Caregiver In Love Part 3 (continuing The Caregiver Saga) free porn video

Caregiver in Love Part 3 In which Shawn endures a long visit to the mall and further unwelcome feminization. The Fitting Marilyn led me back to the department store. We stepped on the escalator to the second floor and went to the intimate apparel section. Marilyn got the attention of the attractive lady clerk who glided over to where we were standing. "Could you check to see if my niece is correctly fitted for the bra she's wearing? And we want to find a good bra insert to fill her out a little until she develops. She already has a few sets of the Wacoal Embrace Lace panties. So if the matching Wacoal brassieres fit, that would be our first choice." The sales lady smiled at us both. I couldn't tell if she had noticed that I was a boy. After the experience at the sports store, I wasn't going to assume anything. "Since you like Wacoal, you should know we're having a spring special. When you purchase $80 or more from Wacoal's intimates collection, you can select a pretty Spring season Wacoal sleep set absolutely free." "We'll keep that in mind," Marilyn said. "Are you the brassier fit expert?" I fidgeted, looking down at my beige purse and at my lacquered toes showing through the straps of the all-too-feminine heeled sandals. "No, our fit expert is with another customer, but she should be done in a few minutes. Let me show you the Wacoal sleep sets." The women guided us over to the Wacoal display. "Here are the bras that match the Embrace Lace panties. And here is the baby doll sleep chemise and panty and the matching short silk robe. It comes in solid white, solid black and solid pink, and also in this pretty lavender floral print." "Shawn, I love that floral print. Let's have you try the chemise and robe while we're waiting," Marilyn said. "But I already have those expensive silk pajamas," I meekly protested. "I don't need another set." "The floral set will be perfect for the girl's sleepover night tomorrow night. Go ahead and try them on. She's a small," Marilyn said to the sales lady. To me, she said, "Don't forget. We have a deal." The sales lady selected a size small in the floral print. "I'll tell our fitting expert that you're ready if she finishes with her customer." Not wanting to be interrupted in the dressing room, I handed my tennis tote to Marilyn and took the offered sleepwear and headed to the dressing rooms. Shutting the door to the comfortable, rather large room, I took off my shoes, shirt and shorts. My crotch was still very flat, my tiny soft noodle of manhood well-restricted in the beige lace panties. My breasts still looked perky and pretty in their lacy brassier. I slipped on the floral baby doll chemise. It was very sheer and silky. It draped off my shoulders, hugged my breasts and my waist, flared at my hips, and ended, just like the tennis dress, the skirt barely covering my silky panty-covered bottom. How can I wear this in front of Jacqueline, Marilyn and Angie? I suddenly thought in a panic. At least I'm not wearing that short tennis skirt in public, but still. I shuddered with revulsion at the thought. I reached for the floral robe just as I heard the sales lady say, "Miss, the bra fitting specialist is ready for your fitting. May she come in?" I wrapped the silk robe around my chemise-clad body, and tied the silk tie at my waist. The skirt of the robe was as short as the hem of the chemise. "Sure, I'm ready, I guess." Marilyn came in, too, and watched in fascination as the brassier fitter had me remove the floral robe and step out of the chemise. In modesty, I stepped into my white shorts and zipped them up. "Hi Shawn. My name is Daniella. I'm the bra fitter here at Nordstrom. First we want to determine your ideal bra size." She studied the swell of my breasts in the silky, lacy cups of the bra I was borrowing from Jacqueline. "Most women never have a professional bra fitting and often wear ill- fitting bras that are both uncomfortable and ugly. And I understand that you wear augmenting silhouette inserts, which is fine." She took a long tape measure from around her neck and wrapped it around my chest, measuring just above my bra cups. "30 inches, that's quite slender, Shawn." Then she wrapped the tape again, loosely around the largest part of my bust. "32 and a half inches," she whispered to me, smiling. Then she wrapped the tape just under my bra. 30 inches again. She put two fingers under the back strap of my bra, and pulled slightly, feeling the tension, and then turned the strap over to look at the label. "Shawn, you're very thin. With