GIRLIFIED: 15 BOOKS MEGA BUNDLE

by Nikki Crescent

  But Ernie tried not to think about that. He didn’t have to accept any more of M. Maker’s requests if he didn’t want to. All he had to do was pass on the e-mail money transfer—was that so hard? He could just ignore the letters in the mail and ignore the money transfers and pretend like M. Maker never existed. But what if M. Maker started blackmailing him? What if he’d secretly been in the bushes snapping photos? Ernie certainly didn’t want his friends and family members seeing photos of him dolled up and flirting with strange men at strange boardroom charity matchmaking events…

  It was 6:00 PM when Ernie’s phone rang. It was an unknown number. Ernie was too afraid to answer it, so he let it go to voicemail. He stared at his phone and wondered if the person was leaving a message. Was it Francis? Or was it just a telemarketer? A minute later, his phone buzzed: ‘You have one (1) new voicemail message.’

  Ernie listened to the message. It was Francis, following up after last night. “I really thought we clicked, and I was hoping we could go on a proper date one of these days—even just a quick cup of coffee, if you’re up to it. If not, no worries—I mean, not that I don’t care. I’d really like for you to go out with me, but, uh, yeah—It’s up to you. I think I’m starting to ramble, so I’m going to hang up now. Bye.” Ernie found himself blushing while listening to the message, though he wasn’t sure why—there was nothing flattering about being mistaken for a woman, even if that was the goal. Men don’t want to look like women—they don’t even want to possibly look like women.

  Ernie didn’t call Francis back. He deleted the message and did his best to pretend like he never got it. He felt strangely guilty about not returning the call, even though he probably would have felt even more guilty had he called Francis back and actually gone out on a date with him, fooling him even more.

  A few days went by. Francis called again and left another message, following up on his previous message. It was a lot of the same flustered rambling. He apparently really wanted to go on a date with Rebecca—who wasn’t a real woman. And Ernie started to wonder if Francis maybe knew Rebecca wasn’t a real woman. Maybe he was into that—maybe it was like a fetish or something.

  And that got Ernie wondering once again if he really did look like a woman in that wig and makeup. He went online and found the Melville Cancer Foundation’s Facebook page. There were photos from the matchmaking event on the page—there were even a few photos of Francis and ‘Rebecca’ chatting. Ernie looked closely at the photos, and Rebecca really did look like a chick. He even found himself looking at the photos a second time, wondering if he’d maybe looked at photos of someone else. But it really was him in those photos, with those dark bangs hanging over his brow. Was he really that convincing?

  It was the next morning when Ernie found another unmarked envelope in his mailbox. His heart skipped a beat as he pulled it out and tore it open right there on his doorstep. He felt the cold chill of an invisible gaze, so he looked around. He stepped into his house before reading the note.

  It was another offer: another five thousand dollars, this time for going on a proper date with Francis: dinner and bowling. Ernie’s gut turned at the thought of going bowling. He was a terrible bowler, and the last thing he wanted to do was bend over in front of a man in a little dress or skirt. “Please do your best to keep your male identity hidden. I’ll send you the perfect outfit as soon as you accept the money transfer.”

  Ernie told himself he wouldn’t do it, but he knew he was just lying to himself—he knew he was going to accept the money and go on the date. Nowhere in M. Maker’s offer did it say that Francis couldn’t find out that Ernie was actually a man—it said ‘please do your best’, but if Ernie’s best wasn’t good enough, that wasn’t his problem. Once the money was in his bank account, it was in his bank account.

  So he went into his e-mail inbox and he saw the e-mail money transfer sitting there, waiting for him. He hesitated before accepting it, his heart pounding and his stomach churning in constant cycles. Another five grand would go a long way—another few months of frugal living. He would have ten grand in his account—which was more than a year’s rent, plus most of his bills. He still needed to find a job, of course, but in the meantime, he couldn’t say no to the extra cash. He accepted the money transfer.

