Aidan/Emilia: Ladies Out Celebrating

I wasn't expecting the kids to come into the bar on Valentine's Day, although I'm not sure what else I expected them to be doing.  Neither has a boyfriend (or a girlfriend, I suppose, although they certainly seem to talk about how their bodies react to boys a lot more than how they react to girls); we've all collectively decided that would be a bad idea which was only underlined when we booked our return trip to the Inn in June after making sure that the folks living our lives would be there during the two-week block before us, and they've co-ordinated with the folks living their lives, whose forms have been in limbo since September.  It must be a nightmare to becomes yourself again if you get changed early in the summer!

I didn't quite know what to expect for business that night aside from that.  As I said before, it's kind of guy-coded and not exactly a date location, and on top of that, that weekend was kind of a sports dead zone:  Football over, baseball just starting spring training, the NHL and NBA both doing all-star breaks of sorts which didn't have much on tap for Friday night, and New York City generally has enough big-league action that the only people really watching college sports are alumni and those who also have a gambling app open on their phone.  Still, it was a big going-out night, we had some live music, and folks were looking to fill seats.  I'd expected to be waiting tables, but they've started to like me tending bar.  I'm friendly enough that guys hang around but I'm not one to play favorites or get interested enough to ignore the other customers, and i still jump a little when someone slaps my ass on the floor. 

I was kind of in the zone when Kutter and Rusty came in, found a couple empty seats, and ordered their first beers.  I made a comment about "Galentine's Day" and they asked if I'd just made it up - I think a couple girls their apparent age might have got it but they were about ten when Parks and Recreation ended and never wound up binging it - and they said they were celebrating "Monica's new job".

I must have looked pretty surprised, because Rusty had just been laid off a couple days before.  Her employers had said something about having to tighten their belts with the upcoming tariffs and congestion pricing, but Rusty said she hadn't been landing a lot of new accounts lately; they'd evidently found everywhere in the city that was interested in stocking Chinese energy drinks and expanding into Long Island or Connecticut had diminishing returns.  She'd seen it coming but thought Razzy or Chandra would be let go, but apparently it was last in, first out. 

I'd underestimated how good she was at that job, as it turns out; at some point in the last six months, she had knocked on the door of not just every bodega, but every small business that night have a refrigerator in their break room, including one of those language schools you see advertised on the subway.  She mentioned that she was being laid off during her last call, and they said they had an opening for someone to work the phones and also handle bookings for corporate clien.ts.  They already knew and liked her, and while they couldn't offer the commissions that the beverage company could, the base salary was about the same and she'd be eligible for free lessons.  There is really only time for one session between then and the return to the Inn, she figured she should at least come out of this knowing the Korean alphabet and how to say hello, please, and thank you.

It was kind of interesting observing them on a night out mostly without me - they weren't dressed as sexy as New Year's Eve, but showing a bit more cleavage and leg than when it was all three of us, but they weren't really teasing.  Their attention was mostly on each other, although they were polite when someone paid them a compliment or tried to but them a drink, saying they were just into hanging with their bestie tonight.  A couple made comments about them being more than friends, and Rusty started to respond to the first with something along the lines of "you have no idea" before Kutter kicked her in the shins and said not to encourage anybody.  Rusty got the message and said something along the lines of it being gross, and Kutter responded that it was obviously the case, but there was actually a phenomenon where siblings who had never met or who were separated long enough to not recognize each other were actually more attracted to each other than random people until they found out and society's incest taboos kicked in, and something like that could be at play with the three of us, although maybe in the opposite direction.  Rusty rolled his eyes and asked why Kutter would even be reading anything about that, and she said it was to make sure nothing like that happened.

I'm taking it as a sign of maturity that Rusty did not immediately start acting like Kutter was her girlfriend afterward.

Striking maturity, really, because Rusty's sixteenth birthday was just a couple weeks later, and we celebrated with go-karting and video games at a huge warehouse of a building just outside of Brooklyn, and while I'd been bracing myself for the kids to want to go in rompers or something, it was loose t-shirts, slacks that didn't shrink-wrap themselves to our butts, sneakers, ponytails sticking out the back of baseball caps.  There were bar areas, but we never went there all night.   It wasn't even a bit my idea, either - I asked Rusty what she wanted to do for her birthday, and that's what she said.  I didn't bring it up afterwards - I'll admit, I'm kind of worried that questioning it might make her think she should be even more all-in on being an adult woman until we go back, or being scared at just how well they can partition their lives - but it was really nice to feel like I was doing normal stuff with my teenage boys, even if the kart's seatbelt did find a way of digging into the valley between my breasts.

-Aidan/Emilia

J.T./Elaine: Three Dates

It's actually been four dates if you count New Year's Eve, but that's a thing we did with a group of people, and when I was stalling because the third date is often the sex date, it was easy to pick up the habit of counting from zero that comes from working with computer people all day.  If that first one was Date Zero, then the third was actually Date Two, and I didn't have to worry about being intimate with another man for at least another few days.  Of course, that just pushes things off...

Still, that New Year's Eve night was a lot of fun - though most of Elaine's girlfriends had couple-centric things to attend, Jezzie had seen the clips of me and Daryl singing karaoke at the company Christmas party and was in no way going to be my excuse for not meeting up for more of that, although she was willing to be my escape route if things went badly.  Which I figured was the best thing that could happen; it's kind of weird seeing Daryl outside a work environment, maybe I can say one of his friends is making me uncomfortable, and we agree that it was a bad idea, and I don't have to deal with Elaine telling me that not taking a chance with him would be very out of character anymore.

We have a great time.

Jezzie, it turns out, has never done karaoke either, but loves it immediately.  We're initially outnumbered four guys to two girls, but Daryl's friends are apparently charming enough that two girls they met at the bar join us, and there's eight of us drinking, singing, and laughing for three hours before we break for "Auld Lang Syne" at midnight and then apparently have another hour and a half in us.  Jezzie winds up hoping up with one of Daryl's friends, and the next time the girls get together, she's telling me that he was really skeptical about the whole karaoke thing, but had a good time, and that he was surprised Daryl found a girl as fine as Elaine at his work, what with his nerd job and all.

I feel weirdly good about the compliment; I may have inherited Elaine's shape, but I've put enough work into it to feel some ownership:  I've lost a pound or two off my butt, got a shorter haircut that I like, and even figured out enough about dressing myself and doing make-up that those early days of embarrassing myself on job interviews are something I can laugh at.  He's not entirely attracted to someone else when he looks at me, and him saying so makes me feel like I've done something right.

