Val: Under the knife

Around the holidays things started to get weird between me and Rafe. It can be a very sentimental time, even though neither of us are sentimental people, and it's hard not to succumb to the urge a little and behave a certain way.  Something about holiday cheer and togetherness makes it hard to just enjoy casual sex for what it is.

Around New Years Eve we found ourselves having an obligatory "What are we?" Conversation. Are we exclusive? No, but neither of us is seeing anyone else. Do we go out on dates? I said it would be acceptable but he said it was outside his comfort zone (to put it mildly.) In my head I had echoes of someone or other saying "Why buy the cow..." even though I didn't even grow up as a woman. I had to field awkward dating questions from Valerie's mother over the holidays, and deflected by saying I was out there, and that's all. It deepened the already sour feeling in the pit of my stomach whenever I spend time with that family.

In January I decided, kinda unilaterally, to downplay my thing with Rafe. Call it a Resolution if you must. It had been a few months of great sex with someone who wasn't interested in more. Why not look again?

Instead, online I found the usual collection of way-too-self-absorbed boy-men in suits who think all women are impressed by a decent suit and a nice car (in this city? Please.)

It was a lot like last year's round of boredom-inducing matchups, only this time I actually had sex with a few of them. None of them had much potential for long term, but I wanted the experience. Whereas before I avoided sex because I didn't want to feel used, now I embrace it because I wanted to do the using.

I think I have screwed myself up because I can only bring myself to sleep with a guy if I dislike him now. I know I should respect my body enough not to just let anyone have it, but I also respect it enough to give it things that will feel good, at least for the night. But if I think I have feelings for a guy? I dare not complicate it with sex.

Besides, I was worried they wouldn't want me soon. At the end of January I did something I have been dreaming about for years... having my breast reduction surgery.

Having boobs of any kind is great about 10% of the time. Times when you want the attention they bring. Times when you are wearing something flattering but not uncomfortable. Times when you are literally naked, on top or below (or in front of) someone and feeling them bounce up and down and against your ribcage in response to something very pleasurable. The rest of the time they are a frightful inconvenience, and when they are 8% of your overall body weight (I did the math!) they are a literal pain.

I had made up my mind months ago and went through a battery of consultations and examinations. Recieving healthcare as a woman in this country is not overall simple of convenient but my doctor - a man - acknowledged that on my frame, these breasts are too much by a lot.

Before the surgery, I texted both Kevin and Rafe, the men in my life who I had kept at arms length of weeks or months. Kevin wished me well, Rafe didn't respond right away. I also texted my sister and Meg, and of course Maddie and Ariel knew - who has taken Charli's old room and made a really good late night talking partner since both of us are effectively single.

Before they put me under, the Doctor said something to the effect of "Just think, when you wake up, you'll have a whole new different body." I probably laughed way too hard, involuntarily, and confused him.

Then they wheeled me in, put me under, and that was that.

Afterward, as I woke up, in my groggy state, my first thought was to grab for them. I think I thought I was back to the Inn because Maddie recalled me babbling about "Am I me? Am I me?" Before long, I came to and had a chance to examine.

It was amazing. The scars are barely noticeable. They're still pretty big actually, but much, much smaller than before. I might actually be able to shop in regular places for tops and bras. Wear sundresses. Jog. See my feet. They're reshaped into perfectly symmetrical orbs. Almost too perfect. It bugs me how I've lost a certain natural appearance. I don't want people to think I have fake boobz (I did get a lot of "are those real?" questions from creepy guys online, but mostly people assume rightly that at this size, you wouldn't pay to put those on your chest.)

Part of me was excited - I looked great. I felt free. Part of me was sad, as I worried I might be - I had lost something that had come to be a part of me, as frustrating and inconvenient and painful as they could be. Never in all my years of wandering as Tyler or drifting from life to life via the Inn had I felt so attached to anything, let alone body parts I wasn't even born with. I worried about not being appreciative of the body I had inherited, but Cynthia has told me this was a dream of hers too.

It's like being a new me (something I'm real familiar with) with the losses and gains that implies, but I get to keep being me, which is exciting.

Once I got back into street clothes, Maddie and Ariel were gobsmacked. It was so different and yet it looked so rigbt. They were very supportive and very complimentary. They got me a card and pampered me while I recuperated.

Rafe eventually did text me back, saying that he was happy for me, in a weirdly brief manner. But that's him.

One other reason for the timing... Meg's wedding is coming up. And I wanted it all out of the way so I could wear a nice dress and feel good about myself because the only person I ever really loved is getting married and I need to be there to support her.

If it ain't too obvious to say, I really do feel a weight off my shoulders. I had been hemming and hawing so long, and now it's done and I don't regret it.

I'm a happy gal.

-Valerie

Val: On Trial

A little after it came out that I was back to seeing Rafe casually, I was called into the common area for a serious talk.

My roommates - Maddie, Charli, and Ariel, were putting me "on trial." It's a thing we do when one of us does something the others don't like. Sometimes it's for stupid things like getting a bad haircut, and sometimes it's... a little more dramatic than that.

I wasn't surprised, but I was a little irritated. Yes, we all know that Rafe is not the best possible person for me to be with. He's crass and annoying, immature and directionless. Sometimes that irritates me, and sometimes I'm sympathetic because I kind of see some of myself in him.

The charge: That I'm selling myself short by dating someone there's no future with. That I'm hurting myself and others by letting him have me whenever he wants without expecting much in return.

My defense: I'm a grown woman and I went into this with open eyes, and it's honestly prudish to say a woman can't enjoy casual sex without feeling like she's being taken advantage of.

Plus, he's not a bad guy. He's smart, he makes me laugh, and, let's not be modest here, he's a great lay.

Do I see myself settling down with him? No, of course not. But fate put me back into my mid-20's, biologically speaking - do I need to be with my soulmate right now? If so, where is he?

He and I know the deal. No commitment, no strings attached. We're honest about what we're doing. Last time, I got antsy because I was craving an emotional relationship he couldn't offer, plus I thought I was going back to the Inn. I had a year of solitude to see if I could make that emotional relationship, and... nothing.

Well, not nothing.

See, that was a big part of Maddie's case against, as she led the prosecution. She felt like I was short-changing Kevin, and that I had cut off any progress we were making toward true coupledom by dividing my attention between him and Rafe. Maddie "ships" me with Kevin.

I told her it wasn't going to happen - Kevin was a rock I couldn't budge. I put all my best moves on him and he never seemed to see me as more than a companion. Nothing I was doing with Rafe violated that arrangement or gave me any reason to feel bad.

"Okay then," she said. "Then why don't you talk to  Kevin about it?"

That made me nervous.

Kevin knows that sometimes I'm not available, or that sometimes I have to hurry home for something, but I have never specified that it's so that I can sleep with another guy. I don't really think it's any of his business and he's never indicated to me that it would bother him. And yet, the idea of bringing it up to him did seem very... heavy.

I told him the next time I was over there. I was making risotto and he was watching, giving me those gooey eyes that, in another person would normally mean "I want to jump your bones right now." The guilt was gnawing at me.

"So..." I said as I stirred, "I think you should know I'm kind of seeing someone."

His gaze didn't break. A long pregnant pause held in the air.

"Go on..." he said, his voice hard to read the way men sometimes are.

"Well, it's not serious," I stammered nervously, "But, it's been a while. And I just didn't think to tell you because, well.. it's kind of private and I... wasn't sure what to say."

"Well," he twisted his lips, "You could say, 'So I'm kind of seeing someone.'"

"I mean, you and I are just... friends, right? You don't see me that way, do you?"

The answer took longer to give than I was comfortable with.

I started to say, "I man, you told me--"

"Yeah, yeah," he interrupted, "No, I know. It's fine," he said, in a tone that suggested maybe it's not fine.

"You and I have a really special friendship," I said, cringing inside at what I was babbling, "It was just obvious it wasn't anything... more than that."

"Yeah," he said, and got real quiet, and for a while I wondered if he was mad at me. I wanted to keep talking but I couldn't think of anything to say that didn't sound stupid.

Eventually, the food was done cooking. "Um hey," I said awkwardly, "Can you get some plates down for us?"

He snapped out of his trance. "Oh, yeah, of course. Sorry, I know my kitchen is built for people over 5 feet tall."

"Yeah, I'm used to it," I shrugged.

He set our places, and before the silence crept back in, he said, "I'm happy for you."

"Huh?"

"That's what friends say, isn't it?"

"Only if they mean it."

He smiled, "I'm happy for you. I'm mad for myself, because you deserve... well, anything you want. Things haven't changed for me, Val. I mean,in some ways they have, because I could picture... you know. Maybe. Someday. I didn't want you to wait for me, though. I wish it could be me, but... it's not."

I didn't know how to respond to that.

Another long silence was brewing, when he asked, "So when you say it's not serious..."

"You really want to know?"

"I'm your friend, aren't I?"

"Well," I said, "It's really just sex. Sometimes breakfast. One or two dinners. I don't do this sort of thing with him."

"That's good to hear. You ever go ice skating with him?"

"I told you, I can't skate. I'll fall over," I laughed, referring to a previous conversation we had about going to Rockefeller Center together.

"I'll believe it when I see it," he snickered. "So, this guy..."

"We have a good vibe, but he's not boyfriend material. Plus, we work together, so I don't really feel the need to see that much more of him."

"You should quit," he said, apropos nothing.

"And do what?"

"Whatever you're going to do," he said. "You're gonna pour coffee the rest of your life?"

"Well, I was planning on marrying a rich single dad but that didn't work out," I snorted.

Unamused, he pressed on. "I'm serious. Quit your job. Take a business course. Open your own shop. Do more catering. Whatever you want. Please, you'll feel so much more rewarded."

"I... don't think I can," I sighed. "I have no money."

