Marc/Ryan: Pride

When I met Tom, he said something to me that stuck out, that remark about how it seemed like I was trying to get him into a cult just because I advised he get around to the part where he doesn't hate being Kiara as soon as possible.

We are all on our own journeys, of course, and there's no reason you have to enjoy the hand you've been dealt, but in my experience -- and I flatter myself that I have had quite a bit of experience by now -- if there's nothing horrifically wrong with the body and life you've been given, there will usually be something to enjoy about it.

For example, I spent a long time as Chantelle. As someone who was naturally born a man and would have preferred to remain that way, waking up with her body should have been a kind of torture. But I liked it -- and I don't mean having chubby thighs and a fleshy behind or thick hair to worry about. I liked going out in the world as her and seeing how it treated me -- sometimes kinder, sometimes less so, than when I was Marc Green*. In time, being Chantelle was a lot more joy than not, and it was a pleasure to go through the frustrations of day-to-day life as her.

When I belatedly returned that body to its original owner, I became Ryan Berardi for the first time. There was a part of me that would have preferred to stay as a woman than navigate the world as a gay man. I had pretty successfully avoided initiated Chantelle's sexuality -- I was on the lookout for it but it didn't come into practice a lot. My hope was that being Ryan would be much the same, because I think in my head, I was still meant to be a heterosexual man and succumbing to Ryan's personal tastes would be some kind of failure.

Well, I "failed," as you know. I met John, and annoyingly, we hit it off and it activated something in this body, or in me, that pushed me hard. I was struck, last summer, by multiple crises: ethical and identity. The latter took a backseat: focusing on worrying about how to help John navigate his life enabled me to become okay with the way I was living mine/Ryan's.

You know the rest of that story, and I have felt suitably roasted for it, but I need to take you back to my mindset there: John was self-destructing much like Marc Green had. The Inn had offered me a reprieve. At the time I thought, if he wants out of his marriage, I'll show him what that would look like.

Stupid, foolish, immature, short-sighted. I think in my wildest fantasy, we would have become a couple. Something that would give us a chance to live freely for a while and help John determine if he wanted to go back to his old life cede give it to someone who could do something else with it. Like I said, stupid. I don't blame anyone who goes to the Inn for rolling the dice on a return, as Dave did. If you haven't been, I don't think you can be made to understand what an eye-opening experience it is... but pulling someone into that against their will? Never mind the fact that it blew up in my face.

Becoming Ed and Cayden was certainly not what I had in mind, but it served me right and we probably got more out of the experience than if we had been two hot young things in love. John is back where he belongs, meditating on whether to tell his wife it's over or if he is going to claim that his dalliance with men was just a phase. And I gained some perspective from the experience as well.

I'm back in NYC for Pride month, and that has been wild. Last year, I did not feel like I belonged, but now I know that I would belong even if I were not living as a gay man. Ryan has a family that is reasonably supportive and trying to be understanding of his lifestyle, but more than that, he has a found family, a chosen family, that have is back no matter what -- including if he wants to lose his mind and screw-around with fifty-year-old married guys. Likewise, I consider everyone who has been to the Inn an extension of my family, my people, and I only want the best for any of them. I've reached out to Emilia and the girls to say as much, although the timing was not right to join me at the parade.

So yes, I take Pride in that. I think there's a lot of good that comes from this. If you could tell someone exactly what they were going to live through after staying at the Inn, I bet a lot would go willingly, but sadly, that's not how the magic seems to work.

We're all stuck doing our best with whatever random crap life throws at us, whether we've transformed or not.

In a month or so, I will not be Ryan anymore (much to the real Ryan's relief) and I do not know who or what or where I will be. It could be the worst possible thing in the world, and then all my positivity here will blow up in my face, but today I don't regret it, and it's the right thing to do anyway.

-Marc/Ryan

*I'm not sure I can call myself "Marc Green" anymore -- I haven't been him in years and I deliberately passed on the chance to take that life back, but... then who does that make me? There's got to be some name in the field above, so I'm keeping it... for now.

Daryl/Zee: So, This Is Weird...

...  I mean, I've been looking at a lot of posts here lately and thinking "How can you post that when there's a good chance the other person will read it, even if they say they won't?", but here I am, apparently feeling like my position as the person with the messiest personal life on the blog has been challenged, and doubling down.

So, you all know, Cary, who was Elaine before I was, and who has been "raising" Elaine and then Krystle as Mackenzie ever since.  He's also kind of the guy who winds up as first point of contact for Inn visitors who need someone to believe them, with an ad in the little guidebook which also includes a card with login details for this here blog.  Most of the time, folks just need to be reassured that this is real, but you can handle it, no matter how extreme the change may seem, and Cary's the guy to give it to them, a friendly white guy in his 60s who seems to be running his little hot dog truck as a hobby to the point where he can close up and give folks his full attention if need be, or call in Krystle/Mackenzie.

Someone needed it bad yesterday.  I gather they'd started out a young white guy who got turned into a petite Afro-Latina girl and in less than twenty-four hours their best friend - who I guess was kind of the same to start but became a tall, muscular, black college athlete - had convinced them they might as well try sleeping together, given the situation, and then talked them into a bikini and sort of paraded them around the beach the next day.  When she got to Cary, this person was kind of shell-shocked, and with Mackenzie out of town with friends, he called me to see if I could talk to them.  I said I would, but as Cary was talking to me, they had fallen asleep in one of Carl's Adirondack chairs.  Apparently, they had never gotten to sleep the previous night.

Not having anything planned for the day, I said I'd be up as soon as I could, and looked up the nearest car rental place.  I don't drive a lot as Zee, but there aren't that many trains or buses between Boston and Portland and I'd want to be able to put Cary on speaker if he called while I was in transit.  He didn't, but when he arrived there, there was a guy like he described trying to lead a girl away by the wrist.  A few guys from the beach were trying to stop him.  I sighed and slipped off my sandals, grabbing heels and sunglasses from my bag; it wouldn't get me up to his height, but if Cary was right, he might still be intimidated by an Angry Black Woman if I sent the right signals.

I made sure the heels made a lot of noise on the sidewalk and gave my best Angela Basset "what do you think you're doing?" as I approached.  He said something like "she's with me" and I stepped in a little closer, making it clear I knew he could hurt me but that he didn't dare.  "I don't know who you really are or who you are now, but you do not want to alienate the only person who does on your first day."  Obviously not what he expected to hear, because he let go of his friend, who hurried back to the stand and Cary.  Cary said I would take them to his house and they could borrow some clothes from Mackenzie's closet, since they just had a little handbag with their new wallet and phone.

They were breathing heavily as they got into the passenger seat of the rental, and I asked if they were okay.  "No!  I'm a girl, and black, and I'm not saying those are bad things, but it's really weird for me, and I let my friend fuck me in my new pussy, and who even are you?"

Keeping my eye on the road, I reached one hand out.  "I'm Zariyah, or Zee for short.  Started out as a Daryl, been an Elaine and a Magda in between, and let me tell you, it's really easy to make bad decisions with a bunch of new hormones.  I gave up everything for a man who wound up not being worth it.  But you can get through it.  Cary, the guy at the hot dog stand, he did, got his old life back, and helps others cope besides."

They grasped my had warily, introduced their new and old identities, and seemed surprised when I stopped at Cary's house so soon.  "New England towns are pretty small."  I got them inside and found some sweats in the laundry; they seemed relieved by the shapelessness, though I said they were probably going want something else soon with it being a hot day.

Then we told each other about ourselves, and they seemed worried about how completely I'd taken to female identities, and I said it sometimes felt strange to me as well, and one of the things they'd have to do until they changed back was differentiate between rash, impulsive, and reasonable under the circumstances.

Once they'd calmed down, I drove them back to the Inn.  The "boyfriend" wasn't there, so I helped them go through their inherited luggage, explaining that it would probably be wise to pick up where their predecessor left off with their birth control pills, looking their new life up online to see what could be learned, and helping write a letter to the person taking over their old life.  They gave me some side-eye when I offered make-up tips, but I pointed out this was something they were going to be expected to know soon.  I reflected that it was kind of crazy that, outside this blog, we don't really have a support network for people who just got changed.  A lot of people text back and forth with the next folks up and down their line, but they aren't that much more experienced than newbies, and it was really striking how much someone like me who had been there before could really make these crucial first steps go a lot better.  Honestly, I wonder how many people aren't even resilient enough to fake things and wind up in situations where they go into a spiral and can't get back to their real lives.  I've kind of always assumed that the folks like me who post on this blog are the ones who got into the most bizarre situations, but what if actually being able to confront and handle it this openly is actually better than the paralysis others feel?

By mid-afternoon, my new friends was feeling hungry, so we packed their things and went up to Portland (a surprisingly good restaurant town) and found a place with Dominican food to match their new identity.  Spice is apparently something they're going to have to get used to, because it seems like they're going to be around people who really like that sort of food.  I pointed out that they didn't have to if they didn't want to, but they said they didn't want to mess up this person's life.  I nodded, saying that for as selfish as some people are, it's really surprising how many folks who come to the Inn instinctively feel this sort of responsibility to people they've never met.  They said they hoped the next people staying in the room felt the same way.

We'd taken their bags with us - they really didn't want to spend another moment with their roommate, and bought a plane ticket to their new life.  They changed in a restroom at the Jetport, opting for the most gender-neutral outfit of slacks, t-shirt, and sneakers they could find, though it still revealed their navel.  I could see them doing a sort of "I think I can do this" thing in the restroom mirror, pulling their hair back behind their ears.  I told them they didn't have to go right away, that I had a spare room, but they said they figured it was best they try and explore their new life on their own, before someone was looking over their shoulder.  I nodded, making sure my number was in their phone, and saw them to the TSA line.

