Simon/Joy: That Thing Is Heavier Than It Looks!

My man has good timing.  Or maybe just phenomenal retention of details over time.  It will have to remain a mystery, because I'm not going to dredge up the thing that would answer the question one way or another with him.

It's been roughly a year since one of his visits to California lined up with me being at a low point, as the man living my life dropped a "Save The Date" on me to say he was going to stay as Simon for, presumably, life.  That date was last weekend, but instead of moping around some dismal wedding venue in Cleveland, feeling conflicted about what message bringing my rich boyfriend sends to the man who stole my life, I was lying on the beach in Jamaica, letting a charming Scottish man fetch me vodka martinis, pondering getting a Honey Ryder bikini for selfie purposes, even if I don't quite have the same sort of curves Ursula Andress did.

Indeed, by Sunday night I was relaxed and content by the campfire, showing Iain how to make s'mores, which are apparently not a big thing in Scotland.  I was thinking of it as just a vacation, not connected with that other thing, so I was genuinely surprised when, as we were about to dose the fire, he got down on one knee, pulled a jewelry box from somewhere, and asked me to marry him.

I stopped beating for a moment.  I don't know what goes through a real girl's mind then but I had so many thoughts all at once.  I had never imagined seeing this scene from this perspective, looking down at at a man on one knee with the ring extended toward me like the really cheesy bit in a 3D movie, and there's an amazing feeling when it hits you that someone likes you enough to make this offer.

And also, I did it!  I've played the part of a woman so successfully that there was nothing in the back of his mind that made proposing feel wrong.  I'd made him like the parts of me that were different from the original Joy, maybe even more, because he hadn't asked her.  And, yes, I'd landed myself a rich husband, one who would give me peace and security no matter what else being Joy threw at me.  It was the biggest sales job I've ever done, with the biggest commission.

You may say that sounds mercenary and awful, but I didn't feel any guilt as I said "yes" with genuine delighted surprise and let him slide the ring onto my finger.  I'm not the first pretty girl to use my good looks to lock in a comfortable life, and I won't be the last - and most of the others grew up learning how to navigate the world as a woman.

And I do love him.  It's probably not the same way a regular woman lives a man, but I feel good when I'm around him and warmer as he held me and kissed me.  I feel a bit of envy where most girls probably just feel desire, and I probably measure him against what I'd do in a similar situation more than his other girlfriends have, but he scores well, so what of it?

All of that did make it feel different when we had sex as soon as getting back to the hotel room.  We'd liked each other before; now we belonged to each other, and we were both a bit more aggressive and careful with what we were holding.  I think I may have enjoyed it bit more, too - it was almost like back when I first discovered my clit and was learning new ways to stimulate it with each new guy.  No pressure, just fun.

Still, when I got into the shower afterward, taking off my earrings and necklace and other jewelry, I looked at the ring and had a brief moment where I didn't know whether to take it off or not, thinking that girls who had planned to get married since they were kids knew but I didn't because I'm a fake.  I decided not to take it off, but it took a second, and Iain noticed the hesitation.  He thought it was funny when I said that I'd just realized I'd never be totally naked again.

I had a quick moment of panic when we got to the airport because of it.  I think that most of us guys the Inn turned into girls tend to go light on jewelry, and I always take it off before going through airport security, but obviously this wasn't coming off.  It was a silly thing to worry about - did I think every engaged woman or married couple took these things off and risked losing them in the x-ray machine? - but I didn't think about it until that moment.

Then we got home and it was time to show off the ring, and that was kind of weird.  Not at first - Sir Robert was the first person we told and showed, and he was just as sweet as can be.  Weathers and some of the other help may not have been completely pleased - I get the feeling some of them see Iain marrying an American who isn't rich as beneath him and somehow them by extension - but to hell with them.  I may be able to fire them if they give me crap by this time next year.

I haven't made a while lot of female friends of my own here yet - we travel, split time between the manor and London, and lots of Iain's friends are couples anyway - so that's kind of weird.  I see them with him, and my first instinct is to kind of be causal, but he wants to tell them, and I get it.  It's a big deal, and a really nice ring, after all, and I've certainly liked it when a girl showed off a gift I gave her in my old life, but it kind of starts to feel one-sided at a certain point.  He's not wearing a ring showing that he's claimed and off the market, and I've got to relate the whole story of him getting down on one knee like I was surprised and flattered and not like this is something I've been working toward, even though I'm pretty sure some of these women were just as mercenary as me.

Joy's parents are thrilled, but I'm already wondering what the next year's going to be like.  The bride's family isn't people who can be minimized when wedding planning, but I've been living my own life.  They probably know a lot more about Joy's dream wedding than I do, and I'm guessing it might be useful.  I don't have a dream wedding, after all, and living her dream is probably better than just going through the motions.

After which I'll be Joy McKinnon.  I suppose I should be a little sad about that, but it's not like "Kershaw" means that much to me.

Still, there's a lot coming up, because I've got this ring on my finger, even if most of my life is staying the same.

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: Professional Girlfriend

The title of this post sounds kind of disreputable, but it's kind of what I feel like some of the time.  I don't have a job, and a fair amount of what I've been up to this spring and summer has been traveling with Iain, or just going out with him for events where you're kind of expected to bring a plus-one.  There's enough of this stuff to do that we're out a couple times a week and not always nearby - that condo in London is not just a place he has because it's annoying to rent a hotel room, although given how few neighbors we see when we're there, it is for some other people in the building.  We've been there, and to Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels, and Copenhagen besides.  The travel and event schedule is just enough that even if I had the right sort of visa to get a job here, I'd be a terrible employee for all the scheduling leeway I'd be asking for because this can be the only way to see Iain for longer than it takes him to get up and go to work.

Which isn't too suggest he's keeping me around because I look nice in a dress, have excellent small-talk skills that he can't know have been honed over a couple of decades in sales, and know what a man likes in bed on top of that.  No, more and more I feel like he genuinely likes me and doesn't think much about how "Joy" is different than she was a few years back.  We have fun going out together even if it's not a work thing.

Not that some people don't occasionally notice.  We were having a sort of low-key night out on Saturday with some of his old school friends, who had apparently met her but not me, and someone made a remark that I hadn't been a whiskey girl in the past.  I shrugged and said I'd developed a taste for it, but this woman was weirdly insistent and annoyed all evening.  I asked Iain what was up with that, and he said that even if she were not a professional party planner, she had sort of been groomed as a hostess from a very early age, and apparently knowing the favorite drinks of your guests was a big deal, both for looking like you cared about them personally and making sure you had the proper amounts of spirits on hand.  Eminently reasonable - I still remember what a lot of clients favored - but it kind of rubbed me the wrong way that night (maybe it wouldn't have if I'd been drinking white wine).

"Is that my future if we stick together a few more years?  A mental file of how to properly flatter everybody you do business with and everyone else in the UK besides?"

"Nah, I figure that'll be my job while you sell the horses."

He said it as a joke, but I am kind of getting better at all the horse stuff.  I'm not really good at riding yet, but I'm finding that I really like it.  I've never really thought about how much girls liked horses, but they really can hit this sweet spot of being pretty, powerful, and (hopefully) not threatening.  Iain's family are breeders, so it's not like the horses in the stables were ever wild, but when you sit atop one, you don't feel small and weak and like prey.  Maybe that's not such a big deal to born women, but I definitely notice it.

I haven't quite reached the point where I ask Sir Robert if I can shadow him doing business; it would be really presumptuous with my not actually being part of the family, and as much as I'm okay with having that as a goal - women like Joy have been guaranteeing their futures like that forever and I would be a realist even if I didn't actually like Iain - it's not the sort of thing you can be too plain about.

Is that too "professional"?  I don't know.  Maybe.  Joy didn't really like this sort of thing based on her diaries, but those also make it seem like Iain wasn't too thrilled with them either, and maybe he's either learned to enjoy them more with a date who doesn't complain or he just grew up and realized this is how the world works, and maybe Joy would have too.  Or maybe she wouldn't have, but it doesn't matter, because I'm Joy now.

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: Highland Girl

I actually did it.  Everything that the original Joy ever owned is gone.  A lot of it went to thrift stores, some of it went to Treena, and the rest is in her parents' basement, but by the time I left San Diego, there was nothing in my bags that I had inherited from her.  This may seem like a silly thing to do, but once it was done, I wondered why more people who wound up in a new life long-term without the original person planning to return because of the Inn don't do it. 

Admittedly, it's not exactly financially great; purges don't bring back enough cash to replace what was gone; it maybe only really works when you're going to be traveling light and moving in with your rich boyfriend.  Still, there's a bunch of really silly stuff that goes with wearing someone else's clothes and sleeping in her bed and maybe having pictures of the girl with type current face doing things you never did on the fridge.  Like, what am I supposed to do when Treena smirks and says I'm wearing Joy's lucky panties?  And the time I've spent fiddling with her devices because she had some screwy preference that returned every time her phone rebooted.  It just feels good to have all that be mine now.

But wait, you may say, weren't you focusing on traveling light so that you can move in with Joy's ex-boyfriend?  And, yeah, I see where that come off as hypocritical.  But it's not like he ever mentions stuff he and she did very often, and I feel like the fact that he's been visiting me for the past year, so that it's mostly me choosing where we go and what we do, I feel like I've been making him my boyfriend rather than hers.

