Raifu Suitchi 03

Chapter 3: A Rude Awakening

The next morning, a sleek private car arrived at Allen's apartment building to transport him to a sprawling office-like structure. Recollections of the previous day's viewing made him anticipate some ludicrously feminine attire, prompting him to bring along yesterday's wig to use as a potential disguise on the way back home. A chaotic morning rush hour seen on the roads of Tokyo that morning saw him arrive slightly behind schedule. He hustled into the lobby, bee-lining for the reception desk, where he was instructed to ascend to the fourth floor.

The lift deposited him into the welcoming smile of a lovely woman named Aiko, assigned by the show to look after him. She shepherded him down a lengthy corridor and into a buzzing beauty salon. The sight of other contestants perched on salon chairs, all decked out in gender-swapped attire, might have tickled his funny bone had he not been on the brink of joining their ranks. Aiko directed him to the changing rooms, informing him to slip into a robe, deposit his clothing, including his underwear, in locker fifteen before proceeding to room number three.

Alone and exposed within the confines of the changing room, Allen hurriedly donned the pink satin robe. He bundled his clothing into the assigned locker, the door sealing with a resounding click that provoked a pang of apprehension - no key had been provided. The anxiety niggled at him, but he filed it away to address with Aiko later.

Room three, forever remembered in Allen’s mind as the 'Chamber of Suffering,' was an arena of torment where Allen was made to endure his initiation into the brutal world of full body waxing. The white sterile walls echoed with his stifled groans, punctuated only by the relentless ripping sounds of waxing strips being mercilessly peeled off. Each pull felt like a thousand tiny needles dancing across his skin in a cruel ballet of pain.

In the aftermath of his ordeal, Allen gingerly emerged from the chamber, his skin a patchwork of angry red welts. His body felt raw, the air around him prickling his sensitive, newly waxed skin with a coldness that made him shudder involuntarily.

There to meet him was Aiko, her face inscrutable, her eyes hiding a touch of sympathy for his discomfort. She extended a slender hand towards him, presenting him with a small metallic key. Her instructions, delivered in a calm, soothing voice that contrasted sharply with the cruel scene that had just unfolded, directed him to locker seventeen, where his outfit for the day awaited.

Halfway to the sanctuary of the changing rooms, Allen passed the entrance to the main salon room where his mouth fell open in surprise as his gaze fell upon Sofia. She was perched on the edge of a chair, her slender frame shaking subtly. Her usually radiant face was a spectacle of grief, tear stains marring her delicate features. A sea of her once magnificent, raven black hair lay strewn around her, reflecting the harsh salon lights. The sight was as distressing as a funeral, the hair symbolic of a tangible loss.

(See image 06)

The sight of Sofia's distress struck a chord in Allen, deepening the lump that was already lodged uncomfortably in his throat. Nevertheless, he willed himself to press on, to navigate the remaining steps towards the changing rooms, knowing full well that retreat was no longer an option. The chamber of suffering might have been behind him, but the echo of its torment remained imprinted on his skin.

Inside locker seventeen, Allen found a sparkling vision of femininity waiting for him. It was a cluster of radiant fabric that glimmered like a disco ball under the harsh fluorescent lights. A pair of pink panties and a padded bra lay on top of shimmery dancers' tights. The main outfit was a puzzling arrangement of sequined fabric, so tiny it seemed more like a child's Halloween costume than adult clothing. It glistened like a gem-strewn sky, and the high-heeled ankle boots, mirroring the sparkle in glittering gold, looked far from practical.

"Blimey!" He gasped, staring at the outrageous ensemble. His old self would have bolted right there, refusing to be seen in such a garish getup. But yesterday's decision had been clear - he was all in, resolved to face any challenge head-on with a smile, determined not to give the sadistic audience the pleasure of seeing him suffer.

Struggling into the ensemble felt like solving a particularly taxing puzzle, one that required more flexibility than he possessed. However, after several minutes of trial, error, and muttered curses, he managed to don the outfit.

Despite the thorough training he'd received the previous day, Allen's heels still felt as alien as they had initially. Struggling to maintain his balance, he moved in a series of ungainly wobbles and near-falls, the blocky pumps challenging his usual masculine stride. The memory of yesterday's gruelling session did provide a touch of comfort, though. It reminded him of his own resilience, his ability to persevere despite the discomfort, and the strength he had buried within himself.

The black opaque tights he'd worn the previous day had felt restrictive, indeed, but the dancer's tights he wore now were an entirely different experience. His freshly waxed legs seemed ultra-sensitive beneath the nylon, which caressed his skin in a way he wasn't accustomed to. The material moved smoothly against his bare skin, a stark contrast to the itchy tugging sensation of the opaque tights on his formerly hairy legs. It was a sensation he was still coming to terms with, a mix of unfamiliarity and strangeness.

Returning to the salon, an out-of-breath Allen was greeted with a professional smile from Aiko, who then introduced him to his stylist for the day. Emiko, a woman as vibrant as her fire-red hair, met Allen with a grin that held promises of dramatic transformation. Her energetic persona provided a momentary distraction from his current discomfort.

