Anthony/CeeCee: I'm Sorry For This.

My name is Anthony Levine. Or at least, it used to be.

I've spent the ten months living in the body of a woman named Charlotte Christopoulos. It has not been easy. For any man, adjusting to the life of a woman would be a chore. You can imagine why, and you'd only be halfway there. There is still so much to know about being someone else. Anyone else. I took this challenge and, as I have with a lot of other obstacles in my life, did the best I could with it. It was hard, stressful, nerve-wracking, but I couldn't let on that I was struggling. There was work to do.

I messed up. Because it was an accident there is no reason I should feel guilty, but I do. Because of me three of my closest friends were transformed into other people, so I've worked tirelessly to get them, and me, back where we belong. I was single-minded. Survive, thrive, earn money to return to Maine, ignore the voice in my head reminding me of all the people my company - a travel agency - sent to that inn in Maine over the years. How many ruined lives are implicitly on my hands. Atone.

Bad things happen, no matter how good you are at planning. People will make mistakes, or things happen that are beyond your control. In my old life, I was a VP, I had a beautiful girlfriend I was planning to marry, I had money and status. Then I was turned into this, and somebody else had to be turned into me.

That somebody else... was a child. A preteen without enough sense of the world to deal with life at the level I was living. I could do everything right as Charlotte, but there was no way that kid was ever going to be a good Anthony.

He lost everything for me. Shaun has written about how guilty he feels for ruining Doug's relationship. It isn't his fault, and it isn't the Kid's fault for ruining mine, but it happened, and my career and my savings, and everything. It's gone. There was nothing I could do from here to protect it.

If I was going to go back to Maine, if I was going to go back to being Anthony, I would be starting from scratch. Worse off than I ever was before. And these are bad economic times to be trying to rebuild your life. I couldn't take it.

Shaun's a good man. He didn't steal Doug's life, even though Doug has everything Shaun seems to want. I'm not going back to the Inn. The real Charlotte has known this for some time. As far as I know, she will continue living as Wayne Tyson in Scotsdale, Arizona. As Wayne "he" is very much in love with his wife Linda, the original Clara. I don't know who will be claiming her body from Zane. It's none of my business.

My point is that as guilty as I feel for what I did to my friends, I did everything I could to fix it, I got the three of them back to Maine and if everything goes according to plan, they will be back where they belong in no time. I have to stay in Los Angeles. I'm going to be CeeCee for the rest of my life, barring some insane change of plans. I don't mind it here. The job has room for advancement. The body is sufficient for my needs. I'm thinking of getting a cat.

I've known this was happening for a few months now. I couldn't bring myself to tell anyone sooner because I was ashamed. I'm afraid you'll all think I'm taking the easy way out. Worried that you'll think less of me because I see "life as a woman" as better than "life stripped of everything I had." Afraid you'll think I'm some kind of thief. I hope you'll understand that I only did what I had to do.

This is the worst part.

The inn only works when enough people go. I had already made a reservation and couldn't cancel. This was all very time-sensitive. Through this blog, I learned about Travelers, who go back to the Inn for fun, or entertainment, or whatever. I first tried to offer my old body to Greg, but the timing didn't work out with him returning Alexis' body to her. He put me in touch with Fletcher, but he was unable to find any of his friends to visit the Inn that week.

So I took out an ad, and I sold my reservation privately, to someone who hasn't ever been before.

I've lost a lot of sleep over this. One last unwitting soul being put into a new body. I made sure it was a man, roughly my age, unemployed, unmarried, I've done everything I could to vet the candidate. He should be arriving there tonight. I'm not saying it's OK that I've done this, only that it's happened a million times before and there's no way to stop it.

This is the only way.

I'm so sorry.

Lisa/Eve: Getting back where we started

Yes, I'm back in Maine. No, I'm not back in my own body yet. What I understand about the Inn is that it only works when all the rooms are "filled." I guess that means that if enough people happened to be walking by at the wrong time, they could be counted, but we'll never know how it selects exactly when and how to start changing people.

