Valerie: Holidazed

The Holidays saw me running ragged. Not only did I have to do as much as I could to spend time with "my family" - that is, Val's family, which is, you know, my family now, seemingly everyone from my past wanted to crop back up all of a sudden.

It started when Dylan's parents said they were considering visiting New York, and wanted to know if I was still living there and wanted to see my former "kid." I was struck - It feels like multiple lifetimes ago that I was Judith, and being reminded of it brought up unexpected emotions. Echoes of the guilt I felt about whether I was a good parent, nostalgia for having that kiddo in my life, the fraught nature of my relationship with Kitty. I have enough baggage as Valerie now, it's hard to even think of stuff from when I was that person.

But since it came up, I became very excited about the possibility of seeing him. I told his parents to bring him to the subway near my apartment - it would be best if my roomies didn't see any of this - and I could show him around Manhattan for a day.

Dylan arrived with his mom. She put on a friendly, but neutral, face, as we shook hands. I asked how she had been.

"Not bad, all things considered," she sighed, "It's been a long few years. Lots of adjusting. I can't say I'm happy with the way things worked out, but going back to my old body is just... not happening. So this is it for me, and we make the best of it."

"Right," I nodded. I had forgotten that Dylan's parents wound up getting switched, and I supposed their aversion to the Inn made them decide never to try to go back. It would be a lot to expect everyone to thrive this way, I guess, but I hope s/he doesn't bring too much bitterness home. She gave me a few ground rules then went off back to the hotel.

Dylan smiled when he saw me, and stooped down to give me a big hug. "Woah!" he said, "I mean, I've seen pictures, but I totally forgot you look like this now. I still think of you as... well... when you were Judith I could sometimes tell you were a guy in there. But now...?"

"Yeah, yeah," I said. "Well, let's get over our shock. This is me, and yes, I do think of myself as a woman, but I'm still me."

"That's great," he said, "So cool. You know, the kids at my school are just now starting to learn about LGBTQ and gender identity and stuff. It sucks that I can't tell them what I've lived through."

"Yeah, sometimes you really do wish you could explain it to people," I sighed. "By the way, holy crap you got tall. I mean, I got short, but you got tall."

Dylan is 15 now, and stands 6' tall. He told me about his love for basketball, and his other hobbies - he writes now, and does a little bit of music. He played me some stuff off his Soundcloud - not really my thing, but not bad.

We went to some markets, saw the Museum of Natural History, and hit up one of my favorite lunch spots. There was the inevitable moment where I had to take my coat off and he glanced at my chest, but he tried to play it cool and generally kept his eyes north. I get it, they're impressive. For what it's worth, I was wesring a loose sweater, not something that invites attention, but thry do a good enough job of that o their own.

He told me he reads the blog, which makes me a little embarrassed considering most of what I post here is about my sex life.

After lunch, we walked around some more and he told me about his girlfriend.

"It was weird you know. For a long time after I went back, it was like... what am I? I wasn't that into girls before I became one, and by the time I was done being Livie, I kind of did like boys. It took me a long time to sort out... until I met Theresa. Then it was instant."

"I'm happy for you," I said warmly.

He went on, "My parents are worried that hanging out with you is going to make me want to go back to the Inn, because of what you said."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh really?" I remembered what I said - that someday when he was 18 if he still wanted to, that would be his choice.

"It's tempting," he said. "There was a time I went to bed every night thinking I was gonna be a girl for the rest of my life. I look at Theresa and I see what that would've been like
 Sometimes I get jealous because she's so beautiful. But I'm lucky because I get to be with her."

"So, no going back then," I said, hopefully.

"I don't know. I'm still young. Who knows what I'll want. I'm happy now. But I also know that going back and becoming something else isn't a death sentence."

"Tell that to your dad-- er, mom. Neil."

Dylan snickered. "He's just playing. He thinks if someone like you finds out he doesn't hate being a woman, it's like he lost or something. But he's a lot more like you than he wants to admit. Honestly, I think my mom's almost got him convinced to try for another kid."

"Woahhh," I said, "Now that's a subject I don't need to hear about."

In the end, I told him, that's what the real world is, what every person walking the Earth has to face in one way or another - how much is sucks to feel stuck, but how good it feels to put down roots in the end.

He took this advice in, and reflected on it, then said one more thing. "I'm glad I never got a period."

I wrapped my arm around him. "Be grateful."

For the rest of the holidays, I sleepwalked through some time with "My" Family, and then our little group faced a shakeup as Charli left New York for Brooklyn. Maddie's on-again-off-again boyfriend moved in, which left me feeling crowded and wondering if it's time for me to make a change. I had a pretty interesting year but I was ready for it to end.

More soon

-Val

Tyler/???: Goodbye

Late last night, I was sitting up in bed reading. I was wearing my nightgown, because it was a chilly night and the Inn gets drafty, but I could tell I was changing because suddenly my hair was long enough to get in my eyes, and a much lighter color.

So I stood up, very slowly slipping my feet over the side of the bed. The bed now felt much higher up than it had been when I climbed in. I stood up and got the very weird experience of not being the right height. I was woozy, too, feeling unbalance because I guess my mass was still shifting around. I tiptoed over to the door and try to measure myself against the frame, and I reckoned I lost... 6 or 7 inches? That would put me at 5 foot nothing.

If I was afraid I was de-aging into a minor again, I didn't have to be. I may not be as tall, but I definitely still have an adult's body. I was growing... elsewhere. I could feel my chest expanding, my nightgown tightening against it. I let it drop to the floor and met the girls.

