Chapter 31: An Immacute FoundationThat first m and afternoon ent buried in the warm folds of a heavy terrycloth robe, sat deep in a chair as a small army of beautis hovered about. Goddamn Scooter and his ‘professionals’. Damn, but did I owe that bastard one or what? I pted a fierd fitting revenge as those girls poked and prodded and otherwise pampered me nearly to the point of insanity.

  “You just sit bad rex, honey,” said the team leader. She was slightly plump but immacutely made-up. “Just let Shei take care of everything.” Then she handed me a whiteboard and dry-erase marker. “I’ve heard about your throat, you poor thing. Well, if you need anything just let us know.”

  All too sound the room filled with the acrid st of what I realised, too te, were gel extensions, and ohey set and the girl w my hand finished shaping them, I was left ‘mute’--at that stage there was no way I could hold a damn pen with those timeter-long cws. Left uo protest, the girls were free to go to town on me. I don’t know if they knew or even suspected that I wasn’t the twenty year old prihey were turnio. The way they chatted and fussed, I doubt they would’ve cared.

  I mean, my robe did fall open at times and they must’ve had a good look at my generous curves. Hell, they probably had a few actal glimpses of that pussy as well. The trast between that and my otherwise mase features must’ve fused them at least a little--yeah? I mean, my hands a aren’t huge or anything, but they’re ly delicate either. I’m fairly proud of my manly features. I’m a good-looking guy. K thought some of those looks were androgynous; I’ve hought so. Maybe my eyes were a bit effeminate, and the makeup did something strao my cheekbones, but I definitely wasn’t naturally ‘girly’. No fug way.

  I spent most of that day in a daze, lying half-asleep in a chair with my limbs spyed out, fingers dangling into little bowls of liquid, women fluttering about my feet, and someone slowly w through my scalp. I definitely woke up whearted stabbing holes in my ears, but the pain faded quickly ohey popped the studs in. Then I woke up again ohey started tearing my eyebrows off with little waxy strips.  Ohe nails were set I was free to idly scroll and read on my tablet, one girl or another occasionally swooping in to ent oicle before me.

  “Oh, that’d look so cute on you!” said Pam, the stylist, and I’d give a mute nod.

  “God, look at him?” added Kim, the manicurist. “He’s just so buff.”

  I smiled weakly.

  When they moved on to the facial I id back with headphones on, listening to some chilled ambient tunes. They stroked and massaged my fad rubbed lotions into my skin, as others returheir attention to my hands. Listen, I’ll be ho: there was something kind of nice about all the attention, the massages and everything. Especially after the st few hectic weeks, it felt o just totally rex. It’s just . . . well hell, it took ages, yeah? And I felt like such a sissy the whole time, my stomach ing with subtle self-loathing and my head simmering with the mildest of headaches. Still, I drifted off aually came back to the feeling of a tiny brush lightly stroking my lips.

  “We’re almost done, hun,” Shei said. She approached my face with the iy of a master craftsman, taking almost random, final strokes at the vas that my skin had bee. A woman called Tyra made final touched to my hair. They didn’t let me see what I looked like at that point. Oh no. First they bundled me into the outfit their fashion expert selected from my wardrobe. Corset off, then bra, panties and pantyhose. Waist-cher, drawn tighter than before, and low-heeled boots. A short denim skirt, tight ay ass and thighs, and a slightly-pink, short-sleeved blouse with a wide, fred colr, left unbuttoned low enough to dispy an ungodly depth of cleavage. And finally they assaulted me with accessories: a thiher belt, bangles, neckce, rings . . . they threw so much shit at me so quickly that I was left befuddled, and just numbly went through the process of getting dressed without protest. They helped me with the buttons and zippers. With those new nails I was pletely useless. There was a final spritz of perfume that left me in a disorientating, cloying floral mist.

  They trundled me before the mirror and watched me with expet, cheerful possessiveness.

  “What do you think?” Shei asked.

