Tom/Kiara: Custody

I could tear my hair out.

You haven't seen a lot of me on this blog lately, and that's largely because my life is frankly terrible. Between trying to put the finishing touches on this industry-rocking story that is probably not going to get published, I have to do homework, track down the real Kiara, and oh yeah, raise a baby.

I should be thankful for the immense support system I have with the women in Kiara's life, but all I can think is that none of them should be in this position. This stupid girl got pregnant at 16 when she was in no position to capably raise a child, and her mom and grandma just stepped up like that was a normal part of life, like that was kind of what they were expecting all along. Between the three of us, we make for two pretty good parents I guess. And then there's Baby-daddy.

Sienna's dad is a dirtbag kid named Byrd. Personally, I can't stand the sight of him. Dead-eyed, greasy mullet hair, stinks of B.O. He has custody every other weekend, which is a relief in some ways and a frustration in others because I always feel like I have to check his work. I'm relatively new to this, but I am a functioning adult and I know the baby's habits and needs pretty well at this point.

Byrd's parents have been pressuring me to give up custody. They both work, they're in a better financial situation than Kiara's family. Byrd dropped out of high school to do drywall for his dad's company so he has income too (which he contributes to Kiara) and giving the baby over to them would make a certain level of financial sense by consolidating all of that, but while they may have more money, what they don't have is time and resources. Sienna is getting better care here, whether it's with me or Kiara's family. Personally I think the kid needs more stability. I'm not trying to deny Byrd his rights -- strictly speaking, he's got more rights than I do, I'm just trying to do what is best for the baby. Add to that, I still have it in the back of my mind that I could coax Kiara into taking her life back if I could find her, and I would like to keep it as close to how it was when she left it as possible.

I struggle with whether I'm doing the right thing. If giving the baby up is selfish, or if holding onto her is.

There is a complicating factor here, which is that Byrd has recently started dating someone new. And that someone is Kiara's younger sister Cerie. Yes, it's deeply messed up. They're out to all hours getting drunk and high, which would be fine if they were normal teenagers, but I've made it clear to Byrd that if he wants me to consider handing the baby over to him he would have to clean up his act. "I can't let this girl fall into the hands of such an immature kid."

"I'm older than you!" he counters.

"Only on paper," I sneer back.

And then there are nights I'm awake until 2 AM and she won't stop crying because this teething thing is going badly and I've got an exam I haven't studied for, and I think "I should just throw in the towel."

Whoever did this to me really had it in for me.

Then Christmas comes and despite the huge financial burden, we get her dressed up in a little red dress to see Santa and "open" her gifts on Christmas (she doesn't know what's going on but she seems to like ripping paper and banging on boxes) and my heart melts into my uterus. I love the kid. For all she cries and poops and grabs things she is not supposed to, she is adorable and gettig that little kiss from her and listening to her babble makes me think she is the most precious and important thing in theworld and I need to protect and nurture her at all costs. I hate being a mommy but I love the kid. Make it make sense.

-More-Kiara-Than-Tom 

Marc/Dustin: A House Divided

As you might expect, the last several weeks between me and Dakota have been more about exploring our physical connection than about debating the philosophy behind our coupling or the way we live our lives. There are certainly a lot of unanswered ethical questions about who we really are and whether we should be doing this, and we could very well debate them all night every night, as two the very argumentative people we are. But there's an overriding principle that seems to be guiding us in our actions, which is... well, we're pretty hot for each other.

I'm sorry, but after this sentence I won't apologize for it any further. Physically, we are two young, desirable people in close quarters. We know and trust each other -- to a certain extent -- and are in a position to make this decision. It's certainly less problematic than John's and my first dalliance. Call it rationalization, call it horniness. It's part of the human experience and after many confusing years there's a relief in cutting the knot.

We are, proverbially, going at it like a couple of kids.

