Finding Rhiannon Pt. 02

FINDING RHIANNON

Chapter 2 -- A Taste of Lipstick

"Rhiannon."

The name was still echoing in my ears as I finished applying the lipstick, doing my best to follow the line of my mouth and not daub the bright red colour onto the skin surrounding it. In the cubicle mirror, my lips appeared -- but nothing else. They floated eerily above the rest of my body -- a body clothed in lingerie, from the store where I was trapped.

I shook my head in irritation. Putting on the lingerie had gradually revealed my body -- not to mention exciting a reaction I would not have expected. Even now, the feel of the lace robe as it brushed against my stocking-clad legs was sending disturbing signals to my groin. And each resulting twitch of my pantied cock against the fabric that covered it was itself a further stimulation.

Anyway, concentrating... I'd hoped that just as painting my fingernails had revealed my hands, so doing the same to my lips would restore the reflection of my head. But it hadn't. Something more was clearly needed -- but what? The makeup case I'd found offered all sorts of possibilities -- but I had only the barest idea of what to do with them.

For the next twenty or minutes or so I tried putting powder on my face, rouge on my cheeks, eyeshadow on my eyelids... But nothing seemed to work -- and unlike the lipstick, the cosmetics I applied did not show up in my reflection at all. As the daylight faded, I took one last trip around the shop, walking carefully in my heels. But as before, while I could feel the walls, doors and window, I could not get out. And the strange rustling sound I had heard yesterday seemed to have vanished.

Miserably, I settled down in a corner, hugging my knees to my chest. Darkness descended and I sat there brooding. There was no rational explanation for what had happened to me. If anyone was behind it, I had no idea who they might be. And if I felt bad, what on earth must my wife be thinking right now? Caroline could not possibly know what had transpired. She must believe I'd abandoned her, although finding my phone in the car would be a bit of a mystery...

At some point in the long hours of the night, as these thoughts rebounded around my head, I must have fallen asleep, because dawn found me sprawled uncomfortably on the floor, my body sore and aching.

I got up and went to check the front and rear doorways, moving stiffly and awkwardly. It still somehow didn't occur to me to take off the high-heeled pumps I had donned the previous day. There was still no way out. Disconsolate, I walked back to the cubicle in which I had changed, to find a pile of unused lingerie, as well as the makeup I had been applying.

For one wild moment I thought of arranging some of these items to spell out a message... but really, what could I say? If the staff and customers in the store still couldn't see me, then I could hardly expect anyone to take whatever I wrote seriously. "Help, I'm invisible." Yeah, that would really do the trick...

Similarly, if I just left the lingerie and makeup where they were, that could certainly prompt an entertaining argument among the staff -- but it would hardly cause anyone to wonder whether the ghostly presence of one of yesterday's customers might to be to blame. Moodily, I tidied away the items I'd found. When I did, I came across my own discarded clothing, which I could no longer touch or move. Now that might prompt someone to ask some questions -- or so I could hope. Anyway, there was nothing for it now but to wait until someone came in.

I was a couple of hours into my vigil before it occurred to me that I was not feeling hungry -- and nor did I have any urge to relieve myself. This was both concerning and, well, a relief. Whatever else I had to worry about, finding either food or a toilet was not on the list. Though I was still, disturbingly, getting aroused periodically both by the feeling of the clothes I was wearing and the sight of my body in sexy black lingerie...

After what seemed an interminable wait, the sound of a key in the front door lock brought me out of the corner where I'd taken refuge. I stood up and walked as quickly as my heels would allow to greet the new arrival, an attractive middle-aged woman with long dark hair. But my excited greeting elicited no response. Steeling myself, I stood in her path as she walked towards the counter. But she walked straight through me, without the slightest reaction to my presence.

Groaning with disappointment, I went back to my corner. The same happened when two more staff members arrived. Eventually, the store was opened. Slowly -- it was a weekday, after all -- customers began to trickle in. But there was still no sign of anyone noticing me. Nor, mystifyingly, did anyone going into the cubicle I had used seem to be aware of my clothes. Perhaps they too were no longer visible? I really didn't know.

