I don’t get a lot of time to write, so sorry if I don’t post here all that often. It’s honestly something I want to get in the habit of doing. After disappearing for most of a year that might be hard to believe, but it’s kind of like, now that I’ve had the time to really think about things, and what happened, and let it kind of work its way around the back of my head for all this time, I now need to start getting it out.
I’d rather talk to someone, to be honest, but the damn curse on that place makes it difficult. And sure, I could talk to Bree about it all, but it’s difficult. I mean, she’s my girlfriend, and she’s just . . . amazing and she’s helped me through some tough times, but. . . . Well. She’s the girl I used to be. That’s kind of weird. At least here, in a blog, I’m kind of working into words some of these thoughts that’ve been bouncing through my mind.
The problem, you see, is that I’ve got lots of thinking time these days. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty damn busy. I’m holding down three jobs and racing around town a lot, but most of it ain’t exactly mind-stressing stuff. I’ve got a job at the local grocery store, unloading deliveries and stocking shelves and shit like that. I also get evening shifts at the bookstore, and I pick up a little manual work here and there, though a lot less than I’d like what with the weather recently, which sucks because it pays best. I’m pretty good with my hands, actually. Pop’s had to do a lot of DIY around our home in his day, and I’ve picked some of it up, I guess, and he knows some guys, and a few months back I was getting some pretty heavy work done. You should see me now. I’m in the best shape I’ve ever been. All that digging and carrying shit around’s really bulked me up, and I’ve got admit—I get a real kick out of my body. I mean, I’ve always been a big guy and in good shape, but never like this. . . .
And yeah, I’m no idiot. If I get a thrill being built like a brick shithouse, it’s probably because not that long ago I was barely over five foot, weighed under a hundred and would’ve struggled my way out’ve a wet paper bag. I mean, God, I was tiny! And so weak....
Like this one time, out on one of the few big nights out I experienced as Brianna, out with a couple of friends and this guy called Frank....
(Shit, it’s so weird for me writing that kind of stuff. How the hell did I ever end up dating someone called Frank?)
I mean, it wasn’t like it was anything special, just a bunch of us crammed into a car on our way to this chick Clara’s house party, a kegger out on the edge of town. I think this was four? Maybe five months into the whole thing. I wasn’t going out with these kids because I wanted to, but Linda—that was my new stepmom, remember?—was driving me nuts and I had to get the hell out of that place for a bit. So I ended up in the back seat up this beat-up Buick with a bunch of other teens, crammed between Lara the cheerleader and Matt the bench-warmer for the school’s soccer team. Lara was pissing me off for some reason; I can’t remember what. Probably for being such a slut—God, she was such a little tramp!
Yeah, like I was much better, come to think of it. Strange how strongly some of the memories remain . . . can’t remember what that kid did to piss me of, but remember exactly what the hell I was wearing, the short skirt and tight t-shirt one of Bree’s friend had basically dressed me up in, and even the makeup I was wearing. But with Lara being such a bitch I ended up talking to Matt, even if he was a bit of a loser.
Thing is, I like soccer, I mean I really like it, but it’s not like a chick like Brianna’s going to have too many friends she can talk to who share the interest, you know. And even if they knew shit about soccer, they’d probably be a Man U or Chelsea supporter. Ugh.
So who knows how the hell it happened . . . we’d already had a couple of drinks before getting in the car, and we were chatting a bit about the game, which was cool, and then he started to make fun of me because I like Beckham, which wasn’t. I mean, sure, the guy’s past his prime but he can still cross the ball like no one else, and here’s this dick going on as if I only like the guy because he’s good-looking or something.
It really pissed me off that he wouldn’t take me seriously, even though I damn well knew more about the game than he did, and probably could’ve owned him on the pitch just a few months back. I think I gave him a shove or something . . . we started to fight, right there in the back of the car, but he wasn’t taking it seriously, and the angrier I got the funnier he thought it was, and next thing I know he had both my wrists in his hand and . . . God, it was so humiliating, how easy it was for him to overpower me! Everyone else in the car thought it was pretty damn funny, until Lara pretty much shrieked for us to knock it off. She was probably jealous no one was paying any attention to her anymore.
