After spending a restless night twisting in a sleeping bag on the floor of his absent mother’s bedroom, listening to Molly’s chainsaw-like snores rattling the bedframe above, Liam watched the sun finally break through the thin curtains. But the chilly autumn morning brought no new answers to his predicament. If anything, things seemed worse.
With Uncle Gaz having claimed his bedroom, Liam had absolutely no way to slip in and grab a change of clothes. And even if he could sneak past him, what then? If he suddenly materialised while "Tiff" vanished into thin air, questions would be asked. How would he explain the heavy layer of waterproof fake tan, or the sudden return from a university he hadn’t even packed for? It was a colossal, inescapable mess. Until his uncle did his classic disappearing act, he was going to have to ride it out as Tiff, and he knew with sickening certainty that, with Hannah and Molly involved, things were about to escalate.
That grim reality hit him full force later that morning, when he found himself halfway across the estate, hyperventilating in a makeshift salon. His fingers gripped the armrests of a cheap styling chair, desperately trying to stop his backside from sliding off the slick black vinyl. The threadbare carpet beneath his platform Uggs was mottled with cigarette burns, perfectly matching the peeling wallpaper and the battered, sagging sofa of a living room that had long surrendered to decay.
Surviving the walk over had been an ordeal. Dressed in Hannah's pink Adidas tracksuit and puffer coat, Liam had been forced out in broad daylight for the second day running, feeling like a cheap imitation of his sister. Even with the blonde extensions clipped back in and a thick mask of makeup completing the disguise, the crushing fear of being spotted by someone he knew never let up. His only comfort was that his swollen lips had mostly deflated overnight.
Now, stripped of his puffer coat and pink beanie as he listened to Hannah and Molly outline his fate to Mei—a Thai woman who served as their go-to beautician—his paranoia morphed into sheer terror.
The twisted logic of it all made perfect sense, which only made it worse. If he was going to survive a fancy dinner as his female alter-ego, the disguise needed a serious upgrade: Proper hair so he could remove his hat at the table without looking like a freak. A wax job, because Hannah had declared bare legs "non-negotiable" for the evening. And new nails, because, as Molly pointed out, "girls like them" had to have a flawless manicure. Four of his cheap, press-ons had already pinged off, and Molly flatly refused to spend her evenings glueing them back on.
He understood the necessity of it all. But as he sat there, waiting for the torture to begin, Liam seriously debated whether a brutal hiding from Uncle Gaz might actually be less painful than what Mei was about to do to him.
"This very big job," Mei said, shaking her head as she surveyed Liam’s current state. "Cost you big."
"Oh, give over, Mei," Hannah scoffed, not missing a beat. "How many times have we sorted you out? When you landed from Pattaya with no mates and no money, who put your name around the estate?"
"Swear down, Mei, this is literally life or death," Molly jumped in. "If Tiff doesn't get fixed up, she's gonna get beaten half to death."
Mei crossed her arms, tapping a manicured finger against her elbow. "Mmm... fine," she sighed loudly. "But you two help. This too much work for one."
"You’re an absolute legend. We owe ya one, Mei," Hannah grinned, clapping her hands together. "You hear that, Tiff? You’re saved."
Liam remained silent, his throat tight with panic, offering only a pathetic, slow nod.
"I’m the best. That why you come, right?" Mei stated before turning her sharp gaze fully onto Liam. “Go take robe from table, pretty boy, strip in kitchen. We see what we work with."
Liam swallowed hard before pushing himself up. His legs felt like lead as he shuffled toward the cramped, dingy kitchen at the back of the flat. Away from the giggling, gossiping voices, he slipped his feet out of the Uggs, unzipped the pink Adidas jacket, and shimmied out of the matching tracksuit bottoms, leaving him shivering in the drafty room.
Grabbing a faded floral robe from the pile he’d spotted earlier, he pulled it over his shoulders and tied the belt in a tight knot to hide the pink panties and the matching stuffed bra he'd been forced to borrow.
