I'm back in Vermont now, so if anyone is worried that I ran away, I didn't. Tori was confused by the end of my lest post and sent me a frantic email. I regret ending the last post the way I did but I was tired and the Hotel Wi-Fi is spotty.
I left Bangor that morning and drove east over the border to Fredericton, New Brunswick. It's a good thing I grabbed Alex's passport, because you need one to go to Canada these days. (Little FYI for all of you out there, the law changed a few years back).
Fredericton is a nice city, not huge and pretty. But I wasn't there for sightseeing, I was there to speak to Tanya Kearns, or at least the person who appeared to be Tanya Kearns, who's real name is Fletcher.
Fletcher, if you havent been paying close attention, is a Traveler, someone who goes to the inn over and over again to get a new body. Which is what I've become by default. He met Alia "Sam/Max/Ellie" back in 2010, when he was part of an old married couple. Alia's post mentioning him and the concept of "traveling" is what convinced me to break out of my depression and start blogging again.
Anyway, Tanya was the sister of Melanie, who was the girlfriend of Max. This summer a guy named Roger had his old body stolen and Fletcher worked it so he wound up in Max's and in the process, he wound up in Tanya's. Everyone got that? Good. It's confusing as hell so if you have to re read it, go ahead.
Anyway, I had wriggled Tanya's contact info out of "Ellie" and had her meet me in the bar of the hotel I was staying at. I had sent her a pic on her phone so she'd know how to find me.
I was on my second drink when a girl started waving at me from across the bar. She was just as described on the blog, I think. Brunette with blonde streaks, with a body type that could be described as "fluffy." I mean, after spending a year as Dee, I'm hesitant to call ANY other woman fat, but this girl was muffintopping - and I guess, to her credit, she wasn't ashamed of it. She was dressed in a way that didn't suggest "a former man embarrassed of his female body," with a mini-skirt halfway up her thigh (in chilly Canadian weather!) and spaghetti strap top - which did not conceal her pink bra; a push-up number. She waved me over to a booth once we were certain we knew each other.
"Alexis?" she asked, and then said "Or is it 'Alexis'" this time with finger-quotes.
"It's more like the second one," I told her, "But you don't have to do the fingers. I just won't be Alexis much
longer."
She looked me up and down. I was wearing khaki slacks and a green blouse. "So you're a lesbian, right? I can tell from the hair."
I was a bit put off by the small talk, but I admitted "Yeah, after a few years of really girly bodies, it was nice to do something more comfortable."
She said, "Dyke style. I like it." I gritted my teeth instead of objecting out loud. She continued.
"Well I'd say you seem a bit uptight but I've read your recent activities and it doesn't seem like you need to loosen up any more than you already did... if you know what I mean. Gotta say, it's true, nobody knows a woman's body like another woman. I bet you really liked that."
"Yeah," I said, squirming in my seat. Talking on the blog is one thing, but being grilled about my sex life in person really made me uncomfortable. "Sounds like you know something about that."
She smiled that really evil smile of hers. Based on descriptions of her previous bodies, it must be the person inside, not the girl herself. "I'm an adventurous type," she said, sipping her beer. "And I've had a lot of opportunities, since I've been in a lot of bodies."
"How many?"
"That's a trade secret." She didn't seem to want to talk too much about her past. "But if you think it's shocking to be a lesbo, you should try being a gay dude. Especially one that's married to a chick and doesn't even tell you he likes dudes." She paused. "So what can I do for you?"
"I just want advice. You go back to the inn all the time... how do you manage these peoples' lives without totally destroying them?"
"Oh honey," she said in a patronizing tone, placing her hand on my shoulder, "There's your first mistake. Worrying about something like destroying a person's life."
"You mean you just do as you please?"
"I do what's best. I have the body. If I'm in a situation where I want something, I take it, and I don't think twice."
"But don't you worry about giving these people their lives back? Making it easy, so they can pick up where they left off?"
"I don't take requests, babe. I do what I think is right, but right for me. I don't like being controlled."
"Must be nice for you to be able to think that way," I said bitterly, "Was your old life ever wrecked?"
She got this faraway look in her eyes, like something really spooky was going through her mind, and she said quietly, "My old, old, old first life? The person I started out as? One day I got the call that that person had to make a choice, a choice I knew I couldn't have made, and when that decision was final, I knew there was no going back. I didn't blame him for what he had to do, it just showed me that you can really only move forward."
"I didn't have to ruin Alex's life, though. I didn't need to see Annabelle."
"If you're trying to keep everything in mint condition, then you fucked up the minute you stepped into Alexis' shoes. The minute you met Annabelle, the minute you planted the idea in her head that Alexis was an option for her, it was done. Because that probably wouldn't have happened to the real Alexis, but it did. It's not your fault, it’s hers for liking you."
"Hey," I started to get really mad, "I'm not blaming Annabelle for this!"
"Well you're not the one to blame either, hon. It's not natural to deny yourself happiness, to suffer so someone else can maintain their stupid comfort zone. You don't last as long in life as I have by playing it safe. You keep going back long enough, you realize some things can't be helped. Don't be a hero, girl."
I said quietly, into my drink, "I don't think I want to be like you."
She smiled. Instead of taking offense, I think she understood. "Your loss."
I sighed and changed the subject. "I just hope my next body is something easy. Like a regular boring married guy."
"Anything's possible," she shrugged, taking another drink, "But with your shitty-ass luck, you'll end up a 5-year-old girl with parents who wanna keep you from going back."
"Oh God, that sounds like a nightmare!"
She smiled "Happened to a buddy of mine. Just turned 12, poor kid." She gave me advice on what to do if something extreme happens: if I end up as a kid, or old. She also said not to worry if I didn't go back every year. "I'm not saying get too comfortable, but some bodies are worth keeping a while. I think I'm gonna stay here this summer."
I didn't say anything but I must have had a disbelieving face on. "Oh don't be such a bitch. It's got a few more pounds and more miles on the odometer than a body this age should, but some of the boys love it, and it's lower maintenance than some skinny bitch who only eats lettuce."
I thanked her for her time, and told her I was going to go to the ladies' room, then head back to my hotel. When I got out of the stall, she was waiting for me by the sink.
"Now hold up," she said. "You're telling me you came all this way, and all you wanted was to talk?"
"Yeah, pretty much."
"I'm insulted," she said mockingly. "With all your lady-troubles, you'd pass up a shot at some no-consequences girl on girl? I bet you eat pussy like a champ now, and don't even pretend like you haven't been ogling my tits all night."
"Don't flatter yourself. Between Annabelle, Malinda, and myself, you've got the fourth best set of tits I've seen lately. I never thought I'd say this, but I have enough women on my case nowadays. Besides, aren't you straight, not gay?"
She smiled that evil grin again, "I don't know what those words mean anymore."
As we parted at the exit, she turned to me and said "Last piece of advice before you go: Don't be too trusting. The inn makes it really easy to lie, even to other people that go. I'm one of the good ones, but there's others, people that really know how to fuck a person over."
That was something I had never considered before, and stuck with me the whole way home. I thanked her for that, and laughed to myself about her being one of the "good ones." She shook my hand and went back inside, saying "Well, time to go get laid." Charming.
Back in the hotel room I thought about what she had said. I didnt want to become some disaffected hedonist who did whatever felt good with someone elses life, but I also didn't like the idea of being constrained by every little rule they had. I resolved to find a happy medium and be a better Traveler than Fletcher, even if that meant breaking things off with Annabelle and continuing my marriage illusion to Malinda.
I took the long way home and paid for it, the weather was a bitch in the northeast last weekend and it took me 3 days to get back to Burlington.
When I got back to the condo I put my luggage at the door and went upstairs to collapse on the bed. Malinda was in the master bedroom already and when she sighed and her face was almost reassured "You're back" she whispered
"Yep" I said "Someone's gotta earn the money"
She smiled. "I should thank you for that, by the way" she said "I dont know if I ever have before."
I gave her a puzzled look "No problem"
"I've been sleeping in the bed, I can move if you need it" she offered.
"Nah, I'll sleep on the couch. We'll trade off later" I told her, repaying her kindess.
As I was leaving she spat out "Sorry I hit you"
"It's ok, sorry I rubbed the whole gay thing in your face. I know it's a big shock"
"This whole thing is a big shock, and all youve ever done is try to help me through it. I hope you know I appreciate it even if I dont show it"
So now I'm on my couch and Malinda is pleasant again. We've got 2 or 3 months left in these bodies, lets hope things stay that way.
-Greg.
Showing posts with label Fletcher. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Fletcher. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 01, 2012
Monday, October 03, 2011
"Ellie": Hard to Explain
So like I said, I'm Ellie now. I'm a senior in high school, although if I get this body back to Ellie next summer she'll still have to make up a few credits, I've been told. Extra years in high school. Ugh. If this is what High School's always been like, I don't regret missing it.
I guess, though, before I get into any of that, I should explain more about how I got here, and who's with me. This is a long story. I'm in a creative writing class right now and we're encouraged to keep journals and do exercises. Since I can't be honest with them, I'll be honest with you.
I had made the deal with Fletcher/Beatrice at the beginning of the year, and I did always intend to honor it. I never gave a second thought about it. It felt like the right thing to do to ease my guilt about getting Roger into his predicament, spending a year as Beatrice's young daughter. I had promised to do everything in my power to leave him with my "Max" body.
Of course, that assumes Max's body was mine to give. A lot of people wind up in bodies they can't get out of; it's sad but it's true, and when I investigated I found this had happened to the original Max, Tanya and Melanie, in a way. Max and Tanya had wound up as parents to a newborn: Melanie. And there was no telling what effect bringing a newborn to the inn a second time might have. I told them there was a case in the blog where someone was turned into an infant and grew up comfortable but with memories of her past lives, and they seemed comfortable with that. I don't know if they ever reached out to the original parents, but in any case it always seems like there's a break in every chain somewhere.
I just have to throw up my hands at this point or else the guilt would come back. Roger's fate is the only one I'm responsible for, I can't fix everything now can I?
It was Fletcher who arranged my return to the Inn. He set me up with a reservation for three, assuming the girls -- the ones I was calling Melanie and Tanya -- would both want to come, and to complement her party of three.
Neither of the girls actually seemed that interested. If neither of them had to give up their new lives, why should they? And I didn't blame them. Melanie, formerly a guy, was really accepting of her new role, and Tanya was starting to soften too. I thought at least Melanie would appreciate the opportunity to get back to a form resembling her original, but they'd both given up contact with their original selves. To them, it was a matter of being "healthy and safe" here rather than risking it out there. This caused a rift between them and me. I even called Beatrice and told her I couldn't get them to come, and had to give up two of the reservations. She wouldn't allow it. My job was to fill two empty beds by any means I could. I said I wasn't intending to drag two innocent people to Maine when they had no idea what was going to happen to them. Beatrice told me it wasn't her problem. My case got more desperate.
The conflict between me and the girls got to the point where I had to move out of their house, as we were all living together with their "mom." It wasn't that there were hostilities or fights, I just harbored resentments and felt uncomfortable continuing to live there. By this point I had a few options.
See, after I made the deal, all I wanted was to keep my head down and my nose clean and get through to the end of Summer, when the reservation was set for. But life doesn't work that way and you meet people and make connections sometimes even when you don't.
There was a girl waitressing at the restaurant where I was washing dishes, and I guess she got really interested in me somehow. I had no conception of how I came across to her, but I guess because she's quite attractive, with blonde hair and a busty figure, she's used to guys being intimidated by her. I certainly couldn't help noticing her in the wake of my fling with Beatrice, when my sex drive really started to crank into overdrive. But I really, really didn't want to pursue. But somehow, the more I avoided her, the pushier she got until I finally just decided to let her into my life. We started dating not long after I posted about the deal, March.
So when I had to leave Tanya and Melanie's house, I had someone willing to put me up.
It was weird. I haven't written much about my past lives, but a lot of stuff that happened during my time as Sam made me very guarded about relationships. But I was determined at least to treat her with respect and kindness, and appreciate all she was doing for me. And I really, really cared about her. Hell, despite the fact that I had this secret hanging over my head, this deadline, I maybe even loved her.
Over the summer, things got worse for all of us. Eventually, my secrecy and sketchiness caused fight after fight, ending it after a few months. But during this time, something worse happened: Tanya was attacked.
I guess her "new life" wasn't as clean a slate as she thought. Some guys representing an old boyfriend with a drug problem and connections -- or maybe someone who was owed, I don't know -- found her behind a bar and cornered her. She escaped with a black eye and stitches, but the message was clear: this body, like any body, came with baggage. She needed out. I was happy to hear that, but obviously upset about the circumstances. We tried to convince Melanie, to no success.
Then one day, my girl came back home to me and said, "So, I ran into your friend Tanya today... I was wondering about this Maine trip you guys are planning."
I just about hard a freaking heart attack right there.