In the midst of all this, I began to get tired of saying "Dakota, Dakota." I can't call her "John" because she's "not John" and doesn't wished to be called as such. But if you try saying the name "Dakota" a hundred times per day in a variety of contexts you find yourself tripping over the syllables. "Can we shorten it? That'll give you something to feel like your own person."

She thought, and I thought, and we sounded fumbled through it together. "Dak, no. Kota... still a little clunky... Dee, too short for me... Ko... hm... Kody? Kodi?" We kept repeating it. She wrote it a few times to test her preferred spelling, settling on "Koti" for what she termed its "Certain offbeat childish Gen Z cuteness."

We then found a way to awkwardly premiere her new preferred shorthand. "Koti this, Koti that." Maddy and Charly were into it. "Cassie" pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes, I'm not sure what she was thinking about it. Was I getting too chummy with her husband? Had I crossed a line that was somehow worse than the dating and sex?

"Don't worry about her," Koti said dismissively.

And so, it was the Dustin and Koti show all month, mostly a private engagement. There's the physical side, and then afterward we tend to engage in weird post-coital pillow talk where she'll be like, "Look at this article I saw about the way they're foisting so-called A.I on teachers," and "I realized yesterday I kind of look like Grace Kelly. Look her up, don't we have the same eyes?" (Flattering herself just a bit there.)

We spend so much time in our own little pocket universe that it's a bit of a shock sometimes to be reminded there's a world outside our bedroom door.

So when we got the news that "Cassie" was arranging a birthday party for P.J., we were a little startled out of our bubble. It seems that Mary found out that P.J.'s birthday is only a few days before Christmas and they tend to get sidelined, so she decided they should have their own day. The rest of the house took up the idea, assigning Koti to please whip up a batch of her famous vegan cupcakes. This Koti certainly isn't a baker or a decorator, but it was apparently one of the original's famous skills.

"I'll have to politely decline, I'll find something else to do that day."

"Oh, why not? These are our housemates, and we like them. Well, some of them."

"They're expecting cupcakes. Vegan cupcakes. They'll taste like dry cat food."

"They seem to like them. Koti, we can't just stay in our room and screw all day every day."

"And why not? We're adults, we've earned that right."

"If you won't, I will. I'll call up Dakota and ask her how to make the damn cupcakes and I'll pretend you did. And you can hide in our room and pretend to be sick."

"That would be the second-meanest thing you've ever done to me," she pouted. That's kind of her catch-phrase, she's not serious about it. (We all know what the meanest was.)

In the end, Koti backed down, with the ground rules being that I was not to have any unsupervised conversations with Ifena (Koti can be... jealous) and that Koti wouldn't pick any fights with the birthday person. We made the cupcakes together, on a video call with the real Dakota.

The party started out fine, but after a little while we realized it was kind of a soft debut for... Cassie and P.J. as a couple. Not that they were throwing it in anybody's face, but we saw them brushing up against each other, cuddling on the couch, just generally giving off coupley vibes.

"Cassie," Koti said, trying to look as intimidating as possible with her arms crossed looking up at the much larger Cassie, "May Dustin and I speak to you privately?"

We all marched up to the bedroom. Mary stood in the corner looking bored while Koti paced and raved.

"What in God's name do you think you're doing?! How on Earth could you think this is appropriate?"

"I'm living my life," Mary shrugged. "Well, Cassie's life."

"This is beyond the pale!" Koti hissed. "You are fucking with people's lives!"

"Oh, I told Cassie," Mary said. "She was quite flattered. P.J. was simply picking up on a pre-existing flirtation. I'm a matchmaker." She smiled proudly.

"You... you can't..." Koti sputtered.

"Everyone involved wants this. How it is any of your business?"

"It's... an unnecessary complication!"

"Explain to me the difference between what you two do, and what you have seen between me and P.J."

"It's obvious!" Koti said, moderating her voice to a harsh stage whisper. "P.J. is not one of us! You can't be dragging h--them into our shit! Dustin, back me up here!"

