Thursday night both me and Derek were working late shifts. This isn't that unusual, in fact I kind of prefer it because by the time we both get home we're both too tired to snipe at each other and we just kinda peacefully coexist. That's good because I kind of needed my "home" such as it is to be a sanctuary now that I just don't feel like I gel with the people I'm working with and it's becoming more and more frustrating. I thought working with a bunch of easygoing hippie types would be no problems, but it turns out they can tell when you're not really one of them and... I dunno they judge me. Or I feel like they do.
So Thursday night, I was ready to come home and just flop down when I walk through the door and... the place has been ransacked. Like, okay, Derek and I aren't the two neatest guys-slash-chicks in the world, but shit was everywhere and I realized soon that someone had broken in and gone through our stuff. Dumped out drawers, stolen things out of our rooms... I had my computer with me at work, luckily, but Derek left Mona's laptop out in the open so that's gone. I wasn't even able to totally figure out what all they got, because I don't know everything in the apartment. A lot of jewelry, clothes, appliances, the TV, DVD player, DVDs... the gifts I was going to give my friends and family... all sorts of random items from around the apartment that I had no real understanding of.
As soon as I realized what happened I just stomped through the apartment screaming. It was the worst I've felt since waking up this way. Maybe even worse... that was a shock but it didn't all come to me at once. This was just immediate anxiety and fear and panic. I screamed myself hoarse and the neighbors came to see what happened and I was hysterical with tears when I explained that we got robbed... I couldn't even call the cops, I couldn't pull myself together. When the cops showed up they seemed mad at me for not being able to explain myself. Or maybe that was just my interpretation.
I was too embarrassed to call Angie and tell her. When Derek got home she said she'd figure out a way to explain it, but she was pissed at me.
She reminded me that I left our apartment keys in Maine. Even though they got sent back quickly, that was plenty of time of them to be copied.
Which means... one of the people in our bodies is a thief?
Like... how could they even get all the way to Vancouver from Boston, find the time when neither of us was home, get into our apartment and out with all that stuff?
Who are these people?
I've had the locks changed, but I still don't feel safe here. I can't exactly move, but James and I have talked about switching apartments at least for a little while. She hates her roommate and gets along better with Derek (who, again, fucking hates me now) so maybe it's for the best.
Here's the most upsetting part... they took my guy clothes.
I kept a few articles of clothing from my Cal wardrobe. It doesn't fit great, but girls wear their old boyfriends' clothes all the time, right? A pair of boxers, some shorts, a t-shirt. I slept in it sometimes, or wear it on laundry day. It made me feel connected to who I really am... and they fucking took them. Out of the laundry hamper.
I ask again... who are these people?
I'm so fucking scared right now.
Showing posts with label Vancouver. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Vancouver. Show all posts
Saturday, December 21, 2013
Saturday, November 09, 2013
James/Keisha
Wow, I don't want to say that my life as a guy in a girl's body got boring quickly, but man.
Like, first it was stressful, then it was kind of exciting, and now it's like... what. Now I just want it to be over, even though, shit, I dunno what I'm gonna do when I get my body back. Assuming I do.
Same goes for all of us. Like, these girls had lives that were all nicely set up. When we dove in, we, like, made a bit of a splash... I nearly got fired and kicked out of Keisha's apartment, but mostly it's just "do as you're told and don't piss anyone off." And here's the thing... I hate that, but I get it.
I read some of where Roy was complaining about me at work. Nothing she hasn't said to me in person, don't worry. And it's all true. I could give a fuck if I get Keisha fired, no offense to her. This is probably not her dream job. I don't know what would be, because I feel like I've said three sentences to her since I became her, but I doubt it's this. Pushing books. Like, who reads? (A lot of Canadians, apparently, the store seems to be doing ok.) I show up on time, I try not to be too much of a bitch, they can't fire me.
Then in October it was randomly Canadian "Thanksgiving," which was surprising, but Trish gave me a head's up on that.
The roommate... look, I don't know her story. If I asked, she would probably look at me like "I already told you this when we met." Sometimes she wants to be my friend, sometimes she hates my guts. So long as I pay my half of the rent, again, she's practically a ghost.
I've been asking Roy for details about his sex life, but she says she won't tell me because she doesn't want to encourage any bad behavior "I have to partake in some activities because I inherited a situation," she says. with her nose in the air. "You're better off not upsetting the apple cart." I say fuck that.
Convenient excuse. I'm not saying I want to get out there and get some action or anything: I still shudder at the idea of a dude touching me like that, but I can see the appeal. Yeah, I said it. Some dudes are attractive. And some girls want sex. I'm not sure if I'm one of them yet, but I can't totally say I'm not.
Know how I know? Because I know. We all have needs. I'm speaking for all of us. They don't have to tell me, I just know. Trish was dead-on right when he said to Cal that three of us have definitely gone downtown on the new bodies. Four if he was including himself. Cal might be too uptight to try it, but you can see in her eyes she's dying to break the seal. The rest of us are a little more "in touch" with ourselves. And hey, there's no harm done.
What guy wouldn't, given the chance? If we're stuck in these bodies, and we knew there was something fun we could do with them, why wouldn't we?
But what it comes down to is, I'm just bored. I've got to pass the time somehow. I want to meet people who aren't from the Lowell Crew, because I none of them are ready to venture out beyond movie nights or the occasional group hangout. We're legal age in a city where streets close down for pub crawls... I want to mix it the fuck up!
For god's sake, we spent Halloween watching the movie Halloween. We wasted the one night of the year where it's acceptable for us to wear ridiculous costumes, you know, even though we're kind of always in disguise.
It's not about sex. It's about living. Drinking, fighting, fucking, meeting randos -- and maybe hooking up -- that's life, man, and I'm not cancelling it just because I look like some uptight Canadian chick. So tonight, I'm gonna cut loose, head out on my own, see what happens. Peace, nerds.
Like, first it was stressful, then it was kind of exciting, and now it's like... what. Now I just want it to be over, even though, shit, I dunno what I'm gonna do when I get my body back. Assuming I do.
Same goes for all of us. Like, these girls had lives that were all nicely set up. When we dove in, we, like, made a bit of a splash... I nearly got fired and kicked out of Keisha's apartment, but mostly it's just "do as you're told and don't piss anyone off." And here's the thing... I hate that, but I get it.
I read some of where Roy was complaining about me at work. Nothing she hasn't said to me in person, don't worry. And it's all true. I could give a fuck if I get Keisha fired, no offense to her. This is probably not her dream job. I don't know what would be, because I feel like I've said three sentences to her since I became her, but I doubt it's this. Pushing books. Like, who reads? (A lot of Canadians, apparently, the store seems to be doing ok.) I show up on time, I try not to be too much of a bitch, they can't fire me.
Then in October it was randomly Canadian "Thanksgiving," which was surprising, but Trish gave me a head's up on that.
The roommate... look, I don't know her story. If I asked, she would probably look at me like "I already told you this when we met." Sometimes she wants to be my friend, sometimes she hates my guts. So long as I pay my half of the rent, again, she's practically a ghost.
I've been asking Roy for details about his sex life, but she says she won't tell me because she doesn't want to encourage any bad behavior "I have to partake in some activities because I inherited a situation," she says. with her nose in the air. "You're better off not upsetting the apple cart." I say fuck that.
Convenient excuse. I'm not saying I want to get out there and get some action or anything: I still shudder at the idea of a dude touching me like that, but I can see the appeal. Yeah, I said it. Some dudes are attractive. And some girls want sex. I'm not sure if I'm one of them yet, but I can't totally say I'm not.
Know how I know? Because I know. We all have needs. I'm speaking for all of us. They don't have to tell me, I just know. Trish was dead-on right when he said to Cal that three of us have definitely gone downtown on the new bodies. Four if he was including himself. Cal might be too uptight to try it, but you can see in her eyes she's dying to break the seal. The rest of us are a little more "in touch" with ourselves. And hey, there's no harm done.
What guy wouldn't, given the chance? If we're stuck in these bodies, and we knew there was something fun we could do with them, why wouldn't we?
But what it comes down to is, I'm just bored. I've got to pass the time somehow. I want to meet people who aren't from the Lowell Crew, because I none of them are ready to venture out beyond movie nights or the occasional group hangout. We're legal age in a city where streets close down for pub crawls... I want to mix it the fuck up!
For god's sake, we spent Halloween watching the movie Halloween. We wasted the one night of the year where it's acceptable for us to wear ridiculous costumes, you know, even though we're kind of always in disguise.
It's not about sex. It's about living. Drinking, fighting, fucking, meeting randos -- and maybe hooking up -- that's life, man, and I'm not cancelling it just because I look like some uptight Canadian chick. So tonight, I'm gonna cut loose, head out on my own, see what happens. Peace, nerds.
Friday, October 11, 2013
James / Keisha: Alone with myself
I'm in my own personal hell right now. Not because I'm in a girl's body, mind you... I'm pretty OK with that a lot of the time. But nights like these I'm going outta my fuckin mind.
Start with the fact that I'm on my period. I'm not saying it hurts to move, but I am definitely not in a mood to do anything. So I decided I'd spend the night at home, in my sweats, with a movie. Maybe Die Hard or Taken or something. Then I find out that my dumbass roommate and her boyfriend are also spending the night in, which means they've taken the living room.
It's not like I'm stuck at home, but Derek, who is usually my lady-bro in these situations, works nights at the coffee shop. Cal is is a nice kid, but we don't always get along. Grant, or should I say "Sophie" (whoopdeedoo, she's the first one of us to start going by her new name permanently,) is MIA as usual. Roy is off seeing family for the Canadian holiday, plus we see enough of each other at work. That leaves Trish, who I think hates me.
But honestly, I don't feel like seeing anyone right now, not in the doubled-over-in-pain state I'm in... except that all these hormones are making me lonely as hell so that I'm practically crying for no good reason... and here's a wonderful fact you might like to know... I'm horny. Like, super horny!
I can't explain it, and I wish it weren't the case, but I can totally tell that Keisha's body is pushing me to go get laid. It's a period thing, I've read up on it. It's totally scientific. Some women just get super DTF on their periods.
Now, I'm doing an okay job taking care of myself... seriously, at this point, it's basically all I do all day, but I don't think I'm really getting the job done. It's like feeling like you have to sneeze, but the sneeze never comes. No matter how hard I rub, the genie never comes out, so I get tired and quit.
Right now, I am not open to the idea of involving an object, or another person. Nothing goes in there that isn't already part of me, or a tampon.
