I don't know how long the memories of people who read this blog are, so let me re-introduce myself. I was born Marc Green, but for the last 2.5 years I've been better known as Chantelle Carey. I was deposited in the life of this Albany Real Estate Lawyer after an ill-fated trip to Maine with my wife in the spring of 2022. It's hard to believe how long and yet how quickly time has passed.
When I last wrote here I was just getting into the swing of things, becoming marginally more comfortable in my new skin, socializing with my co-workers and trying to enjoy my relatively low-pressure job, a big switch for me because in my past life I had been a more high-powered corporate attorney. Laura and I were also trying to navigate what the transformation meant for us -- our relationship was on its last legs in our original lives, but maybe we could rediscover each other in the new situation. I was even willing to give it a try, even given our new gender dynamic, with the hitch that he was now a married man.
It was all fun and games for a while, but reality bit us. I had to cope with an unexpected personal situation in Chantelle's life that meant I honestly didn't have a lot of time for an affair (or blogging about myself.) In the end "Damon" decided that it was easier and better to pursue his new wife, using the logic that since the original Damon was a philanderer, taking on his role as husband on a permanent basis was a victimless crime. That's, erm, debatable from my perspective, and I used to argue for a living.
Because of my personal situation, I was unable to return to the Inn last year, and what's more, because of lingering bad feelings about everything I had left behind -- Laura, my smoldering crater of a career, et cetera -- I let the people who landed in our lives simply have them, which is the last you heard of me. From what I understand they are doing well, but you would have to ask them directly.
The time since then has been a haze, which out of respect to the parties involved I won't go into detail about, but it's calmer now. As good as this situation has been to me (on balance) I did always want to let Chantelle retake her life. The Careys are extremely close-knit, which was never comfortable for me and must have really messed Chantelle up to be away from, especially with the family issues I had to navigate.
And that's why I came back to the Inn...... three months ago.
I didn't care who I became, man, woman or child. I had to do my good deed and give Chantelle a chance to regain what was rightfully hers. (And by now, she is safely back where she belongs.)
After waiting around all weekend for the Inn to fill up, it happened on a Tuesday night (really, a Tuesday??) In the late/early hours, I felt my breasts stiffen into pecs, my hips straighten and narrow, and watched a male sex manifest itself between my legs.
I left the Inn that week as Ryan Berardi, a 24-year-old from Queens, NY. I certainly wasn't mad about being so young or male after years of femininity. But it's not like I would be going back to a life that looked a lot like my original existence. Ryan is young, single, active, and gay.
I spent my time as Chantelle kind of fumbling with the keys to the door of my sex life without every fully getting it open. I had a tryst with Laura-as-Damon, and him being male certainly wasn't a turn off, but I didn't fully understand whether I liked guys or whether I liked my (ex-)wife in a new body. If I had thoughts, they did turn out to mostly be about guys, with a sort of intrigued curiosity attached, but there was never much impulse to pursue. I didn't know if that was a Chantelle thing or a Marc thing or a "life's got me down" thing.
I sort of assumed the same would be the case as Ryan: you just don't do anything if you're not comfortable with it. But suddenly as Ryan, I was different. I had energy, I had time on my hands, I had drive that I hadn't known since... well, since I was a 24-year-old man.
Most of Ryan's friends were gay men, and being around them had an undeniable physiological effect on me. It was not that dissimilar to if I had found myself, back in college, in a room full of available women. There's someone in here that's having this effect on me. I may have been self-conscious about my new role, but these guys were easy to talk to and fun to be around in my new physical state.
In the end, though, I didn't end up doing anything with Ryan's friends. They were just sort of the key that made me feel okay about pursuing whatever it was that I wanted. I had been an ostensibly straight woman, for crying out loud, what was wrong with spending some time as an actively gay man?
That brought me to someone I will refer to as John.