the bra inserts that you're wearing, your true bra size is a 30B or a 32A," she explained. "32 is actually the smallest band size that we and most stores carry, although you can find a size 30 or even smaller online if you look. You're wearing a 32B bra, which is actually quite a good fit on you. See how on the tightest setting, it is nice and snug and comfortable below your breasts? And look at the band behind your back. It's perfect. We only want the back band to pull out a few inches when we pull it straight out from your center back." "But I'd like you to also think about wearing a 32A and try a smaller silhouette breast form. I sometimes find that my smaller customers are happier with a smaller bust. But let's try it and see what you think." "I'd also like to see how she looks in a 32B with a B insert," Marilyn chimed in. I wanted to scream in protest, but held my tongue, remembering our agreement. "That would be a good exercise," said the fitting expert who called out to the sales lady to retrieve a 32A and 32B in the Wacoal Embrace Lace bra, and an A and B silhouette bra insert. "The B form is going to look quite large on your small 30 inch frame. Remember, the B is proportional to a 34 inch bra size, so it's quite large." The forms and the bras both arrived quickly. I was very glad I had practiced taking my bra and forms on and off that morning. I turned my back to the ladies and expertly twisted my slender arms behind my back to unfasten and remove Jacqueline's 32B bra and A inserts. I quickly put on the new 32A. I inserted the smaller A forms into the lacy cups of the bra. They seemed much lighter. They seemed less humiliating. "These feel nice," I said, faking my enthusiasm, adjusting the lacy cups and turning from side to side. I was really hoping I could wear the smallest breasts possible. Or better yet, none at all! "Let's try the 32B with the B inserts," Marilyn said, handing me back the 32B brassier. She delicately handed me the B inserts and I felt their more substantial weight. With my manicured fingers, I fed the B inserts into the lacy cups of the 32B bra. I turned my back to the ladies, and undid my own bra strap behind my back. I slipped my arms through the straps, and quickly closed the fastener behind my back. I adjusted the straps on my shoulders and the lacy cups holding the inserts and turned around. The combined weight of the two breasts was substantial on my slender frame. I remembered that Jacqueline had told me that she occasionally wore B's and had been wearing them the previous night. "Well those are quite sexy, I guess," said the fitter. "But for a growing girl with such a slender frame, I worry about her not being able to carry the weight. For sports, I would strongly recommend no larger than the A cups. If you like the B's then you could wear them for very special occasions. For high impact sports, I always recommend modest sizes." I stood, utterly humiliated, looking at my large breasts, hoping that I wouldn't have to wear them. "You're right. We should go with the A's for tennis and serious exercise, and B for day-to-day and special occasions." Marilyn reasoned, looking at my large breasts. "We can always graduate to those C's if you want to later." She turned to the sales lady. "We'll take three bras in 32A and three in 32B in beige, black and white to match her panties. We'll also take a set of the A and B forms. And that qualifies us to take the floral sleep set home for free." It was decided. We left the lingerie department with a large, light pink Wacoal shopping bag. I was still wearing Jacqueline's pretty bra and bra inserts, but now I carried a bag with some of my own. Marilyn had paid for it all. I thanked her as we left the department. Still not giving up hope of retrieving my missing masculinity, I scanned our path, hoping to spot a place where I could quickly buy some jeans and a men's shirt. Instead, Marilyn steered me to the up escalator. "We don't have much time, and I want to have my friend Mario look at your hair." We went to the top level of the department store, where Marilyn guided me into a hair styling studio called Lilly and Mario. There were several women sitting in black chairs, with their hair being either shampooed, cut, colored or styled. We waited for less than two minutes, when a tall, thin young man, not much older than me, came over and kissed Marilyn on both cheeks. "This is Shawn," she said proudly and Mario waited for me to present my hand, which he kissed and said, "It's such an honor Shawn. Welcome to my studio." He effortlessly relieved me of my tennis tote and