Craig had been regarding the regular UPS man with some disdain. He knew the type, the swaggering, sweet-talking ladies' man who told as many lies as a fisherman. Fact: Those kinds of men always had some kind of hang up to compensate for, whatever it might be. Regardless of his mannerisms, Craig couldn't deny that his regular appearance at his library wasn't entirely unwelcome. He was far from an eyesore, at the very least. Most of the female librarians he worked with made ridiculous excuses just to see the dark-haired charmer. Craig was usually there when he came, mostly because he was the one who had to sign for the packages he brought. If he didn't have to be, he wouldn't bother, but that was the pains of being in charge.
Normally, the UPS man's attention was directed at the female librarians; he'd talk and flirt, bragging about what kind of 'man' he was or whatever it was. Not that Craig paid attention and meticulously documented all of his lies for a very quick reminder of why he didn't date often. Really, how often can one person hear about all the black belts someone allegedly has before it's written off as a lie? There wasn't even such a thing as a black belt in belt making… Craig really didn't want to hear about how the UPS man pulled orphans from burning buildings or travelled to Europe; he simply wasn't interested. But listen he did; Craig even knew his name. 'Rick' it said on neat black letters on a bronze nametag, not that he didn't hear it several times when he stopped by anyhow.
This week, however, he was the only one required to be at the library, due to major renovations that were desperately needed. Unfortunately, Craig only had a very small say in what happened in the renovations. Needless to say, it was a stressful week, but on Friday, as always, in strolls Rick with his wide, cocky grin. Craig steeled his patience and willed all of his nerves to be anything but completely raw and reached out to sign for the package, not bothering to look up at Rick's unnerving green eyes. The signing machine didn't come, so Craig was forced to look up.
"You don't talk much, do ya?" Rick asked him with what appeared to be an attempted charming smile.
"Fact: Talking any more than necessary heightens the risk of biting one's tongue off accidentally by about 35%," he said flatly, not keen on being chatted up.
"Ah, I wouldn't think someone like you would have much anything fun to say anyway," Rick conceded with a little shrug.
For some reason Craig couldn't identify, that snide little comment made him bristle, "In fact, I am very interesting, just not to someone like you, who couldn't possibly understand my interests!"
"Woah-hoh there, Pinky!" Rick said, holding up a hand in mock surrender.
There the delivery man had to go and press the proverbial big red button; Craig hated anyone making fun of his eye color, especially cocky UPS men, "All you come in here and talk about is how you're some kind of macho man, I'm positive you wouldn't understand."
Rick screwed up his face in an expression of amusement, "Heh! I used to eat nerds like you for breakfast, there ain't much to understand."
Craig could hear his temper audibly snap, "Yes, you, with your imaginary black belts and your obvious fictional bragging would think there 'isn't much to understand.' You're nothing but a blowhard and a liar!"
Rick's eyes suddenly took on a darker tone, almost like he was the cat who caught a bird, "You think that, d'ya? You really think I'm some kind of compensantin' little-dicked liar?" Rick actually laughed, "You wanna make a bet, Pinkie?"
"As a matter of fact, I do!" Craig shouted, quickly adjusting his glasses that had gotten askew in his rant.
"Pick something, you find out I'm a liar, you get whatever you want from me, but if I win, I get a date, my rules," Rick said with a dangerous smile.
Craig paused for half a moment, jolted back to reality by what Rick wanted if he won this bet. He wanted a date? He quickly gathered his senses and thought about what would be easy to disprove so he'd win. He didn't think about what he wanted if he won, it was more important that he proved this braggart wrong.
"Your black belts, I don't believe you have all of them," Craig said finally, "Agreed?"
Rick immediately put on a stony poker face that Craig didn't know how to interpret. He offered the signature machine to Craig, who stumbled a bit, but managed to scrawl out his signature. Rick gave him the box he was supposed to deliver before saying anything else.
"You have got yourself a bet, sweetheart, I'll pick you up same time tomorrow, to prove you wrong," he said with a little bit of a malicious edge in his voice.
