So, I ended up meeting with Alexa. It was nice. We had a lot in common, even though we're not supposed to. On the one hand back when I was female I'd probably have a lot of preconceptions based on her appearance that would cause us not to get along - that she was shallow, mean... dumb? Which sucks because I try to be about uplifting women. And maybe my male mindset really wants to see the best in someone who looks like she does because on some level - deep down, where I would never do anything about it - I think she's attractive.
All we did was have coffee and chat. I said I wasn't sure if I was right for her job. She pressed on about it, saying she loved my portfolio. I couldn't tell her it wasn't my portfolio. I said maybe I had some colleagues I could send her to. That was about it.
I haven't told David yet because I know he doesn't want me to do anything like that, and I know he'll react very badly when I tell him.
David came home that night, late and tired and complaining about everything as always. There's an added dimension now where he gets home and starts to undress, expecting sex. Now that we're sexually active he expects me to just be ready willing and able 24/7, at his beck and call every night, because that's what guys want, so that's what he expects from me. And it's not necessarily wrong - I do have desires and using his (Lena's) body is certainly one way to keep my attention focussed on him - and not like I don't enjoy it but... I've started feeling very bad afterwards.
I lie there and think, is this it? What do I have to look forward to? Did we ever have real conversations? Because we haven't lately. Did we enjoy each other's company? Because I don't think I do now. Was it really just about sex, and I pushed hard to keep the intimacy in our relationship because I knew we were doomed without it? Did we stay together because I felt obligated after we changed? If we were us, would I have walked away already?
I would have wanted to, I just know it. And it's scary to think I wouldn't have gone through with it because I was getting to an age where you just want to settle down with whoever you're with already. I already had m doubts before we got into this mess, but there was no way I was going to abandon him while we looked like this. But it was hardly any kind of fix for our problems. Resuming sexual activity really just emphasizes how little of a relationship there ever was.
And now - now that it's hard and inconvenient, I might need to do it (end the relationship) more than ever. It's more important now that I've done something he told me not to by meeting with Alexa, and that whenever I tell him I know it's going to touch off a huge fight, I know it's either now, or wait until we get our bodies back, and by then I will probably talk myself out of it.
I need to break up with him. I care a lot about his feelings and what happens, but I realize now that's different from love. I have my doubts because it seems wrong to break up while we're in the middle of this whole thing and I feel like I'd be leaving him high and dry, but I should follow my heart on this one.
Woo. I'm shaking, having written all of that. It's a good thing he vowed never to read this. I needed to put it out there, somewhere I hope he won't see.
-Jenn
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Showing posts with label relationship. Show all posts
Friday, January 25, 2019
Saturday, February 04, 2017
Tyler/Judith: If you're going to do it, do it right
The whole business between me a Kitty the other night wasn't really as simple as throwing some confetti in the air and announcing to the world, "Hooray, I like sex now!" From the moment it ended I was grappling with the heavy implications of what I had done, or let happen. Good for Simon for finding random encounters that he can dabble with without long term connections. I have to see this person every day, and I hadn't even officially said I really wanted to be with them.
I wouldn't say my immediate feeling was 100% disappointment or regret, but those were parts of it. Disappointment because it was... more cathartic than sexually enjoyable. And you only get that once. He wasn't good, and I wasn't good. He got "in" and didn't hardly know how to move before the clock ran out. And I was, well... not that accommodating either. But is bad sex even really bad? Just... you know, different. Not what was expected, necessarily.
He apologized profusely, and I said it wasn't necessary. It happened to everyone, and just because Kitty appears to be a man of a certain age, we know he does not have the expected level of experience for that person. On the contrary, we're total beginners, here. And I think we know how much of a learning curve there is for this sorta thing. Just ask Maggie Dolan down in Mobile about 16-year-old Tyler Blake.
As to regret, well, the thought occurred to me that I had wrecked a good thing. That there was a way to get through the rest of our term here without complicating it with sex and emotions. That even if he really does love me, that maybe that love would be better off waiting for a time when we don't have such a complex dynamic. I've been known to screw up and bail when things go poorly, and right now too many peoples' lives depend on me to fall prey to that urge. (Kit's advice: so just don't this time.) And I'd be lying if I said my male pride didn't like the idea of outlasting the female body without ever crossing that threshold. But I think even readers who have never crossed the gender barrier will understand that when you have a new appliance, you can only go so long before the temptation to see how it really works overwhelms you. It don't make me less of a man, it just makes me human.
"I don't regret it," I said... probably not that reassuring. I initiated it, I pointed myself at it. I wanted it. I knew he would have me anytime I allowed it to happen, and I knew it just... had to be this way. So how can I regret it? Better this way.
So we're gonna do it again, as is our right as consenting adults. I went to the drug store, to the marital aid aisle (for my pill, initially,) and decided to pick up some accessories. Nothin' fancy, but some stuff that might make your sunday school teacher blush. Condoms, obviously. A lot of em. I'd consider the pill - I heard it'd help ease some of my symptoms, while screwing with other parts of my biochemistry. Not willing to make that trade yet, and honestly not sure it's worth the investment at this time. I also bought a few varieties of lubrication... even if the rubbers are lubricated, Judith's body is no spring chicken and it couldn't hurt. This all, I bought at the far CVS, wearing sunglasses and a pulled down cap with my hair in an unusual ponytail.
The hardest part was "the talk." I always hated talking things out in my past lives... I always felt everyone involved should know where they stand somehow without speaking it, and yet... that has worked terribly for me in the past. So I sat down with a notepad and wrote a few talking points.
When he got home from work, I sat him down and laid it out.
"First, no shame about what happened our first time. The first time sucks, full stop. There'll be more. Practice makes perfect and all that. You're, uh, probably going to want to initiate that more often than I will, and I invite you to do so. I will remind you that I'm free to decline any time at my discretion. As before, we don't owe each other sex."
He looked at me in puzzlement: "I mean, you're free to decline if I initiate, but I don't expect you will." He nodded his head to the side, allowing that.
"We'll have to work on foreplay and stamina... I wanna find out what I like, what gets me going, and I want you to last long enough to give it to me. Do you have any specific comments on my performance?"
"Hmm, only that this whole conversation is really killing my mood," he laughed.
"Fair," I said moving on. "I think we have a pretty good sense of our rights and responsibilities in this relationship. Who does what, and how... I respect you as a lead provider, hopefully you respect me as both a lead home-maker and fellow breadwinner."
"Um, sure."
"That's a way of sayin' I do a lot."
"Right."
"I need you to know I will resist any attempts to assert yourself as a sole 'head of household' type. No authoritarianism. We go forward together or not at all. Right?"
"You think I'm authoritarian?"
"No, not that I'm real worried about that, but it needs saying. We're partners."
"Okay."
"If I piss you off, I wanna hear about it, but in a rational, straight-forward way, and I'll give you the same courtesy."
"Okay."
"We have a lot of disagreements about how things should be done. There's gotta be some give and take."
"What does that mean?" he asked, "You'll finally start rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher?"
"If that's what I takes to make you happy, maybe," I smiled. "But I don't wanna feel like I'm just rolling over for you. If I make a stand, will ya hear me out?"
"I guess."
"It's a pick-your-battles thing."
"Right, okay."
"And about Dylan... that's always a point of debate, right? But we already know how to negotiate a bit with him."
He sighed, and later told me he felt I didn't give his perspective enough credit where Dylan was concerned.
But in the moment all he said was, "Where's all this coming from?"
"You know, it's been kicking around my head for weeks."
"No, I mean, all this official-sounding talk. Where do you get it from?"
"Hm, well, I have some of the business calls I make to thank for that. Contracts I read. And I've been studying business books."
"I see."
I went on, "Bottom line there... we're raising a kid because we have to, we're dating because we want to."
"Dating isn't the word I'd use..." he said.
"Really...?"
"We're basically married, Judith."
"Ah, but... we're not. Right? Hence this discussion."
"But dating sounds so... light. Casual."
"Okay, we're 'together' because we want to be. Partnered. Coupled."
"Whatever," he sighed.
I dropped it, but to be honest he'll never get me to say we actually are "married."
"Point is, it can end. We can end it in a way married couples can't. God forbid, it doesn't work out, we don't need to get divorced. We just... you know... part ways."
He gritted his teeth. That obviously wasn't something he wanted to think about, and it was probably the "old Tyler" surfacing, hedging my bets. I moved forward quickly.
"Lastly... you love me?"
He squinted. "That's a question?"
"You've said it a few times. Does it bug you that I haven't said it back?"
He pursed his lips and nodded.
I took a deep breath: "I'm falling for you."
He looked away. Not good enough, I realized.
"I'm falling in love with you," I clarified.
He brightened up but just a shade.
"Please, this ain't easy. I'm trying to get through a lotta shit here. My own hangups aren't your fault. You somehow love me despite them. Six months ago I thought we were done. But you've changed, I've changed. And you had a big part in that... helping to make me better. I was a wild dog, even with Meghan. You've helped rein me in and... I'm better for it. I love that."
"That's great," he said flatly. I guess he wasn't feeling my point.
"You make me a great husband," I said, moving toward him. "You're dependable, determined... and yet, you can also be playful. And you're sexy when I see you having fun."
He couldn't suppress a smile. "Jude..."
"You're a sexy man, Kitty. You turn me on."
"Judith..."
"What are you gonna do about it?" I took his hand and guided it over the curve of my chest. "Say my name again, I love hearing it on your lips."
He whispered in my ear, "Judith..."
So help me.
We fell back on the bed and began to make out like a pair of teenagers. I had my hands on the button of his slacks, when we were interrupted by somebody coming home.
"Mom! Dad! Tyler's here, when's dinner?"
Aw, shoot. "To be continued," I sighed.
He smacked his head. "After all that waiting."
I wouldn't say my immediate feeling was 100% disappointment or regret, but those were parts of it. Disappointment because it was... more cathartic than sexually enjoyable. And you only get that once. He wasn't good, and I wasn't good. He got "in" and didn't hardly know how to move before the clock ran out. And I was, well... not that accommodating either. But is bad sex even really bad? Just... you know, different. Not what was expected, necessarily.
He apologized profusely, and I said it wasn't necessary. It happened to everyone, and just because Kitty appears to be a man of a certain age, we know he does not have the expected level of experience for that person. On the contrary, we're total beginners, here. And I think we know how much of a learning curve there is for this sorta thing. Just ask Maggie Dolan down in Mobile about 16-year-old Tyler Blake.
As to regret, well, the thought occurred to me that I had wrecked a good thing. That there was a way to get through the rest of our term here without complicating it with sex and emotions. That even if he really does love me, that maybe that love would be better off waiting for a time when we don't have such a complex dynamic. I've been known to screw up and bail when things go poorly, and right now too many peoples' lives depend on me to fall prey to that urge. (Kit's advice: so just don't this time.) And I'd be lying if I said my male pride didn't like the idea of outlasting the female body without ever crossing that threshold. But I think even readers who have never crossed the gender barrier will understand that when you have a new appliance, you can only go so long before the temptation to see how it really works overwhelms you. It don't make me less of a man, it just makes me human.
"I don't regret it," I said... probably not that reassuring. I initiated it, I pointed myself at it. I wanted it. I knew he would have me anytime I allowed it to happen, and I knew it just... had to be this way. So how can I regret it? Better this way.
So we're gonna do it again, as is our right as consenting adults. I went to the drug store, to the marital aid aisle (for my pill, initially,) and decided to pick up some accessories. Nothin' fancy, but some stuff that might make your sunday school teacher blush. Condoms, obviously. A lot of em. I'd consider the pill - I heard it'd help ease some of my symptoms, while screwing with other parts of my biochemistry. Not willing to make that trade yet, and honestly not sure it's worth the investment at this time. I also bought a few varieties of lubrication... even if the rubbers are lubricated, Judith's body is no spring chicken and it couldn't hurt. This all, I bought at the far CVS, wearing sunglasses and a pulled down cap with my hair in an unusual ponytail.
The hardest part was "the talk." I always hated talking things out in my past lives... I always felt everyone involved should know where they stand somehow without speaking it, and yet... that has worked terribly for me in the past. So I sat down with a notepad and wrote a few talking points.
When he got home from work, I sat him down and laid it out.
"First, no shame about what happened our first time. The first time sucks, full stop. There'll be more. Practice makes perfect and all that. You're, uh, probably going to want to initiate that more often than I will, and I invite you to do so. I will remind you that I'm free to decline any time at my discretion. As before, we don't owe each other sex."
