The week after my birthday was pretty much a cycle of freeze-outs and shouting matches between myself, Cerie, and Jen. Personally, I don't want to have any feelings whatsoever: if she wants to ruin her life the wait Kiara was going to -- and the fact that she felt the need to run away and seemingly stay gone indicates she does think she ruined her life -- it's technically none of my business. She's right that she and her as-yet-unborn baby have as much right to be a drain on the house's resources as Sienna and I do. I think that's the frustrating thing, that I don't have a leg to stand on, even though in principle I'm right that we shouldn't have any more babies in this house.
But it's what she wants, and for some reason her no-good boyfriend, Kiara's babydaddy Byrd, is supportive, even though he's already putting nearly every dime he makes into an account for our little rugrat. I feel like every day brings some new twist on this nightmare. I wish my biggest problem was that I don't have the sexual organs I'd prefer.
So I let Cerie and Byrd take Sienna for the weekend, even though it was not Byrd's weekend, because they want all the practice they can get. I don't love that it's my baby being used as the crash test dummy for those little idiots, but what are you going to do?
They and the baby being out of the house Saturday night gave Jen the opening to tear a strip off me and tell me to get in line, and to stop acting like a brat. I told her I was being anything but a brat, that I was the adult in this situation... which I didn't say, but may have included Jen herself. She said that whining and crying and calling Cerie "irresponsible" might feel good but it doesn't do anything for the reality that this baby is coming. Okay, fair enough, but I need to make myself heard.
It probably doesn't come across in text like this, but I really notice sometimes how these female hormones, especially the ones that cause me to produce so damn much milk, probably color my ability to keep a cool head in times like these. Like, sorry if that sounds sexist but I am now a woman and I am a lot more demonstrative of my thoughts and opinions than I used to be, and I suspect those two things are connected.
Anyway, I told her that now that I'd said my piece , I'd do my best to help the little dum-dums, although in slightly kinder words than that. It was something of a diplomatic achievement, but I was so rankled I just had to leave the house.
The problem is: I didn't have anywhere to go. My entire life in this town is under this roof, or at school. My "friends" are a much older married Indian woman (who is very sweet but probably doesn't need her disaster-teen classmate dropping in on her) and some people whose home lives are probably even less stable than mine.
There was one name in my contact list that I do have something of a personal relationship with, and I had to bet that he was available on a Saturday night: Donovan. I hadn't been in touch with him since our little encounter a month earlier, because I was both a little disgusted and a little afraid of initiating a snowball effect. But I have to admit every so often on nights when I hate life, I find my thumb lingering over that name, like, "Hm, maybe this would help things." From the night we had together, he seemed all right, non-objectionable, stable, a far cry from the types of people Kiara is meeting in her world. I could do worse, right? If nothing else he seemed to be capable of conversing.
I had simply never quit gotten to that threshold though.
So I messaged him, "Hey, this is probably kind of weird, but are you doing anything right now/tonight? Need to get out. Even just to drive around or whatever."
After I hit send, I realized, holy shit, that sounds so pathetic and desperate, and like my life is so chaotic and sad. Which sucks, because I am pathetic and desperate and my life is chaotic and sad.
After a moment, he said "Sure, where can I pick you up?"
Damn, I thought, the plan had already worked too well. I didn't want this guy to come to my house. So I told him we should meet at the coffee shop and go from there.
So we went, and we had a drink -- he a decaf americano, I a machiatto. He politely asked what was up that made me want to call him out of the blue. I told him I didn't really want to talk about my home life or anything like that.
"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know. The Holy Roman Empire."
"It was neither holy, nor Roman," he noted.
"And not much of an empire," I added. Shit, we were on a wavelength. Was it wrong to consider screwing a guy for the first time because you both knew the same corny old joke?
"What would you be doing if I hadn't texted?" I asked.
"Probably the same thing I did last weekend," he sighed, "Trying to work things out with my ex."
"Oh, I see," I nodded, somehow put off that he had an ex in the picture. "How's that, um, going?"
"Not great," he said. "Between the long distance and her boyfriend of six months, I think it might actually be over between us."
"Oh, you can't think like that," I said, "Maybe she'll wake up tomorrow and realize you're what she wanted all along."
"Maybe," he said, "If I woke up tomorrow an entirely different person."
"Don't even joke about that," I scolded reflexively. When he raised an eyebrow, I said, "I had an uncle who had, um, a brain injury. One day he woke up and... woosh. Totally different guy. Less racist, though."
