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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: {VickieTern) NEW TG New Hairdo 1/3 F/m M/m F/f femdom
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{VickieTern} NEW TG:New Hairdo 1/3 femdom F/m m/M F/M
Though people in this story mean well, or claim they mean well,
they do things you may think ought not to be done. So please
protect the underaged from reading about them. If you are underaged,
please protect yourself.
New Hairdo
by Vickie Tern
I know I looked especially nice as the Maitre d' seated us. I was
wearing my black sleeveless shift with silver-threaded tracery, the
one that glides past just a suggestion of my hips and flows to a
flirty hem just above my knees. Simple silver jewelry, including
the drop earrings April gave me for my last birthday. Elegant,
restrained, perfect. I felt the quiet pride any girl feels who's
confident she looks her best.
On top of it all my brand new hairstyle. You know what they say,
change your hairdo and change your life. Well, I liked my life,
but even so, April had asked Joanne to cut it a lot shorter, so
Joanne had shaped it radically in back and then fluffed it up into
a cute flip. She'd promised me it would be a lot easier to care
for than my old big-haired, down-to-the-shoulders layered cut. I'd
never again need to set my hair with rollers when I want people to
notice me, she'd said. Just blow-dry and go, and when you think of
it, comb it with your fingers. It was the kind of cut women favor
after their second or third baby, when their families demand all
their time and they can't fuss, women who nevertheless want to look
devastatingly feminine. And she'd given me bangs. I'd never
before worn bangs, but they made my face smaller, more pixieish.
Joanne told me my new look was fabulous. I wasn't so sure at
first, turning my head from side to side in her salon mirror. It
didn't seem to be me at all, but someone more pert and capable,
cute but with her own mind, an independent woman with her own
goals.
It was all rather sudden. April had called my office only a few
hours earlier and told me Joanne had just found an opening in her
schedule, and I should leave work early and stop by her salon to
get the sassy new hairstyling she'd wanted for me. "Then go home
and make yourself beautiful, sweetie," she'd told me, "so I can
admire the whole new you. When I get home I'll change too and
we'll have an intimate little candlelight supper at Le Cirque. So
change to something dressy. I've made the reservations already.
I'm dying to see how you'll look. Also, I have something wonderful
to tell you."
I'd had to push a lot of appointments into next week to get to
Joanne's in time for my appointment and then get home and get
ready. I was thinking that whatever April had on her mind, it
better be worth it. In fact I was still figuring out how to handle
next week's schedule when April arrived home, called for an
immediate display of the new me, told me I was gorgeous, and then
told me to grab my purse, we had to leave for the restaurant right
away.
It was still early, the last traces of sunset visible behind the
bank tower when I gave the car to the valet parking attendant and
smiled at him to encourage him to be careful with it. He smiled
back. I still hadn't gotten used to the notion that young men are
eager to please any woman who looks well turned out. They're so
impressionable. And the night was still young. I wondered what
April had in mind for us afterward. She'd been getting me
accustomed to flirting with men lately, taking me to bars with
small combos playing dance music, showing me how to accept
invitations from men and then laugh and accept their flattery while
I danced in their arms, April watching us from our booth and
sipping her one drink. She wanted me to feel comfortable with
them, she said, though she herself always refused invitations when
asked. She just didn't feel sociable, she'd say. But we'd giggle
delightedly enough afterward, when I'd tell her what seductive line
this man or that man had tried on me, and she gave me even more
pointers about fending them off and yet still seeming attractive to
them. It was harmless entertainment for both of us. She called it
my "finishing school."
I forgot about work when we entered Le Cirque's exquisite little
waiting area, off the rather grand lobby of the our best hotel An
hour's pampering at the beauty salon is supposed to be restorative,
I know, but my mind had been so busy with rescheduling that I
hadn't even bothered to watch as Joanne sculpted my new style, nor
had I listened to her chatter about it, "coy but not too innocent,
you'll see" I think she said. Nor had I heard anything at all
about who'd gotten divorced or seduced since my last visit. I
glanced again at April while we waited for the Maitre d' to find
her name on his list. She was looking straight ahead with a
strange look on her face, solemn yet exultant, like a cat preparing
to pay a condolence call on a canary.
Her mind was partly elsewhere, but she tried to seem attentive now
and then. "That's a new design for your eye make-up too, isn't it,
honey?" she asked. "That wide-eyed, little girl look? It does
look fetching with your new hairdo. Contrasty. Joanne's idea?"
