Raifu suitchi 08

Chapter 8: Back to the grind

Allen's heart skipped a beat as the scale's digital numbers confirmed his weight. "137 pounds," he whispered, the disbelief evident in his voice. Glancing downward, he took in the sight of his smooth legs, their hairless expanse interrupted only by the gleam of his polished black toenails. The sensation of his thick hair, fashioned into a ponytail atop his head, felt both foreign and oddly heavy, its damp tendrils cold against his bare back.

As the first rays of the morning sun streamed in through the window, the warm hue illuminated Sofia’s distinctly feminine bathroom. Allen's reflection in the ornate mirror seemed almost alien to him. The silhouette, wearing a silky bra and panty set was slender, a sharp contrast from the one he'd been familiar with.

A target weight of 125 pounds seemed unrealistic, especially now. His gaze flitted over the curves and slimness of his form, noting how each bone subtly hinted its presence beneath the skin. "If I lose any more weight," he pondered, the image in the mirror mimicking his concerned furrow, "I’m going to waste away."

Allen glanced over to the mirror and released a deep sigh. The reflection gazing back at him showcased a face that, despite its natural state, looked as if it was delicately adorned with makeup. His lash extensions, lengthy and feathery, framed his eyes, making them appear magnified, embodying a blend of innocence and allure. The artfully sculpted brows created an arch that impeccably framed his eyes, while his lips, plump and bearing a constant red tint - likely an after-effect from the stretching - looked as though they were painted.

The face that stared back was both feminine and exotic. His skin was buttery smooth, further highlighted by the evenly applied fake tan. Every strand of hair below his eyebrows had been meticulously removed, leaving his skin feeling silky to the touch, almost unnatural.

Yet, adding to the unbelievable nature of his transformation, a worry lingered in Allen's eyes. An imposing challenge still remained: the need to shed twelve more pounds in the next five days. The pressure of that number weighed on him more than anything else, looming like the shadow of potential elimination every time he caught his reflection.

(See image 26)

After a good showing in the quiz section of the previous Saturday’s show, Allen and Sofia had secured their spots for another week. However, this ‘success’ only translated to another week of misery and a new, seemingly impossible challenge. The contestants were assigned to approximate their partner's original weight, with the pair that deviated the most, by percentage, facing elimination. The measurements taken on his initial day, seemingly inconsequential then, were now morphing into unforeseen trials, much like his embarrassing impersonation of Lady Gaga on national television that still haunted his thoughts.

Allen, who had initially weighed 150 pounds, found himself losing a few, merely due to a more active lifestyle, stress, and a lack of his usual junk-food fixes. But the goal of shedding 25 pounds seemed insurmountable. Since Saturday afternoon, he hadn’t had a morsel of solid food, subsisting solely on fruit juices and spending his evenings following along to dance and aerobic videos. Every muscle in his body screamed in protest, and his stomach was a symphony of growls. The thought of enduring this routine for the remainder of the week felt like a fate worse than death, especially considering Sofia’s comparative luxury of eating freely to gain 25 pounds.

His hunger and fatigue were more than physical; they were a mental tug-of-war between resolve and resignation, each day stretching his endurance and willpower a little more, every glimpse in the mirror reminding him of the transformation that seemed both miraculous and monstrous.

After lingering on the scales a tad longer than he should have, Allen knew it was time to get ready for work. Saturday's episode had dropped another bombshell: his stint at the fashion magazine wasn’t a one-week gig. Once changes were implemented between couples, they had to adapt to these new lives for as long as they remained participants on the show. This meant for the foreseeable future, Allen would be waking up early, dressing in flashy feminine ensembles, and trying to meet the high expectations set by Miss Hitori.

He stepped away from the scales and made his way to the bedroom. He then embarked on the tedious process of blow-drying the voluminous cascade of his black hair. Before this experience, he had never truly grasped the time and effort many women dedicated to their morning routines. As the warm air from the hairdryer enveloped him, he meticulously worked through the dense tresses. Once mostly dry, he applied a dollop of argan oil, spreading it through the strands for added shine. Finally, grabbing the heated flat iron, he began the painstaking task of straightening each section of his hair.