John was older, and had had some experimentation in his youth but was now back in the closet, or identifying as bisexual (I'm not here to proclaim anybody's specific orientation for them. He should know.) He was married with grown kids and I guess was going through a sort of midlife crisis about never having gotten to explore his sexuality the way he wanted. I allowed myself to become his sort of secret fling because it felt like... better me than someone else. Things developed very rapidly and very intensely over the summer as we got to know each other not just on a primal, physical level, but a personal one. I felt for this guy, I saw a lot of myself in him.
He had such a sadness. Like he couldn't bring himself to leave his wife and disrupt his family dynamic and be the person he wanted to be, and yet anytime I broached the topic of calling "us" off, he would insist that no, I was the best thing in his life. He seemed stuck between two worlds, and he ached about it.
In a normal situation, the sensible thing to do would probably have been for me to walk away and wish him luck in sorting himself out, but I knew something he didn't, that there was a way out when you feel stuck in a role. Think about it: if I break up with him, he's just going to repeat the pattern with someone else and end up hurting more people.
After sex is when he usually becomes reflective and starts moping about how he wishes he could feel this way all the time. At one point in August, I asked him if things were really so bad in his life, and he said yes -- similar to the way things were that bad for me as Marc, I gathered. I asked him what he would do if he could give all his problems to someone else and instead take on the problems of another random person.
"Well," he began to contemplate this 'thought experiment,' "That depends on what you mean. I know I have it better than some citizen of the war-torn middle east, if that's what you're talking about."
I clarified that was not what I was talking about. "An American, probably, someone with a life not totally unlike yours... any age, any gender, from any city or small town... maybe they have a family that doesn't love them, maybe they have money issues, maybe they don't even have any problem bigger than what to do on a Saturday night. Would you push the button, roll the dice, and take on that person's burden instead of your own? You would not have to clear things up with your wife, you might not even feel attraction to me anymore, you would be... in effect... a different person. But you have no control over who that person is. And someone else would have your problems."
I was hoping he would say no, do the sensible thing and feel inspired to appreciate what he had and go back and sort things out in his life, but depression and anxiety are absolute beasts.
"I think I have it worse than the average person," he said thoughtfully. I don't personally agree, but I think from the outside people would have said that Marc Green had it all, so who am I to argue?
"So you think, based on the odds, you would prefer..." I paused. The more clearly I defined the 'experiment' the more obvious it would become that I was leading him.
Before I could rephrase, he kissed me. "Ryan, honey, if you're saying you want to run away together and start fresh... I would love to... I would want nothing more... but there's no way I could. I'm stuck."
Stuck. God, did that word trigger me. Because that was how I felt when I quit my job as a lawyer the first time. And doing what I did to get away only made me feel more stuck. It was only going to the Inn that got me "unstuck." And on balance, I feel it was good for me... and the odds were, I was probably going to go again.
"Maybe not run away forever," I said with a sigh, "But how about a week or two?"
I did the mental math on the ethics. Somebody has to go to the Inn. It's going to happen. Is it not better that it be done under controlled circumstances? Is it wrong to go -- and bring a first-timer -- knowing what is going to happen? Or is it better?
For all the talk of the dangers of "rolling the dice," let's not forget... as shabby as the Inn itself is, who goes on a vacation to Maine besides people who are at least marginally comfortable in their lives? What is the absolute worst possible outcome? I feel strongly that almost anybody who would be in Maine at the Inn would have a life worth living. If you are so determined not to be yourself anymore, what right do you have to get choosy about whether you're a teenage girl or a pot-bellied uncle?
Again -- these lives are going to somebody. Right? I rest my case.
I called the reservation line. They were booked up through end of summer, of course. Well that's that, I thought, and better for it. Out of the question. I will have to simply go through the winter and not think about it, and meanwhile I will have to ensure John does not destroy himself.
Then I got a call the next week. It kind of sounded like a robot voice, or maybe just a very, very formal person.
Cancellation. Room for two now available. Deep discount price, must be filled. Sept 16-29, the final reservation pod of the year.
John was overjoyed at my thoughtfulness and immediately made arrangements. He told his wife he would be going on a hiking retreat, which is something he knew she would not be interested in.
Once we had locked in, I practically broke down in tears. Oh God, what am I doing?
Well it's too late now. We arrived yesterday afternoon.
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