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Little Shop of Curlers Belladonna My eyes opened to greet the morning sun peeking into the window of my warm bedroom. It was a welcome sight. The weather of late October was decidedly hit or miss in my northern, little suburb. It was already unlike most of my Halloween mornings of recent years. They had mostly been overcast, windy affairs. The occasional year had a sprinkle or two. One even had an evening snowfall. Blessedly, the dreaded cold had decided to hold off until at least November this year. It certainly would have spoiled a bit of the fun I had planned for the day. I forced my legs out of bed and walked towards my alarm clock. I shut it off. It was a rare occasion whenever I heard its piercing beeps. Still, I always set it out of an abundance of caution. There was no one else that could open my shop if I was late. I was also getting up earlier than usual. The unseasonable warmth had given me a little extra incentive and energy to stir early that morning too. I knew that there were not going to be many mornings left like this one until the spring. This was also going to be a most unusual morning for me. The decision had been made long before I knew what the weather would be. Today was the day I was going to shut some of my stylists up. The girls at the salon had been on me for years about my daily uniform. Everyday since I founded the salon five and half years earlier, I put on my black polo shirt, black dress pants and a pair of plain black sneakers. It was a style I never veered from despite the constant Johnny Cash jokes and the persistent style critiques from the girls that worked for me and our clients. My lack of variety of clothing was explainable. I had made the same point repeatedly over the years. There's only so much choice that men's clothing provides. The ladies knew it was true. It was unquestionable. That only led to some teasing that if I felt men's clothes so were restrictive, why not just start wearing female clothing. The increasing emergence of transgender figures in popular culture only served to make those comments more frequent and less joking. Today, I was going to answer the girls with a stylish look of my own to put up with their best. I knew that the girls scheduled to work in the shop would be in costume. The girls always wore something tasteful in the spirit of the holiday. I, on the other hand, was going to wear something that was reminiscent of what they wore every other workday. Like me, the girls always wore black. A black top was the only real part of my dress code. Most of the time, the girls wore black pants, jeans, leggings, jeggings or hose with a top or dress. There was not much to the look, but the girls managed a great deal of variety while adhering to the color restriction. I had shopped online for my outfit. It was a simple number, just a black dress, black leggings to show of my thin legs and a pair of black boots with a one-inch block heel. After showering and eating breakfast, I went into my bedroom to get dressed. I started by stepping into a pair of briefs and rolling down my black leggings, following the instructions I found on the internet. I pulled them up my legs, feeling them cling to every inch, before they neared my waist. I paused to adjust the waistband before I forced my dick between my cheeks and brought the waistband of the leggings up to my stomach. I was amazed by how tight it felt on me, even as it felt so comfortable on my legs. I reached for the padded black bra I bought next. It did not add much to my chest, but on my thin frame, I knew it would give me the illusion of a pair of small breasts. I pulled on the dress next and forced my wrists through its three- quarter sleeves. I felt a little foolish as I glanced down at the way my leggings covered legs looked beneath the flouncy, tiered skirt of my black, textured-knit dress. It was too late to go with another choice of a dress, and, to be honest, I figured that I would feel ridiculous in any dress. With that thought in mind, my hands reached behind my neck for the hidden zip. It was a bit of a struggle to get it up, but I managed it. My fingers pulled away from the zipper to retrieve my booties. I slid my feet into the black, block-heeled booties. I then reached for my clip-on earrings and headed for the bathroom. I put the earrings on the vanity top while I reached for my hair gel. I rarely used gel. My short hair did not require anything more than drying to style for work. Today, however, was going to quite different. I turned over the bottle of gel and squirted it into my hands. My fingers ran through my hair until I had a good approximation of a girls' short hairstyle cut on my head. I then dried my hands and clipped my silver hoop earrings on. I smiled at the effect of it all. I was obviously a guy due to my lack of makeup, but that was part of the fun. With my outfit attended to, I put my wallet and keys into the cheap black purse I bought and went into the kitchen. After I packed my bag lunch, I headed out of my home and towards my car. I really didn't care if anyone saw me. I would admit what I was doing and if they didn't believe, I really didn't care. It was a short drive to work, which was made all the easier by the lack of traffic. I pulled up in front of the shopping center that houses my salon with a smile. I could not wait for the girls to see me. I knew that it was going to be a different kind of joking aimed at me that day. I, for one, would be happy for any changeup to the same old same old. After parking my car, I stared around the largely empty shopping center and got of my car. With only the sound of cars passing by on the roadway, I unlocked the overnight security gate and drew it up before I headed around the back of the building. While I was fully prepared to explain myself, I have to admit that I was happy to not run into anyone as I unlocked the backdoor and made my way into the shop. I strolled to the front door and unlocked it before I went about tidying up my station and checking the reservations for the day. A smile came to my face when I looked out the storefront window and saw the first of my employees coming into the shop. There were only three girls working that day. I only had two other girls beside them, but they were part timers who shared a station and had both took the day off to spend time with their kids. It was not something I could or would hold against them. As Izzy drew the door open, I saw her squint her eyes as she gazed at me from across the shop. She squinted harder as she asked, "Can I help you, Miss?" "You need glasses, babe," I retorted with an undisguised voice. "Oh, my God!" Izzy yelled before she started to laugh. "So..." I asked pausing to let her collect herself before adding, "How do I look?" "Ravishing, darling," she joked. As we shared a laugh, Paula, my shampoo girl / receptionist / hair sweeper, entered the shop. She gave Izzy's reddened face an odd look before she glanced over to me and shouted with a laugh, "What the fuck?" "Hey leave