Raifu suitchi 09

Chapter 9: Dejavu

In the dim light of Tuesday morning, Allen stirred from a restless night's sleep earlier than usual, a resolution firmly etched in his mind: not to be late! With tights hugging his legs, he found comfort in the snug warmth they provided against the chilly morning air at the bus stop, even though the heels of his ankle boots proved more treacherous to navigate than anticipated.

When the office building loomed into view, Allen, still ahead of schedule by a decent twenty minutes, was struck by an idea to perhaps endear himself to Namiko - his new overseer - by procuring her a coffee. Standing precariously on his sky-high ankle boots amidst the cosy chaos of the Japanese coffee shop, Allen felt distinctly out of place. Avoiding all eye contact, he tried to divert his thoughts from the conspicuous snugness of his attire, the cascading weight of his hair, and the palpable mask of makeup on his face by eyeing the tempting pastries, his stomach issuing a rumbling complaint of its own deprivation.

Namiko was already engrossed in work when Allen softly approached. "Good morning, Namiko. I brought you a coffee," he gently offered, maintaining a cordial smile even when met with indifference.

"Place it over there," Namiko instructed, her voice a flat, emotionless murmur.

Allen noted her characteristic aloofness and carefully set the coffee down, his hands pausing a moment longer than necessary due to an acute awareness of his long nylon-clad legs on full display beneath the short hem of his pleated miniskirt. "So… erm… What would you like me to do today?" he inquired, his voice barely betraying the awkwardness bubbling beneath his composed exterior.

Namiko, with pursed lips, spared him a brief glance. "You're reviewing a new cosmetics brand. The samples are on your desk. Use them, photograph them, and send me the write-up by day's end."

Allen, with questions simmering on his painted lips, hesitated but opted for silence, deciphering her closed-off body language, and feeling an uncomfortable heat spread across his cheeks as he wobbled slightly atop his heels. His eyes, beneath a curtain of lush lashes, darted to Yamato, the cameraman, who was unobtrusively capturing every nuance of his ordeal.

"Why are you still here?" Namiko’s voice snapped him back to the moment.

Doing his best to maintain composure, Allen forced another smile. "Enjoy the coffee," he murmured, just managing to swallow the word 'Bitch' that threatened to follow, as he teetered away to his new workspace.

Allen's new desk was a clean slate save for one prominent feature: a large brown cardboard box waiting patiently for its occupant. Realizing it must be the cosmetics samples Namiko had mentioned, he eagerly attempted to pry it open. But much to his chagrin, his elongated nails, beautifully manicured yet impractical, were ill-suited for the task. Fishing out a pair of scissors from the top drawer, he skilfully sliced open the box, unveiling a staggering variety of lipsticks.

The array was both intimidating and mesmerizing. Taking a deep breath, Allen decided to organize and count them. Methodically placing each tube in a straight line, they stood as colourful sentinels on his desk. When he reached the end, a total of one hundred and fifty tubes stared back at him. Some brandished quirky names like 'Passion Punch' and 'Peach Pop'.

After hesitating for a few minutes, Allen began to note down each name and shade. Curiously, he opened a few tubes to inspect and take in their scents. However, once done, he found himself at a loss. There it was, the intimidating glare of a blank Word document, its cursor blinking expectantly while he was overwhelmed by the gleaming array of lip colours in front of him.

This stalemate continued for what felt like hours, with Allen mustering the occasional sentence, only to second-guess himself and delete it moments later. It was the distinctive sound of heels, confident and rhythmic, that broke his reverie. Looking up, his gaze met the elegant figure of Evelyn. She exuded effortless grace in her white blouse paired perfectly with a billowing orange skirt. The tights she wore showcased her slender legs, ending in platform pumps that were in perfect harmony with her ensemble. "Why so glum?" she queried with a hint of mischief in her eyes.

(See image 28)

“Oh, hey,” Allen replied, straightening up in his swivel chair, suddenly conscious of his posture. “Honestly, I’m lost,” he admitted with a self-deprecating chuckle.

Evelyn glided closer, a genuine look of willingness to assist lighting up her eyes. “Perhaps I can be of help. What’s the task?”

“It’s these,” Allen gestured to the army of lipsticks, “I’m supposed to review them. Namiko expects it done by the end of the day, and I’m just... blanking.” His long, acrylic nails gingerly lifted a tube from the desk, showcasing one of his many vibrant obstacles.

