Simon/Joy: The Bet.

I was really looking forward to my date with Teddy. Neither of us were calling it a "date" but I was definitely treating it as such. I haven't even really been out on many "dates" since I've been here. A few pre-arranged outings, but even when I was seeing Stretch we often just went for drinks after work so I didn't change my outfit or do my make-up differently or anything. The only time I put a lot of work in is if the girls and I were going to a club or I was going solo hoping to hook up. If I had a booty call, I usually would just wear something comfortable and seductive, knowing I wasn't going to be wearing it for long.


For Teddy, though... I wanted to wow him. I didn't want to dress like a realtor going for after work drinks. I wanted to dress like a hot chick on the prowl, someone commanded his attention. The mild weather trend hasn't worked for my advantage but I still wore a nice light dress that shows off my figure, lots of leg and chest - I don't really have cleavage so wearing low cut means I can go pretty extreme. I wore my tallest pair of stilettoes, and even went to Shayla to do my hair and makeup. I can do it myself but not if I want to look all-caps HOT.


Underneath was my laciest, skimpiest thong and no bra. And the chill in the air meant the girls were perky.


It was worth it, though, at least at first, because I could tell he was impressed. I've never seen him at a loss for words but he stumbled to say, "You look -- really good!" I blushed, "Who, me?" I could tell he was trying to play it cool but I examined his trousers for signs of attraction.


I have to admit, there are parts of being a chick I really get off on. It's nice to have people treat you like you're this small, precious thing they need to protect and care for. I like having chairs pulled out for me and doors being opened for me and being looked at with that fawning gaze. I like how he takes any opportunity to touch my lower back to guide me, or take my lightly by the arm on the way into the restaurant.


I also relish being a chick who isn't a chick. All those things that I hated about my old girlfriends, the way they would nag me and get pissy if they thought I wasn't paying attention to whatever I was saying. Who really cares? We both know what we're really here for. Any guy who might end up dating me is hella lucky since it would basically just be like dating a bro with tits, and let's face it, what guy doesn't basically just want that?


I tried to avoid work conversation and asked him about his personal life. We got into the subject of how he was a workaholic in his 20's and 30's and now he was paying the price, because he never settled down. That was getting a bit serious, but I used to opportunity to reach out and touch his hand and say things would be okay, it wasn't too late.


He gave me a weak smile, cleared his throat, and asked about Stretch.


"Oh, uh, I guess that was an open secret, huh? What did he tell you?"


"Nothing," he said, "He was pretty secretive about it, but we could all tell something was going on."


"Yeah, uh," I felt my voice creak into an even higher register, shifting in my seat, "It didn't work out. I think he was into me, but the reality wasn't quite what he imagined. He thought I was some pretty, innocent little princess."


He smirked, "Oh, and you're... not that?"


"No," I smiled wickedly. "I'm a dirty girl."


Holy shit, I was getting myself hot.


He looked away. "Good to know," was all he could say. I was a little irritated. Why was he backing off. Didn't he want this? Am I somehow not good enough for him?


Finally I broke down - because after all, I would've loved a chick to be this straightforward with me - and said, "Hey, what's going on here, man? Are you into me or not? You can't tell me you're not feeling it a little."


He hemmed and hawed. "I... you see... it's complicated."


"What, because of Stretch?" I scoffed, "Aren't we past that? Aren't we all grown-ups? There was nothing there and if he's not over it, that's his problem."


"It's more than that," he said, hinting at, well, something big. "You... really don't know, do you?"


"Know what?" I was truly baffled. "Are you, like, gay or something?"


"No, no, I'm not..." he said. "God, I can't believe I'm about to say this but I can't let it go on."


"Say what? Dude, you're scaring me." I searched my mind. I wondered if it had to do with the Inn or someone knowing my secret or... someone having a secret of their own? But I was way off base.


"Joy," he said with a severe look on his face, "There's a bet."


I raised an eyebrow. "A bet?"


He sighed. "There's a bet around the office over who could hook up with you first."


I just stared. I'm not even sure I blinked. "Uh... what?"


"Sully and the Big Guy were talking one day, about how flirty you were with everyone and how it seemed likely that someone was going to, well..."


"Hit that?" I completed his thought for him.


"I guess so."


"And Stretch was part of the bet?" I felt my heart sink a bit.


"Yeah," Teddy nodded.


I took a pause before my next question. "And you?"


He bit his lip. "Only indirectly."


"What the hell does that mean?"


"Well, they figured that if I somehow 'won' that would be it for them, so they made me put some money in the pool."


