Metamorphosis (3 page)

“Okay, I like the sound of this.
But once we find our version of the BB, then what do we do?”

“What do you mean ‘then what do we
do?’ You talk to him, kiss him, screw him… whatever you want to do with him. We
can even make it a little game. Whoever gets farther with their BB that night
is the winner and buys the other breakfast the next
morning.
We can whore our way through our book boyfriends until we determine what each
of our ‘type’ is.”

“That’s no fair! You are obviously
going to win all the time; I’m at such a disadvantage! I don’t just want to
give away my virginity to the first guy that comes along to win some game,” I
argued.

“Oh Sam,”
Evie
replied, “I’m not going to just sleep with guys that I don’t want to sleep with
just so I don’t have to buy breakfast the next morning or to beat you at some
game. The true point of the game is to find a guy that’s a keeper, one you
seriously want to date, the side game will just make it more fun until we do!”

I thought about what she said and
knew she was right.
Evie
had devised a perfect way
for me to meet different kinds of guys and the game would help me to break out
of my shell, lose some of my insecurities, and do things that I would most
likely be too timid to try. I’m not sure if it was the empty bottle of wine
that sat in the kitchen trash, the possibility of finding the happily ever
after I had read about time and again in my countless books, or the fact I
definitely did not want to die a virgin, but I found myself saying, “Game on.
May the best book whore win.
”

The following morning came way too
soon, and before I had even opened my eyes, I felt the throbbing in my head.
Before the previous night, my alcohol consumption had been limited to a glass of
wine on two separate occasions; both times I had stayed the night at
Evie’s
house. My parents would have never allowed me to
drink, not for any reason. When I finally managed to roll out of bed to turn
off the screaming alarm clock, I headed straight for the kitchen to grab a
glass of water and some aspirin from my purse. I heard the shower running in
Evie’s
room so I knew that she was up and getting ready and
that I needed to get moving. Our spa appointments began at 8:00AM and it was
already 7:15.

After showering and throwing on
some of
Evie’s
clothes she loaned me, since I
literally left my parent’s house with the clothes on my back, I found her
waiting for me in the living room. Luckily the medicine had kicked in and I was
feeling a little more human.

“You ready for your makeover? To
find out how beautiful you truly are when you aren’t hiding behind all of that
hair and those frumpy ass clothes?” she asked with a huge grin on her face. I
knew she was just as excited about this as me, maybe even more so.

“Absolutely. Let the fun begin.” I
responded, returning the smile.

Even though I had grown up in San
Antonio, which was far from a small rural town, it was nothing compared to the
large metropolis of Houston. My only visit there had been when I had come with
my parents for a day tour of the Rice campus. I was so glad that
Evie
would be the one driving us around. She had visited
family here often and even though she didn’t know exactly where everything was,
her memory paired with a trusty navigation system was sure to not get us too
lost. So we jumped in her car and headed out.

Upon arrival at the spa, we were
quickly checked in for our “A Whole New Me” package, which I thought was an
especially fitting name for my current situation, and were whisked away to
strip and change into plush white bath robes. I had never been to a day spa
before, so I had asked
Evie
all kinds of questions on
the way over about what to expect. I was most nervous about the waxing and the
massage. The waxing scared me for a couple of reasons ~ first, I had read about
how painful it was and I knew that my threshold for pain was at like a -2 on a
scale of 1 to 10; and second, I couldn’t believe that I was going to allow a
complete stranger to not only look at, but touch my private area.
Evie
tried to calm my nerves by telling me that the
aesthetician sees women’s pussies and
asses
all day
long, much like a gynecologist. For her, it would be like looking at any other
body part-an arm or a leg. This didn’t make me feel much better, but I really
didn’t have a logical argument. The massage scared me for similar reasons. I
knew it wouldn’t be painful, but I wasn’t quite sure I was comfortable with a
stranger rubbing their hands all over my body. I know this seems a little prudish
but let’s face it, I was a prude whether it was my choice to be or not.
Evie
finally
told me to shut up
,
everything would be fine
. I
needed to just enjoy the day, so I did exactly that.

The first service I was scheduled
for was the waxing. I thought I might as well get the toughest part over first,
right? I soon found out that tough wasn’t quite the right word to describe
exactly what happened to me on that table. Awful, dreadful, agonizing,
excruciating, unbearable… was the terminology that needed to be used when people
described having their hair ripped out by the root on the most sensitive parts
of one’s body. I truly felt bad for the technician that was trying her hardest
to keep me quiet and still. I was pretty sure that the pain associated with
waxing had to be up there close to childbirth with no drugs. At one point, I’m
pretty sure everyone in the building heard my pleas for her to stop, but she
ignored my requests and just kept on manhandling my vagina and ass. What seemed
like hours later, she announced she was finished and that I should come back
every two to four weeks for maintenance. Did she not remember that only moments
earlier I was frantically trying to escape her grasp and screaming obscenities
that would make a sailor blush? Words that I was pretty sure had never passed
through my lips before. I just replied with an “okay,” put my robe back on, and
allowed her to me lead me down the hall to another room where an elderly woman
was waiting for me.

“Hi Scarlett, I’m Joan and I’m
going to be your massage therapist today,” she said as I sheepishly entered the
room.

“Hi Joan, please tell me you
aren’t going to hurt me,” I replied.

Her hearty laugh filled the room
and helped relax me a bit. I also noticed this room was much different than the
first one I had been in. Instead of bright, cold, and sterile, Joan’s room was
dimly lit with instrumental music lightly playing in the background and an
aroma of lavender and eucalyptus teased my nostrils. It was serene and
tranquil, and I found it very soothing.

