An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Part 12

 

A change of pace.

The world had nearly stopped still.

Ginger's red hair was wound, round and round.

My thoughts followed in a slow spin.

This was a fantasy – but it was real.

The sights and sounds bombarded my senses.

Ginger.

She was the focus of all my attention.

Her hair, gloriously red but laced now with highlights.

Wound, round and round. The rollers hypnotized me.

Her dress, shimmering blue. Like my own.

Her tits proud beneath.

Her lips, so kissable, beckoned in the mirror.

The pins fixed the rollers tight.

Her make-up faultless. Like my own.

Karen's hands, working like lightening.

Other people were speaking, but I heard nothing.

Ginger's eyes met mine. My heart beat faster.

Wonderful, fleeting memories of lovemaking

Flooding my mind. My lipstick tasted good

Ginger and I locked in caresses we'd shared.

Her rollers were all wound. Karen was done.

 

Margot was at the washstand. Her hair being rinsed for the final set. Ginger stood and was led to the dryer. I sat, taking in the scene. Around us, other young, and often beautiful women, sat with their hair in various stages of undress. I was one of them, despite my hidden masculinity, I was one of them.

"Won't be long, little girl". Margot sneered as she sat down. She was next to be styled. "Won't be long till this is all finished and we can go home." She meant home with her and her Mother. Not likely, I thought.

 

Karen's hands began to work on Margot's hair, making the same precise incisions with the tail comb, separating the locks of hair that would be rolled this way and that. The hair was long, longer than mine even – even with its extensions. Each roller seemed to take an age to wind up. "Sex!", it shouted. To me at least.

 

My fixation with rollers was getting stronger every minute. First, it had been the colour. Now that was done, on all of us, it was the styling – and that meant the rollers. Margot's hair was smothered in thick white styling mousse.

 

Ginger's hair in rollers, with her face beautifully made-up, made me want to consume her. There and then. We were dressed the same. Soon my hair too would be rolled and set the way hers had just been. I would be under a dome dryer, just like she was. My heart pounded in my chest. My lips were dry. How I wished for more lipstick. Surely Margot's Mother had some.

 

"There's no way." I said to an unlistening Hall that shouted back the sounds of a hairstyling competition. It was deafening. I meant, there was "no way" that I was going anywhere with those two.

 

The whole atmosphere was crowding in on me, like I was under the influence of some narcotic or other. Nothing was further from the truth. My head was clear.

It was simply that I was now a mere boy, dressed more femininely than I could ever have imagined, with my clothes, my make-up, my nails, and finally my hair transformed. I was conscious that more photos were being taken. Click! Click!

Under these clothes, my cock was constrained – fit to burst – in lace, firstly to hold me down. Then, in panties and a corset, to which my stockings were attached with lacy suspenders. My cock was straining – but why. Why not just subside and enjoy every minute? Tell that to your cock in the middle of an erotic wonderland!

 

The rollers were wound through Margot's hair. She never lost eye contact with Karen in the mirror as Karen worked. "Fuck me, fuck you" thoughts exuded from her. Was Karen flirting, or was I imagining that? I hoped she would save some of that for when she was rolling my hair. My wonderful red hair that was now streaked with lighter red, copper, gold and blonde. My hair that would be set in a semi-chignon, with ringlets down the back and curled up, flipped ends.

 

Karen put the final roller into Margot's hair and the job was done.

My turn next.

Karen led Margot to the dryer beside Ginger. There were now women under half the dryers around the staging. Soon I would be joining them. Margot flashed a look in my direction. She gestured to my tits. Her hands told me to bolster them up – they had gone a little flat. I could do nothing but oblige.

Ginger smiled and I saw her run the tip of her tongue across her lips. She pouted a kiss in my direction.

My hair was rinsed and Karen spoke, for the first time it seemed in ages. "You said we could do this again, any time." She was right, I had indeed said so – in hope not expectation.

