I am a hairdresser, I always wanted to be one. As a kid I already knew I wanted to be a hairdresser.
It was difficult for me as a boy. I was small and delicately built, other than my elder sister Ruth, who, at the age of thirteen, was strong and fully womanly developed already. I was ten and the boys in my new class in Camden soon started bullying and calling me Betty instead of Bertram, when a teacher once asked, what I wanted to become, and I said a hairdresser.
Fortunately one of the older boys fancied my sister and took me under his wing to impress her, so I escaped the worst, but the name Betty stuck. Even my sister and later even my mother called me so. As soon as I was old enough to do so I became apprenticed to the lady who did my sisters and my hair. I was the only male person in the salon of Lucille, my boss, who on my first day simply told me to put on the same dress as the others (all of them female) over my jeans and start working.
As soon as they heard my sister calling me Betty the name was adopted at the hairdressers as well. I let my hair grow long, kept my hands neatly groomed, as Lucille had instructed and did my best to become a really good hairdresser. I did and still do absolutely love my work. With time I became better and better and I normally wore my now long hair at work in a braid, wore jeans and t-shirts and over them the same kind of dress as the girls who worked there.
My only problem was, that everybody, colleagues and customers alike, thought I was gay. Whenever I met a girl, wanted to go out with her and told her of my job she assumed I was gay and it stopped there. It was very frustrating. So I spent a lot of my free time on my own at the movies or with my mum or sister, who by now had a flat together with Jim, who had protected me at school and now, as I had my first own bedsit, insisted to mount shelves or fix things for me saying that my delicate hands were better employed fixing his woman's hair.
Since Ruth wasn't much of a cook I developed a habit of cooking for her and Jim on the weekends and loved it. It gave me a sense of achievement other than at work and some sort of social life and I almost liked cooking as much as hairdressing. In both disciplines I did my very best and my cooking became almost as good as the hairstyles I cut. I always passed my professional tests with the best possible notes and Lucille was proud of me. After three years I had become a full member of her crew and was asked after by the clients. Two years later I was practically Lucille's right hand, even though I was younger than everybody else. Nobody questioned my right though because I was almost as good as Lucille.
Then one Friday afternoon a new customer came into our salon, asking if there was a chance for an instant appointment because she had unexpectedly been invited to an important party and thought she needed a new style. Lucille was occupied but I was not and so I took her on. She was taller than me and had a perfect hourglass shape of hips waist and bust. Elegant long limbs and a beautiful face, the only flaw was her hair. To my dismay I could not take my eyes off her. She was lively and elegant at the same time, her voice slightly husky and very sexy and I fell instantly in love. Awkwardly I led her to a chair and asked her if she had anything special in mind. I had a very good idea what I would do to her hair, but she might want something completely different, I thought, because I could not imagine how any professional could let her walk out of the shop with that hair unless it was her own outspoken wish and decision.
She had evidently seen my disapproval in my eyes, because she looked into mine through the mirror and asked:
“What do you suggest” and after a moments hesitation after having read my name tag “Betty?”
I studied her face and hair in the mirror. Her hair was mousy brown, thick, long and straight, neither colour nor style was becoming. Her eyes were green. And then I saw in my mind what to do.
“A new colour and a perm for soft, layered curls. Trust me.” I replied.
She looked even more deeply into my eyes and my knees got weak. Dear God I thought let me be right.
She nodded. My heart did a jump. So I did what I had seen in my mind: chestnut hair with lighter red streaks that fell in long soft waves framing her beautiful face, noticing, that she had her eyes closed during the whole procedure. I needed to colour her brows to match the hair and told her so. She nodded, still keeping her eyes closed. Finally I had finished and told her it was done. She simply looked divine, I had found the perfect hair for her face.
She opened her eyes and looked into the mirror. Shock … surprise … amazement and finally pleasure crossed her face. Then she turned around and looked smiling directly into my eyes.
“Had you told me what you would do I'd said no!” she told me “You knew, did you not?”
I could only nod.
“It is perfect! Bold, daring even, but suits me better than anything I ever dared to try, I love it.”
Relief flooded my body. I had known what do do but feared her reaction, now my legs almost gave way under me as I relaxed. She kept smiling at me and I smiled back.
