I'm still a little speechless. Part of me didn't think it was going to happen. I'm back. We're back. Well, those of us who made it to the Inn, anyway. I'm having a hard time writing this because I don't want to rub it in or anything but... it happened. It really happened. Part of me thought I'd get screwed out of it at the last minute. Was convinced.
Later that day of my last post, she arrived toting a large bag. Gorgeous, tall, thin, blonde, wearing a wispy yellow sundress and flat sandals. Part of me was already back in Cal mode, afraid to approach her, even though I've been talking to girls, sometimes incredibly attractive ones, as one of their own for a year. I'm just getting ready for her to pass without noticing me when she looks over and smiles.
"Don't tell me... Angie? Cal? Right?"
And then I realize I know this girl. I had to search my mind for a minute and stammer like a fool, but I remember. She was at the Inn at the same time as us. She can tell I'm struggling, so she reminds me: Her real name is Mike, and he's in the body of his sister Lila.
"Right!" my eyes go wide, "Oh my GOD, I can't believe I forgot about you, how have you been?"
"Ups and downs, my friend," she says with a warm charm that gives me the sense she's working to hide some of those lows. "It took me forever to get a flight out here, but I'm glad I didn't miss the show."
"The show?" I say "Oh right. The... um. Yeah."
"I kind of had a... financial shortfall this year," she said as she led me to her room, "And I was really worrying that I wasn't going to make it back. Lila, in my body, was all set, and I wanted to get here to give it back to her. Then a while back I got a call from your friend Sophie. I can't believe she's just leaving her old body like that."
"To you?"
"Yes," she smiled, beautifully, "I'm going to be Grant. If this all goes as planned."
It did, that night in fact. I was too excited to sleep so I felt it all happen, because... well, I'm NEVER coming back here again. The experience of changing your skin, from soft, plush female to slightly rougher, coarse male skin, feeling millions of tiny hairs growing out of you while the hair on top of your head somehow just... vanishes? I felt myself getting heavier and heavier and dizzy as I grew. I laid down, and by the time I sat back up again, I had a nice flat chest and a set of equipment limply dangling between my legs.
I laughed. I cried. I kind of wanted to throw up.
The next hours - days, even - were a blur. Trish, Roy, Derek and I all rushed to meet each other. "You?" "Yeah, you too?" "Good, yes!" We didn't get Mike, but eventually found out that he had gotten Grant's body just as he'd planned. Meanwhile, there were a few new transformees with us, and I didn't want to leave them in the lurch, including the person who became James. I regret I wasn't able to answer all their questions... I feel like I got so wrapped up in actually living as Angie that I didn't ask while I was caught up in it, but in my defense who would I have asked? I only have my own observations, and the kinda spotty records in this blog.
It's been a whirlwind, from excitedly standing to pee for the first time in a year, to dressing in a t-shirt and shorts and walking the beach like an invisible, well, man, not being eyed by every beach bum out there.
It's going to take a while, I think, to really adjust back... I wish it was as simple as just dusting off the old body and sliding back into my real life and forgetting the past year ever happened to me, but it did, and I... I don't really know what to do with it for now. So I'm going to leave it at that. For now I'm... on my way home.
Finally.
Showing posts with label Roy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Roy. Show all posts
Friday, June 27, 2014
Friday, June 20, 2014
Cal/Angie: Another round
What is it about a girl alone at a bar that makes her irresistible to guys?
Don't answer that, I know what I look like. Not gorgeous or anything, but attainable, and certainly (shudder) "doable" by the end of the night. I sit on the barstool with nobody around, no forcefield to put the guys off, because Trish is running late.
Maybe my time in Canada really did something to me because it made me too dang polite to tell these guys to fuck off. You really get the sense of how rude Americans naturally are to each other when you spend a year among people who apologize every time they breathe on each other. That's something I didn't mention much about Canada, I guess because it became so normal. All these things about sweet, hippie-infused Van City that just became part of my day-to-day life.
Makes me wonder why those girls flew all the way across the country for their vacation a year ago.
So, since I can't seem to shoo them away right off the bat, I let them in. I size them up. I don't like what I see.
The first guy tells me right off the bat what kind of car he drives. He can't tell from looking at me - rocking the flower-child skirt and braids that, in character as Angie, I'm not all that materialistic. It's funny how that's become true. I tell him I'm going to the bathroom and don't return for twenty minutes.
The second guy asks me about Canada. I tell him Vancouver's nicer than Boston, and he says but Boston's got the Pats, and I say I don't care about the Pats. He takes this as his cue to drone on and on because he loves educating women about sports. Barf.
Eventually he asks what I do and I tell him I used to work in a holistic supply store, and I start telling him everything I've learned about naturopathy - most of which I don't believe, myself, but Angie does. He makes like he's interested for a while, then finds someone else to bother.
Third guy doesn't even get a chance when Trish finally shows up. By now I'm drunk and I talk her into pretending she's my boyfriend. The key is, as Robbie she's very tall. Guys don't want to mess with her.
We grab a table, Derek and Roy join us. We drink a toast to our absent friends, and muse about how if we're lucky, this might be the last night any of us has to wear the wrong face out in public. We ask Roy how his last month of married life was, and he grunts "Hell on wheels, kids. Do you know what I had to go through to make sure Christine's deadbeat husband didn't join us on this trip?"
"Maybe you should have let him," I chuckle, "If he's as bad as you say, it might do him some good."
"Funny," he says, "But you can't go messing with peoples' lives. Christine wants to come back to him and I'm not gonna stand in their way, even if I don't understand. The sex was adequate, though. I think I blew his mind."
"Just his mind?" Trish said. I high fived her.
Being a guy has been good for her, I think. She seems oddly comfortable as "one of the guys" both biologically and socially. I look at her and I see a pal. And yeah, I've made it clear that at times I'd like more but I'm lucky to have her as a friend, and I hope going back doesn't change that.
I think out loud, "Wish I could have brought David... stuffed him in some weird body, like a grandma or a porn star and said hey, how do you like it?"
Trish pats my back and says I don't mean that, and I admit I don't, but... I just wish I could have gotten some measure of revenge. I hate the way I left things for Angie.
We stumble home and I flop down in bed... in the morning, I'll probably feel it, since Angie's body doesn't seem to handle hangovers well. I'm going to be 19 soon. I'm going to miss being able to drink legally.
Don't answer that, I know what I look like. Not gorgeous or anything, but attainable, and certainly (shudder) "doable" by the end of the night. I sit on the barstool with nobody around, no forcefield to put the guys off, because Trish is running late.
Maybe my time in Canada really did something to me because it made me too dang polite to tell these guys to fuck off. You really get the sense of how rude Americans naturally are to each other when you spend a year among people who apologize every time they breathe on each other. That's something I didn't mention much about Canada, I guess because it became so normal. All these things about sweet, hippie-infused Van City that just became part of my day-to-day life.
Makes me wonder why those girls flew all the way across the country for their vacation a year ago.
So, since I can't seem to shoo them away right off the bat, I let them in. I size them up. I don't like what I see.
The first guy tells me right off the bat what kind of car he drives. He can't tell from looking at me - rocking the flower-child skirt and braids that, in character as Angie, I'm not all that materialistic. It's funny how that's become true. I tell him I'm going to the bathroom and don't return for twenty minutes.
The second guy asks me about Canada. I tell him Vancouver's nicer than Boston, and he says but Boston's got the Pats, and I say I don't care about the Pats. He takes this as his cue to drone on and on because he loves educating women about sports. Barf.
Eventually he asks what I do and I tell him I used to work in a holistic supply store, and I start telling him everything I've learned about naturopathy - most of which I don't believe, myself, but Angie does. He makes like he's interested for a while, then finds someone else to bother.
Third guy doesn't even get a chance when Trish finally shows up. By now I'm drunk and I talk her into pretending she's my boyfriend. The key is, as Robbie she's very tall. Guys don't want to mess with her.
We grab a table, Derek and Roy join us. We drink a toast to our absent friends, and muse about how if we're lucky, this might be the last night any of us has to wear the wrong face out in public. We ask Roy how his last month of married life was, and he grunts "Hell on wheels, kids. Do you know what I had to go through to make sure Christine's deadbeat husband didn't join us on this trip?"
"Maybe you should have let him," I chuckle, "If he's as bad as you say, it might do him some good."
"Funny," he says, "But you can't go messing with peoples' lives. Christine wants to come back to him and I'm not gonna stand in their way, even if I don't understand. The sex was adequate, though. I think I blew his mind."