I've been two different women before and I've never had big boobs. Lauren's were basically nothing, and Judith's were quite modest too, so I had the luxury of kind of forgetting about them a lot of the times. But these ones... really aren't. I put my hand under where I thought they would end and tried to smoosh them up against my chest, just to get a sense of their weight, their size and dimensions. They're hefty... more than a handful for this body (it was hard to tell if that was just my hand being smaller or they were really that much bigger. In the end, both.) And they kept getting bigger. I felt this dull throbbing in them as they gained more and more mass, slinking lower and lower on my torso and bulging further outward. The good thing is, my equilibrium returned so I didn't tip over... thank you, low center of gravity.

"Holy shit," I gasped quietly in some mixture of awe at their size and weight, exhaustion that it took so long to subside... and just relief that that that part of the change was over.

I'm not skinny in a stick figure sense - my hips did narrow and become more squarish than Judith's, my butt flatter... but being so small means these things just dominate my physique. This could be... annoying.

I threw my robe on - it was only knee length so it still fit well, but it was still tough to keep cinched on my new proportions.

My room shares a bathroom with Pete, so when I absent-mindedly opened the door, I was face-to-face (well, face-to-torso) with an attractive, slender black woman. I tried to avert my eyes from the scandalous parts but I think Pete didn't care because he/she didn't make any attempt to cover.

"Look at you!" Her eyes lit up at me. "You're so--!! Oh, have you seen??" I didn't even have time to answer before he took me by the shoulders and pointing me at the mirror. My head barely made it into the frame. I stepped up on my tiptoes.

The person in the mirror... her jaw hung open a little bit. This weird mix of pleasure and irritation washed over me because I was... well, pretty. As Judith, I had a mature look, I guess, which could be beautiful at times, but mostly I just looked pissed off, with cold beady eyes and a naturally frowny expression. But this new face is very round and pink, with cute cheeks, soft lips, bright green-blue eyes and long, silky strawberry-blonde hair. I couldn't look mean if I tried. That's... a mixed blessing, I think.

I sighed, resigning myself to cuteness, shortness, and an absurdly large bust. Not the body I would have chosen, but healthy and young. I turned to Pete and forced a smile. "Well, you look--" I cut myself off and clapped my hand over my mouth. My eyes bugged out. Pete tittered. "Did that come out of me?" I gasped as low as possible, muffled by my hand.

"Oh my God your voice is adorable!" she said in her non-cartoony alto, her eyes lighting up. "Say something else!"

"No! I'm never gonna speak out loud ever again!" I hissed in a whisper-shout. As Judith and Lauren, my voice was definitely higher than a man's, but still could be quite husky when I wanted it to be. This was embarrassing. "I sound like Minnie Mouse on helium!"

"You'll get used to it," she said, patting me on the shoulder dismissively. "I'm so pumped. This is just what I wanted. Plus I'm black. That's so cool," she chirped while she teased her frizzy dark curls.

I rolled my eyes at that. It's one thing to be okay with all this. It's something else - borderline inappropriate - to be genuinely excited. but we all process this differently. In a few months, the reality might hit her.

I considered whether to go knock on doors and wake everyone up... particularly I was still feeling a nagging parental need to check on Dylan... or whether I should dig out my new luggage and finally read the letter I was left... but fatigue was hitting me, and if there was an emergency they knew where to find me.

I woke up to a knocking on the door and bright sunlight. A little after 6 AM.

Still in my robe, I went to answer and saw a 13-year-old boy standing over me... towering over me, as it happens. He looked down and his eyes bugged out. "Woah... Tyler?"

I cinched the robe up. "Eyes up here, mister."

"Sorry," he said, looking away.

"Looks like everyhing worked out. Wow, you got really tall," I said.

"Yeah, it's so weird," he said. "I feel so strong and... clumsy."

"You'll get used to it," I smiled. "You're gonna have a great year."

"Yeah," He nodded nervously. "So, uh... we're leaving?"

My eyes bugged out. "What?"

"Yeah... my parents are back to normal and the first thing they did was call a cab so they don't have to stay here anymore."

I was stunned. "I... I guess that's their call."

"Can we text? Keep in touch?"

"Of course," I said. I was fighting back tears. "Someone's got to look out for you. Have you said goodbye to Kitty yet?"

He shook his head. We went across the hall and knocked on her door. Inside was a young woman of Asian descent - Filipina I think. Kitty's new form.

We walked him out to the car. I asked Neil if it was the wisest move to be running off like this after just becoming full grown again. He looked me up and down then rolled his eyes and said they just couldn't stay.

I made the sourest face that my new look would allow and his tone changed. "You were the mom, right? Judith?"

"That's right," I said.

With some reluctance and pain, he said, "Thank you for looking after our boy. It seems like you did a good job." Maybe I was expecting more, but I get that it would be hard to express yourself in that situation. I took what I could get from them.

"You're welcome, Neil." I said, offering my hand.

He shook it and said, "I'm Susan." I stifled a laugh - it happens.

We said our goodbyes. I wrapped my arms around the Kid. I wanted to say something profound but I was at a loss. Kitty, crying more openly than me, told him to eat his vegetables and not stay up too late drinking soda. I added "Be good... and if you can't, don't get caught." He looked embarrassed, but that may be because I no longer resembled his, or anybody else's, mom, and he may have had some mixed feelings about that. After they pulled away, she said she would have to go soon too, as she apparently had a husband waiting for her. She seemed a bit ambivalent about that. I wished her luck. We both really fumbled for words to sum up our complicated, crazy relationship.

"What about you?" she asked. "Where are you headed?"

"I don't know yet," I said. "I'm kind of enjoying this phase where I could just be... nobody."

She called for a ride and told me to visit sometime. Perhaps one day down the line we could be friends. We definitely have a bond. She'll always represent a very important part of my life, whether it was always good or not.

