Chapter III
My first visit to a beauty salon the next day was a revelation, all those unguents and mirrors and rollers and comb outs and blow driers and paints and powders and pills. I assumed I’d go in my own clothing so as not to attract attention, but the reverse was true. Kate insisted that morning when we left the house that I should look like the woman I was becoming.
“There will be other women there,” she said, “And I don’t propose to look foolish, coming in with an obvious sissy, a man who wants to be prettied up as a girl! I’d do that to humiliate you of course, but you’ve been a sweet dear so far so there’s no need for it. You’re not perfect, Annie — you should brew my coffee darker tomorrow when you bring me my breakfast in bed.”
She waited. “Yes, Ma’am,” I said.
“But I love it that you thought of breakfast in bed for me all by yourself. And the Eggs Benedict were a nice touch. Today you’ll go to your first beauty parlor appointment already looking female, and we’ll see if you can keep up the illusion while you’re there for. For your own good.”
So she had me wear my undies and a dress she picked out that showed my breasts as distinctly large mounds thrust way forward. She showed me it had “darts” sewn in to allow for them, and told me I’ll need to know all about such things from now on.
“Shirt Waists and unfitted tops won’t do for you,” she said. “No understatement. You’re a girl who believes if you’ve got ’em, flaunt ’em!”
And she insisted that I wear make-up, but not brazen, just light liner and mascara, and a pale lipstick. And that I wear my hair in a pony-tail gathered on the crown of my head instead of as usual at the nape.
“That’s enough. If you move with dainty steps and hold your shoulders back, you’ll pass. Your beautician will know of course.”
When the front door was open and I was about to step outside into the sunlight, I suddenly felt a deep pit open in my stomach, and I tried to move my legs — they were in pantyhose and low heels — but they wouldn’t lift off the floor.
“Is something the matter, Annie?” Kate asked just behind me.
“I’m frightened, Ma’am,” was all I could say.
“Big strong mans is frightened to look like an itty bitty girl?” she mocked.
“No, Ms. Katherine,” I said in a small voice. “I’m not a man, I’m a sissy, who is trying to be a girl because that’s what you want me to be, and I don’t want to look ridiculous. I’m afraid, yes.”
There was silence. “Tell me again what you are, Annie. Several times.”
I repeated it. “I’m a sissy, trying to be a girl.”
“Good! Now out the door, sissy girl. You’re dressed appropriately. Be proud of it!”
Still muttering my mantra, I stepped outside. The air felt strange on my legs. A neighbor walking his dog glanced at us and walked on. I felt a little easier and got into the car. Kate drove. The same thing when we arrived. The place was full, and the receptionist didn’t even look up. “Yes,” she said, checking off
my name. “Just have a seat, Annie, and Joanne will be right with you.”
We sat down, and I remembered to smooth my skirt under my bottom as settled onto the chair. “Elbows in,” Kate muttered to me as she handed me “Beauty Culture Magazine.” I glanced at the cover. More articles for women on how to get roundly boinked. “Just theads, dear,” she said when she saw me starting in on one. “I’ll decide when and how and whether you’ll have any sex life at all.”
A neat, short, cheery woman in a purple smock approached. “Annie?”
I nodded.
“I’m Joanne, sissy. Oh, don’t look so mournful! This is the nicest day of your life! Come on, Sis, over here. You can come back for him in about four hours, Kate. We have a lot to do. But you’re right, there’s a lot here to work with.”
Joanne really was nice! I just sat there, and as she snipped and poured and combed and rolled and dried and primped and called over the nail specialist and the ear-piercing girl, she explained everything she was doing, and in between, she told me gossip about other customers. She knew the most intimate things!
“Now this will feel cool, but its a cream you’ll use on your own face every night from now on, Sis. Starting tonight! See how I rub it in with circular movements, just my finger tips? Well, this customer of mine, her name’s Susan but she likes to call herself Suzette, she’s such a petite, dainty, precious little thing, and her husband thinks her ass is made of candy. But really it’s got to be cast iron, because every afternoon while he’s off at the office with his clients earning the money she spends on herself, she’s home in his bed with three, four, five guys from the Truck Depot. Big guys, my dear, and every day! She likes toofers, one in her butt and one in her pussy, you know? Lean back, dear. I don’t know why she’s never been crushed when they hump up against each other with her in between. Well, she told me she was giving up toofers for Lent, but these guys bring each other over to her house, and if a newcomer wants in while the other’s pumping away in her, she never says no. She says afterward she feels like a sewer with all that jism puring out of her. She loves it! And her hubby still thinks she’s practically a virgin, he never suspects anything! See how I brush it, Sis, up from the neck, never down? You’ll do that every morning. Then I hear Mrs. Eldridge is getting divorced, but not from her husband….”
So the time passed.
