An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 1

A young man, keen to spend time with some pretty girlfriends, finds himself entangled in what proves to be a joyful girly experience.

It seemed like an easy thing to go along with when she first asked. "Let me wash your hair, she said, "now I have this apprentice's job at the hairdressers, I can get practising for my first day". Little did I know where it would lead.

We are both in our late teens; about the same age, been at school together, never date as such, but always been good friends. Both looking for a job after leaving school — neither of us knowing just what we wanted to do. She had always had an interest in hair and beauty, which meant she was always a good looker. A job in hairdressing seemed to be a good step. I, by comparison, had no real idea of a career - needed time out, even a 'gap year' before deciding.

Apprentices have to do all the very basic things that get done at a hairdresser's — meeting and greeting the clients, preparing them with gowns, washing their hair and settling them down with a coffee before the Stylist should take over. Those were the easy things, she said, but washing the hair wasn't so straightforward. Getting close to the client, almost intimately close, laying hands on their heads, running water through their hair, putting sweet-smelling shampoo on and working it into a lather, drawing fingers through their hair — sometimes long hair — needing great care. Needing to be conscious that many clients see this time as a first time in the day to be really relaxed. For many, having hair washed by another, usually younger person, was a real treat — a little luxury in a busy day. Some talked, but some just closed their eyes and made the most of being pampered………

So she said; that was what it would be like for her, as an Apprentice, to be dealing with people in such a way.

She liked the idea — but she knew that a lot could go wrong in all of that — some clients would feel the water was too hot or too cold, water would go in the eyes of some people, much to their discomfort. Some would feel the motion of her hands as too forceful, others might feel it would last too little time, others too long. All of this made her want to have plenty of practice.

It seemed the least I could do to help. Who knows, I thought, it will bring us closer together and we might even end up dating eachother. After all she was a really good looker, when I thought about it.

It was to be two weeks before she started her job. Before then, she hoped, she could get practice with her best friends; as many as she could. Several of her girlfriends had agreed to have a 'wash and dry' with her. Would I? Should I? Yes, why not? There can be no harm I thought, and maybe a benefit one day.

My own hair wasn't long, but it hadn't been cut for the last school term — getting ready for college life maybe; nobody seemed keen to get shorn this summer. So it was just a few inches long, almost the same all over, falling well over my ears and the collar of my shirts. It was mousey-brown, typical 'nothing' in colour and needed washing on a very regular basis. So the idea of having it washed, rather than having shampoo streaming over my eyes in the shower, appealed a lot. I had often had my hair washing at the hairdressers, in one of the 'back-wash' basins. I had felt the relaxation that can be had, laying back while it's being done. All the more, the idea of this pretty woman of my own age doing this to me appealed.

I didn't, for a moment, think that there would be a sexual overtone to the treatment I was to receive. Maybe it would lead, as I said to our getting closer. Who was to know? So, I agreed I would play my part in her preparation for this new job. It was no surprise to learn that three other friends, all girls, had agreed to join in. We would spend an evening at the home of the Apprentice. We would all have our hair washed in turn and she would dry our hair individually. There would be coffee and Cokes available. Her Mum and Dad would see we were not disturbed.

It was a great fun evening. We all arrived nearly together. Now I should name those present and describe them each in turn. The Apprentice is called Karen and it was her home in which we met. Karen was then 18 — this will be a long story — and Karen had stunning eyes; green eyes, that went with her light brown hair. That was the cut to chin length in a pretty pageboy bob; perfectly smooth and straight, which I admired. It invited a touch. Her hair had been different colours through school — always eye-catching. She always looked after it; always in perfect condition. She had been a brunette, like now when I first met her. Before long, she had gone blonde — well, it was summer, and she went a very delicate light golden blonde, almost pastel, certainly not brassy like some of her classmates. She had been no more than 15 then, but clearly had an appreciation of what the word "class" meant, when it came to beauty.

Her hair went darker as that first winter approached. Not for her, not then, were dark roots allowed to appear on her head. Not until one time later, when it was intentional. Over the next year or two, she was always the one in school that surprised others with frequent changes of her looks. Most often with her hair — it was easy, she said. Fascinating. From brown, that first winter, she went a wonderful warm auburn, almost burgundy colour. The more I think of her then, the more I think that red hair suits her. The next summer, she laid lovely blonde highlights into the red under-colour; doing this all herself with well-known brands of do-it-yourself home colours. By the time she was 17, she had experimented with raven, almost 'blue' black, and white blonde. That was when she purposely let the blonde grow out a little, leaving what a styling article in a magazine she'd read called "come to bed roots". The raven black had not suited her. Too harsh it was, but it might not stop her trying it again. What suited her was the change — each time — and the reaction of others to her distinctive looks. That was up to last year. Since then, she had been brunette, sometimes with blonde highlights, sometimes not.

Throughout, the cut of her hair was immaculate — that was where she relied on others to take care of 'the look'. A friend's mother was a part-owner in a local hairdressing salon and a cut was always available so Karen used the friendship to its fullest benefit, having a cut every two or three weeks — keeping the pageboy she loved immaculate — sometimes longer, sometimes much shorter, but always immaculate, smooth and inviting a touch. No wonder, really, that she was now taking hairdressing up as a career for the future. Creativity found its expression in her own hair. Why not turn it to good effect on other people's hair?

It was to become a fascination for me.

She was moderately sized —perhaps a size 14 or so; her face was pleasantly rounded and her lips looked very kissable, framed as her face was with this pretty, touchable brown pageboy bob. She wore very little make-up. Her skin was flawless and a little lipstick was enough, for everyday wear. Her eyes were highlighted with eyeshadow for evenings. The more I thought, the more attractive she became.

This was one such evening. The three girlfriends who arrived together, just before I did, wre clearly less adventurous than Karen. They each had lovely hair, don't get me wrong, but all needed a better cut and perhaps some advice on conditioning and colour too. Not surprisingly, one was naturally fair, another a brunette and the third a real raw, bright natural "carrot top" ginger — "Spice" they called her. They laughed and all made me feel at ease when I arrived… "Nice to have a guy along with us girls" said Kerstin, the brunette, "Karen needs unisex experience" said Margot, the fair-headed girl, and "it'll be more fun with you around" said "Spice". We all settled with little more introduction from me than "I expect Karen's told you why I'm here — I hope it's going to be a lot of fun, and a help for her". Karen was the warmest of all, saying "it's more appreciated than you know; it's so kind to have someone offer his time unlimited while I'm learning and he couldn't be a nicer guy… or have nicer hair to work with". What did she mean by that?, I wondered.

There is no denying that, looking back, something sexual dawned at that moment. Just a warm feeling and a look in my eyes must have betrayed my thoughts. "It's all strictly business though……", said Karen, "………….Coffee or Coke, for anyone?" This was going to be an evening to remember.

We talked for a while, about trivial things. From time to time, the conversation became a bit "girlie" but no matter, I was enjoying the company of three really quite attractive girls and there was no competition or need to be macho with them — nobody to impress. Unexpectedly, I could even express an opinion on some of their girlie topics, fashion and styles of clothes. It wasn't long before the conversation got round to Karen's new job and why we were here. The question of favourite hairstyles and hair colours came up - again, I was free to express opinions just as the girls were doing. What did it matter if I was the only one to say how much I liked highlighted hair; ok, I had to agree with them that highlights would involve a lot of work to keep them looking good, but my opinion was debated just as much as any of theirs. I didn't imagine it being this way, but I enjoyed the first half hour we spent together.

We had to remember what we were at Karen's home to do. "Who's to go first?" asked "Spice"; "Well, all girls together, I'd say…" said Karen, "…………..Any objections?" There were none and, secretly, I was pleased…. By being the last, I would be able to see (and savour) what was to come for myself. It wasn't long before the long fair hair of Margot was under the stream of warm water and shampoo was in Karen's hands, poised to work on Margot's hair. Margot looked up at Karen and smiled. "Go ahead", she said. There was a tiny pause, no longer than the blinking of an eye, but a pause it was — a pause that said "this smile is special". Karen's hands began to work their way over Margot's head, gradually entering the long strands of now quite darkened hair; no longer was it fair - as hair darkens when it's being washed. The lather began to rise as the hands worked their way back and forth across the head. I watched, somehow hypnotized, finding something incredibly fascinating about the vision before me.

Margot's eyes had closed, after that smile — what had it meant — of course, it had meant "Go ahead"…. But the meaning hadn't stopped there. In my mind, the words to follow were unspoken but unmistakable ….. "Go ahead and kiss me". Was that what Margot had meant to say? If it had been me in her place, as it would soon be, if the smile were the same; then, that's what I would be meaning.

The shampoo raised a rich lather than Karen stroked liberally through Margot's long hair. It seemed to take for ever to rinse through but the time came when there was a need to wrap Margot's hair in a towel for it to be dried later, and for "Ginger Spice" to have the same treatment as Margot had just enjoyed.

Her hair was shoulder length too — just like Margot's — so there was plenty of work to be done with her. I began to wonder who would be doing Karen's hair — her immaculate pageboy cut - if it would be washed at all. Perhaps not. Perhaps another time. Perhaps I might be asked to wash her hair………

Spice's hair also darkened significantly when it was made wet — but it was still very red. The shampoo had the same effect — as did the smoothing of the lather over and through Spice's red tresses. Again, it was hypnotic. Spice closed her eyes, as if luxuriating in the attention she was getting from Karen. Over and over again, the later flowed and then, eventually, the rinsing began. Karen's closeness to the other girls became electric……… I was enjoying this far more than I had expected to.. and perhaps more than I ought to have done. Spices' eyes opened and she smiled at Karen. "This salon has a special way with new customers!" she said "… and I do like it — the way you make a girl relax!!". Karen's return of the smile did more that show pleasure — she was delighted that Spice had entered into a bit of a charade — play-acting the scenario of being a new client of the salon where Karen was to work. It added a tough of realism. It pleased Karen. I should do the same if I could.

Spice's hair was wrapped in another towel, ready to be blow-dried by Karen. My time was nearly up — it was my turn next…. "My hair will dry all over the place unless you take care of me now", said Margot. I sensed the likelihood of a trauma if she weren't attended to immediately. Her tone made it clear; Margot wanted Karen's attention and she wanted it NOW! Karen's eyes met mine — fleetingly — and it was clearly better for me to volunteer to wait rather than have Karen go ahead as she and I'd expected. "Please", I said, "Margot's right — she should be finished off before we go any further. Your styling skills need to be used too, Karen." It was the right thing to say. Margot got her way and, by the look she gave me, Karen was pleased to avoid a fuss. Me? It didn't matter one way or the other — I was still to get to see what was in store for me. I found myself fixated on Karen's pageboy hair again — it was so smooth and shiny — as only a regular cut can bring. It moved together, framing her face, defining her neck as the hair turned under and met her skin. My eyes couldn't turn away.

Margot moved to the chair in front of the mirror above the dressing table and Karen stood behind her. The towel was taken away and Margot's hair looked like thatch! It really did need attention. As Karen began to comb-out Margot's hair, it was as though Spice and I were less than mere observers to what was going on.

There was eye contact between stylist and client that was unmistakable - just as it had been before the shampooing. There was a smile, returned from one to the other, as Karen ran her comb through Margot's long fair hair. She did this gently, so as to avoid breaking the hair, or causing tangles that would be tough to remove. She started the hairdryer which brought a rush of sound into the room — suddenly, I was aware that nobody had spoken for, it seemed like, several minutes. Karen teased the sides of Margot's hair, inviting comment and, I gathered, approval to do something more than a simple plain drop-sided style. More smiles. Spice and I exchanged glances, quite unintentionally - her rather obvious reaction told me that I wasn't alone in what I was thinking. Spice smiled at me, her red hair framing her face and I returned the smile with extra warmth. "I'm noticing hair much more tonight - I do wonder why?", I thought.

The dryer worked its effect on Margot's hair as Karen ran her comb, and then her hands, through it. Karen made no efforts to apply any extra treatments to Margot's hair — this was to be a cut & blow-dry; nothing more…. Not this time. This was all each of us was to have…. This time.

As her hands ran through Margot's hair when it was nearly dry, the hair became quite remarkably "big" — that's the correct term…... "Big hair"…… Just the work of her hands allowed Karen to give volume to Margot's plain style — parted down the middle with a very full fringe and the sides dried curling away from the face. If it had highlights, her style would have been a 1970's "Farrah" — the style of that decade, copied by thousands of "teen/twenty-something" girls. But Margot had no highlights, so this was a more modern and understated style; feminine and yet easy to manage. Margot didn't strike me as a "spend hours on it" girl when it came to her hair. She did, however, keep concentrating on the image of herself in the mirror — or was it the image of Karen? I couldn't escape the thought that it was a bit of both.

By the time Karen had finished, we could all agree that her first "client" looked stunning. Karen was modest in the face of all our praises and just promised that he hoped she would improve…. Next time. She clearly had plans that this was to be repeated. Well, she was thinking that and my involvement hadn't even begun. When was my turn? I felt like asking but decided to just "go with the flow" — after all, it was fun being here and there was no pressure to wind-up the proceedings.

Ginger's hair was drying, by this time, of course and I was conscious that the same problem would arise with her hair if it were not dried soon — wrapped in a towel, her face looked plain without the wonderful crown of bright hair around it. Bright was the word — with it, her eyes lit up, without it, they just cried out for something. It was right that she go before me. The red hair tumbled around her face as the towel was taken away. "Wonderful", I murmured. Spice may have heard. Karen made appreciative noises as she began to dry the hair now in her hands. The dryer made the same rush of noise, the strands of hair were teased and combed the same way. The shoulder length looked fuller with Spice —something to do with redheads having more hairs than blondes, maybe — her hair was undoubtedly thicker and stronger ; it rose naturally, giving height and body; quite unlike Margot's which was more sleek and softer but which needed effort to give it volume. Spice's hair finished with a high crown, swept back from there, with a central parting that gave way to flipped-up tumbling curls that swayed on their own as her head was turned.

So that was that — the two girls were both finished and more than an hour had passed in a flash - I had hardly been aware of the time, except when the speed of drying had become an issue — I was still untouched.

"Now it's your turn", said Karen. "Still game???", she smiled. "Still game!", I said "…… if it's your evening to do guys in the salon".

"Oh, but sir, you'd be welcome anytime here", she answered.

"Even when there are girls around, having all sorts of treatments?", I asked…. (getting into the role play).

"You'd be surprised, sir, how many men have just the same treatments!" Karen teased in reply. "You're here for a shampoo and set, are you?".

"Whatever you say", I answered — That was the deal — I agreed to turn up and have Karen wash my hair. It had to be dried, so that was part of the deal. After all, there wasn't much to my hair — at the time of this first evening - so the drying wouldn't take long. Or so I thought.

"Is the water too hot?" I was asked after settling down at the basin. Karen stood above me, her hands full of shampoo, just like before with Spice and Margot. Karen smiled. "Not too hot", I replied, even though it was hotter than I'd expected. "Good, the hotter the water, the better the style", she said. The lather had a very special aroma. It was thick and felt wonderful as her hands ran through the length.

My own hair wasn't long and it was a lot shorter than the two girls who now watched me take their place. A lot shorter than Karen's perfect pageboy. But it hadn't been cut for the last school term. So it was just a few inches long, almost the same all over, falling well over my ears and the collar of my shirt. It was mousey-brown, and it went darker when it was wet. My typical 'nothing' colour nevertheless. It was true that it needed washing on a very regular basis.

So the idea of settling back here and having it washed, never mind if it was extra hot, was better than having shampoo streaming over my eyes in the shower. Karen's idea had appealed a lot. I felt the relaxation that can be had having your hair washed, laying back while it's being done. My thoughts came back as soon as she started.

All the more, the actuality of this pretty woman of my own age doing this to me appealed all the more. Unlike when she worked on the two girls' hair, she talked the way she would in a salon; asking had I been happy with the way my hair was, whether I had thought of changing it in any way, when I had last had it cut, and where. All of this took me more into the role play. I answered as fully as I could, making up little scenarios along the way.

Well, I had been quite happy the way my hair had been for years, I'd never been able to spend a lot on its care but always found hair an important part of being myself. Ther had certainly been no changes over the last year as it had grown without regular cutting, but maybe it was time for a change. It needed conditioning that was certain.

After the shampoo was washed away, Karen picked up another plastic bottle and filled her hands with a creamy liquid….. "Conditioning it is then, if that's what you need, and I think you do". This time, all the more, her hands moved slowly across my head, as she worked the soft and sweet-smelling cream into my hair. Round and round her hands went, every swirl feeling good and making me all the more relaxed. She smiled again and, turning to the other two, said "I think he's becoming just a little spaced-out — you should have asked for the same — we could be here for some time!" She smiled again, right into my face, and my breath caught a heady mix of her personal fragrance and the conditioner's essence. How could I do anything but smile in return — I really could get to like this sort of treatment. It was different to a salon or, still less a men's barbers' shop. I'd long ago stopped going to the barber's — women and men together was the norm in any case. But this was different to the salon I'd been to before. Nobody there came "that" close, it seemed to me.

The conditioner was finally washed away and my hair, once towel-dried, left to be seen in the mirror. It needed to be dried. Ginger and Margot finished talking on the sofa and got up. They came across to where I was sitting, with Karen close behind me. "What will you do with him next, Karen?" asked Margot, "…..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." said Karen, "….. but he's just given me an idea — when he said "Whatever you say", when we talked about drying". "Well, we two girls both had a blow-dry, can't he have the same?" asked Ginger. "You couldn't do a lot with hair that length, though, could you….." Margot added. "…just blow-drying it".

"Exactly what I was thinking" said Karen "But I could do a lot more if he'd let me set it on rollers, couldn't I?" She looked in the mirror — seeing me not believeing 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?" She paused. "a…a…and I need practice with rollers and the two girls' hair is dry and styled and yours isn't; it's all warm and wet and ready to be styled". Her eyes never left my own in the mirror. I had still said nothing.

"Yes, yes…… go on!!!" said Ginger. "We'd love you too — and nobody else need know!" "I'm sure Karen could make a neat style for you with rollers and nobody could tell how it had been created", she went on. "I wouldn't need to be a girlie style." Karen chipped in, to force the agreement. Margot had said nothing up to this time but added "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". She looked hard into my eyes and clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".

This was a defining moment in the whole evening — I had said nothing, but I was, indeed, all hers to do whatever Karen wanted. Rollers? Me? Whatever would I end up looking like after a set with rollers? "……..Whatever you say", I said.

My hair wasn't long, but it was long enough, they all agreed. "We'll use the largest ones we can so the curls don't get too tight", said Karen as she reached for the box of tricks that contained her combs and pins and papers and foil strips (what were those for, I wondered? Oh, yes, I remembered, highlights get put in with foils). Nevertheless, the rollers looked quite small to me. They were no more than an inch in diameter; I supposed that they couldn't be bigger, so hair that was 2-3 inches long would go round with ease.

There was no backing out now. The first roller was in Karen's hands. She sectioned the hair around the crown of my head with a comb. It had a pointed end and a normal body. She saw my eyes on the comb. "It's alright, you won't get stabbed by this… It's got a point so your hair can be divided for each roller in turn. We use the same type of comb when we're highlighting hair — weaving different colours into small strands of the hair." She sectioned the hair right on the crown and started to wind the small lock of hair onto the first roller. It now looked huge!!! Right on the crown, winding backwards towards my neck. Karen rolled it once, then around again, as far as she could go. She pinned it in place. "There, that wasn't too bad, was it?" she asked. "The first of lots, by the look of it", said Margot. "You'll get at least twenty around there, I'd say!", said Ginger.

"Twenty????!!!" I said, "You must be joking — tell me you're joking!!!"

"Not at all…..", said Karen. "At least twenty… so we'd best get on! Her comb got to work with increasing pace. The second roller went in at right angles to the first, diving a parting forward from the crown. The third went to the left, opposing the second and making the parting clear. A fourth went in to the right of the crown. The fifth to the left. A sixth and seventh went alongside the second and third. The pattern was taking shape. I was rooted to the spot. What would all of this look like when it was finished?

Karen's "salon chat" had got going again now, as she warmed to the task of putting all these rollers across my head. She asked was this visit for a special occasion? Had I ever thought of growing my hair long? Had I ever set my own hair on rollers and had I found it easy? Did I especially admire any celebrity's hair and if so, who?

My answers got me back into role play with ease, taking my mind off the question of how I would look when she had finished. "No, not for a special occasion, more of a celebration of finishing the school year — college had been cool but, by the time the term ended, there was a need to chill out and relax". "I'd certainly though to grow my hair long" and, in fact, I said "where I've reached now is a step along that way — I might let it grow a lot longer".

"You must let us help you with that….", she interrupted, "…. you should know that a good cut is essential if you're growing your hair — keeps the ends from splitting and so the hair grows faster. Maybe, we'll cut your hair next time, if you want", she finished. "Take my hair, for example, I couln't have a pageboy bob like this without having a cut every three weeks. Even with that frequency, the length grows all the time." She was right.

The hair that framed her face was exactly that — a perfect testimony to a good regular cut. I resolved then that I would take her up on the offer — and do it regularly…… Even if that meant a roller set again.

"I'd like that". My answers to her chatting continued. Had I ever set my hair on rollers myself — no, certainly not and no I didn't think it would be at all easy!

Did I admire any celebrity's hair? Well, to tell the truth, too many to name just at the time. All I could say was…. "hmmmmmmmm" as I thought through the names of people whose hair I always noticed whenever I saw them. None of them were men. This was easy role-playing but, quite unexpectedly, I was thinking as though the talk of which I was a part was between female hairdresser and female client. In my own mind's eye, I was thinking as I would expect a girl would in a hair salon.

The rollers were now almost all over my head. The last four making a row around the back of the head, above the nape of my neck where the hair was too short to be dealt with. "I need to keep that hair straight and in position" said Karen. "Give me a moment….." and she left the room. "Setting lotion", said Ginger. "I'll bet she has none". "Well, we could go all out and get some…" said Margot. "Not with me like this!" I said quickly. "Oh, you're shy!!!", she replied.

"I've got some at home and that's only a minute away" said Ginger. "Cool…" said Karen as she came back in — "I'd hoped to borrow some from my Mum, but she's out of it just now. We will just talk while you go, eh?" Ginger left in a hurry and was back in a very few minutes. In the meantime, we continued the "salon chatter" - just who were the celebrities that they, and I, admired as far as hair was concerned. Christina Aguilera, maybe, Posh Spice, Pink was cool, we agreed -all the most modern icons were musical. What about in the past? Blondie, now there was a hairstyle! What about Cher — all those colours she chose. What about the "big hair" groups before that — Diana Ross, for example…. And Dusty Springfield — she was a real icon. "She was gay, you know." Said Margot. "…wonderful voice and so vulnerable".

Ginger was suddenly back in the room, no sooner it seemed than she'd been gone. "Good news and bad news", she said, with a glint in her eye. "I do have some setting lotion — or rather mousse….." - so that was the good news -"….. but the bad news is that it's a coloured product. I use it when my own hair is off-colour or going a bit dull. It really is quite bright…. but it does wash away very quickly…. Honest!" So that was why there was a glint in her eye — it was coloured and would make a real difference on my hair…… I couldn't possibly…… No…… They coluldn't be serious….. Or could they? "It would wash out really quickly, it says on the pack.. look, you can see……. ' washes out in 2-3 washes' …it says…… and they couldn't say that if it didn't… it's not permanent at all….. really!" Again, I was speechless.

'Whatever you say' 'Whatever you say' 'Whatever you say' came back to me. I had really said that without thinking. "You did say 'Whatever you say', didn't you?" said Margot, and added "Like I said before…. 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". She looked hard into my eyes and — again - clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".

"He may be all mine", said Karen, "… but there's one problem, you can't put a mousse like that on hair that's already set. We'd have to start over again and we don't have time — even if he pleaded with us to do that — even if he'd always wanted to be a redhead, like Ginger". Which I didn't… or hadn't… before…. before now but, maybe, when I thought about Ginger's hair.. and the question of who I'd admired, one name that didn't come out before was "Ginger Spice" — how wonderful was her hair???? Not now, not as Geri.. not the same at all….. Really red, like Ginger Spice….. Hmmmmmm!

"So we can't do that this time." Time was indeed racing away — my hair had to be dried and then we would be finished. What would I be left like — to go home???

"We'll have to use a hand drier", said Karen "…then I'll dress the style and we're all finished — thanks you all SO much for your help — this has been great and I've really appreciated your time and being willing to play your parts.

The hairdryers' sound rushed once more, the jet of hot air was directed close into my scalp. "Is the dryer too hot?" I was asked after settling down at the mirror again. Karen stood above me, her left hand grasping the dryer, just like before with Spice and Margot. Unlike their hair, mine did not flow freely in her other hand.

Karen smiled. "Not too hot", I replied, even though it was hotter than I'd expected. "Good, the hotter the air, the better the style", she said. She kept the jet of air moving all over the array of rollers - some were rolled up and back, some vertically around the sides, and a parting remained visible from crown to forehead, with a single roller making a fringe. It seemed to go on a long time. "Good, the hotter the air, the better the style", remained in my mind. Perhaps it was just as well that there was no setting mousse, coloured or otherwise.

Karen stopped the dryer and unwound a first roller. The tight curl sprang back from her hand and resumed its place — it was almost as though the roller was still in place.

"Beautiful" murmured Ginger. Margot remained passive and thoughtful. Karen began to unwind the other rollers. Each curl behaved the same way, springing back to the original place. Those on the crown were wound against their natural tendency so stood above where they had been pinned. "Some nice natural lift there" were Margot's first words, "…. they'll need some attention, Karen. Some backcombing, I'd say, otherwise, they'll not make a style of any kind."

