An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Part 8

 

We walked away from the nail salon on the morning of the Hairstyling competition, Ginger and I, like two window shoppers with no cares in their minds. Indeed, there was no care in my mind at all. I had just finished an hour or more at the hands (quite literally) of an attractive young woman. She, Crystal by name, had given me a manicure that I never thought I would have. My nails were now perfectly shaped – if a little short - and beautifully coloured with crimson nail polish. I'll never forget the smell of that lacquer as it was applied to the nails. It had been put on whilst Crystal and I were talking about the hair "event" in which I was to play a part that evening.

I had been introduced to her by Ginger, who had taken an increasingly decisive part in my progressive and wonderful transformation.

I had agreed to take part in a "Girls' Evening" to help a friend, Karen, who I fancied hugely, to get some practice in her chosen career as a hair stylist.

All of this swam in my mind as we walked.

I was now close to taking part in a hairstyling competition as a model for Karen to prove her skills. Less than three months after we had begun, my hair was now no longer tousled and rough, but rather it was sleek and smooth, reaching chin length in a Pageboy Bob cut. The 'under-cut' halfway style was rapidly being forgotten. It was a fairly ordinary shade of brown, richer than my own naturally mousey brown shade, but rather dull to be truthful. But that was set to change this evening – it was very much a colour and style event!

As we walked, I thought just how much attention I now paid to the hair – the styles and the colours – of all the women and girls that I passed in the street. No longer did I find myself unable to do anything but "ogle" their tits. I was now paying much more attention to their hair and their make-up, the shape of their faces and whether their hair was styled the right way. Did I fancy having my own hair that way/ Did I fancy having my own hair that colour? Fantasy, maybe, but a definite fetish had developed. So, what could be wrong with that?

"What are you dreaming about?" Ginger asked, seeing my thoughtfulness.

"Oh, just how great it is just being with you, that's all." I said, hastily – perhaps too hastily, because she picked up on this.

"I already know you too well, you were miles away!" Ginger knew me very well indeed, it was clear. "Are you thinking about the undies you're wearing? Do they feel good? Or, are you thinking about your nails? Do they look good?! Or, are you wondering about tonight and how you'll look?"

 

"None of those, none at all." I said "I meant what I said – I'm thinking how lucky I am having you to pull me through all of this and still find it good to be with me – I'm so lucky! I was just thinking how much I've changed. I pay so much attention to you now – what you wear, how your hair is, how your make-up is. You're gorgeous and I want you to know that."

 

It was meant genuinely and taken so – she squeezed my hand and we walked on.

We arrived at the shopping mall and spent some time just "window shopping" – something I had never dreamed of doing before. We stopped and admired all sorts of things - beauty products, hair products, jewellery, accessories and even 'chick-lit' books and journals. Ginger seized upon a Hair journal, just called "Hair" – a thick volume of hundreds of styles and colours. It was amazing how much it contained, as I could tell as she flicked through the pages.

"let's have some fun over a coffee…. I'll buy this and we can go through choosing which styles and colours we would most like from Karen this evening – then we can see how close we get to the real outcome, when she does her stuff! How about that?"

"Sounds good to me." I said, happy to be doing something quite so intimately with a wonderful girl like her. She bought the magazine and we headed for the nearest Coffee House. We sat ourselves at a round table with a good view out into the mall. This meant that I could see attractive hairstyles on the passing women and girls in the centre. Ginger was happy with this and we settled down for a time.

 

"Hair" proved to be fascinating. I had never seen so many hairstyles and colouring advice, and models and … and… and… it all brought home, again, what the evening promised. At the end of the event, we would all have been photographed in the same way that these hairdressers' models had been. Maybe our pictures would find their way into magazines. Karen certainly had a good portfolio of shots from the start through the evenings we had spent together. There had been some changes, of course, but I suspected, none as great as we would have tonight!