“Thank you for your vision and courage,” she said “now be honest. What did you think before I asked you for suggestions?”
“I thought” I answered her “that no professional should have let you walk out of the shop like that.”
Her smile broadened.
“Seeing what you have achieved I must agree, but nobody ever asked me to trust them and some of them I would not trust with anything anyway. But you I trusted and find myself amply rewarded. I look fantastic. Thank you, thank you so much. I will always come back here now, as long as it is you who does my hair.”
Lucille had finished her customer twenty minutes ago and now came over to see what was going on, went white and then red as she evidently recognized my customer. Then she noticed the happy smile on her face and relaxed.
“Did Betty do the job to your satisfaction, miss Springer?”
“More than that, Lucille, much more! She did a fantastic job. I never looked better than now.”
“I am so glad you are happy, may I hope to see you again then?”
“You may be absolutely certain of that as long as I can always have Betty for my hair.”
“Of course, miss Springer.”
“Then give me another appointment in two weeks time please.”
I took off her protective coat and brushed some non existant hair off her dress, then led her to the reception desk, where Lucille had got out the book with appointments. Having fixed the new one Lucille closed the book and as miss Springer got out her purse she shook her head.
“No, no,” she said “the first one is on the house.”
I had never ever heard that before. Miss Springer, whoever she was, turned around to me and gave me three twenty pound notes. I blushed deeply and was about to refuse but she insisted.
“Where I normally go I would have paid twice that” she told me “and looked mediocre. Go and buy yourself something really nice, darling. See you in a fortnight.”
And with that she was gone.
“Who is she?” I asked Lucille.
“The daughter of my landlord, he owns half of Camden, silly.” was her reply.
I could not stop thinking about her after that. She was fascinating: lively, direct, honest and so beautiful! I had definitely fallen in love. Lucille noticed first. She asked me two days later what was keeping my thoughts off the work and I told her. Lucille laughed and then went sad, said I was to be disappointed because miss Springer was in a class of her own being as beautiful and rich and could have any man she liked, so she would most probably not be interested in a guy shorter than her and possibly gay too. I did protest that I was not and she said she knew, but everybody always assumed hairdressers were gay. And so they did I had to acknowledge.
I did my best to keep my mind on the work at hand, but two days before the new appointment I started getting nervous. Lucille took me aside and told me to calm down, miss Springer was just another client. But of course she was not, she was the woman of my dreams! On the day, though, I was astonishingly calm, keeping my mind on what to cook for Ruth and Jim on the weekend, and so it was only when I stood in front of her that I got week legs again. Having greeted her I managed to lead her to a chair and looked at her expectingly.
“Nothing new today, Betty, just freshen up what you did last time, thank you.” she said looking at me in the mirror. And then:
“Would you mind if I asked you a very personal question?”
I shook my head unable to speak.
“So tell me, Betty, are you gay?”
“No!” I burst out “Everybody seems to assume that I am gay because I am a hairdresser, but I am not. I just love the work.”
“And you are exceedingly good at it. So why are you called Betty?”
Telling her that that was a long story I started to work, this time washing her hair myself, loving to touch her gently, lovingly massaging her scalp to work the treatment in. She closed her eyes again, evidently enjoying it, but told me to tell her everything. I did, including my cooking for Ruth and Jim, and the story took all the time I had to work on her hair. I was surprised that she would want to know about me and pleased that she did. As I finished the job on her hair she opened her eyes again, but did not look at herself in the mirror but into my eyes. Then she turned the chair around and looked directly into them.
“I really enjoyed you working on my hair, you were so soft – loving even – it was heaven. Now, if I bought all the ingredients according to a list you give me, would you come to my place and cook for me, please?”
My knees almost gave in. She was asking me to cook for her! Oh my goodness, was she interested in me? Was she as fascinated by me as I by her? I must have looked completely dumbfounded because she smiled at me and said:
“You have not had many dates yet, Betty, have you? And here I am taking the male role and ask you out” she laughed softly “or in rather, and you are as shy as a virgin. Are you …?”
She let it hang there, suddenly aware of the absurdity of it. Of course I was a virgin. I had practically told her so with my story. I found myself giggling like a girl and infused with a new courage.
“Yes on all accounts.” I replied “I am a virgin and I will cook for you.”
She seemed genuinely pleased at that.
