Keaton/Laura: The woman on the screen

Talk about luck. Not only did I unwittingly get myself transformed into the body of a woman in her mid-thirties, I got myself stuck in the Northeast just as wildfires in Canada started sending smoke down this way. I'm used to bad air quality from LA, but I was hoping this would be different.

As Rona and I set out for Albany to meet with the original Marc, asked me how I was feeling. I told her I was trying not to dwell on the negatives of it, which are numerous. This could be a grand adventure. I sure would never have known what it was like to have breasts before... not to mention many of the people I've spoken to in the last few weeks are in my eyeline.

I wrote to the "new-me" before we left. I hear that some people get their bodies "stolen" and I hope I'm not being egotistical when I suspect that mine might be a prime candidate. Is it so wrong to think a lot of people might want to be me, or use my life as a convenient escape from their own issues? It's not perfect but there are very few downsides to being Keaton Garrett.

I'm trying to put that out of my mind, like I said. I advised them to make money however they could and not feel obliged to continue my career, I was getting ready for a change anyway. I suspect people might be charmed by the glitz and glamor of a production company, but it's very demanding and thankless and it wasn't something I saw myself doing for much longer anyway.

We got to Albany and saw Marc/Chantelle and they filled us in on what had happened since they had stopped writing on the blog and why they hadn't gone to the Inn. It was... a very surprising reveal, but I will leave it to them to say when they feel up to it. I thought you good folks might want to know but it's 100% not my place to share.

Then it was... well, wherever we wanted to go. The most recent Marc and Laura gave up their residence near Boston in the name of giving their successors a fresh start, and apparently it was known that Marc and Laura 1.0 were not going to be going back to living as man and wife. For strategic purposes we wound up in... Queens. Reason being that that brought us close to Jacks and Steffi in their new lives. Rona has been working as a driver, which is fine since road travel is a love language in LA, and I've been trying to keep the lights on in Laura's e-commerce business. Most of my day is spent doing social media -- Tiktok and Instagram reels talking up the products. It's... not what I would have chosen for myself, but it pays the bills. It's very strange to have worked in the entertainment industry for so many years and now find myself effectively "on camera" as my job, having to be poised and attractive. I spend so much time looking at this face and listening to this voice as I edit, yet it's oddly disassociating. I have to admit, watching the "Laura" character onscreen for so long, I feel a little tingle of "Oh, she's cool, I like her," (or more realistically, "She seems nervous and uncomfortable just being herself, and that's oddly cute") and then I realize... she's me.

Keaton/Laura: Away we go...

With our time in Maine coming to an end, the pressure has been on us -- to quote John Mulaney -- to get real cool with a bunch of stuff real quick. In my case, that means seeing a comparatively slight and soft female body when I look down, using the "equipment" to relieve myself, and -- this has probably been the biggest hurdle so far -- wearing the clothes that were left for me.

The last words anyone would have used to describe me in my natural state is are "graceful" and "feminine." The previous Laura obviously had certain assumptions about the person she was passing this life to because the suitcase was largely packed with sundresses, skirts, and crop tops, but of course there was a pair of denim shorts, to my relief. Sure, they're a little -- a lot -- more snug than I'm used to, which serves to remind me of what has happened to me but I feel like wearing a floral sundress would be tenfold that.

We made an outing yesterday and of course I felt like the entire town was staring at me. I was very aware of my body -- at my height my natural posture is not that "great" and so I probably lurch around which looks weird when skinned on a smallish, thirtysomething woman. I wore a loose tee from Rona's original collection, and was adamant that I was not ready not wear a bra. "Suit yourself," Rona shrugged, and while I had some self-consciousness about my "girls" bobbing around under my top, the truth is they're modest enough that nobody was probably looking twice.

In any case, if the legend of this Inn/blog is to be believed, the people of this town are used to paying no notice of dazed-looking strangers meandering around looking like they don't belong.

I certainly felt a lot more exposed, but the truth is, as Laura, I'm probably turning fewer heads than in my old body: people see a big-ass Viking-looking guy, they look twice. I'm used to it. Laura is comparatively unassuming. I kind of don't mind that, and all I had left was to process my own icky feeling about what is-or-isn't between my legs.