I mean, I don't know how I thought I could keep this whole thing a secret. I guess I figured we were bound to break up before the trip, and somehow the Inn power would work everything out without a third on our reservation. I'd break her heart, maybe leave her sad for a while (she's a good girl, she'd rebound fine I think) and never have to explain what really came between us. But before any of that happened, this did.
"Maine? Uh, I don't know what you're talking about."
I tried to play dumb but it was no use. She said she couldn't believe I was going about this all in secret, and I had to make like this was meant to be a surprise for the both of us, and I didn't tell her sooner because it wasn't confirmed. It was by sheer coincidence her birthday was in August. As to why Tanya was coming, well, "she's my friend and she's been through some trauma, you must understand, and she could use a vacation but she'll leave us alone."
Amazingly -- and much to my dismay -- that line of reasoning worked, and my girlfriend got her heart set on a vacation to Maine at the end of summer. I searched desperately for any way out but all the walls were closing in. I couldn't go back on my word, I couldn't let my girl down, I couldn't let Tanya stay in this dangerous lifestyle. I had to hope Fletcher and his friends were more able to handle it.
And that's how, on a humid August night, I found myself sprawled out in the darkness feeling my long, lean, lanky, rough-haired male body contract and curve and mold into a young, fresh-faced girl named Ellie McClay. And as interested as I was in my own strange transformation, I kept looking over to the figure in the darkness, the girl in my bed, who just rolled over and kept sleeping as her curvy, sexy self performed a change of its own.
And I wondered, what "magic" would the Inn perform tonight... would she be sister, brother, parent... lover? A man of age and distinction, a girl of twelve?
She became a teenage girl like me. Emily. A friend of Ellie's she'd dragged into this mess. The change must've been so subtle it didn't even wake her up, even as the muffled shock of others vibrated through the walls. There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it to find the face of a man. The girl I knew as Tanya was now my father, Mr. McClay.
It was a while before we learned that Ellie had been here before, that her body once belonged to Bryan, a friend of Alia's. That raised more questions: Why had she come back? And it couldn't just be a coincidence that we're in these bodies. Fletcher had only told us we'd be all right, but he claimed to have no knowledge of where we'd end up. I don't believe him, but I don't know what to think.
But none of this was on our mind at the time. I just kept running over the question I had had in mind ever since "Emily" decided we were definitely going to Maine together: what the hell was I going to tell her about me?
I guess, though, before I get into any of that, I should explain more about how I got here, and who's with me. This is a long story. I'm in a creative writing class right now and we're encouraged to keep journals and do exercises. Since I can't be honest with them, I'll be honest with you.
I had made the deal with Fletcher/Beatrice at the beginning of the year, and I did always intend to honor it. I never gave a second thought about it. It felt like the right thing to do to ease my guilt about getting Roger into his predicament, spending a year as Beatrice's young daughter. I had promised to do everything in my power to leave him with my "Max" body.
Of course, that assumes Max's body was mine to give. A lot of people wind up in bodies they can't get out of; it's sad but it's true, and when I investigated I found this had happened to the original Max, Tanya and Melanie, in a way. Max and Tanya had wound up as parents to a newborn: Melanie. And there was no telling what effect bringing a newborn to the inn a second time might have. I told them there was a case in the blog where someone was turned into an infant and grew up comfortable but with memories of her past lives, and they seemed comfortable with that. I don't know if they ever reached out to the original parents, but in any case it always seems like there's a break in every chain somewhere.
I just have to throw up my hands at this point or else the guilt would come back. Roger's fate is the only one I'm responsible for, I can't fix everything now can I?
It was Fletcher who arranged my return to the Inn. He set me up with a reservation for three, assuming the girls -- the ones I was calling Melanie and Tanya -- would both want to come, and to complement her party of three.
Neither of the girls actually seemed that interested. If neither of them had to give up their new lives, why should they? And I didn't blame them. Melanie, formerly a guy, was really accepting of her new role, and Tanya was starting to soften too. I thought at least Melanie would appreciate the opportunity to get back to a form resembling her original, but they'd both given up contact with their original selves. To them, it was a matter of being "healthy and safe" here rather than risking it out there. This caused a rift between them and me. I even called Beatrice and told her I couldn't get them to come, and had to give up two of the reservations. She wouldn't allow it. My job was to fill two empty beds by any means I could. I said I wasn't intending to drag two innocent people to Maine when they had no idea what was going to happen to them. Beatrice told me it wasn't her problem. My case got more desperate.
The conflict between me and the girls got to the point where I had to move out of their house, as we were all living together with their "mom." It wasn't that there were hostilities or fights, I just harbored resentments and felt uncomfortable continuing to live there. By this point I had a few options.
See, after I made the deal, all I wanted was to keep my head down and my nose clean and get through to the end of Summer, when the reservation was set for. But life doesn't work that way and you meet people and make connections sometimes even when you don't.
There was a girl waitressing at the restaurant where I was washing dishes, and I guess she got really interested in me somehow. I had no conception of how I came across to her, but I guess because she's quite attractive, with blonde hair and a busty figure, she's used to guys being intimidated by her. I certainly couldn't help noticing her in the wake of my fling with Beatrice, when my sex drive really started to crank into overdrive. But I really, really didn't want to pursue. But somehow, the more I avoided her, the pushier she got until I finally just decided to let her into my life. We started dating not long after I posted about the deal, March.
So when I had to leave Tanya and Melanie's house, I had someone willing to put me up.
It was weird. I haven't written much about my past lives, but a lot of stuff that happened during my time as Sam made me very guarded about relationships. But I was determined at least to treat her with respect and kindness, and appreciate all she was doing for me. And I really, really cared about her. Hell, despite the fact that I had this secret hanging over my head, this deadline, I maybe even loved her.
Over the summer, things got worse for all of us. Eventually, my secrecy and sketchiness caused fight after fight, ending it after a few months. But during this time, something worse happened: Tanya was attacked.
I guess her "new life" wasn't as clean a slate as she thought. Some guys representing an old boyfriend with a drug problem and connections -- or maybe someone who was owed, I don't know -- found her behind a bar and cornered her. She escaped with a black eye and stitches, but the message was clear: this body, like any body, came with baggage. She needed out. I was happy to hear that, but obviously upset about the circumstances. We tried to convince Melanie, to no success.
Then one day, my girl came back home to me and said, "So, I ran into your friend Tanya today... I was wondering about this Maine trip you guys are planning."
I just about hard a freaking heart attack right there.
I mean, I don't know how I thought I could keep this whole thing a secret. I guess I figured we were bound to break up before the trip, and somehow the Inn power would work everything out without a third on our reservation. I'd break her heart, maybe leave her sad for a while (she's a good girl, she'd rebound fine I think) and never have to explain what really came between us. But before any of that happened, this did.
"Maine? Uh, I don't know what you're talking about."
I tried to play dumb but it was no use. She said she couldn't believe I was going about this all in secret, and I had to make like this was meant to be a surprise for the both of us, and I didn't tell her sooner because it wasn't confirmed. It was by sheer coincidence her birthday was in August. As to why Tanya was coming, well, "she's my friend and she's been through some trauma, you must understand, and she could use a vacation but she'll leave us alone."
Amazingly -- and much to my dismay -- that line of reasoning worked, and my girlfriend got her heart set on a vacation to Maine at the end of summer. I searched desperately for any way out but all the walls were closing in. I couldn't go back on my word, I couldn't let my girl down, I couldn't let Tanya stay in this dangerous lifestyle. I had to hope Fletcher and his friends were more able to handle it.
And that's how, on a humid August night, I found myself sprawled out in the darkness feeling my long, lean, lanky, rough-haired male body contract and curve and mold into a young, fresh-faced girl named Ellie McClay. And as interested as I was in my own strange transformation, I kept looking over to the figure in the darkness, the girl in my bed, who just rolled over and kept sleeping as her curvy, sexy self performed a change of its own.
And I wondered, what "magic" would the Inn perform tonight... would she be sister, brother, parent... lover? A man of age and distinction, a girl of twelve?
She became a teenage girl like me. Emily. A friend of Ellie's she'd dragged into this mess. The change must've been so subtle it didn't even wake her up, even as the muffled shock of others vibrated through the walls. There was a soft knock at the door. I opened it to find the face of a man. The girl I knew as Tanya was now my father, Mr. McClay.
It was a while before we learned that Ellie had been here before, that her body once belonged to Bryan, a friend of Alia's. That raised more questions: Why had she come back? And it couldn't just be a coincidence that we're in these bodies. Fletcher had only told us we'd be all right, but he claimed to have no knowledge of where we'd end up. I don't believe him, but I don't know what to think.
But none of this was on our mind at the time. I just kept running over the question I had had in mind ever since "Emily" decided we were definitely going to Maine together: what the hell was I going to tell her about me?
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Max: Where it began
You already know a lot about my trip to Maine this past July, and someday I'll work up to explaining what brought me there, because Alia there's a lot those posts don't say about me, both good and bad. But it's almost been a whole month since I promised I'd start writing in here and you haven't heard hardly a peep out of me. It's harder than I thought.
I'll start with the night of the 25th, when I became Max. As you can imagine, I didn't sleep well that whole week. I had switched rooms with Roger, a married man who had stayed behind because he was having problems with his wife and because, I think, he thought he had a shot with me. I want to make it perfectly clear that I never gave him the impression I was willing to let him cheat on his wife with me. After all, we weren't even in the same room that night. How I got him to trade rooms with me, well, that's maybe a different matter.
The point was, this body was meant for him, and who knows what he would have done with it.
Once he gave me his room, there was no turning back. I immediately sought the suitcase. I found a gym bag with a couple of changes of clothes haphazardly tossed in, and no letter or ID around. I dumped out the bad and found Men's jeans and well-worn black t-shirts. I wondered if it was too late. There was no way of knowing who Roger was going to turn into, and I wondered if I had made a mistake, now that I was certain what sort of person I was going to be.
The whole bag was laundered and neatly folded, so it seemed like someone must have taken care of this for Max. It still smelled faintly of detergent. Out of curiosity, I stripped down to my bra and panties and dressed myself in the man's clothes. The jeans came down past my feet and had no hope of staying up without a belt, being very roomy in the crotch. I've worn boyfriends' clothes before, so I could guage how big of a guy Max was from how loose his shirt was on me. My last boyfriend was 6'1 compared to my 5'4 self and modest chest. Max's shirt wasn't as billowy on me.
I spent the night turned on my side, as usual unable to sleep. Around 2:15, I felt my heart starting to beat faster. The hairs on my arms stood up. I can't even describe what it's like to feel hair pull itself into your head, it's like a tingling, like a super-thorough rinse but... inside your scalp.
I was wearing my pajama bottoms and a tank top. I thought the tank would be stretchy enough to survive my metamorphosis, as I only had a vague idea of what my new physique was like. Luckily, Max was a slender guy with slim shoulders. My breasts stiffened and flattened themselves against my torso. It was like losing a limb, to be perfectly honest. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of... being turned inside out.
I didn't see it happen. The whole time I had my eyes clenched shut, mentally chanting "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," my palms resting flat against my chest. It wasn't painful, it wasn't erotic, it just slowly, slowly, emerged from me, this alien device in my pants.
When it was over with, I curled back over on my side, flannel pants tight against my thighs and waist, now not reaching the bottom of my calves and tightened all around me. My feet were bare and my toenails were now protruding and scraping against the comforter. I didn't even know what my face looked like, but my first instinct was to rub it and see how recently-shaved it was; there was just a faint wisp of stubble. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. I was seized by a deep, sudden feeling of regret for leaving my life behind.
But in the morning, all I could think was "What's done is done." More pressing issues were about to come up.
I was examining my new face when Alia knocked on my door. As Max, I'm thin and taller than I was as Sam, but still under 6 feet. I have a strong jawline, good facial structure... really, he's quite a handsome guy, except he looked and felt at the time like a bit of a dirty lowlife. I was already sweaty and bristling with body hair on my arms, legs, armpits and chest. Not thick, not unappealingly so, just... it was different. It irritates when you're not used to it.
I tested out my expressions, moving the muscles of my face to see what I looked like surprised, angry, happy... how straight my teeth are (not overly) how my nose looked in profile. Whether my Adam's apple stuck out enough. I tried to angle myself in the bathroom mirror to check out my own ass, but I couldn't get a good look.
It's weird, though, it didn't feel like I'd grown, like my hands and feet had gotten bigger, but holding my flats up to my new foot, it was clear I'd gotten some serious bulk. I marveled at how tiny all the clothes I'd packed as Sam now appeared in my hands. How I stood taller in the mirror.
When Alia saw me, she told me I still stood and walked like a woman, but that I would probably re-learn that in time. By now it feels like I have. Looking down at her when she came to my door I was more impressed with how much taller than her I was (head and shoulders) than say, how attractive she is. She's really pretty, but at the time it didn't occur to me that I was a male looking at a female. At that time I still didn't know who I was or who, if anyone I was with.