All I know is that it hasn't happened yet. I've spent a lot of time just staring out the window. I barely want to leave this room. I just sit by the window watching rain fall.

Shaun and Anthony actually delayed in getting here. Shaun's been dealing with his marriage situation and just arrived yesterday. I don't know what Anthony's excuse is. Being that his current body and mine are sisters, you'd think we could communicate more, but he's always so secretive. I hope he makes it here by the end of the weekend.

It's hard to believe I've spent a year in this body, in this life. It hasn't been easier, but it's been a lot easier for me than any of my friends. Even SHaun really started to see some backlash by the end. I'll let him explain to you how that worked out, if he chooses. He's told me a slightly more detailed version of what he wrote here. It's hard to blame him, but he seems really hurt by it.

So for the past week or so, it's been me and Zane up here. I haven't seen much of him/her since last fall when the change rendered him practically catatonic... whether that was due to the depressive state of Clara's body, or his own substances disagreeing with it, I don't know.

It's weird how, as Clara, Zane is both "like" and "unlike" himself. I was thinking of him as this fragile flower, this object of pity, broken by the transformation, when the real Zane had a real resilience. I never saw anything affect him quite the way becoming Clara did last summer and I was worried about spending time with "her."

But it's Zane who has encouraged me to get out of the room the most. I've spent so much of the last year going places and doing things I didn't want to that I liked the idea of staying in and shutting down until I was myself again. It occurred to me that Zane has sort of the opposite: being Clara has kept him from doing things, from going places and enjoying life, because of self-consciousness, depression, and lately, lack of control. These past few days are the last he'll spend as a woman, with any luck. They might be the only ones he enjoys.

Whatever Zane's agreement with this Wes character, it doesn't seem like he's as okay with it as he wants people to believe. It doesn't seem like something an emotionally-healthy person would be able to put herself through, and at the risk of sounding patronizing, I know Zane, as Clara, is not that.

I'm worried that this experience might haunt all of us afterwards, but him most of all.

Anyway, I wrote this because I realized none of us had checked in on the blog. Still waiting on the last of our group. Anthony, wherever you are, get here quick.

Zane Clara: Bad at it.

Every time for the last month, when I try to write in this stupid blog, I get a headache. Whenever I think too hard about what's going on it just fucks me up and I can't keep typing. I want to talk about what I've done and why I'm doing it and why it feels good, but I just can't. You guys kinda know me a bit, right? I'm not that smart. I can't deal with this. But even idiots like me need to live their lives, need to make choices.

I started sleeping with Wes in March. I made that decision a long time ago. Honestly, the first time I met him I thought "If I was into guys I'd like this dude." Then I thought "Hey I guess I kind of am into guys." And then he told me he'd help me out with some money if I just let him... well...

He said he was just doing me a favour, that we were getting really close and he wanted to use his money to help me, but we know what the real deal was. He wanted to control me. All those nice dinners (which I didn't eat because I hardly never eat) and wine and champagne, all those dresses he bought me which I only wear for him. Those long looks... and I knew if I didn't let him in, the money, Clara's medicine, and MY TRIP could be gone.

No, I couldn't handle it at first. It was too real. I drank, and it reacted bad with my drugs. Just talking about that with him... admitting to him I was a fucked up person and that he should probably find someone else... was so hard, because I don't remember the last time I had that kind of conversation. But he stuck with me and it was worth it.

I remember lowering myself onto his cock for the first time like I was slipping into a hot tub. It was good, and not... and it takes a while to go from bad too good, and then it gets great, and then... it stops.

You guys... he is not good at sex.

