Raifu Suitchi 13

Chapter 13: A Night to Forget

On Sunday afternoon, Allen found himself nervously sitting in a government office. With a sense of apprehension and an urge to make a run for it, he watched as his number finally appeared on the board. Summoning up some courage, he stood up, his posture teetering slightly on high heels. He shot a quick, longing glance toward the exit, then tottered towards a smartly dressed woman who had emerged from behind a white door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Dolberg. Do you have your paperwork?” the woman inquired after entering a small office.

“Yes,” Allen responded softly, his voice barely above a whisper. He hesitantly handed over a clear folder containing the documents provided by the studio. Then, after carefully straightening his skirt, Allen settled onto the cushioned chair in front of her desk. The woman opened the folder and meticulously examined its contents. She typed into her computer, periodically nodding to herself, confirming that everything was in order. Meanwhile, Allen fidgeted nervously in his seat, his eyes following her every move. After marking several pages in one of the documents, she handed it back to him along with a pen. "Okay, Mr. Dolberg. Or, should I say, Miss Cannavaro?" she said, correcting herself with a warm smile. "Please sign where I've indicated, and I'll take care of the paperwork for you."

Allen's hands noticeably trembled as he reached for the pen. The click of his nails against the desk's surface echoed in the tense silence. A profound realization struck him – he was on the brink of legally abandoning his male identity for a particularly feminine one. Sensing his hesitation, the woman asked with a hint of concern, “Is everything okay?”

“Yes, just... taking a moment to read it over,” Allen replied, buying time. His gaze drifted down past his fluttering, voluminous lashes and swollen lips to his femininely clad legs. In that instant, a surge of determination washed over him. He had endured too much to back down now. Resolved, he took a deep breath, swiftly signed the documents, and handed them back before he changed his mind.

“Thank you, Sofia,” the woman said, accepting the papers with a professional nod. “Everything is now in order. It will take a few days for the system to update and reflect the changes. But legally, you are now Sofia Bella Cannavaro. Please ensure you take a photograph for your new identification documents before you leave.” She then stood and bowed, signalling the end of the appointment.

Allen stood up, his entire body quivering with a mix of fear and resolve. “Thank you,” he managed to say in a small voice, steadying himself on his heels before shakily exiting the waiting room.

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The following days at the fashion magazine proved challenging for Allen, not due to the workload, but because of the profound personal implications of his recent actions. Each time someone addressed him as Sofia, the name resonated differently. It was no longer just a part of the show; it was his real name!

Wednesday's post-work schedule marked the beginning of the wedding preparations, starting with a nail appointment. Accustomed to these sessions, Allen passively allowed the technician to apply a new set of acrylic nails. She described the style as "coffin-shaped," a popular choice among young women, as Allen had learned from his recent research for the magazine. With his hands freshly emerged from the UV machine, he examined his elongated, pastel-coloured claws, now sporting flattened ends.

At that moment, Aiko entered the salon. She exchanged a knowing smile with Yamato, the ever-present cameraman, before placing an item on the table in front of Allen without uttering a word.

Allen's gaze settled on the shiny plastic ID card on the table before he instinctively lunged to grab it. His movements were clumsy, hindered by his fresh manicure. The nail technician quickly cautioned him, advising him to be careful and reminding him that 'if he damaged his new nails, they would have to start the process all over again.' Frustrated, Allen withdrew his hand, ceasing his attempt to pick up the card. Instead, he placed a long-nailed hand on the table and leaned in closer for a better view. His heart skipped a beat as he absorbed the sight before him: his own image, disturbingly feminized, was displayed next to the name "Sofia Bella Cannavaro." The stark reality of his altered identity hit him with a jolt, sending a wave of unease through his body.

(See image 38)

Allen, in a state of shock, reached for the card again, this time using the side of his hand. Aiko chuckled at his efforts. "Let me help you, Sofia," she offered, her voice laced with amusement. "We can't have you ruining those beautiful nails, can we?" With frustrating ease, she picked up the slick plastic card and placed it in Allen's outstretched palm.