"Well, if Ginger will let me, I'd love to. There are so many other things I would like to try – just to experiment with your hair – I do hope you'll let me."

I felt a warm sensation between my legs. Too much, just too much. Hold on to it! I shouted inside my head. It was recognizable. Could it be contained? What a disaster if…… I let go totally. "I would adore it." That's all I could answer, looking into her eyes in the mirror.

My hair was damp. The tray of rollers was brought alongside.

I looked in the mirror. Long, straggly hair ran down the sides of my face and Karen began to run a comb and a brush gently through each stand of hair. The highlights glistened in the stage lighting. The conditioner allowed the hair to pass freely between the teeth of brush and comb. Somehow, it seemed that I had more highlights in my hair than I had thought. The base colour was a much darker red, because it was wet. The concoction was a mess – waiting to be styled into bliss.

Karen took a handful of white mousse and began to work this through my hair. She parted it into large sections. The hands raised the first roller to my head. The strand of hair was stretched high above the crown.

The tips of the hair were tucked around the roller, high above my head. In my mind, I thought the hair was 20-25 inches long. She wound it and wound it around the roller, finishing with a very tight pinning to the scalp. Ouch!!

"No pain, no gain!" said Karen. I had heard that before. But this was such pleasure!

"We have to work faster, because your hair is long and it's got the shortest time to dry!"

My dream recalled those first times when Karen had worked on my hair. "…..the agreement was 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter. I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". Margot had meant it. She had turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".

And I was.

But that was weeks ago. I had been cut, coloured, set, backcombed, styled and "extended" to get here. All in the interests of helping Karen practise her hairdressing skills. But, in doing so, I had awoken feelings of a highly erotic and sometimes confusing nature.

I was close friends now with, well at least two, girls that I fancied to pieces. One of which had indulged me in sexual experiences to die for. The other had made that happen and, in her own way too, had made suggestions of the same to come.

This was perfect.

OK, so it had led to my cross-dressing. Is that a sin? Of course, it isn't.

It had led to my cross-dressing willingly. Is that a sin? Not at all.

A second, and a third, and a fourth roller were soon in the crown of my head- The size of the rollers seemed larger than ever – but then, my hair was now longer than ever. Karen lost no opportunity to stretch the hair over each roller, to accentuate the tension on the hair for the eventual style to be long-lasting.

The eye contact continued and she transfixed me in the mirror.

"Let's talk about how we can get you more practice, Karen, it will be a pleasure in every sense." I said with a smile. "How long will my extensions last? And how long before the colour looks like it needs to be gone?"

"Gone!???" Karen said almost in horror – "What do you mean, gone!?" She looked hurt. "I hope you're going to have it re-done when the roots begin to show - so about three weeks, minimum. The extensions will be loose by then, so they will need tightening. "You're not going to lose this for at least six, or maybe nine or ten weeks, I hope!"

I sank into thought deeper than ever before - ten weeks!!!!

Roller after roller followed as I thought. Click! Click! More photos.

How was I to live with all of this done to me though that time?

I hadn't been home for the last two weeks. But then my Mum was not stupid, by the time I left to "stay with friends for a while", she must have known there was things going on that I hadn't told her. By then, my hair had been coloured red for the first time, and the cutting had left me with a pageboy Bob-cut that was easily recognizable.

Mum and I had even talked about it, in the context of colouring hair being "a bit of fun" and something that "everyone was doing these days". She had been quite encouraging. She had even suggested a deeper red colour that would be suited to my colouring. This was surprising, at least. She hadn't seen me for the last two weeks –and what a transformation there had been in me since then.

My rollers were finished, with the final touches being vertical "kiss curls" in front of each ear.

"Wait! I have an idea!" said Karen. She unwound those last two rollers, one each side of my face. She reached into her bag and removed a plastic pot, two squares of foil and a brush.

"I'm glad I thought to bring this…..."

She unfolded the foil and combed the strand of hair from my right temple into the foil.

"You're getting a bonus! Two extra highlights! One each side of your face!"

