Valerie: There goes the bride

For the past few months I have been thinking about what I would write if I came back to the blog. The world I left off in seems so different and alien, and while changes of lifestyle are nothing new to me, this is the first time everyone else has been along for the ride.

The coffee shop has been kept open for grab-and-go and mobile orders, but business is way down, which means shifts are way down, which means sitting on my butt at home like everyone else. You would think this gave me time to write, but living in an apartment with two other girls doesn't give me a ton of private time to collect my thoughts. I've started this post five times in the last month.

Indulge me for a sec while I go back to the Pre-Pandemic world to explain what things are like now.

The last thing that happened was on February 29. That was the day of Meg's wedding. To say I had mixed feelings about the situation would be putting it lightly. I'm not still in love with her or anything but I can hardly look at her without feeling a really complicated sense of loss, disappointment, resentment and guilt over how things ended between us and never resumed. I've accepted the situation but the feelings stubbornly wouldn't clear. I've been open about them, and she understands, and she wants my friendship, and I wanted hers. So, she said, her wedding wouldn't be complete without me there.

Besides, I thought. Things had fizzled with Rafe, maybe I would meet a guy.

Because I had just had my breast-reduction surgery, I needed a new dress that fit my body better. Most of what I liked from before can be taken in, but I'm definitely enough of a woman now that I will take an opportunity to buy something new and frilly when it pleases me. I brought Ariel along for advice because of the girls, she's the one whose fashion sense I most admire - kind of edgy, kind of modern, but also tuned into classic beauty looks. And I know she would never just tell me what I wanted to hear.

Ariel and I have bonded in a way I didn't with Maddie, who is a sweetheart, or Charli, who was cool. It's definitely because her coming out as bi and having her first female relationship with Charli reminded me, ironically, of transforming into a woman and starting to have relationships with men. In the past, I have told her about my past with Meg, and so she understood how this could be complicated for me, admiring that I was really dedicated to supporting my friend - as long as I wasn't there to start shit. I laughed that I wasn't there to start it, but if need be, I was always ready to finish it.

Somewhere in all this, I asked if Ariel would maybe want to come, since being alone would probably be a good way to do something stupid. I didn't even know how to broach that topic with Meg, but as luck would have it there was a last minute cancellation at the singles table, so as long as she didn't mind being "Frank Leoni" for the night, she was welcome.

We drove up to Vermont and checked into the hotel. I texted Meg to say "I hope this is better than the last time I stayed at a hotel in New England..." and she responded, "Haha, well, it could have been a lot worse." Looking down at myself, I thought yeah, I guess so. (Still hate being short though.)

We changed into our dresses. I was wearing a form-fitting black dress that accentuates my curves in a way I never got to when I had the giant boobs. I was stunned to find I really looked like I had a body. Ariel wore a light blue one that set well against her brown skin, and reminded me that my body is nothing compared to some other peoples.

Ari did my hair. She reflected on how she used to do her cousins' hair, and would be jealous, because they were white and their hair was so easy, and it took her years to not want it to go straight down like Michelle Obama's.

The wedding was tasteful and modern, with lots of quirky touches that I would expect from Meg, which goes right along with having the wedding on Leap Day anyway.

At the Reception, I was seated next to this guy Henry, a friend of Justin's. He was tall, with piercing blue eyes and a strong jaw. Very striking. He was good conversation, since like me he has lived in a lot of different places in the country.

Early in the night, the DJ announced a "Kissing Game" called "Show Them How It's Done" where couples go up to the bride and groom and kiss for them to prompt them to kiss - it's one of those things they do instead of clinking glasses because venues don't want you to do that anymore. It was cute seeing young couples kiss each other sheepishly, while the old couples full-on made out. After a few drinks, I was wanting to get in on the action.

"Hey Henry... feel like going up there?"

He stammered, "Uh... sure!"

I must have really intimidated the poor guy because he only barely gave me a faint peck. When we got back to the table, Ariel rolled her eyes.

Naturally, because it was her wedding day, I didn't get to spend much one-on-one time with Meg, but it was great to see her - bittersweet, but she looked beautiful and joyous, and even Justin cleaned up really nice. I mostly saw her on the dance floor, because as she was fond of telling me, since her knee was healed up, she had years of living to make up for. Which is all well and good but it hasn't taught her a thing because she dances even worse than I do.

When the dancing started, Henry was hard to drag out on the floor and moved stiffly, but was fun. Really, we were having a nice time and I was glad to have someone to forget my troubles with, but he had an early flight and left, giving me his number. I wasn't sure if I saw it going anywhere though..

Once that was over with, I was determined to keep having a good time, and so was Ari. We kicked off our heels and danced up a storm, pausing only for more drinks, photos, and to stuff ourselves all over again at the late night table. As the night went on, we got a little less shy about touching each other, holding each other, twerking on each other (well, she did the twerking, I did... some other awkward white girl move.) I got swept up in the moment and I didn't care.

More and more drinks were consumed and we got tired of indulging guys who wanted to cut in. We probably took it a little too far and made a spectacle of ourselves. It's not like we fell to the floor or anything, but our hands were all over each other, our eyes locked. Maybe it was just the liquor and the setting, but I was feeling things, things that I haven't felt in a very long time - not merely attraction, or interest in another person, but real hunger for them. Lust. Fire.

Eventually I just whispered in her ear "Hotel." And she nodded. We were already all over each other in the cab, tongues flecking in and out of each others' mouths, hands furiously finding breasts and hips and legs. I didn't have time to think how strange or different it all was, how unexpected - I was caught up in the moment, and I badly wanted to be.

We fumbled only a moment on the bed as we had to help each other out of our dresses, but as soon as we were it was the quickest acceleration I have felt in a very long time. We explored each other's naked bodies - which I was too excited to feel insecure about my still un-faded scars, and luckily the tenderness in my breasts was subsiding, because she really seemed to relish playing with them.

"I'm sorry they're not big anymore..." I muttered self-effacingly.

"Honey, they're perfect," Ari said to me. Then added, "And they're still bigger than mine."

It was... different, passionate, energetic. It was exciting to know we could go at a pace that women are comfortable with and not worry about the man's needs. After a bit, she said to me, "I brought something... just in case. I didn't think it would be you though."

"Show me," I said.

She went to her duffel and pulled it out. It was a... shall we say, wearable appendage. I welcomed it, let her use it on me for a while, before I decided it was my turn.

Guys.

Do you know how gratifying it is to have a woman say in the throes of passion "Wow, you really know how to use that thing!" And know she means it?

It was a little clumsy, and honestly, I'm not entirely sure I liked using it better than being on the other side, but it was an amazing, exciting night that left me abuzz. We fell into each other's arms.

Then in the morning we just kind of looked at each other in shock. The spell had somewhat worn off and I was really just embarrassed, although I couldn't explain to her why. She said she was starting to feel guilty about using me for a rebound after Charli left, and maybe taking advantage of my feelings at the wedding. I told her I had a part to play too, but my frustration was with myself. After all this time getting used to the idea of dating and making love to men - and actively enjoying it - why did sleeping with a woman feel like a failure, even thought it was an amazing night?

For over a year, I had been having these thoughts, that maybe I'm not 100% straight, ever since I met Maddie, but I pushed them aside as just surface thoughts, residual inklings of who I was and misplaced appreciation for other women. But what I felt that night sure as hell was real, at least for the moment.

We decided it looked like an awkward one-time-only thing, that we could forgive ourselves and move on. Given that we were roommates now, it might be for the best if we don't pursue. I was both relieved and disappointed - relieved because I was not sure I was up to dating women again, and disappointed because I really like Ariel, especially now, and was starting to feel like maybe we would actually be good together.

And then... in the midst of trying to put that behind us and get through all of it and live our lives... Covid hit New York City. Hard. And suddenly we were locked in together.

I'll tell you more about that later.

Love and kisses,

Val

Tyler/Valerie: Options?

I have to admit, ever since my meet with Cynthia, I've been struggling with this decision. I don't know if I honestly expected just to float around, trying on body after body for years until somehow, somehow I lucked into something, anything, that I could stick with. And it was probably too much to ask that that body be male, but what right do I have to be picky?

Still, a lifetime of being jerked around means that I'm fishy about all this. One thing Cynthia did when we met was show me text messages with her husband that corroborated the idea that he was accepting a buyout, so to speak, and was going away "quietly." That still puts this firmly in "too good to be true" territory.

I could hardly pick a better life than Cynthia Hutchins' out of a catalog, so long as maleness wasn't on my wishlist. She's close in age to what I'm supposed to be. She's extremely pretty and lives a life of luxury - luxury she informs me will be diminished following her transaction with her current husband, but still a woman of means. There's time and money to build that life into something that I could be happy living. Sort of.

Part of this deal is that Cynthia wants someone who will be good for the kids. Yes, that's a role I've been in before as Judith... I wouldn't say I was the world's greatest mom, but I had the unique challenge of raising a body-swapped and de-aged tween boy who was very willful, but seemed to respect me at least. I don't know anything about Cynthia's stepkids, what they think about their mom or anything... but I do know they think she's who she's always been.

And I know they've already lost their real mom, and unknowingly been abandoned by their real dad. It makes me want to help but I'm not sure it makes me want to raise them. And as much as Cynthia is selling me that I'd be able to do as I please, how can she expect or hope for anything besides me adopting the role of 'mommy'? And then where am I?

I've been lucky in my trips to the Inn, and up until a few weeks ago I felt prepared for even the worst case scenario, since I've seen people get through scenarios way more hellish than anything I've been up against. But it's still stressful. A few weeks ago I would have told you that I would have settled for anything that felt permanent, but now that I'm presented with a choice -- not being forced (not literally anyway) but asked to choose -- I couldn't help but wonder if it would be right for me. If I was slotted into Cynthia Hutchins' life based on the random draw, and told I could keep it if I wanted, once I was in her skin, I doubt you could stop me. But there's such a temptation to take the mystery door.

Temptation that decreased after one conversation.

As I often do when I don't know what to do, I reached out to the only person who's ever really understood me: Meghan Reis.

I asked her to come down to Brooklyn for the weekend and she said she couldn't, but after reading my post she had to call me. We talked all night, too long for me to write-up here, about everything... all my options, all the things that brought me here, how sometimes when I make choices for myself they tend not to work out and how maybe the idea of someone making the decision for me, pointing me at this woman's body and saying "You must be her now" may be my only option.