I've fucked him, I don't know, three times a week for a month and a half. And I'm pretty sure he's just bad at it. At first I thought it was because I wasn't used to it. I didn't know how I was supposed to feel about having this thing inside me because I won't even use tampons or a dildo when I play with myself. I tried to get into it, to bounce extra hard when I was on top, but he just kept drilling like a fucking jackhammer when all I wanted was something... I dunno, softer, more delicate. I'm starting to "get" women, which is weird since I've been one for so long now. He never does foreplay, never eats me out, he can hardly even last, he always wants to come on my chest.

I thought maybe it was just this body... that after all the anti-depressants and alcohol and just generally feeling like shit, maybe Clara was broken down there, but when I finally got the guts to really get "in there" myself, I found that, yeah, oh wow, everything felt good. Some nights I can feel myself just starting to get into it, but then he finishes.

I don't want to talk about some of the other stuff I've had to do for him, specifically, but it basically amounts to: he picks me up, we talk and pretend like we're going out, maybe share a meal or a coffee, find ourselves back at his place, and start going at it. I thought it was going to be really passionate, with kissing and cuddling and stuff... and I dunno why I'm disappointed it's not like that, but it seems very mechanical. Then when my boredom starts to show, I have to start pretending like I'm really into it, making all the moaning noises I would want to hear if I was the guy, so he doesn't realize how badly it's going and cancel our deal.

I also feel like everyone in the house can tell. They think I'm a slut. Why is it so stressful doing something I thought I was supposed to like? I never asked to be a girl, never wanted to look at a guy that way, but I do, and I have this guy who obviously likes doing it with me, why is it so lame? Now I realize why chicks don't wanna bang every guy they meet... ugh.

I just need to hang in there another month or so.

Anthony/CeeCee: This isn't a game

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.

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.

Zane Clara: Expectations

I had another date with Wes last night. I was nervous, I knew it was a big deal, but I didn't puke or pass out or call it off or anything.

I prepared myself. The last time we met, he basically told me he wanted to pay me to be his girlfriend. The more I think about it the more it makes sense. I like being around him, he's really handsome and I can see a lot of girls giving him looks when we're out together. But he's always focused on me and that both makes it weird and nice... because he sees me as more than just a set of tits, it makes me comfortable. Part of me has been thinking I should just try to be his girlfriend for a while now. He deserves it, if he wants me. I just don't know if I deserve his attention.

I was scared of sex. I'm scared about how he kinda makes me want it. I've barely played with myself since I've been on the meds, but ever since he kissed me, I can't help but think "Oh yeah, no wonder he wants me, look at what I look like." I'd wanna see me naked, if I didn't already see it every day. I spent all week watching porn in my spare time, thinking about how easy it could be... just lie back and let him do it to me. I could do that, he deserves it.

I kept thinking about Anthony. This is basically the same thing as what he did with Blake. Except he was doing it for me, and now he won't have to. I can quit modeling and still pay for stuff. Plus, if he could suck it up and let some guy bang him, I could too.

Anthony told me she didn't think it was a good idea. She said it would get to a bad spot if I ever felt like I owed Wes, and it might be hard to get out of the arrangement to go back to Maine. I told her it wouldn't be a problem, and I'll probably figure it out. She's pretty mad at me, but I think she's just arrogant, thinking she can make all the plans and make decisions for everybody. I'm feeling better than I have in months. I knew I could do this.

I still wasn't sure what I was gonna do when I saw him. There was still a chance I was gonna chicken out. I spent all day putting on an outfit... I shaved my legs and my pussy, picked out a nice pair of lacy panties and crammed myself into a tight red dress. Six months ago I wouldn't even look at that part of Clara's wardrobe. Now, with my boobs popping out the top of my dress and the curve of my hips stretching out the fabric, I knew exactly what he was gonna think when he looked at me. I even used some of the makeup tips I got from the girls at the modeling agency, wearing lipstick and painting my nails. I needed the costume to be complete.