"Just his mind?" Trish said. I high fived her.
Being a guy has been good for her, I think. She seems oddly comfortable as "one of the guys" both biologically and socially. I look at her and I see a pal. And yeah, I've made it clear that at times I'd like more but I'm lucky to have her as a friend, and I hope going back doesn't change that.
I think out loud, "Wish I could have brought David... stuffed him in some weird body, like a grandma or a porn star and said hey, how do you like it?"
Trish pats my back and says I don't mean that, and I admit I don't, but... I just wish I could have gotten some measure of revenge. I hate the way I left things for Angie.
We stumble home and I flop down in bed... in the morning, I'll probably feel it, since Angie's body doesn't seem to handle hangovers well. I'm going to be 19 soon. I'm going to miss being able to drink legally.
Tuesday, May 06, 2014
Roy/Christine: Making Nice
After taking a long while to cool off, I ended up going back to Terry. Part of it was the uncomfortable motel bed I was sleeping on, starting to take its toll on my already permanently-sore back (lugging breasts and all this extra weight around is no fun.) Mostly, or so I tell myself, it's the greater good. In the end, my squabbles with this man are my own, and my actions have an effect on the person who is supposed to be in this body. As loathe as I am to share a bed with him, I force myself to put on the "good wife" facade.
I'll admit it has its benefits. Routine is nice. Company is good. I'd be lying if I said I didn't get any pleasure (albeit a kind of perverse kind) out of fulfilling Christine's "wifely" duties. But it's a bit like the last semester before graduation. I'm squirming in my seat at all times, ready to break free for the summer and take back control of my life.
And while I console myself by telling myself it was the right thing to do, I still feel like I've betrayed myself in letting Christine go back to him. He's an asshole, a difficult partner best and a bigot at worst. I'd be lying if I said it was the first time I found myself paradoxically attracted to a man like that, but I hope it's the last.
I hate feeling small, while also being too big. Christine left me a body that was very out of shape compared to what I'm used to, and while I made some progress helping that, there is only so much that can be done. As determined as I am, there just weren't enough hours in the day to make a huge difference. Eating right helps, staying active helps... but I've always said you've got to be about it, and even with my discipline, there was only so much effort I could put in while doing a full-time job and carrying on the marriage. This is, I guess, why people "let themselves go." I've never had that luxury because I never settled down, and I never wanted to.
So I'm left with this: another month or so of carting these hips and thighs and not to mention bosoms around with me, clenching my teeth when the man who shares my bed speaks, getting looks from strangers that I read as judgmental of my weight or lack of cosmetics... and sometimes clearly the mark of some kind of fat fetishist.
I'll admit to a certain level of judgmentalism in myself, both towards myself, and towards others before I got here. I always thought if it worked for me it should work for everyone... and maybe to a degree there's some logic to that, but I'm less hardline now than I was a year ago. I have a better understanding of women's body acceptance movements. I used to think it was just for quitters, but now I see it as a strength. To love yourself hard, but satisfying.
I'll admit it has its benefits. Routine is nice. Company is good. I'd be lying if I said I didn't get any pleasure (albeit a kind of perverse kind) out of fulfilling Christine's "wifely" duties. But it's a bit like the last semester before graduation. I'm squirming in my seat at all times, ready to break free for the summer and take back control of my life.
And while I console myself by telling myself it was the right thing to do, I still feel like I've betrayed myself in letting Christine go back to him. He's an asshole, a difficult partner best and a bigot at worst. I'd be lying if I said it was the first time I found myself paradoxically attracted to a man like that, but I hope it's the last.
I hate feeling small, while also being too big. Christine left me a body that was very out of shape compared to what I'm used to, and while I made some progress helping that, there is only so much that can be done. As determined as I am, there just weren't enough hours in the day to make a huge difference. Eating right helps, staying active helps... but I've always said you've got to be about it, and even with my discipline, there was only so much effort I could put in while doing a full-time job and carrying on the marriage. This is, I guess, why people "let themselves go." I've never had that luxury because I never settled down, and I never wanted to.
So I'm left with this: another month or so of carting these hips and thighs and not to mention bosoms around with me, clenching my teeth when the man who shares my bed speaks, getting looks from strangers that I read as judgmental of my weight or lack of cosmetics... and sometimes clearly the mark of some kind of fat fetishist.
I'll admit to a certain level of judgmentalism in myself, both towards myself, and towards others before I got here. I always thought if it worked for me it should work for everyone... and maybe to a degree there's some logic to that, but I'm less hardline now than I was a year ago. I have a better understanding of women's body acceptance movements. I used to think it was just for quitters, but now I see it as a strength. To love yourself hard, but satisfying.
Thursday, April 03, 2014
Roy/Christine: Ducks in a row
That phrase always reminds me of my father. He was big into hunting. One of many things we didn't have in common. But it's appropriate. After a few weeks of wrangling and accommodating, it looks like everyone will be present and accounted for in Maine in just two months.
I'm writing this from the motel where I've been living for the past few months. I haven't done much since February besides work, eat, watch TV and sleep. I had blowup after blowup with Christine's husband Terry and I just... had to get out.
I like to think I'm a strong person, but I can shoot my mouth off sometimes. Playing the good wife to that deadbeat was not really in my wheelhouse. As much as I should have grinned and bore it for Christine's sake, there are things I just can't stand. Laziness, lack of ability to contribute, ungratefulness, a neanderthalic perspective on gender roles... to summarize, he was not my kind of guy. I climbed into bed with him for as long as I could, but eventually I just couldn't stand it.
The final straw happened after the Holidays, when Christine's brother Angus was staying with us. Angus happens to be gay, and while Terry behaved himself while he was around, he showed his true colors afterward when he said he was glad it was just us again.
"Honey, your brother's a great guy, but he can be such a fag sometimes."
WHAT.
Look, I've been around for a while - not out as long as I probably should have been but plenty long. I've heard lots of stuff and lots of it was way worse than that. That doesn't keep me from getting offended when I hear language like that and definitely not when the person who is saying it thinks he's talking to his wife about her brother.
So I launched immediately into a tirade. I saw red. I screamed myself hoarse with "How dare yous" and "If you only knews" and just bawling. I don't even know what was said. And he didn't even have the manhood to apologize. He tried to defend himself and say he's sure Angus has heard worse and he meant it lovingly and blah blah blah homophobic bullshit.
So at the end of the night I just threw my hands in the air and said "What's the fucking point?" I didn't ask for this. I didn't agree to be the guardian and protector of this fucking marriage, to someone who doesn't appreciate the woman he's with and definitely doesn't deserve me. I should have knocked his fucking lights out.
So I stormed out, only occasionally returning for some belongings - but as they're not really mine, I mostly just left it. And I didn't tell you because part of me, if you can believe it, was embarrassed to have failed the wife test. But good, because I never wanted to be one. If I ever fall in love, if I ever get married, it will be to someone who's passed my test.
Of course, Christine wasn't thrilled, but I'm sure she'll be able to piece things back together when she returns. If she was the type of person who can suffer his shit with a smile, I'm sure she's great at rebuilding bridges.
Not me, though. I burn them.
I'm writing this from the motel where I've been living for the past few months. I haven't done much since February besides work, eat, watch TV and sleep. I had blowup after blowup with Christine's husband Terry and I just... had to get out.
I like to think I'm a strong person, but I can shoot my mouth off sometimes. Playing the good wife to that deadbeat was not really in my wheelhouse. As much as I should have grinned and bore it for Christine's sake, there are things I just can't stand. Laziness, lack of ability to contribute, ungratefulness, a neanderthalic perspective on gender roles... to summarize, he was not my kind of guy. I climbed into bed with him for as long as I could, but eventually I just couldn't stand it.
The final straw happened after the Holidays, when Christine's brother Angus was staying with us. Angus happens to be gay, and while Terry behaved himself while he was around, he showed his true colors afterward when he said he was glad it was just us again.
"Honey, your brother's a great guy, but he can be such a fag sometimes."
WHAT.
Look, I've been around for a while - not out as long as I probably should have been but plenty long. I've heard lots of stuff and lots of it was way worse than that. That doesn't keep me from getting offended when I hear language like that and definitely not when the person who is saying it thinks he's talking to his wife about her brother.
So I launched immediately into a tirade. I saw red. I screamed myself hoarse with "How dare yous" and "If you only knews" and just bawling. I don't even know what was said. And he didn't even have the manhood to apologize. He tried to defend himself and say he's sure Angus has heard worse and he meant it lovingly and blah blah blah homophobic bullshit.