But I'm getting really confused. Like, I'm as straight as they get, as a dude. I love pussy, and the fact that I've been paying so much attention to my own should attest to that. But everything's all flip-flopped around in my head right now, where I could almost, almost see myself caving in and giving a dude a throw. But I don't want any guys seeing me naked or touching me. The idea makes me cringe.
It's just that... I don't respond much to girls, either, anymore. Like, I'll see a hot chick in the store and for a second I'll check out her cleavage, and then I'll think "God, what an attention whore." Like.. no shit, I'm glad to give her attention, or at least normally I would be. But suddenly I'll look at girls that I would have hit on in my real body, and I'll just think, "I don't approve of you." And I hate that.
So that's how I'm in hell. I want all the sex, but I don't want any of it. I just want to want it the way I'm used to it, but my body has other ideas. Bad, bad ideas.
Start with the fact that I'm on my period. I'm not saying it hurts to move, but I am definitely not in a mood to do anything. So I decided I'd spend the night at home, in my sweats, with a movie. Maybe Die Hard or Taken or something. Then I find out that my dumbass roommate and her boyfriend are also spending the night in, which means they've taken the living room.
It's not like I'm stuck at home, but Derek, who is usually my lady-bro in these situations, works nights at the coffee shop. Cal is is a nice kid, but we don't always get along. Grant, or should I say "Sophie" (whoopdeedoo, she's the first one of us to start going by her new name permanently,) is MIA as usual. Roy is off seeing family for the Canadian holiday, plus we see enough of each other at work. That leaves Trish, who I think hates me.
But honestly, I don't feel like seeing anyone right now, not in the doubled-over-in-pain state I'm in... except that all these hormones are making me lonely as hell so that I'm practically crying for no good reason... and here's a wonderful fact you might like to know... I'm horny. Like, super horny!
I can't explain it, and I wish it weren't the case, but I can totally tell that Keisha's body is pushing me to go get laid. It's a period thing, I've read up on it. It's totally scientific. Some women just get super DTF on their periods.
Now, I'm doing an okay job taking care of myself... seriously, at this point, it's basically all I do all day, but I don't think I'm really getting the job done. It's like feeling like you have to sneeze, but the sneeze never comes. No matter how hard I rub, the genie never comes out, so I get tired and quit.
Right now, I am not open to the idea of involving an object, or another person. Nothing goes in there that isn't already part of me, or a tampon.
But I'm getting really confused. Like, I'm as straight as they get, as a dude. I love pussy, and the fact that I've been paying so much attention to my own should attest to that. But everything's all flip-flopped around in my head right now, where I could almost, almost see myself caving in and giving a dude a throw. But I don't want any guys seeing me naked or touching me. The idea makes me cringe.
It's just that... I don't respond much to girls, either, anymore. Like, I'll see a hot chick in the store and for a second I'll check out her cleavage, and then I'll think "God, what an attention whore." Like.. no shit, I'm glad to give her attention, or at least normally I would be. But suddenly I'll look at girls that I would have hit on in my real body, and I'll just think, "I don't approve of you." And I hate that.
So that's how I'm in hell. I want all the sex, but I don't want any of it. I just want to want it the way I'm used to it, but my body has other ideas. Bad, bad ideas.
Wednesday, October 09, 2013
Cal / Angie: Girly
I never used to think much about what I put on my body. As long as it fit okay, I didn't care much about color or fabric or anything. All I had to do was pull on a pair of boxers in the morning, some jeans or shorts, a t-shirt and some deodorant and that was that. I had one pair of shoes, and I wore socks with em.
Now... oh boy.
At the risk of sounding like a slob, I wore the same pair of underwear for weeks on end as a guy, and now that's just not possible. A couple of days maybe but even then I become so aware of it that I feel like everyone can basically read my panties. So I've gotten very familiar with the laundromat on the corner. In fact, until she got a job, Derek was doing the laundry, and to my surprise, was very good at it, in that I never heard her complain and I'm constantly wondering if I'm doing it right, stressing out (I've ruined a couple of perfectly good bras, and am currently wondering if I should track down exact replacements as a courtesy to Angie.)
So every day begins with the selection of a fresh pair. Sometimes, to save time in the morning, I jump ahead by changing the night before, but if I think I might be on my period this is a waste, so I don't normally bother. Panties. I've written the word a few times in this post already and it still gives me a chill, let alone trying to say it out loud. It sounds so girly and cutesy... which is what they are. I was a plain white or black underwear kind of guy, since it's not like anybody was seeing them except me. They gave me room to let my "guys" breathe but not feel like they were flopping around. Now it's like... all a "piece" down there, packed in tight.
Tight is the word. Women come in all sorts of shapes - mine happens to be very, very slender, so I guess their clothes are designed to conform. I remember my first impression, digging through this girl's underthings, besides feeling like a totally perverted invasion of privacy, was that how could anybody risk cutting off circulation like that? I haven't worn briefs since I hit the fifth grade. But it all works differently for girls. There are a couple of pairs of "girl boxers" in the selection, but I find the breezyness... unsettling. Like I'm more aware that there's nothing down there when the area isn't clamped tightly. It doesn't mean I have to give myself a wedgie, but it means that the whole real estate is different in ways I wouldn't have guessed.
So as to the rest of the selection... there's a lot. Maybe it's average for a girl but it seems excessive to me. Even the "granny panties" seem slinky in their way, barely coming up to my belly button and firmly wrapping around my butt. My favorite ones aren't lacey, silky, satin, or shear, just regular cotton, but they are still petite, because I guess that means they're out of sight/out of mind and can go with everything. Sometimes I have worn those "date night" ones under my regular clothes, because 1) they're there, and 2) I'm probably not going to have a "date night" to wear them to anyway, so they might as well be for me.
Angie does not own any of those complicated lingerie things. Corsets and nylons. I don't know if I would try them on.
Not every pair of panties has a corresponding bra, and vice versa. That's weird to me. I guess stores have panties sales and you just buy them like you would socks, and wear them as you like. My boobs are modest enough that if I wear a couple of layers - two tops and a cardigan I don't intend on taking off - I can go without a bra. But I do find the firmness reassuring. If they're bobbing around, even if I don't think anyone can tell, I still feel exposed. Besides, the more fabric between the world and my nipples, the better.
The chilly fall weather, and rain to boot, has been a blessing on the fashionable front. In that there is a lot of layering to do, so I can wear top over top over top and nobody will think that's weird. And jeans, God yes, jeans. So what if they're low-rise and skin-tight, they're jeans. And I look good in them. I bought more for myself, when I realized that a lot of Angie's disposable income was mine to do as I please. I'm trying to be reasonable.
I haven't fully embraced girlyness... I still wear skater shoes most of the time, but sometimes I opt for slip-ons/moccasins/hippie shoes. I have a few times painted my nails and worn lip gloss, but I won't try eye makeup or too much face stuff. I have toyed with the idea of skin cream, because I like the idea of having soft skin in this body, and it makes me smell nice (in the sense of "I like when girls smell this way, so maybe I should.") The best thing about working in this granola environment is that nobody says anything if I don't wash my hair. So that's good. I'm still one of the least-girly of those of us who got turned this way in Maine.
I'm starting to feel fascinated by this body. How long I can stand in place before I get sore. How much sleep I need (6.5 hours minimum, 10 hours maximum[!]) how long it takes my leg and underarm hair to grow before I need to shave it again... you'd think the hippie environment would support this, but for my own comfort I came into this body with clean-shaven parts and I intend to keep them as best I can. With one exception... I had one really disastrous experience trying to clip my "bikini area" that resulted in the other of all skin irritations. So I'm going to let that be, unless I want to pay some stranger to do it for me (shudder.)
So in the last few weeks I've kind of done a 180 on this... from being afraid to think about it to being totally engrossed. I should probably hit "submit" on this post before I realize how self-conscious I am about it all.
It's like puberty though. First you're scared of it, feeling gross and grimy, and then suddenly you want to know everything you can. I remember staring at myself in the mirror trying to figure out when I'd grow facial hair or if I'd grow pecs. Instead, I got boobs.
And I'm not saying I like it, but... there's a neat feeling, looking yourself in the mirror when you start to like what you see. I don't love being a girl, but after sitting with the situation a while, I no longer think this is the worst thing ever.
Famous last words, I guess.
Now... oh boy.
At the risk of sounding like a slob, I wore the same pair of underwear for weeks on end as a guy, and now that's just not possible. A couple of days maybe but even then I become so aware of it that I feel like everyone can basically read my panties. So I've gotten very familiar with the laundromat on the corner. In fact, until she got a job, Derek was doing the laundry, and to my surprise, was very good at it, in that I never heard her complain and I'm constantly wondering if I'm doing it right, stressing out (I've ruined a couple of perfectly good bras, and am currently wondering if I should track down exact replacements as a courtesy to Angie.)
So every day begins with the selection of a fresh pair. Sometimes, to save time in the morning, I jump ahead by changing the night before, but if I think I might be on my period this is a waste, so I don't normally bother. Panties. I've written the word a few times in this post already and it still gives me a chill, let alone trying to say it out loud. It sounds so girly and cutesy... which is what they are. I was a plain white or black underwear kind of guy, since it's not like anybody was seeing them except me. They gave me room to let my "guys" breathe but not feel like they were flopping around. Now it's like... all a "piece" down there, packed in tight.
Tight is the word. Women come in all sorts of shapes - mine happens to be very, very slender, so I guess their clothes are designed to conform. I remember my first impression, digging through this girl's underthings, besides feeling like a totally perverted invasion of privacy, was that how could anybody risk cutting off circulation like that? I haven't worn briefs since I hit the fifth grade. But it all works differently for girls. There are a couple of pairs of "girl boxers" in the selection, but I find the breezyness... unsettling. Like I'm more aware that there's nothing down there when the area isn't clamped tightly. It doesn't mean I have to give myself a wedgie, but it means that the whole real estate is different in ways I wouldn't have guessed.
So as to the rest of the selection... there's a lot. Maybe it's average for a girl but it seems excessive to me. Even the "granny panties" seem slinky in their way, barely coming up to my belly button and firmly wrapping around my butt. My favorite ones aren't lacey, silky, satin, or shear, just regular cotton, but they are still petite, because I guess that means they're out of sight/out of mind and can go with everything. Sometimes I have worn those "date night" ones under my regular clothes, because 1) they're there, and 2) I'm probably not going to have a "date night" to wear them to anyway, so they might as well be for me.