"And you never will at this rate," he scolded. "Weren't you saying you're about to spend thousands of dollars on plastic surgery?"

"Breast reduction surgery. I need it."

"Why not put that off and put that money towards some college courses?"

"Because I'd rather be physically comfortable and broke," I scoffed.

"I'll pay," he said. "Let me help you."

"The last thing I need is a white knight," I said. "Just let me live my life, okay?"

"Fine, no problem," he said.

I grew frustrated inside. He wasn't saying anything I didn't already think, but only I get to think those things. Ill quit the coffee shop when I'm good and ready. When I know what I want. It used to be, I would go from place to place and never think about the future. It was freeing, but I don't want to be that way anymore, so I don't want to quit on a whim only to decide I don't want to run my own business or go to school. And I definitely don't want to be told what to do by a guy I'm not even dating.

Part of me thinks I was just being sensitive - which bugs me because that makes me think this is a product of my gender and not how I am really supposed to be feeling. But God knows there was plenty of folks who thought they knew what was best for me when I was a man, and I didn't listen then either, it just bugged me less. So if my feelings about it have changed, well, that's all part of how I've changed overall. And I've accepted that, so watch out world.

That was back before Christmas. A lot has happened so I'm just getting around to describing it now. But it really affected our relationship. We don't see each other as much, barely text. Oir friendsgip really took a hit and I don't know if we can come back from it. I miss him, but it seems like things just ran their course. That makes me sad, but like he said, I shouldn't have been waiting for him.

-Val

Valerie: Two and a Half Men

I don't really count myself as half a man anymore, but the reference is too apt not to use. For my purposes it's better if I think of myself as all-woman, and yet maybe that's not true either.

One night after Rafe and I had sex, we got to talking - it's rare, but it happens and honestly when he feels chatty we do have a good chemistry. I was talking about some of my negative experiences in dating, and he said it wasn't surprising that I couldn't find a match.

Slightly offended, I asked why.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way, but... you're kind of like, basically a dude."

I stared a hole right through him. Of course I knew what he was talking about, but I didn't want to.

"Is that so," I asked.

"Yeah, I don't know what it is about you, but you're the opposite of every girl."

"Why, because I like sports and don't love shopping?"

"No - you actually do like shopping. And you cook and clean."

"And these things are usually considered girly..." I said.

"It's your attitude. I've been taking sociology classes. Gender studies. It's like you weren't socialized like a normal chick. You seem like you could hardly give a fuck about relationships and intimacy and communicating, you're more about straight-up facts and details. You're a little more masculine, a little colder and harder than other chicks."

"First of all," I said with annoyance, "It can't be right to stereotype a whole gender like that." I was trying desperately - maybe ironically but here's where we're at - to downplay the idea that I am a guy inside.

"Maybe," Rafe admitted, "But there's something unusual about you, and I bet after one date most guys can sense it, and they decide you're too much trouble. Or like, dating you would be too much like dating a guy."

"Isn't that what most guys want?"

"They think they do," he said, "but then they have it and it's like... oh, shit, this is weird."

"And it's not weird for you?"

"I'm not dating you," he noted pointedly. "Or maybe I'm a little gay, I don't know."

"Me neither," I said, and quickly got us off the topic.

It was a few weeks into my new casual non-relationship with Rafe. Things were going about as well as could be expected. I was still hanging out with Kevin, although there was a definite change in our relationship. I didn't feel the need to tell him I was sleeping with somebody else - being that he had passed up every opportunity he had, I figured I didn't owe him an explanation, and at the time I still wasn't sure if Rafe and I were a thing worth mentioning.

I've been doing my best to keep things separate. On Halloween, for example, I let it slip to Rafe that I didn't have any other plans that night. I haven't met Kevin's kids yet because, well, I'm not "that person" and it doesn't seem fair, to any of us, for the kids to get to know me if this isn't really a relationship. It's something we've spoken about over coffee, during our many soul-searching chats.

Rafe seemed a little "off" when I proposed we do something for the night. It struck me that he may have thought I was trying to back him into a, god forbid, boyfriend-girlfriend type situation. So I scrambled to explain, which I probably shouldn't have had to do, that I really just mean I would be up for doing anything and it would be best (ie, I would feel more comfortable, as a single woman) if there was someone there I knew.

He stifled his irritation and we made some plans, but I was regretting it. I was flashing back to the previous year when I was starting to pin some boyfriend-type expectations on him and he made it clear he wasn't interested in the role. I wondered if I was putting myself through too much of a wringer again.

The night was fixing to be a shitshow of epic proportions. He insisted we arrive separately. He didn't wear a costume, which made me feel silly for wearing a cowgirl getup, with Daisy Dukes and my boobs basically all the way out under a gingham shirt, in my one industrial-strength pushup bra. But whatever - I looked cute and hot at the same time, and he looked like a dope because everyone else was in costume.

He made it clear he wasn't there to keep me company, chatting up every girl he could meet - and striking out with pretty much all of them. I'll admit I felt a twinge of jealousy. It's hard to say why. We're not exclusive. I give lots of my time and attention to a whole other guy. It's unfair to expect Rafe to only be with me. And yet the idea of him going home with anyone but me really bugged me.

I hated feeling that way. So I downed some tequila and hit the dance floor.

I can't stress this enough - I cannot dance. Whatever rhythm women naturally possess was not handed down to me when I became one. But I have hips and other parts that are fun to shake awkwardly, and men are usually just impressed enough by the sight of a woman in motion that talent doesn't really play into it.

Men started to chat me up. Because of the walls I keep around myself, I guess, it doesn't happen often - it's not like I hit the clubs in my spare time, it's not like I seek attention usually, but when I want it, I get it.

Only problem is, when I got it, I found I really didn't want it. Men can be such a nuisance. Few of them have anything interesting to say, mostly they're just looking for ways to compliment your body and impress you with their job or their money. Then it's so hard to get away it feels like you're stuck. I like them better when they're shutting up and getting physical. So I danced with a few guys, which made me feel less claustrophobic. With enough liquor and the right atmosphere you kinda don't notice they're starting to get bolder, take liberties, put their hands in places where they wouldn't with the lights on. You don't mind, it's all in fun... but your mind starts to wander.

One guy was dressed as Dustin from Stranger Things - no, not interested in making out with someone dressed as a child. Another guy was he grim reaper, but the face paint was off-putting. Every guy, there was some reason not to cut loose.

I checked on Rafe. He was having fun but it was clear he was giving up on the game. So when I came back to him, he was more open to it. I asked him if he wanted to get out of there, and he said of course, and that was how we ended up back at my place for the night.

That was when we had that conversation. It's been ringing in my ears ever since. It bugged me enough to be told I seemed like a guy - I know I'll never be someone who was born to be a woman, but I like to think I've grown into it and pass nicely as one. It actually hurt to hear that wasn't necessarily the case.

I definitely thought things didn't work out with any of my dates because I had rejected them - because I'm at a point in my life where the directionless boys I was attracting didn't meet the standards of what I wanted to be with. But none of them seemed too driven to be with me either.

I think that's why I like being with Kevin. He's the only guy I've met in this life who is older and more experienced than me, and I guess feeling young brings out the girlish youthfulness that makes me feel feminine. I feel like I'm the person I really want to  e when I'm around him. I feel like I'm taking care of his emotional needs in a way I never thought I could, and he does the same for me, in away - but at a distance. It hurts and yet it makes me feel good.

This shit is complicated. No wonder why I need sweaty, unemotional sex with Rafe to ease my mind.

Between the two it really feels like I have it all, and yet... it never seems to come together.

-Val

Valerie: Nothing stays secret for long here...

Two Friday nights ago was supposed to be a big night. Kevin was taking me to a ball - an actual damn ball, a fundraiser for a charity he is involved with. I definitely felt strange about accepting the invite. After all, he and I had been in every romantic situation you could imagine - spending quiet nights in cooking together, going on long walks, taking a weekend getaway upstate. We've practically been living in one of those Nicholas Sparks movies for months, but we never get to the big kiss. That's off the table. I'm aware of that. A big elegant ball seemed like it would only be the latest.

I was getting frustrated. My feelings weren't dissipating as fast as I'd hoped, and now they were mutating a little bit. Selfishly, the romantic feelings I had for him were starting to twist into negativity, even though it's not his fault he doesn't reciprocate. I had agreed to be his friend, and it started to feel like I was becoming something of a surrogate girlfriend - certain rights and responsibilities without all of the privileges. It leaves me feeling a little empty, like he's using me for this role without being able to give back what I would like for it. And then I feel bad because he's been nothing but honest with me.

I put so much effort in. I had Maddie do my make-up and help with my hair since I'm still amateur at the curling wand and any cosmetics beyond mascara and lip gloss. (Contouring? What is that?) Ariel helped me accessorize by lending earrings, necklace, and bracelets she thought would go with the dress. Neither could help me with shoes since I have the tiniest feet known to man, but we picked some out together. Kevin, flashing his money around, paid for a gown I had picked out, the one thing I didn't hate which would properly cover my proportions. Something sparkly and silky. Years ago I hated dressing this way because it put me on display in a way I really did not want to be. Now... it's still not me, but for the right night it could be. I'm in a body I feel is mine, and it does wonders for my self esteem to see people light up when they get a look at me. I never thought I would say this fondly but, I looked and felt like a princess.

The night was good. He was his usual charming self and I was my usual not-so-smooth self, a roughneck in heels. I probably drank too much and made an ass of myself, but I think that happens to be part of my appeal as I make inappropriately lowbrow jokes around his friends and colleagues. We dined, we mingled, we even danced, although he was a bit stiff, and I am honestly just a terrible dancer anyway. All the guys I talked to referred to me as "Kevin's girlfriend" and neither of us corrected hem. To me, that sexually charged energy was still there. My heart was beating faster at his touch, at his looks, and I was sick about it.

