Womanized

by Nikki Crescent

  So I spent the next week in that house, lounging around on the basement couch, eating boxes of crackers, bags of chips, and cans of beans. I took long, hot showers every day, and I started to plan out my next year: how I was going to make my hut better able to protect me from the cold, how I was going to make my hunting more efficient, how I was going to better handle the boredom that came on those long autumn evenings, when it was too cold to wander around down by the little lake.

  And then, one early December morning, I realized that I’d been so busy planning my life in the woods that I forgot how I was going to survive the winter at the farmhouse. The pantry was empty. I’d eaten every can of beans and every can of corn. There was only a few condiments left in the fridge, and only a cup or two of rice left in the big bag in the Lazy Susan. “Son of a bitch,” I said to myself. Apparently there’s more to survival than just staying warm and comfortable.

  I used the house’s computer to learn that there was a little grocery store just a few minutes away. I had a couple hundred dollars in my wallet: money that I took out before leaving town back in February. I knew that I could walk over to that store and buy a bag of rice and a dozen cans of beans for about twenty bucks—but I also knew that my face was probably on a poster taped to the store window. The cashier would surely recognize me. He would probably call the sheriff, and within hours, the police would be scouring the area for me. And when they found me, I’m sure they would charge me with breaking and entering before sending me home to my angry father.

  But what else could I do? I needed to eat. Could I find another abandoned house with a full pantry? It already seemed like a miracle that I found one—finding a second was just wishful thinking.

  I just had to come up with a way to buy some groceries without being recognized. Maybe I could come up with a disguise. I perked up suddenly, happy with my idea. Surely I could find a big pair of sunglasses and maybe a baseball cap. I started searching through the house. I looked through the parents’ closet, but found nothing but a golf visor and a pair of orange tinted sunglasses that did nothing to hide my eyes. I wanted to avoid attention—I didn’t want to attract it. So I kept searching.

  In the basement, I found some old Halloween costumes. There was a Garth from Wayne’s World costume, with the big glasses. The wig seemed ridiculous, but the glasses were in the right direction. I found a series of girly costumes, including an Elvira costume, with the tight dress and the long black hair. It wasn’t much use, so I kept searching.

  There was nothing in the boys’ room. Everything was too small and too childish. The father hardly had anything. It almost seemed as if he’d recently moved out. Maybe that’s why the farmhouse was abandoned: the father left and then the rest of the family left shortly after. So there wasn’t much there for me, unless I wanted to dress up like a girl.

  I suddenly stopped as the idea pinged around in my brain. What if I dressed up like a girl? There were a few pairs of sunglasses in the girls’ rooms, and there were a few girly wigs in the basement, with the Halloween costumes. I could put on a dab of makeup and wear one of those wigs—no one would recognize me. I didn’t have to speak. I just had to grab what I needed and hand over the money. I could be in and out in a matter of minutes—maybe not even an entire minute if I was fast. And that was the plan: to be as fast as possible; don’t give the store clerk time to realize that I was the face taped to his store window.

  My heart throbbed as I opened up the bedroom closet of one of those teenaged girls. I suddenly remembered the last time I wore women’s clothing, and that memory was now playing back over and over in horribly vivid detail. It took a long time to forget about that awful nausea that I felt when that first car passed me as I walked down the road in that dress. I tried to hide my face when the next car honked, and someone leaned out the window and yelled, “Nice ass!” It didn’t help that the dress they stuffed me in was too short, not even covering my whole tush. After that day, I had a hard time making eye contact with people. Whenever someone looked into my eyes, I would immediately start to wonder if they thought that I looked like a girl. I would hear that name bouncing around in my brain: ‘Slut Boy! Slut Boy! Slut Boy!’ I never thought those horrible memories would go away—but they did go away, after a few months out in the woods. I went months without thinking of that name or that torment. Now, I couldn’t wait to get back out into those woods. I couldn’t wait to redesign my living arrangement so that I could survive through the winter. But first, I had to get dolled up so I could buy some groceries.

