If you haven't read the below entry yet, please do so, as you can tell, this is a continuation.
I woke up Thursday morning somewhat surprised to find myself in my own bed. It was that little moment between dreaming and waking where I forgot I'd come to Buffalo, and for a very hopeful moment thought maybe the last six months (~!) were just a dream. A brush of my hand over my left breast confirmed that.
I do that sometimes. Early in the morning, in the shower, times during the day when I find myself randomly on my own. I feel my breasts, run a finger over my pussy. It's not a sexual thing, most of the time I don't even get noticeably turned on, it's just a reflex. Hell, when I was a guy, sitting at home alone I often used to just cup my balls in the same manner. Just to feel. As much angst as my predicament has given me, I know - or hope - it's not permanent, and then for the rest of my life, it's back to my old ways, so I steal a feel every now and again. It's my right, especially given how rare my interactions with the female body were before I became one.
After I got out of the shower, things weren't going well for this gal. I had intended to dress casually for Thanksgiving at my family's place - a pair of jeans and a t-shirt - but Tori's body decided to rebel. I don't know what it is about a woman's body that enables it to suddenly not fit into a pair of jeans that were just nice and snug days earlier. It wasn't even a matter of putting on weight, I've been hovering within a few pounds of the same weight I was when I got Tori's body, plus or minus 5. I guess my ass just chose today to get fat. If I could barely get them on in the morning, there was no way they'd hold out through a turkey dinner.
Plan B was a dress with one of those high-waist belts that sits right under your boobs. It was more along the lines of what my mom would want to see a girlfriend of mine wear (pretty and feminine but not revealing) but not really the style of clothes I choose to wear for myself; I dress boyishly whenever I can, which is usually. But that's more out of convenience than fear. I crossed the mental threshold against "girling up" a long while back. It also meant I had to put on a pair of nylons, especially given the frigid Buffalo weather (which I've missed only a little bit.)
The other problem was, my hair wasn't doing what I wanted to do. We still had plenty of time, and Cliff asked if I needed help, I told him no, I'd just pull it back into a ponytail or something. He offered "If ye like, I ken pull it back for ye into a braid." (I apologize for my ridiculous rendering of his accent, BTW.)
"Oh for sure, I had three sisters, I know a thing or two."
I thought it over. "Sure, why not." He sat on the couch, I sat on the floor, my head between his legs as he tied my hair together.
"Y'know, I admire yer guts, Cliff, I really do," he chuckled in his thick British accent, "I mean lookit ye. Deep down inside, you're this bloke, but here you are. If it were me, I'd lock meself up and never let a soul see what became of me, but 'ere you are."
"Well," I laughed, "I tried that, it didn't work so well, so I wasn't left with many other options. Believe me, this was not my first choice of lifestyle..."
"Well, you ken at least consider yourself in the lucky few who probably get a chance to see the other side. Best take advantage, I says, while you've got it."
I rolled my eyes and laughed, "Yeah, you try having these things and see well you deal with it."
"Well, if I knew it weren't permanent I wouldn't mind having a go." I could tell he was joking around, but it still hit a nerve and I didn't feel like playing along with the joke. He apologize, "No for real though, you seem to be taking it okay and I'm very impressed." He slipped into his goofy American accent, "Well, I'm about done here. Have a look."
I went to the mirror and was most impressed with how nice my hair looked pulled back, but more neatly than I ever could. He came up behind me, I turned and gave him a "well done" pat on the shoulder. Once again I felt so small looking up at my old face.
He let me drive my own car over to my parents' place, although I haven't driven in months and getting behidn the wheel in this body was an odd prospect... my reaction time felt down and I felt very small behind the wheel.
We got there at around 3. I hesitated at the door. It's a very special kind of horror when you walk up to your parents' house wearing a a bra, a dress, pantyhose, earrings. I knew they'd never know it was me, but part of me just imagined my dad taking one look at me and crying out "My God son, what have you done to yourself?"
Most of the family had already arrived. My dad was in the living room with my uncle Lou, watching football. My aunt and mom were in the kitchen. Willy "introduced me around." I was all locked and loaded with the cover story, but dad and uncle Lou just smiled and turned their attention back to the game. Willy looked a bit baffled by what he called (to me) "The American Football Game," but hey, I was never that into football either.