Backcombing??? What did Margot have in mind? To me, backcombing meant huge hair, great folds of curls, usually swept upwards, Joanna Lumley style! What could this have to do with me and what we had done. Again, I was speechless — what was the point? "Good, the hotter the air, the better the style", 'Whatever you say' and so I don't think you have much choice in the matter" Margot's words all came back again. "I think you have to stay until Karen has done whatever she wants to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and — again - clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".

"You're right, Margot" said Karen "Until I've done whatever I want!".

Curl by curl, starting at the crown and working around the head, Karen grasped each lock of my hair. She stroked each curl gently at first, running the tailcomb through the hair, before grasping it tightly and pulling the hair up and away from my scalp. That in itself wasn't uncomfortable, but what came next was! The comb was repeatedly drawn back from the tip of the curl to the roots, time and time again, just as I began to remember seeing in television programmes — why had they been showing this - Barbara Windsor's hair came to mind — that's what you got with backcombing — blonde, brassy and BIG! Well that couldn't happen with mine — it's not long enough….. but it didn't stop Karen getting on….. "I didn't expect to practice backcombing at all — but I know it's something you need to know how to do. I hope I'm not doing it to hard…….!!!!".

"No, it's not hurting…. (though it was)…….Whatever you say" and "I don't think you have much choice in the matter" were phrases I had to say. "I think I have to stay until you've done whatever you want to do with my hair".

Each curl was dealt with one by one, leaving the parting and fringe until last — so it was difficult to tell in the mirror the way the style was taking shape. Finally, these were teased into place with the same hard back pressure on the curls along the parting. Some more combing was put into the crown, to lift it above the surrounding curls that were now merged into one another. The separate curls didn't have individual outlines, but the overall look was curly, smoothed over to give the final shape.

It wasn't a boy's hairstyle, by any stretch of the imagination. But it wasn't too girlie either. Just curly under the overall shape, with the nape of the neck straight under the smoothness hiding the rows of curls above. It could have been worse.

"Lacquer!"

"What!??"

"Lacquer! — that's what backcombing depends on." said Margot.

"Now I do have some of that" said Karen…………… and the overall job was finished, with clouds of hair spray; strong hold, firm hold, call it what you will. It seemed to set hard within moments.

How to deal with this, now that Karen had had "her practice".

"When can we do this again — you're so kind to have come this evening! Please, let's agree when????" implored Karen.

Could I do this again? It had been great fun. OK, so the outcome was a little "OTT" but we call all handle extremes from time to time.

"I'd like to bring the coloured mousse next time", said Ginger, quietly.

"I'd like to confirm this marvellous client's request for a cut, next time," said Karen — pointing to me…….

TO BE CONTINUED

(Previously published in Crrystal's Storysite, around 2004... now seeking a new audience!)

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 2

It had all gone according to plan. In the days since I had spent an evening with the three girls, Karen, the hairdresser's apprentice, and her friends, Ginger and Margot. With college down for the summer break, there was plenty of time to see them and to make occasional reference to the way things had been between us. Relaxed, at ease, playful almost. Karen's practice for her new job had gone well. She had done two excellent wash & blow-dry treatments for Margot and Ginger. Their long hair had been wonderfully done. And she had done a wash & roller set on my hair. My much shorter hair. My boy's hair. She had taken photos of us all, including my rollered stage that was quite unreal, thinking about it.

It was all to give her experience for the new job, in advance. I had willingly volunteered to have my hair washed and dried. Little did I know that the outcome would be my having more than twenty rollers wound tightly into my hair and narrowly escaping having coloured setting mousse used to fix it in place. As it was, I had watched in the mirror as the rollers went in, as my hair was dried, and as the curls they produced were combed out — backcombed, really quite hard, to leave a smoothed style that rose up from the crown of my head. The curls were disguised in the backcombing, but it was hardly the style I'd expected when I had agreed to take my part in the evening. It had been fun. There had been an occasional lapse into role-playing — the customer and the stylist; making up thoughts of what would be said between the two; how long I had such a style, had I ever thought of growing my hair much longer, had I ever changed its colour? I had answered yes to most of the questions; they seemed the logical answers to give.

They had made me think.

As I had gone home later that evening, as I had showered, as the water had swept away the curls that had taken so long to create, as it eventually went on to remove the style and all the lacquer that held it all in place. I regretted its effect. I went to sleep that night, knowing that I would make sure that we did the same again, and soon. What would those photos look like?

I had walked home that evening in the dark, wondering what would be the reaction at home if I was seen by my parents. I made sure I wasn't! Straight in and up the stairs, shouting "I'm off to have a shower!" I wish I had just gone to bed, savoured the whole evening some more and woken in the morning — to have the inevitable shower. That would be my plan next time — to savour and enjoy the look of myself in the mirror — to focus on the enormity of the change in myself. To imagine what it could turn into….., next time.

I had taken a real 'shine' to Karen — and her wonderful Pageboy bob, shiny and straight, curling under at the ends and framing her face. I had admired Ginger's beautiful red hair — how much it was a natural red, and how much it was assisted, I couldn't tell. (She has said she used the colouring mousse, so it wasn't all nature's gifts, that was for sure). Her hair was much longer and, being thick and strong, fell around her neck in glorious waves of red. Then there was Margot. I couldn't make my mind up about Margot. Her hair was plainer, fair and straight, with much less body than Ginger's or Karen's. Even so, it looked lovely when Karen had finished styling it. What I couldn't decide about Margot was the way she was often smiling at Karen, in a kind of suggestive way… almost a "come-to-bed" way. Surely not. Margot was also the one to intervene when there had been discussions about what to do with my hair — I recalled it vividly:

"…..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". She looked hard into my eyes and clearly meant it. She turned to Karen, saying "He's all yours".

And I was.

But that was a week ago. I had seen them all individually and sometimes together or in pairs. We were no nearer setting a date for the next time to "help Karen". She hadn't asked, but then, nor had any of the rest of us. Perhaps she didn't want to call for help too much. Perhaps she was waiting for one of us to volunteer. Well, I reached a decision: today was the day to suggest it — would it be a repeat of the last time? Quite probably — she would want to do that.

"What a great idea!", said Karen when I brought the conversation round to "another evening like we had before, with Margot and Ginger". "It was very helpful, and we did so much in just one evening. Was it alright for you, really?", she asked, smiling that smile again. "I mean, you didn't feel it went too far?"

"Whatever you say" was what I agreed to", I answered — "That was the deal we made — I agreed to turn up and have you wash my hair. It had to be dried, so that was part of the deal. After all, there wasn't much to my hair - so the drying wouldn't take long. …..Or so I thought!". I laughed. "I didn't expect to wind up, wound up like that!"

"But it was OK, was it?", Karen appeared concerned. "No, no, it was cool — or rather it wasn't too hot, like you asked about the water and the dryer through the rollers", I made light of the experience, even though, just talking about it made me smile and get a quite warm feeling that I couldn't quite explain.

"There are some extra things I'd like to practice, if we do it again", she said.

"Like what?", I asked "Same for all of us?", wondering what she had in mind.

"Well, not quite, because your hair's a lot shorter than theirs is — though it's grown even in the last week. I thought I'd set their hair in different ways. Margot could have a lovely sleek French pleat — you know, where the hair is swept off the face, smooth around the sides and into a roll at the back, with the top backcombed strongly to give it height. If she were willing, I'd love to put some highlights in to brighten up the colour of her hair." She had it all planned, I could tell.

"…so what for me and Ginger?" I had to find out what she had planned.

"For Ginger, a set on the biggest rollers I can get into her hair… to allow me to dress her hair like for an evening ball — "Big Hair", they call it. It would make the most of the colour, don't you agree? — and I need practice in doing that".

"Whatever you say", I answered — "That was the deal — we all agreed - so, what do you have in mind for me; the same as before?"

She smiled that smile again.

"Well, like I said, there are some extra things I'd like to practice, if we do it again", she said. "Your hair isn't long enough to do great fancy things with - yet — so we have to make the best of what we have".

"Yet???", I thought and then realised I'd said! "Yet???".

"You heard", said Karen "There are some extra things I'd like to practice, if we do it again", she said. "…..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 I've done whatever I want to do with your hair". She looked hard into my eyes and clearly meant it. "You remember Margot saying "He's all yours".

I did.

"So what do you have in mind? You still haven't told me.""

"Ginger's last words that evening: "I'd like to bring the coloured mousse next time". I need to try setting lotions and mousses and things like that — and if it adds a little colour, well, no harm done, it washes out quite easily and quickly. And, as your hair has grown a lot in just a week, I could use some bigger rollers, to give more height — it would look cool!"

"Will the colour show a lot on my hair - it's a nothing sort of colour really — what would it be like?" I asked, half of me scared of the idea, and half of me thrilled — more time close to the is increasingly gorgeous woman.

"The colours are as subtle or as bold as you choose. It's all a matter of choice. We could use Ginger's mousse from home, whatever colour that might be, and we could use one that you could choose for yourself. But that would mean your going to the shops and choosing. There are hundreds to choose from."

"Would you think a red was best?" I asked, tentatively.

"Probably, it would be, because you can't go blonde with your colour, without something permanent — and I did say "Your hair isn't long enough to do great fancy things with - yet — so we have to make the best of what we have".

"You keep saying "yet"…. What do you mean by that Karen?" I had to ask.

"I mean, this was good for a first time — I hope there will be more. And it sounds like we've got another one soon, at least, that's all".

"So, not blonde?"

"No, not at all……. Darker brown, like mine, is OK but it's not very adventurous, is it? And you could go darkest, darkest black — you can even get "blue black" products that are really cool…… the blue highlights are really cool…… But I think red would be best for you. And there are plenty of reds to choose from."

"Ginger's hair is adorable" I said, involuntarily. "It's a real head-turner when you see her in the street". I paused for thought. "I don't think I could get anything near that, could I?"

"It all depends — why don't you go and see what's there in the shops? The pictures on the packs of the products you can buy are really quite life-like. Honest. If you've got any doubts the staff will be happy to help you".

Karen was seriously suggesting that I go to the beauty counter and ask about these products. And maybe, just maybe, I might.

We agreed on the next Saturday evening, provided that Ginger and Margot could make it. They subsequently agreed it was ideal. Ginger even remembered that she had offered to bring the colouring mousse when I called to ask when would be best for her.

"Remember??, I said, "I'd like to bring the coloured mousse next time" It was meant then, and it was meant now. I quite fancied the shopping trip that Karen had suggested but Ginger had clearly not forgotten her wish.

"Tell me about it, Ginger", I asked "Tell me just how red it will make my hair and how much like yours…. Your hair is beautiful".

"Thank you", she said. "Your hair is like a blank canvas — there is a very basic shade on which almost any colour will take very well; not like mine; mine is red and red alone; I could go blonde, but when I last did that, it ended up carrot coloured. If I ever go blonde again, it will be what they call a "Strawberry" shade — almost peachy/pink". But that's a professional's job. When I add colour myself, I darken the red, making it much richer. They call this Auburn."

"Would it suit my hair, with the 'nothing colour' base?" I asked, almost knowing the answer, but getting an unexpected tailpiece to the message. "Beautifully", she answered. "I'll bring it along and we'll try it — see how you like it. You might even end up wanting to stay this colour".

The next couple of days, until Saturday, dragged by very slowly. My mind wandered often to what was in store. I hadn't seen Margot, so had no idea of what she was thinking but expected she'd just go along with Karen's plans. I ended up not being able to resist "window shopping" in the beauty department of the local department store. It's one of those places that, unlike a supermarket where you're left alone to make your choices, you get pounced upon by immaculately made-up women of a "certain age". I certainly got my treatment from one such lady. She was a redhead herself — quite a striking woman who just shouted confidence.

"Can you find what you're looking for?" , she asked, after I'd been staring into the ranges of hair colours for what seemed like hours — probably a minute and a half! What could I say? "I want a non-permanent colour, in an auburn shade" was all I could think to say - it had been on my mind ever since I had talked with Ginger….. that was what I did want. Non-permanent. As red as can be!

"It's for you, I presume?", she asked

No beating about the bush with this one… she could tell it was for me… useless to say otherwise. "Yes, it is, a really bright colour, but not a permanent one". I said.

"This is what you'll do best with — everyone starts with a product like this one — called Harmony — it's very easy to use — No, it's not a mousse — if you want a mousse, you'll need something like………….. this!" She pulled a small aerosol can from the lower shelf. "That will give the bright colour you seem to want, and not last long at all — perhaps that's what you want." She was taking control, I wasn't going to get away without buying something! I just knew it.

"Look at the range of Harmony colours… there's all sorts there……… there are several reds — there's natural light auburn - rather ginger that one; and copper, and there's natural dark auburn - that's redder and really quite attractive; there's mahogany — that's much darker brown with deep red; then, there's one called burgundy — which is how it sounds- a deep dark red wine colour…… or there's aubergine - that's a darker shade too, but it's almost a purple overtone. So many to choose from — specially for someone like you that's, well, trying things out for a first time?

"Yes, a first time……."

"If I were you, I'd go for the Natural Dark Auburn — it's a really sexy red and glows really warmly — you'll love it. It'll last a bit longer than a mousse, but then, you're not going to worry about that, are you?" She almost mocked me, daring me to say I couldn't handle the colour lasting for 2-3 washes.

"OK, that one it is….." I said and paid up quickly.

"Would you like some special shampoo for coloured hair?" she added. "Not likely!". She was quite a scary woman really, now I come to think about it.

Her identity was revealed when we met for the "next time".

The "next time" came around quite quickly. The evening was arranged. Back to Karen's home, like before. Just the three girls and me, like before. Karen welcomed us all in one by one; this time I wasn't the last to arrive. Margot had been there just for a few minutes. "You must be the guy that met up with my mother in the beauty department…." said Margot, almost as soon as I saw her. "She talks a lot about customers she meets in the beauty department and they don't get many guys asking for advice."

"I was hardly asking…… " I said, "… it was more like she pounced on me while I was just looking….." "Ahh, 'just looking' — that's what they all say the first time, she'd tell you" was Margot's answer.

"Oooh, do show me what you've bought" Karen exclaimed. It wasn't that exciting, a very standard shop-bought colourant really — nothing to go wild about. "It's so cool that you went to this extent — you're really a honey!", she exclaimed. Good enough for me, I thought, if she's thinking better of me for something quite so simple, I could go for this in a big way. There was no doubt, Karen was getting all the more attractive to me, the more she went on about how helpful I was being. Maybe Ginger in particular, was a more stunning girl to look at but….. "Hmmmmm."

I'd lapsed into thoughts like this when Ginger arrived — all excited. She had run the last few yards, knowing she was a bit late. "I'm really ready" she puffed, "…it's just that the bus was late after I had to go back home to get the mousse I'd promised to bring — remember???" she looked at me eye-to-eye and winked with a smile.

"Who's going to go first?", asked Karen. I found myself suddenly aroused —there was no mistaking the feeling — but was it for the closeness of Karen, or Ginger — more so than Margot - or was it for the simple thought of what was to be done. I'd enjoyed being last "last time" - so I answered first… "My turn first, 'cos I was the last when we got together first time." There was no disagreement. "Will you have the colour you bought?" asked Karen, "…or will you prefer Ginger's mousse? That's a setting mousse so it will help the style….. and will you have the rollers again?….. and can I backcomb it just like before…. your hair's got longer, it should look great!".

"Whatever you say", I answered — "That was the deal — we all agreed".

"Then I say ……. The mousse, the rollers and the backcombing!" said Karen.

"And what about us??" said Ginger and Margot — almost together.

"I thought I'd set your lovely hair in different ways. Margot, you could have a lovely sleek French pleat — you know, where the hair is swept off the face, smooth around the sides and into a roll at the back, with the top backcombed strongly to give it height. One day, if you were willing, I'd love to put some highlights in to brighten up the colour of your lovely fair hair. It would add lots of body."

She had it all planned, I could tell.

"…so what for Ginger?" I had to find out if she'd changed what she had planned.

"For Ginger, a set on the biggest rollers I can get into her hair… to allow me to dress her hair like for an evening ball — "Big Hair", they call it. It would make the most of the colour, don't you agree? — and I need practice in doing that".

"Wonderful!" exclaimed Ginger. "I could feel quite sexy like that!"

"You'd look very attractive like that; very 'lipstick'… if you know what I mean." Interjected Margot, who hadn't said anything about her own coiffure.

"Let's go for it, then", Karen said as she launched me towards the washbasin, "but let's take a photo each stage, can we?". Of course, snap, snap, snap! Soon my hair was wringing wet again, darker in shade as before, and the water was as hot as before. The same stylist/client chatter ensured. "The mousse, the rollers and the backcombing! — are you going out somewhere special tonight?" Karen asked her client. "Let's make it very special!". "To do that, I need to trim your hair and get rid of all of these split ends — it will make your hair much softer and it will grow much faster." So, out came the scissors and, sure enough, she trimmed and trimmed all over my head, removing very little but shaping the hair all over.

The mousse was an amazing colour when Karen put on a pair of latex gloves and took a handful from the aerosol and spread it all over my head. The light above my head seemed to make it twice as vibrant as I'd expected. "Wow!!! — will that be the final red????". "…..will it stain my skin???!", I cried.

"No, no, no! The chemicals show up that way and it's a marketing gimmick I'm sure — the colour on your hair will take on the natural shade of your own hair and that will dampen it down…. A little!" Karen reassured me. I wasn't to know until the drying had been completed just how bright the red colour on my hair was to be.

The red strands of hair were wound on the rollers — beginning with the larger ones than before, arranged around the crown of my head — winding back from a point further forward, I thought. There was a real lift in the way the style was going in — still with a parting to left and right but I could tell, this was different. The rest of the rollers went in rows around my head — again, more than twenty. Then the drying had to de done. But not before another photo — with my hair in rollers. This time Karen took three shots — front, side-on and over-the-crown and back.

Karen decided that a wash for Ginger would come next though —because her hair would take a long time to dry, it being so thick and lustrous. Margot's would be done last. Ginger's was wash done at length — I looked on, quite dreaming that one day I might wash that wonderful hair myself. Then, as Karen wound Ginger's hair on to the most huge rollers I had ever seen, Ginger took care of hand-drying my hair. Margot was, a little, excluded — at least it seemed, as the three of us were involved together. It didn't seem to bother her; she looked fixedly at Ginger and Karen. She was clearly enjoying the view and absent-mindedly began to play with one of her nipples through the fabric of her blouse. I averted my gaze — the last thing I wanted was confrontation over something like that!

Ginger's hair was set by Karen, and dried by Margot, whilst my hair cooled after the drying. I knew it had been hot, again, so the curls I had would be tightly-formed. Karen took a couple of really close-up photos for her portfolio. Mine were mixed in with those of the two girls I was modelling with. With us each in rollers, it was difficult to tell who was who; only the size of the rollers gave me away.

The time had come for them to be removed and the styling to begin. One-by-one, Karen removed the rollers, starting with the smaller ones around the sides and back of my head. Each curl — now a deep red colour, sprang back into position where they had been set. The larger rollers on the crown of the head were left until last. The colour there was brighter, as the curls were hit by the spotlight above the mirror. What a colour! The curls sat there for a while, almost demanding to be touched. Thoughts raced through my mind — what was I doing here??!!! There was no way that this could be called "boys' hair"….. this was getting out of hand….. but in a strange way, I couldn't bear to stop it — which I guessed I could if I protested.

"Whatever you say", I remembered again that I had answered — "That was the deal — we all agreed". I guessed I had to sit back and see what came to pass.

"You'll have to sit there while I wash Margot's hair and get her ready", said Karen. "but while you're waiting, you can dry Ginger's hair — that will be a treat for you." It was! While I did that, playing the hot stream of air over Ginger's glorious red rollered-curls, we chatted, the same "salon chatter" as Karen and I had done. "Are you going somewhere special? Have you had your hair this way before?" I asked "my client". Indeed, she was "going somewhere special". "You must let Karen take a photo before the rollers are taken out", I said, quite wanting to hold the image that I had before me.

Meanwhile, Margot's long fair hair was washed and treated the same way it had been before. I overheard Karen say "You must let me put highlights in your hair someday". "Well, if you do, they'll have to be striking ones — I don't want anything subtle!" was Margot's reply. "That will be for next time, then", said Karen - "…for today, you're having the beehive and French Pleat — that will be striking enough!". Margot's hand strayed towards her nipple again as she smiled at Karen, oblivious to the pair of us, Ginger and me, who were watching.

I was next into the styling chair, with Margot's hair washed, I was ready for the comb-out and the backcombing that was promised. Part of me was kinda scared, the other part kinda exhilarated. What would it finish out like? I was soon to find out.

Karen teased each curl with her tail-comb, watching each one spring back tightly. Then she caught the first curl and started to work on it. She ran the comb through and through it…… There was no way that this could be called "boys' hair"….. this was getting out of hand….. and then she began the backcombing; gently at first and then harder and harder. The red hair was now like a mist, not a firm curl. Then, the second curl got the treatment; the same, then the third and fourth, and so on. Soon, it was all ready for the dressing; smoothing the style, retaining the clear legacy of the rollers but now set free with the height that the backcombing had given. Finally, Karen sprayed my hair repeatedly with firm hold spray - "Lacquer!!" she said, "…where would we be without it?!"

I sat apart from the mirror but within viewing range, able to admire my own reflection whilst Ginger's hair was the next to be dealt with. Karen had said "For Ginger, a set on the biggest rollers I can get into her hair… to allow me to dress her hair like for an evening ball — "Big Hair", they call it. It would make the most of the colour, don't you agree? — and I need practice in doing that".

And it did…. And she did! Ginger's hair formed lustrous handfuls when released from the rollers. Touchable. How I suddenly began to envy Karen the part she was playing in our treatments. She was deciding how we would look. She was putting her ideas into effect. Ginger's hair began to take on an "Eighties" look — "Dallas or Dynasty, which was the more outrageous for the BIG hair??" said Ginger.

Her hair was combed and looped and pinned and, with some held up, the style was now exposing her neck. Karen backcombed just a few strands of the wonderful red hair and laid them in tendril curls across the crown. Ginger's face was framed with what the Americans would call "bangs" I thought….. very touchable.

She too received a cloud of hairspray to give hold — a gentler hold than my own. And she was done — much to her own, and Karen's delight. "I have to have several pictures of this!" she exclaimed. "So must I!" I thought but didn't say.

Margot's hair now needed drying by hand and the severe beginnings of a French Pleat began. Karen drew Margot's hair close to her, its length falling through her hands. She pinned it all severely down a vertical line at the back of Margot's head and then proceeded to wind the length into the roll that was to control the hair all the way from her crown to the nape of Margot's neck. Tight and sleek, it shouted "control!" Now, Karen was in complete control. Karen stood back and admired her work, the top of Margot's head still to be completed. "Yes," she said, after thoughts lasting more than a minute, "… highlights round both sides would look great!" Margot smiled "that" smile again, "bright, bold and very distinctive", she agreed.

Karen reached for the tail comb with which she had backcombed my own hair and began to give Margot at least as harsh a treatment as I had had — time and again, she worked the hair high and drew the comb back against the shaft of the hair — and again, a mist of hair, this time fair not red, was created. Karen smoothed the beehive top into a smooth outline, fully four inches above Margot's crown. "Wonderful!" murmured Margot. "You look good enough to kiss……." breathed Karen. "What's stopping you?" said Margot, looking Karen in the eye with a "Come and get me" look. What would happen — Ginger and I were both equally stunned — what would they do? What should we do?

I looked to Ginger and a thought flashed through my mind — it takes two…. I thought, and they're a two and that leaves us as a two — never mind my admiration for Karen that had been developing. "Ginger, you look better than good enough to kiss……." There was no time to be concerned, would she let me kiss her? Indeed, she would, said the smile that spread across her face… and so we kissed, before anything happened, before Karen's answer to "What's stopping you?"

My head began to spin, the kisses went on and the atmosphere became electric. This was as far as it went but the questions were more numerous now than ever since we began helping the Apprentice to practice her skills. We had practised washing and drying and setting, rolling, combing-out and now colouring. Then we had started kissing — not on any price list for a hairdressers that I had even known. What would come next. Was there to be a "next time"???

Funny, as we ended, nobody thought to pick up the camera.

I went home determined to avoid my parents but also determined to sleep with my hair as it now was. Tomorrow could take care of itself.

TO BE CONTINUED IN CHAPTER 3

I did as I had promised myself. I got home from the second evening with "The Girls" and made it up to my bedroom without encountering parents. What their reactions would have been, I still don't know — a young man's dream coming true.

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 3

I passed their bedroom where the door was open. I slid past and closed my door, opening it only to head for the shower the following morning. That was after a wonderful night of imaginings; just how my hair could be done. What would Karen come up with next. The touchings became intense and it was no surprise that I brought myself to a climax with just the thought of back-washing, colours, rollers, drying, styling and backcombing. What a dream — with Ginger and Karen central to it.

*********

It was a week later before I called Ginger, not knowing whether to call Karen beforehand. I wanted to see them both again, but for different reasons. Ginger's attraction had overwhelmed me. It had turned my admiration away from Karen who, whilst still attractive, couldn't be the focus of my attention. Kissing Ginger, which was all it was, had led to a wonderful warmth that I treasured each time I thought back to the second evening we had spent with Karen, and with Margot. Margot somehow didn't figure in any equations I could compute. Ginger was the focus; now I fancied her to pieces! She had responded very warmly and our kissing developed a passion. I couldn't tell about the Karen/Margot thing that got going at the same time.

"Hi!" she said, excitedly, I thought. "I was hoping you'd call!". I wished I hadn't left it a week.

"I hoped we'd see eachother again", I said

"D'you mean at Karen's, or somewhere else?" said Ginger, in a way I took she hoped I'd say "somewhere else". To have answered that way wouldn't have been the whole truth. I wanted another try with the hairdressing experiments that Karen wanted to practice. There was no way to deny that was getting quite fixated on the whole hair "thing". Wherever I went, in the street or in shopping precincts, or in pubs or on trains, I would now notice women, first of all, for the condition, style and colour of their hair. More than that, in just 2-3 weeks, my thoughts had changed to "how would that look on me?".