that language at home, Slash," I retorted. "Yes, only proper ladies work here," Izzy added. "No room for the uncouth," I seconded. "And don't forget to mention unlady like. We've got to be lady like," Izzy said with a nod. Paula rolled her eyes. If I could read her mind, I'm sure she was thinking, 'Shut the fuck up, the both of you.' Paula shook her head before she asked, "What's with the dress?" "Well, I could ask you the same thing," I rejoined while I pointed at her floor length, Vampiress costume. "No. You can't! It's not even close to the same thing," Izzy interjected as she crossed her arms over the spider-web black lace that covered her red crushed poly velvet dress. "Well, you girls were always on me for my outfits. You said you wanted me to change it up a little." "This is how Reese defines a little? Huh...Reese, we'd like a little raise," Izzy replied. "You work for tips," I countered with a half-truth. "Like a stripper," Paula added. "Says the girl who's training to be a cosmetologist," Izzy retorted. "Girls, girls, girls..." I interjected, hating it when the girls turned on each other. That was best left for when they talked behind each others backs. "Are you including yourself in that?" Izzy asked. "She said it three times, and there's only three us of here," Paula answered with a smile. Izzy nodded before our heads snapped towards the door as we heard it open. The other stylist working that day walked through the door dressed in an all black witch costume. Christine's eyes focused on Izzy's grinning face first before she asked, "What's going on?" Izzy motioned with her eyes towards me. Christine's jaw dropped before the red and black painted fingernails on both of her hands met over the bridge of her small, narrow nose. "No," she said as she pulled her hands away. "Yes," I rejoined. "Reese's got the best costume this year," Paula added. "Sort of a butch Reese Witherspoon," Izzy joked. "I'm not butch," I countered, almost regretting my protest from the moment it made its way through my lips. "Well, not in the traditional sense of the word," Christine jokingly agreed. "No. Reese's a real toughie," Izzy teased. Christine nodded as she responded, "Nah, you can't be too tough to go from looking like Johnny Cash to Coco Chanel with just a little black dress." My cheeks turned red while they continued to talk about me as if I was not there. I decided to try to break it up by inquiring, "So, girls, now, that you're all here, how do I look?" "Surprisingly convincing," Paula noted with a nod. "Like a temptress," Izzy teased. "So freaking thin! You rock that dress! It looks so good on you that I freaking hate you," Christine remarked with a shake of her head. "Why are you dressed like that?" Paula asked with a smirk while she crossed her arms. I was silent, which prompted Christine to add, "I'd like to know that too." I put my hands on my hips and responded, "I'm modeling the new dress code." "That would not work for my body type," Christine remarked while she took off the jacket that was covering her thick frame. "Pants are way more functional for a salon too," Izzy added as she put on her apron over her Linda Belcher costume. "You girls are still nitpicking me?" I retorted. "These aren't nitpicks, these are facts," Christine answered. "Well, I think the outfit looks good," I countered as I spun and stuck out a leg. "I'll give you that. I didn't think I'd ever say this to you, let alone twice, but, Reese, that dress looks so good on you, dude," Christine responded with a smirk. We shared a laugh before Izzy added, "We can't be calling Reese a dude. He's a lady now." "How about dudette?" Paula asked. "No, that sounds forced," Izzy answered. "What do you think our clients are going to say?" I interjected, trying to get their feedback on something that actually meant something to me, instead of their choice of pronouns to describe me. "They're all gonna laugh at you," Izzy half-jokingly answered. I pouted before I asked, "Why's that?" "For one, you're not wearing any makeup," Izzy noted. "Yah, if you're going to go for it, go all out," Paula added. Izzy nodded before Paula reached into her pocketbook and said, "I've got just the idea for you." "Oh, come on," I said, resisting her efforts to add makeup to my face. "I just want to add a little to your eyes and lips. It's going to make them pop." "I think they're popping fresh as is," I replied. "No. You need to have makeup on. I don't think that Reese the Boss would ever let any of the girls come around his salon without makeup," Izzy rejoined. "That's different," I retorted. "Not today, sister," Izzy teased. "Come on, Reese. You don't want to look unprofessional," Christine added as Paula held her makeup in her hand. I shrugged as I gave in and said, "Okay, keep it tasteful." "Reese, I'm studying to be a professional," Paula reminded me as she had me sit down at my own station. She stood between the mirror and me so I could not steal a glance at the effect of what she was doing. I noticed that she kept it simple. Nothing more than black eyeliner, mascara, eye shadow and red on the lips. "That's it?" I asked while she smiled at my face and put her makeup down. "Simplicity is the keynote of all true elegance," she answered. "Why do you think I stick to wearing black?" I countered. "Functionality, like the rest of us, beautiful. Now, put some perfume on," Paula ordered while she handed me a bottle from her purse. "Why?" "It'll give you the right smell for this look," Paula answered. "Where do I even put this on?" "Wherever you want to be kissed," Paula responded. "So, nowhere!" "Let me do it," Paula said before she lightly dabbed behind my ears. It was odd to have her soft hands on my skin. I had never had anymore physical contact with the girls than shared a kiss on their cheeks or a shake of their hands. As she pulled her hands away from beneath my left ear, she said, "What a lovely throat?" as she exposed her false fangs. "Don't get too into the character," I reminded her, thankful that she made the physical touching less awkward. Paula smiled as she moved onto dabbing the perfume on my wrists. Her hands felt great on my skin, but I knew that it was best to let it end there. I could not touch her without destroying everything I had spent my adult life building. "Now, don't you look even more convincing," Paula asked as she stepped out of the way and pointed me towards a mirror. I grimaced for a second. "What?" Paula asked with some alarm. "Nothing. It looks great," I replied. It was the truth she did a wonderful job. I could not believe how convincing I looked. The little bit of makeup had made a huge difference. "Thanks, maybe you could volunteer to be my test subject at school." I titled my head at her before I shook it. She smiled as she said, "No. Come on. If I made a guy look good, they'd have to give me a license." "She's not kidding," Izzy noted. "Reese's not your average guy," Christine rejoined with a shake of her head. I was not sure how to take that, but I had to get ready for my first appointment. I went