Matt asked me to move in with him over a month ago. I took my time answering him—I wanted to make a smart decision, rather than just getting caught up in my emotions. I’ve been fond of Matt for a while now, but ever since that night by the Charles River, when he told me he loved me, our relationship reached a whole another level. We became one of those sappy couples that everyone who is not in a happy relationship finds annoying.
“So have you made a decision? About moving in with me?” Matt and I were walking to the T into Boston. We were heading to the Common 19 Theater to see a movie. I had left him in suspense for days about my decision. I could tell by the sound of his voice he was getting a little nervous.
So standing in front of “Arams #2”, a slice and sub shop on Cambridge Street, I turned and tucked two fingers into the neck of his shirt, and gently tugged, pulling his face toward mine—our lips finding each others.
As we break off the kiss, he gives me a confused look. “Was that a yes? You are moving in with me?”
It was probably cruel on my part, but I started laughing—I understood all too well what Matt was going through, and the look on his face was priceless. When his look changed from confused to concerned, I decided to put him out of his misery. “YES. Yes, I will move in with you.”
It took most of a month before I could say I was totally moved into Matt’s place. In the movies, you have musical montages and it would be so nice if real life worked like that: The music would start playing. (I’m thinking Voulez Vous by ABBA. I’ve always loved ABBA, but they were always a secret pleasure when I was Jake.) There would be shots of me gathering boxes for moving, shots of me filling those boxes, shots of me and Matt carrying my things into his place, and a long dramatic kiss as we finish in which he says “welcome home beautiful”.
Only real life doesn’t work as well as the movies. First of all, Matt already had a roommate and we really didn’t want to share our place with another person. Second, I was still in a lease at my current place and I had to find someone to take it over. Third—and this really annoys me—I had to clean Matt’s place before I moved in. I’m a bit of a neat freak, and Matt is a bit of a slob. The biggest reason I ever considered not moving in with him was because of the way his apartment was always a mess. I fear becoming the live-in maid, where Matt expects me to keep the house all neat and clean—because I’m the woman. Packing took a lot longer than I thought as well. It took a few days; I thought I would be done in an afternoon. Then to my annoyance, I was faced with one of the things that I lost when I lost my life as Jake: lack of upper body strength. To my embarrassment, I could not carry most of the boxes I packed.
Fortunately Matt was all too happy to carry my things for me.
Eventually, everything worked out. Matt’s roommate moved out under good terms, I found someone to replace me on my lease, and eventually I got everything moved over to Matt’s—Our—place. I didn’t have time to do the deep cleaning I wanted to do, but I decided I could do that after all my stuff was there.
I felt really guilty about sticking matt with the lion’s share of the actually moving of boxes, so I decided to try to do something special for him in return—I decided that it would be nice to have our first meal under one roof together to be a home cooked meal. I donned an apron and cooked us dinner. It wasn’t anything fancy; I don’t have much experience at cooking. Matt seemed to get a kick out of it. He snuck up behind me as I was putting the chicken into the oven, wrapped his arms around me. I turned to face him, and he kissed me.
“Hey, I am trying to cook here.” I say to him.
“Hey, I can’t help myself. You look so sexy in that apron.”
He pulls me close, begins kissing me on the neck, and grabs my ass.
“I’m busy here! Go away!” I playfully push him away.
He was persistent. He suddenly had a hand under my clothes, massaging a breast and kissing me. It felt so good, I stopped pushing him away.
“The chicken will be ready in 45 minutes…” I tell him.
He slips the apron off me, and then my top and bra. “That’s plenty of time.”
Matt had to get up extra early the next morning and get to the firehouse. He managed to sneak out of bed and not wake me, and I nearly slept to 11am. I was awaken to the sound of someone knocking on the door. I slipped on a robe and answered the door.
“Ashlyn Shelly?” It was a UPS guy dressed all in brown. He gives me a big smile—I think he liked the look of the busty girl in a little robe with a serious case of bed head. The delivery guy was holding a package.
I was a little surprised to be receiving anything. I haven’t gotten around to updating my address with the post office.
I sign for the package and take it from the man. My brain wasn’t fully into gear yet. I should have recognized the package by its wrapping. Over the past year and change I had received several packages just like this one. For some reason it didn’t click until I opened the package and saw the note in a familiar handwriting. “Something your boyfriend would enjoy seeing. –Your secret admirer”.
Under the note was some lingerie. It was racy, and sexy as hell. The lingerie was new, and still had the tags on it—and it was extremely expensive if whoever had sent it actually spent what was on the price tags. The note was right; Matt would enjoy seeing me in it. I was nude under the robe, so I dropped it and tried the lingerie on.
I probably should have been more creeped out than I was—but then again my secret admirer has sent me lots of things and I guess I have gotten used to it. The lingerie fit me perfectly—someone knew my size. I don’t spend as much time in front of the mirror as I used to, but I still enjoy my reflection. I’m still a vain girl. I strike a few poses for a few imaginary cameras, before I return to the package the lingerie had come in. My intent was to pick up the box and paper to put it in the trash—but I notice something new. Taped to the inside of the box, under some decorative paper, was a DVD case.
The DVD inside the case was unlabeled, and I turn on the TV and put the DVD into the player.
A chill ran through me as the DVD played and the screen came to life. On the screen was me—the new me, Ashlyn—I was dressed in exactly the same lingerie I was wearing now. “I’m so glad you could help me with this problem.” I was saying to someone off screen. “I am so appreciative. Why don’t you come here and let me show you how appreciative I am?” It was so weird to watch yourself doing things, knowing it wasn’t really you inside.
Another figure walked into the screen, his face away from the camera. He wasted no time—very quickly he had me—Ashlyn—undressed, and some serious fucking was going on the screen. It made me sick to my stomach. I felt dirty, and quickly got out of the lingerie.
I realized the note from my secret admirer—“Something your boyfriend would enjoy seeing.” was not referring to the lingerie. The note was referring to the DVD, and it was a threat. My “relationship” with my secret admirer has changed.
Ashlyn
Showing posts with label Matt. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Matt. Show all posts
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Thursday, September 13, 2007
Ashlyn--One year later
If you’ve been reading this blog since it was started, you might have realized that a year has passed since I’ve was first turned into Ashlyn. I think back on those first few days, and I remember being horrified and afraid. I also thought my life was over, I couldn’t imagine living my life as the attractive, busty redhead in the mirror.
God, what a difference a year makes. I been thinking about my life lately because I knew the anniversary of becoming a victim of the Inn had passed and I have come to a shocking conclusion: I more or less like who I am now. Oh sure, I’m not too proud that my work involves wearing a tight tank top and shorts—but for the most part I am happy. I have friends, family, and an ongoing relationship with Matt—all these things make me happy.
The one good thing about being changed into another person? It’s a fresh start. I might have picked up a few bills and my college degree is gone—but this experience has shown me that I had significant gaps in my old life as Jake: I worked all the damn time and my personal life suffered. As Ashlyn I have the opposite problem, but I think with time I can find a better balance.
So a week ago I decided to give Art a call and make note of our one year anniversary. I was a little hesitant because he had recently confronted Jeremy about stealing his life, and I thought a call about the anniversary might prove to be a painful reminder of what he had lost. I finally decided to make the call—if I hadn’t called the anniversary was still going to happen; at least by reaching out I was reminding him that he was not alone.
“Lynn?” Art must have seen my number on the caller ID.
“Hi Art. Did I call at a bad time?” I ask.
“No, this is great. I just finished my workout.”
“Ugh. I haven’t worked out in a couple of days. I need a little gym time myself.”
“So what’s up?” Art asked.
“Well… we haven’t talked in a while. I thought we should catch up.” I didn’t want to jump right into the fact that our anniversary had come up—but Art is too smart.
“Oh? And the fact that we lost our old lives a year ago has nothing to do with it?”
“Well, maybe.” I admitted.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call you too.” He admitted as well.
“How are you doing?” I didn’t actually say the words ‘how are you doing now that you know you are not getting your old life back’—but Art understood the question.
I could hear Art sighing over the phone. “I’m okay. It was a little rough after I confronted Jeremy.”
“I remember when I talked to Stephen (the guy who is now Jake). It was hard.” I tell him.
“No offense Lynn, but it didn’t seem that difficult for you. You really took to playing the role of Ashlyn.” There was a little bitterness in the way he said it.
I decided to not to let it bother me. “So have you thought about what you are going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you plan to stay Penny or are you going to take another trip to the Inn?” I persisted.
“I’m staying as Penny—for now. I don’t know if I have a choice; going back to the Inn and getting some random life seems like a really bad idea.”
I could tell he—she?—was upset, so I was careful asking my next question. “So, would you prefer I call you Penny or Art?”
“Let’s stick to Art when it’s just us, okay? It would be nice to hear my real name from time to time. Tell me about you and Matt. How is that going?” He was taking the focus of the conversation off of himself.
“I have big news.” I say—and I tell him a little story:
I don’t take as many gigs from the radio station these days, my work as a Headlight’s girl keeps me busy enough—but ever so often a job sounds like fun. The ‘End of Summer Bash’ was one of those gigs that sounded like it would be more fun than work. The job was pretty much like all the jobs I’ve done for the radio station—be eye candy and talk to people. Only that night, because it was a ‘summer’ theme, I had to do it in a tiny green bikini. Wearing next to nothing in public really isn’t a problem for me—I still suffer from a need to be the center of attention.
I was also able to score some free tickets for Matt and few of his friends. I was a little hesitant about having Matt there—after all, what I was really doing is being paid to flirt—but Matt has been to Headlight’s a few times now, and gets the fact that I have to pretend to flirt.
The bash was a blast. Like every other gig I worked for the radio station, about halfway through the party the guy in charge of the promotion girls told us to ‘go and have fun, enjoy the party’. So I found Matt in the crowd and dragged him to the dance floor.
“You haven’t been bored?” I asked him.
“I’m having a great time.” He grins. He points to a group of guys wearing Red Sox jerseys, which were standing off to one side of the room. “I bet some of those guys I would get lucky with the red head in the green bikini.”
I closed the distance between us, pressing my body into his. I liked being close to him—and he smelled nice. “Oh, you think you are getting lucky, huh?”
“I’m hoping.” He leans down and kisses me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and return the kiss. I put a little something extra into it in case Matt’s new friends were watching.
We dance, we drink, and we hang out with Matt’s friends—by midnight I was slightly drunk and Matt had me laughing so hard I nearly peed myself. He does this thing where he tells dirty jokes in a ‘Donald Duck’ voice and it really gets me giggling—of course being drunk helps.
Eventually, it was time to go. I slipped a t-shirt and shorts over the bikini and Matt and I took a cab home—or at least most of the way home. When we got to the Charles River near MIT, Matt asked the driver to pull over. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk the rest of the way home.”
So we walked along the river.
I wasn’t born a girl; or even like Jessica, I wasn’t raised as a girl—so I don’t think I necessarily react like a real woman would in every situation. For example, I don’t get mushy over flowers. Every so often Matt brings me flowers—I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but that is about it. So I found myself surprised that I was being affected by the romantic setting of walking home by the river. It was a full moon, and there were still boats on the river—it was a beautiful scene. We stopped and watched the river for a while. Matt stood behind me, close, with his arms wrapped around me. He starts kissing me on the neck and then gently spins me around—finding my lips. We stay like that for a while.
He breaks off the kiss but he keeps his face close to mine; his eyes were locked in on my eyes.
“I love you Ash.”
We had been dating for about half a year now. The ‘relationship’ has been fun and lighthearted, and there has been lots of sex—but neither of us had used the L word yet. I was stunned. It was like his words were a physical thing and they hit me with enough force to take my breath away. I felt light headed and dizzy. I just stared at him for a moment. He smiled back.
To be honest, when I said the words I didn’t know how I felt. I was overwhelmed and a little drunk; but when I said “I love you too.” It felt so right. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so happy.
We kiss again, and this time I broke off the kiss. “Take me home. Make love to me.”
We didn’t waste any time getting home. As soon as we stepped in the door Matt pulls the t-shirt off me and hungrily kissed me. I ended up being pressed against the wall, my bikini top finding its way to the floor. He was flicking one of my nipples with his tongue when I decided I wanted to do something special for him.
“Whoa. Slow down.” I say to him. “I want you to take a shower.” I touch his crotch through his pants. “I want you to take special care and wash this thing well.” I give him a look—I hope it looked seductive. “I have something special in mind. Something you’ve been wanting for a while.”
He practically ran to the bathroom.
I took the opportunity to slip off the bikini bottoms. I stay over at Matt’s place fairly often, so I had some clothes there—including some lingerie. I put slipped on a black baby doll top and no panties. I touched up my makeup and redid my hair then climbed on top of the bed a waited—I’m glad I didn’t have to wait long, I might have lost my nerve. Matt appeared in the doorway, still slightly wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around him.
“You look beautiful.” He says to me.
“You look beautiful too.” I still catch myself checking out other women, but in the last year I’ve grown to appreciate the male form—and Matt had a great form. He’s all washboard abs, broad chest and shoulders. I give him a smile. “Lose the towel and come to bed.”
To me, sex is a lot like a couple dancing. It can be passionate and physical like dancing. You are holding someone close, and you are trying to communicate things to your partner with your body. Also like couple dancing, someone leads and someone follows. Generally the woman follows the man’s lead—and I’ve grown to accept that—more than accept—sometimes I like being the submissive one in bed. I don’t think that makes me a weak person. I think it makes me brave that I can trust my lover.