Flash forward to the next morning at my apartment. My gown is on the floor of the living room. The girls are having coffee. I come out in my robe to a thunderous applause and cheers of "Ow oww!" My face goes hot, blushing. I don't really like people knowing when I've had sex as a woman, which is so weird to me, because when I'm actually having it I'm the happiest I've ever been and I shouldn't be ashamed of that. I wave them off. "Really, it's nothing, nothing."

"Nothing??" Ariel coughs, "You've been after this guy for months, and he was like a brick wall. You finally broke through? Damn girl, I knew you knew how to use that body."

"That... I... it's really not..."

"Tell us all about it," Charli said. "We need tea, sis!"

"Maddie, talk some sense into your twin, please," I implored. "I could use just a little bit of privacy."

"If I could control her, I would have years ago..." Maddie shrugged.

"Whatever he was doing in there sounded like it was working," Charli said.

"I don't want to talk about it," I said, "I just want some coffee and to go back to bed."

I crossed over to the coffee maker. Maddie gave me this look. I turned away.

"Oh, no," she said.

"No--" I abruptly said.

"I know that look."

"It's not..." I stammered.

She rushed over to my bedroom door, over my protests of privacy.

She threw it wide open and saw him there, a blanket barely covering his junk.

"Morning Maddie," Rafe said with that stupid, goofy, smug grin he gets. "Where's the coffee?"

"Vaa-aa-aal!!" Maddie shrieked, while Charli and Ariel laughed their damn heads off and I shrunk with embarrassment like a turtle.

The truth is, it had been brewing for a while, and I was fully aware of it. After Rafe came back to the shop, we got into some of our old patterns of bantering and bickering, and basically flirting constantly under the guise of constantly being irritated with each other. And the truth is he is extremely irritating but in all that, he's the one guy I've met in my entire time as Valerie who treats me like a regular person, with faults and flaws as well as my own unique appeal.

I had basically decided I was probably going to screw him again weeks ago. At the end of summer a bunch of us from the shop went out to Coney Island. I hadn't been there since my time with Josh, so it still held some associations for me, so I was feeling a bit vulnerable and maybe a little susceptible. We ended up playing some beach games, including a weirdly physical game of capture the flag, and... well, I don't know. I'm there in my one-piece swimsuit with my tits bouncing around, he's there in his shorts and no shirt, and I'm just thinking "Damn, this is working for me." And in all these years I've learned damn well enough not to fight it when I catch myself drawn to anyone or anything.

So at the end of the ball, when Kevin gave me a very chaste, thanks for coming out, you're such a good friend, I really value what we have here, I just thought... that's it. That's as far as it goes. I will be his friend but I am going to have to stop playing make-believe. I texted Rafe to be at my front door, and told Kevin I was texting Maddie to let her know I'd be home soon. Kevin saw me home,  and once his cab was out of sight, Rafe emerged from the darkness, vaping annoyingly (is that redundant or what?)

He had to gloat that he'd been expecting the text for some time, which nearly ruined it, but also made it frustratingly hotter.

Honestly, all this time I had myself convinced he was bad for me and I had to stay away, but for what? When we were first hooking up, I kept him at arm's length because I thought I was going to be a man again sometime soon, and the last thing I needed was to catch feelings. The fact that he was clearly not boyfriend material was a handy shield.

Now, I have a guy who is boyfriend material but doesn't want to touch me. And on the other hand I have a guy who I like being around and really like to have sex with, and any reason I might think he is bad for me is just my brain confusing things. Is he a jerk sometimes, undependable, and in need of some growing up?

Sounds a bit like Tyler Blake circa 2014, and look how he turned out.

The bottom line is, I didn't give in and let myself stay as Valerie to lock myself up in a tower like Rapunzel. It felt so good to be looked at, touched and kissed, after all the foreplay at the ball went nowhere. To be able to strip down to the nice, lacy underwear I was wearing and have the guy in the room gape at me, not awkwardly avoid looking. To have a pair of hands fondle my breasts, and year, to have a guy screw me.

I just... really, really hoped I would be able to keep it under wraps longer than a night so that I could figure out how to handle things. After all my crowing about how he was bad for me and if I ever find myself tempted to go back there you should just lock me up, there was no escaping judgment. Doubly because I think all the girls are rooting for me with Kevin. But as it always seems to be the case with me, the circumstances are too unique, too complicated, for a simple answer.

There's guilt too. If Kevin ain't my boyfriend, and Rafe isn't neither, do I owe either of them anything? They both seem to be getting what they want out of me, and between the two of them, add up to one halfway decent, if problematic, boyfriend type person.

This has been Val's loveline, thanks for reading.

Valerie: Friends Without Benefits

Of all the people to talk to about my dating situation, the one I looked forward to the least was Rafe.

Rafe is back at the shop after an extended time away. Somehow he heard about my hanging around with Kevin, and somehow he got the idea it was any of his business.

"So Chickpea, I heard you got ghosted by Silvertop."

I told him he heard wrong, that Kevin and I were hanging out regularly as friends... with no benefits.

"And he's not trying to get laid? That's weird."

Now, part of me agrees but I would never let him know that. So I tell Rafe it's sad that he doesn't think men and women can be friends without sex, which I also happen to believe (moreso now that I'm a woman maybe than when I was a man.)

"I don't think it's impossible," Rafe shrugged, "I mean, I like to think you and I are friends. But then again, we've already had sex."

"Don't remind me," I grumbled.

"I never heard any complaints," he smirked. I felt a little queasy at that, not the least because it's true and he knows it. It especially stings that I've basically been with nobody since him. But I know he's just trying to push my butrons. Puts me in a no-win situation - either I lose my cool and seem like an uptight woman, or I play along and encourage it.

Understanding men doesn't always help you deal with them.

My girls are more understanding of the situation, to various degrees. Maddie thinks it's cool, but she has specifically said she "ships" me and Kevin, so she holds out hope. Charli is skeptical - I wouldn't say she's a manhater but she is definitely one to question everything that comes out of a man's mouth, so despite his apparent honesty, she sees the possibility of ulterior motives, or just, I don't know, some kind of desire to mess with my head.

Ariel, oddly enough, is the one I've talked about it the most with. She's the one who has most tried to get the sense of my feelings - am I really okay being just friends with Kevin? Teaching him to cook, going on outings to markets and stuff, playing out part of a relationship without ever truly fulfilling it? Am I setting myself up for pain? Am I settling for staying in orbit around a man who, by his own admission, can't love me back, as a way of avoiding trying to find something real?

Am I hoping for something, that I can "break through the shell" as a commentor put it?

I don't know.

I do know that, despite what he's told me about himself, I feel a connection. We've had long talks, had some really cute moments. I made a conscoous decision not to push him away after what he told me. I wanted to show we could get along and I could be in his life without expecting anything. But it hasn't  een wothout challenges.

You know, I think I'm still a little guarded around guys, which probably didn't help my case on the dating scene. I want reasons not to like them and I don't want to try to make them like me. But with Kevin the feeling is very natural. We "vibe." It just stings that being around him kind of gets me worked up and then, well... there's no payoff.

We took a weekend trip upstate. He had a  business meeting and I invited myself along because I wanted to get out of town and see the area. That obviously seems frought, especially since we stayed at a Bed and Breakfast - and you know my history with cute little Inns. But it was nice. We stayed in separate rooms of course.

I imagined we were in Maine. We wake up as different people and suddenly all his baggage melts away and we begin a new life together. That's a rotten fantasy. The man has kids. A life. And I have my own commitment, a commitment to myself to stay as Valerie for good. But I'm not doing much as her except fretting over boys and it's making me crazy.

And besides, I should know well enough that your baggage doesn't just disappear when you get a new body. As far as I'm concerned it only gets bigger.

-Valerie

Valerie: The Art of Cooking

When I mused in my last post about not knowing what to wear for my date with Kevin, I wasn't kidding around. I was right puzzled by the situation and a girl like me really has to think hard about what kind of message she sends with her clothes. We were in uncharted territory. I had arranged a meeting that may or may not have been a date, with a guy I was maybe sorta getting to like, and who I thought kinda liked me. Getting the fine details right is crucial.

Luckily I have three roommates who are lifelong females, two of whom are quite femme and glad to help me play dressup.

In the years I've been a woman, I've reached a grudging acceptance that clothes make the woman. I was Judith after all, and Lauren before that. But as Valerie - as myself - I am free to dress how I see fit. I don't need to please clients or compare myself to other teenage girls. Mostly I work, and when I'm slinging coffee that means jeans (or yoga pants) and whatever top I see fit, usually a dark crew neck tee. I do have the occasional night out but it's not hard to fit the right mood: casual, fun or (more rarely) fancy. I don't mind being the most modest girl at the party. I don't usually want the attention.

Now I had to walk the line and I didn't even know where it was. In theory this was just a cooking lesson. I could go right from work and seem right in character. But I wanted it to look like I'd put some thought in. Maybe to suggest that I would be up for more, but not that I was planning on it. (See? For womwn fashion is practically a language. And they speak it to men without them even knowing.)

I've got this little black dress I've been itching to wear all summer. It falls just at the sweet spot midway up my thigh, and really showcases my chest in a tasteful way because it has a high neckline, uet managrs to a oid looking like a potsto sack. I bought it months ago but haven't had the courage, or a reason, to wear it out. If I wore that it would be clear what message I was sending: "Let's go straight to dessert."

Don't think I didn't consider it, but that's more of a third date outfit.

In the end I wore my "good-ass" jeans and a top that is a little more revealing than what I wear to work, with a deeper neckline. It reads casual, as if I might not know my tits are on display. Rest assured, with the bra I was wearing, I knew full well.

