Filling In For Beth free porn video

Chapter 1 "Daddy, may I get bangs please?" Rachael asked in a voice both too whiny and too proper for her 12 years. She slid an open magazine across the marble counter top toward her dad. That's where it started. The picture showed a beautiful women with long wavy hair, the same brown hair as Rachael's except for the short, straight cut bangs, kind of a Bettie Page look in front, and an unnatural fullness and glossy shine. The look would suit Rachael's face, I thought. She wore a plain part that hide her pretty face and she probably hadn't had a proper haircut in close to a year. Both girls needed help with their hair actually and Tom was oblivious. He barely glanced up. Hunched over the table with a spoon in one hand and a pen in the other, his attention was already focused on two things, which is a lot for Tom. Football season had started. Even if he wasn't the head coach he would be distracted. "What do you mean, 'Bangs'?" he asked in a grunt. "Like fireworks?" "Look at the picture!" Rachael shouted in an annoying shriek that barely registered with the others around the table but made me wince. I'd been hearing that shriek for two months since I officially moved into Tom's guest room, but mostly from behind a closed door. It's much worse when you're sitting at the same table, trying to eat breakfast. In the summer the Hannover's were rarely all in the same place at the same time. Once school started they all tended to congregate in the kitchen before Tom drove the girls to school. Those few minutes with Tom and the girls in the morning quickly became the high point of my day. There was life and conversation in the kitchen and they were usually in a hurry which gave me something to do, searching for lost shoes or stuffing books into backpacks. It was fun, except for the shrieking. Once the season had officially started Tom had withdrawn and couldn't seem to think of anything besides work. Apparently the only thing that could break his concentration was that horrible sound and, since it wasn't clear where I fit into the household yet other than as a freeloader, I kept my mouth shut. Tom shifted his eyes, scanned the magazine then looked up at Rae, then over at Susan, then at me, as if coming awake. He's not stupid but sometimes it's difficult to believe that. If you know Tommy Hannover you know how distracted he can be. Sometimes it's funny but this wasn't one of those times. I just felt sorry for Rachael. "What?" he asked, completely lost. A drop of milk clung to his blonde chin stubble. He hadn't shaved in days. Rachael crossed her arms and glowered. If steam had shot out of her ears I wouldn't have been surprised. This was a common enough scene at the breakfast table now that Susan just went on munching her cereal, watching a cartoon on her tablet, oblivious to the nasty looks. It was none of my business either, I was a guest in the house, but Tom and I had known each other for years, from long before the girls were born, so I felt like I could say something if I kept it light. "'Bangs', dude. Like the haircut." I smiled at her, hoping I was helping her cause. "She could use a haircut, actually," I added. She rewarded me with a beaming grin that made my heart leap unexpectedly. Maybe that's when it started. "I'll think about it," he said gruffly with one last look around the table. Rachael caught my attention again and mouthed, "Help me!" We both laughed so loud that Tom and Susan both looked up, bewildered, to see what was going on which only made us laugh harder. After they left for the day I started cleaning up. There wasn't much to do in the house all day except watch TV and the years spent in hospital beds had exhausted any interest in that. It also made me kind of a neatness freak. When I'd gained enough strength to walk to the kitchen for the first time I'd almost been afraid to enter, it was such a disaster area: Dishes piled up everywhere, trashcan overflowing with take out and fast food containers and, worst of all, the floor. I doubt it had been cleaned once in the many months since Beth passed away. My one pair of sneakers made that sticky sound in places. I'd been working on the kitchen ever since. All it took was an hour or so in the morning and the place didn't look too bad. Nobody had said anything yet though. That's odd, right? While I worked, I couldn't help noticing the magazine. The woman was certainly sexy: heavy makeup, big boobs, with lots of skin showing and that thick, full head of hair framing a perfect face. She was exactly what I like in a woman. Almost instinctively, my hand went to my penis. It can't do all the things it once could but it still appreciates a nice rack. But the idea of Rachael, so young and innocent, with that same hair, sent an odd mix of emotion through me. The style would look good on her and would maybe stop her from hiding her face so much. On the other hand, one day men would look at that sweet little girl the same way I was looking at that advertisement. It was a disgusting idea but I couldn't look away. I can't help wondering what the woman's tits looked like or picturing her in various positions, if you know what I mean. That's how guys are. But Rachael was barely 12 and the picture was way