Marc/Chantelle: Down to the last play

Okay, this is almost the last you'll hear from me about softball, now that the season is over.

Our 5-4 record was actually enough to make it to the playoff, which was exciting, even though I had nothing to do with it (and actively harmed the team more than helped.) Word got around and some of the associates and external partners wanted to come watch us play... which included Damon, aka my wife Laura, who I was surprised to see at the diamond.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he brought his wife, meaning there was basically a forcefield around him meaning I couldn't talk to him all night besides a cordial hello, nice to see you here at the beginning of the game (where I did my best to stifle my surprise, disappointment and mild delight at seeing her.)

I was so put off I decided to put my energy elsewhere, focusing on talking to Daisy and, once the game got going, my friend Djuro. I don't know if Djuro is trying to start a "thing" with me, maybe it's in my head and I'm being paranoid but the signs are there. He's always quick to offer me a high five and a congratulations and sit with me on the bench. I, weirdly enough, have kind of encouraged it and probably even crossed a line by offering him a shoulder rub when he said he was tight (he took me up on it and I got about three seconds in before deciding it was weird, but I kept going nonetheless.) We're kind of flirty, and to my own surprise I kind of like being flirty but I don't really know that there's more to it than that.

The game was good, close but a losing effort at 12-10, although I did manage to get on base nearly every at bat, batted a runner in, and didn't completely embarrass myself on the field. After the game, a bunch of the guys went out for drinks, but I went home alone, claiming to be tired but really just unable to cope with the presence of my wife and... her wife.

I got home and put on my PJs and poured myself a glass of wine, and checked my phone to find a string of texts from throughout the night.

From Damon.

"You've got great form."

"Great hit babe."

"Love to watch you run... especially in those shorts" (for the last few games it's been so hot that I've been wearing extremely short and form-fitting red athletic shorts that definitely highlight my posterior and thighs.)

"I'm loving seeing you out there, so confident."

"Chantelle's body looks so good on you."

I felt a rush. This is what I wanted. Attention from Laura. It occurred to me that maybe seeing me having a good time with Djuro from afar fired up her jealousy and made her want to try to win my attention back. We're still in sort of an ambiguous place but it was already seeming like Laura was ready to maybe work on resolving it.

As I was reading and processing all of this, I got another text:

"Janessa wanting to go home early but saying I should stay out with "the gang". Want me to come over?"

My heart skipped a beat. Despite everything, I did want that.

I took a breath and texted... "Sure."

He was there in 40 minutes (which sucked because I was waiting but... beggars can't be choosers I guess.)

I welcomed him in and we did some small talk. I said I enjoyed his texts and he said I enjoyed watching me play, that this all was unlocking a side of me that he liked seeing.

"I feel like, if we were to do something, I would be getting the Marc I love back... and I started to think, how could that be wrong?"

I looked up at him, feeling so small and womanly and vulnerable, my lips trembling as I assured him it couldn't.

We locked eyes, his lips moved toward mine and we kissed.

I...

I had to sort of push myself to realize that kissing a guy isn't that different from kissing a woman, lips are lips, and inside this is the person I love, and I think this body really seems to enjoy (much to my bemusement) Damon's physical presence. It's more startling to kiss as a woman, being small, being held, having his hands search you. I think Laura is really embracing the masculine side of the equation as he started to feel my hips and down my leg and up my arms.

I couldn't let it end. We kissed and kissed and kissed. We kissed on the couch, we kissed on the floor, we kissed with me on top, with him looming over me, side by side. He ran his hands over my hair, I held his bald scalp. There was this element of danger and newness that made me forget all my reservations.

Then I noticed he started unfastening his belt and I put the brakes on.

"Woah-oh" I said abruptly, "I... I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

He kind of looked at me for a while, maybe trying to decide if he should argue his point or let it be, but ultimately he came down on the side of understanding, saying "Sorry, sorry, I was just getting carried away."

"Yeah," I stammered, flustered, "I mean, I could be ready eventually, just... not tonight, you know? Zero to 100..."

"Of course."

I think if he had pressed his case a little harder I may have gone along with it. I could definitely feel my body getting revved up and it was just a snap return to consciousness that made me stop. I think I do want to try it by the time my time here is done, but obviously I have a certain discomfort with that going there. There's the argument that if I want it, and this body is built for it (and I have a partner I can trust) I should go for it, but... would you say that to a 16-year-old? Because that's kind of how I feel as far as my development as a woman. Not quite ready to take control of all that.

I decided to head off some disappointment by offering something else. "If you want I could..." I made a little hand motion.

"You would?" he asked, skeptically.

"Sure," I said, pushing myself to be accommodating. "I mean, I know the territory a bit."

I didn't have to offer twice.

It was... I mean, a little weird doing it from this angle, with a hand that doesn't "match" the equipment, not quite knowing what pressure and speed he would enjoy, but I think I made a good go of it. I felt silly at certain points, but it was nice to de-mystify that part of it, to acquaint myself with "Little Damon." Take some of the fear out of it.

Partway through he asked, politely, if I could go topless.