 

Before I could say a word, the bleach was applied and the foil was folded. "It will have to dry with your hair." The roller was re-wound and pinned tightly against my cheek. Ouch! "Shhhhhh!!!!" I was told firmly. The second strand was stretched and the paste from the pot was painted on the hair. The roller was re-wound.

 

It was done.

A mobile dryer was brought to the chair where I sat. I looked again into the mirror – to see a young woman – whose cock was recovering from its past indiscretion – her make-up looking reasonably fresh despite the excitement she was feeling, under a dryer with her hair rolled to perfection. The styling gown hid the shimmering blue of the dress. My tits were noticeable, my lipstick shone and my fingernails glistened.

"Just sit back and enjoy!" Karen's words were calming. I guessed she could tell that I was in a state of extreme erotic pre-occupation.

Ginger's hair was, by now, very much ready for final styling. I would soon see that way we were all to look – more or less the same – with Karen's style coming to perfect completion. How much height would she put in? How much of the hair would be up in this chignon? How much would be left to fall to the shoulders, and flick up?

I always thought that flicked-up hair shouted "Play with me!!!"

The unwinding of Ginger's rollers was almost as sexy as their being put in place. This time, instead of wet strands of hair that obeyed the stylist, there were wonderful curls that sprang to life when released from the confines of their rollers.

Karen let each and every one of Ginger's curls cool for a moment and, for that instant, she was sitting in a complete globe of curls, each one turning this way and that. It made a totally convincing style that could have been left just as it was, just with hairspray to hold it. It called for me to run my fingers through it all.

Ginger shook her head, just once, and the whole crown of her curls moved as one.

If there had been music, it would have been right.

I felt imprisoned under the dryer, my hair in tightly-wound curlers. The foils at my temples reminded me of the colours already woven into my hair.

Ginger looked in my direction. She smiled. I remembered this morning – love-making seemed a lifetime ago. I wished we were together again. The vision of the pair of us. We'd be together again before the end of the day.

I could hear nothing under the dryer. The rush of air drowned out any conversation around me. I was left with my own thoughts. I soon saw Margot being flirty with another stylist who approached her under the dryer some places away from me.

Ginger's hair was too much to bear. Karen took a big styling brush and began to work her magic. She gently brushed the curls , separating the hair into broad sections. The highlights of pastel blonde and dark red emphasised the rich coppery red of her natural shade. Around the crown, Karen began to back-brush the hair. In moments, she had created a high bouffant top but she didn't stop. She carried on working, making the shape of the top-knot larger and larger.

 

The hair, by now, stood three-to-four inches above Ginger's scalp – it was now dense un unlikely to fall as Karen began to smooth the top over and gather the length together into a knot at the top of Ginger's crown. Her hair was gripped tight and the length then combed through. Again, the highlights in the hair reflected the stage lighting – so bright.

 

Karen combed through Ginger's sleek rolling curls that fell to beyond the nape of her neck. She pulled tow strands from either side of ginger's face, just above her ears, and pinned them to the line of hair separating the crown from the length below. Then, she took these strands and made pin-curls that wound along that divide. Each strand seemed to have a different colour now.

Karen took a pair of curling tongs from their power source and tested the heat against her wrist – it seemed too hot for a moment. She began to stretch a part of the length of Ginger's hair down to her shoulders before winding the hair back upward and holding it there, motionless. It seemed for an eternity. Then the wide tongs were released and the hair sprang upward in a huge, glorious flip-curl. A second strand followed into the tongs. And a third. And finally a fourth. Each sprang back as the first had done, making a perfect flip curl all around Ginger's exquisite neck – where tonight I would kiss her.

Ginger's top-knot was the last part to call for attention – the tongs were raised again as Karen turned this into a wonderful cascade of feminine curls. Each one was individually set in place. Every one, once pinned, was fixed with a cloud of lacquer. These styles would last, it seemed, for ever.

