I had not even considered contributing to this "blog" when we were provided with the opportunity upon check-in at the Trading Post Inn, even when Lindsey initially posted that first time about the awkwardness of going on vacation with our age difference. I doubt I would change anyone's mind in doing so, and over the years I have come to realize that the younger generations' impulse to share too much of what had once been one's personal thoughts is simply something for which one must make allowances. Even after waking up to find our very bodies changed - perhaps especially then - I saw no reason to broadcast to the wider world.
However, the events of the last week have made it abundantly clear that there are an almost uncountable number of things about my current situation where my knowledge is second-hand at best, and where the community reading this may be able to provide assistance for dealing with these demeaning impossibilities.
Obviously, having the form of this "Alicia Polawski" is the first. It is bad enough for a man to suddenly become a woman, but to become such a parody of low-class femininity is absurd. I by no means object to a woman being attractive, but I have always favored girls like Lindsey, with gentle, elegant figures, a brightness to their cheeks, slender limbs, and features that cannot help but please the eye. I find myself now with a narrow waist, but the areas above and below are needlessly expansive; were I to have met the original Alicia on the street, I would have felt it likely that at least the bosom had been augmented, and although I cannot feel anything artificial within, I suppose that it is still possible, but that the uncanny nature of that place has substituted flesh for silicone.
Lindsey claims I am exaggerating, and that seeing something where there had been nothing made me think that there was more than there was. Yes, she said, Alicia was well-endowed, but that I wouldn't have trouble finding things to fit like her last roommate did. This seems like a very low standard to me, but I suppose that, when I do get myself some more presentable items to wear, I may think differently. Which lead me to the next issue: Alicia's taste is abysmal.
Of the things in her small suitcase that one could travel in - half of the contents smelled exactly as you might expect for being dirty laundry that had been stuffed in a bag and left underneath a bed for three weeks of summer dog days - virtually all of it was either tight or covered far less than one might like. Even wearing the most modest outfit that Lindsey could assemble for me, I looked like a harlot displaying her body to the world as if being gifted with large breasts was any sort of personal accomplishment.
On top of that, she's got tattoos! I suspect her job would frown upon them being visible, but I have Chinese characters on one ankle and one shoulder blade, and something more elaborate on my lower back, three skulls that effectively form an arrow pointing between my cheeks. Just a thoroughly impractical and short-sighted decision; even if this "art" being moved to my skin was unpredictable, certainly Alicia could have imagined a time in the future where they would hold her back!
Although, why should she, as her actions would clearly have held her back enough that her tattoos would not make much of a difference.
I was loath to bother charging Alicia's phone for fear of what vapid communications doing so would enable, but Lindsey convinced me that this would be far more trouble than it was worth. I was not incorrect about that assessment - it seemed to vibrate for a solid half-hour as texts, missed calls, and other social-media notifications came in, and has not exactly stopped since, no matter how thoroughly I ignore them. Several were from one "Arthur Milligan", a name which meant nothing to me as I deleted three weeks' worth of messages I would not respond to. Indeed, it only registered with me when Lindsey picked up the mail (Alicia still lives with her mother despite being twenty-three) and rushed to give me an actual letter that had arrived amid the utility bills and advertising.
The letter was not only unusual for its very existence - it was addressed to "Alicia Polawski (whoever she is right now)". Lindsey initially thought that this Arthur Milligan must be the identity she had inherited, though I thought it odd that she would not have mentioned that in the letter she left with her luggage. The note inside the envelope was terse, requesting I make an appointment to meet him at the business offices of one of the area's local football teams. I sent an email to RSVP for the next day, when I allowed Lindsey to fiddle with my hair, makeup, and clothing until I looked something close to respectable before navigating the area's public transportation systems, arriving fifteen minutes before the scheduled meeting.
Milligan ran late himself, though he recognized Alicia immediately upon arriving in the office, telling his receptionist to send me in after he'd had a few minutes to get some coffee going and check to see what emails were on fire. It was actually twenty more before I was summoned to the office suite with "Vice President Player Relations and Publicity" on the door. He sat behind a modern desk that appeared to have its computer built into some hidden niche, with just a wireless mouse, keyboard, and flat screen on the work surface. He smiled, pointing at a chair on the other side. "So, how do you like being Alicia so far? I have to say, I'd almost be jealous if I could even conceive of becoming a woman - you're quite the looker!"
His gaze was directed at my chest, as you might expect, but he seemed friendly enough otherwise. "To tell the truth, Mister Milligan, this being my body not something I would choose."
"Are you sure? The original seemed to enjoy it!" With that, he clicked one of his mouse's buttons, and a large flat screen on one if the walls came to life.
I immediately tried to turn away when I saw the video he was playing - it looked like the most base pornography, with a young woman on all fours being taken from behind by a large, muscular, African-American man. I would have had him turn it off, except that the tattoo on the girl's lower back was the exact same as mine. As soon as I noticed that, there was a cut, and I had the distinct horror of seeing the face that had recently replaced mine seemingly trying to swallow a massive black member.
Apparently my reaction pleased Milligan, because he was smirking as he stopped the video. "Yes, the original Alicia liked just about every part of her own body and a man's as well, but I've edited the video because there's no need for you to know which player she's trying to blackmail. Great guy, really, salt of the Earth, does a lot in the community, his wife helps out with a lot of the charity work, and even if he was dumb enough to mess around, he has at least avoided brain damage to the extent that he knew to bring this to me.
"So let me guess - underneath Alicia's skin, you're male, maybe a little conservative, maybe old enough to blame the times when you grew up if you recoil a bit at a black man with a white woman?" I wanted to object to the latter part of that description, but was shocked enough that I just nodded. "Great! Perfect, really - you aren't going to want this to get out while people think you're Alicia any more than we want it to come out before we let this guy become a free agent next spring. So we can work together."
He must have noticed my body language changing, tightening up or something, because he laughed. "Oh, no, nothing like that-- What's your name, your real name?"
"Harmon Keller."
"Great, I'll Google that tonight. You might as well call me Jeremy, even if nobody else has for ten years. Anyway, Harmon, like I was saying, although it might be a turn-on for some, girls who used to be older guys aren't really my thing. No, I just need you to get me the original copy of this video, make sure that Alicia hadn't put anything in the cloud, that sort of thing. I know, that's going to be tough to verify - making copies is so easy and instant these days that I think blackmail is going to go out of style soon. Once you know there's pictures or video out there, you might as well just get ahead of it because it will get out, right?
"But short of that, just be a good Alicia. Go back to her job, don't anger her friends, don't get arrested or knocked up or a disease or anything, maybe make her a little money. I had to do a lot of fast talking to get her to not release the tape when she realized that the reservation at the Inn wasn't just a chance to think about our counter-offer, but I think she'll play ball knowing that we'll make it easy for her to get her old life back. Think you can handle that?"
"Young man, I've correctly predicted the economic collapses of entire countries; I think I can handle the life of one unremarkable young woman!"
"That's the spirit!" He stood and reached a hand out to shake mine, and then pulled me in when I accepted, using his other hand to grope my bottom and push my body into his, pushing my breasts against his chest and his member against my leg. Then he pushed me back out and looked me up and down. "Yes sir, I can see how this body might tempt someone. Too bad about what's inside."
I ignored that for a second, walking to the door, where I turned around and told him that what was inside was the most useful part before walking out and straight to the elevator, ignoring anyone in my path.
Reprehensible man, but I must admit that there is a certain logic to his plan, even if it does involve me passing for Alicia until June. Especially since the job I'm expected to go back to is working for one of the airlines as a stewardess.
Humiliations, it seems, will never cease.
-Harmon Keller
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