But other times I still like to lead. This was one of those times.
“Lie back on the bed.” I tell him.
I was sitting next to him on the bed, and I leaned over and started kissing his chest.
Slowly, I started moving down.
Matt has been trying to convince me to give him a blowjob for a couple of months now. I hadn’t intended to give into him any time soon—but when he told me he loved me, he made me so incredibly happy—so happy I wanted to do something special for him. I decided if he was freshly showered, maybe—maybe—I could give my lover oral sex.
I ran my tongue down his shaft and he groaned in pleasure.
“Tell me when you are close.” I say to him.
I lean forward, sliding his dick between my lips. I do my best—it was my first blowjob on the giving end. Matt didn’t seem to notice that I was a novice. He was making all sorts of happy sounds. Soon he announced “Oh baby, I’m close.”
I quickly spat him out and physically climbed on top of him—lowering myself on his member. We both gasped as he entered me. I raise and lower myself once or twice—and that’s all it took. He groans in pleasure.
“That was incredible.” He tells me.
I lean down a kiss him. “As soon as you are ready—your girl has needs.”
“I see what I can do.” He says.
We make love again a little later. This time it was me crying out in pleasure.
“The next morning he suggested we move in together.” I tell Art. “I told him I would think about it.”
“Wow.” Art sounded a little stunned by my story.
“Yeah. Moving in together is the first step to a whole sequence of events and decisions. The next logical step is getting engaged. Then there is marriage…and then kids. I have a hard time seeing myself as someone’s wife—or mother. Oh my god! I can’t possibly give birth.”
I think Art sensed I was going off the deep end. “Hey, I think it is great that you and Matt are doing so well; but I think you are jumping the gun on worry about everything else. Take it slow—things will work themselves out.”
“I know—it just this is all new to me.” I say.
There is a moment of awkward silence and I could sense Art was a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. I decided to change the subject again.
“So, tell me about this Maxim photo shoot.”
Art groaned, but we talked about it anyway. We talked for the next hour, catching up on everything. It was good to talk.
--Ashlyn
God, what a difference a year makes. I been thinking about my life lately because I knew the anniversary of becoming a victim of the Inn had passed and I have come to a shocking conclusion: I more or less like who I am now. Oh sure, I’m not too proud that my work involves wearing a tight tank top and shorts—but for the most part I am happy. I have friends, family, and an ongoing relationship with Matt—all these things make me happy.
The one good thing about being changed into another person? It’s a fresh start. I might have picked up a few bills and my college degree is gone—but this experience has shown me that I had significant gaps in my old life as Jake: I worked all the damn time and my personal life suffered. As Ashlyn I have the opposite problem, but I think with time I can find a better balance.
So a week ago I decided to give Art a call and make note of our one year anniversary. I was a little hesitant because he had recently confronted Jeremy about stealing his life, and I thought a call about the anniversary might prove to be a painful reminder of what he had lost. I finally decided to make the call—if I hadn’t called the anniversary was still going to happen; at least by reaching out I was reminding him that he was not alone.
“Lynn?” Art must have seen my number on the caller ID.
“Hi Art. Did I call at a bad time?” I ask.
“No, this is great. I just finished my workout.”
“Ugh. I haven’t worked out in a couple of days. I need a little gym time myself.”
“So what’s up?” Art asked.
“Well… we haven’t talked in a while. I thought we should catch up.” I didn’t want to jump right into the fact that our anniversary had come up—but Art is too smart.
“Oh? And the fact that we lost our old lives a year ago has nothing to do with it?”
“Well, maybe.” I admitted.
“Yeah, I’ve been meaning to call you too.” He admitted as well.
“How are you doing?” I didn’t actually say the words ‘how are you doing now that you know you are not getting your old life back’—but Art understood the question.
I could hear Art sighing over the phone. “I’m okay. It was a little rough after I confronted Jeremy.”
“I remember when I talked to Stephen (the guy who is now Jake). It was hard.” I tell him.
“No offense Lynn, but it didn’t seem that difficult for you. You really took to playing the role of Ashlyn.” There was a little bitterness in the way he said it.
I decided to not to let it bother me. “So have you thought about what you are going to do?”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you plan to stay Penny or are you going to take another trip to the Inn?” I persisted.
“I’m staying as Penny—for now. I don’t know if I have a choice; going back to the Inn and getting some random life seems like a really bad idea.”
I could tell he—she?—was upset, so I was careful asking my next question. “So, would you prefer I call you Penny or Art?”
“Let’s stick to Art when it’s just us, okay? It would be nice to hear my real name from time to time. Tell me about you and Matt. How is that going?” He was taking the focus of the conversation off of himself.
“I have big news.” I say—and I tell him a little story:
I don’t take as many gigs from the radio station these days, my work as a Headlight’s girl keeps me busy enough—but ever so often a job sounds like fun. The ‘End of Summer Bash’ was one of those gigs that sounded like it would be more fun than work. The job was pretty much like all the jobs I’ve done for the radio station—be eye candy and talk to people. Only that night, because it was a ‘summer’ theme, I had to do it in a tiny green bikini. Wearing next to nothing in public really isn’t a problem for me—I still suffer from a need to be the center of attention.
I was also able to score some free tickets for Matt and few of his friends. I was a little hesitant about having Matt there—after all, what I was really doing is being paid to flirt—but Matt has been to Headlight’s a few times now, and gets the fact that I have to pretend to flirt.
The bash was a blast. Like every other gig I worked for the radio station, about halfway through the party the guy in charge of the promotion girls told us to ‘go and have fun, enjoy the party’. So I found Matt in the crowd and dragged him to the dance floor.
“You haven’t been bored?” I asked him.
“I’m having a great time.” He grins. He points to a group of guys wearing Red Sox jerseys, which were standing off to one side of the room. “I bet some of those guys I would get lucky with the red head in the green bikini.”
I closed the distance between us, pressing my body into his. I liked being close to him—and he smelled nice. “Oh, you think you are getting lucky, huh?”
“I’m hoping.” He leans down and kisses me.
I wrap my arms around his neck and return the kiss. I put a little something extra into it in case Matt’s new friends were watching.
We dance, we drink, and we hang out with Matt’s friends—by midnight I was slightly drunk and Matt had me laughing so hard I nearly peed myself. He does this thing where he tells dirty jokes in a ‘Donald Duck’ voice and it really gets me giggling—of course being drunk helps.
Eventually, it was time to go. I slipped a t-shirt and shorts over the bikini and Matt and I took a cab home—or at least most of the way home. When we got to the Charles River near MIT, Matt asked the driver to pull over. “It’s a beautiful night. Let’s walk the rest of the way home.”
So we walked along the river.
I wasn’t born a girl; or even like Jessica, I wasn’t raised as a girl—so I don’t think I necessarily react like a real woman would in every situation. For example, I don’t get mushy over flowers. Every so often Matt brings me flowers—I appreciate his thoughtfulness, but that is about it. So I found myself surprised that I was being affected by the romantic setting of walking home by the river. It was a full moon, and there were still boats on the river—it was a beautiful scene. We stopped and watched the river for a while. Matt stood behind me, close, with his arms wrapped around me. He starts kissing me on the neck and then gently spins me around—finding my lips. We stay like that for a while.
He breaks off the kiss but he keeps his face close to mine; his eyes were locked in on my eyes.
“I love you Ash.”
We had been dating for about half a year now. The ‘relationship’ has been fun and lighthearted, and there has been lots of sex—but neither of us had used the L word yet. I was stunned. It was like his words were a physical thing and they hit me with enough force to take my breath away. I felt light headed and dizzy. I just stared at him for a moment. He smiled back.
To be honest, when I said the words I didn’t know how I felt. I was overwhelmed and a little drunk; but when I said “I love you too.” It felt so right. I couldn’t remember the last time I was so happy.
We kiss again, and this time I broke off the kiss. “Take me home. Make love to me.”
We didn’t waste any time getting home. As soon as we stepped in the door Matt pulls the t-shirt off me and hungrily kissed me. I ended up being pressed against the wall, my bikini top finding its way to the floor. He was flicking one of my nipples with his tongue when I decided I wanted to do something special for him.
“Whoa. Slow down.” I say to him. “I want you to take a shower.” I touch his crotch through his pants. “I want you to take special care and wash this thing well.” I give him a look—I hope it looked seductive. “I have something special in mind. Something you’ve been wanting for a while.”
He practically ran to the bathroom.
I took the opportunity to slip off the bikini bottoms. I stay over at Matt’s place fairly often, so I had some clothes there—including some lingerie. I put slipped on a black baby doll top and no panties. I touched up my makeup and redid my hair then climbed on top of the bed a waited—I’m glad I didn’t have to wait long, I might have lost my nerve. Matt appeared in the doorway, still slightly wet from his shower, a towel wrapped around him.
“You look beautiful.” He says to me.
“You look beautiful too.” I still catch myself checking out other women, but in the last year I’ve grown to appreciate the male form—and Matt had a great form. He’s all washboard abs, broad chest and shoulders. I give him a smile. “Lose the towel and come to bed.”
To me, sex is a lot like a couple dancing. It can be passionate and physical like dancing. You are holding someone close, and you are trying to communicate things to your partner with your body. Also like couple dancing, someone leads and someone follows. Generally the woman follows the man’s lead—and I’ve grown to accept that—more than accept—sometimes I like being the submissive one in bed. I don’t think that makes me a weak person. I think it makes me brave that I can trust my lover.
But other times I still like to lead. This was one of those times.
“Lie back on the bed.” I tell him.
I was sitting next to him on the bed, and I leaned over and started kissing his chest.
Slowly, I started moving down.
Matt has been trying to convince me to give him a blowjob for a couple of months now. I hadn’t intended to give into him any time soon—but when he told me he loved me, he made me so incredibly happy—so happy I wanted to do something special for him. I decided if he was freshly showered, maybe—maybe—I could give my lover oral sex.
I ran my tongue down his shaft and he groaned in pleasure.
“Tell me when you are close.” I say to him.
I lean forward, sliding his dick between my lips. I do my best—it was my first blowjob on the giving end. Matt didn’t seem to notice that I was a novice. He was making all sorts of happy sounds. Soon he announced “Oh baby, I’m close.”
I quickly spat him out and physically climbed on top of him—lowering myself on his member. We both gasped as he entered me. I raise and lower myself once or twice—and that’s all it took. He groans in pleasure.
“That was incredible.” He tells me.
I lean down a kiss him. “As soon as you are ready—your girl has needs.”
“I see what I can do.” He says.
We make love again a little later. This time it was me crying out in pleasure.
“The next morning he suggested we move in together.” I tell Art. “I told him I would think about it.”
“Wow.” Art sounded a little stunned by my story.
“Yeah. Moving in together is the first step to a whole sequence of events and decisions. The next logical step is getting engaged. Then there is marriage…and then kids. I have a hard time seeing myself as someone’s wife—or mother. Oh my god! I can’t possibly give birth.”
I think Art sensed I was going off the deep end. “Hey, I think it is great that you and Matt are doing so well; but I think you are jumping the gun on worry about everything else. Take it slow—things will work themselves out.”
“I know—it just this is all new to me.” I say.
There is a moment of awkward silence and I could sense Art was a little uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had taken. I decided to change the subject again.
“So, tell me about this Maxim photo shoot.”
Art groaned, but we talked about it anyway. We talked for the next hour, catching up on everything. It was good to talk.
--Ashlyn
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Ashlyn--There's something about the outfit
I waited a few days before I told Matt—the boyfriend—about my new job at Headlights. Our “relationship” isn’t far enough along that I would consider not working there if he had a problem with it, but it is far enough along that I cared what he thought of me. I was scheduled to begin my training as a Headlight’s girl a week ago last Thursday (I know, I'm always running behind in this blog), so I called Matt up the day before and made sure he was going to be home that night.
One of the many, many rules about being a Headlights girl is that we are not supposed to be seen wearing the outfit outside of the restaurant. Some girls change at the restaurant, and some girls wear sweats over the outfit to get to work. I chose the later, and wore my outfit under my green sweats to get to Matt’s place. I decided showing him was far better than telling him. I admit it, it’s a little manipulative—I’m hoping that after he sees me in the outfit he won’t care why I’m wearing it.
I get at his place a little after 8pm and I catch him asleep on the couch. ‘Law and order’ was playing on the tv, so I grab a remote, turn down the sound, and lean down and kiss him.
“Hey sleeping beauty, wake up. I need to talk to you.” I whisper to him.
He groans and stretches out his arms—then wraps them around me, pulling me to him.
Eyes closed, he gives me one of his grins. “I was having this amazing dream, and you were in it.”
“Oh? What was I doing?”
His grin expands into a full blown smile. “Giving me my birthday present.”
I give him a smirk back. “Keep on dreaming.”
This will take a little explanation. Matt and I have been dating long enough that we’ve actually had a few fights—nothing major, just a few bumps on the road. A few of the things we’ve had disagreements over:
1. Matt is a bit of a slob—worse, when I point out he’s a slob by mentioning all the beer bottles littering the living room; he gets defensive and says I am too uptight. I about killed him the first time he did that.
