So where we left off, Nev/dad/Corinne was stumbling in the door, on time but soused. Of course, our deal wasn't that she wouldn't get drunk, only that she would be home on time, and she was, so while I was upset, I couldn't exactly take it out on her. The spirit vs. letter of the deal, you know.
I just worry. I worried about him when he was a grown man (I had to make sure we were geographically very distant for most of my adult life to make sure I didn't have to worry... which is something I do feel guilty about) and I worry about him doubly now that he's in this body. I worry that he's behaving himself, I worry about falling back into old habits, I worry that other people don't do things to harm him or pressure him into things that he's not ready for, or that Corinne shouldn't be ready for. There's no end to the worry.
I mean I sure remember what it was like to be a teenage girl. You're both a kid and an adult at the same time. The world sees you as an infant to be protected and a sexually mature being to be exploited, and you yourself probably aren't sure what you are... even before factoring in having lived the life of a grown man. You have no responsibilities, but no say and no freedom, but also a lot of pressure. I get it, I'm sympathetic, but in the specific case of Nevin Moran, I think he needs to be watched.
I mean, this is a guy who has been engaged to three different strippers (he only married one.) That should tell you exactly how much he values the female body and for what. There's a certain amount of fox-in-henhouse concern as far as letting a guy like that walk around with the body of a teenage girl. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt... I described to you the way he appeared to have changed and gotten very clear-headed once the transformation hit, but at the same time, on day 3 he spent several minutes doing jumping jacks just to demonstrate how bouncy his breasts are. The man is predictably unpredictable. At least it helped him burn off some of his energy.
So, back to early days: I put in a call to the original Sam to reassure him that his life was in good hands (and his daughter's...) I won't say exactly who they became (unless it becomes relevant to my story) and to be honest he seemed kind of... unconcerned? I mean, you've got a complete stranger bedding up with your wife, I expected a little bit more pushback. That struck me odd but perhaps it does have something to do with who he became, or maybe just what sort of person Sam Platter is.
With Dad adjusting well to his circumstances, I was free to settle in for a long flight back to the Bay Area. To be honest, I had hardly spared myself much of a thought, given how worried I was about my dad's behavior. But a creeping dread was starting to flower in my gut. I was going to start trying to do a job I had never done before. I was going to have to take the role of provider and partner in a family when I have been painfully single for many years and certainly never close to "married with kids." Truth be told, the work part disturbed me more. I thought that as far as family went, I would simply be "me, but in male form." It was a secondary concern. On the flight, I familiarized myself with my new "wife," Shannon, and "our" other two kids.
She seemed like a perfectly ordinary woman from social media. I hate to admit it, but there was a pang of dislike for her from checking her Instagram. Don't take it personally, but when you see a pretty blonde lady with money who looks youthful and fun, who also has three beautiful kids, it tends to stir something up in me, like I'm not stacking up. I tried to rationalize and say, give her a chance, you have to cohabitate with this person and play the role of their spouse. Don't let petty anti-feminist jealousy get the better of you. Don't compare your lives.
So we got home, and for a few days, I kept my distance. The new school year was starting up and we needed to get "Corinne" set up. This was going to be a laugh... Corinne's life was cheerleading and gymnastics. My dad couldn't even get up out of a reclining chair without assistance. I told him he would be forgiven if he wanted to do something else with his time as Corinne, but he was shockingly gung-ho about the idea. I think he was very taken with the possibilities of his newfound co-ordination, energy and athleticism. At least, I hoped so, because the other alternative was because he wanted to get into a room with a bunch of half-naked underage girls.
But, no, it seemed like a sincere effort. Nevin was very impressed with himself when he found out he could do not only a split, but a standing split, as demonstrated on Corinne's Tiktok. Anything he saw her doing he would attempt, although it's not like he was able to emulate her tumbling, which undoubtedly took years of experience.
So we hired a secret coach who wouldn't be able to tip anyone off that the "girl" had 0 gymnastic experience to try to get her up to par, and by the end of summer, she was passable.
Me, I was focusing on work. Every time I put on the suit, I naturally felt like a fraud, like I would go into the office and be shown the door, but Sam did provide me some long distance guidance that helped set me up for success. The feelings of fraud, the impostor syndrome, abated after a while. It was certainly very weird being spoken to as a man -- getting the baseline respect that most people deserve, along with masculine bro-like camaraderie... the gap between wallflower Becca and expected-bro Sam was pretty wide and hard to bridge, and I hoped nobody at work noticed me being a little more soft-spoken and sensitive to others.
Outside of the office, I spent time at the gym. That was sort of my getaway. Like dad, I did come to relish my new physicality -- not that I'm trying to "get muscular" but it's nice to feel like I can occupy this body with activity... do a few minutes at a high pace on the treadmill, lift weights, etc. It had the benefit of keeping me separate from Shannon and any expectations she might have.
I thought, as long as I stay active enough in "the relationship," nobody would have any reason to say boo about what I was doing. Help with the kids, help around the house, whatever I'm needed for, but maintain a respectful distance between myself and her.
But that could only last for so long...
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