It was only after we reached the party and I stepped out of the car that I realized how damned turned on I was. We totally made out later that night. . . .
And, shit, I guess that’s why I still need to write about this stuff. Months after I thought I’d put all this behind me, these weird thoughts and memories still pop up from time to time. Don’t get me wrong. Like I said, I love the shape I’m in and the strength I’ve built up. And there’s nothing I love more than lying in bed with Bree and holding her close, her head on my chest and my arm around her. But at the same time, sometimes . . . I can remember what it was like to be in her place, with the arm around me and the strength and that sense of being protected, of being safe, and I worry that maybe . . . I miss it.
Showing posts with label Brianna. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Brianna. Show all posts
Tuesday, February 05, 2008
Monday, January 21, 2008
Jeff: Starting again
Last you heard of me was back in November, when Louisa passed through on a road trip. Last you heard from me was... hell, about a year ago. Truth is, I haven’t been checking this blog very often, and kind of lost track of the other guys... girls... the others who were there back at the beginning. Maybe that’s why that visit back in November got me thinking, and remembering, and planning.
Listen, I’ll be honest here: that day back in May, when I got my body back? It was the best day of my life. I read about what everyone else’s been up to, and how they’ve adapted to their new lives and some of them, even, finding happiness or love or whatever, and I’m happy for them, I really am. I admire them.
I also resented them. I can admit that now, but at the time I just wanted to completely forget about the whole damn thing. I tried turning my back on the whole experience and tried to just pick up where I’d left off that September over a year ago. But I couldn’t, of course, and sometimes I’d find myself wondering why I wasn’t able to do the same, you know, adapt like they did and just get on with a new life, let go of the old....
But that’s the thing, you see. I can’t. I can’t—just let go of things. Not of my old life when I turned into Brianna—and now I can’t let that go, either. Brianna’s life.
It’s quite the experience, waking up as someone else. Ha! There’s an understatement. I mean, let’s just ignore for the moment the mind-bogglingly overwhelming idea that, you know, magic is fucking real and the fact that the place just voodoo’ed a bunch of guys into different people . . . and has been doing it for years . . . and that nobody will damn well believe you even if you scream it in their freakin’ face; yeah, let’s just forget about that for the time being. Because let’s face it: when I first realized I was someone else, and a girl to boot, well, at the time, everything was just so chaotic. . . and it never seemed to let up, not for the next eight months. Being Bree, damn, it felt like this heavy, stifling weight pressing down on me at all times; a belt slowly tightening around my head—either I always felt caught up in some kind of crazy panic about needing to fit in, or I was lost in some deep funk about everything I’d lost, or I’d just freak out at the prospect of being a girl for the rest of my life. I never had the time to just sit back and think.
And now I do. Don’t get me wrong. Things have been crazy since I’ve come back as well, and thank God there’s been Brianna at my side and, yeah, I know how crazy—idiotic--weird that is, too, having the girl I used to be around here as a reminder when I’m trying to forget about the whole thing. But she’s seen me through some dark times these past few months. She’s been like an angel, a real Godsend; I wish I knew more about her.
It’s easy to forget how connected we are to others, you know, and the ripples anything you do can send out. My disappearance a year ago hurt the family bad. My reappearance soon after didn’t help much. The fact that an old lady with Alzheimer was behind the wheels didn’t help much. They thought I’d had some kind of breakdown. I don’t hold any resentment to her, I honestly don’t. It wasn’t her fault. In a lucid moment she found her way back to my family, but in her less . . . healthy times, she kind of freaked people out. Let’s just say my family was ill-equipped to deal with that kind of burden. Thank God she came back and agreed to swap back with me. But of course, the damage had already been done....
But enough of that. That’s not what I wanted to write about...
I’m not sure what I wanted to write about.
That’s not true. I know exactly what I want to share, but the thing is, I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve come back just to make a couple of things clear. Just in case, you see.
I really like being a guy. God, do I like being a guy. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that. I like pissing standing up. And being able to pick up heavy shit on my own, and wearing unfashionably baggy clothing, and keeping my hair short and my fingernails dirty. I like popping a boner every friggin’ time a dirty thought crosses my mind or a pretty girl crosses my path, and hanging out with the guys without having to really talk about anything, and I like being able to knock some jackass to the floor if he speaks shit about my family.