He looked at me in puzzlement: "I mean, you're free to decline if I initiate, but I don't expect you will." He nodded his head to the side, allowing that.
"We'll have to work on foreplay and stamina... I wanna find out what I like, what gets me going, and I want you to last long enough to give it to me. Do you have any specific comments on my performance?"
"Hmm, only that this whole conversation is really killing my mood," he laughed.
"Fair," I said moving on. "I think we have a pretty good sense of our rights and responsibilities in this relationship. Who does what, and how... I respect you as a lead provider, hopefully you respect me as both a lead home-maker and fellow breadwinner."
"Um, sure."
"That's a way of sayin' I do a lot."
"Right."
"I need you to know I will resist any attempts to assert yourself as a sole 'head of household' type. No authoritarianism. We go forward together or not at all. Right?"
"You think I'm authoritarian?"
"No, not that I'm real worried about that, but it needs saying. We're partners."
"Okay."
"If I piss you off, I wanna hear about it, but in a rational, straight-forward way, and I'll give you the same courtesy."
"Okay."
"We have a lot of disagreements about how things should be done. There's gotta be some give and take."
"What does that mean?" he asked, "You'll finally start rinsing the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher?"
"If that's what I takes to make you happy, maybe," I smiled. "But I don't wanna feel like I'm just rolling over for you. If I make a stand, will ya hear me out?"
"I guess."
"It's a pick-your-battles thing."
"Right, okay."
"And about Dylan... that's always a point of debate, right? But we already know how to negotiate a bit with him."
He sighed, and later told me he felt I didn't give his perspective enough credit where Dylan was concerned.
But in the moment all he said was, "Where's all this coming from?"
"You know, it's been kicking around my head for weeks."
"No, I mean, all this official-sounding talk. Where do you get it from?"
"Hm, well, I have some of the business calls I make to thank for that. Contracts I read. And I've been studying business books."
"I see."
I went on, "Bottom line there... we're raising a kid because we have to, we're dating because we want to."
"Dating isn't the word I'd use..." he said.
"Really...?"
"We're basically married, Judith."
"Ah, but... we're not. Right? Hence this discussion."
"But dating sounds so... light. Casual."
"Okay, we're 'together' because we want to be. Partnered. Coupled."
"Whatever," he sighed.
I dropped it, but to be honest he'll never get me to say we actually are "married."
"Point is, it can end. We can end it in a way married couples can't. God forbid, it doesn't work out, we don't need to get divorced. We just... you know... part ways."
He gritted his teeth. That obviously wasn't something he wanted to think about, and it was probably the "old Tyler" surfacing, hedging my bets. I moved forward quickly.
"Lastly... you love me?"
He squinted. "That's a question?"
"You've said it a few times. Does it bug you that I haven't said it back?"
He pursed his lips and nodded.
I took a deep breath: "I'm falling for you."
He looked away. Not good enough, I realized.
"I'm falling in love with you," I clarified.
He brightened up but just a shade.
"Please, this ain't easy. I'm trying to get through a lotta shit here. My own hangups aren't your fault. You somehow love me despite them. Six months ago I thought we were done. But you've changed, I've changed. And you had a big part in that... helping to make me better. I was a wild dog, even with Meghan. You've helped rein me in and... I'm better for it. I love that."
"That's great," he said flatly. I guess he wasn't feeling my point.
"You make me a great husband," I said, moving toward him. "You're dependable, determined... and yet, you can also be playful. And you're sexy when I see you having fun."
He couldn't suppress a smile. "Jude..."
"You're a sexy man, Kitty. You turn me on."
"Judith..."
"What are you gonna do about it?" I took his hand and guided it over the curve of my chest. "Say my name again, I love hearing it on your lips."
He whispered in my ear, "Judith..."
So help me.
We fell back on the bed and began to make out like a pair of teenagers. I had my hands on the button of his slacks, when we were interrupted by somebody coming home.
"Mom! Dad! Tyler's here, when's dinner?"
Aw, shoot. "To be continued," I sighed.
He smacked his head. "After all that waiting."
Wednesday, October 28, 2015
Tori: Things are good...right?
Sometimes I regret the fact that I never experienced sex as a man. The few women (mostly one woman) I ever had in my life did give me a certain level of intimacy, but basically 99.9% of my experience is from the female side of the equation. It would be nice to know what it is like to be a man exerting his power over a female partner - and arguably that desire is what led me to pursue my arrangement with Chuck and Jules earlier this year (ultimately, I didn't feel so assertive when we came down to it.) There will always be doubt about what could have been, but I've made my peace with that, it's part of me for the rest of my life. For the most part I'm pretty happy with the way things have worked out. And for the a lot of that part, I'm ecstatic.
Men can be disappointing. Not just as sexual partners, where even the best can be very inconsistent (whereas I seem to be able to accomplish my goal for them just by being present - I've won some of my highest marks on nights when I simply did nothing at all.) but as emotional support. Loving them is difficult.
I like Cute Hipster Mike a lot. I'm very happy with him. He's friendly, funny, charming, sweet, smart... he's not some mindless careerist, he has his own definition of success in life that I find really appealing.
And he's, well... good in bed. Great. Amazing. When he wants to be. We can go for long, long periods of time some nights, and at times when most men would be peaking, he has just been getting started. That's amazing. He has moves I've never seen before. And while in my quieter moments I sometimes let myself think "What if things had turned out different," in the heat of the moment, there's no time for such thoughts, because the only thing going through my head is "Yes, yes, more! I want to be fucked like this for the rest of my life!" He makes me feel like an incredible being of pure sexual delight, and he makes me feel sexy and desirable in a way I couldn't have been in my old life. In a way I couldn't even have been at an earlier point in this life. When we're at our best, when I'm feeling his movement radiating through my entire body, his hands guiding my hips or massaging my soft parts, I feel like I am where I belong.
But he has his off nights too, where he just doesn't seem that into it, where he just wants it quickly and doesn't take as much care as he could. So I settle for what I can get and wait for next time. it's not bad, and it's unfair to expect 110% every time out, but when someone gets you hooked on fine dining, a microwave dinner doesn't really cut it.
That's sort of a metaphor for our whole relationship, too. He likes me a lot, he makes that clear. We're not sure yet if it's love, and he's resisted attempts for me to label it. But what's wrong with wanting a little stability? It's been months. We should be stable. I feel like we're past the "Oh, it's still new" phase. I don't have any doubts, and I don't know where his would be coming from. But maybe I'm skipping ahead a bit.
I'm falling for him. The L-word is imminent. But if I let it out and he doesn't have one ready to match it... guys, that's going to hurt.
Sometimes he takes too long to respond to my texts and I get worried. Sometimes he blows me off at the last minute, but he apologizes profusely. And I try not to let it sting, but... I can't like him less than I do, and I can't seem to make him need me the way I'm starting to need him. I've never felt so out of sync with someone I liked so much, and so desperate to make it work.
I'm one frustrated girl.
But when it's good... when we're lying on the couch watching late night TV, when I get to wake up with him on a Sunday morning, when he does send me thoughtful texts or cute in jokes... my heart gets all fluttery.
Who is this guy? What is this power he has over me?
I mean, who would have thought being a girl would make me such a... girl?
Men can be disappointing. Not just as sexual partners, where even the best can be very inconsistent (whereas I seem to be able to accomplish my goal for them just by being present - I've won some of my highest marks on nights when I simply did nothing at all.) but as emotional support. Loving them is difficult.
I like Cute Hipster Mike a lot. I'm very happy with him. He's friendly, funny, charming, sweet, smart... he's not some mindless careerist, he has his own definition of success in life that I find really appealing.
And he's, well... good in bed. Great. Amazing. When he wants to be. We can go for long, long periods of time some nights, and at times when most men would be peaking, he has just been getting started. That's amazing. He has moves I've never seen before. And while in my quieter moments I sometimes let myself think "What if things had turned out different," in the heat of the moment, there's no time for such thoughts, because the only thing going through my head is "Yes, yes, more! I want to be fucked like this for the rest of my life!" He makes me feel like an incredible being of pure sexual delight, and he makes me feel sexy and desirable in a way I couldn't have been in my old life. In a way I couldn't even have been at an earlier point in this life. When we're at our best, when I'm feeling his movement radiating through my entire body, his hands guiding my hips or massaging my soft parts, I feel like I am where I belong.
But he has his off nights too, where he just doesn't seem that into it, where he just wants it quickly and doesn't take as much care as he could. So I settle for what I can get and wait for next time. it's not bad, and it's unfair to expect 110% every time out, but when someone gets you hooked on fine dining, a microwave dinner doesn't really cut it.
That's sort of a metaphor for our whole relationship, too. He likes me a lot, he makes that clear. We're not sure yet if it's love, and he's resisted attempts for me to label it. But what's wrong with wanting a little stability? It's been months. We should be stable. I feel like we're past the "Oh, it's still new" phase. I don't have any doubts, and I don't know where his would be coming from. But maybe I'm skipping ahead a bit.
I'm falling for him. The L-word is imminent. But if I let it out and he doesn't have one ready to match it... guys, that's going to hurt.
Sometimes he takes too long to respond to my texts and I get worried. Sometimes he blows me off at the last minute, but he apologizes profusely. And I try not to let it sting, but... I can't like him less than I do, and I can't seem to make him need me the way I'm starting to need him. I've never felt so out of sync with someone I liked so much, and so desperate to make it work.
I'm one frustrated girl.
But when it's good... when we're lying on the couch watching late night TV, when I get to wake up with him on a Sunday morning, when he does send me thoughtful texts or cute in jokes... my heart gets all fluttery.
Who is this guy? What is this power he has over me?
I mean, who would have thought being a girl would make me such a... girl?
Saturday, October 03, 2015
Tyler/Alan: Fools rush in...
...but sometimes it would be fun to be foolish.
I never meant to give Meg to impression that I expected her to get her body back and immediately fall in love with me. Let's face it... we didn't even know who I was going to wind up as, and as much as we like to think we're enlightened, there are limits to what you can put a person through. My becoming Alan definitely helped things along, but she was coming out of a very difficult year and I never wanted to make her think she owed me a chance to jump into a relationship asap. I could be patient.
When she decided she was ready, we made a date that we decided would be a good night for it - Gene would be at a late meeting, we'd have the place to ourselves (although if we were going to really work as a couple we can't keep tiptoeing around him... we just needed a bit of privacy to get the ball rolling.) As we laid in bed, still clothed, she paused a second and asked, "You're not going to turn around and tell the blog about this afterward, are you?"
"Of course not," I said. "Not right away, anyway."
She slugged me with the pillow. I probably deserved it, but I had a pretty solid case: I've been female, young and celibate for over a year. I was very interested - and I suspected that others would be too - in finding out how it felt after all that time. She was usually pretty coy about her sex life with Wade, so I wanted to be respectful, but... I mean, they know we're sleeping in the same bed.
"Okay," she relented, "Just don't give any embarrassing details... about what I'm like."
Trust me, even if I did, it would all be complimentary.
Honestly, I was the one who felt embarrassed. It was like starting from square one. Alan's body is differently-proportioned than mine, all gangly limbs and a long, thin torso. I got aches and cramps in places I didn't expect to. Not to mention, I was so overwhelmed by the sensation that, well, I couldn't quite handle it. When our first round was over, I buried my face in the pillow: "I'm so sorry I just put you through that."
She held me in her arms and smiled, "It was good, no, really."
"I'll work on it, I promise."
"You don't have anything to apologize for," she assured me. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
I couldn't help but sulk a bit. "I wanted it to be better. The best ever. Worth the wait. But I can't... it's like I don't even know my own body..."
"You don't. This isn't Tyler's body. It's new for you. It takes time. I'm here with you."
I looked at her beautiful face and smiled. "I know. I feel better already."
It would be nice to think that my time as a she lent me some insight into processing, verbalizing and dealing with my feelings, but the truth is, it may have just made me better at bottling it all up. Think about it: I only had Meg to rely on for support, and she was supportive, but I didn't want to mope to her all the time. I wanted to be the brave, stalwart man I didn't appear to be but felt I was. I didn't want to be a victim or weak. Whatever pain I had, I hid as best I could. So now I'm back to being a man and I still do that, still don't want to show any vulnerability. Still have the impulse to lash out when things go bad and I can't hide it.
