After a less-than-stellar time at their employer's New Year's party, Courtney returns home with a new drive to prove to the world just how much of a man she -- err, he -- truly is.

If only they can avoid the temptations of cute clothes, cute shoes, cute... boys? And other trials.

###

3. Extra Mustard

Not for the first time, I reconsidered if I really wanted to go through with what I was doing.

The building was intimidating by design, painted a mixture of blacks, dark greys, and electric blues that gave the techno-futuristic styling a sinister air, made all the more unsettling by the building’s almost perfectly cubic shape.

Taking a deep breath, I checked my list one last time before tucking it into my messenger bag (not a purse – us men don’t carry purses) and determinedly walking up to the large tinted glass doors.

The line was short, and before long I was at the counter.

“Welcome to SmorgasBorg, your taste buds will be assimilated,” said the girl behind the counter, pushing up the robotic headgear she was wearing slightly to see me better. “Can I take your order?”

“Umm,” I responded, looking at the menu over her head in mild confusion. I’d never been in the place before, and given my mission the board’s options were less than helpful. “Aah, you have burgers and fries?” I asked her, hoping I didn’t sound too panicked.

The girl smiled for only the briefest of moments before trying to put on her best neutral expression again. “We have three burger options available. There’s the Riker, which is two patties, with ham, lettuce, tomato, pickle, cheese, and our special Delta Quadrant Delight sauce. We also have the Quark Quarter Pounder, which is a single patty, doesn’t have the ham, but comes with onion straws on it. Lastly, we have the Janeway, that one’s our veggie burger, and the combo comes with coffee instead of a soda.”

I grimaced at the menu as I considered my options, and wished I could just order a Bacon Locutus and Tomato sandwich, but alas, my Man Plan required more.

“I’ll take the, ah….”

“The Janeway?” She asked helpfully.

“Hmm? No. The Quark,” I said, frowning. The Janeway did sound more appealing, but I needed a manly burger. “Why would you think I’d want the Janeway?”

“Ah, no reason,” she said, a little nervously. “Here or to go?”

We finished my order and I took my receipt and a standee for my table. Careful not to squeeze the over-full soda cup and make a mess, I found an out of the way booth and slid in, trying my best to relax as I pulled out the plan and double checked it again.

Step 1: Eat a Manly Meal

Got that under control, I thought, already paranoid about what the grease and salt would do to my complexion. But hey, guys don’t worry about that kind of thing, so I needed to get over it.

Step 2: Get a Manly Haircut

I gulped as I read that one again. I really wasn’t looking forward to it, but my normal stylist had agreed to hop in the shop for a quick ‘do when I’d told him it was an emergency, so as soon as my meal was over that was where I was headed.

Should I get something short but neat? Or go straight for the buzz cut? I wondered, the hitch in my breathing enough warning I rejected the buzz cut idea immediately. Baby steps, Courtney. Baby steps.

I looked at the list again.

Step 3: Do a Manly Activity

That one had been more difficult.

I’d wracked my brain trying to come up with something that seemed distinctly manly to me, but that I thought wouldn’t be too much to tackle on the first day.

Woodworking cost too much, and I’d never been much for all the mess and stuff, so that also put working on a car or fishing off the table.

Not that I’d go fishing anyway – live fish were icky.

The only thing that had come to mind I’d thought was really do-able was to go to a sports game thing, but that had led to another conundrum, and that was figuring out what to go to.

I’d settled on a baseball game, only to be dismayed when I found out that there were no baseball games in January. The only thing that really seemed open was football, and manly-man or not, I’d never been able to make heads of tails of that.

I’d kept looking for something, and finally found that one of the local colleges was holding an exhibition baseball game between some of the guys who were there on scholarships and some of their alumni, so I’d settled for that instead.

I had “Step 4” written on the paper too, but nothing next to it, since I couldn’t think of anything else that seemed like a Manly Thing to Do.

Clothes shopping?

I nixed that idea immediately, since I knew the current sales at every department store in an eight mile radius, and there was no way I was going to risk the temptation of a Kohl’s clearance rack on my first Manly Day.

Shoe shopping came to mind next, but that was also a no-go, even if I had been annoyed when I’d searched my pile of men’s shoes and only found one tennis shoe with no match under all the work shoes and sandals piled on top.

