I was livid when I found out Zane was pursuing this arrangement with Wes. I think it's irresponsible and immature.
Let's start with the alcohol, which she shouldn't be mixing with her medication anyway. That resulted in the blackout episode she described in that post. That's an unhealthy behavior and if she was going to therapy like she is probably supposed to, any therapist would advise against it. She's lucky she didn't die, and that Wes didn't do anything unethical (that we know about!) to her unconscious body.
I'm also not fond of the fact that she's accepting money from this guy. To my knowledge, there's no official agreement what her obligations are, but the implication of what she's supposed to do for him is clear. That isn't healthy.
When we talked about it, she called me a hypocrite. I was sleeping with a photographer named Blake to further Clara's career. Or rather, to keep it afloat so that Zane would have money for essentials. My situation was considerably more complicated. Not that I'm proud of it. A woman's body deserves more respect than to be used as a bargaining chip and to the real Charlotte, I apologize.
For what it's worth, that's done with. I knew it could not be permanent, as I did not want to upset Charlotte's life when I returned it to her. It's pointless now anyway, now that apparently I am of no professional use to "Clara."
She got mad at me for "lecturing" her about the riskiness of her behavior. I'm sorry I care. Remember, this is not a vacation, there are consequences to the things we do while in these bodies, both for ourselves and the people we appear to be. I don't want to see my friend die or end up in a coma while in this girl's body. Clara obviously has a very different tolerance to these things than Zane's did. And it bothers me that he's not learning.
It's careless to put yourself in a life-threatening situation for money that could be earned more honestly. I don't think that's really my friend in there. I understand, they share the memories and some personality traits, but I think our bodies influence us more than we know. Something inside of Clara's body has hit Zane like a ton of bricks and she's not willing to admit how hard it is. I see my friend in trouble and I want to help, but she won't accept it.
In a weird way, I kind of understand it. Without saying too much, I know how strong even these foreign bodies can attract us to others. How a situation changes you. We all get lonely, we see others taking notice of the way we look and options start appearing. You want to be in someone else's life, you want others near you, you want to be appreciated... you just don't want to be lonely. Whether you're a man or a woman, that makes sense. If things were different, I'd be very happy to let Zane find her own happiness, but they are what they are and we all have responsibilities, and one is not to be reckless with other people's lives.
When she found out I had had sex with a man, she said I was treating this like a vacation. If so, I'm working harder than on any vacation I've ever seen. It's not like living Ceecee's life has been a picnic, it's not like managing careers and juggling other peoples' lives so they get their proper bodies back is a hobby. I'm not living one life or two, I feel like I'm living three or four. All in the name of righting a wrong. All the while I have to wake up in the morning and face this woman's appearance, come the knots out of her hair, apply her makeup so she looks professional, face those last couple inches of lovehandle over her panties, the judgmental types in the office who know what I get up to on weekends, who think my life, my problems, are the office joke. I've been living a constant migraine of a life for some time now, but do I break down, do I quit, do I drink myself half to death? No, because I have a job to do. Zane, you need to grow up.
I need to make sure all my friends get back where they belong. That's my responsibility, because it's my fault they're here to begin with. I made a stupid decision, I brought them to the inn, I brought them to this. And I probably won't "chill out" until this waking nightmare is over.
Showing posts with label Charlotte. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Charlotte. Show all posts
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
Saturday, March 31, 2012
Lisa/Eve: What's been going on with me
I'm here. I'm still here. I don't know if anyone reading this has really wondered about my whereabouts... I've just been quietly living this life, kinda thankful and kinda resentful.
Ok. I'm thankful, because if I do everything right, I can still get back to my real body and this won't have been a traumatic experience. Just kind of a boring one. I mean, really... all my friends and I were transformed into different people, and I get stuck as an 18-year-old college girl. It's stressful, it's annoying, and there's really not a lot to say. Compared to Shaun, Anth and Zane? Yeah, I'm okay.
And I'm a bit resentful because I feel like I really shouldn't say anything. Compared to the recent shit Zane's been through, or even Anth, I should be happy. I stay out of trouble, there's no hassle for me. It's annoying that all my complaints seem minor. At one point I read how Anth (aka my "sister") was hooking up with that Blake guy and I wondered why he was fine getting some action but I wasn't. Then I realized I'm surrounded by boys just out of high school, and even when they show an interest I'm just not interested in the slightest. I'm just sitting in my dorm pretending not to notice while my roommate and her boyfriend make out.
Every so often, though, Shaun comes by. I've been separated from the others most of the time, but Shaun and I have been in contact. I think he and I relate, because Anthony and Zane became girls, and his situation is... different. Sometimes, when he can sneak away without his wife knowing, he comes to the college and we go out for a drive and have a coffee.
I told him "You know what I see when I look at you? A lucky man."
"Why's that?"
"You could've wound up in Zane's position, or Anthony's, or mine. You can do Doug's job, you get his wife..."
He stopped me. "You're right. I can't lie, I feel lucky. And I feel like a jerk for not being happier about it."
I say, "You weren't ready to get back in a relationship were you?"
"It's not even that. Believe me, it's nice to have somebody there, but I know she doesn't like me for me. She likes me because she thinks I'm her husband. And I like her because I try not to think about the alternative."
"You wouldn't want to be with her if you were yourself?"
"No, it's just exhausting being a yes-man for her. I'm not a partner in this relationship, I'm a placeholder. I don't rock the boat, even when the real Doug probably would."
"Well," I said, "You have a voice. If there's anything you object to, I'm sure you can reason with her. They're married, so I doubt the whole marriage is gonna fall apart because you wanna eat somewhere different or watch a different show."
He can tell me things like this. He can't phone up Zane, even though "Clara" is his sister. He can't get any sympathy from Anthony, because as much as I love Anth he turns any complaint into a pissing match, and he's definitely got the ammo to top our complaints.
He changes the subject. We talk for a while about Zane and Anthony's lives, mainly comparing notes between what they tell us and what they tell the blog... not that there's a huge difference, but obviously we get a different "version" from the official record. Then I mention something I thought Anthony would already have said, but he doesn't post here often either.
Back around New Year's, Anthony and I took a drive out to Arizona to see the original "us." They became a family of six with two others. Charlotte and Clara, for example, became a married couple, the Tysons. The original Eve became the wife's sister, a rather large woman. When I saw her there was so much sadness in her eyes. Doug became a middle-aged man, and there were two other women kicking around the house who I didn't really talk to but had also been to the inn.
Then we talked about the new "us." As we draw closer to our reservation, we've been in contact with them more and more. The man and woman in our bodies, for example, were a married couple. And Shaun and I were both same-aged single people of the opposite sex. We both agreed that we didn't need to discuss what they were probably doing with our bodies.
I've looked at our old Facebook profiles. There's a lot of recent photos on there with "us" looking very coupley. A lot of people who have known us for a long time have "liked" them, and there's a few comments about how "cute" we look together.
None of these people would have seen us together in our real lives. I was the forever-single girl, he was the relationship guy about to get married. I never would have risked our friendship on that, although in Maine my self-esteem was super low and I admitted having some thoughts (before I knew this was a public blog!!)
I guess he has his rebound now. Between him and me, there are probably some doors best left unopened. That said, I'm back at my dorm, and he slipped me a bottle of scotch, and I've been drinking it all night and I'm starting to consider knocking on doors and seeing who answers.
Ok. I'm thankful, because if I do everything right, I can still get back to my real body and this won't have been a traumatic experience. Just kind of a boring one. I mean, really... all my friends and I were transformed into different people, and I get stuck as an 18-year-old college girl. It's stressful, it's annoying, and there's really not a lot to say. Compared to Shaun, Anth and Zane? Yeah, I'm okay.
And I'm a bit resentful because I feel like I really shouldn't say anything. Compared to the recent shit Zane's been through, or even Anth, I should be happy. I stay out of trouble, there's no hassle for me. It's annoying that all my complaints seem minor. At one point I read how Anth (aka my "sister") was hooking up with that Blake guy and I wondered why he was fine getting some action but I wasn't. Then I realized I'm surrounded by boys just out of high school, and even when they show an interest I'm just not interested in the slightest. I'm just sitting in my dorm pretending not to notice while my roommate and her boyfriend make out.
Every so often, though, Shaun comes by. I've been separated from the others most of the time, but Shaun and I have been in contact. I think he and I relate, because Anthony and Zane became girls, and his situation is... different. Sometimes, when he can sneak away without his wife knowing, he comes to the college and we go out for a drive and have a coffee.
I told him "You know what I see when I look at you? A lucky man."
"Why's that?"
"You could've wound up in Zane's position, or Anthony's, or mine. You can do Doug's job, you get his wife..."
He stopped me. "You're right. I can't lie, I feel lucky. And I feel like a jerk for not being happier about it."
I say, "You weren't ready to get back in a relationship were you?"
"It's not even that. Believe me, it's nice to have somebody there, but I know she doesn't like me for me. She likes me because she thinks I'm her husband. And I like her because I try not to think about the alternative."
"You wouldn't want to be with her if you were yourself?"
"No, it's just exhausting being a yes-man for her. I'm not a partner in this relationship, I'm a placeholder. I don't rock the boat, even when the real Doug probably would."
"Well," I said, "You have a voice. If there's anything you object to, I'm sure you can reason with her. They're married, so I doubt the whole marriage is gonna fall apart because you wanna eat somewhere different or watch a different show."
He can tell me things like this. He can't phone up Zane, even though "Clara" is his sister. He can't get any sympathy from Anthony, because as much as I love Anth he turns any complaint into a pissing match, and he's definitely got the ammo to top our complaints.
He changes the subject. We talk for a while about Zane and Anthony's lives, mainly comparing notes between what they tell us and what they tell the blog... not that there's a huge difference, but obviously we get a different "version" from the official record. Then I mention something I thought Anthony would already have said, but he doesn't post here often either.
Back around New Year's, Anthony and I took a drive out to Arizona to see the original "us." They became a family of six with two others. Charlotte and Clara, for example, became a married couple, the Tysons. The original Eve became the wife's sister, a rather large woman. When I saw her there was so much sadness in her eyes. Doug became a middle-aged man, and there were two other women kicking around the house who I didn't really talk to but had also been to the inn.
Then we talked about the new "us." As we draw closer to our reservation, we've been in contact with them more and more. The man and woman in our bodies, for example, were a married couple. And Shaun and I were both same-aged single people of the opposite sex. We both agreed that we didn't need to discuss what they were probably doing with our bodies.
I've looked at our old Facebook profiles. There's a lot of recent photos on there with "us" looking very coupley. A lot of people who have known us for a long time have "liked" them, and there's a few comments about how "cute" we look together.
None of these people would have seen us together in our real lives. I was the forever-single girl, he was the relationship guy about to get married. I never would have risked our friendship on that, although in Maine my self-esteem was super low and I admitted having some thoughts (before I knew this was a public blog!!)
I guess he has his rebound now. Between him and me, there are probably some doors best left unopened. That said, I'm back at my dorm, and he slipped me a bottle of scotch, and I've been drinking it all night and I'm starting to consider knocking on doors and seeing who answers.
Sunday, March 04, 2012
Zane Clara: Side effects
A few months ago I almost burned down the house. I left some food on the stove and went back to my room to wait and I ended up falling asleep. I woke up to the sound of the smoke alarm. When I went to see what it was, I saw one of my housemates running the tap over the pan in the sink while another one was clearing the smoke away with a dishrag. They gave me an angry lecture about being irresponsible.
This was before I got on the pills. What I didn't tell them at the time was that I didn't go to my room to fall asleep. I was wide awake and playing with myself.
