Daryl/Zee: You Would THINK This All Counted for Something!

I still think of myself as pretty young, because not only does Jonah/Krystle have a point about your self-image kind of freezing as you were the first time you went to the Trading Post, but I was Magda for four years, and even after almost two years as Zariyah "Zee" Andrews, I still know what it's like being past menopause, feeling a little worn down, and having people look askance at you and your younger boyfriend.  I've been feeling like I imagine a young woman feels.

Except, well, I'm not, entirely.  When I talk to my "mom", she asks if I'm ever going to give her grandchildren.  I've started wearing reading glasses on occasion.  Younger people in the office say I look good "for my age".  And, I admit, when I saw that Jonah's boyfriend had proposed, it kind of hit me that I had been with J.T. for over six years and we hadn't really talked about it.  Well, we kind of had, but we'd more talked about talking about it - this is my fourth face, after all, and before I got it we kind of needed to be able to uncouple and recouple without a lot of fuss.  It hasn't been that way for a while, though.

I started to fret about it with a girlfriend, being vague about some things and trying to come up with "equivalent lies" for others, and she pointed out that I had, from the sound of it, made the first move throughout our relationship, so maybe that was just our vibe.  It felt like a really obvious thing when she put it like that; after all, I'd been the guy and he was Elaine when we met, I had gone to him when I was Elaine, had made the huge gesture to let fate decide if I should get another body, moved to his city (twice!), and sought out this younger shape myself.  He had gone along with what I wanted and was ready for, and it wasn't just dropping hints.  I was going to have to ask him.

So I went to a jeweler, let them think that I was proposing to a girlfriend, and bought a pair of matching engagement rings, both with small, kind of subtle diamonds.  We both wear jewelry, though it's more often just an earring or a pinky ring for him and I'm not a lot fancier.  Yesterday afternoon, I got the call that it was finished, and I told my co-workers that I'd be knocking off early to pick it up, and would check in later in the evening.  I got the rings, headed back to the apartment, and smiled a bit as I heard the noises from the bedroom.  This is going to sound stupid, but J.T. has been on this Euro-sleaze kick lately, "research" for a film that thought it would be fun to cast the former teen idol as the svengali figure, but also because they're kind of dumb fun, which is why I didn't think anything of opening the door and asking what he was watching.

Only to see him fucking Harmon Keller-slash-Alicia Polawski-slash-Harmony Kelton on our bed.

He was on his back and she was riding him cowgirl, so he saw me come in and pulled his hands from her breasts and tried to push himself away, and she looked over her shoulder and smirked, nonchalantly pulling away from my boyfriend's cock, picking up her uniform and slipping it on over her head, then grabbing her high heels but not bothering with her underwear as she used her other hand to grab the roller bag from the corner of the room.  She blew him a little kiss, mouthing "call me", then favored me with a quiet "bye mom" as she sauntered to the door and then the elevator.

As Magda, I'd given a probably-reasonable but probably also unhealthy amount of thought to what I would do if J.T. ever cheated on me, and the answer turned out to be cool anger.  As he reached for his boxers, I stepped on them so he couldn't pick them up off the floor and stared downward.  "All the actresses and models you work with, the girls who had a crush on you as kids, all the other women in fucking Manhattan, and you do this with fucking Harmon Keller?"

I was apparently angry enough that he feared I would do something violent, because he moved his hands to cover his shriveling, now semi-erect dick.  "Honey, it's not like that!  I mean, yes, Harmon can kind of be a pain, but she's like us, and was nervous about embracing this part of womanhood, so when we met while she was doing an audition for something while I was shooting in the same building, she asked for some pointers, and--"

"She was at an audition?  I talk to Magda, asshole, and I know she hasn't been trying to get into show business beyond her YouTube thing for a year and half!  How long has this been going on?"

He repeated the sound "I" a lot.

"It started while I was still Magda, didn't it, and she was me but with a perfect ass and nothing sagging and buttering you up about how she still wasn't sure she knew what she was doing but you were such a good teacher and nobody else would understand, didn't it?"

He lowered his head.  "Yes."

"And you probably ate it all up, didn't you?  And you know what, I'll bet she's been pushing you to do stuff that made it more likely you'd get caught, right?  She's hated me ever since I told her I'd be moving out of that apartment in Oakland any more and probably figured blowing up the thing that took sabotaged her easy little life would be good revenge."

Apparently suggesting that she wasn't primarily into him was the thing that would get him to react.  "Honey, it's not about you--"

I leaned in.  "It's about me even if the bitch didn't mean it to be.  Do you not understand that I started completely new lives twice for you?  That the only time I've talked to my original family in six years was at Elaine's wedding, and that was just small talk from a former co-worker?  That instead of Magda, I could have become somebody who wouldn't make it through the winter?  All so you don't have to sacrifice one bit of your comfortable situation!"

"Look, I never asked you to do any of that!"

"Oh, but you let me, and said how lucky you were to have someone who loved you that much!  And this is how you repay me, going behind my back with that asshole!"  Angry, I walked over to a closet, pulled out a suitcase, and started putting some clothes into it.

His expression shifted a little, like I sometimes saw at work from someone who figured I'd left myself open.  "Come on, let's talk about this!  Where are you going to go?"

"It's New York, there are hotels.  Not like I can exactly crash with Magda, is it?"

"Come on, you said yourself, we've got so much invested in this!"

I turned around.  "I said I have a lot invested in this.  You, apparently, just have a couple of closets!"

I didn't wait for a response and took about the same path Harmon had toward the elevator, and realized that I didn't even really have a travel app on my phone on the way down - J.T. had taken care of any vacations we took, and the couple of times I've traveled for work, the office handled it.  I wound up just looking for hotels on Google Maps, which I suppose is fine, but probably cost me.

Anyway, this is my second night in this room, and I'm not sure what to do.  J.T. has left a few voice mails and text, but I feel like he should be trying harder to get in touch with me?  Is that just crazy woman brain, crazy guy brain, or me knowing just how central this relationship is and expecting it to be valued similarly?

-Zee?

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: "Harmony" and other reinventions

I have received several notes via this blog asking if the "Harmony Kelton" credited in several recent short films is me, and, yes, she is.  Apparently a Polish name sounds too much like a Russian one in the current environment, so the person representing me to casting directors suggested a stage name.  I pointed out both that it could be said to sound Ukrainian by the same misplaced logic and that "______ with Alicia" had not particularly see its numbers drop over the past year, but once the opportunity to forge a new identity as an actress presented itself, it did intrigue me.  My first choice, "Alicia Harmon", may have been wiser since I could simply stop using the Eastern European surname on by videos, has apparently already been registered with various unions.  This, at least, had the benefit of amusing me.

I am moderately surprised that I am doing such without necessarily thinking about how it improves the "Alicia Polawski" identity as a commodity.  As mentioned in my last post, almost exactly two years ago, I did not plan to stay in this life very much longer, and had only done so because the Covid-19 pandemic had closed the Inn.  But, somehow, that extra year seemed to make more things my default state.  All those tedious things done to maintain this body's appearance to make it a more attractive product are now habit.  Planning and shooting new videos does not quite scratch the same itch as publishing a paper, but the broader base of people who appreciate it makes up for that some.

It's odd that I actually get some enjoyment out of all that, but then, perhaps not.  Every once in a while, I will search the name of a former colleague and see that, in their retirement, they have taken up woodworking or English soccer fandom or some other thing.  I, evidently, have chosen to be a stewardess and YouTuber in my retirement.  It's not so odd, perhaps - many of them have "downsized" to smaller homes, while I live in an apartment with the current Magda; others spend a great deal of time traveling, as do I; a fair number of them spend their free time pontificating on Facebook, while I make videos.

(It amuses me that my many colleagues who are likely more or less what they appear may not be so different from older men in their behavior.)

It is becoming somewhat more difficult to maintain this life in the carefree manner of a hobby, however.  Despite the disciplinary issues that the original Alicia had, my maintaining my position through the pandemic while many others found new work has made me the senior attendant on some flights with talk of being promoted to purser, which would make this a career rather than simply a job I stayed in out of convenience, and I do not believe I want that.  It is one thing to shoulder some responsibility as one travels, and reap the benefit of how one's scarf and miniskirt triggers a fetish in many, but I cannot see how being in this business for as long as I was in academia would be similarly rewarding.

Thus, I have begun pivoting toward being on camera as opposed to being on flights.  The parts I have gotten as of yet have not been much more challenging than the work I performed for Jordan - tight and scanty outfits worn in the background, breathy double entendres spoken to obvious stand-ins for the filmmakers - but that suits me well enough at the moment.  One's body is a depreciating resource, especially as a young woman, one may as well, especially if that brings experience that will be useful later.  As some have noticed, that has extended to a little bit of nudity, but what of it?  If I later find having those clips out on the web mortifying, the Inn is still out there, and I have begun anew before.  I can at least make a clear decision on that, while some of the ladies doing the same are removing their clothing far more impulsively.

-Harmon Keller, aka Alicia Polawski, aka Harmony Kelton

Daryl/Zee: What a Wedding!

Not mine, although I was wondering if maybe J.T. would do something romantic and get down on one knee at some point.  Not in a way that would upstage Elaine and new-Daryl, but maybe back at the hotel, so that I could show a ring off at the Inn-people-only breakfast the next morning.  You would think he'd be ready, given that we've been dating each other in multiple shapes since before the pandemic, so it's pretty clear we're compatible and can weather a lot.  But, then again, I suppose there's nothing that would stop me from proposing, considering I was the guy in this relationship when it started.  Not sure how that would work, though - do I go out, buy a ring, and then kneel to pop the question, holding out the little box so he can take it out and put it on my finger?  Maybe there's stuff about girls proposing on YouTube or something.