I also did my makeup more than usual and curled my hair. It kills me how men never notice these things, and we don't even expect them to. It's just to make ourselves feel like our version of sexy. I also wore nice underwear, on the off chance it came up. For the men's part, I remember sort of taking it for granted that women's looks just kind of fell together easily without so much dang work.

Arriving at his place, I felt more nervous than I have been for a very long time. I felt like I was crossing a threshold. All the dates I've been on since the beginning of the year felt more like something to do, with guys I could take or leave (and mostly left.) This was the first guy I was starting to really like, and my uncertainty about how he felt about me, my need to win him over, was really affecting me. He greeted me with an ambiguous hug. I leaned into him to try to put him - and myself - at ease.

His place was pretty nice, considering what I'm used to around here. I mean, having a place to yourself in Brooklyn is pretty much a sign you're doing well as far as I'm concerned. That was intimidating. I'm not as young as I look, but this guy had a whole "grown up" life that I guess I haven't experienced since being Judith, or even much before that.

It's oddly intimidating being around him, in a way. I'm so used to being in positions where I have more life experience than people. But this guy is older than me, and he's lived a life and matured in ways that even Kitty never seemed. Being around him makes me feel not just my age, but Valerie's, like I'm still a kid to him, even though I've lived five lives and seen and done incredible things.

He offered me a drink of wine. I thought okay, that's pretty datey, semi-romantic, right? Setting the mood.

I felt better once I started cooking. I didn't know his skill level so I thought I would focus on the basics - correctly cooking a chicken, with some seasoning and presentation. How to design an idiot-proof meal. Get him to where he can stop buying meals that come in a box, and just buy the ingredients for them instead.

We got to talking some. He noted my skill and comfort in the kitchen, and asked why I wasn't doing this for a living.

"Working in a restaurant? Eh, I've been there and done that. All kitchens are is just a bunch of douchey tattooed man-children sweating and swearing and pulling their cocks out for laughs. I kind of outgrew it."

He nearly choked on his wine from laughing when I said that. "I had no idea you had such a mouth on you!"

"Oh, sweetie I've been around!" I said, consciously more feminine language. "I may look pretty and delicate but I'm a tough cookie inside."

"Yeah? Are you secretly one of those tattooed sweaty guys inside?"

I grinned wide. "Oh, totally. That's me all over," I said in a tone that maybe sounded like a joke. I think I might have been blushing. Might have been the wine.

I switched the topic. We talked about his work, and his kids - why they live with their grandparents much of the time and not him. With some shame he admitted he didn't feel comfortable being a single parent, and wanted his kids to have a more stable upbringing.

I didn't ask, but he explained this much about his ex: "She got in some trouble a few years back, and the court had to... well, it's an ongoing issue."

We ate, and again he raved at the quality of this very basic meal. "You sure you don't want to get back into the food biz? Maybe open your own place?"

"I don't think so," I said, "Like, that just seems like another way to get me in a room with those guys I was describing earlier. The amount of work, money, sweat... hell, I don't even have the education necessary to be a chef."

"Don't you work for a catering company on the side? Why not start your own?"

"Yeah, that's more my speed, but I never thought about going into business for myself or anything."

"Why not? All you'd need is some investment money."

"Right, all those millions I have socked away under my mattress," I sighed.

"Well, I'm enjoying your work tonight," he said with a smile.

I told him this was nothing - wait until I make him some buttermilk friend chicken, with Hushpuppies.

"Oh, is this going to be a whole regular thing?" he said.

"If you want it to be," I said, trying to ease off the gas a little if that was what he was feeling.

"No, it's cool, very cool..." then he got a little distant. Like he was trying to work up the nerve to say something. It didn't feel impossible he was trying to work out a way to kiss me. I thought about lunging forward, but I... was very mindful of seeming to eager.

But he was being such a gentleman, really charming and warm, it only solidified the feelings I'd been having, and strengthened my resolve to pursue this.

He killed the bottle of wine between both out glasses. We moved over to the couch.

I decided to take a liberty and laid back and propped my feet on his lap. "Do you mind?" I asked, "I've been on my feet all day, and my back is killing."

"Really... back problems already? You're what, 25?"

"Oh, yeah," I said, "It's these things." I cupped my boobs. For a second he looked nervous like he didn't know where to put his eyes. I told him he could look - I know they're there.

"They're a pain in the ass," I said, really just venting off the cuff and barely realizing I was now openly discussing my boobs with this guy. "Ever since I got them. I've thought about getting them reduced but..."

"But what? Money again?"

"No," I said, thinking of the gift I got from the former Valerie back at Christmas. "I could swing that. It's just... they're a part of me. It's hard to explain. I hate them, but I... I'm not sure I'd still be who I am without them."

"That's ridiculous," he smirked. "You're more than a pair of..."

"I... really can't explain. I have a very complicated relationship with my body. The idea of doing something to change it like that is both... very easy, and very hard to contemplate."

What I as trying to say was, part of me wants to keep this body as close to how I found it as I can, and that includes the massive boobs, as much of a hindrance as they are. Objectively, it really only makes sense to go down several sizes. But I worry about losing touch with my conception of who I am as Valerie.

A weird silence hung in the air as we both tried to reckon with the fact that I had just stirred up a conversation about my breasts. I felt like maybe I was getting a bit drunk.

"Listen, I really appreciate this," he said tentatively. I could sort of read where he was going, but I stayed quiet in hopes I was wrong. "I should be up front. I didn't mean for things to go too far here, I didn't even realize... I mean, if you were expecting this to be something else, besides... well..."

He hesitated. I finished his thought for him. "This isn't a date."

He shook his head.

"You don't... feel that way toward me."

He stayed still.

"Val, you're really lovely, but I'm not in a place to pursue something like that right now."

"What does that mean?" I said flatly, trying real hard not to let my growing disappointment - and anger - show.

"I have some serious baggage. I'm not the man for you. I really need you to know that - it's me."

"I have baggage too," I insisted. "I have been through shit that, no disrespect, you couldn't even fathom. I mean that."

"Why, because your ex cheated on you? I don't mean to minimize that, but..."

"Bud, that's the least of it."

I was getting very upset that I couldn't play the 'I had my body stolen years ago ad had to learn to like being a woman - basically to get to this' card.

He took a breath.

"It's really not you. You're great. And you deserve a great guy. Ever since things went down with my wife, I... oh God, this is really hard to say, okay, so please, please bear with me...

"...I have completely lost interest in sex and relationships."

I looked at him probably very suspiciously. "You what?"

"I just don't want that anymore. None of it. I don't feel that way about anybody. I'm in therapy, and I don't know, maybe with some work I can learn to feel that way again, but... trust me, being with someone like me is the last thing a young person like you deserves."

I honestly didn't know how to take that.

I was still mad at the rejection even though it had nothing to do with me. I was hurt, confused. It was hard to process, and yet in the days since I have been able to understand it a bit better... after all, I've dealt with my own desires changing away from what I used to want, what I still wanted-to-want, to what my body, and my heart, really does seem to want. So why couldn't it go the same, in a different direction?

But in that moment I really didn't know what to say, so I finished my drink and shook his hand and offered an awkward hug, and called for a ride.

I was so upset. For days. And I couldn't even be mad at him without feeling guilty, because it's not his fault. But part of me did take it personally, did resent all of that, and was mad at him, and at myself for getting so invested in the possibility that someone so good would be interested in me. I've made my peace with it, but in that moment I sure felt like an idiot who worked too hard to make herself pretty.

Part of me still suspects it's a lie, even if the idea of a man lying to not have sex with a much younger woman seems absurd when you say it out loud.

In the end, I reached out to tell him it was fine, and I could be his friend and teach him to cook for his daughters and anything else he needed. And I felt like I meant it, but I'd be lying if I said my feelings for him completely dissipated.

-Val

Valerie: My Friend

It began innocently enough.

I was having a rough day. One of those hot, sweaty, fast-paced, never-ending, "What am I even doing in a coffee shop in Brooklyn in the body of Valerie Stewart" kind of days. Everything was frustrating, needlessly aggressive customers, snide "real housewives" types, leering college boys... just everything that cold be thrown at me.

Then my saving grace. At 2:30 PM, almost right on cue, in walks Kevin, aka Silvertop. He gets his coffee, gives me his usual nod, and goes over to his usual seat by the window to read.

We hadn't talked much since I ran into him a few months ago at a competing coffee shop and had a really nice conversation. Just chitchat in passing - he keeps to himself, and I am usually pretty swamped.

Today, I needed to vent, and there was no Maddie or anyone around that I felt like I could. So I made like I had to go wipe down some tables and approached.

"Hey - mind if I sit?"

He looked up from his book - one of those weird nonfiction things he likes reading - and first seemed surprised and maybe a little confused, but he gestured in a friendly way.

We got to talking again, I started to go off on what was bugging me about my job and my life, and I got a few minutes in when he raised a finger. "Hold on, I just want to be clear on something. This is one of those conversations where you just want someone to hear you out, isn't it? You don't actually want me to try to offer any solutions, right?"

I smiled. "You've been married."

"Long time ago, yeah," he said bashfully.

I went on and on and honestly I don't even remember what I was annoyed about that day, but the underlying theme is that sometimes it sucks being Valerie the Coffee Girl.

The next time I saw him, he asked how I was, and I said fine, and he eased me for giving a generic answer, so I elaborated on some things that were not fine.

The time after that, I must have gotten him talking about his life - about being a divorced father of two, a small business owner, just generally getting his perspective on things. I'm always wary not to take up too much of his time, because he's reading all these books because he enjoys them, not because he's waiting for someone to talk to, but he still lets me chat him up for ten or fifteen minutes during my shift.

And then somewhere along the way we became friends.

I had already kind of looked forward to seeing him, just because it was nice to see a friendly face. And then when we start talking, I thought, it's nice to have a guy to talk to - as much as I enjoy inhabiting the world of women, there are ways that I still feel excluded, where I feel like I have to fake it, where having the complete matching set does not make me a true woman underneath.