Craig swallowed heavily and realized he may not have chosen the best parameters. Fact: His chances for winning had dropped from a very promising 100% to a dismal 70% according to how steeled Rick's nerves looked. He had solace in the fact that he was absolutely sure that there was no black belt in kick punching or even such a thing as larate. Rick stuck out his hand and they shook on it.
"I'll see you tomorrow then, Craig," Rick said with a funny twitch at the corners of his mouth.
Craig tried not to think of it while he went back to work. This was wholly unexpected, but Craig felt the ensuing vindication, though he didn't like the nagging feeling of biting off more than he could chew.
The next day, no package in hand, Rick appeared just as he said he would. He wasn't wearing his normal brown uniform, but instead a pair of tight jeans that begged to be looked at and a green button-up with the sleeves rolled up. Craig had half a mind to try and pretend he wasn't at the library, but Rick evidently knew where to look for him, even through the din and mess of the renovations. Rick dragged him out from behind some of the old bookshelves with a needling comment about backing out of their bet and quickly packed up the short librarian into his red pickup truck.
His truck didn't have air conditioning, but this allowed Craig to forego any unnecessary conversation. Not that Rick wasn't blasting the radio anyway; Craig swore he could hear him mumbling along with the words, which was kind of cute… he guessed. It was just the radio and it was something dreadfully generic, but watching Rick's fingers absently tap out the beat on the steering wheel was honestly kind of endearing. Craig would be damned if he would admit it.
Rick suddenly pulled into the parking lot of a building marked with the imposing block letters 'MMA' along with the silhouettes of several men in different fighting poses. Craig anticipated this and was fully willing to admit that he did indeed have perhaps one black belt, but the rest were clearly made up. Rick shut off the car and shot Craig a smirk before exiting the car. Craig watched him for a moment before hurrying to follow, nearly falling completely out of the pickup. Rick paid no mind; Fact: this was an inane little excursion and Craig couldn't wait until he won.
Rick held the door open for him, though. Craig was a mite apprehensive about going into a place whose main function was to facilitate violent behavior, but he wasn't about to let that bit of anxiety show. He walked into the building, to be greeted by several blue mats on the floor, all with several brawny looking men in various workout clothes paired off into several circles drawn on the ground. Craig watched them all spar for half a moment before Rick touched his shoulder.
"C'mere and lookit this, Pinkie," he said as he then dragged Craig over to one of the large frames on the wall.
This one was a bit bigger than the rest of them and it had a couple of newspaper clippings on the inside, along with some glossy mid-fight photos, and a stretch of black belts across the bottom. Rick tapped the name at the top of the frame, which proudly displayed 'Richard Ames' in gold letters.
"This is mine," Rick said, needlessly, pointing out each of the belts, "This is my first one, Karate, the second is Larate, the sped up version of Karate. That one's Jiu Jitsu, then Tae Kwon Do, and that last one is a form that I had to develop on my own, Kick Puching. I'm not so clever with the names, heh!"
There they all were, in a neat row. All five of them, which Craig was now staring at with a bit of shock. Fact: He did not know that Larate was a genuine fighting form! Craig pulled his reading glasses out of his shirt pocket to inspect the frame, but sure enough, there they all were. This couldn't be accurate, could it? Craig realized that Rick had forgotten one black belt he claimed to have.
"Fine, I concede that you have black belts in fighting or whatever it is these are called, but don't think I have forgotten your 'black belt in beltmaking,'" Craig said, trying not to sound too frantic about it.
Rick shook his head with a knowing smile and shrugged, "Aww, Pinkie, just wanted you to think you had some kinda ace inna hole or somethin'. I'll get to that, but that obviously ain't fightin.'"
And with that, Rick dragged Craig back out of the MMA studio and back into his awful and stuffy pickup. It took them a bit longer to get to the next place, but Rick waltzed right into a freaking craft store like he owned the place with Craig in tow. He greeted an aging woman at the checkout counter casually and finally made it to the back of the store, where there was a counter with various woods for frames and then several long spools of leather behind it. There was a grizzled old man with a trucker cap standing at the spools, trying to measure out some lush looking brown leather.