These were not boys' hairstyles, these were very much what I had begun to fantasize about for myself — the more fashioned, and the more highly-styled, the better. The more boldly coloured, the better. Highlights fascinated me. Red hair, in particular, fascinated me. Long hair was good. Short, highly curled and combed-out hair was good. So many different styles and colours. Crazy colours got special attention. I could always pick out the wild colour among a hundred mousey-browns and "Miss Average" cover-up-the-grey colours.

"Well, certainly somewhere else, that would be great — we could go to a bar or take in a film maybe?", I said. "And, maybe, we could have another try at Karen's, if you're happy to….." I trailed off the sentence, not knowing how she would respond.

"You're sure you can handle that?" she asked, showing real concern of a kind that maybe I hadn't seen in her, or anyone before. "Sure, why not?", I answered.

"Well, it's all fine for now; just so long as you're happy with it all." She indicated no reason for the previous question. "We can do that again, sure — d'you have a day in mind, or have you talked with Karen?".

"No, I haven't but let's fix a day for us to go out together first, eh?" And so it was fixed. We would go out together, just the two of us, the next Saturday. That date, which is what it was, was wonderful. We talked, we laughed, and we much enjoyed eachother's company. We agreed to do it again — maybe within the week. During the date, there had been little mention of the evenings with Karen and Margot. Ginger seemed to know more than I did, but it didn't bother me. When Ginger mentioned the two other girls, it was clear that she did. She said that Margot and Karen were staying in that night. It was said in a way that suggested more.

More than "staying in". But how was I to judge. We did talk about how the "hair" thing started and Ginger confessed her surprise that a guy like me would be willing to take a place in something like that — however it had started. It wasn't in my mind that it would "go that far", I said, meaning that I'd expected just to have a cut and blow-dry.

"Not many guys would do that", she mused. "So, I wondered why you did." Should I answer with the truth — that I had wanted to get close to Karen? Maybe I should — what other reason could I come up with? There was no feeling like that I had come to express to myself more recently — that the hairdressing itself was attracting me.

"It was Karen, then………….." I said. "Before you got into my heart. I just fancied her. I thought she was cool. I admired her. I thought her hair was especially cool — and when she said she'd be a hairdresser — it was a' no brainer' as a way to get closer to her. Then you and Margot came round — and that was cool too."

It was logical. I was admitting to fancying another girl before I'd got to know this wonderful redhead. A redhead who had chosen the hair colour I had used — or was used on me. She had chosen it. It was close to hers. It was bright and very red — and she had chosen it.

"It's all thanks to you that I'm talking abut becoming a redhead", I said. "And I'm grateful for that."

"You know Karen wants you to try a permanent colour, don't you?" she teased.

"Not permanent….. maybe one that washes out in 2-3 shampoos; that's all." I said.

"You don't know that. You may have bought one that does that but you won't know that when she starts to put the colour on your hair next time. She'll use the brush and section it all nicely; little by little. She'll tell you that it has to wait for a 'few more minutes' when you ask 'how much longer'. Then a few minutes more. You'll be dyed perfectly by that time and there will be no way of turning back."

I was unsure of how to react — that was going too far and I wasn't ready for that. "How do you know all that?" I asked.

"I just heard them talking — they're getting quite close, as you'll have noticed." Ginger replied. "You know, you must have been able to tell, that Margot is strictly a girl's girl. She's been so for a long time but only now is getting confident enough to be 'in your face' more. She's come on to many of us, and Karen's just finding out what it's like to be the subject of Margot's attentions. She seems to be liking it."

"Have you ever had a fling in that direction?" I asked, expecting to be told to mind my own business. But I wasn't. Ginger smiled. "well, she came on to me a few months ago but I'm not really susceptible. I like my male contact too much. But, then, it doesn't mean I wouldn't experiment."

Then, it came, a phrase that shook me: Ginger said "You don't know how much the last couple of evenings have hit on me. You're a real honey, you are — it's been such fun."

"Why not let's call Karen and fix another evening?". We said, together.

Karen's reaction to the call was delight; simple delight. "Margot said you wouldn't call and I'm pleased you proved her wrong", she said. "How would next Wednesday evening do you? Can Ginger come then too? It would be good, because I would like to cut your hair a little more this time. It's growing nicely now we've got rid of those split ends and we can shape it well now, I think. Ginger's too — I think an 'up-do' would be ideal for her."

"Cutting? What's in your mind?" I asked, unsure of how much would be taken off. It was true that my hair had grown fast since the trim last time round. Another couple of weeks seemed to have added quite a lot to the length, both on the crown and on each side.

"The basic shape has been started for the style I think will suit you best. The crown will need to be set high, like before, but the sides need to be less curled, more close to your cheeks. Like the beginnings of a page boy 'bob' cut, tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more. The colour will set that off so nicely — and, of course, you can wear it 'rough' during the days. Nobody will know, well, apart from the colour. Are you alright with that?"

"Whatever you have in mind, you know that" was my reply, like before. "But the colour won't be permanent will it?" I added. "I'm not ready for that."

"The pack you bought at the Department Store will be fine." Karen came back instantly. "It's a short-lasting, 3 shampoo, product. It washes away quickly. You'll see. Don't be concerned."

"What will you do for Margot, if we're having these things done?" I asked her.

"Ahh, big change for her, if she'll let me. Highlights were the things we talked about — it's fascinating how they go in and change the look of a face. Margot said 'distinctive, nothing subtle' so that's what she'll get. I need the practice, and I want more shots for my photo portfolio. The first lot look great!".

So, Wednesday it was to be. After a date with Ginger at the weekend, when we talked of everything but the hairdressing experiences, I was ready for the third session. How would it end?

Margot was with Karen by the time that Ginger and I arrived at the house. Ginger's words about the use of a permanent colour had troubled me over the few days since we had agreed to get together again. Karen and Margot were deep in conversation with the first lot of photos in their hands. We spent quite a while looking through them. I must confess to a curious feeling, seeing myself with hair rolled up and then in the final styles that Karen had created. Quite curious, indeed. Whatever next?

There was the (now) usual chatter to start with and then the question of who should go first. It had to be Margot — she had not been first yet — so her long fair hair was combed through and Karen reached for her trolley that had several trays of coloured pastes and creams, together with a pile of foil squares — I had seen those in use in hairdressers before, but never seen them used "up close". Karen said she would explain all she was doing, as if teaching students — the way she was being taught by more experienced colourists where she works.

The key points were to grasp enough hair for each strand that was to be bleached. She talked with Margot about how many strands to colour, and how bold the strands should be. "To frame my face, a bold strand either side, she said. "Then a mix along the parting, or perhaps something like the 'undercolouring' that's everso fashionable now — where the whole of the lower half of the head is blonde…. Either way I'd like it making a third of all the hair blonde, maybe?" she asked.

Karen's reply was clear: "That will be very bold indeed - you might want to start with less — we can always put more in another time. Would you want to be like Debbie Harry out of Blondie…. Not many people can carry that off, Margot", warned Karen. "Why worry? Let's live a little!" was Margot's answer. "And what colour should the streaks become; what toner will you use? I'd like it quite pastel coloured, not yelloooooow blonde!"

Margot was getting into this now — for the first time she was quite animated in the way she talked. As Karen pasted the bleaching mixture on each strand of hair, she almost purred with pleasure. Her eyes never moved from the mirror and the hands that were, one-by-one, laying little foil parcels across her head. By the time the job was finished, Margot looked quite quite different. She took Karen's hand as the last foil packet was placed. She squeezed the hand and smiled, saying "I can't wait to see how you've done this!" Karen smiled back and said "Time will tell — you'll have a half hour to wait at least before we can continue. In that time, we'll have Ginger's hair washed and rolled-up, and then we can continue." "Did you take a 'before' photo?" asked Margot. "Oh, no!!! Well, we'll have to take others. Let's get the foils into the records!" said Karen.

So, I was to be last again. Not to worry, this was proving to be fascinating all over again. Highlights were a great attraction. For a moment, I thought to myself, 'how would they look in my hair?' perhaps it was best not to utter that out loud — they'd be trying them out before I could blink! But how would they look? Now, they would be permanent. How to explain them away? No. 'Don't even think about it……', I told myself.

Karen turned to me and said "Would you wash Ginger's hair for me please? I have some preparations to do for her set and there's not enough time to get you all done." Just as if I was the salon Junior that she was employed to be now. Would I????? There wasn't a moment's thought. It would be a delight — after all, it's an intimate thing to do, to wash another girl's hair……. Another girl??? What was I thinking?!

There was time to take a photo or two more.

Ginger's hair was easily washed. It's thickness and luxuriant waves were wonderful in my hands as the water made them even heavier. The colour darkened as the shampoo ran through the hair. My hands moved round and around her head. Sensual pleasure could only be defined this way. It was a fantastic experience and one I could prolong only for a while as Karen arranged all the rollers that were to be used to set Ginger's hair. "You can do this for me again" said Ginger as she looked up into my eyes as I stood above her. "I can't wait", I whispered.

Her hair was rinsed and Karen suggested that I comb it through, just once. Then Karen took over and wound that wonderful red hair over the huge rollers that were lined up on the trolley beside her. There were huge rollers, even along the nape of Ginger's neck.

The hair there was wound upwards away from the neck — clearly to help the 'up-do' take shape. The rollers were wound very tightly, to make sure the style would hold its shape. How much back-combing would be needed, I found myself thinking. And how much would I be getting? The time for that was coming. Karen sprayed setting lotion all over Ginger's rollered hair and put her under the salon-style domed dryer that she had brought home from work. "So much more effective than a hand dryer with rollers", she said. "Got to get a photo of that, as well!".

"And now for you!" Karen said, looking pointedly towards me. "Last chance to change your mind! …… or are you sticking with 'whatever I choose' like before? After all, it was what we all agreed." "No changing your mind!" said Margot. "Only if you're sure!" said Ginger.

"Are we talking the cut, or the colour?" I had to ask.

"Both, ….(she paused)……if you're willing." answered Karen.

"Tell me again about the cutting? What's in your mind?" I asked, still unsure of how much would be taken off. My hair had grown fast since the trim last time round.

"Like I said, the basic shape has been started for the style I think will suit you best. The crown will need to be set high, like before, so nothing cut from there. And the sides need to be less curled, so we'll set them more close to your cheeks. Like the beginnings of a page boy 'bob' cut, here at the back, it needs to be tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more. If you have it, the colour will set that off so nicely — and, of course, you can wear it 'rough' during the days. Nobody will know, well, apart from the colour. Are you alright with that?"

Heart in my mouth, my pulse began racing and suddenly, I was speaking. "Whatever you have in mind, I said…… you know that" …….was my reply, like before. "But the colour won't be permanent will it?" I added again. "I'm not ready for that." The fact was that the mousse had given wonderful colour to my hair for just one wash — and then it was gone. I'd been disappointed by that.

"The pack you bought at the Department Store will be fine. Did you bring it with you? Ohhh, you did!!!! Wonderful! You are such a honey, going along with this!" Karen came back instantly. "Is it true that Margot's mother helped you choose it?" There was nothing to say.

"It's a short-lasting, 3 shampoo, product. It washes away quickly. You'll see. Don't be concerned. The cut will look great and this will set it off perfectly. ………….. Is this for a special evening out?" Karen said, as she lapsed into "salon chatter", like previously. What could I do but join in. Quickly, a thought came to me — over the words that Ginger had used. I can wash her hair again soon. How to pick up on that and let her know?

"Yes, indeed, I want my hair done for a special evening. I'm taking my girlfriend out on Saturday and we won't have time to do my hair but I'll be washing and setting hers before we go out. She has wonderful thick hair and it takes an age to wash. So, my own has to be easy to manage just now. The cut has to make it just fall into shape." The "dice" were cast, the water flowed and my hair was washed.

Karen missed the connection and said "well, you won't escape a good setting after I've cut your hair. Its grown quite a lot since the trim we did last time. I'm sure we can make a real style with it now.

"Here goes……." She said, "Like I said, the basic shape has been started for the style I think will suit you best. The crown will need to be set high, like before, so I'll cut nothing from there. The main change is here….." She touched the nape of my neck and ran her fingers along my collar. "It needs to be tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more".

The scissors began to work across my each side of my head. Karen stretched each strand of hair tightly, checking for the symmetry that had to be created on both sides of the head. The length of my hair over the cheeks was suddenly longer that I had imagined. The parting was very carefully lined up — no mistakes; this was precision design, or rather it was Karen's first attempt at precision hair design. Then, she combed through the longer hair on the crown of my head, and said "maybe a larger roller there now" to herself. Finally, she began to work on the back of my head… where I couldn't see what she was doing. There seemed to be quite a lot of activity with the scissors. How much was coming off?

"Hey, wait a minute!" I almost shouted. "Don't complain…." Margot said. "No, let me finish." said Karen firmly. "It needs to be tapered to the nape of your neck while the sides grow some more. What you're getting is called a 'Wedge', and it's half way towards a beautiful page boy 'Bob' cut". A Wedge?? I'd not heard of that before. Nobody mentioned a Wedge…….

"I had a Wedge years ago." offered Ginger, maybe hoping to make me feel better. "It grew out very well and made my hair look very well cared-for whilst it grew."

How much longer was my hair going to get? I suddenly felt a bit out of control of this situation. How would this be disguised in my day-to-day world? How could it be made to be "rough" so nobody would notice or comment? "Can we just talk about this?" was all I could say.

"There's no time for that," said Karen, "…and in any case, I've started on one side and now the other side has to match — it would look crazy if I didn't finish it — trust me it will look great — you'll love the look it will give you."

"And in any case…." Margot chipped in. "….. and in any case, you can't forget you agreed to whatever Karen thought was best. She's got you now and you have to! Oh, and lastly, with this, you'll look just as good as a girl or a boy. I could quite fancy you either way." Her words shocked me. I looked towards her. Margot's head covered with foil parcels that held the bleach on the strands of her long hair. She smiled that knowing smile. She knew that there was something in my look at her — could I fancy her too?

"What d'ya mean — I'll look just as good as a girl or a boy?"

"Work it out for yourself" Karen answered back.

"Am I going to finish this cut, or not?" said Karen. "I have to. It's completely out of balance back here…" pointing to the back of my head.

"Believe me," said Ginger, "…it has to be completed and I'll love it — so you will. Just trust Karen and she'll make a great style for you. Never mind how boyish or girlie it looks. She needs the practice and that's what we're giving to her."

So, the cut was completed.

All the discussion meant that it was time to remove the bleach from Margot's streaks and to apply the toner to get rid of any yellow tones there would be. My hair was left damp — to be finished later. Ginger's hair was almost dry under the hood. There was still so much for Karen to do. Margot's streaks — for that was what they were, not fine highlights — were treated with a toner that would take 10-15 more minutes to finish. Her hair would then be set like last time, on huge rollers to create a tight French Pleat. The only difference this time compared to last would be the streaks of pastel blonde that seared their way across the smooth sides of her head and over the back-combed crown. Ginger's hair was allowed to cool after coming from the dryer before Karen set about styling it in the most wonderful up-swept creation. Folds and rolls of hair were combed and gently laid in place. Others were teased and stretched and back-combed to give stunning waves up from the temples to the crown of her head. Simply stunning. The camera had to catch these moments and at last I was able to take some really close-up shots.

That left me as the last to be finished off. But one thing had been forgotten — or rather I thought it had. My hair was still wet. The colour pack was close to hand. There was another pause. I said nothing. It could, of course, always be done next time. Next time??? What would that bring if we were to do this all over?

"If we let you off without the colour this time….." Karen said, recognising that maybe I'd been a bit pushed for the cut to have been quite so clearly a style like it was. "If we let you off without the colour this time, ……..would you let me have free rein next time?"

The time had come to get some reference points about where this was all leading. What did Karen, and maybe Margot, have in mind. This was getting to be more than practice for Karen's learning of the art of hairdressing. Or was it? She had done different things on each of us, each time we had got together. So maybe it was all good really — just as we'd agreed. But there had been no talk of changing my mind.

"Free rein sounds rather 'permanent' to me." I said, not giving away if I was up for it, or not. "I guess it sounds like it, too." Ginger chipped in. "But that could be cool in a way, because I just love what you've done so far — well, what we've all done or rather had done!" Ginger's eyes shone. She smiled in a way I had begun to take a special just for me.

"I haven't said no", I said looking back at her in a way that I hoped said "You're special too". "I just find the not knowing what's to be done just too much to bear. Surprises of this magnitude are just too much — and I don't get to look forward to what's to be done. If I go red this evening, what do I end up with next time you practice something different on me, Karen?"

"Don't let out the secret" said Margot — she clearly knew what was in Karen's mind. Maybe she had even suggested the idea, whatever it was to be, to her in the first place. Margot's highlights almost flashed as her sleek hairstyle shone. Her eyes flared and she shot glances to Karen and back to me, sitting at the styling mirror.

"I think it's only fair if we all talk about what's planned for any of us." I said. "Otherwise it's no go." I don't know that I meant it, but I'd said it.

"There's no plan, it was just an idea that we had, Karen and me, before you two got here." Margot said, in bit of a climb-down. "No, no, of course not, …." said Karen. "We just talked about how your hair would look if it went on getting so much more… well, you know, attractive." She went on. "All it was, we thought, that your hair is growing and it's going to look good with the Wedge as it does. The top is already smooth, and if we use the bigger rollers, the style will fall just right. We thought that if you now have it red, as you wanted, that would make a wonderful base for more colour development next time. There's a process called 'undercolour' that I've used on myself but never tried to apply on anyone else — and I'd love for you to be the first for me to try it on." Almost without taking a breath, Karen had moved the ball-game on. I was to have colour, here and now, and that was not to be the end of it — there was to be "development"…

Ginger had listened to Karen's words. I was certain she was already ahead of the game and knew what Karen and Margot had in mind, so I turned to her and asked "What do you think of that, Ginger?" It was important that I knew before saying anything at all. "What development do you see coming?…" Ginger asked Karen. "Would it be red under the longer parts of his hair, and another colour on the top?"

"Exactly." Said Margot. Karen followed quickly…. "Well, yes, actually, red as the dark auburn of the colour that you've bought….. but maybe permanent — because it would look odd after a very short time if it were only semi-permanent. Just 2-3 washes it would need to be permanent — a proper tint. And then on the top section, we thought a blonde shade. Of course, that would have to be permanent, because the colour would have to be bleached right out…. But we'd make it… sorry, I'd make it a nice pastel shade of blonde — nothing brassy or yellow."

"What do you think of that, Ginger?" Her opinion mattered more than anything now — this was a critical moment. If she said this was too much, too far, I would have to call a halt to it all. The thought flashed through my mind that I wanted her to say "Go Ahead, it's cool". It was gone in a flash. What would I say if she didn't answer, or left it to me alone. The other two were putting about as much pressure on me as they possibly could.

"Go Ahead, it's cool". And that was it. Within minutes, my hair was having its semi-permanent colour applied — all over — fully with me in the knowledge that there would be blonde "over-colour" applied next time. There was going to be a next time. I knew it. These girls had me with them with no route of escape. Just because it was my choice.

I could handle the looks I would surely get with the colour that was going on — a Wedge cut in a rich dark auburn. Set on quite large rollers, the crown was lifted above the smooth sides of my hairstyle. The back of my head had shorter hair, as Karen had cut it under the longer section on the top. The smooth sides and rear of the crown actually curled under a little — the shape of things to come.

When the colour was rinsed out and my hair was dried, the girls took turns with eachother to touch the hair that Karen had finished styling. My hair. Red all over. In fact, deep auburn all over. Shaped in a "Wedge". It would be more difficult to wear rough in the coming week — I could explain the colour with a laugh to anyone who commented. But this was special. Ginger had approved. I asked her if we could meet in the coming week as she took the last couple of photos.

"Sure," she said. "That could be fun………. Ginger Two!".

Sure enough, the days that followed proved how difficult it can be to wear hair rough when it has been so tightly styled. It always wants to follow the way it's been styled. The crown won't sit flat, the sides cling to the cheeks, and over all, the red colour left a strong impression that all was very different to my past ways of having my hair. This must have raised the question "Why???" which nobody seemed to want to ask. My mind was often caught wandering back to the evening we had spent together —and forward to the evening I planned with Ginger.

That day came round very fast, and I called at Ginger's home as we had arranged. By then, I was ready for a night on the town. I had done my very best with my hair, given that I couldn't use rollers myself. I could do a little back-combing though, and I was quite pleased with the Wedge that I had re-created in my dark auburn hair.

When I arrived, it was clear she was not at all ready to go out. Her hair hadn't even been washed. "When are we going out?" I asked. "When you've washed and set my hair, like you promised." Ginger smiled and took my hand. This was fore-play of the most wonderful kind.

TO BE CONTINUED……………IN CHAPTER 4

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 4

It was indeed a night to remember. I had arrived at Ginger's house expecting to go out on the town. I had done my hair as best I could, with its red colour, a glorious deep dark auburn, and its Wedge shape cut. I had back-combed the crown and smoothed the sides, using as much setting lotion as I could without drowning! And she wasn't even ready! Hadn't even washed her hair! But that was the catch….. that was for us to do together. It would be a long night.

Ginger's kiss was warm and inviting. I had promised her this the last evening we had met with Karen and Margot. I would was her hair before we went out. I would set her hair before we went out. And, if we went out, we would have a great time on the town, and if we didn't go out, we wouldn't!…… We would have a great night in!

It proved to be the latter and a great fantasy took even more shape. Even though we only kissed and showed affection, the intimacy we shared was electric. For me, and I think for Ginger too. Just the two of us. We started with a drink and a little flirtatious talking. How long had I admired her hair? She asked. What was it that attracted me to her? How would I change her appearance? All of these questions she asked without a sign of hesitation. Was I happy with the way my appearance was changing? Had I thought how much different I was looking now? Did it matter that the girls said I'd look as good as a girl, even though I'm a boy? Did I really think I could wash and style her hair as well as Karen could? Did I know that it made her feel quite randy, just the thought of us doing eachother's hair?

Ginger had clearly decided that tonight was a night to remember.

We kissed. The taste of her lipstick was sweet. The look in her eyes was so very sexy. He had used much more make-up than I had ever seen her use tonight. She looked wonderful, I told her. The whole 'being together' thing made me feel very randy too. How wonderful was that! We agreed it was. Time slipped by as we talked. We would never get out at this rate. "Let's do your hair" I whispered.

And so we did. Ginger's wonderful red hair flowed through my hands as the water saturated it. The shampoo and conditioner did the same. My hands ran through it again and again. Sensual movements across her scalp traced pathways through the now deep dark folds of her hair. Then the water to rinse away. Her hair was heavy and would take an age to dry. But no matter! We continued to talk as, after towel-drying her hair, Ginger handed me the tray of rollers on which her hair was to be dried. I had to decide how and where to place them. How would any style I could create be anything but a mess?!!!

"I'll guide you", she said, increasing the seductive tone in her voice. "I'm sure you'll make me look wonderful!", she added. "I'm completely in your hands." What she said was meant absolutely. She was. In my hands, completely.

Roller after roller went in as I gently combed each section out beforehand. The conditioner helped. There were very few tangles in her thick forest of hair. I chose to put in a parting — a centre one, that would be easiest. Like my own set, the crown would take care of itself, four or five, in her case huge, rollers went into place. There were many more to the sides and down the back, to the nape of her neck. Most were rolled under, to give a smooth outline, but the lowest ones were wound outwards, with the idea of a 'flip' style. I thought of Pussy Galore in the Bond film, Goldfinger. She was a blonde, but the hairstyle she had was a dream. Ultra-smooth. Sometimes flipped out, sometimes flipped under. Ginger's hair was a little longer now, but the style was unmistakeable. Roller after roller. As each went in, our eyes met in the styling mirror.

Then, they would be dried and the style combed-out. And the crown back-combed a little for lift. Beautiful!

As her hair dried, Ginger's flirtation continued as she complemented me on the way my hair had grown. She said how much she liked the auburn colour and the way I had managed to style it so well myself — I didn't tell her how long it had taken and how many re-starts there had been as I had wound rollers the wrong way and failed to section the hair properly. This had been a labour of love! She offered to finish my style off once her own hair had been combed-out.

I took time over the removal of her rollers. Each one was a work of art, so I took time with each one. I gently unwound the curls and then combed through each one in turn…… slowly and almost seductively. My eyes switched from hers in the mirror to the folds of hair in my hands. This was heaven! I could tell that Ginger's appreciation was growing by the minute. She too found this incredibly sexy.

The resulting "flip" style was perfect for the shape of her face. She seemed very pleased and, when the styling was finished, stood and clasped my hands in her own and kissed me fully on the lips. But our night was only just beginning.

Ginger insisted on combing my hair before we were ready to leave. She lost no time in doubling the amount of back-combing in the crown of my hair, and used extra setting lotion to ensure that the sides were sleek and shiny. The sides now reached the level of my mouth, with the Wedge shape taking them up over my ears to just two-thirds of the depth of my neck.

Out we went, dressed smart but casual, both in what I'd now have to call gender-neutral clothes - sloppy jeans and open tops. Footwear was different, however. Ginger in her stiletto heels and me in my flat deck shoes. It occurred to me that we were probably a similar size in our clothing, for what that mattered, I didn't know. ………. Then.

The evening flew by. We talked of when we would meet again.

At Karen's place. With Margot. Would I still be willing to go along with what Karen decided to do with my hair? Ginger asked. Did I remember that she had said it was really quite sexy, from her point of view?

How could I forget!