handed it to the receptionist, and led me over to an empty chair. He raised the chair several inches and then stood back, with Marilyn at his side, both of them studying my face and hair very carefully. "You have very beautiful eyes, and your lashes are just completely amazing, Shawn," Mario said as he tilted and bobbed his head slowly, continuing to look carefully at my hair. I blushed from his compliment and all the attention. I tried to guess if he was gay and couldn't. He had a pleasing Italian accent. Marilyn gestured to my purse, and I slipped it off my shoulders and handed it to her. Hip music played softly in the background. Mario briefly touched my bangs, pulling them straight forward with his fingers, so that the strands of hair covered my face and tickled my lower lip. "Your bangs can be very nice even now, Shawn. They're nice and long and have no damage, but we will grow them a bit longer." He turned and smiled and winked at Marilyn, who also blushed. I had never seen Marilyn blush before. He turned my head slightly by rotating my chair, his eyes continuing to scan my head, neck, hair and face. "The top and back, we will also let grow, but we could make them look very attractive today. You're extremely slender, Shawn, and I think we can really work with that. I think you will be very happy." He smiled again, having determined his plan of action. He quickly added, "The color is also very nice, but let's see what we think after we cut and style." Mario looked over at Marilyn, who smiled and nodded her head politely. Mario removed a silken black smock from a discreet drawer below the sink and tied it around my neck. "First, let's give you a shampoo to soften up that hair. This is my assistant, Heather." An attractive woman in a white frock appeared beside my chair and lowered my head gently down to the edge of the sink. Looking down at me, she carefully sprayed warm water into my hair, studiously keeping the water from my face. With a pleasant smile, she squeezed some shampoo into her hand and began rubbing it into my long hair. I could feel the rich, warm suds lathering my hair as she efficiently scrubbed my scalp with her bare fingers. Heather rinsed my hair in warm water and repeated the action twice more with shampoo and then a rich conditioner. As she rinsed for the final time, I could tell that my hair was silkier and softer than it had ever been before. She put a towel on my hair and briefly dried my wet locks. She took a tissue and blotted my hair line, and I sensed that she was being careful not to wipe off any of my acne foundation and powder. Heather disappeared as quickly as she had appeared, and Mario shimmered back into view. He quickly combed my hair and placed long clips in my hair. He worked on my bangs first, combing them straight down across my face and then cutting a small amount of hair at my jaw line. "Very nice," he said. He continued to comb out the hair at the top of my hair, snipping only a tiny amount of hair from the ends. As he worked his way to the back and sides of my head, he seemed to cut a bit more hair from the areas close to my neck. He always seemed to cut so carefully, constantly evaluating, with his fingers, the length of each section of my hair. Mario worked very quickly, his fingers gathering my hair, his comb expertly combing it out, his scissors hand carefully cutting in a straight line along his finger. Occasionally he would stop, step back and review his progress. Cut, comb, observe, repeat, comb, observe. He never seemed to need to cut the same locks more than once. After about 15 minutes, he stepped away, holding the comb at his shoulder, like a marksman, who had just fired his pistol, and looked at my hair one more time. "Okay, we're ready to style." Taking a blow dryer and a round brush, he carefully combed out my hair as he pointed the dryer at the brush. In some places he made it very straight, in others, he curved my hair slightly over and over again. I saw the style begin to emerge. Mario began to frame my made up face with my long bangs. The hair from the back and sides, swept forward slightly, wrapping around my head. My dark eyes with their long lashes, accented with the dark lines of the mascara and eyeliner and slightly darkened by my eye shadow, peered out sweetly between a few strands of hair that crossed over my face. In minutes, he was done drying and styling my hair. He stepped back with the blow dryer at his shoulder, pointed to the sky. I looked at myself shocked at the transformation. My sultry eyes looked out from beautiful long bangs, that seemed to frame and caress