into the back of the shop to retrieve my apron. As soon I finished tying on my apron in the backroom, I heard the door open. "They're here," Izzy joked as I could hear the voices of my client and one of Christine's conversing before they said hello to Paula. Paula took my client to get her hair washed while I continued to ready myself in the backroom until I knew that she was ready for me. I grinned as I saw Phyllis starting for my station as Paula led her to it from the reception desk. I sauntered out of the backroom and strutted towards her. "Hello, Phyllis," I said with my red lip framed smile while I came to a stop. "Oh my God, look at you," Phyllis exclaimed with a laugh. "Do you like my new look?" I cracked. "I love it," Phyllis replied with undisguised exuberance. "Thanks, girlfriend," I joked before I patted the seat for her to sit. As she sat, Phyllis asked, "I have to ask, what does your partner think?"' "Partner?" I asked, confused by the question. "Yes. You know your..." "I'm not seeing anyone," I replied in truth with swiftness, happy to cut her off before she continued the explanation of her misconception that was growing increasingly obvious to me. "You can't find the right one?" "No," I said with a shrug. "You don't want to settle?" "That option hasn't presented itself." "Well, like the old saying goes, 'Keep your heels, your head and your standards high.'" "Well, I try," I responded with a slight laugh. "I know it's got to be hard for you. A lot of gay guys I know are into you know guys." "I'm still a guy," I retorted with blushing cheeks as I fussed with her hair while trying to defend my masculinity, unable to add a defense of my sexuality before she responded. "Oh, I know that," Phyllis said with a laugh before I asked her what color she wanted for her hair. "You know what I like," Phyllis replied. It was true. The woman never wavered. It was always the same color. The only difference related to the season. The winter months meant that she needed the highlights that the summer months gave her naturally, while the end of summer required lowlights to counteract the fading the sun did to her hair. I walked away from her and started to mix the dye. It was something I did not like to be disturbed while doing. Adding even a smidge too much pigment or bleach can totally change a hair color. It's the difference between doing what you were asked and having the girl look at you like you've got two heads when she sees her dried hair. It was a lesson I learned once and took to heart. Being a stylist, you also learn quickly how too much dye and bleach can damage and destroy hair. I have seen too many women coming in with their hair that was processed to a straw like feeling to not be keenly aware of what had to be done to minimize the damage from the coloring. Phyllis wanted to keep the years off her look that the increasing grays on her head would have added. That, plus a few highlights to her hair, helped to give her the youthful, healthy look most middle-aged women crave. When the mixture was ready, I returned to Phyllis and started to paint the permanent base color onto her hair. The permanent color being the only option women like Phyllis have to ensure that their grays match the rest of the hairs on their heads. Phyllis chatted with me while I applied the color. It was just like a normal conversation we had over the years while I applied color to her hair and added alternating foils to give her highlights to her brown hair. Coloring the selected strands with a color brush dapped with lighter color was an art that I took pride in mastering. The foils were crimped in place by my hands as I waited for them to give the hair Phyllis's desired color throughout her head. We chatted while we waited for the highlighting and color to process. Once it had worked in, I removed the foils from her hair and sent her to Paula to shampoo her hair and apply a toner that would add tone to the lightened strands of her colored hair. As Paula washed the dye from Phyllis's hair, I heard the phone ringing at reception. I strolled over towards the phone. I heard the girls snickering about the girlish sound of my boots slapping on the floor. I shook my head and picked up the phone an answered, "Thank you for calling Holy Snip Salon. How may I assist you?" "Oh, hello, Miss..." 'Miss?' I remember thinking. I may not have the deepest voice, but she did not need to be so presumptuous. How about, 'Hello, it?' The woman continued, "I was in your salon last week, and Izzy worked on my hair." "What was your name?" "Karen Clemens," the woman responded before I began to search the calendar before I asked, "Is there something wrong?" "Well, I didn't think so, but..." "But what?" "I think it looks great." "Okay. What can I do for you then?" I asked, genuinely confused about where she was heading with this call. "I think I need to have it cut again." "Why? You said it looks great. What's the problem?" She sighed before she responded, "Every time, she does my hair every one of my friends tell how pretty or cute it looks, but nobody said anything this time. I guess what she did wasn't noticeable." I wish this was the first time I had a call like this, but it was not even close. I shook my head before I responded, "Well, I think Izzy's booked all week." "What I'm supposed to do? I can't walk around like this?" Struggling from keeping to respond, 'Bitch, you just said it looked great. You don't need to put a paper bag over your head,' I forced myself to reply, "I was here on Wednesday when you had the cut, Miss." "You were?" "Yah, you looked so great." "I did?" "Yah. I said your hair looked amazing." "Oh, my God, thank you, Paula!" She exclaimed. To which I thought, 'WHAT THE FUCK?' I began to wonder if was I subconsciously speaking in a higher tone because of how I was dressed. Regardless, I was damn certain that I did not sound like Paula! "Yah, I really meant it," I forced myself to reply through gritted teeth. "That's great. You know what; can you put me down for an appointment with her in five weeks? Tell Izzy I want the same thing. It's so cute!" "Sure! I can do that," I managed to reply before I read her back the date, and she picked a time. After exchanging goodbyes, I hung up the phone with a shake of my head before I looked over toward Paula and Phyllis. I wanted to tell Paula what the girl had said, but I didn't want her to think that she sounded like a man in a dress, anymore than I wanted to think I sounded like a shampoo girl / aspiring cosmetologist. Once Paula finished washing out Phyllis's hair, she was brought over to me for a cut. Phyllis smiled as she said, "I love this Halloween outfit of yours. It's so much prettier than the other girls." "Hey!" Christine barked. "Sorry, girls! I'm telling it like I see it," Phyllis explained. "Thanks! I worked hard on this costume," I added while I grinned at Christine. "It does look good," Izzy's customer replied. "Thank you." "Seeing you in that is like Christmas morning for me," Izzy joked. "Don't' say that. It'll be Christmas before you know