I told her that I did intend to go along with the whole idea, so long as she still thought that way. To end up with a wedge cut that was growing, coloured deep auburn under a pastel blonde top section, that was what I was going to agree to have done — there was no surprise when I admitted to being nervous about the whole idea, uncertain that I should go through with it, but at the same time, fascinated and fixated by the whole process.

The washing, the intimacy of the 'giving yourself over' to a stylist to 'do whatever she wanted'. The escalation from a wash and set, to rollers, then to a temporary colour, and a cut into a style that was anything but a 'boy's cut, then to what we were talking about now. All in a matter of a few weeks. All captured on camera — though we hadn't seen more than the first few shots.

"You'll come to love it", Ginger said — "I'm getting to like the whole idea already and you're really a "STAR" for going on as far as you have. There's ways that you can make it go slower. You can always say you want your hair to grow a lot more before anything major like the blonding. Honest. Karen will understand."

But did I want to slow down? Did I know where it was leading? No, of course not. It was just a great deal of fun, with girls that other guys weren't getting near. That was the bonus. It was easy to cash-in on the access that I was getting to these superb young women. I turned to Ginger again and simply said "Kiss me", please" and she did, deeply and over a prolonged period.

Our tongues entwined, passions rising and yet, we had still progressed no further. We were alone, but the time for anything deeper wasn't there yet. I fancied Ginger more than ever. I had styled her hair. She had freshened my hair too, with the extra backcombing. We were ready to rock and roll! The dark of the evening and the interior of the nightclub enabled me to leave my hair exactly as she had left it; high on the crown, smooth to the sides, now over my cheeks, the cut to the neck exposed with the top section — still red — falling down and curling under, just a little.

Heaven! We parted again, after more kisses and a promise to see eachother again very soon.

The planned "next evening" with the four of us was delayed. The next week, two of us, Ginger and Karen, had to be elsewhere. That would leave Margot and me; just the two of us. I found that just a teeny-bit scary, so pleaded "things to catch up on" in making my excuses on the phone.

Margot seemed annoyed, in fact, I'm sure she was. "You should come round here to my home." She said "Well, you'd be missing out", was all she said when I refused. Missing out on what? Something to do with my encounter with her Mother was all I thought.

By the time we saw us as a foursome again, it was nearly a month later. Karen was full of the things she had learnt (and wanted to practice). The rest of us listened quite happily as she proudly told us of the new skills she was building. She was being trusted in the salon where she worked, with more and more relatively simple treatments.

There was a "Models" scheme where customers could come in and have their hair done — like we were doing — for free, so long as they too didn't mind what was to be done. OK, they weren't offered colouring if they hadn't specifically asked for it, but most had a cut, many a blow-dry, and some a roller set.

Karen said a few had colours but she really wanted more experience in that department — so she was very much looking forward to tonight!

My heart was racing by now. Could I go through with the permanent colour, the bleaching and the toner? My hair was quite a bit longer now than when we had begun. The rollers that Karen had used first time would be completely wrong now. My hair would go quite frizzy if she were to roll me us so tight now. I could enjoy the softer curls that the larger rollers would give. The longer top section of my hair now covered my ears at the sides. The nape of my neck was visible in the mirror, but the hair from my crown came down to an inch or so above the nape. "Just the place to kiss" said Karen as she looked at what she had to work with now.

"Ginger and Margot will have the same as last time", she said "…because I need practice in those styles again — if that's ok with you two?" It clearly was.

"But you are going for something different, am I right?" she said, looking into my eyes in the styling mirror. "You are, aren't you!" It wasn't a question this time.

"………….your Wedge will look soooooooooooo cool!!!!" she exclaimed.

"Not until I know what colour of blonde I'm going to be, you're not doing anything!" I cried. "You said not yellow. You said pastel. What does that mean, for goodness' sake!?? I've see a hundred blondes this week — I can't take my eyes off them, but not for the usual reasons — I can't get out of my mind which I would be most like. You say not yellow, but not many are really yellow. Pastel could mean loads of different things — and I'm fascinated, but I'm not at all sure about this." She had to respond.

Margot said nothing. Ginger chipped in with "It's only fair — if he's going to be ash blonde, it's one thing. If he's going to be beige with a hint of strawberry, then it's very different." She was right. I had seen some really different shades that were clearly the result of a lot of thought and choice. Not for me the brassy haystacks that you do see, I thought. It could be white blonde. Then, it could be beige — I liked those I'd seen. It could be ….. oh so many shades. "Karen, what are you saying we should do?" I asked.

Karen began to speak but hadn't said more than "What I…" before Margot snapped "This is enough, you have to say if you're in this or your not. Never mind who has a plan or what could be done — you have no choice. Do you understand?" There was a venom in her eyes. She was taking over. Why be so harsh?

Margot went on. "OK then Karen, tell him about the competition and the reason for the portfolio of photos. You can let Ginger in on that secret too, because she knows nothing about either." Ginger's eyes and mine met — what was this all about?

With a rather apologetic smile, Karen explained that her workplace had entered her into a competition for Apprentice hairdressers and there were events coming up in which she would have to perform several processes and create styles using models. T

he evenings we had been meeting were proving to be better preparations that her salon work and she had no models from the salon — even thought they were getting people in for free hairstyles and colourings. She wanted us to be her models, and the first event was in about three weeks' time. Not much time for practice.

"More than that, I can't say." she said. "Apart from the need for there to be three models……"

"We have three……." interrupted Margot.

"Yes, but the event is for female hair…." said Karen, "….and we have two girls and a boy." Her words hung in the air.

It was then that the words from last time "either as a girl or a boy" began to take on a whole new meaning. Ginger was silent. Margot was too, at last.

I sat and thought for a moment that seemed like an hour. I sat with my dyed auburn hair, cut in a Wedge-cut with the crown still lifted by the rollers I had tried to put in myself this morning with some reasonable success. Another three weeks and it would have grown still more. I saw a boy in the mirror. A boy with a woman's hairstyle. Never mind how I wore it rough in the daytime, this was a very well presented style for a hairdresser's model to be wearing. A female model.

"It's a big thing to ask, I know" Karen said, breaking the silence, "… but I'd still like you to be in the event. You know, as my third model. You'd be on show and I'd quite understand…… There would be a lot of people there, from lots of different salons, together with people from the sponsors — who are a maker of Colourants."

"It's not a big thing to ask…" said Margot, harsh as ever, "……. It's what you agreed to — whatever Karen wants. Simple as that. You can look like a girl … or a boy …. — we've seen it — and you will do what Karen wants."

"Hold on a minute, that's really not fair — that's not anything like as far as he must have thought it might go when he said yes, originally." Ginger came to my defence. "It's a huge thing to ask."

"It's a big thing to ask, I know" Karen said again. "Look we don't need to decide tonight — we can just go on with what we were planning to do; just to take it easy for one time. Then next time, we can hear your decision after you've had time….."

"There just IS no time" said Margot. "You have to plan the styles and the colours you'll use — to be Apprentice of the Year starts here. There will be several heats and, if you don't get past the first one, the rest doesn't matter."

I had still said nothing. My mind was still racing. Sponsors? Colours? Lots of people? How had all this suddenly happened? But, then, here I still was, voluntarily. I had chosen to be here. I really liked what Karen had been doing, really…… I loved the way it had been bringing Ginger and me closer together. Margot was perhaps the only problem — nothing could satisfy her, it seemed. Really, I wasn't prepared to be bullied this time — she had misjudged me.

I was ready to respond and nearly began to speak for the first time in minutes, when Ginger offered her thoughts, which obviously mattered very much to me. She had been the one to defend me or at least give me time to think, by saying what was, and wasn't, fair to ask of me. Her words clinched the decision. But it wasn't what I had expected to say.

"Since we have been willing models in your practice sessions, Karen, we have all gone along with your ideas. Along the way, two of us have become a bit closer in other ways and we've liked being together. I don't want that to change. In fact, I want us to get closer together and all I wanted to say was that whatever your "third model" decides, he'll be very special to me either way. I won't think any less of him if he goes along with the things that you're now suggesting — or if he doesn't. I'm finding him increasingly sexy and could get a real hit from being next to him on your model stage, with us both having you do our hair. Karen, you should be pleased he's come this far, not be disappointed if he goes no further."

So, instead of refusing to go on, it turned into a willing agreement. I was committing myself to a whole different set of experiences that I had never imagined would come from a simple offer to have my hair washed by a girl friend who I fancied very much and who was starting a new job.

I still fancied her in a way, Karen that is, but I had come to be much more strongly attracted to Ginger. She, in turn was talking like it was such a sexy thing to be doing, that I couldn't stop myself saying "Then it's alright by me. I'll be one of your three models for the competition, if it means so much to you."

There was a sudden clamour of excitement from the three girls around me. In different ways, they each had a reason for some great enthusiasm.

For Karen, it was that the competition would go ahead — she could stand a chance of going forward to a second round when, doubtless, she could choose another model to take my place.

For Ginger, inexplicably, it was that we would be together, as Karen's models, and she had promised herself just how sexy that would feel - and how sexy that made me feel.

For Margot, it was something different; something I couldn't quite make out. She didn't fancy me, that was certain - not I, her in the conventional sense. She had made clear that she rather fancied Karen more…… but we won't go into that here. No, it wasn't attraction towards me at all.

Karen felt she had more of an explanation to give. She started with a change of plan for this evening but explained it was a result of the rules of the competition. "There can be no major changes to your hair this evening. We're only three weeks away from the event and, on the night, the stylists have to be working on hair that is as natural as can be. That's so the judges can see the "before and after" on each model. They have to see her without any recent "big events" — like major changes of colour — and they don't want to see anyone with roots growing through from a colour treatment — and you'd have roots showing if we did what we planned tonight."

"Roots!!!!" I cried…… "I'd never thought of roots!"

"You'll get used to them." said Margot quietly.

"Don't worry, there will be none of them for you because we're not going to do any permanent colour tonight — but I thought you'd like another semi-permanent wash; that's last a bout 5-6 washes; just enough time to take us up to the event." She did have this planned, I thought, but what the hell?!

"Do I have a choice in the colour?" I asked, expecting the answer to be 'no'.

"You do, indeed." replied Karen. "Then let Ginger choose for me." I said.

"You're sure? How cool!" Ginger exclaimed. "Let's look at the shade chart!"

"Don't take too long —we have lots to do." were Karen's last words as she pulled Margot towards the washbasin. "For Ginger and Margot, it's the same as last time — more practice for me in the 'Big Hair' and the "Sleek Pleat" that I'll do for the competition.

Margot's hair was washed and the rollers were going in by the time Ginger and I had finished selecting the colour I was to have on my hair this time.

Nothing lighter - that was to be saved for three weeks' time. Same colour all over, that would be fine. Different to the colour I'd have when Karen treated all three of us in front of an audience and a judging panel!

That ruled out reds. (Pity, I thought, I like myself as a redhead). Browns just didn't get my pulse going at all. That leaves black — you don't see many girls with truly black hair. What was it had been said to me? You can get black tones that are so black, they're blue black. Was there something so different as that? No, it would be too distinct — both for everyday (that was going to need some explaining!) and for the step change at the competition. No, it had to be brown.

"How about the brown of your hair, Karen?" I said, intentionally flattering her. Hers was a rich dark brown and, though she had been many colours over the months I'd known her, it was one that suited her well. Her Page-boy Bob cut was shown off to great advantage by the sleek condition of her hair and the wonderful cut.

Margot's face was a study in rage — for quite what reason, I could guess. Flattering the object of her attentions, I was! She was obviously outraged but, to my amazement, said nothing.

I was tempted to wind Margot up some more. Would I dare? Might be tempting fate. I decided not to. I had thought to say that her Page-boy was what I'd dream of ending up with — which could be true. But then, there was Ginger's gorgeous flowing tresses. How wonderful are they?!

"You could be right," Karen mused, "it would be more neutral and make a reasonable base for the changes you'll have on the night. We can do it with permanent or semi- permanent colour. Makes little difference."

"Semi- would be quicker now, wouldn't it?" I said and Karen agreed. So that was the way it went that evening. My hair was given a dark brown wash that would last five or six times.

Ginger had another stunning "Big Hairdo" and Margot had the Pleat once more. Her streaks were growing away from the scalp and would give a problem in another three weeks' time, I thought. Best to leave that to Karen to overcome.

I had still not seen many of the shots. "Next time", she said. "We'll have a good look through them. I have to choose the best for a display and they may get used in a press campaign about the Sponsor's involvement in the event. All three of you could have your faces in the magazines!"

How widely would my face appear, I wondered. Would I get recognized for who I was? I had been caused little embarrassment by the work so far. A few questions, that was all. I had been able to fend off deeper enquiries with ease. "It's just a post-College phase" was all I would say, with a laugh.

We parted that evening and I walked Ginger home. It wasn't far and the conversation was muted. We neither seemed to want to make the first major comment on what we'd agreed to. I was sure there would be more to it than simply sitting on a stage and having my hair done.

"Will you come in?" Ginger asked. "I think there's one aspect that hasn't been mentioned and it should've been." How could I not find out? I entered her flat with a quizzical look on my face. Was she party to a secret, or was she telling me something she knew that Margot and Karen felt I didn't need to know yet? It was all clear to me, or so I thought.

We sat and I was bursting to know what she knew — or thought she knew. "Tell me!"

Ginger was pensive. It took her time to choose her words.

"You do know that the competition is for female hairstyles, don't you — and you do know that you'll end up with a stunning, but distinctly female appearance? It's inevitable and that's what you've agreed to." She said. "And you do know, I love you for it — you're a real STAR!" Where was this leading? I answered that it was and I was pleased she thought I was… a star! But…………

"Well, with female hairstyles come female clothes and female make-up. You must have thought that through." Well, to tell the truth, I hadn't. In fact, when it dawned, as she said these words, it was the very first time that I had thought of the image I would have to present on the night. My clothes were always casual and never took much thought. I certainly didn't have any "girlie" things — if they were needed. As for make-up, that was another thing entirely. I couldn't possibly do that — I wouldn't know how, for a minute!

"These events are usually quite 'OTT' for want of a better term. The colours are always bolder, the make-up is always very pronounced, the atmosphere is electric. You'll have to get into the part. It can't be the first evening that you wear a skirt and blouse and the right underwear and some decent shoes. Nor can it be the first time that you've had make-up on, bold make-up at that!"

Clearly, I had no concept of the complete transformation that I would undergo. Clearly, I would have to look like a girl with a stunning hairstyle, not look like a hairdresser's model. Not only did I have to think about the consequences of the hairstyle and how to live with it afterwards, I had to deal with being somebody different through the whole process. I had to look as much of a girl as Ginger and Margot would be. Bold make-up, stunning hair……………… underwear? A dress and blouse? Shoes??? Where would I get all of these things in the right sizes?! And when? There was very little time. Still less time to get used to wearing them all. Panic was a good word to describe what I was feeling and Ginger instantly picked up on this.

"You'll need help, I know" came comforting words. I knew I couldn't go back now. I should've thought it through. "You'll have to have some make-up to get the feel of it. You'll have to try on some clothes. I've got some make-up that would be a start — though it won't be as bold as you'll need. And I've got some clothes that would be something like your size - I'm a size 14 and you might well fit some of my clothes, even though you're taller — it just means your skirts will be shorter. You can use my tights; that'll be fun for you. Shoes? We'll have to get larger ones than mine for you -with reasonable heels but not stilettos.

"It's late." I said rather numbly. "I have to go."

"Not before you taste some lipstick." Said Ginger. "You really should. It's quite wonderful and well worth getting used to. Let me put some on your lips. Now."

I was like putty in her hands. She reached for the slim tube that contained the Christian Dior lipstick. It was a wonderful peachy red, ideal for a redhead like her.

My eyes closed as the creamy stick passed over first my top lip, from the centre to the right, then from the centre to the left. Then across from side to side. Picking out the 'cupid's bow' in the centre. Then it went from left to right across my lower lip. Then from right to left. The taste was wonderful. Of course, I had tasted lipstick before when kissing girls. Never had I appreciated the intensity of the taste. The whole experience was unimaginable. You have to taste it for yourself — and immediately, I knew I would taste this again and again.

"They don't all taste as good as this one" said Ginger, clearly detecting the great enjoyment I was experiencing. "Not do they smell quite as good, either." She was right, there was both the taste and the smell to enjoy. Intense and memorable.

There was no question, I would leave it no time at all before having the rush of adrenaline that was clearly running through my lips, my cheeks, my chest, may hands and everywhere else through my body. To some it could have been an orgasm, but then I knew what they were like and this wasn't one! But it was close. A first experience of a lipstick, at the hands of a girl I fancied to bits! How perfect was she!

"Now, we should see how it tastes on eachother." she said, putting the lipstick to her own lips and beginning to spread its colour, left and right, over her top and lower lips. Wonderful. Did it look as good on me as it did on her? I couldn't tell. But I desperately wanted our mouths to meet in a kiss that would last for ever.

She raised her hand to my neck and pulled my head towards her own. Her hands were spread over the short hair at the nape of my neck and the longer hair that came down from the crown of my head. She smoothed the hair as she pulled our lips together. Her hand ran down the length of my hair as we kissed.

TO BE CONTINUED…………………… IN CHAPTER 5.

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 5

The evening with Ginger had left my head in a spin. We hadn't made love to eachother but we were closing in on that, I could tell.

We both wanted it to happen. Equally, though, the pathway towards my playing my part in the training of our friend, Karen, as a hairdresser's Apprentice was leading us both towards making love as two girls not boy-and-girl. Could the two be separated? Was one coming nearer because of the other?

I was about as confused as a young heterosexual male could be. My love for Ginger was deepening fast. She was the most incredible creature I had ever met. What had started as a ruse to get closer to Karen, whom I had fancied beyond belief too, had led me to Ginger.

I had now spent several evenings getting my hair done in increasingly feminine styles. And I had enjoyed almost every minute of it. Ginger had too. She had confessed to taking a real hit from my being there. Karen had shown me no sexual attraction. More so, she had let it be known that Margot's advances on her were welcome. They would soon be lovers, if they weren't already. I hoped that would be true of Ginger and me.

My thoughts turned to the prospect of the competition. I wasn't to become a blonde …….Yet. A brunette now, with my hair growing longer day-by-day. What would Karen do with us all? Would we all have the same colour and style? I had been told to keep trying to set my own hair, so it got used to being styled every day. Ginger would help, but I had much to learn for those solo nights when I had to try for myself. Slowly, I was getting better and better.

But here I was, facing another evening with the girls. Now we were just two weeks away from the competition that Karen's salon had put her in for. We were to be her three models. Tonight, there was to be more practice towards that goal. What would it involve? Ginger didn't know, but she had told me that there were aspects to the competition, beyond the hairstyling and colouring, that I had to face up to.

There was make-up. There was clothing. I hadn't considered either.

I sat over a lonely breakfast — my parent having left the house early - wondering about what was to come. My hair was in a mess. A "just slept in" mess. I had to wash it, even though it would be washed and set tonight. No colour this time. Not before the competition event. The colour it was now, darkish brown, wasn't very attractive. The cut was still good but it was growing and the ends were again less than razor sharp. I felt dowdy — yes, that was the word. Unattractive. I would not like Ginger to see me right now.

A shower, then a few rollers in my hair and I'd be better. What a way for a college boy to spend a morning.

The shower was hot and refreshing. I shaved as close as I could though it wasn't really necessary to shave every day. I wrapped a towel round me and headed for the bedroom. I had brought a few rollers home from one of our evenings — and I had kept them hidden away — not so easy to explain as hair that was getting longer and, when worn rough, not styled curiously.

The quite pronounced red colour that I had been briefly had been explained away as a "bit of a giggle" and that seemed to satisfy the parents.

My mother's hair had been all the colours of the rainbow in its time so there was nothing surprising in her son having a go with the same fun. Her hair now was a blonde shade, quite light and very shiny, with the extra frisson of a fringe and under-colour in a very light auburn. Very sophisticated, she had said and I had to agree with her. She had said, not long after my debut with the auburn rinse, that she'd "help me next time" — meaning she expected there to be a next time!

I was on my way to the bedroom when, passing the parents room, I noticed that her make-up was all over the dressing table. She was usually such a tidy person, there would be nothing to be seen. They must have left the house in a hurry this morning.

It was all there. I wasn't aware that she used the same Christian Dior range from which Ginger had drawn the lipstick last week.

The lipstick we had shared.

The lipstick that tasted and smelled so wonderful.

The lipstick she had put on my own lips, and then her own, before we had kissed for so long and so sensuously.

The dressing table was littered — it called out for attention.

It was irresistible. Standing in my towel, with my longish hair now in a few rollers across the crown, I thought, why not?? There was no danger of being disturbed. I would be alone for at least a couple of hours.

Before I knew it, I was at the mirror of the dressing table, lipstick in hand, gently applying the wonderful sweet-smelling creamy preparation across my lips. Quickly got the hang of it with very little straying over the lip outlines. That warm feeling began to arise again inside me; this was highly sexy thing to be doing. OK, I was all alone but the thoughts of Ginger doing this to me were real. I sat back on the bed and stared at myself in the mirror.

There was someone there whose face looked more female than male, whose hair was long and crying out for more rollers to control it, and whose maleness could only be seen between the legs. I stroked myself gently. The climax was intense. There was so much of it. My hand was full. There was no place to go or to put it away. I had to lick my hand and, without gagging, to get rid of the evidence.

Then I heard the sound from downstairs. A door opening and closing. Footsteps!

"Hi, honey, I'm home — forgot a few things so I've had to rush back…. Where are you????" Came my mother's voice.

I was in her room!

I had to escape from her room! I made for the door as the sound of her steps began the climbing of the stairs — luckily just out of sight of me leaving her bedroom door. Never mind how the room was left — get out! I made it to my own room. Face still covered in lipstick, hand still sticky, hair still wet and rollered, heart pounding. I was safe in here — there had been a rule for years — we all had our own personal space — in our rooms! Within moments, I had crashed to the bed, ….my own bed. I was safe.

"I'm in my room - just had a shower." I called. I was suddenly conscious that her lipstick was still in my hand. My lips were still red. She wouldn't come in, and I certainly wouldn't go out. Not like this.

She was very understanding but I doubted that she'd be "that" understanding. I had no tissues to wipe away the lipstick as I knew I should. A handkerchief would need explaining in the wash, so I was stuck with it.

That taste!

That smell!

She was pottering around, maybe expecting me to emerge from my room. Trapped! My hair was beginning to dry as it stood, half rollered — a mess that would be a mess all day if I didn't do something with it. There were footsteps all around the house as she gathered the things she was missing.

Could I get on with the extra rollers I had planned to use to dry my hair on?

I found myself suddenly emboldened — why not? And why not leave the lipstick on?

The remaining rollers were tucked away in a drawer, well away from discovery. The tail comb that went with them was there too. The drawer was opened and my hands reached in for the treats within. There were just five rollers in place and I was slow at the beginning but the first extra roller went in below the crown quite well. No straggly bits! The second and third took time with repeat rolling needed. These helped define the parting. By the time the seventh and eighth were in place, I was getting much quicker and then……

There came a knock at my door. Oh, Hell!!! What could I do? Just froze.

"Just on my way, darling!" came the words that acted like a defibrillator. My heart jumped back into life. Would she "pop her head round the door"????

No, she was already off down the stairs.

I looked at myself — what did I look like!?

Like a tart, to be honest. Hair in rollers, lipstick — too much of it — and a towel that had fallen to expose a limp, "just-cum", boy's "boyhood". What a state to be in.

The house became quiet. But then I thought, now she's gone, I really will be alone this morning. I had gone "so far", what was wrong with it? What would be wrong with going a bit further? The rest of her make-up beckoned. Her bedroom beckoned. Ginger had said I couldn't wear make-up or clothes for the first time at the competition. I had nothing else to do today — before the hairstyling this evening. I could really get into the role.

It was a disaster. I made a total mess with the other make-up items. The foundation that I found was obviously for the skin overall. That went on OK but I used too much. Worst of all was the mascara. I knew exactly where it should go but only succeeded in putting it everywhere else — on my eyelids, out on my temples, even down on my cheeks. The eyeshadow wasn't much better. The colour, brown, was all wrong and made me look half-dead, and I also put this in the wrong places too. There was an eyeliner brush that I tried, succeeding only in poking myself in the eye and making them water with tears in bucketfuls. The lines ended up looking like Liz Taylor's Cleopatra! I was not made to be a make-up Artist!

With that, I gave the clothes a wide berth, as they say. I was conscious that the make-up would mark the clothes if I did anything at all wrong — which I was bound to. I had no shoes. So, altogether, my experiments in make-up and clothing we a disaster. I realised I would need help. I didn't quite expect where it would come from that evening. I dried my hair and removed the rollers after letting the hair cool. I sat for a while, hair in rollers, just musing over the confusion I had felt this morning. I was getting nowhere. A clean-up was needed.

I was now in love with Ginger. I fancied her in a way that I dreamt would soon lead us to making love together. Boy and Girl. Man and Woman. This is heterosexual attraction at its most powerful.

And yet, the next time I would see her, I would be being subjected to the same treatments as she would be — to her hair, to her face with make-up! And she would find it sexy!!! How confusing a situation had I got myself into?

Then, there were Karen and Margot. They clearly were attracted to eachother. That was intriguing in itself. They say that men are intrinsically curious about lesbian relationships. There… I had used that word for the first time… Was Karen a lesbian? No, I didn't think so. Was Margot? Very probably. They made a fine couple, I had to admit — a "lipstick lesbian" pair, they're called. Would Karen ever, or never, find me attractive? Confusing.

My rollers were now dry and my hair needed combing-out. I would do my best. As I did so, that warm feeling returned and I felt very sexy once again.

Karen called on the phone later that afternoon. "We're going to go the Margot's this evening, if that's alright with you. I've spoken with Ginger and she's cool about it. Nothing special except we can get some help there that I can't get at home. Nothing to worry about."