As Emiko ushered the tottering man into a nearby salon chair, Allen mentally prepared himself for the upcoming changes as a camera operator ambled over, signalling the commencement of his transformation.

Emiko was quickly joined by another stylist, and the duo set to work - one working on his face, the other on his nails. Allen, adopting his determined mindset, allowed the women to orchestrate the change. It wasn't so different from the previous day when Sofia had been his make-up artist, he mused. However, observing the array of brushes and powders Emiko handled with such precision was somewhat fascinating.

Allen made a conscious effort not to flinch or complain even as Emiko started plucking his eyebrows - something he expected and had come to terms with. But, glancing down to see pink painted nails sprouting from his fingertips was a surreal experience. An alarming sight for any young man, the glossy pink coating completely transformed his formally male hands, making them look dainty and feminine. The sensation was foreign and unnerving, but Allen remained silent, allowing the process to advance.

In time, A new stylist arrived carrying what looked like his wig! She handed it to Emiko, who dangled the hairpiece in front of Allen's heavily made-up eyes while announcing how his wig had also been given a makeover after finding it in his locker. Allen's face contorted as he studied the wig. It seemed a completely different entity now - freshly washed, cut, styled, and exuding the pleasant scent of cherry blossoms. Placing the hairpiece onto Allen's head, Emiko got to work. Within moments her agile fingers had pinned it securely into his natural hair before declaring him 'ready'.

Like all makeover shows, a grand reveal was necessary. Throughout the process, a veil had covered the mirror, denying Allen any glimpse of his changing appearance. Now, the time had come. The camera operator manoeuvred himself to capture Allen's first reaction, as Emiko pulled the cover from the mirror, her voice counting down, "3,2,1."

Shock descended across Allen's face as he came face-to-face with his new look - the transformation was stunning, yet overwhelming. His skin appeared flawless under the liberal layer of foundation, and the bronze eyeshadow amplified his eyes. The fake eyelashes, giant spider-like appendages, made his eyes appear wide and enticing. They were disconcertingly different from the simple mascara Sofia had applied, tickling his face with every blink, a peculiar sensation he'd need time to acclimate to.

Shifting his focus, he examined his brows, which bore signs of careful shaping but were not drastically altered. That was one relief amidst the shocking revelations, he thought.

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Aiko, having observed Allen's jaw-dropping transformation, was quick to shower him with compliments, praising his prettiness despite his stunned silence. She then hurriedly informed him that his mentor was awaiting his presence. The choreography session for his dance routine was due to begin. Allen glanced at his towering boots with scepticism, considering the aching discomfort that had already set in. Yet, he was resolute - he'd partake in their games, endure their challenges, and claim their prize money. Steeling himself, he rose from the chair and trotted after Aiko.

As they exited the salon and traversed a seemingly endless corridor, the task of walking became an ordeal. His footwear forced him to take tiny, cautious steps, turning the journey into a test of patience and endurance. The chilly corridor, a stark contrast to the warm salon, did little to alleviate his discomfort in the skimpy attire. Seeing him shudder, Aiko assured him that the physical exertion of dancing would soon ward off the cold. Rolling his peculiar-feeling eyes, Allen took no comfort from her words.

Eventually, at the end of a seemingly never-ending flight of stairs, they reached a massive room adorned with wall-to-wall mirrors. Aiko introduced Allen to Yoko, his mentor - a strict-looking, ex-dancer from Japan. Yoko, without mincing words, laid out their schedule for the week. Allen had two songs to learn - one primary and one backup. Memorising the lyrics was crucial, as he'd need to lip-sync along. The ultimate challenge, though, would be to mimic the singer's movements perfectly for the Saturday showdown.

What followed was an exhausting few hours. Yoko first demanded that he stretch his body out - a difficult task given his outfit's unsparing nature and his own long-forgotten flexibility. Struggling through the unfamiliar strain, he endured Yoko's relentless criticisms. The next segment - a vigorous exercise routine - reminded him of his school days. Except, back then, he could match pace; now, he felt like a spectre of his former self, humiliated in his glittering getup and cumbersome boots.

Lastly, the choreography session loomed. Sexy poses, suggestive movements, and a series of struts designed to emphasize his hips and posterior were among the instructions. Each sensual gesture was painstakingly captured on camera from various angles, a reality that served only to amplify Allen's discomfort.

However, despite numerous falls and accumulating bruises, he persevered. Every time he stumbled, he'd pick himself back up, driven by his initial resolve. He aimed to comply with their instructions, maintain his ordered smile, and never, ever give up.

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By 5 pm, Allen was utterly spent. He followed Aiko back to the locker room, feeling as if his legs were made of jelly. Aiko pulled out a key, offering it to him with a bright smile. “This is for your locker,” she announced.

“Oh, thanks, yeah, I've been meaning to ask about that,” Allen responded, accepting the key.

“Don’t thank me yet. There's been a SU-IT-CHI!" Aiko announced, enunciating the show's catchphrase with dramatic flair, catching Allen off guard.

“Err, what do you mean?” Allen asked, confusion marring his face.