"How much?" I said, too stunned to raise my voice beyond a whisper.


"$500 apiece," he shrugged. I had to restrain my reaction - disgusting, perhaps, but it's hard not to be flattered by being worth that much money.


Before I could say anything, Teddy piped up, "Joy, you've gotta know... I wasn't really in it. I had no plans to try to win, if anything it made me want to keep you at arm's length."


I sniffed, "Well, that didn't work."


"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he sighed, "Things between you and Stretch seemed pretty legit and I didn't want to wreck that."


"Yeah, that would have killed it if it wasn't already dead," I sighed.


"If there's anything I can do to make things up to you, just let me know."


"Let's just forget about it," I sighed, "And try to enjoy our meal."


"Okay," he said.


"And hey, Teddy... don't tell anyone I know about the bet, okay? It sucks but I'd rather not deal with it."


"Whatever you like," he nodded.


I was obviously a bit distracted for the rest of the night. I'm seeing a few downsides to embracing the whole "sex object" thing. I'm more than just a pair of tits and ass - as fabulous as the assets I got from the original Joy are (well, she could use a boob job maybe but I'll leave that for the next Joy.) I'm good at my job, I'm a decent person, I'm good company. I'm a lot of things. And I happen to enjoy getting laid, same as I did as a man.


It makes me miss the thrill of the chase. Yes, sex is easier to come by and I can take my pick of partners, but man was it exciting to have to work for it. I miss the game.


Then after the weekend, I realized... I'm still playing the game. Just by different rules.


So I got my phone out and texted Teddy - we hadn't talked since Friday and I was feeling bad about that.


"Hey... thanks for telling me all that stuff on Friday. I really needed to hear it."


"No problem, I'm sorry again," he said back.


"So... want to win a bet? ;)"


To be continued...

Simon/Joy: Making my move.

A lot has been going on recently so let me recap the last few months of my life quickly:

• As a woman I have discovered the joys of being promiscuous.
• I went out on several dates with a guy from work, Stretch. He was shy and never made a move on me, and I never made a move on him, and eventually he found out I was seeing other guys and called it off, trying to make me feel bad for being promiscuous.
• I wouldn't say I had feelings for him, but I was having some fun.

Now, here's some stuff I didn't tell you.

• There's also this guy at work named Teddy. He's a bit older, but he's in good shape, smart, funny, confident - all things I don't really think of Stretch as being. Everything you say to him reminds him of some awesome story of travel or someone cool he's known.
• He's not obnoxious or crude. He pays me innocent compliments and then gives me a sly wink. He's kind of who I want to be.
• He's never made any serious moves on me.
• Sometimes when I'm talking to him I get a little bit tongue tied and speechless. That almost never happens to me, especially since being Joy and I've been able to wrap every man I've met around my finger.

It started innocently, even while I was still "seeing" Stretch. I would find myself craning my neck if I thought Teddy was walking by my desk. I would feel more enthusiastic about teaming with him on a sale than with the other guys. I felt the urge to sit near him at meetings, found my eyes glancing his way.


I was in denial for a while. It's Joy's body. It's not really me. I'm not really a chick and even if I like having a sex as a woman, that doesn't mean I have to... like guys that way.


One weekend, neither of us had anything to do so he challenged me to a game of pickup basketball. I'm pretty competitive even if as Joy my jumpshot is even worse than it was as Simon. He gave me one of those winks when I asked him to go easy on me, and it was like... fuck, there's a pool in my panties. We're both out here in athletic gear - I'm in basically a sports bra and spandex shorts for crying out loud - sweaty and full of endorphins and only a half step away from nudity.


I'm screwed. I want to be a guy again, I can't let anything get in my way and having "feelings" for a member of my same sex is definitely not on the menu. But I've been going through a dry spell these past few weeks ever since I realized my dudes were all just lazy and using me. But I've still got time for a summer fling, right? Maybe if we bang a little, it'll get out of my system.


I asked him if he wanted to go for a drink tonight. He said yes.


It's on.


Now... what to wear...

Max/Elaine: I guess at least some of this is real

I mean, I guess there's no denying that I've had my sex and skin color changed - or that my mind has been transferred into someone else's body - but everything else just seems ridiculous.  My girlfriend is actually about twice my age but style the body of a college student?  My brother isn't my brother and hadn't been for the years?  The person who was my big brother growing up has been my girlfriend's hot friend and now he's somehow younger than me?  And before that, he was posting as his own girlfriend until the person who had become him got together with his roommate's fiancée, in part because his roommate was actually a girl who is now the person who became my brother?  My head spins just thinking about it.

