Chapter 19

The next day Calvin was picking out what to wear and thinking about the day ahead. ‘I could clean the apartment more… and better to do it when my nails already look rough.’ He thought standing in front of his dresser the drawer with panties and bras open. His hands hovered over the open drawer, fingers splayed to get a good look at the painted nails once more.They weren’t horrible, but now that it had been pointed out to him it irked the perfectionist part of his mind. Pulling out peach bikini cut panties and a matching bra he tossed them to the bed behind him and shut the drawer. He knew most girls didn’t always match the colors but his ocd would not allow the simple thing as if it was chaos itself.

Sitting down, he spread his legs, taking his balls in both hands, he started to work them to be pushed up into his body. Tucking didn’t hurt but it sure was an experience he did not want to relive, but here he was doing it day after day. With his boys up inside of him, he held down his dick with one hand, working the panties up his smooth legs. The simple tuck job never stayed, part of him wanted to look it up to see how to solve the problem, while another part of him said he was a man, it was not a problem at all. He just hoped it didn’t give him away, he would just die. It was hard enough with Moriah thinking he was a crossdresser or trans.

Panties on he lightly slapped each side of his face, looking over to the circular make up mirror on the dresser and practiced slightly different poses with his head along with different smiles. A head tilt to the left with a half no teeth showing grin, the same but to the right with the long black hair tossed back over his shoulder. ‘Clara is supposed to be happy, people want to do things for happy girls. Clara is just an act. Just an act…Just an act, a means to an end. So long as it isn’t my end!’ He grimaced at his own thoughts as this brain continued. ‘I need to somehow accept this insanity instead of fighting it if I want this over with.’ He liked to think he had a knack for sussing out when someone was fake and wasn’t so sure his bulldog Bethany might have sensed something was off with him... With Clara. ‘To get this over with I need to try harder… I guess. I’m Clara, I’m Clara Diane Bent… Just pretend you're in a movie. I live in the state of Hollywood, everyone you see wants to be an actor or screen writer.’

Hopping to his feet he shook his head feeling his chest move. “Undercover boss… that's me. Suffering fools… also me, daily suffering. The payout is going to be worth it though. I can picture it.” He said to himself. Imagining himself standing on a multimillion dollar yacht in swim trunks and boat shoes an open cotton short sleeved button up shirt. Him shoving Sydney off the boat into the ocean as Moriah minced up to him in nothing but a sting bikini and overly high heels. Her clinging to him giggling like a school girl.

“The future is mine… the present is… fuck. Clara has things to do.” He was trying to hype himself up but reality kept pushing down on him in a wicked way. Forcing a smile to his face he let out a giggle, mimicking what his ex wife did in his day dream. “Today is my day off, I'm just so happy.” The chipper tone to the feminine voice was bullshit, and sounded just as fake but he had goals, Cal had many problems, like thinking things were beneath him but working hard to achieve his goals was not where he fell short and in this case that meant being Clara and making friends, along with impressing his head of operations to get into the rooms he needed.

Picking up the bra he slipped his arms through the straps and reached behind himself to connect it in the back, it wasn’t nearly as hard as it once was. It wasn't a great feeling to become proficient with putting on a bra, but he tried to tell himself it was a good thing.

“If I was a girl, would I be happy with how I look?” He asked seeing a fraction of his reflection in the little circular makeup mirror on the dresser. Wearing only the underwear he moved into the bathroom to get a better look at himself. Bosom bouncing as he turned to get a profile view flipping the long hair extensions over his shoulder. “Clara… looks, er.. I look hot. That makes me happy or it should, right? He said asking himself the question knowing that the more he analyzed himself the more he felt like he had somehow got his brain implanted in the wrong body like some nineteen fifties bad scifi movie.

Chopping the air in front of the mirror he set his jaw, tapping his cheek with the other hand, reminding himself to smile. ‘Smile Clara… Clara should be happy.’ He could feel his eye twitching and while he was smiling like he told himself he very much marched out of the bathroom to pick up his cell phone to call the hotline employees were to use when calling in sick. It was a messaging service so thankfully he at least didn’t need to sound chipper as someone misgendered him.

“Hey! This is Clara Bent. I’m not calling out, today is my day off! But… but I wanted to say I can cover for anyone that did call out. Today or any other!”

After leaving the message, he tossed the cheap phone to the wobbly kitchen table and finally got dressed for the day. Part of him wanted the phone to ring, to be called in. It would bring him closer to his goal or perhaps with a stroke of luck he would get the answers he needed to end it all. Another part of him loathed the idea of going back into is hotel, mincing around and cleaning like a servant when he was the fucking master… one of the owners. With more than a little indecision and a great amount of second guessing himself, Calvin ended up sitting at his little kitchen table dressed for the day. He repeated the look he had worn to the dmv, remembering being told how he would have to put together his own outfits in the future.

Calvin wore the same white button-down blouse with three-quarter sleeves, and a snug collar, or at least it would have been if it wasn’t undone down to the godforsaken cleavage of his D cups. This topped a very short, black pleated skirt. The outfit was accessorized the same way it had allowing him to not actually have to decide on what to do and allowing his cognitive dissonance to blame the outfit once more on Moriah, going with three thin gold bangles on one wrist, a tiny watch on the other, and those same unfamiliar, heavy swinging earrings. It all still felt revealing. Under it all he kept his original choice of the peach colored underwear, not wanting to change and having to make a new choice. One of the horrible things done to him also made getting ready easier, the microblading to his eye brows kept them thinly arched, the semi-permanent eyeliner, the eyelash extensions and the lip dye. It all was not supposed to be actually permanent but to his ego it might as well have been.