But, hey, this past weekend was not about me - it was Elaine and "Dareleanor", who has done pretty well with my life even without landing Elaine.  They coincidentally wound up taking contracts with the same company, Elaine asked him if he recognized her, and she explained how the original Daryl (me) lived her life for a while and they both started gushing, excited to have someone to talk to.  That Eleanor didn't even blink about staying in her new life once she realized that nobody wanted it back even though she'd been a white woman says something about just how completely they clicked, and they apparently didn't feel the need to wait once they figured that out.

I came out to Chicago a few days before J.T., in part because Dareleanor wanted some help with the more far-flung relatives that he hadn't met but whom my mother said had to be invited.  Someday I'll talk about how it wasn't just falling for J.T. that convinced me to leave my life behind - there are a lot of complicated feelings there, so Dareleanor and I decided not to try and do a "major life event lets you tell the truth" thing with them while things were going well - but he just needed a whole lot of information supplied on short notice, which I was able to help with.

He looked good in his tux, and Elaine looked amazing in her dress.  She found some time to hang out with me, although it was kind of weird:  I've been both of them, but only barely met either.  I'm important to them, because without me they would never have met, but I'm kind of like a storm that shut down the airport while they were in the bar waiting for different flights or something like that, an outside force-of-nature that you're glad happened but don't necessarily think well of.

It was also kind of fun to have some other Inn folks around as part of the wedding.  J.T. looked damn good in his tux, and he's famous enough that there were some murmurs running through the reception:  How do Elaine and Daryl know him?  Oh, they don't, he's with Zee.  Well, who is this Zee - I've never met her!  Although, they thought, maybe I did at some point, because she seems to know all our names!  I met most of them in my original life, when I was dating J.T./Elaine, and then in the brief time I was Elaine (I went to Marisa's wedding!), but none of them knew Zee.  They probably just assumed I had a better memory than average for casual acquaintances, which is actually true and helpful when you're parachuting into other people's lives.

Aside from that, Cary came with Krystle/Mackenzie (who gave me a look when I called her "Mackrystle" that suggests I not call her that to her face again), and the hug Elaine gave him must have made the actual father of the bride jealous.  She also gushed over how much Krystle had grown in the past few years and winked at what a pretty young woman she'd become, laughing when the apparent red-headed teen said it was a relief that she could pull off the dress she was wearing.  Some of my younger cousins danced with her and it was kind of funny because Krystle hasn't forgotten her first life and they were not expecting a 16-year-old white girl with freckles from Maine to have the moves she does.  There must be some fun videos where she is just this crazy white-and-red spot in the middle of all the Black teenagers.

I mentioned that to her when we all got together for a Sunday Inn Veterans brunch, and she laughed, saying she hoped nobody was watching that and asking whether she'd ever been on a pole.  Surprisingly, that was kind of the highlight of the thing, because we didn't actually have that much to talk about.  It wasn't a waste of time, because even if you've been in a life long enough to make it yours and not think about going back or worry about screwing something up, it's kind of a relief to know you won't have to come up with a weird explanation or remember a previous lie in a conversation.

J.T. and I stayed in Chicago for another couple days after the wedding, revisiting places we knew from our own time here, whether as Daryl or Elaine. which was fun if kind of surreal.  One restaurant was just as good as I remembered it, but that the owner who always knew everybody's name had never met me was sad.

Then, in a crazy coincidence, Harmon/Alisha was our flight attendant on the way back to New York!  It's not entirely surprising - (s)he's relocated there, back to crashing with the new Magda, who is apparently more willing to act the mother while asking little of her "daughter", and this is apparently a better place to be part of influencer/YouTube/Instagram culture than Oakland (on top of there not being much chance to transfer to L.A.) - but definitely a bit surreal to know that the woman with the short skirt and tight top who was assigned to making sure the folks in first class were satisfied used to be a top economist.

-Zee

Daryl/Zee: I can hardly believe this is FINALLY me

Of all the folks posting on this blog, I suspect that Jordan is the only one who really gets how nice it is to wake up in the Inn, look in the mirror, and feel like things are finally right, even if being white was easier in a lot of ways.  Two nights ago, I went to sleep as Magda for the last time, having intending to be awake to watch my body change in the mirror, but one's mid-fifties are no joke, and I eventually flopped down on the bed, only to wake up, see the sun on my darker legs, and suddenly feel energized to bounce up and run into the bathroom.

I'd seen the face already, but it was great to be able to make it smile in the mirror; this may be my fourth face, but I don't know that you ever get used to this.  It twirled my hair, thinking I'd probably braid it, because while it's not super-nappy, it's also not the fine, silky stuff they make wigs out of, so it would take a lot more combing than Magda's did for the same effect.  I said a couple test sentences, and my voice felt a little closer to right.  "Hi!  I'm Zariyah Andrews!  Call me Zee!"

Though I'd grown an inch and a half, it wasn't enough to make the shorts and tee I had slept in as Magda feel tight.  Heck, with the weight off my chest, it was probably a wash up top.  Not that I'm flat-chested now, but Magda had always been busty and had a kid besides, so being perky maybe didn't look quite so impressive, although I remembered from being Elaine that you can do a lot with the right bra.  My legs and butt looked pretty good, and a quick look inside the shorts indicated nothing unexpected.

(I feel bad about reducing this to a bunch of body parts, but apparently four years isn't quite enough not to be waking up a new woman by taking inventory of the sort of thing guys look for)

Soon after that, folks started yelling, so I threw some daytime clothes on and went to help folks out.  After that, it was the obligatory trip to Cary's hot dog truck.  I must have been smiling like an extra-special goofball or maybe nobody else orders a Chicago-style dog - or maybe both - but he sort of held it in the air for a second, considering what a fool he'd look like if asking "Daryl?" was the wrong call, before I busted out "call me Zee!" for the first real time.

He told me I looked really good, and I thanked him, and then he did me the favor of asking how dropping twenty years overnight felt because I wanted to say it was great, thank you very much, without acting like I pitied him for taking those years back after his time as Elaine.  Us having both had the same identity at different times gave us a bit more room to talk about how things were going with the original (and never being anyone else again) Elaine.  She and the guy living as me found each other and are getting married next spring, which is crazy, especially when you think that neither of them were using those names the last time "Daryl & Elaine" was a thing.

Anyway, he seemed genuinely happy that this had finally worked out for me.  I was planning to take over this life a year ago, but then the original Zee's father died, and even if it didn't mean much to the last person living that life, being in it meant responsibilities she couldn't get out of without feeling awful, so we put everything off a year.  I haven't posted about it because I didn't want to jinx this time, which feels stupid but I can't exactly say that there's no chance of jinxes being real, can I?

I spent most of yesterday afternoon making sure that new-Magda would be in good shape - doing laundry, buying a couple new underwear sets, finding a spot where you could print things out so that she had a bunch of maps and diagrams (and making sure they were all stored in her phone), attaching names to a bunch of people at the airport.

There was also a big section in the binder on Harmon/Alicia, more than I might have expected a year ago, but fake family's fake family, and maybe the new Magda would want to spend more time with him.  We never really got on, but ever since I got my own place in Flushing in preparation for this whole switch a year ago, he's kind of made himself at home there whenever his schedule takes him to New York, because after all, Magda wouldn't expect her daughter to stay in a hotel or crash pad, would she?  We aren't actually roommates that often - I still stayed over at J.T.'s a lot - but, we do go through the motions of playing mother and daughter more than we used to.

In fact, she was there when I got into town this morning, and you'll pardon if I switch pronouns up, but you would have to look very hard to see a man eligible to collect social security in the 27-year-old woman sitting on my couch in a miniskirt and a top that was little more than a bra, feet on my coffee table in high-heeled knee-high boots, hair back in a ponytail, barely looking up at me from her phone (where she was probably looking to see if anybody had tagged photos of her from the night before) as I came in using a spare key.  There's something about her that I don't like, maybe because I feel like it's a reflection of me switching lives for my own ends and not looking back.

That and the dismissive compliments, like "yes, I guess that's at least a lateral move" upon looking at me, which probably wasn't actually racist, but sort of felt that way, like being younger and taller and tighter maybe didn't entirely compensate for not being white anymore (I'm not proud that I've worried about that myself).  I shrugged it off and said I was going to take a shower and a nap, because I'd wound up taking the train after a flight or two was canceled.

It hit me as I saw myself in the bathroom mirror that my new face didn't match what I was expecting in this place - by now I expect the Inn to be random, I guess - and I started thinking about what I'd like to keep from this apartment/phase of my life to bring into the next one.  Should I want to bring more mementos, or physical things, than I was planning?  Given that J.T. and I figure to pick right back up where we left off it doesn't seem like I should be leaving as clean of a slate.

Of course, to do that, he's got to "meet" Zee, which is why I've spent an hour or so after getting up from my hap working on my hair and make-up and making sure I chose just the right outfit so that nobody would be surprised when this "tourist" catches his eye at the bar tonight.

It's funny - I've been with him for longer than I have been with any girl, but we've switched our shapes so often that it doesn't necessarily feel like that.  Heck, I almost wonder if we'll start joking about it if we hit a rut in a couple of years.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves - tonight, I'm seeing a play and finding out what these taste buds think of gin!

