Andy
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Andy 15 free porn video
Andy by Transbonder, translated by Leah from the German
FIFTEEN
Next morning I woke up confused. Somehow I had dreamt something about
myself without being able to remember what. Just an indistinct feeling
that I couldn't shake off.
In the kitchen a surprise awaited me. No, not Mom's greeting. She gave me
a letter that she had found in the mailbox.
It wasn't actually a letter because inside was only a strange piece of
paper. It was a poor photocopy on which my name inserted by hand in one
place.
Dear (Andrea),
you attracted our attention at the contest. Please call us to set up an
appointment.
Becker Agency.
The remainder was the address and a brief set of directions.
"What's it mean?" I asked Mom.
"There are all kinds of possibilities. Serious or not serious."
I looked at her in annoyance. "That wasn't very helpful."
She sucked at one finger. "As much as I suck, nothing comes out. How
should I know? There's nothing on the note."
"What'll I do? Throw it away?"
"I can see that you're dying from curiosity. So give them a call, but
don't commit yourself to anything."
##
After breakfast I called. A secretary connected me with Mr. Becker. He
explained to me that my face on the snapshot at the karaoke contest
looked interesting.
"Interesting?" I asked in reply with a somewhat disappointed inflexion.
He noticed that I had not understood and explained, "Yes. Many people
feel that a face has to look beautiful in order to get a good photograph.
Actually the reality is quite different. Many people look very good in
person, but on a picture superboring. And it is often exactly the other
way around, too."
"You say, you want me as a photo model because I don't look good?" I was
now very confused.
"No, no. A certain attractiveness is always necessary. In your case I
noticed how good your make-up looks. Very few girls of your age look good
with make-up."
Now I was confused to the nth degree. "Girls with make-up look bad?"
"No, that wasn't what I meant. But many girls put on their make-up too
heavily and that's not suitable for a youthful face. And then there are
girls where plain make-up also looks good. Do you do your own make-up?"
"Yes."
"Very good. As I said, your face looks interesting, so that I would like
to make a few test photographs. Are you interested?"
I thought briefly. "Well, yes. I have to ask my mom. Would I be paid?"
He laughed. "The most important question for a teenager. No, for the test
photos there is no money. On the contrary, normally you have to pay for
them. The studio, the photographer and the materials cost money. In your
case I see enough possibilities, so that I'm willing to absorb these
costs. If someone were to be interested in you, then you also get some
money. But don't for a moment think of the compensation that supermodels
get."
"Good, I'll talk with my Mom and call you back."
I went to Mom and told her about the conversation.
"They want you because of your face?" she asked in disbelief. "Who wants
a boy with make-up as a model?"
"I don't think he noticed that I'm not a girl."
"Hmm. Even a professional thinks you're a girl?"
I wasn't sure if she thought that was good or not.
Then she asked, "Did he say that you look good?"
"No. He said a person doesn't have to look good. At any rate that's what
I understood. And that I would look interesting."
"Well, well, interesting. Do you want to take the test photos?"
"Why not? It won't cost anything."
"Now, don't think he'll take the pictures out of pure friendship. You
will have to sign a contract that you can be available for photographs.
More precisely spoken, I will have to sign this contract since you are
too young. Why is it that suddenly you are no longer afraid to be
photographed? You were shocked at the newspaper article."
"But you did say that no one would recognize me there."
She threw a glance at the framed article. "Yes, presumably no one will
recognize you. The quality of this newspaper photo is not so good. But in
the studio professional pictures will be made. And I don't know whether
you'll be wearing as much make-up."
"He said, that my make-up looks good. That means he'll hardly want to
photograph me without."
"OK, I'll leave it up to you. But I'm coming along. Set up a time, but
remember I'll soon have to go to work again."
##
And I always thought in the time between Christmas and New Year's
everything was a rest period. Now I had a stressful day before me. First
to a psychologist and then test photographs and in the afternoon
babysitting.
I really didn't like at all the business about the psychologist. I tried
to talk Mom out of it, but with no success. Although she said again and
again, it wouldn't mean that I was crazy. My experience has been, that if
you go to a doctor, then you are sick. And a psychologist is a doctor,
and that means I'm sick. This didn't sound good to me at all.
For some reason I was definitely in no mood to put on a skirt today. But
when I looked down and saw my girl underwear on me, my hair fell into my
face, and I caught sight of my fingernails. No way to look like a boy
with all this. I sighed, pulled on the padded shorts, and took out my
wine-colored tights. With that the checkered pleated skirt with the
patent belt, a white blouse and a thin dark brown sweater with a v-neck.
I liked the girl in the mirror very much. Certainly better than in pants.