And then it was just me, Pete, Annette, Abbie, Kendra and a few new people. I felt very strange. The day before I was a mother and - technically - a wife. Those aren't things that people are supposed to just... stop being. I wondered if I should be happy or sad, and settled on both.

I went inside and decided to get dressed. I put a pair of high-waisted denim shorts, which exposed a small tattoo on my front left thigh of a bird nesting on a branch, the first of three that I noticed (similar bird-themed ones on my wrist and ankle.) I hurriedly dressed in a tank top that couldn't help but prominently display the "twins," supported by their 32E bra. I felt extremely exposed - like I was doing something wrong by showing so much skin because I wouldn't have done so as Judith. It's gonna be so weird having these things under my face all the time, adjusting my "fashion sense" (such as it is) to a young person's. Pete emerged from his room wearing a multicolored sundress and a big flashy grin.

"I know a good place to get breakfast," she said. "Hungry?"

"Starving," I said.

Tyler/Judith: Maine 2017 Day 1

It was a long, quiet trip up. We were all in a daze by the time the family Mazda pulled up to the Trading Post Inn. Dylan was deep in a teen fantasy book in the back. I was picking crumbs out of my bra from the sandwich I had finished while in the car. And Kit was on his third attempt to reverse into the parking spot. He did not appreciate me trying to give pointers.

The lot was half-full, which seemed good to me. It's the middle of the week, so I didn't expect everyone to be arrived already, but I was hoping we wouldn't be alone. There are three of us in thee separate rooms, so the potential for loneliness was Shining-esque.

As we unloaded our gear from the trunk - Kitty attempting to carry my bags for me, but me declining (and later regretting it) - we were met at the front entrance by a familiar couple: the "O'Rileys," aka Abbie and Kendra, with their 4 and 6-year-olds hanging by their sides.

"Hey there," I said, letting out a huge sigh of relief. "Can you believe we're all back?"

"Not yet," Kendra said. "Give it a few nights and we'll really be able to say that."

I embraced them both in big hugs, then bent down to see Neil and Susan. "Hi... do you guys remember me? Do you know what's about to happen?"

"Don't talk down to me," snapped Neil in the voice of an adorably irritated moppet. "I know why we' he'uh."

"Yeah, uh, it seems like they've really regained a lot of awareness lately," Abbie said. "The more we talked about going back to the Inn, the more they kind of... snapped out of it."

"They've gotten really sassy lately," Kendra added. "They're excited, to say the least."

I told them I thought they should be writing on the blog about all that, but they said they preferred to keep things a little private.

Neil and Susan rushed over to Dylan and started peppering him with questions - how did he feel about going back, was he eating enough, did he have friends at school, were we being good to him.  Not that I have anything to be ashamed of but I kind of hope they don't go back through this blog.

"And how are you and Kitty doing? Has it been awkward?" Abbie asked.

"Um, we've been making it work," I said, trying to put the question down as best I could. No, it hasn't been easy, but we're two reasonable people who mostly don't totally hate each other. There's a lot of reasons why it didn't work for us - twice. That hasn't kept bitterness from creeping in (on occasions where we have to be around each other for long spans of time - like, say, a car ride from NH to Maine - we tend not to speak.)

I turned the question around. "What about, um... you two?"

They both scoffed. "Us? We're good, obviously."

"Are you, uh... do you mind me asking? Did you ever..."

"Hook up?" Abbie said, chucking a hoarse, male laugh. "Let's just say, we managed."

They gave each other a knowing smile and suddenly I was afraid to ask for more details.

Nobody else arrived all day, although we did run into Annette/Benjamin. He had plans with Jordan and his brother (her brother? Sister?) who didn't come all the way to the front door of the Inn, I'm guessing out of skittishness based on recent events. He offered us a chance to hang out with them but we kind of collectively rain-checked. They wanted to make it a late night and I think everyone here has a pretty early bedtime... plus I feel like the collective mood among that group is a little less excited than this one, given recent events.

Kendra and I went to pick up Chinese food for the whole group, since we didn't want to deal with the fuss of having all the kids with us at a restaurant. When we got back, Kit had retired to his room. After dinner we showed the kids to theirs and illustrated exactly where they had to stay to get their correct bodies back... as far as we knew.

After dinner pretty much everyone retired, but I couldn't sleep so I got dressed and headed down to a bar I had been to a few times over the years - probably not the same one Annette & Co were going to hit. It was a pretty lively place for a Thursday night. I sat at the bar, ordered a vodka tonic, and sipped it quietly while watching baseball highlights on the TV.

I was about two sips in when this guy sidles up to me.

"What's a lady like you doing alone in a place like this?"

I looked him over. Cheesy-looking guy, overly-stylish hair, wearing a suit with his shirt unbuttoned one too far.

I might have been furious at his imposition but I haven't actually been hit on that much as Judith, so I was more confused than anything. I gave him this look, like 'Are you talking to me?'

"Oh, I swear I'm not coming onto you," he backed off a little, then added. "I don't hit on married women."

I looked at my hand. The ring was off, and had been for weeks since Kitty and I broke things off. There was a slight tanline there but he would have had to be Sherlock Holmes to spot it.

"How did you..."

"It's Judith, right? ... For a little while longer?"

I got this very nauseated feeling. My eyes narrowed. "Who are you?"

"We've never met," his expression got more innocent, "I'm just a fan. I really admire what you do."

"And... what do I do?"

"Come on, Jude," he said, stressing my name and making me even more irritated. "The blog. If you don't want people reading it, you shouldn't be writing there."

"Touche," I said through gritted teeth.