  First, I put on a bra. I stuffed the bra with wads of tissue paper, and then I put on a red satin blouse. It was a perfect fit, which was an unfortunate reminder that the cruel kids in my past were correct in thinking that I looked like a girl. The teen’s jeans were too tight, so I ended up squeezing my legs into a pair of black tights. The tights were especially tight around my ass, as if I had a big ass—and maybe that’s what the catcallers meant when they said ‘nice ass!’ My stomach turned at the thought of receiving another catcall on my way to the store. I wasn’t sure I would be able to emotionally handle it.

  But I had to take the risk. I needed to eat. I needed to get through the winter.

  I stuffed my feet into a pair of knee-high black boots with one-inch heels. I wobbled slightly as I stood upright and I took my first few steps carefully. They were actually surprisingly comfortable—more comfortable than the worn-out boots that I’d been wearing for the past year.

  Now it was time to doll myself up. I took a seat in front of the teen girl’s makeup mirror and I started digging through her supplies. I didn’t need much—just enough to make me unrecognizable. I still planned on wearing the big sunglasses, but I needed to make sure my bases were covered. I used a bit of eyeliner and a bit of eye shadow, to give myself a girlier look. Then I used some eyebrow filler and a touch of blush to enhance the effect. Finally, I put on a touch of red lipstick, just to draw the attention away from my eyes.

  I looked at myself in the mirror, and then I looked away quickly, suddenly feeling nervous. I really did look like a girl—with very little effort. I always told myself that it was just a phase that I would grow out of. I thought I would have a growth spurt and masculinity would hit me hard, but after years of waiting, I still looked like the same ‘Slut Boy’. In fact, I looked girlier now than ever before.

  And for once, that was a good thing. I needed a good disguise, and now I had one. I put on a fitted white parka and I stuffed my cash into the pocket. I took a deep breath and looked out at the road. “Here goes nothing,” I said, using my best girly voice—getting a bit of practise in, just in case I needed to speak with the store clerk during my quick shop.

  I grabbed the handle and looked at my reflection in the door window for one last second. That big pair of feminine eyes stared back at me. “You can do this.” I closed my eyes and then I pushed the door open.

  CHAPTER III

  The air felt warmer on that December morning, even though the Internet said the temperature was much colder than it had been. Maybe it was the lack of wind, or maybe that stylish white parka did a better job of insulating than my rugged old coat. I walked out to the road, wobbling a little bit as I was still getting used to the tall heels. I nearly slipped on a patch of ice. Instead of bracing for a fall, I grabbed my head with both hands, making sure my wig didn’t slip off to reveal my boyish hair underneath—even though no one was around.

  The map on the Internet made the walk appear much shorter than it was. The grocery store was just supposed to be at the next intersection, but it over a whole mile before the next intersection. But that was fine: I needed some time to get used to the heeled boots anyway, and it was some extra time to practise my high, soft voice. “Hi there. How are you today?” was one of the phrases I kept repeating. “I’ll pay cash. Thank you. I’d like to pay with cash… Is cash okay?” I had no idea if I sounded good or not. Though I had a feeling that I sounded okay, seeing as the bullies in high school would make
fun of my natural voice, saying I sounded like a girl.

  I heard a rumbling behind me. I looked back and saw a truck headed my way, from way back in the distance. I froze and tried to tell myself not to panic. I had a disguise on—no one would recognize me. I was just an ordinary town citizen going out to buy groceries.

  But no matter how hard I tried, I still ended up panicking. From far away, I recognized the rack on the top of the truck. It was the sheriff’s truck. What if he was out looking for me? What if he’d been looking for me since he watched me dive into the bushes? My heart was pounding and sinking quickly down into my stomach. I needed to get out of the way. I couldn’t let him see me.

