An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe ginger

part 10

 

Ginger, Margot, Karen and I left the Hall where the competition was to be staged, and where, later that evening, our hairstyles would be finished and judged. Before then, we would spend several hours at one of the local salons where, under the eagle eye of a judge – or a deputized salon owner - the stylists would work their magic and transform us into the glamour pusses we had to be for the competition's finale.

 

The walk was a short one and we were to be using a salon just opposite the one that Karen worked in as an Apprentice. This meant, perhaps, that working in a competitor salon, she might have a bit of a hard time, relying as she would on the juniors and others to do the necessary assisting that would allow her to concentrate on the design, colouring and styling on all three models. Female models – in my case, female for the day. It had gone well so far and we were now in the realms where nobody would know that I was a guy helping a girlfriend in her efforts to win the prize. I didn't know what the prize would be so, as we entered the salon, called Blonde Ambition (I wondered why? As if couldn't figure that out!) I asked Karen what the prizes would be. The third prize was a complete set of hairdressers' styling gear – "everything you could want" Karen explained. "The second prize is a weekend in a London stylist's salon, working with some of the top media-friendly, always-in the-news-and-journals stylists. That would involve maybe seeing work done on a few "B" or "C" list celebrities. Finally, the overall winner is going to receive a month's full training in the same place, but actually working with a top stylist as their "Number 2" – seeing them cut, style and colour countless heads. It's going to be SUCH a thing to win – such a boost to a girl's career!" Karen nearly exploded with hope!

 

"And then, there are prizes for the models!………………..!" She said, as we entered the salon. Ginger went in first, followed by the other three of us. The sight inside was stunning. "Blonde Ambition" alright!

Every one of the girls in the salon – there were no guys to be seen – were blondes. More than a dozen of them. Their hair was immaculate – all of them – and each had a different shade of blonde. One was truly "white" – unashamed peroxide! Hers was a spikey crop cut – not one I'd even want, I thought. A second girl's hair was ash blonde, almost a blue-grey shade. Now that was more like it. It was set in a rough-cut wild "coupe" style, clearly with more styling mousse than I'd ever used. The third was blessed with long golden blonde tresses that fell to her shoulders, parted centrally and curled in loose ringlets that flowed as she walked – indeed, preened herself – around the salon. Fourth was the salon's owner - she, who would be out judge for the afternoon. Her hair was suited to her mid-40s age, set in more of a structured style, back-combed but leaving the curls from her rollers clearly visible and the whole style in a glorious pastel shade of peach blonde. The rest were away from the reception area of the salon, so would come into sight soon.

Marvelling at the sight of these women, I could still not forget the words Karen had used on the way in. Nor could Ginger and Margot. Margot was first to fire a shot:

"We get a prize??? What can it be??? A weekend away for two???" Her eyes flashed in Karen's direction. There was no doubt in my mind what Margot had in mind if that was the prize! "No, not that, but if I win I'll treat us!" Karen replied.

"No? If it's not that, what can it be?" asked Ginger who had been very quiet as we had walked from the Hall through the shopping precinct. As we stood in the salon's reception area. Karen couldn't keep the secret any longer. "It's a year's treatments for hair and beauty at a top salon, every month – hair cut, colour and styling, make-up and beauty treatments…… plus, and this is the amazing bit…… being used as a model in a further six competitions around the country – all expenses paid! Just so long as you don't object to whatever the stylists concerned will do with your hair, and no matter how outrageous the make-up might be. There will be pictures in magazines and…. WOW!"

My mind was racing – how could that all be true – and how could we possibly take them up on that. Ginger could, of course, and maybe Margot. But, then, what about me? I had got used to slipping from male to female over the last few weeks – but it was only ever for an evening or two. Maybe a whole day once or twice.

 

This was shaping up for a total transformation every other week, sometimes for days on end. Whilst I would dream of nothing more wonderful than travelling all over the place with Ginger, and Karen too, it was something to get my head round that I don't think I was ready for.

 

Karen produced her camera, reminding me of the early times she had wanted to take photos of the evenings we were spending together. There had been fewer shots taken in the recent past but she said tonight was a special event and she wanted lots of pictures. One of the salon's Apprentices was briefed to take as many shots as she could over the coming hours. Close up of the techniques were especially important. Sequences on the individual models, too, were required – to document just how total the transformations we were undergoing would prove to be.