I don't mean I've been deliberately trying to change him or anything, just kind of bringing out the parts of his personality that are more in line with mine.  Some of it's guy-inside stuff, like being a little more reluctant to give head, or maybe spending an afternoon at a game rather than a nature walk or whatever, and some is just me not being girl-next-door-y in the same way.  Like, I'm not going to resist when he wants to take me to a nice restaurant or spend a couple hundred bucks on a bottle of wine, or anything like that.  I'm not gold-digging or dropping hints or anything, just not saying no or being embarrassed when life offers me nice things, and maybe she would have felt the same if she'd returned to this life after spending the better part of a year as someone else.  That she didn't is all the reminder I need that life isn't always generous and you should take what it gives you.

Although even I must admit, the castle is a bit much.

Iain's family doesn't live in an actual castle - it's not made of stone with turrets to shoot arrows at invaders or anything - but it's a pretty sizable mansion, with an enclosed courtyard, a dining hall that can accommodate a lot of people, a ballroom, and stables that I'll get to layer.  I showed some nice places to guys that had money to spend in California, but even the really nice, old ones, I'd be giving some sort of spiel about what the servants' quarters had been converted into, whereas this one still had servants living there!

Maybe more staff than family, at times.  Iain has an older half-sister, who herself is married with three kids of her own, but they live in Ireland and mainly visit around the holidays, and a younger brother who is attending school in Boston, and a few cousins who have rooms in the house to call their own - a few of them are around at any given time - but most of the time it's him and his father, plus the butler, cook, stable-master, and now a nurse.

One of the benefits of not really being Joy is that I don't remember Sir Robert Mackinnon as he was before the stroke, and as such I apparently didn't come off patronizing or pitying the way that a lot of old acquaintances do when they see the wheelchair or hear him slur his speech a little.  He's still sharp, especially when you get him talking about his horses or something else where he can get excited.  I think we've even started to bond a bit, since I'm around the major a little bit more than I'd originally expected. 

As much as being the live-in girlfriend of a rich young man sounds, it gets kind of boring at times, but getting a job in a foreign country is a kind of chicken-and-egg thing.  You can't get a job without the proper visa, and they won't issue you the visa without a job lined up.  It may go a little smoother because Joy's parents are English, but that doesn't make me a citizen.

So I kind of hang around, the staff kind of resents me because they're not running a hotel, and I try and figure out what to do next.  I would occasionally wander by the stables, and one day last week Sir Robert was there, arguing with a trainer.  The horses, you see, are the foundation of the McKinnon family fortune; they've been breeding them for decades if not centuries, but it's not something Iain and his siblings have particular interest in, and Sir Robert is apparently a canny enough businessman to recognize that diversifying the family's holdings is a smart idea.  It makes him a bit sad, though, so he seemed to be heartened by my interest, asking if I'd ever ridden.  I don't know what Joy would have said, but it's not exactly something I could fake.

He was a bit disappointed by that, but got a little happier when I started to show interest in the business.  In certain crude ways, it's a lot like what I was doing before the Inn, if you consider breeding akin to a custom manufacturing process and horses a short of durable good that certain clients might need, whether they be in the racing business, farmers, or even a couple of police departments.  Sales and contracts are...  Well, it's interesting, though he doesn't necessarily seem to think a young American girl like Joy would be interested in anything but the pretty horsies.

He seems keen to foster that interest, if only because maybe me being interested would get him interested, but didn't think much of it until I got back from doing a little shopping and had the butler, Weathers, intercept me and say there was a parcel for me from "the Master", which means Sir Robert (Weathers trends to call Iain "Mister McKinnon").  Curious, I went upstairs to find a garment bag with a riding outfit in it - boots, jacket, little cap, the whole deal.

Of course I tried it on, posing a little in the mirror.  As much as I've grown used to being Joy by now, sometimes I surprise myself, and seeing Equestrian Barbie made me giggle a little, both in delight and kind of ironically.  It wasn't hard to imagine where this could go, me as lady of the house, riding on the weekend, going to events with Iain, looking modest when he says that I'm not just a pretty face but actually run the family business.  Ridiculous, I guess, but what did I come here for if I wasn't looking at that as a possibility?

Gotta learn how to ride first, though.  First lesson with Iain tomorrow, weather permitting.

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: Save the Date

I guess the way a couple of things have been going, where I find myself today was kind of inevitable, but it still catches me kind of flat-footed.  It shouldn't - I didn't just have it dropped on me without warning - but I've kind of been in denial.

As you see, I haven't been back to the Inn this summer; Brian has been getting treatment as me back home, and though he lost one testicle, and has subjected the other to who knows what, he's been making progress since, and was declared cancer-free in October.

Obviously, you don't get there alone, and he told me about all the doctors and nurses and such, and, yeah, I did notice that one nurse came up a lot.  I even caught that they were getting kind of close, but didn't much worry; he figured it would drop off after he was well.  Brian's been doing a good enough job of keeping me in the loop that he'd tell me if this seemed to be getting serious.

Except he apparently didn't realize.  They were having dinner to celebrate a good check-up and he just blurts out "we should get married".  No having this thought earlier and checking with me, or realizing that he should back off, but just this instant, casual proposal that she accepts and that he easily talks himself into.

He calls me after, saying it just sort of happened, but now that it has, it feels right to him.  My first instinct is obviously to tell him no, try and sell him on the benefits of giving me my real life back, but I think - do I really want to go back to that life, my career stalled out and missing a testicle?  Maybe I don't want to be Joy forever, but getting life back to being my life sounds like something even worse than just spinning my wheels, and that's not me.  So I wish him well, shave my legs, put on a miniskirt, and go have some fun with my girlfriends - my happiness isn't tied to that old identity!

Of course, I can't be sure it's tied to my current one, either.  I had Thanksgiving with Joy's parents, and they're reminiscing about their first few, with a pre-school Joy irate that they didn't have a proper Thanksgiving dinner like her friends.  it was the first time, they said, that they truly realized that they were raising an American child as opposed to raising a child in America.  It was a cute story which would have been even cuter if I was responding about not remembering it because it happened when I was four rather than because the person involved was dead and I was pretending to be her.

That's not usually a huge deal for me, hanging around with Joy's friends or talking to her family in Facebook or whatever - it's a challenge to make sure they don't think there's something weird about me and keeps me sharp.  In a house where there a bunch of photographs of her and where I'm supposed to be relaxing, it gets under my skin a bit more.  Still, I felt like I'd shaken it off by the time I got back home to San Diego.  Got back into my life connecting people with apartments, finding a nice beach-side bar at the end of the day, letting myself be chatted up but not meeting anyone I wanted to see for the evening that week.  The usual.  Then I got home on Friday, and there it was in the mail.

The "Save the Date" card.  Because people getting married are so fucking excited that they can't just ask you once.  They've got to call you, stake out a date on your calendar, and then send you a formal invitation.  Now, I don't think I get particularly volatile or anything when I've had a couple cocktails, even with the low body weight, but somehow seeing that just destroyed what (safe to drive home) buzz I had left, and I needed it back and went for the vodka.

A lot of it.  It's been a while since I was as hungover as I was when my phone buzzed to wake me up the next morning so I could pick Iain up at the airport.  I kind of looked like shit, but I figured a shower would get me pretty close to human and telling him to take an Uber would have led to him asking questions I didn't feel like answering.

Truth be told, it kind of just put off the inevitable.  We spent that Saturday having a ton of fun, but then he mentioned some pre-me thing about Joy, and I held it together for a while but must have seemed kind of withdrawn afterward.  Fortunately for me not wanting to explain things, Iain is still basically a dude and presumed that my lousy mood was due to this being his last visit to California for a while.  Which, admittedly, does kind of suck, but maybe not as much as he thought.  I said, no, I was just going through some other stuff, that there was a lot of people who didn't want me for me, and then there was this stupid wedding save-the-date, which I shouldn't even care about but why is something just coming together for him?

He was sweet, of course, and probably figured that some other guy had gotten handsy because that was the last time something had really had me shaken.  That hasn't happened more than usual lately, but I didn't say anything; it was getting late, and I didn't want him feeling nervous about touching me if this was the last sex we were going to have.

But that did come up the next evening, as I was giving him a lift back, and some sort of estrogen surge had me tack "what are we even doing" onto "so, what comes next?"  Like, some stupid part of my female brain had to know whether he liked this version of Joy or if he was just having a nostalgic lay every few weeks.  Probably really wanted to hear something like "oh no, you're so much more confident and capable than ye were when I first knew ye, and it makes ye even sexier!", but I had to settle for "I really like ye, and these jaunts have been the highlight of my trips to the West Coast."

Which, hey, is still pretty good, although it still sounds like we're probably more or less done as a regular thing.  At least, for almost a minute.  Then he says "why don't we move in together?  The family estate is bloody enormous, and it doesn't really make sense with just me and Dad there.  And you know he's been eager to meet you."

"I don't know...  That's such a big--"  I had to hit the brakes, which dumped the purse I'd set on my lap after paying the last toll onto the floor, and after an obligatory "oh shit!", I started shaking my head.  There on the floor were five sets of keys, my birth control prescription, tampons, a bottle of red hair dye that I had been planning to surprise him with before I drank myself to sleep, and all sorts of ridiculous crap.

"What I saying?  I'm Joy Fucking Kershaw.  I do things I would never have thought of doing all the time!  It's my entire goddamn life, and now when a guy offers me a chance to leave all the garbage in my life behind to live in a fancy manor house because he likes me, I'm going to say no?  That's not me!"