my face. My porcelain skin seemed to shimmer. "There are lots of things you can do with this style, to dress it up, or make it look more sporty," Mario said. "I think in your case, I'm going to suggest you stay with your natural brown color, which is so pretty and striking with your brown eyes. Someday it might be interesting to try some highlights. I'm going to send Heather back to work with you a little on a few different styles. Thank you, Shawn. Please come back and visit us again very soon." "Thank you, Mario," I mumbled, still staring at my transformed face and beautiful, healthy, shiny, soft clean hair. Heather re-appeared, with Marilyn beaming at her side and said, "You know, with this smooth, crisp style, you can wear it very nicely just the way it is. It would be both wonderful and quite striking at school, at the office, at the mall, but also at a party or even a ball game." I tried to imagine walking around in public with such a beautiful head of hair and couldn't. Marilyn, with a thrilled look on her face, gave me a thumbs up and winked at me. Heather continued, "You could tease the bangs a little and add a little mouse for a rock concert or to go out clubbing, when you want to show a little rougher, urban look. So it would go great with some tight black leather pants and thick mascara. "But let's say you want to really jazz it up for a fancy night on the town or the ballet. Sometimes you want the drama and fun of a little bit more hair length. This is called a topper. It's basically a 14- inch blend-in hair extension," she said, pulling from a white box a length of straight, long dark brown hair. She showed me the four clicking clip-lock combs sewn into the tiny brown weave that held the long strands of hair. She took my right hand in hers, admiring my manicure and long, slender fingers. She showed me how to press down with one of my painted finger tips to lock and unlock the clip. Snap. Snap. "These extensions also come in 12, 18 and 22 inch lengths. With your long bangs and rich, dark hair, you can get really long hair by just attaching these clips anywhere from one to three inches behind your bangs," she said. Heather combed my bangs straight back. Placing her comb end three inches back from my hairline, she brought a section of my bangs forward, holding my bangs above my face with a long curving hairclip. I could see a four inch wide part line on my scalp. She inserted the click combs into my hair, a pencil's width behind the part line. She pressed down on the clips, and I heard four clicking sounds, snap, snap, snap, snap, as the combs locked into place. Removing the long clip holding my bangs, she combed my bangs straight again. I could feel the long hair tickling my upper back, as she quickly combed out the full length of the topper. "Now watch how I blend your bangs." Marilyn and I watched transfixed as she combed most of my bangs back over the top of my head, blending perfectly with the hair of the extension. With her comb, she pulled a few loose strands to frame the side of my face, and brought some of the hair from the back of my head around to the front so it rested on my shoulders and draped down to partly cover my soft, pouting breasts. My hair looked as long, healthy and beautiful as the lovely Jacqueline's. Heather stepped back, observing me, deep in thought. I gazed at my long brown hair, my brown and white top, the small soft mounds of my breasts, and the flawless skin of my face, I realized that I looked a lot like Jacqueline. I was shocked. I didn't want to look like Jacqueline. I wanted Jacqueline to like me when she looked at me. "This is a fabulous look with your hair down. You can also put it up on top in a bun. That's nice when it's hot, or you're exercising, or for a bit of glamor." She paused. "And you can also dress it down a bit, too," Heather said, "You can gather your hair in a pony tail in the back, and put this scrunchie around it." She gathered my hair into a pony tail holding it with a white elastic scrunchie. I felt the pony tail swish against my neck. She stood back again. "It's really, cute, Shawn. Because you're so slender, this pony tail really accents your slim figure and your pretty eyes." I continued to gaze at my reflection in silence, occasionally glancing at Marilyn, who was watching me with a look of wonder. I felt so feminized, I wanted to crawl into a dark hole. I felt as my penis, already smaller than a guppy, seemed to shrink to the size of a pinto bean in the silky confines of my panties. "And I understand you have a tennis lesson at the country club tomorrow. This would