My main feeling about all of this has been... exasperation. The what-now-of-it-all. I don't want to be a woman, but I can probably bear it. Rona, likewise, has taken it on the chin. I think she's downplaying it, but I can see discomfort on her face as she tries to find the right way to sit as Marc. Steffi took it the worst: when things didn't immediately go back to normal on day two and it hit her that this was real and, I guess, long-term, she broke down in sobs. If there was any one of us who was completely defined by their appearance, it was her. You had to feel for her, and yet at the same time it's like, "Get a grip."

Observation: I always hated typing on my phone because of my huge fingers not agreeing with the touch screen, but now...

It was tough going out and going around this way, but Rona deemed it necessary "exposure therapy" to get us used to the idea of existing this way and testing our limits. After a while my guard dropped and I did become less self-conscious but I never stopped being away of feeling weak and feeble... not to insult my host or anything, but I was a large, strong, energetic man. Losing muscles along with the physical endurance I'd built up, along with a good chunk of my youth and -- let's face it, my masculinity -- left me feeling drained, tired and sore at the end of the day in a way I never had before. Realizing that left me with a whole other bunch of reasons to feel bad about this change that had nothing (or little) to do with what position I pee in.

Sigh...

Rona, enterprising as she is, figured out how to get in touch with Marc, so she and I are Albany bound just to figure out where everyone stands. Jacks and Steffi are off to a new life in the suburbs. This is all a whirlwind but I guess that's life.

Oh and I still have to write my "onboarding" letter to the "new" Keaton...

Keaton Garrett: Part Two

So to recap... on Saturday: birthday drinks, laughs, and a little bit of light petting with a girl from the bar.

Sunday: Chaos and confusion as we all woke up "in different bodies"/with our bodies "transformed", however you want to term it.

I get the sense that people reading this blog know all about what we're terming the "event." It took us obviously a lot of pooling our resources to figure out what was going on, who we'd "become" and how to learn more.

In terms of who as unlucky enough to have their new assignment least resemble their previous, that would be me. I went from 6'7, 250 lbs of muscle and hair, down to a 5'5 soft-bellied and round-hipped female. The first thing I did when hopping out of bed -- responding to the calamity like the superhero I sometimes get mistaken for -- was to faceplant and land on my freshly-grown tits, skinning my knee and bruising my chin. Oops. I tried to shake it off but, with the world around me having grown to enormous proportions, I spent a lot of the day just getting my bearings and marveling at what had become of my body.

I think I was almost too impressed to be scared. Gone were my hard pecs and biceps, replaced with a soft-skinned, and very modestly-sized pair of breasts, and noodly arms. What was between my legs -- a good size if I do say so myself, something I took pride in and would have a hard time forgetting I possessed -- now gone without a trace, replaced by a conspicuous void that feels very weird to be sitting with. I first saw it when the boxers I had been wearing slipped down. The sound I made in my new feminine voice, reader... you could hardly imagine, just an unfettered shriek of pure shock. I spent the rest of the day wearing my own t-shirt, which was basically enough to cover my body and trying not to think about what lay beneath.

Gone overnight, everything that made me "me," the muscles, the tattoos, the beard, the organs... except I guess I still have long blonde hair. I guess conventionally you'd expect a man-turned-into-a-woman to gain longer hair, but mine is actually shorter, only shoulder length. Pulling it into a short ponytail was the least of my surprise.

Rona got the same treatment, becoming a man: rather ordinary, average height, short-cropped dark haired and generic-featured, medium build with a slight potbelly. The fact that she's a lesbian did little or nothing to dull her shock about it, though. My being blond(e) and her being dark-haired caused some confusion at first since we in some ways "resembled" our new selves.

Jacks and Steffi didn't get the switch flipped the way we did, but they have their own concerns. Looking at my and Rona's new features we had obviously gained a few years, but they both wound up somewhere north of forty, with Jacks sporting gray hair, and Steffi, well... for someone who's used to looking the way she does, this body is going to be a shock in its own way... size-wise and cosmetically. This is not to say an older and chubbier woman can't be pretty at all, but just... you know how society is. I mean hell, we're from L.A. Even the most open-minded of us is probably still a little superficial.

I would say as shocking as it was to note my physical changes, the idea of "taking over" someone's life on a temporary basis was even moreso, as we learned more about the event. But there was something of a wrinkle.

See, everyone at the Inn got a letter or some kind of message explaining what had happened and what to do next.

Rona and I got two.