Uncertain how to react, he said "Um... sorry... about your racist uncle? I guess?"
He was still kind of new in town so he asked if I knew any attractions. I said not really, but I saw they had just opened up an escape room in the next town over, if that was something he'd be into. He said that sounded kind of random for a first date, and I said luckily this isn't a date.
So we went, and unfortunately you're supposed to have a group of four, so we linked up with two random strangers. It was a crazy haunted house situation, with, like spring-loaded ghouls jumping out at you to give you the next clue or whatever. It was surprisingly fun, and he was good at interpreting the riddles. I'm a little more spacey, which I'm tempted to blame on baby-brain, not that I wanted to tell him that.
After that, he asked if I wanted to go to a bar, and I said I was sure there was beer at his place, so there we went.
And again, it was not exactly the tidiest, most impressive place. A handful of dudes in their twenties living together -- I get it. I remember it.
He cracked us a couple of beers, and took me into his bedroom, and we sat on his bed. He had his hand on my thigh, and there's a very small, Tom-Shaped part of my brain going "This is not right at all!" but a larger Kiara-shaped one going "Girl, just do it, don't be a chickensh**."
We start kissing, and his scratchy stubble is messing with my head a little bit, but I'm also kind of enjoying the "man" smell, and I'm dizzying myself wondering who I am and what I like and what is even the plan here. While I'm having an identity crisis, he's got his hand up my shirt and -- eventually -- he gets my bra unclasped and starts tentatively feeling around.
And then suddenly... it's like he found the 'on' switch.
Fuck. Fuck. My nipples, dude, are so sensitive. I didn't realize that would happen, but I guess with a night of warming up and just the tiniest bit of alcohol, all the tumblers fell into place and unlocked me. I was ready to spread wide open. My body was purring. "Yes... yes..." I whispered, surprising myself.
Before I knew it, his pants were off and so were mine, my legs wrapped around him like my life depended on it. I was barely even thinking -- I mean, I had the presence of mind to make sure he put a condom on first, but after that it was like a whirlwind of limbs and appendages mingling. Something was making me feel pretty good inside, and the part of my brain that was aware it was attached to someone else -- a man -- was on the fritz. All I remember was thinking "It's happening, it's happening... and I don't hate it..." I mean, yes, I've toyed with myself, but having another body there changes the game.
And then, before I could get another notch up the ladder from "I don't hate it," it was over.
(Price is Right trombone of sadness.)
We disentangled ourselves and I had this very sour, unfulfilled feeling. A lot of positivity suddenly evaporated. It was sobering. Oh crap. I just had sex with this guy. It was dangerously easy. And part of me suspected this might happen when I began the night and part of me was sure I would come to my senses and bow out. Even afterwards, I was trying to do the mental calculus on it to confirm I had actually, literally, just had sex as a woman, because on paper I sure did, and I know what it felt like, but my brain wouldn't compute that what had happened to me was sex.
Anyway, the spell as kind of broken after that. He was apologetic, and I had to kind of be like, "Don't worry about it, it was good" which was kind of a lie, although for about 30 seconds or so we were soaring, yeah.
We cleaned up and got dressed and I had him drop me off a block from my house, which I could sense he wanted to say something about but was probably too embarrassed.
And I went home and laid in bed and just stared up in the darkness wondering what the hell had just happened.
I don't know. Part of me felt like not doing it was a way of staying "pure" and, I don't know, male by proxy. Part of me felt like on the off chance I am going to return to a male body -- which I'm not counting on -- it would be sad not to have an experience like that if it was available. And part of me just wanted to get some understanding of what lies in my future if and when it turns out that I'm staying as Kiara.
Reality check: I'm in the body of an 18-year-old mom deep in the heart of Dixie. I'm not particularly wowed by most of the males I have encountered in my time here. Until recently I genuinely had not had occasion to consider what might happen if I wanted to do this, and in the end, I just followed my body's lead.
Then I look over at the empty crib and I think about what "following this body's lead" has gotten us.
I guess that's a macrocosm of life. We're all just doing out best, and we can have ideas how we'll behave in certain situations, but you never know until it happens. I'm not mad, I'm not sad, I'm not relieved, I'm not happy. It's just a fact. That happened.
I'm keen to pretend it simply did not.
But there are worse things in life........
-Tom, feeling Extra-Kiara Today
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