Slumping in the cheap wooden chair, he immediately winced the chair wasn't exactly built for comfort, and neither was his outfit. Swiveling his head, feeling the long hair and the earring move as he did he didn;t expect to see anything different in the room it was more for confirmation. The closest thing to a comfortable place to sit in the shithole was the bed. ‘Okay, okay... okay." he thought, dropping his head into his hands. ‘No, I’m just delaying this. Moriah’s bullshit mantra... she might have been onto something.’

He had done so much, been through so much suffering for this bullshit insane plan and it would all be for nothing if he raised suspicions. If he was going to offer to take extra shifts to achieve his goal he needed no one to ever have any doubts about himself… about Clara. ‘This whole nightmare will not be for nothing!’ He pulled his face from his hands and sat up straight.

"I can't..." His voice cracked, dropping an octave into a harsh, raspy growl. "I just fucking can't let my suffering be for nothing. I will fucking buy that yacht!" Closing his eyes, he felt the length and weight of his extended lashes as he inhaled slowly through his nose, letting the air fight against the compression garments pulling on him like the bra and exhaled through his mouth. He then did it again. ‘Focus. You are a man's man. A captain of industry doing what needs to be done.Shit.. that isn’t helping this be easier.’

"I believe in manicures," he started, the words tasting like ash. "I believe in overdressing. I believe in pink..." He choked on the words. It felt like a fundamental betrayal of his own soul. He was a man. He ran a company. He didn't believe in pink. The sheer frustration boiled over, and with a guttural grunt, he slammed his hand down hard on the tabletop.

Smack.

He looked down at his hand, expecting to see a white-knuckled fist of masculine rage. Instead, his eyes locked onto slender fingers tipped with sculpted glossy nails resting against the cheap laminate wood that were still looking less than perfect and it only increased his frustration. Not only that they were blemished but that it even bothered him that they were.

"Fuck!" he hissed, pushing away from the table. Shooting to his heeled feet, he didn't even wobble from the sudden movement in the god awful stilettos. He then began to pace the tiny length of the apartment, desperately trying to walk off the suffocating dysphoria. But he couldn't stride. He had to mince. And with every angry step, the stiletto heels struck the hardwood.

Click-clack. Click-clack. Click-clack.

The sound was a mockery. A taunt to his manhood that only reminded him of the goal he was trying to achieve with the mantra. Cal squeezed his eyes shut, his chest… his breasts heaving in the bra. Feeling it the man who felt like a prisoner in his own body let out a long, defeated groan. "I believe..." he forced through gritted teeth, resuming his pacing. "I believe in primping at leisure. I believe in wearing lipstick..."

“STOP BEING A PUSSY AND DO IT!!!’ He raged at himself before finally saying the mantra in its entirety and pledged to repeat it as often as he needed till this was over. "I believe in manicures, I believe in overdressing, I believe in pink, I believe in primping at leisure, and I believe in wearing lipstick. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner aside from kissing, and I do believe in kissing, I believe in kissing, a lot. I believe in being strong when everything else seems to be going wrong. I believe the happiest girls are the prettiest girls. I believe tomorrow is another day, and it’s a wonderful day for me to be a happy, pretty girl."

Despite his inner turmoil he repeated the disgusting words several times before pacing back over to the table to pick up the phone. He didn;t expect to see a missed call or text message but he hoped and with it confirmed he held out his hand, snapping a photo of the nails that needed work. He then sent the image to the head of is security.

Clara: My fingers shoudnt look like this but if they have to then it costs money to maintain and I don’t have any

Sydney: Aww… You worried about your pretty nails? <laughing emoji>

Clara: Fuck you!

Sydney: I dont think of you that way, but interesting to know you think of me like that <laughing emoji>

Gripping the phone tightly Calvin wanted to smash it on the floor or better in the asshole's face, but he needed something from him and he knew from his own relaxing days getting manicures and pedicures that the forty bucks Syd gave him and the dregs of Clara’ bank account were not enough. He enjoyed the experience in the past, thinking most men were stupid to deny themself the relaxation of looking properly groomed, but he also knew it would be different now. Looking back to the phone, the feminized man went back to texting a feat harder then it once was thanks to the very nails he needed to get fixed.

Clara: Are you going to help me or not? I swear if you say no…

Sydney: You will do what? <laughing emoji>

“That puta,” Cal said using one of the spanish words that stuck in his head. “Mocking me and using the same emoji over and over again.”

Clara: That rumor of us being a thing can get a lot worse if I come in on my day off and make a scene

Clara: Maybe I had a dream you cheated on me and Im spanish so I have to have a temper.

Sydney: dick

Sydney: Fine go get your nails done girl. Text me the places name and I will call them to pay

Clara: I win!

Sydney: Did you?

The question irked Calvin, he got what he wanted but in doing so he was about to get his girly nails redone. “A Pyrrhic victory is still a victory…” He told himself.