The Makeover - Part 1

PART - 2 | ALL STORY LIST

Note - Just a two-part story, hope you like it.

"Ring, ring, our phone, causing me to rush from my room where I'd been reading a novel. It was on a Saturday morning, the first day of my summer holidays, and I'd been waiting patiently for my first chance in quite a while just to sit and read without assessment and other requirements of school hanging over my head.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, this phone call would initiate steps that changed my life forever.

"Hello, Andrew speaking," I answered politely upon picking up the receiver.

"Oh, hello Andrew, it's Pippa Campbell here, do you remember me?' she replied, 'don't suppose your mother is there dear? She's won a competition."

"Yes, Mrs. Campbell, of course, I know who you are. I'll get her for you right away; she's out in the garden," I replied.

Despite the fact that my father had died in a tractor accident when I was nearly three, mum and I continued living in our old house on our 1,600-acre farm, around 10 minute drive out of town. The town itself wasn't very large, with around 3,000 residents calling Seaton home. It was a typical small town with just one of every type of business, usually bearing the town's name in its title Seaton Hardware, Seaton Bakery, etc. I had no friends living nearby to play with, so mum and I spent a lot of time together, sharing our love of reading, gardening, music, and trashy movies. Mum had worked part-time in various roles over the years, also growing small amounts of mainly vegetables which we sold from a roadside stall to supplement our income. She had just recently been retrenched due to the poor state of the economy, so now spent most of her time tending to our crops to keep some money coming in. Since my father's death, the majority of our land had laid fallow with us only grazing around a dozen head of cattle.

Mum had been a client at Mrs. Campbell's business, "All About You" beauty salon, for as long as I can remember. Despite being the only beauty salon in Seaton, her salon was an exception to the usual local business naming conventions not bearing the town's name as part of its title. "All About You" was right in the center of the main street of Seaton, with small businesses on both sides of the road stretching around 150m in either direction. Mrs. Campbell, as far as I knew, had never actually married, but I called her "Mrs." anyway as Miss didn't seem appropriate, and I never really learned how to pronounce "Ms." properly! Mrs. Campbell was very good to my mother when my father had died, and the two had been very close ever since. Mum had never, to my knowledge, looked to start another relationship, focussing her attention on raising me with some minor assistance from a small group of close friends, including Mrs. Campbell.

I found my mother in the backyard, and she was soon in a laughter-filled conversation with her friend Pippa. When I was younger, until I was around eight or nine, I'd always go with my mother when she went to Pippa's salon. The narrow but long salon was always such an exciting place to visit with so many things to look at while mum was having something done. I recalled that Mrs. Campbell had always been so nice to me, and I'd never left without a small bag of sweets.

I was now close to turning 13 and hadn't gone into the salon with my mother for several years. Mum now preferred to drop me off at the library a few buildings up from the salon so that I could read. I think she just wanted some time, not focusing any of her attention on my constant asking questions about what Mrs. Campbell was doing and what this equipment does. Once mum had finished, she'd collect me from the library, always with a small bag of sweets courtesy of Mrs. Campbell.

I curiously waited for mum's phone call to end, trying to understand the conversation despite only hearing one side of the story. My mother strictly never gambled, so the prospect of winning anything was hugely exciting for me. After around five minutes, the clunk of the phone receiver being returned to its holder signaled that my patient wait had come to an end. Hurriedly I ask my mother what she'd won.

"Well, you wouldn't believe it, but I've won a 'Princess Makeover' for my daughter!" she replied with a bemused smile on her face. "Pippa has been placing a ticket with the name of every client in a box after each of their appointments, and when she drew the competition earlier today, my name was drawn out."

"But you don't have a daughter,' I exclaimed.

"Of course, Pippa knows that I've only got you; she rang to tell me anyway. I told her that she'd need to do a redraw, but then Pippa offered an alternative. She said that if you're willing, she'd be happy to do a few things to you if you like?'.

"No way, mum,' I replied, semi-shocked from her suggestion.

"Why not Andrew? It could be fun," mum said, "Pippa has always been so nice to me and you too; I feel like we're letting her down. At least think about it for a while. It would be great fun, and everyone would get some laughs. I've told Pippa not to redraw the competition yet, and I'll get back to her by 1 pm, so you have until then to make a decision, but I'd love for you to do this for Pippa and for me."

With her final few words, mum had clearly expressed her opinion as to what I should do. For the next few hours, my thoughts swayed the entire spectrum from definitely not to the point where I found myself open to the proposal.

"Ok, I'll do it, but no one else can ever know that it happened," I eventually mumbled to my mother a few minutes before the 1 pm decision deadline. Mum's guilt trip, and to a lesser extent not wanting to disappoint Mrs. Campbell, had gradually worn me down.

"That's wonderful, Andrew," she said with a huge smile on her face and hugging me, "I think you might even enjoy the pampering. I certainly do. I'll ring Pippa and let her know."

Like a pair of teenage schoolgirls, mum and Mrs. Campbell chatted for what seemed like an eternity. Again I tried to listen in but failed miserably to comprehend what they were discussing, even when I heard a few words.

"Quickly, Andrew, go and have a shower and be sure to wash yourself thoroughly," she exclaimed upon ending her 20-minute phone call, "Pippa, have you booked it for 3 pm when the salon usually closes on Saturdays. This way, it will be very private as that's what you requested. Now hurry along, dear, you know I hate being late."

I thought that I'd have at least a few days to get used to the idea of my makeover, but this wasn't to be the case. How did it come to this? I asked myself as I showered. A few hours ago, I was happily reading a book in my room, and now I was not long from having a 'Princess Makeover,' whatever that entailed. Once showered, I dried myself and, upon entering my room, dressed in the clothes that my mother had placed on the bed for me to wear. They were a nice plain white long sleeve shirt and a pair of light-colored trousers. My mother choosing my clothing wasn't a usual occurrence, but she did do it if we were going somewhere "special," as she didn't have much faith in my own sense of style. Mum also wore nicer clothes than normal for a trip to town; something didn't feel right.

I remained very quiet on the drive to the beauty salon, growing ever more nervous as the minutes passed. Our brief, one-sided conversations only gave my mother more opportunity to make me somehow feel a sense of obligation to her and that I should somehow be appreciative of what Mrs. Campbell was doing for me. After all, Mrs. Campbell was being so considerate in allowing a boy to claim the 'Princess Makeover' prize.

