Hannah Leigh


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One of my earliest memories is of a Halloween when I was four. My mother thought it would be cute to dress me (the oldest of their three sons) as a peasant girl. She borrowed a simple dress, blouse shoes and silky panties from a neighbor, curled and styled my hair, applied eye shadow, blush and lipstick with the lavish attention to detail boys never seem to get. Although I knew that my mother always deeply loved me, I will never forget that gaze as she beheld the daughter she would never have . . .

When I was ten, my mother became a regional distributor of an upscale cosmetic line. Soon the family room was lined with shelves of every conceivable feminine beauty aid. I watched with burning envy as parades of drab housewives were made over into ladies of style and elegance. I studied from the sideline as she trained her salesgirls in the proper use and application of the paints, powders, and perfumes. All that time longing to be one of them. It was then I started to experiment on my own. I tried desperately to reproduce my mother's masterful technique. Unfortunately, I never came close to the desired effect.

By age twelve puberty was kicking in and I lost the androgenous quality most children share. I resigned my self to my male role forced upon me by my rapidly developing body. However, I never lost my admiration and envy of an elegant lady.

At age twenty-one I met and fell in love with such a woman. Leslie was, at the time only a cosmetology student at a local beauty college. Within a few months we were sharing a studio apartment in the Wilshire District of Los Angeles. Early one Friday afternoon Leslie came home on the verge of tears. She had done one of her first set of nail extensions for a customer at the school. Her instructor noticed she was having a little trouble and immediately took over. She was so humiliated she fled for home. I consoled her and told her she simply got flustered and all she needed was more practice to build her confidence. "Come on," I said cheerfully, "We'll go down to the beauty supply store and get what you need to practice." She replied, "Practice? Practice on who? Dawn is the only one I'd even dare ask and she's skiing at Big Bear all weekend." "Hmmm . . . I suppose if it's really important to you . . . I guess . . . you could practice on my hands.", I said trying to sound as reluctant as possible. "Oh Honey, would you really?" she cooed as she kissed me, leaving a shimmering film of Aziza Berry Frost Lip Gloss upon my lips. I savored the feel of it for a moment before wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

We went to the supply store. On the way back we got a pizza to go, and a bottle of wine. Returning to the apartment I could barely eat but drank some wine to take the edge off my nerves. It really helped! Before long, my heartbeat had slowed to that of a hummingbird. Afterwards I cleared the table and set the stereo to a soft rock station as Les set up her tools and supplies. She suggested I change and make myself as comfortable as possible. I returned a few moments later, my hands scrubbed clean, I was dressed only in my boxers and a ratty T-shirt. Plopping down in the chair she had set for me, I was instructed to put my hands in the warm soapy bowl of water in front of me. As I soaked she once again thanked me for the noble sacrifice I was making for her. I simply shrugged and nodded.

After cleaning and trimming my real nails to receive the extensions she asked me, " What length should I make them?". Playing it very coy I replied, "I dunno, you decide." Her eyes twinkled and an impish grin spread across here delicate face as she said, "Glamour length." My heart leapt.

I watched, enthralled as she tucked back my cuticles and shaved the callouses around the nail bed stating, "Well, that takes care of those nasty hang nails that you snagged my nylons with!". I simply blushed and grinned sheepishly as she laid my left pinky in the nail form. Within the hour I had ten masterfully sculpted digits, filed, filled, buffed and twice as long as the were originally.

I could not take my eyes off my hands! My hands were as beautiful as any in the myriad of fashion magazines that littered the house. My concentration was broken when Leslie said, "Normally, at this point they would be painted and top coated but of course you'll be wanting them off as soon as possible . . . Right?... Honey?... Honey, RIGHT?

I simply stared at her afraid to speak. She must have read my thoughts because she cupped my hands in hers and said, "Honey, relax it is O.K., please talk to me." At that I burst into tears and related the key events that made who I am, as well as the me I had denied myself for so long. She listened patiently, tears welling up in her own eyes and simply said, "Is Ruby Flame O.K. with you?". I nodded as she added" . . . and then I'll tackle those nasty toes of yours!"

