Kiara: Onward (Goodbye, Tom.)

Tuesday, May 26

6:16 AM.

Grandma Kelly is on baby duty this morning, but I'm up anyway. I couldn't sleep. It's humid as hell from all the rain. My hair is everywhere. My boobs are annoying the bejeezes out of me. And I think I had a sex dream.

I'm up. Splash some water on my face, brush the tangles out of my hair, change my underwear. I think about how I merely find my jugs annoying these days instead of painful. They still occasionally dribble milk, but for the most part they're not a going concern other than "the reason my shoulders are sore."

I can't do much with them. They are what they are. I feel a little sad that here I am, with a pair of my own boobs to play with whenever I like, and they're just... whatever.

I check my underarms. I could probably go another day or two without shaving, but sleeveless-season is upon us so I should stay on top of it. My legs too. I don't think there's anything wrong with a woman having body hair, but... I guess I don't want to be a woman with body hair.

I thought today would feel special. Today is the first day I am Kiara. I'm really not Tom anymore. The original Ki never took me up on my ultimatum. I am here for good and today is the first day I know that for sure. But it just feels like Tuesday.

7:54 AM.

But by now it's almost 8 and I've got to get along to school. I dress in a tank top and some shorts. it's been raining, so the humidity is going crazy. I pull all my hair back into a fuzzball ponytail thing.

I hear the baby fussing and it strikes me in the gut, but Kelly's got it. Now I'm wondering if I should have bothered staying. With Kelly and Jen as support, someone else could fulfill this role, I could be anywhere else. But I banish those thoughts. The baby needs a mom, and the wrong one could really screw her up.

8:18 AM.

It's the first day of the new term and I'm taking Writer's Craft. This should be a breeze. I could teach that class, well, maybe if I liked dropouts and delinquents. I signed up for summer courses because I'm thiiis close to a GED, which means being able to determine what the hell I'm supposed to do with the rest of my life. No sense in taking the summer off, you know?

I'm early. Sunita is here -- she thought this was an all-purpose English course and by the time I had explained the difference, she was already registered. A few other classmates trickle in, all looking miserable to be here. This won't be a big course. It might end up feeling like a really casual college seminar or something, with fewer than a dozen students, depending how the teacher is.

8:31 AM.

The teacher breezes through the door, apologizing for being late, this is his first day on this campus. He writes his name on the chalkboard.

"MR. WIGHT"

As he turns to address us, he freezes, like he sees something scary and unexpected in the crowd. And it's not a very big crowd. But he composes himself and moves on without further comment.

I bite my tongue and stay focused, not averting my eyes as if I've done anything wrong. Just lookign at him as if I'm an normal student and he's a normal teacher.

Because Mr. Wight is Donovan. The guy I hooked up with last month and ghosted.

11:58 AM

The morning session is done.  He's spent the period going over some general principles and the syllabus. His eyes seem to find every student in the room but me.

The students file out -- I'm something like fourth or fifth. I pay him a "meaningless" glance on my way past.

1:00 PM

My afternoon class is auto shop. Why not. I didn't know how to fix a car as a man, maybe it will be a useful skill to have. Maybe someday I'll be at some mechanic and they'll be like "You see ma'am your carburetor blah blah blah" and I can be like "Actually my carburetor yadda yadda yadda." I don't know. All I know is that all these 20-year-old guys use it an excuse to fuck around (because they already know their shit) and discuss what my pussy might taste like loud enough that they have to know I can hear them.

I steal glances at my phone in case Donovan has texted. He hasn't.

4:04 PM

I have to take the bus 30 minutes out of the way to pick up Sienna from daycare. I think about how my life would be incrementally easier with a source of income. I have no idea how I'm supposed to be making money for the rest of my life. It seems unlikely I'll go back into journalism.

7:10 PM

Dinner's on the table. I made macaroni and cheese for whoever's around. The kids descend on it like locusts. Sienna has a tube of vegetable goo.

9:03 PM

The phone lights up with a notification.

It's Donovan. He has written, very neutrally, "We should find some time to talk, I guess."

I don't have the energy to respond at this point. Sienna has been down for an hour. I fall asleep in my clothes.

Wednesday, May 27

2:02 AM

Not taking my bra off before I fell asleep was a huge mistake. Underwire is my new enemy.

Tom/Kiara: From Worse to Bad

This blog has really got its hooks in me. I went a long time without saying much here, just trying to keep my head down and exist, but at some point, probably around the time it started to become obvious that Kiara is my future, I became a lot more invested in putting it down on paper.

At least in the time since last summer, I've gone from "Every day is a nightmare of body horror and other epic humiliations" to "Life has some mild inconveniences that I have mostly learned to navigate." There are even some extremely tepid wins sprinkled in there. For example, when I stopped breast feeding, and then pumping altogether. I actually kind of had mixed feelings about that... after the kid was no longer using them, the breasts were still there, as big as ever (and only very gradually less sore) and I'm going, "Jeez, I don't need these things anymore, what am I supposed to do with them for the rest of..." (and here's where I would trip myself up by thinking my life without actually wanting to mean it.)

Yes, I've reached an uneasy comfort with a lot of things in my life. The weather has been getting hot, so I've had to shed my trademark baggy sweats for items that are... lighter and more... revealing. Like the top with the deeeep neckline. Tank tops. Short shorts. It annoys me to wear these things, but the more I cover up, the less physically comfortable I am. I'm also cognizant that having a lot of hair on my head bottles in the heat. The only reason I never cut it up until now was out of courtesy for Kiara. but as the clock approaches midnight on my ultimatum to her, I'm thinking about salon appointments.

All this to say I've made my uneasy peace with the very, very likely scenario that I'm never getting out of this. That I am Kiara now and forever more. But I'm not throwing in the towel yet. I still message her regularly, and she hasn't blocked me.

But this isn't about her, or even me, except to say that I feel like I've said some things about my life these days that, if I didn't tell you the whole story, you might wonder.

So, when Cerie announced her pregnancy, I had a pretty negative reaction to that, mostly because, well, that's just common sense. I would really like it to have been none of my business, live and let live, let her make her own mistakes, except not only does there being another mouth under this roof affect me, I just couldn't let that level of foolishness go un-commented-on. 

I kind of had this realization that even though objectively, teen pregnancy is a bad idea and should be avoided at all costs, it's so baked into this family's DNA that to object to it is almost like objecting to her own existence. Like it's disrespectful to Jen, and to her, and to my own self, even though Jen, if you ask her, will say she doesn't want this for her daughters. She doesn't want it, but she will support it, because that's what she believes is right. It's kind of a crazy head-trip, but it makes a certain amount of sense. You want better for your kids, but you also have to take them as they are. And she's not in a position where she could give Cerie any different treatment than she gave Kiara. She's already established a baseline behavior. "We take care of family."

I gave up that fight. I'm only a few credits away from earning Kiara her GED, which I will be working on over the summer, so once that happens I might be able to get out of here and take Sierra with me -- assuming I'm still this person then --  but until then, I'm part of this family. So I swallowed my pride and went along with it.

So I was the only one around to take Cerie to her ultrasound, which was well overdue. Fine. Peace has been made. I take her, and I go to the waiting room to sit and scroll through my phone, and the nurse comes back out and tells me they need to contact mom.

Some crazy back-and-forth ensued, and they got Jen on the phone and they were able to tell her that it's an ectopic pregnancy. It's not viable.

And in all this, it falls to me to comfort Cerie, who is crying her eyes out. No, no, no!! she's bawling, she really wanted this to be real. And I'm trying to comfort her, trying to ignore the fact we both know, that I was openly against this pregnancy. 

I told her, "Listen, I know you and I have had our differences, but you're my sister, and all I care about right now is your feelings. so just let it out, it's okay."

I did everything I could to put my own feelings aside and go into caretaker mode -- which I've gotten reasonably good at over the last year -- and support her as she sobbed in fear, not just that she wasn't going to have this baby, but that something might happen that could prevent her from getting pregnant in the future.

We got through it, by the grace of whatever deity you happen to believe in. No, it wasn't easy, but it also appears there were no complications.

It was tough, and emotionally draining. Somehow, I think we got a little bit closer when the chips were down and we put our differences aside. The mood around here has changed a little bit for the better, even if there's still a dark cloud hanging over my sister.

Hm. "My sister."

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Tears

After my dalliance with Donovan, I got to experience the awkward dynamic of being the girl in the equation after a one-night stand. I certainly wasn't going to text him, and I knew it would be easier if he didn't text me either, but every day that passed without a message left me feeling a bit sour. What, was I not good enough?

I don't want to have feelings for a guy, or be in a relationship of any description, but I'm also pretty prideful, and plus I let him have hi way with this body, so perhaps some communication was in order, even if I kind of astral projected out of it and don't remember what it fully felt like. Sorry, it turns out sex isn't a mind-blowing experience for everybody all the time on this side.

Then he actually did message me -- three days later, right on cue. I was bathing Sienna and helping her play with her rubber duckies when the phone buzzed. Just a simple 'hey what's up.' Despite anticipating this, I had no idea how I was going to respond. What was I supposed to say? He doesn't know I have a kid, and I don't want him to know. I could say that I'm looking after my sister. I could say that I'm the one in the bath, if I wanted to drive him wild.

I literally just said 'nothing, having an average night.'

"Yeah, same, just thought I'd check in."

Okay, then. What am I supposed to do with that? What would a girl who wanted to date do with that? What do I, who should not date, do with that? Do I tell him my big plan for the night -- after I put the kid to bed -- is to finish my homework and masturbate?

I told him nothing. I flat out didn't answer, I had to pay attention to the kid. I toweled her off and put her in her jammies. I let her walk around the house to say good night ot everyone...

And then, when we were in the kitchen saying good night to Mama Kelly, she was using a chair to stabilize herself and she fell flat on her face.

Now we have a problem. I've seen this girl crash plenty, but it always hurts me to see, because that moment when she erupts in tears -- which I know are going to take a while to calm down -- breaks my heart. Makes me feel like a failure, even though it happens to every kid that age, it's part of experiencing the world. But I'm supposed to protect her, I'm supposed to keep her steady. I can't all the time, but every time I fail I feel, well, like a failure.