The thing is, I don't have to believe all of this just because I look like this Elaine Preston who has a full history online going back to college.  There's no reason why everybody else I've talked to and heard about can't be the people that their IDs say they are and are just telling me that they're other people just to mess with me.  I don't know why they'd do it, including the Jordan back in New York, but how much impossible am I expected to swallow?  Maybe it doesn't make complete sense to say I think something might be up openly, but then again, I don't figure I should assume these guys are stupid.  They've got to know I'm thinking this, even if I can't figure out why they'd tell me my body was being held hostage to get someone else to do something rather than me.

I guess I'm a little more calm and skeptical than I was last weekend.  I'm not sure what impression the people reading this have of me from "Jordan's" posts, but I can be like that, having a pretty strong reaction at first before calming down and starting to actually think about things.  And that's without crazy unknown hormones!  Looking back, I think Bingbing (Giorgia?) knew this, and kept finding a way to wind me up on the trip from the beach to Boston without me realizing it, so I was hysterical by the time I meet Yuan-wei.  I didn't get much chance to really stop and think until she left me to the bathroom.

I was a bit nervous getting out of my clothes, but the bloody nose Bingbing gave me had ruined my shirt, and once I could see my breasts in the mirror, I figured I might as well see everything and dropped my pants.  Yuan-wei has a full-length motor in her bathroom, so I could see everything, and even though this body isn't really my type - I've dated Chinese girls almost exclusively - I kind of wanted the girl in the mirror to look sexy for me, though I want feeling it.

Or, more accurately, the woman in the mirror.  Elaine's driver's license says she just turned 30, and she seemed to keep herself in pretty good shape (or made sure Cary did), but there are some lines on her, and when I cupped my breasts, they were a bit softer than what I'm used too, even considering that they're bigger.  She didn't seem to have shaved or waxed her public hair in a while, either.  It didn't really feel sexy to touch myself.

The shower was nice, though - Yuan-wei had a really nice apartment that comes with good water pressure and a fancy shower head, and while I wasn't really grimy, there was a lot of sweat and blood and all.  The thing where you watch the dirty waste with all that stuff drain was a bit more hypnotic than usual, if only because I was trying to look past straight down.  I had a hard time with my hair afterward, though - I got really frustrated trying to dry it with a towel, but wound up looking like some time-traveler from the 1980s after blow-drying it.  Then I was kind of flummoxed with what was in the suitcase - all the kind of gender-neutral clothes needed a wash, I guess because Cary had worn those first, so I was left with jeans that took some effort to pull up over my butt and a camisole.  

I put sneakers on over bare feet, took a deep breath, and opened the door.

Yuan-wei had taken a moment to get dressed herself, in loose-fitting slacks and a Mets t-shirt, probably trying to make me feel a little more comfortable.  That ended when her eyes hit my chest.  "Don't wanna be a pest about this, Max, but you might as well get a bra on now.  I admit, I fought it for months, but even going from moobs to A-cups, it helped a lot.  And I'll bet Elaine doesn't fuck around getting crappy underwear, which would be bad, since you're not exactly flat-chested."  She started rooting around in the suitcase and found a couple, one cotton and another lacy.  "Up to you."

I picked the plain one, went back into the bathroom, and got it on, with Yuan-wei helpfully telling me to just pull the spaghetti straps on the top down and to put the bra on backwards before turning it around.  The result want quite a huge change, but I had to admit the support was nice - maybe I'd only been a woman for a few hours, but suddenly not having that tug was a pretty good feeling.  It admittedly pushed more up a bit and gave me more visible cleavage, but I guessed it was okay for now; a little laundry and I could get into something more comfortable.

And, brother or not, Yuan-wei has actually been really cool about that.  She's been helpful with practical things - even had pads in her purse when my period hit even though despite apparently being past freaking out about tampons.  She seems to be running up a huge phone bill with her boyfriend in Hong Kong, although I wonder about what I'm supposed to take from that - am I expected to generously offer not to change back so that she doesn't have to break up with him?  Tell her to go to the other side of the planet, I'll get by?

Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea; I've been at her apartment for the last two weeks, mostly just hanging out, and I'm starting to get antsy.  Skimming the blog, it looks like most (aside from Jordan) try to live the new life they've inherited, but there's no job waiting for me in Chicago, and a good chunk of her family already knows and doesn't have to be fooled.  So we've just been hanging out, and while maybe that's a ploy - it's a bit easier to go along with the idea that Yuan-wei really is my brother when she's swearing while playing Xbox with me - it's got me in a weird place of not having to worry too much about being someone else but not having anything else to think about.  I'm not sure what my next step should be.