too sexy. + That night Tom came home late, after the girls put themselves to bed. Something that had been happening a lot since work picked up with the new season. It wasn't my place to say anything. Somehow he got the girls to school in the morning and someone, another parent usually, dropped them off in the evening. They usually called in pizza or scrounged dinner from the remnants of carry-out that Tom brought home then put themselves to bed. Again, it wasn't my place to say anything. They had lived like this for a while before I came. In fact, I tended to avoid the girls when possible. What would I possibly say to a 12 or 10 year old girl anyway? But, I have to eat too you know. Once the kitchen was clean I secretly organized the pantry and fridge to my liking, threw away a lot of out of dated stuff and I might have even accidentally pitched a few particularly unhealthy items. Again, no comment from anyone. But in the evening when I relaxed in my room watching TV or reading it was pleasant to picture the girls out in the kitchen, eating the leftovers I'd place out for them on clean plates and drinking out of clean cups. In the morning the food was (often) gone and the cups and dishes were almost always dirty. Sometimes it felt like Bethany was there watching and smiling at the little tasks I did that nobody else seemed to notice. Sometimes I imagined myself as the ghost of Bethany, flitting around the house silently to look after her family. It's strange, I know, but it was also very satisfying to have something useful to do. Anyway, Tom surprised me in my little room where I was pinching one nipple at the mirror in an attempt to understand the odd swelling and pain. What guy ever thinks about his nipples, right? Mine had recently gotten puffy and the slightest pressure, even a cotton T-shirt brushing them, was irritating. If they hurt, why did I kept pinching them? There was more to the jolt that shot through me each time than simple pain, something that tickled at my core then flitted away, something that needed to be pursued further. Alone. To say we were both startled is an understatement. He clearly needed something because he stammered out an apology and then hung in the doorway, looking around absently while I searched for a shirt. "So, umm, what's all this about bangs?" he began, still not looking at me. His nervousness made me even more nervous but a chance of helping Rachael was an opportunity that was too good to miss. I kept my back to him, thinking fast while I pulled on second shirt and crossed my arms for good measure before turning to face him. "It's just a haircut, Tom. Girls do that stuff, right?" I asked, attempting to sound flip. "You've had plenty more experience with women than I have and even I know that. They're all obsessed with hair and clothes, you know? "I'm talking about Rachael, my little girl," he said with a growl. "She never cared about that stuff before." The look on his face was so stupidly naive I almost laughed. He shifted in the doorway and flexed his shoulders, prepared to fight the idea of his daughter becoming a woman, so I kept the laugh to myself. After thinking about that picture all day I could understand. "Well, she does need help Tom," I said cautiously. "She's going through puberty now, right?" "Exactly!" he shouted suddenly, lunging into the room so fast it was scary. In an instant he was seated on the bed, his normal stupid expression replaced by desperation. That was the scariest part. I'd never seen Tom look so frightened. "Everything I know about puberty has to do with boys and I can tell you, they will be after her early. What am I going to do?" He said, wild- eyed. "What are you talking about, man? Calm down," I said, backing away as far as the small room allowed. He must have heard the fear in my voice because he took a breath and composed himself a little. "Beth told me horror stories about when she started developing. Ya know?" He gripped his hands in the universal big-boobs gesture. I could imagine. Beth was a beauty and her ample boobs were surely are what attracted Tom, at least at first, so they must have attracted a lot of attention from other men as well. What did he expect? "Grown men grabbing at her in public, getting cornered by horny dates, old men, uncles and even the preacher at her church, that sort of thing. My blood boils to think about it. It took Beth a long time to come to terms with it all. Now Rachael is about to go through that and I don't know how to help her even if I had the time, which I don't. I've failed her, you know?" He didn't cry but it was close. My eyes certainly burned just watching his face twist in frustration. He attempted to form words but it came out as angry grunts and his hands appeared to be squeezing an imaginary neck. I stepped forward and placed a hand on his to get his attention. "You can't hide her in a girl's school forever Tom. She needs to be around other kids and eventually that means boys. She needs a woman's help," I said. Then, lowering my voice and glancing around for some reason, "I mean, what about periods and stuff?" "Yeah. Exactly! What do I know about that?" The wild eyed look was back. "I kinda hoped the girl's school would take care of that but they're so