Marc/Mary: Coming home

On the train ride home, we were quiet. Not coldly quiet, but comfortably. At least, that's my interpretation. I would look over at John, and he'd look back at me and flash me a quick smile, then go back to his book, and I'd think, okay, good, we don't need to constantly be chattering. Our relationship is pretty lived-in. That's comforting to know.

After my fourth trip to the bathroom he teased me by asking if I would rather just stay in there. I didn't say anything to that, and maybe slightly unintentionally said nothing for a long while. The silence must have been quite pointed, because he sneered, "What, are you going to freeze me out the whole trip over some wisecrack? You really are a woman now, huh?"

I just kind of sighed, annoyedly, and tried to gather my thoughts. "I'm not there yet, okay? I know I chose this -- more or less -- but I'm still coming to terms with that. Give me a little bit of a grace period, you know?"

"All right, all right," he said, kind of dismissively. "Sue me for thinking we'd be the same people we always were before."

He continued, "I don't see why you being the woman and me the man should mean our dynamic is any different from what it's always been."

"Well, for the time being, it is," I said coolly. I paused a bit before adding, "That doesn't mean I don't still like you or want you, but it is going to be different. You understand that, right?"

How could it not be? I already feel different. going from a testosterone-driven young man to a woman of somewhat advanced years, I feel the change. And I'm sure he does too even if he doesn't want to admit it. I think he wants to be hungry for me in the way that he was as Koti, but it's not the same, on my end or his.

He kind of pouted over this, so I decided to do him a favor and lean over to kiss him. It was... nice. Kissing men again. Different, but not unwelcome when it's someone you're attached to.

He accepted my peace offering and the rest of the ride was fine. Then we got to the house, and... well, it all hit me.

I mean, remember when I caught Mary crying over her decision, insisting she didn't feel bad about it but she needed time to process the decision we had made?

I suddenly felt it when I walked into the house. Even though the real Mary hadn't lived here in a year, this was the home that she had made for herself and her husband. It had her decorating sensibility, her spirit.

And it wasn't like walking into Chantelle's apartment, or Ryan's, or Ed's home or the place that Dustin and Koti and all of us lived. Those places, I was aware that I was transient and that I fully intended to give them back. I didn't particularly feel the weight of any of those places. But this home had roots. I looked at the hardwood floors and the area rugs and the lighting fixtures and the colors on the walls and the furniture layout and all of it, and something just struck me.

I have walked into a life. A life that somebody built and has now bequeathed to me, because under the surface it was no longer her.

That hit me hard, and it was days before I could even put a word to it. All I felt at first was the tears, the sobs, the overwhelm. This is a life, Marc -- it's your life now, and it's something you have not had in a long, long time.

I turned and buried my head in John's chest, and he stroked my hair and I don't think he really understood what I was feeling -- and I don't blame him -- but it really settled into my bones. It is up to me to build a life as this person.

To his credit, he asked what was going on, and I told him I'd tell him when I knew. And it was a few days later I was able to write it all out and kind of tell him how I was feeling. And it wasn't bad, just heavy.

John and I are going to build a life together. And if it doesn't work... I don't know what then.

-Marc/Mary

Caleb/Rylee: Welcome, Class of 2030

After spending the last four years of my life pulling all-nighters writing code and analyzing data, I have officially…started all over again, in a different body, with a completely different degree program that’s about as 180 as you could get from what I know.

Yes, the fall semester has officially started, which means that I’ve spent the last few weeks moving in, doing freshman orientation stuff, and getting settled into classes. Kaitlyn’s probably right that at first she was busier than me running Clint's life, but I think at this point I might have her beat.

But let’s start with the beginning.

The actual process of moving in was relatively straightforward, helped by Shannon and "Clint" getting along. That little date night seems to have warmed Shannon up to Kaitlyn-as-Clint, and we were able to get my things up to the dorm without any fights or passive-aggressive comments. Also helped that I didn't bring a lot with me, preferring my dorm room be a little more minimalist. Only thing beyond the clothes, extra sheets, and school supplies I brought was a fridge and some DVDs from Rylee's collection. Didn't even bother with a TV, which I had been tempted on, but ultimately everything's on streaming these days. Shannon apparently approved of the minimalism, having initially expected Rylee to want to drag almost everything with her to college.

"Well, I'm only going to be in this room for a year," I said, appreciating the irony of the double meaning of that statement.

It was around then that my roommate showed up. Her name was Sydney, and when it comes to potential college roommates I think I lucked out. She was a business major and came off as kind of quiet and studious. Like, call it stereotyping, but I doubted the girl in square frame glasses and a cardigan was going to be up at one o’clock in the morning listening to conspiracy theory videos and death metal albums like my first freshman roommate did. 

There wasn't much of a chance to hang out, though, as after all the move-in it was just a string of "freshman experiences" to help get us "integrated": convocations, initial meetings with our first-year experience courses, tours of campus pointing out important locations, floor meetings with the RA. It was practically smothering in how much the university didn't want to leave us alone this week, enough that when the opportunity for some off-campus trips and parties came up on the weekend I decided to just crash in the dorm room and recharge.

That's when the real challenges began: theater classes.

I had really hoped that I could get away with padding out my schedule with mostly gen-ed requirements, but my advisor and the acting course instructor, Dr. Price, was pretty persistent in saying the schedule was optimized for a clean pathway to graduation. At least Rylee had not taken up a musical theater concentration like Dr. Price had wanted: having to learn to sing and dance on top of the acting would have been a practical death sentence to Rylee's GPA.

