Mina
I was an inconspicuous woman who, at just under 30, still lived with her parents in the country. There were hardly any young people in our town and surrounding area. All the good, likable men were already taken. I worked in an office in the city as a department head in a small construction company. The job was interesting and challenging. I was highly valued for my work, but the pay was modest. If someone in my team fell ill, I took over as boss and had to work a lot of overtime. My private life was boring. In the evenings, I sat down with my parents for dinner and told them trivial things from work. On one of the many boring weekends, I installed Tinder on my smartphone. I became interested in getting to know someone – and somehow my internal clock started ticking. I was 28 and still a virgin! Unfortunately, I hardly received any messages on the app because there were hardly any young people in the area. The few who wrote to me were perverted, horny men. I expanded my radius and looked in the city. Before long, I was meeting several men after work. Most of them didn’t match my values. Often they only wanted one thing; they were proles or wimps. In my ideal world, it had to be a man who dressed well, knew what he wanted, and valued traditional values. After about four weeks, I met Nick. He was simply perfect. He dressed incredibly well and always behaved like an absolute gentleman towards me. For months, we met regularly after work and did nice things and spent time at his apartment in the city. However, I always went home late in the evening so my parents wouldn’t get suspicious. I don’t know why I felt I had to keep it a secret, but it felt more right. After a while, I had the most wonderful first time, something I would never have dreamed of. He was sensitive and spoiled me with such long foreplay that I had multiple orgasms. I also started sleeping at his place more and more often during the week. I was completely crazy and addicted to him. But we only saw each other during the week. On the weekends, he always had big plans with his friends. There I was, sitting alone with my family in the country, gossiping about other people. At first, it didn’t bother me. I had more than ever before and was truly in love. But after several months, I thought we needed to have a conversation about the next step in our relationship. I explained to him that I’d like to live with him and be part of his circle of friends. After all, I wanted to be with him on the weekends too, and I didn’t know any of his friends. He completely blocked me out and told me we were too different and that I didn’t fit into his life at the moment. He dumped me coldly. I was devastated. I disappeared and didn’t even let him explain why we were so different. I was convinced we were actually a good match. After weeks of being home alone and having a poor dating life, I finally got up the courage to write to him. I wanted to know what had gone wrong and that I would do anything for him. Maybe my message sounded desperate, but that’s what I was in that situation. I wanted to fight for this relationship.
Immediately after the message, we saw each other the next day, and the atmosphere was immediately very familiar and intimate for me again. Until I asked him why we weren’t suited to each other. He listed a few things without going into detail. What stuck with me, however, were two things: “looks” and attitude toward life. This hurt me so much at that moment that I fought back tears and finally fled. There was no contact for months, and just as I was about to put the matter to rest, he stood at the front door of our house, greeted my mother, and asked for me. My mother was very pleased with the “handsome” and nice young man and immediately invited him to our Sunday lunches. The atmosphere was awkward. I was very reserved while he had a great conversation with my parents. As usual for Sundays, I was still wearing my long pink shirt dress from church and an apron over it because I was cooking. Cooking was my job in our house. I felt a bit exposed. Whenever I met him, I always wanted to be the cool, open-minded one. And what was I today? The boring country girl who cooks for her parents on Sundays. I was simply embarrassed. After dinner, we went for a walk together, and he asked me if I still did everything for him.
I answered yes to the question, and he explained that he would consider his “conditions” for a relationship and then communicate them clearly to me. I was incredibly happy with that statement. It would be my first real, committed relationship, and I feel really comfortable around him. We strolled through the fields for an hour or two before he said goodbye to me and drove home. My parents were absolutely thrilled with him. My mom said he would be a great man for me.
A week later, he asked me to come to his place to discuss his conditions.
He explained that he prefers a more traditional family model, where the woman does most of the housework. It wasn’t a problem for me, since I already did that at home anyway. I laughed and said he would get a hot dinner from me every day if he took over the ironing and vacuuming. He was relieved that I responded so well and agreed. Next, he was a bit reserved until I told him to just come clean. He said he wanted to have complete control over my physical appearance. So, clothes, hairstyle, cosmetics, accessories. I was perplexed and asked him if he didn’t like me. He explained that I was something like a rough diamond to him, whom he wanted to turn into a real lady. Yes, admittedly, he certainly had better fashion sense than I did, judging by the two of us. Clothes weren’t that important to me. Most of my clothes were older and designed for comfort. I asked how that would work. He explained to me that my things would stay where they were, and when I moved in with him, we’d have a “fresh start.” He would re-clothe me at his expense, and after that, I would only be allowed to wear things he deemed acceptable. I joked whether he had saved enough, and he agreed. I thought the idea was strange, but in reality, up until now, I’d only ever gone shopping with my aunts and cousins. Maybe a new wardrobe would do me some good.
The following weekend, we moved my things into his apartment. I didn’t have much. I wasn’t “allowed” to take any clothes with me. I headed to my new home with three boxes. To my surprise, he had already bought quite a few clothes for me. For home, there was a pair of really high-quality silk pajamas. In the box were two black dresses with white collars and white cuffs. The dresses were very elegant and more reminiscent of a uniform. There were also several white blouses, skirts, old-fashioned underwear with ruffles, and three pairs of boring high heels. He explained to me that these would be my “everyday clothes” until we went shopping. I was perplexed and thanked him. He asked me to take off my old clothes; today’s outfit was already lying on the bed: a white blouse with a black flared pleated skirt. He forcibly packed my old outfit (T-shirt and jeans) and my underwear into a black bag and said we’d throw them away. From then on, I understood he meant it. With my new outfit, I immediately felt a bit “overdressed” and more grown-up. But I didn’t know why.
