket and cord trousers, not at all. Christopher pulled on a pair of white cotton trousers, covering the exquisite lacy panties that Andy insisted he wore. “You’re still my wife, deep down” Astrid said in her ‘southern Belle voice’). Christopher’s socks were linen and the shoes were tennis loafers. High end branded, mind you, but loafers done the less. Christine chose one of Andy’s most expensive luxury leisure shirts which had a strong check pattern. She folded the sleeves back to mid-forearm level. A look of ‘ready for action’. She washed her face and applied some bronzing moisturizer. L’Oreal Man Expert Andy had around the place. Manly enough.
As Astrid came back into the bedroom having had a shower, Christopher was ready to sit and watch his wife get dressed. “You haven’t forgotten, I’m going to fuck you later, have you?” he enquired.
“Make an appointment!” Astrid replied. “And make sure, when you do, that you don’t muss with my hair! It will cost a fortune and I’m not having some man mess it all up!”
“Some man!! Some man!” Christopher laughed in a mock argumentative way. “You stand there stark naked with you cock hanging there and you call me ‘some man’ If you weren’t going to get dressed, I’d fuck you now!”
“Promises, promises!” was all that Astrid said, before Christopher had crossed the room and pushed her back on to the bed again. He slapped her cock, her little apology for a cock, and took it into his mouth. Andy’s body was unable to respond. It remained limp and powerless in Christopher’s moth. Which was just as Christine had hoped. What was there between Andy’s legs was soft and felt just as her own pussy does when she felt able to play alone. She licked up and down the line of the underside of Astrid’s cock, down between her bollocks through the folds of skin that would form her labia if she were ever to go for sex reassignment. It was as close to tongue fucking another woman as Christine could remember. (And, she thought, I have tongue-fucked a few women in my time).
Again, the two lovers lay back on their bed, this time nearing exhaustion.
Sleep wasn’t an option, however. The time for Christopher to meet with Bev was approaching. Heidi would be expecting Astrid soon after. Astrid now had to get dressed and both had to leave the cottage for their much anticipated meetings with Bev and with Heidi.
The summer dress that Astrid had worn that morning was now lying in a crumpled heap at the foot of the stairs. So that could no longer be worn that day. Her underwear would suffice from earlier, even though she had enjoyed sex wearing it.
So she put on the bra and the corselet and stockings. She found suitable strappy white shoes for her walk to the hairdressers. She just had time to put some fresh nail lacquer on her toes. Christopher smiled to see his wife’s attention to the lttle things of femininity that were now so important to her. He saw her pause as she put on the bra, gently shoving her ‘moobs’ upward and together to fashion a cleavage. He resolved to get those medicines for her on the Internet pharmacy website he knew.
Astrid turned to the closet where here special collection was stored. She paused briefly to see herself in the full length mirror, showing her to be a corseted, be-stockinged, slightly breast endowed thirty-something woman. A woman who had been fucking in the last hour or so. Something more modest would be right now. So she chose a plain white blouse with chiffon scarf to tie about her neck. The blouse had gentle flowery appliqué styling to soften it. It was waisted and accentuated what figure Astrid had to offer. She then chose a full skirt with vivid summer coloursthat swished below her knees.
Her corselet contained the cosy, still wet, source of pleasure that Christopher had indulged. The breeze through the folds of her skirt was cool.
She chose a small vial of nail lacquer from the selection that Christine kept in the bedroom and set off downstairs to take care of her pedicure. Looking over her shoulder, Astrid said, “Come on.. what’s keeping you?!”
Chapter 11 will get us to where Bev is in Christopher’s hands ….. and Astrid is in Heidi’s!!... and might introduce a few new names from around the village.
The following posting should not be taken seriously! It just reflects my inability to create visual images in electronic form! This is, in fact, a morning's work, creating a map of the Village - now named "MUCH HUMPING IN THE MARSH". The formatting is totally messed and none of the detail is readable. But I thought you all might have a laugh!! What I am to do - without a CD friend with computer art skills, I have no idea!! I'm gonna get back to writing!!!! Love you all! Ginger xx
Number Eight
Humpers Farm
Unnamed couple
She: muscular, fond of
Number Four a romp in the hay!
Pammie & Jack
She: onetime Goth / Little Cottage / / Number Ten
Number Two Well travelled Number Six / / “Curl up & Dye”
Cathy & Johnny She: stern/blueblack hair Samantha & Adrian / / Hair Salon
She: Christine dislikes He full of bull**** Huge appetites! / / Run by Heidi,
He: likes Cathy dressing sexy ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ _______________ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬__ He: could be Queen / / helped by Lottie /
She: Redhead, Bondage? ____________ / \ \ \ Great source of gossip /
He: Voyeur? / \_________________________\ \ _____________________/
_______________________ / _________ STREET
__ / ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ ¬ \ MUCH HUMPING IN-THE-MARSH
HIGH ___/ Number Three \______ ________________________________________
_____________________/ Peter & Jenny \ / \
Love AmDram \ / Number Nine Number Eleven \___ VILLAGE
She: Lesbian? | | Village Store The Village Pub \ GREEN
Number One He: Dumb! | | She: friendly Asian “The Dancing Girls” \
Christine & Andy / \ He: grows dope? Belinda & Brian \
Our Heroines! / \ V. Conventional “always busy” \
Christopher & Astrid / ^ \ Bev, the Barmaid \
She: In control! Number Five / / \ \ Number Seven is “curious” \
Fifties Couple | / \ | Emma & Justin (and full of gossip!) \
Well travelled, / / \ \ New house, newly-weds
groomed, dressed. Flashy, Jaguar and 4x4
Two kids never seen Play Board games
together She: at home all day
The First Queen in the Village 14
Astrid has had a wonderful afternoon with Heidi. Christopher, likewise, with Bev. Armed with ‘information’, both aim for home at the end of the day and Christine prepares to explain her plan in detail to Andy.
There are some explicit details contained early on in this chapter, so, though it’s mild, there’s a need for CAUTION.
Chapter 14 — The plot is hatched!
So the blow-dry it was. The style was full and the volume as heavy as could be with the length. The highlights shone. The redhead that Astrid now was had a blonde aura about him. She was totally and utterly delighted. Andy had never been happier,
And Christine could tell that when Andy entered the cottage a few minutes later. He had skipped down the street, her girly summer clothes making her feel chilled in the evening air. Was that her nipples that she felt standing up against the blouse that Andy was wearing? Christine could tell, Andy was evidently in heaven.
Immediately she entered the house, Christine shouted “Darling, you look stunning!” and took the three or four steps towards her husband and gathered him up in her arms. “Astrid, you are the most gorgeous girl in the world….. Don’t you look wonderful! You look a million dollars…. I so love the hair, soooo love it! Aren’t you delighted. It looks so feminine, I could eat you here and now……. In fact, I think I shall…..”
Andy was unable to speak, so enthusiastic had his wife been in those moments. It made him feel all the more flattered and, indeed, vulnerable. Whatever Christopher was going to do, she, Astrid, would revel in it. Within moments, Christopher’s top was off and he was undoing Astrid’s tight waist belt. The belt that cinched his waist a little cruelly. His hands stretched around her waist and he felt for the fastenings of her dress. They resisted for a second before the garment fell to the floor, revealing Astrid in her gorgeous lacy underwear. Her stockings were tight and her legs were sheer. He low-heeled shoes nevertheless caused Andy to stand in a girly way. Christopher drew her into his arms and their lips met in a most passionate kiss Deep, deep and penetrating. Both exploring their lover’s mouth with their tongue. Andy’s lipstick was soon smeared in a way that only lovers’ lipstick can be.
Astrid stood there, as if a dream was playing out in front of her eyes. She hadn’t expected such a reception when she got home from Heidi’s salon. She might have hoped… but never dreamed!...... She stood in her undies and a thought flashed through her mind….. “If only my bra were full with real tits……” and the thought was gone…..
“Oh, Darling….” was all Andy managed before his panties were stretched aside and the tucking that he had so expertly applied early in the day, was undone. His cock was allowed to hang for only a moment before Christine was on her knees, there in the living room of the cottage, and she had taken it into her mouth. Christine was hungry. She wanted this. She had been male for too long today. She wanted Andy and she wanted him… now!
--oo00oo–
So little opportunity to talk about the day’s experiences….. Once Christine’s lusts were satisfied, and now upstairs in the bedroom, Andy’s took over and he indulged his desire to make love to the beautiful woman who lay before him. She wore the vestiges of her masculinity, her tits still bound and out of sight and the boxer shorts she had playfully stolen from Andy’s wardrobe this morning were still in place….
Equally, her face bore no make-up and her hair was still slicked-back, boyish style. After all, she was still fresh from Christopher’s encounter with Bev.
Astrid’s face was soon buried in Christine’s bushy ‘homeland’ and her tongue soon explored the folds that would drive her wife mad. Andy was a girl again. Making love to a woman she loved. What a partnership they had. She could have him when she wanted him, and he could have her. Ok, she would find him less hard and he would find her more soft. Their love-making was the source of joy that few couples experience. Whether boy and girl, or girl and girl, it didn’t matter. Today, they had been girl and boy to the world. Their roles reversed. How wonderful!!
Christine’s climax was ecstatic. Her whole body shook with an energy she wanted to hold and grasp close to her. When this subsided, she and Andy laid back in joyful solace on their fantastically soft and welcoming bed.
There were things to talk about, but there was plenty of time for that.
--oo00oo– (relax, no more sex from here!)
Andy and Christine prepared dinner together, Christine now fully restored to her Christine looks which Andy loved so much. Andy remained in his Astrid looks which Christine loved so much, such was the transformation of the hairstyle Astrid now enjoyed. His make-up was restored and a fresh leisurewear garment clothed her.
“So, my honey, we have to decide how you present yourself to the world for the coming few days or weeks. Is there going to be a place for Andy in our home for now?” Christine ventured to explore. “I do have a suggestion….”
“I’ll need to know what you have in mind for your plan for the village, darling, before I can make up my mind. I mean, I’m more than happy to stay as I am…. For now…. Until I know……. I am happy as I am…. You know that……”
So, Andy’s buy-in was total. Christine already knew that. It was for her to decide how to proceed. They had knowledge of the neighbours that they didn’t have previously…. And they would go through that meticulously once Andy knew her plan in detail. They had taken a big step towards changing the way they were presented to the village.
It wouldn’t be easy for them to be seen as man and wife. It might be possible for them to be seen as two women, sisters, living together while “Andy’s away” But Bev and Heidi both knew their secrets, and their passions…. And so did Lottie too.
So that made three people who were already involved. All were more than willing to help. In fact, Christine thought, just try to stop them!
“Ok, honey, let’s run with it this way for now. You be Astrid. I’ll be Christine…… And enjoy your beautiful female self! Why don’t I fix us a couple of gin and tonics and let’s talk through my plan. Then we can talk through the who’s who of the village and who will be most likely to want to come across and be with us in what I have planned?”
“Ohhh, yes! My lover, I’d love a gin!” exclaimed Andy. He relaxed and felt the underwear cuddle him.
As she poured the gin and sprang the can of tonic, Christine looked across the room at this ‘almost’ woman, speculating how far this transformation might go after the sudden and quite rapid buy-in she had gained from him. In fact, this had all been her idea, even though Andy had convinced himself it was his idea to start with. Who knows? It may have been. There must have been a deep willingness to explore the girly side of his brain. How long had that been there? Probably since teenage years. Probably. She did know that for sure, in fact. He had once confessed to losing one girlfriend for having played at exchanging clothes. That was it. It was his idea! She wasn’t forcing anybody to do anything…
But it had been her plan. What was about to happen. If she got it right with him…. And she had no doubt it would be good… She studied her husband, sitting there en femme. Realistically a woman to love.
“Here’s your gin, my darling girlfriend....” she said as she sat beside Astrid.
Taking a huge swig of the sparkling concoction, Astrid said, “So, please, please, tell me. Where is this leading? I mean, I know you want to see if others in the village will play the same games as we love doing. I know that. So, how do you want to go about that and what do I have to do? Because, I do want to give it a try….. We may be banned from the place if it all goes pear-shaped, but I’m prepared to risk that.” She paused and noticed the lipstick on her glass. Her heart trembled…..
“OK, sit back and listen. I perhaps should have shared this with you before but, well… I needed to get the feel of the place and my talks with Bev tell me that everything I thought is probably likely to happen, if we do as I’m going to suggest. There are several women in the village who are the more dominant partner in the marriages here. I don’t mean in any sexual way — except in a couple of cases perhaps, but in the ‘who makes decisions and who follows’ aspect of their relationships.
“Ok, I see that, and what Heidi said bears that out too…..” Astrid chipped in.
“What we need is a vehicle to get them together and I think I know the way.” Christine had this planned.
“You mean take them on a coach trip somewheres???” laughed Astrid.
“not quite, but I’d like them to know eachother, and us importantly, a lot better at the end of a first event. I’d suggest we do that here. In the privacy of our own home. And not necessarily with all of them. I’m thinking it would be a better idea to get two or three women on board and then see how we get on from there…..”
“But how?” Girly incomprehension. Astrid needed to be told in detail.
“With an invitation…… one that’s intriguing….. one that’s impossible to refuse…..”
“What might they be invited to? A dinner party?!” Andy wasn’t getting it.
“Well, maybe drinks will be involved.. and maybe some nibbles….!” Said his wife.
“I’m always interested in a nibble, you know that!”
“Andy, behave yourself.. I’m being serious. This will work….” Christine was stern.
“What will work?” Astrid’s eyes flashed seductively.
“If you would close your pretty little lips and listen, you might find out…. And, by the way, redheads need a different colour lipstick… we shall buy you some tomorrow.” Again, Christine was stern. She wanted to get on with this.
“Ok, I’ll listen, like a good girl!” teased Astrid.
“Right…….” Christine paused. This was it…. The plan…… “The plan is for us to hold a house party. One with a theme and a focus. You know, like old-fashioned buy-from-a-friend parties in the past. Housewares. Cosmetics…. Stuff like that….”
Andy couldn’t resist temptation… “You mean we get the Avon lady in to set up a swingers party??? I don’t believe it!”
“Sternly, Christine said again.. “Now stop it! You’re not far wrong… but how can I get you to see what I have in mind if you go on like this! Now, we invite them…. The wives only…”
“Desperate….?!” Andy nearly lost his life at this point…
“…..The wives only. We invite them, intriguingly, to see and try a new range of clothing…. And accessories….. Not available through any local store here in leafy Gloucestershire. Come and have a few drinks. Try some things on. Amongst girly friends…… All very professionally and discreetly marketed. No indication of the true nature…”
!
“You mean the catalogue range that we’ve bought from in the past…?” True, they had and very sexy it was.
“Exactly. I’ve chosen a good range of different clothing and ..err...., accessories, if you know what I mean….” Christine had a huge shipment coming.
“….. and they’ll be delivered tomorrow or the day after. So that gives us no more than tomorrow to organize the invitations and choose who to send them to.”
In fact, she had already chosen the invitation list. As much for the nature of the husbands or partners involved, she chose the women she felt would like to take a little more control of their lives… and their husbands.
“The intention is for everything in this whole process to be voluntary. No coercion. If one of them says it’s not for her… or not for her husband… then we agree on that and move on. Maybe such a girl would enjoy it more when others tell her… as I’m sure they will.” Christine planned to use the power of the ‘third party’ in her selling effort.
“But isn’t this all a bit passé? A bit ‘Eighties’ ? …Maybe?” Andy still didn’t get it.
“Ok, ok, I’m not explaining myself well enough…. And this is where you come in…. my darling girly husband you! You, I want, will be involved in welcoming them all into our home. You, as yourself, will serve them their drinks…. As though you’re part of the whole evening. Which you will be, but not as Andy. When we all have drinks, you’ll make space and exit. As if you’re gone for the evening. Which Andy will be. You’ll be out of sight and out of mind …. Until your return as Astrid.”
“Ahh. I’m beginning to get the picture…… How long do I get to change? It will take me longer than when I have your help…. Which you know I love….. it’s a very sexy thing having your wife help you select your underwear and to put it on. And to choose which dress. Which shoes…. And to help with make-up…. And hair… of course, to help with my hair….!” It will take me a long time to do it well, thought Andy.
“Darling, don’t worry. I’ll come up and give you help in the final few minutes.
“Before…?”
“Before you join the ladies, as another lady….. Astrid, Imagine that, after they’ve been trying on some clothes and we’ve got on to the more interesting underwear …. And I have broached the subject of the ‘accessories’ which will start with a dildo or two, and some mild bondage stuff — cuffs and belts, you know the sort of thing……. I’ll have said that there are a lot of husbands out there who like these things and, of course, there will be some agreement…”
Christine’s word pictures were becoming quite graphic…..
“There will be protests, maybe, if any woman says “he’s not getting me into cuffs!” ……… And if there is, I’ll be saying — and this is crucial — “there are many men out there who like wearing things they’re not supposed to…. Don’t you think?” And with that, I’ll be leading the discussion towards the moment I can say “Take my Andy, for example, he’s got a side to him that only I have seen until recently. Now, he loves this so much, he’s met one or two other people……”. And I can say “hasn’t he Heidi? Hasn’t he, Lottie? I am sure they’ll be there — those two are first on my address list!”
“So, where do I come in?” asked Astrid. “Is all this going on with me outside?”
“Yes, it has to be that way, darling. I want the impact of your beautiful self to be held back until they’re really hungry for it…. You have to be upstairs until we’re ready. In fact, I’ve just had another idea which will really stun them…….. I’ll need Lottie’s help but I’m sure she’ll agree….”
“Ok, I’d love to be in there with you, but I’ll take your advice…….”
“Yes, now, when I’ve set up your arrival with us, and talked about your enjoying this so very much, I’ll have asked Lottie to come outside to help me for a minute and I’ll have brought her up to you in the bedroom and you can ask her to do you a comb-out of your fabulous new hair……. It will be adorable!”
“Well, I did ask if I could go back to the salon for a set, so this would be that opportunity…” Andy loved the thought.
“And then, Lottie comes back, knowing all about what’s going to happen and you arrive immediately behind her. And in you come. A woman….. who everyone knows is male — as male as any of their husbands or partners….. A male who enjoys being a girl. And then I leave it up to you to prove your delight in this. I’ll prompt you with a few questions but I’m sure they’ll be gagging to ask you their own questions by this time…..”
“So, I’m not trying to pass as a woman…. No? No, I’m not….. They’ll know I’m Andy, and that I love doing this… which I do…… I can tell, they’ll want know what started me…. When… how long…. Where do I go shopping? How much do you help? Was it your idea? How much time do I live like this? Isn’t the hair a bit permanent/ What might I do in the future …… Oh, yeah.. and then we’ll get on to the...... Am I gay? Do I fancy guys? Have I ever slept with one? All of which I can deal with — I’ve rehearsed that enough times in my own mind for occasions when I might be ‘discovered’………” Andy would make it clear he was anything but gay.
“You got it, honey……. I want them to finish by learning what a wonderful heterosexual man like you gets out of dressing in such beautiful clothes… And also what’s in it for me? Am I a lesbian, or what? I’ll tell them… I may just be a little bisexual… and how there’s nothing wrong in a little bit of what you fancy in that arena……. They’ll ask more…. How do I handle the days when I just want a good fuck from the man I love….. I’ll tell them…. I get just what I want, when I want it………” And Christine meant that.
“So, what do you want them to do? So far, this seems a bit of a shopping opportunity and a bit of exhibitionism. I know Heidi and Lottie are interested in being around us… neither was fazed by the idea of me going there dressed into the salon. But what of the others? And, then what about times for me to be a guy again….. There don’t seem to be many chances of that in this business model!” Andy’s insecurity surfaced for a split second.
“What do I expect them to do? I expect them to imagine their husbands looking and, for a moment, being just like you. You look so good. They could too.”
Christine knew that this was only the very first thing she hoped her guests would do. So, she went on. “More importantly, I want them to imagine just one item of clothing that we’ll have for them being worn by their husbands. We’ll have the necessary larger sizes and, we’ll get them interested in the tricks that they might play to get their men into their panties!”
“Tricks?” asked Andy. “Tricks like what?....”
“Tricks like betting he wouldn’t dare wear your things….. Tricks like saying all his own pants have been burned…… Tricks like promising a blow-job only if he does wear the panties….then the bra…….. Tricks like offering to wear a waspie, and stockings, and suspenders,… but then only if he wears some too! Tricks like pausing when putting on lipstick and saying you want him to wear some too…….. Tricks like tweaking his nipples and asking if he’s ever thought of having tits of his own and then offering him a bra to Tryon. Tricks like running your fingers through their hair and saying it would look nice a different colour…….. Tricks like suggesting you have a turnabout party at home and that he has to ‘turn about’…… Tricks like finding a night club where they have a drag queen night and going there on that night ‘by mistake’. The old tricks are the best…. To get started. If you remember, with you, I just pointed to your eyes one evening when I was doing my make-up and asking if I could see what your eyes looked like all done up…… And you let me! You looked fabulous, just as you do now…. But it was a surprise…. A surprise you let me do it… and a surprise you liked it so much……”
“And they’ll buy their husbands something sexy just on a whim….?” Andy was making out that he wasvery sceptical. And so he said so. “I bet it won’t fly….” WINDING cHRISTINE UP INTO A FRENZY.
A challenge like that was enough for Christine to react. “Ok, you doubt it, so you have to try it. No answer back. You’re committed. You’d better begin to practise your act for the girls. I’m going to design and send the invitations tonight.
So Andy was thus committed. Not just to have gone out and had his hair done, and not just to have gone to the pub fully dressed and enjoy a conversation with Bev who was only interested in her ‘husband’ Christopher. Not just those one-off experiments. This was a whole evening in conversation with several women from the village, with himself, Astrid, as the centre of attention. With all these women being encouraged to treat their husbands to experiences of femininity. Would it fly? Astrid was doubtful, but he was going to find out.
Christine was thoughtful for a moment and then asked a question. “I like the idea of Lottie helping you. How would it be if we asked Heidi and Lottie to play a more active part when we get to the next step in the process…..?”
“What next step?” Andy had purposely missed something….. “What’s next?”
“Next, silly, is the further meeting we have here at home, when we get the women together again, perhaps with one or two more who’ll have heard of what they missed first time round. I think that’s the time we get them to talk about any experiences we have caused them to have and what they fancy next”.
My idea is simple….. There will be a second meeting for the wives and partners but more importantly, there will be a third, when they bring their ‘other halves’ in a different gender to their normal one. That would be great!! Can you imagine it/ You’d be the prettiest girl in the room but they would only be spurred to give you competition for another time. This way, we have a kind of sorority or sisterhood in the making. Maybe the ‘new’ girls would get together on their own one day.”
“So, it’s real girls first, and I join you. Then it’s real giels talking about how they’ve enjoyed making girls of their boys. And then there’s the ‘new’ girls coming together with their partners to an all-girl night…… Wow! That’s what I call progress. How many do you think will come?” Astrid was fired with enthusiasm as the leading lady she would become.
“I would say there will be you and me, Heidi and Lottie, and Bev. Plus about three or four to start with. I would expect them all to go along with us, if we play the cards right. Then I’d add another two or three at the next stage. That’s the women… and you my darling, of course. Ten or twelve maximum. But then ten or twelve Queens to join you!!” Christine was very proud of her idea and the plan to get it into being.
“I’m really excited by this whole project.... Feminizing a whole village!” Christine wanted to close their talk because there was something else on her mind, “…..... but I fancy some more sex before we do those invitations…… and we have to discuss who is going to get them…. That’s the next thing….. Shall we have sex before or after that?
“Before!” said Andy.
The next chapter will bring the “Runners and Riders” with some background for you dear Readers.
After the lovers enjoy some more intimate contact, they must discuss the who’s who for likely participation in Christine’s party. They are the so-called “Runners and Riders”, published as a list of where they live in the village. The list is presented to you in the form of information given to punters interested in horse racing here in England, in Australia and, the US we believe. Who are the likely winners??!
Chapter 14 — The Grand National!
“Let’s get them all in order, shall we? Then they can be put “under Starter’s orders” and our race can begin! I have a few favourites in mind but it’ll be good to know if they’re the same ones you have my love.” Christine was ready to go! Astrid sat beside her, admiring the organization ability that his wife could call up so soon after making love. He was still in a haze of girl-on-girl action. Andy said nothing, just revelling in what had taken place only a few minutes ago.
The lovers were seated in their bedroom, with a cup of post-fuck English Tea to enjoy. Andy was still dressed in Astrid’s nightdress, his hair still mussed up and his make-up a little mussed-up too. Christine, on the other hand, had refreshed Christopher’s face and was dressed in boxer shorts and a tee-shirt. Her tits were bound and her profile androgynous.
“Come on now, wake up!” exclaimed his wife.
“Ok, ok. Let’s write them all down with what we know about them….” Astrid was back and ready now to help Christine.
“Or shall we design the invitation first?” Christine hesitated. “No, we need to know who to send them to. That will help with the design, knowing who will read them…..”
“So, like for the Gee-Gees, we need to write who they are, where they live, how old we think they are, what work they do if we know, what interests they may have outside the home, then we can explore their form in terms of ‘special interests’ that we’ve heard about from Heidi and Bev, or from our own observations…….” Astrid was suddenly very focussed and Christine was impressed.
“Nice work, my lover……. “ Christine picked up a pen and design pad and began to design a Race Night programme……..
And this is what she wrote……………….
Christine & Andy
1, High Street,
Our heroines!
Christopher & Astrid
She: In control, maybe Bi- attracted to Bev, full of ideas!
Astrid: Swedish parents, very easily led
Odds on party involvement: 100-1 ON! No bets accepted!
Cathy & Johnny
Both mid-30s in age.
She: Redhead, dominant, may like mild bondage,
disliked by Christine for some reason - jealous?
has a job part-time, so home alone sometimes,
He: likes Cathy dressing sexy, maybe a voyeur of others?
Bev says he has manicures and pedicures
Odds on involvement: 2-1 favourite
"So, that's the lower end of the village of Much Humping in the Marsh. We've got some very interesting possibiliities. We've agreed that we're 100-1 On certs for what we're organizing. We're committed! And we have Cathy & Johnny as 2-1 favourites to join us in the starting stalls!" Christine liked the look of the process. "I'm not keen on her as you know, but I have to put my feelings behind me. That red hair of hers is just too much of a temptation for you Astrid... but now you're a redhead too, I can live with that.... and I love your highlights! You're much more atractive than she is." Christime complimented her husband.
"Well, he's not my type, that's for sure, but I'd be very happy to have him transformed. We could be quite good girlfriends, I'd think" answered Astrid.
"Ok, let's move on up the High Street.... Number 3.........." Christine began.
3, High Street,
Peter & Jenny
She: Accepted as gay, has part-time lover
Ho: Dumb!, away on business a lot,
Both love Amateur dramatics, so dress in
many different characters/clothes
Odds on involvement: 5-1 against
Big house, set back off street. Two kids, one M, one F. Never seen together "Ok, now we have a 5-1 shot, a 50-1 outsider who we know nothing about and then there's their kids who, if they are at home, could be involved for sure - good odds at 5-1! Maybe we should offer a family ticket with a discount... or put the event on Tesco's loyalty voucher scheme?" "Darling, that's five, including ourselves. Six if you include the kids from Uni." Christine was delighted. "And Seven if you include Heidi and Lottie!" said Andy ".... and don't forget my lovely little Bev.... we're in love already!" Chritine said with a vengeance. Well, dear Readers, I have tried to displey the first group of Runners and Riders for you..... Stretched my typing skills to the limits. This may not work but, if it does, the next six or seven couples will meet you in the next chapter!
4, High Street
Pammie & Jack
Both: hetero, moneyed, well-travelled,
noisy at night!
She: dark aura, Goth-esque, black hair, "fashion roots"
He: full of bullsh*t, F*ck you mentality,
needs bringing down a peg or two
Odd on party involvement: 2-1 certs
5, High Street,
Fifties Couple (names unknown)
Appear: well-travelled, groomed, dressed.
Odds on involvement: 50-1 against
both away at Uni. Possibly both TG'd.
Odds on involvement: 5-1 if in village at party time
The first group of Runners and Riders having been listed, Christine wants to get on with the Invitation that they'll receive. That way, the party will definitely go ahead, then it's only a question of how many people to come?
Chapter 16 How to invite.... and to what???
"Darling, let's pause on the selection of the people to invite and get on with how we tell them about our little 'event'. I mean, nothing will happen withou their knowing about the party...." Christine's enthusiasm was unbridled. She couldn't wait to get the artist's pad and her sketcher's pen.
Andy sat back, knowing that this would be where his skills would not be the ones required. Art, not his best. Words? Maybe better, especially now he had a picture of Christine's intentions. Careful wordcrafting would be needed.
"Ok, you do the pretty pictures, honey... and make them softer and larger than life, won't you...... I'll have a stab at writing the text for them to be intrigued.."
So that was how the next hour was spent, with both the lovers sitting at the table in the dining room of their little cottage. Christine ended the hour surrounded by a pile of screwed-up sheet where her early attempts at graphic design were consigned to history. There remained three images on the table. three that she obviously felt content with as designs for invitation cards that they would deliver, by hand, to several village residences.
Andy, meanwhile, started by writing, as if by hand, personal letters to the intended participants. He felt that hand-writing would be more attractive and more welcoming than typed or printed cards. By the end of the hour, he wasn't so sure, but he was more content with the content of his message.
Christine was particularly proud of one image and decided to show this first to Andy. The others could wait until he expressed an opinion on the first. Her design skills were really very good, Andy thought, as he pored over a beautifully crafted image of swans and feathers and pale sunshine. All very feminine. Spaces for text content were easily seen but could be moved. It was a direct appeal to the feminine side of the women who would receive the card.
"We are sending these to the women concerned, are we not?" Andy wanted to check. "... And the invite will be for them 'plus a guest' if they want to bring him??!"
"No, no, I've been thinking about this... a lot.... I'm firmly of the view that this should be for a 'girls only' evening first. You'll be the exception - the notable exception - but this party will lead on to one with couples invited....... And, don't forget, "Christopher" will have disappeared by this time. This will be me and you - well, you as you're now only later. "You'll be Andy at the start of the night, only becoming Astrid later. Savvy??"
Christine looked at her husband, still girly after the sex they had enjoyed...... "I've been thinking.... you need a manicure tonight! Let's play games with you!"
Andy nodded and smiled girlishly. He knew the men not allowed thing made sense "Ok, fair enough. Then this is very girly and, even with one or two of the guests rather more 'alpha', it will work beautifully. I'd be delighted to receive one.... "
"Then so you shall, my love. After all, you have a major part to playing the success of the adventure! Now, let's look at your intended copy for the card." Christine was anxious to see how these women would be netted and drawn into land.
Andy had narrowed the text down to one proposal. It could be amended but he wanted Christine's buy-in to the style and sound:
Christine & Andy wish to invite you (and just a few neighbours) Please come for an evening, starting at 8pm next Friday at their home, Wine and nibbles will be provided. RSVP by Monday at the latest (as others who may wish to attend may attend if you cannot)
...to an evening of luxury
here in your very own village
to spend a few hours exploring
the more exotic and attractive lifestyle options that
are available but may have been out of sight until now!
"Two of a kind", 1, High Street, Much Humping in the Marsh
Regret, no gentlemen invited (this time!)
Dress: Informal, (as informal as you like!)
"I'm delighted!" said Christine. That will flow beautifully through my swans and their feathers.... Did you like them?"
"Very much indeed. They could have been made for eachother! I think we've done it first time. Let's not agonize. I'll begin writing the cards as soonas we have the materials tomorrow and you have translated the design into the computer. I think hand-written is best, don't you agree?" Andy wasn't going to change his mind, but asked any way.
"Oh, certainly. It will take more time but it will make it very personal."
"What about my name being on the invite? I started with it being addressed to couples and, now, I'm the only guy there!"
"No worries, honey. If anyone asks, I'll tell them the truth. You'll only be there for the first drink and some nibbles...Then, you'll disappear. Only to be replaced by Astrid a bit later, when I've gotten round to full exposure of the plan for them and their partners!"
"Beaut!!" Andy was happy with that, if not a little anxious that he had to pull off what Christine had planned. "You will get me help to finish my preparations won't you? With Lottie, I mean... or Heidi?"
"Exactly! They'll be thrilled to be involved if you ask me." Christine was sure. "Now, let's work on that list again. We have enough, but I'd like some more to make this a full wild success....."
Chapter 17 will bring the rest of the Runners and Riders into view!
The Tipsters List has to be completed. The Invitations have to be delivered. Christine and Astrid’s party’s only a few days away. Is the village ready for all the excitement?
Chapter 17 — They’re under Starter’s orders!
Christine wanted to get going again on the audit of their expectations of the villagers and their likely interest in her planned party. Andy wanted to play it a little slower. “Before we do that, can we just relax a bit over a couple of dry Martinis and a little tonsil tennis? I mean, we have the invitation now…… and we have a ‘quorum’ that would get us going….” Andy fancied some more foreplay. He was excited at the prospect of an evening in with his wife also “in the mood”.
“Oh, very well… “ said Christine, but you make sure you go and freshen your hair and make-up before we do. You’ll get none of my tongue down your throat unless you’re looking at your very feminine best!” She returned to reading the list they had already created.
Astrid set off upstairs to do as she had been told. “More than that..” she said to herself, out loud, “…. I’ll change into something more comfortable!” She made a direct line for her ‘special closet’ where she kept all her female clothes and her jewellery and her shoes.
Over the next ten minutes, she chose a light sarong that was silky and feminine, gathered at the neck and at the ankles and wrists. “That’ll make it fun to remove… ” again she said, out loud. She brushed her hair back into the curly style that Heidi had fashioned for her, teasing the crown with a little back-combing and turning the bangs forward on to her cheeks. She freshened her mascara and, finally, her lipstick. ‘Hey presto!’, looking in her vanity mirror, Astrid was ready to meet her girlfriend, lover and wife!
As she left the bedroom, her sarong floated gently against the skin of her thighs and Astrid was so pleased that she had used the depilatory creme that Christine had provided.
“You look stunning!” said Christine as Astrid’s muled feet touched the floor at the foot of the stairs. Silently, Astrid crossed the floor to where Christine was seated. She turned to her lover and kissed Astrid lightly on the cheeks as she sat down.
“Back to the census of Who’s Who in the Village then…” Christine laughed as she cuddled up close beside her husband. “Let’s see if we can find some better bets than the first lot… although, it has to be said, if we don’t find any more, we’ll be set of an interesting evening if they all come to the party!”
They busily compiled a further list over the next 20-30 minutes. At the end of the time, they had reached to top of the High Street and, without even bothering to discuss several small side streets, Christine declared that they had enough. This is what they had written:
Samantha & Adrian 7, High Street, Unnamed Emma & Justin Humpers Farm Unnamed couple; keep to themselves The Village Store Priti & Pradip ‘Curl up and Dye’ Proprietor: Heidi Staff: Lottie “The Dancing Girls” Brian always after getting in Bev’s knickers, Bev, the Barmaid, curious and full of gossip --oo00oo-- “So the list is complete!” exclaimed Christine, “We need no more for now. If this goes well, there are probably another dozen ladies who will get to hear about it and want to come to the next party. Don’t you think?” “It will all depend on their reaction to hearing that guys like me are willingly being treated to the joys of femininity and yet who are pleased to be the same husbands in bed that they are used to, at least some of the time.” Andy knew the pitfalls if it didn’t go according to plan. “If we mess up, they’ll think we are the weird ones and there’ll be a short time before we end up having to move. If it goes well, Much Humping will become the lesbian capital of the county, if not the whole country. I love the thought of that. I’m really ready to be the male lesbian that you now say you always wanted me to be….” Andy’s relaxed approach to the whole idea now gave Christine great confidence in his ability to portray the willing participant in what she would be offering to these women. “I’ll drink this Martini to the wisdom of the ladies of Much Humping. Let’s say that they will all get the idea and wish their husbands or partners to be part of it.” Christine raised her glass and drained the martini to the very last drop. “Another!” she said. “So, let’s go over the list and the likelihood of their taking part. Who are the favourites in our race?!”” asked Astrid. They wrote a new list, with the favourites at the top, and the outsiders at the bottom: Two of a Kind Tied Cottage Black & Blue Villa Newlyweds Quiet corner The Village Store ‘Curl up and Dye’ The Dancing Girls” --oo00oo-- “We have a full field of potential winners…. Some are almost certainties, a few are ust ‘maybe babies’ and then there are the outsiders, who’ll probably want to remain outside….. in fact, they’re the more difficult ones to deal with…. We have to find a way to ease them out of the situation before it gets too ‘revealing’. After all, we don’t want them IN, if they don’t want to be IN! They’d be more trouble than they’d be worth as extra participants.” Andy was suddenly staring rejection in the face…… there would be people at the party that wouldn’t want anything to do with him… or what they might say was “pervie” behaviours….. “You’re right… I know what we’ll do… the party will be in two halves and, when we’ve worked out who’s IN and who’s NOT, we’ll break for a comfort stop and they can be encouraged to leave.” Christine was back to her decisive best. “Right on….” Astrid agreed, her fears, or Andy’s allayed in as few words as that. “Oh, hey, there was an idea I wanted to add…. About the Invitation…… The way I read it.. or wrote it…. It’s intended for the women in the village and not their male counter-parts…. Not this parry….” “Right, that’s what we agreed…..” said Christine. “Well, suppose one, or more, of our guests wants to bring a girlfriend…… How would we handle that…. They might bring interesting dimensions to the whole thing…. But, then, they could be trouble too…..” Andy speculated, relying on Christine’s judgement. “I don’t see a problem…. It could be great fun. They might bring even better ideas even than ours!!”. “Ok, so let’s add guests welcome…. Lady guests welcome…. To the Invitation.” Astrid was happy with that. All of a sudden, she was suggesting that she might meet complete and total strangers in a role where she would be introduced as Andy and then, some time later, be re-introduced, fully clothed and made-up as Astrid… the willingly cross-dressed man, the husband as an example of what these women might choose for their husbands! It made him genuinely flush and go hot under her bra straps. “You’d better get more practice of being a girl in the few days that remain before the party, honey. And you’d better work on that voice of yours too.” Christine warned. So much depended on Andy’s ability to carry the ‘transformed’ role to perfection. “ You’d better get more practice of being Astrid in the few days left before the party! Just BE this woman that I love!....., will you!” “Tomorrow’s a big day, my darling. We have to print the invitations and get out there and deliver them……. Chapter 18 will see all the preparations in place and the reactions of the villagers start to become clear.
6, High Street,
Huge appetites, for life, for food, for sex
(according to Heidi)
She: lovely large bust, wears kit to accentuate,
Lovely mane of highlighted blonde hair (by Heidi),
Known to hunt hubby down for sex on demand
He: adores Samantha, will do anything for her
Odds on party involvement: maybe 4-1
New House, built behind Village Store,
Newly-weds, Flashy couple, Jaguar and 4x4
She: at home all day and “gets visitors”
Both previously married, divorced because of
“unreasonable behaviour”
Odds on party involvement: maybe 6-1
8, High Street
She: muscular, must like a romp in the hay,
He: probably escapes to the fields,
No indication that either is a party prospect
Odds on party involvement: 20-1
9, High Street
Both Asian, quite conventional,
She: pretty but shy, uses the shop to get to know people
He: backroom most of the time, said to grow dope but nobody believes
No “top shelf” magazines in stock
Odds on party involvement: 100-1
Hairdressers & Beauty Care
10, High Street,
Mid-late 30s,
Country style girl, brunette,
doesn’t want to be ‘drab’,
had ‘crushes on other girls’ s a teen,
believes “40 is the new 30”
Great source of gossip,
all villagers tell her their secrets,
Odds on party involvement: already involved!!
Late teens, blonde, a bit ‘dippy’, flirts a lot,
Single, never met a ‘trannie’ before, intrigued
Odds on party involvement: already involved!!
11, High Street
The Village Pub,
Proprietors: Belinda & Brian
“always busy” — leave running the bar to staff:
Odds on party involvement: 25-1 if Belinda can
be convinced, but Brian a no-chancer.
He, a “stud muffin”, Belinda very straight-laced
Brassy blonde, loves a tease
Has gay girl friends, “Up for it”,
Odds on party involvement: already involved!!
Christine & Andy
Odds on party involvement: 100-1 ON! No bets accepted!
Cathy & Johnny Odds on involvement: 2-1 joint favourites
Pammie & Jack Odds on party involvement: 2-1 joint favourites
Little Cottage
Samantha & Adrian Odds on party involvement: maybe 4-1
Drama Den
Peter & Jenny Odds on involvement: 5-1
Quiet corner
Two kids, one M, one F. Odds on involvement: 5-1
Emma & Justin Odds on party involvement: maybe 6-1
Humpers Farm
Unnamed couple Odds on party involvement: 20-1
“The Dancing Girls”
The Village Pub,
Proprietors: Belinda & Brian Odds on party involvement: 25-1
Fifties Couple (names unknown) Odds on involvement: 50-1
Priti & Pradip Odds on party involvement: 100-1
Proprietor: Heidi Odds on party involvement: already involved!!
Staff: Lottie Odds on party involvement: already involved!!
The Village Pub,
Bev, the Barmaid, Odds on party involvement: already involved!!
The Invitations are ready, the Jockey Club knows what they want and the only question now is, “will they?, or won’t they?”…. come to the party!!
Chapter 18 — Publish and be damned!
Christine and Andy prepared a dozen invitations and, in the evening sunshine, strolled around the village delivering the goods. Ladies only for the first party, but friends allowed. They hoped for a small but select band of like-minded ladies to turn up. They discussed Andy’s role — first as Andy, welcoming the visitors, and later as Astrid, joining in later when proof of what fun can be had is required.
When they settled in for a quiet drink at the pub before going home, it was probably a good thing that Bev was having her night off and Belinda and Brian were nowhere to be seen. Andy sat, dressed in ‘drab’ and with his beautifully styled hair tucked up under a smart ‘beanie’ head cap.
“It’s very good we thought of that to hid your lovely hair, my honey.” Christine said. “You look quite the stylish man on my arm tonight… no make-up, hair tucked out of sight, and chinos and a shirt…. Very mannish….”
“Mmmm, I quite like the look just occasionally. Like I’ll be at the start of the party I think, don’t you? “ Andy replied.
“Of course, you should make yourself as male as you like — the transformation to Astrid will then be more dramatic…. And you’ll be able to show how much you enjoy being a girl……..!”
“I can’t stop humming that song!” Andy laughed, “ Doris Day, eat your heart out!”
“The lovely think, sitting here, is that nobody around us knows that under your drab exterior, you’ve got those lovely lovely stockings and suspenders, and the panties and bra all made of lace….. You must still be feeling girrly, I hope, at least!?” Christine smiled at him, her husband …. And her wife!
“But my darling, what made you think otherwise? It’s something I never knew until I stated dressing as I do that girls feel their underwear ALL day long. Whatever you do, whichever way you turn or twist, there’s a reminder. You’re all so lucky!!” Andy meant what he said. This was the impossible conundrum he faced — how could he ever stop wearing delicious lacy underwear?! Never!!!
“So, we’re aiming for five or six acceptances, are we?? Let’s hope so — I think that, if we get that many, then the whole project will fly and who knows, the sky’s the limit!” Andy went on.
Christine reacted with a smile. “Our lives may be a little different if so — there will be much more expected of us if it goes that well. I’d much rather we go for it in a big way. If we only got a couple, then, well, we’d be like wife-swappers….. which would just be dull…… Nothing succeeds like excess, I say!!”
“C’mon, let’s go home….. I fancy a quite quiet evening under the duvet with you! I’ve an idea that you might like……..” Andy giggled to himself.
--oo00oo–
As she lay where Andy had told her, Christine felt divorced from her sensations. On the bed, she could feel only the soft cotton sheets, freshly washed and cool. She laid there, unable to see her surroundings. Andy had placed a light lacy stocking top across her eyes. Nothing tied in place, just laid there, …. With instructions not to move, or to touch what was a very effective blindfold. The room was quite warm but goose-bumps ran down her arms, deliciously.
Andy had spread Christine’s hair out over the pillows after gently brushing her luxurious locks, teasing tendril curls and folding the bangs over the curling brush.
She was otherwise naked.
Andy’s maleness from earlier was gone. He wore only a bra and panties. His hair, likewise, brushed into as full a style as Heidi had managed for him earlier. The highlights, which he hadn’t expected to have, were beautifully reflected in the vanity mirror. He held a lipstick in his right hand and he rested above his wife on the bed, bearing weight on one elbow. So his hand was free to put the lipstick wherever he chose.
The glorious thing was that Christine didn’t know what was about to happen. She found her skin tingling in anticipation. Andy’s voice became Astrid’s. She whispered to her wife, “You look lovely, just lying the there… can you imagine what I want to do to you?”
“Well, kissing my pussy would be a good way to start…..”
“Right in one…. And I shall….. in a moment or two … But what before that? “ said Andy, tracing a single fingernail up the inside of Christine’s thigh and across he bushy mound above her pussy. “what could I do…. First?”
“Kiss me, long and deeply, on my lips…..”
Without warning, as if the invitation was not needed at all, Astrid began to smear the lipstick across Christine’s beautiful full lips. She carefully shaped the cupid’s bow that she would then, or soon, removed by kissing passionately.
At the first touch of the stick, Christine’s body curved into an almost foetal position, such was the surprise and enjoyment she felt. The stocking top fell from her eyes, but they remained shut.
“Come here..” whispered Astrid as she put the blindfold back across Christine’s face. Her fingernail traced it’s path again, this time a little harder. Her lips closed over her lover’s lips and there began the most lingering, and at some times urgent, kiss. Christine prayed for more. Astrid was, for once, in control of the pace of their love-making. Inside her panties, Astrid felt the rising of a gentle hard-on, not fully formed, but enough to indicate his rising passions.
Christine still lay there, her face now covered in lipstick that had begun in such a perfect formation. Her hair was now ruffled, having lost the gentle spread-out look when the lipstick first touched.
“Keep still…..” Astrid said firmly. “There will be more…..”
Christine breathed deeply and smiled in anticipation.
She could neither see, nor yet feel, Astrid’s hand reaching for the dildo that Andy had placed under the pillow. Not a large one, not a brutal one, but one that girls are happy to use on eachother. Whilst touching Christine’s pussy for the first time, searching out the folds of moist skin that hid his lover’s clitoris, Andy put the dildo in his own mouth, to provide a wet and slippery first encounter when it would reach Christine’s fanny.
She could wait no longer….. At the very least she wanted his fingers inside her to find that G-spot they both loved so much…… “ You beastly tease… let me have you…. Now!!!”
The dildo came as a complete surprise and a joy to Christine….. her back arched as she rose to kiss Astrid firmly on the lips……
“Back, back….. Let me…..” said Astrid, pushing gently down on the mouth that eagerly had sought her own. The girl would do what the girl would do. Astrid’s abilities to get Christine to the heights of orgasmic delight were well-practised. Christine was on her way!
It was the least Andy could do, for all the indulgence of his girly side that had now become their way of life.
--oo00oo–
The sound of a letter arriving on the doorstep came very early the following day. Too early for the postman to have delivered whatever had arrived, Andy thought as he walked towards the front door, dressing in his girly, lacy, floral dressing gown.
A hand-delivered envelope! A first reply! Already!
“Honey, guess what!!!”, he called upstairs. “…….. Come down!....”
“What’s up? I’m in the shower……!” Christine called back.
“We have a reply… I think…… you weren’t expecting anything else hand-delivered, were you?” Andy asked, as he ripped the envelope open.
“Count me in! Thanks! B.” was all that the contents said.
“It’s from “B” — who could “B” be???...... Must be Bev……..” Good if it is, thought Andy. It would be good to have her in the mix, however many people agreed to come to the party.
“What did you say……? I can’t hear you!” shouted Christine, still upstairs.
“It’s a FIRST!.......” shouted Andy as he climbed the stairs.
By the time he reached the door to the bathroom, Christine was emerging…….
“One for you to fuck, my darling… I’m sure Bev will be pleased to get close to you.”
Christine teased back, “But I thought you were after her tits, my lovely tit-mad husband…..!” Andy saw the humour in that and imagined a three-in-a-bed experience that would make all of this preparation worthwhile! Sadly, they had never had threesomes before and, he knew in his heart, it was unlikely that Christine would share Bev — and her wonderful breasts — with him … or with Astrid for that matter.
--oo00oo–
Through the day, the same sound of a letter falling on the mat was repeated several times. Each time, either Christine or Andy raced to be first to open another message.
Before mid-day, it was clear that there was going to be a party — and a quite well-attended one at that.
There was a beautifully crafted card from Heidi that indicated she would love to be a part of the fun, and that she would bring Lottie if that was alright…. And that maybe, if it was possible, she would bring another girlfriend who, she said, was very ‘receptive’, whatever she meant by that.
Jenny, the amateur drama star was next, indicating acceptance and saying it would be great to get out in the evenings and get some ‘good conversation’, meaning that life at home might be dull, if Andy and Christine were good judges.
Then, there was a knock at the door, which came as a surprise.
“You’d better answer it….” Said Andy, who was dressed neither as himself, nor as Astrid at the moment…..
“Ok, Ok,…” said Christine…” Andy could hear only one side of the conversation.
“Oh, how lovely… yes, yes…. Do come in!.....” was all Christine said. Andy fled to the safety of the kitchen where he could hide.
The visitor was Pammie, from number 4 — she of the vivid once-Goth blue-black hair and striking make-up. He remembered her being tall and thin, with penetrating eyes, but Andy couldn’t see her even if he peeked through the door-jamb.
“We thought it would be fun…..” Christine was saying…….
“More fun than a box of monkeys having sex, I’d say, if I read your invitation right!” said this woman who the couple had only seen across the street up until now. “We can always do with some adult entertainment and I’ve never been to such an event…. I do hope the providers of the goods will have plenty of imagination!”
“I think the imagination has to come from us ladies…. If you know what I mean…” said Christine. “But, yes, we felt there isn’t enough friendship and enjoyment among us in the village, so we thought we’d try in this direction. We can leave the Women’s Institute to their flower arranging and the Men’s Club to their allotments and gardening……. I’ve found a website that sends Party Organizer to run the evening for us…. Or they’ll sell us a ‘starter kit’ that we must buy… and plenty of catalogues for orders to be placed from…. They guarantee delivery the next day after ordering…….”
“I’m sure we need some items… already I can think of….. Hey! Could they allow pre-ordering so some stuff might come with the ‘starter kit’??” said Pammie, clearly getting a little hot inside her black leather jacket. I wonder what she’s wearing under there, thought Christine. “I’ll go online and see whether that would be possible — if it is, I’ll let you know…..”
“Oh, I do hope it is…. I think Jack is ready for some new ideas…”
When she closed the door on Pammie, Christine called out “Another YES! — with excitement and enthusiasm — we can count on Pammie coming. She’s got plans for Jack, that’s for sure….”
Andy closed in on Christine as she stood in the main room of their cottage. He put his arms around her neck and said…. “Dress me, now… please!” And he led her to the foot of the stairs.
--oo00oo–
By the time the day was though, the lovers had received positive replies from enough of their villager friends to commit themselves to buying something of a variety of items from the catalogue to be of interest to anyone who had sex on the brain and who could find out a lot more about feminizing the male, if that were what took their fancy, or their male’s fancy!
“I’ve been thinking about the whole idea of running the party ourselves….” Andy, now fully in his Astrid persona, started to explain, she was thinking differently, now she knew there would definitely be a party. “I’ve been thinking that this will be a huge amount of work involved for you, my darling…. And I know how much you want it to go well… but what’s the point if you’re worried all the way through and can’t focus on enjoying yourself…..”
“I mean, it will be alright for me, just getting myself ready outside or upstairs, but you’ll be worrying about how it’s all going and you won’t be enjoying yourself……. That would be wrong. …..” Astrid went on… and on….
“That’s very kind, but how do we change that — I don’t mind…… I’ll be enjoying everything in the knowledge that there’s a way to develop the whole thing into the future — no worries about the first step….” Christine tried to reassure him.
“Hear me out….. How would it be if, instead of only us doing it….. And ending the way you want it to end, ….. how could we take the early hard work out of it….. Like getting someone else to front the party. You said this company that has the online services and the stores, they also come out to run parties for Hen’s Nights and Girls’ holiday parties… don’t they? Why not get them to do the showing, and maybe take some orders for the stuff they’d like for themselves…..Maybe the sexy underwear and the creams and lubes and the gentle bondage stuff and the rampant rabbits and collars and cuffs and slapping paddles or nipple-ties … you know the lightweight stuff I mean….. Then you can weigh in, after that part’s finished, with those who want to stay for the ‘more interesting, and different’ ideas that you’ve got — and which they’ve come for?!”
“So, we’d just buy the underwear in larger sizes, and maybe the make-up and the hair, and talk about how to have their men engage with the whole idea…… The heavyweight stuff might come out at a later party — if some want to explore a little domination….. who knows? I do see where you’re coming from…… But we already have a date set for OUR party and it’s only a week away….. I think we may have to do that another time… Perhaps I could explore that in a phone call to the company……….”
The lovers resolved to prepare for their own party, but that Christine would engage with the party planner service to see if there was a way…. After all, it might not be unique for a party to be arranged for a group of women who are hell-bent upon feminizing their men friends!
Chapter 19 will complete the acceptance list and get us to the afternoon of the fateful evening!
The answer to “will they, won’t they?” is emphatically “They will!” The days pass by and the preparations… and the excitement… grow and grow!
Chapter 19 — Are we ready???!
It’s the afternoon before the fateful day and Astrid and Christine are reviewing what is left to complete their plan. Christine has dealt with the party planning organizer and Astrid has ordered and taken delivery of the supplementary supplies for the second half of the evening. There have been several further replies to the Invitation. Everything is looking good………
“It’s magic that you’ve sorted out the planner’s involvement. I’m so pleased. I can relax in the knowledge that while I’m upstairs transforming my self, you’ll be enjoying the party downstairs….. I’m sure your pussy will be a lot warmer and wetter as a result!!! Hee-hee!! What joy!!” Astrid giggled girlishly. “How did you break the news that there would be a second half and that there would be special interests to be dealt with then?”
“It was easy — surprisingly so…. And if I’m honest, I’m sure we’re not the first party to have an evening of girly games to start and a follow-up of girlifying partners later….. The woman who is coming didn’t pause for a moment when I explained that we had ideas of taking our husbands and boyfriends in this direction….. Kirsty, her name was…. She said that lots of parties are two-part affairs. Sometimes they do both, sometimes they leave the group to find their own ways through what they fancy. I told her she was welcome to stay but that we had it covered. She could just enjoy herself, maybe. You don’t mind another stranger do you, my darling?”
“Not at all…” Astrid answered with a twinkling of an eye, “……in fact, we might make a new friend…… if she’s as good at the first part, she might be the right person to run the evening when we get the group together with their ‘other halves’, don’t you think?”
Christine frowned and thought for a moment….. “Well, maybe, but don’t you think for one moment that I am giving up control of what happens and the way things happen. You’re coming along for the ride, and you’re going to show what delightful experiences we have had, and which they can have…… But you, and Kirsty aren’t in control here…. I am!” Christine was back to her usual hyper-assertive self.
“Ok, Ok, don’t lose your knickers….. You’re in charge…… I’ve done all that you told me on the ordering of the products that were chosen when we went through the website. I’ve unpacked them all …. And I resisted the temptation to try any of them out. All that needs to be done is to choose a place to have them to hand when the second session begins……..”
Astrid paused, looking for the bills and lists of what she had ordered online.
“….. Ok, like we agreed, we got some that will fit the party guests. I’ve got 34B and 36B and C of everything, size 14s and size 12s where dress sizes count. More importantly, I’ve got some that, by the end of the evening, they might want to take away for “exploratory purposes”! …. Larger sizes that their so-called men-folk might fit.” Getting excited now, Astrid lost her voice and became Andy all of a sudden….
“Don’t you dare do that tonight!” exclaimed Christine…. “Once you’re Astrid, you’re Astrid, right?
“Ok, Ok,…. Point taken….. Let me get on……. Starting with undies, we have bras in 36B and C, 38B, C and D, and 40B, C and D. We have panties in sizes 16 and 18. We have corselets, with suspenders, in 38B and C….. those with a 40 bust will either have to get their own later, or enjoy squeezing into a smaller size! We have two waist cincher belts that will get them to 30 and 34…… there are others which are much tougher in the catalogue that will go to 28 or even less but they could be ordered if people fancy them…….”
“Phew” That all sounds very sexy to me…” Christine entered a view…..
“Then we have pantie hose in 36 and 38 with reinforced support weave, because you know how much I love the clingy feel of support hose and they come in 10 and 15 denier so they’re very slinky….. And I got some stockings and suspenders, again, all 36 and 38 garters, the hose with long length legs.” Astrid’s list was longer and longer.
“I’m getting impatient here… that’s all very well about the underwear and I know you love undies so much my darling, but there’s got to be much more for the idea of transforming these women’s partners into beautiful women…… Where’s the list of the outerwear, and where are the cosmetics and the hair ranges, and the jewellery?” Christine had a short fuse sometimes so Andy realized he had to stop indulging his love of slinky, lacy underwear and get on with whole picture.
“Ok, Ok, there’s a short rack of summer dresses and some skirts and blouses. All of them are very feminine….. You want these women to go out of here feeling good to be a girl while they go home to make their men feel good to be girls as well……. Now, the designs are all from M&S so there’s a take-back option if none of them, or some of them don’t hit the spot with our girls. Floral print shift dresses, lacy tops, chiffon tops, swishy skirts, pleated skirts, and those indefinable “very sexy, come-to-bed” outfits that any woman might be a little embarrassed to wear except when her man is around. Ideal for them to turn the tables on their ‘gals’ I would think!”
“This is more like it…. I love the “put them in their place” aspect of that. At the end of this, the men… sorry the new women, will know their new place and love their new place!” Christine approved.
“I’m sure they’ll adore the lot of it… I know I would… or will, if you let me that is!” Astrid was in seventh heaven, describing all the beautiful clothes she had been able to choose. This whole process was truly a ‘first’ for her.
“What about breast enhancements?” Christine suddenly asked. She had been enjoying the description but then thought that there would be a severe ‘deficit’ in the tits department, come the end of the evening.
“Good thought…. That comes in my next department…… We move to fashion accessories. I have purses, or small handbags, just big enough for a lipstick, a hankie, a tampon and a petite mobile phone maybe. I have ‘evening’ bags too; covered in diamante and gold stitching. I have clip-on ear-rings, working on the assumption that none of their men will have pierced ears… well, not yet…. I mean, even I haven’t got pierced ears yet….!”
“No, my love, you haven’t and you’re right… but I doo think that we have to get on with that side of Astrid now….. You’re looking so lovely, as she does, I’m beginning to think that you must agree that the time has come to start living as Astrid and taking time out to be Andy more occasionally than normally. You enjoy being a girl, so much, don’t you. You must agree it makes sense….. “
Christine meant what she said — she had ‘that’ look on her face.
Andy struggled for words. This was a crucial moment that he knew would come around one day — he just didn’t expect it to be quite so soon. It wasn’t surprising. The pace of changes in himself were fast. The plan for the party and the feminizing of a whole community had rushed towards him like an express train!
“Ye….ah, maybe… Can we talk about this a little…. Not now, I mean, well, it’s a big step and……. You know… I love you so, so much…… and I think that’s what you want but it’s all about how we’re going to live…. It’ll be very different from me being myself much of the time and being Astrid when it suits you, or you fancy me….. doing…. That…. Or , wel, me, I mean, if it’s my choice…. I know when I choose to come to you as Astrid, you’ll always welcome me into your arms… But what about when I choose to be Andy…. Will it be the same… I mean, I’m not really certain that it would be…. Oh, darling, I don’t know what I’m trying to say but… we need to talk… so that you’re aware of my feelings and I’m aware of yours…. It would mean us living as two women… two women in love with eacother…… Really, well, lesbians, as far as the world is concerned…. I mean, I’ll be a transgender woman, ok, but well, right now, I’m not ready to be a transsexual woman…. There’s a huge difference….. Well,….” Andy stopped briefly and laughed, “The difference isn’t huge but I still have a cock and it’s still all yours to do with what you want. I don’t want to lose that… In fact, the more I’m thinking, the more I want to keep hold of my little friend…..”
Andy paused for Astrid to gather her breath. For once, Christine was stuck for words.
“My lover, my love, Don’t you worry. Don’t be concerned. Nobody’s going to chop off your little cock….. sorry, your lovely wonderful cock that I adore…. Nobody’s going to have THAT of you without a fight with me first!…” Christine saw at once that Andy needed reassurance.
Now was not the time to talk about any further, and more permanent changes in her husband. After all, even she didn’t know that she wanted to make any permanent changes….. Apart from maybe getting some boobs for him……. In fact, that would be very nice……..
“Honey, we dn’t have to go down that road today, or tonight….. All I’m saying is that you’re a very attractive woman, to me at least, and you pass very well for most people’s purposes. You are a woman. Your clothes say so, your make-up and hair — especially your beautiful beautiful hair — say so…… Your voice lets you down sometimes and we may need speech therapy, but for now, you’re demure enough to carry off the illusion that we’ve created together. Much more so that me and my “Christopher”… I mean, you might think I look sexy when I’m boy-ed up but do you seriously think people take me for a guy??? I seriously doubt it…..”
“You’re wrong…. “ Andy interjected, “… you’re forgetting the times this week around the village. The people we met really did think that Andy and Christine had gone away and that we, Christopher and Astrid were staying in the house in their place….. OK, so Heidi and Bev, and little Lottie, all were told, but the first two knew before being told, I’m sure……”
“Whatever…..” Christine started over, her aim being to calm and reassure Andy into the acceptance that nothing needed to change.. not yet, not for a while, and not until he and she too, were ready. “This is all about consensus, darling. You are my man, and you are my wife too. I love both of you. Now give me a kiss…..”
The kiss lasted longer than she may have bargained for and there were still other
--oo00oo–
“We have to finish on fashion accessories…..” said Andy, his feminine guise having been reduced and then removed in the aftermath of an hour’s passion in bed. This was proving to be a marathon journey which both the lovers found impossible to turn away from……..
“Ok, so what do you have to finish — and how much of this stuff is you buying for yourself to keep long term??! It’s not as though I can’t tell there’s a lot of self indulgence being done in this online retail therapy!” Christine didn’t object at all — after all, they both had good careers and good salaries…… they could afford such indulgence. In fact, that thought raised another track of ‘what if’ in Christine’s mind. What if?...... what if Andy did want to live as a girl, with me, here,….. How would this affect his job? How would that side of life be affected. Most employers have no experience of transgender or transgendered employees. Many would faint at the thought of opening their doors to a woman who used to be a guy…..
“Well, the last departments to visit in my online shop were those of jewellery and hair. I’m leaving the last until last - because you know of my adoration for the change that comes about when a man takes on feminine hair…..”
Christine smiled. If Andy had one total weakness, that was it!
Andy continued. “In this department we have the finishing touches that transform the ‘bloke in a dress’ to the fabulous woman he knows by then that he always wanted to be but was too scared to say!
We have delicious jewellery that will adorn the ears, necks, wrists and ankles of a sexy lady. There’s even a special box with is black and lined in satin, red satin, which is reserved for nipple adornments — little grips, little clamps, lacy covers, tassles, and swingy knotted strings. All to be kept under wraps until needed in the bedroom!
The ears can be adorned with our stunning rhinestone clip-on studs and dangling versions. Other examples, for our customers with pierced ears, can be seen on request. Piercing of earlobes can be arranged at a moment’s notice.
For the neck, we have collars in satin , lace and leather. All of these can be wonderful for spiced-up evenings in the boudoir. Alternatively, lighter, and less dramatic lace collars are available for day-wear.
For wrist and ankles, a selection of lacy strap-on restraints are a popular choice for genlte fore-play between consenting ladies. Based on establishing trust between two lovers, they don’t need the more sensational leather cuffs and ankle-binders which can also be found in the previously mentioned special black box with satin lining.”
Andy was in his element, his Astrid voice had gone again….. Christine giggled at the thought of her choosing some of these items for Astrid herself.
“You don’t need sales training for this, darling…. I’ll buy the lot for you!!!! It would give me the greatest pleasure to adorn your femaleness with some of the selections available. Can we have a special a deux session!?”
“Not until I reveal my final selections… Then and only then can we make a date…” said Andy in his very best Astrid voice. Christine loved it.
“…Our range of wigs and hair pieces, including extensions, and including both natural and fashion colours, is the highlight of the presentation.
Look please, if you will, firstly at the “Everyday” range which we recommend for wearing about the home and on short excursions once our clients’ confidence has been established. There are three options; the “Monroe” with bold parting and fringe set above curly flicked-up neckline — an absolute favourite, especially for newly-feminized males. They seem to love the total femininity they gain as soon as the wig is styled. Then there is the universally-loved Page Boy “Bob”, which is anything but a boy’s style. It’s sleek, shimmering and beautifully cut into the neck above the nape. It swings with a natural feel about it that all girls love. Finally, there is the longer “Scarlet” that can be worn as a shoulder length mane — though still an everyday style - or as a beautiful, sophisticated “up-do” This wig gives a flexibility of look that many clients love at the time when they are thinking of being a bit bolder with their dressing!......
Andy paused for breath once more and said,
And that, Ladies, is our presentation for tonight! Your questions are very welcome and you may try any of these items for yourselves, or your loved ones!”
Christine laughed and literally shouted “BRAVO!!”
“You are irresistible and I need to kiss you all over, my darling….. Come here!”
--oo00oo–
After a great snog and a romp in the soft furnishings downstairs, Andy and Chriistine recovered their composure sufficiently to move on in their discussions of the evening’s activities.
Thee rest of the acceptances needed to be reviewed so that they would know who was who for the very important second half of the party and the follow-up in the days to come.
“It was a good idea of yours to have name badges made so that everyone can be called by their first names. After all, most of them, like us, won’t know who the hell the rest are. I’d guess that Heidi and Bev are the only two who have a chance of knowing most of the girls we’ll meet” Andy was glad that Christine had thought of that — he was very bad with recalling names, especially if they had fabulous tits and eyes and hair!.
