The Shampoo Girl free porn video

I never knew the happiness that a change in a career could bring. When I went from suffering the aggravating hours that came with owning salons to the simple joys of being a shampoo girl, I didn't realize that my whole world would change for the better. I almost can't believe that I resisted the chance when it first arose. Jess, my wife, and I had co-owned and run a chain of salons for years. Neither of us worked in any of them. We had managers who ran them while we traveled to the various shops to make sure everything was going as it should. Really, either one of us could have done both sets of shops, but it gave us the opportunity to both have careers, which was important to Jess. Jess and I split the shops in half. She was in charge of one half, and I controlled the other. That all started to change when we were in the process of adding a new salon that my wife was going to run. She had already hired the manager, the stylists and other employees. When we were talking about personnel at the kitchen table, Jess said, "I think it's time for Katrina to come out." "You want me to dress up?" I asked as Jess had referenced my female alter ego. It was an unusual request. Jess tolerated my cross-dressing, but she didn't try to encourage it. "Not here. At the new salon," Jess replied as she tossed her long, brown hair. "What?" I asked out of confusion. I really didn't know where she was going with the conversation. "I think you should be the new shampoo girl." "You're joking?" I asked, disbelieving what I was hearing. "No. I'm serious. It's the perfect place for you to experience femininity for a few weeks. You could get out there for a month or so as a girl in the shop. You'll love it. It's the perfect outlet for your desires," Jess retorted as she motioned her right, slender index finger at me. "Are you crazy? No one would ever believe I was a woman?" I shouted in a manner more befitting a petulant child than a man or a woman. "You'll pass. All my friends that have you seen you agree," Jess said as if there was no debate regarding my ability to pass as a woman. "I can't even think about doing this, Jess," I retorted as I shook my head. I put my head down and then peered up into her pale, blue eyes. She paused. She moved closer to me, ran her fingers through my long hair and countered, "It's the perfect opportunity. I think you should at least consider it. These are all new employees. They don't know you. They don't know you're my husband. They'll just think you're one of the girls." "I'm considering it," I replied, "but I just don't see how it will work. I know you've run your part of the business, but doubling your responsibilities to let me experience being a girl seems a little greedy for me. I don't want to do that to..." Jess cut me off. She didn't want hear that I was doing her any favors, "Listen, Kevin, I'm fully capable of running this company without you." "I know you are," I interjected. She continued, "Good, so you know your concerns about me are unfounded. I want to run the place alone. I want to give you time to explore your femininity. We have the money, you have the time, and, now, you've got the perfect chance." "Jess, I never said I wanted to do it in public." "I know that, but I know that it's in your heart. It's a part of you. I knew it when I married you. I was sexually attracted to you as a man, darling, but I was drawn to you in part by your girlish traits. You knew my ex's. I like effeminate men because they have less of the preening male ego you're showing me right now." I sunk down as she insulted me. I knew she was right I was letting my male ego that I derided myself get in the way of a wonderful experience. She was giving me the perfect opportunity, and I was giving her grief over it. I smiled at her and said, "I'll do it. You're right." "I'm always right," she muttered as she walked off. I let that go because it was best to let her think that. I went and sat down on the couch and turned on the TV. I heard Jess fumbling around in the kitchen, but I didn't give it a second thought. She called out to me that she was going to get me a uniform. I responded, "Kay." I heard her leave. I flipped through the channels and settled on ESPN. My mind, however, wouldn't let me watch Sportscenter. My mind kept drifting back to the shampoo girls' uniform at our shop. It was a knee length, black skirt, black pantyhose, a black, cotton short-sleeved shirt and black sneakers. The thought of wearing it took over me. I loved the feel of all those clothes, and I would be wearing them for weeks, not my normal day or so. The idea of being in the lowest position of one of my own salons filled me with a strange delight. I couldn't understand it, but I really relished the thought of being seen as the lowliest girl in the shop. I had thought about it before. I dreamt about being one and sometimes I wanted to be a stylist. I basically wanted to be anything fem, but something particular about the shampoo girls' position really enraptured me. I knew it was ridiculous; people aspire to move up in the world not down. You see millions of people play the lottery, but you don't see too many Mercedes drivers clamoring for a Dodge. I tried to justify what I was going to do to myself. I figured it would be good for a little bit to