I like being me. I’m not sure that was true before the Inn, but it’s definitely true now. I think back to those eight months or so I spent as Brianna and, yeah, sure, I can admit now that maybe they weren’t as terrible as I made them out to be. Her family’s fucked to be sure, but for the most part her life was pretty damn good. If I’m completely honest with myself, I even enjoyed myself at times, in those few moments when I could forget myself. But I was never comfortable with the whole thing, and I don’t think I ever would’ve been. The fact that every time I did enjoy myself I tortured myself afterwards says more about myself than it does about Bree or her life; and that’s the thing, you see: I learned a hell of a lot about myself through the whole experience.
Not just the obvious, that I like being a guy and that I don’t miss the makeup or the girly clothes or the tits or any of that, either, even if (if I’m being completely honest again) all that feminine crap was kind of fun at times, too. I was worried about that at first—that the whole experience might’ve made me gay or something. There were a few moments back then, when I was Bree, out on one of few dates that just kind of happened. . . or this one time that caught me by surprise, when I caught myself just staring at one of the guys at school, this soccer player, and I. . . well, I felt kind of funny. You know, turned-on funny, and it felt all warm and nice and damn right I didn’t want that coming back with me when I turned back into a guy.
It didn’t.
But what I learned—what I really learned, was what was important to me. See, when I ended up at the Inn in the first place, I was basically trying to run away. From home, from my family, from responsibility and the idea of becoming . . . hell, I don’t know. My father, maybe. I don’t think he wanted me turning into him, either, as if there’s something wrong with being the kind of guy who sticks by his kids no matter what, who works himself to the bone to keep a roof over our head. That’s why he tried to send me away. Saved up enough cash for my tuition and sent me off. That obviously didn’t work out. Seven months with Eileen in my body—that’s the old woman, mind ravaged by age and disease, who became me—put that dream to an end. No college for me. And know what? It was a blessing in disguise. Bree’s helped me see that.
I mean, realistically, where was it going to get me? It’s not like I headed off to college to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a fairly smart guy, but not that smart. And I wasn’t going to ride a football scholarship or something into fame and fortune. I’m good at sports, but not that good. Nah, most likely I would’ve picked up some three-year degree and eventually worked it into some kind of mid-range job. What then? Some cog working in marketing for a mid-sized firm in a mid-sized city? Forty years of different jobs where, if I work really, really hard I help somebody else make a bit more money by helping them sell stuff people don’t really need? Screw that. If the Inn showed me anything, it’s that there’s bigger shit going on in the world.
Hell, there was bigger shit going on right beneath my nose that I’d turned a blind eye to. Stuff that needs to be set right.
There’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my family. It took eight months as a sixteen year-old girl to teach me that.
Listen, I’ll be honest here: that day back in May, when I got my body back? It was the best day of my life. I read about what everyone else’s been up to, and how they’ve adapted to their new lives and some of them, even, finding happiness or love or whatever, and I’m happy for them, I really am. I admire them.
I also resented them. I can admit that now, but at the time I just wanted to completely forget about the whole damn thing. I tried turning my back on the whole experience and tried to just pick up where I’d left off that September over a year ago. But I couldn’t, of course, and sometimes I’d find myself wondering why I wasn’t able to do the same, you know, adapt like they did and just get on with a new life, let go of the old....
But that’s the thing, you see. I can’t. I can’t—just let go of things. Not of my old life when I turned into Brianna—and now I can’t let that go, either. Brianna’s life.
It’s quite the experience, waking up as someone else. Ha! There’s an understatement. I mean, let’s just ignore for the moment the mind-bogglingly overwhelming idea that, you know, magic is fucking real and the fact that the place just voodoo’ed a bunch of guys into different people . . . and has been doing it for years . . . and that nobody will damn well believe you even if you scream it in their freakin’ face; yeah, let’s just forget about that for the time being. Because let’s face it: when I first realized I was someone else, and a girl to boot, well, at the time, everything was just so chaotic. . . and it never seemed to let up, not for the next eight months. Being Bree, damn, it felt like this heavy, stifling weight pressing down on me at all times; a belt slowly tightening around my head—either I always felt caught up in some kind of crazy panic about needing to fit in, or I was lost in some deep funk about everything I’d lost, or I’d just freak out at the prospect of being a girl for the rest of my life. I never had the time to just sit back and think.