2. Matt is constantly late to everything. If we make plans to do something, he always shows up twenty minutes late.
3. This is the one that gets us back to Matt’s “giving me my birthday present’ statement. The third thing we fight about is oral sex. ‘Fight’ might be too strong word—we’ve had a few slightly heated discussions. Matt has been very upfront with me; he wants oral sex to be a part of our sexual repertoire, and I…I have a difficult time thinking about having a man’s dick in my mouth. “I thought you were the sexually adventurous type.” He says to me. He of course, has no idea that in the big picture I was already being extremely adventurous by having sex with him in the first place. A year ago I would never have dreamt that I was regularly having sex with a man—and enjoying it.
When I was first contemplating having sex for the first time as a woman, I actually had the thought ‘Well, on the upside, you can have sex and have absolutely no performance anxiety.’ No pressure about being premature, no worries about whether or not my partner is enjoying himself—just lay back and enjoy it, right? Wrong.
Sure, if I orgasm early now it no longer a bad thing—in fact, if I orgasm early now it’s time for high fives because it’s probably going to be a multi-orgasm night, and that tends to make everyone happy.
No, as a woman I have new and different anxieties to deal with—like whether or not I should give my boyfriend a blowjob. Matt and I have talked the subject to death and at one point he had worn me down. I went from ‘no’ to ‘not right now’. Later we bring it up again and this time he tries to corner me with a ‘when’—frustrated, yet wanting him to be happy, I threw out ‘maybe on your birthday’. Big mistake on my part--Matt has chosen to ignore the ‘maybe’ part of the statement, and his birthday is a couple of weeks away. I know this because he keeps reminding me.
Sorry, I’ve gotten way off subject; blowjobs are something I’m feeling a lot of angst about. I can’t decide if I’m making a big deal out of it or not—I mean, before I had sex as a woman I didn’t really want to do that either; now I look forward to making love to Matt. Maybe oral sex would be the same way; then again, most of the women I dated as Jake wouldn’t consider oral sex, so maybe I’m not crazy.
Back to me and Matt on the couch, me in my sweats covering up my outfit.
“Don’t open your eyes.” I say to him.
Of course the first thing he does is open his eyes. “What’s going on?” He asks.
I put a hand over his eyes. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” I feel his eyelashes brush the inside of my hand. “I’m going to get up—no peeking!”
I get off the couch and slip off the green sweats, run my fingers through my hair as well as give it a shake of my head, and strike a sexy pose wearing only my Headlight’s uniform. “Okay…you can open your eyes.”
The expression on Matt’s face was priceless. “Oh my god, baby! You look hot!”
I walk back over to the couch as Matt sits up. “I took a job at Headlight’s.” I tell him.
“Wow.” He says, still surprised. “That’s great. You are working again.”
It was exactly what I wanted to hear. “You don’t have a problem with me working there?”
Matt seemed to mull it over for a split second. “Nah. I’m cool with it if you are cool with it.”
Hearing this made me feel so much better. I sat down on his lap, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Matt didn’t need any more encouragement—his hands traveled over my pantyhose covered legs and up to white tank top. He starts to gently knead my breast through the top. It feels good, so I sigh and tell him so. We get back to kissing for a few minutes until with his hands move to my sides and he picks me up, setting me on my feet—he is so strong he picked me up like I was nothing. He gets off the couch as well and standing there he pulls down my brightly colored shorts and lets them fall to my feet--I kick off the tennis shoes and socks and then do the same to the shorts. I start to go to remove the white tank top, but he stops me.
“Leave it on. I like it.” He says.
I close the distance between us and reach for his belt, unbuckling it and removing it. He was wearing button-fly jeans and I loosen the pants allowing me to reach in and massage his dick with my hand. I may have issues with the idea of sticking it in my mouth, but I had no problem touching it. We kiss like that, my hand massaging his dick, his hands massaging my pantyhose covered ass. He starts the slide the hose down, stops when he gets it down to my thighs, and brings a hand around and starts rubbing the area around my clitoris. I felt so good I laughed with pleasure.
“Let’s sit back down so I can get these pantyhose off.”
Matt quickly looses his clothes and returns to the couch. I sit back down on his lap, my back resting against his chest, and carefully remove the pantyhose. Matt reaches around me—one hand is up underneath the tank top teasing a nipple, the other is between my legs his fingers doing amazing things. He entered me while we in that position, taking me from behind—I was being bombarded by sensations from everywhere. As he thrust in and out of me he continued to tease me with his fingertips. I reached behind myself, laying my hands on him—I just felt a need to touch.
“Harder.” I gasp. “Faster. Fuck! Just more! Oh baby, that feels so good.”
His speed increases and I arch my back, the back of my head resting against his chest.
He got both hand on my boobs now, cradling them—he runs his thumbs over my nipples. It makes my shiver.
I feel the now familiar feeling building up inside me. “I’m close.” I tell him.
“Good. Because I’m close too.” He grunts.
I start rocking back and forth, adding to our rhythm—and that all it takes. I beat him to the finish line by like a second or two. I shake with pleasure, laugh out loud, and collapse back into Matt’s arms.
We gather our selves for a moment until I break the silence. “So, no problems with me working at Headlights?”
“Baby, if I can get you to wear the outfit for me from time to time, you’ll get no complaints from me.”
It was just what I wanted to hear.
Ashlyn
One of the many, many rules about being a Headlights girl is that we are not supposed to be seen wearing the outfit outside of the restaurant. Some girls change at the restaurant, and some girls wear sweats over the outfit to get to work. I chose the later, and wore my outfit under my green sweats to get to Matt’s place. I decided showing him was far better than telling him. I admit it, it’s a little manipulative—I’m hoping that after he sees me in the outfit he won’t care why I’m wearing it.
I get at his place a little after 8pm and I catch him asleep on the couch. ‘Law and order’ was playing on the tv, so I grab a remote, turn down the sound, and lean down and kiss him.
“Hey sleeping beauty, wake up. I need to talk to you.” I whisper to him.
He groans and stretches out his arms—then wraps them around me, pulling me to him.
Eyes closed, he gives me one of his grins. “I was having this amazing dream, and you were in it.”
“Oh? What was I doing?”
His grin expands into a full blown smile. “Giving me my birthday present.”
I give him a smirk back. “Keep on dreaming.”
This will take a little explanation. Matt and I have been dating long enough that we’ve actually had a few fights—nothing major, just a few bumps on the road. A few of the things we’ve had disagreements over:
1. Matt is a bit of a slob—worse, when I point out he’s a slob by mentioning all the beer bottles littering the living room; he gets defensive and says I am too uptight. I about killed him the first time he did that.
2. Matt is constantly late to everything. If we make plans to do something, he always shows up twenty minutes late.
3. This is the one that gets us back to Matt’s “giving me my birthday present’ statement. The third thing we fight about is oral sex. ‘Fight’ might be too strong word—we’ve had a few slightly heated discussions. Matt has been very upfront with me; he wants oral sex to be a part of our sexual repertoire, and I…I have a difficult time thinking about having a man’s dick in my mouth. “I thought you were the sexually adventurous type.” He says to me. He of course, has no idea that in the big picture I was already being extremely adventurous by having sex with him in the first place. A year ago I would never have dreamt that I was regularly having sex with a man—and enjoying it.
When I was first contemplating having sex for the first time as a woman, I actually had the thought ‘Well, on the upside, you can have sex and have absolutely no performance anxiety.’ No pressure about being premature, no worries about whether or not my partner is enjoying himself—just lay back and enjoy it, right? Wrong.
Sure, if I orgasm early now it no longer a bad thing—in fact, if I orgasm early now it’s time for high fives because it’s probably going to be a multi-orgasm night, and that tends to make everyone happy.
No, as a woman I have new and different anxieties to deal with—like whether or not I should give my boyfriend a blowjob. Matt and I have talked the subject to death and at one point he had worn me down. I went from ‘no’ to ‘not right now’. Later we bring it up again and this time he tries to corner me with a ‘when’—frustrated, yet wanting him to be happy, I threw out ‘maybe on your birthday’. Big mistake on my part--Matt has chosen to ignore the ‘maybe’ part of the statement, and his birthday is a couple of weeks away. I know this because he keeps reminding me.
Sorry, I’ve gotten way off subject; blowjobs are something I’m feeling a lot of angst about. I can’t decide if I’m making a big deal out of it or not—I mean, before I had sex as a woman I didn’t really want to do that either; now I look forward to making love to Matt. Maybe oral sex would be the same way; then again, most of the women I dated as Jake wouldn’t consider oral sex, so maybe I’m not crazy.
Back to me and Matt on the couch, me in my sweats covering up my outfit.
“Don’t open your eyes.” I say to him.
Of course the first thing he does is open his eyes. “What’s going on?” He asks.
I put a hand over his eyes. “I have a surprise for you. Close your eyes.” I feel his eyelashes brush the inside of my hand. “I’m going to get up—no peeking!”
I get off the couch and slip off the green sweats, run my fingers through my hair as well as give it a shake of my head, and strike a sexy pose wearing only my Headlight’s uniform. “Okay…you can open your eyes.”
The expression on Matt’s face was priceless. “Oh my god, baby! You look hot!”
I walk back over to the couch as Matt sits up. “I took a job at Headlight’s.” I tell him.
“Wow.” He says, still surprised. “That’s great. You are working again.”
It was exactly what I wanted to hear. “You don’t have a problem with me working there?”
Matt seemed to mull it over for a split second. “Nah. I’m cool with it if you are cool with it.”
Hearing this made me feel so much better. I sat down on his lap, wrapped my arms around his neck, and kissed him.
Matt didn’t need any more encouragement—his hands traveled over my pantyhose covered legs and up to white tank top. He starts to gently knead my breast through the top. It feels good, so I sigh and tell him so. We get back to kissing for a few minutes until with his hands move to my sides and he picks me up, setting me on my feet—he is so strong he picked me up like I was nothing. He gets off the couch as well and standing there he pulls down my brightly colored shorts and lets them fall to my feet--I kick off the tennis shoes and socks and then do the same to the shorts. I start to go to remove the white tank top, but he stops me.
“Leave it on. I like it.” He says.
I close the distance between us and reach for his belt, unbuckling it and removing it. He was wearing button-fly jeans and I loosen the pants allowing me to reach in and massage his dick with my hand. I may have issues with the idea of sticking it in my mouth, but I had no problem touching it. We kiss like that, my hand massaging his dick, his hands massaging my pantyhose covered ass. He starts the slide the hose down, stops when he gets it down to my thighs, and brings a hand around and starts rubbing the area around my clitoris. I felt so good I laughed with pleasure.
“Let’s sit back down so I can get these pantyhose off.”
Matt quickly looses his clothes and returns to the couch. I sit back down on his lap, my back resting against his chest, and carefully remove the pantyhose. Matt reaches around me—one hand is up underneath the tank top teasing a nipple, the other is between my legs his fingers doing amazing things. He entered me while we in that position, taking me from behind—I was being bombarded by sensations from everywhere. As he thrust in and out of me he continued to tease me with his fingertips. I reached behind myself, laying my hands on him—I just felt a need to touch.
“Harder.” I gasp. “Faster. Fuck! Just more! Oh baby, that feels so good.”
His speed increases and I arch my back, the back of my head resting against his chest.
He got both hand on my boobs now, cradling them—he runs his thumbs over my nipples. It makes my shiver.
I feel the now familiar feeling building up inside me. “I’m close.” I tell him.
“Good. Because I’m close too.” He grunts.
I start rocking back and forth, adding to our rhythm—and that all it takes. I beat him to the finish line by like a second or two. I shake with pleasure, laugh out loud, and collapse back into Matt’s arms.
We gather our selves for a moment until I break the silence. “So, no problems with me working at Headlights?”
“Baby, if I can get you to wear the outfit for me from time to time, you’ll get no complaints from me.”
It was just what I wanted to hear.
Ashlyn
Sunday, June 03, 2007
Ashlyn--Couplehood
With all the activity of the blog lately, I’ve felt--I don’t know--boring? There have been new victims of the Inn, we’ve heard from both Drew and Jeff, and Art has been screwed over by the guy living his life and is now living as Nell Lincoln. Me? I’ve been job hunting and spending a lot of time with my boyfriend.
Speaking of Art...
I know he was worried about me being left here “alone” in Boston—but now I’m really worried about him. We’ve talked several times on the phone and he sounds upbeat and positive. Maybe too upbeat and positive. It might be me being overly protective of a friend, but I’m afraid he’s in denial. Sure he and that bastard Jeremy might come to some kind of resolution, and Art can get his life back—but it has got to have crossed his mind that they might not. I’ve been through having your life—for lack of a better term—STOLEN. It’s devastating. I had Art to lean on to get through it. If Jeremy continues to be the Asshole he’s shown himself to be… well I wish I could be there for Art like he was for me.
So back to me and my boring life. ;)
I met Matt back in February. I had just recently decided to push myself into the dating scene and adapt even further into my new life as Ashlyn. I wasn’t interested in anything serious or complicated. Let’s be honest here, at that time I recently had sex with Jean-Michel and was surprised by how much I enjoyed it; I was in the mood to experiment a little. I met Matt and he was good looking and funny and he asked me out at exactly the right time. Fast forward 3 months and I find myself still dating the guy. I’ve moved away from my position of “not interested in anything serious” to “I don’t know where this is going”. I’m both thrilled and terrified at the same time.
