From alt.sex.stories.tg Sun May  5 00:52:29 1996
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From: LabRat@i-link.net (Karen Mitchell)
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.tg
Subject: Story - Jimstory.txt
Date: Sat, 27 Apr 1996 09:06:28 -0500
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I did not write this and you must be 18 or over to read it as it may
contain a great deal of adult explicit sexuality.  If this is
offensive do not read - delete file.  For those of us who enjoy ....
enjoy!  Please do not ask for files by e-mail - I can barely keep up
with what I have now.

>    JIMMIE'S STORY
>     by Barb Morton

My second coat of polish has just dried and my shoulder length
layered brown hair is drying in curlers. Jessie, my wife, is
working this morning and isn't due home for at least two hours.
That should give me an hour or so to take them out, and lightly
spray it into my latest style. Heaven help me if it's not right
before she gets home! It's a special Saturday for Jess and I. Why
is a guy who only a year ago liked to hunt, drink beer and go out
with the guys worried about his hair and nails, you ask? Well let
me tell you ...

It began a year ago on a Friday night. I'd been working late at
my job as a construction engineer, and Jessie and I had planned
to go out for dinner when I got home at about eight o'clock. Jess
had lately been under a lot of stress at work, she's a fashion
designer, due to a new boss who couldn't make up his mind on what
he wanted for the fall season in the women's clothes line. As a
result, the amount of time she spent on keeping up her appearance
had decreased to the point where it had really begun to show, at
least to me. Her mid-back length dark hair and elegent long
pefectly polished nails had always been major turn ons for me.
Lately though she had been wearing her hair up so she didn't have
to wash it every day. Occasionally now one or more of her nails
would be broken or the polish chipped for several days before she
did something about it. I complained so much that she finally
made some changes. She had her hair cut to just shoulder length
and permed into loose curls, it would be easier to care for she
said. She trimmed her nails back to just a slight edge and
stopped polishing them completely. I was crushed, those short
nails were just not the same. Her hair did look better for a
while though, until it began to grow out and she "just didn't
have time to get it done".

This particular Friday, she knew I would be working late getting
ready for a week-long business trip I'd leave on the next
morning. I'd planned to leave early Saturday morning so that I
could go fishing with some friends before my meetings began on
Monday. With a couple of hours to spare, I figured she would have
time to fix herself up before we went out. When she came
downstairs after I got home I couldn't believe my eyes! She
hadn't washed her hair for three days now and had just brushed it
back and pinned it in place over her ears. The polish she had
finally put on a week ago was chipped in several places and about
half of her right index finger didn't have any polish at all.
Well, I just lost it. I told her, among other things, that she
looked like a drowned rat and a slut. With that, she just stopped
talking and glared at me with pursed lips for what seemed like an
hour, and then said words I'll never forget, in an angry yet
calculating tone, "Well, just enjoy your trip! By next week-end,
we'll have this hair and nails hassle fixed, for good!" With that
she stormed out of the house and I didn't see her again before I
left the next morning.

