Feminine

Just how much can a girl take of being treated like a boy without taking drastic measures to remind everyone that she's a she?

Disclaimer: I don't own the Biker Mice, at all, to my eternal despair. (le sigh)

This one starts out slow, bear with me please.

Feminine

Charley groaned as she slowly made her way up the stairs to her bedroom. It wasn't that her body hurt all that badly, nothing that was unusual when you worked with machines. It was just that this was the third day in a row that a customer had called her 'sir'.

Now this sort of thing was to be expected when your name was Charley Davidson. It was a mistake that anyone might make, but it was normally corrected the moment anyone laid eyes on her. But for the past three days, even after seeing her, five different customers had called her 'sir'. That was enough to bruise any woman's ego.

She reached her bathroom and stared at her reflection in the door's floor length mirror, a bit stunned by what she saw. Not by the grease and grime on her clothes, or the dirt in her hair, or the engine dust smudged on her cheek. But by the fact that she couldn't remember the last time she hadn't looked that way.

How long since she'd put make-up of any kind on? How long since she'd gotten a haircut, let alone a proper shampoo and style? How long since she'd gone out and, just for the hell of it, gotten a pedicure? Since she'd put on a pair of dangling earrings? A bracelet? A necklace?!

How long had it been since she'd worn a nice shirt without her name written on it? How long since she'd worn those 'drive-boys-wild' jeans she had hanging--hanging on a hanger, for god's sake!--in her closet? How long since she'd put on those racy bits of underwear just so she'd feel sexy? How long since she'd pulled on a pair of pantyhose to go with that cute skirt that perfectly matched those amazing shoes she'd blown a week's paycheck on?!

Charlene Davidson had had enough. She yanked off her work shirt and jeans, tossing them off to the side. She took a quick shower and made a few phone calls, making a few emergency appointments.

It was time this grease-monkey reminded the world that she was very much a girl.

And a damn pretty one, at that.