Iain looked shocked that I said that, but as soon as we were stopped at a light he leaned over, turned my head to the side and kissed me.  I let him and returned the favor, long enough for us to get honked at when the light turned.  I giggled, dropped him off, and received another long kiss before he made his way to the gate.

When I got back home, what I had just agreed to hit me all over again, but I caught a look at myself in the mirror.  I looked cute, as usual, but there was a bit more to it; my hair was a mess, my wide-necked t-shirt was exposing a shoulder, and I took myself aback.  I didn't look like I was trying to be anyone else for once - not Simon, not the original Joy, not even the sort of person I thought I'd be if I'd been born this girl.

This, I thought, is what Joy should be:  Pretty.  Wanted.  Always on new adventures.  And easily able to find a man who will look out for her.

I guess it's not that feminist, but so what?  I'd always known that girls were naturally looking for what I'd just been offered, and they couldn't even see it as commendation for what is had taken away.

So, yeah, I'm moving to Scotland in the new year.  Big yard sale at the end of January - save the date!

-New Joy

Simon/Joy: Shoe on the Other Foot

I try to power through all the crap having stayed at the Inn brings, because no good comes of letting your opponent see a weakness, even if that opponent is cancer or whatever cursed the Trading Post Inn, but I've got to admit, the last few months have given me a few setbacks. 

I didn't wine up going back to the office after storming out of there at the start of March.  I wanted to, but another lesson you learn working in sales is that sometimes you have to be ready and willing to not just look like you're going to walk away from a bad deal, but actually do it.  I hate it - it usually means you've misjudged something - but none of the guys from the office made even the slightest token motion of support by the time I was dressed and ready to head to my car.  I don't consider myself any kind of feminist, but folks who aren't even going to talk to you privately when you've been attacked?  Fuck 'em!

(And, yeah, I have spent some time racking my brain trying to think if that includes me. I feel like I've never been in the situation, but Treena thinks I have and it just didn't make enough of an impression on me.)

It was an effort to find new work after that, because my/Joy's one set of references in the real estate business now said I was "difficult" and ended with the story of me kneeing a potential buyer in the groin.  That does not look goods on your résumé, even if some of the women who inhabited me looked a bit encodes at points.  Eventually, you wind up lowering your expectations which is why I went from dealing with successful people looking to buy and sell houses to helping folks looking for new apartments. 

It's not a bad job for someone who isn't exactly planning on staying in this life forever.  The dress code is a little more casual, and while the hours can be longer, as far potential clients can duck out of work and so want to see places early, late, or on the weekend, things tend to get done with a minimum of haggling.  The commissions are lower, but it's easier work; sometimes the job seems like it's just a matter of them trusting me with keys.

And it gave me a big leg up when looking for a new place when Treena informed me I was moving. 

Even though it's kind of a miracle that we lasted this long - there is a lot we don't see eye to eye on - the way she did it was a real power move.  She intimated that it was about her boyfriend being ready to move in, but they've only been together a couple months.

"Fine," she says, "I'll skip the nice version - I just realized that I've had you as my roommate for almost as long as the real Joy, and ever since you've been getting cozy with Iain, the two of you have started running together in my head and I don't like it.  Then I thought, okay, it's only until he goes back to the Inn, but then I realized that meant that you'd be replaced by some other not-Joy who could be an even bigger pain or, worse, dangerous.  A girl's got to protect herself."

We had a little "I see you've made your mind up" exchange, and while I'm annoyed, because who likes moving, Treena is hardly the first woman to call me an asshole to my face or anything.  If she doesn't want me around, fine.  I've got a database full of nice-looking studios to look through, and I'm not going to have to pay an extra month as to the agency.  I can deal with it. 

Now, does she have the same attitude when I set up tables for a yard sale on Memorial Day weekend, after having put some of Joy's stuff up on Craigslist?  Nope, then it's "how can you get rid of that, it was so important to her!" and "we always shared this!"  Like, do you want me to be Joy or not?

I didn't get rid of that much in the purge, but it was enough to make the move a little easier.  I found a real hidden gem down near the beach (no ocean view, but you can almost smell the salt air), and I've got to admit - even if a lot of the contents of this new spot were once Joy's things, it does feel more like my place, both because I'm not sharing it and because I put everything where I thought it belonged.  Yeah, I felt like I'd played myself a few days ago when I woke up with red spots on my panties and nobody to borrow tampons from, but I actually felt a little better after that, too.  I may not be Joy for much longer, but I don't need training wheels as a girl anymore, either. 

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: Done with All This

Maybe today would have gone different if I hadn't been so distracted by what's going on elsewhere.  Treena says that doesn't matter, and I shouldn't blame myself, and that I did what I had to in both cases, even if my male mind is going to second-guess part of it, saying I'm letting hormones make me overreact.  Which is nice of her to say, even if it's not practical.

It started a couple of days ago, when I got a phone call from Brian.  Things had taken a bad turn, he said.  The chemotherapy and radiation which had seemed to be working had suddenly become ineffective, and as a result, the cancer had completely consumed one of his/my testicles, and it would have to be removed.  On top of that, there were indications that it may have metastasized, so even after the operation, we might not be out of the woods.

Hearing that about someone you know is never easy, and hearing it from the person who assumed your life because of a cursed hotel is a punch in the gut outsiders really can't imagine.  But try, and then imagine that you picked up the phone while in your bra and panties, doing your makeup for a night out with a couple of your best girlfriends.

Your immediate first reaction is that it's your fault, and not because something in your diet or lifestyle or something you'd exposed your body to before the Trading Post Inn took a snapshot of its exact state to apply to the next guy had created the cancer and it just hasn't become noticeable until after the changes.  No, the fact that I've kind of enjoyed being a pretty young girl, taken advantage of what it gave me, to the point where a moment ago I had been wondering if the high heels I was pairing with my dress were sparkly enough, that set something adrift in the universe that attacked my true form's masculinity in response.  It makes a stupid amount of sense, especially if you've got a roommate who talks a lot about karma and energy and connectedness.  Like, you know there's magic in the world (or, as one guy I know suggests, aliens conducting a long-running social experiment), and maybe that's the sort of thing that actually affects it.  Sure, it hasn't really worked that way for anyone else, but who knows?

I text the girls that I can't make it and spend a couple hours talking to Brian.  It's not a great conversation, but, hey, he needs it and I suddenly feel like getting into some sweatpants and watching sports anyway.  I have my first night where is really hard to sleep afterward, but I get through a day of work feeling kind of grateful that I can do this whole Brian goes through the hard stuff.

Today is basically going the same way until I had out to the suburbs for a showing.  It's one of the best listings I've got, and the guy I'm showing the house to is some sort of tech millionaire.  I'm feeling really good about it, thinking about what I can get with the commission, pointing out the large walk-in closet in one of the bedrooms, asking if there's a Mrs. Tech Millionaire who might appreciate it.  Maybe I'm being kind of flirty - I sort of turn it on by instinct if I think someone might be partial to petite blonde girls by now - but even if I am, it seems like he's mostly showing interest in the property.  Or at least, it seems that way until I realize I've wound up in the corner of this windowless space with a decent-sized guy between me and the door, with one hand on the wall next to my head.

I don't think there's a lot of intent to it; I've done stuff like that in my real life and tend to think of it as saying "hey, stick around" if it's saying anything, and girls who see an "or else" are just reading too much into it 99% of the time.  So I'm not really thinking of "escape" as I slide along the wall in the other direction, just that I've got a fair amount more house to show him.  He moves the same direction, puts his other hand on the other side of my head, and asks if I could fill this space.  I say I'm not the one shopping around today and duck underneath his arm, getting out of that closet and into a more open area.  I'm starting down a couple of steps toward a recessed hot tub when I'm bumped from behind and I have to do that thing where you make really quick, small steps to get down the steps in your heels without really falling.  I turned around at the bottom and asked if he was okay, because that's what you do.  He smiled, said he was sorry, and then indicated the basin with his eyes and asked if I brought a bathing suit (there was a trap over it, but you could faintly smell chlorine indicating it was filled).

Even if you're a guy inside and out, that's going to set off alarm bells (and not necessarily just omg gay! ones), so I back off, still trying to be friendly but also like, whoa, not the time or place.  But somehow I'm up against another wall, and he's real close.  His hand reaches out and for a moment I think it's going to wind up around my neck, but instead he sort of nestles my chin between his thumb and forefinger, then tips my head back before starting to lean in for a kiss.

I knee him in the groin.

The ladies-who-have-always-been-ladies probably don't understand how freaked out I have to be for that; even when a man finds someone taking it in the junk funny, he winces, and we just wouldn't consider doing it to one another, even inn a nasty fight.  We know how much that hurts.  I'm actually kind of horrified when I see him let me go and then stagger backward.  But I'm also really angry, wondering how much letting little things slide had led to this, so I do it again, this time really connecting because I'm not back against the wall and can aim that skinny kneecap.  If I'm not going to have a full complement of testes, no need for this asshole to have one.

I've got my fist clenched, the image of a  uppercut sending him flopping into the hot tub very clear in my head, but he holds his hand up and backs off, all the way to the driveway.  Once I've heard him drive off, I sink down into the nearest couch, and just shake for a while.  Then I go to the nearest bathroom and look in the mirror, kind of surprised at what I see.  It was over so fast that my hair wasn't mussed and my makeup didn't really need any touching up - there was a bit of a smudge on one cheek, but I hadn't cried, so nothing was running.  It was almost like it didn't happen.

