Saturday, May 31, 2014

Tyler/Lauren: Try This One Weird Trick To Change Your Entire Life

Leaving Maine/The Missing Phone

The ironic thing is that Monday, Memorial day, when we left Maine, it was probably the best day of New England weather since my arrival. Not chilly or overcast or rainy or even breezy. Just the sun beating down. I saw a lot of gals on the beach when we drove past. I got my first twinge in my stomach as to what I've lost.

Guess I'll put it like this: did you ever leave your house, and you normally have your phone in your pocket, but you forgot it that day? And you walk around for a while, feeling like you've forgotten something, but you can't put your finger on it? You're just used to the weight and feeling of this little item on your person and it takes a moment to realize that's what's missing. Well, that but times a million.

Anyway, it was hot, and we had to leave Maine pretty quickly. I mean, neither of us was keen to stay one night longer than we had to in a haunted/cursed/freaky Inn, and I reasoned that the quicker we "become" the people we look like, the quicker we'll have something to think about besides "AAAAAAAAAAHHHH." Tasha and Lauren's letters were dated May 11, meaning there were weeks their lives just weren't accounted for, which I assumed, correctly, would mean there was some business to tie up. A little bit of hell to pay.

We packed the night before and slept head-to-toe in the bed. I didn't sleep well, between the feet in my face, the breasts under my top, and the bitterness that, days earlier, this woman and I were lying side by side on top of the covers watching terrible movies.

She had set an alarm for 6 AM. I nearly slept through it, but she shook me forcefully. "Ty, you with us?"

"I think so, yeah," I muttered, "Am I still a girl?"

"Yeah," she said standing over me with a toothbrush in her mouth. "Thih ish yuh ten mi-hit warring."

"Or else what?" I rolled over, smooshing my boobs into the mattress not for the first or last time.

"Or else I leave without you," she called from the bathroom, spitting into the sink.

"You wouldn't," I said smugly. She didn't answer.

"Hey," I said sitting up, "You mind if I skip the shower? I know I'm going to have to eventually, but I don't think I'm ready. I'll probably want it more after 11 hours in the car."

She leaned in and sniffed me. I don't know if she could tell I was sniffing her back, and she smelled good.

"Scrub your face, brush the knots out of your hair, and slap on some deodorant. A greater-than-usual amount. We'll leave the windows down."

We reserved a car to drive from Maine to Pittsburgh, since neither of us had the cash or credit to pay for two last-minute plane tickets. We got one with a GPS, to direct us to our new homes. I struggled to load my share of the baggage into the trunk: I said that Lauren only packed a few bagso f her own, but there was so much in those bags, it was hard to life with my noodly new arms.

Our last stop was at the Oceanside Lodge to drop off the keys to my room.

"How did you find your stay?" the receptionist asked, presumably just trying to be polite.

I took a beat then answered bluntly, "Fuckin' terrible." She shrugged.

What a smug bitch.

I had set aside a pair of sweats and a hoodie to wear on the way home: it was a pink hoodie, but it was warm and soft and hides my figure well. But the weather warmed up, meaning this outfit was less than comfortable. After only an hour on the road I discarded the hoodie to reveal a tee shirt. Nobody in the car but us girls, anyway.

One the Road/New Phone

The first leg of the tour involved an in-car breakfast, hours and miles of long weekend traffic, and several attempts by Meg to probe my emotional state. This was accompanied by my various attempts to switch the subject to literally anything else.

As much as we had bonded over the last few days - seriously, under different circumstances I probably would have felt comfortable telling her anything - I just couldn't "go there." I had almost nothing to say. I didn't want to waste my breath getting huffy about it. I didn't want to rail against the heavens. There was nobody I could punch to get my body back, as far as I was aware. My opinion of the situation was that I had no opinion: I was me, but I looked different.

Meg shook her head, saying I'd probably find out different soon enough. I used the traffic jam to browse through Lauren's phone. It's amazing how available we all make information about ourselves these days. Endless selfies, text conversations with her friends, what apps she had, what she posted to Facebook, Instagram...a year

Well, just because I look like her doesn't mean I'm obligated to maintain her entire online identity as well, does it? If so, by God I don't think I'll have time for anything else. There were also a ton of unanswered texts, which I was in no rush to return.

I also used it to read as much as I could of this blog's backlog, going all the way back to the first posts in the summer of 2006. Holy hell it's been a while since this thing started. I'll admit I started skimming after a while, but it did reassure me somewhat that there may be a way back (and yes, I did read up to where one of the girls found out she would not be getting her old, male body back.)


The midway point between Maine and Pittsburgh is New York City, but we didn't stop in the city. Instead, we kept driving through to New Jersey before stopping for lunch, since getting into the city is a trip in itself, which is a shame because who knows when I'll be out this way again (a year maybe??)

We stopped at this little diner for lunch. I ordered a hamburger and immediately regretted it, barely getting halfway through a sandwich I wouldn't have thought twice about devouring a week ago. Meg asked a question I was prepared to answer: "Hey, what about your accent?"

"What accent?" I joked.

She didn't react. "We're going to Pittsburgh. It may be blue-collar, but a teenage girl randomly picking up a deep south accent after a month spent in New England is going to raise some suspicions."

"Let it," I shrugged, "Not like it's gonna make any difference, since they'll never figure out the truth. After a few months, I'll probably be able to tone it down. Until then I'll just talk real quiet."

"Are you okay with that?"

"Again... I got a choice?"

I sullenly ate a few more fries and said half-jokingly, "Y'know, where I'm from, my accent is considered pretty damn mild."

"Yeah, well," she chuckled, "We're not in Alabama, now are we?"

It was the nicest little moment I'd had with Meghan since we changed over, and I felt really warm for a second, but only a second. Some Sweathog trucker put an old Aerosmith ballad on the jukebox, and then did the unthinkable: he approached our table.

Thinking nothing of the conversation we were having, he put his hands flat on the table, leaned over, and looked at Meg: "'Scuse me, would you care to have this dance?"

I didn't even think twice before I blurted out, "Are you fucking kidding me?"

"Mind your own business, girl," he said. "I'm talking to the lady."

I could feel my heart beat in my chest, harder and harder.. My teeth gritted. My hand wrapped around my fork. I could injure him half a dozen ways just from a seated position, and he'd probably be so caught off guard he wouldn't know how to react.

Meg must have seen me stewing, she put her hand out to hold me back. "That's all right, thanks, we were just leaving."

"What, you don't got time for one dance?"

"Afraid not, we're on a long road trip."

"Oh yeah?" he said, real interested, "Where youse headed?" He may not have actually said "youse."

"Buffalo," Meg said.

"Aw, yeah?" Sweathog said, "Me too."