"Don't be so sour," he said, ordering a beer for himself. "We're in the same boat, and I'm never getting my old self back. My name's Pete. Well, it used to be, get me? I've been to the Inn a few times myself. But you're lucky."

"How's that?" I scoffed.

"It's like you told Dylan, a long time ago. You've been on both sides now. That's a good thing. I keep getting these boring average dude lives. It stinks."

I muttered, "Wanna trade?"

He smiled, a bit more warmly and let out a guffaw, "I wish! But I think Judith is spoken for. And so is this guy. For a little longer. Just gonna have to roll the dice again. Like I said, same boat."

"Well," I rolled my eyes, "Be careful what you wish for."

"Come on," he took a big swig of his beer, "You can't tell me... if you had woken up that first time, as just some other guy... and then the next year, as some other guy, a little older... but you knew that there were people out there having experiences like yours? Being Lauren and Judith and... whatever else... you wouldn't be intrigued? You wouldn't be curious? You wouldn't think, shit, my life has been so boring, I'd love to at least try it?"

"I never had a chance to think about it that way," I said flatly. "Don't take your good fortune for granted."

"I think I'd be good at it, you know," he said. "After everything I've read from you guys? And my own research. If I knew it was coming. I could totally adapt."

"Seriously Pete, or whatever your name is... it's not all it's cracked up to be. The novelty wears off, and then you're just... well, you realize how different it really is."

He shrugged and said cryptically, "We're all different."
I asked, "Have you checked in yet?"

"Not yet," he said, "Just got to town. What about you... any idea what's coming?"

I shook my head. The remains of my locks whipped back and forth, so I grabbed a hair tie from my purse and pulled it back. The humidity was making me frizz out insanely.

"Scared to look?"

"Been a busy day."

"That's code for scared. What room are you in?" I told him and he lit up. "Right next to mine!"

"Great... No offense, but if we end up as a married couple, I'm divorcing your ass," I said, half-kidding.

That got a chuckle. "Fair. No more fake marriages for you. What if you're my kid?"

"I'll run away. Put myself up for adoption."

"Sounds great. Very sensible and not at all dangerous," he snickered, putting his hand on my shoulder in a show of familiarity that was still kinda uncomfortable given we had just met for the first time. "It's gonna be okay, Tyler. We're both old pros at this."

"Well, I'm looking forward to retirement," I said, downing the rest of my drink. "Hey, mind giving me a lift to the Inn? It's a long hike and I'm not wearing the right shoes."

"You got it," he said, and left his own drink unfinished.

We stopped by the Check-in kiosk a few blocks down the road so he could get his key and we walked to our rooms.

I still haven't looked. I wrote all this out, now I'm tired, and I'm ready for bed. I don't have the energy to put up with all the likely disappointment I'm facing. I'll look tomorrow.

Tyler: The Veterans

I didn't get a lot of sleep Saturday night/Sunday morning. The sun was just peeking through the blinds when I heard a faint but insistent knock on the door. "Tyler? Kitty?" a muffled voice asked, "Are you in there? I need help!"

I bolted upright awake, remembering where I was and what had happened. I checked the time on my phone. Only 5:50 AM. Damn, I thought selfishly. This was going to be a long day.

The knocking continued. I looked over at Kitty. She appeared to be trying to sleep through it, but she muttered, "Tell them we're not here." Obviously that didn't make sense. I wasn't even sure if she was aware we had transformed.

I stood up and smoothed my gray t-shirt over my chest. It tented over my bosoms and draped down nearly to my knees. I didn't have a sense of what I looked like yet, except for the hair and the long fingernails. It was disorienting to suddenly be so small, but I felt bulkier than when I was Lauren, so I felt pretty sure I wasn't a kid. My boxer shorts clung to my hips, meaning they must have been quite wide, and as I stepped across the room I really felt the weight of my lower half. I brushed my hands against my hips and backside and found them quite... round.

I reached the door. Once I opened it, I would be faced with something I couldn't pretend I hadn't seen. And the part I dreaded most of all was explaining that I had been through this twice already. That made me the Veteran, the Expert, and potentially, the man everyone was going to blame for not warning them.

Er, girl. Lady. Woman.

I took a deep breath as I turned the knob. I opened the door and my eyes bulged out at the sight of a  woman holding a baby - a toddler, actually, with light tufts of curly blond hair, at her hip.

I was about eye-level to the woman's chest. I craned my neck upward and saw the six-foot-plus Rosie, looming over me even moreso than when we first met. She was dressed in a man's pajamas that looked like they fit fairly well. One of the weird things about her transformation is that Ahmir was not actually bigger than her.

"Rosie?" I said, keeping my voice to a hush, trying not to wake anyone and also maybe because I was feeling self-conscious about how I might sound. "It's you, right?" She nodded, and I said "Good." She looked at me expectantly until I identified myself - it hadn't occurred to me that she wouldn't immediately recognize me as I am now. "It's Tyler. I'm... I'm like this now. Whatever it is, I haven't looked yet."

"You look fine from here," Rosie said. "We've got a problem."

"I can see that," I said. "What-- who is this?"

She sighed. "It's Susan. She... drew the short straw, I guess."

I felt the color drain out of my face. I've been through some crap in my years, but I never had to re-learn how to use a pen or the toilet.

"Is she... in there? Can she talk?"

"I don't know," Rosie said fearfully.

I groaned and did what I thought was the obvious thing, getting eye-level with the kid. "Hey... hey there... do you know what your name is?"

"Susa' Clawk..." she managed to say.

"Good, good, Susan..." I said, breathing a sigh of relief. "And how old are you Susan?"

She hesitated a moment and answered, "Thiwty ni'... Wheh' um I?"