At least the black boots I’d settled on out of my closet had a square toe and a two inch lift, and as everyone knows, being taller is always a Manly Thing.

So long as my jeans hung over them, nobody would be able to see the cute pink rose details around the calf either.

I was still studying the list when someone cleared their throat at my table, causing me to let out a not-entirely-manly bleat of alarm.

“Sorry, sorry!” The guy said, taking a step back. “Order twenty-three?”

“Uh, yeah,” I confirmed, glancing at the standee on the table for confirmation.

“Good, here ya go,” he said, placing a black tray on the table in front of me. “Would you like any sauces to go with your fries?”

“Oh! Umm… sure? Ketchup would be nice,” I agreed.

“Great! Uh.” He looked down at something odd on his wrist. “Just give me a moment.”

“What’s that?!” I asked, cautiously eyeing the technical and dangerous looking contraption.

“Oh, it’s my borg blaster!” He said, lifting his arm and grinning. “Except we have them set up as condiment dispensers, ‘cause of our theme. Y’know, ‘set phasers to mustard,’ that kinda thing.” He laughed at his own joke, but his laughter trailed off when he realized I wasn’t laughing with him. “Ahem. Ah, let me just… I really did have it set to mustard. Just, uh….”

He played around with a couple of dials on the side of the thing for a moment, and I was about ready to tell him not to worry about it when--

SPLORTCH

I bleated again as I was rocked back by the goopy impact of what had to be three ounces of mustard rocketing out of the thing on his wrist, splattering my chest and arms.

“Oh jeez, I’m so sorry!”

“Ack! My hoodie!” I complained, waving my hands about ineffectually, since the last thing I wanted to do was touch the yellow mush that was starting to drip down.

“Here, let me help!” My server said, reaching into the pockets on his circuit-patterned apron and pulling out some napkins. “Maybe we can—”

SPLOOSH

“Aaah!”

“I didn’t even-- I don’t know how it went off again!” He groaned, stepping back and raising his hands, even as I was faced by the added horror of a splatter of ketchup across the top of the already nasty mustard.

It was bad enough I was covered in gunk, and worse that I could feel the dampness trying to seep through the sweater to reach my yoga top and skin beneath, but both of our reactions to things had also drawn the attention of the other patrons, who were now watching us with a mixture of horrified and highly entertained expressions.

He started toward me with napkins again. “Maybe I can—”

“DON’T!” I screamed, hitting a note so high I’d swear I heard glass crack somewhere. “I mean… please, don’t,” I said more softly, noticing the hurt mixed with his obvious embarrassment.

How am I gonna get this off? I know guys get messy when they eat, but this is ridiculous.

“I… I’m gonna go get my manager,” the server said, not waiting for a response from me before heading back toward the counter, unstrapping the malfunctioning nightmare as he went.

I was sitting there, my hands away from my body, and still staring at my hoodie in horror and disgust, when I heard a soft, feminine sounding sigh.

“Oh, dear. Come with me, honey,” said the sigh-er, a dark-haired lady who I’d noticed sitting at one of the other tables. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“But… but my sweater,” I said meekly, letting the lady pull me to my feet.

“I know, but let’s get it off you first, and then see the damage.”

“O-okay?”

I said nothing as the lady led me back to the restrooms, which were unisex anyway, though that didn’t make me feel less awkward about her following me into one of them.

“Okay, hon, I’ll work on keeping your hair out of the way while you try and work your way out of the sweater.”

“But I’m not—”

“Oh, don’t worry about it, it’s just us girls,” she said, reaching out and stretching the neck of the sweater wide. “Just pull your arms in, and maybe I can pull it straight up.”

I gave up on arguing with her and did as I was told, immediately wrapping my arms around myself as the hoodie disappeared over my head and straight into the sink.

The lady let out a ‘tsk’ as she took some paper towels from the dispenser and started wiping the gunk off my sweater. “This is such a mess, but I don’t think it’s anything we can’t get cleaned up. With luck, your boyfriend will never know this happened.”

“It’s not my boyfriend’s sweater,” I said inanely, double-checking that the goop hadn’t actually seeped through to my yoga top and feeling relieved to note it hadn’t. “A friend of mine left it at my place.”

