Chapter 31

Walking into the kitchens in the lower reaches of his hotel, Calvin could hear the transition from carpet to tile with the click of his heels and waited for one of the cooks to look his way. When they did he gave the string bean of a man, his large nose and dark hispanic were partially covered with a face mask and hairnet. Holding his index he started and stopped talking a few times till his exhausted mind could translate things with his limited Spanish. “Un… “ He paused, giving him a sheepish smile, being aware that Miguel’s English was about as good as his Spanish. “Un café, por favor.”

You work… too much in those heels," Miguel said with his thick accent and broken English. He patted his bony thigh with a flour-dusted hand, his dark eyes crinkling above his mask with a blatant leer. "Woman with body like you no need to work so hard. Is a waste. You come here. Put that nice ass on my lap. I give them pretty legs a rest, eh?"

A hot, humiliating flush of shame crept up Calvin’s neck. A man was openly objectifying him, treating him like a piece of meat, and instead of throwing a punch or firing the cook on the spot, his sleep-deprived, traumatized brain defaulted entirely to the persona. "Stahp!" Calvin squeaked, his voice coming out in a breathy, girlish giggle. He reached out, his acrylic nails lightly slapping Miguel’s shoulder in a stereotypically demure swat.

Horrified by his own reaction, Calvin quickly grabbed the mug the man was offering and retreated to a secluded corner near the walk-in freezer. He leaned his weight fully against the cold tile wall, practically hiding. He hated this. He used to write up staff for loitering in the kitchens, and now he was one of them. Lifting one foot, he slowly rotated his ankle in the three-inch heel to get a fraction of relief before switching to the other foot.

He took a sip of the bitter coffee and scowled. He had blown a massive chunk of the starting capital of Clara’s meager bank account on a cappuccino machine weeks ago just to have something decent in his life on these miserable mornings, and the damn thing still hadn't arrived. It was a financial handicap that had made his time in disguise harder.

His thoughts drifted to the catering gig with Ana tonight, and his scowl deepened with intense annoyance. The work uniforms didn’t leave the premises and Ana made it clear that they needed to match. He was going to have to go shopping and buy a Little Black Dress. The thought of spending what little cash he had left on more women's clothing made his head pound.

"Clara"

A heavily accented voice pierced the clatter of the kitchen. Svetlana, the stunningly beautiful Russian maid, bounded over to his corner. She didn't even wait for a greeting, thrusting her left hand directly into his face for the second time that day. Svetlana was never the type to have a beaming smile and even now where the young woman was practically jubilant she still only had a reserved smile on her face. "Look again! I still cannot believe it!"

Calvin forced his eyes to widen, staring down at the engagement ring. He had bought a fair bit of jewelry over the years and brain immediately appraised the ring. ‘Maybe half a carat, visible inclusions… Standard commercial setting. Less than a thousand dollars, easily.’ He thought.

He genuinely hoped she was and would continue to be happy, but looking at Svetlana's gorgeous face, Calvin’s neglected libido kicked down the door in his mind. He didn't want to hear about her boyfriend or her cheap ring. He wanted her kneeling on a plush mattress, her ass in the air, waiting for him to take her.

The fantasy was instantly shattered by the sound of his own voice. "Oh my gosh, it is so beautiful!" Calvin squealed, pitching his tone into a feminine chirp as he bounced slightly on his heels. He was a man playing the supportive, bubbly girlfriend to the sexy maid he desperately wanted to fuck and it was killing him. “Lana…” He said using the shortened version of her name, that he had heard Lauren use for her, “I’m so happy for you.”

The work day hadn’t been bad, not that it resembled a good day either for the feminized man, but after clocking out it wasn’t done he had gone with Ana to a local Target to acquire an outfit for the both of them.

“¿pensamientos?” Ana asked, looking for Clara’s opinion as she held up a long-sleeved, matte charcoal-black dress. It had a rounded neckline and was form-fitting. While it was cheap material from Target it would give the impression of being tailored through the bodice, cinching tightly at the waistline before flaring out into what appeared to be an A-line skirt. Behind it she held a simple woman’s crisp white collared button up shirt. Shifting the two garments by the hanger she moved the dress in a way the collar of the shirt came up over the dresses rounded neck hole.