-Zariyaryl (Hmm, maybe not)

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Assets

The obvious puns that come with my trying to ascertain the value of Alicia's identity are crude, but fitting.  My current measurements are enviable, or desirable, depending upon one's perspective, but how does one properly value them?  I began asking this not hypothetically, but practically - I planned to use relinquishing this shape to one for whom it perhaps came more naturally in order to both start the next phase of my life in a more financially stable situation and to perhaps have more ability to select that next phase rather than have it happen randomly.  One might not believe that the Inn is a marketplace, but it is, much as any place where money is exchanged for a product is a marketplace.  It is simply a highly irrational one:  Most people who arrive at the Inn for the first time have no idea what they are actually purchasing, while the vast majority who return put such a high value on returning to their previous situations that they fail to weigh any other factors at all.

There are those who do treat the Inn as a marketplace, though getting in touch with them can be difficult and the data one gathers scant enough that it becomes difficult to build a model.  Youth, as one might imagine, is the primary variable; though few of the people I have surveyed admit to seeking immortality per se, they will when pressed say that they want as much time as possible should circumstances prevent them from later revisiting, aside from the physical robustness that correlates with youth.  Financial stability is high up there as well, although not so much as one might expect - those who are concerned with it can liquidate assets and place them in a numbered account, after all.  It is a far greater negative influence - nobody wishes to be poor - than positive one.

Sex complicates matters - by and large, there's a noteworthy bias toward male identities being more valuable, at least in this market.  It's not hard to understand why; the biological nuisances and reductions in social status on average can certainly be frustrating.  But appearance can cause great variance, as can things like relationships, real and parasocial alike, more so than men.

"Alicia" is rather well-equipped on those accounts, now.  Although this particular silhouette has never been the one I favored among female companions, I cannot deny that its rounded bosom and buttocks are certainly able to grab another person's attention, particularly when I made an effort to showcase them.  I was, admittedly, ashamed of having this form when I first started living Alicia's life, but over my time as her, it's become easier.  What's the harm of showing some cleavage or using some high heels to accentuate your gait, if it makes men (and women!) more attentive?  One must learn how to set boundaries without actually sounding like one is ruling anything out, but I feel I have done fairly well by that.  Indeed, there are days when I wonder if I have done so well in that area that becoming a man again would have a steep learning curve.

Aside from that, there is the "vlog", which had seemed to have plateaued last fall but which has been gaining audience steadily since then.  Perhaps it has become more useful as people start to seriously consider vacations (or, based upon what I see during the day job, actually travel more), rather than as just a way to experience such things vicariously.  I have also become a better hostess - as much as I have grown more comfortable using my physicality, I cannot deny that my interview skills have improved, and Barbie and I have become better at editing the pieces, on top of my existing skills as a researcher.  We have put together a reasonably popular "show" for the resources we have; it's not unheard of for a new video to get a hundred thousand views in a month.

This makes "_______ with Alicia" an asset that is growing in value, and I am not the only person who has noticed it - various "content networks" have made inquiries, both about the series as it exists and what they envision it to be.  On the other side, I have had others approach me with offers to "professionalize" the series.  Sometimes it is local camera operators, other times editors, other times "producers" whose imagined roles range from the nebulous to the specific and useful.

That is on top of the people representing themselves as "agents", many of whom I suspect are less than legitimate, and other "content producers" who have seen either my series or Jordan's short film and would like me to appear in their videos, generally for "exposure" (looking at the scripts they send, the double-meaning is obvious), but sometimes for money.  Indeed, some of them even appear to have ambitions beyond online videos - short films like Jordan's which they would submit to film festivals, and even a feature-length presentation or two, although I have my doubts those would ever play a theater.

What to do with these?  There seems to be little question that accepting the proper offers would make "Alicia Polawski" a more valuable commodity, but so many of them seem to be very risky, and also time consuming, enough so to make finding a time to actually transfer this life to another difficult.  Already, it seems impossible to do in 2021.  And it also sets up a possibility that I may find ironic should it come to pass - that I might build "Alicia" up into something so valuable that the next iteration would seem to be trading down.  I've occasionally been bemused by some of the younger victims of the Inn deciding to stay as they were after a mere year or two, because they could no longer imagine returning to their old lives - as someone older than most of them, I cannot say that being Alicia yet feels normal enough to make my previous life seem alien, just in terms of the weight of experience - but the idea that I could become attached in the process of building these assets up to their peak value sometimes seems both frightening and amusing.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Next Steps

I had a decision to make over the course of the "off-season" as to whether I would return to the Inn or continue developing this life I am leading into something with a bit more value then when I found it, perhaps as a means to finance the next phase of my life.  Apparently, for many that the Inn has cut off from the lives they were born into, a curvy woman in her mid-twenties with a thriving social media presence would be ideal, and work as an air hostess only more appealing, apparently not realizing that the vast number of people who think that way leads to a rather low rate of pay.

Instead, there was a pandemic, which not only made a return to the Trading Post Inn unlikely, but disrupted my sources of income - far fewer people were opting to fly, which meant that some flights were cancelled and others needed less staffing.  Given that most flight attendants are not salaried but paid by the hour, we started to feel the pinch almost immediately.  The union makes laying people off difficult, so that means very few of us get enough work to live on.  In some ways, it is a fascinating study of resources thrown out of equilibrium - fewer people are traveling, so there are fewer flights, and since there are fewer people allowed on the flights, there need to be fewer people assigned to each, but the lower capacities also mean that the number can't be scaled back quite as far back as one might expect.  Demand is highly variable as well, and even the people who book a flight often change their minds, sometimes bringing the passenger count below the point where it makes more sense to cancel the flight, especially earlier on.  Given that attendants on this airline are not paid for cancelled flights, even if they show up and are helping to prepare for boarding, it was often frustrating.

It would, logically, have been a good time for "Alicia" to make a career change, but as mentioned, her job likely lends a certain value to her identity as a commodity well beyond what it brings in directly, and that is before considering that this job is also no small part of the appeal of the YouTube channel, both in its travel theme and the idea that there's something ineffably sexier about my making these recommendations because of this job, even if I've been advised to not actually wear my employer's uniform, instead dressing in a dress that suggests it, while also wearing one of those silly scarves and putting my hair up.

Options for that have been slimmer, what with so many potential subjects of new episodes are closed, and I have had to learn to do more of the production myself since Barbara took a leave of absence to look after her ailing father some months ago.  It has been especially frustrating since we had just started to get some meager advertising revenue for our trouble, and even been contacted by certain locations interested in being featured.  The first one or two of those we shot were actually quite enjoyable - no security or police saying we could not film somewhere, people willing to talk rather than finding us a nuisance - although some of the negotiations have been peculiar:  No cash changing hands, but a fair amount of discussion of exchanging links, specifying their website in the video and making it clickable.  There have also been overtures about product placement and endorsements, or an online storefront, but research seems to indicate that many would-be "influencers" find themselves with more inventory and debt than profit as a result.

This apparently tends to be treated as a dirty little secret; I attended a meet-up of various online personalities in the area a few weeks ago and the mostly-young people there had very little to say about monetization or cash flow other than to comment that some "change in the algorithm" had hurt them.  I doubt many of them will last, as the bulk seem to have found a hobby briefly turning into a profitable business but have little idea of how to approach it as one, though they at least have the advantage of being born into this era and having some amount of unthinking instinct into what will work.

On top of that, the landscape can be rather treacherous.  Some fellow who is apparently paid money so that people can watch him play video games suggested that, if travel became too much of an obstacle, I at least have the sort of appearance that would allow me to do well on "Only Fans".  I nodded, said that was an option that one had to consider, and then looked up the name when I had a spare moment alone in the ladies' room.

Suffice it to say, I do not see myself using that platform, although I also wonder if this young man was propositioning me as much as suggesting a future plan of action.  The idea did make me start to think a bit more about how I use my sexuality and even sexual availability in this area, somewhat - while Jordan put me in a tight costume and directed me to speak in a certain way, I haven't necessarily been doing this as well as I could on "_______ with Alicia", especially since Barbara left.  I can walk in heels and stuff my bosom into an elevating brassiere, or undo a button or two in nice weather, but I have not spent much time on learning how to create certain effects with cosmetics, or given much thought to personal fashion choices beyond what generally complements a woman with this body type.  These things, from what I can tell, tend to enhance a woman's appeal to other women, which I have perhaps been ignoring.  Moreover, I tend to rely on the generally-valid assumption that not only will men simply be attracted to this body, but that a woman's lack of reciprocal interest will only make her more enticing.  Two years of Alicia's job have shown that many men are not that complex, and simply want to see a woman eager to be with them sexually, rather than believe that they might be the one to melt the ice queen if only she had a chance.

Integrating this into Alicia's online presence is, I suspect, the sort of thing that will make Alicia's life a more valuable asset at the point when I decide to leave it, though the building of it will likely not be as pleasant as it must appear.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: _______ with Alicia

Though I ultimately opted against adding more salacious content to the Instagram amount that I inherited from Alicia, I did find myself curious about what I could do with itbeyond simply treating it as a repository of photographs for future reference.  I may, after all, find my next set of circumstances one where an understanding of the market dynamics of social media could be quite valuable, and the best way to learn new things is through experimentation.