Not to say that her GPA was exactly safe and sound right now, at least for her major.

But before I get into that, fun fact about theater courses: there's a dress code. First day of every single class we were told we would be moving a lot and so to dress appropriately. So now my work-out clothes are basically my everyday outfit. I initially tried to change before and after class, but I gave up on that after the first week and now just throw a pair of jeans and t-shirt over them.

Anyway, inconvenient dress code aside, what's the course content like? Well, it varies.

Intro to Backstage is, well, learning about the backstage part of a production. Of all the courses this has probably been the easiest one for me to get into, being a lot of learning about technical aspects of managing the backstage area, getting some hands-on experiences with the equipment, things like that. With a little room for electives next semester, I might pick up one of the advanced stage production courses just to have something to ground myself in.

The second course I had to take kind of surprised me because what do you there is an entire course on the voice?!  Scratch that, two courses on it, there’s another one next semester. At least right it's mostly going over a lot of the same things that Rylee had written for me as part of the workout routine, like breathing techniques and practicing my diction and projection. Will say, though, Rylee's got a good set of pipes. If I had been taking this in my real body, I'm sure I'd have developed sore throat issues by now.

The final course, however, is the real killer: Fundamentals of Acting I. As I said earlier, my advisor is the instructor, so there's a whole extra level of pressure to doing well, and so far I think I'm coming in under expectations.

The thing is, though, part of the course is actually ok. If you ask me to read something, write a summary and analysis of what it said, and then quiz me on it? Sure, I can do that all day. Even if the subject matter is more theories of acting rather than how to properly perform a regression analysis, I like to consider myself literate enough to do that.

The performances, though, that’s where things start to fall apart.

Sometimes they're small, like these little "A/B" scene things we get asked to do where we pair up with a partner and perform a little scene then experiment with how our acting choices change it. Think how screaming out "Oh my god" gets you a very different vibe than saying it like a mean girl."

Other times, we're having to do sample monologues from some piece, and down the road during "Meisner" week we'll be expected to do improv.

Regardless of the type of performance, though, I tend to get similar feedback: "too restrained", "not experimental enough", "overthinking", "missing the timing". In short, everybody thinks I'm too stuck inside my own head and afraid to let things out. I'd argue that my brain's just too overloaded with already pulling one performance that it's rude to ask me to do another one on top of it. Regardless, Dr. Price has definitely noticed there's a gap in ability between what I do in class and what the real Rylee did in her audition tapes. She's willing to chalk it up to freshman nerves, but I still think my main hope for this course is acing the paperwork side of things will make it up enough to get a passing grade: Cs get degrees, after all.

Still, the classes aren’t all bad.

I was kind of expecting a cut-throat competitive environment like you’d see on the tv-shows, but so far that doesn't seem to be the case. I mean, don’t get me wrong, they'd probably be at least a little giddy if someone literally broke a leg while competing with them for top billing on a show, but they'd at least sign the cast and wish you a speedy recovery. Or maybe I'm just so clearly not a threat no one sees the point in going all mean-girl on me and just leaves me alone.

There's at least one girl, Paige, I'm pretty confident is just genuinely friendly with everyone, and I didn't even have to wait till class started for her to declare we were besties.

It was that first weekend, going to the gym my one exception to crashing out in the dorm the whole time. I was in the locker room and had just finished undressing when this blonde girl rushes up to me all excited. Apparently, Paige and Rylee had met during the mandatory freshman campus visits that Rylee had gone to before Inn. They were both theater students - though Paige apparently is double-majoring in arts administration - and the two hit it off well enough that they had meant to keep in touch the rest of the summer. I had not been informed of that, however, so I was instead left to flounder in confusion at this random stranger chatting me up while I was half naked. My confusion didn't seem to hinder her, however, and soon enough she was asking if I wanted a workout partner.

I was really tempted to politely decline, my inner introvert already feeling exhausted at the idea of someone so cheerfully bright hanging around me all the time. But I don't know, something about those blue eyes glimmering with excitement broke me down, and I ended up agreeing to it. Now my phone is constantly blowing up with text messages and invites to study or go out and do something. My first time around in college I didn't really do a lot outside of studying so, I don't know, maybe having someone more outgoing around me might be a good thing.

- Caleb/Rylee

Rusty/Monica: Anyone looking for a place in Brooklyn?

Because, yep, Katey moved out this weekend.  It happened crazy fast - I refreshed a browser screen at work saw a really good spot show up at the top because the expected tenant had bounced their deposit check, and had Katey and Omar in the next day.  They loved it and signed a lease immediately.  We were packing stuff in boxes practically before Dad had time to freak out.

Not that there was a whole lot to pack; we didn't buy a whole lot we intended to keep that first year because we were kind of broke and didn't see a whole lot of point in buying stuff we'd just be leaving behind, and since then, most of what Katey has bought for herself was clothes and any bigger purchases between the three of us would just stay in the apartment for me and Dad and whoever takes the empty room.  That kind of threw Dad, because I guess when she moved before, there were always boxes of books and records and videotapes, but Katey and I don't have a lot of physical media despite her and Jonah saying we'll regret that someday.