"I tend to agree," I said, admittedly non-committally, "In my experience, you kind of need to keep people at arm's length, romantically, if they're not, you know, along for the ride."

"Thank you," Koti said.

"But I don't think we can dictate to Mary how to go through this experience."

"What?!"

I heaved a sigh. "Just because I would make different decisions, I don't think I can say it's the wrong way to do things here. It's sort of a gray area. All the involved parties have signed off on it, seemingly. Is somebody going to get hurt? I mean, maybe, but that's their business. There's an argument to be made that by rebuffing P.J., Mary would be having a negative effect on their, and Cassie's, lives anyway, by putting off whatever was supposedly building between them. There's precedent for all of this."

I also noted that it might make a difference on some level whether Mary was doing it for herself or for Cassie, but from our perspective there isn't any difference and it doesn't matter.

"I can't believe this," Koti fumed.

"I'm not on board, but like I said, it's out of my jurisdiction. It's not my mistake to make, and not my job to prevent them from it. Above all else, it's sort of consistent with my position that you've got to find ways to enjoy this experience and live life. I leave it to Mary to define this experience however she wants, and deal with the consequences."

"Can you be my fucking partner for ten seconds and get on my side?" Koti spat.

"I am on your side, but I can't condone trying to impose our will on the situation. All we can do is wash our hands of it."

"Both of you get out of my room," Koti sneered.

"Koti..."

"John..."

"Now!"

Mary and I stepped out and walked down the hall to where our conversation would be less audible.

"Okay, is there something else going on here?"

Mary let out a sigh, her posture tensing up. "John really doesn't like P.J.," she noted.

"I know that."

"He's been suspicious of them from day one, that they were coming between us a little bit. You know, they helped me get my Etsy shop off the ground, and we spent a lot of time together..." (I haven't mentioned Mary's Etsy shop, where she sells crochet stuff, but yeah, I guess it was sort of done with P.J.'s assistance.)

"That's kind of why I pushed John toward you," Mary said with a sigh, "There was this anger that had nowhere to go, and there wasn't anything romantic happening in these bodies for us. I didn't expect it to blossom between you two the way it has, but part of me did hope that it would help him."

I narrowed my eyes at Mary. "Help him how?"

"Well, you didn't know John as a man, so I guess you might not have caught onto this... and I don't know how much he's told you about himself, but... he's kind of bisexual."

I raised an eyebrow. "You... know this?"

"Honey, I've been married to him for a long time," he furrowed her brow. "You notice things after a while."

"Has he ever... to your knowledge...?" My heart began to pound. It was so easy to pretend like this was all some big secret but maybe it wasn't.

"I don't know, and I don't want to know, but I have a lot of complicated theories about that year he was supposedly in 'Florida.'"

"Oh?"

"Well, at first I assumed he was partying with boys. Then he got back and he was so keen to go to Maine, and after we transformed I thought... son of a bitch, he knew this was going to happen."

"You really think so?"

"Things add up," she shrugged, "I don't know what to believe and I'm probably happier not knowing. I don't think I want to talk about it. But there's no point in accusing him of it. He'll deny it. Call me crazy. Swear up and down he didn't want this and make like he's a martyr for letting you screw him. He has some really messed-up things to say about you, about how you manipulated and pressured him into sex, but don't worry, I don't believe him. Nobody's making that guy do anything he doesn't want to do."

"Thanks..." I said, heavy-heartedly.

"John will never be happy," Mary said, "He just wants everyone to be as miserable as he is."

"And you married him?"

"I love the guy," she shrugged. "I should get back."

With that, she went back downstairs, and I was left contemplating just what I was mixed up in. Koti and I have fun together, but being with Koti -- with John -- is an intricate web of deceit, frustration, and double-talk. Who is she really?

I slept on the floor that night. We reconciled in the morning, calling a detente and agreeing not to talk about it as much as possible and just enjoy the holidays, paying no mind to what was happening between P.J. and Mary/Cassie.