Then Meg flashed him the most devilishly wicked bedroom eyes I've ever seen. My jaw dropped. "Well, I'll tell you what. You let me know what hotel you're staying at and I'll look you up when we get there."

"Oh, uh, I forget what hotel, why don't you give me your number?"

"Sure thing," Meg said, then scrawled down ten numbers that were definitely not Tasha's. She winked, then we paid the bill and headed out.

I was still partly hot with rage, and partly in total awe of this woman.

"That... was... awesome!" I blurted out, "I was this close to forking his eyeballs out."

"I saw," she said coolly, "You've gotta be careful. Men are... not great at dealing with women, and violence isn't always the best solution."

"I'll admit," I sighed, trying to calm myself down, "I've got a bit of a temper. Something really bad almost just happened in there."

"Well, it didn't. Come on, let's go."

I asked if maybe I could take a turn at driving, to try to calm myself down.

"I don't think so," she said. "You're not used to handling a car in that body, and I'll be honest, one serious car accident per lifetime is enough for me."

I was annoyed, but I couldn't argue with that logic.


The rest of the trip was pretty boring, although I guess I finally did start opening up a bit. Not about being a girl, but about other things in my past. Meg did the same. By the time we hit the Allegheny region, she told me she was glad she had a chance to air some stuff out with me. "It feels like it's going to be a while before I'm going to be able to talk about myself that way again."

We hit the suburbs around 9 PM, and were eventually at the doorstep of the Sherman-Blanchard household, where Lauren's mom and Tasha's dad lived. It was a modest semi-detached home in a run-down neighborhood with one car parked in the shared driveway.

We walked up the front stoop to the door. The air had chilled considerably and I now had my pink hoodie on. In the front pockets, my little hands were balled into fists.

"Guess it's time to face the music."

We hadn't given any advance warning, although after Lauren's and Tasha's vacation was extended by so many weeks, it probably would have been kind to do so. Mrs. Sherman-Blanchard was yelling at some unseen child to get to bed when we walked in.

Inside, the place looked just as unimpressive as the exterior: only a few lights bouncing off wood-paneled walls from the 70s resulting in a dim, cavernous feel. There was a musty, ages-uncleaned carpet underfoot. the kitchen was a linoleum-tiled cell at the back of the house with a Formica table and vinyl chairs. In the TV room, a world-weary looking paunchy woman settled into a La-Z-Boy. She turned and noticed me.

"Lauren!" she cried out, "The hell took you so long??"

"It's a long story," I stammered as she wrapped her arms around me. I felt my back straighten, as I resisted the urge to break away.

And that, kids, is the story of how I met "my mother."

The explanation that the real Tasha and Lauren left us was that they had been offered a comped extra week in Maine, which only partly covered their "missing" time.

She turned to Tasha and expressed some frustration. Before she could get too worked up, though, I cut in. "Mom," I said sharply, "It wasn't Tasha's fault."

"Of course it's Tasha's fault," she said, "I told her to bring you back in time for finals, and she--"

"She did."

"Barely! You are in so much trouble. If I knew before, I never would have let you take her--"

"Mom!" I said again, "It isn't Tasha's fault. It's mine. She made me come back. I wanted to stay longer."

Mrs. Sherman-Blanchard -- Susan, or "Mom," -- looked back and forth between the two of us.

"All right," she said quietly, "Tash, you head home now. Laur, I cleaned your sheets."

"Thanks," I said.

Meg looked a little befuddled, "Okay. Um... see you later then... Lauren..."

I went in for a hug. Meg wrapped one arm around me. I wrapped both around her and kissed her on the cheek - which, if she wants, she can interpret as a sisterly gesture.

"I'm gonna crash," I told Lauren's mom after Meg left.

"Glad you're safe," Susan said.

"Thanks," I called back coldly.

I had this feeling like Susan just doesn't like Tasha, her stepdaughter, and if I didn't say anything she was just going to keep unloading on her. I also had a hunch that Susan doesn't use that kind of tone on her own daughter, one that appeared to pay off. Susan almost seemed embarrassed to have to change her tone with Meg.

I dragged my bags upstairs. There were four doors. One at the end of the hall that I surmised was the Master Bedroom, one in which I could hear people moving around, and two others.

My first guess as to what was my room turned out to be the bathroom.

When I got to my room, I fumbled for the lightswitch. It was as dingy as the rest of the house, but I've stayed in worse quarters. I left my bags by the door and flopped down onto the mattress - which, despite nearly a month of non-use, still had a well-worn Lauren-shaped divot in it.

It's Friday night and I've spent several hours writing this up... I guess I'll fill you in on the rest of the details tomorrow, if I can.


Monday, May 26, 2014

Cal/Angie: Mood killer

Trish and I came this close... and I let someone else ruin it for me.

I had let it slip to a female co-worker that I had a date with a guy. She had known that I'd had a fling with David, but I always thought of it as a "renew as necessary" scenario. Booty calls. No formal dates. Nothing deep and really nothing formal. I've never done that before, and it was fun until it wasn't. David wasn't in the running for boyfriendhood... basically ever, because of my limited time as a woman and because my secret would always be between us.

As we get closer and closer to the return date, I couldn't help but slowly come out of it, thinking of myself more and more as a man in a woman's body, not an ex-man. It started to feel weirder and weirder about letting a guy into my bed (among other things). I got less and less enthusiastic about his calls, and as I started to grow closer to Trish, I guess I kind of... let him drop.

Well, he didn't take it well. When he found out from this mutual acquaintance that I was into someone else, he flipped. Sent me a dozen or so enraged texts. I didn't pay much attention to them. Maybe I should have.

Somewhere along the way, he had gotten a video of me, while we were... together. Fucking left his phone on camera mode while he screwed me. I don't even know how he did it without me noticing but he did. He had a few videos of me, in a very, um... intimate way.

He uploaded them to one of those fucking "cheating ex" sites even though what I did was not cheating. The co-worker let me know. When I found out, I was mad. When I saw them I wanted to die.

There I am - not me, obviously, but the face I wear... giving into desire, an act that took me all the courage in the world to do, letting myself be free and enjoy my sexuality, as fluid as it is, and he managed to take something that should be pleasant and personal and make it disgusting and embarrassing. I'm revolted, as a woman and a man, at him and at myself. I regret ever letting him into my life.

So I'm really mixed up right now, and obviously Trish understood. I just don't want to be anyone, let alone with anyone, until I get back to my own body and hopefully can put this shit behind me.

But I feel so terrible, because as embarrassing as it is to think of myself doing that, and as unequivocally evil as David is for putting those videos online, the real victim is Angie. She trusted me with her body the same way I trusted David with it, and we both betrayed her. Those videos are online for good now, for any scumbag to look up and jerk off to. I hope she can forgive me.