-Max/Elaine

Cary (and Elaine): One Upset Girl

By now you've probably read that Elaine did not get to become herself again when her turn came up at the Inn; another fellow gets to have that experience, although for what it's worth, I don't think him becoming Elaine, specifically, was not part of his girlfriend's master plan. It could be, but Elaine is inclined to believe it's not, and I'm inclined to believe her.

The way she puts it, she, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend were on track to arrive at Old Orchard on Friday night.  She falls asleep in the car - apparently that's a Mackenzie thing; the rolling wheels just sooth her somehow - and when she wakes up, the car is stopped in a rest area with her by herself.  She gets out to look for her sister and maybe get herself a snack, and when she comes back the car is gone.  She doesn't have her phone, the others don't notice she's gone until they reach the Inn, and then according to Elaine the boyfriend is the one that says she'll be okay and they can get her in the morning.  Everyone changes that night, though.

Meanwhile, a Massachusetts State Police Officer finds her sitting on a park bench, guzzling coffee to keep awake through the night because she knows it's not safe for someone who looks like a ten-year-old to be on her own like this.  She's taken to the station because she can't remember "mom's" or "dad's" phone number, says they were going to the Trading Post Inn, and the night clerk at the place down the street says, yes, the Mahoneys have checked in.  By the time the local police get there, of course, there are no Mahoneys, just a young African-American couple whose story about being in a room with the Mahoneys' luggage makes no sense.

Around noon, I get a call, as Elaine is telling them that they came to Maine to visit me.  Fortunately, more than a few people on the force like hot dogs and know me to say hello at least, and don't seem to seriously think I'm any sort of actual suspect.  They just want to know something about the Mahoneys, and I tell them what I remembered from Elaine talking to them.  I don't suggest that they may show up in a couple of weeks or so; a couple of other Inn guests saw the handbooks I left at the Inn after changing back and have me a call, saying that a wide investigation would just stir things up and make the issues with missing time and the like different for everyone, and since people tend to be changing back this early in the year, maybe we should let the Inn's curse smooth things out, like it seems to do.

Of course, I can't do that entirely; as I'm walking out of the station, Elaine hears somebody call me by name and bolts from the table where she's sitting, running up and leaping at me.  It's such a genuine scared-kid thing that I'm not entirely sure how to respond to it, but she seems okay when I put my arms around her and pick her up, though maybe that's because it gives her a chance to talk to me without someone overhearing.  "You've got to do something, Cary - they're going to put me into foster care and the real Mahoneys don't know what's waiting for them!"

I say I'll think of something, and then ask the officers if she can come home with me.  They shake their heads, saying not while they didn't know what was up, but if I want to fill out some forms, they can start a background check, just in case.  So I tell Elaine to be good, getting a sarcastic look, and start doing some paperwork.

I get Missy's text message, so at least I can tell her that her body is in good hands when she drags her temporary guardian to the truck on Tuesday, though I can't say much more than "Elaine's doing well" without the other little girl and her mother thinking I'm suspicious.  By then, I've talked with Missy a bit and we think we've figured out what's happened, that this Bing-Bing girl must have left the Inn while Max was sleeping, came back in, scoped out where Elaine's suitcase would be and then rushed Max out during one of the moments when there weren't any police.

We got a little more time to talk this afternoon; she does not like what Missy and Max are saying about things being like this for a year, but she was at least able to give me an email address for the Mahoneys along with her own (though she says not to use it, because it's probably monitored).  I haven't heard back from them yet so I don't entirely know what's going to happen, but so far, it seems like everyone is at least safe, and apparently my application to be "Mackenzie's" temporary guardian is hung up on jurisdictional issues as much as anything.  So, hopefully, will be able to figure more out soon.

Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-Wei: Bitches Will Pay for This

I should be in Hong Kong now, fucking my boyfriend and maybe starting to make contacts with film industry people for after when I graduate next year, but what does that matter now?  It's not going to fucking happen because I don't know where and who I'll be, but I don't really have much choice.

I was minding my own business Saturday morning, getting packed and getting other stuff put away because without Benjamin and Jonah around, I don't have as many people to house-sit as I would otherwise.  I had some music blasting, so it took a second, more insistent buzz from the security intercom before I hit pause and went over to the panel.  The image on the screen was Bingbing.  "What do you want?"