"No, mine," I told her. "I thought with my new hair style I should
change everything else too. Become altogether a new woman." I
flourished both hands with a little wrist flip, to signal a display
completed and waiting for applause.
"Yes, I suppose," April replied. I wasn't sure she'd heard me.
Then, "Yes, that's what I had in mind for you too, dear."
We were seated at an intimate little corner table, knees tucked
under snowy tablecloths, napkins decorously draped on our laps,
leaning toward each other, fingernails and silverware gleaming, our
dinners ordered and our second cocktails just arrived, when April
finally dropped her bomb.
"Comfy?" she asked?
"Yes, of course, honey. Why do you ask?"
"Because I'd like you to be. I'm about to say something to you you
won't like, but I have to say it, and I don't want you to feel any
needless discomfort."
She used words like "discomfort" to her patients when she knew the
surgical procedures she was about to perform were painful. The
word helped to minimize their suffering in her own mind.
"Out with it!" That's what I'd say to clients when they waffled
about something they didn't quite want to tell me. It sounds
abrupt, but it shocks them into talking and saves time. I suppose
April's professional language prompted me to reply in kind. She
once told me that no woman would ever be that inconsiderate. A
woman would always let a person say whatever needs saying in
whatever time he or she -- usually she -- needs to say it. It's
only men who are more direct. Dressed the way I was, looking the
way I knew I looked, I knew immediately that the statement was rude
and regretted it. April meant to be kind.
"I'm sorry, April," I apologized, patting my lips with my napkin,
thinking vaguely that I should have had Joanne re-do my nails for
tonight, to use color rather than the clear polish I wore weekdays
at the office. My mind still wasn't fully concentrated.
"Don't be, for once. What I have to say is also harsh."
"Must you say it, then?"
"Yes."
I waited.
"Les, this will come as a shock to you. I know you've done
everything you could to please me. Gone along with my every whim.
So please understand that this isn't your fault. It isn't
anybody's fault, I suppose. It's just the way it is."
"The way what is?"
I began to feel uneasy. She'd called me "Les." When I'm dressed
and made up to look nice she always calls me "Leslie" or "darling
girl," so I'll feel relaxed and reassured. But this was "Les."
The name people called me at the office. My business identity. My
male name. She hadn't used "Les" in a long time, several years,
not since I'd agreed to live at home with her as a woman, not a
man. To be a woman everywhere except my office.
"Les, I'm divorcing you. I've already started the proceedings.
You'll get your formal notice in another day or two."
"What!!"
She sat silent now. It was said. She watched my eyes, done up in
that brand new baby-stare look. She knew how to look through them
and read my real feelings. She also knew my "What!!" was filler,
a stall for time while I felt for a suitable response. Of course
I'd heard her.
She also knew I knew that whenever she reached a point of decision,
further argument was useless. That decisiveness was what made her
a superb surgeon, one of her colleagues had once told me. She'd
first consider every contingency, then decide what to do, and then
do it and never look back!
"Why? Why, April?" My heart sank down deep into my gut. My
tummy, I corrected myself. I could scarcely breathe!
"Why, Leslie? Why? My dear, just look at you!"
I was bewildered. "Look at what?" I asked. She glanced around,
and I realized I'd better lower my voice. That that was why she'd
chosen this place, this time, to tell me. "Look at what, April?"
I repeated, in a softer, more appropriate tone. "I'm beautiful.
You said so yourself just now, with my new hairdo and all. And I
am, I can feel it! I'm what you've wanted me to be!" She didn't
respond. "April honey," I added, as if to attract her attention.
I realized I was beginning to plead, and that pleading was
pointless.
"That's true, Leslie. And that's the problem. You're no longer a
man!" She spoke as if to a child, explaining the obvious. "I
married a man, and you're now something else. So it's time we went
our separate ways."
"I'm what you made me!" A desperate cry, also a little indignant.
"You remember? Arguing and urging and pleading for me to consent
to this almost as soon as we were married? For how long, over a
year it was, until I agreed to the first step, I still remember it,
lacy panties and clear lipstick, that was all you wanted, that I
wear them until they were second nature! Then a bra, just to feel
what that was like. Then hormones to help fill it out. Always,
with each new step you were so happy, how could I deny you the
next? And for the past two years living with you as a woman full
time, exactly what you wanted all along, in a neighborhood where
none of our neighbors think I'm anything else! So I'm a man now
only at the office. Otherwise I'm what you've always wanted!