"You're right," I said, "I've screwed up way too many peoples' lives to take the chance again."

"You never screwed up anyone's life," she said.

"Tell that to Valerie," I sighed.

"Absolutely nothing that has happened to that girl in the past year is your fault."

I started to say, "I dunno Meg... I just keep thinking, maybe this is the one... or maybe if I can just have one more year as a guy..."

"Justin proposed," she cut me off.

"What?"

"I'm sorry, I... I don't mean to be all egotistical thinking that has anything to do with your decision, because we're both pretty clear that what we had was in the past, but... Justin proposed to me, and I said yes. We're getting married next year. And I just had to tell you at some point and that point wasn't coming any sooner."

"Wow, I..." I was speechless. "Congratulations...!" I said as sincerely as I could.

"I want you at the wedding... in whatever form you have by then. I don't know if it would be appropriate to have you as a bridesmaid... but the thought did cross my mind."

I was speechless.

"But I'm going to have to know where you'll be in a year for that to work," she noted.

"Yeah..."

I switched the topic over to her and let her fill me in on all the details, paying as much attention as I could as I dug deep into my mind, thinking... how much of my fantasy return to manhood was just me holding out hope for a Meg-Tyler reunion? That I would steal her back from him, even though she's been his longer than she was ever mine? Suddenly I felt very scummy about the whole thing.

That's the crazy thing. I've seen how I can be happy as a woman, but I don't think I could be happy as a man without her. But as a female, those feelings are in check, and my heart and my mind are a little more open. What's more, I seem to like myself more this way.

What a crazy thing to realize...

Clock's ticking on this decision.

-Tyler/Valerie

Tyler/Valerie: Cursed.

Is this wedding cursed? Yes, but maybe more than we already knew.


No weddings go off without a hitch. A lot of complications and mishaps are to be expected. But mishaps like the Bride being replaced with a doppelganger who has to impersonate her, that's probably a curveball.


It almost feels a little quaint to have a mundane problem like, oh... not having a dress a week before the ceremony. You might recall that I was not completely happy with the dress I was to wear as Valerie the Bride. No disrespect to her vision, I would have worn it, but to the degree that I have any fashion sense or concept of style for myself (as Valerie), it didn't "work" for me. I know, that's a very "female" issue to have, but trust me guys, when you spend more time floating from body to body, you start to care more about what you dress it in.


I didn't "not have a dress" because I didn't like it though. I was willing to wear it. The dress was bought and paid for and fitted and I was just going to pack it away in my mind, like I do for so much about being Valerie (or anybody) and play my part. And then the seamstress had a flood and the dress was ruined.


After a suitable outburst, Val agreed, when she visited the city, to come help me track down a suitable replacement. Doing so on short notice, with a limited budget (we did get a partial refund from the seamstress but not for her labor) trying to find something that fits and looks good off the racks is... tough.


I mean, I only like clothes-shopping marginally more now than I did as a man, and spending two days with a woman intent on having her perfect wedding despite not actually walking down the aisle for it, is pretty nerve-wracking. Finally I found something that looked like it would fit my unique assets, wasn't eye-gougingly ugly to me, and we could afford.


"No."


"What's wrong with this?"


"It's all wrong, it looks disgusting, take it off."


"You know what, Valerie? I think it looks fine." It was corseted, with elegant off-the-shoulder shear sleeves, and an A-line cut as opposed to the big marshmallowy ballgown she wanted to wear that made my whole figure disappear. I felt strangely comfortable in it like... like this was "my" dress.


"It looks cheap and ugly, take it off, I'd be embarrassed to wear that."


"Valerie, you're not being reasonable."


"TAKE IT OFF!" she screamed and stomped her foot, "PUT IT BACK! LET'S MOVE ON!" Her tall, lean frame loomed over me as she attempted to use her newfound size to browbeat me.


"Shut the fuck up!" I screamed back. "I'm sorry your dress got ruined but there's nothing you can do but put up with it. We're out of options. The wedding is a two weeks away. I'll walk down the fucking aisle in a garbage bag if I feel like it at this point."


She sunk down and tears filled her eyes and I felt extremely guilty.


"It's not fair," she sobbed, "It's just not fair."


"I know," I said, uncertain whether I should move closer and comfort her considering we had just been at each other's throats a second earlier. I looked around to see whether people had taken notice of our shouting match. If so they must have been very confused.


"You deserve better than what you're getting," I said as comfortingly as I could. It didn't seem to help, she sniffled.


"Seeing him at the Bridal Shower was so hard," she sniffled, "I was looking forward to it but... but I was invisible to him, and he went straight to you, and... the way he, the way he looked at you... the way he kissed you... it's like he loves you."


"He doesn't love me," I said firmly. "He loves the person he thinks I am, which is you. I feel it all the time, how much love you're supposed to be getting from him."


"If he really loved me, wouldn't he knew I was... I was gone?"


"You know that's not how it works," I said, patting her back and trying to be as comforting as I could manage.


"I thought I could handle it," she whimpered.


"You're doing your best," I sighed. "We all are."


"Wear whatever you want... it's not really my wedding anymore..."


She was quiet the rest of the day, and then said she would see me at the wedding.


And I'd like to say that was the last problem we had, but sadly...


A few days later, the pictures of the shower got posted to social media, and of course I was tagged in all of them, which means Meg, who now has friended me, saw them, and as soon as she did, she sent me a text.


"Omg. That's the wrong bouquet."


"What?" I wrote back.


"Josh's bouquet. That's not the one I saw him buy. That had red roses, this has pink."


"Um... are you sure?"


"VERY."


Well, now we really do have a problem on our hands.


-Tyler

Tyler/Valerie: Plans, schemes, suspicions and reunions

"I've got a plan," Valerie texts me one day out of the blue.


I brace myself - we've been working separately on how I'm going to address Valerie's "Children Immediately After Marriage" pact with Josh. I'm a little skeptical that she's actually got something usable but I tell her to hit me with it.


"Say you're already pregnant."


I'm glad I didn't get my hopes up.


"No, it will make perfect sense," she insists. "That way he won't bug you about getting pregnant, and it will make sense with your recent change in... behavior. And then that way, you won't have to have sex with him at all!"


"But how am I supposed to be pregnant? He hasn't had sex with-- uh, either of us in months."


"You could be three months in! Lots of women take time to show."


"But I'm not going to show."


"Hit the buffet! He won't know the difference."


I mean, I've been through this process so many times and I have to admit I haven't always coped well under pressure, but this seems especially moronic.


"That really won't work," I sigh, "He knows I've gotten my period."


"Damnit," she replied. "I didn't think he would be paying attention to that."


"Well, he is... he's very attentive."


"I know. God, I miss him. Tell him you love him as soon as you can, okay?"


"Okay. By the way, Val, I have something to tell you, I don't know if you are already aware of this..."


See, the other week, when I was laid up on the couch, I notice something hard and plastic under my ass. I dug under the cushion and found... an old flip-phone. What you might know from Breaking Bad as a "burner."


It had only one number in it and a long series of text messages cryptically saying dates and times, or the occasional "cancellation." The texts were are recent as October.


"I'm guessing it isn't yours," I told her. "And the dates frequently correspond to weekends when Josh was away."


It took her a while to respond, but when she did was, "It's probably just an old work phone. Don't worry about it."


"Val, it's still being used, and not for everyday purposes. This seems incredibly suspicious..." not clarifying that I would know suspicious behavior.


"Drop it, okay? It's none of our business."


I left the phone where it was, knowing that if Josh saw it was gone he would know I had it.


The way I see it, there are two possibilities. One is that Josh is involved in something illegal... insider trading? Drugs? I don't know.


The other possibility is that he's having an affair.


If either one is the case, I honestly don't know what to do. Do I let Val go through with the wedding, and then I'm ostensibly married to a criminal or a cheater? What if, God forbid, I get stuck here, in that situation, especially if we don't figure out a way to avoid me getting pregnant? I'm sorry, I can't leave this idly be.


I didn't want to believe it, because Josh seems a genuinely sweet, caring guy, what kind of stuff could he be involved in? But it's often people you don't expect, because they put in a lot of effort not to be suspected... and since I've been here, Josh's way of doting on me has often seemed... a bit over-the-top.


So I did something I never thought I would have to do. I called my ex-girlfriend to ask her to trail my future husband.


Pete/Brigette, who lives for "Freaky Inn Drama," by her own admission, was disappointed that I didn't call her in on this, but my reasons were obvious: Josh knows Brigette well and would know if he were being followed by her. There was a good chance that Meg would be able to just blend in and go unnoticed.


I'm lucky that Meg still cares enough about me to come all the way down from Vermont, and came up with some cover story to explain it to Justin.


So we waited for this past Friday, when the latest "Meeting" (we assume) was scheduled, for 6:30. Meg was stationed outside his work on Wall Street. When she spotted him leaving, she followed him through the subway, up to a restaurant on 49th Street. It was pricey ("Okay, I'll reimburse... but remember I pour coffee for a living!") and he was eating alone.


Then she followed him to a flower shop in China town. He went in for a while and came out with a bouquet.


Then he got in a cab and disappeared.


"You couldn't follow him?" I asked ruefully.


"Sorry Ty, the whole 'Follow That Cab' thing only works in movies," she sighed, "And in fact I don't even think it works there. I'm a Humanities Grad Student, not a spy."


Still, that was valuable info. A fucking bouquet? Before going away for the weekend? That's a giant red flag, right?


I started to get hot under the collar. I was being cheated on -- I mean, Val was being cheated on, but I felt some of it too, because it meant the affection he was giving to Val, through me, was all a lie, and... well, it is an incredibly messed up situation.


Once we lost track of Josh, Meg and Brigette and I all went out for drinks. Brig was worried about being a bit of a third wheel, but whenever you group a certain number of Inn-people together we all break the ice over our shared experiences so it's not like she was unwelcome. (Honestly, I've been so wrapped up in my own shit lately that I haven't been able to write about the friendship I've forged with her, but she's been very supportive of this "Male fiancé, no sex" situation. Maybe someday she'll bring you up to speed on her drama...)


