My Husbands First Perm

ALL STORY LIST

SUMMARY  - Chris gets caught by his wife trying to roll his own hair. She suggests a permanent for his birthday. An appointment at the New U salon gives Chris more than a perm in the direction of his wife.

I've never been quite sure when the idea first occurred to me. I do know that it didn't come all at once but developed slowly over the course of many years.

Certainly, the first time that I thought of doing something with my hair other than combing it frightened me. I had always considered an interest in hair to be an essentially feminine trait, and I was sure that I was a male. So how did I come to the point of sitting in the waiting room of a salon, surrounded by strange sights and smells, excited and scared at the same time, waiting for my name to be called for my first permanent wave?

I was a teenager during the and was part of the "long hair" generation. While I never allowed my hair to become really long, it did get to the point where it was long by the standards I had known growing up. It was down to my shoulders, and was long enough that caring for it was more involved than a simple shampoo and toweling it dry. It took time to dry, and needed a conditioner to prevent tangles. Beyond that, I was faced with choosing from a dazzling array of products, shampoos, conditioners and sprays designed to make caring for my hair a more enjoyable experience.

With the seventies and my college years, I transitioned from barbers to stylists for my haircuts, and as an unexpected side effect, I began to see something of the variety of things that could be done with hair. My mother had always rolled her hair, and occasionally had a home permanent, but other than that the only contact I had had with the world of hair was my haircut, and I admit to being overwhelmed by the range of options available at the salons.

I began to be fascinated with the possibility of making dramatic changes in my appearance, but this was a possibility that seemed to be forever unlikely to be brought to reality. I had an occasional attack of jealousy aimed at the girls I knew who were free to do things with their hair, then worried that I might have a problem, wanting to be female. For years I struggled with this tension. I selected shampoos and conditioners for their sensory impact as much as their efficiency. I tried product after product, seeking to find a low commitment way to explore changes. More than anything I wanted my fine, limp hair to have more body, but I was afraid of my interest in things I saw as feminine being discovered.

On several occasions I bought a home permanent kit, complete with rollers and tried to roll my hair on the curlers, only to give up when I was unsuccessful in getting the rods wound properly. I was afraid that a badly done perm would be worse than no perm at all! I also played around with hair color, selecting temporary colors as close to my own dark blonde as possible. I wanted to "play" with my hair, but didn't want another person to know of my "improper" interest.

After I got married, and was able to see close up the day to day and longer-term hair care that my wife engaged in, my interest was piqued. I watched with deep interest when her sister, a hairdresser, did foil highlights on her, and gave her perms right in the kitchen. I was fascinated, but never even dared to consider having my own hair done. That was far too frightening an idea.

For a number of years I struggled with this fear. I would make a point of watching perms being done whenever possible, to the point of sitting on benches outside mall beauty salons and watching through the windows while my wife was shopping. As the years went by, I began to see more and more salons begin openly advertising their status as unisex shops, and some men having perms. It began to seem that my time might have finally arrived but I still hesitated. What would my wife say? She had never seemed the least bit sympathetic to my very occasional hint of interest.

Whenever she was not home I took advantage of the opportunity and used her rollers, her curling iron, and her hot rollers. I was never very good at it, and always washed the resulting curls out of my hair long before I expected her home. Less than a month ago, she came home unexpectedly one day and found me in her hot rollers. I offered an embarrassed explanation of my fascination with my hair. She was surprised, but seemed supportive. "If you really like curls, you should have a perm. I'll ask my sister to give you one for your birthday next month." I said that would embarrass me, and I'd rather not have it done by anyone who knew me. "All right, then choose a salon to have it done. I'll pay for it for you as a birthday gift. Just let me know where and when you will be going to have your perm, so I can make arrangements to pay for it".

"I don't have any idea where to go," I said. I was excited, and eager, but afraid of what the salon personnel might say.

"I know just the place" she said "There is a little salon on the outskirts of town that should be perfect."

I drove by and looked to see how busy they were. Were their styling areas visible from outside the shop? , The name sounded promising, The New You. It was on the second floor of a small strip mall, sharing the area with a music school, with a travel agency, restaurant and gift shop downstairs. It was as private as I could find, and no one I knew had ever been there (as far as I knew). How much privacy can I hope for? Would I see any one I knew coming or going? I wanted to get a perm, but I was worried. What would people think? Would I like the results? Throughout this period, my wife kept pressing me to make an appointment, so that the perm

could be her birthday gift to me.