You've said so hundreds of times!"
"Well, yes, Les, sweet Leslie, but you're wrong about one thing.
You're no longer a man even at your office. No more than when
you're in bed with me. You haven't been for at least a year. Your
secretaries all know about you. They're only waiting for you to
say it, to tell them you're now a woman, not a man, so they can
congratulate you and welcome you as one of their own kind, one of
the girls, even if you are their boss."
That was crushing news! "But how could they know?" I asked her,
subdued. "I've been so careful! You told them?"
"You know I'd never do that! It wasn't necessary to do that!
There's no mystery -- just look at yourself! Your jaw and your
nose trimmed by surgery to look diminutive, dainty! Your eyebrows
raised, and your lips puffed just a bit. Even without make-up you
look adorable. No hair anywhere apart from what was heaped up on
your head until today. Your chest thrust way out -- you can't hide
breasts as large as yours, you know. When your men's shirts pulled
and strained I had to put you into women's shirts cut for a woman's
figure. Did you think no one would notice those Peter Pan collars,
and darts, and gores, let alone the flaps that button the wrong
way? Or the lacy tracery of your bras and slips under the shirt
material?"
She leaned forward. "Especially your hairdo, that bouffant look
you wore until today, the one you fancied when we first decided to
go out in public? No, I'll be honest, I fancied it for you then.
That was a dead giveaway. Do men put their hair up in large
rollers every morning, then come in with it combed and curled and
spritzed up to form an alluring halo framing their faces?
Unmistakeable, honey!"
"And the way you move now? Not that you swish, nothing so vulgar.
But so neatly! So daintily! Always so ladylike! The way you
drape your wrists when you're comfortable, or wave them in the air
when you think you're you're being persuasive, forgetting
altogether that your hands and nails now look more slender and
attractive than any man's hands and nails ever could!"
"Then you yourself decided that a touch of eyeliner at work would
make your eyes seem more dramatic, remember, and you had to pencil
in your eyebrows when you tweezed away too many hairs! And above
all, when you decided you'd wear seed pearls or large danglers in
your earlobes instead of small hoops, the kind men with pierced
ears wear? In both earlobes? I didn't want to say anything when
you lost perspective and began doing those things, but you did want
to, and by then there was no mistaking what you'd become anyhow.
Whatever did you think people would think?"
She sat back again, her expression incredulous as she saw that it
was all news to me!
"I just wanted to look nice," I said lamely. Then, "April, has
anyone ever mentioned any of this to you?"
"Of course. Your secretary was concerned. She told me everyone at
the office was concerned, because they all care about you. You're
a very nice man. Or you once were, she said, but now you're more
a very nice lady. I told her not to worry, that you'd explain
yourself to everyone in your own good time."
This was distressing. Also a little bit liberating. It was
sometimes stressful, trying to maintain a normal appearance at the
office. To no avail apparently.
"Do you think my clients know?" I asked, worried?
"Of course, honey. Your secretary told me the new ones all assume
you're a woman. A little butch, with your voice, but they figure
the woman you live with likes it. That I like it."
There was nothing more to say about that. April sighed and
returned to her core revelation.
"I'm really sorry, Leslie sweetheart. I truly am. But the fact
is, I no longer want to be married to a woman. I did want to, but
not any more. So I'm leaving you. Tonight, as a matter of fact.
When we're finished here, we'll leave here separately. You'll go
home, and I've made other arrangements."
This was utterly stunning! April had been my life for five years!
Longer! We were always together, every spare moment, nearly.
Especially as I became her "dearest girlfriend." We shared so many
more interests than most married couples. Shopping, styles,
getting our nails done, theater, gossiping about people at work,
everything! And now, soon, nothing?
I sat there with my wrists still draped. I wondered what I might
conceivably say to change her mind, but I was sinking deeper and
deeper into depression. I knew there was nothing to say. But at
least I could try to understand it. What had gone so terribly
wrong?
At that moment the waiter brought our appetizers. Crab salad for
April -- she loved sea food. Just a small chicory salad for me, no
dressing. As always I was concerned to maintain a girlish figure.
I'd fought to get down to a size twelve from my original eighteen,
and as I got more svelte April had given away my old clothing, to
box me in so there'd be no letting down or turning back.