be a great hair look for that," she said as she undid the ties of my smock and carefully lifted it off of me. The damp snips of my hair falling softly to the floor. There sure wasn't much hair on the floor relative to the feminizing effect on my appearance. My smooth, tan legs, my white shorts and my brown and white striped top, seemed to glow brighter than ever. Dressed like this. In public. Tomorrow morning. At the country club. Oh, God, no! I stood up and looked again at my all-too-feminine hair. I turned my head to look at the white scrunchie and my pony tail whipped gracefully as, well, a pony's tail. It was too much. The six bras and the silky floral sleepwear, the short tennis skirt and the tennis panties, a small purse to carry my cell phone, keys and driver's license. And now this completely effeminate hairstyle. I was in a masculinity meltdown. I felt myself swoon as the weight of the day's changes seemed to drop onto my shoulders like a bag of wet sand. I felt like I might never be able to look like a boy again. Marilyn came closer and sensing my unease, took my elbow and walked me to the quiet, empty waiting area. We sat down together in black leather chairs, with Marilyn facing me. She took my hands in hers and looked me straight in the eye. "Shawn, you look so wonderful. And I'm so proud of you!" "You're proud of me?" I asked, surprised, feeling the warmth of her hands. I felt like such a sissy, I couldn't even look her in the eye. "Look at me! I don't even look like a boy anymore." Heather brought us each a cup of hot green tea, placing them on a small side table before swiftly shimmering away. "Well, you certainly don't look like the shy, nerdy boy I've known my whole life. The boy I knew before Mom's accident would never have had the courage to take a tennis lesson or ask a beautiful girl out on a date. You look so confident. You're so beautiful. You look like you can take on the world!" She beamed, her face glowing. Feeling the compassion in her voice and her beautiful brown eyes on me, I turned to face her, holding my knees discreetly together. "Can we at least just tone it down a little? I'm not ready to look like a complete girl. I'm your brother! I'm a guy!" "Sweetie, you've come too far to let your silly macho ego get in the way. You've said goodbye to your acne and your glasses this week." She handed back my purse, which she had been holding. "Look at the adventures we've had together, and the wonderful friendships you have with Jacqueline and Angie?" I thought of how Jacqueline had playfully kissed the corner of my mouth the previous day, and decided I should keep that a secret. As for having adventures, I didn't think getting my legs waxed and being humiliated by a young sales girl at the sports store could be construed as adventures. Marilyn batted her lashes at me as she smiled playfully. "Three weeks ago, you were the shyest boy in your class. You'd never been on a date. Now you're turning heads wherever you go!" Marilyn put her hand on top of my hand, her manicured fingers complimenting mine, and said in a soft, kindly, compassionate voice, "Shawn, had you ever kissed a girl before Mom's accident? Did you even have any friends? Weren't you a little lonely?" "Yes, I was lonely," I said wearily. "But this is just too much, Marilyn. I'm a guy, and I don't want to stop being a guy. Okay? Jeez!" "Have you ever considered that some of the changes you've made in the past two weeks might have been good for you, made you more popular, but also maybe made you more yourself?" "More myself? What are you talking about, Marilyn? I know who I am," I said, close to tears. "And who I am is 100% American guy!" "Okay, sweetie. It's your call. Just remember that you've always had some size and performance issues that make you a little unusual," she said, patting my thigh and looking at my crotch, "a little different from a real guy." I nearly burst into tears, and recoiled in shame at her inference. I hissed, "I'm a real guy, and someday I'll prove it to everyone." "It's okay, Shawn. Everyone has a cross to bear, or something that makes them unique in the world. If you want, let's take the hair extensions off. I think we'd be crazy not to get them, though, because they're so nice on you. You'll want to wear them some time." She waved to Heather. Marilyn looked back at me with a faint smile on her face. "And besides," she said coldly, "I'm sure you want to keep you promise to me on the earrings, and that will be so much easier with short hair. Right?" Heather reappeared with her comb and. I sat with my thin arms folded beneath my