But I have her understanding, her patience, her support. Holy shit, I am a lucky man.
Things have improved, slowly but surely, as we've found our rhythm. It just feels so incredible and... meaningful. And I guess, the fact that I know a bit about how it all works for her (oh, don't look at me like that, it was my body) makes me feel like this is just something... bigger and better. No matter how (ahem) long it lasts.
I never meant to give Meg to impression that I expected her to get her body back and immediately fall in love with me. Let's face it... we didn't even know who I was going to wind up as, and as much as we like to think we're enlightened, there are limits to what you can put a person through. My becoming Alan definitely helped things along, but she was coming out of a very difficult year and I never wanted to make her think she owed me a chance to jump into a relationship asap. I could be patient.
When she decided she was ready, we made a date that we decided would be a good night for it - Gene would be at a late meeting, we'd have the place to ourselves (although if we were going to really work as a couple we can't keep tiptoeing around him... we just needed a bit of privacy to get the ball rolling.) As we laid in bed, still clothed, she paused a second and asked, "You're not going to turn around and tell the blog about this afterward, are you?"
"Of course not," I said. "Not right away, anyway."
She slugged me with the pillow. I probably deserved it, but I had a pretty solid case: I've been female, young and celibate for over a year. I was very interested - and I suspected that others would be too - in finding out how it felt after all that time. She was usually pretty coy about her sex life with Wade, so I wanted to be respectful, but... I mean, they know we're sleeping in the same bed.
"Okay," she relented, "Just don't give any embarrassing details... about what I'm like."
Trust me, even if I did, it would all be complimentary.
Honestly, I was the one who felt embarrassed. It was like starting from square one. Alan's body is differently-proportioned than mine, all gangly limbs and a long, thin torso. I got aches and cramps in places I didn't expect to. Not to mention, I was so overwhelmed by the sensation that, well, I couldn't quite handle it. When our first round was over, I buried my face in the pillow: "I'm so sorry I just put you through that."
She held me in her arms and smiled, "It was good, no, really."
"I'll work on it, I promise."
"You don't have anything to apologize for," she assured me. "Don't be so hard on yourself."
I couldn't help but sulk a bit. "I wanted it to be better. The best ever. Worth the wait. But I can't... it's like I don't even know my own body..."
"You don't. This isn't Tyler's body. It's new for you. It takes time. I'm here with you."
I looked at her beautiful face and smiled. "I know. I feel better already."
It would be nice to think that my time as a she lent me some insight into processing, verbalizing and dealing with my feelings, but the truth is, it may have just made me better at bottling it all up. Think about it: I only had Meg to rely on for support, and she was supportive, but I didn't want to mope to her all the time. I wanted to be the brave, stalwart man I didn't appear to be but felt I was. I didn't want to be a victim or weak. Whatever pain I had, I hid as best I could. So now I'm back to being a man and I still do that, still don't want to show any vulnerability. Still have the impulse to lash out when things go bad and I can't hide it.
But I have her understanding, her patience, her support. Holy shit, I am a lucky man.
Things have improved, slowly but surely, as we've found our rhythm. It just feels so incredible and... meaningful. And I guess, the fact that I know a bit about how it all works for her (oh, don't look at me like that, it was my body) makes me feel like this is just something... bigger and better. No matter how (ahem) long it lasts.
Saturday, September 19, 2015
Tori: The Long Run
You already know I made a little trip to NYC on Labor Day weekend. I haven't been to NYC all that much since living in Philly - a couple of times a year when I need a nice little day trip. Growing up in Buffalo, I was actually kind of bitter about that place, because it seemed to be both the center of the universe and somewhere just too far away. And Philly has been good to me (even if the Phillies are in the toilet, Missy.) But my brother Dean and his family just bought a new place in North Jersey that I wanted to visit, so when I found out some of our Boston contingent would be in the city for the tournament, I figured I would hop across the river and meet some of the people I've only known in e-mails, texts and blog posts.
I was worried I would feel out of place among them. For Rosie and Erin, this whole thing is brand new. Missy and Benjamin are also at a crossroads. I couldn't get a good read on Benny. It's all in the past for me, and you would think I would be sick of talking about it, and some days I am, but I live in such secrecy that I never shy away from a conversation with someone who's been there too.
I would like to report that Jordan/Missy/whomever she'd like to be exaggerated my flirtatiousness, but what can I say? There's an energy amongst people who are on their second or third body, and with all that testosterone flying around with no real outlet, people get caught up in the energy. Even Rosie, wallflower that she/he is, stole a glance at Missy's figure when he could.
A fellow Inn person, who would prefer to remain anonymous, manages a club in Midtown, so I brought the boys there, and the drinks flowed. I got each of them on the dancefloor - Erin was the most willing, Rosie the least, and made it clear that I didn't mean anything by it. Seriously. All I want is for these folks to find out who they really are, you know? I don't mean to impose my worldview on them, but I don't know where I would be today if I hadn't had people pushing my boundaries from the second I started my new life.
Besides, I already alluded to in my last post, there is a new guy in my life. I call him Cute Hipster Mike, and he is indeed a cute hipster. He's actually my first bearded guy. I mean, every guy is stubbly to some degree, but I've always expressed a preference for clean-shaven boys. I considered it this strange taboo of overt masculinity I simply wasn't ever ready to break. Is that weird? I like my guys thin, less than a head taller than me, and smooth. Hipster Mike is a burly lumberjack-looking fellow, and when I saw him at the wedding, something about him struck me. Like, I want that person to hold me. He reminds me of Chris Pratt. And I do like Chris Pratt.
He texted me a few days after the wedding, saying he hoped I didn't mind if we weren't just a "one off." I said no, I would be quite interested in continuing, and we made arrangements to have a coffee someplace nice the following weekend.
By now I'm very practiced at first dates. I'm very sweet, charming, outgoing, personable... accessible. I share almost anything about my life that the other person cares to know, except things I am unable to mention due to magic curse. It took us a bit to click, though. He asked me about music I liked, and we didn't have much common ground. I asked him about movies, and he said he was "starting to feel fatigued by cinema." A bit pretentious and I could feel myself losing interest. Then we started to talk about work. He said he was bartending for a couple of years, and I was ready with my "Oh, it's okay if you haven't found your way yet" speech from numerous past boyfriends, when he continued:
"My real passion is for animals. I volunteer three times a week at a no-kill shelter, walking and feeding dogs and cats, helping them find homes. It's really rewarding. I'll probably do it for the rest of my life."
Couldn't you just melt?
I told him about Scruff, my family's old English Sheepdog who looked like he was on his last legs. His eyes got noticeably misty and he talked about his own childhood pets. Sensitive guy! Yes! From then on I could really feel the chemistry brewing.
He walked me home and complimented my "FORWARD" tattoo, saying that if there was a story behind it, he'd like to hear it. I sighed: "It couldn't be more cliche'd... I got it after a breakup, of sorts." I sighed a bit, thinking over the details of my life, "Some days it feels like I've just been living through one long break-up."
"Well, whoever he was, he's an idiot for letting you get away," he said.
"That's sweet to say, but it's a bit more complicated than that," I said. "And if he had his way, I'd still be with him."
There was a pause, and I made myself apologize for derailing such a nice date.
He attempted to joke his way out of it, saying "Hey, what's a first date without a little melodrama?"
"Uh huh, sure," I said. Then I took a deep breath and said, "Mike, I'm really liking you."
He fell quiet, like I'd just smacked him in the face.
"Tori," he said in a weirdly grace tone, "I think you're really great, but..." Oh, God, here it comes, "...I'm not really looking for anything serious right now. But I was thinking we could be, like..." Don't say it... "Casual."
Damnit.
The word felt like poison in my ears. I felt tricked, honestly. He came across so well, so sweetly, and then this came out of nowhere. And it was such a cliche, too, but at least the other guys had the balls to say it before we ever met, when we were still in the online profile or texting phase, where I could pretend I was OK with it before agreeing to meet, or (more likely,) avoid them altogether. It wasn't fair.
I spent so much of my old life trying to get attention, and now that I had it, it wasn't the right kind. Cosmic joke.
I almost wanted to cry, just as in impulse, but I kept it together. Instead I just groaned and pulled away from him. I got my bearings, and I unloaded.
"What does that even mean? Can you explain that to me? I hear that from so many guys, as if I'm supposed to be okay with it, like I won't end up feeling used. Yes, I want something physical, but I want something emotional, too. I wanted to be romanced. Cared for. Like I'll just go along for the ride hoping you'll change your mind. Fuck, Mike. Someone's got to want the same thing as I do. And I won't settle for less. Not again. So if you don't see this going anywhere... if you want to just string someone along and have a little fling, find someone else. I'm sorry."
I regretted saying sorry as soon as it had left my lips. If I wasn't entitled to my opinions here and now, who was?
I was on the verge of a serious breakdown. He kept his distance. I wanted to storm off but I stayed put to hear his response. It was underwhelming, but promising.
"Can I think about it?"
"Whatever," I sighed. "We'll see."
The next day he texted me. He gave this spiel about how he just had his guard up, how he's been hurt before, yadda yadda. He isn't sure he's in "the right place." I let him go on for a while, then answered minimally a few hours later. "Uh huh. Ok."
A couple of days later he texts again. "Still thinking about what you said. I was being pretty unfair. Some of my female friends pointed out that's a dick move." Not technically an apology, or even admission of wrongdoing. My response: "Yeah, kind of was."
A week passes. I think about him a bit. What a shame, there seemed to be potential. Then I hear from him. Not booty call messages at 2 AM, but mid-afternoon: "So, I really liked talking to you. Would it be weird for me to at least text you sometimes?"
Guys can be so awkward when you've got them under your thumb. I was feeling forgiving - empowered, even - so I answered. "Give it a try and we'll see."
He starts telling me about his days on a regular basis, and I tell him about mine. His charm doesn't quite come across as well over text, but I'm sensing that spark again.
Those texts become more frequent. He makes tentative attempts to get me to come out and see him. I find myself more and more drawn back to him. But I still resist. I keep it light and friendly and as time goes by - days, weeks - I pepper my conversation with more flirtations and come-ons, to let him know what he's missing out on. But I do find myself looking forward to his responses.
"I'm out with some friends," he says on Friday night in August. "Come say hey?"
"I can do that from here ;) See? Hey."
But I do go, and we have a drink and I meet his friends, and they're all as goofy and pretentious as he is, if not moreso to make him seem down to Earth. (They all talk about how they've traveled Europe and Asia and all I've got is this story about a quaint little Inn I once visited in Maine.)
Eventually, we steal a moment together. "Listen," I admit. "I want a boyfriend. I want something solid. And I know you can't force it. I know that isn't instantaneous. But I want someone willing to give it a shot. Someone who won't run as soon as things get serious, who won't throw fits about how they aren't ready to commit. I can't waste my time, I owe that to myself."
He digested this. "You're right. I really think we'd be good together."
"Mike," I smiled at him and put my hands on his cheeks. "We are good together."
He smiled warmly at me. "Let's give it a shot."
We kissed, and I went home that night walking taller than I have in a long time. Sometimes I don't apply myself towards getting what I really want, and bend to the whims of others, and in the past I might have said "Causal, sure, if that's what's best." But today, I'm a new woman. I'm done floating, because this is my life and it isn't a game. I won't settle. I'm worth it. And I deserve someone who sees it.
We've been pretty happy so far...
I was worried I would feel out of place among them. For Rosie and Erin, this whole thing is brand new. Missy and Benjamin are also at a crossroads. I couldn't get a good read on Benny. It's all in the past for me, and you would think I would be sick of talking about it, and some days I am, but I live in such secrecy that I never shy away from a conversation with someone who's been there too.
I would like to report that Jordan/Missy/whomever she'd like to be exaggerated my flirtatiousness, but what can I say? There's an energy amongst people who are on their second or third body, and with all that testosterone flying around with no real outlet, people get caught up in the energy. Even Rosie, wallflower that she/he is, stole a glance at Missy's figure when he could.
A fellow Inn person, who would prefer to remain anonymous, manages a club in Midtown, so I brought the boys there, and the drinks flowed. I got each of them on the dancefloor - Erin was the most willing, Rosie the least, and made it clear that I didn't mean anything by it. Seriously. All I want is for these folks to find out who they really are, you know? I don't mean to impose my worldview on them, but I don't know where I would be today if I hadn't had people pushing my boundaries from the second I started my new life.