It’s amazing to me how easy it has been to slip into the role of someone’s girlfriend. Everything is starting to feel ‘couplish’. Friday night we had gone to a party—A “watch the Redsox/Yankees game on tv” party. I put on a little skirt and a small scoop necked top that really showed of my boobs. It was a hair slutty, but I figured I might give Matt a chance to show off his hot girlfriend to his friends. The people at the party were mostly Matt’s friends, and they are a really tight group. I was a little nervous meeting them at first—some of his friends go back all the way to childhood—but they really made me feel comfortable and not like an outsider.
At some point Matt leaves my side to get us some beers. It wasn’t long until I was cornered by someone curious about me. An attractive redhead woman walked over to me and stuck her hand out for a handshake.
“You must be Matt’s mystery girl.” She says to me. “I’m Rachel.”
“I’m not that mysterious. I’m Ashlyn. “ We warmly shake hands and then I reach over and grab a lock of my hair. “I see we are members of the same club.”
“Yep. I’ve been a redhead all my life. People always ask if I color my hair and I tell them ‘You can buy the color, but you can't buy the attitude’.”
We laugh at that and I instantly take a liking to this woman. “How do you know Matt?” I ask.
She pauses and bites her bottom lip as she thinks about her answer. “I’m Matt’s ex-girlfriend. I thought we should meet since I’m friends with a lot of Matt’s friends.”
“Oh.” I was surprised. I blanked and couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I didn’t come over here to create a scene or anything. Matt and I are still good friends and I’ve got a new guy now. I couldn’t be happier. I just didn’t want us bumping into each other and having this big awkward moment—which I guess I managed to create anyway.”
“No, it’s fine. You just surprised me.” I pause for a moment. “I guess Matt has a thing for Redheads.”
Rachel laughs. “Yeah, he does. Ask him about his high school sweetheart sometime. ‘Missy Dawson’ she was his first redhead, I think he’s been stuck on them ever since.”
I probably should have hated this woman or something. That’s the proper girlfriend response right? But I couldn’t. She was too easy to like.
“Hey, I better get back to my boyfriend, he doesn’t know anyone here and he hates being left alone at parties. I just wanted to meet you.” She shakes my hand again. “It was nice to meet you Ashlyn.”
“Nice to meet you too. Can I ask something personal?”
“Why did we break up?” She asks.
I nodded.
“That’s a long discussion. The short answer? We were getting really serious at some point and we had a discussion on kids. I don’t want kids—he does. My job requires I travel often and I love my job--It’s no way to raise kids. We realized we weren’t on the same page on a lot of things at that point, and we decided to move on.”
Kids! Now there something I hadn’t thought a whole lot about. Do I want kids some day? I pushed the thought aside for later.
At that moment a slightly drunk man walked up and slipped an arm around Rachel. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Your friend Terry has this great wedding disaster story he won’t tell until you come back over.”
Rachel waves at me. “Matt’s a great guy. Let’s get together sometime and do lunch and compare notes—I don’t get to do the girl talk thing nearly often enough.”
“Do you like Starbucks?”
“I love Starbucks. Cut me and I bleed Starbucks.” She jokes.
“Me too. Let’s go sometime.”
“Sounds great.” She waves goodbye and they disappear into the party.
About a minute later Matt returns. “Are you having a good time?” Matt asked as he handed me a Sam Adams.
I give him a big smile, lean in and give him a kiss—then wipe the lipstick off of him. “Your friends are great. I’m having a great time. C’mon—let’s go grab a spot on the couch before they are all taken.”
I ended up basically sitting in his lap. I leaned back into him, sitting on him like a chair. I was a little tricky with the short skirt I was wearing, but we make it work. We get comfortable, ready to watch the game and I whisper “So…tell me about Missy Dawson.”
“How the hell do you know about Missy Dawson?” He asked surprised.
I give him a peck on the cheek. “We redheads have a club. We share info.”
He lets out a sigh. “Great. You’ve met Rachel.”
“We’re going to Starbucks.”
“I am so fucked.”
I’ve mentioned before in this blog that I’m a basketball fan, not a baseball fan. Kind of like I am learning to adapt to my life as a woman, I’m learning to be a Redsox fan. The total of my knowledge about baseball: I know there are nine innings and 3 strikes and you are out. I ask questions about the game as we watch the game and I come off like a total chick—but I guess that okay. Besides, Matt really seems to enjoy explaining the game to me.
The Redsox lost—5 to 9. No one was that upset. “Hey we’re still ahead of them by something like 13 games.” Matt assures me.
Afterwards I go home with him and stay at his place—we had planned it ahead of time because we had decided to drive out to Providence and see my ‘Rents before they went on their trip to New Zealand. I had packed an overnight bag and everything. When we got to his place it was an insane hour so I stripped and slipped into one his t-shirts and crawled into bed.
It was past 3am and he slides into bed next to me, spooning me. It was nice. I like the feeling of having a warm body next to mine. He slides an arm around me and it feels even better. Of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone. He pushes my hair aside and starts kissing my neck, he was trying a little foreplay.
“What are you doing?” I try to not sound annoyed—I was exhausted.
“What?”
“It’s after 3.”
“So? All I wanted was a kiss.” He says innocently.
I roll over and face him. “Yeah, right.” He’s leaning on one arm now looking down on me. I give him a big smile and grab him by the front of the black t-shirt was wearing, pulling him down to me, kissing him. It was a good ten second kiss. I could feel his body responding. I push him gently away and pat him affectionately on the chest.
“You still just want a kiss?” I give him one of my smirks.
“Well not now—“
“Too bad. It’s after 3.” I attempt to give him a seductive look—I’m still trying to master such things. “Baby, I’m tired. But in the morning, I’m all yours-- it will be worth the wait.”
He gives a frustrated sigh and we return back into the spooning position.
“You have no idea how frustrating it is to be a guy.”
He couldn’t understand why I started laughing so hard.
Not totally unemployed…
I’ve hit a brick wall in the job hunting. No one wants to hire me as a waitress, and I don’t have any work history for anything else. If it wasn’t for the promotional stuff I do, I don’t know how I could survive financially. The promotional stuff is decent money but unfortunately the radio station doesn’t need me that often. I’m not making enough to pay all my bills, but at least the financial hole I am in isn’t getting too much deeper. I do have a dilemma of needing to pay my rent and make another payment to the IRS for back taxes in the next few days. I don’t know what I am going to do. Matt knows I am in a tough spot and has offered to loan me the money, but that just feels wrong to me.
After one of the radio station gigs, me and a bunch of the other girls stepped into a bar for cosmos. We were a hit with the crowd there—all the girls who work these promotion gigs are hot, and we were all wearing short shorts and baby t’s. I mentioned my job woes to the other girls and they were actually very supportive. One girl, Kara, said she had a contact with the promotions people who do local car shows.
“It’s actually easier work than these radio station gigs.” She says to me.
“Oh?” I ask interested. “What would I have to do?”
“Wear a bikini and lean up against the cars. Easy but boring.” She says cheerfully.
I was copying down the contact information when one of the other girls approached me. Her name was Heather. I had worked a handful of the radio jobs with her. She was nice.
“You have waitress experience, right?” She asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where I work they are always looking for pretty girls with waitress skills. I could put in a good word for you and I guarantee you would get the job—plus the tips are always good.”
“Really! That would be amazing! Where do you work?” I asked. I was excited, things were looking up.
“Headlights.”
“Headlights?” I think she saw my enthusiasm wane.
“What’s wrong with Headlights?” She was a little defensive.
I didn’t have a real answer besides that I don’t really see myself as a Headlights girl. The outfit I was wearing at that moment—the short shorts and baby t, were very similar to the outfits the girls at headlights wear--so obviously I didn’t have a problem wearing an outfit like that. Maybe it was because I had visited the Dallas headlights on many occasions and had given the waitresses a good look. I had often thought ‘pretty to look at, but nothing upstairs’. Maybe I was afraid of people thinking the same thing about me.
“I don’t know if my boyfriend would like that…” I lamely threw out as an excuse.
“I bet he loves the idea.” She takes out a piece of paper and writes down some contact info. “Talk to the BF and then give this guy a call.”
I took the info and put it in my purse. Maybe I’m being crazy. A job is a job, right?
--Ashlyn
Speaking of Art...
I know he was worried about me being left here “alone” in Boston—but now I’m really worried about him. We’ve talked several times on the phone and he sounds upbeat and positive. Maybe too upbeat and positive. It might be me being overly protective of a friend, but I’m afraid he’s in denial. Sure he and that bastard Jeremy might come to some kind of resolution, and Art can get his life back—but it has got to have crossed his mind that they might not. I’ve been through having your life—for lack of a better term—STOLEN. It’s devastating. I had Art to lean on to get through it. If Jeremy continues to be the Asshole he’s shown himself to be… well I wish I could be there for Art like he was for me.
So back to me and my boring life. ;)
I met Matt back in February. I had just recently decided to push myself into the dating scene and adapt even further into my new life as Ashlyn. I wasn’t interested in anything serious or complicated. Let’s be honest here, at that time I recently had sex with Jean-Michel and was surprised by how much I enjoyed it; I was in the mood to experiment a little. I met Matt and he was good looking and funny and he asked me out at exactly the right time. Fast forward 3 months and I find myself still dating the guy. I’ve moved away from my position of “not interested in anything serious” to “I don’t know where this is going”. I’m both thrilled and terrified at the same time.
It’s amazing to me how easy it has been to slip into the role of someone’s girlfriend. Everything is starting to feel ‘couplish’. Friday night we had gone to a party—A “watch the Redsox/Yankees game on tv” party. I put on a little skirt and a small scoop necked top that really showed of my boobs. It was a hair slutty, but I figured I might give Matt a chance to show off his hot girlfriend to his friends. The people at the party were mostly Matt’s friends, and they are a really tight group. I was a little nervous meeting them at first—some of his friends go back all the way to childhood—but they really made me feel comfortable and not like an outsider.
At some point Matt leaves my side to get us some beers. It wasn’t long until I was cornered by someone curious about me. An attractive redhead woman walked over to me and stuck her hand out for a handshake.
“You must be Matt’s mystery girl.” She says to me. “I’m Rachel.”
“I’m not that mysterious. I’m Ashlyn. “ We warmly shake hands and then I reach over and grab a lock of my hair. “I see we are members of the same club.”
“Yep. I’ve been a redhead all my life. People always ask if I color my hair and I tell them ‘You can buy the color, but you can't buy the attitude’.”
We laugh at that and I instantly take a liking to this woman. “How do you know Matt?” I ask.
She pauses and bites her bottom lip as she thinks about her answer. “I’m Matt’s ex-girlfriend. I thought we should meet since I’m friends with a lot of Matt’s friends.”
“Oh.” I was surprised. I blanked and couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I didn’t come over here to create a scene or anything. Matt and I are still good friends and I’ve got a new guy now. I couldn’t be happier. I just didn’t want us bumping into each other and having this big awkward moment—which I guess I managed to create anyway.”
“No, it’s fine. You just surprised me.” I pause for a moment. “I guess Matt has a thing for Redheads.”
Rachel laughs. “Yeah, he does. Ask him about his high school sweetheart sometime. ‘Missy Dawson’ she was his first redhead, I think he’s been stuck on them ever since.”
I probably should have hated this woman or something. That’s the proper girlfriend response right? But I couldn’t. She was too easy to like.
“Hey, I better get back to my boyfriend, he doesn’t know anyone here and he hates being left alone at parties. I just wanted to meet you.” She shakes my hand again. “It was nice to meet you Ashlyn.”
“Nice to meet you too. Can I ask something personal?”
“Why did we break up?” She asks.
I nodded.
“That’s a long discussion. The short answer? We were getting really serious at some point and we had a discussion on kids. I don’t want kids—he does. My job requires I travel often and I love my job--It’s no way to raise kids. We realized we weren’t on the same page on a lot of things at that point, and we decided to move on.”
Kids! Now there something I hadn’t thought a whole lot about. Do I want kids some day? I pushed the thought aside for later.
At that moment a slightly drunk man walked up and slipped an arm around Rachel. “I’ve been looking all over for you. Your friend Terry has this great wedding disaster story he won’t tell until you come back over.”
Rachel waves at me. “Matt’s a great guy. Let’s get together sometime and do lunch and compare notes—I don’t get to do the girl talk thing nearly often enough.”
“Do you like Starbucks?”
“I love Starbucks. Cut me and I bleed Starbucks.” She jokes.
“Me too. Let’s go sometime.”
“Sounds great.” She waves goodbye and they disappear into the party.
About a minute later Matt returns. “Are you having a good time?” Matt asked as he handed me a Sam Adams.
I give him a big smile, lean in and give him a kiss—then wipe the lipstick off of him. “Your friends are great. I’m having a great time. C’mon—let’s go grab a spot on the couch before they are all taken.”
I ended up basically sitting in his lap. I leaned back into him, sitting on him like a chair. I was a little tricky with the short skirt I was wearing, but we make it work. We get comfortable, ready to watch the game and I whisper “So…tell me about Missy Dawson.”
“How the hell do you know about Missy Dawson?” He asked surprised.
I give him a peck on the cheek. “We redheads have a club. We share info.”
He lets out a sigh. “Great. You’ve met Rachel.”
“We’re going to Starbucks.”
“I am so fucked.”
I’ve mentioned before in this blog that I’m a basketball fan, not a baseball fan. Kind of like I am learning to adapt to my life as a woman, I’m learning to be a Redsox fan. The total of my knowledge about baseball: I know there are nine innings and 3 strikes and you are out. I ask questions about the game as we watch the game and I come off like a total chick—but I guess that okay. Besides, Matt really seems to enjoy explaining the game to me.