Okay, I thought, we can work with this. She has her mind, sort of, but the linguistic and motors skills of a toddler. It's like having a stroke or something. My guess is she'll eventually grow back up and retain memories of her past life. God, I hope there isn't time for that.

"What about Neil? Dylan?"

"Well..."

I felt a headache coming on. I went out into the hallway and walked with Rosie and Susan over to Neil's family's room.

Inside were two more kids sitting on the bed - one a year or so older than the Susan had become, asleep on the bed, one a little girl dressed in boy's clothes, sitting next to him, quietly looking at a phone. Her long dark hair streaked in front of her face and I could sort of tell she'd been crying.

"Neil is the sleeping one," Rosie said, "He was up earlier, asking all kinds of questions, and I... I guess he just got too tired out."

"And Dylan's the girl," I surmised. At least he didn't get the Tom Hanks in "Big" treatment.

"She was... He was really upset," Rosie said, "But I got him to settle down and play his game, and, well.. I guess it took his mind off it."

"Wow, Rose," I said in astonishment, "Looks like you got this thing under control."

I was pleased with her. She had done a lot of the heavy lifting that I would have guessed would fall to me. But my head was still buzzing and I realized immediately that these kids probably didn't come alone. They probably had parents somewhere at the Inn, and it made sense to check the next room over, Abbie and Kendra.

Bingo.

They had become a young couple. Kendra's new body looked like it hadn't yet shed the pregnancy weight, and Abbie's, as the husband, had close-cropped brown hair with a reddish beard that she kept scratching at.

Kitty joined us as we explained the situation as best we could. There was the requisite "You knew this was going to happen?" exchange, which I was ready to snap back with "It doesn't matter, I couldn't have stopped it." Abbie backed off and asked me not to jump down her throat, it was just a lot to process. Kitty, for her part, seemed dismayed that she was tall and stocky, with lovehandles, male-pattern baldness and stubble. I would have loved to trade places with her, really.

"So, here's the bad news," I said as tactfully as I could, "The really bad news. There's these kids, they were a family of three, and... we think they're supposed to be yours."

Abbie and Kendra looked dumbstruck at each other as Rosie brought Neil and Susan forward. Dylan was hiding behind, staying quiet.

"No way," Abbie protested.

"This is too much," Kendra added.

"Come on," Kitty said, "It will be easier than it looks. They have the minds of adults, we checked. I bet it will just be like having little roommates."

"Roomates I have to breastfeed," Abbie sneered, clasping her hands over her chest.

"I think they're a bit old for that," Rosie clarified.

"I know it's a lot to absorb," I said. "Body changing, three kids... I feel for you."

"Um, Tyler," Rosie said sensitively, "It's probably just two kids."

"What do you... there's three of them, and..."

"Look at Dylan," Rosie said, "And, well..."

I looked at all of them. The young ones, Neil and Susan, had Abbie's wavy blonde hair and pale skin. Dylan looked different, with tawny brown skin and long dark hair. And he... she... looked actually too old to be the daughter of that couple.

Rosie gestured at me oddly.

I looked at my hands. Tawny brown skin. Long dark hair. I hadn't even thought about what I actually look like.

My heart sank. My head continued to throb. All the breath left my lungs.

"Oh, God," I groaned, slapping my forehead.

In all the commotion, I hadn't so much as checked a mirror. I rushed off back to my room.

There in the reflection was... well, this woman. This face. One that looked an awful lot like Dylan's. A grown woman in her mid-30's, little age lines creeping around. I felt so stupid, it must have been so obvious to everyone who saw us. I'm a fucking mom now.

I couldn't believe this possibility hadn't occurred to me. I was so concerned with where I was ending up, I didn't think much about who was going there with me, let alone that it might be someone else's child.

Kitty and I started arguing almost immediately. I thought it would be best to leave Dylan with Kendra and Abbie - one more kid probably wouldn't break their banks, and it would be safer to keep that family together. On top of that, I didn't think we were stable enough together - privately I kept thinking I was just going to run off and live my own life without her no matter who I became, but I didn't say it that way.

Kitty came back by saying our new "selves," the Walkers, probably weren't in bad shape either, and were set up to look after the child. That we couldn't burden them with another mouth to feed, and since they weren't really a married couple, how could we assume they were any more stable than we were. And those kids weren't really Dylan's parents anymore anyway - he wouldn't recognize them, relate to them or communicate with them that way.

She had a point. And yeah, maybe my reasons against it were selfish, but I still would have rather kept those three together. But it just wasn't workable. If Abbie and Kendra were willing to go along and play parents, I had to too.

My face was hot with frustration and anger directed at nobody in particular. My head was throbbing, I was hot and sweaty, my stomach was sick and hungry. I wanted to break down and cry for the second time since the early hours. I tried to fight them back, but the hot stream of tears poured out of my eyes. I was a sobbing wreck.

And Kitty, to her credit, wrapped her big strong arms around me and held me close, like she really loved me - and maybe she does - and said "It's okay, it's gonna be okay. We'll get through this. We're tough."

I knew that, but all I could say was "God, I want this to end." And it sucked getting so emotional, too, because usually I'm calm, cool and collected. But my body was throwing all these new hormones at me, getting me all worked up.

"Hey," he said, "Have a shower. Clear your head. I think we can take care of things."

I could just barely muster a "Thank you," but I meant it and I think she picked up on it. I felt really cared for and supported. It was almost like we were... like, an actual couple.

She left me alone and I did decide to run a quick shower. I was so exhausted and worn down at this point that I hardly even cared what I looked like, but I didn't mind it so much.

