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It’s just what I want—another “opportunity” to have to wear expensive girly clothes.

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WunderGirl

Copyright© 2021 Shauna J. Rousseau
All Rights Reserved.
(Cover image designed by Joyce Melton.)
(Image Source: Photo 30023749 © Vladimir Nikulin - Dreamstime.com)

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~ Day 29 ~
 

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* * * * *
Sam
* * * * *
 

I look nervously over at Momma. She’s driving us to wherever the photoshoot is, today.

We’re supposed to be modeling designer clothing, of some sort. It’s supposedly some special “honor” to be picked for this shoot. It’s just what I want—another “opportunity” to have to wear expensive girly clothes. And, this time, there will be public pictures to prove it. At least the profile pictures at WG are not…openly available. I guess they are semi-public, though. This Adam Ansel saw them…

I feel like I’m going to throw up!

I try and think of something else. Anything, other than the shoot! Unfortunately, I start thinking about the past week. It was weird, but it all seems to be becoming my new “normal,” for the summer.

So, I went into work with Momma, every day, the entire past week.

While there, I was subjected to learning how to dress like a model—an extremely girly one. Of course, that was with Dharma. It was one embarrassing scene, after another. For one, she started adding jewelry and other accessories to my “style.” In addition, she has been making me learn how to properly use them to correctly “accessorize.” I had no idea that you could do a hundred different things with just a belt. If you add in scarves, purses, shoes, hats, and all the different jewelry, then there are seeming endless “styles,” that can be achieved.

Of course, nothing worn, or any style, can be repeated on adjacent days, or for similar occasions over any timespan, since that breaks some girly-girl dress code and feminine rules of conduct—and the world would come to an end! And, of course, Dharma is always right there—happy to play the fashion police, judge, and jury!

But she wasn’t my only tormentor. Joyce spent the week, having me learn how to do different styles with my hair. It is now fully down to my shoulders, and I learned how to put it in ponytails, buns, and all kinds of braids. Then there were multitudes of “up-dos.” So, I had to spend hours “playing” with my hair, as Joyce called it. I won’t say what I would call it—of course, never to her face!

But she didn’t just stick to my hair. When I begged her to let me have shorter nails, she said I hadn’t really learned my lesson yet. I look down at them—they are still as long as before—a quarter of an inch. They are still filed square, and are shiny, and bright red. Not that I really need much polish anymore, to have them that color. Not with the freakish way, they are now growing. I sigh. Trying to do anything with them is a nightmare! I can’t grab anything…or hold anything…or just plain do anything with them! They’re always in the frickin way! I shake my head and would clinch my fists in frustration, but the nails would hurt my hand.

I sigh and look in the mirror on the back of the sun visor. My hair is currently pulled back into a tight, high ponytail, showing off my dangly “diamond” earrings. Joyce and Dharma have both been after me to change my earrings every day. Their preference is that I wear dangly ones, or large hoops. They like the way they look with my longer hair, since they aren’t hidden by the hair, when I wear it down. Personally, I would prefer none, at all—or, at least studs, that would stay hidden—but that’s not currently in my cards, I guess.

Brea, who is usually the sane one at work, has continued to coach me on different makeup looks, and I’m getting pretty good at mastering all of them. She has been…oddly quiet, though. I think what they’re doing to me bothers her. But I also get that she needs her job, with her sick mother, and all. She just told me about her, this week—and I guess the hospital and doctor bills are staggering. I hope none of us ever get cancer!

At home, Daddy barely talks to me anymore—and just chugs his beers, when he’s around me. Chad treats me more like he does Gemma—that is more as a sister, than a brother. Gemma has kind of latched onto me, and has been begging me to teach her how to do makeup. Momma even bought her some and said it was OK for her to learn—just not wear it out. Now, that’s really weird—me teaching my sister how to do makeup.

Momma and I are mostly getting along. Like Chad, she’s treating me like a girl—like her daughter. She talks more freely with me, but differently…it’s weird! She is also reinforcing all my lessons, from any given day—all to get me ready for the modeling. She seems to think she’s doing me a favor….

