Wednesday, September 04, 2019

Jenn: The Easy Way Out

When I got to the Inn the first people I encountered were my next-rooms-over neighbors: two couples, about my normal age of mid-20's. Now, one thing I have been sure to do as Shona is to clock the reactions of every person I see as I hobble around. Some gawk. Some avert their eyes. Some, usually older folks, nod courteously. And some, like these four, save their comments for after they think you're out of earshot.

And usually, they underestimate how far "earshot" is.

I've definitely learned not to take these things seriously, especially now that I knew it was not going to be permanent. As RuPaul says, what people think of me is none of my business. Don't get me wrong, it pisses me off that people think they have the right to say shit, but I was going to just let it slide as a way of owning what I had become while I still was her. In fact, I even tried to flaunt what I have through the weekend with what I wore. It was not a blazing summer heat in Old Orchard Beach this weekend, but it was temperate enough for a revealing sundress. I was probably more confident in this setting than I have been all summer.

The whole time I've been at the Inn this week, I can't stop thinking about how selfish and shallow I've been. I can't help wondering if I was motivated by some part of me that just wanted the opportunity to dump Shona's body before next summer and move on already. But I stand by the logic - if Steven was intent on barging up to the Inn willy nilly it was best if he takes a body that is not spoken for and the only one at hand is Shona's. Since I'll probably never see my real face in the mirror again, it's no problem if I have to move on, but Steven? He still has a chance.

And hey, if you're going to put yourself through the trouble, why not do it to experience something very, very different from who you started out as?

If I say "he didn't need much convincing" that probably makes it sound like he was really into the idea, but I would categorize his reaction as just, he reluctantly saw my point. When he announced he was determined to go to the Inn and find the truth for himself, it didn't occur to him that he was playing a very dangerous game. And since I am mixed up in it on a permanent basis I decided I needed to help him. So I told him to get used to the idea of bras and periods, for a start.

So the plan is for Steven to become Shona. There are advantages there: it's a body and a life he knows. We know where the body has been and who it should go back to (or rather, that nobody is "expecting" it.) And yes, he is a man who will be spending some time as a woman. I asked him to take a beat and make sure he could wrap his head around that. I think he came up against a wall in his belief. I guess getting laid off was the "life-changing moment" that allowed his disbelief to crack, the way weddings and funerals are for others. But I think there's still that doubt there. Like maybe he wouldn't agree to it if he really thought it would come true.

I honestly don't know if he's ready for what he's gotten himself into, but who ever is?

Before I arrived, I nursed a hope that my new body would be more along the lines of Shona's than anything else, if only to try to prove to myself that I could live as this person, that I wasn't just taking the easy way out. Make me some fat sweatu trucker, I deserve it. The things I have thought, and written, about my brief time as Shona proves that I could stand to grow.

Well, it didn't work out that way. And I knew it from the second I got here, if the luggage I found was any indication...

Last night, I felt my flesh start to tingle, even more intensely than ever before, maybe because I was shrinking, shrinking down. Shona's clothes seemed to expand around me but in reality, all my extra fat and flab was condensing inward until it disappeared, leaving a tight, feminine frame.

For better or worse, I'm so skinny I can see my ribs. I have hips, and a waist again. I have petite breasts and a thin neck and skinny legs. I have what you might call an ideal female body. Except... it's only fourteen years old.

Meet Paola Vasquez, a Puerto Rican girl from Queens, who had come to Maine with her parents, younger sister and boyfriend. One couple from the next rooms over became "my parents" (they did not switch genders) and the other, well... the girl became "my" boyfriend, a high school football player, and her boyfriend is wearing pigtails and attending the fifth grade.

Obviously, after the change, there was a lot of talk about what to do next, and being that several of us are "dependent" now, there was a pressing need to get back to Queens and get established in these new lives.

It's... going to be an interesting year, I think, and if I remember the ninth grade well enough Paola won't be missing too much this year that she can't make up later. I might not blog about it too much just because I don't want to give too much info away about the teenage girl whose life I am living. I've already given a fake name here, so don't try Googling it.

Besides, I might be too busy with schoolwork.

Steven, I hope you find what you are looking for.

Best,

-Jenn/Paola

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