“Oh. Borrowed without permission?” She asked, chuckling when she saw my guilty look. “Well, I wouldn’t worry about it too much. A cute thing like you, I’m sure you get out of a lot of trouble with a bat of those eyelashes and a little pouting, don’t you?”

“I… I mean, I try not to,” I said lamely, wrapping my arms around myself again, as much to fight off the chill I felt as the embarrassment.

“But sometimes it helps?”

Unbidden, memories of a parking ticket I’d avoided only a few weeks earlier came to mind, and how the officer had told me he’d tear it up if I’d just promise not to cry. I’d almost managed it, too.

The lady wrapped me in a warm, welcome hug. “Don’t worry about it, honey. It’s just a sweater, and not a very attractive one at that.”

“Yeah, but….”

It’s my only manly sweater, I didn’t say out loud.

In fact, I wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

Thankfully, I was saved from the immediate need by a knock on the door.

“Who is it?”

“It’s Gloria, I’m the manager on duty,” said a muffled woman’s voice from the other side of the door. “Can we talk face to face?”

My stall-mate – who I was embarrassed to realize I still didn’t know the name of – let go of me and walked over to the door, opening it to let in a tall strawberry-blonde woman wearing a black polo shirt.

“Thanks, I appreciate you – oh, gosh,” she said, looking at the mess of my hoodie in the sink. “Is it ruined?”

“Nah, it’s just some sauces, a good wash and it should be fine. I’m Sally by the way,” my rescuer said, offering her hand to the new lady.

“Gloria,” the manager repeated, shaking her hand, then looking over at me.

“Courtney,” I said, holding out a hand to her as well. Once we’d shaken hands, I offered it to Sally as well, who smiled warmly at me as she also shook it.

Gloria glanced at my hoodie again. “I’m very sorry about this. Justin’s a good kid, but you know how boys are around pretty girls.”

Sally nodded sagely, and I found myself nodding along too, if just to fit in.

“I can’t do anything about the sweater, but I can refund both of you for your meals,” Gloria said. “And offer you a gift card for your trouble.”

“I….” I started, but trailed off, unable to come up with a good response.

“That’s fine,” Sally said for us, once again wrapping me in a hug. “And I think that I can help with our little wardrobe issue.”

“You don’t have to—”

“Not a word! The entire reason I’m out today is I’m doing some late exchanges on gifts for some of my nieces and nephews. I’ve got a sweater out in my car that will just look so cute on you!”

“Cute?” I asked – maybe squeaked, as both women chuckled at my reaction.

“Absolutely adorable,” Sally assured me. “I’ll go get it now.”

“And I’ll go get your gift cards and refunds run through the system,” Gloria said, opening the door to the now rather cramped restroom. “And a bag for the hoodie,” she added as an afterthought.

“You just wait here ‘til I get back with that sweater,” Sally said, letting me go and following Gloria toward the door. “We’ll call it a late Christmas gift.”

“O-okay?” I tried to say, but the door was already closing behind both women.

I shook my head and shivered.

Not a very manly showing there, Courtney, I admonished myself. Not manly at all.

And I bet the sweater is pink, too.

###

4. Chocolate

The sweater was not, in fact, pink.

Rather, it was a beautiful powder blue, the kind you see at the edge of the softest clouds, and was made of a wonderfully fuzzy material that felt like angora but I was sure couldn’t be, because nobody would be silly enough to give a perfect stranger a gorgeous angora sweater.

It was a Lulu Cardellini, too – the design was last season’s, but it was still an impressive gift.

It was almost as big on me as the hoodie had been.

“My niece is a big girl,” Sally had explained when she’d given me the sweater. “And she thought the color made her look like a fuzzy whale.”

She was smiling when she said it, which was good, because I hadn’t been able to suppress my giggles at the unbidden image of a beluga whale wearing the same sweater.

I tried to offer her some money, but she’d waved it off. “It’s a gift! You don’t pay for gifts. And it looks better on you than that hoodie did anyway.”

I couldn’t argue with her on that. And it was warmer, too.

But it was awfully feminine.