 

"Who is the Stylist and which of you are the models?" said the salon owner, whose name was Stephanie. Karen introduced herself and the three of us. "We'll be visited by one of the main judges before long and you don't have much time, so we had better get on!" Stephanie's mode of dress was much like one of the judges, perhaps the one I had second-guessed might be rather in the same situation as I found myself.

 

I was suddenly conscious again of the tightness of my corset and the smoothness of my stockings, held as they were by the suspenders that came with the corset. My bra was also tight – enough – but not too tight. Of course, it still lacked the stuffing that would give me the shape of the tits I needed for the image I was creating. My cock, still restrained, was wet, wetter than I could have imagined. I was nowhere near cumming, but I was undoubtedly in a permanent state of arousal.

 

"Could you live with that?" Ginger whispered to me, meaning the year's treatments and the travel to competitions. "I could if you could, and we did it together." She finished, telling me in no uncertain terms to "go for it!". A phrase came back to me from the first or second time we had met together in all of this series of "girls' evenings" and it was true…..

 

That first evening. "What will you do with him next, Karen?" Margot had asked "…… now you've got him where you want him! "Is that where you want him?" asked Ginger, "…… and if so, what's next?"

 

"Oh, yes, that's where I want him." Karen had said, "…… but he's just given me an idea – when he said "Whatever you say" "Exactly what I was thinking…… But I could do a lot more if he'd let me set it on rollers, couldn't I?" She had looked in the mirror – seeing me not believing what I had just heard her say.

 

"Couldn't I?", she asked, looking straight into my eyes, smiling the same way as before. I was kind-of speechless.

 

"You said ‘Whatever you say', didn't you?" Ginger had said.

Suddenly, I was back to reality, to here and now. Back in the salon, surrounded by blondes – well, all blondes apart from Karen, Ginger and me. "Well. Whatever you say" I murmured to Ginger. Click, Click! The first photos were taking with us all off guard – just looking like four girls in a salon's reception. Four girls with hair that would be transformed. Yes, even Karen would have a fine style by the end of the event, it was clear.

 

"I'm to be the first." I volunteered, knowing that there would be plenty of time to enjoy what as to come and that there would be lots to see in what was done to the other two girls. My thinking had completely gone over to thinking of us as three girls despite the obvious constraints around me that reminded me of my maleness. "Good! Come this way!" said Stephanie.

 

Karen had told us that we would have our hair combed and prepared for colouring almost immediately. We were all to expect foils to be laced into our hair because the colour was multi-tonal – with highlights and lowlights. Karen would already have selected a base colour and the shades for the highlights. She had to be the one to do that and to apply the colour in all the right places. The assistants could only do the non-technical things. (And take those photos).

 

"Before you go, there's another good reason for you to have the first colour…" she told me, "……. Your hair is going to be the same colour as the other girls" – her voice slowed as she said the word – "but it's not as long, so we need time to add some extensions to add to the length and give scope for the same elaborate style. So hurry along……….."

 

I was stunned. Nothing had been said about this when she briefed us about the style and colour we would all have. How could I have this?!! Extensions last for weeks! That much I knew.

 

Standing in the salon's entry to the working area, I stopped with my mind racing back to what had been promised. Karen had said our three heads would be styled the same and coloured to match. This meant some radical change for each of us, but different in each case. They would all be based on Ginger's base colour as it was the strongest and most distinctive - and perhaps the toughest to change.

 

Margot's mousey hair, albeit with the blonde streaks, could be changed with ease. My own, mid-brown shade, would be easily coloured….. red! Just as I had hoped. I didn't give thought to the length needed when Karen said we would each have a half pleat with the top of our heads highly bouffant and back-combed and the length tied at the crown with ringlets falling down behind. The length of the hair that was left "down" would be styled and flipped up at the ends. The bounce in the flip curls would contrast beautifully with the bouffant top, the highlights and the ringlets. I didn't think of the length of Margot's hair that would allow the ringlets and length to be very full. Nor did think of the wonderful lustrous thickness of Ginger's hair that meant the crown of her head could be piled high and the same flipcurls to fall to her neck.

 

My own hair was long enough for one or the other. Of course, it wouldn't work the length it was. But I hadn't thought about that. My mind flashed back. Back through the reality of what had been my fantasy at the beginning.

I was now accustomed to having my hair back-combed – in fact, I quite liked that. In fact, I was looking forward to that! But that would use much of the available hair, even though I was able to swing my hair at past chin length, well on to my neck. It felt great! But is wasn't long enough to be half held up in a pleat, nor was it thick enough to have ringlets of any length at all.

 

How could I live with extensions – how easy are they to remove if you need to get rid of them? I had no idea. Once again, I was kind-of speechless.