He arrived at 8. As soon as we sat down I was squirming. I didn't wanna eat. I wanted to get this over with. I wanted to know. I nodded my way through the conversation, looking at his eyes and watching him eat, listening while he told me about his business trip to China, but I was only halfway through the meal when I said "Let's get out of here."

"Are you sure?" he said.

I was downing wine all night. I couldn't eat my food. I needed to leave and I tried to sound as nonchalant about it as I could but I think a little hiccup of excitement got in there.

"You get the check, I just need to use the ladies room."

I was a bit wobbly on my feet, but I figured I just needed to walk it off. I don't do a lot of drunk walking in heels, so I tried extra hard to make sure I didn't faceplant into someone's dinner. I got to the washroom and ran some water to splash on my face.

The girl in the mirror didn't seem like me. I'm used to seeing myself looking normal, with my hair messy and my face plain and my clothes comfortable. The girl in the mirror was gorgeous. I hardly ever look anymore, but I took a second to stand with my chest sticking out, my hips curved... I wasn't me anymore. I wasn't there. I was just watching Clara's life. It's like a video game... I'm in control, but it's not really me.

I smiled at her and flecked my hair out of my eyes.

Next thing I know, I'm in the car watching the streetlights overhead.

"Are you okay? Are you sure about this?"

"What's my name?" I ask him.

"Clara?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm Clara."

He pulled into his parking space. I leaned on him in the elevator up to his condo. I remember my hands were on his waist. I even put my fingers in his front pocket. He was hard, but keeping his cool.

We got to his door. "Want anything to drink?"

"No, I'm good. Hey look at me."

When he looked, I reached behind and unzipped my dress. It fell to the floor. I was standing there in my bra and panties. All I could think was how hot I'd look in a red teddy or something, I love when girls wear that shit. I knew he would've liked it too.

"What do you wanna do with me right now?"

He smiled "So many things."

"Let's take it slow though, okay? I've never... I mean, it's been a while."

Then we were in the bedroom. I let him take my bra and panties off me, and then I was naked, and he wasn't yet. I laid back and let him play with me... tried not to think about how weird it was that some guy was getting his fingers all over me... teasing my skin, making me all wet. I was shivering. Something was so wrong but so good about it. I had to let it keep happening. It was killing me! I remember thinking how weird it was to let a guy kiss me.

I couldn't look when he took it out. Outside of porn, it's been a while since I've seen one, and I couldn't bring myself to look. It's just instinct, you don't stare at another guy's junk.

I laid back and let him come over to me. By then I was ready. I wanted it to happen. I was feeling so good and so ready... and then I don't know.

I woke up the next morning, naked in his bed with his arm around me. I felt frozen in place like stone. I had to completely rebuild the night in my head later, and when it got to the part where he got naked, it just... blacks out.

I would remember, right? If I let him do it to me, I wouldn't just forget... but I can't remember the end of that night. Just a glimpse of him in the darkness, and then nothing, but sleep I guess. But I can't even remember what it felt like, if he did anything. I just can't believe my body conked out like that.

I snuck out and took a cab home trying to shake this feeling that something bad happened... I mean, I was ready for it. I wanted him to do it. I've had plenty of nights I can't remember, but for some reason, this all just feels... wrong. I really don't like how this all played out.

Zane Clara: Can't sleep

That's a new thing. Usually I'm Mr. Sleepy but some stuff happened today that's got me all wound up. I thought about taking an ambien but I'm really weary about how many pills I put in my body.

Yesterday, Anthony told me about this job that came in for me... it's a one-day shoot but it's as much as I've ever made in a month. This guy runs a website "Girls at Home" or something, where he gets girls to hang around their houses in lingerie, doing sexy poses and talking about themselves. It sounds like an easy paycheck except for the part where it's basically stripping.

I've been Clara for six or seven months. I've done a lot of her modeling jobs, but mostly they're ad campaigns or catalogs. She's got a good frame, so it's ideal to put clothes on to show how good they look. All I have to do is stand around with my hand on my hip and my head slightly tilted. I'm like Zoolander. But with tits.

