Chapter 21

Friday afternoon it was full steam ahead with my makeover with Heather at the helm. Could this be the birth of a whole new Me? Could I learn to like this, reclining in a beautician's chair, experts fussing over me? Beyond the front window of the shop I watched the parade of passing humanity. As he tried to keep the traffic flowing a mall cop gave me a nice smile, which I returned. I do like a man in uniform.

Oh, did I forget to mention I was naked? I suppose that's hardly newsworthy, though I may make the paper again. I did spot a photographer from the local daily shooting over the heads, between the hands holding digital cameras and cell phones. The Minute Spa, in whose chair I rested, was getting coverage well beyond word-of-mouth. The term "going viral" comes to mind.

When I had walked in the door with Heather I was dressed. The spa was a new venture by her long-time beautician, Alphonse, and she'd sensed an opportunity. After greeting him with the mandatory air kiss she struck a deal; my hair and nails (all twenty) in exchange for my being naked in the shop's front window -- a live model, very much in the flesh -- on which he could demonstrate his shop's artistry.

Considering Heather's coup at the thrift shop and this deal I think she's already well on her way to an MBA. I've learned that her dad is a highly respected labor lawyer and trouble-shooter who travels a lot, while her mom is very active in the local social scene, charitable fund raising, Habitat for Humanity, hospital volunteer, and yada yada yada.

Now, if only they had more time for their daughter.

Alphonse, a short, slightly chubby man with slicked back black hair and eyebrows as carefully groomed as his little mustache, had rubbed his hands, jumped with glee, all but clicking his heels, and here I was. Running this place with the efficiency of a while-U-wait oil change garage he had Henri, a slender, debonair hair stylist with a French accent and lots of curly black hair -- both on his head and in the gap of his macho black satin shirt -- preparing to shampoo my mop. At the same time, two lovely manicurists with multiple piercings and adorable dos -- one blonde, the other brunette -- were doing things to my cuticles.

Word of my exposure had quickly spread and as the crowd grew Alphonse was so grateful he volunteered his cosmetologist's services as well. After a brief consultation with him, accompanied by the laying of hands on my face and body, she promised to return when the others had finished their parts. My youthful complexion saved me from exfoliation, but I was promised makeup lessons -- complete with free samples -- and a Brazilian wax job. Oh my. I'd shaved down there to be a more attractive lure to The Worm, but it was growing out and stubbly and it itched.

I relaxed, a warm spray of water flowing back over my hair into a portable sink behind my head.

The transformation from Tomboy Dee to Glamorous Dee (in my dreams) had actually begun last night, but only after I'd endured a lecture from Doctor Elaine. It turns out I should have had my ears pierced weeks ago instead of just two days before I needed it. When I vowed that I would wear the ruby earrings even if I had to stab myself with a rusty nail she caved. But before she'd needled me -- literally -- she gave me cotton swabs and a small bottle of peroxide for my purse, and dire warnings that if my ears started to bother me I was to change to studs immediately.

Closet sadist that she is, the good doctor didn't bother with painkillers, not even a numbing ice cube.

Like that bothered you, The Stick muttered, knowing me all too well.

I argued that I wasn't a masochist, just a risk taker who deserved to suffer the consequences. That shut The Stick up, leaving my mind free to wander as Henri began his wizardry on my hair.

The piercing had merely capped off a busy Thursday. Breakfast had started out with hugs and happy tears as I'd told Mom of course I wanted her to accept Elaine's invitation. Following a huge stack of French toast, Missy and I set off on our morning jog. It was getting easier, and we took turns challenging each other while we reminisced about all the times we'd walked to school together, trying to get used to the idea that soon it would end, knowing at least we still had school together. She shyly asked if she could rejoin our Lunch Bunch. I told her of course, that it was fine with me and I couldn't believe anyone else would object.

Then at school, fresh from my after-jog shower, Kathy Powers greeted me with what quickly turned into a flagrantly lesbian PDA, telling me, between kisses that Greg had asked her to the dance with me, a ménage a trois she called it.

French is such a sexy language!

Only a cocked-eyebrow glare from Mrs. Devers kept us from 69-ing right there on the parquet. We limited ourselves to passionate promises of post-dance diversions -- or should that be perversions?

Just the thought of me dancing with her and Greg had me flowing all morning.

Then, on the way to lunch, Heather lured me into a stall in the girls' room to tell me that she and Mongo -- I mean Matt -- Mozilla were going to the dance! Smothering a squeal of joy, I hugged her, acknowledging to myself how right Missy had been, glad I'd had nothing to do with it! I refrained from asking who had asked whom.