For Christmas I gave her a unisex necklace that I figured she could take with her through various lives, whatever ends up happening. Her gift to me was not something you would buy at a store, and maybe to be sensitive, not something I should mention on the blog.

A new year will be upon us soon, and yet another shuffling of the deck on the horizon.

-Marc/Dustin

Toby: Dunia's Dream Job

Hey, it's been a while, but apparently which flight attendant crew works which flights or gets any time off at all during the busy part of the year is based on seniority, and I'm absolutely the lowest on the totem pole, so the past month in particular has just been crazy, especially considering things were kind of slow before that, although sort of frustrating because of how all this works. 

I was kind of a nervous wreck that first day, because I'd never been on a plane before, and while I crammed all the manuals and stuff more than I had ever studied for a test in high school, this seemed like it would be really different.  I tried to tell myself that I picked up how to work any piece of big equipment that got thrown at me on the farms pretty quickly, and it's not like I would be flying the plane, but I still feel kind of awkward walking around as Dunia on level, non-moving ground, and should probably consider myself fortunate that high heels aren't part of the uniform.  Dunia likes her wedges, but I'm in sneakers or sandals most of the time. 

I got to the airport early on the first day - in addition to never having been on a plane before, I hadn't used a bus since junior high and wanted to give myself enough time - feeling kind of ridiculous in my uniform with the little neck scarf and hat, afraid I'd suddenly turn back to myself and look ridiculous, or that I'd be stopped when I tried to use my employee ID to bypass the line for passengers.  You'd think I'd give off some sort of wrong vibe, but apparently not. 

Or maybe I do but people just assume it's for something else, like it just being your first day in a new job.  There was a three-person cabin crew that first day and for most of the first month, because we were assigned to a fairly small plane doing shuttle flights between Miami and Atlanta, and when I got there, I was greeted by a Latina woman a few years older than me who introduced herself as Rosa and looked at me a little strange, but that was apparently because I wasn't wearing nearly as much makeup as she thought I should.  "You're very pretty without it," she said, "but people expect a more visible effort, you know?  Like, people get nervous flying,  and want to see you looking like you're ready for anything.  Especially you and me, you know?"

I didn't, but apparently a lot of Latina women go really heavy on the makeup, or at least that's the stereotype.  I've been Dunia for nearly three months now and it seems like a lot of lines that seem very clear back home are blurry here.  I'd brought some cosmetics in my bag - at the time I was just starting to figure them out, but at least grasped that I might have to fix something mid-air, before finding out what things cost in airport terminals - and Rosa knew exactly what to do, even with my darker skin.  By the time she was done, I wasn't sure what I thought, because it was the kind of look that kind of works for me even though I always tell myself that I like girls who don't use a lot of makeup more, so I was kind of judging myself in a couple ways, but also thinking that, yeah, this is kind of what looks appropriate for someone in this kind of job, like, kind of fake, but in a way that says you're at work and trying to present yourself well and this maybe isn't who you are in the off hours. 

It was pretty close to time to report to our gate when Lambert ran into the ladies' room right past us so he could puke in a stall.  Rosa's eyes went wide - she later confessed that she was having flashbacks to someone at a different job who showed up hungover a lot - and I shooed her out, saying we'd spent the last few weeks together.  Once I was pretty sure there were no actual girls in the room, I walked over.  "You okay, dude?"

He looked down at a bit of his hair that had gotten in the way, thinking a bit before reaching for some toilet paper to wipe it off.  "Man, I can't do this.  I get so nauseous and half the time I take Nyquil or something before takeoff!  I should just go in and quit!"

"Hey, don't leave me alone!  Just think, I don't think Dunia would want this job so much if it wasn't a good one.  Besides, you've got Alicia's stomach and inner ear or whatever, so you shouldn't get airsick, right?  They've been doing this job for years."

He didn't look totally convinced, but didn't say anything.  We got his hair cleaned up the best we could with hand soap and paper towels, and then got to work. 