The next Friday, as I drove into my driveway, I figured the old
Jess would be waiting for me. I naively thought her last words to
me had meant she would take the week I was gone to get herself
together to satisfy me. How wrong I was! As I opened the front
door, I called to her and heard a sweet calm answer from the
living room. I did a double take when I saw the woman reading in
the easy chair. It was Jess alright, but what a difference.
Instead of the dress and heels I expected, she had on jeans,
sneakers, and a sweatshirt. That's how I had normally dressed
around the house. She didn't have on a hint of makeup and her
hair was no longer than an inch or two and brushed into a
modified side part, kind of like mine had been before I had begun
to let it grow out recently. Worse yet, she had trimmed her nails
below her finger tips, again just like a man. "I'm so glad you're
home dear. We have so much planned for tonight." "Are you
kidding! I'm not taking you out looking like this!" "Of course
not dear", she said calmly, "I'm taking YOU out tonight. Margret
is waiting and we have her shop reserved for the entire evening."
Margret was Jess' beautician, at least she had been before she
lost interest in going. "What's she going to do", I said, "glue
your hair back on?" Jess was unaffected by this remark, she just
smiled and said in a calm, low tone, like something to a child,
"No dear, but your's is just a fright! It's going to take hours
for her to color, perm, cut, and style it. It will be midnight by
the time she's done with all that and your manicure." I couldn't
believe my ears. "Are you crazy", I said, "You're the one who
needs help, not me!" "No dear", that tone again, "from now on the
beautiful head and hands in this family are going to be yours.
Unless, of course, you'd like prints of these sent to your boss
and coworkers?" As she spoke she reached behind her chair and
picked up a stack of eight by ten color prints. She held them up
one by one as I watched in horror. A few years back I had wanted
to try some kinky sex. So we had gotten together with some
friends and also hired some "pro" help to assist us. One of the
things we'd tryed was role reversal, but only for a couple of
nights, just to see what the "other side" was like. I had put on
a dress, heels, and makeup and performed the female part of oral
sex for a couple of males. I felt so uncomfortable with that
scene that we had dropped the whole "experimental" idea not long
after. I never knew there were any photos, but here I was dressed
and in the act in living color. "The tapes I had taken are
better, but you get the idea. I hadn't ever planned to use them
for anything but a funny present for you, but you've been such a
pain lately that I thought it was time you tasted some of your
own medicine. From now on, whenever you're in my sight, your hair
will be done, to my satisfaction. It's hardly long enough now but
you'll have time to adjust to your nails as it grows out. They
will be lengthened and polished tonight. You'll need the week-end
to get used to your new TWO INCH nails. I expect them to be
flawlessly polished and perfectly shaped whenever you are in my
sight. If they or your hair fall short of perfection, these
pictures go out. How you explain your hands at work is your
business, however I've picked out a nice male wig for you to wear
on the job. That means pinning up your hair every morning before
you leave, and taking it down and setting it every night when you
come home before I arrive. But after all, you do want to please
me don't you? "What's a few minutes for a beauty routine to
please your partner?" Her mockery of the words I had used so
often stung deeply, but what could I do? One look at those
pictures and my boss would make sure I'd never work in
construction again. How would I explain my hands though? I
thought about that all evening as Margret worked me over.

It was a long, long night. Jess had decided that my natural light
brown hair color just didn't please her. No, it had to be dark
auburn with reddish highlights. So my hair was bleached, colored,
hightlighted, and conditioned. Margret and Jess then examined my
hair closely to decide how to perm and cut it so it would "grow
out gracefully". "At least it grows quickly.", I said, trying to
have some input on things. "True", said Jess, "but only sluts let
their roots show. You'll need a touch up at least twice a month.
By the way, here's a picture of your final style, once your hair
has grown out to my satisfaction." Her neatly trimmed hands held
open a book showing a woman with below shoulder length hair. It
was styled in back in a complex cascade of loose and interlocking
curls. The sides fell across the face in layers of smooth
sweeping waves, and the front had a neat wave as it rose from the
forehead ending in a fan of curls atop the head. "But for now,
dear, a cap of loose curls will have to do." Another two hours
elapsed while my now dark hair was permed, then combed out and
lightly sprayed. During the time between these steps, Margret
fashioned a long, oval acrylic nail on each of my finger tips. By
the time my hair was done, it was time for the polish. "For fall,
a warm color. I think a deep burgandy will look nice on you",
said Margret. "Now Jim, every two weeks or so you'll need a fill
in as your own nails grow out. Tonight was a special favor for
Jess, for fills and to repair breaks, you'll just have hours.
After you're used to them, you shouldn't break one very often.
You can get your fills when you have your roots done." I was too
stunned and confused to say or do anything. I closed my eyes but
the smell of hairspray and fresh nail polish intruded and
reminded me of how they had always turned me on when I'd picked
Jess up at the beauty parlor. I opened my eyes and stared at the
lovely, delicate nails on my own hands and incredibly began to
become aroused! "Time to go home dear", said Jess, "You know
after we come from Margrets' is always our special time." Jess
held all the doors for me on the way home. I had to hold my hands
out with fingers apart to avoid smudging my new polish. I lay
flat on my back that night as Jess undressed me and made
incredible love to me. She kept telling me how much my hair
turned her on as she ran her fingers through it over and over and
begged me to dig my nails into her rear as we made love. I fell
asleep thinking it would all be over in the morning.