Whoever this woman was, she was maybe 5'5, with a soft but not out-of-shape "mom" body. It looks like she takes good enough care of herself, despite the accumulated cellulite on hips and thighs and whatnot. I was aware, all day, of the bounce of my butt behind me and my boobs under my top - I'm gonna need to get back in the habit of wearing a bra, that's pretty non-negotiable. (As Lauren I only bothered on school days, and even then I sometimes just layered tops until the girls stayed in place.) Overall it's just so much more... womanly than I was used to. Sure, I'm a female "again" but this is as different from Lauren's body as a family sedan is from a coupe.

The long hair has more volume to it than the straight locks I had as Lauren, but compared to Rosie's frizziness I guess it's not so bad. Like I said, she has a bit of age lines, which suits me fine - I feel older than my years with all this body swapping. In reality I've only gained about five, though. Her whole look is... well, my dad would have said she was "exotic" if he was feeling polite that day. I actually couldn't immediately put my finger on what race I was supposed to be, but once I was cleaned up, I started going through her things, found a letter addressed to "The New Judith, Adrian and Olivia Walker" and found out her maiden name is Medeiros, which I guess is Portuguese.

Honestly this has been so draining I think this is a good place to stop... we're about to leave the Inn and head for our new home for the next year (hopefully not more...) and when I get there, and we get all settled in, I'll give you all the details.

And probably cut my fingernails, over Kitty's protests, so I can actually use a keyboard and a phone like a normal person.

Yours,
"Judith." (Ugh, of all the things I object to about this life, the name is up there.)

Tyler: So how was your weekend?

By Thursday night, the Inn was starting to fill up, maybe about halfway. I had gotten a bucket of chicken for Kitty, Rosie and myself, and we were just sitting around the common room about to dig in, when in walk these two girls, dragging some luggage behind them, and I could hear from their conversation that they were having trouble finding somewhere to eat - apparently they had some plans and were running late, to where they didn't know if they'd have time to find a decent meal.

I decided to wave them over and offer them some of ours. They waved it off at first, but I insisted. I introduced myself as Tyler, and Kitty, who seemed less than charmed to meet them. I paused when I got to Rosie, when she piped up and said, "Ahmir," offering a big friendly smile. I guess meeting a big black guy named "Rosie" would seem a bit odd.


They gave their names, Abbie and Kendra, and talked a bit about themselves - 23 years old, just out of college, etc etc. I made some polite small talk, careful not to tip my hand that I knew anything about what was going to happen, say anything that might seem deceitful or cruel in retrospect. I mean, if you could just warn people ahead of time, everybody would turn around and run away (well, except for the folks who would appreciate a "fresh start." I reckon they'd get more than they bargain for, though.)


They headed out wherever they were going and we said maybe we'd see them later. After they were out of earshot, Kitty smacked me on the shoulder. "We're not here to make friends with these people!"


I sighed. "We need to form some kind of bond with people here when we can. Our lives might depend on it. Or theirs."


She scoffed. "Still, you don't have to be so nice."


I realized in that instant it was because Abbie and Kendra were so attractive that she felt threatened.


Later, I took a walk with Rosie and asked her about her experiences. Just like on the blog, she was reticent to go into detail, but she wanted to clarify it's not like it was a walking nightmare every day. Even if she could never quite shake the race thing from her mind, there were lots of times it didn't seem to matter as much - it's just that it would sometimes come out of nowhere, or she started seeing it places where maybe there was actually nothing to worry about. She said her favorite times were being "one of the boys" at the construction site, where your race didn't matter as long as you could lift the drywall or whatever. I told her I wished she had found more time to write about it so we could get a fuller sense of her experience, maybe and she said she just wasn't in that kind of headspace. I'm sure Meghan would have backed me up that pushing yourself to write that stuff down is healthy.

I tried to relate her experience to my own as Lauren. If you are a black man or a teenage girl by nature, you don't have the ability to think about how different it is for you than other people, at least not in such concrete ways. I missed being able to go out and not be leered at by older men, or having to dress according to whether I wanted to risk tempting teenage boys at school. My one really solid friendship with a male classmate was based on his attraction for me and me having to keep him at arm's length.

Rosie admitted she had at least enjoyed manhood for what it was. I told her I didn't quite have the same perspective on my femininity. Sex and dating were off-limits. I couldn't have enjoyed them anyway.

"But who knows," I sighed. "Maybe next time..."

She smirked. "You're convinced that's how it's gonna go down, huh?"

"It's 50/50, and I've never been a lucky guy," I said. "And that's assuming everything goes as right as I hope it will. Waking up as Alan, and getting to wrap these arms around Meghan, was the happiest moment of my entire sorry life, and soon it will be a memory."

I added "But this time I'm ready for it. For whatever happens. I have the advantage of knowing the deal ahead of time. I'll probably never have a real body of my own again. Why get attached?"

She said, "I bet it's tempting to find someone you want to be and send them to the Inn first. Maybe someone who doesn't deserve what they've got in life."

I think that was meant to be a joke, but she said it very seriously. Like it was something she, herself, had considered.

"I wouldn't," I said firmly. "No matter what happened to me, it's not my place to make that decision." I do wish I could be that kind of asshole, but I at least have some conscience.

"Me too," she said, but added, "But we'll see how you feel a few years down the road."

It was Friday that Unlucky #13 arrived. I happened to be in my room when I heard an unfamiliar voice in the next room over. I wasn't sure who was in there already, but over the last two days or so I'd heard at least two sets of footsteps and two voices, both of which I assumed were women. The new one was male. He seemed to be apologizing for being late, and she was clearly displeased, but they didn't get into a loud fight or anything which was good. I decided to move to the common area in case they came out, so I could get a glimpse of them.