It was just starting to get dark when I got back to Cory's place to return Mackenzie's clothes and his keys.  He offered me a beer and I joined him on the couch to watch the ballgame.  I asked him how many like that he saw, and he said it was only a couple a year that were real bad.  The worst was a Naval aviator on shore leave whose letter him them that his new life had been fleeing an abusive home, although couples who got sent separate ways always made him sad.

After another beer, I had taken off my sandals again and had my legs up on the couch, leaned up against him.  It may surprise a lot of guys - it surprised me - but men with Cary's body type, a solid layer of muscle built up by a lifetime of hard work but a somewhat soft exterior built up by a lifelong fondness for hot dogs and ice cream, are a lot nicer to get close to than the really ripped and defined ones, and I leaned my head on his shoulder.  He responded instinctively by wrapping his arm around me, but when his hand came to lay on my breast, he jerked it back, apologizing.  I took that hand in mine and put it back, saying it felt good.  We kept watching the game for a little bit, and then I turned my head and scootched in a little closer, so that our faces were right next to each other, and then we kissed.  There was tongue, his hands in my hair, but after I got his shirt unbuttoned and he'd done the same with my top, he carefully pushed me away.

"I'm sorry...  I shouldn't..."

I nodded a bit, but more because I understood than because I agreed.  "Cary, that was mostly me.  It's, ah, been a while since I've been in the arms of a good man, or one who knows all about me, and I don't know if they've ever overlapped."  He was buttoning his shirt, so I did the same.  "It's lonely, you know?"

He grunted.  "I know."  Realizing he could, he elaborated.  "I haven't really gone out with anybody since I was Elaine.  Tough when you're a single dad, even if the kids aren't really kids, and they probably can look after themselves, but they'd probably envy any adult relationship you had, and who wants to date a woman that's okay with letting your daughter run wild?  I thought it would get easier when Mack got older, but it just hasn't.  Maybe I'm just too old for it now.  65 next week, you know."

I shrugged.  "That's not so old, and what's age mean for us?  I've been the older woman in a relationship, and even if others talk, it's okay if you really like someone."

"I don't recall that turning out terribly well for you, if you don't mind my saying."

I spit out a laugh.  "Oh, I say that all the time!  To the folks who would understand, at least."  Feeling like the evening was done and it would just get more awkward as I stayed, I put my sandals back on and grabbed my purse off the coffee table.  "You should put yourself out there anyway, though.  You're a good guy.  And a good kisser."

He saw what I was doing and held out a hand to shake, body language clear he would step back if I moved in closer, so I grabbed it, making a little joke of giving him a firm, manly handshake.  Then I headed out to the car, punched up the nearest Dunkin that was still open - two beers doesn't really get me that buzzed as Zee, but coffee seemed like a good idea anyway - and headed south.

So, yep, made out with Cary, a white guy almost twice my age, with whom I share a past identity.  It's probably a real good thing we didn't get to three or four beers.  I've made a lot of mistakes that started out with "hey, we've got this in common!"

Or maybe not.

-Zee

Dave/Jade: World Traveller

It happened last night, and as you can probably tell from the title of the post, I'm in the body of a woman named Jade. I wasn't asleep this time, because the apprehension of my imminent change made it hard to sleep since I arrived. I could feel the changes starting. My face rearranging itself, and then my chest growing and my cock disappearing. I lay in bed, wondering what the hell I was thinking coming back here. I lay in the bed for a while with my eyes closed, and it was a strange feeling to not know anything about myself. I could tell I was younger again and a woman, but I didn't know what I looked like, where I was from, or even my own name. I wanted to lay there for a while, not having to be anyone, and worried about what I might see when I got up, but then I felt a trickle of wetness rolling down the inside of my thigh. I turned on the light and put my hand there, to wipe away whatever it was, and when I pulled my hand back, saw that it was blood. "Fuck", I yelled, and then immediately put my hand over my mouth, because I hadn't even thought about how much my voice would change. I jumped up and ran to the bathroom, my boxer shorts falling down my much smaller waist as I ran. The blood had come out of my new pussy, and it only took a moment to realise that this women must have been on her period when she changed. I cleaned myself up as much and retrieved her luggage, assuming that she would have tampons or pads or something I now needed. It was a large backpack, and I managed to find tampons and panty liners pretty quickly. I would probably have preferred pads, but it seems that she doesn't, so I wasn't left with a lot of choice. It's probably a good thing that I had a pussy before, and even put things into it (mainly dildos).  I figured it out quickly enough and put the tampon in and it wasn't actually that bad. I couldn't really feel it, and would just have to remember to change it later.

Once I'd sorted this out, I took a good look at myself in the mirror. My tits aren't huge, but I could feel them bounce and sway when I moved. I had lost some height and I felt like I was about as tall now as I'd been when I was Chris. I looked at the woman in the mirror, and immediately thought how young she looked. Her hair is a dirty blonde, and down just past her neck, and she has a pretty face.

I looked through her backpack and found a modest amount of clothing. A couple of skirts and dresses, a pair of jeans, yoga pants, a few tops if different cuts and styles, a hoodie, bras, panties, a light jacket, walking shoes, sandals, a bikini....things a young woman would take on vacation. There was a note, telling me to play a video that was saved on her phone. I guess this is becoming more of a thing, rather than writing a letter. When I opened the video, there was an older man in a wheelchair, with a younger woman standing next to him. The man had an oxygen tank next to him, which was hooked up to a hose leading to his nose. He looked awful. The woman next to him was more heavily built and looked very uncomfortable.

The person I had swapped into was now the man in the wheelchair. He explained that they were on the first leg of a working holiday. They were Jade and Tash - both young Australian women from Sydney, who were on their way to Europe next, to work and travel for the next year, and they were supposed to be on the "trip of a lifetime". Now she was stuck as an old man, and her friend was his grand-daughter and carer. The old man has cancer and maybe only a few more months left to live. Jade became increasingly emotional, and Tash tried to reassure her and tell her that she would survive and come back the next year, but she became almost hysterical, and the video ended in the middle her having a coughing fit. I really did take a dumb risk coming back here. I could have just as easily ended up in that body, or one like it.

I found 2 passports, one Australian and one Irish, and I saw that I'm Jade, and I'm 22 years old. I've never even had one passport, because I've never left the US before. But now I have a flexible "around the world" airline ticket. This "trip of a lifetime" has been planned to last a year. I've never had more than maybe a week of vacation, and the longest I've ever had off work was last year, when I changed to Chris. Now I'm going to Europe as a woman half my age, with a stranger, and no time to prepare. I don't even know what what I'm supposed to be seeing, and how to pass all that time just travelling. I briefly considered abandoning the trip and just staying in the US, but I'm not even a citizen of the US anymore, so overstaying my visa would not be a good idea - particularly now.

It looks like I don't have much choice but to fly to Europe to continue this trip. This is scaring the hell out of me. I don't know what I was thinking, coming back here.

I'm going to go back to bed and try to get some sleep until morning, and then try to find my travelling companion....

Tom/Kiara: Processing

It's been a week since I last checked in, which is an eternity compared to how much posting I was doing here after my transformation. There's something to that -- for a long while, I was considering myself Tom, just in the form of Kiara. So I looked different to the world, which reacted to me a certain way, but all my actions were my own, in pursuit of my own agenda.

Almost the second I set foot in North Carolina, that changed. Here I'm not a reporter, here I'm not a man, here I'm not even an adult in the eyes of the law. Here I'm exactly what I appear to be on the outside... as far as anyone is concerned.

I arrived "home" unceremoniously after splurging on a lyft to take me the final leg. Nondescript little house on a nondescript little block with overgrown grass and weeds and dated walkway stones and a chainlink fence. I entered, toting my luggage, armpits (and underboobs) pooled with sweat to the sound of dogs barking, which made me tense. Rottweiller-German Shepherd and Pitbull-Lab mixes came through the house to enthusiastically greet me. Friendly... they certainly like this body and took it on themselves to jam their noses in an area I am, personally, not yet on a first-name basis with. I was never a dog person, they were too disorderly for my mom so I convinced myself I didn't like them either. I pushed past the pooches into the cluttery, dimly-lit living room area, with oversized recliner-based furniture.

I called out feebly, "I'm home!" and a woman's voice called back, "I know!" This is Kiara's mom, Jen. She's only a couple of years older than my natural age, but looks older than it because, as you can imagine, she started young and time took its toll. She emerged from the back kitchen area holding the baby -- little Sienna.

"About time," she huffed.

Straight away, she handed me the kid. I hesitated but I read the confusion on her face and realized, this is my lot now. I held the girl up to get a good look at her -- I'd seen pictures but nothing compares to real life. Little black dot eyes. Chubby cheeks. Round head, chubby little limbs. I held her up like Simba.

"What are you looking at?" Jen asked in her husky southern accent.

"I... haven't seen her, in a while." I moved to a more natural holding position. I had been googling "how to hold baby" and "what to do with baby" and all sorts of tips in my spare time, but it all flew out of my head the second she was actually in front of me and I was convinced I was going to hold her wrong and her little head was going to roll off her shoulders. I also felt strange about lying, about playing as Kiara... sure I had done it for the lunkhead beach partiers in Maine but this was different.

Taking no note of my disorientation, Jen sighed, "You could have called to say you were close."

"I was pretty overwhelmed," I said. I'd had a busy morning, returning my rental at the DC chapter and then getting a bus to Raleigh. Noticing the soreness welling up in my boob again, I said, "I think I need to go pump."

"Why the heck would you do that?" Jen narrowed her eyes at me. "She's right here."

I looked at the baby. The baby looked at me.

"I... guess it's feeding time... isn't it," I said with dread.

"She'll be happy," Jen said as she took a seat and put her feet up, then grunted about her back.

I excused myself to go up to where I thought my bedroom was, opening several wrong doors in the process before I decided this was it -- the room of a 17-year-old girl, with country music posters on the wall, and even an acoustic guitar, along with other ephemera: a few trophies, lots of hair brushes and other cosmetic products, some of which I even know what to do with.

