An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 11

It occurred to me, as we sat in the salon having had our hair coloured, washed, conditioned and, in my case, "extended", that I hadn't given nearly enough thought in last few hours to Karen who was doing all the hard work. The girl I was so attracted so at the outset — so attracted that I was now nearly half-way transformed into a dazzling female hairdresser's model — Karen had become invisible whilst she was working so hard to transform my hair. I had thought that she would succumb to my charms and that we would end up as Boy & Girl together at the end of this.

She was still a very attractive young woman and, as I began to focus on her for a moment, she looked prettier still. She was clearly the object of Margot's affections (and attentions) now and I wondered just how much Karen was going for that "Girl-on-Girl" stuff. Bi-curious, they call it, I think. I could understand the attraction. Her own hair had yet to be styled for the evening. Just now, she was in working clothes and her hair was very plainly swept back into a straight pony-tail. I wondered how she would present herself to the judges and the audience. The three of us were certainly going to make an impact — she had to do so herself, to be as memorable as the girls who wore her coiffured artwork.

"You're pleased with this so far, aren't you?" she asked, noticing my prolonged stare in her direction. I smiled. "You're a star!" I said. My eyes were heavy with lashes and mascara and I was conscious that the look I had given her was nothing short of outrageous flirtation. "And you're still a guy, under there!" she laughed. "Forgive me, I like it rather too much." I replied, very, very truthfully.

Her eyes lingered a little long on my own as she looked in the mirror. Captivated, for a moment longer than I could have hoped. I tried to reconcile the mild flirtation that was going on here, with the evident bisexual attraction that she had showed with Margot. Karen clearly was attracted to her, but then her very "being" with me told me that she wasn't exclusively as "girl's girl". Was it my increasingly feminine appearance that had stirred this? If it was, I'd be the last to complain. "You could do this again for me, with no competition in store, if you'd like to." I said, with conviction.

"You have to change clothes before we return to the Hall…." came the authoritative voice of the Judge who had over-seen the work on us in the salon. "Where are your clothes?" I didn't know, nor it seemed did Karen, or Ginger, or Margot. "They're all here in my case." Came another familiar voice. It was Margot's Mother again. She had brought clothes for us all from her "store" at home. Of course, Margot had said she had loads of clothes in loads of sizes — but never explained why she had them. The case was full of female attire — some of it ultra feminine, the rest, to say the least, was fetishistic; strappy leather stuff.

It turned out that the Wicked Lady took in visitors who liked to dress in certain ways, and perhaps "be under her spell" for a while. She had leather gear and all sorts of equipment that one might expect in such a profession.

She produced three leather trouser suits, skin tight with high-heeled black boots - all sleek and sexy but quite, quite unsuitable for me, I thought, as she held them high. These were followed by three of the most exquisite flowing evening gowns — a light pure shimmering electric blue in colour. They came with stockings and shoes to match. "Now it matters not — you can all wear the same, or two can wear leather and the other a gown. Or two can wear gowns and one the leather! Any way is fine — whatever, you'll each off-set the impact of the others. So, you choose."

For me there was no debate. It was to be the shimmering blue gown. I hoped that Ginger would choose the same and, quite frankly, I couldn't care what Margot chose. Ginger did, indeed, choose the blue gown. "It will go best with our hair!" she exclaimed. "Great!" I pounced on her hand and squeezed it hard.

Margot, quite as expected, had to be different and slunk over to the leather trouser suits and fondled them. "This will be mine!" she whispered. She held the tunic across her bust and looked directly at me, saying "You'll enjoy tying me into the basque that I want to wear under this!" As if I would. She had to be joking because she had mis-judged me for any thoughts I might have that she was at all sexy. I was getting as scared of her as I was of her Mother now.

Karen said she was going to finish off her own hair — an important part of the image we would be creating in the competition — while we changed for the show. She had started the afternoon with her hair in a pony-tail. Her lustrous brown hair had been washed and for the last hour she had been working on us with her own hair in rollers, save for two parcels of foil at the front on each side, framing her face. Just what would those turn out like, we wondered?!