Her tone was matter-of-fact. There was nothing to be concerned about but I'd guessed that it was something to do with what Ginger had said about cosmetics and stuff. I was fore-warned at least. After the thoughts through this morning, I was almost looking forward to whatever this would bring.

On the way there, I thought long and hard. If Ginger was happy with this, more than happy in fact, and she found it sexy, and I found it increasingly sexy, and it kept me in touch with these girls, who was I to change my mind.

Why we were going to Margot's wasn't clear. By the time I arrived there, my hair had collapsed from the set I had tried to give it. Not enough setting lotion or spray. It was now flat to my head with the sides reaching well down over my cheeks. The back was straight, reaching down to an inch above the nape of my neck where the 'under cut' hair was now quite untidy. It was less than a perfect style. The colour had faded and I was now a mixture of my own non-descript mousey colour and the brown that had been semi-permanent on top. The five or six washes had come and gone.

Again, I was looking dowdy, I thought. I was soon to feel much more so.

I knocked at the door that was the way in to Margot's home. I waited. Before long, I heard a voice from inside that I half recognised, but it wasn't any of the girls. The door opened and there, to my astonishment, was Margot's Mother. The woman from the Beauty Department at the local store was here before me. I had been very uncomfortable with her in the shop. I was even more uncomfortable now.

A striking redhead, as I remembered her, she beckoned me in saying "So, we meet again. I'm so pleased. Margot has told me all about you and, after we met in the store, I've followed what you've been up to with interest."

What was she doing here?! This was supposed to be private, between the three girls and me. Margot was behind her, looking just the way I had last seen her — in total control. "You're on time, that's good." She said. "We have lots to do!".

I still hadn't spoken.

"All three of us need a hair wash first, then Karen will tidy up the hair with a trim and she'll set each head in turn. While the hair is drying, we have to experiment with the make-up we'll be wearing on the night of the event."

I still hadn't spoken, but the look on my face told her that it was no surprise.

"Ahh, so you guessed!" said Margot. "I thought it would be a nice surprise. Karen wanted to tell you, but I thought that you should work it out for yourself. We all have to look equally stunning. That's where my mother comes in. She's the expert that we need to help with making-up our faces. Karen hasn't got the time and, well, we're going to be the models, so we can't do it, can we?!"

I did at last surprise her when I said "Well, Ginger let me into the secret because she had guessed that herself. I hadn't, of course. But that's all cool with me."

Surprised? I think it really disappointed her — she would have preferred it if I had needed to be forced into agreeing to have the make-up. Little did she know I had been experimenting, ahead of this moment. OK, I hadn't been successful, but it meant that my mind was made up — I was "going for it", with Ginger's loving support. Now, where was she? And where was Karen?

"You're probably wondering where the other two girls are." Said Margot's Mother. "They will be a while yet — they have gone to get some materials from the salon. They have a great selection of cosmetics there that we can choose from. While we wait, I thought I would tell you about the look we want to create on the three of you."

I studied Margot's Mother — scary or what!!

She was crazy, at the very least. I was almost fearful of being left alone with her. Her flame red hair was matched by flame red nails — long, claws really, ready to scratch the living daylights out of a little boy like me, or a little girl as she seemed intent on making me. Yes, those nails haunted me — a vision of her, painting the nails with sweet-smelling nail polish. She had an ability to convey thoughts with ease. "These could be yours, if you're not careful" came to my mind. Long, long nails, perfect talons.

Her stare was fixed. This woman made me feel distinctly uneasy. It was easy to see where Margot got some of her traits from. The two of them sat in the lounge where we were to wait. One, the redhead; the other, the long, now-streaked, lighter-haired girl. "So tell me, I'm really very much up for this. Whatever have you got in mind? I won't be shocked." I said. I wasn't going to be intimidated by them, especially not Margot's Grande Dame of a Mother!.

In fact, I meant what I said. After all, what was the worst that could happen? Possibly, I could end up having to walk down the street as they planned me to be. As it was, it would be in the competition hall. On a platform. In the spotlight!

"The three of you will have different hair colours and lengths and styles. This means there will need to be minor differences in your make-up. But you'll essentially look like the same girl with a different hairstyle, that's the idea." The Mother said as she got into her stride.

Me. Look like one of three girls. ……..By now, I wasn't at all fazed by that.

"You'll each have the same foundation; a mid-tone that suits a redhead, a fair haired girl and, finally, whatever colour we work out that you should be". I wondered if she knew of the plan for my two-tone style. "Then, you'll all have the same long eyelashes. They are essential in the strong lights that will shine on the stage. You may not have had eyelashes before and they do take getting used to — so you'll have those tonight for the first time".

Eyelashes! I really hadn't expected them. My face betrayed it.

"Ahhh, they're not as much of a problem as you might think. In fact, they make a girl fell really vampish, I can tell you! Just enjoy the feeling. We'll gave to get right up close in their fixing, so I'll take care of you! Then, there will be the same mascara. I'm torn between using darkest black and a bright vivid blue. The blue would go well with Ginger's colouring, and maybe yours if you're to be a redhead, but it suits many blondes less well - unless you remember the blonde in ABBA, what was her name? Her eyeshadow and mascara were always vivid blue — ideal for a blonde. The same goes for the eyeliner. Probably best to be darkest black. Finally, you'll need blusher on your cheeks and that needs to be pronounced too — all because of the lights."

"I really like the sound of that - all of that." I said, not flinching over the lashes that I would still find difficult to have put in place.

"Well, we'll have to surprise you how good we can make you look." Said Margot.

Not intimidated, I smiled and said "How good Karen can make all three of us look. Oh, with the help of your mother too." OK, I was accepting that this woman was now involved. What threat could she be? To me, none. To her daughter, none. To the other two girls, none. There now, I was talking of myself and the other girls as one and the same.

In this context, I was seeing myself now as "one of the girls". That would change as soon as Ginger returned. With her, I was anything but "one of the girls", and yet, when we kissed through the lipstick that she had put on me that first time, it was a special moment.

Karen and Ginger arrived back from the salon soon after. They carried boxes of packs of cosmetics — not High Street brands, but clearly a great variety. Enough to do all of us twenty times over. This was to be a first. The first of how many times?

The hairstyling session went much as before. each of us was washed, conditioned and combed-out. Margot's Mother took no part, apart from watching the proceedings. Margot showed no affection to Karen in the way she had before, but I made clear whenever I could, that Ginger was very special to me. She responded, likewise. Soon I realised again that I was really growing to love her.

Karen was in enthusiastic mood. "We've got all we need!"

"He knows." Said Margot. "He guessed!"

"Great! That means we can get on — so long as it's all right with you?" She looked into my eyes. "Ginger suggested it was fine, so it's fine." I said, making clear, I hoped that things were growing between Ginger and me. Ginger just smiled — that lovely smile.

Washing, rollers, colour, drying, styling, back-combing. All were coming. The wash and rollering were to be done for all three of us. No colour — "No not until the event itself. The judges have to see the impact of the work we do — so they want to see the before and the after. Before the hair is cut, coloured and styled.

I thought - Oh yes, and then eyelashes, mascara, eyeshadow and the rest. Oh, I could handle all of these. Whatever Karen's wishes are!

The eyelashes would be a trial because I was sure my eyes would not stop watering — and indeed, tears seemed to flood from my eyes, but eventually, a pair of long lashes were affixed and my make-up was complete. That was after the hair was washed, conditioned and towel-dried for all three "girls".

We were all ready for the rollers to go into our hair when Margot's Mother chose to intervene. Looking directly at me, she said "There's something wrong here." None of the rest of us knew what she was on about. "Definitely." She said.

"Explain, Mother" said Margot, in a way that I was later to understand was primed.

"You're clothed wrongly for this event. It has to be right. You have to change."

She clearly meant me — my clothes. "I have nothing to change into." I said.

"Oh, but you do! We have lots of clothes here that will suit you well."

"Well, I said we'd have to surprise you how good we can make you look." Said Margot a moment later. So this was what she had meant.

Karen and Ginger looked at eachother, the implication dawning on them. "I did say you had to face up to this, didn't I?" said Ginger, coming closer to where I was seated. Her perfume filled my senses. She was on-side with this. Another "point of no return", I guessed. That warm sensation inside was running high on all of this. If I wasn't careful, I would cum at just the thought.

My mind was set. But, now this was another step.

They both looked at me, Margot and her Mother, daring me to refuse. If I did, they'd have won. But if I didn't, in a way, they'd have won too. I was in a no-win situation again. What it meant was that I had to go with gut feelings, instincts, and what mattered most was Ginger. Would she still see me as a boyfriend?

Ginger's wonderful red hair was combed down each side of her face. It was darker than usual, making her even more stunning. "I'll still love you, if you do it."

Her words, again, clinched the decision. He had told me anyway. Beforehand. This just confirmed it. We could be together.

Just a few minutes later, there I was in the bedroom. There were several outfits spread over Margot's bed. They were there for me to choose from. Margot wanted to stay and see me choose. Her Mother spared me that. Karen and Ginger promised to love whatever I chose. "Don't you dare be long!" I was told. So there I stood, in Margot's bedroom, faced with a choice of her clothes and her Mother's clothes. Even down to the shoes that, in her Mother's case were size 8, just like my own.

I really wasn't ready for this but had committed myself. Maybe another time I would relish this experience. For now, I just wanted to get back to the hairdressing. The first item that I picked was a long, deep burgundy coloured, skirt which was quite plain. To go with it, I chose a white blouse that had a frilly front that seemed to work well. The neck wasn't high, so it wouldn't interfere with my hair. A good choice. I returned to the room where the hair was being attended to.

"Not good enough!" exclaimed Margot's Mother. "You have no underwear!" Well, she was wrong. I did have the boxers I had arrived in. This was clearly not enough.

"You ignored the underwear laid on the bed! Go back immediately and get the prettiest ones on that you can find!"

The underwear? The bra and knickers and the long slip that were there? Was she serious? Indeed she was. I saw from the broad grin on Margot's face that she had been waiting for this moment. What a pity I hadn't foreseen it, worn the bra and knickers and brazened it out! "This will make your transformation complete…." she said, keeping that smile. "……then we'll see how surprised you are to see how good you feel with the way we can make you look." Said Margot.

I would not let Ginger see that I was weakened by this. I could not. I would not. She had to see me go into this with her blessing. "He's already tried mine!" said Ginger. "He knew this was coming and so we got together! I think he looks cools and we even talked about buying him some of his own!" ...........NONE of this was true! NONE of it, at all! But she had come to my defence. In a moment, she had thrown back the dominant words and trumped them with her own.

"You're kidding!" said Margot. "Well, that makes him all the more of a honey in my eyes!" said Karen. "So, you liked the feeling?" said the Mother from hell — as I was coming to view her. "Did it turn you on, just a little bit?"

What right had she to ask? I reacted strongly. "I'd say it was none of your business and that we'd better get on with Karen's evening, don't you? This has lost the point of why we're here, with all your interventions. Let's just "Do Hair!"

If we did that, Karen said, we would lose the make-up practice, but we could do that next week — just a week away from the competition. By then, we might all have cooled down. So, my bra and knickers would wait. Ginger and I agreed. Margot stayed silent and her Mother flounced out of the room.

Whether we would have a make-up Artist next week was very much in question by now. Karen did her best to develop into her regular salon chatter and both Ginger and I indulged her to the full while Margot sat, as some clients do, staring into the mirror and saying nothing. It had all gone "pear-shaped" from her point of view.

I did keep the skirt and the blouse, and the pair of size 8 shoes. Their heels were quite high and the straps were strange on my ankles. But they did add a certain "something", I had to admit. I lapsed into a girlish pose, inadvertently. I was clearly not averse to the role I was playing. Just as I had been this morning with the narrow escape from detection by my own Mother. I was certain that I couldn't live in this character all the time, but to dive into it from choice from time to time, now that could be really hard to refuse.

Karen talked about the cut I would have next time or at the competition. She talked about how my fringe had become totally out of control, leaving my forehead open and ruining the shape of my face. I just had to have a fringe cut in. It would go with the longer Wedge-cut that I had now. She commented on how the length had grown at the back, leaving her the option to cut a savage step in above the nape of my neck, or to allow the length to come all to the same level - a pure Page-boy Bob cut, like her own. As I looked in the mirror, I just wondered what name I'd have as a girl.

After all, I would need one on the evening of the competition.

She talked of Ginger's great weight of hair and how it might be lightened. She too might change the parting or the fringe that she had been wearing for weeks, if not months. They explored her previous cuts and styles; which had pleased her most?

Margot was resistant to any of this. She sat there as her hair was rollered, wincing if it became too tight, complaining if it were not "too tight".

The rollers were done. The dryers roared. The styling began, as before. Again, we came away with the Wedge, the "Big Hair" Flick and the French Pleat. The same three styles as before. Would we keep them next week and for the competition?

There was little to take photographs for Karen's portfolio in what we had done this evening. She took a few shots in any case, just to complete the record. I was to be stunned the following week when she showed us the difference between the way our hair had been when we started and now.

We were about to leave. I realised that my hair was complete and I was still wearing the skirt and blouse. The blouse would be tricky to remove without destroying the style. What was I to do? There was no alternative. Remove the skirt and heeled shoes, but keep the blouse for the walk home. Just as well I hadn't put on the bra, Ginger said quietly. "But you can try mine on anytime!" she said in a whisper, reminding me that I hadn't yet thanked her for that intervention.

"You're a star, Ginger! I'll wear any of your clothes any time!"

As we were about to leave, the conversation paused as Margot's Mother re-appeared. All sweetness and light, she was. She said how much she had enjoyed our being there, that she hoped to see us next week and that the make-up was so important that she would really do her very best for all three of us…….. girls!

"Don't forget to return the blouse, will you?" she said to me, "..unless you find it just your style. Remember, it does need a bra underneath."

"Well, there's a whole week before we're here again," Ginger said, picking up where we had left off in our one-to-one conversation. "We could do it all again, just the two of us if you like and my whole wardrobe could be yours, you absolute honey!"

I walked her home and we talked about almost anything but hair and make-up, or clothes — male or female. We arranged to meet over the weekend, this time at Ginger's place. I arrived home exhilarated. Almost ignoring the way I was dressed, I studied the way my hair, again, was set in its now longer Wedge style, with the sides pointing forward over the lower part of my chin — yes, no longer on the cheeks, but below them, at the front. The crown was higher than ever and the back waiting for the blunt cut Karen was promising.

I almost walked straight into a minefield. My Mum and Dad were both still up and awake. I was again trapped — in the garden, facing the house with its lights on. This wasn't a situation I was ready to face, especially after the stand-off with Margot and her Mother. I just had to wait. I wasn't ashamed. I just knew that the explanations would take too long, might not go right and needed rehearsing in case I ever was discovered — whether that be "this much" in feminine form, or more so! This morning had been "more so", that was certain.

Eventually, the house became quiet. I went in and went to bed. I removed the blouse, without too much damage to my hair and couldn't resist putting restorative touches to the style before going to bed. I woke early, again with a knock at the bedroom door.

"Up you get!" was the call from my Mother……….. Would she come in this time? Again, I was trapped! One of these times, it was going to happen. Discovery. How could I cope with that? Again, the desire to continue faltered. Could I really go through with the competition? No, my mother didn't enter the room. She didn't see me with my hair still styled the way it had been last night. How would I have handled it if she had?

Knowing her, she'd have sat me down and talked about it…… She'd probably tell me that she had her hair this way one time. Maybe, she'd tell me that she'd had highlights in it and, just maybe, she'd suggest I tried them. Maybe she'd tell me she'd always wanted to have a daughter to share her joys in hair and beauty with.

"By the way….." she said through the door, "… you haven't seen a lipstick of mine anywhere have you? I seem to have lost one." Where had I put that? I hadn't returned it. Fool. Guaranteed discovery! Did she suspect that I might have it? Surely not! There was no reason at all. "I was sure I left it on the dressing table yesterday morning."

"Nnnno, Mum, not at all — no idea where it could be." I replied. Was that a tremble in my voice? How stupid — and how much more stupid not to know where it was. Where had I left it. Not the bathroom. Not in her bedroom. Where had it been put when I ran into my room on her return? "Not to worry." She said. I would have to make sure it was returned in a way that wasn't suspicious.

The phone rang, despite it being so early. It was for me. "Someone called Ginger, sounds very nice." Called my Mother. I had to wait until I was alone upstairs before going to the phone.

"Hi. I've been thinking." She said, conspiratorially. "We have unfinished business from last night. I loved the way you were quite so relieved when I stuck my words in about the undies. I couldn't bear to see you suffer. Then I thought that you might well like to have some bought for you, to keep just for yourself. I mean it. I want to be there and buy you some as a present. Are you up for it? You couldn't try them on in the shop, of course, but we can have a fitting session here if you like. I'll even let you comb-out my hair too…….."

Crisis! I had to get to the city centre in less than an hour and I was still undressed, still had my hair lacquered and back-combed and still had lipstick on. Urgent need to repair the situation. The lipstick was easy to remove. The hairstyle less so — it had to be a shower and a thorough shampooing. Conditioner too, otherwise I'd be wearing hair like a haystack on the up-coming night of the competition.

An hour later, we were in the local shopping centre, Ginger and me, standing among the bras and knickers that would fit any and every size — provided you knew the size — of body that wanted them My body now wanted them, in Ginger's hands. Not for their own sake; but for the fantasy she was creating.

As we had arrived, she said again "You know this is only because it's you and you're very sexy when we do these things? There's no harm and nobody can possibly get hurt. You're a wonderful boy and I'm delighted we've found another side to you — and to me, too."

The matching bra, panties and suspender belt were chosen. I had to have a suspender belt for the stockings that she would buy me also, Ginger was adamant. Long legged stockings, to cling to the thighs high up. An 'A' cup bra was all I needed "which is a pity, as I'm a 'B' cup. Good thing we're both needing a 38 inch bra." she said. "When you wear mine, we can pad you out a little."

And so it came to pass that I was able to go to the next "Girls' evening" with my own underwear — to really spook Margot and her Mother. Before then, though, Ginger introduced me to her own lingerie in another evening and, again, I dreamed I'd combed-out her magnificent hair. But that's for another Chapter………………

TO BE CONTINUED……………IN CHAPTER 6!

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 6

Ginger's home was shrouded by the rain as I walked towards the door. This evening was going to be special. I had made sure that I had shaved more closely than ever before. I wore a cool denim jacket, crisp white shirt and blue chinos. Male. As I had left the house, Mum's words confirmed it was right. "You're looking good tonight — is it an important date?"

I nodded and smiled. "You could do with fixing the colour again, honey — it's growing out and fading at the same time." Her own hair showed the value of constant care — you would never see roots in her hair (and she wasn't about to follow the fashion of showing roots intentionally!)

Male.

I wanted Ginger to receive me that way. However we ended up. I would start the evening more male that she had seen me over the last six or eight weeks. My hair couldn't be changed. It was now long and the colour was still brown, ready for the competition, although it was fading and my own colour showed quite markedly at the roots. I had purposely dried it rough and pulled the longest parts, from the sides of my face, up with a band. Metrosexual, they called it. Indeed, I was becoming the best example of metrosexual man.

So much so, I had my metrosexual undies with me. The ones that Ginger had been with me to choose and to buy. She had even selected the colour, the lightest silvery blue, with plenty of lace. The knickers were 'long leg' to be the right size and not too tight — no thongs for me thank you very much. The bra was lined with soft fabric and finished around its edges with the most delicate lace. It was stretchy, though, and clung to my chest.

Ginger showed me how to gently push the skin of my "pecs" into the cups of the bra to show the nipples off best. The suspender belt was long and its straps were stretchy too. Long enough, they were, to reach the stockings that still remained in their packaging. I had yet to experience the clingy softness of stockings on my legs. The simple idea was extremely sexy!

But that was not for now. That might be for later. Now, I was Male. Indeed, even then later this evening, even if all of those things were worn, even if my hair was done again into the most wonderful style, back-combed high, and even if the make-up was double glamorous — even if my transformation was complete for the first time.

Now I was to be Male.

How glad I was. It was right. As soon as I saw Ginger at the door. A vision of femininity, she was. From head to toe. Beautiful hair. Pretty face, squeaky clean with no make-up yet. A pretty dress that was shaped closely to her figure, placing the right emphasis on her 38B bust and tiny waist. Her long legs were silky smooth in the sheer stockings that I knew would be just like the pair she had chosen for me, for tonight and for the competition night. She was ALL girl tonight!

As I entered her place, I smelled her perfume. It added to the heady concoction that was building in my mind. "You look and smell wonderful." I said. "You too." She replied. We kissed and lingered before moving into the living room where there we two glasses already poured. "Aperitifs." Ginger said. "Martini. Dry." No choices — Martini was evidently for special evenings.

"I've not tasted Martini." I said. "Well, you should, and you will." Ginger said, moving closer, offering the second glass. The atmosphere was again best described as "heady". It would get more so with a little alcohol and a great deal of "intention".

It was clear that we both were in the mood for love and a first sexual experience together. Our hands touched. Our eyes met and our lips closed in on one another's. There was a pause in the moment that it dawned, we would have sex as boy and girl. We were bound to — there was no escaping it, even if one of us wanted.

The kissing became more prolonged and the alcohol took its effect. The Martini had exactly the desired effect. The kissing turned to passion. Our tongues searched out eachothers inner cheeks. The moment was right. The moment was NOW.

Our hands explored eachother's clothing. Buttons and zippers were undone. Garments were removed within moments. There on the floor in the living room, we joined in a wonderful near frenzy — simple desire let loose. All of my fantasies about her were coming true.

This wonderful girl was mine and I became hers, there and then.

We were lost in a tangle of arms and legs and tongues and nipples and even the hairlines of eachothers' precious fantasy hairstyles. I kissed her ears and licked all along the nape of her neck, my tongue straying into the glorious red curls that she had combed out until they shone, before I arrived.

The love-making was wonderful. The way our passions entwined. Time became suspended as we explored every way in which we knew how to please the other. She gave as good as she got!

Once the passion had been fulfilled and the moment of each of our climaxes, with hers repeated, passed, we lay in a gentle huddle each of us listening to the other's breathing. Pulses no longer racing. Warm in our arms, joined together.

Time meant nothing to me. It was Ginger who spoke but didn't break the spell that had woven around us. "We have to practice — we can do that better!" She laughed and then said, "if we're very lucky!!!" I laughed too. When? Was all I could wonder. When could I be in this wonderful woman's arms again?

"But this isn't what we're here for. You're on a promise, as I remember!". Ginger's words were soft but insistent. "You're here for more than that." Her words were unmistakable. "Nothing can make the evening better" I said, genuinely meaning that there need be no other activities tonight. Meaning that I could happily spend the evening in the afterglow of a truly passionate girl/boy experience. "Nothing at all."

"Ahh. You don't get away that easily. You have to earn your treats if that's what you've been doing. Have you been going along with the hairdressing just to get inside my knickers!??? …….You should be ashamed!!". She taunted me.

"How far will a boy go to get to have sex with a poor vulnerable girl like me?!" "Even going to the shops with me to buy some undies for yourself!…. even letting me buy them!" Her words gathered enthusiasm for the play-acting she was indulging in.

"I'm going to steal all the clothes you came here in, so you'll have to wear some of mine!"

There could have been a grain of truth in what she was saying. Perhaps I did get into this to get this far — but it was probably with Karen who I had fancied all the more beforehand. Perhaps Ginger had been an "unattainable" dream. But the, perhaps not. Perhaps the hairdressing was really for its own sake. This sexual encounter had become a wonderful "spin-off".

There was no secret that I was enjoying the hairstyling and how it was making me look. Perhaps I had gone too far with the make-up but I didn't think so. Ginger stood there, expecting an answer — or at least a protest.

"You'll have to wear some of mine, was what I said!" she cried.

"You're a wonderful, beautiful, fantastic lover, and I'd love to do that all over again." I said — hoping, but not knowing, if it was in my powers to come to a wonderful climax again so soon. "Well, you can't!" Ginger replied. "You're here to be transformed."

My clothes were strewn all over the room, along with some of her own. She suddenly jumped to her feet and gathered almost all of my clothes into a bundle. "There!……." she exclaimed. "I have them all! Now what will you do?!"

She was right. There were no other clothes. Her dress lay on the couch. It had clung to her body beautifully. She still wore the stockings that had made her legs look so silky smooth. Her bra and knickers and suspenders were still on her as she soon made clear, "You have your own undies with you, don't you? You promised you would bring them here. So let's start with them. Where are they!?"

I motioned towards the small parcel I'd left by the door.

" The bra should be first, then the suspender belt, then the stockings. Then we'll see how sexy it makes you feel dressed in such girly things. And then we'll see if you're up to having sex all over again like you say you want. Then, and only then, can you put on the panties to hold you in for a while."

I had no choice — but to go along with this charade. It was clearly her plan and I was a willing partner in her game. "I'm going to watch you." Ginger said, her eyes sparkling with a seductive glint. "You know that this really hits on my hot buttons, don't you?!" I did indeed, and it was hitting mine too. "Take your clothes off — all of them!". As Ginger watched, I tried my best to make it seductive in return. This ended, leaving myself standing in the centre of the room, stark naked. Naked at first, I reached for the bra I had brought with me. It was that wonderful shiny, silvery blue. The lace was beautiful. It was a delight, just thinking of putting it on.

"When do we get to do my hair, then?" I asked, prolonging the anticipation of fastening the bra. Ginger said nothing. "We could start with that." I suggested. Ginger again said nothing. She simply looked at my helpless, used, manhood that was beginning to awaken again — just at the thought of my hair being dressed again, not to mention dressing in her clothes and the undies I had brought.

"I'd said I'd prefer it if I dressed after my hair was done." I said again.