Sunday, May 25, 2014

Meghan/Tasha: Necessary measures

An anonymous commenter referred to Tyler as a "little girl," which sent him into a rage. I don't disagree with that assessment. Whether Anon thought he was being cutesy about it, whether he thought it was just an innocent remark, it came off as condescending, smarmy, and belittling of women. So I don't disagree with his "cut that shit out" sentiment.

What I take exception to is the idea that a 17-year-old female is a "little girl." She's a young woman, with an identity, responsibilities to herself and pressures that frankly, men wouldn't understand. The world looks at her as an object of sexual desire, as well as a child with no agency. The world sees her as a potential victim, and Tyler probably already has part of himself that feels like he is a victim. Maybe we are, but I think we can get through this. But not without me having his back when some guy on the internet speaks belittlingly to him. So if we're going to treat this blog as a safe space, I need to make sure it's really safe to talk. Long story short... best behavior, guys.

Understandably, Ty's got some frustration about our shared situation.

He's been put in a tight spot. He's a grown man put in the body of a woman under the age of majority. And because he's a good person, better than a lot, he feels too guilty to even examine his face in the mirror. So he's distracting himself by drawing up our "plan" to cover for me while my real body has disappeared (God, what a weird sentence.) It's kind of amazing watching this person in action as "she" paces back and forth, reasoning out our every move, talking with her hands, unafraid of the sound of her own voice, and then I remember it's a grown man in there. Meanwhile, I'm too tired to do much of anything. In fact, while I took a nap, he sat up reading the archives of this blog, so he seems to have a decent handling on the mechanics of this thing.

We put my plan in action to liberate my belongings from my shared hotel room and texted my friends to the effect that I would be heading home early. They needled me about it, asked whether it had anything to do with Tyler, and I asserted it didn't (the first of several lies I will probably have to tell in the near future.)

I packed all my clothes and persona effects neatly, except for stuff I need in the immediate future, then set it in the closet. I rested my cane on the bag. The sight of it bothered me: some poor soul is going to inherit my minor handicap, and while it's really not something that kept me from going around, I hope... I just hope they don't take it too badly.

That said, the fact that I can actually sprint a little is a minor upside to this whole ordeal.

The next step will be to write out some kind of letter to the "new me." The idea of encompassing your entire life in a few short pages is daunting. The fact that it can actually be done is mortifying. I wasn't seeing anyone (besides Tyler, I guess, but I definitely don't expect or want the new me to be aware of that.) I was just about to move into an apartment with a stranger anyway. I was working as a TA and getting my Masters degree, but that's not impossible to put on hold (and what's the use of working toward someone else's masters?) At a certain point, it became a list of friends and family they might encounter, rather than anything about myself. Sad.

Don't think it hasn't occurred to me that this person might take my body as a blank canvas and just... make off with it. I'm trying really hard to put that in the back of my mind.

But I guess there's only so much room back there.

Some long weekend. We have to get up early tomorrow and take a 10-hour drive west.

Saturday, May 24, 2014

Tyler: Seeing is believing

You get a certain amount of crisis training in the military. Emergency medical training, what to do if you're being shot at, stuff you can expect you might have to deal with. Nothing to specifically prepare you for this scenario, but I guess it did improve my "handling random mysterious bullshit" skills, because I'm not freaking out as much as you might expect. Whatever happened to me, I'm alive and well and it appears I am free to leave the Inn at whatever point I want, but I'm not up to that yet. There was plenty of investigating to do.

First there was all that luggage left in the closet, neatly packed and waiting for me. The clothes I was wearing, the pajamas of a 6' tall, 200-lb 30-year-old man were not the most practical gear for whatever I now am. I've played enough video games to know if someone has left you something, you probably need it.

There was a lot to sort through. One bag for shoes, three for other clothes. It seemed unlikely that all of these were just for me. I grabbed a few pairs of jeans and held them to my new legs. The first ones I tried fell past the floor. I tried another bag.

In the front pocket, obviously meant to be found, was a bunch of folded up paper. I tossed it on the bed, to be read as soon as I had finished the "dressing myself" project. Tearing through the suitcase I found two sundresses, some shorts, at least one two-piece swimsuit, underwear, a pair of jeans and some yoga pants, as well as various tops. I've known girls who basically lived in yoga pants on their days off, so they seemed like a natural comfortable, all-terrain choice as it were. Not as girly as some of the other options. I pulled them on over my now impractically loose boxers - I knew that would have to change but I wasn't up for it.

Next: the letter. I hoped it would provide some sanity, some sense of what had happened to me and help dispel this feeling of helplessness. Learning the facts only made me feel a little more dire.

I found out about this Inn's secret curse that turns anyone who stays here into the previous occupant, which is... just super considering the previous occupant of this room was a 17-year-old girl named Lauren Sherman. Being that I'm now wearing her face, and she's off wearing someone else's, and someone will soon be wearing mine, I'm expected to go live her life. No way around it: for the time being I AM Lauren Sherman.

This ain't exactly something that fills me with joy.

Not like I've got a choice. If anyone out there has noticed she's missing, they're going to find me. Whatever obligations she has in her life, it falls to me to fulfill them: wherever she is right now, she has pressing matters of her own.

Call me selfish, I just hate being forced to do things. It's why I quit the military.

Just as I'm taking all this information in, I hear a car pull up in the parking lot. My heart stops. Someone's coming. I can't let them see me.

I listen for the sound of the front door opening. Timid, careful footsteps down the hall lead right up to my door. I stand with my back against it.

There's a knock, and a voice: "Tyler? Tyler, are you in there?"

I don't know whether to answer. The only person who knows I'm here is Meghan, and she can't see me like this. The wheels in my head start spinning, but I figure if I feed her some story about Tyler leaving early, the Inn's magic, and the fact that I don't look like myself will force her to believe it. And then I can knock over a table in frustration.

I take a deep breath and open the door.

Before I can get any words out, I realize I'm looking at a woman I've never seen before.

I described Meg as being petite and cute, with short brown hair, a light complexion and glasses. She had a "real woman's" figure, I guess, with round hips and thighs and a very modest, um, upper body. This woman had long blonde hair, model-caliber looks, tanned skin, and a statuesque physique, with long legs running up to a narrow waist that was exposed by wearing a shirt that was considerably too small for her, puffed out by what appeared to be substantial breasts. From a distance she appeared to be about a head taller than I am now. I'm not sure what that makes her. Bigger than me, is all.

After everything that's happened today, I find this woman's appearance downright frightening. The part of me that knows she's sexy is confused and a little angry.

I stammered "I... uh..."

"Who are you? What are you doing in this room?"

Before I could stammer out some phony story about being Lauren Sherman, she said "My name is Meghan Reis. I'm looking for a man named Tyler Blake."

I didn't know whether to shit or wind my watch, as they say.

