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From: "Rebecca A." <cyan@anon.nymserver.com>
Subject: New TG: Marcia and Me 2/?
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Hi

This is only the second story I've ever written.  It's still incomplete, 
but since I'm stuck around part 14 and have been for a while now I 
thought I'd send it off and see whether people like it enough for me to 
continue.

Hope you like it

Becky

***

Chapter Two.  Saturday Morning.


The next Saturday Marcia was over at my place where I was taping her 
latest CD purchases and she did it again.  "You know, Chris, you're going 
to have to get your hair cut soon, it's starting to frizz at the ends and 
pretty soon it'll be as long as mine"

"Yeah, right" I said dismissively.  My mom cut my hair the last time for 
my cousin Beth's wedding cause she couldn't afford to send me to someone, 
and she did such a terrible job I had vowed never to let her do it again. 
 Because of the bad cut in the first place it was pretty much a shaggy 
mess eight months later, and did need a trim, but there wasn't much we 
could do about it short of me putting myself at her mercy again.  I was 
taking a bit of ribbing at school about looking like Cousin It.

"Why don't you get it cut?" she asked.

"Well, if you must know, it's because I can't afford it."  I said.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't realise things were that bad."

"It's okay, forget it".

"Sorry.  It's just that you've actually got really beautiful hair, it 
would look great if you tidied it up a little", Marcia said.  Then, with 
that same look she'd given me the week before, she said "Why don't you 
let me cut it?"

"Thanks, but no thanks.  You'll do a worse job than my mom did" I snorted.

"Well, I wouldn't have to take much off it, you know, not a proper cut or 
style or anything, just even it up and take off the split ends and 
stuff".  I obviously still looked doubtful, because she continued.  "I 
did my friend Joanie's a few weeks ago, you know it was just a matter of 
about a centimetre off in a straight line at the back, it was easy".

For some insane reason I suddenly thought "what the hell".  I mean, I was 
eventually going to get it cut a lot shorter anyway, so if she just cut 
it a little I figured I could have any mistakes she made cut out later.  
And if she really screwed it up my mom would have to send me to a 
professional rather than risk making it worse herself.  Which would be 
okay, I was kind of ready for short hair again.  Life had been kind of 
boring lately, so taking a small risk like that seemed okay.

"Just even the ends up, right?"  I said.

"Yes, I promise".

Pretty soon I was sitting on a stool in her bathroom.  Her brother Rob 
was out with his new girlfriend, Tania, and Marcia's folks were off 
shopping for a new car, so we had the place to ourselves.  I sat there 
waiting for her to begin.

"Take off your shirt", Marcia said.

"Why?  You're cutting the hair on my head, right, not my chest!" I 
spluttered.

"You don't have any hair on your chest", she said.  I blushed, and she 
said apologetically "It's to stop the hair getting caught on your shirt 
and making you itch.  I'll get a t-shirt for you if you're worried about 
getting cold, you can wear that instead and I'll just wash it when we're 
done".

She left and came back in with a t-shirt.  I took off my shirt and pulled 
the one Marcia gave me over my head.  It was one of those scoop-neck 
things with short capped sleeves, obviously a girl's top instead of a 
proper t-shirt.

"Very funny", I said.  I guess one of Rob's was out of the question?" 

It did look pretty silly, and Marcia grinned.  "I don't go into Rob's 
room unless I have too, he's funny about it.  It's okay, it's only for a 
while".  She straightened my head so I faced her and said  "Anyway, you 
look kind of cute".

"Don't push your luck", I said.

Marcia combed my hair out and began trimming the ends.  At first I 
couldn't see what she was doing because of the hair hanging over my eyes, 
but it didn't seem like she was cutting very much.  Then she started 
spending a lot of time on the bits hanging around my face.  Finally she 
finished and stood back.  I turned, and saw past her to the mirror.  Oh 
god, she'd given me bangs!

"That looks better", she said, obviously unaware that I could see what it 
looked like.  

"Yeah, if I was aiming to look like Angela McKinnon", I snorted.  Angela 
was a girl at school who was so Laura Ashley it was nauseating.  "You'll 
have to cut the rest of it now".  I looked at the mirror again.  It was 
kind of weird, actually.  I looked a lot like a younger version of my 
mom.  I'd never noticed that before.

"What do you mean?", said Marcia, in what I assumed was an attempt at 
innocence.

"It's a girl's cut, Marcia.  Cut the sides a bit and it won't look so 
bad".  I started to reach for the scissors but she pulled them away.

"Well, I like it" Marcia smiled, as though assessing my hair for the 
first time.  "Do me a favour, will you?"