Being one of the girls, I was called into the kitchen. Well, that's just sexist, frankly. My cousin Bette's husband Gerry manages a restaurant, but he isn't asked to help; when they arrived shortly after we did, it was Bette who came in to do the stuffing, while Gerry joined the football club. What chance did I have?
My mom seemed rather interested by me, though, and made sure I didn't stray too far from the kitchen. "I'm not really much of a cook," I said. She just looked at me and put her hands on her hips, "Well, then what good are you? Get outta here!" And I must've looked awfully uncertain about what to do, since she immediately dragged me back in and said, laughing, "I'm kidding! I'm kidding, nobody here gives a shit if you can cook, just have a seat and tell me about yourself." That confused me more than anything else because I've definitely never heard my mom swear before.
I nervously ran through Tori's general backstory - growing up in Philly, meeting "Cliff" online (then she asked me who I meant, and I had to explain that "Cliff" is the nickname her son uses.) She asked me what I thought of him, and I just wondered, what would a real woman say? What would I want said about me? What would my mom want to hear? It all just congested in my head and I started babbling about how he's such a nice guy and we're "taking it slow" and such. Then I felt stupid for bringing up sex to my mom. I wasn't thinking, I just didn't want her to think I was some slut!
She, too, seemed puzzled at what to make of that remark. She just kept basting the turkey. Then she sat next to me and took my hand in hers. "Well, it's very nice that he brought you over for dinner. And all the way from Philadelphia? It must be serious."
I laughed. "Well, what can I say? We clicked. Plus, any excuse to get away from my family..." heh.
Thankfully she didn't investigate that question further and just went on saying "I'm just happy. I love my son, but he's very shy, and it can be hard to ask him about himself. I'm glad to know a little more about how he is. He hasn't brought a girl here in a long time, I worry." And that certainly did not do much to make me feel better about myself, knowing my mom pities my love life.
One other important note, when I last saw my cousin Bette, she was pregnant. In fact, she was probably giving birth right around the time I was getting settled in Philadelphia with the Pearces. Little baby James was sitting with us in the kitchen. He woke up while Bette was still occupied with food, so she invited me to pick him up. The instant I held that little guy in my arms, I melted. I'll admit, this isn't a girl thing, I have a soft spot for babies and was looking forward to meeting him. But to the women in my family, I must've seemed like some young girl who couldn't wait to start a family of her own.
And then, as I had him held by my breast... he threw up on me. Right on the shirt that was keeping this dress respectable.
Rather than go the rest of the evening with a pukey top, or remove it and become the most cleavaged woman at the table, my mom offered to lend me a top. She had just the one, brought me up to her room and presented it to me. She left to give me privacy - changing into it necessitated removal of the dress.
I sat on the edge of my parents bed, looking at this top in my hands, and like so many things that have happened over the past months, all I could do was laugh. Some boys get caught trying on their mothers clothes when they're young, and it's embarrassing for everybody (I tried it once, I admit, but never was caught.) And here was my mom, lending me her clothes, rather enthusiastically. I'm sure there were times she wished she had a girl, rather than two boys.
I was probably taking too long getting lost in my own thoughts because before I knew, there was a knock at the door. Willy poked his head in, then removed it when he saw I was not ready. I slipped the dress back on and answered.
"Sorry!" he cried out in his phony American accent, "Uh, mom thought it might be a good time to show you around, if you wanted to see my room."
I smirked. "Sure. Let me show you around."
Like many grown men, my childhood room has not been changed much from its original configuration. Bed just big enough for a teen, alt-rock posters of bands I'd now be embarrassed to like, and women who, in real life, are probably not as attractive as they used to be. Numerous comics, particularly from my Manga phase, some action figures, outdated video games I didn't bring with me... I was frankly embarrassed to be standing in that room, especially to be a girl in that room. It was not the type of room I ever envisioned getting laid in, but maybe that's self-defeatism.
Willy was just amused, saying his room as a kid wasn't all that different. Once the embarrassment wore off, I got a bit of a nostalgia kick. It was his first time seeing the place, of course.
"Listen, Cliff, I wanna thank you for coming here with me. I've been scared to meet your folks, I wasn't sure what to say to 'em."
"Oh, you don't have to say anything much. They're not overly interesting people," I joked.
"Well, now that I know them, it'll be easier. Your dad's a decent bloke. He's open to football - ugh, soccer."
"Just let them know I'm okay, okay?"