small breast, feeling simultaneously confused, disgusted and afraid. She quickly unlocked the clips and removed the topper from my head. She then gracefully combed my hair back into the shape that Mario had originally styled it, with the long graceful bangs softly framing my face. I most definitely did not look like a boy! She stepped away and returned with my tennis tote bag and my wispy hair extension contained in a long, narrow white box. "You'll want to keep your topper in this box when you aren't wearing it." With relief that I didn't have to wear the topper, I looked in the mirror one last time. Marilyn handed me her lip gloss, to me. With an inward groan, I dabbed my lips with it and squeezed them together. With growing disgust, I noted my glossy lips and my feminine, short pixie of a haircut and stood up to go. I mumbled a thanks to Heather lifted my hand to wave goodbye to Mario. He waved back, mouthing Please come again soon. Marilyn led the way the elevators and we descended to the ground level of the mall. We walked out past the makeup counters and past the jewelry department. Despite my incredibly feminine hairstyle and clothing, I felt another instant wave of relief wash over me. Perhaps Marilyn had decided not to get me earrings that day. Or perhaps buying six bras, two pairs of bra inserts, a baby doll chemise, a sexy women's tennis top and a very girly hairstyle was enough feminization for one day. Our heels clicked on the floor as we walked out through the wide entrance. My silk lined shorts reminding me of my feminine attire by softly caressing my bottom through the nylon of my panties. I felt my breasts jiggle in my lacy bra as we walked. Marilyn appeared to be guiding us back to the car. I looked around relieved, wondering if there was a way I could take off my purse and hide it, but it wouldn't fit in my tennis tote. We continued walking, and I was just about to ask Marilyn if we could go to the store where I had already set aside some trousers and a shirt, when Marilyn turned and entered a small store with a sign that said Claire's in blue block letters. I didn't recognize the name Claire's at all, but I followed her in. It was a girl's accessory shop. There were aisles and glass counters and rotating stands of hair accessories, bracelets, rings, purses, socks and headbands. And about nine young girls, younger than me, browsing the merchandise. They looked up when we entered like pigeons pecking in wet grass, glanced at Marilyn and me, and returned to their browsing. Marilyn walked to the front cashier, a young woman with a name tag that said Kristen. "This is Shawn. We're here for our three o'clock ear piercing." I nearly collapsed. I had agreed to an ear piercing to avoid having to get a short tennis skirt, and now the birds had come home to roost. Buying a bra was one thing. Getting fitted by a professional bra fitter, something more. Getting both my ears pierced. Well, that was a nearly permanent-tattoo of femininity, just inches from my face. Just inches from my life-giving jugular vein. Kristen glanced at my outfit and my smoothly waxed legs, my flat crotch in the tight jeans, my effeminate short haircut and my lightly made up face. "Hi Shawn," she said, smiling at me. "Because you're under 18, Marilyn brought in the waiver signed by your mom. You're here to get our basic two ear lobe piercing, which is free with our $19.95 starter kit. We'll go through the piercing procedure, let you select your earrings, and then go over the after-care procedures that you need to follow at home." She handed me a clipboard. Held down by a metal clip was a white piece of paper with purple writing and a large Claire's logo at the top. It was a consent form for getting my ears pierced, and had already been completed in Marilyn's neat handwriting with my name, address and date of birth. My mother's signature graced the bottom line where it said Consent of Parent or Guardian. She had written today's date next to her signature. I glanced up at Marilyn. "Mother is thrilled, and so am I," she said smiling in victory. Here's where I had to pay the piper for not taking the tennis skirt she had offered. As if in a daze, I signed on a line next to my mother's signature. Kristen took the form off the clipboard and dropped it in a slot in her counter. "Let's pick out your earrings, Shawn," she said, guiding me to a rotating display stand. I looked at the various types of studs. There were the 12 birthstones, one for each month. There were several Cubic Zirconia studs of various sizes and colors of diamond. There were several with just a