I sat on the bed and set the baby on my lap. It was kind of a struggle to manage her and disrobe but I made it work. "Boy this feels weird," I said when my boobs were out, in a spectacular understatement.

Then I pressed the baby's lips to my nipple and just like that, she latched on and started to suck. Like it was the most natural thing in the world (which I suppose it literally is.)

I just watched her go to town on my boob and got lost in thought. How on Earth did I get here. How is this my life. What do I do now. I felt myself getting overwhelmed at the moment. I got sniffly thinking about how this little baby's mother was gone and I was all that was left. Poor kid.

"Fuck... fuck..." I murmured through tears. I didn't think I would get emotional. But it all felt extremely heavy in that moment. The responsibility. The hormones racing through me. The undeniably personal, delicate and intimate feeling of a life depending on your body. I have to get this person back into her proper life, for Sienna's sake.

Once I figured she had had her fill, I burped her, which was a much more difficult matter than inducing her to feed, then lay with her on my bare chest a while, just contemplating the moment.

In some ways, this felt like the end of Tom Nishimura, at least as he was. Even if I get my own body back, I can never not be the guy who did this. I'll be responsible for myself and for Sienna for the time being. Effectively, I am Kiara.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still me, I'll still be signing my name here as such, but... it was a heavy realization that what it meant to be Tom, up until a few weeks ago, is no more. How do I link that with what I have to do and be as Kiara? And one day, when I'm not her anymore, I will always have been her.

That's what I've been struggling with so far. I wanted to give you all my first impressions the moment I walked in the door, and explain everything else I've learned about being this person, but personal time is hard to come by right now, so I'm just processing.

-Tom/Kiara

Rusty/Monica: Should I be hornier than this?

Dad, if you weren't telling the truth when you said you were going to stay away from this site now, I need you to stop reading and tell me so we don't both die of cringe!

...

...

Well, Dad, if you are, that's on you.  To the rest of you, hi, I'm Rusty, although my hair hasn't had a bit of red in it since I turned into Monica last summer, and I imagine you guys have all been reading my dad's posts about me and her and Katey.   I just found this card with instructions for how to set up an account for this in the back of a drawer while the three of us were trying to figure out what changes we need to make to the place now that we know we're going to be staying and aren't planning to go back, and figure that folks who have been living new lives for almost twenty years (wow!) might have more to say than Dad or Katey or even Annette (Annette - this is not for Katey and Emilia!).  It's got to go better than it did on reddit, at least!

Let me explain the subject - I don't know if Dad just found this too embarrassing to talk about or didn't know, because her bedroom is on the other side of the living room from me and Katey, but it's an old building and the walls are thin and our beds are kind of against the same wall because that's where the one power outlet is on each side, and so, uh, I knew she had started playing with herself just a couple weeks into this whole thing.  It kind of shook me, because I was still feeling kind of guilty about seeing Monica naked when I changed clothes or took a shower and trying to hold off how often I went to the bathroom so I didn't have to wipe.  Obviously, as my Dad will tell you, I developed an appreciation of my body soon enough, but even when I decided to see what the big deal was a couple months in, it felt good, but I never looked at a guy and thought that I wanted him to do that to me with his dick.

So, fast forward to a couple weeks ago, first trivia night after we decided we were staying.  There's a guy, Omar, who has had his eye on Katey ever since we started, and he seems nice enough, but as soon as he says hi on the way to his table, Katey immediately starts flirting back, and by the time the evening is over, they've arranged an actual date for the next night.  They've gone out another couple times since then, and Katey stayed over the last time.  Dad stayed up all night and I'm kind of glad I'd already headed out by the time Katey got home, because they were still staring daggers at each other a day later.

So, the next day, I get off work a little early, coming in quietly enough that the moaning going on in the bathroom doesn't stop, but when my phone buzzes, it's a text from Katey, and I stop dead as I realize that those noises are coming from Dad!  Like, Dad hates being a girl - we know she's just staying like this because she knows Katey and I were really reluctant to give up what we'd made of ourselves since coming here!  She still needs our help getting dressed and made-up if there's a private event at the bar or something, and is just absolutely miserable every time her period comes around.  She comes out of the bathroom wrapped in a towel which she clutches a little tighter on seeing me, asks how long I've been there, and winces when I say long enough.  Then she starts in on how she's sure this must be quite a surprise, but she did say that this was our lives now, and while she's kind of worried about Katey dating someone who has so much more experience than her, she also knew that was going to be part of our lives now, so she has to accept it and move on too.

And, like, sure, but she was really into it, after not wanting anything to do with it for the whole time we've been these girls!  I told Katey about it later, and she said that maybe Dad's just been holding it in for months, and finally letting it out was what made it sound like such a big deal.

Okay, maybe.  But I really don't feel like I've been holding back!  I tried again after talking to Katey, and I couldn't even get myself to come, though I suppose it takes practice the same way it probably takes practice to get that out of your partner.  I've been looking at this blog a little, and it seems like most guys who get turned into girls are attracted to guys and dating and having sex, if reluctantly, months earlier than me.

It's trivia night tomorrow, and Katey says one of her boyfriend's teammates is really into me and I should give him a chance, and, sure, why not, I actually do really like meeting new people - I think it's kind of why I'm good at both this job and the last one even though I'm probably way too young to be talking to some of these folks as equals - but I don't really think anything's going to come out of it.  Should it?  Like, what's everybody else's timetable of going from straight guy to straight girl?

- Monica but you guys can still call me Rusty

(I'm assuming the original Monica was straight; her social media since junior high has her dating a lot of guys and there was nothing in the letter about secretly liking girls, and even if she didn't tell us where they were going, she didn't seem to avoid telling me anything the way original-Katey did!)

Tom/Kiara: Almost... "home"

It has been an absolutely draining week. I've done just about everything I can in the northeast and am running out of excuses not to go "home." Facing what's waiting for me in North Carolina is just about the scariest thing I can deal with so I have been focusing on other things.

I'm toting a packet of contracts and memos detailing various backroom deals and legal loopholes that I need to find an expert to interpret for me... I'm not without means but it's going to be tough to leverage them as a strange teenage girl looking person.

I have a list of possible destinations for Kiara, narrowed down to a handful of possible bodies. I won't share this information with you fine readers until it matters.

It has been utterly exhausting traveling on my own, not being old enough to rent a car (I'm using the one I got as Tom just for Maine, but there's dubious legality there that puts me on edge) and having to find somewhere private every few hours to pump milk out of my breasts. I've made due but it's definitely disrupted how I could have seen this going when I was myself.

I've slept and showered in one or two Y's, been leered at by men and women, and had at least one very confusing interaction that felt like I was being hit on but may have just been kindness. After my talk with Ryan I was kind of turned around and in this headspace of needing to prove to myself that I'm still me inside and that Me = Heterosexual Guy, but really, I don't have time or energy for any of it right now, and need to just wall it off.

But I will say nothing makes you feel weaker or more helpless than being on the road and worrying about what kind of person you are going to be trapped in close quarters with, and what they're going to think when they see you. A dude definitely felt up my backside on a crowded subway while I was in the city, and frankly I'm relieved that's all that happened. I was honestly just frozen -- not angry or scared, just 404 error because this is not a situation I was programmed to handle. I bought a set of brass knuckles and a travel-sized can of mace from a street vendor in Manhattan before leaving. Luckily I didn't have to learn whether I had the stones to use any of it.

I've stopped in DC for a much-needed interlude. I needed to retrieve some stuff from my place before... well, I don't know what happens. Like I said, I've refused to play nice and have confiscated every scrap of Tom Nishimura that I can. I don't doubt there are ways into the apartment of course but virtually anything you could do to prove who you are, you'd need to reach out to me to get.

I hauled a bunch of sensitive stuff to a storage unit. That took all day and multiple trips and was particularly taxing on my little arms and legs. But -- assuming I am able to keep paying for it -- that will keep a bunch of my sources and previous research safe. DC is not so close to NC but it's not a million miles away either, if I need it. A ton of it is digital, so I messed with my access permissions in case they find a way to get around that, and downloaded to a USB stick that I can easily travel with.

This kind of acts as my farewell to my old self and my familiar world. Tomorrow I take the last leg of my journey and then from there... it's "Kiara" to the world, I guess.

-Tom/Kiara

Dave: Surprise, I'm back again

 And by back, I mean back at the Inn. When I reserved our room, the memory of Christmas in Indy was still fresh in my mind. It was tough seeing my ex-wife with her new partner, and I actually felt better when I left, so on a whim, I made a 2nd reservation for a month later. As time went on, though, I thought that I would cancel it, because the longer you're away, the more you see home in a better light. That was, until I actually got home.

I reopened my business, and things have been quite slow. I guess that people found other locksmiths when mine was shut, and whilst I'm sure that I could have rebuilt it, it's a lot of hard work, and my heart wasn't in it. I tried to reconcile with my ex-wife and daughter, and received threats of a restraining order for my troubles. I've also barely seen Shane. I guess things just became too awkward after our San Francisco experience. Having a sexual relationship was a mistake, and he makes excuses whenever I try to see him.

I felt myself slipping back into an unfulfilling life of merely existing. Going to work, coming home, being alone, making dinner and watching Netflix...every night. With my 2nd reservation coming up, I tried to meet up with Shane for a drink, but he blew me off again, so before I could reconsider, I packed my suitcase and took another last minute flight to Maine. I genuinely thought that I could make things work, which is why I really believed I would be signing off for good in my last post.