On the one hand, it’s hard to believe that I’ve been in the trial now for a full month. On the other, it seems like a lifetime! I don’t really notice the makeup—or my constant floral scent—anymore. All I know is that, when Ginny made it clear that the makeup and the scent were the price for that wonderful tingling feeling that gets and keeps me going, it was a slam-dunk that I would pay that price. I mean it’s just for a few more weeks—then things will go back to normal for school!

I shake my head. I’m beginning to forget what “normal” is, anymore.

I sigh and feel my stomach turn as Momma pulls into the parking lot for the shoot, and I see Greta there waiting for us.

Becky has worked really hard with me on learning how to follow instructions for the camera. And how to quickly change clothing, during a shoot. I’m as ready as I can be, all things considered….

But I’m still really nervous about today.

 

* * * * *
Julia
* * * * *
 

I look over at Sam. I can’t believe this past week. I can’t believe what I’m letting them do to my son…to what…I’m as much a party to, as they are.

Does that make me a bad mother? I certainly hope not! There are benefits to what he is doing…he’s not stuck at the lumberyard. And he’s making really good money!

But I have to admit—right now, he looks much more like my daughter, than my son. He looks like an older Gemma…. It does freak me out, some. It certainly has Gary…pissed….

Because of what’s going to be contractually expected of him, I’ve watched the girls at work slowly steep him in the basics of passing as a girl model. That’s what his contract his calls for. It’s not what any of expected. It is what we are all going to have to live with. I know that’s mostly on Sam….

He’s mostly been a good sport about it. He’s grumbled…and griped—but there is something that keeps him motivated to push forward. Something other than just the contract. I just don’t know what that something is…. It actually worries me…more than just a little.

Once we get to the site of the shoot, I sigh and park the car.

Greta is already here and looks cheerful. She goes over to talk to the man, who must be Adam Ansel, as Sam and I get out of the car. She talks to him for a few minutes, then brings him over to meet us.

I don’t know what he was expecting, but I guess we’re not it. Well, Sam isn’t, anyway. It seems he isn’t girly enough for him, including his name.

I can tell that Sam is ready to go—I just pray that he holds it together. Thankfully, once we get started, Adam warms up to us—and Sam settles down.

Adam is a task master…and very demanding. But Sam and I both are easy to work with. Becky has seen to that. We both follow every detail of his instructions and don’t question him, or argue. The only problem is, when he wants Sam to do things, that would be second nature for a seasoned girl model—or, at least pretty natural, for most girls. Sam has no idea how to do them—at least not in anything close to a natural way.

So, by the end of the day, Adam is actually smiling, and promises that we will be hearing from him again, soon. I’m just worried about his demand, that Greta do something about Sam being “so flat on top.”

But I’m most worried about Greta’s promise to make sure that’s not an issue, for the next time. And, how Sam will take that.

 

* * * * *
Adam
* * * * *
 

Gerome unloads my stuff from the trunk, while I thoroughly check all of my equipment. I learned a long time ago, not to just trust that the settings are correct. It’s easy to leave something on some quirky setting from the last shoot—and wind up with ruined shots.

Gerome takes off in the car, and I’m just checking the charge on my batteries, when Greta comes over.

“Good morning, Adam!” She’s in a seemingly very good mood. “Was that Gerome? Is he coming back?”

I sigh, and shut off my camera—satisfied that the batteries are fully charged, and everything is correctly set. “Yes, he had to go be at his own location, today. He’ll be back later to pick me up, after he’s done with his shoot. I really need to get him a car.” He shrugs. “At least, it looks like our girls are on time.”

She smiles and takes me over to introduce them to me.

I look at the daughter and frown. She’s not exactly what I expected from the pictures. And I hate nicknames. If someone was supposed to be called by a short version of their name, then that should be their name—especially when the short version is a boy’s name and inappropriately used for a girl.

I look at this “Sam” and shake my head. “I don’t like shortened names. Is ‘Sam’ your actual name?”

Greta jumps in before she answers. “I’m sorry, Adam. This is Samantha Brinkley.”

Samantha blinks and Julia hiccups.

