Making Up

Sitting forward I cannot help but stare at myself in the mirror. The sight of me draws me in, the features of my face undeniably intriguing to me as I take them in again, this face that is starting to become so familiar to me.

It's fading from me a bit, the memory of what I used to look like. I have this idealized version of myself but I know it was only the one I consoled myself with. It wasn't the one that I really used to have, the one that used to be reflected back at me in the mirror.

Still both versions are fading away. I can't remember fully how my eyes used to look, my lips, my chin, my nose. I still have memories but like in the moment in my dream when she put me back in my old body with all of its old aches for just an instant, I'd almost forgotten.

Still...

Still I can see bits of me in her. Still I can recognize how she could be the feminine version of me. Still, in the tone of her skin and the brush of her hair and the blush in her cheeks I can see myself, just a little.

But I was never this pretty, this beautiful, this damn near perfect.

I bite my bottom lip, it's fuller than the top one, and I scrunch my nose in an adorable fashion and it draws a giggle out of me that makes my eyes flash with delight. There is such a liveliness to her, a hope in the way that she looks and the way she looks at me and I don't have to wonder why some people might fall for her. Were I not her I'd be head over heels.

Shimmying my shoulders and rolling them I watch her whole body respond to it. She is lithely and defined, a cut collarbone with nice little divots beneath it taht catch the shadows and a long and almost graceful neck. Breasts round and perky, bigger than a handful and capped with nipples that are slightly puffy and undeniably pink. Ribs just starting to be visible and her tummy not entirely flat, just enough puppy dog fat on her to make her soft and smooth and supple and feminine.

God she is delightful. She is fucking amazingly perfect and when I pluck up the first of the instruments to make her up and get her ready I remember the words that Rachel used before she started.

"You're beautiful already," she told me, sensing my nerves, "I'm just going to make it more obvious."

Accentuation. Subetlty. Not about concealing your flaws so much as it is bringing to light the parts of you that are already there and I know just how flawed that logic sounds when I say that the first element I pluck up is my concealer.

But there is truth to it anyway.

I'm still nervous, hands shaking a little as I uncap and withdraw the little brush pad thingy. I press it into the corners of my eyes as I remember her doing, tapping it in a poor approximation of the movement that Rachel had done before, just a little bit to keep the look natural.

Taking the brush she'd left me afterward and dabbing it onto the concealer to spread it out or spread it in or to be truthful I don't know the first bit about what I'm doing, only that I'm doing what she'd done.

Not for the first time I wish I had access to the internet as I remember it. Something like this whole makeup routine would be so much easier if I did, because if I did then all I'd need to do is search up some tutorials and with a few keystrokes I'd have videos and guides that were specifically tailored to me.

Instead I'm struggling to remember which brush to use with the concealer and which one with the foundation afterwards. Then remembering there was a sponge involved at some point and wracking my brain as I try to remember all the steps to work along and make myself not look like I'm caked in it.

And the fact that I do manage to make it through? Well that's nothing short of a miracle.

But I do.

I spread and set the concealer. I apply the foundation afterward and blend it, giving my face an even tone. I spread it all without using too much and in the process I learn so much more about myself.

Join my Patreon for only $3 a month and get early access to new chapters and nearly a years worth of exclusive content. https://www.patreon.com/SophiePert