She smiled a little too widely.  "Got a girl here who needs a little Inn orientation, Jordo, and I've bumped my flight home to this afternoon and don't have the time."  The monitor showed a little pixelated commotion behind her, and I heard a woman ask if her brother was up there with Yuan-wei.

I got a rock in my stomach and a fire at the base of my neck.  "Max, is that you?  I'll be right down!  Don't you fucking let that bitch leave!"  I grab my keys from the hook and go right out into the hallway without closing the door behind me and race down the stairs without even looking at the elevator, but when I finally cross the lobby and get out the door, she's gotten back into a car and driven off, a suitcase hastily thrown onto the sidewalk and a woman on the walkway next to the door, trying to stop the blood coming from her nose, asking where Bingbing learned to hit like that.  I told her probably close to home, on the streets of Chinatown, but she looked confused.  I sighed, opened the suitcase, and found a t-shirt for her to hold up to her face.   "Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up and I'll explain everything."

I probably shouldn't use "she", since I sure resisted it and you all reading this have probably figured out that "Max" isn't just some gender-neutral nickname.  He still didn't quite get it, though, asking where his brother was.  I dumped some ice cubes in a dishcloth and handed it to him.  He held it to his face and sat down, looking at me for answers for everything from why he was an African-American woman to why his girlfriend had slugged him before driving away.

I squatted down before him and held his free hand.  I've never been any good at this touchy-feely shit, but figured I might need to stop him from running away.  "I'm right here, Max.  I'm Jordan Chang, or at least I started out that way, until I went to the Trading Post Inn with Ravi about three years ago."

He stared at me blankly for a few moments before speaking.  "No, no,  no.  No!  That's not possible!"

"Look at yourself, Max.  There's at least a couple of things that are possible that didn't seem that way before."

"No, I mean, Jordan's back in New York, he's working at a gym, he's on my 9-man team, he's..."

"Doesn't sound like me, does it?  That's Benny.  Not nearly as good at computer stuff as me, but he did a bang-up job getting into shape.  How's his Cantonese coming?"

He had a million questions but got distracted by the one I asked, trying to remember the last time he'd heard his brother speak anything other than English.  So I launched in with the whole story - becoming Deirdre, meeting Annette and Benny, Benny and Kareena falling for each other, discovering that the last person to be Yuan-wei had thrown a wrench into our plans, settling in, finding out that Yuan-wei and Bingbing weren't the originals, and that more or less brought us up to date, except for whatever happened to him.

"So let's see who you are."  I pulled a wallet out of one of the suitcase's compartments and opened it up.  

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You've turned into Elaine Preston.  She was supposed to be getting her own life back this time.  She is not going to be happy."  I handed him the wallet and the compact that was next to it so he could compare his face to the one on the driver's license.

He looked back and forth, astounded.  The first time, it's a little hard to get the hang of having become a specific other person, even though I'd told him about how I'd found the suitcases and actually made choices about who to become.  I don't know how much of what I'd said had really sunken in.  "But... why didn't Bingbing change?  Or did she?  Did she just ditch me because she's not my Bingbing?"

I told him I didn't know, and started opening compartments, looking for a note.  It didn't look like Cary had left one for Elaine - why bother? - but there was a piece of paper filed in half, written in Chinese.  I handed it to him, but his hand was shaking, so he handed it back.

"'Hey, Max, I'm writing this before we even get on the train, so I don't know who or what you've become.  I know you've got a lot of questions, but your brother can answer them.  The important thing is that you relay a simple message:  Carlotta wants to be Yuan-wei again.'"

I stopped there for a second, suddenly feeling like I didn't need to read the rest of it, but Max was looking at me, wanting to know what came next.   "'And while maybe you lucked into a nice life just like Jordan did, and maybe Jordan's just enough of an asshole not to care what happens to you, I'm sure you at least still care about your parents.  And just ask Jordan just how careless we can be where people who think they're Carlotta's father can be.'"

I went pale, and that makes Max even more frightened.  "What's she talking about?"

I'm no good at the vague story that can spare his feelings.  "The original Yuan-wei's father died from a peanut allergy.  I think it was an accident but Carlotta felt guilty, although...  Fuck."

"That's all you've got to say?  My girlfriend just threatened to kill my parents and all you've got is 'fuck'?"

"Of course not!  I'm just trying to think what to do!"

"Well, what's she say?"