"Damn," Allen whispered, eyes darting to the ticking clock. Realizing he was behind schedule, he made a mental note to wash his hair the night before from now on. Rising from his cross-legged position on the bedroom floor, he briskly moved to the vanity, readying himself for makeup application. Having watched a tutorial the previous evening, he felt equipped to face the task ahead without further guidance.

With his long black nails, he delicately picked up a makeup sponge, dispensing a bit of foundation onto it. As he patted it onto his skin, he stared at his reflection in horror, feeling like a passenger in someone else’s body. Setting the foundation with powder, he delved into contouring, using a medley of light and dark shades to play up his femininity and subtly hide more masculine traits. Ensuring both eyebrows were symmetrical took patience, but he was satisfied with the result as he assessed his reflection.

Next up were his eyes. Before he could start applying the eyeshadow, he needed to put in the black circle lenses - another element in mimicking Sofia’s appearance. Navigating the lenses into place with his elongated nails was always a trial, yet he had gotten marginally faster with practice. Once in place, Allen shifted his focus to beautifying his eyes. Even though the eyelash extensions were a persistent nuisance, they did save him some time in his routine. Blending silver and purple onto his eyelids, he then confidently lined them with a liquid eyeliner. A swift application of mascara later, and he was ready for the final touch: his lips.

With an increasing sense of urgency, Allen's eyes darted to the clock. He reached for the first lipstick he could find - a bold red shade by MAC. As he retrieved a matching lipliner, he paused, taking a deep breath. The act of outlining and filling in his now plump, augmented lips was always challenging for him. The sensation of the pencil tracing the inflated, sensitive edges made his stomach churn slightly, reminding him of the unfamiliar fullness and puffiness he now felt every time he spoke or sipped a drink. Despite his internal revulsion, he meticulously applied the vivid, creamy lipstick, followed by a coat of gloss, imitating the style of his female coworkers. A spritz of setting spray locked in the look. The feminine visage reflecting back at him was becoming familiar, yet a part of him still struggled to reconcile this new, ultra-feminine face with the masculine one he’d known all his life. Mixed feelings of pride and remorse fluttered within him as he left the vanity to select his outfit.

Already significantly behind schedule, he berated himself for not choosing his attire the night before. He hastily grabbed a dress and laid it on the bed. After placing the silicone breast forms inside his bra, he slipped the dress over his head, cautious not to smudge his makeup. The dress, though snug and rather short, had to do. 'A dress is a dress,' he thought, hastily buckling on a pair of nearby wedge sandals as he sat at the edge of the bed.

Adjusting to the incline of his shoes, Allen wavered for a moment before catching his balance. Though towering in height, these shoes, with their wedge design, were more forgiving than the stilettos he had tackled before. He teetered towards the apartment door, donning a plush white fur coat that seemed invitingly warm. On his way out, he grabbed a handbag, which already housed his purse, and tossed in his phone, lipstick, and a few essentials. Ensuring he had everything, he exited the apartment, locked the door, and began his painstakingly slow descent down the four flights of stairs.

The cold October air hit his bare, smooth legs with an icy bite, causing Allen to mentally berate himself for overlooking the chilly weather in his hasty outfit choice. By the time he reached his office building, his toes had lost much of their sensation.

His tardiness was unmistakable; the receptionist's desk, noticeably empty, would have caught the attention of any early arrivals. Hoping not to encounter the formidable gaze of Miss Hitori, Allen breathed a sigh of relief upon not finding her present. Instead, his eyes met with Evelyn's, and memories of their dance the previous Friday - a night of laughter and intimacy - flooded his thoughts. Evelyn, clad in her warm high-heeled boots, approached him confidently.

"Hey, gorgeous," she greeted, her eyes glinting with mischief. "Love the dress but aren't you freezing? It's like two degrees out there."