“Ok, let’s go through the badges. That way we’ll know we have everybody covered.” Christine was in management mode.
“There’s you and me…. That’s one for me as Christine, and two for you as Andy, for the first half, or the meeting and greeting before Andy disappears, and as Astrid for the second.”
“Right, … but won’t you want one as Christopher…. Or is Christopher not getting a mention in here tonight?”
Andy was right. They hadn’t discussed anything to do with Christine’s crossdressing at all.
“You could leave the party five minutes before the end and come back dressed as Christopher, couldn’t you. Just to show that dressing isn’t a one-way street?” Andy set an intriguing conundrum. Would this enhance the evening or distract from the overall intention? Did they want these ladies to go home with double role-reversa l in mind?
“Damn, damn, damn, You have a point…” Christine accepted but, in view of the shortness of time for the evening and for her to get ready a Christopher costume, it was too late…. “A point you may have, but it would get in the way. Let’s answer a question if that comes up.. like if someone asks if I’ve ever been tempted…. Which of course, I have!”
“We’re not going to lose Christopher in all of this ..er… ‘project’, are we? I mean, I do hope not. Astrid needs a man to take her places, you know that. And, there’s what he needs to do for her pleasure in the marital bed…… and on the stairs, and in the lounge…..!!! Wherever he fancies a fuck, you know Astrid will be there…..! “ Andy spoke the truth. “…….She loves you with a passion, Christine, but variety is the spice of life, you know! Or its it ‘diversity’ that we have to call it these ‘PC’ days??? So, I hope Christopher will be there sometimes. “
Christine smiled and was thankful for a moment, for she, too, enjoyed her hours as Christopher, just occasionally. And Andy was right; they needed to be a couple much of the time and, the more he would spend his time as Astrid, the more she would need to be the man at her side. This was an aspect of transforming her husband that she needed to think through some more.
“My darling, I’ll be there however you want me, whenever you want me…… now, let’s get on with the Acceptance list…….
…..Ok, now we know that we have Heidi, Bev and Lottie coming. They’re the three that know our secret but, as yet, don’t know what our intention is with the second half of the parry. Heidi and Lottie know that they’re going to help you become the prettiest Astrid you’ve ever been, don’t they? That’s excellent — you need to have no worries about your final entrance with them at your side!”
Andy’s heart tripped a beat or two at the thought. Coming back into a room full of, by that time, alcohol-fuelled and randy women, dressed as his alter ego, Astrid, Andy feared for his safety. If Christine’s persuasive skills had worked, this lot would be ready to tear Astrid’s clothes off her back to get at his cock!
“Good, that’s five of us, if you include Astrid, so, who else? There’s Jenny the AmDram Diva, Cathy, the redhead, Pammie, the one-time Goth, who else?”
“Well since the first day, we’ve added Pritti from the corner store, which was a pleasant surprise, but then she probably wrote a chapter of the Kama Sutra herself! And then we have Emma from number 7 who’s at home all day and, we understand, takes in “visitors” from time-to-time. I wonder what they get up to? Oh, and from number 6, we have Samantha, who is reported to have a huge appetite… as does her husband who spies say… that’s Lottie….. could be a Queen in the waiting! Now, isn’t that more than enough? We didn’t get replies from the others, including the big house, number 5 where the two kids are never seen together…… You know what kids are, I’d expect them to turn up anyway……”
“Brilliant… at least eight, no eleven!..... are coming…..” said Christine….. “…We have enough booze for that lot and, by the time we reach half time, there will be a good spirit to push us on for when the real fun begins!”
“Time’s getting short now if we are to both have a bath or shower and then get the merchandise all set out. We can rely on the party planner to do the first half with all that she will want to display. We’ll keep our secret supplies for later. How are you going to introduce the concept?” Andy was still unclear how the change of direction, towards a crossdressing future for these ladies’ males would begin.
“Simple darling, I’ll rely on the impact of your arrival and continue with a simple explanation…. I plan to say…… now, ladies, we’ve all enjoyed the evening so far but I have a little surprise for you…… Welcome, Astrid! This is a new member of the party……. Come in and meet everyone….. Astrid, say hello to Jenny, Pammie and Cathy…… and now say hello to Lottie and Heidi, whom you know… and Bev, of course……. And now, say hello to Pritti, Emma and Samantha. Ladies, Astrid is, in fact, my wife. You met her earlier when we welcomed you to our home…. And Astrid and I would like to show you how much fun a couple can have when they exchange roles from time to time…… Astrid is my wife when we’re here at home alone….. She’s also my girlfriend if we go out for the night, perhaps to a club……… …………………….. And that’s the way I’ll go on. And I want you to play your part and tell them how you came to enjoy playing the role of my wife…… and the pleasure it gives you to be as feminine as you so wonderfully are………”
“When you say it that way, it sounds so easy….!” Andy said, as he turned to go upstairs to prepare for becoming himself again, for the welcome session in the evening.
Chapter 20 will find us as the party guests arrive, with Andy as Andy, and Christine as Christine, for a night of changes!
Hours to go…. The lovers have to prepare their home for the party-goers and themselves for being the reception Committee. So much to do, and so little time!
Chapter 20 — We are ready!!!!
Andy climbed the stairs, his daytime Astrid persona about to be tucked away until after the guests had all arrived. First, he would look after himself. He would get ready to be Andy at his most manly. Curious then that his preparations made him feel quite girly…… He took a shower and made sure to remove all his traces of make-up and fragrance. He would leave shaving until the last moment before dressing once more during the party.
He ladled himself in moisturising body lotion to soften the skin over his neck, shoulders, arms and torso. He loved the slippery feel of the crá¨me and wallowed in the luxury of the feel of the skin once it was all rubbed in. There was more work to be done on the legs. As a male, he would be wearing trousers and so nobody would know that every strand of body hair had been removed with Veet-O crá¨me. (Nor would they know that he would already be wearing girly underwear to welcome them!)
He strolled about the bedroom swathed in a beautiful Egyptian cotton towel that caressed his now smooth skin. A hand towel was wrapped about his head, obscuring the lengthening mane of now reddish hair. Reddish hair that, with its highlights, could not be mistaken for male. It was now feminine in the extreme. That was part of making Andy see the sense of living more as a woman in future than as a man. Tonight, he would welcome the visitors with a jaunty knitted cap. That would hide what he would later reveal as Astrid’s glorious crowning glory.
Andy was always convinced that in the transformation from male to female, it is always the hair that completes the image and makes the rest of the illusion a reality.
He sat in the chair at the vanity dressing table and stared at himself in the mirror. The towel hid his hair. His eyebrows were still androgynous. He had resisted Christine’s attempts to pluck them to within an inch of their little lives…. That might come later, but not tonight! His skin was very much in need of cosmetic assistance. Teenage acne had not been kind to him, that was for sure, nor the UV treatment that he had consciously over-dosed on to get rid of those zits….
Andy studied his face. It was really in need of help to create the illusion of being female. He would have help, but his confidence did drain away a little in those few moments. What would Christine say? She would bully him into forgetting that he was ever male. He needed that. He needed to be helped to see that he was really, truly, female within… and therefore he could look very feminine outside…..
He shivered a little. The fluffy towel needed to be drawn around his body more tightly to keep him warm. To keep him feeling loved. Love your body. Love the skin you’re in!
He planned to put two coats of nail polish on his toes now, to allow them to dry before getting dressed. He would hide these red beauties in slippers during ‘arrivals’. Nobody would notice. But he would know they were fiery red beneath.
Nail polish for his fingers would then be a last minute detail before he made his entrance to the party. Lottie would help with them. He couldn’t rely on himself to do a professional job on his hands. Toes? Yes. Fingers? NO!
He was suddenly conscious of wasting time. Ok, he wasn’t exactly admiring his own image, but he was making sure where he had to spend the time to do his best at feminizing what he saw. He could hear Christine working away downstairs. His nudity under the towel was so all-consuming. He let the towel fall open. He looked at his body and tears came to his eyes.
He looked again and again at various parts of what he saw. The face…. That was ok… it would improve a lot with help from Lottie…. The hair would be great…. Heidi would do her best and it would look wonderful, and would make him feel he was the woman he wanted to be. But the chest was so, so disappointing. Flat… ok, slightly rounded, but with nipples the size of garden peas…. How he wished he had bigger tits and huge nipples…. Nipples that Christine would love to suck and lick and bite and nibble…… Oh! How he wished he had assets there. Perhaps he would begin the conversation with Christine that could take him in the direction of some slight body modification. He knew she would be all for the idea…. Even if she protested her innocence at first! He would know that she would want that to be “Astrid’s idea”.
Then, he looked at the waist. How gross was that. Despite careful eating and some body-toning exercise, Astrid would need a lot of help in the waist-cinching department if she were to look truly girly. And that made Andy both happy and miserable. Miserable at what he could see, but happy at the thought of a waist-cincher.
Then, there it was, ….the maleness that Andy despaired of. It wouldn’t function in a rock-hard way that men were supposed to brag about. No. His cock, apart from being small in his mind, was always semi-hard but never solid. It was hanging there, his bollocks almost hidden. Luckily, the softness of his cock and the smallness of his bollocks meant that he was rarely troubled by an embarrassing lump in his outerwear.
“How confused am I?!” he said to himself. Christine would help, he was sure. He told himself how much he loved her and that he must go along with her ideas, just to show her so.
Though he had never dared to tuck them away and tape the rest out of sight, Andy wished they were gone. In that moment. He wished they were gone. But then again, a moment later, he thought that he would never, ever, get rid of them.
He would be a chick with a dick and pray that the dick worked better than it did. Christine, he was sure, would be all in favour of that. She might be happy to share her life with a male lesbian, but she didn’t want a whole one! “But I can’t stand here looking at you….” he told his balls.
Time was indeed pressing on. First priority then was to set out the clothes that Astrid would be wearing when she appears after the break in proceedings.
--oo00oo–
Downstairs, Christine had turned her hand to the layout of the lounge room where the party would take place. She would then lay out the drinks and nibbles that she would provide. Kirsty, the party organizer would need to be ‘centre stage’ in order to give a full view of her merchandise to the party participants.
Christine laid a small table with a lace table cloth, the table being big enough for the selection of toys and clothes to be set out and selected from.
She put lace squares over the arms of the chairs and sofas, to enhance the girly nature of the evening. Kirsty had told her that she would decorate the room with some of her own professional ‘atmospherics’.
She lined up a series of music tracks on her i-POD and let the programme begin. First up was Carly Simon’s “You’re so vain”, which she knew would raise a few laughs. Next, she lined up “I’m a woman… w..o..m..a..n” performed by some raunchy old gal whose name she had forgotten. Tina Turner’s “Simply the best” followed that, and the list went on. (suggestions welcome, dear Readers….!) Christine let the CD play on to enhance her own good feelings about what was to come.
She sat for a few moments and thought just how much she was looking forward to the evening’s fun. How proud she was going to be to show off her husband and then, in the natural course of the party, introduce him again … as her own ‘wife’! How cool! How much she loved him!! Andy… or Astrid…. It was like being married TWICE and having all the benefits of a husband and a wife!!!
She was sure that this idea would be fast to catch on when the ladies of Much Humping were introduced to it.
Daring to dream, Christine thought of the end of the evening when, with all the guests gone having committed themselves to moving their own lives and husbands on in the right direction, …..She, Christine and, she, Astrid, would be in bed together. She envisaged the love-making that would certainly follow. The orgasms they would both have. The eventual sleep they would enjoy with their bodies entwined, their nightdresses all tangled beautifully together.
She reminded herself of the surprise Andy would have when she gave him one of a pair of matching new nightdresses that she had bought a few days previously.
Breathless, and aware of the wetness of her pussy that she loved to feel when fully dressed, Christine turned to the drinks and nibbles to be laid out before the guests.
Her own preference, for a Martini cocktail, took precedence. Plenty of ingredients for those! Whatever anyone else wanted would take second place. “It’s my party and I’ll FRY if I want to!” she said to herself out loud.
There were bottles of pink Prosecco, her favourite Italian wine, and vodka for Bloody Marys which, Christine told herself, always go down well at parties! The nibbles consisted of specially-bought, dildo-shaped cheese biscuits (which women are encouraged to bite the heads off before consuming… ain’t it amazing what can be found on e-Bay!). Olives also available, ideal for popping into a pussy and rummaging for with your tongue. Lastly, brandy butter balls, ideal for smearing over nipples as food for thought while licking the butter off!
“Yummy!” Christine said to herself as she laid out each plate. “Yummeeee!”.
As ‘things’ had gone quiet upstairs, Christine stepped quietly to the foot of the stairs, hoping to hear sounds that would betray what Andy was up to. She heard a gentle voice, humming sounds of the 1970s….. Astrid was getting to work choosing her outfit…
--oo00oo–
Back upstairs, Andy had enjoyed his pampering with his towel for long enough. He stood with a hand towel wrapped around his head, encasing his newly-shampooed hair. His crowning glory. His red, red hair that was enhanced with highlights. The hair that couldn’t possibly be male. The hair that would be covered while he was Andy for the party-goers. It would be covered by a closely-fitting cap. All tucked away. Ready for Lottie and Heidi’s attentions for Astrid’s return.
He removed the towel, now the hair would be towel-dry. He shook his head, playfully, looking in the mirror. The hair fell about his cheeks and settled on his neckline, the soft waves arranging themselves naturally. God! He felt girly!
He had to force himself back to masculinity. Leaving his shaving until he prepared to emerge as Astrid, he looked carefully in the shaving mirror to see if he could credibly call his facial hair the trendy modern “designer stubble”…..
Well, he admitted to himself, it looked as though he hadn’t shaved… but more out of laziness than “design”. Never mind, a slight haze over his chin would be a bit more maleness to be removed when he became Astrid again. He would shave around the edges to give more of an intended look. Yes, that would work.
Reflecting, once again, Andy thought just how much he hated shaving. He hated it with a vengeance. What is the most un-feminine experience a man can have? Shaving! Why did God invent beards?! God must really have hated Adam. Didn’t give him tits when the tits were being handed out! Made man fart when there must be a better way to expel unwanted gas! The list is endless…… Andy thought. “Why can’t a man be more like a woman?! Not necessarily identical, but much more like…..
His thoughts trailed off as he put on the luxurious girly panties that he would be wearing under his “guy gear” that evening. He would start with his male clothes on top, but with girly underwear. Lovely lacy panties and matching bra. Very lightest pink possible, fringed with white lace. Matching suspender belt and, for a special occasion like tonight…. White stockings!! Under his male socks, of course…….
No padding in the bra to start off with, but plenty later on when he was allowed to show his “bust”… he liked that word…… “bust”….. oh, if only……!!
“My bust…. Is getting larger,… no it’s fuller!!…” he said into the mirror, proudly.
Pausing to wrap his peignoir around his body, Andy then went to the close where his ‘special interest’ clothes were kept. Not a huge collection but, nowadays, ‘something for every occasion’.
For this occasion, the most typical outfit would be for a cocktail party. Andy selected the black pencil skirt with the wide diamante waistband. That would look good, tightly cinched-in……. Then he paused. ……No, he thought, ....what am I thinking!? He said to himself in his head….. Damn! …..Not with these white stockings….. Damn……. Wrong decision.
The white pencil skirt, with the tight white waistband, instead, would look equally good. That also meant white strappy sandals on the feet. The ones with the two inch heels would be ideal — understated, not too tipsy, strappy leather to expose those ruby red toenails! Bring it on!, he thought.
He carefully laid the skirt and the shoes on the bed, from where he would collect them when getting dressed around 9.00 to 9.30pm. Now for the top. A lovely feminine blouse, he thought. The one with chiffon sleeves and the bright flashes of pastel colours. Full sleeves to hide the masculine arms he loathed.
The blouse’s open neckline would cry out for chunky jewellery which was easily found in Christine’s vanity unit. Andy played with a couple of rhinestone jobbies but in the end chose a more feminine necklace of black pearls, something he had bought for Christine on a holiday in the Caribbean and which he had always lusted after for himself. There were earrings to match. Luckily, both stud and clip earrings were there. Andy had not yet crossed the rubicon of pierced ears, so the clip-on set would be fine. The pearls were offset by another beautiful component — a matching bracelet whose pearls glistened blue-black in the spotlight above the vanity unit.
The jewellery was laid beside the blouse. Andy’s choices looked good when set out together. He would look well, Astrid would look a million dollars tonight.
Andy’s eyes were moistened with tears as he felt the femininity well up inside him. Ok, he knew he didn’t have the hormones within him…. But he felt girly enough to be in love with himself for one of the very few times in his life……
He knew he could do this. Christine knew he doubted himself, but she had confidence in him. He now shared that. His wife had willed him to go for the top prize and he would get there. He would be “Miss Crossdress” tonight. And where he, or rather she, would lead, he was confident there would be others to follow her.
She then stepped back into the room to find the drab clothes into which she would now “cross” dress, into masculinity. He would make Christine proud. He would make her love Astrid even more. They would make such a pretty pair.
He found himself humming the tune from Carly’s “You’re so vain” once again……
As he put on those drab clothes, how very ordinary he felt as a man. “Why do the girls have all the luck?”, he asked himself, out loud. He chose a very ordinary YSL tee-shirt with a soft collar and short sleeves, to cover the unfilled bra, chinos for trousers to cover the lacy panties, suspenders and stockings, and grey socks to finish.
He stood back and twirled in front of the full-length mirror that Christine used. How dull? How impossibly ordinary!? “I can’t wait……” he said to himself — or was it herself? Astrid was there, albeit hidden from casual view. But her hair had to be hidden. That was the give-away now. Andy couldn't be Andy if his hair was Astrid's. He loved it so much, he was content for this to be the way it would be. Girly. Sexy. Attractive...... But for the start of the evening, it had to be covered. So Andy found the knitted cap that would cover his hair for an hour or two. He placed it on his head and carefully tucked all the strands of red and blonde into their hiding place. "Ok, Geezer?!" he said to the mirror. The mirror nodded, "Ok!"
--oo00oo–
Christine had finished ‘downstairs’ when the bell rang announcing the arrival of Kirsty, their party planner and MC for the first half. Am impressive and attractive woman in her 30s, Kirsty had a sexuality that was breathable. Bottle it and sell it, you’d make a million. Her confidence showed. Her confidence came from having done more than a thousand such parties.
“I understand that you have plans of your own for the later part of the evening. Is that so?” Kirsty asked, coming straight to the point in the first salvo of conversation. This indicated that she felt her abilities might be being questioned or criticized. She would be pleased to run the second half of the party herself, she told Christine. “After all, it’s my job, and you’re here to enjoy yourself, aren’t you?”
“Fair point, but I do have all the plans complete and it’s not at all what you’re likely to be used to doing, I would think.” Christine countered, in a gentle and likeable way.
“Darling….” Kirsty’s first big mistake….. Nobody calls Christine Darling without invitation! “……Darling, there’s nothing I haven’t been asked to do, nothing at all, …….. and nothing I haven’t done with great success……”
Kirsty had blown it. Christine reacted. Her tone was charming, but icy.
“Well, maybe that’s so, but the truth is, we’re going to do this and you’re welcome to stay if you wish.. but the second part won’t be a selling opportunity. You can join in, and you can help to inspire confidence in these women to do what we’re suggesting, but unless that’s ok with you, it would be best if you left us to enjoy ourselves….”
Christine took no prisoners. “Put up and leave, or shut up and stay if you wish.”
“Fair enough, I’ll probably leave if it’s all the same to you.” Kirsty didn’t win that one! And she knew it. And she didn’t yet know what the format and the goals were for the second session. Boy oh boy, would she get a surprise if she stayed, thought Christine.
Christine offered Kirsty a drink and then left her to set up what she needed as a platform for the evening’s programme. She went back to the foot of the stairs and called up “Andy, honey, Kirsty’s here and would like to meet you while I’m getting changed. Are you ready?”
--oo00oo–
As they crossed on the stairs, Christine said “She’s an overconfident cow, pushed to run the whole show, so I played hardball and she’ll probably leave. I’ll leave you to tell her what’s in our minds…. See if you can get her to stay! I’ll bet you a tenner that you can’t!”
Andy almost fell down the last ten stairs.
He came upon Kirsty standing in the lounge among an array of very sexy clothing that she had hung on a rail in the centre of the room. Presumably, the atmosphere of the evening would be set by the style and sexiness of the gear on offer. On the side table, there were boxes and boxes, all hidden under wraps - they would clearly be revealed later in the evening. There, linked up to a laptop, was a quite large screen that, Andy worked out, would show the CD films that were ranged in front of the screen.
This was going to be “some presentation”. Andy smiled at the thought of how Kirsty would engage with the group and, once their defences were down, how she might encourage “audience participation”. How she did that would help him and Christine to get the group really involved with their plans later in the evening. He shuddered in anticipation at the pleasures in store.
They talked about minor aspects of the range of products that Kirsty had brought with her. She was remarkably self-assured and uninhibited about discussing which of her products were the most popular…. And among which groups of customers.
It was no surprise to Andy that the dildo christened the “Rampant Rabbit” was most popular with the “20-somethings and the 30-somethinghs”, mainly bought at “hen nights” before girls of that age would get married. “Just right to dent the arrogance of new husbands…” she laughed.
You bitch! thought Andy. He said nothing, just glared at her. How typical of the modern-day put-down for the guys in relationships — especially those where they’re showing some commitment by getting married.
What a bitch!
Andy didn’t like this woman at all. There was no way he was going to try to win ten pounds from his wife in the wager she had offered on the stairs. In fact, he would pay her to have this woman gone by the time Astrid appeared in all her glory! He looked her up and down and thought, in England we have a name for people like you. Scrubber, that’s a good one for you. Beats working on the street. You think you’re sexy but you’re really a bit of a slag……….
“New husbands have a lot to contend with …. without that. So, I expect you have a good response from mixed audiences with that idea. ……Anyhow, you have a ladies-only evening tonight and that can bring different enjoyment for you personally, no doubt. I’ll leave you here to get on…. Would you like tea? We have English Breakfast or Earl Gray…… whichever you choose.” Andy kept talking as he was leaving the room. Kirsty knew she was getting no respect or admiration from this guy.
“Nothing stronger?” asked this person. “No, nothing stronger, but I’ll put another bag in the teapot if you wish….” As he left the room, he thought, ‘another bag in the pot for a scrag bag woman…..’
--oo00oo–
Christine descended the stairs to find Kirsty sitting alone in the lounge area, still surrounded by her display of merchandise. “He’s in the kitchen.” was all she said.
Christine immediately knew that ‘something was up’….
“What’s that all about?” she said, accusingly, when she found Andy in the separate room. “I’m not going to waste my time with a woman like her…” he said. “…. Why can women in general be so wonderful and then spawn something so repulsive. I hope the guests don’t think we spend our lives in the company of strangers like her.”
“Ok, Ok, I get the point. She won’t be staying after the break then?” Christine guessed the answer to her rhetorical question. “Over my painted face, she won’t.”
Realizing that there was no need to explore what had happened between her husband and this woman, Christine put her hands up to indicate agreement. Kirsty would be gone. Heidi, Bev and Lottie would be the only participants who weren’t residents of the village.
Reality dawned on the pair of lovers. “There’s less than half an hour until the first of them arrive…. What’s left to do?” Andy said, in a sudden panic.
“Pour the Martinis!” Christine replied, in a suggestive way.
--oo00oo–
“Hello, I’m Christine and this is my husband, Andy….” Was the first greeting, to be repeated several times as the front door was opened.
“I’m Jenny, from next door… it’s nice to actually meet for the first time…. I’ve seen you, Christine, and always meant to come in and introduce myself….”
“Well, we’ll get to know you very well by the end of the evening, I hope.” Andy replied, noticing that Jenny hadn’t taken her eyes off Christine so far. He went on, “Do come in and let me get you a drink…. What would you like? Martini cocktail, Pink Prosecco?….”
“Oooh! I just love Prosecco and a pink one would be especially lovely. I’m really looking forward to the evening. We do a lot of role playing, Peter and I, and it’s always nice to get new ideas….” She said to Christine as Andy turned to pour the fizz.
“You do amateur dramatics, don’t you?” asked Christine. “Well, yes, but how did you know that?” came the reply. Not wanting to admit her research avenues, in other words Heidi and Lottie, or Bev, Christine replied “Oh, I think I saw your name on a programme for a play…..”
“Have this and let’s drink a toast to ‘enjoyment’….” Said Andy as he handed the fizzing glass to his first guest.
“I’ll drink to that!” said Christine, aware that jenny was still looking directly at her. Jenny’s eyes were somehow penetrating. Disturbing, maybe, if you let such things disturb you. Which Christine didn’t. She just returned the gaze.
The temperature in the room seemed to rise by five degrees in that moment.
The front door bell rang again and there, as Andy opened the door, was Heidi, accompanied by Lottie. “Wonderful!!..” exclaimed Andy. “I’m delighted you could come!” Not a word of a lie… what would he have done to transform himself into Astrid if they hadn’t arrived!??
“Come in, come in… let me get you drinks… martini cocktails or pink Prosecco?? Christine and I are on the Prosecco…..”
“Thank you so much for inviting us…. Prosecco for both of us please… we’re looking forward to everything that’s going to happen tonight…” said Heidi, with a knowing kind of wink. Indeed, she was relishing the help she would be giving to Astrid…. As well as seeing all the women getting in the mood….. There would be lots to talk about in the salon when all the women came in for their next appointments.
Almost immediately, and before Andy returned with their drinks, Heidi and Lottie had to move away from the door as the doorbell rang again.
When Christine opened the door, there stood Pammie, who could pass for the village’s own Cruella de Vil. Heidi had re-coloured her hair just the day before and, as she said hello to this striking woman, thought that the blue haze she had added to the raven black was maybe a little strong…. But that’s what Pammie had wanted. To make an impression!.
Pammie’s dress was long and slinky. Her tall figure was slimmer than ever and added to the Cruella image. Her lipstick was dark burgundy and her eyeshadow crystal blue. Andy saw her from across the room as he returned with Heidi and Lottie’s drinks. He found her image magnetic. I wonder maybe if I should try going blue-black when I change my hair colour, one day? He thought to himself.
“There you are ladies,” he said handing the drinks to the hairdresser and her helper…. “Please go in and I’ll join you………..” Heidi and Lottie did as they were bidden and Andy turned to Pammie. “You’re looking very well… it’s Pammie, isn’t it? I’m Andy — I’m the man of the house around here….” but he thought to himself, how wrong is that?!
“Well, I’m pleased to get away from the man about my house for an evening. I’m looking forward to some girly fun. I really am. He can be tiresome, you know….. What are you doing here, anyway? I thought it was “Ladies only” for the night?”
“Well, not exactly…. I’m allowed to be here to meet all you lovely ladies and then I’ll bow out…. I may just come back towards the end, depending on what Christine has planned. Now, for a drink…. I suspect you would like an especially strong version of the Martini cocktail I’ve created….. Heavy on the vodka???!” Andy asked…. Having assessed his guest correctly, it would prove. He fancied this woman now he had seen her ‘up close’.
So, the party was beginning to swing. Andy and Christine had Jenny, who was making eyes at Christine, Heidi and Lottie, who were looking forward to some sexy fun before getting to grips with Andy’s transformation into Astrid, and they had Pammie who was the subject of Andy’s close attention. Not enough for a quorum for the second half as planned, but nearly so.
Andy and Christine exchanged glances as the doorbell rang again. Who was coming in next?
Chapter 21 will see us through to half time, and Kirsty’s departure.
The lovers are welcoming people they have never met into their home for the party of a lifetime. Their excitement was almost so strong that it could be bottled and sold as a cocktail!
Chapter 21 — We’re up and running!!!!
As Jenny and Christine and Pammie stood exchanging first ‘pleasantries’, Heidi and Lottie gulped their drinks down. This was going to be a party where people let their hair down and Heidi wanted to be there to pin it up again! “I’m glad you let me do your hair right up for the party Lottie…” said Heidi. “… it’s looking sexier than I’ve ever seen you. I’m really proud of my work today!”
“Well, you can talk! I’m more than proud of the make-up I’ve done on you my lovely boss! You’re a very different lady to the everyday one I see in the salon. I think today could be the first day of your life in more ways than one….” retorted Lottie, who was already feeling the effect of a first glass of Prosecco. “Imagine, there will be gossip aplenty for us to keep stored away. Andy you’re going to be a much more glamorous hairdresser than before. You s aid you wanted to change in that direction. Well, now’s your chance. Heidi, no longer in hiding!!”
Heidi stood back and laughed. “You’re not wrong….” She said, thinking about what the party clearly would involve. “I’m looking forward to taking a few toys home. Pity there aren’t any toy-boys to go with them!”
Heidi reached over and tucked one of Lottie’s tendril curls back into the high point of her Assistant’s pony tail. She had carefully constructed the ponytail to be absolutely tight to Lottie’s head, shimmeringly glossy. She had then peeled away several curls and combed them through into perfect rolls that she had then pinned in there separate tiers, rising to unimaginable blonde heights. Then, sprayed until crisp with lacquer of the strongest holding strength, Heidi had kissed the back of Lottie’s neck and whispered “Enjoy!”
“You should think about the colour of your hair next time, you know…” Lottie said as they looked about the room. “I don’t see you as a raven-headed temptress like her over there, but you could enrich the brunette you already are… maybe to be chestnut, rich, rich chestnut. I like that….. It would suit you.”
They girls both looked round when the doorbell rang again. Andy was soon at the door and, upon its opening, there stood Emma, one of the newly-weds from number seven. She and he husband Justin were known in the village for their relative wealth, considering their age, and the flashy cars they drove. She was known to “be at home all day” and, sometimes, to “take in visitors”. Both had been divorced before. Both had cited, or been cited for “unreasonable behaviour”. Whatever that meant. Perhaps, Andy thought, we’ll find out.
“Come in, come in. I’m Andy, The man of the house… Welcome” he said to Emma who smiled and slid past her host, making sure to rub her torso along his hip. If Andy was any judge, he would say that Emma had a couple of vodkas under her belt already. “A Martini cocktail?.....” he enquired. Emma’s response was predictable. 2Make mine a double!”
Emma was quite a stunner. Her dress was cut low and her tits were a pair of beauties for all to admire. It ended well above the knees, making sure that all in the room could tell it was summer! Little did they know, she was celebrating summer by coming “in commando”. She preferred the wind freely caressing her pussy on nights like tonight.
“Let me introduce you and then I’ll bring the cocktails over. Excuse me….” He said, intervening in Pammie’s vocal effort to impress Christine and Jenny. “…Here are Christine, my wife, and Jenny from number 2. Over there, you’ll find Lottie and Heidi from the salon up the way….. Come over girls. This is Emma, from number 7.”
Pammie finished her sentence and looked sideways at Emma. Clearly, she saw a competitor for attention in the room…… “How nice to meet you again… I’m sure we met just after you and your husband arrived in the village, didn’t we?” The implication was clear…. Pammie thought they had met and hadn’t intended that the experience would be repeated.
“Oh, indeed, we did. I think I met your husband again a little while later…” Emma went on, perhaps recalling a visit from Justin as one of her “visitors”. He had reacted very well to her flirtations when they first met and she knew he had engineered a meeting in the village when Pammie wasn’t around. They had indeed “met” without her around.
Christine sensed an ‘atmosphere’ developing and said “Emma, do come over and meet Heidi who is my hairdresser. If you haven’t been to her salon, you really must…” She steered Emma away from Pammie, leaving the raven continuing to talk at Jenny. Jenny meanwhile was looking back for Andy, whom she admired, it was clear.
Having lodged Emma with Heidi and Lottie, Christine made tracks for Kirsty who had been standing alone at this time with her displays of merchandise covered in lace table cloths.
“We’ll be ready to start before long, I’m sure. It’s just not clear how many more people will turn up. Have you got a drink?” “No, no, I’d love another…” said Kirsty who was feeling a bit left out of the proceedings and gladly welcomed another drink. “Oh, it’s ok. Just watching helps me get an idea of the kind of audience I’ll be working with. Even with so few, I can tell this will be an entertaining night.”
That’s good, thought Christine. Especially as you’ll be leaving early and we need them warmed up before you go.
“Did you start with Prosecco… ? I should try the Martini. It’s a blaster!” Christine meant what she said. She had got a taste for Andy’s recipe. “Come over here and let’s get you one…”
The doorbell went again and, this time, there were two guests who had arrived together.
Christine opened the door as she was nearer than Andy. There stood Priti, the very straight Asian lady from the corner store. She stood at the door together with Sally, who was an older lady — perhaps about 50 — on her second marriage. Rumour was that she and husband Norman were hetero and quite straight, but then, who knows these days? Though Christine.
“Come in!... Please do….” Christine said, admiring Priti’s petite presence and marvelling at the preparation that Sally had put into her look for the evening. Of all the guests, she was the most perfectly made-up and coiffed, the most immaculately dressed, and the most perfume-laden. She was ‘out on the razzle’ if anyone was!
“Come in and meet the others… it’s getting quite crowded now, which is a really good thing. I do hope you’re going to enjoy yourselves……..” Christine said, handing over two more glasses of Prosecco, without thinking that Priti might not drink alcohol. She needn’t have bothered. Priti was soon drinking more than just sips of the delicious pink sparkling wine.
There were clearly enough in the room to make a start. If anyone else arrived later, they would have to catch up, Christine decided as she surveyed the room. A mixed bag, but some really likely players already there……
Raising her voice, Christine announced……“Everyone… please….” She paused….. “Before we begin, my husband Andy would like to say a few words by way of introduction, so please let me hand over to him…..”
“Thank you, Christine…” Andy began, conscious that he was the only man in the room, but also conscious that his glorious underwear was clinging to his skin beneath his ‘drab’ exterior. His bra straps tensed. His panties slid slightly. And the stockings tugged at the suspenders. Oh! How he loved this feeling. How lucky girls are! He thought!.
“Ladies! You’re here for a night of enjoyment. Making new friends, we hope, in the process. Sadly, we, Christine and I, don’t know you all well enough yet, but I’m sure that will change. We have Kirsty here who will lead us through temptation — or rather, she will lead you into it, for I shall not be with you. I’m going to leave you to get on with the evening under Christine’s guidance. We’re a very close couple as you’ll find out when you get to know us. I’d encourage you all to treat everyone else as friends and as though you’ve known them for years. That way, you’ll get much more fun out of the evening. So until later, I leave you with Kirsty…. And Christine!”
More than one pair of eyes twinkled at Andy as finished speaking. If he wanted, there were calls he could make to investigate their meaning……
With that, Andy moved towards the door and to the stairs to his bedroom where Astrid would be waiting! Christine smiled at her husband, knowing that, when she next saw him, she would be seeing her own very special girlfriend, Astrid. How very much she was looking forward to proudly revealing what they had, as a couple, achieved in her creation. And how much fun they had enjoyed since he had agreed to go along with her plan.
She reflected, in an instant, on the changes on the road that she had started them going. They were a long way from the finish of that road, she and Andy, but tonight would be an evening of total fun, if everything went right. By the end, Astrid would be the talk of the village. She, Christine, would be Astrid’s wife and, perhaps, she might have been introduced as Christopher. After all, why not?! And why not later tonight? Her transformation into Christopher would take a lot less time than Astrid’s Doing that might also set a few of their guests thinking that an F2M change would also be enjoyable….
What a village Much Humping might end up being!!!
Kirsty took the floor and began her introduction……….
“Dear Ladies, you may not know quite what to expect from this evening — well, not do I…. but I can promise you a night like no other! I want you to let your innermost instincts prevail and, if you feel a moment’s hesitation, I urge you to give in! There will be temptation and, if you’re uncertain, remember, there will be others who feel the same. If you feel tempted, too, there will be others who feel the same but may just not say anything…. So, please, don’t be shocked by anything you see…. What we have is purely for fun and your entertainment.. I should say, indeed, I am obliged to say at this point, what you will see very soon now is of a very explicit sexual nature and if that bothers you, you might like to leave now………”
Nobody rose to leave.
“…. Ok, good. So I’m going ahead on the basis that you’re keen to know what I have in store. Let’s start with my range of skin preparations……. We have moisturizers, oils and smoothing creams. We have lubricating gels and we have body lotions. We also have depilatory creams which are even suitable for those intimate little corners where being smooth would be especially enjoyable. Let’s have a look right now…..”
--oo00oo–
An hour passed and during that time. Andy was upstairs, in a leisurely way, transforming himself as Christine had directed. This was totally voluntary, he kept telling himself. He needed to reassure himself at times, …that was natural. He was enjoying every minute, of that there was no doubt. But there were moments…. Moments when he needed to know it was alright…. He relied on the mirror. The mirror would tell him he looked good… eventually, that she looked good.
They had talked, him and Christine. They had agreed that Astrid would be as feminine as she could be this night. She would be dainty, if that was possible. She would be girly. She wouldn’t need to be glamorous. She would need to be perfectly made-up. She would need to be cool and demure. She would have her hair done beautifully, emphasizing her womanly aura.
When she emerged, Astrid would look as lovingly as possible at Christine. They would be a perfect couple. Lesbians, maybe, but definitely a couple. They would be touchy-feely, for all to see. Even these complete strangers. And Christine would introduce her to the rest… as her “wife”!
He had taken off his male clothes and turned to study his image in the long vertical mirror on the front of the closet door. In his undies, with stockings, suspenders, panties and the lovely bra, Andy felt ready to begin……
His cap, covering his most feminine asset, his hair, was the first thing to be removed. Now dry, the hair needed a spray to allow Heidi’s later styling. In the meantime, it tumbled about his ears and over his neckline. Andy caught his breath at the sight of the highlights that he was now so delighted to have had the courage to choose when with Heidi.
Andy looked in the mirror. He saw himself for the last time tonight. He went to the bathroom and began his washing and cleansing. He had showered earlier so no need for another. He had, however, not shaved, preferring to leave the vestiges of male stubble on his chin. Now, that had to go.
He needed the closest shave that he had ever had. He used a pre-shave lotion to help minimize any chafing of his skin. He used the most expensive shaving gel that he had ever used; something for sensitive skin. Something he had used when shaving his nipples previously — he didn’t do that any more, Christine having given him the Veet Sensitive cream to make his tits hairless. He used a razor that had been used once or twice before.,.. fearing the harshness of a new blade and the nicks and cuts that could result. All went well. His shave was perfect. There were no traces of stubble or stray hairs. No sideburns.
But his eyebrows needed urgent attention. In just a few days since last Christine had plucked them to a more girly line, there were strays regrowing. He found that plucking hurt….. But, “no pain, no gain” Christine had said. And she was right. Astrid would be better looking if Andy could steel himself to pluck!
In fact, it hurt less when he did the plucking himself. So much so, there was a risk that he might over-do the enthusiasm and end up with Edith Piaf brows! Getting right up close to Christine’s make-up mirror, he tugged away for several minutes. Luckily, he stopped just in time. The brows were now perfect….. for a woman, that is….. No man worth his salt would wish to look that way!
For the first time, Andy was conscious of sounds from downstairs. There was a peal of laughter… Something had made the group relax enough to join together in that way. He wondered what it might be…….
Then he heard the front door bang shut…. Another guest to join the party……. “Bev!...” he heard the chorus…… The popular barmaid had obviously arrived late. She received a great collective welcome, such was Bev’s obvious popularity in the village. Bev, Andy thought, was the only other person who knew about his ‘other side’, about Astrid…… he didn’t mind a bit. She was a great personality and someone he felt able to trust with the knowledge.
These thoughts did, however, cause Andy to stop and think. He paused in his preparations. It would soon be that several more women would know his secret. Several complete strangers….. Strewth! What had Christine got him into?? He looked again into the mirror…… It was far too late for regrets or a turn-back. He was committed to going through with the appearance as girly girly Astrid…. Andy just said a little prayer that it would all go alright…..
The gender-changing man smothered his face in a sensitive skin moisturizer to ease the zinging from the brow area of his face. He carried on with body lotion to nourish his legs and arms, concentrating on those annoying areas when men get hard skin. Satisfied, he sat back and thought about the selection of clothes he had agreed with Christine that he should wear. Nothing too dressy. Nothing glamorous. Nothing tarty. He kept talking to himself….. “ I should be a most attractive, but everyday, woman. Someone that Christine could, credibly, be in love with if she were “coming out” as a lesbian among a group of strangers. Someone she’d be proud to say “yes, that’s my girlfriend,” about.”
He became silent again. His thoughts running away….. Christine…. A lesbian? Well, that much Astrid knew wasn’t the whole story. He loved her hetero side. Christine was clearly bisexual, at the very most.
The best of both worlds!!!
Andy was thinking as Astrid now. He might still have looked like a guy in girly undies, but in his head, he was a she. He was Astrid.
The front door banged shut again — a last late arrival perhaps? Or maybe the first to leave?
Reinforcements, in the shapes of Lottie and Heidi coming upstairs, would be arriving soon.
Andy took a very deep breath. Astrid was now in control. She stood at the closet door and surveyed her alternative outfits. This shouldn’t take long, she thought.
She took, and laid out on the bed, a pretty but expected-to-be-tight blouse, a chiffon scarf for the neck — to hide the Adam’s Apple which still bedevilled his self esteem, to which she added a light flowing evening skirt in black for impact, a fresh pair of high support but sheer stockings, and a pair of lowish-heeled string-back black leather shoes.
Jewellery needed to be a little chunky, to go with her overall features — small and beautiful, petite, dainty, Astrid knew she was not! Some coral —a necklace and bracelet! Perfect colours to off-set the blouse.
She paused, for another reflection, thinking about the joy that comes for a man who dresses as a woman — the accessories. The little things that we can’t have, and which women can, that draw attention to whatever a girl feels is her best feature.
In Astrid’s case, that would be a hair slide, a barrette, or a little “fascinator”, the kind of nonsense, nothingness of a feather and a flower in the hair that women wear to horse race meetings. Anything to draw attention to her hair. That would be Astrid’s preference. She always felt that her hair was her best feature. Tonight, it would be a diamante hair slide at each of her temples, which would keep her bangs under control.
Then, she mused further, her eyes were more feminine than anything about her face. She loved her lips, of course, but they’re not really girly enough, she thought. Her eyes, yes, they were nice when they were made-up with colour and the beautiful darkening quality of mascara. She didn’t know how to fix false lashes, so there wasn’t much hope with those. She had tried and nearly blinded herself too many times ever, now, to try to fix falsies to her eyelids now. Tonight might be different. Lottie was going to do her make-up. Maybe some false eyelashes??? Light ones, with lots of mascara???
--oo00oo–
Kirsty was finished showing the liquids, creams and lubes that could enhance the sensual beginnings of a session of love-making. There had been lots of interest but, so far, none of the group had said they would buy such products.
“I think you’ll change your minds when you’ve seen my next range….. Next, we have some CDs and DVDs with music and some visuals that could get your partners hearts racing. Just for a short while, please, close your eyes and relax…..”
She had moved on to the screen and the boxes attached by cables around which the seating had been centred. She first played a subtle background track which, increasingly over three or four minutes, brought in breathing sounds. Slow and relaxed at first. Then the tempo changed almost imperceptibly.
Increasingly urgent breathing. A mix of the music and the sounds of foreplay. Quite obvious…..
Kirsty just allowed the music to do the work. She said nothing…….. Occasional murmurings came from the ladies sitting around the room. Purring. That was the sound. Pussies, purring. None of the girls felt disinhibited enough to reach between their thighs, but the temptation was real. Christine could see that. She could feel that too. She was tempted. Her own pussy felt wet, just with the sound of this music. It was almost hypnotic. She wished Andy was here with her and all these people were gone! Andy! was, in fact, at the top of the stairs, listening
Inside her, a fire began to burn. It would be only an hour or so before the break in proceedings. Not much more before she would be introducing her Andy to the group… as her Astrid. Her girlfriend! Her lover! She felt pride well up inside her.
Kirsty broke her train of thought as she pushed the envelope in the direction of the video screen where, when she coaxed the ladies around her to open their eyes, they would see a couple engaged in slow, sensual movement that quickly became love-making. “We have many, many such programmes in our catalogue and I’m going to show you just a few highlights……” And so she did. From Boy + Girl, she moved on to Girl + Girl, to Girls Alone playing with their own bodies, to mild bondage, with cuffs and collars and canes and ropes and things.
“Typical!” Christine said under her breath, …. Thinking “no crossdressing fun!” There just isn’t a “public” for us! Damn them! Even the pornographers see us as a place not to go! Christine was angry. She was all the more determined in that moment to go ahead with the plans she had made. Plans to show these people around her what joys there can be in husbands and lovers becoming feminine beauties.
Kirsty’s selection of AV material brought several purchases and, sure enough, some of the creams and fragrange products were bought as well.
“Now, let’s look into the world of toys! It’s toy time! This is the most popular range we do and, though many of you will have heard of another company’s “Rampant Rabbit” vibrator, you won’t be ready for the “Touchy Tiger” that we do! Come, look at this…..!”
“I’ll have one!!” shouted Bev with her distinctive voice. “Without even holding him, I’ll have him!!” The packaging left nothing to the imagination and it wasn’t long before others were joining Bev in making “The Tiger” theirs. Its clitoral stimulator was obviously the feature that would give the greatest enjoyment. Rather than “The Rabbit’s” simple protuberance, “The Tiger” matched a woman’s labia perfectly, leaving no stone unturned in the search for orgasmic delight. Kirsty knew it was always a winner.
“I’ll soon get to know this little beauty!” exclaimed Bev as she unwrapped her new friend and gently slid the dildo between her thighs for safe-keeping. Christine smiled at her and her mouth formed the words “See me later please!” that Bev couldn’t lip-read but took to mean exactly the same or something very similar!
The sound of vibrations from these toys was soon at deafening pitch, such was their popularity. Kirsty then moved on to the more ambitious range of strap-on and double-ended dildos that were more a minority attraction. “Perhaps many of you haven’t ever thought of the possibilities that exist with these little babies…. Maybe now’s the time to give them a chance?!”
The very act of handling such a toy was enough to get the imaginations running riot. “It’s true to say that these strap-on toys are very good for you if there are times when hubby doesn’t get his act together quickly enough for you. Or perhaps hard enough… Some men actually do like the idea of you taking control of the situation and having them wear it to help you where they can’t.”
“Some, in my experience, like the idea of taking one in themselves…. If you know what I mean! I’ve enjoyed giving one to more than one or two of my lovers!”
Everyone else in the room looked at Bev and the laughter rang out again. Suddenly, all of them wanted to get their hands on the merchandise.
"Now let's look at some lingerie!" Kirsty said, moving on after taking several orders in the toy department.
At this moment, Heidi looked at Lottie, Lottie looked at Heidi, and they motioned eachother to go on upstairs to take care of their “special customer” who had become their “special friend”.
--oo00oo–
Astrid heard their footsteps at the hallway and quickly ran back to the bedroom where she would appear to them to be quietly preparing those clothes when the two girls arrived. He heard their voices getting closer and their giggling about those dildos. She resolved to buy them each a “Tiger” if they so desired such a thing! Christine, Astrid knew, would agree with the idea. She hurriedly wrapped her body in the satin dressing gown that she loved and which made her feel ‘extra girly’.
As they entered the room, she turned towards them, smiled and, trying her best to use her ‘Astrid voice’, said “Oh, what a relief! I was thinking I might have to do all this without you! I’m so relieved!! Thank you so much for coming…. How are you both….?? I do hope the first session has been fun……”
Realizing that she was now gabbling almost incoherently, Astrid stopped, sighing and saying, “Welcome to my world!” Heidi and Lottie had said nothing but now had taken in the picture of this woman in her boudoir, swathed in satin, with her nearly-dry hair, her bare face and her painted toenails. There was very little male about her, for sure. This was a woman preparing to go out and meet friends.
Heidi brought one hidden hand from behind her back. Lottie did the same. Heidi showed a full bottle of Prosecco. Lottie held three glasses! "Didn't see why we should miss out!" giggled Heidi. Astrid grabbed a glass and her hairdresser poured full measures for all three of them and almost shouted, "Cheers!"
“You look super…” Heidi said, “… doesn’t he, Lottie?” She remembered Andy and saw though the disguise, then realized her mistake. Andy was forgotten for tonight now. This was Astrid. Oh, I’m sorry…” she went on and, holding out her hand, corrected herself. “I’m Heidi and this is Lottie, you’ll remember us. We don’t have much time so I’d like us to get on if you don’t mind.”
Lottie smiled and said “Come, please, sit down in the chair and we’ll get to work on your make-over. Astrid did as she was bidden and, once seated, closed her eyes. Heidi continued as she began laying out her hairdressing paraphernalia — the combs, the brushes, the dryer, the tray of rollers and pins, the bottles of lotions and the spray cans. “This is a very exciting evening for us, it really is. We have had such a good time downstairs, I’m sure you’ll enjoy the rest of the evening.”
“I’m sure I will…” said Astrid, still with her eyes closed, as Lottie covered her face with foundation and began to brush on some powder. She paid special attention to the lines around Astrid’s eyes and, of course, the inundations on her skin left by that dreadful teenage acne. Soon they would all be gone and a flawless cover would be all that Astrid would “wake” to when she opened her eyes.
Lottie went on with applying colour, first to Astrid’s eyelids and their outline…. She began to apply mascara when Astrid had that thought from earlier…. “I don’t suppose you have a light pair of lashes you could use, do you? I’d really like to find out how that feels. I’ve never won false lashes before….”
“Of course we do…. In fact, we have a choice…. You could have these magnificent “flappers” that are a Wow factor in the making and which need under-lashes too.” Astrid nearly fainted, there, in the chair. Lottie missed that and went on…. “If you fancied a Katy Price look, an Essex look, those would be for you.” Suddenly aware of Astrid holding her breath, Lottie stopped short and said, “….But then again, you did say you wanted to have a more under-stated look tonight, didn’t you, so I don’t think I’d recommend them…..”
In the end, they agreed on a very nice, feathery pair of upper lashes with ample mascara. They would accentuate Astrid’s eyes, Heidi said, and give Astrid a real prettiness that she wanted.
Lottie then added the blusher that would fill the cheeks with colour and, perhaps, hide any blushes from within. It would be warm in the room downstairs, they all agreed. Lottie left the lipstick until after Heidi had done her job with Astrid’s hair.
“Your hair is growing really nicely, I have to say. There’s a nice lot of body in it and we can build on that with some volumizer. I’m sure it will hold the set very well. We don’t have time for a roller set this evening and I haven’t brought my domed dryer either but for a comb-out for an evening like this one, the blow-dry is ideal. Let’s get started. Would you like to close your eyes again for me?”
Astrid followed instructions again, thinking but not saying as she did so, “I always close my eyes when I have a blow-job.
Heidi sectioned Astrid’s hair and gave each tress a spray with volumizer as she wound the curls around the roller brush and applied the heat from the hand dryer. If Astrid had looked, she would soon have seen herself with a wild style of thick curls. Curls that would eventually be softened into the girly style she had chosen. Her highlights began to shown more distinctly as the hair dried and the style took shape.
Heidi was loving the work. She so enjoyed the creative side of her job. Turning an unruly shape into a perfect style. That was blow-drying for you, she thought. Rollers are different. I love the winding and tightening of the rolls and the springiness of the curls when the rollers are taken out. Blow-drying is more artistic. Beautiful!
Minutes passed while Lottie put the finishing touches to Astrid’s manicure. Beautiful crimson talons — well, not talons, as they were Andy’s own nails. Beautiful red nails that showed how well he had worked at stopping his nail-biting that was once a curse on him.
Soon, as Heidi smoothed the final strands into place, Astrid could look into the mirror and enjoy her image. Her face was lovely, almost not her own. Still waiting for lipstick to complete her, this was a woman of class and quality. Her hair was quite unusually bouffant in style.
The bangs fell fully to the sides, covering her temples where the diamante hair slides had been placed to match the rest of her jewellery. The crown of the hair was quite high — higher than Astrid had even hoped for. What made it for Astrid, and for Heidi, was the way that the blonde highlights emphasized and framed the face. They had seemed less bold when first put in but now, as part of a full style, they were bold, Across the bangs and down the sides and then high upon the crown. Astrid thought, “I hope Christine loves it! What a classy lady I feel!!”
Time had come for the clothes to be donned and the image completed…… Andy stepped into his skirt. His stockings felt taught against his skin. The suspenders tugged beautifully so he found the shoes and stepped into them. The feeling of the slight heels was wonderful. “It’s true, you do stand differently in heels, don’t you?” He said to the girls attending him. They both smiled. They had seen nothing like this ever before!
On went the blouse, again, the fabric caressing the skin and sending a shiver of pleasure down Astrid’s spine. Then, lastly, came the chiffon scarf she had selected to hide that dreaded Adam’s Apple. The necklace went easily over that and the bracelet completed the accessories.
“I’m ready!” she said.
“Not until you have your lipstick, you aren’t!” exclaimed both Heidi and Lottie in the same breath. Lottie did the business, ladling three coats to Astrid’s pouted lips. Gloss was offered but refused. “I have never found that attractive…..” said Astrid, “now, let me at ‘em!” as she admired herself in the full-length mirror and went towards the bedroom door, where she paused.
“Thank you my darlings, for all you have done…… Your rewards will come later but, for now, just thank you …. From the bottom of my heart.
As she stood at the top of the stairs, there was some commotion in the hallway. Kirsty was on her way out. “Wait! I have to say goodbye!” she called……
Chapter 22 will complete the evening but may take a while to get right so, please dear Readers, be patient!
“Don’t let her leave…. For a minute.”, he said in Astrid’s most girly voice, meaning to let Kirsty into a secret about how to treat customers…. Especially those in whose house you are working….
In that second, the thoughts of all of those in view were very different. Nobody said a word but their neurones were firing in very different ways.
Christine thought “My God, he looks better than ever! Those girls have done a great job…..”
Kirsty thought, “Who’s this woman and why hasn’t she been in the party?…. She’s quite a stunner…”
Heidi thought, “Wow! I’m so really pleased she asked me to help, I mean, he asked me to help…. I, er….well, she, looks like the best head I’ve ever dressed…”
Lottie thought, “At last, I’m getting to do more than take out rollers from the hair of old ladies in the salon! I did like the make-up I did on his eyes… In fact, I really quite fancy this guy…!!!!…..”
Astrid stepped down the last step into the hall. But now Andy spoke. “… we did meet an hour ago, but maybe Kirsty doesn’t remember…! It was no pleasure to meet you then, dear, but perhaps you can remember me this way and we can be friends… To do that, you must remember what you said to me and to my wife when we were alone before the party.”
Christ! Kirsty thought. It’s him! The guy who’s married to Christine. Just look at him, er, her, now! She began to stutter. “Errr.. I …er… don’t know what to say….”
“Well, you should admit that there are times to keep your big lipsticky mouth shut and find out who you’re talking to before you open it again………, darling!” Astrid walked past Kirsty without a further word. She headed for the kitchen with a wink to Christine that indicated “we need to talk”. “Get rid of her, now!” she said with a tone that told Christine that Astrid meant what she said. “We don’t need her”.
Talk, they did need. Andy was still in Christine’s hands for the introduction even though he was confident what he should be saying after being introduced.
Andy, on entering the kitchen, took a deep breath. He had dealt with his agenda with Kirsty, but that was secondary. He had to compose Astrid’s “self” for the experience to come — to meeting maybe a dozen women. Already dressed as Astrid, Andy was ready but ‘coming out’ as his new existence… as someone they would come to recognize if he, as he felt sure he would now, started living life as a woman for most of the time. Living a life in beautiful underwear, sexy shoes, a selection of feminine outerwear and devoted to looking good with cosmetics and hair designs that no man would ever be seen dead wearing! He caught sight of himself in the mirror which he and Christine used to check their make-up on their “days in, at home”.
More importantly, he thought of those days making love with his beloved Christine as the woman she wanted him to be! He could hardly wait for the party to be over… The others entered the room after Kirsty had been shown the door.
He would be telling these ladies who had come to the party how his dressing had begun. How much he and Christine are in love, and how much a part of their existence Astrid in now.
Kirsty was soon gone. Heidi and Lottie had rejoined the party. Christine followed Astrid into the kitchen. There wasn’t much time to talk. Andy began “Now, you will set it all up, won’t you? I mean, tell them how we began? And how much it was your idea really… which it was, wasn’t it? I mean, I know you thought I was… well, deep down…… wanting…..”
“Honey, honey!” Christine began, seeking to calm Astrid’s obvious sudden nerves. “You are looking wonderful… A million dollars! I wish I had asked Heidi and Lottie to help me get prepared myself. Just take it easy for a while. Let me tell you what’s happened. It’s all gone just according to plan — and even more people turned up after you went upstairs. For a start, Bev arrived which added some fun to the proceedings. She’s clearly a favourite in the village and I guess, if she’s on board, our idea will fly! Know what I mean?!”
Astrid was beginning to compose herself. Andy knew that he had to get into role in a few moments or risk the whole evening turning ‘pear-shaped’. “Ok, Ok, I’m with you. I understand. That’s all good. What did Bev say?” Christine smiled and thought…. Bev was unusually quiet, for at least a minute and a half. “She took stock of the audience and launched into the joys she had personally experienced with some of the merchandise that Kirsty had to offer. She could’ve been Kirsty’s paid assistant, the way she endorsed the creams and lubricants on offer…. And the underwear. But she saved her coup for the, er, accessories… the toys….. She described many as “ok for starters” but went on to be the first to place an order for a beautiful double-ended dildo which she said would be “great for nights in with a favourite girlfriend”. Yes, she had girlfriends!”.
Christine had the reactions of the rest of the party group in her mind when Bev had said what she said. “Imagine that. Nobody could ignore that. Needless to say, I don’t think Kirsty has sold as many double-headers in a single evening, ever before! And before you ask, yes, I’ve bought one and, yes, it’s huge!!”
“And who else arrived after I’d left?” Andy chipped in. “Well , there were three other women that you hadn’t seen. One mother and daughter pairing — remember, the one at University — her and her Mum. They live at number 5, opposite. The daughter’s name is Jessica and the mother is Andrea. They seemed remarkably liberal in their interests! The daughter said that she would be very popular when it got to be known she had taken one of these back to Uni! Her mother then said they had better have two, because she wanted one at home!”
“And all of this before they hear what we have in mind for double dildos!” Astrid said, coyly, fluttering her heavily-mascara-ed eyelashes.
“You wait…. I have my thoughts about Andrea and the likelihood that she’ll be first to join our experiment! Her husband is called Todd and he’s a very well-travelled guy, she told us. Has seen all corners of the world, and experienced all sorts of pleasures, no doubt!”
Christine thought about the lounge room where their guests had been seated. “….. So, that’s Bev and those two…….Then there was one, no two others….. so, four you had missed. The other two were Emma and Sally, Emma’s from the new house at number 7 and Sally’s the second wife from number 12. Sally made it clear, Norman is her second husband and she’s his second wife. Too much information from her, but they’re very busy in the sack most nights! Very hetero, I should say about her but you never know…. Emma’s the younger one, you know the younger couple with the flash cars. Her husband is Justin, all very flash and full of himself. Maybe a “Justine” in the making, I would hope. She seems a very quietly determined woman and if she were to go along with our ideas, he’d struggle but she’d get him in line.”
Astrid was struggling to get her head around all this information. “I’ll never remember them all…. So I’m not going to try. It hardly matters, does it? They’re either going to be up for some gender-bending, or they’re not!”
Christine tried to move on…… “You really don’t have to worry when you talk to them, honey. Looking as good as you do, and revealing that you’re male, there’s going to be tremendous interest in the ideas we have. I can just see it now. The next time we get the party going, there will be some active participants among this lot.”
Christine stood back and admired Astrid. “Just look at you. If a hard-nosed bitch like Kirsty can’t suss you, nobody can.. so you’ll be in control as soon as I’ve introduced you as my wife….”
“But… but… Look at me… I’m in a cold sweat….. I’m getting really scared……..”
“Of what?! Of being recognized as the pretty woman that you really are? Of being known from now as my wife, all the time you’re in the village? Or of going out of the village as a male? Perhaps that’s it?”
“All of those things…… I don’t know that I’m ready…..” Andy’s real panic began to subside. Christine soothed Astrid’s cheek and just teased her hair to divert Andy’s attention. “Easy, easy, darling. It will be wonderful and you haven’t got any need to worry…. Let’s just tell them our story and let them see how good it could be to follow us….. ok? The time for the break is ending and they’re going to be ready for us in a few moments. Just take a few breaths….. and then let’s go in. Hold my hand…..”
Astrid was conscious that her palm was in a very unladylike sweat… “Wait… let me use a wet wipe ….” She carefully swabbed her palms and used another tissue on her neck…… Nerves are such a strange phenomenon….., she thought. She took a deep breath. This wasn’t like going into a store and buying women’s clothes, undetected. This was revelation!
Christine opened the door and the loud conversation was soon quelled to a murmur, the partygoers saw not one, but two women standing in the doorway. The pair entered among them. “Now, girls, before the break, think back to when I told you there was someone I wanted you to meet…. And here she is. Please welcome Astrid……. “ Christine paused for a moment and a few words of welcome came.
“Hiya!” “Hello Astrid.” “Come on in!” “Where ya’been?!” Astrid just smiled. This welcome was warm enough indeed.
“Hello, everyone!” she responded, looking about the room and doing her best to suppress a blush.
“There’s more to this lady than meets the eye…… Astrid is my wife…..” Christine went on… “which may surprise some of you….. But it’s true. We’ve been married for 15 years and we’re a very happy couple as I’m sure you’ll get to know……..”
There was now an almost stunned silence as the party took in the enormity of Christine’s revelation.
“Well, congratulations!...”said Pammie, who was the first to speak.
“Thank you, Pammie, I think it is. You’re very kind. Let me explain a little and why you’re all invited to be here to meet Astrid. Firstly, we wanted to meet those of you to whom we’re comparative strangers. Second, we want to share a little secret with you. A secret that we hope you’ll enjoy knowing.” The silence in the room deepened. All eyes were on Astrid…. And didn’t she know it!
“Astrid and I are, in fact, man and wife…. It may seem unusual but I want you to find out just how usual our marriage can be…. And this evening to get you thinking about how much fun can be had the way we are.”
There were many knowing looks and mostly supportive smiles on the faces of the partygoers, but nobody said more than Pammie’s words. So, Christine went on, Man and wife??? You could almost feel the stunned disbelief that this woman was the Andy they had met an hour and a half earlier. Man and wife??!
“I think it’s fair to say that, when we met, I was already very happy knowing that I was ‘Bi’ and had many girl and boyfriends. I’m very much of the view that “it’s possible to be moved as much by a girl as a boy” to quote my ultimate Diva, Dusty..
Astrid and I met at a social evening when he was Andy. He still is Andy, by the way, under all that beauty, there’s a lovely, lovely guy hiding away….”
Astrid blushed and smiled as sweetly as Andy could.
“Please do stop me if you have questions along the way, but our goal tonight is to
Lead you to think about joining us in a little social experiment….. but more of that later…..
“But, I don’t understand how……” Pammie began, sitting in the front row, right up close under where Astrid was standing. Pammie had a close-up view of this carefully created female form before her. “How can you look so good?!” Her eyes locked into Astrid’s as if searching for a hidden truth. No answer was needed.
“Oh, come on girl! ……Imagination!! …..Use your imagination!” retorted Bev from the sidelines.
Christine felt bound to set the scene for Andy’s contribution. “You don’t understand ….. ok….honey. What precisely?..... How a social gathering where two complete strangers met, years ago, led to what you see? A couple like us, in love with eachother? I’m not really surprised… and it didn’t happen over night, did it, Astrid my love? Why don’t you tell our friends how this came about…. And how much you love the way you are.”
Andy’s turn had come. Astrid had to tell her story. Astrid’s voice could slip into Andy’s at any time — it might reinforce that there was a guy under this femmy exterior…. Astrid’s cheeks were pink, and not from an excess of blusher. She hid a certain embarrassment with a huge, lipstick-laden smile.
“I fell in love….” she began. “…it was as simple as that. I met this fabulous girl who I soon began to adore. We didn’t click at first, if you know what I mean. Well, she was the popular one — all the guys wanted to get inside her pants, me included. My experiences with girls was limited, even though I had been at Uni for two of my course’s three years. Yes, a virgin at age 21, how rare is that?! Fumblings, failed datings, generally accompanied by a loss or lack of confidence. I was never sure that, when my moment came, that I could get it up and keep it up. And of course, that meant I was less than likely to when the time came……”
Andy began to relax, and Astrid took over. Her voice softened and the nervousness faded away. “But Christine was different and she didn’t seem to mind my uncertainty. I think she thought of me as something of a challenge……..” Andy’s heart-pouring was in full flood by now. Christine could tell, but so long as he kept a grip on the emotions, she let him continue. She smiled at the “challenge” reference.
“Maybe she thought I was gay, maybe not…. You probably did, didn’t you honey?” Andy asked, not expecting an answer as he looked at Christine. She did, however, feel the need to reply. “No, my love, I never suspected that you were attracted to guys…. And you’re not, to this day, are you?”
“Not at all…. In fact, perhaps I should say so now…. What you’re going to hear has nothing to do with being gay. Everyone in this room probably knows someone who enjoys, or would enjoy, dressing in their partner’s clothes. But very few would admit to that….. I don’t think I ever imagined….” Andy felt his story was going off at a tangent slightly. Time to re-focus….
“So what’s the story with the double-dildos then?” asked Sally, the second wife whose reputation in the bedroom was established.
“Personal preference…” was all Christine said, smiling and indicating to Andy to move on. Astrid cleared her throat with a delicate little girly cough.
“There was a time when she must have nearly given up on the idea of being seduced — at least being seduced by me, that is! But one thing led to another and one night we found ourselves happily pissed on somebody else’s booze and in a bed together. Not unexpectedly, there were difficulties because I knew I was rushing myself trying to get ready to ‘please’ her…. And she must’ve realized this, so she took control and slowed me down and tried to make me relax. Which I did…..” Astrid paused.
Andy’s memories were vivid. “….Which I did much better when she slowly stroked my skin through the silk of her nightdress. I can remember that even now. I loved the fell of the silk on my body. It was hugely arousing and we did, as the saying goes… we did ‘score’ that night. I was in heaven…. All the more so because of the luxurious feeling of the nightdress.”