I was kind of surprised just how many outfits Katey had picked up over the last year and a half, though.  She's not some never-wear the-same-thing-twice girl, but she does hands a tendency to buy one or two new things before she and Omar go on vacation, and I guess they add up, and they've gotten nicer, enough that she put a bunch of them in cardboard closets so that they wouldn't get wrinkled rather than folding them up, and those looked like kind of a pain to move around, in part because she would take one side and Dad the other, but they're not the same height so Dad lifting her end would tilt it so it bonked Katey on the head, and then she'd jerk her end up so Dad could see how it felt.

One we got everything down to street level and Omar and his friends arrived with the moving van, Katey shifted to basically directing traffic to let the boys do most of the lifting.  Dad apparently thought that included her and me, and while I did okay - all that time in the gym does pay off, and most of them have already struck out with me enough that wearing the same lycra I jog in didn't draw much comment, especially once they were sweating a bit themselves - she kind of overestimated herself, and looked worn out by the time the truck was empty.  We work out quite a bit together, but it's mostly yoga and the like for these days, and I think she mostly does that to hang out with me.  Even with a good sport top, she really doesn't like running, and weights frustrate her. 

Of course, we were all kind of tired at the end of the day, not surprised that Katey and Omar just wanted to stay in, get the bedroom set up, and pass out.  One of Omar's friends nudged me when Dad hugged Katey tight and said to call her if she needs absolutely anything, asking if they'd ever been more than just friends or roommates, and I said it was hard to explain.  She did pull me in close as we left and took the train back to Brooklyn. 

I'd been downing a lot of Monsters over the day, so I sprinted for the bathroom when I got home, and when I got back out to the living room, Dad had taken off her white T-shirt and was lying down on the couch in her bra, a bag of ice on top of one of her breasts and a beer in her hand.  "You okay, Dad?"

She chuckled.  "Not entirely sure I'm an 'okay dad' right now.  I spent the whole day kind of pretending that I was moving Kutter into college, figuring that would help make me a little more okay with it, but it's like every corner of a box, everything poking out of a box, and every countertop at an odd height decided to punch my right tit, just to remind me that you guys don't need my help and are better at all of this than me.  I can haul piles of books and boxes of beer bottles around at work without bruising myself, but it's like I kept forgetting I was Emilia and had these things today."  She took a drink and sighed.  "I was kind of worried about you doing this first, you know?  You're so outgoing and impulsive and seemed to really get into being Monica before either Katey or I did, I figured you'd be leaving us behind."

"Ah, it's not like Katey's leaving us behind - we're going to see her at trivia tomorrow, even!"  Still a little wired, I started moving around the apartment before stopping at Katey's door.  "What should we do with Katey's stuff?  Like, the original Katey's?"

Dad got up and left the ice on the couch, walking over to have a look over my shoulder.  There was a fair amount still in there, stuff Katey had inherited but didn't care enough about to bring with her.  "Man, I dunno.  Doesn't seem right to throw it away or put it on Marketplace, but you'd think they'd have come back or sent some word if any was important to them."  She stretched and yawned.  "Well, I'm beat.  Am I still Dad enough to tell you not to stay up too late?"

"You can say it, but I have got a lot of caffeine in me."  She laughed, and as I turned around, I hugged her from behind.  "I'm glad you're not moving in with your boyfriend yet."

She reached up and mussed my hair.  "Oh, Jonah and I are a while from that, Rusty.  But don't worry, by the time we are, I'm sure you'll be ready to be on your own!"

And maybe she's right, if only because she was in the shower forever this morning even though she doesn't have to be at work until 2pm!  On that level, it's kind of a shame we probably can't afford this place on our own for very long!

-Rusty/Monica

Toby: Dunias' Summers' End

Is that the way you'd write that?  It's been a while since high school English and they didn't exactly cover this situation, but I kind of want to get right.  It's bad enough folks look at each other knowingly and say ah, ella es estadounidense when they address me in Spanish and I respond in kind, but mangling my native language is something else again!

It's not really getting cool in Miami for the fall (it never really does), but were spending a lot of time in DC these days, and there's a bit of a nip there occasionally, although Dunia insists it's not enough to start wearing pantyhose or tights under our miniskirts yet.  It's surprising what a difference they make, though, and if "hot girl summer" turns into hot girl winter, I'm going to insist. 

See, she's insisted we make the most of the time we're like this.  It started early, since i was pretty down for a while when Gerard made a mess of things with my Mom.  I told him to not be so flamboyant about the cover story that explained where Lambert and I supposedly were over the winter, and I guess he tried, but I don't know which was worse for her between thinking I might be gay enough to spend the winter in that sort of arrangement and being sure he was lying to cover something worse.  Things got around town, she kicked him out, and it was hard enough to find a job that he just picked up and left, eventually crashing with the guys he'd visited the Inn with, who became a straight couple in Baltimore. 

With all that Gerard did, Dunia is probably the best friend I've got left, and after letting me mope for a few days, she decided that we weren't going straight home after work one day, because she needed to update Alicia's wardrobe.  Lambert hadn't bought anything while he was wearing that face, and while Harmon had adapted pretty well, her brain was still kind of stuck in the 1980s on the one hand and not exactly subtle on the other (her idea of "sexy" was closer to "slutty", to hear Dunia describe it).  So we hit some shops, with Dunia asking what I thought as a guy every time she tried something on and then if I'd be embarrassed being seem with her as Dunia and Alicia.  She naturally also found a lot of things that she had to see me try on and that i should buy if only so she'd have them next summer.  We spent a lot of money that afternoon. 