By around sunset I had 20 crimson lacquered digits. If I had died at that moment, I swear I'd have been content. Awash in a sea of euphoria I was brought back to earth with, "Come on, put your jeans and tennies on!". "Why?", I asked. "We are going shopping!", was her only reply.

Within the hour I found myself being marched down Hollywood Blvd., my hands buried as deep as possible into the 501's Leslie had to fasten for me. Our first stop was an exclusive little boutique that specialized in plus sizes for women (of either sex). "Now you stand right here, while I have a chat with the sales person." I obeyed.

"'Come with me honey," the matronly saleswoman said, as she grasped the crook of my arm and led me to the rear of the store. "Now, just what is it you are interested in?". Before I could speak Les jumped in and said, "Just let me take care of that. First I will need a tape measure . . . "

Leslie called off my vital statistics as the woman jotted them down. She wanted my sleeve length so Les said, "It's OK honey, no one here is going to laugh, take you hands out of your pockets." I complied as the saleswoman glanced at my hands and as her eyes widened she exclaimed, "Oh, what gorgeous nails! Who is your manicurist?". Les blushed and briefly explained the events of the day. Then they darted off as Leslie cautioned me not to try and peek at what she was buying.

When I was allowed to come out, (My hands again burrowed in my pockets), I saw on the counter three boxes wrapped and tied with pink ribbons. Les slipped two of the flatter boxes under my arm and we left with her carrying the third. I was grateful it wasn't her intention to humiliate me by exposing my hands to carry the third larger box.

Our next stop was the RexAll where she discreetly decided the right shades of foundation, lipstick, eye shadow, blush eyeliner, mascara and even false eyelashes. I asked as to why since we both had black hair why we needed to buy the mascara and eyebrow pencil. Her reply was simply, "You silly goose, this is for YOUR make-up bag." The perfume was Leslie's last selection, Chanel #5. "You just can't beat the classics.", she giggled.

Upon returning home Leslie suggested I make some coffee, as it was going to be a long night. I went over to the kitchenette and fret and fumbled. My whole world had changed . . . Nothing could be pushed, pulled, grabbed turned or opened quite the same way, the nails seemed to get in the way. Rather than grabbing the coffee can in one hand and pulling the lid open with the other, I had to place the can down on the counter, bend my knees until I was nearly eye level with the top, place the flat of both of my hands across the lid and push up gently with the sides of my thumbs. I was so proud of that accomplishment. There was no helpless prima dona in this house! As we sat sipping our coffee, I tapped my nails on the Formica table top, enjoying the staccato clicks as they contacted the surface. "Are you ready?" I was asked. "Ready for what?", I replied. "A delectable mixture of pain and delight, I promise you will not regret it." "Ummm . . . which comes first tbathroom!", she said with mock severity. The next leg of my adventure had begun . . .

With Leslie's help I stripped down. She instructed me to sit on the edge of the tub and put my hands behind my head. "What's the charge officer?", I said playfully as I complied. Leslie just rolled her eyes and said, "Just sit still," as she squirted a generous blob of pungent lotion into each of my armpits. "Phew, that stinks, what is it?". "It's industrial strength hair remover, to get rid of those two Sasquatch under your arms. Now do not drop your arms, if you rub it into your skin you'll get a nasty chemical burn. In the mean time I'll heat the wax so we can shape and rid you of your 'mono-brow'."

In what seemed like an eternity later I called out to the kitchen, "Hey, hurry up I'm losing feeling in my arms." Her reply was," Oh you big baby I told you beauty hurts." Then she walked in and said, "OK, let's check those pits." I said, "I think they need more time, the hair hasn't dissolved yet." She chuckled as she moistened a washcloth and said, "Missy, you have so very much to learn! ... Behold!". With that she swiped gently under my arm and to my amazement the entire inventory of my underarm was laying in the cloth.

My bath was then run, scented oil was added and I slipped into the warm soothing water. She handed me a bar of Camay and a fresh washcloth and instructed me to lather up, it was time to shave. When I enquired as to why I needed to use a razor when she had "Stinky stuff." Her reply was three fold . . . "

1. Doing your entire body would take a gallon jug of hair remover.

2. I used it in the first place because your hair was very thick and coarse, and a razor burn in the underarms is more pain than even I could endure.