“So, there began my love of girls’ clothes…. I’d love to say I dressed from my days as a young teen, for example, but nothing is further from the truth. So many wasted years! I always loved girls. Fancied them. I had always paid girlfriends an unhealthy degree of attention, complimenting them on their clothes, their ‘looks’ and their hair. I enjoyed their company. I enjoyed talking with them, listening to them …. I had been credited with being “one of the girls” many times, but only in the sense of sharing their mindset.”
Astrid paused, looking over at Christine to see if she had said too much, too little or…. Christine took up the story with ease at that point.
“I found myself in love with this shy guy. I wanted to be fucked, by anyone, it has to be said, but at that time, I wanted to be fucked by him. The kind of intimacy we established that night offered the prospect of a regular fuck with a man I could fancy. It would go well with sex with the girls who I shared a bed with. That was different. That was “us girls together”…. Or, looking back, I know now that it wasn’t quite as different as I thought. Now I know Astrid better, and since I married the man who became her, we have enjoyed much more than most marriages offer.”
A question interrupted Christine in mid-flow “Forgive me….What do you mean? How come…..? What is missing between that part of the story you’ve told — one night — and getting married and him, er, her, sitting her among us. I mean, there’s years in between….. The questioner was Pammie, once more opening the discussion that Christine had hoped someone would. Pammie, the stern looking jet black haired one-time Goth in her teen years. Clearly someone who would be highly charged when sexually active. Pammie wanted much more of the “whole story” of Christine and Andy, and Christine and Astrid.
Andy looked directly into Pammie’s blue mascara-ed eyes. He looked at her dark ensemble of clothes that projected the image she wanted. She had a controlling instinct, that much was clear. The story had to be told in more detail.
“Good question…” said Astrid. “It starts with confidence in eachother, and getting to know eachother’s likes and dislikes. My wife soon found things I liked to experience in bed. It wasn’t long before the enjoyment of the silken nighties led her to simply suggest that I might try one on. One day, or one evening. “Why not?” she asked when I said I couldn’t possibly…… And that time, I laughed the idea off, but it stayed in my mind. Christine may have been hurt that I didn’t immediately welcome the idea… truth was, I was embarrassed at just how much the idea appealed to me…. It wasn’t long, though, before she suggested the idea again and, well, you could almost say the rest of the story is history, but I’ll tell you more….”
Pammie’s smile broadened. “That’s more like it.” she said.
“Christine’s liking of both men and women was a great starting point. She told me that if I loved sexy silky things to wear, she would absolutely love it. She said her girlfriends were all girly enough to enjoy being girls. She didn’t want man-substitutes, because she had ME! It took, when I knew about her preferences, it took all the pressure away from me because I knew that she would get her different kind of love and different kind of satisfaction. Elsewhere, with women I knew and enjoyed being with. It meant, when we were together we could say “que sera, sera!” and what happened,……. happened.”
Pammie, proving to be very perceptive, then asked Astrid “How long was it before you thought of yourself as a woman when you were making love with her?”
“About a year, I think, maybe less. It wasn’t like that immediately. But it is now…. I can make love with Christine thinking of myself equally as a man one time and as a woman another.”
“You lucky man….” mused Pammie, very quietly.
“I’m the lucky one,,,,,” whispered Christine.
“So, there’s still a lot untold…” began Emma. “I mean, I wouldn’t be surprised if my hubby wouldn’t like to play games that way, but there’s miles between putting on a nightie and even playing ‘two-girls-in-a-bed’ and sitting here as you are, a convincing female, married to another woman. How did things move on?” Emma seemed genuinely interested. Christine smelled “Justine” as a convert in the making.
“You’ll be able to find a thousand stories of husbands like me living the way I do — you just don’t know we’re here…..” Andy was stopped mid-sentence.
“No, no, you don’t get my point….. When did you try other clothes? When did Christine see you dressed fully as a woman? When did you choose a girly name? When did you dress outside the bedroom? When did you try make-up for the first time? When did you try a different hairstyle? How did you handle the contrast between being a man at work and a girl at home?” Emma had dozens of questions. She wanted to know how long Andy’s transformation and Astrid’s emergence took.
“Whoah!...” said Andy, “Too many questions…… But let me try to answer… Christine soon suggested that panties would suit me well. Which I loved. She even bought me some for myself. The logical next step — which she had in mind anyhow but only confessed to me later — was the buying of a bra and suspenders. She just took me out shopping one Saturday in Oxford and, without warning, I found myself in the lingerie section of M&S, surrounded with lovely underwear. I thought that Christine was stocking up for herself but, NO!, she quietly assessed which bras, panties and suspenders I was drawn to — for her, in my mind, I have to say — and then she said “I think you’d be a 38B and a size 16 in most things — let’s buy….!”
Christine nodded in agreement — that was the way it was and, for sure, it had been her intention. She had known that there were enough signs in her husband to tell her that he would love to cross dress for the rest of his life.
There were other questions from Emma that would answer a lot of people’s unspoken ones…. Astrid went on, “When did Christine see me dressed fully as a woman? Answer: when she close the time…. Probably the following summer. We had been “behind closed doors” and in the bedroom until then. And, besides,… “ said Astrid, “…I didn’t have any outer clothes and we’re slightly different in size, the pair of us, and Christine didn’t want me stretching her pretty things…….”
Andrea raised her hand and asked another question, not entirely unrelated…. “Please tell us when you did go out to buy clothes just for you, with you fully aware of what you were going to do. Tell us how it felt — all the anticipation, and how it was.”
Astrid replied “May I say that in a moment, when I’ve helped Emma see inside these events….? When did I choose a girly name? Answer: when Christine chose one… she said there were times that “Andy” didn’t suit me anymore, so I had to have a femmy name. Astrid was her choice. Next you asked what , I’ve forgotten….?” Emma replied immediately, “When did you dress outside the bedroom?”
Astrid thought for a moment and then began, “On the day we went shopping… for me…… I went out without make-up or anything, and just in a pair of Christine’s slacks. Cut-offs, blue, navy blue, they were, so a little girly. And I wore one of her loose blouses, a light blue colour with flower pattern. It proved to be slightly see-through so I was slightly embarrassed to find the bra I was wearing quite easily on view in the mirror in the store. The shoes were the toughest choice, so I wore a pair of Christine’s sling-backs, for which she prepared me with my very first ever nail polish!!! I’ll never forget…..”
“So, what did you buy when you got to the store?” Andrea’s voice posed the question most of the party were keen to have answered. Andy began with an admission: “Some really girly and different pieces — things that Christine would accept were my choice not hers….. Some of which I would live to regret, but she let me make my mistakes….!! If you know what I mean!”
Andrea carried on… “Don’t tell me….. the low neckline?! The bright flash coloured blouse with flimsy sleeves? The short skirt with the arse-hugging pinch that made you walk in a tottering way?! The black stockings? Don’t tell me! Not fishnets? Oh no! and the stiletto-heeled shoes, all black and strappy? Oh, no! please! No!?”
Christine laughed…. Andrea? Isn’t it? You’re dead right! Justine, tell your Mum, she’s very perceptive! How many children made mistakes like this? I just had to let him do it……. I decided that it was a learning experience for Andy and that’s why I suggested…. No, I insisted, that he wore the clothes home from the store!”
“Well done, my girl,” said Andrea. “I bet she was horny when you got her home though?” “Too right!” was Christine’s reply.
Though it wasn’t her question originally, Cathy now chipped in with another of Emma’s questions….. “Emma asked, When did you try make-up for the first time? I’d love to know that, because that’s quite a step in a different direction, isn’t it? I mean, make-up is all about creating the illusion on beauty….. And maybe attracting men’s attention…??” Cathy was delving into the gay question again……
“I know where you’re heading, Cathy, isn’t it? And I can’t say exactly when…. I know I hadn’t worn make-up before that fateful shopping trip…. And, as it happens, there’s a tail-piece to that story….. Christine said I was dressed like a tart, through my own choice, that day, so she would do my make-up and hair like a tart — for just one time in my life…. She’s not keen on tarts, so it was a way to warn me off I guess.. So this wasn’t me “wearing make-up” in the sense that I now do, most days of my life, this was her teaching me how NOT to wear make-up. Hell, did she do a good job. You have rarely seen eyes so big, and lashes so flappy! You can never have seen a mouth so pumped up with a slash of crimson lipstick…. All covered in lipgloss which I have never worn again! The foundation was caked-on and the blusher so dramatic. If I had hung about on a street corner, I’d have scored ten times in a night, but not in ways I’d ever want to do…… I have NEVER dressed that way again. I just keep the clothes in case of a Drag Ball if one ever comes this way!”
Bev than asked, quietly for her for once…. “And how did the tart’s hair look?” Bev asked, knowing that Andy had a special “thing” about hair” and she was tempting him to divulge this to everyone.
“Christine did me proud……” Andy’s voice returned, “…She found a half-head wig of her own that she hadn’t used for years. It was real hair and a light auburn colour. She fashioned it on my crown, up high, here…” Andy indicated the back of his head where the party saw Astrid’s now beautifully-coiffed style (thanks to Heidi) “…and she did that after plastering my own hair flat to my scalp. The half-wig then formed a lovely beehive with soft curls arranged around it. Beautifully, but aggressively, saying “come here and fuck me!”……. which was what a tart would be saying, but the last thing I wanted to project!!! Oh, how she taught me a lesson!”
Astrid’s story went on…
“Before long, we were home and she was insisting that I try on these — to me —beautiful, feminine things. You can imagine…. I nearly died… first from embarrassment from having been in the store, buying… and second, from elation at the beauty of the garments I found fitted me perfectly! From that moment on, you could say I was a confirmed cross-dresser. Never mind that I started as a tart!”
“And was that when you became sexually active as a different self?” asked Cathy who had been quiet until this point. “Yes, I want to know about that side of where this leads…..” chipped in Jenny, the amateur dramatically practised woman from number 3 next door to Christine and Andy. “Now, you’re talking….” Came the comment from Bev, “….. I had hoped we’d get on to the interesting part sooner or later…..” She tossed her blonde hair and took a long slug from the drink in her hand, “Is there any more of this delicious drink!?” she asked.
Andy went on with Astrid’s story. “It so happened that, after months of having very gentle sex, Christine grew in her confidence about what I would ‘go along with’ in bed. She found a few things that interested her which her girlfriends maybe didn’t want to go for. So, she suggested them to me… or rather, she got on with them and waited for me to say “thanks but no thanks”. One of those things was a little light bondage which you’ve been talking about earlier tonight….. Well, I didn’t mind …” Astrid meant what she said. In fact, she enjoyed every minute — of being restrained …. Gently.
Christine had enjoyed the same treatment and had persuaded Andy to indulge her occasionally…..”That opened the door to some dressing-up games which, not surprisingly, increased Andy’s excitement and general strength of his libido.”
“A little bit of leather goes a long way, if you can imagine what I mean…” Christine was keen to explain how the evolution of their love-making was very gradual. “There was no master plan… no grand intention…… We just went from one evening to the next, exploring what eachother thought, exploring what each had heard about, thought about doing……… We soon found that both of us were ‘up for’ most things that we heard other people enjoy……”
Christine was genuinely proud of the way their sex life had evolved and grown She thought that there would be some in the partygoer group who would see it “her way”, just as Andy had, … and Astrid now did. She was suddenly conscious, again, that there was silence in the room. There was avid attention being paid to her story. That, in itself was a good sign.
“It wasn’t until we married that dressing came into our lives and, to tell the truth, I can’t explain why it took so long….”
“So, how long did it take you to fuck her as a woman, then?” came an interruption from someone who was clearly getting impatient with the speed of the story’s delivery. It was Jenny, the drama queen.
Clearly, Jenny had enjoyed the hospitality a little too much and wasn’t ashamed to launch into her view of the proceedings. Christine wasn’t in the least offended and dealt quite swiftly with the apparent set-back to her plan. “My best friend has a good phrase when confronted with such a direct question. She answers it — which I shall — and then says “perhaps you’ll feel better when you’ve had a lie down” So, to you, my answer is “less than a year after we were married and I’ll tell you how it came about……”
The offender, was so taken aback that she was seen to sit in stunned silence while Christine did, indeed tell the story that she and Andy had rehearsed about her original discovery of Astrid and the seduction that took place soon after.
“Astrid knew that I had girlfriends from time to time, and she was cool with that. We never explored the idea of three of us getting together,…… well, not at that time anyway,….. so it wasn’t a surprise that she might get a little bit jealous. Three people in this marriage is a phrase that became suddenly commonplace that year. Remember? Diana? Well, I don’t know if she was jealous but Astrid did say, one time, that she was seeing me attracted to more and more glamorous women and she said that she was feeling a little bit left in the shade…..” Christine smiled as she recalled Andy being happy to be female but then wanting to be more and more like the women she herself was falling in love with.
Christine felt it was her place to push towards the conclusion they had envisaged for the evening.
“Astrid had been a bit of a “plain Jane”, contented to dress in a girly way, contented to be one of a pair of us when we chose to be girls for a night. That began to change.
She began to take an interest in fashion and beauty magazines. She began to ask me about her appearance and how it might be enhanced. She said she wanted to get a pair of silicone tits to make her bra feel more fully and naturally filled. It wasn’t long before she went into London to buy a pair from a specialist TV store. She was getting horny as a result — I could tell. She began to flirt with me more than before. She wanted compliments about her looks and soon enough, she started wearing more obvious make-up. For myself, I was pleased with that — I always found myself — still do — attracted to what people call “lipstick lesbians”. I’ve never been one for the dykey-type…. Can say that openly here as none of you are anything but girly. Please don’t be offended if you’re attracted to more manly women though… I don’t mean to offend….”
Astrid interrupted her lover…. “Honey, I think I should add….”
Before she could get going, another interruption happened. Sally, the neighbour from number 12 by the pub, came up with a very important question — one which needed dealing with as soon as it arose… She directed her question to Christine, not to Astrid.
“I’m getting lost now — you’re female and like females, he’s male and likes females but wants to be female, why didn’t he just get on with becoming female?”
Christine responded in a flash, saying “You’re forgetting one important thing — and this is crucial - I don’t just like females, I love males as well and he is my male…. My one and only male. I have female friends, and I love every one of them, but he’s the only one that’s male! And what’s male about him, I want to keep being male.”
Astrid took up the theme, as if to reinforce the way their marriage works. “I reached the stage of wanting to be Christine’s girlfriend on a regular basis. I was working, as a man, in my regular job Monday to Friday, so I suggested that maybe I could be Astrid on Sundays…. Day of rest and all that…… if you know what I mean. I asked if she would accept me that way and she was delighted to go along with the idea…. So that’s how we went on. It was Christine who then saw the possibilities for herself. To swap identities on those Sundays. So, while I began spending whole days as my new self, Christine found herself a role as Christopher, my boyfriend. And this is how some of you have met him around the village.”
“So what’s this got to do with us, here this evening? I mean, we’ve all enjoyed finding a few new things to play with and it’s being great fun having a get-together, just us girls from the village. But where are we going from here?” ……. The same questioner pressed home her point. Sally was still, to a certain extent, lost and wanting direction.
Astrid knew this point would arrive sooner or later and it was her place, being the one voluntarily crossing gender lines, to explain.
She began, “You’re right to wonder. Christine and I have been talking for some time, wondering if there were others in the village who might like to make the lifestyle choices we have made and maybe to join us. Join us as we are — woman and man, instead of man and woman — not permanently — well, not unless you ever decided to go in that direction, but that’s not for us and not in our minds. We just love the way we have found new expressions of the way we love eachother and we can strongly recommend that others should try……. Just experiment a little. If you like the sound of the ideas we’re trying to explain, we’ll tell you more. There’s lots on the emotional side to cover. The physical side too, we can recommend. As a man, I love being loved as a woman. As a man, I love loving a woman. I get the best of both worlds. Christine does too. From it being her idea that I should become more feminine, she’s now got the chance to be more masculine, just occasionally”.
Sally, who Christine and Andy had heard was resolutely heterosexual, was immediately accepting of the whole idea that had been laid out before the group. “You know, there’s more sense in what you’ve said than almost anything I’ve had said to me about sex toys and things…… Now, where do we go from here. I mean, Christine and er, Astrid, are asking us all a question…… Do we want to hear more and, maybe meet again…….?”
Christine thanked Sally, of all the unexpected sources, for the conclusion and said,
“sally’s right… we can go on all night but I think you have the gist of our ideas. What Astrid and I would like to do is give you something to go home with, to accompany whatever you have each bought earlier in the evening… We wish you lots of fun with those toys and things and hope to hear you’d like to come back, let’s say in a couple of weeks’ time. In the meantime, here’s a gift for each of you…… or more importantly, for your partners….. It’s a beautiful, delicate, girly, feminine, nightgown. We would love you to re-enact our own experience. It will work for some of you, maybe not for others, but do persevere. The first reactions you get may well hide a deeply-held longing that you can release……. “
Astrid smiled and thought of bedtime and the love-making that would surely follow for himself and Christine………
Chapter 23 will be the last (Please forgive the time taken to reach release of this, (penultimate) part of the story.
The party’s over and it’s time to leave. Each partygoer will have their own thoughts about what Christine and Astrid have said. It’s for them now to go home and to decide if they would like to explore, in a very gentle way, the changing of their partners, spouses, and lovers.
Chr
Chapter 23
Christine wanted to wrap up and stimulate some action
“Sally’s right… we can go on all night but I think you have the gist of our ideas. What Astrid and I would like to do is give you something to go home with, to accompany whatever you have each bought earlier in the evening… We wish you lots of fun with those toys and things and hope to hear you’d like to come back, let’s say in a couple of weeks’ time. In the meantime, here’s a gift for each of you…… or more importantly, for your partners….. It’s a beautiful, delicate, girly, feminine, nightgown. We would love you to re-enact our own experience. It will work for some of you, maybe not for others, but do persevere. This is just to get you started….. The first reactions you get may well hide a deeply-held longing that you can release……”
Astrid then chipped in with a diary reminder….. “Don’t forget!..... Valentine’s Day and Christmas are the most notable times when couples play dressing games.– your husbands, boyfriends, etc., may shop for dresses, sexy lingerie, nightgowns, etc., without even raising eyebrows. That provides excellent cover for wives who want to make a transgender person of their partners. If you let them know what you like…… You can get them looking at what you would like THEM to wear….. By the time next year comes around, they might be girls who wish to shop for such items for themselves. No salesperson is likely to ask, “Why is a man like you shopping for sexy stiletto sandals?” So, when you’re tempting them for the first time, you can ask questions that you would not ordinarily feel confident enough to ask – e.g., “Do you think that these shoes would go well with a pink baby doll?” It just happens that we’re two weeks away from Valentine’s Day, and that’s a sort of “manna from heaven,” providing opportunities to experience the joy, wisdom, and perhaps even spiritual renewal that comes from preparing the way for your husbands’ expressing their feminine selves more intensely!”
“I’m still not convinced….. Doesn’t he have to be gay to want to succumb to the ideas you’re suggesting?” A perfectly understandable, and frequently-voiced question came from Priti from the Corner shop in the centre of the village.
Astrid jumped in on the first mention of “being gay” which Andy most certainly wanted to say, he was not! She began, in her best girly voice, “Crossdressers (which we call CD's as an obvious short-form) are a largely misunderstood group. Many believe the popular conception that crossdressing is a haven for gay men and that the act is somehow perverted. Transvestite is an older term for crossdresser. It sounds more suspicious, don’t you think? Crossdressing just says what it IS that we do. We wear the clothes of the female sex and we love doing so, because we love women so much……… Being perverted? That’s people who don’t know the first thing about us. Nothing could be further than the truth. A Crossdresser is usually all man and more often than not he’s firmly heterosexual. They are usually more sensitive, emotionally, on average than the rest of the males you meet.”
Andy was well into his personal credo about his love of dressing as a woman. A love born out of Christine’s sensitive suggestions all that time ago.
“……..Crossdressing is merely an expression of one’s feminine side. I’ve got a well-developed one. We men all have one. It relieves tensions and the pressures of everyday male life. And God knows, there are some even though I don’t expect your sympathy! And there are those who think it can be “treated” somehow. Years ago, anyone who did what I do would have found themselves with aversion therapy — most likely electric shocks!! Thank God we have come a long way since then! In case you’re wondering, crossdressing in itself is not an illness. It’s actually a joy. In some cases where crossdressing is controlling one’s life, counselling is then recommended, but nowadays it’s a question of helping those around the CD to accept her as she is, when she is who she wants to be. That’s how Christine and I live, and love together. Occasionally crossdressing crosses into the transgendered (which now is called being TG) — it’s a different realm but this is not for most of us. The vast majority of us don’t want to change our gender, and have reassignment surgery, and lose our cocks and bollocks and grow ourselves tits……… I must admit, there have been times that I have thought…. But then, I love what we do with those things too much to let them go!”
Priti was more than satisfied with that little homily and smiled at Astrid, seeing her — or Andy — in a very new and different light.
Christine offered the nightgowns to each of the partygoers. Not one refused to take one. “There are medium and larger sizes here, just take which one you feel would be right — there’s a size 14, for those about 5ft 8inches, and an 18 for those of 5ft 10 or more. Just feel how silky they are….”
Words of ecstasy were commonplace; “Oh, don’t you just love the colour of the fabric?!” “I can just see this peach satin being impossible for him to give up!” “I wish this came with panties and a slip….” “I’d never thought of doing something like this, but now I come to think of it, it’s a no-brainer. He just has to say ‘yes’ when I suggest….” “This would be fabulous for him when we just lounge around the apartment for an evening….” “Just wait till you get him to bed!”…… “Would you dare?? I mean, bed him, wearing something so girly?” “Well, I would if my girlfriend was away for the weekend!” “How long could you keep him that way?....” “I’d say, well….., how about a lifetime!? If I can convince him that this is the way I want him to be…. Just sometimes….” “Just sometimes… you mean, you don’t want a wife full time? I sure could use one!” “No, no, a wife needs a cock of her own like a fish needs a bicycle — as somebody once said…. I love cock and I’d want him to keep his…” “I’m not so sure….. I might go the way Christine here does when she’s being Christopher… I quite fancy that idea…. Christine, do you have a cock when you’re dressed?”
Christine wasn’t at all shocked, after all, this was the sort of conversation that she wanted the group to be having….. It was clear that the nighties as gifts were a great success! Astrid winked at her with the same thought in mind.
“Well, as you ask, I quite like to have a small ‘boy’ down there so that when the urge takes me I can give myself a squeeze to heighten the intensity of my lusty feelings. I don’t tend to use it on you, do I Astrid, Darling?”
Astrid smiled a shocked, bashful girly smile and said, “Only when I’m feeling especially vulnerable, my honey. Then I like to give you a good licking…..”
There was a moment’s silence before the wives and girlfriends resumed their “what if” discussion…. “What if we all went home tonight — it’s not too late - and tried what Christine suggested. Don’t let’s wait… unless there’s a good reason not to… like a death in the family! Haha!!!” That was Cathy’s contribution. It was clear that she and Johnny were going to have an interesting evening.
“You’re right, it’s not too late and there’s a late lie-in coming in the morning, “she” could wake up in this lovely nightgown and we could go on from there….” Said Jenny the AmDram actress who most knew was keen on ladyfriends already.
“Jenny, you are a vixen!...” exclaimed Pammie who had known Jenny for a long time, “…but what you say is true….. Get him going one evening, before a weekend, and you have him where you want him for 48 hours!!” Clearly, Pammie’s husband Jack was in for a surprise.
“I wish I had a husband….” Said Bev, quietly………. “I won’t be seeing my boyfriend until Tuesday night, by which time, you’ll all be miles ahead of me in how much fun you’re having! Has anyone got a spare male I can have for the weekend!!!?” she laughed.
“What about Brian from the pub? Couldn’t you borrow him? Belinda’s a bit straight-laced if you ask me….” Said Emma, the newly-wed from number 7.
Astrid and Christine stood by the door to their little cottage which had been virtually packed with partygoers. As each left, they said they hoped the evening had been enjoyable and left the guests with “food for thought”. They said to each one that they hoped to see them more around the village over the coming days and to let them know if a repeat meeting would be of interest. It would, of course, be open to all, partners, husbands and lovers included. There were very few replies that were non-committal. Almost everyone seemed to be saying that they would return when the date was fixed.
DEAR READERS, AT THIS POINT, I HAVE TO FINISH — PERSONAL TROUBLES CAUSED BY FAMILY ILLNESS MEAN THAT I CAN NO LONGER DEVOTE PRECIOUS TIME TO WRITING FOR MY OWN, AND MAYBE YOUR, SATISFACTION. M MAY RETURN ONE DAY, UNTIL THEN, MY APOLOGIES FOR CUTTING AND RUNNING HALFWAY THROUGH A STORY……
by WannabeGinger
He had rehearsed what he would say many times over.
He had summoned up courage.
He wanted to share his visions of past experiences.
Whether she, Jenny, would enter discussion, he couldn’t be sure.
But he felt confident she would. She had cut his hair many times now.
In her little village salon. Usually first appointment of the day. When it was quiet.
She tended to work on her own each morning. Another stylist came in for afternoons.
It would be quiet.
As he dressed in his underwear, his comfort was all-embracing.
He slipped into his panties, fastened the suspender belt and rolled up the stockings.
Over the painted toenails. The nail polish glinted. He liked the shimmering shade of red.
His bra matched the panties, with lovely lace surrounds. Crystal blue satin. Slinky.
He stood back and looked in the mirror, and couldn’t resist putting on the shoes.
As he sat on the bed, the stockings pulled this way and that.
High heels. To die for. Towering stilettos. Crazy really, but sexy. Oh, so sexy!
Size nines. Difficult to find. But worth every penny he had spent on them.
Strappy. The black straps were slim, and wound around his ankle, tiny buckle-fastened.
He couldn’t go out in them — he couldn’t drive the car in them…. So, off they came.
He looked at the makeup tray, neatly laid out on his wife’s dressing table.
She was away for several days. It was safe. It hadn’t always been so. She knew.
She knew that he would be dressing while she was away. But she wanted none of it.
He was not tempted b the cosmetics. Not now. He was going out. To the salon.
8.30am. He was waiting outside the salon. Where was Jenny? She was a little late.
He watched her arrive from behind the driver’s wheel of his car.
Could he go through with it? Of course, he could. Plan B was just to have the usual cut.
Plan A was to say how much he’d appreciated the cut she’d done last time….
When he was having his 60th birthday.
She had left it a little longer than usual — but he liked it that way.
She greeted him with her usual smile, her brunette hair tumbling past her chin in waves.
“How are you today? Lovely sunshine so early…” she laughed. “Come in.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it?!” he replied.
She fussed with the gown that encased him as he sat before her mirror.
Underneath, his bra and panties felt good. His tits didn’t show because of the sweater.
The sweater covered the blouse.
He wished now he had dared to put on some pale lipstick that morning before leaving home.
He had thought about it again as he waited for her, sitting in his car.
But he hadn’t…..
“How do you want the cut this time?” she asked. “A little more off as it’s summer?”
“Well not really….” he hesitated.
“You did it really well last time and it was just right because I had a party that weekend…… A “big” birthday… with a “BIG ZERO” and I felt it looked just right.”
“But that was six weeks ago!” she laughed. “Must have some more off now!”
“Well, maybe….. You see I thought then how my hair has changed over the years…. Since I was younger. It’s been awfully conventional for the last twenty years! It wasn’t always like that….”
He paused…… Should he go on? Did she care??? She ran her fingers through his hair.
“In what sense, how has it changed?” she asked, with her head tilted as she looked at him in the mirror. “How has it been… and did you like it better before?” Genuinely interested, she was.
He was encouraged. “You see, I’m sure people’s hair reflects their personalities and, maybe, they do change over time.” he ventured, knowing where he had planned to go with the conversation. “I’m very different now than when I was, say, twenty and at University.”
“Of course we all are…..” she agreed, “…so what were you like in your twenties?”
Andy was ready to plunge……. Jenny began to comb his hair, this way and that, as if in thought as to how she would style his hair……. But she didn’t start the cutting….. “You usually have a wash and cut, don’t you?” she asked, and was right. Andy enjoyed having his hair washed. “Come on over to the shampoo basins.”
He was about to say what he was wanting to say, when Jenny said, “I bet you had long hair when you were twenty. Didn’t you tell me one time that you’d had a ponytail?! Was it then? When you were twenty? I can just imagine….!” she said, teasingly.
“Well of course, we were at Uni and nobody spent money on having their hair cut. I didn’t get it cut for three years!” Andy laughed. This was almost what he’d planned to tell her first…… “Lodgings at Uni were great. We had a group of seven of us — three guys and four girls. Perfect!”
“How perfect?” Jenny asked, puzzled by the inequality of numbers.
“Well, one of the guys was gay, so that meant there was me and another guy with four girls!” Andy thought back to the sleeping arrangements and how relationships were built and changed over time there. “Perfect!”.
Jenny laughed again, fully understanding the meaning of what Andy had said.
“And your ponytail? Was that perfect?”
“Well, it wasn’t at the outset…. It was all a mess really, just scragged back to keep it all out of the way. I didn’t pay it much attention - or look after it at all really……. At least, not in the first year. But that all changed around the time of the Students Union Winter Ball that year.”
Andy was beginning to warm to his story and Jenny kept herself busy with the shampooing. Andy laid back in the near horizontal chair that sloped up to the basin where his head was rested.
The water coursed over his head. Her hands massaged the shampoo in gently.
“How did the Ball change your hair? I don’t get it…” asked Jenny, not understanding at all.
Andy felt his bra and panties close to his skin as he sat, or almost laid, in the shampooing chair. At the age of sixty, he really should have grown out of such a fetish…..
“That year, it was a Winter’s Turnabout Party” he smiled as his mind flooded with memories. “You know, one of those where the guys all go as girls and the girls go as guys….?”
“Indeed I do,” said Jenny. “I’ve been to several myself and they’re usually great fun — so long as people enter into the spirit of the occasion!”
“You’re right there, but I really didn’t know how much I’d be entered into the spirit…..! It kind-of ran away with itself once one of the girls in our house, Sarah was her name, that’s right, Sarah. She teased me about my hair and said I had no right to go as a girl with a mop like mine. She insisted that it had to be cut and conditioned…….. But she was doing a Hair & Beauty course at the local polytechnic so said she’d do it for me……
“What did she do? Give you an ‘Up-do’? or something?” asked Jenny, getting more curious.
“That’s not the half of it.” replied Andy.
His eyes closed to avoid the random dribbles of shampoo that were just getting close to his eyes.
“Not at all. She said it had to be conditioned because I’d taken such lousy care of it…….. So, ok, we agreed she could do that. She’d do it on the Wednesday before the Ball on the Friday night. She didn’t tell me what she had in mind…..”
“Sounds like great fun to me.” said Jenny. “I’ve done this for several guys in my time.”
“Not like Sarah did, I’m sure….” Andy went on….. “….Don’t you believe it.” she replied.
“Come the Wednesday, Sarah sat me down and combed my hair through and said it had to be conditioned…… So that’s what I expected she’d do. She put some quite evil smelling stuff all over my hair with a tough little brush, really working it into the hair, and then said I had to wait for it to ‘develop’ — and, to help it she combed it through and wrapped my head in clingfilm. What she didn’t tell me was that the ‘conditioning’ would come later.”
He was into the story now. No turning back…
“What she’d actually done was bleach it completely. I thought it took a looonnnng time before she said it was ‘done’ and, because I couldn’t see what was going on, I just thought it had needed a lot of conditioning.”
“Bleach?? You mean. She was turning you into a blonde for the Winter Ball?” Jenny exclaimed.
“Too right…. But I didn’t know that for a while after……” Andy went on.
“Tell me more — let’s step over to the mirror.” Jenny suggested.
“We didn’t have a mirror like yours, so I couldn’t see. So she washed off the ‘conditioner’ and I was none the wiser. Then she trimmed my hair. I should’ve noticed. The trimmings must’ve been blonde….” Andy though briefly — did he know then? Yes, he must’ve….
Jenny had combed his hair through by now and was beginning her trimming of his, now grey, hair.
“How did you feel then?” she asked, not knowing what he would say.
“Well, kinda curious…. I guess…..” Andy paused.
“……But I didn’t know it was blonde…. I was thinking about how she would style me.”
Jenny wanted to know more: “Did you discuss a style for the Ball?”
“Not until then…… It was just about then she asked me if I had a style in mind.” he said.
Again, as the memory flooded back, Andy wriggled in the chair in front of Jenny’s mirror. The ba and panties we snug. The stockings and suspenders were tight. The nail polish, he knew, would be glistening on his toes. Don’t girls have more fun than guys!!?
………CHAPTER 2 FOLLOWS.
by WannabeGinger
Andy recalled the situation that he was telling Jenny, his hairdresser, about.
He recalled sitting before a dressing table in his girlfriend’s room in their shared house at Uni.
She was styling his hair for the Winter Turnabout Ball at the Student’s Union.
His hair was blonded now, though he hadn’t see a mirror but he must have known.
Now, aged 60, he was telling Jenny, his current hairdresser all about it.
“Sarah told me to hold still because she was cutting my hair very precisely.” he said.
“She told me that if we were going to the Ball in character, we had to do it properly.”
“Properly? That’s a good Cornish word!” Jenny interrupted. “In character? ….. Did that mean she meant for you to be a celeb or something?” She had not begun trimming Andy’s hair yet.
Andy felt able to continue: “It seemed so — in her mind at least — though she hadn’t told me who.”
“So, you were going to be an actress or someone famous — she might have asked you who you’d like to be! Who did it turn out to be? Who were you at the ball? Jenny was fascinated.
Time was passing — Andy thought — and soon another customer would come into the salon. Soon his fantasy talk with this lovely girl — well, 40-something — this lovely woman, would have to stop.
“She didn’t let me choose — though I was delighted with her choice when I found out — she just went right on with the cutting and conditioning. The comb, I remember, felt silky smooth as it went through my wet hair. Quite unlike the tangled mop that I’d had in the ponytail. I remember being conscious that the hair was shorter — she must’ve cut quite a lot off…”
“While she dried my hair with a hand dryer, she went into details about what ‘doing it properly’ meant…….. She said I had to wear some really quite glamorous make-up, and ear-rings that dangled — she had some of her mother’s, she said — and we had to go to the Stage and Party rental shop in town. They did lots of theatrical clothes for hire really cheaply. I didn’t know what a ‘halter neckline’ dress was, but she said I must have one. They’d do me shoes too. “Heels, she said. You’ll have to try heels and see how women suffer!” Then, she said, she’d do my nails. And very glam make-up.
Andy looked at Jenny in her mirror. “By then, I knew this was going to be no ordinary Party!”
“I should think not…. How superb!” Jenny answered.
“I worked on Cruise ships for a few years before coming here to Cornwall — or back to Cornwall.”
(Jenny was Cornish through and through, from her curls to her wellies! That’s what Andy liked about her).
“We had some wonderful parties where guests dressed up to the “Nines”, and many were like that.”
Andy continued, not letting her know the character Sarah had planned for him to be at the ball. Then, the salon’s phone rang…….. “Please take that.” he said to Jenny. So she did. He only caught half the brief conversation,
“Oh, hello there.” “Yes, lovely day…” “That’s right…. Highlights…..” “Well, we said about three hours, didn’t we, that’s why we wanted to start at 9 o’clock…” “Oh, alright then.. let’s have a look in the book…. Yes, quite understand…. Before the weekend… of course……” “Well, Friday later in the afternoon — how would that suit…? I’ll stay late to finish you off… yes, I know it’s a special occasion.” “See you then.” Jenny finished the call. Said “Damn!” and returned to the styling chair where Andy sat.
“Big customer — always has lots of colouring done and comes in ‘reglar’ for a styling. Can’t afford to put her out! So, that’s Friday buggered — have to get to the pub late!” Jenny laughed — it’s business and the customers is always right, thought Andy. “It means we have plenty of time now.”
They turned back to Andy’s story, and his hair today….. Jenny had to start the cutting.
“Leave it longer, please. I just like it so.” said Andy.
“OK, it’s your call.” Jenny replied, combing the hair back off his face. “Tell me more, Blondie!”
“What, about the ball? Oh, yes….” Andy had lost his thread a little.
Where had he reached?......... Oh, yes, Sarah had told him what doing it ‘properly’ meant.
“She dried my hair straight and then revealed that it was Blonde!.........” Andy said now quite excited once more.
“She spun me round and showed me a mirror… and there I was….. Really quite a yellowy kind of blonde…. Bit tarty really…….”
Andy smiled to himself, remembering the stunning look that he saw in that mirror. Was that the moment at which he began his love affair with looking like a girl? It probably was.
“She was very pleased with her handiwork and had made it all sleek and soft……. All one length below my chin……. A Bob she called it. No fringe or bangs… But she said I could have those if I wanted. What did I know!?! And she said she wanted to tone the colour before the Ball.”
“So what did she plan to do with your hair as a style?” Jenny asked.
“She didn’t say. She just said we had to continue the next evening. Meantime, I had to face the world with blonde hair — all sleek and flowing. I really did enjoy the feel of it.” Andy sighed.
“Did enjoy the feel of it…” Andy lapsed into deep thought at that moment, as Jenny combed and began to cut his hair. He was conscious that, under his sweater, his blouse and bra would be perfect if he were sitting in this chair as a woman. His panties, stockings, suspenders and painted toes, likewise. One day, he might venture to the salon dressed. One day, jenny might get to know him as his alter ego.
“How did that go? How did your flatmates react to you as a blonde…. And what about the rest of your college class?” Jenny pushed him into more recalling of that evening.
“They were cool about it. After all, we were a real mixed bag of lay-abouts and typical student youngsters. In fact some other guys said they’d maybe do something similar.” But then, it was just a blonde change, cut perfectly, ok, but it could be feminine, or whatever.
“I just treated it as something I’d decided to do and got some help with doing. “ he reasoned.
“Then there was the Ball….. How did you prepare for that?” Jenny wanted to know all about it. She was getting on with cutting his hair now and just asked occasional questions to prompt Andy’s story along.
“Choosing clothes was easy — there was plenty to select from and Sarah had already found the halter neckline dress for me to wear. It was a slinky gold shimmering satin job…. And a pair of size nine gold stilettos to go with it. Ten Quid to hire the lot — bargain! She also got me a new from Marks & Spencer’s body stocking that would cover my chest and upper arms to hide my chest hair and pimples. That would feel very nice, I was to find out later!”
That shopping had been done the day before the ball, he told Jenny.
“We had a dress rehearsal the night before…. But I still didn’t know who my character would be!”
“More important, there was the makeup and the final hairstyling to be done. That had to wait until the following day — it seemed like the whole day!” Andy meant that so much.
“Oh, and I haven’t mentioned Sarah’s costume and how she would be dressed….. We got her a pin-stripe suit — a small-size man’s suit . She was to flatten her tits and wear one of my interview shirts and ties. Her shoes had to come from the same theatrical lenders that all my tat came from. She was going to slick her hair down and go for a “City” worker’s character; she’d look like the Julie Andrew’s character in Victor/Victoria, the film that came out later.”
“I kinda like girls dressed that way sometimes….” said Jenny wistfully.
“She looked stunning, I have to say.” he admitted.
The dress rehearsal had given Andy confidence to “go for it” as he said…. To do it “properly” as Sarah had said. He was going to be the “Belle of the Ball”. All blonde and shimmering gold. Hey agreed that Sarah would go for a really sophisticated make-up look for him. Not at all tarty.
She had resolved to work on his hair in the afternoon, before she dressed him as the unknown celeb. That meant toning his yellow-blonde hair with a professional toner — a beige blonde that was almost peach in colour…. Baby Blonde by Clairol.
Sophisticated. Feminine.
Who else could it be but Marilyn Monroe? But Andy didn’t know that… then.
“I still didn’t know who I was to be when I sat down on the afternoon of the Ball. Sarah said she wanted to tone my hair — whatever that meant, I didn’t know. Then she said she would set it. Whatever that meant — I was soon to find out.”
He was re-living the experience. The wonderment of what was being done to him. “The toning didn’t take long……. I just sat there waiting for whatever she was to do next.”
Then, he smiled again, as he recalled how Sarah had tested the change in his hair colour before washing out the toner. She then reached for the tray of rollers and told him that he would be going for soft curls, lovely feminine curls, that would frame his face.
He sat in Jenny’s chair, as she reached the closing stages of his cut. Loving the reminiscences about his first hair colour and set. It had changed his life. It really had.
“It was then that she told me to look forward to looking like Marilyn Monroe…. I nearly died! You have got to be kidding! I said. No way! You can’t get me to look anything like that glorious woman! I dare you!!! I said to her. Then I realized what I’d just said.”
His memory was crystal clear about that moment.
“You dare me, you dare me? Sarah said…… OK, she said………” Andy blushed at the thought. “You will be my Marilyn!” Sarah had said. And so it was to be.
“She reached for this tray of rollers and began to section my hair off into small sections. Then she wound each strand round a roller… some were really big, and others quite small. Some went around the crown of my head, others ran around the sides and the nape of my neck……”
“…..And they were tight… I mean tight!”
“I’m not surprised,” Jenny interrupted, “….. The tighter the rollers, the better the set!”
Andy had then been put under the domed dryer that Sarah had at home for her studies. The rushing sound of the hot air nearly blew him away, he said.
He recalled how being under the dryer he felt especially feminine, sitting there telling Jenny about this experience with his underwear closing in around his body. Andy knew that his crossdressing in later years was all due to that one week at Uni, when the Winter Turnabout Ball took place.
“So, it took half an hour or more and then Sarah took me out to let the rollers cool, and the set take form, which gave her the chance to start with my make-up.” Andy’s smile told Jenny that this was now a full-scale conversion and transformation. Something that Andy was not to forget. Jenny now saw deeper inside her customer than before.
“She put a beige sort-of creamy powdery stuff — which I now know is foundation — after first covering a couple of blotches with something thicker — concealer, they call it, don’t they?”
He sought Jenny’s confirmation — and she nodded. Her final trimming of the hair below the nape of his neck meant that she was done. “TELL ME HOW MARILYN TURNED OUT”. SHE SAID.
CHAPTER THREE follows
Andy had reached the point in his story that he hadn’t dare to think he would with Jenny.
He was indulging himself. This was his fantasy.
That he could transport himself back to his 20s, through the eyes of a gorgeous lady.
His hairdresser. She certainly had encouraged him to tell his story.
They had reached the stage where, on the afternoon of the SU Winter Turnabout Ball, his girlfriend and flatmate of the time, Sarah, had him bleached, toned, rollered and dried, and ready for make-up as Marilyn Monroe. With foundation covering all his blemishes, he was ready for eyeshadow, mascara, blush and lipstick. Ooooh, that wonderful rich red lipstick!
He recalled how the rollers tugged in his hair as they cooled after leaving the hot air of the dryer.
Jenny wanted to know more about the ball itself. “Get to the bit where you ‘made your entrance’!!” she implored him. Tell me how you looked and felt….!”
But Andy was still deep in the experience of being made-up and combed-out. He wasn’t yet the woman he would be for the whole night. And Sarah had let him look in a mirror.
“When she started, I was a bloke with long hair…. Then, I was a bloke with long blonde hair….. Then, I was a bloke trying on dresses and stiletto-heeled shoes…….. But I was still a bloke! It’s just incredible what a change I felt come over me when I had those rollers in my hair and was having make-up put on my face. I can’t explain it really, but I didn’t feel like a bloke any more.”
He stopped, mid-flow, and thought for a moment. That’s because I wasn’t…. a bloke any more!
“That’s because you weren’t..” Jenny interjected, quietly. She looked at him in a different light.
“No, that’s true……. You understand, don’t you…. It was, like, this woman’s face emerged where mine had been…… A pretty face, almost…. It wasn’t a bloke’s. It was cool — the make-up. Sarah had said that “properly” meant not being excessive with the cosmetics. It meant a “Night time” look but not tarty, not like a Drag artist….. And she did it so well….. I couldn’t believe it.”
Andy was getting a bit breathless at the thoughts — shared with Jenny. He hadn’t thought of this experience in such depth ever since……
“And then she started to take out the rollers from my hair. I remember almost wanting them to stay in for ever…. Can you understand that? I can’t explain it at all, but that’s how I felt.”
“It sounds like a very intense experience, Marilyn…….” Jenny said, crossing the line into taking part in this fantasy recall. Andy was suddenly conscious of feeling very horny indeed.
His seated position hid a growing warmth and congestion in his panties. There was a danger that he might cum and that would be a disaster. He had to resist that urge at all costs.
“She took them all out, one-by-one and left them to rest in the shape of the curls that had been formed — and there I sat, with my make-up all done and this tumble of blonde rolls set free around my face….. I could’ve had them left like that — it was a style in itself.” Andy meant it. Many times since then — in salons where he had found space and time, he had asked for a roller set and comb-out, just for the joy of that look in the mirror.
He had planned to tell Jenny about other birthdays in his 20s and how his hair had changed through time. But this story was taking far too long for that. Maybe he’d tell her about that another time. She certainly seemed to be pushing him……
“And finally, she combed your hair out?” Jenny asked tentatively.
“Oh, yes indeed! She took each roll and made a wonderful curl of it, laying them out before gently brushing it through to make the classic Marilyn style — you know, the side-parting, the flip over the ear, the height at the crown, and the soft under-curls the other side. All in baby blonde….”
“And then you stepped into your halter-neck dress and the stilettos?” Jenny breathed.
“Not before the body stocking and the bra and panties and suspenders and stockings!” Andy joked in mock horror.
“And how did you feel?”
“Like a million dollars!”
“Clearly.”
The doorbell rang and another client entered jenny’s salon. The spell was broken. His hair was cut. Jenny had finished. It was time to leave. But Andy vowed to tell her more, another time. There was so much to tell.
THE END…. FOR NOW.
A second visit to the salon — rather sooner than expected
“Twelve Thirty…… ok, then…. I’ll look forward to seeing you, Andy.”
Jenny was surprised he had called so soon. But he had. The very next day.
After his most recent appointment. When he had opened up about his past.
12.30pm was the end of her working day on a Saturday. Jenny liked the afternoon to herself. So, even if the appointment ran over, she would be free say around 1.30pm. He couldn’t need much doing…. He will have only been in a little while ago. What an intriguing man!
The last time had ended rather abruptly, she thought; Andy had left so soon after telling her about his Winter Turn-About Ball at Uni. She wanted to know much more about his “Marilyn”……
Perhaps she wouldn’t plan anything definite for that afternoon; this coming Saturday.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Andy put the phone down. His heart racing inside his chest. He was breathless.
He had done it…… Not only had he told her his story….
He had now booked another appointment. It would be easier a second time.
To tell her more.
He had gone over and over the previous day’s appointment at Jenny’s salon.
He had loved every minute. Secretly, because his wife was away, he felt guilty.
But then, thinking about it, he had no right to feel that way. It was her choice.
Not to be involved. To tolerate. To know he dressed when she was away.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
He sat outside her salon, waiting for Jenny’s last client of the day to leave.
His wife was away again. She wouldn’t notice another haircut.
Saturday was a busy day for Jenny and she was evidently running late.
He had chosen to ring and tell her by phone that he himself would be late.
He apologised but she said not to worry at all.
He sat there telling himself again what he had told her.
About Marilyn……. He was Marilyn Monroe at that Turnabout Ball, 40 years ago.
He told her about the halter-neck dress, in its gold satin. And the bodystocking.
And the bra and panties. And the make-up.
And most importantly, about the way his flat-mate Sarah had done his hair.
She had bleached it and toned it to a beautiful baby blonde shade.
She had rollered it and set it, beautifully, in a classic “Marilyn” style.
He had loved it…. But just how much, he hadn’t said. But he would.
In the next hour or so.
He was going to tell her how that Ball had changed his life. Conventional though he looked now.
The last client left, closing the door to the salon with a cheerful wave, “See you soon!”, he heard.
What would Jenny make of him after that? He wondered…….
He was wearing his nice undergarments again. Stockings and suspenders, panties and chemise.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
“Hello again!........ Can I call you Andy?” Jenny said imploringly.
“Of course you can, Jenny; suits me.” Andy responded, secretly overjoyed at this familiarity.
“Well, what can I do for you today?” she asked him.
“Just carry on like we were doing last time — give me a wash and a trim please…”
“Oh, I was hoping to send you blonde all over again!” Jenny exclaimed — there being nobody else in the room to hear her. “You’d obviously enjoyed yourself that first time….”
“Just a wash, now….” Andy looked down, over-come with sudden shyness. Damn!!!
“Hey, I was just joking….” Jenny retracted realising she might have over-stepped the mark….
“Come on over to the wash basins and we’ll get you gowned-up…..” I was hoping you’d finish off your story that got stopped when you had to leave last time…… About you… And Marilyn….?” Jenny genuinely wanted to know more about Andy and his experience as a teen/twenty year old.
And to find out why he was back in her salon so soon?!
Soon enough, her wish was granted. Once Andy sat in the shampooing chair, with his head laid back in the crescent of porcelain and the water began to flow, he relaxed. Totally.
This was heaven!
Jenny ran her fingers through his hair — almost newly-cut. There wouldn’t be much trimming to be done this time. “I’ll get some special conditioner for you…” she said, echoing the treatment he had received from Sarah, all those years ago. She had called it ‘conditioning’ when she bleached his hair that first time...........! She had tricked him that first time.
He said nothing. He shivered……. In excitement. Re-living that day,… at Sarah’s hands.
“While I do that, you have to tell me more about the night you went as Marilyn.” Jenny implored him. And that was enough. It was as if the floodgates opened. His defences down, he began……
“You must keep this all to yourself, Jenny…..” (Pause) “You must. Because I’ve never told this to another living soul — except those who were at the Ball, of course. I fell into the part I was to play — from the moment I slipped on that beautiful dress…… well, maybe from the time my hair was set just so. Sarah said it would be simple — guys as girls and girls as guys… but she didn’t tell me that we could feel the way I was feeling….. I just spent the whole evening adoring the glamour ………” He paused wondering if he should say what he was thinking……
“….and feeling just so feminine…….. Impossible, I know…… Look at me now…” Andy was almost back there as he spoke, Jenny could tell.
“You mean, the clothes and the make-up and hair made you actually feel you were female???.....” Incredulous, she was prepared to believe it… only if she heard some more. “Like, how did this manifest itself?”
“Well, jealousy for a start… I found myself admiring other girls’ hair and make-up…. And then found myself hating them for looking cooler and sexier than I felt…… Just one or two of them. Some were awful! ….Just those two. (His mind wandered back — two guys had done almost as good a job in dressing as he had.)
And there were girls there as girls….. But it was those dressed as guys that had style that I really admired…….. Those I really did get jealous about. - their clothes.... I do remember there was one girl who had the best and most beautiful figure — lovely tits, just big enough to be beautiful… not too big, and they were served up on a most wonderful platform brassiere that showed them off to perfection….. all surrounded by pink and white lace, just covering her nipples. She wore a man’s suit with the pink and white lace blouse revealing everything…… I just wanted to have them…. Not like to eat — like a guy — but to literally have them for myself, for my own….. My tits that night were just packed cotton wool. Although, I have to admit, mine looked good peeking out from the halter neckline.”
Andy paused again….. Almost shocked at the way he had lost his previous inhibitions.
While he talked, Jenny washed away the conditioning treatment and towel-dried Andy’s hair.
“She sounds good enough for anyone to eat!” exclaimed Jenny.
Jenny hadn’t been prepared for such openness so soon in the conversation…. She had only just washed his hair and Andy was describing deep deep emotions about a long-ago event. She was quietly stunned. No client had even disclosed such things to her before. Some had secrets she now shared, but this…..????!!!!!!
“Well, I made sure that we exchanged numbers before we left the Ball…”
“And did you get to meet her again??”
“Nah, she proved to be a huge cock-tease, nothing more.
“So, what happened after the Ball? — to you and Sarah?” Jenny enquired, wondering if Sarah and Andy had survived in a relationship.
“We went home that evening — to the flat in the house we shared….. and we fucked as woman and man — still in roles for the Ball. She had a toy that we played with.” Andy laughed at the thought.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
By the time Andy had moved from shampooing basin to Jenny’s styling chair, the talk had moved on to Sarah and how their relationship changed after the Ball. It was clear to her that the Winter turnaround had been deeply moving for him and that Andy would have been a changed man after his night as “Marilyn”. He had so loved that dress…… And he had so loved the hair!
“Did you stay as lovers after that?” she asked him, expecting a positive answer.
“Well, in a way, we did… I guess….. It was a big house we shared so if you’re asking did we move in together, the answer’s no, we stayed separate….. and yes, we did screw from time-to-time but we both had other friends in the house, and elsewhere in Uni. In our class and subject groupings. We are talking thirty years ago — this was all new to us… and everyone was keen to explore….”
“Where did it lead you…. Next?” Jenny asked, thinking that Andy’s experiences hadn’t followed on from the Ball…….
“Best thing of all was the dress — I paid the penalty for non-returning to the hire shop and kept it. Said it had been ruined by drinks going over it…… But I kept it to wear.” Andy admitted. “I did say, don’t tell anyone, didn’t I? You won’t will you?”
“Who would I possibly tell?” Jenny said — almost as a whisper. “Go on……”
“Well, Sarah and me, we were always close…. Didn’t stop us having rows of course….. Like the month after the Ball….. we had a real up-and-downer….. She got really intense about me and the roots in my hair that were showing dark…. Well, within a few days, they showed. And she was insistent that they were cool and I should let them grow out — let them show…… I’d already made it clear that being blonde was cool and I wanted to stay so…… She went off on a ‘bender’ about how the roots would be how I should wear my hair….”
“Leave the blonde, and show the roots?” Jenny asked.
“Yeah. When I said I was going to get them done — bleached again — by somebody else if she wouldn’t do them for me — she nearly blew a gasket. She wanted to be in control, I guess. She wanted my hair to be ‘her creation’ and wouldn’t have anybody else meddling with it.”
“So, you stayed blonde?”
“Naturally!”… Or at least, very Unnaturally!”
“And did Sarah do your roots for you? ….or did you go elsewhere to get them done?”
“No, in the end, Sarah did them — kept in control, I guess….. She insisted on choosing the shade of toner I would wear…… And she insisted we change that regularly. After that, she did my roots every ten days or so… People got used to me as a blonde…… They only noticed when Sarah got a bit carried away with her toner selection…… Then, they did comment…. Steely- blue-grey, Strawberry and pure Ash blonde were noticed!” I was blonde for months and I can claim to have been living proof that “Blondes do have more fun!” Sarah wasn’t the only girl to be keen on my look — I was in heaven really.”
Jenny looked into the mirror. Into Andy’s eyes. She delved deep into the soul of this attractive greying man who sat in her salon chair, now it seemed, totally dis-inhibited.
“And what about your clothes? You kept the dress….. Did you keep anything else? And did you buy anything else???”
Jenny was pushing now for an admission which she almost knew now she was going to get — this guy had learnt about cross-dressing and was enjoying it by then.
She combed his towel-dry hair this way and that, toying with it as her scissors took tiny lengths of hair from all around his crown. She could picture him now — as a blonde — wearing that gold satin halter-neck dress, pouting like Marilyn Monroe, with luscious red lips…..
“I didn’t get any more clothes then — it was tough being a student and there wasn’t much money left after beer and take-away Indian or Chinese meals………… I had kept the underwear from the Ball so that made me comfortable………. Didn’t make me show myself off at all — this was a kind of house where you’d get a name as a bore if you didn’t lighten up most times….. So I kept myself to my own room and, when Sarah came, she indulged me.
“So you were a blonde for your next birthday -how old were you then?”
“Twenty one. I stayed so until the Ball the next year…..”
“What happened then? Was it the same format??” Jenny asked, feigning excitement.
“It was….. and Sarah and me had another argument……. “
“What about?”
“Oh, a whole lot of things….. I suppose we’d been almost an item but not an item for too long. She wanted me to stay blonde, I was bored with it. She wanted to do me as Marilyn again, and I thought that was last year… I wanted something fresh. She didn’t think I should spend money on clothes… I had an evening bar job and felt it wasn’t her business….. “ Andy sighed, deeply.
“It did get a bit heavy. Pity really.” He regretted the inevitable split in the relationship with sarah that followed. “I had a great time with her. I’m sad I didn’t last longer. But we both seemed to be moving on. She was going to leave the college and do a practical year in her work - then she wanted to move to London. Which I couldn’t do — I still had a year at Uni. To complete.”
Jenny found herself with her hands on Andy’s shoulders. She had finished the tiny amount of trimming she had been able to do on his hair. She had brushed his neck to remove the stray starnds of hair. She had dried his hair lightly with a blow-dryer and curling brush, folding the longer strands of hair under to smooth the finish. And she had put the brush and dryer down to reach for the mirror, so she could show Andy her handiwork. But her hands were on his shoulders.
His eyes met hers in the mirror.
It was electric.
In that moment. Something charged between them.
But neither would say anything.
After all, she’s twenty years younger than me. He thought. After all, he’s a customer, a stranger, and he’s that much older than me. She thought.
“So, there you were, all ready to go to the Ball with nobody to dress you…. Sounds like Cinderella!” Jenny felt able to make a mocking jibe like that, in a very good-natured way, because she felt now that she knew this guy quite well…… In a short time, she had seen inside his Twenty-something head.
“What was it the girls said to Julia Roberts in ‘Pretty Woman’….. Cinder..Fucking..Rella!?? Yeah, that’s just how I must’ve felt at the time. She wouldn’t dress me, and she wouldn’t do my hair any different…….” Andy was really regretting the break-up with Sarah that followed.
“Well, what could I do? I was angry and I had nobody to do what I wanted doing…. So, I went out and blew a week’s wages on having my hair coloured and set, and I blew another week’s wages on a new dress that would go well at the Ball. Actually, that was two weeks’ wages!”
Jenny understood very easily the conundrum that Andy had faced. He could, of course, have given up on the whole idea and not even gone to the Ball. He could have sulked and stayed home. But something deep inside him had told him “no — you want this, so go and get it!” So he had gone out and got it…….. from complete strangers. That took courage in a way…. but may have been easier because of “no come-back”. What a man!!
“So you wanted a new look….. What was that? And who did you get to create it for you?..... Or did you try to create it yourself?” Jenny could envisage any one of these scenarios. Her hands still rested on his shoulders, but her work on his hair was finished.
Andy smiled….. “Trying myself wasn’t an option — it all had to be done in the day of the Ball…. And my skills with mascara and foundation and lipstick and eyeliner and eyeshadow were crap! And there was nobody else in the house who’d help. So it was up to me to find a salon, or two salons — one for hair and one for make-up. It was tricky approaching strangers but then I reasoned, it’s their job so why would they have a problem? Just because I was a guy….. And I explained about the ball — which was true….. I can’t have been the only one…. But maybe the only one to look quite so good!”
He flashed his eyes at Jenny in mock flirtation.
“I’d have loved the challenge….. How did you choose which salons to go to?” Jenny said, with genuine interest. She also meant that she would have loved to have been Andy’s first salon stylist.
“Simple really, I chose a salon in a quiet part of town — University cities have many back-lanes and quiet places. You get to know them. When you want a quiet pub or a shop that’s not on the High Street… So, I summoned up some guts and just waded into a little salon, not unlike your one here. It had a nail and beauty bar next door which was owned by the same girl, I guessed.”
“Did she know about the annual Ball for the Uni?”
“She did —and she said she’d had other customers too so “what did I want?” Like, nothing fazed her, so I just rolled out a list of things I wanted to create a different look — not Marilyn. She was behind me. I wanted big hair — this is the Seventies remember — and I wanted glam make-up. She could choose how she styled me. The biggest change was that I wanted to be a blonde no longer…. I wanted to be a Redhead… really a firey redhead!”
“But weren’t you a beautiful blonde at the time?” jenny found this hard to believe.
“Yeah, but I’d been blonde for nearly a year. I’d been every shade of blonde you could imagine. I wanted to be different — almost so different people wouldn’t recognise me at the Ball.”
“Why Red??” she asked, intrigued.
“Redheads are sexier!” … at least he was honest. What better reason?
Andy shifted in Jenny’s styling chair and his underwear came back into consciousness. His stockings were still tight and clung to his skin. His suspenders dug into his thighs a little — no pain, no gain! — His chemise was cool against his skin and the panties… well, the lace was gorgeous…..
Jenny’s hands slipped from his shoulders. She was suddenly conscious that they shouldn’t be there.
“My hair was still chin length, or slightly longer, and I wanted it in a more wavy style. I’d been a bob-styled head to long enough. And she did as I asked. The set was on large rollers but very tightly wound and very much saturated with styling lotion. I ended up CURLY!”
“And the make-up?
“Jenny, you’d not think to look at me now, but I really got given the look of the Seventies — Dallas-like! Long talons for finger-nails, fake lashes and loads of mascara. Lipstick to die for — long-lasting… lasted until the following morning I have to say!”
“And what clothes did you choose?”
“Dallas!! Shoulder pads and very tightly-waisted. The most expensive thing I bought was the waspie corset. To give me a waist. Nobody recognised me at the ball! I loved it — every minute of it, all night! The question was what would I do the following day? People had gotte used to me as a blonde. Now I’d gone missing. Then this Redhead turns up. That’s a story worth telling.”
Jenny’s hands rested back on Andy’s shoulders. She looked at him in the mirror.
“To look at you now….. I’d never have guessed! Do you want another appointment?”
CHAPTER FIVE HAS TO FOLLOW………………………..
A third visit to the salon is arranged — with what on the agenda?
That Saturday appointment — with just the two of them left in the salon — was to be repeated. Last time, Jenny had asked him if he wanted another booking. Of course, he did! His story had drawn her in and locked the door… Jenny had to know more. Andy wished he could lock the door and stay in the salon all day. But that second visit had to end.
She knew that he had fought with Sarah, over his hair and clothes how he should look. She had wanted him to do the “Marilyn” thing again for a second annual Turnabout Ball at Uni. Andy had wanted to move on. And yet, she had wanted him to let his roots grow through his baby blonde curls. He wanted now to be a Redhead — and had gone and got himself “done”. He had bought “Dallas” style clothes — ok, from a second-hand store, but they were the epitome of 70’s/80’s glamour. He had bought a waspie corset……. To savagely tighten his waist. And shoes!
She knew all of that. The third appointment was set for another two weeks’ time. Three visits to the hairdressers in four weeks! Andy was loving this. Even at his age and stage, he was excited
His wife would be home the following Saturday so he needed and excuse to absent himself from home. He would be going to get some DIY stuff……
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Andy sat outside the salon in his car again — a quick visit to the DIY store would support his alibi. He’d say he had stopped at the pub and got talking too….. Enough for an hour, maybe 90 minutes.
The final customer of Jenny’s morning left — he’d seen her before — obviously a regular. Big woman, with big hair!
He locked the car and walked across the parking area, conscious of his heart rate rising. His breath was shortening too. Raw excitement. He put his hand on the door handle. And in he went.
“Well, hello to you…. Andy, isn’t it?” “It is, indeed.”
“A trim….. again?” Jenny said, teasingly. Her smile was welcoming. “It’s great to have you back…. You qualify as a regular now!”
“And what does that mean?” Andy enquired.
“Oh, unlimited time — if time allows….. And today, you’re in luck…… It does!”
“I’d love to stay all day, but sadly, I have to be home by Two — 2.00pm, only an hour away — but I’d like to take you up on that another time.” Andy said, apologetically.
Jenny was disappointed and didn’t mind letting her disappointment show. She frowned.
“I’m really sorry, honest, I am…… I‘ll book to come back….” Andy said, falteringly.
“Maybe a late evening then?” Jenny suggested. How could he refuse? “No pressure then!”
“I’d love that.” Andy paused. “Really”, he said, meaningfully.
“Then come to the shampoo basins. I can’t trim dry hair as well as when it’s all wet and pliable.” Jenny tugged at the hair on this head, now resting in the basin’s neck shape. She tugged it a little more and ran her fingers through it before turning on the water.
The underwear he had slipped into this morning was suddenly in Andy’s consciousness again. His wife would probably kill him if she knew. But then, there was a secret challenge in that — getting away with it. It was her choice really, he thought to himself. If only she hadn’t reacted so badly…… He’d promised never to do such a thing again. But she knew he did — she must have — it didn’t make it any better but……
Jenny over-rode his thoughts……. “When I’ve trimmed your hair, will you tell me more about the Ball you went to as a Redhead? Please……. It was a pity you had to stop last time….”
Andy, leaning back in the shampoo chair, looked into her eyes. His stockings and suspenders were stretched and the bra straps taught beneath his shirt. The shampooing took less time today.
“Not lots to tell really, about the second Ball, I mean. I was on my own this time- though I was among friends and people who I knew. We had a great time, dancing like girls did in those days — round handbags on the floor. Then I got asked for a dance by a couple of really cool girls in “Dude-suits”, you know….. pin-stripe jackets and trousers. Tight blouses and plain make-up… Big contrasts to the guys like me dressed up to the “Nines”……. One asked me if “he” could walk me home and I couldn’t refuse. The role reversal thing really took hold that night….”
Andy smiled at the memory…. As he walked to the styling chair and sat before the mirror.
Jenny combed and snicked away with her scissors, taking only tiny strands at a time, this time.
“Did “he” kiss you?” asked Jenny.
She combed his hair vigorously against its natural way of lying.
“Very much so — she…sorry, he… took the lead just as supposed ……. I’d never been French-kissed like I was then….. I’d done it lots but never had someone take control. “Tonsil Tennis” it was called when we talked about it in the days after….”
Jenny was thinking about Andy’s hair all through the conversation.
“So, the Redhead met “her” match… Did you see eachother again?” she asked, expecting a “yes”.
“Yeah, in fact, we went out together for quite a while. I reverted to my ponytail and guys’ clothes as you’d expect and we made a good couple.”
He reflected for a moment — that was true; they were a really good couple.
“She was studying for a PhD in Psychology so was at least three years older than me….. I did wonder, quite often, if she was secretly psycho-analyzing me…but I guessed not in the end.”
“How so? What convinced you?” asked Jenny.
