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Made in Taiwan 19
🕑 Added 2021-09-21 15:55:01 +0000 UTCDay 94
Looking in the mirror, I didn't really know who I was anymore. I didn’t see Grant; I saw someone else. Most people would have seen Simona, but I wasn't her. Even with all the makeup, training, and subtle touches, like wearing her precious necklace, I never would be her.
Lately, I’d been feeling pretty down. Forced to live a life I didn’t want, where I had to put up with all the uncomfortable outfits and male attention that came with it. And there was a lot of male attention, especially at the Betel nut stand.
I don’t know what it was like for the rest of the girls working there, who never seemed to complain. But for me personally, every shift was like a living hell. For hours I’d sit, perched on a little stool in a completely see-through plastic booth. Everyone who passed would gaze in at me, ogling my half-naked body. And let me tell you, being on display like that is absolutely awful. Not only must you constantly be aware of what you’re doing and how you’re sitting. But it also seemed to give people the confidence to gawk in at you, like they had some kind of permission to do so.
Worse yet. Every few minutes, usually just as I’d found a comfortable position to sit, a vehicle would pull up outside, making me spring into action. Climbing down from my stool and most likely flashing my panties, I’d totter off, out of my box, trying to look sexy and alluring as I did so.
Reaching the curb, I’d take the customer’s order before trotting back inside to retrieve it. In the beginning, I had worried that my limited Chinese would let me down here. But as it turned out, I only needed to know about twenty to thirty words as each customer always asked for the same things.
There were all sorts of people who frequented my booth, from students to old-aged pensioners. All very pleasant and nice people but then there were the regulars. I quickly learnt who to watch out for and hated them all.
Mostly Middle-aged men. They would stare and undress me with their eyes. Take ages to find their money as they gazed at my legs or fake cleavage. And when they did finally produce it. My reward for waiting patiently wasn't a nice tip. No, instead, I was molested, something that seemed to be commonplace in the Betel nut selling business. Where the squeeze of a buttock or grab of a breast was all part of the service. Thankfully, Simona only had three shifts a week, giving me plenty of time to recover between them.
In comparison, the one day a week, I had to spend at the university was a cakewalk. All I had to do was sit there and look bored. Nobody really spoke or engaged with me. Even Miss Li just left me be to focus on the other students.
The worse part of going into the university was seeing how natural Simona was pretending to be me. It was pretty impressive how she was able to convince everybody that Grant had turned a new leaf. The Chinese she spoke progressed at a believable pace; she even threw in the odd mistake to keep up appearance.
She was also looking the part these days. Having spent the last few weeks working out and eating like a pig, she must have put on at least a few kilos, something she gloated about, especially with me struggling to lose much weight.
When in class, I'd usually just sit there staring daggers at her with my eyes. In reality, I should have been happy that she could play the role of me so well. Grant was now getting good grades and was a popular figure in the class. The thing was, I wasn't happy, I was jealous. Jealous that Simona was a better Grant than I had been.
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Having just applied my make-up completely by myself for the first time, with only a few pointers from Simona. I peered into the mirror and again saw a stranger. Made all the more strange by the actual reflection I expected to see, hovering over my shoulder and grinning.
“Well, done Simona, not a bad effort at all”, The real Simona announced, in a scarily good imitation of my natural voice. “Now, I just have to teach you how to do your own hair, and you won’t need me anymore”, she added, chuckling.
Reaching up slowly, having learned the hard way not to rush with my claws. I touched the top of my head, feeling the tightly twisted strands, pulling tightly at my scalp, and seeing the two pigtails behind.
I shook my head, feeling my large hoop earrings tapping against my neck, and sighed. I had seen myself dressed up as a woman many times by now, but tonight felt different. Tonight, Grant or Simona, the person next to me was taking me out on a date, and I wasn't very keen to go.
Having complained during the week about feeling out of place and uncomfortable. Simona had come up with an idea. A night out, where I would dress and act as feminine as possible to make me feel more like a woman.
“Ok, go and get dressed”, Simona announced. “That dress will make you feel like a princess, it’s one of my favourites”.
“Do I really have to dress so fancy”? I moaned, knowing exactly which dress she was talking about.
“Yes, you told me you feel uncomfortable. It's because you still consider yourself a man”!
“But I am a man", I shot back, feeling a little hurt by the comment, " a little makeup and some clothes aren’t going to change that”!
I saw her smirk behind me. “There lies the problem, you see? If you think like that. Wearing these clothes and acting feminine will always feel wrong to you. It’s how society has brainwashed you to think. Tonight, I want you to let all that go. You are Simona Aboud, sexy, feminine, and not embarrassed to show it”.
“Isn’t saying that a little egotistical of you”? I replied, trying to lighten the mood and deflect with a joke.
“No, because I’m not Simona, I’m Grant”, she replied, spinning me around. “Just a guy giving a compliment to a beautiful girl, he’s about to take on a date”.
Before I could say another word, she leaned in and kissed me full on the lips.
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“Wow, you look amazing”, Simona announced as she placed a small black leather handbag over my shoulder. Gazing at my reflection in the mirror.
I didn’t feel amazing. I felt uncomfortable and awkward. With every breath, the overpowering scent of Jasmine filled my nostrils. And with every slight movement, the slippery, silky feeling from my silky underwear and sheer black tight, hugging my body made me shudder.
Biting my bottom lip, I took a long hard look at myself and wondered what my father would think if he could see me at that moment. He had sent me out to Taiwan to grow up, to become a man. Somehow I didn't think he'd be pleased with the result.
Everything about me now screamed girly girl. My taped and padded chest created a realistic-looking set of breasts. The painfully tight corset around my waist gave me a slim figure. And paired with the flared skirt of the little black dress clinging to my hungry frame, worryingly, I had quite alluring the feminine figure.
(See image 25)