"What do you think?  She wants me to check into Room 7 at the Inn on August 31st, not interfere with Carlotta/you checking in mid-September, and then, if nothing's amiss, you'll be able to get your life back when the Inn opens back up in May."

He stopped the ice-pack, looked at his hands, and then brought them to his breasts.  "I've got to be like this for a whole year?"

It started my mind racing.  "Well, we could check and see if there are any other vacancies during the summer, but that's the luck of the draw - the real Elaine was turned into a kid, for instance, although...  Do you still have your key?"

He grabbed at his pockets.  "I...  I don't think so."

"Shit.  Giorgia - that's Bingbing's real name, Giorgia Wong - probably won't turn it in until just before the next two-week block, so that would make camping out and hoping you get a lucky 13 in the next week and a half tough.  I suppose we could try to stop Carlotta from checking in as Sandra and get you back in there instead, but Giorgia will probably be watching us like hawks, and I do not want to mess with them; they've both been in prison.  I really wish we could get ahead of them."

"Is that it?  Or do you just not want to give up all of this, assuming anything you've said has been true?"  He gestured vaguely at my nice apartment.

"Hey, I'm just trying to think of a way to get get you back to normal safely.  These bitches scare me, Max - when I go to Hong Kong, there's a cop all up in this ass because of something one of them did, along with a widow who is apparently cold to the person she thinks is her daughter because what if that detective is onto something?  There's a sweet but messed-up gay couple in Montreal because the Wongs were clever and sadistic enough to tell them that they might fucking melt if they tried to get their lives back just days or hours after this happened to them.  I thought Bingbing was a cool best friend to inherit, but as soon as I figured out what was going on, she started taunting me about dating you because she liked watching me squirm.  Carlotta served ten years for manslaughter.  I'm going to call Benny to tell him to look out for Mom and Dad, but do you think he'll be able to convince them that you might mean them harm?  As much as we're fucked if we don't do what they say, we're probably just as fucked if we do.

"I mean, yeah, I'd like to stay Yuan-wei - it's nice having a trust find and having a boyfriend that really digs me and being able to study something that I really find enjoyable.  And for all I know, they've lined up some 90-year-old with cancer to stay in Room 7 before me.  So pardon the fuck out of me for trying to see all the angles here!"

"And if the best angle leaves me stuck like this?"

"Dude."  I grabbed his hand again, squatting so that I was looking up at him.  "I gave up my own fucking life so that Benny could be be worth the girl he liked, do you really think I'd do less for my kid brother?  Like Mom always says, easy come easy go."

I guess he believed I was who I said I was then, because he came down off the chair and hugged me.  He started to pull back a little after a second because the feel of our boobs squishing together was weird, but I pulled him back in.  "Brothers no matter what, even if you are bleeding all over my favorite crop-top."

He laughed at that, and then I laughed, although it only lasted a moment or two as he tried to sniff everything dripping from his nose back in.  "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, I got more.  Now, c'mon, let's get you cleaned up and dressed in something that fits.  I've got a spare room and a credit card that can absorb canceling a first-class flight from Boston to Hong Kong, so let's get you settled."

He did thank you and I said of course, and didn't start texting Benny, René, Benjamin, Ashlyn, and every single person who had ever been to the Inn that I know until he closed the bathroom door.

-Jordo/Yuan-wei  (for now)

Cary Johnson: Back Home

It's kind of peculiar to welcome back pain, a tricky knee, and gray hair back like they're old friends, and I suppose that is possible that in a few weeks I week be waxing nostalgic for those months when I was a young black woman, even if only one one of those things actually made things any easier.  Still, despite how strange it is to feel a rush of gratitude at seeing familiar sights and acquaintances after a year when they feel like it has been only two weeks or so, it is welcome.

I miss Elaine a bit, even if I was not completely free of her when I left Chicago, still having her face and figure.  I asked if maybe she would like to fly out to Maine with me, but she said no; she wants to have a few days on her own, and then her sister was going to meet her, and they would spend a few days driving from Chicago to Old Orchard, doing a sort of an imitation of a regular family vacation.  I understand, a bit; it's been a long time since I went in that sort of trip with my mother and father, but even though she and I never built a sort of mother-daughter thing, I do sort of feel like she is my sister, and I hope she feels the same way about me.  Doesn't even have to think of me as her brother, I'll be her sister even if I'm an old man to her.

I still don't much like flying, although the experience is somewhat less stressful when you don't think the security people are going to see through how your face matches your driver's license and consider you an impostor.  I'm glad there are direct flights to Portland - smaller planes than the ones through Boston or New York (or Atlanta, as one ridiculous flight on the website Elaine visited would have had me using), so probably a bit more nerve-wracking, but there's something to be said for only going through it once.