experience life at the bottom of the shop. Maybe I'd learn a little more about the business by being one of the girls at the shop. It was all part of my delusion. I was going to do it for the experience and a chance to learn, not to fulfill any deep-seated need that my wife was picking up on. I suppose we all try to hide from our true thoughts and selves from time to time. I heard Jess pull up and enter the house. She called out to me. I went and met her as she stood before me with the uniform in her hands. She smiled at me and said, "Go get Katrina ready." I nodded and headed towards the bathroom. I closed the door behind me and saw that my wife had left out a pink ladies razor and shaving cream on the sink. I took hold of them and placed them on a shelf in the shower. I undressed. I did it slowly. I was kind of reticent in the face of the reality of my situation. I wanted to do it. I wanted to be Katrina. I wanted to be one of the girls in the shop, but I was a guy. I was almost sure of it. Men don't go into salons. Well, some do, but they don't do it in a skirt. A million what ifs ran through my mind. What if a friend or acquaintance saw me or, for that matter, anyone I knew? What would Jess really think of me if she saw me mincing around the shop, sweeping up and washing hair? My masculinity, whatever there ever was of it in her eyes and mine, would be shot! Could I really risk it? Still, the part of me clamoring to be Katrina gnawed at my better judgment. I stood nude before the tub. I stepped in and looked at the small amount of hair on my thin legs. My girlish arms were blessedly free of such icky masculine reminders of my mistake of birth. I turned the water on and washed my body before I turned to removing the hair from my legs and armpits. I placed the lather in my hands and moved it down my right leg that was lifted away from the shower's stream. I delicately dragged the razor across my leg as I had done many times earlier with Jess's permission, but it felt different. The knowledge that my effeminate legs would be on display for the world made me aroused. More so than normal when I shaved my body. I finished with my legs and turned to clearing the hair away from my armpits. They took no time to do. I stared down at my body. It was hairless except for my groin. I decided that even that was too much for me. I lathered it up and removed my most coarse body hair. I washed my hair and then turned off the shower. I dried myself off and wrapped a towel around my waist. I opened the door and found Jess staring at me. "What's up?" I asked in a low voice after a pause. She shook her head at me. I figured that this was all some sort of test, and I had failed miserably. I had to face it; I wasn't man enough for her. She pulled my towel off of my body. I stood naked before her in my aroused state waiting to be taken to task for being such a sissy that I was willing to dress as a woman in public. Instead, she moved closer to me with the towel. She wrapped it around my upper body. She smiled and said, "That's how a girl does it, Katrina. Now, go get dressed in what I left on the bed for you." She gave me a quick pat on the butt and walked away. I smiled as I felt relieved. I walked into our bedroom and saw the clothes she left out for me. They were from my collection of woman's clothing that we kept in the spare room. I started with my brown, patterned fashion tights. I sat on the bed and rolled them down. I slowly ran them up my legs. I lingered in my performance of the simple task because the feel of hosiery on my smooth legs was the feeling I most loved in the world. Once they were up, I tucked my manhood tightly away. I put on my black bra next. I wrapped it around my body and hooked it securely on my body with enough room to accommodate my breast forms. I secured my breast forms in place with glue and the bra and then turned to my brown dress. I slipped it over my head and pulled it straight. I giggled like a school girl as I looked at my feminine appearance from my neck down. I went and put on my brown, leather boots that Jess had left out for me. They went up nearly to my knee and had a 2-inch heel. I then turned to my wife's vanity. I combed my long hair straight and let it fall to the sides of my head. I pulled it back when I started to do my makeup. It wasn't the first time so I was used to putting on mascara, eyeliner, and lipstick. I was blessed with an even toned skin so it never took me long to do my makeup. I was unsure of my appearance as I looked at myself in the mirror. I had a decidedly un-masculine appearance, but I was unsure if it was enough to pass for a woman. I decided to get another's opinion. I strolled out of the bedroom. I walked up to my wife with my heels clicking on the wood floor. She turned to me and said, "You look great." I thanked her and asked for a more specific critique. "Do you think I can pass?" She smirked and nodded. I felt a little at ease with my appearance, but I knew that nothing would calm me completely until others saw me in public. Only if strangers didn't know I was a man would I be satisfied. Jess read my concerns on my face and said, "Don't worry, Katrina. No one will know. When you go there tomorrow, everyone is just going to think you're a shampoo girl." "I know, but I have my doubts. You know that others