Silence enveloped the room for over thirty seconds as Allen studied his new official identity document, every detail scrutinized under his gaze. There was more than a name change; his visa status had also been updated. Surprisingly, this was a positive change; the new card extended his stay in Japan for another four years, allowing him more time in the country he had grown to love. But that sense of joy was short-lived as he glared at his photo, complete with full lips and long black hair. His date of birth remained the same, and despite still being listed as male, his occupation now read "Fashion 'writter'” - typo included.

Shaking his head, the feminized man slumped back into his chair, overwhelmed with emotions. The extent of his transformation dawned on him, along with a creeping realization that along with the humiliation of having to use this card any time he was asked for identification, the changes it highlighted might not be easily reversible.

Aiko's voice broke his contemplation. "I'm surprised it came so quickly," she remarked. "It took weeks for my new passport to be processed. Oh! speaking of which, your passport will take a few more days, but I'll let you know when it's ready."

"My passport!" Allen gasped, panic rising in his voice. "No! No! No!" he muttered, horror dawning on him as the full weight of his actions hit home.

“Of course! All your documents are now in your new name. You're officially Sofia Bella Cannavaro, fashion writer and fashionista. How exciting!” Aiko exclaimed, clapping her hands with evident joy. “Come on, cheer up! Remember, you chose this path,” she added with a light chuckle. “Focus on tonight. It's your bachelorette party! Most girls find it more fun than the wedding itself. So, put on a smile, get dressed, and let's get going. We're behind schedule already.”

Allen gave a resigned nod, acknowledging Aiko's words. He couldn't deny it; he had walked into this situation willingly. Any regrets were his to own. With a brief word of thanks to the nail technician, he slowly rose from his seat. Dreading the evening ahead, the prospect of changing into an eye-catching dress for his own bachelorette party weighed heavily on him. Such an event was not what any man envisioned for himself.

His walk to the changing room was slow and deliberate, more akin to a march towards the gallows than a prelude to a celebration. His face, a portrait of stoic resignation, reflected his internal turmoil over the surreal twist his life had taken. The notion of becoming a 'bride,' preparing for an impending wedding that felt more farcical than factual, was a bitter pill to swallow.

The party that awaited him was not just another event. It was a gathering filled with colleagues and friends of the 'real' Sofia, some of whom he had never met. His strategy for the evening was simple yet desperate: numb the reality with a copious amount of alcohol. And if that failed to ease the sting of humiliation, he would hold onto the fact that this bizarre and embarrassing evening was just that – an evening. It would pass, and tomorrow, no matter how mortifying the memories, it would be behind him.

Entering the backroom, Allen's eyes immediately fixated on a hanging, sparkling dress that seemed to taunt him with its presence. Hesitantly, he reached out and let his manicured fingers glide across the sequined fabric. The feel of the delicate material transported his mind back to that fateful encounter with Jin Watanabe on the streets of Tokyo weeks ago. If only he had declined the offer or stayed home that night. He sighed, realizing the futility of dwelling on an unchangeable past decision. What was done was done. With a heavy heart, he undressed down to his feminine underwear, ready to transform into the evening’s spectacle.

Carefully, Allen pushed his testicles back and tucked his penis between his legs, securing them in place with a tug of his thong panties. Extremely uncomfortable, he then examined a unique style of bra that he had only ever worn once before. Normally, he wore clothes that concealed his breast forms, but the evening's outfit demanded a different approach. The low cut to the dress, dropping into a deep-V, necessitated this peculiar bra – strapless, with padding for lift and an adhesive interior for stability. After a little trial and error, Allen secured the first cup, pulling his skin together to create a surprisingly realistic cleavage, then stuck down the second cup. Over this, he fastened a second strapless, heavily padded bra, ensuring everything was firmly held in place.

Lowering himself on a nearby chair, Allen carefully picked up a pair of slippery, almost weightless tights. They felt silky smooth under his fingers, demanding cautious handling to avoid catching them on his nails. With now-familiar precision, he gently rolled them up his legs, a testament to how drastically his life had changed recently.

With the tights hugging his smooth legs, the feminized man stood up, his nylon-clad feet slipping slightly on the smooth floor. He reached for the little black dress hanging nearby, its flared skirt shimmering under the lights. The dress, adorned with a million sparkling sequins, seemed to compete with diamonds in its brilliance.