Allen chuckled lightly, glancing down at his less-than-practical attire. "Hey. Yeah, I'm definitely cold. But I was running late and just threw this on. How's your morning been?"

I'm doing well, but speaking of being late, Miss Hitori's in her office and she specifically mentioned wanting to see you the moment you got in. She seemed pretty pissed when she noticed your absence. I'd head over there if I were you."

"Oh, crap! Thanks for the heads-up. Let’s talk later, okay? I need to go apologize." Allen quickly responded, tottering away swiftly. His hairless legs and the rhythmic click-clack of his sandals emphasized his feminine appearance, his long, sleek hair swaying with every hurried step.

Stopping outside, Allen glanced through the expansive window of Miss Hitori's office, spotting her engrossed in a phone call while jotting down notes. Hesitating outside her door, he pondered whether it was a good time to interrupt.

(See image 27)

Catching sight of Allen in her peripheral view, Miss Hitori gestured for him to enter. He carefully pushed the door open and stepped inside. Miss Hitori briefly covered the phone's mouthpiece and whispered, "Take a seat, Sofia. I'll be with you shortly." Nodding, Allen gingerly made his way to the chair opposite her desk, adjusting the hem of his dress before sitting down, crossing his legs, and placing his perfectly manicured hands on his lap.

“Yes, of course, Sir. She’s with me now. I’ll inform her,” Miss Hitori said before ending the call to look up at Allen. “Sofia, how nice of you to finally grace us with your presence this morning.”

Allen's gaze shifted down to his high-heeled sandals. “I apologize, Miss Hatori. It won’t happen again.” “You've been late more than once recently. However, that can be the topic of discussion on another occasion. Today, we have another matter to tend to.”

Allen looked up, curiosity evident on his face. “Another matter?” His full, pouty lips betraying his surprise.

“That was our CEO. He was calling about you,” Miss Hatori stated, watching his reaction.

“About me? Am I in some sort of trouble?” Allen asked, his fingers nervously playing with a silver button on his coat.

Miss Hitori gave a cool smile. “Quite the opposite. You're being promoted. From today, you'll take on a writing role. But honestly, I’m not sure how you earned such a position, Miss Cannavaro.”

“A writer? I’m not cut out for that. What's expected of me?” Allen questioned, shock evident in his voice.

“Relax. Mr. Kawaguchi, our CEO, has arranged for Namiko, one of our finest, to guide you. You're acquainted with Namiko, I assume?”

Allen immediately recognized the name. Namiko was a supervisor, and from his interactions, she had always seemed cold and distant. “Yes, I know her,” he replied, trying not to let his nerves make him shake.

“Perfect. And Sofia, consider your attire more carefully going forward. You're a writer for a prominent fashion magazine now. Red lipstick with a pink dress? Not the best choice. Now, go see Namiko. She's expecting you.”

“Thank you, Miss Hitori,” Allen responded, rising and bowing smoothly. He turned and, trying to maintain balance, tottered towards the door, his wedge shoes sinking into the soft carpet as he left.

Steeling himself, Allen made a beeline for the sanctuary of the ladies bathroom. Inside, surrounded by the neutral scent of soap and the echo of his own footsteps, he tried to quell the whirlwind of emotions. He looked at his reflection, the crimson lips contrasting sharply with the pink of his dress. The dissonance of his appearance, paired with the absurdity of his unexpected promotion, left him reeling. Why him? Was this another twist in the reality show, aiming to thrust him further out of his depth?

Despite the layers of makeup and feminine clothing, behind those enlarged, doe-like eyes in the mirror, was a man deeply challenged by his present circumstance. The clinginess of his dress, the awkward length that kept riding up, and the uncomfortable shoes – everything felt like a physical manifestation of his internal confusion. Yet as his feminized image stared back at him, a surge of defiance welled up within. They might aim to humiliate him or throw him off balance, but he wouldn't let them succeed. He'd face this new role head-on, determined not to let the show or anyone else see him waver.