I called on a Tuesday morning. "I'm interested in knowing if there is any treatment which might add body to my fine, limp hair?" " Why yes, sir there

is. A perm sounds like just what you're looking for. Would you like to make an

appointment?" " "Yes I would. "When is your quietest time?" I asked. "Usually in the morning." she said." On Friday morning we have an opening for a perm.

Would that work for you?" I said that it would.

"Be here at 9:30 and plan on about three hours. It would be good if you wore

something loose fitting. Heather will be giving you your perm. Can I have your

name and phone number?"

With that I was committed! They knew my name and had my phone

number. Now there was no turning back. In just over 72 hours, I was finally going to do it. I was going to have a perm. I was excited and afraid at the same time. The time was going to drag as I waited.

I told my wife when I was having my perm. "I'm glad you will be having

it, and on your birthday too. They have a reputation for giving people what they really want. Who will your stylist be?" I told her that I would be seeing someone named Heather, but I wasn't sure what to ask for. I'd never had a perm, how was I to know what to ask for?

"What are you hoping your perm will look like?" she asked me. "Do want

to keep the same basic look you have now, but with more body? Or would you like to change your appearance?"

"I think I'd like to change my appearance some, otherwise why have a perm?" I answered. "But what should I ask for? I don't want too dramatic a change. What would people think?"

She replied " Don't worry about what other people think! I 'd be glad to call Heather and talk to her before your appointment if you would like. I think I understand what look you would really like, and could make sure she knew what to do to you."

"Would you do that? That'd be great. I wasn't sure what I would say. I'm looking forward to it, but at the same time, I'm nervous. "

"I'd be glad to." she responded, "Just leave everything up to me. You'll have a memorable first perm, and no need to worry about what to ask for. By the way, why don't you take the rest of that day off from work? No point in going in for a few hours on a Friday afternoon, and that will give you some time to get used to your new look before you go to work with it."

"Why did I wait so long to tell her?" I wondered, "Guess I was wrong about how she'd respond. No anger, no ridicule, just acceptance, and an eagerness

to help. This is going to be great. What a birthday this will be!"

Thursday night I was so excited about my appointment that I could barely sleep. I woke up without the alarm clock for the first time in months. I fumbled for my glasses on the bedside table, put them on and saw the red numbers on the clock snap into focus. 6:00A.M, and I don't have to leave until 8:30. "This is going to be a long morning", I thought to myself.

After showering and washing my hair, I began to shave, not that I needed to shave every day, since my beard grew so slowly and was so light, but just to fill some time. As I peered at my face in the mirror I tried to imagine what I'd look like later that day. I hadn't realized that my hair had grown so long. I had been due for a trim when my wife had discovered me, and at her suggestion, I had decided to let it grow to give the stylist more to work with. Now it was almost down to the tops of my shoulder blades.

I ate a light breakfast, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, and at 8:30, got into the car and drove to the salon. I almost drove away without going in, but the thought of what my wife had said as I left home encouraged me. As I kissed her goodbye, she had whispered in my ear "If Heather does what I asked her to, your hair will look absolutely wonderful. I'm looking forward to seeing how it turns out. Promise me you'll drive home quickly once she is finished with you. And don't change anything. Give yourself some time to get used to it, and remember I want to see the new you as soon as possible"

I parked the car as close to the door as possible, looked around to see that no one was watching, and went in. It looked just like I had expected. As I walked

in, there was a tall, sloping desk with a large book open on top. A telephone was on a corner of the desk, and an attractive receptionist with golden curls framing her face was seated on a tall stool. I waited while she finished with a phone call. "He just got here, Yes, I think you'll be very pleased with the results," she said.

Hanging up the phone she greeted me warmly. "You must be Heather's makeover client. My name is Sue, and I'll be helping her. I see you wore a sweatshirt. That may be a bit of a problem later, but I'm sure we'll manage. Have a seat and Heather will be with you very soon"

My Husbands First Perm

"What sort of problem?" I asked, "and I'm here for a perm, not a  makeover."

"We just don't want to disturb your new look by pulling a sweatshirt over your head. We have something you can wear home instead, so don't worry."