So at the end of the night I just threw my hands in the air and said "What's the fucking point?" I didn't ask for this. I didn't agree to be the guardian and protector of this fucking marriage, to someone who doesn't appreciate the woman he's with and definitely doesn't deserve me. I should have knocked his fucking lights out.
So I stormed out, only occasionally returning for some belongings - but as they're not really mine, I mostly just left it. And I didn't tell you because part of me, if you can believe it, was embarrassed to have failed the wife test. But good, because I never wanted to be one. If I ever fall in love, if I ever get married, it will be to someone who's passed my test.
Of course, Christine wasn't thrilled, but I'm sure she'll be able to piece things back together when she returns. If she was the type of person who can suffer his shit with a smile, I'm sure she's great at rebuilding bridges.
Not me, though. I burn them.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Cal/Angie: Preparations, stress and uncertainty
Maybe I'm just an anti-social person, but I wasn't really prepared for the amount of work that goes into being someone's girlfriend. After hanging out together for one night I'm usually satisfied and don't feel the need to see him much for the rest of the week. I think he's been taking this as me not being interested, and maybe that's true... I like him, but I think there's a limit to that. I'm just not willing to let myself get super close to him, because I know he'll only get hurt in the end.
I'm going back to the Inn in June. That's official. It has been for a while, but I thought I would clarify for those of you reading who never heard the news. Roy/Christine took care of all the arrangements, working with her counterpart and helping me corral all of the current occupants of our bodies for the correct arrangements. Knock on wood, everything should be lined up properly. Knowing that, it feels strange that I would even let David into my life.
But I know you understand and are encouraging... he likes me, and I like that he likes me. I think he expects things from me, and while part of me wants to see what it's like to give that, to be with someone that way, I wonder what the point of it is if I'm getting my body in. It's a "once in a lifetime" opportunity, but I'm not sure I feel comfortable, and it feels like a lose-lose situation. If I do it and I don't like it, I might hate myself (and maybe never look a woman in the eye again!) If I do it and I do like it, then how do I go back to being a man? How do I live with myself knowing what I know?
I guess that's going to be a problem anyway. I've kissed David. I've played with myself and enjoyed it. I also enjoyed having a dick of my own. Every argument against doing this feels flimsy. But the coolness between me and David makes me feel so awkward, like I shouldn't bother.
I'm going back to the Inn in June. That's official. It has been for a while, but I thought I would clarify for those of you reading who never heard the news. Roy/Christine took care of all the arrangements, working with her counterpart and helping me corral all of the current occupants of our bodies for the correct arrangements. Knock on wood, everything should be lined up properly. Knowing that, it feels strange that I would even let David into my life.
But I know you understand and are encouraging... he likes me, and I like that he likes me. I think he expects things from me, and while part of me wants to see what it's like to give that, to be with someone that way, I wonder what the point of it is if I'm getting my body in. It's a "once in a lifetime" opportunity, but I'm not sure I feel comfortable, and it feels like a lose-lose situation. If I do it and I don't like it, I might hate myself (and maybe never look a woman in the eye again!) If I do it and I do like it, then how do I go back to being a man? How do I live with myself knowing what I know?
I guess that's going to be a problem anyway. I've kissed David. I've played with myself and enjoyed it. I also enjoyed having a dick of my own. Every argument against doing this feels flimsy. But the coolness between me and David makes me feel so awkward, like I shouldn't bother.
Saturday, November 09, 2013
James/Keisha
Wow, I don't want to say that my life as a guy in a girl's body got boring quickly, but man.
Like, first it was stressful, then it was kind of exciting, and now it's like... what. Now I just want it to be over, even though, shit, I dunno what I'm gonna do when I get my body back. Assuming I do.
Same goes for all of us. Like, these girls had lives that were all nicely set up. When we dove in, we, like, made a bit of a splash... I nearly got fired and kicked out of Keisha's apartment, but mostly it's just "do as you're told and don't piss anyone off." And here's the thing... I hate that, but I get it.
I read some of where Roy was complaining about me at work. Nothing she hasn't said to me in person, don't worry. And it's all true. I could give a fuck if I get Keisha fired, no offense to her. This is probably not her dream job. I don't know what would be, because I feel like I've said three sentences to her since I became her, but I doubt it's this. Pushing books. Like, who reads? (A lot of Canadians, apparently, the store seems to be doing ok.) I show up on time, I try not to be too much of a bitch, they can't fire me.
Then in October it was randomly Canadian "Thanksgiving," which was surprising, but Trish gave me a head's up on that.
The roommate... look, I don't know her story. If I asked, she would probably look at me like "I already told you this when we met." Sometimes she wants to be my friend, sometimes she hates my guts. So long as I pay my half of the rent, again, she's practically a ghost.
I've been asking Roy for details about his sex life, but she says she won't tell me because she doesn't want to encourage any bad behavior "I have to partake in some activities because I inherited a situation," she says. with her nose in the air. "You're better off not upsetting the apple cart." I say fuck that.
Convenient excuse. I'm not saying I want to get out there and get some action or anything: I still shudder at the idea of a dude touching me like that, but I can see the appeal. Yeah, I said it. Some dudes are attractive. And some girls want sex. I'm not sure if I'm one of them yet, but I can't totally say I'm not.
Know how I know? Because I know. We all have needs. I'm speaking for all of us. They don't have to tell me, I just know. Trish was dead-on right when he said to Cal that three of us have definitely gone downtown on the new bodies. Four if he was including himself. Cal might be too uptight to try it, but you can see in her eyes she's dying to break the seal. The rest of us are a little more "in touch" with ourselves. And hey, there's no harm done.
What guy wouldn't, given the chance? If we're stuck in these bodies, and we knew there was something fun we could do with them, why wouldn't we?
But what it comes down to is, I'm just bored. I've got to pass the time somehow. I want to meet people who aren't from the Lowell Crew, because I none of them are ready to venture out beyond movie nights or the occasional group hangout. We're legal age in a city where streets close down for pub crawls... I want to mix it the fuck up!
For god's sake, we spent Halloween watching the movie Halloween. We wasted the one night of the year where it's acceptable for us to wear ridiculous costumes, you know, even though we're kind of always in disguise.
It's not about sex. It's about living. Drinking, fighting, fucking, meeting randos -- and maybe hooking up -- that's life, man, and I'm not cancelling it just because I look like some uptight Canadian chick. So tonight, I'm gonna cut loose, head out on my own, see what happens. Peace, nerds.
Like, first it was stressful, then it was kind of exciting, and now it's like... what. Now I just want it to be over, even though, shit, I dunno what I'm gonna do when I get my body back. Assuming I do.
Same goes for all of us. Like, these girls had lives that were all nicely set up. When we dove in, we, like, made a bit of a splash... I nearly got fired and kicked out of Keisha's apartment, but mostly it's just "do as you're told and don't piss anyone off." And here's the thing... I hate that, but I get it.
I read some of where Roy was complaining about me at work. Nothing she hasn't said to me in person, don't worry. And it's all true. I could give a fuck if I get Keisha fired, no offense to her. This is probably not her dream job. I don't know what would be, because I feel like I've said three sentences to her since I became her, but I doubt it's this. Pushing books. Like, who reads? (A lot of Canadians, apparently, the store seems to be doing ok.) I show up on time, I try not to be too much of a bitch, they can't fire me.
Then in October it was randomly Canadian "Thanksgiving," which was surprising, but Trish gave me a head's up on that.
The roommate... look, I don't know her story. If I asked, she would probably look at me like "I already told you this when we met." Sometimes she wants to be my friend, sometimes she hates my guts. So long as I pay my half of the rent, again, she's practically a ghost.
I've been asking Roy for details about his sex life, but she says she won't tell me because she doesn't want to encourage any bad behavior "I have to partake in some activities because I inherited a situation," she says. with her nose in the air. "You're better off not upsetting the apple cart." I say fuck that.
Convenient excuse. I'm not saying I want to get out there and get some action or anything: I still shudder at the idea of a dude touching me like that, but I can see the appeal. Yeah, I said it. Some dudes are attractive. And some girls want sex. I'm not sure if I'm one of them yet, but I can't totally say I'm not.
Know how I know? Because I know. We all have needs. I'm speaking for all of us. They don't have to tell me, I just know. Trish was dead-on right when he said to Cal that three of us have definitely gone downtown on the new bodies. Four if he was including himself. Cal might be too uptight to try it, but you can see in her eyes she's dying to break the seal. The rest of us are a little more "in touch" with ourselves. And hey, there's no harm done.