This was the result of more room-switching before us. In the next room were the bodies of Tanya, Max's girlfriend, and Melanie, her sister. The room I was in had belonged to Melanie, but Max had taken it while Tanya looked after her in their room, because Melanie had over indulged in booze. They'd had the presence of mind to move Max's luggage over, but not his wallet, which was in with Tanya's stuff. So when a short dark-haired girl showed up at my door later that day holding a wallet, I was glad to meet her.
This was just after Alia's somewhat embarrassing attempt at a speech. They'd seen me when I made my brief cameo, and recognized me from the mysterious wallet left in their room. "Tanya" introduced herself and brought me over to her room next door to meet her "sister."
The sisters are just a year or so apart, with Tanya being the younger one. They look similar enough, but Tanya is a bit heavier. I followed her next door where the other girl was sitting on the bed looking shameful, miserable, pensive. Sulking. She was wearing a Men's white button up over a plain tee and cargo shorts, which all obscured her form. I could just barely discern the dark outlines of her nipples, they were poking through a bit. "Tanya" explained, she and Melanie were a couple (I don't really see the use in revealing their names) and it had dawned on them that they were now sisters. Not a pleasant development for them. They showed me their letters, and mine, which basically read, "Max McGill: Good luck." Most of the details of my new life were outlined in Tanya's letter. I asked if they were okay with hanging around here a while. They agreed.
Melanie was quiet the rest of the night while Tanya and I spoke in hushed tones. Not having been gender-changed, she was in a better frame of mind to take control of the situation while Mel sat on the bed with her legs curled up running her fingers through her hair.
"We're not going to Canada," Tanya told me, "[Melanie] has an important job in Washington and we can't let someone else take his life."
I joked, "What are you guys, the Obamas?"
Tanya didn't laugh, but grumbled "No. Not D.C., Washington State. He's an air traffic controller at Sea-Tac. You think the new person in his body is going to know how to do that?"
"No," I sighed, "But do you think they're just going to let that girl walk in and claim that's her job?"
"When he proves he can do it--"
"Look at her!" I said, "She's a wreck. The last thing she needs right now is the safety of thousands of passengers on her mind."
"Stop it!" she said, "Stop calling my boyfriend a she. It's still him in there, isn't it?" I nodded. "Don't you dare tell me what he needs. What we need is to get back to normal, and we can only do that back home."
"This is not a good idea," I told her. "It's not going to work, and you might risk your ability to get back to your own body."
She snapped, "Did you get your own body back? No? Then you don't know what you're talking about, so stay the hell out of our lives."
I wanted to hit her. Wanted to throttle her. I wasn't prone to violence as a woman but that didn't mean I couldn't get frustrated and lost me temper. I stood up and banged my fist on the desk. It hurt but I didn't let on.
"The two of you are making a huge mistake. For the time being, you belong in New Brunswick, and we can figure out a strategy from there. I'll be here for the rest of my reservation if you change your mind."
She looked at me coldly as I left the room. They were gone the next day.
Next time I get around to writing in this, I'll tell you about my trip up to Canada and where things went from there.
I'll start with the night of the 25th, when I became Max. As you can imagine, I didn't sleep well that whole week. I had switched rooms with Roger, a married man who had stayed behind because he was having problems with his wife and because, I think, he thought he had a shot with me. I want to make it perfectly clear that I never gave him the impression I was willing to let him cheat on his wife with me. After all, we weren't even in the same room that night. How I got him to trade rooms with me, well, that's maybe a different matter.
The point was, this body was meant for him, and who knows what he would have done with it.
Once he gave me his room, there was no turning back. I immediately sought the suitcase. I found a gym bag with a couple of changes of clothes haphazardly tossed in, and no letter or ID around. I dumped out the bad and found Men's jeans and well-worn black t-shirts. I wondered if it was too late. There was no way of knowing who Roger was going to turn into, and I wondered if I had made a mistake, now that I was certain what sort of person I was going to be.
The whole bag was laundered and neatly folded, so it seemed like someone must have taken care of this for Max. It still smelled faintly of detergent. Out of curiosity, I stripped down to my bra and panties and dressed myself in the man's clothes. The jeans came down past my feet and had no hope of staying up without a belt, being very roomy in the crotch. I've worn boyfriends' clothes before, so I could guage how big of a guy Max was from how loose his shirt was on me. My last boyfriend was 6'1 compared to my 5'4 self and modest chest. Max's shirt wasn't as billowy on me.
I spent the night turned on my side, as usual unable to sleep. Around 2:15, I felt my heart starting to beat faster. The hairs on my arms stood up. I can't even describe what it's like to feel hair pull itself into your head, it's like a tingling, like a super-thorough rinse but... inside your scalp.
I was wearing my pajama bottoms and a tank top. I thought the tank would be stretchy enough to survive my metamorphosis, as I only had a vague idea of what my new physique was like. Luckily, Max was a slender guy with slim shoulders. My breasts stiffened and flattened themselves against my torso. It was like losing a limb, to be perfectly honest. But that was nothing compared to the feeling of... being turned inside out.
I didn't see it happen. The whole time I had my eyes clenched shut, mentally chanting "Make it stop, make it stop, make it stop," my palms resting flat against my chest. It wasn't painful, it wasn't erotic, it just slowly, slowly, emerged from me, this alien device in my pants.
When it was over with, I curled back over on my side, flannel pants tight against my thighs and waist, now not reaching the bottom of my calves and tightened all around me. My feet were bare and my toenails were now protruding and scraping against the comforter. I didn't even know what my face looked like, but my first instinct was to rub it and see how recently-shaved it was; there was just a faint wisp of stubble. I couldn't bring myself to get out of bed. I was seized by a deep, sudden feeling of regret for leaving my life behind.
But in the morning, all I could think was "What's done is done." More pressing issues were about to come up.
I was examining my new face when Alia knocked on my door. As Max, I'm thin and taller than I was as Sam, but still under 6 feet. I have a strong jawline, good facial structure... really, he's quite a handsome guy, except he looked and felt at the time like a bit of a dirty lowlife. I was already sweaty and bristling with body hair on my arms, legs, armpits and chest. Not thick, not unappealingly so, just... it was different. It irritates when you're not used to it.
I tested out my expressions, moving the muscles of my face to see what I looked like surprised, angry, happy... how straight my teeth are (not overly) how my nose looked in profile. Whether my Adam's apple stuck out enough. I tried to angle myself in the bathroom mirror to check out my own ass, but I couldn't get a good look.
It's weird, though, it didn't feel like I'd grown, like my hands and feet had gotten bigger, but holding my flats up to my new foot, it was clear I'd gotten some serious bulk. I marveled at how tiny all the clothes I'd packed as Sam now appeared in my hands. How I stood taller in the mirror.
When Alia saw me, she told me I still stood and walked like a woman, but that I would probably re-learn that in time. By now it feels like I have. Looking down at her when she came to my door I was more impressed with how much taller than her I was (head and shoulders) than say, how attractive she is. She's really pretty, but at the time it didn't occur to me that I was a male looking at a female. At that time I still didn't know who I was or who, if anyone I was with.
This was the result of more room-switching before us. In the next room were the bodies of Tanya, Max's girlfriend, and Melanie, her sister. The room I was in had belonged to Melanie, but Max had taken it while Tanya looked after her in their room, because Melanie had over indulged in booze. They'd had the presence of mind to move Max's luggage over, but not his wallet, which was in with Tanya's stuff. So when a short dark-haired girl showed up at my door later that day holding a wallet, I was glad to meet her.
This was just after Alia's somewhat embarrassing attempt at a speech. They'd seen me when I made my brief cameo, and recognized me from the mysterious wallet left in their room. "Tanya" introduced herself and brought me over to her room next door to meet her "sister."
The sisters are just a year or so apart, with Tanya being the younger one. They look similar enough, but Tanya is a bit heavier. I followed her next door where the other girl was sitting on the bed looking shameful, miserable, pensive. Sulking. She was wearing a Men's white button up over a plain tee and cargo shorts, which all obscured her form. I could just barely discern the dark outlines of her nipples, they were poking through a bit. "Tanya" explained, she and Melanie were a couple (I don't really see the use in revealing their names) and it had dawned on them that they were now sisters. Not a pleasant development for them. They showed me their letters, and mine, which basically read, "Max McGill: Good luck." Most of the details of my new life were outlined in Tanya's letter. I asked if they were okay with hanging around here a while. They agreed.
Melanie was quiet the rest of the night while Tanya and I spoke in hushed tones. Not having been gender-changed, she was in a better frame of mind to take control of the situation while Mel sat on the bed with her legs curled up running her fingers through her hair.
"We're not going to Canada," Tanya told me, "[Melanie] has an important job in Washington and we can't let someone else take his life."
I joked, "What are you guys, the Obamas?"
Tanya didn't laugh, but grumbled "No. Not D.C., Washington State. He's an air traffic controller at Sea-Tac. You think the new person in his body is going to know how to do that?"
"No," I sighed, "But do you think they're just going to let that girl walk in and claim that's her job?"
"When he proves he can do it--"
"Look at her!" I said, "She's a wreck. The last thing she needs right now is the safety of thousands of passengers on her mind."
"Stop it!" she said, "Stop calling my boyfriend a she. It's still him in there, isn't it?" I nodded. "Don't you dare tell me what he needs. What we need is to get back to normal, and we can only do that back home."
"This is not a good idea," I told her. "It's not going to work, and you might risk your ability to get back to your own body."
She snapped, "Did you get your own body back? No? Then you don't know what you're talking about, so stay the hell out of our lives."
I wanted to hit her. Wanted to throttle her. I wasn't prone to violence as a woman but that didn't mean I couldn't get frustrated and lost me temper. I stood up and banged my fist on the desk. It hurt but I didn't let on.
"The two of you are making a huge mistake. For the time being, you belong in New Brunswick, and we can figure out a strategy from there. I'll be here for the rest of my reservation if you change your mind."
She looked at me coldly as I left the room. They were gone the next day.
Next time I get around to writing in this, I'll tell you about my trip up to Canada and where things went from there.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Alia: Emily's story
So, Monday.
Exhausted from a very busy morning, and disappointed I hadn't done a good job of dispelling the hysteria, Max -- formerly Sam -- and I took off for some breakfast to re-orient ourselves at a little family restaurant by the shore.
I was feeling hungry enough to eat three breakfasts, so I overdid my order. I had neglected to take into account the fact that while my hunger may be big, my appetite was not the same size as Rob's. Max ended up finishing my meal. I was still slightly irritated at him for manipulating his way into Roger's room, but part of me didn't want to hold it against him.
We walked along and I looked up and asked him, "How do you like manhood so far?"
He smiled a goofy, awkward grin, "Seems simple enough. Walking down the street without anyone shooting me phantom glances is gonna take some adjustment. I'm all hairy and bulky and weird. I don't think I like it so far."
"You get used to it," I assured him. "I guess no matter what body you get, it becomes second-nature after some months." I told him the best was benefiting from the double-standard that he'll be made fun of if he has too little sex, rather than too much. This attempt at levity didn't take.
That reminded me - I stopped into a drug store to get some Febreze, since my room still smelled like a sweaty man. I was planning to stick around for the rest of the week in case anyone needed my help. Maybe it was a misplaced gesture. Some of the transformees, including Roger, seemed to resent my premise. Fletcher and his crew laid low.
In fact, Fletcher/Beatrice, "her" new husband, and "their" daughter Roger/Lily, were packing to leave as early as Tuesday, while everyone was still milling about, some of them remaining in denial.
"What's the hurry?" I asked.
"Hey, you may have time to lounge around on the beach, but some of our bodies have obligations. My husband's got to earn the money."
I rolled my eyes. "Your husband. And how does your daughter feel?"
"Oh, she's not happy about it. You know kids."
"Kids that used to be grown men? I don't have much experience with them."
"Well, we'll buy her a new bike, she'll forget all about her old life."
I stared a dagger at her. She extended her hand for a shake. I told her I hoped we'd never meet again.
She winked at me. "If you're lucky. Of course, in a year or two, you might see me again and not even know it."
And with that, she was gone. Now, I might have considered offering her a membership to the blog, but when, as Fletcher, he surmised my identity when we first met, he expressed the viewpoint that this blog was not a smart endeavor. "Hey, that's your thing, but some of us -- most, from what I can tell -- prefer our anonymity."
I understand that viewpoint... if someone had wanted to mess with me, I suppose it would be easy enough to get means to do so from this blog. But it doesn't look like that's happened, so I don't know what to say.
I shared some contact information with some of the others, but none seemed all that into it. If anyone else wants to contact me about the blog -- if you've tried to get onto this blog, if you've been transformed, please remember that you can contact me at alia.rob[at]hotmail.com -- I'll see what I can do.
Anyway. Wednesday, I was lying in my room reading when I had a knock at the door. I opened it to see a girl about my age. I had recognized her, but we hadn't spoken yet. I welcomed her in and asked her how she was adjusting.