Grasping the surprisingly weighty dress by its delicate straps, Allen gingerly stepped into the shimmering garment. With careful, deliberate motions, he pulled it up over the snug embrace of his tights. The fabric whispered against his legs before a bout of gentle tugging helped clear his padded curves. As it settled into place, its hemline daringly stopped short on his thigh, revealing more leg than he was comfortable showing. He looked down, a nervous gulp escaping his lips as he took in the sight of ample, fleshy cleavage peeking out from the flashy dress's neckline.

It dawned on him that he would have to be extremely mindful all night to avoid revealing his panties to the whole of Japan. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps that was exactly what the show's producers were hoping for – some up- the-skirt action shots, just to compound his embarrassment.

Allen reached down, attempting in vain to smooth out the wide, flared skirt encircling him as he awkwardly sat back on the chair. The skirt refused to fold beneath him, meaning he would be perched on his pantyhosed backside all evening, feeling the cold touch of every surface. With a sense of resignation, he turned his attention to the final item: a shoe box. He had been dreading this moment, knowing that the contents were likely to be as outlandish as the rest of his outfit.

His fears were confirmed as he cautiously opened the box. Inside, the light danced off the surfaces of the enormous platform pumps, causing Allen to blink rapidly, his long, curled eyelashes fluttering. The pumps were black, and matched the dress in their sparkly nature dress, creating an almost blinding effect. Lifting one of the shoes up by its heel, Allen’s bloated top lip curled in distaste. These shoes were not just impractical; they were a recipe for pain and attention - exactly the kind of attention he was hoping to avoid.

With no other choice, Allen resignedly slipped on the flashy pumps. Standing up, he wobbled precariously, feeling his pantyhosed feet slide around inside as he sought a bearable resting position. The heels were thin and spindly, their height challenging even for the most experienced heel-wearer. He took a few shaky steps, tugging down his skirt as much as it would allow, before taking a deep breath and stepping back into the main room of the salon.

His entrance was met with a chorus of admiring 'ooos' and 'kawaiis' from the Japanese women in the room. A chair had been set up in the centre of the room, with one of the studio's makeup artists waiting beside it. Knowing what was expected of him, Allen made his way over and sat down without fuss or complaint.

An hour later, the transformation was complete. Allen had been so engrossed in a game on his phone, he barely noticed the makeup artist meticulously applying each layer of makeup, curling, and pinning his hair into place. Now, fully made up, he exuded the very essence of the pouting diva he had been portraying.

The stylist's finishing touches included attaching large hoop earrings to his lobes and spritzing his neck and arms with Sofia’s favourite perfume. Finally, she announced, "You're all set." Allen couldn't help but think, 'About time.' The chill in the room had seeped into his bones while sitting in the thin dress. With his hands clasped tightly between his legs, holding down the enormous skirt, Allen couldn't shake the hope that they had thought to bring a coat for him. The prospect of facing the cold November air in his current attire was anything but appealing.

Standing up, Allen was directed to the other side of the salon. He was familiar with this part of the routine – it was time for the grand reveal in front of a full-length mirror - a moment that would soon be shared with viewers from Sapporo to Okinawa. In front of the large, veiled mirror, Aiko ensured Yamato's camera was rolling before turning to Allen. "Oh! Sofia, you look so lovely. Allen is a lucky man to have such a beautiful bride," she exclaimed. Allen could only muster a face of disgust, letting her continue her theatrics. "Well, it's time for the big reveal. Are you ready?"

Realizing she was waiting for his response, Allen answered somewhat resignedly, "Sure, show me the damage."

Aiko swiftly unveiled the mirror. Allen's initial plan to feign a reaction was unnecessary; his own reflection genuinely stunned him. The slim figure in the mirror encased in the glitzy dress and teetering on equally spectacular heels, was striking. He gently swayed left and right, observing himself from different angles, slightly dazed by the light dancing off his dress and shoes. His gaze moved upwards to his hairstyle, transformed into a girlish, bow-like arrangement, topped off, much to his chagrin, with a glittering tiara.

"So pretty, right?" Aiko remarked, her tone filled with a mix of delight and mischief. Allen, momentarily speechless, managed only a slight nod, his plump lips struggling to form words. With his reaction captured, Aiko gestured to Yamato to stop filming. "All right, princess, let's not spend all night admiring yourself. We've got a party to get to, and everyone is excited to meet the bride-to-be!" she announced with a playful smirk.