As a result of that Heather went AWOL from lunch with the Hive, hoping the dress she'd spotted for herself was still on the rack. Meanwhile the Lunch Bunch unanimously accepted Missy as a rejoining member, then proceeded to grumble at the gossip that Heather was a shoo-in for Homecoming Queen. I toyed with my lunch, secretly pleased. The Hive, sans Heather, was smirking triumphantly as if they'd already been crowned themselves. Well, even if they were part of the Queen's court, basking in her reflected glory, their shit still stunk.

After our post-lunch swim Greg and I celebrated, as usual, with an enthusiastic wrestling match on the shower floor, vowing to make it a dance Kathy would never forget. By the end of classes I was still on such a high that even swimming practice wind sprints couldn't get me down. Greg's rising testosterone levels were having the expected effect on his musculature, but no way would I quit trying to beat him.

It was after homework, supper and exciting planning about the move that the good doctor gave me the needle. Then I'd slept with my new studs in, cotton balls taped in place to keep from bleeding on my pillow.

Now here I was making the transformation to The New Dee in full view of the public. A caterpillar had the modesty to hide in a chrysalis, but not me. I wished I could scratch the building itch in my crotch but with the manicurists holding my hands I couldn't even pinch my tits! At least my long legs were free, so I wriggled them against each other in a very sexy way, to the pleasure of my pussy and my audience.

Of course I was drawing visitors into the shop. That was the whole point of this exercise. Thanks to Heather's smart phone and a nearby quick print store my image graced fliers for men to take home to their wives or girlfriends, or so they said. Among the women coming in to scope the place out was a member of Heather's Hive. The sweet child, she just had to stop by to whisper in my ear, something about putting lipstick on a pig. I will find a way to draw their stingers.

What the whispering bitch didn't know was that Heather herself was being pampered in a back booth by her own team of specialists. From here the two of us would slip away to my house for a final fitting of The Dress, the Hive none the wiser.

Our meeting with Mrs. Devers before coming here had provided the perfect excuse for us being seen together in the halls without setting tongues wagging. The meeting brought its own surprise when Devers told us that a week after tomorrow's Homecoming dance the "School Spirit" statue was to be unveiled. Never one to miss an opportunity (it's an election year) our congressman, the mayor, and the head of the School Board would be among the dignitaries and there'd be speeches and refreshments. Since my brother's GF, Beth Finch, had modeled for the statue during her week Naked in School, The Powers That Be wanted a student representative of The Program to give a few remarks.

Naturally I, as Chair of the Naked in School Program Advisory Committee, had been volunteered, to give my speech in Program Uniform. Oh well.

The only downside was the damper this put on my hopes for Mom's usual birthday "surprise" party for me. I tried to tell myself that Elaine's proposal and a new home complete with a pool was enough of a treat, but still, I'd miss the ice cream and cake and other stuff.

The Stick scolded me for being greedy. I told her I wasn't greedy, I was horny.

But getting back to the Devers meeting, looming large were the Worm's legal hearings. He'd lawyered up, of course, but the judge had imposed a gag order. Mrs. Devers said she expected to have more news at Monday's full committee meeting. Just the mention of the Worm by his real name was enough to make me wince, while Heather suddenly became engrossed in her split ends. I wondered how she lived with her dark secrets and wished I could hug her.

When the three of us finally got to the Monday agenda, I told Mrs. Devers and Heather that I felt The Program needed a positive spin. Under "New Business" they agreed with me that using the Program for discipline had to stop, as well as spankings for program violations. Mrs. Devers pointed out for that for TPTB to agree to that we'd have to suggest viable alternatives.

Aye there's the rub, I thought. I could only hope the committee could come up with ideas.

She also said it might require a change to the rules at the national level.

Ugh! But, since the Federal Office Of Social Awareness, still had to answer for the Worm's presence in our school maybe that would give us some leverage. What would happen, I wondered, if the congressman found out about the creep.

At that point, mercifully, the luxurious feel of Henri's sensuous fingers working on my scalp brought me back to my present situation. OOooo that felt good! The last time someone else had washed my hair was when I talked Missy into some crazy idea to dye my hair pink. Fortunately Mom had intervened before lasting damage had been done. I also had a vague memory of being in the tub with Mom, her hands all warm and slippery and soapy and loving all over my body while I played in the water.

When the manicurists transferred their attention to my feet I admired their work on my fingernails. Thanks to Heather providing a leftover swatch of fabric they now matched my dress. Note to self -- a fashion maven is a valuable ally.

The shampoo rinsed away, Henri's fingers worked conditioner into my scalp. "The shape of your skull is a thing of beauty," Henri murmured in my ear. "You've got lovely hair. I've had women pay me a fortune trying to get your natural shading."

For a moment he sounded like he came from someplace around New York. I could have sworn he'd had a French accent when I'd first met him. I wondered if his gayness was also a put-on.