But this... this is big. Like I say, it pays a shitload, just to look hot and give the guy some blurbs for his readers. And it gets the name out there. If I was really Clara... really doing this modelling job for myself... it would be a no-brainer.

But I can't do it. I got up this morning, put on a fresh pair of panties, and just stood there looking at my tits in the mirror. Guys would love to see em but I'm sick of looking at them. I'm sick of feeling them hanging down, sick of feeling the underwire of a bra on my ribs and the straps on my shoulders. Sick of accidentally rolling onto them in my sleep. When I was a guy I loved tits so much, but... I can't do anything knowing a guy;s gonna be pulling his pork to it. That's not me.

The problem is, I don't have any money. Like, at all. I told Anthony I'd take this modeling thing seriously so I could pay for Clara's meds, but I nearly had a freak out when I was told about this.

Even worse would be the idea of talking about myself. What the fuck would I say? "I'm actually a guy in a woman's body, and I got my period for the first time three months ago and it grossed me out so much I nearly threw up. I bled all over myself and had to work the rest of the day like that."

Then I had a date with Wes tonight. I wasn't calling them dates, but that's what they really are. A way of getting out and eating for free and pretending like I really like the guy. Except I do like the guy, and I feel bad he's putting up with me because he thinks I'll put out. But here's what happened, what's really got me freaked out.

I asked him why. I reminded him that I wasn't his girlfriend and he could have any girl he wanted. He said that wasn't true (the part about him getting any girl) but I told him that if even I thought he was handsome, he was clearly a good-looking dude.

So he admitted... wealth and good looks are pretty much the easiest ways to a woman's pants. But I guess all those women throwing themselves at him gets boring because he said he never met a woman who just wanted to sit and talk. Someone who was real, which is really rare out here.

Until me. Which is fucking hilarious. Apparently he likes me because I'm not playing games and not pretending... I told him I wasn't interested in his money or his cock and that made him pay attention. He wanted to know more about me, but I seem to have something inside I'm holding back (yeah, no shit.) How I ask him questions about his life like I'm really interested. I never realized, I thought I was just being polite.

He says to me it doesn't make sense to him why I model. How I seem so humble and self-conscious about my looks and so desperate for people not to pay attention to me. He says when he looks in my eyes, he sees something buried deep down, something sad I haven't talked about, and that must be the source of my "realness." But also how he catches glimpses... I dunno when, but he told me... glimpses of desire. That every so often I look at him like I want to jump all over him.

I was startled. Except for wanting to jump him, it sounded pretty spot-on. I told him I kinda fell into modeling by accident and it was the last thing I ever wanted to do, but I did because the offers kept coming in and the money was good. I told him I had certain needs. Bills to pay.

"You kill me," he said, laughing a bit. "You come out with me every Saturday night for a month. We talk, we drink, we have fun. You barely tell me anything about yourself and when you do, it's this money business. And you forget... I'm rich. You are looking at... eating dinner with... playing footsie with a very wealthy guy."

I wasn't playing footsie. My leg was twitching from nerves.

He says "I could do so much for you, Clara. It wouldn't be a hand-out, it wouldn't be charity, because I give money freely to people I care about. But I need to know... do you care about me?"

I couldn't say no. Maybe it was the wine but all I could mutter was "You're my... friend."

"Friend?" He said back. Then he stood up, straightened out his jacket, and walked over to my side of the table. He bent over, got right in my face, nose to nose... and kissed me.

I was gonna push him away, but I just let him do it because I wanted to see where it was going. It was a close-mouthed kiss, lips to lips, no tongue. Maybe three seconds.

When he pulled away from me, he put his hands on mine, then reached into his breast pocket for his checkbook. "This is $500. No strings attached, but if you want more, we're going to have to work out why you keep coming to see me. I understand you're a complicated person, but it doesn't have to be hard. I like you a lot, Clara. Shall I take you home?"

