.............as the dazzling lights reflected in a hundred mirrors, I spun him around. "Natasha! Pleeeease! Not here!", he pleaded. I had to laugh to myself. How many times had he confided exactly this fantasy to me? This persistent obsession with forced, public feminization. How often had we made passionate love after running through some fantasy scenario at home? Of course he wanted it! Often he admitted as much. There was just some obsessive component of his masculinity that resisted. Some fear of the deeply held fantasy actually becoming reality. But here we were. In Helen's Beauty Shope. I had made arrangements in advance for the whole thing; careful to avoid letting him catch on. Then, on a "whim" this afternoon, I suggested we run into town. Without that element of surprise, I knew the whole experience would be worthless. And this was Definitely a surprise! "Lemme just stop in here", I told him,"and pick up some hair conditioner." It was a struggle to not smile and give the whole thing away. Now, he was going to get the "deluxe treatment". First a manicure, then false fingernails, cemented, shaped and painted; permanent false eyelashes, and a quick wash and blow dry. But until "Tami's" legs were shaved properly, I saw no point in a pedicure. The one thing that might be a real problem was if he panicked and ran off screaming into the street. But I wasn't really worried. After all this time, it wasn't just my hair that had been conditioned. Right on cue Helen jumped in. "We've been expecting you, Tami. Natasha told us just what you wanted. I'm sure we'll have exactly what you like." Helen's a doll. I've known her forever. When we were in school, how we would fight! Constantly, over the stupidest things. I remember back when she opened her first shop. That was back in the days when I actually sold insurance. Now, I sit in front of a PC all day and run premium forecasts. A crystal ball, by any other name. And they pay me for it. Tami has helped me, I must admit it. He's had a lot of experience with these things. Without Tami, I've no doubt my career would not have moved as well as it has. But for a while now, I've been naughty. These last three, four months, I've been holding out on him. I know he wants to quit. Stay home. Work on his writing. But one of us has to be secure, financially, with a solid career. And there's no reason, nowadays, why that can't be me. I was made VP three weeks ago, but told him nothing. It's what I've been working towards for so long; what he's been helping me with too. The job was a sort of informal goal for the two of us. I waited until everything was finalized. Although I knew three weeks ago that I was going to get a title and a raise, I wanted to make sure that the job I wanted was really attached. This week, everything finally came together. Oh! It's not perfect, of course. nothing ever is. For instance, I was hoping for a MALE secretary. Maybe 19 years old. Tight blue jeans. Ah- hem! never mind. So, I'm in my friend Helen's Beauty Shop with my live-in boyfriend. We're trying to get him to sit in the chair. Should I play this? My problem has always been one of over analyzing these situations. "Why won't he cooperate?" Does he really NOT like it? Or does he like it and only want me to interact to complete the scenario? Or does he only like it in the context of being forced to do it? Does being forced provide a symbolic release of responsibility thereby allowing him indulge in a fantasy which would be otherwise socially unacceptable? Is it bitch goddess time? I check my watch. Way too early, at least for us. It's never bitch goddess time till 8:30 or 9. Definitely after dinner. It's only 3 PM. What the hell, I'm paying for this. "GET IN THE DAMM CHAIR ALREADY!" I shout. Standing behind him, I spin him around. Did you ever notice how may lights there are in beauty parlors? They dazzle him as he spins around, loses his balance and plops unceremoniously in the chair. Helen surveys the client/victim. "Now Natasha, besides the HighLites (local trade jargon for false nails and eyelashes) did you want the hair lightened or just wash 'n' dry?" I groan inwardly. Besides my squirming, terrified, indecisive boyfriend, I've got an old school chum who's trying to nickel and dime me to death. Twenty bucks here and thirty bucks there and before you know it, your talking real dough. And how long am I gonna keep him dolled up, anyway? I mean if I'm gonna keep working full time (and I am) then one of us is going to have to go out, for example, to do things like buy food. The set up is interesting. He's in the last chair in the shop. Set, in the back, in a sort of alcove. I believe they use it for uncooperative kids. For what ever reason, it's the only chair in the beauty parlor with a seat belt. The bindings fit snugly around his waist and end behind him; out of easy reach. Helen hands me two short 3 inch wide band. I smile. This is exciting after all. I resist the urge to turn around and look at the other people in the shop. Helen was right, it's the slowest time of the day. Only one other customer