Power Dressing

Steven woke lazily and checked the clock by his bedside. He had slept late but he knew it was Sunday and he also knew, almost immediately, he had something special to do today. He lay for a short while. The sun was streaming in the window and he had the feeling that it had come out specially for him.

Yesterday!

It took him a few minutes to come to terms again with the fact that he had been so impulsive. To go out, to go to the shopping mall, with "bumps" and makeup and his hair different. Looking like a girl.

The bra strap had not been pinching. He just needed more time to come to terms with what he was doing. He had not taken off the bra when he arrived home, nor had he removed the makeup. At least not until bed time.

"I know you said you didn't feel very different," Christine had said when they had eaten that night, "but you did look like a girl and you were being accepted as one. You realise that?"

"Yes I know. Do you think I'm weird?"

"Weird, no. Unusual, probably. It's not every young man who can accept his feminine nature."

"You think I have a feminine nature?"
"Sure. Apart from your looks which we've talked about before, you have an interest in female fashion and beauty and you can hold a conversation which would do credit to any young woman. I will be very interested to see how you see yourself when we go the whole hog."

Go the whole hog. That was today. He had butterflies in his tummy just thinking about it. He knew he wasn't being forced. His sister's gentle persuasion had little to do with his decision. It was something he wanted to do and he was now looking forward to the experience.

He slid out bed and put on his dressing gown.

Christine was in the bathroom.

He went through to the kitchen and prepared orange juice, toast and coffee and she appeared towelling her hair. She was wearing a skirt and blouse, looking pretty.

"Hi," she smiled. "And thanks. This is nice."

She sat to eat.

"What's the occasion?"

"Huh!"
"It's Sunday. You don't often wear a skirt and blouse on Sunday."

"I just felt like it. That's been your point hasn't it? I can if I want to."

"Yes, exactly."

"Well you can too, today. I hope you feel like it."

"Yes. I do."

"I'll clean up here," she said when they'd eaten. "I want you to go to the bathroom and take a shower. Wash your hair. Use my shampoo, as if you didn't normally," She smirked. "Wash twice and use the conditioner and leave your hair wet. Or damp at least. Tie it in a towell.

There's a razor on the rack. Shave your legs and your underarms. And your face of course, what there is to shave. Do you have much hair on your chest?"

"Not much. About a dozen."
"Is that all.? When you get out tweeze them. When you're done come to my room."

He complied with her requests. Even though his leg hair was fine his legs felt oddly cool when he dried off. He had far more than a dozen hairs between his pectorals but he did manage to remove them all eventually. He tied his hair in a turban and powdered himself lightly with Christine's talc. He felt baby smooth and fresh. He put on his dressing gown again and padded barefoot down the hall to her room.

"Okay Miss, sit right here," she grinned, indicating the stool in front of her expansive dressing table.

He sat.

She unwrapped the towel and combed his damp hair down straight and began to cut it, not shorter, he realised, but into a style. She combed some strands forward across his face and cut an eyebrow length fringe.

"Will I be able to blend that with the rest of my hair normally?" he asked, a little apprehensive.

"Sure. Don't worry."

She was layering, he knew. The end result remained essentially just short of shoulder length.

She took out her hot rollers and rolled the strands into jumbos and then placed her dryer bonnet on his head and switched it on.

"Turn around," she directed.

He did so and the eadge of his gown caught on the stool and parted it so that he was, for a moment, revealed to her. He quickly covered up.

"Oh," she mouthed, pink faced.

She went to her drawers and took out a pair of champagne coloured. lycra control briefs. The front panel was lace.

"Put these on."

She turned her back while he did so and tucked himself down into the crotch.

She dipped into a large jar of Princess Marcella Borghese Active Mud and carefully smeared it, thickly, all over his face.

"Mud pack," she smiled and he nodded, feeling the mud tighten against his skin as it began to dry.

She pulled up a chair and took his hands and painstakingly manicured his finger nails, clearing away cuticle and shaping them. They were not long but not too short either. She applied a coat of vivid red lacquer and sprayed them with a Revlon drying accelerator.

"Hold your hands still for a while," she directed.

This pampering was pleasant and he felt drowsy and and peaceful.