Evelyn gently took the lipstick from his grasp, gracefully opening it to reveal a bold, orange hue. “Doesn’t sound too difficult,” she mused, effortlessly applying the colour to her lips. Inch by inch, she leaned towards Allen, presenting her new look. “What do you think? Does it make my lips look kissable?”

Caught in her proximity, Allen’s breath hitched, but he attempted to sidetrack his nerves. “Uh… yeah, but honestly, you didn’t need lipstick for that.”

With a playful smirk and a soft pat on his shoulder, Evelyn stepped back. “Easy, tiger. We’re at the office. But thanks for the compliment.” Her eyes twinkled with mischief before she added, “How about I help you out? I’m not super busy today, and this could be a fun distraction.”

A sense of relief mingled with exhilaration surged through Allen. “Yes, please,” he responded, enthusiasm peppering his words. “That would be great.”

The following hours were a whirlwind of vibrant colours and shared laughter. Allen, who usually spent solitary hours engrossed in computer programming in his small apartment space, found the collaborative effort a refreshing change. Working with Evelyn made time fly; it felt more like fun than work. By lunchtime, they had sampled, photographed, and critiqued every lipstick shade, Allen’s plump, pouty lips donning each colour in a playful photoshoot. Writing the review evolved into a game as they challenged each other to weave words like ‘exhilarating’ and ‘euphoric’ into their descriptions. When Evelyn proposed they adjourn to a nearby restaurant for lunch, all that remained on Allen’s to-do list was a swift edit and photo selection. The assignment, once a daunting task, now stood as a nearly completed, enjoyable adventure.

Returning to the office, his stomach still yearning for more than the meagre fruit smoothie he'd had for lunch, Allen was startled to find Aiko lounging in his chair, her feet propped arrogantly on his desk. A familiar dread washed over him every time he saw Aiko, as it typically heralded a new challenge or switch - most likely something that would leave him further feminized and embarrassed.

"Sofia, how are you? Love the boots! You seem to be adapting well to the new you," Aiko said, her grin broad and mischievous.

"Hello, Aiko. How can I help you today?" Allen responded, suddenly self-conscious of his spiky-heeled boots. Shocked that he had been wearing the towering heels all morning without giving them a second thought. Until Aiko's comment seemed to flick in his brain, suddenly making him acutely aware of a dull ache in his ankles and the numbness surrounding his toes.

Evelyn, sensing the tension, decided to interject. "I'll give you two some space. Catch up later, Sofia," she said, gracefully exiting the room.

"Someone special?" Aiko inquired with raised eyebrows, watching Evelyn's retreating figure.

"Just a colleague," Allen clarified, hoping to keep Evelyn separate from the complications of his situation. "So... did you just come here to compliment my outfit?" he queried, eager to get to the point.

Aiko, standing up with a flourish, replied, "You're always so direct, Sofia. I like that about you. Well, as you're aware, this week's challenge is mirroring your partner's weight. But we're adding a twist on Friday." Pausing for emphasis, she continued, "You'll recreate your first date together. Same place, same attire, same ambience. It'll give our viewers a deeper peek into your story. Remind me, where did you two first go out?"

A nervous lump formed in Allen's throat. "A nightclub," he replied hesitantly.

Aiko clapped her hands in delight. "Fantastic! Be sure to stick to your diet, I'm sure Sofia looked absolutely ravishing that night." Allen just stared, too stunned to respond.

Aiko, sensing his discomfort, wrapped things up. "A studio team will accompany you on Friday. We'll handle the logistics and email through some further details later in the week. For now, continue doing what you're doing. Ciao." With a flippant wave, Aiko departed.

Still reeling, Allen reached for the cell phone in his purse and quickly sent a message. The rest of the afternoon went by in a flash. He barely registered Namiko's praise for his report later that day, and his bus journey home was a blur. All that was clear was the impending date recreation, and the discussions he and Sofia needed to have in the privacy of her old apartment.

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After initially struggling to come to terms with relinquishing her femininity, Sofia had begun to find solace in her new reality as Allen Dolberg. In recent days, she had been navigating through a perplexing mixture of emotions, inching toward a unique reconciliation with her situation. Her entire existence had been circumscribed by an incessant pressure to adhere to societal norms of how to dress, act, and simply be. The ceaseless expectation had always been an exhausting ordeal.