Angie does not own any of those complicated lingerie things. Corsets and nylons. I don't know if I would try them on.
Not every pair of panties has a corresponding bra, and vice versa. That's weird to me. I guess stores have panties sales and you just buy them like you would socks, and wear them as you like. My boobs are modest enough that if I wear a couple of layers - two tops and a cardigan I don't intend on taking off - I can go without a bra. But I do find the firmness reassuring. If they're bobbing around, even if I don't think anyone can tell, I still feel exposed. Besides, the more fabric between the world and my nipples, the better.
The chilly fall weather, and rain to boot, has been a blessing on the fashionable front. In that there is a lot of layering to do, so I can wear top over top over top and nobody will think that's weird. And jeans, God yes, jeans. So what if they're low-rise and skin-tight, they're jeans. And I look good in them. I bought more for myself, when I realized that a lot of Angie's disposable income was mine to do as I please. I'm trying to be reasonable.
I haven't fully embraced girlyness... I still wear skater shoes most of the time, but sometimes I opt for slip-ons/moccasins/hippie shoes. I have a few times painted my nails and worn lip gloss, but I won't try eye makeup or too much face stuff. I have toyed with the idea of skin cream, because I like the idea of having soft skin in this body, and it makes me smell nice (in the sense of "I like when girls smell this way, so maybe I should.") The best thing about working in this granola environment is that nobody says anything if I don't wash my hair. So that's good. I'm still one of the least-girly of those of us who got turned this way in Maine.
I'm starting to feel fascinated by this body. How long I can stand in place before I get sore. How much sleep I need (6.5 hours minimum, 10 hours maximum[!]) how long it takes my leg and underarm hair to grow before I need to shave it again... you'd think the hippie environment would support this, but for my own comfort I came into this body with clean-shaven parts and I intend to keep them as best I can. With one exception... I had one really disastrous experience trying to clip my "bikini area" that resulted in the other of all skin irritations. So I'm going to let that be, unless I want to pay some stranger to do it for me (shudder.)
So in the last few weeks I've kind of done a 180 on this... from being afraid to think about it to being totally engrossed. I should probably hit "submit" on this post before I realize how self-conscious I am about it all.
It's like puberty though. First you're scared of it, feeling gross and grimy, and then suddenly you want to know everything you can. I remember staring at myself in the mirror trying to figure out when I'd grow facial hair or if I'd grow pecs. Instead, I got boobs.
And I'm not saying I like it, but... there's a neat feeling, looking yourself in the mirror when you start to like what you see. I don't love being a girl, but after sitting with the situation a while, I no longer think this is the worst thing ever.
Famous last words, I guess.
Tuesday, September 03, 2013
Trish / Robbie: Beach day
Our lives are utterly insane. A few months ago we were just normal teenagers. Most of us were going to college in the fall. Now it's September and I have this anxiety in my chest because I feel like I should be going to school. All that preparation I was expecting to do, registering for classes, buying textbooks, moving out of my parents house I do not have to do. I don't have to do anything, except find a new job.
Robbie's job painting houses officially ended last week. It was bittersweet. I was okay at the work but I didn't love it. I didn't find it stimulating or anything. Some of the crew were the exact sorts of obnoxious jerks that used to hit on me regularly at parties, except now they were trying to drag me to parties to hit on girls.
I did go out a few times with them, against my better judgment, sitting quietly at the bar while they struck out time and again at the club. I'll admit, it would've been nice to get "into" the spirit of things and join the dancefloor, but I feel so gangly and awkward as a man. I'm not sure how men are supposed to dance, even though I've never believe them when they told me "guys don't dance." I've seen them do it. I just don't like how they do.
The girls are another thing. It's amazing to watch these girls just cut loose. I wish I could be like that, or if I could have when I was a girl. Right now, I've decided, I'm nothing.
Which is to say, please don't read too deeply into it when I say the one member of the crew I'll miss is the only girl I worked with, Lauren. She is blonde and short and quite cute, and she probably has a better sense of humor than I do, to be able to put up with the guys ogling her.
She asked me, on our last day working together, what I was planning on doing for the fall. I said I had no plans. I'm not going back to school. I don't have a new job lined up yet. I can scrape by for a little bit on savings.
She said it would be a shame if we never saw each other again, and said to keep in touch if I ever wanted to hang out at her University campus. (It's weird the way Canadians say "University" the way we say "College." They say "College" when they talk about community college.) I thought it might be nice to have a female friend who isn't secretly a boy.
Speaking of the boy-girls, we had one little meetup to celebrate the end of summer. Vancouver has a few really great beaches and I managed to get them all to come along, basically daring them to wear swimsuits. It took a lot of convincing.
James was the easiest to convince, of course. Out of the three, he is the least skittish about "flaunting" it. Which I'm a bit uncomfortable with, because with Keisha being "my" sister, I kind of feel that level of brotherly familiarity with her.
Cal and Derek came too, wearing their swimsuits under shorts and tees in case they felt too embarrassed. However, I think being in a crowd of hot (and not) girls and guys in swimwear gave them a bit of confidence. Cal wore a red bikini that fell loosely over his slim little body. Derek wore a black one-piece, which seemed modest, but actually highlighted his curves. Compared to those other two, he's a goddess. Now, it's obvious that he's let Mona's body "go" a little bit through inactivity and overeating, but the girl is still hot.
However, the real surprise was Grant, who none of us has had much contact with since we got here. He's been kind of a recluse and we were all starting to worry (although when texted, he does reply quickly.) Grant's "host" body, Sophie, is a bit of a bombshell in her own way... short, but curvacious in just the right way (big hips and butt) and quite bosomy. He was spilling out of his strapless bikini top like it was no big deal.
For my part, I wore baggy shorts - guys' swimwear is so boring and functional, like everything about them.
This weekend was the most fun I've had with these guys. They let their guards down just a little bit. I kept my eye on them to see which beachgoers turned their heads, and while they definitely paid attention to the other girls, I saw some glances cast at guys, too... quickly and embarrassedly. Okay, I don't want to make them feel too awkward about it.
But really, is it such a crime? If what Roy has said is true, that's basically how these bodies are wired. It's just physical. It's just attraction. It's scary to let your body do the driving when it's taking you in an unfamiliar direction, but if that's what's going to happen, can we fight it? Are we just making ourselves miserable by not admitting that if, for example, if Robbie liked girls, then I might too now? The evidence is... pretty convincing.
But why does it have to be about who I like? It's not like I plan on doing anything, and I don't think the others are either. The only one I'm having "fun" with is myself, and I guarantee you three out of those four boys have done the same.
Well, the equivalent.
Robbie's job painting houses officially ended last week. It was bittersweet. I was okay at the work but I didn't love it. I didn't find it stimulating or anything. Some of the crew were the exact sorts of obnoxious jerks that used to hit on me regularly at parties, except now they were trying to drag me to parties to hit on girls.
I did go out a few times with them, against my better judgment, sitting quietly at the bar while they struck out time and again at the club. I'll admit, it would've been nice to get "into" the spirit of things and join the dancefloor, but I feel so gangly and awkward as a man. I'm not sure how men are supposed to dance, even though I've never believe them when they told me "guys don't dance." I've seen them do it. I just don't like how they do.
The girls are another thing. It's amazing to watch these girls just cut loose. I wish I could be like that, or if I could have when I was a girl. Right now, I've decided, I'm nothing.
Which is to say, please don't read too deeply into it when I say the one member of the crew I'll miss is the only girl I worked with, Lauren. She is blonde and short and quite cute, and she probably has a better sense of humor than I do, to be able to put up with the guys ogling her.
She asked me, on our last day working together, what I was planning on doing for the fall. I said I had no plans. I'm not going back to school. I don't have a new job lined up yet. I can scrape by for a little bit on savings.
She said it would be a shame if we never saw each other again, and said to keep in touch if I ever wanted to hang out at her University campus. (It's weird the way Canadians say "University" the way we say "College." They say "College" when they talk about community college.) I thought it might be nice to have a female friend who isn't secretly a boy.
Speaking of the boy-girls, we had one little meetup to celebrate the end of summer. Vancouver has a few really great beaches and I managed to get them all to come along, basically daring them to wear swimsuits. It took a lot of convincing.
James was the easiest to convince, of course. Out of the three, he is the least skittish about "flaunting" it. Which I'm a bit uncomfortable with, because with Keisha being "my" sister, I kind of feel that level of brotherly familiarity with her.
Cal and Derek came too, wearing their swimsuits under shorts and tees in case they felt too embarrassed. However, I think being in a crowd of hot (and not) girls and guys in swimwear gave them a bit of confidence. Cal wore a red bikini that fell loosely over his slim little body. Derek wore a black one-piece, which seemed modest, but actually highlighted his curves. Compared to those other two, he's a goddess. Now, it's obvious that he's let Mona's body "go" a little bit through inactivity and overeating, but the girl is still hot.
However, the real surprise was Grant, who none of us has had much contact with since we got here. He's been kind of a recluse and we were all starting to worry (although when texted, he does reply quickly.) Grant's "host" body, Sophie, is a bit of a bombshell in her own way... short, but curvacious in just the right way (big hips and butt) and quite bosomy. He was spilling out of his strapless bikini top like it was no big deal.
For my part, I wore baggy shorts - guys' swimwear is so boring and functional, like everything about them.
This weekend was the most fun I've had with these guys. They let their guards down just a little bit. I kept my eye on them to see which beachgoers turned their heads, and while they definitely paid attention to the other girls, I saw some glances cast at guys, too... quickly and embarrassedly. Okay, I don't want to make them feel too awkward about it.
But really, is it such a crime? If what Roy has said is true, that's basically how these bodies are wired. It's just physical. It's just attraction. It's scary to let your body do the driving when it's taking you in an unfamiliar direction, but if that's what's going to happen, can we fight it? Are we just making ourselves miserable by not admitting that if, for example, if Robbie liked girls, then I might too now? The evidence is... pretty convincing.
But why does it have to be about who I like? It's not like I plan on doing anything, and I don't think the others are either. The only one I'm having "fun" with is myself, and I guarantee you three out of those four boys have done the same.
Well, the equivalent.
Tuesday, August 20, 2013
Trish / Robbie: The Deep End
On Sunday night, "Keisha" and I went to dinner with "our" parents. I hadn't seen James in some time, and from his last post I half expected him to show up with his face garishly painted with makeup wearing a low cut top and stripper heels. But no, he seems to have this "feminine" thing down, at least reasonably enough that an outsider wouldn't ask questions. You could nitpick the details, but he actually looked quite swqeet.