It wasn't, that's for sure. I slipped on a robe and came down to
breakfast as soon as I awoke next morning. Jess was there, in the
same sweatshirt and jeans as the night before. She turned toward
me and a look of disgust came over her face. "Look at you! Not
dressed and your hair a matted mess. Where's your self-respect?
Get upstairs and come down put together DEAR or the pictures go
out right now!" "But Jess..." "NOW!" I went upstairs for the
first of many morning beauty rituals. As I retreated I reached up
to rub my eyes and almost poked them out. I had to carefully
manuever the side of my little finger to my eye while holding my
hand away from my face to just rub my eye. That was only the
beginniung. I soon found out that with long nails I had to learn
to use my hands all over again and all the movements required
were distintly feminine ones. My hair was sweaty from the night
before and had to be shampooed. It took me a full minute to
figure out how to open the bottle. I couldn't reach directly down
to pick up a hairbrush but had to turn my hand over and use the
flats of my fingers. The handle of the brush had to be held in
the tips of my fingers as the long, burgandy nails wouldn't let
me close my hand over the handle. Doorknobs, clothes buttons,
toothbrushes, and shoelaces were now all a major challenge to
use. Worst of all they all required delicate handling, with the
sides of my fingers, the others outstretched and separated. What
I'd always considered as just a pretty accessory, on Jess, turned
out to require a whole new feminine lifestyle on me. When after
an hour I was finally dressed and coiffed, I went back to
breakfast. "Got to run.", said Jess, "I'll be back after my golf
game. Don't forget the dishes when you finish breakfast." She
patted my rear as she went by and then left the house without
another word. A fit when my hair is a little matted and she
doesn't even notice after I get ready for an hour, I thought. I
broke two nails and chipped the rest doing the dishes. That meant
back to the beauty parlor, and on a Saturday afternoon! I had to
find a pencil to dial the phone and when I got through Margret
said to come right down. Not too bad, I thought, just a quick
trip in and out, maybe nobody I know will see me. I slipped in
the backdoor trying to hide my hands, forgeting I had a very
unmanly new hairstyle. The women in the shop all giggled,
pointed, and wispered to each other as I spoke to Margret. To my
horror, she was running behind and I had to wait in the front of
the shop for an hour reading Glamour and Cosmopolitan. Then
another wait and more snickers after repairs while my nails dryed
before I could go home. Jane, my best friends' wife walked in,
did a double take, and laughed out loud. I told her Jess and I
had a costume party to go to that night, in an attempt to
explain. "That's not what I heard, Jimmy. And you'd better learn
not to lie to Jess' friends or we'll spread the word around." I
was so embarrassed and confused I just got up and ran to the back
door. Margret stopped me and asked for twenty rendered. I'd put
my pants on with the pockets full that morning and now found to
my dismay that I couldn't get my wallet out of my rear pocket!
"You'll find a purse a much handier way to carry your things",
said Margret as she fished out my wallet, "It'll be easier on
your nails too." All I had was a check, and filling it out was my
first attempt at writing. In order to do so I had to hold the pen
far up the shaft and loosely to accomodate my nails. The loose,
open swirls that I wrote were not my own but seemed to come from
a feminine hand. Wasn't anything going to be the same again? At
home, I just lay down exhausted until I heard Jess return. As I
rose I reached up and, in a motion soon to become automatic,
patted my hair. It was flat in back of course, so I had another
match with the hairbrush. The rest of that weekend is just a blur
of embarrassment, helplessness, and fear made worse by Jess'
patronizing manner when I looked 'right', and total unwillingness
to accept the tinyest defect in my appearance.