  Holy? My immediate rea was to feel under-whelmed. It’s not that these girls weren’t good at their job--they definitely kheir craft. But I’d already been through this before, right? The first time is always the worst. Well, almost. That’s true for just about everything. Three days ago K stuck breasts onto me and dressed me up in tight jeans, and then unveiled dy to my virgin eyes. After that--other than finding myself sp a sudden vagina--any further adventures in cross-dressing were bound to feel a little anti-climatibsp; That first enter with dy had been profoundly uling. The realization that I could be made to look like a chick--like an attractive one--had freaked me out. With all the rag around and hiding and shit, I don’t think I’d quite had time to fully uand just how deeply and profoundly the whole experience had shaken me.

  Which is why, as I slowly drank in this test ination of dy, I began to feel . . . ill. That subtle distent in my stomach blossomed into full-blown siess; I felt like vomiting. Pain fred ay temple, brief but peing. All the wrongness of the st three days, seething and bubbling just beh the surface but otherwise ignored, came rushing to the fore. Maybe K’s presence had been enough to keep it a bay, but left on my own . . . God, I suddenly realized I was on the verge of losing it, and I wasn’t sure what the hell I’d do to myself . . . or anyone around me. First this m and now . . . these chicks h about, eyes bright and eager, turnio, fuck, into one of them.

  I just stood there staring at dy in the mirror, nearly trembling with the effort of restraining my violent disgust. The girls were getting anxious. I watched them in the mirror exge gnces. They needed some kind of response. With one hand I reached up to my new, luxurious mane of hair. It hung impossibly straight down to the small of my back, shimmering brightly. It reminded me of golde swaying in the wind at dawn in the summer. Glossy pink nails bed through and I couldn’t tell the difference from the real thing.

  Shei’s hand fell softly on my shoulder. “dy?”

  My smile was wan and sickly but the best I could manage. I hid it with a quiod of my head, painfully aware of the added weight to the gesture, of the hair that fell ay shoulder and stroked my neck, of the glittering dance of the studs now ad each earlobe.

  The relief that passed through my worried audience was nearly palpable.

  “You look wonderful, girl!” Kim said.

  I did. I truly did. In fact, the longer I stared at myself in the mirror, the more disfited I became, the more overwhelmed I felt. The young woman who stared back was more than just pretty; she was youthful and i, a step beyond a teen princess . . . maybe a young intern on her first day eager to please and impress. True, the shock wasn’t anything as drastic as the first time I saw myself all done up as a chibsp; Thing is, as good as Agent K was at the whole makeup-and-disguise thing, she wasn’t a master. It wasn’t her profession, not like it was for these girls.

  Looking at myself in the mirror after K was doh me, yeah, sure, I looked like a chick but if I looked closely the fws in the illusion were pretty damn clear. Now, as my eyes danced ay refle desperately seeking the same easy fws as before--I couldn’t find them.

  That wig had done loads to feminize my features but never looked quite natural ohis sleek new cascade was all girl, and somehow very dy. dy wouldn’t wear clip-on earrings, and so now she didn’t: two little studs, glinting in the light, framed her fabsp; That face: sure, she had a strong --already softened by Shei’s skill--but who’d notice fronted with those delicately highlighted cheekbohose soft lips, full and moist? And those eyes, wide and so very, very green, vividly brought out by the masterwork of blended colours that shimmered across her lids. The makeup was necessarily heavy to hide the reality beh it—the iability of fws and decay in thirty-nine-year old skin—but an immacute foundation ale hues and precise colours brought an illusion of feminine youth to my face.

  Certainly, the feminine mask revealed to me felt heavy and strange, but the skin I saw was bright aiful.

  Those nails transformed her whole hand somehow, made them delicate, the illusion of length making each fihat much more slender. It was more than that: the very way she carried herself was different, every movement softened by the ges wreaked upon her by the beautis. Soft skin, new colours, new weight, lingering sts: this was the same dy I met three days ago, only made femio a degree I hadn’t dared sider.

  I barely noticed as the girls said farewell, packed up a. My hand drifted tentatively across dy’s body, poking at eaew ge.

  God, I felt like such a fug pansy. It made me sick.

  Author's Notes:

  If you're impatient to read on, you find ter chapters at FM S. You also find everything up to Book 3, Chapter 6 avaible on Patreon: patreon./fakeminsk, as well as fanart and a few side projects.

  And of course, ents and feedback are always appreciated!