Crying, crying, crying, wailing, I'm fanning her, offering her a soother, rocking her, she's squirming and fussing and won't go to bed. And that's my night. and I'm cursing under my breath the whole time because at times like these I remember I'm not supposed to be a parent!

When she finally did settle down and nod off, I barely had any time for homework, let alone the other stuff I'd planned. I looked at my phone, at the abortive conversation between me and Donovan Decent Guy, and I thought, that's about right. I can't bring another person into this. No man should get caught up in this mayhem. There's no room for dating or self-serving anything.

I see it all laid out before me. I take whatever low-paying job this town has to offer, I raise Sienna on my own and hope to heaven she turns out better, that she has a fighting chance. The kind thing for me to do is keep everyone else at arm's length at least for, oh, the next ten to fifteen years.

The fact that Mother's Day followed shortly after that just put me into a deeper spiral. The day was a total blur, not that anyone really acknowledged me with Cerie's pregnancy being the headline.

I never did hear back from Kiara/Lisa about taking her life back. It's appalling in a way, but if I was a 18-year-old with a chance at making it big, I might feel the same way. If you can live with the guilt, it doesn't sound like a bad deal at all, even if she doesn't become the next Kacey Musgraves.

There's still about two weeks for her to change her mind, and if I don't hear back, I guess that will be the end of tagging these posts "Tom" because he'll be gone forever.

Until then...

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: You up?

The week after my birthday was pretty much a cycle of freeze-outs and shouting matches between myself, Cerie, and Jen. Personally, I don't want to have any feelings whatsoever: if she wants to ruin her life the wait Kiara was going to -- and the fact that she felt the need to run away and seemingly stay gone indicates she does think she ruined her life -- it's technically none of my business. She's right that she and her as-yet-unborn baby have as much right to be a drain on the house's resources as Sienna and I do. I think that's the frustrating thing, that I don't have a leg to stand on, even though in principle I'm right that we shouldn't have any more babies in this house.

But it's what she wants, and for some reason her no-good boyfriend, Kiara's babydaddy Byrd, is supportive, even though he's already putting nearly every dime he makes into an account for our little rugrat. I feel like every day brings some new twist on this nightmare. I wish my biggest problem was that I don't have the sexual organs I'd prefer.

So I let Cerie and Byrd take Sienna for the weekend, even though it was not Byrd's weekend, because they want all the practice they can get. I don't love that it's my baby being used as the crash test dummy for those little idiots, but what are you going to do?

They and the baby being out of the house Saturday night gave Jen the opening to tear a strip off me and tell me to get in line, and to stop acting like a brat. I told her I was being anything but a brat, that I was the adult in this situation... which I didn't say, but may have included Jen herself. She said that whining and crying and calling Cerie "irresponsible" might feel good but it doesn't do anything for the reality that this baby is coming. Okay, fair enough, but I need to make myself heard.

It probably doesn't come across in text like this, but I really notice sometimes how these female hormones, especially the ones that cause me to produce so damn much milk, probably color my ability to keep a cool head in times like these. Like, sorry if that sounds sexist but I am now a woman and I am a lot more demonstrative of my thoughts and opinions than I used to be, and I suspect those two things are connected.

Anyway, I told her that now that I'd said my piece , I'd do my best to help the little dum-dums, although in slightly kinder words than that. It was something of a diplomatic achievement, but I was so rankled I just had to leave the house.

The problem is: I didn't have anywhere to go. My entire life in this town is under this roof, or at school. My "friends" are a much older married Indian woman (who is very sweet but probably doesn't need her disaster-teen classmate dropping in on her) and some people whose home lives are probably even less stable than mine.

There was one name in my contact list that I do have something of a personal relationship with, and I had to bet that he was available on a Saturday night: Donovan. I hadn't been in touch with him since our little encounter a month earlier, because I was both a little disgusted and a little afraid of initiating a snowball effect. But I have to admit every so often on nights when I hate life, I find my thumb lingering over that name, like, "Hm, maybe this would help things." From the night we had together, he seemed all right, non-objectionable, stable, a far cry from the types of people Kiara is meeting in her world. I could do worse, right? If nothing else he seemed to be capable of conversing.

I had simply never quit gotten to that threshold though.

So I messaged him, "Hey, this is probably kind of weird, but are you doing anything right now/tonight? Need to get out. Even just to drive around or whatever."

After I hit send, I realized, holy shit, that sounds so pathetic and desperate, and like my life is so chaotic and sad. Which sucks, because I am pathetic and desperate and my life is chaotic and sad.

After a moment, he said "Sure, where can I pick you up?"

Damn, I thought, the plan had already worked too well. I didn't want this guy to come to my house. So I told him we should meet at the coffee shop and go from there.

So we went, and we had a drink -- he a decaf americano, I a machiatto. He politely asked what was up that made me want to call him out of the blue. I told him I didn't really want to talk about my home life or anything like that.

"Okay, what do you want to talk about?"

"I don't know. The Holy Roman Empire."

"It was neither holy, nor Roman," he noted.

"And not much of an empire," I added. Shit, we were on a wavelength. Was it wrong to consider screwing a guy for the first time because you both knew the same corny old joke?

"What would you be doing if I hadn't texted?" I asked.

"Probably the same thing I did last weekend," he sighed, "Trying to work things out with my ex."

"Oh, I see," I nodded, somehow put off that he had an ex in the picture. "How's that, um, going?"

"Not great," he said. "Between the long distance and her boyfriend of six months, I think it might actually be over between us."

"Oh, you can't think like that," I said, "Maybe she'll wake up tomorrow and realize you're what she wanted all along."

"Maybe," he said, "If I woke up tomorrow an entirely different person."

"Don't even joke about that," I scolded reflexively. When he raised an eyebrow, I said, "I had an uncle who had, um, a brain injury. One day he woke up and... woosh. Totally different guy. Less racist, though."

Uncertain how to react, he said "Um... sorry... about your racist uncle? I guess?"

He was still kind of new in town so he asked if I knew any attractions. I said not really, but I saw they had just opened up an escape room in the next town over, if that was something he'd be into. He said that sounded kind of random for a first date, and I said luckily this isn't a date.

So we went, and unfortunately you're supposed to have a group of four, so we linked up with two random strangers. It was a crazy haunted house situation, with, like spring-loaded ghouls jumping out at you to give you the next clue or whatever. It was surprisingly fun, and he was good at interpreting the riddles. I'm a little more spacey, which I'm tempted to blame on baby-brain, not that I wanted to tell him that.

After that, he asked if I wanted to go to a bar, and I said I was sure there was beer at his place, so there we went.

And again, it was not exactly the tidiest, most impressive place. A handful of dudes in their twenties living together -- I get it. I remember it.

He cracked us a couple of beers, and took me into his bedroom, and we sat on his bed. He had his hand on my thigh, and there's a very small, Tom-Shaped part of my brain going "This is not right at all!" but a larger Kiara-shaped one going "Girl, just do it, don't be a chickensh**."

We start kissing, and his scratchy stubble is messing with my head a little bit, but I'm also kind of enjoying the "man" smell, and I'm dizzying myself wondering who I am and what I like and what is even the plan here. While I'm having an identity crisis, he's got his hand up my shirt and -- eventually -- he gets my bra unclasped and starts tentatively feeling around.

And then suddenly... it's like he found the 'on' switch.

Fuck. Fuck. My nipples, dude, are so sensitive. I didn't realize that would happen, but I guess with a night of warming up and just the tiniest bit of alcohol, all the tumblers fell into place and unlocked me. I was ready to spread wide open. My body was purring. "Yes... yes..." I whispered, surprising myself.

Before I knew it, his pants were off and so were mine, my legs wrapped around him like my life depended on it. I was barely even thinking -- I mean, I had the presence of mind to make sure he put a condom on first, but after that it was like a whirlwind of limbs and appendages mingling. Something was making me feel pretty good inside, and the part of my brain that was aware it was attached to someone else -- a man -- was on the fritz. All I remember was thinking "It's happening, it's happening... and I don't hate it..." I mean, yes, I've toyed with myself, but having another body there changes the game.

And then, before I could get another notch up the ladder from "I don't hate it," it was over.

(Price is Right trombone of sadness.)

We disentangled ourselves and I had this very sour, unfulfilled feeling. A lot of positivity suddenly evaporated. It was sobering. Oh crap. I just had sex with this guy. It was dangerously easy. And part of me suspected this might happen when I began the night and part of me was sure I would come to my senses and bow out. Even afterwards, I was trying to do the mental calculus on it to confirm I had actually, literally, just had sex as a woman, because on paper I sure did, and I know what it felt like, but my brain wouldn't compute that what had happened to me was sex.

Anyway, the spell as kind of broken after that. He was apologetic, and I had to kind of be like, "Don't worry about it, it was good" which was kind of a lie, although for about 30 seconds or so we were soaring, yeah.

We cleaned up and got dressed and I had him drop me off a block from my house, which I could sense he wanted to say something about but was probably too embarrassed.

And I went home and laid in bed and just stared up in the darkness wondering what the hell had just happened.

I don't know. Part of me felt like not doing it was a way of staying "pure" and, I don't know, male by proxy. Part of me felt like on the off chance I am going to return to a male body -- which I'm not counting on -- it would be sad not to have an experience like that if it was available. And part of me just wanted to get some understanding of what lies in my future if and when it turns out that I'm staying as Kiara.

Reality check: I'm in the body of an 18-year-old mom deep in the heart of Dixie. I'm not particularly wowed by most of the males I have encountered in my time here. Until recently I genuinely had not had occasion to consider what might happen if I wanted to do this, and in the end, I just followed my body's lead.

Then I look over at the empty crib and I think about what "following this body's lead" has gotten us.

I guess that's a macrocosm of life. We're all just doing out best, and we can have ideas how we'll behave in certain situations, but you never know until it happens. I'm not mad, I'm not sad, I'm not relieved, I'm not happy. It's just a fact. That happened.

I'm keen to pretend it simply did not.

But there are worse things in life........