But the weird thing is, it did lift my spirits!  I've made a lot of jokes about women and shopping, I'm sure, but there's something really great about being told you look nice and seeing a friend get prettied up herself.  I don't know if you can buy self-confidence, although I'm sure that's what these places are selling as much as tiny crop-tops and one-piece swimsuits that somehow cover less than bikinis, but Dunia had a great time and it did feel pretty good to know that I could pull off living someone else's life better than Gerard. 

Of course, she also insisted we get some use out of them, so we spent a lot of time on the beaches of Miami and the clubs in whatever city we were in when the sun went down, or even walking around the Smithsonian and other museums in Washington.  The National Mall isn't as welcoming a place as it was when i was going there last year and the State Fair thing was super-lame, but more people flirted than asked what an Afro-Latina girl thought she was doing there.

Granted, we got back on the Miami-DC route in large part because Gerard had wound up nearby and she figured it would be good to keep our circle tight.  I was still kind of upset, but she was right.  She had him book a spot for us at a nice restaurant during mid-afternoon hours when it would be quiet, and while I figured we'd just stay in our uniforms, she'd made sure to bring a sweater that clung to her chest (because she's kind of having fun with Alicia's body, like it's fun to know people are staring rather than doing it from behind), while I was in one of her halter-and-pleated skirt pairings.  We got there first and sat at the bar, getting about one drink in when he came in and waved.  She waved back, and then leaned over to whisper "why didn't you tell me you were so hot?"

I stammered.  "I'm not!  I mean, you've seen pictures of me on Facebook, and if Gerard looks sexy, it's just because he spent too much of my money on clothes and that haircut!"

She laughed.  "Toby, if all it takes is a nice haircut, you're hot!"  Before I could argue, she waved him over, and I got my first good look at the new Gerard/Toby, which was weird.  I know the face and everything pretty well even if I was never one to spend a whole lot of time looking in the mirror, but the way he talked and dressed and held himself just didn't feel like me at all, which isn't something anybody had really told me, either as Dunia's friends and family saying "Dunia, you're acting strange" or her saying she wouldn't do something.

But it turned out okay; he told me he was really sorry about how he made my Mom uncomfortable, and was trying to improve it now that they had a little distance, and had a lot of funny stories about what an old married couple his buddies had become, even though the husband had been a girl and the wife nonbinary (for his part, he usually didn't even notice he was only attracted to women until some guy would hit on him and he wouldn't feel it).  He'd also somehow landed a job I couldn't imagine I'd ever get, some sort of outreach position with the city government, and he said it wasn't that hard, you just had to be confident in your interview, figure out how in lined up with what you're good at, and work on the rest.

Anyway, it was a really good meal - Gerard has been exploring DC's apparently great restaurants and decided to introduce us to Ethiopian - and we agreed that next time, we'd try and hang out in a club or something.  I wasn't quite so enthusiastic about that, but Dunia was, and she told me that I should practice, because my next girlfriend wouldn't have any idea what kind of jackpot she'd hit with a combination of farmboy good looks, any stylish things I inherited from Gerard, and knowing what she wanted from the inside.  Which is kind of when the clubbing stepped up a bit, and it hasn't been so bad.  I can tell when a guy is just using a line or seems genuinely interested in me a lot better now, or when brushing up against me is accidental or deliberate or somewhere in between,  I'm dancing a lot better too, although I'm not sure how much of that will transfer once I don't have Dunia's butt.

(BTW, the way she rolls Alicia's when I say something that she calls "complaining about the amazing ass I gave you" is kind of hilarious.)

Heck, last night, I actually wound up making out with a guy in a DC club.  It had been a long day - we were supposed to make a round trip, but the first flight was delayed an hour and a half, which led to a lot of people being rude as if Dunia and I had anything to do with the engine, so another crew took the return flight and we had an overnight.  I drank a little more than usual, but the dancing felt really good - sometimes you really need to move after being trapped in a plane for that long! - and this guy was funny and sympathetic, and when we wound up near a wall, his hands were on my butt and my boobs and his muscles felt kind of good.  The kiss was a surprise, and so was the tongue, but it made me realize just how long it had been since I'd experienced that, and I don't know where it would have led if his buddies hadn't come by and said they'd been called in - I guess they're cops or first-responders or something - and we exchanged numbers.  It was kind of silly that Dunia high-fived me after that, but she said that her boyfriend being away didn't mean both of us shouldn't get laid for the twentieth time and what happened in DC could stay in DC.

We had a late flight home, enough that I collapsed in bed as soon as I got there, only to have payback slap me in the face after just three or four hours of sleep as my phone buzzed me awake.

It was Dunia's boyfriend Luis, and he was crying, saying that he'd been injured pretty severely in a training accident, would probably be rotated home in a couple of weeks, and didn't know what was coming after that.

I said of course I'd be there for him when he did, before immediately texting Dunia about what the heck that means under these circumstances, and writing all this because I really didn't want to go downstairs and discuss it with her dad.  But I'm guessing the super-fun summer is gonna be over soon.

-Toby/Dunia

Kaitlyn/Clint: Adjusting to Work and Fixing a Marriage

Apologies for taking so long to provide updates. Not to diminish what Caleb was going through these last few weeks, but things were a little busier for the employed middle-aged man than the teenage girl about to head off to college. 