“Well, she never probed into how much I had obviously enjoyed that second ball…. But I had no reason to expect she would — I never probed her about wearing guys’ clothes the same night. People do write whole PhD theses on such subjects…!”
Jenny was near enough finished with the haircut. But only a tiny dusting of trimmings surrounded the styling chair where Andy now sat..
“Did you love her?”
“Well, that’s too strong a word ……. I fancied her tremendously, if that’s what you mean.”
“I guess that’s enough. What attracted you to her?” Jenny wanted to know. She needed to know what turned this guy on.
“Her dress sense, I guess — she could make really ordinary clothes look fabulous — she just had style. And then there was her sense of humour. Really sexy..” Andy smiled once more.
“And her looks?” Jenny still couldn’t picture this girl.
“Tall, bobbed hair, brown, big eyes — lovely big eyes. Slim. Tiny waist. Suited the suit.”
“And her name?” He still hadn’t named this one.
“Bobbie” Crazy really — Jenny was too young to remember the song “I wanna be Bobby’s girl” Andy thought… In that case Bobby was a guy…… In his case, he wanted to be Bobbie’s girl and Bobbie was a girl!
Jenny had finished Andy’s hair and was using the blow-dryer to finish off She took a handful of styling mousse and, before he could say anything, smothered his grey.hair with it. She took her brush and, again, brushed his hair against the natural way it would lay. Spikey!
“You could look cool with a modern style like this….” Jenny said, playfully.
His bra straps tightened as he took a sharp intake of breath.
“No, no, er, ….no, I don’t really….” Andy stammered, knowing that he had to be home soon.
“Why ever not!” Jenny exclaimed. “It would be cool……. You could even be a Redhead again. Really. I have some really stunning temporary colours in my selection of mousses. Shall we try some??”
Had she gone too far? She wondered
Their eyes met in the mirror. She knew. He knew she knew….. He wanted to do that……
But he couldn’t. …He didn’t dare. Time was too short. He had to be home in less than twenty minutes. It was bad enough having mousse where there was no mousse when he left home.
How would he explain that??!
“You really are special.” Andy murmured, “But no, really, we can’t….. Not this time.”
“Next time……?!” Jenny went for the “kill”
“Will you let me… next time…. Next time you come into my salon,,,,,,,, Wearing your clothes?”
She knew! Now he knew she knew…. Of course, she would have known…… Andy near panicked.
Jenny’s hands had slipped to his shoulders again, the residue of the mousse sat on one side. That could be a dead give-away when he got home, he thought.
“I want to help you recall everything about those days.” Her eyes transfixed his in the mirror. “You will come back, won’t you?”
She meant it. This wasn’t just an invitation to come back — like before.
It was an instruction.
CHAPTER SIX FOLLOWS…………………….
A fourth and fifth visit to the salon are arranged — with what on the agenda now?
Andy had gone home last time with his hair trimmed and played with by Jenny. After the shock of her styling him “spikey”, they had laughed out loud. He enjoyed her company. Even at his age, he found himself fancying her to pieces! She was lovely. Clearly at ease with herself. No longer married, she was a free spirit. In control of her own little business. Good with people. Fun to be with and, it was proving to be, quietly understanding of the story about himself that she was encouraging him to tell.
He wasn’t spikey when he left the salon, although the stiffness of the styling mousse had left his hair quite different to touch and to look at. His wife hadn’t noticed. Nor had she noticed him go upstairs and change his clothes……. Removing the underwear that he so loved. She had swallowed the idea of his going to the DIY store and meeting a friend who said they should have a beer together.
He carefully laid the clothes he had worn into the dark recesses of his wardrobe, where the sun never shone! He always put his own clothes away, even when freshly laundered.
He was confident that he wouldn’t have them discovered.
Even if his wife thought he had a stash of such things.
Even if she perhaps knew his fetish hadn’t been forgotten.
Even if he ran the risk of discovery.
He was himself…….. and occasionally, herself!
When could he go back to see Jenny? His diary had been at home, so he was unaware of when his wife would be away again — on one of her “girly” weekends.
That would be when he would go back………….
****************
Jenny thought for a long time after Andy had left last time. She had really enjoyed the time… short and playful though it was.
Yes, it had been in a way she couldn’t describe, or have foreseen, or have expected.
She recalled the touch on his shoulders — several times — and his reaction. He was such a nice guy.
“So what if he’s different?” she said out loud, ….to her mirror.
“So what if I was a bit pushy?”
“So what if he didn’t say yes or no?” (Which he hadn’t.)
“So what if we didn’t fix another appointment?”
“So what if he doesn’t call back?..... if I scared him off” she said, sitting down, still transfixed by her own image in the mirror. “I hope you didn’t!!!” cried the mirror’s image.
What Jenny experienced was a mystery to her. She wanted this nice, seemingly gentle guy to become a friend…. And yet she was tempted to push him further and faster than he might have wished to explore the past feelings he had.
She thought for a long time. He’s a genuinely nice guy. He’s married and happily involved in a secret passion that’s been with him since University days He keeps it secret. He’s too old to turn about more than in his mind’s eye. What’s wrong with that? Nothing. If I can help him, what could be better?
“Getting serious!” she smiled to the mirror.
****************
Andy did call. His next appointment had to be in the middle of the day…….. A month later because he had been travelling on business and had not been near the salon at convenient times.
And it had not gone according to plan — for either him, or for Jenny.
The salon had been busy.
There were women everywhere. Even though it was a tiny salon, the place seemed full of people. Rollers, Foils, Bleaching, Backcombing. Hot air blowers. Any conversation would be overheard. Not ideal at all. Disappointing. So Andy asked for the same style of cut and the same — very slight — amount of cut. He left with his hair quite a bit longer than was usual nowadays.
The conversation was perfunctory. Shallow. About nothing in particular. How were her horses? How was business? How was his work? How did “that DIY” go? He couldn’t say, not in the crowded room. There may only have been six people in there… but that was four too many!
“Please come back again, Sir!” said Jenny as he left, paying for his wash, cut and blow-dry….... He gave her a healthy tip and smiled.
“Perhaps at a different time of day?” Andy said, both expectantly and hopefully. He got the response he wanted.
“Oh, I do agree. Saturday afternoon worked well…. Or perhaps last appointment on a Thursday?”
And he was gone. He would call.
****************
So, it would be the last appointment on a Thursday. When his wife was away for the night in London, with her girly friends. Going to see ‘Calendar Girls’ on the stage. OK, he’d gone with her to the film. It was ok. But she wanted time with her girlfriends. Nice dinner. Chat… loads of Chat, none of which any husband or partner would understand.
When he called, Jenny answered. It had been two weeks and she had those conversations with the mirror several times. But he called. She was delighted. He could tell from her voice.
“What time’s your last booking?” Andy asked. “I can do any time…”
Jenny thought. How long to finish the woman who’d be the last in before him. She was a high maintenance client. She would be having roots tinted, a cut and a set. It was the set that would take the time…… Maybe she could be convinced to have a blow-dry….. with loads of lacquer!
“I’ll be free around 5.30….. maybe fifteen minutes later…… Or earlier if I can!” Jenny said, as if anticipating a problem.
“No problem at all. I’ll be there for 5.45 then…..” Andy paused….
“How long might this take?” he asked…… meaning ‘more than just a cut’.
“Well, it does depend, on lots of things. But I’d say an hour or maybe longer.” Jenny was hopeful.
She thought she knew what he meant. He meant what she’d said about colour.
She thought it would take at least that long, if she played around with his style as well.
She realised that she didn’t know his name, beyond “Andy”.
She reflected on the booking, there in front of her mirror. She should treat it as a simple wash and cut, like before. She would continue the conversation, just asking him about the past.
She wanted to ask. What was this lady with the PhD like, who was older than him. What did they do together. Did he consider them to be ‘an item’ at any time. Did his first girlfriend ever come back into the frame. Not too many questions, or he’d clam up. She was sure of that.
She wanted to get inside his head. How did he really feel about his exploits with his hair and with ‘turnabout’ parties. How did his friends get used to his different looks?
Jenny had never had a customer like Andy.
OK, sure, she had dressed the hair of guys who were “going to a party” when she was sure they were doing nothing of the sort. OK, she knew that — in the Seventies — there was a lot of ‘gender-bending’ that people enjoyed as a natural thing to experiment with. That was all before the world started classifying people as “gay”, or “not gay”, it seemed. There was almost something wrong with you if you were NOT homosexual.
Andy clearly wasn’t.
Jenny liked him.
Andy put the phone down, his heart racing as before. He had made the appointment.
He would be free for the Thursday night and the whole of Friday. His wife would be home late the following day, having stayed over in town. The whole of Friday too!
He spent much of the next hour in deep concentration, putting aside how the Thursday would pan out. He had a job to finish. He ran his hand through his hair, repeatedly but absent-mindedly. Not thinking. He would wash it tonight, and just imagine what Jenny might do with it.
His mind tripped into “what to wear” mode and he thought of the few things he had kept — apart from the underwear that he so loved and kept refreshing. That halter neckline was always just too over the top — he hadn’t needed to shave his chest to carry it off all those years ago, but he most certainly would now. Then there was the “Dallas” ensemble that was “OTT” in another way — not revealing, but skin-tight and glammy. Trouble with that was how much weight he’d put on. Even with the ‘Bodyshaper’ he’d bought from M&S and which held him in quite well….. Damn! He needed new clothes! He decided to select the right underwear for now.
Two weeks to go! Trepidation! …… What would the salon visit bring……??!
Maybe, just maybe, he would buy some new underwear……?!!
****************
He did. Buy new underwear. Beautiful lacy panties and a bra to match — one with underwiring to squeeze what he had into shape. And suspenders, with a pair of firm control stockings that would give shape and shine to his legs. They would be hidden under his outer clothes, but that didn’t matter at all. He knew they were there. He could feel them.
Reluctantly, he decided not to wear — or even buy — any girly outer clothes.
There was a real danger this whole experience would run away with him if he wasn’t careful!
On the Thursday in question, he kissed his wife goodbye at the station — and off she went to gather with her three friends. Four of them would be on the London train at pre-breakfast time.
Five hours — all for the theatre and a night out. He could do without Calendar Girls. And he could do well with the time alone!
As he left the station, he drove back to the village with his mind racing ahead of time.
It wasn’t even breakfast time yet…… He would have a bath and he would spend time doing anything but DIY all day. He would walk for a while, taking in the cliff-top views and the hazy sunshine. He’d be thinking about the evening to come…… Maybe, just maybe, he would rustle though his wife’s skirts and tops to find something comfortable for the daytime. He wouldn’t wear those to the salon…… He couldn’t……
An hour tonight! Or at least an hour or maybe more, with Jenny in the little salon down in the village. He couldn’t wait.. but he had to!
The day passed slowly. His mind wandered back to Uni days then to other times he had yet to tell Jenny about. There was lots he could — he just felt he could — tell her.
Four O’Clock……. Then Four thirty came round, then it was time to prepare. He had his undies on. He’d had his bath this morning. He shaved as close as he possibly could, leaving clear skin.
Did he dare wear foundation, and maybe lipstick?
No, he couldn’t do that.
He’d love to, but he couldn’t…… The undies would be superb…and enough!
Five O’Clock came round, and Andy looked at the clock nervously. Jenny would be busy — she wouldn’t be thinking about him……
How wrong he was…….
Jenny had the roots of the woman, who was her last client before Andy, pasted with tint. She was running behind…. This was going to take longer than she planned…. Especially if she wanted a roller set — That would take them past Six O’Clock……
“I do think your hair would look super if you’d let me blow-dry it and style it the way you’ve described….. You might be able to take care of it yourself if I did…. Well, just sometimes…. You know…. Freshen up your look before going out?” Jenny asked the woman, almost imploring her to agree……. But she wouldn’t hear of it.
“No, no, Jenny. You’re much too good as a stylist for me to compete…. Anyway, I just love sitting back and enjoying your work!” broadly smiling, “Mrs. Bouffant” said. So, rollers it had to be. When the tint was washed out, the rollers we started. Jenny worked like a demon to get them in and get “Mrs. Bouffant” under the dome dryer. She gave the woman lots of extra roly-poly curls to make it seem good value! It was now Five minutes to Six.
But this meant that, whilst she was doing that, Andy came into the salon.
Jenny said, not knowing she was about to make a joke at her client’s expense……“Sit down, Sir. Please, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be with you in a little while but “Mrs. Bouffant” here has a special occasion to go to!”
Mrs. Bouffant laughed like a drain!
Andy smiled and studied her hairstyle… It was certainly a work of art!
He had always liked elaborate styles….
He sat and watched, without saying a word. Jenny occasionally looked in his direction, only to find him exploring the books of hairstyles from the coffee table.
Eventually, Mrs Bouffant s done, had paid and was gone. He and Jenny were alone.
There was a moment’s silence and Andy felt he had to break the ground before them. Summoning up some courage, he said…
“Jenny, thank you for suggesting the end of the day. Last time I was in, it was just like bedlam in here. You must live your life like that….. It’s much better for me to be here now… I enjoy talking with you so much, it’s best like this…………..”
Jenny smiled and said: “Well, we can take as long as you like this evening. Shall we begin with a wash?” She noticed the peeking of a stocking between his socks and trousers. She looked more closely at the outline of his shirt, noticing that there were give-away lines that betrayed the bra that lay snugly beneath.
Andy had spent much of the day in a skirt and blouse of his wife’s, through which his bra could be seen with ease… If anyone cared to look. But he had been alone. Feeling comfortable. The stockings and suspenders, bra and panties remained, but otherwise, he was in “boy gear”.
“I’ll just close the door.” Jenny said, reassuringly. She turned the key in the lock.
Andy’s heart skipped a beat. Sixty years of age — what had he gotten into?!
“I’m delighted that you decided to come back, Andy” Jenny whispered, spoof-Stage-style with a finger over her lips. “We can enjoy ourselves a little, unlike when the place is so busy…”
Andy thought “Perhaps I should’ve dared to wear some make-up” but said nothing for a moment.
Then, “You make the place feel so welcoming.. I mean, not just for me, but for everyone.”
“Well, I do try, but it’s not as if I have to work at it…. I just like people coming in through that little door. They’re all so different……” Jenny was genuine in what she said. “Take you and the lovely Mrs. Bouffant, as I called her…… You couldn’t be more different…….”
“Perhaps on the outside…” Andy ventured and then stopped……..
“How so?” Jenny asked, almost reading his mind…….
“Well, she’s a lady, I’m a man……… But, er….. um… well…. There are, er… things inside us that are similar….. Like she wants to look good…. And, er.. to make herself something more than she is.. if you, er….see what I mean……” Overcome by nerves.. from nowhere…. Andy stopped.
WHY was he hesitating, almost stammering…… where had these nerves come from???!!
“Hey, hey…. Take it easy…” Jenny interrupted. “…. Don’t be stressed… It’s ok, really it is….. Let’s take a few minutes…. Sit back down…. Tell me about your time since you were here…..” She wanted to calm him down — to divert his attention. “I’ll make you a coffee……”
Andy drew a deep breath and sat back down where he had been looking st the styling books. Recovering his composure took longer than he thought…. He said nothing for a while as Jenny made the coffee. He just sat fumbling with the styling books, not really looking at them, more occupying his hands….
Jenny came over and sat beside him and talked as if nothing had happened.
“There now, two coffees. How’s your week been this week? What have you been doing?” She went on and the conversation slowly opened up. Andy was conscious again that he was sitting here dressed in beautiful women’s underwear, talking with a gorgeous woman who was about to ‘do’ his hair….. How she would ‘do’ it, he wasn’t sure — would he have any choice? Probably so, but what choices to make? Andy sipped his coffee as they talked until Jenny decided it was time and that Andy was ready, to move on.
“Now, last time you were here, we just did you a trim and a wash, didn’t we? I got the distinct feeling that you were wanting me to do some more, but the place was too busy. Am I right?”
“Well, yes, you are…….” Andy replied.
“And we’d talked about your early days, hadn’t we, when you were changing your hair quite a lot, weren’t you?”
“Well, yes, you’re right….”
“And you had the chance to parties, shall we say, dressed differently?”
“Well, yes…”
“Andy, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?” Jenny smiled, one of her “winning” smiles.
“You guessed”….” Andy laughed, relaxing for the first time since arriving.
“I couldn’t avoid guessing!....... And you were a blonde for a whole year and then went on to be a Redhead……… Why did you choose to change?” He had never explained….
“Oh, simple really, I’d got bored — even though Sarah had changed the colour quite often, I was bored with it, and everyone around me kind of accepted that was ‘me’ — so I wanted to change the ‘me’ they saw. Bit of a shock tactic, I guess. And then there was the argument about my roots and Sarah wanting me to wear them.. like a fashion statement. I’d always been phobic about them.. She knew that… I had her bleach the roots every two weeks…… “
“But that doesn’t explain why Red??” Jenny asked.
“Better Red than dead! I suppose” laughed Andy. “No, I’d always loved Redheads through my teens and being blonde hadn’t been my choice — Sarah had pulled that surprise on me… But we kept my hair blonde as it had the “wow” factor, I guess….”
“So, Red was your first love?”
“Indeed it was……… Red hair is sexy — d’you know what I mean……. Abut that time, I do remember, there was a programme on telly, called “Rock Follies” and I fell in love with Rula Lenska, the Redhead in the show. She was gorgeous — still is, though you don’t see her much….. Beautiful red hair in a riot of curls….. Stunning!”
“I see,…. Andy, it’s time to think about you…. You were looking in the styling books here,…” Jenny said, picking one up. “….. ….. Do you see any styles here you remember … any that were really attractive?.......” She placed the book firmly in his hands and sat back, saying nothing more.
She wanted him to engage with the whole spectrum of women’s hairstyles that were in the book…
Silence………….
Andy thumbed through the pages, very slowly, admiring several styles but saying nothing.
Jenny watched, closely, seeing which styles he paused upon, and which he passed over quickly. Andy clearly only had time for styles with long hair. Some perfectly smooth and straight, some with lustrous curls flowing, some with tighter formal ‘dressing’ and some attractive ‘up-dos’. None, it seemed were short. Femininity, it seemed, was coupled with long hair in his mind.
All of which made Jenny certain that the ‘ little surprise’ she had waiting for Andy would be right. He hadn’t had long hair for ages and ages. Tonight, he could have it if he wanted.
“You haven’t chosen any….” she said, pushing him just a little.
“There are too many…” Andy replied quite wistfully. He loved too many of them.
“OK, narrow them down then… Just look at this section — for Redheads…….” Jenny folded the book to reveal where, among sections for every hair colour, Redheads were clustered together..
“Just choose me three…. So I really know what you like….”
Andy was deep in concentration now… loving every minute. He looked up and just said “You’re very special, you know that…” She laid her hand on his, on the styling book, and smiled.
After a minute or two, he said, “There…. Three…… The first is this one,….” He had chosen a fabulous auburn pageboy Bob, with sleek sides and a full fringe, raised at the crown with light back-brushing.
“Second, this one…” A beautiful arrangement of burgundy-coloured curls, large ones, with some lighter highlights. The curls were those that stood up all around the model’s head by two or three inches, evidently “set” but inviting hands to be run through.
“Lastly, this one….” An up-do, arranged with a short fringe and a cluster of tightly piled curls at the crown and down to the nape of the neck. This was more a light auburn almost strawberry colour. The back of the head was shown in detail, with the curls pinned to the head.
The models for the photographs were all stunning, which exaggerated the attraction of their hair. Their make-up was faultless, their clothes were simple but superb. Beauty, Andy thought, really is in the eye of the beholder. Then, he looked again at Jenny. She too, is stunning… Confident, Easy-going, Great sense of humour, Great looks…..
“And which one of these would be your first choice?” Jenny put him on the spot.
For a reason — though Andy didn’t know why.
“The last one, the third…. It’s just so feminine…..”
“And you’d had your hair like the first style — the Bob — before? What about the second one? Ever been that curly? Ever had highlights?” Jenny’s professional curiosity came to the fore.
“Well, the first, for sure…. I was like that both as a Blonde and as a Redhead. I did like the feeling — so smooth and I thought sexy too. The Curls — oh, the Curls! That’s my Rula Lenska look — If only I had…… But no, not as lovely as that.”
Jenny sat back and thought for a while and made her decision. She would play Andy’s game this week and keep the surprise for next week. Then, and only then, would she ask him to come to the salon dressed. She’d do his make-up and then work some magic to create that style.
“Alright, Sir, we have a contract — for tonight — and one night only — I’ll style your hair and by the time you leave here, you’ll be a Redhead! Not permanently… But you’ll be able to over-night with it until tomorrow…… I told you that I had some fantastic colouring mousses…. Now’s the time for you to choose the colour you want to be!”
Andy knew this moment was coming — or hoped it was — and couldn’t believe that Jenny had just said that. She put a shade selection chart in front of him, with dozens of different tufts of hair, probably synthetic, laced into a card which described each one.
“I have to tell you that colours will be quite vibrant when applied to your base colour.” Grey! Andy’s hair was a mixture of several, some white, some dark, strands. Pepper and Salt, Jenny had called it. Very attractive, but not to everyone’s liking.
“Vibrant??” Andy asked — as if it meant any different… he wasn’t going to be walking down the street or meeting people he knew…… The more vibrant the better, he thought.
“Well,…” Jenny admitted, “…. You can never be sure because of how porous the hair is from person to person. Some absorb much more colour….. But it doesn’t last beyond one or two shampoos….. You get a really bright almost crimson with this one….. A deep burgundy wine colour with this one…. Bright pink with this one….. Cobalt blue with this one….! There are so many. Obviously, they don’t really come out as wild with brown hair as a base… But with yours….. It’ll be great fun!!”
Andy felt a rush of excitement. He would be going home a Redhead, so why not indulge!
“I’m in your hands, dear lady. You know what your clients want better than they do, I’m sure!”
“Tonight, Andy, you’re staying with quite short hair, but you’re going home spikey and bright Burgundy — Sharon Osborne’s colour if you know what I mean!”
He did know…. And that would be delightful. Sharon’s hair was always attractive…..
And so jenny moved him to the shampoo basins and gave him a long slow, quite sultry, wash. She then towel-dried it and moved him to the styling chair where he settled just as before. Nothing had changed. She sectioned the hair and just trimmed a few loose ends.
“You’ll find it grows faster as you let it grow — as you are doing, aren’t you?” She had noticed.
Then Jenny sectioned the hair again and turned to the top tray on a trolley with rollers, pins, dishes and bowls, selecting a tube of something from the lower shelf. That was the colour! Andy knew. It was about to begin. He hadn’t had his hair professionally coloured for twenty five years or more! Where was he going with all this? There was no turning back now!!??
Jenny took a wide stubby brush and spread the colour across the first section of his head, behind and below the crown, pasting the ‘goo’ as she called it to the left and right of the parting. She then slid the point of her tail-comb through the hair and made another section. Andy watched in the mirror. Absolutely transfixed….
“I have to work quickly, because the colour develops fast……but slowest at the back, so that’s where I started.” Jenny said, her hands racing through the work she was doing. Another section, more ‘goo’ and more pasting.
Andy’s thoughts wandered as he studied his reflection in the mirror. Jenny’s did too.
While she worked, neither felt they needed to say anything.
Andy thought how fortunate he had been to have found, in her, the response that probably no other woman within a hundred miles would have given him. He was very lucky. He was glad he had been brave enough to start on this path. Who could tell where it would lead. He found this woman immensely attractive. Not just that, she was hugely empathetic towards him. She was indulging him in his secret obsession. He felt the stirrings of love for her. As she touched his hair, the feeling was electric. He loved the feeling of the clothes he wore. He knew he would never go out — never ‘pass’ as a woman. But that didn’t matter any more. He had never really thought he could.
Jenny’s thoughts flew beyond the work her hands were doing. That was easy. She had coloured hundreds or even thousands of women’s hair in just the same way. It was routine and she was good at what she did. What made this so different was this man. He had trusted her. He had let himself be vulnerable. He had exposed himself to possible ridicule. He was obviously sensitive and caring. He had hidden his irresistible craving from his wife. Mainly to protect her from being hurt.
He wasn’t especially good looking and, at his age, the possibility of his going out dressed the way he dreamed was ridiculous. But he had trusted her with his secret. Let him sit here with his underwear on, luxuriating in the feeling. How could she help him any more?
***************
Three hours later, back home again, standing in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring his own underwear and the look that Jenny had helped create, he was at peace with himself. It was not going to get better than this.
Jenny had finished his hair off, leaving the colour long enough to be a vivid red!
Then, she had suggested…. He wouldn’t have dared to ask… She had suggested that he needed a little make-up to complete the look… “Otherwise, you’re a bloke with a funny haircut!”, she had said. She had used her own cosmetics. Foundation, which covered his many skin blemishes, Eyeshadow, which gave a flash of bright blue. Mascara and Eyeliner, which made his eyes much more a bold focus of his face. And lastly, some lipstick which suited his colours, a deep browny-red with a matt finish. Long-lasting formula. If he was careful, it would last long into the night.
So there he stood.
At this distance from the mirror, looking fantastic. He felt.
The underwear was gorgeous. All slinky and sexy. His tell-tale bulge in the panties had been dealt with in his excitement as soon as he got home.
The bra was snugly fitted. He’d pushed up what chest body mass he could and was pleased with the effect of a bustline. The panties matched prettily. The suspenders were tight and the stockings.. the sheer flesh-coloured stockings were tight and his legs looked shapely. Now, where were those shoes, with the heels!!?
In the back of the wardrobe, where the sun never shone!
***************
Jenny was alone at home now. She reflected on the day. The anticipation of Andy’s visit. The delay with “Mrs. Bouffant” and the nervousness he had betrayed as soon as she left the salon.
She mused over his coyness at some times and his total relaxation at others. His willingness to confide in her. Oh, how she loved that aspect of him! She was pleased she found a way to help further his dream…. The make-up was an inspiration…… It didn’t take long and it seemed to just complete the whole event
Andy had gone away, after they’d sat and talked for nearly an hour more…… She had learnt more about his early life and his ways of living. She’d learnt about his love of feminine things and how this continued. He’d confirmed what she’d guessed, that he was dressed “underneath”.
She had learnt about his career after Graduation — and how his graduation party had been another turnabout affair. He had stayed a Redhead through that time. Then how he’d moved into lecturing at University. She was fascinated by the way he found ways to continue dressing when — to all intents and purposes — his career and life was becoming very conventional. She realised that she knew very little about the world of heterosexual cross-dressers.
But she wanted to know more.
He’d asked only a few questions about her but she felt at ease telling him about her (failed) marriage, how she’d spent some years on cruise ships — doing both beauty and bar work - and how she’d set up in business on her own in this little village near where she was born.
Jenny poured herself (another) Gin, with lemon and only a little tonic water. He was “find”! …A “One-Off” ……Someone to get closer to.
***************
Andy put on a long dressing gown — pretty pink and peach coloured satin. He poured himself another Martini — which was the drink he favoured when dressed. Dry, just with ice and a slice of lemon. Perfect. No Gin. He got pissed if there was Gin!
He put on some music - some of his favourites. Dusty Springfield……. His very favourite.
“I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you…… How long I have waited, waited just to hold you…………… Don’t ever go……” Dusty sang. Just for him.
“Wear your hair, just for him, do the things he likes to do………Wishin’ and hopin’………”
Girly thoughts………………………… Andy was alone at home.
The phone rang. “Oh, hello, yes, I’m fine… Just watching telly….. How’s London?….. Just got back from the Theatre… Brilliant?! Really, oh I’m sure…… And the meal? Good, that’s a good place to have taken them — right in Covent Garden…. Up on the Terrace… Did you get a good table? Right, just before the Opera crowds…. Me? Oh, nothing much………”
He smoothed out his dressing gown over the silky stockings. He hummed, “Wear you hair…..”
…IN CHAPTER 7……????.
Terms and conditions apply……… Jenny has set them and Andy agreed.
At the end of the last appointment, it was clear to Andy and Jenny that the relationship changed. For the better.
He had been dressed for the experience. And she had guessed that. From glimpses of his undies.
She had coloured and set his hair — short though it was — in as girly a style as she could.
Spikey…….. And Red!
He had opted for a Sharon Osborne burgundy. It had taken differently between the near white of his greying hair and the few strands that were still brown. Like reverse highlights, darker within an overall glow of Red.
At the end of styling, she had thought of a way to “do more to help him”. In his transformation.
She had offered to do his make-up. And he was overjoyed. She was so special, this woman.
And she had. And at the end, she encouraged him to go home and dress fully in whatever clothes he had available. His wife was away, so he could.
And he did. With sex on his mind, at long last. He felt this could be the woman.
But not before Jenny had stepped right into his personal space as they parted, and started to kiss him, just lightly, on the cheeks. Not on the lips — not wanting to mess his lipstick.
Andy responded by putting his arms around her and kissing her on the cheek in return.
In his mind’s eye, he was both kissing her as a woman — as he felt she had created — but also as a deeply heterosexual man, which he remained. Why not live life in parallel?
Their lips had met, fleetingly at first, without words beforehand.
Two women? Or a man and a Woman? Who cares???
As he stood in his bedroom, only an hour later, fully clothed and admiring what Jenny had created in his mirror at home, Andy thought of the words she had used as he left her.
“Andy, you have to come back. I insist that we fix another appointment. I have plans to help you beyond this. But it’s on my terms. There are conditions. Will you accept them? No, you don’t need to know what they are. In any case, they are non-negotiable. You have to trust me some more — even more than you’ve done so far. I promise you’ll love what I shall do. I promise not to hurt you, or disrespect you.”
“OK”, he had replied.
“Then you come back for another ‘end of Saturday’ appointment. Around 1.30pm. I’ll be long finished with clients by then. But I need time to prepare. OK?”
“OK”, he had replied.
“First condition is that you come here to the salon with your clothes, in a case is ok, you don’t need to go out dressed beforehand. OK?”
“OK”, he had replied.
“Then we work together on your hair and beauty — for as long as it takes. Then, you get dressed for me. I want to see you in all your glory! OK?”
Andy hesitated. Was this really happening? It was! So, “OK”, he had replied.
“And the final condition, is that you then take me out for a girly supper, just the two of us! OK?!”
Jenny had been so excited………. Sex was also on her mind, this time round.
Why would it take so long? All afternoon? …… That had been his immediate thought.
Jenny’s plans were in her mind as she sat at home at the end of the day. She would treat Andy to the dream that was captured in one of the three hairstyles that he had chosen from her book in the salon. The one with a plain fringe, a high crown and a tumble of beautiful curls around the crown and down to the nape of the neck.
Ok, Andy’s hair was short but he could support a fringe and some backcombing at the crown. It was the curls, the length of hair, that he lacked. Simple……. She would fasten a “fall” of hair to his head and work with the length to fashion a beautiful full up-do. One that any woman would die for at any formal occasion. Well, one that any feminine woman would. She knew many who wouldn’t!
They had looked in the Appointments book. Three weeks from now. His wife would be away for a whole week. Visiting relatives up country. He would be home alone. He could spend time with her, Jenny knew. Her plans didn’t stop at a girly supper.
Jenny sat back and thought about her own motives in this encounter.
She was a fully self-confident mid-to-late Forties woman. Experienced in life and love. She had always been a hairdresser but had taken other jobs along the way.
She had taken a husband and many lovers over the years. The husband hadn’t been able to handle her. He had fallen by the wayside.
He hadn’t been able to accommodate her occasionally strong feelings towards other women. Indeed, Jenny was — she admitted to herself — genuinely bisexual. She too had admired Dusty Springfield in her later years as “being able to be moved by a woman as much as by a man”.
She had been celibate — what an awful word — for three years now. But her yearnings were very strong. It was that she had scared some guys off…. And also maybe chosen the wrong women to seduce. She felt she was at her prime in sexual terms, she’d be described if an Analyst was asked.
A lipstick lesbian? No, the lust for a nice wet cock inside her was too strong!
The Appointment Book had the key — to what future? She had unlocked it, for better or for worse.
Three weeks’ time. He would be in her hands. They would have sex. …….Next time.
They would dine, early that Saturday evening. The rest would be historical!
Andy reflected, over the next three weeks, about the events of the recent months with Jenny and also how it was, inevitably, changing his marriage.
His wife had made clear, many many years ago, that she would be physically sick at the thought of him being dressed at all. It had come up in foreplay when they were first married. His love of slinky underwear, which he hadn’t put across well at all. His fancy for wearing make-up. Likewise, a “no-no”.
She had known him in his late-20s, when his hair was long and still coloured, but she accepted that this had been “part of him” all through his life after Uni. She quite liked the fact that he took care of himself, his skin, his hair, his (male) dress all had a sense of style. But he was an unconfident lover, it was true, and she found it was difficult not to take that personally.
His ‘other self’ emerged, probably as a result of lacking confidence in bed. He found it arousing if he dreamed of being his wife’s female lover. (He knew she didn’t have one). He was quite submissive in bed. It was too much to ask him to be dominant…… Which would have aroused his wife. She liked ‘it’ that way, really. So sex wasn’t a joy for the pair of them.
He had tried dressing during sex, planning to do so in advance, just once or twice - but failing to choose the right moments, or the right way. She froze.
So, it was back to the “ usual” — him spending what seemed like hours licking her pussy. He had spent a lot of time reading about how to do hat — mainly the recounting of lesbians about how they satisfied their partners.
So, he imagined himself to be a male lesbian.
Now, he had the chance to be just that, with a seemingly willing friend.
That’s what he could call Jenny now, a friend — a special friend.
She would probably say the same — he was certainly more than a client — and she had found hopes stirring that he might become much more. So, she had deliberately not forced the pace in what went on between them.
Her first kiss was very tentative…… He “did” tentative — he “liked” tentative. No pressure.
So when she did move to kiss him, it was a natural thing to happen. It was heaven.
Almost without warning, somehow, it was three weeks later. Andy’s work had been very time-consuming and he had deadlines to meet or beat. There was little time to think about Jenny and his next appointment. His wife had him busy around the house when he wasn’t working.
He noticed that his wife’s suitcase was nearly full — her packing for the week away done. He slipped a loving note in an envelope and left it in the pocket of the suitcase, so’s she would find it when she got where she was going. He prided himself in little touches like that.
Andy knew where most of what he needed would be found. Out of sight. Out of harm’s way.
His wife’s parting words were simple: “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”
“Well, you wouldn’t fuck me as a woman…..” Andy thought.
That made the decision easier. She was mocking really. And he didn’t like that.
After mid-day on the Saturday, which is no time to be going out in Dallas-style or Monroe-style clothes, ….. for any woman!........ Andy looked at his selection for the daytime. The Dallas/Monroe decision was to be made later but Jenny expected one or the other……..
So, having showered long and deeply, he towel-dried his hair and shaved as closely as is humanly possible. He shaved his legs in the shower, hoping that there would be enough re-growth by the time his wife returned. He dreaded cutting his face whilst shaving — as he had done so often. In the event, he was clear and his skin was nearly as good as it was ever likely to be. Blemishes and all, but the make-up would cover that.
He struggled into the M&S Bodyshaper that covered him from shoulder to crotch. He was so distracted by the struggle, there was no erection to deal with. His cock was so small, it appeared to disappear. No bulge at all. He stood for longer than he should have, bearing in mind a 1.30pm appointment. Just looking. He absent-mindedly toyed with is hair, the way Ms Monroe did.
He decided there and then that the Dallas clothes would be chosen — he, stupidly, hadn’t left enough time to shave his chest. Whilst not forested, he was not smooth as silk there. The higher neck, and sculptured bust-line, swung the decision. Dallas it was to be. Krystle Carrington in dress, Mrs Bobbie Ewing in hair and make-up. Victoria Principal — another dream character.
Those clothes, he put in a small overnight case. He then turned to his underwear starting with fine lacy panties and suspender belt. These were new. Bought specially. Pink satin and lace. He fastened the suspenders and rolled his new sheer 5-denier stockings up each leg in turn, struggling now with the fastenings…. He had never found these easy, especially those behind his thighs.
In contrast, he had long ago mastered the art of fastening a brassiere without the need to fasten it in front first. He slid his arms into the pink satin straps and easily reached behind his back to find the clasp that would hold him tight. He then slipped a hand inside each bra cup and pulled up as much chest flesh as he could to enhance his bustline. The cups were underwired and padded slightly. Perfect, no slippage, perfect profile, he thought as he turned sideways in the mirror.
Lastly, for the undergarments, he chose a slip hat would smooth the outline under the blouse and everyday skirt he would wear — out of the house for the very first time in his life since he was 30.
Half his life away…… He stepped into his shoes — on 3” heels; just high enough to shape his calf muscles and change the way he would walk from the car to the salon.
He combed his hair, empted to back-brush it a little…….. Why not?!!!
Meanwhile at the salon, Jenny had seen off the previous client some time ago. She had lots of preparations to make for Andy’s appointment.
Like the colourant she was going to use. Still a temporary rinse, but as she knew he was home alone for a week, she went for a “4-6 washes” formula. She dearly wanted to give him highlights because she thought it would suit him better than a blanket flat colour. But that was not to be……
Not this time!
Then, she had to prepare the “fall” of synthetic hair that she intended to use in his up-do…. It had to be cared for as it wasn’t new and had been used recently for a Prom-style end-of-school party by Jenny’s niece, Helena. The curls would be elaborate, for sure, so its condition was critical.
Thinking of her niece made Jenny aware that through all of this, she didn’t know if Andy had another name for himself, when dressed. She would have to ask him, tonight.
Then she had to book a table for supper. A table just for two, in a quiet corner of her local pub. The Victoria. If he needed to be seduced, that’s the place to do it! She thought to herself.
After tidying the salon, and putting on fresh coffee, she slipped into the small upstairs room to freshen herself.
The last thing she did was to lay out the make-up she intended to use on a small table at another mirror, with the nail polish as the last item to be put in place.
She just couldn’t wait!
Andy, for ever the gentleman, was five minutes late. Not long enough to be a worry, but not too soon and appear desperate. As he walked across the car park, he was reminded of the song with the incessant refrain…. “Shake that ass….” Thank you stilettos!
He casually opened the door to be greeted with a beaming smile from Jenny that he returned warmly. She admired his simple blouse and skirt, saying… “Twirl for me, girl!” And he did!
Andy knew that he was still “a bloke in a dress” but recognised that there were only a few key elements to change before doubt could be cast in anyone’s mind — was she or wasn’t she…???!!
There was no time like that moment for Jenny to break any ice by asking the new client her name,
“Now, sit down and let’s talk about what you want today — and let’s start by using first names….. I’m Jenny by the way — but you know that! I don’t think I know your first name though….?
Andy had rehearsed this question because, going dressed to the salon, he wanted to be girly in every sense. No to the extent of changing his voice — though, inevitably, he found himself speaking in almost a whisper — but in “thinking of himself as herself”. Having a name would help.
“It’s Karen, Jenny,… I’m Karen today……”
“Pretty name.. I like that, Karen. It suits you well. ……Now, Karen, do you want the same hair colour as before… or would you change it at all?” Jenny hoped that he’d say keep it the same because of the surprise that was to come……
“Oh no, no, no,…. Keep it the same. I loved that shade. It was beautiful!” whispered Andy, taking on the Karen persona more with each moment. It was unconscious. He began to feel more like a “she” than ever before. Here “she” sat, in a pretty little hair salon, dressed in an everyday skirt and blouse, talking in a matter-of-fact way about how her hair would be coloured and set. She would then be going out for dinner with her new and very attractive “girlfriend”.
“Right-oh, we should start with that because your colour has faded completely since last time. I’m going to give you a more long-lasting treatment this time so 4-6 shampoos will not harm it — But, by the end of the week, it’ll be gone… well, faded….. if that’s ok, of course.” Jenny wanted Karen’s agreement, to have him know that he would be a redhead all week. He, Karen, had to decide if that was ok with his wife returning in just over a week’s time.
“When you say faded, do you mean it will still be obvious? That I’ve coloured my hair? I mean, obvious, like you know……….” He wasn’t so sure it was a good idea.
Jenny didn’t want to mis-lead him. There was a chance, with his grey hair as a base, that the Red would take too well and last longer. “Can’t promise…… It’d be wrong to say it’ll all be gone….”
Andy had to decide. Karen had to decide. Together, they said “That’s ok, we’ll deal with that….”
Jenny went ahead, washed Karen’s hair and did the colouring.
She set it, using the setting lotion within the mousse, and rolled Karen’s hair.
While ‘she’ was under the hood dryer, Jenny set about putting nail polish on Karen’s fingers.
Considerable shaping was needed because Andy’s nails were long, but poorly manicured.
While the nail polish dried, Jenny removed Karen’s rollers and left the hair to ease, still in rolls.
Then, out of sight, she went to find the hairpiece that would for Karen’s cascade of red curls.
She brushed the ‘fall’ gently, and it sprung into shape. Then, the final surprise!
Lastly, Jenny leant across the table to grasp the additional treat! Thin strands of “extensions”.
Just two, the same length as the ‘fall’, but blonde… strawberry blonde.
To catch the light in the curls.. the burgundy curls that she would create. In Andy’s hair!
She looked at this man again…… She really fancied him. She really wanted sex with him/her.
“Karen.. are you ready — the creation is about to begin?” Jenny taunted him, in fun!
No need for an answer. His heart banged against his ribs, so much was his excitement.
Over the next twenty minutes, she fixed the base of the extensions and ‘fall’ to the crown of Karen’s head, surrounded it with a wave of rolls of burgundy hair, working the curls from the natural hair to hide the base. She wove a blonde strand through, to accentuate the impact.
Twenty minutes later, having watched spell-bound throughout, Karen was faced with a high crown with three rolls of hair piled up across the width of her head. Fabulous! With her make-up done, this was no way a bloke in a dress any longer. What she couldn’t see was the way Jenny had fashioned a cascade of curls down the back to the nape of her neck.
Jenny turned the chair so that Karen could see both sides and then held a mirror up so she could see the back in all its beauty. The blonde additions were a creative “WOW”. Jenny felt really proud of her design. One formal style to end all formal styles…… And on a man!
“You had better get changed…. I want to see you in your costume, Karen…..” Jenny instructed him to go to the back room where he could change. “Take your time… It’s best not to hurry and get hot and bothered.”
Jenny began to work on herself — she had to go out in equal style to this girlfriend she had just discovered. Having changed into a LBD before the salon appointment, she only had to work on her own hair and make-up. Glam it was to be! Curling tongs at the ready!!
They paused at the door of the salon, Jenny seemingly wanting to check that everything was tidy. Andy glanced at himself in the mirror. And loved what he saw.
Jenny saw him glancing as she turned to Karen, who she had to admit looked stunning, and raised he mouth towards his, closing her eyes as she did so.
They walked together to the car and Jenny drove them both to the restaurant. A chic harbourside place in St. Ives which attracted an arty-farty crowd most evenings. They were there early, so the place was quiet.
Thank heaven for that, thought Andy.
He couldn’t do crowds, not dressed like this. But he could do dinner for two…
On the way, he had thought about his wife. What would she think if she could see him/her now? Would she feel disgusted? Probably. Would she feel sad? Probably. Would she feel she had missed out on something special? Possibly. Would she understand? Probably not?
They were seated at a table just inside…. In the window! Overlooking the harbour. Just where everybody passing by would see him!
“Relax, we’re just two girls having supper.” Said Jenny, struck by his sudden tremulous appearance. No, Andy wasn’t shaking, but underneath Karen’s exterior, Jenny could tell he was crying out for more privacy…….. He visibly steadied himself.
“You look wonderful , you really do.” Karen said to Jenny. “I’m so delighted we can do this.”
“Well, I thought it would be a good idea. After all, we hardly know eachother and there’s so much more I want to know……..”
Andy’s hushed voice suited his assumed character. Jenny was transfixed by the way his lipsticked- mouth formed the words… It was as though there was nobody else in the restaurant.
“You do have very kissable lips, you know.” she said… and Karen blushed.
Having dined on seared scallops and wild mushroom risotto, helped down with a beautiful bottle of crisp Sancerre, they ordered coffee. By this time, it was 7.45 and the restaurant was packed with a queue forming in the doorway. Waiting diners seemed to be paying them special attention — not because he was a man dressed as a woman, but because he was one of a pair of women who were occupying a table they wanted!
“My place.” Jenny said. With no room for argument. She was taking Karen home. To bed.
Her intention was very clear. Andy’s heart soared. He had gone through thirty years of marriage without any unfaithfulness. OK, he had been tempted….. But always, he had resisted the temptation. Truth to tell, he wasn’t confident of being able to get it up with certainty. Lack of confidence dogged his “performance” — how he hated that word with a vengeance. Now, in this situation, he thought, “It’s not me, Andy, it’s me Karen, and Karen’s not married…. You can do this and it will go alright.”
They walked to the car, Karen’s heels ‘clacking’ on the cobbled street surface. She remembered how to get into a car without spreading her thighs. Sit in. Knees together. Swing your stockinged thighs into the car…… and check your lipstick in the vanity mirror.
“Good girl!” said Jenny. “You don’t need much tuition. You’ve been studying!”
For thirty years, or more! thought Andy.
“You do know we’re going to fuck each other, don’t you?” said Jenny, in a vampish sort of way. This was no time to be coy, no time to mistake intentions. She was pushing the boundaries now.
“Oh, you think I’m the kind of girl who fucks on a first date? said Karen, in a mock shock-horror way, toying with a curl that had become disengaged from her temple. “I was hoping so, yes…… But you will be gentle, won’t you?”
Before starting the car’s engine, Jenny leaned across and put her hand behind Andy’s neck… right at the nape where the hair was pinned up and curls clung to his head. She kissed him forcefully now. He kissed her back. To passers-by, there were two women in that car…. Necking! His lipstick would be ruined, Andy thought…. But Karen didn’t care… she was kissing Jenny with huge enthusiasm. So what if the lipstick was messed. It could always be refreshed!
Karen’s hand slipped towards Jenny’s tits which, incidentally, she envied because they were so gorgeous and inviting. She couldn’t wait to get her mouth and Jenny’s nipples and even bite them a little. Karen felt her cock growing within the confines of the Bodyshaper she was wearing. Tight.
Karen didn’t know whether she wanted to fuck or be fucked at that instant. Maybe both!
They were still in the car park. It was twenty minutes to drive to get to Jenny’s home. To get to where they could fuck eachother.
“Tell me more about yourself, Karen.” said Jenny, as she hit the ignition. “Tell me all!” “If I am to make love to the first woman like you I ever have, I need to know more!” She turned the wheel.
“No, no, no — you already know heaps about me but I know nothing about you, Miss Mystery!”
Karen countered.
“OK, but briefly…. I’m 44, been married twice, love jazz and dining — in and out — and I live alone with a cat. That’s all you’re getting.” And she meant it. Nothing about her very slight bisexual nature and the friendships she had enjoyed in that direction over the years. There was nobody in her life right now — male or female — so she added:
“Oh, and I’m single… nobody special right now ….. but I’m hoping that may change……. You see, Ive met this very pretty girl…… Andy I fancy her to death………I think she may have added attractions to any other girls I’ve ever met….. So I’m hoping to find out more about her….”
Enough, enough, she thought She was driving quite fast….. surprisingly ..for a local girl. She knew the local police boys and her car was known, so she wouldn’t be called over for speeding. She was in an increasing hurry.
“I’m sure this girl would very much like to share something with you.” Karen whispered.
The journey took less than fifteen minutes, not twenty!, ….ending in a narrow farm track with no passing places, high above the cliff-edge village where Jenny lived. The small cottage looked welcoming. She stopped the car and took the keys out, choosing her front door key.
“You do know that your hair will last for days if you’re careful with it, don’t you?” Jenny asked.
“What do you mean.. careful?” Andy answered, not sure where this was leading.
“I mean, take care of it — I can’t spend day after day re-styling your hair……” Jenny smiled.
“I still don’t see……” Andy was none the wiser…….
“You’re going to stay here for the week… if you’re lucky. I have all the clothes you’ll need and we’ll be fucking regularly my darling. I just want you to keep looking so good, ok?”
“Let’s go inside…. Can we, please?” Karen voice emerged again.
“Indeed, we can both freshen up and I’ll make some coffee.” Jenny sounded less insistent now.
She opened the door and Andy entered into nothing short of heaven. The cottage was totally feminine in every way; the décor, the furniture, the pictures, the aromas…. This could only be a girl’s hide-away. He could stay more than a week………. Oh, if only!!
Jenny returned to the living room while Karen was still in the bathroom.
“I don’t have any cosmetics!” he called out.
“Don’t worry, I’ll do that for you darling.” came Jenny’s reply.
He emerged from the bathroom with his Dallas-style costume top unbuttoned to below the bust.
His tits were only mere padding, plus that little chest flesh pushed up into the bra.
Karen sat on a sofa, smoothing the nylon stockings she wore with the palm of one hand.
Silky smooth.
Jenny admired his legs and said “Karen, you’ll need to slip out of your day clothes….. I’ve left a satin nightgown for you in the bedroom — through there.” She pointed the way, indicating that now would be a good time to get changed…….
“But before you go…….” Jenny took Karen’s hand and pulled her up so they stood face-to-face.
She took Karen’s hand with one hand and slid the other around Karen’s neck. As before, in the car, she felt the smoothness of he nape of Andy’s neck, His up-do opening the way for a tightly-held kiss…… Their lips met again and, this time, were unbroken for, it seemed, several minutes. Jenny’s tongue explored the inside of Karen’s mouth. Andy thought he had never been kissed this way before….. Never! His hands moved over her shoulders. He recalled how Jenny’s hands had touched his shoulders that first time… Was it only a few weeks ago?! He knew now he was falling in love with this delightful, assertive woman.
At that moment, he resolved to play this evening’s love-making as if he were the lesbian he had sometimes dreamed of being. If it came to fucking, Jenny would get a good tongue-fucking first. He was good at that. More than that, he loved giving pleasure to a woman that way. He knew every inch of a woman’s pussy — what felt good for them……… And……… As he was dressed the way he was, what could be more natural? He was a lesbian tonight.
There was a lot of clothing to remove, he remembered, before we can get down to a good fuck……
“There’s no hurry.” he said.
“Well, to start, I was hoping there was….” Jenny was urging him to get on with it.
A dominant woman…..??? Yes, he could be that if she wanted…….
Karen pushed her new girlfriend through the door to the bedroom, skilfully undoing the zip of her dress as she did so. The dress slipped to the floor and Jenny stood there, in Andy’s arms, in her underwear. Beautiful sexy, slinky underwear. Not unlike my own, Andy thought. “Pretty!” was all he said, before engulfing her mouth with his own.
He guided her back towards the bed where the fresh linen smelled wonderful. The lighting was dimmed and the atmosphere fantastic — literally — a fantasy…… His fantasy. And maybe hers too?
Jenny thought to herself……. This is how it should be…… Starting this way and finishing with a glorious fuck. Karen could tie her up if she wanted. Maybe she, Karen, would let me tie her up some time….. I love losing control but then I can take control too !
Jenny was willingly steered back to the bed and fell theatrically onto the huge expanse of white sheet. She spread her legs, inviting attention. Andy, still fully clothed, couldn’t resist and was soon parting the panties from Jenny’s inner thigh. His lipstick-laden lips drew close to the nectar he knew he would find there.
But, he was a woman for now. Women wouldn’t dive in like this…… They would tease…… So that was what he did…… He, Karen, breathed lightly across the thighs of the woman he was about to tongue-fuck. His tongue traced a line down one thigh and up the other…..
Jenny’s hands now grabbed the back of his neck and began to force his face towards her now deliciously wet pussy. The hands disturbed the rolls of curls on his head…….. “Carefully!!!” was all he said in reproachment.
But Jenny didn’t stop….. She was wanting his tongue into her pussy and she wanted it there NOW! Her breathing was shallow and her pulse was racing. This woman could cum without even being touched……. Or could she?
He decided not to test the theory. Karen plunged her lips into the parting beside the panties and found heaven, deep in there. His lips explored the other folds of her labia, where nerve endings begin. Slowly at first, but increasing, his tongue explored the surrounds of Jenny’s perfect clitoris.
The taste of his lipstick and her own pre-cum was exquisite and, Karen thought, needed to be shared. So she lifted her head and within a second was kissing Jenny on the mouth. All lipstick and pre-cum mixed together. As she did so, her lover reached a climax…… with nothing on her beautiful body being touched at all. She could, and did, cum on her own. He had helped, of course,… but what a woman!!!
Andy buried his face into Jenny’s pussy again and, not surprisingly, caused the second cum to be stronger than the first. Jenny’s whole body seemed to judder as if hit by an express train. She cried out loud, but Andy didn’t hear what she had said — his ears were between her thighs!
He was still fully dressed in his female clothing, still fully made-up (though with smeared lipstick now), and he was experiencing what women describe when they have sex but don’t cum… he knew they just luxuriate in the feeling of sexual freedom. His underwear was wet, he knew, with copius amounts of pre-cum. He didn’t care. He didn’t care that he hadn’t cum… and may not even cum tonight…… This was fucking at its best.
Near delirious, Jenny murmured “I’m going to undress you, piece-by-piece, and fuck you as well as you just fucked me…..”
The cottage was quiet.
The bedroom was warm.
And Karen was still fully clothed.
Jenny now lay beside her, her semi-naked body still quivering from the orgasms that she had enjoyed.
Karen looked into Jenny’s eyes….. lustfully — there was no other word, Jenny thought.
She had just been tongue-fucked in the most beautiful, beautiful way.
By this wonderful man.
Karen, his name was now. His glamorous underclothing hiding his difference to her.
His clothing would have to come off…… she thought.
It was all old-Dallas/TV style. A transvestite’s dream.
Andy, Karen’s alter ego, was pleased the way the evening had started. No need to be hesitant.
No need to be uncertain. He had chosen to take the lead, with some encouragement.
He smiled at her and moved back towards Jenny’s pussy, lying there exposed to his tongue….
“Please, …….” She paused, “….let me rest and take care of you now. I said, I was going to remove your clothes, one piece at a time…… Let me…. Let me, now!” she whispered, looking straight into Andy’s eyes, made-up as they were with blue eyeshadow, black mascara and eyeliner. He blinked as he smiled, the motion of his eyelids emphasising the length of his lashes.
“Well, where will you start?” he asked…
“With your top.. which I see you’ve started with already yourself. That’s a very pretty bra you’re wearing……” Jenny commented as, still fixing her gaze on his eyes, she reached to the remaining buttons in the tight satin top he wore. Soon, it was slipping from his shoulders, revealing the straps of his bra and slip. “Now, the skirt…. But you’ll have to stand up for that…..”
He stood before her and she leant forward to unbutton the belt. Her hands touched his thigh as the skirt slipped to the floor. The feel of the nylon stocking was electric for both of them.
Karen stood before her new lover, clothed now only in her bra and panties, slip, suspenders and stockings… oh, and the shoes! Underneath it all, there was the Bodyshaper that both sculpted his body and kept his ‘boy tackle’ under control. That’s in urgent need of release now, he thought.
Jenny admired her conquest. It had really been all her own doing, bringing them together like this… Apart from his decision to come to the salon in the first place… and then to keep his promises to return. But he/she was hers….. all hers. And what a creation!
Especially the make-up and hair. Her creation of the updo was soooooo special. It made him, Andy, feel so sexy and it made her, Karen, feel all “woman” It also made Jenny feel in control….. which she enjoyed. She had been fucked by this woman, and she now wanted to fuck this man!
“Come here…” Jenny said, beckoning with an index finger and a sly smile. She knew how these bodyshapers were fastened where the action is and expertly, as Andy stood there feeling womanly in his heels and with his hair piled high on his head, Jenny parted the panties and found the fastenings, three little “peppers” in the undergarment.
Tantalizingly, she stroked the inside of Karen’s thighs.
Andy moaned, theatrically, to indicate his delight at the featherlight touch…..
One popper….
Two……..
Then Jenny paused, teasing him delightfully. She stood up to face him and kissed Karen fully on her lipsticky mouth, exploring with her tongue, as he had explored her pussy….
“You make love better than any woman I’ve ever met.” She told him……
The “Karen voice” returned and Andy said “Well, baby, you just ain’t seen nothin’ yet……!”
“I can wait…. “ Jenny said as she returned to Karen’s pussy — or where it would be if he had one…
A last popper was easy to open. The result was a wonderful sight for Jenny — a half-hard cock. Andy’s half-hard cock. Karen’s half-hard cock. Begging to be taken into a lipsticked mouth and loved. Gently, seductively, teasingly, tantalizingly, with no option but to enjoy!
Andy’s cock wouldn’t engorge fully, because his mind was elsewhere…. In his female mind.
But that made it all the more wonderful. Jenny gave him the experience of total pleasure, beyond anything he had ever experienced ever, ever before.
It was a girly cock. His cock…. as he felt he was now, as Karen.
Why couldn’t you choose — to both have a cock and be a woman at times?
This was his dream and this was his heaven. If he could choose to live his life any way — any way at all — he would be this — a male lesbian, with a beautiful lover.
Jenny found herself growing impatient. She was wanting to be fucked.
By this woman.
“We have to find ways to excite you some more, my darling.” she uttered……
His semi-naked body invited her to take it in hand…. She pushed him over onto the bed. Andy’s hair collided with the pillow, a few pins spinning skywards. “Carefully!” he said.
“Carefully, my clit!” Jenny almost shouted. “I’ll ruin your hair if you don’t fuck me…. And fuck me soon! Then I’ll have to do it all over again………!!” Jenny was in control again.
Karen found her cock hardening… significantly…… The thought of a little ‘rough stuff’ followed by having her hair done again was strangely uncontrolling……. Karen wanted that…. Her cock was hard enough, he knew, for fucking…….
Jenny smiled at the obvious response.
“So that’s what you want…… my lover….. You want me to rough up you hair and maybe force you to have sex with me……… Is that it? Is that what you want? “ she said, gripping Andy’s wrists….. forcing his arms above his head…….. “Go on, touch yourself……. Touch your hair…. Feel it…. Then touch your bra and your slip… and your panties……… Leave me your cock, Karen… That’s mine!”
Andy didn’t get past fondling the curls that clung to his head before Jenny was again on his cock with her mouth. This time, he filled her…. Every inch went in between her lips before she almost gagged….. right down the shaft, her lips went. He knew there was lipstick there. He wanted to cum and share the joys…… But she paused, again teasing him….. “Not yet, my girl!” Jenny said.
“You’re wet enough now… I want you inside me…. You beautiful woman…… I want you to fuck me — any way you wish……. But I’m going on my back first…….. Then I want to ride you….!”
Jenny had it all planned out, Andy thought. As Karen’s voice came back again, he said “Your pleasure will be entirely mine, my honey!”
First, he slid over on top of her as she lay with her legs splayed wide. His cock entered her easily because she was already so beautifully wet.
Karen pumped her hips slowly at the start, finding joy in every movement.
Turning slightly to the left and then the right, she made the penetration exquisite for both of them. Jenny bucked her pelvis to squeeze Karen’s cock and she nearly let an orgasm go……. But she managed to hold on… just!
Andy knew the time was coming soon for his release…. He moved sideways and leant towards the bed, rolling Jenny over on her side. He quickly withdrew and rounded her, falling beside her, but behind her — ideally placed for rear entry to her golden golden pussy…… She can plan things, so now can I…… he thought.
Two girls would use a cock like mine very well, he thought to himself. So, he slid his cock into the soft skin between her bum and reached her pussy again. She began to fuck Jenny as Karen would, and as Jenny clearly wanted….. Deeply, madly and hard now. It wasn’t long before Jenny reached another superb orgasm…… It’s all been of Jenny’s own making, thought Karen…….
“I love you my beautiful girl…..” Andy shouted…. For nobody to hear, apart from Jenny.
“I’ve had enough of this…” Jenny said and rolled again, this time on to her knees. She turned find Andy trying to catch up — but off balance, so she rolled him on to his back. His cock still hard.
“Karen, just look at yourself….. You’re rude!!!! You’re very rude!! And for that I’m going to fuck you……. “ And., with that, Jenny climbed over his thigh and sat astride her lover…. Her man/woman lover. His/her cock was now deep inside Jenny’s pussy and she clenched every pelvic muscle she could summon……
“I have got you now!” she shouted…. “Karen! I have you now!”
Karen’s hands were back above his head and Andy knew he was about to cum. He touched the hair on his head again, just at the moment he would cum.
He very nearly blacked-out, such was the intensity of his orgasm. Such was the near delirium of his self-consciousness. He was both man and woman He was Andy, but more… He was Karen…. And wanted to stay that way…. with his wonderful lover……….
They both rolled over and lay, panting in temporary exhaustion…….. The wonderful glowing feeling after cumming so splendidly. …….. Not together… but each had made the other feel so good, that didn’t matter.
Karen was conscious that her hair was now coming apart. Many of the pins holding the curls up were lost. Strands of hair now tumbled over his ears and down her neck. He felt like he had been doing what “she” had been doing! Bliss!
CHAPTER 9 IS COMING SOON!
They laid together, gently fondling eachother’s skin, and underwear, and hair……. Heaven!
Neither said a word, for a while. Each was conscious of the other’s breathing.
Their thoughts were similar, coming from different angles.
Jenny thought…….. How has this delightful man kept his secret so long… and not shared it the way he can obviously do so, so generously. He had given everything to her in their love-making. Asking nothing in return. She had willingly given him what he clearly wanted deep down…. But his was the giving side……… What a wonderful fuck……….
Andy’s thoughts ran in parallel……. “How lucky I am to have found a lover for Karen…… Just by little encouragements, she’s set me free of all the inhibitions that I’ve carried for years… and kept secret for years……. She’s so good at sex it’s incredible….. and she let me act the girl inside me….
“Martini?” said Jenny, indicating that the love-making wasn’t over, merely paused…….
“Shaken, not stirred….please!” replied Karen in her increasingly sexy voice.
Jenny stepped out to the kitchen and found the fridge, cupping a handful of ice for each glass and pouring a generous measure into each of two glasses. Then she had another thought….
She took another handful of ice cubes with her as she left for the bedroom.
“Close your eyes……… Your beautiful blue eyes…” she said to Karen.
Andy obediently closed his eyes.
The shock of the ice cubes that were suddenly upon her inside legs, between panties and stocking tops, was high voltage. Her suspenders quivered as she convulsed, first in shock, secondly in laughter……. “You minx!!!” Andy shouted, very much in his boy’s voice…….
Jenny was quick enough to move the ice into his groin where his bollocks hung behind his half-hard cock. More shock treatment! The effect was excruciating… but irresistible……..
He wanted more of the same! Jenny had judged him well…….. His cock hardened. He grabbed the Martini and drunk it back in one swallow, the lipstick now missing from his lips, leaving the empty glass unmarked.
Jenny sipped her Martini with a coy, flirtatious smile…… And waited.
Andy, dressed in heels, stockings, suspenders, panties and bra, with a bodyshaper underneath looked incredibly sexy.
His cock betrayed his gender and his intentions. — to fuck another time, this time even more playfully. He pulled Jenny up from the bed so suddenly, that her hair flew in his face and their mouths joined instantly.
“Mmmmmmmmmmmm………………!!!” they gurgled in unison.
Her wet hands grasped the nape of his neck, her cold palms sending further shivers down Andy’s spine. That ice!! he thought……. I’ll get my own back for that!
There was no Karen about him for more than a few moments. Now, he was a guy with his cock ready for fucking…….. And his lover was all ready! That he wore gorgeous feminine clothes served to heighten his excitement.
“Stop!” Jenny said, breaking loose…… “You have no lipstick left!”
“See if I care…..” said Andy.
“Well, I do care…. Go and get some…. Andy put loads of it on, yourself! Do it now!”
Jenny resumed commanding form…… but not for long. Andy did as he was bidden, and returned with fully laden lips in a beautiful plumy-red — no gloss, just wonderful colour.
“There, satisfied?......” he asked.
“Not yet, and no chance of being so…. Yet………. I want you… NOW!” Jenny growled.
“Then you have to do the same… NOW.” Andy commanded…… Or was it Karen?
Jenny did the same and hurried back into the bedroom. Their lips met and their hands clawed at eachothers’ undies……. Andy placed lipsticky kisses on both Jenny’s nipples and squeezed her tits so hard she squealed. In return, she grabbed his bollocks and held them ……. Gently at first, but threateningly……. She could squeeze much harder if she wanted…….
But she didn’t. The threat was enough. For her to feel in control.
“Now, fuck me…….” Jenny implored him/her.
Andy pushed his cock between his own legs — to hide it briefly — and slowly forced Jenny back onto the bed. He splayed her legs apart and sunk his lipstick-laden mouth onto her pussy, to make sure she would be wet ….. wet enough for a full entry when the time came. But the time wasn’t then…. Before that, inside his head, he became Karen again and rose up to kiss Jenny fully on the lips, allowing her body to connect directly, pussy-to-pussy.
Their pelvic movements soon felt into a glorious rhythm and Jenny’s clitoris proved to be the fulcrum on which the rhythm rested.
Soon, she was losing control and, with two previous orgasms to drive her higher, Jenny went into what she called “another place”… a place where ecstasy is universal. She shook her head from side to side, her curly hair flying in all directions.
Karen’s cock soon emerged. The time was right and there would be no going back……. She knew.
She now knew as much as she needed to about her own sexuality.. and about Jenny’s too. Jenny wanted to be fucked by a woman. Karen’s cock fitted easily into Jenny’s clutching hands and, as she guided it into her pussy, Jenny said, “Darling, just don’t stop.. don’t ever stop….!”
The two women fucked for it seemed like ages. First, Karen was on top. Before long, Jenny swung a leg sideways and over Karen’s thigh, twisting sufficiently quickly to over-turn her lover onto the bed. His cock was hard enough to climb onto — and to ride with passion.
Karen laid back with his cock nearing exhaustion but loving every minute. Jenny grabbed her hands and forced them to the pillows, where Karen’s hair now lay in a mass of tangled curls and extensions. All dark auburn and blonde. Jenny kissed her again, deeply this time.
Andy was overcome with heat. He wanted out of that bodyshaper ……now… it had served its purpose. To do that, his bra, slip and panties had to go…… He could keep on the stockings, suspenders and heels.