“So I will give you my address and phone number and on next Friday you will cook for me, yes? Ring me with the shopping list before Wednesday, will you?”
“Yes. I will count the hours until I can see you again.”
I suddenly had the courage to respond to her openness, honesty and directness in kind. She gave me a modest tip this time, but I did not expect one having been rewarded in so much nicer a fashion.
From that moment on I was walking on clouds. I carried her phone number with me at all times, sometimes secretly touching her note in my pocket to make sure it was not a dream. Nevertheless I managed to concentrate on my work and was inspired even. Lucille took me aside on the following Wednesday and asked:
“So, Betty, what happened? You are even better than before, more daring and inventive, your styles now are better than mine. Will you represent the shop for the next competition?”
It took me completely by surprise. I was better than her now? How could that be? I looked at Lucille only slowly becoming aware that my mouth hung open. I slowly closed it, hoping I had not looked completely stupid. Lucille smiled.
“You're walking on clouds, Betty, what happened? Did I see miss Springer pass you her phone number?”
I could only nod.
“Be careful, honey, she's a spoiled rich brat. She might only be playing with you.”
I did not agree, but Lucille had never called me honey before, normally she only called her girl friends honey, the familiarity, though, showed me that she really cared for me. I did not spend any thoughts on being called the same as her female friends. I only remembered that a lot later.
“I think she honestly enjoyed my company.” I managed to reply.
“Yes, honey, she did, but it may not last. Don't get your hopes up too much, o.k?”
She looked at me searchingly and her attitude changed.
“You are in love with her?”
I nodded again, still unable to openly admit it. Lucille smiled.
“It is about time, you discovered your feelings, child.” she ventured “Just be careful. One gets easily hurt, first time, you see?”
I did not see, but nodded again, unsure what to say or do.
“Well,” Lucille said “we've all been there and learned our lessons, why should you be different? Just remember, Betty, you're the best hairdresser I have ever trained, you're now better than me and it would be a shame to waste that talent.”
“Why should I waste that talent?” I finally was able to answer.
“Because,” she said patiently “it is her attention, that triggered your new styles. Just watch yourself and let nothing disturb your new self and your abilities.”
I shook my head. What could take my talent away from me? Lucille seemed to read my thoughts, but her answer was somewhat cryptic as she said:
“I have seen girls go to pieces after a love affair turned bad.”
With that she had left me to my own devices. I was freaked to say the least. What had girls got to do with what I was experiencing? I shook my head and let it go, turning onto my work again. A young girl had asked me if I could do something amazingly new to her hair and as I asked her what she would like to look like she'd replied:
“Can you do it?” I looked at her more closely. Yes, I thought, I can make her look like a pixie, a very pretty pixie at that. So I said so.
“O.K. she beamed. Do it!”
And I did it. Short, I thought, messy, but very pretty and feminine. The cut I created looked at first glance as if it had been done by herself without a mirror, but she looked divine. She looked into the mirror and hooped with joy.
“You did it,” she shrieked “you made me look like a pixie! Oh it is fabulous!”
Everybody's eyes were on us. Lucille was there instantly with her camera, her face at first concerned, then she took in the girls face, flushed with delight, and then took a closer look at the cut. She looked at me and shook her head.
“How on earth did you create that?” she asked laughing. “It looks like you're a complete beginner, but then nobody could ever fuck up like that and make it look so ...” she was lost for words for a moment.
“Fantastic?” the girl asked innocently “I wanted to look like a pixie!”
“Did you now?” Lucille could not quite believe what she was seeing and hearing.
“Of course I did.” the girl replied “and Betty got it just right.”
Lucille was quiet for a moment, then asked:
“Would you mind if I took some photos?”
“For Betty's entry in this years new style competition.”
I could hardly believe my ears, but Lucille was perfectly serious.
“Nobody would ever dare something like that,” Lucille said “but it is incredibly pretty on you.”
The girl blushed.
“Will I be in the papers?” she asked “I do not know if I want that.”
“Well, think about it.” Lucille said “We can always ask a professional model to show the hair style if you do not want the publicity.”
The girl went quiet for a moment, then she nodded.
“I think I do not want to be famous.”
“OK.” Lucille relented “but a couple of shots so we do not forget?”