might see me differently." Jess laughed and said, "I don't see how?" "How come?" I asked. She shook her head and said, "Katrina, have you looked at yourself?" I nodded. She continued, "You have legs women would kill for. They're perfect. They're so long and slender. Your arms are girlish. I'm mean your wrist really is quite like that of the average thin girl out there. You even walk like a girl. Your stride is so short and your voice is unisexual." I didn't quite know how to take my wife's assessment of me as being this girlish person. I wanted it to be true. I knew at least parts of it were, but I didn't want to confirm what my wife was seeing. What would she think of me if I agreed that I was a girly-girl? I was a guy after all, at least at a genetic level. I liked to pretend I was one at other levels too. Fortunately, she didn't ask me to confirm her opinion. She motioned for me to come and watch the reality show she was watching with her, but my faux masculine side told me not to. I declined and went to the computer to look up sports results. It was a pretty ridiculous thing to do. Here I was wearing a bra, tights and a dress and I was still trying to show my wife that I was a real man! When dinnertime came, my wife took to making it. She served me as I sat down at the table. We had our normal conversations. I wanted to impress on her that me wearing a dress was no different from me wearing men's pants. I felt ridiculous doing it. As we finished, I gave in to my feminine side and said, "I'll do the dishes." My wife stood up, kissed my forehead and walked away. I stood in the kitchen and did the dishes why Jess was in the other room watching TV. I scrubbed the dishes, careful not to get any water or soap on my dress. When I finished I joined my wife on the couch. We sat watching Sunday night television until we decided to go to bed. When we went to bed that night, I was still wondering what the next day would bring. I figured, it would either be great or hell on earth. A man walked up to me as I entered an office dressed in a suit. It was my normal suit, but all of the sudden I looked down and saw it had transformed into a frilly dress. My socks had become white tights, and my black shoes had turned into white heels. I heard a woman walking by and saying, "Look at the fag. Look at the sissy, fag." I woke up in a daze. It took me a good hour to get back to sleep as my mind processed my not so latent fears. The next morning came, and I readied myself. I showered and dressed in the uniform that our company's shampoo girls wear. I carefully put on the black pantyhose before I placed on my skirt. The black bra and breast forms followed. Then it was the top. I never realized how comfortable it was. I finished my ensemble off with my shoes. I turned to the mirror and got to work on straightening my hair. It was pretty pointless considering it was going to be tied back in a ponytail anyway, but a girl wants to look her best. I pulled my hair back and started on my make up. I was ready before my wife. She has a more uneven skin tone and she has all these various cosmetics to even it out that seem to take forever. After a quick breakfast together, we were ready to go. I stepped into my car, and she went to hers. She pulled out of the driveway first and started down the street. I pulled my car out of the driveway and stared at her car. My car followed Jess's to the shop. My mind screamed for me to turn around and go home. That I should forget the whole thing and go put on a pair of pants. My better judgment was telling me that I was a man, but my desires kept me trailing Jess. Jess pulled into the strip-mall's parking lot. I pulled in behind her and parked. I looked up at the familiar name on the sign. It was one of our shops with a Grand Opening sign up. I was excited about what this experience would mean to me, but afraid of exposure and humiliation. Of course, the potential humiliation only made me more aroused. This only served to enlarge my member between my legs. The restraining feel of the pantyhose enhanced my arousal further. I turned to meet the knocking sound on my car window. Jess was motioning me to get out. I opened the door and turned my legs out together and stood up. My wife laughed at my effeminate exit of the car, which only served to further enhance my arousal. I walked towards the shop. I stopped shortly before the door because of my apprehensions. Jess had no patience for it. She clasped my arm and my legs followed in the direction she pulled me in. I walked into the shop and saw an older woman in the building. She came over and said hello to Jess. She was Joy, the woman my wife hired to be the hairdresser/manager of the shop. Joy had brown hair littered with red highlights. She was dressed in a casual, brown blouse and black pants. She clearly took pride in her appearance. I instantly thought my wife made a good choice in hiring her. Joy looked at me, and I identified myself, "Hello, I'm Katrina. I was hired to be the shampoo girl here." "Of course, Katrina. It's nice to meet you. I'm Joy Wynn. I see you've met Ms. Johnson. She's the shops owner, and she owns a whole chain of these shops, you know?" "Yes, Ms. Wynn. I've seen these salons before, and I've met Ms. Johnson. I saw her as I was coming towards the door. She's seems to be a