The Redsox lost—5 to 9. No one was that upset. “Hey we’re still ahead of them by something like 13 games.” Matt assures me.
Afterwards I go home with him and stay at his place—we had planned it ahead of time because we had decided to drive out to Providence and see my ‘Rents before they went on their trip to New Zealand. I had packed an overnight bag and everything. When we got to his place it was an insane hour so I stripped and slipped into one his t-shirts and crawled into bed.
It was past 3am and he slides into bed next to me, spooning me. It was nice. I like the feeling of having a warm body next to mine. He slides an arm around me and it feels even better. Of course he couldn’t leave well enough alone. He pushes my hair aside and starts kissing my neck, he was trying a little foreplay.
“What are you doing?” I try to not sound annoyed—I was exhausted.
“What?”
“It’s after 3.”
“So? All I wanted was a kiss.” He says innocently.
I roll over and face him. “Yeah, right.” He’s leaning on one arm now looking down on me. I give him a big smile and grab him by the front of the black t-shirt was wearing, pulling him down to me, kissing him. It was a good ten second kiss. I could feel his body responding. I push him gently away and pat him affectionately on the chest.
“You still just want a kiss?” I give him one of my smirks.
“Well not now—“
“Too bad. It’s after 3.” I attempt to give him a seductive look—I’m still trying to master such things. “Baby, I’m tired. But in the morning, I’m all yours-- it will be worth the wait.”
He gives a frustrated sigh and we return back into the spooning position.
“You have no idea how frustrating it is to be a guy.”
He couldn’t understand why I started laughing so hard.
Not totally unemployed…
I’ve hit a brick wall in the job hunting. No one wants to hire me as a waitress, and I don’t have any work history for anything else. If it wasn’t for the promotional stuff I do, I don’t know how I could survive financially. The promotional stuff is decent money but unfortunately the radio station doesn’t need me that often. I’m not making enough to pay all my bills, but at least the financial hole I am in isn’t getting too much deeper. I do have a dilemma of needing to pay my rent and make another payment to the IRS for back taxes in the next few days. I don’t know what I am going to do. Matt knows I am in a tough spot and has offered to loan me the money, but that just feels wrong to me.
After one of the radio station gigs, me and a bunch of the other girls stepped into a bar for cosmos. We were a hit with the crowd there—all the girls who work these promotion gigs are hot, and we were all wearing short shorts and baby t’s. I mentioned my job woes to the other girls and they were actually very supportive. One girl, Kara, said she had a contact with the promotions people who do local car shows.
“It’s actually easier work than these radio station gigs.” She says to me.
“Oh?” I ask interested. “What would I have to do?”
“Wear a bikini and lean up against the cars. Easy but boring.” She says cheerfully.
I was copying down the contact information when one of the other girls approached me. Her name was Heather. I had worked a handful of the radio jobs with her. She was nice.
“You have waitress experience, right?” She asked.
“Yeah.”
“Where I work they are always looking for pretty girls with waitress skills. I could put in a good word for you and I guarantee you would get the job—plus the tips are always good.”
“Really! That would be amazing! Where do you work?” I asked. I was excited, things were looking up.
“Headlights.”
“Headlights?” I think she saw my enthusiasm wane.
“What’s wrong with Headlights?” She was a little defensive.
I didn’t have a real answer besides that I don’t really see myself as a Headlights girl. The outfit I was wearing at that moment—the short shorts and baby t, were very similar to the outfits the girls at headlights wear--so obviously I didn’t have a problem wearing an outfit like that. Maybe it was because I had visited the Dallas headlights on many occasions and had given the waitresses a good look. I had often thought ‘pretty to look at, but nothing upstairs’. Maybe I was afraid of people thinking the same thing about me.
“I don’t know if my boyfriend would like that…” I lamely threw out as an excuse.
“I bet he loves the idea.” She takes out a piece of paper and writes down some contact info. “Talk to the BF and then give this guy a call.”
I took the info and put it in my purse. Maybe I’m being crazy. A job is a job, right?
--Ashlyn
Friday, May 11, 2007
Ashlyn--Here I go again on my own…
Yes, I just quoted the band Whitesnake in the blog. What can I say, I like 80’s music and I have it playing on my iPod as I write this.
Before my parents died and I was sent to live with my uncle Garry, I grew up in a suburb of Dallas. We lived in one of those cookie-cutter housing communities. It was great. There was an empty field nearby to play football, and a community pool to help survive the Texas summers. There were bike trails and parks connected to those trails. There was everything a boy needed growing up.
Including a best friend.
Billy Sanderson—I called him BS to the annoyance of my parents—lived next door. He was there from day one; as we moved into the house he just seemed to appear out of nowhere and started helping move things inside. There were no introductions—he acted like he had known me and my family forever and we became instant friends.
I thought Billy was the coolest guy on the planet. Billy was the instigator of bad behavior and I loved him for it. He had a motto he lived by “If you’re not doing something that might get you grounded, then you are probably not having a good enough time.” We spent large amounts of time debating who was cooler: Batman or Spiderman. We glued firecrackers to my ‘six-million dollar man’ action figure and lit them. “Oh No! Col. Austin’s bionics are going haywire!” We would yell as the doll would bounce around from the small explosions. We also spent countless hours trying to build bigger and higher ramps to jump with our bicycles. Billy’s parents would ask why we were so obsessed with jumping ramps and Billy would say “We’re training to be the next Evel Knievel! Duh”. Yeah, life was fun with Billy.
Being best friends with Billy had one significant downside. Billy lived with his mom and stepdad. Every summer Billy would go away for a month—sometimes two—and spend time with his dad. Those summer months when Billy went away were brutal for me. There I was, out of school for the summer and no best friend to do things with—every spring I would dread the approach of summer.
Worse, Billy would go on these amazing trips with his dad during those times away. Billy would come back and tell me tales of white water rafting, swimming with dolphins and traveling through jungles. Billy embellished all of his stories of course—I didn’t call him BS just because they were his initials—and his stories really captured my imagination. After a while, it wasn’t just being lonely in the summer that was the problem—I started feeling like Billy was going on these incredible adventures, and I was being left behind.
Which brings me to this morning.
I waited until I knew Ray had left for work before walking over to Liz’s place. I knocked on the door and Art opened the door.
“I thought we were meeting up at North Station.” He asked.
“I thought I would check and see if you needed help with anything—besides, it gives me the excuse to hang out with you a little longer. You packed?”
“Mostly. I packed a few thing last night for my—“ He made quote marks with his fingers. “—trip to New York. I waited until Ray left to pack more things for a longer stay at the Inn. I didn’t want him to see my bags and wonder why I packed so much for a short trip.”
“Smart, but if he asked you could have played the girl card.” I tell him.
“Girl card?”
“Yeah. You know: I need to pack all these clothes because I’m a girl.” I smirked.
“Well, not for much longer.”
We headed into the bedroom where there was an open half-filled suitcase lying on the bed. I found an empty spot of the bed a sat down.
“I can’t believe the day is finally here!” Art said while digging through a closet.
I didn’t reply right away. Art was practically bursting with excitement, but I had mixed feelings. I wasn’t as giddy as Art was about his return trip to the Inn. “So, you and Zoe have a good time last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, we did. Sorry about not inviting you along, but you know how Zoe is about you.” The original Ashlyn and Zoe didn’t get along, so I inherited the animosity. She doesn’t seem to care for the way I like to dress as well.
“Yeah I know. It’s okay. It gave me an excuse to go see Matt.”
Art turned away from the closet and gave me a curious look. “Oh? How’s that going?”
I shrugged. “We had a great time. Matt is fun, his friends are fun….”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“Not really. It’s just that sometimes I feel so old around him and his friends. Our tastes in music are different, movies, a lot of things. Sure, physical I’m in my early twenties, but mentally I’m closer to forty. As odd as it sounds, I think we have a generation gap.”
I pause for a moment. “He referred to me as his ‘girlfriend’ last night. I’m somebody’s girlfriend. Is that crazy or what?”
Art rolls his eyes. “Some of us have been dealing with that for months.”
“Yeah, true, but this is someone Ashlyn had never met before. This is a—God, a relationship—with someone who likes me for myself. It’s different.”
Art looked contemplative. “Yeah, I could see how that could be important.”
He tossed a few last items into the suitcase and zipped it up. “Done! And look, gender stereotypes be damned, I didn’t pack that much.”
Art carries his suitcase into the front room and called a cab. He then went to his purse, pulled out an envelope with ‘Ray’ written in big letters, and set it on the kitchen table.
Eventually the cab shows up and honks to let us know it was there. I grab the suitcase and Art gives the place one last look around.
“This was a nice life…it just wasn’t mine.”
We find an empty bench at North Station.
“Lyn, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
I give him a blank look. “Sorry for what?”
“It was because of me this all happened to you. If I hadn’t invited you to the beer festival, you would still be Jake.”
“Dude. There was no way you could have known what going to happen. I don’t blame you at all—never did.”
“Still, I felt I should say something. I feel guilty about being able to go back to my life—“
“When I’m stuck here.” I finished for him.
“Well, yeah.”
“Art, I am so happy this is all going to work out for you. I really am. Sure, I’m going to miss you—“ It was at this moment I could feel my throat tighten and tears well up in my eyes.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I don’t want to be one of those girls who cry easily.
I just about had it under control when Art suddenly burst into tears. It put me over the edge. Soon we were holding each other, tears running our faces.
“I’m going to miss you ‘Lyn.”
“Same here.”
We eventually regain our composure and Art looks at his watch. “Time to go.”
I reach for my purse and pull out a drawing of Liz. “It’s just a pencil sketch. I’ve scanned it, but I haven’t colored it yet. I’ll finish it and post it on the blog. I thought you would like the original drawing.”
“Yes! Thank you.” He takes the drawing from me and puts it with his things.
We hug one more time. “Take care of yourself Art. Come visit me sometime.”
“You can count on it.”
He grabbed his things and headed off.
I stood there a while. My best friend had gone away leaving me behind—it was Billy Sanderson all over again.
The Inn is back to its old tricks…
The T is right there at North Station, but I decided to walk home because the weather is incredibly nice right now. I eventually make it home and sit down to write in this blog—but before I got that far I checked my email. I was in for a surprise.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Art/Liz:
Please help me. I just checked out of the Trading Post Inn, but I am not the same person I checked in as. I am trying very hard not to lose control and become hysterical here, but it is like some really bad nightmare.
I still have the laptop computer I checked in with, and theAT&T Data Card which allows me to surf the web. I did a search forthe Trading Posting Inn, which led me to your blog. I read througheach one of the entries, only to realize that this has happened toother people too. So, I am desperately turning to you for helpbefore I lose it.
My real name is Paul Miller. I am an attorney from Philadelphia, Pa., and my specialty is intellectual property litigation. I am, or was, very good at my job. It allows me to stay very cool under very tense situations. Please refer to the blog I was doing before I changed for details. It can be found at http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/
For some reason, it is harder to stay in control in this body.
I am in a different body. At some point between Wednesday Night and Thursday Morning, by body somehow changed from a near 40 year-oldCaucasian man into an African-American women. She . . . I . . . look very young, so I can't tell you how old this body is. I am a lot shorter than I was before. And the body has half-healed bruises all over it.
I went and looked for a suitcase, or anything to tell me who this girl is. She left nothing behind, so the identity of this body is a mystery to me. I had to sneak down to the laundry room of the Trading Post Inn to find something to fit me. I only booked the room through the weekend (it was an impromptu get away to clear my head before a big trial), so I had to check out.
I left my suitcase, clothes, and all of my belongings, including identification in the room. I did take what cash I had, about $425.00 with me, and this laptop. I also took the rental car that I drove all the way up here from Boston.
I don't know what to do. I am turning to you for some advice. I am afraid that if the police find me with my laptop and the rental car, that they will suspect some type of foul play regarding my real identity Paul Miller. I know that the police will be more likely to believe I did something, considering I am nowblack, and I have all of these bruises. I cannot have the police investigate the Inn, or else nobody will be able to get their real body back. I am going to have to ditch the car and laptop somewhere along the road. I will have to wipe everything down with a cloth to take my fingerprints off of it. I just hope that I can get to you in time before you leave.
So, I am going to have to get as close to Boston, as I can, and then find a ride the rest of the way. I have a flight from Logan Airport back to my place in Philly, but I don't think I'll be able to get on the plane without any I.D., especially without any I.D. that looks like my current self.
I had better describe myself, my current self, to you, justin case you find me before I can check in at the internet café. Iwould say my age is between 16 and 21. Very young looking. As Isaid, I am African-American now, and, from the reflection in themirror, extremely beautiful. I am only about 5'2" tall. My hair isstraight and black, and goes about ½ of the way down my back. Iam wearing a pair of jeans that are a little too tight (and the pantlegs are just slightly rolled up), and a white v-neck t-shirt. Ialso have on a pair of sandals (that are a little too big for me).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In the back of my mind I knew the Inn was open again, so that means more victims. I checked out Paul’s blog: http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/It brought back a lot of memories of my own experience. I emailed him back, so hopefully he’ll contact me again. I don’t have all the answers about his new situation, but I have a few, so maybe that will help.
Ashlyn
Before my parents died and I was sent to live with my uncle Garry, I grew up in a suburb of Dallas. We lived in one of those cookie-cutter housing communities. It was great. There was an empty field nearby to play football, and a community pool to help survive the Texas summers. There were bike trails and parks connected to those trails. There was everything a boy needed growing up.