-Tom, feeling Extra-Kiara Today

Tom/Kiara: Happy Birthday

April 25 was my birthday. That is to say, it's Kiara's birthday, which means it's "mine" for the time being. I knew this, because I've spent time looking at plenty of documents as Kiara -- and I did look into when I would finally be "an adult" at 18 again -- but it wasn't as if I was eagerly awaiting the day, counting down to it on the calendar. It took me a moment to realize what was happening when Jen woke me up and told me to get ready for our day.

"Our" day? Not that I'm on bad terms with Kiara's mom, but we don't exactly spend a lot of time together. If she's at the house, I'm usually not and vice versa. Our text conversation is a never-ending stream of who is taking care of Sienna when. I'm grateful and all, I just haven't been able to foster much of a personal relationship with her.

With so much constantly going on at the house, you won't be surprised to hear that I'm not accustomed to being in the spotlight. And that's how I like it. The less people acknowledge my existence the easier it is for me. But I guess "my" birthday was going to be the one day we focused on me.

Jen treated me to a one-on-one brunch, which was a nice gesture but also an awkward one. Here we were, sitting eye-to-eye at the table for once and I have nowhere to hide. Luckily there are plenty of conversational topics -- Sienna, of course, and school.

"You thinkin' about what comes next?" she asked me over something sorta like "eggs benedict."

"Yeah," I sighed, "There's, um, a lot up in the air right now." There's obviously still an outside chance that the real Kiara, aka "Lisa Brown," will relent and come back to her own life, but the time is running out for that.

"I'd be happy to show you the business, help you pay for beauty school," she said, "But I get the feeling that's not what you want."

"No," I said sourly, "No offense, it's not for me."

"I haven't heard you paly your guitar in a while, is that dream dead?"

"I... had to face reality," I said, "Motherhood and musical aspirations don't mix."

"I'm sorry you feel that way," she said.

The conversation -- which continued to a manicure where I let my nails get painted with spring pastels -- couldn't help but take on a dour tone. Simply talking about life as a teen mom in a dead-end North Carolina town with no prospects didn't really fill me with excitement.

Next was shopping. It was just at a discount store, but it was Jen's idea of a nice gesture, and it was. "I don't even know your size anymore," she confessed, "So I thought it would make more sense if you just pick something out and I pay for it. Don't worry about the price. If you want it, it's yours." I was hesitant, but she was insistent and I was moved by the gesture. I picked up a decent jacket and -- don't laugh -- a miniskirt. Summer's coming, after all.

We brought home take-out for dinner and sat down as a family. The younger sibs had made me a homemade card, which was adorable and really moving. After cake, Cerie had an announcement.

She's pregnant.

As you may recall, Kiara's younger sister been dating Kiara's babydaddy Byrd, which would make our kids half-siblings (three-quarter siblings?) Jen and Kelly were actually congratulatory, albeit in a tentative, restrained way. The littles were thrilled that there would be another baby. I did a terrible job masking the fact that I was aghast.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I hissed, "What is it about the way that I live that makes you want some of that? The exhaustion? The anxiety about my future? The financial burden? What about mom and grandma -- you think they have the bandwidth to take care of another kid?!"

"Kiara, hush!" Jen reprimanded me.

"Why you mad?" Cerie sneered in her Gen-Z-or-is-it-Alpha tone. "You think you're the only one who deserves attention just because you had a baby first?"

"God, that is so not what this is about..." I huffed, sounding every bit the teenager I appear to be, albeit maybe one from the 2000's, rather than today. "It's so short-sighted, especially knowing what I've been through."

"So why's it okay for you?!" Cerie shouted back, while Jen and Kelly tried to wrangle us with cries of 'Girls, please!'

"It's not okay for me, that's the point!" I was practically in tears, but more of rage than anything. "It's irresponsible! I fucking ruined my life, and you're about to do the same!" ("Language!")

"I can't believe you would say that about your own daughter! And mom too, like she ruined her life having you?!"

"No, I...!" I sputtered, "Can't you see how fucked up this is?!"

"That's enough!" Jen shrieked, "Kiara, don't speak for me, don't try to tell me what I have the 'bandwidth' for! If Cerie wants this, I will help her just like I helped you! You ingrateful little bitch!"

("Ingrateful" isn't even a word, but it's not like that was the headline at the time.)

"I don't belong here!" I screamed, which probably came out of nowhere as far as they were concerned. I stormed upstairs to where Sienna was asleep.

Soon after my arrival, she awoke and started crying, so I held her to my breast and fed her. I'm trying to wean her off that soon, but it was as much for me as anything else I guess.

After she finished, she began babbling. "Amma... amm... a... mama... mama..."

It's not the first time she's spoken, and not the first time it's come out sounding that way, but it was pretty clear and pretty repetitive. As galled as I was that people would treen a teenage girl getting pregnant as a good, exciting thing, there are definitely moments of beauty, and I always try to do right by this innocent little baby. I do love her. After all this time, how could I not?

As tears streaked down my cheeks, I gathered myself and took a video of the little girl, holding on her until she finally said it again.

I texted it to "Lisa Brown."

"Happy birthday," I wrote.

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Freaky Friday

After my January summit with "Lisa Brown," I went back to my life as Kiara. I could already feel things changing. I left the door open for her to return to the life she left behind -- I really want her to -- but her attitude makes me think there's a strong chance she won't, that she's got this idea that she can make it big in that life, and there's no going back.

With that knowledge, suddenly this weird, blurry life I've been sleepwalking through started to come into focus as I was forced to confront the idea that... this may be it for me. This may be the rest of my life. This body, these clothes, this place, this child. I had to start looking at all of it as if it belonged to me, because it might.

I don't think I have a problem with being a woman. I'd rather be a man, but I'm not mad about it. If anything, I'm more mad I'm not mad. I want to see being a girl-woman-person as being torture, something to escape at all costs, not something I'm making my peace with. Not a passive fact of life. I'm quite literally in the wrong body -- not to mention the wrong age and the wrong race -- but 23 hours a day it feels normal. My body does what a woman's does, and that's different from what it used to, but it's all... fine. I don't have to be girly, womanly or ladylike -- I can throw on sweats and a soft bra and whatever and nobody is going to chastise me for not having my hair be perfect or not wearing a skirt and high heels and stockings. This isn't Mad Men. So that's an arrangement that's fine for me.

It's the age, the mommy, and the North Carolina of it all that weighs on me. Plotting my escape and wondering whether Sienna belongs with me, or if leaving her with Grandma and Mama Kelly is going to screw her up royally.

(You: 'If you're just going to leave the baby with the family members why stay as Kiara?' Me: 'Because putting a stranger in the mix still seems worse!')

Okay, I've potentially got a new life and I've got to figure out who to be. That's clearly not going to be a Japanese-American male journalist. Hell, looking at the landscape it won't likely be anything with words. How the hell are you supposed to make a life for yourself these days?

Whatever. That's long-term, Future-Tom/Kiara stuff. Today I have a bunch of homework.

Which is what brought me to a coffee shop on Friday the 13th (March version.) I was supposed to be meeting with some of my classmates to go over some readings, but for a variety of reasons they didn't show and I was left to leaf through my textbook alone.

I don't necessarily mind -- I'm a pretty solitary dude when I'm myself -- but it sucked to put some faith in people and be let down.

So there's me and my little coffee and my huge textbook, highlighting what I could, continually glancing at the door in case anyone did show up. I try to stay focussed, but I can't help people-watching. The mom who lets her twelve-year-old get a "fro-cho," the thirty-somethings on their first date, the high schoolers on their way out to a party (Thankfully, none of them acknowledge me, because I didn't know if maybe they would know Kiara.) And the guy in the corner just reading his book.

Eventually my little coffee felt a lot bigger in my bladder. Being alone in the place, I had to put all my stuff in my bag before using the restroom.

When I came out and sat back down, the reading guy had shuffled to the next table over from me.

"Homework?" he asked.

"No, actually," I said, "I'm getting ready for a date. I just like to be super-prepared."

"What is that, calculus? Are you dating Will Hunting?"

"It makes for really great conversation," I said.

I cursed myself. Was I flirting? I didn't want to be flirting. I didn't want to be flirted with. But I also kind of did. I was annoyed that this guy had insinuated himself into my night but I was also -- in a flicker of thought I've been trying to untangle ever since that night -- glad. As I've said, because of my general air of "Do Not Engage," people don't seem to see me as a female at all, which means I don't get flirted with. That means it was rare enough to be... not unwelcome.

I looked over at him. Older than Kiara, not older than Tom. Decent presentation, nothing that screams "beware of this jerk," but, I realize, I have no idea what signs those are. He just... looked like a guy.

I can't explain it. But I couldn't explain it when I hooked up with Lizzie DiFaccio at the sophomore mixer when I was 19, either. It wasn't attraction so much of lack-of-aversion. He kind of looked like a younger Glen Powell, without the weird upper lip thing going on, and a worse hairline.

He had broken the ice and I had gone alone with it. Rebuffing him would take effort I didn't feel like expending. So I ideated, how to play this situation. How I wanted to play it. For the first time in a long while I felt like I was being looked at not like a kid or a teen mom, but as a grown person.

It wasn't unappealing.

"Hey, listen," I said, "Give me an hour with this book, and then we can talk, okay?"

He smirked, and accepted my terms, pointedly putting a timer on his phone.

Once the term was up, I closed my book. "Ground rules," I said, "Don't ask me for any personal information. No last name, age, address, Instagram handle. If you're good, you'll get my phone number."

"Uh, okay," he said, confused but open.

I held up my phone and took a picture of him.

"Woah, what was that?"

"I just sent your picture to my mom. If I go missing, she'll know who to look for."

"Damn, you're not kidding around," he said, half amused. "Can I at least get a first name?"

I inhaled sharply and thought. God, why was it still so hard to do this? I almost tripped over it. "Ki-iara. Ahem. Kiara."

"Okay, Kiara," he said, "I'm Donovan." I almost snorted. That wasn't a name you hear often.

"Well, since so many things are off-limits, what can we talk about?"

"Calculus," I shrugged. "Trends in calculus."

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about that."

"Good, I like to have all the power in a conversation," I said. (Ooh, flirty Tom/Kiara is feisty. I like her.)

I asked if he was new in town because he didn't have the same accent as everyone else, and he confirmed he was from out of state but "Won't say where, because that's personal info." Touche. We talked about the book he was reading, I talked about how I spend much of my time, tactfully omitting that it's largely spent reading nursery rhymes.