 

"You said ‘Whatever you say', didn't you?" Karen patted my bum. She actually patted my bum to send me on my way. Still speechless!

Of course, I did. That's what I had said!

Stephanie led the way.

Two more blondes were waiting at the mirror and chair where I was to be coloured. There was a trolley with countless trays, some with foils – soon to be all over my head, some with pins or brushes – the stubby kind that is used to apply the colour to strands of hair and work it though thoroughly. Finally, there were the dishes on the top of the trolley, each with different coloured pastes in them and a couple of plastic bottles with coloured liquid in them. The pastes were different in colour. One was coppery grey, another a beigey colour, a third was deep mulberry red and the last one was actually blue!!!

The foils glistened and the pungent odour of the colouring pastes hit my senses. This was all for mmmmmm…..me!

The blondes both smiled and the chair was moved back for me to sit down. The first girl, whose hair was long and streaked with thick bands of two different shades of blonde, all upon a dark brown undercolour, said "Wow, have you got a change in store! I really love the mix of shades that you're having!" I may have blushed, it was meant as a personal compliment. Here was a really pretty girl telling me that she envied how my hair would look! "Oh, me too!" said the other blonde. " I can't wait to see the final effect – you will come in and see us in the salon after the competition, won't you? Maybe tomorrow, whilst the style still looks at its best?"

Her hair was corn-coloured blonde with purposely grown out roots – nobody who worked here had hair that was anything but intentional. She had gone for the tarty look for the time being. She matched this with torn jeans, an off-the-shoulder blouse and make-up that shouted "fuck me!"

I just smiled and took in the fantasy of the whole surroundings. This was like a dream and I was a central player. The look in the mirror told me that I was quite convincing in my femininity, just because, up to this point, just because of the very ordinariness of my clothes, hair and lack of make-up. I could hardly refuse to come back and see these gorgeous girls. As I was about to speak, Ginger was brought over to sit beside me to the left and Margot soon arrived at the mirror to my right. Looking to both sides, we were "under starter's orders!".

 

By then, my hair had been combed and sectioned and Karen had arrived. "You ready???" she smiled. "Thanks again for going through with this, right through to this stage. I'll have to find a way to really repay your kindness. I haven't forgotten how we started. You look quite stunning as you are." She whispered the last words, clearly wanting to make sure that Margot heard nothing. Meaning as a girl, she fancied me as a girl.

 

Ginger looked across. "You OK?" she said, seeming concerned. She knew the enormity of what I was undertaking. "You'll look great!" were her final words.

The first foil was lifted and placed under the strand of hair to be coloured first. Instead of one side of my head being done first, followed by the other, Karen laid the foils across my head from side to side. This meant the strands would not follow a central parting. She applied each colour in turn to the strands she lifted, some grey/copper paste, some beige, some deepest red and some that crazy blue! I knew I would not end up with blue strands – those would be the lightest blonde. The deep red strands had an extra portion of blue paste to exaggerate the colour applied.

 

Karen's hands sped through my hair, working the parcels around the back and sides as quickly as possible. Her assistants worked fast – just as they knew Karen had to, with three of us to colour. The smell of the colouring pastes was extreme, but in a way it was haunting - I would never forget it. The way the brush swept the colours along each foil fascinated me in the mirror. The way Karen folded each parcel in half, and then turned in the sides and clipping the foil to my scalp. Time and again, I was mesmerized by the way her hands worked. Eventually, the final foil was applied and sealed tightly.

 

I was conscious that two or three photographs had been taken of me in an almost totally helpless situation - unable to change anything that was going on. How many of the pictures would find their way into a magazine article or a newspaper piece about this competition? Would the models be named?

 

Karen then instructed one of the blondes, the one with the bold highlights – not the roots - to apply the deep rich red paste to the rest of my hair; all of which had escaped the foils. She was allowed to do this by the rules of the competition. The blonde took care not to disturb the foils as she worked while Karen moved on to Margot who was to have the same treatment to her, much longer, mousey-brown hair.

Her eyes became immediately fixed upon Karen and she never once looked away. She was trying to convey what could only be described as lust. She was flirting right before the rest of us. The process for her took as long as it had with my hair; the same mixture of colours from the same trays, and the same deep red colour for the hair that had not been foiled. The length of Margot's hair made the foils need to be somewhat larger but otherwise she and I were treated the same.