The new sweater hung off my shoulder, just like the hoodie. It went past my fingertips, just like the hoodie. It had a shorter hem, though, that came in tighter, so rather than falling past my hips it caught just a bit on my pants, billowing out a bit but leaving just the hint of the flower pattern on the back pocket of my jeans visible if someone was looking at my ass.

I took the scrunchie out of my hair and shook the strands out, finger brushing them a bit, and the effect was even worse.

There was no getting around it: I looked adorable. Gloria’s own grin when she returned with bags for the hoodie and my meal, and a refund on my food, confirmed it.

I can still get that buzz cut, I assured myself as I walked out of the restaurant and back to my car, my list clutched tightly in my hand. I slid the bag with the hoodie in it into the floorboards on the passenger side, and my tote and food into the passenger seat itself, then looked at the list again.

“Step One: Eat a Manly Meal,” I read aloud, and couldn’t help the groan that slipped out. At least I could still eat the burger and fries later if I wanted, but for the moment my appetite was gone.

“I’m gonna count it anyway,” I decided, reaching into my tote for a pen. Instead, I came up with an eyeliner pencil, and shrugged and used it to mark through the words on my sheet. I hadn’t liked the color anyway.

“Step Two: Get a Manly Haircut.”

I turned on the car and, once it had finished its happy little start-up beeps, checked the time on the dash.

I still had an hour before my appointment at the salon, but it was about a twenty minute drive away, and I would bet money that Jaime would already be prepared for me.

“At least I can get this done,” I assured myself as I dropped the list and the eyeliner pencil back in my bag, clipped my seat belt, and headed out, trying my best not to think about just how nice and soft the sweater felt on me.

I was singing along to Taylor Swift’s “Look What You Made Me Do” as I pulled into the parking lot behind Salón de Flores, being sure to take one of the spaces near the wooden fence and not the chain link one, just in case I still smelled enough like burger to attract the attention of the dog that lived at the garage next door. I grabbed my bag and, after a moment’s thought, my food, and headed toward the back door of the building.

I had barely started up the concrete steps when the door opened, a grinning Jaime giving me a once-over before stepping aside and waving me in.

“Ey, chica, don’t you look cute today! When you called and said it was a hair emergency I was worried you’d gone and done something silly at a party last night and damaged those gorgeous locks of yours, but this? Is it finally happening?”

“Hmm?” I asked intelligently, dropping my food on one of the nearby tables that made up the back area of the salon, and the entry up to Jaime’s apartment on the second floor. “Is what happening?”

“You know!” Jaime said, bouncing a bit and waving at me. “The jeans, the sweater. You going native?”

“Nnnnngh,” I groaned, trying not to pout as I did so. “No! I’m… okay, let’s sit down and I’ll explain.”

“Bien. Come on upstairs, and – do you have fries? -- I’ll eat your fries while you tell me all about it over coffee.”

“...fine.”

Jaime was his normal ebullient and flamboyant self as he led me up to his apartment, telling me all about the cute ballroom dancer he had been watching on MeTube lately.

“...and it’s just so great, guy or girl, he just looks so happy and so graceful and ooh, so tasty!” Jaime said, grabbing the bag of fast food from me and plucking a fry out of it. “Have you seen him?”

“I think maybe?” I admitted, blushing a little. If he was talking about the dancer I thought he was, I had indeed spent a good twenty minutes only a few nights before watching clips of his dancing on repeat, imagining myself being one of the girls he was whipping about the floor. “West coast swing, right? With the glasses?”

“Oh, the glasses! Yes!” Jaime crowed. “You know, I’ve been trying to get Nacho to buy a pair like them, but he just won’t go for it.”

“I didn’t think Nacho wore glasses?” I asked, picturing Jaime’s boyfriend in my mind. Tall, broad, a bit gooby… but nope, no glasses.

“I mean, he doesn’t, but you have to admit, they’d look good on him.”

I shrugged and nodded at the same time. Nacho in a pair of glasses would have a little bit of a Christopher Reeves Clark Kent vibe, minus the suit. Also, I wasn’t entirely sure Nacho could read… but then again, Jaime had always preferred his man-candy on the dimmer side for some reason.

Sweet guy, though.