I sat down in a wicker chair with a very comfortable red corduroy pillow,  and looked around the salon. In the waiting area there were baskets on the floor filled with magazines. On the walls were framed pictures of women with elaborate hairdos. In the salon work area, one whole wall was covered with mirrors and had  3 chairs arranged in front of them. They looked more comfortable than those of the salon where I had been getting my haircut did. Against the opposite wall were three sinks with low chairs in front. Along the back wall were three chrome hairdryers.

In a separate area were a wheeled table and two chairs, one on each side. "That is  our manicure area." Sue said," "I also do that". There was also a door leading off behind the receptionist's area. "Back there are a changing room, and some other  rooms for our special projects."

Soft instrumental music was playing in the background, and I could feel myself relaxing. If I wasn't careful I could doze off easily, especially after not sleeping well the night before. "I know it is a little bit early, but would you like a glass of  wine while you wait?" Sue asked. " I don't drink very often, but I think now would  be a nice time to do so." I responded. "Just don't be insulted if I begin to doze  off."

That won't be a problem" Sue smiled. "In fact, it is a sign of trust which we  are glad to see."

Just then the salon door opened and a willowy redhead with a French braid bustled in.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, "I'm Heather. I've been looking forward to  working on you since your wife called to explain what she wants us to do to you."

"A perm, right?" I asked.

"If you will please go back to the changing room, strip down to your underpants, and put on one of the robes you find there, we'll be ready to start. You  can put your clothes in one of the lockers."

"Take off my clothes? Why?" I asked.

"We don't want to get them wet, or stained by any of the solutions we will be using on your hair," Heather answered.

"That makes sense," I thought. I swallowed the last of my wine and went to the changing room. The first several lockers I opened were full of an assortment of women's clothing, but eventually, I found an empty one. I found a robe; it was a  long, rich terrycloth robe, pink with a pastel yellow trim. It was not to my taste, but it would serve the purpose, so I put it on and went back to the main room of the salon.

Heather was waiting for me at one of the sinks. She seated me in the chair,  took my glasses, wrapped a thick towel around my neck, placed a cape over my shoulders, and had me lean back with my head over the sink.

"The first thing we are going to do is a pretreatment for your hair, so it will be ready for the rest of the day's activities. What I will be doing is applying it to your dry hair, and leaving it there for about 20 minutes, then I will rinse it out and shampoo your hair. " Sue then turned away to a counter and picked up a plastic bottle, opened a small bottle, and poured it into the plastic bottle. Then she added the contents of another bottle, put a pointed top on the plastic bottle and began to shake it. I squinted to try to see what she was doing, but without my glasses, it was mostly a blur.

Sue put on a pair of rubber gloves, saying" My hands are a little dry, so I'll be wearing gloves today." and began squeezing the contents of the bottle onto my hair. It was just a little cold and had a slightly acrid aroma. She then began to work up a lather, working the lather through my hair, from scalp to ends. After several minutes, she turned away, set a timer, and asked "Are you comfortable? I will be  back in about 20 minutes to rinse your hair."

I didn't respond because I was drowsing off. "I must be more tired than I  thought." I must have slipped off to sleep, because only moments later, Heather was back. She turned on the water, and adjusted the temperature. "How is this?"  she asked. "Just a bit warmer" I replied. When the water temperature was right, she began to wet my hair. Warm water began to spill down my head. I could feel my hair becoming wet and heavy. It was very relaxing. Soon it was thoroughly wet. I  could feel her strong fingers working through my hair, getting the lather out. She rinsed my hair for about three minutes.

"Now comes the shampoo," she said. She poured some into her hand, and began working up a lather. The shampoo had a brief hint of a vanilla scent, and had the richest, thickest lather I had ever experienced. Again she rinsed my hair thoroughly, wrapped a towel around my head, turban style, and had me walk over to the middle chair.

As I sat there, facing away from the mirror, Heather wheeled a cart next to  my chair. I could see that there were several bins, each full of various colored perm rods. Then she took the towel off of my head, and began to comb my hair, going gently to work out any tangles that the shampooing might have left. She gathered  my hair into about 6 sections and pinned each section out of the way with a long

silver clip.

"Based on what your wife requested, we will be doing something a little bit different today from what you might expect. Because you hair is such a nice length  to work with, I am going to do what is called a piggyback perm. What this means is that when perming longer hair, I will wind the hair onto two rods so that the curl size will be more even from scalp to ends. I will begin by winding the hair onto a  rod from halfway up the hair, and wind it to the scalp, leaving the end loose. Then  I'll wind the end on another rod, and fasten it above the first rod. This will take  longer, but the look is worth it, and your wife said you were taking the afternoon  off, so the extra time will not be a problem."