That first day was kind of strange in every way, but Lambert and I both did okay.  Miami to Atlanta is a short enough flight that we barely have time to do anything between takeoff and landing, although some folks just absolutely need a coffee in midair, or more often one of those little bottles of alcohol to calm their nerves.  Confidentially, I kind of think half of them are just looking to have one of us lean over a row of seats so that they can reach up and "accidentally" touch our boobs.  I flinched pretty badly the first couple times, but after that I just sort of figured that's what guys were going to do.  My butt was also a very tempting target, and I kind of like that even less.  Boobs are just weird and don't belong on my body, so I don't really feel upset like I do at having my butt slapped by a man, which feels really inappropriate. 

Lambert has bigger boobs than me, so he was more of a target for that, but he seemed to get over his fear of flying pretty quickly.  Maybe It's just that Alicia/Harmon got used to it on a way that transferred over to him, but i think he just likes bossing people around more than he hates flying.  Not that he can really boss the passengers around, but he can raise his voice when warranted, and he really puts on a good show of being senior to me and Rosa.

It's not so bad once you get used to the weird sensation of the plane moving.  Apparently Harmon called it being "a glorified waitress", but I kind of prefer it to farm work.  There are a lot of people who are kind of jerks either because they're nervous or just jerks - my mom is a waitress on the ground and she's got stories! - but you kind of get used to it. 

The pays not really great, though, I guess because it's a job that a lot of people think would be fun for a while, but also because you don't really get paid while you're in the airport.  I gather some airlines don't start paying you until the cabin doors close before takeoff or after they open on landing, even though dealing with people who act like what they were told about carry-on bags doesn't apply to them is maybe the most frustrating part of the job, but you definitely don't get paid for the time between working a flight from Miami to Atlanta and the one back.  Even on days when you've got three round trips, that's not quite 8 hours of work even though you're out of the house early and back late, and before holiday travel started, we didn't have a lot of those full days.  I don't find it a huge problem - farmers back home love to find ways to keep you off the clock and I don't have a lot of living expenses starting with Dunia's father - but it really pisses Lambert off, especially when we wind up sick in the Atlanta airport of a few hours and he's boxing about how this isn't helping pay the rent on Alicia's apartment.

Dunia kind of eats every detail about it up, though, demanding I fill her Instagram up with pictures from her first day and anything interesting that happened afterwards, and kind of loves cute selfies of me/her/us in the uniform.  I joked about her being a pervy old man once and she seemed hurt, and I get it; she'll have all these first times in a few months but she'll have to act like they're old hat and wants to have some sort of record of the way she's going to feel.  And it's not like I'm not kind of enjoying it.  It's kind of nice to put on a uniform and have people kind of jealous of your job and get to help folks like you know what you're doing, and i do look kind of nice.  I could do without folks slapping my ass as I walk by, but they're going to do that to Dunia as she walks to the grocery store.

I'll be kind of glad when the schedule gets a little less crazy in the new year, though, especially since Lambert and I will be resigned to a longer route. 

- Toby

Isaac/Ainsley: Paint By Numbers

Early November...

The other night, I went to a bar a few miles down the road and attended a paint and sip event.

I know, a paint and sip? Only some kind of freakish deviant would ever bother setting foot within fifty feet of one, let alone spending genuine hard-earned money to participate. I might as well have trashed Ainsley's reputation the instant I walked into the building. When she gets word, Ainsley's going to wonder what other horrible things I'm going to do with her life. Couldn't I just stay in a tiny room staring at a wall full of plants like an actual normal person? In her darkest moments she'll lie awake, unable to sleep with thoughts of me using her credit card to buy a p***leball paddle... Perish the thought!