We had a surprisingly good conversation, considering the guardrails I had put up. He seemed to get a kick out of it, like I was a puzzle he could figure out. I caught his eyes occasionally drifting down my baggy gray sweatshirt, which featured the logo of the local community college (I think one of Jen's exes left it at the house.) I wanted to tell him Don't worry, they're a good size, if a bit saggy, but in the name of good taste I pretended I didn't notice. 

At 9, the place was closing up.

He asked, "Do you... want to go to a bar or something?" I had left my fake ID at home -- I should know better than to leave home without it but in fairness I really did not intend to meet anyone or go anywhere besides the coffee shop.

So I said probably the stupidest thing any man-trapped-in-a-girl's-body has ever said and asked if he had anything to drink at his place.

He kind of sucked in his breath. "Well, there's a lot of people there... it's kind of a bro-y house,"

"I don't mind," I said, "You're going to let them cockblock you?" Now I was being bold, invoking the C-word. What the hell was my endgame?

"No, I..." he sighed, "I mean, I just want to warn you."

"I'll be fine," I said.

The whole drive over, I stared out the window and thought this is stupid, I'm going to get murdered or worse. I'm an idiot, what am I doing?

We get there, and well, at least it's in the nice part of town. It's a little one-floor place. He leads me in and, yep: sparsely decorated, functional furniture, messy kitchenette... and some dudes in gaming chairs who are barely fazed by our presence. I pause in case he wants to introduce me, but instead he just gestures toward the back bedroom.

By now, I'm starting to come to my senses. What am I doing here? What's my endgame, my exit strategy? 

We sit on his bed, which is in the corner of the room against the wall, because of course it is, all guys do that. He asks if I want to watch something, and at this point I'm kind of over needing a pretext, so I just say no and put my hand on his thigh.

He leans in for a kiss, and, well... it's a kiss. I'm kissing a man. I'm nervous and uncomfortable and... and thrown by how okay with it I am, especially judging by the pulsing between my legs. Shit, I think, there's no denying this. Kiara's body wants this, and I kind of just want her to take the wheel, so to speak.

So we make out for a while, and I'm kind of aware that he's got a hard-on in his jeans, and eventually he gathers the courage to wind his hand up my sweater -- pausing just long enough for me to voice any objections if I have any. I don't, and he proceeds.

And it feels good. Not necessarily the fondling itself, which was a little weird at times like "Oh, I have something to touch there, and it feels not-bad," but -- and here's where I curse Marc for putting this thought into my head with all his posts -- the connection. The being wanted, the being touched. That, I liked. His hands went other places too, and so did mine. He had an okay body for a guy.

Then he started to toy with the waistband of my pants -- which are really not what one would have worn on an intentional date -- and I just reared back. Totally instinctual, saying "Oh, time out."

"Oh, sorry," he said.

"Yeah, just... not ready for that yet," I said. Truth was, if you had asked me a half-hour earlier back at the coffee shop, I probably would have said yes, I can go all the way, but as he had predicted, the house kind of was a turn-off, although it may have just been the feeling of really physically being present that reminded me I was in deep.

"Okay, good to know where the limit is," he said gamely, then went back to kissing my neck and stroking my hair.

"Well, that's my limit," I said, "What about yours?"

"Mine?" he asked, muffled by my shoulder.

"Yeah..." I said, "I mean, I could..."

"Could what?"

I reached down for the fly of his jeans. I don't know where my head was at, except obviously all these months of Kiara hormones have been steering me toward this kind of behavior. I open his jeans and his erect cock pops out at me.

Funny looking thing from this angle. We-e-eirdly big, but maybe it's because my hand is small.

He gives me a look like, "Are you sure?" Maybe he said it out loud, I don't remember.

But yeah, I was sure. I started rubbing and touching and... putting my mouth on it. Stuff I liked girls to do when I was with them, when I was a guy. Trying to find my own limits on that... and to my surprise, I didn't have one.

I played with him, I played with myself, I had him play with me a little bit, and then he... finished.

And it was all right, a little surprising. Some of it got in my hair, which was annoying.

After that happened, I felt Tom get back into the driver's seat. I felt my face get hot with shame and confusion.

He clearly couldn't read it on me, because he asked, "So, did I rate getting your number?"

I blew out a tense exhale.

"You give me your number," I said, "And I'll figure it out."

I called a ride and went home, and have spent the days since with my finger hovering over his name in my contacts.

I don't need someone right now, but it's nice to know I could have it if I wanted it.

***

I wrote the above a few weeks back, but I didn't post it at the time because it felt distinctly TMI. It's one thing for Marc to post about his ongoing relationship with a fellow transformee he has a history with, but another for me to cross that boundary with a guy I just met.

Anyway, every day that goes by I feel that pull a little more strongly, but if there's still even half a chance I'm going back to the Inn I should probably stay on mission.

-T/K

Tom/Kiara: A North Carolina Christmas and a Not-So-Happy New Year

You've got me at my more lucid. There are days I wander around barely able to string two coherent sentences together. The kid is mostly sleeping through the night but she still requires a lot of focus and energy. She's weaning, taking solid foods, but my body still produces milk. I've stopped feeding her on the breast but I do pump because it's a hell of a lot cheaper than formula. Overall I'm so emotional and dazed that it's hard to remember the time before I was here, before I was this. I feel a little broken in that sense. You haven't heard from me because I simply don't have the mental energy to write, which is like a form of death to my original identity.

I grouse, but there are times I don't hate it. I'd have to be made of stone not to see at least some of the beauty in giving and sustaining life, largely with my own body. There are times I think it's a miracle and I cry. There are times I think it's a curse, and I also cry. 

Christmas: There actually isn't all that much to tell. Most of Kiara's mom's attention went to the baby, as it frankly should, and then to the younger kids. I don't mind being a little "forgotten" -- I don't want to be here, I don't belong, and Kiara kind of forfeited any natural attention she should have gotten around the holidays when she added another mouth to the household.

I did get a couple of bucks from Grandma Kelly and some aunts. I told them I was going to buy concert tickets, which is half-true. I set some aside for an outing I was planning early in the New Year. I spent the rest on a rabbit, which was discreetly mailed to me a few days later.

Before you all drop your jaws to the floor and think I'm some kind of gross weirdo sex fiend for masturbating and then talking about it, let me explain my thinking. Kiara's body is prone to fairly intense period cramps. At least, they feel intense to me, a man who didn't grow up with this sort of thing. In my research, I learned that masturbation (or orgasming in general) can help ease these symptoms. I can confirm that it helps a little bit and feels very good overall, and hey, don't I deserve a little joy in this hectic life? Sexual gratification is a good thing, I don't think I'm the first reporter to break that story.

Over the Christmas break, I came to a few conclusions.

One was that I'm screwed. As determined as I was to keep working on my story, undaunted, I woke up in the middle of the night and it struck me how many cards my foe holds. I'm connected to way too many people and who knows how long their tentacles are? They did this to me, what could they do to my loved ones? Of course I mean the Nishimuras, but it's not like I'm callous to what could be done to my adoptive family as well. I don't just mean tricking people into going to the Inn and messing with their lives. There are plenty more ways to screw someone over.

The other was that if I can't convince the original Kiara to take her life back, then I have to keep it.

As much as I am very much not a natural at parenthood, I have been learning as I've gone along and I've adapted. There could be better people for this role but there could also be a lot worse and I see no reason to toss the coin on that. I'm not even worried about what becomes of me. I'm fully willing to take a chance with my own life. If you're well enough to go to the Inn there's a good chance I could stand being in your shoes, based on what I've done in the last six months. But for the baby, I won't take that chance. Only one person deserves this life more than me.

And that brings me to January 2. Just before the start of the new school session (we don't have "semesters", we have six-week sessions with two courses.)  I made an overnight trip over the state line to Knoxville. Armed with an ID from an older cousin who kinda-sorta looks like Kiara, I got into this dive-y honky tonk bar. I treated myself to a Miller Lite. I haven't drank a lot lately, not necessarily because of lack of access but because of the milk situation. The band took the stage at 9, and I was already kind of wiped but I stayed. The singer, Lisa Brown, was all decked out in a sparkly cowboy hat and boots, tight skirt, half-unbuttoned top. Pretty face. Wholesome but still kind of glamorous. If she had a stylist, they could probably really make her into something. I'm not saying the next Taylor Swift, but maybe she's got a future in this, you know? Good voice. Poised. I don't know a lot about music but I can spot a performer on the way to learning her craft, you know?

They played for a few hours. Mostly covers, some stuff I knew but a lot that the crowd sure did. Kacey Musgraves. Carrie Underwood. "I Miss Me More." They did a couple of original songs, which I didn't think much of. One was a ballad, it went "You changed me for the better / even though we're not together / Anymore..."

I hung around a while after the set. The crowd started thinning out. I ordered another Miller and asked the bartender if a $50 tip could help him facilitate an introduction to the band, because gosh I was so impressed.

I went back there and found the band. Lisa was on a couch, chatting closely with some short-haired woman, who I noted with academic disinterest, had huge breasts. The rest of the band were also busy, but pretty much all of them paused to take note of this strange creature that had just entered their space.

My eyes were fixed on Lisa, and hers on me.

Finally, I spoke, gushing. "Lisa, I just wanted to say, I'm a huge fan. I follow you on Instagram. I came all the way from __________ to be here tonight, ever heard of it?"

"Hm," she pondered, "I think I know where that is, maybe. That's pretty far."

"Oh, it was worth it," I grinned. "I was wondering if you were thinking of touring up north this summer? Maybe New England? ...Maine...?"

Lisa's eyes shifted to her friend as she drew in and held a breath, then back to me. "I don't know..." she hemmed in her very twangy, almost performative-sounding southern accent, "This is kind of our... home base. Not sure we have an audience up there."

"Oh, country's popular all over, you know," I smirked, "They're starved for a new act like you. I mean... weren't you living in that area as recently as last summer?"

She furrowed her brow. I could tell she was fuming. Embarrassed, she said, "Maybe we should talk somewhere private."

She kissed her friend on the cheek as she stood and led me to a quiet alcove near the back of the bar.