“Anyway, enough about me for the moment,” Jaime said, hopping up on one of the stools at a little mahogany bar and patting the other one. “What has you out and looking shabby-cute if not finally giving in to your pink side?”

I climbed up on the stool and plopped my elbows on the bar, pushing my hair back from my face as I groaned. “I wasn’t trying to look cute! It just sorta... happened.”

“On accident?”

“By twist of fate.”

“As it does,” Jaime agreed, not sounding entirely genuine in his agreement.

I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Jay-jay, you know I’m not… I can’t… you know I’m a guy.”

Jaime rolled his eyes back at me. “Says the girl wearing a Lulu Cardellini sweater and Erica Delgado boots.”

“They’re not Erica Delgados,” I objected, and it was the truth – they were knockoffs I’d gotten for a third the price. “And if it weren’t for getting shot with a mustard gun I wouldn’t be wearing the sweater either.”

“You’ll have to explain that one to me,” Jaime said, snorting around another fry.

So I did. I told him the whole sad story, from being mistaken as a girl at the New Year’s party--

“Even though you were wearing wing-tips?!”

“I know!”

--to making my Be A Man Plan--

“Is that eyeliner pencil?”

“I couldn’t find a regular one in my bag.”

“Uh huh.”

--to the mustard incident at the restaurant.

“And they all thought you were—”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t try to—”

“Nope.”

“And the lady gave you—”

“Yep.”

“...Wow.”

I nodded. “So you see why I needed the emergency hair appointment today.”

“Si. Because a sweater that gorgeous deserves better than those split ends. You shoulda been in two weeks ago.”

“Jay-jay!”

“What?!”

I gave a frustrated growl as I stood up, pulling on my hair. “No! I need it cut off!”

Jaime gasped. “Ohmigod! Why would you do that!”

“Because,” I said, glaring at him, “I need to do it so I can be a guy!”

Jaime’s shocked expression gave way to a confused one. “You think a haircut will make you look like a guy?”

“Of course it… I am a guy!” I said again, stomping my foot and fighting back tears of frustration.

“Okay, okay! You’re a guy!” Jaime agreed, walking over and giving me a much-needed hug. “It’s alright, honey.”

I sniffled a bit, but didn’t dare wipe my nose with the sweater, grabbing a napkin off the bar instead. “I… sniff… I just….”

“Hey, I’m sorry,” Jaime said, leading me away from the bar and over to a big, overstuffed couch on the other side of the room. “If you say you’re a guy, you’re a guy.”

I snorted at that. “I don’t say I’m a guy, I… ugh.” I shook my head, watching Jaime walk back across the room to the bar, then behind it to a little refrigerator. “It’s too early for alcohol, Jay-jay.”

“No alcohol,” he said with a chuckle. “Chocolate milk.”

“Chocolate milk?”

“And brownies.”

“Brownies?”

He was smiling as he came back to the couch and handed me a small class of milk and another napkin, this one with a two-inch square brownie on it. “Best fix in the world for a bad day.”

I looked at the brownie, then down at my sweater. “But what about—”

Even before the words were out of my mouth Jaime had another napkin for me, already spread to cover the sweater.

“Umm… thanks.”

“All part of the job,” Jaime said with an exaggerated wave, as he sat down in a recliner across from me and crossed his legs. “Now, eat your brownie and then we’ll talk.”

I did as I was told, even as I wondered just how a simple haircut could have gotten so off the rails.

The brownie was amazing, with big chunks of gooey fudge and just a little sea salt sprinkled on top, and the chocolate milk was to die for as well. Maybe chocolate really was what I’d been needing, because my eyes were dry by the time I was picking the last of the crumbs out of my napkin, not losing a single morsel to the safety net on my sweater.

“Finished?”

“Yeah,” I agreed, feeling a blush rising in my cheeks. “Sorry.”

Jaime made a noise like a very gay balloon deflating and waved my apology off. “Hey, like I said, all part of the job.”

I smiled at him. “Well, I appreciate it anyway.”

He smiled back. “There’s my Courtney,” he said, rocking happily. “Now… can I ask you some questions?”

“Umm… sure?”

Jaime nodded. “Good. First off… do you really want to chop all your hair off?”