I didn't admit it to you guys because I didn't want you to think I liked being a girl just because I could touch my own pussy. I know there's people that read this blog that think I should probably feel better about my situation, and I agree that the depression and anxiety has made it hard for me to deal with that. I just felt like it was something I should hide. Besides, in my normal life I would probably not tell everyone how often I jacked off.
It was my coping mechanism. Whenever I felt unhappy because I didn't wanna leave my room and didn't wanna eat, I'd go to the bedroom (or the bath, or the living room later if everyone was out) and strip off. I'd start fondling my tits until I felt a little spark downstairs. I could go for an insane amount of time just rubbing and rubbing, usually over top of the panties. I never came though. Maybe it's because I never put anything inside me because the idea of that scares the fuck out of me. I don't even want to like rubbing myself, but I do... or I did anyway.
Once I got on the pills I didn't want to do it anymore. I haven't really touched myself there since December, except when I have to. Whenever I think maybe I could do it, I remember how long I spent and never really finished and it just doesn't feel like a good idea.
I'm telling you all this because something weird is going on with my life. I was talking to Wes, the rich guy who picked me up at the gala, a lot. I like hanging out with him because he's smart and knows a lot about the world and he's funny, and I don't have to do a lot of talking when he's around. Then last night, I got this weird vibe off him... like he was hitting on me. Mostly he acted like his normal self, but on our way out of the restaurant he opened the door for me and gave me this look like "You know what I'm thinking."
I didn't hate it. I didn't want to punch him, like I do most guys. I know he's a good dude. But it still bothered me. Like we can't just be friends, he has to want to have sex with me.
I keep thinking about him. What if I was a guy and he was a girl, someone who looked like me. And he was smart and funny and willing to put up with my craziness, but he was the one with the tits. Well, he'd be too good for me.
I feel bad for him. I want him to date someone else, anyone. It definately wouldn't be hard for him. I want him to be happy, but not with me.
This was before I got on the pills. What I didn't tell them at the time was that I didn't go to my room to fall asleep. I was wide awake and playing with myself.
I didn't admit it to you guys because I didn't want you to think I liked being a girl just because I could touch my own pussy. I know there's people that read this blog that think I should probably feel better about my situation, and I agree that the depression and anxiety has made it hard for me to deal with that. I just felt like it was something I should hide. Besides, in my normal life I would probably not tell everyone how often I jacked off.
It was my coping mechanism. Whenever I felt unhappy because I didn't wanna leave my room and didn't wanna eat, I'd go to the bedroom (or the bath, or the living room later if everyone was out) and strip off. I'd start fondling my tits until I felt a little spark downstairs. I could go for an insane amount of time just rubbing and rubbing, usually over top of the panties. I never came though. Maybe it's because I never put anything inside me because the idea of that scares the fuck out of me. I don't even want to like rubbing myself, but I do... or I did anyway.
Once I got on the pills I didn't want to do it anymore. I haven't really touched myself there since December, except when I have to. Whenever I think maybe I could do it, I remember how long I spent and never really finished and it just doesn't feel like a good idea.
I'm telling you all this because something weird is going on with my life. I was talking to Wes, the rich guy who picked me up at the gala, a lot. I like hanging out with him because he's smart and knows a lot about the world and he's funny, and I don't have to do a lot of talking when he's around. Then last night, I got this weird vibe off him... like he was hitting on me. Mostly he acted like his normal self, but on our way out of the restaurant he opened the door for me and gave me this look like "You know what I'm thinking."
I didn't hate it. I didn't want to punch him, like I do most guys. I know he's a good dude. But it still bothered me. Like we can't just be friends, he has to want to have sex with me.
I keep thinking about him. What if I was a guy and he was a girl, someone who looked like me. And he was smart and funny and willing to put up with my craziness, but he was the one with the tits. Well, he'd be too good for me.
I feel bad for him. I want him to date someone else, anyone. It definately wouldn't be hard for him. I want him to be happy, but not with me.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Zane Clara: The real me?
It's Saturday afternoon and I got a lot on my mind. Usually I'm working at the snack bar or doing a photoshoot. This is the first time in a while I've got an afternoon to myself. I'm just sitting in my room on the computer and I realized I could blog something.
I like doing Clara's jobs. Even the modelling, is that weird? I didn't used to like dressing in womens clothes at all but they're not all that uncomfortable and I don't have to go around in them. I just have to stand around looking hot, which is tough since it's like "smile but don't smile, stand up straight" and every photog has his own ideas about what he or she wants from a model. Sometimes I have to pretend to be in a couple, that's always awkward. Mainly it's stock photo work so you might see me on the internet randomly.
The snack bar can be annoying, but it gives me a chance to go out dressed like a normal person without makeup or fancy clothes. Then even when I don't put any work in, guys wanna talk to me and I just play along. I get asked for my number a lot, and I always turn them down. I tell them I don't have a phone and they should give me their number. The problem is they know where I work so guys come by to see why I haven't called them yet and keep asking me out and I just go "no I'm busy." I think they think they can wear me down and I don't know how to stop it. I'm worried one day I'm gonna say yes to one of them and it's gonna be the wrong guy and he's gonna kill me or something. That's why I don't go out a lot.
I don't get depressed anymore, though. The pills are working. I don't sit around being sad and crying my fucking eyes out because I have to sit to pee or because some stupid wardrobe person told me my tits were too big... which is fucked up because this isn't even my body and it bothers me that it even bothers me which makes me even more sad.
No, instead I just relax. I try to enjoy things. I've been a chick for six months or something and things haven't gotten any better or worse, so now that I can see some stability, I guess the I'm evening out. It kinda sucks you guys never got to know the real me, the one that wasn't always freaked out or depressed. I didn't used to whine all the time I think.
But they told me I'd still have triggers. I don't know exactly how this transformation has changed my brain. Things that bother me bother me a LOT. So when Anthony told me he was fucking that Blake guy, I went nuts inside. I started crying, I wanted to hurl. I took it really personal because I thought, if we're still guys inside, how could you let a guy do that to you. I still get grossed out when guys look at me the wrong way, and just because I'm on pills and I'm okay with wearing makeup doesn't mean I think the idea of fucking a guy is awesome.
He gave all his reasons for doing it, and I just didn't care. The idea of him inside that body getting his pussy fucked made me sick. I didn't wanna talk to him for a while.
Then one morning I was taking my pill and I was thinking about how fucked up it was that I never needed pills before I was Clara, but because I have her body I have her brains too. And then it hit me... that's true for Anth too. It's like... he didn't decide to let a guy fuck him any more than I decided to be depressed. These bodies control us in really fucked up ways we can't even understand.
So I dunno. I guess it's okay for him to do that. I'm still not into it, but whatever. That's his business. We'll just forget it happened when we're back in our real bodies.
I like doing Clara's jobs. Even the modelling, is that weird? I didn't used to like dressing in womens clothes at all but they're not all that uncomfortable and I don't have to go around in them. I just have to stand around looking hot, which is tough since it's like "smile but don't smile, stand up straight" and every photog has his own ideas about what he or she wants from a model. Sometimes I have to pretend to be in a couple, that's always awkward. Mainly it's stock photo work so you might see me on the internet randomly.
The snack bar can be annoying, but it gives me a chance to go out dressed like a normal person without makeup or fancy clothes. Then even when I don't put any work in, guys wanna talk to me and I just play along. I get asked for my number a lot, and I always turn them down. I tell them I don't have a phone and they should give me their number. The problem is they know where I work so guys come by to see why I haven't called them yet and keep asking me out and I just go "no I'm busy." I think they think they can wear me down and I don't know how to stop it. I'm worried one day I'm gonna say yes to one of them and it's gonna be the wrong guy and he's gonna kill me or something. That's why I don't go out a lot.
I don't get depressed anymore, though. The pills are working. I don't sit around being sad and crying my fucking eyes out because I have to sit to pee or because some stupid wardrobe person told me my tits were too big... which is fucked up because this isn't even my body and it bothers me that it even bothers me which makes me even more sad.
No, instead I just relax. I try to enjoy things. I've been a chick for six months or something and things haven't gotten any better or worse, so now that I can see some stability, I guess the I'm evening out. It kinda sucks you guys never got to know the real me, the one that wasn't always freaked out or depressed. I didn't used to whine all the time I think.
But they told me I'd still have triggers. I don't know exactly how this transformation has changed my brain. Things that bother me bother me a LOT. So when Anthony told me he was fucking that Blake guy, I went nuts inside. I started crying, I wanted to hurl. I took it really personal because I thought, if we're still guys inside, how could you let a guy do that to you. I still get grossed out when guys look at me the wrong way, and just because I'm on pills and I'm okay with wearing makeup doesn't mean I think the idea of fucking a guy is awesome.
He gave all his reasons for doing it, and I just didn't care. The idea of him inside that body getting his pussy fucked made me sick. I didn't wanna talk to him for a while.
Then one morning I was taking my pill and I was thinking about how fucked up it was that I never needed pills before I was Clara, but because I have her body I have her brains too. And then it hit me... that's true for Anth too. It's like... he didn't decide to let a guy fuck him any more than I decided to be depressed. These bodies control us in really fucked up ways we can't even understand.
So I dunno. I guess it's okay for him to do that. I'm still not into it, but whatever. That's his business. We'll just forget it happened when we're back in our real bodies.
Sunday, February 12, 2012
Anthony/Ceecee: I'm my father.
Oh, boy, where to start.
As Zane mentioned, there was an encounter between me and a man by the name of Blake, whom we both know professionally. I had hoped Zane wouldn't mention it in the post, but I guess in explaining what happened to her (and yes, I believe in facing reality, in that Zane is currently a girl,) at the party, it was only appropriate to note what she saw. And the conclusions she drew were not totally incorrect. But you might as well get the whole story.
I think of it this way. My father was an avowed carnivore. Nothing wrong with that, but ere was a man who would not accept a pizza with fewer than three types of meat, did not touch salads, and had a lifelong ambition to win any and all steakhouse challenges. Then one day, he woke up in the morning and his foot hurt. He could barely limp down the stairs, had to call in sick from work. He found out he had contracted gout, due to his diet. The main solution was to get off meat, and with great reluctance, he did so, finding several vegetarian (and vegan) recipe books, and turning healthy cooking into a hobby. Even though to this day it is medically safe for him to have meat in moderation, however, he is still an devoted vegetarian. This sudden transformation was confusing to my family, but years later, I understood it as a sort of self-preservation. Having felt that gout pain, he didn't even want to risk coming close to that experience again. He was a convert. And I guess I never quite understood how one could change one's life so completely until the day I woke up as a woman.
Granted, it did not happen that day, but right from the beginning, I could feel a shift in my perception. I work with several stunning women who are not shy about their cleavage and their bodies, and I rarely give them more than a passing glance (in fact, I feel a twinge of bitterness when they take it on themselves to flaunt it for no better reason than that they can) whereas I regard my own body as a sort of work in progress, trying to work off some of the pounds and inches from Ceecee's frame that I feel could be lost. I've already gone down two dress sizes since being here: I suspect Ceecee has a history of fluctuation, since there were dresses of that size in her wardrobe already, but I mainly pick out clothes for myself (weight loss, in this respect, can be pricey.)
It was not, however, a matter of sexual preference that I began my arrangement with Blake. It was self-preservation at work. In my past life, my real life, I still had a girlfriend to whom I was devoted. Someone I love and desperately want to return to. And I hope, upon returning to my body, my attraction to her returns, because I know she is that magnificent a person.