 

"Let's choose our three favourites while the cappuccinos cool down." Ginger was getting into this in a big way, I could tell. "You choose three and I'll choose three, then we can compare. Choose styles and colours that you'd love to have for yourself!" She gleamed a smile and squeezed my hand again.

 

"You're really a honey!" I exclaimed for the twentieth time, it seemed.

"Look tonight's going to be special, so let's enjoy it while we can." She mused.

I scanned the first few pages, but few styles appealed. There were many close cropped cuts, some bizarre bright colours, some "how to get rid of frizz" advice. None were right. Then came the tenth or twelfth page, with four styles that were long, one blonde, one brunette, one red, and one multicolour highlighted – blonde and red on brown. The hair was long enough to fall over the model's shoulders. It was the same girl with the four different colours, the same sleek but slightly waved style. Not bad for a starter! I thought and must have murmured approval.

"You like her, don't you?" Ginger asked. "S'alright – I do too!"

"It's the highlights that hit me." I admitted. "I would go for those if I had the choice - it's the way the red and the blonde go together on the brown base shade. It's lovely." My cock was testing the restraint between my legs to the limit by this time.

"You're right, but it wouldn't do for me; not with my all-over red. I could look for something similar but with lighter highlights, couldn't I? Then, we could be streaked the same way!" She giggled. I could tell, this was proving to be fun for her, but she wasn't "poking fun" at me, in any way at all.

On we went with scanning the magazine. The band around my cock would not ease.

Ginger found a complete contrast to her own colour and style – remember – bright auburn and "big hair", in a sleek updo with rolls of curls above a severe up-sweep to the back and sides. The colour was, not her red but a very fashionable chestnut brown. "Very 1950s!!" I said. She laughed and said "Not a lot wrong with that!"

 

My own second choice came soon after – as the cappuccinos became drinkable and the people passing the café seemed to disappear from view. My second was an updo, like Ginger's first. It was perfect, with a split parting central to the head, with wild waves of hair flowing first down then upwards over the sides, ending up gathered at the crown where they met the severely upswept hair from the neck. It was blonde. A beautiful pastel beige shade. "A nightmare to keep the colour up to scratch!" said Ginger. "You'd have to have the roots done every other week! Unless, of course, you were to wear the roots as a kind of fashion statement!"

 

"Just think how that would feel, let free at bedtime as you lay on the pillow. It would flow all over the place! How wonderful to have sex with hair like that to play with!!" Maybe I was going too far, but that was in my mind. I was close to orgasm.

"Oooooh! You monkey!!!!" she shouted, quite literally. Eyes all around us turned in our direction. What could we be talking about to create that outburst, they must have been thinking. Whoever they were, looking at us, we would have made a curious sight. Especially on closer inspection. A boy and a girl.

 

A boy wearing unisex gear – a blouse as a shirt, with shadows or outlines of underwear slightly on view and, what's that??, yes, nail polish. His hair long and clearly well cared-for but in an intermediate style – neither male nor female. She……. A very pretty girl with luxurious red hair, an elfin face and a smooth complexion. Her clothing feminine though her size might have been larger than average. Just good friends? No, clearly something deeper underlay their relaxed togetherness. Were they lovers? A casual observer would probably have little doubt that they were. Let them look, I thought. We have a right to be here.

 

My gaze scanned around the tables that surrounded us and into the open hall between the stores. There were many more women than men around. There were few that I could honestly say that I would have found attractive. On the nearest table, just as we were, I could see two young women -until Ginger's outcry, deep in conversation. One was a natural brunette whose hair had been coloured too long ago for her roots not to be a matter of choice. One day, I wondered, would I choose such conscious 'lack of concern' for my appearance? – of course, she cared; the roots were a statement. Her fishnet tights, tight bodice and short skirt added to the her "I'm up for it" projected persona.