When the man looked up and saw Rick, he visibly brightened, "Hey, ya rascal, I didn't think I'd see you 'gain for a while," he rasped in a whistle-like voice.
"You know me, Earl, I'll blow in when I feel like it," Rick said jovially.
"What kin I do fer ya, then?" 'Earl' rasped at him with a grin.
"Ah, nothin' really, I just had a friend here who didn't believe me when I said I had a black belt in beltmakin,'" Rick said, "Do me a favor and prove him wrong, would'ya?"
Earl laughed a wheezing laugh for a moment before looking at Craig who was beginning to dread even speaking do the damn UPS man when he came trouncing into his library, "Yeah, he's right. It's somethin' of a pun we got 'round here, but he's one a' my best students."
Craig managed to swallow enough to wet his dry throat so he could speak, "Forgive a doubting Thomas, but do you have proof?"
Earl thought about it for a second before moving to the counter and pulling out a large binder. He flipped through it for a few moments before turning it so Craig could see. There was Rick's name, just as he'd seen it on the martial arts studio, right next to the words 'black belt achievement in beltmaking.' He paled a bit and suddenly couldn't feel any moisture in his throat. Rick clapped a hand on Craig's shoulder and steered him away after giving Earl a hearty handshake and a thanks.
The ride home was silent, but Craig was still reeling from this embarrassment. He couldn't believe that… that… Fact: His pride was not going to allow him to back down now, lest he be called a coward every time Rick sauntered into the library. That scenario would take place every week, if not more and Craig had a reputation to maintain. Rick pulled up to the library and parked.
"So, I'll pick you up tomorrow at eight," Rick said, positively beaming with smug satisfaction, "There's one more thing though, Pinkie."
Craig looked up at Rick dully. His pride was pretty punctured by now and things weren't going to get much worse for him. Little did he know.
"My rules for this date; a bet's a bet. You have to do what I say when I say it, though I promise I won't getcha arrested or nothing, okay? You also gotta wear a dress, sweetheart, it's Ladies' night that night, got it?" Rick said with a steadily wider grin.
With that, Rick dropped Craig off near his car. He was still in shock, but what could he do? He didn't even own a dress, what self-respecting bachelor did? Oh no, and if he was going to be wearing a dress… He would be humiliated if he didn't pass as a woman… He had to call Catherine.
Catherine was his best friend from college, though they seemed like complete opposites. Craig was a serial introvert, someone who'd much rather stay in and read than go and even think about making friends. Catherine had been involved in the theatre department in college and she was the epitome of a social butterfly. She was also persistent and didn't take 'no' for an answer, which would be why they were friends. She had gone on to be a pretty well-known makeup artist for a movie company, so Craig was never gladder to have her as a friend.
He took a deep breath and rehearsed in his mind what he would tell her before punching her number into his cellphone. He quickly got into his car and shut the door, just in case.
She picked up on the third ring, "Helloooo, who is it~?"
"Catherine, it's me," he said simply.
"Craig! You are a horrible friend, when is the last time you've called me? Why do you always take so long to call?" she asked rapid fire.
Craig winced, not having the patience to deal with her incessant inquiries right now, "Cat, I'm sorry, things have been crazy with the renovations."
"Why didn't you text me then?" she asked; Craig could practically hear the pout.
"I have a problem," he sighed, suddenly unsure of how to explain the situation.
"Oh, what's up?" she said, suddenly the picture of an avid listener.
"This is going to sound really strange, but promise that you'll help me first," Craig said, deadly serious.
"Are you going to kill someone? Are you in jail! Craig, don't do this to me, why are you being so shady!" she suddenly burst out.
"No! I'm not going to kill anyone and I'm not in jail!" Craig said, trying to backtrack, "Look, I have to look as much like a woman as I can, tomorrow night. Can you help me?"
There was a long pause on her end of the line and Craig pulled the phone away to make sure the call wasn't dropped, but it hadn't been. He was afraid she might have fainted for half a second before she started to laugh.