Besides, I already alluded to in my last post, there is a new guy in my life. I call him Cute Hipster Mike, and he is indeed a cute hipster. He's actually my first bearded guy. I mean, every guy is stubbly to some degree, but I've always expressed a preference for clean-shaven boys. I considered it this strange taboo of overt masculinity I simply wasn't ever ready to break. Is that weird? I like my guys thin, less than a head taller than me, and smooth. Hipster Mike is a burly lumberjack-looking fellow, and when I saw him at the wedding, something about him struck me. Like, I want that person to hold me. He reminds me of Chris Pratt. And I do like Chris Pratt.
He texted me a few days after the wedding, saying he hoped I didn't mind if we weren't just a "one off." I said no, I would be quite interested in continuing, and we made arrangements to have a coffee someplace nice the following weekend.
By now I'm very practiced at first dates. I'm very sweet, charming, outgoing, personable... accessible. I share almost anything about my life that the other person cares to know, except things I am unable to mention due to magic curse. It took us a bit to click, though. He asked me about music I liked, and we didn't have much common ground. I asked him about movies, and he said he was "starting to feel fatigued by cinema." A bit pretentious and I could feel myself losing interest. Then we started to talk about work. He said he was bartending for a couple of years, and I was ready with my "Oh, it's okay if you haven't found your way yet" speech from numerous past boyfriends, when he continued:
"My real passion is for animals. I volunteer three times a week at a no-kill shelter, walking and feeding dogs and cats, helping them find homes. It's really rewarding. I'll probably do it for the rest of my life."
Couldn't you just melt?
I told him about Scruff, my family's old English Sheepdog who looked like he was on his last legs. His eyes got noticeably misty and he talked about his own childhood pets. Sensitive guy! Yes! From then on I could really feel the chemistry brewing.
He walked me home and complimented my "FORWARD" tattoo, saying that if there was a story behind it, he'd like to hear it. I sighed: "It couldn't be more cliche'd... I got it after a breakup, of sorts." I sighed a bit, thinking over the details of my life, "Some days it feels like I've just been living through one long break-up."
"Well, whoever he was, he's an idiot for letting you get away," he said.
"That's sweet to say, but it's a bit more complicated than that," I said. "And if he had his way, I'd still be with him."
There was a pause, and I made myself apologize for derailing such a nice date.
He attempted to joke his way out of it, saying "Hey, what's a first date without a little melodrama?"
"Uh huh, sure," I said. Then I took a deep breath and said, "Mike, I'm really liking you."
He fell quiet, like I'd just smacked him in the face.
"Tori," he said in a weirdly grace tone, "I think you're really great, but..." Oh, God, here it comes, "...I'm not really looking for anything serious right now. But I was thinking we could be, like..." Don't say it... "Casual."
Damnit.
The word felt like poison in my ears. I felt tricked, honestly. He came across so well, so sweetly, and then this came out of nowhere. And it was such a cliche, too, but at least the other guys had the balls to say it before we ever met, when we were still in the online profile or texting phase, where I could pretend I was OK with it before agreeing to meet, or (more likely,) avoid them altogether. It wasn't fair.
I spent so much of my old life trying to get attention, and now that I had it, it wasn't the right kind. Cosmic joke.
I almost wanted to cry, just as in impulse, but I kept it together. Instead I just groaned and pulled away from him. I got my bearings, and I unloaded.
"What does that even mean? Can you explain that to me? I hear that from so many guys, as if I'm supposed to be okay with it, like I won't end up feeling used. Yes, I want something physical, but I want something emotional, too. I wanted to be romanced. Cared for. Like I'll just go along for the ride hoping you'll change your mind. Fuck, Mike. Someone's got to want the same thing as I do. And I won't settle for less. Not again. So if you don't see this going anywhere... if you want to just string someone along and have a little fling, find someone else. I'm sorry."
I regretted saying sorry as soon as it had left my lips. If I wasn't entitled to my opinions here and now, who was?
I was on the verge of a serious breakdown. He kept his distance. I wanted to storm off but I stayed put to hear his response. It was underwhelming, but promising.
"Can I think about it?"
"Whatever," I sighed. "We'll see."
The next day he texted me. He gave this spiel about how he just had his guard up, how he's been hurt before, yadda yadda. He isn't sure he's in "the right place." I let him go on for a while, then answered minimally a few hours later. "Uh huh. Ok."
A couple of days later he texts again. "Still thinking about what you said. I was being pretty unfair. Some of my female friends pointed out that's a dick move." Not technically an apology, or even admission of wrongdoing. My response: "Yeah, kind of was."
A week passes. I think about him a bit. What a shame, there seemed to be potential. Then I hear from him. Not booty call messages at 2 AM, but mid-afternoon: "So, I really liked talking to you. Would it be weird for me to at least text you sometimes?"
Guys can be so awkward when you've got them under your thumb. I was feeling forgiving - empowered, even - so I answered. "Give it a try and we'll see."
He starts telling me about his days on a regular basis, and I tell him about mine. His charm doesn't quite come across as well over text, but I'm sensing that spark again.
Those texts become more frequent. He makes tentative attempts to get me to come out and see him. I find myself more and more drawn back to him. But I still resist. I keep it light and friendly and as time goes by - days, weeks - I pepper my conversation with more flirtations and come-ons, to let him know what he's missing out on. But I do find myself looking forward to his responses.
"I'm out with some friends," he says on Friday night in August. "Come say hey?"
"I can do that from here ;) See? Hey."
But I do go, and we have a drink and I meet his friends, and they're all as goofy and pretentious as he is, if not moreso to make him seem down to Earth. (They all talk about how they've traveled Europe and Asia and all I've got is this story about a quaint little Inn I once visited in Maine.)
Eventually, we steal a moment together. "Listen," I admit. "I want a boyfriend. I want something solid. And I know you can't force it. I know that isn't instantaneous. But I want someone willing to give it a shot. Someone who won't run as soon as things get serious, who won't throw fits about how they aren't ready to commit. I can't waste my time, I owe that to myself."
He digested this. "You're right. I really think we'd be good together."
"Mike," I smiled at him and put my hands on his cheeks. "We are good together."
He smiled warmly at me. "Let's give it a shot."
We kissed, and I went home that night walking taller than I have in a long time. Sometimes I don't apply myself towards getting what I really want, and bend to the whims of others, and in the past I might have said "Causal, sure, if that's what's best." But today, I'm a new woman. I'm done floating, because this is my life and it isn't a game. I won't settle. I'm worth it. And I deserve someone who sees it.
We've been pretty happy so far...
Friday, May 17, 2013
Tori: Great Power/Great Responsibility
Sometimes I feel like I have power over half of the men on Earth, the power that comes from knowing they want me. The look, they chat me up, they let their eyes wander a little below my chin when I talk to them. I have something they want. And I have to be very responsible which of them I give it to.
Because I want it too. That's no secret to you, readers. I have a pretty damn healthy sexual appetite, and I've been starving myself for months -- almost a year! -- because I don't like the idea of having sex with someone I don't totally love. The last time I did that, with my first partner Leo, I felt pretty bad about it.
It's just that, if I hold out for someone who can be my everything, I might be waiting a long time, I might drive myself nuts with desperation, I might cling to them. I totally get why one-night stands are an option. They're just not one I feel good about.
Nameless Boy -- as he shall be called to protect him from embarrassment -- is a special case. He's told me that he likes me, that he's been carrying a torch for a while, unbeknownst to me, and that it was only at my farewell party that he got the nerve. I didn't see anything in him but an opportunity for some escape, some fun, some distraction. He was my attempt at a one-night stand. If I'd known he was a virgin, I might have slowed down a little, but we've all got to start somewhere.
I like him fine. As in, I can put up with him. I don't mind hanging out with him. I'm really not sure how I feel beyond that. I've been spoiled a little bit, with Buddy and Alex, but my memory of both of them is tainted somewhat, too. If I want to get laid, he would be my best option, although for obvious reasons I have not told him this. We've talked a bit, and I've played it a bit close to the chest as to whether I would see him again.
I just don't have the heart to reject him, the way I would reject some bozo in a club. Like, those guys take it on the chin, they don't know you, you're just a piece of ass to them. This guy knows me. He thinks about me. There are worse situations to be in, and I think of all the times when I was him, when I wished I could dance with the hot girl. Maybe he deserves a reward. Ugh, how egotistical-slash-shallow of me to think of myself that way. But it's a reward for me, too, because I like the attention.
I just spent twenty minutes staring at a blinking cursor trying to decide what to say, what to do... and I just finally decided to text him: Hey... feel like getting a drink?
Here goes.
Because I want it too. That's no secret to you, readers. I have a pretty damn healthy sexual appetite, and I've been starving myself for months -- almost a year! -- because I don't like the idea of having sex with someone I don't totally love. The last time I did that, with my first partner Leo, I felt pretty bad about it.
It's just that, if I hold out for someone who can be my everything, I might be waiting a long time, I might drive myself nuts with desperation, I might cling to them. I totally get why one-night stands are an option. They're just not one I feel good about.
Nameless Boy -- as he shall be called to protect him from embarrassment -- is a special case. He's told me that he likes me, that he's been carrying a torch for a while, unbeknownst to me, and that it was only at my farewell party that he got the nerve. I didn't see anything in him but an opportunity for some escape, some fun, some distraction. He was my attempt at a one-night stand. If I'd known he was a virgin, I might have slowed down a little, but we've all got to start somewhere.
I like him fine. As in, I can put up with him. I don't mind hanging out with him. I'm really not sure how I feel beyond that. I've been spoiled a little bit, with Buddy and Alex, but my memory of both of them is tainted somewhat, too. If I want to get laid, he would be my best option, although for obvious reasons I have not told him this. We've talked a bit, and I've played it a bit close to the chest as to whether I would see him again.
I just don't have the heart to reject him, the way I would reject some bozo in a club. Like, those guys take it on the chin, they don't know you, you're just a piece of ass to them. This guy knows me. He thinks about me. There are worse situations to be in, and I think of all the times when I was him, when I wished I could dance with the hot girl. Maybe he deserves a reward. Ugh, how egotistical-slash-shallow of me to think of myself that way. But it's a reward for me, too, because I like the attention.
I just spent twenty minutes staring at a blinking cursor trying to decide what to say, what to do... and I just finally decided to text him: Hey... feel like getting a drink?
Here goes.
Friday, February 25, 2011
Bryan: Whatever happened to the teenage dream?
OK, guys, I would like to start by saying the title of this post is NOT a reference to the Katy Perry song, but to the T. Rex classic.
I haven't checked in lately. Mainly, there's nothing to report: I take pictures for a living, I sometimes get to play guitar with Todd, and I've been dating Shelby. So if you're really interested in the details of the coffee date we had last Wednesday, I'd provide them, but I'm guessing that's a bit too far off the usual subject matter of this blog.
For me, even though Connecticut is way in the past, and I sort of assume I'll never see Crystal again, I still sometimes think about it. I mean, no matter what, my time as Ellie is part of me, and I think it kinda helped me grow up, to feel like a bratty teenager. It's also kinda tempting, if and when things get bad, to think there's a place where I could go and get someone else's life for a while, if I wanted. Thinking about that mostly keeps happy where I am, since I'm well aware of the "grass is always greener" nature of the inn. I mean, for shit's sake, I was hospitalized with a panic attack because a girl broke up with me.
I think about Leanne sometimes though. Not just in a "wonder what she's up to" kinda way, but I think about my time with her. For better or worse, I've never had a relationship like I had with her. So much of my tension and frustration about being stuck in a teenage girl's body was applicable to the situation of two girls sneaking around, so she seemed to understand me better than most. Even Crystal -- we could talk about Inn stuff, but there was a whole other level separating our experiences. I never had to explain myself to Leanne.
The other night I dreamed about her. It sucks how you can't control what you dream about, so stuff you long thought you were done with bubble back to the surface of your mind. I remember her hand on my chest, her fingers teasing me, her lips touching mine, her body close to me... and for a second I forgot I was lying in bed with a really great girl.
I spent the rest of the night unable to sleep. I just laid perfectly still with my eyes clamped shut trying to get back to sleep so I could dream about anything else. I started fixating on this idea that Shelby and I could go to the Inn and no matter what happened, we'd have that in common. But I wouldn't drag anyone into this life, it would be a fucking awful thing to do.
At about 6 AM I decided I wasn't going to get back to sleep, so I did a few things: first, I scrawled down some lyrics, the second, I wrote an e-mail.