"Then come with me and we'll find something comfortable for you while we do that." Ginger's tone had changed. She was much less the loving, accommodating girl that she had been while we made love. She was more forceful in her tone. There was no question. I was to go with her.

She led me to her bedroom and in a quite off-hand manner, held me a nightie, a silvery blue nightie with lace, one that matched the bra and other underwear we had bought in the shop the day before.

"After we went shopping, I went back and bought this for you — it completes your set. It all matches. You must promise to wear it from now until the competition. Put it on now, and we'll do your hair — then you can do mine, and after that, we can dress you and do your make-up. Your complete transformation."

Could this girl be more perfect? How did she learn to read a boy's passions and get the timing right? Was a complete transformation what I wanted. Could it be, given the way we had just made love as boy and girl? Her insistence grew. "Put it on, now! I can't wait to see you and feel you in it!" She really meant that. I could tell just how aroused she was becoming —as, indeed, I was myself.

The wonderful long silky garment went to the floor and I simply stepped into it. I drew it up my legs, over my hips and on to my body. By this time, a problem arose — quite literally! The nightie became mis-shapen as my cock grew in size again. Before I could raise the shoulder straps of the nightie into place, she exclaimed:

"We can't have that! A nightie has to be sheer and smooth and flat at the front below the boobs — and as you haven't any of those yet, ("Yet!!??), you certainly can't have anything else showing! Pull the straps over your shoulders immediately!" I did as she demanded. There was no alternative. Each strap slid over the shoulder and the lacy front clung to my chest. My flat, male chest. What did she mean… Yet!???

"Now lift the hem of the nightie!" Again, no chance to do otherwise. I did so and exposed my now very full cock that stood out towards her. Ginger was close enough to reach out and clasp it gently between her hands. She squeezed me, gently at first and then more strongly. Her had began to push towards my pelvis, and then back towards the head of my cock.

Slowly, everso slowly. And back. And forth. My mind was again in a spin. I stood, clasping the hem of this wonderful silky blue nightie, my own hands having nothing else to do.

Ginger slowly sank to her knees before me and her hands drew my cock towards her. Pulsating, I was ready for love-making again, but could do nothing. Her lips gently curled towards the head of my cock and she began to devour me.

One of my hands strayed from the hem of the nightie. Up towards the breast line of the nightie. I began to fondle the nipple through the lace as she took my cock in and out of her mouth. Deeper and deeper she seemed to go. More and more my nipple became hard and the skin around it wrinkled in pleasure.

As my hand caressed my nipple, my thoughts moved to my hair, that was how this all began, washing my hair with Ginger watching.

That became colouring my hair with Ginger deciding the colour I should be. It led to a cut, that was now growing out. Again, she had encouraged me. Tonight, it had become part of the transformation I was to have done. My other hand slipped to my hair, leaving the hem of the nightie to fall around Ginger's head as she knelt between my legs in front of me.

My hand ran through my hair, its length now full and its thickness growing. Its style had evolved, from firstly being just a long mess that had no shape, to now being a true style with panache, its ends now blunt cut with the curling under at the level of my jaw line, its crown raised with backcombing that I could do myself, and the nape of its neckline still cut close - where the colour would be dramatically changed for the upcoming competition. Shortly after the thoughts of my hair broke through, I felt a dazzling, sensational orgasm, my cock still deep within her mouth.

I could do nothing else but ease my cock from her mouth and pull her to her feet. Kissing her firmly on her wonderful mouth, I parted her lips with my tongue and shared the cum that had been mine a moment before. She was close to bringing herself to an orgasm and so it was, with a deep kiss, she trembled with exhilaration and we fell together on to the sofa nearby.

We stayed there, she in the clothes she had been wearing, me in the nightie that she had insisted I wear. We lay there for fifteen or twenty minutes, both breathing shallowly and purring with pleasure.

Eventually, it was she who spoke first. "Now we have that obstacle out of the way, we have to do your transformation. And once we have done that, I want you all over again, my boy…….. my girl with a cock!"

"You're truly wonderful, you know that." I said, still breathless. "What a way to deal with a small obstacle like a cock, temporarily in the way."

"Temporarily….. hmmmm," she said thoughtfully. "We can't keep having that happen — and, in any case, I want to save you for later. Wait here a minute." Her words were an instruction. What I was to wait for, I couldn't guess. Soon, she was back with her hands behind her back. "Lift your nightie and close your eyes!"

I did so, and within a moment felt her hands cradling my cock — surely not more love-making, not so soon! "Eyes Closed!!"

I felt manipulation, I felt something being put under my balls and then over, from both sides, my cock. It was tight. It had a tightening feeling. Back over and under, behind my balls. Up and over again. This time further up the shaft of my cock. Tighter now. The third time, whatever this was went under my cock but not behind my balls — just around my cock - which was growing again. "No! You must not let that happen again — not now!!" she commanded.

It was evidently some material, something very stretchy, that was enclosing my balls and now my cock. Under her control. Finally, after another wrap-around, she passed the material down between my legs, pulling my cock down — very tightly - to where it would be out of sight.

Ginger moved behind me and pulled on both sides, taking the material behind my body. I was strapped tight. She tied the ends together behind my back, as if in a thong. "That's better — now I know where to find you when I need you!" she said, as if to my cock, without reference to me. "Hair wash, make-up, drying and styling, and then to try the last of the undies we bought you when we went shopping together!"

Over the next half an hour or more, my hair was washed, as before but with extra conditioner to make it shine. Ginger towel-dried it all over, and then added fewer rollers, but bigger ones, to make the style I was now getting used to. It was near enough a Pageboy Bob, with long sleek sides, a raised crown and the ends of the length turning under. To the back, the shorter hair at the nape of my neck was nearly covered.

It was the same colour all over, apart from the roots now, this did not matter at all but it did make me wonder, looking in the mirror that Ginger held to show me how the rollers had gone in. It made me wonder if I would ever have this "under-colour" effect put in. My hair was still brown, still rather dull if you ask me. I was beginning to want a little — no a lot — more exciting colour. The initial experiments had left their mark on my psyche.

When the rollers were entwined, and I had become transfixed with Ginger as she was now the one controlling what my hair would be like, we were ready for a glass of wine. With that, Ginger said, we should discuss my make-up and how best it would look — what colours did I fancy, what tones in the eye shadow and lipstick. She started with a liberal covering of base foundation, to prepare the skin. This covered my lips and I asked why this should be — "To make it longer lasting and more kissable….." she replied. "You do expect to be kissed after all this, don't you?" Her voice was teasing again, but in a gentle way. My love for her knew no bounds!

Ginger's next steps were to work on my eyebrows, which were lined in brow rather than black. She took a brush to the eyebrows, and decided that several stray hairs needed to be plucked to give better shape. Ouch! That hurt! Ouch! Again… and again. On and on, she went, until she was satisfied. I could not tell how much damage she had done there without getting closer to the mirror. I was later to find that she had been very gentle and reserved in the eyebrow plucking that she had done. I found this out the evening before the competition. That was when Margot's mother became a controlling influence in the "Models Make-up" practice.

Ginger's skills with make-up were remarkable and before long, my hair still rollered, I was facing a female in the mirror. My eyes had a wonderful blue haze of eye shadow. My eyelashes were curled and covered in blue mascara. I had not experienced the false eyelashes when we were last together but Ginger had come prepared with a wonderful long pair of spiky lashes for me. This took the longest time and caused the most discomfort. Eyes streaming, and mascara beginning to run, we had to pause — in fits of laughter.

Eventually, the lashes were in place and I was stunned by the change in the look of my eyes in the mirror! Absolutely stunned. Almost as much as the hair had transformed my looks, so the lashes added a wild sexiness that I hadn't seen before. Ginger was enraptured "I never thought they'd look so good! I must have a pair for the night of the competition!"

My cheeks were swept with crimson blusher. Most of all, I was fixated by the lipstick — the same Christian Dior shade that Ginger had used when we first kissed. The taste was unmistakable. I decided there and then that I should buy one for myself. All of the cosmetics were Christian Dior. Wonderful!

My hair was dried with a hand held dryer, in front of the mirror. The rollers were, again, quite huge on the top and crown of my head. This allowed my eyes never to leave Ginger's face. She knew how wonderful she had made me feel. Her hands soon began to remove the rollers after my hair had been dried and allowed to stand to cool.

Before starting on removing the rollers, she asked "Have you ever slept in rollers?" To which I answered "Not yet." There!… I was doing it now. I could easily envisage going to bed like this. Even having sex whilst in rollers — there would be a thrill! As such thoughts entered my mind, my cock again began to rise. Held within its sheath of elastic lace, there was nothing it could do — except swell, deep down between my thighs.

Ginger took the first roller and began to unwind it, her eyes stared directly into mine. "All of this is being done in secret and that means you're missing the experience of sitting in a salon having your hair styled. You should try that one day."

I think Ginger sensed my arousal, saying "The style will be simple tonight. I think it's time you had a beehive! Like my "Big Hair" that turns you on - why not!".

She was right. Larger rollers, my hair now reaching the desired length. It was ready for a change — and I could live with that. After all, the colour was going to be done next week. Why not an extravagant style now?!

She began to unroll the set and the other curls, that now looked huge to me, sprang into the places they had been dried. I felt an irrepressible desire to run my hands through the curls. They just invited a touch. But of course, I didn't! I had to leave them to her to deal with.

She began and, with what felt like increasing ferocity, Ginger created a wonderful cloud of hair around my head. At one stage, I swear it stood nine or ten inches above the scalp — in all directions.

She then swept the stray pieces into place. It was time for the lacquer. Clouds of spray were coming at me from all directions. Her brush began to sculpture the style out of this cloud of brown hair. How I wished it was RED!

As the style took shape, the pressure in my restrained groin was almost unbearable. She had tied me in very tightly, even when I was small down there. My cock was now much much aroused. The thought of her mouth around it came flooding back. The hair was swept this way and that, taking a wide and high outline in the mirror. It was very much a "Sixties" look that I loved within a moment. The nightie still clung to my chest. My nipples were doubly sensitive. All of this was becoming too much to bear. My heart beat faster and Ginger became aware again. Aware of my arousal, aware of my mild discomfort.

"Just take it easy." she advised. "We have plenty of time and this hairstyle needs care in the finish. You're going to look stunning!"

With the make-up she had applied so expertly, and now the hair back-combed and lacquered, there was time for a pause. I sat back in the chair and admired my brunette hair and make-up. There I was, sitting at the dressing table mirror, clothed only in the silky blue nightie and with a female face and hair adorning my picture of myself. Thoughts came to mind that said I could almost fancy myself as a girl. I had lost none of the masculine appreciation of the female form — except that now, that form was my own!

We never did get around to styling Ginger's hair that evening. We made love yet again — this time with my transformed vision of womanhood and her still gorgeous feminine form. Confusion could have over-whelmed me but everything told me that this was hat we both wanted — nobody could write a book about such an encounter — so early in a love-life that we were beginning to share. Ginger clearly wanted me as a male and also as a female — but both of her lovers had a cock for her! My dreams collided with eachother. I had never thought of such a situation. I was loving every minute and she, too, was as horny as hell because of the way I was able to take on board the transformation that I had. Deep inside her again, time and again, my lipstick found its way not only to her lips, but to her nipples, to her thighs and to her love nest. My hairstyle was so well set, I emerged it seemed hours later, with a perfect style — well, nothing that a brief comb-out wouldn't make perfect.

As we lay after making love again, I began to think about the walk home. I was dressed in female underwear. I was wearing full, and very colourful, make-up. My hair was now in the most dramatic style I had yet experienced. If I walked home like this, I'd be arrested! If I walked home in Ginger's outer clothes, I'd still be arrested — for soliciting!

There was no alternative - Ginger's family were away for a few days. I could not go out — I had to stay. It would allow me to sleep in what I was wearing, wake in the morning and, I hoped, make love again with Ginger……………. after removing all my femininity!

After all, there was the weekend coming — and the hairstyling competition!!!!!

TO BE CONTINUED……………………………….

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 7

We woke the following morning and I made it to the shower first. I was determined, again, to be male and to make love as a male …….with Ginger taking the female role. We had made love that way for the first time last night. We had made love "as two girls" as well — but with one having a cock. And we had loved every minute.

I had slept in the nightie but removed it quickly. I just had to remove the nightie which for some reason felt out of place. I did this by delicately slipping the shoulder straps aside and sliding the garment down. First over my chest, where my nipples stood erect., then down over my hips and to the floor. There I stood, still with hair to die for, with my face still made up with colour and style enough to be a photographic model. My eyes were the fixation now. The lashes, oh! The lashes! I really should not have slept in them. They were still tightly stuck in place. The trouble was that the mascara and eye shadow around them were now a complete mess — just as though I had applied them myself, which of course I hadn’t. I looked like a Panda Bear.

It had to go — all of it. I peeled the lashes from my eyelids - OUCH! — that wasn’t easy and I made a hash of salvaging them — no re-use for them then! Such a pity. Another pair would be top of the shopping list! The cleansing cream took an age to shift the colours that I saw in the mirror. Perhaps the shower would do better.

Whilst I stood at the dressing table, I studied my finger nails. They were the one part of me that had been neglected. Would I have to have a good manicure to complete the illusion that would have to be created for the competition?

My sleepiness meant that I showered at length. Washing my skin all over, I cleansed every pore. Some areas were more difficult to do than others. My eyes did take for ever to cleanse. Maybe the colours and the cosmetics were especially hard-wearing. My mind wandered back and forth. I thought of the bliss of the previous night. To have made love the way we had. To have experienced wonderful boy/girl love-making and, in a sense, girl/girl love-making. I marvelled at the experience. I just imagined myself again in both guises. I thought of myself, first as a male, second as a lesbian, at the same time loving the same beautiful girl. I wondered what she would be thinking (or what she had dreamt about) when I returned to the bedroom. Ginger would be laying dozing and this would allow me to admire her. My love for her had burst upon the very being of my existence. She had loved me both as a boy and as a girl with a cock.

Was this all just as a result of preparing for a competition — all the result of helping a girl-friend to get experience of different hairstyling processes?

The shower was hot and very relaxing. My hair had need of a thorough wash, to remove all the lacquer and the back-combing, and a thorough conditioning to prepare it for what was to come — colouring, styling, drying and finishing. Quite a set of treats in store! My mind wandered again to what was to be the activity of the day — and where it was leading.

By the time the showering and hair treatments were finished, I stood in the shower as a male, unmistakably. My hair was long, sure, but the rest of me was unmistakable the male that had enjoyed his love-making with a beautiful girl the night before. My cock began to rise again. Where had all of this libido come from?! He word fetish wasn’t one I had used ever, but I think I knew what it meant now. That was really what I was experiencing. It was. The towel I used to dry myself was warm and surrounded me like a blanket. I rubbed my skin and found great warmth in the feeling having done so. I combed my hair through with a huge plastic comb that I found in the shower. It must have been Ginger’s. It was slowly drawn through the length of my hair, with me imagining myself in her position. Then, with a towel wrapped round my hair, there was a towelling wrap that was ideal to finish off with.

Waking Ginger with a gentle kiss, having licked her cheek and found the wonderful nipples beneath her nightie, I went on to lick her abdomen and finally, I found my way with an eager tongue, to the nest between her thighs. I parted her legs began to play. Time stood still. The tastes and the textures I found were unbelievable — and they were all hers! As she reached a first climax, I cradled her in my arms and left her to luxuriate in the pleasure — pleasure that would be repeated.

Quietly we talked of the coming day’s plans. We had to be at the venue for the competition by 5pm. The evening would last from 5.30pm, when the judges would see us "before", until late in the night, when they would judge us "after" what Karen had done with us. This meant that it would be a long evening. Before that, however, Karen wanted us to get together to be told what she intended to do with our hair, and also how we would have our make-up done. My mind began to wander again — what absolute joy was in store!

Ginger went to the bedroom and, after some time doing what I couldn’t be sure, came back dressed in casual clothes - she said that mine were to be much like hers; not surprising because I was borrowing from her wardrobe. My own clothes were shabby and there was no time to go home for fresh apparel (or to go to the shops to buy new). Ginger was insistent that I wore underwear but not that we had purchased together.

Ginger said that we should try on some other underwear that she had bought for me. A corset, she said, would give me better shape. She held up a boxed garment for me to open. It was blue and silky, like the rest of the underwear I had worn. However, this was made of tight elastic, or lycra; it was a "firm control" garment. Before, I had been wearing the suspenders, the stockings and the bra. This took the place of all three.

There was an important first item. Ginger also held up the elastic lace band that had held my cock out of sight the night before. My cock restraint. Something that I had been forced to wear under the nightie. I couldn’t wait for it to be put back in place, even the thought of it exerting great pressure in the rising of my cock.

"This is to be put on under the underwear, it’s absolutely essential." said Ginger. "Just so I know exactly where you are at any time." She said to my cock as she tied the lace in place. My cock refused to subside, making the strapping difficult. Ginger was frustrated by this and, the more she fumed, the harder my cock became. "You’ll have to stop that!" she commanded. "But I can’t!!!" I exclaimed.

"We’ll see about that……" she said, as she examined her finger nails. I hadn’t noticed that they were so heavily lacquered in a crimson enamel. "We’ll see!!!"

Gently, but insistently, she clawed her nails down the length of my cock — down, and up, and down again. The effect was electric — both incredibly sexy, but also totally distracting. I lost my hard-on within seconds. "Great!" she exclaimed. "Now for the tie…………!" The lacy band was tied around my balls and my cock once again. Tighter than even before. The ends of the lace were pulled firmly down between my thighs and tied like a thong behind me, once more.

"Got you!" Ginger exclaimed. "You’ll need to get used to that."

The knickers lay on the sofa bed. In the same shimmering blue with lace trimmings that had made my nightie look so wonderful.

I felt the pressure from the black lace restraint that went around my balls, over my cock so many times - behind my back. My cock was held back between my legs but we both knew it was already bursting to be released. No such luck. There it was to stay for now. How else could I stay inside the corset that was the last item to be worn? Its lycra, satin and lace construction meant a close fit to my body, with long sides, there was no question of my slipping out of control.

She told me how to put the corset on — by stepping into the garment and pulling it up first over my hips, then over my abdomen, then over the waist until it reached my chest. By this time, I was taking shorter breaths. Firm Control! Now I knew the meaning of the words! The cups were then to be settled over my chest — with little to put in them, the ‘B’ cups were a sorry sight. Ginger showed me again how to draw the flesh from my ‘pecs’ up into the cups and, when this was done, I actually could boast a pair of ‘B’ sized tits!

Then, I fastened the corset’s suspenders in place, the long straps hanging loose down my legs. They, too, were blue and lacy. The dream intensified.

Now, where were the stockings? Their little package appeared lost. I found myself almost desperate to find them — I wanted the feeling of the sheer nylon encasing my toes, my insteps, my ankles, my calves, my knees and my thighs…… up to their being fastened to the suspenders. Where were they??!

"Where are my stockings??" I shouted.

"You have to say please, to get them!" Ginger teased me.

"Where are they!!???" I cried.

"I’m wearing them — to warm them up for you! I’ve stolen them!" she giggled.

"You’ll be surprised what you’ll find with them." She implored me to go searching under her chinos, so I did, still wanting a fresh packed pair of stockings to myself.

She slipped her chinos down and there, between her stockinged thighs, was a cock-shaped vibrator. "You’ll have to kiss this before I’ll give up the stockings." She dared me.

"I got it in case all of this took your mind off making love — but it doesn’t seem to have been a problem — but you’ll have to kiss it anyway — we’ll both play with it later". So there it was, a cock for me to suck - her cock! Then I could get the stockings.

As I knelt down, my hair suddenly crashed into my consciousness again — it was going to be incredible — ……… in fact, it felt like it was! I began imagining……..

It was actually heavy! All of the back-combing had given it such volume, and all of the lacquer had given it such body, I could feel a real weight around my head as I went down on Ginger’s cock. My head was spinning once more — Was I dreaming?

She giggled loudly, allowing my lips only briefly to encircle the vibrator. She whipped it away and said "Only teasing — you get the stockings fresh and in their little pack — you can have my cock later, but only if you want it! Oh, by the way, you do still have to say "please" for the stockings!"

Reality checked in again. I was facing her, dressed in my corset, with no other vestige of femininity. My make-up gone. My hair plain, brown and crying out for a set. And there she was, making me say please for a pair of stockings. What on earth was I doing????!!!

I was given the stockings in a cellophane and card pack. I unwrapped the pair and gently slid my hand into the first, to roll it before stretching it up my left leg. The clasps of the corset’s suspenders were tricky — I had never worn one before! After three attempts, and a near laddering of the stocking, the first was fastened, tight. The second, on my right leg, was easier — I could easily learn this! The ones around the side, and especially the backs of my thighs proved really tough….. I was near exhausted when they were all six fixed in place.

So there I stood, corseted tightly, stockings to die for and needing shoes!

Now all that was left, was to get my "tits" arranged. Ginger’s instructions were clear. "Pull the weight of your tits into each cup. Let’s see how big your boobs are!" This took me into even deeper uncharted territory. This was Ginger! This wasn’t Margot — now almost forgotten — or her scary Mother! This wasn’t Karen either. This was the girl I fancied so much now and had made love with only an hour ago. She was commanding my final steps in a transformation!

There I stood, hardly elegant but encased in feminine clothes with my soon-to-be bouffant hair around my soon-to-be made-up face. "Now there’s just a little left to do before we can let your cock free!" Ginger exclaimed.

We had to prepare ourselves, our hair and our skin, as the base on which the Apprentices would be working. No colour, no style, casual clothes. But we had to have clothes for the event chosen for us. That’s where scary Mother of Margot was to come in. With that and the make-up she was in charge of. Before that even, we had to see Karen and hear what she had in mind for our hair styles and colours.

Ginger insisted that we comb eachother’s hair out before leaving. This was naturally a pleasure for me — both to have my hair combed and to do hers too. It was now seven or eight weeks since we had begun this adventure. In that time, my own hair had seemed to grow strongly. It had been collar length when we began and, after the shaping and trimming that Karen had done a few weeks before, its growth had quickened. The sides were now chin-length. The crown was long and the back had reached a length where it covered the "under-cut" of the Wedge style. I could have, if I wanted, pull the hair back into a pony-tail — indeed, many guys my age wore their hair that way. I preferred to leave it long and swinging as a Pageboy Bob will do if the hair is in good condition. Only when it had been rollered did it have the smooth and sleek shine that I had begun to love. That had been how Karen’s hair had been at the start.

Ginger led me out of the house. We had a little shopping to do before we met with the other girls. Shopping first! After that, the next thing was to find Karen and Margot. Margot’s Mother would surely find us, so there was no need to go looking for her! It was late morning when we set off. I felt quite at ease, leaving the house with plain casual clothes.

We passed the Department store where I had first encountered the "Woman in Red". What a lot had happened since then. We didn’t go in. Ginger was keen to reach the Nail Salon a few doors beyond. We were going to need nails for the evening, she told me, and this was the best place to find the right ones. Her own fingernails were very much her own — beautifully manicured and of even length. My own were a disaster — despite my efforts, they were uneven and nibbled in places. Ginger had scolded me for the lack of care I continued to show to my hands. "A manicure!" she ordered!

Somehow, I hadn’t been prepared for that — quite why not remains a mystery — there had been talk about the importance of immaculate nails at some time in all of this. There had been Margot’s Mother with her "talons" that shouted "Sex!" Then there had been Ginger’s own nails that clawed my erect cock into submission not long ago.

A manicure it was to be. I was introduced to the Manicurist, Crystal, who led me to her treatment table. "Have fun!" said Ginger. "Where are you going?!" I said, stunned that she was turning to leave the Nail Salon.

"Oh, nowhere special……." She answered enigmatically. I was left with no option but to sit as directed in front of Crystal and watch as she began a treatment programme that lasted nearly an hour. She asked me about my diet and how I had looked after my hands (not at all, it was true!). She asked if I used moisturiser or lotions to soften the skin — which I never had done. She asked what nail polish I was usually preferring — which, of course, I couldn’t name as I had never worn nail polish before! She asked if I had thought about false nails — which I hadn’t for a moment.

"Well, you really have a lot to learn!" she summed up the situation she saw. "We’ll have to start with the basics and move on from there. I hope you have time!"

She applied a gloopy cream to the skin on my hands and rubbed it all over, back and forth, along the fingers to their tips and back to the palms of my hands. She rubbed the cream in deeply and spent minutes massaging each finger. When satisfied, she took a further cream to apply to my finger nails themselves. "This will soften the nail before we deal with your cuticles." Cuticles?? What were they? I had never heard the term. "These imperfections around the beds of your nails" she explained.

My fingers were again cleaned and then submerged in a warm bath of another solution that, she told me, would make the cuticles easy to remove.

All the time, she looked at me closely, making it clear that a male hand and a female hand were the same to her. Turning a male hand into a female hand was not a great challenge. Maybe she had done it dozens of times before.

She dried my hands and then turned to a tray of tools that look like a medieval torture chamber’s kit. There were knives and rasps and files and prodders and pokers and scalpels, not to mention the polishing equipment I could see waiting — I would feel that before long! Beyond the tools were sets of false nails, all of a neutral colour. I wondered but soon realised, yes, I was to have a set of those — all on Ginger’s instructions, quite clearly!

"I have plenty of time." I said. "How long does it take to get nails as wonderful as your own?" I had already admired Crystal’s long shapely nails. They were a deep crimson red and had a high shine, clearly build up in several coats, to reach absolute perfection. "There’s not a flaw in any of them." I complimented her.

"Thank you, you’re very kind." She said, her eyes meeting mine. "You could have nails like mine in a couple of months, I’d guess….., if you promised not to nibble at them!" She knew all about me. Her eyes were a deep brown colour and they were immaculately made-up. I could tell that this girl was a real professional where beauty was concerned.