Oh, who cared! His fingers felt soooo gooooooood, and with my hands free I could pinch my naked nips for my enjoyment and that of my audience before stretching my arms wide, feeling deliciously wicked at being in full view. My writhing interrupted the pedicurists' play with my little piggies and I wondered if Greg would like some mutual toe sucking sometime. The thought would have had me creaming in my rompers, had I been wearing any.

"I hope you can tame my hair, Henry," I murmured, deliberately pronouncing it "Henry."

"No problem, mademoiselle," he assured me, his accent suddenly reappearing as he tipped my head back to rinse the conditioner off. "I've applied a rinse to bring out zee [sic] lovely shadings. Zen [sic], some shaping. Wis [sic] your ahcteevuh [sic] and atheletic [sic] lifestyle we need to create somesing [sic] easy and carefree while we shape it to flatter your lahvuhlee [sic] face. You 'ave wonnerfuluh [sic] cheekbones, and a strong jaw which should be framed just zo. [sic]"

You get the idea, so I'll quit trying to convey his accent here.

As he said this his fingers stroked my cheeks, lips and chin, and my skepticism about his gayness and Frenchness solidified. If he was French, I was the Pope. When he wasn't fondling my noggin his hands showed quite an interest in my bare shoulders, neck, and chest. I hoped he was enjoying this as much as I was. His comb began dancing through my hair as his scissors snick-snick-snicked.

By the time he was combing things out, fluffing me up with a drier as he did, the nail experts finished my toes. Ooo boy! That meant I was about to get waxed. I didn't really need it -- the dress didn't show THAT much, and my already light bush had been shaved before I took on the Worm -- but what the heck, it was free and Greg and Kathy might appreciate it.

Me? Would I enjoy it? Enjoy which, the process, or the result? Both, of course, don't be silly!

The cosmetologist was back and I told her I was more than ready for a new experience. "Have fun while you're playing down there," I encouraged her, feeling totally wanton.

"Oh, do not worry, I plan to," she assured me, her singsong words precise, slightly accented. She was a little bit of a thing, very pretty, dusky-skinned, a caste dot on her forehead, a jeweled ring in one nostril. Her lush ebony hair thumbed around her shoulders.

I discovered the chair had features that put a gynecological examination table to shame as she spread my legs and drew a stool up between them. I looked down along my body to where her ringed fingers -- slender, graceful and elaborately manicured -- stroked my pussy's stubble.

"It is a little short, but adequate, I think. There will be a little pain involved. Would you like something for it?"

"Oh no! I want the full experience!"

"Good!" she responded. "I think, maybe you are a wicked, wicked girl?"

I sighed. "I suppose." It would depend on how you defined "wicked," I thought.

After a moment of powdering me with tantalizing pats she spread something warm on my skin Down There, a ways away from my pussy proper.

Press, press, press. She palpated me much the way Doctor Elaine had at my first pelvic exam.

"So, you are a bad girl?" She was tugging on something sticking to my flesh.

"Oh yes!" I agreed.

RRRIIIIIIPPPPPP! AHHHHHHHhhhhhh, it stung so good! Not sharp, not harsh, a nice burning feeling.

"Yes, I am," I admitted, a little breathless from the surprise of it.

Her palm pressed where she'd just ripped the hair out by its roots, easing the burn, soothing my skin, then moving away.

"A naughty girl." Warmth again, on the other side.

Press, press, press.

"It is to always pull against the grain, to remove every hair."

RRIIIIPPPP! It sounded a bit like Velcro parting. Ahhhhhhhhh, it stung so goooood. Again her palm soothed the sting.

I looked past her, out the window. The teen crowd dominated. Some guys were bug-eyed and gaping, others licked their lips. The girls winced, and whispered and giggled to each other.

"You are enjoying this, are you not?" the cosmetician asked. This time I lifted my head to watch as she carefully used what looked like a tongue depressor to spread the warm wax on my flesh, closer to my pussy.

"Oh yes," I confessed, before drawing another breath of anticipation. She stretched something white -- fabric? -- on the wax, pressed it down, then delicately peeled the end of it back, and took a good grip on it.

"Shame on you!" she scolded pertly.

RIIIIPPPPP. She yanked the strip of wax off, taking my hair with it, then quickly pressed her warm palm on me to soothe the sting away.

Shame on me indeed. Strip by strip she was getting closer and closer to the heart of my playground, first one side, then the other, a strip at a time. Personally, I was edging closer and closer to release. I knew I was juicing, knew she could smell it, that the people beyond the window could see it as she kept my legs spread wide, wide, wide.

"Next to last one," she promised.

"Oh please," I whispered.

RIIIIPPPP! AhhhahAHHHHHHH oooooooooo, her warm hand close, so close to my clit!

"One more time," she warned.

Oh yes, please. One more time, just one more time, please, mmmmmmm.