What guy wouldn't, given the chance? If we're stuck in these bodies, and we knew there was something fun we could do with them, why wouldn't we?
But what it comes down to is, I'm just bored. I've got to pass the time somehow. I want to meet people who aren't from the Lowell Crew, because I none of them are ready to venture out beyond movie nights or the occasional group hangout. We're legal age in a city where streets close down for pub crawls... I want to mix it the fuck up!
For god's sake, we spent Halloween watching the movie Halloween. We wasted the one night of the year where it's acceptable for us to wear ridiculous costumes, you know, even though we're kind of always in disguise.
It's not about sex. It's about living. Drinking, fighting, fucking, meeting randos -- and maybe hooking up -- that's life, man, and I'm not cancelling it just because I look like some uptight Canadian chick. So tonight, I'm gonna cut loose, head out on my own, see what happens. Peace, nerds.
Friday, October 11, 2013
James / Keisha: Alone with myself
I'm in my own personal hell right now. Not because I'm in a girl's body, mind you... I'm pretty OK with that a lot of the time. But nights like these I'm going outta my fuckin mind.
Start with the fact that I'm on my period. I'm not saying it hurts to move, but I am definitely not in a mood to do anything. So I decided I'd spend the night at home, in my sweats, with a movie. Maybe Die Hard or Taken or something. Then I find out that my dumbass roommate and her boyfriend are also spending the night in, which means they've taken the living room.
It's not like I'm stuck at home, but Derek, who is usually my lady-bro in these situations, works nights at the coffee shop. Cal is is a nice kid, but we don't always get along. Grant, or should I say "Sophie" (whoopdeedoo, she's the first one of us to start going by her new name permanently,) is MIA as usual. Roy is off seeing family for the Canadian holiday, plus we see enough of each other at work. That leaves Trish, who I think hates me.
But honestly, I don't feel like seeing anyone right now, not in the doubled-over-in-pain state I'm in... except that all these hormones are making me lonely as hell so that I'm practically crying for no good reason... and here's a wonderful fact you might like to know... I'm horny. Like, super horny!
I can't explain it, and I wish it weren't the case, but I can totally tell that Keisha's body is pushing me to go get laid. It's a period thing, I've read up on it. It's totally scientific. Some women just get super DTF on their periods.
Now, I'm doing an okay job taking care of myself... seriously, at this point, it's basically all I do all day, but I don't think I'm really getting the job done. It's like feeling like you have to sneeze, but the sneeze never comes. No matter how hard I rub, the genie never comes out, so I get tired and quit.
Right now, I am not open to the idea of involving an object, or another person. Nothing goes in there that isn't already part of me, or a tampon.
But I'm getting really confused. Like, I'm as straight as they get, as a dude. I love pussy, and the fact that I've been paying so much attention to my own should attest to that. But everything's all flip-flopped around in my head right now, where I could almost, almost see myself caving in and giving a dude a throw. But I don't want any guys seeing me naked or touching me. The idea makes me cringe.
It's just that... I don't respond much to girls, either, anymore. Like, I'll see a hot chick in the store and for a second I'll check out her cleavage, and then I'll think "God, what an attention whore." Like.. no shit, I'm glad to give her attention, or at least normally I would be. But suddenly I'll look at girls that I would have hit on in my real body, and I'll just think, "I don't approve of you." And I hate that.
So that's how I'm in hell. I want all the sex, but I don't want any of it. I just want to want it the way I'm used to it, but my body has other ideas. Bad, bad ideas.
Start with the fact that I'm on my period. I'm not saying it hurts to move, but I am definitely not in a mood to do anything. So I decided I'd spend the night at home, in my sweats, with a movie. Maybe Die Hard or Taken or something. Then I find out that my dumbass roommate and her boyfriend are also spending the night in, which means they've taken the living room.
It's not like I'm stuck at home, but Derek, who is usually my lady-bro in these situations, works nights at the coffee shop. Cal is is a nice kid, but we don't always get along. Grant, or should I say "Sophie" (whoopdeedoo, she's the first one of us to start going by her new name permanently,) is MIA as usual. Roy is off seeing family for the Canadian holiday, plus we see enough of each other at work. That leaves Trish, who I think hates me.
But honestly, I don't feel like seeing anyone right now, not in the doubled-over-in-pain state I'm in... except that all these hormones are making me lonely as hell so that I'm practically crying for no good reason... and here's a wonderful fact you might like to know... I'm horny. Like, super horny!
I can't explain it, and I wish it weren't the case, but I can totally tell that Keisha's body is pushing me to go get laid. It's a period thing, I've read up on it. It's totally scientific. Some women just get super DTF on their periods.
Now, I'm doing an okay job taking care of myself... seriously, at this point, it's basically all I do all day, but I don't think I'm really getting the job done. It's like feeling like you have to sneeze, but the sneeze never comes. No matter how hard I rub, the genie never comes out, so I get tired and quit.
Right now, I am not open to the idea of involving an object, or another person. Nothing goes in there that isn't already part of me, or a tampon.
But I'm getting really confused. Like, I'm as straight as they get, as a dude. I love pussy, and the fact that I've been paying so much attention to my own should attest to that. But everything's all flip-flopped around in my head right now, where I could almost, almost see myself caving in and giving a dude a throw. But I don't want any guys seeing me naked or touching me. The idea makes me cringe.
It's just that... I don't respond much to girls, either, anymore. Like, I'll see a hot chick in the store and for a second I'll check out her cleavage, and then I'll think "God, what an attention whore." Like.. no shit, I'm glad to give her attention, or at least normally I would be. But suddenly I'll look at girls that I would have hit on in my real body, and I'll just think, "I don't approve of you." And I hate that.
So that's how I'm in hell. I want all the sex, but I don't want any of it. I just want to want it the way I'm used to it, but my body has other ideas. Bad, bad ideas.
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Roy / Christine: Women's work
I hate to sound like a stereotype, but I don't have a lot of monogamous experience. I've co-habitated before, sure, but the guys I was living with always felt more like roommates-with-benefits than true partners. I'm a pretty independent person, and when I get tired of something, I have no problem leaving it. This isn't a luxury I have as Christine. Terry is here whether I like him or not, and lately it's more "not."
I don't have a lot of privacy, something that I feel I desperately need in this state. I wake up and he's there. I go to work, and I'm "in character" as the assistant manager of the bookstore, and when I come home he's still there. And pardon me for not subscribing to traditional gender roles, but I don't think I should be expected to do all the cooking and cleaning just because I happen to have the vagina. After all, he's the one who works from home, he should be expected to do his part.
But I don't have a lot of experience confronting issues like these. I'm more accustomed to parting with my problems than with resolving them. It's why I haven't spoken to my parents in a decade, moved out of the south for New England, and had more partners than I care to reveal.
There's something to be said for consistency... routine, familiarity, comfort. I get it. I like it, to a degree. Having someone's arms wrapped around me at night does not suck, even if that closeness is a lie. It's a lie that isn't my fault, I just happen to be the beneficiary.
I started taking the pill so that I could have sex with him. It's a bit of an expense, although less so than if we were still in America thank god. Christine and Terry's attitude toward pregnancy was to just let it happen if it was going to be the case - hey, they're married, and they're not trying but they're not avoiding it. I, however, am decidedly not trying. I couldn't ask him to wear a condom, and I didn't think it was fair to not have sex with him.
I haven't gone through with it yet. I've come close several times, but I can't decide whether it's my conscience or nerves that stop me. I do other things for him - just a guy helping another guy out, as one of my first playmates used to say - and he hardly seems to mind. What can I say, I'm good at what I do. But I haven't felt up to it because I look at him and I think "God, you are ALWAYS here."
It's nice to know he finds Christine sexy, even if I don't. There's a prettiness to her, I think, but I can't help but fixate on the way I feel bloated and tired most of the time. I've been trying to launch a workout regimen, but I'm feeling the lack of a reserve of energy that I had in my real body. Christine's body is clearly not used to pushing itself, and though she's by no means obese, it's very hard to train it to go the speed that I'm used to. I end up over-exerting myself and quitting, and that's a feeling I do not like. It took years of discipline to get myself into shape the first time, and that was starting from being a wiry young man, not a chubby woman in her late twenties.
I used to like running at night, as a way to clear my head at the end of the night, but Terry has expressed discomfort with me staying out late when it's dark. I think that's immature of him, but this is still an unfamiliar neighborhood to me so I don't really know if there might be Canadian gangs out there. All the same, in the mornings I just really don't feel like running. So the cycle perpetuates itself.