it," I responded. Phyllis shook her head as she interjected, "Ugh...I absolutely hate Christmas." I was a bit taken aback by the comment, so I inquired, "Why's that?" "It's so stressful! You have to buy all these gifts, decorate, put a tree and then make this great meal and host your family, and you know, other than your husband putting the tree up in the house. He's a complete waste." "Oh," I responded. "Men are just useless when it comes to that sort of thing. It's just what they are. You know that," she insisted. I was stunned by her expectations. I wondered if she thought I really was a girl at heart. "Well, I know it can be hard on a girl, but it's for the family," I replied. "It's hardly a holiday for us though. It's all about everybody else. We clean the house, set it all up and then spend hours slaving in the kitchen and for what?" "It's hard. I'll give you that, but it was harder for your mother." "But that was a different time. Men were men back then." "And women WERE women," Izzy cracked as she smirked at me. "Women didn't know better then. It was a different time. Men made the money and women did everything else. That's just the way it was," Phyllis reasoned. "So, you're the breadwinner?" I inquired. "Well, no. I had kids and never really got back to work full time," Phyllis replied. Phyllis paused before she decided to add, "But, I still don't get why people make such a fuss about it!" I decided to bite my tongue and keep from commenting. It was a choice that served me well over the years. I listen to my clients' complaints. I don't challenge them. "Your husband should help you out more," I finally responded after a pause. For Phyllis, it was as if I had just told her the thing she wanted to hear the most because it, undoubtedly, was. The parade of criticisms of her spouse followed, which were soon chased by those about her "ungrateful" children. I just nodded, going along with it. By the time I neared finishing cutting her hair, Phyllis's hair was nearly dried. I saw her smiling at her hair that had been given an all-over highlighted look. I knew she loved it, and that made me feel good. When I finished with Phyllis's hair, she paid me and made a follow up appointment for five weeks later. I nodded as I jotted it down in my book. The woman followed her schedule for her hair like clockwork. I said goodbye to her and started to count my tip. I was surprised that the woman had given me an extra 20 bucks and unsure about why she did it. I was happy though, since her appointment ate up most of my morning, as usual. Once I put away the money, I turned and saw Paula working on the next girl that was scheduled for me. I had not seen her when she came in, but I knew her well. Once her hair was finished being washed, Paula started towards me with her. I shot Martha a smile that quickly left my face. I could sense Martha was a little put off by my appearance while she settled down at my station. I asked her how she wanted her hair styled. The lady could not bring her eyes to meet mine in the mirror as she explained what she wanted in a calm, detached manner. "Is there something wrong?" I asked. "It's nothing..." she answered in a voice that trailed off. "It must be something. You're not usually this quiet." "I don't have anything against gay people, Reese. You of all people know that." I most certainly did not know that. The mere fact that she felt the need to say that made me certain that the claim was wildly untrue. At that moment, however, I was more preoccupied by wondering if every girl whose hair I regularly styled thought I was gay. Martha continued, "I just don't like the whole swishy thing." I nearly spit up when she inferred that I was swishy. I saw Izzy and Christine shoot the woman some mean glares. I forced myself to respond professionally, "I wasn't going for swishy. I was just trying to be fun. You know it's Halloween. Hokus pokus and all that jazz." Martha nodded her head in response, which I took as a win for the moment. Meanwhile, I could not believe I had just said 'all that jazz.' What decade did I think it was? Martha then opened her mouth to utter, "It's a little campy for me, but I guess jazzie is okay if it's just for fun." Her tone belied her words. She was clearly disgusted by my feminized state. "Lets hope so," I replied with a feigned smile, trying to put her at ease before I got onto cutting her hair. The whole haircut was quiet from then on. It was the most uncomfortable I had ever felt while trimming a girl's hair. It was worse than when I first started in the profession, and I had girls actually flirting with me. That hadn't happened in years, and the days events had let me in on the reason why. I suppose I sensed it on one level, but I just didn't want to admit to myself. It wasn't the worst thing in the world to be considered. It's not like they considered me a deviant, with the possible exception of Martha. I almost wanted to kick her out of the chair, but I didn't want an ex- client going around bad mouthing my salon and its "swishy" owner. I finished with her hair as I normally did and asked her how she liked it. She checked herself in the mirror and said, "It's fine." That was hardly a ringing endorsement to a hairdresser's ear. I leaned towards her and asked, "Is there anything you want me to a change? I could cut a little more off the sides if you want it shaped..." "No. I like it. It's good," Martha replied with haste, cutting me off in the process. "Okay," I responded as I brushed off her cape before I removed it from around her neck. I could see her relief in being able to get away from having to look at me. She paid for her haircut before she said, "Hopefully you'll be in pants next time I see you," as she handed me a tip. "Definitely," I replied with truth. There was no way I was doing this again, especially when she was scheduled for an appointment. Martha wasted little time in hurrying out the door. I counted the tip, which was less than she normally gave me. I was hardly unsurprised about that as I put the money away. Once I did so, I turned and saw the looks on Christine and Izzy's faces. The scorn they had for Martha was shared by the women whose hair they were styling. The nasty words about the girl came in a quick cascade. She was the topic of conversation as the women verbally tore her apart with the type of cruelty that you rarely see from men. It was something that surprised me when I first got into this field, but the more time I spent around women, the more at ease they became around me. Once they got at ease, I guess I became "one of the girls." Being "one of the girls" meant they could let their guards down, which, for most, meant the knives for other women came out. For as much as they complained about their boyfriends, husbands, sons and male coworkers and bosses, they reserved their harshest criticism for the women that entered their lives. The things they said about female coworkers, colleagues, bosses, sister-in-laws, mother-in-laws, sisters and so-called girl friends were mortifying at first, but you get