Now that I'm back, the reality is starting to hit me that once I change, I will probably never be Dave again, but if I think about what I'm leaving, then it makes sense to do this. A new start will do me good, and I hope I can find a fulfilling life that I can keep and make my own. Maybe it's the easy way out, rather than trying to rebuild my life, and maybe I'll end up in a dead-end as someone else. If I can't make my own life work, then why would someone else's life turn out different? But I need to know if I only need a 2nd chance, and I need to force myself to do this, because otherwise I'm not going to make any changes, and I'll probably continue to drift in my meaningless life. 

Of course there's a risk, and I could find myself in the body of someone old or sick, or a child with no way of coming back for years, but right now, I'm willing to take this risk. In a week, it could be my biggest regret, but I'm trying not to think about that. I have deliberately avoided looking at the luggage left, because I don't want to find a reason to chicken out and go back. 

I also don't particularly want to become a woman. During my experience as Chris, I missed being a complete man, and unlike Shane, I couldn't stand to be seen as one. But then, he was in the body of someone who had no gender issues, whereas I was, and maybe that was the problem, so if I do end up a woman, maybe I'll eventually be able to embrace it more, like Shane did. I just don't know.

I'm apprehensive, and yeah, it's scary, and I don't know how much sleep I'm going to get until the change happens. Maybe I'm crazy, and it will be the dumbest thing I ever do - or maybe it will the best thing I do. But at least I'm doing something.

Let's see where I end up....

Tom/Kiara: NYC Stopover

Before I left Maine, I collected every scrap of information I could about the Inn -- who could be using it, who has been there, who controls it (if anybody.) I don't know a lot more than you probably do, dear reader, but I'm on track to find out.

While I'd love to get a sense of the bigger picture, my immediate concern is my own body, and the person whose body I'm in. According to the "rules" Kiara would have been in the pod before me. There's no record from that period indicating who-went-where (how convenient) but there is a guestbook, which Kiara did sign, and more importantly, so did the 13 people who stayed there last, one of whom is having their life currently lived by Kiara.

We know a bit about them: Dave/Chris, Shane/Sylvia, John/Cayden and Marc/Ed/Ryan/whomever else. If Ryan is to be believed, the rest of the visitors that week were all female, but none elected to post on the blog or leave a convenient calling card. Find them, and I'm one step closer to finding Kiara.

Marc, then, seemed like my best bet to get any information whatsoever. I got his contact info and made arrangements to see him in New York.

I wish there was more I could do for the people that are here now, but I have to focus on myself.

On my way out, I violated one of the supposed tenets of the Inn. By way of leaving information for the "New Tom" I only left a handwritten note saying "If you didn't want this to happen, I'm sorry. Email me for details" setting up a unique address only the person reading that note would have access to. I then took all of my belongings -- my phone, my laptop, my keys, my credit cards. Sorry, but I'm not playing nice with these people, and if someone innocent needs any of this, they know where to find me. Obviously I left behind my clothes, toothbrush, epi-pen and other essentials... not only am I not a psycho, but it would be nuts to try to carry two persons' worth of luggage with these boney little arms.

Once I got to NYC, I checked into a shabby Motel on Long Island -- I had a feeling my funds were going to start running out so it was best to start saving (as a freelance journalist I'm not exactly Scrooge McDuck with a vault of cash.) I met "Ryan" at a crusty spoon somewhere in Queens, where he was enjoying a chicken pesto panini. I slid into the booth across from him and asked if it was okay to turn on my voice recorder. He agreed.

He was a little tentative in what he could tell me. "People aren't always in a sharing mood at the Inn," he said. "People get guarded. People are afraid. People have agendas. I don't know that anybody I was there with had a history with it, besides the ones we know... but who knows, right?"

We ruled out the other three, of course -- we know a bit about who they are and who is supposed to be in their next bodies. He confirmed that Ed and Cayden are back where they belong, which he said with a snort, "That was a relief -- that's a mixup you don't want to wait a year to fix." I wasn't in a laughing mood exactly.

Then there was the Bride and the Maid of Honor, and the other members of their party. "That's suspicious to me," I noted. "A group of women just happens to end up at this rustic, nothing-happening spot for their bachelorette getaway?"

"On the one hand, people blunder into the inn accidentally all the time," he said, "But if I'm your mysterious enemies, I probably want to limit the unknowns and pull some strings. And we can agree that they probably chose Kiara for you."

"It does feel like it," I noted with a sigh as I contemplated my body, "Putting me anywhere was probably going to keep me off the board, but a teenage mom from Nowheresville, North Carolina? That seems intentional."

"They must have put her somewhere she's not going to talk or reach out to you, but I don't know which of these women fit that profile."

"Were you in law enforcement?" I asked, apropos of the turn this convo was taking.

"Corporate law," he said. "And then Real Estate."

"Interesting pivot," I said.

"That pivot came with a new body," he nodded.

"So you went from being one lawyer to being another lawyer?"

"Don't think that's lost on me," he said. "Moving on... I notice you haven't said much about Kiara's family."

"Yeah, well," I gave a pained sigh, "It's easier to focus on this. I've made contact. The baby's being taken care of, that's all that matters."

We discussed what we knew further, I picked at his kettle chips, it was altogether a fine way to spend an afternoon if you have to be investigating a missing person whose body you're in. He said he would try to help any way he could, but that the next time he goes to the Inn it will be a bit far down the chain to encounter the new Tom directly, and who knows where he goes from there.

Toward the end of the conversation, I asked if he had any tips for a first-timer, as someone who has seemingly been all-over the spectrum of experiences.

"Well," he said with a self-effacing grin, "If and when you return to the Inn, don't bring any first-timers yourself. You don't want that on your conscience, no matter what they say later."

"Stands to reason," I said.

"Other than that... be open to it. You've got youth and energy, and yes some responsibilities on your plate... but managing all that is where life happens anyway. Don't sit in a room and cry about it for a year. Get out there and taste the fruits of life. Embrace it for what it is, whether you can get your body back or not."

"From how positive you seem, it kind of sounds like you're trying to get me to join a cult," I quipped.

He chuckled, "If I were trying to get you to join a cult, you wouldn't think that until it was way too late. That's what makes them cults." He leaned forward and took a big sip from his milkshake. "That's gonna be a few sit-ups but so worth it."

Reflexively, I looked down toward my own soft belly -- and saw only the bird's eye view of breasts jutting out from my v-neck. No workouts to get rid of these. I absent-mindedly placed a hand on one as the soreness set in. When I realized later, I thought how polite of Ryan not to mention I was publicly groping myself... if he noticed.

I went back to the hotel, listened back to the conversation, and pumped while I wrote some notes... including this:

"Ryan gave off good vibes, as they say -- friendly, nonthreatening, a real change-up from the encounters I've had since this thing began, which was refreshing. I happened to notice he's a good-looking guy. I can say that, right? It's objectively true with his facial features and physique. I might have thought the same thing in my own body, just as a matter of observation. Let's not unpack this any further because there are about twelve layers of wrongness to it."

More to come,

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Undercover

After agreeing to meet Kiara's nameless friend at "the beach," I immediately felt like I was in way over my head. But how could I not? Someone is monkeying with my life and has transformed me into a 17-year-old girl. The only way I was going to get out of this was to go through it. In this case, that meant dressing myself up and meeting with a bunch of teens/twentysomethings for a beach party, retrieving Kiara's second phone, and getting out.

In this case, slacks and a white button-up weren't going to cut it. I saw no reason to buy myself a special outfit for the occasion when it would seem Kiara had packed exclusively for beach parties. Unfortunately all of her bikinis were quite flimsy on top, but have you seen what they charge for swimwear? (That little fabric for $50??) So I strapped myself into it and threw a dress on over top, hoping I would have no occasion to take it off. It's the most aware of my boobs I have been so far... mostly they are kept in place by a bra, after all, and then if I can get away with it, stifled under a big Men's sweater or whatever. This left the girls, the Kiara-ness of it all, nowhere to hide.

The dress. Let's talk about this. It was form-fitting, skin-revealing, low cut with a slit, but still kind of modest, ankle-length beachwear with a palmtree pattern in a breathable fabric. I've never worn anything like this in my life except, I don't know, a hospital gown or a robe. Looking in the mirror, I couldn't help noticing the shape and size of my hips, as well as of course my breasts... after all, as far as this body is concerned, all these parts have already done the job they were meant for and developed to (I hope) their fullest.

But that didn't mean they didn't look good. I had to look away once I realized I was staring. Did I think Kiara looked good, or that I looked good? Like it was somehow "correct" that Kiara looked this way, irrespective of the fact that it was me inside. Either way was problematic and unwanted. There must be some kind of "self-image appreciation" gene baked into the body that I inherited because it's not like I was turned on, I just felt kind of... nice. Which is not something I'm used to feeling in my own body anyway.

Anyway, like so many other things, I stuffed that feeling down. I figured in the dim light, there would be no point in putting on makeup, and aside from her blemishes Kiara looks okay au naturel as far as I'm concerned. If I can get through this entire year without learning anything about mascara, I'll consider it a win.

I went down to the beach and located my new "friend" Jaymes. He was busy with a volleyball game with some girls who are objectively more attractive than Kiara, but he showed me where the cooler was so I took a seat and nursed a beer -- I'm careful not to get drunk while working, and I don't know how much booze this body can handle, but it would seem weird not to have a drink.

I chatted with some of the other girls -- (oh damn, I just realized I wrote "other girls," as if I am one. And I guess I am) -- although I have absolutely no idea what teenage girls talk to each other about. Luckily one of the girls, Mara (whose body was a lot more on display than mine, which made me feel... weird...) just wanted to show me a bunch of Tiktoks, so that broke the ice. 

Finally, I got ahold of Jaymes again. "Oh, sorry, I left the phone back at the house." How convenient. "But we can totally go there now."

Let's see... in my first week of girlhood, am I going to go be alone with a guy I just met who outweighs me by about a hundred pounds of muscle?

