Depilation is not that easy, in any case much worse than in the glossy paper instruction booklets. Apprehensive looks at the pot of warm water from where hair removing strips cynically smile at me.
Why do they have to decorate them with roses ?
First pull first tears. I need to get that thing out of my skin. Paint remover ?
"Don't even think of it sugar, time will make it stick harder. Grab the end and sharply, like a chop, pull parallel to the body. All at once no hesitation ! Woosh !"
"Fairy dear, I mean, they're anchored, I'll tear skin and flesh."
"Grab it now, at the count of zero, three, two, one, zero !"
Electric shock ? No. That was much worse. However the '3,2,1,0' trick worked. Each strip was more bearable than the previous. A piece of cake with practice.
Rewarding purity of a perfumed bubbly relaxing bath tub...
Rose fragranced regenerative cream penetrating my body. Feeling lighter. Softer. Smoother. Swish. Intoxicating touch of my negligée. Pretty. Pretty as never before. Pretty. That simple word had a new meaning.
"Enough young lady, time to get ready, we're going out tonight and I mean it."
Cold shower.
"Fairy dear, say that again ?"
"We are going out tonight, that's Oscar-Uniform-Tango, out !"
Definitely it was the entire Antarctic ocean pouring in me.
"That can't be, it's, it's, impossible they will all laugh at me..."
"Not only possible but it will happen, countdown starts now. Relax sugar, I'm in charge."
Laying possessions on my bed. Black knee-length dress sober with a discrete rather high décolleté. Black full slip. Control panties and my beloved Triumph open bottom all-in-one girdle. Not taking chances with things slipping out of control. That one is rather firm and stays well in place. It's 3 piece cups show mercy to my modest chest-area.
Yes, I need a coat. The longest one I have. Ivory white thrift shop haul. Despite being thick it feels so light and delicate to the touch.
"Don't worry darling, it will work like a charm !"
I didn't answer that. Shoes. The poorest of my departments. Overall I had 3 pairs. Painstakingly revived after long months in the ignominious thrift-store baskets.
Shoes that fit. A dream in the hit-and-miss shopping process. Large sized woman's shoes were rare jewels. Mail order catalogs carried them at unaffordable price-ranges. Charity shops disposed of or threw them in their unclassified sections.
Yep. Those were pre-internet times.
My best guess would be the flats. Otherwise horrible looking shapeless whitish flats. Sanitized all over, glued here and there, painstakingly restored to an acceptable color. Will they last or disintegrate leaving me in a very uncomfortable situation ? My precious Flats. The only alternative to my strapped pumps with unstable heels and platform slipper like undefined but definitively out of fashion things.
A new pack of tan stockings. Plain ordinary supermarket grade stockings. Back then stockings were easy to procure items...
Why can't I leave and fix a coffee ? What keeps me compelled in this room ? Yes. I would dearly like to stop the process. Toss away the pending sentence. Going out ? No way.
Dropping on my chair. "Fairy, please, let me go, have mercy. I'll never make it."
"Keep it low young lady. We will. Your advice is not required."
It took no more than one hour. I was getting proficient in securing my wig. Enchanting vision. How could I ever live without ? I wished I could have my own, my very own long beautiful hair. Feel it caress my shoulders. Casually throw it away with a swift head motion. Or let it fall down and admire the world thru a cascade of glossy fire red femininity.
Tossing my negligée. Shivers. Is that smooth scented body really mine ? Chanel No5.
Panties slide on my legs. Usually they are tight yet now they effortlessly slip in place all by themselves.
Careful. Hair gets in the way as I rise the all-in-one shoulder straps. Closing front hooks one by one as more hair pours down my face... Zipper slides up. Slowly inch by inch. It sounds as a hymn to the firm hugging. Sweeter now than ever before.
Stockings. Plain tan nylons touch like the finest silk. Surreal. Smooth. Tight. Shiny. Firmly held by tense clips. Time to bow down in a frustrating attempt to accommodate my tiny bosom at best in the loose, almost empty cups.
I wish. One day. One day will come and I'll have "girls". Straining the cups. Big bright headlights. Yes. One day. Please, dear Fairy, please...
No I will not look in the mirror. Not now. Not yet. Full slip falls on my shoulders. Shivers. It's hem imperceptibly caresses my nylon clad legs. Spinning head. I need to sit.
How long ? Definitively have to make it to the kitchen and fix a coffee. Now.
Stepping. The hardwood floor feels soft, plushy. Bracing on the wall.
All sensations multiplied by thousand. Overwhelming. Even the slightest move generates a tremendous nerve flux from my soft nylon clad skin. It feels warm and cold. Both at once. Are my nipples getting hard, painfully tense as flows of hair tickle my shoulders ?