 

Her companion was almost a perfect Gothic girl – her blue-black hair fell in a curtain down her back; razor blunt cut, with bright purple highlights framing her face. A set of earrings told the story that this look was for keeps – for now. She too was "up for it" if anyone cared to come on strong. I could imagine them both being a good ride at a party! More than that, I could imagine going dressed like either to a party – just for one night. More than that, I could imagine that they would end up in bed together. More than that, I imagined being one of them, with the other – just as, recently, I had been with Ginger.

 

The brunette with the roots caught my eye and had noticed that I was staring - because I must have been – at the pair of them. She fixed me with a stare and very slowly half-opened her mouth and ran the tip of her tongue all around the line of her lips, top and bottom. The implication that oral sex was on offer, not just to me but also to anyone, was unmistakable.

 

She said something quietly to her companion and the Goth looked my way, smiling a very over-seductive smile. There was definitely a gauntlet being thrown down. "Come and get it" was the message. "I think we could score if we said just one word!" I said to Ginger who, until that moment was unaware of the fleeting exchange. "Not at 11.30 in the morning, we wouldn't!" she laughed.

 

The Goth and her friend got up to leave. "I'll remember you." was all she said.

We had time for another cappuccino and returned to the magazine to finish our game. My third style jumped from the very next page – probably my most favourite style, in my most favourite colour – and all very suited to everyday wear. It was a plain cut Pageboy Bob, cut to a length just below the chin, cut severely into the nape of the neck with the outer layers curled under to make a perfectly smooth outline. The fringe was absolutely horizontal. The style was much like Karen's hair had been, and remained, except that the colour was a wonderful rich and vibrant auburn – my favourite! The setting guide, showing the placement of rollers, if they were used, was right beside the picture that filled nearly the whole page. Of course, some would have the style blow-dried but there's much less sexuality in a blow-dried style. The rollers… the very process of rolling the hair in its neat sections….. promised much more! I was conscious of pressure as my cock grew again, restrained as it was.

 

"I knew it!" exclaimed Ginger, "I knew there would be something like that and it would be the one you'd choose! Bit predictable, my honey!" She said. And she was right! That would be me, in the days to come - well, some of them at least!

 

"Come on, let's drink up and go for a walk." she added.

"Not until we've found your third style." I countered.

It did not take long. Ginger's eyes lit up on the very next page of the magazine. Here was a blonde. "If I have one life, let me live it as a blonde" said an advertising slogan years ago, I remembered. "My skin tone would be all wrong but I'd just love to try being blonde for a while." She whispered. The shade was a mellow strawberry and it was so delicate that I resolved, there and then, that we would do Ginger's hair that colour – one day.

 

The style was a rampant tumble of curls that gave extra dimensions to the colour. Some curls appeared darker than others, some others almost baby blonde. The condition was wonderful, so the individual curls could shine. They had not been brushed out at all. Just left to tease the on-looker, almost saying "touch me, if you dare!" The styling pattern showed a huge mass of curls to be set into the hair, all at different angles to eachother. Completely the reverse of the styling behind the highly disciplined Pageboy Bob that I would wish to have. The model's eyes faced direct into the camera. They spoke to me, saying "Tonight……. This could be you!"

We stayed a while longer at the café, just "people watching" as passers-by took our attention. It was good to be there. Then, Ginger's mobile phone cut the quiet that had settled between us.

"We're in the shopping mall, watching the people. That's all. No, we've been taking it easy this morning so we're ready for what you have in store for us this evening." It was Karen, evidently checking on our whereabouts. "No, we stayed together last night at my place." Checking where we had been last night, too. "No, it was a quiet night." Karen's questions were a bit insistent, it seemed. "What were you doing?" asked Ginger.

 

It's difficult to gauge the tone of a conversation when you only hear one side, but I got the distinct impression that Karen was less than pleased that we had spent the night together. She should complain! She was making no secret now of her affection for Margot. I wondered if they might have spent the night together too.

 

"Shoes??" Ginger said, puzzled. "What do you mean, shoes??" Her voice showed no other emotion than confusion. "You mean you haven't got a pair of shoes the right size for a 'certain' person? Oh, hell!"