So, if the content was not going to change much, what other variables could I consider?  Engagement seemed the most obvious, so I started replying to comments, and occasionally following the accounts of one's that had something interesting to say.  I would occasionally make notes on what certain people liked or questioned, keeping it in mind when taking photographs.  Look a bit wanton when mostly undressed for the men, excited when trying new clothes on for the women, make sure there is both something familiar and obscure when sightseeing.  When following someone else, especially one with a larger audience than oneself, comment quickly and simply if she just wants validation; ask questions if she seems to be looking for people who share her interests.

It seems simple enough, but with the right raw materials and the discipline to post regularly enough that one's followers don't feel neglected, one can grow an audience fairly quickly; by the end of July I had gone from 20,000 followers to 75,000.

And my roommates treated this as some kind of accomplishment!  I had changed very little about how I lived my life, but having total strangers "like" what they saw apparently made that life noteworthy, rather than cause to roll their eyes and treat me as an antisocial snob.  They started asking questions about what I'd been up to, and recommendations for what to see in cities that they had visited more often than I had.

I did hit a plateau in August, and thought that might be the end of the experiment, which was something of a relief - the amount of time these "influencer" people must spend on targeted interaction and filtering the most grotesque things that people try top attach to their profiles while not coming off as heavy-handed or some such must be extensive, as I found that an account which posted roughly a picture or two a day might need an hour's maintenance every night.  I was quite ready to simply go back to using the site for my original propose and let those other people continue to pay attention or not as they would.

But then one of the comments caught my eye, saying that I should have a podcast or a YouTube channel.  I had given something along those lines some thought, of course, every time somebody said that a place I had visited and my description of it was interesting, but I was thinking more in terms of a book.  This suggestion seemed more in line with what somebody my apparent age would do.

I mentioned this idly to "Barbie" and her eyes practically lit up, and she quickly opened the locker at the foot of her bed to pull out a video camera, then scooted to the other side of the room to point it at me.  The lens moved and then the red light came on, and she asked me about my favorite place to fly.

"I'd rather not."

"No, you totally should!  Come on - what's the place you're always tempted to over-bid on?"

I roll my eyes and start talking about a sculpture garden in New Mexico which is far from my favorite destination, mentioning how the dry air preserves the work although the hippies who live in the area are nearly as amusing.  I expect her to turn it off, but she doesn't, instead waiting until I'm done and saying it was "awesome", and that I must have wanted to be a teacher before getting into this.  I told her I'd given it some thought.

She says this could be the basis for a channel, that there are men who go on for hours on YouTube about how new science-fiction films are evidence of a conspiracy against the male gender, and I am far more interesting and attractive than they are.  Not untrue, I admit, and we eventually start having out the idea of the channel/"show".  She comes up with the title, saying that even if I never actually do anything more risqué than wearing a short skirt, it will get attention, even if it really means I can do shows on whatever I want (and looks at me blankly when I say it's straight out of The Match Game).

The next day is a mutual day off for us, so we crisscrossed the city with her camera, me delivering "lectures" on the various pieces of WPA at in the area, something that one would think people her age would know about, what with their belief that everyone is an artist or a "maker" deserving of support and fondness for politicians who openly identify as socialist, though I suppose their not reading history is why they need videos like these to spoon-feed it to them.  And though I describe them as lectures, they are not much like standing in a classroom.  There s just Barbie and the camera, telling me to smile more, flirt, or "pretend [I am] telling [my] boyfriend about one of [my] favorite things". 

Ridiculous, even if it does apparently make for good Internet video.  We waited a bit to post it, making a few others at various stops and shooting some new footage as we got more familiar with the process, eventually deciding to bank a few before starting to upload them on Thursday mornings and regularly mention them on my social media accounts over the next few days.

We sent the first one out before working a round-trip to Dallas on September 5th, and she was disappointed to see it did not immediately get many views, and just almost forgot about it until my phone started buzzing while I was in the shower.  I didn't recognize the name of the daughter of s some celebrity who has not herself accomplished anything who re-tweeted our link, but Barbie did, her eyes going wide as she opened her laptop.  The counter on my new YouTube channel was incrementing quite rapidly.  "Is this unusual?"

She looked from it to me, eyes wide.  "Is this unusual?  It's huge!  You're huge!"  Or faces were close, and out of nowhere, she kissed me on the lips.

I did not see this coming, but I had not forgotten how to respond, kissing her back and pulling her closer.  For all that the sensation of our breasts together was surprising, it was not unpleasant, and she has a quite impressive bottom which was soon in my hands, being pulled from her seat.  I unzipped her uniform while she worked the buttons on my pajamas, and soon we were on my bed, her back to my chest, my hands spring her breasts while I kissed her neck.  Soon one found its way lower, and I found that I had not completely lost practice in pleasing a woman.

She seemed to come out of her trance when she turned around and kneeled on the floor, her face being level with my pelvis seeming to surprise her.  "I'm sorry, I can't...  I shouldn't have...  I've never..."  And then she started crying.

I was briefly annoyed, but tried to shrug it off.  "Not to worry," I said while replacing my pajama top, "we were excited, and this was something of a first for me as well.  Now, go take your turn in the shower and when you come back, it will be like it never happened."

"Yeah, that's probably for best."  She pulled a t-shirt and sweatpants from her dresser and headed for the bathroom.

We have been cordial since, continuing to work on the channel and mostly assigned to the same flights.  I do, on occasion, find myself curious about what would have happened had she not gotten cold feet - she is the sort of young woman that I have long favored, even if she does not have the same academic background - but this shape obviously makes circumstances different.  In the meantime, we work together both in the air and on the ground.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Internet Famous

Jordan is extraordinarily lucky that my current rotation does not take me to LAX until July at the earliest, because I would be sorely tempted to murder her and then escape to Maine, allowing whoever winds up as Alicia next to deal with the fallout.  For all that being this absurd parody of womanhood has been a constant series of humiliations, this past week has been the most ridiculous.

As you may recall, I stepped in to assist Jordan last year when she required assistance in finishing her student film after her star quit, though I did not truly replace her, but rather played all of the duplicate robots that she would have played.  They were more or less mindless automata, so my work was mainly a matter of standing around in tight clothing and heels well taller than necessary to make up the height deficit with the average man or to appear tastefully fashionable, enough times that Jordan could combine the images.

It was technically impressive work, I suppose, although as somebody who knows all too well that her inspiration for a film in which a man's brain is placed inside a robot shaped like an anatomically-correct woman was not, as many would presume, about an ex-boyfriend who needed to learn a lesson, I cannot much disagree with her professors who apparently found it slight and somewhat juvenile.  It has not been picked up by any but the smallest film festivals, and not getting the best position in those.  This was something of a relief for me as I decided to remain Alicia for another year, and I soon paid it no mind.

Then, yesterday, as I arrived back at the "crash pad" after a flight from Dallas that had been delayed for hours (a delay for which the attendants are not paid!), I heard howling coming from the living room, and with the intent of telling the flatmates to keep it down, I poked my head in, only to see in horror that they were watching "I, Fembot".

I try to back away to write a furious email to Jordan, but I'm seen.  "Guys, she's here!"  Someone hits pause and then all four cluster around me.  "Why didn't you tell us you had a side hustle?  This what you were doing during your leave of absence? "

I took a careful half-step back.  "No, I was just..."  How to explain talking with other people who had lost their identities thanks to a cursed hotel?  "I was using the director's spare room - one of those services - and she had a panic attack about the other girl storming off the set, saying she'd step in herself but she would need far too much padding.  Well, stepping in to help was the only decent thing, although if I'd seen the costumes..."

"But that's the best part!  You look so hot in the outfits and it's so you to just go making guys horny without giving a shit!  Because even if they're programmed to respond, you know the sex-bot doesn't actually care."

"I hardly think that's an accurate--"

"Oh, c'mon, look at you on Insta!  Racking up the followers with all the selfies but never following back, barely responding unless someone comments on the museum or whatever you're in."

I groaned.  "I've told you, I don't take those pictures for 'followers'."

They arched their eyebrows and gave me variations on "sure you don't", but it happens d to be e true.  The only follower, or fan, that actually matters the slightest bit is Daryl, who finds it useful for me to have a social media presence when somebody asks "Magda" about her daughter.  Other than that, it's simply a convenient way for me to have some record of my time as Alicia after I finish it.  I cannot see myself becoming sentimental about this anatomy, but I cannot deny that the opportunity to travel has offset the job which requires it somewhat.  With this application already on Alicia's phone, and sharing the default, it should be a simple matter to extract that which I wished to keep.

Obviously, there was no point of explain that to the gaggle, so I just repeated that my photography was for myself and what others thought of it was irrelevant.  Then I said the shower was mine, ignoring the shouted question of whether a brain in one of those robots would have PMS or cramps simulated the way arousal was, because they wouldn't stick their boyfriends in one otherwise.

The shower was useful; though the Inn has made my body more resilient than it had been for some time, I had been on my feet for some time and just an hour in Texas can make you sweat in a way that sticks even under the perfume and deodorant.  Washing my flatmates' crude comments away was a pleasant enough side benefit.

Afterward, as I say wrapped in a towel, brushing my hair, Alicia's phone buzzed with some notification, and it reminded me that I had set Instagram notifications off, as I did not intend to interact on the platform (and, indeed, most of the messages it notified me of were just men saying how life-changing intercourse would be for the pair of us).  Out of idle curiosity, I brought the program up and looked at my statistics.

I had 20,000 followers.