Meg, who loves New York but doesn't get to come down very often, really felt floored to be visiting me. Time has healed a lot of the wounds between us, and partly that might be because I have spent the last year and more outwardly female... meaning, I guess, that it's easier to think of me as a different person than the one who cruelly left Meghan in early 2016.


As we sat and drank, I kept catching Meghan's eye looking me over and giving a knowing smirk. At first I thought it was judgment for wearing a low-cut top (it's really hard to button these gals all the way up) or maybe... something she approved of.
"What?" I finally asked.


"You're so different now," she said oddly approvingly.


"I only look different," I sighed, "I'm the same crummy person inside."


"You're not. You were never crummy, but take it from someone who has known you as so many different people... this body suits you. It's doing something to your personality. It's like you're... free."


"I'm not," I smiled meekly, "I'm very much in girl-jail. Fiancee-jail. Soon to be marriage-jail."


"Pregnant-jail next!" Brig cheered, unhelpfully.


"Not happening," I scolded.


"Okay, you don't think you've changed. But as long as I've known you you've always seemed like the world was on your back, and now... even with all these stresses and conflicts, the weights isn't there anymore."


"No, the weight's all on my front," I said.


"I'll say, yowza!" she said, eyeballing my chest. "I thought I had it bad as Tasha... well, I did, but you're so short, it looks different on you."


"Any excuse to talk about your tits," Brigette teased. "You don't hear me bringing up my skin color every other second."


"Fair point," I said, "How's, um... how's that working out for you by the way?"


"It's... interesting..." she said, getting a faraway look in her eye, "Most people won't say anything about it, you know, if you're just out in the world. I mean, this isn't the fifties. But if I go to a bar or a busy restaurant or even a store, and I don't see any other black people I feel very aware of it."


We noted with some interest that there were now three "black women" visible on the blog, more than in the past, but why shouldn't there be? The Inn definitely does a random enough job screwing up peoples' lives. (Then Brigette made a crack that it was surprising, since "Brothas and Sistas don't fuck with Scary-Ass Hotels in Maine," putting on a exaggerated "soul sista" voice that caused Meg and I to both insist she never, ever do that again.)


We had a few more rounds and I really put Val's alcohol tolerance to the test, calling this "My real, unofficial Bachelorette Party" since two of the only people who truly care about Tyler Blake were there (My sister Carrie and Kitty, I think, being the other two.) We stumbled home and Meg crashed in my bed and... well, it was weird.


I was lying there in bed with this woman I had loved, this person I was sure I still had unresolved feelings for no matter how hard I tried to move on, and yet... it wasn't hard to resist doing more than that. It wasn't hard to put up a barrier between us. To draw the line and say... this is someone else's girlfriend, and you are someone else's wife-to-be, and... hell, you're both woman and you're just not aligned that way anymore.


I was filled with a kind of romantic longing for what we'd had once, and yet... completely (well, mostly,) without the physical impulses that went along with that.


Hey, on the one hand I would have loved a lesbian experience... or a sexual experience of any kind that I could enjoy... on the other hand, I knew it would be wrong, that our time was passed and this was not us anymore. I suddenly realized that "that" feeling was gone, replaced by, well, true friendship.


Which, considering what I was feeling about Josh at the time, was really comforting.


I invited Meg to stay for Val's Bridal Shower the next day, but she declined, along with my invitation to come to the wedding. "Honestly, I would love to be there to support you, but I'm really not in favor of spending a whole day in the company of strangers having to lie about why I'm there."


I sneered at her, "What do you think I'm going to be doing?"


"Fair enough," she slightly reprimanded herself, "But I really don't feel like I belong. It's one thing to become friends with your ex, but to watch him walk down the aisle... in white gown, no less..."


Through gritted teeth, "You know I'm not really getting married, right?"


"I just really don't think it's a good idea." Solid points she may have had but I was disappointed. Still, it's fixing to be a real busy day for me and I wouldn't be able to make much time for her, and I know she's real sensitive about being left out like that. I promised that I wouldn't let too much time go by before we see each other again.


At the Bridal Shower, I was probably very obviously disinterested... I had a lot on my mind, my emotional state starting to really catch up on me, not just with my suspicions against Josh, but my compunctions about taking Val's place at all. Being the center of attention as her felt wrong, and I knew it would only be worse when I walk down that aisle.


Making things even more complicated was that Val was there.


We invited "Anna" down to see/"meet" her friends, and see what Marie had done for her as Maid of Honor. She looked suitably pleased, and I've gotten the impression from josh that she can be a bit... controlling? Difficult? Impossible? I try to give her the benefit of the doubt but the way he seems afraid to cross her/me, the more I wonder what exactly is so messed up with their dynamic.


It was nice to put a face to the name, though. Phyiscally, Anna is as different from Val as I could imagine. Only a little bit younger, but tall and willowy (she describes her transformation as "A boob job in reverse, plus my legs turning my nightie into a top.") She's quick to call herself less attractive, but she looks very different, with a long, thin nose, eyes that seem a little close together, and a little bit of an overbite, but I think she looks perfectly nice.


She was careful not to seem too enthusiastic about it, and coached me on how I should be responding... which is good because I was in a daze and still debating whether to tell her about the bouquet.


What I didn't know is that there's a tradition with Bridal Showers... at the very end of it, who should appear but Josh, brandishing a beautiful bouquet.


For a little while, I really was Val, melting in appreciation. I hated to lay it on thick with her standing right there, but anything less than full sicky sweet couple mode would have seemed odd.


So that was that. I'm still a little twigged about the secret phone, but the bouquet makes me think we were overreacting to the whole thing. Maybe this guy really is as good as he seems... even if my gut is still telling me different.


-Ty

Tyler/Judith: Moving along

Surprisingly enough, I haven't felt the need to post much since everything went down between me and Kitty back in May. There has been a lot of day-to-day stuff that might have been interesting but really just fades away.


Kit and I have, at best, been treating each other like co-workers. We see each other around the house and try to be polite but generally keep our distance. At our worst times, we snipe at each other because I suspect there's still some bitterness coming my way for not trying harder to make things last. Sometimes Dylan gets drafted into our drama, which I hate. The kid's life is already messed up enough without essentially being a pawn in a "divorce."


We eat separately - it sucks that we can't seem to stand sitting down at a table together, but he's been working late (on purpose, to avoid me?) so he just gets his meal when he gets home. We alternate weeks sleeping in the spare bedroom (I was going to suck it up and move in there, but he insisted we be "fair.")


I dropped in on Meghan for a weekend at the beginning of the month. It felt good to get out of the house but I'm not sure that was the right place to go, especially considering her boyfriend was around. They've been together for a long while now and while I could tell she was uncomfortable showing off in front of me, it's not like I could ask for too much privacy. She does her best to downplay it but I see the way he makes her smile, how happy they are to be around each other. Maybe there's a bit of guilt inside of her for being happy in front of me and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a bit jealous of him, but I'm doing my best to move on.


He must have been pretty confused why Meg was so keen to host this older, married woman, but you know, we just explained it as one of those odd friendships people make. She also said it made her feel a bit wrong to be unable to come clean and admit that I was her ex... and she later added, it felt strange to try to imagine me as Tyler, even though this is the fourth face she's known me with. (That didn't feel good but again I tried not to take it personally. She doesn't know Judith!Tyler well.)




It was an interesting moment, greeting each other after so long apart... she's only seen me a few times with this face, but we embraced like old friends. I can see her searching me every so often to see the Tyler she knows behind my eyes.


She complimented my shorter hairstyle and said I was really getting the hang of makeup. I told her it had been a must for the ladies at the Events company, you always had to look good and put on a good face - jewelry, heels, lipstick, everything. And Kitty was very into teaching me, not to mention what I remembered from my brief experiments as Lauren.


She looks different too. Now that her knee has healed she's working out a bit more. She's wearing her hair differently, longer, coloring it. Being a woman - ostensibly a straight one - hasn't erased all my lingering feelings, and in fact I probably appreciate her looks more now that I'm on this side of the equation. It was different when we were "Lauren and Tasha," because Tasha was sexy in a very obvious way, and while I could gawk at her body it was almost hard to treat her like a real person, because she was so tall, skinny and big-breasted, especially while I was so much smaller and childlike, dealing with my own issues with Lauren's body. What I feel for her now is only a dulled version of what I felt as Alan... after all, there's more to attraction than just seeing someone and thinking they're hot. It's about the feelings that appearance brings up. I see her, and in my mind, I'm not necessarily Judith anymore. But then there's a chemical reaction that conflicts with that and makes me land on "Hmm, just a fellow woman whose appearance I appreciate, but a very important person to me anyway." It's almost indescribable, to feel that change, that lack of a feeling that used to be there.


It doesn't help that Justin, her boyfriend, is a really handsome guy. Pretty eyes, in good shape but not freakishly so. Short, wavy, well-styled hair. I wouldn't mind having a body like his next time.


With my luck though...? I don't even want to think about it.


I'm getting off topic, but a lot of what we talked about was my trip to the Inn at the end of the month, and the then-recent news of Jordan's brother Max. These ladies, they make the chump who stole my body look like an amateur, but I bet they can be dealt with. I really hope for the best for those guys.




I've had some issues to deal with on my own. It's been stressful, trying to organize people into various waves, but the key issue for me has been getting Olivia, Dylan, and his parents their bodies back. Everything else feels optional. (Okay, I would also like for the real O'Riley kids - the ones whose bodies Dylan's parents are in - to get to go back to being kids.) Knock on wood, but I feel like I've got all my ducks in a row.


"I can't help but worry," she said. "You're throwing yourself into the great unknown again, just so a family can be reunited."


I smiled modestly, "What choice have I got? I don't belong here."


"Maybe not," she shrugged, "But you grew into it nicely. When the chips were down, you made a good mother."


"Yeah. Can I be honest? The worst part of this is giving this up. It feels strangely - dangerously - like I'm giving up my own child, not just returning the kid to his real parents. On the one hand, it's putting things where they belong, on the other it's like giving up a piece of myself. I should be more excited to be on my own again..."


She didn't hide her smile at this. "Oh, Tyler... you'll be a real parent someday."


I got very teary at that. Maybe it will happen. I can't even think about it until who knows when - the unlikely chance I ever have an opportunity to live a life that's my own. That would be an end to all this: endless shifting around, taking up other peoples' lives, having my biology monkeyed with every year.