Okay, seriously, going here is aggressively normal for someone like Ainsley. I don't know if she's ever done this before, and nobody at the bar seemed to recognize her, but it'd track. It's asocial weirdos, especially those who are single men, who'd need a convoluted excuse to go to these things. With that said, here's mine: Next week is when I'll be subsumed by a whirlwind of bridesmaid responsibilities. First the bridal shower, then the dress fitting, wedding rehearsal and actual wedding ceremony and reception, all in the span of a couple weeks. I've managed to leverage Ainsley's recent breakup to get myself out of a lot, and I can tell it's hurting her friends, but Ainsley insists on this one. I have to show up. I'm going to have to be Ainsley around people who know her a lot better than her coworkers (many of whom know her fairly well!) and, on the wedding weekend, do it without any breaks.

So I wanted to do something easier, in preparation. I felt like if I could prove to myself that I'm able to go to a social, predominantly female space for a couple of hours, without setting off too many red flags, then at least I could focus on how I don't know the bride or any of Ainsley's friends rather than the fact that I'm not really a hypersocial former sorority sister. Does that make sense?

So I went, arriving a couple minutes late. (I hate being the first person to show up to things, it just attracts attention.) I wore a tank top, jeans, loose cardigan, and Ainsley's gold initials monogram necklace of the kind I've always found annoyingly tacky. It was a good mix of women ranging from Ainsley's age to their mid-fifties, a handful of boyfriends or husbands, and one obviously single guy who, fortunately, didn't seem to latch on to me in particular. They handed us a wine list and I copied the order of a girl a few seats down from me without knowing what it was.

With the sip taken care of, the paint aspect was actually very simple. Turns out these sessions are essentially paint-by-numbers for adults. Or an in-person Bob Ross episode, though Master Sergeant Ross' instructions are usually less specific and more technique-focused than the artist in charge here. I had a handful of emotionally neutral accidents.

Of course, I still had to navigate the inevitable small talk. Going in I was nervous that everyone would look at me and immediately know I'm some kind of fraud, even though none of them have ever met Ainsley before and therefore have no expectations. And I sort of am one, even without getting the Inn involved. I really don't think I fit in with the type of crowd these events get; even if Ainsley's appearance gives the impression that I would. I know I come across as cold to people, Ainsley's coworkers can clearly tell the difference and keep asking me if I'm doing okay. I really believe the way my thought process works, the way I relate to others is different from that of most of the people around me. Not better, just, different. In my own body the way I look and carry myself signifies that immediately, while being Ainsley makes me create a lot of mixed signals. Sets everyone else there up for disappointment once they get some impression of what I'm really like.

But it turned out I didn't need to disappoint anyone; focusing intensely on painting was enough to dissuade a lot of potential small-talkers. Or maybe it's not just marketers who can smell fear. And when I did get questioned beyond the standard name/job/how-long-have-you-been-in-town icebreakers I'd pull what I assume is a very Ainsley move and show off some dog pics. Shoutout to SugarBunny for helping me get out of awkward conversations, for once. I don't know if I'm able to effectively act enthusiasm but nobody seemed bothered, far as I could tell.

Honestly, it was all easy enough that I questioned whether coming there really helped me prepare for anything. Living someone else's life doesn't come with convenient instructions and constant guidance! Well, it does, Ainsley's given me some, but it's impossible to write instructions granular enough to allow one to run on autopilot through any given situation without letting it slip that something's up. And Ainsley's too busy juggling a toddler and a demanding job to give me anything even close to that. (Marvin, the guy in my body, hasn't asked for very much help especially recently and though my own life isn't very complicated I'm starting to get kind of nervous.) I don't get flowcharts for conversations with everyone Ainsley knows. There's no guide for how to force yourself to act (or be) genuinely excited, not really. But this? Painting by numbers, having my every move prescribed, is a relaxing vacation in comparison.

Isaac/Ainsley: An Undoing

Hey everyone-- I'm not dead, and I'm only questionably insane. November was an especially eventful and difficult month for me, as you'll hear about soon enough, and I've only recently worked up the mental energy to finally expand my notes about it into proper blogposts. This one took place about... two months ago!? Holy shit. It was a different time...

You'd think Ainsley and Sara would be able to afford an apartment with thicker walls.