As she busily worked on my nails, we talked of this evening’s competition — about which Ginger had told her in advance. She wanted to know a lot about how I had become involved and why. I couldn’t say that I had been attracted to Karen more than Ginger, so overlooked that part, but went on to explain how, for me, it had been a ruse to get closer to a girl I had fancied for a long time.

"I thought I’d be helping by having my hair washed and dried, that was all. We, at first, that was all in fact." I began.

"Did you never imagine that it would change into something more involved? You must have thought it through — after all, what help is a wash and dry?" She scorned.

"Well, actually, it became something more very quickly. But I guessed it wouldn’t make a big deal…. I had my hair set…. On rollers… Karen said it would be good practice and she was doing it on the other two girls."

"There!!! You should have realised immediately — the OTHER two GIRLS is what she said………… It wasn’t going to be long before that would be the way you thought of yourself!" She wanted to know much more, I could tell.

"That’s not right at all. It was just a few rollers to start with. The first time and they didn’t change my appearance much at all. Then. They didn’t, then." I really struggled to explain to her. How I had been in control, at least I thought I was, then.

Crystal’s hands had stopped working on my nails for a little while. I wondered what she was to do next, but there was no motion at that point.

"My hair wasn’t this long, not then." I indicated raising my hand to my own cheek. Her hand followed and she touched my hair. Again, I felt a warmth rising between my thighs — which reminded me of the undies and my cock restraint that Ginger had suggested I should wear all the day. Again, they were that silky satin and shiny blue lace. The corset was exerting such pressure, it was never far from my mind. The stockings were silky smooth chafed by the fabric of the chinos I was wearing over the top.

I was brought back to the "here and now" suddenly.

"I’ll bet you can wear a whole head of rollers now!" she exclaimed. "What style do you wear when Karen does your hair — and will it be the same in the competition this evening?"

"It’s changed since we began." I was warming to describing my own hair and how it had changed over the weeks since we had begun our "Girl’s Nights" and it allowed me to remember each stage in the process. "As it’s got longer, I’ve had a styling cut to develop what Karen called a Wedge Cut — long at the sides and back from the crown but short up the neck, leaving and undercut step. We coloured it all just once or twice — with a semi-permanent auburn rinse — which I really liked a lot." I then remembered how that had made me feel — the confusion about whether I should be enjoying this or not.

"I had a spooky encounter with Margot’s Mother in the Beauty department of the department store just along the road from here — I was to meet her later too!" That memory hadn’t faded. It became clear that Crystal knew Margot’s Mother well when she said: "Ahh, yes, I know the lady concerned — she’s a client of ours here. She has probably the longest nails that I have ever seen or treated. Quite how she keeps them that way, none of us know!"

I preferred not to think! I went on: "After the cut, my hair seemed to grow faster. Karen said it was because of its improved condition…. But I think it was down to me wishing it would!" I really think that was true — the rate of growth, and also the thickness of my hair seemed almost to double from that time on — and look at it now!

"Karen wanted to practice all sorts of other processes and, along the way, she put highlights in Margot’s hair which I must say I’d like one day." That was true — I would like highlights… why hadn’t I thought of that before!?

"Then…." The story went on…. "just when we had talked about me having a permanent colour for the under-layer of my style, everything changed. How much it had been planned, I’ll never know but there was news of this competition, so it was bye-bye colour change until then, they said"

"So you’ve been wanting to colour your hair since then and they’ve not let you? Crystal’s face was a study. "Why ever, when you were willing, would they not let you do such a thing? I’ve coloured my hair a hundred times and it’s never been a problem to make a change — even after when the last one was only a few days ago.

"No idea, apart from it being something to do with the judges seeing a ‘before and after’ view of each model that the stylists will be working on."

"That’s a pity, because I can’t see what you’d be like with other than the plain colour you have. The style is easier to imagine. What colours would you have wanted to be?" She asked and really set my mind racing.

Meanwhile, her hands were preparing my own for the polishing of the nails — still no varnish or undercoat or anything.

My mind ran through the colours — some real, some fantasy — that I had dreamed of having for my own hair. When I thought, it was a real rainbow from blue-black to pastel blonde. I know now that many men with the fetish that I enjoy will have thoughts like these, some of them twenty times a day — even if fewer of them put the fantasy into reality by actually having a colour change. More of them should do so! After all, what’s the worst that could happen? Someone close might take time to understand — but they will. After all, changing your hair colour doesn’t mean you want to change your gender.

Back to my fantasy and Crystal’s question. She listed attentively

"Brown… brown is dull." I said with feeling. "Mousey brown, like I am naturally, is dullest of all! It cries out to be enriched! So, my first thought was towards Chestnut Brown — rich and with reddish glints. I’ve stood in front of the hair colour ranges in the drugstore many times, just looking at the ranges. Chestnut is good, but not bold enough! Auburn……. Now you’re talking! That was my first choice and it will always be special — in fact, if I’m going to have a "usual" colour for myself, I think it will be auburn. I just love its richness and the way it shines in the sunlight. When the hair is back-combed, it gives wonderful lights to a flat colour from the bottle. Then, if I’d be able to, just to make it more interesting, I’d add some lighter highlights to the auburn. Whenever I see a woman with auburn hair and highlights, I’m now finding myself deeply jealous!"

"You’d have to have that done professionally, wouldn’t you?" She asked "The simple auburn can be done at home and there are lots of products in lots of wonderful shades — I’ve used them many times myself." Crystal enthused.

"You’re right — I can hardly set my own hair on rollers…." I admitted, "so putting highlights in would be really difficult… and, in any case, there is a real sense of being given a special treat when someone else does your hair. I guess that’s what’s made me go on… and on… with the Girls Nights."

"What about going blonde? I’ve been blonde lots of times and it really makes a girl feel different, I can tell you! Crystal’s smile was broad, and very, very sexy. Her eyes lit up again.

"Hmmmmmmmm……" I paused…….. "I have yet to find out what it’s like but I have long ago decided that when the chance comes, I’ll grab it willingly! I had expected to come away from an evening with a blonde top and an auburn under-level in this Wedge Cut that Karen had done. I had even insisted that I would on agree to it if I got to choose the colour of blonde — there was no way I wanted to be a ghastly brassy yellow blonde!"

Crystal’s eyes narrowed. "You should have seen me only a few months ago — I purposely went for a the most tarty, bright, yellow ringlets — just to see what it would do to the people I met, and more interestingly to the people I knew well. They ALL treated me differently, I can tell you - I slept with four men I had never slept with previously in that time!"

"So that fits with the common view that blondes have more fun, then!?" I teased. "Anyway, as I don’t want to sleep with men — and certainly not four different ones, thanks…. I’d really fancied a beautiful pastel blonde colour — probably a strawberry shade….. even a little on the pink side, for evenings, maybe. Ginger’s promised me that we’ll explore that, whatever Karen has planned for tonight."

"Tonight! Heavens, look how the time has gone! Ginger will be back now your hour with me is up!" Crystal exclaimed. "But then, you’re finished pretty much. Look!"

I looked down — and to my surprise, the fingernails that I had come in with were gone. They were hidden by the most wonderful crimson, perfectly-shaped nails. Whilst I had been in my fantasy of hair colours, she had been putting the finishing touches to colour on my own nails — not false ones "They’ll be even longer, still yours, if you come back to see me again — maybe a consultation on your own, if you like." said a Crystal that I now saw as a really attractive future friend.

No sooner had we talked a few seconds more but Ginger arrived back in the Nail Salon. Looking gorgeous. Her smiling face told me that she was pleased to see me again — I beamed broadly back and stood as she came in. Crystal told us that the treatment had been so enjoyable, it was "on the house" - I made a mental note to send her flowers.

It was mid-morning now and we had a while to spend in the shops before we were to meet the "other girls" for the afternoon’s preparations. Karen was going to brief us on the hair styles and colours we would be having. Margot’s Mother was in charge of the make-up (and maybe, it seemed, the clothes we were to wear). My mind returned again to the corset, its suspenders and the stockings that covered my legs. Ginger suggested we had time for a spell of window-shopping: "We can talk cross-dressing items if you like. I rather fancy that. Do you?" Guess my response!

TO BE CONTINUED……………… IN CHAPTER 8

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 8

We walked away from the nail salon on the morning of the Hairstyling competition, Ginger and I, like two window shoppers with no cares in their minds. Indeed, there was no care in my mind at all. I had just finished an hour or more at the hands (quite literally) of an attractive young woman.

She, Crystal by name, had given me a manicure that I never thought I would have. My nails were now perfectly shaped — if a little short - and beautifully coloured with crimson nail polish. I'll never forget the smell of that lacquer as it was applied to the nails. It had been put on whilst Crystal and I were talking about the hair "event" in which I was to play a part that evening.

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

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

All of this swam in my mind as we walked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tits!"

"What????"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

TO BE CONTINUED……………………………in chapter 9

FEEDBACK PLEEEEEEEASE!!!!!!!

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe ginger

Chapter 9

We walked back to Ginger's home. I mused over the last few hours as we walked. The morning of the Competition had flashed by as Ginger and I sat in the café sipping cappuccinos and watching the world go by. We had been to the nail salon and I now sported crimson nails. I had talked with Crystal, the Nail Technician — why was she called that? — she deserved something more sexy…. Talon Queen! She had worked wonders with my relatively short nails. The café had seen us exploring a magazine with hair styles and colours that we both might fancy.

I was still dressed in Ginger's most unisex outer clothing — all that had been available this morning after we had woken and made love. I had resolved that I would be "up for" anything that today would throw at me. Whatever Karen had in mind for a hair style and colour. After the description that Karen gave last evening, I had a good idea of what would be done, but how it would look, I couldn't possibly imagine! It was awesome what she had described! Pure fantasy! Whatever Margot's mother would dream up for make-up. Whatever clothing we were to wear — although the last was going to test my resolve, maybe!

We were to go back to Ginger's and change. We had to choose clothes in which the judges of the competition would see us in the "Before" part of a "Before and After" judging process. They had to see each stylist's three (female) models with their hair completely unattended — un-cut, un-coloured and un-styled. Everyday feminine clothing would be fine and, of course, I had none, so had to borrow more from Ginger. I would keep the corset and stockings that she had provided this morning.

My hair was still a relatively dull brown. Its length had reached past my chin for the most part. The cut had been designed to promote the length, reduce split ends and enhance the condition. Nothing more had been done over the past few weeks, apart from several "practice" roller sets and step-by-step cutting to improve the shape. I had grown increasingly fond of that roller setting part of the process. Here was something incredibly sexy. The winding of the hair around the rollers fixated my gaze into the mirror every time. The rollers got larger. The curls got larger. The style got more and more feminine. As the dryer played on my rollered hair, I gave thought to having sex with Ginger whilst the set was taking shape.

I was hooked.

Ginger knew this. She encouraged me. In fact, she had become hooked too. As we set eachother's hair, it became a natural kind of foreplay and we had enjoyed sex several times after the comb-out stage…. but never yet whilst I was still in rollers, nor her for that matter. It had become "Boy and Girl" and "Girl and Girl", separately and together. She was hooked. What a wonderful girlfriend.

"Penny for your thoughts." She said.

I told her, finishing just with "Don't let's give up on this, whatever tonight brings."

"You try and stop me!" was her reply.

We reached the door of her home and entered. Neither of us wanted to eat. My cock was still restrained and in need of release. We had an hour… and oh, how we wanted to use it!

"Keep the corset and the stockings….." Ginger whispered as we settled on the bed. "….. I like the feel of them." She unwound the lacy lycra that had entwined my cock and balls all morning. Blessed relief! We sank into a wonderful haze of gentle-at-first lovemaking. Increasingly urgent, she pulled me towards her and an hour passed in what seemed like seconds.

For me, the best time was the endless oral pleasure I was able to give her, bringing Meg Ryan-like orgasms for real, time and time again. I felt entirely female in those minutes that hung together, seeming like hours. I explored the wonderful anatomy of her pussy, rthe wonderful folds of skin with their nerve endings jangling, the beautiful button that rsponded to the slighted lick of a tongue.... Absolutely fabulous!

We laid back, each satisfied — she, several times over - for a while before showering. Showering together is an over-rated pastime but, in this case it became great fun. We emerged, towelled ourselves dry and then blow-dried eachother's hair.

"Everyday make-up is what was ordered…." Ginger stated with authority. "Let's get to it!" I had to make sure that I shaved as closely as I had ever done before that. There was no place for the slightest stubble or facial hair. I soaped my skin with the hottest water I could bear, remembering I should chill it with freezing cold water afterwards to avoid flushing. I shaved once and then again.

For speed, Ginger did her own make-up before turning to mine. Light foundation would be enough, with some eye shadow and a little mascara. "You'll have lashes tonight, wait and see!" Ginger teased me. I could put on my own lipstick, she said — and I could now, with ease!

The choice of clothes was hers to make. We walked to her wardrobe and I was entirely in her hands. "You should put the corset back on, so that means the stockings too. Go on, you can work the suspenders." Her tone was very matter-of-fact. There appeared to be nothing unusual in what she was saying to her boyfriend.

Could we be called Girlfriend and Boyfriend? I'm sure we could! We had now made love many more times than lots of couples would have.

Still, these were unusual words to pass between a couple, from Girl to Boy!

"What about my cock?" I asked, conscious that the corset was tricky to get into, let alone with a cock that was stirring again.

"Oh, come here!" Ginger said. "Do you mind?" She asked, flashing her fingernails — meaning that the clawing action that put paid to me last time was about to happen again. "Oh, ouch!" I smiled. This was worth it — no pain, no gain!

Ginger chose a long flowing skirt and a blouse with a ruffled front for my "everyday" outfit. Neutral. Nothing to attract great attention. More of a contrast to whatever we would be wearing for the final judging. The idea was to make as much of the transformation as possible between "Before" and "After".

Ginger chose a similar outfit for herself after selecting a matching set of lacy pink bra and knickers that I thought would be gorgeous for myself sometime. Really! I must contain these thoughts that are hitting me increasingly often!

Then, I thought: I still had no female shoes!

Not only that, I still was lacking in the tits department!

"Easy…." said Ginger, "for the shoes…… with the daywear you're in, your own trainers will do — they're not a pretty colour, but they are white and they're almost new. Here… put on these short socks, yes, over the stockings, they'll make you look like the girl in "Grease", Olivia what's-her-face! I'm sure she ended up getting screwed in that movie! Remember when she came out with her ski-tight lycra on and her hair all curled and streaked? Wow, was that sexy! I nearly wet myself, and I was only 12! I fell in love with my first girl movie star!"

It seemed to answer the need and there were no shoes to wear besides the trainers. Then, I gestured towards my bust "that wasn't there".

The tits were another problem. "Don't know what we can do about them!" Ginger exclaimed. "Stuff your bra with a couple of my pairs of knickers — how about that? You can even use ones I've been wearing if you like!"

"Oh, I don't want people to think I'm kinky!" I joked…., reaching for her linen basket. Two pairs of pink knickers later, I had a respectable bustline. Nothing outrageous, but just right.

I now had my make-up done, my clothes all in order and my hair left all forlorn and crying out for styling! Ginger would have none of it. She refused to do anything with it, just towel-dried as it was. "It has to look plain. Just like my own has to."

We compromised. Ginger had two plastic clasps that were nearly as long as the back of my head. They're all over the place on countless girls' heads if you look. Ginger took a tough brush and drew all my hair back at the sides and up from the nape of my neck. She produced a pleat with my newly-washed (plain brown, remember) hair. Plain Jane was a name that would have applied. She soon had me attending to her own hair in the same way. This was tricky to do because her hair is much thicker than my own, and a two- or three inches longer. So, her pleat was a beautiful crowning style — one which I thought immediately that I could live with myself!

We were ready to go to the Hall where the event was to take place — for the first viewing by the judges. This was it. Never mind having been out with polished nails and my hair done previously. My first attempt to pass as a girl before anyone who didn't know me — apart from Crystal at the nail salon, but she had already guessed or been told. She had been very complimentary in any case, but this was the beginning of the challenge that would last several hours.

We walked towards the town centre and the Hall, for inspection. Glances passed between us and other groups of girls that we saw. Nothing suggested anything unusual.

I began to feel quite in the role that I was to play. It was odd to have my hair up and away from my neck. I quite like the feeling and told Ginger so. "Maybe, you can wear it that way more times! Especially if it makes you feel girlie!"

W got closer to the Hall. The number of people around was no more an no less, but I did notice a few girls with what you'd say were "Model" looks; big eyes, high cheekbones — maybe these were some that we would be up against in the competition. We entered the Hall up a long series of steps. I wasn't prepared for what was in there.

I just didn't know what to expect — not the least of it was the raised platform, so that the audience (the audience!!!!???) could see….. but also the lighting rig above the platform — the lights were already shining full flood down upon the chairs and mirrors that stood in a circle. There were fourteen places — each with three chairs behind for each "team" of three models. It was like the stage at Wembley Arena. I was struck by wondering how many people would be coming … just to watch me have my hair cut, coloured and set!

Ginger grabbed my hand. "Aren't you excited?, I am, I really am!" she exclaimed — and the few people who were already inside looked around to see where the shouts had come from.

To tell the truth, I was already over-awed. Excited, in a sense, but just struck by what I'd agreed to get myself into. My cock stirred again, just at the sense of the total inescapability of what was to happen — I was in up to my neck in this, quite literally, and there was no way of escape, even if I wanted it. I thought of making love with Ginger, looking at her as she stood beside me, and my cock really began to remind me how different I was to all the other models.

I had to focus on being as much like them as I could be. Act girlie! Don't overdo it! I smoothed the blouse and the skirt. I looked in a mirror and, just as before at the house, I double-took on the girl I saw there. It was me. How would I look when the make-up and hair had been done. My heart beat was rising. If I wasn't careful, I'd cum in my pants just at the thought. I had to avoid that! I had to cover myself and soon found the exit — to the toilets! Which to go in? The Ladies, of course! To even have thought I could have walked through the door marked Gentlemen was absurd!

There were a couple of girls inside, preening in the mirrors — more mirrors — (they seemed to be everywhere!) and I passed them by into cubicle. I sat to compose myself. I couldn't have peed even if I wanted to, so tightly was my cock tied up. The two girls were talking and I couldn't do anything but listen.

"I've done lots of these before." said one. "Me too, ever been really left with a colour or style that you had to get rid of the same night?" said the other.

"Oh, of course, the more that you go to, the more you know that the stylists are on an ego trip and want to shock everyone else." said the first in a matter-of-fact way. "Well, I've never had that trouble….." was the response. "…pity really, I should think it's quite fun to be out shocking people!"

I paused and thought to myself. Karen's ideas were quite shocking in their way — quite a complex and difficult set of processes — for all of the heads she would be styling tonight. I began to hope that nothing would go wrong. I didn't want to shock too many people. I began to think about how I'd handle that……

"Are you still in there???" Ginger shouted through the cubicle door. She had come to find me because I had taken so long. My cock had subsided, thankfully, so I was free to emerge. "They're getting ready for the first inspections. The room's full!"

And it was. All the fourteen stylists places were taken. Each wore a tunic with the sponsor's logo clearly visible……. "Because you're worth it!" There were more than thirty models already milling round in the middle of the platform. Among them, I could see Karen and Margot. Margot's Mother was nowhere to be seen. Her skills would be applied later. Margot still looked surly — when would that girl cheer up??

Karen, on the other hand, was bubbling. "How cool is this??!! Thanks Sooooo much for going through with this, all of you!! I've decided who to work on first. Guess which one of you!" "You!!!!!!" she said pointing at me directly with a broad smile. Yes, I was to be first onto the platform, first to have the total transformation that was promised. I was not going to have the chance to see what to expect with the others going first. I would end up as the model that the others would be made to look like.

Around me, I was conscious of these countless women — some of them very attractive and most of them experienced in what was to come. I saw redheads — first, in a crowd, I always picked out the redheads — and blondes. There were two or three women with jet black hair as well. Few had brown hair like my own. I wondered why. The judges would see much less change in the blondes and the jet blacks. Maybe that was why Karen had kept our hair as neutral as possible — apart from Margot's streaks and Ginger's natural red that had been enhanced for years.

Few of the girls were wearing their hair 'up' — again, I wondered why. When the judges came to look at us, they would make up their minds before reaching each of them, whereas, with hair up, they'd have to stop and ask for it to be released. How cool was that — to feel hair that had been tied set free. I felt the wave of warmth again as my cock responded. This was going to be a troublesome night if I didn't get a grip on that responsiveness!

The stylists were called to assemble their groups of models around their tables and mirrors. The judges were about to enter the room. There was a hush and Ginger squeezed my hand again. Karen put her hand on the nape of my neck and gently stroked the hairline that was showing as my hair remained tied up in the clasp that Ginger had found. She stroked the hairline again. "You're going to look stunning!" she whispered quietly. "Thanks." Was all I could muster in reply.

The judges began their tour along the line at the far side of the circle of mirrors. So, we would be halfway through the inspection. The first two or three tables almost all looked the same — all blondes, all highlighted, all tousled and shoulder length. Apart from being very predictable, it struck me that their hair was already done! What could the stylists do to show their skills. A good cut, maybe.

The next three or four mirrors were surrounded by a mixed bag of models with styles of hair that were, at best, a rag-bag of shapes, colours and styles waiting to be put in order. There was no great attraction in any of them and, whilst I could imagine my own hair long, highlighted and tousled, these were often short — even cropped — or frizzy curls in a mess. There was one white blonde, whose cropped hair was stunning, it's true - but she looked too boyish for comfort — I thought that I was the only one cross-dressing for the show! Nobody would have rushed to run their fingers through her crop, that was for sure!

Likewise, there was a girl with an aubergine coloured mop that attracted attention as she shook it quite wildly. Again, what was the stylist to do to make something of that? I'd look out for her with interest in the final dressing and judging.

The judges were getting closer. There were five of them. Two were male and quite mildly camp to use a term. Neither was effeminate, but you could tell that they were quite content in their ways. One had light highlights in his hair, the other a harsh "Number one" cut all over. Not my style at all.

The other three were female. One was tall and totally commanding of all the attention. Her red hair was piled high with tendril curls swept around her head. A triumph of construction. I could just imagine how long she had been in rollers and how many pins there were holding that lot up so high! I really could imagine my own hair done like that for a special occasion! I nudged Ginger and said "One day…….. do me like that will you?"

"Ahh, so you really do 'wannabe', don't you!" she smiled.

"Too right!" was my reply.

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, framing her face, with a dark crescent of curls behind, clearly heavily styled and set, enhancing the impact of the blonde around her face. Her bust was huge and her heels were high. I quite expected her to topple forwards at any moment. The last of the 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. The roots were clearly intentional. I studied her again. More than the others. I just had a 'double-take'. There was something about her that made me wonder.

I wondered, quite why I don't know, whether she might just, like me, be a "he". She was perhaps 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. Her make-up was also a little heavy and dated…. Like mine was probably going to be when applied later this evening.

Her body was be-suited in a tight-fitting garment that accentuated her bust. Her stockings, or tights, were shimmering lycra and of a dark flesh tone with a seam up the back of each leg. Her shoes were shiny patents with 2-3 inch heels.

Whether she was a he or not became irrelevant as the three judges descended on our 'pitch' around the mirror. The conversation was rapid-fire questions and, from Karen only, answers. It was as though we were expected, as models, to be deaf dumb and blind. Questions were asked about the hair Karen was to work on. How experienced was she with "these heads"? What were her stylistic intentions? What were the potential problems she anticipated?

Of my own hair, Karen said it was lacking body to carry the style she intended to develop but that would be compensated for with what she called lots of "volumizing mousse". Karen released my hair from the clasp that had held it up away from my neck and my hair fell loosely over my ears and around my chin. I shook it, almost flirtatiously. It was good to feel it free again. With Ginger's hair, it was the very wonderful nature of her own colouring; how could it possibly be improved? She said she believed that she had a way in mind. With Margot's, the issue was different. The condition and the lack of good cutting in the past meant that there was a real challenge, Karen said, but she would do her best.

The three of us looked at eachother in amazement, Margot and I as if to say "thanks a bunch, Karen" and Ginger as if to say "I don't know what you're worrying about — we're all going to look the same in the end!"

The judges, no sooner there, were gone. I was left with my thoughts about judge number three. "She" had looked long and hard into my face in the mirror for a while. It was as if there was an unspoken word between us. Neither Ginger nor Margot commented and the thought passed quite quickly.

The time was coming for us to leave the Event Hall and to make for the local salon where we would have the basics of colouring and conditioning, and also the make-up for the evening, done. We were to go to the salon where Karen was employed and where several of her colleagues on the staff of the salon were waiting to help. They were allowed to no nothing material to affect the style or the colour that we would each undergo. But they would help speed things up by taking instructions, mixing colours, closing the foils that Karen was to apply to our heads, place us under the accelerator lights and such like things.

Ginger squeezed my hand as we approached the door to leave. "You'll have a load of fun with this!" she said as we went down the stairs into the crowed street. I was still in my near unisex gear but close to my skin there were the constrictions of the lace around my cock and the corset, not to mention the stockings that clung to my legs or the bra that hid under the plain blouse.

My hair was still free of that clasp, ready and willing to be attended to at the salon.

TO BE CONTINUED………………………… in chapter 10.

FEEDBACK..... PLEEEEEASE!!!!!!

The day of the competition accelerates. The models move to the salon "Blonde Ambition" where the colouring is at last applied. The boy's supposedly hidden secret is discovered but not betrayed and Karen's plans for the style are revealed.

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe ginger

chapter 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.

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

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……………………….

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 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 >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

An Apprentice Needs Help

by Wannabe Ginger

Chapter 14 (includes 13, - I'm superstitious!) and Happy Epilogue!