Still, glad to see he's embraced journaling as a technique for handling everything that's been going on, even if it's just built in as part of the routine Rylee left him to follow. I've been following suit as well, if at least to have my own journalistic records of events for my future perusal. After all, this whole experience is an amazing opportunity to reflect on...well, a lot of things really. If you read Caleb's last post, there is some prime anxieties regarding biology and its impact on our sexual attraction. It's such a shame that there's no way I'd be able to write up a case study regarding the Inn to submit for research...

Anyway, I'm sure you're all wondering, "Kaitlyn, what’s Clint's life like"?

Surprisingly, the most difficult part of the transition was the job. Clint's a senior employee at a carpentry contract service where he was still apparently going out doing jobs. Fortunately, his status meant that when I announced that I would be stepping back to focus on management and mentoring there wasn't much surprise. Some grumbling, perhaps, because we were down an active man, but we'll likely hire someone soon enough.  In the meantime, I try and fill in the gaps of my knowledge with a combination of research (thank you Youtube) and engaging in 'mentorship' that involves a lot of asking questions, "Like I'm a customer who knows nothing". That’s gotten a couple of laughs from how good of an “impression” I was putting on. I had assumed eventually they'd catch on I legitimately didn't know anything, but they do say the Inn's magic seems to keep a fog of sorts on any thoughts that question smaller discrepancies. So, for now at least, I seem to be keeping job security.

The rest of Clint's life has been...different, at least. It seems that outside of work and family he hasn't had much of a support network. I've gone out to the bar a few times here and there with coworkers, tried feigning interest in sports and such, but otherwise most of the time it has been work, home, and calling Caleb. About the only really interesting part of his life I've got left to get into is his - and my - relationship with Shannon, which is where Caleb and I have had some overlap in experiences. 

As I linked above, Caleb has been dealing with a lot of anxiety around the fact that compared to his real self, Rylee has a normal teenage girl's level of sexual attraction and desire. While sexual attraction and libido are two different things, and an asexual individual is perfectly capable of desiring sex for reasons other than sexual attraction, every sign points to him having been essentially sex repulsed. Suddenly having his body flip a complete 180 degrees on that has definitely got to be frustrating, especially when he lacks the, uhm, experience in managing the emotions. I've tried my best to talk with him about it, but he's still in a denial stage and seems more interested in trying to just ignore it till we get back to the Inn. To his credit, at least, he wasn't as bothered by the fact the first signs of it was directed towards men, but perhaps that's another bridge he'll just have to cross after dealing with this first one.

In comparison, my experience in that field with Clint has, if anything, been more of a general decrease in desire, but that's more of a result I think of Clint's overall age than anything regarding his orientation. Considering some of the inadvertent stirrings from "little Clint" when some of the younger guys at work have their wives or girlfriends swing by, I'm pretty confident that whatever changes happened are primarily the direction of the attraction than existence.

Speaking of which…

After the blowup between us due to Rylee and I's "extended trip to the Inn", I invited Shannon out to dinner as a sort of peace offering so as to maintain a good relationship. As long as she was the one with custody of Rylee - and thereby Caleb - it felt important to do so. Plus, I had talked with the original Clint about how I had been looking to go into counseling and offered to help him figure out a plan to perhaps reconcile him and Shannon. He was hesitant, but at the end of the day the separation really did seem to be more one him and Shannon felt was a necessity than something they wanted to do. If I could help patch things up, wasn't I obligated to do so?

She was, of course, surprised at the fact that I was offering, but once I offered to just pay for her to go out for a nice dinner if she really didn't want me there, she agreed we could go out together. It was a hesitant agree, but you have to start somewhere. 

Side note, it is distressing how little variety men have in options for going out for a nice dinner. Clint's closet had basically one suit, navy blue, and that was it. To be fair, Shannon wasn't pushing the boundaries of fashion either, wearing a modest but figure-hugging black dress, and she definitely was maintaining a good figure for someone her age. A testament to that exercise routine she did with Rylee, I presume. I must have been staring a bit too obviously as while she didn't say anything she did seem to give a little smirk as she sat down.

We exchanged a couple pleasantries and got our initial orders in when she started getting to more serious business.

“So, while I have you here, we need to coordinate about getting Rylee to-”

“Why don’t we talk about something other than Rylee tonight?”

I was aware that at some point we would need to coordinate the logistics of getting Caleb to college, but that wasn't the goal for tonight. See, I suspect that a big problem with Clint and Shannon was that, as they got in years, work and raising Rylee had taken up the majority of their attention. It was a classic problem, really, growing separate due to a lack of keeping up the romance between two partners as life got in the way. Redirecting things away from Rylee, just for a little, would hopefully set a good foundation for solving that problem.

The fact it would help to fill in some gaps in information I had about him and her helped as well.

She went along with it, keeping to whatever other topics we could talk about. It was awkward at first, trying to figure out a line of conversation we could keep up. I had to push my active listening skills to the max, hoping that my asking questions was taken as a sign of engagement than faulty memory. Once things got rolling, and we got a little wine in our systems, things seemed to lighten up. By the end of the night, she was actually smiling and laughing and willing to call the evening as a whole "Nice". 

And that's where we had to leave it, because one good dinner wasn't going to fix everything after all.

Still, it was at least enough that the first real sign of progress came shortly after we had finished moving "Rylee" in and had gotten to our hotel for the night to rest up before the drive back the next day. I had expected the two of us would get separate rooms, but at the check in counter they handed over two keycards to the same room.

“We got college tuition to help pay for, no point wasting money on two rooms when we can just use two beds,” she said, and she kept to that as the two of us stayed in our own beds the whole night.