  So I ran across the ditch towards a little wooded area. I went to hop over a log, but I ended up tripping, still not quite agile enough in those heeled boots. I fell to the ground with a loud thump. The sunglasses fell off of my face and broke into pieces on the ground. But instead of picking up the bits, I kept scrambling, desperate to hide before the sheriff spotted me. What if he already spotted me? Now I looked suspicious. Now he had a reason to stop his car and hunt me down. Why did I run? Why didn’t I just stay on the road? I could have just given him a casual smile and that could have been enough. Now he was going to find me and haul me off to jail. The humiliation was going to be too much to handle. And of course he would tell his son all about it: ‘You know that kid who broke your nose? I found him dressed like a girl! He dressed himself up!’ I could already hear the roar of laughter in my head.

  The truck didn’t slow down as it drove by. I looked back at it and saw that it wasn’t the sheriff—just a similar model of truck with a similar roof rack. The driver was an old man who probably didn’t even notice my embarrassing tumble into the woods.

  I pulled myself to my feet and carried on towards the grocery store. Now I didn’t have a pair of sunglasses to hide my eyes—but it didn’t matter; maybe it was even for the best. I had the eyeliner and the eye shadow, and that was probably enough, as long as I didn’t stare into anybody’s eyes for too long.

  My heart started pounding again as I approached the little grocery store. My hands were trembling ferociously as I reached for the door handle. I stepped inside and saw the young man playing around with his phone behind the counter. “If you need help finding something, let me know,” he said without looking up. I could hear the sound effects of whatever game he was absorbed in. I grabbed a basket and headed straight for the canned goods. I grabbed a dozen cans of beans, a few cans of corn, and a large bag of beef jerky.

  Then I looked around, making sure I had enough food to last me at least a couple of weeks. I knew I could survive off of very little. One can of beans would last me two days—maybe more if I didn’t expend too much energy—and I didn’t plan to. I planned on spending the next few months in a state of near-hibernation, like a bear.

  I took my haul up to the counter, keeping my head down. I pushed it towards the young man, who was still occupied with his game. I didn’t want to use my voice, but I didn’t have his attention, so I had no choice. Instead of saying anything, I cleared my throat. He looked up slowly. “That all?” he asked, looking at my many cans of beans. “Making some chilli or something?”

  I nodded my head and forced a smile. I looked at him for a quick second, just long enough to vaguely recognize him. I think we went to high school together. He was either in the grade above me or below me. I think his name was Kyle.

  He started ringing my cans through. Then he looked up at me and said, “How’s your day going?”

  I nodded my head. There was a lump in my throat, preventing me from replying. I bit down on my tongue and managed to force another smile.

  Then he said, “Hey—I know you.”

  My heart stopped beating momentarily. I looked into his eyes and he was looking into mine. A big smirk crossed his face and I immediately regretted leaving that house. Why didn’t I just stay inside? Why couldn’t I just live off of ketchup and mustard for the next few months? Or there was that can of cranberry sauce; I hated cranberry sauce, but I hated this moment even more. Was I really that easy to recognize? Was my disguise really so bad? Maybe I didn’t look like a chick. Maybe I had just deluded myself after years of emotional abuse. And was that a good thing? Generally speaking, yes—but right now? Right now, I wished that I looked as feminine as a Victoria’s Secret model.

  He started laughing. I took a half step back, ready to bolt out that door, leaving everything behind. I wouldn’t even go back to the farmhouse—I would just head straight for the woods. I would go back to my hut and endure the cold. I would try to find a rabbit to kill and eat, and if I found nothing and died, then so be it. Dying wouldn’t be as bad as this torment.

  “Well? Don’t you recognize me?” he said.

  I shook my head, still unable to speak.

  “Last week? We were at that party. You did that keg stand. Then we got those tabs of ecstasy and spent the rest of the night making out. You’re telling me you don’t remember that?” His eyes narrowed. “Wait. Shit—no, that wasn’t you. Do you have a sister? Man—this girl looked just like you. Maybe a couple years younger—not that you look old or anything. She had the same eyes. Sorry. Am I freaking you out?”