Warm, warm, warm, soft warmth on my pussy, my pussy, my pussy. Oh wow! This time even as far back as between my cheeks, even on my asshole.

Pressure.

Tugging, lifting on my tender flesh. A pull...

RIIIIPPPPPPP! AH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AAAAHHHHHHHHHH YEEesssssssssss. Eeeeeeeeee!

Her palm covered my oozing twat, a finger touching my winking butt pucker! "Now some soothing lotion," she explained.

Oh yeah!

I suppose some women might find her very personal attention unprofessional. As far as I was concerned she was a sorceress and I wondered if maybe the spa owner had found her when he rubbed an old oil lamp or uncorked an exotic bottle.

Her warm hands spread a soothing salve over my newly naked flesh, tickling my anus before cupping my clenching pussy. One strong, slender finger subtly invaded my slit, my hips rising to meet her as she pressed my swollen clit against my pubic arch and rubbed gently.

I came in a shower of sparks.

"Mademoiselle?" Henri gently un-reclined the chair as I returned from Never-Never Land. As the leg-rests settled so I was sitting up he held a hand mirror in front of me, my eyes slowly focusing on my reflection.

Oh MY!

Think Jamie Lee Curtis. Instead of my usual unruly pom-pom, my hair rested obediently, a few feathery wisps down over my forehead. I'd never realized my hair was made up of so many different shades of blonde.

The cosmetologist came in on the other side of me, wheeling her little table into place over my lap. It carried an intimidating array of cosmetics and a lighted mirror so I could watch what she did.

"Now, it is to be very, very simple," she explained in her sing-song accent, applying something to my face with a soft, damp sponge. "This is a base. You have such lovely skin you need very little. There. Next we bring out the beautiful blue of your eyes with some eye shadow on your eyelids, and just a touch of eyeliner."

A light brushing of eye shadow on my lids, followed with carefully drawn eyeliner and my eyes suddenly seemed larger and glowed like sapphires. Wow!

"A little mascara to enhance your very light eyelashes," she added, doing something with a funny little sort of a brush, and my eyes were nicely framed.

"Now, a very light touch of blush on your cheeks to enhanced your cheekbones."

The feathery touch of a soft brush whisking on my cheeks left behind a gentle cloud to darken my skin a shade and the whole shape of my face seemed to change.

"And to make your lips look a little more full and enticing, so your man will want to taste them."

I watched as she carefully painted my lips to match my nails and my new dress, finishing it off with a gloss before leaning back and studying me critically. Henri delicately shifted a few strands of hair on my forehead, teased locks around behind my ears -- my ears with little gold studs where tomorrow rubies would dangle.

Oh gosh. I mentally combined this with the dress and jewelry. This was going to take some getting used to! I could only hope that Greg would realize that beneath the war paint and glitz I was still just the same old me.

"Remember," the cosmetician said, handing me a package with the paints and powders she'd used on me, "less is more. For daily use you need nothing. Wash your face with gentle soap. To remove your makeup, cold cream. Save this for special occasions, and use a very light touch. You are exquisite!"

I wondered if she gave all of her customers a feather light kiss before wheeling her little table away. I licked my lips. Had I felt a touch of tongue?

Then Henri was back, handing me a plastic bag holding bottles of shampoo, conditioner and rinse, a comb and brush. His fingers plucked at his handiwork, brushed my temple. "Magnifique! Use these regularly, especially after swimming, especially the conditioner. Combing it as it dries will keep everything under control. And now, your amie -- your friend -- awaits you by the back door so you can evade your many admirers."

His wave indicated the spectators beyond the window. More to avoid any lurking Hive members, I thought, getting dressed quickly. I followed him past the booths. Heather looked as perfect as ever, and gawked appreciatively at my transformation before we made our escape to my house for the dress fitting, where she even gave me a brief dance lesson.

By Saturday evening I had the feeling that the only thing that was under control was my hair. I was up in my room, Mom fussing about me. My heart was racing. I was tingling. Mom had helped with my makeup. As Henri had predicted, my hair was obedient even after a shower. The dress, what there was of it, flowed over my body, exposing strategic bits of epidermis. My breasts were rising and falling with every nervous breath, my nipples stiff points beneath the soft material. With one foot forward the slit in the skirt parted to expose my flesh all the way up to the wing of my pelvis. Maybe the wax job had been a wise idea. When I sat I'd be easily accessible to Greg and Kathy, should they care to take advantage of me.

Oh I hoped they would.

Even in my low heels I was inches taller than Mom, who was peeking over my shoulder! Was I ever going to stop growing? I had a mad urge to shake my hands out and work my shoulders as if I were about to launch myself into the pool.

"Oh Mom, please don't cry!" I pleaded when I saw her tearing up again as she looked at my reflection. "If you cry then I'll cry and ruin my makeup!"