They came in waves, it appears - some when Jordan "at-ed" me as he put his short online, but I apparently got put on lists as well, from the obvious ("flight attendants of Instagram") to the bizarrely, specifically hostile ("bitches who think they're too good to follow back but ain't all that").  It's more people than I've had students, quite possibly on a par with the number of people who have read my books or attended my presentations at conferences.  For doing little more than taking photographs of myself.

I looked in the mirror and wondered what a picture undressed would do to all that.  It almost seemed to be worth the experiment, just to see, especially since any reputation that came as a result would fall upon someone else in a few months.  If a younger person becomes the new Alicia, she might even find an account with thousands of followers a positive.

As an economist, I find the idea intriguing, creating something of admittedly illusory value from nothing.  The other side, though, is that it could wind up like Jordan's film - harmless enough at the time, but something I shall have to live with until I no longer have Alicia's face.

-Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Social

At some point, I should have thrown the mobile phone that I inherited from Alicia into the Bay, or at the very least deleted all of her accounts and started new ones.  Perhaps not at the outset, when one might assume that Alicia would be seeking to return to her life without disruption, but certainly there was no need to preserve such continuity once she decided to remain in her new life.  By the time I decided to tolerate this existence for another year in order to find one more suitable that has not been damaged by another's stewardship the way my own had, it had become sadly convenient.  When I need to coordinate something with co-workers - and, later, flatmates - they tend to prefer using "WhatsApp" rather than a straightforward voice-mail or text message; on top of that, enough people at the airport remember one Magda or another and ask about her that it is worth regularly glancing at the Facebook page that Daryl continues to maintain to avoid questions of why I don't know what she's up to in New York.

This convenience has generally been worth the occasional moment when Alicia's phone buzzes because somebody has found her Instagram page and decided to leave some lewd comment on a picture of her not completely dressed.  At times, I find it amusing, for I am sure most of the men posting that message would be taken aback by the true identity of the person reading it.  Occasionally one is unctuous enough to merit blocking, and in a few cases people have reappeared with new accounts.  As a man, I admire their persistence, but they are a nuisance, though one that had been tapering off, as I had not added more photographs to keep it current.

Then came "Barbie".

Barbara Matheson was hired by the airline a few months ago, and as fate would have it not only wound up assigned to the same crew as I was in November, but also rented a spot in the same apartment.  It is, I suppose, natural that she would decide to look at me as a mentor and sort of older sibling, and I certainly did little to discourage it initially.  I have always appreciated the attention of young, attractive women, and though I now recognize that it will no longer lead to certain highly-pleasant experiences, I am nevertheless vulnerable to it.

Part of her being young is that she instinctively documents her entire life in real time, and tags her non-stop stream of "selfies", food photographs, and status updates with the names of everybody in the area, frequently including myself.  Every tag becomes a new, current way for people who followed a hash-tag to Barbie's page to find mine, follow me despite the year since the previous post, or decide to make some comment, creating more and more notifications.  On a number of occasions, people came to proposition us before we finished our meal because Barbie had tagged the location!  Thankfully, she has become more conscientious about waiting to post her silly food pictures until after she has finished eating.

Somewhat surprisingly, not all of the comments Barbie attracts are from men trying to get into her pants; or from family members who think that the travel involved with her job makes her life one to live vicariously, but a whole group of young women as well.  And many of them would be shrieking in capital letters not just about the obvious things, but my apparel, which I found strangely gratifying.

Contrary to what Lindsey or Daryl might have you believe, I do dress well.  It was initially emasculating the first time I donned brassieres and skirts, in large part because of the job they represented, but eventually one must work with the reality of the body one has.  Eventually, it became clear that what one wears allows one to choose who speaks to her, and if that means a black skirt, nylons, and matching heels, it is a small price to pay to converse with serious people rather than the people Alicia used to get involved with!  It can be frustratingly difficult at times - my current hips are not as conducive to a nice pencil skirt the way Lindsey's were and presumably are again, so finding the style that best creates the intend impression can require trial and error.  That means more time than I would like in changing rooms, and I've taken to traveling with a small iron in case there is not one at a city's "crash pad".

It is, in some ways, a circle of deception, with me pretending to be Alicia pretending to be a bit more high-class than her means.  The combination of all factors puts me in some strange situations on occasion, like last night, when I needed a new top and found my bank account light between paying rent last week and my pay not being deposited until today.  I took two into the changing room and had a difficult time deciding, and practically before the idea had formed, there were two new posts on Alicia's Instagram account, asking the ladies following her which I should choose.  Surprisingly, there was a flurry of responses saying that the white one with bate shoulders was "v. sophisticated" (and, yes, some would write out "sophisticated" while abbreviating "very"), so I went with that.

The Inn has made me a selfie-posting Millennial.  God help me.

- Harmon Keller

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Crash Pad

One of the pleasures of my previous life was being given membership to some select group, whether literally or implicitly, by some shared accolade.  A description to be listed as an appositive after one's name conferring authority and respect, or the chance to easily associate with one's peers.  I had attained a number of them before visiting the Trading Post Inn, and I missed them sorely as I acclimated to the life of Alicia Polawski.  The ability to bypass security at an airport does not make up for their loss, especially when one considers that it is the prelude to a menial shift as a stewardess.

However, for all that I bemoaned the loss of such associations, there are moments now when I most mourn the loss of one that I found to be a nuisance for my first year as a woman:  The immediate presence of another who knew my true identity.  Lindsey may have found my situation too amusing, and Daryl may have been indifferent to that situation, but I could at least expect them to have some understanding when my status as a victim of that cursed place.  It is something that I find utterly lacking in this dormitory where I now reside.

The apartment may not technically be a dormitory - it is neither subsidized by the airline nor in a building whose clientele is restricted - but the arrangement is similar.  It is what is known as a "crash pad", with ten beds in four bedrooms.  Three of the rooms sleep two apiece, with those of us slept there each passing a portion of the rent and utilities, while the fourth has two sets of bunk beds, used by other attendants who either have an overnight layover or are spending a few days visiting the area.  Reciprocal arrangements are available in most cities.

It has been decades some I lived in that sort of cramped quarters, but it could not be helped on such relatively short notice - because being a flight attendant is seen by many young people as a job that offers benefits beyond salary, the pay is unimpressive, making Alicia's decision to stay in her mother's apartment rent-free sensible rather than entirely a Millennial reluctance to cut the cord, and it leaves me with little insured means to place a security deposit on a place of my own here in the Bay Area.  Indeed, quitting this job entirely is not practical, as it is the only line on Alicia's résumé, and while I could almost certainly convince somebody that I have qualifications not listed should I start searching for other positions, I suspect that many would look at me and think I meant this metaphorically, and I am not interested in that sort of work.  Thus, the status quo at work, and the newly crowded house.

As might be imagined from the circumstances that brought Alicia to the Inn at the first place, Alicia had a certain reputation at work, enough that some co-workers have been able to come fairly close to guessing what got her put on "administrative leave" last summer, and while most have been willing to believe that I had something else going on since, they eventually lost interest.  Now that some of them are my flatmates, though, the curiosity about what scandalous affairs I get up to has returned, and the fact that I will often spend time in the library or one of San Francisco's fine museums after a return flight rather than subjecting myself to the cacophony at "home" has many certain that I am meeting with some man on the sly.  I suppose there is some truth to it, but I must say that I hope this interest will pass.

Instead, I spend many an afternoon or evening in those public spaces, changed into civilian clothes but still with the makeup and hair that I put on to emphasize how friendly and helpful we are to the passengers, trying to lose myself in something intellectual only to often be interrupted by those seeking to turn me toward more carnal pursuits.  If only I could come home to people who understood that I want nothing more than to quietly unwind with a book and a port, rather than whatever activity they have planned for the night.  To add insult to injury, I had lately been doing this in the bath before moving, a welcome excuse to remove my brassiere and let the water support my breasts, but that becomes impossible with as many as nine young women sharing one bathroom with me; though I may not relish the opportunity to see these women in various states of undress as I may once have as a younger man, and in doing so come across as over-eager, I am never certain how these interactions should go.  At least when a young man approaches me, I can remember similar conversations from the other side; this sort of everyday encounter has me constantly having to think of responses that my flatmates think should be second nature.

It is, I suppose, something I will have to get used to over the coming months, as the Inn will not be accepting guests this winter.  I must admit, though, that I rather hope I will never have an easy time answering when a girl sees me in the bath and suggests we make an appointment to get waxed together.

-Harmon Keller

Daryl/Magda: Clean Breaks, Maybe Not Clean Starts

I didn't exactly have a farewell with Harmon, and I'm sure that surprised the neighbors who had lived near Magda and Alicia for years, but what can you expect?  We just met a few weeks ago and he's still angry that my deciding to do what I want with this life has thrown a monkey wrench into his.  But how long did someone his age think he was going to live rent-free with mommy, anyway?

I can't say I exactly traveled light moving to New York, but I did purge a fair amount by sending them to the original Magda in Austin.  We're still kind of feeling each other out via Facebook Messenger right now, kind of unevenly, with her giving me pointers on how the various bits of her work go, although that's going to become a bit less relevant now that I'm at a different airport.  I think we both kind of want to find some common ground in how we both wound up where we are because of a relationship, but we're also both looking at the others situation as being kind of weird.

