The beautiful game - Remastered 04

Chapter 4 – The makeover

For the next few hours, Milos sat in a complete daze as the three young women buzzed around him working. At first, having so much female attention was nice, that is, unless he started to think about what they were doing to him.

First on the agenda was his hair, still damp from the bath, Sonja wasted no time at all in combing through his shaggy locks, roughly pulling through the knots making Milos groaned in discomfort.

Once satisfied, she swept his hair back and sectioned it into parts as Milos watched worried as she picked up the first of the long scary looking hair extensions from the sofa and started going about attaching it to his head.

For what seemed like an eternity, he watched fascinated and a little apprehensive as the strands of fake hair on the sofa slowly disappeared and the weight on top of his head increased as Sonya wove in each piece, firmly attaching it to his own hair.

While Sonja worked on his hair, the other two girls were busy working on his nails, one on his hands and the other on his feet, as his uncomfortable sandals were removed making him wonder why he had had to wear them in the first place.

It was a relaxing experience, as Milos let the girls work, telling himself that plenty of men got manicures, occasionally looking down to see the girls, trimming his cuticles, cutting away some dead skin, or filling his nails.

Smelling the polish, Milos had a moment of panic, as he tried to argue that it wasn't necessary. Unfortunately for him, the girls were having none of it, and after threatening to paint his nails bright red, he reluctantly allowed them to continue with the original light pink shade they had chosen.

As he watched Sonja pick up the last strand and felt her attaching it to his head, he was relieved the ordeal would soon be over, his mind now switching from worry to curiosity as he wondered what he would now look like. But the big reveal would have to wait as the girls were far from done with him.

Marched to the bathroom once more, he was told to sit on a stool they had placed in front of the sink. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of the warm water and Katya’s finger rubbing across his scalp, that is until he smelt another strong chemical smell and jerked up in protest.

He was pushed back down and told to relax as she explained that she was just making everything look the same colour.

After rubbing in the solution and wrapping something around his head, Katya left, leaving him staring up at the ceiling with his head in the sink and the foul smell of the hair dye assaulting his nostrils. After what seemed like an eternity, she returned to rinse his hair, and after giving it a quick blow dry, he was taken back to the living room.

As he entered, Sonja and the other girl, Sara smiled, making him feel incredibly uncomfortable. Lowering his head didn’t help as a cascade of long brown hair flowed over his shoulder.

Through the masses of hair, he saw ten sparkly pink toenails beneath a pair of long smooth legs emerging from a short denim skirt, the sight made him grimace as he still couldn't believe he had agreed to Coach's crazy idea.

“Take a seat, Milena”, Sonja announced pointing to his previous position on the sofa.

“Are we not done, yet”? Milos asked in astonishment.

“Done! of course not”, she replied with a huge smile on her face, “it’s time for the real transformation to begin”.

Milos sighed, slowly making his way over to the sofa before sitting down, lifting his knees, and placing his arms around his smooth ankles, “can I at least see what you’ve done to me”? He said feeling very vulnerable.

The three girls looked at each other before Sonja spoke, “sure, I don’t see why not”, Sara, go fetch a hand mirror”.

As Sara left the room, Katya approached. Sitting down next to him, she started brushing through his long hair before producing two clips and securing one on each side of his head just behind each ear.

Returning with the mirror in hand, Sara passed it to Sonja, “are you ready”? she asked.

Milos nodded before watching the mirror being thrust in front of his face. He gasped at the sight he was presented with, still not used to his surgically altered face and now with all this hair, he looked so different, so girly.

(See image 4.1)

“Not a bad start, right”? Sonja said chuckling, “you’re definitely convincing enough to play for the team and fool anyone watching, especially in a league full of tomboys like ours”.

Milos looked up, “start”? he repeated, looking confused, “what else are you going to do to me”?

“Well, not too much more today”, Katya said moving over to sit beside him, “but I think you’ll agree, those caterpillars need to go”, she added, whipping out a pair of tweezers and smiling.

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In the days that followed, Milos found it incredibly tough to adapt to his new life as a woman, as the daily lessons on how to speak, move, and behave were almost unbearable, forcing him to change every habit and mannerism he had ever learnt.

At least when at training with the team or playing in matches, things were better. With the wins on the pitch continuing, Milos soon became a popular figure amongst his teammates as they quickly accepted him as part of the group and thanks to his goal-scoring prowess, even started idolising him.

