"About what I expected," I tell John, stretching out my limbs. "I've been a woman before."
I go over to the mirror and examine the way Dustin's huge tee-shirt covers my body like a dress. I feel familiar -- and unfamiliar -- aches in my joints from aging decades overnight.
My cheekbones. My eyes. My nose. My lips. Anything I'm not sure about, well, I guess I'll have to get used to it. I fuss with my bangs and try to determine what side they want to be on.
"Was this a mistake?" I wonder.
"The furthest thing," he says, standing and crossing the room. He's in his boxers, and I can see his somewhat unflattering physique, love handles, salt and pepper body hair. Half-naked, he looks so vulnerable, but in a weird way that makes him seem more powerful. It's not a turn-on the way it was when he was Koti and I'd see her little body, but I'm not not looking. I've seen it, after all. I've been with it.
He puts his hands on my arms and I flinch a bit before looking back up at him. He's only a little bit taller than me, which is reassuring. He wraps me up in a hug from behind.
The door opens and someone pokes their head in. "It's Mary," says a strange voice. When she enters fully, I can't even meet her eyeline, keeping her in my peripheral vision. I observe her dark skin and elegant features. She's extremely beautiful, a fact that his me strangely in the gut, rather than any other part. "Don't let me interrupt," she says wryly.
Feeling exposed, I move to sit on the bed. I was a woman for about two years, but after being three different men, the sensation of not having a male piece between my legs is unfamiliar all over again. I feel fidgety, like I don't know what to do with myself. It's a lot of hair on my head, albeit not as thick or as voluminous as Chantelle's. It fine-textured and falls above my shoulders; I could live with that.
John's eyes are on me. No matter what he says, I think he's a little unsure about this.
Two weeks ago.
I returned to the house to pack up. Everyone was going their separate ways. We found somewhere for Dakota, Dustin and Cassie to live. PJ will be living there too -- that confusion will be for the "originals" to work out.
When the three of us had a private moment, we put it all out there. At some point over the summer, I had revealed to Mary when my affair with John started. Because their relationship has, in their words, crumbling for years, she took it reasonably well. She was hurt, but altogether very understanding. "I blame one person for John's behavior, and that's John."
John -- as Koti -- just kind of sat there as we went over the facts. How Mary and I deduced that he had manipulated the situation to not only get back to the Inn when I was going, but also make it seem like a coincidence.
I wouldn't say I love John. The chemistry we have is sometimes hot, sometimes frustrating. I'm angry with him but I also understand him. And in a weird way the idea of cutting him loose and making him someone else's problem makes me uncomfortable. I wasn't going to commit to him, but neither would I definitely say I was walking away from any version of "us." I felt like we had unfinished business, and that I would probably stay in his life in some form, if only to make sure he gets his own body back and stays there. But what about the unknowns? He and I hemmed and hawed over it. "What if I'm married, what if I'm too young, what if I'm a straight man or a gay female, or someone from overseas or..." I ran over all of these scenarios that I felt could keep us apart, and he said he didn't think it was all that important and that if I wanted, I would find some way back to him.
Then Mary cleared her throat and said, "I can't believe you two haven't come up with the obvious solution."
"Which is what?" he asked.
"Marc should be me."
Excuse us?
"Marc's prepared to be a woman. I'm not that much older than him. If I go back to being myself, John, we're just going to have a shitty, drawn-out divorce nobody wants. Marc, you should just be me, and figure out for yourself how to define that relationship. That's your best shot."
"Mary--" I started to say.
"What am I going back to, really? How does it make any more sense for Marc to roll the dice than me? Let me go, get me out of this, and you two can figure it out."
We just kind of looked at each other, John and I. A wide grin crossed Koti's face, something mischievous and sinister that filled me with dread.
"I could go for that," John said. "Marc, would you?"
I sighed. Rolling the dice is one thing. Pronouncing I will be this specific person, this woman, for you, is different.
But... what else was there to do? I'm about 40 years old, in spirit, it's time to do something on purpose for once.
...
I was not asleep when it happened. I was jolted out of whatever dream I was having and I noticed my pecs had already softened. My hair grown shaggier.
I stood up and paced the room. This was real. My hips became too slender to hold up my boxers, and then my manhood receded into me and they dropped and I knew I was a woman again. A specific woman. I had a new life.
John stirred. Daylight was breaking.
"Marc?" he murmured, his voice rough.
"I guess not anymore," I said in my new soft voice.
"How does it feel?"
-Marc/Mary
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