Still, that’s a start! If I can make sure Clint can keep things up once he's back in this body, I think there's a chance that the two of them will work things out.

- Kaitlyn/Clint

Arthur/Penny/Arthur

Hey folks.  I'm fine, I guess.  Sorry for not posting. 

The past couple months have been the toughest in my life, I think.  If you look at a lot of the folks who post here, it's mostly folks like I was when I first came here twenty years ago:  Not competely unattached and ready to start a new life, but mostly single and young and arriving with at least some of the really important people in their lives.  It's not quite an adventure, but you can sort of deal, and maybe discover that you're not necessarily losing the important parts of what makes you yourself.  When I opened that suitcase and saw that I was not going to be Millie's mother, or Ray's wife...  That was something being ripped away from me like nothing I had experienced my previous three times at the Inn.

And I'm not doing well.  I had a lot of sleepless nights as Millie when I didn't know where the real thing was, but the past two have been borderline panic attacks.  I'm not sure why - a lot of this is things I've dealt with before and I know Millie is okay - but I've been ripped out of a life I've built, pushed back into one that in a certain way should feel right, but doesn't.  It wasn't like that for me before.

The morning I woke up as Arthur for the first time in almost twenty years, I knew right away, because it's a hell of a thing to go from an energetic 14-year-old to almost 50 and not exactly athletic.  Germy has not exactly spent the past couple decades in the gym - though maybe I wouldn't have if I hadn't inherited a former professional athlete's body and had it feel relatively natural - and I found myself pushing up from the bed rather than springing to my feet.  Something in my knee felt a little off as I felt the need to pee more than usual.  I sat, chuckled at that, and then cursed myself as my aim was momentarily off.  At least it didn't look like Germy was fleeing some sort of venereal disease.

I texted Ray and Millie, who said they'd bring donuts and coffee.  I sat at a patio and waited for them to show up, waving when they did.  They weren't quite wary as they approached, but hugging was awkward, not so much because I'm a guy, but because I evidently register as a stranger.  We didn't say anything until Millie asked if this was the real me. 

I could have said she was one to talk at the moment, but it was hardly a moment for jokes.  "It's where I started from.  Or at least, that's in here, under twenty years of time and maybe not hitting the gym as often as I did.  I'm still your mom.  I'll always be that, no matter what I look like or..."

I couldn't get it out, but Ray did.  "Or where your biology pulls you."

"Yeah."  I looked in Ray's eyes and felt the same attraction I had been fighting while I was Millie.  Maybe I was bisexual and hadn't ever had to even consider it twenty years ago, or maybe it was just inertia.  "Think you'd be up for trying, if I could stick around?"

He looked down, kind of ashamed.  "I...  I don't know.  I'd like to say I would, but we'd probably be roommates within a month, and then..."

Millie,  for her part, didn't seem to have any issues with us both being guys now, but she picked up on what I said right away.  "What do you mean, if you could stick around?"

So it was time to tell her about Lonnie. 

Leonardo "Lonnie" ----- is six.  Through no fault of his own, Germy, aka Arthur Milligan, is his father, and his mother recently died, the details of which are not important beyond that fact that she apparently got to know Germy well enough to know that she had wanted him to have nothing to do with their son.  Unfortunately, the grandmother has Parkinson's Disease, and there was really no choice but to assign custody to the father.  Germy dodged it for as long as he could, and that was apparently long enough to use the Inn as an escape hatch a second time.

Harmon, I imagine, didn't take a lot of convincing; being Penny seems to suit her just fine, more than becoming some random person, which could potentially even mean returning to her original life, as I gather nobody has settled down in it.  For what it's worth, she sent a resignation letter to the school district and hasn't returned to Boston since her stay at the Inn; I'm not sure where she is now.

I related all that to Millie, and she didn't like it when I said, no, it wasn't fair, but this kid didn't have anybody else, and I didn't know if I could live with myself if this boy wound up in the care of someone not prepared to be a good parent, or even someone who might hurt him.  She lashed out, saying that it was because he was my real kid.  I said that was absolutely not the case, and Ray was quick to jump in and defend me, pointing out that this past year was not something you do for someone you considered anything less than your child, especially considering...

I cut him off there, which naturally led to "especially considering what?" and we recovered in time to say that this was the kind of thinking that got this whole mess started.  We followed it up by affirming that we understood why she went out looking on her own and were mostly past her staying radio silent, and we honestly are, but part of going through something like this was making sure that it doesn't happen again.

Which is all true.  But we also didn't want her to feel responsible for the extra-special fucked-up bit.

Because that good-looking 19-year-old kid that I thought Harmon had become?  Not random.  It's Jeremy Boyd's biological son, the one Nell said was her reason for staying Jeremy way back when I first became her.  It seems like in the intervening years, (s)he and Daisy had parted, so when Daisy "won a contest" for a vacation back East, Nell/Jeremy didn't realize where they were going, and only felt a little unnerved when they came back late, because even we aren't exactly immune to whatever makes people accept "anything but a cursed inn" as an explanation.  To say he's pissed is an understatement.

And maybe that's why I've been so depressed.  Lonnie is a great little kid, and I've got to work extra hard being a good father to him because Germy has obviously given Grandma Della good reason to be suspicious of me, which means I can't uproot him from the Bay Area and go to Boston right away, so I'm trying to mend things with Millie long-distance.  It's hard, even though she's really feeling my absence now that she's herself again and back in her old room and school and is really trying to make sure I stay a part of her life and also being there for Ray, which is more than a girl her age should have to do.  It's just...