The problem was, the more comfortable and popular Milena became, the angrier and more demanding Sonja became. As the weeks passed, she started to despise him, not only had he recklessly endangered her life but now in her mind he was replacing her as the star of the team as she came to the realisation that nobody missed her or talked about her anymore.

One evening in the apartment while looking at the hideous scar running down the side of her leg and massaging her aching lower leg, Sonja broke, as she experienced rage like never before “how is this fair”? She screamed, picking up a vase of flowers and hurling it into a nearby wall watching it smash into a thousand pieces, “Why does he get to walk away from that accident scot-free when it was all his fault”?

She hadn’t even wanted to get in the car that evening, she had been talked into it by Katarina and now here she was, scarred for life, as Milos got cheered and praised each weekend, loved, and adored by a rapidly growing fanbase. “he needs to be shown that there are consequences to your actions”, she thought, “If he wants to be a show-off, I’ll make him one, I’ll make it, so everyone is talking about him”.

The next day, hell-bent on revenge, Sonja informed Milos, that to help with his training, from that day forward, she would each week be introducing a new rule, and made it clear he was expected to follow.

Milos tried complaining to Coach but he wouldn’t listen, he just told him that Sonja knew what was best and to do whatever was needed to avoid anyone finding out their secret, he then reminded him that he had agreed to help and that whatever Sonja was doing, was working as the team had been playing some of the best football he had ever seen.

Milos was left devastated by the news and worse still this left Sonja with free reign to do whatever she wanted to him, able to now take full advantage of the situation to punish him for his past discretions.

The first thing to change was his diet. Milos’ meals were reduced to tiny portions leaving him forever hungry. They now consisted of mostly fruit and vegetables, all meat and carbs were banned with water being the only liquid he was allowed to drink.

Next, he was forced to do 100 squats every morning and every evening, as Sonja watched and commented. This left him in a constant state of pain with his glutes and upper legs constantly burning from the excessive exercise. This became routine and worryingly as the weeks passed, he couldn’t help but notice his backside starting to take on a more rounded feminine shape.

Week three’s rule was to practice makeup application. For hours on end each day, Milos would sit watching YouTube makeup tutorials, carefully selected by Sonja as he was forced to listen to the brainless girls on the screen and struggled to replicate their slutty over the top looks.

But like all the challenges, Milos tried not to complain, he put his head down and rose to each new challenge. After a few weeks of practice, he was able to replicate and apply the most dramatic of looks with ease. Sonja didn’t seem impressed, telling him that now he was capable of painting his face, he was to always have it painted, even in the house, just in case someone called around and recognised him as a fraud.

The rules and routines made no sense to Milos, he thought they were ridiculous and unnecessary, not to mention Sonja’s reasons for implementing them, but even so, Milos persevered. He had promised to help Coach to make up for what he had done and not wanting to let him down a second time he suffered through as one thing kept him going.

For the first time in his life, he was being given the opportunity to play football week in week out for a real team. Every week he would step out in front of a stadium full of supporters who cheered and sung songs for him and it felt amazing.

He also knew the season wouldn’t last forever, it would be over in a few months, so as bizarre as the situation was, Milos vowed, if possible, to try to enjoy his moments out on the pitch living out his dream of being a real football player.

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On a Saturday evening a few weeks later, after a thrilling game of football, watched by a cheering crowd, Milos walked off the pitch with the match ball and to a standing ovation having scored four goals and single handily won the Tigers the game.

Back in the dressing room, the girls all celebrated and showered him with compliments. With this latest victory, the Tigers had climbed back up the league and were now once again in the playoff places.

Sonja who didn’t seem as happy as everyone else, only in the dressing room as Dejan still wanted to include her in team activities, suggested a girl’s night out to celebrate the victory. Loving the idea, the other girls started cheering and arranging to meet at a local bar later that evening, Milos just stared at Sonja quietly shaking his head, he wanted nothing more than to go home and relax but the sadistic smile on her face told him he'd be going along for the ride.

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Later that evening at the apartment, Milos was feeling very self-conscious as he stood in front of the mirror having just snapped a picture of himself in the tight-fitting uncomfortable outfit he would be wearing out that evening.

This week’s rule introduced by Sonja was to upload at least three pictures per day to an Instagram account she had created for Milena. This was not only embarrassing but a bit of an inconvenience as Milos kept forgetting, but at least this rule made some sort of sense after Sonja explained how suspicious it would seem if anyone searched for Milena and failed to find any social media presence.

