Transcript:
Today’s a sunday but my work never ends.
I put on my padded girdle, carefully sliding it up my freshly shaved legs, stretching it and squirming my body to get the tight garment up to its position. Next, the flesh-toned training corset. Putting it over me and adjusting it to my abdomen, I took a deep breath and laced it, pulling and tightening its string; constricting my figure that is every bit like a woman. Next, I try on the C-cup breast form. Using a silicone adhesive, I carefully applied it to the fake assets and slowly attach it to my chest, making sure that they are at the correct position.
Now, comes the bodysuit I crafted specially for this; picking up a garment that looks like a deflated headless body, I bunch it up and fold it like hosiery and slip into it, legs first from the top and proceed to wear it. Tight but elastic, I carefully fold and stretch it from my legs and over my newly attached breast forms while, fitting them into the breast pouch that I have created. Fitting them in, the arms are next, turning them into lithe feminine arms. In the mirror I see, stands a freak of nature with a head of a bald man and the supple body of a women; her skin fair, her nails manicured, her breast ample and her crotch flat, leaving no trace of masculinity that was before.
But soon this freak of nature will soon disappear as I approach the make-up table. On it are the tools of a magician, a wig stand, make-up kits, contacts and most importantly, the human mask worn over a head cast. Next, I open one of the many contact boxes on the table, take out a pair of olive green contacts and wear, one more aspect of me gone. I pick up the mask and wear it, covering what the bodysuit couldn’t cover, the neck and the collar area. Smoothing it and aligning the mask to my face, the man disappears and a bald woman stands in his place; her face brimming with the youth of a young adult, her eyes sharp and her lips full. I smile, being glad that the fourteen hours of effort had not been wasted, and in return, the woman smiles as well.
Lastly, comes the blonde wig. Wearing it over my head, I press the scalp line against my forehead and pull it down, fastening the wig. There, the transformation is complete. The Trouper is no more and in his place, Lyla White, age 22, graduate of an art college and amatuer actor, is born.
Now, a lady isn’t expected to prance in her home naked so I walk over to my wardrobe, taking care to put into practice the walk I have developed for my character; a slight sway of the hip and a certain ‘bounce’ and haste in her gait; characteristic of a cheerful and spirited girl who just graduated into working society. Wearing a blue sweater dress, a pink thong (she’s a kinky one, after all) and matching socks, I started the video camera and prepared myself in front of it.
“Hi, I’m Lyla White, an amatuer actor and I hope...”
And another successful character created for the sake of theatrics and drama. The work never ends and most importantly, it never gets stale.