  And that evening, he stepped outside and saw the box sitting on his front step. It was unmarked, like every box before it. He brought it inside, closed all the blinds, and he opened the box up. Inside the box was a black and white striped skirt, which was very short, a white blouse with a pattern of little anchors, a small black clutch, and a pair of silver heels. Also in the box was a little satin slip, which Ernie was pretty sure was lingerie.

  He had to admit that the date outfit was pretty cute—and he was even a bit excited to try it on. He went and locked his door before taking the outfit to his bedroom. Then he dug out his wig and his little makeup kit and he got himself dolled up, even though he had nowhere to go and no challenges to satisfy. He tried out some new techniques with his makeup. He pulled off a pretty decent smoky-eye look, and then he even found himself shaping his eyebrows so they would look more feminine.

  He stared at himself in the mirror for a while, feeling strangely excited as his heart continued to pound; getting dolled up was turning into a sort of adrenaline sport. He did a few little poses and then he grabbed his phone and called Francis back. Francis picked up after just a few rings. “Hey Francis, it’s Rebecca,” Ernie said, straining his voice to sound as feminine as possible. It was getting easier and easier every day.

  “Hey Rebecca—I’m so glad you called. I didn’t think you were going to call back—I mean, not that I didn’t think you would, I just was starting to think that, uh, you know…”

  Rebecca laughed. “Sorry it took so long,” she said. “I’ve just been so busy. But I think my busy week is behind me now. I’d love to meet up with you some time.”

  “Sure. Maybe we can grab a coffee,” Francis said.

  “I was thinking maybe dinner—and then we could, I don’t know, go bowling or something.”

  “Bowling?” he said. Rebecca bit down on the edge of her tongue. She felt so stupid, suggesting bowling. It seemed so juvenile and lame. So she was surprised when Francis said, “That sounds like a lot of fun. I can reserve a lane for us—are you free tomorrow?”

  “Sure am,” Rebecca said. Her heart was pounding faster than ever now. “I guess it’s a date.”

  Francis went ahead and reserved a spot for dinner. He texted her the details and then asked if he could pick Rebecca up—but Rebecca insisted that she meet him at the restaurant. She didn’t want him seeing where she lived—she didn’t want him to be able to find her once he realized he’d been fawning over a biological male.

  Once she was off the phone, she took a seat on her couch. She felt a strange mixture of anxiety, relief, excitement, and terror. She was actually going to go on a date with a man, for money. She was a essentially an escort—a transgender escort. It was not the job she envisioned when she started looking for work after she was canned.

  Rebecca found herself watching a few episodes of a TV show before heading off to bed. She was too tired to wash her makeup off—and she didn’t want to ruin her perfect smoky-eye, so she decided to leave it, and sleep on her back. As she started to climb into bed, she remembered the satin slip that came with the date outfit. She went and retrieved it and tried it on out of curiosity. It was amazingly comfortable—so much softer than her usual pyjamas and ever her bed sheets. So she slept in the slip, even with her wig still on her head.

  That night, she really was Rebecca.

  CHAPTER IX

  Francis felt energized. After she didn’t pick up the first time, he assumed that Rebecca wasn’t interested—either she was screening his calls or she’d given him the wrong number entirely. When he called back the second time and still didn’t receive an answer, he’d given up hope completely—which wasn’t easy, seeing as Rebecca was the first girl he’d truly liked i
n longer than he could remember. So when she finally called back and accepted his offer to go out on a date, he had to fight back the urge to screech like a little girl at a Justin Bieber concert.

  He was excited. He found himself buzzing around his house, counting down the minutes before he could see her again. He couldn’t wait. He loved her stunning eyes and her amazing legs. In fact, he loved every part of her. He found himself on the charity’s Facebook page, looking at the few photos that were taken of her that night. And then he found himself wondering why she’d picked him to talk to, of all the guys in that room. Maybe his luck was finally turning around. Maybe there was happiness on the horizon for Francis.

  He didn’t know what to wear. He thought about wearing his suit—she’d complimented his suit the night of that mixer—but they were going bowling, and people don’t wear suits bowling. So he tried to assemble his most flattering casual outfit: a black t-shirt and a clean pair of jeans. He classed the outfit up a bit by putting on his dress shoes and slicking his hair back with a bit of wax. It had been a long time since he’d bothered to slick his hair back—he usually just wore it messy.