I was feeling rather mellow from lack of sleep, the buzz of the wine, and the  soothing music, so I responded "I'm in your hands, do what you wish."

"Not what I wish, but what your wife wishes" Heather said with a smile.

"Now I am going to begin rolling your hair. Are you comfortable?"

"I'm fine. Could you turn the chair to face the mirror? I'd kind of like to  watch."

"I'm sorry, but you will need to keep your glasses off, and it is more convenient for me to work with you facing this way. Is that OK?"

"You're the stylist! Whatever is best."

Heather took a comb and began to separate my hair into little strands right at the front of my scalp, a bit narrower than the rod and about a half-inch deep. She ran a comb through it from the scalp to the ends, and maintaining a gentle pressure,  held it extended with one hand. With her other hand, she took a piece of shiny paper and folded it so that it covered the strand she had just combed on both sides, front and back. She slid it about halfway out from my scalp, took a pink rod, and began winding down toward the scalp at a 45-degree angle. The pull on my hair was noticeable, but not painful. Then she took another paper, endpapers she called them, and put it at the end of the strand that was left hanging off the first rod. She then took another rod and wound it down to the lower rod, and fastened it.

She quickly fell into a routine as she worked her way backwards, to the crown of my head, then down the back to the nape of my neck. Every few moments, she would spray my hair lightly with water to keep it damp. I was surprised at how many rods she was using. "The style you wife asked for requires a lot of rods. And don't forget that a piggyback perm uses twice as many rods anyway." Heather said.

After she finished the first row, rather like railroad ties running along my scalp, she started a section above my right ear, running perpendicular to the first row of rods. My scalp was beginning to tingle all over from the slight, but steady pull of the rods, and I could feel the additional weight of damp wound rods on my head.

She continued to roll row after row until the right side was done, then she moved to the left side, and repeated the process. Finally after what seemed like almost an hour, she was done. "I think we may have used as many rods as I've ever used before" Heather laughed, "well over 140. Are you still comfortable?"

Then she misted my hair again with the spray bottle. She took some cream and dabbed it on my skin around the hairline, then with a long strip of what looked like cotton rope, surrounded my scalp with a white fringe. "This will prevent any perm solution from getting onto your face or neck." she said. "Now we're ready to apply the perm solution. With your length of hair and number of rods, we'll be using two perm kits today."

She turned to the cart, and took two bottles, poured each into a plastic squeeze bottle, and shook it to mix them. Then she mixed the second perm in the same way in another bottle. "Last chance to change your mind" she joked. "Not a chance" I replied, "Do your thing, I'm in your hands."

She put a fresh towel around my neck, refastened the cape, and beginning at the nape of my neck began squeezing a cool, slippery feeling liquid onto the rods.

There was a strong smell which never the less I found appealing. "Sorry about the odor" Heather said, "but we need a strong perm for the look your wife asked for."

"No problem" I replied. "I don't mind." One rod after another became saturated, and my head became heavier and heavier. She worked her way up to the crown, then did the sides. As she began the top, she gave me a towel to catch any spills onto my face.

Finally she was finished. I had a head full of wet rods. She removed the cotton roping and replaced it, put a plastic cap, rather like a shower cap, over my head and led me back to a hair dryer. After I sat down, she lowered the hood over my head, turned it on, and said, "It will need at least 20 minutes to process your curl. I'll be back to check on the curl then. If it gets too hot let me know, but it does need to be very warm to form the curl best. Would you like another glass of wine while you wait?"

I accepted another glass of wine, and began to daydream about my new look. The music was louder, and I realized that there were speakers right in the dryer. Without realizing it I drifted off to sleep again with the wine, the warmth, the music and the lack of sleep the night before. I woke up to hear Heather saying,

"Time to check the curl." She turned off the dryer, lifted the hood, removed the cap, and partially unwound a rod. "I think we need another 10 minutes for the curl we want." she said.

"Could I use the rest room?" I asked, "it has been a long morning". I noticed that it was already noon. "As long as you don't take too long "she answered, "we don't want the curls to cool off. The rest room is next to the changing room." "No problem" I replied.