But for the time being, I'm not Anthony, I'm Charlotte. I don't live Anthony's life and I don't have his responsibilities. Instead, I have a whole different role, that of an agent, specifically Clara's agent. And Zane, Clara, whomever she is or thinks she is, is still my friend, very important to me no matter what we look like.
So when Blake, a photographer we do a certain amount of business with, began showing signs of interest in me, I took a somewhat mercenary attitude toward it. After all, here is a man surrounded by beautiful women constantly. I took it as a compliment last fall when he started lingering by my desk after meetings, calling to see "what was up." I was flattered, it meant I was at least doing something right. I knew I could turn it to my advantage, and deep down, I was morbidly curious as to what lay behind that door.
I let him take me out to dinner back in October. Wine loosened my tongue and I mentioned I liked a certain performer who would be in town. He got us tickets. We went, it was a great show, and to show my appreciation, I took his big hand in mine and kissed him. He jumped like a dog going after a treat. I told him I wasn't that kind of girl. He asked what kind of girl I was and I told him I was still figuring it out.
He was patient with me, which I respected. Again, he's a fairly handsome guy, and I believe he could be, and probably has been, with numerous more attractive women than me. But he chose to focus on me and I respected that. I kept going with it, convincing myself I was doing good for my friend... and Zane did get numerous jobs through him and through his recommendation.
By December, Zane had hit rock bottom, and the goodwill could only go so far. By then, though, what had been started with Blake could not be stopped. It would simply be too awkward to end our arrangement, given we would still have to maintain a working relationship. Right now, I guess you could say I'm using him for a different purpose. Although I don't particularly like him, in a relationship sort of way, I have grown fond of the feeling of having someone I can call when I need attention. So long as he and I are capable of keeping it casual, I'll be happy to keep going. When he proposed we have a dinner on Valentine's Day, I told him I did not think we were a "Valentine's Dinner" type of pair. It was a bit of a sticking point between us, but he agreed eventually we weren't.
I've had to remind him a couple of times, though, that this is not a real relationship. I'm not here to let anyone fall in love with Ceecee's body, because I know I'll be gone eventually anyway, back to my real life, my real relationship. If it's still intact by then. But that's another issue I may someday feel comfortable exploring here on this blog. I already feel somewhat exposed owning up to this, but it's the adult thing to do.
As Zane mentioned, there was an encounter between me and a man by the name of Blake, whom we both know professionally. I had hoped Zane wouldn't mention it in the post, but I guess in explaining what happened to her (and yes, I believe in facing reality, in that Zane is currently a girl,) at the party, it was only appropriate to note what she saw. And the conclusions she drew were not totally incorrect. But you might as well get the whole story.
I think of it this way. My father was an avowed carnivore. Nothing wrong with that, but ere was a man who would not accept a pizza with fewer than three types of meat, did not touch salads, and had a lifelong ambition to win any and all steakhouse challenges. Then one day, he woke up in the morning and his foot hurt. He could barely limp down the stairs, had to call in sick from work. He found out he had contracted gout, due to his diet. The main solution was to get off meat, and with great reluctance, he did so, finding several vegetarian (and vegan) recipe books, and turning healthy cooking into a hobby. Even though to this day it is medically safe for him to have meat in moderation, however, he is still an devoted vegetarian. This sudden transformation was confusing to my family, but years later, I understood it as a sort of self-preservation. Having felt that gout pain, he didn't even want to risk coming close to that experience again. He was a convert. And I guess I never quite understood how one could change one's life so completely until the day I woke up as a woman.
Granted, it did not happen that day, but right from the beginning, I could feel a shift in my perception. I work with several stunning women who are not shy about their cleavage and their bodies, and I rarely give them more than a passing glance (in fact, I feel a twinge of bitterness when they take it on themselves to flaunt it for no better reason than that they can) whereas I regard my own body as a sort of work in progress, trying to work off some of the pounds and inches from Ceecee's frame that I feel could be lost. I've already gone down two dress sizes since being here: I suspect Ceecee has a history of fluctuation, since there were dresses of that size in her wardrobe already, but I mainly pick out clothes for myself (weight loss, in this respect, can be pricey.)
It was not, however, a matter of sexual preference that I began my arrangement with Blake. It was self-preservation at work. In my past life, my real life, I still had a girlfriend to whom I was devoted. Someone I love and desperately want to return to. And I hope, upon returning to my body, my attraction to her returns, because I know she is that magnificent a person.
But for the time being, I'm not Anthony, I'm Charlotte. I don't live Anthony's life and I don't have his responsibilities. Instead, I have a whole different role, that of an agent, specifically Clara's agent. And Zane, Clara, whomever she is or thinks she is, is still my friend, very important to me no matter what we look like.
So when Blake, a photographer we do a certain amount of business with, began showing signs of interest in me, I took a somewhat mercenary attitude toward it. After all, here is a man surrounded by beautiful women constantly. I took it as a compliment last fall when he started lingering by my desk after meetings, calling to see "what was up." I was flattered, it meant I was at least doing something right. I knew I could turn it to my advantage, and deep down, I was morbidly curious as to what lay behind that door.
I let him take me out to dinner back in October. Wine loosened my tongue and I mentioned I liked a certain performer who would be in town. He got us tickets. We went, it was a great show, and to show my appreciation, I took his big hand in mine and kissed him. He jumped like a dog going after a treat. I told him I wasn't that kind of girl. He asked what kind of girl I was and I told him I was still figuring it out.
He was patient with me, which I respected. Again, he's a fairly handsome guy, and I believe he could be, and probably has been, with numerous more attractive women than me. But he chose to focus on me and I respected that. I kept going with it, convincing myself I was doing good for my friend... and Zane did get numerous jobs through him and through his recommendation.
By December, Zane had hit rock bottom, and the goodwill could only go so far. By then, though, what had been started with Blake could not be stopped. It would simply be too awkward to end our arrangement, given we would still have to maintain a working relationship. Right now, I guess you could say I'm using him for a different purpose. Although I don't particularly like him, in a relationship sort of way, I have grown fond of the feeling of having someone I can call when I need attention. So long as he and I are capable of keeping it casual, I'll be happy to keep going. When he proposed we have a dinner on Valentine's Day, I told him I did not think we were a "Valentine's Dinner" type of pair. It was a bit of a sticking point between us, but he agreed eventually we weren't.
I've had to remind him a couple of times, though, that this is not a real relationship. I'm not here to let anyone fall in love with Ceecee's body, because I know I'll be gone eventually anyway, back to my real life, my real relationship. If it's still intact by then. But that's another issue I may someday feel comfortable exploring here on this blog. I already feel somewhat exposed owning up to this, but it's the adult thing to do.
Tuesday, January 24, 2012
Anthony/Ceecee: Drive
I'm a driven individual. I take my work very seriously, it's the same now as it was when I was a man. I don't linger long on this blog because for the time being my only objective has been to keep my head down, keep busy, be the best Ceecee I can be and prepare for my return to my own body.
People notice. I'm not content to do the grunt work while the higher-ups take the credit. There was a learning curve to working in the industry, but I picked it up as quickly as I could. It's all networking anyhow. There have been three things motivating me. One is the desire to keep from thinking too hard about my predicament.
The second is money. I always had a good supply of cash as Anthony. I wasn't "1%" rich, but I was working my way up. Ceecee left me with a modest budget and less job security, so I had to work extra hard. It was an adjustment, but it was a challenge I was willing to meet.
Third was concern for my friend. Even before I knew Zane was suffering from Clara's depression, I felt it was my responsibility to look after him. For months, between September and December, much of my time was spent guiding Clara's career, when I could have been acquiring new clients to hedge my bets, or at least working closer with existing ones who weren't as reluctant to do their jobs. It isn't that I wanted Zane to accept his new role, it was that I wanted to give him something to focus on, like I had found, so that when he went home at night he didn't pass out in bed drunk and wake up the next morning feeling like a wreck. The idea that it could be biological never even occurred to me.
Over the course of a few months, I negotiated several modeling gigs for Clara. It's not glamorous runway stuff, most of it was just advertising, stock photos, trade conventions... junk gigs that none of the girls really want to do, but they pay.
It wasn't working. I was getting fed up with Zane's inability to get with the program. This culminated in a fight, shortly before the diagnosis. We were supposed to have a business meeting, and he was late. He showed up looking shabby, his commitment to the job of being Clara once again dubious. I yelled... I barely recognized the sounds coming out of my mouth, the way my voice got so high and shrill, but there it was. We didn't talk for a while after that. My offer to help with the prescription was my way of apologizing, but Ceecee's financial situation means I'm hardly equipped to shower money on him, so I once again expressed my desire to see him take things a bit more seriously, at least as a way of making money. Since December, he's taken on a few modeling gigs and acted very professionally, and our friendship has been mending ever since.
I definitely saw a change in his demeanor since he started on the pills. He was worried they'd brainwash him, but as far as I can tell, they're just helping him cope. It's not blocking out all the stuff he hates about being a woman -- I share many of the same complaints -- but it's certainly dulling the intensity he feels them. He can go out in the world, even talk to men without feeling ashamed. What's more, we've rebuilt a certain level of trust, which is good, because I had a favor to ask him.
We went out for coffee. I've been a little worried about running out of things to talk about. He's not interested in hearing about work, and there's never anything going on with him that I don't really know about. He's also really dodgy when I try to talk about our predicament, because he thinks just because I've been to a hairdresser and always wear a bra that I've "given in" to being a girl. I tried to ease into the conversation by talking about that weekend's Pats game, but he was just pissed about not being able to see it.
During one lull, he asked if I ever wondered what he looked like naked. I rolled my eyes. "I've seen naked girls, Zane."
"I'd show you, y'know. If you wanted to see. Unless you're into dudes now."
He was clearly messing with me. I tried to suppress my irritation. He went on, "There's this one chick I live with, Leslie? She's really into this other dude in our house, Marc. She's pretty hot, too. I wouldn't mind hitting that."
I grumbled, "I doubt she's into girls." That shut him up. I told him we actually had business. At the end of the month, we're doing this event for the agency. It's a bit of a mixer, really. There's going to be a lot of clients there, a lot of casting people, photographers, industry types and other bigwigs. I've been trying not to tank Clara's career, and it would be a step in the right direction to get Zane out to it.
"Will there be booze?"
"Yeah, sure... but you're gonna have to go easy. We don't know how that stuff reacts with your medicine."
"I'll be fine," he said like it was no big thing.
I sense trouble. It's not that I need anything from him other than his presence, and hopefully staying out of trouble, but it would be nice not to have to worry about that second part.
People notice. I'm not content to do the grunt work while the higher-ups take the credit. There was a learning curve to working in the industry, but I picked it up as quickly as I could. It's all networking anyhow. There have been three things motivating me. One is the desire to keep from thinking too hard about my predicament.
The second is money. I always had a good supply of cash as Anthony. I wasn't "1%" rich, but I was working my way up. Ceecee left me with a modest budget and less job security, so I had to work extra hard. It was an adjustment, but it was a challenge I was willing to meet.
Third was concern for my friend. Even before I knew Zane was suffering from Clara's depression, I felt it was my responsibility to look after him. For months, between September and December, much of my time was spent guiding Clara's career, when I could have been acquiring new clients to hedge my bets, or at least working closer with existing ones who weren't as reluctant to do their jobs. It isn't that I wanted Zane to accept his new role, it was that I wanted to give him something to focus on, like I had found, so that when he went home at night he didn't pass out in bed drunk and wake up the next morning feeling like a wreck. The idea that it could be biological never even occurred to me.