She removed the mud pack with damp tissues and applied a moisturiser and then a warm beige foundation. With his back to the mirror he could not see any of this preparation but he knew what was in the various bottles. Most of them anyway. He could read the labels anyway. She drew a very fine, black line with a tiny brush across the tops of his eyelids. She used a soft black pencil on the lower lids and smudged it with her fingers towards the outer edge of the eyes. She applied two colours to the eyelids, one onto the socket beneath the brows and one on the lids. She blended them with the tip of her pinky.

She then took up the nail colour again and repeated the red and sprayed them again.

Next, she brushed black mascara onto the lashes and a brownish red blusher into his cheekbones. A second coat of mascara followed. She used a large sable brush to lightly powder his whole face.

"Wonderful," she said, brightly.

He wanted to see but she was already removing the dryer bonnet and the rollers. She brushed out his hair and combed it and picked up the scissors and snipped away for a moment or two. She was turning the hair under at the shoulders. She combed the fringe down and snipped again.

She stood back for a moment and surveyed.

"Christ, you are lovely," she said, with some passion.

He blushed.

"Turn around."

He turned back towards the mirror and sat, speachless, mouth agape. It was not him. It couldn't be him. But the mirrored image also had her mouth agape and looked pretty silly. He closed his lips. No lipstick but already he looked stunning. But not Steven. Not a boy. Not a male in any way. His blonde hair, usually slightly crinkly, was absolutely straight and curved inwards to frame his face. Her face. This girl in the mirror. His blue eyes were large and darkly outlined. Highlighted. His skin glowed pinkly around his cheeks, smoothly matt otherwise.

"I don't believe it," he murmured.

"Oh I do. Let me feel your nails."

He held them out for her, eyes still fixed on the mirror.

"Okay they're dry. Stand up. Take off your gown."

She produced a hip length corsolette, obviously the match for the panties. She wrapped it around his body.

"You're lucky to have a dresser," she said. "This is bloody hard to do on your own."

She fixed the long row of hooks and eyes and he felt the garment clamp him firmly, tucking his waist slightly. Christine came around in front of him and dipped her hands in behind the bra cups and pulled up the skin of his fleshy pectorals. The flesh settled into the cups, held tightly by the lycra. Looking down it appeared as though he had breasts. He blushed again at the very outrageous idea of it.

"These," she said, offering a pair of ultra sheer, black nylons. "Know how to put them on?"

He nodded and drew the stockings up his legs and attached them to the suspenders hanging from the corsolette.

"We should have put your panties outside the corsolette," she said. "But it doesn't matter for now."

She brought out her cocktail dress and unzipped the long rear zipper. He knew it well. It was strapless, with a tightly fitted bodice and flaring skirt, just above knee length. Stepping into it he actually trembled. Christine eased it up over his hips and body and closed the zipper. The bodice nestled over the cups of the bra. She took out the double tiered tulle and satin petticoat which was part of the ensemble and he stepped into it and pulled it up under the skirt so that the waistband sat around his tummy. The skirt took on its shape.

His sister took up a pair of high heeled black patent courts and placed them on the floor and he slipped his stockinged feet into them. He was now trembling noticably. She made no comment if she was aware.

She went to the dressing table and took out a rhinestone necklace and matching drop earrings and fitted them and then a similar ring,

She stood back again.

"I don't think there's anything else. Oh yes, wait."

She sprayed him beneath the ears and on the wrists with Dioressence.

"A girl has to smell nice," she offered.

"Want to see?" she asked.

He tried to find his voice.

"I'm scared," he mumbled.

"Okay," she said, softly. "Give me your hand."

He took it and she led him to the wall mirror.

His sharp intake of breath was more like a sob.

"Oh God," he breathed. And just stood there.

His sister waited.

"What do you think?" she said, eventually, in very soft voice, almost a whisper.

"I don't know what to say. I...feel foolish?"

"Foolish?"
"I...I don't mean about what I look like. About what I think."

"Tell me."

"I think...I'm beautiful."

"Hmmm," she said. "So do I. Very."

He stood, staring. She stood beside him.

"Tell me it's okay."

"It's okay," she said. "It's just us, darling." She took his hand. "You're trembling."

"I know. I can't help it."

"It's okay."

"I want to cry."

"You'll spoil your makeup."

He gave a tiny laugh. "I know. Can you get me a tissue?
She brought one from the dressing table and he dabbed beneath his eyes.

"Oh Chrissy, hold me."

She put her arms around him and hugged him.

To be continued...