Including a best friend.
Billy Sanderson—I called him BS to the annoyance of my parents—lived next door. He was there from day one; as we moved into the house he just seemed to appear out of nowhere and started helping move things inside. There were no introductions—he acted like he had known me and my family forever and we became instant friends.
I thought Billy was the coolest guy on the planet. Billy was the instigator of bad behavior and I loved him for it. He had a motto he lived by “If you’re not doing something that might get you grounded, then you are probably not having a good enough time.” We spent large amounts of time debating who was cooler: Batman or Spiderman. We glued firecrackers to my ‘six-million dollar man’ action figure and lit them. “Oh No! Col. Austin’s bionics are going haywire!” We would yell as the doll would bounce around from the small explosions. We also spent countless hours trying to build bigger and higher ramps to jump with our bicycles. Billy’s parents would ask why we were so obsessed with jumping ramps and Billy would say “We’re training to be the next Evel Knievel! Duh”. Yeah, life was fun with Billy.
Being best friends with Billy had one significant downside. Billy lived with his mom and stepdad. Every summer Billy would go away for a month—sometimes two—and spend time with his dad. Those summer months when Billy went away were brutal for me. There I was, out of school for the summer and no best friend to do things with—every spring I would dread the approach of summer.
Worse, Billy would go on these amazing trips with his dad during those times away. Billy would come back and tell me tales of white water rafting, swimming with dolphins and traveling through jungles. Billy embellished all of his stories of course—I didn’t call him BS just because they were his initials—and his stories really captured my imagination. After a while, it wasn’t just being lonely in the summer that was the problem—I started feeling like Billy was going on these incredible adventures, and I was being left behind.
Which brings me to this morning.
I waited until I knew Ray had left for work before walking over to Liz’s place. I knocked on the door and Art opened the door.
“I thought we were meeting up at North Station.” He asked.
“I thought I would check and see if you needed help with anything—besides, it gives me the excuse to hang out with you a little longer. You packed?”
“Mostly. I packed a few thing last night for my—“ He made quote marks with his fingers. “—trip to New York. I waited until Ray left to pack more things for a longer stay at the Inn. I didn’t want him to see my bags and wonder why I packed so much for a short trip.”
“Smart, but if he asked you could have played the girl card.” I tell him.
“Girl card?”
“Yeah. You know: I need to pack all these clothes because I’m a girl.” I smirked.
“Well, not for much longer.”
We headed into the bedroom where there was an open half-filled suitcase lying on the bed. I found an empty spot of the bed a sat down.
“I can’t believe the day is finally here!” Art said while digging through a closet.
I didn’t reply right away. Art was practically bursting with excitement, but I had mixed feelings. I wasn’t as giddy as Art was about his return trip to the Inn. “So, you and Zoe have a good time last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, we did. Sorry about not inviting you along, but you know how Zoe is about you.” The original Ashlyn and Zoe didn’t get along, so I inherited the animosity. She doesn’t seem to care for the way I like to dress as well.
“Yeah I know. It’s okay. It gave me an excuse to go see Matt.”
Art turned away from the closet and gave me a curious look. “Oh? How’s that going?”
I shrugged. “We had a great time. Matt is fun, his friends are fun….”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“Not really. It’s just that sometimes I feel so old around him and his friends. Our tastes in music are different, movies, a lot of things. Sure, physical I’m in my early twenties, but mentally I’m closer to forty. As odd as it sounds, I think we have a generation gap.”
I pause for a moment. “He referred to me as his ‘girlfriend’ last night. I’m somebody’s girlfriend. Is that crazy or what?”
Art rolls his eyes. “Some of us have been dealing with that for months.”
“Yeah, true, but this is someone Ashlyn had never met before. This is a—God, a relationship—with someone who likes me for myself. It’s different.”
Art looked contemplative. “Yeah, I could see how that could be important.”
He tossed a few last items into the suitcase and zipped it up. “Done! And look, gender stereotypes be damned, I didn’t pack that much.”
Art carries his suitcase into the front room and called a cab. He then went to his purse, pulled out an envelope with ‘Ray’ written in big letters, and set it on the kitchen table.
Eventually the cab shows up and honks to let us know it was there. I grab the suitcase and Art gives the place one last look around.
“This was a nice life…it just wasn’t mine.”
We find an empty bench at North Station.
“Lyn, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
I give him a blank look. “Sorry for what?”
“It was because of me this all happened to you. If I hadn’t invited you to the beer festival, you would still be Jake.”
“Dude. There was no way you could have known what going to happen. I don’t blame you at all—never did.”
“Still, I felt I should say something. I feel guilty about being able to go back to my life—“
“When I’m stuck here.” I finished for him.
“Well, yeah.”
“Art, I am so happy this is all going to work out for you. I really am. Sure, I’m going to miss you—“ It was at this moment I could feel my throat tighten and tears well up in my eyes.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I don’t want to be one of those girls who cry easily.
I just about had it under control when Art suddenly burst into tears. It put me over the edge. Soon we were holding each other, tears running our faces.
“I’m going to miss you ‘Lyn.”
“Same here.”
We eventually regain our composure and Art looks at his watch. “Time to go.”
I reach for my purse and pull out a drawing of Liz. “It’s just a pencil sketch. I’ve scanned it, but I haven’t colored it yet. I’ll finish it and post it on the blog. I thought you would like the original drawing.”
“Yes! Thank you.” He takes the drawing from me and puts it with his things.
We hug one more time. “Take care of yourself Art. Come visit me sometime.”
“You can count on it.”
He grabbed his things and headed off.
I stood there a while. My best friend had gone away leaving me behind—it was Billy Sanderson all over again.
The Inn is back to its old tricks…
The T is right there at North Station, but I decided to walk home because the weather is incredibly nice right now. I eventually make it home and sit down to write in this blog—but before I got that far I checked my email. I was in for a surprise.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Art/Liz:
Please help me. I just checked out of the Trading Post Inn, but I am not the same person I checked in as. I am trying very hard not to lose control and become hysterical here, but it is like some really bad nightmare.
I still have the laptop computer I checked in with, and theAT&T Data Card which allows me to surf the web. I did a search forthe Trading Posting Inn, which led me to your blog. I read througheach one of the entries, only to realize that this has happened toother people too. So, I am desperately turning to you for helpbefore I lose it.
My real name is Paul Miller. I am an attorney from Philadelphia, Pa., and my specialty is intellectual property litigation. I am, or was, very good at my job. It allows me to stay very cool under very tense situations. Please refer to the blog I was doing before I changed for details. It can be found at http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/
For some reason, it is harder to stay in control in this body.
I am in a different body. At some point between Wednesday Night and Thursday Morning, by body somehow changed from a near 40 year-oldCaucasian man into an African-American women. She . . . I . . . look very young, so I can't tell you how old this body is. I am a lot shorter than I was before. And the body has half-healed bruises all over it.
I went and looked for a suitcase, or anything to tell me who this girl is. She left nothing behind, so the identity of this body is a mystery to me. I had to sneak down to the laundry room of the Trading Post Inn to find something to fit me. I only booked the room through the weekend (it was an impromptu get away to clear my head before a big trial), so I had to check out.
I left my suitcase, clothes, and all of my belongings, including identification in the room. I did take what cash I had, about $425.00 with me, and this laptop. I also took the rental car that I drove all the way up here from Boston.
I don't know what to do. I am turning to you for some advice. I am afraid that if the police find me with my laptop and the rental car, that they will suspect some type of foul play regarding my real identity Paul Miller. I know that the police will be more likely to believe I did something, considering I am nowblack, and I have all of these bruises. I cannot have the police investigate the Inn, or else nobody will be able to get their real body back. I am going to have to ditch the car and laptop somewhere along the road. I will have to wipe everything down with a cloth to take my fingerprints off of it. I just hope that I can get to you in time before you leave.
So, I am going to have to get as close to Boston, as I can, and then find a ride the rest of the way. I have a flight from Logan Airport back to my place in Philly, but I don't think I'll be able to get on the plane without any I.D., especially without any I.D. that looks like my current self.
I had better describe myself, my current self, to you, justin case you find me before I can check in at the internet café. Iwould say my age is between 16 and 21. Very young looking. As Isaid, I am African-American now, and, from the reflection in themirror, extremely beautiful. I am only about 5'2" tall. My hair isstraight and black, and goes about ½ of the way down my back. Iam wearing a pair of jeans that are a little too tight (and the pantlegs are just slightly rolled up), and a white v-neck t-shirt. Ialso have on a pair of sandals (that are a little too big for me).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In the back of my mind I knew the Inn was open again, so that means more victims. I checked out Paul’s blog: http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/It brought back a lot of memories of my own experience. I emailed him back, so hopefully he’ll contact me again. I don’t have all the answers about his new situation, but I have a few, so maybe that will help.
Ashlyn
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Ashlyn--And on top of everything, Mavs lose
Last night Matt came over to watch the Mavs/Suns basketball game. The game wasn’t until 9pm, but he came by around seven—we were going to grab some dinner before the game.
“Hey baby girl.” He says as I open the door for him. He leans in and gives me a kiss. I hadn’t seen Matt in several days, and his kiss expressed that he missed me.
“Hey yourself.” I say back to him.
I’ve been over to his place many times now, but this was the first time Matt was coming over to my place. I guess I’ve been avoiding it because Josh—the original Ashlyn’s ex-boyfriend—is friends with me and my roommates and tends to drop by unexpectedly. This thing with Matt isn’t really serious, but my gut (women’s intuition?) tells me that if Josh and Matt crossed paths it could lead to a lot of drama. I don’t need any more drama, but I did need a big tv with tivo and I wasn’t going to have that at his place.
“I’m just going to grab my purse. I’ll be right back.” I run into my bedroom, grab my purse and check myself in the mirror. I touch up my lipstick and decide I’m good enough for a quick bite to eat.
I really hadn’t taken that long, but I guess Matt was impatient, because he was suddenly behind me, kissing me on the neck.
“Hey, I wasn’t taking that long. I was coming right back.” I say to him.
“I know. I just wanted to see what your bedroom looks like.” He sat down on the bed. “Mmmm. Soft bed.” He reaches out to me and pulls me toward him. He’s got that look in his eye.
“We are on our way to dinner—“ I tried to pull back, but he is much, much stronger than me.
“I know.” He says, but he continues to pull me to himself, and then rolls us onto the bed.
“Matt.” I tried to sound annoyed, but he was back to kissing me on the neck. It was nice.
“Maybe we can get something delivered, and eat it during the game.” He says.
His hands were now under my clothes and touching my body, the kisses moved from my neck to my mouth.
I could feel myself weakening, I liked the way he made my body feel. “Maybe we could order Chinese.” I say.
Two hours later we are sitting on the couch watching the game on espn and sharing a bunch of Chinese.
The game didn’t start out well for my Mavs, they had a terrible first period—they were behind by 14 points. Matt was amused, he was a Suns fan. We had a friendly rivalry.
When we had our fill of the Chinese food, I paused the tivo and put away the leftovers. I then slipped into some silk PJs—I wanted to be comfortable. I then rejoined him on the couch and slide into the crook of his arm and we watch the game that way.
I was feeling pretty good about myself. Matt and I had found our rhythm—so I was feeling very satisfied, and not frustrated like I had with him in the past. Plus it was nice to feel a warm body next to mine as we watched the game. To top it all off, my Mavs turned it on and made a dramatic turnaround in the second and third period—they were up by thirteen points.
And then the fourth period happed—and things started to come apart.
I mentioned in previous entries that as Jake I had season tickets to the Mavs. At one point the television camera was panning the crowd at the arena and I thought to myself ‘hey, that’s near my seats’—and then I saw myself. I gasped in shock and grabbed up the remote to pause the tv.
“What’s wrong baby?” Matt asked.
I didn’t answer him. I just stared at the screen. I—He –looked good. ‘Jake’ had obviously been working out and gotten my old body in shape. Next to him was an attractive blonde haired woman I didn’t recognize. She was sitting in my second seat (I always bought two seats because it’s no fun to go to the game alone) and they seemed to be having a really good time.
Seeing myself again caused a flood of feelings to wash over me. Suddenly I didn’t feel so comfortable being all snuggled up to Matt. Suddenly I felt dirty and ashamed for what Matt and I had done earlier that evening.
How could I so easily accepted that Stephen wasn’t going to give my life back? Shouldn’t I be fighting him with every ounce of my being, demanding him he give me back what was rightfully mine?
I jumped up, wanting to put some space between me and Matt.
He stood up, following me, and tried to wrap his arms around me.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I yelled at him, jerking away from him.
Matt backed away from me, surprised. I was behaving like a crazy person and I knew it.
“Did I do something? Was there something on tv?” He asks, exasperated.
“You didn’t do anything.” I tell him. “It’s me, okay? I recognized the guy on the tv and it upset me. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. Maybe we can talk about it later?”
“Maybe. I don’t think so.” I say. “Do you mind if we call it a night? I’m kind of tired.”
“Sure baby.” He goes to kiss me goodnight, but I turn away.
I see him out and I said I would call him soon.
I go back to the tv and watch the few seconds of myself at the game over and over. Eventually I grow numb from that and I let the video keep playing and I end up watching the rest of the game.
When the game was over the announcers said it was one of the best regular season games in the last 35 years—it went to double overtime, and my Mavs lost it in the last few seconds.