The photographer stepped forward and took five or six shots of Ginger's head, from all angles – it would make the front pages tomorrow, if I had my way, she looked so beautiful.

Ginger made way for Margot at the styling mirror.

The same process, very nearly, was repeated. As my hair dried, I watched again as the hair was removed from the rollers and the curls shook down in the same way as Ginger's had done. In the same way that my own would do.

I thought for a long time – unable to talk or hear anyone else. I thought about the transformation I was undergoing. I thought about my masculinity and my deep desire for Ginger. What was I doing? I had reassured myself that this was no expression of a desire to change my gender. I remained all male – all the desires were real. The more I thought about her, the more I loved Ginger, not just for how she looked, but for how kind and considerate and loving she had been.

 

Getting myself into this advanced stage of passing as a female, with the truth known only to a very small number of people, however, was stunning. How could it have been quite so easy? OK, there had been practice sessions, but those dealt with the external expression of a femininity that I was discovering in myself. But it didn't bring any desire for sex with my own gender.

 

How would I cope with the transformation back to being male? Did I want to transform back? What would Ginger think in the cold light of day – tomorrow? What next? The day after? I had enjoyed all of the trappings of being a girl today. There was a confidence about the way I could sit here among other girls, with beautiful make-up and fingernails and this underwear and the dress in which I sat now. The stockings that caressed my legs. The heels that I wore.

 

Could I give them up – of course not! I decided there and then, that the fantasy could continue for as long as Ginger felt comfortable with our being girls together. That would just as long as there was the sexual connection we enjoyed. How I would square this at home would be another matter. My Mother would not be expecting to meet me as a girl – even though she had seen the beginnings of the changes in my hair at least - heaven knows what my Father would say! I wouldn't be going home for a while!

 

Margot's hair had reached the stage where the crown was created, highly backcombed as before. The flip curls along her shoulders had just been created by the hot tongs and the cascade of curls down the back were being finished off. Her highlights, which looked blonder than before - and blonder than my own - were now bright in the spotlights from the lighting rigs above us.

The mousse and spray had set her hair much more rigidly than Ginger's had been. This somehow suited Margot – who was very much into "control", so it was good for her hair to be so tightly set.

Suddenly, the rushing of air from my dryer was cut. From behind, I heard the words "You're next! Your turn to be made as pretty as your friends." The front of the dryer was raised and, face-to-face, I turned to meet the eyes of the judge who had been at the salon. The woman I had just a sneaking feeling had more to her than met the eye! I had just the slightest suspicion. I looked at her again. Her hair was immaculate – but then it would be – she owned a salon and could have her hair done professionally every day. Her make-up was immaculate. Same story.

He was dressed as a woman of her age should be – tightly dressed in a business suit that was brightly, but femininely, coloured in a lilac shade.

Then I realized what had made me think something more about her – her hands. They were quite unwomanly. Unfortunately, like my own were, clasped as they were in my lap. "You know, don't you?" I said.

"Of course, I do." she answered. "But then I've met dozens of girls like you in my time and why would I ever disclose their secret? You'll have to become a regular at my salon so we can get to know each other. I'll be able to help you choose the very best looks every time. You can have such fu with such lovely hair like you have."

"You're very kind – but this may not be something that lasts." I said, almost apologizing.

"Don't you believe it. Once you've come this far, the genie's out of the bottle and he won't go back inside!"

She was probably right.

She led me to another styling mirror where Karen was waiting for me. She was ready for my final, total, complete transformation to begin.

She removed the net that had encased the rollers, allowing my hair time to cool as she took the foil from the two strands of hair at my temples. The two extra highlight were bright white and I thought not quite in keeping with the rest of the beautiful colours I knew were in my hair.

"Don't worry, precious lover." Karen whispered. "We have some toner for them that will finish them beautifully while I comb out and dress your hair."

Having said so, she combed the two strands through, held foils to each, and applied two dabs of a different coloured paste. "Strawberry blonde!" she said.

 

TO BE CONTINUED >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

  

  

  

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