It was an awkward dinner, though. I have not spent much time talking to any of the "Lowell Crew" since we got here, besides occasionally advisory texts to the "gals." The girl in me wants to gossip and swap stories, but the guys kinda backpedal when I ask how they feel about being girls. And at a family dinner where we're "in character" there's not much opportunity to do so. James actually performed well, he's a very outgoing, charismatic guy when he wants to be, even though he had to account for hwy Keisha wasn't "looking for work in her field" at the moment. He was still very vibrant and easygoing, the opposite of me.
Since we got to Vancouver, I've been working Robbie's job, painting houses. It's really just a summer job, and while Rob's in University I managed to get his courses deferred. There was some bureaucracy there but really it's just a matter of pushing the right buttons and waiting for confirmation. Working from 7 til 6 some days, I come home exhausted so I don't socialize much, but driving to different work sites every day has given me both an appreciation for the city here, and a lot more comfort driving than I used to have. It's all about diving in the deep end, I suppose.
I drove James home after dinner and we got to talking. He had this grin on his face as the conversation turned to certain sensitive subjects. I won't say what he's asking about (you can probably guess!) but it's not anything I felt comfortable talking about with him, let alone revealing on this blog. Not just because it's personal, but because I don't even know how to put it. It's like losing one sense and gaining another.
I think being a girl has mellowed him out a bit. He's toned down his "player" persona and really comes across as a caring, thoughtful person. That might just be his feminine tone of voice, though. I've had to remind myself several times while talking with him that this is an 18-year-old guy trapped in a woman's body. He's really leaned in to the act.
As for me... well, I don't know. I'm not trying to be a "guy" but I guess I'm not being that girly, either. All the physical labor helps. A level of activity that would have made me cringe back then is now basically all I do, and then I get home and I feel a little sore but I wake up in the morning and I'm ready to go. I feel resilient and powerful.
It was an awkward dinner, though. I have not spent much time talking to any of the "Lowell Crew" since we got here, besides occasionally advisory texts to the "gals." The girl in me wants to gossip and swap stories, but the guys kinda backpedal when I ask how they feel about being girls. And at a family dinner where we're "in character" there's not much opportunity to do so. James actually performed well, he's a very outgoing, charismatic guy when he wants to be, even though he had to account for hwy Keisha wasn't "looking for work in her field" at the moment. He was still very vibrant and easygoing, the opposite of me.
Since we got to Vancouver, I've been working Robbie's job, painting houses. It's really just a summer job, and while Rob's in University I managed to get his courses deferred. There was some bureaucracy there but really it's just a matter of pushing the right buttons and waiting for confirmation. Working from 7 til 6 some days, I come home exhausted so I don't socialize much, but driving to different work sites every day has given me both an appreciation for the city here, and a lot more comfort driving than I used to have. It's all about diving in the deep end, I suppose.
I drove James home after dinner and we got to talking. He had this grin on his face as the conversation turned to certain sensitive subjects. I won't say what he's asking about (you can probably guess!) but it's not anything I felt comfortable talking about with him, let alone revealing on this blog. Not just because it's personal, but because I don't even know how to put it. It's like losing one sense and gaining another.
I think being a girl has mellowed him out a bit. He's toned down his "player" persona and really comes across as a caring, thoughtful person. That might just be his feminine tone of voice, though. I've had to remind myself several times while talking with him that this is an 18-year-old guy trapped in a woman's body. He's really leaned in to the act.
As for me... well, I don't know. I'm not trying to be a "guy" but I guess I'm not being that girly, either. All the physical labor helps. A level of activity that would have made me cringe back then is now basically all I do, and then I get home and I feel a little sore but I wake up in the morning and I'm ready to go. I feel resilient and powerful.
Thursday, August 15, 2013
Cal / Angie: Day in day out
It's already become freakishly normal. I crawl out of bed at 7:30 in the morning, stretch, and slink to the washroom. I sit on the toilet. I brush my teeth. I undress from the tank top and shorts I use as pjs. I run a brush through my hair because I've learned that if I don't, it gets all tangled in the shower and then it's impossible to un-knot. I'm thinking abut cutting it... the way I see it, even if I just get it cut once, it will mostly grow out by the time I give this body back. Assuming I get the chance to. It's only August. It feels like an eternity will pass between now and next spring... and who knows what might happen by then.
That's usually what I'm thinking of, every single morning, see. How whether I like it or not, I'm stuck for now, and if I don't make peace with it soon, it's really going to kill if I can't get back where I belong. I breathe a deep sigh then step into the shower, fussing with the knobs to get the heat just where I want it.
I just stand in there for a while, letting the water fall over me. I used to clamp my eyes shut but there's no point. I already know every inch of skin on this girl, you know? Every hair and mole. The one thing that still kind of excites me is when I soap up, because hey, even if I'm the naked girl, it's still a naked soapy girl. I feel the weight of my dripping wet breasts in my hands and lather them in a circular motion. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least like that. I get my own private show every morning if I like it or not. And if I'm not in the mood, I just put it out of my mind.
Horrifying, then exciting, then normal, and then sometimes exciting again.
After I turn the water off, I take a moment to try to wring out my hair. If I'm in a hurry, which I usually am, I give it at least a blast with the dryer and wrap it in a towel. Then I slip into a nice warm fuzzy bathrobe and tiptoe back to my room.
I've already talked a bit about what it's like to get dressed, to choose from my options when it comes to clothes. I prefer to cover as much as possible, but Angie seems to have favoured loose, skin-baring clothes. I try to make it so that at least my bra is covered. I think it's weird that so many girls are just cool letting guys see their brastraps. Like, to me, that counts as underwear. But Angie doesn't own a lot of t-shirts and hoodies, which is what I mostly wore as a guy, so I just choose something that looks okay and layer a cardigan over it, despite the heat. (Actually, Vancouver's climate is quite breezy.)
Once I'm sure I've got everything fitted properly and in place, I take one last moment to breathe. That's because I know Derek's out there. He's such a couch potato it's almost revolting. I don't know what he does all day, besides watch TV and maybe play with himself. Must be nice, but we're going to have a PROBLEM soon.
He's just ALWAYS there. Usually he falls asleep on the couch at night, so when I get up it wakes him up. And when I get home in the evening, he's still there. I'm trying to get him to clean the place, do dishes, maybe even cook and do laundry, but I think he just thinks of this as a vacation and he doesn't have to do anything. I hate that kind of self-important attitude. I just feel so intimidated by him, and maybe it's because of the way he looks. For one, he's way taller than me, so anytime I get upset he just stands up and stares me down and basically dares me to challenge him. I'm not going to attack someone who's 6 inches taller than me and a girl - even if I'm technically one too.
I think maybe I'm just conditioned to be forgiving to attractive women, which Derek sadly is, and he's aware of it.
I've heard otherwise, but I'm not willing to accept the idea that I might be one too. Sometimes when Derek's feeling nice, he'll call me "Bright Eyes" in a really sweet tone on voice. The other day I was running around picking up garbage and he said "Hey, you know your butt really jiggles when you walk around like that."
I froze and turned to him. "Don't tell me that."
"Maybe it's just because you're so clenched tight. Get the stick out of there."
And I was just burning with anger because if he thinks that, then guys I work with, or see in the store, probably noticed and think even worse things. Every time I think I'm getting comfortable and acting like myself, I notice some guy give me the "look" and it sends a chill up my spine. Like, no thank you, I'm not interested. Gluh. Can't I just be? Or maybe it's my fault, and I need to learn to take a compliment about this body.
I just need a break, a little privacy and space. I'm starting to get edgy here with this routine.
That's usually what I'm thinking of, every single morning, see. How whether I like it or not, I'm stuck for now, and if I don't make peace with it soon, it's really going to kill if I can't get back where I belong. I breathe a deep sigh then step into the shower, fussing with the knobs to get the heat just where I want it.
I just stand in there for a while, letting the water fall over me. I used to clamp my eyes shut but there's no point. I already know every inch of skin on this girl, you know? Every hair and mole. The one thing that still kind of excites me is when I soap up, because hey, even if I'm the naked girl, it's still a naked soapy girl. I feel the weight of my dripping wet breasts in my hands and lather them in a circular motion. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least like that. I get my own private show every morning if I like it or not. And if I'm not in the mood, I just put it out of my mind.
Horrifying, then exciting, then normal, and then sometimes exciting again.
After I turn the water off, I take a moment to try to wring out my hair. If I'm in a hurry, which I usually am, I give it at least a blast with the dryer and wrap it in a towel. Then I slip into a nice warm fuzzy bathrobe and tiptoe back to my room.
I've already talked a bit about what it's like to get dressed, to choose from my options when it comes to clothes. I prefer to cover as much as possible, but Angie seems to have favoured loose, skin-baring clothes. I try to make it so that at least my bra is covered. I think it's weird that so many girls are just cool letting guys see their brastraps. Like, to me, that counts as underwear. But Angie doesn't own a lot of t-shirts and hoodies, which is what I mostly wore as a guy, so I just choose something that looks okay and layer a cardigan over it, despite the heat. (Actually, Vancouver's climate is quite breezy.)
Once I'm sure I've got everything fitted properly and in place, I take one last moment to breathe. That's because I know Derek's out there. He's such a couch potato it's almost revolting. I don't know what he does all day, besides watch TV and maybe play with himself. Must be nice, but we're going to have a PROBLEM soon.
He's just ALWAYS there. Usually he falls asleep on the couch at night, so when I get up it wakes him up. And when I get home in the evening, he's still there. I'm trying to get him to clean the place, do dishes, maybe even cook and do laundry, but I think he just thinks of this as a vacation and he doesn't have to do anything. I hate that kind of self-important attitude. I just feel so intimidated by him, and maybe it's because of the way he looks. For one, he's way taller than me, so anytime I get upset he just stands up and stares me down and basically dares me to challenge him. I'm not going to attack someone who's 6 inches taller than me and a girl - even if I'm technically one too.
I think maybe I'm just conditioned to be forgiving to attractive women, which Derek sadly is, and he's aware of it.
I've heard otherwise, but I'm not willing to accept the idea that I might be one too. Sometimes when Derek's feeling nice, he'll call me "Bright Eyes" in a really sweet tone on voice. The other day I was running around picking up garbage and he said "Hey, you know your butt really jiggles when you walk around like that."
I froze and turned to him. "Don't tell me that."
"Maybe it's just because you're so clenched tight. Get the stick out of there."