Denied the coat he had desperately hoped for, Allen was ushered out of the salon into the chilly, neon-lit streets of Tokyo. The loud click-clack of his heels echoed as he stepped outside, a wave of trepidation washing over him. Shivering from both the cold and the daunting prospect of parading his extravagant attire, he hurried toward the warmth of the waiting car. Each step in his high, glittering heels was a precarious balancing act, a vivid reminder of his transformed persona now on full display for the bustling city.

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After what seemed like an eternity of Allen peering out of the car window, his body tensing in his shimmering dress and eye-catching heels, the car pulled up. A wave of apprehension washed over him as he cautiously stepped out into an unfamiliar backstreet, grappling with his skirt in an effort to maintain some semblance of grace and mindful of trying to conceal his panties.

Greeted by a bouncer who cheerfully addressed him as Miss Cannavaro, Allen was informed that his party awaited him downstairs. The bouncer's enthusiasm only added to his anxiety. With gritted teeth and a forced smile, Allen shuffled past the stocky bald man to begin his precarious descent down a steep, dimly lit staircase. Each step was deliberate and cautious, fuelled by the fear of a misstep that would send him tumbling into the looming darkness below.

Somehow reaching the bottom without falling, Allen paused and stared in fear into the room. The cabaret club felt like stepping into a surreal nightmare. The room buzzed with a rowdy energy unique to bachelorette parties. Neon lights flickered, casting a kaleidoscope of colours over the throng of guests. Male entertainers, their bodies gleaming under the spotlights, moved with a confidence that Allen envied. Meanwhile, topless waiters navigated the crowd, balancing trays of shimmering drinks.

(See image 39)

Breathless and a little shaky, the steep steps having taken a toll on his aching lower legs, Allen stood rooted to the spot. Glancing down, he found the situation surreal. Everything seemed wrong - from the prominent cleavage falling out the top of his sequined dress to his shiny, pantyhosed legs, nestled snugly inside a pair of dangerously tall heels. The thought that he shouldn't be there, dressed as he was, overwhelmed his thoughts, almost to the point of overwhelming him.

The room was alive with laughter and cheers, but to Allen, it was a cacophony of judgment. He felt the gaze of a room full of random people, none dressed as extravagantly as him. His heart skipped a beat when a group of women, some recognizable from work, waiting for his arrival, caught sight of him. Their eyes, turning towards him, dissected every detail of his attire, gossiping all the while.

Suddenly, Aiko appeared in front of him, touching Allen's hand and startling him. She smiled, her actions speaking louder than words, as she gently assisted Allen down the final step. Holding his hand firmly, she then led him into the heart of the party.

A wave of apprehension struck Allen as he met the enthusiastic group. Some were genuinely pleased to see him, others seemed to mock his appearance. A drink was thrust into his hand, which he downed in one, eliciting a chorus of cheers and somewhat diffusing the tension. Another drink quickly followed.

The festivities soon started, ranging from risqué games to dance challenges. These only served to amplify Allen's discomfort. The moment where he was coerced into licking whipped cream from a stripper's abs, he felt utterly out of place.

The night, supposedly a celebration, was for Allen a prolonged ordeal. He was trapped in a role that clashed violently with his sense of self. The femininity he was dressed in, rather than being a form of expression, felt like a shackle, reminding him of how out of place he felt among the revellers.

As the party started winding down, Allen's relief was palpable. He excused himself from the group under the pretence of needing fresh air, but in reality, he was seeking an escape from the overwhelming sense of discomfort. Standing alone outside, away from the noise and laughter, he could finally breathe.

Allen leaned against the wall, his feet throbbing relentlessly in protest against the hours spent locked into a torturous angle. The echoes of the club's cacophony still rang in his ears, mingling with the cool night air that now caressed his exposed skin. Earlier, this chill had been another source of discomfort, but now it was a soothing contrast to the stifling heat of the crowded, sweaty club.

As he finally began to relax, a firm resolution took shape in his thoughts. Once this whirlwind of craziness was over, he made a solemn promise to himself: never again would he allow himself to be thrust into a situation where he had to masquerade as something he wasn't. This decision brought with it a wave of relief, providing a sliver of comfort after a tumultuous night.