Cal/Angie: The eggs are broken

So I might as well tell you this since it's been ages since I posted and maybe you're wondering... I've started dating my co-worker David.

Considering the last post on here is Trish/Robbie telling you about me confessing my feelings for him, you might be confused... well, obviously nobody's more confused than me. For the record, Robbie had my consent to post that, and while the whole thing stung I believe in openness. It's a fair record of what we were going through and he was right.

But that doesn't make me any less lonely.

Like... what is this? What is my life? I get up, I go to work, I don't talk to anyone but co-workers and customers, I keep myself busy, I come home and I just... flop down. I had no life when I was at home in Mass, and if I came all this way just to have no life, I don't think I could take it. I was crying on a near daily basis even before the thing with me and Robbie.

I've known David was interested in me for a long time, and at first it scared me, and worried me, but he was kind enough not to be creepy about it, and indirectly that gave me time to get used to the idea. And I thought it would be smarter to try to date Robbie, because not only do I like him as a person, but we share a secret and, I don't know, I feel closer. I'll always feel that connection, even to the Lowell folks that I've kind of fallen out with.

But I gave it time with David, and he still seemed to like me. So after a few more weeks of constant emotional breakdown I decided the only thing I could try to do was ask him if he wanted to go out on a date.

I know, Robbie was right about it not being smart to date anyone like this, but I couldn't really fight the feelings I was having... not necessarily for David, but for the world, and about myself. I need this, okay?

So we started slow, I started spending time over at his place, and we'd have drinks and do a joint or whatever you call smoking weed. It really relaxes me, and we talk for a while and then... as soon as I feel like it we start touching and he leans in close... and I don't back away. It started with a peck on his lips. It was just the weirdest thing. Here's this guy who isn't that big, I guess but sitting next to him I feel tiny and vulnerable, and he could do whatever he wants, and I'm scared for my life and have no idea what's going to happen next. And he's got these thin, dry lips, and a big of a beard so it scratches against my skin. That shocked me. Not that it happened, just that... I was letting it.

Then as soon as I decided I was okay with that I went in for another one, and we were off and running. I don't know, it's just nice to have someone giving you that kind of attention. Pressing you where you need to be pressed, running their hands up your spine and thigh. I could feel him nervously making his moves, hesitating slightly, seeing where he should move his hands...

Then he found the clasp of my bra, and that was just too much, but I didn't have the words to tell him to stop. And I figured, hey, I didn't think I would like kissing him, why not just let him have this?

In the end it didn't really get comfortable at that level, but thankfully it didn't go any further. When we finally broke off,I was just totally stunned into silence. I haven't kissed anyone like that in a long time, let alone a guy. I flashed through my entire head over the story of how it came to that... months of getting steadily more confused about who I am and what I want, finding myself stumbling over my words or letting my eyes linger on on guys in general, trying to figure out what I really see. Getting that feeling deep inside, like my midsection is pulling my lungs down and my knees getting a little woozy, just because, I don't know, the light hits someone the right way, and admitting what it all adds up to.

We talked it out, and I said I didn't know what it all meant, and I'm really not in a place where I can be counted on to be anyone's girlfriend... but I liked him and I was trying to figure out what it meant. He said that was cool, "obviously," and would do or be whatever I needed, and that was so scarily exactly what I needed to hear that I'm a little afraid he was just saying what I wanted to hear to win points, which... has me really turned around. Again.

I'm still not sure if I feel okay about it, about liking it and letting it happen again, and I really really don't know if it's okay that I'm letting him believe I'm something I'm not, but... well, the egg is broken.

Trish/Robbie: That awkward moment...

I've been hanging out with Cal a little bit since December. I felt a little sorry for her, the way James and Derek cut her out of the "group" after the burglary incident. Whether Cal was really to blame, the fact that we have to rely on each other means we should be more careful about how we treat each other. We've met up for coffee a few times, and she even convinced me I might enjoy the Lego movie, so we went to see that tonight. I thought it was really funny!

Afterwards, we stopped off for a drink. Cal's not the biggest drinker, but I guess she's been trying plenty of new things since we got to Van City. As out first drinks arrived, I told her how much I had liked her last post, that it was nice to see her in a cheerier mood. She said she was really starting to enjoy pushing herself, and to look at "our" situation... not long ago, we barely knew each other, had none of the same friends, and now we're pretty close. This is true. It's not that I would have had anything against Cal back in Lowell, but we just didn't run with the same groups. We didn't relate. Now we're a bit more mature, and we have something in common. Something really serious, and known only to a few.

"So I mean..." she said quietly, folding and re-folding her paper napkin, "If we get, I mean when we get back, are we still going to be friends?"

"Of course," I said. "You're a really nice person."

"That's good," she said, "I was so worried that if we went back, then everything would just... revert. I'd wake up one morning and we'd be strangers again."

"Cal," I smiled, "Trust me, I won't be forgetting what we're going through."

"You should call me Angie, probably," she said.

"Right."

"Do you ever think about what we'd do if we were stuck, though?"

"I try not to."

"So you're looking forward to being a girl again?"

"Definitely!" I said.

"Why?" she asked, "I mean, I've been both, and I really would prefer to be a guy. No offense."