And now I do. Don’t get me wrong. Things have been crazy since I’ve come back as well, and thank God there’s been Brianna at my side and, yeah, I know how crazy—idiotic--weird that is, too, having the girl I used to be around here as a reminder when I’m trying to forget about the whole thing. But she’s seen me through some dark times these past few months. She’s been like an angel, a real Godsend; I wish I knew more about her.
It’s easy to forget how connected we are to others, you know, and the ripples anything you do can send out. My disappearance a year ago hurt the family bad. My reappearance soon after didn’t help much. The fact that an old lady with Alzheimer was behind the wheels didn’t help much. They thought I’d had some kind of breakdown. I don’t hold any resentment to her, I honestly don’t. It wasn’t her fault. In a lucid moment she found her way back to my family, but in her less . . . healthy times, she kind of freaked people out. Let’s just say my family was ill-equipped to deal with that kind of burden. Thank God she came back and agreed to swap back with me. But of course, the damage had already been done....
But enough of that. That’s not what I wanted to write about...
I’m not sure what I wanted to write about.
That’s not true. I know exactly what I want to share, but the thing is, I can’t. Not yet. But I’ve come back just to make a couple of things clear. Just in case, you see.
I really like being a guy. God, do I like being a guy. Let’s just be perfectly clear on that. I like pissing standing up. And being able to pick up heavy shit on my own, and wearing unfashionably baggy clothing, and keeping my hair short and my fingernails dirty. I like popping a boner every friggin’ time a dirty thought crosses my mind or a pretty girl crosses my path, and hanging out with the guys without having to really talk about anything, and I like being able to knock some jackass to the floor if he speaks shit about my family.
I like being me. I’m not sure that was true before the Inn, but it’s definitely true now. I think back to those eight months or so I spent as Brianna and, yeah, sure, I can admit now that maybe they weren’t as terrible as I made them out to be. Her family’s fucked to be sure, but for the most part her life was pretty damn good. If I’m completely honest with myself, I even enjoyed myself at times, in those few moments when I could forget myself. But I was never comfortable with the whole thing, and I don’t think I ever would’ve been. The fact that every time I did enjoy myself I tortured myself afterwards says more about myself than it does about Bree or her life; and that’s the thing, you see: I learned a hell of a lot about myself through the whole experience.
Not just the obvious, that I like being a guy and that I don’t miss the makeup or the girly clothes or the tits or any of that, either, even if (if I’m being completely honest again) all that feminine crap was kind of fun at times, too. I was worried about that at first—that the whole experience might’ve made me gay or something. There were a few moments back then, when I was Bree, out on one of few dates that just kind of happened. . . or this one time that caught me by surprise, when I caught myself just staring at one of the guys at school, this soccer player, and I. . . well, I felt kind of funny. You know, turned-on funny, and it felt all warm and nice and damn right I didn’t want that coming back with me when I turned back into a guy.
It didn’t.
But what I learned—what I really learned, was what was important to me. See, when I ended up at the Inn in the first place, I was basically trying to run away. From home, from my family, from responsibility and the idea of becoming . . . hell, I don’t know. My father, maybe. I don’t think he wanted me turning into him, either, as if there’s something wrong with being the kind of guy who sticks by his kids no matter what, who works himself to the bone to keep a roof over our head. That’s why he tried to send me away. Saved up enough cash for my tuition and sent me off. That obviously didn’t work out. Seven months with Eileen in my body—that’s the old woman, mind ravaged by age and disease, who became me—put that dream to an end. No college for me. And know what? It was a blessing in disguise. Bree’s helped me see that.
I mean, realistically, where was it going to get me? It’s not like I headed off to college to become a doctor or a lawyer or anything like that. I’m a fairly smart guy, but not that smart. And I wasn’t going to ride a football scholarship or something into fame and fortune. I’m good at sports, but not that good. Nah, most likely I would’ve picked up some three-year degree and eventually worked it into some kind of mid-range job. What then? Some cog working in marketing for a mid-sized firm in a mid-sized city? Forty years of different jobs where, if I work really, really hard I help somebody else make a bit more money by helping them sell stuff people don’t really need? Screw that. If the Inn showed me anything, it’s that there’s bigger shit going on in the world.