"Meg, it's me. It happened to you too? It's Tyler. I'm Tyler." I just kept babbling, hoping she would believe me.

Her jaw dropped. She stepped into the room and wrapped her arms around me. I felt so small and helpless for a moment, I think I even quivered a bit, but I regained my composure and told her everything I figured out, figuring that it started while she was here: that queasiness we felt the night before was the beginning.

She said she wasn't able to sleep through it: that she felt the whole thing, felt her body getting taller, her hair growing longer and turning blonde. The panic caused her to run, leave her hotel room and spend the night in an all-night diner. She came here on a hunch that I'd be able to help her. I guess that proved correct. We got her changed into some appropriate clothes - Lauren had been traveling with her step-sister Tasha, which is who Meg became. That's who the other suitcases were for, the clothes that were much too large for my new body. I referred her to the letter addressed to Tasha for more details.

I told her we would have to go back to her room to get her stuff and set things up: somebody staying at this Inn was going to get her body, and it would be preferable if her "identity" was all in one place.

She said they had dinner plans tonight. Our plan was to say she was spending the evening with me again and then while they were out, we would sneak in and take all of Meghan's belongings. Then she would text that she wasn't feeling well and went back to Vermont and hopefully before anyone was the wiser there would be a new Meghan.

"God," she said in astonishment, "You've really got this all figured out, don't you?"

"We kind of have to. There will be plenty of time to freak out later."

"Speaking of which," she said, biting her lip "Have you thought much about what you look like right now?"

"I've glanced," I said, nodding soberly. "Haven't taken in the whole... terrain yet."

"It must be weird, isn't it?"

I turn away from her. I can see the outline of my reflection in the window. "You have no idea."

Tyler: What happened

I feel a little silly typing this, but not half as silly as I probably look... well, silly is definitely not the word. Anyway, if I've got things figured out, I'm probably expected to write about all this. Things are starting to add up: why the Inn is so creepy, why nobody would talk to me, and where there's a dumb guestbook online that I'm supposed to write in. Okay, you want to know? I'm going to try to give you just the facts.

I woke up this morning before 7 AM. I didn't sleep great. I had a dream where I was on fire, which I guess... makes sense. I was sleeping on my stomach and I felt this painful, painful pinch in my chest so I rolled over onto my back. It's hard to tell what I noticed at first. I wasn't even processing it. Too groggy, maybe? Maybe it was the feeling of extra flesh bobbing around under my shirt, maybe it was the length of hair pooled behind my head. I don't know how I missed any of it, but I'm sure not ignoring it now.

Whatever. Ignorant me sits up in bed, feels more than slightly off, swings his legs over the side of the bed to get up and... oof. It's like when you miss the bottom of a ladder. No harm done, but now you're really shaken. And boy was I, because in that moment, the hair, the jiggle, everything just... went.

I feel my breath catch in my throat when I let out a squeaky "Ah!" I look around the room. I think "Was that me?" My voice sounds like a kid's.

I must have stood there frozen for a good minute or two, not looking but slowly coming to realize something happened to me. Shrank me. Changed me. I am having, like, a total out of body experience. Except I'm in somebody's body. I get into an alert stance in case they come back, whoever they are.

But there's nobody.

I hear nothing. I see nothing. Just the parts of my own body that are visible to myself surrounded by an otherwise empty room at the Inn, the same one I fell asleep in. I see "my" thin little hands, which are skittering across the keyboard as I type this. The dainty little feet at the bottom of sticklike legs. There's something else different too. A few somethings.

I raise my hands slowly to the collar of my crew neck tee. I shut my eyes as I let my fingertips examine over the fabric, smoothing out over my chest... which has taken a distinctly rounded form, confirming what I figured would be the worst case scenario.

Immediately, like being shocked, I pull them away, arms in the air like a criminal who's been caught. I start to pace. I am not prepared for this, but who could be? My heart starts racing as I place my hand idly over my mouth and feel a jaw that is smooth and slight and lacking any growth of stubble.

I don't want to, but have to go to the bathroom mirror and see my reflection.

It's a girl's face that greets me. After catching the first glimpse I can't even look anymore. There's a stranger in the mirror and I feel somehow exposed for even looking at her. I decide to be an ostrich and stick my head in the sand, because if I can't see it it's not real. Something happened, something changed me into another person.

I know I'm still alive so I take stock of my situation. My clothes, the ones I went to sleep in - a tee and boxer shorts - are hanging off me, which means this strange body's lower half (which I was frightened to even consider having) is in danger of letting my shorts slip right off. I grab a towel and wrap it around my thin waist. "Hello?" I call out, trying to rasp my own voice to disguise its girlish quality. "Anyone there?"

I poke my head out the door of the room, cautiously. There's nobody in the halls.

I weigh the options. Do I start knocking on doors? Do I ask for help or see if anyone has a clue what has happened to me? Should I worry about being seen like this? What do I even tell them? Has it happened to them? It's moot, though. There's nobody here.

Everybody has left the Inn and I'm alone. Cars are gone from the parking lot. Whatever happened, they must have known about it, and I wasn't in on it, so wherever they went... they went together. Quickly.

Suddenly, my confusion mixes with anger. Who did this to me? Why? What did I do to deserve this? And for God's sake, how?

So I've written all this and it's helped put my feet on the ground, but I'm still anxious to figure out my next move. I'm eyeing that luggage in the closet and I sense it's there for me. When I decide it's time to make my next move I suppose I'll investigate. For now I just needed to take a breath. Somehow writing this makes it all seem less insane.

Tyler: I, Frankenstein

I spent the night with Meghan. Almost. Sorta.

Around 10 she showed up at the Inn with a copy of "I, Frankenstein" and a bag of caramel corn. "The worse the movie the better," she told me.

Oh, this is good.

And the movie was quite unwatchable, but we had a good laugh. We started to watch the second movie she had brought, "Legend of Hercules," but it didn't keep our attention as much. She felt herself nodding off and decided she should probably get back to her hotel. I had to admit I was feeling a little queasy too, probably from the candy, and maybe some kind of allergic reaction to these ancient bedsheets.

I walked her back to her hotel. She asked what I was thinking of doing after this "vacation," whether I was going back south right away. I said I really didn't know. I'm not the world's greatest planner.

She said that was all right and looked up at me. I took a moment to read the situation. This was right, right?

I gave her a warm hug, but I sensed her turning her face slightly toward mine, so it quickly became a kiss.

We held it a lot longer than our previous one, until she finally pulled away.

She smiled at me and put her hand on the knob of her room. "Good night, Ty."

"Night Meg," I said, watching her disappear into the room.

I floated back to the Inn. Queasy feeling be damned, I had to finish writing this.

Okay, now I really need to lie down. Something about this place has me totally sapped.