half- deaf to it over time. You just tell them why their right. Reinforcing their perceptions typically gets you a bigger tip. As their angry words continued, I heard the front door open and close. I turned and felt my stomach sink as Mina walked in. Mina froze as she saw me. I saw her big, beautiful brown eyes widen while she looked me over. Her French-manicured nails were soon resting over the bridge of her tan nose as she covered her mouth. I stammered as I greeted her. I had never expected her to walk in. She never was a walk in. I had kept my schedule light for the day for a reason, which gave me time to fit her in, but I didn't want to. She was one of the few girls who frequented the shop that I had a genuine attraction to. There was never anything between us. We just did some harmless flirting, but it was the type you know would never go anywhere. After she collected herself, Mina said hello back to me with a wide grin on her face. She shook her head and asked why I was dressed the way I was. I explained my reasons, which only made her laugh again. "Oh, I'm so sure," she remarked as Paula took her over to the sink to wash her hair. I heard them giggling amongst themselves while I cleaned up my station to get ready to work on her hair. There was no doubt that they were sharing a laugh at my expense. The last part was a piece of my plan. I knew that I would be the source of laughter today and, probably, some additional teasing going forward. It was all in good fun, and I want my staff and clients to have a good time in my salon. It helps to keep the staff in place and the clients coming back through the door. Mina grinned while she came over to my station. She sat down in the chair, and I covered her with the cape as she looked down at the floor. Mina kept the smile on her face as her eyes rose from the floor to look at me in the mirror as she said, "I love those boots." "These old things?" I joked to the pretty girl. "They're so you," Mina replied. "I suppose," I said with a shrug. "I've got to a get a pair just like them. Where did you get them?" I noted the online site where I purchased them. Mina gave me a curious look as she inquired, "You bought boots online? How did you know they would fit?" "The shoe size chart they had seemed like it would be accurate." "I could never buy any shoes or clothes online! I want to make sure they fit." "Well, this whole outfit came straight from the internet," I admitted. "Why's that?" "Well, I didn't want to go into a store and start shopping for myself in the ladies department. It'd be too embarrassing," I explained as I blushed at the thought of actually doing it. "You're capable of embarrassment?" Mina joked as Christine, Izzy and their clients laughed along. "I can be?" "So, you were too embarrassed to buy that outfit in public, but not embarrassed enough to not wear it to work?" Mina asked with a smirk. "Well, I know everyone here." "And we all love him, well, most of us," Izzy interjected. "Yah, what was with that whole ice queen thing," Mina inquired as I finished securing the cape in place around her neck. "She wasn't comfortable with Reese's new look," Izzy answered. Mina shook her head as she said, "Why would she care?" "That's my point," Izzy replied as she threw up her left hand. "It's not like he's her husband. If my boyfriend showed up dressed like that, then maybe I'd be upset, but he's a stylist. You know what you're getting here," Mina replied to Izzy as she looked at me. I struggled not to blush as I realized that this cute girl I had been harmlessly flirting with for years thought that I was gay too. I don't know why it bothered me more than the others. From her words over the years, it was clear that I was not her type anyway. I knew that she liked the muscled manly type that I could never be. I was the smaller, thinner non-threatening type. The girls I had dated over the years didn't like the manly men BS that Mina went for. I asked her how she wanted her hair styled. She told me that she just wanted a quick trim. I nodded, seeing no reason for her to get a full cut. She just needed some shaping to keep up her chosen style. As I started to trim her hair, Mina said, "So, when are you going to do something with your hair?" "What's wrong with it?" I asked as looked in the mirror, knowing I could do little with my short hair. "You should get extensions." "Oh, she would look so good with long hair," Izzy interjected. "I know," Mina exclaimed. "And get it double processed," Christine added. "He would look so cute with the Taylor Swift look," Mina noted. "Thanks, girls," I lied to their laughter. "No. I'm serious you should get your hair double processed." "I'm not going blonde," I said while my hand reached for my gel-coated brown hair. "There are so many girls going with the short blonde look now. You would look so hip." "I'd look like Eminem." "Do you think Katy Perry looks like Eminem?" Mina asked. "Sort of," I admitted. "Except, Katy's wearing a dress," Izzy noted. "I've seen him in one too," I retorted. "Only in the videos," Mina rejoined. "And she's much prettier," Izzy added. "I really hadn't noticed," I replied. "So, you're gay or just blind," Mina retorted to the girls' laughter. I joined in as well to try to make the situation comfortable for everyone besides me. As I went back to cutting her hair, I finally got the nerve to ask Mina, "What makes you think I'm gay?" She gave me an odd look. I could tell she was trying to ascertain whether I was being serious or not. She shrugged for a moment before she said, "Well, you wear such tight trousers." I shook my head my head as Izzy, her client and Paula laughed, all overhearing her comment. This resulted in Christine's demanding to be let in on the comment. She snickered once Izzy relayed it to her. I never really considered my pants too tight, but I guess it was possible. I certainly didn't wear them loose, but I didn't think that was giving off the Bat Signal for that I was gay. "It's hard to tell who's gay and who's normal these days," Izzy's client interjected. The comment made for an apparently uncomfortable moment for everyone else, which, fortunately, the indelicate women seemed too dense to understand. She noticed the silence her words created and filled it by saying, "What? These are godless times!" "I'll drink to that," I joked before I went back to cutting Mina's hair and made small talk with her and the girls. As I neared the end of Mina's haircut, Paula accidentally tripped over my left foot. As the girls laughed at Paula's momentary embarrassment, I tried to make her feel at ease as I said, "She couldn't miss my foot, I've got these long dancers legs." "More like a model's legs. So long and thin," Christine noted. "That also describes a dancer," Izzy rejoined. "I don't see her as a dancer. She looks more of a model." "Yah, dancing implies talent," Izzy teased. "I'm no dancer," I admitted with a shake of my head. "Then, give us you your catwalk strut," Christine countered. "That's another talent I don't possess," I replied. "I can just see her