I was surprised to notice that the men's room had no mirror, but decided that they must want to prevent patrons from undoing the stylist's work. I returned to the dryer and sat back down. From the glimpse I had of my head in the mirror, blurred as it was, I did indeed have a head full of rods. "I am certainly enjoying this, I like being pampered, and having curls will be wonderful. Why did I wait so long to come?" I thought. Heather lowered the hood, turned the dryer back on, and set the timer again.

Sooner than I expected, Heather was back. Again she stopped the dryer, lifted the hood, removed the cap and partially unwound a rod- a different one this time. "Looks good" she said "now its time to rinse." First she used several hand towels to blot the rods. "The more perm solution we can remove before the rinse, the better." Then we walked back to the sink. I sat down, lowered my head she removed the cotton, and she began to spray my head with warm water. "Your hair needs to rinse for about 5 minutes, so we can remove all the perm solution."

Warm water cascaded over my head, and the perm smell began to diminish.

I found myself daydreaming about my next perm. "I could get to like this," I said. Heather laughed, "many of our clients say the same thing"

After about five minutes, Heather had me sit up. She wrapped a towel around my head, and gently pushed against the rods. Then she took more hand towels and went one by one and dried each separate rod individually. The rods pulled against my hair, but I found it to be a pleasant sensation.

"What now, the neutralizer?" I asked. "For some perms, yes, but for your perm, we are going to use a different approach. We are going to air neutralize your perm. It is a technique which is gentler on your hair, and gives a better curl formation."

"What does it involve? " I asked. " Just what it sounds like. We allow you hair to dry on the rods, and the oxygen in the air neutralizes the perm and locks the curl into place" Heather explained.

"Won't that take a long time?"

"It would if we let it dry naturally, but after 30 minutes, we put you back under the dryer set to low and let you dry there. It's lunchtime, would you like some lunch from the restaurant downstairs?"

"That would be great. I didn't realize how hungry I was. I'll have a burger and fries."

"Sue, would you mind getting lunch for my client?" "No problem, I'd be glad to."

I handed her a ten, she left, and then Heather put a piece of gauze-like cloth over my hair. "This is a hair net, and it will help keep you rods in place to protect the curls as they set. I'm sorry but the only color we have today is pink. I hope you don't mind."

"I'm sitting here with a head full of pink perm rods, and you think I'll mind a pink hairnet?" I laughed. By the way, I know you said this was a quiet time, but I'm surprised how quiet it has been."

"Your wife knew you might be nervous so she arranged to ensure that you were our only customer. It is a service we provide for our makeover customers."

"What is this makeover you keep mentioning?"

"It is a special service your wife ordered with your perm. You have already undergone some of it, and more will come while you perm is air neutralizing."

"And my wife arranged for it?"

"Yes she did. She wanted your first perm to be a memorable occasion, the experience of a lifetime. We do about 20 makeovers a month, and all by word of mouth referrals. Actually, you are fortunate we were able to take you in time for your birthday."

"I guess it must be OK then. Oh, here Sue is with my lunch. Wow, that was fast! Thanks, Sue, please keep the change."

Heather gave me back my glasses, and said, "As long as you are very careful not to disturb the rods, you can wear them again for a while. There is a lunch table in the changing room, you can eat there if you like."

I got up and walked to the room. As I passed the mirror, I looked hard at my head, but the net made it hard to see very much. "You have about 20 minutes in which to eat before you go back under the dryer. Would you like something to drink with your meal? I'm afraid all we have is more of the wine you have already had."

"I guess that would be all right. It is a very good wine."

I finished my lunch, drank the rest of my wine, and went back to the dryer.

Sue came up, set me in the chair, and turned on the dryer. "Heather will be back soon. In the meantime, it is time for the next part of the makeover. I am going to give you a manicure while your hair is drying "

"A what? I'm not here for a manicure!"

"Actually, you are, it is part of the makeover your wife expressly asked for."

Maybe I was getting into the spirit of the day, maybe I had drunk a bit too much wine, or perhaps I didn't want to disappoint my wife, but I agreed. "OK my hand is in your hands." I joked Sue took my hands, and dipped the fingers into a bowl of liquid. After a few moments, she took my right hand and began filing the nails lightly with an emery board. She shaped them to match my fingertips, pushed back the cuticles and began to brush on something. I thought to protest, but the music, the wine and the thought of not disappointing my wife led me to keep silent. Once again I dozed.