religious they don't talk about sinful things like that. I've tried hiring local women, three of them in fact! Had to fire them all. All the women around here are so religious and you know how I feel about that. Beth hated the church and made me promise when we moved here." He looked at his hands. "She was supposed to take care of all this, that was the deal. I don't know who else to trust. If the money wasn't so good I'd move." "I can help," I said, not sure what I meant by it, just offering a hand to a friend. He looked at me for a long time, up and down as if assessing the physical abilities of a new football recruit. "Would you?" he asked. "Of course. I would do anything to help you, Tom. You know that. I owe you so much." I didn't even ask what he meant. It didn't matter since I would do anything for my friend. "Would you learn about bangs?" he asked, laughing awkwardly at the absurd question. "Yes, I'll learn about bangs. I know a little about hair already," I said with a laugh, pulling my limp, dirty ponytail from behind my back. That was a lie. When chemo took my hair over two years ago I looked like a naked mole rat. Look it up. I hadn't cut a hair on my head since then. It was like a talisman for me. As long as I had that, the cancer was gone, you know? But it was always out of the way, tied up in a band, dangling down the back of my neck. Hair wasn't something I even thought about except to wash it and even then I just dried it and put it away. Tom shifted on the bed, leaned back, crossed his ankles and scanned the bare room. He appeared calmer already which made me happy. He seemed to be under a lot of stress at work. That plus raising two kids alone would get to anyone. It was heavy load, even for his big shoulders. Then he took me into his home top of all that. I was eager to lift some of that load. "Tom, I would do anything to help," I said again. "Really, name it." "Good. If you could just help the girls fix their hair in the morning too, that would be great. Just let me know what they need, you know, haircuts, shampoo, all that." He slapped his knee and stood up, all the worry gone now that he'd delegated the task "And let me know about these bangs. Seems too grown up to me but if you want to try them out first we can see how it looks." He studied me for a moment, filling the room with his bulk. Waiting. What should I say? "Sure. Anything at all I can do to help," I said for what, the fourth time? I meant it. When he left I returned to the mirror and almost forgot our talk. It was so vague. What had we agreed on? I really did research bangs online and was ready if anyone asked. What else did he want? Rachael forced the issue by bringing up the subject of bangs again one evening when I happened to be in the kitchen, relaxing at the central island. Tom had just returned from a meeting and had poured himself a bowl of cereal for dinner. "So, what did you two work out?" he asked between bites. "Um, well, uh. You see, I wasn't exactly sure what you were talking about," I replied, eyes on my hands. "What are you talking about? Can I cut my hair or not!?" Rachael asked, her voice rising to a squeal at the end. A few moments ago the house had been calm and quiet. Tom waved the wet spoon, glaring at me and Rae while he chewed. "I put Morgan in charge of that," he said finally, "So what do you need him to do? "Anything at all' is what he said the other night, didn't you Morgan?" "Well, of course I'd do anything to help you. I mean it. I owe you all so much. It's just, well, what is it exactly you're asking?" Rachael startled us when she ran behind my chair then began tugging at my pony tail, pulling off the band. Of course I struggled to see. "Hold still," she said. "I just want to look at your hair." While she messed, methodically pulling loose strands over my ears and forehead, Tom watched with a half-smile on his face. He chuckled softly, pointed his spoon at me and spoke with his mouth full of food. "She made me put on makeup once you know? What did you call that Rae?" I wanted to throw something at his stupid face but Rachael held me helpless by the hair. She stopped pulling for a long moment, long enough for me to turn. "It's called a makeover, Dad," she said but she was looking straight at me, hope welling in her eyes. It just didn't click what she hoped for. Not at first. Then the light bulb slowly came on and I tried to shake my head no. "He said he would do anything. Isn't that right Morgan?" Tom said with a huge grin. Rachael danced with excitement. How could I say no? Rachael took over everything then. The tall, spindly tom-boy who had been climbing trees a few weeks before seemed to suddenly develop a full blown interest in all things girly. Susan, her 10 year old sister, was a female version of Tom with the same shaggy, out of control blonde hair, sunburned skin and scabby knees he had back when we were boys. Just like Tom, Susan's only interest was sports. To anyone who knew them there was no question they were father and daughter. Where Suzy is a doer, Rachael is a planner and an organizer, traits she must have gotten from her mother. She prepared for the big event with a frightening energy, pouring over magazines, making secret notes in her school binder and ignoring