Mum pulling on the handbrake and turning off the car, signaled that we'd arrived a good 15 minutes early. It was a trip that I'd done probably over fifty times in my life, but this time was very different. When I was younger and followed my mother into the salon for her appointments, I was nothing more than an interested onlooker, or more recently, thinking solely of finding a good book at the library. Now I was about the be the center of attention. The attention that I didn't really want or even comprehend, for that matter.

"Come on then," mum said excitedly, "I'm so interested to hear what Pippa has planned for you. Think Pippa is very much looking forward to spending some time with you as she mentioned that she hadn't seen much of you in the last few years."

"But . . ," I tried to get out of my mouth before being cut off by my mother.

"I'm sure you'll be fine; you'll be in very safe hands," she responded.

I got out of the car and, after mum had locked it, followed her the few meters to the front door of All About You. As we entered, I smelt the unmistakable aroma of the salon. It was exactly how I remembered it when I was younger. Mrs. Campbell came towards us from a small, partitioned area towards the back of the salon. She looked exactly the same as I recalled. Long, thick, and dark brown wavy hair that cascades well down past her shoulders. She always was immaculately dressed and groomed, wearing sufficient makeup, especially around her eyes, to beautifully highlight her natural features. She wore pale pink lipstick, and this matched her painted, elegant nails. While Mrs. Campbell was roughly the same age as my 36-year-old mother and not wanting to demean my mum, the two on the surface looked at least a decade apart.

"So lovely to see you both, especially you, Andrew; you've gotten so much taller," Mrs. Campbell said as she lightly kissed mum on the cheek and gave her a welcoming hug.

"Thanks so much for agreeing to come in Andrew, I think that we're going to have some great fun this afternoon. We've got so much to catch up on. I haven't seen much of you lately," she continued, now focussed solely on me.

I had no real idea of what Mrs. Campbell meant as "fun" and was about to ask when my mother beat me to it.

"So what do you have planned for Andrew's Princess Makeover?" she inquired.

"Now that's going to be my little secret. I thought that seeing you've won the competition that you should have some surprises too," Mrs. Campbell replied to my mother with a huge grin across her face. "Let's just say that I'll be following a Princess theme like was originally planned. Now, if you are happy to leave Andrew with me, we can get started. It might be a few hours, so I'll give you a call when we're done."

A few hours, I thought to myself, what have I agreed to here!

"That sounds fine with me; I know that you take great care of Andrew. I might head up to Jackson to perhaps catch a movie or just do some shopping," mum replied, "now you both enjoy the makeover."

Jackson was much larger than Seaton, with around 40,000 residents and about 30 minute drive away. While mum and I rarely needed to go there, I considered it a massive city was given that they had multiple movies, cinemas, and more than one type of most business.

Mum then came over to where I'd taken a seat on a large, very comfortable, single chair and leaned down to kiss me on the forehead, and gave me a hug before walking towards the door.

"Thanks so much for this Pip, good luck," she said as she opened and walked through the door.

"Oh, it's my pleasure. Andrew and I'm going to have great fun together," she replied, closing the door behind my mother and turning around a rotating sign that now displayed closed to the outside world.

"Now just sit and relax Andrew, I've got one or two things to check, and then I'll come back, and we can get started," Mrs. Campbell said as she retreated towards the rear of the salon, disappearing into a side cubicle.

I had been somewhat distracted earlier, focusing intently on mum's and Mrs. Campbell's conversation to properly looking around the salon. With some time now to myself, I noticed some familiar items and quite a few new pieces of equipment and furniture that I hadn't seen before. Proudly displayed on the main reception counter was the flyer advertising the "Princess Makeover for your Daughter Competition," closing date today. Why did my mother have to be so lucky!

Despite the presence of the fearful flyer and my fears of what it entailed, I still felt very welcome and safe here when I was a more frequent visitor, and that feeling hadn't changed. While I must admit that my anxiety levels had decreased dramatically upon entering the salon and seeing Mrs. Campbell again, the apprehension of what was about to happen to me still caused my heart to beat well above its usual rate.

Mrs. Campbell then returned and pulled a chair towards me, placing it directly in front of me, about a meter away. When she sat down, I could clearly see her face, exquisite makeup, dark brown eyes, which matched her flowing long hair. She looked like a model on the cover of one of those fashion magazines, I thought to myself. My mother rarely saw the need to wear much makeup, so Mrs. Campbell's appearance was somewhat foreign to what I usually saw on a woman's face. She looked so pretty.

"Now, Andrew dear, please don't be worried; I'll explain everything to you about a treatment before I start, and if you don't want it done, please just say no, and we won't do it. I've discussed a few treatments that I plan to perform on you with your mum, and she's ok with them. But, there are a few things I'd like to do that I've kept as a surprise that she doesn't know about," she said reassuringly, "Is that ok with you?".

"Yes, Mrs. Campbell, that sounds ok, although I am pretty nervous and don't really have any idea what you have in mind for me," I responded honestly and with slightly more confidence.

"Firstly, you're old enough now to not call me Mrs. Campbell anymore, so please call me Pippa. Mrs. Campbell is my mother!" she commented cheerfully.

"Ok, Pippa," I replied hesitantly, as children tend to do when calling adults their real name for the first time.

"Right, I thought we could begin by getting your nails done. Follow me over to the nail station, and we can get your makeover started," she said, motioning towards a small, towel-covered table at the side of the salon near the front window.

Thankfully the window was heavily covered in advertising and other images, so it was still quite private despite its closeness to any passing pedestrians. Mrs. Campbell, sorry, Pippa, began by moisturizing and massaging my hands which I must admit felt really nice and relaxing other than making my hands feel slippery. With this completed, she said that seeing my fingernails were very short that she'd place false nails over them.

"You have such long, slender fingers, Andrew," she said, "adding some length to the nails will make your hands look amazing."

Pippa then explained that the false nails would be glued on, and then once the glue had set, she would file my nails. She showed me her own long nails, which were painted a pale pink color to give me a clue as to how my own fingernails might look shortly. The thought of soon having long false nails didn't seem to raise my stress levels, so I made no request for her to not proceed. She commenced adding long strips of plastic-looking nails to my fingers. Once one hand was complete, she had me place it inside a little device that apparently dries the glue quicker before starting on my other hand, which soon also had nails attached.