"Oh my god, I will be right over!" she said excitedly and hung up.
Craig tossed his phone in the front seat and leaned his forehead on the steering wheel. There went all the rest of the vestiges of his pride. Catherine better work some damn miracles, or he'd never live this down in all of his life. Fact: He would find out if it was possible to die of embarrassment tomorrow night.
Craig pulled his car into the parking lot of his apartment complex and shakily got out of the car. He honestly hoped that Catherine was not about to make good on her promise to be there tonight and would be asleep right now. The headache of her questions and the ensuing preparations were really too much for him to even want to deal with. A hot bath and a strong drink were the only things he needed right now. He pulled himself up the stairs and into his darkened apartment before being immediately greeted by a tackle hug from a certain blonde makeup artist.
"Oh my god, oh my god! Craig, what is going on? You tell me right now, or do you not trust me? Craaaaig, did you get roped into a drag show?" was the whining string of questions he heard first.
Craig pushed Catherine's shoulder off of his neck and fumbled around for a light switch from his position on the ground. Catherine pouted at his silence, but got off of him and sat on the floor on her knees with her arms crossed while he searched for the lights. They eventually popped on, but Craig almost turned them back off when he saw the death glare Catherine was shooting him.
He sighed heavily, "What?" he finally said, in defeat.
"What. Is. Going. On?" she asked, slower this time.
Craig pulled his knees up to his chin and banged his head against them, "I have a date tomorrow night," he admitted.
After a moment's silence, he deigned to look up at her. Her hazel eyes were obviously smiling, but both her hands covered her mouth. She was trying to prevent herself from screaming, he knew. He groaned; Fact: Every single time Catherine has even gotten a whiff of Craig's mostly non-existent love life; she flipped out over it and went completely overboard.
"Eeeeeeeee! Is he cute? Did he ask you out or did you ask him out? Where did you meet him? Where are you going on your date? Ohmigawd, does he have a brother?" she spouted after she lowered her hands.
"Oh god, Catherine, can you spare me the embarrassment this once?" he moaned, rubbing his hands over his face.
"Fine, but you're answering all of my questions if you want my help," she said stubbornly, "First thing's first, go get in the shower!"
Craig couldn't argue with that command. He picked himself off of the floor and started heading toward his bathroom. Catherine jumped up and started digging in a ridiculous amount of bags that Craig didn't see before. Oh god no, this was going to be torture. He tried to escape all the way to the bathroom, but to no avail.
"Wait, wait!" Catherine shouted, pulling out a small plastic shower bag from a trunk-like bag, "Use these shower gels, and take off all your hair!"
Craig froze on the spot when she spoke. Fact: Secondary sex characteristics were there for a reason! Catherine placed the bag of shower gels in his hands and offered him a lady's razor, glinting in the light a cheery pink right at him. Pink was his favorite color, but he didn't hate it as much as he did right that moment. He took the bag and the razor and slammed the bathroom door shut behind him.
"And I mean all of it, Craig. Don't test me, I'll check!" he heard Cat yelling through the door.
He shuddered and knew she wasn't joking in the least. She seemed to be enjoying herself; that was probably why she didn't immediately flip out when he told her why he needed her help. He did call her for a reason, he remembered as he got into the shower. She was good at what she did and she had seen stranger things happen every day.
God, Craig missed his body hair already, this was taking forever! Fact: It took him exactly 53 minutes to get all of the hair off of his body, including his leg, chest, and pubic hair, for fear of Catherine. The shower gels smelled nice, at least. They smelled like peaches and cream, which wasn't terribly manly, but it wasn't unpleasant. He got out of the shower and toweled himself off, suddenly aware of every inch of his skin. Well, apparently there was a reason women painstakingly removed all the hair they could find. He ran an experimental hand down his calf and involuntarily shivered. He didn't have a lot of hair in the first place, but suddenly with the blonde downy leg hair gone… things felt very different. Maybe he didn't miss his hair so much anymore. This was an interesting sensation, at least.
There was a sharp rapping at the door, which broke him out of his momentary distraction, "Craig, are you done in there?" Catherine called.