 

She meant me. I knew it – Karen had phoned to tell us that I would have no shoes to wear for the evening – and it was clear I couldn't go barefoot!

"But I thought Margot's Mother was taking care of all that sort of thing – the whole outfit?" Ginger continued while I began to rack my brains to think where we could find a pair of shoes to fit my feet, in time for the evening's event.

It turned out that Margot's Mother had gone away for a couple of days and would not return until early evening – in time to do the make-up for us three, but not early enough for a dress rehearsal for the clothes we would be wearing. That was to be done at the hall where the competition would be held. She was to bring everything there around 3.30pm – and now wouldn't be back before 5 or 5.30pm.

 

"You'll have to get Margot to take us to her house – she's around, surely?" Ginger pushed for the easiest solution. She didn't stop to think about Margot's scary mother and what she would say to us going round to her house hunting for shoes! "OK, we'll see you there in about twenty minutes." Ginger finished the call with Karen and explained all of this. Margot's Mother would be stressed in the extreme if we turned up with enough gear only to be partly dressed, but then again, she would be stressed to have us in her house. We were about to find out why.

 

"it's funny that we've never been to Margot's home, us girls." Said Ginger as we walked away from the café. "never mind these evenings we've been together, that's not what I mean – we've known eachother for a long time but I can't remember going there. I've only seen her other a few times."

"She's really scary, that woman." I said, with feeling – I was rarely scared by anyone or anything, but this was an exception! "I met her the first time in the Beauty area in the department store and I didn't know who she was. The thing was, she didn't know me either but, instantly, she knew why I was there. She knew I was looking for something for myself. Spooky, I call that. I mean, how could anyone have realised that, just a few days before, nothing like buying hair colour would have come into my mind?"

 

"I've no idea. Margot doesn't talk about her much at all. I do know her Dad left the family a long while ago. I remember Margot saying that he was "very much under Mum's thumb" - she probably kept him locked up and never let him out!"

 

Margot's place wasn't far away and she was outside waiting for us when we got there. Her hair was towel-dry; she was preparing for this evening when Karen had called. "Now, you two, there are places in the house you mustn't go so just follow me into the lounge and we'll see what we can find for your feet –we have to make you as girly as possible, don't we?" Jibes like that were wasted on me – I was going through with this so she couldn't make me uncomfortable. "Oh, do go easy!" said Ginger, coming to my defence. "It's ok, it's cool, no worries." I chipped back.

 

Why couldn't we go places in here? I wondered. It sounded like Margot had something to hide.

"Help yourselves to a Coke. There's some on the table. I'll be back in a minute." she said as she left the room. Ginger and I looked at eachother. The room was dark. The carpets and curtains were burgundy red. The chairs were black, or so grey they seemed black. The pictures were mainly etchings, most of the having a very slight erotic feel to them. The lighting was low and, even in the middle of the day, it was dark. Sinister was the only word to describe it.

No words passed between us for a while. I began to wonder what Margot was doing.

"Did you ever know her home was like this?" I whispered to Ginger.

"Not at all, though I've never been here before." was her answer.

We both seemed to sense that something unsaid was in both our minds. This wasn't the usual semi-detached suburban home that it suggested it was on the outside.

Margot's footsteps were coming in the hall. Our eyes turned to the door and in she came. Margot was a sight changed dramatically from before. She was wearing a leather body suit, just like the Cat Woman movie. The stiletto heels that had made the sound of her heels on the passageway floor were all of 3 or 4 inches tall. She carried a pair of the boots in her hand – for me!

"Don't be surprised. Karen wants us to make an impact on the evening and Mum has the right gear to do that – she's go these in every size we'll need." In a matter-of-fact way, she must have expected us not to react in any way other than "oh, ok", but that was far from our response.

 

Ginger caught her breath faster than I did. "You cannot be serious!" she exclaimed, McEnroe style. "That's only suited to a tart's convention!"