"Well that's just it. I'm like you. I've been here before."
I was both surprised and not. Surprised because I guess I took it for granted that it was just me, Sam/Max and Fletcher -- and his friends -- as veterans.
She told me her name was Emily, and that a woman named Priya had been living her life. I told her I was vaguely aware of the "new" Priya, through the blog: Greg, obviously. At this point I hadn't been made aware of the circumstances of his/her latest transformation. If Emily knew, she didn't care to divulge. She was more interested in talking about herself.
A year ago, she summarized, she'd woken up in a new body. Of course. It was a gangly, pale, male body, a freckled redhead with a beard and a receding hairline. She was far from amused. The guy had been on vacation with two of his guy friends, and amongst them, she was the only who had been female. The other two, in fact, stayed in their new lives.
She went on, getting a bit more emotional as she did. Like anyone else, she found it daunting when she first got to her new life, particularly as this guy had left her a long-term girlfriend. At first she resented the fact that she had to keep this relationship up, and considered breaking it off out of practicality, but once she met her she was so struck that she had to stay.
From the way she described it, this wasn't some slow, subtle process of coming into one's sexuality. It wasn't the long transition into a romantic relationship. "Within a week, I felt like I'd known her for years. You ever meet someone and you just make a connection? Like you wouldn't think it's possible, since I was just pretending to be her boyfriend, but it was like she really understood me, and I really, honestly loved her. Immediately. And that's what kills me. I'll never know whether it was me, or the curse, that made it so. Maybe it was just the leftover feelings of his body, or maybe I just loved her, and now I don't think I can ever go back to guys, or maybe even find anyone else... I feel like I'm ruined, you know? Like that was it. And I gave it up." She sniffed. "I gave it back because somewhere even thought I felt it wasn't true, I knew it wasn't really me she loved."
She explained, "I guess I'm telling you all this because I need to get it out there. I wanted to know if you knew, if I'm just crazy, if I was really in love, or my body was playing tricks on me."
I told her I couldn't say for sure. I've only ever loved one person, and I've known him too long to let him go. but the way I feel about him is what I imagine she felt for her lost love. Did she do the right thing in giving the body back? Maybe. Maybe the story won't have a happy ending -- I'm not really a big believer in "you'll find your special someone eventually" or any typical romantic stuff. But I couldn't say that.
All I could say was that I had felt attracted -- physically attracted, drawn, aroused, whatever you want to say -- to women as a man, in a way I'd never expected. So I know the Inn has some effect. What she was feeling, though, seems too real to just be a side-effect of the Inn. And I feel like, if you felt it once, it's still like you'll feel it again. I mean, that's not romance, that's statistics.
She wasn't heartened by this, but told me at least it felt good to get it out there. She was gone later the next day. The inn is practically empty now, with Max lingering about as long as me. In fact, he's standing in my doorway right now, rubbing his chin stubble. I'll be back in Toronto tomorrow night, if all goes well.
Well we can only hope.
-Alia
Exhausted from a very busy morning, and disappointed I hadn't done a good job of dispelling the hysteria, Max -- formerly Sam -- and I took off for some breakfast to re-orient ourselves at a little family restaurant by the shore.
I was feeling hungry enough to eat three breakfasts, so I overdid my order. I had neglected to take into account the fact that while my hunger may be big, my appetite was not the same size as Rob's. Max ended up finishing my meal. I was still slightly irritated at him for manipulating his way into Roger's room, but part of me didn't want to hold it against him.
We walked along and I looked up and asked him, "How do you like manhood so far?"
He smiled a goofy, awkward grin, "Seems simple enough. Walking down the street without anyone shooting me phantom glances is gonna take some adjustment. I'm all hairy and bulky and weird. I don't think I like it so far."
"You get used to it," I assured him. "I guess no matter what body you get, it becomes second-nature after some months." I told him the best was benefiting from the double-standard that he'll be made fun of if he has too little sex, rather than too much. This attempt at levity didn't take.
That reminded me - I stopped into a drug store to get some Febreze, since my room still smelled like a sweaty man. I was planning to stick around for the rest of the week in case anyone needed my help. Maybe it was a misplaced gesture. Some of the transformees, including Roger, seemed to resent my premise. Fletcher and his crew laid low.
In fact, Fletcher/Beatrice, "her" new husband, and "their" daughter Roger/Lily, were packing to leave as early as Tuesday, while everyone was still milling about, some of them remaining in denial.
"What's the hurry?" I asked.
"Hey, you may have time to lounge around on the beach, but some of our bodies have obligations. My husband's got to earn the money."
I rolled my eyes. "Your husband. And how does your daughter feel?"
"Oh, she's not happy about it. You know kids."
"Kids that used to be grown men? I don't have much experience with them."
"Well, we'll buy her a new bike, she'll forget all about her old life."
I stared a dagger at her. She extended her hand for a shake. I told her I hoped we'd never meet again.
She winked at me. "If you're lucky. Of course, in a year or two, you might see me again and not even know it."
And with that, she was gone. Now, I might have considered offering her a membership to the blog, but when, as Fletcher, he surmised my identity when we first met, he expressed the viewpoint that this blog was not a smart endeavor. "Hey, that's your thing, but some of us -- most, from what I can tell -- prefer our anonymity."
I understand that viewpoint... if someone had wanted to mess with me, I suppose it would be easy enough to get means to do so from this blog. But it doesn't look like that's happened, so I don't know what to say.
I shared some contact information with some of the others, but none seemed all that into it. If anyone else wants to contact me about the blog -- if you've tried to get onto this blog, if you've been transformed, please remember that you can contact me at alia.rob[at]hotmail.com -- I'll see what I can do.
Anyway. Wednesday, I was lying in my room reading when I had a knock at the door. I opened it to see a girl about my age. I had recognized her, but we hadn't spoken yet. I welcomed her in and asked her how she was adjusting.
"Well that's just it. I'm like you. I've been here before."
I was both surprised and not. Surprised because I guess I took it for granted that it was just me, Sam/Max and Fletcher -- and his friends -- as veterans.
She told me her name was Emily, and that a woman named Priya had been living her life. I told her I was vaguely aware of the "new" Priya, through the blog: Greg, obviously. At this point I hadn't been made aware of the circumstances of his/her latest transformation. If Emily knew, she didn't care to divulge. She was more interested in talking about herself.
A year ago, she summarized, she'd woken up in a new body. Of course. It was a gangly, pale, male body, a freckled redhead with a beard and a receding hairline. She was far from amused. The guy had been on vacation with two of his guy friends, and amongst them, she was the only who had been female. The other two, in fact, stayed in their new lives.
She went on, getting a bit more emotional as she did. Like anyone else, she found it daunting when she first got to her new life, particularly as this guy had left her a long-term girlfriend. At first she resented the fact that she had to keep this relationship up, and considered breaking it off out of practicality, but once she met her she was so struck that she had to stay.
From the way she described it, this wasn't some slow, subtle process of coming into one's sexuality. It wasn't the long transition into a romantic relationship. "Within a week, I felt like I'd known her for years. You ever meet someone and you just make a connection? Like you wouldn't think it's possible, since I was just pretending to be her boyfriend, but it was like she really understood me, and I really, honestly loved her. Immediately. And that's what kills me. I'll never know whether it was me, or the curse, that made it so. Maybe it was just the leftover feelings of his body, or maybe I just loved her, and now I don't think I can ever go back to guys, or maybe even find anyone else... I feel like I'm ruined, you know? Like that was it. And I gave it up." She sniffed. "I gave it back because somewhere even thought I felt it wasn't true, I knew it wasn't really me she loved."
She explained, "I guess I'm telling you all this because I need to get it out there. I wanted to know if you knew, if I'm just crazy, if I was really in love, or my body was playing tricks on me."
I told her I couldn't say for sure. I've only ever loved one person, and I've known him too long to let him go. but the way I feel about him is what I imagine she felt for her lost love. Did she do the right thing in giving the body back? Maybe. Maybe the story won't have a happy ending -- I'm not really a big believer in "you'll find your special someone eventually" or any typical romantic stuff. But I couldn't say that.
All I could say was that I had felt attracted -- physically attracted, drawn, aroused, whatever you want to say -- to women as a man, in a way I'd never expected. So I know the Inn has some effect. What she was feeling, though, seems too real to just be a side-effect of the Inn. And I feel like, if you felt it once, it's still like you'll feel it again. I mean, that's not romance, that's statistics.
She wasn't heartened by this, but told me at least it felt good to get it out there. She was gone later the next day. The inn is practically empty now, with Max lingering about as long as me. In fact, he's standing in my doorway right now, rubbing his chin stubble. I'll be back in Toronto tomorrow night, if all goes well.
Well we can only hope.
-Alia
Monday, July 26, 2010
Alia: Get Back to Where You Once Belonged
When a car pulled up to the Inn yesterday after dinner, I got a bit of a chill. Out stepped a young man and woman, modestly-packed. Fletcher walked over to greet them, and I was introduced.
"Alia, these are my friends... it's probably better you don't know their names, but they're here to fill in."
"Where are they going to stay? That one guy's still got the rooms booked."
"They'll be in my room," Fletcher said, "It might upend the room-by-room scheme somewhat, but I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. It'll mostly be down by our room, and the room next."
The room next to Fletcher's, of course, was Sam's, which I recalled had no identifying bag. I wondered what that means.
"If Sam's done her part, the mark will still be in his room tonight." The mark, of course, was the guy whose wife up and went to Boston. His name was Roger, in case you were wondering.
I grumbled, "So we're splitting him off from his family."
"Hey man, there was half a chance that was already gonna happen. So his kid gets a new daddy. At least he doesn't have to worry about a new body."
I tried to mentally wipe away the ethical implications of the inn's curse, and trying to meddle with it, but it kept nagging at me all night. It didn't help that I ran into Sam at the bar again -- this time, chatting up Roger. I tried to stay clear, act like I didn't know her.
I shuffled off to bed around 11 and, as I have all week, just lay there not sleeping. This time I was certain it was going to happen. I was feeling some serious skin irritation around midnight. It was maybe 2 AM when I started to feel any real changes.
Subtle stuff at first. My skin began to feel smooth, my nails were growing. My hair took on a finer texture. Excited by the sensation, I turned on the lights and headed to the mirror where I watched as I slowly passed from one gender to the next. It was like I could feel weight being evaporated off me into a cloud of nothingness, draining me away. Not particularly pleasant, but not utterly painful. For a moment the transformation seemed to stall and I was just a short, slender boyish figure with growing hair. Then the last phase kicked in and my legs gave out.
I doubled over on the bathroom floor, numb, shivering in the cold. Hair fell over my face. I gasped, "Yes, please, God, please... yes..." in a creaking voice. I propped myself up against the bathroom wall, sitting on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me. My vision blurred and corrected itself -- in my real life, I'm slightly nearsighted and need glasses to read. My breasts slowly grew in fuller and heavier, my stomach flattened and my genitals slipped quietly into my body -- frankly it wasn't as painful as I might've thought, although I certainly wouldn't want to go for another round. I pulled my self up on spaghetti legs and saw her.
My eyes watered up. I had gotten used to seeing hard features, short dark hair, a thick neck and broad shoulders. The girl in the mirror seemed so fragile, but I lived 24 years of my life as her. I suppressed a squeal of delight. I tried to take a few steps with my new old little feet and legs, and found that muscle memory took time to return.... I was tripping all around the room, grabbing the walls for support.
I flopped back on the bed, a layer of sweat clinging to my skin. I was flustered. My mind raced. I tried to figure out my next move. Do I go check on Sam? Sit in my room and wait for pandemonium to erupt? Confer with Fletcher and his brood? I meditated in indecision...
...and proceeded to fall into the deepest sleep I've had in months, if not years.
I awoke to the sound of general chaos outside my door, several hours later. I bolted upright, suddenly realizing that, as one of the handful of people who knew what the eff was going on, I'd be called on to do some explaining.
First, I had to attend to myself. I unzipped my proper Alia-luggage and chose the most practical outfit I could, a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail and was set to head out when I felt something amiss. I had forgotten to put on a bra.
I laughed to myself for this innocent gaffe. When something drops out of your routine, it can be hard to get back to old reflexes. After a second stab at dressing myself, I wobbled over to the door.
I slowly headed out. To one the left, a man in a loose-fitting shirt and pants was frantically pacing and theorizing about the situation while a small group of onlookers discussed the issue. I made my way the other way down the hall to Sam's room, trying to avoid attracting attention for the time being. Out of a sense of duty maybe, trying to alleviate my conscience for freaking out the day before, I wanted to make sure there was no negativity.
I knocked on the door and waited. For a moment it seemed like anyone could be on the other side of that door. An old man, an infant, a college girl. The wait was interminable, until finally the knob turned and the door crept open.
"Hello?" a little voice whispered.
I said softly, "Sam? Is that you?"