 

Looking to the other side, as I sat with the colour on my hair "developing", I saw that Ginger's trolley was rather different in as much as the colours of the pastes in the trays were different. The blue paste was the same, and so was the deep red, but the others contained pastes of other colours that, presumably would produce the same result as our colours would but on Ginger's much more strongly coloured natural shade. I looked at Ginger, as I was now able to look around freely. She was a stunner really, and I was undoubtedly falling in love. It was on two levels. She was so very attractive, any red-blooded male would want to get inside her panties. On another level, I was sitting there virtually "in her panties" – or rather panties she had bought for me! And the corset, and the stockings and the bra! All of them could have been hers! I loved her all the more for going with what had rapidly become a fetish that, once indulged, and now a hundred times indulged, I doubted I would ever be able to break.

 

Karen worked so fast, she was unable to have the usual "stylist/client" chatter. The blondes assisting, too, were unable to break concentration. So, silent it was.

A timer's bell awoke me from the musings I had been focussed upon. My time was up! It was time to rinse away the colours from my hair, but first the foils had to be removed. That took a very short time as the blonde – with the roots, not the streaks – worked adeptly; she had done this before. "I love the look that you've created…" I said to her, "…… but why quite so tarty?" I asked. "Just love it! It may scare some guys away but I'm not at all bothered. I'll be all sugar and flowers next month – life's too short to stay the same all the time." She mused, smiling broadly.

 

"How right is that!" I thought to myself. "You must be the same, going for this transformation!" she said, "What made you go for it?" she asked. I nearly blew my cover and the illusion in a single second. I nearly said "…to get a girl to go out with me." Of course, that was true, but it would have posed more questions than it answered. "Have you ever modelled for a hairdresser before?" said the girl, her blondness framing her face. "Not once, but it won't be my last time." I answered.

 

The water cascaded over my head at the back-wash. The smell of the coloured pastes was replaced with shampoo fragrance and my hair was soon running free through the water and I lost sense of reality again. There is something totally mesmerizing about having your hair washed by another girl; at least, in my mind there is! I kept on thinking. My scalp was being massaged by the blonde – with the roots. A cut was all that was left at this stage.. or was it… no it wasn't…. there were the extensions to apply.

As she finished and put sweet smelling conditioner through my wet hair, finally combing me through after a last rinse, I looked aside at Margot and Ginger, both festooned in foils as I had been only moments ago. The young assistant with the camera took a photo along the line of the three of us – another one for the album. There was no doubt that I was secretly delighted that this was being kept as a record of the transformation that I was enjoying so much.

 

My hair was finally rinsed and towel-dried, leaving me with clingy wet ringlets down the sides and back of my head. It was to strands drawn from these that my new hair extensions would now be added. They would add enough length to enable Karen to work a cascade of ringlets down the back of my head, matching those of Ginger and Margot. Wonderful feminine ringlets. (Just listen to me! I thought!!!)

 

I was aware of another member of the salon's staff approaching who was to be the one to carry out that process. She was the only Afro-Caribbean girl there, (I later found our she was called Jo-Jo), and her own hair was braided in tiny plaits. Each of these then burst into a wonderful mass of brightly coloured extensions – strands of fake hair, mostly 10 to 12 inches long - some a light blonde, and some a bright shocking pink – great, great, stunning, fantastic, want some, want some…… were words that came to my mind immediately. I knew now that my own hair was coloured in several distinct and different shades of blonde, beige, copper and red. The extensions were laid out on the tray on the top of "my" trolley and Jo-Jo began to work more magic into my hair. Every strand was passed through her hands over its full length, some were divided into two to introduce variety. A small number were fixed right along my hairline at the front.

 

The extensions were to be left long and straight, not plaited at all, and their fixing was obviously going to be near-permanent. I could tell by the tightness of every single attachment.

"How long will they last?" I asked tentatively, not really knowing whether I wanted the answer to be "a day or two", or "a month or two" – how would I cope if it was the longer? I would soon begin to find out when Jo-Jo said "about six weeks before you need them tightened some more, or have them taken away – whatever you choose. Most girls love them and want to keep them. Are you growing your hair – is that why you're to have them in?"

What was I to answer? Six weeks – there was a lot of everyday life between me and six weeks from now – it had been one thing to wear my hair increasingly long and red for a while, then brown as it got to chin length. This was entering a different ball-game.

Suddenly, a surprise came. "Anyway, why is a guy like you having his hair done this way?" whispered Jo-Jo. Quite out of the blue, like a bolt of lightning, her words hit me.