my requests for information. Tom, when we saw him at breakfast and once in a while at night, just laughed at the situation and only encouraged her more. "Do you have anything better to do?" he asked when the subject came up. She waited until a Sunday afternoon when Tom and Suzy would be around the house watching football. When she called me into the kitchen I thought it was to help her prepare some snacks for them, like we'd done a couple of times before. She had transformed the place into a hair salon, with towels and and bottles arrayed on the counter, lit by a pair of flickering candles. A chair, more towels and scissors sat by the island ominously. I could hear the game in the living room and considered calling in Tom to ask, once again, if this was really necessary. The hair I could sacrifice but as I scanned the products laid out it became clear Rachael had much more in mind. Tom would have only laughed. I'd helped the girls with their hair in the morning a couple of times before, so we started there. I welded the tools and clumsily positioned her hair according to her instructions. When she was satisfied with that I took the chair and she did the same. It was kind of fun actually. Our hair is a similar chestnut brown and not so different in length once she'd brushed out the ponytail. As she pointed out, I was a good model for the haircut she wanted. "Go ahead and cut, I'm ready," I said finally, offering her the scissors in resignation. She squealed with laughter. ""Not yet! You have to wash your hair first. We have a whole spa day! Mom always took a bath and shaved her legs and moisturized before she washed her hair." "Then what was this all about? I thought I was trying out bangs for you?" "Well, yes. That would be awesome," she said slowly, wringing her hands and nodding. Then, in a rush, "But Dad said that before I could try anything new, you have to try it first and give approval and I HAVE to shave my legs like now and he would flip out and everybody is wearing pantyhose and makeup and mom never showed me how and, and, I don't know what else I don't know. I thought you were supposed to help!?" She paused for breath, dancing in place and looking at me with those pleading eyes. "What do pantyhose have to do with bangs?" was the best response I could muster before Rachael was off on a story about two girls at school that had something to do with pantyhose and makeup. By her account, Rachael was the only girl on earth who did not wear both of those to school every day. Is that something new? Susan wondered in soon after, followed by Tom. Must be a commercial. Both paused in front of me and watched Rachael fussing around my head. This was my chance. "Um, Tom. Has Rachael discussed with you what she plans to do, exactly?" "Whatever she wants is fine," Tom said with a dismissive wave. "Like I told her. You're in charge of all that. If you've tried it out and don't think it's too much then she can try it. Within reason of course." I looked at him sternly, hoping he would realize what he was saying but Tom's too dense for that. "She wants me to shave my legs, dude," I said, then over my shoulder to Rachael. "Sorry." "Are they particularly hairy or something?" Tom asked with raised eyebrows. We both looked down at my thin, white and virtually hairless calves, poking out of my oversized shorts. "No," I replied in defeat. "This is something I need you to take care of. Can you do it or not?" "I don't know. Yes. Anything you want. Just, what is it you want me to do again?" "All this girly shit!" he barked suddenly. "Hairdos, hose and fu, um, fricken legs and all that, uh stuff!" Everyone froze while he calmed himself for a moment, then he continued in a quiet tone. "Look, Rachael needs help, you said it yourself, and you have nothing else to do. Will you take care of that for me or not?" "Yes. Of course," I said slowly. "Right. OK then," he said with a clap of his big hands. "Rachael, tell Morgan what you need. We've got a game to watch." He nodded toward the door for Susan and she followed him out, leaving me alone with Rachael. She had a big list in her hand. She ushered me upstairs to the main bathroom, chatting excitedly all the way and adding last second instructions until I closed the door in her face. "Make sure you do everything on the list," she called through the door and sure enough, there was a sheet of paper taped to the mirror with a dozen lines in her neat hand. I gave up at that point. Shaving my legs wasn't so bad. There's just a lot more leg than expected around back where I couldn't see. Then there was the question of where to stop shaving, you know? I planned to stop somewhere just above the knee until I felt the smooth, slick skin that lay under the sparse hair. By the time I'd finished with the scented shampoo, shave gels, moisturizing body washes and lotions on the list I was loving the experience and smelled like, well, I smelled like a girl and my legs looked and felt amazing all the way up to my butt cheeks. I couldn't stop touching them. Rachael had left two packets of white nylon panties, sizes medium and large, and a packet of pantyhose in the bathroom. 