Still, I don't really acknowledge that we had a date that week at work, and when the team is talking about how they rang in the new year, I kind of make it sound like we just happened to be in the same place.  He seems to get the hint, not asking me out again that week, but come the next Monday, the 8th, he casually slides by my desk and mentions that he's got an extra ticket to the Bulls that night and would I like to go?

I immediately wonder what kind of vibe I'm giving off, because I do occasionally find myself about to respond when guys in the break room talk sports and then thinking about how it's not really in-character - I've picked up Elaine's workout routine, but there's no team logos on her gear or souvenirs in the apartment, and I don't dress in a "one of the guys" outfit almost ever - but I also really want to go.  I've spent a lot of Sundays just camped out at the apartment watching football and caught more basketball since becoming Elaine than maybe I did in the rest of my life, just for something to follow.  Is there something I'm doing that says "she's not like other girls", or am I just stereotyping?  Heck, maybe he's just figuring that he should find out if the girl likes sports early.

So I say yes, the seats aren't great, but there's expensive watery beer, we get to argue en route to the Bulls losing to Houston, and there's no ironic thing putting us on some sorry of Kiss Cam or anything like that.  We go out for a couple drinks after that, but I don't get drunk enough for more singing.  That's Official Date #1.

I spend the next week and a half lying and saying I've got a lot going on at home, but eventually I cave when he asks me out to a movie the next Friday.  It's not a great one - that "Proud Mary" thing with Taraji P. Henson - but it's kind of fun.  I'm not sure how much I should enjoy her playing this kind of role, in that I still have zero problem identifying with white male main characters, but I kind of do dig watching someone who looks like I do now kicking ass, especially when I'm just letting myself get caught up in things.  I kind of like that she mostly did it in comfortable clothes and shoes, too.  Official Date #2.

Then, at the end of January, I decided to dial back comfortable, because that was the third date.  It's a bit of a cliche that that's the sex date, but I'm kind of susceptible to those expectations; I grew up inside TV and movies, after all, and truth be told, I'm kind of not used to waiting for the third date as a guy.  And, I admit, after four months, I'm kind of curious - I've been intimidated by a couple things at the back of one of Elaine's dresser drawers, I've occasionally lingered in the shower, and I've been kind of surprised that what I've done with my hands hasn't really done that much for me.  Am I just too tentative, does knowing exactly what's coming kill the excitement, or (gasp!) am I just terrible at pleasing women and nobody has ever told me?

I'm 50/50 between anxious to find out and terrified, but I do things up nice, spending way more of Saturday afternoon than I ever imagined in a hair salon, putting on lipstick, putting on flimsy, lacy underwear and spraying some perfume at my crotch after really tidying up down there for the first time.  It's too cold to wear anything really skimpy, but I look pretty great, I think, and, hey, it's not like I haven't spent longer getting ready to shoot a two-minute scene in a horror movie (and wound up looking much less sexy).

And Daryl, darn it, almost looks even better when we met at the restaurant.

It's a pretty nice meal, high-end Japanese.  I never pegged him as a big sushi guy, but it turns out he's a not-so-secret big fan of all things Japanese, though it's not a thing he really mentions to a girl until he's really sure that there's something there.  I guess black nerds not only get it as bad as white ones in high school, they're often kind of invisible in pop-culture, so he often really felt like there wasn't a place for him, and so he kind of keeps a loud on his "otaku-ness" still.

As much as it felt kind of strange for him to be opening up to me like that, it got even weirder when the subject got to me in high school.  I hadn't really had Elaine coach me on that, figuring it was long ago not too come up.  I gather she was not unpopular - she's in contact with a bunch of people from that time on social media - and she's got a few mementos from then in her closet, along with a few more in her parents' basement.  But we got on the subject, and it didn't seem right to say nothing after Daryl said something kind of important to him.

So I improvised, only to find myself putting a lot more of myself into it than expected.  To Daryl, then, Elaine had been popular but busy, not just inside school but out of it, and her parents had tended to over-commit her so that they could kind of soak that up.  Then, come college, she'd gone from being an overachiever to just one of many girls who were good at something, and that was why she was writing emails and annoying people by filling their Outlook calendars instead of creating things herself.

That's not entirely my story - if nothing else, I didn't come close to making Elaine's parents nearly as selfish as mine had been, on the off-chance he might meet them - but it's a lot closer to being mine than Elaine's.  I don't tell it a lot in any form, because it doesn't tend to do me much good; people both think that everybody who works in show business is rich, which is not the case, and take a certain amount of joy in people who have success as a teenager coming back down to Earth.  So it was a bit of a surprise to find Daryl being completely sympathetic, saying that he does know what it was like to feel like your biggest success is behind you.

We keep talking throughout our after-dinner activities, walking around to kill time before some local band he likes plays at 10pm, and then after, we hang out in the bar, talking some more about work, "my" troublemaker sister, his friends, and feeling like you don't really fit in somewhere.  The funny thing was, it didn't quite leave us in a sexy place, especially since the conversation included an ex-girlfriend of his who kind of made him nervous about girls wanting to have sex with him because she saw him as a way out of something and then wasn't easy on his self-esteem in the breakup when he didn't become an Internet millionaire as fast as she wanted.  Maybe the real Elaine would have taken it as a signal to show him what it's like when a girl really likes him, but I didn't.

We kissed, though, and I don't know if it's because I'm black or a girl now, or just random transferred genetics, but I've got much fuller lips than I did before and he's a good kisser - it's the first time I've actually felt like there was a lot going on with my lips rather than their being an obstacle on the way to my tongue, at least to that extent.  It was definitely weird, but one thing I learned as an actor was that the person kissing you can be anyone if you either close your eyes or tilt your head so that you're kind of looking over each other - you can be kissing a mouth, not a man, at least as long as you don't think too much about how strong the hands on your butt are.

Maybe me not being ready for that much eye contact was a signal to him, too.  Didn't really think of that until I started writing.  Still, I can't deny that the end of Official Date #3 had me very curious to see what all the way is like - and I'm sure he's planning something special enough for Valentine's Day tonight that I won't be wearing a thong for nothing!

-J.T./Elaine

Tyler/Judith: Who is the man, here?