Friday, May 23, 2014

Tyler: Second chance

After a few rainy days of nothing but checking out local bookstores and other random events, I ran into Meghan again at "our" coffee shop. I was sitting outside, and she came over to me without any hesitation before I even saw her approach.

"Oh nice," I said, "You're not dodging me. That's a good sign."

"Of course not," she said real friendly, "No reason to let things get awkward."

"Good philosophy," I said. "So what's the plan for today?"

Her friends and her were heading down to the city to do some shopping, and she asked would I like to come along? I thought about all the fun stuff that would be going on in Old Orchard that day... and promptly said yes.

Meghan's friends seem like an odd couple. Depending on the time of day, they could be pawing at each other relentlessly or at each other's throats. According to Meg, they've been together for nearly a year and it's always been like this. Some people, I guess, just stick with what they've got. But I shouldn't judge. Anyway, being trapped in a rented Toyota listening to them bicker did not make the day any more enjoyable. Being able to share eyerolls with Meghan did.

I might as well tell you, anonymous blog readers, I'm pretty head-over-heels for this girl. She's making me glad I took this trip.

The day itself was kind of a snooze. The girls dragged us from store to store, looked for outfits, and tried things on while Erik gave honest feedback and I tried to find the exact right tone for my response so that it didn't seem like I was drooling over Meghan. I felt really young again, sweating over how to avoid making it seem like I like this girl too much.

Afterward, they had dinner plans with Erik's parents, which gave me an out, and Meghan told me she'd see me later. Halfway through the evening (and my personal dinner of a slice of pizza and a beer at the Inn) Meghan started texting me snippets of their boring conversation. "Oh God now they're talking about stocks." It started to rain and I told her I was thinking about just watching a movie or something. I hope she takes it as an invite.

Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Tyler: Screwing it up

Meghan - the girl I met the other day - knew of a nice little bar where we could sit and chat, although we found ourselves yelling over the band, so my voice is a little hoarse. It was a good evening, though. We played darts, and I mused about how odd it was that bars still encourage people to get liquored up and play with sharp objects.

"Tradition can be a powerful force," she reasoned. I agreed.

Eventually, her friends showed up and we made it a double date, although I felt a little shut out. Maybe I'm just a little self-conscious, being the non-academic type. I'm not an idiot, but I'm an uneducated SOB compared to these people. Really, I just think it was because I was the new guy, the fish out of water, and Meghan has known Jess and Erik for years.

Afterwards, Meghan and I went for another walk. It was very romantic, with the dim lighting and the sound of waves lapping in the distance. After a while we just sort of stopped talking and I got real nervous. So I did what I always do in these situations... I fucked it up.

I stopped in my tracks, put my hand on her shoulder and gave her a kiss.

She seemed startled. And a little embarrassed. She pecked back, but it wasn't exactly a big passionate moment. In fact, she slipped a little, with her bad knee, which made me feel bad.

"Sorry," she said, "I just wasn't expecting that. I'm not really sure what I'm doing here right now. Sorry if that's confusing."

"It's confusing," I admitted, "But you don't have to be sorry."

"It's just, this setting, us alone, the fantasy aspect of a tall, dark stranger... it's a lot to process. You can get lost in the moment pretty easily and I'm just not sure I should be looking for a vacation fling."

"I respect that," I sighed.

We started to walk back, "For the record," she said, "I'm not saying no. Just not sure it's a yes yet."

What can I say? Women.

After I got back to the Inn there was more weirdness, with basically everyone else shut up in their rooms. Like, guys, it's just after midnight. You're on vacation. Live a little.

I got a text from my little sister Carrie, who was wondering what I was up to. I'm not on bad terms with my family, but she's probably the only one I would want knowing my whereabouts. And truth be told, a vacation might do her good, so I suggested she find her way up here from Alabama if she can. It was more of a courtesy invite, though. I know money's tight for her, and I doubt she has a vacation fund.

Monday, May 19, 2014

Tyler: Breaking the ice

She was back today, so I went to talk to her. "Ugh," I said after taking a sip. "The coffee's really off today."

After a pause, she looked up at me. "I wouldn't know. This is tea."

"Oh, yeah? What kind?"

"I don't know, it has some big name... it has cinnamon in it though, I think."

"You don't know what's in it? Must be some kind of risk taker."

"Some kind, yeah," she nodded, then went back to her book.

I felt a little disappointed in myself as I kept sipping, having used up my one chance at a conversation.

"If you don't like it," she said suddenly, as if she had pondered the issue, "You should go complain."

"Nah," I said, "I don't wanna be a bother."

"So, you're not from around here," she said, picking up on my accent.

"No ma'am," I said with my flashiest southern smile.

"I'm guessing New York?" she said jokingly.

"I often get mistaken for Jerry Seinfeld on the phone," I said. She giggled.


"Alabama," I said. "Needed a nice change of scenery. How about you?"

"Not far, Vermont," she said. "I'm working on my Masters at UVM. Enjoying my summer break."

"Ah, Vermont, the land of maple syrup and... people from Vermont." I cleared my throat a bit, "What are you reading?"

"The new Michael Chabon. Well, new-ish. I swore I was going to get around to it someday."

"Any good?"

"Of course. Do you know him?"

"No. And I've never read his work, either." That was supposed to be a joke. I recovered, though, and once she realized I was a pretty safe guy, I mentioned I was thinking of taking a walk and does she know the area?

"Sure, let me just text my friends to let them know who took me if I get kidnapped," she snapped a picture of me on her iPhone. I gave a big, possibly creepy thumb's up.

We stood up and I was surprised to see her produce a cane from behind her seat. She noticed my eyes widening, which was embarrassing.

"Ah, now you're scared. You don't know what to do about this and you're in too deep to back out," she smirked.

"Oh, I just... I've never seen... uh, what's up?" I stammered idiotically.

"I was in a car accident a few years ago," she said, "I need a knee replacement, but it's hard to find the time or the money. Don't worry, I can totally walk, I'm not a pity case."

"Good, um, as long as you're comfortable."

"I'm comfortable," she said. "Let's just avoid any obstacle courses, okay?"


As we walked along the pier, we talked about a few things, then I asked about her tattoos.

On one arm was "Take these broken wings and learn to fly," and on the other "You were only waiting for this moment to arrive"

"I was going through a Beatles phase a a while ago," she explained.

"Ah yes," I said, "George, Ringo, and those two other guys." She did a cute snort-laugh. "I bet you thought I was more of a Keith Urban guy."

"I don't know what to think of you," she said, "But I'm starting to figure it out."

She was staying at the Days Inn. I mentioned I was staying at the Trading Post, and she asked "Is it nice? I've been here a few times and I've never known anyone who stayed there."