The salon's owner ushered us towards a small changing room that we were to use to put on these clothes. It was impossible for more than two of us to get in to the room at the same time and still have space to breathe.

Ginger and I went in first — the two evening gowns together — both excited but perhaps in different ways. Ginger was enjoying the prospect of the competition and helping Karen. I was just over the moon about being in there with her! But was I? There was a full length mirror in this small room and, as I took off my plain clothes from today, and saw the underwear that I had been conscious of all day — but had forgotten what it really looked like — I began to think differently. I was studying my shape from different angles.

I looked at the hair and the make-up. I tossed my as-yet unstyled hair across my shoulders. I became transfixed at the totality of the look of myself, almost for the first time today.

"Floozy!!!" exclaimed Ginger — who had seen the look in my eyes. "You're flirting with yourself, even! When do I get a look in?" She was right. I wanted so much, in that moment to kiss her again. I moved in her direction, parting my burgundied lips as I did so. "No, no!!! Not with our make-up on — it would spoil it, no matter how indelible they say it is! You can wait! In fact, you have to wait!" Ginger was suddenly strict in the way she talked.

"Oh, I love it when you're in charge!" I said. My constricted groin began again to give me discomfort. My cock pressed against every restraining thread.

I would have laid Ginger - or she would have laid me — there and then. There was a significant chance that I would embarrass us all if something didn't distract me. If I were to cum then, it would have been a disaster!

It was time to step into the fabulous shimmering blue dress but first I had to take the stockings that would match it from their packing. I opened them carefully and took the first in my hands. I slid a hand into it, taking great care not to snag the nylon with my newly-polished nails. Up an up, over my wrist, I spread the sheer microfine fabric. I sat and placed the toes of my right foot into the stocking. My heart slipped a beat, it was so suggestive of what more was to come. I drew the stocking up my calf and over the knee, stretching it towards the suspender that was attached to my corset. The first suspender snapped into place with ease. "You've done that too many times!" exclaimed Ginger, seeing the ease with which I accomplished this.

The second and third suspenders proved to be almost as easy, but the final, fourth one, was out of reach! I could catch the suspender or the lacy lip of the stocking — but not both! "Here, my lover! Let me take care of that." Ginger whispered gently.

The second stocking proved to be the same and Ginger helped with the final suspender - closing up behind me after she had finished and whispering in my ear "When I get you home, I have those off you …. Last of all!" Her lips parted and her tongue ran across the nape of my neck, right under the mane of coloured hair that I now had as my own. I shivered in near ecstasy. "Careful!" I said "Lipstick on my collar!!!"

I looked again into the mirror. There stood a girl in stockings, a corset and little else, apart from wonderful make-up and a mane of half-prepared hair. The highlights in the hair changed as I tossed my head. Shafts of blonde, copper and red glinted through with a dark red base glowing in the bright changing room lights.

Ginger took the dress from the hanger and held it for me as I stepped into it with great care. I had not put on the shoes I would wear, so there was no danger of snagging the flowing fabric. The dress needed to be fastened at the back and Ginger obliged. My corset was holding me in quite well, but perhaps not sufficiently for the tight bodice on the upper part of this dress. "Breathe in!" she whispered. She fastened the hooks and slid the zip to the top.

"I still have no tits!!!" I breathed quietly. "What the hell can I do about that?" was Ginger's reply. "I'll have to ask 'that' woman, I guess." I said.

Ginger's stockings and matching blue dress took very little time to get into. Her tits filled the bodice beautifully. So much so I pleaded with her to let me tweak her nipples before we left the changing room. This caused her to go into fits of giggles and there was clearly no chance of that kind of entertainment for now. "Let's get you some tits!" was all she said.

"Margot! Get a move on!" said her Mother as we emerged from the changing room. "There's no time to lose — get into your leathers immediately!" Margot obliged but, as she entered the changing area, said to me "Pity about the tits!" Thanks, I thought.

"Can you help with that problem?" I asked her mother in a matter-of-fact way.

"Naturally, I know many men and boys that like to be better endowed in that area, so I took the precaution of bringing a pair of falsie breast forms for you. They're only a 'B' cup size but that should be enough for you."