"Just swap your hands now, dear," she instructed.

I did as requested, and Pippa took my now dried hand and began to gently file my new longer nails. It was quite a strange sensation, sort of like small vibrations emanating from the tips of my fingers flowing down towards my palm. I watched closely as each nail was shaped into something that I thought resembled a talon. Each nail was at least double the length of my original nails. While my nails were being done, we chatted about all manner of things - school, mum, books, and other trivial things. I truthfully was so immersed in our conversation that I forgot where I was and that most onlookers would consider that a boy getting his nails done as being strange or weird.

"Now, those nails are done other than a coat of varnish," Pippa said upon ending the filing process, "I can do a clear polish, or I've noticed you eyeing off the more colorful ones. Which would you like?".

She was true; I had been somewhat fixated on 30 or so bottles of colored polish on a thin shelf on the wall beside the nail table.

"Do you remember when you were quite young that I'd occasionally paint one of your fingernails when your mum was getting a manicure?" she queried, "you used to always love arranging the polish bottle too, if my memory is correct."

"I do remember that now that you've mentioned it. I used to call the finger you painted my special finger until the color had worn off," I replied, reminiscing, "oh, I don't care, Pippa, whatever you think."

Of course, my "whatever you think" comment was just what she was hoping for, and with that, she reached for the bottle containing the brightest of reds.

"I think this will be perfect," she said as she untwisted the cap and gestured for me to place my hand flat on the towel covering the table between us.

With great skill, despite her own long nails, she commenced painting my nails, beginning each with a long stroke down the middle, starting at the base, and then filling in space to either side. Again we chatted as a single painted nail became two, then quickly a hand, and finally, the long attached nails on all ten digits were adorned with bright red polish. I was mesmerized as I looked at my painted fingernails, moving and twisting my fingers despite Pippa's advice to keep them still until the color polish had set. My brain couldn't quite comprehend what my eyes were relaying to it. They were my hands moving, but the beautifully long, painted nails looked as if they belonged to someone else. Pippa did say earlier that my long, slender fingers would look amazing once she was done with them; she was so right.

"That wasn't so bad, was it dear?" she asked, bringing me back from my daydreaming, "come over here and lie on this reclining lounge, can't have your toenails missing out!".

I moved over towards the lounge but was stopped by Pippa saying that I'd need to take off my trousers which I was happy enough to do. I was wearing boxer shorts underneath. I immediately noticed that my new long nails made doing even simple tasks such as untying my shoelaces, removing my socks, and taking off my trousers really awkward.

Pippa noticed my difficulty and, laughing, said, "the things we women have to go through for beauty."

She was clearly loving what she was doing to me. Equally, I had all but forgotten my previous reservations and was enjoying the attention very much. Once I was eventually reclining on the lounge, Pippa pressed a few buttons on the side panel of the lounge, and.0. internal rollers within it started to massage my back and the upper parts of my legs. It felt so good, and after letting me get settled for a minute or so, she set about bluffing and filing my toenails. She then efficiently painted my toenails using the same bright red color as was on my fingernails. Looking down and seeing all of my toenails colored was another new experience for me. I actually liked how they looked. I didn't feel any sense of doing something wrong. I could easily get used to this pampering, I thought to myself.

"This is so relaxing, Pippa," I said as I leaned back into the lounge after once again peering down at my pretty toes and fingers.

"I'm so glad you're finding it relaxing; that's part of the whole makeover idea. I want you to feel special," she replied.

"Now, for the next part of your treatments, I'd like to do some waxing. Not a lot, but just in a couple of areas. Don't worry, I'll be as gentle as possible, and you'll probably only feeling some mild discomfort for a few seconds," she continued. "If you're ok with it, I think we could start with tidying up your eyebrows a little?".

With the very mention of waxing, my calm state was replaced with a slight sense of fear. My fear, though, was not enough to stop me from proceeding. My makeover so far was actually a lot of fun, so I saw no reason to stop now. I could vaguely recall watching ladies get their eyebrows waxed when I was younger, and they didn't appear to suffer any great pain, so I thought that I would be ok with handling any perceived pain. I climbed up from the lounge, catching my fingernails again, awaiting further instructions from Pippa. She asked me to follow her, and I was lead into the small cubicle on the side of the salon where she had temporarily disappeared into just after my mother had left us. She asked me to lie on the table in the middle of the area, indicating a pillow at one end where she'd like me to place my head.

"Ok, just close your eyes, and I'll tidy up your eyebrows a little," she said reassuringly, "you should probably just feel a brief sting when I pull away from the dried wax, but it soon passes."

"Ok, Pippa," I replied, closing my eyes but listening intently as she moved around behind my head.

Pippa then started to massage my head and forehead for a short while to help me relax; it felt so good. I then felt her applying warm wax to the center of my eyebrows.

"Once the wax has hardened a little, I'm going to place a small cloth over the wax which sticks to it. When I then pull the cloth away, the wax stays on the cloth and takes your unwanted hairs with it," she said, "it sounds far worse than it actually is."

Before I could register a response, a stinging sensation let me know that my first waxing experience had been complete. I felt some pressure from Pippa's fingers which she explained helps minimize the pain. It did certainly sting but was over so quickly that I wasn't concerned as she then started placing wax above my left and then right eyebrow. Once the wax was dry, the same process occurred, and soon, after some slight stinging, both upper sections had been done.

"Could you open your eyes, Andrew?" Pippa requested.

At that, I opened my eyes, and Pippa then began to say that she wanted to give me a thinner, more feminine, arched look for the lower part of my eyebrows. At this, I started to hesitate, thinking how it would look once it was done and how my friends would react. This was the first time since I'd started on the makeover that I had contemplated people's reactions, including my mother's, outside of the safety of the salon's walls. Pippa could sense my reluctance and showed me how her eyebrows had a definite arched look, especially towards to outer ends.

"You see how my eyebrows thin and taper down to almost a point at the ends. I wouldn't do anything as much as I've got done on you today, just make them a little more curved," she said, trying to convince me that I'd be fine afterward.

Pippa's eyebrows did look amazing, and given that I trusted her judgment, I responded with, "I guess it's ok but just not too much. No one can know that I've had it done."

"Ok then, darling, I'll take a little but not too much," she replied, gesturing me to close my eyes again.