This required getting up from the bed. It didn’t take long. So there he was, soon after, not having cum again yet, but dressed only in stockings, suspenders and heels.
I’m getting the hang of these now — he thought of how difficult the heels had been to wear at first. Not now — they’re deliciously female and sexy, especially with the stockings so sheer and clingy….
Jenny looked up at him and realised that there was a time for everything — and a time to pause was now….. Their dress, hair and make-up was all now in total disarray…….
“Another Martini?” she said, as provocatively as she knew how.
************
The dawn was breaking as Andy woke, finding Jenny nestled in his arms.
He lay there on the bed, pulling the duvet up around his chest.
He was naked.
Ah! He remembered. Jenny had finally undressed him, removing his stockings and suspenders. His bra had long since disappeared and Jenny had reached out for the lipstick that was on the little table beside the bed.
She had carefully traced circles of deep red colour around his nipples.
Then she had chewed then for what had seemed like ages.
He felt his cock stirring again at the thought. It never did that, just on a thought,
……… never once in the previous ten years. Sex had become so repetitive, what passed for sex between him and his wife, that was. Never…… But he had never dressed as a woman in bed before. Never shard his love of dressing….. Jenny had set him free. He thought…. Never to be locked away again.
“Jenny……. Jenny………. Mmmmmmmmmmm……” he whisperered to himself.
She stirred, but didn’t wake.
He put his free hand on his nipple and squeezed. His tits had never been sensitive like this before.
In fact, they had been almost painful. Never before had they played a part in foreplay.
Elation. Pure elation!
Karen was nowhere to be seen at that moment. He was Andy. He was a guy cradling his lover in his arms. This beautiful woman. How good could it get — not much better than this, that’s for sure!
************
Jenny’s slumbers were disturbed by movement in the bedroom…..
Andy had returned having showered and made breakfast of what he could find in her kitchen…. Oh-Jay, toast and honey, coffee — decaff and black…….
She opened her eyes and saw him, standing over the bed. This complicated and vulnerable man… He had unpinned the hairpiece and so was short-haired for a change, his dark red hair glinting in the sun that shone through the window. He was naked apart from her satin dressing gown.
“Nothing else to wear!” he smiled.
Come here and let me feel……..” Jenny reached for him, her hand slipping between the soft folds of the gown. “I’m pleased to feel it!”, she said. Her hand took his cock gently into her grasp, tugging slightly…. To which there was an obvious and immediate response.
“Thank you for all of that!”, she whispered…… “All of that wonderful fucking…”
“It’s me who can’t say thank you enough, you wonderful, wonderful woman.” Andy replied.
She wanked him slowly and seductively, her eyes never leaving his.
“You do realize that you’re not finished, don’t you…. I mean, we have a week together……” Jenny meant business. A plan was evolving in her mind…… “A week here with me in my home, you’ll never forget……. I have to go to work during the daytimes….. But you don’t. You have to stay here………” She paused to let his imagination catch up with what she was saying…….
“You have no clothes with you — apart from those you arrived at the salon wearing….. and very girly you looked too…… But you have no other clothes……. How lucky!”
Andy could hold himself back no longer. Quietly and with total abandon, he felt himself cum in Jenny’s hand. His breathing was shallow, as she spread his cum all over his face and kissed him.
She ruined what make-up there was left o his face…. But he didn’t care!
************
“Nothing to wear……. Yes, you did come to the salon dressed, didn’t you? That was quite a step I should think….. Did it feel good?” Jenny probed his feelings as they sat together over a coffee in the kitchen, an hour or so later.
“Not really…… It was knowing I was coming to see you that made me feel good…..”
“Oh, come on, you’re not serious…. Dressed as a girl…. Walking to your car…. Driving there….
Sitting in the car, getting out of the car in full view of anybody…. Coming into the salon, just like any female client I have…….. And it didn’t feel good???!!”
Andy paused and thought…… Perhaps now was the time to explain……
“No, no, you misunderstand…… It felt good, because I was coming to your salon — and to see you…. Not because I was going out dressed……… That’s not where the buzz comes from… for me…. Not being out there, trying to pass myself off as a woman….. It’s the getting dressed and the having my hair done, and doing the make-up……. And it’s sharing al that with someone who’s kind enough to indulge me….”
“You’re kidding me….. You mean you don’t get kicks from looking like a girl for other people to see you…..? You must want to be accepted as a woman, surely?” Jenny was puzzled.
“Well, I’m realistic enough to know that I’m not pretty enough….. I’ll always look like a bloke in a dress, but that doesn’t stop me loving the doing of it — the dressing, the make-up and the hair-styling I love cross-dressing…… I don’t want to attract men and get fucked…… I want to love and be loved by a woman — a woman like you, Jenny — like you!” Andy’s heart was pouring out.
“Hey, take a deep breath…… It’s all ok… really it is……. You seem worried now… when you weren’t just a few minutes ago…… Just take it easy…… I wasn’t putting pressure on you about passing as a woman….. It’s right it should be how you want it to be….” Jenny was back-tracking.
Just a bit
She went on: “…….tell me how you started. How it came to you that you’d feel this way…”
Andy was thoughtful for a moment, regaining composure a little……. He did feel able to talk out loud with Jenny about these things — like he couldn’t with any other human being. He looked into her eyes, beneath the tumble of curls and the quizzical brows.
“It’s….. almost….. like it’s always been so…. I guess…….. When I was in my teens, I was shy with girls but, somehow, I enjoyed being with them… maybe not like every guy did — I wasn’t wanting to have sex or anything…. I’d been told about that rather later than other boys in my class. I just enjoyed being with them…. I was always quiet and maybe that made me different from the other guys they knew… so most girls I knew would be happy to have me around….”
Andy stopped and thought how true that was…. It hadn’t been long before the girls found ways to involve him in their conversations…… Never about boys thank God, but about almost everything else that girls talk about……
“I’ve read so many stories about how boys of that age get sisters or other relatives to treat them as girls…. This was different……. I found myself wanting to be in their circle… wanting to be one of them…… But always as a boy…. A girly boy… but a boy. I never found them wanting, like you read in some stories - or perhaps you don’t - wanting to practice make-up on me, or hairstyling…… Much, now, I know, I’d have loved it if they had done…” Andy paused again.
“So, it was when you were at college that you dressed for the first time… Am I right?” Jenny had picked up on the early exchanges they had had during his first visit to her salon. “You told me about a Turnabout Ball……”
“Yes, but that did come later…. Long before that, I had collected - or begun to collect — some nice pretty things……” Andy confessed. That was the time…… “I was about seventeen….”
“How did you feel, when you were buying them? …When you wore them?” Jenny was intrigued.
“I felt at ease…… Maybe worried I’d get discovered… but at ease otherwise…. I loved the soft and gentle feel of them next to my skin…… I slept in a nightie and I wore panties and a slip in the daytime. I wished I had tits but had nothing to put in a bra, so didn’t bother….. at first.”
“And you said your hair has always been important…. Did you grow it longer from that time too?” Jenny asked, getting closer to her own area of expertise……. “I dated lots of guys with long hair when I was your age then…..”
“Well, it was easy… of course… it was the time… in my case the late Sixties and early Seventies. I always took care of my hair and gave it a lot of conditioning. I did go to a salon, well away from where I was living, and had my hair set…….. You know… I asked for rollers….. Nooooo questions were asked, so I told them no lies……!”
“And you sat there, in the salon, at the mirror, with rollers being put in your hair, with everyone watching……. Or probably ignoring you!?”
“That’s right…” Andy was telling the truth now… “I told the receptionist what I wanted — a set in a female style……. I said there had been a stand-off with my parents over the length of my hair and they said if I wanted it that long, I should have it set like a girl…. So I did!”
“So you walked out in the street with you hair set? Didn’t that feel incredible??....”
“Well, not really…. Not the walking out bit……. Inside, yes….. The whole thing in the salon was like a dream.. I just sat watching after I’d had a back-wash for the first time…. Watching, like I did with you, watching the rollers go in one-by-one, all tight to my head….. I found I loved every minute of it…. The girl who did my hair.. I can remember her even now… she was only a Junior really, not much older than me, and a redhead. I told her my story — about my parents — and she said what a cool thing to do — face them off with it!”
“Did she do your comb-out after being under the dryer?” Jenny could picture the scene.
“Sure, she did…. I told her to comb it out as full as she could — I really got to know the meaning of back-combing that day! And clouds of lacquer…. It was stiff as a board!”
“And then you paid and left?”
“Too right! I just walked out the door with my hair combed high! Then, I rushed to the car and escaped!” Andy laughed as he admitted losing the plot at that critical moment.
“You see I’d dressed in jeans and a tee-shirt…. Light stuff… nice underwear underneath….. Oh, and by this time, I was wearing suspenders and stockings… but still no bra……… I thought then, if only I had tits….!”
Jenny put her head on one side and asked, gently, “Well, sounds like wanting to pass as a girl to me….. But then, I’m no expert!”
“No, honest, not that time……….. I was just loving the experience, not really how I looked….. When I got home, I must admit, I had gone via Marks & Spencer’s and bought a bra — still nothing to put in it — but I had got one! I got one to match the panties and slip that I already was wearing. Stupid really, I bought a 34D when I needed a 36B.. but they say most women are wearing the wrong sized bra, don’t they?!”
Jenny affirmed that, indeed, they do.
“Everything you tell me about that salon visit sounds like the day you came into my place- apart from the Mum and Dad things…….. Thank you for trusting me that day….” Jenny was truly grateful. “Did you go back? Ever? To that same salon?”
Andy saw how Jenny was almost ahead of him in the story of the beginnings of his cross-dressing. How could she do that??!! It was true. He HAD gone back — to the same salon — before going to University. He had had his hair set again……… He had had rollers and a ’proper’ set and comb-out. That time he had asked, on the strength of a continuing argument with his parents, for a bouffant top surrounded with a wonderful roll of flipped-up curls around the neckline.
He went on: “Indeed, I did……. And I came away with a style like the little girl in the movie ‘Hairspray’… you know the one with the bouffant….. and the highlights… I didn’t get colour or highlights because I didn’t have enough money but I’d have been tempted…. But wow, did I get a bouffant!?!.....
Andy was fully carried away with the reminiscences…. “……The same girl did my hair and she thought she was really going to offend my “parents” by doing so much. For me, it was only a question of getting home and making it last without discovery for as long as I could!”
“You brave boy!” said Jenny admiringly towards this now sixty-year-old sitting in her kitchen who was wearing her satin dressing gown…….. “So when you were challenged with a Turnabout ball at Uni, am I right in thinking you protested that you couldn’t possibly…….!!!?”
“Well,….. yes! But I did… and maybe, that’s how I come to be here now. With you.” Andy’s hand reached across the kitchen table and grasped Jenny’s. “Thank you, again, from the bottom of my heart.”
CHAPTER 10 FOLLOWS.........
Later, the same day……
Andy had spent the morning in Jenny’s dressing gown. As she was an ample UK size 16, he was able to wear it as if it were his. Indeed, many of her clothes would fit him, she had said.
They had talked about his situation — having been to the salon dressed… and then on to Jenny’s home…… with no male clothes at all.
“I really don’t know what you’re going to do tomorrow…… seeing as you don’t want to go out and pass as a woman…… but you have no clothes of your own apart from the girly things you arrived in at the salon…….. You have to stay here…. “ Jenny had said, teasing him everso slightly…… Andy knew what she meant. He was in a no-win situation. Either he went out, and went home and got some male clothes, or he stayed at her place and … what precisely?
Jenny offered a solution…… “You can wear some of my things today… use your own underwear but my top layer — blouses, skirts or dresses….. jewelry if you want…… And I’ll get you some things when I’m in my lunch break. Monday’s a quiet day in the salon and I can slip down the street to M&S, and maybe another store or two. If you’ve got some money on you, I can treat myself to treating you… I’d enjoy that!”
Andy smiled…. He would prefer not to go out……. Courage insufficient at the moment.
“OK, then you decide how much you want me to spend and I’ll do that….. Don’t be mean with yourself though… I’ll need several hundred pounds to do you justice. I may even get you some make-up of your own…… OK?” Jenny pressed home the advantage she had gained in controlling what would happen to Andy this week. She knew it. He was hers to shape and fashion inn a new image.
Andy was almost over-joyed….. He had never felt able to spend much money on his little ‘special interest’….. He had bought occasionally and, every time, felt guilty at the amount involved. As a result, he didn’t have much gear and it was all pretty much dated.
“Would you really?” he asked, knowing that Jenny would.
“Believe me, I’m enjoying this at least as much as you are!” she exclaimed.
“Then take this….” he said, having searched in his (male) wallet to find a bundle of banknotes.
“Phew! You really mean it don’t you?!” Jenny said, stunned at the amount of cash she would have to spend on new clothes and make-up for Karen. “This is going to be fun!” she murmured.
Jenny paused for a moment, thinking deeply………..
Andy noticed this but decided to ‘keep schtum’ for a while, to let her have her thoughts.
His marriage…… There’s been little said about his marriage…… I really should know…
But how to begin…?? About the marriage, not the wife… She could become part of the picture as the story unfolds, if he wants to tell me anything………anything at all?
She couldn’t think how to begin……
Finally, Andy broke the silence…… He couldn’t stand prolonged silences!
“Whatchya thinkin’??” he said gently, knowing she was in a conundrum……
Jenny looked at him and, again, saw a very complex individual…. Someone obviously capable of feeling great love, but also, somewhere deep inside, someone who had endured sadness like maybe she, herself, couldn’t imagine.
“I don’t know how to ask…. To ask you this….. But I’d like to get to know you very much better….. And I can’t without knowing more about you…….. Promise me, you will feel free to tell me “not to go there” if you don’t want to answer…..? You will, won’t you?”
Andy smiled. “OK, it’s a deal, ask away…..” Karen came back into the conversation.
“Well, you’re married? Right? Or is it that you’ve been married and aren’t any more?”
Andy smiled again and said “Oh yes, I’m married — you could say very much so…. And yes, we’re still living together. She goes away — sometimes like this week, for a week at a time, sometimes just for a night or two.”
“And you seem to suggest that she knows you dress, for fun? But, am I right, she wants nothing to do with it? Is that right?…. I mean, it’s probably quite common to find, where a guy dresses, that his wife wants to shut it out?”
“And how! Yes, you’re right….. She found out — if that’s the right phrase. That was years ago. We had children by then and her reaction was wild…… Threatened to have me banned from the house… Said I must be queer……… Assumed I was a child molester……. I mean, how could she? Really, I do love those kids — they’re grown up now, and I do still love her. I guess you could say, when that all calmed down, we “stayed together for the sake of the family” but only on the condition that “I promised to stop”….. Well, if you know anything about the condition I’m in, you’ll know that guys who’ve dressed don’t just “stop”…. I mean, they can’t give you ‘patches’ to stop the desire……..!!!”
“When, or rather how, did she “find out”……….??” Jenny made an “in quotes” sign.
“Well, if you live with a Cross-dresser, you don’t have to be a genius to see the signs…… However careful I was, she would, it seemed, “know”. She’d know her clothes had been rummaged through. She’d see that her make-up wasn’t in the same place as she left it. She didn’t find me dressed when she came home one day, if that’s what you mean! I think it just dawned on her…… And it wasn’t comfortable for her. I do regret that, a lot!”
“So, how did it surface between you? Was there a confrontation?”
“Not half!! In the way that shouting starts and doesn’t stop… And questions get asked again and again, with no time for a reply……. And tears flood out…….. And fears, however irrational, come bouncing off the walls…… Oh, yes, there was confrontation …… Like I was nearly pushed out of the house wearing nothing at all……. One night. Guess it was a disaster waiting to happen, ‘cos I hadn’t thought how to handle it, when it inevitably would get into the open… I just didn’t… I was scared, I guess…….”
Jenny paused before asking another question, knowing that this man still cared for his wife and family and hated the hurt that he had caused…..
“What would you have told her, before all that, if you’d have had the chance….?”
“You mean the courage???... That’s what I didn’t have….. Well, I’d have done what the books tell you to do…… Choose a moment with great care… a time when both are relaxed, maybe having had good times…….. and start by saying “Honey, I really don’t want to worry you but I have to tell you something that’s been bothering me for a long time and I haven’t known how to tell you… but I love you so much, I have to tell you…..” Something like that.”
“Sounds like a good way to me….” Jenny said, encouragingly. “…But you couldn’t?”
“No, honest, I couldn’t know where that would take us and it could have ended with us splitting up and I hated the thought of that….. As it was, it nearly went that way anyway…”
Andy’s demeanour showed Jenny that he was near to tears… this wasn’t being at all easy for him, sitting there, dressed as he was…… She realized that she had to take great care while showing great understanding and offering support. She was loving this man more and more.
“In the end, in the confrontation as you call it, I did manage to calm her down….. I told her that ‘no’, I wasn’t queer. ‘No’, I hated the thought of child molesters. ‘No’, I hated the thought of sex with other men. ‘No’, I didn’t the hate the sight of her body and ‘Yes’ I did still want to make love with her and that I loved her deeply, and the kids too….. I was just caught up in something I couldn’t explain properly……. But I loved her and needed her support in what I wanted to be a secret between us….. And ‘No’ I didn’t want to change sex and live as a woman…….. I tried to make it clear how much I adored her and admired women… so much so I just loved the illusion that dressing could create….”
Jenny raised a hand, just to get Andy to pause for breath……
“I think you handled it as well as you could’ve, given that you’d kept the secret too long. It was bound to end up in tears…….” She said, comfortingly.
“But she resisted the idea, did she? Did she ever come round to the idea, say, that you might be allowed a ‘girly day’ once in a while? That seems to work for one or two people I know who’re in the ‘same boat’.”
“Not at all…… She put a block on the idea of staying in the home but still doing this ‘vile’ thing, as she called it. I was in a very simple position, she said. I could choose. I could get a proper job and stop the University Lecturer’s life, with all the freedom that gave me…
……..Or I could move out and carry on doing what I was doing.”
Andy reflected on the choice and how it hadn’t been a difficult one. He did change his job. He did go for more conventional looks — had his long hair cut and dyed back to its natural shade. He did put away, in a Council Waste Skip, all the clothes he had secreted away…….. he promised her it was over…… And he did his best to rebuild her shattered confidence. It would never be the same……. He had lied to her, she said……. By not telling her…. By having secrets.
“That was the first time all the lovely things went in the bin…. It wasn’t the last time….. of course.” Andy simply commented, slightly wistfully.
“Your wife, does she know you still have this desire?” Jenny asked, almost knowing the answer to an obvious question.
Andy smiled and simply said, “Of course, she’s not daft.”
Their conversation lapsed into silence. Jenny thinking about how much it must have taken for Andy to admit these intimate details of his relationship with his wife. Andy thought deeply about the times that things had gone so wrong… and how he might have avoided so much hurt…. But how could he have?? He wasn’t at all sure.
**********
Jenny knew that ‘enough was enough’. There would be time to talk more but, after all, she wasn’t his Counsellor, she was currently his lover…. And that needed attending to!
“Now, time’s come for you to have a shower and deep cleanse, wash your hair and let me loose again. I want to do some more with you……” Jenny continued, not letting go of the control she had over a very willing and compliant Andy. “You’ll finish the day as a different Karen!”
It was late afternoon by now. No need to dress in day-wear. So, Andy did as he was instructed. He spent a long time in the shower, used the cleansers that Jenny had handed to him and washed his hair thoroughly. He emerged from the shower and towel-dried his body and hair. There was nothing left but to put the satin dressing gown back on. And wait!
Meanwhile, Jenny had developed her plans more fully. She had laid out the gear she needed to give Karen a manicure and a pedicure. Hat would take some time. So, knowing where this was leading, she poured out two Martinis……. very dry ones, with just enough Gin!
She had then gone to a very special box that she kept in the wardrobe nearest to her side of the large double bed she reveled in so often. It was a special box because of what it contained.
Her toys!
Jenny had, over several years and several lovers, acquired a taste for things that made life in bed surprising and really very enjoyable. There were many things to choose from. She usually chose on the basis of two considerations — first, the way she was feeling today…… and second, on who she would be sharing the fun with (if anybody at all!)
Some days, she would feel all girl and want to be fucked by an all-male man…. Or a dildo!
She laid her hands on the perfectly-shaped phallus; seven inches long and nice and fat. It filled her us beautifully. She felt her pussy getting wet just by holding it. He loved a man to use it on her ‘before the real thing’, but she also adored the feeling it gave her when she was alone.
She called it her “Fucker”.
She was tempted, while Andy was in the shower, to moisten it in her pussy….. but compromised by licking it and taking it deep into her throat, before putting it on the bedside table.
She did have a strap-on dildo………. She had occasionally used that with girlfriends in the past….. Maybe that would come in handy later on…… So she placed that on the bedside table beside the other fucker….. It had rather tiresome leather straps which, she found, tended to get in the way…
Then she remembered….. and smiled. She delved deeper into the box and pulled out what she called her “Peni-pants”. These were lycra pants, like Speedos, which had a special feature — they were designed with a pouch in the front that exactly fitted the seven inches of dildo she loved so much. When the panties were worn, the effect was electric — whether it was she who wore them — or a girlfriend. Definitely! They replaced the strap-on on the table.
The box also contained a pair of the highest stiletto heeled shoes you would ever like to try, some cunning little strands of leather that could be tied anywhere the fancy took her, a lovely little egg-shaped vibrator that fitted-in almost anywhere… on - or in - a man or a woman. These too were laid out beside the bed. Lastly, a pair of pink-feathered cuffs.
… Just in case someone wants to resist!
Andy appeared at the bedroom door. He was still Andy. He will soon be Karen, thought Jenny.
“Come here, young lady…” Jenny said, beckoning towards the dressing table, where the mirror stood above the nail polishes and Jenny’s own cosmetics.
Andy moved towards here but couldn’t help but be distracted by the array of toys beside the pillows — he shot a glance towards Jenny as if to say “What are you going to do with those?!” She read his thoughts immediately and said. “Easy, easy, Karen…. Those are for two girls to share later….”
**********
Less than an hour later, with two Martinis leading to two more, Karen was beginning to emerge Her voice had returned. He fingernails were crimson and highly-glossed. Likewise, so were her toenails. Jenny had massaged the hands and feet to smoothen them out. Andy was still dressed in the dressing gown. It was entirely appropriate, he thought.
It was time for Jenny to work on Karen’s hair. The colour had faded from the last salon visit, allowing some of the grey to show through, where the more porous strands hadn’t held the colour so well. They had actually taken up more colour and been more vibrant in their red shades, but had faded. Jenny decided to let the mixture remain. She would deal with Karen’s hair colour later in the week. She rolled the hair on smallish rollers, planning to give Karen a bubbly-style for tonight. Karen would enjoy the feeling of curls bouncing on her head.
Jenny then started on Karen’s fresh make-up. Before long, Karen looked just like the woman she was to be…….. “A final touch…. Close your eyes…” Jenny said, before she applied the mascara. She peeled a pair of beautiful false lashes from their package and lightly glued them before offering them up to Karen’s eyelids. Andy blinked in surprise….. “Wha..a..a..a…at….?”
“Hold still, silly…. These will really make the most of your eyes! Keep them closed while the glue dries and I put on your mascara and eyeliner.” Jenny’s instructions were not to be disobeyed.
When this ordeal was over, Karen opened her eyes and stared into the mirror; she saw a pretty woman, with her hair in rollers but in full make-up…….. still clothed in the satin dressing gown. And he liked what he saw!
“Now, before your comb-out, I want you to dress. We can’t have you lounging around like a tart all day…. We’ll have dinner this evening and I want a good looking date to share the table with… and maybe the bed later?” Jenny was in an increasingly playful mood. “You have to play your part to the full…….. Karen!”
Karen was over-taken by the significance of what was going on. Jenny was treating him as a woman she was going to dine out with and, she clearly hoped, to have sex with.
What a heavenly woman!
“By all means, show me to the choices I can make, my honey!” Karen’s whispered tones fitted the situation. She fluttered her new eyelashes, marveling at the feeling of them….. Unfortunately, they did make a few tears appear that needed to be dabbed away with a tissue.
“You’ll get used to those, my dear” said Jenny, noticing Karen’s discomfort.
They crossed the bedroom to Jenny’s walk-in wardrobe and Karen was initially stunned by the array of clothes she saw. Jenny saw Karen’s hair was still in rollers.
So many choices within each part — the skirts, the jeans and trousers, the dresses, the blouses — both formal and everyday. Karen was mesmerized by the range on offer.
Then she turned to another side where it was clear Jenny kept her “evening” wear. This was where she would concentrate her attention.
There were satins and silks, frills and tight formal numbers. All of them very feminine…. Even the black dinner suit with pinstripes…… obviously for a woman to wear.
There were dozens of pairs of shoes…. Jenny noted Karen’s interest in that area…. “Well, I do have a bit of an Imelda Marcos side….!!” She said, pointing to high heels, loafers, brothel-sloppers, short boots, knee-high boots, strappy sandals…… Too many to catalogue……
“You may choose what you like….. if my size isn’t quite right, I’ll apologize and we’ll find something different…….. Now, will you choose a formal outfit?... or a sexy one?.... or a femmy one?….. or a boyish one….? Take your time, Karen…… It’s a long evening ahead of us. I’m going to prepare for dinner while you choose…. So enjoy yourself……. Try any number on, just put them back as you found them, ok?”
Karen was amazed….. She was speechless. A little bit of Andy nearly came through but she held that back…. “My honey, you’re too kind…. Do you have any guidance for me?”
“Just make sure it’s comfortable……. There are some foundation garments in the drawer beneath that mirror, if you’d like to explore a little…….. sculpture?” Jenny indicated where Karen would find a waspie corset and other delights. “If you do, I’ll need to help you lace-up. Just call me if you do.” And off she went, leaving Karen in front of the mirror.
She slipped the dressing gown from her shoulders and hung it behind the door. Standing naked in front of the mirror, just like a certain television series that tells women to love the bodies they’re in — she turned to the left and to the right. No tits…. Oh, how she wished she had tits…… Otherwise, her figure did need some assistance…… She called Jenny back for the waspie.
“As tight as you like” she told Jenny. Jenny saw Karen’s hair was still in tight, tight rollers.
“You’re joking…. You don’t know just how tight that would be!” Jenny almost sneered… daring Karen to let her do her worst with the laces……. “Do you really mean that?”
“I do….” Karen whispered, not able to even think of retracting the request.
“OK, you asked for this……. “ Jenny said as she took hold of the strong laces and wrapped the corset around Karen’s waist. The metal clasps ran down the front of the garment and closed with relative ease. Jenny then pulled on the laces at the bottom of the corset. The stays immediately closed a little and, though nothing compared with what was to come, Karen took a sharp intake of breath. A glance in the mirror showed Karen’s hair was still in rollers.
“Now, prepare yourself……. Hold in your stomach muscles and breath in……” Jenny instructed.
As Karen did so, the laces were tightened more, and the pinch began to be felt around her waist. Jenny wrestled with the laces, pulling each individual strand through each eyelet….. ever tighter the corset became. “Not nearly enough…!” she exclaimed…… She was aware that the house was empty and nobody was listening……… “That’s probably only two or three inches…. I’ll go gently as you’ve not done this before… but we should get you to six inches by the time I’m finished…”
Jenny thought “I mean this…. She’s asked for a proper cinching, so she’ll get it — something else about tonight to remember!” She pulled even more strongly than before. Each inch less was harder to achieve than the one before.
Karen held her breath but Jenny said not to — she was going to wear this all evening and she couldn’t hold her breath that long! Tears almost welled-up between Karen’s flashy eyelashes.
“OK, enough, enough…” pleaded Karen……..
“Oh#, I don’t think so…… “ Jenny rejected the pleas……. “In fact, if you don’t stop complaining, you’ll have to have my cuffs on…….. I have to show you who’s boss….” And, with that, Jenny reached over to the bedside table and gripped the cuffs, swiftly fastening her captive where she stood. She pushed Karen forward so she stood over the foot of the bed…… cuffed to the bed-end.
“Your dressing can wait……” she whispered to Karen, getting close to her ear…. “I have surprise for you. Just a few more pulls and you’ll be tight enough…. Then…… you’ll be surprised what’s next.” The laces were finally tied and Karen breathed again, although she didn’t know how… the corset was so tight. She stood there. Cuffed to the bed.
She couldn’t turn round to see what Jenny was doing…… In truth, it was better she couldn’t …. because Jenny was getting carried away by this time. She was stepping into the lycra ‘peni-pants’ and, though Karen couldn’t see her, she was putting the dildo into the pouch. She was getting ready to see if her new girlfriend could take being penetrated.
“What are you doing, my lover?” Karen’s voice was tremulous…… She really didn’t know what to expect. Jenny put some gel on the fake penis and whispered, “Just relax………. You’re mine, now… all mine” She pressed the penis against Karen’s arse, suddenly revealing her intentions.
Stunned, Andy was faced with a decision…. Should he take it, like a man? Might it hurt? Of course, it might! Should he react and refuse? What would she say… after all, Jenny had started this…!! He didn’t know what to do. His arse was tense……… His mind was running riot.
Jenny realized the shock was a bit too much, so took to whispering into the ear once more…..
“Honey, you’re beautiful…. I really really love you and want to show you how much…. With this inside you, you’ll be giving me your virginity and I’ll love you all the more for that. Then you can have me whichever way you want…… I’d love this inside me and to have you lick all round my delicious pussy…. Would you do that for me, before you fuck me???”
There was nothing for it — to relax and let things happen as Jenny was making them happen. If it hurt, it hurt… she wanted him, and she had better take him.. now…… He spread his legs and offered his arse to her….. the gel was cold on his skin, but it did its job. As she pressed her penis home, Karen re-asserted herself and she cried out as if in ecstasy. The penis slid in, shallowly at first and then, with a few thrusts, as deeply as Jenny wanted. Karen couldn’t believe how deep it felt it was going……. Andy was conscious that Jenny’s thighs were now against the back of his own — there was no more penis to go in….. He was properly and fully fucked. Jenny pushed a little more and settled into a slow rhythmic movement — in and out, in and out. Soon she did cum.
Karen was full. Andy was shocked at himself — he didn’t enjoy this, but it was what Jenny wanted.
Exhausted, after withdrawing the penis from Karen’s arse, Jenny unlocked the cuffs and allowed Karen to fall onto the bed, falling right beside her, the peni-pants dripping in gel and whatever else was there. She needed to clean up.
Karen was saying nothing. She was somehow torn between total amazement at the fucking she had just received and feelings of near disgust that he, Andy, had allowed himself to be fucked……
In the end his feelings as Karen won through…… Her lover had taken her, had her, and loved her.
Jenny returned, sans penis and pants, to lie naked beside her lover. He too was naked…… Jenny saw Karen’s hair was still in rollers.
Neither said a word for what seemed like an hour… but was less.
“Now, you dress………” Jenny encouraged, “…my lover….!”
Karen did again as she was bidden….. She stepped into the walk-in wardrobe and began to rustle through all those beautiful clothes………. The colours amazed her, the fabrics too. The designs were something else……. What did she fancy the most?………. Something sophisticated and very very feminine……….
She started by slipping into her panties and bra, shivering in excitement as she did so. Already, the mirror saw a change in her. She began to move more slowly and sylph-like. Her suspender belt was easy to fasten and she then began rolling her stockings — darkest black and firm hold though sheer. She seat on the dressing table stool.
These beautiful stockings, she slipped over her left calf then her right, noting the way the colour of her nail polish on her toes changed as they were covered in the silky gossamer. She fixed each stocking to the clips, three on each leg, and stood to adjust their stretch and fit. The support stretch helped to shape her legs and she admired the fit in the mirror.
She was tempted to try a pair of shoes whilst dressed only in stockings, suspenders, bra and panties.
Indeed, should couldn’t resist… and gave in…… choosing a pair of high-heeled, black patent leather and strappy stilettos. Two-and-a-half inches, no more…. But enough to feel aggressively sexy. She admired herself in the mirror, from the rollers on her head, to the stilettos on her feet.
Fuck me! Thought Karen……
Her attention turned to the choice between a skirt and blouse or a dress. And if it were a dress, what kind — a neat cocktail dress?
No, not the ‘little black number’ often admired by so many…. No, a wildly feminine flouncing, full dress……. That would be right.
There were three. One in beautiful pale blue and white, with frills to die for. Another was in a fiery red that would have caused a flamenco dancer to go wild. Finally, a third was in a print in autumn colours, reds and yellows and orange….. Puffy sleeves were kinda sexy and a high neck hid his craw-like skin in that area… The length was right as well — swirling about mid-calf level as Karen held it up in front of herself in the mirror. It would swish against the nylon of her stockings beautifully. That was the one…… Autumn fires!
Jewelry, that was next. Earrings, a necklace and a bracelet would be right. Karen’s ears weren’t pierced…. Yet?......he wondered ….. but clasps would be fine, if Jenny had any… Yes! She does! Andy chose a stunning pair of gold rings with amber coloured stones and put them on his ears. Luckily, they came with a matching necklace with several amber stones which highlighted a colour in his dress. There was also a bracelet that completed the look.
He held out a hand towards the mirror and stood, model-pose, with one of his/her patent shoes to the fore. His/her nail polish glinted in the ceiling spotlight. The dress had been a perfect choice — just the right length, to below Karen’s knee. It all looked gorgeous…… Apart from the rollers in her hair. These, though sexy in their own way, were now crying out to be removed and to have Jenny do her magic with the comb-out. ……Some back-combing? ………No doubt!
Andy had got dressed all by himself. He was pleased with the effect and the image he had created with Jenny’s own clothes. It was girly…. Gorgeously girly…… ok, he wasn’t a girl …… but he felt girly enough — in fact he felt more girly than almost ever he had!
Jenny had watched him, for all of thirty minutes. Saying nothing. Smiling in approval when certain items were chosen, frowning when they weren’t appropriate (and some he had picked out were definitely not appropriate!) She had enjoyed the ’floor show’ and planned, when Karen was re-created, to ask Andy to do ‘the Catwalk’ for her. Her bedroom in her old house was large enough to ‘do the walk’, pose and retrace steps.
(Andy didn’t know that, as she lay there, watching, Jenny was comforting herself with the dildo, squeezing it gently within herself… Mmmmmmmm, she murmured occasionally! )
“Now, before I finish off your hair, Karen, you must display your beautiful ensemble to me, for approval. So, check yourself over — I don’t want to see any flaws in your make-up, your dressing, or your deportment - You must do your very best to be the woman that you are. Be proud of yourself. Be assertive with your audience…….. Be yourself, only larger than life!”
Andy was gone… Jenny had achieved what she set out to do. He was now Karen — in her own mind, but also in his own! She could tell by the way, as instructed, he posed before setting off… Posing for himself in the mirror. He was she. Karen posed for herself, again admiring the way she had created the look that she now saw in the mirror. From a free choice of Jenny’s wardrobe.
Karen recalled what she had seen — only occasionally — of the way models adopt the ‘face’ for the catwalk. How they fix on a point above the audience and focus on that. Where a camera would be. Then, having done so, she set off to walk the ten paces across the room.
This was her performance for Jenny. Karen felt a fluttering in her heart — unlike anything she had ever experienced……… She was doing this for her lover to watch.
As she reached the end of the walk, she stopped and stepped one leg to the side…. And posed.
Just like a real model.
Just like Jenny wanted.
She leapt up and hung her arms around Karen’s shoulders. Naturally, she was taller than Jenny, so one foot lifted as she closed her mouth over his, and tasted the lipstick again. She had used long-lasting, no-smudge lipstick so was free to kiss for as long as she wanted. Karen didn’t break the kiss… they embraced for an eternity, tongues probing eachothers’ mouths.
When they finally extricated themselves, pausing for breath…… Jenny moved the scenario on…
To the dressing table, and combing-out Karen’s hair.
She hoped there was enough to work with for what she had in mind. A really lovely bubbly curl style that would shout ‘freedom’ in a riot of beautifully-formed springy rolls, the redness of the previous colour highlighting each curl with light and dark shades. So what if some white showed through….. It would help the look….. she hoped!
She removed the first curl, behind Karen’s crown, to prolong the secret. Then another. Then, another….. And another. Still nothing could be seen in the mirror. Karen still didn’t know what to expect…….
A fourth, a fifth, and a sixth — still the same. Jenny now judged that this style would be a success. She had carefully laid the rolls of hair back where they had dried. It looked perfect. She would back-comb the roots of each, to add volume and height…. But not ruin the roll of the curls.
Eventually, the back was done, the back-combing doing just what she wanted. So Jenny teased Karen with a down-beat… “Oh, dear…. Oh, if only…. Never mind..”
“What’s wrong??” asked Karen, fearing a disaster…. “What’s gone wrong??!” She couldn’t see!
“Oh, well, …. Let me go on…. It’ll look good when I’m done….” Downbeat… Jenny remained.
“What IS wrong??” Andy, now, repeated, fearing a real disaster…. “What HAS gone wrong??!”
“Nothing, lover… I’m just teasing. You’re going to LOVE this when you see it… I’m delighted!”
Jenny was reassuring in her tone. Karen’s ‘voice’ had disappeared — she wanted it back.
She went on: “Honest, I was joking……… I’m arranging some lovely curls round the back before I do the crown and the framing of your lovely face. Then, you’ll be ready for our dinner together. By the way, I’ve booked for us to go to the local Thai restaurant. They do some lovely food and funnily enough, I do suspect that one of the waitresses is a ‘Ladyboy’ — if you know what I mean. I’ll finish you off before I change and you can relax before we go out…”
“I’m still not sure about going out……..” mumbled Andy, half-Karen, half himself….
“Really…..” Time to be firm again, thought Jenny, …. “Well, I’m not missing a Thai meal for anyone! And I don’t want you staying in here all by yourself”
No more was said while Jenny began to work on Karen’s curls. Each roller was unwound with care, the resulting roll of hair settling gently.
The style developed as Karen, now restored to quiet confidence in what was going on, sat back and watched. It was a dream come true…… Having a beautiful feminine hairstyle created around her face. The rollers were replaced with rolls of curls, shining with the different colours that Jenny had decided to leave.
Each curl was back-combed at the roots, so they stood a couple of inches above her scalp. Karen’s hair now looked very full and beautifully styled. Jenny showed her the back in a hand-held mirror.
“Perfect!” Karen purred at the sight. Her hand rose to feel the way the curls were held in their positions. Each sprung under her touch, caressing her fingers. Karen saw again how her fingernails had changed… and now looked utterly feminine!
Her eyes turned back to the mirror facing her, and the fully made-up face, eyelashes and all……
What preparation for a night out with a lover! Karen was now driving his thoughts. Andy was nowhere to be detected.
“Thank you, darling Jenny.” Karen uttered, her hand slipping inside the hand that rested on her shoulder. “I couldn’t have dreamed of anything more perfect……. You’re an absolute genius.” Karen felt the tightness of the corset around her waist as she sat there. Jenny felt the fullness of the dildo in her pussy as she stood behind her new girlfriend. Both were in a state of high arousal.
Andy’s cock strained within his tight undergarments. Jenny’s pussy was now so wet, she felt she had pee-ed herself, though she knew she hadn’t. Sex would have easily overcome the pair of them, there and then, but in a moment of remarkable restraint, Karen said “Isn’t it time you got yourself ready to go out for dinner?”
“So, you’re coming out then, are you?” Jenny inquired, half-smiling, half disbelieving….. It wouldn’t have been impossible for Karen to refuse; she knew that.
“Forgive me for losing the plot just then, of course, I’d love to dine with you at the Thai….” Karen was perfecting the slightly husky whisper that was the best female voice she could manage. I’ll need training if I’m to do this regularly, he thought.
Jenny ‘shoo-ed’ Karen out of the bedroom with a commanding “Get me another Martini!” That dildo had to come out now… it needed to be kept for later and you can have too much of a good thing, Jenny thought.
Left to herself, she looked in the same mirror at which Karen’s transformation had taken place. “You clever girl!” she said to herself, out loud. “He has everything you want in a man….. except tits, perhaps!” and she laughed out loud. “He can take a cock, but he can give me his cock in return. He can wear heels and stockings, and yet he can kiss my pussy as well as any woman I’ve ever enjoyed…… He loves his hair to look so girly, and yet there are moments when he’s all-male. What a man!”
She showered and washed her own hair, emerging with it towel-dried and awaiting setting. She rolled her hair and sprayed it with loads of setting lotion, giving a first blast with a hand-held drier.
She then traced Karen’s footsteps into her wardrobe and selected a, purposely androgynous, outfit of tight jeans, tight blouse, high heels boots and minimal jewelry.
All-woman, but in no way competing with Karen in femininity. Show some respect! She thought.
In making-up her face, she decided that this Jenny could be as glamorous as Karen….. Little foundation - she was lucky enough to have nearly flawless skin, the rest was more dramatic. Right through to bright eyeshadow, liner, false lashes and loads of mascara too. High gloss lipstick would be perfect. Ruby Red.
She brushed her cheeks with blusher and stood back. Not competing, but equally as attractive as Karen in many ways. And attractive to her, Karen, she knew for a fact!
Finally, she fired-up the hair-dryer again and finished her hair, taking rollers off rapidly to allow the spiral curls to tumble around her face and down towards her shoulders. He spritzed herself with delightful fragrance — one of her favourites — Miss Dior.
She emerged from the bedroom to find Karen just looking out of the window — dreaming of whatever, she couldn’t know. She looked content though.
“I’ve never, ever, felt like this before…” Karen admitted, without being asked. “I could stay here for ever, if only you would have me….”
“Hey, let’s not get ahead of ourselves…. I don’t plan my life around the first fuck, you know! What kind of a girl do you think I am…??” Jenny said, again laughing out loud. “At least let me get a dinner out of you for starters!”
************
The dinner passed uneventfully. The drive to the restaurant un-nerved Karen momentarily, but she soon recovered. There was no sign of any ‘Ladyboy’ in the serving staff. They were just what the world, and all the other diners, saw…. Two women having dinner.
They talked about the week ahead. It had been agreed that Karen was not going home — not yet at least. Jenny was therefore going to go shopping for Karen’s clothes in her lunch hour tomorrow, Monday. There were three stores within easy reach that would have enough choice in a size 16 to accommodate Karen’s shape.
She had already formulated a list. New underwear, at least three blouses or girly shirts — with emphasis on ‘girly’ — some trousers and a skirt….. and maybe another dress. Not all ‘indoor’ wear. Jenny was determined to get Karen out and about some more, perhaps later in the week.
The critical thing, that concerned Jenny if not Karen, was her lack of tits…… Karen needed realistic breasts. Realistic to look at, but more importantly, realistic for her to feel. Nothing could be quite like nature, Jenny knew that, and her own tits gave her great pleasure. Karen might never experience her own nipples growing so much that just brushing them would induce an orgasm — and Jenny knew how possible that was — but Karen — or Andy - deserved tits that moved with her every turn and breath. Where could she get him some???!
When they returned from the restaurant, and Karen again slipped into a nightie from Jenny’s ample selection, neither woman could face removing all their make-up, or rolling their hair for the morning. They slipped between the sheets and nestled into eachothers’ arms and, after cuddling and some deeply satisfying kissing, slipped into sleep.
Dreaming of the week to come………………………… in Chapter 11
When they returned from the restaurant, the previous night, Karen again slipped into a nightie of Jenny’s and they folded into eachothers’ arms and, after cuddling and some deeply satisfying kissing, slept immediately. Neither woman could face removing all their make-up, or rolling their hair for the morning. The result shocked Jenny when she awoke.
Looking at Karen, sleeping, and looking at herself in the mirror, Karen thought she’d been in an orgy of some kind. Hair everywhere, styles ruined. Make-up totally spoilt. They had to start from scratch.
Jenny decided not to wake Karen but to leave her a message.
She scrupulously cleansed her face and washed her hair — no time for a shower. The salon wouldn’t be busy as it was a Monday, so she would do her hair and make-up there.
Karen’s were a different matter; but she would have to try for herself. Jenny was already late to leave. She closed the door having left a message on the table:
Dearest Karen,
I hope you slept well! I certainly did. Thank you for a wonderful “yesterday”, I enjoyed every minute and finished totally breathless! You are one hell of a lover! Thank you! How DID I ever find you???!!!
Please, when you wake, use the whole morning to cleanse your skin and look after yourself. Have a shower and use any of the creams and lotions on my vanity unit that you need. After that, try to roll your own hair up in a pretty curly style. See how you do!
Then, while I go shopping - I took the cash from your wallet, by the way… Good that you carry quite enough! I’ve taken it all.. You won’t be needing it!
Yes, while I go shopping, you can have fun trying on some of the clothes in my wardrobe. Treat them with respect, but try on anything that you like the look of. Meanwhile, I’ll be buying you some lovely things to keep for yourself! Use your own underwear, but do expect me to come home with some unusual items in that department. I do so love nice undies on my lovers!
Lots of love and hugs,
Jenny xxx
Jenny thought about her new lover as she drove to work.
How could she make this relationship develop , and grow,… and last??? How could she liberate this man from a marriage that some would say had failed, some would say his dressing had ruined, and some would say could have lasted better if his wife had accepted his dressing as part of Andy? …. And loved him just the same as before she knew?
What Jenny didn’t know was what Andy was thinking, now he had woken up to find her gone. He lay in bed, still wearing one of her nighties. Still trying to feel girly, but really not succeeding. His thoughts rambled…….
Because of her relative lack of experience with cross-dressing among her clients at the salon, Jenny wasn’t aware that many marriages do survive and flourish where women accept that a husband’s dressing isn’t a criticism or a lack of love for her………
Quite the reverse, in many cases, Andy thought, it’s a mark of adoration from husband to wife that’s so strong, He wants to be She… like her……
There is a saying that most married cross-dressers frequently choose to look like their “other halves”……
They surreptitiously wear their wives’ clothes. Like I did……
They read their magazines, avidly. Like I do……
They wear their hair in similar styles, and often colours… Like I dreamt of……
They almost succeed in their efforts to be “their other halves” in more ways than one.
Some even choose their wives’ names for their own “femme” names.
Jenny didn’t know these things, but she did know that Andy’s marriage had been ‘on hold’ for a long time. He was embarrassed by his wife’s reaction to his dressing long ago. He felt he could never mention it, or broach the subject at all…. He had no way to prove to her that it was just another facet of his life, part of him…… that he hoped she could love him for…..
So, their thoughts were entwined, even though he was still in bed, and She was at work.
Andy realized that he had to get up, and get dressed….. and get cleaned up. He looked in the mirror and saw a tart that had been pulled through a hedge… backwards! A shower! He needed a shower! He slipped out of the nightie and stepped into the jet of water and felt better.
Jenny had endured and endless morning — of boredom. He had dealt with a couple of “walk-in” clients whose needs were very ordinary and provided little satisfaction. Her one definite appointment had called to cancel with less than an hour’s notice, and so she was left with nothing to do. An ideal “closed until 2pm” opportunity for her to go shopping. She put just such a notice in the front window of the salon and locked the door.
Near enough to the salon, just three or four miles away, there had been a new out-of-town shopping area created, offering a large new Marks & Spencer’s and a Next store, alongside a Boots Pharmacy & Beauty store — which would be handy to buy the cosmetics Andy would need when transformed into Karen over the coming week, Karen thought to herself as she drove away from the pretty little salon.
Her journey took only a few minutes and she decided to choose the clothes for Karen “from the inside out”. She would buy some underwear and night clothes first, then choose between M&S and Next for the outerwear.
The underwear was easy to choose. The M&S selection was as good as ever — every conceivable size and colour. He would be a 38B in British sizing for the bras, of which she picked out two absolutely gorgeous ones; the first with burgundy satin and white lace, and the second with soft peach cotton. Both were ‘uplift’ styles with a slight padding and under-wiring, that would give Andy the tits her alter ego wanted. There were also pairs of clever little inserts made of silicone; not breast-forms but just enough to give tit-shaped outlines to whatever Karen would be wearing. Very pretty! Jenny chose matching knickers, three pairs to go with each bra.
After all, he’ll be wearing these for the future, I’m sure. Jenny thought to herself.
To these, she added a suspender belt for each, followed by a visit to the stockings display. Here, she found two pairs each of black sheer support stockings — to go with burgundy — and two pairs each of sheer ‘natural’ support stockings, to go with the peach coloured set.
He needs the shaping provided by the support stockings, sheer as they are….. and very sexy! Jenny smiled a long smile to herself. She was enjoying this!
Moving on quickly, as time wasn’t unlimited, Jenny found the nightwear and lingerie section of the store and chose a heavy-weight satin nightie and dressing gown set, not unlike her own, but in a distinctly pretty rose pink, The edges of the fabric were rolled in a darker pink shade. He’ll look good in these! Jenny thought II really think I could get used to shopping for him/her!
And so on to the Next store “next door”!
Meanwhile, Karen was dressed at Jenny’s home. He had washed his hair in the shower and sat at the vanity mirror in Jenny’s bedroom, struggling with the rollers she had suggested he use to make a curly style…… It was no use. He failed miserably. The rollers wouldn’t stay in. The hair section he marked out weren’t straight. The back of his head he couldn’t see….. Disaster!
Andy gave up. His ‘Karen’ could do it, but he couldn’t…… His Jenny could do it… but he couldn’t…….. Better to dry it straight and have Jenny work her magic when she got home!
Let’s get on with the make-up! He was thinking like Karen again. She had removed his false eyelashes and chose to wear quite under-stated make-up after he had showered that morning. A little foundation. Lipstick, of course, but he found a “nearly naked” shade that looked good and tasted wonderful on Karen’s luscious lips. She admired her handiwork in the mirror..
He struggled with the mascara — he always did! — but avoided poking his eyes out. The look was just right…… He didn’t intend to open the door if visitors called, so it was for himself that Karen was dressed and made-up.
Karen now delved into Jenny’s underwear drawer, having first stepped into the bodyshaper that she had worn the previous day. The crotch was refastened, hiding her little cock once again. She wore again the bra and panties that had served so well yesterday. They might have been in place for some of the sex, but it wasn’t a problem to wear them again, as nothing was stained! Likewise, with the suspenders and stockings.
Having made her face up, Karen took for ages to choose between the dresses, skirts and blouses in Jenny’s wardrobe. She chose a very plain stay-at-home outfit which brought it home to her that girls do have to live without glamour some of the time. It was right. She would change again, this evening, to welcome Jenny home. But for now, it was ‘everyday’ gear. Andy’s mind was focused… on being Karen in mind as well as dress…….
She wore a beautiful sheer white cotton blouse that had embroidered flowers and scalloped sleeves. This went well with a tight pencil-line skirt in a shocking pink colour - shocking maybe, but it was a bright sunny day and Karen felt like “living just a little”! Her stockings were flesh toned and Andy found a pair of low-heeled slipped in leather that matched the skirt.
He stood and admired his choice of dress in Jenny’s full-length mirror in the bedroom. It all looked wonderful, except…..
Except, there are no tits! I want tits! There was nothing in the bra, so the blouse just seemed touching to Karen’s chest. The outline of the bra could be seen through the fabric… but there were no tits! No shape. He still felt, because of this, that he was looking at a bloke in a dress!
He stepped back to Jenny’s underwear drawer……. Nothing but rolled-up stockings would come close…….. and there were only new nylons in fresh undisturbed packaging there…….
“I must phone her……. “ Andy said out loud…..
But he didn’t know her mobile number……. He only had her number at the salon….. And she wouldn’t be there! “Bugger!” he said out loud, to whoever would listen.
It will have to be a handkerchief…… One for each tit……
Karen sat down with a coffee in the little lounge of Jenny’s cottage and thought back over the previous few hours and also over the salon visits that had led up to this weekend’s delights. How great it was that I had the courage to ask her to do my hair that first time….
Back in the shopping precinct, Jenny decided to investigate what was on offer in the Next store, next door! There were some of the right things and a few purchases were easily made to get her started. A delightful floral print dress with an extremely tight, and hopefully flattering, waist Girly! Jenny giggled to herself as she moved on.
To this, she added several other items that would see Karen though her week’s confinement in Jenny’s home……. And on one or two ventures out! Jenny mused with herself.
She returned to the car with the dress, a neat dark blue A-line skirt with a wide belt that would help with training Karen’s waist, a blouse to match the skirt — in a pale, pale blue, with a high collar that would hide his Adam’s Apple……. (Yes, I had noticed!) she thought to herself….. And finally, a little frivolity… a chiffon blouse that was see-through and would look good on any tart! That would be for early evening s and would be followed by sex once it was removed! Jenny had plans in that direction! This is going to be one sexy week, for sure!
She stopped for a moment and again thought of the last few hours.
“I’ve fucked him, and he enjoyed that.” Jenny said under her breath, just to herself. “He’s fucked me, and I certainly enjoyed that!” Her thoughts ran away with her….. I’m going to seduce him, tease him and make him so excited that he’ll cum without control, just from what I say to him and what I make him do… to become her, Karen, my lover, again.
I’ll make her wait. Until, as they say, she’s gagging for it……. I’ll sit on her face and make her eat my pussy. I’ll stroke her panties but keep her locked inside the lace of these panties…… She will never want to leave me!
Jenny returned to the hair salon and spent the afternoon dreaming of what was to come. Time passes very slowly. The few clients she had were all uninteresting……. Nothing to imagine would suit her Karen. Not soon enough, five-thirty came around and it was time to close the salon. Jeny imagined Karen waiting for her, hopefully with make-up done, hair all set nice and curly, and dressed in something of hers… something sexy…..
Karen was indeed waiting, but with her hair simply dried straight, awaiting Jenny’s touch…… She heard the car door slam when Jenny arrived. She went to the hallway and smoothed her clothes, pleased she had found shoes to match the pink skirt that she had chosen to go with the beautiful sheer white cotton blouse that had embroidered flowers and scalloped sleeves.
She looked at herself sideways in the hall mirror. Couldn’t be much better! Karen thought as the key entered the lock and the door opened. Pity the hair’s losing its colour….
“Oh, Wow!!” Jenny exclaimed as soon as she entered……. “You look stunning!.....”
“I wanted to look my best for you, honey!” he replied, trying his best to feminize his voice again.
“Well, you have succeeded, One Hundred Per Cent! I love the outfit you’ve chosen….. Just right to welcome someone home that you love and who loves you……
“I’m really sorry that my hair is such a mess…. I tried, I really did, but I made a real mess of the rollers and it didn’t seem worth it to carry on when you can do so much better….. So, please will you?.... Later? Or in the morning……?” Andy was gabbling now, his Karen voice lost for a moment.
“Hey, hey… don’t worry — that’s easy to put right…. I’ll give you the benefit of my curling tons before dinner….. How about that? Now twirly-whirl for me. I want to see how the skirt flares when you move!” Jenny said admiringly.
“Not until you kiss me hello!” Karen retorted. A beautiful, long, lingering kiss followed which made both of them fell quite light-headed. Andy was pleased that he hadn’t been excessive in his use of make-up. The resulting damage was limited and would be easily repaired while Jenny showered before dinner.
“You go change and I’ll make the Martinis.” Karen said, pushing Jenny towards the bedroom.
“You might have tidied up the clothes you didn’t choose!” called Jenny, thinking “Men!! You can’t get them to leave the bedroom tidy!” Some things never change and leopards don’t change their spots. Jenny was a little disappointed that the feminine time Karen had spent on her own hadn’t made him feel just a bit more girly in that sense. She would have to make him change his ways!, she thought.
The shower was wonderful on Jenny’s skin. The luxury bath crá¨me made her feel good and the water cascading through her hair equally so. She felt like a new woman….. And, luckily, I have one in the kitchen!, she thought, and laughed out loud.
“What’s so funny?” Karen shouted, hearing her laughs. Jenny smiled to herself again and said…. “I just thought I feel like a new woman…. And then I thought… You’ll do! You’re my new woman! You are!”, she said as she stepped out of the shower and surrounded herself with the biggest possible bath sheet, its toweling all soft and tumble dried, still warm from the rail.
“Cheeky!!” Karen replied, as she entered the bathroom and sat on the bath-side, watching Jenny dry herself. “Here, have a drink — you must be needing one.”
“Too right…” Jenny replied, taking the glass and at the same time, allowing her towel to fall to the floor, leaving herself naked. Inviting an approach.
“You do look fabulous, you really do….” said Jenny’s fully clothed lover. They both took deep swallows of their martinis and Karen felt an immediate warmth in her cheeks…. And also between her thighs. There was no bodyshaper there now. Just stockings and panties.
“There’s wine in the kitchen. Let’s order a pizza for delivery.” Jenny said with a glint in her eyes. “That way, we get to stay in and wait for it…….”
“Nice idea….” was Andy’s response to the idea. It will give us time for some fore-play.
“There’s still much more I want to know about you and your girly side…… So we can talk while the pizza’s coming and the wine’s going down…….. I’m not going to get dressed again — apart from some nice pretty undies and my dressing gown. Ok with you?” “And Ok for you to open the door to the pizza boy too”, she thought.
Jenny’s hands wrapped themselves around Karen’s waist as she drew herself closer to her. She offered her lips up to initiate a kiss she hoped would lead to more…. And sure enough, it did. Karen responded to the taste of Jenny’s lipstick and probed her mouth with her tongue. Soon enough, their embrace became quite ardent.
Incongruous though it was, Karen felt it was almost sexier with Jenny naked and she herself still fully clothed.
The sex they enjoyed for the next hour was “everything to everyone”. He was he, for once, she was she. Then he became she, and they were both ‘she’, Then she — the real she — became he. They role-played to extremes. He came on strong to her. Then she flirted with her, finally seducing her deliciously. Then, she remembered her toys, and took over control. By the time they paused for rest, Jenny had been tongue-fucked, fanny-fucked and allowed to give her lover a blow-job. Andy had fucked her missionary-style, then been treated like a girl and arse-fucked with Jenny’s dildo. Finally, Karen had been touching Jenny’s velvet and tasting the juices as she felt her lover cum while Jenny sat on her face.
The ice in the second Martinis had melted..
Karen had allowed Jenny to remove her ‘everyday’ clothes piece-by-piece, ending with her too being naked. With that, they decided to massage eachother with fragrant oils to rejuvenate their lust. It didn’t take long, but the night was yet young.
Jenny rose from the bed and said “We still have so much to talk about, my lover. Let’s have a break, another Martini and just lounge around for a while.”
Andy knew he needed a break and, in his Karen voice, seductively said “Whatever you choose my darling. I’m in your hands.”
As the Martinis continued to flow, Jenny thought it was time to find out some more about Karen’s history. I know about his early twenties, but not much more……
“You have to tell me about your life after Uni. I’m intrigued - you’re married, with a family and you got here somehow — tell me what led you to my door.”
Andy was thoughtful. As Karen, he was in this woman’s hands completely. Nothing he could do for her, he wouldn’t. She was in control. So, he was bound to answer….. but as Andy? Or as Karen?
“It depends who you’re asking…….. me, as Karen….???” Giving himself time to think. How far should the details go, if she presses for them?
“Oh, just for now, you’re Andy…” Jenny said, studying the face of this man laying naked beside her. She would dress him later in the clothes she had chosen for him….. for him to become “her” again. She wanted first to find out how his dressing had been submerged in everyday manhood… before it had emerged again in her salon, that day he came in……
Andy laid back and reflected. How had it been… before? He found it hard to recall….
And then there was the question of how much to reveal………… May as well be ALL!
“How far did we get? I guess towards the end of my Twenties…. And I was working as a Lecturer. And everyone seemed to accept me the way I was…….. I dressed for special occasions, for fun, and there were two very special ladies I loved very much at those times, who liked me to do that. So everything was easy. It was easy to get a liking for dressing. So, I carefully collected a wardrobe of clothes that were just right for different moods. I probably ended up with a better girly wardrobe than a male one. After all, what do College staff wear? Jeans, tee-shirts, sweat shirts and old jumpers. So what if your hair’s very long? Nobody seemed to care. So what if it was blonde sometimes, and red another? Nobody cared. In fact, it was my trademark and I enjoyed having the distinction……”
Andy paused. He recalled some of the instances where that was especially true.
There were the college ball events — at which he had routinely appeared in more and more exaggerated Diva costumes.
There were the private times when he had dressed for his own pleasure.
There were occasional forays into the night, when, in the days it was afe to do so, he could feel like a young woman with all the joys that brought.
There were times that female friends had suggested, in the days when “being gay” was almost becoming mandatory, that he might attract men when dressed the way he did. And certainly times when they were flabbergasted, and then intrigued, when he had made it very clear that he had no homosexual leanings at al…… he cross-dressed, for pleasure. That confused them...... “Aren’t you all gay?”, they had asked.
Over the next hour or so, Andy confided many of these things to Jenny, thereby helping her to understand more than she ever realized she didn’t know about cross-dressing and the men who do it. She was delighted that Andy felt able, seemingly, to let down all his defences.
She recognized that there was an inner softness and beauty in this man……. A man who, when dressed as a woman was evidently “different”…… but who was at ease with his “difference”.
Jenny herself chose the moment to break the conversation. She had spent the day thinking about these things and it was time for Karen to re-appear and for Jenny to indulge in trying on all the lovely clothes she had bought for her lover.
“I’m going to want you to keep these things here at my home, you know. I’m not going to let you go and they’ll help keep you coming back.”
Karen smiled and hugged Jenny’s neck.
“And when we’ve done, will you do my hair for tonight?”
“Of course, my love…..”
Jenny’s promise, to make sure that Andy kept clothes at her house to make sure he kept returning, wasn’t lost on him. Could it be that he was just dreaming? Did she really say that? This beautiful woman…. She really did seem to be saying that he was caught and had no way of escape…. As if he wanted one?!
“I had a lovely hour at lunchtime, choosing some very pretty things for you…. Shall we try them on? I just can’t wait to see how they suit you. I did go for girly things, I must admit!” Jenny squealed in excitement.
They adjourned to the bedroom where Karen sat down in front of the vanity mirror and Jenny quickly rolled her hair. Jenny could immediately imagine a new and sexy style that would suit Karen beautifully….. High on the crown, with pin curls all around the back and sides, for extra femininity. “You’ll have to come to the salon tomorrow evening, honey. We can’t let this colour be washed out like this any longer.”
“mmmmm, I was thinking about that….” mused Karen, thinking in the way Andy would…… “There’s a problem, really, isn’t there…. because the temporary colours you’ve used just don’t last……. But any more long-lasting will get me into trouble next week…..” Andy was thinking about the return of his wife……
“You’re actually not wrong….. but that means a decision….. And I guess you can’t go more permanent with the colour, can you? It’s not at all surprising given the way we have been playing with your hair all this week so far…. You don’t have to worry……” Jenny said, quite reassuringly.
“How so?” Karen asked with an enquiring look into the mirror.
“Well, the rinses we’ve used have been fun, haven’t they…. “ Jenny paused, seeking agreement, “…. There’s no reason, yet, to go for anything more long-lasting…. Really, there isn’t. in fact, the range of colours we can play with are almost more varied with temporary rinses than with permanent tints.”
“Yet!???” Karen picked up on the one word that Jenny had slipped in to see if she/he was listening.
“Well, I did say… “yet”, didn’t I? Perhaps I was thinking that one day, you’ll be ready to take a risk…. There are some lovely subtle shades of red that go well on greying hair……”
The talk was taking Karen back to his late-20s when he wore his hair in a different colour almost every month or two. It was, by then, just part of him — a part of him that people took as second nature….. Which indeed it was. It was like that when he met the woman who would eventually become his wife…… She took it as part of him. His long hair, coloured. She didn’t see it as a ‘statement’ of any kind, and indeed it wasn’t… well, not consciously at all…… But from deep inside it was Andy’s way of saying “take me as you find me”…… or, “read into this whatever you wish, but it’s me!”
They dated, not-so-seriously to start off, and then found an increasing closeness that wasn’t something either of them had found with anybody else before. You could say that’s “falling in love”, isn’t it? Yes, that was when they found they’d fallen in love. Getting married was the natural thing to do in those days — pity it isn’t any more, Andy thought. So they were married, in a pretty parish church in north London, near where they had both been born. Both families seemed well suited.
Andy had continued his University lecturer’s job for a couple of years after they married. Her job moved to where he was employed and they found a flat to rent at first, planning to buy a house. Andy did have some of his clothes to keep safe…… Not easy to keep hidden in a small flat but, inevitably, there were many boxes of “stuff” that could be kept sealed until they fond the house of their dreams. His wife had loads of boxes with God knows what in them.
His wife spent a lot of her income on clothes and things for the house, and make-up of course. Andy dealt with the bills, entertainment and dining for them both, and his needs for beer! He also kept a little back for the occasional visit to M&S for an item of clothing or two. It was really the buying that got his pulse racing… just shopping…. An entirely un-male experience and pleasure.
Typically, he was careless and, more than once, a purchase was lost as she had found something that he’d bought… which suddenly had to be a “surprise” for her.
She was never away for more than a single night, maybe with girlfriends or visiting family, so Andy very rarely got the chance to dress for himself. He followed all the rules; not leaving the place untidy, not disturbing her clothes when taking and trying them on, putting them back exactly where they had been, not using much make-up at all, working on his own hair the way he had learned to do from his occasional, and now long-ago, salon visits. He felt secure in the notion that she wouldn’t be guessing.
That proved to be what most offended her — when the disclosure finally occurred. When she found out…… Nine or ten years later. When he’d done nothing to prepare her for the shock — which it was….. it was his fault, he readily admitted. Perhaps if he’d prepared the way, she’d have been more accepting, intrigued even…… but she really wasn’t……….
She was a wonderful woman in most other ways, but his dressing, once discovered (and promised to be stopped) had driven a wedge between them. But they had stayed together.
Jenny continued, as Karen took in the importance of what was being said. “…..Using the natural variations in the base colours, I mean, you can have the most feminine colours…. But you’d be wanting to live with them, by then…. I mean, all the time……. If, that is…. If you wanted to live like a girly…!?”
Jenny was testing Andy’s deepest-held thoughts about his dressing, now, while he was effectively under her control.
She wanted to find out — hoping he wouldn’t — whether Andy did in fact feel so good as a girl that he would live, as Karen, as a girl all the time, ever?
She really really hoped he wouldn’t.