Now, inhabiting Allen’s world presented an unexpected respite. Sofia began to treat this temporary masculine life as a peculiar sort of vacation. The liberation from not having to rise at an ungodly hour to meticulously apply makeup and style her hair was not only refreshing but also allowed her more hours of precious sleep. The casual act of throwing on nondescript clothing without a second thought and stepping out was a small yet liberating rebellion against the societal norms she had always encountered as a woman. As a man, this simplicity and practicality in attire was unremarkable and fully accepted.

Moreover, the culinary indulgence she had been enjoying over the past few days was like a dream. For years, she had been haunted by a relentless consciousness about her weight, a mental tick that took root back when she was fourteen. Rosa Inzaghi’s cruel jibe, calling her chubby in the school playground, followed by the melodic laughter of other girls, had sown a seed of perpetual self-awareness and restraint regarding her dietary habits. Now, paradoxically, the show required her to do the exact opposite: to eat, and indeed, to revel in it. A gain of twelve pounds in merely three days didn't distress her as it might have before. Instead, she was revelling in it, exploring the eateries surrounding Allen’s apartment, and savouring some of the most scrumptious offerings Tokyo had to offer.

The lens through which she was experiencing life had altered, affording her a distinct perspective that she hadn’t anticipated when this entire escapade began. Even though she was now meandering through a reality that wasn’t initially of her choosing, she was, unexpectedly, learning more about herself in the process.

But everything she had grown accustomed to was jolted that evening. As Sofia waited at the familiar bus stop for Allen, memories of her former life seeped into her thoughts. She recalled the countless mornings spent there, self-conscious in her flashy attire and teetering on towering heels, acutely aware of the often unwanted attention drawn to her legs. While there were aspects of her past life she longed for, the discomfort and scrutiny of those moments were certainly not among them.

Fifteen minutes into her wait, with the biting cold creeping in, her phone buzzed with a message. It was Allen, notifying her of his arrival on the next bus. "Finally," she mused, hugging herself for warmth. Allen's wardrobe, while comfortably casual, lacked the insulation her previous attire provided. With winter approaching, Sofia realized she'd need to invest in some warmer options. Allen’s assortment of jeans, light jackets, and trainers weren't geared for the cold.

The bus arrived slightly behind schedule. As its doors hissed open, a teenager and an older couple disembarked. Sofia hesitated, wondering if she had mistaken the bus. Yet, just as doubt began to creep in, the slow descent of a high-heeled boot onto the pavement caught her attention. Her eyes trailed upwards from the stylish ankle boots to delicate legs, gracefully encased in semi-opaque black tights. These legs vanished beneath a short skater skirt, which melded into the plush embrace of a fur coat. A wave of recognition washed over Sofia; those were her clothes. Seeing another wear them stirred a medley of emotions, memories of purchasing those very items, and the occasions they had graced, played in her mind.

She waved nervously at Allen, who reciprocated with a slightly apprehensive gesture of his own. As she approached, she felt dwarfed; with those six-inch platform boots, he loomed above her. She had to tip-toe to meet him for a hug. "Hey Allen, how's everything?" Sofia asked as they pulled apart.

"Hi, Sofia. It's been... a day. Can we chat inside? It's chilly out here, and these boots are a nightmare," Allen remarked, rubbing warmth into his arms through the plush sleeves of his black faux fur jacket.

She chuckled lightly, "I can imagine! Kudos to you for lasting all day in them. They're hardly my comfiest pair. I remember getting blisters the one time I wore them," Sofia responded, genuine respect evident in her voice.

Allen shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a better footing. "Honestly, I never understood how much suffering women went through in these things," he grumbled, looking down at the angled feet.

Sofia chuckled, "Well, it takes practice. And a lot of pain tolerance. Did you get any compliments?"

Blushing, Allen replied, "A few... and a lot more stares. It's... different."

Sofia tilted her head, studying him. "It's a mix of power and vulnerability. High heels give you extra height and confidence but also make you feel exposed. I've felt that many times."

Allen looked at her with newfound respect. "I guess we both are learning a lot from this switch."

