Daryl/Elaine: Time to Find Out

This is almost certainly a bad idea, but it's too late to turn back now, and if I didn't do it, I'd be second-guessing myself for the rest of my life, but, Jesus, it seems like a crazy leap.

It makes a little more sense if you know a bit about what I left out of the last update.  We were "just being friends", but we kind of played at being more.  Not by getting all syrupy in public or anything, but whenever something would strike as kind of ironic or funny considering our situation, we'd break out some exaggerated way of talking, with me playing the boyfriend half the time.  It was a joke, but it was also a way to accept that we were in a weird situation.

So, Tuesday, it's hot as hell in New York, enough that J.T. had actually mentioned that he missed booty shorts and a halter top being a viable outfit for him, and I decided, what the heck, only a few days of this left, and if anyone got a picture, it wouldn't stick to me.  That's kind of the funny thing about being turned into your girlfriend - it's actually not hard to make yourself all sexy in the mirror, even if you do wind up thinking that it's kind of a weird power trip at times, but stepping out the door is maybe twice as hard, because you've got both "do I want guys looking at me like that?" and "do I want guys looking at my woman like that?" going around your head.  But, it was hot, and I didn't want J.T. or Pete to think I'd chickened out.

Pete wasn't pay off the group Tuesday night, so I didn't have him to measure my drinks against (I've gotten into the habit of staying even or one drink behind him,  since he's smaller and thinner than Elaine as Brigette), and it, uh, enhanced the "singer's girlfriend" thing I was doing, so I wound up shooting "that was awesome baby!" (or, later, "woooooooooo!") rather than kind of saying it to myself.  J.T. wound up playing along, pointing at me the first time and comically rolling his eyes by the end.

Eventually, the gig ended, and I helped him move his gear to the car.  He hoped that the only thing missing from that was him inviting me up on stage.  I laugh, saying there were photographers and phones and Elaine didn't need to deal with any of that shit.  He nods, but says it's too bad, because he knows I've got the pipes for it.

It's hard to be modest, because I'd certainly complimented him when he had those pipes, and meant it.  But...  "Karaoke with friends is different than a stage in front of strangers.  Besides, those were y'all's songs, not mine."

"But you're a big part of them."

I didn't know what to say.  We'd arrived at his place, and I grabbed the guitar and mic stand while he picked up the amp.  We rode the escalator in silence, up to the tenth floor.  He unlocked it and I walked in, giving it a good look.  "So this is where you live in your real life."

It was nice, bigger than Brigette's, though not huge.  There were a couple awards on a mantel, a full-size keyboard, and a separate dining area, all fairly tidy.  I wondered how much dust had gathered while he was Elaine.

"Yep, this is me, although it's just starting to feel like home again.  And kind of plain."  He reached into the fridge and handed me a beer.

"It's nice.  Not much of my Elaine in it, though.  Or would that be your Elaine?"

"Yeah, I didn't keep any souvenirs.  Maybe I should have.  But until you showed up, I just..."  He trailed off, and then pointed at a blank space on the wall.  "Heck, I used to have a Josephine-Baker-in-Paris print over there, but I was having a hard time looking at it.  Made me remember and wonder what if."

I used the corner of my top to twist the off my bottle and took a swig before walking out onto the balcony.  "I should certainly hope you wondered what if.  I thought we had something special."

He walked up behind me.  "We did.  I told you things that I never told anybody else, and they were true, even if the facts weren't."

I laughed.  "So, basically, your parents pushed you into acting rather than math?"

"Pretty much.  Figured I'd have become a huge adult star by now, just like Wil Wheaton, Macauley Culkin, and Haley Joel Osment."

I snort-laughed.  "Obviously, you should have turned into a girl much earlier.  There's Jodie Foster, Dakota Fanning, Christina Ricci..."

"Don't think they wouldn't have considered it.  Kind of glad to be a man right now, though."

He put his hands on my shoulders, then kissed the base of my neck, and I felt my temperature go up.  "What're you doing?"

"Kissing my girlfriend.  Or maybe kissing my ex-boyfriend.  Do you like it?"

"Mm-hmm.  Of course I like it.  You're cheating, already knowing where it feels good."