  He was ready for his date, even though his date was still six hours away. He wasn’t sure what to do with his time. He had no work to finish and there were no little tasks around the house that needed done. He cleaned up for an hour, but then he ran out of things to clean. So he tried watching some television, but he couldn’t focus. He couldn’t stop thinking about Rebecca. What if things really work out with her? What if they go on a few dates and things start to get serious? What if she wants to move in? Was he ready for a serious relationship?

  He shook his head and gave himself a little slap on the cheek. He was getting ahead of himself—way ahead of himself. He’d only just met the girl—they hadn’t even gone on a single date yet.

  He decided to head down to the nearby florist to get a small bouquet of flowers—something to set a strong first impression. He ended up spending eighty dollars, buying one of their most expensive bouquets. But it had to be perfect—he couldn’t screw this opportunity up. He couldn’t let Rebecca slip away from him. He couldn’t live the rest of his life with the crazy cat woman.

  He ended up arriving at the restaurant half an hour early. He was tempted to go to the bar for a couple of drinks, to help take the edge off, but he stopped himself. He didn’t want to get tipsy and make a fool of himself, and he definitely didn’t want to smell like booze. So he sat alone at his booth with his big bouquet of expensive flowers, and he tried to count down the seconds in his head while ignoring the strange looks from the other customers in the restaurant, who probably all thought that he’d been stood up.

  He heard the restaurant door opening behind him and somehow he knew it was her. He turned around quickly and saw her walking in, wearing the cutest little black and white outfit. She was stunning—just as beautiful as he remembered. No, she was more beautiful. He stood up and turned towards her, holding up that bouquet of flowers. He opened his mouth to say hello to her, and then he found himself at a complete loss for words. So he just stood there silently with parted lips. He smiled awkwardly and mumbled something incoherent. And he realized his grand first impression was quickly swirling down the drain.

  “Are these for me?” Rebecca asked, taking the flowers. She smelled them and smiled.

  “Yeah,” he said. “I, uh, got them for you.” He felt even stupider. It was a miracle she wasn’t rolling her eyes and running away.

  “They’re beautiful. Thank you. But you really didn’t have to.”

  “I wanted to,” he said. “Take a seat—make yourself comfortable. We’ll get drinks. You drink, right? What do you like? Wine? Martinis? Or we can just drink beer. Do you like beer?”

  She laughed and then she bit the corner of her bottom lip, making Francis’s heart swirl up into his throat. He was completely enamoured. She was everything he wanted in a woman. He could see himself growing old with her, sitting on the porch with her and watching every sunset between now and the very end. He could see himself spending long nights talking with her, until the sun started to rise again—but now, he couldn’t even think of a single word to say.

  “So are you hungry?” she asked.

  He shook his head, realizing he’d slipped into a bit of a daze. “I’m hungry, yeah, but not starving. But if you want to get an appetizer, go ahead. It’s on me, of course. But don’t worry about the cost—just ignore the prices. I want you to get whatever you want.” He made a big smile and felt his cheeks burning hot. He wanted to get control over himself, but he just kept rambling and ranting. He took a deep breath. “I hear the calamari is very good here,” he said.

  “Then let’s get that,” she said.

  It wasn’t long before his anxiety calmed down and he was able to hold a proper conversation. Though there were many moments where he would get lost staring into her eyes, forgetting entirely what they were talking about. She would laugh when his eyes would glaze over. “You’re cute,” she said. And then he felt his whole face burning red hot.

  “Thank you. You’re very beautiful yourself,” he said. And then he watched as her face became red. He couldn’t believe that he was actually making her blush, as if she actually liked him. And maybe she did really like him. Maybe he really was the luckiest man alive. “I think I said this the other night, but your eyes are so stunning. I can’t stop looking at them.”

  “You’re too sweet.”

  “I mean it.”