And I was just burning with anger because if he thinks that, then guys I work with, or see in the store, probably noticed and think even worse things. Every time I think I'm getting comfortable and acting like myself, I notice some guy give me the "look" and it sends a chill up my spine. Like, no thank you, I'm not interested. Gluh. Can't I just be? Or maybe it's my fault, and I need to learn to take a compliment about this body.
I just need a break, a little privacy and space. I'm starting to get edgy here with this routine.
Wednesday, August 14, 2013
Roy / Christine: What men want
It was Friday night and I was done work for the weekend. I got home, kicked off my shoes and went upstairs to change. I heard his voice through the door: "I ordered Chinese for dinner, hope that's okay."
I sigh. Eating take-out as often as we do is not good for the body. The poor guy can't cook and I don't always have the energy when I get home, so this is our compromise. I just try not too eat too much of it. So after a quiet sigh to myself, I call back, "Okay!"
He cracks the door open and I can see him peek at me. I turn, throwing my arms over my half-dressed body, as if he hasn't seen this body naked hundreds of times over their years together. Maybe so, but it's not my choice to let him see. After a month, he's hardly a stranger to me, though. I've had relationships move much faster than this.
I e-mailed Christine after a while, saying "What about sex?" And her response amounted to "I don't want to think about it." Hardly encouraging, but not a bitter opposition. I try to psych myself into it as he approaches, and I let my arms fall from covering my breasts. He wraps his arms around my waist, letting them sit just above my butt. My hands press against his soft, hairy chest.
He tilts his head down and kisses me. I like being kissed. It's kissing back that I've had to get used to, in all honesty. Our tongues dance around each other and he pushes me toward the bed. I can feel his hardness poking into me. What's more, I can feel the wheels turning in my own body. I'm getting wet.
I don't want to have sex with him, though. I still just can't get used to the idea, as much as I've grown accustomed to his presence, and the physical reality of being a woman. My whole anatomy down there still features a part that I've never used, that I just don't feel right about sharing with him yet. But there is something else I can do, and I suspect he'll prefer it. I slide his pants off him, boxers and all, and begin to lower my head to his lap. He practically squeals with joy. I really think most married men would rather get a blowjob than sex. They don't have to do anything. And personally, I'm a bit of a pro at this. If I like someone, I'm all too happy to provide this service. For my own sake, too, the more conventional position isn't something I'm ready for yet. I wouldn't know what to expect and I'm not eager to take that liberty with Christine's body. Yet.
He's not used to this kind of treatment and it shows. He lasts barely a minute, leaving me to tend to the mess. It's just as well, because the food will be here soon. We lie side by side and he wraps his arms around me. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. He whispers a "thank you" in my ear and I get a little tingle. That comfort I spoke of has already turned to something else. I tentatively slip my fingers down the front of my panties, possibly without him even knowing, but before I can get more than a vague sense of what I'm feeling down there, the doorbell rings. He gets up and pulls on his pants to answer it, and I consider continuing without him, but think better of it.
We eat quietly, with almost no comment on what has just happened. He's afraid to ask questions, because he doesn't want to undo the spell I'm under, whatever possessed his wife to add that to their usual routine. For the rest of the night I was pretty pleased with myself.
The next morning was a different story, as I regarded my body sadly in the mirror. I inherited a body full of bumps and lumps and while a lot of people might be okay with that, including Terry, I'm just not. I don't like the way my gut sags and love-handles bulge, the way I get tired just standing around all day. I'm not THAT far overweight for Christine's body type but it's enough to make a difference and certainly not up to the standards I set for myself. Being fine with yourself is one thing but being truly happy with your body is another. I can't go on like this, falling into Christine's patterns just because it's what she did. I need to take care of this body in a way she didn't. I wouldn't be happy with myself if I didn't try. Call it a project. I know women's fitness is a lot different from men's, and it might not even necessarily be about losing pounds as much as it is about firming and toning up, eating right and improving conditioning. This is who I am, and for the duration of my time as Christine, it's going to be who she is, too. That's final. Time to get to work.
I sigh. Eating take-out as often as we do is not good for the body. The poor guy can't cook and I don't always have the energy when I get home, so this is our compromise. I just try not too eat too much of it. So after a quiet sigh to myself, I call back, "Okay!"
He cracks the door open and I can see him peek at me. I turn, throwing my arms over my half-dressed body, as if he hasn't seen this body naked hundreds of times over their years together. Maybe so, but it's not my choice to let him see. After a month, he's hardly a stranger to me, though. I've had relationships move much faster than this.
I e-mailed Christine after a while, saying "What about sex?" And her response amounted to "I don't want to think about it." Hardly encouraging, but not a bitter opposition. I try to psych myself into it as he approaches, and I let my arms fall from covering my breasts. He wraps his arms around my waist, letting them sit just above my butt. My hands press against his soft, hairy chest.
He tilts his head down and kisses me. I like being kissed. It's kissing back that I've had to get used to, in all honesty. Our tongues dance around each other and he pushes me toward the bed. I can feel his hardness poking into me. What's more, I can feel the wheels turning in my own body. I'm getting wet.
I don't want to have sex with him, though. I still just can't get used to the idea, as much as I've grown accustomed to his presence, and the physical reality of being a woman. My whole anatomy down there still features a part that I've never used, that I just don't feel right about sharing with him yet. But there is something else I can do, and I suspect he'll prefer it. I slide his pants off him, boxers and all, and begin to lower my head to his lap. He practically squeals with joy. I really think most married men would rather get a blowjob than sex. They don't have to do anything. And personally, I'm a bit of a pro at this. If I like someone, I'm all too happy to provide this service. For my own sake, too, the more conventional position isn't something I'm ready for yet. I wouldn't know what to expect and I'm not eager to take that liberty with Christine's body. Yet.
He's not used to this kind of treatment and it shows. He lasts barely a minute, leaving me to tend to the mess. It's just as well, because the food will be here soon. We lie side by side and he wraps his arms around me. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. He whispers a "thank you" in my ear and I get a little tingle. That comfort I spoke of has already turned to something else. I tentatively slip my fingers down the front of my panties, possibly without him even knowing, but before I can get more than a vague sense of what I'm feeling down there, the doorbell rings. He gets up and pulls on his pants to answer it, and I consider continuing without him, but think better of it.
We eat quietly, with almost no comment on what has just happened. He's afraid to ask questions, because he doesn't want to undo the spell I'm under, whatever possessed his wife to add that to their usual routine. For the rest of the night I was pretty pleased with myself.
The next morning was a different story, as I regarded my body sadly in the mirror. I inherited a body full of bumps and lumps and while a lot of people might be okay with that, including Terry, I'm just not. I don't like the way my gut sags and love-handles bulge, the way I get tired just standing around all day. I'm not THAT far overweight for Christine's body type but it's enough to make a difference and certainly not up to the standards I set for myself. Being fine with yourself is one thing but being truly happy with your body is another. I can't go on like this, falling into Christine's patterns just because it's what she did. I need to take care of this body in a way she didn't. I wouldn't be happy with myself if I didn't try. Call it a project. I know women's fitness is a lot different from men's, and it might not even necessarily be about losing pounds as much as it is about firming and toning up, eating right and improving conditioning. This is who I am, and for the duration of my time as Christine, it's going to be who she is, too. That's final. Time to get to work.
Thursday, August 08, 2013
Cal / Angie: Dressing the part
One thing I like about the girl I became is that Angie was kind of a hippie girl, so when it comes to appearances I don't get the sense that I'm acating out of character for her if I don't put in much effort. I go to work in the morning with tangled, messy hair (it's long and reddish brown) and no make-up, and nobody looks at me like I'm out of place (although sometimes I can see flashes of sneers on my way to work, it's not like I care.)
That said, she still did leave some girly things about herself, open for discussion: she does own several things of homemade make-up from all natural ingredients (face creams, lip balms, that kind of thing.) When I woke up as her, her legs and armpits were shaved, and I haven't tended to that. I wonder if maybe I should. It's still summer, and while Vancouver is a pretty breezy place, so I can get away with covering up, she owns a number of tank tops and shorts that I usually wear, so I would feel weird wearing them and revealing the ever-darkening growth under my arms.
That said, like... how do you get into that? Do you just make a night of it? I can remember not too long ago being excited to even get hair under there, and now I'm considering shaving it all off? Should I even be embarrassed, since it's only natural? I know that if I was a guy and I saw a girl who looked like me, I would cringe at seeing hairy armpits and legs. Plus as it's growing in it's really irritating my skin.
Holy crap, I just re-read that paragraph and realized I wrote the phrase "If I was a guy." I almost deleted it and rephrased to closer to what I actually meant, but I dunno... just think about it. I'm not a guy right now. That's been made very obvious by the last week, if the previous weeks of sitting to pee weren't a tipoff. I don't think I'm comfortable making decisions based on how others see me, though, so it's all the better if guys don't like what they see. I don't want them to.
That said, it's eerie how comfortable I have gotten in this body. I'm not so squeamish to undress it, to walk around with it, to bathe it. Clothes are a whole other matter. Angie has a lot of summery dresses and I just don't feel comfy slipping into one of them. I tried one, and I don't like the way they fit or the way they flow down around my legs. Most of them are pretty short, so they can be unpredictable in the breeze, and when I sit down it's basically like sitting directly with my butt to the surface. But she only has a few pairs of shorts, and two pairs of jeans: one low rise, one high waist. The high-waisted ones feel really stuffy and don't really "breathe" in certain ways, and the low rise ones make me feel like they're going to slip down and reveal everything, especially when I bend down to get something off a low shelf. Mainly, I wear shorts and small, low-rise underwear so that they don't creep up.
I've made peace with "the girls," though. They're not huge, but I definitely feel them bobbing around under my top. I like that, during hot days, girls tops tend to have lower necklines so that they air out more, but I suspect it's really just for showing off. It still feels a little weird to have them on the edge of my vision, like, just under my eyeline. For the first few weeks I would wonder "What's that under my... oh, right, those." I think half the time I was literally just staring down at them, amazed at their existence, and I still catch myself idly running my hands over them when I think nobody's looking. Real girls... probably don't do that. But if I may say so, they feel pretty amazing, real soft and sensitive, not like I would have imagined. It just sucks that my only options are to cram them into a bra or let them hang and sway, with all the world watching them go. There's no way for them not to be on display. And they're only a 28B, so even though mine feel noticeable, Derek's tits are D-cups. So I can only imagine what lugging those things are like for him. (I should note, though, that he doesn't leave the house and mostly wears sweats.)