It's funny the thoughts you have when you close your eyes. While I could feel Pippa applying the warm wax to the underside of both eyebrows and dreading the potential consequences, part of me hoped that I too would soon have a beautifully sculptured pair of feminine arched eyebrows like Pippa's. Not sure why the perceived embarrassment of having feminine-looking, arched eyebrows didn't make me stop her. Guess a growing part of me didn't hold these fears.

While my brain was busy working on these thoughts, Pippa had applied wax to the underside of both my eyebrows. Given the time she took, I could tell that she was taking great care to get them perfect. I then felt the cloth being applied, and not long after, some stinging. Honestly, the pain was minimal, and within a second or two, there was no discomfort whatsoever.

I went to open my eyes, but Pippa rested her hand across my forehead, saying, "not quite done yet, dear, there are a few stray hairs that didn't come out with the waxing. Let me get my tweezers, so finish them off."

I then felt Pippa's spare hand pull the skin taut across my left eyebrow while she removed any offending hairs. This process seemed like forever as she alternated between the two brows, but it was only a few minutes. The longer I lay there, the more I grew concerned that I wouldn't have any eyebrows left, especially in the areas that felt like outer ends.

"All done. You're going to love how they look," Pippa said enthusiastically, clearly proud of her handiwork, "please sit up; I'll get you a mirror so you can see for yourself."

With my eyes still struggling to focus after having been closed for quite a while, I saw the product of Pippa's efforts. Again, like looking at my painted nails for the first time, it was semi-surreal. While Pippa's statement that I'd love them wasn't exactly one hundred percent true, they did look great. Rather than their previous unkempt look, they were perfectly symmetrical and tapered gradually from the inner parts with just enough of an unmistakable feminine arch in the underside further out. Not entirely as well defined as Pippa's own brows but not too dissimilar.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing; they look so, so different. I think I actually like them," I said appreciatively.

"That's my pleasure, darling; I'm so happy you like them. Now don't worry about the redness from the waxing; that will fade quite quickly," she replied.

I hadn't even noticed any red marks; I was too engrossed in looking at my new eyebrows. Lifting up the mirror again, I did see the redness she was talking about, but it was nothing to worry about. While still looking in the mirror, I ran my index finger along with my eyebrows just to feel them and ensure that what I am seeing was reality. It certainly was a unique sight for me as, of course, my finger had a long bright red nail on it as well. The reflected combination of my new feminine-shaped eyebrows and long painted nails were certainly something that I'd never seen before now.

"So, how are you enjoying your makeover so far?" Pippa asked, breaking my focus.

"I'm having the best fun I've had for a very long time, thank you," I responded, growing ever more interested in my changes and those to come.

"Excellent, I had a strong suspicion that you would love it. You were always so fascinated with what I did here when you were younger," she said, revealing for the first time that she'd thought about giving me a makeover for quite some time.

"Now, while we're still here, would you consider getting any more waxing done?" she continued, "I told your mum that I might tidy up your eyebrows a little, but that's all the waxing I've told her; about."

"Do you think it's necessary?" I responded uncommitted.

"Well, if we're being true to the Princess theme of your makeover, then no princess has hairy legs or armpits do they?" she queried back with a grin on her face.

"I guess not," I replied, accepting the recommended further waxing even though my mother didn't know that I'd be having it done. Pippa was right, I guess; while I'd only just entered puberty and didn't have much thick hair, my legs and armpits did probably need attention.

"Brilliant, I'm going to start on your lower legs and work my way up to just above your knees," she instructed while signaling for me to lie back down on the table, "I was planning on possibly giving you a spray tan, too but looking at your lovely brown legs I can see that won't be necessary. Your tanned legs will look so nice once all that nasty hair is gone. I'll do your feet and toes too, I think, as we can't have hairy feet and toes to distract from your beautiful painted toenails, can we?"

"No, that would be a real shame," is replied cheekily, my own interest in my makeover feeding from Pippa's vibrancy.

Pippa then began waxing both of my legs, including my feet and toes. I did get to watch the process this time, with the only real difference being removing larger areas of hair with each strip. While uncomfortable in places, particularly at the back on my knees, any pain was temporary. Interestingly, the longer the waxing continued, the less I noticed any discomfort to the point where I forgot that it was actually happening. A large reason for this being the wonderful conversations I was enjoying with Pippa. Despite being a generation apart, we had so many common interests.

Pippa had reached just above the knees on both legs when she asked, "Do you think that is high enough?".

To this day, I don't know why, but I replied instantaneously with, "Would you be able to go higher?"

"Of course I will, dear," she replied caringly, "how about you tuck up your boxer shorts up as far as you can. I'll wax as much of your legs as I can. I'm so glad you've started to enjoy your makeover. I so hoped that you'd embrace all of these new experiences. Deep down, I thought you would!"

Any reluctance that earlier existed had been replaced with curiosity and acceptance of whatever further plans Pippa, and to a lesser extent, my mother had made for my transformation. As per my request, Pippa continued to wax further up my legs until, short of removing my boxer shorts, it was not possible to remove any more hairs. When my legs were complete, she began massaging some oil into my now bare legs. It felt amazing as her hands slid over my smooth skin.

"This oil will help minimize ingrown hairs," she said with some authority.

I didn't really understand what she meant by ingrown hairs, and honestly, I didn't really care. I was just enjoying her massaging my legs. Unfortunately, Pippa finished rubbing my legs and asked me to stand and take off my shirt so that she could access my armpits. I did as requested before returning to lie on the waxing table. Raising both arms above my head to expose my armpits for Pippa, I again caught a glimpse of my beautiful, painted nails that were now feeling and appearing much more of a natural part of me.

I'm quite ticklish, and as Pippa waxed my armpits, my senses were fully active. One second a tingling feeling as the wax was applied and soon after the sting as my armpit hairs were removed. I would say that having my armpits waxed stung more than either my eyebrows or legs, but I think my growing enthusiasm for my makeover helped dull the pain. Once she had finished waxing my armpits, she tweezed out some extra hairs in my armpits and legs that had been missed during the waxing. Unlike when she was plucking my eyebrows, I had no concern regarding how many hairs she was removing.

"Now you've got a few stray hairs on your chest too; I'm just going to get those as well," Pippa said.

"That's fine, Pippa. You can do whatever you like to me," I replied trustingly.