“You'll see. Remember to go to locker fifteen. Now, get changed quickly,” Aiko instructed, motioning for him to enter the room.

Upon entering the locker room, he found the other men in various stages of undress, each one dealing with their own surprise and embarrassment. His heart sank as he realized the implications of the 'switch'.

Confirmation awaited him inside locker fifteen. Sofia's clothes from that morning – a soft, white wool jumper, a dark blue denim miniskirt, thin black tights, and a pair of knee-high leather platform boots – were neatly tucked inside in place of his own clothes. Sighing, Allen removed his dance costume and began to get dressed in Sofia's attire, all the while avoiding eye contact with the other men in the room.

Strangely enough, after spending the day in his tight, dazzling costume, Sofia's clothes felt like a significant upgrade. The tights offered a little more flexibility compared to the constrictions of the dance pair, the skirt afforded his crushed manhood some respite, and the jumper, snug and warm, was a welcome comfort. The boots, however, were a different story. Equally as tall as the ones he'd worn all day, albeit with a smaller platform, they reached up to his knees, constricting the blood flow in his lower legs.

Aiko awaited him outside the locker room, offering no comment about his appearance. She informed him of the next step – a joint interview with Sofia before they'd be driven home. Following Aiko through the labyrinth of corridors and down several flights of stairs in towering heels was a daunting task for a novice like Allen, especially after an exhausting day of dancing. His grip on the bannister was desperate as he descended each step in a tediously slow manner.

They eventually returned to the building's lobby. Despite the cramping in his calf muscles and the throbbing in his toes, Allen felt he had made some progress in manoeuvring in heels after all the day's trials. His steps were more confident, and he was stumbling less frequently.

As he entered the lobby, Allen was introduced to Sofia's new look. Her long hair had been replaced with a short, boyish cut that was styled upward with gel. Her usually prominent, acrylic nails were nowhere to be seen, and her face was bare, devoid of the usual layers of makeup. She looked younger, more vulnerable. She was wearing the outfit he had chosen that morning, adding to the surrealness of the situation.

Sofia seemed hesitant to meet his gaze, a clear sign of her discomfort. In the lobby stood a cameraman and Mariko, one of the show's presenters responsible for interviewing the contestants outside of the studio. With her over-the-top outfit and extravagant hairdo, Allen and Sofia instantly recognised the smiling Japanese woman from watching re-runs of the show the previous afternoon.

Mariko greeted the crossdressed pair before jumping straight into the questions, asking about their new looks and their day of practice. Despite their best efforts to remain upbeat, Allen and Sofia struggled to disguise their exhaustion and lack of enjoyment from the day.

With a sparkling enthusiasm in her voice, Mariko resumed. "So look here, friends! Our brave stars, Allen and Sofia, had a super duper busy first day. They practised hard for their upcoming show and even got themselves a whole new look. Don't they look totally adorable?" Her voice hinted at playfulness as she continued, "But guess what? We still have a little surprise waiting for them today."

Upon hearing the word 'surprise,' Allen and Sofia’s heads sank in unison, a physical manifestation of their mutual fatigue and frustration. It seemed they had endured enough changes for one day, but another one was coming.

Suddenly, a shift in the scene brought Aiko to the forefront with Allen’s wallet, keys, and phone, along with Sofia’s chic handbag. "Time for... Apartment SU-IT-CHI," Aiko cried out with a voice buzzing with excitement. Aiko held the personal belongings aloft for a moment, letting the camera fully focus on them. Then, in a quick motion, she thrust Sofia’s handbag into Allen's manicured hand. In turn, she then extended Allen’s personal items to Sofia, placing them into the stunned girl’s jeans pockets. At that instant, Allen's plastered-on smile, the mask he'd worn all day to prevent the show from revelling in his discomfort, slipped. It fell away momentarily, replaced by a flash of genuine shock and disbelief. It was as if the reality of the situation had finally hit him. Not only were they literally stepping into each other's shoes, but they were also being thrust headfirst into each other's lives. This was too much for his practised poker face.

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As the reality of the situation sank in, a cold dread washed over Allen, settling heavily in his gut. His heart pounded in his chest like a drum in rhythm with the looming beat of the week ahead. He nervously shifted his feet inside the intimidating high, knee-high boots, their alien architecture encasing his feet in an unfamiliar tightness. He wiggled his toes, attempting to coax some semblance of feeling back into them, the motion an echo of his longing for the comfort and familiarity of his own sneakers that encased Sofia's feet to his left.

In his left hand, the cold chain of Sofia’s handbag swung like a pendulum, the steady rhythm a mocking reminder of the surreal situation. The handbag felt foreign and unwelcome in his grip as an exotic sensation of soft leather and plush fur brushed against his nylon-encased knee. The materials encasing his hairless body, so different from anything he was accustomed to, brought a shudder of unfamiliarity that ran up his spine. It all felt wrong, weird, and utterly disorienting.

In the face of this surreal reality, the crushing realization of a week packed with dance lessons and countless appointments loomed over him. A sense of inevitability weighed heavily on his mind, a sinking feeling that things were only going to continue to spiral further out of his comfort zone.