Raifu Suitchi 02

Chapter 2: Doubt and Disbelief

Sunday afternoon, Allen found himself in Sofia's bedroom, having once again gotten into her panties, something the virile young man was enjoying a lot less the second time around!

"Sofia, you sure about all this?" Allen's voice wavered as he met his reflection with a stunned expression.

"Absolutely, Allen," Sofia responded, a hint of annoyance seeping into her tone due to his recurring objections. "You need to get used to the feeling of wearing makeup if we stand any chance of getting through this next round."

"Alright, I get it," he conceded, his voice heavy with exasperation. "But only stuff I can wash off easily. I leave here looking like I arrived, okay? I don’t want to walk home with this embarrassing gunk all over my face."

"Deal," Sofia nodded. "But only if you stop complaining. Remember, we're a team now and we’ll only win that money by working together." Her gaze was unyielding, reminding him of the stakes at hand.

"I’ll try," Allen muttered, shuffling uncomfortably on his stool, his legs feeling restricted. "I want to win too, you know? I wouldn't be here otherwise, dressed like this. But go easy on me, okay? This is all new territory for me."

Sofia began her meticulous work. After applying foundation and concealer to his face, she selected her eyeshadow palette, instructing Allen to close his eyes. When they fluttered open, they revealed eyelids shimmering in a hue of silver.

Sensing his mounting anxiety, Sofia draped a towel over the mirror. "Just relax until I'm done, alright?" she suggested soothingly, presenting her eyeliner pen and asking him to keep his eyes steady. But as the pen neared his eye, Allen recoiled. "Whoa, careful!" he exclaimed. “Are you trying to poke my eye out?”

"Don't be such a baby. It's only makeup; it won't harm you," Sofia insisted, her patience waning.

"Fine. Sorry," Allen murmured, grounding his nylon-clad feet into Sofia’s plush fur rug and pushing himself into a more upright position on her stool. The second attempt proved to be much more successful, with Allen sitting as rigid as a statue, too frightened to move.

Not completely satisfied but pleased with the progress, Sofia moved on to his lashes. Picking up the mascara, she said, "Open your eyes wide and trust me, Allen. Stay still, and I promise not to jab you in the eye." With a soft plop, she pulled out the mascara wand from its container, and gently brushed it along the frightened young man's upper lashes.

Allen was battling an insatiable desire to blink as his lashes got weighed down with a heavy coat of black mascara. He was itching to rub his eyes when Sofia stepped in. "No, no, don't," she said sharply, swatting his hand away. "It might feel strange for a bit, but it'll pass."

"I don't know, Sofia," Allen's voice was shaky, his hand pointing towards the short skirt now creeping up his thighs. "I can't see myself getting used to any of this any time soon."

Sofia gave him a playful glare. "Look, Allen, half the world's population are women, and they do this everyday. If they can cope with it, so can you. Now, chin up, and this will be smoother for both of us." Allen chose silence over response before Sofia picked up her tweezers, sparking an immediate reaction.

"Whoa, hang on a sec!" Allen cried out, sending the tweezers flying from her grasp. "We had a deal, right? I leave here looking the same as when I arrived, and last time I checked, eyebrows don't grow back in an afternoon!"

Sofia heaved a sigh, frustration lining her voice. "Allen, you can't keep shying away from every little thing. Women don’t walk around with fuzzy caterpillars above their eyes. It's going to happen, sooner or later."

"Well, I choose later," Allen retorted, a streak of defiance surfacing in his voice.

Sofia, determined to see it through, pressed on with her makeshift makeover. She dusted some blush onto Allen's cheeks, imparting a flush of colour before reaching for a dark red lipstick. "Pucker up," she coaxed, and despite his hesitations, Allen complied, picturing the dollar signs. The lipstick slid on easily, leaving a glossy, somewhat sticky, red smear. "All done," Sofia declared, popping the lipstick cap back on.

"So, can I see the damage now?" Allen asked, nerves fluttering in his voice.

"Sure, but keep in mind, I'm no pro," Sofia warned as the corners of her mouth curled up into a satisfied smile. "Doing makeup on someone else's face is much harder than doing it on your own." She then unveiled the mirror, letting Allen see his feminized reflection.

(See image 04)

"Christ, Sofia, I look like a bloody clown. I’m gonna be a laughingstock next Saturday", Allen moaned, staring at his reflection in disgust. Sofia’s bed lurked in the background, a mocking reminder of the steamy session they had shared there a few weeks ago at a time when he had looked decidedly more masculine.

"Come on, don’t be so negative," Sofia chided, "Sure, you need some work, but no one said winning a hundred million yen was gonna be easy, did they? They're not just gonna hand over that kinda cash for nothing. They want to see us embarrass ourselves, that's what the viewers of these sorta shows want. Perhaps this will help.” With that, she lifted an old wig from her vanity- a relic from a past costume party - and placed it on Allen’s head.

“Strewth, Sofia, I ain’t winning any beauty pageants,” Allen said, cringing at his reflection in the mirror, now adorned with synthetic, shoulder-length reddish-brown hair.

“It’s not just about the look, we’re being judged on our performance too, remember? That means we need to get you moving with some grace," Sofia pointed out, revealing a pair of scary-looking heels dangling from her fingers. “Time to practice your walk”.