The lyrics were a rough attempt at getting my feelings on the matter out. They're not very good, but I can't just chuck them out. It's therapeutic. The main problem is, it's pretty explicitly about longing for an ex, or at least, the memory of an ex (I called it "The Memory Of You") which would be pretty awkward to play while my current girlfriend is drumming in my band. I'm still not even sure how I'm supposed to be feeling... the song is about that complication.
The e-mail was a lot easier in helping me relax. It was to Ellie, of all people. I have hardly talked to her since we got changed back, although Todd has had some contact with Anne Marie. I have no idea what she's up to, what her life's like, who her friends are now, if she dates. It seems a bit odd that I was this girl for nearly a year, and yet I thought I could just put her life back and walk away.
So I fired that e-mail off to what I think is still her address, and have yet to hear back. Maybe something will come from drudging up the past, or maybe I'm just making more trouble for myself.
I haven't checked in lately. Mainly, there's nothing to report: I take pictures for a living, I sometimes get to play guitar with Todd, and I've been dating Shelby. So if you're really interested in the details of the coffee date we had last Wednesday, I'd provide them, but I'm guessing that's a bit too far off the usual subject matter of this blog.
For me, even though Connecticut is way in the past, and I sort of assume I'll never see Crystal again, I still sometimes think about it. I mean, no matter what, my time as Ellie is part of me, and I think it kinda helped me grow up, to feel like a bratty teenager. It's also kinda tempting, if and when things get bad, to think there's a place where I could go and get someone else's life for a while, if I wanted. Thinking about that mostly keeps happy where I am, since I'm well aware of the "grass is always greener" nature of the inn. I mean, for shit's sake, I was hospitalized with a panic attack because a girl broke up with me.
I think about Leanne sometimes though. Not just in a "wonder what she's up to" kinda way, but I think about my time with her. For better or worse, I've never had a relationship like I had with her. So much of my tension and frustration about being stuck in a teenage girl's body was applicable to the situation of two girls sneaking around, so she seemed to understand me better than most. Even Crystal -- we could talk about Inn stuff, but there was a whole other level separating our experiences. I never had to explain myself to Leanne.
The other night I dreamed about her. It sucks how you can't control what you dream about, so stuff you long thought you were done with bubble back to the surface of your mind. I remember her hand on my chest, her fingers teasing me, her lips touching mine, her body close to me... and for a second I forgot I was lying in bed with a really great girl.
I spent the rest of the night unable to sleep. I just laid perfectly still with my eyes clamped shut trying to get back to sleep so I could dream about anything else. I started fixating on this idea that Shelby and I could go to the Inn and no matter what happened, we'd have that in common. But I wouldn't drag anyone into this life, it would be a fucking awful thing to do.
At about 6 AM I decided I wasn't going to get back to sleep, so I did a few things: first, I scrawled down some lyrics, the second, I wrote an e-mail.
The lyrics were a rough attempt at getting my feelings on the matter out. They're not very good, but I can't just chuck them out. It's therapeutic. The main problem is, it's pretty explicitly about longing for an ex, or at least, the memory of an ex (I called it "The Memory Of You") which would be pretty awkward to play while my current girlfriend is drumming in my band. I'm still not even sure how I'm supposed to be feeling... the song is about that complication.
The e-mail was a lot easier in helping me relax. It was to Ellie, of all people. I have hardly talked to her since we got changed back, although Todd has had some contact with Anne Marie. I have no idea what she's up to, what her life's like, who her friends are now, if she dates. It seems a bit odd that I was this girl for nearly a year, and yet I thought I could just put her life back and walk away.
So I fired that e-mail off to what I think is still her address, and have yet to hear back. Maybe something will come from drudging up the past, or maybe I'm just making more trouble for myself.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Arthur/Penny: I'm a horrible woman
I see a new group of people heading back to the Inn, or there for the first time, and I'm tempted to join them. I feel like so much of the last six months has demonstrated that I'm just not cut out for this, and maybe if I go back to the Inn, I'll get myself a male body, and someone who can handle being a woman will get this one.
It's been practically New Year's since I wrote here last, so a bit of recap is probably in order: I met a nice guy at Lyn's party, we went on a few dates, and it was fun. More than fun, actually - I wasn't quite falling in love, but I was enjoying dating, which was a new and exciting experience for me as a woman. I should have written about it, but between work (which now includes live-blogging nearly every game) and the endless rewrites on the book, I kind of didn't want to do any more writing. Besides, whenever I'd meet up with Lyn to talk about it, she'd hit me with good advice about not ruining a good thing by over-thinking it, and blogging is incredibly conducive to over-thinking. So I stayed away while things were good.
And I didn't want to be all self-pitying when things went wrong. It started out small; there were kids running around the restaurant where we were having breakfast one Wednesday morning (yeah, I was enjoying the low-pressure sex, too) in February. It was a vacation week, and we started talking about what we'd done during winter vacations as kids. His stories were funny, but mine must have sounded strange, as I tried to merge what little I know about Nell's youth with a Penny-fied version of my own. It always sounded like I was holding something back, and even though none of it had anything to do with us right now, it must have looked as bad to him as it felt to me.
So we broke up. It sucked, but there's a life lesson to it: You know how it appears that you can tell people about the Inn and have them believe you during big, life-changing moments? Breaking up with someone you've been seeing for a couple months doesn't count. No matter how awful it may feel at the time, this is not a big enough event in your life that you can get anywhere by telling your boyfriend that you used to be someone else, and a cursed inn up in Old Orchard Beach reshaped your body, twice, and that's why you're so guarded and uncertain. It sucks, and it hurts, but apparently it's not that big a deal in the grand scheme of things.
Lyn repeated that to me about a dozen times a night that first week. It sort of convinced me. After a while, I was kind of glad, because between my weird schedule, Chance's, hers, and her boyfriend Matt's, we hadn't been seeing much of each other lately, and now everything only had to work out a little bit. She doesn't mind swooping down on certain things like a vulture, either: Even in my first life, I got kind of worked up over breakups, not really enjoying anything that I'd planned to do with my girlfriend when it looked like we would be together for some indefinite period. The hormones I inherited from Nell seem to make it worse, so I wound up giving Lyn a bunch of tickets to games and concerts I'd either bought or been comped.
One of them was for a Bruin's game in early March. I give her the tickets, switch a shift or two to work from the pressbox that night, planning to meet her and Matt after the game. When I've gotten some quotes and filed a game story, I head to a bar down the street from the Garden where I've agreed to meet them after the game. I'm kind of surprised when I find Lyn and it's not Matt she's with, but Ray.
Lyn tells me that Mike had to cover for someone at the firehouse who had food poisoning, and she just happened to run into Ray after she got the call. Ray had to check with Liz, of course, but Liz is busy rehearsing and doesn't much mind him being out with Lyn (probably figures that Lyn, being a former guy and in a long-term relationship, is the safest girl for her fiancé to spend time with). Ray remembers me, from Lyn's party and before, and we all get to talking, and drinking, and laughing, and...
And I don't exactly remember Lyn leaving, because she's got an job interview the next morning. Ray and I had a good time without her, and then we went back to my place and had a really good time.
We were both horrified when we woke up in the morning. He was engaged, and I always figured that Lyn would be the one to make this kind of mistake, not me. He ran off as soon as I shook him awake, and I can't say I blamed him.
He felt bad, though; he turned up at the Boston Today offices to apologize, and I told him there was no need, that I owed him more of an apology than he owed me (left unsaid, of course, is how much contrition we both owed Liz). We went to the Sidebar, had one drink to show there were no hard feelings, and that was that.
A few weeks later, around the end of April, I was at the dressmakers getting something mended when I heard yelling from the next room; it was Liz, having something just short of a tantrum about how everything had to be perfect, and this wasn't, and... Well, I didn't stick around. Ray was going in as I was coming out, and I warned him that he did not want to go in there. He said he had to, but he was running from the room thirty seconds later, saying it wasn't his area of expertise and Liz had thrown him out. He spotted me, ran to catch up, and we chatted as we walked. After we'd turned a corner or two, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me.
It must have been kind of a funny sight - Ray's around five-eight, and I'm a smidge under six feet even even when I'm not wearing shoes with a one-inch heel like I was that day; he had to stand on tiptoe. I also spend a lot more time in the gym than he does. I don't say this to make fun of Ray, just to point out that he didn't - couldn't, really - force himself on me. I kissed back, and everything after was something we both did, not just him, and not just me.
I say "everything after", but it's not as dramatic as that makes it sound. We would meet on nights when Liz had rehearsal - or, later, performances. He'd complain that she was getting to be a full-on Bridezilla, I'd regale him with what a Boston sports reporter learns that the locals eat up even though it's utterly trivial, we'd drink a bit, and then, about half the time, we'd have sex.
And it was good. Ray gave me my first female orgasm two years ago, and there was something familiar about hooking up with him, but it was new, too. My body type is divergent enough from Liz's that we approached each other differently. I'd let him be on top (I was a little scared of getting crushed as Liz), and there was an urgency to it, as we were stealing time. Both in the short term and in the long term - Ray and Liz had a mid-July wedding date set, and we both knew it would end then. Neither of us is going to cross that line, and we figured Liz would chill out after the wedding itself was over.
Of course, this depended on Liz not finding out.
I don't know how she did; it doesn't much matter. We were just drinking that night, and Liz showed up at the bar still in costume, just completely pissed off. Ray stammered that it was just a drink with a friend, but he's not a good enough liar to stand his ground when Liz asked about the other times. She didn't have much time to waste - she could only stretch intermission by fifteen minutes, so she just stomped out.
Ray followed soon after, saying he was sorry, that the tightly-wound thing was a relatively recent development. It only happened after the second time he proposed to her. Some girls just let the engagement and wedding get into their heads, and it would be different after it was all over and done with. She'd be like the girl who he fell in love with and proposed to.
I don't know about that.
That was a few weeks ago, the last time I saw Ray. I went to Liz's play last week, but she wasn't there. I asked one of the other folks in the audience, and she told me that "the Chinese girl" and her boyfriend had eloped, and were probably still on their honeymoon. I guess they worked things out between them, and I'm glad. Ray's a good guy, he and Liz have loved each other forever, and Liz went through a lot to get back to him.
And that gets us up to today. Let me just apologize to Lyn again for not telling her while it was happening; I suppose it's like Liz not wanting to tell the original Ashlyn about Stewart; you take the "high ground" toward someone who's more overtly sexual and it's just unthinkable to confess you've done something bad.
It does feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, though. It was terrible keeping that sort of thing bottled up. From now on, I'm making a couple rules: No guys with girlfriends/wives/etc., and when someone talks about my past, just say I don't want to talk about it. If that's a deal-breaker for them, so be it. Being in a relationship is supposed to make you feel good, and I'm sick of it doing something else.
- Art/Penny
It's been practically New Year's since I wrote here last, so a bit of recap is probably in order: I met a nice guy at Lyn's party, we went on a few dates, and it was fun. More than fun, actually - I wasn't quite falling in love, but I was enjoying dating, which was a new and exciting experience for me as a woman. I should have written about it, but between work (which now includes live-blogging nearly every game) and the endless rewrites on the book, I kind of didn't want to do any more writing. Besides, whenever I'd meet up with Lyn to talk about it, she'd hit me with good advice about not ruining a good thing by over-thinking it, and blogging is incredibly conducive to over-thinking. So I stayed away while things were good.
And I didn't want to be all self-pitying when things went wrong. It started out small; there were kids running around the restaurant where we were having breakfast one Wednesday morning (yeah, I was enjoying the low-pressure sex, too) in February. It was a vacation week, and we started talking about what we'd done during winter vacations as kids. His stories were funny, but mine must have sounded strange, as I tried to merge what little I know about Nell's youth with a Penny-fied version of my own. It always sounded like I was holding something back, and even though none of it had anything to do with us right now, it must have looked as bad to him as it felt to me.
So we broke up. It sucked, but there's a life lesson to it: You know how it appears that you can tell people about the Inn and have them believe you during big, life-changing moments? Breaking up with someone you've been seeing for a couple months doesn't count. No matter how awful it may feel at the time, this is not a big enough event in your life that you can get anywhere by telling your boyfriend that you used to be someone else, and a cursed inn up in Old Orchard Beach reshaped your body, twice, and that's why you're so guarded and uncertain. It sucks, and it hurts, but apparently it's not that big a deal in the grand scheme of things.