Thw waiter looked at me. I must have looked just terrible, because
he asked, concerned, "Is something wrong, ma'am? Can I help you in
some way?"
That broke my spiral downward. I forced a smile and looked up at
him. "No, dear, thank you, I'll be just fine! It's nice of you to
ask, though." He left, reluctantly.
"See?" April commented, a little amused by the exchange. "Spoken
like a true woman. Gentle and considerate. You'll do just fine
without me, honey."
"I'm the way I am!" I said. My voice tightened, a little angry,
though I tried to keep it low. "I'm what you wanted! The way you
made me! In all these years, yours! Absolutely faithful to you!"
"I know, dear. You're what I wanted. You indulged me, and worked
very hard to achieve it, and gave up so much, and I'll always be
grateful. You'll always be my dream girl!"
"But if I'm now what you wanted, why don't you want me?" Near
despair, but still in my hushed, ladylike voice.
"That's a good question," April replied. She tasted her crab
salad, then set the fork down and again looked gently but very
firmly at me. "It's difficult to explain. Understand, sweetheart,
I still do want you the way you are, as a friend. A good friend.
My dearest friend. You're a far more fascinating woman than you
were a man. And I think you're much happier now too. More serene
and relaxed, even more playful." She smiled. "Certainly
prettier." She smiled at me this time, inviting my assent. "And
you know you love making yourself pretty! So I really don't have
any regrets, leaving you now, and I don't think you should either."
She settled back and looked serious again. "You see, honey, I've
changed my mind about what I want from a marriage. That's the
nearest explanation I can come up with. You were a wonderful man
for agreeing to become my even more wonderful best girlfriend
instead of merely my husband. You've been wonderful about all of
it. But lately I've been thinking that there's something missing
from my life. Male companionship. Being with a guy, living with
the decisiveness, even the feistiness of a guy. Anticipating his
moves, primping before a date so he'll find me attractive, special.
Flirting with him, so there's no doubt in his mind at all that I
also find him attractive, that I may have something in mind later
for the two of us."
She smiled to herself, and took another bite of crab. "And then
there's that part too. What happens later. Feeling his strength
embrace me even while it pushes deep into me. I miss that too!
More and more, lately!"
"April, we discussed that! Years ago now! When you started my
hormones, those heavy doses you told me would grow titties in no
time, but probably weaken my erections, and they did, and it did!
When I couldn't penetrate you any more you remember you told me not
to give it another thought, you preferred sex the way women have
sex together. And you made such passionate love to my new body,
kissing my nipples and rolling my breasts around in your hands. I
was in heaven, but so were you! I remember how delighted you were
that I'd responded so 'generously' you called it, that I'd gone to
a C-cup inside of a year, and it was all me!"
She nibbled at her crab, and said nothing.
"How many times did you tell me you much preferred me kissing and
licking you down there, so very sweetly you said, while your
orgasms rose slowly, and exquisite feelings rose with them, and
then finally overwhelmed you! You loved it that I couldn't invade
you, that there was no threat of thrusting to ruin the mood. You
said that so often!"
I paused. April said nothing. She just looked at me
sympathetically, and took another forkful and chewed it slowly.
Obviously she knew I had to vent, and she was allowing me to vent.
All I was doing was venting. There was nothing she intended to do.
There was nothing to be done.
I noticed that her lips were closed, as always when she chewed,
except when she opened them to take in a teeny bite with a flash of
teeny white teeth. I saw that her lips were made up perfectly, and
with a stray thought I hoped mine were too. Lately I'd wanted to
look more and more like April, and she'd encouraged it. Suave,
poised, a woman with a mind of her own. Since I could no longer
look like me, except at the office, I'd thought. But no,
apparently not even there.
"I learned how to make love to you those other ways," I went on,
knowing that I was only reciting history, not arguing with any hope
of persuading her. "Your ways. You said my face between your legs
was heaven, that my tongue was magic when it was inside you. That
you could never get enough of me down there. That's why I still
sleep that way most of the time, with my head between your legs!
I love feeling the strength of your thighs on my shoulders, and
breathing close to the smell of your pussy."
"That's true," was all she said. "And I still can't get enough of
your tongue. But it's no longer enough, Leslie. I know that this
isn't fair to you, that you've done everything I've asked you to
do, that you don't deserve this, and so on. I began by saying
that, didn't I? Right from the outset? So now I won't repeat
myself, and it's no use your repeating it. The loving we've shared
has been beautiful, memorable, sublime. But it's no longer enough.