The door opened a little wider. A little girl of Asian descent, maybe 10 or 11 years old, stood there in a men's white t-shirt that went down to her knees. Black hair matted down her face in a messy tangle. Her eyes seemed to burn as she looked up with me.
"No," she said in a deflated whimper. "My name is Roger. Roger Templesmith."
Speechless, I gawked a moment before asking, "Do you know where Sam is? The woman you were talking to-- why are you in her room?"
Walking in slow, measured paces, she went back to the bed and sat on it -- her feet not touching the floor. She talked in a hushed tone as she said, "She said... she asked if we could trade rooms, because she said she didn't like the guy in the next room over, and... was worried he might do something. I tried, I mean... I tried to be a good guy. I wanted to help."
She looked up at me with saddened eyes. This poor guy got into something big, and maybe he was legitimately trying to impress Sam, although how he might've accomplished anything from a different room I don't know.
"So," I reasoned, "Sam was in your room last night?"
She turned away, nodded and sniffled, then looked back at me. "Who are you? What happened last night?"
I said, probably with some feeling of burden in my voice, "I'm someone who knows what's going on. I'll be back."
I headed back toward Roger's original room and knocked on the door.
A guy answered, a young man in his early 20's. He took a look at me and guessed, "Rob? Or Fletcher."
"Rob. Well, Alia, actually."
"So this is the real you? You didn't mention you were a woman."
"Would that have mattered?"
"Well, you sure didn't feel like a woman," he snickered. "I guess the joke's on me now." I went into his room and, on the brink of another outburst or moral judgment, asked what was the deal with Roger switching into her room.
"Well," he explained as he unpacked his new life, "We were talking at the bar last night, he and I. And I mentioned I was a little nervous about Fletcher and his little crew. Nothing desperate, but I was venting. I was drunk, and that's what happen when I drink, I fabricate."
"Uh huh. So what, you tricked him into the room-switch by pretending Fletcher was a threat?"
"Not exactly. I wasn't really thinking about the switch. And I wasn't afraid of Fletcher, I just wanted someone to make me feel safe, and he was happy to oblige by accompanying me to my room. And then..."
"Go on."
"Then he got fresh. Some men, they're only faithful until they have an opportunity. He wanted to stay the night, to keep me safe. I told him it might be wiser if we just switch rooms, in case Fletcher came by, which was my subtle way of reminding him of his marital vows. He was embarrassed, so he agreed. And that was that."
"But why?" I asked, "Why pin it all on Fletcher? Why do anything?"
"If you were a girl--" he said, stopping himself, "I mean, if you were a girl when you met him, you'd have noticed the way he leers, like he's got something dirty on his mind all the time." I must have missed that, and I wonder whether that was due to my maleness. It's not like he didn't come across as creepy at all. Sam continued, "So yeah, I was just a tad nervous around him. But you're right, it wasn't about him. It was about the room. It gave me a bad vibe, Rob--"
"Alia."
"Whatever. The lack of luggage didn't sit well with me. I needed a sure thing. So I got in here, took a gander at this luggage, and thought, Yeah, this'll do."
My face began to get hot. "Was that why you slept with me? To see if you could get my room?"
He stared off into space, taking a long time to formulate his answer.
"To begin with, yeah." Before I could say anything, he interjected, "But when I found out you were trying to get your body back, I gave up. I wanted somebody it wouldn't make a difference to."
"To whom it wouldn't make a difference," I snapped, proving even in anger I'm a stickler for the language.
"So I found someone else."
"And this wasn't about me?"
"Well, it definitely benefited you, didn't it? You got your body back."
"Yeah, well--" I sighed. "What about the sex? What was that about?"
"What about it?" he shrugged. "We both wanted it. It just made sense."
I shook my head and made for the door. As I left, I said, "You might want to check on your friend Roger."
I left him and went to check on our other mutual acquaintance. When I knocked on Fletcher's door, a topless middle-aged Asian woman answered.
"Alia, I presume."
I nodded. "Fletcher? That's an... interesting look."
"Just exploring the terrain. Come on in."
I entered, she closed the door. I stayed next to the door frame because I felt like I might need to make a quick escape. Gathered on the floor was an Asian man and a Caucasian woman who looked older than me.
Fletcher explained, "The three of us are trying to understand it. There are three pieces of luggage in here, one for myself, Mrs. Beatrice Tran, my new husband--" the man waved to identify himself -- you know, in case I couldn't gather -- "And our daughter Lily. But instead, we have this one."
"I think I may have run into your daughter earlier. She's in the next room."
Fletcher's face brightened, "Sam's room? Well that's a relief! I'm glad it's someone I don't have to explain things to."
"Well not so fast," I said, "It's Sam's room, but Sam wasn't there last night. She switched out with Roger."
Fletcher looked slightly irritated. "Well that's a kick. Oh well, we'll make do. Meanwhile, this woman needs to find out what her name was. See how many of the noobs you can round up and we'll get some kind of explanation underway."
I rolled my eyes. "You were a 17-year-old boy in a previous life, weren't you?"
"No........." she said, trailing off. "Just go, okay? We need to make a press conference here."
I went, no longer wishing to be exposed to her nipples.
Most of the patrons were gathered in the common area already. When I appeared, having slightly more certainty in my step than others, I drew attention. Someone immediately surmised I must know what had happened. All eyes were on me.
I started off stammering, "Well... uh, the um, bad news is, this inn has a, uh, well, what people have been calling a curse, um, the inn has a curse."
Silence.
"As you have noticed, um, we're all in the bodies of the people who stayed in the rooms before you. You should have luggage in your room somewhere, you may have noticed it when you checked in, uh, belonging to the person you've uh... become."
Fletcher appeared beside me, now properly dressed. I turned to her for some reassurance, but she just pushed me on.
I continued, "Uh, the news doesn't get much better. The next people who stay here -- their reservations are mostly already made, I think -- are going to be turned into you. You have to live the lives of... well, live as the people you now look like."
I paused to let this sink in. One woman's voice called out, "I want my fucking cock back!"
I went on to explain, you know, how it's possible to get your body back, although when I revealed that I was a successful example of this, people started to suspect me. It shouldn't be surprising for me to say that people don't like getting the news that they have to uproot their entire existence for a year. I didn't have much hope to offer them other than that, so I tried to emphasize it, but I mostly lost it.
I was feeling embarrassed, and I was about to run and hide in my room forever, when Sam poked his head out of his door. I turned back to the grumbling mob and announced, "Hey! Listen, I know it all seems crazy. I know it's hard to absorb. Believe me, when it happened to me-- yeah. But it's not that bad. Most people lead normal lives. You get used to it. Some of you might even learn to enjoy the experience of seeing the inside of another person's life. As shitty as this all sounds, you're getting an experience you never thought possible, and it's just... it's not all bad. So learn to live with it, okay? I'm done."
I went back to my room. There was a knock at the door and Sam poked his head in.
"That was an interesting speech..."
"Well, I got a little frazzled when that one person yelled about her cock. You know? Well, I can understand. Guys get attached to those things."
He blushed. "You'd know all about that, eh?"
"You get used to it. You know how it is."
"I guess so. Hey, I just found out who I am. My name's Max McGill, from Fredericton, New Brunswick. I'm Canadian like you!"
I smiled. "Glad to see you're so excited."
"Could be worse, you know? I used to live in Detroit. New Brunswick might be a nice change of pace."
An African-American man looked into the room holding a Blackberry. "A woman claiming to be my wife just called this phone. What should I say?"
I advised, "Tell her you got delayed on your way out of Maine, and you'll be home soon as you can. There might be some kind of letter with your luggage... I advise you to write one about you life."
"Thanks," he said. "It's going to be okay, isn't it?"
I nodded. "It'll get better."
And that was all before Breakfast.
More to come...
-Alia!
"Alia, these are my friends... it's probably better you don't know their names, but they're here to fill in."
"Where are they going to stay? That one guy's still got the rooms booked."
"They'll be in my room," Fletcher said, "It might upend the room-by-room scheme somewhat, but I wouldn't worry about it if I were you. It'll mostly be down by our room, and the room next."
The room next to Fletcher's, of course, was Sam's, which I recalled had no identifying bag. I wondered what that means.
"If Sam's done her part, the mark will still be in his room tonight." The mark, of course, was the guy whose wife up and went to Boston. His name was Roger, in case you were wondering.
I grumbled, "So we're splitting him off from his family."
"Hey man, there was half a chance that was already gonna happen. So his kid gets a new daddy. At least he doesn't have to worry about a new body."
I tried to mentally wipe away the ethical implications of the inn's curse, and trying to meddle with it, but it kept nagging at me all night. It didn't help that I ran into Sam at the bar again -- this time, chatting up Roger. I tried to stay clear, act like I didn't know her.
I shuffled off to bed around 11 and, as I have all week, just lay there not sleeping. This time I was certain it was going to happen. I was feeling some serious skin irritation around midnight. It was maybe 2 AM when I started to feel any real changes.
Subtle stuff at first. My skin began to feel smooth, my nails were growing. My hair took on a finer texture. Excited by the sensation, I turned on the lights and headed to the mirror where I watched as I slowly passed from one gender to the next. It was like I could feel weight being evaporated off me into a cloud of nothingness, draining me away. Not particularly pleasant, but not utterly painful. For a moment the transformation seemed to stall and I was just a short, slender boyish figure with growing hair. Then the last phase kicked in and my legs gave out.
I doubled over on the bathroom floor, numb, shivering in the cold. Hair fell over my face. I gasped, "Yes, please, God, please... yes..." in a creaking voice. I propped myself up against the bathroom wall, sitting on the floor with my legs stretched out in front of me. My vision blurred and corrected itself -- in my real life, I'm slightly nearsighted and need glasses to read. My breasts slowly grew in fuller and heavier, my stomach flattened and my genitals slipped quietly into my body -- frankly it wasn't as painful as I might've thought, although I certainly wouldn't want to go for another round. I pulled my self up on spaghetti legs and saw her.
My eyes watered up. I had gotten used to seeing hard features, short dark hair, a thick neck and broad shoulders. The girl in the mirror seemed so fragile, but I lived 24 years of my life as her. I suppressed a squeal of delight. I tried to take a few steps with my new old little feet and legs, and found that muscle memory took time to return.... I was tripping all around the room, grabbing the walls for support.
I flopped back on the bed, a layer of sweat clinging to my skin. I was flustered. My mind raced. I tried to figure out my next move. Do I go check on Sam? Sit in my room and wait for pandemonium to erupt? Confer with Fletcher and his brood? I meditated in indecision...
...and proceeded to fall into the deepest sleep I've had in months, if not years.
I awoke to the sound of general chaos outside my door, several hours later. I bolted upright, suddenly realizing that, as one of the handful of people who knew what the eff was going on, I'd be called on to do some explaining.
First, I had to attend to myself. I unzipped my proper Alia-luggage and chose the most practical outfit I could, a pair of shorts and a white t-shirt. I pulled my hair back into a loose ponytail and was set to head out when I felt something amiss. I had forgotten to put on a bra.
I laughed to myself for this innocent gaffe. When something drops out of your routine, it can be hard to get back to old reflexes. After a second stab at dressing myself, I wobbled over to the door.
I slowly headed out. To one the left, a man in a loose-fitting shirt and pants was frantically pacing and theorizing about the situation while a small group of onlookers discussed the issue. I made my way the other way down the hall to Sam's room, trying to avoid attracting attention for the time being. Out of a sense of duty maybe, trying to alleviate my conscience for freaking out the day before, I wanted to make sure there was no negativity.
I knocked on the door and waited. For a moment it seemed like anyone could be on the other side of that door. An old man, an infant, a college girl. The wait was interminable, until finally the knob turned and the door crept open.
"Hello?" a little voice whispered.
I said softly, "Sam? Is that you?"
The door opened a little wider. A little girl of Asian descent, maybe 10 or 11 years old, stood there in a men's white t-shirt that went down to her knees. Black hair matted down her face in a messy tangle. Her eyes seemed to burn as she looked up with me.
"No," she said in a deflated whimper. "My name is Roger. Roger Templesmith."
Speechless, I gawked a moment before asking, "Do you know where Sam is? The woman you were talking to-- why are you in her room?"
Walking in slow, measured paces, she went back to the bed and sat on it -- her feet not touching the floor. She talked in a hushed tone as she said, "She said... she asked if we could trade rooms, because she said she didn't like the guy in the next room over, and... was worried he might do something. I tried, I mean... I tried to be a good guy. I wanted to help."
She looked up at me with saddened eyes. This poor guy got into something big, and maybe he was legitimately trying to impress Sam, although how he might've accomplished anything from a different room I don't know.
"So," I reasoned, "Sam was in your room last night?"
She turned away, nodded and sniffled, then looked back at me. "Who are you? What happened last night?"
I said, probably with some feeling of burden in my voice, "I'm someone who knows what's going on. I'll be back."
I headed back toward Roger's original room and knocked on the door.
A guy answered, a young man in his early 20's. He took a look at me and guessed, "Rob? Or Fletcher."
