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Rent or Forfeit 07
🕑 Added 2024-07-12 09:54:01 +0000 UTCChapter 7: Mr Smarty ‘No’ Pants
"I can't pick one of these!" Tommy exclaimed in despair, throwing his arms in the air. "It's too much! Please, can I pick again?"
"Sorry, Tom," Monica replied sternly, her tone brooking no argument. "You know the rules."
Shaking his head, Tommy let out a heavy sigh as he weighed the consequences of his choices. Whichever choice he made, he was going to look even more feminine; it just boiled down to which option he could stomach more. Tottering around the apartment like his sisters in their uncomfortable-looking high heels was far from appealing. However, the idea of bright pink tops and shorts with his long, girly hair was equally daunting.
With Sarah and Monica looking on, Tommy’s eyes darted from one paper to the next, his indecision clear, until suddenly, a spark of inspiration ignited within. A sly grin spread across his lips as he realized he might be able to outsmart his sisters at their own game. After weeks of borrowing their clothes and shoes, Tommy knew they owned a few pairs of low-heeled boots - some that could easily pass as unisex. One pair, in particular, came to mind, reminiscent of what a worker on a building site might wear.
After one final glance down to confirm that there was no specification for heel height in the forfeit, Tommy breathed in deeply through his nose and nodded decisively. "I'll do the one with the heels," he declared confidently, catching his sisters momentarily off guard with his bold choice.
“Oh, how fun,” Monica responded, her eyes twinkling with excitement. “Go up and pick a pair right now,” Sarah urged, her smile broadening, “there's a cute pair of kitten heels on the top shelf that you might find easier than some.”
“Be right back,” Tommy responded, rising from his seat with a determined stride. He looked forward to seeing the disappointment on their faces when he returned wearing Monica's Dr Martens boots - masculine in style with a small, blocky, one-inch heel.
Sarah and Monica heard Tommy’s approach before they saw him, the sound of his boots clomping down the stairs preceding his entrance. Tommy burst into the living room, clad in a soft, zip-up top and a pair of red corduroy shorts, striking a triumphant pose in front of his sisters. "Guess you didn't think this one through, huh?" he taunted, puffing out his chest while twisting his pantyhosed leg to showcase his choice of footwear. "Looks like I outsmarted both of you this week," he added, a smug grin spreading across his face.
Tommy braced for a heated reaction or some display of emotion from his sisters, but instead, all he received was a nonchalant shrug from Sarah and an eye roll from Monica.
“You look great, Tom,” Monica said, her voice flat as she lifted the hat from the coffee table and stood up.
“A great first choice,” Sarah chimed in as she rose to join her sister. “But remember, the forfeit specified shoes in plural, so you can’t wear those every day.” She pointed out before she and Monica walked out of the room, leaving Tommy feeling like he had just won an important battle.
Tommy’s fleeting sense of triumph faded as soon as he entered his room and caught his reflection in the mirror. Despite sidestepping pink outfits and towering heels, he still appeared unmistakably feminine, with long hair, arched brows, and smooth legs. Russell the bear, perched silently on the bed, offered no words of comfort, and Tommy's situation was about to worsen.
Sarah and Monica, fiercely competitive by nature, weren’t about to let their little brother gain the upper hand. As he slept that fateful Friday night, they went to work - stealthily removing every low-heeled shoe from their collection, hiding them where their overconfident brother couldn’t find them.
The next morning, Tommy awoke to discover the boots from the previous evening gone. He searched high and low for them or any other shoes with less than a three-inch heel. Giving up, he stormed down the stairs to get some answers.
"Where are the boots from last night?" Tommy demanded as he approached Sarah, who was engrossed in her phone on the sofa.
"Gone," she replied, without looking up.
"Gone where?" Tommy pressed, his voice tinged with frustration.
"Donated to charity," Sarah said nonchalantly. "Mon and I decided to do a little decluttering this morning, and those were among the pairs we didn’t like anymore."
The words struck Tommy like a sledgehammer. "What!" he exclaimed in panic. "What am I supposed to wear now?"