lovely woman." "I agree Katrina, and you can call me Joy. We're all girls in this shop." My wife and Joy started to laugh. I joined in, somewhat uncomfortably. I wondered if she was being nice, or whether she knew I was a man and was just screwing with me. I wondered if it was it statement of fact that we were all girls, or was it mockery? I didn't want to find out. I looked around the shop as my wife talked to Joy. The shop was modest in size with six haircutting stations. I knew only four were being used that morning. I looked at the pristine wood floor and saw the sink that rested just beyond the last station. I walked towards it and saw the shampoo container next to the sink. I smiled at the thought of working in that spot and strolled back towards my wife. As I looked towards the front window, I saw another girl walking towards the shop. I later learned she was the receptionist. She was dressed in pants and a blouse. She entered and said hello to Joy and Jess. I greeted her too. Joy introduced me as "Katrina, our shampoo girl." The woman who told me her name was Cara gave me an odd look. The kind of look I'd say either said, 'So you're a tranny', but could have also said, 'You're a little old to be a shampoo girl.' Cara was tan with black hair. Her face was rounded in a way that fit her small, thin body. She was blessed with a butt that I would die to have. It was perfectly round, the kind of butt that men go nuts for. As Cara was talking to Joy, I heard the door open. I turned and saw a woman in her early 30's with brown hair enter. The short, trim woman quickly moved towards Joy and Jess. She said hello to both before she was introduced to Cara and I. The woman told me her name was Rachel. She went on, in great length, about how excited she was to be working here. I almost wanted to gag here. She had that kind of Kathy Griffin thing going for her that you either hate or love. I was decidedly in the hate category. I then saw two other girls heading for the door. Shortly after they entered, I was introduced to both of them. They were Edie and Amanda, the only other girls coming that morning. They were both hairdressers. Edie was another middle-aged woman. She looked around 40. She was polite and had short, reddish hair. The kind of hair I always resented women for having because it always seemed to me that that they were given the gift of femininity and failed to embrace it. Amanda was a different story. She identified herself as a "designer." She was young, perky and blonde. She was slender like a ballerina. She moved with such grace, much like my wife did and I could only aspire to. Her hair flowed from her head and seemed to rest gently on her shoulders. She looked the way I wanted to look when I was her age. I hated myself for that. I always damned myself for wanting to be like that type of girl instead of wanting to get her in the sack. Amanda sent a few kinds words my way before she went to set up her station just as the rest of the stylists did. After I finished introducing myself to the girls, I set up at my sink. I awaited the first customer with a mix of delight and anxiety. I badly wanted to do this job, but a part of me felt that I would be exposed as a man or treated as something beyond disdain because they would see me as an imitation of a woman. I saw the shop door open and saw a middle-aged woman walk in. She was carrying a handbag and talked to the receptionist. I moved towards the front of the shop to see if she needed to be washed first. When I realized she did, I almost jumped. I was able to keep my feelings in check though. I showed her the way to the sink with a smile. She sat before it and I ran the warm water over her hair. I began to work my fingers into her long, luscious hair. She had great hair. It was blonde and thick. I envied it. As I massaged her scalp, I complemented her hair. She smiled up at me and said, "That's funny. I like your hair because it's straight. Mine takes a good hour to be manageable." I said, "Well, I guess we just want we don't have." The woman agreed as I started to lather up the shampoo in my hands. I worked on the woman's hair and asked what she did, "I'm a stay at home mom. I used to work in business, but my husband makes enough, so why should I bother killing myself?" I casually agreed as I worked the lather through her hair and she continued, "Besides, what's the point of having kids, if you're not going to raise them?" "I totally agree. I would never let a stranger raise my kids. I think that's why I decided not to have them," I replied, partially in truth. The reality was I wanted my wife to be a stay at home mom, but it wasn't in her. She needed to work. The other part of it was that I felt that my dressing might result in maladjusted children if I accidentally got caught. I rinsed the shampoo out of her hair, and she was off on her way to get her haircut. Almost as soon as she was gone, another client was coming over for a wash. I found myself doing the same thing again. Rinse, lather, rinse. It was mechanical except for the talking with the clients. Some were talkative while others were quieter. Some were polite; other's made clear they thought I was beneath them. They didn't say that. It was how they carried themselves. They were flip in their answers to me. They were the type of girls I