  Bowling turned out to be less embarrassing than Francis had anticipated. He’d always sucked at bowling and he was afraid of making a complete fool of himself, but they both ended up sucking, and their terribleness only made it more fun. Francis even helped Rebecca toss a few balls, even though he wasn’t one to be giving advice—it was just nice to wrap his arms around her and feel her petite, warm body for a few seconds. Her skin was soft and she smelled amazing—like cedar and lilies.

  At the end of the night he offered to give her a ride back to her place. She declined the ride and insisted on taking the bus. Francis didn’t want to push the offer too hard, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. So he walked her to the bus stop. When the bus pulled up, he went to give her a kiss on the lips—a brave move which took all of his willpower and confidence. But she dodged the kiss and went in for a hug instead. “Good night,” she said, and then she turned and hopped onto the bus quickly, as if she was escaping the worst date she’d ever been on.

  And Francis was left standing there, confused, wondering where it went wrong. It seemed like she was having such a great time. They hadn’t stopped laughing and smiling for hours—was it all fake? Was it not enough? Were the flowers not pretty enough? Did he make too much of a fool out of himself at the bowling alley?

  He went home worried and confused with a glimmer of hope burning warm in his chest. He would give her a day or two before calling—maybe she was just a shy kisser. Maybe he’d done nothing wrong and everything right. Maybe she would end up being his girlfriend, or even more than that.

  CHAPTER X

  Ernie took the longest shower he’d taken in years. He felt dirty, but he didn’t know why. His stomach wouldn’t stop turning because he felt guilty. Francis was a nice guy and Ernie was just setting him up for total disappointment and humiliation. And for what? What did Francis do to anyone?

  Once he was out of the shower, Ernie looked at his bank balance and saw that large sum of money sitting there, all his. He didn’t need any more—there was more than enough there to last him many months while he searched for the perfect job. So why was he still accepting M. Maker’s offers? Was he afraid of what M. Maker might do if Ernie declined an offer? Or was he just obsessed with obtaining more and more money? When he saw those money transfers in his e-mail inbox, it was hard to decline. From time to time Ernie even found himself thinking he could give some of that money to Francis—maybe that would make the guilt go away.

  It was only a day later when Ernie found anot
her envelope in his mailbox. This time he was hesitant to even open it. He knew once he saw the money waiting for him in his e-mail inbox, he wouldn’t be able to say no. But deep inside he knew it was best to say no. He stared at the white enveloped for a minute before finally peeling it open to read the note inside. “Another date, another five grand. This time I want the two of you to go to the baseball game. Good job not kissing him, by the way. Now your first kiss will be much more special when it’s up on the Jumbotron! Call him and set up the date, before he makes other plans. The game is on Friday, and it started at 1:00 PM. See you there.”

  And Ernie looked in his e-mail inbox and saw the five grand waiting for him. But something about the offer didn’t seem right. After kissing on the Jumbotron, Ernie’s eventual reveal would be even more humiliating to Francis. Francis didn’t deserve that—even if he never found out about Ernie’s real identity, he still didn’t deserve to be mocked by this M. Maker character. So Ernie crumpled up the note and tossed it into his recycling bin. He deleted the money transfer from his e-mail inbox and he felt strangely satisfied.

  But the next day, there was a new envelope in his mailbox—unmarked like every one before it. “Ernie, what’s the big deal? Five grand not enough for you anymore? Why don’t we make it fifteen? I promise the seats are good.” In the envelope was a pair of tickets to the upcoming baseball game. Ernie checked his e-mail. Sure enough, there was a pending transfer for fifteen thousand dollars. Ernie’s eyes sparkled at the sight of the large sum of money. Fifteen grand is a lot of money to someone without a job. He hovered his mouse over the accept button as that familiar guilt churned in his gut. And then he clicked—he couldn’t help it. He had to see it through—even if it was embarrassing for him and Francis. He could always give Francis some money to soothe the humiliation—he had lots of money now. He had more money in his bank account that he would have made in a whole year had he not been fired. And all for what? For some master plan that was a mystery even to him?