swaying those hips when no one is around," Mina rejoined. "I can picture it too, now. It'll take a while to get that image out of my head. Thanks a lot," Izzy joked. "I really can't picture it," Christine said. "That's because you don't want to," I explained. "You've got to show her," Mina prodded. "Show us," Paula and Christine answered in unison. "I'm not leaving until you do," Mina added with a smile. On most days, I would have been happy to let Mina hang around. Now, that my in the flesh, fantasy girl thought I was a transsexual that was heterosexually into guys, I was somewhat eager to see her leave. Giving into the teasing, I decided to go with the flow. I shrugged and said, "Alright, already." The girls laughed as I gave them my best girl sashay while the girls started to laugh at my best efforts. I purposely forced my hips from side to side in an exaggerated fashion. The girls continued their laughter while I moved with my arms lightly swaying before I turned on the heels of my boots and gave them a wink over my shoulder. "Work it, Cover Girl," Izzy hollered. I gave her a kissy face in response and kicked out my left leg behind me. With the girls still laughing, I strutted back to my station and came to a stop behind Mina to make the last few ships of her hair. She grinned at the results while I showed her the back of her hair with a hand mirror. Mina paid me soon after I removed her cape. She tipped me well. Just like Phyllis, I was surprised to find that she gave me more than usual. After seeing Mina out of the shop, I walked into the backroom to grab my lunch. I had a short break before the two haircuts I had scheduled for the rest of the day. They were going to be entailed jobs, and I wanted to get my mind straight. I had expected everything I did to be a big joke, but the girls were taking it as further confirmation of something that was not true. I'm not gay and not transgender. I have nothing against either, but I don't like being thought of something I'm not. It was humiliating and took my male ego down a few pegs. I don't think I'll ever be able to shake it completely and go back to the man I perceived myself to be before that morning. Once I finished with my lunch, I saw my next client chatting with Paula. Before I could step out of the backroom, Paula came over to me and said, "You need a touch up." "For what?" "Your lips," she explained before she removed her lipstick. I stood still and pursed my lips for her while she added a fresh coat. "Smack em," she ordered with a smile as she moved her hands away from my lips. I complied before I gave her a smile of my own. She gave me a satisfied grin in return before she went back out to resume talking with Marya. I then walked through the room while the girl was distracted and tidied up my station. Shortly after I finished, I saw Marya walking over to my station with a broad grin on her face. She was the first of the two haircuts I had booked for the rest of the day. Both were going to be long jobs given what they requested. "So, what are we doing today?" I asked Marya to confirm what she wanted. "I told you. I want a permanent wave," the pretty, college age girl answered with a smile, not addressing my appearance in the slightest. I remembered her request over the phone, but had not when I asked the question. I nodded my head and said, "Sit down. Let me see if I can do this." "You don't have enough time?" She asked with some confusion. "It's not that. You can't just get a permanent wave," I replied, having set aside two hours for her to make sure that I could handle the job. "Why not?" "If you hair is too damaged, the curl isn't going to come out pretty. It's just going to damage your hair more." "Really?" Marya asked with a nervous look as I put the cape around her neck. "Yup," I said as I fastened it in place. "You haven't colored your hair have you?" "This is natural," Marya said with some pride. "It's pretty," I admitted as my fingers reached into her hair. I ran my fingers through her hair. Her hair was a perfect candidate for a permanent wave. There were no layers, the hair wasn't dried out and she did not color in her hair. She also wouldn't end up looking like a poodle like she would if she had short hair. As my fingers pulled out of her hair, I told her I could give her the permanent wave she wanted. I sent her away to get her hair washed and lightly conditioned while I talked with the girls and their clients. It was harmless conversation, but I never realized just how much they treated me like as I was really was one of them. The chatting was not that different from what they normally did around me. I realized that they were really comfortable around me. I had always felt like I was sort of an outsider amongst them. A guy unable to get into the women's club, but, now, I was aware I wasn't. It was all too obvious that they considered me, for all intents and purposes, to be a girl. I was not viewed as a threat or a potential boyfriend. I was on their side. The more I thought about it, the more I realized that I was more of an outsider when I was with men. Marya came back over and sat down in the chair. I smiled as I asked if she was ready while I parted her hair into quarter of an inch sections. She watched me intently while I applied a protective ointment around her hairline to protect her skin from any chemical burns from the solution. Her hands clenched as I put each section of her hair up in a roller after confirming the size of the curls she wanted. "I look like my grandma," she said with a shake of her head at the sight of the pink rollers in her hair. "I doubt she looks as a good as you," I replied with truth. "My family says I get my looks from her." "Lucky you, my family says I get them from my father," I joked while I started to enclose the tips of each roller in a special tissue paper, then tightly wrapped it around the perm rods. "Well, he must have been a pretty boy," Marya replied as all the girls around me started to laugh. "What, I'm not pretty?" I asked my employees and their clients. "No. You're looking good, doll face," Izzy answered with a laugh and a shake of her head. "Well, I never," I replied, feigning displeasure while I continued to wrap the perm rollers in Marya's hair. Once each of hairs was up in rollers, I applied a generous amount of ammonium thioglycolate solution to each rod. I could see Marya getting nervous as she watched me in the mirror. "Is this your first time?" I asked. "Yes," she admitted. "I always like working on a virgin. They're so pure," I kidded. "Shut up," she responded with a laugh. "What are you thinking?" "How does this stuff work?" "Don't you think you should have asked that before you had me put it in your hair?" "God, you should be mother with attitude," Marya joked. "I always thought of her as the den mother," Paula teased while she swept the floor from beneath Christine's station. The girls laughed as I blushed and said, "Thanks, Slash. You're really helping the situation." "No, but seriously how does it work?" Marya inquired. "Well, I start by applying