I almost convince myself it didn't on the road back to the office, but the looks on every face there tell a different story.  I'm called into the same office as before Christmas, only this time, instead of staring at me coolly from behind the desk, he's pacing behind the chair where I sit as he asks what the fuck is wrong with me.

"I--  I'm sorry.  I didn't feel safe, so I just reacted."

"Oh, you didn't feel safe!"  He leaned in, mauve trying to see if I'd covered some injury with concealer or something.  "You certainly don't look like you've been through any sort of wringer."

"Yeah, because I acted before it could get that far!  Son of a bitch had his hands on my face; should I have waited until they were on my tits or in my panties?"

"There's no call for that sort of language, missy!"

"Are you shitting me?  Folks use that language in this office all the time, about those same tits and panties.  I don't mind like some chicks do - I can take it as the compliment it's intended to be - but that asshole crossed a line I told myself I wouldn't let anyone cross.  And if you're going to blame me for that..."

I got up, walked out, and started cleaning out my desk.  Loudly.  You might think that in sunny liberal #MeToo California, someone might have interceded on my behalf, but nope.  They just let me walk out to my car.  I think I overheard a comment about how I was just being emotional, but I'd be back Monday.

And maybe I will.  I've got to admit, this doesn't really feel like me, and maybe when I've got a little less adrenaline and female hormones running through my body later, I'll be able to sit back, think about how this is just what a woman has to do if she wants to play in men's worlds.  Tonight, though, I'll be going with booze.

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: The Cinderella Thing

The details of "Cinderella" are girly as they come, but we all use it on a regular basis, although for guys, it's mostly about underdogs in sports - such and such a team wasn't expected to go to the tournament, but they were "invited to the ball" and... well, you get it.  There's a kind of winking to it, too, because it's funny to refer to the big dudes playing college basketball as princesses; most guys probably wouldn't actually refer to D-III school whose women's basketball team makes it to the finals against UConn as a "Cinderella story"; they'd just be underdogs.  But here's a thing:  In sales, you play on guys playing out Cinderella fantasies all the time.  You don't call it that, but when you get tickets so that a client can sit in the sort of expensive roof boxes that they either couldn't afford or wouldn't splurge for, or when you give them the chance to shake hands with a celebrity - that's total Cinderella stuff.  I don't really get a chance to do that when selling real estate right now - the closest I get is getting an idea of if anybody famous lives in a neighborhood and when they'd most likely be visible - but there was a reason my office back in Cleveland had season tickets for every team, and why I knew the right guy to talk to for special backstage access to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame:  Folks dig feeling like a prince(ss), and they will think better of you if you give them that feeling.

But you know what?  The actual, literal Cinderella thing isn't so bad either.

Anyway, you may remember that the last time I posted, Joy's ex Iain invited me to a party that happened to be in London.  It was actually surprisingly easy to do on short notice - when Iain's office sent me a first-class ticket to London (connecting through New York), it was for a Friday-afternoon flight, and we'd already planned to close the office early for travel.  Since the airport in San Diego is actually part of the city, it's easy to get to quickly, so I went straight from work, took a domestic flight across the country (idly wondering if Harmon was working it), and actually had plenty of time to get through customs before my transfer.  Both legs were first class, and when I got out of customs, Iain was actually waiting for me, wearing sunglasses and holding up a little sign, grinning at the goofiness of the gesture.  We air-kissed and he handed over a small bag with perfume, toothpaste,  mouthwash, and a few other sundries that TSA doesn't want you to put in your carry-on so that I could duck into a ladies' room and freshen up, all Joy's well-remembered favorites.  Once I was feeling a bit more human, he led me out to his Bentley and said he hoped I didn't mind, but he'd taken the liberty of having a dress made, and although he knew my measurements, it had been a couple years, so they may need to make a few alterations, although I look just the same. 

I took the compliment and allowed myself to gape a little when he pulled up to a very high-end dress shop, where the shopkeepers took me to a back room, had me strip to my undies, made a few measurements, had me try a dress on, and then gave each other a quick, gruff nod before handing me my clothing back and saying "ninety minutes".  This was just enough time to get me down the street to a salon where, as one woman teased my hair, another painted my nails, and yet another told me my pores were fantastic while covering my face with some cream to make them somehow more fantastic.  It took closer to two hours than ninety minutes all told, but when they finally let me look in a mirror, I was kind of astounded.  I still looked like Joy, obviously, but it was like the ideal form of Joy's face.  I trotted back to the dress shop, where they had a taller pair of black heels waiting because the floor-length gown they had made for me would drag on the floor without the extra height.

That's just one indication of how perfect the dress was.  It was black, but shimmered, its pattern all reflective circles.  I don't know if I'd say it made the most of my slender figure - it didn't push my breasts up and out, really - but it had a nice, non-showy curve beneath my underwire, and gave a hint that I had a butt without clinging, before getting comfortably-but-elegantly loose about my legs.  It was strapless, showing off my shoulders and my neck with my hair in a really perfect updo.  Iain beamed like he'd never seen something so beautiful when I walked out, before pulling out a jewelry box and finishing the look with a beautiful necklace and diamond earrings.

There's a bit of a tingle to the cool metal touching my chest, probably just because it had been out in his car, but...  "This doesn't feel like what you do for a 'work thing', Iain."

"Well, it's more a work thing with investors than employees.  I may have accidentally misled you there.  Worth it to see ye all dolled up again, though."

I blush, let him lead me to the car, and then to the party.

It's quite a thing, maybe the first time I've ever seen a ballroom really used for something like a ball.  I get to meet some folks who are fairly well-off trying to sell them houses, but this often seemed like another level.  It's the difference between "rich" and "wealthy", I guess, but everybody I met was very nice and really just had an aura about them, if that's not getting too feminine or deferential.  They all felt connected to power and resources, even the other bits of arm candy, and maybe, having desirable real estate to talk about, I was less there to do nothing but look pretty and make it look less like Iain was somebody people rejected. 

Still, I was glad to get out of those shoes when we got to his London apartment afterward - I've gotten to be a fair hand in walking in those things, but my typical day has more time at a desk or driving or the like, not standing for hours on end and even dancing while still kind of tired because I don't think I got more than four hours sleep in the previous twenty-four.

I actually conked out in Iain's recliner, but it actually had me waking up at a pretty reasonable six AM local time, hoping like hell that winding up spread-eagled with each foot dangling over an arm of the chair and that long, elegant dress hiked up past my knees, like I'd had some sort of nightmare about visiting the gynecologist or something, had happened after Iain had fallen asleep.  Not, I thought, how I'd want Iain to remember me or Joy.  For what it was worth, he was asleep on the couch, facing a different direction, apparently not willing to take the bed and make me decide whether or not I wanted to crawl in with him if I woke up before morning. 

Instead, I checked out the bathroom, wondering if the bottles of shampoo, lotion, and the like in there were bought for me or the property of the girl who dumped him. Being well-used to using someone else's stuff by now, I didn't feel any guilt as I lathered up in the shower, but him having full-sized bottles of women's product there said something, whether that he'd recently been really close to someone, that he was incredibly considerate and organized, or that he figured he'd need them for one lady or another soon enough.  At any rate, it got me clean and smelling nice.

He was cooking some bacon when I'd gotten dressed in jeans, sweater, and sneakers, and smiled as I came out of the bathroom.  "Now, there's a sight for sore eyes.  Why did we break up again?"

Telling him his girlfriend had died but her shape stayed at the hotel room would have sounded absurd, so I mentally dug through Joy's diary and email.  "If I remember correctly, you weren't quite so rich as to fly your girlfriend halfway around the world on a whim a couple years ago, and even if you were, I wasn't really looking to be something that rich guys shipped to and fro like cargo."

"Ach, ye got me there.  As to the first, it turns out that while I don't know shite about horses and I'm not exactly any sort of engineer myself, I am damn good at choosing which firms to invest in using the money the family made breeding racehorses for a hundred years or so.  Dad isn't really sure what to make of it, but when he finally listened to his doctors telling him to step back and then convinced me to become more involved in the business, he said that as long as I didn't risk the house where five generations of the family have lived, I had my head.  And what about you?  How are you different now?"

Oh, if only my life had a laugh track.  "Oh, I don't know.  Trying to build myself up while still not worrying about tomorrow too much, I guess.  I sometimes feel like I was a different person back then, you know?  Although not so different that I'm necessarily down for eight-time-zones-away for a day."

I'd started to pack my things, but moved to the bar as he set a couple plates down.  "Does it have to be just a couple days?  I know, you've got a job, so it's a big thing to ask, but I'd love to have you stay until the new year."

"Uh, wow, okay.  I mean, okay, I'm processing, but I'm sure you've got family stuff, and I don't know if I'd necessarily be welcome."

He seemed to wince a bit.  "Aye, things did get kind of complicated when we split, and they do keep me busy through Boxing Day.  But I've got the whole rest of the week, and I noticed you were planning on going back to California, so you were going to spend the holidays alone anyway...  Might as well do it here, right?  Why don't you call your folks; there's plenty of room!"

It sounded like a crazy idea, although he couldn't know how crazy inviting Joy's parents would be for me.  Fortunately, it was the middle of the night for them and it wouldn't have made sense to call right away (they totally would have answered a call from their daughter at that hour, assuming it was an emergency), so I could put that off.  I had to admit, Christmas in London in what was essentially a really nice AirBNB that I didn't have to pay for had a little more appeal than Treena being judgmental about me having let Iain spend what might have been a few grand on me, so I said yes.