 

"Oh, don't be so conventional!" said Margot - Mum's already agreed it with Karen and there's no debate – and when Mum says so, Mum means so!"

I almost stammered what was in my mind. "I can't go out like that….."

"OK, you tell Mum that you can't. See if I care!" was her response.

"The black leather will give the impact we need and the hair styles and colours will shout the loudest – nobody will be looking at the other models!" Margot was warming to the task of justifying the choice of outfit. "Nobody at all will be expecting this – so why not use the gear we have got to advantage. Even if the other stylists are half as good as Karen, they won't even be in the contest."

"There must be an alternative…." said Ginger, leaving half the sentence hanging in the air

"Not to make our hair styles and colours really stunning - and that's what will win the competition for Karen. Imagine it. Your stunning red hair against the black of the leather….." She paused. "….and my highlights, which will be bolder than ever. And whatever colour and style Karen has designed for our third girly here, too!" Margot looked directly at me as if to say "get out of that!".

 

Again, I had been speechless apart from indicating that I'd rather be seen dead outside than dressed that way - which was how I was feeling. After all, this was going to be an evening of extremes in any case. I was going out fully transformed, willingly, into a female, happily appearing in front of dozens of people, maybe hundreds, as a hairdresser's model. It wasn't necessary to do that looking like a Hooker on a bad night, was it!? But Margot was almost as scary as her mother once she got going like this.

 

"Feel it." Margot half commanded us to touch the leather of her costume.

"It will be far too hot, much too much in that skin under the lights and with all the dryers going….." Ginger began to protest.

"No pain, no gain!" Margot cut her off. "I'm up for it." We could both see that she meant it – maybe it wasn't just her mother that was making this decision.

"Does Karen know?" I asked. "And what will she be wearing?" ….There, I had as much capitulated that she would get her way, in the expectation that Karen would be similarly dressed. "Oh yes, of course. She will look the part completely."

 

"What do you mean, your mother has these in all different sizes. How come? And what for?" Ginger and I said the questions almost in unison. Why could she "just have them when we needed them?

 

Margot's face was a study. For an instant, she didn't know what to say or how to explain what she had said. Then, she was back on the offensive.

"You may as well know, she has loads of stuff like this. She doesn't just wear it herself. She, er, knows lots of people who like to dress this way too. She's well into singles and doubles and small groups. A bit of domination, a bit of cross-dressing, and frequent girl-on-girl stuff. There's no secret. Where she works, in the Beauty department, she can spot people who are interested a mile off!"

I didn't want to be pushed into this, so diverted the conversation as best I could. It turned out the Ginger was, not surprisingly, in agreement.

"Let's leave it for now, until Karen gets here. I'm much more interested in how she's going to be doing our hair. It's time we knew!" I cried.

Ginger picked up the theme and said "You're absolutely right. She can't keep us in the dark any longer. I'm really looking forward to how we'll be looking." She came over to where I was sitting and stood above me, facing me, and began to stroke my hair – my hair that was still a plain brown tousled collection of strands and loose curls, neither male nor female, just waiting to be worked upon.

Margot was about to protest yet again but Karen's arrival prevented going further down the road she was heading. She arrived at a pace. She had been running. There was clearly a lot to tell us.

"I have to tell you the whole timetable, now. And when you hear it, you'll understand that we have to get going, soon! There's so much to be done."

At last, we were to know what was to come.

"Right, it's lunchtime now – we only have time for a salad so I have some here for us. We can eat as we rehearse. We have to be at the Hall where the event takes place on two separate occasions. The main event begins at 5.30pm so there's the deadline we are working towards/ Before that, we have to present ourselves to the judges at 2.30pm so they can see the models in their unprepared, undressed state."

"Undressed!!!!?????"

"No, stupid, with your hair un-dressed. Not coloured. Not cut. Only by seeing you that way can the judges see how much of an impact the stylist has on the head over the whole evening. You go to this without make-up and in everyday clothes."