Lyn repeated that to me about a dozen times a night that first week. It sort of convinced me. After a while, I was kind of glad, because between my weird schedule, Chance's, hers, and her boyfriend Matt's, we hadn't been seeing much of each other lately, and now everything only had to work out a little bit. She doesn't mind swooping down on certain things like a vulture, either: Even in my first life, I got kind of worked up over breakups, not really enjoying anything that I'd planned to do with my girlfriend when it looked like we would be together for some indefinite period. The hormones I inherited from Nell seem to make it worse, so I wound up giving Lyn a bunch of tickets to games and concerts I'd either bought or been comped.
One of them was for a Bruin's game in early March. I give her the tickets, switch a shift or two to work from the pressbox that night, planning to meet her and Matt after the game. When I've gotten some quotes and filed a game story, I head to a bar down the street from the Garden where I've agreed to meet them after the game. I'm kind of surprised when I find Lyn and it's not Matt she's with, but Ray.
Lyn tells me that Mike had to cover for someone at the firehouse who had food poisoning, and she just happened to run into Ray after she got the call. Ray had to check with Liz, of course, but Liz is busy rehearsing and doesn't much mind him being out with Lyn (probably figures that Lyn, being a former guy and in a long-term relationship, is the safest girl for her fiancé to spend time with). Ray remembers me, from Lyn's party and before, and we all get to talking, and drinking, and laughing, and...
And I don't exactly remember Lyn leaving, because she's got an job interview the next morning. Ray and I had a good time without her, and then we went back to my place and had a really good time.
We were both horrified when we woke up in the morning. He was engaged, and I always figured that Lyn would be the one to make this kind of mistake, not me. He ran off as soon as I shook him awake, and I can't say I blamed him.
He felt bad, though; he turned up at the Boston Today offices to apologize, and I told him there was no need, that I owed him more of an apology than he owed me (left unsaid, of course, is how much contrition we both owed Liz). We went to the Sidebar, had one drink to show there were no hard feelings, and that was that.
A few weeks later, around the end of April, I was at the dressmakers getting something mended when I heard yelling from the next room; it was Liz, having something just short of a tantrum about how everything had to be perfect, and this wasn't, and... Well, I didn't stick around. Ray was going in as I was coming out, and I warned him that he did not want to go in there. He said he had to, but he was running from the room thirty seconds later, saying it wasn't his area of expertise and Liz had thrown him out. He spotted me, ran to catch up, and we chatted as we walked. After we'd turned a corner or two, he pushed me up against the wall and kissed me.
It must have been kind of a funny sight - Ray's around five-eight, and I'm a smidge under six feet even even when I'm not wearing shoes with a one-inch heel like I was that day; he had to stand on tiptoe. I also spend a lot more time in the gym than he does. I don't say this to make fun of Ray, just to point out that he didn't - couldn't, really - force himself on me. I kissed back, and everything after was something we both did, not just him, and not just me.
I say "everything after", but it's not as dramatic as that makes it sound. We would meet on nights when Liz had rehearsal - or, later, performances. He'd complain that she was getting to be a full-on Bridezilla, I'd regale him with what a Boston sports reporter learns that the locals eat up even though it's utterly trivial, we'd drink a bit, and then, about half the time, we'd have sex.
And it was good. Ray gave me my first female orgasm two years ago, and there was something familiar about hooking up with him, but it was new, too. My body type is divergent enough from Liz's that we approached each other differently. I'd let him be on top (I was a little scared of getting crushed as Liz), and there was an urgency to it, as we were stealing time. Both in the short term and in the long term - Ray and Liz had a mid-July wedding date set, and we both knew it would end then. Neither of us is going to cross that line, and we figured Liz would chill out after the wedding itself was over.
Of course, this depended on Liz not finding out.
I don't know how she did; it doesn't much matter. We were just drinking that night, and Liz showed up at the bar still in costume, just completely pissed off. Ray stammered that it was just a drink with a friend, but he's not a good enough liar to stand his ground when Liz asked about the other times. She didn't have much time to waste - she could only stretch intermission by fifteen minutes, so she just stomped out.
Ray followed soon after, saying he was sorry, that the tightly-wound thing was a relatively recent development. It only happened after the second time he proposed to her. Some girls just let the engagement and wedding get into their heads, and it would be different after it was all over and done with. She'd be like the girl who he fell in love with and proposed to.
I don't know about that.
That was a few weeks ago, the last time I saw Ray. I went to Liz's play last week, but she wasn't there. I asked one of the other folks in the audience, and she told me that "the Chinese girl" and her boyfriend had eloped, and were probably still on their honeymoon. I guess they worked things out between them, and I'm glad. Ray's a good guy, he and Liz have loved each other forever, and Liz went through a lot to get back to him.
And that gets us up to today. Let me just apologize to Lyn again for not telling her while it was happening; I suppose it's like Liz not wanting to tell the original Ashlyn about Stewart; you take the "high ground" toward someone who's more overtly sexual and it's just unthinkable to confess you've done something bad.
It does feel like a huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders, though. It was terrible keeping that sort of thing bottled up. From now on, I'm making a couple rules: No guys with girlfriends/wives/etc., and when someone talks about my past, just say I don't want to talk about it. If that's a deal-breaker for them, so be it. Being in a relationship is supposed to make you feel good, and I'm sick of it doing something else.
- Art/Penny
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
Kat - Damn the torpedoes...
Saturday was a beautiful day, and once you get past the melt water on top of the ice, it was a pretty nice day for a walk. Saturday afternoon, I ditched the dogs and the family to have a little walk around the lake... a little alone time.
Anyhow, I wasn't the only one taking advantage of the abnormally-warm weather. There was Nick, who had this sweet, Electric-Blue, Victory motorcycle. Now I'd just recently started to look for a bike of my own last year when my life took an unexpected turn. I'd decided to forgo the over-played Harleys and the Indian's weren't quite my style, so the Victory bikes were certainly on my very short list for consideration.
I may be a girl now, but that is certainly no reason to stop thinking about motorcycles. Well, Nick's bike caught my eye and he was already talking to a friend of mine. I couldn't help myself, I wanted to find out if the Victory would be worth owning. I asked some questions, and soon realized that I had his full attention. I decided that this was a good thing, and that I could probably coax him into letting me take it for a spin.
I should have thought my words out a bit more clearly... "I'd sure love to ride it" isn't exactly the smartest thing for a girl to say to a guy. And while a line like that from a guy would likely have garnered the same meaning as "Hey man, mind if I take it around the block?", coming from an attractive girl it apparently sounds like "Please take me for a ride." But it was the double entendre of that line that embarrassed me enough that I just wanted to get it over with. So I didn't try to explain or otherwise draw-out the moment, I just accepted the offer.
It may have been a beautiful day for the middle of winter in Iowa, but it was still cold. Cold enough that I was happy to be able to hide behind someone bigger than I. He was like a big wind-breaker. I thought for sure that he was going to have fun smashing my breasts into him and getting me to hold on to him tighter, but he didn't - he was a very courteous host.
As we rode around the lake, I had to allow myself to experience the ride as a girl... as a girl who might be interested in this guy. I mean, Nick is pretty nice guy, and for a guy I guess he's pretty good-looking... if I let my body do the talking, I could feel that there was some physical attraction there. So, I decided to let my mind drift a bit... pondered upon if we were dating... would he be my type of guy? I tried to imagine him holding my hands as I held him tightly from behind. I don't know how long I was caught-up in those thoughts, but I realized that I'd laid my head against his back in sort of a blissful daze. I'm guessing that he had to have known that I'd gotten pretty comfortable back there, I'm sure I would have, had I been in his position. He was gentleman enough not to mention a word.
Saturday night I fell asleep early... dreaming about holding on tightly to Nick.
By dinner-time Sunday, Trip had already heard about my ride, and started to rib me about it... started, that is. Then he seemed to sense my unease about the whole issue and we, and later Jadyn, talked quite a bit about it.
Monday, the Iowa winter returned and Trip & Jadyn decided to drag me away from home for supper... to Nick's house. Apparently, I'm being set-up with Nick. I have to admit, the supper was pretty good, and the company couldn't have been better. With Trip and Jadyn there, I felt pretty comfortable too. I knew that nothing bad or extreme was going to happen, just supper and some pleasant conversation.
It was strange. For the first time, I really got to see Trip and Jadyn come together in a romantic-type way. I have to admit, they do make a cute couple - but it's still really, really weird to see someone else in that body... living a life that was supposed to be mine. Maybe I'm an idiot, but I really need to move on, to live what is now my life... anyhow, I wanted to feel that... to know again the euphoria that comes from loving someone like that. I tried to warm to Nick and let myself be open to the possibility of pursuing a meaningful relationship with him.
It's kinda' weird, to be the girl... but the feeling is mostly the same. The feeling that someone fancies you and is trying to keep your attention. Still, I don't know if this is going to work well - I feel like he is doing all the giving... all the work, and I'm just selfishly playing along... going through the motions. This is a good next-step for me, I think. I just hope that I don't hurt Nick in the process, he's way too nice of a guy. Maybe he'll sense that I'm not really into him and I won't have to worry about it. I'm not sure I want that either. Maybe I'm just asking for too much, too soon. But if I don't start somewhere... just jump right in, then I guess I may never know. God (and Nick) forgive me if I'm wrong.
Anyhow, I wasn't the only one taking advantage of the abnormally-warm weather. There was Nick, who had this sweet, Electric-Blue, Victory motorcycle. Now I'd just recently started to look for a bike of my own last year when my life took an unexpected turn. I'd decided to forgo the over-played Harleys and the Indian's weren't quite my style, so the Victory bikes were certainly on my very short list for consideration.
I may be a girl now, but that is certainly no reason to stop thinking about motorcycles. Well, Nick's bike caught my eye and he was already talking to a friend of mine. I couldn't help myself, I wanted to find out if the Victory would be worth owning. I asked some questions, and soon realized that I had his full attention. I decided that this was a good thing, and that I could probably coax him into letting me take it for a spin.
I should have thought my words out a bit more clearly... "I'd sure love to ride it" isn't exactly the smartest thing for a girl to say to a guy. And while a line like that from a guy would likely have garnered the same meaning as "Hey man, mind if I take it around the block?", coming from an attractive girl it apparently sounds like "Please take me for a ride." But it was the double entendre of that line that embarrassed me enough that I just wanted to get it over with. So I didn't try to explain or otherwise draw-out the moment, I just accepted the offer.
It may have been a beautiful day for the middle of winter in Iowa, but it was still cold. Cold enough that I was happy to be able to hide behind someone bigger than I. He was like a big wind-breaker. I thought for sure that he was going to have fun smashing my breasts into him and getting me to hold on to him tighter, but he didn't - he was a very courteous host.
As we rode around the lake, I had to allow myself to experience the ride as a girl... as a girl who might be interested in this guy. I mean, Nick is pretty nice guy, and for a guy I guess he's pretty good-looking... if I let my body do the talking, I could feel that there was some physical attraction there. So, I decided to let my mind drift a bit... pondered upon if we were dating... would he be my type of guy? I tried to imagine him holding my hands as I held him tightly from behind. I don't know how long I was caught-up in those thoughts, but I realized that I'd laid my head against his back in sort of a blissful daze. I'm guessing that he had to have known that I'd gotten pretty comfortable back there, I'm sure I would have, had I been in his position. He was gentleman enough not to mention a word.
Saturday night I fell asleep early... dreaming about holding on tightly to Nick.
By dinner-time Sunday, Trip had already heard about my ride, and started to rib me about it... started, that is. Then he seemed to sense my unease about the whole issue and we, and later Jadyn, talked quite a bit about it.
Monday, the Iowa winter returned and Trip & Jadyn decided to drag me away from home for supper... to Nick's house. Apparently, I'm being set-up with Nick. I have to admit, the supper was pretty good, and the company couldn't have been better. With Trip and Jadyn there, I felt pretty comfortable too. I knew that nothing bad or extreme was going to happen, just supper and some pleasant conversation.
It was strange. For the first time, I really got to see Trip and Jadyn come together in a romantic-type way. I have to admit, they do make a cute couple - but it's still really, really weird to see someone else in that body... living a life that was supposed to be mine. Maybe I'm an idiot, but I really need to move on, to live what is now my life... anyhow, I wanted to feel that... to know again the euphoria that comes from loving someone like that. I tried to warm to Nick and let myself be open to the possibility of pursuing a meaningful relationship with him.
