Paul/Kim: Hurrying Back

 We still had a few days left on our reservations but Kim had had just about enough of the Trading Post and insisted we needed to hit the road back to their home. A combination of fear and guilt from accidentally being in her body had me inclined to go along with pretty much anything she says.

One thing I toyed with was the idea of not writing a letter, since I'd end up back as myself. However seeing the chaos that came upon someone as visibly organized as Kim I figured just in case. I wrote 2 letters.

The first letter was the just-in-case customary "Here's what to do if you get my life" letter that all visitors leave to the next occupant (Which Kim never left for me, thinking she'd get her body back). The second letter was actually an email, to my Mom back in Virginia. It basically lied and said that Acadia was so hard up for help that they offered me an extended winter live in position that required I start immediately and probably wouldn't make it home for the holidays. I teared up a bit writing it. I actually don't think I've cried since like junior high over something like that. I know I'll see my family again, but it is still pretty terrifying.

 Once the letters were done and my luggage was packed I grabbed the suitcases that belonged to Kim from their room and started rolling them out to where she and Maya were waiting by their SUV, talking. I couldn't hear what they were saying but it was a lot of Kim looking up at Maya and saying a lot while Maya just nodded along. 

When I got nearer Maya offered to lift the luggage into the back. I think she was just looking to show off how strong she was as Brent, the guy she was now. Maya has actually been the most stable person I've seen in all the chaos that is this place. Her mother was angry about missing out on getting her life back. I'm terrified being the one to get it. Maya on the other hand seems pretty aloof and open minded. Maybe having spent a year as someone else once makes the second time easier, even if it is as a member of the opposite sex (which is VERY off putting, in my opinion). I think she's just content to do her best and come back next year.

"I'll do the driving" Kim said "Go ahead and get in the passenger seat I'll be there in a minute"

She's very direct and normally I dont like being ordered around, but I find myself doing whatever she says. Maybe it's guilt from winding up in her body, or maybe I trust her because she knows about this crazy cursed hotel. Either way being led makes adapting to all this better.

As I sat in the car and buckled in trying not to think about the seatbelt splitting my new boobs, I looked back and saw Kim and Maya talking again, now holding hands. Kim had tears in her eyes saying goodbye and they hugged before she climbed in and started the car.

"Do you need a minute?" I asked 

"I need all of this to be over" She said with a sigh before putting the car in gear.

The Scotts live in Irondeqouit, New York, which is a suburb of Rochester near Lake Ontario. It's about a 7 hour drive through a part of the country which is just beautiful in the autumn. As someone with a forestry degree I've always appreciated nature and looking out the window was helpful in taking my mind off of everything. 

I did also try to engage Kim more in hopes of getting to know the person whose face I was wearing better, but most of them were met with short frustrated answers.

"So like, what's your job?" I asked when it dawned on me I'd have to be Kim to the rest of the world

"MY job is a lecturer at a University" She said annoyed "But since the numbskull who was in my body the past year knew nothing about math I'm on sabbatical until it looks like another year. YOUR job is going to be part time at Target because that's all she could land"

I laughed out loud at that. 

"What?" She demanded

"I worked at Target for my last 2 years of college." I said shaking my head "It's come full circle"

After about three and a half hours of mostly silence we stopped for gas. She reached in the back and handed me a purse "They don't have to pay at the pump so you're going to have to do it, use the Discover card"

I swallowed and took a deep breath. This was it. I had to pretend to be someone else for the first time. We got out of the car and the same hip pain I had woken up with had returned with a vengeance with every step I made. Kim took notice.

"Yeah I've got bad cartilage there, it's going to hurt like hell if you sit wrong for a period of time. Keep your legs level and feet on the floor the rest of the way"

I took notice and walked into the gas station. The lady at the counter seemed disinterested as I fumbled around in the purse and handed her a credit card that wasn't mine. She swiped it and Kim went out to pump the gas while I went to the bathroom.

I had "gone" back in Maine so the weirdness of sitting and having different organs for the first time had passed, but it was still awkward. In fact it was downright panic inducing having to do it in public. I went into the women's bathroom and my heart started racing when I saw two women in there chatting in front of the mirror about their trip. One looked at me and went back to touching up her makeup but that was enough to make me freak out. I felt like an imposter even in the stall and had my eyes closed as nature took it's course. After washing my hands for probably less time than I should have I exited and saw Kim there waiting outside. She must've sensed my nerves because her face changed from the irritated look she's had since that morning into one with compassion.

"Doing alright, Mom?" She asked putting hand on my shoulder. That was enough to make things better, to know I'm not alone

"Yeah" I said "I'm ready to hit the road again.

We drove on in silence for another 20 miles before she spoke up.

"I know it's not your fault" She began "Believe me it was weird for me when I first woke up as someone else and I stayed female and the same age. I can't imagine how weird it is to go from a young guy to....me"

"It's no so bad..." I begin, trying to diffuse the tension 

"You're being nice" She says "But being 17 again made me realize how much soreness and sagging and upkeep is needed on a daily basis. Gradually coming into it over the years is one thing, you got it overnight and gender change to boot, which according to like 90 percent of that blog is a real obstacle"

It was that comment that led me to make an effort to document my time as her on this blog

"But I'll help you through it" she continued "In a way you're lucking to have me to answer any question and point out anything you need to be doing or stop doing"

She opened up for the rest of the car ride and we talked about her home life, her husband and son, her relationship with Maya, her time in Arkansas, and by the time we pulled into the driveway I felt like I'd been there before.

 The house was nice. Fairly new and well maintained and pretty clean on the inside. Kim's husband, James, was some sort of VP at a company in Rochester. He and their son Jamie (James Jr.) were at Cedar point in Ohio due to the fact that Kim and Maya had taken a "girls trip" for the second year in a row. They weren't due back until tomorrow so that gave us some time to unwind after the trip.

"Follow me" Kim said heading upstairs "You need a shower"

 The master bathroom was spacious with a double vanity and large rain shower with glass walls that had no privacy. Kim followed me into the bathroom and could sense my unease

"Look, it's nothing I haven't seen before thousands of times and you're going to get used to my body too. Plus there's bodywash, shampoo, conditioner, facewash, and lotion to deal with so I'm going to be arond to help"

 "All that for a shower?" I wondered out loud

 "You're lucking we aren't shaving today"

 I undressed and turned on the hot water and the feeling of it on my skin may have been one of the most relaxing sensations I've ever felt. Like all the stress and soreness of the day was melting away in the steam.