"...yes..." I could only say.

On the ride home I was silent. I had a check for $500 in my purse. That was my share of the rent and then some. I thought about modeling and Anthony banging Blake and me playing with myself, and how I didn't want to throw up just because a guy kissed me.

I kept a lid on things until I got home. Then I walked slowly to my room, threw myself on my bed, and started to cry. Just because I'm on the meds doesn't mean things like this can't freak me out beyond words.

Now here I am. I really don't know what to do. I wish I could just sleep until summer.

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.

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.

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.

Zane-Clara: Beautiful Monster

Okay. I've been on the pills for over a month now. I wouldn't say I can "feel" them working, but suddenly things bother me a lot less, so I'm aware of them when something that would've bothered me doesn't. To start with, I'm eating more. I could barely choke down two meals a day, which left me weary and sick for a lot of the time, but now I'm more or less normal.

Which, weirdly enough, made me start getting a period. I thought I was lucky, I hadn't bled at all the whole time I was here and I thought maybe Clara was one of the few girls that didn't get it at all, but I guess it sometimes has to do with dieting or eating disorders or whatever she's got. It was embarrassing as hell, I had to borrow a pad from one of my housemates, then go shopping for my own. Luckily at least one of the girls around here doesn't use tampons, because I am NOT down with those things.

But I guess because i was depressed, I didn't tell you a lot of stuff. I only ever seemed to talk about how frustrated I was, and that's all true. It's not like I loved dressing up to be a model, getting my hair done, putting make up on, shaving my body constantly and being stared at by everybody.

But it all happened. And suddenly, last Saturday night, there I am looking myself in the mirror, with all the mascara and lipstick and foundation and concealer on, putting my earrings in. I had a green evening gown on and I was even wearing a strapless bra. And the funny thing is what I was thinking as I looked myself in the mirror. The more of it I had, the girlier I looked, the more in-character I felt. If I get up in the morning and put on some jeans and a t-shirt, and just let my boobs hang because I don't wanna put a bra on, I feel like an asshole, but all dressed up like this, I could at least pretend I'm supposed to be this way. Sure, my underwear was riding up my crack, but other than that, I felt pretty sexy. Besides, it was just one night, and there was gonna be free booze. And I was gonna have Anthony nearby for support anyhow. If nothing else, I could lean on him if I tripped on my own dress.

So, we drove up to the dining hall where this even was being held. Anthony was looking good, having wrapped herself in this slick black gown with a corset that really pushed his tits up and accentuated his butt. Her butt. It's a girl's butt, I shouldn't keep talking about it like it's my friend Anthony's. She seemed pretty impressed at the lengths I went to... one of the girls in the house is a make-up artist, and it took some convincing since I'm not really in good with her, but she at least gave me a good price.

So we got in and were both instantly presented with champagne. Beautiful. We started talking, but Anth seemed distracted. Like she was looking for someone. The reason we were there was to shmooze, I figured there was some bigshot photog she wanted me to charm.

Eventually, we ran into Blake, one of the guys who's hired me a few times. He does a lot of ad campaigns, billboards and print mostly. He comes over to us and I wave "Hey!" and he gives me a nod before zeroing in on Anth. Soon as she's done her drink, he gets her another. They share private jokes. He's just giving her this uber-creepy look. Like, the "fuck-me" eyes. I wanted to yak.

I was trying to pull Anth away to the bathroom so I could save him from his advances, but I couldn't get a word in edgewise. The whole thing was making me uncomfortable, so I went off on my own, eventually going to the ladies' room anyway because three glasses of free booze just went right through me.

There, some bitch model asked what size I was wearing these days because the last time she saw "me" I looked way thinner. I didn't recognize her, but I wanted to deck her. I figure it'd be hard to get gigs with a broken nose and a black eye. I was wearing a ring, too.

