“I’m a man”, thought Brett, “If I want to wear make-up then I can and nobody can stop me.”
He planned ahead, badly. Foundation, lipstick, eyeliner, mascara and eye shadow. But the lipstick was bright red, not a good look with his skin tones. Even that was nothing compared to the eye shadow, a Prussian blue which without blending and skill wouldn’t match anybody’s skin.
The Fourth of July was approaching and Brett decided to celebrate in style. His fraternity was having a barbecue, fireworks, two of the local sororities in attendance. Just the right time to prove he had the balls to dress his own way, show that society couldn’t constrain him.
His efforts with the foundation were patchy but passable, although he found himself washing it out of his moustache with a toothbrush. After that the lipstick, his lack of experience creating a smeared mess. He washed that off, ended up washing his whole face, starting again.
The foundation still wasn’t great but the lipstick was better this time. Not to the standard he saw on girls but he’d forgotten lip liner and anyway, he could wear it his way. He’d bluff this one out, admit he might need some practice.
The eyeliner proved more of an issue. Not just poking himself in the eye, getting neat lines was proving impossible. Soft cotton pads dabbed in water removed the evidence, and Brett decided to skip straight to the mascara. That turned out to be tricky too, streaks of black on his eyelids but his lashes filled out, looked feminine by the time he finished.
Just the eyeshadow to go and Brett went crude, just covering his eyelids with it, stopping at the top of his eye sockets. It was bright and very blue, making the lack of symmetry obvious to everybody that saw it. Strangely though Brett didn’t notice, or perhaps didn’t care.
Brett wasn’t a crossdresser, didn’t want to transition, hadn’t bought any female clothing. He just wanted to wear make-up and was happy with his look so got dressed in matching clothes, a loose blue t-shirt and short red sports shorts. It was too warm for socks and so he slipped on some open toe sports sandals and headed out.
As he entered the yard he saw people noticing him. They were raising eyebrows, then looking away and smiling or laughing. Some of them didn’t look away first.
“Uh, hi Brett,” said one of the Sorority girls, “I thought you were already in the frat?”
“I am,” said Brett, frowning in surprise.
“Oh!”, she replied, “So that’s not a pledge hazing thing?”
Brett glared at her. “Shut up you stupid cow,” he said aggressively, “I choose what I wear. It’s Independence Day and I’m showing my independence.”
That was a bad move. Sororities move together, speak together. Act together. Brett was immediately surrounded, angry girls staring him down and talking over each other.
“Hon, those just aren’t your colours,” was the nicest of their comments, in amongst putdowns and criticisms.
“You look stupid, little boy.”
“You put that on with a shovel?”
“My two year old sister is better at make-up.”
“He does look like a small girl trying on her big sister’s paint, yeah.”
The barrage of scorn and ridicule deflated Brett’s ego. His hurt expression just spurred the girls on.
“Aww, is little baby going to cry?”
“Careful, your mascara will run!”
“It’s ok sweetie, we’ll wash you clean and make sure you get a nice clean diddie for bed.”
The noise and gathering had drawn attention from the fraternity boys. One of them guffawed at that last comment but challenged it. “Hey, Brett’s no baby. He’s.. she’s just looking to experience being a girl.”
Another frat member followed up. “That true Brett? You want to be a girl?”
Brett shook his head. “No, I’m just here to celebrate July 4th with y’all. Back off, don’t make me get mad.”
Another male voice spoke up, “July 4th? But you’re only wearing red and blue. Where’s your white Brett?”
This time a female voice responded. “Oh, we can sort that. Little baby girl needs a nice thick white diaper, and we can replace those nasty shorts with a nice red cheerleader skirt. Won’t you just love that baby Brett.”
“What the fuck are you on?” retorted Brett, “No, I don’t want your twisted games.”
“Good man,” said one of his frat buddies, “I mean, good girl. See ladies, what Brett wants is what you all want. An admiring circle of men around him while she’s on her knees, all of them hot for her, ready to give her a proper facial. Then her face’ll be red, white and blue. What do you think Brett, you gonna be the star of our party today?”
Brett backed off in disgust. He’d been in that circle of men more than once, had no desire to be the object of their lust.
“No. Seriously guys, what’s wrong with you?”
“With us? Nothing,” said one of the men, “Right ladies?”
The girls all agreed. “So what’s it going to be Brett? Diaper or facial?”
“Neither!” exclaimed Brett, “None. Screw you all, I’m going home.”
As he tried to force his way through the circle of girls he felt hands on his arms, an arm around his waist, several men holding him back then, as he fell in his struggles, holding him down.
“Looks like Brett couldn’t decide,” said a gleeful voice, “I guess we just need to make him – sorry, her – red white and blue on her face and in her clothing. Ladies, go get that diaper and a nice skirt, that thick padding forcing his knees apart with the skirt teasing us all will make sure it’s a bukake session to remember.”
As a Sorority member ran to her car to fetch the needed items another one called out. “Bring the rope too, baby Brett here will need preventing from undressing herself.” The speaker turned to Brett and added, “Once the boys have finished with you you’re ours, for the whole weekend. Little dependent Brett, we’re going to have fun with you. Oh, don’t cry, we’ll clean your face. In the morning, when we change your diaper.”