But to Kevin, I'm... I don't know. A nice younger woman, someone to keep him company. I gave him my phone number and told him he could text me if he wanted to, and the second I did that I thought, "Oh, shit... what am I hoping to get out of this?"

I mean, I really screwed myself up a little bit. Without realizing it I had developed like, a really serious crush on this guy. And it's so weird, because yeah, I've crushed on guys before - specifically Ryan, but if we're being honest it goes back to Josh and even, way way back, things I didn't want to let myself feel for Phil when I was Lauren. But it's different because this guy is... well,  different.

He's older than my real self, he's experienced, he's smart and funny. He has kids! It's weird that I should find myself interested in him and entertaining the notion that he might be interested in me!

I'm trying to play it cool - honestly I'm trying to completely pack it away, because he hasn't really indicated that he thinks of me that way, and I feel silly getting my hopes up.

But during our texts he mentioned oh, I have my daughters on weekends and they're getting really tired of chicken fingers and spaghetti. I reminded him that I cater sometimes and have a few cooking tips and tricks up my sleeve... any interest in learning some of my techniques?

He said sure and asked if I was free Thursday night.

I am.

It...  it feels like a date, right? This is suspiciously datey.

I couldn't believe it. I wasn't even sure I wanted to do anything, it just fell out of me, and when it was out, I only halfway wished I could take it back. It just felt weird, because I haven't ever really pursued a guy this way. As Valerie I am so accustomed to being pursued that it never occurred to me that I might like someone enough to make the moves on them.

It's almost annoying that I have been the one to push for him - like, hello, can you not see what's in front of you? But that might be what's so appealing to me. The idea that he might be a little immune to my looks. I like that.

I... am very nervous. Surprisingly so. I don't know what's coming next. At least I have a few days to figure out what to wear...

-Valerie

Valerie: Coffee Chat

A while back I had a day to myself. I was out running errands - stopping off at the CVS for snack food etc - and found myself at the coffee place not far from work. I often go there for off-hours coffee since I don't like to go in to work on my day off, and I find it hard to relax in there.


I was getting my Americano when who should I spot but Kevin, aka Silvertop, who had stopped coming into our place not long after he "defended me" against some douche who told me to smile.


"So," I said, "Here's where you've been hiding."


He put down his book, something called The Secret Wisdom of Nature, and looked up at me. I could read the embarrassment on his face. "Oh... hi."


"So, what, did I scare you off?


"A little bit, yeah," he winced at the memory.


"Well, it's safe, if you ever want to come back. My co-workers all unanimously told me I blew it out of proportion. You meant well."


"Thanks," he smiled.


"I'm a little bit touchy," I went on - God only knows why. "About people knowing what's best for me. Men in particular, but anybody."

"You have a right to," he nodded and gave a forgiving smile. "I'm guessing a lot of people have presumed to know what's best for you."


"A lot of people presume a lot of things," I said, with a slight laugh, although any semblance of a joke was lost on him. I sat down even though he didn't offer me a seat - I pretty much always assume men want my company nowadays, but I rarely take them up on it.


"People see me as something that I'm not inside. Helpless. Vulnerable. In need of protection."


"I can see how that must be frustrating," he said. "I... should let you know I have my own issues. I have three daughters and seeing a woman get treated the way you do sometimes gets under my skin. I felt like I was going to explode if I saw one more guy talk to you that way."


I bit my lip. Sometimes I forget other people have issues too but this was not long after my conversation with Ariel.


I raised an eyebrow, "So if you had sons, you wouldn't notice how men treat women?"


He exhaled, again, embarrassed. "I... can't say. I can't imagine not having my girls. I'd like to think I'd be sensitive and mature if I had sons too, but the last time I didn't have a daughter, I was a dumbass in my 20's."


I looked at his finger almost as a reflex - no ring. I didn't ask.


"Life... is not easy." I started to say, clearly just rambling at this point, "And I would like to say I had a better coping mechanism than just being numb but apparently it leads to losing my temper on well meaning customers and scaring them off. Sorry again."


We talked a bit longer. He told me about his home business as a recruiter, which is why he can spend hours at coffee shops reading in the middle of the day. He said he had heard some gossip about me, that I'd been left at the altar or something, and that always made him pay attention to me, to see if I let it show, bit I never did.


"That..." I said, almost with a smile, "Was a little like it happened to someone else. Something I heard about but didn't live. But I definitely did, and it was even harder than I thought it would be."


"You really can't prepare for something like that," he said with the tone of someone who knows. He added, "The blaming yourself is the worst part. It takes years to realize that the problem isn't with you but with them. I made excuses for my ex for a long time, I don't even know why. I can't blame you for just... amputating it."

I smiled. I felt understood for the first time in a while. "Amputate. That's a good word for it. God, I can't believe I'm spilling my guts to you," I said, once I realized the conversation had lasted over an hour.


"I thought I was the one spilling," he said.


"We both spilled," I noted. He chuckled.


There was a pause. I thought he was going to say something  but he didn't.

I stood. "Well, if you want a decent cup sometime - no offense to this place - you're welcome back at my shop. First one's on me."


"I appreciate it," he said with a smile.


I left another pause in the air. Still nothing happened.


"They... we... miss you. Take care," I backed away and left.

Once outside, I glimpsed my reflection in a window. I looked like a total mess, since I hadn't taken any care with my appearance before leaving since I didn't plan on being out long. I straightened my hair, and adjusted a bra strap that had fallen during the course of the conversation, but I had been too self conscious to address during the conversation. After checking to make sure nobody was around, I dug into my cleavage to brush out some crumbs that had fallen in and itched me for the better part of the morning.

Then of course I realized he could probably see me through the window, although if he did he didn't let it show. I hurried on home after that.


-Tyler/Valerie

Tyler/Valerie: Smile

I have I can't tell you how many interactions with people all day behind the counter of the coffee shop. They complain to me about the quality of our baked goods, about the weather, about it being Monday. They might make some remark they really think I'll like, or be bold enough to make a remark that could be construed as flirty. For the most part I try to keep a politely neutral expression on my face. One that says, I may not be thrilled to be here and I'm really not here to make friends, but I'm not going to bite your head off. Wecan talk for the five seconds it takes to foam a latte, whatever.

Some people are better at service than I am. Maddie is a perky burst of energy. Rafe can be chummy and bro-y at the drop of a hat. The new kid, Devin, is very upbeat. I'm personally not so good at hiding my real feelings.

You would think - being a transformed person, who has lived other peoples lives for years, faking things comes naturally. But maybe that's actually why I am so averse to it. I want my inner self to come through. And if she's a little blah most days, it's not without reason.

I at least know I am providing my best service whether I'm smiling or not. Me putting on a false face, I have to believe, doesn't improve my customer's lives for eve the 30 seconds we are face to face.

When I have something to smile about, I smile. Some days I come in in a good mood, some days Maddie and I have danceoffs (she wins - I just awkwardly shuffle my body like any rhythmless former-guy with ungainly boobs.) You know, whatever. I smile when I'm happy.

You know what I'm getting at here. The number of times I've had some guy say I should be smiling - and it's always a guy - I can't count. To this day I have no set response to it. Usually, if I think I can get away with it, I just don't react. If I'm lucky I can brush it off and go to the next customer. I've had one or two guys get indignant when I've taken this approach and hiss at me about what poor service I'm giving. Sometimes I play dumb, like I didn't hear them and see if I can get them to feel embarrassed. Sometimes I even will myself to flash a smile, but I always feel disgusted with myself afterward.

Universally, it makes me feel gross. I was a man, and I know not every many goes around saying stuff like that, but it doesn't really make me feel great about the totality of my former gender to see how widespread it is. Or to feel how small and powerless and objectified it makes me feel. Being leered at is one thing - I'm worth looking at, and it doesn't inconvenience me too badly. But to be latched onto by men who want to "see me smile" just feels so sinister and wrong and makes me feel like they see me as "less." It's a reminder that to a lot of them I am less - a target, a prize, than a human to be engaged with.

Yesterday, when it happened, I tried my usual brushoff. I wasn't having a good day. My hair was being uncooperative, I was feeling certain physical ailments I never dealt with before being a woman, I was just annoyed at the world. So when this guy drops his change into the tip jar - a whopping 15 cents - and I don't smile and say thank you, he gives me this glare, and says, "Hey, not even a smile? What's the matter with you?"

I could have gone into a whole thing, but instead I gave him the fake smile, and said, "Oh, thanks." He was big and bald and honestly looked like he would take a swing at me even thought I'm five-foot nothing and female. I was too scared to try anything but go along. It's one of the worst feelings that comes along with this life.

He reluctantly accepts this, muttering under his breath as he walks away with his coffee to go sit down.

So here's where it gets screwy. We have this regular - Kevin. We call him Silvertop because he's a  little older, prematurely grey, handsome like Anderson Cooper. Well, more salt-and-pepper but whatever. He comes in every day, reads for an hour or so, then leaves quietly. I like him, generally.

He gets up and he goes over to the guy. "Excuse me," he says, "Did you just tell her to smile?"

"None of your business, pal," says the guy, who looks like he would wreck silvertop in a fight.

"That's just incredibly rude," Kevin goes on to say, "You can't just say shit like that to random women. It's 2019, pal."

"Step off," growls the other guy.

Kevin won't relent. "I'm just saying, you don't know her story. Who's to say she's got anything to smile about, just because some stranger threw a quarter her way? Why don't you think about other people for a change?"

Big Guy stands up like he's going to start a fight, but to his credit, he just leaves the shop, staring daggers at Kevin the whole way. I'm watching this unfold and I'm feeling... angry.

"Hey," I say sharply.

"Yeah?" Kevin answers back.

"Don't do that."