"Oh," I said blushing, "Curious about what I've got going on here?"

"I'll admit to having a certain admiration for it..." he replied coyly.

I already didn't have a bra on due to being in my pajamas, so I just slipped my top off. I let him feel them a little bit, which was... really nice. Very intimate to let my boobs hang out for him like that. It's nice to have a body that people enjoy touching, that seems so ready for it. They're so jiggly and squishy and just fun, so it's nice to be able to share them with him. 

Anyway, we finished our activity, cleaned up, and rested a moment before I let him get back home.

After he was gone I felt a lot of conflicting feelings... sadness, regret I hadn't gone further, dismay that my wife was still going home to another woman... pride that I had done what I had done, crossed a threshold that I didn't know I was ready to do but also set my limits... hope that this is the beginning of getting back on solid ground between us, and fear that we wouldn't get the opportunity again.

Edit: I've just re-read this and realized at some point I started referring to Laura as "him." So be it... what we did was very physical and she has a "he" body, so... why not. It's not wrong to call me "she," I guess.

Marc/Chantelle: Hugger

I want to thank those of you who reached out and weighed in on my little shitfit the other night... reading back over it I'm a little embarrassed to have spilled my guts and let it all out there for the world to see, but at the time I felt very strongly. I hesitate to say it's a side-effect of being a woman except insomuch as maybe I'm a little more in tune with what I want instead of repressing and refusing to vocalize things that I wanted anyway. Laura and I still have some work to do to figure out how we're going to navigate this situation.

Good vibes only for now though.

We won a game the other night, and win lose or draw the new tradition is to go out for drinks and/or wings afterward. At first I was a little bashful about it, wanting to return to my hidey hole and ice my burning thighs, but the camaraderie is really good for me, especially since Daisy, our cheerleader who refuses to take the field, was going to be there.

I'm trying to find my way as far as interacting with people socially as a woman. I'm very leery of talking to guys, like Djuro or others, because when they look at me I get a little spooked, like, "What are you seeing here, are you thinking this is a possible romantic thing?" Just because that's how I remember it being often when I would talk to single women before I was married, even if, on the surface I didn't want to push anything like that, I always felt like it was smart to "keep the door open" and put it out there in case they were receptive... and I kinda-sorta get that vibe from some of the guys. Or maybe I'm just projecting and that's really what an innocent conversation between a man and a woman is supposed to look and feel like.

I've also gotten into this weird habit of... hugging people when they leave the bar? Maybe because I'm a couple of beers deep and loosened up, and it definitely started with Daisy, because I couldn't resist the urge to hug her, but once that train left the station suddenly everyone was getting hugs goodbye from me.

In my normal body, I would definitely hug women socially if the situation permitted it without even thinking about it, so I guess I was just unconsciously mirroring that, but at the end of the night I was like "wow, I really hugged 18 people goodbye, men and women."

It was a bit of trip to realize that. I don't know what it means or implies. But to tell the truth, I am quite soft and squishy, very huggable, and it feels nice, even with the guys.

I don't know. I've been unpacking that all day, and now there it is. What will tomorrow bring?

Marc/Chantelle: Call me Slugger

Or don't, haha.

So, despite my wariness, I went ahead with my commitment to the softball team, figuring it would be a fun way to put myself out there instead of holing up in my apartment with Netflix and junk food all summer. I squeezed my squishy bum into some black leggings and wore my loose-fitting team t-shirt tied in a knot around my abdomen in imitation of some of the other girls, pulling my hair back into a ponytail through a ballcap (which, the only one Chantelle had was from some corporate giveaway.) I envied the other girls who had their hair braided for the occasion but I haven't mastered that yet and it felt weird to ask someone to do it for me. It's the kind of feminine bonding that intrigues me but I still feel weird about.

The league is a typical self-pitch softball setup, with an extra "roving" fielder. Every third batter has to be a female and three females have to field. Since lineups aren't limited to 9 players, having 10 guys and 3 women meant I was up to the plate a lot...

I have to admit, I came into it with at least a little bit of confidence. What guy doesn't imagine himself jumping off the couch and onto the field and suddenly taking on the role of baseball superstar? But the reality is that Marc Green was no star athlete, and Chantelle Carey probably less so. Still, there's a unique kind of insult when the other team sees you coming up to the plate and collectively moves their outfield to the edge of the grass.

I mean, they weren't wrong... but it stung.

My first at bats were pretty wild. I struck out first (with a member of my own team pitching no less!) and hit a shallow pop fly that was easily caught on my second. My highlight was getting a grounder that managed to sneak by the fielders while I was running like hell to first. So I got on base once.

I was not really prepared for what it was going to feel like getting so physical in this body. running with these legs where the thighs rub together, my boobs bouncing forcefully even under my sports bra, which is just another layer to sweat under... it was different.

Fielding was... well, I was there. Initially they had me in deep right, but for the later innings I played catcher, which is a nice break since there's very little to do there in this form of the game. The guys were very serious and we had three or four really good players. I felt a little guilty not carrying my own, watching these guys who aren't too dissimilar to my original body cracking dingers into the outfield. Worse, I couldn't even be the best girl on the team. One of the guys, Tomas, brought his wife Michelle, who was apparently a serious ballplayer, commanded second base and took on a field general role.