this ammonium thioglycolate solution..." "Wait, what?" "What?" "Did you ammonia" "No ammonium." "Is that better?" "For your hair, yes. It restructures your hair shaft by raising the cuticle layer and breaking down disulphide bonds. At your length, we have to leave it in for 15 minutes for it work." "Holy crap, this sounds like an art." "I like to think of it as more like a science." "Wait, you have to be smart to cut hair." "Smart enough," Christine chimed in as she held her arms out. "You have to pass a test," I replied. "There goes my fall back job," Marya responded. "Oh, please! A smart girl like you won't need a job like this," I replied, trying to build up her confidence. "Maybe I should rely on my looks." "Ah, the bimbo approach!" "I do look good, don't I?" She said even as she winced at the sight of hair hairs in the rollers. "I'd say, and just wait till you see when I'm done with you. You're going to look so pretty." "You could look pretty too?" I gave her a smirk as I shook my head. She cringed before she added with haste, "I meant prettier." "Honey, there was no offense taken," I responded before I realized how I had spoken to her, 'Shit, no wonder they all think I'm gay. I talk just like a 40 year old woman!' "Well, I just meant that if you lost a little more weight, you'd be like a total twink." I struggled not to guffaw at the girl as Izzy and Christine stifled laughter. Christine's client was not even able to do that. I collected myself to respond in truth, "Well, that's never really been a goal of mine." "Oh, I'm sorry..." "It's no problem." "I know better than that, Reese. I'm so sorry. I know you girls are just girls." I struggled not to retort that I was not a transsexual and talking about being seen as a woman, as opposed to a very effeminate man. It seemed rather pointless under the circumstances, so I decided to let it slide while I continued to do her hair before I sent her off to Paula to wash out the ammonium thioglycolate solution with warm water and blot the rods with a towel. I got away from the thoughts that Marya had planted in my mind as I fielded two calls before I went to watch Paula rinse her hair with a neutralizer to set the new shape of the hair by reinserting the disulphide bonds. As I started to remove the rollers from her wet hair, Marya said, "I'm sorry, Reese. I really didn't mean to make you uncomfortable." "I know," I replied. "You're really brave for finally coming out." "You know this is just a costume right?" I retorted, finally standing up for my eviscerated masculinity. Marya gave me a disbelieving look before she added, "I want you to know I'll accept you when you're ready." "I don't know what you're talking about," I said with a shake of my head. "There is something in your soul, I don't think you understand", she replied. I bit my tongue rather than object to her comment. I wanted to protest her assumption that she knew something more about what was in me than I did, but I was growing too tired and confused by everyone's conclusions about me to put up a fuss. I shook my head as I tried to change the subject and asked, "So, how are you liking your classes this semester?" "Please, I can't wait for it to be over!" "Oh, you'll be fine, dear," I said before pausing again as I realized how effeminate my response, which had long ago become engrained in me, was when I really thought about it. "I know I'll do good, but I just hate the struggle." "What's the struggle? You're one of those girls that's pretty and smart, what more do you need?" Marya laughed before she said, "You really could look pretty too. I wasn't kidding." "Pardon?" "I think she looks good," Izzy cracked. "Well, she does. You know, all things considered." "Like what's between my legs," I replied. "Well, there's that little thing." "It's not that little," I retorted to the girl's laughter. "I thought your boyfriends liked that sort of stuff," Christine's client interjected. "Where the hell did you hear that?" I asked, unable to conceal my bewilderment with the conclusion. I'm pretty sure that a gay guy wants a big dick as much as a cute girl, maybe more since he knows what to do with it! "I just assumed." "That's a strange assumption," Izzy noted. "I figured a bigger one might hurt," the client replied. "That's probably true. It is with me," Christine seconded, undoubtedly trying to protect her tip. I made the strategic decision to not intervene in the conversation while I finished with Marya's hair. Once her hair was dried, I pitched her on the salon products that she needed to preserve the perm in her hair. She looked them over and made a few selections before I rang her up and gave her the instructions about how to treat her hair for the next 48 hours. As I saw Marya out of the building, I saw three of the salon's clients being accompanied by five of their daughters. I grimaced as I stepped inside the salon and futilely hoped that they would pass by our shop. "What's wrong?" Paula asked. "I just saw a bunch of our clients trick or treating," I answered. "Be afraid. Be very afraid," Christine teased to laughter that filled the salon. The sound of the door opening made me turn my head. I saw the dressed up women and girls that were filing in through the door. I forced myself to smile while I greeted them as a group. The mothers started to laugh as some of their daughters tried to figure out who I was, despite all of them having met me many times before. I handed each one of the girls candy while I complimented their costumes. One of the mothers then noted, "I like yours." "What is she?" One of the girls asked. "Come on, Elizabeth, you know who that is?" The little girl dressed like Cinderella gave me a wide-eyed stare before she asked, "Who is she?" "HE cuts your hair," her mother explained. "What?" The little girl said before all the little girls broke into laughter at my feminized appearance. I struggled not to blush from the little girls' laughter. "I can't believe you were ever a boy," a little girl dressed as Belle said to the laughter of every woman in the room. My cheeks turned red before I lied, "It's a relief to hear you say that." "I think she still looks like a boy," one of her friends responded with crossed arms. "Frances," her mother scolded with a stern look. "No, it's okay, Mary," I replied, trying to put the woman at ease about her daughter's judgment of me. I was not upset by it. I knew that Mary liked to throw shade and that was where her daughter got it from. It was also not as if I didn't judge Mary for leaving so many knots in her daughter's hair! "She's got such pretty eyes though," Elizabeth replied. I was unsure what to say, but the girls in the shop chimed in with some teasing that saved me from having to say anything. The sight of my last customer of the day, entering the salon was a relief. I excused myself from the girls and their mothers to greet the middle- aged woman. Carol gave me a startled look that gave way to a comforting smile as she took in my appearance. Immediately thereafter, we exchanged compliments about aspects of