Over the course of a few months, I negotiated several modeling gigs for Clara. It's not glamorous runway stuff, most of it was just advertising, stock photos, trade conventions... junk gigs that none of the girls really want to do, but they pay.
It wasn't working. I was getting fed up with Zane's inability to get with the program. This culminated in a fight, shortly before the diagnosis. We were supposed to have a business meeting, and he was late. He showed up looking shabby, his commitment to the job of being Clara once again dubious. I yelled... I barely recognized the sounds coming out of my mouth, the way my voice got so high and shrill, but there it was. We didn't talk for a while after that. My offer to help with the prescription was my way of apologizing, but Ceecee's financial situation means I'm hardly equipped to shower money on him, so I once again expressed my desire to see him take things a bit more seriously, at least as a way of making money. Since December, he's taken on a few modeling gigs and acted very professionally, and our friendship has been mending ever since.
I definitely saw a change in his demeanor since he started on the pills. He was worried they'd brainwash him, but as far as I can tell, they're just helping him cope. It's not blocking out all the stuff he hates about being a woman -- I share many of the same complaints -- but it's certainly dulling the intensity he feels them. He can go out in the world, even talk to men without feeling ashamed. What's more, we've rebuilt a certain level of trust, which is good, because I had a favor to ask him.
We went out for coffee. I've been a little worried about running out of things to talk about. He's not interested in hearing about work, and there's never anything going on with him that I don't really know about. He's also really dodgy when I try to talk about our predicament, because he thinks just because I've been to a hairdresser and always wear a bra that I've "given in" to being a girl. I tried to ease into the conversation by talking about that weekend's Pats game, but he was just pissed about not being able to see it.
During one lull, he asked if I ever wondered what he looked like naked. I rolled my eyes. "I've seen naked girls, Zane."
"I'd show you, y'know. If you wanted to see. Unless you're into dudes now."
He was clearly messing with me. I tried to suppress my irritation. He went on, "There's this one chick I live with, Leslie? She's really into this other dude in our house, Marc. She's pretty hot, too. I wouldn't mind hitting that."
I grumbled, "I doubt she's into girls." That shut him up. I told him we actually had business. At the end of the month, we're doing this event for the agency. It's a bit of a mixer, really. There's going to be a lot of clients there, a lot of casting people, photographers, industry types and other bigwigs. I've been trying not to tank Clara's career, and it would be a step in the right direction to get Zane out to it.
"Will there be booze?"
"Yeah, sure... but you're gonna have to go easy. We don't know how that stuff reacts with your medicine."
"I'll be fine," he said like it was no big thing.
I sense trouble. It's not that I need anything from him other than his presence, and hopefully staying out of trouble, but it would be nice not to have to worry about that second part.
Thursday, December 22, 2011
Lisa/Eve: Behind the Scenes
It's strange. I'm in a room full of someone else's childhood memories, but it's having a strangely powerful effect on me. Seeing Eve Christopolous' bedroom, which she moved out of just before I turned into her, reminds me of my own teenage years. Of course, everywhere I go nowadays reminds me of something from a long time ago.
Since the fall, I've been living as Eve. She's in her first year of college, on her own for the first time. For her it would be freedom, for me it's... well, I thought it would be confining, but the fact is, it's actually a lot more freeing than I thought. I was going to quit. I didn't see the point in staying at her school, paying money gaining knowledge I didn't need or want, while the girl who's supposed to be learning is miles away living another life.
She convinced me not to. If I dropped out, I could get her money back, but I'd still have to occupy myself for a year while I wait in line to get my body back and give this one up. All the classes she's taking this year are the prerequisites for her major, which she doesn't seem to think she's missing much (and to be honest, a lot of this stuff sounds like what I remember of high school science... this is a community college after all.) She wants to study anthropology, so I'm doing the grunt work for her reluctantly.
It's not really in my nature to half-ass it either, so I ed up getting stressed when I have a big midterm of final. This didn't exactly win me friends with my floormates. I guess that's the thing when you're a grown woman inn 18-year-old body. All these kids are experiencing their first freedom and want to goof off and mess around, (not to mention screw like bunnies!) but I've already been there, done that, bought the pregnancy test, so I just want to keep my head down.
Nobody likes feeling left out, though... I wish I related to these kids better, but I look at them and I still just see kids who don't know anything about the world, learning to walk. I end up playing mother, cleaning after them and asking them to keep it down after eleven. My roommate is a bit of a drama queen who broke up with her high school boyfriend just before she got here, cried and cried, then started hooking up with every random guy she could. Some of the other girls on the floor, thank God, have taken it more slowly.
Then there are the boys. A bunch of horny guys just trying to score. And I guess it's a little sick that after a while these kids start looking kinda good to me. Like, I know it's totally inappropriate, but I have to actively remember I'm old enough to be these boys'...... cool older cousin. And that a lot of the guys I was attracted to at that age were not the types of guys that would turn out to be... caring, sensitive spouses. And I can see right through them. So I ended up spending a lot of time alone.
So I'm thankful to be "home," where at least I'm not far from Anthony... "Charlotte." I have to say, my return for the Holidays is the first time I've seen "him" since I left for school, and she looks to be taking his new role frighteningly well. I mean, I'll admit comfort, sure, even a bit of enthusiasm for being younger and prettier, but to see that woman rock a three-inch heel and a sundress? I can't even look her in the eye! (And not just because, in those shoes, my eyes come up to her tits. Kidding, I'm not that much shorter.) Frankly, I understand Zane's reaction a bit more, even without finding out Clara was manic-depressive or whatever. I'm not saying he shouldn't come to terms with what's happened, but I totally understand not being cool with it.
Shaun's the only one I haven't seen. Work and marriage keeps him pretty busy, but we've been texting.
Anyway, if things go well, you probably won't hear too much from me. Still, Anth and I are planning a trip out to Scottsdale, Arizona, to see the real Charlotte and Eve in the new year, so I probably will report on that.
Thanks for listening.
By the way, Merry Christmas everyone! It's so strange being in the warm weather instead of freezing my butt off in New England! I miss it so much.
Since the fall, I've been living as Eve. She's in her first year of college, on her own for the first time. For her it would be freedom, for me it's... well, I thought it would be confining, but the fact is, it's actually a lot more freeing than I thought. I was going to quit. I didn't see the point in staying at her school, paying money gaining knowledge I didn't need or want, while the girl who's supposed to be learning is miles away living another life.
She convinced me not to. If I dropped out, I could get her money back, but I'd still have to occupy myself for a year while I wait in line to get my body back and give this one up. All the classes she's taking this year are the prerequisites for her major, which she doesn't seem to think she's missing much (and to be honest, a lot of this stuff sounds like what I remember of high school science... this is a community college after all.) She wants to study anthropology, so I'm doing the grunt work for her reluctantly.
It's not really in my nature to half-ass it either, so I ed up getting stressed when I have a big midterm of final. This didn't exactly win me friends with my floormates. I guess that's the thing when you're a grown woman inn 18-year-old body. All these kids are experiencing their first freedom and want to goof off and mess around, (not to mention screw like bunnies!) but I've already been there, done that, bought the pregnancy test, so I just want to keep my head down.
Nobody likes feeling left out, though... I wish I related to these kids better, but I look at them and I still just see kids who don't know anything about the world, learning to walk. I end up playing mother, cleaning after them and asking them to keep it down after eleven. My roommate is a bit of a drama queen who broke up with her high school boyfriend just before she got here, cried and cried, then started hooking up with every random guy she could. Some of the other girls on the floor, thank God, have taken it more slowly.
Then there are the boys. A bunch of horny guys just trying to score. And I guess it's a little sick that after a while these kids start looking kinda good to me. Like, I know it's totally inappropriate, but I have to actively remember I'm old enough to be these boys'...... cool older cousin. And that a lot of the guys I was attracted to at that age were not the types of guys that would turn out to be... caring, sensitive spouses. And I can see right through them. So I ended up spending a lot of time alone.
So I'm thankful to be "home," where at least I'm not far from Anthony... "Charlotte." I have to say, my return for the Holidays is the first time I've seen "him" since I left for school, and she looks to be taking his new role frighteningly well. I mean, I'll admit comfort, sure, even a bit of enthusiasm for being younger and prettier, but to see that woman rock a three-inch heel and a sundress? I can't even look her in the eye! (And not just because, in those shoes, my eyes come up to her tits. Kidding, I'm not that much shorter.) Frankly, I understand Zane's reaction a bit more, even without finding out Clara was manic-depressive or whatever. I'm not saying he shouldn't come to terms with what's happened, but I totally understand not being cool with it.
Shaun's the only one I haven't seen. Work and marriage keeps him pretty busy, but we've been texting.
Anyway, if things go well, you probably won't hear too much from me. Still, Anth and I are planning a trip out to Scottsdale, Arizona, to see the real Charlotte and Eve in the new year, so I probably will report on that.
Thanks for listening.
By the way, Merry Christmas everyone! It's so strange being in the warm weather instead of freezing my butt off in New England! I miss it so much.
Saturday, December 17, 2011
Zane/Clara/Whatever: My Big Choice
Since I couldn't quit being a girl, I was going to just quit this blog. I don't know why it's surprising to you people that I don't love having a pussy. You haven't heard from me in a while and a lot of that has just been sleeping, drinking, avoiding life, and occasionally working.
Here's three things that happened that explained why I'm back here, and why you might hear from me again.
I had a lunch meeting with Anthony. I felt pretty comfortable spilling my guts to her, looking like CeeCee. Talking to her reminds me of some of the best relationships I've had, before I fucked them up. I let it all out and she didn't tell me I was wrong for feeling like that, just that she understood and wished she could help me any way she could. I said that probably would mean laying off the model thing. I really just want to crawl under the sheets for the rest of the year, until I can go back to the inn.
And then something happened. Someone saw us. It was a friend of Anthony's... actually CeeCee's. He comes over, leans over her... and kisses her on the cheek. Like it was no big deal. And he just leans into it! And they make nice and he even kinda flirts with her. Fuck, every time a guy has talked to me like that I wanted to cut his balls off for looking at me, and he just laughs along, and when he's gone... and I notice him staring down at her cleavage... she just acts like it was no big deal. "Just part of business, being friendly," she says, but it looked like he wanted to fuck her.
I ask "You wouldn't, right?"
"No, of course not. It's just easier to get along with guys if they think there's a chance."
That fucking burned me. Like I didn't even know who I was talking to. And it was still bothering me by Thanksgiving, and Shaun was cool enough to invite me over to his place and meet his wife (she's okay looking) but I also had to deal with Clara and Doug's parents. I didn't really wanna talk to anyone, I just wanted to sit around watching football.
At the end of the night, I'm out having a smoke when "mom" comes out. I expected her to give me some bullshit about quitting, but I guess she just accepts that her daughter does that. But what she did do was ask about the way I've been behaving all night, and I kinda dodge answering, because it's none of her business. And then she asks me this question:
"Are you taking your pills?"
And I'm like, what is there some kind of girl-pill I should be taking? What's the deal here? I'm all confused, until I get home and I start doing some digging and I find out Clara's on fucking anti-depressants. Xanax or Zoloft or whatever. I've never taken pills in my life, besides painkillers. She's depressed?? She never fucking mentioned that to me!!
So I'm freaking out, like is this my problem now? Did I get this from her? Like, it's not my problem, is it? Then I started looking it up online and I realized I had all these symptoms, which I figured were just from, you know, being turned into a fucking girl.
No, it turns out Clara was actually clinically depressed and now I probably am too. I went and saw the doctor and got a prescription, but I can't fucking afford the pills on the money I make at the snack bar.