"We can't have me doing a Dolly Parton on you — I'd steal the lime-light." was my reply. Fight fire with fire with this woman, I thought. Give as good as you get. It so happened that just for a split second, my mind filled with a picture of myself just like Ms Parton — but though the tits were huge, my focus was on her hair…. and the wonderful creation that would be mine if I were her, just for a minute! Strawberry blonde… I was going to be strawberry blonde one day!

Back to reality. "Put these in your bra and do it now. Let's have no more of that." Mother said coldly. I did so, and funnily enough, I was delighted with the effect — not to big, but very noticeable.

The silicone breast forms were cold — in fact, very cold, at first, but the soon warmed and, as I reached in to settle them in place, I found I was able to gently pull the tissue of my own pectorals upwards, to add some weight to the tits as well. I was delighted! I looked down at the choice of shoes that were laid out for us to choose from. There were only two pairs that would fit feet of my size. One was a pastel yellow gold pair with three inch heels — the colour wouldn't suit at all with the blue of the dress I was now wearing. The other pair were black, strappy "numbers" with three inch heels too — like I had never worn before. How could I manage in them, gorgeous though they looked. The straps were think patent leather and were long enough to be stretched around the leg more than once, crossing and crossing again. The buckles were small and made sure that the straps were held tight above the ankle.

It had to be the black pair. I would have to master walking in stilettos fast!

All the time as I put the shoes on and fastened the straps, I was conscious, my hair swung back and forth, adding to the feeling of femininity that I was sinking into. The very sweeping of the hair on my neck and shoulders was enough to distract me continually. The hair was, however, drying. Too fast it seemed. "Shouldn't we be getting on?" I asked, still seated, not knowing how those heels would feel when I stood up. The sight of the heels and the straps were, again, more than enough to have a reminder of the restraint between my thighs.

Karen answered. "You're right. It's not good for the eventual style if the hair dries too much unstyled. I'll freshen it with moisture when we get there but, for now, I'll pin your hair up in a clasp. That will conserve the condition of your hair." She did just that, to both Ginger and me. Our hair was brushed upwards into what Karen called a chignon - which sounded very French.

I looked in the mirror and, still, the highlights were visible. As the hair was closely wound to my head, they appeared as bold streaks in the bright lights of the salon. Ginger's hair remained a gorgeous dark coppery red colour. The nape of her neck cried out for me to plant a great lipsticky kiss upon it…….. but she wouldn't let me near. "Later!!!!" she flirted.

Karen sat at a mirror and carefully removed the foils from the strands of hair that framed her face. Just two broad bands of colour. She quickly moved to the basins where the bleach that she had been treating her own hair with was removed. White blonde had replaced the underlying brown for a stunning impact under the lights in the hall tonight. Karen was the last to change and — as Margot emerged looking exactly like CatWoman in the movies — Karen entered the changing room, emerging it seemed only moments later.

Karen's outfit was "regulation" Hairstylist's "uniform" — there was no difference between them allowed, it seemed, in the rules. I noticed that her nipples were showing very proudly through the tight top. She was a pretty sight as she took the lead of this team of three models that she was soon finally to transform in front of a huge audience.

"An audience!!!" I said out loud, quite unintentionally. "Yes, an audience. What's made you think of them just now?" asked Ginger. "They won't bite!"

No, but they most likely will guess. I thought. Guess that I've no right to be there. Guess that I'm a guy not a girl. Guess that I must be gay — what a strange word. They'll know from the moment I get on the stage. What if there's a fuss? An inquiry? A revelation? What if I'm named in front of all of them? My faced flushed the brightest red — never mind the blusher that covered my cheeks. I felt as though I would break into a sweat — that would be no good for the make-up — and that would make it worse — more likely that I'll be discovered. A panic was setting in just when Ginger took my hand — she could tell instantly what was going through my mind. "Don't be concerned, honey. You look fabulous — you look just like the other two of us. You look good enough to kiss right now."

My heart was beating a hundred times faster than normal as we said our goodbyes to the stylists and staff of the salon. Their blonde hair, in all its shades and variations, looked stunning. I resolved to return to tell them all about the competition, no matter what was the outcome.