"Rob. Well, Alia, actually."
"So this is the real you? You didn't mention you were a woman."
"Would that have mattered?"
"Well, you sure didn't feel like a woman," he snickered. "I guess the joke's on me now." I went into his room and, on the brink of another outburst or moral judgment, asked what was the deal with Roger switching into her room.
"Well," he explained as he unpacked his new life, "We were talking at the bar last night, he and I. And I mentioned I was a little nervous about Fletcher and his little crew. Nothing desperate, but I was venting. I was drunk, and that's what happen when I drink, I fabricate."
"Uh huh. So what, you tricked him into the room-switch by pretending Fletcher was a threat?"
"Not exactly. I wasn't really thinking about the switch. And I wasn't afraid of Fletcher, I just wanted someone to make me feel safe, and he was happy to oblige by accompanying me to my room. And then..."
"Go on."
"Then he got fresh. Some men, they're only faithful until they have an opportunity. He wanted to stay the night, to keep me safe. I told him it might be wiser if we just switch rooms, in case Fletcher came by, which was my subtle way of reminding him of his marital vows. He was embarrassed, so he agreed. And that was that."
"But why?" I asked, "Why pin it all on Fletcher? Why do anything?"
"If you were a girl--" he said, stopping himself, "I mean, if you were a girl when you met him, you'd have noticed the way he leers, like he's got something dirty on his mind all the time." I must have missed that, and I wonder whether that was due to my maleness. It's not like he didn't come across as creepy at all. Sam continued, "So yeah, I was just a tad nervous around him. But you're right, it wasn't about him. It was about the room. It gave me a bad vibe, Rob--"
"Alia."
"Whatever. The lack of luggage didn't sit well with me. I needed a sure thing. So I got in here, took a gander at this luggage, and thought, Yeah, this'll do."
My face began to get hot. "Was that why you slept with me? To see if you could get my room?"
He stared off into space, taking a long time to formulate his answer.
"To begin with, yeah." Before I could say anything, he interjected, "But when I found out you were trying to get your body back, I gave up. I wanted somebody it wouldn't make a difference to."
"To whom it wouldn't make a difference," I snapped, proving even in anger I'm a stickler for the language.
"So I found someone else."
"And this wasn't about me?"
"Well, it definitely benefited you, didn't it? You got your body back."
"Yeah, well--" I sighed. "What about the sex? What was that about?"
"What about it?" he shrugged. "We both wanted it. It just made sense."
I shook my head and made for the door. As I left, I said, "You might want to check on your friend Roger."
I left him and went to check on our other mutual acquaintance. When I knocked on Fletcher's door, a topless middle-aged Asian woman answered.
"Alia, I presume."
I nodded. "Fletcher? That's an... interesting look."
"Just exploring the terrain. Come on in."
I entered, she closed the door. I stayed next to the door frame because I felt like I might need to make a quick escape. Gathered on the floor was an Asian man and a Caucasian woman who looked older than me.
Fletcher explained, "The three of us are trying to understand it. There are three pieces of luggage in here, one for myself, Mrs. Beatrice Tran, my new husband--" the man waved to identify himself -- you know, in case I couldn't gather -- "And our daughter Lily. But instead, we have this one."
"I think I may have run into your daughter earlier. She's in the next room."
Fletcher's face brightened, "Sam's room? Well that's a relief! I'm glad it's someone I don't have to explain things to."
"Well not so fast," I said, "It's Sam's room, but Sam wasn't there last night. She switched out with Roger."
Fletcher looked slightly irritated. "Well that's a kick. Oh well, we'll make do. Meanwhile, this woman needs to find out what her name was. See how many of the noobs you can round up and we'll get some kind of explanation underway."
I rolled my eyes. "You were a 17-year-old boy in a previous life, weren't you?"
"No........." she said, trailing off. "Just go, okay? We need to make a press conference here."
I went, no longer wishing to be exposed to her nipples.
Most of the patrons were gathered in the common area already. When I appeared, having slightly more certainty in my step than others, I drew attention. Someone immediately surmised I must know what had happened. All eyes were on me.
I started off stammering, "Well... uh, the um, bad news is, this inn has a, uh, well, what people have been calling a curse, um, the inn has a curse."
Silence.
"As you have noticed, um, we're all in the bodies of the people who stayed in the rooms before you. You should have luggage in your room somewhere, you may have noticed it when you checked in, uh, belonging to the person you've uh... become."
Fletcher appeared beside me, now properly dressed. I turned to her for some reassurance, but she just pushed me on.
I continued, "Uh, the news doesn't get much better. The next people who stay here -- their reservations are mostly already made, I think -- are going to be turned into you. You have to live the lives of... well, live as the people you now look like."
I paused to let this sink in. One woman's voice called out, "I want my fucking cock back!"
I went on to explain, you know, how it's possible to get your body back, although when I revealed that I was a successful example of this, people started to suspect me. It shouldn't be surprising for me to say that people don't like getting the news that they have to uproot their entire existence for a year. I didn't have much hope to offer them other than that, so I tried to emphasize it, but I mostly lost it.
I was feeling embarrassed, and I was about to run and hide in my room forever, when Sam poked his head out of his door. I turned back to the grumbling mob and announced, "Hey! Listen, I know it all seems crazy. I know it's hard to absorb. Believe me, when it happened to me-- yeah. But it's not that bad. Most people lead normal lives. You get used to it. Some of you might even learn to enjoy the experience of seeing the inside of another person's life. As shitty as this all sounds, you're getting an experience you never thought possible, and it's just... it's not all bad. So learn to live with it, okay? I'm done."
I went back to my room. There was a knock at the door and Sam poked his head in.
"That was an interesting speech..."
"Well, I got a little frazzled when that one person yelled about her cock. You know? Well, I can understand. Guys get attached to those things."
He blushed. "You'd know all about that, eh?"
"You get used to it. You know how it is."
"I guess so. Hey, I just found out who I am. My name's Max McGill, from Fredericton, New Brunswick. I'm Canadian like you!"
I smiled. "Glad to see you're so excited."
"Could be worse, you know? I used to live in Detroit. New Brunswick might be a nice change of pace."
An African-American man looked into the room holding a Blackberry. "A woman claiming to be my wife just called this phone. What should I say?"
I advised, "Tell her you got delayed on your way out of Maine, and you'll be home soon as you can. There might be some kind of letter with your luggage... I advise you to write one about you life."
"Thanks," he said. "It's going to be okay, isn't it?"
I nodded. "It'll get better."
And that was all before Breakfast.
More to come...
-Alia!
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Alia/Rob: Necessary Measures
I'm a nice person. At least, that's the image I have of myself. I don't want to ruffle anyone's feathers in life, don't want to step on anyone to get what I want, don't want to cause a fuss or inconvenience others. I order coffee but get tea, I just drink tea. I wake up one morning as Rob Garcia, I live a year in his life.
But there's something to be said for doing what it takes to get what you need.
Earlier, I mentioned the logistical problem of this dad-guy and his wife and kid, if they happened to head off to Boston before any of us had transformed. I'm guessing somehow the transformation would occur anyway, and for all I know I'd still get out of here with my own body. Or maybe I'd get to the end of my reservation and not transform at all. That's not acceptable, even a marginal chance of it.
The other side of it, though, was the kid -- they had a son about 10. If I was just some random visitor, and I saw a couple with their kid, I wouldn't think anything of it. So when the kid gets transformed, oh, it's just as much a surprise as anything else. But knowing it was going to happen? Something about that didn't sit right with me. Part of me wanted to let them go, and try to find another way to let it happen.
I was discussing this with Fletcher. He said he has a couple of people nearby he might be able to call on -- "travelers" tend to stay in the New England -- but the loss of three bodies at the inn wouldn't be easy to overcome. He suggested it would be smartest to try to convince them to stay another day. I said I wasn't much for manipulating people.
"Leave it to me," he says.
I spent last night tossing and turning, hoping the change would happen, but it still didn't. Afraid of what might happen if this whole thing somehow goes bust, my dreams felt haunted.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of a rumbling. It was the unmistakable sound of a lover's quarrel. She was screaming something about broken plans and bad promises. I didn't want to eavesdrop, but they were having at it in the open air, so I heard whatever I heard.
The fight ended with the sound of luggage being carried out to a car. In a worry, I thought, "This is the opposite of what I want to happen!" So I scrambled to find some pants and see what exactly had occurred.
I found the Dad on his own. The wife had driven off with their son, presumably for Boston.
"Sorry you had to hear that," he said, "The wife and I had a difference of opinion."
"What about?"
"This place. I wanted to hang out a bit longer, and she was laying into me because she has a thing about plans."
"I know what you mean," I said, albeit with more sympathy for the wife than I let on. "She just left you here?"
"Eh, I just thought we paid for the room, why not enjoy it? It's a little nicer than your average roadside joint, don't ya think?" Yes. "But she says, oh, we've gotta keep to our schedule, Boston this, blah blah. So I let her go, and I'll take a bus down and meet her there in a couple of days when it's all blown over."
It seemed miraculous how it had all worked out. A little too miraculous. And some of this didn't sit right with me.
I went and found Fletcher. "What did you do?"
"What'd I do?" he snickered, "I didn't do anything, man. I mean sure, some stuff happened, but I don't think it has anything to do with me." He grinned and said, "Come to think of it, what makes a man suddenly gain a fondness for a little Inn in the middle of nowhere?"
I asked him again. "...Fletcher, what did you do?"
He looked me in the eye. "I had a little talk with your ladyfriend Sam. She knows more about what's happened here than I would."
I rushed off to Sam's room and knocked urgently on her door. She answered in pajamas and tousled hair, like I'd just woken her up. "Oh, hey Rob, are we still here?"
I hissed in a quiet tone, in case anyone could hear, "What did you do last night?"
She looked at me, defensively, with a cold, annoyed look that didn't care to be accused at. She pulled me into her room.
"What did that asshole tell you?" she asked.
"Which asshole? The asshole whose wife just left him here, or the asshole who bodyjacks strangers for fun?"
"Either one. What did you hear?"
"I didn't hear anything. But Fletcher strongly implied you were responsible for whatever just happened to that guy."
She sat on the bed and said nothing. Irritated with the lack of explanation, I began to yell, "Did you--" before I realized exactly how loud this body's voice can be. I stopped to compose myself. "Did you fuck him?"
She shot back, "No! God, is that what you think I am? Some kind of whore? That I'd have sexual intercourse with a married man just to, just to what? To help you get your body back faster? No, I didn't sleep with anybody." She looked bitterly at me. "I only sleep with people I like."
"So, what then?" I demanded, trying to brush away the embarrassment of my accusation.
"Well," she said very hesitantly, "I convinced him to say."
"With what, a sandwich platter?"
"Ouch," she said, "No, just a few choice words. I never said anything was going to happen, but I just... had a talk with him. About Maine, and about not missing opportunities for seeing sights, and experiencing things... I may have planted the idea that staying would be a good idea."
After a moment, I said, "So... you led him on, into staying at the inn so he could be transformed?"
"That's one way of looking at it. It's not my fault he may have drawn certain... interpretations."
I fell silent for a moment. She asked whether I was mad.
"I'm not mad," I said, half-truthfully, "I just wonder why any of this had to happen. I could've left well enough alone. Maybe figured out some other way."
After a moment when neither of us could figure out anything to say, Fletcher appeared in the doorway. "Just thought you might like to know," he said, "My friends are on their way, and someone else just pulled up in the parking lot. Might as well get ready for tomorrow."
I don't know if any of this is all right. I feel like maybe I overreacted to Sam's actions. Maybe none of this has anything to do with me. I don't even know if it was necessary. But it happened. Now the rest of us just have to deal with it.
I'm just tired of thinking about it
-Alia
But there's something to be said for doing what it takes to get what you need.
Earlier, I mentioned the logistical problem of this dad-guy and his wife and kid, if they happened to head off to Boston before any of us had transformed. I'm guessing somehow the transformation would occur anyway, and for all I know I'd still get out of here with my own body. Or maybe I'd get to the end of my reservation and not transform at all. That's not acceptable, even a marginal chance of it.
The other side of it, though, was the kid -- they had a son about 10. If I was just some random visitor, and I saw a couple with their kid, I wouldn't think anything of it. So when the kid gets transformed, oh, it's just as much a surprise as anything else. But knowing it was going to happen? Something about that didn't sit right with me. Part of me wanted to let them go, and try to find another way to let it happen.
I was discussing this with Fletcher. He said he has a couple of people nearby he might be able to call on -- "travelers" tend to stay in the New England -- but the loss of three bodies at the inn wouldn't be easy to overcome. He suggested it would be smartest to try to convince them to stay another day. I said I wasn't much for manipulating people.
"Leave it to me," he says.
I spent last night tossing and turning, hoping the change would happen, but it still didn't. Afraid of what might happen if this whole thing somehow goes bust, my dreams felt haunted.