I talked to Anthony about it, and she said she would lend me some money, but I would need to pay it back, and the only real way to do that is to throw myself into this modeling thing. So I either do something I really don't wanna do, or I feel shitty all the time.
So I've got the pills, but I haven't done any more modeling jobs. I haven't even taken any of the pills. I just look at them and I think "Is it really gonna make everything okay? Am I gonna take this pill and suddenly everything's gonna be all right and I'll feel okay about being a girl? Am I still gonna be me? Or am I just gonna start calling myself Clara and go on being girly?" I don't know. It was like this is the end of me. I couldn't bring myself to take them.
Tonight I had to get a ride home from my day job, but Anthony wasn't available. I could barely convince myself to call one of my housemates, because I feel like those people all hate me and think I'm an asshole, and I didn't want anything to do with them and I didn't think they'd want to help me.
But no, this one girl Leslie did end up helping me and seeming pretty happy to do it. We even went out for drinks. I was so fucking uncomfortable sitting with this girl, I didn't know what to say or where to look, but she was good at getting guys to leave us alone and she just kept talking. I wasn't really listening, but it was about a guy. And even though I wanted to throw up and die, I thought maybe if I get these pills, I can be this girl's friend, I can make this work. I can't keep living like this. Tomorrow I'm going to take the pill. It can't be any worse than this.
Here's three things that happened that explained why I'm back here, and why you might hear from me again.
I had a lunch meeting with Anthony. I felt pretty comfortable spilling my guts to her, looking like CeeCee. Talking to her reminds me of some of the best relationships I've had, before I fucked them up. I let it all out and she didn't tell me I was wrong for feeling like that, just that she understood and wished she could help me any way she could. I said that probably would mean laying off the model thing. I really just want to crawl under the sheets for the rest of the year, until I can go back to the inn.
And then something happened. Someone saw us. It was a friend of Anthony's... actually CeeCee's. He comes over, leans over her... and kisses her on the cheek. Like it was no big deal. And he just leans into it! And they make nice and he even kinda flirts with her. Fuck, every time a guy has talked to me like that I wanted to cut his balls off for looking at me, and he just laughs along, and when he's gone... and I notice him staring down at her cleavage... she just acts like it was no big deal. "Just part of business, being friendly," she says, but it looked like he wanted to fuck her.
I ask "You wouldn't, right?"
"No, of course not. It's just easier to get along with guys if they think there's a chance."
That fucking burned me. Like I didn't even know who I was talking to. And it was still bothering me by Thanksgiving, and Shaun was cool enough to invite me over to his place and meet his wife (she's okay looking) but I also had to deal with Clara and Doug's parents. I didn't really wanna talk to anyone, I just wanted to sit around watching football.
At the end of the night, I'm out having a smoke when "mom" comes out. I expected her to give me some bullshit about quitting, but I guess she just accepts that her daughter does that. But what she did do was ask about the way I've been behaving all night, and I kinda dodge answering, because it's none of her business. And then she asks me this question:
"Are you taking your pills?"
And I'm like, what is there some kind of girl-pill I should be taking? What's the deal here? I'm all confused, until I get home and I start doing some digging and I find out Clara's on fucking anti-depressants. Xanax or Zoloft or whatever. I've never taken pills in my life, besides painkillers. She's depressed?? She never fucking mentioned that to me!!
So I'm freaking out, like is this my problem now? Did I get this from her? Like, it's not my problem, is it? Then I started looking it up online and I realized I had all these symptoms, which I figured were just from, you know, being turned into a fucking girl.
No, it turns out Clara was actually clinically depressed and now I probably am too. I went and saw the doctor and got a prescription, but I can't fucking afford the pills on the money I make at the snack bar.
I talked to Anthony about it, and she said she would lend me some money, but I would need to pay it back, and the only real way to do that is to throw myself into this modeling thing. So I either do something I really don't wanna do, or I feel shitty all the time.
So I've got the pills, but I haven't done any more modeling jobs. I haven't even taken any of the pills. I just look at them and I think "Is it really gonna make everything okay? Am I gonna take this pill and suddenly everything's gonna be all right and I'll feel okay about being a girl? Am I still gonna be me? Or am I just gonna start calling myself Clara and go on being girly?" I don't know. It was like this is the end of me. I couldn't bring myself to take them.
Tonight I had to get a ride home from my day job, but Anthony wasn't available. I could barely convince myself to call one of my housemates, because I feel like those people all hate me and think I'm an asshole, and I didn't want anything to do with them and I didn't think they'd want to help me.
But no, this one girl Leslie did end up helping me and seeming pretty happy to do it. We even went out for drinks. I was so fucking uncomfortable sitting with this girl, I didn't know what to say or where to look, but she was good at getting guys to leave us alone and she just kept talking. I wasn't really listening, but it was about a guy. And even though I wanted to throw up and die, I thought maybe if I get these pills, I can be this girl's friend, I can make this work. I can't keep living like this. Tomorrow I'm going to take the pill. It can't be any worse than this.
Friday, November 25, 2011
Anthony, "Charlotte" - A little of both.
After the reaction to his last post, Zane called me, on the verge of tears, which I found deeply unsettling. I'm not going to say he was always the most stable guy, but to have such an outward emotional reaction is pretty unlike him. Sleeping for days on end? That sounds like him, sure. But crying and ranting because someone on the internet hurt his feelings? I don't know.
Admittedly, our situations differ. I've been frustrated with him for not "getting with it," but I'm trying to be patient. I threw myself into Charlotte's work to cope, but unfortunately, her work primarily concerns Clara's modeling career. So my pressuring him probably hasn't helped. On our occasional lunch or coffee meetings, I've noticed she seems very blank. I also just noticed that I wrote "she" instead of "he," because I was thinking about her face, not my friend inside it. To me, "Zane-Clara" is a different person from the guy I've known since college.
I can sense, though, Zane is noticeably discomforted by the way she looks, and very paranoid about people looking at her. I've seen people glance at the both of us, but it just doesn't faze me the way it does her. Very self-conscious, which I imagine is a huge hindrance with me pushing her into this modeling thing. Given the risk to my friend and his sanity, I think I'm going to have to find her something else to do. I feel like I owe it to him to make this experience as good as it can be.
I do think it's not as bad as he imagines. I certainly don't feel traumatized by my new body or life. It requires a certain amount of upkeep and attention -- I'll let you imagine the details -- but I find the female lifestyle to be a bit of a fascinating project. It's remarkable what a woman has to do to succeed in this world, even (perhaps especially) in an industry dominated by women. When first arrived here, I was maybe not the warmest person, very reserved from having to adjust my lifestyle. I had to re-learn how to relate to people, to show personality, even "flirt" casually, without seeming overbearing, so that I wouldn't come off as inaccessible or "bitchy." It's so easy to pigeonhole a woman, even for other women, that navigating the minefield of office politics has been... difficult, yet perversely thrilling. I guess, if I had to explain the difference between my experience and Zane's it's that I'm the type of person who rises to a challenge, and he's the type who shrinks away. That's how we started in the same place, and I was a vice-president for a corporation, whereas he spent a lot of time scrubbing dishes and delivering packages.
It's hard to blame Zane for not wanting the burden of looking sexy, even in street clothes, let alone being dressed up like a doll for money. I think to some degree, he's feeling aware of how he objectified women in the past, and is having a hard time with this shift in perception now that he's the one with the breasts. Keep in mind, this is a man who believed women wore thongs, high heels and low-cut tops for their own enjoyment.
That said, we have one point of agreement. I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of men being attracted to me. Admittedly, while I have certain appealing attributes, I'm not "model-calibre" the way Clara is. I'm a fair bit freer to disregard male attention. I wouldn't rule out some sort of relationship, as being a hermit is patently boring, but I'm still in love with the woman I was dating in my real life, whom I still hope to return to.
I look at it this way: real women have a lifetime of experience with these bodies, with their roles in society, and even then it's not considered normal just to go along and be what everyone says you should be. A lot of them have problems with their bodies and what they're told they can be. I'm not saying Zane's reaction is typical, or not exaggerated, but I completely understand his lack of desire to conform. That said, I still wish he would figure himself out a bit more. Maybe he will never "enjoy" his time as a woman, but there must be some way to help him tolerate it, reach a level of temporary acceptance as I have.
Admittedly, our situations differ. I've been frustrated with him for not "getting with it," but I'm trying to be patient. I threw myself into Charlotte's work to cope, but unfortunately, her work primarily concerns Clara's modeling career. So my pressuring him probably hasn't helped. On our occasional lunch or coffee meetings, I've noticed she seems very blank. I also just noticed that I wrote "she" instead of "he," because I was thinking about her face, not my friend inside it. To me, "Zane-Clara" is a different person from the guy I've known since college.
I can sense, though, Zane is noticeably discomforted by the way she looks, and very paranoid about people looking at her. I've seen people glance at the both of us, but it just doesn't faze me the way it does her. Very self-conscious, which I imagine is a huge hindrance with me pushing her into this modeling thing. Given the risk to my friend and his sanity, I think I'm going to have to find her something else to do. I feel like I owe it to him to make this experience as good as it can be.
I do think it's not as bad as he imagines. I certainly don't feel traumatized by my new body or life. It requires a certain amount of upkeep and attention -- I'll let you imagine the details -- but I find the female lifestyle to be a bit of a fascinating project. It's remarkable what a woman has to do to succeed in this world, even (perhaps especially) in an industry dominated by women. When first arrived here, I was maybe not the warmest person, very reserved from having to adjust my lifestyle. I had to re-learn how to relate to people, to show personality, even "flirt" casually, without seeming overbearing, so that I wouldn't come off as inaccessible or "bitchy." It's so easy to pigeonhole a woman, even for other women, that navigating the minefield of office politics has been... difficult, yet perversely thrilling. I guess, if I had to explain the difference between my experience and Zane's it's that I'm the type of person who rises to a challenge, and he's the type who shrinks away. That's how we started in the same place, and I was a vice-president for a corporation, whereas he spent a lot of time scrubbing dishes and delivering packages.
It's hard to blame Zane for not wanting the burden of looking sexy, even in street clothes, let alone being dressed up like a doll for money. I think to some degree, he's feeling aware of how he objectified women in the past, and is having a hard time with this shift in perception now that he's the one with the breasts. Keep in mind, this is a man who believed women wore thongs, high heels and low-cut tops for their own enjoyment.
That said, we have one point of agreement. I'm not entirely comfortable with the idea of men being attracted to me. Admittedly, while I have certain appealing attributes, I'm not "model-calibre" the way Clara is. I'm a fair bit freer to disregard male attention. I wouldn't rule out some sort of relationship, as being a hermit is patently boring, but I'm still in love with the woman I was dating in my real life, whom I still hope to return to.
I look at it this way: real women have a lifetime of experience with these bodies, with their roles in society, and even then it's not considered normal just to go along and be what everyone says you should be. A lot of them have problems with their bodies and what they're told they can be. I'm not saying Zane's reaction is typical, or not exaggerated, but I completely understand his lack of desire to conform. That said, I still wish he would figure himself out a bit more. Maybe he will never "enjoy" his time as a woman, but there must be some way to help him tolerate it, reach a level of temporary acceptance as I have.
Monday, November 14, 2011
Zane (Clara): Like prison
A few years ago, I got caught driving drunk and had to spend a night in the tank. For a while I thought that would be the worst night of my life, but every night since Maine has really topped that.
I still hate this. I hate pretty much everything about my life right now, starting with the fact that I can't talk to anybody. I don't like going on the computer, so I've written a lot of my thoughts down. I was gonna just write them, but I don't feel like it.