Still, we're doing it, and I couldn't help but feel extremely excited when I got off the plane in New York.  This want the life I'd originally planned, but even though I was going by Magda's name, I was starting to make her life my own.  As I walked past the crowds and chaos of the airport, I started arriving the pros and cons of keeping this job in my head.  As what is basically a retail job goes, it's not bad; there's a union and benefits and Magda has earned herself some seniority.  But it's neither the specific job or the kind of job I spent for years in college for, and it's not one that has a lot of potential for advancement.  But what else am I going to do?  My Microsoft certifications are in someone else's hands, and I don't necessarily have a lot of my own skills with which to start over at this point in my new life.

But J.T. was home when I rang the bell, and he smiled when he got a look at me.  The months as a woman and one as this one hasn't really given me the chance to figure out "subtle" yet, at least in terms of dressing, so I showed up at his apartments in jean shorts that, while tight, still go almost reach the knee, and an orange tank top that shows my boobs off with a pretty tight bra.  And sandals, because I have been spending a lot of time in airports and know not to go in for a lot of strappy or knotty bullshit when flying by now. 

"Hey," I say, "we're doing this."

"We are," he says, and pulls me into his apartment.  It's been a few weeks, and our clothes are on the floor fast.

We spoon for a while, and then I get up, slipping on my panties and his t-shirt.  I start walking around the place opening closet doors.

He looks up.  "What're you doing?"

"Looking for a spot to put my clothes.  Even if I were inclined to live out of a suitcase, this stuff wrinkles."

He got up and pulled some things out of the closet I was looking in.  "I guess that'll do for now."

"Oh, that should be plenty. I don't have a whole lot more on the way."

"Yeah, but that'll go to your place, right?"

I stopped putting dresses on hangers.  "What do you mean, 'my place'?"

"Just that, you know, I figured... at first...  I mean, we've only been together a few months."

"Dude, it may only have been a few months, but in case you haven't noticed, I'm pretty damn committed here!  You can't tell me you haven't noticed the big white tits."  I smiled while I said it, but I have to admit, I felt a tiny bit of panic.  Were we coming into this with such different ideas?  I know neither of us had really talked about forever or even really specifics, but, still...

"I know you are, I just...  Look, I know we've got something really special here, but sometimes it's good to have your own space, you know?  And if it doesn't work out, I mean, it's not like you haven't told new-Daryl that he can be you for good...  Have you?"

"No, but the way I see it is, the very fact that he's planning to go back to the Inn next year means we can't afford to screw around... metaphorically."  I smiled, hopefully wickedly.  "We've got to be all-in.  I didn't become Magda because I wanted to be a middle-aged white woman, or because I wanted to play the field.  I did it so we can make sure that this, you and me, is gonna work.  Should I bail now?"

"Oh, no.  I just didn't really realize how, uh, intense this was gonna be."

"That's okay.  And remember, intense isn't a bad thing--"

I grabbed his unit (confession: I bought something in a San Francisco sex shop so I could get used to the feeling of it in both my hands and pussy, though I haven't had the guts to put it in my mouth yet), which responded quickly, and we made it back to bed.  He fell asleep after, and I went back to unpacking.

Still, I hope Pete texts me soon, given that it looks like he's coming back to New York.  We might have stuff to talk about.

-Daryl/Magda

Daryl/Magda: One Hot Mama

I'm a relatively new Inn Person, so I haven't talked with many in the community, but it feels like what I am trying to do right now - changing and then immediately trying to start my own new life on my own terms - it's pretty rare.  That's natural - most people, upon having their identity torn from them, aren't going to say "what would I do with a clean slate?" even if their new face didn't come with a letter asking them not to mess things up.  But a life's got inertia to it, too, and just picking up and starting over isn't easy even when you can.

And I didn't know if that was going to be the case when I got back to the Inn.  The room hadn't changed since I left it but I was acutely aware that there was no leftover bag in the room to tell me what I had in store.  I tried to be chill about it - like, okay, if these are going to be my last days as a woman, try a few things, like having a spa day or putting on a kind of sexy dress and doing some light flirting at a bar, not looking to get picked up, but just to see what it's like to be on the other end of some guy's game, maybe be more empathetic later.  Don't get me wrong, I brought along pepper spray, but thankfully didn't need it.

Still, it was a nerve-wracking week or so, knowing that I was going to come out of it as neither myself nor Elaine, but I could be pretty much anyone else.  It was a relief when I finally felt the tingle other folks talked about, although I couldn't stay up for the change; it had been a long day that ended with a few drinks.

I didn't really feel different when I woke up until I saw that my arm was white.  And not just Caucasian-white, but "Eastern European girl who hasn't been out of the house all winter" white.  I knew that was the way to bet - Jonah becoming Krystle probably used up all the odds of one black person becoming another by random chance in this place, given how white Maine is - but, man, that is a hell of a thing to be confronted with.  I felt like I'd lost something profound in that moment, even more so than when I watched Elaine's breasts grow out of my chest.

And speaking of breasts, yeah, as soon as I'd examined my hand enough to think about how weird it was that the designs on my nails were now kind of off-center, I sat up in bed and let the sheet drop away from my chest.  I could already feel just from sitting up that I was still a woman, but sometimes you need to see it.  My breasts had grown a bit and sagged a bit overnight, and the darker space around my nipples was a bit bigger.  They're not bad at all, and when I copied them in my hands they felt pretty solid, but not as close to perky as is been as Elaine.

The rest of my body was like that too - a bit softer around the waist, a bit more spread to my butt, more in the thighs.  I did feel weirdly guilty about the shape I'd left my bush in for Elaine when I saw how nearly trimmed I was down there (I was kind of skittish with the razor). After I'd seen all I could from that angle, I went to the mirror.

Not a bad new face.  Some lines around the eyes and dimples that tried to make up for the fact that it didn't seem to smile quite as wide, brown hair that was thinner than Elaine's but not really thin, decent lips.  I pegged myself at about forty or so, which was disappointing, but doable.

There was noise outside the room, so I figured it was time to find out how things had shaken out.  Elaine's clothes mostly fit, although I wouldn't recommend going up a bra size or two overnight (the amazing cleavage doesn't really make up for the straps digging into your skin), so I want like the guy in a way-too-small bathrobe trying to figure out what had happened.  It was a weird scene, 'cause by the time July rolls around most of the "reversal chains" have broken and it's just people who don't know what they're in for.  I explained what little I knew about the situation five times while asking if anybody had a suitcase that looked like it belonged to a middle-aged white woman in their room. 

Nobody did, but someone was able to get into one connected by an adjoining bathroom, and I found my new identity.  My eyes went kind of wide at the driver's license I pulled from the purse, because on the one hand, damn, Magda Polawski, you're doing pretty darn all right for almost 48, but on the other, that's almost two full decades lost on my part.  Then I got to the letter which Lindsey had left me, which spent a lot of time filling me in on Harmon but kind of soft-sold that Magda's life was mine, free and clear, should I want it.

None of the people at the Inn, looking at a year of trying to live someone else's life, really wanted to hear me talk about how that's some monkey's paw shit, but Cary and Elaine at least put on a good show of being sympathetic.  I mean, yeah, I want to make things work with J.T., but 47-year-old white woman isn't exactly easy mode.

But you've gotta try, right?  Lucky for me, Lindsey left me notes about how to "deadhead" on a flight, so I got to fly to New York for free.  I watched a bunch of YouTube videos about making yourself look younger via makeup before flying out and then got my hair done as soon as I landed.  Lindsey, not knowing who was going to become Magda, had traveled to Maine with a bunch of different clothing options, but probably didn't figure on someone like me being grateful for a little black dress and matching four-inch heels.

Heck, it was surreal to me as I changed in a food court restroom and then did what I could with the makeup, texting with J.T. about dinner reservations and how, no, I wasn't going to send a selfie so he could recognize me.  But I was kind of riding high on the idea that somehow the universe was arranging things so that two people who would never have been paired two years ago could be together, kind of excited about Act III.  I must have spent a half hour on the makeup, staying completely over twice and just being real timid, but eventually I decided I didn't look too bad.

J.T. had reserved us a table at a nice restaurant, and I managed to get in and sit across from him quietly enough to make him jump.  The dress showed plenty of cleavage, so his eyes were drawn there before my face.  "Wow.  You're, uh--"

"Older?"

"I was thinking 'not Elaine', but I guess that's part of it.  You look good, though.  Really good..."  I briefly felt ashamed for how easily we guys let boobs distract us.

We spent the meal making small talk, about sports and how cute real-Elaine being excited about getting her life back was.  He mentioned that he'd had an audition the other day, well off Broadway, because he was getting excited about digging into and creating character histories again after the Inn.

It was delicious, and we took a can back to his place, as I mentioned I had no place of my own in New York, and it was too late to spring all this on Pete.  We drank some wine, and then made hilariously flimsy excuses for heading toward the bed.  It felt really good for him to unzip my dress and then undo my bra, supporting my breasts with his hands while kissing my neck.  It felt good being a little softer in his hands, and we played around a lot before I was on my back his face right above mine, him entering me, both of us excited but kind of terrified about what might come next.

About that, let's just say that the over-sharing ladies at a previous job were maybe onto something when they told us embarrassed millennials that a woman's body doesn't really figure out how to princely orgasm right away.  I was like, well, shit, that part works when we got done.

Of course, I couldn't just stay there right away - Magda had a job, a lease, and a biological daughter on the other side of the country, and I couldn't just abandon them without causing trouble.  So, just a day later, I was flying "back" there to figure out how I could easily get myself back in that bed on a permanent basis.