There were three people but it wasn't a man and two women. It was a husband, a wife, and a son of about 12 years old, busying himself with that Pokemon Go game. They had towels and sunscreen and such.

As they approached I tried to not focus on what was about to happen to them, especially the kid. I gave a nervous but friendly wave: "Heading to the beach?"

"Now that he's here, the vacation can finally begin," the wife said. The husband kind of laughed it off with a remark about work being too demanding but pulling himself away.

They were kind of a nice, cute couple, in that "Oh, my hubby is such a dolt but I love him anyway" kind of way.

"I'm Tyler by the way," I said, extending my hand, "My girlfriend and I are in the room next to yours. Let me know if you need anything."

"Um, thanks," the man said. "I'm Neil, this is Susan and our boy Dylan."


"Oh?" I said, "Sue was my mother's name." Well, one of them.

The conversation halted awkwardly and I let them get on their way. My stomach was churning for what was about to become of that boy. I can understand that the Inn's curse is inevitable and random and all, but man... who's ever running this place needs to stop branding it as a fun getaway for young families. That's just cruel.

They returned around sunset and we talked for maybe 20 minutes, about their cross-country road trip from Iowa, their lives and jobs (Neil works at Quaker Oats,) stuff like that. Kitty, Rosie and I were having a late dinner again, and we offered to share but they had already eaten. Neil explained his wife wasn't feeling well, and I wondered if that could be chalked up to the curse or not, since they were out all day. I was still feeling fine at this point, and Kitty was a lot nicer to the Neil family than to Abbie and Kendra... who came back shortly after dark, looking like they had been out hiking all day, burnt out, redfaced and ready to collapse.

It seemed like everyone was in for the night, so we hastily returned to our rooms to keep everything from being screwed up. Kitty either fell right asleep or played like she did, but I couldn't. I managed to sleep through the transformation twice before but I couldn't this time. When you're not totally exhausted, that whole sensation is very hard to ignore.

I tried to lie perfectly still so I didn't disturb Kitty, but it was hard. There was this steady pressing sensation into my body, like whatever I was becoming was inside me pushing out. It was hot under the covers so I kicked them off, but I kept my eyes clamped closed - the room was dark but I wanted to stay ignorant as long as possible.

I tried to keep my hands somewhere neutral, so I laid them on my abdomen. Alan's flat midsection was softening up. That could have meant anything. And my feet seemed to be retracting from the edge of the bed, but lots of guys are shorter than Alan.

But I was becoming aware that the person next to me seemed to be getting much larger. Or maybe just because I was getting so much smaller.

I can't tell you the precise order things happened in since it was all sort of going on at once. You feel a rustle of long hair down your ears and neck. You twist your hips and the responsive sway of your genitals isn't there anymore. And you know. You haven't seen yet but you know. I was right about what to expect. I cursed under my breath and sat up, brushing that long dark hair away from my face.

I sat over the edge of the bed. My feet just barely touching the floor. I wrapped my arms around my sides and tried to keep from breaking out into tears or something. I was ready for it, or at least I thought I was, but now it was real. I couldn't help but notice my hands - thin fingers tipped by somewhat-long, perfectly-shaped nails. I regarded them with a kind of dismay. This was not me... but it is, I guess.

It was quiet, still, but I knew that soon everyone would wake up and realize what had happened to them. My mind was abuzz with the possibilities, worst-case scenarios, life-ruining changes. I wanted to know right away what had happened next door, even more than I did this room.

And I would want to help, and yeah, I wanted to know more about this person I had become, but all I could think was "I need to sleep." The chaos could wait at least a couple of hours. Maybe I could wait until they had some of it figured out... and give myself some time to think of something to say...


I laid back down and rolled close to Kitty's new body next to me, a man who felt like he dwarfed me. I felt his lungs breathe in and out through his back and tried to let it soothe me to sleep.

Back again soon. This whole story has already taken half a day to write down with these nails in the way and there's much more to tell.

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.

Tyler/Lauren: Not-My-Selfies

See? Wordplay. I think my mood's starting to improve.

When all the pics from the junior prom went up, I got a million or so notifications on Lauren's Facebook and other social media, so I couldn't help but browse through them. It's weird how even though I know what I look like - I've seen my reflection plenty of times, run my fingers through this hair, dressed this body - I'm not used to identifying it as myself in pictures. I see a group of girls, and I think "I'm in here somewhere... which one is me?" Thank god for tagging, I guess... although I stick out like a sore thumb, looking miserable and comparatively unkempt, trying desperately to forget myself and have a good time despite my situation.

It's a little perverse to want to relive one of the most awkward, frustrating, humiliating nights of my life, but I think part of me craves order... like, I want to look at those pictures and see a group of people who are okay with things, at least for a night. I want confirmation that I'm passing, as weird as that sounds, that these girls and boys don't look at me and see a man dressed up as a young woman, because the idea of anyone knowing the truth about me is somehow worse than the charade.

Then again, the few where I'm smiling - pretty damn fakely - are more ghastly than the ones where I have a blank expression.

I look at them for a while, then I have to close the browser because it gets too damn depressing, to think of wedging myself into that dress and those heels and completely lock "Tyler" away and pretend I'm Lauren and having a great time, amidst sweaty writhing teenagers gyrating to loud, obnoxious DJ music.

Yep, it's official, I'm still a tired 30-year-old guy inside.

Anyway, I guess I'm just writing here because I have to do something besides click through Netflix, bug Meghan to hang out, sleep, and dodge Lauren's friends. They're nice girls, but I have nothing in common with them, and as much as I owe it to Lauren to be good to the people in her life, my brain simply isn't wired to care about the Kardashians or TMZ any of the other things they gab about. I get surrounded by them and I get overwhelmed by all this shallow nonsense, and suddenly I have a newfound respect for girlfriends I've had who had to endure conversations between me and my buddies about Double-A Baseball.