Allen and Sofia, surrounded by the intimate glow of streetlights, gently made their way away from the bus stop, their swapped silhouettes dancing faintly on the pavement. After a few minutes, they veered away from the lively main thoroughfare, entering a network of side alleys that Sofia could have navigated blindfolded, each turn and corner deeply etched in her memory. Their pace was unhurried as Allen noisily minced along beside her, evidently pained from a day imprisoned in her unforgiving ankle boots. Fifteen minutes later, they found themselves at the entrance to her former apartment. A peculiar sense of detachment enveloped Sofia as she silently observed Allen, hindered by long, extended nails, struggling to locate her old house keys in her once-favoured handbag, mirroring a scene she had enacted so many times before.

Inside, a staircase of four flights loomed ahead. Allen took the lead, with Sofia close behind. As she observed him laboriously negotiate the stairs, she remembered the many occasions she had literally been in his shoes, as she experienced a strange out-of-body feeling. From behind, with her former hair swaying and her outfit responding to a different navigator, she was presented with an image of her past self as others must have observed her. It was an intriguing and somewhat disturbing experience to behold.

Having reached the fourth floor, a breathless Allen expertly opened the door before clomping into the apartment. Sofia looked on, a mix of astonishment and nostalgia, as Allen draped her handbag and jacket neatly on a hook by the door before making his way into her old living room. Turning to face her, he asked from amidst the familiar surroundings, "Would you like something to drink?"

(See image 29)

Being back amongst her belongings felt surreal to Sofia. It had merely been a week, yet it seemed much longer. The familiar sights of her cherished coffee mug, her treasured books, and Frederick, her stuffed lion, surrounded her. Glancing at Allen, with his hair and makeup reminiscent of her own past style and donning a top she had bought during her mother's latest visit, a wave of light-headedness hit her. Allen, noticing her unsteadiness, quickly moved to support her. "Hey, you alright? Sit for a bit," he said, guiding her to the sofa.

As she settled, Allen's face wore a mask of genuine concern. Reassuring him, Sofia asked for a glass of water. "On it," he said, his heels clicking loudly against the wood floor as he rushed towards the kitchen. Moments later, he returned, offering her a glass before taking a seat beside her. He began to unzip his tall boots, finally freeing himself. "You sure you're good?" he prodded as he kicked the torture devices clear of his throbbing feet.

"Yeah," Sofia replied, taking a sip of water. "Just a brief dizziness. Maybe those stairs took more out of me than I thought."

Allen chuckled, "Yeah, and you’re in flats today. It's a real workout in heels. Can't say I'll miss it when we switch back." They both shared a light-hearted laugh, the moment of tension dissipating.

After a few moments of sipping water in companionable silence, Sofia introduced the topic they had met to discuss. “So, we need to recreate our first meeting; it’s going to be so weird," Sofia stated.

Allen, shaking his head and sending his long hair flying, responded, “It’s going to be horrendous, that’s what it’s going to be. Aiko insists we re-enact everything just as it happened. But honestly, I was so drunk I can barely remember the night." Sofia's expression tightened, visibly stung. “You don’t remember anything?” she asked, her pout audible.

Quickly backpedalling, Allen assured, “I remember the club, coming back here, and how hot you looked.” He offered, trying to smooth over the misstep.

Suspicious, Sofia probed, “Oh really? What was I wearing then?”

“Um... a dress. Yeah, a blue dress,” he ventured.

Exhaling a disappointed sigh, Sofia corrected, “Typical man, always missing the details. It was a white dress, not blue, and incidentally, it’s the same dress you’ll be wearing this Friday.”

“In my defence, I was really drunk. So... what's this dress like? Can’t we just tell the show you were wearing pants and a T-shirt?” Allen suggested, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Sofia shook her head, “I’m afraid not. Remember the forms we filled in at the studio? They requested details of our first date.”

Allen’s mouth fell open in a stunned “O,” “And you described your outfit? I only wrote 'a nightclub'.”

With a half-apology in her tone, Sofia explained, “I wanted to impress them; it was a lot of money on offer, after all. And I always like to be thorough when completing a task; I didn’t think we’d have to re-live the evening.”

Offering a forgiving smile, Allen resignedly said, “It’s okay, it’s not your fault. Let’s see the dress then and the rest of the outfit. But I can’t help you with what I was wearing; I can’t remember.” As he gingerly planted his aching, pantyhose-clad feet into the white shagpile rug and groaned.

Sofia, standing up to join him, offered, “Okay, I’ll guide you through what I did that night before we met and how I prepared. And don’t worry about your outfit; I remember what you were wearing.” Then, turning, she smiled and led the way towards her former bedroom.