'Size C, silky sheer, jet black, control top.' What did all that mean? And why the panties? Rachael was 12 so she probably had no idea about a man's underwear or, you know, what was in there or any of that stuff. That's was part of my new job I guess. But that meant the underwear choices were the dirty boxers or girls panties. I was a medium back then. It didn't take long to figure out how to tuck myself back out of the way so that the tiny panties held everything in place. I'm not THAT huge. The feeling was alien, creepy and wonderful. My balls were still there, just under the skin, and the top of my limp penis lay exposed along the length of the silky gusset of the panties. The lightest touch in the area was electric. Who knew about this? The main problem with the hose was hiding how good it felt. When I sat on the toilet seat and crossed my legs they slid so sensually against each other a jolt of pleasure ran through me with every movement. It seemed wrong for legs to feel so good yet surely that's what women everywhere feel when they wear them, right? The whole process is sensual; rolling a leg up, fitting it over a pointed toe then unrolling and smoothing the shear material over freshly shaved skin. And they helped make the tuck feel secure and actually firmed my butt a little too. That jiggly feeling was under control anyway and I found my legs could move in a whole new way. The reader should try it. It was difficult to look in the mirror at first. The top half was the almost the same 13 year old kid from months ago with two additions. If not for the angry looking nipples I could believe that was a young man with swollen pectoral muscles. Maybe. The bottom half was jet black and whichever way I turned the legs said female. In the morning they had been scrawny and pale. Last week Tom had even called me knob kneed. The legs in the mirror were long, thin and shapely. I spent a long time pacing the bathroom floor, watching them move and learning to accept what I saw. Rachael had to knock on the door to get me out. I quickly slipped on the shorts and shirt I had on before and opened the door expecting the worst. She didn't appear to find anything odd about a man shaving and wearing pantyhose and when Tom and Suzy wandered into the kitchen later they never gave my jet black legs more than a quick glance. In fact, Rachael and I had a wonderful discussion about leg wear while she worked on my hair in preparation for the big cut and I began to get comfortable with the idea of helping out this curious young lady. There was so much to learn and my legs felt wonderful! The actual haircut was kind of boring once she made up her mind to start. She combed it in front of my eyes, cut straight across and a few lumps of damp hair landed in my lap. I had bangs. The weirdest part was the hair around my ears where I didn't normally wear. Rachael wouldn't let me touch or see anything until she was done. I allowed her to put some 'foundation' all over my face but drew the line when she brought out a small cosmetic case. "I think we've done enough today with the haircut and the hose, don't you?" I asked gently. She studied me for a moment, chewing the corner of her mouth nervously. "Somethings missing. Maybe some lipstick?" "No. That's too much. I'm sorry," I replied, shaking my head sadly. Hair touched my forehead and brushed my ears and cheeks. "OK, OK," she said quickly, dashing to her school backpack on the kitchen table and rummaging inside. "Lips gloss!" she shouted triumphantly, waving a tube my way. "It's lip balm actually, so it's for everybody, OK?" So I let her put the stuff on my lips. Slick and sticky at the same time. I couldn't help touching it with my tongue every few seconds. Bubblegum flavor. Although I'd enjoyed the day with Rachael so far I couldn't escape the strangeness of it all - a grown man doing all this feminine stuff with a young girl seemed odd. We had had a wonderful time so far and clearly there were many ways I could help the girls, once I'd had some time to do some reading. It seemed like a good time to see Tom's reaction to the whole thing to be sure I hadn't let this go too far already. "Why don't we get your dad's opinion?" I asked. "Dad! Come have a look!" Rachael yell over my head suddenly, loud enough to pierce eardrums. While they walked around my chair I remained still, afraid to disturb Rachael's creation. Tom finally parked his butt against the kitchen counter and studied my face for a moment, knitting his brow at something. His eyes danced up and down, taking in my legs and hair. It's difficult to explain. Tom had never looked at my legs before that I could remember. "Too sexy," he said flatly. "What does that mean?" Both Rachael and I shouted at in the exact same moment. "Let's give it a while, maybe I'll get used to it," he said with a shrug, looking at Rachael. "What do you mean, 'too sexy?'" I asked again, emphasizing the last word to catch his attention. It's irritating to be talked about like an object and I particularly didn't like being described as 'sexy', not by Tom anyway, you know? He stammered a bit when he realized what he'd said then stood up a taller, playing the big man, and gave me the look again, up and down. "Too sexy for Rachael. That's what I meant," he said, waving a hand up and down. "I mean the whole package." My irritation grew. He