He looks at me for a while, then asks, "I was just trying to..."

"Well, I didn't want you to, okay. I don't need you to swoop in and tongue-lash every asshole who comes in here. Have you seen this city? That's how you get stabbed."

He looked like he was going to defend himself a bit more, but then he caught himself. "My mistake, I'm sorry."

Then he sits back down and goes back to his book.

I spent the rest of the day in a huff. I told Maddie about it, but she didn't see the big deal - she'd love to have some guy defending her, especially someone like Silvertop.

"It just feels like two sides of the same coin," I said, "The first guy thought I owed him a smile. The second wanted to seem like a hero for rescuing me."

"He was just being nice!" Maddie protested.

Charli got it better, which I guess befits her background. Not that she's a manhater per se but she's even more wary of them than I am.

Still, I spent the rest of the night first wondering if I was too harsh, then getting re-annoyed with myself for thinking I could be too harsh. It's been a while since I've mentioned it but my "natural speaking voice" in this body is like an animated kitten. Even when I work to lower my register I still sound pretty cutesy. It's annoying.

I did wonder whether I should apologize. He has always seemed like a nice enough guy, quiet, keeps to himself, his intentions were good enough. Maybe I had a valid reason but there's also a ton of baggage I bring to situations like these.

The next day when he came in, he gave his order. I gave him a smile to try to convey... an apology? The idea I might have been wrong without fully admitting it?

"I'm sorry again about yesterday" he said unprompted. "It was presumptuous of me to step in. Way out of line."

"Yeah, well" I said steeling myself to give a rare apology, "I shouldn't have jumped down your throat. I was really just... misplaced anger and stuff. Really, it was a decent gesture."

"Well, I was chastened," he said, "And you spoke your mind. I respect the hell out of that, even if I'm on the other end of it."

I appreciated him saying that.

I have to admit, the unwanted attention this body beings frustrates the hell out of me, because I can't seem to turn it off. It's one thing to doll up and draw attention to yourself, but when you don't feel comfortsble standing around looking plain and average because guys think you should be happy and perky and perfectly groomed at all times, it wears on you, makes you resent life. Ironically, it doesn't make me want to go back to being a man - it makes me want to be a better woman.

--Val

Tyler/Lauren: Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving was a long day. I wasn't looking forward to it, because Meg couldn't be there, and she's generally my saving grace at these big family functions: she and Wade decided to spend the holiday with his family, given they tend to spend more time with hers. We tend to cling to each other like live preservers in these situations, but I guess we're still here for a while yet, these situations are bound to come up. Besides, I figured, my life has such a high level of background awkwardness I didn't think it could get that intolerable.

It began the night before when Susan told me to lay out a nice outfit. Now, it's true early on in this gig I "girled up" pretty well, to the point of doing that pageant... I was following this impulse to "be" Lauren as best I could, but it exhausted me by the end of the summer and since the beginning of the semester I have been getting more and more accustomed to just not giving a shit about my appearance, from wearing clothes that clearly weren't meant to go together, looking frumpy and un-made-up, and generally not doing anything noteworthy with my hair besides a bun or a ponytail. It was easy and fine to get by with for the duration of the play, when I was working as a stagehand and functionality was a plus, and it had the side-bonus of acting as a shield against guys who might think, if I paid too much attention to my appearance, that it was for their benefit.

(The exception being Mark, who, bless his soul, was seemingly more attracted to my personality... poor kid.)

But okay. I'm making concessions to this family gathering thing, so I can slip on a pair of tights and a dress. Now granted, I don't really understand dresses where the zipper is in the back and you literally need someone else in the room to zip you up, but Kylie helped me out with that. As I mentioned a while ago, I think, Kylie and I have been sharing a room, because Sue and Paul realized that she and her twin brother were getting to the age where one would be menstruating and one would be masturbating and they had to put space between them. I suggested Paul could renovate the basement to the point where I could use it as a room, and it looks like he's been considering it.

We drove about 40 minutes out to an imposing house where we've had a few Sunday dinners since I've been here. I dunno if Paul comes from money or if it's just my upbringing that makes me think these people had quite a bit in the bank.

So I'm there, looking like a floral-clad loser, at the home of these relatives who not only do I barely know, but I don't think Lauren really knows, because again they're Paul's side of the family, where his parents and siblings were hosting the day. I shook a few hands and listened to a few anecdotes, then quietly slipped away. I found an unused bedroom to sit quietly and read the book I brought, Catch-22, which I'm reading for English class.

After about twenty minutes I see the door open and a familiar face poke in. Phil, the nephew of Paul's that I met back during our trip to Erie. And I should mention that at this point, I was so irritated by my clothes that I had actually stripped down and gotten under the covers, figuring - really stupidly - that I could just stay there for a little bit without anyone noticing, then quickly dress myself when it was time for dinner. You'll remember that this is a stupid plan, because I was wearing a dress I just explained that I needed help getting into.

So imagine a simultaneous high-pitched scream of terror, and a gruff male shout of "holy shit!" upon seeing a relatively pretty blonde girl (who is not biologically related) with the covers just pulled up to her armpits.

I threw my book at him and wrapped myself in blankets: "Get out, get out!"

"What the fuck are you doing?" He said, standing against the door with his eyes covered instead of leaving like I asked.

"Reading!" I said, reaching over for my bra. "What are you doing in here?"

"I left my phone in here," he said, gesturing over to a bag of luggage in the corner. "Jesus, what is seriously wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" I said, slipping my dress on, "I was uncomfortable in my dress, so I thought I'd... damnit, forget it. Okay, I need you to do me a favour right now. Keep your eyes closed, but... ugh... can you zip my dress up?"

He was confused, but he obliged, fumbling around my lower back for the zipper (shudder) for a moment. I could tell he was taking his sweet time, too. And then once I was satisfied that all un-seeable parts of me were covered, I let him open his eyes.

"Okay, I am really embarrassed, please tell nobody what you saw."

"Sure, sure," he said, "But the last time we met you were in a bikini, so I'm not sure how this is any different."

I gritted my teeth: there was a difference, but I wasn't really in any place to complain because the whole embarrassing situation was my own doing, and I was right beside myself. "I dunno what I was thinking," I said, trying to force a laugh about it, "I just wanted to get comfortable, y'know?"

"So that's how you get comfy? Get naked at family Thanksgiving?"

"Not usually," I said, "I kinda just wanted to forget people were out there? Like, I don't do well in these situations lately, and I got carried away. It made sense when I started."

"So you were hiding," he said, "And you figured as long as you were hiding, you'd strip down for a minute."

"Yeah, it's... ironically I was more comfortable, at least for the moment."

"Well, now I want to hide," he said.

"No way, man!" I said, "They're your family."

"Your family too!" he was quick to retort. "Your mom's been married to my uncle for what, ten years?"

"More," I scowled, although I couldn't in the moment remember how much more.

"Dinner's still an hour away, and I just can't have any more conversations about my first year at college," he said, "So we're either hiding together, or I'm telling everyone what I saw."

I stared him down. He didn't seem to be bluffing.

"All right," I said, "But I'm really trying to read here so don't distract me."

"Whatever," he said, putting some headphones on "Can I sit on the bed at least?"

I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

And then we just sat there for an hour, quietly, and it was... kinda nice. The first time I met Phil, I thought he was a loudmouth wannabe player who couldn't stop hitting on me. Here he had the upper hand and decided to play nice.

Don't get me wrong, I saw him shift his eyes over to me every so often so it wasn't hard to imagine what he was thinking (I'm literally the only person there not related to him, I'm in his age range, I'm technically "available" and he'd seen most of my body.) So there was still this unshakeable feeling of grossness... which kept flashing through my mind over dinner... I think we covered fine but there seemed to be some murmurs of "Oh Lauren and Phil seemed to be getting along." But hey, what's Thanksgiving without some family awkwardness?

I was lucky in the sense that, as an outsider to the family and a teenager, people are keen to give me space as compared to Kylie and Kevin or some of the other extended relations. I got to enjoy a fairly nice Thanksgiving meal in more or less peace, occasionally thinking back to the Thanksgivings of my youth which were nowhere near this done up and certainly didn't have this many in attendance. Besides all the chaos, it's actually kind of nice to be surrounded by people at times. They're not bad, I'm just within my rights to be bitter about it. The food was good, and I ate as much of it as I could (I'm still grappling with the fact that my eyes are bigger than Lauren's stomach, but we're slowly coming into sync on that.)

After dinner, Phil and I kind of rescued each other from having to put up with prying relatives. I had had enough of my book so we ended up having a talk. He mentioned college not being as exciting as he imagined - a lot of work and not much social life. But he was hoping to become a lawyer and maybe even a politician, so hard work was his lot. I didn't peg him as the ambitious type, but it made a certain kinda sense given his occasionally belligerent personality, especially when we first met.

He mentioned I seemed very distant compared to the outgoing girl everyone seemed to think I was. I gave my stock answer that I was "Finding myself," and mentioned doing the backstage work at the play. That made him scoff: "not a lot of money in that." I told him not everything was about money. He put his hand on my knee and told me I was being naive.

I froze.

His fucking hand. Was on. My fucking knee.

I could see him start to lean in. There was a moment where I could have moved, could have said something, but instead I froze and let it happen. He pressed his lips to mine.

I let them linger for a second and just as he started to increase the pressure from a peck to a full-on French or whatever, I moved away.

My heart was beating fast. My face was flushed with embarrassment. It's easy to imagine what it looked like, a 19-or-so year-old boy planting a harmless kiss on a 17-year-old girl, but remember in reality that boy was kissing a grown man of 30.

"No," I said after it was done. His hand was still on my knee. In fact it was moving up the hem of my dress. I wanted to snap that hand off at the wrist. Despite his size and strength advantage I think I might have been able to do it, too.