  I did have a sister and I hadn’t seen her in almost a year. I really hoped that he wasn’t talking about my sister, because my sister and me really did look quite a bit alike. Come to think of it, her hair was the same colour as the wig I now had on my head. I suddenly had the urge to reach across the counter to strangle the young cashier, but I fought that urge back. “Maybe my cousin,” I said with a soft gentle voice.

  “Do you have her number? I never got it, but I meant to,” he said.

  I smiled. “Sorry, no.”

  “Lame.” He finished ringing all of the items through. “That’ll be twenty-two bucks and fifty-two cents.” I reached into my pocket to grab my cash, but my pocket was empty. My heart skipped a beat. I reached into my other pocket, and then I started reaching into pockets that I didn’t even know that jacket had. Where was my money? I had all of my money in a wad in my pocket. Did it all fall out when I fell in those woods?

  I looked out the window towards that wooded area. The trees were now swaying and the final dead leaves were detaching from the crooked branches. The young man looked out the window to see what I was looking at. “Oh man, look at the wind! I heard there was a storm coming. I didn’t think it would come so soon.” It was safe to assume that all of my money was gone, taken away by the wind, probably halfway to the next town already.

  I checked my pockets again, hoping that money would magically reappear—but it was lost. I had no way to buy the groceries—no way to buy any food at all for the next few months. I suddenly felt sick. What was I going to do? Would I have to break into more houses and hope that no one was home?

  “Well, miss?” the boy said.

  “I—I left my wallet at home,” I said.

  “How far is home? I can hold this stuff for you if you want to run home to get it,” he said. Then I noticed that he was sneaking a glance down at my chest. I felt suddenly cold, as if that icy wind was seeping through that store door.

  “It’s far,” I said. Then I looked up at him. “Maybe I can just take the groceries and then come back later with the money. Is that okay?” I could go out looking for my money. I just needed to find two of those twenties. There were ten blowing around. And if I didn’t find them, at least I would have a few weeks’ worth of food. I could come up with some sort of plan in that amount of time.

  “Hm, don’t think I can do that. My boss would kill me,” he said. “But really—I don’t mind holding this stuff to the side if you want to run home and grab your wallet.”

  I needed to leave that store with that food. I couldn’t go through this risky humiliation again.

  I looked outside again, and then as I looked back, I noticed him looking down at my chest again. He looked up quickly with red cheeks. Were his cheeks red because of me? Was
he infatuated with me? “You can let it slide, this just once—right?” I said. I forced a little grin while hiding my trembling hands behind my back. “Just for me?”

  He cleared his throat. “I don’t think I can,” he said.

  I leaned over the counter and looked directly into his eyes. “Are you afraid of getting into trouble?” I asked, still with that smirk on my face. I had no idea what I was doing. It was like a foreign entity was controlling my body—or maybe I was just acting on pure impulse.

  He smiled and said, “I—I’d like to trust you, but I just got this job, like, three weeks ago. My parents would kill me if I got fired.”

  “Well maybe you can just buy this stuff for me. It’s only twenty bucks,” I said, leaning a little bit further over the counter. I was still staring into his eyes, watching as his face became redder and redder.

  “T—Twenty-two-fifty,” he said.

  “That’s not a big deal, is it? Just for me?”

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  I looked down his body. I saw that his hands were trembling even more than mine. How was I making him so nervous? Why did I have so much power over him? He couldn’t even look into my eyes for more than a few seconds without awkwardly looking away. Was this some sort of female power? Could all girls do this? Were men really this easy to manipulate?

  I stood up and then I stepped around the counter, stepping up onto the same platform he stood on. He was completely tense as he stared at me. “W—What are you doing?” he asked.

  I gently put my hands on his hips. “What’s worth twenty-two-fifty to you?” I asked.