I hugged the guy. Then we were called for dinner, by my dad rudely asking we "Get our pants on and get down here."
It was a good, uneventful dinner, I mainly kept to myself, politely answering the expected questions when needed. We drank a toast to absent family members. I've talked about my brother Bret a fair bit, but the truth is he wasn't there, because he hasn't been there in years, he's been in Iraq. I don't like to talk about it much because people tend to get political, and personally I just don't like to think about him being in danger. The truth is, at my most self-pitying moments after my transformation, part of what kept me sane was knowing he was out there putting his life on the line, and the worst I had to deal with was a bit of bleeding. Keeps things in perspective.
We left early though, to meet up with Justin and Randi, who ended up not showing, Randi sending Cliff a text saying Justin had gotten too drunk at his mom's, and they were going to sleep it off. So we drove home. And then...
I don't know. I don't know how to say it, despite my promise of honesty yesterday. You might want to know why, or how it started, but I can't really say, because it's just something that happened. At some point during the drive home, instincts kicked in, and I got an idea in my head, and I didn't waste too much time deciding what I was going to do about it. I was feeling happy about what a nice guy he was, how well he seemed to go with my family, and how good he made me/Cliff look, and how understanding he'd been with me/Tori.
On the way into my apartment building, I brushed up against his arm. Stepping onto the elevator, I had my arm around his waist. By the time we got to my floor, we were kissing.
He didn't say a word, didn't object. Maybe he should have, but I didn't want him to, I just wanted to go ahead with it. I was so caught up in all the feelings of being at home and being in the presence of my former body, that every possible objection I could come up with, I was able to do away with. 'It's my body, I've seen and done everything to it, if this is ever going to happen, it should probably be here and now.' We were just really caught up in the moment. It was one of those "kissing while unlocking the door, kissing while taking off jackets and shoes, into the bedroom, flopping onto the bed" types of deals you see in the movies. I think if we had stopped kissing, if either of us had said anything about the situation, it might've ruined the magic, called attention to the fact that we were not who we appeared to be and should probably not have been doing that.
I didn't know how far it was going to go. I don't have a lot of experience stopping situations like this, as I've mentioned my one previous serious girlfriend was not sexually active. So by the time he started undoing the belt on my skirt, some alarms started to go off, but I ignored them. They didn't drown out this overwhelming surge I felt rushing through my body to keep going, keep going. I was down to the top my mother had lent me and my nylons when my hand happened to brush underneath my pillow and snag on a foreign-feeling piece of fabric, which somehow I'd missed sleeping on the night before. I pulled it out from underneath. A bright pink thong, the kind I had most certainly not packed.
I asked him about it. He hastily explained it must've belonged to a girl he'd brought over a few nights earlier. It was like being splashed in the face with cold water.
"You mean you brought some girl back here and... and had sex with her? Just a few days ago?"
"Yeah. I mean, no big deal, it's nothing serious, just a little booty call."
"Just a little booty call? Willy, I don't get booty calls, I've never had a booty call in my life! I'm a... a virgin, remember?" At 27, it gets harder to use that word every year...
"Well yeah, sure, but... just because you are, doesn't mean I have to be. It doesn't change anything for you. I don't understand what you're on about here. It means that, hypothetically, a girl will sleep with you."
I slipped my dress back on and sat shyly on the bed. "I don't know, I just... I guess I thought people shouldn't be like that, like if I'm going to have sex, I should be in a relationship, and you... you can just go out and get it when you want? It's not supposed to be that way, it's never been that easy for me." I looked at him. "We can't do this, Willy. I really don't want to do this right now."
I thought he'd be confused, upset, but he just looked at me with those brown eyes of mine and said "I understand. I should've stopped you. But you should know I don't intend to refrain from bedding women when I can."
I sighed. "I don't expect you to. Hell, maybe if they like you, maybe they'll like me when I get my body back." I winced at how disingenuous that sounded as I said it. "It was just very shocking, to learn how good you are with women..." privately, I worried that he had had that effect on me.
So that brought the evening to an abrupt halt. I learned what it's like to kiss a man -- my neck hurt a little from craning upward, but mostly it's the same as kissing a girl, just a bit more forceful. We didn't do anything, um, too advanced, obviously, but it opened up a whole lot of thoughts about what I am right now that I really didn't expect or want to have to ask/answer.
The last part of this soon I promise.