I grabbed Mara and told her "Hey, guess what? Jaymes wants to move the party back to his place, grab some people!" Jaymes immediately started to backpedal. Apparently I had thwarted his plan, and succeeded in gathering a group back to the place.

We ended up in the kitchen playing Truth or Dare of all things. I stuck with truth, telling the story of how I lost my virginity to Emma Leighton in Junior year of high school, with Emma replaced by "Brad." Mara got dared to kiss any girl in the room and for a second I hoped she'd pick me but it's probably for the best that she picked her friend. Jaymes got dared to leave his hand on my breast for five minutes, which it seems like I should have gotten some say in, but I say there like a good sport, biding my time. 

I nudged Jaymes about the phone again. He said it was up in his room, but he might need some help finding it. It was like pulling teeth with this guy. I almost had an easier time with my super-secret source, but maybe I was just getting antsy because I was increasingly aware of my body over the last few days. I followed him up, but stood in the open doorway with my arms crossed defensively under my boobs while he feigned to search.

"You should relax, Kiara. Something's gotten into you."

"Yeah, something has all right," I rolled my eyes.

"Come on in, the water's nice." He sat on the bed and patted a place on the bed where he wanted me to sit. Now I was pissed. "We had fun, didn't we?"

I'll bet he did.

"How much do you know about me?" I asked.

"I know you're from N.C. I know you've got trouble at home. And I know you like to be..." well, I won't tell you what he told me Kiara likes, but I can assure you I wouldn't be up for it.

I exhaled. "Do you know I've got a kid?"

He froze. "Huh?"

"Yeah. I've got a seven-month-old waiting for me back in North Carolina. The sooner you give me this phone, the sooner I can get back to her."

Instantaneously, he pulled the phone out from behind his bedside lamp and handed it to me.

That was lucky -- for a lot of guys that wouldn't be a dealbreaker.

I said a quick goodbye to Mara -- the only person at the party I didn't totally dislike -- and tromped off into the night.

Just my luck, though -- this phone didn't have facial recognition or thumbprint ID. It was password-protected.

But at least I have it.

I got home and felt thankful I had been wearing a swimsuit, because my nipples had started leaking at some point. I strapped on the pumps and typed all this out, and now I think I'm just abut ready to go to bed...

Ready to face a whole new slew of problems tomorrow.

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Contact

Continuing to work on my story is one way that I can feel some control over the situation, to show the people who did this to me that if they were trying to kill the story, it didn't work. Unfortunately, I only had a small window of opportunity.

As I worked through the first day of my transformation, I told my source that I wasn't feeling well and in-person meetings weren't going to work. She didn't like that but I told her I would come up with something. Once I felt marginally more stable, I offered to meet her for lunch in hopes that she would finally give me the material I needed. The only problem was that she was expecting to meet with Tom, a Japanese-American guy she's known for months, not some white girl with zits on her chin. I went back clothes-shopping for something decent, some slacks and a fitted white button-up top that made me look semi-professional (despite being snug enough that I had to leave the top few buttons undone) and contemplated my cover story. After a midday pump and the best job I could do pulling my hair back into something semi-professional, it was time to go.

A thought occurred to me: what if she had something to do with this, would she recognize me in this form? Had she betrayed me? If so, what would be her response to seeing me in the flesh like this?

It didn't seem so. When I sat down across from her she just seemed confused. I explained that I was Tom's intern, a co-op student he was working with. Job-shadowing and whatnot. She seemed to buy it, reluctantly, which suggested to me that she wasn't in on this whole body-swapping scheme. That was good news.

Considering how skittish she already was, I was prepared for the worst, but after winning her trust, she handed me the folder and said "I'm done. Tell Tom not to talk to me again. This is it."

Talk about a lucky break, which I needed after all this misery. With that, she was gone, and I sat there wondering where to begin with this giant packet of info. As I began to thumb through it, noting places that had been redacted and others highlighted by my source, I felt a tap on the shoulder that made me jump. I turned to see a tall young guy in a loose-fitting tank top and cargo shorts. 

"Kiara? I thought that was you. I've been calling your name."

I hadn't noticed -- it will probably be a while before I remember to respond to my new name. His presence gave me an eerie feeling in my gut and I realized I was not yet used to being around men in the form of a woman. They tend to give off... a different energy.

"Hey, sorry, I... had something going on," I said vaguely, trying to keep myself from cringing. Who was this guy, how did he know Kiara? Did I want to know?

"I thought you were gone," he said.

"No, I had, um, a bit more stuff to do here."

"Well, I'm glad I ran into you, I've got your phone."

I looked, confused, in the satchel I had brought with me -- sure enough, there was a phone in a sparkly pink case with a picture of Kiara's baby as the background.

"Um. no, I don't think you do," I said, hoping this would dismiss him.

"Nah, your other phone. It's got a pic of you as the background, and you were glued to it all night."

I froze. Two phones. Maybe this one has info about the people who stole my body? If Kiara was somehow in on the scheme...

"Yeah, oh, yeah, that one," I feigned remembering, "I was wondering..."

"Well, you could come to the beach tonight," he said suggestively, "Pick it up from me then."

I gritted my teeth and sized him up. If I applied myself, I could probably get out of this without having to meet a bunch of debauched teenagers or college kids. But there was the off chance -- no matter how remote -- one of them might know something.

"Sounds good," I said with totally fake enthusiasm, "I'll see you then."

Seems like I've got my next assignment, tonight at 10. 

(Starting a party at 10?? Ah, to be young.)

-Tom/Kiara

Jordan/Yuan-Wei: Back... Home?

Man, am I not sure what to fucking make of the week in New York culminating in Max's wedding after flying up from Krystle's.  Like, I know you can read a lot of worry about how all the Inn stuff affects everything in her posts, but the experience of it, for me at least, was how much a lot of that didn't fucking matter.  Krystle wants to include what to all outside appearances are the parents of a babydaddy who quite notably isn't there?  Friend she really never hung out with that much is important enough to be one of the bridesmaids?  Absolutely random teenage white girl shows up?  Well, Krystle's family and Gabriel's family all start from the premise that these people are important to her and make room.  If there's gossip, it's well hidden.  It wound up being a really loving, accepting atmosphere, and they respected the entirety of what got Krystle and Gabriel there even if they didn't know it.

Back home...  Not quite.

It wasn't a race thing, I don't think, unless highly-assimilated third-generation Chinese Americans are unusually eager not to stand out, which I don't think is really a thing, although, granted, the past week or so has been a pretty shitty time for folks on a tourism visa like me to stand out.

And I get it beyond all that.  Max has gone through the Inn experience, and sometimes it means he gets me and sometimes it means he absolutely cannot understand how I could willingly give Benny my life or stay as Yuan-Wei.  I suspect things getting serious with Dominic kind of rattles him more; it's one thing to make use of your clitoris while you're stuck with it, but something else to put yourself on the wife & mom track Krystle is on. 

(And, yeah, just going with "Krystle" from now on.  She signed papers saying she wanted her name to be Krystle Potts, and who am I to argue?)

Still, I dunno, they could have not sidelined me.  Mom says it would have been easier if Dominic had come so we didn't have to insist, no, I wasn't an ex-girlfriend to Pei Pei and her family. 

On the plus side, I had a lot of time to hang out with Annette, who, as you may have heard, is doing really well, especially considering how volatile the publishing industry is.  She's managing editor of a small imprint, just moved into a bigger apartment, and wants to know all about Dominic because she is very single right now.  She had more restaurants she wanted to show me than I figured I had times free to eat. 

First up was her wanting to know how authentic a Chinese restaurant was (not bad, but honestly fancier than I tend to go for; I like holes in the wall).  She'd found a couple other really nice places, too. 

Thursday's big surprise was that we weren't alone - there were three young women joining us:  Emilia, Katey, and Monica, formerly known as Aidan, Kutter, and Rusty.  Apparently, Annette had seen some anxiety start to build in Katey a couple weeks after she came into her office to say she was staying on, all of her, which makes some sense, because one and a half Inn cycles passing is about when you realize, holy fucking shit, you have made a huge decision that is going to change everything forever that you can't take back.

I didn't have a whole lot of upbeat advice, being a couple of days into my family treating me like a not especially close friend even though they know who I am, but I think I was pretty honestly able to say that they'd push through it, that while the Inn doesn't seem to do much to the part of your brain that makes you good at math or the like, it does appear to reshape the parts that control physical attraction and gender identity, and once you realize your brains are part of your bodies and your bodies aren't things you are in but things you are, you can decide what to do with them.

They're good kids, all three of them, and, yeah, that kind of includes Emilia; she may have 40-odd years of experience but she's got the body language of a freshman that would set off some of my old fraternity brothers' predatory instincts, not quite comfortable in her own skin and always fiddling with her clothes, afraid they're making her look too inviting.  She knows that she's pretty and has a great body but mostly sees it as a target as opposed to a tool she can use.  Good dude, though, and she had questions about what adopting various local teams said about you. 

It's funny how obviously her girls are teenagers once you know their stories, though.  Monica is ready to bust with pride at every bit of responsibility she's shouldered and her jaw drops when you tell her something she feels she should have pieced together herself; Katey has a sort of innocent look that makes the occasional wise-ass comment stand out and has a bit of an attitude about the areas where she knows more than her dad, but she's a good kid at heart. 

Annette apologized for springing them on me when they left, saying Monica especially was curious to meet other folks who had stayed at the Inn while Katey and Emilia were trying pretty hard to act like they were just normal girls. 

Okay, you're all probably thinking, enough fucking sidetracks, what about the wedding?