Then I get to work and I have to deal with both micromanaging head offices who are impatient with me for not knowing how to do "my" job, and immature teenage employees who treat that place as a hangout, not the least of whom is James, who clearly doesn't care if she gets fired. I've stopped trying to protect her, and I told her that she's on her own. I say "her" because, although I know she was a man, I didn't know her that way. To my eyes she's just a bratty 22-year-old girl named Keisha.
Still, she's the closest thing I have to a friend right now, as this situation has found us all clinging to whatever stability we have. I'm not that tight with the other Lowell kids, and Keisha just happens to work a lot of the same shifts as me, so we confer and share notes. She can be quite charming when she wants, but that doesn't stop her from getting on my nerves. Basically, I'd like it a lot better if she treated me like the authority figure I'm supposed to be. It can only help both of us.
I don't have a lot of privacy, something that I feel I desperately need in this state. I wake up and he's there. I go to work, and I'm "in character" as the assistant manager of the bookstore, and when I come home he's still there. And pardon me for not subscribing to traditional gender roles, but I don't think I should be expected to do all the cooking and cleaning just because I happen to have the vagina. After all, he's the one who works from home, he should be expected to do his part.
But I don't have a lot of experience confronting issues like these. I'm more accustomed to parting with my problems than with resolving them. It's why I haven't spoken to my parents in a decade, moved out of the south for New England, and had more partners than I care to reveal.
There's something to be said for consistency... routine, familiarity, comfort. I get it. I like it, to a degree. Having someone's arms wrapped around me at night does not suck, even if that closeness is a lie. It's a lie that isn't my fault, I just happen to be the beneficiary.
I started taking the pill so that I could have sex with him. It's a bit of an expense, although less so than if we were still in America thank god. Christine and Terry's attitude toward pregnancy was to just let it happen if it was going to be the case - hey, they're married, and they're not trying but they're not avoiding it. I, however, am decidedly not trying. I couldn't ask him to wear a condom, and I didn't think it was fair to not have sex with him.
I haven't gone through with it yet. I've come close several times, but I can't decide whether it's my conscience or nerves that stop me. I do other things for him - just a guy helping another guy out, as one of my first playmates used to say - and he hardly seems to mind. What can I say, I'm good at what I do. But I haven't felt up to it because I look at him and I think "God, you are ALWAYS here."
It's nice to know he finds Christine sexy, even if I don't. There's a prettiness to her, I think, but I can't help but fixate on the way I feel bloated and tired most of the time. I've been trying to launch a workout regimen, but I'm feeling the lack of a reserve of energy that I had in my real body. Christine's body is clearly not used to pushing itself, and though she's by no means obese, it's very hard to train it to go the speed that I'm used to. I end up over-exerting myself and quitting, and that's a feeling I do not like. It took years of discipline to get myself into shape the first time, and that was starting from being a wiry young man, not a chubby woman in her late twenties.
I used to like running at night, as a way to clear my head at the end of the night, but Terry has expressed discomfort with me staying out late when it's dark. I think that's immature of him, but this is still an unfamiliar neighborhood to me so I don't really know if there might be Canadian gangs out there. All the same, in the mornings I just really don't feel like running. So the cycle perpetuates itself.
Then I get to work and I have to deal with both micromanaging head offices who are impatient with me for not knowing how to do "my" job, and immature teenage employees who treat that place as a hangout, not the least of whom is James, who clearly doesn't care if she gets fired. I've stopped trying to protect her, and I told her that she's on her own. I say "her" because, although I know she was a man, I didn't know her that way. To my eyes she's just a bratty 22-year-old girl named Keisha.
Still, she's the closest thing I have to a friend right now, as this situation has found us all clinging to whatever stability we have. I'm not that tight with the other Lowell kids, and Keisha just happens to work a lot of the same shifts as me, so we confer and share notes. She can be quite charming when she wants, but that doesn't stop her from getting on my nerves. Basically, I'd like it a lot better if she treated me like the authority figure I'm supposed to be. It can only help both of us.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Roy / Christine: What men want
It was Friday night and I was done work for the weekend. I got home, kicked off my shoes and went upstairs to change. I heard his voice through the door: "I ordered Chinese for dinner, hope that's okay."
I sigh. Eating take-out as often as we do is not good for the body. The poor guy can't cook and I don't always have the energy when I get home, so this is our compromise. I just try not too eat too much of it. So after a quiet sigh to myself, I call back, "Okay!"
He cracks the door open and I can see him peek at me. I turn, throwing my arms over my half-dressed body, as if he hasn't seen this body naked hundreds of times over their years together. Maybe so, but it's not my choice to let him see. After a month, he's hardly a stranger to me, though. I've had relationships move much faster than this.
I e-mailed Christine after a while, saying "What about sex?" And her response amounted to "I don't want to think about it." Hardly encouraging, but not a bitter opposition. I try to psych myself into it as he approaches, and I let my arms fall from covering my breasts. He wraps his arms around my waist, letting them sit just above my butt. My hands press against his soft, hairy chest.
He tilts his head down and kisses me. I like being kissed. It's kissing back that I've had to get used to, in all honesty. Our tongues dance around each other and he pushes me toward the bed. I can feel his hardness poking into me. What's more, I can feel the wheels turning in my own body. I'm getting wet.
I don't want to have sex with him, though. I still just can't get used to the idea, as much as I've grown accustomed to his presence, and the physical reality of being a woman. My whole anatomy down there still features a part that I've never used, that I just don't feel right about sharing with him yet. But there is something else I can do, and I suspect he'll prefer it. I slide his pants off him, boxers and all, and begin to lower my head to his lap. He practically squeals with joy. I really think most married men would rather get a blowjob than sex. They don't have to do anything. And personally, I'm a bit of a pro at this. If I like someone, I'm all too happy to provide this service. For my own sake, too, the more conventional position isn't something I'm ready for yet. I wouldn't know what to expect and I'm not eager to take that liberty with Christine's body. Yet.
He's not used to this kind of treatment and it shows. He lasts barely a minute, leaving me to tend to the mess. It's just as well, because the food will be here soon. We lie side by side and he wraps his arms around me. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. He whispers a "thank you" in my ear and I get a little tingle. That comfort I spoke of has already turned to something else. I tentatively slip my fingers down the front of my panties, possibly without him even knowing, but before I can get more than a vague sense of what I'm feeling down there, the doorbell rings. He gets up and pulls on his pants to answer it, and I consider continuing without him, but think better of it.
We eat quietly, with almost no comment on what has just happened. He's afraid to ask questions, because he doesn't want to undo the spell I'm under, whatever possessed his wife to add that to their usual routine. For the rest of the night I was pretty pleased with myself.
The next morning was a different story, as I regarded my body sadly in the mirror. I inherited a body full of bumps and lumps and while a lot of people might be okay with that, including Terry, I'm just not. I don't like the way my gut sags and love-handles bulge, the way I get tired just standing around all day. I'm not THAT far overweight for Christine's body type but it's enough to make a difference and certainly not up to the standards I set for myself. Being fine with yourself is one thing but being truly happy with your body is another. I can't go on like this, falling into Christine's patterns just because it's what she did. I need to take care of this body in a way she didn't. I wouldn't be happy with myself if I didn't try. Call it a project. I know women's fitness is a lot different from men's, and it might not even necessarily be about losing pounds as much as it is about firming and toning up, eating right and improving conditioning. This is who I am, and for the duration of my time as Christine, it's going to be who she is, too. That's final. Time to get to work.
I sigh. Eating take-out as often as we do is not good for the body. The poor guy can't cook and I don't always have the energy when I get home, so this is our compromise. I just try not too eat too much of it. So after a quiet sigh to myself, I call back, "Okay!"
He cracks the door open and I can see him peek at me. I turn, throwing my arms over my half-dressed body, as if he hasn't seen this body naked hundreds of times over their years together. Maybe so, but it's not my choice to let him see. After a month, he's hardly a stranger to me, though. I've had relationships move much faster than this.
I e-mailed Christine after a while, saying "What about sex?" And her response amounted to "I don't want to think about it." Hardly encouraging, but not a bitter opposition. I try to psych myself into it as he approaches, and I let my arms fall from covering my breasts. He wraps his arms around my waist, letting them sit just above my butt. My hands press against his soft, hairy chest.
He tilts his head down and kisses me. I like being kissed. It's kissing back that I've had to get used to, in all honesty. Our tongues dance around each other and he pushes me toward the bed. I can feel his hardness poking into me. What's more, I can feel the wheels turning in my own body. I'm getting wet.