I now want a real man who can take care of a real woman's needs."
She hesitated, then came out with it. "You're neither. You're
neither a man nor a woman. Not any more. Not yet."
I sat quietly. The waiter came again and glanced at me while
taking away our appetizer plates. I hadn't touched my salad.
"April," I said gravely.
"Yes, Leslie," she replied.
Was her tone now a touch mocking? She'd known all along that I had
to arrive at my next question. She stalled it, maybe for her own
amusement.
"Or 'Les', if you prefer," she went on. "But you're not much of a
'Les' any more, are you. Even back then, you were less of a 'Les"
than you thought you were." She smiled at her accidental pun, then
smiled to console me. "I think you kind of like what I've done to
you. You didn't at first, I grant you. But now? Don't you?
Don't tell me you don't!"
I ignored that question. It disturbed me, because she wasn't
wrong. But I had to know. I tried to be indirect, at first.
"April," I said. "How do you know you'd rather be with a real man
than with another woman." I paused. "A woman like me, I mean."
She looked seriously at me again, indulgent but no way apologetic.
Her banter had failed to distract. So she began the preliminaries
of an answer.
"I don't want to hurt you any more than is necessary, Leslie.
You're my dearest girlfriend, and I love you. We've shared so many
desires and secrets. I've wanted to share this with you for so
long. It's the kind of thing real girlfriends share all the time.
But I just couldn't. Not because it's wrong. Not because I
thought you wouldn't understand, or that you might take it the
wrong way. My best girlfriend would be happy for me, I knew that.
But my husband would not be happy, not at all. Not Les! He'd be
terribly jealous, and he'd feel so inadequate, he'd feel like such
a failure. And then I'd feel sorry for him, poor man, I just know
it. What little there is left of him, I mean. And where's the
point of that?"
"Tell me," I said. I took a deep breath. She was stalling. Then
on impulse I took up my purse, and opened it, and took out my
compact and lipstick, and looked at my reflection. My face was
smooth, nearly inexpressive. No need to touch up anything, not
even my lipstick. Perfect. I replaced all that female
paraphernalia and snapped my purse shut and smiled
conspiratorially. "I'm your best girlfriend, honey. You can tell
me!"
It worked! After a moment April leaned back relaxed and asked me
playfully, "How does a woman know she'd rather make love with a man
than with another woman? You answer that for me, Leslie love!"
"We learn by doing," I said rather vaguely. I didn't want to put
words into her mouth.
"Exactly!" April said. She propped her elbows on the table, and
her chin on her hands, and she looked at me mischievously. Her
eyes were dancing. Maybe also gleaming. "Leslie honey, it's been
wonderful! Really marvelous! You'll be so happy for me when I
tell you! I'm so glad I can tell someone, finally!"
Just then the waiter brought us our main courses. Curry for her,
and a small roulade for me. My figure, you know. I sat very
still, hoping her new mood wouldn't be dispelled.
It wasn't. I took a small bite, and as she did the same, I forced
another smile. "Tell me, honey," I said. "How you met, what he's
like, what you two do, how you feel about it, everything." I
leaned forward as if eager for her to dish the dirt. I noticed
irrelevantly that her hairdo was a lot like mine. My new one.
Curlier, because her hair was naturally curly. But I knew I could
get the same effect with a tighter perm. "This is so exciting," I
tried to add. But only a squeak came out.
April hesitated only a moment, then spoke. "His name is Scott. He
came to the hospital about a year ago, and we began talking almost
immediately about revising our surgical procedures with children --
he's a pediatrician. His idea was, gather them all together in a
big room and throw them a big party, then the next day do as many
as possible all at once. So they could be miserable together and
then gradually get well together. And keep each other cheerful
when their parents couldn't visit them. It was such an imaginative
plan, so considerate, so very sweet. But that's how he is."
I cocked one eye at her. My arched eyebrow went way up.
"No, I don't suppose you want to know that sort of thing. Well, we
got on beautifully from day one. We'd smile at each other at staff
meetings, and we began to have lunch together. After a while he
started telling me things. Personal things. We began to feel a
certain ... attraction. But we never touched each other. Other
people thought we had a thing going and made jokes about it, but we
didn't. Not then."
end 1/3
VickieTern@AOL.COM
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