Maybe You'll Like It: A Gradual Feminization Novel

Chapter Two

"A salon day? You're kidding, " I said in disbelief. "You don't even like salons. I don't even like salons!"

"Relax, it's not what you think," Grace said, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a little orange gift card. "I won it in a school raffle. Cool, huh? I figured you could use a pick-me-up, and what's better than splitting a little salon day with your sister? You can do a lot with 250 bucks!"

"Two hundred and fif—" I began, but badly needed a reset. "Grace, listen. I don't need a salon treatment to feel better. I'm doing fine, trust me."

"Oh shut up. It's not like they're doing anything girly in there. I just booked a wash and a trim for you. We'll sit next to each other, you don't even have to talk to anyone else. It'll be fine."

I really, really hated the idea of being tempted with bowling only to be ambushed and brought in for a haircut. Again, I glanced at the wooden sign in front of us. A yellow, floral base with orange lilies scattered around the girliest font imaginable reading 'Lily's Touch'.

I sat in the car, fuming thanks to her deception. But Grace didn't seem close to changing her mind. I sighed obnoxiously loud to assert my displeasure. Maybe I just accept my fate for the day. It's not like I have anything else going on.

"Fine..." I backed down, much to the devilish enjoyment of my sister. "But we're not gossiping with the barber."

Grace groaned. "They're not called barbers. They're stylists. Jesus, Alex..."

Practically shoved out the car by my sister, the two of us tread the icy parking lot and shuffled into the salon just in the nick of time.

"We made it! Ha ha!" Grace celebrated, probably to the annoyance of the staff. She stepped up to the counter where a gorgeous, thin brunette woman dressed to the nines greeted us.

"Good afternoon! You two ladies have an appointment?"

Ugh. Another 'perk' of having long hair...

I shoved Grace aside for a moment, "Actually I'm a guy."

She shot me a mean look, as if I was the rude one. "It should be under Grace Lester."

The pretty brunette receptionist clicked and clacked away at the computer searching for our reservation. The searching process offered me a moment to breathe in the ambiance of Lily's Touch. And damn was this place giant.

Right off the bat, the space felt like infinitely more than any barber shop I'd seen. Back behind the receptionist's stand were rows and rows of styling chairs — about half of them in use by a variety of barbers — err, stylists. But it didn't stop there. In fact, just beside the waiting area, beautified with funky-looking orange and yellow furniture, was a staircase ascending to a second floor. I meandered around as Grace continued the check-in.

"Lily's Spa," I mumbled to myself, reading the sign by the stairs.

So this isn't just a salon, but a spa too? I guess that would explain the customer volume. In fact, I counted at least 10 people in the waiting area, scrolling their phones or browsing the complimentary fashion magazines.

"Coming through!" a woman brushed by me, spinning me around. The employee was balancing an assortment of powders and goops on a fancy metal tray as she ascended the staircase. "Jolene? Come on up," she said to one of the waiting women who eagerly arose from her seat and followed her upstairs.

"Hey, space cadet!" Grace called for me back at the front desk. "They're ready for us."

Two younger ladies escorted Grace and I toward the back where we hung up our coats and were seated at the washing stations. My girl instructed me to lean my head back into a basin attached to the chair as she flipped on the nozzle.