Taking a deep, shaky breath, he stepped back into the main room and sank into the styling chair, genuinely contemplating a run for the front door.
"Okay. We start now," Mei muttered, stepping up behind him. With ruthless efficiency, the dismantling began.
Snap. Snap. Her fingers dug into his scalp, hunting down the tracks of the blonde clip-ins. She yanked them loose, tossing the long synthetic locks onto the coffee table until only his natural, short sandy hair remained. Next came his hands. Mei seized his fingers and, with a few sharp twists, popped off his pink nails one by one, completely ignoring his pained winces.
"Close eye," she commanded. Liam squeezed them shut. A sharp, stinging tug on each eyelid sent the heavy false lashes joining the pile of discarded glamour. Next, Mei slapped a freezing, chemical-soaked wipe against his skin and aggressively scrubbed away the thick foundation, pink blush, and sticky lip gloss.
When Liam opened his eyes, Hannah and Molly were standing there, grinning down at him. But before he could ask what was so funny, Mei stepped right up to the chair and, without a single word of warning, yanked the front of his floral robe wide open.
Her dark eyes scanned his hairy legs critically before locking onto his chest, staring deadpan at the rolled-up socks bulging awkwardly from the pink cups. "Oh... this need fixing," she said, a knowing smile spreading across her face.
"What do ya have in mind?" Hannah asked, leaning in with genuine intrigue.
"In Thailand, many ladyboy need boobs," Mei stated matter-of-factly. "You want quick fix, or fix that last longer?"
"What’s the difference?" Hannah asked, smirking.
"Quick fix just for today. Longer fix last for week or so," Mei replied with a casual shrug.
"Oh, definitely the longer fix. Right, Han?" Molly cut in, her eyes gleaming.
"Yeah, I reckon so." Hannah nodded in agreement.
"Hang on, don’t I get a say in this?" Liam croaked from the chair, horror finally overriding his shock.
"No," Hannah replied sternly, crossing her arms. "We’re doing this to save ya neck, remember? If you don’t want our help, the door’s right there."
Liam let out a defeated sigh, his shoulders slumping in surrender.
"Okay, we do longer fix," Mei declared. She crossed the room, dug through a drawer, and marched back armed with the supplies needed. "Please remove robe and bra."
Despite every instinct in his body telling him to scream, to fight, to run, Liam didn’t. Instead, he sat in paralysed silence and let the women work.
So, with Mei barking the orders, and his sister and cousin acting as her assistants, Liam was subjected to a terrifying feat of engineering. A sticky, pungent goop—which he would horrifyingly realise later was industrial superglue—was painted down the centre of his sternum. Then, Hannah on one side and Molly on the other roughly pressed his pectoral muscles together, holding his skin in a pinched, unnatural fold while the glue rapidly cured.
Meanwhile, Mei wedged foam padding tightly beneath the bunched flesh to round out the illusion and create volume. Then came the duct tape. They wrapped him relentlessly, taping everything securely into place in a way that created a massive valley of cleavage.
The result left Liam completely shellshocked. He gawked down in open-mouthed awe at an unbelievably realistic—and agonisingly uncomfortable—pair of breasts that had absolutely no business being on his chest.
That, as it turned out, was merely the opening act. For the next three hours, Liam was subjected to a relentless, shocking marathon of forced femininity. With Mei barking orders like a drill sergeant and his sister and cousin acting as her eager accomplices, they systematically erased the forgettable young man he had been, replacing him with a hyper-feminised, chavvy version of himself.
It started with his legs. Mei slathered a thick, honey-scented wax over his calves and thighs that felt just short of boiling. Liam’s chorus of colourful, breathless curses echoed around the dingy flat with every brutal, flesh-tearing rip of the paper strips.
"Hold him tight!" Mei barked, slapping his shin as he flinched. Hannah and Molly practically had to pin his knees to the chair, giggling mercilessly at his agony as his legs were stripped completely bare and shiny.