When I got back to the main hall, I couldn't find Anth, which worried me. But I didn't have long to look for her because I got cornered by this guy. I wanted to push him away, but something about him seemed harmless, so if he was willing to put up with me repeatedly telling him how nothing was going to happen, I could stand to pretend to listen to his story. His name was Wesley Bridges, a rich entrepreneur type. I forget what his business is, but it doesn't really matter.

Then after about forty minutes, Anth and Blake re-appeared. And I was going to ask what happened, but it didn't take long to figure it out. Her hair was all ruffled. Her dress looked like it'd been taken off and put back on. And Blake... Blake had this smug fucking swagger like he had something to be proud of.

"What was that?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"Oh, he just wanted to talk a little business."

I glared at her. "That's all?"

"Yeah, Clara," she said, using my fake name like it was no big deal, "It was just business."

I didn't want to talk to her anymore. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I had a few more drinks, then found the guy from earlier, Wes, and asked if he'd take me home.

Except when I woke up the next morning, I wasn't home. No, I was lying in a stranger's bed, naked.

I leaned over the bed and horked all over the floor.

I slowly got up and checked the place. There was a bathroom attached to the room, where I scrubbed the crusty makeup off my face and rinsed my mouth. It was a guest room, you could tell because there wasn't any clothes in the dresser, but a man's robe in the closet. I slipped the robe on and clutched it tight, wandering the halls of this penthouse until I found a kitchen. He was standing there, in a polo shirt, making eggs, like in the movies or something.

"Where am I?"

"Wow, you were really out of it last night, huh? You couldn't remember how to get back to your place, so you came back here."

That sounds right. "And my clothes?"

"You threw up on yourself in my car," he said, "So when we got here, the first thing you did was strip down. Now, your bra and panties, you claimed, you were just sick of wearing."

Again, that also sounded right.

I asked, "You didn't see anything... did you?"

"I tried to look away. You made it pretty clear you weren't trying to put on a show."

He probably saw the look of shame on my face, though, cause then he clarified that we didn't do anything. I believed him because I feel like I would've noticed. He told me that he basically let me pass out in his guest room, and then he sat up with me to make sure I didn't get too sick.

"Yeah, I'm sorry," I said, "Last night was a bad night, I saw something that really messed me up."

"I understand, we all have our bad times."

"I've been having plenty of those lately. Sorry again, you seem like a really nice guy. You didn't need to be so nice to me. Probably any other girl there would've totally banged you."

He laughed a bit. "Yeah, that might be true. We'll never know. I don't know, I guess I just like a wreck."

Then I laughed. Yeah, I'm definitely that. "I'm gonna go change, then get a cab home."

"Oh, forget that. Have some breakfast with me, then we'll see if we can find your place."

I was starving. It would've been hard to turn down. So we sat and ate, pretty much in silence.

I was uncomfortable, naked except for the fabric of the robe. But I didn't leave, I didn't stop eating until I was full (a surprisingly big deal) and he was a gentleman, didn't try to hit on me. He just asked some questions about my past, what I did... I gave vague answers, "Oh I grew up around here, trying to be a model, but it's not really working out." That kinda thing.

He took me home, and I stayed quiet while I tried to convince myself I didn't see what I thought I did. It looked like Anth had snuck off to mess around with Blake, but it could've been anything.

"Hey, thanks for putting up with my craziness," I said. I don't know if I would have rescued some messy chick from a party when I could've gone for one who would screw me.

We finally got to my place. "Listen," he said, "I put my number in your phone. If you ever need anything... it might come in handy, someday."

"Yeah, we'll see."

I walked up the steps and back to my pathetic little life.

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.

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.

Shaun/Doug - Family

I haven't posted in a while. Part of that's because my life, as Doug, is strangely ordinary. Okay, it's still a bit weird to look in the mirror and see a stranger, but I've gotten to know that stranger a bit. I know how to handle his business. I don't try to "act" like him, but so far nobody's looked at me and said "Hey, that's not something you would do." Even when that's true.