Wearing a button up shirt sounded good to him, but the buttons were on the wrong side. “Umm… like layering them?” He asked to make sure he understood what she was asking.

Nodding, Ana thrust the two garments into Clara’s chest so they needed to take them before she let go. “Sí!” She answered before going into more detail. “We can fold the cuffs of the sleeves up over the dresses.”

Looking down at the bundle of dark fabric and white cotton now pressed against his feminine chest, he adjusted his grip on the hangers. "I mean... I like the shirt," he hedged, trying to find a polite way to stall. "More than the dress, anyway."

Ana’s brow dipped into a half-frown, her hands dropping to her hips as she gave Clara a thoroughly unimpressed look. "Please," she dismissed. "Your skinny ass is going to look amazing in it. Just try it."

"I'm not even wearing a corset today," Calvin grumbled, shifting the hangers to emphasize the point. "I'm really not that skinny."

Letting out a scoff, Ana stepped in close…jabbing a finger directly into Clara’s ribs, hitting a ticklish spot between the bones. Cal flinched with an intake of breath as Ana smirked. "Oh, my deepest apologies," Ana teased, her voice dripping with thick sarcasm. "I didn't realize I was trying to squeeze a whale into an extra-small. Now get in the fitting room before I decide to come in there and dress you myself."

Taking a step back, he held the hangers in front of him between himself and Ana as a shield. “You wouldn’t.” It was a statement but at the same time a question. The only answer he got was her leaning slightly forward, dipping her head and looking up to him, making him not just see but feel exactly how serious she was.

Feeling shoehorned into it, Cal went into the changing room. After hanging up the items he brought in, he untied the little bow from the fabric belt of his wrap around dress. Despite being alone he felt incredibly exposed, able to see himself up close in the mirror. His D cup breasts prominently on display in the demi bra. Touching his throat he ran a few fingers down his chest between his breasts then over one of them, gasping as he felt his nipple through the bra. “Are my nipples getting more sensitive? No… It is all in my head. It has to be.” He said, before turning to the side to look at his body from more angles. “Huh… I have lost weight.” He stated not understanding how constantly wearing a corset could have trained his waist to be closer to a feminine hourglass shape.

Reaching for the crisp white shirt, he slipped his arms through the sleeves causing a cool shiver to run through his body. The cotton top felt startlingly different from his old dress shirts, lighter almost dangerously thin, lacking the protective starch he was accustomed to. Though he was sure part of it was thanks to his skin being so much better moisturized and hairless. His fingers moved to fasten it, clumsy as his muscle memory fought the reversed button placement. After a frustrating moment, he managed to secure only the bottom button near his waist before letting out a breath and looking up.

The sight in the mirror completely short-circuited his brain. The shirt hung wide open above the single fastened button, framing his D-cup breasts and the delicate fabric of his demi bra in a deep V. Below the thin hem, his panties were fully on display, drawing his own gaze down his bare, smooth legs to his feet, which were still strapped into his glossy white, round-toe, five-inch heels with a one-inch hidden platform. A confusing flush of arousal pooled in his stomach. He wasn't just looking at a highly attractive woman; he was profoundly turned on by her, and the realization that she was him only made the heat spike higher.

The feminized man stood transfixed, utterly captivated by his reflection. The flush in his stomach radiated outward, holding him in a heavy daze as his eyes traced the soft curve of his own waist and the pronounced swell of his chest. He was so completely lost in the mirrored fantasy that the sudden click of the fitting room latch didn't even register.

The door swung inward, and Ana leaned casually on the doorframe before stepping in. Cal let out a startled squeak, his hands snatching the edges of the blouse. Yanking the thin cotton across his chest, he crossed his arms tightly over his bust to hide his exposed tits and bra.

Instead of apologizing or looking away, Ana’s eyes raked appreciatively up and down his bare legs, lingering on his towering five-inch heels. She let out a piercing wolf whistle that reverberated off the stall's walls.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Calvin hissed, pressing his back against the mirror as if trying to merge into it.

"Nomás checando que no te hayas quedado embobado con tu reflejo como un pájaro menso," Ana replied, crossing her arms, completely unbothered by Clara’s panic. "I’ve been calling your name for two minutes, Clara. I figured you were still alive because I could hear you in here talking to yourself."