is getting worked on and another, way up front, on the way out. " Natasha", Tami smiles as though he can still make a deal, "we can't do this. I mean really. Come on, now." I've always loved his smile. He can be a real charmer. I smile back. "Oh yes we can, Tami dearest!", I purr. And since time is money, Helen grabs his right wrist and binds it the armrest with the velcro band. He's REALLY startled by that. This is pushing his limit, I'm sure. But I'm ready and grab his other wrist, binding it likewise. We've done it! He squirms and pulls. But Helen is prepared for that too! She flips a switch and the chair suddenly tilts way back. His head is now level with or just below his feet. She spins the chair till he's positioned over the sink. "Now hold still dear so I don't get any soap in your eyes" she says as she turns on the water. She uses a ton of soap and in no time at all whips up a foamy lather. I sit down and compose myself. This is something that we've both wanted to try for a long time. Still, having it suddenly translated into reality is exciting. I figure I'm committed to it for at least the next few weeks. How long after that, I wonder. Will we get married now? Can he cook, clean, keep house all day Is this the kind of man I wanted? Will he publish another article? a book? work part time as a consultant? It's early May now, how are we going to resolve these things in '89? You ever notice the magazines they have in beauty parlors? I mean, did Michael Jackson really marry himself? Is Elvis still dead? If a 12 year old girl marries 92 year old man and has twins, who cares! But how many deductions would the IRS allow for such a couple? Can either of them open an IRA account? And if I was a space alien, would I really want to travel a million light years to talk with a fat lady in curlers? I look over at Helen. He's seated up now and she's drying his hair. She didn't get nearly enough water on his shirt! I told her to make sure his shirt was wet after the wash! I want to have a seemingly plausible reason for making him change. Not that one will be needed . "Can we start on this now?", I ask her, indicating his hands. I don't want this to be an all day project. Her manicurist is just finishing with another customer. "Gina will be right over", she assures me. I smile mischievously at Tami. I innocently bring up the matter of work and my new position. He's really surprised. More by this news than his treatment. At least now he understands what prompted me to make this daring public move. I'm sure he always suspected that if I ever really did "make" him wear painted, false fingernails, it would be at Helen's place. Of course, I also suspected that he never figured on false eyelashes as well. He hadn't! I smiled inwardly at my own sneaky cleverness. The eyelashes were a nice touch, if I say so myself. Yes, some make-up and a change of clothes and he could probably "pass" fairly well. I'm surprised by the feelings I'm experiencing and also feeling pleased with myself for planning the whole thing so well. I smile to myself. Helen is adding the frost to Tami's brown hair when Gina, the manicurist, came over. "Give the young lady any trouble, Tami, and I'll have your ears pierced before we leave!" I threatened. This was also a fantasy that we had discussed in the past. I knew that, by this point, he could no longer tell what I would and wouldn't do. The suddenness of it all, the details like false eyelashes, my promotion, all combined to throw him off base. And that, most of all, was exactly what I wanted. As Gina works methodically applying the sculptured nails Helen pulls me to side. "Natasha, this is turning out so well, I'm going to make you an offer you can't refuse!" Here comes the sales pitch again I think to myself. "It's slow today, so I'm going to throw in a body wax After all little girls can't have all that nasty hair". I'm in shock! Helen must be enjoying herself. I've known her for years, but this is the first time I can ever remember Helen "giving" away anything. She wants to tell Tami about her good fortune, but I quickly put a stop to that. After all there are certain things which a Mistress absolutely must do personally. I inform Tami how lucky he is. The reaction is perfect. An instant of sheer panic, followed by the realization that he really has no choice. "Aren't you going to thank Helen?" I ask. "Thank you Helen" comes the response. The delivery was perfect; like a small child just caught with his hand in the cookie jar who knows there is no way to avoid being punished. The demi-lashes add to the emotion in Tami's eyes. I know Tami has resigned "herself" to whatever I propose. My own head spins as I fully grasp how much control I now have over my loved one. As the wax strips are removed I see Tami wince with each pull. As all signs of hair disappear a metamorphosis takes place and like a butterfly being transformed I see Tami in a new, wonderful way. Helen snaps me back as she remarks "She looks simply marvelous, Natasha." I smile.
Feel free to drop a line to me and we can see where it goes