It was a thrilling game and all I could do was think ‘that bastard is sitting in my seat’.
--Ashlyn
“Hey baby girl.” He says as I open the door for him. He leans in and gives me a kiss. I hadn’t seen Matt in several days, and his kiss expressed that he missed me.
“Hey yourself.” I say back to him.
I’ve been over to his place many times now, but this was the first time Matt was coming over to my place. I guess I’ve been avoiding it because Josh—the original Ashlyn’s ex-boyfriend—is friends with me and my roommates and tends to drop by unexpectedly. This thing with Matt isn’t really serious, but my gut (women’s intuition?) tells me that if Josh and Matt crossed paths it could lead to a lot of drama. I don’t need any more drama, but I did need a big tv with tivo and I wasn’t going to have that at his place.
“I’m just going to grab my purse. I’ll be right back.” I run into my bedroom, grab my purse and check myself in the mirror. I touch up my lipstick and decide I’m good enough for a quick bite to eat.
I really hadn’t taken that long, but I guess Matt was impatient, because he was suddenly behind me, kissing me on the neck.
“Hey, I wasn’t taking that long. I was coming right back.” I say to him.
“I know. I just wanted to see what your bedroom looks like.” He sat down on the bed. “Mmmm. Soft bed.” He reaches out to me and pulls me toward him. He’s got that look in his eye.
“We are on our way to dinner—“ I tried to pull back, but he is much, much stronger than me.
“I know.” He says, but he continues to pull me to himself, and then rolls us onto the bed.
“Matt.” I tried to sound annoyed, but he was back to kissing me on the neck. It was nice.
“Maybe we can get something delivered, and eat it during the game.” He says.
His hands were now under my clothes and touching my body, the kisses moved from my neck to my mouth.
I could feel myself weakening, I liked the way he made my body feel. “Maybe we could order Chinese.” I say.
Two hours later we are sitting on the couch watching the game on espn and sharing a bunch of Chinese.
The game didn’t start out well for my Mavs, they had a terrible first period—they were behind by 14 points. Matt was amused, he was a Suns fan. We had a friendly rivalry.
When we had our fill of the Chinese food, I paused the tivo and put away the leftovers. I then slipped into some silk PJs—I wanted to be comfortable. I then rejoined him on the couch and slide into the crook of his arm and we watch the game that way.
I was feeling pretty good about myself. Matt and I had found our rhythm—so I was feeling very satisfied, and not frustrated like I had with him in the past. Plus it was nice to feel a warm body next to mine as we watched the game. To top it all off, my Mavs turned it on and made a dramatic turnaround in the second and third period—they were up by thirteen points.
And then the fourth period happed—and things started to come apart.
I mentioned in previous entries that as Jake I had season tickets to the Mavs. At one point the television camera was panning the crowd at the arena and I thought to myself ‘hey, that’s near my seats’—and then I saw myself. I gasped in shock and grabbed up the remote to pause the tv.
“What’s wrong baby?” Matt asked.
I didn’t answer him. I just stared at the screen. I—He –looked good. ‘Jake’ had obviously been working out and gotten my old body in shape. Next to him was an attractive blonde haired woman I didn’t recognize. She was sitting in my second seat (I always bought two seats because it’s no fun to go to the game alone) and they seemed to be having a really good time.
Seeing myself again caused a flood of feelings to wash over me. Suddenly I didn’t feel so comfortable being all snuggled up to Matt. Suddenly I felt dirty and ashamed for what Matt and I had done earlier that evening.
How could I so easily accepted that Stephen wasn’t going to give my life back? Shouldn’t I be fighting him with every ounce of my being, demanding him he give me back what was rightfully mine?
I jumped up, wanting to put some space between me and Matt.
He stood up, following me, and tried to wrap his arms around me.
“DON’T TOUCH ME!” I yelled at him, jerking away from him.
Matt backed away from me, surprised. I was behaving like a crazy person and I knew it.
“Did I do something? Was there something on tv?” He asks, exasperated.
“You didn’t do anything.” I tell him. “It’s me, okay? I recognized the guy on the tv and it upset me. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. Maybe we can talk about it later?”
“Maybe. I don’t think so.” I say. “Do you mind if we call it a night? I’m kind of tired.”
“Sure baby.” He goes to kiss me goodnight, but I turn away.
I see him out and I said I would call him soon.
I go back to the tv and watch the few seconds of myself at the game over and over. Eventually I grow numb from that and I let the video keep playing and I end up watching the rest of the game.
When the game was over the announcers said it was one of the best regular season games in the last 35 years—it went to double overtime, and my Mavs lost it in the last few seconds.
It was a thrilling game and all I could do was think ‘that bastard is sitting in my seat’.
--Ashlyn
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Ashlyn--Busy girl
Even a waitress can have a hard week at work. Sure, there are busy nights, but a busy week is rare. The problem was a little more than half of the wait staff caught the stomach flu that has been going around. Suddenly I was picking up everybody’s shift. Oh well, I like to be busy.
I think my being busy has been harder on Matt than it has been on me—he’s just about called me every day. We’ve gone out twice more since Valentine’s Day and we kind of did a repeat performance of Valentine’s night. I wonder if it’s normal for a woman to enjoy sex and be frustrated at the same time? What’s really annoying is he keeps telling me “you were amazing” and seems totally oblivious whenever I don’t have an orgasm. When we had lunch together, I kidded Art about Stewart being “selfish in bed”—maybe it’s me who is sleeping with someone selfish.
Or maybe I’m not doing something right—I’m still figuring out how to be a member of the pink team after all.
And speaking of figuring out how to be a woman…
I like taking the T. (That’s the subway, for anyone reading this and has never been to Boston) Where I am from, Dallas, they are still in the early stages of getting public transportation—so nobody uses it yet. But here in Boston, just about everyone rides the T at some point. With the exception of walking in the cold to and from the station, the T is very convenient. I have learned I can’t take the T during “rush hour” hours. When everyone is trying to get home and the subway cars get so full that people are standing shoulder to shoulder—I find guys get very handsy. I tend to dress not so conservatively, so I am used to getting stared at. That’s looking and not touching, and as a former guy I can appreciate the need to give an attractive woman a once over. The groping however, is not so cool. It bothers me so much that if a subway car is too full I’ll just wait for the next one—which is crazy when you think about it. It’s the year 2007 and a woman has to wait an extra twenty to thirty minutes sometimes because perverts can’t keep their hands to themselves in public places.
Hmph. I spoke to Jessica about the scooter I received from my secret admirer, and she recommended not keeping it—but if it keeps some strangers hands off my ass, I may consider keeping it and using it.
BTW—Jessica is coming to visit around St. Patrick’s Day. I told her she could sleep on our couch and we could hang (and discuss the Trading Post Inn and my secret admirer) whenever I wasn’t working—which will be a lot. The radio station I do promotion work for time to time has hired me to be a part of their St. Patrick Day festivities. Apparently my red hair, green eyes and fair skin screams St. Patty’s day.
--More later,
Ashlyn
I think my being busy has been harder on Matt than it has been on me—he’s just about called me every day. We’ve gone out twice more since Valentine’s Day and we kind of did a repeat performance of Valentine’s night. I wonder if it’s normal for a woman to enjoy sex and be frustrated at the same time? What’s really annoying is he keeps telling me “you were amazing” and seems totally oblivious whenever I don’t have an orgasm. When we had lunch together, I kidded Art about Stewart being “selfish in bed”—maybe it’s me who is sleeping with someone selfish.
Or maybe I’m not doing something right—I’m still figuring out how to be a member of the pink team after all.
And speaking of figuring out how to be a woman…
I like taking the T. (That’s the subway, for anyone reading this and has never been to Boston) Where I am from, Dallas, they are still in the early stages of getting public transportation—so nobody uses it yet. But here in Boston, just about everyone rides the T at some point. With the exception of walking in the cold to and from the station, the T is very convenient. I have learned I can’t take the T during “rush hour” hours. When everyone is trying to get home and the subway cars get so full that people are standing shoulder to shoulder—I find guys get very handsy. I tend to dress not so conservatively, so I am used to getting stared at. That’s looking and not touching, and as a former guy I can appreciate the need to give an attractive woman a once over. The groping however, is not so cool. It bothers me so much that if a subway car is too full I’ll just wait for the next one—which is crazy when you think about it. It’s the year 2007 and a woman has to wait an extra twenty to thirty minutes sometimes because perverts can’t keep their hands to themselves in public places.
Hmph. I spoke to Jessica about the scooter I received from my secret admirer, and she recommended not keeping it—but if it keeps some strangers hands off my ass, I may consider keeping it and using it.
BTW—Jessica is coming to visit around St. Patrick’s Day. I told her she could sleep on our couch and we could hang (and discuss the Trading Post Inn and my secret admirer) whenever I wasn’t working—which will be a lot. The radio station I do promotion work for time to time has hired me to be a part of their St. Patrick Day festivities. Apparently my red hair, green eyes and fair skin screams St. Patty’s day.
--More later,
Ashlyn
Monday, February 26, 2007
Ashlyn--I loved the sweet potato fries
When our little group at the Trading Post Inn was transformed into our current bodies, it was Art who kept us from going nuts. That first night, when I first woke and found I had turned in Ashlyn, I screamed, and Art came running to my rescue even though he woke up to find himself transformed as well. That is the kind of person Art is, the kind of person who looks out for the other guy.
So when I got several phone messages from Art and he sounded as upset as I had ever heard him, I was very concerned—I decided I should go see him, and see if he needed to talk. It’s what he would do for me if our situations were reversed.
I headed right over to Liz’s place once I left Matt’s. The weather had been icy Valentine’s night, and the next morning was a mess. Because of the conditions, it took me forever to get to Liz’s house. I should have called before just showing up on Liz’s doorstep—Art wasn’t home. I decide to not make the same mistake twice and just show up at Liz’s workplace without calling—besides, I don’t seem to be very welcome there.
No answer. I was wearing the clothes from the previous night and I was freezing. What I had worn on my date with Matt wasn’t cutting it out in the cold—and my boots, while sexy as hell, weren’t so good at walking on the ice. I headed home.
Art never called me back, and I ended up pulling a double shift at the restaurant that day—so we didn’t actually get a chance to talk until a couple of days later. We exchanged emails and made plans to meet up at Harvard Square, specifically a Hamburger Joint called “Mr. Bartley’s”. We had eaten there before, months earlier when we were shopping for Halloween costumes. It’s not the kind of place a girl can frequent if she wants to keep her figure—but damn the food is good.
I got to Harvard Square early, so I went into the bookstore next to Bartley’s. Art must have had the same idea, because I found him downstairs in the used and ‘remainders’ books area.
I give Art a hug, which I think surprises him. No pun intended, but I have been ‘embracing’ my feminine side lately, and girls tend to hug each other.
“Uh, hey.” He says awkwardly. “Thanks for meeting me here; I didn’t feel comfortable talking at the house.”
“No problem.”
We shop for a few minutes and then head next door. Calling Bartley’s a hamburger joint might be too simple of a description. The place has a vibe. During peak hours the place is wall to wall people—not only might there be a line out the door, but the place might be so packed it’s difficult to walk between the tables. There are no quiet, private places to sit and talk, and you will probably end up sharing a table with a total stranger because there is simply no wasted space. The walls are filled from floor to ceiling with funny signs, bumper stickers and vintage posters. There is a poster of a young Ronald Reagan selling cigarettes, a “this is your brain on…” poster, as well as plenty of Elvis and Red Sox stuff. The wait staff, all college students, wears t-shirts that say “You can’t beat our meat” and they yell orders back and forth to cooks who rings a little bell every few minutes announcing an order is ready. The place feels like it’s out of a movie.
We get ordering out of the way. The menu is as fun as the rest of the place; all the burgers are named after current events or political figures. I get the “Dick Cheney” burger: a bacon cheeseburger. I also order a milkshake. Here on the east coast they call them “frappes”—I’ve also learned that if you want a thick shake (like what I am used to from Texas) you have to order a “western frappe”. If you don’t, you get something that is more milk than ice cream.
Once we were done ordering, Art and I kind of stare at each other for a moment.
“So—“I say, not sure where to begin, and fall silent.
“Your secret admirer.” Art states, jump starting the conversation. “You never said in the blog what happened. You said in your post ‘he was back in a big way’ but never got back to it.”
“Oh, right. Between going out with Matt and what has been going on with you, I forgot. On Valentine’s Day morning I received a very large gift. It was parked out front with a bow wrapped around it.”
Art sat up, interested. “Parked? You’re kidding. Someone gave you a car?”
I grin. “No… It was cool, but not that cool. A Vespa. One of those little Italian scooters. It’s pink.”
“Wow. Those can’t be cheap.” He says.
“They’re not cheap—they’re not like ‘car’ expensive, but whoever sent it put out some bucks. I called a local dealer to get some info on it.”
“So are you going to keep it?”
“I don’t know. The whole thing is creepy. Whoever this person is knows about the Trading post Inn and the curse. He knows I’m not who I used to be, and he might know I used to be a guy…I really can’t imagine what his motivations might be.”
We theorize for a while, but don’t really come up with anything.
“I’m thinking of contacting Jessica. She was a cop for twenty years before she got zapped by the Inn. I bet she might have some insight into this guy—maybe help me track this guy down; she was able to find me through the blog after all. It would be good to follow up with her anyway.”
“Good idea, but you sure you want to find this guy? What if he’s dangerous?” Art asks.