Meg wrapped her arms around me while I tried not to cry.


"Remember the time..." she finally said, "When I was Tasha, and I spilled Orange Soda on my top at the mall... and those Bro's at the next table said I should take it off so it would dry... and you threatened to stuff them in a garbage can?"


I laughed, "Heh... I would have done it, you know."


"You weighed 90 Lbs. You weren't stuffing either of them anywhere."


We laughed a while and reminisced about old times late into the night, trying hard not to think about the future.


In the morning, I left relatively early. Before I got in the car, I turned to her and said, "I want what you have."


She joked, "A giant butt? Because you kinda already do."


I rolled my eyes. "My butt's not giant. And neither is yours. No, I mean, with Justin. You did good."


"Thank you," she said, "It's not perfect, but it's pretty close. I know you'll find it, too, if you're lucky enough to settle down at last. I bet it's sooner than you think."


I did my best to resist the urge to say what we both knew I was thinking - that I wished things had gone differently between us, that the year I spent pining for her paid off better than me running off in fear and frustration, that somehow the stars had aligned that we could patch things up. She didn't need to hear that (although now that I'm back in New Hampshire I feel more comfortable saying so - again, this is stuff she probably already knows.) But it was always on my mind. It's probably for the best, for all of us, if I wind up in a body where we can't get back together again even if she were single. To remove temptation, to really close and lock that door behind me and move forward. I will always have feelings for her, I will always miss her and wonder "what if," but... well, I don't really get the luxury of a do-over with her.


She leaned into the car and kissed me on the cheek, in a gesture I spent the entire drive home analyzing.

Meg: The Visit.

It was a rainy fall day in Burlington. I was early for the meeting, as I tend to be, but then I was coming from a lot closer. It was at my favorite café, with a vanilla latte by my side and my nose in a new book. Every now and then, every time I heard the creak of the door opening and the gust of noise from outside, I had to look up to see who it was. Eventually I had to stop, it was too distracting.

So of course, after I let my guard down, I paid no attention to the the tak-tak-tak of heavy footprints in heels on the tile floor coming directly toward me and stopping right at my table. I heard a voice clearing her throat. "Ahem."

I look up to see this woman. In her leather boots, she's probably a head taller than me, but I was sitting down so it was hard to gauge. Her arms were folded under her breasts and her face in a cartoonish smirk of mock-disapproval. She had her dark brown hair clipped back in a rather tight bun and her eyes covered by large sunglasses. She wore a long purple sweater with a chunky belt around her waist, framing her hips into a bit of an hourglass shape, and black tights. It was very much a "mom's day out" look. If you set the two of us side by side she would probably get the vote for "More Feminine." More of a "woman," somehow.

"This seat taken?" she said knowingly, cocking one of her full eyebrows. It couldn't help but remind me of the first conversation we struck up, which feels so long ago...

I was too busy taking stock of her: her figure, her posture, her pursed lips, her tan skin that seemed to glow. I must have gawked a little too long, because I could tell she was getting a bit uncomfortable and just took her seat, plopping a huge mom-sized purse next to her. All I could think to say was, "You look so different." My stupid mouth.

Instead of calling me an idiot for stating the obvious, all she said was a friendly, "You don't." Maybe not as much, but my hair is different, and while I was a bit disappointed she didn't notice, I guess she's been through enough lately that "different hair" doesn't qualify for "different" in this context.

I struggled a bit with saying "You look nice!" and not having it sound like I was a) attracted to her in any way, or b) trying to somehow suppress the man he really is inside, because I know he struggles with exactly how much of a "woman" to be. I wasn't sure he wanted to look "nice." But he did. I guess I was somehow expecting him to be wearing a dirty plaid overshirt with unkempt hair, but as he explained, he's got an image to keep up.

The whole thing flustered me. I knew, intellectually, that I was going to be interacting with Tyler, in his new body, and yet... I guess I just didn't know who to expect, even though I've seen pictures of him this way online and of course I've read his blog posts where he has been fair-to-overly-critical of Judith's appearance, in my mind he still looks like Alan, because that was how he left me. I found it very, surprisingly hard not to treat him like the person he appeared to be. I didn't have this problem when he was Lauren, but that's because I was "in it" with him then. This is my first time meeting "Judith." And I thought I was prepared, but I wasn't. I almost bolted.

So, how did we get from there to here? It's been a long road and a lot of angry nights and to be honest I'm still not all the way to forgiveness. We had been in contact when I could stand to do so, and not long after he moved into Judith's life, he reached out to see if maybe we could mend fences a little bit since we were both in the same part of the country again. I told him it would be a while before I was ready to do that. A few months passed, a few attempts were penciled in and rescheduled, until I ran out of excuses.

"I hate to seem so shocked," I said, collecting myself at last, "But it's so hard to believe it's really you in there. You look so... grown up." He took off his sunglasses to provide a visible eyeroll. "No, I mean it. Like, you look like someone I would trust with a kid."

"Okay, I'll try to take the compliment," she said, making a faint attempt at a smile. I have looked at old photos of the real Judith Walker online, as well as recent ones where Tyler is playing her part, and she never appears to smile. Tyler described it as "resting bitch face" (a phrase from his time as a teenage girl) and I have to admit, as Judith, he looks more stoic than he did as "Alan," and it puts me off. That could just be her face. Which is pretty amazing and weird.

We made some really, really awkward attempts at small talk - I asked what was new and he said it was mostly on the blog. He did go into a bit more detail on some of the ladies from Judith's workplace and book club. Talked a bit about "mom" stuff, trying to parent a 12-year-old boy as a 10-year-old girl. I told him how much I admired him for doing his best with that situation, and he pled off, "I get compliments on the blog sometimes and it's flattering and all, but you know, time will tell if I have actually screwed up this kid--"

I interrupted. "The world is screwing this kid up. You can't possibly stop that. Your job is to help him feel normal."

"I think he does. He copes pretty well. He had that Halloween drama about dressing as a girl, but honestly, it hasn't led to a big change in his style or personality. Still wears dingy jeans or the occasional tights to work... girl-ish but not girly, you know?"

"And does he feel bad about being treated like a girl by the world? Does he notice the difference?"

"If he does, he doesn't say. He does get moody. Throws tantrums, cries, fights with us about totally unrelated stuff. But I can't totally believe it's actually unrelated. Still, I think I've convinced him he's lucky to get to try being a girl, and I think he trusts me that we'll get him back."

"So he doesn't sit around crying about it all the time?"

"No, he's actually pretty intrigued. I think he just wishes he was older. You know, we were at the supermarket the other day and he started asking my about my breasts. What do they feel like, are they heavy, do they hurt, are they fun..."

I smirked. Boys will always be such boys about stuff like this.

He continued, "He knows a bit about sex, but I'm honestly afraid to talk about it. But you know how sexual tastes tend to follow the body more than the mind..."

"Uh huh," I said, noting his coyness.

"Well, I think he's got a little girl's attitudes, to where it's not something on his mind too much. Not seriously. So I'm thankful for that. I mean, he's just a kid, and he looks like a much younger kid. So that's the last thing I need."

"Can we get off this subject, actually?" I asked.

"Of course," he said, face brightening more. I think he liked that I was getting uncomfortable.

So I decided to turn it around on him. "So, you and Kitty..."

"Oh, boy," he grumbled, sucking in his teeth. This is clearly not something he wanted to be discussing, with me least of all.

"You never really go into detail about what the deal is between you two," I say.

"You really want to know?"

"It's not that, but... shit, when you two started hooking up, you put it on the blog pretty quickly. I'm just curious where you stand now."

"Well, you have a pretty good idea how things used to be between us," he started.

"Casual," I said, with some saltiness in my voice.

"Uh huh..." he said, his already flutey voice jumping up a nervous octave. "Well, now it's almost the opposite. He knows I was trying to wind 'us' down when we got hit with this thing, and to a degree he respects it. Every so often we kind of drift together, but it hasn't gone past the threshold where we need to talk about it."

"Nothing physical?"

"Well, a little. Hugs, kisses... the occasional cuddle on the couch. With me trying to put out of my mind how weird it feels to be in a man's arms like that. When we're feeling good about the arrangement. That's what I never talk about on the blog. I talk about fights and disagreements and moments where I tear my hair out in frustration, but a lot of the time it's just... quiet, going about our business trying to make the best of a bad situation. Occasionally kidding around and treating each other like humans."

I smirked. "And yet..."

He sighed. "Basically, yeah. And maybe there's this unspoken agreement... or idea... or whatever that someday, we might get back around to what we were doing before. Maybe, if the circumstances were right. But I couldn't even think of it right now. We're just too old and tired, I guess."

"Has she seen you naked?"

"Somewhat..."

I could read the discomfort on his face, so I stopped my line of questioning. I couldn't tell if I was happy or sad for him. I know he complains about her a lot online but there's a weird amount of actual affection in his voice when he talked about her. And I kind of think she's been good for him? Maybe he needs someone to keep him on a short leash in away I never could.

We finished our beverages and went to the shopping center nearby. When Ty was Lauren he had a bit of a yen for trying on clothes he couldn't actually buy, and which were too feminine for the style he cultivated as her - not unlike Dylan, come to think of it. He didn't buy anything this time, though.

"How about you?" he asked.

"Me?"

"Yeah..."

He was eager to change the subject, but I could tell he might reqret asking.

"Maybe there's a guy," I said coyly.

"Is that who's been texting you all afternoon?"

"You could hear that?" My phone was stuffed in my bag.

"One of the perks of Judith's body... constant headaches, but ears like a bat. I call it my mom sense. Please tell me it's not Gene."

"Ugh, no! His name's Justin," I said reluctantly. "We met in a... creative writing class."

"You're taking a creative writing class?"

"Yeah. I dunno, it's just... something I thought I'd try... you know, after what you did to me, I kind of gave up on the blog as an outlet."

"What do you write about?"

"Men turning into women and then having lots of sex," I said with a laugh, then added to let him know I was kidding, "More grounded, real-life stuff."

"Ha! This is real life," he said, gesturing down at himself.

"Not for most people," I said. "And for me, it's starting to seem more and more distant..."

"Ever miss it?"