“Yeah, that's cool.”
So Lucille took the photos and that was that. Then I remembered to have to call miss Springer with the shopping list. What on earth was I going to cook? I did not have time to think about it as Lucille called me to the phone. It was her.
“Hi Betty, it is Samantha,” she said with a voice that sent shivers down my spine. I did not remember it to be so sexy. “You have not forgotten our date?”
So we were on first name terms now? Did I dare? I did.
“Hi Samantha,” I replied and heard a pleased chuckle on the other end “you will not believe what has happened just now.” And then I told her about the pixie cut.
“Oh, I am so pleased for you, Betty. But can you please give me the shopping list? I'll be away for two days, so I want to have our dinner on Saturday. Please give my excuses to your sister and Jim, but I want you to cook for me this weekend.”
“What is your favourite food?”
“Whatever you cook, Betty.”
I had another daring idea, so I had to ask her if she ate seafood. She said yes and I rattled off the list that had formed in my mind. There was a stunned silence for a moment, then she asked with a suppressed laugh in her voice:
“Where do you normally shop, Harrods?”
“Fortnum and Mason” I replied.
Another stunned silence, then:
“Of course, where else would I get such fancy ingredients readily?”
She chuckled again and it made my skin tingle.
“So you treat your sister and Jim to such delights?”
“And myself, yes.”
“OK. Done.” she said “Where do I pick you up on Saturday morning?”
Did I want her to see my bedsit, I asked myself, then made a decision, based on my previous exchange with Lucille, and gave her my address.
“I'll be there by ten. Will I get a coffee?”
I did not hesitate for a single moment.
“How do you like it?”
“Latte macchiato. I am looking forward to it … Betty darling.”
I almost fainted. She called me darling? I must be dreaming. Somehow she was able to read my thoughts.
“No, Betty, you are not dreaming. I called you darling, darling. And you will call me Samantha, please?”
“Yes, … Samantha, I will. I do not know what to say now.”
She laughed an incredibly sexy laugh.
“Then don’t say anything but: I am looking forward to the weekend.”
“I am looking forward to the weekend.”
With that she hung up, leaving me dazed. I replaced the receiver and looked disorientatedly at Lucille.
“What is it, honey?”
“Samantha wants me to cook for her all weekend.”
“Lucky you.” Lucille grinned “Don't burn the roast.”
And then I suddenly burst into tears, but they were tears of happiness, something I had never before experienced. Lucille was laughing outright now.
“There you go, Betty. Welcome to the club.”
I had no clue what she meant.
The next two days passed in a haze. Had I been walking on clouds before I was now soaring to unknown heights. It felt as if I was floating, my feet hardly touching the ground. Everybody was smiling at me and I was in heaven. I did not realise much else, but must have worked to everybody's satisfaction, as Lucille gave me a pat on the back and told me to really enjoy my weekend on Friday evening.
I could hardly sleep that night, alternating between hope and fear. What would Samantha think of my digs? I got up in the middle of the night and started cleaning. Not that I normally was untidy, but I felt my place was a mess. At six in the morning my place was almost sterile and I knew that I had overdone it. After all it was not my mother, who came to inspect! I sat down and sighed. What should I do? I went back to bed to have a think and went to sleep, only to wake up as the doorbell rang. SHIT! I thought, can that be her?
It was. When she heard my sleepy voice over the intercom she giggled.
“May I come up? Are you decent?”
“Yes.” I managed checking the over large T-shirt I was wearing as I moved to open the door. Samantha was casually dressed in jeans and a soft cashmere sweater in a light green, that set off her now red hair beautifully. She looked me over and laughed.
“What happened, darling, did you get tipsy last night?”
I realised that only the truth could save me now. So I told her after I had bidden her in. Her grin widened.
“You are sooo sweet, do you know that? What about that latte macchiato?”
“Oh, sure.” And then I had to laugh. “God, I must look so silly in your eyes.”
“No,” she replied “you are so innocent and lovely. And you have incredibly beautiful legs.”
I looked down at my bare legs, shocked. Why had I not put on trousers, at least? I was about to go and put some on but she stopped me saying:
“Leave it, Betty, I like them.”
I did not know what to say. She grinned. I smiled. She gently touched my cheek, then took my head between her hands and gently, very gently and softly kissed my lips. I almost fainted.