What was also surprising was that there was no appearance from Caroline. Surely she'd have thought to come back and check the last place she'd seen me? Or -- I don't know -- send the police to investigate? But neither she nor anyone in uniform put in an appearance -- and if there'd been a phone call to the shop, I certainly hadn't heard it.

Sunk now in despair, I stopped trying to make myself seen and heard. In theory, I could have invaded the cubicles and watched some of the more attractive customers getting undressed -- but I was too mired in misery even to try entertaining myself in that way.

I must have been slumped in my corner for over an hour before a voice penetrated my gloom. "What are you doing down there? Are you okay?" As I looked up in perplexity, the rustling noise I'd heard the day before sounded again. I looked around for a source, but as on the previous occasions I'd heard it, there was nothing to explain it. My eyes returned to the figure above me, just in time to hear it say "What's that all over your face?"

The speaker was a smartly dressed young man, perhaps in his late teens. His dark hair was cut fairly short on one side, with a long fringe on the other that fell like a curtain across half his face. The one eye I could see was a striking blue in colour.

"Wait," I said hoarsely, hardly daring to hope, "you can see me?"

"Well, yes," he said in a puzzled tone, "why, do I look blind or something?" With what I intuitively recognised as a characteristic gesture, he pushed the fringe aside and tucked it behind an ear, revealing a frown of incomprehension on what were otherwise finely chiselled features.

"No," I answered, scrambling to my feet, "but everyone else in here seems to be. And deaf as well, apparently. Watch..."

I walked over to the nearest sales assistant, the same redhead who had been helping Caroline the day before. I waved my arms furiously in front of her and yelled to get her attention, without success.

"And that's not all," I added. I went to slap the assistant on the back -- and once again my hand passed through her body without resistance. "See?" I said, turning back to the young man, who was watching with open-mouthed astonishment.

"How the fuck did you do that?" he asked in a loud voice.

The assistant spun round to face him. "I'm sorry sir?" she asked, her brow as furrowed as his. She didn't sound pleased. The man gave her a nonplussed look. "Um," he said, "I was..." He started to gesture towards me, then clearly thought better of it. "Just talking to myself... sorry," he finished, weakly.

Rallying, he handed the assistant a pink satin camisole. He'd obviously been carrying it, though I hadn't noticed it in the excitement of realising he could see me. "This is perfect, thanks, I'll take it. Could you just hang on to it for me for a minute, I've got to, er, make a phone call."

He patted his pocket, pulled out a mobile phone and walked off to a quieter part of the store, glancing at me as he did so. I took the hint and followed him.

"Listen," he said quietly as I joined him, the phone held up to his head as if he were speaking into it, "do you want to tell me what's going on?"

I hesitated. It would sound completely mad -- but what choice did I have? Besides, he could see something was very wrong. And who else was going to help me?

"Okay," I said, "I'll tell you -- but first I need to check something." Nervously, I reached out and touched his arm.

"Oh thank god," I breathed, my body sagging with relief as I made solid contact with another human being for the first time in nearly a day. I grabbed his free hand with both of mine and had to fight back tears.

"You can feel that too -- right?" I asked, my voice raw with emotion. He nodded, looked down at the hand I was clutching, then back at me. He raised an eyebrow.

"Sorry," I said, releasing him from my frantic grasp. "I just... well, I thought maybe I couldn't touch anyone again..." I shook my head. "Anyway, let me fill you in..."

I told my story haltingly. The whole thing was so inexplicable that it was a struggle even to recount it. But the young man listened patiently, glancing around every now and again to ensure we weren't attracting any attention. Fortunately, the staff were busy with other customers.

"All right," he said when I finally trailed off, his phone still held up to his ear. "I mean, if I hadn't seen what you did to that girl, I'd... well, it would be hard to take seriously, is all. Anyway..."

He rubbed his chin reflectively. I noticed that his skin was very smooth. He looked around at the doorway leading out of the back of the shop, which was nearby. "And you still can't get out, yeah?"

I went and tried. As before, it was as if some invisible force field was stopping me from going through. I shrugged helplessly. "It's no use, I seem to be stuck." The words almost caught in my throat.

The young man looked warily behind him, then walked up to me and gave me a quick hug, his face radiating concern.

"Don't worry -- oh, I'm sorry, I don't know your name. I'm Martin, by the way. Listen, I'm sure there's got to be a way to get you out of here..."