As if in a dream, I heard Heather return. "How is he doing?" she asked Sue.

"He was a bit reluctant, but he came around and agreed to his manicure.

That special wine always seems to drop their defenses so well."

"Good, the next phases of the makeover are always more pleasant if our client is not too reluctant to cooperate."

As I struggled back to being fully awake, I noticed that my nails had seemed to have grown. They were almost an inch long and were a very vivid red. I would have protested, but for some reason, it didn't seem to be a big deal any longer.

"Welcome back from your nap" Heather said. "Are you ready for the next phase of your makeover?"

"I guess so", I mumbled.

"Great! Now Sue will give you a pedicure, while I work on your brows. Are you ready?"

I wanted to protest, but I couldn't find the words. Sue slipped off my shoes and socks, and began trimming, filing and polishing my toenails the same color as my fingers. Meanwhile Heather was busy plucking my eyebrows. It stung, but I didn't protest, it just seemed easier to let her work while I listened to music. Soon I was beginning to think that I enjoyed having my nails done. "Where did that idea come from" I wondered.

When Sue finished with my toes, she placed some warm, soft substance on my legs and let them harden. Then she pulled it off. "Ouch, that hurts" I shouted. "It's just the hairs being pulled out by the wax treatment," she said, "Next we do your arms and chest, then we'll shave your armpits."

For some reason, this seemed silly to me and I began to giggle. "Good," said  Sue; "He won't give us any more resistance. " Meanwhile Heather had finished with my brows and was checking my hair to see if it was dry.

I was dry so she began removing the perm rods. I noticed in the mirror that each strand that she removed was extremely curly and seemed to have shrunk to half its previous length. I looked almost like Shirley Temple, a bright red-haired Shirley Temple.

"Oh yes," Heather said, "that first treatment was a hair dye, you are now a redhead. And don't worry about how curly your hair is, we are not done with it yet, we still need to set it. From now on you will need to set it every time you shampoo unless you want those dangling curls. They are very nice though, and you might consider wearing your hair that way for special occasions. We have some ribbons which would add a very nice touch."

For some reason, this seemed appealing at the same time I wanted to protest the changes, but I heard myself say' "I'll be sure to give it a try soon."

She led me back to the sink, wet my hair thoroughly, and then combed it. I noticed that the comb had a much harder time passing through the curls than it had through my straight hair. We went to the styling chair, and she spread some gel-like material on my wet hair and combed it through. She then took a large plastic roller; "magnetic" she called it, and began to wind my hair up. When she finished one, she would stick a white plastic pin through it and against my scalp to anchor the roller from moving. She used many fewer rollers than she had rods, and was done in about 20 minutes.

Then it was back to the dryer with a hairnet over my rollers and cotton pads over my ears. Sue brought me another glass of wine, and I drank it without question. The music swelled in volume again. "While you are under the dryer, it's time to do your face," she said. "It looks like you shaved this morning, so we can start with a moisturizer."

She opened a jar of cream and rubbed a small amount into the skin of my face. Then she took what she said was a foundation and dabbed it onto my face in several spots, and smoothed it to cover my entire face. Next, she applied what she called powder, "To keep you from having a shiny nose. Now a touch of blush, pink I think." She took a small brush, rubbed it against a plastic case, and then rubbed it against my cheekbones in a circular motion. Again an unusual thought came to mind. "I didn't realize how much fun makeup was. I'd like to do this again."

"Now for your eyes. It seems a shame to hide them behind those glasses.

But we'll worry about that later." She applied what she called eyeliner, drawing lines on the edges of my eyelids and then smudging it with her fingertip. I kept blinking, but she kept on applying it. "Now it's time for some eye shadow. I think with your red hair and blue eyes; we should use green. It goes so well with your coloring." She took a little sponge on the end of a stick and rubbed it along my eyelids, kind of sweeping the color upward in a curved shape. Then she took a pencil, an eyebrow pencil she said, and began to draw over my newly arched and thin brows. Then she took out something that looked like a cross between scissors and a pair of pliers, she said, "this is an eyelash curler. By the way, many women would love to have your lashes." She opened it up and I noticed that there was a rubber edge on the lower surface. She put it over my lash, squeezed it shut, and held it for about five seconds, then moved to the other eye and repeated the process. "Much better", she said," now some mascara". She took a bristly brush on a thin stick out of a round tube, and held it to my lower lash, and sort of twirled it around, then did the upper lash. "That's just right, now the other eye." She then did the other eyelashes in the same way.