Hell, there was bigger shit going on right beneath my nose that I’d turned a blind eye to. Stuff that needs to be set right.
There’s nothing more important than family. Nothing. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help my family. It took eight months as a sixteen year-old girl to teach me that.
Monday, November 12, 2007
Louisa: Road Trip - The midwest
It's been over a month since we've been heard from, which is quite frankly frustrating for me. Idleness is not something that comes naturally to me, but sharing is not something that comes naturally to Jessica.
We spent most of the past month in Chicago. The original Jessica was staying at the inn with a friend her own age - about ten, at the time - and that friend's parents. So, while it would seem like she would have someone who understood, it didn't work that way. The "father" got a new job in a new city, and left Jess alone. That city was Chicago.
But that was eight years ago, and this family has apparently moved on since then. Our Jessica still figures they're the best chance of a link to the original, though, so she looked for them.
She looked for a long time. Mostly on her own, because I'm not a detective and while Jessica has the patience to track down every person who might have known her "old friend" in order to gather information, she has very little patience with people who can't do the job as well as her.
In the end, I don't know whether she found something useful or not. I suspect that she eventually started to worry about actually making it out to California in time for the winter/spring semester at this rate, and my desire to get on with my quest.
Michigan wasn't quite on the way to anywhere, but we did promise Ashlyn and Trip - well, I guess she's just going by Kat now - that we would check in on Jeff Miller. He had just graduated high school when he found himself changed into a young girl a year ago, and seems to be one of the lucky ones in that he was able to get his life back. We'd been targeting a holiday weekend to speak with him; it just wound up being Veterans' Day rather than Columbus Day.
We didn't get much time to spend with Jeff; he was home from school for the weekend to spend time with his family. We did get to have lunch with him on Saturday, and he brought a friend.
Well, I don't know if "friend" is the word. If I were Jeff, I would think that having the new Brianna Adamson hanging around would make me very uncomfortable, just on principle. But he says it's not like that - that the longer he's back in his proper form, the more it feels like his time living Brianna's life was just some kind of strange dream which he can't properly describe. No, what makes him uncomfortable is the gigantic crush she seems to have on him.
It's almost kind of cute, in a way - the new Brianna talked about how Jeff had left her the means to emancipate herself from her new parents, and made sure that she had a safe place to live in the Miller household afterwards. She chattered on and on about how she Jeff's sister Mel get along so well, and it's great to be back in school, and all the while she's staring at Jeff, occasionally getting in comments about how this great new life is all because of him and she just wants to express her gratitude.
We talked about the usual things. Have you kept in contact with anyone from the groups before or after you? Jeff says no, not from the first time around - he thinks the original Bree wanted a clean break and fresh start. Bree says no, but kind of gives us a look as she says it. Any contact with outsiders who seem to know about the inn (aside from us)? Any people trying to get something from you without an explanation? Jeff says no; Brianna says yeah, but they don't seem like anything inn-related. She's a pretty fifteen year-old girl with a big old trust fund that could get even bigger depending on what happens to her parents in court. She's a tempting target anyway.
After a while, Jeff got a call to meet up with a high school buddy, and asked us if we'd mind giving Bree a ride back home after we're done talking. We said we'd be happy to, and he left us alone.
As soon as he had left the restaurant, Brianna let out a big sigh. "Isn't he just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
Jess squirmed a little, since the question seemed to mostly be addressed to her. "He's, uh, not bad. So, I take it you didn't change all that much during your stay at the inn?"
"I... Well, I'll tell you, but could you not put it in that blog? Because then he'll read it, and I don't know if the truth is something he'd be comfortable with right away - I mean, he knows I've been to college because I gave him some pointers about campus life, but I don't want him to think of me as someone else until the whole truth won't freak him out, y'know? I will say that he wasn't exactly my type before, but the fact that I know he's a good man makes him so much more attractive. And, besides, he knows this body intimately, the way no other man can. Of course, since most of what I've had lately is high school boys..."
