When I got there the range was far, far more than I had expected and I stood bewildered in front of the display. I must have looked lost because, after a while, one of the assistants came over.
“Can I help?”
“I’m just trying to….” Trying to what? What on earth was I going to say?
“What sort of skin type does she have?”
“Err…. Pretty much the same as me.”
She gave me a long, long look.
“This is for you, isn’t it?”
I guess my blushes were answer enough.
“Don’t worry, I’m cool with it. I think you’d look great in make up. What sort of look are you after?”
“A… a bit tarty. How did you guess?”
“You’re the guy who was in here buying all that hair removal stuff the other week. And then, come Saturday, you’re back buying nail varnish remover. And now you’re all in a tizz in front of the makeup counter. You don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work that one out.”
“No, I guess not. So, Kaylee,” I said, reading her name from her badge, “what do you suggest?”
Kaylee was really nice and ever so helpful. I still ended up spending a fortune but at least it all went together and she gave me the basics of how to put it on.
“So, what’s your name,” she asked as she helped me choose mascara.
“Ben.”
“No, silly, not that name, what’s her name?”
“Oh, I see what you mean. She’s Belinda.”
“And does Belinda have someone special in her life or is this all just for you.”
“Belinda… Belinda has a boyfriend,” I lied. Did I, or even Belinda, have a boyfriend? Not in the slightest, but Kaylee seemed to be coming on to me and that felt like the easiest way to get out of it. The last thing I needed was to get her involved.
“All the best ones are gay,” she laughed. “Now, that’s about all you need for now. Come on, I’ll run this lot through the till and, if you find you’ve forgotten anything, then come straight back and ask for me. I’m here most days. OK?”
That night I had my first three attempts at putting on the makeup. I used quite a bit of it, not to mention the amount of makeup remover I used as I took it off again afterwards. I was also fast finding out why dressing rooms have those big mirrors surrounded by lights. The single ceiling light in my room was nowhere near bright enough for this sort of thing and I ended up having to give it a rest for the night. I gave my face one more thorough wash and headed for the bar. After that lot I needed a couple of pints.
On Tuesday, as soon as my lectures were over, I set out to find the shoe shop that Tracy had recommended. When I got there it looked like any other shoe shop and there were plenty of ‘normal’ customers browsing the stock. However, as soon as I mentioned that I was the one who had phoned, the one recommended by Tracy, they took me through to the back room where I could try on shoes to my heart’s content without having to worry about privacy.
What’s more I could discuss my exact needs without embarrassment. The saleswoman had seen it all before and quite understood the problems such as scuffed toes from kneeling. Her main suggestion was to slip them off before I got down on my knees but, apart from that, she showed me a number of styles, mostly open toed, that would be more resistant to scratching.
“But I’m supposed to be a schoolgirl,” I protested.
“Honey, if the shoes are sexy enough, no one’s going to give a damn. After all, how many schoolgirls wear heels in the first place?”
Once again, I had found myself a helpful assistant. What’s more, she was able to find me the perfect fit which made walking so much easier. I ended up with two pairs, both in black leather, both open toed, both with four inch heels and both gorgeous. At four inches the heels were a compromise between sexiness and practicality. After all, I had to dance in them and then parade around afterwards. The bill came to the thick end of two hundred quid and I am lucky I have small enough feet to fit into women’s sizes or it would have been more. Even so, it was worth it. I just hoped I could keep the shoes looking presentable for more than one show otherwise this would be a major drain on my income.
On my way home I picked up a makeup mirror, one with lights. It was a good job I was earning so much. I seemed to be doing nothing but shopping.
When I got back to my room I had another go with the makeup. The mirror was a great help and I was getting better, still not perfect but much better. But once I had the make up on I didn’t want to stop there. I had two new pairs of shoes that I was just itching to try on and I had to become Belinda before I could really see how they went with the rest of the outfit. I put on the wig and that really helped with the transformation; I was far less Ben dressed as a girl than Belinda with rather sloppy makeup.
Then I stripped off down to my panties and went over to my wardrobe. The Belinda Bombshell costume was hung there, washed, ironed and ready. I put on the skirt and blouse and, finally, stepped into one of the new pairs of shoes. I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself with a critical eye. Now it was complete it was even better than I had thought. I might even pass muster come Saturday night, just, but there was plenty of room for improvement and I would do well to practice some more. Furthermore, it was quite clear that the pale lavender panties I happened to be wearing that day didn’t go with the tartan mini-skirt and, if I was to wear open toed shoes then I would also have to wear nail varnish on my toes. Indeed, if I were to go the whole hog, then the bare midriff look could also be enhanced with a belly button piercing.
But that wasn’t the only thing I was critical of. The super short skirt and tied off blouse might do for Belinda Bombshell’s schoolgirl impersonation but, as an overall look, it didn’t really work for me. Oh, it was the perfect mask when forced to play the randy tart in front of the sort of audiences Mr. Mason was going to put us in front of but the part of me that now wore panties as a matter of course hated it. I was discovering another side to Belinda, a softer side, one that wasn’t an out and out whore.
And it wasn’t just the whore aspect that was wrong. The schoolgirl costume had been designed to show as much flesh as possible and, especially since I had started going to the gym regularly, my flesh was undeniably male. No amount of makeup could hide my six pack. While this was fine for the Belinda Bombshell sex show it wasn’t what appealed to me. What I wanted was clothes the hid my masculinity, not flaunted it. I wondered what Belinda would look like in one of those Chinese dresses, the ones with the high neck. She could tone down the makeup, go for softer, more pastel shades. She could look demure and still look sexy.
But there was little point in dreaming. After all, who would I dress up for? Mr. Mason was paying me for the randy slut and that was what I had to deliver. What’s more, I was beginning to understand that, if Mr. Mason found out, it wouldn’t take long before he perverted it, before it was just another mask that I wore as I serviced yet another client.