"Now the lips. Pucker up your lips." She took another brush; much like a small watercolor brush, and applied what she called lipliner around the outer edges of my lips. Then she took a tube of red lipstick and fill in the lips with color. She held a piece of tissue paper to my mouth and said "Press down on this with your lips." Then she applied another coat, and finished with a little powder. "To help it last longer," she said.

At this point, Heather reappeared to check my hair. "OK, you're dry. Time to finish you up." I followed her to the stylist's chair and sat down. One roller at a time, she unwound my hair. It was in much larger curls than it had been after the perm. After she had taken out all the rollers she began to brush my hair. She took several tendrils of hair and formed them into curls framing my face. Then she took a handful of hair from the back and brought it up high in the back of my head. She fastened it with a clip at the base of the bunch and spread it into an arrangement of curls cascading from the top of my head. Then she arranged the sides into a sort of arrangement of curls pouring under and giving a wavy, curly effect behind my ears.

She added a silk flower behind my right ear and finished it off with what seemed like a whole can of hairspray. I found myself eager to see the final result and wondering if I could recreate the look on my own.

"One final touch for your makeover," Heather said. She took a chrome-plated instrument out, placed it around my right ear lobe, and snap, I felt a stinging.

Then the sensation was repeated twice more on the cartilage of the ear. "Two studs and a hoop earring, and now would you like the same on the other side?" I heard, and even understood the question, but seemed unable to respond.

"Sue, it seems he can't make up his mind. What do you think?" Heather asked. Sue studied my face carefully. " I think we should do the other side also. It would look better in pairs." Three more times the instrument snapped on my ear, three more painful stinging sensations. Then I noticed the weight of the hoops pulling on my ear lobes, and felt them swinging gently against the side of my face as I moved my head. For some reason, I found this a very sensual experience.

"You were right," Heather said, "that is just the look his wife wanted". Then she spoke to me again. "Your makeover is just about finished, would you like to see your new look as selected by your wife?"

"He has had enough of the special wine that he will accept whatever we have done to him now, so he may as well see what he looks like. She turned the chair towards the mirror, handed me my glasses, and said, "What do you think?"

I stared at the mirror but didn't recognize the woman who stared back at me.

It took several moments before I realized that the woman in the terrycloth robe was I. I still seemed unable to respond, but my eyes got wide. Sue noticed. "I guess you like your makeover! Normally we provide a new wardrobe also, but your wife opted to send you home in your own clothes. She did send a shirt so that we don't have to try to get the sweatshirt over your new hairdo."

"Why don't you go get dressed. Heather has laid out your clothes, then you will be ready to go home."

I went in, put on my jeans, socks, and sneakers, noting how smooth my hairless legs were. Then I pulled on the shirt, noticing again the lack of hair on my chest and arms.

I went back to the main room, and saw a strange woman wearing my clothes, then slowly realized that it was I. Heather was waiting. "We can't let you drive. You have had too much of our wine. However, we have arranged for a limo to bring you home. You can leave your car here and pick it up tomorrow. Feel free to stop by and tell us how you like your new look once you are back to yourself again."

"Why don't you take one more good look at yourself in the mirror while we wait for the limo to arrive. He is due at 5 and you still have a few moments until then."

Sue handed me a hand mirror and I looked at my unfamiliar reflection. I saw a rather plain woman, with her make up rather overdone, and bright red hair arranged in what looked like a style for a prom, totally inappropriate for the clothing she was wearing. Except for the bright red nails, she looked like a man from the neck down.

I don't know what I had expected, but it was not that. I looked like a drag queen on her day off. "I know I could look better than this," I thought. "Don't you have any pretty clothes I could wear? Please!"

Heather interrupted my reverie. "The limo is here. He has been paid in advance, so you don't need to worry about that." She handed me a videotape. "Be sure to give this to your wife, it is a permanent record of your makeover so she can recreate the look on you herself. Oh, and by the way the wine will wear off in about an hour, right about the time you get home, and you will be able to react to things again."