His eyebrows suffered a similar fate. Hot wax was painted below the brow bone, followed by another sickening tear that left his eyes watering involuntarily. Without missing a beat, Mei leaned in close, her tweezers acting like surgical tools as she mercilessly plucked the remaining strays, shaping his brows into a severe, high, tapered arch. As a final insult, she slapped on a dark tint to complete the aggressive, high-maintenance look.
"She needs earrings for tonight," Molly announced suddenly, inspecting his red, throbbing face. "It'll look proper odd without 'em.”
Before Liam could formulate a protest, Mei produced her piercing gun. She wiped his ears with a cold alcohol swab, lined up the plastic nozzle, and pulled the trigger. Click. Pop. A sharp, fiery pinch shot through both earlobes in turn, leaving cheap, silver studs embedded in his flesh.
But the nails took the longest. Trapped in the chair, Liam watched in miserable silence as his fingers were plunged into bowls of warm, soapy water. Once his skin had softened, Mei ruthlessly pushed back and snipped away his cuticles before firing up her electric file. The spinning drill bit vibrated violently against his nail beds, grinding away the oily top layer in a cloud of white dust. Then, while Molly and Hannah happily worked away on his pedicure, the next thirty minutes were dominated by the suffocating, chemical stench of acrylic powder and monomer. Mei expertly sculpted long, ballerina-shaped extensions onto his virgin fingernails, before feeding his hands under the hot, purple glow of a curing lamp to set them into rock-hard claws.
By the time Mei had aggressively scrubbed his scalp at the kitchen sink, painted his natural hair in burning, ammonia-scented bleach, and wrapped his head in a heavy, crinkling helmet of tin foils, Liam was completely broken. His skin stung, his scalp burned, and his chest ached from the tight tape. He felt like he’d been trapped in a torture chair for weeks.
It was at this lowest point of exhaustion that Hannah checked her phone and chirped, "right, we'd best be off, Mols. We need to pick out our outfits for tonight, and find somethin' for Tiff to wear." She looked over at Mei. "You alright on ya own for an hour or so, Mei?"
"Is fine," Mei nodded, wiping her hands on a towel. She cast a slow, calculating look over Liam's exhausted, foil-wrapped figure. "Next few jobs only need one person."
When Hannah and Molly finally returned to the dingy flat, their arms weighed down by stuffed carrier bags, they expected Liam to look different. But what they found sitting rigid in the styling chair was completely beyond their wildest, most twisted imaginations.
"What take you so long?" Mei demanded, crossing her arms as they stumbled into the living room.
"Oh my days," Molly gasped. She dropped her bags with a heavy thud and stepped closer, her jaw practically unhinging. "I swear down, that’s ridiculous."
Mei gestured proudly to Liam’s frozen face. "7D Russian volume lashes, just like I give Hannah last time. Three mil of filler in top and bottom lip to match the picture you show me." Mei sighed loudly, rolling her shoulders. "And the hair. Twenty-four-inch keratin bonds. I have to melt hot glue and roll every single extension into his real hair. Alone! I am exhausted. You say one hour; it been three."
"Soz, Mei, we lost track of time sorting the looks for tonight," Hannah said, completely mesmerised by her brother’s face. "You’ve done a mad job, though. This is unbelievable. You're an absolute magician."
Mei waved a dismissive, acrylic-tipped hand, though a smug smile tugged at her mouth. "Of course. You know I am the best."
Through all of this, Liam didn’t utter a single syllable. He sat bolted to the chair like a wax figure, trapped in a state of pure, paralysing shock. His lips felt tight, swollen, and dangerously numb from the needles, while the sheer weight of his new eyelashes and blonde extensions dragged his eyelids and scalp downwards.
"So," Mei said, stepping behind Liam. She gathered the massive, cascading waterfall of blonde extensions into her hands, lifting the heavy locks to mimic two thick pigtails. "Which style we doing? Cut short or leave long?"
"Oh, keep it long, for sure," Hannah answered instantly, still staring in absolute awe. "It's stunning. It’d be a literal crime to chop it off."