textfiles/sex/EROTICA/T/toys-032.txt

                                  III.

     "Look, I can use this old stuff. But, ya' see, it's gonna be, like, 
really harsh. Oh he'll be blonde alright but his hair will be like straw. 
If that's okay?"

     "No problem", Sheila replied, "Babs wants the perfect glamour look, 
don't you sweets?" Abashed, Bobbie nodded meekly.

     First, his hair was washed. How had he ever let it get so long? Next, 
the rank chemicals of the color stripper were squeezed onto his hair and 
scalp. Quickly, it began to burn. His scalp tingled and even burned a 
little with the irritation. Just as he began to complain the beautician
rinsed him off, only to let him see his hair turned a sickly green.

     "Please! I don't want you to ...duh..." The beautician rammed a cloth 
into Bobbie's mouth.

     "Listen, honey," the beautician soothed. "You're not the first boy I did 
a make-over on, so just sit back and relax. I know how you transvestites like 
to look. All glittery and everything." As though this - transforming a man 
into woman - was a normal every-day occurrence for her, the beautician went 
about her work.

     The color was applied, a sugary silvery blonde. Sort of a candy platinum.
Carefully, Bobbie's hair was wound in big rollers and a perm solution was 
poured on each roller. Icily, Sheila ignored the beautician's warning that 
this was all too much for Bobbie's hair to take.

     Eventually, the rollers were out, the hair was dry and styled. Bobbie's 
makeup was changed, his eyebrows were shaved off and drawn in. Fearfully, 
he minced over to the mirror to see what had been done to him.

     In the mirror was a very curvy blonde woman, the clinging black satin 
of her dress showing off her overly wide hips and the hard points of her 
up-thrusting breasts. Her shimmering hair was pulled tightly back from her 
face and set off by a black velvet head-band centering a glittering square 
buckle just back from her forehead. Beyond that, an enormous ball of silvery
blonde hair towered over and framed her features. Features buried under thick 
pale pancake foundation, eyes lined in iridescent black liner and thickly 
mascara'd false eyelashes. Her lips were a frosty white as were her long, 
long nails.

     Her matching earrings of big brilliant covered squares matched her 
headband, the buckle of her waist-cinching belt and the tiny buckles of her, 
oh so high, high heels.

     The girl in the mirror was the ultimate babe of ... oh, say maybe, of 
1962. Tomorrow in the meeting, he would be hopelessly dated, costumed rather 
than dressed. No one would take Bobbie seriously.

     Sheila draped an oversize swing jacket of red taffeta over Bobbie's 
shoulders and handed him a red patent heart shaped purse to put his things 
in. 

     "Oh, there's one last thing. For reading all that fine print," Sheila 
commented mysteriously. Bobbie could feel a pair of eyeglasses being slipped 
on his face. Stepping away, Sheila let her captive see the effect of the 
latest change in him. The most extreme harlequin frame imaginable, in black, 
studded and lined with brilliants, there was no question now. Bobbie had 
become a creation of Sheila, a parody of glamour. He had begun to worry, 
however, that her punishment of him had only started.

                                **********

     Bobbie had been answering questions all day and so far he hadn't had to 
lie. Despite his outrageous appearance, everyone has simply assumed that 
Bobbie was female. Sheila sat quietly to the side, watching.

     "Miss Bouffant, may I ask, is that your real name?"

     "Well, no," Bobbie responded. "It's a name I've adopted for my work."

     Sheila had decided on his new name, Babs Bouffant, on the way over 
and had ordered her sissy slave to use it from now on.

     "Have you had your name legally changed?"

     "No," Bobbie replied. Sheila gave him a glance. "Do you think I should?" 
Bobbie/Babs nervously asked. These lawyers were so smart! They had to suspect 
something, didn't they?

     Anyway, how could this help his case, portraying him as a total bimbo and 
airhead. Didn't he need to sound intelligent when he denied signing the lease 
side agreements?

     "How far did you go in school?"

     "Tenth grade."

     "What happened?"

     Here it was, the first lie that Sheila had instructed him to repeat. "I 
flunked out."

     "What did you do?"

     "First, I worked in a beauty salon, then a clothing store, then I danced 
for a while. And I lived with a couple of guys."

     "What do you do now? I mean, for your employer?" It was clear from his 
tone exactly what the lawyer had in mind when he asked his question.

     "I'm the receptionist. I answer the phones and greet the visitors. I 
wear special outfits for parties and stuff like that."

     It was so humiliating. Bobbie could rip their puny case to shreds. He 
knew what the deal had been. Why wouldn't they let him just tell his side 
of it?

     "What kind of business is it?"

     "We do courier delivery of packages."

     "I noticed your unusual attire. Do you usually dress like this?"

     "Absolutely! I just love looking so wild. And the way guys look at me, 
I get wet all the time."

     "Harrummpphh! We don't need the official record being filled with 
comment like that! I would ask you, Miss, to watch your remarks."

     Helplessly, Bobbie nodded his understanding but in her corner, Sheila 
nodded her approval. Over the next hours, Bobbie let his hand brush the 
thigh of one of the lawyers and rubbed his big rear across the front of
another. By the end of the day there was no doubt. The witness was a witless 
sex-kitten in heat.