avoided when I dated, but was now unable to escape. One middle-aged woman told me she was a lawyer. I asked about her job and she said, "It's simple shit really, just push paper." I asked, "Then why do you guys make so much?" She retorted, "Because we push paper around even when we don't have to and bill the client." I grimaced at her candor. Fortunately, she didn't see it. She stood up when she was done and handed me a five-dollar bill. Now, there was a part of me that knew that my masculine self wouldn't even stop to pick up a five-dollar bill, but the shampoo girl in me took it with a smile and an affable thank you. The girls around the shop were friendly to me. The hairdressers were all sweethearts. I joked around with them as they bitched about their husbands or boyfriends. I laughed to myself about what they would think if they knew that I was one of those 'men' they liked to put down. I loved the gossip the girls had to. They talked about these reality shows. I never watched them, but after my first day, I was hooked on them. The Millionaire Match Maker, Real Desperate Housewives of Atlanta, all these cable reality shows. I fell in love with them. They're like crack. Once you are hooked, you're in forever. My wife giggled when she caught me watching them for the first time given that I had derided them in more masculine era. She watched them all the time. The first time, I tried to pretend I wasn't watching. I pretended to read a book, but she saw through me. My burgeoning feminine taste in television not only helped me fit in at the shop, but also gave me something to talk about with Jess. Back at the shop, my work wasn't just limited to washing hair. When I had time, I was walking around and sweeping up the hair from the floor. It was the most menial task at the salon. I was overjoyed when I had the time to do it, because it made me feel my position most. It really helped to cement my position in my head. I wasn't the co-owner, in these girls' eyes. I was the low-girl on the totem pole. The shop's atmosphere was great when only girls were in it, but invariably a few men came during the day. I hated that. Men just bring down the shop. The girls' lips get tighter as the men jokes go out the window. The jokes turn to whispers in the ears instead. The young stylists flirted with the guys. They knew how to get big tips. I wasn't in their shoes though. I was considered more dowdy by the men. I took that as a complement. None ever let on they thought I was a guy. They just thought I was a below average girl. I'm not going to lie. I'd rather be pretty, but I'll take being passable any day. It was good for me too. I rather liked not being hit on by men. I'm not attracted to them in the slightest. The feminine is what I love; I worship it even. I want nothing but it in my life, but I had to tolerate the men in the shop just as I had to tolerate the shameful reminder of my accident of birth. I also had to reconcile my thoughts with who I was becoming at home. In my home, I was still the husband. Jess was still my wife. However, there were changes. Besides us watching more TV together and talking about the shows, I noticed a change in Jess. She sort of intimated that I should do more around the house. I understood her point. The traditionally male yard work was done by a grounds keeping company we paid, so besides maintaining the house itself, all that was left was women's work. I agreed with her premise. If I wanted to experience femininity, I should bear its burdens as well as privileges. Of course, its burdens excited me. I already knew how to cook, so I started to make dinner more often. I felt it was fair given that Jess had more responsibilities than me now at work. My pay was a fraction of hers. She was the breadwinner for the time being. I felt I owed it to her. She was my provider. It was a role she cherished. She seemed to enjoy keeping me on an allowance and paying the bills. Her general dominating demeanor was enhanced by her now unfettered control at work and nearly complete control at home. I started to clean the house. Jess really liked that. She hated cleaning. She hired a weekly housekeeper, but there was always little things to be done in the interim. I did them all now. I even learned how to sew. When Jess's blouse lost a button, I sewed a spare right back on. She was impressed by my work, she said with in playful tone, "You're quite good at woman's work, darling." The smile melted me and prevented any thought of a petulant male response that a normal man would give when their masculinity was impugned. I didn't want it anyway. My life at home and the shop carried on the same for about a week. Nothing really out of the ordinary happened until my second Wednesday on the job. I was answering calls for the receptionist when she stepped into the bathroom when I saw Christina walk in. Christina was 5'0 and 90 pounds of cruelty. She was one of Jess's closest friends. Christina glared at me with a half smile on her face. It conveyed her pleasure at seeing me in such a reduced position. She was the only one of my wife's friend's who knew about my cross-dressing and actually seemed to have a problem with it. Jess's other friends let the thing slide after their initial curiosity. Not with Christina. Whenever I saw her, wherever we were, she always