The next morning, I awoke to the sound of a rumbling. It was the unmistakable sound of a lover's quarrel. She was screaming something about broken plans and bad promises. I didn't want to eavesdrop, but they were having at it in the open air, so I heard whatever I heard.
The fight ended with the sound of luggage being carried out to a car. In a worry, I thought, "This is the opposite of what I want to happen!" So I scrambled to find some pants and see what exactly had occurred.
I found the Dad on his own. The wife had driven off with their son, presumably for Boston.
"Sorry you had to hear that," he said, "The wife and I had a difference of opinion."
"What about?"
"This place. I wanted to hang out a bit longer, and she was laying into me because she has a thing about plans."
"I know what you mean," I said, albeit with more sympathy for the wife than I let on. "She just left you here?"
"Eh, I just thought we paid for the room, why not enjoy it? It's a little nicer than your average roadside joint, don't ya think?" Yes. "But she says, oh, we've gotta keep to our schedule, Boston this, blah blah. So I let her go, and I'll take a bus down and meet her there in a couple of days when it's all blown over."
It seemed miraculous how it had all worked out. A little too miraculous. And some of this didn't sit right with me.
I went and found Fletcher. "What did you do?"
"What'd I do?" he snickered, "I didn't do anything, man. I mean sure, some stuff happened, but I don't think it has anything to do with me." He grinned and said, "Come to think of it, what makes a man suddenly gain a fondness for a little Inn in the middle of nowhere?"
I asked him again. "...Fletcher, what did you do?"
He looked me in the eye. "I had a little talk with your ladyfriend Sam. She knows more about what's happened here than I would."
I rushed off to Sam's room and knocked urgently on her door. She answered in pajamas and tousled hair, like I'd just woken her up. "Oh, hey Rob, are we still here?"
I hissed in a quiet tone, in case anyone could hear, "What did you do last night?"
She looked at me, defensively, with a cold, annoyed look that didn't care to be accused at. She pulled me into her room.
"What did that asshole tell you?" she asked.
"Which asshole? The asshole whose wife just left him here, or the asshole who bodyjacks strangers for fun?"
"Either one. What did you hear?"
"I didn't hear anything. But Fletcher strongly implied you were responsible for whatever just happened to that guy."
She sat on the bed and said nothing. Irritated with the lack of explanation, I began to yell, "Did you--" before I realized exactly how loud this body's voice can be. I stopped to compose myself. "Did you fuck him?"
She shot back, "No! God, is that what you think I am? Some kind of whore? That I'd have sexual intercourse with a married man just to, just to what? To help you get your body back faster? No, I didn't sleep with anybody." She looked bitterly at me. "I only sleep with people I like."
"So, what then?" I demanded, trying to brush away the embarrassment of my accusation.
"Well," she said very hesitantly, "I convinced him to say."
"With what, a sandwich platter?"
"Ouch," she said, "No, just a few choice words. I never said anything was going to happen, but I just... had a talk with him. About Maine, and about not missing opportunities for seeing sights, and experiencing things... I may have planted the idea that staying would be a good idea."
After a moment, I said, "So... you led him on, into staying at the inn so he could be transformed?"
"That's one way of looking at it. It's not my fault he may have drawn certain... interpretations."
I fell silent for a moment. She asked whether I was mad.
"I'm not mad," I said, half-truthfully, "I just wonder why any of this had to happen. I could've left well enough alone. Maybe figured out some other way."
After a moment when neither of us could figure out anything to say, Fletcher appeared in the doorway. "Just thought you might like to know," he said, "My friends are on their way, and someone else just pulled up in the parking lot. Might as well get ready for tomorrow."
I don't know if any of this is all right. I feel like maybe I overreacted to Sam's actions. Maybe none of this has anything to do with me. I don't even know if it was necessary. But it happened. Now the rest of us just have to deal with it.
I'm just tired of thinking about it
-Alia
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Alia/Rob: Closer and closer
I met up with Fletcher again last night. More people have checked in to the Inn - by his count, a family of three and a young couple.
"None of them look like they've been here before," he said, "They underpacked and they looked, well, genuinely upbeat about being in Maine. You know, there's a beaten-down, antsy look people who return get. Just waiting to get it over with."
"Of course."
"It's the weekend, so I'd expect you to be back in your own skin by Monday morning. We'll probably see our last five friends show up tonight or tomorrow morning. How was your date last night?"
I scowled, "It wasn't a date."
"Hook-up then. Whatever. You banged, didn't you?"
"Keep it down." I felt awkward discussing this.
"Ah, come on. She looks like she like it rough."
"Now you're just being misogynistic. Besides," I admitted, "I had a bit of a stamina problem."
He laughed, "Alia, you dog! I can't believe you fuckin' did it! That's awesome. I'm impressed. Congrats." He put out his hand and I shook it reluctantly. I told him I felt like a hypocrite, after all my lecturing to Tori.
He dismissed this idea. "We're nobody, here. Between identities. There ain't any Alia right now, there ain't even really a Rob. You're just a dude who did what any other guy would've done in the same situation. Lucky guy."
Sam didn't appear again. I considered going by her room before crashing, but ended up just staying in my own. It's been raining again.
In the hallway this morning, I ran into the dad of the family of three Fletcher had mentioned. I asked him if he was enjoying his trip. He said yeah, but they weren't going to be here long, they were going to head down to Boston on Sunday.
A mild panic struck me. 13 people have to be in the inn at once, right? It doesn't just release the new bodies to the 13 closest humans, I mean, if they're not close enough... the particularities of this whole curse still elude me. But it seems clear that if these three bodies aren't at the inn with the rest of us, this whole transformation is going to be messed up.
This morning, another woman showed up. We're that much closer. I've got my fingers crossed.
"None of them look like they've been here before," he said, "They underpacked and they looked, well, genuinely upbeat about being in Maine. You know, there's a beaten-down, antsy look people who return get. Just waiting to get it over with."
"Of course."
"It's the weekend, so I'd expect you to be back in your own skin by Monday morning. We'll probably see our last five friends show up tonight or tomorrow morning. How was your date last night?"
I scowled, "It wasn't a date."
"Hook-up then. Whatever. You banged, didn't you?"
"Keep it down." I felt awkward discussing this.
"Ah, come on. She looks like she like it rough."
"Now you're just being misogynistic. Besides," I admitted, "I had a bit of a stamina problem."
He laughed, "Alia, you dog! I can't believe you fuckin' did it! That's awesome. I'm impressed. Congrats." He put out his hand and I shook it reluctantly. I told him I felt like a hypocrite, after all my lecturing to Tori.
He dismissed this idea. "We're nobody, here. Between identities. There ain't any Alia right now, there ain't even really a Rob. You're just a dude who did what any other guy would've done in the same situation. Lucky guy."
Sam didn't appear again. I considered going by her room before crashing, but ended up just staying in my own. It's been raining again.
In the hallway this morning, I ran into the dad of the family of three Fletcher had mentioned. I asked him if he was enjoying his trip. He said yeah, but they weren't going to be here long, they were going to head down to Boston on Sunday.
A mild panic struck me. 13 people have to be in the inn at once, right? It doesn't just release the new bodies to the 13 closest humans, I mean, if they're not close enough... the particularities of this whole curse still elude me. But it seems clear that if these three bodies aren't at the inn with the rest of us, this whole transformation is going to be messed up.
This morning, another woman showed up. We're that much closer. I've got my fingers crossed.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Alia/Rob: Noble pursuits
I had been trying to mentally prepare myself for this for weeks. Now that I'm here, walking these halls again, I feel like my stomach has sunk down to my knees. This place carries an ominous cloud over it and if I never see so much as a photo of it after this week, I'll be happy. A lot of people come here every year, and none of them leave the same. Some never go back. And some...
I was sitting in the bar last night after dinner. It was about 9 PM and I was dragging my feet on going back to the inn. Not from fear of transforming. The place was still relatively deserted. There was one new car in the parking lot since I'd woken up that morning. It was me, the sunbathing beauty, and one other unknown, no more than five people but maybe just the one as far as I knew.
I was just stalling because I knew that once I got back to the Inn, that'd be it for the night. I'd go back to psychodrama, back to fear and guilt and nervousness. It was inevitable that I had to confront it, but I was putting it off as long as possible. So it was a slight relief when a dude took a seat next to me in the bar and struck up a conversation, albeit not one of the most intellectually stimulating discussions I've had recently.
"Dude, don't look now but that chick is checking you out."
I instinctively twisted my neck to see the woman in question, then realized myself and faced forward. Not that I wanted to seem to care, but I was curious.
The guy was dressed in a black long-sleeve shirt and blue jeans, not ideal clothing for the weather, although he was stylish. I asked, "You know her?"
"I've spoken to her a bit, but I can tell she digs you."
I turned, slowly, to see the same pretty woman I'd seen around the inn.
I turned to my companion, "We're staying at the same inn. She probably recognizes me."
He grinned when I said this. "That wouldn't be the Trading Post Inn, would it? Up the road? Quaint little place, kind of haunted-feeling?"
I got a shiver, sensing where this was going. "That's the one."
He took a swig of his drink before asking, "You've stayed here before."
I bit my cheek a bit. "Mhm."
"Your name wouldn't happen to be Rob Garcia, would it?"
I was feeling just a bit embarrassed, but it seemed pretty obvious he's read the blog. "That's me. And you are?"
"Never mind that. You can call me Fletcher. Must be nice, heading back to your old life."
"That's the plan," I said. "What about you?"
"I go where the wind takes me, my friend. I'm a traveler."
"A traveler?"
"It's a little club. There aren't many of us, but you've got to figure... over a hundred people come to the inn every year. About half of us are return cases. But not all of them are headed back to their own bodies. Some of us just like the thrill of it."
I thought back to George and Jan. I knew that there are people who come back, but those two had managed to make their frequent trips sound... altruistic, I guess, since they lost their own bodies. Fletcher seemed like he was getting a weird thrill out of it.
But he did make me a little sales pitch to explain himself. "Look," he says, "The transformations happen, no matter who's sleeping in those rooms. Not everyone gets to keep their bodies. So a few of us dedicated hobbyists show up whenever our time is up. It helps to have some experienced hands around, you know? My old life is over for me, so why commit? Who says I have to?" He said this with a mischievous gleam in his eye. I assured him I'm not here to judge, but I'm hoping I never have to see this place again.
With a flash of paranoia, and known he's read the blog, I ask, "Do you know anything about that Pygmalion guy? Or people?"
"Well if I did, I'm not sure I'd be allowed to tell you," he said, "But no. I only know what your blog people have said. Whatever their agenda is, I haven't seen it in action. I'm just in it for myself."
"What about her?" I asked.
"Don't know her story," he said. "Looks like a return case, but she doesn't have that obvious look of familiarity in her eyes. Why don't you go chat her up?"
I finished my drink. "If you know my name, you know who I really am underneath this skin."
"Yeah, I know," he smiled evilly, "But it couldn't hurt to talk to her, right?"
Somewhat embarrassed, I walk over to her table. She's wearing short shorts and a white top over her bikini. I ask if I can get her a drink, in a very smooth, uncertain tone of voice.
"I'm fine with the drink I have, but I could use some company."
"Well, if there's anything I can do to help..."
"Have a seat," she said. "That guy you were talking to, Fletcher. He's been here before, right?"
"So it seems. You?"
She nodded. "Looks like we all have that in common. He creeps me out, though, so I just want to talk to you."
"He seems harmless enough. A little sleazy, like he's got something to gain by being here, but... not dangerous to anyone. Do you read the blog?"
"What blog?"
"There's a blog, some of us write in, talking about our experiences."
"Oh," she said. "That sounds very... therapeutic. I'm Sam."
"I'm Aaaaa....Rob."
"Well, Aaaaaa-Rob, I'm about ready for another drink. How about you?" She flagged down the waitress and we each got a beer.
"So, are you getting your own body back?" I asked her.
"Me?" She sipped. "I was the 14-year-old daughter of a millionaire. That was 5 years ago. The current owner is not interested in making a return."
"So you're 19."
"I'm 26," she said, "The whole experience has a way of aging you."
"That must have been tough."
"I couldn't even begin to describe it," she shook her head and got a faraway look in her eyes. "I spent two years in a hospital. Got a lot of reading done. Did some growing up. I've seen some shit, Rob."
"I can only imagine. So why come back after all this time?"
"Because," she said, "The real Sam asked if she could come back. Why now? Who knows. But I wasn't doing much with the body."
"So, what happens to you after we change?"
"No clue," she sighed, "I'm flying blind here."
"Is there anything in your room? A bag, a letter?"
"Nothing. Whoever was in there before me didn't leave me much to go on."
This comment struck me. We talked a bit more before we decided to walk back to the inn together. Fletcher had gone by this point.
"Listen," she said, "I don't know who I'll be in two days. I was wondering if you'd do me a favour."
By this point we had established some trust, so I asked what.
"Keep me company. Just for tonight."