3. Shaving ones legs is a sensual pleasure.

Now soap your chest and we shall begin . . . "

I soaped and shaved my chest and stomach with little incident, Leslie took care of the sparse hair that ran up the middle of my back and my buns. When it came to doing the legs Leslie cautioned, "Shaving one's legs is much like charming a snake . . . It is rewarding work until you get bitten. I shaved as carefully as I could but nicked myself about a dozen times and found out later I had given my inner thigh a nasty razor burn. After all the nicks and cuts Leslie thought it best I Nair my arms so I didn't risk slashing a major artery.

I was instructed to then rise so she could check me for missed areas. She said," Hmmm, you'd best sit on the toilet, lean back and close your eyes. I complied as the tank radiated cold up and down my spine, I heard the sound of a shaving cream can and lather spread on my nether region. I kept my eyes tightly closed as she guided the razor. I was then instructed to rise and gaze at myself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. I looked, expecting to see myself sporting the prepubescent look, but to delight and surprise it was simply sculpted into a heart shape. As I surveyed the rest of my body I still looked like a man with two inch nails and no body hair. I was told to shave my face and remove my sideburns up to near the top of my ear. Hot wax was placed in the center of my eyebrow where they almost seemed to grow together and a rather graceful arch was sculpted. "OK Missy, powder your body with talc and come into the kitchen it's time to do your hair and make up.

I asked for a hand mirror so I could watch the transformation and learn how to do it myself. I was told, "No this time I want you to be surprised." An astringent, moisturizer and foundation were applied. The smell of the make up made my mind race back to the experiments of my youth. Shadow, mascara, shadow, eyeliner and the false lashes were applied in rapid succession. Then blush and setting powder. Lastly my lips were lavished with creamy wet lipstick. The sensation of having my face painted was exiloratiing! The heaviness of the false eye lashes heightened the effect.

My nearly shoulder length hair, still damp from the bath was set it hot rollers and an old style hair dryer (A bag with a heated blower) was placed over the rollers. A pair of silky panties were produced from on of the boxes and slipped over my legs as were black fishnet and red garters. (I came to love fishnet. I feel an Easter Ham would look sexy in them). Leslie fastened a black lace bra with the clip in the front, a satin and lace teddy matching the panties was slipped over my head and slid cool and silky across my arms and over my torso.

The curlers were then removed. Out of the corners of my eyes I could see and feel two spiral pin curls framing my cheeks and my hair was pinned up in back and high on top. I was dying to see myself, but Les said, "Have patience Missy." As two Faux Pearl clip-ons were dangled from my ears and a matching choker was placed around my neck. An aromatic cloud of Chancel #5 engulfed me.

Les then presented me with the final box. I fumbled and removed the ribbon as I lifted the lid I revealed two gorgeous open toed black patent three-inch spike heels. Les slipped them on my feet and said, "Arise princess." I stood up gingerly, between the excitement and the heels I wasn't at all steady. I said, "May I see myself now?". She nodded in affirmation. I wobbled toward the bathroom to gaze in the full length mirror. Les inquired as to what I'd like to be called. I stated I feel I'd know once I saw myself. Mincing carefully towards the door a Peter, Paul and Mary song played on the radio, "Puff the mag-ic dra-gon...lived by the sea." I came through the door to the bathroom with Leslie her hand fixed over the switch in the darkened room. The song continued, " . . . and frol-icked in the aut-tum mist...."

The light snapped on and I gazed at an overly large yet sexy female. I ran my beautiful nails gently from my choker to my thighs amazed that the creature staring at me in the mirror was indeed me. Over my pulse thudding in my ears I heard, "In a land called Hona-lee . . . " Hmmm, I thought Honah Lea, Anna Lee, Hannah Leigh! I turned to Leslie and in the most feminine voice I could muster I said, "How do you do, my name is Hannah, Hannah Leigh." She took my hand and kissing it said, "Charming Lady . . . Charming name." The rosey fingers of dawn were just starting to creep through the east window as Les said to me, "Come to bed Hannah, I have a fantasy I want fulfilled . . . "

Thank you,
Hannah Leigh


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