Why? Because she was loving the experience of being with this cute, sensitive guy, who loved the feel of being a girl, who could make love like an experienced woman, but who also could be a sensitive all-male lover when both of them chose for him to be so.
She really did hope the next sentence wouldn’t change everything…..
Andy paused, as if wondering how to say what was now in his mind…………. Not wanting to offend Jenny at all……..
***********
They had called in for pizza to be delivered. Jenny had opened one of her bottles of Montepulciano d’Abruzzo, her favourite Italian red wine — light and fruity… Just like she was feeling now!
She was in heaven. She had sent Karen off to dress for the evening, to dress in the clothes she herself had bought for her lover, with his own money!
She was feeling light-headed. Tonight would be as wonderful as last…… They were nearly half-way through the week of his “freedom”.
But she knew…… Jenny reflected…… She knew that there would be a future….. With Karen…. And with Andy…… She knew enough about him…. Not everything of course, but she knew enough to know that he was sincere……. Frightened, maybe, but very sincere……. They would enjoy what time they could have together………..
***********
Karen stood in the bedroom, having slipped her legs into the black support stockings that gave her legs a really sexy sheen and shaped her calf muscles and her thighs, just enough to be noticed. She fixed the stockings to the suspender belt…… Why, oh, why, were those clasps always so difficult…. Especially the third ones, behind the thigh!?? But they were done.
The bra, the peach cotton one that Jenny had bought, was a delight, as were the matching panties. She grasped the flesh in her ‘pecs’ pushing what was there upwards and then she slipped the pair of silicone bust enhancers into the ‘B’ cups, to fill them as best she could. Enough to look like tits when covered with the blouse.
She stepped into the blue A-line skirt and fastened the waistband. A little tight, but “no pain, no gain!” she thought. The skirt swayed as she moved, delightfully caressing the sheer stockings.
The pale blue blouse, with a high neck, completed the look Jenny had hoped she would create, but of which Karen was only just appreciating. It all felt very feminine.
As instructed, she began unrolling the hair that Jenny had carefully set an hour ago. The pins in the back and sides required only a rough brushing, to keep the separate forms of the curls. The crown, however, required back-combing to give height and volume. Karen was hesitant…. Just how much???!! She removed the five large-ish rollers and felt the curls in the tips of her fingers. Or, she could try for herself………
And she did. She took each curl in turn and ran a wide-toothed comb through it, changing the direction of the stroke to reverse and , she watched, as the hair responded to the back-comb effect. It wasn’t all that difficult…. So, on she went, to the second, then the third, and then the fourth and fifth curls, piling them as high as she could; he three or four inches of her crown’s length being just enough to create a lovely style. She could be proud. Jenny would be impressed!
Karen stood before the full-length mirror, admiring what she saw. She slipped into the pair of low-heeled court shoes that Jenny had left out for her. Not too high, but enough to change her posture, forcing her tits out and her bum to tense.
She was relieved……. It was all going well………… She thought of the question…. Did she.. or he …. Want to live as a girly??.................. She seemed to have answered it well…… Jenny seemed pleased…. But the reply had been honest……… There was no place for lying or half-truths……. Andy thought, gazing at Karen’s image in the mirror……
Karen twisted on her heels and reached for a spritz of Chanel 5 from the dressing table. It was her favourite! She freshened her make-up, light though it was, finishing with the coral pink lipstick that would be right for early evening.
***********
Jenny sat in the lounge area, waiting for Karen to re-appear from the bedroom. Red wine in hand.
She had washed and freshened up before calling the pizza delivery people, asking for a call in an hour’s time. Enough time for some pre-dinner flirtation…….
***********
Andy drew a deep breath before descending the stairs and entering the lounge where Jenny would be waiting. She/he was somehow suddenly nervous…. Wanting Jenny’s approval. A man, entering the home of a woman, dressed himself as a woman, hoping for acceptance as what —
a woman?
No, acceptance as a man who dresses sometimes as a woman…… and who needs approval.
How lucky he felt to have come this far, from a few faltering words at the start of a salon visit….
She will have heard the heels on the stairs. It’s now……. Open that door…….!!
Andy’s hand was shaking as he touched the door handle. Why was he so nervy???
“Oh, WOW!” Jenny exclaimed as Karen walked through the door. “I’m so pleased you look so good!... So very good, indeed.” She jumped up from thee sofa to greet her lover.
“You look very special yourself too!” was Karen’s reply. Her arms opened wide to receive Jenny’s advance. The couple kissed, Karen realizing that there had been no need at all to be nervous.
Their kiss was long and slow and enticing……… Lipsticks merged, tongues explored and eyes sometimes wide open……… Hearts began racing………. Breathing became shallower. A pause for red wine was no interruption……. It served to heighten the anticipation……..
***********
Not too long later… well, long enough to whet the appetite for more, Karen and Jenny sat together in the lounge, glasses re-filled, and relaxed. They talked about eachother’s days. Jenny had, indeed, been less than usually busy. It had allowed her time to indulge in her shopping.
As they talked, their eyes were transfixed upon the other’s. Knowing smiles crept into their conversation from time to time. It was all delicious. There was no doubt, there would be lots and lots of delicious sex that night. Karen’s eyes twinkled…. Jenny’s fingers traced the line of her lips as she subtly suggested that they kiss again. Little encouragement was needed.
Karen’s hands explored Jenny’s tits through her blouse, and eventually, underneath it. She tweaked the full erect nipples and traced their outline with a painted fingernail. The skin around the nipples creased as only aroused tits will do.
Karen’s mouth sank slowly towards a first nipple and engulfed it. Lipstick marked the outline. Teeth nibbled, gently for the most part, but harder as Jenny’s breathing became shallow again.
“Oh, yyyyyesssss..!” Jenny breathed lightly.
The sofa was strewn with arms and legs before long, as the two women sank into their loving embrace, losing all sense of time. Ecstasy was all around as they fucked, fully clothed, in the increasing twilight. Only the setting sun lit the room through the west-facing windows. Firstly, doggie-style, Karen tongue-fucked Jenny……. Beautifully, she would admit later.
Karen parted the wonderful wet labia that were only inches from her lips, teasing Jenny with her painted fingernail and then sliding her fingertip up and down, releasing more and more moistness from who-knows-where. Tasting her lover’s pre-cum, the tip of Karen’s tongue touched the pretty pink button that was Jenny’s clitoris and she exploded almost immediately in an orgasm that lasted oh, so long!
Turning the tables, Jenny went down on Karen’s cock, beautifully, Karen would admit later. A girl with a few advantages…, Jenny thought. Her chestnut curls surrounded the cock as she drew it in deeply. Karen gripped Jenny’s head, holding it in place to prolong the ecstasy.
Karen’s cock was aching for her to cum now……. Her balls were loaded…. Jenny realized, she should bring an end to the love-making, just for a while…… So she manoeuvred herself under Karen’s arched body and guided her lover’s cock into her, slipping the semi-erect piece of joy into where it belonged. Woman, fucking woman. ….Total Joy! Their orgasms coincided and Karen’s cum was suddenly everywhere.
Their clothes were disarrayed, their make-up ruined, their hair dishevelled, their bodies sweating and their breathing irregular. They lay back, beside eachother. They had been shagging so very wondrously! And it was obvious!
And it was obvious to them when, just a moment or two later, the door-bell rang:
“Shit!!” said Jenny, “That’s the Pizza delivery boy………..! You’ll have to go to the door!”
“I can’t!” Karen replied, out of breath.
“You must, I certainly can’t!”
“I simply can’t — I look like what I am and what I’ve been doing….!”
“You are what you are — you’re a beautiful woman… and you’ve been fucking…. So what!?” Jenny smiled adoringly….. “And so what if he susses you….. who cares??!! We’re not finished, anyhow!”
The knock came at the door for a second time.
Reluctantly, Andy stood up and looked at himself in the hallway mirror as he went to the door. That was no woman in the reflection. It was him…… It was a guy, wearing a pretty skirt, and a blouse, with the peach cotton bra showing where it was unbuttoned. His silicone inserts gave to illusion that he had tits… He was rather proud of those…. His hair was curly alright, around the sides (he couldn’t see the back) and the crown curls were back-combed high, but they were messed. He was sad about that; he loved his hair to be perfect!..... His lipstick was almost gone but his eyes shone through the eyeshadow and mascara….. This was a guy, dressed as a girl, who was ready for another fuck………
And suddenly, Andy didn’t give a fuck for who knew…….!!!
So he opened the door.
***********
“So what if he knew……..” Karen said, taking a long sip of the red wine that still stood beside the sofa. “He wasn’t going to stay around here for a moment longer than he needed….”
“He probably knew nothing… except that he’d interrupted something!” Jenny laughed.
“I’m so so happy…..” Karen said, beginning, Andy thought to explain….
“Shhh.. No need to say more — I’m really happy too…. And I’m especially happy about what you said before…. That you don’t want to go on to live as a girly…… I love you sooooo much as you are….. You’re my girly with extra advantages!!!” Jenny said.
She was thinking back just a little time to when she had tentatively asked Karen if she did want to……. Her memory of those thoughts flashed back:
She had wanted to find out — hoping he wouldn’t —
whether Andy did in fact feel so good as a girl
that he would live, as Karen, as a girl all the time, for ever?
She had hoped he wouldn’t.
Why? Because she was loving the experience
of being with this cute, sensitive guy, who loved
the feel of being a girl, who could make love like
an experienced woman, but who also could be a
sensitive all-male lover when both of them chose for him to be so.
She really had hoped that Andy’s next sentence wouldn’t change everything…
Andy had paused, as if wondering how to say what was now in his mind………….
Jenny knew now that he hadn’t wanted to offend her at all…….
“So, you like my extra advantages, do you? Hmmmm… I’m rather glad you do, because I did say I wouldn’t ever want to lose them, didn’t I? I mean, girlies don’t need them, but I think we just proved, we do, don’t we?!” Andy, or was it Karen, laughed at the thought of what they had enjoyed only minutes before……..
“I adore all of you, honey…….. Thank you for being so clear about that…… I am very much a lover for both of you…….. Karen as well as Andy….. I guess that makes me bisexual, but who cares about that? I hate labels, anyhow…… People can think what they want!” Jenny was in full flood with her thoughts and Andy decided not to interrupt her.
“I adore all of you too……” was all Andy could say before Jenny went on:
“……….After all, I’ve had many relationships and none of them have been like this one, with you. ………It’s just like I was always waiting for someone like you to come into my life. Imagine that, cutting your hair for months and not knowing……... I mean, not knowing that you might have been dressed while I was working up close with you……. And not knowing you have a delicious ‘special interest’ in your hair……….. How wonderful! For me, as a Hairdresser…. How simply wonderful…… And best of all, you don’t want to live as a girly, you just want to play the part just sometimes…..” Each time Jenny paused, Karen just smiled affectionately, flirtatiously as well, if that’s possible, letting Jenny know that there was real love in her eyes.
“This is a bit too Mills and Boon……” Jenny went on. “It’s like real life romance…. Thank you so much for coming into my life, my love. You won’t leave, will you…………” she paused, “………. You will be here, you know, after your wife comes back at the weekend….. I don’t me like, living here, but you won’t stop coming to see me… please!”
Shut up!!! I’m sounding like a fourteen year old, not a forty four year old! Damn…. Keep your mouth shut for a minute…!!! Jenny said to herself, inside her head.
Karen knew that it was her turn to speak now…… She had said all the right things when Jenny had questioned her about her hope for the future…. Now was the time to reassure her about the present…… when her wife comes home…. Karen hadn’t thought about that. Nor had Andy!
It hasn’t crossed my mind! Andy thought. I’d really better sort myself out! Karen thought, simultaneously.
Karen had to speak, honestly. What could the future hold? What should she say? …………There was no time to think!.....................
What was said now would be a promise. Karen wanted to promise “NO! I won’t stop!”, Andy was worried that would tie him down, but a “YES, I’ll have to stop!” would ruin what was wonderful.
Andy didn’t know how he would cope with the implications of what he was about to say… but said it anyway….
“Honey, I’ve never been more serious in my life when I say I’ll never stop coming to see you and share time with you. Whatever happens with me “at home” (he indicated inverted commas, meaning in his marriage) there’s no way that I can give up what you and I have shared in the last few days……. I can’t imagine doing without “us” (more inverted commas), because you mean so much to me now…… It’s a very special kind of love we share…….”
His voice faltered through those words, sometimes being Andy’s usual — though soft — tones, and at times being Karen’s more breathless girly tones.
He/she went on: “You’ve set something free inside me and I love you for that, and for being you — the wonderful sexy you that you are….” (his voice now definitely Karen’s) “….. I meant what I said that I didn’t want to live as a girly - and I hope you know that’s true — but I do want to be your girlfriend! We’ll have to find some days in the week when I can be with you…….” Karen said. And some days I can convince my wife I don’t need to be at home, Andy thought.
“That’s just beautiful!” Jenny murmured, sipping her wine again, “……. and this pizza will be useless if we don’t eat it soon!” She opened the box as Karen finished her wine and reached for the bottle, now nearly empty. “We’ll need another of these, I think.” Karen said, conscious that her lips no longer left a mark on the glass. “I’ll need to freshen up, if you don’t mind…. I’ll just be a minute…….ok?”
“OK, and when you get back, I’ve got a little game we can play…….. You can think about it while you’re away…… It doesn’t have a name ‘cos I’ve only just made it up… but you have to be prepared to name all the redheads you ever dreamt of being or sleeping with….. and to tell me why, why them in particular……..OK?”
Karen stopped and thought for a moment…….
“Only if you tell me about the women whose hair and beauty needs you have cared for over the years…. And if you slept with any of them!”
Karen laughed, as she left for the bedroom…..
She returned a couple of minutes later, having washed her face and re-applied a light make-up, just mascara and eyeshadow, with a fresh coating of lipstick. She had, however, changed her clothes. Her previous outfit, though newly bought by Jenny, was already in need of a wash — for obvious reasons. She had changed into a light pair of Jenny’s flared trousers and a low-cut blouse made of a chiffon-like material, in salmon pink, with fluted cuffs and collar. Very pretty, Karen thought.
“Jeez… I’d better change as well!” Jenny exclaimed as Karen re-appeared.
“No need! I just thought if there’s more fucking to be done, I’d feel ready if I changed!”
“Bring another bottle of wine………. Let’s have some pizza!” Jenny said, intending to change, perhaps for bed, later. Karen did as she was bidden, opening a screw-top bottle as she sat next to Jenny on the sofa. Both of the girls picked their slice of pizza.
“Pizza plays hell with lipstick, I find, don’t you? Now, tell me first, who awoke your love of red hair?!” Her hand entwined with Karen’s.
Jenny was very matter-of-fact in the way she spoke. She would seduce Karen again later by acting as the redhead who was the object of Karen’s desires. She had never been a redhead herself, but she figured, there was no time like the present….! She had the necessary colours in the bathroom for a quick change, later!
“Who awoke my love of red hair??? Now there’s a question!” Karen paused for a “seeming to think” moment and milked it for suspense!....... She knew perfectly well who it had been, though at the time she couldn’t have known…….
“You have to remember my age, dahhhrling!” Karen said in a faux theatrical voice…….
“You were a child of the Fifties……….” Jenny prompted.
“I followed this woman on television, before there was even colour pictures!” Karen paused…..
“…But I did get to see her in magazines where there were colour pictures… and I must have been stunned. I know it now, even if I didn’t now it then……. All you could see on the telly was her with her hair always fixed beautifully, always in an up-do, always with loads of curls on top….. and she wore high-waisted skirt with full swinging folds and high heeled shoes……..”
“I know… let me guess……. “ Jenny interrupted, “I’ve been a student of fashions in hair ever since I trained, at beauty school…”
“OK, bet you can’t guess!” Karen taunted……
“It was Lucy… wasn’t it?...... Lucy… I love Lucy…. Lucille Ball!!??”
Jenny was triumphant and jumped into Karen’s lap and kissed her, without waiting for confirmation of the answer. She knew she was right……. And she knew she could recreate Lucy’s “look” later in the evening. The kiss lasted longer and Karen had to break it for breath.
“You’re absolutely right, my honey. Perhaps it was a give-away, but, correct! I was only a pre-teen, but I fell in love with that woman…… And then, everywhere I looked, it seemed there were redheads! More importantly, there were women with beauty and fabulous hair…… Puberty crept up on me with a bang!! I saw blondes, redheads, brunettes, beautiful clothes, tight waists, sleek stockings, stiletto heels, big tits in skin-tight tops, what any normal boy would be focused on!...... That’s how I fell in love with red hair…….. Did you know that Marilyn Monroe was a redhead before they made her a blonde/ Did you know that Dusty Springfield was a redhead before they made her a blonde? Yes, indeed…… I came to love them as blondes…… of course…….!”
Jenny sat back, appreciating the fever that was in Karen’s heart as she recalled how she fell in love with feminine things……. It was a true life-changing story.
“I guess I didn’t look through the same eyes as other boys at the time, though I didn’t know it…… I just adored these beautiful women and the feminine things they got to wear…… I also saw some old film magazines where there were stars like Rita Hayworth and Maureen O’Hara…….. Top stars who had a kind of beauty that wouldn’t be popular in the Sixties….. but who were stunning…….. The trouble with the Sixties was that girls stopped having tits…. Not like the stars I’ve talked about — they were real women, with real tits and I loved them! Lovely tight tops, beautiful underwear must have helped…… Wow! I do admit to trying on my Mum’s underwear at times — she had corsets and bras that were not much different in size to what would be right for me. I remember stuffing handkerchiefs in the cups to make the shape of tits……. I remember loving the tightness of the corset and having the tabs for stockings hanging there….. So I had to find some stockings, didn’t I?! I spent my first pocket money on some stockings when I was 12 years old……”
“You little terror!” Jenny laughed….. She now realized how long Andy had had his fascination with all things feminine……..
The pizza and Montepulciano were consumed with great enthusiasm and the two girls sat back continuing the conversation. By that time, Andy had disclosed much of his early experimentation with crossdressing….. though he didn’t at the time know that’s what it would be called…. He knew now that his interest in girls had an “added aspect” which he wouldn’t dare have talked about to anyone!
He told Jenny about his first visit to a hair salon….. when he was fifteen years old….. He had been longing to have his hair set… properly, in rollers…. Why/ He couldn’t explain it! Of course, he couldn’t……. He had plucked up the courage, one morning in a school holiday, to call a salon…. He had chosen one in a nearby Jewish area where he thought any business would be welcome business. He had saved his pounds to make sure he could afford a shampoo and set….. He had waited until his hair needed a cut at the Barber’s but escaped having his Mum insist he had a cut.
Andy’s, or rather Karen’s confessions were pouring out no, and Jenny took them all in, loving the openness and vulnerability that Karen was allowing to show. He/she had total confidence that Jenny would keep his/her secrets. She loved him all the more for that.
He had phoned and told the Receptionist that “He” wanted “His son” to have a set…. “In a woman’s style”…. No explanation was asked for, no explanation was necessary. The deal was on!
All he had to do was front-up at the salon and let things take their course… taking him wherever he couldn’t say…….. By this time, his fixation had moved to the Sixties singers Dusty, Sandie and Cilla — blonde, brunette and redhead…… His hair was nothing like as long as theirs but…. But… but he could dream!!!! By now, he was enjoying what would later be called a fetish, for dressing in girly things and having his hair done.
His trip to the salon — well, his first trip, was a moderate success…… enough to encourage him to return. Andy had braved the entrance — much like he had done when entering Jenny’s salon the week or two before.
He had rehearsed what he would say many times over.
He had summoned up courage.
He wanted to get a first experience that day.
Whether the Stylist, like he had hoped Jenny would, might enter discussion, he couldn’t be sure.
But he felt half- confident she would. She had never seen his hair before, and he was only 15!!.
In her suburban salon. This was an appointment in the middle of the day. NOT when it was quiet!
Why hadn’t he chosen a time that was quieter???.
It would not be quiet. People would be looking. Women having their hair done would see him…… BUT……
No questions had been asked of him as to why he was having a shampoo and set. There were few alternatives for a style with shortish hair like his, so he left it to the girl who would do the set… And off she went!
Rollers over the crown, pin curls around the back and sides…. Not very different to what Jenny had done for Karen!
The curls on the top were back-combed out, rigorously, so that his hair stood out and upwards. His forehead was lined with curly bangs and, overall, it did look passably female. He sat on the bus going home, realizing with awful suddenness that he might arrive home to find his Mum waiting…. Wouldn’t she be interested in what was going on???!!!
But she hadn’t been there…
He opened the door and the house was silent. He went upstairs and, not knowing when Mum would return, took the risk of dressing in a bra and corset with the much-prized stockings he had bought previously. His feet even fitted his Mum’s shoes so he was able to find the highest pair of stilettos she owned and tottered about the bedroom, admiring himself in the mirror. He had sat at the dressing table and put on some of the crimson lipstick he found waiting there…… only to be panicked when he heard his Mum arriving home downstairs!
He recalled hastily replacing all the things he had used in their rightful places. If Mum ever discovered his secret, she had never mentioned it. Getting out of the corset in a hurry was the most difficult thing he had ever done!
He continued telling Jenny the story:
“And then I headed for the bathroom……. I knew now that this was a sexy thing to do and so I couldn’t really stop. I couldn’t stop myself wanking to a climax that shocked me in its ferocity.
I couldn’t go downstairs to face my Mum after that! I shouted that I was doing homework… and in a sense, I was!”
Jenny put her hand on Karen’s hand and whispered, now being the right time to induce a pause in the story…… “I think I may be able to give you a surprise……. Can you give me twenty minutes or so? Put on some music and just relax.. Think about some of your later redheaded heroines…”
“Of course…”
WILL THERE BE A CHAPTER 13, OR IS IT SUPERSTITION TO CALL IT 14????
Karen sat in the lounge, picking over the remnants of the pizza she and Jenny had shared, and poured two further glasses of the luscious Montepulciano that had helped both to warm to eachother’s desires. It had been quite a night. Her change of clothes during the evening had been right. They had fucked beautifully and she had needed freshening up. Now Jenny was doing the same. Karen as looking forward to some “aprá¨s” when Jenny returned!
She perhaps didn’t know what to expect. Probably Jenny would go for night-wear now. After all, it was dark outside and getting later.
Jenny’s music centre caught her eye. Why not have some music? Karen thought.
Her eyes scanned the tower of CDs…… how appropriate, she thought……. And her gaze drilled into where she found Dusty Springfield……..
The Look of Love was in your eyes………
I can hardly wait to hold you, feel my arms around you………
……Don’t ever go…….
Dusty’s haunting voice flowed around the room. Her face gazed out from the sleeve…… Vinyls were better — the pictures were something else……… Karen mused…..
Redheaded heroines? Who were the ones Karen admired??? Rita Hayworth — before she was born! Maureen O’Hara too. Marilyn Monroe — who started life as a redhead! Dusty Springfield — another blonde who’d been born red. Rená¨e Russo — now there was one sexy lady actress, from The Thomas Crown Affair. England’s Rula Lenska — Polish-born actress, and very sexy with it. The X-Files’ Gillian Anderson/ Oh, yes! Julia Roberts? Of course! Nicole Kidman? Definitely! Geri Halliwell — that Spice Girl!!!
There weren’t that many! Blondes…. Nah! 10-a-Penny, they are!
Karen was suddenly aware of a presence behind her…….
**********
Jenny had worked fast……. She had scaled the stairs already with a plan in her mind. She had quickly washed her own hair and rummaged through the limited selection of hairdressing products that she kept at home…. Why she did, she didn’t know…… She knew there would be what she was looking for…. In the box of colours……. Temporary colours, in vivid shades……
“Ahhh……” she grinned to herself in the mirror. There it was. It should cover her own, currently natural brunette shade……. ‘Vivid auburn’.
She was going to recreate the Ginger that was Lucille Ball………
Well, it wouldn’t be as bright, because of the natural base shade, whereas Lucy’s red would have been a tint on a blonde base — totally ginger! But she could make an impact. Her own hair was long enough to be styled in an up-do, like Lucy’s, and it was curly enough to be set in curls on top……… Jenny hoped Karen would appreciate the thought!
She hurried through the rinse and left the colour to develop for just a few minutes….. Enough time to change into ‘something more comfortable. She chose her pink satin ‘all-in-one’ lounge suit; ideal for lounging about and snuggling up with a lover, and easy enough to get inside if, as she hoped, the ‘night was yet young!’
The colour developed well and was soon rinsed away in the hand-basin. The colour of the water was a vivid red!
She had been away for nearly 15 minutes……. “Won’t be long!!” she called down to the lounge., but Karen didn’t hear her. That was Dusty she could hear floating sounds up from the lounge…. Jenny too loved that woman……. No worries…….. Enough time just to dry the hair and brush it up, quite severely, into a top-knot. This left the curls, her natural condition, crying out to be fashioned into a set of ginger rolls; just like Lucy wore…… The curling tongs were warm enough so Jenny got to work. The eventual ‘look’ was perfect.
Karen would be wondering where she was. Time to make an entrance………
**********
She stood behind Karen and put her hands over her lover’s eyes………. “No peeking!” she exclaimed and she moved forward around the sofa where, moments later, she revealed her new ‘fun’ look…….
“Oh, you beauty!!” Andy shouted and grabbed Jenny round the neck, forcing his lipstick-laden mouth onto Jenny’s smiling face……..
**********
Soon, it was breakfast time the next day……. They had an hour before Jenny would leave.
“Tell me a little more about your marriage……. Honey, please, so’s I can understand you better. Don’t worry if you don’t want to but……..” Jenny had chosen her moment carefully. It was the next morning, after a wonderful night’s sexual encounters of different kinds, role-plays and flirtations followed by him-on-her, her-on-her, other her-on other her. We make lovely lesbians, thought Karen….. idling away her time…… before this question broke her thought pattern…….
“Well, my marriage……. Yes, well, whatya wanna know?!”
Buying time. What would he say?
Andy did still love his wife — in a different sort of way to that thirty years ago. It couldn’t be the same…… She was conventional, in a very real sense….. She hadn’t ever been close to her own mother…. Never ‘felt good enough’ in the old Witch’s eyes……… Never really loved herself enough…. That’s why, when they met and married, she appeared quite devoted…. As he himself probably did…… Perhaps it’s easy to love someone when you’ve never felt loved yourself — and they give you that love………
**********
He explained these thoughts almost verbatim, knowing that Jenny would see where he was coming from……. He wanted to make it clear that his wife had done nothing wrong…… her reactions had been entirely predictable… maybe not what he’d hoped, but quite likely to be most women’s reactions when they found their husband has a ‘second side’.
Their married life had been conventional to all outside impressions. The kids were marvelous. Andy was a great Father to them, his Wife a model Mother — although always the one to impose the discipline when needed. Andy never was there in the daytimes when school work had to be done and television needed to be restricted…… And…. And….. all those things that Fathers miss out on too……
His “secret side” was never forgotten though, and rarely was it deeply buried. It might have been expected to be thrown in his face at any argument….. and, to be fair to her, it only broke through in times of particular stress.
Most often, this was in times of sexual tension, increasingly with age, as Andy found the physical demands of a preparedness for a good fuck to be beyond him.
It wasn’t that his libido wasn’t strong, it was just the physical side of “being able to get it up” had a detrimental effect on him psychologically. All of which meant that his Wife felt rejected — doubly so — when she thought back to his preferences.
She did blame him. And he knew it.
And he sought relief in dressing more often, albeit very secretly. Perhaps she knew, perhaps she didn’t.
**********
Jenny knew she had to go to work. Time was running out. Andy’s confessions, and to a certain extent, his feelings of guilt were too much to bear. She shouldn’t leave him, but she had to….
“You said you’d come to the salon this afternoon, remember?….. make it later on, perhaps around Four or Four-Thirty, eh? We can have a little fun and that’ll make you feel better than you seem to be feeling now….. OK?”
Andy was silent… He smiled weakly. Jenny kind of wished she hadn’t opened what turned into something of a Pandora’s Box of emotions. But she had to go….. still auburn though not piled high like Lucy!
Jenny thought, Perhaps he would spend much of the day going over these troubling things in his mind’s eye….. Looking back at what had been and, inevitably, what had not been done, said, or not done, not said…. Whatever!
**********
Jenny’s day at the salon was tedious. Routine work…. No interesting clients, no interesting gossip or scandals…… By the time she was expecting Andy to arrive…. or rather Karen, she was fatigued by boredom…….. either the very worst, or the very best, preparation for an evening with Karen. Who could tell? Certainly not Jenny. She didn’t know him well enough, yet!
Much would depend on how Karen was when she arrived. The salon was quiet, with only one lady client left, and she was near to Jenny’s completing her weekly ‘do’. It was Mrs. Bouffant again….
And, to Jenny’s surprise, in walks Andy….. all clothed in male gear, admittedly, for a man of his age, looking very attractive indeed….. but she hadn’t expected to meet him this next time as a male!
What a surprise…. A shock, in fact!
Mrs. Bouffant had to be finished…. And got rid of…… This needed an explanation!
Jenny smiled at Andy across the small salon. One of her wonderful “pleased to see you” smiles!
Andy smiled back but shifted his eyes elsewhere in the room. He didn’t know what to do next.
Mrs. Bouffant got her final cloud of lacquer that would fix everything on her head through a Force 10 gale if one occurred. She smiled at Andy as she paid Jenny for her afternoon of pampering…. And she duly left the salon.
There was a moment’s silence…..
“You look good…” started Jenny, meaning exactly what she said.
“You do too……” Andy started, meaning to go on…..
“I wasn’t quite expecting you “as you” but I’m pleased you’re here…..” Jenny said, warming to her welcome as she crossed the floor in three or four steps, taking Andy by the hand and offering her lips to be kissed…… He engaged in the kiss with gentle force. She had noticed he was carrying a small holdall bag. “What’s in the bag?” she asked as the kiss ended.
“Oh, noting much but…..” he paused, “….. if it’s alright with you, I wondered…..”
Jenny put her head on one side, wondering what was coming next.
“…… er…. wondered yes….. well, hoped really, that I could leave a few things with you for times, you know, when… er…. when I need to be dressed like this……. I mean, you’ve bought me some lovely things for Karen……. Well, she, I mean, me.. er.. I, need some guys things too.”
Jenny was over-joyed at the thought and said so… “Of course, of course… I’d love to look after some of your things…… maybe just a few, but, well… you could always leave more whenever you wanted…….. What about your own girly things? Could I look after them as well?” Jenny offered, hoping Andy would say yes to that idea…… It would work well for him, not having to hide them, and it would encourage him to keep coming back to her…. Method in my madness!
“I’ve been thinking a lot today……” Andy started to say…. Jenny kept silent. Worried.
“You know, we talked about me wanting — or not wanting to live as a girly…..” Still worried.
“That’s still not for me, I think you understand, don’t you…….” No longer worried!
“You know how much I feel I love you now, you’re my new love……….” Thrilled!
“I’ve been thinking how I just can’t hurt the woman who’s been my wife, not hurt her any more..” Then Jenny was confused, but immediately reassuring……. Was he saying this is the end?
She rallied her emotions quickly……… “You must live the way you want, my honey. I’ve found a new love in the last few days and I’m thrilled you’ve been so open with me…… Thank you soooooo much! Whatever I can do to help you resolve what your feelings are, I’ll do for you!”
Jenny meant that more than almost anything she had ever said. She was determined not to lose this lovely man. She couldn’t bear the thought that he was now saying he had to stop … but he’d brought clothes to leave… He had said I was his “new love”……… What could be better than hearing that!?.......... What was he going to say next?
“What I’m trying to say is “can you bear the idea of sharing me?” because I still need the ties of the life I’ve been leading…… Is it too much to ask…….?? I mean, there are lots of people who coul make a clean break with the past and…. I don’t .. well, I can’t really, I can’t ….. I’m not ready to do that…….. Oh… heavens… I can’t do without you though… Can we make the most of times together…….?? You must know that I love you now…… help me, please, help me get through this to a way that will make you happy too……”
He was asking her if it was Ok, some would say, “to have his cake and eat it” — to live his former life, with its sadnesses and its high points, and also to live a new life with me….. Jenny possibly saw it that way…..
And she was delighted with that! She hadn’t had much time to really assess her own feelings in this tsunami of emotions that had engulfed them both since he walked in to the salon only a short time before…… But she had at least realized that this was not an “affair” that would break a marriage… unless it was already broken… and, though it might be damaged, this marriage wasn’t ready to break… or rather, SHE wasn’t ready to break it. She needed to make her position clear…. And NOW.
“Honey, sit down here, next to me. Let me tell you that you have no need to worry. What we have.. and what we have had, has been the most wonderful interlude in my life that I could ever have imagined. You’ve taught me a lot about what people can feel for eachother….. And I thought I knew a thing or two, as a single woman of 44 years of age!”
Andy smiled. The difference in their ages didn’t seem that much really…… 16 years….. A mere blink in time!
Jenny went on, hardly pausing for breath. This was important! “You are the most wonderful, sensitive man I’ve met in years. I’m single because there are too few of you about. OK?! Yo’ve shown me how you’re dealing with conflicting loyalties….. first to a woman and a family you have loved, and second to someone like me who could just be a passing fancy…… I do hope you don’t see me like that, by the way……..
I do love it that you can handle both….. and I want to stay as part of you… However you choose that role for me to play…..”
Andy smiled even more and just said “Thank you, honey, for being so understanding…… I do want to be Karen when I’m with you… well, most of the time I’m with you…… She does love you lots, you know that!” He reached forward to her and kissed Jenny again, fully on the precious lips that he could taste.
“Tonight, you look like you want to be Andy though?” Jenny asked, enquiring when she could see the answer staring her in the face………. Recognizing his reaction, she went on: “I thought so! So, where are you taking me? We’re going out for dinner……. And, by the way…. I hope Karen’s undies are beneath this macho outside!”
“Well, actually, they are — the lovely ones you bought yesterday!”
Jenny, and Karen, both had the same thought at that moment: Leopards can’t change their spots!
They laughed as they planned where to go out for dinner.
“You do realize that this means you miss out on a very special hair-do, don’t you?”
Jenny teased him. Andy remembered the promised refreshment of his colour. “Well, that’ll have to wait until tomorrow, if that’s ok with you — is the salon busy?”
Jenny’s answer was simple: “I’ve no idea but we do try to make spaces for special customers…!”
“Well, I’d love to have you do me the same colour as you are now — last night’s trick was a dream!”
Andy had wondered just how Jenny had guessed how much, as a child, he had loved that Lucy programme…… It had even been in black and white, but he had seen those magazines…..!
“Let me just style your hair nicely, for a guy, and then let’s go home. I need a shower and a change. Today’s just gone so slowly…….” Jenny looked forward to a sparkling evening…. And maybe a sparkling night to follow!
The two lovers agreed on a restaurant they both knew on the harbourside at St. Ives. Quite chic. But nice and busy, with good food and wine. A good place for a guy and a girl to be going. And a good place for two girls, another time? Jenny thought.
They left the salon. Back at her home, Jenny left Andy choosing music again in the lounge while she went into the bedroom to change. He could hear the shower running at full pressure. Some rock music would be right. Status Quo started banging out their beat in one of their biggest songs…… Andy was ready to rock and roll!
Jenny emerged from the shower and was kinda pleased that the bright auburn of her ‘overnight sensation’ was consigned to the waste — you can have too much of a good thing! she thought. She dressed quickly, in one of her favourite most feminine dresses, a flouncy purple number with folds and folds of fabric beneath a low-cut neckline. It showed her ample tits off to great effect. She would have Karen nibble them later!
Karen was to drive, because they had left Andy’s car in the parking space outside the salon. They climbed into her 4x4 Volvo station wagon and set off the six miles to their destination. Parking the car was always a problem in St. Ives so a walk from the car to the restaurant was involved. Easy when Andy was in male attire, but another time, Jenny mused, Karen might have to be careful on the cobbled street in her stilettos”
“The car’s very good for the work I have to do with my horse…” Jenny explained. “I’ve had a horse since I was a teenager. He’s only the third one I’ve had. Merlin is his name, ‘cos he’s very dark black, with a white flash on his nose! I love him lots. He’s been the only man in my life for several years.” Jenny was enthusiastic in her description of the horse and her relationship with him. She spent as much time as she could with him, despite his being ‘at livery’, in other words cared for, by his stables.
“Then he’s a lucky one, that’s for sure…… having your undivided attention!” joked Andy as they reached the little seaside town with its harbour and crazy little network of cobbled streets.. Nowhere to park, except a little car park that held a dozen cars, just beyond the harbour wall, up a back street, and a walk away from the restaurant that was now behind them.
As they walked the harbourside, Andy was struck by the wonderful way he was living this week. There had been a great change in him from the moment that he’d had the courage to enter Jenny’s salon. Here he was now, by his own choice, walking dressed in his male clothes going for dinner with a woman who would be equally happy if he were dressed in female clothes, made-up and hair done, as a lesbian couple might.
“Here we are”, he said as they reached the restaurant. “…… Let’s get a table upstairs by the window if we can…… They’re the best, with views over the harbour as it gets dark….” In fact, Andy had made the reservation and asked exactly for one of only two tables upstairs with that view. Romantic.
They dined superbly and each enjoyed the other’s company tremendously. Both of them had their individual thoughts and maybe dreams while the evening went on. Andy was conscious of wearing wonderful underwear but had determined that he would fuck Jenny’s brains out before the went to sleep. Jenny, on the other hand was in torment, trying to decide if she wanted her brains fucked out by the fabulous man, or whether she wanted to get home and snuggled down for a long night’s sex with the woman she had recently discovered.
Neither asked the other what they were thinking…. The night would take care of itself.
Andy took the chance to ask Jenny more about herself because, as he told himself, I know virtually nothing about her…
“Jenny, d’you know something……? I’m falling in love with someone about who I know almost nothing…. I’ve done most of the talking… You know most of what there is to tell about me…. Some things I ever dreamt of telling anyone!! Come on, you must tell me more that what I know!”
“OK, so what d’you know about me?, she asked… teasingly, licking her lips seductively.
“Well, let’s see……” Andy thought and said quietly, “You have sex with a woman called Karen!” He laughed and so did she, but she did blush fearing that people near might hear, or more importantly, might be customers that she hadn’t recognized. “And you’re a superb hairdresser….. And you own the business you work in. And you own a horse that you love….. And you worked on cruise liners some years ago……. And you own a 4x4 vehicle…… And you love your food and good wine…… And Cornwall’s your home ‘cos you love it here…….. And you have a lovely home of your own, with some fabulous clothes…… And you’re brilliant at make-up and beauty stuff……. And that’s about all…… Oh, and you have a customer called Mrs. Bouffant!”
Jenny thought for a moment…. He’s right! What have I told him???!!! Nothing!
She realized, he was right…. Maybe he hadn’t asked, and maybe all the questions had been about him…… Perhaps she should’ve asked less questions…. She seemed to know a lot about him…Now was the time to open up a little……… She felt suddenly shy….
“There’s not much to tell, my lover…….. (A nice Cornish expression, she thought). I’m a local girl, that’s right, born up the road in Truro. You know how old I am… well, I was married when I was 20 and that lasted just three or four years……. Don’t want to talk about that much really. He was a bastard, treated me really badly, but then most wives who divorce their husbands can say that, can’t they……?? Never thought we’d have children from very soon after getting wedded… We just lived together. He’s long gone. Not a part of my life. Incompatible, we were.”
Jenny looked ruefully into her wine glass…….. How much to tell him???......
“I’ve never since wanted to be classified as ‘someone’s other half, or wife, or partner, or whatever’ because I’m stronger as an individual…………. I hope you understand……………”
Enough of the media terminology……
“I didn’t go to university so I’ve probably only got half the brain you have but I really have learnt loads about life and people and stuff like that……. Makes me proud… like starting my own business…. I came back off the cruise boats and didn’t know what to do… but I knew I was good at what I do, and I’d saved some cash, so I invested in what was a failing business… and I’ve turned it round, enough to get nice people like you coming in…..!!”
Andy smiled… he was loving this…… after being quite so open about himself and everything, even his sexuality… he was getting inside Jenny’s head more now than he had hoped he could.
“You should be proud. It’s a big thing owning your own business —the buck stops with you, doesn’t it.” Statement of fact, but admiration too. Andy never thought of owning a business….
“And then there’s me and how I love other people….” Jenny was sailing into uncharted territory. She paused. It’s OK, he’s a close friend now, and I don’t mind him knowing……
“I’ve always spent a lot of time around woman and, well, I was at an all-girls school for example, and then I got into work that’s mainly with women.. and I love the chance to make each one I meet more beautiful than when I first meet them…….. You see, that means I get very close to them….. I spent a lot of time listening to them… You’d be surprised at the secrets I pick up…. I can’t help getting close to them, in a sense……”
The right words weren’t coming easily…… Jenny paused again before really opening up…..
“What I mean is……. Well, ever since school where I had some really close friendships……. I’ve always seen myself as ….. well, what Dusty Springfield — her again — once famously said….. “I’m as equally moved by a woman as a man….” If you understand what I mean…. They call it “Bi-“ but I don’t like labels…….!”
“I think I love you more for it…” Andy whispered. They were both talking very very quietly now, in a crowded bar/restaurant. These were immensely private revelations to be talking about.
Jenny continued….. “I’ve had lovers of both sexes and enjoyed every one of them. What matters is the person inside……….. Like the person inside you…… Karen…… Andy.. I love you both!”
**********
Their conversation continued as the meal came and went. It lasted long into the late evening. The view over St.Ives harbour was exquisite. The lights shining, the boats floating. It was chilly when they emerged from the restaurant and walked back along the quayside. Jenny snuggled into Andy’s arm to get closer. Soon they were back at her car and the drive home began.
“You will play Karen for me when we get home, if not tonight, tomorrow?” Jenny asked, sensing that Andy was troubled by how next to go on from where they had reached in bed.
She was right. He had purposely ‘come out’ tonight as Andy. It didn’t mean that Karen wasn’t there inside all the time. He was wearing Karen’s knickers for God’s sake!
“My love, I’d be there as however you wish…. I thought tonight might be different… and it has been… And you look so beautiful and feminine tonight, I adore your dress and hair…. So maybe if you can put up with getting close, to me, as I am…….?”
Of course, she could….. and did!
**********
The fucking that night was wonderful. When they arrived home there was no time for anything but to get to bed, clothes littering the hallway……. Andy’s feminine underwear only served to remind them both of recent past pleasures…. Andy was soon on top, nuzzling Jenny’s tits just as she had planned… Jenny practised her scissors grip with her legs around Andy’s waist, allowing her fanny to be full for seemingly hours! Andy found remarkable, and surprising, stamina — if that’s the right word — and felt he could go on all night….. something he hadn’t felt for years!
Oh, Boy! This is the most wonderful woman I’ve ever met!, he thought.
Jenny, too, was amazed at her own appetite which, owing to lack of practice in recent months, had been more dormant than she would have liked. Instead, she was hungry for more… and more!
Go get him, Girl! I could have danced all night, and still have asked for more!, she nearly said….
Together, they lay, near exhausted, as the time passed three a.m.
Jenny reminded Andy that he had promised…… he had promised that she could make love with Karen before the morning sky meant that Jenny would be going to work. They both had to sleep, at least a little, before morning. So Jenny just left the bed for a few minutes to lay some clothes out for Karen in the morning. Her “Bi-“ side needed satisfying just a little.
How wonderful! Andy thought. How wonderful! Jenny thought. How wonderful, Karen thought!
Andy drifted of to sleep, thinking of, or rather wondering, what his wife would have thought…
CHAPTER 15 FOLLOWS
…… AND THE END OF ANDY’S WEEK AS KAREN DRAWS TO A CLOSE
The morning sky was breaking in colours of pink and orange as Jenny woke. She looked across at the complex and possibly mixed-up individual who lay beside her in bed. Was it Andy? Was it Karen? Who really was this person? Married but struggling with himself? Or Single and scared to let her inner self loose? Much more the last of these………….
Life was good. The last few days had let slip some of her perhaps long-hidden fantasies. To find a man who could open up in such a way as to let her see him as he really is……
**********
Andy had dreamt of what his wife would have said if she could see him now. If she could see him in bed with another woman, that would be the end of that….. No matter why or how they had stayed together, cheating in that way would be the finish of their relationship and their marriage.
But what if she had seen him en femme, happy, and at ease with himself, as a girl — the girl she perhaps knew he would wish to be sometimes…. She must have known that his dressing wouldn’t “go away”. All the books say it never does — it can be submerged, hidden, put into dormancy, any of these things, just for a few months or even years… But it wouldn’t ever “go away” for good.
He was not conscious of this dream of course, but he woke with a strange sense of fear which he couldn’t explain to himself even, let alone disclose to his new lover. He looked across at her and she smiled. “Morn’ my lurve! Proper lurvly day ‘tis….” she said in her most Cornish of Cornish dialect. Her hand raised and she run a finger over his eyebrows, down over his nose and traced the outline of Andy’s lips. “Oi got plans for you terday, Oi have…!”
Andy knew he hadn’t yet met his promise of yesterday to make love to Jenny as Karen. And he was bereft of anything feminine. Not even any lipstick. No panties, no bra…….. After all, they had been out together last evening as man and woman…… and they had come home and fucked like little rabbits until, exhausted, they had fallen asleep in eachothers’ arms.
Wonderful….. but not what he had promised earlier that day. He owed her. He owed her big time.
Andy reached out to the bedside table where, he knew, there would be his favourite lipstick. Jenny reached out to her side and found the hairbrush she knew she had left beside her pillow. Without words, Any carefully put on the lipstick, first to himself, then to Jenny’s wonderful mouth.
As he finished, he turned her sideways so she could reach her hair with the brush and began to run the soft bristles through he long brunette ringlets. He sectioned it roughly and then just fluffed it up with some back-brushing, all the time murmuring ‘sweet nothings’ in her ears, in his best ‘Karen’ voice. He then held the brush out for her to do the same with his, or rather Karen’s hair. She too, whispered little things too her lover, Karen.
Neither was dressed — they had fallen asleep without nightclothes being worn. So Karen slipped out to find a nightie, and then another, for them both.
She then slipped back into the bed and immediately set off in a ‘southerly direction’…. To which Jenny had to say “Hey, hey…. Gently……. Slowly… please…. Honey……. We girls need to take time…. Come and give me a kiss……”
Quite true! Guys want to get on with things, girls need to ease themselves into the true frame of mind to get the most from what is to happen….
Realizing his mistake, Karen moved gently towards the pillows where he found Jenny’s willing lips ready for a long, slow and increasingly passionate kiss. Karen’s tongue probed her lover’s mouth, the lipstick tasting like nectar. Jenny’s breathing that had been level and controlled at first began to increase in pace, and become more shallow. She was getting exactly what she had been wanting for nearly 24 hours!
There was a lot of passion and Andy found himself impatient, as ny man would be, and rather at a loss to know when would be the right moment to go ‘south’ again and to explore Jenny’s wonderful pussy. It would be warm and wet by now, he knew that! He would have to wait for a clear sign!
The sign was not a long time coming. Jenny’s hands suddenly grasped Karen’s head, her fingers running through her hair, and she made an unmistakable move, spreading her legs open wide and pushing Karen’s head towards her pussy. Andy needed no more direction than that.
The time was right, it was NOW!
Karen found Jenny’s pussy was indeed warm and very wet indeed. The lipstick that was left around her lips gave that extra delight with the taste of Jenny’s pre-cum juices. Karen found her own cock was rising, though not likely to become hard the way it had been last evening. She pushed her cock out of reach, between her thighs.
There was no place for a cock in what was to happen. This was girly stuff!
Karen licked and licked, softly, then more assertively, pressing the wonderful little button that revealed itself from the folds of Jenny’s labia……. They are just like lips, they really are! Karen thought.
In her mind now, apart from that nagging cock between her thighs, Karen was entirely, absolutely and totally…. A girl.
A girl making love to another. Another who was writhing and near to cumming…… Jenny’s hands slipped between her thighs and soon were holding apart the labia shrouding her pussy.
Now was the time to push her over the edge. Jenny didn’t need pushing. She took herself over the edge in a most ecstatic orgasm…… Almost her best all week! It went on… and on!
In the moments after, Jenny pulled Karen’s head away — she didn’t need another trip around the world! Once was enough….. What she did need was to hold her lover in her arms. To secure that closeness they would soon lose as she had to leave and go to work at the salon. But there was time to luxuriate in the after-glow.
Jenny did, however, become conscious that, again, Karen hadn’t been brought to a climax…….. She felt a brief wave of guilt….. There was little she could do. The moment was over. She would have to make it up to her/him later today.
After a few minutes, as normal thought processes kicked back in, Karen — being Karen — thought that time was indeed moving on and that Jenny should be up and away. “I’ll need a shower…” she said, “ and so will I!.....” Jenny replied. “…And then we can get dressed…” Karen continued.
“On the contrary, I shall dress us both!” Jenny said quite forcefully. “…I have my plans and you will go along with them, honey!”
Not knowing quite what was in store, Karen waited while Jenny showered. The fragrance of the bath gels they had used before reminding her of how much after-sex bathing there had been this week.
What a lucky guy!!! Andy emerged to permit himself that one thought…… What a lucky guy I am!..... or rather, what a lucky girl!”
She sat on the end of the bed, in her nightie, allowing herself to admire her reflection in Jenny’s mirror above the dressing table. She was still in contemplative mood when Jenny reappeared at the bedroom door, freshly showered and wrapped in a huge pink towelling bath sheet.
Karen wanted to do that all over again…… Never mind I didn’t get to cum…… I want this woman again…….. So, she stood up, still in her nightie….. lipstick still surrounding her mouth, and she stepped forward towards Jenny. She took one hand and led her to the bed.
There was no mistaking what was going to happen. She sat Jenny don where she herself had been sitting, and parted her lover’s legs. Before Jenny could react, Karen’s head was again between Jenny’s thighs. Her labia were parted again, just like before and, this time, there was no way of stopping, or even delaying, what was inevitable.
Karen was becoming, and had probably always been, an expert lesbian lover. When she had gone down on her wife in the past, he had to admit, Andy thought of himself as a girl tongue-fucking a girl…. And she/she was good at it!
The sheen of his own nightie stimulated Karen much more this time and, while Jenny was cumming — loudly! — for a second time, there was no mistaking the colossal amount of juice that he found upon his own thighs. He too had cum, they had cum simultaneously.
In a flash, Andy did actually regret that. It wasn’t meant to happen. He was Karen today…… he had to get to the bathroom and clean himself up. Jenny meanwhile lay back, her towel spread over the bed, with a huge smile on her face!
A few minutes later, Karen asked, “So my love, what’s your plan?”
THIS HAS BEEN A BRIEF INTERLUDE - THE TIME SEEMED RIGHT - AND THE MAIN STORY WILL CONTINUE
by WannabeGinger
“My plan is simple, honey…” Jenny answered Karen’s question.
“You’ll stay here today until mid-afternoon. Then I want you to come to the salon for your appointment which I have in my book for 4.00pm. Don’t be late. This one will take some time.”
“Aw, do I have to stay in all day?” Karen’s voice took on a moany tinge. She would be bored.
“I know, I know, it might be boring staying here in my home.... with all my clothes and make-up!” Jenny teased her lover, knowing that she couldn’t possibly be bored if given free rein around the place like that.
“No, no… you know what I mean…. I’ll miss you……” Karen’s tone softened but she meant what she said. She would miss Jenny while she was at work.
“You’ll love it — a day to yourself, to make yourself pretty for me. What could be better?!.......” Jenny went on, “…. And before you leave for the salon, you must do something specific, to help with my plan. You’re to dress in what you like all day, I really don’t mind - You’ll find I have some really sexy clothes that you haven’t even dreamt I own - All I ask is that you take care with them… be gentle because they’re all very precious to me……. Each one has a memory, even though some haven’t yet been worn!”
Andy didn’t follow. For a moment, he slipped back into ‘him’ mode. “What d’you mean…/ Something very specific… what do I have to do?”
“Ah, yes, the specific task you have………. When it gets to about 2.00pm, you have to start to prepare yourself to come to the salon. You should start by using the Veet crá¨me that you’ll find on my vanity unit….. Spread it over your arms and legs to remove the hair that’s there. Don’t worry about your chest hair — we’ll deal with that another time…. Leave it for as long as it says on the pack.. and a few minutes longer, for good measure. I want to feel your skin up close to mine tonight, OK?”
Karen had never thought about her bodily hair, but it was clearly an issue that Jenny wanted to have addressed…….. Should be no problem, he/she thought. Jenny went on…..
“You then go on by showering and giving yourself the closest shave you can. I don’t want to find any facial hair at all when I inspect you very closely as soon as I see you.”
“Why?...”
“Patience, darling Karen, patience!”
There was a moment’s pause and Andy disappeared again. Karen replied, “OK, honey.”
“Once you’ve showered and shaved, you should cover yourself with the body lotion that I have left out for you in the bathroom. Let it really penetrate into your skin. You’ll enjoy that. It will soothe the skin where the hair had been…. And you’ll feel wonderfully feminine, if you let your mind wander… It’s one of the nicest feelings a girl can experience, short of what you just did for me!”
Karen smiled. That was a compliment to her technique between the sheets!
“What do I do next, then?” she asked of Jenny who, by now was dressing ready to leave for work.
“Then, my love, you dress yourself for the visit to the salon. And you will choose some clothes that don’t attract attention to yourself…. Understand me? You’re going to come into my salon just looking ‘ordinary’. It will be my job to transform you for the evening to follow. OK? I have very special plans for the evening. You just won’t believe!”
“Karen got the message, saying “I like the sound of that!”
“No, no…. I haven’t finished. When I say ‘ordinary’, I mean ‘ordinary’. That means plain clothes, neutral colours, low heels. You can make the underwear as sexy as you feel comfortable in, but to the World, you’re ‘ordinary’ Karen. OK? Promise me you’ll do that?”
“I promise………”
“And it also means little or no make-up…. No nail polish……..’au naturelle’, as they say in France.
“OK, OK, I promise…” Karen really had got the message. What this would lead to she couldn’t imagine….. She could dream… She could hope…….. But she had no idea!
***********
The lovers kissed after a brief coffee and toast breakfast. Jenny climbed into her 4x4 tractor’ and left for the short drive to the salon.
Karen was left, still in her nightwear but with no other vestige of her feminine self. She was still — in the mirror — she was still the Andy that had fucked Jenny so gloriously last night, but also the Andy that wore a nightie as he became Karen this morning and tongue-fucked Jenny…. Twice!
What a crazy mixed-up guy I must be, he thought…….
He needed to shave anyway so the bathroom was his first calling point. A quick shower was enough, followed by the razor……… Then, he went to the vanity unit to check that this Veet crá¨me was there……. I wonder what that will feel like?, he thought. “I might just do that this morning, to be certain I do it right.” He said out loud to nobody in particular who could be listening.
He checked the dressing table for all the make-up he might play with this morning.
Finally, Jenny had mentioned clothes that he hadn’t even seen, clothes that were, in her words, sexy. If Jenny said they were sexy, they would be extremely so…. How had he been lucky enough to find this wonderful woman???
He pulled open the door of the double wardrobe in the opposite corner of the bedroom from where Jenny kept all her everyday clothes.
“What a treasure store!” he said as soon as his eyes alighted on the array of the most beautiful dresses, blouses and shirts, evening gowns and accessories that stood before his eyes. There was also a set of polystyrene ‘heads’, each of which had a beautiful wig upon it……. each beautifully styled…… and in a range of colours. There were eight in total. Karen’s fantasy soon ran riot. She couldn’t wait to try them on…..
……..but then she recalled, advice a long time ago….
“Do the make-up first… then get dressed…. Then use your wig as the crowning glory!”
Who had told him that? Or had he read it in a women’s magazine…… It was good advice; never risk soiling the clothes, or the hair, with make-up applied last.
Karen would choose which wig to wear later….. This was not going to be a boring morning!
She continued by examining the full array of Jenny’s clothes. There were garments of every colour in the rainbow, although it had to be said that there were more in what a Colourist would call the Shades of Autumn…….. reds, oranges, browns, some purples, all set off by some beautiful pure white numbers that would ‘go with anything’. Such a collection!
Karen decided to put off the final choice for a morning’s feminine joy, and she turned to the underwear that jenny had brought home with her earlier in the week. She selected the peach satin bra and panties set with the suspenders and a lovely pair of smokey-grey stockings. They were the ‘support’ or ‘shaper’ style so gave her legs an extra zingy feeling of fashionable sheen.
It would be low heels that afternoon, so, this morning it would be the highest pair of stilettos that Jenny owned……. Wonderful! Karen found a pair of dark, even ‘burnt’ orange court shoes. She climbed into them and stood up…. Tottering almost immediately before she found her balance.
What a brilliant feeling………!!!
There she stood, before the full-length mirror in the bedroom, her stilettos and sheer stockings leading up to suspenders, panties and, higher still, her peachy satin bra! Wow!, she thought,
I could fuck you happily, any time!
But there was no make-upon the face and there was only his own hair. Though longer than it had been for years, that was still dull and ordinary. Jenny’s colouring from earlier in the week was long-gone. In no way did it do justice to the rest of the illusion that he was fast creating.
He forgot about the hair removal process and sat at the dressing table, Karen getting as close as she could to the mirror. This should be right…… A glamour morning, if the afternoon was to be ‘au naturelle’ as Jenny had told her to be.
The make-up took longer than Karen had hoped it would. Always…. Always…. There are mistakes that need to be cleared up. The overall impression is critical and mascara flecks on the cheek aren’t anything but a give-away of inexperience!
But the final look was almost as good as he could have hoped……. An evening make-up, of course. This was for glamour… but not so much as any hint of a drag queen look. This was as sophisticated as Karen could make it. Autumnal hues were easy to find in Jenny’s palette — smokey-brown and hazel eyeshadows, brown eye-liner, luscious red busher, finished with a beautiful matte red-brown lipstick.
Before getting dressed, Karen looked in the mirror once more and realized that she needed a figure-controlling shaper for her waist and, luckily, she found one that would fit in Jenny’s corsetry drawer. Tight? It would be.. but.. no pain, no gain! She thought.
And so to the dresses…….
Karen stood up again, on those wonderful stilettos. She tottered over to the wardrobe where the doors were open. The first run through had drawn her attention to the ‘long gowns’ end of the rail. There were several to choose from. Autumnal hues were what she needed. She settled on a figure-hugging ankle-length dress in greens and browns. The waist was snug, but the shaper was doing its work very well.
The dress had a neckline that was high, high enough to mask his ‘Adam’s Apple’ and give a statuesque look to the ensemble. The high neck also hid any vestiges of chest hair that were very much unwanted.
Made-up, dressed-up and in beautiful shoes, Karen felt ready for the mirror again…….
Except for one thing!...
The hair!....
The hair was still wrong. His own hair was just too short, and not styled at all……
He was still a bloke in a dress!..... And then he thought of the wigs!
Tottering again, he retraced his steps to the wardrobe across the room. He looked inside, almost not daring to touch any for the poly-heads that held the glorious hairpieces.
Andy remembered he had bought his wife a wig some years ago, thinking that it would liven up her image and make her that much more attractive to himself as someone whose fixation with hair was a known quantity……. She had accepted the gift, albeit reluctantly, wearing it a few times. Andy felt that it had been a lovely thing for her to have — and to have the option to change her appearance. Sadly, she had ‘gone off it’ and for years thereafter, the wig sat alone and unloved in the back of her wardrobe……… Until…
Until Andy had tried it for himself, years later, when his wife was away for one of her increasingly frequent trips away with friends….. girlfriends.. Leaving him at home.
With time on his hands…….
It had been a lovely thick and full bob-cut with heavy fringe and razor-cut even length that fell beautifully in all directions from the crown and a clever ‘scalp-like parting’ that made it very natural in its look. Well, Andy had thought so. It was a beautiful deep dark burgundy red. Andy loved it…. but his wife was less enamoured of it………. He always fancied fucking her when she was wearing it, for some unknown reason…… but she didn’t see the connection.
Perhaps he should have found a way to explain….. It was, indeed, his fault…. His fault that his wife couldn’t be encouraged to ‘come out of herself’ and be more confident in ther love-making. It was his fault alright…..
The first time he dared to try the wig on, it was wonderful, he remembered, but then it all went wrong when he found he’d made a bit of a mess of the sheer, sleek style….. It had all gone ‘fly-away’ and he couldn’t control it. he tried to comb it through but that only seemed to make it worse…….. Shit!.. he’d thought. She’ll know I’ve been at it….. What the hell do I do??
He had remembered that the wig came with instructions. He had to find them — buried somewhere. True enough, he found them and read that a conditioning spray was the answer, together with careful and gentle brushing…. With the wig firmly upon the poly-head stand. All was well. He succeeded in restoring the sheen and normalizing the style. She never did guess… well, not that time at least!
Karen reached for one of the wigs that sat within Jenny’s wardrobe. She had a choice of the eight hairpieces. The first two didn’t get considered… too short and quite tightly curled….. yesterday’s fashion. Two others were discounted. These were very long — halfway down the back length. Too much! That left four. One was a lovely blonde, but Karen didn’t see herself as a blonde — not today or any day really. Then two were nearer Jenny’s own colour, a rich chestnut brown and one darker one, rather like her current colour. Not today though……..
That left one that was an obvious choice, from the moment Karen had opened the door…. This one was exactly as Karen saw herself……. It was a fabulous light auburn one, below chin-length and with a beautiful layer of lighter, almost blonde, highlights framing the face. The strands of near-blonde flicked away from the face, laying gently over the underlying red. The hair swung as she held the wig in her hands…
This was the one! Karen nearly had tears in her eyes, it was so pretty. And it would go so well with the dress she was wearing. She sat at the dressing table and faced the mirror. Its scalloped edges made a very feminine frame. His make-up was, if she said so herself, very good for an amateur!
Now for the wig! Karen carefully put her hand inside the cap-shaped top and swung the body of loose curls around to the crown of her head. She remembered how to fix the wig in the best place by pinning it to her scalp in the centre at the front, all with one hand, and then pulling the base down over her head, right down to the nape of her neck.
……..So it felt like it fitted closely all over her head. And it did! First time… First time lucky more like! She finished off by making sure the parting, that was visible with a real-skin look, was central above her right eye. She then took a roller-style brush and sprayed it with conditioner. The result, after some very gentle styling was something she felt really proud of.
The blonde highlights surrounded her face but the overall impression was that of a fabulous redhead, ready for the evening’s ball. Joy! …………Cinderella!
The thought made him recall the character in Julia Roberts’ film “Pretty Woman”…… How did the phrase “Cinder-fucking-rella!” come into it??
Karen rose from the dressing table and piroueted in front of the full-length mirror. Her hair swung out and her eyes sparkled. She felt ALL Woman!
By now, it was 11.30am and the morning was running away….. Karen knew that there was so much to do before going out…….. But she decided to have lunch with herself. 2.00pm was still a long way away.
**********
When the afternoon’s deadline rolled around, Karen had spent a little more time experimenting with a change of look. She had changed from the figure-hugging ankle-length dress in greens and browns into a very sexy black dress that called for sheer black stockings and high black stilettos…. It also shouted for a change in make-up, so Karen hastily found a bright scarlet lip pencil and filled in its outline with the most wonderfully glossy crimson lipstick that Jenny owned.
Now, she paraded in front of the mirror, as a true “Vamp”! Her heavily-laden mascara gave her eyes an especially sultry look.
All of that had taken a long time. There were other dresses and accessories that Karen would have loved to have tried, but time wouldn’t allow. Now, she had to remove her make-up…. Recall? Remember? None! Or almost none! She had to find clothes that were the opposite of glamour or vampishness.
She also had to use the depilatory crá¨me and then shower herself!
First, she shaved again. There was a fine amount of very short stubble beginning to appear…. Oh, how Andy hated shaving! It was probably the most unfeminine thing that as a man you’re forced to do, every day of your life! Hateful…… ever since the age of 14 or 15…… He paid special attention to the uneven areas of skin where hairs would hide, ready to emerge later and mess up the effect of any cosmetics.
The Veet came in a large tube but, Karen thought, there’s not enough here for all over my legs and arms…….. She decided to work away from the areas most likely to show……. So she started around her neckline, seeking out any stray hairs that the razor had missed. She continued with her hands and lower arms, her ankles and calf areas. Soon, she felt covered in the damned stuff….. There was just enough to do her upper arms and thighs, but only with a thin covering. Maybe she had put too much on in the first areas she did….??
Just a few minutes were allowed before the crá¨me was to be removed. She had only just finished the application when the earliest coverings began to give a warming sensation. Clearly, something was going on! The crá¨me’s fragrance was not unpleasant.
Andy stepped into the shower with the plastic scraper, shaped like a magnolia petal, which clearly was to be used to remove the crá¨me in the fast-flowing waters of the shower.
The shower was exhilarating……. He didn’t know how well this stuff would work but he had used the whole damned tube!!! It should make him as soft as a baby’s bottom!
Andy stepped out of the shower and surrounded Karen’s soft body with the huge bath towel. She sunk into its fluffy folds and felt warm. Looking back, Karen saw the shower tray was almost full of the hair that once adorned his body…… What a crazy mixed-up world! …And loved it! the feel of his skin in the soft towel was wonderful……. Good stuff that Veet!
Karen sat, wrapped in the towel for a few minutes, feeling the softness all around him. He dreamt about that time when he was with his wife in their early years.
The time, or times, when their love had been intense and passionate. The time when family was more important than anything. When love-making was easy. When he learnt, with her, to do things that pleased another without perhaps being a turn-on for himself.
He had never been a confident man in bed. Never sure he would “get it up” — how he hated that phrase……. And it didn’t take many times where she had tried to initiate sex and find him unresponsive for it to lapse into… “OK, whenever…”
The whenever would become whenever he, Andy, felt he was ready and could see the fucking through to an end. She took it personally, which he resented……. Wrongly, he now knew…. It was a problem in his own head……. But then it wasn’t fair on him for it always to be his responsibility to choose when they had sex…. And what they should do…… he did find that his wife was happy to explore a few interesting highways and byways of sex…. She developed a bit of a fetish for her feet, and for shoes….