"Why not?" he asked, somehow offended, "I thought we were--"

"There's a lot of reasons," I said, "And I'm sorry you got the wrong idea."

I stood and made some distance between us. He stood too - I noticed the distinct bulge in his pants, not that I begrudge him that. He was between me and the door.

I shuffled around the bed.

"Phil," I said in the deepest, most intimidating voice I could muster (which was not very much) "What happens in the next 30 seconds is going to determine exactly what kind of guy you are."

I reached for the door knob. He rocked on his heel for a second as if he was seriously unsure if he was going to let me leave. But he did move away. He asked "Is it because of, like, the family?"

"No," I said with a heavy sigh, "There's more to it than that."

He shrugged like he didn't see my point but was letting me have it anyway. "I put my number in your phone," he said. I just said "Okay" in response because I really did not know what to think about that. As soon as I was out of the room, I marched down the hallway and looked myself in the mirror. A light trace of tears could be seen on my cheeks, I dabbed them away. "Don't," I tried to command myself. Don't what exactly, I am not sure.

The rest of the evening didn't last too long. On the car ride home I kept re-playing the scene in my mind. I wondered what part I played in that little moment. Yes, I had been getting along with him, and maybe there was an undertone of (ugh) flirtatiousness to it. Whatever part of me has been transformed, wherever my interests lie, I have the right to excuse myself from those situations. The logical part of my brain tried to settle me down: "I let it happen, then I stopped it as soon as I felt it was wrong." It should be a clean-cut issue. But there's more to it, isn't there... I just felt, and feel, so sick about it.

When I got home, I looked through my contacts and sure enough, there was Phil. I scrolled past that, though, to "Tasha," and typed in "Hey, how was your Turkey Day?" putting on as much of a chipper facade as I could.

Tyler/Lauren: Back to school, but I don't have to like it.

You should have heard the argument I had with Lauren's parents when I suggested I drop out of school.

Obviously they weren't going to see it from my perspective. They don't know their little girl isn't at home right now. They don't know what I'm going through for her sake. It was bad enough I let myself get coaxed into that pageant misadventure, spending another year going through the paces at high school helps nobody. I sure as hell don't think I need to learn anything, and I can't exactly transplant all the knowledge Lauren is supposed to be gaining into her head. All it accomplishes is a year of headaches for me, and it leaves Lauren educationally behind when and if she gets her proper place back. Strictly speaking, the smartest thing for me to do is to stop going to school, work, and let Lauren take the appropriate steps to get her future back on track next fall, hopefully.

But of course, when a 17-year-old girl, who is bright but maybe not focussed - especially since she's expressed erratic behavior in the last few months - sits her parents down and says "I want to stop going to school" it comes off as selfish, short-sighted, lazy, and dumb. Paul, in particular, read me the riot act, callously screaming every epithet he could think of to tell me he thought I was becoming a snotty, entitled brat with a bad attitude who thinks the world revolves around her.

Now, they can't stop me from skipping classes. They can't force me to pass. But I'm an honorable man. I wanted to do this on the up-and-up. That way lies trouble and stupid unnecessary bullshit.

So I found a third option. I reorganized Lauren's class schedule, to de-emphasize academics, and fill it with, for lack of a better word... fluff. Instead of Bio and Calculus, I'll be taking Hospitality - cooking classes, basically. I also picked up something called "Leadership," where I help out younger classes. I kept Gym and, because I can't drop every class with academic value, English. Next semester will have things like History and Government... dry stuff, but I think I'll be able to re-organize that.

So, school's been on for a few weeks now, and if you're looking for hilarious tales of mishaps and faux pas, you can scroll back to the beginning of my time here. It was only two months since I last took classes there, I know the building, I am familiar enough with the people. I can talk more later about the classes themselves later, but so far the schedule change is having the desired effect. Sometimes, this course load is downright fun, (it was especially nice having the Hospitality teacher, Mr. Danes, compliment my knife skills. Which should be pretty good, since I've worked in kitchens before.)

But what's really on my mind has nothing to do with school, and has everything to do with the fact that as a 17-year-old, you have almost zero say in what happens in your life.

Because as of this month, I have a roommate. Kylie was moved into my room, because in Susan's words, "She's growing into a young woman, and she's getting to the age where you can't force her to share a room with her twin brother."

I just about blew a gasket. When Paul and Sue went off on me for wanting to drop out, I sat there and took it, because I knew they had the high ground. I had no argument besides "This is what I want to do, and by the way I'm a 31-year-old man." In this case, it made my blood boil. In this fishbowl of an existence I lead, I have exactly one room in the house where I can escape the prying eyes of a family who expects me to be their little girl, one place that I can designate "Tyler's Zone," even if I had to take down the One Direction posters, and it's Lauren's clothes in the dresser. If, for whatever reason, I'm having a crappy day (perish the thought) I can stomp up to my room, flop down on the bed, and scream into that pillow that carries the scent of probably too much strawberry-scented shampoo. It's my one private lair, where I keep my own secrets as well as Lauren's.

And I feel for Kylie, because she's almost 12, and getting to that age, too, where she is going to need a lair of her own. She's already got the moody, pissy adolescent attitude. But she's also very much just a kid, and having her around is just... a nuisance.

Instead of attacking the situation with reason and logic, I ended up succumbing to my image and the image they have of me, screaming and bitching about how I need my space, and how nothing's mine, and I have no rights... stuff that is all true, but also sounds like the cliche'd arguments of a needy, pissy, bratty teenage girl. I threw a tantrum. If it was someone else, and I had to listen, I probably would have said "Woah, girl, knock it off, nobody's going to take you seriously." But no, I flew off the handle.

When I finally calmed down, I offered another solution: "Hey, so, we've got a basement we're not doing much with... why don't we convert that into a bedroom, and I can live down there?" That sounds like a win-win.

So of course, Paul has a stable of reasons why not: no money to do it, no time for a DIY project, (and not to mention no skills.) The verdict, as I was emphatically told, is that it just wasn't worthwhile to build me a room down there. Honestly, the place looks like someone started finishing it years ago and then gave up halfway through, and whatever it needs would almost be within my limited handyman skills. Okay, maybe I'm giving myself too much credit. I helped someone drywall one time. But shit, I would gladly spend the year in the drafty basement we have right now, rather than rooming with an 11-year-old.

So this all has been building up over the course of a couple of weeks - some of which was simultaneous with the stupid pageant thing, and I wasn't sure how much of it I wanted to talk about. It just goes to show how many different things can happen at once once you start having to take on someone else's problems. It all just kind of hits me how nothing I can possibly say gets taken seriously. The curse of this body, such as it is, is really starting to hit me hard, in unexpected (but not surprising) ways.

Tyler/Lauren: Status quo

I don't know why, but I figured I would be the "newbie" on this little blog for at least a while, since it doesn't seem like that many people who stay at the Inn, overall, find it (or bother, if they do.) I told Carrie she could contribute if she liked, but she's not much of a writer. As to those who have recently joined "the club" I don't have much in the way of advice, or even comfort. But, uh, good luck I guess?

(Fact about me: I am bad with sympathy/feelings, just ask anyone who's seen me at a funeral.)

I want to write a lot, but I find myself stuck on the fact that nothing is happening, besides the constant background noise of the family, and Lauren's friends constantly sending her pointless texts that I am obligated to answer back. This generation, I swear, if they can't constantly be in touch with each other they don't know where they are. It's affecting me, too: I'm constantly checking the phone to see if I missed something. Besides that, I think that if I didn't look the way I do, this would almost be a dream existence: all this free time and no responsibility, no job, nobody to look out for. Instead, I'm facing boredom bordering on depression.

Lauren's friends have provided a surrogate entertainment system for me. I've dropped into their lives like one might a soap opera (do those still exist?) It's confusing at first, but once you get to know the characters you become intrigued by their lives. I'm making little diagrams, with Lauren's help, of who's dating who, who dated in the past, who she's on good terms with, who she hates (publicly and privately) who hates her (publicly and assumed) etc etc. Add Seann to that list, who has repeatedly posted the word "whore" on her Facebook wall (although the first time it was "hoar." So there's that.) I find it a little sad that I find this somehow more stimulating than studying for hours on end. I promise not to bore you with the details unless they somehow become relevant. (I mean, what's relevant anymore? Or irrelevant, for that matter?)

More important is what I know about the family. Lauren's mother Susan was married to Paul Sherman for only two years or so - it would seem to be a shotgun wedding, if I've got the timeline right. He moved around a lot, and kept only barely in touch while Susan raised the kid on her own. Sometime later she met Albert Blanchard, who already had a daughter named Tasha  (b. 1992) and was either already divorced, or getting divorced, or maybe still married, Lauren didn't seem to know the full story, and I don't blame her. Tasha and Lauren did grow up together a little bit, because Tasha's mother briefly lost custody to Albert while she was unemployed. Then Tasha turned 18 and moved out on her own.

Susan doesn't really like Tasha, Albert is pretty distant toward Lauren. I think they reckon since she's almost done high school and they've got these other two kids about to hit puberty they can leave Lauren to her own devices... or at least palm her off on her big stepsister. That don't mean they ain't keeping tabs on her - I can't hardly leave the house without them asking where I'll be and who with.

They're not poor - Lauren gets an exorbitant allowance compared to what I got when I was that age (I had an afterschool job, Lauren seems barred from getting one) - but they're not thriving as a one-point-five income family with three mouths to feed, in a bad economy... part of the shrinking middle class, as Meghan pointed out to me.

Susan works part-time as a maid, which counter-intuitively seems to explain why the house isn't overly clean: she doesn't bring her work home with her. She looks permanently exhausted, with bags under her eyes and probably a bit prematurely aged, only in her early 40s but looking a decade older. Albert's a skinny guy who is probably about my old height, and bald except on the sides. He manages a fried chicken place (hello Breaking Bad?) so he's the breadwinner, and brings work home a few nights a week. This is infinitely preferable to Susan's cooking, no offense to her: it's a lot of mac & cheese, hamburger helper, meatloaf... basic meals that remind me of the less pleasant parts of my youth.