Work's been stressful too. My boss, the regional manager, put the screws to me to improve business for the holidays. A lot of my staff are teens and twenty-year-olds who don't take their minimum wage jobs that seriously. I'm trying to figure out how to motivate them. Admittedly, I've been more into work than I have the marriage.

I'm not really in this marriage. A lot of the time, when we fight, or it looks like we're going to fight, I just bite my tongue and roll over, where as Shaun I probably would have stuck it out. I hate having to suppress my feelings like that, but like I said, this isn't my relationship to mess up, like the last one was.

Sometimes it's unavoidable. A while back we were driving somewhere, and I was sticking to the On-Board Navigator instead of taking "her" route, even though "I" should have known my way around. And damn did I get an earful. And instead of "Shut up Goddamnit, I've never driven this way before, I'm not even your husband," I just had to shrug and say "I was trying it out."

Another reason I've been avoiding this blog is that I just didn't want to talk about it. One of the comments on it insinuated that I would enjoy "taking advantage" of Nia. Whether it's true or not, it was inevitably going to be an issue and I just didn't want to discuss it. I mean, it wasn't that long since my finacee broke my heart and I wasn't ready to take up with another woman, let alone one I barely knew. If I had wanted someone on the rebound, I might have picked up on the signals I was getting from Lisa back before we transformed.

Of course, Nia doesn't have this perspective. To her, I'm her man, I have certain responsibilities, and if I don't pay her attention she worries, asks why I'm not after her.

I was avoiding the issue. I knew it was on the table, that it was an inevitability, but I wanted her to bring it up, because I wanted to be sure I wasn't going to get in trouble for asking. I didn't want to seem like I wanted it to happen. In part, I didn't want it to happen. I would have been content to be one of those couples that spends every night side by side in bed, breathing softly in unison, until they drift off and roll over to "their sides."

Then one night I was lying in bed asleep when I heard her come in. She tends to work late, this was maybe 2 AM. She appeared in the bedroom doorway, leaning on the frame for support.

"Me and the girls went for drinks. Did you miss me?"

"Miss you?" I said, "I wasn't even aiming!" It was a dumb joke I had with my old fiancee, which Nia just shrugged off.

She crawled into the bed, carefully placing her hand on my leg as if to say "This is mine." She starts kissing me on the lips. I don't pull away - I know I can't - but I don't really kiss back either.

"How long has it been, Dougie?"

"Too long," I sigh, half-honestly.

"I don't wanna be one of those couples that never touches each other. Gimme some right now."

I had no choice but to obey. Doug's body was making me, and Nia's hand was placed in just the right place to be able to tell. "Hello," she said as she reached over my pajama waistband.

As reluctant as I had been, I liked this part of it. She's a very sexy woman, so it was easy to get over my hesitation. I haven't had a woman pay me this kind of attention in months, and the feeling that this was... new, maybe even not totally right, was kind of a thrill. While it was happening, I tricked myself into believing Nia knew me, and not Doug. But when it was over, I felt awful.

Well somehow I convinced myself to do it a few times since then. You know, taking one for the team.

The real hassle is the holidays. For Thanksgiving, I invited Zane over, because he's technically my "sister," and it would be nice to have someone on my side for my first meeting of both "our parents" and Nia's.

Admittedly, Zane didn't seem to enjoy himself much. He was very sulky, as you might expect. And that girl's face has a way of conveying sadness that makes you feel truly awful. It was really awkward to see "our mom" pry info out of "Clara" about her modeling career prospects. I was hoping I could do something to help his mood, but maybe dragging him out to a family gathering was not the right idea. It doesn't help that Nia's got a pretty low opinion of Clara, and asked me not to let "her" come to dinner. But that was one of the few instances where I stood my ground.

She respected it, but there was no lovemaking that night.

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.

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.

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.

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."

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