"It's cozy. Very old-fashioned. Weird that they take singles, it seems like a more natural couples place, and that makes it a little creepy, I guess."

"Yeah, my situation isn't much better. I'm staying with couple friends, and having one room makes me the ultimate third wheel."

"Well, I'm happy to provide distraction so you don't have to go face that," I said.

I ended up getting her phone number and a vague agreement to "do something" tomorrow. I'm worried that after spending a whole afternoon together, I'll be all out of material. But the good thing about living like a total vagrant for half your twenties is that you end up with a lot of good stories.

The Inn has started to fill up... with some pretty random people. They all seem to know each other, too. I saw them having what appeared to be a gathering in the common room when I got back. When I passed through, they immediately quieted up and watched me until I got to my room.

And here I thought Maine was full of good down-home folks.

Sunday, May 18, 2014

Tyler Blake: Titles Go Here

There was a girl back in Alabama who would have married me if I asked. In a heartbeat.

That's what you do down there. You get married out of high school, or if you're studious, while you're in College. You meet someone, you settle down, and then... well, you're settled. I know so many people who just didn't take the time to think about it. I know people who were divorced before 25. I don't mean everybody got married or even got married "too" early, just enough that as I approach 30 and have no plans to get married, most of the people I knew, especially in my family, see me as a black sheep.

I dated this girl for about four years, starting when I was 21. I think the question of marriage first came up after one. Well, she started dancing around it even earlier but I either didn't notice or played it off. And I liked her just fine, but I think I equated marriage with settling down and basically becoming dead, and I didn't feel like I had lived yet. From there, it was a matter of waffling, waiting to see if my feelings changed, stringing her along while I collected reasons not to marry her. Look, I didn't say I was a world class human being. I had shit to figure out. I still do.

I tend to think she never got over me, but she hopefully has. I do know she's been seeing someone, and maybe they're married by now. I haven't checked. I'm not the sort of person who stays Facebook friends after a breakup, you know?

Since then, I've dated here and there, hooked up, pined, and done just about everything except had an actual loving relationship. Now and then, I feel regret for not marrying her,  but the smallest part of me pipes up and reminds me I wasn't in a place to do that. It was the smart play. Not the nice one, but the smart one. Sometimes you've got to be ruthless in life.

Ouch, I am not making myself look good here. So let's talk about the reason for this flashback. The girl I saw - pardon me, the woman.

I saw her outside a cafe, when I was stopping by for a bit of hangover cure.

She seemed like a classic East Coast intellectual, which, let's face it, really does something for me or else I probably wouldn't have come here. Short, unevenly cut dark hair, glasses, the faintest sight of tattoo under her forearm - not a white trash biker chick tattoo, but a "I'm really finding myself in college" phase tattoo. Something written in script, but I couldn't read it. She was reading a really thick novel.

There was only two tables outside. I was planning on taking a walk while I sipped my coffee, but after she caught my eye I decided to take the other one. I sat and sipped and stared off in deep thought in every direction except hers, trying to appear interested in my surroundings instead of her. I was wearing sunglasses, though, so hopefully she didn't notice me shifting my glance over to her every so often. Although I thought I saw her glance back at least once.

Hopefully tomorrow she'll be back. And hopefully I'll get the balls to actually talk to her. I have no idea what about. Maybe she likes guys with McConnaughey accents. He's from Texas, but I'm betting folks up here don't see much of a difference.

Oh, and who do I speak to about the stranger's luggage that was left in my room? Is there just no lost and found? Am I supposed to babysit it? How... trusting.

Friday, May 16, 2014

Tyler Blake:

It was either gonna be Portland, Oregon or Portland, Maine. Either way I had to get out of the south, by as far as I could go.

That's a pretty good opening line, if I do say so. Sorry, I just spent a really long time thinking about it. It's true, too. I have some complicated feelings about the South. The land that raised me. A land that, right now, I wouldn't mind never going back to. I never felt like I belonged in Mobile, Alabama. Beautiful city, underrated Mardi Gras, great people... well, goodhearted people. They mean well. I didn't always feel like I fit in there, even though it was my hometown. I ignored it as long as I could, but I couldn't help fighting with my father, my brothers, my neighbors, my superiors in the National Guard.

About that: I was getting out of high school 10 years ago and I wanted to serve but I didn't believe in anything we were doing overseas, so I joined the NG. At 6' tall and relatively athletic, I was physically suited for it. I liked the routine, the regiment, the sense of purpose, and I probably needed the discipline... until I didn't like it. Counted the days until I could walk away. And now here I am.

I don't mean to make this a rant against the south or the military for that matter. It's basically all I've ever known, and that starts to wear on you after a while, you know? The differences between me and my surroundings started to become too difficult to ignore.

Call me a romantic, or a wannabe poet, but I had this elevated view of the Northeast. The center of culture. Camelot, Harvard, Robert Frost... Stephen King, maybe? Some vague interest in this place. I was working as a short order cook in Mississippi when a last-minute opportunity presented itself to fill a vacant room here (what, you don't search CraigsList for cheap travel deals?) and I quit basically on the spot to go. It's not that I really wanted to be here, but... where the hell else was I gonna go?

So now I'm here and I only kind of regret it. On the way up, I saw a lot of pasture, cows, some maple trees... I think I may have missed the boat not going for New York, or Chicago or something, somewhere with a lot of culture and constant activity.

Instead, I traded one sleepy coastal town for another one on the other corner of the country. The Inn I'm staying at is rustic, very turn-of-the-century and I'm not talking 2000. Stiff beds, drafty, creaky rooms in the cool, rainy Maine air... and only the faintest whiff of WiFi coming in from a nearby establishment. Which is odd. Think about it. The first thing I found in my room was a card inviting me to blog my "entire experience" on this "online guestbook" (really just a blog from the look of things) for some kind of ongoing art project or whatever but there isn't even any on-site web access besides an old dialup modem. Still, it's something to pass the time, even if I end up just blogging about blogging. They recommended starting with a bit about who I am and what brought me here, so here you are.

At least here I'm far enough from family that they can't stop by to check on me if I haven't answered my phone.

Speaking of which... a few messages from dad already. Love the guy, but, ah, I'll have to get back to him.

Once I've decided whether to tell my family where I am.

But first... drinks.

Monday, May 12, 2014

Cal/Angie: "Plans"

I can't tell right now whether I'm bad at being a girl, bad at relationships in general, or if it's totally not my fault. I guess it's past time for caring.

The clock is ticking, with less than a month before I get on a plane, fly back to my home country and hopefully back to my body or at least out of this one. Why should it matter what happens to me as Angie? I knew this thing with Dave wasn't going to last.

Problems between me and David started cropping up when I piped up about a few of my complains about his, um, sex-making style. "Hey man, would you mind taking it slow for a change? Take care of some things for me?"