With this response, I undoubtedly indicated to Pippa that I was definitely fully compliant with her plans for me. Her pampering had opened up something very special from deep inside my consciousness, and I was reveling in my newfound self.

Efficiently she waxed a small area of hair in the center of my chest; using the wax remnants on that piece of cloth also removes a few hairs sprouting from around my nipples. It's funny; I recall being so proud when I started to grow chest hair when I entered puberty. Now, I felt even happier that it was gone.

"What's next?" I asked Pippa eagerly, "I can't wait to see what you and mum have organized for me."

"Well . ." she replied, pausing briefly, "rather than get dressed back into your clothes, how would you like to try some other clothes?".

"What do you mean by other clothes?" I replied slightly hesitantly.

"Well, I thought that seeing you're having a Princess Makeover and having lots of girly things done to you that perhaps you might feel more comfortable wearing some feminine clothing to more fully explore the experience," she responded wistfully.

"I don't know Pippa, does my mum know about this part?" I replied.

"No, she doesn't know, but I'm sure she wouldn't mind," she responded, hoping for my approval.

"I guess it would be alright then," I said, knowing that I was losing another aspect of my dwindling masculinity.

On my acceptance of Pippa's offer, she quickly left the room, returning shortly after with a large, floral print bag. One at a time, she lay the items on the table where I'd recently been waxed. As I suspected, feminine clothing equated to a dress. It was sleeveless, shiny, and royal blue in color, with several areas of fine cream-colored lace attached to it, the type of dress a young lady would wear at formal events. Next on the table was some lingerie. A lacy pair of black, satin underwear, far more evocative in appearance than any underwear that I'd seen in our laundry basket at home. Matching the silky underwear was an equally seductive-looking brasserie. Besides the clothing was a long silver necklace with a pendant and what I soon discovered to be a bracelet. Finally, there were a pair of black high-heeled shoes with a heel of around five centimeters. These were very similar to the pair that Pippa herself was currently wearing.

"Are you ok to get yourself dressed?" enquired Pippa breaking my attention from the items laid out in front of us.

"Do I need to wear underwear, bra, and shoes? Won't the dress and jewelry be enough?" I responded subconsciously, fighting for my manliness.

"I think that it all needs to be worn if you're wanting to do your makeover properly," she replied, "if you wear your boxer shorts underneath, then it will make the dress puff out around your hips and the shoes definitely need to be worn to complete the outfit."

"If you don't wear the bra, the dress shape will be all wrong," she continued, "I've even purchased some bra inserts to help fill it out better."

"Here," she said more forcibly, "I'll help you put on the bra and inserts as they can be tricky, but other than that, I'm sure you'll manage for yourself."

Soon after I was wearing my first bra, Pippa efficiently clipping me in and placing the inserts in their desired location. The inserts were funny-looking things that I thought resembled the chicken breast fillets that we occasionally ate for dinner. Guess they're called chicken "breasts" for a reason, although, given the size of the ones in my bra, they were modeled on a very large chicken!

Not really wishing to discuss my outfit further, Pippa walked through the narrow doorway, saying that she'd just outside the room if I needed any more help.

"I'm just going to text message your mother dear to let her know that everything is going really well," she announced through the door.

I didn't really know how to start dressing as a girl but thought that underwear was a logical place to start. I slipped down my boxer shorts and, for the first time, noticed a clear delineation of hair where the waxing had reached. I must admit that the black satin underwear felt so soft as I pulled it up over my smooth waxed legs. Once at the top, it fitted me firmly to the point of reducing my private parts to barely a bump.

After lifting up the dress and rotating it several times to make sense of its shape, I basically found the bottom. I dived in arms first, eventually finding the armholes. It was especially strange pulling clothing over the couple of largish mounds that were now strapped to my chest! I paused briefly, admiring myself in a full-length mirror in the corner of the room. The dress actually looked really nice on me and not anywhere near as awkward as I thought it would be. I could now see why Pippa had insisted on waxing my armpits as my bald underarms were fully exposed in the sleeveless dress that she'd selected for me to wear if I were to raise my arms.

Seizing on my temporary privacy, I raised my hands, cupping and feeling my breasts. They felt as if they had always been there. The reflected image of my red painted nailed hands holding my large, though fake, breasts caused my firmly secured manhood to attempt to swell despite the restraint of the underwear. Combined with this erotic stimulation, I felt an infusion of adrenaline flow into my body as I sensually embraced my new body shape. I was in heaven! I think this was the tipping point of the makeover. Desire for more had truly replaced fear.

"You right it there, darling?" Pippa queried, probably because I'd stopped making any noise while I caressed myself in front of the mirror.

"Yes, thanks, Pippa, nearly done, "I replied, returning from my self-inflicted stupor to put on the necklace and bracelet.

The final item of my outfit, the black high heels, took a lot more skill to put on than the jewelry. After a few minutes, though, utilizing a small stool in the room to sit down, I placed and then fastened them onto my feet. Even before I'd finished putting the heels on, I couldn't help but admire how wonderful my bright red painted toenails looked in them. Another time during my appointment when I felt like my eyes were trying to betray my brain. Tentatively standing now, I wobbled a few short steps, no doubt displaying all the agility of a newborn foal, to again look at my reflection. While feeling very ungainly, my tanned, waxed legs looked amazing due to how the high heels positioned the muscles in my legs.

"All done, Pippa," I yelled, alerting Pippa that I was fully dressed to her requirements.

"Come out, darling and let me see; I'm so excited to see what you look like," she responded enthusiastically.

Opening the door, I walked out of the waxing room to find Pippa brimming with pride as I took some more nervous steps due to the shoes.

"You look incredible, darling," she said, getting slightly teary, I think, "you're mum isn't going to be able to recognize you. I hardly did!".

"The dress fits you like a glove, and I'd die to have legs like yours; they're perfect. See how the underwear holds everything in place around your hips; the boxer shorts just wouldn't have worked," she commented, marveling at her clothing selections, "your breasts to look so natural."

"I was a bit scared to put on the lingerie at first, but now they feel so nice," I replied, joining Pippa in her joy.

"I'm guessing that you've also got some hairs showing right at the top of your legs too that we didn't quite get due to the boxer shorts?" Pippa casually queried.

"How'd you know?" I responded quizzically.

"I've been thinking about your makeover for quite a while, and it's something that I'd considered, that's all," she responded, "don't worry, next time you're here, I can give you a bikini line wax if you're willing which will solve that problem."