To "seal the deal," as it were, for my new relationship with Kitty, I invited him along to the 30th Anniversary that I had been planning for work for Saturday night. It was fair as planner that I got to bring along a guest, and I wanted him to see me in my element. I got to wear a headset to co-ordinate the servers and cooks and bartenders... not that I'm a micromanager by any means, but it was cool to be able to direct traffic. Looking around at the floral arrangements, the catering, the whole thing ticking like clockwork... I was quite pleased with what I had done for my first effort.

"This is all very impressive," Kitty said, observing the venue. I noticed with a bit of disappointment that he his eyes trailed slightly along with the nubile young female relatives of the happy couple... but then, so did I.

"I know," I said, brushing that away, "Thirty years, who would have thought?"

"I can't remember what Chett and I did for our last big anniversary. Dinner, I guess." There was such a note of sadness, or at least distance, in his voice.

It wasn't an ideal memory to call up - we do sometimes bring up our exes around each other, but not usually when we're in good spirits. I don't talk much about my time before the Inn at all, and even try not to refer to Meg very often (we are on what I think are good terms, for us.)

Other than that, the night was largely a success with great food and plenty of booze. We took a long walk in the cold after getting home.

He seemed very distracted, lost in thought, so I thought I would bring him back down to Earth with a kiss. It seemed to wake him up and we headed home quickly so we could engage in our favourite new hobby. He's getting better. We're getting better at it.

Afterwards, naked and sweaty and cuddling, he asked me if I liked Judith's work.

"Sure," I said. "It's pretty involved, lots of moving parts. Rewarding in its own way, when you get to see the end result."

"A-huh," he said. "I just worry, you know. I make plenty of money for both of us, and... well, Chett was a bit of a workaholic."

"Where are you going with this?"

"I don't know. I like things the way they were. You mostly at home, waiting for me when my day was done. I don't want you to slip away and become a... too much of a career gal."

"Excuse me?" I said, rather offended.

"I just don't want this to become your whole life. I mean, we're out of here in the Spring, right? Why upset the status quo if that was working? I just think if more opportunities like this come up, you should think twice before jumping at the opportunity. We've got a good thing."

I was upset by this - hurt and confused - but I'm doing this new thing where I try not to react right away, and instead of getting angry and violent (not as in hitting, just as in yelling and slamming of doors,) I try to be... calm about it. I think estrogen is a good medicine for that (although not a cure-all by any means!)

"I... listen. I wanted to do this. I was getting bored. I'll be bored again. And there are a lot of upsides. Judith encourages me to help her career path along because it's what she wants to be doing... and it helps us put away a bit more money for our own lives, wherever that takes us. It's win-win."

He considered what I had said but only for a second. "We don't need the money."

I was starting to get flustered. "Well, we're not exactly... you know, I would think you were used to having a bit more."

"What I'm more used to is... a man who works, and a wife who takes care of the home."

Sometimes I think Kitty is even older than her 50-some years. Like she's from my Grandmother's generation. But I guess when you're used to having money, your values stay that way a little longer.

My heart sank a bit. I'm trying to be better, understand, compromise on things. So I admitted that while I may have had a knack for Judith's job, and I didn't really see the harm in increasing my presence there... I would consider her perspective. If it's important enough for her to bring it up, you know. There was still a little bit of Tyler inside of me that really didn't like being told what to do, but the "New Me" is trying to, well, overcome that a bit. I can be a wifey. Sure.

So after that, time passes and things get a bit more routine. I'm learning to swallow my pride and be more co-operative where Kitty is concerned, and play along with this "Housewife" routine, and really, it has its perks. It's hard as a man, a proud man, to admit you don't mind being looked after financially, to take pride in playing Suzie Homemaker, but it's tough work and deserves to be admired.

He's pretty appreciative.

By that I mean he wants to screw, like, all the time. He goes for it just about every night. And it's kind of nice to be in the position where it's up to my whim whether we do or not. It's been a strange few years, with my sex drive being cranked up and down... like I'm sorry to say, even though I do enjoy the rush and the new pleasure of finally exploring this aspect of Judith's body, I just don't... need it that badly (I figure this is just a feature of Judith's body, why I was able to go months without even really thinking about it.) Not that I want him begging for it, just... it's a thing. Sometimes I do it even if I'm not feeling like it, and the results are usually "fine, but need we have bothered?"

Anyway. Before you know it, it's Valentine's Day, and... well, this is his first Valentine's Day as a man. And we realized the Saturday before it that we didn't have any plans. So he asks me what I want to do and I say I don't really care, it's midweek so we're usually pretty tired, and there's Dylan to think about and... well, should we even bother?

And he says of course, we're a couple, we love each other don't we? (I'm still grappling with whether I do or not, but... sure, let's say I do.) We should make a big deal, celebrate "us" and how far we've come. And I say okay, whatever he's up for, I'll do my part: sexy dress, lacey underwear, red lipstick, seduction, the whole nine yards (I'm didn't say as much but that was what I implied) if he works out something for us to do that night. And he turns it around on me and says "Why didn't you plan anything?"

So it's like... excuse me, what's my part here? Am I on the hook for everything because I used to be a man and stereotypically that would have been my job? He was the one who wanted to get into a more traditional husband-wife setup. I don't deserve to be "treated"? What's the rule? What does he want from me? And do I want the same things?

It's not that I don't care about V-tine's Day, I can be as romantic as anyone when I'm really head over heels, but... something about our situation already feels so lived-in and old-shoe comfortable that it didn't occur to me. I'd be happy with a night in, but it seems like that wasn't enough.

Again, instead of making it a big thing, I just kind of sat quietly and pouted about it... and so did he. It was a tense few hours, and then we got over ourselves and made some arrangements, and... it was nice, we left Dyl with Sam and went to a French restaurant (my suggestion as we've handled events there and it has a good reputation - so I guess he got me to plan something after all) He was very lovey-dovey, picked me up some roses and a necklace to wear for the night, and got his seduction, and now things are fine. (I also got him some flowers, which he seemed to enjoy more than I enjoyed mine, and a tie.)

But I've just been racking my brain for a few days since, trying to figure it all out. Nothing's been resolved and I feel like this is going to keep being a problem. It's left a bitter taste in my mouth, but I'm trying to hide it a bit and convince myself it's just an awkward growing phase as we try to figure out exactly how things are supposed to work between us.