There was one each designated to "New Marc" and "New Laura" and one each for "Original Marc" and "Original Laura." It seems that these bodies were meant to go back to their original owners but that's obviously not what happened. Luckily the previous occupants anticipated that and wrote us these alternate instructions.

We asked around. There was no Marc and no Laura here. Then I logged onto the blog and not far back, I see posts from Marc (under the "Chantelle" identity he had been assigned) up until last fall.

We decided it's important for us to meet these people and let them know that their bodies are in good hands or... whatever. Find out what kept them from returning.

Anything to keep my mind off of what's going on... "down there."

Keaton Garrett: Part One

I'm gonna take my sweet ass time with this because, well, I don't have much else to do and there's a lot to unpack. A few mornings ago I was lying in my very stiff and too-small "Trading Post Inn" bed wondering how long the stiffness in my neck was going to last when I spotted a slip of paper that had found its way under my door in the night, with log in info for this blog, inviting me to share my experience. Had I written anything at the time, it would have simply read "This place sucks and I don't want to be here," but I was not so bored that I was going to spend all day on the computer writing negative reviews. And besides, the wi-fi situation in this little corner of Old Orchard Beach is positively medieval.

Obviously, by now I'm a little bit more aware of why people would be sharing their experiences here online so things have changed

So how did I, the quintessential California boy get here? It's a not-very-interesting story, to be sure.

I work, or should I say was working for a production company. We had booked some time to scout locations for an upcoming wilderness drama for one of the big streamers -- I won't bore you with the details -- when the writers strike happened. Personally, I support the WGA 1000%, even if their strike has a knock-on effect on my job, but I've come to dislike the job anyway and have been thinking of changing industries (to what, I had no idea... but I guess the universe heard me manifesting that.) So production got canceled and we got stuck with some non-refundable "all beds must be filled" reservations at Old Orchard Beach's rustiest, mustiest inn for Memorial Day. The stays were raffled off and the lucky winners were me, Rona, Jacks and Steffi -- not too many people signed up because I guess when you live in LA, a beach getaway on the other side of the country doesn't have much appeal, but the idea of heading to a slower, more bucolic setting with less smog, away from the chaos of life in the industry appealed to me.

I like to think I have a zen heart even though my exterior is (was) anything but. At 6'7 with long blond hair, I get called "Thor" a lot. I'm muscular, I have tattoos running up and down my arms. People make a lot of assumptions about who I am because of what I look like. And hey, some of that may be accurate: the muscles don't just happen, and a lot of my time is spent rock climbing, biking and base jumping. But I also melt anytime I see a random dog, and I like to curl up with a good book.

I think Rona may have had some of these preconceptions about me -- that I'm some kind of insensitive misogynistic meathead -- because she was really frosty to me when we first met, but she actually became one of my closest friends around the office (or "office" as the case may sometimes be, with Zoom and all.)

I just asked Rona, if she would not mind describing herself visually for the benefit of you readers. Her response: "Fat and gay." To clarify, she was a little stout and curvy rather than "fat"... and with short dark hair, thick glasses and a penchant for checked button-down shirts and pants, I suppose she definitely wore her sexuality as an aesthetic. Jackson "Jacks" Kirkman is a goofy guy who always has to be the center of attention, and Steffi is a fair-haired Insta-influencer type: thin, great body, etc etc. When Jacks and Steffi became an item a few weeks in advance of the trip, we were basically obliged to place "People who were sleeping together" in one room and "People who would not be sleeping together" in the other.

Up until yesterday, we were having a really nice time. During the day we explored the town, meandered around the beach, drank and got goofy, and then at night it was like an extended sleepover with my best bro: bored games, cheesy movies, drinking games. Saturday was actually my birthday -- happy 27th. We went out to the bar and after a cutesy little cupcake with a candle for me to blow out Rona basically insisted on wingwoman-ing me, adamant that one of us had to get laid before this trip was over. I was flattered but while I did end up getting a number from a very nice woman, I wasn't that into it. I went back to her place, and we made out for a bit, but I ended up seeing myself out.

Of course, if I had known what was headed for us, I might have thought differently.

I came back to the room and noticed Rona already snoozing. I sat up on my phone for a while but noticed I was feeling a little woozy and a little itchy/irritated/tingly. I thought maybe it was a reaction to something I had eaten or drank, so I popped and antihistamine -- the feeling didn't quite subside but it did help me zonk out.

And then in the morning, everything had changed.