Instead of agreeing this might be a nice idea, he just grunted, rolled his eyes and started to unload a bunch of his complaints about me. I could dress sexier, be flirtier at work, go down on him more enthusiastically (which is a major case of glass houses for him) let him put it in my butt (um NO.) This led to a huge fight, and in the middle of the fight I basically stopped us to say "Wait, why the fuck are we fighting? We're not even really dating."

He said I started it. Then I said I was gonna finish it and told him to get out. This was Friday night.

I was bitter all day Saturday, which only made things worse on Sunday... see, with all my personal drama lately I haven't given much thought to actually living Angie's life, which meant showing up for the Mother's Day celebration with her four siblings. Apparently the others were annoyed I had removed myself from the planning, and the entire day was as pleasurable as going to the dentist. It was the absolute last place I wanted to be, an all-day event with a woman I barely know, pretending to gush over what a great mom she is. It was hard, reminded me that I'm not at home in my own body, and I wanted to bail very badly.

My shit mood followed me home, and I considered contacting David to make nice. But when my finger was hovering over his profile image in my contacts, I was shaking with rage so badly I just kept scrolling until I hit "Robbie."

I don't know what I was thinking, exactly, I just didn't want to be alone. So very tactfully, I asked if he wanted to hang out, with "No funny business, promise." He texted back sure, and within twenty minutes was at my door.

We ended up walking around the city and I unloaded to him about how glad I would be to stop being Angie and how angry I was that I let myself get so worked up over a guy. Over a guy! Shit! Sometimes, the thought of what I let him do to me, and what I let myself do to him, makes my skin crawl. And sometimes I just want more of it.

The talk was helpful and quickly became drinks. And it was just nice to be with a guy who wasn't waiting to pounce on me, laughing and hanging out.

"I just think I'm not a guy's guy..." I muttered as we headed up to my apartment, "I like that I could be in a girl's body and suddenly dudes that didn't wanna be friends with Cal wanted to talk to Angie, and I like it. Is that sick?"

"Not at all," he said back, also pretty intoxicated. "It's like a power trip sometimes, these bodies... these disguises. They empower us. I feel like I could do anything."

"But you don't!" I said, "That's what I like about you. And you know why you don't? Because with great power..."

"Comes great responsibility," he finished. "I know, I saw that movie. It's not easy, though. Being around you girls... it's been crazy not to try anything."

"So why don't you?" I asked.

"Because it's an illusion," he said. "Soon it's just going to... go back."

"But it's not an illusion," I said... running my hand up and down his arm. I saw his waist flinch as his little buddy stood straight up. "This is real. I'm real. And we don't have a lot of time left."

"You're drunk."

"Not that drunk," I said. And I leaned up on my tiptoes and kissed him. And he kissed back.

We stood there in the hallway kissing a while. I felt his hands running over my body, hungrily. He wanted it. I could tell for a long time that he did and now I was finally getting him to admit it. I was already starting to get wet. Being with someone who knows you that way, someone who's been where I've been... that's so much more exciting than what I had been doing with David.

Once we came up for air, I said "We could go inside."

He took a big sigh. "I'll talk to you tomorrow. We'll figure this out."

I don't regret anything about that. In my first/normal/male life I never went after anything I wanted. Right now I have a chance and if I don't succeed, well... at this point I've seen some stuff and that will definitely tide me over.

Now, of course, I just keep checking my phone.

Thursday, May 08, 2014

Cal/Angie: Sex ruins everything

We're getting very close to the end of the line here. Our return trip to the Inn is the weekend of June 14. So just over a month before I get to be me again. You'd think I'd be excited. I'm terrified.

I don't really know what I'm going back to. The new me assured me things are a-okay, that he deferred my enrollment until fall 2014, worked, built up a lot of funds, some credit... kept things "under control." Somehow this is scary to me. I don't know the details. If there was some disaster to report, I could feel safe knowing that my panic was justified. It can't be that easy.

By comparison... I look at what I'm leaving. A good body, a good life... one that I've almost made too good. I am just getting good at Angie's job at the holistic store. I am very friendly with my roommates - we eat dinner together almost every night. I've gotten a sneak-peek at life after school, and it's fun. Not very successful, but fun and free.

Then there's David. I can't even think about it without getting a stress headache. What have I done. That was my biggest fuck-up of being Angie, hooking up with David. For so many reasons.

I feel like it's inevitable that I'm going to leave a mess for Angie to clean up when she gets back. David was a friend of hers, and I used him for my own... pleasure? Curiosity? I'm not sure it makes a difference to him. The problem is, I took their relationship to this level, and I don't think you can just go back.

I feel grossed out by myself whenever we do it, not because I like it (I'm over that, mostly,) but because I'm not asking for more from him. Quality time. Dates. Companionship. I've realized that he's not someone that I would date, even among all men, if I'm into that (more on this later) that while he's an okay (at best) sex partner, outside the bedroom, he's just too much of a stoner hippie to be compatible with me. He always seems to be in a bit of a druggy haze.

Not that I'm miss goody two shoes myself. I smoke now, weed at least. I like it. It makes me feel so at peace, which believe me, I need for this situation. We share a joint before screwing, and it helps his, erm... staying power. And it makes me all tingly and relaxed.

But there's a difference between smoking at the end of a day, and smoking as soon as you get out of bed. It makes him really dull company. You could even say that I smoke partly because I need to get down to his level before I can let him do anything, but the truth is I could never get to his level.

Ugh, complain, complain, complain... I feel like such an asshole. This situation is really my making. If I never let him touch me in the first place, I wouldn't be having this conversation. But what was I supposed to do? After a certain point, sex became all I could think about. I lie awake in bed at night fondling my tits and wishing someone, anyone else, were there, male or female. I didn't know girls could get like that, but then again, I guess I'm only partly a girl.

Well, the part that counts.

I have to end it. I have to, because it's not fair if I leave it for Angie to resolve. But with the routine I've gotten into, I feel like I'm going to leave it for the last possible moment.

Life was easier when I wasn't getting laid, didn't want to get laid, couldn't get laid. Sex has ruined me. If I stayed female more than another month I worry what I'd end up turning into.

Tuesday, May 06, 2014

Roy/Christine: Making Nice

After taking a long while to cool off, I ended up going back to Terry. Part of it was the uncomfortable motel bed I was sleeping on, starting to take its toll on my already permanently-sore back (lugging breasts and all this extra weight around is no fun.) Mostly, or so I tell myself, it's the greater good. In the end, my squabbles with this man are my own, and my actions have an effect on the person who is supposed to be in this body. As loathe as I am to share a bed with him, I force myself to put on the "good wife" facade.

