The Makeover

By Willie Cici
published January 11, 2020

Chris’s life was in a rut. He needed a change, a new look, something …

This story was inspired by a Tumblr blog, ‘Built by Steve’. Many of the photographs are pics that ‘Steve’ finds online and then photoshops the pics to improve their hair styles. The end result is sexy and humorous. This story is in that vein.

Monday morning, 7:05am -

“Awful.”, the man said, as he stared at his middle-aged image in the mirror. “What happened to you?” He closed his eyes and sauntered out of the bathroom, into the master bedroom, where his wife once slept. Janine had enough of her husband’s slow descent into middle age. Still young and vibrant, one day, Janine announced that she was leaving. Chris never believed that Janine would follow through on her threat, but she did, and now, he was alone, fat and old looking. He was only 42. He had been a college athlete, sporting a physique that snared sexy Janine to his college dorm bed. Money and career satisfied Janine for fifteen years, but it did not last.

Chris Thompson donned his navy-blue suit, the corporate uniform of his ilk, and walked out of his bedroom. He grabbed his trench coat and briefcase and exited his Upper East Side condominium, bracing the wintery elements to the nearest subway station, riding the Number 4, from 77th Street Station to Fulton Street, in the Financial District. Eventually, Chris reached his office, rode the elevator to the 39th floor and entered the offices of ‘Carmody, Hawke’, one of Manhattan’s leading hedge funds managers.

Chris greeted his administrative assistant, Debbie, as he crossed the threshold of his office. Debbie followed Chris into his office. “How was your weekend?”

“It was … quiet.”, Chris answered.

“Sure. I understand.”, Debbie replied, doing her best to be supportive of her boss. The two reviewed some notes from Friday’s meeting and arranged for the edit of some important documents that Chris needed for a meeting later that morning. As their conversation ended, Debbie said, “I’ll get you that edit in twenty.”

As Debbie was exiting the office, Chris said, “Debbie, I’m thinking about … never mind.”

“What’s your question, Chris? You can talk to me.”, Debbie said, with that sympathetic work-wife tone.

Chris stared into Debbie’s eyes. He preferred to stare at Debbie’s impressive rack, but HR frowned upon that. “I need a change. A new look. New haircut. Maybe even a new color. I look …”

“Old.”, Debbie said, finishing Chris’ thought. “The girls and I think you need a make-over. Starting with a new haircut is good start.”

Chris heard Debbie’s comments. “So, the girls are talking?”, he asked. Debbie nodded ‘yes’. “And what are they saying?”

“You need to lose about fifty pounds, start exercising, and pay attention to your skin. You’d be back in the saddle.”, Debbie answered. Her blunt honesty smacked Chris in the face. When she realized what she said, Debbie added, in a sympathetic tone, “I know that sounds harsh, but … we love you, Chris. We’re just looking out for you.”

“And that’s confirmation.”, Chris thought to himself. It did not matter that he was kind, gentle and generous. Many an asshole, like his colleague Hugh Fitzsimmons, worked at ‘Carmody, Hawke’, but that did not matter. Hugh was tall, dark and handsome, even at 45. Women flocked to him, whether he was married or not. Women only cared that Hugh looked like an aging but still sexy GQ model, the look Chris sported fifteen years ago. “Okay, Debbie. I need you to find me a place to go for this make-over. Please.”

From her leather padfolio, Debbie retrieved a slip of paper and handed it to Chris. Chris read in the information: ‘Salon Rajeunir’. “It’s just what the doctor ordered. They will spend the time. They transformed Renee. In Accounting.”

“Moo-moo Renee?”, Chris said. Debbie nodded ‘yes’. “Okay. I’ll call.”, Chris said. He knew the magic they worked on Renee. “Can’t hurt.”

Debbie smiled. She had a thing for Chris. He was ten years her senior, but he needed to crush this mid-life crisis and get back into the game. If her plan worked, Debbie intended to seduce Chris into her bed at the first opportunity, and slowly inch her way into ‘Mrs. Chris Thompson’.

Friday, 5:30pm, later the same week –

Chris stood at the front entrance of ‘Salon Rajeunir’, still in disbelief that he had taken this matter so far. He had stalled to make the appointment, until Debbie stood in front of him, dialed the number on his cell phone and handed him the phone.

“Okay. We can do this.”, Chris muttered to himself. He opened the door and entered a plush, decorated reception area. The mahogany paneling created a dark environment, but the red crushed velvet that appointed the chairs, pillows and drapes, combined with targeted lighting provided a sumptuous environment. The faint sound of 90s club music playing in the background seemed out of sync with the Belle Epoque décor.