I wonder what’s wrong with her given name. I hope this isn’t an indication of how the day is going to go! Finally, I nod. “OK. I’m glad to meet both of you. Now let’s get straight to work.”

I look them both over. The mother is everything I expected—at least in looks. But Samantha—she is another matter. I grumble. “My, I didn’t notice in your profile shots just how flat you are. Greta, you need to do something about that with her, if I’m going to continue working with her. It won’t be an issue today, but….”

I shake my head and walk off, without finishing my thought. I hope this wasn’t a mistake!

Thankfully, they are both great to work with—even if Samantha is very green and much too tomboyish. Overall, the days goes very well, and I’m extremely happy with the location proofs. I pack up my gear and already think about which shoot to use them on, next.

I mutter to Greta, as Gerome puts my packs in the car. “Get Samantha shaped up. She needs to lose the tomboy attitude. I have some things that I could use her for. But she needs the right curves…and she needs to learn to act like a proper girl.”

 

* * * * *
Greta
* * * * *
 

I decide to come to the shoot, since it’s both Sam and Julia’s first contract shoot, together. Technically, it’s the first real shoot, period, for Sam. At least Julia’s done several actual shoots for WG. Although, I wouldn’t call her a pro, just yet.

It looks like Sam is ready to throw up, as they get out of the car. I hope he can pull himself together! Adam Ansel is a genius with the cameral, but a hard photographer to work for. Normally, I wouldn’t have two novices doing this—but he saw their “group” profile pictures and specifically requested them. That is as good a news for them as for WG, but the pressure is on them to perform. And if Adam ever found out that Sam isn’t a girl, I’m not sure what he would do…

I really need to come up with a contingency plan on that one. Maybe I need to brainstorm ideas with Lissa.

I look over at Adam, and am pretty sure I recognize Gerome, his son, helping him. But he takes off, just as I go over to greet Adam. He confirms it was Gerome, and I smile at the look I noticed he was giving Sam, as he drove by. I shrug off the thought, and take Adam over to introduce him to Julia and Sam.

His first reaction in less than stellar. He takes one look at Sam and frowns. While he seems fine with Julia, he is seemingly unhappy with Sam’s appearance. He is especially aggravated with Sam’s lack of breasts. I should have thought of that being a potential issue—at least we’re not doing swimwear!

When he stalks off, after the introduction, I look at Sam and shrug. “We’ll need to get you some breast forms. I should have thought of that before today—that’s on me. But we certainly won’t make that mistake in the future! I’ll get Dharma working on that, ASAP….”

The rest of the shoot goes amazingly well—both Julia and Sam are naturals to work with. They follow Adam’s instructions, without causing any scenes.

And Adam seems pleased with them both. He especially seems to reconsider his opinion of Sam.

The one thing that I do notice, that is another potential issue, is that, while Sam knows how to dress and do his makeup, he’s still sorely lacking in naturally acting like a girl. Yes, he knows to sweep his dress and cross his legs—Julia has beaten that into him. He just doesn’t really move, act, or speak like a girl normally would.

I am pretty sure that it irks Adam, as well, when he wants him to strike a pose that any girls would naturally be able to, but Sam struggles with.

I know that Joyce and Dharma have begun working on his deportment, but they’re going to have move that to warp speed, and get him acting appropriately, in record time.

While I know he’s not a girl, the photographers don’t. And that’s going to eventually be an issue—it actually already has. We need to fully remedy that…and expeditiously!

And I was right—Adam flatly makes the same point, before he leaves.

I sigh and give them some notes, then let Julia and Sam go ahead on home. The day is over, anyway…after the hours-long shoot. There’s no sense in making them go in to the office….

 

* * * * *
Sam
* * * * *
 

So, I thought today was going to be bad, but I was completely wrong! It’s going to be way worse, than just “bad!”

Mr. Ansel starts out on the wrong foot, when he gets all upset, that my name is “Sam!”

Then, Greta gets all freaky, and tells him that it’s really “Samantha!”

I about have a heart attack! But I don’t say anything—I’m sure Momma will set it all straight.

She doesn’t!