“Now, the coffee. You need one too, I guess.”
Finally I relaxed. It all felt completely natural. She was self assured and happy, I was dazed and willing to have her take the lead, if that was what she wanted. And it obviously was. I went into the little kitchenette and started the kettle, then ground enough beans for the two of us and got out the cafetiere and the thing to make the frothy milk and some cocoa powder. Samantha was watching me, the smile almost permanently lighting up her features. She seemed incredibly happy. I was suddenly very self conscious, as I had my long hair open and wore no underpants as she evidently realised.
“Don't mind me.” she giggled “You are so pretty!”
And then she added with her sexy laugh again:
“And there is nothing I could see that I'd not seen before or was afraid of, is there?”
I did not manage any more. A perfectly new feeling had taken over, I felt shy. And blushed! She seemed to enjoy herself even more. I desperately concentrated on the coffee making. That finished I asked her to the little breakfast bar I had made for myself and said I'd like to put some clothes on.
She smiled seductively asking:
“Why? Isn't it warm enough?”
Well, in actual fact it was, so why was I so shy? As if she had read my thoughts she said:
“Because you are experiencing a role reversal? Because I am taking the lead? Do you feel uncomfortable in my presence?”
“No, it's not that.” and suddenly I found myself giggling like a girl. “It is just so new, and I do not really know how to act or react.”
“Do you like me?”
Suddenly I became very serious indeed, now the moment of truth had come. I blushed, but gathered all my courage and said very softly:
“I have been in love with you since I saw you for the first time.”
Now it was her time to get serious.
“How wonderful, darling! It took me until the second time to find out the same about myself.”
We still had not touched our coffees, but turned to face one another and then we kissed again and this time it was with such passion that it took both our breath away. I had never before kissed a girl like that, but everything just seemed to come naturally to me, how I opened my mouth to welcome her tongue with mine, how I put my arms around her neck and leaned into her, giving myself to her, accepting her dominance. She softly and lovingly took possession of me, made me feel safe, loved and happy beyond belief. Her hands grabbed my bottom and pressed me towards her and I felt myself react. Still it all felt perfectly normal.
“You're mine now, Betty.” she whispered in my ear “I will never ever give you up again.” Then she let me go and laughed.
“You know,” she whispered “I would never have thought this possible.”
“Me neither. I had almost given up hope.”
“Right, let's have the coffee and get to my place I might have a surprise for you, too.” saying that she looked at the receding erection under the large t- shirt and smiled.
“I love you, too, you know. But we'll explore that later and take all the time it takes.”
So we finished our coffee and she commented on the latte macchiato that she had never had other than from a machine and I got dressed in just jeans, pink trainers and t-shirt. She laughed at the pink trainers and said teasingly:
“Why, honey, do you wonder, if people think you are gay?”
“So pink trainers are gay?” I asked.
“No, honey, pink trainers are girly, and since you fit into them, what size shoes do you wear?”
“A straight seven.” I replied.
“A woman’s size? Always?”
“Yes, I was even a six for a long time. I had to buy women's shoes, as men's mostly did not come in that size.”
“OK. She said, let's hit the road.”
I was going to pack some clothes but she said there would be no need for them and I thought she was intent on having me naked all the time in bed. I giggled and she smiled. Outside she showed me the car, a pretty little Peugeot 205 convertible in pink. The shopping was stashed in the back. She asked If I had a licence and I had, but no experience whatsoever.
“About time to start then,” she said “you drive.”
Again I felt very self conscious but got into the drivers seat, set the seat and the mirrors to suit me and put the key she handed me into the lock, then looked at her questioningly. She grinned.
“What are you waiting for, darling Betty?”
I started the car and carefully pulled out into the traffic. She directed me to Chelsea and a very nice house overlooking the Thames in Cheyne Walk. I was speechless. There was a parking space for residents and she directed me into it. Then we unloaded the shopping from the car and I locked it. As I wanted to give her back the key she just smiled and said:
“Keep the car, sweetie, it matches your trainers.”
She could not possibly be serious? I grinned.
“Nice joke, Samantha.”
She was serious.
“You'll need it, darling, to go to work on Monday.”