I was in my bedroom at about one in the morning. That's not especially late by my standards, but Ainsley is one of those terrible creatures whose body demands to wake up early regardless of whether it's a workday and I was pretty exhausted. I'd placated SugarBunny, finished Ainsley's skincare routine (honestly, not a bad distraction), and just when I was finally about to go to sleep I heard the door unlock. That's not a strange occurrence by itself; Heather goes out late fairly often, so I could ignore it until I heard a man's voice joking back with her.

I've never had any kind of boundaries talk with Heather but I'd always just, assumed. Why would you ever want to bring anyone into our, our fortress of privacy, the only place in this world we're allowed to be ourselves? Let alone unannounced? At least my freshman roommate had the courtesy to let me know in advance when he'd kick me out. For the first time ever SugarBunny agreed with me on something and he woke up, barking like mad at the interloper and I had to decide whether it's my responsibility to calm him down. Fortunately that shooed them into Heather's room before I could get annoyed enough with the barking to intervene.

Unfortunately I'd rather listen to more of SugarBunny's greatest hits than the sound of my middle-age roommate getting laid. I'm not going to bother describing these two's failure to keep relatively quiet, but they had me giving up on sleeping entirely and working on my knitting project. I've always hated how they feel but I should really invest in some earplugs.

He finally left at around 3:30. I guess it's fortunate that he didn't stay until morning and give him the possibility of encountering me as I'm getting ready for work, but his presence set off SugarBunny again on his way out. That was the last straw, and I left my bedroom to approach Heather in the living room.

"Hey. Can you not--"

"Look, I didn't know your dog was gonna react like that. So, sorry about that."

"He's not my dog, a-and even besides I just mean, the time! I could hear."

"Oh?" My roommate looked like she's just barely holding back a smirk. "Yeah, huh. Well, we had to learn about this place's acoustics one way or another. Hey, I tried, okay? There was a problem with the water at his place and we didn't have anywhere else."

I just nodded. I already regretted starting this conversation at the exact moment I finally could've gotten some sleep. But Heather had to add, "Look, you're allowed to have fun too, y'know?"

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I had roommates my first time around, this age. I know what it's like, you've got the same right as me."

"So your idea of an apology is to say you'd let me do something you and I both know I obviously wouldn't do?"

"You wouldn't. But you could. I'm just saying."

I can't believe this woman. "No, and I don't know why anyone in, in our situation does it! Seriously! Doesn't any part of having sex in someone else's body feel wrong to you? Like it's violating, somehow? I know, there's no part of the Inn experience which isn't violating, but we don't have any choice in most of it! This is just, does none of this make you, you know, weird you out? At all?"

"Kid, all I said was you can have fun. I'm not the one who said 'sex'."

"Oh come on you were obviously--"

"Uh huh, sure." Heather grinned. "But seriously, you don't get it. And it beats knitting."

"There's nothing wrong with knitting!! I picked it up as a desperation hobby so I don't completely lose it in here. We both lived through the pandemic, I bet you had one too-- you should try it sometime! I can just burn the evidence when we head back to the Inn. Also, in this body I don't have to wonder if anyone's going to look at me weird at a fabric store for-- hey!"

"You're acting exactly like half the angry moms I have to deal with back home, I hope you realize."

"Just answer the question! I feel like I'm losing my mind here and not for the reasons I usually am. I look at that blog, and half that thing is just wall-to-wall sex! 'Oooh, I just found my new body's dildo, what ever am I going to do with it?' 'Should I fuck 'my' ex who keeps texting me, or that guy I met at a bar?' 'Hey everyone. I bet no one here's ever written about what it feels like in a woman's body, here's that 'cause I'm being so original!! Everyone wants to hear about that! There's nothing weird at all!!' Doesn't anyone think that's wrong? The only reason people ever hesitate is because they're weirded out about being the opposite sex and getting their orientation rewired, or they're worried about their own relationship! It's never about if it's ethical to do it in the first place! God!"