People look at me funny. And by that I mean, they look at me. I work at the snack bar, guys stare at my tits while they talk to me. And I mean, I get it, I love tits, but... why do they have to be mine? I hate dressing in these stupid girl-clothes. I used to wear the same pair of boxers for like two weeks, but I feel totally wrong wearing the same panties twice in a row. I hate tight shorts and I hate dresses and skirts and I hate bras. I hate how, if I don't wear a bra, you can totally see my tits jiggle. I hate feeling my tits jiggle! I hate waking up with hair in my mouth. I hate being around men because I know what they're thinking, and I hate being around women because... I don't know, I think they're jealous of my looks, or they judge me because I'm "hot" even though I don't try and I don't want to be.
I just wanna give up and stay in my room until this all blows over. Honestly, that's what I do most of the time. I'm in hiding, or I'm in prison. I sit around in my room watching TV, trying to forget what I look like. I can't talk to anyone because they want to talk to the girl I look like, not me. The house where Clara lives is full of performing arts people, and they are all really annoying sometimes, like this bitch that practices her guitar at all goddamned hours of the morning.
I've been trying. Sometimes, really. They wanted me for one job, because Clara had dancing training, but I can't actually dance, so I had to take that off her resume. Anthony suggested I take lessons to try to fake my way through to her level, but I'm not into that. He's really freaking me out. When I do see him, he's really pushing the modeling thing, and I... I don't see or hear my friend when I talk to him I just see some lady, and I'm just like "why is this bitch all up in my face?" Plus, I'm starving, but I never want to eat. What the fuck.
I shouldn't be mad. The few modeling jobs I've done, I liked fine. I wouldn't mind doing more of it, it's just... I hate being looked at like that, so that makes it hard. It pays good. I shouldn't quit.
Sorry, this is all rambling. I don't even know.
I still hate this. I hate pretty much everything about my life right now, starting with the fact that I can't talk to anybody. I don't like going on the computer, so I've written a lot of my thoughts down. I was gonna just write them, but I don't feel like it.
People look at me funny. And by that I mean, they look at me. I work at the snack bar, guys stare at my tits while they talk to me. And I mean, I get it, I love tits, but... why do they have to be mine? I hate dressing in these stupid girl-clothes. I used to wear the same pair of boxers for like two weeks, but I feel totally wrong wearing the same panties twice in a row. I hate tight shorts and I hate dresses and skirts and I hate bras. I hate how, if I don't wear a bra, you can totally see my tits jiggle. I hate feeling my tits jiggle! I hate waking up with hair in my mouth. I hate being around men because I know what they're thinking, and I hate being around women because... I don't know, I think they're jealous of my looks, or they judge me because I'm "hot" even though I don't try and I don't want to be.
I just wanna give up and stay in my room until this all blows over. Honestly, that's what I do most of the time. I'm in hiding, or I'm in prison. I sit around in my room watching TV, trying to forget what I look like. I can't talk to anyone because they want to talk to the girl I look like, not me. The house where Clara lives is full of performing arts people, and they are all really annoying sometimes, like this bitch that practices her guitar at all goddamned hours of the morning.
I've been trying. Sometimes, really. They wanted me for one job, because Clara had dancing training, but I can't actually dance, so I had to take that off her resume. Anthony suggested I take lessons to try to fake my way through to her level, but I'm not into that. He's really freaking me out. When I do see him, he's really pushing the modeling thing, and I... I don't see or hear my friend when I talk to him I just see some lady, and I'm just like "why is this bitch all up in my face?" Plus, I'm starving, but I never want to eat. What the fuck.
I shouldn't be mad. The few modeling jobs I've done, I liked fine. I wouldn't mind doing more of it, it's just... I hate being looked at like that, so that makes it hard. It pays good. I shouldn't quit.
Sorry, this is all rambling. I don't even know.
Friday, October 21, 2011
Zane in Clara's Body: Checking in
It's not easy to forget about being in a girl's body. It's a little easier to forget about writing about it, since the last thing I want to do after standing around all day looking like this is sit back and write about it. Then sometimes I think I should say something because it'll help, but then I get tired of trying.
I guess it doesn't totally suck. I mean it's just a body. Two legs, two eyes. Not big or strong. Can't pee standing up. Hard to get comfy lying around with tits flopping up. I don't hate them I guess. Mostly they just hang there looking nice but being useless. I'd like 'em a lot better on someone else.
I'm supposed to be a model. Clara's supposed to be starting a career. But that's not me, I don't know anything about being beautiful and I don't really want to try. But Anthony keeps telling me to work on it. Clara has a portfolio full of her photos of herself. Some of them are really arty, some of them are just hot. She looks like a totally different person from the girl I see in the mirror when I wake up. I can see a lot of work goes into making even a hot chick like Clara into one of those girls in the photos. It's an attitude, and I don't have it.
I've been to two photoshoots in the last month. One, they wanted me to wear a bikini, which I guess is whatever, okay, it's like sitting around in my underwear anyway, and what do I care if people see this body half-dressed? But they sent me away because my tan was uneven, since I've been in the sun a lot for my other job. I thought they had computers for that shit. Also, I forgot to shave my legs and stuff. Whatever.
The other one I actually got to stay fully dressed, and just lean on the hood of a car. The photographer kept getting mad at me and telling me to "loosen up" and "have more fun." I'm trying to look and act like those photos but I guess something's still missing. They didn't end up using my photos, so I got paid like fifty bucks and shoved out the door. Anthony is not happy with my work, but what can I say? I never learned how to model. Sue me.
The rest of the time I'm working at the stupid snack bar on the beach. God, what is that place. It's still blazing hot and it's almost Halloween. Hot chicks traipsing around in bikinis and yet still guys come over to talk to me. One thing I'm getting better at is showing them I'm not interested without having to yell at them to fuck off. Still it's hard not to attract them. The shirt they make me wear is low cut, and the shorts are so high they ride up my buttcrack. Real attractive. I don't know why real girls like dressing this way.
It's fucked up, though. I'm sleepy all the time. A couple weeks ago I yelled at a guy to stop staring at my tits and fuck off, and my manager said any more outbursts like that and I'd be fired, which sucks because I need this job. I had to borrow money from Anthony to make Clara's rent this month. Oh, man remind me to tell you about some of the people I'm living with sometime. Bunch of fucking characters they are. Whatever, I don't wanna talk about it right now.
I guess it doesn't totally suck. I mean it's just a body. Two legs, two eyes. Not big or strong. Can't pee standing up. Hard to get comfy lying around with tits flopping up. I don't hate them I guess. Mostly they just hang there looking nice but being useless. I'd like 'em a lot better on someone else.
I'm supposed to be a model. Clara's supposed to be starting a career. But that's not me, I don't know anything about being beautiful and I don't really want to try. But Anthony keeps telling me to work on it. Clara has a portfolio full of her photos of herself. Some of them are really arty, some of them are just hot. She looks like a totally different person from the girl I see in the mirror when I wake up. I can see a lot of work goes into making even a hot chick like Clara into one of those girls in the photos. It's an attitude, and I don't have it.
I've been to two photoshoots in the last month. One, they wanted me to wear a bikini, which I guess is whatever, okay, it's like sitting around in my underwear anyway, and what do I care if people see this body half-dressed? But they sent me away because my tan was uneven, since I've been in the sun a lot for my other job. I thought they had computers for that shit. Also, I forgot to shave my legs and stuff. Whatever.
The other one I actually got to stay fully dressed, and just lean on the hood of a car. The photographer kept getting mad at me and telling me to "loosen up" and "have more fun." I'm trying to look and act like those photos but I guess something's still missing. They didn't end up using my photos, so I got paid like fifty bucks and shoved out the door. Anthony is not happy with my work, but what can I say? I never learned how to model. Sue me.
The rest of the time I'm working at the stupid snack bar on the beach. God, what is that place. It's still blazing hot and it's almost Halloween. Hot chicks traipsing around in bikinis and yet still guys come over to talk to me. One thing I'm getting better at is showing them I'm not interested without having to yell at them to fuck off. Still it's hard not to attract them. The shirt they make me wear is low cut, and the shorts are so high they ride up my buttcrack. Real attractive. I don't know why real girls like dressing this way.
It's fucked up, though. I'm sleepy all the time. A couple weeks ago I yelled at a guy to stop staring at my tits and fuck off, and my manager said any more outbursts like that and I'd be fired, which sucks because I need this job. I had to borrow money from Anthony to make Clara's rent this month. Oh, man remind me to tell you about some of the people I'm living with sometime. Bunch of fucking characters they are. Whatever, I don't wanna talk about it right now.
Friday, September 02, 2011
Zane (Clara): Food for thought
Aside from being a model, Clara left me a job working at a snack bar on the pier. Since that doesn't involve posing for photos or looking like a girl (more than I already do) I've chosen to spend pretty much all my time here doing that. The hours aren't much and the pay is crap, but I think annoying flirty customers are still better than what I imagine modeling is like. Standing around looking pretty isn't really my thing.
Meanwhile, when I'm not working (which is usually) I'm cooped up in my room sitting on this laptop lurking my old self on Facebook. Whoever he is he hasn't got back to me yet which is weird and annoying and a little scary.
I try to avoid my housemates. I don't know any of them, I don't have anything to say to them, and I'm embarrassed enough walking around like this. I don't want too many people seeing me and thinking I'm Clara, that I like looking this way, that it's who I am. I hole up in my room and I try to eat, but I don't know anything about vegan diets, so I end up eating, like, crackers and fruit and salads. I'm really nervous that eating anything else will make me sick (not that this diet is making me feel like a million bucks.) I'm starting to feel claustrophobic anytime I'm in this room. I'm locked up in here with myself. Or really, with this girl I look like. I sleep a lot. I'm going crazy.
Then one weekend I hear a knock on the door and in barges this woman. It took me a minute before I remember it's Anthony, in Charlotte's body. She asks what the hell exactly was going on with me, ignoring phone calls and e-mails. I've been pretty much off communication with anyone. I forgot this blog even existed. Otherwise I mightve said something.
She basically drags me out of the house and says we're going for a drive. She asks how I am and I mutter "fine" and try to get off the topic. Anth's not really interested in "fine" though because he goes deeper. "I know you're not taking this well. I need you to know where I'm at." Okay, I said, lay it on me.
"I got my dick taken away, same as you," she says. "I wake up in the morning sore as fuck because I'm lugging around a set of tits twice the size of yours and sitting on my ass at an office doing bitch work because guess what... my job? It's to take care of you. Charlotte is a glorified executive assistant. Her one client as an agent was Clara Green, who suddenly decided she wasn't interested in following up on any of the offers she's gotten."
"Offers?"
"Yeah, one or two trickle in here and there. They let Charlotte have a chance to handle Clara as a test case, to transition from assistant to full agent. Guess what. It's not going well."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but it's not my problem."
"No, it's not," she admits, "You didn't ask to be Clara, and I didn't ask to be Charlotte. But we're sort of past that right now. There's someone out there, I don't even know who, doing my job, and I don't want him to fuck it up. Have you read this blog? There's half a chance we can go back, and if it works out, I don't want to leave CeeCee in the lurch any more than my real life would."
"So what?" I say, "I doubt the new me could do a worse job than I did, being me."
"That's kind of my point, Zane," she says. "No offense Zane, but there's a good chance that whoever's out there living your life is doing a better job than you. What if they get confident and lock you out? That happens too. You can't fall back into your old habits. Remember when you got fired from driving a delivery truck because you were always getting high on the job? For fuck's sake, dude, don't waste two lives."