Naturally, Harmon and I met when I was going through Magda's closet, trying to figure out which clothes to keep and which to give away.  As much as I had fun pushing my boobs into J.T.'s face that first night, there was some stuff theft which had either been there a long time or which probably was the result of Magda still seeing a younger woman in the mirror.  I may look somewhere halfway between my real age and what my new passport says, but I kind of think Magda was still stuck in an even younger mindset, not quite competing with Alicia but thinking she was still that girl.

And I can see how she thinks that - there's a box of Polaroids in her closet, and young Magda had a lot of what her daughter does.  And Alicia is hot as fuck, just everything I am now but tighter and smoother.  I don't feel desire when I look at her, but I probably feel a little more appreciation than someone who currently shares half my DNA with her probably should.  On top of that, she's got this attitude to her where she knows exactly what she's got and she won't barter access to it, or even her attention, cheaply.  I've dated enough girls like that to know it gets exhausting fairly quickly, but even though I know how insanely inappropriate the thought is and how uninterested Harmon is in being someone's girlfriend, I notice.  And, yes, I couldn't help but think of the roughly twenty-five extra years I might have gained if Harmon had come to the Inn.

That he didn't pay me much mind is kind of useful,  though - if he doesn't want to play family, that's a load off me.  I can decide some stuff is going to go and just email the original Magda and Alicia about it rather than finding time to schedule talks with him.  I can ask the airline about a transfer to New York and feel confident that the option to quit is in my back pocket, because he's not attached to working with "Mom".  I can get all the way to "hey, either sign this or don't" and only feel a little bad about how losing the apartment is going to mess with his life.

That got him upset, although he really had no right; was he sure that every future Magda was going to look after him like Lindsey?  Quite honestly, I kind of think she should have put her foot down earlier, but then again, I'm not exactly the posted child for letting pay relationships go after visiting the Inn.

Still, I'm looking forward to really making a new start in New York next week.  It's crazy how much I miss J.T. already.

-Magdaryl

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Who Does He Think She Is?

As some readers may have gathered from Lindsey's rather one-sided account, I have not returned to the Trading Post Inn.  Though I have no intention of being Alicia for the rest of my life, it would be foolhardy to overlook the short-term benefits of remaining as her for roughly another year.  Shorn of other context, it is far from an unreasonable decision to choose to remain a young woman in good health whose job affords her the chance to travel rather than a person who, while still mentally vital and in fine shape for his age, has recently seen his reputation damaged and who will almost certainly be pushed into retirement.  The choice may not necessarily be obvious, but looking past sentimental concerns, it is certainly reasonable.

Though I will miss Lindsey - she was pleasant, attractive company in our original lives, and her at-times annoying behavior as Magda far more often came from a desire to help than one to belittle - I cannot deny that it was a welcome change to return "home" after a flight and have the apartment to myself.  Luxury, to change out of my work clothes into whatever felt right, whether shapeless sweatpants or counter the insufficient air conditioning with something scant (probably used as "party wear" by the original Alicia) without a lot of questions, or attached significance.  Simply taking a bath was much less stressful - I could spend my time with a book without a knock on the door aking if I was "getting to know myself".

It has also been pleasant to venture out into San Francisco and the Bay Area the same way I do other cities at the other end of a flight, rather than making every excursion some sort of peculiar date disguised as a mother-daughter outing.  As much as I still feel a bit strange putting on feminine attire and cosmetics in the morning, I have come to find it useful, ironically both as camouflage and as a way to gain advantageous attention.  This body, I have found, can be a resource, although I have not, as yet, fully ascertained that resource's value.  Having a man pay for drink or two is obviously far too little return for engaging in sexual intercourse (perish the thought!), but maybe not for a few minutes' conversation, though some do get rather insistent.  A short but tasteful skirt can lead to interesting conversations in a museum while an button or two undone can improve hasten service in a restaurant or café, although, given the area, it is not necessarily male attention that it brings me.

It hand been the waitress who checked on me at least twice as often as the other patrons at my lunch, for example, the day I returned to the apartment and was shocked to hear some sort of "hip-hop" coming from Lindsey's bedroom, more so when I saw her standing there in her bra and panties, hair back in a ponytail, clothes lying on every surface of the room, applying lipstick.  For a moment, I was confused, but then it sunk in that this was not Lindsey, but the new Magda.  I coughed politely.

She turned around, a bit startled, but then smiled.  "You must be Harmon!  Or Alicia.  What do you want me to call you?  I'm Daryl, by the way, although I guess you might as well get used to calling me Magda, or Mom."  She chuckled, sticking out her hand.  "'Mom'!  Can you believe that?"

"Barely."

"Yeah, I know - it's been a weird couple months, but I guess I've got to start acting like this is normal, even though everyone else is going to think it's weird for other reasons."  Without me asking, she stayed telling me about how she'd been a man, met a girl, followed her to Maine and wound up becoming her, confronted the man who had been the girlfriend, fallen into bed with him, and decided to try and make it work but rather than staying as she was gambled in the Inn making her into another woman.  It was exhausting to hear about even without considering how foolhardy leaving that all to chance seemed to be.

"Anyway, I had a quick stop in New York on the way home, and J.T. doesn't just know Elaine's body, so that's good, if you know what I mean.  But now I've gotta sort through and figure out all this.  I don't want to look Magda's age, but some of the stuff I tried on is just too sexy, like she was trying to keep up with her daughter or something.  And then this--" She indicated the lipstick. "--just seems too red, but I kind of never paid much attention to what would make a middle-aged white woman look good, you know?"

She stopped talking but was still looking at me, up and down, in a way that Lindsey had not during the past year.  I tugged at my shirt, which had conformed to my figure a bit die to the heat.   It was a bit silly, since she was the one practically naked.  "You do remember that you are biologically my mother, don't you?"

"What?  No, I'm not thinking that, just that if you had gone to the Inn with Lindsey, it's 50/50 is look like that, which might make things easier."

"Trust me,"  I said, "a person with something to offer has no trouble keeping even a younger partner should he so desire.  You'll be fine."  Then I left for my room to change out of my work clothes.

It was a bit disconcerting for the first few days - "Daryl Magda" spent more time on her computer than Lindsey, which was fine, because it mostly meant she left me alone and I didn't have to spend much time thinking about how she wasn't Lindsey.  Even after a year in this situation, the sudden, though not immediately apparent,  change can be disconcerting.  She doesn't play at being maternal, but I didn't mind that so much initially.

At least, not until last night, when I got in at ten and saw her on the couch, dining a beer and immediately pushing Pause when I entered.  "Hey, we've got to talk."

I asked if it could wait, as I had an early flight.  She said it probably shouldn't.

"My transfer went through; I'll be working at JFK by the end of the month."

I nodded, belatedly realizing something like this was inevitable, and kind of relieved, momentarily.

"So, I talked to the landlord to see about transferring the lease to you, since it was up for renewal anyway, and, well..."  She handed me the document.

I felt a small heart attack.  "That's twice what we've been paying!"

She shrugged.  "Oakland is gentrifying like crazy, and that means the rent goes up.  I think the landlord is just waiting for people to move out, so that they can jack the price up on new leases--"

"I understand the economics very well, thank you!  I wrote a book on them twenty years ago!  But I can't possibly afford this!  And you know that!"

She looked shocked at how upset I was.  "I figured it might be difficult, but maybe with a roommate or--"

She pretended to have no idea how little flight attendants make.  "Ah, here it comes - if we go to the Inn and trade places, you won't have to transfer the lease, it stays affordable for me, and your boyfriend doesn't have to screw someone his mother's age.  Is that the threat?"

"There's no threat, I'm just saying that I've got no reason to stay here, and as you're so fond of telling me and Lindsey, I'm not really your mother, so, like, I'm not really obligated to, you know...  Unless you'd rather..."

"For this place?  I would not!  I may not want these assets, but they're worth more than this!"

"Fine.  In that case, the lease runs through the end of September.  'Magda' will pay the last month, but after that, you're on your own."

With that she resumed watching whatever was playing, leaving me to retreat to my room like a child, knowing no argument about playing our parts would sway her.

Perhaps they shouldn't; but if she truly intends to remain Magda Polawski long-term, she should know that the identity comes with a daughter, and putting me in this situation will do her reputation no good.

-Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski

Lindsey: Just Me

It's a good thing that the Inn have us this extra day on our stay so that we could watch the fireworks and not be checking out on the Fourth of July, because it looks like I might not have changed back otherwise and who knows how many other people's plans would have also gone awry, but it also led me to hold out hope for one more day that Harmon would do the right thing.  But he hasn't, and now I just feel like the last few years of my life were a waste of time and I'm a damn fool.

Still, I'm me again, without a lot of fuss in managing it.  One of the nice things about Magda having worked for the same airline for over twenty years is that even though she doesn't actually get paid time off because she's hourly rather than salaried, she can still request a fair-sized chunk of vacation - say, enough to go to the Inn, fall off the map, and then return with a new person behind her face - and her employer will grumble but the job will still be waiting for her when she gets back.  That new Magda probably won't have much flexibility to take any sort of non-Inn vacation for another year, but that's how it works.  I even got to fly out here for almost nothing.

Harmon doesn't really have that luxury as Alicia; he was able to negotiate a schedule that had him working flights to and from Boston with some days off on that end, but there were a few days early in our stay when he would be SOL if he was in the wrong place at the wrong time.  In retrospect, I'm kind of surprised he didn't just quit and let the new Alicia fend for herself, but I figured he was trying to do the same thing as I was, leaving things in good shape for the next people living these lives.