If we really do love each other, we can get through it... I'm sure...

-TJ

Tyler/Lauren: My Crappy Valentine

I was in a pretty dark place on Valentine's Day.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed. There's just nothing good in my life right now. We're between productions with the Drama club, my friends are drifting away from me (or me with them) Meg and I are working through our differences, but far from the best we've been. I'm behind on my homework. I've got cramps pretty bad. I'm rooming with a messy 11-year-old girl and suppressing the desire to scream at her to get her shit put away because it's so inconsiderate and I work pretty hard to keep my little corner of the house neat and tidy.

I don't know whether it's the weather, the lack of a social life, the pressure of school or the female hormones, but I am about to snap.

Lauren turned 18 on January 23. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about it. In the eyes of the law I am an adult, but to the world, and myself. Lauren's still a "kid." 17 and a half is just a stone's throw from 18. I don't look or feel any different, but I know in my bones, this body exists in the world differently than it did a month ago and that's weird. some kind of protective bubble of "childhood" has disappeared.

I asked for gift cards, so Lauren could get some new clothes once she came back to her body, but ended up getting a lot of clothes anyway: clothes had had to be exchanged because family members estimated my size wrong, on account of what I've done to Lauren. For the record, I don't think I did anything wrong, merely took her from emaciated to skinny. At least, what is considered very skinny in the land of Paula Deen butter-fried bacon. I joke, but I do miss biscuits and gravy.

Saturday night was Valentine's Day, of course, and it felt pretty brutal knowing that Meghan was out there rekindling Tasha's romance with Wade. I don't like admitting I can't get over her. I feel like my body is betraying me by pushing all these hormones through me. Whatever I feel for her feels pretty unhealthy, and yes a little wrong, but consider the alternative - and I know there are alternatives.

It was 3 AM that night and I couldn't sleep. I was lying up in bed, listening to Kylie wheeze, when I heard Phil stumble through the door and into his room. I waited about twenty minutes, then crept down there to see the light peeking out from beneath the door.

I stood in front of it for probably a minute or so, my lungs shaking with each breath. I knew there was a huge risk in what I was about to do. No part of me thought it was smart or sane. But I needed to do something. It was like being a smoker again and lying up thinking about getting a cigarette. At a certain point you just need it.

I knocked. He answered quickly and seemed pleasantly surprised it was me.

"Sorry," he said, "Was I loud?"

"No, no, not really," I said. "I just... I saw you were still up... and this is gonna sound really stupid, but I need a friend right now, and you're the only one around. Would you mind if we talk?"

He looked at me for a second like I'd grown a third arm straight outta the back of my head, but he let me in and shut the door behind us.

He laid down on his bed, and I sat against the wall on the far side of the room. He patted the bed next to him, but it was a pretty unappealing option.

"Come on," he beckoned, "You're the one who wants to be friendly."

"Not like that," I said.

"I know, but I can't hear you from back there."

So I went and sat on his bed, back against the headboard, knees up to my chest in a protective position.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"It's hard to say," I said, coming ever so close to blurting out the facts about me before realizing how insane it would sound. "How was your night?"

"Shitty," he said, "Almost hooked up, but the girl was a tease. I'm pretty drunk though."

I shrugged at that. As a guy I would have been rooting for him, but in my current position I can see her reasons.

"Do you feel bad that you're not seeing anyone on Valentine's Day?"

"Meh. It's just another day," he said as if it was insane of me to ask.

"Yeah, I used to think so too," I said, "I guess I'm becoming a real... girl." I stopped and snorted a laugh at how I must've sounded.

"Yeah you are," he said, giving me uncomprehending, narrow eyes.

I decided to try to explain. "I had a fight with my best friend. I dunno how to explain it. It was about a guy."

"She stole him from you?"

"More like he stole her from me," I muttered.

"Friend gets in a relationship, you never see friend again," he surmised. "I got it."

"Yeah, basically," I said. "It's more complicated than that... but not really."

"Well, if she's your friend, you be happy for her," he said, lying back on his bed with his eyes closed, as if in a zen trance, "And if you're her friend she'll come back."

"I guess," I said, "I really don't know why I feel so bad. I just always pictured... something different."

"With who?" he asked, clearly confused.

"I don't think he's right for her," I said. "That's all."

"Okay," he said, "I see it now. No offense, but that's weak. Like, let her decide for herself."

"You don't--" I started to say, "Whatever."

There was a silence for a while. He was still lying there, not looking at me. He reached up and put his hand on my knee.

I asked, "Do you have many female friends?"

"Sure," he said, "A couple."

"And were they all just girls you wanted to date but couldn't?"

He paused for a while then answered "Mostly."

"Any girls who wanted to date you, but you didn't want to date them?"

He looked at me with a smirk and said "That's not how guys work."

I grimaced.

Another silence passed between us, until I broke it by asking, "Could you date somebody if it meant never having sex with them?"

"What?" he winced, "What would be the point?"

"Company," I sighed, "Companionship. Shared interests."

He sat up, "Sorry, but no. When you get a bit older you'll see that sex has to be part of a relationship."

I got really annoyed by that "When you get older" bit, but it's not the first time I've heard that. I didn't like his take on relationships, either, but as much as I wanted to believe the opposite I have a hard time doing so too.

"I don't think I'm gonna ever have sex again," I sighed.

"You'll find somebody," he said quickly, looking over at me with a smile that suggested he'd be open to being that somebody.

"You're a good dude, Phil," I begrudgingly admitted, "Sometimes you're annoying, but you mean well. You should probably know this can't happen though." I gestured between the two of us.

He scoffed, "Whatever," and rolled over on the bed. I quietly excused myself.

I went back to my room and turned my phone on. I started scrolling through the old text messages. There were several from Meg, random conversations with Lauren's friends, and Mark. There were a bunch of one-off "Happy Birthday" texts, including one from Wade, which would've been right after he and Meg were having those problems, which I found weird at the time because I didn't think he and I were that close. Still nice, though. I hate that I consider him my enemy, because he is basically a good dude.

Scrolling back a ways, I found texts with the real Lauren, and then, my sister Carrie, coordinating our return to the Inn and checking in on how she's doing with Meg's body.

And then just before that, sitting like a brick at the bottom of the list, is a conversation with "New Tyler."

But I really don't want to get into that right now.

Tori: I'm not so great with romance but...