Jess got kind of red at that, and I spoke up to distract attention a little. "I don't get the impression that Jeffrey is looking for a girl who gives it up so easily."
"I know, it's just - you know - he knows I was someone else, and I need to show him that his age and gender are fine with me. And, okay, after the change, I needed to get used to it a bit myself. You know how it is, when you're first in a new body."
"No, I don't - I was ten!"
Bree holds up her hands, not quite expecting such a reaction. I was kind of surprised, too, but I imagine it must have been strange (at a minimum) for Jess, having the mind of a sexually experienced male in the body of a pre-pubescent girl. "Okay, fine, geez, don't flip out on me. Just sayin', you want to know that everything works. Surely later--"
"I'm not going to talk about this; I'll be in the car." With that, Jess stormed out.
A pained look went across Brianna's face, and she apologized. "Look, I didn't mean to - it's just, there's so few people we can talk to, and neither Jeff nor that lawyer guy wants to talk about sex, especially with someone who looks like jailbait. You guys said you were trying to find things out--"
I told her it was all right, and that's when she told me about the events that led up to her becoming Brianna. Since I know Jeff reads this, I won't post it here, but I hope she decides to tell it herself, sometime. It's really fascinating.
I didn't want Jessica to wait long in the car, so I suggested it might be time to bring her home. While we were walking through the parking lot, she suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh! I knew I was going to forget this. It's about my boobs - they're real." She grabbed my wrist and brought my hand to her chest.
"Look, young lady, I was a woman even before I went to the inn."
"No, I mean, remember how Jeff said the original Brianna got her implants as some sort of sick fifteenth birthday present? Give that a squeeze - it's all human tissue, no plastic at all."
"I'll take your word for it."
She realized how an apparently mid-twenties woman with her hands on a teenager's bosom must look, and dropped my hand. "Right... Of course. I'm just saying, maybe that means something. Maybe the curse or spell or whatever can't reproduce man-made things and just does the best it can to get the outside looking right. Maybe that's where Kat's narcolepsy or Darren's peanut allergy comes from. Of course, those are both conditions that can appear later in life anyway... But, it's something to think about, right? That we're not exactly like the people we appear to be."
I told her it was a thought, but the conversation died as we reached the car; Jessica didn't have any interest in conversation as we gave Brianna a ride back to the Millers' home.
Anyway, we're back in Chicago now, as Jessica follows up on something while we head to our next stop in Minnesota.
-Louisa
We spent most of the past month in Chicago. The original Jessica was staying at the inn with a friend her own age - about ten, at the time - and that friend's parents. So, while it would seem like she would have someone who understood, it didn't work that way. The "father" got a new job in a new city, and left Jess alone. That city was Chicago.
But that was eight years ago, and this family has apparently moved on since then. Our Jessica still figures they're the best chance of a link to the original, though, so she looked for them.
She looked for a long time. Mostly on her own, because I'm not a detective and while Jessica has the patience to track down every person who might have known her "old friend" in order to gather information, she has very little patience with people who can't do the job as well as her.
In the end, I don't know whether she found something useful or not. I suspect that she eventually started to worry about actually making it out to California in time for the winter/spring semester at this rate, and my desire to get on with my quest.
Michigan wasn't quite on the way to anywhere, but we did promise Ashlyn and Trip - well, I guess she's just going by Kat now - that we would check in on Jeff Miller. He had just graduated high school when he found himself changed into a young girl a year ago, and seems to be one of the lucky ones in that he was able to get his life back. We'd been targeting a holiday weekend to speak with him; it just wound up being Veterans' Day rather than Columbus Day.
We didn't get much time to spend with Jeff; he was home from school for the weekend to spend time with his family. We did get to have lunch with him on Saturday, and he brought a friend.
Well, I don't know if "friend" is the word. If I were Jeff, I would think that having the new Brianna Adamson hanging around would make me very uncomfortable, just on principle. But he says it's not like that - that the longer he's back in his proper form, the more it feels like his time living Brianna's life was just some kind of strange dream which he can't properly describe. No, what makes him uncomfortable is the gigantic crush she seems to have on him.