I felt a little heavy. "That's not a good idea. With the whole inn curse, and... I mean, if you're not in your room, then things might get messed up for me."
She gave me a saddened look. "The inn isn't full, Rob. Not even close. I've got an uncertain future in front of me, I'm understandably jumpy. I just want one night of your time, okay?"
Feeling just a bit manipulated, I agreed to bring her to my room. This had a large amount of potential to get way, way out of hand, but I couldn't see my way out of it at the time.
I brought her to my room. She flopped down on the bed.
"You've got a nice room, but mine can see the ocean." I laughed a quick, embarrassed chuckle over how this issue had come to determine Cliff's and my fates.
She slipped her shorts off and let them fall to the floor. My eyes were transfixed as she slipped her tanktop off over her head. She asked, "We're going to be mature about this, aren't we?"
I tried to stammer out a response as she climbed under the covers, continuing, "I mean, you're not going to sleep in your clothes, are you?"
"I may not have a choice," I told her. But it was humid, and I had to strip down to my boxers.
We began back to back, but I couldn't get comfortable. I was on my wrong side. I had to turn over and wrap an arm around her.
"Oh, hello," she whispered.
"Don't get excited," I said, "This is just more comfortable."
"You're telling me..." she said.
I began to drift off into a comfortable sleep, but was awakened by her jostling.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, "But I'm not going to be able to get any sleep until I do this."
Then she kissed me. She was on top of me, topless now, grinding on me through my shorts and her panties. Exhaustion and hormones blocked every instinct I might've had to push her away. I'd come this far. I'd nearly broken the barrier a few times before, every reason not to suddenly faded from view. I just went along with it.
We began to kiss deeply, with hands running all over each other's bodies. I haven't felt a pair of breasts in so long they suddenly had a novelty to them. I can't articulate the male attraction, but I understand it better now that I've felt it. This was followed by the surreptitious removal of the remaining clothing layers.
"Wait," I gasped, "Do you have anything."
She rolled over me and reached into her purse for a prophylactic. "I'm not an idiot, Rob."
After a pause to slip it on, we got back to business. It was... practical. It was sex. I tried to go according to her body, but when I started to speed up, I lost a bit of control and finished probably a fair bit sooner than I'd imagined myself. I thought maybe with a bit of self-control, I could last, but my body had other ideas.
It was awkward, stimulating, and very revealing. When I finished, it felt somehow more significant than any time I had gone by myself. The feeling of having her on top -- then under -- me, moaning, completely at my whims, just felt... indescribable. A shame it couldn't last.
I drifted off to sleep wracked with guilt and the desire to apologize profusely. On top of all the other complexes I already had, this woman was pretty much a stranger. I felt embarrassed and ashamed of how quickly it all got out of hand. My mind swam with paranoid thoughts that Sam was some kind of Pygmalion agent using sex to manipulate me. For her part, she just rolled over and fell asleep. I thought I was supposed to be the guy.
When I woke up I was alone. I ran into her at a cafe up the road, and we had a bit of breakfast, where I explained that I was technically "with someone." She got a disappointed-annoyed look on her face when she asked whether "someone" would care about what I've been up to for the last year. I began to answer in the affirmative, but I stopped.
Todd's been on my case about this practically since I got a penis. At first I thought he was just being gross, but I'm thinking there might be some psychological basis for this, like it affirms what he's done with Hal Adkisson, or with Donna. It puts us on some kind of equal level (well sort of... we'll never really be equal in this respect, at least I hope not.) Maybe it allows him to feel absolved from the situation he was in, which I don't hold against him anyway.
But with all the guilt I've got pent up about our relationship, as well as my resentment at his own transgressions, it's not easy to feel good about what happened last night. Still I think the only one who's going to be mad is me. Still, I told Sam it probably wasn't a good idea that we do it again. She said we'd see. I still intend to practice self-restraint, now that I've been there. That said, once you get a taste...
Ugh, just no.
-Alia
I was sitting in the bar last night after dinner. It was about 9 PM and I was dragging my feet on going back to the inn. Not from fear of transforming. The place was still relatively deserted. There was one new car in the parking lot since I'd woken up that morning. It was me, the sunbathing beauty, and one other unknown, no more than five people but maybe just the one as far as I knew.
I was just stalling because I knew that once I got back to the Inn, that'd be it for the night. I'd go back to psychodrama, back to fear and guilt and nervousness. It was inevitable that I had to confront it, but I was putting it off as long as possible. So it was a slight relief when a dude took a seat next to me in the bar and struck up a conversation, albeit not one of the most intellectually stimulating discussions I've had recently.
"Dude, don't look now but that chick is checking you out."
I instinctively twisted my neck to see the woman in question, then realized myself and faced forward. Not that I wanted to seem to care, but I was curious.
The guy was dressed in a black long-sleeve shirt and blue jeans, not ideal clothing for the weather, although he was stylish. I asked, "You know her?"
"I've spoken to her a bit, but I can tell she digs you."
I turned, slowly, to see the same pretty woman I'd seen around the inn.
I turned to my companion, "We're staying at the same inn. She probably recognizes me."
He grinned when I said this. "That wouldn't be the Trading Post Inn, would it? Up the road? Quaint little place, kind of haunted-feeling?"
I got a shiver, sensing where this was going. "That's the one."
He took a swig of his drink before asking, "You've stayed here before."
I bit my cheek a bit. "Mhm."
"Your name wouldn't happen to be Rob Garcia, would it?"
I was feeling just a bit embarrassed, but it seemed pretty obvious he's read the blog. "That's me. And you are?"
"Never mind that. You can call me Fletcher. Must be nice, heading back to your old life."
"That's the plan," I said. "What about you?"
"I go where the wind takes me, my friend. I'm a traveler."
"A traveler?"
"It's a little club. There aren't many of us, but you've got to figure... over a hundred people come to the inn every year. About half of us are return cases. But not all of them are headed back to their own bodies. Some of us just like the thrill of it."
I thought back to George and Jan. I knew that there are people who come back, but those two had managed to make their frequent trips sound... altruistic, I guess, since they lost their own bodies. Fletcher seemed like he was getting a weird thrill out of it.
But he did make me a little sales pitch to explain himself. "Look," he says, "The transformations happen, no matter who's sleeping in those rooms. Not everyone gets to keep their bodies. So a few of us dedicated hobbyists show up whenever our time is up. It helps to have some experienced hands around, you know? My old life is over for me, so why commit? Who says I have to?" He said this with a mischievous gleam in his eye. I assured him I'm not here to judge, but I'm hoping I never have to see this place again.
With a flash of paranoia, and known he's read the blog, I ask, "Do you know anything about that Pygmalion guy? Or people?"
"Well if I did, I'm not sure I'd be allowed to tell you," he said, "But no. I only know what your blog people have said. Whatever their agenda is, I haven't seen it in action. I'm just in it for myself."
"What about her?" I asked.
"Don't know her story," he said. "Looks like a return case, but she doesn't have that obvious look of familiarity in her eyes. Why don't you go chat her up?"
I finished my drink. "If you know my name, you know who I really am underneath this skin."
"Yeah, I know," he smiled evilly, "But it couldn't hurt to talk to her, right?"
Somewhat embarrassed, I walk over to her table. She's wearing short shorts and a white top over her bikini. I ask if I can get her a drink, in a very smooth, uncertain tone of voice.
"I'm fine with the drink I have, but I could use some company."
"Well, if there's anything I can do to help..."
"Have a seat," she said. "That guy you were talking to, Fletcher. He's been here before, right?"
"So it seems. You?"
She nodded. "Looks like we all have that in common. He creeps me out, though, so I just want to talk to you."
"He seems harmless enough. A little sleazy, like he's got something to gain by being here, but... not dangerous to anyone. Do you read the blog?"
"What blog?"
"There's a blog, some of us write in, talking about our experiences."
"Oh," she said. "That sounds very... therapeutic. I'm Sam."
"I'm Aaaaa....Rob."
"Well, Aaaaaa-Rob, I'm about ready for another drink. How about you?" She flagged down the waitress and we each got a beer.
"So, are you getting your own body back?" I asked her.
"Me?" She sipped. "I was the 14-year-old daughter of a millionaire. That was 5 years ago. The current owner is not interested in making a return."
"So you're 19."
"I'm 26," she said, "The whole experience has a way of aging you."
"That must have been tough."
"I couldn't even begin to describe it," she shook her head and got a faraway look in her eyes. "I spent two years in a hospital. Got a lot of reading done. Did some growing up. I've seen some shit, Rob."
"I can only imagine. So why come back after all this time?"
"Because," she said, "The real Sam asked if she could come back. Why now? Who knows. But I wasn't doing much with the body."
"So, what happens to you after we change?"
"No clue," she sighed, "I'm flying blind here."
"Is there anything in your room? A bag, a letter?"
"Nothing. Whoever was in there before me didn't leave me much to go on."
This comment struck me. We talked a bit more before we decided to walk back to the inn together. Fletcher had gone by this point.
"Listen," she said, "I don't know who I'll be in two days. I was wondering if you'd do me a favour."
By this point we had established some trust, so I asked what.
"Keep me company. Just for tonight."
I felt a little heavy. "That's not a good idea. With the whole inn curse, and... I mean, if you're not in your room, then things might get messed up for me."
She gave me a saddened look. "The inn isn't full, Rob. Not even close. I've got an uncertain future in front of me, I'm understandably jumpy. I just want one night of your time, okay?"
Feeling just a bit manipulated, I agreed to bring her to my room. This had a large amount of potential to get way, way out of hand, but I couldn't see my way out of it at the time.
I brought her to my room. She flopped down on the bed.
"You've got a nice room, but mine can see the ocean." I laughed a quick, embarrassed chuckle over how this issue had come to determine Cliff's and my fates.
She slipped her shorts off and let them fall to the floor. My eyes were transfixed as she slipped her tanktop off over her head. She asked, "We're going to be mature about this, aren't we?"
I tried to stammer out a response as she climbed under the covers, continuing, "I mean, you're not going to sleep in your clothes, are you?"
"I may not have a choice," I told her. But it was humid, and I had to strip down to my boxers.
We began back to back, but I couldn't get comfortable. I was on my wrong side. I had to turn over and wrap an arm around her.
"Oh, hello," she whispered.
"Don't get excited," I said, "This is just more comfortable."
"You're telling me..." she said.
I began to drift off into a comfortable sleep, but was awakened by her jostling.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"Nothing," she said, "But I'm not going to be able to get any sleep until I do this."
Then she kissed me. She was on top of me, topless now, grinding on me through my shorts and her panties. Exhaustion and hormones blocked every instinct I might've had to push her away. I'd come this far. I'd nearly broken the barrier a few times before, every reason not to suddenly faded from view. I just went along with it.
We began to kiss deeply, with hands running all over each other's bodies. I haven't felt a pair of breasts in so long they suddenly had a novelty to them. I can't articulate the male attraction, but I understand it better now that I've felt it. This was followed by the surreptitious removal of the remaining clothing layers.
"Wait," I gasped, "Do you have anything."
She rolled over me and reached into her purse for a prophylactic. "I'm not an idiot, Rob."
After a pause to slip it on, we got back to business. It was... practical. It was sex. I tried to go according to her body, but when I started to speed up, I lost a bit of control and finished probably a fair bit sooner than I'd imagined myself. I thought maybe with a bit of self-control, I could last, but my body had other ideas.
It was awkward, stimulating, and very revealing. When I finished, it felt somehow more significant than any time I had gone by myself. The feeling of having her on top -- then under -- me, moaning, completely at my whims, just felt... indescribable. A shame it couldn't last.
I drifted off to sleep wracked with guilt and the desire to apologize profusely. On top of all the other complexes I already had, this woman was pretty much a stranger. I felt embarrassed and ashamed of how quickly it all got out of hand. My mind swam with paranoid thoughts that Sam was some kind of Pygmalion agent using sex to manipulate me. For her part, she just rolled over and fell asleep. I thought I was supposed to be the guy.
When I woke up I was alone. I ran into her at a cafe up the road, and we had a bit of breakfast, where I explained that I was technically "with someone." She got a disappointed-annoyed look on her face when she asked whether "someone" would care about what I've been up to for the last year. I began to answer in the affirmative, but I stopped.
Todd's been on my case about this practically since I got a penis. At first I thought he was just being gross, but I'm thinking there might be some psychological basis for this, like it affirms what he's done with Hal Adkisson, or with Donna. It puts us on some kind of equal level (well sort of... we'll never really be equal in this respect, at least I hope not.) Maybe it allows him to feel absolved from the situation he was in, which I don't hold against him anyway.
But with all the guilt I've got pent up about our relationship, as well as my resentment at his own transgressions, it's not easy to feel good about what happened last night. Still I think the only one who's going to be mad is me. Still, I told Sam it probably wasn't a good idea that we do it again. She said we'd see. I still intend to practice self-restraint, now that I've been there. That said, once you get a taste...
Ugh, just no.
-Alia
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