Her tone brooked no resistance. I freaked a little, but caught myself with effort. What was going on here? She could no possibly want to GIVE the car to me? Samantha obviously enjoyed my discomfiture.
“Do you worry about driving a pink car? You did not worry when you put on the pink trainers.” she laughed. “Come on, let's get inside.” As we got nearer the door it opened and a middle aged lady in a very expensive looking dress held it open for us. Nothing could surprise me now. Samantha smiled at her and said:
“Thanks, mom, this is Betty. Betty, this is my mother.”
“Hello Betty,” her mother said “and congratulations to your impeccable taste. You turned my obstinate daughter into a really beautiful woman.”
“Thank you for the nice compliment, Madam,” I replied and was tempted to curtsy. What was going on with me? I was not a girl, was I? She noticed my confusion and I noticed, that Samantha had disappeared. My confusion grew.
“Don't worry, dear,” her mother said “I was so intrigued by the change you induced in Sam, I just had to at least catch a glimpse of you. Please call me Deborah. I will leave you two young people to your own devices now. I heard you are not only a very special hairdresser, but you also cook?”
“Ah … yes, ma ...” a severe look stopped me in time “Deborah, I do like to cook almost as much as I like my profession.”
I had finally managed to put down the bags I was carrying. Samantha suddenly reappeared and took them away, giving me a wink. Her mother watched us with an amused smile. Then she took my arm and led me into a very very large lounge, it appeared to be bigger than my whole flat. She stopped me in front of a sofa and pointed at the cushions. Evidently she was as used to being obeyed as Samantha. I sat down awkwardly. She sat down next to me.
“You have done such a good job on Sam's hair, I hope you will do me the honour and do mine, too, one day soon. As for today I hope you will thoroughly enjoy yourself with my daughter and please do not let her get way with every whim of hers. She is much too impulsive for my liking sometimes. I am glad she has met someone with a down to earth approach to life. I like the first impression I have of you. And now I will leave you to cope with my crazy daughter.”
She got up and I did too, then she took both my hands and looked into my eyes, smiling.
“I think you are a very nice person, my dear, good bye.”
With that she led me towards the back of the house and called:
“Sam, honey, come and get your friend, before she gets lost in the house.”
Then she turned around, got her coat and bag and was out of the door before I could say anything. Only then did I realise that she had called me a she. Was she so short sighted, that she could not tell I was a boy? Well, I thought, I have very long hair and wear pink trainers. That has confused her probably. On the other hand she had not appeared short sighted at all. Before I could ponder the question any further Samantha appeared again, took my hand and said she was going to show me the house.
It was huge. The furniture was antique, if I was any judge, not that I had ever seen that kind of furniture before, but everything seemed old and well kept and polished. Samantha saw me looking around in awe.
“You know,” she said “I sometimes would like to throw everything out and have the house decorated in a modern fashion.” She grinned. “But would that suit a princess? I think not.”
I nodded agreement, although I had no clue whatsoever what she was talking about. By now we had reached the bedroom, her bedroom! It was towards the back of the house on the first floor, overlooking a beautiful garden. Samantha stopped in front of the French window towards a balcony and turned around. She took my hands and pulled me closer, then kissed me again with that incredible passion. My heart seemed to melt, and so did my knees. I felt like I needed to sit down and she pushed me towards the bed, pulling my t-shirt over my head, then opening my jeans. Before I knew what she was doing she had me in my underpants. Then, just as quick, she had her sweater and jeans off, too. My god was she beautiful. I had never seen a girl almost naked other than my sister, and she had never turned me on, but Samantha was incredibly sexy and beautiful. And she was in love with me! Slowly, very slowly she let fall her knickers. I did the same with my underpants.
She took a step nearer and her breasts pushed against the soft skin of my chest. I got goose pimples all over my body. She suddenly pushed me backwards and we tumbled onto the bed. At once she was all over me, kissing, caressing and again kissing. I was overwhelmed by totally new sensations wanting nothing more than to give myself to her. That, I thought, is the girl's role! Nevertheless that was what I wanted to do. Not that I had a chance for something else. Samantha had firmly taken the lead and I was only too willing to play along. I let her take the lead and play my body like a musical instrument, unknown sensations washing through my being like tidal waves.