So, the time had come to step into the street

The sun was shining as we emerged. Passers-by parted in their tracks as we made a direct line for the opposite side of the road and the short walk towards the Hall where the event was taking place. I was conscious of the gentle wind on my neck. My hair was still suspended in its clasp. We looked a true theatrical party as we walked. Ginger and I in our matching shimmering blue dresses and strappy-heeled shoes. Ginger had opted for shoes to match those that I had chosen. Her hair glistened in the sun.

We contrasted vividly with Margot in her leather suit and the high heeled boots that inevitably went with it. Her hair, like mine, was wound to her head and showed only the highlights in the sunshine. Karen by contrast had pure shiny curtains of hair each side of her face, with the bold blonde streaks moving coolly as she walked. Her "uniform" gave an air of authority as she led us towards the doors of the Hall where others were arriving.

I could tell from the variety of hair colours around me that the show was going to be an absolute extravaganza - and one that I would be right in the middle of. I had calmed by this time but the nagging doubt of being discovered lingered. If Jo-Jo in the salon could tell, how could it fail to be the case that others inside would know. "Hands" she had said it was my hands that gave me away. All of a sudden I became conscious of my hands. Did they look too big?, too awkward?, too prominent? What could I do to disguise them. I wasn't carrying anything — there was nothing a model needed to carry. They suddenly felt 15 inches across and weighed two pounds each! I looked down, seeing the crimson nail polish and gained some reassurance. Those couldn't possibly be a guy's hands, could they?!

We reached the doors that led into the Hall. I was caught between a small group that were, like us, models for another stylist. It was a shock to be separated from Ginger, not to mention Karen and Margot. Were they in front of me, or behind me? I couldn't tell — for a moment, I was alone, it seemed. Alone among a sea of young women who looked, every one of them, just like I had seen myself in the mirror. Bold make-up, long eye lashes, hair yet to be styled but clearly coloured in special ways. I looked just like them.

I could tell that if things didn't change soon, I would cum in my pants no matter what distraction would be possible.

A blonde, right in front of me, turned and looked me in the eye — "Don't you push me, bitch!" she said in the most aggressive tone. I was struck dumb. My voice hadn't been trained at all for the role I was playing. If I answered in my own voice, I'd be done for! I had been talking in a softer tone whenever I was dressed, it was true, but that would not be enough to save me. I could say nothing. The blonde stared into my eyes. Not a flicker. I could give nothing away. I stared back, as though looking through her face into the space behind her head. "Tart!" she cursed. "Slag! You stand no chance — look at you. Too bloody posh for this place!"

She was trying to provoke a response and the more I held my silence, the more it annoyed her. Just as she was about to launch more of a tirade, the crowd squeezed through the doors to the Hall and we were separated. The more I thought about the exchange, with a woman who was no more than six inches away from my face, the more I thought that she hadn't guessed that I was a guy not a girl. My confidence soared.

I looked behind me and found Ginger's face among the crowd. She was a few feet away and had seen the exchange with the blonde. "Nice lady." she mimed with a smile. I passed a tall girl with jet black hair and blue streaks as I made a bee-line for Ginger. We moved closer to each other and our hands met. "What was that all about?" she asked. "Beats me, probably jealous!" I crowed with a laugh.

The "back stage" area was crowded. I was conscious that here were only about five guys among sixty or seventy people. They must have been other stylists in the competition because I could see no other guys dressed and made-up the way I was. Really, I felt kind of special. If the rest of them knew…..

Ginger and I studied the other models who were milling around us, trying to work out which were likely to be the biggest competitors to us. There many who were looking the way we were. All made-up and glamorous but without the crowning glory. It was a headache dividing my attention between those I would happily sleep with, dividing them from those I found no attraction in. It said a lot about my taste in women. The more outrageous and, dare I say, tarty they were, the more stunned I was. Quite the wrong approach, especially when Ginger was a real "class act" and Karen was a stunner too.