"I suppose so."  His hands slid down my sides until they reached my midriff, then moved up underneath my top to cradle my breasts, gently stroking them with his thumb while each nipple rested between two fingers.  I gasped and made a half-step back, enough that I could feel him hardening when the small of my back made contact with his pelvis.  His teeth found the knot keeping my top on and disengaged it just slowly enough to build some anticipation, giving my brain just enough time to start working the buckle on my shorts.

We turned around and went back into the apartment as a unit; he instinctively knew I wasn't quite ready to be looking in a man's face while doing this yet.  Once I had pulled my shorts and panties down and planted my hands on an end table or something, he let go of one breast to work his own belt and zipper, then guided himself in from behind.  I moaned as he found my spot again and again, gently thrusting the tip of his unit over it, sending waves of pleasure through my body.  I felt something let go inside me as I came, and then he seemed to swell a bit more.

"Hang on," he said, pulling out of me and opening his wallet to find a rubber.  I didn't realize that's what he was doing, though, so I turned around, and I see his face go from being a little stained at holding back to being concerned that he'd upset me.  Something lightens in my chest and I say "put it on".  He does, and I guide him to the corner of the sofa.  I sit him down and then lower myself onto him, kissing him and then trying to find the rright rhythm as I moved up and down, thinking how is liked it when the roles were reversed, right down to his face in my rack.

It doesn't take him long to come, and he slumps back, spent.  I roll off of him and adopt a similar posture next to him, looking up at the ceiling.  "Well, fuck."

He looked concerned again.  "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, and that's the problem.  Right up until you, you know, got in there, I figured it would feel wrong, but it didn't and you were so nice, and now I know we've got something good.  But it's not like I can just steal Elaine's life!"  He shook his head in agreement and we had kind of a sad cuddle.

I must have fallen asleep there, because when I woke up I was in his bed and he was making waffles.  I figured we'd burned enough calories that Elaine wouldn't mind.  Despite all we'd done last night, it felt a little strange to kiss him before leaving to go back to Pete's place and get changed.

Pete was there and waiting for gossip.  I told him it had happened and was not what I expected, and he removed me that women always share details.  Fortunately, it was interrupted by a call from my own phone, telling me that he knew I must have gotten nervous by now, but there were more than enough people arriving at the Inn to change back tonight.

"That's good, that there are more than enough."  I took a deep breath.  "So, ______, you've been enjoying my life, right?"

"Yeah, man, and so's my girlfriend, if you know what I mean!  Heck, I'm actually kind of jealous of the job I landed for you."

"Good.  How would you like to do the full year?"

Pete's eyes billed as my voice on the other end of the phone stammered.  "What, dude, I was kidding!  Just because I said it would be weird to go home to a family of strangers... and you'd be stuck as a chick--"

"I know, it's just it turns out I've got something to see through."

"If you say so."  He tried to sound reluctant, but there was some relief in his voice.  He hadn't really been thrilled with the luggage he'd found in his room, even if he had been willing to help someone else get back to normal.

"I do."

"All right, man.  I don't get it, but all right."

We said goodbye and hung up, and Pete exploded.  "Are you crazy?  This is--"  He didn't have words.

I shrugged.  "He may be The One."

He shook his head. "That is one severe case of estrogen poisoning you've got there.  I can't even."  He was even more dumbfounded when I told him the whole plan.

Contrary to what you might expect, J.T. and I went our separate ways after the fireworks; that night was special and not to be repeated as such.  I slept at Pete's, and then got on a train to Old Orchard.

Pete was right about my head kind of overflowing with female hormones, and although I had certainly been asking for the ride, I also knew that there were a lot of people out there whose experience with the Inn does not exactly suggest that everything happens for a reason (or at least, not an obviously positive one).  But I certainly can't deny that it certainly feels like things have come together for me and J.T. in an unlikely-enough way that is hard not to talk about destiny.

So we're putting it in fate's hands.  I go to the Inn and get turned into another man, or a lesbian, or a kid, and it's not meant to be.  But if I stay Elaine, or become another woman, and there's still a spark...  Well, it's tough to argue with that.

So far, no change, and no luggage in my room, obviously.  But I've got a good feeling about this.  It didn't all happen for nothing.

-Daryl/Elaine

Jordan - What is wrong with all of you?

I mean, what the fuck? I turn into a tiny white girl - which is fucked up enough on its own - and Ravi decides to fucking kidnap me because he's afraid we'll lose jobs in some family deli that is not actually owned by his actual family?