She fixed me with a stare in the mirror – she had meant what she said. I hadn't been mistaken what I'd heard her say. "A guy like you…." Jo-Jo smiled knowingly. "What do you mean?", was all I could say. She couldn't have guessed. How could she have guessed? She had. How? My mind was in a whirl. "You know what I mean…… it's cool, there's no worry. I won't tell. I just wondered why." Jo-Jo was keeping her voice down. "It's your hands, my love, they're a dead give-away - yours are no more girlie hands than your average bricklayer's! Well, seriously, no more than any office working boy's perhaps. They may have lovely red polish on them but they betray your little secret!"

 

I must have blushed to the extent that little needed to be said. She knew. I couldn't, and needn't, deny it was true. She had guessed correctly. "It's a long story." I said. "It's surprising what a guy will do for a girl he fancies to pieces. One thing has just led to another and, funnily enough, I've ended up falling for another girl instead – and she's involved in this too. How it will finish, I've no idea, but I'm in it up to my neck now so…. Whatever happens, happens!"

 

"You're one cool guy, you know that." said Jo-Jo, half admiringly.

Ginger clearly hadn't heard all of this but I was going to have to ask her what she would think, not least about the six weeks' lasting of the extensions. How would she see me through such a long time? I looked at her sideways – she was having the foils removed from her hair, just as Margot was on my other side. I couldn't tell how their colours had developed any more than I could tell on my own – their hair was wet and needed conditioning. There were clearly some blonde highlights in both heads – just as there was in my own but more than that I couldn't tell.

"How is everything going?" said an unfamiliar voice. It was Stephanie, the salon owner and judge for the hours we were with her and her staff. Her peach blonde hair was back-lit as I looked up at her in the mirror and it made a cloud or halo of beautiful pastel shades around her face. "Fine, just fine." I said.

 

"That's good, you have two visitors – the first is the lady you met earlier and who will be one of the main competition judges this evening." My mind flashed back again.

 

There were three main judges. One was tall her red hair was piled high with tendril curls swept around her head. A triumph of construction, I had thought. I could just imagine how long she had been in rollers and how many pins there were holding that lot up so high! I had nudged Ginger and said "One day…….. do me like that will you?"

 

The other two female judges were older, clearly successful salon owners in their own right. One had a shock of blonde highlights to the front of her head, with a dark crescent of curls behind. The last of the three judges was a shorter, quite petite lady. Her clothes were smart and tailored. Her hair was suitably set to match, the crown combed high and the ends flicked up in a ‘touch me' kind of way, the colour was a melee of blonde and darker shades. I just had a ‘double-take'. There was something about her that made me wonder.

 

It was her, the third judge. She had caused me to wonder, quite why I don't know, whether she might just, like me, be a "he". Here she was again, moving into view in the mirror that faced me. She was definitely in her mid-30s. Her hair was just that bit too 1960s to be true. Its colours were just that little bit girlie. The roots were definitely intentional and, in the circumstances, maybe just a little out-of-place. She was a Debbie Harry lookalike. Her make-up was heavy…. like mine was probably going to be when applied later this evening.

 

"Hiya!" she said, "you're looking good, all three of you!" she said to Ginger, to Margot and me. "I hope you're enjoying the experience." We all responded in the right way – of course, we were. She turned to Karen. "What made you choose the multi-tonal colour?" she asked. "It's very tough to get right and, under competition timing, even more so." Karen was ready for the question and went into some long description on the technicalities of colour strength, absorption and shade variation that depends on the substrate colours…… At that point she lost me and I could only fix my attention on "Debbie Harry", the judge, and the question in my mind. Suddenly, and without warning, because she had been working away all the time, Jo-Jo broke the spell when she said "There, they're all done!" meaning that all the extensions were all in place.

 

I shook my head from side to side and experienced the wonderment of hair that brushed my shoulders for the first time. What a wonderful feeling. Guys should not be able to feel this way, I thought. I looked in the mirror and wonder how it would look when finally styled and dressed. Though I couldn't make out its colour for definite, this was utter heaven! (And, I still had to be cut, rollered and styled, when we got back to the competition hall.)

 

"I said there were two visitors." Said Jo-Jo. "…………here's the second." There, in the entry to the styling area, was Margot's Mother – that scary woman.

I remembered the first time that I had seen her – scary or what!! I had thought she was crazy, at the very least. I remembered I was almost fearful of being left alone with her. Her still flame red hair was matched by flame red nails – ready to scratch the living daylights out of a little boy like me, or a little girl as she had seemed intent on making me. Yes, those nails haunted me – a vision of her, painting the nails with sweet-smelling nail polish.