I grimaced, but didn’t answer.

He nodded again. “That’s what I thought.”

“But I need to,” I said, wringing my growing collection of napkins in my hands.

“To look more like a guy.”

“Yes!” I agreed, happy he finally understood.

Jaime sighed. “Sweetie….” He closed his eyes for a moment, then stood up. “Come with me, would you?”

“Hmm?”

“Just… come on. Vamanos.”

I obediently followed him back out the door, down the stairs, and through the back room into the salon proper, letting myself take a moment as we entered to enjoy the smells in the room. I’d answered phones for Jaime before getting the job at Hamilton, and I sure missed the place sometimes.

Once I was re-centered Jaime led me over to one of the big mirrors and turned on the lights, giving me a moment to adjust to the sudden brightness before pulling me right up until I was pressed against the counter.

“Tell me, Courtney… what do you see?” He asked me.

We were both looking at my reflection, his eyes staring into my own through the mirror.

“I see us.”

“Yeeeessss,” he agreed, a little irritated. “And?”

I sighed. “I don’t know what you’re asking me.”

“Yes you do,” he said, taking my face in his hands and keeping it facing the mirror. “Look at yourself, and tell me… what do you see?”

I took a deep breath, closed my eyes for a moment, and really Looked.

“Blond hair,” I said. “A bit past shoulder length. Fair complexion. Blue eyes. A beaky-ass nose, and over-plucked eyebrows.”

“A bit,” he agreed. “Shoulda come here and let me wax them.”

I didn’t say anything to that, but went back to looking. “I… I don’t know what you want me to say.”

Jaime nodded. “That’s okay. You’ve answered me. Now, can I tell you what I see?”

I nodded, more than a little nervously.

Jamie smiled at me reassuringly. “What I see… is my amiga Courtney. The one who let me spend eight months sleeping on their couch after my parents evicted me when I came out to them.”

“I mean—”

“The one who dragged me to see every one of the Hunger Games movies with them when we were in middle school and junior high, because they thought Katniss was just the coolest.”

“She is!”

“The one who helped me write a love poem for my first boyfriend, because you had a crush on him too.”

“I mean, everyone had a crush on Taylor. He was—”

“Nah!” Jaime said, covering my mouth with his hand. “The one who tried, as hard as they could, to be the man their dad always wanted them to be.”

He didn’t move his hand from my mouth, but I nodded at that.

“The one who cried when they got secret admirer flowers in junior year.”

I nodded again. I still didn’t know who’d sent those to me, but I had one of the roses pressed in my yearbook.

I’d had to sneak the bouquet into the house, and keep it in my closet.

Jaime removed his hand, but I still remained silent as he stared into my eyes in the mirror, intensely.

“If you say you are a guy, then you are a guy,” he said. “But I think I know what you mean when you say ‘guy,’ and I do not think it means what you think it means.”

“Inconceivable,” I tossed back, and we both grinned.

Jaime’s grin slipped as he started playing with my hair. “You said upstairs that you wanted to get all your hair chopped off.”

I gulped.

Jaime nodded. “No. I am not going to do that.”

“Jay-jay….”

“No!” Jaime said forcefully. “And not because I don’t want to. But because that is not really what you want. You feel like you must, but you do not want it.”

I said nothing.

“So, here’s what we are going to do,” he said, still playing with my hair, pulling it back, parting it, and holding it up in various ways. “You are going to take off that sweater, and I am going to trim your dead ends.”

“...Okay?”

“And when you get home you are going to throw away whatever shampoo you used to wash with, because it is de perros.”

I blushed. “I was trying to—”

“I know what you were trying to do,” he said, cutting me off. “And don’t. You like smelling pretty, so smell pretty. You like looking good, so look good.”

“But—”

“No buts! Or I stop styling your hair!”

I gasped at that. I couldn’t imagine anyone else doing my hair.

“Now, go to the back and take off your sweater, and put on a cape, and we can get started.”

“Maybe just a little off—”

“Vamanos!”

I vamanos’d.

###

Notes:

That's 3 and 4! There are only two chapters left of Courtney's story, and if you can't wait to check them out, then they're already available to read on the BCTS Patreon, free to check out!

All comments and kudos are appreciated!