Masculine Makeup Novels & Stories

Lips so full that they could’ve seemed feminine on a different man. On Kane, riding along his square jaw, they just looked sensual. The hollows framing that jaw revealed the deep masculinity of him. Just beneath his collarbone was the solid rise of his pectoral muscles. Ridging to the slight line between which traced along his abdomen, separating his distinct eight pack.

As much as the thoughts caused a hollow depth in him, he felt the relief and the comfort that came with knowing your sanity will soon be yours. Mr Macklemore walked out a small door, from the looks of things would be a restroom. He had the sense of dressing that although looked good on him, felt more like the older days and not of a classic gentleman. He adjusted his tie, fixing it in the middle of his neck before pulling his jacket down its length. A sleeveless Jacket? You some kind of waiter? At least, his shoes are nice. He dipped himself into the seat directly in front of him. Without a word, he filled the two teacups, stretching the other to Andre.

I can feel it. Walking into the back room, he’s there. He smiles when he sees me, but it’s a professional smile, not at all like the sultry little ones I catch him sending my way. “I’m glad you’re here. Your make-up is the most complicated, and we need to get started, plus I want to see the final look. Trish,” he calls over his shoulder as he guides me to a chair. The same make-up artist from last time comes over smiling. Andrew points to my cheekbones. “Masque make-up, heavy blues and greens, think mermaid. Lips need to match. Hair loose and as smooth as you can possibly get it.”

I was getting old. “But still so sexy,” I smirked and finished up the last touches to my makeup. Being a male model meant that I had to highlight the features that a camera could not see. Everything needed to be perfect, which it already was. My chocolate brown hair was shoulder length and full of volume. It was healthy and allowed the light to dance on its surface. My facial features resembled the ideal mould of a man. Even my royale beard enhanced how attractive I was.

A few minutes later, Frank stood in front of the mirror. Frank was stunned as he looked at the deliberately curled eyelashes, the finely shaped eyebrows, and the rosy lips. His skin was originally fair, but when he put on makeup, he indeed had a touch of feminine softness. Especially when Ava's women's clothing was worn on him, it appeared even more feminine. Drake chuckled incessantly, "Not bad, not bad. Except for being a bit larger in size, everything else is flawless." Frank threw a sharp gaze, instantly showcasing the man's dominance.

“At least not cis men like you four. And your friends have almost no hope of getting a woman for themselves…except maybe Don.” “And why is that?” Jake asked. “FYI, woman nowadays don’t like a man who smells like a smokestack,” Alexis explained. “They also don’t like men who drink to excess. That’s you Mister Peppermint. The aftershave does not hide it. One the other hand as far as masculine scents go a lot of woman like Old Spice…so there you go.” The four men shared sheepish glances while Tracy snickered at her niece’s candor. Alexis had always been blunt when delivering facts which was often off-putting for those not prepared for it.

His cryptic warnings were growing in frequency. Now that she thought of them, she wasn’t sure what to make of his warnings. Mason was an enigma. She never really was certain what he was thinking unless they were having sex. That was a no-brainer. She knew exactly what his thoughts were then. But thanks to his advice the last time she wanted to make every moment count. She had curled her hair and then arranged it in an elegant upsweep, allowing a few curls to fall loosely at her nape and down the sides of her neck. She applied light makeup, going with mascara and a pale lip gloss that made her lips shine but not appear overly dramatic. There was something to be said for less is more. The art

Makeup was quick but precise "foundation , a light touch of blush to give me that feminine touch , mascara to open up my eyes, and a bold lip that brought everything together. In a matter of minutes, I had transformed. I looked polished, elegant, and not at all like I had been sweating over a garden just hours earlier.

He was tall, oh God, so tall – easily 6 feet 3 inches of pure, unadulterated masculinity. The kind of height that made my 5'5" frame feel utterly delicate in comparison. A mask, sleek and black, hid the upper half of his face, leaving only the sharp, sculpted line of his jaw and the full, almost bruised-looking curve of his bottom lip exposed. It was a cruel tease, that mask, hinting at a face that I just knew would be devastatingly handsome, an echo of the rugged, dark allure I'd only ever seen in pictures or descriptions of men in some mafia novels or dark romance.

There was a frown on his face that did not leave even though his attention was shifted to something else or maybe to me. I was not offended. Really. I was not offended at all when the frown was suddenly turned into a scowl. I got to hand it to him. The scowl might be ugly but his face was not. The man was in no doubt attractive. Surprisingly, his beauty is that of androgynous. With a midnight black hair, beautiful sculpted nose, lips painted in a blooming color with an artist putting it in much detail and a strong well defined jaw that brought distinction that his features were more on the masculine than feminine.