each others' outfits. It was normal on my part, which I was now well aware was entirely abnormal behavior for a man. As her hair was washed, I cleaned up around my station while the trick or treaters and their mothers exited my salon. As Carol sat down, I asked her, "So, what we are we doing today?" "I want to go short." "Are you sure?" "Yes. I am. I want my hair as short as yours." I gave her a curious look. I could not believe she wanted to cut her hair that short. "Your hair is so pretty. Are you sure ready for such a big change?" "I'm really excited about it," Carol replied. "Okay. I think it's going to look so great on you." "I know. I know," she said with a clap of her hands, eager to see her hair clipped away. "So, I'm going to start by cutting off most of your hair before I have Paula wash and condition it. Then, we'll get to the real cut. I want to be working with just a small canvas." "Oh, I totally understand." I smiled as I pulled her hair back into a tight ponytail. I tied it in place and said, "This is your last chance." "No. I'm ready." "Did you let your husband know?" I asked with a smile. "Oh, yes," she said. "So, he's not going to stroke out when he sees you." "Oh, he hates short hair on a girl, but this isn't his head," Carol replied to the agreement of the other women in the place. "Besides, I think it's hot when I piss him off," Carol added to Izzy's applause. I rolled my eyes before I took my scissor blades to her hair. "What are you doing?" A little girl asked as she entered the store with her mother. I greeted her mother warmly. She was a good client before I told the little dressed like an angel princess combination, "I'm giving her a hair cut. She's going for a new look." "But it's going to be so short." "Someone already noticed," I joked to Carol. "That's more than my husband's noticed the last ten times I've been here, and you haven't even snipped the first hair," Carol cracked. "I'm just in the zone today," I replied with a smile. "You go girlfriend," Carole replied. "Have you always been a girl," the little girl asked as her mother said, "Please, that's rude." "I've been a girl since I woke this morning, how about you?" I replied. "ME TOO," She squealed to the delight of the girls in the salon. "See, we have that in common," I added as the little girl agreed with me. I shook my head as the little girl took the candy that Paula offered her with a smile. I could see her eyes still wide as my hands hovered a few inches from Carol's ponytail. I tried to put her out of mind as I focused on Carol's eyes in the mirror. I put a hand on her shoulder while I brought the blades of the scissors to the strands of her hair and said, "Okay, now, this is really your last chance." "Do it," she said after taking a deep breath. I heard an audible eek from the woman as I snipped off her ponytail. I went to pick up the ponytail from the ground and held it up and said, "We won't be needing this anymore." "Nope," she said with a slight grimace. "Wow, it's so short," the little girl noted as her friends entered and took candy from Paula. "Just trying for a change," Carol explained. "But you'll look like a smelly boy," one of the girls bellowed before her mother grabbed her by the arm and started to apologize for her. I looked at the girl and said, "Do I look like a boy?" "No," the girl replied as she looked over my dress-covered form. Their mothers laughed before I added, "Well, I think she'll be good then!" That comment or its response seemed to prompt one of the girls to ask, "Mommy, can I get my hair spicy?" "What?" The woman asked to my bemusement. "I want a spicy cut!" "Do you mean spiky?" Paula inquired. "YAH!" "Sure, maybe when you're, like, fifteen, sweetie. See you ladies later," the woman said with haste as she pulled her daughter out the front door. We said goodbye to the group of women and their daughters and focused on our tasks at hand again. It was not long before they were mercifully escorted out of my salon. I breathed a sigh of relief before I told Carol, "I'm sorry about all that." "Hey, if they think you look good, imagine what they'll say about me," Carol responded with a shrug. "Well, you do have a leg up on me," I replied with a grin. "Yah no third leg," Carol retorted. I went back to trimming Carol's hair until it was nice and short. I worried while I continued to work on her hair. I feared that she would be upset with what a stark difference it made to her appearance. I was relieved to find that she was thrilled by the cut. She grinned and beamed at the compliments the girls left in the shop gave her before she tipped me well for the job. Once she was out the door, I swept up around my station as we began to get ready to close up for the evening. After the last client was out the door, I locked the front door and went outside to pull down the security gate to protect the storefront so that we could clean up in peace. As I walked back into the shop through the backdoor, I saw the girls giving me a look. I put my hands on my hips and said, "What do you girls need to tell me?" "Do you want to know the results of the poll?" Izzy inquired while Christine and Paula smiled beside her. "What poll?" "Well, me and the girls decided to ask each girl who came in whether they liked you this way or preferred your classic look." "Oh, was this a scientific poll?" I joked. "Sure, whatever that means," Izzy replied before she told me the unsurprising landslide results. I blushed and shook my head while the girls laughed at my discomfort. "That poll includes everyone who came in, except for one." "You didn't need to ask, Martha?" I inquired with a laugh. "No, you might lose that one bitch, but the rest were loving this," Paula explained as she pointed at my dress. "Well, good for them!" "No. Good for you. Didn't you see the tips you got?" Izzy asked. "Yes." "What did you think that was about?" "That I did a good job," I answered Izzy. "You did the same job you always did. The girls just know it's more expensive to be a girl so they tipped you more to make Halloween everyday," Izzy responded. "Plus, they're doing their part to end the men getting paid more than girls for the same work," Christine added with a grin. "I'm still a man." The girls smirked amongst themselves before they seemed to nominate Izzy to respond with their eyes. The smirk never left her face as she said, "The numbers don't lie, Reese." "Figures don't lie, but liars figure," I retorted. "And I figure you wear a size three." "Size two," I corrected Izzy to the girls laughter. "This can't be happening? I was already jealous," Christine joked with a shake of her head. "You're jealous of me?" I asked. Christine nodded before I inquired "And you all think I should keep this up?" They all nodded as my finger remained pointed at my dress. I shook my head before I retorted with a laugh, "You bitches be crazy." "No," Christine rejoined before pausing to add, "WE bitches be crazy," as she pointed at me and then the rest of the girls. "One of us, one of us," Izzy teased while we headed out the backdoor.