 The bathroom was set up in such a way that there were large mirrors on three walls so looking in them I could see myself naked from every angle as I washed. At first I just looked down and focused on washing but my eyes wandered eventually. Kim's body wasn't fat by any means, but curves and cellulite were going to take some getting used to.

I don't know how long I showered for but I stopped when Kim came in, hair wet from having showered in the other bathroom, holding some clean clothes. I turned off the water and began drying myself off, feeling just how heavy long hair was when it was wet. Kim was looking at me with a curious eye.

"Hold on" Kim said, her annoyed tone returning. She reached under the vanity cupboard and pulled out a scale "Step on this really quick"

The scale blinked a few times and brought up a number that made me too self conscious to share

"Goddamnit Clara" She cursed invoking the name of the woman who was in this body before me "Gained 15 pounds last year! My ass looks huge!"

"15 pounds isn't too bad" I offered

"For a man, no" She said putting the scale away "With that metabolism it isn't a months long process"

She handed me a pair of panties that admittedly felt a little tight, although compared to boxers they're extremely tight. She then handed me a tank top looking thing that I've since learned is called a "Cami" that covered things but my big nipples poked right through

"That's fine for bed" She said "The boys get home tomorrow afternoon so we have a lot to go over before we get to that"

She helped me brush my hair and left me alone in the big bedroom with my thoughts. Despite all the weirdness I was out like a light in the big comfortable bed.

That was the beginning of the week and a lot has happened since and I have a lot to juggle pretending to be a mom and wife, so I'll have to write more later

-Paul

Paul: Not the Position I was applying for

Ok so apparently I'm not the only new person to find this blog in recent weeks, but I guess the end of season is kind of the busy time for people whose live's have been turned upside down and ruined by magic. 

My real name is Paul Eastman and I'm supposed to be 22 and just graduated from Virgina Tech. I was up in Maine as the last stop on a Summer road trip/ applying for jobs at National Parks with my forestry degree. I had just finished my final in person interview at Acadia and it had run long so I was late to get onto the road back to the DC suburbs where my parents live, so I just decided to stay over in Old Orchard Beach. It was the choice between the Trading Post Inn and the Motel 6 and the theme of my trip was "Try Local Things" I went with the boutique little place instead of the big chain. 

  I arrived Thursday evening exhausted from 5 weeks on the road and just ready to go home. I didn't really do much besides order a Doordash lobster roll, watch Netflix on my phone, and pass out into what may have been the deepest sleep of my whole life, considering all that happened that I managed to sleep through. 

 I didn't set an alarm so the sun hitting my eyes from the window is what woke me up. Everything was fuzzy so I squinted a few times to try and make the world clearer to no avail before moving my hands up to rub them and have them met with hair. I've always had a buzz cut, something leftover from Scouts, so long hair in my face was enough to get me to jolt up in bed and almost fall off it from the shock of all the movement on my chest. I looked down and saw my purple tshirt stretched out in front of me by an unmistakably female chest. Out of shock and instinct I reached down to grab them and saw my arms were hairless, my hands were tiny, and my nails were long and pink. "What the fuck" I said, hearing my voice in a much higher sound.

 I jumped out of bed to go find a mirror and was met with a dull pain in my hip...I winced and even that was in a higher pitch. I reached down to rub it and felt a soft jiggling of fat on my normally pretty fit midsection. Everything jiggled and swayed on the way to the bathroom as I made my way there, turned on the light, and saw a woman in the mirror. Not a girl, a full on woman. About as old as my mom from the look of things. Shoulder length light brown hair with a few grays, hazel eyes, a few wrinkles on her face. She looked weird wearing my boxers and shirt that said "Hokies" across the front. The shirt was too big everywhere but the chest, going almost to my new knees...I must have lost like a foot in height. Lifting it up slowly my boxers were stretched to the limit around the thigh and hips. I lifted the waistband to get some relief and saw my penis had been replaced and this was a complete change. 

 "Why am I a girl?" I asked my reflection That answer came after a few minutes of inspection with a knock on the door. 

I tiptoed over and opened it a crack, feeling suddenly so small and vulnerable. On the other side was a tall guy a little younger than me. Or at least he seemed tall...how short was I now? The guy in the doorway looked relieved to see me "I found her" He called down the hallway 

 "Wait" I say quickly "I'm not---" 

"You're not really that woman, I know. It's going to be OK, follow me and it will all be explained. I followed him into the next room where there was a teenage girl having a very heated argument into a cell phone. 

"How do you screw this up" She said to the person into the phone "There are 15 years of detailed fucking instructions on the internet on how to change back and you had to mess it up for one last fling, but I don't suppose that matters since YOU got back to normal" She looked up at me with a look of defeat and annoyance "I'm going to have to deal with all of this...thanks for nothing" she said hanging up the phone and turning to me 

"Please tell me you have some idea of what's going on" 

 "I have no clue" I say "I went to bed last night and woke up a woman"

 The teenage girl sat on the bed sighed. "Great. On top of everything now there's a man in my body" 

The guy who had led me here saw that that had confused me even more "Have a seat while I explain" 

The first thing the two of them explained was the whole nature of the cursed hotel, how you turn into a replica of someone who had stayed there before. And then they told me that the reason they knew all about it was because this was the second year in a row they've been here. 

Kimberly and Maya Scott were a mother and daughter that had stayed here in 2023 before becoming sisters in Arkansas for the past year. During that time they had set up and planned a reverse stay with the people in their bodies and the people whose bodies they were in to try and get everyone back to normal. 

It worked almost to perfection. Things got messed up when the person who was in Maya's body had a little too much fun on the beach the night before the switch and took a local back to their room to hook up. The person who was in Kimberly's body slept in the bathtub and apparently that extra person triggered the switch and since the magic goes off of who slept where an not just the room numbers, when it came time for the Scotts to finish the chain Kim became Maya, Maya became the hookup, and I....closest to the bathtub....became Kim.

 I was relieved to hear we would be able to turn back "Ok, so all we do is stay here again and we can get back to normal?" I suggested 

 "Yeah, except this stupid Inn isn't year round" Kim said letting her frustration rise again "This is the last fucking week they sell until May. We're stuck like this until May!" 