"God, no. For me it was all drama, unwanted sex and impractically large boobs. You, though... I'm starting to think you prefer it."

"What, being a woman?"

"Being... changeable. Switching faces. Never going back."

"Nothing to go back to," he said grimly, examining some clothes on a rack. "Like it or not, this is my life. I wish I hadn't fucked things up so badly. I lie awake sometimes at night thinking you could still be part of it."

"That's not the world we live in," I said.

"Would you have stuck with me? If I had to go back to the Inn, year after year, never knowing who I was gonna be?"

"I don't know. I wouldhave thought, at the time, what we had was that strong, but you kind of proved that it wasn't."

There was a long pause.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You've said that before."

"It's still true. What I did to you was wrong. I was just angry."

"Don't even bring it up, because you'll make me mad again. If you try to explain it or justify it. We both know what happened and it was a fucked up thing. If you had stayed back then we could have worked through it. That's what I believe. But you proved to me, what you always told me about yourself but I never believed... that when the going gets tough, Tyler Blake runs."

"I'm not running now."

I huffed, "Then maybe you're not Tyler Blake anymore."

He took a pause, then said, "Maybe not... but I don't think I'm Judith Walker either."

"I beg to differ, Mrs. Walker," I said, gesturing to the stack of clothes he had picked up, "But I believe you're using her credit card to pay for that, aren't you?"

"I earned it, I get to spend it."

We fell back into old patterns shockingly fast, resurrecting old jokes and conversations. I felt some inkling of what I used to feel for him, even through his different face. But I knew the moment had passed. I've been with Justin for months, we have a nice little relationship budding. I'm in a good place.

My anger at Tyler has really faded over the months, and seeing him in person this way really punctuated that. He seems a bit humbled by this experience, changed. But it came too late for us, that's for sure.

I told him I hope that he opens up to somebody soon, if not Kitty then someone out there. It seems like it might be a lonely life otherwise.

We went back to my place - the apartment we used to share - until Justin got off work. Tyler hung around just long enough to meet him, and when they were face to face, I felt this hot stab of guilt, knowing my current flame was meeting my ex without realizing it. We just said that Judith was an old friend and left it at that. And Justin, poor guy, just looked at her and saw a woman. Some lady he'll never meet again.

"Be good to her," Ty said as he gathered his jacket and headed for the door. "She's the only Meg we've got."

"I'll do my best," Justin said with a mock salute.

Judith returned one as she left: "At ease, Private."

This fucking guy.

Tyler/Alan: Last Ride

One thing about knowing that there's a 50/50 chance on any given night here I might have to bid farewell to my gender again is that it has spurred me to take advantage of the situation. Kitty and I don't agree on a lot of things and we don't cooperate well at tasks like cooking, cleaning or grocery shopping, but there is one thing we have done well since the beginning. And I'm almost afraid to talk about it because of who might be reading.

I don't want to compare Kitty and Meghan, because it's like apples and oranges. What Meghan and I had... Physically, emotionally, spiritually, I will probably never get again. That doesn't change the fact that I screwed it up, and it also doesn't change the fact that more or less I'm "with" Kitty now. She clearly has decades of sedate, unfulfilling married life to get out of her system, memories of a long term partner who took her for granted, a new lease on life thanks to her transformation... Shit, it's no wonder she seems so reluctant to give it up.

It's clear that Kitty enjoys looking like Greta, the statuesque stunning Scandinavian type. To be frank, I think changing one's body can be healthy. Even if yours is perfectly good, having a new one for a while can reinvigorate your love for yourself. This doesn't just go for Kitty. I feel like Meghan's time as Tasha - another tall blonde buxom stunner - helped open her up a bit more. When she went back to being herself, she was a whole new woman, even though she was coming back to her same old self.

And for what it's worth, I still believe Meghan, the real one, is the most attractive woman I've ever laid my eyes on. Once, late at night as we were drifting off to sleep she asked if I would have preferred her looking like Tasha (supposing that was,an option, which it wasn't.) I took a look at her dark chocolate brown hair, cut just short enough to sweep over her eyes in that mischievous was, masking the glint that came from knowing she,was whip smart but not bragging about it... And I placed my hand on her hip, tgat wild extreme cutve that always invited me in... And I told her honestly, and I meant it from the bottom of my heart, absolutely not. But I loved her in whatever package I could have her in. I would see the beauty in her anywhere.

Maybe the Inn screws with people's minds, their chemistry, their sexualities, but some things as are beyond even that. I felt great affection in my heart for her when we were both women, when I was younger and smaller and slighter than her, and we were  not blood relations but close enough that it would have been a scandal. I grappled with that every day, even as I could feel Lauren's body pulling me into the psyche of a heterosexual teenage girl. And getting to fulfill that desire, even for a short time, made the whole misadventure a tad more worthwhile.

Bit things happened the way they did, my nature got the better of me. If I was a trifle less stubborn I reckon I could have stayed and worked it out. She was a sensible person. I was the damn fool who lost her. I ought to make my peace with that. It ain't likely I'll get the chance to put things right.

So here I am, lying next to Kitty/Greta in the early morning light on an August morning in Maine. Knowing it would hurt Meghan to see me with someone who looks this way. And knowing neither of us will look this way for much longer.

Tyler/Alan: Detour in Memphis

As I drove north from Mobile, I knew there was only one place I could end up: Milwaukee. Now that Meghan and I were seemingly over, it only seemed right that I throw in the towel and commit to being Alan Schmidt, at least for a while. I didn't want anything to do with my own identity anyway, I had ruined it so badly. I almost welcomed the idea of wiping Tyler Blake off the slate.

Between Alabama and Wisconsin, I spent about a week in Memphis running what could generously be referred to as a "personal errand," but it could also be considered a farewell to a part of my life that I should've said goodbye to a long time ago, or maybe just indulging in a fantasy.

I found myself in a bar called Billy's. It was kind of a dive, far from Beale St. and the tourist scene. Delta blues were, of course, blaring from the jukebox, and there was a stage for a band but nobody playing tonight. I didn't mind that. I wasn't feeling festive.

The crowd as mostly old men. I saw two waitresses flitting about: a stacked blonde and a more slender African-American girl, both absolutely gorgeous, wearing the customary low-cut black top and tight jeans. Both worked their individual tables pretty much the same, giggling and smiling and bending over whenever they deemed it necessary. It was 10 PM but it might as well have been 4 PM or 3 AM for how empty it as. There was lots of empty tables, but I sat down at the bar.

"What will it be?" asked the server in that inimitable drawl. I say MGD, and, maybe unimpressed with the simplicity of my choice, she pops open a bottle, plunks it on the coaster in front of me and goes back to wiping down the bar.

"So how's Billy?" I ask when I'm sure she can hear.

She stops. "You know Billy?"

I smile, aware that as Alan, my huge moth gives me a wide, earnest grin that seems to charm people. "No, no, heh... I just assumed there was one since his name is on the sign."

"Well," she says, seemingly amused by my gag, "Billy's a she."

"Ah," I say, "Good for her." I take a swig in cheers.

"And she's my mama," the barmaid adds.

"That's interesting," I say.

She seems for a moment like she's going to go back to her cleaning, but then she stops and turns back to me. "Sorry, can I see some ID?"

"You already served me," I point out.

"Yeah, an' I'm regrettin' it," she says. "Put me at ease?" I shrug and pull my wallet out. She takes a look at my license. "Wisconsin, huh? Funny, you don't have the accent."

"What accent?" I ask.

"You know, that funny way'a talkin' they got there? You ever see Fargo?" I say sure. She says, "You sound more Alabama."

I smirk again, "Sorry, uh, I was actually just down there for a visit. Must'a picked it up."

"Well, put it back down, folk'll think you're makin' fun."

"I'll try," I said. I don't even know how to sound like I'm from Wisconsin but I figured it can't be that different from the Pittsburgh accent I occasionally picked up there, and I doubt she'll notice the distinction anyway.

"So Alan," she says, now seemingly more interested in me than her wet bar rag, "What brought you to Alabama?"

"Funeral," I say, "A distant relative. I only went out of guilt."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she says.

"Sorry enough for a free drink?"

"You said distant relative, right?"

"Darn," I say, in the most cutesy Northerner way I can. I take another sip and then tell her a story about how, after the funeral, I decided to go sightseeing. See Graceland. She scoffed. "You got a problem with The King?"

"All due respect, of course," she said, half-embarrassed, half-ready to educate me, "He was a great entertainer, really a legend, and we here in Memphis are real proud. But I always thought music is a kinda livin' thing, you know? Can't live in the past forever."

"That's the truth," I said, raising my glass to her.

I came back the next night. She asked how Graceland was, and I said it was nice enough, but I wouldn't mind having someone to show me the "real, 'living' Memphis." She scoffed a bit. "Lots'a tour guides in a city like this."

I blushed, "Sorry, I had to try. I bet guys hit on you all the time in here."

"Oh yeah, of course," she said, "Not as often as some of my co-workers, but I have a few fans."

"I wasn't really..." I backtracked, "That is, I just got out of something. I'm really not looking."

"Uh huh," she smirked, "That's what they all say."

"No, seriously," I said, and passed her my phone, which at that time featured a lengthy exchange between me and Meghan. It was mostly one-sided (hers) laying into my untrustworthiness and lack of character. I conceded most of her points and stopped defending myself.

As the barmaid scrolled through, eyes bulging out, I wondered if there was anything in there that would reveal the existence of the Inn - yes, the spell does seem to insulate outsiders against understanding its powers, but I might have to come up with and explanation for the whole setup. But the way Meg and I talk about things with each other, ewe hardly talk about the Inn even when we're talking about things that relate to it, so to the untrained eye, we were just a couple having a serious row.

"Wow," she gasped, "You do not come off well in this. What you do to piss her off so bad? Cheat?"

"I wish it was that simple," I sighed, "She is blaming me for something that I didn't do, and I realized that I'd never really have her trust, so... how could we continue?"

"That's a shame," she said, "Now, if it was me, I'd work harder at it, but I never know when to quit at these things."

"I'm the opposite," I said, "As soon as things get hard, I'm gone. It's a fault, but really, shouldn't it be easy?"

"I guess," she said. I could tell I hit a nerve. She changed the subject: "If you're looking for comfort, I might know some girls..."