First order of the day was dropping him at the airport so he could head to Scotland, and then I got to go shopping - I had, after all, only brought a carry-on with what I'd thought was a nice dress and something to wear on the flight home.  Finding a department store and buying some basics in a strange city on Christmas Eve is not something I would necessarily recommend as an experience everyone should have at least once, but it was weirdly exciting to be in the holiday crunch despite not exactly having a lot of people to shop for.  I'd sent Joy's parents gift cards and got a thing or two for Treena and Brian/"Simon", but the Inn had me doing even less than usual. 

(Speaking of Joy's folks, I extended them Iain's invitation, figuring they might take him up on it because they were originally from the UK, but between not wanting to leap right into holiday travel or be a third wheel for their daughter when it looked like she might get back together with that nice Scottish boy, they declined, albeit with a list of things for me to pick up and mail them once I was back home.)

I did pick a couple things up to give Iain when he arrived back in London, which aside from being polite also meant I felt like much less of a jerk when a delivery man rang the bell Christmas morning and presented me with a number of little presents from Iain.  Nothing really romantic, but some nice perfume, a funny t-shirt, some chocolate, and a book.  There was a small suitcase, too, since I obviously wouldn't fit all of that in my carry-on. 

One pleasant surprise that Iain didn't have much to do with its that I didn't have any trouble finding a place to eat on Christmas; though most restaurants are closed back home, eating out is a much a Christmas tradition in London as a big family dinner.  Most places were booked up in advance, but there were spots at the bars for both lunch and supper.  Got the number of a sympathetic bartender who heard my accent and figured being so far from home over the holidays was rough, although I never got around to calling it.  Someone told me I had to watch the Doctor Who Christmas special because he was regenerating into a woman, and maybe it's a bigger deal if you're a fan, but, man, he spent an awful lot of time moping over getting a new life and nothing else happened!  I stayed in reading my new book after that - more Joy's sort of thing than mine, I expect, but alright. 

I spent the 26th seeing stuff that maybe Iain would think weren't Joy's thing - the Churchill War Rooms, a Jack the Ripper tour, that sort of thing.  It's not hard to fill a day in London when you're still jet-lagged enough to roll out of bed at 1pm.

Then Iain came, I gave him his presents, and the rest of the week just flew by.  We did a bunch of touristy things - Abbey Road, the Eye, a horse-drawn hansom cab ride, the changing of the guard - ate some crazy good food, enough for me to joke about not fitting in that nice dress he'd bought me anymore ("that's the plan - I just couldn't bear you wearing it for anyone else!"), danced in some exclusive clubs...  It was a whirlwind, and when he leaned in to kiss me on Saturday night, I knew it wasn't just the girl he'd been hanging out with for the past few days that he was kissing, but I didn't care.  I wanted him to kiss me, and then I wanted him to make love to me, not just because I'm pretty straight as Joy and it had been a while, but because this is how the Cinderella story ends, and even if I didn't necessarily realize I was in one at the time, it takes hold of you. 

I worried for a second that he'd realize something was up because while he knew about spots on Joy's body that I hadn't found yet, I can't say her diaries were that detailed.  But, as much as he's a great guy, he's still a guy - pay enough attention to his dick, and he's not going to ask about other erogenous zones.  I maybe seemed a little surprise when I was kind of insistent about the condom - we've all learned Jonah's lesson - but he probably just figured she/I had some sort of scare in the past couple of years.

They weren't happy about me taking a last-minute vacation at work, at least until I came back recharged and excited.  I've got to admit - getting Joy's ex, and not just her ex, but arguably her "one", to go for me despite her having dumped and (from his perspective) ghosted him does kind of make me feel like I can sell anything.   Except, maybe, settling Treena on how our continuing to text in the two weeks since I've returned is a good thing. 

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: Ex Marks the Spot

The guys at the office haven't quite been the same for the last couple of weeks, since just a few moments of not being the fun girl who plays along with your jokes about boob size and doesn't act like making less money for the same work is no big deal is enough to shift the way people treat her.  It also got out that I knew about the whole bet about who could get me in bed first, and given how the climate for that has changed just in the last few months, everybody is treating me like a live hand grenade.  It's kind of sucks, both because I'm not that kind of woman (and even if I were inclined to be, I wouldn't want that reputation following me to another job) and because it's getting me shut out, not just in terms of being sociable with my co-workers but in that they seem to go out of their way to not help me in the office, even in places where there's no competition.  It's dumb to sideline me, because I'm a damn good salesman no matter how I'm shaped, but guys will do dumb things where women are concerned.

One of the things that makes me pretty good at this stuff is that I have a pretty good memory for names, faces, and other details, and whatever changes the Inn made to my brain to make me interested in having sex with guys, it didn't affect that.  So, when I arrived home tonight and saw a guy at the building's from door, seeming to take a step toward the intercom and back off about a dozen times, I didn't do the comedy bit where I didn't recognize someone from the original Joy's life, ignored him, and then had to improvise an excuse later.  I'd seen this guy on Joy's phone, her social media, etc., and knew he must have come looking for her.  So I just went for it, walking up and asking him what he was doing here.

He turned around, flustered but recovering quick.  "Lookin' for ye, obviously!  My God, ye look incredible!"

I could do with some of that.  I walked up with my arms outstretched for a hug, but he instead took my hands in his and gently seeing them down between us so that we were looking each other in the face.  It was excited than it sounded, and gave me a moment to examine this Iain Mackinnon - Joy's boyfriend when she checked into the Inn - up close and personal.

He's cute - not super-tall (I was almost eye-level with him, although I admittedly had four-inch heels on) or super-cut, but solid.  There's a hint of auburn to his brown hair, which also takes the form of a beard that's very well-maintained, a precise 3/4" at every spot.  Nice hazel eyes, sexy Scottish accent, dressed in the tech-guy outfit of flannel-patterned shirt and khakis,  except obviously very nice ones.  He smells kind of nice, too, a subtly sporty cologne.  Maybe a little more millennial-hipster than what I would have called a really impressive man in another life, but I'm starting to think that maybe a guy being a little less obviously alpha isn't so bad.

I take all that in and ask if he wants to come in.  He says yes, and I kind of make sure I swing my butt a little as he's a few steps behind me.  It's been a few weeks for me and both Joy's diaries and what Shayla has said about how she's talked about guys in the past seems to indicate he was a heck of a lover.  I unlock the door, and we're chatting about my messed-up car as he enters and Treena just freezes while emptying the dishwasher.  I smile kind of big - it's almost a reflex when Treena and I have to out on a show for a third party - and say "look what I found downstairs!"

"Wow, this is a surprise!  It's good to see you, Iain!"

(I mentally file away that it's pronounced "ee-un".)

"And ye as well, Treens!  Still puttin' up with this one?"

"I am, and she does not make it easy sometimes.  In fact, if I could just steal her a moment..."

She doesn't wait for a response, dragging me into her bedroom.  "What the fuck are you doing?"

"Nothing!  I saw him downstairs, recognized him from about a million pictures on Facebook, and figured it would be better to say hi than act like we'd never met."

She stared hard at me at me, deciding I wasn't trying to spin it.  "I suppose that makes as much sense as anything.  It's just--  He really loved Joy, okay?  They should have been married by now, and if you try to take advantage of that and hurt him..."

"Jeez, threat understood!  Calm down!"

I turn around and walk back out into the kitchenette, asking if he'd like something to drink.  He points at the espresso machine, saying he's still jet-lagged, so I start that up.

"So...  Just here for a visit, then."

"Aye.  Google's talking about buying out a company the family's invested in, so I came out to talk terms because my Dad's all not doing that well and the tech stuff isnae really his forte.  So I'm in San Francisco, and I figure, it's only a short hop down here, might as well see what Joy's up te."  He did an exaggerated little pause.  "So, what are ye up te?"

"Oh, you know, getting my real estate license, connecting folks with little pieces of California heaven."

"Seeing anyone?"

"Not really, kind of..."  I'm going to say playing the field but Treena shoots me a look, and I try to think of something close to the truth.  Joy may not have kept in touch with Treena before she died with everyone thinking she was Brian Meeks, but she did try to keep things going with Iain as long as she could via text and email.  But while letter-writing used to be visited pretty romantic, it's not nearly enough to sustain something long-distance the days, and she broke it off not long before the end.  "Kind of harder to start again than I thought."

"You managed to find someone, though, right?"  Treena interjected.

"Thought so, but...  Well, she ditched me just before this trip.  Just like ye, she felt I was spending too much time on the business, not enough time with her.  Can't say I blame her."

"That's...  I'm sorry to hear that."  I meant it; he seemed like a nice enough guy, and while I can't say I've ever been so rich that a girl who noticed me because of that success started to get annoyed at the work it took to maintain it, I could relate on a smaller scale.

"Well, it's gotten me thinking about what to do different in the New Year, but in the meantime, it kind of leaves me going to this Christmas party on Saturday stag, and I was wondering..."  He eyed me expectantly.

"Oh, I don't know...  I mean, sure, I'm always up for a good party, but--"  I couldn't think of a real reason aside from Treena murdering me, but that seemed like enough.

"Don't worry, it's mostly a work thing.  Just, y'know, figured I'd be nice to spend time with you rather than spend time talking about who's not there."

"Well, sure, if that's all it is..."