Wow! I thought to myself. There was to be the next time. Pippa had been planning this for quite a while. What had I done? While pausing briefly to consider Pippa's latest revelations, my feminine persona was thrilled at the prospect of this being more than a one-off occurrence.

"Walk up and down a few times so improve your balance in the heels," Pippa continued, "I find the trick is to try to walk on your toes as much as possible."

Her advice was very helpful, and after a few slight stumbles, I was soon moving much more freely and confidently.

I took the opportunity to ask if I could go to the restroom which Pippa, of course, agreed. Now that was another first, as I fumbled with extended nails and trying to suitably position my dress while pulling down my underwear. In the end, I resorted to sitting down, another step to womanhood taken.

"Next, I'd like to do your makeup," Pippa suggested as I returned. "This is actually the last thing you'll have done that your mum knows about. I have some other ideas, though, but I'm keeping them a secret for now."

My mind began racing, thinking about Pippa's other plans for my makeover that she hadn't shared with my mother. What else could she possibly do to me that she hasn't already done? I pondered?

This wondering that I was soon replaced at the pleasant thought of experiencing having my makeup done. I had been observing Pippa's own gorgeous makeup at close quarters for quite a while now and subconsciously wondered how I would look given the same treatment. I was about to find out. Another step that I now actively took on the male to female continuum with Pippa's expert guidance. Close to two hours ago, I was not even wishing to leave the safety of our car, and now I was wearing a short, fitted dress and high heel shoes following Pippa to the makeup station in the back corner of the salon.

It was a part of the salon that I knew well, having spent many hours sitting and spinning in its large, upholstered swiveling chair with large padded armrests to either side. I think mum and Pippa used to send me there for some peace and quiet! In the center, the makeup area had a very large mirror, about a meter wide and extending right to the ceiling. To either side were angled mirrors of similar width but only going halfway up the wall. Across the top of the two side mirrors were a series of small light bulbs spaced about a hand's width apart. Bright, pure white lights emitted from the ceiling, making this area much better illuminated than the remainder of the salon. The benches beneath the three mirrors were covered with various brushes of differing sizes, colorful patches of makeup with unknown uses, and several bundled collections of varying size bottles and containers. Below the benches were probably a dozen drawers, many with stick-on labels listing the contents of each.

I recalled as a child always wanting to touch and play with it all but never did. I must have loved spinning on that chair a great deal because even now, I wanted to touch everything but resisted the urge! I remember being warned that if I ever touched any of it, I'd never be allowed to spin on the chair again.

"Take a seat, darling," Pippa instructed, eager to continue my transformation.

I climbed onto the reasonably high chair, and after some adjustments to my dress and finding a place to rest my heeled feet on, the chair's footrest was ready to be made up. I was definitely now the center of attention in every way. Looking straight at the enormous center mirror, a casual glance to either side revealed my reflection in both angled mirrors adjacent to the main one. It was as if there were three of me! I was also seemingly glowing, given the intensity of the lights focussed on the makeup area. A little like an actor with the spotlight focussed solely on them during a stage production. Unfortunately, the bright conditions did highlight some pubescent skin imperfections but pleasingly, around my recently waxed eyebrows, the majority of the red irritation had disappeared. Closely examining my eyebrows again, I was thrilled with how defined and sophisticated they now looked.

"I'm going to start by cleansing your face Andr, "Pippa explained, cutting short the end of my name, "but before we do that, I don't think calling you Andrew is appropriate anymore. We'll have to come up with a more suitable name for you from now on."

I didn't really know how to respond to Pippa's latest statement regarding me getting a new, obviously female, name. I had noticed that Pippa hadn't called me Andrew since the initial stages of my makeover. Given that I failed to respond in a reasonable time, Pippa continued with her train of thought.

"I've never had children of my own, but I've always liked the name Holly for a girl," she suggested with me now feeling a little sorry for her because she hadn't had her own children, "would it be ok if I called your Holly, Holly?".

While not something that I'd wanted, I was now Holly. Well, at least the former boy with bright red painted nails, waxed eyebrows, legs, and armpits who was wearing a pretty dress, high heels, and about to get his makeup done was called Holly! Must admit, the experiences of the last couple of hours had undeniably shown me that I did like being Holly.

While I had been getting used to my new identity, Pippa had been cleansing my face down as far as my neck. Her gentle touch and attention again feeling wonderful. As she finalized this process, I moved my eyes from side to side catching multiple glances of Pippa pampering me. I loved watching her work skilfully on me, clearly displaying care with every movement.

"Now, Holly, I'm going to turn you around so that you too get a surprise when I've finished with your makeup," she said, swiveling the chair around half a turn before somehow locking it into place.

"After I've finished your makeup, there won't be any sign of your slightly boyish face. Strictly speaking, a Princess look makeup would be more subtle, using paler colors and tones, a little like how I'm wearing my makeup now. But I'm going to give you a more sophisticated, mature look. It will much better show you and your mother your full potential," she explained.

"What do you mean by a mature look?" I queried, unfamiliar with this term like many others I'd heard that afternoon.

"Basically, Holly, you're going to get a dark smokey eye look using eyeliner, mascara, and eyeshadow as well as plenty of cheek contouring to bring out your beautiful facial structure," Pippa authoritatively explained, "you're not going to have anything too severe like ladies going out to a nightclub, you're too young for that, but definitely enough to accentuate your eyes particularly and for anyone seeing you know that you're wearing makeup."

"Don't worry, I'm going to explain all of the components and layers of the makeup as we go so that you can learn what's involved," she continued, "that way, in the future, you'll be able to do a lot of this yourself."

Again a mention that my future was potentially a very different pathway than the one I had imagined. I was comfortable and clearly pleased with this diversion in my journey, as Pippa's statements brought me no fear at all.

"Now, to begin, I'm going to use what's called a primer. Its job is to create an invisible barrier between your skin and the makeup," she instructed, "it also makes removing your makeup so much easier."

"There's a saying in the beauty industry that 'it's a crime not to prime' so we'd better prime your face first so we don't get into any trouble!" she said jovially.

Trouble! With the very mention of the word trouble, I briefly imagined the turmoil I'd be in if one of my friends saw me now. Andrew would be mortified, but then again, my friends have never met Holly, I thought, amusing myself.