referred to me in girlish terms. She called me a waif, delicate, she called me Missy in a crowded restaurant, and she called me a sissy in front of Jess's other friends. In my presence, she called Jess a "fag hag" while looking at me. Hell, when Jess and I were dating, Christina walked up to me in a bar and asked loudly, "Are you wearing panties tonight?" Christina never missed a chance to humiliate me. Jess assured me it was just Christina's way, but I never took a liking to her. I could only fear what she was going to say that day. With a weary look, I led her back towards the sink. I felt her hand touch my back. She rubbed my bra through my shirt. I shivered as her fingers dragged down my back and over my ass. As she sat down, her hand touched my nylon covered thigh. She smiled and said, "I always knew you loved a good uniform, girl." As I rinsed her long, black hair and started working my fingers through it, she asked, "Do you like working here, girl?" I stuttered in my one word response of, "Yes." She smirked at me and said, "So you like being a shampoo girl?" I nodded my head. She continued, "You don't have any greater ambitions. Surely, you wouldn't want to stay in such a lowly position." I started to feel oddly good as she reinforced my perception of myself as a lowly shampoo girl. Christina saw my smile and said with a smirk, "It's hard." I grimaced, and she giggled at my discomfort at what she said. I lathered her hair up and worked my hands through it. As I washed her hair, she said, "You're really good at this, girl. This must be your calling." In truth I felt the same, but I didn't want to say that. I rinsed her hair and sent over to Rachel. Christina pulled two dollars she had kept between her jeans and her waist and handed them to me. I smiled politely and thanked her. She responded, "Girl, you're welcome." By the time I finished washing and rinsing the next client, Karen called me over to clean the hair off the floor. I periodically looked at Christina. She was watching me sweep the floor of hair. She smirked as I swept up hers. She said, "Katrina, I like the way you sweep." I nodded and Rachel looked at Christina and me oddly before she got back to work. After Christina left, Rachel asked me about her, but I just brushed it off. She uncharacteristically didn't belabor the point, mercifully. However, the silence between Rachel and I prompted Amanda to ask me a question. She asked to talk to me in private. I was concerned. I wondered if she knew what the others didn't. Maybe she read more into Christina's words, I figured. I couldn't have been more wrong. Amanda only worked part time at the salon. I never really knew what she did the rest of the time, but she told me that she co-owned a boutique with a friend. She said they both were designers and that she was doing advertising for her shop. I didn't see how that involved me, so she clarified. "Katrina, I was wondering if you could do me a favor?" She asked. "Sure, I guess." I responded. She smiled and said, "We've made some clothes for older woman, not too old though. I'm talking like your age. Middle aged, you know?' I smirked back at the young girl and her careful, but clumsy phrasing about my age. She continued, "I just wanted to know if you'd be willing to do a little modeling for us. It wouldn't pay that much. That's why I'm asking you. I'm mean you're perfect. You're tallish and trim, you're exactly what we were looking to sell women to think their bodies will look like in our clothes." I was surprised. I said, "I'm not a model. I've never even thought about doing it. Can I get back to you?" "Absolutely, but I really need to know by tomorrow so I can get someone else to do it if you won't." I nodded and went back to doing my job. That night, I told Jess about Christina's visit. She already knew about it because the two of them had talked. So, I moved on to Amanda's proposition. Jess was intrigued. She said, "That's sound's interesting. You should definitely consider it." I definitely was considering it. I wanted her approval. I knew I would be creating a distributed and photographic record of my cross-dressing, but that thought was exciting me rather than instilling fear into my heart. I looked to Jess and said, "I'm going to do it." She smiled and said, "That's good. I can't wait to see the pics." With her approval, I went to Amanda the next day and agreed to do the shoot Saturday evening. I was nervous when I went to Amanda's boutique that night. I was taken into a back room and shown around. I saw the ten items I would be modeling. Some dresses, some skirts; I was relieved to see no pants. It was all loose fitting where it counted. I dressed in a formal gown that Amanda told me was designed for mothers of a bride or groom. I loved the feel of the satin on skin. I put on a pair of teal heels that matched the teal dress. Amanda made my hair up to appear more stylish. She then touched up the makeup on my face to make me appear more attractive. The photographer began to take his pictures as I posed in front of a white screen. We moved on to more casual dresses from there. I put on a pair of nude stockings to go beneath them. The photographer gave me direction. I was to pout, I was to smile. I was to appear to have laughed. I enjoyed it until a man showed up to the end. He was to be