Well, it's just that every parent I know has said that they'd give up everything for their kids, and in most cases I absolutely believe that's true.  Actually doing it is a hell of a thing, though, harder than you can imagine, even if something in the back of your head keeps trying to tell you that this is what you should be (although, fuck "should be" in almost every way).  But doing that while realizing that there are folks out there who not only won't, but will literally steal their kids' future...  It leads you to despair, and there are times when I'm almost grateful that there's this little boy who needs me, because that responsibility keeps me away from doing anything drastic, which is an unfair burden on him, even if he doesn't know he's carrying it.

-Arthur, Penny, and now Arthur again.

Elias/Meadow: Updates

Maybe the weirdest part about getting turned into a woman is that I don't think it's weird. I'm not saying I like it better than being a guy, only that it's just another way to be. Living Meadow's life has its pluses and  minuses. Independence is good. I like having a pretty face, even if it sometimes comes with unwanted attention. It also sometimes comes with wanted attention? I have been pretty up front about the fact that I guess I don't mind guys on the whole... I have a "boyfriend" after all.

I guess I'm at an age where I'm kind of willing to re-examine who and what I am, and I just happen to have transformed into another person. It's been a fun project, learning womanliness and just being on my own slash with with Francis. Kind of a bizarre twist on my mission to go see the world. I'm not seeing a lot of the world, but I'm seeing a lot of Springfield, and I am seeing things through the eyes of another person. How many folks are lucky enough to do that?

The trade-off is worth it, in my opinion.

I know the relationship isn't real. I don't have feelings for this guy, at least nothing approaching "love," but I'm very comfortable playing my role. I like the structure that it gives my life. Having an activity partner, sometime to spend time with. That is a relationship I guess, but I don't get gooey when I think of him, and I could take or leave him as a person, but he is nice to be around. Sometimes I get sick of him, but I've been alone for so long that it's nice to have someone to get sick of. If I was really in a relationship with him then I might take more exception to the times when he isn't very present or lovey-dovey. I look at it as part of my job as Meadow, to go through these motions and foster the relationship with him. We're co-workers that kiss.

Which has some difficulties.

So, in my last post I was kinda-sorta talking about starting to date Francis, and how we made an effort to move it into the physical that... didn't work. I'm not a virgin (as a guy) so I know how things work down there, and something on my end just... wasn't right. Meadow didn't know anything about it either.

I kind of put it out of my mind. I've been to lots of doctors with my mom and I guess I'm just no that keen to get checked out, but remember we are twenty-somethings who are living together so it wasn't going to be very long before he wanted to try sex again. That's in my Meadow job description.

So I decided to try having some wine to loosen up... and I did feel loose in a social way, and we kissed and that was nice, and I could tell he was hard and I was like "Here we go," and part of me was even kind of... into that. but the second we tried to cross the threshold, the door slammed shut.

He was clearly frustrated, so I agreed to go to the doctor. I got an appointment at the OBGYN, and they had an answer for me.

"It appears to be a case of vaginismus."

What is that? It's when your vagina simply does not want to let anything in.

She explained it was mostly common in women who had never had sex, but I supposedly have, so it's very peculiar... to her. To me, it makes a certain amount of sex. Even though I'm okay with so many other things about being a girl, my brain seems to not be aligned with my body on this one thing.

There are treatment, both physical and psychological... but how do I explain to a doctor that the probable reason for this is that I was a guy until a few months ago, so my vagina is new to me? And the physical side -- which, I don't want to be gross, but involves training the vagina little by little -- can take years to acclimate. I told Meadow about all this and she seemed flustered. 

"What if... you can't get it fixed before giving me my body back?" she asked fearfully. "What if it stays with... with me?"

I honestly don't know, but I don't think we'll have answers to that for a long time.

In the meantime, obviously Francis was really dismayed at the news. Here he has this girlfriend that he's been with for years, and suddenly she can't perform sexually? He said some nice things like "We'll get through this, it's okay," but if I was the guy in this situation I would probably be pretty freaked out at the possibility of being committed to someone who can't have (regular style) sex with me. Does he love Meadow enough to stand by her? Am I going to be a good enough girlfriend to influence him?

At what point does a guy just cut his losses and bail?

Yeah, so, that's what's going on with me

Marc/Mary: A Walk on the Beach

Following the transformation, there was the usual fuss and chaos of helping others with their own transition, imparting whatever information and guidance we could, making connections -- you never know who it is going to help to know or what you can do for someone else.

We hadn't really left the Inn much in days except for practical purposes, when on one of our last evenings there, John asked if I would like to take a walk with him on the beach.

I was a little taken aback. I don't know why, other than I was in practical-problem-solving mode, talking to one of the new transformees about some difficulty he/she was having. I think John read my flustered response as rejection and seemed a little sullen, retreating to our room.

I hurriedly ended the conversation and followed after. He explained it felt like I was avoiding him, throwing myself into the role of "Inn spirit guide" and not really focusing on what was going on with us. I supposed that was true, but I felt like as the person who has been to the Inn the most times (and there were some returning people in the group as well) I felt a little bit called to a leadership position, I supposed, and I felt like he and I... we had stability, and lots of time to figure it out, compared to the ticking clock when all of these transformed people would go on their ways.