"Great!  I'll email you all the details."  An alarm on his Android watch went off, and he made his apologies.  "I really was just flying down here between meetings, I'm afraid.  But don't worry, when you get to London on Saturday, you'll have my complete attention!"  And then he was out the door.

That last bit, as you might imagine, had me and Treena in a bit of stunned silence before Treena told me I couldn't do this.  But, c'mon, this guy's obviously kind of down (despite his cheery demeanor) and looking for a boost from his ex Joy, and right now, I'm the only Joy there is.  And let's not forget that I've had kind of a rough go of it lately - getting away from it all with what everyone assures me is a pretty good guy isn't bad for me, either.

Now, to make sure Joy's passport hadn't expired...

Simon/Joy: Holiday Cards

Thanksgiving has barely passed and December has barely started, but we're already starting to get holiday cards from everybody Treena or Joy has ever met, from the old lady on the ground floor to Joy's ex-boyfriend in Scotland.  It's kind of interesting how the different groups affect me when looking at them, and it's not necessarily what you'd expect.  I've long accepted that Joy's family are my family for as long as I'm her, for example.  We've got the same genes, and that counts for something.  I can look in the mirror, see bits of Joy's mother there, and keeping in touch with her seems natural.  Similarly, I may not have as much history with Joy's friends as they think I do, but I've talked with them, hung out with them, talked them into doing things.  It makes sense to hear from them.

The others, though, are really weird.  You know, the ones who met Joy in some other way and keep sending her cards even though I can't find their names anywhere in the social media accounts I've inherited and their addresses apparently didn't migrate between phones at some point.  I can call Joy's family and friends my family and friends, but even though they're kind of inconsequential, relationship-wise, it feels kind of weird to call people acquaintances if I have not actually made their acquaintance.  I mean, sure, whatever, you keep it up, guy who went to high school with Joy and thinks dropping five bucks on a card every year might get her to hook up with you at the reunion, your letter is kind of more interesting than the baby pictures, but it's not going to get you into these panties.

I am trying to write one of those letters of my own, because it does seem like the kind of thing that would be in-character for Joy, and a couple of them did mention not hearing from her for the past couple of years.  It's a little easier this year than it would have been before, when I would have had to make up stuff to fill in a seven-or-eight-month gap, but it's still a little harder to fill in than I thought.  I can't include the Inn-related stuff, obviously, and a lot of the exciting stuff this year has involved sex (or not having sex), and I'm not really up to writing two letters, with one of them censored, and trying to figure out who might not think the fun one was completely inappropriate.

The office card was a lot more straightforward - make sure I dress nice the day the photographer comes in, and it's not like I ever show up in sweats.  They didn't put me front-and-center, but I got a prominent place, as a pretty blonde with bare legs sure breaks up a wall of thirty-something year-old guys in suits.  It would be great if it helped me out professionally - I'll certainly be the one they remember if a former client gets the cards and says "huh, maybe I should sell the beach house, and I should go with the realty office who helped me buy it even if the actual person I worked with isn't there any more" - but I know it's mostly a way to humanize the crew that wants a big commission.  It's certainly not going to get my numbers up by the end of the quarter.

Which is too bad, because I could probably use the money to cover some expenses and sock away.  When I went out to the parking garage Monday night, I got a big shock when I saw the car's rear end had been absolutely crushed, enough to bend the axle, and while I figure it has to be the guy with the Hummer, the security camera was apparently busted, which means the insurance company is almost certainly going to be dicks about covering it.  On top of that, the body shop told me I wouldn't be able to get a loaner that night, which meant I was looking at taking the bus or an Uber home.

Fortunately, Teddy had been on a call when I was getting ready to leave, so he made it to the garage just as the tow truck was pulling out.  His eyebrows went up at the damage, but he asked if he could give me a ride.  I said he certainly could with only about half the innuendo I could have, which amused him more than anything.  I turned around to stow my bag in the back seat, and that's when I caught a glimpse of the pay stubs he had dropped there.

Now, I know enough not to read too much into any one paycheck when you're in sales.  Not only does seniority count for something, but what you do week-to-week is a big deal when you're being paid a commission; some weeks I'll do better than him, others he out-earns me.  But the one on top of that pile was the holiday bonus, and it was almost three times mine, and I know he hasn't been in the office that much longer than I have or outperformed me that significantly.

I mentioned it to Treena in passing as part of bitching about what happened to the car, and she immediately seized on it as bullshit.  I was pretty determined to act like it was none of my business, but the next morning made it tough, as the body shop tried to pad the estimate and stuck me in a sub-compact with their name on the side in big letters for a loaner car, which just makes for a great impression with clients.  Waiting for the shop to open and dealing with all that got me to work a little late, and when Stretch made a pretty harmless comment about it I snapped at him, saying that when folks try to charge you twice as much despite your only pulling in half the money, you've got to spend time haggling.

The laughter that came in response was a bit more nervous than usually happens when I make a joke, but I didn't think too much of it, diving into work, making calls and emails, setting up some showings.  I didn't think much of it until I was about to step out for lunch and the boss called me into his office.  I stepped in, took a seat, and asked what was up.

"Joy, are you happy here?"

"Uh....  Yeah, I'm pretty happy here.  The work's good, the pay is good, and so are the co-workers."  I tried to pay it casual, but conversations that start like this are usually dangerous.

"Good, good...  From some of your comments this morning, I was worried that you might be dissatisfied and, perhaps, trying to lay the groundwork to get more than your due."

"Oh, no, just, you know, dealing with car stuff this morning.  Can't live without your car in California, right?"

"You certainly can't.  It's not that we were particularly worried, but you know how it goes - a woman takes a job in a place that has a lot of money going through it, they're often looking to hook onto a man, whether it be a customer or a co-worker, but we'd never had that feeling about you."

"No sir - trust me, if there was anyone looking to make money off getting laid here, it wouldn't be me!"

He pulled forward a bit in his chair, so he was looking at me at just a little bit more of a downward angle, trying to adopt just a teeny bit more of a dominant posture.  "Are you trying to imply something?  Something you can use later?"

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.  "What?  No!  I mean, I might have heard something that sounded bad, but I might have misinterpreted it.  I mean, guys in any kind of sales job have to be competitive, right?  And sometimes, out of context, that can sound a lot worse than it actually is."

He smiled, pleased at this response.  "I'm glad you understand.  A lot of women don't."

A lot of days, if have made the funny-to-me comment that I wasn't most women, but instead I just thanked him and went to get a salad from the place down the street.  I was kind of feeling like "most women" at that moment, or at least the group that have been making such a big stink about guys being guys lately.  And I hated that; I wasn't going to be one of them.

That attitude carried me through the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, getting home with just enough time to do little more than pass Treena in the doorway, telling her to keep her feminist agenda to herself.  She was kind of in a joking mood, saying I really should have noticed it was my feminist agenda too by now.  She stopped for a second when I said it almost got me fired, but I said not to worry, I'd handled it.  She said that was good, but if I wanted to talk, she wouldn't be out very late.

Oh, and there was another card on the kitchen table, and this one might mean something.

I looked.  Yeah, it did - it was from "Simon Woodford".  Me.  Or at least, Brian Meeks with my body and life.  There were two letters in the card, one the printed-out version everyone got, talking about work and home repair projects that I had always put off that Brian took on, and finding out he had testicular cancer, which he joked about as much as he could.  One was handwritten and obviously just for me, apologizing if I found the other letter inappropriate, but it seemed like humor was the best way to cope on a day-to-day basis.  He got into a lot more detail about the surgery and radiation, and how the doctors were really encouraged.  He said he was mostly worried about my dad, who seemed to take the diagnosis kind of hard and sometimes needed a reminder to take care of himself too.

And then there was the picture, me but not really me - he'd apparently decided to shave his head when some of his hair started falling out, on top of a few more lines on his face but also a weird smile that I knew was phony from all the apologies and guilt that came out of his mouth when talking to me.

Really, a bummer of a Christmas card, but kind of a perfect cap on 24 hours of not feeling like I'm in control of my life the way I usually do.

-Simon/Joy

Treena: The Importance of a Shoe

When I heard that Simon wasn't going back to his natural body, I had a selfish response... Joy was my friend, and losing her hurt, and that pain was compounded by seeing this other person wearing her face - this person whose personality is about as far from the Joy I knew as I could imagine.

We still live together because it made sense for him not to go out and find a new place if he was only here for a year. My hope was that the next Joy would be somebody I could get along with better. I don't feel like Simon enjoyed it either, especially as he grew more accustomed to femininity and didn't need my advice or help - seems like all I do for him is judge the way he is representing my friend, and maybe occasionally how many partners he has had since becoming sexually active - I don't mean to, but I can't help but notice.

One of the things that has made life in the house between me and Simon difficult is that I keep odd hours - he has to be up during the day and I'm more of a creature of the night. Mostly it's no problem since once he's left for work he doesn't return until dinner (if at all - he was going out a lot for a while, as you might guess) and by then I'm up. But in the morning, if he doesn't make a quick, quiet exit, it can be irksome.

So this morning, when he was seemingly making an effort to bang every closet door and stomp around as angrily as possible, while muttering curses at full volume. (Shit! Fucker! Where the fuck are you?) you can imagine my displeasure.

(You'll notice I'm referring to him by his former name and gender identity... I know the world sees him as Joy, a "she," and it's not like he bristles as that, but he's never told me he's self-adopting the female pronouns, so I'm respecting that until told otherwise... likewise, I have a hard time calling him "Joy" because that was the name of someone I knew and cared about and although she still appears to be alive, she is not, and, well... that hurts.)