That hit me like a ton of bricks. Maybe I'm being selfish because being a young man I have no idea how to operate in the world as woman who looks and feels 43 years old. At least I'll have her nearby to make sure I don't make too big a mess of her life. Unfortunately the real Maya will have to do her senior year of high school here in Maine, as a man. Although from her talking she didn't seem as angry about it as Kim. Maybe it's having already spent another year as someone else, maybe it's the addition of male privilege to try out. I don't know. I just know that I've got to fake being a mother and apparently wife for the next few months. 

 Should have just risked the bedbugs at Motel 6 

 

 -Paul

Tyler/Lauren: Space issues

I already kind of didn't like the holidays, but being dragged through them in Lauren's body has been a nightmare. I finally had a break from school, figuring I'd get some time to myself, but no. Friends start making plans to hang out, family drags you around, you start PMSing hard on Christmas Eve, and before you know it it's the week after New Year's and you're back in school. Not to mention all the homework assignments I had due and the massive amount of personal drama I put myself through.

Lauren's laptop broke not long before Christmas, which didn't help matters, and I didn't want to post here on the family PC for some reason. As much as I use the laptop for schoolwork, Paul and Sue consider it a luxury so getting it fixed wasn't on the top of their priorities with all the Xmas expenses - and the rest of their cash tied up in another little project: Finishing the basement.

And you'd think "Oh, Ty, you suggested that months ago, so you could move down there. Sounds great!" It would be, if that was the case but it's not. Just after Thanksgiving Paul revealed he was going to finish the basement so he could rent it out - to Phil, who wants to save some money by not living on campus this semester. Paul's even giving the guy a job at the chicken place.

Phil isn't, like, a monster or anything. He's someone I'd rather not see because he obviously has the hots for me and isn't shy about pursuing it (the whole step-cousin thing isn't an obstacle for him, apparently.) With Mark still occasionally buzzing around, the last thing I need is another male giving me that kind of attention. And since he's all moved in but the basement doesn't have its own bathroom yet, it just underlines the issues I have with sharing such a confined space with so many people (Seriously, every time I have to go someone's already in there. And in Lauren's body, I have to go a lot.)

I have talked to Meg about the possibilities of moving in with her. Neither of us is wild about the idea - explaining to Paul and Sue that I'd rather live with my stepsister and her boyfriend seems like a good way to replay the drama when I suggested taking a year off school. And it's not like they have space for me anyway, I'd basically be crashing on their couch. As nice as it would be for Meg and I to be under the same roof to lean on each other as secret-keepers, it has enough hitches to make it unappealing (to say nothing of the burning in the pit of my stomach whenever I see her and Wade getting affectionate.)

I've thought about approaching some of Lauren's other friends, but I don't want to be a burden, and I don't want to have to explain it, and there's part of me that feels like Lauren is so on the outs with her family that deliberately removing her from their house would just make her more estranged when she gets back.

I get really sad when I look at some of the clothes I can't wear anymore because I put on fifteen pounds or so, and how I'm already not returning Lauren's life in mint condition. It doesn't matter to me, but I know it's different for Lauren.

Tyler/Lauren: Thanksgiving

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I rolled my eyes. "Fine."

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

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

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

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

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

I froze.

His fucking hand. Was on. My fucking knee.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I shuffled around the bed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyler/Lauren: Tyler's Misery Has Been Filmed Before a Live Studio Audience

So, I've kinda been reluctant to mention it, but here's what I got up to this weekend: a beauty pageant.

Obviously it wasn't my idea. In my opinion, entering teenage girls in these ogle-fests is just about the trashiest thing you can do. We should be teaching girls to handle attackers before we teach them to prance around onstage in ballgowns and swimwear. But unfortunately, like most things in life, it comes down to money. Namely, I'm currently part of a family that doesn't have much, and every little bit helps.

First prize in the Junior Miss Energy pageant, sponsored by some coal company or other, is a scholarship, which I'm sure would a be great help to the real Lauren, who has told me she intends to become a nurse. Runners-up are given smaller cash prizes, which I figured would also be nice. I have to admit it was inviting to think I might win some money I could call my own, instead of just getting by on a weekly allowance like a kid.

I waffled back and forth for weeks about whether this kind of thing would be in my wheelhouse, and I'd be lying if I said my little performance at Lake Erie had nothing to do with it... public adoration is a hell of a drug, and being a pretty girl singing drunken karaoke is a lot more endearing than a 30-year-old dude doing the same. On the outside, it seems like anyone with a pretty smile and half a brain ought to do well in a pageant, but don't kid yourself. The girls who do enter take them deadly seriously, and the amount of preparation that goes in quite honestly baffled me once I saw it up close. But I thought hey, this whole year is looking to be a giant loss for me, what's a Saturday of humiliation?

The whole day was a bit of a debacle, mostly consisting of standing around like a dumbass in a dress trying not to look bored. Even though the entry was open - all that was required was a headshot, filling out a questionnaire and proof of residence in Pennsylvania - a lot of these girls are seasoned vets with coaches and routines down pat, and they don't really take kindly to outsiders. I even knew a few of them, such as Lauren's friend Dana, who ended up in the top ten. The atmosphere was described to me as being a fair bit looser than normal for these things: this pageant was small stakes compared to a lot of the ones that run around here. A practice run for some of these girls.

Sitting there tucking my goodies into a strapless prom dress, I felt like I stood out more than ever. More than once I just let out a loud sigh: "Tyler, how the fuck did you let it come to this?" as Susan slathered my face with blush and mascara, over a heavy base to mask the slight breakout around my forehead and temples. I wanted to scream out for everyone to just get away from me, but it was one of those times I just had to draw on my reserves of strength, even going back to basic training... sure, my life has become a joke, and I've learned to roll with the punches, but even this felt like a bit of a leap.

As I sat still for this, I gritted my teeth. I felt every shred of supposed masculinity fleeing my girlish body... it's one thing to sit around the house as a girl, but to get dolled up like that? I didn't even get that much done for the Prom. But as one of you nice commenters said (ahem) I ought to "man up" and face this... hell, it takes a special kinda man to wear that much makeup, not to mention boob tape and thong underwear. And the shoes, by God almighty, the shoes. I'll have blisters for weeks, and it was only a few hours.