Oh, he didn't see it that way, saying he didn't know what else to do after I fainted, and not to worry because he wasn't the one who dressed me (what the fuck?). The actual wedding wasn't planned until next year (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?), so we wouldn't have to fake too much in public. He told me that there should be a letter in my luggage for me to read, and then chivalrously helped me get it down from the rack because I was so tiny now.

There was, along with a wallet and a phone, but I only sort of pretended to read it. I'd woken up at some point between Exeter and Haverhill, and I got right off the train at that station. Ravi ran to the door and told me I couldn't just do that, but I gave him the finger and the conductor gave him this stern look asking if "we" had a problem. I said no and walked over to the other side of the platform not even knowing that it was only ten minutes until the next train north. I guess Ravi took his seat without much complaint, and I headed back to Maine.

Not that there was a lot of help to be had - in the three hours since Ravi had loaded me on a train, everyone who knew everything seemed to have gotten on a train or taken a cab to the Portland airport to start their new lives or get back to their old ones, and the few people that were left were just crying about not knowing how to be these people or be a man or a woman or black or whatever. But they seemed to be asking the wrong question, really.

Ravi had left the door locked, and while I might have been able to knock it down a day earlier, that wasn't happening, so I went to the other hotel where we checked in and told the guy at the desk that I was locked out of my room. There was as much confusion as you might imagine - I have no idea how they keep records for who checks in and who checks out, and when he finally allowed that a Jordan Chang might still be checked in, he looked at me weird, but I guess that "Jordan" being a girl's name too is the one bit of luck I've had with that place. Anyway, I was able to get my suitcase, rip up the letter Ravi had written for the next person in the room, and write another one. Then I grabbed my stuff, checked out for real, and waited for the 3:05pm train. I had to buy that ticket with Deirdre's card, because they do check IDs on the train, and that sucker was running low enough that a plane ticket wasn't the best idea. But I eventually got to Boston, took the orange line to Back Bay, and from there got into Penn Station at just past 11pm.

By the time I got back to my apartment and lugged the luggage up all these stupid stairs with this scrawny body, it was midnight, and I was ready to drop. Obviously, I hoped to wake up this morning and find out that yesterday was all some strange nightmare, but that's equally obviously not the case. But that doesn't mean I have to stop being Jordan Chang or start being Deirdre O'Connell - I do a shit-ton online, to the extent where most of my work is done via IM rather than voice calls, and I am not going to be a waitress when there's other, much better-paying work that I've already agreed to do. I may look completely different, and I may have to buy a whole lot of new clothes today because I didn't take Deirdre's bag with me when I got off the train, but I'm still myself, no matter how Ravi or anyone else wants to play it!

-Jordo

Arthur/Penelope: No time to get used to it.

People were looking for answers all day yesterday. I wish I'd had more to give them, but I wanted certain ones myself. It looks like I won't get those until I actually track Jeremy down and choke them out of him.

The last thirty-six hours or so were just crazy, though. I didn't sleep at all Wednesday night, waiting to see who I'd become and then reacting to it, and then it seemed as though everyone needed their hand held at some point during the day, and I was elected. I've been writing little bits of this for the past two days and haven't had a chance to post it until finding some Wi-Fi at the SF airport while waiting for a cab to take me "home".

I guess it was sort of logical that people would look to me; there were four of us who had been through this process before, and one slipped out early in the morning, probably returning to his life without much fanfare. That left Jeff, who despite having actually managed to get what he wanted out of the Inn this time, is a 19-year-old kid, and Drew was giving the new person who looked like him (henceforth "new-Drew") a lot of one-on-one time. That left me as the sole person available who wasn't panicking and looked like she might be somehow authoritative. It's weird; I don't look that much older than I did as Liz, but the extra bulk and height seem to make up for it and then some. I haven't had time to measure myself yet, but I've got to be pretty close to six feet tall. I suspect most people were operating on the instinct that the tall woman who stays calm is mommy, and mommy knows everything.

I don't know everything, obviously, but I was able to at least impart what we had discovered: That the changes that the Inn had made to us could be reversed by its own mechanism, but you had to be careful - it seems to work by proximity to where the last person was, not assigned room, and you would have to co-ordinate with the person who would become you sometime in the next week - and as you can see, that's not always reliable.