"Thanks, but, really... I just need a bit of distraction. Sightseeing before I head home."

I could see the thoughts processing in her head. Finally, she concluded, "Okay, you seem harmless enough, as long as you promise you're not trying to pick me up."

"I promise. Seriously, the last thing I need right now is more drama."

The next day, we met up at a restaurant for lunch and she took me for a walk along the riverbank. I tried my best to see the city with new eyes and pretend I didn't know anything, let her give me her perspective on it. It was utterly lovely to hear her describe the city for what she loved about it.

We picked back up on the conversation about my break-up, and she told me that it got her thinking about her first big one. "It was about three years ago. It was a long time coming, but I couldn't see it. I was blinded by love, and I thought if I kept hammering away at this guy, maybe he would love me back. He wasn't really capable of that, though. Not the way I wanted to be loved. I wanted to marry him, and after four years I figured that was only right. But he couldn't commit. Didn't have it in him. And it took a long time after he was gone that I realized, why would I want to give 100% of myself to this person who could never appreciate it? I felt so stupid."

"Well, that's his loss," I could only say.

"I was so angry for so long," she said, "But that breakup was for the best. Sounds cheesy, but that's the kinda thing you only learn after some time has passed. Now I'm on the other side of things. I started seeing this new guy two months ago, and he'd already said 'I love you' after the third week and wanted to introduce me to his parents."

"You ever get the urge to run?"

"Hell no," she smiled, "It's just overwhelming. I never expected to be with a guy like this. Never expected a guy like this existed. I want to love him as much as he loves me. Sorry, I'm rambling."

"It's okay, I enjoy it," I said, "Makes me feel better about my situation. Although I wonder if maybe I'm a bit like your ex... can't appreciate a good thing."

"Naw," she said, "I think you're a nicer guy than him. And it seems like you and your ex have some pretty legit problems. Maybe you could work them out, but maybe it ended for a reason."

My "ex." It was the first time I thought of it that way.

I came to her bar again the next night. Her boyfriend was there. Handsome guy, a little older than my real self.  He's a family doctor. I have to admit they make a nice couple. But when before I left, I took the opportunity to say goodbye.

"Say, how did you know I was doing an Alabama accent when I got here?"

"Well it's a funny coincidence," she said, half smiling, "My ex was from there. Gulf coast. You sounded just like him. But I don't hear it anymore."

"Oh, I hope that didn't bring back any unpleasant memories..."

"Naw," she said, "I mean, if he was here right now you'd probably have to watch I didn't pick up any sharp objects, but there's still some positive associations too."

I left, tipped her well, and went to my car to map out the route to Milwaukee.

Tyler/Alan: It's a long story.

Here and Now...

It's rainy out this morning, but I a stray bolt of sunshine breaks through the window and hits me in the eye. I roll over and take a look at the clock - 7:05 AM. I didn't get to sleep until probably 2 last night. Groggy and disoriented, I roll over and look at her, murmuring "Meg..." as I do so. She doesn't budge. If I drape my arm around her, she might wake up and be ticked at me that roused her. For half a moment I try to roll over and fall back asleep, but then I realize this is pointless. My stomach is grumbling. So I do what any self-respecting boyfriend does in this situation, I get up and make some breakfast - cooking here is pretty pleasurable since I've spent the last few weeks setting the kitchen up to my liking, and it's no longer what I do for a living. I crack the eggs and make what I consider to be a perfect over-easy, while the bacon sizzles in a separate skillet. She's not really an early riser, but I'm hoping the scent of breakfast will inspire her to get up.

She told me that before me, she really only liked eggs in an omelette with a ton of fresh ingredients. I feel like I've shown her that there's good food you can make on a budget.

I've got the meal prepared and set on a tray to bring to her bedside, when she appears in the doorway. "Mmm, is that for me?" she moans hungrily, stretching her arms over her head so that her shrunken gray tee-shirt rides up her abdomen, exposing her underwear and middrift. This is definitely on purpose for my benefit.

"I thought breakfast in bed would be nice," I smile, offering her the tray.

"Uh huh," she says, taking a piece of bacon. "I hope you're ready to vacuum the crumbs off the sheets, then."

I sigh, "Table it is, then."

The kitchen table has a nice view of the Milwaukee skyline and Lake Michigan behind it, the sun kinda-sorta rising behind rainclouds. With every bite she compliments my cooking, when really it's just the basic skillset from working at one diner after another for a decade. I'm not exactly Top Chef. But I can do eggs.

As she finishes her (probably over-acted for my benefit) foodgasm, she looks over to me and notes, "Did I dream it, or did you call me Meg this morning?"

I'm a little embarrassed but I have nothing to feel guilty about. "I must've been half-asleep, sorry," I say.

"Well, you're with me now," she says, walking over to my side of the table to plant a kiss on my lips.

"I know, Kitty." I say, mustering up as much affection as I can feel in this moment. She knows she's a rebound, and I am for her too, but neither of us care. We're making the best of a pretty rotten situation.

Alabama

Things have changed a lot since the last time I posted here. That was earlier this year, when I was living in Vermont and deeply in love with Meghan. I was happy. She was happy, I'm pretty sure. We seemed to have a future ahead of us, even if it was a bit murky. But you never know how shaky these things are until they really get put to the test.

We were a good pair. We fought now and again - I'm not a perfect person or a saint. I could get drunk and rant about how much I disliked living with her roommate, Gene. I could quit my job on a whim, which was always disappointing to her because she preferred stability and continuity (I never went without one for long, I promise.) I could be a slob or break plans on short notice. I was chaos and she was order. I could even complain a bit about how uptight she could be about our living situation, but all in all I tried to be appreciative and respectful and courteous and work as hard as I ever have at anything to make that relationship work. We understood each other in the way that only people who have been through something as crazy as what we have, and she seemed to have a lot of patience for me, all things considered. More than I deserved.

I wanted it to work because I waited a year for it, suffered through the humiliations of being a teenage girl and watching her with both Wade and Mikal from a distance, knowing that just the possibility that she might return my feelings would make the whole ordeal worth it. She never promised anything, but when we made our return to the Inn, the stars kind of aligned for us. If we had rigged it, we couldn't have gotten a better hand. Someone up there loved me...

But since there were no promises and no guarantees I wanted to show I was worth taking a chance. I wanted to become better and show her I was worthy of her love. And for a while I was. But thinking now, I suspect there's things about me that were always going to sabotage the relationship. In another life, maybe it would have been perfect.

What's this got to do with Alabama? Well. That's her fault. I didn't want to go. I made it my life's mission to never step foot in the state of Alabama again. In fact I was done with pretty much the whole South if I could help it. It was nothing but trouble for me my whole life.

Except that one time last year when I did go back to Alabama, and met the man who stole my face.

I remember, sitting there, across the table from him and feeling so helpless, so small. I was in Lauren's little body, so he dwarfed me. He wore this shit-eating grin, trying to cut a deal with me for more money than I could have scared up babysitting and mowing the lawn. It felt perverse and demoralizing, and - as I alluded earlier, humiliating. It was one of a few times during that year that I cried - outright bawled  - at my situation, and pitied myself. But what could I do? There were forces at play here much bigger than me. As my dad would say, sometimes you just suck the shit.

So why did I go back? Because I was guilted into it. Because my sister Carrie spent a year living as Meghan, and did such a nice job that they became long-distance BFF's, so when Carrie asked her to ask me to come visit home, because our father was on his deathbed, I had basically no choice in the matter.

My relationship with my father is... complicated. Or I should say it was complicated, because he's not my father anymore, both because as far as the world is concerned Tyler Blake is someone else, and because he's gone now.

But since I still carry some baggage from it, I guess it always will be complicated. He was a tough, drunk, Vietnam Vet who was not real easy to live with even at the best of times. The user-friendly version is that I was never who he wanted me to be - I had two older, more athletic, traditionally "Good Ole Boy" brothers. The three of them were Duck Dynasty without the beards and money. I was the smart-ass youngest son. We all caused trouble at various times - staying out late, drinking, vandalizing, screwing around with girls in the gas station bathroom and such - but they had the good fortune of doing those things while also playing football and hunting. I hated all of that, their whole lifestyle, their attitude. I wanted out from an early age. And I also had the bad luck to have my mother die of cancer when I was a toddler. I was just too big a problem for him to handle on his own. He hit the bottle, went on disability and lost what little we had.

By the time my dad re-married and Carrie was born, I was well on my way to being the black sheep. I was a lot closer in age to Carrie than I was to my older brothers, so I bonded with her... but I guess the difference was that my dad got his new lease on life when he met Carrie's mom (who is a very nice woman, but has since divorced him) so she got a "good dad." He still treated me like a whipping boy, but I never resented her for being Daddy's little girl. One of life's little shit-sucking moments. I knew it wasn't her fault, and she was a good sister to me.

So with Pa on death's door, Carrie was having an emotional meltdown - she had just gotten back from a year in the North, so she was realizing she had basically lost her last precious moments with him. This was it. And no matter what my feelings were for that man, or my home region, or anything, I would be a terrible brother to let that get in the way of consoling my sister.

Meg and I sat in the back of the funeral. My brothers and their families were up front, They gave cursory attention to Carrie but had their own broods to worry about. I didn't talk to any of them - we get along decently now but it's not like I can go catch up with them. But whenever someone did ask who I was and why I was at this funeral, I claimed to be the son of some long-forgotten acquaintance from one of our many moves around the county, paying my respects.

My Skeletons

The event that led to my breakup with Meg happened after the funeral. Once everything had cleared, we met up for drinks with Carrie and started seriously catching up and talking about old times, telling anecdotes, trying to remember the positive memories I had of my father, etc etc.

Then the subject turned to... him. You know, Fake-Tyler. And the air got sucked right out of the room.

"What if he had shown up?" Meghan asked. None of us thought it was likely, and as far as I knew the man who had occupied my body the last time I saw it had moved on later in the summer - supposedly he was paid to do so.

"I would'a made him regret it," I said. Whether or not I can back that up, beanpole that Alan Schmidt is, I'm glad I don't have to. Meg looked mortified that I would even consider it.

"Truth is, I don't even know where he went," Carrie sighed, "After the hospital, I mean."

That brought the conversation the an abrupt halt. Meg's eyebrow raised: "The hospital? What hospital?"