Within minutes I was panting and shivering with delight and as the took a nipple in her mouth and sucked it I gave a little squeal of pleasure. Samantha moaned with delight. Very soon she had me on my back with my legs wide and my penis (and my nipples!) fully erect. Slowly, very slowly she lowered herself between my legs, one hand guiding me into her, but it really felt as if she was gliding into me! I sighed with pleasure and closed my eyes, but she told me to open them again and look into hers.
“I want you to see how much I love you, darling, while I make love to you.” she whispered.
And then she did make love to me, like a man to a woman! She was between my legs, pushing them apart and up so that I ended up totally in the female position. It felt heavenly, so soft, open and vulnerable and yet strong, fulfilled and happy. Slowly she started moving. My breath quickened. I let out a long soft sigh, never braking the eye contact. In her eyes I read love, possessiveness and lust, I wondered what she read in mine.
“Oh darling,” she sighed “you give yourself to me so gracefully, so much like a woman, Betty.”
I did not know what to answer at first, then I knew what to say:
“I have never made love before, Samantha. This feels perfectly natural to me. I have never been so happy.”
“Me neither,” she sighed “you are the lover I have always dreamt of.”
And then she really started taking me, harder, faster, demanding. I let go completely and felt loved, held dear, respected and excited beyond belief. Then she bent down and kissed my nipple and I let out a surprise little shriek of pleasure, sounding like a girl. I was looking into her eyes again after she'd bent down to my breast and saw the satisfaction and pleasure at the noise I had made. She softly bit my nipple and I shrieked again, louder but no less girly. She looked in my eyes again.
“I want to make you to scream with pleasure,” she whispered “like a girl.”
I did not have to make any effort for that to happen, the noises came perfectly naturally to me. Moments later I had my first ever orgasm, panting, screaming and screaming again and Samantha joined me. Together we must have been heard in the whole neighbourhood, but I did not care and neither did she. She slowed down a little and a little more, but I did not want it to stop. I pulled her down into a kiss, pressing my body against hers, pushing up my hips and wrapping my legs around her, pulling her deeper into me, or at least that was what it felt like. With my arms around her neck I looked into her eyes and said:
“I love you.”
And with that we both started crying! Big heavy tears of joy.
“I love you, too, Elisabeth.” she replied “remember you asked me to trust you with my hair? I now ask you to trust me, too. I want to make an experiment.”
I was about to ask her what, but she put a finger on my lips and said:
“Shush, darling, just trust me.”
I wanted to ask her about having called me Elisabeth, but then I remembered Betty to be a short form of Elisabeth, what did she have in mind? Slowly gracefully she separated from me, took my hand and led me to the bathroom, where she filled the bath with a very sweet smelling bath oil in the water and told me to get in. Then she started shaving my legs, my arms, my chest and abdomen, under my arms and finally she held a mirror for me so that I could shave my face. Then she told me to close my eyes and plucked my brows. Now I knew what she had in mind. Did I mind? To my surprise I did not. It felt right after the way she had taken me. I had put up my hair on top of my head with practised ease and it now looked like an intentionally messy hairdo. With my cropped brows and clean shaven face I started to look like a girl.
Samantha looked into my eyes and asked:
“Will you be my girl friend and lesbian lover, Elisabeth, till death do us part?”
“Yes, oh yes!” I sighed.
“And will you be pretty and feminine and wear dresses for me all the time?”
And then I knew why Lucille had called me honey and her mum had called me a she. My love for Samantha had set free the girl in me, the girl that had always been waiting to be set free: Elisabeth. That was why I had never complained about being called Betty! An incredible wave of happiness washed through me.
“When did you know?” I asked her “when did you see Elisabeth?”
“When you washed my hair. At first I thought I was daydreaming, but then I realised that you, Elisabeth, were lovingly washing my hair. I could see you clearly and your openness about yourself and the fact that you said you were a virgin, it all made sense. And now I will give you your first lacy underwear and a dress and high heels. And then I will make you up. Do you trust me?”
“With my life.” I replied.
And so it came that I cooked our meal in a dress and apron and then she made love to me again, dressed in a corset, stockings and heels and I screamed again like a girl and after that she put a diamond ring on my finger and told me we were engaged.
“That is the surprise I have had for you, my love.” she said “I want you to be married to me and my wife. My incredibly talented hairdresser wife.”
No complaints here.
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