Suddenly, from the adjacent room, entered three men, wearing tight black pants, tight satin black shirts, opened down to the second button, and expensive black shoes. The three blondes, with piercing green eyes, stared at Chris and smiled. “Well, hello. You must be Mr. Thompson.”, one of the men said. “I’m Phillipe and these are my assistants, Claude and Rene.”

Chris smiled. “Oh, shit! I’m surrounded by faggots.”, he thought to himself. “How do I get out of this?”, he pondered, all the while shaking hands with the three men.

“So, we’re here for what?”, Phillipe asked.

“Well … I need a new look.”, Chris explained. “At least a new hairstyle.”

“Oh, honey. You need more than that. When was the last time someone assessed your complexion?”, Rene asked.

“Um … never.”, Chris replied.

“Precisely.”, Rene answered. He took Chris by the hand and said, “Let’s get you into a changing room and we’ll do an analysis during your massage.”

“Well, I just want a haircut.”, Chris said, tugging his hand away from Rene.

“Honey, you need help. Let us help you.”, Phillipe said. “You’re too cute. Let us help.”

Rene grabbed Chris by the hand and led him into the changing room. Rene asked Chris to disrobe. Unwillingly, Chris disrobed, wrapped a towel around his waist and walked into the massage room with Rene. “Claude will massage you and inspect the situation.”

Chris hopped on top of the massage table, face down. He felt Claude’s oily hands upon his neck and shoulders. When Claude’s touch graced his buttocks, Chris said, “Is that necessary?”

“Yes, silly. It’s a massage, not a date.”, Claude teased. Chris lay upon the table, allowing Claude to massage his entire body. He felt surges of heat from time to time. His body seemed to perspire or, at least, it felt as if he were perspiring. When he turned over, onto his back, Chris felt Claude’s roaming hands, first on his chest, then his core and then his groin. Chris swatted away Claude’s hands from his groin. “Chris, I need to do my job.” He lifted his head to keep an eye on Claude. He stared down the length of his body. What was once covered in unruly body hair now was smooth and glistening from the massage oil. When the massage was completed, Claude said, “Chris, in that room, there’s a shower. Go wash up. I’ll be waiting for you.”

Chris walked into the shower room. The shower walls were lined with a tile that had a mirror-like quality. As Chris showered, he stared at his body. He thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. His body looked young, lean, even muscled. He blinked his eyes, but the images remained. As he lathered his body, Chris graced his groin and felt a surge of energy. He looked down and stared at his cock. “Who’s cock is that?”, he whispered. Chris knew his limitations. The cock staring him in the eye had to belong to someone else. He tugged on his member and felt the blood surging in the cock that did not belong to him. Minutes later, as he bust his nut leaving a dripping mess of cum on the shower tiles, Chris moaned aloud, but then held back his moans, out of embarrassment. He did not want anyone to know that he had masturbated in the shower. He thought about the last time he experienced a sexual release. He had not had sex or even masturbated in more than a year. “That felt good.”, Chris muttered to himself.

When he finished showering, Chris toweled his body and walked out of the shower room. Claude handed Chris a new towel, a larger toga-style towel that covered his body. He smiled at Chris and said, “Okay, Chris. Now, follow me.”, Claude said. Claude led Chris out of the massage room and into the skin and manicure lab. “Now, Rene will take a look.”

Chris sat down in a chair that resembled a dentist’s chair. Rene activated the controls and reclined Chris on an angle. Rene studied Chris’ skin and said, “Okay. I’m going to apply an herbal mask. That should help with the toxins.” Chris smiled. Rene grabbed a bowl containing an olive-green paste. He smeared the paste on Chris’ face, neck and shoulders. Chris felt a tingling sensation as the paste oozed into his pores. After thirty minutes, Rene grabbed a warm towel and wiped Chris’ face, neck and shoulders clean. With the remote, the chair inclined. Rene handed Chris a mirror and said, “Looks good.”

Chris stared at his face. “I look … younger. It looks like me when … when I was 25.”

“22.”, Rene said.

Chris stared at Rene. “Okay. 22.” As he stepped out of the chair, the towel that covered his body came undone. He stood naked in the middle of the room, facing a full-length mirror. For the first time, Chris noticed his improved physique, without the illusion of the shower-tile mirrors. “What’s happening to me?”, he said. His voice even sounded younger.