The whole thing took place over about four of the longest hours of my life, in a full auditorium of like 300 people. It was hosted by a witless, jabbering morning radio team, Dale and Wendy, the latter of whom approached me backstage to make faux-red carpet chitchat about "who I was wearing," and was disappointed when my answer was a flat "I dunno."

While the other girls were onstage, I looked out to the audience. I wasn't sure what I expected to see. Mostly family members of the various entrants, and a few pageant aficionados (middle-aged gay men.) I felt a fair bit better once I realized only a very small portion of the room was going to be actively slobbering over the girls... probably a smaller portion than most rooms I've been in since being this way. Hm.

The first half was the interview portion, conducted in the eveningwear. All fifty girls were given 45 seconds to respond to one of those ridiculous stock questions. A lot of them gave bland stock answers to q's about education, poverty, world peace, etc. I was actually asked something about what I would do if money were no object, and I managed to cobble together something about providing medical care to the less-fortunate. It wasn't the most polished delivery, but it must have won someone over, because I made it to the top 25.

The next round was the talent portion, which was... bad. For the last two months I've taken singing lessons in Lauren's place, and as much as her instructor was completely distraught at my sudden loss of talent, I feel like since then I've made progress from being completely incapable to merely bad. I gave a warbling, nasal, admittedly gutwrenchingly terrible delivery of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow," a song I had only learned a week earlier, even though Lauren had been singing it for years. I saw Wizard of Oz one time when I was at my grandma's trailer, give me a break.

So I didn't make it to the top ten.

The final portion was the swimwear contest. The top ten all paraded around in skimpy bikinis (we had all been instructed to bring a simple black bikini. Mine was more modest than most of course) and answered another interview question. I watched from the wing and thought about the oddness of it all. Here I am, a grown man in the body of a teenage girl, watching these undeniably sexy teenage girls who are made up to be pretty much indistinguishable from grown women. I couldn't tell what kind of slippery slope I was headed down, if it was healthier for me to watch or turn away.

"Better them than me," I thought, but I couldn't deny my bitterness at coming up short. I guess deep down I'm pretty competitive. Maybe I should have listed my talent as rifle assembly or egg-poaching, two things I can actually do.

Still, I assured Susan afterward that I was feeling alright about it, and she said we'd do better next time (pointedly, she said "we.") Paul offered the helpful observation that it looked like I was nervous. Thanks for showing up, Paul.

The worst part was that Meg was there to see the whole hot mess. Even worse, she got the dang thing on video. "Please, God," I begged her, "No YouTube."

She agreed, and said she hoped maybe someday we'd laugh about it. I said that day was a long time off... maybe when I've got hair on my knuckles and wear a size 13 shoe again, we can talk.

She invited me over to her place, where we proceeded to get hammered. Wade was there, so I was nominally in character, but I lost track of this as the night went on, and whatever Meg and I said to each other probably just baffled him and ultimately flew over his head. Came off as drunken nonsense.

I did, however, leave a pretty damning voicemail on Dana's phone, which was half congratulations and half jealous drunken rambling. I honestly can't remember what I said, but hopefully it was all... flattering.

Anyway, with that all behind me, I have to say it wasn't as terrible as I thought. Just putting on makeup and a dress isn't that terrible. We all dress up and play pretend every day. No, having to live up to a room of strangers' idea of "beauty and poise" is real the nightmare. And shit, isn't that just a handy symbol for the entire experience of being a woman?

I'm no angel, but I'm trying to do right by Lauren, and if competing in another one of these somewhere down the line will make her life, or my time living it any easier, I'll put it under consideration. But there's gotta be an easier way to make a buck.

Tyler/Lauren: Weekend Pt 2

I slept in as late as I could on Saturday, but by 11 I was ready to face the world. I went and found Meg and asked if she wanted to take a hike or something. Wade invited himself along, and Meg just kind of rolled her eyes and let it happen.

Since the three of us don't have a ton of things to talk about otherwise, I decided to make conversation with Wade. "So, you're a tattoo artist, right? How'd you get into that?"

He talked about loving art, but not wanting to limit himself to a conventional canvas... he said that tattoo art was the most personal form of art, the connection between the artist, the work and the recipient was more personal than if someone just bought a piece of art you drew, and that a lot of people liked his original designs. It was actually kind of a deep conversation, all things considered... which made me even more annoyed because I want to hate this guy, but there were moments where he and I got along better than he did with Meg. But if I had to live with him, I'd hate him more.

He told the story of how he and "Tasha" met, with her coming in for a simple tattoo design, but adding bits to it just as an excuse to see him. By the way, the tattoo in question is a lower back "tramp stamp," a fact that Meg is pretty dang self-conscious about. ("Well," I told her, "Good thing you don't have to see it ever." That didn't help.)

We got back to the beach, and Meg expressed her desire to do some swimming after lunch, confiding to me that she hadn't done that much of it since her accident years ago and was excited to get in the water. I told her to have fun, and she said I should join them at the beach. My only other real option was to join the younger kids' watergun fight, which considering my training as a marksman might've been unfair. (Okay, I just didn't want to mingle with the kiddies.)

"Oh, I dunno, I didn't bring a swimsuit."

"I threw one in your bag when you weren't looking," she said.

That rassum frassum...

Real-talk, though, it was fine. It was a peach-colored two piece that was actually pretty modest, with a boyshort cut on the lower half and a tankini on the upper half with a high neckline, covering pretty much all my jiggly parts. I was actually thankful that she didn't pick a one-piece, because even though it's a bit more modest, I'm not as accustomed to wearing that kinda bodysuit as I am a two-piece underclothe now.

I wore a couple of layers over it at first, going down to the beach to find tons of people splashing around. I decided just to lie out on a towel for a bit. A girl came by and told me I should probably strip down a bit if I didn't want tanlines. I was already getting a lot of uneven color, so despite my natural urge to tell her I didn't care, I know that the way I dress as Lauren sometimes highlights these things, so off came the overshirt and shorts.

"Wow," she said, "If I had a body like you I wouldn't cover it up."

I raised an eyebrow. She was pretty, but appeared to be a 15-year-old slip of a girl. I didn't know how to respond. It wasn't the first remark I've ever heard about my body from someone who doesn't know who I really am, but it struck me more than the girls saying they liked my prom dress or my hair. It was just an earnest remark about my body, from a girl who may very well develop one of her own someday soon.

"Yeah well," I said bitterly, "You should see my stepsister."