If nothing else I think I made Heather also wish she'd just gone to bed.

"You... You need to get your head out of your own ass. Seriously. Are you really a 20-year-old guy? I didn't know anyone half as high-strung as you when I was in college. And Sara was pretty obviously living her life this way to begin with, so it's not like I'm doing anything she wouldn't."

"You didn't even ask?"

"Isaac. You don't. Get it. You don't know what it's like. You're young. You've never... Do you have any idea what this is like for me?"

"No, I don't know what it's like to end up in a life I'm actually capable of enjoying."

"It's not-- Okay it's not just-- Shut up. It would've happened even if I was Ainsley. You don't understand what it's like to get thirty years younger overnight. I was a smoker for twenty years. I quit forever ago but one breath, one breath here makes me... I don't have any joint pain anymore. I don't get migraines, I don't get hot flashes, every waking moment in this body reminds me what I lost. What all of us lose, and we're supposed to shut up and accept it 'cause there's no way to ever get it back so don't even think about it."

She continued. "I feel like everything's been supercharged. Like I'm alive again. Like I can be someone and I have more than an inevitable downhill to look forward to. I, look, I didn't make the right choices, a lot of the time. I got married before I was ready and I wasn't the world's best mom, okay? I did what I could. But you have no choice but to keep on living with your mistakes, after all. There's no escaping your past. At least, there's not supposed to be."

"Ains-- Isaac, you're too young to screw up like I did. I hope you never understand. But am I just, just not supposed to take advantage of this, before we go back and it's all taken away from me again? All at once instead of gradually? I left part of myself behind at this age. For now, this year, I get to find her again. The right way. And you can't stop me. So quit being judgey and maybe focus on not wasting your life, wherever you're living it, you little prude."

I'm only slightly ashamed to admit that I ran off back to my room immediately once staring at heather in silence got too awkward to be sustainable. How does anyone even respond to that? She never actually addressed whether any of what she's doing is wrong and yet I still feel like I'm the asshole. Am I crazy? Am I the only one on the blog who feels this way? What's wrong with me?

I returned to my knitting project instead of going to bed.

Marc/Dustin: Dating Games

You could be forgiven for thinking that my new "relationship" with "Dakota" consisted of nothing but sex. After all, the first few months we knew each other almost entirely took place in Ryan's bed. She's made no secret of her willingness to explore that side. Hell, we share a mattress today, which does get rather "cozy."

The morning after the events of my last post, I woke up to find her gazing at me with those pretty blue eyes. Given the late night I'd had, it was not my usual early start. 

When she noticed I was awake, she purred, "Tell me I wasn't dreaming last night."

"Depends," I said in a low tone, "What do you think happened?"

"I think you asked me to be your girlfriend," she said as she traced a line up my torso with her finger.

"I guess I did," I said with a half-smile. "I mean, I think what I said was, it's too much work to fake it as much as we have been, so we might as well try dating."

"You're such a romantic, it gets me wet," she snarked.

She leaned in and kissed me. That became a full-on make out session, bodies intertwined, hands searching one another.

She could tell my body was getting "revved up," but put the brakes on.

"I do want this, but I want something else, first," she said.

"What's that?" I asked, kissing her neck.

"A date."

I reared back, somewhat surprised. "Pardon?"

"I haven't dated in so long," she said. "The passion went out of my and Mary's relationship, and then with Ryan -- I mean, you -- it was pretty much all physical."

"I recall," I said, blushing as I remember some of the things we were into during our fling.

"I'm a lady," she said, "And I want to be treated as such. I'd like to be romanced at least a little bit."

"Oh, you're a lady?" I teased, picking her lips with mine, "Is that why your hand is on my crotch?"

"I didn't specify what kind of lady," she snickered, then removed her hand. "I want to know that this chemistry is real, before our first time."

"And what if it's not real?" I asked, "What if we find out we actually have nothing to say to each other and there's no spark?"

"Then I guess the sex will just be meaningless," she shrugged.