"How did you find me?" she hissed.

"It wasn't easy," I said. "There were a bunch of women's names in the guest book before yours, but most of them were accounted for. You -- or, Lisa -- only signed L.B. I had a lot of connections to wade through to try to figure out who that was. But from the handwriting I gathered it wasn't Larry Bronstein." When I found out that Lisa Brown of Providence, Rhode Island was now working as a singer in Tennessee, it wasn't hard for me to put two-and-two together. Kiara left a guitar and lots of music posters on her wall, journals full of lyrics attesting to her desire to get out of her one-horse town and try to make it big.

Then she got pregnant and it seemed like that dream was dead.

"How did you get to Maine?" I asked her.

She heaved a sigh, like she really didn't want to talk about it but felt cornered. "When Sienna was 3 months old, I was getting desperate. Not that I didn't love her. Not that I wasn't going to be a good mommy, but I could already see everything I wanted for life getting away from me. I was gonna have to drop out of school, learn cosmetology, and just... become my mom."

"Your mom wouldn't let you drop out of school, trust me," I said firmly.

"Whatever," she sneered. "I found an ad for this talent agent. I sent him some videos of me playing, which I now realize were horrible. He said they were great and there was a workshop he could get me into... in Maine."

"And there was no workshop."

"I guess not. The first night I was there I transformed into Lisa. A property manager from Providence. I figured, I've got a bit of money and freedom now, so long Rhode Island, and hit the road. Wound up here."

"Does anyone in your, uh... circle... know?"

"Jennette," she bobbed her head toward the back, "She was Byron, a 36-year-old computer something-or-other."

"You and her, uh...?"

"Yeah. Don't judge."

"I wouldn't dream of it," I said. "She's cute, if a little butch for me." 

"He's nice-- she's nice. Very grateful, you know?"

"Sure," I said, laughing darkly.

"You were a guy," she discerned. "You kinda sit like it."

"Yeah, well, I haven't put a lot of effort into debutante lessons," I said. I explained a bit more about who I was and how I came to be her.

Her face went cold. "So... what now?" She dropped the corny accent.

"That's the million-dollar question, isn't it?" I said. "It doesn't seem like you're ready to go back."

"I'm really not. I've come too far to give up on my dream, Tom."

"How does the real Lisa Brown feel about you using her body to pursue your dream?"

"She's a CEO now," she shrugged. "Too busy to care."

"What about your little girl? You left her with a stranger. I could be anybody."

"You seem okay," she winced.

"That's not the point," I said. "I have to think about myself. I'm stuck mopping up after your mistake."

"Don't call her a mistake!" she hissed.

I fumed quietly at that. She had no right to be so defensive, in my opinion.

"Look," I said once I had my bearings, "It's clear you never meant to abandon her or anything. You were tricked like I was, like so many others were. You can have the life you were meant to have. And it's not like going back to being Kiara is going to ruin your chances of being successful."

"I can't do it as Kiara," she insisted, eyes darting around to make sure nobody was listening. "No offense, but look at you and look at me. This is my chance."

I gritted my teeth. I did not like the way this was going.

"Maybe... in a little while..." she said, tentatively, "When I'm stable, we could... I don't know.. share custody somehow."

"That's terrible and it makes no sense," I said instantly. "She needs stability, she needs a full-time mom, and where would Kiara even meet Lisa Brown?"

She became increasingly agitated. "Give me... two years. Two years to make it. Get a record contract. Get on my feet. Then... I'll adopt her! Yeah! Nobody will blame you, you're young and overwhelmed, and Jennette and I can't have our own anyway. She won't even remember this part of her life."

Regardless of whether this even made sense to consider, it turned my stomach. I was just supposed to nurse this baby through the hard times and then hand her over to someone who left her behind? Last summer she may have been tricked but this was her decision.

"I don't think I can agree to that," I said coldly. "Look. In a few weeks, I'm going to be able to book a room at the Inn. I'll book you after me. But if you don't tell me by Memorial Day that you're coming, I won't go either. And then this is over. You can't have it both ways, I'm sorry."

"You can't do this to me," she gulped, "That's my baby!"

"Yeah," I said, standing and downing the last of my beer, "I know."

I walked out of that bar into the cold, feeling like the ground had dropped out from under me. I had hoped for the best and tried to prepare myself for the worst, but it hit hard.

My future was starting to take shape.

-Tom, Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Custody

I could tear my hair out.

You haven't seen a lot of me on this blog lately, and that's largely because my life is frankly terrible. Between trying to put the finishing touches on this industry-rocking story that is probably not going to get published, I have to do homework, track down the real Kiara, and oh yeah, raise a baby.

I should be thankful for the immense support system I have with the women in Kiara's life, but all I can think is that none of them should be in this position. This stupid girl got pregnant at 16 when she was in no position to capably raise a child, and her mom and grandma just stepped up like that was a normal part of life, like that was kind of what they were expecting all along. Between the three of us, we make for two pretty good parents I guess. And then there's Baby-daddy.

Sienna's dad is a dirtbag kid named Byrd. Personally, I can't stand the sight of him. Dead-eyed, greasy mullet hair, stinks of B.O. He has custody every other weekend, which is a relief in some ways and a frustration in others because I always feel like I have to check his work. I'm relatively new to this, but I am a functioning adult and I know the baby's habits and needs pretty well at this point.

Byrd's parents have been pressuring me to give up custody. They both work, they're in a better financial situation than Kiara's family. Byrd dropped out of high school to do drywall for his dad's company so he has income too (which he contributes to Kiara) and giving the baby over to them would make a certain level of financial sense by consolidating all of that, but while they may have more money, what they don't have is time and resources. Sienna is getting better care here, whether it's with me or Kiara's family. Personally I think the kid needs more stability. I'm not trying to deny Byrd his rights -- strictly speaking, he's got more rights than I do, I'm just trying to do what is best for the baby. Add to that, I still have it in the back of my mind that I could coax Kiara into taking her life back if I could find her, and I would like to keep it as close to how it was when she left it as possible.

I struggle with whether I'm doing the right thing. If giving the baby up is selfish, or if holding onto her is.

There is a complicating factor here, which is that Byrd has recently started dating someone new. And that someone is Kiara's younger sister Cerie. Yes, it's deeply messed up. They're out to all hours getting drunk and high, which would be fine if they were normal teenagers, but I've made it clear to Byrd that if he wants me to consider handing the baby over to him he would have to clean up his act. "I can't let this girl fall into the hands of such an immature kid."

"I'm older than you!" he counters.

"Only on paper," I sneer back.

And then there are nights I'm awake until 2 AM and she won't stop crying because this teething thing is going badly and I've got an exam I haven't studied for, and I think "I should just throw in the towel."

Whoever did this to me really had it in for me.

Then Christmas comes and despite the huge financial burden, we get her dressed up in a little red dress to see Santa and "open" her gifts on Christmas (she doesn't know what's going on but she seems to like ripping paper and banging on boxes) and my heart melts into my uterus. I love the kid. For all she cries and poops and grabs things she is not supposed to, she is adorable and gettig that little kiss from her and listening to her babble makes me think she is the most precious and important thing in theworld and I need to protect and nurture her at all costs. I hate being a mommy but I love the kid. Make it make sense.

-More-Kiara-Than-Tom 

Tom/Kiara: Down but not out

So here I am.

20 weeks -- five months in this unlikely role. Teenager. Daughter. Mother.

There are times, God help me, that I seem to forget I was ever Tom Nishimura -- was ever myself. Not to be too dramatic. It's actually easier in some ways to look at it that way. I have a lot in front of me. A daughter. A family. School. None of it is supposed to be mine, but that's what I'm dealing with. I don't work in "supposed to," I have an objective reality. Today I am Kiara. I might not always be, and maybe if the tides somehow completely turn I might even be Tom again, but... well.

I don't even think of myself as a woman. Or a man for that matter. Sure, when I pull my clothes off at night there's a woman's anatomy, but what I am is just a big, sleep-deprived, milk-producing mess, one with long hair (but not as long as it used to be thanks to a very helpful hairdresser I befriended) and who sits to pee. Gender, I'm learning, is even more of an illusion than I thought -- even with my body this way, I don't feel too much like a girl and I don't seem to get many of the "looks" some women get just for existing, maybe because of my constantly disheveled state. ("Sex" is a little more tangible, as I learn every month when the cramps come in.)

Still, I'm nothing like the Tom I used to be. I even considered excluding his name from this post's title, but... that would be giving in to something I'm not ready to face yet.

Sorry, for someone whose job is communicating clearly, I must not be making a lot of sense. Chalk that up to said lack of sleep. At the very least, the chaos of these opening paragraphs -- the first thing I've written in months -- helps express my frantic state of mind. I'm Kiara. I'm Tom. I'm a kid. I'm an adult. I'm a man. I'm a mommy.

Summer in North Carolina was... hot, sticky, long, and irritable. I integrated, as best I could, with Kiara's family. One thing that can't be denied is that they know how to take care of kids. They know that when a 17-year-old gives birth, the response is to both step up and help, and also always make sure she knows she screwed up. It's a rite of passage that I gather Kiara's mom faced, and her mom too. On that note, there is always someone to take care of the baby, to feed her strained squash, change her and keep her occupied, so that I can focus on living my life -- whatever kind of life I'm supposed to have. Of course, I'm still pumping, and breastfeeding directly when I can. Which sucks because in the last few months the girl has started getting teeth.

Sometimes I look at her, and I think about where we were when we started this -- how small she was, how new it  all was to me... and I melt. I have to admit it. I didn't want to be a parent, certainly not a mom, and yet I look at the little peanut and I think, holy crap, we've already been through so much together. It humbles me, and it also fills me with rage at the notion that Kiara may have willingly and knowingly walked away from this (we don't know for sure yet, so let's give her the benefit of the doubt.) 

Shit, I'm getting teary-eyed just thinking about it. That's the Kiara in me.

That's the real curse. Not losing my junk, or my professional standing or the years of personal living. That could all be returned. But being linked with this baby, feeling like she's my responsibility and I'm all she's got (which is not true and yet feels suspiciously true) and that I would be doing a bad thing by leaving her... that's the curse. That's the thing that's got me damned.