Speaking of whom, Meg came to sit with us not long after that. She looked really at peace with her body in a revealing bikini. I tried not to stare too long, but it was very attention-getting, considering what Tasha's body is equipped with.

My feelings about it are... strange. My reaction wasn't that far off from how I might have stared and let my eyes drift downward as a guy. My brain was still telling me "Hey, look, boobs!" even though I'm well-accustomed to my own pair by now, not to mention Meg being a friend and a human being, not an object.

I'm not even talking about sexual attraction here, I just think everyone likes to see someone attractive. That's why women buy Cosmos with Kate Upton on the cover, right? In that moment, I suddenly understood what the girl was getting at when she complimented me. Women can talk about how they look to each other without seeming lewd about it.

"Hey you guys," Meg said, "Need any sunscreen?"

"Uh, sure," I stammered, then turned to my new friend, "Uh, this is Tasha, my aforementioned stepsister, and I'm, uh, Lauren."

"Oh, wow, my name's Lauren too" she said, giggling at either the coincidence or my inability to remember my own name, "I'm here with Aaron."

She gestured over to one of the cousins, who looked perfectly age-appropriate and non-threatening.

Meg offered to apply the sunscreen to my back, and I accepted. As she did, she muttered in my ear "Don't worry, there's nothing sexual about this, we're just two friends applying skincare products. You can do me next if you want."

My response was a perhaps overly flirty "I'd be happy to."

Her response was a sigh of "Don't start."

We stayed around the water until dinner. Some of the guys, were using their strength to toss the girls around in the water. The girls seemed to like this, including Little Lauren, who was getting awfully chummy with a taller, broad-shouldered older guy, which made me raise my eyebrow, because that was definitely not the guy she came with. I excused myself, which may have been a mistake in the long run.

I went to go get changed - incidentally, into the dress that Meg had packed me, because it seemed like a good garment to dry off in - and sat down for dinner, and who should sit beside me but Broad-Shoulders.

"Hey," he said in a deep, bro-ish voice, "I'm Phil."

Phil hadn't bothered to put a shirt on, and was still dripping with water. I tried not to acknowledge him directly, I just nodded and said "I'm Lauren. Sue's daughter."

"I think I remember you," he said, "You've really grown up since the last time I saw you."

"Okay," I said. "I guess so."

I could see his eyes flickering between my chest and my face.

"Why'd you leave the beach?"

"I was getting bored," I said, "And I didn't want to get thrown around. Looked dangerous."

"Nah, we're just havin' fun," he said, "Everyone else liked it."

"Yeah? Good for them."

He seemed to think I was just playing hard to get, but I was really squirming. Meg was nowhere to be seen to offer me an escape line.

I think two months is too soon to say I am "used" to guys looking at me like a piece of meat. A lot of the guys I've dealt with know Lauren from school and have a certain comfort around her, but know that she's not dating material. They maybe cross the line by a toe, and I don't respond so they back off, but in this case, there was just no picking up the vibe, as he kept talking, while I kept my responses short.

"I saw you there and I wanted to talk to you. You looked really hot."

Gee thanks, I thought, my favorite subject, how "hot" I look. I twisted in my seat so that he couldn't see down the front of my dress, but he had a pretty high viewpoint.

I decided to level with him. "Listen, man... I saw you getting really handsy with that other Lauren, maybe you should talk to her."

"She's over there with Aaron," he said bitterly. "For some reason."

"Did you know they were dating when you, uh, you know...?"

"Nope."

I guess Other-Lauren didn't cross any lines, a little bit of innocent flirtiness, but still... dance with the one you brought, right?

"She seems kinda young for you anyway, dude," I said, "What are you, twenty? Twenty-one?"

"I'm only 18," he said. That didn't seem so bad, but the hitting on every girl in sight wasn't endearing either.

I decided to get him talking about himself, asking about his favorite sports teams and crap like that. I tuned out, finished my meal quietly and excused myself.

I went to my room and laid down. A while later I heard a knock. A muffled voice said "Lauren, it's Tasha."

I sat up and called out, "Uh... 'Tasha?'"

"You never know who's listening, just... can I come in?"

"Sure."

I was lying down on the bed and she sat next to me.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I said without hesitation, "Why?"

"I guess I just always feel the instinct to ask how you are," she shrugged, "You have this, like, blank expression on your face and I don't know how to read it."

I told her about the conversation I had just had with Phil. "I just had this moment of, like... this is my life. This is all really happening. So I decided I needed to get away from it."

"That's understandable," she said, "In fact it's perfectly normal. But I worry, you know that."

"I'll survive," I said, probably not convincingly.

She probably wanted to ask me more, but I think she knows that sometimes these longs gab sessions wear on me. I didn't want to talk about myself, or Phillip or Other-Lauren and Aaron or her and Wade... so we just sat there for a while, and then before I knew it we were just lying side by side. And we stayed there, quietly, for about twenty minutes or so, just relaxing. It was pretty much the best I've felt in months, kind of forgetting myself, drifting away form my body, but not feeling alone. And that just kind of saved the weekend for me.

Afterwards, we found the rest of the family engaged in a karaoke sing-off. I was kind of aghast, but with everyone knowing what kind of aspiring performer Lauren is - again, the singing lessons, which have raised my ability from nonexistent to merely dreadful. I declined as much as I could, but Meg goaded me (and provided a few drinks for courage.) I ended up belting out a version of Steve Miller's "The Joker," which requires zero singing talent anyway. It was a hit with the older audience, who didn't think I'd know it. As the night went on, I got more and more high from the cheers and did more songs from my own youth, including Pearl Jam, Guns n' Roses and even Smashmouth, as opposed to recent tunes from Taylor Swift or Katy Perry. I'm not usually one who enjoys being the center of attention, but, well, it suits Lauren-Me better than the real me, I guess.

When I'm asking for it.

We kept going until people started to fade around 3 AM. I slept until noon or so, and then it was a scramble to get home on Sunday. All in all the weekend had its ups and downs, and now the house is back to its normal cramped mode. I'm seeing more of the ups and downs of being Lauren. People give you a lot of crap, but they also give you a lot of credit when you do something they like. There may be hope yet.