He left on Sunday the 13th, so we had to figure out something Valentines-y to do before that. We decided Friday the 11th would be "our night."

He wanted to make it all about me -- flowers, chocolates, all that stuff. I told him I really wasn't in it for the Hallmark stuff. He said he had a "pretty good idea" what my gift to him was (and he wasn't wrong) so he wanted to turn up the romance in anticipation. So when I got home from my shift at the shop, he had this whole Shrimp Alfredo meal made up. I didn't even know he could cook! Mostly when he was living out of a hotel, we were going out to eat all the time. He said in had come in handy when he was a single guy, and I nearly told him I was the same way... that could've been awkward. It's so rare I even think about stuff from my old life unless I'm sitting here writing on the blog.

I led him to the bedroom and told him to get comfortable. He noticed there were candles all around, and I pointed out that yeah, while I'm not "about" the Hallmark stuff, I still like a nice mood. Maybe that's me being girly. He says it's why he likes me. I tell him to wait while I "prepare" things.

When I came back to the door, I was dressed in a tight, tight miniskirt that makes my ass look amazing, nylons, a blouse, and high heels. He's always said how much he goes for that look, and I rarely have a chance to put it on for him. He sat up when he saw how I was dressed. Then he saw what I had hidden behind me... a pair of handcuffs.

Okay, that's not the kind of thing you just spring on a guy. But one weekend while we were in New York, we went into a sex shop for a laugh, and while I was marveling at vibrators, I noticed him handling set of cuffs in a more-than-curious way. I even asked him, and he said he thought they were "neat." So I bought a pair... for a special occasion. He asked me what I was thinking. I told him he could have a choice: freedom... or chains. I don't know why, but I really thought he was going to pick freedom. Luckily, I was hoping he wouldn't.

So I cuffed him to the headboard, and slowly, slowly began to work him over. I ran my hands up his thighs. I rubbed my breasts against him. Softly ran my tongue all over him... made him watch as I slowly undressed, pulled down my stockings, unbuttoned my blouse, slipped my bra off, one strap after the other, and crawled over to him... I could tell he was suffering such intense agony, such lust, he couldn't control himself. When I decided he was finally ready, I got really busy.

It must've been painful for him. I've never been in that situation, but I can imagine what it's like to have a woman there, teasing you, working over every inch of your body, when all you want to do is get inside and fuck her-- and honestly, it was hard to restrain myself from just climbing on and rocking him senseless, but I needed to go slow. I needed to take every second I could with him because it might be a while before we get to go again. So I felt every inch of his skin, rubbed every muscle he had, made him moan and groan and beg me for mercy. I made him watch while I touched myself, warmed my body up for him, and then finally, after I felt I could do no more... I was ready to get started.

Given the circumstances, I guess I can't blame him for not lasting very long. He's usually pretty good but I'd be lying if I said he was an hour-long type of guy. He's usually only good for a good ten, fifteen minutes tops. Here, with all the extra stuff, by the time we got to the nitty gritty, he was about ready to explode anyway. Maybe I was expecting too much; I know how little control guys have over their stuff, but, I don't know, maybe I had mentally convinced myself he could tough it out.

Anyway, it was good. I know we both enjoyed it. But he was real quiet afterward, like, I guess he didn't like the handcuffs so much after all, or I had overdone it with the pregame. He wouldn't talk to me about it. Men can be so tough when something's bothering them. The few women I ever dated were always very open -- perhaps too much so. I just want a happy medium. Ultimately, it was a pretty awkward way for us to leave off. We've talked a bunch since he got to Texas, but he hasn't mentioned it, so I guess the topic is dead.

Anyway, he's gone now, so that leaves me alone for my day to day life. Days I'm in class, evenings I work at the shop selling skirts and tops and panties and whatnot. Pretending I know how to offer fashion advice. I'll tell you more about that later. Raine and I are gonna go watch Life As We Know It and make fun of it.

Just another Saturday night, I suppose...

Alia/Rob: Valentine

There are some cliches about women I've never cared for. It isn't that they don't have a grain of truth, but I think the truth is more nuanced than some people (men) assume.

One is that we're obsessed with emotions (romance, commitment, etc.) I think this definitely varies from girl to girl. I never felt passionate desire about another person (romantically) until I met Todd. Seriously. My whole teenage life was spent being shy and not very in touch with my emotions. There was a boy who liked me a lot, and I didn't feel the same way, and I humoured him a little bit before realizing how our perceptions of each other didn't match up, and when I finally had to be honest with him, he didn't take it well. I've seen boys, and men, break down emotionally. Don't tell me men aren't ruled by their emotions.

My first Valentine's day with Todd, we had just gotten together, and our relationship was very new and very passionate. I was definitely expecting something other than what I got, because he spent the whole night drunk to the point of incapacitation in my dorm room bed, with me handy with a receptacle for his vomit, rambling the entire time about how important I was to him (this was about three and a half months into our relationship) and how grateful he was to be with a girl like me. I began to wonder what I had gotten myself into.

That shouldn't be a pleasant memory for me. It symbolizes seemingly all the problems I had with him later, having to take care of him, having to put up with his immaturity, but the heart is a complicated thing and when I think back to that memory, I think of young love, and I barely remember the smell of alcohol-soaked vomit in a trashbin.

Flash forward 5 years to 2009. Apparently, my Todd was in Connecticut having "relations" (his charming word for it, alternating with "boner time") with Hal Adkisson while the man I believed to be him - in actuality a woman named Deb - was leaving me to my own devices. I've never felt lower than I did during that time, and the painful part of this whole ordeal is that even though I know the truth, that doesn't make the memory hurt any less. I mean, he had acted unfairly to me before, but this was the first time since knowing him he had flat-out ignored my existence. Imagine how hurtful, how baffling, it must've been for me at the time. And that led to certain actions of which I am not proud. But they were my choices.

(That miserable Valentine's Day was roughly on par with the previous year, which I spent observing the crumbling of my relationship with the real Todd. Amazing how things can change... but as much as Todd refers to me as "his girlfriend," the reality, as you can guess, is more complicated.)

So, even alone, far from home, male, paunchy, and frustrated both professionally and sexually, this was not fixing to be my worst Valentine's Day ever. But over the weekend I was feeling the need for some human contact, so I asked Cliff if she had any plans for the night.