Sue said, "It has been a pleasure assisting in your makeover. I hope to see you again in the future. By the way, don't try to wash your hair for 3 days, or you may have real problems with it. The nails are permanently attached and will not come off. You will have to wait for your own nails to grow out before you can remove the artificial ones. Your body hair will grow back eventually, but it may take weeks and you will never have as much. Your wife will help you care for your pierced ears. And one other thing, The music you enjoyed so much, had subliminal messages. From now on, you will want to keep yourself looking like a woman; you will never be comfortable unless you are wearing your earrings and long nails.

You will never be completely satisfied to dress as a man.

Your fascination with dressing as a woman will grow stronger. You will want to keep your hairstyle as feminine as you can manage. Makeup will fascinate you. After a few weeks you will start having an urge to return here for another makeover day, and next time,

we'll make even more changes."

I went out to the limo, where the driver did a double-take and suppressed a laugh, and said "Where to Sir? Or do I mean Ms?" Sue gave him my home address and said "Bring him home by 6:00, but if you have time bring him to this address first, she needs to meet her coworkers." I noted without fully understanding that he gave the driver the address of the club where my coworkers were likely to be gathering for an after-work drink. "Will do, Miss and I'll see that she greets them properly."

During the ride I noticed him staring at the rearview mirror, and chuckling to himself. Before I knew it, we were at the club. Almost without thinking, as if I were a robot, I said," I'll be right back. Please wait here".

"Yes, Ms. I mean sir" he grinned. I went into the club, saw my coworkers in the corner, walked up, and said "Hello" At first no one recognized me, then they recognized my voice and facial features. "Is this some sort of joke? Why are you done up like that? I didn't know you cross-dressed. I would never have guessed.

Why don't you come to work that way?" My boss looked at me and said "Is this what you took the day off for? I want to see you in my office first thing Monday morning. We need to talk!"

At this point, the driver came in. "Time to leave Miss, I mean Sir." You need to be home soon." I turned and followed him, still without conscious thought, but simply following instructions. He drove me home.

"Have a good evening Miss, I mean sir," he said as I left the car. "I hope you can make up your mind which you want to be."

I walked into the house, and was greeted by a welter of voices calling out "Surprise, Happy Birthday" only to be cut off as the guests, who seemed to consist of my entire family and most of my friends, stared at me.

My wife came up, looked at me, then turned and addressed our guests. "My husband has had a fascination with hair for a long time. Last month I caught him using my hot rollers when he thought I would be away for several hours. So I decided to give him a special birthday gift. You see the result. You all know Chris as a man, now say hello to Chris as a woman. From now on, if she wants to live here it will have to be dressed as a woman. Since she wanted it so badly, I have started her on her way.

This is not just Chris' birthday, but the first day of her new life, and I invited you here to share it with her. I'm not sure I understand why he wanted to look like a woman, but I have decided to let her give it a try."

I was showered with comments, some positive, but mostly negative. I was beginning to come to myself again, and was beginning to feel humiliated by what I had been forced to endure and how my secrets had been exposed for the world to see. While I was thinking, my wife slid the videotape into the VCR and began playing it for our guests. I watched the tape as I was transformed from a man to the appearance of a woman, I saw the hair coloring, the perm, the waxing, the eyebrow shaping, and the makeup , the roller set, and the ear-piercing.

What is worse, I saw my self cooperating without an apparent qualm. In fact, I seemed to be enjoying it. No one would ever believe that I was the victim in this. No one would believe that I didn't really want to be a woman. Even as I knew it was the conditioning speaking, I found myself looking forward to going back to the salon to reclaim my car. Maybe they could teach me how to do my make up more appropriately. And I needed to look into getting contacts so my glasses would not hide my eyes. I was trying to decide what to wear when I went to see my boss.

Maybe my wife would take me shopping for clothes tomorrow, surely I would look better in a new dress, nylons, and heels. I would need more earrings; after all, I was wearing the only three pairs I owned.

After we said goodbye to our last guest, my wife hugged me, said "Happy Birthday Chris. I hope it was one you will never forget. I would never have put you through that except that you wanted it so badly. And now you have no need to hide your desires to dress like a woman, everyone I could think of now knows about you, family, friends, and co-workers. Now you need to learn how to look more at the part you have chosen" "You can count on it" I said, not sure what I was agreeing to, or maybe agreeing to it all. One thing was certain, I could never go back, too many people had seen me to ever act as if nothing had happened.

The end, or the beginning?