It was pretty good, actually, once I got over where I wanted to be.  Threat of rain had us moving inside, and sitting on folding chairs rather than pews or benches was kind of odd, but fine.  Mom and Dad found chances to wave and say hi whenever they could, and for as much as part of me resented Pei Pei for taking my brother and family from me, she's pretty and smart (some sort of research scientist), and didn't seem like she had anything against me when we talked to each other.  Which I probably should have expected, instead of just letting my worries about what her being part of the family meant to me.  My kid brother may often be a dumbass in the way kid brothers are, but he's not stupid and our parents would have put their foot down if Pei Pei didn't measure up to their expectations!  We'll probably never be buddies, but she's okay. 

The reception was nice, too, even if I was on the outskirts compared to the test of my family, but that also meant no awkward small talk with Benny, filling out a tux like i never did and living my best life as someone's personal trainer.  Folks did notice the empty seat next to me, but as I told Dominic when I got home, I could have gotten laid a lot of I wanted to, because I fucking rocked my qipao and I'm already a good-looking chick from Hong Kong whose perfect English and job in the movie industry makes me pretty damn fascinating to any single guys in their twenties and thirties (and older in a couple cases), especially with a story about my boyfriend being worried about ICE, which was weighing on a lot of Chinese-American minds that had not forgotten being treated like shit during the pandemic.  Lots of ways to get people's attention.

At some point Kareena came by and asked if we could grab lunch the next day, and I said of course before a second cousin saw us together and remembered that I had been at her wedding to Benny/"Jordan" as well, thinking it was weird that I had been in Kareena's bridal party but now was attending a wedding on this side of the family, and I just sort of shrugged and said I was on the continent and hate to miss a good party before getting dragged onto the dance floor.

Kareena, if you don't remember, was originally my roommate Ravi's girlfriend and arranged fiancée, but while I was Deirdre and Annette was Ravi and Benny was me, she and Benny formed a connection, which is what led me to roll the dice and wind up as Yuan-wei ten years ago.  She's gorgeous and smart and otherwise terrific, way out of my fat, angry old ass's league, and kind of finds the whole Inn scramble romantic and exciting.  I was pretty happy when she texted me a cool spot to meet at the next afternoon, and a bit relieved when she arrived alone, saying Benny was putting in some overtime.

Not that he wasn't going to be part of the conversation; after a bit of catching up and her quizzing me about Dominic, she took a deep breath and laid it out there.  "So...  Benny and I aren't getting any younger, and we've talking about starting a family for a while, but it's kind of weird for us, considering.  Both my parents and yours have been on us about it for a while, with mine shocked I don't have a couple kids already and yours more understanding but still wanting grandchildren.  What do you think about that?"

I sat and thought for a second, not sure I'd really ever considered this possibility, before answering.  "I guess I think it's up to you.  I'm the one that walked away from that life and that DNA so you two could be together, and--"  Something clicked.  "Oh, shit, I've been moaning so much about being pushed aside for the last few days that I never thought of how that might make things easier for you to just get on with your lives!"

She shook her head.  "It doesn't, actually.  Benny - well, Benny's been more self-conscious about being Chinese-American since the pandemic, and he's kind of worried he doesn't have it in him to raise someone else's kid.  He's talked about making the guy who's living his old life an offer to be a sperm donor, and though he's coming around to believing me when I tell him that that would make me feel like we were raising someone else's kid because I love who he is now, body and soul, it feels precarious, you know?"

I kind of did, but still felt confused.  "I get it, but I don't know if there's anything I can do.  Like, it's tough for me to be less threatening on the other side of the world, unless you're telling me you're going to block me on social media and ask my family not to mention me--"

"No!  The opposite!  I need you to be part of this!  I think we all need to remember that we were always going to be an unconventional family and it's okay.  I know things were always going to be weird between you and Benny, but he's going to need to be able to talk to you about what things were like for you growing up and what comes from having Jordan Chang's DNA and that you'll be supportive but have no claim."  She took a breath, embarrassed about the outburst.  "Look, neurology isn't my specialty, and we don't know how that Inn affects people, but lately I sometimes wonder if he's got more of what I think of as the old Jordan in him, especially as you don't seem nearly as insecure as you were as a guy, or maybe it's just the past ten years, but I think he kind of needs your approval."

I leaned my head back as she fidgeted a bit.  "Ugh.  How the fuck am I ever expected to be the mature voice of reason?"  Not the first time I've asked that.  "I mean, obviously I'll support whatever you do.  And for what it's worth, the wedding before this was someone who got knocked up by someone living her original life in a pretty harsh situation, and you'll never see anyone who loves her daughter more.  You'll be okay."

"I hope so."  We stood and hugged, and she said we really should talk more often, even without all the other stuff, and I agreed.

By the time I got on the plane the next day later - with security being really weird, what with all that was in the news over the weekend - and certainly by the time I arrived back in Hong Kong, I wasn't so sure.  Is it selfish to try to maintain these old connections, especially when I've got a pretty good life here, or is it necessary?  I kind of wonder if that week in New York was so stressful in part because I sometimes let my original life stay at the back of my mind for months at a fucking time.  Is this place home now because I can sort of be at ease here without handling multiple sets of expectations?

Also, my being away for two weeks for friends' weddings has apparently led to Dominic thinking things while alone in our bedroom, and, honestly, he had better not fucking propose any time soon because I do not have the mental bandwidth for what our wedding would look like while I'm trying to catch up at work!

-Jordo

Tom/Kiara: Down the Rabbit Hole

I've had a lot of time in the past day to do research... about the Inn, about Kiara, about being in a body that has recently given birth. In the past ~24 hours I've pumped my breasts four times, including right now as I type this, over the hissing strains of the machine. You see, the milk builds up and causes pain and pressure, until you can't ignore it, hence I have no choice but to submit myself to this. It's very strange to feel myself being milked and then see all this stuff coming out of me, but if I don't, then the body might stop producing, and I'd feel weirdly responsible for that even though I haven't even met this baby.

One thing at a time, though.

(If you don't want to hear about this, sorry, but I don't want to be living it either.)

Kind of a shame that as soon as the milk is out, all I can do is dump it, but if recent experience has taught me anything there's plenty more where it came from. (shudder)

Aside from relieving myself a couple of times, which goes about how you would expect (we're all adults with at least a 9th grade understanding of biology, right? No surprises really for this first-timer) that's what the bulk of my experience as Kiara has been. I wore my own ill-fitting clothes to the laundromat because I didn't know where hers had been. I sorted the clothes into "will reluctantly wear" and "would have to be forced to wear," since teenage girls, even ones who have semi-recently given birth, enjoy showing a lot more skin than I do. I then made a trip to Old Navy up in South Portland because her taste in underwear was not what I would call "beginner friendly." (I wore bikini bottoms under jean shorts for the day.) There, I encountered a very, erm, fun, selection of prints and styles.

I'm now wearing her cloth shorts with "my" Kiara!Underwear, and will don her tank top once I can unplug myself. 

In the last day or so, I've learned a lot -- beyond physical stuff. I've gotten access to Kiara's socials. There's a lot on Instagram from prior to and during her pregnancy. I see a happy young girl with lots of friends and an active life: school, activities, parties. The girl in those pictures looks a little different to how I'm used to seeing Kiara -- obviously she's less disheveled, more presentable, wearing makeup and accessories with her hair taken care of. She's also thinner, for obvious reasons, although I wouldn't say that her/my current figure is "fat," just... up a few sizes after giving birth. A little softer, you know? (Holding her clothes against my own reveals a startling size discrepancy that I can hardly fathom in the abstract.) 

Then further down her timeline, there's pregnancy stuff, and then baby stuff and virtually no friends. If I had to guess, her social life probably took a pretty big nosedive once she gave birth, because as I understand it, once you have a baby, that's kind of all you have going on.

I also saw the father, and he looks like a perfect Gen-Z d-bag and I hope I don't have to deal with him very much -- he disappears sometime during the pregnancy posts. No surprise there. There were a few glimpses of family in there too, but nothing that expands on what basic facts were in the note I received.

Regarding the Inn, I've read up a lot on its history, I know more about how it works and/or how it is believed to work. Thank you Art Milligan/Penny, wherever you are. I'm of two minds continuing to post. On the one hand, since I was clearly the target of some kind of nefarious scheme, it might not be safe for me to talk much here. On the other hand, they didn't exactly need me to have any kind of presence on the blog to target me, so what difference does it make? Maybe I'll keep things close to the vest, but it will probably be good to have an outlet where I can sign my own name.

For the time being, here are my objectives:

1. Finish my story. That's still important to me. It's clearly going to take a backseat, but I have a few opportunities still that I can't let slip through my fingers.
2. Learn what I can about the people who did this to me. They have to have figured, I'm not taking this lying down, as powerless as I am.
3. Find the real Kiara. I don't know how she actually feels about this situation, if she wants to go home and be reunited with her family but it behooves me to try to make that possible. Inversely, I've guessing it will be tough to convince the new Tom, whenever he shows up, to play ball, but I have to try.
4. Be the best Kiara I can be. I may hate this body and life but there's a tyke out there who needs a mama and apparently I'm it.
   

Logically, I should probably make haste back to North Carolina since Kiara's family will be expecting her, but she's already been gone so long, and I have a few days left here, I need to make the most of them.

-Tom/Kiara (going to try to get used to that.)

Tom: Male Journalist, 35, transformed into NC Girl by Cursed Inn

I'm sitting here in my gym shorts (drawstring as tight as it will go) cursing the fact that I got played, but in fairness to me, who could have possibly seen "Tricked into having your body stolen" as a possible outcome of all these events? (Other than people who have already been here, thank you very much.)

I knew that my story was goihg to ruffle some feathers, but it appears someone wabts to go to great lengths to get me out of the way. I may not be the smartest Asian guy you've ever met, but I know basic math. One plus one equals two. Inconvenient journalist plus creepy magic inn that transforms people equals not a coincidence.

I think the sensible thing to do would be to cry and shiver with fear but I'm more angry than anything. Maybe that anger is impotent -- what exactly am I supposed to do? -- but it's valid, and it feels better than sniffling helplessly about what's been done to me.