“I’ll be careful.”
I change the subject. “So, about Ray.” It was really a question.
Art sighs heavily and takes his time to answer. “I fucked things up Jake, and I don’t think it’s fixable.”
“You’re taking this pretty hard.” I say.
“Yeah, maybe. When we found ourselves in this situation, I just worried about two things: Getting my real life back and returning Liz's to her the way she left it. Two things, and the killer is, if I manage the first, then the second becomes even more important."
“You were thrown into an impossible situation. This was Liz’s mess; you did a hell of a job holding it all together as long as you did. You’ve gone way above and beyond what most people would have done in your place.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, but these are people’s lives I’m screwing up. It’s not just Liz’s life, but everyone’s lives that are close to Liz—especially Ray.”
“This situation existed before you got here, you are not responsible.” I say to him.
“But I think I made things worse. I could have done things differently. I knew Ray and Liz were drifting apart; I should have taken that into consideration whenever we were hanging out together. Maybe on New years Eve I should have told Ray I had a ‘headache’.”
We were interrupted by our lunch arriving. We pause the conversation for a moment to dig into the food. I down a few of the sweet potato fries—delicious.
“There was a moment, when I was talking to Ray, right before I admitted to cheating on him—I felt like I could tell him the truth. Emotions were high, and we were in the middle of this ‘big moment’ when I got the feeling the curse was gone—or at least weakened. I sensed I could tell him I wasn’t really Liz and that I was really some guy pretending to be his girlfriend— and he would believe me.” Art says to me.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” He agrees.
“What do you think happened? Do you think there is any credence to Jessica’s theory that people build up immunity?” I ask.
“It didn’t feel like that to me. It’s difficult to put into words. It’s like what was going on was so important for Liz and Ray—that the moment was bigger, stronger, than whatever keeps people from believing.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe it takes a big moment in your life, a “turning point” when people are open to their lives changing—maybe in those moments people are more receptive and the ‘truth’ can get through. It has a fairytale simplicity about it.” I add.
“Fairytale? You are turning into such a chick.” Art kids me.
“Screw you. What stopped you from telling him the truth then? Why did you tell him you were sleeping with your boss instead?” I Ask.
“My goal all along has been to return Liz’s life back to her as undamaged as possible. I think telling Ray would have created a bigger mess than getting the affair out in the open.”
“So what are you going to do now?” I ask.
“Well, I’m waiting to hear from Liz before I do anything, but I am thinking I am probably going to move out of Ray’s condo.”
“Wow. Where are you going to go?”
He shrugs. “I guess I might talk to Stewart see if I can move in with him. If not, maybe I can talk you into sharing a place with me.” He grins.
Our waitress appears and asks if we needed anything else. We say no, and she leaves the bill on the table.
“You mentioned Matt. What’s up with him?” Art asks.
At this point, I hadn’t yet written the blog entry about my Valentine’s night exploits.
I fill him in. He shakes his head, and rolls his eyes as I tell him about how Matt took me back to his place after the game and we screw like bunnies.
“Damn Jake, you sure went native fast.” Art says.
“My name is ‘Ashlyn’.” I tell him.
“Sorry, ‘Ashlyn’.” He made quotation marks with his fingers when he said it.
“Hey, you’re having sex with a guy on a regular basis. Why are you giving me a hard time?”
“It’s different. I’m doing it to maintain Liz’s life. Why exactly are you doing it? Are you telling me you are attracted to men now?” He asks.
“I’m…” I found it difficult to say, I must have turned as red as my hair from embarrassment. “I’m exploring my new life—trying new things, and being open-minded. That includes sex.”
“It just seems awfully fast. We’ve only been in these bodies for six months.”
“And I’m going to be in this one for the rest of my life.” I was a little hot. “It is different between you and I—sure, you’re trying to maintain the status quo, but you are also going back to your old life in a few months. I’m not.”
“Look Ashlyn, I’m sorry—“Art began, I hold up my hand, cutting him off.
“It’s okay.” I say. “Besides, I would be lying if I said I didn’t—somewhat-- enjoy the sex.” I pause. “By the way, Stewart still not helping you out with an orgasm?”
It was Art’s turn to blush. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
“Hey, it’s girl talk.” I tell him. He’s a little uncomfortable, and I’m having fun with it. “Is Stewart selfish in bed?”
“Oh, look at the time.” Art says, pretending to look at his watch.
I laugh, and let him off the hook. We paid our bill and I made sure we left a good tip—I’m a waitress after all, I hate cheap tippers.
Outside Art surprised me by giving me a goodbye hug. “Thanks for listening.”
“Who is turning into the chick now?” I ask and we head our separate ways.
--Ashlyn
So when I got several phone messages from Art and he sounded as upset as I had ever heard him, I was very concerned—I decided I should go see him, and see if he needed to talk. It’s what he would do for me if our situations were reversed.
I headed right over to Liz’s place once I left Matt’s. The weather had been icy Valentine’s night, and the next morning was a mess. Because of the conditions, it took me forever to get to Liz’s house. I should have called before just showing up on Liz’s doorstep—Art wasn’t home. I decide to not make the same mistake twice and just show up at Liz’s workplace without calling—besides, I don’t seem to be very welcome there.
No answer. I was wearing the clothes from the previous night and I was freezing. What I had worn on my date with Matt wasn’t cutting it out in the cold—and my boots, while sexy as hell, weren’t so good at walking on the ice. I headed home.
Art never called me back, and I ended up pulling a double shift at the restaurant that day—so we didn’t actually get a chance to talk until a couple of days later. We exchanged emails and made plans to meet up at Harvard Square, specifically a Hamburger Joint called “Mr. Bartley’s”. We had eaten there before, months earlier when we were shopping for Halloween costumes. It’s not the kind of place a girl can frequent if she wants to keep her figure—but damn the food is good.
I got to Harvard Square early, so I went into the bookstore next to Bartley’s. Art must have had the same idea, because I found him downstairs in the used and ‘remainders’ books area.
I give Art a hug, which I think surprises him. No pun intended, but I have been ‘embracing’ my feminine side lately, and girls tend to hug each other.
“Uh, hey.” He says awkwardly. “Thanks for meeting me here; I didn’t feel comfortable talking at the house.”
“No problem.”
We shop for a few minutes and then head next door. Calling Bartley’s a hamburger joint might be too simple of a description. The place has a vibe. During peak hours the place is wall to wall people—not only might there be a line out the door, but the place might be so packed it’s difficult to walk between the tables. There are no quiet, private places to sit and talk, and you will probably end up sharing a table with a total stranger because there is simply no wasted space. The walls are filled from floor to ceiling with funny signs, bumper stickers and vintage posters. There is a poster of a young Ronald Reagan selling cigarettes, a “this is your brain on…” poster, as well as plenty of Elvis and Red Sox stuff. The wait staff, all college students, wears t-shirts that say “You can’t beat our meat” and they yell orders back and forth to cooks who rings a little bell every few minutes announcing an order is ready. The place feels like it’s out of a movie.
We get ordering out of the way. The menu is as fun as the rest of the place; all the burgers are named after current events or political figures. I get the “Dick Cheney” burger: a bacon cheeseburger. I also order a milkshake. Here on the east coast they call them “frappes”—I’ve also learned that if you want a thick shake (like what I am used to from Texas) you have to order a “western frappe”. If you don’t, you get something that is more milk than ice cream.
Once we were done ordering, Art and I kind of stare at each other for a moment.
“So—“I say, not sure where to begin, and fall silent.
“Your secret admirer.” Art states, jump starting the conversation. “You never said in the blog what happened. You said in your post ‘he was back in a big way’ but never got back to it.”
“Oh, right. Between going out with Matt and what has been going on with you, I forgot. On Valentine’s Day morning I received a very large gift. It was parked out front with a bow wrapped around it.”
Art sat up, interested. “Parked? You’re kidding. Someone gave you a car?”
I grin. “No… It was cool, but not that cool. A Vespa. One of those little Italian scooters. It’s pink.”
“Wow. Those can’t be cheap.” He says.
“They’re not cheap—they’re not like ‘car’ expensive, but whoever sent it put out some bucks. I called a local dealer to get some info on it.”
“So are you going to keep it?”
“I don’t know. The whole thing is creepy. Whoever this person is knows about the Trading post Inn and the curse. He knows I’m not who I used to be, and he might know I used to be a guy…I really can’t imagine what his motivations might be.”
We theorize for a while, but don’t really come up with anything.
“I’m thinking of contacting Jessica. She was a cop for twenty years before she got zapped by the Inn. I bet she might have some insight into this guy—maybe help me track this guy down; she was able to find me through the blog after all. It would be good to follow up with her anyway.”
“Good idea, but you sure you want to find this guy? What if he’s dangerous?” Art asks.
“I’ll be careful.”
I change the subject. “So, about Ray.” It was really a question.
Art sighs heavily and takes his time to answer. “I fucked things up Jake, and I don’t think it’s fixable.”
“You’re taking this pretty hard.” I say.
“Yeah, maybe. When we found ourselves in this situation, I just worried about two things: Getting my real life back and returning Liz's to her the way she left it. Two things, and the killer is, if I manage the first, then the second becomes even more important."
“You were thrown into an impossible situation. This was Liz’s mess; you did a hell of a job holding it all together as long as you did. You’ve gone way above and beyond what most people would have done in your place.”
“That’s a nice thing to say, but these are people’s lives I’m screwing up. It’s not just Liz’s life, but everyone’s lives that are close to Liz—especially Ray.”
“This situation existed before you got here, you are not responsible.” I say to him.
“But I think I made things worse. I could have done things differently. I knew Ray and Liz were drifting apart; I should have taken that into consideration whenever we were hanging out together. Maybe on New years Eve I should have told Ray I had a ‘headache’.”
We were interrupted by our lunch arriving. We pause the conversation for a moment to dig into the food. I down a few of the sweet potato fries—delicious.
“There was a moment, when I was talking to Ray, right before I admitted to cheating on him—I felt like I could tell him the truth. Emotions were high, and we were in the middle of this ‘big moment’ when I got the feeling the curse was gone—or at least weakened. I sensed I could tell him I wasn’t really Liz and that I was really some guy pretending to be his girlfriend— and he would believe me.” Art says to me.
“Wow.”
“Yeah.” He agrees.
“What do you think happened? Do you think there is any credence to Jessica’s theory that people build up immunity?” I ask.
“It didn’t feel like that to me. It’s difficult to put into words. It’s like what was going on was so important for Liz and Ray—that the moment was bigger, stronger, than whatever keeps people from believing.”
“Maybe that’s it. Maybe it takes a big moment in your life, a “turning point” when people are open to their lives changing—maybe in those moments people are more receptive and the ‘truth’ can get through. It has a fairytale simplicity about it.” I add.
“Fairytale? You are turning into such a chick.” Art kids me.
“Screw you. What stopped you from telling him the truth then? Why did you tell him you were sleeping with your boss instead?” I Ask.
“My goal all along has been to return Liz’s life back to her as undamaged as possible. I think telling Ray would have created a bigger mess than getting the affair out in the open.”
“So what are you going to do now?” I ask.
“Well, I’m waiting to hear from Liz before I do anything, but I am thinking I am probably going to move out of Ray’s condo.”
“Wow. Where are you going to go?”
He shrugs. “I guess I might talk to Stewart see if I can move in with him. If not, maybe I can talk you into sharing a place with me.” He grins.
Our waitress appears and asks if we needed anything else. We say no, and she leaves the bill on the table.
“You mentioned Matt. What’s up with him?” Art asks.
At this point, I hadn’t yet written the blog entry about my Valentine’s night exploits.
I fill him in. He shakes his head, and rolls his eyes as I tell him about how Matt took me back to his place after the game and we screw like bunnies.
“Damn Jake, you sure went native fast.” Art says.
“My name is ‘Ashlyn’.” I tell him.
“Sorry, ‘Ashlyn’.” He made quotation marks with his fingers when he said it.
“Hey, you’re having sex with a guy on a regular basis. Why are you giving me a hard time?”
“It’s different. I’m doing it to maintain Liz’s life. Why exactly are you doing it? Are you telling me you are attracted to men now?” He asks.
“I’m…” I found it difficult to say, I must have turned as red as my hair from embarrassment. “I’m exploring my new life—trying new things, and being open-minded. That includes sex.”
“It just seems awfully fast. We’ve only been in these bodies for six months.”
“And I’m going to be in this one for the rest of my life.” I was a little hot. “It is different between you and I—sure, you’re trying to maintain the status quo, but you are also going back to your old life in a few months. I’m not.”
“Look Ashlyn, I’m sorry—“Art began, I hold up my hand, cutting him off.
“It’s okay.” I say. “Besides, I would be lying if I said I didn’t—somewhat-- enjoy the sex.” I pause. “By the way, Stewart still not helping you out with an orgasm?”
It was Art’s turn to blush. “I’m not sure I want to talk about it.”
“Hey, it’s girl talk.” I tell him. He’s a little uncomfortable, and I’m having fun with it. “Is Stewart selfish in bed?”
“Oh, look at the time.” Art says, pretending to look at his watch.
I laugh, and let him off the hook. We paid our bill and I made sure we left a good tip—I’m a waitress after all, I hate cheap tippers.
Outside Art surprised me by giving me a goodbye hug. “Thanks for listening.”
“Who is turning into the chick now?” I ask and we head our separate ways.
--Ashlyn
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