Then Mr. Adams starts in on me being…“flat.” What does he expect? I’m a guy! Of course, I don’t have breasts!

I just want to tell Mom that I’m ready to go home, after Greta says that I need to start using “breast forms.” The fact that she’s buying into this whole…idea…that me being “flat” is a problem, doesn’t sit well with me. And the fact that Mom doesn’t stand up for me, makes it even worse.

I have to admit, though, that when we actually finally get started with the shoot, things get a lot better.

Becky has worked hard with me, to learn how to do what the session photographer wants.

Mr. Adams is really demanding—way more than Becky ever is. But because of what Becky taught me, I mostly do pretty well figuring out what he wants. My big problem arises, when he wants me to do a bunch of girly things. I have no idea what to do. He wants me to do things, like make “cute” kissy faces…and generally walk and move like a girl.

I’m doing good to walk at all, in these four-inch stiletto heels—and not tripping. And what does a girl “move” like, anyway? Don’t even get me started on having to worry about not breaking or chipping one of these impossible nails, and having Joyce be all over me! Then I have to be careful about not messing up my makeup—at least there is someone here to redo it, if I do. I just try and take my cues from Momma, and do the best I can—but I feel like a total idiot!

Overall, Mr. Adams seems to be satisfied with Momma and me, by the end of the day. At least he’s not yelling at us—and he even occasionally smiles. But I have to wonder what he’s talking to Greta about, right before he leaves with the boy who comes to pick him up. His actions raise my suspicions—especially, when he gives me furtive glances while he’s whispering to Greta.

Greta is just nodding and seemingly agreeing with what he is saying—and steeling occasional glances, in my direction.

Then, finally, after Mr. Adams leaves—a very long and hard day—Greta gives a worn-out Momma and me some “notes,” on what we could have done better, and on what we did well. And, we finally get to leave for the day.

“So, what did you think, Hon?” Mom is driving us home and seems contemplative.

I sigh and grimace. “I guess it was OK. I felt like an idiot, though, when Mr. Adams wanted me to do all of those girly things. Momma! I’m not a girl! And what’s with Greta wanting me to get…what did she call them? Breast forms? Why is everyone out to make me all girly?”

Mom nods and purses her lips. “Hon, the photographers think you are a girl. And, yes…“breast forms.” They’re the easiest way to give you realistic curves up top, since you will need to look the role. I think you also should prepare yourself, that Greta will have your deportment lessons from Joyce and Dharma increased….”

I groan. “Can my life get any worse, Mom? This sucks!”

She just shakes her head, and silently drives the rest of the way home.

 

* * * * *
Melissa
* * * * *
 

I look through Sam’s files, and once again compare them to the others’ in the trial.

As already noted, the first phase fully sensitized him to the substance—as planned. I now have enough data to show that the Phase 1 sensitization works through the cosmetic products—even transdermally.

Phase 2 is also proving very effective. And Sam is showing that an overall transdermal product-based model could work. He’s appropriately responding to the products with the special ingredients—mostly the body mist and the perfume. Although, there are also low levels of the extract in the deodorant and the lip balm.

In total, the sensitization and addiction cycles seem to be working perfectly! Not just in Sam, but overall.

Being a chemical and mathematical genius has its moments! I could just work in research, for the paltry six figures that my “official” position, as research Director, affords me, But why should I? The powers-that-be, on the board, are getting million-dollar bonuses, each quarter. That’s on top of their seven figure salaries.

I look at the results of my computer modeling and see that they confirm that my plan will work—with a ninety-nine point nine, nine percent accuracy. No one will be able to trace any of this back to anything nefarious. At least, not without major computing power—and somewhere to actually begin the investigation….

The whole process will be truly randomized, so the chances that anyone will trace it are infinitesimal. No one will know which products have the sensitization extract, since it will be randomly distributed in ten percent of the base products—well…to begin with. That will include all types of body wash, shampoo, conditioner, day and night creams, serums, and so on.

The addiction extract will then be randomly distributed ten percent—again, to start with—of cosmetic products. That will include things, like foundation, lipstick, eyeshadow, and so forth.