(Which won't be Magda and Alicia Polawski; they like Austin, the cupcake business, being sisters, and the guys that the people who originated their new lives became.  I'm not sure how far back along the line people are happy with how things worked out, but they're not coming back.)

It made the first few days in Maine pretty relaxing; Old Orchard is a cute little town, and I hope every Inn visitor eventually gets to know Cary - the guy is just there and quietly helpful when he can be.  I kind of enjoyed his flirting with me - he's picked up on more of what it feels good for a woman to hear than he claims, although the idea that he's scared that the next person to become Mckenzie might need a strong female role model isn't necessarily the best sales pitch.  Elaine is cool too, and really looking forward to being grown up again.

It felt good and according-to-plan enough that I didn't really fret when Harmon didn't show up on the first day he was supposed to.  I texted, he mentioned a flu bug taking down a whole flight crew, meaning he was assigned to another for that day, and that made sense.  When he didn't show up three days later, halfway through our booking, I called and asked what was going on.

He didn't even have the decency to sigh or hesitate.  "I am not returning to the Inn this year."

"WHAT?"  I poked my head out of the doorway to see if anybody else at the Inn heard me yelling.  "That's ridiculous - you HATE being Alicia, and I do your laundry - I know you're not pregnant!"

"It is not ideal, no, and I hope to upgrade to a better situation next summer, but given that Cooper had damaged my reputation and I would soon be facing retirement and irrelevance, and absent any moral imperative to return Alicia's life to her--"

I cut the oncoming lecture off.  "What about your other moral imperatives?  Like, to me?"

"I had hoped to avoid a confrontation, but how could or relationship not be broken?  After the past year, I doubt you would ever see me fully as a man again, having fallen so easily into taking a maternal role."

"Uh-uh.  No, you do not get to blame me.  You think that we could no longer be together, fine, but that's on you.  I'm sure you could find another student to make you feel admired and desired; I'd totally understand if you felt you didn't need me specifically.  Our are you afraid you can't any more?  Did seeing Coop using a cane freak you out that much?"

"I would not describe myself as 'freaked out', though it did gone me the impetus to examine what might offer me the most going forward, and there are noteworthy issues related to my old life's physical decline that, when balanced against a the average result of re-visiting the Inn, or even Miss Polawski's situation, certainly suggest that abandoning the identity of Harmon Keller is my best option using the present moment as a starting point."

I just started into the phone for a second.  "How can you be so casual about that?  I mean, you're taking decades off someone else's life!  Maybe not someone at the Inn now, but sooner or later, that's going to catch up with someone!"

He sounded annoyed.  "Perhaps.  Perhaps not.  If it bothers you so much, you know what to do."  There was a pause not quite long enough for me to think of a response.  "I guess this is farewell, then, Lindsey."  And then he hung up.

I just sat there after that, finding ways to blame myself.  Did I push him into trying to enjoy his circumstances enough that he decided he could stand being Alicia?  Did I play the mom too much and make that life comfortable?  Or did I do something to anger him, with Harmon deciding that this was the best way to get back at me?  I felt so bad that I slept on Coop's side of the room that night, so that if the change hit, it would make me into the new Harmon.

Elaine was pissed to hear me say that - she's got some pretty strong opinions on beating yourself up because of what a man does on his damn own.  She's got even stronger ones on making a martyr of oneself, suggesting I make myself available for future Magdas and Harmons who are going to be dropped into the Middle of this, but telling me it is not up to me to take responsibility for a man in his sixties.

She's right, even if it's hard not to feel guilty.  I mean, I woke up feeling GOOD this morning, every ache and pain I had as Magda gone, and Best Possible Person to Live Your Life Debbie Cooper may have spent the last month in the gym before getting me a bikini wax and a cute new Louise Brooks haircut.  And of course she left me some new panties and such.  And that's just gaining about twenty years back; Harmon got nearly twice that.  I can see that being hard to let go of.

That's pretty cold comfort to the poor teenager who got stuck as Harmon, though.  Just graduated high school, having a last vacation with his folks, and, wham, forty years.  Sweet kid, but he's not hugely thrilled with being on the same flight as me, or knowing that I'm going to be the best one to help him navigate Harmon's life for a bit.  As he shouldn't be.

I hope that I'll find something valuable in this experience someday.  I was ready to say I would just a couple weeks ago, but this lady bit of selfishness by Harmon really puts a damper on it, and I really wish I'd seen this in him the same way all my friends did.

-Lindsey Curtis

Harmon Keller/Alicia Polawski: Fine Art and Low "Content"

In a development that seems almost anticlimactic for how much trouble it initially caused, I have been emailed a password to a "Drop Box" account, which contains what the actual Alicia Polawski claims is the only digital copy of her having a sexual encounter with a player on the local football team.  The season has passed and the player involved is no longer on the team, so she and I have much less to fear from the person who sent her to the Inn to begin with, although Lindsey thinks that this Jeremy/Arthur is the sort of man who would never truly let leverage over people go. 

Neither, perhaps, is Alicia, but she has apparently determined that she will have little further use for it; she and her mother have informed Lindsey and me that they do not intend to return to the Inn; they and the sisters whom they have displaced have apparently come to like their current arrangement.  Parts of it sound rather incestuous, but I suspect that may seem a small price to pay to no longer be living this life. 

It is not, however, entirey without opportunities.  Though much of this job involves all the negative experiences of air travel but no actual time at the other end of the flight, once every week or two the schedule will line up and I can spend an afternoon taking in a museum or some other attraction.  There may not be enough in many cities to justify a full vacation, but they can make for a perfectly pleasant day out. 

New York is not a city I particularly love, though I have, given my field of expertise, been required to spend enough time there to develop a certain fondness for some institutions.  Several, alas, would not be particularly appropriate or welcoming places for Alicia Polawski, but with appropriate attire, I can enjoy an exhibition with only a few instances of people acting as though I do not belong. 

That was the case yesterday.  I had a few hours up enjoy the Guggenheim, and was taking advantage of the fact that this was my second free day in New York in as many weeks to take a leisurely stroll through the new Giacometti exhibition rather than dividing my time between the temporary and permanent displays.  Marvelous work, only occasionally interrupted by young men trying to pick me up with their questionable knowledge of art.

Taking time to absorb what one is seeing does have the unfortunate side-effect of being somewhat annoyed as less-conscientious visitors pass.  The solitary ones who just give the works a quick glance, perhaps spending more time reading the label than examining the art, are fleeting bothers, even if they do tend interpose themselves between oneself and what one came to see; they are at least generally quiet.  No, it is the ones who come in a group, making the most surface-level declarations of "that's pretty" and "I don't get it", presuming that because you have given something your attention, you will feel obligated to discuss it with them.  You can hear them coming behind you and the relief of the group moving along is soon dispelled by others like them. 

Yesterday was worse, because I immediately recognized one of the voices saying that something was so interesting.  It was Lindsey's voice, her real one, and I failed to make the split-second choice that would have perhaps put me out of the Coopers' view.  I tried simply studying the piece in front of me, but it was in the middle of the room, and Debbie took a position opposite myself.  "Oh my God, Har-- uh, Alicia!  Is that really you? I hardly recognized you!"

Tempting as it was to pretend that they had mistaken me for someone else, I opted for honesty.  "It is."

"Well, what a coincidence!  I suppose you're wondering why we're here..."

"Taking a vacation at my expense between the end of the academic year and your return to the Inn?"

"Well, I guess you could put it that way."   Undeterred, she continued.  "I'm just amazed at the transformation!  Seeing you at Christmas, I didn't figure you'd ever embrace your feminine side, but that skirt, those boots -- the cleavage!"

(It wasn't so much decollatage as to inspire a loud-whisper, just enough for my unruly bosom to not be pinched by being buttoned up; the boys only had an inch or so of extra heel.)

"It's a nuisance, but the idea of visiting a place like this in casual dress..."  I did not mention her "I heart NY" t-shirt and jeans.  "Well, old habits, as they say."  I turned to look at her husband, morbidly curious what he was wearing, trying not to betray my shock.  "What have you done, Cooper?"

He seems confused for a moment, then saw I was looking at the walking stick in his hand.  "Oh, this?  It's nothing, I pulled a hamstring trying to keep up with Debbie in Wal-Mart a few weeks back.  It's just about healed.  I don't really need the cane, but Debbie said not to take any chances before returning the leg to you."

"Of course, of course."  Not wanting to talk about Inn things, I instead gestured to the sculpture.  "So, what do you think of this?"

Debbie blushed.  "Oh, I don't really get it.  You know what they say, I don't know art, but I know what I like!"

"Of course you do.  May I suggest the Tannhauser Gallery?  It's far more conventional."

The Coopers agreed that this sounded "swell", but insisted on a "selfie" first.  Before they moved on, Debbie said they were planning on a late lunch at a famous deli, and I should text them when I was done to meet up.  Unless, of course, I was counting calories. 

I was not, and dutifully said I would meet them there.

It was not entirely unpleasant - though they gawked at the signed pictures on the walls, their tourist guidebook had pointed them to a fine place for a sandwich - but I did have to pass when they suggested another stop.  Not only did I have to be on a plane later, but I had to admit, I found doing things with other people in this situation, especially, disturbing, that I would prefer to simply bide my time as Alicia quietly and eventually forget that this ever happened.

They were disappointed, but did not press, not did Lindsey when I returned today.  Truth be told, I am not sure how she keeps such close contact with the Coopers.  It seems like it would be completely unnerving. 

-Harmon Keller