Then we went into town to one of the most expensive beauty salons in town. We got a consultation, and he bought me almost everything recommended. We left the store with three large bags. Before, I wouldn’t have even had the confidence to go in there. I was happy and hugged him, assuring him I would do anything to thank him. He smiled and said we’d see at our next stop. We went to a dermatological laser center. Before we entered the office, he explained to me that he had scheduled a consultation and that we would role-play a married couple in love. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be allowed to come with us. I liked his role-playing and was immediately on board. It wasn’t until the dermatologist that I found out what it was all about. It was about bleaching my labia and anus. Once we were into our role-play, I couldn’t react with surprise and showed interest. In the end, the doctor said we were lucky; a patient had canceled, and he could hold the first appointment right afterward if we wanted. He agreed for me and I just confirmed with an uncertain smile. The bleaching itself was pretty humiliating for me. I had to expose myself in the most uncomfortable positions and he watched me being lasered. I felt so stupid. Afterwards the doctor covered everything with ice packs and put a padded diaper on me. The only thing that made me feel positive was that the treatment was really expensive for him and I thought he must be serious about me. Immediately after the doctor’s appointment I was standing in the city center in broad daylight with my chic outfit and diaper under my skirt. I was a bit overwhelmed and at the same time I would have liked to run away out of embarrassment but he was incredibly kind and talked me into it. Overall I tried to convince myself that he was still a good guy and that I must be really important to him because of the expensive stuff.
I’d have to be strong for the next stop in an hour, he warned me. I stopped in the hustle and bustle and explained to him that he would have to explain to me beforehand what to expect, as today was already a bit too much for me. He explained to me that I wanted to make my hair short and showed me a few photos for inspiration. At the time, my hair was about chest length. He wanted a proper pixie cut. To me, those hairstyles looked more like schoolboy cuts. I’ve never had short hair. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the same hairstyle: just straight, long hair neatly styled with a middle parting. I often only had my mum trim the ends. I explained to him that it was too much of a change for me. I sat down for a moment and tears welled up in my eyes. I said that I probably couldn’t do him justice. He calmed me down with his empathetic manner and asked me how much I would cut off. I actually didn’t want to cut anything, but I suggested a long bob at shoulder height, but that would be my absolute maximum. He said it would suit me really well and that he would respect my wishes. So we went on to the hairdresser. As it happened, I knew the hairdresser because she lived in the neighboring town from me in the country. The atmosphere immediately became a little more relaxed and open. I explained to her that I’d like a bit of a new look and was thinking of a long bob. We looked through some hairstyles in hair books and she said that was a really boring hairstyle that every other older lady wears. She suggested going a little shorter, to chin length, and making the cut a little more layered. That would look more modern and elegant. I was a bit overwhelmed and disappeared to the bathroom for the first time. There I finally got rid of that stupid diaper and the cooling pads from the dermatologist, which were becoming uncomfortable by now. Apparently, in my confusion, I had left my underwear at the dermatologist’s.
So from now on I had to continue without panties under my skirt. I have to say I rarely wore skirts and this was a new experience for me. At that moment I actually found the feeling liberating after that stupid diaper. I went back to the stylist’s chair determined and with a bit more self-confidence and told her I was ready for the bob and that I trusted her completely that it would look great. She hugged me and assured me I would look great afterwards. As I sat down I realized that the cooling pad in my panties had probably been justified after all. My bottom started to burn really badly. It was really painful but I didn’t want to let it show and grinned friendly. Really I just wanted to go home, apply the ointment from the dermatologist and hide in my bed. That wasn’t an option so I thought I had to get through this quickly. The hairdresser wanted to think about it a bit and take before and after photos. Then I got impatient and told her a bit more forcefully that she should just get started. I pretended we had another appointment afterward and were a bit pressed for time. My hair was cut off that quickly. First, she cut off a braid about 30-35 cm long, and I could really feel the weight of my hair growing longer from my head. This would have been the time to cry. But somehow, my other pain overshadowed my feelings. She noticed I wasn’t very talkative and hurried with the cut. My hair got shorter and shorter down to my chin. I tried to reassure myself that it was just hair I was sacrificing for the man of my dreams. But when the hairdresser reached for the razor to “clean up” my neck, I got goosebumps all over. I realized how short my hair now was. Then, quite purposefully, she simply cut me bangs without warning. I didn’t want that, but I didn’t dare say anything. After all, it had already happened. When I looked in the mirror, I didn’t recognize myself. I was a new person with this hairstyle. I liked the cut, but I didn’t think it suited me. It was strange and not what I’d hoped for. When she was finished, she showed me my entire hairstyle with a mirror. My hair was really short in the back. It wasn’t long enough for a braid. In the front, I had a fairly straight bob with straight bangs that ended just above my eyebrows. Overall, the hair framed my face nicely and made it look a bit thinner. Still, I couldn’t fully embrace it. When I stood up, I fell into my boyfriend’s arms and whispered that I just wanted to go home. To be continued…