tiny gold ball. There were Hello Kitty and a purple peace sign. Kristen tapped on the display stand, and the earrings which were not stationary jiggled slightly, glistening in the light. "After your piercing, these need to stay in for six weeks without your removing them, Shawn. So pick something you really love." Six weeks! Without removing them? "Are they locked on or something?" I asked nervously. "It's okay, Shawn. Everyone is a little scared their first time," she said, ignoring my question. Marilyn asked me which ones I liked the best. I didn't want any of them, but figured I had seen a couple of guys in town with diamond studs, so that would be the least embarrassing. What I never saw was any of the guys wearing one diamond in each ear, though. "I guess the 3mm CZ is okay," I said, feeling like I was walking up the steps of the scaffold to meet the axe-wielding executioner. Not only did I not want pierced ears, I didn't want to feel the pain! Kristen explained the cleaning process that I had to perform three times a day for six weeks. It involved wiping disinfectant on both sides of the piercing, and sliding the stud posts in and out of the pierce holes. I also had to be careful to check for redness, and also that skin didn't stick to the studs. Heather took a small clear container from a nearby cupboard. She sat me down on a padded white stool. A few young girls stopped what they were doing and craned their necks to see me. Kristen put on a pair of latex gloves and removed the plastic twist top from a bottle of disinfectant. With two cotton puffs, she thoroughly cleaned both sides of both of my earlobes. I felt the disinfectant as it evaporated from my ears. A girl of about 10 who was shopping with her mother, stood closer, mesmerized, looking at my long tan legs and unhappy face. Kristen took a white lip pencil and carefully marked a round dot in the center of each earlobe. I nearly jumped at the pinch of pain from the pencil. "We need to get this right the first time," she said, trying hard to hide a smirk at my wimpy reaction to the pencil. "Do you like where I'm going to make your piercing?" "Okay. I guess so," I said reluctantly, not wanting to look at Marilyn because I might cry, knowing that I was taking an almost permanent step towards femininity. At least I'm keeping my word, which is about the manliest thing I've done today. Kristen took the plastic and steel piercing tool, which looked a little like a small white paper stapler, and inserted into the front of it, one of the studs I had selected. She held the tool up to my left earlobe, carefully lining it up with the white dot she had made. I watched my scared face and her confident one in the mirror. I heard her inhale calmly through her nostrils. She carefully squeezed the tool. I heard a click and felt a pinch of pain as I felt the stud pierce through my ear lobe. She released the tool, and looked behind my ear to make sure that the locking clip was attached on the end of the post. I felt hot blood rush to my earlobe. She repeated the procedure on my right ear. She snapped off her gloves, beaming brightly, and it was done. I looked in the mirror, somewhat dazed by the pain, to see two white glistening diamonds twinkling on my earlobes. I took in the complete picture of my striking eyes, my hair and my earrings, my slender shoulders, all so unmistakably feminine. Perhaps my brain cells are revolting against the pain. My lips glistened with their lip gloss. I felt an overwhelming feeling of revulsion that I had allowed myself to be feminized so much in one day. I really should have resisted Marilyn a bit more while I had the chance. A strange thought crossed my mind: Thank God, I didn't select one of the jiggling earrings. I imagined how sick I would feel if the earrings were actually swinging and tickling my jawbone with each movement. As if reading my mind, Kristen said, "We always recommend that you wear your starter sets for the full six weeks before trying any other type of earring. But we hope you'll come back and pick out some other nice styles." Marilyn handed me my purse and my tennis tote. "We still have time to lie in the sun before we have to get ready for Girls Night if we get home right away," Marilyn said. She quickly paid for my piercing and the starter set with her credit card and we walked out of the Claire's. We walked through the mall. I heard the clicking of my heels on the tile. I felt a slight breeze tickling my bare legs. I was branded. Either as a young girl who had just had her ears pierced, or a complete sissy. I wasn't sure which. End of Part 3