Holding a warm mug of coffee with both hands. Heatwaves diffuse, go and come, travel, drive circles. All it took was a complete body care and voila, a new world. Should have done it before. It feels so good, enchantingly good, damn good. Throwing back my hair.
Makeup kit fully spread. Not my best skill. Easy. Do not overload. Tarted monkey clown style won't do. Foundation cream first. Which one ? Laughter. I have only one. Careful, hair should not be involved. I need a ribbon to hold it back.
More frustrating attempts. A basket full of soiled tissues. My kit in a horrible mess. Finally. Almost done. Discrete bluish shade on the eyes, acceptably black lashes. Uniform allover.
Stick ? The red or rather more forgiving pinkish? Pink is less risqué.
From the depth of my modest mirror a red haired creature with white straps and cups showing thru a black lacy slip was smiling at me.
I can see my hands open the back zipper of a black dress. No, I can't. Face the streets ? No way. Rather tear all and go cry on my pillows. What about if... Or if ? Too many if's, can't take no more if's.
"That far I can go Fairy." Eyes fixed on my stick stained cigarette held by a big hand, far too big with desperately male nails.
"Sorry Fairy, let's call it quits."
Silence. "Fairy ? Please.. "
Twisting arms fighting the back zipper all way up.
"That calls for a scarf !"
Opening drawers. Slowly easing the cascade of hair to accommodate my plain white skimpy scarf.
"Fairy I want to interrupt, dearly, why can't I obey to myself ?"
"Shoes on please."
The vision of a girl in a loosely fitting plain dress appears in the mirror.
"Where's the belt ?"
"Please Fairy there's no way I could ever go out like this. Anyone can tell from miles."
"Not too tight, undo that bow, you can do better girl !"
Intoxicated ? Hypnotized ? No definitely my head is not the place I like to be.
Meanwhile the now neatly tied ribbon dress-belt helps with the flare. A more likely figure in the mirror.
The overcoat falls below the dress hem. Adding further flare once closed. Smooth tan legs in white flats, white overcoat, scarf, cascade of red sparkling fire hair...
Is that me ? Is that really me ?
Trying to reach the living room. All fine. Nothing out of place. Streetlights down below as days get shorter.
Cozy. Yes somehow I feel incredibly cozy in my layered cocoon. Walking thru the door ? No. Definitely no.
Stuffing drivers, ID, wallet in the coat pockets. Suddenly I realize I don't have a single purse or even pochette.
Keys in hand. The door is a few steps away. What if I have a crash ? Yes, there's a phone in the car, I could call my lawyer, his private number is on speed dial. Tell him what ? That I got in trouble while dressed 'en femme' ? Will he ever stop laughing at that yuppie in a dress ?
Most important of all, I can't stop it. My will is out of control. Observer of my own actions. It wouldn't take that much force to rip all, obliterate the moment, reverse back to ordinary. The more I think of it the further I realize that I can't break free.
Tense. Listening to the slightest noise, activity in the staircase. Silence. Plan. I need a plan.
Open the door, haul the lift. When it arrives, close my door and jump inside while punching the garage level button.
Good think, it's an old lift. Once assigned a task it will not stop to pick passengers on the way. The garage is a dimly light area. With columns wide enough to disrupt the view.
The entire trip between my flat and my car should not take more than a minute. Maybe a minute and a half. Then...
Start the engine as soon as I sit. It will dim the cabin light. Drive off slowly not raising attention. Above all, not get involved in a traffic event.
...
Keys, coins wildly spread over the dining table. Nervous hands almost tearing down a sealed pack of cigarettes. Not any cigarettes.
A lady in an oldish white coat was casually driving around.
No one really paid attention as she parked at the gas station. Nor when she stepped out of the reassuring safety of her car.
Looking down as she advanced with short steps to the nearby dimply lit cigarettes vending machine. Trying to remember that ladies, unlike men, bend their knees instead of bowing down to reach lower objects.
No one realized she might have stepped back in her car without enough concern for the leg show.
Softly pulling back in traffic, driving by the book, avoiding to push too far her luck of being a lady.
It all went smooth. Euphorically smooth. Was that gentleman smiling at the traffic light ? A display of macho superiority at he revved his engine ? Had he projected to impress the red haired lady and possibly strike a conversation at the next traffic light ?
Why is my Fairy desperately silent as heatwaves and shivers run a steeple chase madness in my belly ?
That urge grows strong, irresistible. Uncontrollable.
Crissing whispers as my legs gently rub against each other. Tingling nipples. Short breath, racing heart. Shivers.
Coat and flats tossed on the floor. A box of fresh batteries on the nightstand. I need it. I must have it. Now ! No time to undo my dress. Overwhelming. Every second counts. Obsessive. Compelling need.
Now !
Scent of fresh laundry as I burry my head in the pillow. Slippery lotion oozing hands desperately fighting the tightness of elastic fabrics...
Oblivion.
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