She said no. In her group of six, four of them are happily coupled, while Raine was intending to go to a singles event to scam on guys. There was really no place for her. The content of our last posts notwithstanding, I think she's a really cool person, we get along well, and I feel like if we've got to suffer through this together, we may as well make the best of it (not in that way, though.) I offered to take her out to dinner.

She agreed, but pushed the chivalry, the "oh, why don't you let me pay" angle, and we ended up compromising and going Dutch. It wasn't a real date anyway.

I picked her up in a rental car. She was waiting at the door, saying she didn't want the hassle of introducing me to her "parents" inside, which I understand given the circumstances. We went out to the only place we could agree was sufficiently nice and yet still seemingly within our price range, a Sushi restaurant. Cliff was wary, she'd never had Sushi in her previous life, and apparently Tori did not enjoy it, but with a wry smile, she said to me, "I think if there's one thing we know about me nowadays, it's that I'm open to new things." That gave me a bit of a laugh.

We went inside - the place was packed but I had called the night before to squeeze in a reservation (but we still had to wait at the bar.) When she checked her overcoat, I saw a Cliff - make that a Tori - I had not yet met.

She had a very subtle make-up job, mascara and glossy lips. I couldn't tell whether someone had helped her with them or she just winged it (if so, doing a pretty good job.) She wore a silver necklace that didn't look like it matched the outfit and had been chosen at random from the jewelry box. The pendant, a heart, fell just at the top of her cleavage... she was wearing a rather low-cut black dress with a hemline that fell to the knee, and very obviously a push-up bra.

She caught me in my male gaze. She smirked, "See something you like, Rob?"

With a snort of flustered laughter, I replied "You can call me Al. It's a compromise." It's also a Paul Simon reference, a favourite dumb joke of Todd's, a way of keeping him in the conversation, and probably too obscure of a music reference for Cliff (not really shown herself to be a major music freak, but boy does she know computers.)

We took seats at the bar and I said, "You didn't have to do this."

"Well, let me have it," she said, "If I'm lucky, I won't have too many more opportunities to play dress-up."

"A lot of guys wouldn't be comfortable dressing that way."

"A few months in a body like this gives you time to get used to the idea," she replied.

"You pulled it off, except..."

"What?"

I said, "Your hair's a little wild." It has a tendency toward poofiness. Haircare takes a long time to master. She said she knows, and said she'd hoped she could get away with it. I said, normally, it would be fine, but with a more formal outfit like she had on, it looked odd. "I'd recommend a straightener, just to make mit more manageable."

At this point, smiling and saying "Thanks," she swept her hair behind her ear and I noticed something else.

"No earrings?"

"I wore them for a little bit, but they were hard to keep putting back in, so I let the holes close up. I keep meaning to get them re-done, but I'm a little nervous about it. I just wanna give tori her body back the same way it was when..."

She trailed off, so I completed her thought, "Yeah, I'm the same way. That's why I'm planning on putting those extra 8 pounds back on while I'm still Rob." She gave a little laugh. "Well anyway,, you look..." I paused and searched my mind for the right word before finally settling on "Nice." Yes, I have a Bachelor's Degree in English.

"You're just saying that."

"Well, think about it," I said "Tori's a very pretty girl. It must be hard walking the balance between her look, and your identity--"

"Yeah," she cut me off a little bit, "After a while, I got sick of thinking about how hard it is. It's all on the blog. I'm a guy, I'm a girl. I mean, have you ever really thought about how amazing this has all been?"

"Of course. Every day."

"I mean, knock on wood, Al, we're going home. I can stop holding my breath. I can really look around at the world around me safe in the knowledge that--"

"Don't jinx it."

She sighed. We ordered drinks - a beer for me and a rum and coke for her. She protested, thinking it would turn me into a drunk driver, but I insisted Rob's ability to handle alcohol was not slight.

We were eventually seated and she continued. "I read some of your posts about your relationship with Todd." I'd told her a bit about it as well, "You said you used to be real shy and introverted and not all that much into relationships."

"Yeah, that was pretty much it."

"That's me, Al. Except I never grew out of it." A waiter approached and I ordered for her, at her request.

She went on, "I've been thinking a lot about our conversation." (I thought, Jeez, this again?) "And you were right. It seems very complicated. I'm not built for that. I only asked you, because you know the truth about me, and I thought-- not that that would make it okay, but, I thought it would be wrong to be with someone who didn't know the truth about me."

I re-affirmed my belief that "It woukd be wrong for us to go after anyone."

She said, "Yeah, but that doesn't mean I can't want it. That's why it's so weird. that feeling I got when I met Willie... the way he seemed to see me, not Tori. That's what I want. And my main goal for when we get back is to find someone I can connect with."

Our food was served and she looked down at it noncommittally: both to the idea that she could find someone when she gets back to her normal self, and to the food.

"Hey," I said, taking the first bite, "You're surviving. That's all you've got to do."

She began to eat. After a few bites, she appraised the flavour and decided "It's not bad."

I raised my glass, "To new experiences!" She clinked a cheers. After we sipped, I added, "As my Mexican ancestors would say, Que Sera Sera."

She smirked, "That's not Spanish, I think it's Latin."

"Well, whatever. I know English, and high school French. That's it."

So then she said, with slight awe and envy, "You know, it's amazing. I'm here rambling about all my breakdowns and my sex-obsession, and you're just... you seem fine. You're like a rock. It's like it doesn't even bother you."

"Well, that's sorta true," I sighed, "It could be it just never hit me as hard as you. There are days when I feel absolutely shitty about this body -- sluggish, cut off from that feeling of... femininity, I guess you could say."

"Yeah, I'd say that," she winced.

"And there's days when I feel like I've got the whole world on my shoulders. The principal at this school is really on my ass, realizing I'm not, well, the most professional teacher ever. I'm trying, Cliff, I really am, but it does overwhelm me sometimes. I just have too much on my mind to stop and think Holy Crap I'm in a weird body. most of the time. When it does hit me, I feel like a total freak, but it's not often. And then there's the other difference... I have Todd to rely on. It helps to be so close with someone who's already been through it, and who's there for you. All you've got is me, and I haven't been so great at being your friend."

"That's not true," she protested, "You're a good friend. We're having dinner."

"Yeah, but sometimes, I mean, I feel guilty for not reaching out to you more."

"Well, you're here now," she said and we kept eating. She seemed to take to the sushi.