So I feel like I've got the "average girl" or even "modest hippie girl" look down. I've found what I'm comfortable with. James can keep his experiments, and I'll stick to my routines.
That said, she still did leave some girly things about herself, open for discussion: she does own several things of homemade make-up from all natural ingredients (face creams, lip balms, that kind of thing.) When I woke up as her, her legs and armpits were shaved, and I haven't tended to that. I wonder if maybe I should. It's still summer, and while Vancouver is a pretty breezy place, so I can get away with covering up, she owns a number of tank tops and shorts that I usually wear, so I would feel weird wearing them and revealing the ever-darkening growth under my arms.
That said, like... how do you get into that? Do you just make a night of it? I can remember not too long ago being excited to even get hair under there, and now I'm considering shaving it all off? Should I even be embarrassed, since it's only natural? I know that if I was a guy and I saw a girl who looked like me, I would cringe at seeing hairy armpits and legs. Plus as it's growing in it's really irritating my skin.
Holy crap, I just re-read that paragraph and realized I wrote the phrase "If I was a guy." I almost deleted it and rephrased to closer to what I actually meant, but I dunno... just think about it. I'm not a guy right now. That's been made very obvious by the last week, if the previous weeks of sitting to pee weren't a tipoff. I don't think I'm comfortable making decisions based on how others see me, though, so it's all the better if guys don't like what they see. I don't want them to.
That said, it's eerie how comfortable I have gotten in this body. I'm not so squeamish to undress it, to walk around with it, to bathe it. Clothes are a whole other matter. Angie has a lot of summery dresses and I just don't feel comfy slipping into one of them. I tried one, and I don't like the way they fit or the way they flow down around my legs. Most of them are pretty short, so they can be unpredictable in the breeze, and when I sit down it's basically like sitting directly with my butt to the surface. But she only has a few pairs of shorts, and two pairs of jeans: one low rise, one high waist. The high-waisted ones feel really stuffy and don't really "breathe" in certain ways, and the low rise ones make me feel like they're going to slip down and reveal everything, especially when I bend down to get something off a low shelf. Mainly, I wear shorts and small, low-rise underwear so that they don't creep up.
I've made peace with "the girls," though. They're not huge, but I definitely feel them bobbing around under my top. I like that, during hot days, girls tops tend to have lower necklines so that they air out more, but I suspect it's really just for showing off. It still feels a little weird to have them on the edge of my vision, like, just under my eyeline. For the first few weeks I would wonder "What's that under my... oh, right, those." I think half the time I was literally just staring down at them, amazed at their existence, and I still catch myself idly running my hands over them when I think nobody's looking. Real girls... probably don't do that. But if I may say so, they feel pretty amazing, real soft and sensitive, not like I would have imagined. It just sucks that my only options are to cram them into a bra or let them hang and sway, with all the world watching them go. There's no way for them not to be on display. And they're only a 28B, so even though mine feel noticeable, Derek's tits are D-cups. So I can only imagine what lugging those things are like for him. (I should note, though, that he doesn't leave the house and mostly wears sweats.)
So I feel like I've got the "average girl" or even "modest hippie girl" look down. I've found what I'm comfortable with. James can keep his experiments, and I'll stick to my routines.
Tuesday, August 06, 2013
Roy / Christine: Comforts of (someone else's) home
It would be nice to hover outside myself, on a Sunday morning, and just observe Terry and Christine as a couple, lying in bed, having breakfast together, going for a drive. So far this experience has been dotted by nice little things like that, guilty pleasures considering they have been taken from somebody else and given to me.
I have to admit, it's nice to have this level of comfort. I know I've never had a relationship that functions as well as Terry and Christine's probably does. Let's just say I don't tend to date the kind of guys who stay the night and cuddle all morning. There was a time I would never have thought that's what I wanted either.
We've gotten into this nice routine that works fairly well considering who and what I am. I work most days, come home and have dinner. We watch TV and drink wine, snuggled up on the couch, and then go to bed. The young married life. Suits me fine. Besides his occasionally kisses and pats on the butt, Terry isn't overly forward, and now that I've gotten to know him a bit more I don't shudder at the idea of having his arms around me. I'm just trying not to enjoy it too much.
There's the problem, isn't it? This isn't my life and if it were, I probably wouldn't give Terry a second look on the street, let alone sit through date night with him... he's pudgy and balding and currently out of work, and sometimes very particular about things while also having huge blind spots about other things. But I like having stepped into this comfort zone, this well-worn relationship where I'm not trying to impress him, nor he me. Even though I am patently not his wife, he treats me like I am and I just... accept it, I guess. Maybe she and I aren't such different people. Who knows.
Or maybe, and this is a hypothesis that might freak the others out too much if I say it but I need to put it out there... maybe I'm more than just Christine's body right now. I'm not talking about memories or habits or things like that, but that ineffable something that makes a person who they are. I feel like me, like Roy, but I catch myself responding to things ever so slightly differently than Roy would have. We don't know the true nature of this curse, and we don't even know the true nature of the human mind, so how one affects the other is entirely uncharted territory. Maybe Christine left more of herself with me than we could know.
It's not crazy. It's a known fact that concussions, strokes and brain traumas can change peoples' personalities. We like to think we are this single unchanging thing, but we're not, we're a bunch of complicated wires bathing in hormones, and those hormones are provided by the body. My mind, all my memories of myself are currently swimming in the stuff that made Christine who she was. Maybe this isn't news to you readers, but to me it's fascinating and scary. It's like losing yourself, but not.
Maybe it's not that big a deal, or maybe it's just a bigger deal to me than the others because I am "in the thick" of it with Terry here. I'm just saying there might be a deeper reason why the smell of his cologne triggers a strangely warm feeling inside me, why I can both be frustrated with him as a human and find him oddly appealing as a man. And maybe I'm more receptive to it than the others because I've had to think more about who and what I am, in life than these kids who are now wearing the faces of slightly older women and men. I hope that, when and if they realize something truly strange is going on, it doesn't put them off too much.
The difference between them and me is that right now, they have the option to ignore it, and I don't. But at least it doesn't feel as much like torture like I was afraid it would.
I have to admit, it's nice to have this level of comfort. I know I've never had a relationship that functions as well as Terry and Christine's probably does. Let's just say I don't tend to date the kind of guys who stay the night and cuddle all morning. There was a time I would never have thought that's what I wanted either.
We've gotten into this nice routine that works fairly well considering who and what I am. I work most days, come home and have dinner. We watch TV and drink wine, snuggled up on the couch, and then go to bed. The young married life. Suits me fine. Besides his occasionally kisses and pats on the butt, Terry isn't overly forward, and now that I've gotten to know him a bit more I don't shudder at the idea of having his arms around me. I'm just trying not to enjoy it too much.
There's the problem, isn't it? This isn't my life and if it were, I probably wouldn't give Terry a second look on the street, let alone sit through date night with him... he's pudgy and balding and currently out of work, and sometimes very particular about things while also having huge blind spots about other things. But I like having stepped into this comfort zone, this well-worn relationship where I'm not trying to impress him, nor he me. Even though I am patently not his wife, he treats me like I am and I just... accept it, I guess. Maybe she and I aren't such different people. Who knows.
Or maybe, and this is a hypothesis that might freak the others out too much if I say it but I need to put it out there... maybe I'm more than just Christine's body right now. I'm not talking about memories or habits or things like that, but that ineffable something that makes a person who they are. I feel like me, like Roy, but I catch myself responding to things ever so slightly differently than Roy would have. We don't know the true nature of this curse, and we don't even know the true nature of the human mind, so how one affects the other is entirely uncharted territory. Maybe Christine left more of herself with me than we could know.
It's not crazy. It's a known fact that concussions, strokes and brain traumas can change peoples' personalities. We like to think we are this single unchanging thing, but we're not, we're a bunch of complicated wires bathing in hormones, and those hormones are provided by the body. My mind, all my memories of myself are currently swimming in the stuff that made Christine who she was. Maybe this isn't news to you readers, but to me it's fascinating and scary. It's like losing yourself, but not.
Maybe it's not that big a deal, or maybe it's just a bigger deal to me than the others because I am "in the thick" of it with Terry here. I'm just saying there might be a deeper reason why the smell of his cologne triggers a strangely warm feeling inside me, why I can both be frustrated with him as a human and find him oddly appealing as a man. And maybe I'm more receptive to it than the others because I've had to think more about who and what I am, in life than these kids who are now wearing the faces of slightly older women and men. I hope that, when and if they realize something truly strange is going on, it doesn't put them off too much.
The difference between them and me is that right now, they have the option to ignore it, and I don't. But at least it doesn't feel as much like torture like I was afraid it would.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
James / Keisha: Enjoy it while it lasts
I was reading Cal's post about getting his period. That's some messed up stuff and I guess it's going to happen to me. But shit, dude, that's out of my hands, right? So whatever. Let it happen.
It's not like I think being a chick is a good thing, but I think crying's kinda an overreaction. These girls have pretty cool lives. I've got an easy job and a sweet apartment. Okay, my roommate is kinda a bitch but I don't see her too much. Kick back, try on some clothes, paint your nails. Get into it, I say.
I'm not saying dive in or anything, mostly I just do shit like this around the house to keep myself entertained. Maybe I'm not the hottest chick in the world, but every girl can be pretty, except maybe the real ugly ones, but I'm amazed how much work they put into it. I wanna learn that shit. I'm wearing a pair of lacey purple panties right now that are basically see through. Why do they even own shit like that? To turn guys on? Because they like the feeling of wearing them under their clothes? I'm gonna wear some under my jeans tomorrow when I go to work at the bookstore, and just laugh about it privately. This is fucked up. I can almost do the splits. In the past few days I've worn dresses that show off my cleavage and cherry lip gloss, just for the fuck of it. I'm feeling my nipples right now. They're pretty amazing.
I dunno. I'm fascinated. I've also been drinking a lot. Not only is the drinking age in Canada 19, but we're over 21 anyway, so my advice to my fellow dudes and dudettes and both, is to go nuts. You only live once. I'm not saying you should prefer being a chick, but if you cut loose and treat it like a vacation, you won't regret it.
My advice for life anyway.
It's not like I think being a chick is a good thing, but I think crying's kinda an overreaction. These girls have pretty cool lives. I've got an easy job and a sweet apartment. Okay, my roommate is kinda a bitch but I don't see her too much. Kick back, try on some clothes, paint your nails. Get into it, I say.