As far as daily-life goes, I'm navigating that daily tango of support and judgment. I try not to take it personally -- I can't be held accountable for decisions that Kiara made before I became her, but I'm the one that has to live with them. Ultimately I decided not to enroll at her high school. That would have been too weird. Kiara herself may have felt some attachment to friends and teachers and the fact that she was only one year away from graduation, but Tom-as-Kiara prefers a different approach. Instead I signed up for Adult Learning to pursue a GED. With the pace of classes, it's something that would take more than a year -- which means that if I get away from this life by next summer I won't have graduated for her. It's a better environment than a normal high school because everyone else here has some similar thing about them to brand them as an outcast: a criminal record, a history of addiction, a brain injury, kids of their own. I've made really good friends with the Indian woman named Sunita who is new to the country and reasonably smart but needs something to show for it.

I'm not ready to give up on Tom's life. I still have his goals in front of me: publish my expose, learn the truth about the original Kiara, do something that feels like putting this situation right. They just feel a lot further away than they once did, with a lot of other obstacles in between. Sometimes it's hard to determine what's really important -- the big things I can't affect, or the little ones that I'll get in trouble for ignoring.

Like homework. You've still got to do algebra when you have a kid at 17.

Hope to speak to you again soon.

-T/K

Tom/Kiara: A Girl's Life

So here's where things stand:

I'm in the body of a seventeen-year-old girl.

I have a baby daughter to look after, sore breasts, bags under my eyes and Girl!B.O.

I'm stuck in some one-horse North Carolina town.

All this hair on my head is bottling in the heat something fierce.

I possess knowledge that could upend an entire industry, but I have to be very careful what I do with it, because those involved have proven they're willing to go to extreme lengths to protect themselves. We already know what happened when I started getting close, next time could be anything from a major legal battle to murder, and that's all assuming I can convince anyone to publish the story if and when it's written.

And the original owner of this body/name/life is nowhere to be found, not that we'll be able to switch back until next year at the earliest.

It's been hard for me to find time to post here, for reasons that should be obvious. I'm usually pretty preoccupied, and there are too many people around anyway. If I spend too much time on the family laptop it raises questions. Scrolling through the phone is more Kiara's speed -- and it's not like it's impossible to write a blog from there, but it's very hard to get the kind of focus I need to write. This post has come together in bits and pieces.

In my last post, a week and a half ago but seemingly a lifetime, I was introduced to Kiara's mom, Jen, and her daughter Sienna, as well as their dogs Casper and Carly. If that was all who was in the house, it would be plenty, but the place is more full than that. Kiara is the oldest of 4, with 15-year-old Cerie, 10-year-old brother Maddox, and 8-year-old Aura. I haven't exactly been able to have sit-down interviews with all of them, but I have gathered that Kiara and Cerie are full siblings and Maddox and Aura were from a different relationship. I'm not judging, that's just the way it goes for some people. The kids seem nice, but, you know, I never did have much of a rapport with youngsters. They're being raised, to varying degrees, by phones and tablets.

Also living under this roof is Jen's mom Kelly, Kiara's grandmother who is a little bit younger than my own mother, and her mother Enid, who is bedridden in the back room. That's five generations under the roof of one cramped, hot, exurban house.

When Kiara disappeared, I don't even think Jen and Kelly were shocked or confused or maybe even that mad. They seemed to have a lot of sympathy for why a girl of 17 would want to pick up and run away from her one big responsibility in life. That doesn't mean they were happy about it, only that when I returned, it was sort of unspoken that Kiara had gotten it out of her system and was ready to take up motherhood again. If only. In the meantime they were absolutely prepared to fill in for me and look after the kid. I felt a little bad taking my sweet time to come back, but all things considered, who could blame me?

I don't know whether Kiara left of her own accord, was tricked, targeted, bargained, or what. I don't know if she's trying to come back or if it makes a difference if she were. But, I have it on good authority she's in an adult body, likely female, so it's not like she's fully without means.

Not that any of it matters. All of that has taken a backseat to the unending cycle of feeding, burping, pooping, changing and napping, with crying sprinkled throughout (mostly her, sometimes me.) Some days, when the heat isn't too oppressive, I load her up and wheel her down to the coffee shop where I order a decaf and try to do some research, until she starts crying and I have to turn my focus to her. Jen and Kelly are available to assist, but I'd just as soon not rely on them after the major solid they did their daughter during my absence, and plus, asking for them to step in usually invites questions about what, exactly, I'm doing that will be so important.

It's clear that I can't simply barrel ahead with my agenda. There are too many distractions in life, I need to figure out a rhythm that works.

We've also been talking about what, exactly, I'm going to do about school in the fall, and let me tell you, walking around a high school in the body of a teen mom does not excite me.

The whole lot of us, plus Jen's boyfriend Travis, went to a big cookout for the Fourth. I was not exactly enthused to be there and kept to myself. Actually, I ended up chatting with a bunch of other moms -- most of whom were age-appropriate -- which proved enlightening. More, it was reassuring to find out that even people who wanted this have struggles and problems with their kid. Made me feel a little less... drowning and helpless. Food was good, too. There are worse fates to suffer than getting fed some Carolina BBQ now and again.

Last but not least, I had Kiara's period for her the week after my last post. It wasn't as traumatic as I thought it would be -- the worst parts, the cramping and aches, came on sneakily beforehand so that I didn't exactly realize what was going on, and when I finally got my "visitor" it was more like "Oh, I see." I would not recommend.

-Tom

Marc/Ryan: Pride

When I met Tom, he said something to me that stuck out, that remark about how it seemed like I was trying to get him into a cult just because I advised he get around to the part where he doesn't hate being Kiara as soon as possible.

We are all on our own journeys, of course, and there's no reason you have to enjoy the hand you've been dealt, but in my experience -- and I flatter myself that I have had quite a bit of experience by now -- if there's nothing horrifically wrong with the body and life you've been given, there will usually be something to enjoy about it.

For example, I spent a long time as Chantelle. As someone who was naturally born a man and would have preferred to remain that way, waking up with her body should have been a kind of torture. But I liked it -- and I don't mean having chubby thighs and a fleshy behind or thick hair to worry about. I liked going out in the world as her and seeing how it treated me -- sometimes kinder, sometimes less so, than when I was Marc Green*. In time, being Chantelle was a lot more joy than not, and it was a pleasure to go through the frustrations of day-to-day life as her.

When I belatedly returned that body to its original owner, I became Ryan Berardi for the first time. There was a part of me that would have preferred to stay as a woman than navigate the world as a gay man. I had pretty successfully avoided initiated Chantelle's sexuality -- I was on the lookout for it but it didn't come into practice a lot. My hope was that being Ryan would be much the same, because I think in my head, I was still meant to be a heterosexual man and succumbing to Ryan's personal tastes would be some kind of failure.

Well, I "failed," as you know. I met John, and annoyingly, we hit it off and it activated something in this body, or in me, that pushed me hard. I was struck, last summer, by multiple crises: ethical and identity. The latter took a backseat: focusing on worrying about how to help John navigate his life enabled me to become okay with the way I was living mine/Ryan's.

You know the rest of that story, and I have felt suitably roasted for it, but I need to take you back to my mindset there: John was self-destructing much like Marc Green had. The Inn had offered me a reprieve. At the time I thought, if he wants out of his marriage, I'll show him what that would look like.

Stupid, foolish, immature, short-sighted. I think in my wildest fantasy, we would have become a couple. Something that would give us a chance to live freely for a while and help John determine if he wanted to go back to his old life cede give it to someone who could do something else with it. Like I said, stupid. I don't blame anyone who goes to the Inn for rolling the dice on a return, as Dave did. If you haven't been, I don't think you can be made to understand what an eye-opening experience it is... but pulling someone into that against their will? Never mind the fact that it blew up in my face.

Becoming Ed and Cayden was certainly not what I had in mind, but it served me right and we probably got more out of the experience than if we had been two hot young things in love. John is back where he belongs, meditating on whether to tell his wife it's over or if he is going to claim that his dalliance with men was just a phase. And I gained some perspective from the experience as well.

I'm back in NYC for Pride month, and that has been wild. Last year, I did not feel like I belonged, but now I know that I would belong even if I were not living as a gay man. Ryan has a family that is reasonably supportive and trying to be understanding of his lifestyle, but more than that, he has a found family, a chosen family, that have is back no matter what -- including if he wants to lose his mind and screw-around with fifty-year-old married guys. Likewise, I consider everyone who has been to the Inn an extension of my family, my people, and I only want the best for any of them. I've reached out to Emilia and the girls to say as much, although the timing was not right to join me at the parade.

So yes, I take Pride in that. I think there's a lot of good that comes from this. If you could tell someone exactly what they were going to live through after staying at the Inn, I bet a lot would go willingly, but sadly, that's not how the magic seems to work.

We're all stuck doing our best with whatever random crap life throws at us, whether we've transformed or not.

In a month or so, I will not be Ryan anymore (much to the real Ryan's relief) and I do not know who or what or where I will be. It could be the worst possible thing in the world, and then all my positivity here will blow up in my face, but today I don't regret it, and it's the right thing to do anyway.

-Marc/Ryan

*I'm not sure I can call myself "Marc Green" anymore -- I haven't been him in years and I deliberately passed on the chance to take that life back, but... then who does that make me? There's got to be some name in the field above, so I'm keeping it... for now.

Tom/Kiara: Processing

It's been a week since I last checked in, which is an eternity compared to how much posting I was doing here after my transformation. There's something to that -- for a long while, I was considering myself Tom, just in the form of Kiara. So I looked different to the world, which reacted to me a certain way, but all my actions were my own, in pursuit of my own agenda.

Almost the second I set foot in North Carolina, that changed. Here I'm not a reporter, here I'm not a man, here I'm not even an adult in the eyes of the law. Here I'm exactly what I appear to be on the outside... as far as anyone is concerned.

I arrived "home" unceremoniously after splurging on a lyft to take me the final leg. Nondescript little house on a nondescript little block with overgrown grass and weeds and dated walkway stones and a chainlink fence. I entered, toting my luggage, armpits (and underboobs) pooled with sweat to the sound of dogs barking, which made me tense. Rottweiller-German Shepherd and Pitbull-Lab mixes came through the house to enthusiastically greet me. Friendly... they certainly like this body and took it on themselves to jam their noses in an area I am, personally, not yet on a first-name basis with. I was never a dog person, they were too disorderly for my mom so I convinced myself I didn't like them either. I pushed past the pooches into the cluttery, dimly-lit living room area, with oversized recliner-based furniture.