Of course, there were the classic "celebrity" styles — the Jennifer Aniston (which I admit I would love to try just once with the cut and the highlights), and the Christina Aguilera (again, the tartiest of them all, and one look I would willingly try for myself) and a Madonna or two, and a Beyoncé — now there was a look-alike to envy. Clearly, when dressed, their hair would be stunning… but was it what the judges would be looking for? I very much doubted it -where's the creativity in creating yet another one of any of them?

We grew more confident — we had good looks and good make-up. Our clothes accentuated the make-up and would do so for the hair. We had a good chance, we agreed. Margot soon muscled in on our quiet conversation saying "We have to make the maximum impact — you'll both have to really over-play being so sweet, while I play the savage!" We wondered how she proposed to do this but didn't dare ask her! "Your tits look good…." she said to me, with a smile or a sneer — one of the two. "Thanks" I replied. "Just keep your hands off!"

An announcement came, quite loudly, addressed to us all. "Will all Stylists make their way to the podium. The competition will begin in five minutes."

No instructions for the models. We wouldn't be far behind. I was right, the five guys I had noticed had left the back stage area and would be with the other stylists up front in the hall. I looked around. I was alone in a room of more than forty women of my own age and I had blended in with the surroundings. I really felt that there was now no danger of discovery of my little (or rather my huge) secret. My heart continued to race. My thighs continued to relay messages from a constricted cock. Ginger chatted incessantly. She looked superb. This was near heaven! I just had to remember to keep my hands as far out of view as I could. They would be a give-away and that would be a disaster, from every point of view.

As I waited for the call to enter the Hall, I thought back over the events of the past few weeks and the recent days. How I had been transformed willingly into a hairdressers model — that was the easy part, to give Karen practice on the techniques she was here to demonstrate. Then, the crucial transition, when it was announced that there would be a competition and that Karen needed models — female models — to show what she could do with various heads of hair. My hair had been short, then.

Then things had moved on. It became clear that I would have to have my hair coloured — not with a temporary rinse, but with permanent tints and bleaches and toners. How was I to have dealt with that at home? How was I to explain the changes they would see? It had been no problem with Mum. She had been every colour under the sun in all the years I had been conscious of her appearance. All through the first changes I'd undergone, the growing of the length and the first colouring, she had been keen to encourage me. She saw no harm in it at all. Her current blonde with a darker fringe was one of many changes she had enjoyed. She even suggested I should try it. Dealing with Dad's reaction was what had stopped me going home in the last week. I had pretended to be away on a visit with friends. No sense in drawing too much attention to myself. In that time the length had reached where it was before the extensions and the colour had been a base shade but still very much not my own. Time to bow out. Then the extensions idea was mentioned. That was the end of it. Sometime, I'd need to go home, but not tonight.

All of those thoughts flashed by in a matter of seconds. The crowd around me sensed a growing excitement in the audience that we were to be styled in front of. Several hundred pairs of eyes would soon see us as we emerged from back stage into the bright lights of the stage. None of us yet wearing the hairstyle we would finish up with this evening.

Margot was suddenly at my side and was whispering. "Take it all in — this is a first for you. Just think about it all. Just think how much fun it could be to be a girl all the time, to be part of this circus, to be a model for other stylists. Just remember the prizes that are on offer. You could be doing this for a long time. But you'd have to ass as a girl all the time." She was right of course, if we were to win this competition, or even come second, there would be no end tonight — there would be much more to be a part of.

Margot was whispering still. "There's one thing you should know. My Mother has you in her sights. For some reason, she fancies having you for herself. You mightn't be aware of it but she really does want to bed you. She has these fantasies fro time to time but I've rarely seen it as strong as with you."

"Me? Sleep with your Mother?! You have to be kidding!" I retorted.

"No, no! No sleeping. And you'd be doing nothing with her — she would be having you. All girlied up, you'd be ripe for her to fuck senseless. She has several really huge dildos — and some smaller ones she'd use to begin with. As you got used to them, she'd use a bigger one, and a bigger one. You'd be surprised how much you'd take!" I shuddered at the thought. "Never! She'll have to rape me." The words stuck in my throat.

"Oh, that's part of the idea."