I don't want to have sex with him, though. I still just can't get used to the idea, as much as I've grown accustomed to his presence, and the physical reality of being a woman. My whole anatomy down there still features a part that I've never used, that I just don't feel right about sharing with him yet. But there is something else I can do, and I suspect he'll prefer it. I slide his pants off him, boxers and all, and begin to lower my head to his lap. He practically squeals with joy. I really think most married men would rather get a blowjob than sex. They don't have to do anything. And personally, I'm a bit of a pro at this. If I like someone, I'm all too happy to provide this service. For my own sake, too, the more conventional position isn't something I'm ready for yet. I wouldn't know what to expect and I'm not eager to take that liberty with Christine's body. Yet.
He's not used to this kind of treatment and it shows. He lasts barely a minute, leaving me to tend to the mess. It's just as well, because the food will be here soon. We lie side by side and he wraps his arms around me. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. He whispers a "thank you" in my ear and I get a little tingle. That comfort I spoke of has already turned to something else. I tentatively slip my fingers down the front of my panties, possibly without him even knowing, but before I can get more than a vague sense of what I'm feeling down there, the doorbell rings. He gets up and pulls on his pants to answer it, and I consider continuing without him, but think better of it.
We eat quietly, with almost no comment on what has just happened. He's afraid to ask questions, because he doesn't want to undo the spell I'm under, whatever possessed his wife to add that to their usual routine. For the rest of the night I was pretty pleased with myself.
The next morning was a different story, as I regarded my body sadly in the mirror. I inherited a body full of bumps and lumps and while a lot of people might be okay with that, including Terry, I'm just not. I don't like the way my gut sags and love-handles bulge, the way I get tired just standing around all day. I'm not THAT far overweight for Christine's body type but it's enough to make a difference and certainly not up to the standards I set for myself. Being fine with yourself is one thing but being truly happy with your body is another. I can't go on like this, falling into Christine's patterns just because it's what she did. I need to take care of this body in a way she didn't. I wouldn't be happy with myself if I didn't try. Call it a project. I know women's fitness is a lot different from men's, and it might not even necessarily be about losing pounds as much as it is about firming and toning up, eating right and improving conditioning. This is who I am, and for the duration of my time as Christine, it's going to be who she is, too. That's final. Time to get to work.
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Roy / Christine: Comforts of (someone else's) home
It would be nice to hover outside myself, on a Sunday morning, and just observe Terry and Christine as a couple, lying in bed, having breakfast together, going for a drive. So far this experience has been dotted by nice little things like that, guilty pleasures considering they have been taken from somebody else and given to me.
I have to admit, it's nice to have this level of comfort. I know I've never had a relationship that functions as well as Terry and Christine's probably does. Let's just say I don't tend to date the kind of guys who stay the night and cuddle all morning. There was a time I would never have thought that's what I wanted either.
We've gotten into this nice routine that works fairly well considering who and what I am. I work most days, come home and have dinner. We watch TV and drink wine, snuggled up on the couch, and then go to bed. The young married life. Suits me fine. Besides his occasionally kisses and pats on the butt, Terry isn't overly forward, and now that I've gotten to know him a bit more I don't shudder at the idea of having his arms around me. I'm just trying not to enjoy it too much.
There's the problem, isn't it? This isn't my life and if it were, I probably wouldn't give Terry a second look on the street, let alone sit through date night with him... he's pudgy and balding and currently out of work, and sometimes very particular about things while also having huge blind spots about other things. But I like having stepped into this comfort zone, this well-worn relationship where I'm not trying to impress him, nor he me. Even though I am patently not his wife, he treats me like I am and I just... accept it, I guess. Maybe she and I aren't such different people. Who knows.
Or maybe, and this is a hypothesis that might freak the others out too much if I say it but I need to put it out there... maybe I'm more than just Christine's body right now. I'm not talking about memories or habits or things like that, but that ineffable something that makes a person who they are. I feel like me, like Roy, but I catch myself responding to things ever so slightly differently than Roy would have. We don't know the true nature of this curse, and we don't even know the true nature of the human mind, so how one affects the other is entirely uncharted territory. Maybe Christine left more of herself with me than we could know.
It's not crazy. It's a known fact that concussions, strokes and brain traumas can change peoples' personalities. We like to think we are this single unchanging thing, but we're not, we're a bunch of complicated wires bathing in hormones, and those hormones are provided by the body. My mind, all my memories of myself are currently swimming in the stuff that made Christine who she was. Maybe this isn't news to you readers, but to me it's fascinating and scary. It's like losing yourself, but not.
Maybe it's not that big a deal, or maybe it's just a bigger deal to me than the others because I am "in the thick" of it with Terry here. I'm just saying there might be a deeper reason why the smell of his cologne triggers a strangely warm feeling inside me, why I can both be frustrated with him as a human and find him oddly appealing as a man. And maybe I'm more receptive to it than the others because I've had to think more about who and what I am, in life than these kids who are now wearing the faces of slightly older women and men. I hope that, when and if they realize something truly strange is going on, it doesn't put them off too much.
The difference between them and me is that right now, they have the option to ignore it, and I don't. But at least it doesn't feel as much like torture like I was afraid it would.
I have to admit, it's nice to have this level of comfort. I know I've never had a relationship that functions as well as Terry and Christine's probably does. Let's just say I don't tend to date the kind of guys who stay the night and cuddle all morning. There was a time I would never have thought that's what I wanted either.
We've gotten into this nice routine that works fairly well considering who and what I am. I work most days, come home and have dinner. We watch TV and drink wine, snuggled up on the couch, and then go to bed. The young married life. Suits me fine. Besides his occasionally kisses and pats on the butt, Terry isn't overly forward, and now that I've gotten to know him a bit more I don't shudder at the idea of having his arms around me. I'm just trying not to enjoy it too much.
There's the problem, isn't it? This isn't my life and if it were, I probably wouldn't give Terry a second look on the street, let alone sit through date night with him... he's pudgy and balding and currently out of work, and sometimes very particular about things while also having huge blind spots about other things. But I like having stepped into this comfort zone, this well-worn relationship where I'm not trying to impress him, nor he me. Even though I am patently not his wife, he treats me like I am and I just... accept it, I guess. Maybe she and I aren't such different people. Who knows.
Or maybe, and this is a hypothesis that might freak the others out too much if I say it but I need to put it out there... maybe I'm more than just Christine's body right now. I'm not talking about memories or habits or things like that, but that ineffable something that makes a person who they are. I feel like me, like Roy, but I catch myself responding to things ever so slightly differently than Roy would have. We don't know the true nature of this curse, and we don't even know the true nature of the human mind, so how one affects the other is entirely uncharted territory. Maybe Christine left more of herself with me than we could know.
It's not crazy. It's a known fact that concussions, strokes and brain traumas can change peoples' personalities. We like to think we are this single unchanging thing, but we're not, we're a bunch of complicated wires bathing in hormones, and those hormones are provided by the body. My mind, all my memories of myself are currently swimming in the stuff that made Christine who she was. Maybe this isn't news to you readers, but to me it's fascinating and scary. It's like losing yourself, but not.
Maybe it's not that big a deal, or maybe it's just a bigger deal to me than the others because I am "in the thick" of it with Terry here. I'm just saying there might be a deeper reason why the smell of his cologne triggers a strangely warm feeling inside me, why I can both be frustrated with him as a human and find him oddly appealing as a man. And maybe I'm more receptive to it than the others because I've had to think more about who and what I am, in life than these kids who are now wearing the faces of slightly older women and men. I hope that, when and if they realize something truly strange is going on, it doesn't put them off too much.
The difference between them and me is that right now, they have the option to ignore it, and I don't. But at least it doesn't feel as much like torture like I was afraid it would.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Roy / Christine: I don't care what you say, this is my life
That's a Billy Joel lyric. But I'm not sure if it's true.
I think, to varying levels, we all resent the idea that we "have" to do anything. James and Derek were particularly annoyed with me when I insisted we "had" to go to Canada, for instance. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I want to go along with this whole thing. But looking in the mirror, I know it would be impossible for any of us to do anything but act out the lives of the people we appear to be. James and the others should consider themselves lucky they weren't given the kind of responsibility I was.