I sit there, steaming. I know I have it coming, but I was not up to facing this yes. Maybe ever. I want to say I was happy scraping by living the bare minimum as Clara, but I wasn't. My first paycheck as her was about a hundred and fifty bucks. Suddenly I see the appeal of being paid to look pretty.
We wound up at a coffee place and the mood lightened a bit. "Promise me you'll think about it," she reasoned. "I know you have a hard time accepting charity, so just consider this an opportunity to help yourself and help others."
We get off the topic of my fucked-up life and start comparing notes on girliness. I look like a slop, in a t-shirt and shorts and flip flops. Anthony has taken the time to learn how to dress as a woman, has his hair looking nice, walks really confidently in heels. I have a hard time looking her in the eyes and seeing my old buddy.
"It's amazing what you learn to do when you have to actually leave the house every day," she says with a grin. "You find yourself in the water, you learn to swim quickly."
It wasn't until she dropped me back off at home that I sat down and realized how fucked up our situation really is. He was really in love with his girlfriend, had a great job, stands to lose a lot if the "new" him either fucks u, or decides to steal it all away from him.
I started drafting an e-mail to Clara, asking what exactly I had to do to "be a model."
Meanwhile, when I'm not working (which is usually) I'm cooped up in my room sitting on this laptop lurking my old self on Facebook. Whoever he is he hasn't got back to me yet which is weird and annoying and a little scary.
I try to avoid my housemates. I don't know any of them, I don't have anything to say to them, and I'm embarrassed enough walking around like this. I don't want too many people seeing me and thinking I'm Clara, that I like looking this way, that it's who I am. I hole up in my room and I try to eat, but I don't know anything about vegan diets, so I end up eating, like, crackers and fruit and salads. I'm really nervous that eating anything else will make me sick (not that this diet is making me feel like a million bucks.) I'm starting to feel claustrophobic anytime I'm in this room. I'm locked up in here with myself. Or really, with this girl I look like. I sleep a lot. I'm going crazy.
Then one weekend I hear a knock on the door and in barges this woman. It took me a minute before I remember it's Anthony, in Charlotte's body. She asks what the hell exactly was going on with me, ignoring phone calls and e-mails. I've been pretty much off communication with anyone. I forgot this blog even existed. Otherwise I mightve said something.
She basically drags me out of the house and says we're going for a drive. She asks how I am and I mutter "fine" and try to get off the topic. Anth's not really interested in "fine" though because he goes deeper. "I know you're not taking this well. I need you to know where I'm at." Okay, I said, lay it on me.
"I got my dick taken away, same as you," she says. "I wake up in the morning sore as fuck because I'm lugging around a set of tits twice the size of yours and sitting on my ass at an office doing bitch work because guess what... my job? It's to take care of you. Charlotte is a glorified executive assistant. Her one client as an agent was Clara Green, who suddenly decided she wasn't interested in following up on any of the offers she's gotten."
"Offers?"
"Yeah, one or two trickle in here and there. They let Charlotte have a chance to handle Clara as a test case, to transition from assistant to full agent. Guess what. It's not going well."
"I'm sorry to hear that, but it's not my problem."
"No, it's not," she admits, "You didn't ask to be Clara, and I didn't ask to be Charlotte. But we're sort of past that right now. There's someone out there, I don't even know who, doing my job, and I don't want him to fuck it up. Have you read this blog? There's half a chance we can go back, and if it works out, I don't want to leave CeeCee in the lurch any more than my real life would."
"So what?" I say, "I doubt the new me could do a worse job than I did, being me."
"That's kind of my point, Zane," she says. "No offense Zane, but there's a good chance that whoever's out there living your life is doing a better job than you. What if they get confident and lock you out? That happens too. You can't fall back into your old habits. Remember when you got fired from driving a delivery truck because you were always getting high on the job? For fuck's sake, dude, don't waste two lives."
I sit there, steaming. I know I have it coming, but I was not up to facing this yes. Maybe ever. I want to say I was happy scraping by living the bare minimum as Clara, but I wasn't. My first paycheck as her was about a hundred and fifty bucks. Suddenly I see the appeal of being paid to look pretty.
We wound up at a coffee place and the mood lightened a bit. "Promise me you'll think about it," she reasoned. "I know you have a hard time accepting charity, so just consider this an opportunity to help yourself and help others."
We get off the topic of my fucked-up life and start comparing notes on girliness. I look like a slop, in a t-shirt and shorts and flip flops. Anthony has taken the time to learn how to dress as a woman, has his hair looking nice, walks really confidently in heels. I have a hard time looking her in the eyes and seeing my old buddy.
"It's amazing what you learn to do when you have to actually leave the house every day," she says with a grin. "You find yourself in the water, you learn to swim quickly."
It wasn't until she dropped me back off at home that I sat down and realized how fucked up our situation really is. He was really in love with his girlfriend, had a great job, stands to lose a lot if the "new" him either fucks u, or decides to steal it all away from him.
I started drafting an e-mail to Clara, asking what exactly I had to do to "be a model."
Monday, August 22, 2011
Zane (Clara): Going to California
The transformation made me sick. I barely even remember getting my wits together to write that last post. I was on bedrest, throwing up, being tended to by my friends. I didn't understand what had happened to me, exhausted and dizzy.
Anthony later said he thought it was because of the shock of going from being Zane to being "Clara." I had been drinking heavily, and Clara's body is small and used to a vegan diet, and maybe the stuff I had put into my own body needed to be filtered out by whatever magical process transformed us. I don't know, it sounds as good of a theory as anything.
Anthony's a good guy, and when I could face him I told him flat out I didn't want to be "Clara." He reminded me I didn't have much of a choice. If he knew how to go back to his own body right away, he would. But we're stuck in these ones for now. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said "I'm going to be the best girl I can, because that's all I can do." I'm jealous of his confidence. I don't feel like I can pull this off, and I really don't want to have to.
Shaun and Lisa have it easy, they're still the same type of person they started out as. Shaun's taller than he used to be, a young, mid-20's decent-looking guy who looks like he has his life together: "Doug," my "brother." Lisa is a pretty young girl, like 18 or so, with long dark hair and a pretty nice body and Greek-looking features. "Eve."
Anthony ended up as "Eve's" sister, "Charlotte." She's about ten years older. The two of them are short, but Charlotte is curvier. I wouldn't say "fat" but she's got a huge bum, hips and big round boobs. I wonder what it would be like to be a girl like that, instead of a twig like Clara. She's pretty, too, I really like her face. Anthony has to wear glasses as her, though.
It's just so strange looking at these strangers and trying to see the people I know inside them. Lisa and Shaun have been quiet, but Anthony as always is a flurry of activity, arranging all of our ways home, keeping our shit together, reminding us who we are supposed to be. Then the fateful day came: "Okay, guys. We're flying to California."
I had put the finishing touches on my "My Life" letter, wondering if I'd ever be myself again... Anthony's read this blog and says it's possible, so I shouldn't give up hope. I didn't have a lot to say about myself, so I'm worried someone will just walk into my life and make it better and not want to leave. At the same time I can't just tell them "Keep collecting unemployment checks and applying for crappy jobs I didn't really want." Sorry, for a second there I felt like a loser.
I was a wreck for the flight out to California. Then I saw where I'll be living. It's like one of those reality TV houses, a big one not far from the beach, which Clara shares with 5 others. Anthony drove me home in Charlotte's car and led me up to my new room... clever guy, he asked one of Clara's housemates, "Hey, she's really a mess which room is hers?" so I wouldn't look totally clueless.
Before I knew it, a day had passed. I woke up the next morning and it still felt like someone was playing a joke on me... that I was only imagining I had this body, that I'm still a guy, I just can't feel my dick for some reason. I slipped my hand into my underpants, and... nothing but smooth flesh and a pair of soft lips.
Suddenly, I sat upright. Everything was real. This whole thing was happening whether I liked it or not. And I wish that meant this revelation meant I suddenly felt capable of living as Clara, but all it really meant was that I was finally capable of facing her in the mirror. I hadn't showered or cleaned myself in anyway since I was a guy and I felt rotten.
I peeked my head out the door and timidly tried every door until I found the washroom. I locked myself inside. I was in a white tee shirt and shorts. I've been nude in this body, but I hadn't really noticed it. I began to pace, hesitating at what I was about to do.
I stripped off the top and looked down. There they were, pointing outwards, a couple of firm, perky breasts blocking my view. I felt up under them with the palms of my hands, ran my fingers over their nipples. A shiver went up inside me. It's like... the most sensitive touch I've ever felt. Nothing in my old body would have sensed a feeling like that.
My eyes turned upward and faced the mirror, to the girl standing across from me cupping her breasts. I stepped closer and leaned over the sink to get a better look, feeling the flesh of my breasts hang low off me. I opened and closed my mouth, to remind myself I was in control of the girl in the mirror... mouthing, "Wow..." not at my looks, but just at... at the feeling of looking at someone else's body through their own eyes. Of being someone else. Of being in control of this.
I moved my one hand up to brush my hair behind my ear. I'm tanned, fairly evenly, with a few freckles, with sun-streaked sandy blonde hair over my ears. My eyes are deep blue, with a petite little nose beneath them, and rounded little lips. It was my biggest fear... Clara really is hot.
My mind flew back to the letter she left with her luggage, the novella she wrote about her life... she's a model, only part time but hoping to make it big. She's a goddamned model and even if she's not, like, 7 feet tall and stacked, she's still prettier than the average girl and seems to make a living being hot.
I turned the shower on full blast of cold, whipped my shorts down and climbed in, letting the water wash over my back. I just wanted to get numb again.
I got good and wet, ran my fingers through my hair, then shut the water off. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it under my arms, bundling my tits up and tiptoeing back to my room to hide from the world.
More later.
-Zane
Anthony later said he thought it was because of the shock of going from being Zane to being "Clara." I had been drinking heavily, and Clara's body is small and used to a vegan diet, and maybe the stuff I had put into my own body needed to be filtered out by whatever magical process transformed us. I don't know, it sounds as good of a theory as anything.
Anthony's a good guy, and when I could face him I told him flat out I didn't want to be "Clara." He reminded me I didn't have much of a choice. If he knew how to go back to his own body right away, he would. But we're stuck in these ones for now. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said "I'm going to be the best girl I can, because that's all I can do." I'm jealous of his confidence. I don't feel like I can pull this off, and I really don't want to have to.
Shaun and Lisa have it easy, they're still the same type of person they started out as. Shaun's taller than he used to be, a young, mid-20's decent-looking guy who looks like he has his life together: "Doug," my "brother." Lisa is a pretty young girl, like 18 or so, with long dark hair and a pretty nice body and Greek-looking features. "Eve."
Anthony ended up as "Eve's" sister, "Charlotte." She's about ten years older. The two of them are short, but Charlotte is curvier. I wouldn't say "fat" but she's got a huge bum, hips and big round boobs. I wonder what it would be like to be a girl like that, instead of a twig like Clara. She's pretty, too, I really like her face. Anthony has to wear glasses as her, though.
It's just so strange looking at these strangers and trying to see the people I know inside them. Lisa and Shaun have been quiet, but Anthony as always is a flurry of activity, arranging all of our ways home, keeping our shit together, reminding us who we are supposed to be. Then the fateful day came: "Okay, guys. We're flying to California."
I had put the finishing touches on my "My Life" letter, wondering if I'd ever be myself again... Anthony's read this blog and says it's possible, so I shouldn't give up hope. I didn't have a lot to say about myself, so I'm worried someone will just walk into my life and make it better and not want to leave. At the same time I can't just tell them "Keep collecting unemployment checks and applying for crappy jobs I didn't really want." Sorry, for a second there I felt like a loser.