Once Pippa hadn't committed a crime against the beauty industry, and I was primed, she began rubbing some creams over my skin that she referred to as a foundation. From my glances at the small tubes in her spare hand, it appeared that she used slightly different skin tone colors for different areas of my face. With the foundation from the tubes now complete, Pippa started using a large, very soft brush to spread a fine powder-like substance over my face, which tickled a lot, especially under my chin and around my nose.

"Ok," Pippa announced, "foundation done."

"Now, I'm going to add some further definition and color to your cheeks. Did you know, Holly, that women naturally have higher cheekbones than men? Interestingly, even though you were born male, your bone structure is much more like a lady than a man's," she pronounced, passing on her wisdom.

"That being said, with just the right color choice and placement of blusher, I can make your cheekbones look much more prominent and therefore feminine."

Applying her theoretical knowledge, Pippa started working her magic on emphasizing my cheeks. With quick strokes using a slightly smaller and stiffer-haired brush, she placed blusher on both cheeks. She also alternated colors from quite a deep red to the palest of pinks and others in between on the spectrum. Towards the end of the process, she would regularly pause and have me look directly at her to gauge for progress. Upon noticing a possible flaw or area that could be improved, she would gather the brush in hand and feverishly set to rectifying the issue.

Because of the close proximity of Pippa's face to mine, while she was adding my blusher, I had a chance to gaze frequently at her own lovely eye makeup. I felt myself start to crave for and wonder how my own eyes would look shortly. My anticipation was only to be short-lived. Pippa placing the brush and various colored blushes onto the bench below the mirrors signified that she was satisfied with my new cheeks.

"I'm really happy with how that went," Pippa commented proudly regarding cheek contouring, "you're going to be mesmerized when you get to see yourself."

What Pippa just said was so true. With each brushstroke, my curiosity concerning Holly's appearance only grew. I was so tempted to turn my head towards the mirrors but thankfully resisted the temptation.

"Eyes now, my dear," Pippa, "the most important part of your whole makeup, in my opinion. Stunning eye makeup can change a whole person's appearance."

"The idea with eye makeup is to use just the right amount of the right product in the right places. Too much and eyes look tacky, too little, and they look underdone," she said, again educating me in the trade secrets of makeup.

She continued on her explanation, "the other important thing is to make the inner parts around the eye lighter and the outer parts darker. This makes the eyes look larger and sort of pop out, giving them a very distinctive look."

"But, before I add any eye makeup on you, I just need to get something," she stated as she disappeared behind me.

It sounded like she was opening one of the drawers under the benches and then rummaging through it to try and find something. Her trip must have been successful as I heard the draw close and her brush past me, returning to my front.

She held up a relatively small, weirdly shaped metal device in front of me, asking, "Don't suppose you know what this does, Holly?"

"No idea, sorry, Pippa," I responded, becoming increasingly comfortable with my new name.

"It's not something that's going to hurt you if that's what you were thinking," she said with a slight grin on her face.

"It's an eyelash curler. I'm going to curl your lashes before I add any makeup. It feels a little uncomfortable while it's being done but not painful at all. Once you've had it done, your eyelashes will curl out from your eye rather than point straight out like they do naturally. Like using light and dark colors in different areas of your eyes, curled eyelashes make your eyes look bigger and more beautiful," she explained in intricate detail.

Now undeterred by the scary-looking contraption after Pippa's explanation, I replied with, "ok then, Pippa, if you think it's necessary."

Pippa then curled my top and bottom eyelashes on both eyes, seemingly paying great attention to the upper lashes. Her earlier explanation of how the eyelash curler worked was perfect. While not painful in any way, it did feel uncomfortable having something squeeze and then slightly pulling around my eyes.

"You have such lovely long eyelashes, Holly. I remember that even as a small child, they were so long and thick," she said reminiscing, "they look even more prominent now they've been curled."

"I had considered giving you some eyelash extensions, but for today, I think that just some mascara on those curled lashes with be plenty," Pippa continued, "we'll see once all of your eye makeup is done. I promise that one day I'll give you some eyelash extensions that will make your eyelashes look enormous, but it is a slow, tedious process, and we won't have time tonight."

While she had been telling me everything about eyelashes, Pippa had been gathering several different sized but considerably smaller brushes, a large palette of eyeshadows, and some other objects. Because I was facing away from the mirror, she made use of a couple of stools on which to place the assorted items.

"Eye makeup involves lots of blending of colors, so I'm going to be alternating lots with these products," she explained, now ready to attack my eyes.

"I'm going to begin by using eyeshadow, lighter colors for the inner part, moving to darker on the outside to contour the eye area. I'll then apply a liquid eyeliner across your lash lines. I prefer using liquid eyeliner as it gives a much bolder impact than using an eyeliner pencil. To help make your gorgeous blue eyes look ever bluer, I'm going to add an intense blue eyeliner to the outer ends of your eye's water lines. The blue eyeliner is going to look amazing! Finally, we'll add plenty of black mascara to make your long curled lashes really pop out. By following this sequence, it will allow me to build the look from the base up so I can work on the intensity of the look I'm hoping for as I go," Pippa stated, clearly well versed in applying eye makeup.

"It sounds all very technical, Pippa," I replied in awe of her vast knowledge.

"It sounds more complicated than it is," she responded, deflecting some of my admiration.

"Just leave it to me. All you need to do is open and close your eyes when I ask, and you'll have breathtaking eyes very shortly," she continued.

It took probably five minutes for Pippa to add eyeshadow of various tones to my eyelids and occasionally under my eyes as well. Feeling the soft bristles of the fine, tapered brush rubbing on my eyeballs through my eyelids was another new experience for me. Starting about a third of the way out from the inner corner of my eye, Pippa used the liquid eyeliner in short, delicate strokes on the lash line of my upper eyelid and also below my lower eyelashes. It felt like each time she slightly overlapped where she had been, presumably to not miss any as well as making the black line more dramatic. She then had me open and close my eyes on many occasions. In between, these instructions alternated between adding more eyeshadow and eyeliner. While the process itself keep Pippa very busy, I found the whole thing immensely relaxing, particularly when my eyes were closed.

"You are going to love how they look!" Pippa announced excitedly, admiring her partially completed masterpiece and selecting a pencil-like item from one of the stools.

"This blue eyeliner is going to be draw on your water lines," she then explained, "again, it may feel uncomfortable while it's being done, but that's all."