I called out feebly, "I'm home!" and a woman's voice called back, "I know!" This is Kiara's mom, Jen. She's only a couple of years older than my natural age, but looks older than it because, as you can imagine, she started young and time took its toll. She emerged from the back kitchen area holding the baby -- little Sienna.

"About time," she huffed.

Straight away, she handed me the kid. I hesitated but I read the confusion on her face and realized, this is my lot now. I held the girl up to get a good look at her -- I'd seen pictures but nothing compares to real life. Little black dot eyes. Chubby cheeks. Round head, chubby little limbs. I held her up like Simba.

"What are you looking at?" Jen asked in her husky southern accent.

"I... haven't seen her, in a while." I moved to a more natural holding position. I had been googling "how to hold baby" and "what to do with baby" and all sorts of tips in my spare time, but it all flew out of my head the second she was actually in front of me and I was convinced I was going to hold her wrong and her little head was going to roll off her shoulders. I also felt strange about lying, about playing as Kiara... sure I had done it for the lunkhead beach partiers in Maine but this was different.

Taking no note of my disorientation, Jen sighed, "You could have called to say you were close."

"I was pretty overwhelmed," I said. I'd had a busy morning, returning my rental at the DC chapter and then getting a bus to Raleigh. Noticing the soreness welling up in my boob again, I said, "I think I need to go pump."

"Why the heck would you do that?" Jen narrowed her eyes at me. "She's right here."

I looked at the baby. The baby looked at me.

"I... guess it's feeding time... isn't it," I said with dread.

"She'll be happy," Jen said as she took a seat and put her feet up, then grunted about her back.

I excused myself to go up to where I thought my bedroom was, opening several wrong doors in the process before I decided this was it -- the room of a 17-year-old girl, with country music posters on the wall, and even an acoustic guitar, along with other ephemera: a few trophies, lots of hair brushes and other cosmetic products, some of which I even know what to do with.

I sat on the bed and set the baby on my lap. It was kind of a struggle to manage her and disrobe but I made it work. "Boy this feels weird," I said when my boobs were out, in a spectacular understatement.

Then I pressed the baby's lips to my nipple and just like that, she latched on and started to suck. Like it was the most natural thing in the world (which I suppose it literally is.)

I just watched her go to town on my boob and got lost in thought. How on Earth did I get here. How is this my life. What do I do now. I felt myself getting overwhelmed at the moment. I got sniffly thinking about how this little baby's mother was gone and I was all that was left. Poor kid.

"Fuck... fuck..." I murmured through tears. I didn't think I would get emotional. But it all felt extremely heavy in that moment. The responsibility. The hormones racing through me. The undeniably personal, delicate and intimate feeling of a life depending on your body. I have to get this person back into her proper life, for Sienna's sake.

Once I figured she had had her fill, I burped her, which was a much more difficult matter than inducing her to feed, then lay with her on my bare chest a while, just contemplating the moment.

In some ways, this felt like the end of Tom Nishimura, at least as he was. Even if I get my own body back, I can never not be the guy who did this. I'll be responsible for myself and for Sienna for the time being. Effectively, I am Kiara.

Don't get me wrong, I'm still me, I'll still be signing my name here as such, but... it was a heavy realization that what it meant to be Tom, up until a few weeks ago, is no more. How do I link that with what I have to do and be as Kiara? And one day, when I'm not her anymore, I will always have been her.

That's what I've been struggling with so far. I wanted to give you all my first impressions the moment I walked in the door, and explain everything else I've learned about being this person, but personal time is hard to come by right now, so I'm just processing.

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Almost... "home"

It has been an absolutely draining week. I've done just about everything I can in the northeast and am running out of excuses not to go "home." Facing what's waiting for me in North Carolina is just about the scariest thing I can deal with so I have been focusing on other things.

I'm toting a packet of contracts and memos detailing various backroom deals and legal loopholes that I need to find an expert to interpret for me... I'm not without means but it's going to be tough to leverage them as a strange teenage girl looking person.

I have a list of possible destinations for Kiara, narrowed down to a handful of possible bodies. I won't share this information with you fine readers until it matters.

It has been utterly exhausting traveling on my own, not being old enough to rent a car (I'm using the one I got as Tom just for Maine, but there's dubious legality there that puts me on edge) and having to find somewhere private every few hours to pump milk out of my breasts. I've made due but it's definitely disrupted how I could have seen this going when I was myself.

I've slept and showered in one or two Y's, been leered at by men and women, and had at least one very confusing interaction that felt like I was being hit on but may have just been kindness. After my talk with Ryan I was kind of turned around and in this headspace of needing to prove to myself that I'm still me inside and that Me = Heterosexual Guy, but really, I don't have time or energy for any of it right now, and need to just wall it off.

But I will say nothing makes you feel weaker or more helpless than being on the road and worrying about what kind of person you are going to be trapped in close quarters with, and what they're going to think when they see you. A dude definitely felt up my backside on a crowded subway while I was in the city, and frankly I'm relieved that's all that happened. I was honestly just frozen -- not angry or scared, just 404 error because this is not a situation I was programmed to handle. I bought a set of brass knuckles and a travel-sized can of mace from a street vendor in Manhattan before leaving. Luckily I didn't have to learn whether I had the stones to use any of it.

I've stopped in DC for a much-needed interlude. I needed to retrieve some stuff from my place before... well, I don't know what happens. Like I said, I've refused to play nice and have confiscated every scrap of Tom Nishimura that I can. I don't doubt there are ways into the apartment of course but virtually anything you could do to prove who you are, you'd need to reach out to me to get.

I hauled a bunch of sensitive stuff to a storage unit. That took all day and multiple trips and was particularly taxing on my little arms and legs. But -- assuming I am able to keep paying for it -- that will keep a bunch of my sources and previous research safe. DC is not so close to NC but it's not a million miles away either, if I need it. A ton of it is digital, so I messed with my access permissions in case they find a way to get around that, and downloaded to a USB stick that I can easily travel with.

This kind of acts as my farewell to my old self and my familiar world. Tomorrow I take the last leg of my journey and then from there... it's "Kiara" to the world, I guess.

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: NYC Stopover

Before I left Maine, I collected every scrap of information I could about the Inn -- who could be using it, who has been there, who controls it (if anybody.) I don't know a lot more than you probably do, dear reader, but I'm on track to find out.

While I'd love to get a sense of the bigger picture, my immediate concern is my own body, and the person whose body I'm in. According to the "rules" Kiara would have been in the pod before me. There's no record from that period indicating who-went-where (how convenient) but there is a guestbook, which Kiara did sign, and more importantly, so did the 13 people who stayed there last, one of whom is having their life currently lived by Kiara.

We know a bit about them: Dave/Chris, Shane/Sylvia, John/Cayden and Marc/Ed/Ryan/whomever else. If Ryan is to be believed, the rest of the visitors that week were all female, but none elected to post on the blog or leave a convenient calling card. Find them, and I'm one step closer to finding Kiara.

Marc, then, seemed like my best bet to get any information whatsoever. I got his contact info and made arrangements to see him in New York.

I wish there was more I could do for the people that are here now, but I have to focus on myself.

On my way out, I violated one of the supposed tenets of the Inn. By way of leaving information for the "New Tom" I only left a handwritten note saying "If you didn't want this to happen, I'm sorry. Email me for details" setting up a unique address only the person reading that note would have access to. I then took all of my belongings -- my phone, my laptop, my keys, my credit cards. Sorry, but I'm not playing nice with these people, and if someone innocent needs any of this, they know where to find me. Obviously I left behind my clothes, toothbrush, epi-pen and other essentials... not only am I not a psycho, but it would be nuts to try to carry two persons' worth of luggage with these boney little arms.

Once I got to NYC, I checked into a shabby Motel on Long Island -- I had a feeling my funds were going to start running out so it was best to start saving (as a freelance journalist I'm not exactly Scrooge McDuck with a vault of cash.) I met "Ryan" at a crusty spoon somewhere in Queens, where he was enjoying a chicken pesto panini. I slid into the booth across from him and asked if it was okay to turn on my voice recorder. He agreed.

He was a little tentative in what he could tell me. "People aren't always in a sharing mood at the Inn," he said. "People get guarded. People are afraid. People have agendas. I don't know that anybody I was there with had a history with it, besides the ones we know... but who knows, right?"

We ruled out the other three, of course -- we know a bit about who they are and who is supposed to be in their next bodies. He confirmed that Ed and Cayden are back where they belong, which he said with a snort, "That was a relief -- that's a mixup you don't want to wait a year to fix." I wasn't in a laughing mood exactly.

Then there was the Bride and the Maid of Honor, and the other members of their party. "That's suspicious to me," I noted. "A group of women just happens to end up at this rustic, nothing-happening spot for their bachelorette getaway?"

"On the one hand, people blunder into the inn accidentally all the time," he said, "But if I'm your mysterious enemies, I probably want to limit the unknowns and pull some strings. And we can agree that they probably chose Kiara for you."

"It does feel like it," I noted with a sigh as I contemplated my body, "Putting me anywhere was probably going to keep me off the board, but a teenage mom from Nowheresville, North Carolina? That seems intentional."

"They must have put her somewhere she's not going to talk or reach out to you, but I don't know which of these women fit that profile."

"Were you in law enforcement?" I asked, apropos of the turn this convo was taking.

"Corporate law," he said. "And then Real Estate."

"Interesting pivot," I said.

"That pivot came with a new body," he nodded.

"So you went from being one lawyer to being another lawyer?"

"Don't think that's lost on me," he said. "Moving on... I notice you haven't said much about Kiara's family."

"Yeah, well," I gave a pained sigh, "It's easier to focus on this. I've made contact. The baby's being taken care of, that's all that matters."

We discussed what we knew further, I picked at his kettle chips, it was altogether a fine way to spend an afternoon if you have to be investigating a missing person whose body you're in. He said he would try to help any way he could, but that the next time he goes to the Inn it will be a bit far down the chain to encounter the new Tom directly, and who knows where he goes from there.