He quickly put the towel around his waist and opened the door, "Can't you give me some privacy?"
"Why are you taking so long?" Catherine asked flippantly, "Hurry up, I have to put on the moisturizer and all that so you're ready for tomorrow! What time is he picking you up?"
"Eight," he said sullenly, moving past her out of the bathroom toward his room.
He quickly shut the door before Catherine could follow him in and put on his normal pair of boxer briefs. Even the fabric against him felt different, not just his touch; this all felt weird. He felt slightly colder, but he wrote it off to just perception. He pulled on a pair of sleeping pants and involuntarily shivered again. God, he'd never get over the sensation of bare legs like that.
He opened up the door to his bedroom to find Catherine busily setting up Styrofoam mannequin heads and wigs on his coffee table. They were all pale blonde of one shade or another, many of them nearly matching his own pale blonde locks. She noticed him standing there and stood up, grabbing a couple of bottles while she did so.
"Can you come sit over here?" she said absently, like he was one of her clients.
He obliged her and sat down on his armchair; staring at the wigs with a sense of dread. All of them were different, from bouffant to flapper. She set up the bottles next to a beehive hairdo and started to open them. She poured a bit of what looked like runny lotion on her hands. He made a face; these were all decidedly feminine products. Oh well, anything to avoid embarrassment tomorrow.
She quickly began rubbing some of the lotion on his face, "Soooooo, what's his name?"
Craig rolled his eyes, he knew her curiosity would eventually win over, "It's not what you think it is, Cat, I promise."
She stopped rubbing for a moment to look him dead in the eye, "Oh, I highly doubt that. Do you think I'm stupid? Fine, start at the beginning, how did you get into this mess?"
Craig bit his tongue for half a second to prevent himself from telling her 'yes, indeed I do think you're stupid but you're saving my ass and I can't say that, can I?' It was best not to piss her off and knowing how many times they'd gotten into arguments over the years, it wasn't going to be easy.
"He's the UPS delivery person, he comes to the library every week," he said in a dead monotone, "He fancies himself some kind of lady killer and always flirts with my female employees."
Cat's eyebrows blended in with her hairline, but she didn't say anything. Craig nearly stopped right there, realizing what he made this sound like: like he was trying to seduce some sexy deliveryman by being an elaborate trap; that couldn't be further from the truth. That sexy deliveryman was forcing him to be an elaborate trap.
"He has a… tendency to shoot his mouth off, quite a lot," Craig continued, "So during the renovations, I may have lost my temper a little bit and accused him of lying."
Cat's mouth tensed like she was trying not to smile or laugh, but she kept her eyes on her work and even switched to another lotion that she was applying to his hands and elbows.
"He made me a bet, he said that if I could prove he was lying on a specific instance, I would win, but if he won, he got a date by his rules," Craig said, realizing just now that he'd gotten himself into this mess. Just fantastic.
"Let me guess," Catherine said, unable to suppress her mirth any longer, "You lost and now you have to have a date with him as a woman."
Craig glared at her with eyes that could melt metal. Of course that was correct. Fact: Catherine knew him better than most, and that fact pissed Craig off to no end some days. Catherine finally finished applying some cream under Craig's eyes and closed all of the bottles. She quickly put them away and shooed him off of the chair.
"Gogogo, go to sleep! What time do you normally wake up?" she asked impatiently.
"I do not work tomorrow, so… maybe ten o'clock," he said with a moment's thought.
"Wake up at nine," Catherine giggled, "Can I stay the night?"
Of course, the answer was yes, so she settled on his couch and he in his room. He managed to fall asleep and only had minor nightmares about being discovered tomorrow. Lying in bed with his duvet over him felt strange, too; sleeping shirtless made him very aware that he shaved off all the hair there, too. All in all, he didn't have a lot of body hair, but being so aware of it was a strange feeling. He woke up the next day to the sound of his alarm clock feeling much more aroused than if he had a standard erotic dream. Gods, this whole business was completely foreign to him; that was how he justified it in his head.