"E-E-E-veryday clothes?" I stammered. "I don't have any outerwear. I have underwear – like I'm wearing now. But I have no outer wear."

"Don't worry. Don't forget…." Said Ginger. "You're close enough to my size to ware my gear for that part of the event. "Apart from the shoes – I don't have any shoes your size."

 

"Brilliant!" said Karen. "But from then on, you have to be convincing as a girl, like the other two. The more feminine you can be in the afternoon, the more you'll be convincing in the evening. You look pretty good now, by the way. I'm still so truly grateful to you for coming this far. It's being a real adventure and I love you for it."

 

"Wow" I thought. Karen had never said anything like that to me and she was clearly meaning every word.

"When do we have the make-up done?" Ginger ventured to ask.

"Easy. You wear daytime make-up – all of you! – for the afternoon and then the evening make-up is done after the colour and cut but before the comb-out and final styling. There will be a photographer around most of the time so they'll catch the whole process. You mustn't be shy! The more photos they take of a set of models, the more likely they are to be the winners! So tease them!"

"Tits!"

"What????"

"Tits!" I said. "You want me to be girly and I have no tits!"

All the talk of what was to come was beginning to get to me. I was beginning to feel quite horny and, if we were alone, Ginger and I would be getting together – if I had my way!

"Men!" said Ginger. "Tits mad, always!" She laughed out loud and so did we all – except Margot, who scowled.

"There are things here that will suit you in that way." She said, referring to her mother's collection, no doubt.

The fact remained that I was getting into a state that, later in the day, would be a problem. I had that very tight restraint between my legs, hidden from view by the blue satin and lace knickers that I had been wearing all morning. My balls were feeling like they would burst. My cock just had to be released.

"We have to go back to your place, Ginger." I said without indicating why. She was in eager agreement but said "Only when we know the rest of what we have to do, and how we're going to look when Karen has worked her magic."

"OK, let's be quick. After we've been seen by the judges first time, at 2.30, there will be three hours for the colouring. We are allowed to do this in our own salons and so we'll go there immediately. You'll still be in everyday clothes and make-up. That's a long time but we'll need every minute, because you're all having colour – and quite intricate colour too." Again, my restrained cock began to pulsate.

Karen continued: "We use the salon for all the colour work. The other girls there aren't allowed to do the work, but two of them will be helping with the parts that aren't essential. I have to do all the colour selection, the applying of the different colours to the hair, the checking of its development and the deciding when it's reached perfection. They can do the washing off, and providing the foils where we need them for highlights and stuff…. They're really looking forward to helping. The other stylists will have the same help in their own salons."

"How many other competitors are you up against?" I asked, out of genuine interest, but also to find out how many people were going to be around when I finish up in all my glory as a female, …… as a hairdresser's model.

"I think there are twelve of us. No more than that – but each has three models And then, there are the judges – about four or five, I think. They're all local salon owners and expert colourists and stylists themselves."

"Oh….." she continued, "and none of them know that you're a boy! There's nothing more important than continuing the pretence. You have to be a girl, all the time. Nobody should be in any doubt, or we'll be disqualified."

"Well, you'd better make a special style for my hair, hadn't you!" I exclaimed.

Margot had remained silent throughout this but said "Don't be concerned. Mother's expertise with the make-up will give no chance for doubt." The way she said that, there was no room for doubt, it was true. Still scary.

"You still haven't told us about the styles and colours we'll be wearing tonight!" said Ginger.

Karen took the next fifteen minutes explaining to each of us what was involved in our own particular style, its setting and construction, and also its colour. As she explained, she worked our hair gently through her fingers. Just watching her do this to Ginger and Margot was enough, but when it came to my turn, I was breathless in the extreme. It was a treat that kept my restrained cock nearly bursting from the knickers that were the only thing between me and embarrassment.

The time had come to leave for Ginger's home to find me those "everyday" clothes that I was to wear for the first encounter with the judges.

TO BE CONTINUED……………………………

  

  

  

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