It's almost kind of cute, in a way - the new Brianna talked about how Jeff had left her the means to emancipate herself from her new parents, and made sure that she had a safe place to live in the Miller household afterwards. She chattered on and on about how she Jeff's sister Mel get along so well, and it's great to be back in school, and all the while she's staring at Jeff, occasionally getting in comments about how this great new life is all because of him and she just wants to express her gratitude.
We talked about the usual things. Have you kept in contact with anyone from the groups before or after you? Jeff says no, not from the first time around - he thinks the original Bree wanted a clean break and fresh start. Bree says no, but kind of gives us a look as she says it. Any contact with outsiders who seem to know about the inn (aside from us)? Any people trying to get something from you without an explanation? Jeff says no; Brianna says yeah, but they don't seem like anything inn-related. She's a pretty fifteen year-old girl with a big old trust fund that could get even bigger depending on what happens to her parents in court. She's a tempting target anyway.
After a while, Jeff got a call to meet up with a high school buddy, and asked us if we'd mind giving Bree a ride back home after we're done talking. We said we'd be happy to, and he left us alone.
As soon as he had left the restaurant, Brianna let out a big sigh. "Isn't he just the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"
Jess squirmed a little, since the question seemed to mostly be addressed to her. "He's, uh, not bad. So, I take it you didn't change all that much during your stay at the inn?"
"I... Well, I'll tell you, but could you not put it in that blog? Because then he'll read it, and I don't know if the truth is something he'd be comfortable with right away - I mean, he knows I've been to college because I gave him some pointers about campus life, but I don't want him to think of me as someone else until the whole truth won't freak him out, y'know? I will say that he wasn't exactly my type before, but the fact that I know he's a good man makes him so much more attractive. And, besides, he knows this body intimately, the way no other man can. Of course, since most of what I've had lately is high school boys..."
Jess got kind of red at that, and I spoke up to distract attention a little. "I don't get the impression that Jeffrey is looking for a girl who gives it up so easily."
"I know, it's just - you know - he knows I was someone else, and I need to show him that his age and gender are fine with me. And, okay, after the change, I needed to get used to it a bit myself. You know how it is, when you're first in a new body."
"No, I don't - I was ten!"
Bree holds up her hands, not quite expecting such a reaction. I was kind of surprised, too, but I imagine it must have been strange (at a minimum) for Jess, having the mind of a sexually experienced male in the body of a pre-pubescent girl. "Okay, fine, geez, don't flip out on me. Just sayin', you want to know that everything works. Surely later--"
"I'm not going to talk about this; I'll be in the car." With that, Jess stormed out.
A pained look went across Brianna's face, and she apologized. "Look, I didn't mean to - it's just, there's so few people we can talk to, and neither Jeff nor that lawyer guy wants to talk about sex, especially with someone who looks like jailbait. You guys said you were trying to find things out--"
I told her it was all right, and that's when she told me about the events that led up to her becoming Brianna. Since I know Jeff reads this, I won't post it here, but I hope she decides to tell it herself, sometime. It's really fascinating.
I didn't want Jessica to wait long in the car, so I suggested it might be time to bring her home. While we were walking through the parking lot, she suddenly seemed to remember something. "Oh! I knew I was going to forget this. It's about my boobs - they're real." She grabbed my wrist and brought my hand to her chest.
"Look, young lady, I was a woman even before I went to the inn."
"No, I mean, remember how Jeff said the original Brianna got her implants as some sort of sick fifteenth birthday present? Give that a squeeze - it's all human tissue, no plastic at all."
"I'll take your word for it."
She realized how an apparently mid-twenties woman with her hands on a teenager's bosom must look, and dropped my hand. "Right... Of course. I'm just saying, maybe that means something. Maybe the curse or spell or whatever can't reproduce man-made things and just does the best it can to get the outside looking right. Maybe that's where Kat's narcolepsy or Darren's peanut allergy comes from. Of course, those are both conditions that can appear later in life anyway... But, it's something to think about, right? That we're not exactly like the people we appear to be."
I told her it was a thought, but the conversation died as we reached the car; Jessica didn't have any interest in conversation as we gave Brianna a ride back to the Millers' home.
Anyway, we're back in Chicago now, as Jessica follows up on something while we head to our next stop in Minnesota.
-Louisa
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