"You didn't tell her about it?" my sister asked.

"Tell me what?"

"No, I... didn't really see the point."

I won't attempt to transcribe the exact conversation, because I would hate to misrepresent Meghan (or myself) so here's the summary.

What Carrie was talking about is that, at some point last summer, the man in my old body was attacked outside a bar and beaten within inches of his life. What little information we had at the time wound its way from the person in Carrie's body, to Carrie, to me, and I was still so shaken up from my meeting with him that I kept it to myself. He was beaten so badly that he spent a month or more convalescing and rehabilitating, and then disappeared. Maybe he made his trip to the Inn, maybe he didn't.

But I could see the thought process behind Meg's eyes as she analyzed the information and posed a simple question: "But... why?" It couldn't just be a coincidence, a random act of violence. Maybe it had something to do with the Inn, with these people who paid him to run off with my body? "Who would do that?"

"Some old friends of yours, I assume," Carrie said flatly.

I bristled, angry that she would bring it up in front of Meghan, knowing full well how hard I tried to put that part of my life behind me. Meghan knew I wasn't exactly a saint, but I never really wanted her to find out exactly how many skeletons I had in my closet.

Through gritted teeth, I admitted, "It's possible I owe a lot of money... or Tyler Blake does... to some people who... break legs. Among other things."

I couldn't look Meghan in the eye at that point, but I could see from the edge of my vision that she was hurt, shocked, aghast at my revelation of just how deep my shadows ran. I continued, hoping not to dig myself deeper, "There's a part of my life that... it was a long time ago, and I've moved past it, but... some people have long memories." That, more than my own negative associations or baggage, is why I never wanted to go back to the South in general, and Mobile in particular.

My guess is that Fake Tyler had no idea, or else he would have stayed clear of Mobile. I have no idea if that's something the people who paid him - The "Agency," I assume - would have known about that. It's not like there's a Local Gang Newsletter they can subscribe to. But apparently they have enough resources to have this international extortion network, so who knows what they know.

Meghan fell silent and we called it a night shortly after that. When we got to the hotel, there was still an awkward silence, and whenever Meghan would look at me there was this confused searching look in her eyes, like she didn't know who I was anymore... or like she was just finding out.

She told me she didn't understand why I didn't tell her about this: about my activities (most of which took place more than 5 years ago) or that I knew that had happened to the Fake Tyler. I told her I didn't think it mattered, and she asserted that it did - that if I was in danger, then so was she.

"But I'm not in danger - Tyler Blake is."

"What if these people come looking for you, the Agency?"

"Why would they?"

She sighed heavily. "Tyler, be honest with me. Did you have anything to do with this?"

"With what?"

"With the attack. Did you... I don't know... tell some people where they could find him? Because you were angry you weren't getting your body back?"

"Meghan, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"I don't know. That's not an answer."

"No, of course not. That was just a hazard of being Tyler Blake that he was unprepared for."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you should."

"I don't know what you're capable of!" she said tearfully. "I don't know you!"

"You know me, Meghan."

"Why did you get so lucky, Ty? You ended up in this handsome young man's body, and... what are the odds? Did you make this happen?"

"Meghan..."

"Are you even going to give Alan his body back?"

"Meghan, don't talk like that." I was insulted.

Tears were streaming down her face. She seemed exasperated. I was angry at her for the accusations - they seemed to be coming out of nowhere, even if months later I can admit I don't exactly look good in this scenario. I felt attacked.

But I still loved her. I still wanted to comfort and reassure her. I sat next to her on the bed.

"Of course I'm giving Alan his body back. No matter what. I'm not... I would never take from someone like that."

She sniffled. "And then what? Just hope you get a lucky draw again? Or you become a married man, or a woman, or a child... the possibilities are endless, and that's assuming nobody is out to get you.. It was so easy last time to wait, to not let myself get attached to the idea of being with you because I had no idea how it would all turn out. I feel like an idiot for being with you. For believing this could turn out well. This was fucking doomed."

"Don't say that," I growled, "Every second of it was worth it... worth the risk, the stress, the heartache. And if you love me, you'll see it through to the end with me."

She was quiet a long time, thinking, until she finally said, "I don't think I can. Not now, not knowing what I know about you now. Thinking you're this sort of person."

"I'm telling you, it's not the way you think it is."

"I wish I could believe that."

It sounded like her mind was all made up in the subject, so I started to gather my things.

She said, "You don't have to go right now."

Yeah, I did.

"Do you want to come back to Vermont and get your things?"

I didn't need them.

I went to a car rental place and just started driving. In the morning there were numerous text messages I didn't feel like answering. By then I had reached Memphis. I stayed there for a week or so to get my bearings before I made the decision to make my way almost as far north as north goes... Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Hometown of Alan Schmidt.

Tyler/Alan: I don't live in the past, but sometimes I have to visit there.

I found myself in a Starbucks today. Generally, I only drink coffee at work and home, and if I had my pick I wouldn't set foot in a place that charges more than a buck for a cup, but there I was. Back when I was Lauren, I used to get dragged into those places fairly regularly. It was a favorite escape for Lauren's friends as a teenage girl, and it wasn't surprising that while inside I saw a table full of 15 or 16-year-old girls giggling together, passing their phones around looking at Vines and Instagrams and all the other apps I wish I didn't know about.

I remember being part of groups like that, mostly melting into the background and feeling very much like an outsider, but I also remember a lot of one-on-one times, like helping Karlee decode texts from Seann and try to boost her confidence. I remember helping Ginny phrase a breakup text to a boy she had only been out with once and wouldn't leave her alone ("Get tough, tell him you'll cut his balls off!") I remember study nights that featured almost no studying (for that we would have had to actually carry our textbooks around "Lol ew.") I remember being made fun of for being the only one to just get a regular plain coffee and not something ending on "-cino" or "-iato." Those were moments that helped, I dunno, normalize the whole experience in a way that commiserating with Meg didn't. Not constantly being looked at like pitiful Tyler stuck in Lauren's body was strangely relieving.

It was this weird feeling, like a flashback. Meghan has pointed out that a lot of the time I act like last year never happened, and maybe that's easier for me than facing it. To pretend like I went from being Tyler Blake to being Alan Schmidt with nothing in between, like the rest is just some movie I saw rather than something I lived through. But it's still there in the back of my head, and I had the weirdest feeling of nostalgia being in that place (do they all smell the same or what?) It's not like I treasured my time as Lauren, but it wasn't all bad. Given the crappy circumstances, I feel I made the best of it.

Generally, I prefer to focus on the present, where I'm going and what I'm doing next. Which has its own difficulties.

It's kind of the big sticking point between me and Meg. She wants to know what's next and I honestly don't have it all worked out. I have ideas, but I don't want to discuss them until I know what's going on. But that's not enough for her, I guess, and she hates how I change the subject every time she asks who, exactly, she can expect to be dating this summer. If I'm going to make any arrangements, I'd better work on them soon. That Inn probably fills up fast.

Complicating matters: last week I got a call from my sister, Carrie. Carrie was already the person in the family I was closest to, and her having been through the Inn experience with us has only increased that, but usually talk about "back home" is kept brief, since I did a lot of work to leave Mobile.

She gave me some pretty serious news, and said now might be a good time to come visit. Our father appears to be on his deathbed, and if I ever wanted to see him again I would hurry. I mulled it over. Meg seemed to support the idea: that it might give me some peace to be face to face with him, and I said it didn't matter because he wouldn't recognize me. Like I said, I don't dwell on the past too much. But I think Carrie could use the support, since she was a lot closer with him than I was, and she's going to take it pretty hard when he goes.

If I go, it's for her, and to satisfy Meg's need to be "let in" to my past, to see where I came from. I argued that it's easier for the two of us if we just pretend I have no background at all, but she wasn't having that.

Meg: Sleepy times

When I became Tasha, and had to live with Wade, it was the first time in many years I had regularly slept in the same bed as someone else (stuffed animals not included.) You don't even ant to know what kind of mental convincing I had to put myself through just to get under those covers and lie next to him, this strange man who could be anybody, and definitely was someone else's boyfriend.

Eventually, and sooner than I would probably care to admit (because it doesn't make me look good or feel good) I got used to the idea of being a fill-in girlfriend. I forced myself to swallow my pride and use words like "Honey" and "Sweetie" and the occasional "I love you." I got comfortable disrobing around him, lying with him, initiating contact with him.

It should have felt awful, but if I can be honest, the relationship was probably one of the most healthy I have ever had in my life for a while (the summer and fall, until I realized he and I just weren't compatible no matter how much I wanted to play like we were.) I got into it, because after all the hardest part about getting into a relationship: meeting someone, deciding you like them and getting comfortable in their life, was well past. Wade wasn't someone I would choose for myself, but I made it work.

But then there was sleep. For one, we kept different schedules: he worked days in a tattoo parlor, I worked nights as a waitress. On nights where I worked, I would crawl into bed softly beside him and attempt not to wake him. But I would still lie up awake for hours, trying to keep still rather than obey my body's instinct to toss and turn. We had this big double bed, and for comfort's sake I would roll to the edge to put as much space between us. Then after I cheated and earned his forgiveness, I felt like keeping so much distance between us was wrong, so I closed the gap, but in doing so contorted my body into an odd position to wrap my arms around him. I think the lack of comfort - and the fact that I didn't really do much yoga after that - really exacerbated my back problems, leaving me stiff and sore in the mornings.

A couple of nights ago, Tyler and I were getting under the covers, and he looked at me and smiled. I asked what was that about, and he said, "A year ago... when I was Lauren, I used to lie up at night and think about you. To think how nice it would be to be with you. I knew it wasn't possible... not the way I looked, and not where you had to be. But I dreamed of being myself again, and us picking up where we left off. And basically... doing this. Holding you. Waking up next to you."

I told him I was sure there were other things he dreamed of doing with me.

He laughed, "I tried not to think about it too much."

I leaned over and kissed him deeply. Then he wrapped his arms around me and we drifted to sleep.

Since Tyler and I have been together, we have been sleeping closely cuddled together in the little single bed I have brought to various places of residence. I would love to say the fact that only liked Wade but love Tyler has led to me sleeping more soundly, but the physical facts remain, it's just tougher to get a good night's sleep when there's someone else there. In Alan's body, Ty has a long, gangly frame that tangles pretty oddly with my decidedly more squishy one. We fit, but barely, and I've been giving some serious thought to getting a new bed.