“No sweetie, I’m not going to hurt
you. I hope to do just the opposite of that. Let’s get you out of that robe and
help you forget the torture that Tina just put you through,” she chuckled.

“Tina? That’s her name? I was
convinced her name was Olga and her second job was a Dom at the local BDSM
club.”

“I’ll be sure to let her know that
she has options in case her job here ever falls through,” Joan snickered. “Now
hop up on the table on your belly, face in that donut looking pillow, and arms
by your side.”

The
hour long
massage with Joan was pure bliss. I’m pretty sure at one point I had fallen
asleep and started drooling on myself. After explaining to Joan that it was my
first time, she did an excellent job of making me feel at ease and relaxed. I
was amazed at the way her hands made my body feel ~ it was incredible, like
nothing I’d ever experienced before, not sexual in any way but oh so
satisfying. Now that was something I would willingly come back for every two to
four weeks. Before I knew it, she was patting my arm, telling me the hour was
up, and I was due for my manicure and pedicure. I reluctantly got up off the
table, put my robe back on, and followed her to my next appointment still in a
sated haze.

The manicure and pedicure were
very much what I had imagined they would be, not as soothing as the massage but
relaxing nonetheless. I chose a light pink color with a hint of glitter for
both my hands and feet; I had never had color on my nails before so I was a
little apprehensive to go with blood red or something wild like blue or green.
From the nail room, I ventured to the hair and makeup area of the salon and
knew this is where the true makeover would occur. I had always worn my medium
brown hair the exact same way since I was a kid - long, straight, all one length,
and normally in a bun. I was worried sick about what they were going to do with
my hair, I wasn’t sure if I was ready for a drastic change quite yet. As I sat
in the chair and waited for my stylist, I was startled when a young Asian man
walked up behind me.

“Hi there, Scarlett. How are you
enjoying your day so far?” he asked.

“Well it started off a little
rough, but it’s been wonderful ever since. Thank you for asking,” I replied.

“Good. I’m Nathan and I’m going to
be doing your hair today.”

What?
A male
hair stylist?
I mean I knew there were male hair stylists, I just didn’t
think I’d have one working on me. It took me a minute to process the
information and I guess I did little to hide the shock on my face.

“Its okay,
hun
,
I’m not going to bite you. Hell, I won’t even hit on
ya
…
girls really aren’t my thing,” he sniggered.

“No, it’s okay. I’ve never had
anyone except my mom cut my hair before so this is all really new for me,” I
answered.

“You’ve never been to a
professional hair stylist before? Are you serious? How old are you?” he asked.

“I’m eighteen, and no, everything
I’m having done to me today is a first. My parents were a little strict when I
was growing up.”

“OMG, you have no idea what you’ve
been missing sweet girl. What kind of crazy parents do you have anyways?”

“Well crazy would be an
understatement, but none of that matters any more. As of yesterday, I am free,
I moved out… so here I am. You think you can assist me with my mini-makeover?
I’m going to my very first party tonight, then starting college on Tuesday and
I need more than a little help,” I said.

“Of course I can. Just you wait
until you see what Uncle Nathan can do for you… just you wait,” he said with a
comforting smile on his face. “Now, lets see what we have to work with. Take
that bun out while I grab some things over here.”

He walked across the room to
another station and grabbed a couple of bottles and combs only to come back
behind me and stare at me in the mirror with his mouth wide open. I had taken
my hair down and let it fall down the back of the chair and I guess he wasn’t
prepared for how much hair he was going to be working with. Without saying
another word, he walked away again and came back with two other women.

The three of them inspected me
like I was an animal on exhibit at the zoo, occasionally picking up sections of
my hair and then dropping it so it draped over the back of the chair.

“
Ummm
…
is there a problem?” I asked, feeling more than a little uneasy at their
gawking.

“No, I just had to show them how
beautiful your hair is. It’s so long and healthy-it’s unbelievable really,”
Nathan responded with his warm smile and cocked his head to the side. “Did you
have any ideas about what you would like to do with it? Color? Cut? Style?”

“Not really, I was hoping that I
could just leave it in your hands, since you are the professional. I just need
to keep it long enough to pull it back in a ponytail for days I don’t feel like
fixing it or for when I dance.”

Nathan simply nodded and then the
three of them began discussing colors and other things that had numbers and
letters that sounded like gibberish to me. Hoping to ease some of my anxiety, I
took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and said a little prayer. I then let Nathan
do his thing.

While he worked on my hair, he kept
my back to the mirror so I couldn’t see his progress. He told me he wanted it
to be a big surprise at the end. I took a huge leap of faith and trusted him to
work some magic. Nathan asked me all kinds of questions about my life as he
worked, questions about my past, the present, and my hopes for the future. I
told him about my childhood, my teenage years and lack of a social life, about
the fight with my parents, and about how nervous I was to join the rest of
“normal” society. He was a great listener, asked thought-provoking questions,
and seemed to be truly interested in my story. My time with Nathan ended up
being just as much a therapy session as it was a hair appointment.

After about an hour of I’m not
sure what he was doing, Nathan said it was time for the big reveal. I could
tell by the wide smile on his face that he was extremely pleased with the
outcome. I could feel the nerves growing in my stomach seconds before he spun
me around to look at myself in the mirror. And when he finally did, I stared at
my reflection not sure whether to laugh or cry.

“I… I… I …” I was unable to speak
as my eyes filled with tears.

“Don’t cry, Scarlett, sweetheart.
I hope you like it. You do like it, don’t you?” he asked in anticipation.