Getting to the Inn was uneventful - I take the train, stop in at the place down the street where you check in and return your keys, and then just go.  The friendly lady at the first place nervously tries to make conversation about how prompt people are in checking in early in the season compared to late summer, but, despite the grumbling about how rude Millennials are when I just nod, take them, and leave, seems relieved by my not sticking around to chat.  About my real age, she's not exactly used to dealing with black people, I imagine, though it's different than the worst of what I encountered in Chicago, more about how we don't get that much variety in Maine and don't know how to react to it.

The Inn's not bad, considering; I've stayed in worse places as a younger man.  There isn't any luggage for me, since my place is close enough for this to qualify as a "stay-cation", but there is a shipping bag with some new clothes, including an unopened packet of undergarments, just in case I would feel strange about wearing things the other Cary had.  The letter in the bag isn't handwritten, and is in fact rather businesslike, telling me how things went with the truck, what sort of work he did over the winter to make up for it not being a great time and place for a food truck without a brick-and-mortar storefront to find spaces, how rent was paid through the end of May, that sort of thing.  It's courteous, and doesn't ever say that being me was a hardship.

I spend a few days as "Carrie" again, running the truck until we change back early on the 2nd.  I suppose I should be thankful for a little extra stamina on Memorial Day, but it's a bit of a nerve-wracking couple of weeks.  One thing that really gets me is being naked under the covers - I never did that in the rest of my time as Elaine - it doesn't feel proper with someone who looks like a little girl just on the other side of the room even if I were to do it normally - but I don't know just how I'll turn out.  Did the other guy gain some weight, so Elaine's bedclothes would strangle me?  It's not quite warm enough for it, really, and I get worried that someone will just burst into the room, but it doesn't happen.

I wind up myself again, though, and waste no time getting out of the place.  As much as I'm sure the experience was good for me, I don't think I intend to ever park my truck near there again.

Simon/Joy: Can't stop won't stop

Life since Stretch and I cut things off has been... okay. I mean, looking at the big picture, things oughtta be grand. The weather's gorgeous, I'm making tons of cash. I'm still a chick for now, but I've definitely learned to live with it a long time ago and never let that keep me from thriving.


It's a little lonely though. My hookups have become less frequent. Part of that is getting pickier, deciding what I like, saying "no" more when a loser approaches me at the bar. I had to stop seeing one guy because he really wanted to kiss a lot and I wasn't really into that. But I even found myself putting my best guys off when they texted, making excuses or just saying I wasn't in the mood. Eventually I got to the point where I had to wonder: did I really just turn down sex?


I guess there was a honeymoon period (so to speak) where all this sex was new and exciting and now none of these guys have really stepped up their game so it all feels repetitive and boring... I thought, it must be my body getting used to the feeling. How sad.


I was talking about this to Shayla about this, kind of rolling my eyes saying "How can people stand to be in relationships if the sex only takes this long to get bad?" and she basically spit out her drink in shock.


"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you!" she gasped, "You're like, Miss Relationship. I've never heard you act so obsessed with sex."


I sometimes forget that the person whose face I'm wearing did different things with it when she had it. "Well, uh, I've changed a bit. I'm trying to have more fun now."


I should note that I haven't hung out with Shayla much since the Holidays... I was "seeing" Stretch, I guess, so anytime I went out it was either with him, or by myself with the intention of getting picked up. And Shayla, I hate to admit it, is so much hotter than me that it's really hard to get a guy's attention when she's around. When I want to be invisible, I hang out with her.


"Of course you're sick of hook ups though," she laughed, "You want to be in a relationship. You want a guy to get to know your body, and care about your... you know, pleasure. If they don't have to do anything boyfriend-y, they're going to start taking you for granted."


That felt like a cold splash of water in the face. I was laughing to myself about how much fun it was to be "easy" and feel no shame about it I didn't realize that there's a downside to it anyway. I'd been trying to put my finger on why I'd been feeling lousy all month. I didn't realize that the problem might be with them, and not me. I just assumed that all these guys were doing their best to please me every time, but it dawned on me that they really weren't. They were only interested in being with me as long as it took them to ejaculate.


Still, I felt the need to debate the issue. "You can't tell me you'd rather have sex with the same guy for years than meet a new one every week," I huffed.


"Come on Joy, it's like you're forgetting everything you learned in college," Shayla scoffed.


