(March 24, 2006)
Yesterday morning I rolled out of bed, I had a zillion top-priority things to do, and I was already behind schedule and had to rush out without shaving. By the time evening rolled around, I was looking pretty rough, but I happened to be going past one of the stores in the area that sells Origins products. Mistress Reese had highly recommended a charcoal facial masque from Origins, so I walked into Macy’s Herald Square to have a look for it.
The first floor of that store is like a cosmetics circus – every major beauty manufacturer has a large area set aside with beautiful, well trained cosmetics professionals, eager to demonstrate their latest powders and potions on the faces of any prospective customers. And here I am, looking (and smelling) like Grizzly Adams.
I found the Origins area easily. There were three lovely salesgirls clustered behind one counter, and the rest of the area was wide open. I scanned the shelf but couldn’t see what I was looking for. “May I help you?” the prettiest of the salesgirls had come around from the counter and approached me. She was small and had long dark hair and the nicest skin you’ve ever seen. I told her that a friend had recommended the charcoal facial masque for me.
When I said “for me,” I suppose she knew she had a live one. She got the tube from another shelf and then said, “If you’re interested in a masque then you probably are interested in other skin care products too – do you have a problem with oily skin, or clogged pores or blackheads?”
I didn’t know what to answer or where to look. Obviously she was trying to assess my face but it wasn’t easy with all that stubble. She looked me in the eyes and said, “Don’t be scared!”
Then she showed me this huge sink in front of the counter. Oh my God, this cute babe was going to wash me?
“Would you like to try this exfoliant cream?” I agreed, and she took my hand and gently rubbed the exfoliant in, then washed it in the basin. It did make my skin feel really smooth and noticeably brighter, but it was $35 for a jar!
“Maybe next time,” I told her, and paid for the masque. She gave me a brochure of their products and I thanked her by name (she had on a nametag).
I can’t tell you how it felt to have this tiny girl half my age telling me “Don’t be afraid.” If you flip through the pages of the Gospels you’ll find those words repeated over and over. Lots of stories of people getting washed, too. I can say it was a spiritual experience for this sissy.
(April 7, 2006)
Yesterday I completed Mistress Reese’s latest assignment. Wow!
Two weeks ago I had told her that I had misled one of the salesclerks in Bath & Body Works by suggesting that the body spray I was buying was for a female friend. As soon as I admitted this to Ms. Reese, she assigned me to go to Victoria’s Secret and buy the Love Spell body lotion and spray and tell the saleslady that my Mistress had instructed me to buy it for myself.
She gave me until April 15 to complete the assignment, but I decided that doing it early might please her more, also I suspect more assignments are on the way and I don’t want to get caught in the crunch.
I drank too much coffee before I went. I was nervous as a cat. I think I could have picked up the required items without a lot of worry, but the additional assignment of telling the saleslady that my Mistress instructed me to buy them for myself! Let’s just say I was not eagerly looking forward to that part.
I’ve never been inside a Victoria’s Secret store before. I was a little short of cash so I decided I’d go to the bank while I was out. I wasn’t sure when the store closed, though, so I decided to do my assignment first, then walk across the mall to where my bank ATM is.
I walked into Victoria’s Secret, really, really nervous. There were about seven, eight, nine, ten females in the beauty section looking at products. I came across the Love Spell section just as a salesgirl came up behind me and asked, “Can I help you?”
She was a pretty young hispanic girl, probably Puerto Rican. “Do you have Love Spell?” I asked her and she pointed directly at the counter where I was looking.
“Which product do you want? The body lotion?” she asked.
“Yes, and the body splash as well. And the body scrub. A friend told me I should get them … for me.”
“Ohhh,” she said softly. “Well you can get three for 24 dollars, but you really should get six for $30.”
I smiled. It’s interesting how salesgirls get more assertive when they know you are buying for yourself. I like assertive females. “Is that what you recommend?” I asked.
I was already holding the lotion, the splash and the scrub. She gave me this huge black bag that was like a purse. “Here, put those in there. This body butter is really good, would you like to sample some?”
She opened the jar of body butter and I smoothed a tiny bit on my finger. It smelled like peach ice cream! “Mmm! That is really nice!” I said enthusiastically.
God knows what you use body butter for. Hopefully Mistress will explain.
I also bought the hand and body cream. For the sixth item, the salesgirl was pushing me toward the shower gel or shower cream, but I saw they had bubble bath, so I got that instead.
“Ohhh, you take bubble baths?” asked the girl.
“Well, yeah,” I answered, which clearly amused her. Then I went for it.
“My Mistress instructed me to buy these for myself.” I said it very matter-of-factly but not too seriously. As if I admitted such things to strangers all the time.