I'm not just talking about Christine's marriage, although that is something that sticks in my side. The idea of being forced to be married to someone is just about as bad as being told you can't marry someone. But this isn't about me, my beliefs or even my preferences. I am bound an determined not to undermine Christine's life. She isn't to blame for this. I don't relish spending my nights with her husband poking into my back. The other guys have leeway... from what I hear Derek has literally just sat on his perky little butt all week while Cal is out there earning rent money. In every case, there are other people in our lives we have to treat as if we are who they think we are. That sucks. But that's, in a sense, the rules. Sadly, there's no guide to "If you run into so and so at the supermarket, you have to seem excited to see her."
Terry was annoyed by my late return. He was already in bed, and I had to walk into this place where I've never been before and act like it was mine. All I did was find the couch and plop down on it. When I woke up in the morning, he was getting ready for work and I realized that was what I should be doing too. He seemed equally pleased and annoyed to see me, asking why I got in so late and why I didn't come to bed. I said I didn't want to wake him up, and reiterated Christine's cover story about one of the girls getting sick and that being the earliest flight we could get. Over a week late. I don't know if he buys it. He's been pretty passive aggressive about it, from what I can tell, so I've been tiptoing all week.
When he leaned in and kissed me, I wasn't ready for it. But that's going to happen. I'm in character as someone who loves this pudgy, balding man with the unevenly-trimmed facial hair. I don't want to rock the boat but at the same time I don't intend to play docile housewife for him and make breakfast in bed or anything. I have my own problems.
Work. That's the other thing. Christine is a Supervisor at a book chain at a mall in Vancouver. Okay. Not hard, just find where everything is and help customers. No big deal. I just need a crash course in inventory, receiving, and whatever else. The real problem is in personnel... specifically, James, aka Keisha, aka someone with no interest in being a good employee. She showed up late and screwed around the entire time. It was lucky it was just her and me all afternoon, since we're both already on thin ice due to the extra week's unannounced vacation. I told her she has to at least try to work while she's here, and she gave me the whole "I didn't ask for this" spiel. Big whoop. The sooner we all adjust our mindsets, the easier time we'll have. I'm all out of pep talks for these kids.
I think, to varying levels, we all resent the idea that we "have" to do anything. James and Derek were particularly annoyed with me when I insisted we "had" to go to Canada, for instance. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I want to go along with this whole thing. But looking in the mirror, I know it would be impossible for any of us to do anything but act out the lives of the people we appear to be. James and the others should consider themselves lucky they weren't given the kind of responsibility I was.
I'm not just talking about Christine's marriage, although that is something that sticks in my side. The idea of being forced to be married to someone is just about as bad as being told you can't marry someone. But this isn't about me, my beliefs or even my preferences. I am bound an determined not to undermine Christine's life. She isn't to blame for this. I don't relish spending my nights with her husband poking into my back. The other guys have leeway... from what I hear Derek has literally just sat on his perky little butt all week while Cal is out there earning rent money. In every case, there are other people in our lives we have to treat as if we are who they think we are. That sucks. But that's, in a sense, the rules. Sadly, there's no guide to "If you run into so and so at the supermarket, you have to seem excited to see her."
Terry was annoyed by my late return. He was already in bed, and I had to walk into this place where I've never been before and act like it was mine. All I did was find the couch and plop down on it. When I woke up in the morning, he was getting ready for work and I realized that was what I should be doing too. He seemed equally pleased and annoyed to see me, asking why I got in so late and why I didn't come to bed. I said I didn't want to wake him up, and reiterated Christine's cover story about one of the girls getting sick and that being the earliest flight we could get. Over a week late. I don't know if he buys it. He's been pretty passive aggressive about it, from what I can tell, so I've been tiptoing all week.
When he leaned in and kissed me, I wasn't ready for it. But that's going to happen. I'm in character as someone who loves this pudgy, balding man with the unevenly-trimmed facial hair. I don't want to rock the boat but at the same time I don't intend to play docile housewife for him and make breakfast in bed or anything. I have my own problems.
Work. That's the other thing. Christine is a Supervisor at a book chain at a mall in Vancouver. Okay. Not hard, just find where everything is and help customers. No big deal. I just need a crash course in inventory, receiving, and whatever else. The real problem is in personnel... specifically, James, aka Keisha, aka someone with no interest in being a good employee. She showed up late and screwed around the entire time. It was lucky it was just her and me all afternoon, since we're both already on thin ice due to the extra week's unannounced vacation. I told her she has to at least try to work while she's here, and she gave me the whole "I didn't ask for this" spiel. Big whoop. The sooner we all adjust our mindsets, the easier time we'll have. I'm all out of pep talks for these kids.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Callum / Angie: Airport
I've never flown before. But I guess this is a week for firsts.
Whenever these girls were supposed to go back to Canada, that was a few weeks ago, but obviously they were smart enough to get a rain check or whatever. Roy figured that out for us. He's a good person to have on our side. I say "he," but obviously, he's one of the five of us who became chicks. I saw him around the Inn but I didn't talk to him or anything. Still, he had more of a handle on the situation than the rest of us, so we're relying on him to get us to our new "home." I can tell James and Derek don't really like him because they're questioning everything he says to do, but they're probably just still angry about the situation.
I can't say I'm OKAY, but angry isn't the right word. We don't have time to be angry, we don't have that luxury. We're in the deep end, so we have to learn to swim. The sooner we get our shit together... I don't know. Maybe we don't even have to get our shit together. Maybe it doesn't matter if we wreck these lives, if that's what we want, if that's how it goes. But I feel a strong urge to do whatever anyone tells me right now.
What I do know is that it's 90 degrees here and I'm sweating profusely under my breasts. They are cooped up in a confining, tight, non-breathing bra with an underwire jabbing my ribs and causing the heat to bottle under them, and irritate my shoulders under the straps. If I could air these things out I would love that. I'm only wearing a tank top and short shorts... in fact that seems to be the outfit we've all opted for, since all the girls traveled with at least those items. We must look like quite a sight, five reasonably attractive women all slouched over and gritting their teeth and grabbing at their boobs and adjusting themselves in their seats. I guess these bodies are ours to grab and adjust and do whatever we see fit, so whatever the others have done or seen overnight, that's their business. Trish has kept quiet. I can't even picture the lanky, deep-voiced guy, Robbie, as being the dainty girl she had been, but there you go.
UPDATE: I snuck off to the washroom, unclasped my bra and stuffed it in my purse. I'm just gonna let them hang for a while. Feels nice.
The flight is in an hour. It's a 6 hour flight across 3 time zones, which means... I guess we'll all be tired and miserable when we get there. We're all tired and miserable now. I want to throw up. It's too much to handle. I keep feeling like I forgot something.
-Callum
Whenever these girls were supposed to go back to Canada, that was a few weeks ago, but obviously they were smart enough to get a rain check or whatever. Roy figured that out for us. He's a good person to have on our side. I say "he," but obviously, he's one of the five of us who became chicks. I saw him around the Inn but I didn't talk to him or anything. Still, he had more of a handle on the situation than the rest of us, so we're relying on him to get us to our new "home." I can tell James and Derek don't really like him because they're questioning everything he says to do, but they're probably just still angry about the situation.
I can't say I'm OKAY, but angry isn't the right word. We don't have time to be angry, we don't have that luxury. We're in the deep end, so we have to learn to swim. The sooner we get our shit together... I don't know. Maybe we don't even have to get our shit together. Maybe it doesn't matter if we wreck these lives, if that's what we want, if that's how it goes. But I feel a strong urge to do whatever anyone tells me right now.
What I do know is that it's 90 degrees here and I'm sweating profusely under my breasts. They are cooped up in a confining, tight, non-breathing bra with an underwire jabbing my ribs and causing the heat to bottle under them, and irritate my shoulders under the straps. If I could air these things out I would love that. I'm only wearing a tank top and short shorts... in fact that seems to be the outfit we've all opted for, since all the girls traveled with at least those items. We must look like quite a sight, five reasonably attractive women all slouched over and gritting their teeth and grabbing at their boobs and adjusting themselves in their seats. I guess these bodies are ours to grab and adjust and do whatever we see fit, so whatever the others have done or seen overnight, that's their business. Trish has kept quiet. I can't even picture the lanky, deep-voiced guy, Robbie, as being the dainty girl she had been, but there you go.
UPDATE: I snuck off to the washroom, unclasped my bra and stuffed it in my purse. I'm just gonna let them hang for a while. Feels nice.
The flight is in an hour. It's a 6 hour flight across 3 time zones, which means... I guess we'll all be tired and miserable when we get there. We're all tired and miserable now. I want to throw up. It's too much to handle. I keep feeling like I forgot something.
-Callum
Monday, July 15, 2013
Roy: Not something I would have wished for myself.