Once again, I had to work hard to keep the tears at bay. "Thanks, I really appreciate the help, believe me." Swallowing, I added "I'm Ryan."

Or at least, that's what I tried to say. My name seemed to elongate, as if an extra syllable or two had somehow forced their way in there. I shook my head in irritation, cleared my throat and tried again. "Ryan." Once more it didn't come out as I intended.

My white knight gave me a funny look, as if he'd misheard me. "Well, er, Rynan -- it seems like maybe you were getting somewhere with the..." -- he gestured at my unlikely apparel -- "you know, clothes. So maybe it's just the makeup that's the problem?"

He pursed his lips. "Your face is a bit of a mess, if you don't mind me saying so."

I felt a hot flush on my cheeks. "Well it's not as if I I've done it before," I said defensively. "Maybe you could -- I don't know, bring me a book or something that could show me what to do? Only I still wouldn't be able to see what I'm doing..."

Martin made a sympathetic face. "Yeah, it's a problem, isn't it? But I still think getting your makeup right might be the answer... Listen, I've got an idea. I'm just going to pop out for a little while." He held up his hand to forestall my objection. "I promise I'll come back, okay?"

Before I could say anything further, he patted me on the arm, then strode off. I saw him exchange a few words with one of the store employees, before hurrying off. As the front door closed behind him, I felt my heart sink. What were the chances of him returning, I wondered?

In fact he was away for just under an hour, although it seemed like an eternity. My heart leapt and I nearly cheered when he walked through the door.

He strode towards a rack of corsets and started looking through them. He shot me a quick glance and surreptitiously beckoned me to join him. When I did so, he looked around to check that nobody could hear, then said very quietly "Go wait for me in the cubicle, the one on the left. I'll be there in a couple of minutes, okay?"

I opened my mouth to ask for an explanation, but something in his determined expression changed my mind. So I simply nodded and did as he had suggested. Soon enough he joined me, locking the cubicle door behind him and dropping a sizeable pile of lingerie onto a chair. Fortunately, this was a pretty high-end store and the space was enough for us both to fit in without being on top of one another.

I looked at the clothing Martin had brought in with him. I hadn't noticed any men's underwear in the shop -- and the items he had with him looked way too feminine anyway. "Hang on," I said, "what -"

He cut me off. "Later, okay?" His expression was unreadable, but I had the impression he might be a touch embarrassed. Not that I wasn't, of course, dressed the way I was in black lacy underwear. It occurred to me that Martin had been strangely accepting of my attire...

But any further thoughts about that were driven from my mind as he hung up his coat and started pulling various items from the pockets.

"Here, hold these," he said, thrusting some jars and brushes into my hands. They were clearly makeup products, but I didn't recognise most of them. I looked closely at one of them. "Clown pink -- what on earth's that?" I asked.

"Beard cover," he replied distractedly. "It helps hide your stubble." I rubbed my chin reflexively. I didn't tend to grow facial hair very fast -- or indeed convincingly enough to sport a beard. But my face was still a little rough -- though not as much as I might have expected given how long it had been since my last shave. Yet another curious effect of my captivity...

My introspection was abruptly cut short by Martin's urgent whisper. "Come on," he said, "I can't stay in here too long. I'm going to have to work fast. Just do as I say, and no more talking, right?" He held up a finger to his lips.

I nodded. The music piping through the shop was probably loud enough to conceal his voice, but it would be better not to take the chance.

He started by using a wet wipe to clean my previous -- and clearly unsuccessful -- attempts at makeup off my face, then gave me a handkerchief to dry it.

Working quickly, he applied a thick layer of pink cream to my lower face and neck, smoothing it in so that it covered my light stubble. Then, using a sponge, he covered the same area and the rest of my face with what I assumed must be some sort of foundation. This was followed by some further work on my cheeks. He took a pace back, gave me an inspection, then with a satisfied nod picked up some eyeshadow.

As Martin resumed his work, I marvelled at how confident he seemed, and how swiftly he was working. Maybe he had a job in the theatre or something? After finishing work on my eyelids, he took a dark pencil and, gesturing for me to look up at the ceiling, traced a line around the inside rim of each of my eyes. It was hard not to blink, and my eyes misted over with tears, but I managed to keep them open.

