Preparing
It was one
of those things, like going to the dentist or cramming for an exam.
Just grin and bear it Susan, that’s the only thing to do.
Susan stood alone before the full-length mirror in the tiny dressing room for one final check of what she’d been given as a costume. Could you really describe make-up and accessories as a costume? She gulped at the sight of so much of her naked flesh. No one who knew her, and that included herself, had ever considered her as someone happy with her body. No wonder she was nervous, how many people were about to see every crevice and square inch of mottled white flesh?
In truth Susan’s body wasn’t that bad. For a woman in her late thirties, a mother of two, it was about as good as you could hope, even if there were the inevitable stretch marks and tendency to run to fat. Certainly people passing in the street as she walked here, quietly dressed in jacket and pleated skirt - landing decorously below her knees - had barely glanced at her. Sighing, Susan turned away from the mirror, knowing that was about to change.
No-one would ignore her now. Her body shimmered all over from the make-up that had been spread across it. Her heavy breasts, slightly droopy, the dark nipples even more prominent now they’d been pierced with a pair of heavy steel rings, sparkled where crystal studded pins had been embedded in the shape of two question marks. Stark naked, there was no disguising her love handles, blending into little the paunchy sag above her pubis. Then there was the way the glitter actually brought out the cellulite on her bum and down her thighs. It felt like every bulge and stretch mark had been carefully highlighted. The final indignity, completing her look, was pushing out from the dark hairs between her legs, a third heavy steel ring that still made her wince a little. The tightening of long-forgotten muscles, as she balanced on unfamiliar needle-sharp four inch stilettos, pulled at the still-tender flesh stretched round newly inserted metal.
A young woman, emphasising Susan’s bare flesh with the unassuming trouser suit she wore - a headset holding back slightly greasy hair - pushed round the door of the dressing room.
“Okay Susan, you’re up now.” she gave the bare older woman a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks Cindy.” Susan replied, returning the smile a little weakly.
“Break a leg.” advised Cindy, with slightly unthinking cheeriness, as she rushed off in response to a squawked command in her ear.
I suppose, doing this job, you can’t be too sensitive, thought Susan charitably, as she tottered along the empty corridor - and, anyway, I doubt I’ll have to break my own leg.
Susan stood alone before the full-length mirror in the tiny dressing room for one final check of what she’d been given as a costume. Could you really describe make-up and accessories as a costume? She gulped at the sight of so much of her naked flesh. No one who knew her, and that included herself, had ever considered her as someone happy with her body. No wonder she was nervous, how many people were about to see every crevice and square inch of mottled white flesh?
In truth Susan’s body wasn’t that bad. For a woman in her late thirties, a mother of two, it was about as good as you could hope, even if there were the inevitable stretch marks and tendency to run to fat. Certainly people passing in the street as she walked here, quietly dressed in jacket and pleated skirt - landing decorously below her knees - had barely glanced at her. Sighing, Susan turned away from the mirror, knowing that was about to change.
No-one would ignore her now. Her body shimmered all over from the make-up that had been spread across it. Her heavy breasts, slightly droopy, the dark nipples even more prominent now they’d been pierced with a pair of heavy steel rings, sparkled where crystal studded pins had been embedded in the shape of two question marks. Stark naked, there was no disguising her love handles, blending into little the paunchy sag above her pubis. Then there was the way the glitter actually brought out the cellulite on her bum and down her thighs. It felt like every bulge and stretch mark had been carefully highlighted. The final indignity, completing her look, was pushing out from the dark hairs between her legs, a third heavy steel ring that still made her wince a little. The tightening of long-forgotten muscles, as she balanced on unfamiliar needle-sharp four inch stilettos, pulled at the still-tender flesh stretched round newly inserted metal.
A young woman, emphasising Susan’s bare flesh with the unassuming trouser suit she wore - a headset holding back slightly greasy hair - pushed round the door of the dressing room.
“Okay Susan, you’re up now.” she gave the bare older woman a sympathetic smile.
“Thanks Cindy.” Susan replied, returning the smile a little weakly.
“Break a leg.” advised Cindy, with slightly unthinking cheeriness, as she rushed off in response to a squawked command in her ear.
I suppose, doing this job, you can’t be too sensitive, thought Susan charitably, as she tottered along the empty corridor - and, anyway, I doubt I’ll have to break my own leg.
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© 2013 Urquhart Devlin
This
story is a fantasy, set in another place, with only the slightest
passing nod to our reality as it’s glimpsed on a distant horizon. If
this isn’t immediately apparent to you, I strongly suggest you seek
urgent psychiatric care.