It will then be purely random how people combine those base and cosmetic products. That randomization will drive who gets sensitized by the base products—and to what level the addictive cosmetics are combined with it.

Once our market share of those products starts increasing, because of those that do get addicted, we can slowly ramp up the percentage of product with the extracts, which will drive up the addictions. We only have to increase global market shares by about an additional ten percent, to basically control the global cosmetics market!

I’m pulled back to reality, when I get a notification that a message has come in. I check my email and see it’s from Greta. She basically has no clue, but she is very useful as a tool!

According to her message, it seems that our Sam is in need of “female assets,” for his modeling—especially for upcoming sessions with Adam Ansel. I sit back and ponder that a minute. Well…maybe it is time to test his product loyalty…a little further.

Even if his psych profile, which showed him solidly on the male side of the spectrum, was flawed—something I am not conceding—there’s still no apparent sign of a feminine bone in his body. If Phase 2 really is working, he will beg me to feminize him, tomorrow! That’s a win-win, if I ever heard of one.

Now, if he doesn’t volunteer…well, then I will have to reevaluate a number of things.

I shake my head. Either way, I really need to push Rhonda to move forward with “Plan B.” She’s had plenty enough time to get onboard with it…. I send her a text to meet with me.

I tap my fingers on the desk in frustration, then email Greta back. Then I go to see Ginny.

 

* * * * *
Rhonda
* * * * *
 

I sigh as I get a text from Lissa. It’s not like I haven’t expected it—she’s given me a week to think about the offer. And it’s a really good offer, on the surface. But I’m just not sure about…her….

I know I can’t avoid the issue, any longer and text her back that I will meet her at four. I look at the time on my phone…that gives me thirty minutes to drive across town and walk to her office. I drain my coffee, and hurry to my car.

I knock on her door, at precisely four, and enter without waiting.

She is sitting at her desk, looking through files—as usual. She looks up, as I enter, and gets straight to the point. “Hello, Ronni. Have you made up your mind?”

I sigh and nod. “It’s a great offer, Lissa. I’m sorry it took me so wrong to decide. You know that I want to go to college, next year, so I didn’t want to take the position from someone else that would be around longer.”

She nods. “That’s commendable. But let me worry about that. OK? So you accept?”

I bite my lip. I’m afraid that I might regret this. I nod. “Yes, as long as it’s not an issue, if I don’t make it my long term career goal.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “That’s fine. But I do require that, while you are my PA, you give me your absolute loyalty, first. WG comes second. You are to follow my instructions. Do we understand each other?”

I sigh. Here we go. I’m not sure the extra money—or the padding on my resume—will be worth it. I haven’t signed the contract, yet. So, I could still back out. But I know that would be career suicide.

“Yes, Lissa. I understand.” I take the contract she slides over to me…and sign it.

She takes it back and slips it in her top drawer. “I’ll take this to HR, in a bit. Now, I want you to go see Ginny. She has some specially-formulated products for you to start using. I have certain standards for my personal assistants. Use the products, as she instructs. I will know if you’re not. That would be a sign of disloyalty to me. You may go. I will see you here at eight, in the morning.”

I take a deep breath. “Yes, Lissa.”

I leave her office and walk over to see Ginny.

She smiles as I enter. “Hi, Ronni! I have the product that Lissa wants you to use. It’s pre-production—for a special new line. I’m surprised this is something you want to use, but it’s straightforward. Just use the shampoo and bodywash, daily, as you normally would. There is also some nail serum. Make sure you massage it into the cuticles on your fingers and toes, really well—twice a day, is best. That’s all there is to it…at least for my part. Joyce and Brea will have to take care of the rest.”

I nod. Not sure what to say—especially on that comment about her being surprised I would want to use this…

I take the bag with the things. “Thanks, Ginny. I’ll be seeing you around more, now, I guess. I’m a little nervous about being Lissa’s PA, though!”

She giggles. “Yes, it’ll be nice having you around more! And don’t worry about Lissa—just do as she says, and don’t argue with her, and you’ll be fine. She does expect your allegiance—as long as you give her your full loyalty, all will be great!”