I resolved to keep the greatest possible distance between myself and this girl and her mother. I had been right to find them scary all along. I had been right to see them as a threat — even if it wasn't in this specific way. "NO WAY!!!" I shouted — for all in the hall to hear. Hundreds of pairs of eyes turned in our direction.

There was a moments pause before the loud sounds of a hundred conversations was resumed. Ginger had already arrived at my side, having been three our four steps ahead of me. She looked me in the eyes — my gloriously lashed, shadowed and lined eyes, and she saw the near terror in them. She looked Margot in the eyes — and saw the malevolent gleaming they contained. "Clear away, bitch!" hissed Margot.

"Not on your life." Ginger replied. She turned her back on the other girl and took me by the hand, pushing forward within the crowd to get us away from Margot.

"Just relax and enjoy tonight — we'll keep as far away from her and her mother and get away together when it's all over. Then I want you home with me. I want all of these clothes off you and I want us together." She sparkled quite literally and Margot was forgotten. "Boy and girl — that's what we'll be tonight. You inside me."

"I can't wait." I said, through lipstick-laden lips and as my brightly coloured eyes flared, I moved to kiss her. In a room full of five hundred people. I would have kissed here there and then, if she had allowed me.

Karen appeared at our sides. "Are you ready?……" she said, "…… everyone has to find their places. We're over here. I'm afraid the lights are very bright but you'll get used to that, and it will show off the colours in your hair beautifully. I just hope I can do them justice with the styles I've planned for you. Thanks you so much, again — you must know how much today is meaning to me." As we talked, a photographer approached and took several shots of us — stylist and models together.

I wondered what the whole sequence of photos would look like — especially from my own part in all of this — from start to finish in my transformation. From an ordinary guy with longish hair, plain colour and no style….. to what I was about to have the final finishing styling touches - shoulder length, luxurious conditioned, red - so red — streaked with copper and blonde over a burgundy under-colour, all styled in a "semi-up" style, the crown backcombed and a semi-pleat or chignon tumbling the curls of streaked ringlets down the centre of my head to the nape of my neck.

Looking around, as the small groups of a stylist and three models clustered together round their mirrors and seats, I saw again that there were probably four other groups that we should be expecting to give the strongest competition. Models who were strikingly beautiful. Their hair was clearly a wonderful base for creative styling. Some were blondes, some redheads like us, and others were raven headed, with blue-tinged manes that couldn't fail to inspire admiration. There was one black stylist who had three striking black models, each of which had electric colours woven into their hair; pink, yellow, blue, green and white. How would they look when she was done with styling?

We sat at our places and took a deep breath. Karen talked us quietly through what she would do and with which of us she would do the styling first. It would be Ginger first, then Margot and finally me — the girl on the end. I was pleased it would be that way — once I was done, the judging would begin and the result would be closer. Each of us would have our hair lightly rinsed to prepare for the styling; first with rollers and the driers, followed by the individual comb-out.

As the whole stage erupted in a fury of activity, with ginger the first to be worked upon in our group, my thoughts about my total external femininity flooded through me. Contrasting with my internal male-ness, my love for Ginger — as both boy and girl that I could now be — and my quiet lust for Karen.

My constrained cock was in a permanent state of arousal. Beneath the dress, the corset and the other underwear I was wearing, tied with a strand of lace between thighs that were closely encased in stockings attached with suspenders, thought to myself…. Oh boy, do you love this? …….or do you LOVE this?! I was reassured that my feelings were all male — there were two women that I wanted to make love with. There was no question that I wanted to swap my gender or, more importantly, to play "gay" games with other guys — why would anyone ever want such an experience? I'd be happy playing my gay woman role with either Ginger or Karen and I'd hope that Ginger would be with me for always.

Ginger's hair was now rinsed and Karen was at her mirror, starting the process of rolling Ginger's hair up for the final time. The very act of one girl rolling the other's hair slowly, precisely and progressively sent shivers down my spine. This was an erotic image like few others I had ever seen. The rollers made a peculiar pattern on Ginger's head. The red of her hair and the colours of the streaks that would highlight the style were clearly visible. Mine would look the same in only a few minutes' time. The contest was nearing its crescendo!

TO BE CONTINUED……………………….