This after I felt I was on the verge of a breakthrough with my source last night. She brought some paperwork with her to dinner that was fixing to point me in the right direction, but wouldn't let me hang onto it. I figured another night of wining and dining would be all it took. I'm worried now she was in on the plot and just stalling.

I woke up to a lot more commotion outside than usual. I tried to ignore it but it wouldn't subside, so I decided to roll out of bed -- but the floor wasn't exactly where it was supposed to be, and the leg of my sweatpants had slipped under my foot, causing me to trip and and roll my ankle. At this point, I was very confused and the room was spinning, but I was starting to notice what was different, namely that my head was surrounded by what appeared to be a lot of frizzy hair.

I had fallen asleep shirtless (pajamas are sort of a waste to pack, don't you think?) and of course the view was... different. I cupped one of my new breasts to confirm -- yes, this is real, and really part of me, and really very sensitive. As my situation dawned on me (Thought one: "Holy crap, this is real!" Thought two: "If so, then what??") I batted some of the hair out of my eyes so I could hobble to the restroom, pulling my sweats up with one hand as I pushed through the door to see a middle-aged lady looking in the mirror with awe. Annoyingly, the bathrooms at this Inn, at least this room, are shared.

She looked me up and down and surmised, "You too, huh?" What gave it away? I wrapped an arm around my chest and hissed, a little un-neighborly, "Do you mind?" She calmly left through the other door and I locked it behind her.

I turned to the mirror and looked at the face of the girl looking back: doll-like button brown eyes, frizzy, rusty-reddish brown hair, pale skin, breasts that were certainly more than a handful for her little mitts, just barely in frame due to her lack of height. She glared back at me with angry intensity under her bushy eyebrows, her jaw jutting outward ruefully.

I started to let it all compute in my head. The Inn's magic is real, obviously. And it's more than likely I was set up -- it's too much of a coincidence that I would end up here of all places. I felt the weight of everything I was working toward crashing down, because if someone could do this, they must have the resources needed to do much more...

I stopped. A flash of a smile crossed my face. It's not like they killed me. Do they need me alive? Or are thry simply not willing to kill? Was this their big move, their only card to play? I scratched my smooth little chin. Maybe the game's not over. Maybe there's hope for old Tom -- or whatever I was called now -- yet.

I was a little flattered that whatever Im doing warrants such attention.

I unlocked the other door and left the restroom, hobbling back to the bed gingerly on my still-aching ankle, increasingly aware of the "el nada" that was in my oversized sweats, and the slight juggle of my unbound breasts.

I crouched down and reached under the bed and heaved the luggage out -- urk, it was heavy, or more likely, I had a lot less upper body strength than I thought I should. On top was a letter in a manila envelope.

Typed, in almost AI-like bland writing. I suspect this person did not write it herself.

It explained that I was now Kiara Simmons, of [interchangeable small town] North Carolina. It left no indication of who Kiara became or how to contact her, which lent credence to my theory that this was a setup. But it contained a few pieces of information that caused whatever relief I was feeling to dissolve back into anger.

One: Kiara is seventeen. They made me a minor, those bastards.

Two: Kiara has a seven-month-old daughter waiting for her back in N.C.

That tidbit caused me to reel backwards on the bed and pull a pillow over my face, which muffled my scream of anguish and also absorbed the tears that my body was producing without my permission. A 17-year-old babymama? Maybe they should have killed me. 

The last line of the note, once I could finally convince myself to finish it? Almost mockingly: "Don't forget to pump."

No wonder the suitcase was so big. It needed room for the apparatus: a breast pump.

It's been an hour now, and I'm starting to notice these things getting really sore. Time to give that manual a look.

Score one for the bad guys.

-Tom... or "Kiara"

Tom: Downtime

I was playing phone tag with my source yesterday and we couldn't make a meeting happen, so I made a command decision to put work aside for a day and try to enjoy myself in this setting. It's a nice little town, the right mix of rustic and touristy.

I ended up meeting a local girl through an app and she was keen to show me around. She was pretty and blonde, a self-described "chubby cutie" who talked about body positivity on her bio, which I thought was cool and possibly designed to weed out jerks... if they bother reading.

She suggested a lobster place, which I was all for. Ever the interviewer, I asked her about growing up here, etc etc. She talked about how much she loved the water and scenery. It was a cool night -- the weather somewhat dampening the beachy fun I was hoping for -- so we hit another bar and downed a few and played some darts. We found ourselves getting closer and closer, seemingly building up to something, so I shot my shot and asked if she wanted to come back to the Inn. She agreed since she has a light-sleeping roommate, and as soon as we were out the door we were kissing like a couple of teens.

We began to walk, arm in arm in the chilly air, but after a while she realized where we were going and kind of stepped back and said "Oh. There's a lot of superstition around that place, it really creeps people out." I said I could see why but it was really not so bad.

I couldn't change her mind and the mood kind of changed from that point -- she just said she'd message me hopefully before I leave, but her week was looking busy, etc etc, and I said hey, don't worry about it.

Now it's dreary out -- a reminder I'm here for business, not pleasure... but man, wouldn't it be nice to have both?

-Tom

Tom: Changed!!!

Oh no guys! I woke up this morning and I had turned into an absolutely gorgeous blonde with big tits! What will I do now that everyone wants me?

Too on-the-nose? My creative writing teacher always said I was well-suited for journalism, based on how much imagination I have. Harsh... not wrong, but harsh. No, I'm still me, dark hair, brown eyes, pudgier than I was five years ago, but hey, beauty's on the inside.

Thinking back to that prompt from yesterday, I got stuck on "how I got here" which can really be interpreted a number of different ways... what train did you take, how did you hear about the place, what's your business here... what about every decision you have made in your life?

When I was a kid, we were asked to do a presentation on our grandparents for class. That was the first time I heard about Manzanar, about the way my grandparents were treated during World War II. I thought it was fascinating, but I was still a little bit young to understand the dark implications. All I know is that when I told the story in Grampa's own words, it made a room full of (mostly white) people very uncomfortable. That was the beginning of my realizing that the truth and the written word can be powerful things, which ultimately led me from Denver, where I had grown up, to Northwestern for Journalism, to my adult career.

Twenty-some years later, Ojisan and Obachan are no longer with us, but their stories stuck with me, and I understand it a lot better now than I did when I was thirteen. No, I did not become the Japanese Bob Woodward (which, given Bob's work lately, maybe that's a good thing) ... for a long time I was toiling away in trade mags, like most J-School grads, covering the tech beat, until I decided it was time to level up or get out of the grind once and for all. At my lowest, I was doing a lot of "Why you need the iPhone 11 Pro Max" pieces that were basically unofficial marketing. Sometime during the pandemic I decided I wanted to be a real boy journalist again and started seeking bigger assignments.

Which is how I got here. I've turned from someone who was just sort of adrift to something of a workaholic. It's cost me at least one promising relationship (with, yes, a pretty white girl... your boy has a type) but I don't regret it. I finally feel like I've got purpose.

The person I interviewed yesterday was a personal acquaintance of a high-ranking tech exec, someone who is supposed to have some dirt on them and the whole company, which I'm hoping will be the stick to drop this whole game of kerplunk into place. But over dinner she was dodgy, dare I say paranoid, still not wanting to spill her guts. Okay, I can play the game. I know better than to pressure a source. I wanted to make her feel at ease, like she was with a friend. I agreed not to talk about it for the rest of the night. Instead we went to a bar and went dancing. (This job has perks sometimes.)

The source and I parted ways a little after midnight as I walked her back to her hotel. When I got to the Inn, I spent a little bit more time chuckling over some of the stuff that's been posted on this blog. Okay, if you want to do your little fiction game, I won't spoil the fun, there's something so charming about co-opting a half-assed customer service program like this into something insane and elaborate like that. It's fun to watch people come together to make it feel real. I'm only posting here because it helps me blow off steam.

That said... I looked around my room and I did see a suitcase under the bed that does not belong to me. This is where I draw the line. Fun is fun but...

-Tom N. (seriously)

Tom: Chasing Sources

Damn my millennial soul. I see a weathered old piece of paper indicating that there is a blog for guests of this creaky old inn, and my first thought is that I have to participate. Complete with prompts about who I am and what brings me here. It's like one of those old chain emails my friends used to pass around in middle school.

The name's Tom Nishimura, and I have come to this delightfully rustic slice of beachfront -- er, beach-adjacent... er, beach-seriously it's not that far of a walk property on business. I'm a journalist, and I've come up from D.C. to meet with a source. What could someone squatting in some one-horse hamlet in Maine have to say about national politics? Well... I'm trying to decide how much I can get away with telling you. There's a few people out there who probably want this story killed.

And before you ask, no, it's not going to be the story that finally takes down Trump. I try to stay far away from that mess (inasmuch as anybody can these days.) In fact, I don't even normally write about politics. My usual beat is tech. The best I can offer is slightly upsetting some CEOs and shareholders, but that doesn't mean the truth isn't important.

Put it this way: How much do you know about your smartphone: what's inside it and where it came from? Would it surprise you to know that there's some really shady stuff going on in the supply chain for rare Earth minerals? (With a slug like that, who could resist? Luckily, I had an editor who feels that way.)

What was fixing to be a rather tedious story has admittedly become a little bit more interesting due to the difficulty I've had tracking down sources. Luckily, I'm pretty resourceful on that front, and I think I've found someone who will be willing to talk. 

Well, on that tease, I'm going to prep for my interview and then find some way to relax. Who knows, maybe I'll read some of the (eyes pop) nineteen years??! of backlogged posts on this blog.

Why in the hell is this summer getaway's blog so active year-round? And why do all the correspondents have two names? Journalistic curiosity: piqued.

-Tom N.