It's kinda' weird, to be the girl... but the feeling is mostly the same. The feeling that someone fancies you and is trying to keep your attention. Still, I don't know if this is going to work well - I feel like he is doing all the giving... all the work, and I'm just selfishly playing along... going through the motions. This is a good next-step for me, I think. I just hope that I don't hurt Nick in the process, he's way too nice of a guy. Maybe he'll sense that I'm not really into him and I won't have to worry about it. I'm not sure I want that either. Maybe I'm just asking for too much, too soon. But if I don't start somewhere... just jump right in, then I guess I may never know. God (and Nick) forgive me if I'm wrong.
Friday, May 11, 2007
Ashlyn--Here I go again on my own…
Yes, I just quoted the band Whitesnake in the blog. What can I say, I like 80’s music and I have it playing on my iPod as I write this.
Before my parents died and I was sent to live with my uncle Garry, I grew up in a suburb of Dallas. We lived in one of those cookie-cutter housing communities. It was great. There was an empty field nearby to play football, and a community pool to help survive the Texas summers. There were bike trails and parks connected to those trails. There was everything a boy needed growing up.
Including a best friend.
Billy Sanderson—I called him BS to the annoyance of my parents—lived next door. He was there from day one; as we moved into the house he just seemed to appear out of nowhere and started helping move things inside. There were no introductions—he acted like he had known me and my family forever and we became instant friends.
I thought Billy was the coolest guy on the planet. Billy was the instigator of bad behavior and I loved him for it. He had a motto he lived by “If you’re not doing something that might get you grounded, then you are probably not having a good enough time.” We spent large amounts of time debating who was cooler: Batman or Spiderman. We glued firecrackers to my ‘six-million dollar man’ action figure and lit them. “Oh No! Col. Austin’s bionics are going haywire!” We would yell as the doll would bounce around from the small explosions. We also spent countless hours trying to build bigger and higher ramps to jump with our bicycles. Billy’s parents would ask why we were so obsessed with jumping ramps and Billy would say “We’re training to be the next Evel Knievel! Duh”. Yeah, life was fun with Billy.
Being best friends with Billy had one significant downside. Billy lived with his mom and stepdad. Every summer Billy would go away for a month—sometimes two—and spend time with his dad. Those summer months when Billy went away were brutal for me. There I was, out of school for the summer and no best friend to do things with—every spring I would dread the approach of summer.
Worse, Billy would go on these amazing trips with his dad during those times away. Billy would come back and tell me tales of white water rafting, swimming with dolphins and traveling through jungles. Billy embellished all of his stories of course—I didn’t call him BS just because they were his initials—and his stories really captured my imagination. After a while, it wasn’t just being lonely in the summer that was the problem—I started feeling like Billy was going on these incredible adventures, and I was being left behind.
Which brings me to this morning.
I waited until I knew Ray had left for work before walking over to Liz’s place. I knocked on the door and Art opened the door.
“I thought we were meeting up at North Station.” He asked.
“I thought I would check and see if you needed help with anything—besides, it gives me the excuse to hang out with you a little longer. You packed?”
“Mostly. I packed a few thing last night for my—“ He made quote marks with his fingers. “—trip to New York. I waited until Ray left to pack more things for a longer stay at the Inn. I didn’t want him to see my bags and wonder why I packed so much for a short trip.”
“Smart, but if he asked you could have played the girl card.” I tell him.
“Girl card?”
“Yeah. You know: I need to pack all these clothes because I’m a girl.” I smirked.
“Well, not for much longer.”
We headed into the bedroom where there was an open half-filled suitcase lying on the bed. I found an empty spot of the bed a sat down.
“I can’t believe the day is finally here!” Art said while digging through a closet.
I didn’t reply right away. Art was practically bursting with excitement, but I had mixed feelings. I wasn’t as giddy as Art was about his return trip to the Inn. “So, you and Zoe have a good time last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, we did. Sorry about not inviting you along, but you know how Zoe is about you.” The original Ashlyn and Zoe didn’t get along, so I inherited the animosity. She doesn’t seem to care for the way I like to dress as well.
“Yeah I know. It’s okay. It gave me an excuse to go see Matt.”
Art turned away from the closet and gave me a curious look. “Oh? How’s that going?”
I shrugged. “We had a great time. Matt is fun, his friends are fun….”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“Not really. It’s just that sometimes I feel so old around him and his friends. Our tastes in music are different, movies, a lot of things. Sure, physical I’m in my early twenties, but mentally I’m closer to forty. As odd as it sounds, I think we have a generation gap.”
I pause for a moment. “He referred to me as his ‘girlfriend’ last night. I’m somebody’s girlfriend. Is that crazy or what?”
Art rolls his eyes. “Some of us have been dealing with that for months.”
“Yeah, true, but this is someone Ashlyn had never met before. This is a—God, a relationship—with someone who likes me for myself. It’s different.”
Art looked contemplative. “Yeah, I could see how that could be important.”
He tossed a few last items into the suitcase and zipped it up. “Done! And look, gender stereotypes be damned, I didn’t pack that much.”
Art carries his suitcase into the front room and called a cab. He then went to his purse, pulled out an envelope with ‘Ray’ written in big letters, and set it on the kitchen table.
Eventually the cab shows up and honks to let us know it was there. I grab the suitcase and Art gives the place one last look around.
“This was a nice life…it just wasn’t mine.”
We find an empty bench at North Station.
“Lyn, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
I give him a blank look. “Sorry for what?”
“It was because of me this all happened to you. If I hadn’t invited you to the beer festival, you would still be Jake.”
“Dude. There was no way you could have known what going to happen. I don’t blame you at all—never did.”
“Still, I felt I should say something. I feel guilty about being able to go back to my life—“
“When I’m stuck here.” I finished for him.
“Well, yeah.”
“Art, I am so happy this is all going to work out for you. I really am. Sure, I’m going to miss you—“ It was at this moment I could feel my throat tighten and tears well up in my eyes.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I don’t want to be one of those girls who cry easily.
I just about had it under control when Art suddenly burst into tears. It put me over the edge. Soon we were holding each other, tears running our faces.
“I’m going to miss you ‘Lyn.”
“Same here.”
We eventually regain our composure and Art looks at his watch. “Time to go.”
I reach for my purse and pull out a drawing of Liz. “It’s just a pencil sketch. I’ve scanned it, but I haven’t colored it yet. I’ll finish it and post it on the blog. I thought you would like the original drawing.”
“Yes! Thank you.” He takes the drawing from me and puts it with his things.
We hug one more time. “Take care of yourself Art. Come visit me sometime.”
“You can count on it.”
He grabbed his things and headed off.
I stood there a while. My best friend had gone away leaving me behind—it was Billy Sanderson all over again.
The Inn is back to its old tricks…
The T is right there at North Station, but I decided to walk home because the weather is incredibly nice right now. I eventually make it home and sit down to write in this blog—but before I got that far I checked my email. I was in for a surprise.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Art/Liz:
Please help me. I just checked out of the Trading Post Inn, but I am not the same person I checked in as. I am trying very hard not to lose control and become hysterical here, but it is like some really bad nightmare.
I still have the laptop computer I checked in with, and theAT&T Data Card which allows me to surf the web. I did a search forthe Trading Posting Inn, which led me to your blog. I read througheach one of the entries, only to realize that this has happened toother people too. So, I am desperately turning to you for helpbefore I lose it.
My real name is Paul Miller. I am an attorney from Philadelphia, Pa., and my specialty is intellectual property litigation. I am, or was, very good at my job. It allows me to stay very cool under very tense situations. Please refer to the blog I was doing before I changed for details. It can be found at http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/
For some reason, it is harder to stay in control in this body.
I am in a different body. At some point between Wednesday Night and Thursday Morning, by body somehow changed from a near 40 year-oldCaucasian man into an African-American women. She . . . I . . . look very young, so I can't tell you how old this body is. I am a lot shorter than I was before. And the body has half-healed bruises all over it.
I went and looked for a suitcase, or anything to tell me who this girl is. She left nothing behind, so the identity of this body is a mystery to me. I had to sneak down to the laundry room of the Trading Post Inn to find something to fit me. I only booked the room through the weekend (it was an impromptu get away to clear my head before a big trial), so I had to check out.
I left my suitcase, clothes, and all of my belongings, including identification in the room. I did take what cash I had, about $425.00 with me, and this laptop. I also took the rental car that I drove all the way up here from Boston.
I don't know what to do. I am turning to you for some advice. I am afraid that if the police find me with my laptop and the rental car, that they will suspect some type of foul play regarding my real identity Paul Miller. I know that the police will be more likely to believe I did something, considering I am nowblack, and I have all of these bruises. I cannot have the police investigate the Inn, or else nobody will be able to get their real body back. I am going to have to ditch the car and laptop somewhere along the road. I will have to wipe everything down with a cloth to take my fingerprints off of it. I just hope that I can get to you in time before you leave.
So, I am going to have to get as close to Boston, as I can, and then find a ride the rest of the way. I have a flight from Logan Airport back to my place in Philly, but I don't think I'll be able to get on the plane without any I.D., especially without any I.D. that looks like my current self.
I had better describe myself, my current self, to you, justin case you find me before I can check in at the internet café. Iwould say my age is between 16 and 21. Very young looking. As Isaid, I am African-American now, and, from the reflection in themirror, extremely beautiful. I am only about 5'2" tall. My hair isstraight and black, and goes about ½ of the way down my back. Iam wearing a pair of jeans that are a little too tight (and the pantlegs are just slightly rolled up), and a white v-neck t-shirt. Ialso have on a pair of sandals (that are a little too big for me).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In the back of my mind I knew the Inn was open again, so that means more victims. I checked out Paul’s blog: http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/It brought back a lot of memories of my own experience. I emailed him back, so hopefully he’ll contact me again. I don’t have all the answers about his new situation, but I have a few, so maybe that will help.
Ashlyn
Before my parents died and I was sent to live with my uncle Garry, I grew up in a suburb of Dallas. We lived in one of those cookie-cutter housing communities. It was great. There was an empty field nearby to play football, and a community pool to help survive the Texas summers. There were bike trails and parks connected to those trails. There was everything a boy needed growing up.
Including a best friend.
Billy Sanderson—I called him BS to the annoyance of my parents—lived next door. He was there from day one; as we moved into the house he just seemed to appear out of nowhere and started helping move things inside. There were no introductions—he acted like he had known me and my family forever and we became instant friends.
I thought Billy was the coolest guy on the planet. Billy was the instigator of bad behavior and I loved him for it. He had a motto he lived by “If you’re not doing something that might get you grounded, then you are probably not having a good enough time.” We spent large amounts of time debating who was cooler: Batman or Spiderman. We glued firecrackers to my ‘six-million dollar man’ action figure and lit them. “Oh No! Col. Austin’s bionics are going haywire!” We would yell as the doll would bounce around from the small explosions. We also spent countless hours trying to build bigger and higher ramps to jump with our bicycles. Billy’s parents would ask why we were so obsessed with jumping ramps and Billy would say “We’re training to be the next Evel Knievel! Duh”. Yeah, life was fun with Billy.
Being best friends with Billy had one significant downside. Billy lived with his mom and stepdad. Every summer Billy would go away for a month—sometimes two—and spend time with his dad. Those summer months when Billy went away were brutal for me. There I was, out of school for the summer and no best friend to do things with—every spring I would dread the approach of summer.
Worse, Billy would go on these amazing trips with his dad during those times away. Billy would come back and tell me tales of white water rafting, swimming with dolphins and traveling through jungles. Billy embellished all of his stories of course—I didn’t call him BS just because they were his initials—and his stories really captured my imagination. After a while, it wasn’t just being lonely in the summer that was the problem—I started feeling like Billy was going on these incredible adventures, and I was being left behind.
Which brings me to this morning.
I waited until I knew Ray had left for work before walking over to Liz’s place. I knocked on the door and Art opened the door.
“I thought we were meeting up at North Station.” He asked.
“I thought I would check and see if you needed help with anything—besides, it gives me the excuse to hang out with you a little longer. You packed?”
“Mostly. I packed a few thing last night for my—“ He made quote marks with his fingers. “—trip to New York. I waited until Ray left to pack more things for a longer stay at the Inn. I didn’t want him to see my bags and wonder why I packed so much for a short trip.”
“Smart, but if he asked you could have played the girl card.” I tell him.