He stood and put his hands on my upper arms -- whether he's doing this consciously or not, it feels like it underscores the "He man, me woman" dynamic between us, when I have to look up to him and feel his comparatively hands on my comparatively small person -- and sighed, saying he supposed he was just a little eager to figure out where we stood. "You know, you say we're not married, but you did willingly become my wife..."

I agreed it's complicated, and then upon giving it more thought, a walk and some "us time" sounded nice. The only problem, I pointed out, was that my hair was a rat's nest and I'd been wearing grimy sweats for the past three days, as I hadn't quite let my sartorial style catch up to my physical transformation.

"I saw a lovely dress in your luggage," he said with a suggestive eyebrow.

Deep breath, in and out. I haven't lived as a woman for several years, but it's nothing new, and it's exactly what I knew was coming.

I found the dress, a colorful zigzag pattern ankle length summer dress. Spaghetti straps, low neckline, presenting my very moderate cleavage (this -- being relatively slim and modest-chested -- is different from my earlier, curvier experience of womanhood.) I was about to disrobe, when I instructed John to go wait in the hall.

"Excuse me? Do you think I haven't--"

"Not on my, you haven't. Just... humor me, okay?"

He took a beat, then snapped his fingers, "You got it," and complied.

I slipped my sweats off, took the opportunity to slip on a fresh set of underwear (Mary -- now Iris -- and I had bought some fresh ones that could just be mine, in advance of our trip) and stepped into the dress.

I went to the mirror to check myself out and... well. It's funny how, when you've been at this a while, your brain doesn't  quite reject the idea of a new person in your reflection, because I liked the way I looked. In fact, I took the time to dab on a little bit of make-up (I'm pretty out-of-practice but can still do something with a brush) and put in a pair of earrings. God, I thought as I struggled with the backings, I must really be diving in with both feet. But hey, I've been a guy for a few years, and I made the choice to become a woman. Why shouldn't I let myself get pretty?

I came out to meet him at the front of the Inn, and he gave a low, approving whistle, which tickled me a bit. I was handsome as Dustin, and as Koti John never let me forget it, but this feels a little more intentional, if that makes sense. He placed his hands on my hips and embraced me, attempting to get a kiss -- I turned my cheek for him to kiss me there. I just wasn't ready to go full-couple.

With a purse dangling from my arm, we went toward the beach and walked just near the surf.

"Are you excited?" he asked, "to get to this next phase?'

"Excited isn't quite the word," I said bashfully, "It wasn't exactly Christmas morning, waking up like this. It's more like starting a new job. There's nerves, fears, hope, and yes, a little bit of excitement. Things feel fresh, and... possible."

"I like that," he said in his warm, manly voice. 

We held hands.

"You're not wearing the ring," he noted, flatly. I'm sure he meant it to come off neutrally, but I could tell there was disappointment in his tone.

"It's... not really mine to wear," I said. "It would be part of a costume, and I respect Mary too much to take it from her."

He let out a deep, half-frustrated exhale. "You're really going to keep me in limbo, huh? I'll get you your own ring, if that's what you want."

"Life is complicated," I reasoned. "And so are we. I'm not looking for a ring just yet. I want proof that this is what we really want with the rest of our lives."

"Fine," he said gamely, "I like a challenge."

One of us suggested we find some place for dinner, and there was a little seafood place we managed to get a table. I will say, eating a good meal with someone else's tongue is a highly underrated part of this experience. Something about Mary's palate is a lot more sophisticated than Dustin's. It's interesting to inherit those sensory pathways, whether it's something natural or that comes with age.

After dinner, we went walking again, until my legs got tired and we got a ride home. The driver was playing music: Fleetwood Mac. I quietly sang along, "Thunder always happens when it's raining..."

"I didn't know you liked this song," John noted.

"Sure, who doesn't like this song?"

"I introduced Mary to Fleetwood Mac when we met. She was young, the only thing she liked was pop."

"Hm..." I simply said. Was this going to be the future, him looking at my new face and being reminded of his... ex?

We got back to the Inn. Some of the others had initiated a card game -- nice to see people coping -- and John was keen to join, since I had indicated that this night wasn't going to end with anything overly physical. I walked toward our room. On my way past, I heard a noise coming from Mary's room.

Sobbing.

I knocked and called in. She didn't answer so I entered. She was sitting on the bed, crumpled tissues around.

"Honey, are you okay?" I asked, feeling a pang in my heart for her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she sniffled. I immediately felt self-conscious. Was I the last person she wanted to see right now? Was it my fault?

"If you want to talk, if you're having regrets..." I said, struck with guilt.

"No, no, nothing like that," she said, collecting herself. "Sometimes it just hits you, you know? I literally just gave up my life and everything I knew. And it's just crazy that I was willing to do that. I wonder if I didn't appreciate what I had... not with John, but with everything else in life. Or was my life just not fitting me anymore?"

She went on, "It's got me all messed up, but it has nothing to do with you, or John. I did what I did for you, happily. I want you to have this. Even if you end up killing each other, at least you'll know."

She laughed a bit, slightly bitterly, "Watching you guys try to dance around each other for a few more years just sounded like too much of a nightmare."

That made me laugh, and relieved me. We talked a little longer -- not about heavy issues, just about the past few days, and what I had to look forward to as her, and other stuff. Fleetwood Mac.

And that was that, I guess.

More to come...

-Marc "Should I just start signing these as Mary?" Green