Sarah finally looked up, her smile sly as she noted Tommy's bare feet. "There are plenty of shoes to choose from," she remarked with a tut. "Better go put on a pair - and some tights. Right now, you're breaking the rules. And you know what that means."
“You’ll kick me out!” Tommy spat back defiantly. “Fine, do it. I don’t care anymore.”
A tense moment followed as Sarah stared deeply into her brother's eyes. “If that's what you want,” she finally snapped, suddenly standing and gripping Tommy's arm with surprising strength. “I’m sick and tired of your moaning anyway.” She pulled him toward the front door with an impressive display of force.
“No! Wait! Sarah! Stop!” Tommy cried out, struggling unsuccessfully to break free. “Please! I’m sorry! I’ll wear the shoes!” he pleaded, realizing the dire consequences of being thrown out into the frost-covered streets wearing nothing but Monica’s gym shorts and one of Sarah’s old T-shirts.
Sarah halted just short of the door, then fixed her gaze menacingly on her brother. “I don’t want to hear any more complaints or see any rules broken. Is that clear?” she demanded.
“Yes,” Tommy replied in a shaky voice, nodding furiously. “I get it.”
Sarah released her grip and watched as a sullen Tommy trudged back upstairs. She disliked playing the role of the bad cop, but she was convinced that maintaining the game would motivate Tommy to turn his life around. In her eyes, her actions were a necessary, albeit extreme, form of tough love.
Flustered and still in a mild state of shock, Tommy shuffled towards his sisters’ shoe closet. He rummaged through their collection with a sense of resignation, eventually selecting a pair of shoes with a somewhat sturdy-looking three-and-a-half-inch heel. He then opened a chest of drawers and pulled out a fresh pair of semi-opaque tights, a turquoise sweater, and the first pair of shorts he came across - high-waisted and made from black pleather.
Minutes later, Tommy stood tall, frowning at his reflection in his bedroom mirror. “Guess this serves me right for trying to be clever,” he muttered to Russell the bear, who offered no reply as usual.
(See image 07)
Glancing at his shaky feet, he groaned loudly. After tripping twice, he had barely managed to shuffle back to his room, narrowly avoiding a disastrous tumble down the stairs. Walking in heels was proving to be a daunting task - one he had no desire to undertake.
The following days were filled with multiple wobbles, stumbles, and near falls. However, with Monica’s guidance, Tommy gradually became competent at walking in heels. Phrases like "heel to toe" and "swing your arms" were constantly on his mind as Monica drilled them into him each evening while he paced up and down the living room.
By the end of the week, Tommy had adjusted so well that there were moments he forgot he was wearing heels, only to be reminded by the loud click on the hardwood floor when he entered the kitchen. However, each day ended with a familiar ache that started at the tips of his toes and worked its way up his legs. Every evening, the release of his throbbing feet before bed was accompanied by a loud sigh of relief. The silver lining was that after a day spent tottering about on heels, sleep, which had recently been elusive, came almost instantly.
Constantly seeing his silky thighs and hearing the click of his noisy new shoes was mentally taxing for Tommy, who just months ago had been a typical eighteen-year-old. But motivated by his confrontation with Sarah, and spurred on by a burning desire to get back his former self, Tommy redoubled his efforts in his job search. That week, after signing up on a few new sites, he finally struck gold.
A surge of excitement ran through him when he received a reply from a call centre on Friday afternoon, inviting him in for an interview the following Monday. Without hesitation, he eagerly accepted the offer and quickly devised a plan to ensure he wouldn't appear foolish. He would ask his sisters to help him pick out a unisex outfit from their closet, confident they would assist now that he finally had a real chance at earning money.
Sitting on the sofa on Friday evening, ready to draw a new forfeit, Tommy was more nervous than ever. This job, if he got it, would be his ticket back to manhood. All he had to do was avoid drawing any overtly feminine options that night.
As he stuck his hand into the hat, his stomach dropped when he saw his options: 'Get acrylic nail extensions' or 'Get eyelash extensions.'