It's a bit of a commitment, sure. My bed is nice, but if our future is together, we deserve better. I'm very serious about the direction of this relationship, even if several unknowns remain. Is this Tyler's final stop? He has been frustratingly mum on whether he has ever discussed giving Alan his body back, or what happens next if he does. I'm trying to enjoy the moment, but... well, I'd like to just be a bit more secure, you know?

Tyler/Alan: Fools rush in...

...but sometimes it would be fun to be foolish.

I never meant to give Meg to impression that I expected her to get her body back and immediately fall in love with me. Let's face it... we didn't even know who I was going to wind up as, and as much as we like to think we're enlightened, there are limits to what you can put a person through. My becoming Alan definitely helped things along, but she was coming out of a very difficult year and I never wanted to make her think she owed me a chance to jump into a relationship asap. I could be patient.

When she decided she was ready, we made a date that we decided would be a good night for it - Gene would be at a late meeting, we'd have the place to ourselves (although if we were going to really work as a couple we can't keep tiptoeing around him... we just needed a bit of privacy to get the ball rolling.) As we laid in bed, still clothed, she paused a second and asked, "You're not going to turn around and tell the blog about this afterward, are you?"

"Of course not," I said. "Not right away, anyway."


She slugged me with the pillow. I probably deserved it, but I had a pretty solid case: I've been female, young and celibate for over a year. I was very interested - and I suspected that others would be too - in finding out how it felt after all that time. She was usually pretty coy about her sex life with Wade, so I wanted to be respectful, but... I mean, they know we're sleeping in the same bed.

"Okay," she relented, "Just don't give any embarrassing details... about what I'm like."

Trust me, even if I did, it would all be complimentary.

Honestly, I was the one who felt embarrassed. It was like starting from square one. Alan's body is differently-proportioned than mine, all gangly limbs and a long, thin torso. I got aches and cramps in places I didn't expect to. Not to mention, I was so overwhelmed by the sensation that, well, I couldn't quite handle it. When our first round was over, I buried my face in the pillow: "I'm so sorry I just put you through that."

She held me in her arms and smiled, "It was good, no, really."

"I'll work on it, I promise."

"You don't have anything to apologize for," she assured me. "Don't be so hard on yourself."

I couldn't help but sulk a bit. "I wanted it to be better. The best ever. Worth the wait. But I can't... it's like I don't even know my own body..."

"You don't. This isn't Tyler's body. It's new for you. It takes time. I'm here with you."

I looked at her beautiful face and smiled. "I know. I feel better already."

It would be nice to think that my time as a she lent me some insight into processing, verbalizing and dealing with my feelings, but the truth is, it may have just made me better at bottling it all up. Think about it: I only had Meg to rely on for support, and she was supportive, but I didn't want to mope to her all the time. I wanted to be the brave, stalwart man I didn't appear to be but felt I was. I didn't want to be a victim or weak. Whatever pain I had, I hid as best I could. So now I'm back to being a man and I still do that, still don't want to show any vulnerability. Still have the impulse to lash out when things go bad and I can't hide it.

But I have her understanding, her patience, her support. Holy shit, I am a lucky man.

Things have improved, slowly but surely, as we've found our rhythm. It just feels so incredible and... meaningful. And I guess, the fact that I know a bit about how it all works for her (oh, don't look at me like that, it was my body) makes me feel like this is just something... bigger and better. No matter how (ahem) long it lasts.

Tyler/Alan: Tyler vs. Gene

Meg and I have been dating for a few weeks. Before I became Lauren, it had been a while since I had been in any kind of committed relationship. I never got comfortable anywhere long enough to have anything but casual relationships, sometimes a few at once. (I'm making it sound a lot more glamorous than it was - imagine the stress of a relationship, except without the stability, so it could collapse at the slightest whiff of trouble and it still hurt.) I'm committed to this, though, to making it work.

It's not easy, though. I had to fight her perception of me as her "sister," and convince her to get back to seeing me as a potential partner. Although I never stopped seeing myself as a man, I have definitely had to adjust to the world seeing me that way again. I also had to wait for her to get over spending a year with Wade, and all the baggage left over from that. It will probably still haunt her, but we all have baggage, I'm definitely no exception, but the trick is lightening it so that you can be with someone else. It wasn't an immediate transition, but as my recent post indicates, it did end up happening.


What makes it harder than it should be is just the day-to-day stuff: actually being in the relationship. Right now I'm working the dinner shift at a diner 6 nights a week, and she's working at the University as a TA and working on her thesis. Our schedules don't really line up that much. I remember her noticing that about her time with Wade, and I guess at the time that helped her avoid having to spend too much time with him, which probably kept their "relationship" together for that year. But when you actually want to spend time with someone, it's different. I can feel myself missing her.


I got home around 3 the other night. I wasn't ready for bed yet, so I opened a beer and watched TV for a few hours before slipping in beside Meg. She sensed my presence, rolling over and draping her arm over me.


I can't tell you how amazing that feeling was.


I nuzzled in close to her. She murmured, "What time is it?" I said it was after 5.


"Just getting in?" she asked in her half-awake state.


"I've been home for a while," I said, "Didn't want to wake you."


"Hm, so nice," she said. She pulled me in close and started kissing me. "I should be getting up soon anyway."


"Stay here with me," I said, half-seriously.


She kissed me some more, "I'm considering it..."


We cuddled for a while. I felt a feeling inside pulling me toward her, but I fought it. As much as I want to get to that part of our relationship, this was not the moment. I drifted off to sleep with her in my arms, though, and it was, as always, amazing.


(Actually, sharing a bed with someone after years of sleeping alone has its discomforts and problems, but I'd rather romanticize it.)


I did wake up when she got up to shower. When she returned, I watched her from the bed, as she dressed herself for the day. There's a poetry to watching someone else's routine, watching them in their most intimite moments, that feels so strangely beautiful and intimate. She kissed me goodbye and went to her first tutorial, around 8.


When I woke up around 11, I found a note on the kitchen table written in Gene's handwriting:


"TO THE PERSON WHO WAS AWAKE AT 4 AM


PLEASE BE MORE CONSCIENTIOUS OF THE NEEDS OF OTHERS


WHO NEED TO BE UP AT 7 FOR WORK.


ALSO, MORE CO-OPERATION VIS A VIS DISHES WOULD BE


APPRECIATED.


YOURS IN HARMONIOUS LIVING,


GENE."



I was livid. Gene knew very well that I was "the person who was awake." And that if he suspected it was Meg, he would never have used such a snide, condescending tone.


It isn't that I thought he was being unreasonable - maybe I had the TV up a bit loud, and it's closer to Gene's room than Meg's. Maybe I was going back and forth from the kitchen to the couch a few many times. I can admit fault. But it just stirred something up in me.


I spent a year as Lauren feeling cramped and confined into little space - a space that shrunk midway through when I had to share it with Kylie. I was really looking forward to having a chance to stretch my (now exceptionally long) legs. I was pissed at this guy for cramping my style.


So, there's something you need to know about me, something I do a good job of keeping hidden from the blog. Meg thinks I'm this zen master, but that's only when it comes to mystical Inn things. I can surrender to the universe when needed, but deep down I'm an easily-angered person, when someone brushes me the wrong way. As Lauren, when I would feel some guy leaning in too close to me or leering too long, trying to force me to pay attention to him, I would get hot under the collar and look around for something sharp, or blunt. I would entertain fantasies of using my combat training to teach him a lesson. But usually I was capable of suppressing that.


But there was this one time in gym class. It was in the middle of winter and we were running laps around the gymnasium. I was kind of dogging it because I had my period* and Lauren's body wasn't the most well-conditioned anyway. So this heavier girl comes up behind me and, instead of just passing harmlessly, shoulders me out of the way, and I go flying. I hit the gym floor hard, skinning my knee and bruising my chin.


Immediately, I felt tears rush to my eyes. And I got mad because I never cried, but it was a mix of the pain, shame at my reaction to it, embarrassment at being taken out, outrage that she had the gall to do so, and just general frustration that day at my situation - my flimsy body, my confined life.


So I caught up to her and tackled her from behind. She hit the ground like a bag of flour. She looked pretty tough, and she weighed probably twice what I did, I even saw her lifting weights when the rest of us gravitated toward the cycles and rowing machines. I got on top of her and held my fist up, ready to punch her right in the face - I felt few qualms about hitting a girl in that moment, especially such a burly one - but I managed to get a grip on myself. That wasn't me. I gave her a quick rap to the boob instead and told her "Never do that again."


I got sent to the principal's office and got a stern talking to, and a warning that next time my parents would be called. I wasn't so sure I cared, but I acted very apologetic. "She started it" doesn't work any better in 2015 than it did in 2005, and schools have only gotten more sensitive about violence, but they looked at her and at me and decided that a 105 lb girl attacking a 190-pounder probably didn't just happen.


For a while after that, everyone called me "psycho bitch." It hurt, and led to me gravitating more toward the theater people, who either didn't know or care what I was making out of Lauren's life.


So when I saw this Gene note, it stirred some shit up inside me, and I punched the wall outside his bedroom door. It as pretty satisfying, actually. But the more I looked at the hole, the more embarrassed I was, not to mention I didn't really want to go to all-out war with the guy. So I went to Home Depot and got some Spackle and did a quick fix.


When he got home, he passed his room and did a double take. I told him I had noticed a crack there and taken the liberty. He said "Oh, you should probably let the super take care of that. I don't want to lose my deposit."


That night I came clean to Meg about it. She wasn't amused. As much as she doesn't like Gene either, she didn't like this side of me. She told me she needed me to get my attitude under control because she didn't want to stick with some loose cannon. "You can't be like that. If this is going to work, I have to know you won't lose control over stupid small things."


That hurt, but it was right. And drawing attention to how breakable this relationship could potentially be - even after a year of waiting - really hit home.


I spent that night on the couch. She told me I didn't have to, but I felt too guilty to face her. I also wanted to prove to Gene that I could do so without making a sound.


*I originally wrote that as "Lauren's body was on its period" but it was mine, I experienced it, I should own it. I had periods. Big deal.