Tyler/Lauren: Weekend Part 1

Friday night, I got Meg to drive me up to Lake Erie with her and Wade. I had put off packing until that afternoon, because I'm so... fussy when it comes to Lauren's clothes. In fact, I was still working on it when they showed up to pick me up. I ended up, in almost cliche girl style, packing way more than was needed for a weekend, but I genuinely didn't know what I would feel like wearing when we got there. There's jeans, shorts, tights, light tops, heavy tops... three pairs of shoes, depending on whether I wanted to wear sneakers (foofy purple ones at that) moccasins or sandals. I let Meg talk me into bringing a sundress as a break glass in case of emergency, if it got oppressively hot, those things do have a way of deflecting the heat at the cost of making me feel like a total knob. The dress in question was a thin-fabric light blue number that hangs off my shoulders by spaghetti straps. I'm learning to cope with such garments, and it comes down just to my knees so it actually covers more than the short-shorts that dominate Lauren's wardrobe, but I can't shake the feeling that 1) I'm wearing an overturned sack and 2) at any second a nice breeze is gonna lift the whole thing up and expose my goods.

It was unpleasant sitting in the backseat, trying to distract myself by reading on a while Meg played the girlfriend in the passenger seat. I haven't spent that much time around Wade, and seeing Meg interact with him disturbs me to a degree. When she's around me, she's lively and spirited, but when she's around Wade she gets very quiet, afraid to say the wrong thing or raise trouble. I guess I'm the same way when I have to be Lauren. Seeing it in someone else, especially when you know the truth, is really upsetting.

I guess Wade actually did notice, because he couldn't help but mention at one point how moody she's been lately. Wade seems like the kind of guy who blurts out his every thought without thinking of the consequences. On one level, you can respect that, on another it makes him come off like a self-absorbed prick. Whereas Meg and I are in a position where we have to watch literally every syllable that comes out of our mouths - not because we don't want to blow our cover (I'm confident now that we couldn't if we wanted to, this inn magic is for real) but because we really don't want to stir up trouble between ourselves and our "hosts."

If that's the case, though, it's going to be harder than it seems for Meg. At one point we were driving through the rural backroads and Wade said "Yo, it's a nice day, I bet they've got some sick markets and shit around here." And Meg's response was kind of an indifferent "I guess we can stop off, if you really want to."

I guess something about the tone of Meg's reply hit Wade the wrong way, because he got very touchy, saying "You're always like this. If you don't wanna stop just say so."

"I don't really care," Meg said with a sigh, and then things got quiet again.

And no offense to the both of them, but that is a weird damn thing to be fighting about. I understand the subtext - people in couples sometimes fight about fighting as much as they fight about actual material things... and maybe the only way to avoid that altogether is to be a totally submissive doormat, which I know Meg isn't.

When Wade got out to fill up the tank, I asked Meg what was going on, and she said she figured he was annoyed that she hadn't had sex with him in a week. "I've just been feeling crummy and not up for it... and since Tasha is usually pretty easygoing about things, he can sort of tell things are going on."

"Oh, that's... too bad." I said flatly.

"He thinks it's because of him," she said, "You know how guys are." I didn't really know how to take that.

She changed the subject quickly, "I read about your little party... did you get everything cleaned before we left?"

"Sure, I think so, I had a few days. Nobody puked anywhere. There was one broken glass but I got it cleaned up, I think."

"And everyone behaved themselves?"

"More or less," I shrugged.

She raised an eyebrow. "I just think you need to be careful about entering situations like that. Things can get out of hand pretty quickly."

"I can handle it," I said insistently. "I'm just not going to be throwing wild parties every week. That was a onetime thing."

"I just want to make sure about safety..."

"You mean because I look like a 17-year-old girl surrounded by guys, or because I'm really a 30-year-old man surrounded by young girls? Because either way I'm not doing anything dangerous."

"Okay, I trust you, just remember, if you get in trouble, I'm here."

I have to admit, I felt like I was being talked down to a bit, but on the other hand there was a moment or two where I did feel overwhelmed, so keeping that in mind would probably be healthy.

An hour later, we were at Lake Erie. It was a nice enough beach, not exactly the Gulf Coast, or even Maine, but it had a good wholesome quality to it. It was early evening when we arrived. There was a little clutch of cottages, most of which were rented out by members of Paul's extended family, many of whom were gathered around picnic tables drinking. It made my throat feel mighty dry, if you get my drift. Paul and Susan were actually delighted I had come along. I guess people expect 17-year-olds to always be into their own things if given the chance, and I wouldn't normally be an exception, but as I said before I was starting to get bored and restless at "home." So I think I won some brownie points for togetherness.

I was shown around. Even though Lauren has been nominally part of the Blanchard family, I get the sense that as a stepdaughter she's mostly a figment to these folks. "Oh, you remember Susan's daughter, don't ya? Kylie and Kevin's sister... well, half-sister." People Lauren isn't really close enough, even after more than a decade, to call uncle and aunt and cousin. It was actually kind of sad to be her in that moment, but a relief to be me... I didn't have to fake closeness. Meg didn't get so lucky. She was swarmed, and had to look to Wade for support - and of course he had no idea what her problem was and happily chatted up the bros as they stood around a Trans Am drinking Bud Lites. I kid you not, an honest to god muscle car.

I was never exactly a gearhead, but I did feel the desire to get over there and see what was under the hood... but from my viewpoint, the guys that would have been my people a few months ago now saw me as, well... a girl.

I had these visions of condescending glares mixed with implied sexual advances and I figured "Not worth the hassle."

There was a cookout we hadn't totally missed, so I grabbed some ribs and then wandered around and just tried to blend in and fade into the background. I made chitchat with some of the distant relatives, but between having enough of people Lauren's age and adults not really knowing how to talk to teenagers (I still don't, really) I found myself already getting bored and worn out, so I slunk quietly to bed.

Tyler/Lauren: Dirty Laundry

Did you ever find yourself getting in a fight, like an honest-to-god shouting match, that you were so determined to win, you just couldn't let go, but after it was all over, you wondered how you ever got sucked into it? Why you even cared to begin with?

I had such a fight the other night with Paul, Lauren's stepdad. I've been trying to pitch in around the house - do chores now and again, put my downtime to good use so I don't just sleep all day and mope about my situation. Besides, I know that with Susan out cleaning other peoples' houses, she has limited energy to put toward her own place. I'm trying to be a good kid for these people, but I guess it's such a turnaround from Lauren's typically self-centered teenage attitude that it's aroused suspicion.