I still don't feel like I've excised my guilt over this whole situation. From the moment we sat down and realized how weird it was we had both changed our roles, we've both sort of stayed in our own spots, and she really seems to have had a tougher time of it. If we both make it out of this alive, it's possible I've made a good new friend. Hell, Cliff's family is only just across the border.

For now, though, the tough times seemed like they'd passed. We went upstairs to the Karaoke bar. Tori's voice is very nice, but not the way Cliff uses it to scream "I Want you To Want Me." I fared no better on "Satisfaction." I had no excuse though, because I was definitely sober enough to drive her home.

She wasn't so sober, though: she fell asleep on my shoulder on the drive back to her place. She looked so peaceful, it almost breaks your heart to know what she's been through.

-alia

Ashlyn--Scratching that itch

I love basketball. In my previous life, I had season tickets to the Dallas Mavericks. It cost me an outrageous amount of money, but I worked insanely hard and the Mavs games was a way I treated myself.

So when Matt suggested we go to a Celtics game Valentine’s night—I was all over that. Who cares if the Celts might be the worst team in the league; or up to that night they had an eighteen game losing streak? It was good to go to a game.

Preparing for my date and looking through my clothes, most of my “sports” wardrobe turns out to be Red Sox stuff—I had Red Sox baby tees, jerseys, hats and I even had a thong with the Sox’s symbol on it. I eventually found a Celtics t-shirt, but it was in bad condition, so I decided to pass on it and wear a green sweater instead. It was a date after all, and a girl’s got to look her best, right? I even went with green matching bra and thong—it wasn’t a first date anymore, who knows what could happen after the game.

Because of the bad weather/it was a holiday/Celtics hadn’t won in 18 games--the “Garden”, where the Celtics play, was empty. Matt and I had decent seats, but we snuck down to amazing mid-court seats because they were available for the taking. The game didn’t start well—the Celtics fell way behind early—but before the half was over they got their act together and took a two point lead. The “Garden” really started rocking after that, the Celtics hadn’t won a game in a long time and the fans smelled blood in the water. I admit it; I got caught up in it. At some point I was up out of my seat, jumping up and down, screaming like I grew up a Celts fan. I had a great time.

The game was a lopsided win in the end, but that was okay too; when the game’s outcome was set, Matt started stealing kisses. I’m usually the kind of fan who likes to watch the entire game and stays until the clock reads all zeroes—but after several kisses I nodded yes when Matt asked me if I wanted to go to his place.

I was reminded how young Matt was as soon as we walked in the door—the place reminded me of my first apartment: Old beat up furniture, nothing decorative on the walls and beer bottles scattered everywhere. It was kind of a turn off.

“Sorry, my roommate is a slob.” Matt apologizes.

He clears off a spot on the couch for us, and we sit, moving close together—and picking up where we left off at the game, the kissing turning more passionate.

“Your roommate coming home soon?” I ask.

“He won’t be back until tomorrow.” Matt gives me a grin.

When Jean-Michel and I had sex, I think he took into consideration that I had a male mind in a very female body—he eased me into it, both physically and mentally, until I was comfortable. There was also a mutual giving a taking, I never worried about who was dominant or submissive—we seemed to be working together toward our mutual pleasure.

Sex with Matt was very different. Matt was definitely the aggressor.

He placed his hands on the sides of my head, pulling me gently closer, kissing me, and controlling the action. Quickly, one hand drops and he starts massaging one of my breasts through the sweater and kissing my neck. He was moving so fast, but it felt so good. My sweater comes off and is tossed aside; he then starts kissing the tops of my breasts.

“My god Ash, you’re beautiful.” He says to me. There is an awkward pause and we struggle with my boots for a moment, but Matt takes the opportunity to lose his shirt and shoes as well. Restarting, we go back to kissing. He slips a hand under my bra and starts massaging again. I loudly moan. It felt so good.

He stands us both up, and loosens both our jeans. He pushes mine down and I step out of them. I kick them away. He reaches around me and unfastened my bra, I raise my arms and he lifts it up over the arms, removing it. His mouth is warm, wet and hungry on my nipples. It occurs to me that I had lost all control of the situation, that I was going wherever he lead—but I didn’t care. It felt so good.

He gets behind me and then reaches around, running his hand over my body. I was down to my thong and he was down to his boxers, but quickly loses the boxers and I can feel his hard on pressing me in the ass. He slides the one hand into my thong and slides two fingers into me. I gasp and arch my back in pleasure. He plays with me for a few moments, driving me crazy.

He slides the fingers out of me and starts push down the thong to remove it. I help. When the thong is gone, I start to turn to face him, but he stops me.

“Lean forward.” He tells me. I do it, resting my hands on the top of the couch. He leans against my naked ass and with his foot he directed my legs apart. He then grabs my hips with his hands, and then slides his cock into me from behind.

“Oh my god!” I yell.

We never build any kind of a rhythm together—I simply couldn’t keep up with him. He pumps into me with an animalistic passion and after a minute or two of that I hear him moan loudly as he cums—it’s over for him.

I have mixed feelings at this point.

The sex felt really good, was passionate and it was interesting being “taken”—but I felt cheated that I didn’t have an orgasm. I kind of felt used. I decided it was unfair to compare my experience with Jean-Michel with this experience. Jean-Michel had insight into my body—and womanhood in general—that Matt simply couldn’t have. I push the lack of an orgasm out of my head, and give Matt a kiss. Matt is a young guy—maybe we can go again.

We never found our grove that night, but the following morning I wake up and we are in his bed together—and the guy has morning wood. It’s good to be young. I crawl on top of him, waking him, attacking him. He wakes quickly to my kisses, but I don’t give him the chance to take control, I set the pace—and not to long later, I finally get my orgasm. I collapse on top of him, exhausted and satisfied.

Eventually, we get up and shower together.

I borrow a shirt, and check out the refrigerator, hungry—there was nothing but condiments and beer. Yeah, this guy is young, it feels like I have stepped back in time to a previous time of my life—back when I only kept beer in the fridge.

Hungry and annoyed, I checked my phone and realized I missed several calls from Art.

As I listened to my messages, Matt came up behind me, kissing me on the neck.

I turned to him, kissing him. “I gotta go.” I slip out of the shirt he loaned me and started putting on my own clothes.

“Okay. I’ll call you.” He says.

“You’d be crazy not to.” I say, and head out.