Then it was on to my lips. For the second time in my life -- and the second time in the last 24 hours -- lipstick was applied to my mouth. The taste was not totally unfamiliar -- I had experienced it before when kissing Caroline -- but this was very different. The feeling as Martin coated my lips was almost... sensuous. Disturbingly, I felt my cock twitch again inside my panties.

As Martin finished applying the lipstick, I heard two things, almost simultaneously. A voice outside the cubicle called "Are you all right in there, sir?" And in the air around me, there was another noise -- but this time not a rustle.

For a moment, I couldn't work out what it was. And then I had it -- it was the smack that lips make when they are pressed together, then quickly pulled apart. A smack of appreciation...

Startled, I looked at Martin, who had once again stepped back to inspect his handiwork, a faint smile on his face. He gave no sign that he had heard the smacking sound. I opened up my mouth, but again he held up a hand to forestall me. "I'll just be a minute," he called, motioning to me at the same time to turn around. I did so -- and caught sight of my reflection.

My jaw dropped... and so did that of the woman in the mirror. For a moment I felt disoriented, as if some random female had walked in through the back of the cubicle, without Martin or I noticing. But then reason reasserted itself -- or as much as it could do in this crazy situation.

There before me was a woman in black lingerie, standing awkwardly in her heels, her pretty face marred only by the gawping expression it was presently wearing.

The face was barely recognisable as my own, the eyes seeming much wider and the shape of the cheekbones subtly but noticeably different. The tousled mop of dark-brown hair was the same, yet it seemed somehow to be a naturally feminine cut, especially now framing my painted eyes and the bright crimson slash of my mouth.

Oh, that mouth... I had always had full, generous lips, but these were so inviting, so... sexy. Involuntarily, I licked them. The taste of the lipstick sent another jolt through my groin. In fact, I was starting to get really aroused by the impossibly attractive sight of myself as a woman.

How on earth could I look that good? Or was it somehow an illusion, a... what was that term fantasy writers always seemed to use? A "glamour," that was it. Well I was certainly glamorous all right -- or I seemed to be.

Almost gasping, I tore my eyes off the reflection and turned to find that Martin was picking up the assorted garments he'd brought into the cubicle. There was no sight of the makeup -- he must have tidied it all away while I was inspecting myself.

With a start, I realised that something else had changed about me, apart from the obvious -- I was fully visible again in the mirror. "Hey," I said excitedly, "did you see -"

He cut me off. "Yes," he whispered. "I'll meet you by the front door, alright? I'd better go and buy something after being in here all this time..." With that, he grabbed his coat, wrenched the door open and walked quickly out of the cubicle.

I took one last lingering look at myself in the mirror, then followed him out. As I did so I registered the message that my calves had been trying to send me for quite some time -- that standing up for an extended period in high heels was clearly something I was going to have to practice, if I didn't want my muscles to be cramped and sore. My walk quickly became a hobble, but as instructed I went to the front door.

Nobody seemed to be paying me any attention. When I checked, I found I still couldn't touch or be heard by anyone else in the store. My shoulders sagged in frustration. I'd been hoping that the makeup would somehow restore me, but it plainly hadn't. And yet my full reflection had returned... Surely that had to mean something?

Pensively, I watched Martin walk towards me, carrying a white bag that presumably contained some purchases. I wondered who they could be for and suddenly realised that I was scared. Scared that he might walk out of here and not come back. Scared that I might be about to lose the person who'd transformed my appearance, with so little fuss... and the only person, possibly, who could see and hear me.

He must have read all this from my expression, because he gave me a little smile, surreptitiously patted my arm and whispered: "It'll be all right, just follow me out of the door, okay?"

I shook my head. "It won't work," I said miserably, "I'm still... the same." This time he gripped my arm firmly, while pretending to look for something in his bag. "Just try it," he hissed. "Come on!"

He opened the door wide and, with a slight incline of his head, gestured for me to go ahead of him. Numbly, I inched forward, still conscious of the ache in my stocking-clad calves, but even more fearful of the barrier I had previously encountered. Cautiously, I put out my hands, palms outward. They met... no resistance at all.