I'm not saying dive in or anything, mostly I just do shit like this around the house to keep myself entertained. Maybe I'm not the hottest chick in the world, but every girl can be pretty, except maybe the real ugly ones, but I'm amazed how much work they put into it. I wanna learn that shit. I'm wearing a pair of lacey purple panties right now that are basically see through. Why do they even own shit like that? To turn guys on? Because they like the feeling of wearing them under their clothes? I'm gonna wear some under my jeans tomorrow when I go to work at the bookstore, and just laugh about it privately. This is fucked up. I can almost do the splits. In the past few days I've worn dresses that show off my cleavage and cherry lip gloss, just for the fuck of it. I'm feeling my nipples right now. They're pretty amazing.
I dunno. I'm fascinated. I've also been drinking a lot. Not only is the drinking age in Canada 19, but we're over 21 anyway, so my advice to my fellow dudes and dudettes and both, is to go nuts. You only live once. I'm not saying you should prefer being a chick, but if you cut loose and treat it like a vacation, you won't regret it.
My advice for life anyway.
Monday, July 29, 2013
Cal / Angie: Get through this
Got kind of a 1-2 punch this weekend. The first was when I started bleeding. The second was when I got a text from my old phone number.
The first happened while I was at work. I guess I'll be in this body long enough to get used to this, to know what to look out for, but it took me completely by surprise and left a mess on my clothes. When I realized what happened, I turned to my co-worker Roz and asked if I could go home real quick to change. She gave me this look, like "You silly girl, you should be familiar with this by now." I was completely embarrassed.
So I got home, hurried to my room and just as soon as I'm ready to get dressed and go I hear Derek's voice: "Yo Cal, that you? Guess what, my pussy's bleeding!"
Great, so, we have that in common.
"Yeah..." I said weakly, "Mine too."
The tampons are in the drawer. I saw them right away when we moved in but I put out of my mind the idea that I might actually have to use one (or many!) It's a... a thing, that goes in you... that's not right. But I had to stop it up somehow, so...
I paused, with the thing in my hand. Derek calls in, "You need help getting it in there?"
"Shut the hell up!"
He comes closer to the door. "Just tryin' ta help, geez. Don't be embarrassed."
"God," I said, trying to work through it, "How do women go through this every month?" And the sad answer is that I'm about to find out. I guess you just grit your teeth and get through it.
The next day, I was off and I wanted to do nothing but sit around the house. Derek had the same idea, but that's his only idea. He's such a pain in the ass to live with, because Mona didn't leave him a job or really any other identity other than that body and this apartment. So he's turned out to be an incredibly lazy ass. And on days when I want to stay inn, we just sit around and drive each other crazy. I don't even know if he was doing anything, but our personalities just don't mix.
After I had enough of him, I went to my room. I hadn't checked my phone all day and I noticed there was a light indicating a new text. It asked if I was the real Cal Malloy, and if they were fully understanding what was happening back in Maine. My heart began to race and I bristled at the thought of that guy walking around with my body but... but I know he'll have an easier time than I am. I told him that if he ever needed anyone, I'd be there. Then I cried my eyes out because even though I knew it was going to happen, it still hurt and I'm just not strong enough to put up with this stuff. Everything I used to be is now being controlled by some stranger, and my future is completely dominated by whether or not that person decides to let me have it back (if that's even possible... see Matt and Lila.)
And then that was it. I was done. I am done. Done hoping that somehow this is going to go away anytime soon. Done screaming at the world... for now at least. I don't get to say "I don't want to go to Canada, be a girl and work in a hippie store." I don't get control over anything and it sucks. There is NOTHING I can do but be who I look like and learn to like it.
I don't know what that means, but I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing and hope it all works out. It can't get any worse, right?
RIGHT?
Ugh, 3 or 4 more days of this.
The first happened while I was at work. I guess I'll be in this body long enough to get used to this, to know what to look out for, but it took me completely by surprise and left a mess on my clothes. When I realized what happened, I turned to my co-worker Roz and asked if I could go home real quick to change. She gave me this look, like "You silly girl, you should be familiar with this by now." I was completely embarrassed.
So I got home, hurried to my room and just as soon as I'm ready to get dressed and go I hear Derek's voice: "Yo Cal, that you? Guess what, my pussy's bleeding!"
Great, so, we have that in common.
"Yeah..." I said weakly, "Mine too."
The tampons are in the drawer. I saw them right away when we moved in but I put out of my mind the idea that I might actually have to use one (or many!) It's a... a thing, that goes in you... that's not right. But I had to stop it up somehow, so...
I paused, with the thing in my hand. Derek calls in, "You need help getting it in there?"
"Shut the hell up!"
He comes closer to the door. "Just tryin' ta help, geez. Don't be embarrassed."
"God," I said, trying to work through it, "How do women go through this every month?" And the sad answer is that I'm about to find out. I guess you just grit your teeth and get through it.
The next day, I was off and I wanted to do nothing but sit around the house. Derek had the same idea, but that's his only idea. He's such a pain in the ass to live with, because Mona didn't leave him a job or really any other identity other than that body and this apartment. So he's turned out to be an incredibly lazy ass. And on days when I want to stay inn, we just sit around and drive each other crazy. I don't even know if he was doing anything, but our personalities just don't mix.
After I had enough of him, I went to my room. I hadn't checked my phone all day and I noticed there was a light indicating a new text. It asked if I was the real Cal Malloy, and if they were fully understanding what was happening back in Maine. My heart began to race and I bristled at the thought of that guy walking around with my body but... but I know he'll have an easier time than I am. I told him that if he ever needed anyone, I'd be there. Then I cried my eyes out because even though I knew it was going to happen, it still hurt and I'm just not strong enough to put up with this stuff. Everything I used to be is now being controlled by some stranger, and my future is completely dominated by whether or not that person decides to let me have it back (if that's even possible... see Matt and Lila.)
And then that was it. I was done. I am done. Done hoping that somehow this is going to go away anytime soon. Done screaming at the world... for now at least. I don't get to say "I don't want to go to Canada, be a girl and work in a hippie store." I don't get control over anything and it sucks. There is NOTHING I can do but be who I look like and learn to like it.
I don't know what that means, but I'm just going to keep doing what I'm doing and hope it all works out. It can't get any worse, right?
RIGHT?
Ugh, 3 or 4 more days of this.
Monday, July 22, 2013
Roy / Christine: I don't care what you say, this is my life
That's a Billy Joel lyric. But I'm not sure if it's true.
I think, to varying levels, we all resent the idea that we "have" to do anything. James and Derek were particularly annoyed with me when I insisted we "had" to go to Canada, for instance. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I want to go along with this whole thing. But looking in the mirror, I know it would be impossible for any of us to do anything but act out the lives of the people we appear to be. James and the others should consider themselves lucky they weren't given the kind of responsibility I was.
I'm not just talking about Christine's marriage, although that is something that sticks in my side. The idea of being forced to be married to someone is just about as bad as being told you can't marry someone. But this isn't about me, my beliefs or even my preferences. I am bound an determined not to undermine Christine's life. She isn't to blame for this. I don't relish spending my nights with her husband poking into my back. The other guys have leeway... from what I hear Derek has literally just sat on his perky little butt all week while Cal is out there earning rent money. In every case, there are other people in our lives we have to treat as if we are who they think we are. That sucks. But that's, in a sense, the rules. Sadly, there's no guide to "If you run into so and so at the supermarket, you have to seem excited to see her."
Terry was annoyed by my late return. He was already in bed, and I had to walk into this place where I've never been before and act like it was mine. All I did was find the couch and plop down on it. When I woke up in the morning, he was getting ready for work and I realized that was what I should be doing too. He seemed equally pleased and annoyed to see me, asking why I got in so late and why I didn't come to bed. I said I didn't want to wake him up, and reiterated Christine's cover story about one of the girls getting sick and that being the earliest flight we could get. Over a week late. I don't know if he buys it. He's been pretty passive aggressive about it, from what I can tell, so I've been tiptoing all week.
When he leaned in and kissed me, I wasn't ready for it. But that's going to happen. I'm in character as someone who loves this pudgy, balding man with the unevenly-trimmed facial hair. I don't want to rock the boat but at the same time I don't intend to play docile housewife for him and make breakfast in bed or anything. I have my own problems.
Work. That's the other thing. Christine is a Supervisor at a book chain at a mall in Vancouver. Okay. Not hard, just find where everything is and help customers. No big deal. I just need a crash course in inventory, receiving, and whatever else. The real problem is in personnel... specifically, James, aka Keisha, aka someone with no interest in being a good employee. She showed up late and screwed around the entire time. It was lucky it was just her and me all afternoon, since we're both already on thin ice due to the extra week's unannounced vacation. I told her she has to at least try to work while she's here, and she gave me the whole "I didn't ask for this" spiel. Big whoop. The sooner we all adjust our mindsets, the easier time we'll have. I'm all out of pep talks for these kids.
I think, to varying levels, we all resent the idea that we "have" to do anything. James and Derek were particularly annoyed with me when I insisted we "had" to go to Canada, for instance. I don't want to give anyone the impression that I want to go along with this whole thing. But looking in the mirror, I know it would be impossible for any of us to do anything but act out the lives of the people we appear to be. James and the others should consider themselves lucky they weren't given the kind of responsibility I was.
I'm not just talking about Christine's marriage, although that is something that sticks in my side. The idea of being forced to be married to someone is just about as bad as being told you can't marry someone. But this isn't about me, my beliefs or even my preferences. I am bound an determined not to undermine Christine's life. She isn't to blame for this. I don't relish spending my nights with her husband poking into my back. The other guys have leeway... from what I hear Derek has literally just sat on his perky little butt all week while Cal is out there earning rent money. In every case, there are other people in our lives we have to treat as if we are who they think we are. That sucks. But that's, in a sense, the rules. Sadly, there's no guide to "If you run into so and so at the supermarket, you have to seem excited to see her."
Terry was annoyed by my late return. He was already in bed, and I had to walk into this place where I've never been before and act like it was mine. All I did was find the couch and plop down on it. When I woke up in the morning, he was getting ready for work and I realized that was what I should be doing too. He seemed equally pleased and annoyed to see me, asking why I got in so late and why I didn't come to bed. I said I didn't want to wake him up, and reiterated Christine's cover story about one of the girls getting sick and that being the earliest flight we could get. Over a week late. I don't know if he buys it. He's been pretty passive aggressive about it, from what I can tell, so I've been tiptoing all week.