“You look hot, honey.”, Rene said. Embarrassed that he was naked in front of gay Rene, Chris quickly grabbed the towel, wrapped it about his body toga-style and walked out of the room into the hallway. Rene chuckled as he followed Chris down the hallway. Phillipe was waiting for Chris at the threshold of the last room. When Chris reached Phillipe, Rene said, “Okay, Chris. Phillipe will style your hair.”

Chris turned around to face Rene and wave good-bye. Phillipe bid Chris to enter the room and sit in the stylist’s chair. He lowered the back of the hair to wash Chris’ hair. Chris smelled a ginger and mint shampoo that tingled when applied to his scalp. He loved Phillipe’s touch, a gentle massage of the shampoo into his scalp. “I could sit here all day.”, Chris cooed.

Phillipe smiled. “When you were in college, what career did you want to pursue?”

“Finance.”, Chris answered.

“No. Really?”, Phillipe insisted.

“Finance.”, Chris answered. “I’ve always been good with money. I find it intriguing. It’s also been good to me. I’m divorced and, financially, don’t mind it.”

“But you’re too cute to be in finance.”, Phillipe teased.

“When I was good looking, my looks opened door. My brain made money.”, Chris answered.

Phillipe shook his head. “Silly boy!”, he whispered. He rinsed Chris’ hair and started to style Chris with his new cut. By hour’s end, Phillipe stared at Chris’ image in the mirror and said, “You look so hot!”

Chris stared at himself. He could not believe his eyes. The 42-year-old divorced man had disappeared. Instead, Chris was staring at 22-year old Chris, the college athlete, the man who banged campus hotties. He rose from the stylist’s chair and sat on the settee in the corner of the room, reclined like a Roman senator, his towel flanking his body, discreetly covering his groin. (To see made-over Chris, click here).

Phillipe smiled at the finished product. Rene and Claude stood next him, ogling Chris. “So, what does he want to be?”

“A Wall Street financier.”, Phillipe replied.

“But … that’s what he is?”, Rene whined.

“And that’s what he always wanted to be.”, Phillipe. “We wasted all this time on a Wall Street douchebag.”, he said, shaking his head.

“Is he …”, Claude asked?

“Yes. Of course.”, Phillipe answered.

“Are there gay Wall Street financiers?”, Claude asked.

Phillipe stared at his assistant. “I know you’re blonde, but can you be that dumb?”, he asked, rhetorically, shaking his head. “He’ll be fine. We’ll … we’ll just have to take him shopping.”

The three stylists stared at made-over Chris. “What a waste!”, Rene muttered. “Can we?”, Rene asked. He took a long pause and added, “Should we?”

“Should we? Of course. Look at him.”, Phillipe said. Rene and Claude jumped up and down like school girls. They knelt before the reclined Chris, removed the towel discreetly covering his groin, and began kissing and licking his shaft and his balls. Phillipe stared jealously. He joined his two assistants. “There’s enough to go around.”, he said. Chris stared into the eyes of his new found friends, who hungrily licked, nibbled and sucked on his 10” member, a specimen thick and juicy, ready for action. He cooed as Phillipe, Rene and Claude sucked his cock, employing all their oral tricks and talents, bringing Chris to the brink of climax, only to edge him back and tease the stud. “I bet it feels great in your ass.”, Phillipe mumbled to his assistants. The boys positioned Chris upon the red velvet settee, his cock proud and erect, ready for the taking. As Phillipe sat on Chris’ lap, bobbing upon Chris’ cock, Phillipe moaned, “Aahhh!”

“Debbie, can you come in my office?”

Debbie rose from her cubicle and walked into the corner office. “You called?”, she replied with no emotion save disgust.

Debbie stared at Hugh Fitzsimmons, the biggest asshole at ‘Carmody, Hawke’. Management reassigned her after Chris Thompson – her Chris - asked for a new assistant - Ted. Debbie stood in Hugh’s office, barely listening to a word he said. “You got that?”

“Yes, but you could have emailed me.”, Debbie said.

“You’re too cute to email.”, Hugh teased.

Debbie smirked. “Asshole!”, she thought to himself. She returned to her cubicle only to watch Chris and Ted walk down the hallway, going out to lunch as they did every day for their noon-time workout. Compression gear formed pert buttocks that mesmerized Debbie. She shook her head. “Son of a bitch!”, she muttered.

She had designed the perfect plan: get Chris cleaned up and then seduce him all the way to the altar.

She never expected his ‘make-over’ to be a ‘gay-over’.

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