“Girl card?”
“Yeah. You know: I need to pack all these clothes because I’m a girl.” I smirked.
“Well, not for much longer.”
We headed into the bedroom where there was an open half-filled suitcase lying on the bed. I found an empty spot of the bed a sat down.
“I can’t believe the day is finally here!” Art said while digging through a closet.
I didn’t reply right away. Art was practically bursting with excitement, but I had mixed feelings. I wasn’t as giddy as Art was about his return trip to the Inn. “So, you and Zoe have a good time last night?” I asked.
“Yeah, we did. Sorry about not inviting you along, but you know how Zoe is about you.” The original Ashlyn and Zoe didn’t get along, so I inherited the animosity. She doesn’t seem to care for the way I like to dress as well.
“Yeah I know. It’s okay. It gave me an excuse to go see Matt.”
Art turned away from the closet and gave me a curious look. “Oh? How’s that going?”
I shrugged. “We had a great time. Matt is fun, his friends are fun….”
“I hear a ‘but’ coming.”
“Not really. It’s just that sometimes I feel so old around him and his friends. Our tastes in music are different, movies, a lot of things. Sure, physical I’m in my early twenties, but mentally I’m closer to forty. As odd as it sounds, I think we have a generation gap.”
I pause for a moment. “He referred to me as his ‘girlfriend’ last night. I’m somebody’s girlfriend. Is that crazy or what?”
Art rolls his eyes. “Some of us have been dealing with that for months.”
“Yeah, true, but this is someone Ashlyn had never met before. This is a—God, a relationship—with someone who likes me for myself. It’s different.”
Art looked contemplative. “Yeah, I could see how that could be important.”
He tossed a few last items into the suitcase and zipped it up. “Done! And look, gender stereotypes be damned, I didn’t pack that much.”
Art carries his suitcase into the front room and called a cab. He then went to his purse, pulled out an envelope with ‘Ray’ written in big letters, and set it on the kitchen table.
Eventually the cab shows up and honks to let us know it was there. I grab the suitcase and Art gives the place one last look around.
“This was a nice life…it just wasn’t mine.”
We find an empty bench at North Station.
“Lyn, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you, and I’ve been putting it off.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
I give him a blank look. “Sorry for what?”
“It was because of me this all happened to you. If I hadn’t invited you to the beer festival, you would still be Jake.”
“Dude. There was no way you could have known what going to happen. I don’t blame you at all—never did.”
“Still, I felt I should say something. I feel guilty about being able to go back to my life—“
“When I’m stuck here.” I finished for him.
“Well, yeah.”
“Art, I am so happy this is all going to work out for you. I really am. Sure, I’m going to miss you—“ It was at this moment I could feel my throat tighten and tears well up in my eyes.
I’m not going to cry. I’m not going to cry. I don’t want to be one of those girls who cry easily.
I just about had it under control when Art suddenly burst into tears. It put me over the edge. Soon we were holding each other, tears running our faces.
“I’m going to miss you ‘Lyn.”
“Same here.”
We eventually regain our composure and Art looks at his watch. “Time to go.”
I reach for my purse and pull out a drawing of Liz. “It’s just a pencil sketch. I’ve scanned it, but I haven’t colored it yet. I’ll finish it and post it on the blog. I thought you would like the original drawing.”
“Yes! Thank you.” He takes the drawing from me and puts it with his things.
We hug one more time. “Take care of yourself Art. Come visit me sometime.”
“You can count on it.”
He grabbed his things and headed off.
I stood there a while. My best friend had gone away leaving me behind—it was Billy Sanderson all over again.
The Inn is back to its old tricks…
The T is right there at North Station, but I decided to walk home because the weather is incredibly nice right now. I eventually make it home and sit down to write in this blog—but before I got that far I checked my email. I was in for a surprise.
----------------------------------------------------------------
Dear Art/Liz:
Please help me. I just checked out of the Trading Post Inn, but I am not the same person I checked in as. I am trying very hard not to lose control and become hysterical here, but it is like some really bad nightmare.
I still have the laptop computer I checked in with, and theAT&T Data Card which allows me to surf the web. I did a search forthe Trading Posting Inn, which led me to your blog. I read througheach one of the entries, only to realize that this has happened toother people too. So, I am desperately turning to you for helpbefore I lose it.
My real name is Paul Miller. I am an attorney from Philadelphia, Pa., and my specialty is intellectual property litigation. I am, or was, very good at my job. It allows me to stay very cool under very tense situations. Please refer to the blog I was doing before I changed for details. It can be found at http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/
For some reason, it is harder to stay in control in this body.
I am in a different body. At some point between Wednesday Night and Thursday Morning, by body somehow changed from a near 40 year-oldCaucasian man into an African-American women. She . . . I . . . look very young, so I can't tell you how old this body is. I am a lot shorter than I was before. And the body has half-healed bruises all over it.
I went and looked for a suitcase, or anything to tell me who this girl is. She left nothing behind, so the identity of this body is a mystery to me. I had to sneak down to the laundry room of the Trading Post Inn to find something to fit me. I only booked the room through the weekend (it was an impromptu get away to clear my head before a big trial), so I had to check out.
I left my suitcase, clothes, and all of my belongings, including identification in the room. I did take what cash I had, about $425.00 with me, and this laptop. I also took the rental car that I drove all the way up here from Boston.
I don't know what to do. I am turning to you for some advice. I am afraid that if the police find me with my laptop and the rental car, that they will suspect some type of foul play regarding my real identity Paul Miller. I know that the police will be more likely to believe I did something, considering I am nowblack, and I have all of these bruises. I cannot have the police investigate the Inn, or else nobody will be able to get their real body back. I am going to have to ditch the car and laptop somewhere along the road. I will have to wipe everything down with a cloth to take my fingerprints off of it. I just hope that I can get to you in time before you leave.
So, I am going to have to get as close to Boston, as I can, and then find a ride the rest of the way. I have a flight from Logan Airport back to my place in Philly, but I don't think I'll be able to get on the plane without any I.D., especially without any I.D. that looks like my current self.
I had better describe myself, my current self, to you, justin case you find me before I can check in at the internet café. Iwould say my age is between 16 and 21. Very young looking. As Isaid, I am African-American now, and, from the reflection in themirror, extremely beautiful. I am only about 5'2" tall. My hair isstraight and black, and goes about ½ of the way down my back. Iam wearing a pair of jeans that are a little too tight (and the pantlegs are just slightly rolled up), and a white v-neck t-shirt. Ialso have on a pair of sandals (that are a little too big for me).
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. In the back of my mind I knew the Inn was open again, so that means more victims. I checked out Paul’s blog: http://pxmiller.blogspot.com/It brought back a lot of memories of my own experience. I emailed him back, so hopefully he’ll contact me again. I don’t have all the answers about his new situation, but I have a few, so maybe that will help.
Ashlyn
Thursday, March 08, 2007
Arthur - Jobs
I want to quit.
I want to quit being Elizabeth Lee. I'm sick of having periods and taking birth control and not being able to reach something on a cupboard's top shelf without standing on a goddamn step-stool. Every once in a while, somebody tries to talk to me in Korean; yesterday afternoon it was the woman at the dry cleaners. I had to be rude, saying that I was sorry but I didn't have a lot of time to chat. She's probably a nice lady who has been asking about Liz's and Ray's work and family for years, but this just hammers home that I'm an impostor, and I hate that.
I'm almost jealous of Jake/Ashlyn sometimes. She doesn't have to watch her step twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If she does something, and someone who knew the real Ashlyn looks at her strange, she can just keep doing it. If that person thinks it's strange, well, tough, that's just the way "Ashlyn" is going to be from now on. I can't wait to have that kind of freedom again. Just another two and a half months, and I'll be myself again. I wish I could just hide in a corner until that day came.
But I can't, because I've got these other jobs. The hardest one, right now, is being Raymond Kim's girlfriend. Personally, I've always thought that when a relationship starts to become a job, then it's time to get out. That's not an option, though, so I have to try to make things better with him.
It's not easy. I don't think I've ever really had to try to make something work before. Either it did, or it didn't, and when it didn't, we broke up. Sometimes I was the jerk, sometimes she was. Sometimes we both were and sometimes we both knew it wasn't going to work out that way and remained friends. But we'd just do what came naturally. It's crazy to have to think of what you're trying to accomplish with each thing you do. I know there are people who do - people who go about seduction deliberately and obsess about details once they get beyond the initial fear of approaching someone.
Like, yesterday, I brought Ray lunch. It was a totally deliberate, manufactured thing - I spent like a half hour on make-up and hair, went downtown, did a little shopping to justify being across the river, then stopped in Bull Run for a couple steak tip subs and specialty-label sodas so that I could drop by his office and eat lunch at his desk with him.
And it works. Doing that shows that you're thinking of him even when you're just going about your own business, that you remember things he likes. That sort of thing is great when it's real, but when it's an effect created deliberately via a contrived set-up... Eating that delicious sandwich feels dirtier than anything we do in bed.
Scratch that. The sandwich isn't quite as bad as slipping into bed after an evening's work, pulling my body close and draping my arm over his body to rest on his chest. I can practically feel him smile at that, even when he's fast asleep. That's almost playing dirty - anything you do while he's awake, he can at least recognize as an attempt at manipulation. This is screwing with his subconscious.
Of course, he's giving a little, too. As much as the deep freeze is mostly over, I can't help notice that when he picked me up from work the other night, he made it a point to kiss me where everyone could see and thus be in a position to mention it to Stewart, should the topic come up. I'd kind of like to quit that little game, too.
And, I suspect, that once Stewart gets wind of what's going on, I'll want to quit Liz's job, too.
-Art
I want to quit being Elizabeth Lee. I'm sick of having periods and taking birth control and not being able to reach something on a cupboard's top shelf without standing on a goddamn step-stool. Every once in a while, somebody tries to talk to me in Korean; yesterday afternoon it was the woman at the dry cleaners. I had to be rude, saying that I was sorry but I didn't have a lot of time to chat. She's probably a nice lady who has been asking about Liz's and Ray's work and family for years, but this just hammers home that I'm an impostor, and I hate that.
I'm almost jealous of Jake/Ashlyn sometimes. She doesn't have to watch her step twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. If she does something, and someone who knew the real Ashlyn looks at her strange, she can just keep doing it. If that person thinks it's strange, well, tough, that's just the way "Ashlyn" is going to be from now on. I can't wait to have that kind of freedom again. Just another two and a half months, and I'll be myself again. I wish I could just hide in a corner until that day came.
But I can't, because I've got these other jobs. The hardest one, right now, is being Raymond Kim's girlfriend. Personally, I've always thought that when a relationship starts to become a job, then it's time to get out. That's not an option, though, so I have to try to make things better with him.
It's not easy. I don't think I've ever really had to try to make something work before. Either it did, or it didn't, and when it didn't, we broke up. Sometimes I was the jerk, sometimes she was. Sometimes we both were and sometimes we both knew it wasn't going to work out that way and remained friends. But we'd just do what came naturally. It's crazy to have to think of what you're trying to accomplish with each thing you do. I know there are people who do - people who go about seduction deliberately and obsess about details once they get beyond the initial fear of approaching someone.
Like, yesterday, I brought Ray lunch. It was a totally deliberate, manufactured thing - I spent like a half hour on make-up and hair, went downtown, did a little shopping to justify being across the river, then stopped in Bull Run for a couple steak tip subs and specialty-label sodas so that I could drop by his office and eat lunch at his desk with him.
And it works. Doing that shows that you're thinking of him even when you're just going about your own business, that you remember things he likes. That sort of thing is great when it's real, but when it's an effect created deliberately via a contrived set-up... Eating that delicious sandwich feels dirtier than anything we do in bed.
Scratch that. The sandwich isn't quite as bad as slipping into bed after an evening's work, pulling my body close and draping my arm over his body to rest on his chest. I can practically feel him smile at that, even when he's fast asleep. That's almost playing dirty - anything you do while he's awake, he can at least recognize as an attempt at manipulation. This is screwing with his subconscious.
Of course, he's giving a little, too. As much as the deep freeze is mostly over, I can't help notice that when he picked me up from work the other night, he made it a point to kiss me where everyone could see and thus be in a position to mention it to Stewart, should the topic come up. I'd kind of like to quit that little game, too.
And, I suspect, that once Stewart gets wind of what's going on, I'll want to quit Liz's job, too.
-Art
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