So, what did he do? Of course, he bought her some sexy shoes and they would fuck with her wearing them, usually starting with her newly-washed feet being sucked as part of their fore-play. He didn’t much like having his tongue between her toes, or even her full five toes in his mouth, but he found the way to make it seem like he was enjoying it as much as she was…. She really did seem turned on by the whole thing. Of course, when you’ve gobbled a woman’s feet, the next point of call is her pussy, so inevitably, these sessions would lead to her getting tongue-fucked — which she clearly adored……
There must have been an element of BDSM in her enjoyment. She did become quite assertive — at last — when this was their usual practice… as it was for several years…… She wasn’t a bad lover…….. She was enthusiastic when this was going on…. But it did always have to be his initiation……. If only he’d found a way — in those early days — to be more confident as a lover, more masterful. But he hadn’t …. And so he’d lapsed into this more ‘girly’ way of ‘let’s make love together’ like two girls might…… and with his past history — from teen years and in all his time at Uni — the latency of his crossdressing was never far below the surface.
As time had passed, Andy had become less and less able to set sex in motion, so they had sex less and less. They still had what most people would call a ‘good marriage’ — without nearly as much resentment as there could have been. It had reached the stage where neither of them really bothered to try any more. That gave him great sadness, really it did.
He found a way to compensate for that by his imaginings of his alter-ego, Karen. He read, and wrote, to keep his fantasies alive but deeply-buried…… And that was how it was….. Today……. Still married, but in a way ’at arms length’. And she was far away, with friends, at the moment, and he was here…..sitting on the bed, wrapped in a fabulous towel all warm and snug, preparing to get dressed in female clothes to go out and meet a woman who he was falling in love with….. who would set his hair before a night of love!
What more could a man want? Karen couldn’t really answer that one……….
But she knew it wasn’t going to be a long-term solution….. unless she was very careful!
************
Karen’s thoughts returned to the ‘here and now’…….., and as she had been told explicitly to do, she took up and used the moisturizer to soften and soothe her skin. All over!
After relaxing for a while, to let the moisturizer do its job, Karen went to the clothes rail that Jenny had indicated would provide the subdued and everyday clothes that she was to wear to the salon. Jenny had clearly wanted her to blend in with the crowd — if a crowd there was — of woman in the salon having their Friday shampoos and sets……. Blend in with the crowd. Don’t get noticed….. Feel at home? Feel ordinary. Feel like a woman.
Feel……. Feel……. Feel……
There were enough to choose from. Plain skirts, Unfancy blouses, Everyday things…. Greys and dark browns and whites and tartans and striped business-like outfits…… Nothing to set the pulse racing here………
But there were the things that Jenny wanted Karen to be wearing… so she would!
She carefully folded away the dresses from the morning, and put away the shoes, deftly rolled the stockings and put them away. The ‘Glam’ stuff could wait another while.
************
Just like the beginning of his story, outside the salon, Karen recalled…….
She rehearsed what she would say many times over.
She summoned up courage, it still took courage, despite the week’s events.
She had wanted to share her morning’s experiences.
She knew Jenny would enter discussion, depending on how full the salon might be.
Karen felt confident she would. She had styled her hair many times now.
But only a few times here. In her little village salon. Usually first appointment of the day.
This was late afternoon. Friday. Busy.
Another stylist came in for afternoons. Had Jenny told her about Karen?
It wouldn’t be quiet. Karen’s thoughts went on…..
As he had dressed in his underwear, his comfort was all-embracing.
He had slipped into his panties, fastened the suspender belt and rolled up the stockings.
This time, no painted toenails. He liked the shimmering shade of red Jenny used for him before..
His bra matched the panties, with lovely lace surrounds. Crystal blue satin. Slinky.
He stood back and looked in the mirror, and put on the low-heeled shoes.
As he had sat on Jenny’s bed, the stockings pulled this way and that.
Size nines. Difficult to find. But these were ordinary, everyday shoes.
He could go out in them — he could drive the car in them….
He had looked at the makeup tray, neatly laid out on Jenny’s dressing table.
Just a smidgin of foundation, very light lipstick and a little eyeshadow. Nothing noticeable.
Now, it was 4.15pm. Karen was waiting outside the salon.
He watched Jenny through the little salon’s window, from behind the driver’s wheel of his car.
Could he go through with it? Of course, he could.
***********
“Good afternoon, d’you have an appointment?” asked Jenny’s colleague, the other stlistt.
“Indeed I do…” Karen’s soft voice turned no heads in the noise of the salon. Except Jenny’s.
She turned and smiled at her lover, pleased to see that he had done as instructed. His outfit was exactly as required. Her friend, Marie, would deal with her new customer…. She went on with teasing the high volume of hair that Karen realized must again have Mrs. Bouffant under it!
“Please do take a seat…. Oh and I’ve got this for you….” said Marie, handing Karen an envelope with Jenny’s handwriting upon it.
She opened it up and began to read….. This was unexpected!
“Welcome to Curl up & Dye, your favourite hairstyling resort! Thank you for coming to see us again.
Just a few thoughts before your appointment…….
First of all…… Nobody else here knows who you are.
Nobody else here knows that you’re not what you seem!
So, just relax and enjoy your whole evening.
Secondly, you will be asked some questions and, whatever they are, your answer will be either “YES” or “YES, PLEASE!”
Have a great time. Love, Jenny XXXX
Karn didn’t know what to make of that but , sitting where she was, felt entirely at home and would do as the letter told her to do. She sat back and relaxed, waiting for the fun to begin.
Marie returned to ask if she wanted a cup of tea……
“Yes, please.” was the correct answer.
When she came back with Karen’s drink, Marie asked “This your first time here, isn’t it?”
“Yes, indeed..” was the correct answer.
Marie continued..” Well, Jenny likes to spend time with her customers who are having a colouring so there will be a bit of a wait…. Is that OK?”
“Yes, that’ll be fine..” was the correct answer.
“Would you like to look through some colour shade charts before you talk to Jenny?”
“Oh! Yes, please!.” was the correct answer. And Karen meant it!
“Oh, good…. And your manicure and pedicure will be done while the colour is developing on your hair, is that OK too?”
“Oh! Yes, indeed!.” was the correct answer.
Marie left Karen in peace with a monster volume of hair colour swatches, each backed with a wonderful picture of the colour used on a model’s head, illustrating just how fabulous each and every one of the colours would look. It would be impossible to choose! They were ALL just adorable!.
Karen looked around the salon. There were several other customers, all ladies, each at a different stage in their beautification…… There was “Mrs Bouffant”, a brunette with bold ‘tiger stripe’ highlights getting the final touches, in clouds of hair lacquer, at Jenny’s styling point. Marie was now washing the hair of a younger woman at the wash basins. She was evidently a beautiful blonde. Two others were under high-domed hood dryers, their hair clearly wound up in masses of rollers. Their hair colours were obscured by the dryers.
Karen felt quite at home……. She felt like the woman she looked like. She could see herself in a mirror. She didn’t look out of place at all. She was relaxed. Jenny knew exactly how to set this up, She was right! Karen’s consciousness switched to her beautiful underwear that clung to her. This made her aware that all of that body hair was long gone. Her skin was soft and smooth under all of these clothes. Jenny knew exactly how to set this up, She was right!
So, she thought, she was having her hair coloured. She was having a manicure…. She was having a pedicure — which she had never had before!....... That only left a make-up. How and when would that be fitted in? And where would he, Karen, and she, Jenny, go for the evening?
It wasn’t long before Mrs Bouffant was ‘done’ — in all her back-combed, highlighted glory. She left the salon with loud farewells to everyone, not noticing that she had, in fact, seen Karen before.
Jenny turned to Karen from the doorway and advanced to her, seated a few steps away. “Are you ready?!” she asked. ……………..“Oh! Yes, indeed!.” was the correct answer.
….. AND SO FRIDAY NIGHT IS MUSIC NIGHT!
by WannabeGinger
“Colour Touch 77/45… that’s what you want, isn’t it?” Jenny held the swatch of hair in the shade chart up to the bright salon light……. How did she know??....... It was stunning…… On anyone else…… But myself???! Karen thought for a moment… and then remembered……..
“Oh, yes, please!!” That was the right response…… even though she couldn’t work out how this would work! It’s Friday and my wife returns home on Sunday…… How one earth…?
“Don’t be concerned…. You’re going to be stunning all through tonight and tomorrow. We’ll sort you out for Sunday, if you want…… when we get to Sunday..” Jenny whispered quietly in Karen’s ear. She was obviously aware of Karen’s likely reaction before making the stunning proposal.
“Yes” was the right answer. Expected. Karen would be a stunning redhead tonight and tomorrow, all in her own hair. OK it wasn’t long enough to make a truly beautiful style, but the colour would compensate for that. Jenny looked at Karen and thought to herself… I can’t wait to get you into bed you beautiful woman!
She whispered as much in Karen’s ear — again being unheard by the other clients in the salon. The blonde who had emerged from shampooing was seated next to Karen. As Jenny went away to mix the colours for Karen’s treatment, the other client looked at her.
“Have you been coming to Jenny’s for long? I have, myself. It’s lovely to find someone who can almost read your mind when it comes to your hair, isn’t it? I mean, when she persuaded me to try being a blonde, I’d never even imagined…. And that was two years ago! And I’ve been all sorts of blonde since then…. I come back every two weeks because I can’t stand my roots showing and with long blonde hair, they shout if they’re not dealt with, don’t they? I mean… how often do you have to have a colour?……..”
Finally, she stopped…. Karen didn’t know what to say…. “Er…. Every couple of…. No….. well, you see, I’ve been using temporary shades until now and changed them every few days. Jenny’s been wonderful…. Now she’s persuaded me to have a change.. so I’m not sure how long this will last….” Girl talk… Karen.. or rather, Andy, thought. Wonderful…… it’s all about completing the illusion that I’m living in ……… just for a few days, this is heaven……… but what about Sunday……What about a certain person’s home-coming…… She can’t come home and find me like I am…… still less with my hair permanently coloured……… What the hell am I getting into…… or got into? I’m not sure if I can handle this……
Jenny returned with her pots and brushes………… And he had said “Yes, please!”
“Are you ready?” she asked, expecting the required correct answer……
“Yes…. But…” Karen’s voice was faltering….
“No Buts! You said this was exactly what you wanted…….!”
The blonde looked aside at Karen….. unable not to hear the exchange……
“You go for it girl!....” she exclaimed to the “fifty-something” woman next to her; for that was how she saw Karen…. As a fifty-something woman, having her hair coloured, permanently, for the first time in years. “……Whatever Jenny says is right for you!” she went on.
Karen was unable to answer — either the blonde or Jenny. She was caught with the acceptance she had promised to give. She was going to be a redhead, a stunning redhead, and she didn’t know how she was going to stop being a stunning redhead by Sunday night… when her wife arrived home!
“OK, but nothing, Jenny, I’m going to love what you do, I’m sure…… So, again, YES, please!”
Karen saw no option but to pitch in and enjoy the whole process. She would worry about the outcome when Sunday came around. There was a lot of time between now and then…. A lot of time with her and Jenny sharing time together!
*********
The colour was applied first to Karen’s roots, though her hair was, to all effects, uncoloured. It was done there first because the roots are more resistant to colouring products, so need more time. The ends of his hair were then plastered in the same thick, brightly coloured purple mousse-like stuff as Andy sat transfixed by what was going on. He looked in the mirror, seeing the surroundings of the salon. Seeing the hustle and bustle going on. The blonde was being finished off beside her, her hair being styled in a glorious ‘updo’ for an evening on the town. Karen was jealous, not necessarily of the colour, though the blonde was a lovely pastel shade, but rather of the length of the hair. So easy if you have such long hair!
Rollers were being unwound on a third customer who would be styled by Jenny while karen’s colour developed. At the same time, the Manicurist from the little Beauty salon next door arrived to take care of Karen’s nails — both her feet and her hands needed a full session!
He was moved to a separate chair near the door from where he could see all of what was going on while his nails were done. The blonde was leaving now and said a suitably girly comment to Karen as she left the salon.
“You only have one life, lovely…. Let’s live ours to the full!”
Karen thought a lot about that as she sat back and enjoyed the attentions to her feet and hands. Her underwear was soft and, although her outer clothes were rather ordinary, sitting there, she felt especially feminine…… More feminine than almost ever before…… well, when outside the bedroom… After all, she had felt totally female when she and Jenny had been making love the last few days…… And Jenny was treating her just like a female friend all through their times alone together…….. But somehow, here in the salon, surrounded by other women, it was…… Yes! Other women… THAT summed her feelings up. She felt she was a woman among women!
Jenny’s magic was working. She was ensuring that Andy would never want to leave this arena!
*********
When Karen’s hair had the rinsing of the colour done, Jenny knew that the colour would be just as she had hoped. No need for highlights… the colour will have its own shades of light and dark auburn. Karen would be her creation!
Jenny finished off two women whose hair had been roller-set for the weekend. It didn’t take her long and the women went away delighted, primped, back-combed and sprayed heavily to fix their slightly dated styles. Jenny was used to doing these sorts of styles — in a country area like this, women do get ‘stuck in a rut’ when it comes to their hairstyles. It was for that reason that Karen’s hair had been such fun to play with and make changes in!
With her nails done, and her feet massaged as well, Karen was feeling totally relaxed. The concerns she had been feeling earlier were pushed into a corner of her mind. Not excluded, but submerged. They might return but, for now, Karen was in heaven.
She was moved from the shampoo basin to the styling chair where her colour had been applied.
“You won’t appreciate the true colour if I show it to you as it’s wet, so forgive me if I cover the mirror while we roll your hair and get it set., OK?” Jenny was in control.
“Yes, that’s fine….” was the correct response!....... even though Karen was near bursting with curiosity to find out how she would look!
“You’ll see it all soon enough, once the dryer has done its work.” Jenny said in a matter-of-fact way. “I’m sure you’ll love the look I’m hoping to create…..”
Karen nevertheless strained her eyes to make a view of her hair possible, by looking sideways into other mirrors around the room but, even in a small salon, like this, she was defeated. She couldn’t see! Damn!
All Andy could do was feel the rollers going into her hair, each one tighter than the last. The dome-shaped hairdryer was lowered over his head with soft words from Jenny that sounded like “We’re going to fuck eachother senseless when we get home…” but Karen couldn’t be sure she heard right!
The drying time was quite long and the manicurist finished off Karen’s beautiful nails — she had never had nails done like this before — the riotous red talons being coated with a high gloss lacquer. During this time, the salon had begun to empty. Three hours had simply flown by, with all the processes and attentions devoted to her, Karen was almost in a dream.
Yet her clothing was now a little at odds with her general looks; her beautiful nails, her soon-to-be-finished coiffure, and her soon-to be made-up face………. She couldn’t wait to get home to change into more feminine clothes and engage with her lover. The wonderful Jenny!
Soon enough, her nails dry, Karen was relieved from the rushing sounds of hot air around her head and the dryer was lifted, leaving her facing a now-uncovered mirror. Karen looked long and hard into her own reflections. There was Andy there, just about visible, but this was an attractive fifty-something woman, whose hair was tightly rolled and encased in a hair net.
“We’ll do your make-up before we finish your hair. OK?!” said Jenny.
“Oh, YES, please!....” was Karen’s correct reply.
Sitting in her everyday clothes, all greys and browns, Karen watched herself transformed into a glamour puss, albeit one in almost dowdy clothes. All the more she wanted to get to Jenny’s home to change!
The delightful young lady from the nail and beauty salon next door took over, allowing Jenny to concentrate on finishing off her remaining clients at the next styling chair. Karen studied their styles as they developed, just loving the feeling of being here among all this femininity!
Hazel, the girl from next door, had a faultless complexion and very attractive eyes, subtly made-up and girly. She had a friendly way of conversing that kept Karen at ease with her forthcoming transformation.
“So, you’re going out for a special dinner, are you? That’ll be nice.” Hazel said.
Yes, that’s right, but I’ve no idea where I’m being taken.” Karen replied.
“More of a surprise and more excitement then! How lovely. Friday night’s always a good night to go out on the town! I just love it, especially if there’s music and dancing!” Hazel enthused. “Let me help by making you look very special indeed then!”
Hazel got to work with her palette of colours, crá¨mes and powders, pencils and sticks. Bliss! Especially if you don’t have to do it all yourself and worry about getting it right! Karen mused.
She was very glad she had shaved so very closely and carefully before setting out for the salon. Close up, it would be obvious to Hazel that she was not all she seemed, but nothing would be, or was, said!
Foundation hid the flaws in her skin, blusher made her face glow imperceptibly and an eyebrow pencil defined the outline of her visage. Mascara, lashings of it, darkened her eyes and imparted mystery and bright blue/green eyeliner and shadow gave an assertiveness she had lacked before. Finally, lipstick, …..in a chosen shade she had used with Jenny for sex, ….completed the look — the look of a sophisticated fifty-something woman who was ‘out on the pull’ tonight!
Jenny returned just as Karen had been invited to look closely at Hazel’s handiwork. She expressed great approval by saying “You are a star, Hazel! A star! Such a wonderful job you’ve done!”
Jenny had to agree. She herself could do make-up passably but, in this situation, she would be an amateur. Karen wouldn’t have looked half as sexy as she was now doing, there in the styling chair, all perfectly made-up, with only the tightly-rolled curls to be set free and a style created from them. That’s my job! ….thought Jenny. Oh! I do love my work!
“Your hair’s the perfect length for a style I’ve remembered from the Sixties…. You’ve probably never heard of it but it’s a stunner for girls with hair your length, and with the colour you’ve got in there, it will be superb!” Jenny rambled on, modestly. “If I say so myself, I’m a bit of an expert where this is concerned…… You see, your hair’s just the right length on top for this, for the curls to be teased up and out to give height, and then the sides and back are shorter but they create a — and she whispered — “a ‘come and fuck me’ look” that demands your lover runs her hands through all your curls, ….and maybe tugs them a little to show who’s in charge… get me???”
“Oh yes indeed,…. YES please!” Karen breathed the right reply.
She watched as the rollers were undone… savouring every one as the tension was released and the curls sprang. She loved this part just as much as the winding of the hair on to the rollers and the increasing tightness that meant she was helpless in the stylist’s hands. Better than chocolate ice cream, she thought!
The curls created a style all of their own, without any intervention from Jenny and Karen adored to look just as it was. Jenny, however, knew better and began the careful and at times forceful back-combing of the curls on Karen’s crown. The resulting height didn’t lose the structure of the curls which were still visible as Karen smoothed to outline over and sprayed serum through her creation.
She then turned to the curls around the sides and back of Karen’s head, where Karen couldn’t see. Each curl had come from a smaller roller and so was tighter, even though the length was only a little less than at the crown. This gave a lot of curls for Jenny to work with and she swept the sides in an upward direction — just as the Gypsy look demanded. She stretched out the curls around the nape of Karen’s neck and the job was done.
Jenny stood behind Karen and they both looked in the mirror. Jenny smiled. She was delighted.
Karen also smiled, but she was looking at Jenny more than herself. She was in love. For sure.
“We’re going home to get changed, then I’m taking you to a wonderful little place that does great food but also has jazz evenings to entertain couples like us…….. Does that sound like a good idea???” Jenny asked.
“Oh! YESSSSS, please!! Karen replied………….. correctly!
DINNER, JAZZ, SEX……. AND A CONUNDRUM FOR KAREN…… SUNDAY????!!!!
CHAPTER 18 AWAITS!
Total Recall - Chapter 18
Reprise from Chapter 17…. With apologies for the delay in releasing this follow-up chapter……
For those readers who missed the end of ch.17……. This extract may help set the scene for what is to follow in the new chapter……… That will be a chapter with a difference….. (explanation later)….. It will be a chapter with an interactive element…. Alternative endings you might say……
The scene is the hair and beauty salon in the deepest, darkest corner of Cornwall, England. Jenny is the central character, hairdresser to Karen, sometime Andy, who share a deepening love. Hazel is the make-up specialist who runs her own salon, next door to Jenny’s salon. The village where they work is very small….. and it’s never known the kind of love affair that Jenny and Karen have enjoyed together over the short time of this series……… They are running up to a weekend when some critical decisions are to be made… by Andy……. His wife will return from a business trip — what will she find when she returns?!
Hazel has completed Karen’s evening make-up. Jenny has finished with another client and will soon create some magic in Karen’s hair that is just now tightly-wound on rollers.
The story so far……
Jenny returned just as Karen had been invited to look closely at Hazel’s handiwork. She expressed great approval by saying “You are a star, Hazel! A star! Such a wonderful job you’ve done!”
Jenny thought for a moment……. She had to agree with herself!... Of course, she could do make-up passably but, in this situation, she would be an amateur.
Jenny’s thoughts went unvoiced….. Karen wouldn’t have looked half as sexy as she was now doing, there in the styling chair, all perfectly made-up, with only the tightly-rolled curls to be set free and a style created from them. That’s my job! ….thought Jenny.
“Oh! I do love my work!” Jenny said, out loud. Andy smiled, looking at Karen in the mirror before him.
“Your hair’s the perfect length for a style I’ve remembered from the Sixties…. It’s called “The Gypsy”…….You’ve probably never heard of it but it’s a stunner for girls with hair your length, and with the colour you’ve got in there, it will be superb!” Jenny rambled on, modestly.
“If I say so myself, I’m a bit of an expert where this is concerned…… You see, your hair’s just the right length on top for this, for the curls to be teased up and out to give height, and then the sides and back are shorter but they create a — and she whispered — “a ‘come and fuck me’ look” that demands your lover runs her hands through all your curls, ….and maybe tugs them a little to show who’s in charge… get me???”
“Oh yes indeed,…. YES please!” Karen breathed the right reply.
She watched as the rollers were undone… savouring every one as the tension was released and the curls sprang. She loved this part just as much as the winding of the hair on to the rollers and the increasing tightness that meant she was helpless in the stylist’s hands. Better than chocolate ice cream, she thought!
“I’ve booked us a dinner for tonight…… at a place on the quayside, it’s called Alba, in St.Ives.”
For those who don’t know Cornwall in England, St. Ives is a cool little town, much favoured by artists and others for the beauty if the light by which to paint. It’s also full of a group of quite hedonistic men and women who arrived in the 1960s and never left. A kind of Woodstock generation, living by the sea!
“I love St. Ives… I always feel at home when I’m there….” said Karen.
“Well, I’m gonna take you there ….dressed!... for the first time in your life!” laughed Jenny.
Their conversation paused while Jenny got on with styling Karen’s hair in this 1960s look — the Gypsy.
The curls created a style all of their own, without any intervention from Jenny. Karen adored to look just as it was. All springy. Jenny, however, knew better.
She began the careful and at times forceful back-combing of the curls on Karen’s crown. The resulting height didn’t lose the structure of the curls which were still visible as Karen smoothed to outline over and sprayed serum through her creation.
She then turned to the curls around the sides and back of Karen’s head, where Karen couldn’t see. Each curl had come from a smaller roller and so was tighter, even though the length was only a little less than at the crown. This gave a lot of curls for Jenny to work with and she swept the sides in an upward direction — just as the Gypsy look demanded. She stretched out the curls around the nape of Karen’s neck and the job was done. Clouds of hairspray finished the job. This was a “set” SET!
Jenny stood behind Karen and they both looked in the mirror. Jenny smiled. She was delighted.
Karen also smiled, but she was looking at Jenny more than herself. She was in love. For sure.
“We’re going home to get changed, then I’m taking you to a wonderful little place that does great food but also has jazz evenings to entertain couples like us…….. Does that sound like a good idea???” Jenny asked.
“Oh! YESSSSS, please!!” Karen replied………….. correctly!
“DINNER, JAZZ, SEX……. What more could a girl ask for!?” she went on, smiling seductively at Jenny in the mirror.
Andy was, however, soon overcome with other thoughts…….. As Karen, she faced a CONUNDRUM ..What was going to happen on SUNDAY????!!!! Andy knew he faced a choice…. To meet his wife as himself, as her husband, like before, or would he break the news with the surprise of his being Karen?
TOTAL RECALL
CHAPTER 18
(Reprised above, slightly adapted, but the scene is now set to continue……)
Jenny thanked Hazel for all the services she had given to Karen and paid her bill. (She wasn’t going to charge Andy or Karen for any of the services they were receiving…. This was her treat for them! When Hazel left, as she opened the salon door, Karen called after her….. “Thanks so much ….. I’d love you to do the same for me again soon!”
Jenny was also thoughtful… She knew what the weekend would bring and she still had doubts that Andy would take the momentous step of disclosing his new identity to his wife….. She was at the same time hopeful but fearful. She was falling in love with this sensitive and girly man.
Did that mean she was bisexual….? Well of course she was… her love life previously reminded her of Dusty Springfield’s famous musing that she “could be moved by a woman equally as a man.” She adored the feel of a cock inside her…….. But, equally, she loved that ecstasy that a woman could drive her to just by kissing her pussy.
Jenny forced her thoughts to move on. She made moves to tidy up the salon before they, together, closed and locked the door. They would drive the three miles to where she lived in the village of Marazion — a pretty tourist location that was quiet at this time of year. The traffic was light, as was their conversation in the car. Flirtatious, maybe, but not ‘heavy’…..
“It’s very kind of you to take me out for dinner, honey” said Karen.
“You can pay me back in all sorts of ways when we get home, my darling.” Jenny replied
“I can’t think what you mean!...” Karen answered in a way that could define the word cocquetish! She was almost acting like a schoolgirl, despite her age and mature looks. Jenny was 50-something and looked across at her lover. He didn’t look 60-anything, but rather the same age as herself, dressed as he was, with his make-up faultlessly and professionally applied, and his hair done as perfectly as only she knew how. Jenny thought again, “how lucky I am to have the two “you”s that sit beside me…..”
Karen laughed out loud. Jenny had said the words she was thinking!
“That’s very kind of you to say so…. I must say I’m delighted that you have me sitting here.
You do know I will do anything to please you, tonight and any night, my Jenny.”
“Well, I’ve got plenty of time to think of things along that line, haven’t I?” Jenny laughed again. “Please put me down for a long long session of soixante-neuf when we get back home after dinner.”
“I’ll remind you of that when we pour the first glasses of wine over dinner.” promised Karen.
Jenny turned the car into the lane that led to her little cottage. When they arrived at Jenny’s home, Andy reflected on the fact that this had been HIS home also for the last ten days. Ten whole days which had quickly led to his dressing and taking the role of a female lover to this beautiful woman. Could this last? Could the fantasy go on???
“You go in and get ready, my lover!......” said Jenny, exaggerating her gentle Cornish accent. “….I’ll be up in a few minutes but I’ve got some things to get ready down here first.”
Karen didn’t know that Jenny had bought a bottle of Champagne and some tasty appetizers for them to have a flirtatious hour before leaving for the restaurant. The Champagne needed to be chilled and the glasses too! Jenny also had a little surprise present for Karen. Neatly boxed and wrapped, she had been early that morning to the M&S branch up the road at the next little town, Hayle. Inside the box, Karen would find….. a surprise!!
Karen had little to do to make herself ready for the evening. Her make-up was perfect. Her hair was exquisite. She applied moisturizer to her hands and perfume to her neck and where her tits should be. She put on a fresh pair of stockings, luxuriating in the clinginess of the nylon against her ankles, calves and thighs. Fixing the stocking tops to the suspender belt always gave Karen a “zing!” to her heart-strings. She then slipped her feet into the court shoes with the 2” heels that Jenny had suggested she wear tonight. Lastly, she stepped into the stylish heavy silk dress that Jenny had laid out for her. A brilliant purple, with lashings of folds to accentuate her figure!
….Bring on the Dancing Girls! …..She was ready!!
Karen twirled in font of the bedroom mirror, full length across the bedroom. She was delighted with the swirl of the dress that Jenny had selected for her to wear on their night out a deux. Andy knew the restaurant that Jenny had chosen. Intimate, but buzzing with atmosphere. Just on the quayside…… where people in St Ives went to see and be seen! Karen knew she would be on display. Everything had to be right. No give-aways. Dress, make-up, hair, behaviour, actions,,, everything had to be so totally feminine…. This would be a challenge!.
Karen advanced to the dressing table where Jenny’s magnifying make-up mirror stood. Unprepared for a shock, she stepped into its range and looked at herself……. Tears quickly flowed from her beautifully made-up eyes.
Too much, too close! She stood back, out of range……… No longer confident in her appearance. “I look like an old tart!” she said to herself. “Oh, my… what am I doing?!........
A crisis of confidence overwhelmed Karen as she sat down on the bed… the lovely double bed in which he, Andy, or she, Karen, had fucked senselessly with Jenny. Made love gently. Teased and titillated eachother. Found eachothers’ alter egos…… His, gentle and feminine. Hers, more assertive, if not masculine. Sitting there, she was drained of any confidence. Confidence in her ability to carry off the charade of two women dining together……
Jenny arrived a minute or two later, by which time Karen had still yet to compose herself.
Her lover realized that something was very wrong….. “Hey, honey, whatever is the matter….. stop crying… please…… If only to save your mascara! It may be waterproof, but it ain’t that guaranteed!” At once, Jenny was trying to be supportive but at the same time, lightening the tone of the room. She put her arms around Karen’s shoulders as her girlfriend sobbed quietly, with tears trickling slowly over her cheeks.
“Well I suggest you don’t look too closely in the make-up mirror like I just did! It’s shocking!” whispered Karen. “I look like an old tart… a real old tart…. When you get up close and personal like that. Awful… just awful! And I was feeling really good up to just before that moment….”
“What on earth…..?? You looked in a crazy mirror and it’s shaken you…. Shame on you girl! You’re more than that damned thing can shake up….. You’re my beauty and I love you! Be strong… be confident in how you look…… I just love the way you are, right up close, you’re beautiful, you really are. Don’t you dare call yourself a tart — unless you want to insult my hair and beauty skills, never mind, my dress sense… remember what you’re wearing!!”
Jenny turned from smiling, in sympathy, to laughing, in encouragement.
“Now, dry your eyes immediately, and save that mascara… then get up and do me a twirly-shirl so’s I can see how attractive you are!” No messing, Jenny knew that Karen’s confidence needed immediate repair if the evening wasn’t to descend into chaos.
“You’re gorgeous…” Jenny enthused. “I’ll be dining with the prettiest girl in town!”
Karen smiled and wiped away the last of her tears. “You’re very kind.”
“Let me dress for you now, while you lay back on the bed….. You can help me choose what to wear…..” Jenny glanced a sideways glance towards Karen….. Her therapy was working!
The story pauses with Jenny and Karen preparing for the” dinner, “jazz and much more” evening..!
Time to introduce Andy’s wife, Christine…………
Christine was the successful part of their marriage. Without the encumbrance of children, which she never wanted, even if Andy did, she had concentrated on her career as a top management consultant. She traveled, while he stayed at home. She earned salaries and bonuses while he made what he could in self-employment. She was beautiful, and spent a lot of money staying so. Nothing but the best for her in dresses, underwear, separates, cosmetics, hair care and the like.
Her travels had increasingly taken her abroad, most recently to the U.S. where she had several high profile clients. Her firm was delighted with her results and rewarded her appropriately.
Andy’s wife…
It was more than a week earlier that this whole saga had begun. With a parting. Andy had said farewell to his wife on the doorstep of their Cornish cottage. She had a long drive to London’s Heathrow airport where she would take a flight to the USA.
Christine waved goodbye to Andy and watched him in her car’s rear-view mirror as he disappeared into the house. She sighed, her work was taking her away from home more and more and she knew she and her husband were drifting apart. But her work was so important and so challenging, ever since he had accepted that children weren't an option in their marriage, Christine had thrown herself into the management consulting business.
The hysterectomy had been a turning point, she had kept up the pills and potions for a while as the doctors and counsellors had made it clear that an early menopause could mean their sex life would suffer. But the hormones had messed her up, and Andy for some reason hadn't seemed very interested, so she just kept up the calcium for her bones and their sex life slowly drifted away.
Christine suspected that Andy was getting his kicks some other way.
She could tell. Earlier in their relationship, he had started to try to pep up their love-making by his wearing her underwear. It never got as far as wearing her outerwear, everything being confined to the bedroom. It seemed to give Andy a kick and he was able to sustain long sessions in the sack. The dressing bit didn't do much for Christine, but he enjoyed it and she wanted to keep him happy. It helped that he was always willing to care for her pussy in very special ways. He had become an expert in bringing her to marvelous climaxes, time and time again. ….. like another girl might.
More recently, she was convinced Andy had a lover, but she never saw anything to suspect him and, whenever she had 'phoned when she was away, he was always there.
The answer came to her one weekend when she came home early, Andy was clearly flustered when she walked in and later she found signs of her wardrobe being messed up. Andy had acted really strangely when they went to bed that evening. When she challenged him on his actions, he was evasive until she noticed that his legs and body were recently shaved and, “shock, horror!”, her husband had painted toenails!
They had shouted and rowed, and it came out that he dressed up in women's clothes, just on the occasions that Christine was away on business. “you’re telling me you’re not queer?!” jibed Christine.
Obviously deeply hurt, he countered “I get stir-crazy round the house on my own…. This working from home idea brings temptations…”, he had explained. Christine very much didn't understand but got some comfort from his promises that it was no more than just dressing up, no sex, and he did not fancy men. That had been her real concern. There are plenty of stories in the tabloid newspapers of men “living double lives”, “discovering their true sexuality” or “coming out of the closet” in later life. She didn’t much fancy that situation in her own relationship. So… he cross-dressed….. was it just as simple as that?
Now, driving to Heathrow to catch her flight to Washington, she knew Andy would be spending the time dressed, they had reached a sort of understanding — she did not ask and he did not volunteer. After all, he was a good bloke and they had fun in the brief moments they had together.
Her work took her away a lot and it meant a lot to her, after all this trip could get her onto the Board if she and her useless boss could land the consulting contract for a major pharma company. The deal was hers to win. Her mind moved on to work and she did not think any more until, guiltily, she 'phoned home from the U.S.A, two days later, to talk to Andy, just to say all was well.
The trouble was, Andy wasn’t there…… (This was two days into his time with Jenny.)
By the time Christine phoned him, Andy was staying at Jenny’s house.
By the time she called, he was playing the part of Karen…….
(Now, it’s time to get back to the lovers who are finishing getting ready for a night on the Town…)
Getting ready for dinner….
Jenny dressed while Karen laid on the bed, where she was nursing her feelings from the mirror. They had plenty of time…….. There was the Champagne to open and drink, there was the gift — of some delicious nightwear for Karen — and there was the short drive to St. Ives. All of which would take up the near- three hours’ interval they had.
Jenny prepared her face after washing thoroughly; with lots of moisturizer, bronzing and blusher. She used more than usual in mascara, eyeliner and lipstick…. This was an “evening out”, after all! So what if the look was a little tarty… it might make Karen feel more at ease if they were both “glammed up”….. They were not “out on the pull” trying to attract the other sex, but they might as well feel that they could!
She pulled up her waist cincher that gave her a nice curvy figure and slipped into her sexiest black, lacy bra and panties. Over the top, she chose to wer a classic “LBN” — the little back cocktail dress that left little to the imagination!
“You look stunning!” Karen murmured as Jenny finished her preparations by combing through her hair and back-brushing for volume and height.
“It’s all for you, my love!” purred Jenny in reply. “Come down stairs and close your eyes, because I have a surprise or two for you….”
She led Karen to the landing and down the steep stairs in the little house. She held Karen’s hand and didn’t release her when the pair reached the living room.
Jenny made a mental note….. Karen needed her fingernails doing before they left for the restaurant! Time wouldn’t allow her toenails to be done as well, but the court shoes she was wearing had hidden her toes in any case!
Within a minute, Karen had been plied with Champagne and was opening a beautifully-wrapped box — a present from her lover. Jenny had spent a long time choosing what proved to be, for Karen, a breathtaking surprise. THE most adorable matching nightdress and dressing gown set, in china blue silk with white lace surrounds. “For you to wear when we get home tonight!” exclaimed Jenny.
“Oh, you little beauty!” Karen shouted as she leapt across the room to gather Jenny in her arms and engage in the longest kiss and deepest that they had ever enjoyed.
**********
As they left the car in the Porthgwidden car park, at the far end of the quayside, there was a five minute walk to the restaurant, a way back towards the centre of the town. Cobbled pathways were not the easiest for Karen to walk on in her, albeit low, heels.
Nevertheless, she made her best efforts to walk in as feminine a way as she could. It was a ‘balmy’ evening, meaning that it was warm for the time of year. Karen therefore didn’t need a coat. The warm breeze rustled her dress and gave pleasure between her thighs. It made her feel all the more girly……. She began to hum the tune of “I enjoy being a girl…” Every word was true and applied to her perfectly.
Hearing her lover humming a song quietly, Jenny said “Happy?.... I do hope you are…. because I’ve probably never been happier!” Karen smiled at her girlfriend and squeezed her hand more tightly, her freshly lacquered fingernails digging in to the soft flesh of Jenny’s hand.
They reached the doors of the chosen restaurant, Alba, just as Karen first felt the eyes of a passer-by focus on her. Yes, indeed, she was being ‘ogled’ as the Cornish say…… lecherous man!!
FROM THIS POINT, MY STORY, “TOTAL RECALL”, IS GOING INTERACTIVE, WITH YOU, DEAR READER, BEING ASKED TO GIVE ME FEEDBACK ON TWO ALTERNATIVE ENDINGS FOR THE WHOLE SAGA…
YOU’LL BE INTRODUCED TO KAREN’S WIFE…… AND THERE WILL BE TWO QUITE DIFFERENT ENDINGS.
PLEASE TELL ME WHICH YOU PREFER…. AND WHY!... WHEN YOU HAVE READ BOTH!
LOTS OF LOVE, GINGER xxxx
Let’s resume the story with the first of two alternative endings……(Your choice between this ending and what will appear as Chapter 19, begins here, dear Reader.
Thank you in advance for your feedback!)
Andy had planned a surprise of his own for Jenny. The Champagne was swimming around his head and the joy of the beautiful nightwear filled his thoughts with their return to Jenny’s cottage. But he had rehearsed a flirtation which comprised the lyrics of the song Karen was humming as the pair of girls walked along the quayside.
They entered the restaurant though the floor-to-ceiling glazed doors and were directed upstairs, through a throng of early diners who were finishing their meals. Jenny and Karen were among the first of the later group who would be there until the restaurant closed. A more romantic group, it was sure to be. The Jazz musicians were just tuning their instruments as the girls passed by to the foot of the stairs.
Karen was conscious of her heels ‘clacking’ on the wooden staircase. It was warm in the place, so not wearing a coat had been a good decision. As she climbed the stairs, Karen felt “All Girl”, her confidence restored.
As they sat, the little waitress, a pretty Italian girl with long curly hair and bright sparkling eyes, asked if they wanted to order drinks before the music started.
“Great idea…” said Jenny immediately. Indicating her role as the decision-maker for the two ladies, she went on to say “…… a bottle of PureBlu Sparkling water to start with, and the wine list please.” PureBlu is a local Cornish brand of mineral water. Karen didn’t know it and was taken by the design of the bottle when it arrived; screen printed with a picture of blue and white surf . Free spirits… perfect for the night, this special night!
The Wine list lay unexplored while the girls exchanged small talk, about the surroundings, the décor and the staff…… a perfect beginning…. The other tables upstairs were largely unoccupied, so the room was relatively quiet. The Jazz was more sublte phrasings now not the tuning of instruments. It created a wonderful atmosphere. Jenny poured two glasses of water…..
Karen felt the time was right to bring his surprise forward. Andy unfolded a card with writing upon it, then took Jenny’s hand and said, “I have something to say to you…..”
She went on to read the following words (not sing them!)……
(with apologies to Miss Peggy Lee and the writers of the lyrics….)
“I'm a girl, and by me that's great!
I am proud that my silhouette is curvy,
That I walk with a sweet and girlish gait
With my hips kind of swivelly and swervy.”
Jenny smiled…. She already knew where this was going……
“I adore being dressed in something frilly
When my date comes to get me at my place.
Out I go with my darling Jenny,
Like a filly who is ready for the race!”
“When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!”
Did Karen need to go on? She wondered if she should, and Jenny’s smiling eyes encouraged her…
“When Jenny says I'm cute and funny
And my eyes sphimmer like pearls,
I just lap it up like honey
I enjoy being a girl!”
“I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a beautiful female
Who'll enjoy being a gal having a girl... like... me.”
“When Jen says I'm sweet as candy
Tonight in a dance we whirl,
It’ll go to my head like brandy,
I enjoy being a girl!”
“When you have eyes that smoulder
That say you love ev'ry silken curl
That falls on my iv'ry shoulder,
I enjoy being a girl!”
By now, Jenny was squeezing Karen’s hand and she had a tear in her eye.
“I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a beautiful female
Who'll enjoy being a gal having a girl... like... me.”
Karen finished reading, Jenny was overwhelmed and just stared into Karen’s eyes, unable to speak. She traced her own burgundy-coloured fingernails over Karen’s….
“You do know I’ve not felt love like this for anyone, ever… don’t you?” Jenny confessed.
“No, I really didn’t…. not until now.” Karen answered.
Conscious that hand-holding wasn’t the done thing for two girls — this early in the night! — Jenny broke the spell for a moment (knowing it would return). She had seen the waitress arriving at the top of the stairs….. heading in their direction.
She turned to look our of the window against which their table was placed — the best table in the place! A beautiful view was to be found, as the rays of the setting sun bathed the seascape.
Where now was Andy’s wife…?
Christine was finishing her business meeting, the morning before she would depart on her return to England. She was going ‘for the kill’, seeking to clinch the deal that would bring sky-high fees to her firm, and a Board directorship to herself!
The meeting went as well as it could possibly have done. The clients were like little pussy-cats and agreed to almost everything that Christine had proposed to them. The signatures were written on the contracts that she had pre-prepared. This was business of the highest caliber and would secure the future for all involved. She smiled to herself.
Because of her skills and experience — and her killer instincts. She reflected before the ink was dry on the Contract Note.
Delivery would be easy. She thought as she closed her lap-top and valise.
On the return taxi trip to her hotel, where she would remain this evening after a concluding, celebratory, dinner, Christine reflected on the life she would be returning to. This contract would take up a lot of her time. It would mean regular travel to the U.S.
It would mean much more time away from home. It would mean leaving Andy alone much more — at the mercy of his own instincts and desires……… It wasn’t a risk to be assessed. The contract was won. It would be as it would be. Did she sill love him? Did she still love him enough to work out a way to accommodate her career? Did she love him enough to accommodate his, er… ‘special interests’ when she was away? Could she accommodate his ‘interests’ when they were together. She somehow doubted it.
Christine had reached Andy by phone later in the week — on just two of the few occasions that he had been home. She had asked him where he’d been- without exerting pressure — and his answers were matter-of-fact and didn’t enflame her suspicions. Well, you have to live how you wanna live, she thought.
She slept easy in her hotel room, after fending off the efforts of a colleague to seduce her — the same one that always tried when they were away on business. The same one that Andy had met a year previously and, pointedly, remarked that this guy “clearly felt he was Christine’s type”… so much, or so blatant had his yucky attitude been in evidence. She would have to find a way to stop him doing this, permanently, she thought as she went off to sleep.
Her transfer to the airport, Saturday, was trouble-free; no colleagues, no seducers, no clients still to be entertained. Just Christine, on her own. A confident, attractive mature business person…… who had a husband she was going home to who dressed in her clothes from time-to-time.
Standing in line to check herself onto the flight, Christine’s thoughts again returned to her husband…… This has to stop, she thought, …..he’s either got to give up this whole thing, or “wham-bam, thank you Mam… it’s over”. At check-in, she nearly confided exactly that to the Checking Clerk. It wouldn’t have been so bad if, in those early days, he’d found a way to involve her more in his party games……. Walking to the Gate, she went further…. She enjoyed fucking, hugely, she enjoyed it. She was one sexy woman….. It was just that his girly side was too strong…… It would have been better if, to compensate, he’d have had a huge cock that was always available…. But, sadly, it wasn’t…….
Christine settled down in her seat and ordered a large Champagne — “Because I’m worth it!”, she said to the Business Class hostess who served her.
The more she thought about the whole situation on the flight back home to England, the more she felt that way. There was a show-down coming and, though he may not know it, Andy’s future was going to be very different. She would be calling him from the airport after arrival, before checking in to an airport hotel at heathrow. She would be driving all that way the following day — Sunday — 300 miles — to get home. That way, if he was dressed, he could damned-well get out of the clothes and clean the place up. That time when she’d found his painted toenails really angered her now!
Back to the Lovers in St. Ives.
Jenny and Karen ordered their food and a couple of glasses of New Zealand sauvignon blanc to start with. That would follow nicely from the Champagne. Jenny also selected a special bottle of wine — a rich Australian shiraz that would give a heady alcoholic background to the fucking that was to come. Her assertiveness made her feel very comfortable. Karen was hers to do what she wished.
This Friday evening was going so well, helped by the Champagne, the glasses of white wine and the promise of the meaty red wine to come ……. Both girls were very much in the mood for love. They were also, words unspoken, both looking forward to a night of wonderful fucking.
Seafood starters were complimented well by the sauvignon blanc. Their main courses were different; Jenny chose delightful lamb with rosemary potatoes and grilled Mediterranean vegetables. Karen went for ultra-thin medallions of rib-eye steak, cooked gently with mushrooms, garlic and green vegetables.
Over the main course, their conversation, having started so lyrically with Karen’s words of the song, led to outright suggestions at every pause. Suggestions, very quietly voiced, about sex.
“You really must show me what you can do like you did on Tuesday…” said Jenny.
“Only if you’ll return the compliment at the same time……”, said her lover.
“Will you wear your new nightgown tonight? I do hope you will”, asked Jenny.
“If you’ll show me how to wear it to its best advantage, I will”, was Karen’s reply.
“Does my lipstick look OK?” Karen asked in the next breath….
“Good enough to kiss right now….” whispered Jenny, her eyes twinkling.
“Dare you!”, said Karen, teasingly licking her lips.
“Shhhhh!.....” Jenny replied, thinking what attention that would bring!
“We have to make the most of tonight and tomorrow night……. You do know that, don’t you? Sunday’s going to change things……” Karen said, risking ruining the evening.. but it had to be talked about……. “I mean, we’ll have to think…..” Andy hesitated for the right words. “….well, about what to do……. I’ve discovered a very special kind of love with you in these past few days, darling…. And I really don’t want it to stop …….. But I have to know if that’s the way you’re feeling too…….. I’m ready to live together with you, if you are too. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of living with another woman, let alone another woman who happens to be male……. I just don’t know…….. He’d jumped in with both feet now! Where would it lead?!!
Jenny had known that a discussion like this was inevitable…
Maybe not here and not now, she dreamed, but she could see Karen’s rationale…. There was bedtime to get to. There was a night of delirious fucking to enjoy…… It could’ve waited until tomorrow, Saturday, which was when she would have broached the subject with Karen if they hadn’t reached that point before.
So, now it was Friday and they had two nights to take in the importance of whatever was the outcome…… She, herself, didn’t truly know her innermost feelings.
“Darling, I’m just enjoying being here with you, tonight, as we are, as I’ve loved all of the last few days. What we’ve done together. How close we’ve grown in such a short time…. There’s been no other experiences in my life like these. I really do feel we’re like a couple… a pair….. indivisible…… meant for eachother……… The special relationship we’ve built up so quickly could be everso fragile — that’s the only thing that worries me. There’s so much at stake…….”
Karen smiled her sweetest smile, her lipstick-laden mouth inviting attention.
Jenny’s slight uncertainty was genuine. They both had much to gain, but much to lose — Karen more than herself perhaps. After all, she wasn’t married, whereas Karen, or Andy was….
She had no steady boyfriend or partner to speak of. Her past relationships had ended mainly in great hurt for herself. That didn’t make her distrustful of men… or in this case, a woman with “added benefits”! She hadn’t stopped to think about it all, but Karen was right, it had to be thought about. Now was probably not a bad time, depending on the outcome, and there was always the fucking tonight that would cover up their tracks!
Thankfully neither she nor Karen had a history of abuse by others. All of their intimate secrets were happy ones, albeit her partings from previous boyfriends had not all been easy. That should make it easy. They agreed to talk about “Sunday” when they got home.
They had talked in very quiet tones so that those surrounding them in the tiny restaurant would not gain insights into their relationship. They avoided, almost, any ‘touchy-feely’ contact such as hand-holding; that would come as they left. Their suggestive motions, like lip-licking, fingernail-tracing along lip-lines, twisting hair tendrils, or prolonged eye-to-eye contact were kept to a minimum, at least as little of a minimum as they could bear.
Casual observers would see two pretty women dining together — a ‘girl’s night out’. More assiduous observers would have been able to tell that there was more to their relationship than met the eye.
“So what! Who cares?!” Jenny would say as they left the restaurant, hand-in-hand, at around eleven thirty p.m. They walked back along the quayside towards the car park and, as it was later, naturally attracted some attention from the pub-goers who lined their walk.
They chose to ignore any ‘cat-calls’ and, instead, paused under a streetlamp to engage I a full mouth-on-mouth, deep throated kiss, that lingered as long as they both felt comfortable. This was the kind of place where guys would have been kissing eachother all evening. Lesbians, being fewer in number would be more of an object of interest….. “So, let ‘em call!” Jenny laughed.
Karen, whose cock was totally confined within his beautiful lace knickers and the bodyshaper that controlled his figure, felt near to an orgasm as they kissed. It had to be resisted.
But just wait until they got home! He would get rid of that. Easy, so that the sex-play would be girly, girl-on-girl, for at least the first hour! What a night was just about to start!
Jenny, reaching the car first, unlocked the vehicle and then came round to open the door for Karen to enter — a very assertive motion, to which Karen responded with a cocquetish “Why, thank you honey!”, fluttering her eyelashes as she said this.
Now sitting in the car, she smoothed the skirt across her lap, leaving the knees exposed with their nylon stockings clearly seen. Her suspender belt tugged beautifully, reminding her of those pretty undies! She remembered to open her purse and take out her lipstick, preparing to freshen the look.
Before she could do so, Karen felt Jenny’s hand come around her neck as her lover’s face came close to her own. Jenny kissed her again, fulsomely on the lips, whispering, “Let me tak you home.”
“Oh, yessss. ……Please!!!!!”, said Karen, giving exactly the right answer once more!
Of course, when they got home, the last thing on their minds was “Sunday”……..!!
**********
It’s now Saturday morning…….. Dear Reader, you have the opportunity to write your own paragraphs about the time last evening that the girls enjoyed when they returned to Jenny’s little house, and all the wonderful pleasures they gave , again, to eachother.
It’s sufficient to tell you that they both slept well, however briefly, afterwards, and both woke long after the sun had risen, casting sunbeams over their bed.
The morning aroused some continuing passions, meaning that — apart from coffee and light breakfast which Karen served to Jenny — it was nearly lunchtime before they left the bedroom.
Both knew that the need to talk about “Sunday” and its consequences was increasingly urgent.
Both knew that it had to be done in a relaxed way…… Well, there was all day for that…. But it shouldn’t be left until evening…. Because there was more sex to be had!!
Karen felt that it was her responsibility to broach the subject. How to do it? Her mind was torn between something formal, when they were doing nothing else in particular and, on the other hand, when they were huddled-up close, maybe watching an old movie on the television. She opted for the latter. There were two or three movies on that afternoon. It didn’t really matter which… but maybe the most romantic? Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant… their “Notting Hill” film was light and happy enough……. That was on (again!) just after lunchtime….. It would make a nice back-drop to a maybe quite serious discussion.
Jenny’s thinking was less ordered — she just knew it had to be done sometime…. Maybe in the garden after lunch, as the sun was shining?
Neither of them was hungry — except for more sex — so they agreed to make do with another bottle of red wine. This time, Jenny chose a lovely New Zealand Pinot Noir, light and suitable for a summer’s day.
The weather proved to be the deciding factor…… The sky was blue and there was a gentle breeze. It would be the garden for the afternoon! What better place for two women, falling in love as they were, to talk about how they would sort out “issues”.
They both knew what those “issues” were…..
Jenny had found a second swimsuit — a one-piece figure-forming one with small breast cups that she thought would suit Karen. She passed it to Karen on her way out, having dressed in her own bikini. “Go on, you just try it… another different experience…. You have to wear your heeled shoes and you have to freshen your make-up, and I’ll see you in the garden.” , Jenny said as she left the room.
Jenny knew that Karen wouldn’t need to be told twice.
“Oh, yesssss! You look wonderful!”, said Jenny as Karen made her entrance into the garden.
They lay together on sunbeds in the garden, enjoying the silence that surrounded them. There was only the distant noise of the sea breaking on the rocks around their nearest beach.
“Isn’t it lovely, just being here….?”, mused Karen, preparing her thoughts….
“Mmmm, just the sound of the waves so far away, it’s fabulous….”, replied Jenny, her eyes closed in the sunlight.
“We have to talk, you and me, my darling…. There’s things you need to know about me, before I ask you something………”, Andy began, hesitatingly, unsure where this would end…..
Jenny smiled and just said,, “I know…. We do…. But I don’t want anything to change….”
“But it has to, at least a bit….can you handle that? It’ll be for the best, I’m sure….” Karen began.
“Oh, there be things you need to know about me too, moi lover” said Jenny in her exaggerated Cornish dialect, laughing at herself. “Oi can ‘andle it quoit well, Oi thinks!” ……joking.
“Well, I’ll tell you mine before you tell me yours!”, joked Karen.
“Only if I can show you moine soon!” was Jenny’s reply.
Undeterred, Andy went on, speaking in his softest “Karen-speak” that he was perfecting when they spoke together as lovers. “You see, to start with you know I have a wife, but what you don’t know is that she’s aware of my enjoyment of women’s clothes.”
“Well, no, I didn’t know she knew….”
“Oh yes, but there’s a trouble……She refuses to play the game and indulge my passion, even though she knows I’d do anything for her if she had other interests. I mean….”
“You mean, like sexy things she likes….?”
“Well, very much so, she does… she has a foot fetish that means she loves to have her toes licked, preferably through the straps of sexy stiletto heeled shoes. She wears them to bed….. It’s not so much as an invitation to suck them, it’s a demand!” Andy thought… demand.. that’s the word….
He continued.. “She also likes to have a ‘fucker’, a dildo, in her pussy when I go down on her…. She even likes the cock to nuzzle, head on the outside, so like I’m like giving her a blow-job….. AS if she has a cock…… All of which she enjoys while refusing to let me dress………”
“Well, why…..?” Jenny interrupted….
“Why do I do those things…? Because I’ve been in love with her — probably more than she has been with me — for years. I’m not difficult to satisfy… and I know I’m not masterful in bed, so doing these things isn’t a problem for me…… I know she’s grown away from loving me and, now with her job taking her away more, we may be losing it for good……”
“Do you mean it’s over between the two of you?” Jenny asked, her concern showing.
“Well, maybe….but I want you to know that’s not why I’ve fallen in love with Jenny, my hairdresser…. You are unique… You’re just the best! The best lover I could ever wish for and, even if you said I had to stop dressing tomorrow, I’d agree and I’d want to stay with you and live with you for always….”
There, he’d said what he wanted to say… that he loved Jenny and would do anything to stay with her. He had to go on…. What would this mean?
“I know this means I have to face up to Christine and what her feelings are. I don’t think she really wants to stay with me for much longer…. She has her career and a separate, ‘business’ life to live. I realize that I may lose her and not find something permanent with you. I’m frightened that I might lose you, Jenny….”
“Am I the best just because I like you dressing?”, asked Jenny cautiously……..
“No, no, no…. it’s for much more than that…. Honestly! That’s almost incidental, even though you know I love it… being like this…..” Karen answered, stroking her swimsuit as she lay in the sun….. “You feel closer to me than Christine ever did… I just love being with you…. And you’re beautiful…. And you make other women beautiful every day of your life! I’d love to be part of your life, for always.”
“So what does this mean, for you and for her?” Jenny was keeping her thoughts to herself.
“It means I should tell her there’s a real problem, as soon as she comes home on Sunday… see how she is, of course, but not lose sight of what’s a decision in my mind. We’re not going to live together again. She doesn’t need me and, though I loved her, it’s all too much hassle when we’re together now….. It means that it would take me time to get things sorted, but it also means I’d love for you to be there for me…. For “us” …… in a few weeks time probably…… We could continue as we are for that time, but maybe I could move in with you — or you with me — before autumn’s over……”
Andy realized that Jenny had said very little in the midst of all his ramblings……..
“It’s a big ask, I know, but would you take me…….. as your wife?”
MORE ABOUT CHRISTINE AND MORE ABOUT JENNY’S FEELINGS WILL BE FOUND IN CHAPTER 20……..
THE ALTERNATIVE ENDING BEGINS IN CHAPTER 19…….. YOUR CHOICE WHICH TO READ FIRST!...... DON’T FORGET………FEEDBACK PLEASE!!!!!!!!!
Total Recall - Chapter 19
THIS LEADS TO AN ALTERNATIVE ENDING TO THAT YOU’LL FIND IN MY CHAPTER 18
Reprise from Chapter 17…. With apologies for the delay in releasing this follow-up chapter……
For those readers who missed the end of ch.17……or alternatively, who may have read the first “ending” in my ch.18……, This extract may help set the scene for what is to follow in the new chapter……… That will be a chapter with a difference….. (explanation later)….. It IS a chapter with an interactive element…. Alternative endings you might say……
The scene is the hair and beauty salon in the deepest, darkest corner of Cornwall, England. Jenny is the central character, hairdresser to Karen, sometime Andy, who share a deepening love. Jenny and Karen are running up to a weekend when some critical decisions are to be made… by Andy……. His wife, Catherine, will soon return from a business trip — what will she find, and what will her feelings be, when she returns?!
Jenny’s Beautician has completed Karen’s evening make-up. Jenny has finished with another client and will soon create some magic in Karen’s hair that is just now tightly-wound on rollers.
“Oh! I do love my work!” Jenny said, out loud. Andy smiled, looking at himself, “Karen”, in the mirror before him.
“Your hair’s the perfect length for a style I’ve remembered from the Sixties…. It’s called “The Gypsy”…….You’ve probably never heard of it but it’s a stunner for girls with hair your length, and with the colour you’ve got in there, it will be superb!” Jenny rambled on, modestly.
“If I say so myself, I’m a bit of an expert where this is concerned…… You see, your hair’s just the right length on top, for the curls to be teased up and out to give height, and then the sides and back are shorter but they create a — and she whispered — “a ‘come and fuck me’ look” that demands your lover runs her hands through all your curls, ….and maybe tugs them a little to show who’s in charge… get me???”
“Oh yes indeed,…. YES please!” Karen breathed the right reply.
“I’ve booked us a dinner for tonight…… at a place on the quayside, it’s called Alba, in St.Ives.”
For those who don’t know Cornwall in England, St. Ives is a cool little town, much favoured by artists and others for the beauty if the light by which to paint. It’s also full of a group of quite hedonistic men and women who arrived in the 1960s and never left. A kind of Woodstock generation, living by the sea!
“I love St. Ives… I always feel at home when I’m there….” said Karen.
“Well, I’m gonna take you there ….dressed!... for the first time in your life!” laughed Jenny.
They paused while Jenny got on with styling Karen’s hair in this 1960s look — “the Gypsy”.
The curls created a style all of their own, without any intervention from Jenny. Karen adored to look just as it was. All springy. Jenny, however, knew better.
She began the careful and at times forceful back-combing of the curls on Karen’s crown. She then turned to the curls around the sides and back of Karen’s head, where Karen couldn’t see. Jenny swept the sides in an upward direction — just as the Gypsy look demanded. She stretched the curls around the nape of Karen’s neck. The job was done. Clouds of hairspray finished the job. This was a “set” SET!
Jenny smiled. She was delighted.
Karen was looking at Jenny more than herself. She was in love. For sure.
“We’re going home to get changed, then I’m taking you to a wonderful little place that does great food but also has jazz evenings to entertain couples like us…….. Does that sound like a good idea???” Jenny asked.
“Oh! YESSSSS, please!!” Karen replied………….. correctly!
“DINNER, JAZZ, SEX……. What more could a girl ask for!?” she went on, smiling seductively at Jenny in the mirror.
Andy was, however, soon overcome with other thoughts…….. As Karen, she faced a CONUNDRUM ..What was going to happen on SUNDAY????!!!! Andy knew he faced a choice…. To meet his wife as himself, as her husband, like before, or would he break the news with the surprise of his being Karen?
TOTAL RECALL
CHAPTER 19
(Reprised above, slightly adapted, but the scene is now set to continue……)
Jenny was thoughtful… She knew what the weekend would bring and she still had doubts that Andy would take the momentous step of disclosing his new identity to his wife….. She was at the same time hopeful but fearful. She was falling in love with this sensitive and girly man.
Did that mean she was bisexual….? Well of course she was… her love life previously reminded her of Dusty Springfield’s famous musing that she “could be moved by a woman equally as a man.” She adored the feel of a cock inside her…….. But, equally, she loved that ecstasy that a woman could drive her to, just by kissing her pussy.
“It’s very kind of you to take me out for dinner, honey” said Karen as they drove home.
“You can pay me back in all sorts of ways when we get home, my darling.” Jenny replied
“I can’t think what you mean!...” Karen answered in a way that could define the word coquettish! She was almost acting like a schoolgirl, despite her age and mature looks.
Jenny was 50-something and looked across at her lover. He didn’t look 60-anything, but rather the same age as herself, dressed as he was, with his make-up faultlessly and professionally applied, and his hair done as perfectly as only she knew how. Jenny thought again, “how lucky I am to have the two “you’s” that sit beside me…..”
Karen laughed out loud. Jenny had said the words she was thinking!
Jenny turned the car into the lane that led to her little cottage. Andy reflected …. Ten whole days which had quickly led to his dressing and taking the role of a female lover to this beautiful woman. Could this last? Could the fantasy go on???
After dressing, and fixing make-up and hair, the girls had a flirtatious hour before leaving for the restaurant. The Champagne needed to be chilled and the glasses too! Karen had little to do to make herself ready for the evening. Her make-up was perfect. Her hair was exquisite. She applied moisturizer to her hands and perfume to her neck and where her tits should be. She put on a fresh pair of stockings, luxuriating in the clinginess of the nylon against her ankles, calves and thighs. Fixing the stocking tops to the suspender belt always gave Karen a “zing!” to her heart-strings. She then slipped her feet into the court shoes with the 2” heels that Jenny had suggested she wear tonight. Lastly, she stepped into the stylish heavy silk dress that Jenny had laid out for her. A brilliant purple, with lashings of folds to accentuate her figure!
….Bring on the Dancing Girls! …... She was ready!!
Karen twirled in front of the bedroom mirror, full length across the bedroom. She was delighted with the swirl of the dress that Jenny had selected for her to wear on their night out a deux. Andy knew the restaurant that Jenny had chosen. Intimate, but buzzing with atmosphere. Just on the quayside…… where people in St Ives went to see and be seen! Karen knew she would be on display. Everything had to be right. No give-aways. Dress, make-up, hair, behaviour, actions,,, everything had to be so totally feminine…. This would be a challenge!.
“Get up and do me a twirly-shirl, so’s I can see how attractive you are!” No messing,
Jenny knew that Karen’s confidence would benefit from a boost.
“You’re gorgeous…” Jenny enthused. “I’ll be dining with the prettiest girl in town!”
Karen smiled and wiped away the last of her tears. “You’re very kind.”
“Let me dress for you now, while you lay back on the bed….. You can help me choose what to wear…..” Jenny glanced a sideways glance towards Karen….. Her therapy was working!
The alternative story pauses with Jenny and Karen preparing for the” dinner, “jazz and much more” evening..! You’ll notice that Christine has different feelings to those disclosed in ch.18!
Time to introduce Andy’s wife, Christine…………
Christine was the successful part of their marriage. Without the encumbrance of children, which she like Andy had wanted, but was unable to conceive, she had concentrated on her career as a top management consultant. Always second best to staying at home and making Andy’s babies, this was! They no longer talked about it, each sad that there had been a distance put between them.
She traveled, while he stayed at home. She earned salaries and bonuses while he made what he could in self-employment. She was beautiful, and spent a lot of money staying so. Nothing but the best for her in dresses, underwear, separates, cosmetics, hair care and the like. She’d have given all of that up for a home life and a family.
Her travels had increasingly taken her abroad, most recently to the U.S. where she had several high profile clients. Her firm was delighted with her results and rewarded her appropriately.
Her most private thoughts always transcended what the job required of her. This time, returning home, she might make things different — well, if Andy responded to her advances, she would!
Andy’s wife… Christine.
It was more than a week earlier that this whole saga had begun. With a parting. Andy had said farewell to his wife on the doorstep of their Cornish cottage. She had a long drive to London’s Heathrow airport where she would take a flight to the USA.
Christine waved goodbye to Andy and watched him in the car’s rear-view mirror as he disappeared into the house. She sighed, ……her work was taking her away from home more and more and she knew she and her husband were drifting apart. But her income was so important and her role so challenging, ever since Christine had thrown herself into management consulting, a business that she was good at.
The hysterectomy had been a turning point, she had kept up the pills for a while as the doctors and counsellors had made it clear that an early menopause could mean their sex life would suffer. But the hormones had messed her up, and Andy for some reason hadn't seemed very interested, so she just kept up the calcium for her bones and their sex life slowly drifted away. She was sad. He lacked confidence and she wanted just to be fucked.
Christine knew in her heart that Andy was getting his kicks some other way.
She could tell. Earlier in their relationship, he had started to try to pep up their love-making by buying sex toys and — a few times — by his wearing her underwear. It never got as far as wearing her outerwear, everything being confined to the bedroom. Dildos, light S&M, and dressing, seemed to give Andy a kick and he was able to sustain longer sessions in the sack. The dressing bit didn't do much for Christine, but he enjoyed it and she wanted to keep him happy. It helped that he was always willing to care for her pussy in very special ways. He had become an expert in bringing her to marvelous climaxes, time and time again. ….. like another girl might. He was confident in his ability to do that much! At least she loved that side of their sex life.
She loved him… really!
More recently, she was convinced Andy had a lover, but she never saw anything to suspect him and, whenever she had 'phoned when she was away, he was always there.