Daisy was there to watch, too, and having something of a girlcrush on her I kind of wanted to impress her. I know I probably shouldn't since she doesn't "go that way" (as far as I know... and I'm not entirely sure what "way" I'd want to go myself, if any,) but I had to settle for some supportive "you go girl" type stuff when I actually did manage to do something right. Djuro was also pretty nice, telling me to keep my chin up when I missed my chance for a big catch while I was fielding.

All in all, playing as a girl is definitely a unique experience as far as what this body can do and what people expect from it, and what I expect from myself. I should loosen up. I'm there to have fun and fill a role, not be Barry Bonds.

I was sore for days afterwards, especially in my arms, legs/butt and boobs, from all that swinging, throwing and running. Then premenstrual pain kicked in and reminded me what pain really is. But I still showed up for this week's game. The results were pretty similar but my attitude is improving. It certainly won't be a dull summer...

Marc/Chantelle: Jarring Thoughts

I decided to fix myself some nachos last night.

It was the long weekend and I was all on my own, and I had the last few episodes of Stranger Things to get through. I should note for the record that I have been listening to "Running Up That Hill" on repeat for weeks now, because those lyrics resonate scarily with where I'm at. I'd love to make a deal with God to change places with someone, you know what I mean? Or maybe that relates to me as I used to be and I just didn't know it yet. I'm having some pretty complicated feelings that I may need to unpack sometime, but later for that.

What's important right now is the nachos.

Now, the thought did occur to me... all this cheese and salt and meat and grease... what's it going to do to this body? I've already noted down a few foods that don't hit quite the same as they used to, although it hasn't put me off anything. But...

Well, here's where I say some things that make me look bad, because it's all tied up in the breakup of my marriage. I don't think weight gain during the pandemic was an uncommon thing, and Laura and I both experienced it, but there was definitely a factor there. In retrospect, I think part of it was what was going on in the world and part of it was our relationship falling apart, so we did a lot of meals that were easy and maybe not healthy. I gained a potbelly, and she gained weight too. It feels so petty now, especially since I've now got a well-rounded butt and boobs going on, but at the time it was like a visual signifier of the collapse of our relationship. We were less attracted to each other, resentful of each other for the changes we were going through, maybe eating our feelings, who knows? She goes up several sizes, my old pants stop fitting, our feelings toward each other start to change. I feel like a heel just saying that that had anything to do with it, but here I am trying not to break this body somehow, fretting over every calorie as punishment for, I don't know, appreciating my wife less when she changed sizes.

So I think to myself, what am I doing to Charlotte's body with junk food? How will people look at her/me if I fatten her up a little? Am I okay with that or has society made me hate fat people? What kind of a complex am I giving myself if I starve myself out of fear of doing that? I don't know, truly, all I know is that in the moment I wanted a little bit of comfort food and I don't think anyone should begrudge me that.

So I make myself one plate, brown the meat, melt the cheese and prep the fixings and everything, and I get ready with some sour cream and salsa that I've bought from the market just for this, and...

I can't open the jar.

What a cliche! I'm a woman who can't open a jar for herself. I've always taken that for granted: grip and twist. I can't seem to hold it tight enough to get it unstuck. I'm straining my little bicep. I'm starving, I'm dying of frustration. My arms and hands simply will not do what my brain thinks they can from a lifetime of being a reasonably strong, hairy man.

Defeated. I have never felt more dejectedly like a woman, and I've already had a period.

I googled "tips to unstick jar" and of course the article is geared toward single gals, along with other "don't need a man" hacks. It turns out if you bang a knife around the edge of the lid it loosens it easily. I still found it a little tricky but bob's your uncle on that one.

So today, I was telling all this to Daisy. I get midway through the story and I realize... the story isn't funny if you don't know I'm a guy. I felt so embarrassed. The big punchline was "I looked it up online." But she didn't notice, she went into an enthusiastic discussion of her own diet woes (incidentally, she's a twig) and how there's this great taqueria that just opened up on her Lark Street that we "have to try." I mean my God, if only it was this easy to get a date when I was a man!

That's a bit of a sad thought... because obviously this isn't a date.

Later this afternoon, a guy named Djuro came over to my desk to ask if I was ready for tomorrow. What was tomorrow, I had to ask?

The first week of co-ed softball, which "I" agreed to sign up for back in April.

I got this really hesitant look in my eyes and tried to wriggle my way out of it, "Gosh, I don't know, you know, I haven't been feeling great, and..." but they need 3 women or they can't field the team and they're counting on me. It's not like they're expecting me to be good, right? He pressed me further and I relented.

I was never that athletic anyway, so it's kind of funny that I have more value to the team as a token person with a vagina.

Now I have to rifle through Chantelle's wardrobe and get some gym clothes out. I hope nobody is expecting these non-salsa-opening arms to produce much in the way of hits. Besides, I guess it's a good way to "work off" those nachos.