"What?  I'm not going anywhere or anything, okay.  Not until you fix 
this".

"No, nothing like that.  But you should wash it.  I'll finish cutting it, 
but I'd just like to have some fun with it first, okay?"  She had her 
best winning smile coming up, I could see the beginnings of it.

"Fun?" I said suspiciously.

"Oh, come on, it'll be great.  Let me see how this can look".

What the hell.  I went and took a quick shower and washed my hair as per 
Marcia's instructions.  She handed me a bottle of conditioner with strict 
instructions that I was to leave it on for at least ten minutes before 
rinsing and applying a second conditioner.  The stuff stank but I left it 
on as she asked.  As I was drying myself off Marcia knocked on the door 
and handed me a robe to wear, something fluffy and white.  The sleeves 
came down over my hands, but it felt great to wear.  I came out and sat 
at her dressing table while she went to work.

After a bunch of gunk went into my hair she started to dry it, working it 
with her fingers, then began to use a curling iron to wrap it into really 
big curls.  Halfway through she saw me looking at what she was doing in 
the mirror, so she grabbed the towel I had used and draped it across the 
mirror so I couldn't see.  Before she got to drying off the hair over my 
eyes she stopped and pinned it back, and then I saw her coming at me with 
a pair of tweezers.

"No way", I squeaked.

"It'll look completely natural, I promise.  I'm just going to tidy them 
up a tiny bit.  You don't want to look like a monobrow, do you?"

That was carrying things a bit far.  My eyebrows hadn't thickened at all 
yet, in fact I think they were finer than hers.  But as she bent over me 
I got a good view down the front of her shirt, and a whiff of her smell, 
a clean, sweet smell from whatever soap she used, and I succumbed.  I 
didn't usually think of Marcia in a really sexual way, but all this 
attention from her was starting to have an effect on me.  And it was all 
a little bit kinky, too, I thought, as I felt her tug at a few eyebrow 
hairs.  I'd worn women's clothes before, when I was younger as a kind of 
joke when we got into the dress-up bin at school, but I'd never tried to 
look like a woman.  As Marcia surveyed the results of her handiwork and 
went back to drying off my hair I began to wonder why it was that I 
wasn't objecting quite so much to what she was doing.  Did this mean I 
was weird, or what?

She finished with my hair and stepped back to admire her work.  I started 
to get up to reach for the towel and pull it from the mirror, but she put 
her hand on my shoulder and pushed me back down.  "Unh Unh" she said.  
"Not until I've finished".

"Aw, come on Marcia".

"Don't spoil it.  It won't kill you to do this once.  Besides, I think 
you like it".

I didn't say anything.  She was right, and I couldn't lie to her, but I 
didn't want to admit it.  I was starting to feel really weird.  If this 
didn't mean I was queer, did it mean I was developing a crush on Marcia?  
I liked her and all that, but...  She brushed some pinkish-brown powder 
over my face, applied a little eyeliner and mascara, then finally got me 
to purse my lips so she could put some lipstick on me.  

"Ta da!"  Marcia said, pulling the towel from the mirror.

I was shocked.  I had expected to see me in makeup, but that wasn't how 
things looked at all.  I looked like someone else.  I looked older, but I 
looked like a girl.  Like a young woman.  A lot like my mom in the photo 
of her and Dad when they started dating that was still on the bookshelf 
in the living room at home.

"Pretty good, huh?", said Marcia.

I was still reeling.  My head was framed in a mass of hair, big curls 
cascading down to my shoulders.  It was a lot lighter than it had been, 
too.  Blond.  Blonde.  Except for the lipstick I didn't really look like 
I was wearing makeup at all.  In fact, I looked great.  In the big fluffy 
bathrobe I realised with something of a shock that I looked pretty.  I 
looked like the kind of girl I'd like to date.

"Uh, it's..."  I really couldn't think of anything to say, and my voice 
trailed off.

"Yeah, you look good.  Better than I look in that robe."  

I raised my hand to my hair and patted it, then stopped, self-conscious 
that what I had just done was what a woman does with her hair.

"I thought it needed a little lightening",  said Marcia.

"Will it change back?"  I asked, suddenly anxious.  What was I going to 
do at school on Monday?  "Will it get darker when I wash it?"

"Not really, but if we cut it again people will just notice the change in 
length more than the colour, so don't worry about it".  I must have 
looked unconvinced, because she shrugged and said "Time for the rest of 
it".  

She strode over to the closet and began going through racks of clothes.  
"The subtle casual look", she said, as she pulled out a short black skirt 
and a pretty blue blouse.  "Stand up", she commanded as she walked back 
to where I was sitting.