I muttered, "It's been a while..." I guess that's when girls usually go through their trampy phase and come out looking for something more (ugh) "stable" or "deep."


She got this faraway look in her eyes, "I would love to be in a relationship right now... but the only guys I meet treat me like a piece of meat."


I'll admit that I still have a habit of staring at her tremendous breasts from time to time. It's weird knowing that, barring some crazy drunken lesbian experiment between us (fingers crossed, we've still got a few months) I'll never have a chance to get with her. But more than that, I miss having the biological urge to get with her. I just can't help staring because her body is like a work of art. I like the look of it, but I'm sad to say it doesn't turn me on exactly. (Okay, it does a little bit.)


But then I start to feel bad for thinking that way, because even though I still kinda like my newfound status of being objectified, she's had it her whole life and she's clearly a bit sick of it because it's getting in the way of what she wants.


Well, that's her problem if she can't appreciate a good thing. I'm only here for a little while longer so I intend to have my fun. I bet there's tons of chicks out there who would kill to look like Shayla. (And guys too, but they probably wouldn't realize how awesome it can be at first.)


I guess this is all a way of realizing I need to shake things up somehow, but it's not like I want something "relationshippy." In that way, my deal with Stretch was working for me because it was just casual enough to keep me interested, and then I didn't notice so much that my other hookups were bland. Some might say I was stringing him along, but it's still his fault for never making a move. And throwing a tantrum when he found out I was getting with other guys was also a big turnoff.


I don't know. It's a smarter play just to knock it off and stay on my own until it's time to get back to the Inn, but I look at myself in the mirror and think about how intoxicating it is to have a guy fawn over me, our hormones interplaying, hands on each other's bodies... and other parts... I can't quit that!


'Scuze me, I need to make a call...

Annette/Benjamin: Windy City Life

Four months in Chicago today, and in some ways it's been weirder for me than some of my past big moves because I'm not used to the continuity.  New York and Boston came with changing axes and ethnicities and orientations, meant catching up on who my new identity's friends and family were, and otherwise just jumping into a situation that required a lot of catch-up.

This didn't.  Marybeth was here waiting for me, I still know who everyone in my phone is, and I came here at lose ends rather than trying to catch up.  It doesn't leave me with that much free time - I still needed to find a job, help get everything settled in place after the move, all that - but a different question.  In New York and Boston, I was trying to figure out how to adapt myself to Ravi's and Benny's lives, and here in trying to figure out how to adapt my life to new circumstances.  I wonder if it would be easier if I'd done this before, like if Mom and I had moved when I was old enough to remember it or if I'd been able to move into a dorm room as myself three years ago.

It's getting easier, though, and I may have it better than a lot of guys moving halfway across the country for their girlfriends' jobs.  I don't think anybody consists me particularly feminine, but I'm pretty cool with a living room that isn't built around the big TV and video game system, decoration that involves a lot of plants, that sort of thing.  My shifts at an office-supply store are just offset enough from Marybeth's hours that were not fighting over the bathroom or always on our own.

I'm missing Cary already, though.  Even though he doesn't look old enough to grump about Millennials as Elaine, I can always tell from talking to him that were part of the same secret club, and on top of that, both of us being Mainers, and, beyond that, both spending a fair amount of non-Inn time in Old Orchard over the past few years (mostly brief visits to Benny's family for me).  It's also really fun to watch him and Elaine together; it looks like a kid who has her patents well-trained, even though her demeanor in no way matches her form.  She also knows all the best places to eat.

Marybeth is, understandably, a little uncertain about my first non-her friendship here being with an attractive woman with whom I don't have very much in common with, if you go by cover story.  It's even weirder to her, when we met up with "Elaine" without "Mackenzie", that they don't get along that all.  They've got a lot of the same taste in clothes, Marybeth loves the song that serves as ringtone on Elaine's phone, and they even go to the same gym on occasion.  That they seem to have so much in common, but "Elaine" gets on so much better than me, gets her a bit nervous, especially since I still keep in touch with Missy.

I'm making guy friends slowly but surely, though; there's a couple folks at work who figure we're bros because the same general manager got both our baseball teams World Series championships, which seems like the dumbest thing to bond over, but it's something.  One of Marybeth's co-workers has a boyfriend who seems like he'd be a really fun trivia-team member.  And who knows, maybe when Elaine comes back herself, she and Marybeth will click, Elaine will find a boyfriend who can make it not weird if we do couples stuff together.

-Annette/Benjamin