With the make-up I had no problem: For the pyschologist I used as little
as possible, but the same worked for the pictures in the newspaper.
Finally I decided to do everything the way I always did, but just use a
little less eye shadow. I could change that later. I made sure that
everything was in my purse and I went to Mom.
##
The office was nothing like that of a physician. Not even a couch like
you see in movies. Instead it looked like a very laid-back office.
At first Mom went alone to him. It's a very strange feeling when you
know, that in there they are talking about you. What would Mom be saying?
But I didn't have more time for thinking, because a secretary brought me
a questionnaire and a pencil.
After just a few questions I wasn't at all clear what the sense of these
questions was. After all, I was here because I looked like a girl? There
wasn't anything about that. Just, what colors I liked, who my best
friends were, what I liked to do in my free time. It focused on what I
liked and what I didn't.
I had just finished when Mom came out and I was greeted by the
psychologist. The glance with which he inspected me did not escape my
notice. It wasn't offensive, just very thorough, like often occurs
between strangers. His glance didn't linger on my artificial breasts,
which I had already had occasion to observe on the part of passersby on
the street.
He held out his hand, and I saw how carefully he looked at my
fingernails. Then we sat down.
After a few preliminary words he said, "So, your mother has already told
me how it came about that you babysit as a girl. Is that fun for you?"
"For the most part yes. Changing Lena's diapers isn't so great, and also
when she doesn't want to be quiet."
"Doesn't it bother you that you're wearing a skirt there?"
"Do you mean, whether it's unpractical?"
He looked a little surprised. It was difficult to interpret anything
about him since almost everything was covered over by a mask of
professionalism. But I think that he had expected a different kind of
answer. He just nodded.
"The short skirts are OK. The long ones took some getting used to with
all that material around the legs. After a while, when you've had a
chance to get used to that, they're OK, too, although you can get spots
on them more easily. Except when it is very cold, I prefer the short
skirts." I stopped speaking although I wasn't sure that I had answered
his question.
We spoke just a short time, then he suggested, "Good, that is all for
today. I would like to have a look at your questionnaire first."
I asked him what the meaning of the questionnaire was.
"The questions are answered differently by boys and girls; from that it
shows whether someone is a boy or a girl. One example: Newborn babies
prefer pink if they are girls and blue if boys. At that time they haven't
yet been imprinted by their surroundings, and yet they like certain
colors. It remains that way later. Since children can also be influenced
by their surroundings, by parents and friends, the answers aren't so
unequivocal any longer. There will also be girls whose favorite color is
blue. That means there are a lot of questions. All together they give a
fairly good picture."
"I understand. But can't a person intentionally answer the questions
false?"
"That's easily detectable. Some questions are control questions. You have
to know yourself quite well to be able to say something false
consistently. Someone of your age doesn't know that."
"Consistently?"
"Logical and free of contradiction."
"Ah ha."
He dismissed me and I got a new appointment in January, this time without
Mom.
##
After I arrived with Mom at the agency I immediately disappeared into the
restroom. The hall was already full of photographs and in the room where
we were to wait on Mr. Becker there were a lot more. All girls, and they
all looked extremely good.
In the restroom I worked on the appearance of my eyes. How was I supposed
to ever be as good as those innumerable pictures? What was I doing here
anyway? I really wanted most of all to leave. Without Mom I would
probably have done just that. For the first time I had significant doubts
about my appearance.
After a time Mom came to me. "What's taking you so long in here? Aren't
you feeling well?"
"Yes. Aside from a funny feeling in my stomach. I just don't look good
enough."
She looked at me. "To me that looks good. Enough second guessing, Mr.
Becker is already waiting." She pushed me out.
Mr. Becker turned out to be a good natured man. Really refreshing after
the psychologist. He was short and had a definite beer belly. His hair
was already rather sparse. He wasn't exactly a beauty, but overcame that
with his friendly personality.
Within two minutes I had lost my fears and agitation. Later it became
clear to me that he was a professional. Constantly surrounded by agitated
girls he had learned how to deal with the situation. And first of all
that meant to calm the girls.
I drank a hot cocoa, which tasted extremely good. And there was also a
small chocolate bar. Chocolate is said to awaken feelings of happiness.
In this moment I wasn't inclined to believe that. The cocoa was so good
that I hardly followed the conversation between him and Mom.
I woke from my chocolate trance only when he spoke to me. "Everything has
been arranged with your mom, now let's go into the studio. The
photographer will likely come at any moment."
Mom said good-bye. I would have to go by bus to Mrs. Weber's. No problem,
I assured her.
##
The photographer looked like a hippie. Slender, actually almost skinny,
he was the perfect opposite of Mr. Becker. Above all in regard to hair:
he was wearing a long ponytail.