wasn't making himself clear and he had also somehow had turned what had been a fun afternoon into something weird. I glared at him, searching for words, while his eyes dances around the room like he was thinking about maybe redoing the paint job in the kitchen or something. He clearly didn't want to talk about this subject. Then Rachael came to the rescue. "You said it was up to Morgan," she said defiantly, stepping to the side of my chair and resting a hand on my shoulder. She stood up as straight as her dad while we all waited to see what he would do. Maybe Tom isn't used to being talked to that way by most people but clearly the girls get away with a lot more. Once again I held my tongue, unsure of the family dynamic or my place in it. There was a long pause where Tom and Rachael glared at one another. Suzy got bored, rolled her eyes and walked out of the room. As she passed she touched my hair and said quietly, "I like it." I raised my eyebrows at him in a question and felt the bangs poke my forehead. So strange. "Fine," Tommy blurted out finally, shrugging a shoulder. "But not the hair and I'm not so sure about the legs either." Rachael watched him stalk out of the room with a mix of frustration and relief on her face. When he was gone she turned to me, her earlier happy mood clearly dampened but hope still shining on her face. I squirmed in the chair. My legs touched again and I had to fight an ill-timed thrill of sensual pleasure while Rachael watched and waited. "Umm. When I think about it, I'm not so sure about the hose either, sweetie," I had to say, flushing a little in shame. For a moment it looked like she might shriek again. Her chin quivered and she glanced around the room as if lost. "But I worked so hard?" she said quietly. Her shoulders sagged and her head hung in defeat. My heart broke. In the time we'd spent together that day I'd already kinda fallen in love with this beautiful young dynamo. Who wouldn't have? And I'd just failed her. Tom had failed her as well, of course and, to be honest, it wasn't even my responsibility. What more could they want from me? I was wearing pantyhose. I'd let a 12 year old cut my hair. When I looked in the mirror I saw an eerie reflection of myself but with smooth, girlish skin, shiny lips and a haircut, simple as it is, that no man would ever wear. The whole look was uncomfortably like the picture that started all this. Rachael shuffled around the room, slowly gathering the toiletries while I searched my mind furiously for some way to help her. I could let her wear the pantyhose maybe but it wasn't clear whether Tom would allow that. She sniffled and pushed her hair behind one ear. Something needed to be done with her hair, that was clear. Both girls needed haircuts and all kinds of products that Tom would never think to buy. There were bumps on her forehead and cheeks that she'd been trying to hide all day. 'Somebody needs to get her some of that acne stuff,' I thought. So sometimes I can be as slow as Tom. In my defense, when the idea hit I didn't hesitate. I wanted to help that little girl so much I leaped out of the chair and dance behind her, desperate to grab her in a hug but still unsure about that sort of contact. It came out as a nervous hop. "Wait. Wait," I said, reaching for her hair. "There's other stuff I can help with. If you'll let me. I mean, I could learn to braid your hair if you wanted or something like that. I could talk to your dad about a haircut." She let me pull her hair back into a bunch. There were tears on her cheek. She didn't mind me lifting the bunch to form a crude bun in top of her head. "He only said 'no bangs,' right?" I said conspiratorially and was rewarded with a small smile. "And he didn't say anything about the foundation or lip gloss either." Another lovely smile, thoughtful and sly this time. I was on a roll. Seizing the advantage I tilted her head far enough to inspect the bumps in the light. "In fact, if I remember correctly, your dad never said anything about skin care or makeup at all. Right?" She surprised me by spinning quickly, clutching me around the arms and burying her face in my neck. She was only a few inches shorter than me then which meant that hair was everywhere. For a brief moment I recoiled, afraid she might notice the issue with my chest or the banging of my heart or worse, what if Tom walked in and misunderstood the situation, but she held on tight and I didn't really want her to let go. Ever. "Thank you, Morgan," she said wetly into my neck. I started crying, OK? Who wouldn't have? I cried, she cried and somehow I found myself blubbering about the importance of skin care and promising to move heaven and earth for a solution to her tiny pimples. By the time we'd finished cleaning the kitchen and had, at Rachael's request, put together a real dinner for the family for a change she was all smiles again. I'd promised to look into the question of makeup as well. The foundation covered some blemishes that stand out when I'm pale and the lip-gloss was really just balm with a little color, so it's not like Tom could complain. I'd research eye makeup going forward and look into getting some test materials. How much more could there be to it, right? Yeah. That's where it started.