Cal just stared at her blankly. “Did you call me a dumb bird?” he asked, only picking up a fraction of what she said. Picking one leg up off the ground, he tried to cover his groin with his knee, unsure if his arousal that had been distracting him was showing at all. Additionally, his mind drew a complete blank on what he could have possibly been saying out loud to himself just seconds before.

Not missing a beat. Ana stepped directly into his personal space, she reached out and lightly tapped the tip of his nose. "Boop."

Blinking, Calvin would have taken a step backwards if he wasn’t already pressed up against the mirror as his long lashes fluttered utterly derailed by the gesture as her smirk deepened.

"You are precious, but we really need to work on your vocab," Ana said, shaking her head in mock pity. "No, flaquita." Switching back to English, she clarified, "I didn't call you a dumb bird. I said I was making sure you didn't get mesmerized in the mirror like one."

Before Cal could process the correction or formulate a defense, Ana reached forward and slapped his hands away from where they were clutching the blouse closed.

"Hey!" he called out before Ana cut off his rebuke.

"Stop being so fussy, it's just us girls here," she scolded lightly, her nimble fingers immediately taking over the buttons of the blouse. She secured the next few in rapid succession, completely ignoring his flustered rigidity and the way he kept shifting awkwardly.

Once the blouse was buttoned all the way up minus the top button at the collar, she paused. Stepping back just enough to reach the frame, she pulled the changing room door shut, the latch clicking with a sharp sense of finality that sealed them both in the cramped space. Without missing a beat, she plucked the little black dress off its hook and thrust the hanger directly into Clara's hands.

A few minutes later he was standing in front of the mirror wearing the layered clothing. Hating himself for agreeing with Ana for the look but he had to agree it looked smart.

Clapping her hands together twice, Ana glanced towards the closed door. “Now that we know we both love the look…” Ana said looking at her friend with raised eyebrows but when no argument came she continued. “I will pick the same thing out in my size.Then we will get some shoes to complete the look.”

Looking down at his feet Calvin tilted his foot to the side biting his bottom lip. The idea of spending more money that he really didn’t have was killing him. “My shoes are fine…”

“Really?!” Ana said, only a little surprised.

Rolling her eyes, Ana let out an exaggerated, exasperated scoff. She already knew Clara wore pretty but impractical heels to their housekeeping job. She had already pegged Clara as an irredeemable girly girl who valued fashion over being practical and didn’t want to argue with her over it. Throwing her hands up in defeat, she muttered, "Bueno, a la mierda."

Without another word, she spun around and marched right out of the fitting room.

"Wait, Ana…!" Cal called out, reaching for the door, understanding that Ana had just agreed to something, along with the phrase fuck it, but what she agreed to was a mystery.

The moment the latch clicked shut and he was left alone, the adrenaline that had been keeping his muscles going evaporated. His knees went weak. He collapsed onto the thin carpet of the stall, a wince tearing past his lips as the physical exhaustion of the day finally crashed down on him. The hours on his feet and the mental strain of constantly performing all piled onto his shoulders.

Forcing himself to take a slow breath, he gripped the hem of his dress or is soon to be dressed but still unpurchased he took another slow breath starting his mantra to try to work through his breakdown. After a few repetitions, he leaned on the small wooden bench in the changing room, he used the bench to brace himself as he hauled his trembling body back up. He swayed slightly, entirely unsure of how many minutes had actually slipped by while he was down on the floor.

The door abruptly swung open again.

Standing there, Ana was fully dressed in the exact same layered charcoal dress and crisp white collar. She looked just as appealing as his reflection, but Cal noticed her feet: she was wearing a pair of black felt three-inch pumps.

Before he could speak, she shoved a cardboard shoebox directly into his chest.

Cal fumbled to catch it, lifting the lid. Nestled inside the tissue paper was an identical pair of black felt pumps, only these had a slightly steeper, four-inch heel.

"My… Our instructions tonight is, we have to match," Ana stated flatly, adjusting her cuffs. "And as much as I know you love your taller heels, I am not prepared to break my ankles in five-inch stilettos tonight. You are going to have to settle for four inches, and I’m wearing three. Put them on, flaquita, we have a gig to get to."