"What exactly are my waterlines?" I asked inquiringly.

"Oh, sorry darling, I should have explained it more clearly to you," she responded apologetically, "here's me about to poke a pencil somewhere in your eye, and you don't have a clue what I'm talking about!".

"It's the area at the very edge of your eyelid, and it touches against your eyeball. We do it to both top and bottom eyelids but more so on the lower waterline as it's easier to access and see. It's sometimes called your tear line but let's hope it's not going to be used for any tears now," she clarified.

The confusion cleared up; Pippa, using her spare hand to slightly pull down my lower left eyelid and began adding the blue eyeliner that had just caused me some concern. She repeated the process on the other eye before briefly adding blue to the upper waterlines of both eyes as well.

"You're eyes now look a much deeper blue color than before Holly, "I can't wait for your mother to see your stunning eyes."

"I'm pretty curious myself!" I interjected, increasingly desperate to swivel around and see my eyes.

"They'll be plenty of time for that young lady," Pippa commented, referring to me as a lady for the first time. At the time, I didn't even notice.

"Just some darkening of your eyebrows to make them even more defined and then the mascara to complete your eyes," she instructed.

To darken my eyebrows, Pippa brushed through a dark-colored liquid from a small jar, pausing from time to time to straighten my eyebrows with a comb on the reverse end of the brush.

"If you want something more permanent in the future, to darken your eyebrows and eyelashes, you could get them tinted. This basically dyes them the chosen color and lasts for around four to six weeks, minimizing the need to color your eyebrows or apply mascara." Pippa said.

"For now though, I think it's more fun for you to have both done like this, especially the mascara, which I'm going to do now," she continued, "mascara not only darkens the lashes, but they will also be thicker and longer as the mascara gets applied to itself on the ends lengthening each eyelash."

As she had just alluded to, Pippa then began applying mascara to my eyelashes, commenting before she commenced on how wonderful my eyelashes already looked now that they had been curled. It was quite an awkward process as she had me looking in all directions trying to make her work impeccable. The very fine mascara brush felt ticklish. It lightly tugged and separated the individual eyelashes while simultaneously adding the color, volume, and length that Pippa had mentioned.

"Your eyes are done, my princess!" Pippa announced proudly.

I tried to spin around in the chair as I was so keen to see myself, but Pippa put an end to my plans, saying that she hadn't done my lips yet. I quickly realized how involved, and time-consuming applying makeup was and why my time-poor mother never really bothered.

"For your lips Holly, firstly, I'll use a dark pencil to outline your lips which will make them look fuller and more defined," she explained.

"After that, I'll use a thin, fine brush to take the color off the lipstick itself and then fill in your lips. I'm thinking of red lipstick to match your nails but pale enough so that it doesn't overpower your eye makeup. Your eyes should always be the central focus when people look at you, and your other makeup simply complements them," she outlined in detail.

After some more ticklish moments, my lips had been lined, and Pippa started to color them in the pale red she had chosen. Over this, she placed a clear gloss which she told me protected the lipstick from rubbing off easily and gave my lips a shiny appearance.

"One more thing before you're unveiling, young lady," Pippa announced, "I've got a wig that I'll now place on that is very similar to your own natural color. Can't have you looking outrageously stunning if you've got a boy's short haircut can we?".

Not waiting or wishing to hear any response Pippa momentarily left my sight before returning with Holly's hair held in one hand. She used her other hand to tease the fibers, presumably to sort the front from the back. Having needed to wear a few wigs before in school drama acts, I already knew how unruly wigs could be. After some manipulation, Pippa placed the sandy blonde wig over the last remnants of my boyhood and starting tugging gently to get it to sit as she desired. The wig itself was pretty thick and reached down to just past my shoulders. Some light brushing, and Holly now had long hair.

"Ok, you've been so patient, darling. You look incredible. I hope you think so too. Close your eyes, and I'll turn you around," Pippa instructed, commencing to unlock the chair's swivel mechanism.

"I'm sure you can't wait to meet Holly," she said enthusiastically.

"Holly, meet Holly!" Pippa announced, giving me permission to open my eyes.

If eyes were playing tricks on me earlier when I glanced at my painted nails, then now they were hallucinogenic. My eyes now relayed to my brain the image of a gorgeous young lady who my previous self would have considered to be one of the most beautiful girls that he'd ever seen. Instinctively I leaped from the chair to stand closer to the mirror to better marvel at my reflection.

"I am beautiful," I muttered to myself several times.

"Yes, you are, Holly. You've always been beautiful on the inside; all I've done is changed how the outside now looks", Pippa responded with pride.

I continued looking in the three mirrors for quite a while, exploring every component of my makeup. Lovely shiny, pink-tinged cheeks and pretty large pale red lips. My eyes, as Pippa had repeatedly said, though, were the main attraction. My eyelashes now looked ridiculously long with the eyeliner on both eyes' outer parts, making my eyes appear so much larger. The blue eyeliner in my waterlines did as Pippa had promised and gave my own eyes a much stronger, darker blue look. All of this was framed perfectly by the sandy blonde wig, showing that Pippa had left no stone unturned when planning and carrying out my makeover.

"Thank you so much, Pippa," I started again.

"It's all been an absolute privilege to help you explore yourself, my love," Pippa replied, deflecting my praise.

"Just walk up and down a little and show me a few twirls," she instructed.

I did as requested and soon found walking in the heels much less risky while being observed by Pippa, who offered tidbits of advice when she thought it necessary.

"Lean your hips forward more, push out your chest, walk with your knees much closer together, eyes and head up high," she ordered like a fashion drill sergeant, a laughing one at that.

"I'm doing my best," I replied, chuckling at her commands.

"There's something missing," she finally pronounced, "and I think I know what it is."

"Take a seat again; I have one last thing I'd like to do to complete your makeover. Your mother definitely doesn't know about this one!".

Given the excitement and inflection in her voice, I knew my afternoon's experience was about to be taken up several notches. I did as instructed, the chair still facing the mirror from when Holly was unveiled. I gripped the padded armrests of the chair as again I was on a chair ride, but only of 180 degrees. I was asked to close my eyes, and again I heard Pippa searching through one of the drawers behind.

What could it be? I asked myself, trying to think of what beauty service I hadn't yet had done.

"Please put out your hands, darling," Pippa asked on me, "but keep your eyes closed."