their male model. They had a few clothes made for men and two of the male clothes were going to be modeled in a picture with me. The strapping Adonis stood next to me in a tailored black suit while I was dressed in a black dress and pantyhose. I felt pretty uncomfortable. I wondered what Jess would think when she saw me next to him. She would see that picturesque piece of masculinity next to her decidedly non- masculine husband. I thought that was the worst of it until I saw the last thing I was to model. It was negligee. The man stripped and changed into a pair of boxer shorts that Amanda's partner designed. I put the negligee on slowly and emerged from the changing room with timid steps. Amanda walked over and practically pulled me in front of the white screen. The strapping man's hand touched my side and filled me with disgust. I hated the touch of men. I really didn't want anyone touching me besides my wife. Now, not only was someone else touching me, but it was potentially going to be sent to thousands of households. I looked at the male model with admiration for his form. He was a perfect masculine specimen. The type of man I could never be nor wanted to be. I felt inadequate next to him though, as if I didn't belong next to him. In truth, men like him didn't go for girls that looked like me. Maybe that was part of the advertising trick. The boutiques' cliental was mostly women, so they figured they'd sell a hot guy next to a dowdy girl. Women would love to get with that man, and those same women wouldn't give me the time of day if I was dressed like a man. After a few pictures were taken, I was sent on my way. I went home and tried to forget about the shoot. The next few weeks flew by as I fell more into more role as Katrina at the shop and Kevin the househusband at home. Jess really took to being the dominant partner even more. Everyday, she seemed to relish her control over our shops and our relationship with more vigor. I loved it too. I began to realize that the two of us were more perfect for each other than I ever though. Our personalities were perfectly complementary now that I had finally dropped my male ego along with any pretense that I was really a masculine creature. The Friday before Katrina was to go away and Kevin the boss was too return, the boutiques mailing came. I thumbed through it at the shop with the girls. Amanda and I described the shoot. The girls just loved the designs and how I looked in it. That made me proud. I almost hated that when I said goodbye to them that evening. None of them knew that I would not be returning as the shampoo girl anymore. I went home and took in the mail. I saw the boutique's mailing and put it on the kitchen table. I waited for my wife to come home and see the pictures. I was proud of all the one's I was alone it. However, the one with me in a negligee concerned me because I looked like I was staring at the male model lustfully. I heard my wife pull up and enter the home. I greeted her in the hallway. My wife looked at me with terror in her eyes. I asked what was wrong, she said, "Everyone at your shops knows." "Knows what?" "Knows that you're cross dresser. That circular you're in went everywhere. All the girls know that's you." I was in shock. I had buried my masculinity in those girls' eyes. I wondered if they could even respect me again. I was going to be an object of ridicule whenever I went there. Granted, as a boss, the ridicule would largely be behind my back and muted when not in my presence, but I knew it would be there. I looked to my wife for guidance and said, "What should we do?" She huffed and said, "I know you like being a shampoo girl. Is that right? Am I wrong?" "No," I murmured, not seeing where she was going. "And I like doing what I'm doing. You know I like control, Kevin." I nodded before realizing where she was going with this. "You can't be serious?" I shouted. Jess was surprised by my reaction. I rephrased it in a more docile tone, "You really want me to be a shampoo girl. You really want the burden of running our company alone." Jess put her hand on my shoulder and said, "It's not a burden on me. I love running the company. I love running the shops. The look of respect and deference I get satisfies me. I love it when I get it from my employees and when I get it from you. You've done a great job around the home. I know some of my friends never got it, but it's a real plus to have such a girlish husband. You help around the house, we share the same interests now, but you're still a man the only place it's useful." She laid her case out pretty persuasively for me. Not that I needed much persuasion. I badly wanted to stay her husband, but I also wanted to be Katrina. She was offering me both. My masculine side at work was gone anyway. I would never be a respected businessman among my employees now. I would just be the weird sissy. I looked into my wife's loving eyes. She was offering me everything I ever wanted but was afraid to have. I said, "You're right." "I knew you'd come around," she said before she kissed my cheek. I stared into her beautiful eyes for a moment. She broke the silence between us and asked, "Could you start dinner, darling?" I dutifully complied with her request. I turned to face as I walked towards the kitchen and saw the satisfied smile on her face.