... 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
1 comment:
Good for you!
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