It started with a load of laundry. I've picked out a few preferred articles of clothing that, as compared to other parts of Lauren's wardrobe, I prefer. It ain't all the "masculine" stuff, either, sweats and hoodies, because the way the weather fluctuates, the skin-baring stuff does come in handy as part of a layered... thing (ensemble, I think the word would be.) But there's a difference between a pair of butt-revealing jean shorts and a pair of more modest cargos. Similarly, there are undergarments that, as a 30-year-old in a teen body, I think are more appropriate for me to utilize. I got so tired of waiting for these items to come through the wash that I just started doing my own laundry. Then I got the bright idea to just start doing everyone's laundry. And this went on for a few weeks.

Then Paul caught me doing it and asked what the hell I was up to. I told him, honestly and innocently, I was just trying to be helpful while I had time, and he said that wasn't my responsibility, and that there were reasons we didn't do laundry as often as I wanted, because electricity and water bills and peak hours... shit he thinks I don't know about.

I don't know why I couldn't just swallow my pride, but I said I had a right to do some stuff for myself if I wanted. He said I was being a brat and said "I don't know what your ulterior motive is here but I know you've got one." I told him he was just being cheap, and that he was a joke... and things kind of spiraled outward from there. It was like an out-of-body experience... I could see and hear myself screeching at this man and turning red with oddly tearful anger, for, like, no reason at all.

It's possible my temper gets the better of me sometimes. I'll admit, this is something that predates my trip to Maine, but it's fair to say that lately I have a lot more reasons to feel provoked lately.

But yeah, I am not great at conflict resolution. Sue me.

Anyway, I got a talking to, and promised to help out less around the house unless asked to (???) so now I'm back to basically being idle and frustrated. I don't know what the issue is between Paul and Lauren, but it's clear this dynamic is gonna be a problem going forward.

On the plus side...

Yes, there are positives to this whole ordeal. Meg has talked about how much better she feels without the injury/disability/whatever the polite term is for her bad leg. I didn't have anything that wrong with me, but it's hard to deny that over the course of three decades I had gotten dinged up a fair bit, and waking up every morning feeling like a practically freshly-made human feels great. Of course, it's hard to drag myself out of bed before 10, but once I'm up I am up, and find myself staying awake until after 2 AM and only going to bed because I figure it's time, not just collapsing onto a couch.

The most noticeable change is to my tongue. Since this body didn't have years of smoking (lay off me, I quit eventually) my tastebuds pop a lot more. Everything tastes better, from fruit (and those giant blended smoothees they sell at the mall) to steak... leading me to over-stuffing my little stomach and getting sick. I had a problem on the weekend where we got ice cream and... dude, I ate way too much ice cream, and I felt it later for a while, but if that's my biggest vice in this body, I'm winning.

Anyway, I'm starting to remember why teenagers feel so invincible.

In fact, the only major unexpected complaints -- you know, besides decrease in size, upper body strength, and generally being treated like an unwanted stepkid -- is that I seem to be getting headaches with an alarming frequency, and I find myself very un-coordinated. I walked into a lamppost outside the other day while texting which... my God, I really have become a teenager. I should probably just stop writing this right now.

Oh yeah, and if you were still wondering about the pageant thing... that's a subject for another time. Let's just say, we're still in negotiations.

Ashlyn--Here I go again on my own…

Yes, I just quoted the band Whitesnake in the blog. What can I say, I like 80’s music and I have it playing on my iPod as I write this.

Before my parents died and I was sent to live with my uncle Garry, I grew up in a suburb of Dallas. We lived in one of those cookie-cutter housing communities. It was great. There was an empty field nearby to play football, and a community pool to help survive the Texas summers. There were bike trails and parks connected to those trails. There was everything a boy needed growing up.

Including a best friend.

Billy Sanderson—I called him BS to the annoyance of my parents—lived next door. He was there from day one; as we moved into the house he just seemed to appear out of nowhere and started helping move things inside. There were no introductions—he acted like he had known me and my family forever and we became instant friends.

I thought Billy was the coolest guy on the planet. Billy was the instigator of bad behavior and I loved him for it. He had a motto he lived by “If you’re not doing something that might get you grounded, then you are probably not having a good enough time.” We spent large amounts of time debating who was cooler: Batman or Spiderman. We glued firecrackers to my ‘six-million dollar man’ action figure and lit them. “Oh No! Col. Austin’s bionics are going haywire!” We would yell as the doll would bounce around from the small explosions. We also spent countless hours trying to build bigger and higher ramps to jump with our bicycles. Billy’s parents would ask why we were so obsessed with jumping ramps and Billy would say “We’re training to be the next Evel Knievel! Duh”. Yeah, life was fun with Billy.

Being best friends with Billy had one significant downside. Billy lived with his mom and stepdad. Every summer Billy would go away for a month—sometimes two—and spend time with his dad. Those summer months when Billy went away were brutal for me. There I was, out of school for the summer and no best friend to do things with—every spring I would dread the approach of summer.

Worse, Billy would go on these amazing trips with his dad during those times away. Billy would come back and tell me tales of white water rafting, swimming with dolphins and traveling through jungles. Billy embellished all of his stories of course—I didn’t call him BS just because they were his initials—and his stories really captured my imagination. After a while, it wasn’t just being lonely in the summer that was the problem—I started feeling like Billy was going on these incredible adventures, and I was being left behind.

Which brings me to this morning.

I waited until I knew Ray had left for work before walking over to Liz’s place. I knocked on the door and Art opened the door.

“I thought we were meeting up at North Station.” He asked.

“I thought I would check and see if you needed help with anything—besides, it gives me the excuse to hang out with you a little longer. You packed?”

“Mostly. I packed a few thing last night for my—“ He made quote marks with his fingers. “—trip to New York. I waited until Ray left to pack more things for a longer stay at the Inn. I didn’t want him to see my bags and wonder why I packed so much for a short trip.”

“Smart, but if he asked you could have played the girl card.” I tell him.

“Girl card?”

“Yeah. You know: I need to pack all these clothes because I’m a girl.” I smirked.

“Well, not for much longer.”

We headed into the bedroom where there was an open half-filled suitcase lying on the bed. I found an empty spot of the bed a sat down.