I must have said that two dozen times yesterday, which is remarkable since there were only thirteen people changed. I won't get into details on everyone, just that it looks like this Paul Miller guy apparently wasn't full of shit like we initially expected; there are folks running around with IDs that say Paul Miller and Ivumi Saito. Also? Dealing with the airlines is a pain in the neck. Drew/R.J. and I got pretty darn hosed buying tickets to get out to SF; we paid through the nose and got charged for the tickets they hadn't used two weeks ago besides. At least we didn't have to deal with a rental car - R.J. had dropped that off at the Portland Jetport; some people here are dealing with two weeks of rental fees for a car that had just been sitting in the parking lot.

With yesterday mostly devoted to other people, that made today the first day of the rest of my life, I guess. It was a beautiful day, at least - the sun was shining when I woke up at ten o'clock and the weather report was saying it might hit ninety degrees, so I put a bikini on under my t-shirt and shorts just in case I wanted to do some beach stuff before leaving Old Orchard Beach. I spent the next hour writing a letter to Liz - fortunately, there's not much to tell in this situation; she knows everyone she's going to meet back in Boston. I also sent a couple text messages while I still had Liz's phone. Then Jeff, Drew, new-Drew and I went to the Oceanside Lodge to sign out.

I should have mentioned this last year, but either the people there know something but keep it under their hats or the thing which keeps people from believing us covers them, too. I suppose I could get away with signing "Elizabeth Lee", but Drew as he is now signing something "Daphne" is a stretch. But they look at it and react normally, and they acted just like everybody else when new-Drew tried to say who he really was: "Yeah, right" followed by them acting like he hadn't just said something strange.

Just as we were walking away from the counter, a stylish young woman entered and asked if she could pick up her keys for the Trading Post. The man at the counter said that check-in time was three o'clock; the woman said she'd wait and took a seat in the lobby. I looked at her over my shoulder, and after we were a few steps away I said that might be Liz.

None of them believed it, and I said they were probably right. She looked kind of like how Lyn described Liz/Marie, but what were the odds? Jeff said I might want to go in and talk to her, just in case.

"Are you kidding? What would seeing me like this do other than make her feel guilty. Might as well let her just get back to her life."

Jeff and new-Drew parted ways from us then; they wanted to get on the 1:05 train to Boston because they'd managed to find a 4:30 flight to Detroit. That left us with a couple hours to kill, so we went back to the beach.

By a stroke of luck, we found the same two guys we'd seen two days ago. They didn't recognize us, of course, but were still looking for a game. Their eyes widened when I doffed my clothes and they saw the AVP logo on my suit, joking that they were glad they hadn't decided to put money on the game.

Not that they would have done badly. I may have inherited Penelope Lincoln's physique, but not any sort of talent as a volleyball player. Barring Wednesday, I hadn't played in a while, and my reactions were all off from the new body anyway. I backed into Drew several times because I expected my strides to be a foot shorter and didn't know my own strength while serving.

Being able to jump up and spike the ball hard into the ground is awesome, though. Even if I missed half the time, I never got tired of it.

Eventually, Drew said we were going to cut the train close and we shook the hands of our new friends and congratulated them on a good game before getting on the train and heading back to Boston.

We got into Boston right on time at 5:30, thinking it might be tight making our flight. Still, I spent a couple minutes looking around the station before I saw who I was looking for. "Lyn! Over here!"

I guess she's not used to responding to that nickname, especially from a strange voice; she didn't look my way at all. I let my long legs carry me across the crowded area and tapped her on the shoulder. That made her look at me. "Do I know you?"

I was expecting that. "Yeah, you do. It's me. Arthur."

She had the look for a second - the look that says this is impossible - but she fought it off and gave me a hug. "I'm sorry," she said, "I've been reading the blog and should have recognized you. And I'm sorry that you're not yourself again, or at least R.J."

"Hey," I said, "don't worry about it. I'll live."

"Good. My god, you're so tall. I think you might be taller than my boyfriend."

"And would you believe she's got heels in her suitcase??"

Lyn laughed at that before asking if she could treat us to dinner. I told her I didn't have time, that our flight left at 6:40, but I just wanted her to know what I looked like now, and make sure she believed me. She thanked me for that and said she wouldn't keep me. I leaned over to give her another hug.

I hope I didn't make her cry again - saying goodbye twice is kind of mean, but it's important that she believe in me. You can't take anything for granted in our lives.

-Art