The worst is when they talk about boys, though. There's a pretty wide range of attitude among the group -- some are very reserved and some are filthy. I don't know if this is all based on experience or just their runaway imaginations, but I could do without knowing what all these teenage girls have done and what they think I'm up to. I'm getting the impression that Lauren was at the latter end of that spectrum, because often when the conversation gets blue, they turn to me for some input. I mostly shrug it off or make some vague attempt at a dick joke, but... you know, those kinds of gags are different depending on the source and audience. Still, I've found these girls go crazy for a good "that's what she said." They're young, so it's still pretty fresh to them.

"Team Lauren"

The other day, Susan - or as I have to call her to her face, "mom," - noticed my roots were starting to show. I guess Lauren's hair was a little too blonde to be real, but I didn't really think about it. And truth be told, the whole roots showing thing doesn't bother me, either as a guy who sees it on women, or as the person whose hair is currently two-toned. She said she'd make me an appointment for a touch-up, and I feigned against it, like "Oh, maybe I'll just go back to my normal color."

She looked shocked, and she took a hushed tone, saying "So... does that mean you're changing your mind about August?"

I didn't know what she was talking about, but she was spooked.

At first, I thought she meant this trip she and the husband were taking up to Lake Erie in August for a week. The kids have to go, but as the resident 17-year-old I was given the option to stay behind and fend for myself. Which, being a grown man who is used to a certain level of independence, I opted for.

But what could any of that have to do wit my hair color?

I found out afterward that Lauren was set to enter into the Miss Teen Allegheny pageant later in August.

Son. of. a. bitch.

Suddenly, certain things about Lauren make sense. The vast cosmetic supply, the body-displaying outfits (complete with "why would a teen need this" push-up bras) the prom obsession, the "inspo" folder of her laptop full of images of beauty queens, the wonky eating habits that I inherited and have worked against for weeks (putting on eight pounds in the process, which I consider good), the singing lessons. Shit, shitty, shit.

She seems dreadfully worried that I'll drop out, because I guess Lauren isn't much of a committer and this seemed like the first thing she ever set her mind to. Sue seems very invested in the idea of her daughter following through on this.

So I'm in the middle of this, as usual - trying to navigate between what I want, what Lauren would want, and what Lauren's parents want. I don't think I'm up for it, but if you asked me a few months ago if I'd be up for any of this, the answer would be a resounding hell no. It's up to me to decide how much "taking one for the team" this needs to involve.

Am I just a member of "Team Lauren" or the captain?

The bottom line is, I don't have to do this if I don't want to, and I don't... but how bad will the blowback be? I know some of these middle-class social climbers can really get caught up living through their kids, and that appears to be exactly what this is. Does Lauren have much of an opinion on the matter? She hasn't really been quick about returning my texts.

I look at that miserable girl in the prom dress though... who in their right mind would want that girl to go onstage?

Tyler/Lauren: Status quo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tyler/Lauren: 28 Days Later...

That's 28 days bumbling around as a man in a girl's body, 28 days of forgetting to answer when I hear "my" name, 28 days of homework, 28 days of avoiding non-essential human contact.

I make it seem all like gloom and doom, but shockingly, the school aspect has at least given me something to focus on. It's frustrating and soul-crushing, sure, but it gives me a reason not to be seen with the family or visit Lauren's friends. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself during the summer, although I hear summer school has open enrollment beyond being a punishment for failing, which at this rate is also on the table. I'm doing my best to make sure that doesn't happen, though, going over the textbooks as closely as I can manage. It's giving me a headache, although that, along with the bloating and spate of acne dotting my hairline, may just be symptoms of PMS. "Sadface," as they say.

28 days as it turns out is just long enough to stop the sirens that go off in my head every morning. Less and less as I head out into the world for the day, do I tense up and think "I AM SO FUCKED!" Instead, I just make sure I've got all my notebooks, othe ressential items, make sure I'm dressed appropriately. (I don't think this is something I need to worry about but I've heard of girls being sent home for wearing things that are otherwise considered normal fashion - slightly cleavage-baring or low-rising jeans, but I'm erring on the side of safety.)

With regards to the new me, I'll admit that this is the first thing that has made me a true nervous wreck. Be a teenager? Fine. Be a girl? Whatever. Give control of my life over to some random individual, who now hasn't contacted me for over a week? Concerned. So I sink a little further into my schoolwork. And I text my sister and Meghan constantly.

I'm also 28 days without a drink - the last time I tasted alcohol was the night I lost my body. There are a few sixpacks of Coors in the garage that I wonder if anyone wouldn't miss a few. Lord knows Lauren wasn't no saint, I found an empty bottle of Captain Morgan under her bed, among other damning items that I may or may not discuss later.

28 days. Long enough to start having to take some ownership of this body. Not only am I furtively investigating the cabinet under the bathroom sink, but wondering when I should do something about the light stubble that has emerged from my legs and armpits. It's not that I want to be a gorgeous girl, but I wonder what level of grooming I would put into myself if I had always been one.

When I get a bit more time - ie when I'm using this blog for more than just procrastinating, once the semester's over - I'll tell you more about Lauren's life and how to live it. For now I just needed to take a breather.

Lauren's mom pokes her head into my room, finding me still in my pj's, lying with the laptop resting on my abdomen. She looked confused, like this position is utterly unknown to her daughter.

"Honey, we're going to the mall today, are you coming?"

"No," I almost say, then I look over at the pile of textbooks I was intending to peruse for the tenth time. "Sure. Couldn't hurt."