“I can’t believe the day is finally here!” Art said while digging through a closet.
I didn’t reply right away. Art was practically bursting with excitement, but I had mixed feelings. I wasn’t as giddy as Art was about his return trip to the Inn. “So, you and Zoe have a good time last night?” I asked.

“Yeah, we did. Sorry about not inviting you along, but you know how Zoe is about you.” The original Ashlyn and Zoe didn’t get along, so I inherited the animosity. She doesn’t seem to care for the way I like to dress as well.

“Yeah I know. It’s okay. It gave me an excuse to go see Matt.”

Art turned away from the closet and gave me a curious look. “Oh? How’s that going?”

I shrugged. “We had a great time. Matt is fun, his friends are fun….”

“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

“Not really. It’s just that sometimes I feel so old around him and his friends. Our tastes in music are different, movies, a lot of things. Sure, physical I’m in my early twenties, but mentally I’m closer to forty. As odd as it sounds, I think we have a generation gap.”

I pause for a moment. “He referred to me as his ‘girlfriend’ last night. I’m somebody’s girlfriend. Is that crazy or what?”

Art rolls his eyes. “Some of us have been dealing with that for months.”

“Yeah, true, but this is someone Ashlyn had never met before. This is a—God, a relationship—with someone who likes me for myself. It’s different.”

Art looked contemplative. “Yeah, I could see how that could be important.”

He tossed a few last items into the suitcase and zipped it up. “Done! And look, gender stereotypes be damned, I didn’t pack that much.”

Art carries his suitcase into the front room and called a cab. He then went to his purse, pulled out an envelope with ‘Ray’ written in big letters, and set it on the kitchen table.

Eventually the cab shows up and honks to let us know it was there. I grab the suitcase and Art gives the place one last look around.

“This was a nice life…it just wasn’t mine.”

We find an empty bench at North Station.

“Lyn, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.”

I give him a blank look. “Sorry for what?”

“It was because of me this all happened to you. If I hadn’t invited you to the beer festival, you would still be Jake.”

“Dude. There was no way you could have known what going to happen. I don’t blame you at all—never did.”

“Still, I felt I should say something. I feel guilty about being able to go back to my life—“

“When I’m stuck here.” I finished for him.

“Well, yeah.”

“Art, I am so happy this is all going to work out for you. I really am. Sure, I’m going to miss you—“ It was at this moment I could feel my throat tighten and tears well up in my eyes.

I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I don’t want to be one of those girls who cry easily.

I just about had it under control when Art suddenly burst into tears. It put me over the edge. Soon we were holding each other, tears running our faces.

“I’m going to miss you ‘Lyn.”

“Same here.”

We eventually regain our composure and Art looks at his watch. “Time to go.”

I reach for my purse and pull out a drawing of Liz. “It’s just a pencil sketch. I’ve scanned it, but I haven’t colored it yet. I’ll finish it and post it on the blog. I thought you would like the original drawing.”

“Yes! Thank you.” He takes the drawing from me and puts it with his things.

We hug one more time. “Take care of yourself Art. Come visit me sometime.”

“You can count on it.”

He grabbed his things and headed off.

I stood there a while. My best friend had gone away leaving me behind—it was Billy Sanderson all over again.

The Inn is back to its old tricks…

The T is right there at North Station, but I decided to walk home because the weather is incredibly nice right now. I eventually make it home and sit down to write in this blog—but before I got that far I checked my email. I was in for a surprise.
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Dear Art/Liz:

Please help me. I just checked out of the Trading Post Inn, but I am not the same person I checked in as. I am trying very hard not to lose control and become hysterical here, but it is like some really bad nightmare.

I still have the laptop computer I checked in with, and theAT&T Data Card which allows me to surf the web. I did a search forthe Trading Posting Inn, which led me to your blog. I read througheach one of the entries, only to realize that this has happened toother people too. So, I am desperately turning to you for helpbefore I lose it.

My real name is Paul Miller. I am an attorney from Philadelphia, Pa., and my specialty is intellectual property litigation. I am, or was, very good at my job. It allows me to stay very cool under very tense situations. Please refer to the blog I was doing before I changed for details. It can be found at http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/

For some reason, it is harder to stay in control in this body.

I am in a different body. At some point between Wednesday Night and Thursday Morning, by body somehow changed from a near 40 year-oldCaucasian man into an African-American women. She . . . I . . . look very young, so I can't tell you how old this body is. I am a lot shorter than I was before. And the body has half-healed bruises all over it.

I went and looked for a suitcase, or anything to tell me who this girl is. She left nothing behind, so the identity of this body is a mystery to me. I had to sneak down to the laundry room of the Trading Post Inn to find something to fit me. I only booked the room through the weekend (it was an impromptu get away to clear my head before a big trial), so I had to check out.

I left my suitcase, clothes, and all of my belongings, including identification in the room. I did take what cash I had, about $425.00 with me, and this laptop. I also took the rental car that I drove all the way up here from Boston.

I don't know what to do. I am turning to you for some advice. I am afraid that if the police find me with my laptop and the rental car, that they will suspect some type of foul play regarding my real identity Paul Miller. I know that the police will be more likely to believe I did something, considering I am nowblack, and I have all of these bruises. I cannot have the police investigate the Inn, or else nobody will be able to get their real body back. I am going to have to ditch the car and laptop somewhere along the road. I will have to wipe everything down with a cloth to take my fingerprints off of it. I just hope that I can get to you in time before you leave.

So, I am going to have to get as close to Boston, as I can, and then find a ride the rest of the way. I have a flight from Logan Airport back to my place in Philly, but I don't think I'll be able to get on the plane without any I.D., especially without any I.D. that looks like my current self.

I had better describe myself, my current self, to you, justin case you find me before I can check in at the internet café. Iwould say my age is between 16 and 21. Very young looking. As Isaid, I am African-American now, and, from the reflection in themirror, extremely beautiful. I am only about 5'2" tall. My hair isstraight and black, and goes about ½ of the way down my back. Iam wearing a pair of jeans that are a little too tight (and the pantlegs are just slightly rolled up), and a white v-neck t-shirt. Ialso have on a pair of sandals (that are a little too big for me).

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I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In the back of my mind I knew the Inn was open again, so that means more victims. I checked out Paul’s blog: http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/It brought back a lot of memories of my own experience. I emailed him back, so hopefully he’ll contact me again. I don’t have all the answers about his new situation, but I have a few, so maybe that will help.

Ashlyn