I'd kill for a pizza. But anyway, Lauren's constitution and appetite means I don't eat a ton of this stuff anyway. Lauren's skinny, and I know enough about teenage girls to guess why. I don't aim to make a ton of changes to her life, but I would like to get her healthy, enough so that it's not so easy to see her ribs. There's this frustrating clash between what I want to eat and what I can handle eating, which leads to an irritable Tyler.

In fact, speaking of my mood... I don't know, I find myself slightly more emotionally volatile than I am normally. Things that irritate me bother me, that I used to just shrug off as "the way of the world" suddenly strike me down in my core, and I find myself wanting to drop everything and hide in my room. I've become a literal teenager, probably due to swirling hormones mixed with the actual trauma and the fact that, well, there's a lot going on in this life to stress me out and trigger these little moments. I just chafe at being pulled this way and that by Lauren's social group, her family, and my own urge to fuck off and run away. Meghan might be satisfied to know I actually did break down and cry a few times in the last few weeks

Besides the parents, there's also the twins, 11-year-old Kylie and Kevin, running around. Kevin's a little brat (not my first choice of word either) always bringing his friends over and loudly playing XBox. Kid's got a mouth on him, let me tell you. Kylie's at gymnastics three nights a week, so I hardly even saw her until school got out. She's pretty well-behaved, except when she loses her cool, then she wails like a banshee.

She's also got some weird boundary issues. We were at the mall a few weeks ago, and she had me take her into a certain ladies apparel place, where she remarked that she hoped when she grew up she looked more like Tasha than Lauren. Then she puffed out her top with her hands to demonstrate what she meant.

Um... kay. I did not think girls thought much about that before it happened. But it's no different from my friends and I all comparing muscles and pit hair when we were that age (hint: we didn't have much. Yet.)

There's one other thing I've been doing... somewhat reluctantly, somewhat because I'm interested. Lauren was in singing lessons, on Thursday nights, and while I can't exactly pick up where she left off, something tells me Lauren was not that great of a student because nobody seemed all that alarmed by the warbling, self-conscious, off-key rendition of "Do Re Mi" I let off. Still, there are worse hobbies to pursue, I suppose. Beats gymnastics. And slightly easier to fake your way through.

That's pretty much the lowdown on my life, for now, the status quo as it is. When I can, I spend time with Meghan, although with her working nights and me in school there wasn't a lot of time for that until recently. I'll leave it to her to tell you about her life, because for all I know there's things she doesn't want to tell the internet.

I guess all this is my way of defensively wondering if it's a problem how settled I've gotten within a month. I referenced the "Lauren-shaped" dip in the bed, and I feel that's like a perfect metaphor for what's going on. How fucked up it is that this life is all set up for me, and it's not what I'm used to, and even more than a bit uncomfortable, but... it's shaped for me. For Lauren, who I happen to currently be.

Tyler/Lauren: Bare truths

The First Night

One thing I have to say about Lauren's room is that it was neat. It was a study in how many ways there are to store clothes, because there are two dressers, a loaded closet, shelves, a shoe rack, a cosmetic table, and bins that contain her winter clothes. The fact that she even differentiates between winter clothes and summer clothes boggles my mind. The only non-wearable possessions she seems to have are technology: a laptop and of course her phone. This girl seems to own no books, no CDs, no DVDs... although in a day and age where iTunes and Netflix are the norm, I can see why she wouldn't. People just don't own things anymore.

I haven't sorted through the entire wardrobe yet, having carved out a small number of items I feel comfortable wearing: t-shirts and pants. It's too hot for long sleeves, and this body seems to react to extreme heat something fierce. From what I've seen, most of Lauren's clothes are designed to free up as much skin as possible, highlighting her figure.

The overprotective brother in me thinks this is not okay, and girls that young shouldn't show off their bodies so much, but the part of me that is dying of heat exhaustion thinks it's fine. I wish there were some middle-ground between "loose, breathable summer clothes" and "modest coverage" for this girl. But there isn't: I'm looking at a summer in pairs of shorts that are smaller than what I used to wear for underwear.

When I first got here, I finally came to grips with the fact that three days of just living had made me grimy as hell. This issue was already lurking in the back of my mind from the time I read Lauren's letter, but I made efforts to rationalize it: I'm a caretaker of this body. I'm going to have to look sometimes, to touch.

The sliding door of her closet is a wall-sized mirror, so no matter where I go in the room, if I don't have my back to that wall I can see myself. Have to see myself. I walked close to look myself in the pretty blue eyes.

"Hi Lauren," I said to my reflection, "My name's Tyler, I'll be... you, for a while. Sorry about this."

Closing my eyes, I pulled my t-shirt over my head at the neck - I reckon sooner or later I'll get used to the extra drag created by my hair. Then I slipped my thumbs under the waist of my sweats and pushed them down to my ankles - beneath, I had actually been wearing a pair of my own jockey shorts, which slipped off on their own, being that there was enough room for two Laurens in there.

I clasped my arms around the delicate regions and pointed my eyes at the ceiling to open them. Slowly, slowly I brought them down until I was staring myself in the eye. Then I let my gaze scan from my reflection's bare feet up along my legs, crotch, torso, breasts, and neck until finally I was looking myself in the face again. Modestly, I cupped my breasts with my hands and, in a vain attempt to complete the coverage, tried to crook one leg over the other to guard my, er, lower half.

I know this has been my body for a few days, but I couldn't get over how frail and helpless I looked under my clothes. I started to shiver and shake.

You've never seen something so pretty looking so unpleasant.

I decided to focus on little details. The freckle above her lip, her perfectly straight, white teeth, the little intents where she has her ears pierced, the little crown of eyelashes encircling her baby blues. I tried to force my grimace into a pained smile. The girl looking back at me was pretty, but you could tell she was sad and not hiding it all that well.

I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and headed for the shower, which did not have the finest pressure I've ever felt, but I get it. I took my sweet time, rinsing my sweaty parts, hairless legs and underarms, behind my knees and ears, dumping loads of shampoo into my hair. I was trying so hard to be thorough and functional about it that I must have spent forty minutes in there before turning the knob off. I feel like someone should have checked to make sure I was still alive, but that's the benefit of being a teenage girl: nobody thinks twice if you're in the bathroom forever.

I made the mistake of trying to dry my hair in the washroom, which took way, way longer than I'm used to, which is when the door opened on me... and I met Lauren's 11-year-old half-brother Kevin.

So, I guess those locks on the bathroom are just decorative.

I stood there slack-jawed. I probably could have covered up better, because at that point I was still buck naked with a shower casually slung over my shoulder, not particularly covering anything. I could have shrieked at him for not knocking, pushed him out, done anything, but I guess I was still deep in self-absorption that I waited for him to back hurriedly out, after presumably getting way more of an eyeful of his sister than he ever expected.

Wet hair and all, I slumped back to "my" room to comb out the tangles. I changed into some pajamas, laid on my side and curled up into a ball, feeling like I could use a drink.

That's the moment I've been thinking of since I got here. Less than an hour in, I had already embarrassed myself and potentially traumatized a member of Lauren's family.

School

One of the first things I did after discerning what had happened to me and Meghan was to notify the real Lauren that we had "landed" so to speak in their bodies. This was accomplished by leaving her a lengthy, rambling, disoriented message swearing up and down that her life was in good hands, and then confessing it was probably odd to hear all this in her own voice and maybe it would be best to communicate through e-mails.

As it happened, she and her stepsister had wound up in the body of a couple from Austen, Texas - what's with people coming from all over to go to Maine? (Well, I guess I did.) So I guess making a visit is out of the question. As Alice Delacroix, she's supposed to be a personal chef, but is more suited for dishwashing. Her husband, Clay, aka Tasha, is an investor of some kind, which seems like a high pressure job, but I don't know what's needed to make a go at that.

She gave me the passwords to her various online accounts, and told me she would e-mail herself all the relevant homework she had been sent on vacation with, which she had special dispensation to turn in late. That was lucky, but that leaves the final exams for the year, which I have no idea how I'm going to tackle in her place. Cram hard, I suppose. Then, if I pass all those, I still have to live through her senior year.

So Tuesday morning, I woke up in my little Lauren-shaped divot in bed to the sound of an insistent knocking on the door. I slumped downstairs to find a busy breakfast scene, with Susan, her husband Albert, and the twins Kevin and Kylie, having a free-for-all. Susan looked at my ragged sleepclothes and immediately noticed something off: "Honey, you're usually up for hours by now, are you ok?"

I thought about telling them that no, I wasn't okay, but Lauren had missed plenty of school and it fell to me to sit in her place. I sucked it up and said I was just wiped after the vacay.

"Sounds like you've got a frog in your throat," Al piped up, commenting on my conscious attempts to grumble my way through having a girl's voice with a southern accent.

"It'll pass," I said, pouring myself some corn flakes, to the astonishment of the rest of the party.

"Since when did you eat breakfast?" Susan asked.

I shrugged. The old Lauren may have starved herself, but I don't intend to. I ate quickly, then dressed once again as grungily as I felt like I could get away with. To wit: I still didn't touch Lauren's underwear drawer.

I walked the kids to their school, which was on the way to mine, which I found only through the magic of GPS.

At 8:30, I made it to the doors of Eisenhower High. 12 minutes later I was 12 minutes late for Biology. Something about my first class in my newly de-aged now-female body being biology feels like it should be delightfully ironic instead of just sad.

After taking the only remaining seat and getting a strong talking-to from the teacher, I settled in for 40 of the boringest minutes of my recent existence.

And so it begins... more to come.