The answer came to her one weekend when she came home early, Andy was clearly flustered when she walked in and later she found signs of her wardrobe being messed up. Andy had acted really strangely when they went to bed that evening. He was evasive until she noticed that his legs and body were recently shaved and, “shock, horror!”, her husband had painted toenails!
They had shouted and rowed, and it came out that he dressed up in women's clothes, just on the occasions that Christine was away on business. “You’re telling me you’re not queer?!” jibed Christine. Why DID he let me find out that way???!! She thought, again!
Obviously deeply hurt, he countered “I get stir-crazy round the house on my own…. This working from home idea brings temptations…”, he had explained. Christine very much didn't understand but got some comfort from his promises that it was no more than just dressing up, no sex, and he did not fancy men. She believed that now…….
That had been her real concern. There are plenty of stories in the tabloid newspapers of men “living double lives”, “discovering their true sexuality” or “coming out of the closet” in later life. She didn’t much fancy that situation in her own relationship. So… he cross-dressed….. was it just as simple as that?
Now, driving to Heathrow to catch her flight to Washington, she regretted how she had reacted. It had all got out of hand…… After all, there WAS no other woman, There WAS a harmless explanation, there WAS no need to bring things to the state they had reached since.
Christine knew Andy would be spending the time she was in Washington dressed, they had reached a sort of understanding — she did not ask and he did not volunteer. But she had spent months being resentful and argumentative when they were together. It had ruined many of the brief moments they had together. She always regretted it when she left. Times like now.
Her work took her away a lot and it meant a lot to her, but not enough to risk her marriage….. after this trip, even if she could get her onto the Board if she could land the consulting contract she was going to Washington for, she would quit.
The deal was hers to win. Her mind moved on to work and she did not think any more until,
guiltily, she 'phoned home from the U.S.A, two days later, to talk to Andy, just to say all was well.
The trouble was, Andy wasn’t there…… (This was two days into his time with Jenny.)
By the time Christine phoned him, Andy was staying at Jenny’s house.
By the time she called, he was playing the part of Karen……
Christine cried herself to sleep in a lonely central Washington 44th-Floor apartment.
(Now, it’s time to get back to the lovers who are finishing getting ready for a night on the Town…)
Getting ready for dinner….
Jenny dressed while Karen laid on the bed, where she was nursing her feelings from the mirror. They had plenty of time…….. There was the Champagne to open and drink, there was the gift — of some delicious nightwear for Karen — and there was the short drive to St. Ives. All of which would take up the near- three hours’ interval they had.
Jenny prepared her face after washing thoroughly; with lots of moisturizer, bronzing and blusher. She used more than usual in mascara, eyeliner and lipstick…. This was an “evening out”, after all! So what if the look was a little tarty… it might make Karen feel more at ease if they were both “glammed up”….. They were not “out on the pull” trying to attract the other sex, but they might as well feel that they could!
She pulled up her waist cincher that gave her a nice curvy figure and slipped into her sexiest black, lacy bra and panties. Over the top, she chose to wear a classic “LBN” — the little back cocktail dress that left little to the imagination!
“You look stunning!” Karen murmured as Jenny finished her preparations by combing through her hair and back-brushing for volume and height.
“It’s all for you, my love!” purred Jenny in reply. “Come down stairs and close your eyes, because I have a surprise or two for you….”
She led Karen to the landing and down the steep stairs in the little house. She held Karen’s hand and didn’t release her when the pair reached the living room.
Jenny made a mental note…… Karen needed her fingernails doing before they left for the restaurant! Time wouldn’t allow her toenails to be done as well, but the court shoes she was wearing had hidden her toes in any case!
Within a minute, Karen had been plied with Champagne and was opening a beautifully-wrapped box — a present from her lover. Jenny had spent a long time choosing what proved to be, for Karen, a breathtaking surprise. THE most adorable matching nightdress and dressing gown set, in china blue silk with white lace surrounds. “For you to wear when we get home tonight!” exclaimed Jenny.
“Oh, you little beauty!” Karen shouted as she leapt across the room to gather Jenny in her arms and engage in the longest kiss and deepest that they had ever enjoyed.
**********
As they left the car in the Porthgwidden car park, at the far end of the quayside, there was a five minute walk to the restaurant. Cobbled pathways were not the easiest for Karen to walk on in her, albeit low, heels. Nevertheless, she made her best efforts to walk in as feminine a way as she could. It was a ‘balmy’ evening, meaning that it was warm for the time of year. Karen therefore didn’t need a coat. The warm breeze rustled her dress and gave pleasure between her thighs. It made her feel all the more girly……. She began to hum the tune of “I enjoy being a girl…” Every word was true and applied to her perfectly.
Hearing her lover humming a song quietly, Jenny said “Happy?.... I do hope you are…. because I’ve probably never been happier!” Karen smiled at her girlfriend and squeezed her hand more tightly, her freshly lacquered fingernails digging in to the soft flesh of Jenny’s hand.
They reached the doors of the chosen restaurant, Alba, just as Karen first felt the eyes of a male passer-by focus on her. Yes, indeed, she was being ‘ogled’ as the Cornish say…… lecherous man!!
SOME DIFFERENCES ALREADY — HOPE YOU LIKE THEM — FROM THIS POINT, MY STORY, “TOTAL RECALL”, IS GOING INTERACTIVE, WITH YOU, DEAR READER, BEING ASKED TO GIVE ME FEEDBACK ON TWO ALTERNATIVE ENDINGS FOR THE WHOLE SAGA…
YOU’LL LEARN MORE ABOUT KAREN’S WIFE…… AND THERE WILL BE TWO QUITE DIFFERENT ENDINGS.
PLEASE TELL ME WHICH YOU PREFER…. AND WHY!... WHEN YOU HAVE READ BOTH!
LOTS OF LOVE, GINGER xxxx
Let’s resume the story with the first of two alternative endings……(Your choice between this ending and what YOU MAY HAVE READ as Chapter 18, begins here, dear Reader).
(Thank you in advance for your feedback!)
Andy had planned a surprise of his own for Jenny. The Champagne was swimming around his head and the joy of the night to come filled his thoughts with their return to Jenny’s cottage. But he had rehearsed a flirtation which comprised the lyrics of the song Karen was humming as the pair of girls walked along the quayside.
They entered the restaurant though the floor-to-ceiling glazed doors and were directed upstairs, through a throng of early diners who were finishing their meals. Jenny and Karen were among the first of the later group who would be there until the restaurant closed. A more romantic group, it was sure to be. The Jazz musicians were just tuning their instruments as the girls passed by to the foot of the stairs.
Karen was conscious of her heels ‘clacking’ on the wooden staircase. It was warm in the place, so not wearing a coat had been a good decision. As she climbed the stairs, Karen felt “All Girl”, her confidence restored.
As they sat, the little waitress, a pretty Italian girl with long curly hair and bright sparkling eyes, asked if they wanted to order drinks before the music started.
“Great idea…” said Jenny immediately. Indicating her role as the decision-maker for the two ladies, she went on to say “…… a bottle of PureBlu Sparkling water to start with, and the wine list please.” PureBlu is a local Cornish brand of mineral water. Karen didn’t know it and was taken by the design of the bottle when it arrived; screen printed with a picture of blue and white surf . Free spirits… perfect for the night, this special night!
The Wine list lay unexplored while the girls exchanged small talk, about the surroundings, the décor and the staff…… a perfect beginning…. The other tables upstairs were largely unoccupied, so the room was relatively quiet. The Jazz was more sublte phrasings now not the tuning of instruments. It created a wonderful atmosphere. Jenny poured two glasses of water…..
Karen felt the time was right to bring his surprise forward. Andy unfolded a card with writing upon it, then took Jenny’s hand and said, “I have something to say to you…..”
She went on to read the following words (not sing them!)……
(with apologies to Miss Peggy Lee and the writers of the lyrics….)
(You know the other verses….!)
“When I have a brand new hairdo
With my eyelashes all in curl,
I float as the clouds on air do,
I enjoy being a girl!”
and so on, and so on……….
“When you have eyes that smoulder
That say you love ev'ry silken curl
That falls on my iv'ry shoulder,
I enjoy being a girl!”
By now, Jenny was squeezing Karen’s hand and had a tear in her eye.
“I'm strictly a female female
And my future I hope will be
In the home of a beautiful female
Who'll enjoy being a gal having a girl... like... me.”
Karen finished reading, Jenny was overwhelmed and just stared into Karen’s eyes, unable to speak. She traced her own burgundy-coloured fingernails over Karen’s….
“You do know I’ve not felt love like this for anyone, ever… don’t you?” Jenny confessed. Her thoughts were, however, getting confused, with the back-drop of ‘the Wife’ returning and what the consequences would be…… Yes, she loved Karen; yes, she loved Andy when he was Andy……
But was that the basis of a future that they could share……… Jenny was having second thoughts — even as this romantic evening unfolded………
“No, I really didn’t…. not until now.” Karen answered. Andy was always the one to say he loved Jenny… it would be lovely if she would tell him she felt the same way more often.. but this was a joy….. ‘not felt love like this for anyone….’ WOW!
Conscious that hand-holding wasn’t the done thing for two girls — this early in the night! — Jenny broke the spell for a moment (knowing it would return). She had seen the waitress arriving at the top of the stairs….. heading in their direction.
She turned to look out of the window against which their table was placed — the best table in the place! A beautiful view was to be found, as the rays of the setting sun bathed the seascape. Her second thoughts were troubling her as she looked out over the sea, towards the Lighthouse that was immortalized 70 years ago by Virginia Woolf…… easily visible from the restaurant gallery window!
Where now was Andy’s wife…?
Christine had cried herself to sleep in her lonely central Washington 44th-Floor apartment after arriving for her business meeting. Her lapse in confidence behind her, she strode the streets of the U.S. capital determined to succeed in the negotiations with this new client. Nevertheless, she knew she would be crying the morning before she would depart on her return to England. Today, she was going ‘for the kill’, seeking to clinch the deal that would bring sky-high fees to her firm, and a Board directorship to herself! No tears, no fears!
The meeting went as well as it could possibly have done. The clients were like little pussy-cats and agreed to almost everything that Christine had proposed to them. The signatures were written on the contracts that she had pre-prepared. This was business of the highest calibre and would secure the future for all involved. She smiled to herself.
Because of her skills and experience — and her killer instincts. She reflected before the ink was dry on the Contract Note.
Delivery would be easy. She thought as she closed her lap-top and valise.
If I’m with my firm any longer, that is! She thought.
On the return taxi trip to her hotel, where she would remain this evening after a concluding, celebratory, dinner, Christine reflected on the life she would be returning to.
If she stayed with the firm, as the client would expect, this contract would take up a lot of her time. It would mean regular travel to the U.S. It would mean much more time away from home. It would mean leaving Andy alone much more — at the mercy of his own instincts and desires………
It was a great risk and one to be assessed very carefully. The contract was won. It would be as it would be. Did she still love him? Did she still love him enough to work out a way to accommodate her career? Answers; Yes! She loved him, Yes! She loved him enough whether or not her career could continue………
Did she love him enough to accommodate his, er… ‘special interests’ when she was away? Could she accommodate his ‘interests’ when they were together. She somehow - whilst she once doubted it — now, she felt certain she could.
Christine had reached Andy by phone later in the week — on just two of the few occasions that he had been home. She had asked him where he’d been — without exerting pressure — and his answers were matter-of-fact and didn’t enflame her suspicions. Well, Andy, you have to live how you wanna live, she thought. Maybe I just wanna live with you more now than before…..
She slept very badly in her hotel room, after fending off the efforts of a colleague to seduce her — the same one that always tried when they were away on business. Her thoughts kept returning to her resentment that Andy had let her find out his ‘secret’ instead of being open and ‘up front’ with her. She cried again, partly in confusion, and partly wishing her love would survive. Sleep was difficult to find, but she would sleep on the flight.
Her transfer to the airport, Saturday, was trouble-free; no colleagues, no seducers, no clients still to be entertained. Just Christine, on her own. A confident, attractive mature business person…… who had a husband she was going home to who dressed in her clothes from time-to-time.
Standing in line to check herself onto the flight, Christine’s thoughts again returned to her husband…… This has to stop, she thought, …..either I’ve got to stop hating him for his dressing, or “wham-bam, thank you Mam… it’s over”.
At check-in, she nearly confided exactly that to the Checking Clerk. It wouldn’t have been so bad if, in those early days, he’d found a way to involve her more in his party games…… She might have found she liked it more…… He was obviously unable to handle the emotions involved…… She wasn’t so difficult to talk to, WAS SHE?! Walking to the Gate, she went further…. She enjoyed fucking, hugely, she enjoyed it. She was one sexy woman…… It was just that his girly side was too much competition…… She wanted to be fucked like a girl… by a man…… Never mind that he didn’t have a huge cock that was always available…. Maybe, if she had a girlfriend who was…… always available?!
Christine settled down in her seat and ordered a large Champagne — “Because I’m worth it!”, she said to the Business Class hostess who served her.
The more she thought about the whole situation on the flight back home to England, the more she felt that way. There was a show-down coming and, though he may not know it, Andy’s future was going to be very different. She would be calling him from the airport after arrival, before checking in to an airport hotel at Heathrow. She would be driving all that way the following day — Sunday — 300 miles — to get home. That way, if he was dressed, he could be sat down and have it explained to him…. That she expected to be ASKED if it was ok… before he dressed. That she EXPECTED to be involved in dressing him…….
She took out the laptop which had accompanied her all through the visit, including the presentation and the negotiations. She had let her Boss know the success. Now she was going to write him an e-mail that would put ‘the cat among the pigeons’….
It was her untimatum…. "My way — or no way”
The details need not concern you, dear reader, but Christine finished as follows:
This is the biggest contract we, as a firm, have ever won. I will be pleased to lead on its delivery, but I shall only do this on a part-time basis, including time spent working from home. A maximum of two weeks in four, with no more than one-in-four away from home. I trust that this is acceptable. Sincerely, Christine.
PS: …And for the same salary!
She knew it would make sense. It was she that had won the contract. It was she who the Client would want to run the project. It was her expertise that would deliver the pproject goals on time, within budget…….. The firm had no option… her boss had to accede to her requirements…….. And she would spend more time with Andy.
She pulled down the window blind, sat back in her sleeper seat and closed her eyes. At last, she found peace that Saturday night …..enough to sleep for four hours or more. She woke to a fresh orange juice…… and a yearning in her thighs for a wonderful re-awakening of her and Andy’s sex life, as soon as she got home to Cornwall.
Back to the Lovers in St. Ives.
Jenny and Karen ordered their food and a couple of glasses of New Zealand sauvignon blanc to start with. That would follow nicely from the Champagne. Jenny also selected a special bottle of wine — a rich Australian shiraz that would give a heady alcoholic background to the fucking that was to come. Her assertiveness made her feel very comfortable. Karen was hers to do what she wished.
This Friday evening was going so well, helped by the Champagne, the glasses of white wine and the promise of the meaty red wine to come ……. Both girls were very much in the mood for love. They were also, words unspoken, both looking forward to a night of wonderful fucking.
Over the main course, their conversation, having started so lyrically with Karen’s words of the song, led to outright suggestions at every pause. Suggestions, very quietly voiced, about sex.
“You really must show me what you can do like you did on Tuesday…” said Jenny.
“Only if you’ll return the compliment at the same time……”, said her lover.
“Will you wear your new nightgown tonight? I do hope you will”, asked Jenny.
“If you’ll show me how to wear it to its best advantage, I will”, was Karen’s reply.
“Does my lipstick look OK?” Karen asked in the next breath….
“Good enough to kiss right now….” whispered Jenny, her eyes twinkling.
“Dare you!”, said Karen, teasingly licking her lips.
“Shhhhh!.....” Jenny replied, thinking what attention that would bring!
Jenny’s secret concerns were about to surface. She really found herself getting more and more pre-occupied as the evening unfolded. The sexier their conversation became, the more Jenny’s concerns became worries. She felt that, maybe, just maybe, this whole thing was spinning out of control……..
“We have to make the most of tonight and tomorrow night……. You do know that, don’t you? Sunday’s going to change things……” Jenny said, risking ruining the evening.. but it had to be talked about……. “I mean, we’ll have to think…..” She hesitated for the right words. “….well, about what to do……. I’ve discovered a very special kind of love with you in these past few days, darling…. And I really don’t want it to stop …….. But we have to slow down just a little, I think, and I have to know if that’s the way you’re feeling too……..
I’m not ready to live together with you, even if you are already. I mean, I don’t know if you’ve ever thought of living as “the other woman” with someone, I just don’t know……”
There! She’d jumped in with both feet now! Where would it lead?!!
Jenny had known that a discussion like this was inevitable…
Karen began to think, resisting the temptation to blurt out a reply……. Maybe not here and not now, she dreamed, but she could see Jenny’s rationale…. There was bedtime to get to. There was a night of delirious fucking to enjoy…… It could’ve waited until tomorrow, Saturday, which was when she would have broached the subject with Jenny if they hadn’t reached that point before.
So, now it was Friday and they had two nights to take in the importance of whatever was the outcome…… She, herself, didn’t truly know her innermost feelings. Andy realized that a crucial cross-roads was approaching and that this needed careful handling.
“Darling, I’m just enjoying being here with you, tonight, as we are, as I’ve loved all of the last few days. What we’ve done together. How close we’ve grown in such a short time….
There’s been no other experiences in my life like these. I really do feel we could be a couple… a pair….. indivisible…… meant for eachother……… The special relationship we’ve built needs time to settle, otherwise it could be everso fragile — that’s the only thing that worries me. There’s so much at stake…….”
Jenny smiled her sweetest smile, her lipstick-laden mouth inviting attention.
Her uncertainty was genuine. They both had much to gain, but much to lose — Karen more than herself perhaps. After all, she wasn’t married, whereas Karen, or Andy, was….
Jenny had no steady boyfriend or partner to speak of. Her past relationships had ended mainly in great hurt for herself. That didn’t make her distrustful of men… or in this case, a woman with “added benefits”! She hadn’t stopped to think about it all, but she knew she was right, it had to be thought about. Now was probably not a bad time, depending on the outcome, and there was always the fucking tonight that would cover up their tracks!
Thankfully neither she nor Karen had a history of abuse by others. All of their intimate secrets were happy ones, albeit her partings from previous boyfriends had not all been easy. That should make it easy. They agreed to talk about “Sunday” when they got home.
They had talked in very quiet tones so that those surrounding them in the tiny restaurant would not gain insights into their relationship. They avoided, almost, any ‘touchy-feely’ contact such as hand-holding; that would come as they left. Their suggestive motions, like lip-licking, fingernail-tracing along lip-lines, twisting hair tendrils, or prolonged eye-to-eye contact were kept to a minimum, at least as little of a minimum as they could bear.
Casual observers would see two pretty women dining together — a ‘girl’s night out’. More assiduous observers would have been able to tell that there was more to their relationship than met the eye.
“So what! Who cares?!” Karen would say as they left the restaurant, hand-in-hand, at
around eleven thirty p.m. They walked back along the quayside towards the car park and, as it was later, naturally attracted some attention from the pub-goers who lined their walk.
They chose to ignore any ‘cat-calls’ and, instead, paused under a streetlamp to engage in a full mouth-on-mouth, deep throated kiss, that lingered as long as they both felt comfortable. This was the kind of place where guys would have been kissing eachother all evening. Lesbians, being fewer in number would be more of an object of interest….. “So, let ‘em call!” Karen laughed.
Jenny, reaching the car first, unlocked the vehicle and then came round to open the door for Karen to enter — a very assertive motion, to which Karen responded with a cocquetish “Why, thank you honey!”, fluttering her eyelashes as she said this.
Now sitting in the car, she smoothed the skirt across her lap, leaving the knees exposed with their nylon stockings clearly seen. Her suspender belt tugged beautifully, reminding her of those pretty undies! She remembered to open her purse and take out her lipstick, preparing to freshen the look.
Before she could do so, Karen felt Jenny’s hand come around her neck as her lover’s face came close to her own. Jenny kissed her again, fulsomely on the lips, whispering, “Let me take you home.” Jenny’s concerns abated for the time being. There was tomorrow to talk. Tonight was for fucking……!!
“Oh, yessss. ……Please!!!!!”, said Karen, giving exactly the right answer once more!
Of course, when they got home, the last thing on their minds was “Sunday”……..!!
**********
It’s now Saturday morning……… Dear Reader, if you wish, you have the opportunity to write your own paragraphs about the time that the girls enjoyed when they returned to Jenny’s little house, and all the wonderful pleasures they gave, again, to eachother. Just………Imagine!!!
It’s sufficient to tell you that they both slept well, however briefly, afterwards, and both woke long after the sun had risen, casting sunbeams over their bed.
The morning aroused some continuing passions, meaning that — apart from coffee and light breakfast which Jenny served to Karen — it was nearly lunchtime before they left the bedroom.
Both knew that the need to talk about “Sunday” and its consequences was increasingly urgent.
Both knew that it had to be done in a relaxed way…… Well, there was all day for that…. But it shouldn’t be left until evening…. Because there was more sex to be had!!
Jenny was first to take steps out into the garden where, alone for half an hour while Karen showered herself, it was possible to get her thoughts in a semblance of order. They loved eachother, that was undisputable. They shared lots of similar interests, most notably in bed! They had very different lives to lead, Jenny’s was much less complicated than Andy’s.
(Yes, for this purpose, he was Andy, not Karen) They were financially independent. They both had homes, except Andy’s was shared with a Wife — a ‘complication!’. Jenny was answerable to nobody — apart from her horse! Andy was answerable to his Wife.
What would the woman be like? Would Jenny ever meet her? SHOULD Jenny ever meet her?!
What they had both found in eachother was wonderful, but was it for keeps? Jenny herself was 50-something. Andy had just turned 60. Where would their futures lie. Could he stand the stress of divorce? Jenny herself could, she was sure…. But could Andy? A crucial question. Sex conquers most things, for a time…. But it’s LOVE that conquers all! Jenny planned how to say what she wanted to say.
Could they exist as lovers, meeting clandestinely, keeping secrets to avoid ‘complications’, or would it all be found out eventually? The more she thought, the more Jenny couldn’t face the whole “great eruption, blood on the stairs, divorce or die” situation that open confession to the Wife would provoke. It had to be kept secret, this relationship. If it was to continue.
Jenny felt that it was her responsibility to broach the subject. How to do it? Her mind was torn between something formal, when they were doing nothing else in particular and, on the other hand, when they were huddled-up close, maybe watching an old movie on the television. She opted for the latter. There were two or three movies on that afternoon.
It didn’t really matter which… but maybe the most romantic? Julia Roberts and Hugh Grant… their “Notting Hill” film was light and happy enough……. That was on (again!) just after lunchtime….. It would make a nice back-drop to a maybe quite serious discussion.
Karen’s thinking was less ordered — in fact, it was totally muddled…….. she just knew it had to be done sometime…. Maybe in the garden after lunch, as the sun was shining? She finished her shower and put on some of Jenny’s light, white cotton trousers that were cut at mid-calf level, exposing painted toe-nails on her bare feet. Her top was covered with a lacy summer bra under an equally light blouse that showed the bra off to good effect.
I’ll have to buy some silicone insets soon! thought Karen as she admired her outfit in the mirror She spritzed herself with perfume, applied light pink lipstick and brushed her “Gypsy” style hair before going into the garden.
Neither of them was hungry — except for more sex — so they agreed to make do with another bottle of red wine. This time, Jenny chose a lovely New Zealand Pinot Noir, light and suitable for flirting on a summer’s day.
The weather proved to be the deciding factor…… The sky was blue and there was a gentle breeze. It would be the garden for the afternoon! What better place for two women, falling in love as they were, to talk about how they would sort out “issues”.
They both knew what those “issues” were…..
Jenny had found a second swimsuit — a one-piece figure-forming one with small breast cups that she thought would suit Karen. She passed it to Karen on her way out, having dressed in her own bikini. “Go on, you just try it… another different experience…. You have to wear your heeled shoes and you have to freshen your make-up, and I’ll see you in the garden.” , Jenny said as she left the room.
Jenny knew that Karen wouldn’t need to be told twice.
“Oh, yesssss! You look wonderful!”, said Jenny as Karen made her entrance into the garden.
They lay together on sunbeds in the garden, enjoying the silence that surrounded them. There was only the distant noise of the sea breaking on the rocks around their nearest beach.
“Isn’t it lovely, just being here….?”, mused Jenny, preparing her “Keep it Secret” thoughts….
“Mmmm, just the sound of the waves so far away, it’s fabulous….”, replied Karen, her eyes closed in the sunlight, still not knowing how to start their “discussion”.
“We have to talk, you and me, my darling…. There’s things you need to know about me,
before I ask you something………”, Andy began, hesitatingly, unsure where this would end…..
Jenny smiled and just said, “I know…. We do…. But I don’t want anything to change….”
“But it has to, at least a bit….can you handle that? It’ll be for the best, I’m sure….” Karen began.
“Oh, there be things you need to know about me too, moi lover” said Jenny in her exaggerated Cornish dialect, laughing at herself. “Oi can ‘andle it quoit well, Oi thinks!” ……joking.
“Well, I’ll tell you mine after you tell me yours!”, joked Karen.
“Only if you promises to show me thine soon!” was Jenny’s reply.
Undeterred, Jenny went on, speaking in his softest “Cornish-speak” that she was exaggerating when they spoke together as lovers. “You see, to start with Oi knows you has a woife, but what Oi don’t know is how much she’s aware of yours enjoyment of women’s clothes. Oi’ve guessed that she knows, not everything boi any means, but she knows, ‘cos she b’ain’t be stupid!”
“Well, no, I might have said she knew….” Karen murmured.
“Oh yes, but there’s a trouble……She refuses to play the game and indulge your passion, tha’ss clear to me, even though she knows you’s w’d do anything for her if she had other interests. I mean…. You would, wouldn’t you?” Jenny pressed home the fact that all was not well at home….
“You mean, like sexy things she likes….?” Karen played for time.
“So what do you do to find out what she likes?” Jenny questioned. “Have you really tried to please her, the way SHE wants to be pleased.
“Have I hell?!!.... it’s reached the stage where we fuck hardly ever and I go down on her pussy every time, just to get her in the mood. And if it’s not that, I’m helping her with a dildo which I usually end up licking round….. I don’t mind doing that — in fact, I love it… but not every time…. She doesn’t do anything for me and my passions….” Karen was opening the ‘honesty box’ for sure…..
“Why do I do those things…? Because I’ve been in love with her — probably more than she has been with me — for years. I’m not difficult to satisfy… and I know I’m not masterful in bed, so doing these things isn’t a problem for me…… I know she’s grown away from loving me and, now with her job taking her away more, we may be losing it for good……”
“But you’re really feeling that you’re praying it’s not over between the two of you?” Jenny asked, her concern showing. “……that you’d get back with her if she’d be around more, and if she’d play your games a little?” This is the crux of the matter, thought Jenny. If this woman comes back, he’ll do anything to keep her…..
“Well, maybe….but I want you to know that’s not why I’ve fallen in love with Jenny, my hairdresser…. You are unique… You’re just the best! The best lover I could ever wish for and, even if you said I had to stop dressing tomorrow, I’d agree and I’d want to stay with
you and live with you for always….”
There, he’d said what he wanted to say… that he loved Jenny and would do anything to stay with her. He had to go on…. What would this mean?
“I know this means I have to face up to Christine and what her feelings are. I don’t think she really wants to stay with me for much longer…. But she might. I have to find out. She has her career and a separate, ‘business’ life to live. I realize that I may lose her and not find something permanent with you. I’m frightened that I might lose you, Jenny….”
“Am I the best just because I like you dressing?”, asked Jenny cautiously…….. If that’s all it is….
“No, no, no…. it’s for much more than that…. Honestly! That’s almost incidental, even though you know I love it… being like this…..” Karen answered, stroking her swimsuit as she lay in the sun….. “You feel closer to me than Christine ever did… I just love being with you…. And you’re beautiful…. And you make other women beautiful every day of your life! I’d love to be part of your life, for always.”
“So what does this mean, for you and for her?” Jenny was keeping her thoughts to herself. It was possible that Andy was making much of this devotion up to suit the situation they were in, here and now, this afternoon, before this Christine woman arrives home….. Sunday!
“It means I should tell her there’s a real problem, as soon as she comes home on Sunday… see how she is, of course, but not lose sight of what’s a decision in my mind. We’re not going to live together again. She doesn’t need me and, though I loved her, it’s all too much hassle when we’re together now…..
It means that it would take me time to get things sorted, but it also means I’d love for you to be there for me…. For “us” …… in a few weeks time probably…… We could continue as we are for that time, but maybe I could move in with you — or you with me — before autumn’s over……”
Andy realized that Jenny had said very little in the midst of all his ramblings……..
“It’s a big ask, I know, but would you take me…….. as your wife?”
“But what if your woifey comes home feeling different… as well she moight…. And what if she loves you all over again. Where does this leave lil’ me?????? Jenny just didn’t know….
MORE ABOUT CHRISTINE AND MORE ABOUT JENNY’S FEELINGS WILL BE FOUND, AS THE ORIGINAL STORY CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 20…….. AND ENDS THERE.
THIS ALTERNATIVE ENDING CONTINUES IN CHAPTER 21…….. YOUR CHOICE WHICH TO READ FIRST!...... DON’T FORGET………FEEDBACK PLEASE!!!!!!!!!
Total Recall
Chapter 20
Epilogue - 1st version, (original theme)
Sunday approaches and Karen and Jenny have agreed the way the day should go…….
Christine is on her way to Cornwall, not knowing even that Jenny exists!
Dramatis personae
Jenny — hairdresser, 44 years old, born and raised locally in Cornwall. Has travelled the world, including working in hair and beauty on cruise liners, but now runs her own business in a little village near the artists mecca of St. Ives. She loves her horses and the freedom of her independent life. Has no long-term steady partner. Genuinely hetero but has enjoyed all-girl relationships in the past. Swept up in the last couple of weeks in a relationship with Andy whose fantasy she has indulged…. and enjoyed! Very girly and loves being so.
Karen — 60-ish self-employed male, born Andy, who works from home — once in London, now mainly in rural Cornwall, has had a love-hate affair with his crossdressing. It’s been both a source of happiness and a source of sadness. Married to Christine who hasn’t understood his passion in the past and whose career has increasingly taken her away, leaving Andy to play his alter ego, Karen, more and more. Has a strong fetish for hair and beauty. When dressed, feels very girly and loves being so.
Christine — 50+, successful businesswoman who travels frequently. Had children early in life with their father, Andy. Discovered his crossdressing over 20 years ago. Not interested or turned on by that in any way. Resents him/it. Christine knows nothing of the existence of Jenny or Andy’s new relationship with her. Divides her time between travels and hotels, meetings with colleagues and pitching/delivering to her management consulting clients. Was once quite girly but has let her job dictate that she’s become ‘very business-like’ to the exclusion of her femininity.
It’s Sunday morning, and a confrontation is due. Christine has been away from home for a couple of weeks. During that time, Andy found the courage to engage with, and have the help of, Jenny, the local salon’s owner. He had been a regular client of hers long before realizing that, should he decide to get a make-over, Jenny could be the ideal ‘partner’. After Christine’s departure to the U.S.A. on a business trip, Andy plucked up the courage………
Sunday morning dawns with Christine setting off, driving her own car, in the direction of home in Cornwall. She had over-nighted in a hotel at London’s Heathrow Airport. It would be nearly four hours before her arrival. Today, she would seek a show-down with Andy about his crossdressing which , she knew, he indulged while she was away on business.
Meanwhile, Karen, Andy’s female half, and Jenny, who had become his lover by now, were enjoying breakfast after an evening’s dinner and wonderful night of sex at Jenny’s little house in the little village of Marazion where she lives.
“Are you going to meet her at home?” Jenny asked, still not sure of Andy’s plans.
“I think it would be best…….” said Andy.
“Are you going to meet her as Karen?” Jenny thought she knew the answer.
“I think it would be too much of a confrontation. But she will meet Karen today.” He answered.
“I think she’ll guess that something’s changed, even if you’re not dressed…. Or made-up. You hair is inescapably female. Do you want some help with it? There’s a way that we can calm it all down, whilst preserving the curls, and then have you liven it up before her seeing you dressed. I’ll show you how……” Jenny offered, wanting the encounter with Christine to lead on to her finding Andy on her doorstep that evening… to stay!
Andy, or rather Karen, smiled nervously, but assuredly. It was to be this way.
********
Christine turned her key in the lock of their cottage. She hadn’t called to tell Andy what time she would be home but he could work that out for himself.
“Anyone home?” she called. Andy, dressed as Andy, was upstairs, fiddling with his hair and checking that, for now, there was no trace of make-up on his face and neck-line. He wore his favourite girl panties and a light bra under his shirt and heavy sweater, just to give comfort and pleasure. I’m gonna go through with this…. He thought to himself.
So, down the stairs he went, to where Christine was unloading her care.
“Hi, honey…” he said, hoping she would be at least amenable. “…. How was your trip?”
“God, thanks….. I’m tired really, the flight was long and I didn’t sleep too well. The drive home has been heavy with loads of traffic and lousy weather for much of it…” she said, looking at Andy with increasing curiosity. “You look different….. How are you?.......... I know, it’s the hair…. What have you done to your hair…….. You’ve never been curly like that……. I mean, I see it’s flattened but there’s a real curl about it? How come?”
“Come and have a coffee…. I’ve got some things to tell you……..”
********
Back at Jenny’s, in the early evening, Karen arrived at the door and said…… “It wasn’t how I wanted it to be… It wasn’t amicable…. It was horrendous. I didn’t get as far as dressing and showing her how we could be together if she’d give me just a little space….. It was awful. She’s packed off to stay in Penzance, going back to London and she’ll be sending for her stuff next week. I really wanted her to meet you and to get to know you….. But that’s not going to happen.”
“Looks like back to square one….. for us I mean……..” said Jenny, smiling and reaching out her hand. “Come on inside. I was dreading never seeing you again…….”
AND THE REST IS A HAPPY ENDING, ALBEIT WITH A FRACTURED RELATIONSHIP.
THE END
FEEDBACK NO LONGER EXPECTED!
Total Recall
Chapter 21
Epilogue - 2nd version, (alternative theme)
Sunday approaches and Karen and Jenny have agreed the way the day should go…….
Christine is on her way to Cornwall, not knowing even that Jenny exists!
Dramatis personae
Jenny — hairdresser, 44 years old, born and raised locally in Cornwall. Has travelled the world, including working in hair and beauty on cruise liners, but now runs her own business in a little village near the artists mecca of St. Ives. She loves her horses and the freedom of her independent life. Has no long-term steady partner. Genuinely hetero but has enjoyed all-girl relationships in the past. Swept up in the last couple of weeks in a relationship with Andy whose fantasy she has indulged…. and enjoyed! Very girly and loves being so. Worried that the return of “Wifey” may turn Andy’s head and mean she loses Karen as her lover.
Karen — 60-ish self-employed male, born Andy, who works from home — once in London, now mainly in rural Cornwall, has had a love-hate affair with his crossdressing. It’s been both a source of happiness and a source of sadness. Married to Christine who hasn’t understood his passion in the past and whose career has increasingly taken her away, leaving Andy to play his alter ego, Karen, more and more. Has a strong fetish for hair and beauty. When dressed, feels very girly and loves being so. Uncertain how Christine will behave on her return but hopeful she’ll have changed her mind.
Christine — 50+, successful businesswoman who travels frequently. Had children early in life with their Father, Andy. Discovered his crossdressing over 20 years ago. Not interested or turned on by that in any way. Resented him/it for years, with resulting loss of a sex life between them. Stayed together for the ‘sake of the children’. Christine knows nothing of the existence of Jenny or Andy’s new relationship with her. Divides her time between travels and hotels, meetings with colleagues and pitching/delivering to her management consulting clients. Was once quite girly but has let her job dictate that she’s become ‘very business-like’ to the exclusion of her femininity. Has resolved, while in the U.S., to come home and make a fresh start…….
It’s Sunday morning, and a confrontation is due. Christine has been away from home for a couple of weeks. During that time, Andy found the courage to engage with, and have the help of, Jenny, the local salon’s owner. He had been a regular client of hers long before realizing that, should he decide to get a make-over. After Christine’s departure to the U.S.A. on a business trip, Andy plucked up the courage………Jenny did a wonderful job and that led to his spending more, and more, time with her. Jenny could be the ideal ‘partner’.
Sunday morning dawns with Christine setting off, driving her own car, in the direction of home in Cornwall. She had over-nighted in a hotel at London’s Heathrow Airport. It would be nearly four hours before her arrival. Today, she would seek a rapprochement with Andy about his crossdressing which, she if she handled it right and with her permission, he could continue in a limited way.
Meanwhile, Karen, Andy’s female half, and Jenny, who had become his lover by now, were enjoying breakfast after an evening’s dinner and wonderful night of sex at Jenny’s little house in the little village of Marazion where she lives.
“Are you going to meet her at home?” Jenny asked, still not sure of Andy’s plans.
“I think it would be best…….” said Andy.
“Are you going to meet her as Karen?” Jenny thought she knew the answer.
“I think it would be too much of a confrontation. But she will meet Karen today.” He answered.
“I think she’ll guess that something’s changed, even if you’re not dressed…. Or made-up. You hair is inescapably female. Do you want some help with it? There’s a way that we can calm it all down, whilst preserving the curls, and then have you liven it up before her seeing you dressed. I’ll show you how……” Jenny offered, wanting the encounter with Christine to lead on to her finding Andy on her doorstep that evening… to stay!
Andy, or rather Karen, smiled nervously, but assuredly. It was to be this way.
********
Christine turned her key in the lock of their cottage. She hadn’t called to tell Andy what time she would be home but he could work that out for himself.
“Anyone home?” she called. Andy, dressed as Andy, was upstairs, fiddling with his hair and checking that, for now, there was no trace of make-up on his face and neck-line. He wore his favourite girl panties and a light bra under his shirt and heavy sweater, just to give comfort and pleasure. I’m gonna go through with this…. He thought to himself.
So, down the stairs he went, to where Christine was unloading her care.
“Hi, honey…” he said, hoping she would be at least amenable. “…. How was your trip?”
“Good, thanks….. And I’m not too tired really, the flight was long and I did sleep quite well. The drive home has been quite easy with no traffic and lousy weather for only a bit of it…” she said, looking at Andy with increasing curiosity.
“You look different….. How are you?..........” and she paused, “…….I know, it’s the hair…. What have you done to your hair…….. You’ve never been curly like that……. I mean, I see it’s flattened but there’s a real curl about it? How come? I actually quite like it…….”
Christine was right. She knew he’d changed his hair and it must have been part of his dressing while she was away. She was determined not to let this dissuade her from seeking that rapprochement ……
“Come and have a coffee…. I’ve got some things to tell you……..”
********
Back at Jenny’s, in the early evening, Karen arrived at the door and said…… “I’ve got someone I want you to meet……….. I really want her to meet you and to get to know you….. Can we come in?, …….please? ”
Jenny was stunned….. “This wasn’t how I expected it to be…..!” She looked over Karen’s shoulder (yes, this was Karen, not Andy) and thought…… He’s dressed….And she’s with him… er, … her! She must be OK with it… I thought he said it was all a source of conflict between them…..!!! What….???
“I’m pleased to meet you, Jenny….” said Christine, holding out her hand to shake….. “…You’ve been a great help to my husband, it seems, while I’ve been away……. I think you might be the right person to do me a make-over too!”
“Looks like a new square one….. for all of us I mean……..” said Jenny, smiling and reaching out her hand. “Come on inside. I was dreading never seeing you …….”
AND THE REST IS A HAPPY ENDING,
ALBEIT WITH THREE CHANGED RELATIONSHIPS.
THE END
FEEDBACK NO LONGER EXPECTED!
The love affair continues……………………………….
Total Recall
Chapter 22
by WannabeGinger
Jenny and Karen had spent the afternoon in the garden, taking in the “rays” and talking about the way their love might go in the future, against the imminent background of Christine’s return.
Andy had done most of the talking, it was true, and he was more than a little concerned that Jenny’s feelings hadn’t been expressed sufficiently. He knew what he wanted but he was unsure how Jenny saw this…….
He wanted acceptance of himself as himself, as Karen sometimes, by his wife.
If she was willing to accept him, and put aside past arguments and traumatic scenes, it could work.
If Christine was willing to recognize how he did love her, it would be fine.
If she could understand that, if she didn’t want to share his female self, then Jenny was there for him, that Jenny would always be there………
Thinking this way, Andy realized that what he would be asking was unreasonable. Given the stance that Christine had adopted — no way! ….no dressing! …no ‘girly’ things’ ...... It wouldn’t work……. First, it was too much to ask of Jenny — which was most important. Second, no woman in her right mind would accept such pre-conditions. What would be in it for Christine?
His thoughts continued. No, he decided, there’s gonna be a showdown andI’ll end up with Jenny if I possibly can.
Jenny was laying back in the sunshine, her thoughts were confused. He seems to want her back, to make a go of the marriage again…… Well, if that’s so what have these days together been about?! He hadn’t asked what she was thinking, …… Even if he had, she couldn’t have told him honestly…… She had loved their time together… but was this to be the end of it all………? She desperately hoped not…… but then again, what if it was…? How selfish is he being!
Andy knew then that Karen had to tell Jenny what she intended to do.
“Honey, it’s Saturday…. Let’s have a night in with a movie on the television and some tasty luxury food that we have in the ‘fridge……. And then let’s make love…. All night!”
Jenny was forced to respond. “And what if it’s our last time? What if you go away tomorrow?”
“There’s no chance of that……. I know the marriage is over…….. There’s nothing for her here now, and I wouldn’t dream of expecting her to say she’d changed her mind about everything….”
“Are you serious? You mean, that’s it?..... Over? Finito….? Tostado??”
“I am, really sure I am….. Christine’s not one for changes and U-turns when her position has been clear for a long time. She has her career now…… There will be a row tomorrow and that will be the end of it. It means…… We’ll be free to do whatever we want… if you’ll have me, that is?”
Jenny’s doubts were still clearly evident. “So how are you going to confront her? What will you say/ How will you explain? What do you expect she’ll say?”
“I’ll be Andy — but I’ll be open and honest — I’ll sit her down as soon as she arrives home….. There will be things I want to tell her, and I expect she’ll want to hear only the first few of them…. She’ll not just sit and take it all in. She’ll probably resort to name-calling, and to claiming that she always knew we would reach a point like this… And she’s probably right. So, we’ll get to the point……”
“And what precisely is the point…?”, said Jenny, still unclear where she stood in all of this.
“The point is that she should have her freedom — and we, I hope you’ll agree — will get freedom at the same time….. For us, freedom to live near to, or with, eachother. For her, to get on with her career and leave Cornwall, probably for ever. There will have to be a financial arrangement but we’re not poor, dividing the assets would be easy……. The big question in all of this, Jenny, is will you have me? Have me around…? Please say you will.”
Jenny went silent and delved deep into her innermost thoughts. Some of these had come to her in periods of sleeplessness, perhaps after a good fuck — she rarely slept well after fucking; too much to celebrate! There would be lifestyle changes if this was the outcome. She had to know what these would be.
“Do you mean that you’d move in with me? Here into my little cottage? It’s really not big enough for me, let alone two people……. Or would you stay at your place, up above the next village? That’s much bigger — too big for one person alone…… Would you sell that — would you have to sell that to split its value with her? This all seems to circulate around what you’d want, not what’s best for us……. If there is an ‘us’ in all of this……..?”
“Jenny, darling,….” Said Karen, “…I really have no answers, only more questions….. If you won’t have me, I’ll end up a lonely old tranny, living in a part of the country where they’re not understood at all, probably trying to avoid yon because it would be embarrassing for both of us to meet…… I’d end up giving up dressing and regretting all of the hurt and harm it would have done. I’d have lost a marriage and, more importantly, a love affair with a beautiful sexy lady that I hoped would go on for years and years…….”
Jenny smiled…. And said, “Well, if you put it like that, I couldn’t possibly let that happen……. Before long, I think we could be best friends, occasional lovers, and maybe next-door neighbours. There’s a wonderful complexity about you, honey, that I can’t fully understand, even now, but I do know I love you lots and I want this to work out somehow in that direction. If that means having a showdown…. I’ll be there for you if you want……….”
With that, Karen put her arms around Jenny’s shoulders and, very soon, her lips engaged with Jenny’s in one of the longest and most sensitive kisses they had ever enjoyed. There was dinner to make, and sex to have all night….. But it should start with a good ol’ fashioned Cornish “snog”!
“Oh, and another thing…..” Jenny whispered, “…… Tonight, I want you to be Andy. …… Just as you were…… No clothes, No make-up, ……..None at all…. But you can keep the Gypsy hair, I’ll refresh that for you, ok?!”
*********
Back at his own home, where Jenny had driven him, Andy set about removing all of the vestiges of femininity…… The clothes; he was especially sad to lose the chiffon blouse that Jenny had let him try for the first time. OK, it showed his underwear, but “what the hell, if you’ve got it, flaunt it!” Then, standing in those beautiful underclothes, he performed an unrehearsed “stripper” routine for Christine’s own full-length mirror. “Da-Da- Dat-Dah, Da-Da Dat-Dahhhhh…….” He shouted, pausing like a Burlesque dancer between each item of clothing that was jettisoned.
Finally, stark naked before the mirror, he untaped his genital kit, breathing a deep sigh of contentment at the freedom he felt in that moment. Of course, he soon found his cock growing at the experiences of the day so far and, now, their unaccustomed open-air situation. Gently, he helped it on its way, thinking of Jenny and the ways in which she had shown her love for him as they had fucked most recently. Then, thinking of the way he had gone down on her pussy and brought her to an orgasm, he himself nearly drowned in his own cum! Bliss!!! All boy again… for a short while! He was “All Boy” again!
The make-up on his face now looked completely out of place and required considerable effort to remove completely. He found the make-up removal pads that he had used before. They always did the trick …….. Worst of all was the removal of the mascara, which to an endless amount of time, revealing horror-movie sights during the process. The heavy foundation was more easily removed and the eyeshadow and lipstick presented no problem at all.
The nail polish on his fingers and toes was last to go. How much, he loved the smell of nail polish but the remover stuff was repellent.
A long warm shower was called for, with luxury body wash to soften his skin which was beginning to show signs of re-growth of body hair that he had been keeping to a minimum with Nair crá¨me.
Emerging from the shower, Andy covered himself in moisturising lotion and waited for its effects to be absorbed. Then, and only then, he lay on the bed and thought about the events of the last couple of weeks……. Christine’s departure, his first venture to Jenny’s salon, Her wonderful reception of his idea and the style she created in his hair…… Then there began the dazzling spiral into sex that he hadn’t enjoyed so much for sooooo, so long, Jenny’s increasing fervour, the first time he had dressed for her in her own home, so, sooo much to reflect upon!
Maybe half an hour passed before Jenny phoned to ask how he was getting on.
“I’m doing just fine, honey”, he answered. “Just fine, and I’m looking forward to you, seeing me as I am, just as you wished…..”
“I am pleased to hear that!”, Jenny said. “I’m getting ready for you too.”
Not long after, Christine phoned to say she was through Customs and waiting for baggage before she was heading for her airport hotel. She would leave there Sunday morning around 10am and be in the cottage around 2.30pm.
He decided t was time to get dressed — slip-on moccasins, chinos, strong belt, linen shirt, Armani fragrance and not much else. He wondered about a little lipstick……. But decided “no”.
**********
Andy drove the three miles to Marazion and negotiated the narrow lane to Jenny’s cottage, having bought flowers for her in Town. He wanted to make her feel very special tonight.
And very special she looked when she opened the door to greet him.
Jenny wore a beautiful tight-waisted skirt and girly blouse in palest blue, slinky stockings and high — oh-so high heeled navy blue shoes. Her jewellery was bright and chunky, matching the blue of her blouse. Her bra was light, allowing her beautiful tits to raise the fabric of the blouse, inviting a delicate touch……
Andy embraced her as he gave the flowers to his love. Their kiss lasted a long time, just at the doorway. Not to worry, out here, nobody would be seeing….. So what if they did…….. It wasn’t as if he was a girl, like before, kissing her so passionately.
The evening was one of quietly mounting passion that, from flirting which they enjoyed to overt suggestions to move on up(stairs), was the substance of romantic novels.
No “Frankly my dear, I don’t give a damn” for these two……..
They made it to the bedroom, their supper only half-eaten, their Champagne nearly all drunk…. Andy took it upon himself, slowly, to remove Jenny’s clothes piece-by-piece while he, himself, remained dressed…. For now.
He covered her face, neck and shoulders with kisses as he unbuttoned the blouse, unhooked the waistband of her skirt and laid both garments carefully on the chair. Her bodyshaper took a little time to unhook but, Andy thought, it was worth it! She lay on the bed, waiting for his next move, lying only in shoes, stockings, panties and bra.
His passion was rising but, as in the past, his cock was slow to follow. It’s sad because it suggests I’m not aroused, he thought…… But it’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. He reached for her waist and bore down on Jenny’s inviting pussy in those pretty panties. Before long, his tongue was gently caressing the folds of skin that covered her pretty little pleasure button. He thought… I’m at home here!
**********
As they lay exhausted, Jenny having cum more than twice and Andy just the once, more than two hours had passed and the lovers lay in eachothers’ arms.
Thinking of Jenny’s expert attentions, Andy murmured “Thank you for helping me….” He had cum, inside her, for the first time and hopefully not the last!
“I now pronounce you Man and Wife” said Jenny……..
“You mean.. you… you’ll marry me…… when I’m able??” stammered Andy, not dreaming Jenny would agree to the request he’d made some hours ago.
“You try and stop me…… if you do reach an amicable separation with Christine, then I’ll certainly be the next Mrs. You.”
**********
The following morning, Sunday it was, Andy left Jenny at home, saying a farewell that would grace many movies. “Go safely!” she said as he sat in the car and closed the door.
*********
Christine’s car could be heard along the lane as she arrived. She stopped then engine having parked in the space across from the cottage, avoiding passing traffic in the dead-end lane. She stood and looked at the Cornish Cream coloured cottage before crossing towards the garden.
I wonder if this will be my last visit here, she thought.
Christine turned her key in the lock of their cottage. She had called to tell Andy what time she would be home so he would be there himself.
“Anyone home?” she called. Andy, dressed as Andy, was upstairs, fiddling with his hair and checking that, for now, there was no trace of make-up on his face and neck-line. He wore his favourite girl panties and a light bra under his shirt and heavy sweater, just to give comfort and pleasure. I’m gonna go through with this…. He thought to himself.
So, down the stairs he went, to where Christine was unloading her care.
“Hi, honey…” he said, hoping she would be at least amenable. “…. How was your trip?”
“God, thanks….. I’m tired really, the flight was long and I didn’t sleep too well. The drive home has been heavy with loads of traffic and lousy weather for much of it…” she said, looking at Andy with increasing curiosity. “You look different….. How are you?.......... I know, it’s the hair…. What have you done to your hair…….. You’ve never been curly like that……. I mean, I see it’s flattened but there’s a real curl about it? How come?”
“Come and have a coffee…. I’ve got some things to tell you……..”
THE DIALOGUE THEY ENGAGED IN IS TOO HURTFUL TO RECOUNT……….
********
Back at Jenny’s, in the early evening, Karen arrived at the door and said…… “It wasn’t how I wanted it to be… It wasn’t amicable…. It was horrendous. I didn’t get as far as dressing and showing her how we could be together if she’d give me just a little space….. It was awful. She’s packed off to stay in Penzance, going back to London and she’ll be sending for her stuff next week. I really wanted her to meet you and to get to know you….. But that’s not going to happen.”
“Looks like back to square one….. for us I mean……..” said Jenny, smiling and reaching out her hand. “Come on inside. I was dreading never seeing you again…….”
AND THE REST IS A HAPPY ENDING, ALBEIT WITH A FRACTURED RELATIONSHIP.
THE END ALTERNATIVE ENDING MAY FOLLOW……
Total Recall
Chapter 23
Epilogue - the full and final 2nd version, (alternative theme)
Sunday approaches and Karen and Jenny have agreed the way the day should go…….
Christine is on her way to Cornwall, not knowing even that Jenny exists,
but determined that a new beginning is possible!
Dramatis personae
Jenny — hairdresser, 44 years old, born and raised locally in Cornwall. Has travelled the world, including working in hair and beauty on cruise liners, but now runs her own business in a little village near the artists mecca of St. Ives. She loves her horses and the freedom of her independent life. Has no long-term steady partner. Genuinely hetero but has enjoyed all-girl relationships in the past. Swept up in the last couple of weeks in a relationship with Andy whose fantasy she has indulged…. and enjoyed! Very girly and loves being so. Worried that the return of “Wifey” may turn Andy’s head and mean she loses Karen as her lover.
Karen — 60-ish self-employed male, born Andy, who works from home — once in London, now mainly in rural Cornwall, has had a love-hate affair with his crossdressing. It’s been both a source of happiness and a source of sadness. Married to Christine who hasn’t understood his passion in the past and whose career has increasingly taken her away, leaving Andy to play his alter ego, Karen, more and more. Has a strong fetish for hair and beauty. When dressed, feels very girly and loves being so. Uncertain how Christine will behave on her return but hopeful she’ll have changed her mind.
Christine — 50+, successful businesswoman who travels frequently. Had children early in life with their Father, Andy. Discovered his crossdressing over 20 years ago. Not interested then or turned on by that in any way. Resented him/it for years, with resulting loss of a sex life between them. Stayed together for the ‘sake of the children’. Christine knows nothing of his recent escapades or the existence of Jenny and Andy’s new relationship with her. Divides her time between travels and hotels, meetings with colleagues and pitching/delivering to her management consulting clients. Was once quite girly but has let her job dictate that she’s become ‘very business-like’ to the exclusion of her femininity. Has resolved, while in the U.S., to come home and make their marriage begin again….. with a fresh start…….
It’s Sunday morning, and a confrontation is due. Christine has been away from home for a couple of weeks. During that time, Andy found the courage to engage with, and have the help of, Jenny, the local salon’s owner
Sunday morning dawns with Christine setting off, driving her own car, in the direction of home in Cornwall. She had over-nighted in a hotel at London’s Heathrow Airport. It would be nearly four hours before her arrival. Today, she would seek a rapprochement with Andy about his crossdressing which, she if she handled it right and with her permission, he could continue in a limited way.
Meanwhile, Karen, Andy’s female half, and Jenny, who had become his lover by now, were enjoying breakfast in the sunny garden behind Jenny’s cottage. They both felt relaxed after an evening’s dinner and wonderful night of sex at Jenny’s little house in the little village of Marazion where she lives.
“Are you going to meet her at home?” Jenny asked, still not sure of Andy’s plans.
“I think it would be best…….” said Andy.
“Are you going to meet her as Karen?” Jenny thought she knew the answer.
“I think it would be too much of a confrontation. But she will meet Karen today.” He answered.
“I think she’ll guess that something’s changed, even if you’re not dressed…. Or made-up. Your hair is inescapably female. Do you want some help with it? There’s a way that we can calm it all down, whilst preserving the curls, and then have you liven it up before her seeing you dressed. I’ll show you how……” Jenny offered, wanting the encounter with Christine to lead on to her finding Andy on her doorstep that evening… to stay!
Andy, or rather Karen, smiled nervously, but assuredly. It was to be this way. “help with my hair would be great, thank you.”
********
Andy arrived back at his own place around lunchtime, his girly clothes being removed as soon as he got upstairs. No more the flowing skirt and the pretty blouse, no more — just for today — underwear that shouted ‘fuck me!’, no more sling-back heeled shoes.
No more make-up either. Karen’s face had to be removed and that would take more time. Andy had done this enough times to make sure that every trace of cosmetics was removed, but it took time and copious quantities of moisturizer, cleansing creams and nail polish remover. He rather enjoyed this process….. hiding away the ‘Karen’ within him, revealing the ‘Andy’ whom he was inside just for now.
Finally, he looked into the mirror on Christine’s vanity dressing table, finding himself satisfied with the male image that presented itself…. Male, that was, but for the curly Gypsy style in his hair. Jenny had done a good job to reduce the femininity that he had loved so much about the style, but it was still unnatural. So what — he wasn’t entirely natural, was he?!
He dressed in denim jeans, a Surfer’s tee-shirt, slip-on sandals and he put back on his male jewellery; the neck chain and both his signet and wedding rings. These had been replaced by some fancy girly stuff for most of the past week or more. He checked the hair against the final image… it was a little incongruous but, what the hell!
He went downstairs and took a beer from the fridge, starting to drink direct from the 500ml bottle which soon was depleted. Nothing like a good beer on a Sunday!
He sat back and waited for Christine to arrive, rehearsing in his mind the few opening sentences he would use………
********
Christine turned her key in the lock of their cottage. She hadn’t called to tell Andy what time she would be home but he could work that out for himself.
“Anyone home?” she called. Andy, dressed as Andy, was downstairs in the garden room, fiddling with his hair and checking that, again, there was no trace of make-up on his face and neck-line. He was glad that he had not worn his favourite girl panties and a light bra under his shirt and heavy sweater, which whilst they would have given him comfort and pleasure, would just be wrong for his planned conversation with Christine. I’m gonna go through with this… I’m gonna try my hardest to have her go along with staying together but with some minor adaptations, some days!. He thought to himself.
So, out to the hallway he went, to where Christine was unloading the contents of her car.
“Hi, honey…” he said, hoping she would be at least amenable. “…. How was your trip?”
“Good, thanks….. And I’m not too tired really, the flight was long but I did sleep quite well. The drive home has been quite easy with no traffic and lousy weather for only a bit of it…” she said, looking at Andy with increasing curiosity.
“That’s good…. Would you like a drink? I’m having a beer…” said Andy in welcoming tones.
“I’d love a Gin & Tonic, please……. Andy, you look different….. How are you?..........” and she paused,
“I’m good.” he replied, aware of her penetrating gaze now focussed on his head — and the top of his head….. “It’s been quiet while you’ve been away. You look as though you’ve had a good visit to the U.S. Did you meet new people and was the trip a success?” Small talk….
“It was very good and yes, successful…… You’re looking good, Andy, but there’s something different………….I know, ……it’s the hair…. What have you done to your hair……..? You’ve never been curly like that……. I mean, I see it’s flattened but there’s a real curl about it? How come? I actually quite like it…….”
Christine was right. She knew he’d changed his hair and it must have been part of his dressing while she was away. She was determined not to let this dissuade her from seeking that rapprochement ……
“Do you.. really? I’m glad….. I’ve been thinking about my appearance a lot…. I’ve kinda thought that it’s time for a change……. Come and let me pour that Gin, …. I’ve got some things to tell you……..”
The couple moved into the kitchen where Andy reached into the refrigerator for some ice and into the unit where the Gin as to be found. Quickly, with a slice of lemon added, he gave his wife her preferred restorative drink. “I’ll get myself another beer too” he said, giving himself time to find that elusive courage…. I’m gonna do this……
“I do like your hair, honey” said Christine, “It looks like you had fun creating the look….”
This is the moment, he thought, this is it…
“Well, I guess you could say I did……. Anyone might think it’s not very masculine….. but… well, that didn’t really matter to me.. in fact, I kinda wanted it not to look at all that way….” Andy was warming to his message.
“You mean, you wanted a less boy/man look?” asked Christine…… “That’s quite unusual at the age you’ve reached, my husband…” Christine was beginning to see where this was leading, but she couldn’t be sure……
“Well, not for me, not really…….” Andy hesitated, only momentarily. “I mean, there’s always been a feeling there….”
“That you have a girly side…. Yes, I’ve always known that…….. For obvious reasons… All those years ago….” Christine was trying to make it easy for him but ended up sounding critical…
Andy reacted, in a way he didn’t want to. “Oh, please don’t… don’t bring up my mistakes from all that time ago ….. You know I was very sorry about that — it was very unwanted…. From your point of view, I know that…… You didn’t…. I mean… I couldn’t…. um, what I mean is, I wanted to explain but never got the chance because I handled it all so badly….. It was my fault, all the way through…. Ad I’m sorry — you know… you must know………. Damn! I was NOT going to get back to apologizing, like I always do!! Andy told himself….. Get a grip on yourself! By now, Andy was gabbling unconnected phrases.
This was not going according to plan… Christine could tell. She decided to take control of the situation….. “Andy, I know I’ve been harder to live with ever since, but let’s forget all about the past…… What about now? How are you feeling? What’s it like when I’m away?” she asked, knowing that Andy regularly dressed in her clothes…… Nothing escapes a woman’s eyes for long! She thought before continuing. Andy was quiet, unsure how to get back on his planned track. Christine was taking him further down that path on her own….
“Hey, honey, don’t you worry…. No need to say sorry and more. There is no need at all. In fact, I’ve realized that I didn’t help at all in those times. In fact, I must have made life much more difficult.. Please don’t you say ‘sorry’ a single more time… Please… Just tell me how you’re feeling now…. And I’ll tell you where I’m coming from….”
Christine’s tone was conciliatory and understanding, and sympathetic….
“I’m sorry…” he began…… “DON’T SAY THAT!” Jenny interrupted….. “Tell me how you’re feeling now. Say, over the last few days.” She really wanted to know.
Andy paused. He had reached this point so many times inside his head. He did enjoy his dressing. But he would never want NOT to be married. He needed companionship. He needed a lover…. He was getting neither now; nor was Christine. He wanted resolution…. Jesus! How had he gotten himself into this situation….. If only his revelations years ago hadn’t been taken the wrong way…
“You can tell me……. Honey, I’ve been thinking a lot too………” Jenny encouraged him.
“Well, it’s complicated…….. You know…. You’ve known that… well, I have another side to me…. A side that you didn’t want to now….” “DON’T SAY THAT!” she said again….. “OK…” Well, that side of me has gotten stronger not weaker over the years and I’ve had to be secretive about it more and more…….” “I know, I do know.. and I’m sad for you that you’ve felt that way because of me….” Christine was genuinely sorry.
“Well, I do dress from time to time, when you’re away mostly. It’s easy at home and I’ve never dared to go out and about while I am……” “Dressed?” Christine finished his sentence for him.
“Yes, dressed… I mean, no, I haven’t.. gone out that is, not dressed…. Only at home…….. It’s just that I love the feeling of being feminine and having a different self…… And no, I honestly don’t want to attract other men….. I’m strictly a girl’s girl…… when I’m a girl, that is.
“Honest? Never been out? Surely….”
“Well, not until this last couple of weeks…….. And I’ve had some help. I’ve shared my secret with someone else… Someone I’d like you to meet.” Andy meant this. Jenny was so special and had been so helpful, he had found himself in love all over again….. But when he thought about it, he didn’t want his marriage to end…….
“You mean you have a lover? Is this another ‘dresser’? What do you mean? How can I meet ‘her’? What’s changed? How did you come to meet this person? You have to clear things up Andy, because suddenly I’m confused…” Christine was genuinely confused and surprised.
“OK, OK. Please don’t mistake my intentions…… yes, she has been my lover, while you’ve been away, but only in the last few days. She let me tell her all about my past and my inability to resist my temptation. She asked to see me dressed and offered to help me with hair and make-up. You see, she’s a professional hairdresser, just locally here……. She’s helped me to see though my own thoughts and to find what I hope could be a way for us to work out our differences……”
Christine put her head on one side and said, “I think the time’s come for me to meet you as your other self…. Then we can talk, and then we can see if I should meet this lady. What’s her name?”
“Jenny. OK, let me get dressed…….. Forgive me if you recognize some of the clothes.. I have some of my own but……. Yours do fit quite well……..”
“OK, so be it…….. I suppose you have a name for this other self too?”
“Uh-huh, I’m called Karen……….” And off Andy went to the bedroom to change, while Christine consumed her Gin & Tonic with thoughts running wild. There could be a future, but she would have to be strong…..
********
Back at Jenny’s, in the early evening, Karen arrived at the door, knocked and, when Jenny opened the door, said…… “Hello Jenny. I’ve got someone I really want you to meet……….. It’s Christine….. I do really want her to meet you and to get to know you….. Can we come in?, …….please? ”
Jenny was stunned….. “This wasn’t how I expected it to be…..!” She looked over Karen’s shoulder (yes, this was Karen, not Andy) and thought…… He’s dressed….And she’s with him… er, … her! She must be OK with it… I thought he said it was all a source of conflict between them…..!!! What….???
“I’m pleased to meet you, Jenny….” said Christine, holding out her hand to shake….. “…You’ve been a great help to my husband, it seems, while I’ve been away……. I think you might be the right person to do me a make-over too!”
“Looks like a new square one….. for all of us I mean……..” said Jenny, smiling and reaching out her hand. “Come on inside. I was dreading never seeing you …….”
AND THE REST IS A HAPPY ENDING,
ALBEIT WITH THREE CHANGED RELATIONSHIPS.
THE END
Reasons for a split, following discovery that he wants more of my clothes than I can give.........
You're so vain.... (Or am I???)
by the wife of WannabeGinger
(with apologies to Carly Simon.... as if any are needed!)
You walked into the party
Like you were walking onto a yacht
Your bangs strategically dipped across one eye
Your hair it was apricot........
You had one eye in the mirror
As you watched yourself gavotte
And all the guys dreamed that they'd be your partner
They'd be your partner, and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?
I first had you several years ago
When we were still both naive
Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair
I never thought you would leave.........
But you stole my things that you loved
And those clothes belong to me
I had some dreams they were clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee, and
Now, you're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you think this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?
You had girly dreams, they're now clouds in my coffee
Clouds in my coffee, and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you know this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?
Well, I recall we dressed up in Saratoga
And your fem outfit naturally won
Then we danced as girls up in Nova Scotia
Under the total eclipse of the sun...........
Well, you're not where you should be all the time
And when you are, you're with
Some underworld spy or the gay wife of a close friend
Wife of a close friend, and
You're so vain
You probably think this song is about you
You're so vain
I'll bet you know this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?
I last had you several days ago
When we were both anything but naive
Well, you said that we made such a pretty pair
You never thought I would leave...........
But you stole my things that you loved
And those clothes belong to me
I'll bet you know this song is about you
Don't you? Don't you?