I did as she asked.  She held the clothes up to me, as if assessing my 
size.

"You're looking kind of spacey, Chris", she said.  "Lighten up"

"I'm okay", I said.  " I was just kind of expecting to look a little 
different".

"Well, might as well go all the way, hey", she said, handing me the 
clothes.  I stood there holding them stupidly as she sorted through a 
couple of drawers to find something else.  Finally she handed me some 
lingerie and something else made of black nylon.  "Put these on 
underneath".

I hesitated.  Finally Marcia realised that I was waiting for her to leave 
the room before I changed.

"Oh, okay.  Guess I wasn't thinking then.  You really kinda look like a 
girl" she said.  "Do you need any help with any of that?"

I looked at the clothes in my hands.  How complicated could they be?  
Marcia stepped out of the room, then poked her head round the door to ask 
if I'd like a soda.  I said sure and she went downstairs to get some 
while I undressed.

I took off the robe and picked up the underwear.  It was just a bra and 
panties.  I wondered briefly whether it was necessary to go to that 
length in this experiment, then looked at the chair on the other side of 
the room where I'd left my own clothes and realised that my own underwear 
had disappeared anyway.  So I tried the panties on.  They felt pretty 
good, actually.  I was kind of surprised.  I had thought maybe they'd be 
really uncomfortable, on account of having to hold a little extra in.  
They bulged a little at the front, though only a little.  To make them 
more comfortable I adjusted myself, and tucked myself back into them.  

I caught another glimpse of myself in the mirror.  That was too weird.  I 
still looked like a girl, only one with absolutely no chest, like someone 
had taken a photo of a normal girl and then airbrushed out her breasts or 
something.  I realised my body was still underdeveloped enough that I 
just looked immature rather than masculine.  It was vaguely 
disconcerting, but somehow kind of interesting, too.  

Then I looked at the bra.  There hardly seemed much point, really, 
considering it wasn't going to be supporting anything, but I put my arms 
through the straps and did it up.  That was surprisingly easy, too, and 
it didn't really feel that strange.  I looked at the mirror again, and 
noticed that the bra cups protruded just enough to give the illusion - at 
a casual glance - that I had breasts.  I pulled on the skirt, buttoned it 
at the side, then did up the blouse, with some difficulty until I 
realised all the buttons were on the wrong side.  Well, the right side 
for a girl's blouse, but ...

Marcia came back into the room just as I was doing up the last of the 
buttons.  "Wow", she said, handing me the soda.  "That was a good choice. 
 Blue is definitely your color".

I turned back to the mirror to look.  Something was not quite right.   
Marcia came over holding the bits of black nylon, which I recognised as 
stockings now, and told me to put them on.  They were solid black, and 
only came up to mid-thigh.  I'd seen the style around a lot, so I knew 
that was how they were supposed to look.   Marcia then came back over 
with a couple of flesh-colored bits of nylon, and I looked at her with 
some puzzlement.  She bent over me and began to unbutton the top of my 
blouse.  I sat rigid, wondering what was going on, but she scrunched the 
nylon up into two balls and placed them in the cups of the bra.  "That's 
better", she said.  "Not great, but it'll do for now".  I looked at the 
mirror again and saw that whatever it was that hadn't been quite right 
was fixed now.

I should have been more wary of her words "for now", but as I looked at 
myself in the mirror again I wasn't thinking about too much except that I 
looked like someone completely different.  I was a babe, there was no 
other way to put it.  It was the strangest feeling, to be me, but to be 
someone I'd never met before.

"Well, what do you think?", Marcia asked.  "Not bad for a quick makeover!"

"It's ... well, it's certainly different", I said, breaking into 
laughter.  Marcia began to laugh, too.

"If you were really a girl, I'd be jealous" she said.  "As it is I think 
you're pretty hot!"

I blushed, and looked at my feet.

"Oh yeah, shoes", said Marcia.  She picked out a pair of low-heeled 
chunky shoes and got me to try them on.  "How do they fit?" 

Actually they fit very well, though they were slightly on the big side 
for me.  "Try walking" said Marcia, and I did.  The feeling of the skirt 
brushing against my legs was interesting, it made me feel very conscious 
of what I was wearing but it wasn't at all unpleasant.  After I'd done 
two short trips across the room she gathered up the now empty soda cans 
and led me down the stairs.  As we passed through the living space I was 
conscious that the huge windows to the street gave anyone outside a good 
look in at me, and I was suddenly acutely self-conscious.  What if my mom 
looked across from our place?

***

Continued in Chapter Three.

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