I'll admit it has its benefits. Routine is nice. Company is good. I'd be lying if I said I didn't get any pleasure (albeit a kind of perverse kind) out of fulfilling Christine's "wifely" duties. But it's a bit like the last semester before graduation. I'm squirming in my seat at all times, ready to break free for the summer and take back control of my life.

And while I console myself by telling myself it was the right thing to do, I still feel like I've betrayed myself in letting Christine go back to him. He's an asshole, a difficult partner best and a bigot at worst. I'd be lying if I said it was the first time I found myself paradoxically attracted to a man like that, but I hope it's the last.

I hate feeling small, while also being too big. Christine left me a body that was very out of shape compared to what I'm used to, and while I made some progress helping that, there is only so much that can be done. As determined as I am, there just weren't enough hours in the day to make a huge difference. Eating right helps, staying active helps... but I've always said you've got to be about it, and even with my discipline, there was only so much effort I could put in while doing a full-time job and carrying on the marriage. This is, I guess, why people "let themselves go." I've never had that luxury because I never settled down, and I never wanted to.

So I'm left with this: another month or so of carting these hips and thighs and not to mention bosoms around with me, clenching my teeth when the man who shares my bed speaks, getting looks from strangers that I read as judgmental of my weight or lack of cosmetics... and sometimes clearly the mark of some kind of fat fetishist.

I'll admit to a certain level of judgmentalism in myself, both towards myself, and towards others before I got here. I always thought if it worked for me it should work for everyone... and maybe to a degree there's some logic to that, but I'm less hardline now than I was a year ago. I have a better understanding of women's body acceptance movements. I used to think it was just for quitters, but now I see it as a strength. To love yourself hard, but satisfying.

Sunday, May 04, 2014

Tori: I'm The (Wo)man

I know I go a long time without posting here, and I hope you can understand the reasons. One, in comparison to those who are posting, my life is incredibly dull. Two, I decided a while back that I didn't want to dwell on body-swapping drama. I check in now and again but I go weeks without reading what these good people have to say about themselves. I felt like I needed to step away from this blog to complete my transformation, from Cliff, to Tori the past victim of the inn, and now to Tori: kick-ass bosslady.

Even in my old body, I didn't have much ambition. I wanted to do something I was good at, fixing other peoples' technical problems, be paid a respectable wage while doing it, and hopefully just subsist. And that was pretty much the plan as Tori, too. After 2013 was spent hopping from one dating disaster to the next (and the ones that weren't were just duds) and pining for a guy I couldn't have, I buckled down and started to develop myself as a person.

In my last post, months ago, I mentioned a friend I had in another department, Chuck. He's my best friend at work, a handsome go-getter with a beautiful wife and infant son. Sometimes it's a little painful to think about, with him being unavailable and all (what's that cliche... all the good ones are married or secretly using you to further their conspiracy?) but if anything having a friend like that has been really healthy for me. Seeing his success kind of made me want to do more for myself.

In March, he found out he was being promoted out of his department. There wasn't really anyone ready to take his place, so he told me that if I took some business courses to improve my resume, my knowledge of the company would make me a shoe-in. This from IT, usually a pretty dead-end department.

I guess I should call him my friend with benefits. Improved health benefits, you pervs.

It was too good of an opportunity to pass up. IT is what I've done for nearly a decade now, it was my identity as Cliff and as Tori, it was... a leftover, I guess. I enjoyed it, I was good at it, but getting out now looked really attractive when the opportunity came up. Who I am, as Tori, is not somebody who stays in one place forever. And definitely not because that's what Cliff did. I know that now.

It required three weeks of night school: not easy, but no big deal when you think of some of the other things I've had to learn over the years. It was nice to learn something really new at this age. I may not be a corporate shark, but I feel like I could take control of a situation now.

I start tomorrow. With a huge pay increase and a position of some actual authority.

I'm almost tempted to second-guess it. Knowing that the Agency, those weirdos who rig the Inn for fun and profit, have messed with my life (and the lives of people I care about) I have to look at stuff like this with some suspicion. But if I can't appreciate opportunities when they come around, well... how am I ever going to do anything with my life? It's been a while now, and I think they - whoever they are - are basically over me. I sat down and thought hard about it and decided it seemed very unlikely - not impossible but not likely - that this fairly benign promotion was a point in some conspiracy to get me (or other people) back to the Inn.

(Knock on wood...)

The whole thing has me excited and scared. Wish me luck.

PS. More things to talk about, but they don't necessarily belong in this post. Mwah.

Thursday, May 01, 2014

Cal/Angie: Could be better, could be worse

This is probably not going to shock anyone, but I think I like sex.

Obviously, as a man I liked it. I always wanted to have more for it. I was desperate, in fact. I jacked off probably more than I should. And when I finally started to let myself open up to that side of my lie as Angie, I wasn't THAT surprised that it was fun. By myself, anyway. That way, I was in control. I could go on for hours and hours, uninterrupted, if I planned my day out correctly. It would start at work, just lightly teasing myself when nobody was around. By the time I was on the bus home, I was squirming in my seat. Disgusting, I know... looking around at all the strangers made me feel good, like I had a little secret. Well, I've got lots of secrets, obviously.

Then I'd get home and the fun would begin. It got to the point where I didn't even care if the roommates were around. I would bolt straight to my room and get straight to business, having had up to three hours (!!!) of foreplay with myself. It was like a damn oil slick down there sometimes.

I experimented. How to touch, where, what, if anything, to put in... and when. I started to get to know this body really, really well. Except I didn't know it. I was just playing around.

Then I started having sex with David, and I was sorry to say it wasn't as glorious as I hoped. He always leaves me wanting more, and I didn't have any way to tell him what exactly I wanted, because, well, I feel almost ashamed to speak for myself. Some of it's not in his control, like, I know a guy can't hold back his come any more than you can hold back a sneeze, I just wish we held off on that portion of the night longer. I should really just man up and tell him to go down on me until I tell him to stop, not until he feels like he's done. Well, I also wish the intercourse itself lasted longer. One time, we did it, and it was over in a few minutes, and we lay there for a while until he was ready to go, and the second time lasted a lot longer, but his heart didn't seem to be in it. It was pretty gentle.

That's the other weird thing. I think I'm starting to feel like I prefer the hard stuff? He's a man, I want him to use all his muscles and size, and leverage and just... fuck me, you know? Hard, and slow, and... oh God, is it getting how in here.

Sorry. I didn't expect to think about sex this much as a woman. I went from barely thinking about it at all to having this, like, awakening at the end of the "year" I've spent here. It makes me sad that I waited so long, but at the same time I know I wasn't ready. I still don't know if I was.

Mixed feelings, I'm saying. Positive ones are in there with the negative ones. We've got a date tomorrow night. Hopefully I'll be able to lay it out for him in a way that doesn't hurt his feelings.