Looking at his reflection once more he couldn’t take his eyes off his feminized reflection. He had spent the last hour applying his makeup and straightening his long hair. He was now studying the image before him and desperately searching for any signs of the boy he had seen all his life but to his dismay, in his place now stood a dark-haired young woman, dressed up and looking like she was ready for a night of partying.

Sonja who was stood behind him told him to take one more selfie as he tried to steady his shaking hand, now extremely nervous about leaving the apartment. He had of course been out plenty of times dressed as Milena but that evening it felt different. It was going to be a whole new experience walking the city streets dressed as he was, knowing the local men were going to like what they saw.

He was wearing a tight black turtle neck sweater, covered with little white dots. The sweater itself, was in his opinion, a size or two too small, showing off a strip of bare skin around his waist, not helped by the padded bra beneath, the material wrapping snuggly around them tenting out the front and clearly showing the outline of his fake bosom beneath.

Around his neck, it felt wet and sticky from the copious amounts of perfume Sonja had dowsed him in as the pungent floral scent threatened to choke him with each breath he took.

When Sonja first produced a pair of jeans for him to wear, he was shocked. But having squeezed his feet in the leg holes and somehow forced the restrictive material up and around his ever-expanding rear end, he wondered if a skirt might be more comfortable. With the restrictive acid-washed denim tightly hugging his legs, he could hardly move. He also couldn’t understand why girls wore jeans that looked damaged, with more than a little skin on display though the designed horizontal rips across his thighs.

He knew walking wasn’t going to be easy that evening as he wobbled slightly on his wedge heeled boots, already feeling his calves strain and the pressure on his manhood, which had been tucked back tightly between his legs as he dreaded the thought of having to use the bathroom later that evening.

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Mincing and stumbling about in his restrictive outfit and wedge boots, Milos got quite a bit of attention out on the streets as he found it almost impossible to keep his balance. He had practised wearing heels in the apartment, but it hadn’t prepared him for the streets of Serbia, as he avoided manhole covers, stepped up and down curbs, and traversed uneven ground, each threatening to send him toppling over.

Sonja showed no signs of sympathy as she wobbled along herself, struggling to keep up with the rest of the team, telling Milos that if she could manage in her much taller heels, having only just come out of surgery, he could too.

(See image 4.2)

Arriving at a local sports bar amongst the posey of excited women, Milos got quite a bit of attention as people recognising him, came up to say hello. It seemed Milena’s goal scoring antics had given rise to quite a few news articles recently making him the talk of the town,

Everybody who approached congratulated him on his impressive form, and either wanted to have their picture taken with him or buy him a drink. Of course, Sonja encouraged the attention from his fans, especially as most were young men after more than a little conversation and a selfie.

As the night drew on and the drinks kept flowing, the constant stream of men that surrounded Milos started to get a little bolder, as he was forced to brush away wandering hands trying to touch his hair and stroke his arms and lower back.

Flustered and losing his patience Milos had had enough and spotting Sonja by the bar he tottered over on his now sore feet, “Sonja can we please go home soon”? he pleaded, “it’s been a long day and people keep touching me”.

Sonja laughed, “go home! no way, the nights still young, so suck it up princess, it’s not my fault you’ve become a local celebrity or that your booty looks too good in resist in those painted on jeans”.

Milos looked at her stunned “But, you picked this outfit, and you were the one who made me do all those squats, that has made my bum swell up like this”.

“Stop your bitching, we’re here to have fun” she announced angrily, “it’s bad enough I have to babysit you all day every day, can’t you let me enjoy one evening in peace without having to listen to your incessant complaining, now fuck off, will you? I'm busy”, she added before turning back to chat to the tall dark-haired man she was trying to convince to take her home that evening.

Milos feeling angry and frustrated stomped across the bar and straight out of the door. By the time he had calmed down enough to think straight, he was a mile up the road. He now found himself alone, cold, with no money and with his feet screaming at him. Regretted his decision to leave, he considered going back.

But with it being almost as far to his apartment as it was back to the bar, he reluctantly trudged on. Slowly, he made his way home and with each painful step, Milos reflecting on his traumatic evening. He had never realised just how different it was for young women on a night out in a bar.

That evening, he developed a newfound respect and appreciation for what women went through and had to put up with on a night out, along with a growing hatred of drunken young men.

(See image 4.3)