It looks like I will be joining these kids on their international trek. I haven't gotten to know them very well yet, but I'm hoping we can come to some sort of an understanding. The silver lining in all this is that I kind of like Canada... I spent some time in Montreal, altho I don't know much about their west coast. I'm hoping it's culturally similar to Seattle or Portland.
As Lila seems to have already told you, my name is Roy Hutchison, I'm 34 years old, I work in geriatric care, and I'm gay. That last part does not mean I relish the idea of living as a woman, in this young, somewhat doughey body. After all, I put a lot of work into mine and now it's just... gone. Handed over to someone else, at least for the year. But if anyone had to be this woman, Christine, I guess it's only fair that it's me. We're all in the same age group (they aged up, I aged down,) but Christine's biography has more the ring of a "grown up." She Assistant-Manages a book store, she has a house... she's married.
I'm not crazy about any of this. I'm very, very not eager to pretend I'm somebody I'm not, and I know that relationships based on lies... well, let's just say I'm going to try my best.
Worse than putting on the femme is trying to reduce my life into a few sheets of paper. Even trying to boil it down to the essentials is hard. I want to draw a map of everyone in my life and how I know them, how I feel about them and hopefully the "new" me will be able to emulate that, but the more I try, the more frustrated I get that I have to do this. And then there's my job. I've spent a year getting really good at it, and now I have to cram all that into a few pages of instructions.
I told them basically that if it seems like too much, just ask for a leave of absence, because they don't want people who don't feel up to the task, and then find something, anything else to do for money in the meantime. I'll be disappointed if my life isn't just how I left it, but it wouldn't be the first time I started over.
That's all I feel like saying right now. Thanks. Bye.
As Lila seems to have already told you, my name is Roy Hutchison, I'm 34 years old, I work in geriatric care, and I'm gay. That last part does not mean I relish the idea of living as a woman, in this young, somewhat doughey body. After all, I put a lot of work into mine and now it's just... gone. Handed over to someone else, at least for the year. But if anyone had to be this woman, Christine, I guess it's only fair that it's me. We're all in the same age group (they aged up, I aged down,) but Christine's biography has more the ring of a "grown up." She Assistant-Manages a book store, she has a house... she's married.
I'm not crazy about any of this. I'm very, very not eager to pretend I'm somebody I'm not, and I know that relationships based on lies... well, let's just say I'm going to try my best.
Worse than putting on the femme is trying to reduce my life into a few sheets of paper. Even trying to boil it down to the essentials is hard. I want to draw a map of everyone in my life and how I know them, how I feel about them and hopefully the "new" me will be able to emulate that, but the more I try, the more frustrated I get that I have to do this. And then there's my job. I've spent a year getting really good at it, and now I have to cram all that into a few pages of instructions.
I told them basically that if it seems like too much, just ask for a leave of absence, because they don't want people who don't feel up to the task, and then find something, anything else to do for money in the meantime. I'll be disappointed if my life isn't just how I left it, but it wouldn't be the first time I started over.
That's all I feel like saying right now. Thanks. Bye.
Friday, July 12, 2013
Lila: Homework
Hey guys. So Mike kind of broke his silence on this blog so I thought I would introduce myself personally. You may not hear much from me, but I would at least like to say a thing or two.
One is that yes, the last year has been stressful, as living with a stranger, and in a strange body, is bound to be. The other is that I don't blame my brother nearly as much as he blames himself. He keeps subtly beating up on himself for "dragging" me across the country, but I wanted to come, and it's not like this seemed even possible to either of us. It was an insane accident, and I wish he wouldn't hold himself accountable. Things could have been worse.
They could have been better, but they also could have been worse.
Third is that I've handed out some pamphlets advertising the e-mail address that leads indirectly to posting on this site. I typed up some fliers and slipped them under doors, basically saying "We want to hear from you! What brought you here? How are you enjoying your stay? Send us your thoughts and experiences so far! The sooner the better!" Maybe a bit pushy, but it might be nice to hear from some of these people before they get "the change."
Mike has said how much it depresses him, to look around and see "future victims." I see future friends, allies, people who will understand us. Maybe I'm a glass-half-full kinda gal. There's the teenage boys playing cards, a few other people... and then there's Roy. Let me tell you about Roy, because he's just the nicest guy and I hope the best for him when this is all over.
I met him this morning when I took a walk up the beach. I'm quite athletic in my regular body, but being Diane has brought out the sloth in me, so I was taking it easy with a little stroll, when this guy comes barreling up the sand. He must be 6'2, 230 Lbs of muscle, bald-headed in his mid or late 30's... quite impressive-looking.
"Going for the record?" I asked jokingly when he crossed my path.
"Hardly," he said, catching his breath. "Just keeping in good habits, you know?"
"You look like you keep very good habits," I said, gazing on his muscles. I appear to be not that much younger than him, so even though my "body" is married, he may have registered that I was ogling.
"My ex certainly thought so..." he said.
I smiled. "Oh really? And how long since she..."
"He," he clarified.
Oh! Okay. Cool, well, I'm open minded. Good for you, right? I laughed, embarrassed, rambled some stuff about how I was totally not hitting on him...
We got coffee anyway, in a friendly way, and I remembered to explain that I'm "married" and here with my husband. He told me all about himself, how he was a Geriatric Care worker from Rhode Island, and this was the only vacation he could take all year - he just needed to "get away somewhere new" after the break up, but couldn't spend that much time away from work. I don't know if he noticed it, but I probably wrinkled my nose at that, given he'll definitely be away from work longer than he's planned. I almost wanted to warn him, but I know that's not possible.
After a while, I used the excuse of having to get back to my "husband," and we parted ways. I told him I'd see him around, and even if not, "Make sure to find me... before you leave." He must've been totally confused because he just looked at me sideways and I turned and walked away before he could ask any follow-ups.
Still. Very nice guy. Which gives me a really ill feeling in my stomach about what happens next.
One is that yes, the last year has been stressful, as living with a stranger, and in a strange body, is bound to be. The other is that I don't blame my brother nearly as much as he blames himself. He keeps subtly beating up on himself for "dragging" me across the country, but I wanted to come, and it's not like this seemed even possible to either of us. It was an insane accident, and I wish he wouldn't hold himself accountable. Things could have been worse.
They could have been better, but they also could have been worse.
Third is that I've handed out some pamphlets advertising the e-mail address that leads indirectly to posting on this site. I typed up some fliers and slipped them under doors, basically saying "We want to hear from you! What brought you here? How are you enjoying your stay? Send us your thoughts and experiences so far! The sooner the better!" Maybe a bit pushy, but it might be nice to hear from some of these people before they get "the change."
Mike has said how much it depresses him, to look around and see "future victims." I see future friends, allies, people who will understand us. Maybe I'm a glass-half-full kinda gal. There's the teenage boys playing cards, a few other people... and then there's Roy. Let me tell you about Roy, because he's just the nicest guy and I hope the best for him when this is all over.
I met him this morning when I took a walk up the beach. I'm quite athletic in my regular body, but being Diane has brought out the sloth in me, so I was taking it easy with a little stroll, when this guy comes barreling up the sand. He must be 6'2, 230 Lbs of muscle, bald-headed in his mid or late 30's... quite impressive-looking.
"Going for the record?" I asked jokingly when he crossed my path.
"Hardly," he said, catching his breath. "Just keeping in good habits, you know?"
"You look like you keep very good habits," I said, gazing on his muscles. I appear to be not that much younger than him, so even though my "body" is married, he may have registered that I was ogling.
"My ex certainly thought so..." he said.
I smiled. "Oh really? And how long since she..."
"He," he clarified.
Oh! Okay. Cool, well, I'm open minded. Good for you, right? I laughed, embarrassed, rambled some stuff about how I was totally not hitting on him...
We got coffee anyway, in a friendly way, and I remembered to explain that I'm "married" and here with my husband. He told me all about himself, how he was a Geriatric Care worker from Rhode Island, and this was the only vacation he could take all year - he just needed to "get away somewhere new" after the break up, but couldn't spend that much time away from work. I don't know if he noticed it, but I probably wrinkled my nose at that, given he'll definitely be away from work longer than he's planned. I almost wanted to warn him, but I know that's not possible.
After a while, I used the excuse of having to get back to my "husband," and we parted ways. I told him I'd see him around, and even if not, "Make sure to find me... before you leave." He must've been totally confused because he just looked at me sideways and I turned and walked away before he could ask any follow-ups.
Still. Very nice guy. Which gives me a really ill feeling in my stomach about what happens next.
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