Hmm. His hair was longer than mine. Could I go to school like this after
all? One thing was certain: no matter whether I was going to wear girl
clothing in the future, I wanted to have long hair no matter what. At
least as long as his.
"I really don't believe it," he said in place of a greeting, "but we
actually don't need a stylist. Who did your make-up?"
"I did." I was a little surprised that he didn't give me credit for that.
It was just a little painting on a small canvas.
"Girl, you're great. This way everything will go a lot faster. First I'll
make a few photos with the small digital. That's faster than with the
others. Then we'll have a look at them."
I still didn't understand why a photo should look different than the
original.
Half an hour later I knew. Light and skill of the photographer had
mutated me into a beauty. I scarcely recognized myself again, but was
more than satisfied with the results. With the conviction that I didn't
look so much worse than the girls on the pictures, I loosened up.
The photographer encouraged me to try make-up experiments. I'd never
before made myself up so often in such a short time. But I was in
wonderland: The supply of cosmetics was inexhaustible and there was more
than I could ever have imagined. I only hoped the stylist wouldn't have a
heart attack when she returned to her realm.
I had an incredible amount of fun. I quickly lost the feeling of standing
in front of a camera. I never did have to change clothes, the
photographer was only interested in my head. And his interest grew as he
took more pictures.
After three hours Mr. Becker brought it to an end. It had seemed like ten
minutes to me. I would have preferred not to leave and stayed in the
studio overnight.
"I see Franz is more than satisfied with you. Normally a test shoot lasts
a quarter of an hour, and he hasn't had enough after three hours. I think
I was right in my estimate. You are a natural talent."
"Yes," Franz agreed, "she was born for the camera."
With a CD full of my pictures I left the studio, in something almost like
a delirium.
##
On the bus I was confronted with normality, with reality. That is, that a
short skirt also has its disadvantages. Finally I stood up and sat clear
at the back of the bus in order to escape the looks. Only then did it
become clear to me that my make-up was really good for the pictures, but
not for a bus trip. Especially when accompanied by a sexy short skirt.
Hmm, should I tell the psychologist about that? And what would he make of
it?
##
Mark's greeting brought me back again from my emotional roller coaster
ride. It's hard to believe how a small child can bring a person back to
functioning normally. And Lena naturally also had her part to play in
that. She noticed right away that something was different from usual.
Only when Lena hung freshly diapered before my belly and Mark had
listened to the story of my photo shoot several times was everything like
always.
Almost. Mark whined until he put the CD, which I had carelessly left
lying around, into the computer and he saw the pictures. Then he was very
quiet. I believe, I had my first fan. He'll probably remain the only one,
I thought with a smirk.
Then normality ended as Mrs. Weber returned. She had just gone "briefly"
shopping. What, I caught on quickly, when she triumphantly said, "Now I
finally have everything."
When I saw two different colored long stockings, I got a premonition of
something bad. I had hoped that without my mom she wouldn't have tried
this. No luck!
Not long thereafter I was wearing a short dress, with an apron over it,
which almost looked like a dress. And two long strockings on straps, one
red and one green. Little boots in addition, and she set about styling my
hair. Soon my pigtails were braided with a wire in them so that they
stood out like the famous Pippi Longstocking.
And I looked very authentic, I had to admit as I was standing in front of
the mirror. Naturally Mark knew Pippi, too, and even Lena seemed
enthusiastic. Well, that might have had something to do with the bottle I
had just given her. Even as Pippi the babysitting had to go on.
Mrs. Weber in any case was totally enthused. It didn't seemed so bad to
me. The figure of Pippi always had something rebellious about it that I
liked very much. And the clothing was absolutely comfortable. Only the
stiff pigtails were disconcerting.
Although Mrs. Weber wasn't working, I was supposed to cook. It was always
so tasty, she opined.
My career as cook was short but steep. And it was fun for me. The dicing
of onions and other vegetables had become a soothing ritual. And in spite
of the strong aromas, which brought tears to my eyes, Mark and Lena
actually slept upon me as usual in cooking. Lena in her carrying cloth
against my front, and Mark's head was once again on my upper thigh.
Are onion fumes heavier than air? Good question. According to the
reaction of both children, who were completely unaffected by it all, and
my tearing eyes, it appears they climb upward. Or does make-up draw onion
fumes to itself?
In any event the stuff from the studio wasn't water resistant. I only
noticed that when a dark drop appeared on the cutting board.
I laid Mark's head on a kitchen cloth as a substitute for my leg and went
into the bathroom. Lena protested gurglingly at the front of my stomach
about the sudden change.
Ooops! Ever seen a goth raccoon? With two pigtails sticking out?
Brandy
- 24.08.2021
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