I went downstairs, dressed in my PJ's (a ratty old tee I got at SDCC years ago and some shorts) somewhat intending to chew him out, but I guess my sympathy got the better of me so I just asked "What's happening?"

He glared at me with irritation out of the corner of his eye. He was dressed smartly, in a light blue skirt suit (a short one showing off his legs, of course,) but his hair was ratty. His eyes looked puffy, like he was on the brink of tears.

"What's happening is... I can't find my shoes. Fuck, fuck, I wanted to wear these heels today but I can only find one and it's driving me crazy. Fuck!"

I didn't say any of the thoughts that came into my head -- that he could probably just pick another pair of shoes (maybe he's anal about his outfits, or maybe they're just the most comfortable, who knows, I wear Converse.) Or that he wouldn't be having this problem if he was more careful about wear he puts his things (an ongoing issue between us.) Instead, I just quietly helped him look - behind doors, under cushions and furniture... all while he snapped at me, "Don't you think I already looked there? God!"

"Okay, fine," I hissed back, "Just trying to help."

"I still have to finish my make-up and do my hair... goddamnit, you know this doesn't just happen" - he gestured to his face and hair, indicating his appearance. "I never had to put up with this shit as a man. Fuck!!"

Now, it's not like Simon has never ever thrown a tantrum, but I could tell the timing of this one meant it was probably starting to hit him just what being stuck like this was going to mean. To him, being like me -- setting your own hours and wearing pajamas to work (at home) wasn't going to be an option. Even dressing for comfort as a woman seems a bit alien to him. No, Simon has made it clear that if he's got to be a woman he's going to dress to impress and flaunt what he's got, and he takes it as seriously as any woman I've ever seen.

So my guess is, the news that he was to be spending another year this way equates to another year of stressing about appearances and fashion in a way that, although he's grown very practiced, isn't always the most natural and easy way to do things. He's basically torn between two worlds.

I told him to go do his make-up and hair, whatever he needed, and I would continue to look for the shoe, and reluctantly he did. It turned out to be in the kitchen, under the table - I have no idea how it got there or where that was in relation to the other, but it doesn't matter. I brought it to him, where he was wrapping his hair around a pink curling iron, tears freshly dabbed away from his cheeks.

"Thanks," he said, as if nothing had happened, "I owe ya."

I turned to go, but stopped. "Hey... are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm, uh... I'm fine." he stated uncertainly. For a moment it seemed like he was going to say more, but then he turned back to the mirror to finish his hair, then smoothed out the creases in his blouse, and cleared his throat to regain his poise.

"Anyway, I've got to run. Got a showing at 9. Ciao." And left as if nothing was wrong. It was very Stepford.

It's hard to tell what's going on in that pretty blonde head ever since he was essentially told he would not be getting his natural body back this year, although today gave some new insights. I know he's okay with a lot of facets of being female - and has certainly made it work for him - but I think he still regards it as being lesser, and that not getting a chance to go back has shaken him in a way he's not comfortable expressing. I hope he realizes I'm here if he needs him.

Simon/Joy: Chase Green

As far as I knew, for the past year my body has been occupied by a man named Chase Green. He claimed to be a family man from Rhode Island who was in Maine on business and would like nothing more than to get back to his wife and kids after spending a year in my body.

I'm not an idiot. I Googled him and found results, his Facebook profile and what company he worked for. His story checked out. He was a smiling, middle-aged man with a wife and kids. I considered calling his employer for a reference but I couldn't see how to do that without confusing him - if I claimed to be a potential new employer, that might arouse suspicion.

I did message the new Chase at one point, but never got any response. That worried me. If the new Chase wanted to keep his life, what would stop him from keeping mine? I didn't get this far by just taking people at their word and never having the upper hand.

I had an ace up my sleeve, so to speak. A safety net. I wouldn't go to Maine unless Chase could provide me with some evidence that he had been there. I didn't have any contacts who would be going to keep an eye on him, so again, it would be taking him at his word. Preferably, with video footage of his transformation from me into his old self, or whoever. Then, my trip wasn't booked until the last possible moment - leaving Joy's body in limbo, just like it was before I got here, in the event of some mistake or double cross. Hey, nobody would miss it a second time, and if I needed to come back to it, bonus because it wouldn't be aging.

That all went down the drain when Chase arrived at my house last Saturday.

Answering the door and finding your own self there - a little paunchier, and with wisps of gray in your beard (which you never had before) is shocking. He looked like my own shabby-looking twin. I was pretty alarmed - what the hell was he doing all the way out in California? Why would he come here when he was due in Maine in two weeks or so?

"Joy, er, Simon, right?" he said. "May I... come in?"

He said he apologized for showing up unexpectedly, but he had something to tell me and it couldn't wait. His tone was very serious and grim. If he was going to tell me he wasn't going to Maine, I was ready to fight, to demand my body back, even if I had no leverage. But things weren't confrontational yet, so I had him sit down and offered him a coffee, which he accepted.

"There's no easy way to say this. I tried to e-mail but I couldn't find the words, so I hopped on a plane. Forgot to even let you know I was coming. I'm so sorry."

"Just spit it out, Chase," I hissed.

"I've just been to the Doctor's. I haven't been feeling well all summer and I finally got the nerve. You might want to sit down." I did, on the edge of the couch, with my elbows on my knees.

He said almost in a whisper. "It's cancer. Testicular cancer."

I could barely squeak. "What..."

"They need to perform the surgery soon, followed by radiation, and then tests to see if it spread. Simon, this is... well, basically my last chance to get out of Cleveland before the treatment. I'm not going to Maine."

I could barely wheeze, "You're lying."

"I'm not," he said, "I have the paperwork here in my satchel."

I shook my head. "It's fake. This is a trick."

"It's not, it's not," he insisted. "Trust me. You can... shoot, I'll show you the lump if you need to see it."

I seriously considered looking. It's my lump anyway.

"Look, I know this is hard for you..." he said, gesturing at me "I can only imagine how rough this year has been. But I can't let you go through all this. This isn't a death sentence, probably, but it's going to be a hard, exhausting process and in the event that it has spread, I can't let you go back."

Before I could say anything, he added, "You need to know the truth, Simon. I'm not really Chase Green. That's a fake name.

"I worried that you might figure it out sooner and think I wanted to steal your life, but trust me, I was always going to give it back. Until now. But I can't anymore. My real name is Brian Meeks."

I felt like I had been punched in the tits. "What?"

"Ever since that girl died in my body I have felt so guilty. I'm supposed to be dead and she's supposed to be alive, so if there's even a chance you would die in this body, I won't let you. Give it one more year. If I'm cleared, we can get you back where you belong as soon as possible, but if not... I'm sorry, but I'm not letting you die."

I was cold. I could hardly speak. "So that's it, huh. I get no choice, no say."

He smirked darkly. "I admire that you would even consider going back to your body with the cancer, but I just... I belong here for now. This is what's right. Call it fate."

I snorted. I couldn't help but laugh - I guess I had to, to keep from screaming. He gave me a look that said "What's so funny?"

I could barely say, "At least you'll have one ball more than me."

After he left, I just sat there quietly until Treena came home. I ran my fingers through my hair, adjusted the hem of my skirt, fixed the strap of my bra (a lacy bandeau actually) and fastened the top button of my blouse - shear fabric with floral print. I touched my fingers to my lips to feel the lipstick.

All this girly shit has been play time. Fantasy. Dressing up and fucking around and making bank by making fuck-me eyes at buyers and sellers. It feels fucking silly and stupid in light of all this. But what am I supposed to do? I still have a reservation but that feels pointless. Another year. Sure, yeah, I can stand it. But somehow, especially with all the worrying about Chase that I'm going to do, it feels like it's gonna be harder.

-Simon/Joy

Simon/Joy: Crossing the Line

When Teddy revealed to me the secret bet between four of the guys at work to see who could screw me first, I went through a bunch of emotions: hurt, offended, annoyed, before settling on flattered. It was especially flattering that Teddy was making a concerted effort not to pursue me, not just because Stretch was in the "lead" but because he didn't want any part of the actual bet - even though he and I had a better connection than Stretch and I ever did.

So my first act after a bit of contemplation was to text Teddy and ask if he wanted to win a bet.

He was reluctant. Ever the gentleman, I've got to give him that. After a few weeks of hinting that I was eager to throw down with him, he still protested: why did there have to be a winner, he asked? And the answer was, because I wanted there to be one. Not only did I not want them to keep secretly plotting to get in my panties (to win a cool grand) but I also happened to want Teddy in said panties. I caught a bad case of thirst for him.

At first I thought I was too good to chase anyone - after all, at any random bar I walk into I can have my pick of dudes. But the results I was getting were starting to feel very bland, interchangeable and meh. As I've already said, anonymous guys don't really care to put much effort in. So while I was enjoying myself, I was really plateauing when I should be finding new peaks.

A rule that I have more important than "Don't chase" is "Always get what you want." I set my sights on Teddy and I was going to have him Even if just once (and something told me if I could get him once he would be mine as long as I wanted him.) So I formulated an ingenious plan. Step one: Invite myself over to his place under the pretext of work. Step two: Have a few drinks. Step three: Well, that's pretty much all I thought I would need.

So the next week, I found myself at his house, and we were going over some arcane real estate bylaws over a bottle of Merlot that I brought when my hand innocently grazed his. Our eyes met with that tempting flicker that I knew would cause him to wonder if it meant something.