When he leaned in and kissed me, I wasn't ready for it. But that's going to happen. I'm in character as someone who loves this pudgy, balding man with the unevenly-trimmed facial hair. I don't want to rock the boat but at the same time I don't intend to play docile housewife for him and make breakfast in bed or anything. I have my own problems.
Work. That's the other thing. Christine is a Supervisor at a book chain at a mall in Vancouver. Okay. Not hard, just find where everything is and help customers. No big deal. I just need a crash course in inventory, receiving, and whatever else. The real problem is in personnel... specifically, James, aka Keisha, aka someone with no interest in being a good employee. She showed up late and screwed around the entire time. It was lucky it was just her and me all afternoon, since we're both already on thin ice due to the extra week's unannounced vacation. I told her she has to at least try to work while she's here, and she gave me the whole "I didn't ask for this" spiel. Big whoop. The sooner we all adjust our mindsets, the easier time we'll have. I'm all out of pep talks for these kids.
Friday, July 19, 2013
Cal / Angie: What's the password?
I just want to sleep forever, or at least till all this is over.
After a few days of just running around trying to stay sane we've finally settled in... me and Derek are all set up at Angie and Mona's apartment. Derek has no trouble just sitting in front of the TV channel hopping but I'm not that comfortable yet. Mostly I just sit in Angie's room... my room now... looking at this blog or trying to memorize every item in the place. It's freaky. Soon I'm gonna get an email from someone saying they have my life. I'm sure they'll be thrilled. There's not a lot they'll have to do, I told them they can defer my fall enrollment and just... do whatever they need to do. I wonder what kind of people will become us. Old men, little girls... a whole family? I dunno. I don't want to say it but I worry that it'll be body thieves and I'll have to live like this forever. That thought's gonna be hard to shake.
There's a lot of information to take in. Addresses, computer passwords, phone contacts. Stuff that, if I was Angie, I would just know but because she's explaining her life to me I worry that she left some stuff out. Like, she told me where she works, a green nutrition store, but not what to do when I get there. I spent my whole first day awkwardly standing around hovering near cash hoping nobody would ask me to do anything special. Even worse I had to call one of Angie's co-workers because she was scheduled to open the store that day because...... well, you know how I said I felt like I forgot something in Maine? Keys.
Then I get home and Derek's still there on the couch, feet up, eating, feeling right at home and he makes fun of me for "playing along" and doing what I'm told. Like I have a choice, or like he does! Whatever, he can be a girl however he likes, and I'll be one how I like.
I feel weird just hanging out in someone else's apartment, almost as weird as trying on their clothes and eating their food. At first I didn't want to but I had been sweating through the same top and shorts for about 24 hours. Haven't tried on any other underwears though. That'll have to happen soon, although I feel like maybe hygiene wasn't this girl's main concern.
I don't know what to think about this girl. I'm getting a real hippie vibe from her. Her place was kind of a mess, and I'm used to thinking of girls as being real neat and tidy. She doesn't have a lot of possessions... Lots of multicultural decorations, dream catchers... jewelry... she seems to keep her hair long and messy and mostly wear flowing skirts. Vegetarian, obviously. She has a garden plot that she asked me to keep up. She's also got a Gecko named Geronimo, which is pretty cool. She doesn't seem like any girl I've ever met in Lowell, but that's what my parents always said "the city" did to people, places like Boston and New York. Made them "kooks." I'm trying not to agree with that.
I'm not looking forward to a year of this, but I'm doing the best I can.
After a few days of just running around trying to stay sane we've finally settled in... me and Derek are all set up at Angie and Mona's apartment. Derek has no trouble just sitting in front of the TV channel hopping but I'm not that comfortable yet. Mostly I just sit in Angie's room... my room now... looking at this blog or trying to memorize every item in the place. It's freaky. Soon I'm gonna get an email from someone saying they have my life. I'm sure they'll be thrilled. There's not a lot they'll have to do, I told them they can defer my fall enrollment and just... do whatever they need to do. I wonder what kind of people will become us. Old men, little girls... a whole family? I dunno. I don't want to say it but I worry that it'll be body thieves and I'll have to live like this forever. That thought's gonna be hard to shake.
There's a lot of information to take in. Addresses, computer passwords, phone contacts. Stuff that, if I was Angie, I would just know but because she's explaining her life to me I worry that she left some stuff out. Like, she told me where she works, a green nutrition store, but not what to do when I get there. I spent my whole first day awkwardly standing around hovering near cash hoping nobody would ask me to do anything special. Even worse I had to call one of Angie's co-workers because she was scheduled to open the store that day because...... well, you know how I said I felt like I forgot something in Maine? Keys.
Then I get home and Derek's still there on the couch, feet up, eating, feeling right at home and he makes fun of me for "playing along" and doing what I'm told. Like I have a choice, or like he does! Whatever, he can be a girl however he likes, and I'll be one how I like.
I feel weird just hanging out in someone else's apartment, almost as weird as trying on their clothes and eating their food. At first I didn't want to but I had been sweating through the same top and shorts for about 24 hours. Haven't tried on any other underwears though. That'll have to happen soon, although I feel like maybe hygiene wasn't this girl's main concern.
I don't know what to think about this girl. I'm getting a real hippie vibe from her. Her place was kind of a mess, and I'm used to thinking of girls as being real neat and tidy. She doesn't have a lot of possessions... Lots of multicultural decorations, dream catchers... jewelry... she seems to keep her hair long and messy and mostly wear flowing skirts. Vegetarian, obviously. She has a garden plot that she asked me to keep up. She's also got a Gecko named Geronimo, which is pretty cool. She doesn't seem like any girl I've ever met in Lowell, but that's what my parents always said "the city" did to people, places like Boston and New York. Made them "kooks." I'm trying not to agree with that.
I'm not looking forward to a year of this, but I'm doing the best I can.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Trish / Robbie: It's gonna be tricky
Robbie Haddad is not a huge guy, just tall and skinny, but he takes up a lot more space than Trish Reilly did. I've never had to deal with my knees being propped up behind the seat in front of me on an airplane... for 6 hours. I've also never had to adjust my testicles constantly. Like, why are these things so ridiculous?
I almost deleted that sentence, but you've come this far into the story and you know that's gonna come up. I see that Cal posted about his boobs. I had to tell him, actually, that part of the advantage of wearing a bra is that your nipples don't, ahem, assert themselves so much against your clothes, especially when you're just wearing a tank top. I mean seriously, that boy was putting on a bit of a show and he didn't even know.
He'll get used to it. We all will. That's the scary thing. I'm looking forward to not having to shave my legs, but I'm not actually looking forward to having hairy legs, or arms or chest and back. Sheesh, I make it sound like I'm a sasquatch (I think they have those here in BC) but it's really just a few dark wisps. Man hair. No big deal. It would be weirder if I was hairless, looking like this.
I actually looked up the name Haddad, because I never heard it before. Turns out it's middle eastern, but Christian. So I'm learning things already. I can definitely tell I've got that beige-olive skin, as does James in his new body since we're related, but thankfully we were not stopped by airport security (oh my god can you imagine?)
After we landed, we collected our bags and caught the high speed rail to downtown Vancouver. Roy went to his new "home" in the suburbs but the rest of us crashed at James's place downtown... or should I say Keisha's... because we were all too scared to try finding our way around a strange city at night. We met her roommate, Steph, who was not too pleased to see a giant group of people invade the living room.
So for those keeping track, here's who we all are:
Like I said, I became Robbie, and James became Keisha, Robbie's sister. Christine (formerly Roy,) is Keisha's supervisor at a book store. Cal and Derek became Angelica and Monique (Angie and Mona for short), who are roommates (that should be fun because I kinda think Derek hates Cal.) Mona was either dating, or just hooking up with Robbie (no thanks.) And then there's Grant, who became Sophie... and I have no idea how she fits in, but my guess is that these girls all go back to years together, even though they seem very different.
It's been strange watching these guys. When they're just sitting still, they just seem like normal girls and you forget what they've been through, but a lot of the time the boyishness comes out. It's especially odd seeing meek little Grant, like a deer in headlights, in Sophie's punkish, tattooed body. I wonder how they'll all be in a few months. Scary to think we've got nothing but time now.
I've told them they can ask me anything they need to know but so far I think they prefer to just go it alone. Good luck to them... to all of us.
I almost deleted that sentence, but you've come this far into the story and you know that's gonna come up. I see that Cal posted about his boobs. I had to tell him, actually, that part of the advantage of wearing a bra is that your nipples don't, ahem, assert themselves so much against your clothes, especially when you're just wearing a tank top. I mean seriously, that boy was putting on a bit of a show and he didn't even know.
He'll get used to it. We all will. That's the scary thing. I'm looking forward to not having to shave my legs, but I'm not actually looking forward to having hairy legs, or arms or chest and back. Sheesh, I make it sound like I'm a sasquatch (I think they have those here in BC) but it's really just a few dark wisps. Man hair. No big deal. It would be weirder if I was hairless, looking like this.
I actually looked up the name Haddad, because I never heard it before. Turns out it's middle eastern, but Christian. So I'm learning things already. I can definitely tell I've got that beige-olive skin, as does James in his new body since we're related, but thankfully we were not stopped by airport security (oh my god can you imagine?)
After we landed, we collected our bags and caught the high speed rail to downtown Vancouver. Roy went to his new "home" in the suburbs but the rest of us crashed at James's place downtown... or should I say Keisha's... because we were all too scared to try finding our way around a strange city at night. We met her roommate, Steph, who was not too pleased to see a giant group of people invade the living room.
So for those keeping track, here's who we all are:
Like I said, I became Robbie, and James became Keisha, Robbie's sister. Christine (formerly Roy,) is Keisha's supervisor at a book store. Cal and Derek became Angelica and Monique (Angie and Mona for short), who are roommates (that should be fun because I kinda think Derek hates Cal.) Mona was either dating, or just hooking up with Robbie (no thanks.) And then there's Grant, who became Sophie... and I have no idea how she fits in, but my guess is that these girls all go back to years together, even though they seem very different.
It's been strange watching these guys. When they're just sitting still, they just seem like normal girls and you forget what they've been through, but a lot of the time the boyishness comes out. It's especially odd seeing meek little Grant, like a deer in headlights, in Sophie's punkish, tattooed body. I wonder how they'll all be in a few months. Scary to think we've got nothing but time now.
I've told them they can ask me anything they need to know but so far I think they prefer to just go it alone. Good luck to them... to all of us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)