Ande: Staying put for the summer

I'm pretty sure that there have been moving trucks parked somewhere on my street constantly for the past two weeks.  The profs and TAs make jokes about September 1st being Moving Day because every lease in the Boston area runs from September to August to accommodate the schools, but between all the graduations and folks going from closing dorms to sublets for summer programs, there are a whole lot of folks packing and unpacking right now.

I'm not among them, though - the rent's got to be paid through the summer, and the parents of the guy who left during Christmas break aren't going to be paying his part any more, so I don't have the luxury of working a part-time job with the idea of making spending money this year.  Or necessarily going home, because you don't necessarily make Boston rent money working the same job back there. 

Anyway, to make it a relevant-to-this-blog thing, it kind of got me thinking about how maybe I've left home for good and only realized it afterward in the same way I stopped being a girl for good a few years back but wouldn't really know until a year or so later.  I left home back in the fall thinking I was just going to school, and home would still be home, but it's entirely possible that I've had my last extended period in my own room, and that the house where I grew up was now a place I would just visit as opposed to a place where I lived, barring an extended period of not being able to find a job post-graduation.  It feels like a decision i should have made deliberately.

Mom and Dad think it's good that I didn't, that it would have been another moment that would have made them cry.  Andie thinks I'm being silly, but she's moved back home for the summer and may actually wind up commuting next fall.  Griff and Lindy nodded for a second, not having thought of it that way.

On the other hand, it's kind of nice.  I feel like I've slowly spent the past year and a half making this life mine, after coming east to attend the school Andie chose, and if it's not my original plan, I'm mostly still doing what I want, without looking over my shoulder to see if Andie or my folks approve.  I'm not doing anything weird or dangerous, but it's been months since I wondered if I was doing something out of character, and even if I love my parents and brother-turned-sister, sometimes just having them around makes me ask the question.

That said - it was hot as shit yesterday, and I still don't really have a handle on when a guy can go shirtless in the middle of the city.  Hildy looked way more comfortable in her halter and booty shorts than I did in my t-shirt and cargo shorts!

-Ande

Krystle Marie Kamen Potts, née Jonah Glass

As a teenage boy, I used to roll my eyes at women talking about their weddings being the best days of their lives, but oh my god, they might have been onto something.  I mean, the day my daughter was born is right up there, but that hurt!

Like I said yesterday, I was up early, because if a regular woman has regular wedding day jitters, I was tripling down with how this is a day when people might believe the story of the Inn even without a seemingly-friendly Mackenzie there.  Then I made a coffee because edgy isn't exactly the same thing as energetic, and, oh boy, I was wired when everybody - Momma Kamen, the bridesmaids, Little Moira, the wedding planner - showed up.

Because imagine every joke about waiting for a girl to get ready before a date, and then being thrown into a situation where they're not only real, but they don't go half far enough, because not only is this the date, but you're a gym girl who can do casually sexy but has to take advice from everybody else about "pretty".  So I'm trying to brush the perm I got Thursday back into shape and Karla is like girl, come on, you know you're going to need product for that, and then I'm sitting still so she can put it in and do whatever she does to give it body while Momma Kamen is exfoliating my feet because I'm gonna be barefoot at some point and it wouldn't do to be the slightest bit ashy.  Once that's done, folks are painting my nails white to match my dress, really concentrating so it looks perfect, which makes me feel kind of silly because I'm wearing the camisole and pajama shorts I put on after I showered.

Then the dress.  Did I mention there's a corset?  There's a corset.  Unlike the first dress I tried with one, it's not the torture device guys tend to think it is - it's just a way to get your boobs riding high, and if it hurts it's too tight - but the first time someone tightens those laces it's like, damn, what did I get myself into?  There's garters and stockings and tiny little buttons on the back, and it's all made of lace, so you feel like any sort of movement will tear it.  I'm sure folks who were born ladies will laugh, saying it's tougher than it looks, but it's also pure white, which means you're afraid to touch anything, including the daughter whose namesake decided to give her chocolate when she was saying she was bored and hungry!

Then there's makeup, and I don't know about anyone else, but sitting still while someone fusses about your face or tells you to close your eyes so they can paint the lids blue feels unnatural, especially when it's being done by a "sister" who has issues with her sibling that extend long past the point where you became that sibling.  Somehow, during all this, all my friends and family have changed into their own fancy dresses which are not nearly so complicated.  Jordan puts my four-inch heels on my feet, and I kind of wobble as I stand up, because even though I've gotten to the point where heels don't embarrass me very often, but I'm still pretty wary about a whole day in them. 

I gasp when I finally looked in the mirror.  I looked amazing, the absolute best version of Krystle Kamen, and after the previous night, I didn't feel terribly guilty saying that, and not just because it was an army of women getting me glammed up.  Even the parts that were unmistakably me, the climber's arms and legs that I sometimes feel make me look mannish, just seemed like the way they were supposed to be. 

Moira agreed.  "You look so pretty, mommy!"

Jordan leaned in.  "Kind of defies belief sometimes, doesn't it?"

I nodded, and we got in the limo.  I barely had time to enjoy that I was in a limousine before we got to the church and were ushered into a side room. 

My father was waiting there; with Krystle's out of the picture, Momma Kamen had agreed to let him give me away.  I'd initially kind of bristled at the idea of being "given away", and not just for feminist "I'm not property" or Inn-girl "I'm really a man" reasons. I'd struck out on my own to make a life for myself years ago, and wasn't moving from my father's house to my husband's.  On the other hand, it was a way to involve my dad, whose eyes bugged when he saw me. 

"My God."

"I know!  It's crazy!  But here we are!"

"Here we are."  He stiffly offered an arm, and I pulled my veil down before taking it.

The organ started, and my bridesmaids filled out after Gabriel's little cousins who were serving as ring beater and flower girl.  They paired off with the groomsmen, except for Little Moira, who I gather was a little ham, directing her glance all over the church and waving at everyone she knew.

Then the music changed and it was our turn.  The aisle seemed miles long with everyone looking at us, and I did almost stumble a couple times.  As I mentioned last week, there were a lot more of Gabe's folks in the church than mine, which did maybe make me feel a bit more like I was being "given away".  Eventually, we got to the altar, and my dad presented me to Gabe, saying he couldn't have any idea what "this girl" meant to him, before going back a couple rows to sit with Mom. 

I'd meet the minister a couple days earlier, and he was a nice older man, formally retired a couple years ago but occasionally officiating for folks like Gabe who had attended his church when they were younger but who didn't have any connection to his replacement.  He didn't make me feel diminished or like an interloper, which I would occasionally see happen in our church back home. Our vows were pretty close to the standard (no "obey"); I had made a go at writing my own but as you might imagine, I always felt like I was leaving important pieces out when telling our love story.  Even saying we re-connected during the pandemic when others were coming apart seemed like too big a lie to speak in church, to me. 

At last the "I Do" bit came and I said it with surprisingly little hesitation.  When he slipped the wedding band onto my finger, it felt different from the engagement ring, a tiny handshake that doesn't let go rather than a weight.  I'd wear jewelry more often if it felt like that. 

Then came "You may kiss the bride", and, folks, have you ever been kissed on the mouth in a spot made for everyone to be looking at you?  Not just in public where you don't care if people see you, but where people seeing you is the whole point?  It's pretty heady; I don't think I even heard everyone cheering and stomping their feet until I came up for air! 

There were pictures, then, and then the reception, and I've got to admit, last night is sort of a blur.  Gabe's best man made a really nice speech, and Karla did not feel the need to list all the ways this life had been self-sabotaged before I inherited it, which was nice for Mackenzie, I imagine.  Gabe did wonder who the white girl in Dominic's seat was, and I don't even remember what sort of explanation I gave.  His cousins liked her, though, especially when they discovered the redhead could dance. 

So much dancing!  One of the groomsmen said I had dancers' legs from all my time in the gym, but even those start to get sore after a couple of hours where everyone wants to dance with the bride.  It went on well past my daughter being ready to drop, but apparently the kids being brought up to their rooms and being put to bed is the point where everyone can leave their heels on their seats and bop around in stockings or bare feet. 

Eventually, even Mackenzie and Gabe's best man were ready to give up.  Gabe came to the bridal site with me and waited on the bed while I touched up my makeup and got out of my dress to reveal the lingerie underneath.  I walked out to display myself to him and he gave a big, relaxed smile.  I crawled on top of him and we started undressing each other, kissing and caressing until we were making love. 

I'm pretty sure I haven't had sex without a condom since that first time - immediately getting pregnant while you still think of yourself as a guy makes an impression! - and while it wasn't night and day, it felt a bit different, especially when we came and I could really feel it inside.  It felt so good, and it just generally feels good to feel safe doing it because I trust him to be there for me no matter what.

After that, we slept practically until check-out time, barely having time to dress (in t-shirt, yoga pants, and slip-on sneakers) and pack before heading down for brunch.  That was nice, but chaotic, though it was kind of nice that it was mostly my friends and family, since they were in the hotel and Gabe's folks were all home or at church.  That meant there was some of what Zee might call "Inn-uendo" floating around, but not too much - Mom and Dad really aren't great with being reminded that Jordan was also a guy once upon a time, and Mackenzie flew home without saying goodbye - and it was fun to kind of hold court for a while, saying hi to everyone before they got on their flights and headed home or, like Jordan and Momma Kamen and us, to their next stops.

Indeed, I'm writing this from mid-air, on our way to our honeymoon in Cape Verde!  Gabe's made a plan for being up and on the right time when we arrive that involves sleeping pills and caffeine, and maybe it will work, but Jordan's got more experience with international travel and she says to power through until you are exhausted enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hits a pillow at 10pm local time and then wake up refreshed at a reasonable hour the next day.  Momma Kamen will be staying at the house and making sure Moira gets to school for a week, probably spoiling her rotten, but I'm really looking forward to just being with Gabe for that time.

-Krystle Marie Kamen Potts!