Karen was poised to begin the finishing of my hair. As the last of the three models, the three girls, I knew now what was coming. The rollers were still in my hair but the dryer was well behind me. I was cooling whilst Karen paid attention to the two strands of now highlighted hair that would frame my face. They were being toned down from a bright, almost white or platinum blonde shade, to what Karen promised would be Strawberry Blonde!

As the foils were re-sealed, Karen looked at my face in the mirror in front of us. Framed in rollers, make-up still almost perfect - it would need re-touching — there was little doubt in my mind that I would pass off the whole event without discovery. Apart from the one judge, who had promised not to reveal my secret. She herself being transformed and living as a woman, running a successful hair and beauty business. I could just see her in the corner of my eye. She walked around the platform on which this theatre was being played out. Her hair, I thought again, was suited to her mid-40s age, set in a highly structured style, backcombed but leaving the curls from her rollers clearly visible. The whole style in a glorious pastel shade of peach blonde. No, there would be no problems now.

Karen continued looking, saying nothing. She smiled. She was studying the shape of my face, I guessed, just making sure of the way the style would work.

"You're such a star!" she whispered. "I could eat you!"

"Well, the feeling's mutual!" I replied, meaning exactly what Karen knew I meant.

"That's what girls do best for each other."

Her tongue slid across her bottom lip and back across the Cupid's bow that formed her top, lipsticked, lip. Outrageous flirtation it was.

"We have no time now — your rollers must be removed and we will transform you into the finished article — make you one of three triplets who look just the same." Karen said as she warmed to her task. The photographer appeared again. Click! Click!

The first roller was removed, from the front of my head. The hair seemed longer as it was unwound, than I had remembered it. I suppose it's the way the roller stretches and straightens the hair shaft. The curl sprang into the lock of hair that had been released. A huge bouncing roll of hair fell forward across my eyes. My instinct was to raise my hand, as if to catch it. Karen spotted this and instantly warned me. "Hold still!" My hand gripped the arm of the chair on which I was seated. I was helpless and powerless. "Whatever you need to do." I said. "Exactly!" she replied.

That first curl seemed to have every colour that had been put into my hair within it. It was red, oh how wonderfully red, but it had a shaft of blonde, another of copper and another of brighter red.

Karen's hands were unrolling a second strand of hair, then a third — either side of the first. These would be drawn back towards the crown of my head when the backcombing started. These too had highlighted strands that shone in the stage lights.

In the mirror, I could see another model's hair being styled — she was an outrageous blonde with hair that was longer than almost any other model's. The blonding had been quite dramatic — I wondered what natural colour was hiding under there! Her hair was being wound into a pillar of curls stacked high above the crown of her head. Every last strand had been pulled high and fastened securely, leaving what looked like a huge ponytail at first. Then, the stylist was sectioning the gloriously thick mane into pieces that were, one by one, being twirled into rolls and tubes that stacked one upon the other. By now, they were at the third row around the crown, probably nine inches above her head…. And there was more left!

I was sure that the work in that style would earn the stylist a place in the prizes, at least. Her two other models had different styles, one was a very untidy shaggy style — which I didn't like at all — very informal and streaked with blonde. Just a mess really — that would set the stylist back… or maybe it wouldn't with the contrast to the piled-high blonde. The third of her models was a raven headed, Mediterranean girl whose hair was a huge tumble of ringlets. Almost jet black. She had cleverly put very fine streaks into the hair to accentuate the curls. Indeed, this girl was a serious contender for a prize.

My attention had been distracted from the work going on above my head. By now, at least six or seven curls were unrolled and Karen was working increasingly fast. Each curl was allowed to rest on my head before anything was done with it. The ninth, tenth, eleventh unrolled; all still the same diameter; and all holding the same volume of my extended hair.

Karen paused for a minute.

"We must check those kiss curls." She said, meaning the strands that would be at my temples, toned strawberry blonde. She unpeeled the first of the two foils — "Perfect!" she said, reaching to the other and removing the foil.

Try as I might, I couldn't tell what they would be like when dried — all I could see was that the colour was nowhere near as white as before. The toner was removed there and then. Still, I couldn't tell what they would be like — except that they would be different to both Margot and Ginger — neither of whom had highlights there.

They made me feel just that extra little bit more feminine. My thighs tensed again. The restraint was as tight as ever and the arousal had come back. I was conscious of the wetness around that area but there was to be no release — for hours!

The underwear, too, reminded me that whatever I was looking like on the outside, there was a real paradox in the way I was feeling — a boy's body, encased in female clothes — alright, that's more than enough of being unusual. The make-up and the hair were external signs that enabled me — and would enable me to continue — to pass as a girl. But having complete underwear — that was a matter of my own choice, nobody else's.

And now I was loving it! I consciously posed for the photographer for the first time.

Click! Click! "This will make a fabulous collection in an album and the press." He said. The press??!! I hadn't thought it would get that far!

There was more to this than helping Karen with her work and this competition. There was more to this now because I had become very close to Ginger — and she to me — dressed this way. Made-up this way. With my hair being done this way.

The genie out of the bottle — that was very true.

Karen was beginning to work on the removal of the last of the curls, more than twenty-five rollers were now cast aside. The smaller ones, marginally smaller, from the nape of my neck, we combed through once. She began gently brushing them through. It was an incredibly sexy feeling. Looking at myself in the mirror. I could certainly fancy someone that looked as good as I surely soon would.

My thoughts lurched back to the early days of this process. To when I had gone home the first time with hair that was coloured. Treating it very much as a laugh, I made light of its significance. My Mother had been home and had been cool about the whole idea. Her own experiments with her own hair colour over the years made sure of that.

She too treated it as a laugh. "So many boys do these things, these days…" she said. "Not like in the Sixties, but I'm sure loads of us then would have done, given half the chance. Made our boyfriends do that, I mean. We just went as far as long hair — everyone did."

My mousey-brown hair had become a much richer shade. I had been quite expecting a reaction; only hoping it would be cool. She said it would be 'ok' with my Father. So it proved to be. In fact, I'm not sure he had noticed before, one evening, Mum said that she'd grown used to the colour of my hair and really quite liked it. She suggested that she'd help me choose the colour "next time". If that wasn't approval, I couldn't think what was. Dad kind-of murmured tacit approval. It was funny that he seemed almost to avoid the issue.

With the competition in mind, for several weeks, that colour sufficed for me- Karen's intentions were that I should not change the shade at all and, as the colour began to fade, it had become less noticeable. Dad never mentioned it again, but Mum had repeatedly drawn attention to my hair.

One time, when she had returned from the salon having herself had a change of colour, she said I should try her colourist — "She's very good and would really do it well… if you'd go to her at the salon." I declined, saying that I'd be too shy for that — being among all the women having a colour done. Little did I know that I would soon be doing that …. brazenly!

Another time, she said she was going to the department store and could easily fetch me a home colouring product, if I'd tell her the colour I'd like. We did talk about it that time and, maybe I was tempted. She had discovered my liking for really auburn shades and we talked about alternatives.

She was on the point of leaving with an "order" before I said I really shouldn't, not then — knowing that the competition was only 2-3 weeks away. So there it rested.

Back to reality - to "here and now"………

Karen brushed each curl through carefully, preserving what would finally make the style so…. So!!!

She put a clasp into the locks that covered the top and the crown of my head.

She combed the lower strands, those that were most heavily extended, into a curtain across the back of my head — well, I think that's what she was doing. It was difficult to see in the mirror. My gaze was fixated on the process that was unfolding before my eyes. Before my heavily made-up eyes. The lashes fluttered but, weighed down by mascara, moved slowly. Almost vampish, they were. Surrounded by glorious eye shadow. Fixated, that was the word. I couldn't shift my eyes from the vision.

Karen then took a pair of the most enormous electric curling tongs from the shelf beside her. They were ready to transform that curtain of hair into a rolling, springing, bouncy flip curl. All around my neck. The sides spread out wide until, unexpectedly, Karen turned one side, the right, inside upon itself. Rolling the front of the curl to line the cheek. It was instantly recognizable. It was Pussy Galore, from the movie "Goldfinger". Honor Blackman's wicked wicked woman. An early focus of my sexual fantasies, she was.

This left the top and crown of my hair. Thick, with extensions, there was enough for her to separate three or four strands, clasping them again out of the way of the next stage. "Backcombing!" she exclaimed, "….. you've always liked that, haven't you?!!" Karen said, with her eyes drilling into my own in the mirror.

"You got it!"…. I replied…… "Whatever you decide!" That was the contract we had. I was completely in her hands. Powerless. But in one sense, I could control something. I could control where this would lead after the competition. Hat was enough, for now.

Karen was soon to backcomb the whole of the front section of my head. The hair from my temples, not including the highlighted strands, we also included. So the whole of my face was surrounded by two or more inches of backcombed bliss! Once it had been combed to within an inch of its life, my hair was smoothed to form a bouffant top, from which, or around which, the semi-chignon would be gathered. The backcombing did tend to blur the definition of the highlights in the main body of the hair but most were still easily recognized. The blonde, the gold and the copper all were woven together.

The strands that would form the tumble of curls behind the crown and down the back of my head were now released from the clasp. We were nearing completion! It seemed as though a hundred pins were needed to secure that top backcombed part. Each took a few seconds, but the pinning seemed to last an hour!

Karen's hands worked their magic on the remaining twirls of hair — forming curls that rolled upwards and around the crown of my head. They stood above the bouffant part, clearly visible in the mirror as I looked. These final curls must have been fully three or four inches above my head. They cried out to be touched!

"Take it easy, we're nearly done." Karen whispered in my ears. But we weren't! The part I longed for most — to see the tumbled highlighted curls arranged at the back, and then lacquered into place - would still take time. I was loving every minute.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Ginger…………..

She smiled and her lips formed words clearly: "Just wait till I get you home!"

At last, the clouds of lacquer were applied and I knew that the dressing of my hair was complete. The time for judging was approaching. I stood, for the first time in nearly an hour. I felt a little unsteady on my feet. Partly because of the height of my heels. Partly because of the heady atmosphere and the obvious flirtation that I had seen in Karen's eyes. Partly because of Ginger's closeness and the continuing admiration between us. So many factors. The heat of the lights. The brightness of the mages in the mirrors. I felt almost drunk, even though I had touched no alcohol for hours.

As I stood my hair swirled around my shoulders, quite stiffly, it was true, but the effect was electric. I tossed my head backwards.

Click! Click! — another photograph. Pure luxury. The feel of the hair on my skin.

My dress, hiding the constraining underwear, looked perfect. Ginger was approaching and, with a kiss to my cheek, as girls would do in such a circumstance, greeted me with the words "You look perfect!" I returned the compliment, saying, "Only because Karen's made me look as wonderful as you do." Our matching clothes, with our similar hair (that differed only in the intensity of the colouring) made us look like twin sisters.

The third, Margot, rose from the seat where she had been sitting. I was expecting a degree of jealousy in whatever she would say — after all, she had increasingly been gunning for me, it had seemed.

Quite the contrary.

"You both put me to shame." she said. "I think you'd win without me."

He was wrong, in fact. Her own hair looked as wonderful as our own did. The streaks in her hair and the collage of curls that framed the back of her head were nearly identical. It was perhaps only the choice of her clothing that really was a mistake. OK, it made a contrast with the floaty, feminine creations we were wearing but, in all honesty, the S&M style catsuit was too strong in my view.

"Not at all!" Ginger and I both exclaimed.

We stood, the three of us, each with our "1980s Big Hair", quite dramatically coloured, all with highlights frosting in the strong lights above us.

All around us were other groups of models with their hair receiving the final touches — the extra curl here, the extra backcombing there. All around, there were stylists doing their most extravagant extra pieces of "technique" that would differentiate their girls' hair from all the others.

Karen had worked marvels with "Us three Girls". Whatever the outcome — and to tell the truth, I really couldn't care, except for Karen — this had been a most incredible and memorable night. Life could hardly be the same again after this. Ever!

There were some dramatically different styles and colours on the female heads all around us. There were bright flashes of 'electric' colours, razor cuts of incredible geometry, flowing trails of Raphaelite curls — in reds and blue-blacks and blonde. There were styles piled high in topknots, with equally as many as long sleek Cher-like styles. Who could make a choice out of all of these.

The judge with the glorious pastel shade of peach blonde appeared at Karen's side.

"You have do SO well!…..", she said, "You're placed Third overall!".

We didn't know, but the judging had been going on all along. All through the evening, the stylists were under scrutiny. We would all have had heart failure each time a Judge came past, if we had known!

Third place.

I began to re-live the moments when, faced with the choice of going through with the whole competition, or refusing.

Margot had said "OK then Karen, tell him about the competition and the reason for the portfolio of photos. You can let Ginger in on that secret too, because she knows nothing about either." Ginger's eyes and mine had met — what was this all about?

Karen explained that her workplace had entered her into a competition for Apprentice hairdressers and there were events coming up in which she would have to perform several processes and create styles using models. She wanted us to be her models, and the first event was in about three weeks' time. Not much time for practice.

"More than that, I can't say." she said. "Apart from the need for there to be three models……"

"We have three……." Margot had interrupted.

"Yes, but the event is for female hair…." said Karen, "….and we have two girls and a boy." Her words hung in the air.

It was then that the words "either as a girl or a boy" had begun to take on a whole new meaning. Ginger was silent. Margot was too, at last.

I had sat and thought for a moment that seemed like an hour. With my dyed auburn hair, cut in a Wedge-cut with the crown still lifted by the rollers I had tried to put in myself that morning. A boy with a woman's hairstyle. A female model. That's what I was now, standing there.

Loving every minute.

"It's a big thing to ask, I know" Karen had said again.

"There just IS no time" said Margot.

Back in the reality of the competition hall, I had still said nothing. My mind was still racing. Third Place! Sponsors? Colours? All these people!!!? How had all this suddenly happened? But, then, here I still was, voluntarily. I had chosen to be here. I loved the way it had been bringing Ginger and me closer together.

The moment before I agreed to go on with the competition, Ginger had said something like "whatever your "third model" decides, he'll be very special to me either way. I won't think any less of him if he goes along with the things that you're now suggesting — or if he doesn't. I'm finding him increasingly sexy and could get a real hit from being next to him on your model stage, with us both having you do our hair. Karen, you should be pleased he's come this far, not be disappointed if he goes no further."

So, instead of refusing to go on, it turned into a willing agreement. I committed myself to a whole different set of experiences that I had never imagined would come from a simple offer to have my hair washed by a girl friend who I fancied very much and who was starting a new job.

We hugged — all four of us; Karen and her three "girls" — Margot, Ginger and me. If we could have danced, we would have danced. I had completely forgotten what prizes we, or rather Karen had won. It really didn't matter. We had not come first but that didn't matter at all, either. The prizes were being awarded.

Our presentation passed in a blur, with words from the principal Judge that complemented Karen on her abilities and also her choice of models - for the symmetry of their hair in colour, length and condition.

Second prize went to a stylist from the far opposite side of the stage. Her three models were all bright, bright blondes. One Pastel, one Ash and one Gold. All of them had perfect Pageboy Bobs. Not a hair out of place. Sleek and sexy. All had bold fringes that framed their faces, almost hiding their eyes. The cutting had given them the edge over our more highly styled creations.

The First Prize was eventually awarded to a stylist who had re-created the Spice Girls — well, three of them at least. There was Ginger Spice, whose hair was a perfect copy of the original "Geri"; bright red with bold slashes of blonde framing the face. A "Posh" had a perfect pageboy Bob cut and a black model had a "Scary", with bright highlights woven into a tumble of crazy curls that seemed to fill the room.

What was so creative in that???!!! We all looked in amazement. The judges had perhaps been conned. OK, there were hairdressing skills — different skills — needed to create each look. That as enough to get into the competition, but the stylist had shown no originality at all.

We looked at each other, happy that we had won an award, but at the same time feeling cheated — well, for Karen, at least, who had worked so hard. She had made all of us look fabulous — fabulously feminine. She deserved First Prize. The three of us agreed. We hugged her hugely. The closeness of this short moment was electric. Its intimacy was remarkable.

The photographer was again at our shoulders. We needed to fix our make-up, we were told. The final photographs were to be taken.

By now, I was dreaming of going home to Ginger's place. It was all becoming just a little too much. But for Karen's publicity — the photos had to be taken. She would be noted for the future.

Ginger squeezed my hand for a moment. Our eyes met.

We both knew what we meant. It was time to go.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Chapter 14................

An Apprentice Needs Help

by

WannabeGinger

Chapter 14 (Epilogue)

Two hours later, after the conclusion of the Awards ceremony and a few Bacardi Breezers to celebrate Karen's great achievement — coming third, among more than twenty stylists, we were back in Ginger's flat. well, at least Ginger and I were. Margot had left immediately with her scary Mother and Karen had divided her time between talking with us, two of her models, and talks with her fellow competitors, many of whom she knew well.

I sat back in a chair, lingering thoughts of the whole experience rolling over me. The lasting impression from the finals were simple — that I had passed as a girl. I had wanted to do it well — and I had! With Ginger's help, especially, in the preparations, and with Karen's magic tough with my hair in the competition hall.

A flash back came of a moment in the Bacardi-filled haze of the celebrations. Another stylist, introduced to us as "Copper" — not because she'd ever been in the Police, (or perhaps even screwed a Policemen!) but because of her glimmering copper hair — a variation on mine and Ginger's….. Copper was sat behind me on the couch in the bar. I felt her touch in the middle of a general conversation. Nothing was said at that moment, but she stroked and then threaded a lock of my hair through her finger. Right from near the nape of my neck.

Not a word then, but it was an intimate moment, with a previously-unknown woman — at her instigation. She could only mean one thing — she wanted to be close….. to me! I sat, riveted to the spot. I had only glanced in her direction a couple of times, admiring her work on her own models. Work that, in the end, went unrewarded. She was unplaced in the competition.

Her hand slipped softly through my smooth curls. I was, I remembered, both flattered and slightly shaken. Was this the normal way these people behaved? Seems like it — and I did.. like it!

The conversation went on, many of the stylists talking about the next competition event in 2-3 weeks' time. How would they change their approach if they hadn't been successful. How they would build on their success this time, if they had been.

"I'd poach your models, Karen." whispered Copper.

At the same time, she tugged hard on the same curls from the nape of my neck and, with that, got up to leave. She looked over her shoulder at me as she left. "I mean you." she said. — and was gone!

I hadn't the time to say a word. Ginger hadn't heard any of this — and I was pleased she hadn't. I didn't want anything to spoil our home-going — to her flat. And there I was.

In jeans, boxers, a shirt, and socks… not stockings any more, regretfully. No suspender belt, no knickers, and no bra! Was I going "cold turkey?" — no, it just seemed right to have changed into my "boy things" now the event was finished. Ginger didn't quarrel with that. When we got back to the flat, she suggested we both take a shower — separately this time! — and then relax for what was left of the evening.

We sank into eachothers' arms, emotionally drained and physically drained too. We kissed like boy and girl though we looked like girl and girl — and that was the way I felt we were — for now.

Too little time, before sleep would engulf us. Just enough to take of make-up - the make-up that made me feel so feminine. I studied my now un-made-up face in the mirror, touched the hair that adorned my head. They say that narcissism is the only kind of love where you don't have to say sorry…. and they are wrong! I did, for a moment, just pause to reflect on just what I had done — how far I had gone today. And where would it lead?

Thoughts of "being stuck like this" came through — would I ever give up being a boy? No, not likely! not at all likely.

I couldn't destroy that hair style — so much like Ginger's, so much to be saved for the morning, I should sleep in it just as I was. But after a shower.

I showered as carefully as I could. Ginger lent me a shower cap which she said usually covered her hair when it was in a roller-set and drying slowly.

My hair had survived the shower, in as much as the colour was strong and permanent. The extensions, too, were strongly secured — they would last for weeks. The style wasn't saved, however. It was washed out as the spray ran through, so I was left with shoulder-length auburn hair — which Ginger helped me do into a pony-tail. She removed all the bobbie-pins that held the style. Nothing too girly. "Let me brush it through." She said

I looked about. This was definitely a girl's flat - it was "girly" in the nicest sense of the word — a bright and feminine place. All the furnishings and fabrics were perfect. Everything was tidy — a place for everything….. and everything in its place. Not like my own drab and boring bedroom at my parent's house. There, I didn't call that "home" — maybe now was the time to leave there.

It was however too soon to think of this place as "home" — as much as I had begun to dream of sharing my life with Ginger. As Girl and Boy, and occasionally as Girl and Girl. There might be difficult weeks ahead — how to cope with changes that had rushed through my life recently. Too soon to think of suggesting we share a place together — sharing her clothes was wonderful enough!

We climbed into bed with great sighs of exhaustion. No sex tonight — neither of us could raise the idea we were so tired in a post-excitement kind of way. Had it all really happened? Indeed it had. Ginger's soft silken bed clothes felt wonderful on my naked body. "You'll lok lovely in this." Ginger said, holding up a silken floor-sweeping nightie for me to wear. Heaven is too simple a word for the feeling.

The night slipped by too soon. Dreams came and went, too many to recall but doubtless I had rehearsed the events of yesterday. Over the whole day, I had relaxed into the role of a female on the outside but never forgot the "me" inside.

I woke and lay awake for maybe an hour in the middle of the night. gazing at Ginger asleep in the shadowy room. I thought long about the question that most people would ask…. and ask of themselves… if they had done what I had done…… "…doesn't this mean you're gay?" How I hate that word….. Gay is the last thing many homosexual people feel — and yet I was elated, delighted, happy, confident…… relaxed…………. as a girl. Am I gay? Not at all. I knew, now more than ever — if I had ever doubted. I looked at Ginger and felt love for her, desire for her, lust even. She's a stunner and I have to make her mine! The worry in my mind is that she will be asking herself the same question: Is he gay? I have to convince her.

And yet, when we are together, playing Girl and Girl — doesn't that change things? Does it mean she has a lesbian streak to her personality? So what if it does, I guess. Maybe, after all, I'm a male lesbian. What a great concept. I remember Billy Connolly once saying, in a stage show, that he must be a lesbian — because he likes all the things he thinks they do together! Good thinking.

I looked again at Ginger, asleep by my side. What a stunner!

I'd love her, whether I were a boy or a girl.

I thought about Margot and her Mother; would they be around in Karen's next competition? Would it be the same? I wondered what Ginger thought of the two of them. She knew I'd fancied Karen and we both knew that Margot had "made a move on her". I couldn't expect Karen to end up in Margot's arms for good. maybe she was just "experimenting, or maybe she is genuinely "Bi-"?? Who knows? The coming weeks might tell.

The first wakings in the morning, we embraced closely. My cock rising, we refreshed eachother's lipstick and we turned urgently to love-making that we'd not been able to even think of the night before. This way, that way. She on top, me on top. My tongue on her wonderful clitoris, her wonderful lips surrounding the tip of my cock and swallowing the rest. Doggie style — she behind me as well as me behind her. Exhausting, we continued for an hour or more. Finally, we laid back, purring.

We said little for a time. Words weren't enough to describe the joy we had shared. We showered, together.

Later, we talked about such things over breakfast and endless cups of coffee. "Just experimenting" was her verdict. Margot, on the other hand, was "just too much like her Mother" said Ginger.

We talked about how I should take care in that department — the Mother being evidently a very dominant female where any male was concerned. I should steer clear of her… "Unless, of course, that interests you!" teased Ginger.

"No, darling, there's not the slightest chance of that." I replied.

"You're not going to falter then?", she enquired.

"What do you mean?" I asked, probing where her thoughts were going.

"Falter, in playing the role you've developed for yourself.. Not male some of the time? Female, some of the time? And so, different to what Margot's Mother would have in mind for you?"

"Ginger, honey, I would love to be whatever you want me to be — and that's not me trying to be cute. I have no interest in whatever that woman may have in mind."

I said and meant, from the depths of my heart. "If you want me to be that way only once in a blue moon, I can live with that. If you wanted me to live as a girl, I'd have more of an issue — I'm wanting to be "your guy".. but "your guy with extras!"

A silent prayer left my mind — I prayed she wouldn't say "once in a blue moon will do".

We were settled with coffees, lounging around.

"You fancy us as two lipstick lesbians, do you?" Ginger said in a hushed and seductive way.

"That's exactly how I see us, from time to time." I matched her breathlessly.

"Well, that would be fine with me, so long as your 'extra' features frequently!."

Time had come for a trip home — to face the family — because I knew I couldn't stay at Ginger's permanently. So, if there was to be time at home, it had to be on agreed terms. As I now knew what terms I could stay with Ginger.

I had to start somewhere.

"If your family is truly mixed-up, as it sounds, I can't imagine what reaction you'll get." Ginger said, not entirely helpfully. "And it'll depend on how you break the subject. And it'll depend on whether you want to be dressed at home, at all?" Which raised a question.

"Should I ever disclose this to my family?" I asked her. "Whadya think?"

"Will you be comfortable doing so? Will you be comfortable carrying on with the secret you have? What will you say about having a girlfriend like me?" She didn't help. I didn't need questions. I needed an opinion. "……………What would you do?" I asked.

"What would I do if I was dressing as a boy and having sex with a guy???" She looked incredulous. "I think I'd say nothing…..!!!!" She exclaimed. "… though now you come to mention it…………If I dressed as a guy, and dated you dressed as a girl, that would make more sense!" She said, I think, half joking……..

"You're just too pretty." I retorted. And we kissed longingly.

Time had come for a change of dress. Socks, not stockings. So, no suspender belt. But definitely the sexiest panties I could find! On with the shirt and chinos, the trainers and the 'sloppy-Joe' top. Nothing could be done about the hair colour (or the extensions) — the ponytail would have to do.

"How about a little retail therapy before you go to your parents' house?" Ginger asked. "I can bring what you choose back here."

Joy! The basis for life together taking shape!

THE END