Monday morning, I rose an hour earlier than normal, stripped off
my polish, tucked my curls up under a short man styled wig and
drove off to work. I decided just not to say anything about my
hands and just endure the ridicule. I'll never forget everyones'
stares. After only an hour my boss called me in and asked what
the h--l was going on. I told him my wife had bet me that I
couldn't live with longnails (which was almost the truth) and I
had taken her up on the wager. "Well, I'm not amused. You've
disrupted the entire office and there's no way I'm sending you
out to a job-site like that." This last at least was temporary
relief, I thought. "Take the afternoon off and go home and get
normal. And before you come in tomorrow get rid of that
ridiculous wig. She didn't shave your head did she?" If only he
knew the truth!

I begged and pleaded that night, I even offered never to say
anything to Jess about her appearance ever again if only I could
go back to work as myself. "You just don't understand, Jimmy."
Now even my wife was calling me Jimmy which, until three days
ago, I'd never allowed anyone to do. "I just adore the new you.
In fact I've been considering further improvements. Perhaps
pierced ears or shaped brows?" "No, no, please no Jess!", I
pleaded. "Then NOT ANOTHER WORD!" And that was that. I tryed to
go in early and look extremely busy the next morning, but as soon
as Dick arrived he called me in again. He was short and to the
point. "I'm giving you a one week leave until Monday. I checked
with ER and I can't fire you if you don't start acting like a
man, but I can reassign you by eliminating your job. Don't make
me do it, Jim." I slunk out a broken man. My pleadings earned me
a trip to Margrets' and two small gold studs in my ears and well
as a pedicure. I stripped the polish, removed the studs, and
combed the wig over my ears on Monday morning but I didn't think
it would do any good. It didn't. "I see you've chosen to defy
me", said Dick in a manly tone of authority I dimly remembered
having just a few weeks ago. "In that case," he said, handing me
a file with several papers inside, "I'm saddened to inform you
that your previous position has been eliminated. We have been
able to reassign you however, as the new receptionist, at $200
per week. I hope the shock of meeting your former colleages at
the door with coffee and a smile will either shock you back to
your senses or prompt you to seek medical help to complete your
change. Good day, Jimmy. And bring me a cup of black coffee,
please." Incredibly, I hung on at work for nine months. Shunned
by my friends, hooted by my wifes friends, and ultimately ignored
by all my past associates. Jess was pleasant, but unrelenting,
though I didn't know what difference it would make by then even
if she did send out the pictures, I was ruined anyhow. Luckily,
her boss had loved her last designs. She claimed her new role had
freed her to spend her creative energy on something productive
and leave the cosmetics to me. So not only was I an outcast, but
my wife was supporting us as a designer at her firm. I was in
such shock I simply fell into my new role. The delicate gestures
began to become second nature. I was shocked one morning when I
caught myself gazing at my nails at arms length wondering whether
it was time to change to pastels for spring. I'd finally given up
and gotten a purse, which I kept in my lower desk drawer at work
just like any other secretary. My only pleasure was sex with
Jess, which was absolutely great, but which I recieved only when
I was absolutely perfect. I began to worry whether my hair and
nails were just right or not. I went to Margrets' twice a week,
and built up quite a collection of polish, earings, combs,
shampoo, and other necessaries. For our anniversary, Jess bought
me a lighted vanity table and put it in the corner of the
bedroom. Jess would watch as I sat and arranged my now shoulder
length hair. She smiled as she came up behind me one night, as I
held a mother of pearl hand mirror behind my head and lightly
pattted my curls into place, touching the strands of silky hair
with two inch crimson nails that were now my own.