Sixty gruelling minutes later, Allen felt the desperate need to rest. Dressed in a costume far removed from his regular attire, the ensemble imposed unfamiliar sensations upon his being. His upper body was surrounded by a maroon peplum-style long-sleeved top, a piece of clothing as foreign to him as the experience itself. The fabric clung to his frame, hugging his contours and accentuating the stuffed bra hidden beneath. It felt oddly restrictive, the padding beneath his top pushing against him, a constant reminder of the pretence he was embodying.

His legs, still hairy despite Sofia's suggestions, were veiled in a pair of opaque black tights, a stark contrast to the rugged jeans he had arrived in that day. The tights hugged his skin, causing a persistent itchiness that was impossible to ignore. The sensation was a blend of constriction and exposure, his legs on display and yet concealed under the shiny nylon fabric.

Intending to train Allen to move with some feminine grace, Sofia had picked him out a snug-fitting, black satin skirt. The fabric clung to his thighs, a silky prison forcing his legs to take smaller, measured steps as advised. The sensation was akin to wading through water, his movements restricted and forced into an unnatural rhythm.

The pièce de résistance of his discomfort, however, were the high blocky closed-toe pumps with their thin ankle strap. These shoes, more akin to medieval torture devices, forced his feet into an unnatural arch. The blocky heels destabilised his usual stride, turning every step into a precarious dance. His toes were numbed from the pressure, and the ankle strap felt like shackles, making his every movement a laborious ordeal.

All this while, he'd been teetering around Sofia’s apartment, attempting to mimic the graceful sways of a lady under her demanding tutelage. His calves, now encased in shiny nylon, screamed in protest. Muscles he was unaware of sent out cries of distress, begging for relief from the unaccustomed strain.

(See image 05)

Sofia, sensing Allen's suffering, strolled over to the skirted man. Her arm draped around his shoulder felt comforting amidst his struggles. "Okay, that’s enough for now," she said, her voice tinged with empathy. "You’re doing great. I know this is hard for you. But remember, I'm here with you. If you listen to my advice and follow my lead, we can pull this off, win the show, and be set for life. Now let's take a break and see what we're up against, shall we?"

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A few hours later, Sofia and Allen found themselves comfortably seated on her couch, engrossed in reruns of the previous year's RAIFU SUITCHI, while Sofia perused the schedule for the upcoming week on her laptop.

"Looks like we won't be back in the studio until the performance next Saturday. Still, it's gonna be a busy week. The show's crew has arranged some appointments for us, and they'll be filming everything. Guess they'll put together a recap of the week's events or something," Sofia said.

Casting his eyes on Sofia's laptop screen, Allen examined the daily schedule. There were mentorship sessions every afternoon, interviews, a costume fitting, and a few entries ominously titled 'beauty treatments'. Being unfamiliar with the show, the transformation that some of the contestants underwent was quite startling. Some pairs were clearly driven to win the grand prize, while others backed out when faced with the stark reality of the challenges. After watching a third episode, they had seen enough and switched off the TV to chat.

"Allen," Sofia began, her tone serious. "If we do this, we’re going to have to do some pretty embarrassing stuff, and we're gonna look pretty different by the end of all this. Unless we're ready to fully commit, we might as well quit now!"

Having observed the drastic makeovers, Allen conceded Sofia was right. The segments where all the contestants underwent major alterations to their appearance were indeed intimidating. But with such a large sum of money at stake and not wanting to make a decision they might regret later, the pair agreed to deliberate on it for the remainder of the day. If they chose to withdraw, they'd notify the show the next morning. But if they decided to go on, once the cars arrived to pick them up at 9 am, they'd be totally committed to doing whatever it took to win the money.

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That same evening, back in his modest studio apartment, Allen found himself at a crossroads. He was on the verge of withdrawing from the contest, ready to sink back into his routine, to regain his anonymity and move on with his regular life. But his plans were shattered as he opened an unexpected email, a digital bearer of bad news. His current employer was filing for bankruptcy and, just like that, his job was gone. The news wasn't catastrophic - he had faith in his skills and employability - but it created an immediate problem: paying his rent.

As he sat in the gloom of his apartment, the stark reality of his situation sinking in, the timing of the email felt like more than a coincidence. It felt like a nudge from destiny, a silent whisper urging him to go on with the show. He sat deep in thought, weighing his options. His life, as it currently stood, was quite isolated - he spent most of his time indoors, glued to his computer screen, engaged in virtual realities.

The image of himself, hairless, with sculpted eyebrows and cascading long hair, was not a particularly appealing one. But then, he didn't have much of a social circle to make a spectacle of himself in front of, and the chances of his family back in Australia stumbling upon the show seemed next to nil.

As the quiet night stretched on, a decision began to form in his mind. Why not give it a go? Endure a few weeks of discomfort? After all, there was a life-changing prize at the end of it all. "Let's do it," he finally decided, his voice echoing in the silent room. The words were out there now, making the idea seem more solid. "When else am I ever going to get a shot at a million dollars?" A part of him still screamed in protest, but he silenced it, choosing instead to focus on the life he would lead once he was a millionaire.