I was a wreck for the flight out to California. Then I saw where I'll be living. It's like one of those reality TV houses, a big one not far from the beach, which Clara shares with 5 others. Anthony drove me home in Charlotte's car and led me up to my new room... clever guy, he asked one of Clara's housemates, "Hey, she's really a mess which room is hers?" so I wouldn't look totally clueless.
Before I knew it, a day had passed. I woke up the next morning and it still felt like someone was playing a joke on me... that I was only imagining I had this body, that I'm still a guy, I just can't feel my dick for some reason. I slipped my hand into my underpants, and... nothing but smooth flesh and a pair of soft lips.
Suddenly, I sat upright. Everything was real. This whole thing was happening whether I liked it or not. And I wish that meant this revelation meant I suddenly felt capable of living as Clara, but all it really meant was that I was finally capable of facing her in the mirror. I hadn't showered or cleaned myself in anyway since I was a guy and I felt rotten.
I peeked my head out the door and timidly tried every door until I found the washroom. I locked myself inside. I was in a white tee shirt and shorts. I've been nude in this body, but I hadn't really noticed it. I began to pace, hesitating at what I was about to do.
I stripped off the top and looked down. There they were, pointing outwards, a couple of firm, perky breasts blocking my view. I felt up under them with the palms of my hands, ran my fingers over their nipples. A shiver went up inside me. It's like... the most sensitive touch I've ever felt. Nothing in my old body would have sensed a feeling like that.
My eyes turned upward and faced the mirror, to the girl standing across from me cupping her breasts. I stepped closer and leaned over the sink to get a better look, feeling the flesh of my breasts hang low off me. I opened and closed my mouth, to remind myself I was in control of the girl in the mirror... mouthing, "Wow..." not at my looks, but just at... at the feeling of looking at someone else's body through their own eyes. Of being someone else. Of being in control of this.
I moved my one hand up to brush my hair behind my ear. I'm tanned, fairly evenly, with a few freckles, with sun-streaked sandy blonde hair over my ears. My eyes are deep blue, with a petite little nose beneath them, and rounded little lips. It was my biggest fear... Clara really is hot.
My mind flew back to the letter she left with her luggage, the novella she wrote about her life... she's a model, only part time but hoping to make it big. She's a goddamned model and even if she's not, like, 7 feet tall and stacked, she's still prettier than the average girl and seems to make a living being hot.
I turned the shower on full blast of cold, whipped my shorts down and climbed in, letting the water wash over my back. I just wanted to get numb again.
I got good and wet, ran my fingers through my hair, then shut the water off. I grabbed a towel and wrapped it under my arms, bundling my tits up and tiptoeing back to my room to hide from the world.
More later.
-Zane
Monday, August 15, 2011
Lisa: Eve
I didn't ask for this did I?
Okay, I feel shitty, like I don't have a right to complain because, look at what just happened to two of my best friends. To be honest, I'm kinda jealous of them, because if you had to be someone else, wouldn't it at least be interest to turn into the opposite sex? They get to learn so much. What do I get? A big reset on my life. They're at least in control. If I have to be "Eve Christopoulos" I have to go to school, live in a dorm with other people and basically give up control.
Okay, my real life isn't anything to be jealous of, but I'm worried I'm just gonna tread over the same path as I did before. Maybe I'll make the most of this opportunity. Maybe I'll waste it. I don't feel good. I don't want to get this girl stuck in a rut but I have no idea how to do things differently.
But we're all sort of forming a support system for each other. Shaun stands on his own... regular guy as regular guy, a shoulder for me to lean on. Zane leans on Anthony: Anthony seems to have the "girl" thing in hand, or at least is hiding his own panic well. He's such a "together" guy that losing his body barely flapped him. Anthony has me to look to as a role model, if he needs it. We sat down and he asked me some very forthright questions about what to expect. I gave him my best answers on how to treat his body. We're sisters now. "Charlotte's" Blackberry was already exploding. We need to get to California pronto, it seems.
To say nothing of the rest of the people here, meeting new "spouses" or saying goodbye to their own loved ones. We're one party that became another party. That's... something to be grateful for I guess.
Then I look back over at Zane and I think how dumb it is for me to complain. Sorry, buddy. I'm here for ya.
Okay, I feel shitty, like I don't have a right to complain because, look at what just happened to two of my best friends. To be honest, I'm kinda jealous of them, because if you had to be someone else, wouldn't it at least be interest to turn into the opposite sex? They get to learn so much. What do I get? A big reset on my life. They're at least in control. If I have to be "Eve Christopoulos" I have to go to school, live in a dorm with other people and basically give up control.
Okay, my real life isn't anything to be jealous of, but I'm worried I'm just gonna tread over the same path as I did before. Maybe I'll make the most of this opportunity. Maybe I'll waste it. I don't feel good. I don't want to get this girl stuck in a rut but I have no idea how to do things differently.
But we're all sort of forming a support system for each other. Shaun stands on his own... regular guy as regular guy, a shoulder for me to lean on. Zane leans on Anthony: Anthony seems to have the "girl" thing in hand, or at least is hiding his own panic well. He's such a "together" guy that losing his body barely flapped him. Anthony has me to look to as a role model, if he needs it. We sat down and he asked me some very forthright questions about what to expect. I gave him my best answers on how to treat his body. We're sisters now. "Charlotte's" Blackberry was already exploding. We need to get to California pronto, it seems.
To say nothing of the rest of the people here, meeting new "spouses" or saying goodbye to their own loved ones. We're one party that became another party. That's... something to be grateful for I guess.
Then I look back over at Zane and I think how dumb it is for me to complain. Sorry, buddy. I'm here for ya.
Thursday, August 11, 2011
Anthony: Straightening out the chaos
None of us can seem to put this situation into words. Having pored over this blog for the past couple of days, I sense you all have as good of an understanding as you can as to what has just happened to us. I wish we had had any sort of warning, but how can you? Especially since, so they say, anyone told about the curse will be in disbelief.
I was running in control mode all day Sunday. Realizing my body had changed, I suppose, sent me into a headspace of solving problems and making sure everything was OK with my friends. I knew I was a female now, but I didn't let that register with me until it was okay to indulge a little personal panic. I had to keep calm for everyone else. The first thing I did was check on Zane. He was understandably freaks. He had been changed, like me, into a girl. At first I thought all of us had been changed into opposite-gendered bodies, but when I visited Shaun and Lisa, I found that was not the case. And so the mystery of the Trading Post Inn began to unravel. Before long it was something we could wrap our heads around.
That doesn't mean I like it, but I can't deal with that right now. Before I can worry about myself, I need assurance that everyone is healthy and safe and... I don't know, adjusting, if need be.
After I confirmed what had happened with Shaun and Lisa, we went about figuring out the missing pieces of our "new lives." Lisa and I have wound up in the bodies of a pair of sisters, albeit ones separated by ten years. Lisa is a girl named Eve, who is going into her first year at college. "Doug" you already know about, and Zane is his "sister," a woman named Clara.
I've been keeping an eye on him. For the first day he didn't move much, probably as much due to hangover as to shock and not wanting to "deal with it." Finally, when he drifted back asleep I sneaked back to my own room.
I was reluctant to go rooting through this woman's luggage, but I knew nothing I had was going to fit me. Her figure is very... womanly and I was embarrassed to stay in my own clothes as long as I did because it must have looked pathetic. Even so, I had a hard time imagining myself picking out an outfit.
Her name is Charlotte Christopoulos, "Ceecee," a junior modelling agent. Clearly not a model herself. When I finally got a look at myself naked, I was not thrilled.
I don't want to use the word "fat." I'm a sensitive guy and I know that women come in all shapes. "Fat" implies there's a giant gut bulging out, just rolls everywhere. "Curvy" is the correct term... she's got a bit of a belly curving over the waistband of the underpants, and a very wide set of hips... a big bum to sit on... but that's what they say "real women" are supposed to look like, isn't it? It comes with a very large set of boobs hanging down, blocking my view of my feet. When I found a bra to wear, the cups were 34-F's. And I think it may be too small. I wedged my tits in and they really felt like they were on display... I really understand why they call it a "rack."
I tried to squeeze myself into a set of jean-shorts, but that wasn't comfortable... they rode up in the front which is not only tight, but unnatural feeling for me as I'm used to that area featuring very different geography, of course.
With a sigh, I switched out for a skirt and tanktop, walking and sitting awkwardly the rest of the day. Zane took a look at me and asked how I could be wearing these clothes, and I said there wasn't much option and he was going to have to deal with it sooner than later. Weakly, he looked up at me and asked, his voice taking a girlish tone, "Is it gonna be okay?"
I nodded, "Yeah, I think so," not sure whether I believed it.
I was running in control mode all day Sunday. Realizing my body had changed, I suppose, sent me into a headspace of solving problems and making sure everything was OK with my friends. I knew I was a female now, but I didn't let that register with me until it was okay to indulge a little personal panic. I had to keep calm for everyone else. The first thing I did was check on Zane. He was understandably freaks. He had been changed, like me, into a girl. At first I thought all of us had been changed into opposite-gendered bodies, but when I visited Shaun and Lisa, I found that was not the case. And so the mystery of the Trading Post Inn began to unravel. Before long it was something we could wrap our heads around.
That doesn't mean I like it, but I can't deal with that right now. Before I can worry about myself, I need assurance that everyone is healthy and safe and... I don't know, adjusting, if need be.
After I confirmed what had happened with Shaun and Lisa, we went about figuring out the missing pieces of our "new lives." Lisa and I have wound up in the bodies of a pair of sisters, albeit ones separated by ten years. Lisa is a girl named Eve, who is going into her first year at college. "Doug" you already know about, and Zane is his "sister," a woman named Clara.
I've been keeping an eye on him. For the first day he didn't move much, probably as much due to hangover as to shock and not wanting to "deal with it." Finally, when he drifted back asleep I sneaked back to my own room.
I was reluctant to go rooting through this woman's luggage, but I knew nothing I had was going to fit me. Her figure is very... womanly and I was embarrassed to stay in my own clothes as long as I did because it must have looked pathetic. Even so, I had a hard time imagining myself picking out an outfit.
Her name is Charlotte Christopoulos, "Ceecee," a junior modelling agent. Clearly not a model herself. When I finally got a look at myself naked, I was not thrilled.
I don't want to use the word "fat." I'm a sensitive guy and I know that women come in all shapes. "Fat" implies there's a giant gut bulging out, just rolls everywhere. "Curvy" is the correct term... she's got a bit of a belly curving over the waistband of the underpants, and a very wide set of hips... a big bum to sit on... but that's what they say "real women" are supposed to look like, isn't it? It comes with a very large set of boobs hanging down, blocking my view of my feet. When I found a bra to wear, the cups were 34-F's. And I think it may be too small. I wedged my tits in and they really felt like they were on display... I really understand why they call it a "rack."
I tried to squeeze myself into a set of jean-shorts, but that wasn't comfortable... they rode up in the front which is not only tight, but unnatural feeling for me as I'm used to that area featuring very different geography, of course.
With a sigh, I switched out for a skirt and tanktop, walking and sitting awkwardly the rest of the day. Zane took a look at me and asked how I could be wearing these clothes, and I said there wasn't much option and he was going to have to deal with it sooner than later. Weakly, he looked up at me and asked, his voice taking a girlish tone, "Is it gonna be okay?"
I nodded, "Yeah, I think so," not sure whether I believed it.
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