Toward the end of the conversation, I asked if he had any tips for a first-timer, as someone who has seemingly been all-over the spectrum of experiences.

"Well," he said with a self-effacing grin, "If and when you return to the Inn, don't bring any first-timers yourself. You don't want that on your conscience, no matter what they say later."

"Stands to reason," I said.

"Other than that... be open to it. You've got youth and energy, and yes some responsibilities on your plate... but managing all that is where life happens anyway. Don't sit in a room and cry about it for a year. Get out there and taste the fruits of life. Embrace it for what it is, whether you can get your body back or not."

"From how positive you seem, it kind of sounds like you're trying to get me to join a cult," I quipped.

He chuckled, "If I were trying to get you to join a cult, you wouldn't think that until it was way too late. That's what makes them cults." He leaned forward and took a big sip from his milkshake. "That's gonna be a few sit-ups but so worth it."

Reflexively, I looked down toward my own soft belly -- and saw only the bird's eye view of breasts jutting out from my v-neck. No workouts to get rid of these. I absent-mindedly placed a hand on one as the soreness set in. When I realized later, I thought how polite of Ryan not to mention I was publicly groping myself... if he noticed.

I went back to the hotel, listened back to the conversation, and pumped while I wrote some notes... including this:

"Ryan gave off good vibes, as they say -- friendly, nonthreatening, a real change-up from the encounters I've had since this thing began, which was refreshing. I happened to notice he's a good-looking guy. I can say that, right? It's objectively true with his facial features and physique. I might have thought the same thing in my own body, just as a matter of observation. Let's not unpack this any further because there are about twelve layers of wrongness to it."

More to come,

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Undercover

After agreeing to meet Kiara's nameless friend at "the beach," I immediately felt like I was in way over my head. But how could I not? Someone is monkeying with my life and has transformed me into a 17-year-old girl. The only way I was going to get out of this was to go through it. In this case, that meant dressing myself up and meeting with a bunch of teens/twentysomethings for a beach party, retrieving Kiara's second phone, and getting out.

In this case, slacks and a white button-up weren't going to cut it. I saw no reason to buy myself a special outfit for the occasion when it would seem Kiara had packed exclusively for beach parties. Unfortunately all of her bikinis were quite flimsy on top, but have you seen what they charge for swimwear? (That little fabric for $50??) So I strapped myself into it and threw a dress on over top, hoping I would have no occasion to take it off. It's the most aware of my boobs I have been so far... mostly they are kept in place by a bra, after all, and then if I can get away with it, stifled under a big Men's sweater or whatever. This left the girls, the Kiara-ness of it all, nowhere to hide.

The dress. Let's talk about this. It was form-fitting, skin-revealing, low cut with a slit, but still kind of modest, ankle-length beachwear with a palmtree pattern in a breathable fabric. I've never worn anything like this in my life except, I don't know, a hospital gown or a robe. Looking in the mirror, I couldn't help noticing the shape and size of my hips, as well as of course my breasts... after all, as far as this body is concerned, all these parts have already done the job they were meant for and developed to (I hope) their fullest.

But that didn't mean they didn't look good. I had to look away once I realized I was staring. Did I think Kiara looked good, or that I looked good? Like it was somehow "correct" that Kiara looked this way, irrespective of the fact that it was me inside. Either way was problematic and unwanted. There must be some kind of "self-image appreciation" gene baked into the body that I inherited because it's not like I was turned on, I just felt kind of... nice. Which is not something I'm used to feeling in my own body anyway.

Anyway, like so many other things, I stuffed that feeling down. I figured in the dim light, there would be no point in putting on makeup, and aside from her blemishes Kiara looks okay au naturel as far as I'm concerned. If I can get through this entire year without learning anything about mascara, I'll consider it a win.

I went down to the beach and located my new "friend" Jaymes. He was busy with a volleyball game with some girls who are objectively more attractive than Kiara, but he showed me where the cooler was so I took a seat and nursed a beer -- I'm careful not to get drunk while working, and I don't know how much booze this body can handle, but it would seem weird not to have a drink.

I chatted with some of the other girls -- (oh damn, I just realized I wrote "other girls," as if I am one. And I guess I am) -- although I have absolutely no idea what teenage girls talk to each other about. Luckily one of the girls, Mara (whose body was a lot more on display than mine, which made me feel... weird...) just wanted to show me a bunch of Tiktoks, so that broke the ice. 

Finally, I got ahold of Jaymes again. "Oh, sorry, I left the phone back at the house." How convenient. "But we can totally go there now."

Let's see... in my first week of girlhood, am I going to go be alone with a guy I just met who outweighs me by about a hundred pounds of muscle?

I grabbed Mara and told her "Hey, guess what? Jaymes wants to move the party back to his place, grab some people!" Jaymes immediately started to backpedal. Apparently I had thwarted his plan, and succeeded in gathering a group back to the place.

We ended up in the kitchen playing Truth or Dare of all things. I stuck with truth, telling the story of how I lost my virginity to Emma Leighton in Junior year of high school, with Emma replaced by "Brad." Mara got dared to kiss any girl in the room and for a second I hoped she'd pick me but it's probably for the best that she picked her friend. Jaymes got dared to leave his hand on my breast for five minutes, which it seems like I should have gotten some say in, but I say there like a good sport, biding my time. 

I nudged Jaymes about the phone again. He said it was up in his room, but he might need some help finding it. It was like pulling teeth with this guy. I almost had an easier time with my super-secret source, but maybe I was just getting antsy because I was increasingly aware of my body over the last few days. I followed him up, but stood in the open doorway with my arms crossed defensively under my boobs while he feigned to search.

"You should relax, Kiara. Something's gotten into you."

"Yeah, something has all right," I rolled my eyes.

"Come on in, the water's nice." He sat on the bed and patted a place on the bed where he wanted me to sit. Now I was pissed. "We had fun, didn't we?"

I'll bet he did.

"How much do you know about me?" I asked.

"I know you're from N.C. I know you've got trouble at home. And I know you like to be..." well, I won't tell you what he told me Kiara likes, but I can assure you I wouldn't be up for it.

I exhaled. "Do you know I've got a kid?"

He froze. "Huh?"

"Yeah. I've got a seven-month-old waiting for me back in North Carolina. The sooner you give me this phone, the sooner I can get back to her."

Instantaneously, he pulled the phone out from behind his bedside lamp and handed it to me.

That was lucky -- for a lot of guys that wouldn't be a dealbreaker.

I said a quick goodbye to Mara -- the only person at the party I didn't totally dislike -- and tromped off into the night.

Just my luck, though -- this phone didn't have facial recognition or thumbprint ID. It was password-protected.

But at least I have it.

I got home and felt thankful I had been wearing a swimsuit, because my nipples had started leaking at some point. I strapped on the pumps and typed all this out, and now I think I'm just abut ready to go to bed...

Ready to face a whole new slew of problems tomorrow.

-Tom/Kiara

Tom/Kiara: Contact

Continuing to work on my story is one way that I can feel some control over the situation, to show the people who did this to me that if they were trying to kill the story, it didn't work. Unfortunately, I only had a small window of opportunity.

As I worked through the first day of my transformation, I told my source that I wasn't feeling well and in-person meetings weren't going to work. She didn't like that but I told her I would come up with something. Once I felt marginally more stable, I offered to meet her for lunch in hopes that she would finally give me the material I needed. The only problem was that she was expecting to meet with Tom, a Japanese-American guy she's known for months, not some white girl with zits on her chin. I went back clothes-shopping for something decent, some slacks and a fitted white button-up top that made me look semi-professional (despite being snug enough that I had to leave the top few buttons undone) and contemplated my cover story. After a midday pump and the best job I could do pulling my hair back into something semi-professional, it was time to go.

A thought occurred to me: what if she had something to do with this, would she recognize me in this form? Had she betrayed me? If so, what would be her response to seeing me in the flesh like this?

It didn't seem so. When I sat down across from her she just seemed confused. I explained that I was Tom's intern, a co-op student he was working with. Job-shadowing and whatnot. She seemed to buy it, reluctantly, which suggested to me that she wasn't in on this whole body-swapping scheme. That was good news.

Considering how skittish she already was, I was prepared for the worst, but after winning her trust, she handed me the folder and said "I'm done. Tell Tom not to talk to me again. This is it."

Talk about a lucky break, which I needed after all this misery. With that, she was gone, and I sat there wondering where to begin with this giant packet of info. As I began to thumb through it, noting places that had been redacted and others highlighted by my source, I felt a tap on the shoulder that made me jump. I turned to see a tall young guy in a loose-fitting tank top and cargo shorts. 

"Kiara? I thought that was you. I've been calling your name."

I hadn't noticed -- it will probably be a while before I remember to respond to my new name. His presence gave me an eerie feeling in my gut and I realized I was not yet used to being around men in the form of a woman. They tend to give off... a different energy.

"Hey, sorry, I... had something going on," I said vaguely, trying to keep myself from cringing. Who was this guy, how did he know Kiara? Did I want to know?

"I thought you were gone," he said.

"No, I had, um, a bit more stuff to do here."

"Well, I'm glad I ran into you, I've got your phone."

I looked, confused, in the satchel I had brought with me -- sure enough, there was a phone in a sparkly pink case with a picture of Kiara's baby as the background.

"Um. no, I don't think you do," I said, hoping this would dismiss him.

"Nah, your other phone. It's got a pic of you as the background, and you were glued to it all night."

I froze. Two phones. Maybe this one has info about the people who stole my body? If Kiara was somehow in on the scheme...

"Yeah, oh, yeah, that one," I feigned remembering, "I was wondering..."

"Well, you could come to the beach tonight," he said suggestively, "Pick it up from me then."

I gritted my teeth and sized him up. If I applied myself, I could probably get out of this without having to meet a bunch of debauched teenagers or college kids. But there was the off chance -- no matter how remote -- one of them might know something.

"Sounds good," I said with totally fake enthusiasm, "I'll see you then."

Seems like I've got my next assignment, tonight at 10. 

(Starting a party at 10?? Ah, to be young.)

-Tom/Kiara