 

Her stare was fixed in the same way. This woman made me feel distinctly uneasy. It was easy to see where Margot got some of her traits from. The two of them stood in the styling area where we were. One, the redhead; the other, the long, now multi-tone haired girl. I still wasn't going to be intimidated by them, especially "Mother". I mentally christened her the Wicked Lady.

 

Ginger and Margot's hair was now rinsed, conditioned and combed. All that needed to be done, for now, was done.

"Make-up next, for all three of you!" she said, looking around for the appropriate places to take care of us. There was a dedicated make-up salon on the first floor above the hair salon. That was where were shown to. Karen had some finishing off to do so left us as we ascended the stairs. Margot insisted on being the first to have the beauty treatment – so Ginger and I could see what was in store for the two of us. "You're going to love this, baby." She said pointedly in my direction. Her mother's eyes glinted in anticipation.

 

"Lashes first!" the Wicked Lady announced, producing little plastic boxes with what looked like giant spiders in them. "Well, eyeliner before the lashes, then…….." The lashes were truly huge – I mean, I had seen such flappers on theatrically costumed models, though I had never been on stage myself. They were huge! More than an inch long, and curled to extreme! "We'll thicken them up with lots of mascara, don't worry!" The Wicked Lady was already warming to her task.

 

I stared in amazement as the plain, colourless face that was Margot was transformed. First, eyeliner made Margot's eyes much larger. Then, the lashes were fixed and, immediately, her eyes were larger than life! A thick layer of foundation was applied all over her skin from hairline to neck. The eyes were accentuated with three colours, from dark purple near the eyeline, through to light lilac around the brows. The Wicked Lady stood back and admired her handiwork. Margot was purring with pleasure. Mascara added thickness to the lashes alright. By now the colour of Margot's face was vibrant. Blusher over the cheekbones completed the look.

 

The lipstick was left until last and strangely, was left without being done. "We'll do that to finish you all off." Said the Wicked Lady. It had taken longer than I thought and time was passing. We were due back at the event Hall in less than an hour. Ginger's face was made-up next and the same colours were used. The purples and lilacs were clearly chosen to off-set the strands of colour in our hair. Though we could not yet see how that would work, because our hair was all damp and awaiting attention later, the "look" was taking shape. Ginger had a high natural colour, far more so than Margot (or myself), so her presence in the room was all the more electric. She looked stunning. Those eyes, especially!

 

My own turn at the make-up chair was a revelation. No matter how many times you look at make-up being applied to others, it's completely different having it done to yourself. I was acutely conscious of the closeness that Margot's Mother built into the time she was working on my face. Her breath almost drowned me. Her eyes were close to mine as she put the lashes in place with great precision. How I fought against blinking! How the tears nearly came, each time her fingers came near to my eyelids. As she slowly applied the foundation, the blusher, the eye shadow and eyeliner, I closed my eyes hoping to keep the full impact of the change for one final shock. The purples on the eyes were so impactful, it would be worth waiting for.

 

Just as Ginger's lips and Margot's had been left, so were mine but when I opened my eyes, the full effect was stunning. We each looked like those magazine models that you see and think "no, never……!" "And now the lips – something special! ….. turn away from your mirrors, you're not to see this until I'm finished." Came the instructions from our make-up artist. She produced some cosmetics from her bag that were still in their packaging. "This will last longer than you could possibly need tonight, so there will be no need for re-touching." She began by outlining our lips, top and bottom, one by one. Facing apart, we couldn't tell what was coming.

 

She then returned with a long lip brush and began to paint our lips from the tube that she held in her hands, away from our gaze. "It won't be permanent, but I'm told this lasts 3-4 days, it's so good." She looked into my eyes. "I thought you, in particular, would enjoy that." No need for the menacing tone, I was resolved not to be intimidated, even though I hadn't a clue how I would manage with lipstick for the next 3-4 days… but then, with hair extensions and multi-toned highlights, I was evidently booked for 3-4 days as a girl, at least.

 

She finished quite quickly and spun our three chairs to face eachother. Our lips were all the deepest burgundy purple that you have ever seen. We were told to ‘blot' the lips on tissue before a further, final coat was applied. It tasted wonderful. I could really get used to this.

 

"You'll need to get used to this, gorgeous." said Ginger, squeezing my hand. Again, my heart skipped several beats. The preparation, apart from dressing before going to the competition hall, was complete. Margot's Mother, the Wicked Lady had done her stuff.

TO BE CONTINUED

  

  

  

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