--Ashlyn

Arthur: I suppose it could have been worse

After all, Ray had made reservations for Valentine's Day, so in retrospect it was a good thing that the city got hit with a whole bunch of snow on Wednesday. The restaurant was very apologetic, but the kitchen staff was snowed in and there was going to be a parking ban... But that certainly wound up best for us; it beat drawing attention.

As I mentioned before, Stewart had made plans for Valentine's Day, too. It wasn't too fancy, and the snow made it less so - take the bus across the river, buy something sweet at the chocolatier, coffee at a little neighborhood place, and then back to his place for a lovemaking session that fails to bring me to orgasm.

He's usually pretty nice about it, although I can't blame him for being a little irritated when Liz's cell phone rang and I answered it. It was Ray with the news that our reservations were canceled, and though he was trying to find some other place, it didn't look too likely. "Not happening with Mr. Romantic?"

"Hey," I say, "he can't control the weather."

"Oh, of course not, but it always seems to be something."

"Don't be mean. If there wasn't always something, we wouldn't be here. Besides, I haven't ever heard you complain about the arrangement."

"You've got me there. Maybe I like the secrecy. After all, I"m not usually ready to go again this soon..."

So we ran the streak to 0-21, and I went "home".

I feel a need to shower when I get home; it seems kind of unseemly to meet up with Ray when I've got Stewart all over me. The dress I bought for Ray's big Valentine's Day date is hanging on the inside of the closet door when I open it up (as it should be; I put it there), and I slip it on. I'd opted against red for something in a light purple; it's sleeveless and loose, almost touching the floor before I put on shoes. Somehow it makes me look like a woman rather than a little girl. It occurs to me, not for the first time since the inn rearranged my body, that designing women's clothing is a far more subtle art than I had ever suspected.

I while away the couple hours until Ray gets home watching one of their Korean DVDs with the English subtitles turned on. I must look silly without context - a Korean-American girl laid back in the recliner, the sort-of-pricey dress slipping back to her knees, the matching heels, the can of Cherry Coke. I'm engrossed enough in the movie that I don't hear Ray come in and he laughs at the sight. I hit "stop" when I hear him, and I'm a bit flustered as I bring the seat back to an upright position and stand. "Uh, hi, I guess I sort of figured it would take you a while to get back."

"It did - I left early."

"Are you even allowed to do that?"

"The partners took pity on me, knowing who I'd be keeping waiting." He kisses me, then looks me up and down. "Nice dress."

"It is, I guess. Zoe helped me pick it out. I know our reservations got canceled, but I figured maybe you'd still want to see if there was something we could do nearby."

"Everything I walked past was pretty packed. Besides, even with it calming down out there, I'd hate to expose that dress to the salt and sand they're laying down. Let me see what I can find for take-out."

He makes a few calls and then heads out to pick it up. I have to admit I'm oddly disappointed by this turn of events. I feel bad going on dates or to family functions with Ray - he's a good guy and I know I'm just marking time until Liz gets her life back, at which point things probably won't go well for him. His relationship is a lie on two levels. Afterward, though, I make notes - what was this like, how was it different from the same sort of activity as a guy, what had I learned? Someday, this will all get used in fiction writing that sells, and not necessarily as part of some body-switching story; I figure I'll have a leg up writing from a different point of view. From that perspective, not having a big Valentine's Day date was something I was missing out on.

Ray came back with Chinese food, and served it up so that we weren't eating out of cardboard or styrofoam containers by candlelight. It was a pleasant enough dinner, and left room for the cakes he'd purchased at Finale. And after that...

Ray hadn't looked nervous up until then, because he'd been so busy, but then things changed. "Elizabeth," he said, "this isn't how I'd originally planned it, but now that I'm just here with you, in a place that's ours, it seems much more appropriate than doing it in front of an audience of strangers. We've known each other since we were kids, and been together almost as long, and for the longest time I think we were guilty of taking each other for granted. I know I certainly did, spending so much time on work that I at times just treated you like an extension of that, someone I took to office parties to show I was a serious member of the firm. That was wrong of me.

"I kind of lied to you at New Year's when I said my resolution was to pay more attention to my girl; I was already doing that. This was my resolution, one I should have made long ago, and the last six weeks were just me confirming that it was the right thing to do."

He reached below the table, where he'd left the bag dessert had come in, and I suddenly realized that I was, in fact, going to experience something very few men do. It was confirmed when his hands were back above the table with a little black box with a sliver hinge. He opened it up to display the contents to me. "Elizabeth Eun-jin Lee, will you marry me?"

I couldn't feel my heart beat, even though my body was sending other signals to my brain, like "blink, god damn it!", as I stared open mouthed at the tasteful diamond ring. This... This was wrong. This was not my moment, this moment shouldn't be happening at all, I don't know what Liz would say. I stare so long that Ray starts to interpret my shock as happiness, and starts to smile.

I feel terrible about having to nip that feeling in the bud.

"Ray," I finally say, "you shouldn't have done this."

"What do you mean?"

"You're making a huge decision without all the information. For months now, I've been... This woman you think you know has been..." Something feels very strange about this moment, beyond just the situation. It's a moment that can change the course of someone's life, and if I mishandle it, I could make Ray, Liz, and myself miserale for a long time. "I've been sleeping with another man."

Clearly, that's not what he wants or expects to hear. I can see the muscles in his extended arm tense, like he's not sure whether to pull the ring back or whether that would be more insulting or angry than he wants to appear. "You were just so busy and Stewart showed interest and I..."

"Stewart? Stewart Brown? Your boss?"

"Yes, him. I'm so sorry, you don't deserve this, but you can't ask me to marry you and not know about it. You've got to take some time and think about how knowing this changes things."

He sets the box on the table, closing it, and just slumps in his chair. "I can't blame you. God knows you deserved better than I gave you most of last year. I just wish..."

He doesn't finish that sentence. He just sits there for a while, then says he needs to go out. I tell him it's freezing, and he'll probably break his neck on the ice that the roads and sidewalks have turned into, but he says not to worry.

I don't know if he ever came back that night, because I fell asleep waiting for him on the couch (I tried to call Jake, but she wasn't answering her phone that night). We haven't spoken or slept in the same bed since, though.

The first thing I did was to write the real Elizabeth Lee up in Montreal, but I haven't heard back from her yet. I haven't told anyone at the theater, especially not Stewart or Zoe. I don't think this situation can hold for another three months, but I have no idea what I'm supposed to do now.

-Art