I worked my body language. Pointed my knees toward him, Played with my hair. Put a sweet singsong in my voice. "You know... I really love your place. I'd like to see more of it." Hint, the bedroom.

He played dumb, going on about the square footage and the maintenance. I encountered a new problem... I've never had to work for it with a guy before. How do I go from playful flirtation to bumping uglies if he won't play ball? The wine wasn't working. I briefly considered just stripping down to my bra and panties to see how he'd react, but it's better to play the game. I made sure to touch his knee three times as we conversed.

Finally, he called me out on it. "Joy, I've told you before... I can't."

I pouted, "You don't find me attractive?"

"I... you're very attractive. But the bet... It taints the whole thing."

"Well, if that's the case," I said, fiddling with the buttons on my top, "Nobody needs to know."

"What are you suggesting?"

"A private fling," I said. "Our little secret. No bet. Just two adults having a good time."

His face went stony. "You... really want this?"

"More than I've ever wanted anything," I said, as sultry as I could.

He still seemed iffy. "There's just something about you... you seem to know exactly what a guy wants a woman to be."

I smirked, "Is that a problem?"

I guided his hand to my thigh. I felt the thrill of victory closing in as we neared the endgame.

"Not at all, I just... I've never had a woman throw herself at me this way. I can't believe it."

"Believe it," I said, leaning in to kiss him, caressing the stiffening rod between his legs over his slacks.

Before we knew it, I was on top of him, he was pawing at me, trying to get my bra unfastened. I moaned in pleasure as he teased my nipples with his tongue, as I knew all along he was fantasizing about doing. Our hot breath on each other's tongues, his fingers finding their way into my private crevices. I goaded him on with moans of pleasure, finding the more I played it up, the bolder he would get.


By the end of the night we had done it three times, and I had climaxed multiples of that.


The next day, he asked me out to lunch. I didn't see any reason to discuss what we had done, except to confirm that we would both want to do it again, preferably on a regular basis.


It turned out that wasn't the case.


"So, that can't happen again," he said with a stony face.


My eyes bulged out. "Uh, did you not have fun? Because it seemed like you enjoyed yourself."


He sighed. "I'm just not the casual type. I'm past that, I want something more real. If you want to try having a relationship, that's something we could consider, but... I feel like that was why you didn't keep going out with Stretch, so unless you feel differently for me..."


I rolled my eyes, "Sorry, I don't."


"I didn't think so."


Where was all this coming from? Isn't he supposed to be a guy? I thought he'd be thrilled at the prospect of no-strings-attached sex with a chick who looks like I do.


Whatever, I thought. I don't need this. I'm gonna be a guy again in a few months and this will all be behind me. I should probably cut myself off from my crazy sex life now so I don't get addicted.


Once I got "over" Teddy basically dumping me, I had an epiphany. Shayla, my hot friend, is totally into the relationship thing. I thought she would like a sophisticated older guy like Teddy. So I introduced them and they hit it off, and now they're dating. Which is awesome, because they're both super hot. Teddy's been a little coy on the details but I think they've been sleeping together for a few weeks. I've got to admit, I'm pretty jealous... I had halfway thought that when I got my body back I could get the new Joy to "introduce" me to Shayla. But there's plenty of fish in the sea.

Simon/Joy: The Bet.

I was really looking forward to my date with Teddy. Neither of us were calling it a "date" but I was definitely treating it as such. I haven't even really been out on many "dates" since I've been here. A few pre-arranged outings, but even when I was seeing Stretch we often just went for drinks after work so I didn't change my outfit or do my make-up differently or anything. The only time I put a lot of work in is if the girls and I were going to a club or I was going solo hoping to hook up. If I had a booty call, I usually would just wear something comfortable and seductive, knowing I wasn't going to be wearing it for long.


For Teddy, though... I wanted to wow him. I didn't want to dress like a realtor going for after work drinks. I wanted to dress like a hot chick on the prowl, someone commanded his attention. The mild weather trend hasn't worked for my advantage but I still wore a nice light dress that shows off my figure, lots of leg and chest - I don't really have cleavage so wearing low cut means I can go pretty extreme. I wore my tallest pair of stilettoes, and even went to Shayla to do my hair and makeup. I can do it myself but not if I want to look all-caps HOT.


Underneath was my laciest, skimpiest thong and no bra. And the chill in the air meant the girls were perky.


It was worth it, though, at least at first, because I could tell he was impressed. I've never seen him at a loss for words but he stumbled to say, "You look -- really good!" I blushed, "Who, me?" I could tell he was trying to play it cool but I examined his trousers for signs of attraction.


I have to admit, there are parts of being a chick I really get off on. It's nice to have people treat you like you're this small, precious thing they need to protect and care for. I like having chairs pulled out for me and doors being opened for me and being looked at with that fawning gaze. I like how he takes any opportunity to touch my lower back to guide me, or take my lightly by the arm on the way into the restaurant.


I also relish being a chick who isn't a chick. All those things that I hated about my old girlfriends, the way they would nag me and get pissy if they thought I wasn't paying attention to whatever I was saying. Who really cares? We both know what we're really here for. Any guy who might end up dating me is hella lucky since it would basically just be like dating a bro with tits, and let's face it, what guy doesn't basically just want that?


I tried to avoid work conversation and asked him about his personal life. We got into the subject of how he was a workaholic in his 20's and 30's and now he was paying the price, because he never settled down. That was getting a bit serious, but I used to opportunity to reach out and touch his hand and say things would be okay, it wasn't too late.


He gave me a weak smile, cleared his throat, and asked about Stretch.


"Oh, uh, I guess that was an open secret, huh? What did he tell you?"


"Nothing," he said, "He was pretty secretive about it, but we could all tell something was going on."


"Yeah, uh," I felt my voice creak into an even higher register, shifting in my seat, "It didn't work out. I think he was into me, but the reality wasn't quite what he imagined. He thought I was some pretty, innocent little princess."


He smirked, "Oh, and you're... not that?"


"No," I smiled wickedly. "I'm a dirty girl."


Holy shit, I was getting myself hot.


He looked away. "Good to know," was all he could say. I was a little irritated. Why was he backing off. Didn't he want this? Am I somehow not good enough for him?


Finally I broke down - because after all, I would've loved a chick to be this straightforward with me - and said, "Hey, what's going on here, man? Are you into me or not? You can't tell me you're not feeling it a little."


He hemmed and hawed. "I... you see... it's complicated."


"What, because of Stretch?" I scoffed, "Aren't we past that? Aren't we all grown-ups? There was nothing there and if he's not over it, that's his problem."


"It's more than that," he said, hinting at, well, something big. "You... really don't know, do you?"


"Know what?" I was truly baffled. "Are you, like, gay or something?"


"No, no, I'm not..." he said. "God, I can't believe I'm about to say this but I can't let it go on."


"Say what? Dude, you're scaring me." I searched my mind. I wondered if it had to do with the Inn or someone knowing my secret or... someone having a secret of their own? But I was way off base.


"Joy," he said with a severe look on his face, "There's a bet."


I raised an eyebrow. "A bet?"


He sighed. "There's a bet around the office over who could hook up with you first."


I just stared. I'm not even sure I blinked. "Uh... what?"


"Sully and the Big Guy were talking one day, about how flirty you were with everyone and how it seemed likely that someone was going to, well..."


"Hit that?" I completed his thought for him.


"I guess so."


"And Stretch was part of the bet?" I felt my heart sink a bit.


"Yeah," Teddy nodded.


I took a pause before my next question. "And you?"


He bit his lip. "Only indirectly."


"What the hell does that mean?"


"Well, they figured that if I somehow 'won' that would be it for them, so they made me put some money in the pool."


"How much?" I said, too stunned to raise my voice beyond a whisper.


"$500 apiece," he shrugged. I had to restrain my reaction - disgusting, perhaps, but it's hard not to be flattered by being worth that much money.


Before I could say anything, Teddy piped up, "Joy, you've gotta know... I wasn't really in it. I had no plans to try to win, if anything it made me want to keep you at arm's length."


I sniffed, "Well, that didn't work."


"I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner," he sighed, "Things between you and Stretch seemed pretty legit and I didn't want to wreck that."


"Yeah, that would have killed it if it wasn't already dead," I sighed.


"If there's anything I can do to make things up to you, just let me know."


"Let's just forget about it," I sighed, "And try to enjoy our meal."


"Okay," he said.


"And hey, Teddy... don't tell anyone I know about the bet, okay? It sucks but I'd rather not deal with it."


"Whatever you like," he nodded.


I was obviously a bit distracted for the rest of the night. I'm seeing a few downsides to embracing the whole "sex object" thing. I'm more than just a pair of tits and ass - as fabulous as the assets I got from the original Joy are (well, she could use a boob job maybe but I'll leave that for the next Joy.) I'm good at my job, I'm a decent person, I'm good company. I'm a lot of things. And I happen to enjoy getting laid, same as I did as a man.


It makes me miss the thrill of the chase. Yes, sex is easier to come by and I can take my pick of partners, but man was it exciting to have to work for it. I miss the game.


Then after the weekend, I realized... I'm still playing the game. Just by different rules.


So I got my phone out and texted Teddy - we hadn't talked since Friday and I was feeling bad about that.


"Hey... thanks for telling me all that stuff on Friday. I really needed to hear it."


"No problem, I'm sorry again," he said back.


"So... want to win a bet? ;)"


To be continued...