“Ohh, really?” it seemed she wasn’t quite sure what I meant but I think she only wanted to take our conversation in one direction. “Is that it? Do you need anything else? Are you sure?”
“That’s it, nothing else, not this time,” I said with a smile, “Thank you very much — oh, do you need this purse back?”
“No, just bring it up to the girl at the register and she’ll take it.”
I knew other women in the store were looking at me, and I had used up all the courage in my reserve, so it was time to get going. I had to stop short to let past one young lady who was looking at underwear and then almost collided with another who didn’t realize I was next on line. Then I handed my purse to the young lady at the register.
There was a sign at the register explaining why they ask for phone numbers – to give you special offers, but the young lady didn’t ask for mine. She did ask me something like if I was satisfied with my shopping experience this evening or somesuch, to which I replied yes yes. They were displaying catalogs behind the counter and I asked for one but she replied, “They’re three dollars.” So for some reason buying thirty bucks worth of stuff doesn’t rate me a catalog.
She gave me back the wrong change, so the total price was $27.20.
I was totally unprepared for the cute pink stripey bag with the bright pink wrapping paper sticking out of it. I just hadn’t thought this part through — was I expecting a grocery sack? This one says Victoria’s Secret in silver letters on all four sides and GIVE ME SEXY in silver on the inside.
Anyway I was too nervous to walk across the mall to the bank dangling this cute pink bag, so I turned tail and went home. Luckily I didn’t bump into any of my neighbors when I got in. Being a sissy takes a lot of nerve.
There’s a phone number on the bottom of the receipt where you can do a telephone survey in exchange for a $10 gift card. Of course I did the survey, after all, ten bucks is ten bucks and it may come in handy for a future assignment. They asked if I got a bra fitting two or three times in the survey. I don’t know if the Victoria’s Secret ladies would be able to handle that, they’d probably expect me to be nice and flat up top, until I opened my shirt.
Ms. Reese was so pleased with my progress that she gave me an even more embarrassing and complicated shopping assignment. But that’s another story.
(April 11, 2006)
This was all Mistress Reese’s idea. Well, actually, it was all my idea, but it was Mistress Reese’s idea to make my idea more than just an idea.
I had mentioned how the sound of her voice made me think she was going to put me into a Scarlet O’Hara dress. I think she really liked that. The next evening she showed me a link for a hoop skirt. “Get one,” she told me. “They have two-hoops skirts up to five — and I want a five on YOU,” Mistress said.
By the way, opening up a box with a hoop skirt in it is like pulling the cord on an inflatable raft. Just so you know.
The next time I called Mistress, she made me put the hoop skirt on while we were talking. She told me I will be Scarlett O’Hara for this Halloween, and she wants photos of me in a pretty southern belle dress and a bonnet and gloves with a drawstring bag and a parasol. Then she told me I will have to wear the hoop skirt once a week for her.
“Once a week? For how long, Ma’am?” I asked uncomfortably. “All day,” she answered simply. “But how will I clean it?” “In your sink of course.” “But this hoopskirt is bigger than my bathroom!” “You may take it to the dry cleaners, then.” It’s always a pleasure to hear Mistress Reese giggle, and she did a lot of giggling during that phone call.
So this is day one in my new hoop skirt. It’s tricky getting around in one of these, but I suppose by Halloween that I’ll be quite adept at it. That is obviously my Mistress’ plan.
At first I thought, “There’s some things I just won’t do today,” but I decided, the point is to learn how to do things with the hoopskirt on. It would be different if I was really Miss Scarlet and had a household of people doing things for me. But here, I’m the one washing the dishes and putting away the ironing board and folding my freshly laundered undies. It is possible to sit down in a hoopskirt, even in my big chair with the armrests. You just need to have the hoops all in the right place. Going to the bathroom is mostly unmanageable, especially for someone who drinks as much water as I do. You have to take the thing off, and put it right back on when you get done.
I think this hoopskirt is probably the sissiest thing in my entire wardrobe, and that is saying a lot. But Ms. Reese says I personify all things sissy and girlie and sweet. And I’m learning, the Sissifier’s protege does not get to spend a lot of time in boxers and button down shirts.
Lessons learned today:
* Don’t sit on the hoops. It’s uncomfortable and can send the skirt flying up to scratch the ceiling.
* You can do the twist in a hoop skirt, and it’s fun.
* I don’t think you could go through a metal detector in one of these.
* Think twice before giving Mistress Reese any more bright ideas.
* Panty shields don’t really hold on satiny bloomers too well. Better to wear panties underneath.
* Love Spell from Victoria’s Secret makes you smell just like a Georgia peach.