"None taken," I laughed, "It has its advantages. But I mean... it's not just about having a body, it's about having a home. Being with people you care about. I miss my family, I miss my dog, I miss Lowell... I had plans for my life, and they didn't really include this. If we had to stay, I'd make the best of it, I guess, but I'll be happier when we go back."

She agreed that was a good way to look at things. After a little longer, she finally worked up, I guess, the nerve to say what had been on her mind.

"Listen, Robbie, I just want to say I think you're such a great person... male or female, I really enjoy spending time with you."

I squirmed a little. I could see where this was going, but I wanted to let her get it out.

"I really like you, Robbie. Trish. Whatever happens, whatever we look like, you're someone that I would just... really like to spend time with. I think we should... like, date."

My heart sunk. I've been in this situation a few times before, where one side has feelings the other person just can't return, and I hoped that in these mixed-up bodies we could escape that. But I guess hormones have a strange way of working on a person. As much as Cal is a very nice person, I just didn't see her that way.


"I understand," she sighed. "It's too complicated anyway. I don't even know who I am anymore, you know? And plus, it's probably wrong to do that sort of thing in these bodies."

"Yeah," I said, just trying to make sure I didn't say anything to further disrupt the situation. "We're really not in a position to start anything."

The conversation continued a little further, but she was clearly sullen. I dropped her off at home and told her I'd text her later.

What can I do? Just be sorry, but it's really not my fault. I value her friendship, I don't want to lose it.

Cal/Angie: I could...

When I look myself in the mirror, I see a pretty girl.

Not a knockout. Not a bombshell. Not someone who's done up really pretty with makeup and all. nobody's fantasy, not even mine. But a pretty girl. I understand why guys look twice when they see me walking down the street, especially on days when I feel confident. And I won't lie, catching a glimpse of their head turning when I pass makes me walk that much taller. Like I have something they want. I know I do. And little by little I'm starting to realize what that means. A thin girl with a nice round face and pretty eyes, a little button nose and maybe a cute smile... I've tried to practice it in the mirror, but it always feels fake. But I've seen a few pictures of myself, particularly from New Year's Eve. It was like looking atanother girl, and I liked what I saw.

It's a quiet night. Chilly. The roommates have taken off, as per usual, and I'm on my own. I could flop down on the couch and channel surf, but part of me still feels like a guest here after a month, so I hole up in my room. I climb under my blankets and start to read, but something keeps distracting me. It's hard to say what, it's just that my thoughts wander.

I'm thirsty. I saw a bottle of gin on the counter. I've never tried it before. I'm sure they won't notice if I taste a little nip of it. I pour some 7up in a glass and try to add a splash of gin, but ... glub, I get a little extra. Well, there's no getting it back in the bottle. I hope I do like it.

I crawl back into bed, but the place seems to be warming up. It's cozy under the blankets, so I take off my sweater and slip into some PJs. Sip after sip the drink is growing on me, until I've had enough that it doesn't really make a difference how it tastes. I start to read again, and after a while I start top realize I'm running my hand up and down my breast. I wonder if I ever do this in public.

My mind starts to wander again. What's the difference, I think... between being alone with a girl and being alone as a girl? If I was a guy, I would think nothing of playing with myself. Why is this so normal? Why am I not naked all the time?

I take a breath as I start to realize exactly where this night is going. I slip my top off. The chilly air perks my nipples up. It feels strangely good. I wonder what it's like to have them get kissed. To have someone's hands running up and down my body. I rub my own hands over my skin and pretend they're someone else's.

"Yes..." I say out loud to nobody.

I spread my legs, as if there was someone crawling on top of me. My hand slips down my abdomen and into the waist of my PJs, feeling the fuzzy warmth between my legs. I only have half a second to wonder to myself "What am I doing?" but I already know the answer.

It's not the first time I've tried, but I could not get into it before. I wasn't ready. Now it's all I can think about. Doing this doesn't mean anything... it doesn't say anything about who I am or what I like, it's just this body. It's just my following this body's impulses. And I can tell it's reacting to something. I just want to see where it goes.

I must spend 20 minutes just lying there, massaging myself, writhing in joy, wondering if the pleasure is going to subside the way it did when I was a guy. But instead it grows. I spend a lot of time figuring out which parts feel good to touch, and which don't, and how to... I guess go between them. Just working up the nerve to get my fingers in there feels like a victory. I get this boost... It's like this tornado that keeps picking up momentum.

And then this thought pops into my head and I can't shake it... don't even want to. This person. I see them there, and I think "What if they were with me... right now..." and I keep going further and further...

It's all I can do to pause, even for a moment, just long enough to reach under the bed. It's there. I know it's there, because I put it there. I kept it there like a safety valve in case it ever got to this point. I even washed it. This big, long, pink, tube-shaped... device. Rounded, not "realistic." I don't think I could have handled looking at that, although I guess for my purposes tonight it doesn't make a difference.

I close my eyes and I see a face.And I tell myself, imagining this person's voice, "It's okay." Slowly, slowly I breach the inside, and... I feel it. In there. And for half a second I'm scared, but then it starts to move. And every part of me moves with it. I'm on my back, my knees are in the air.

By the end, I can hardly breathe. Is this it? Is this what it's like? What it would be like? What it's going to be like? I start to move it faster and faster, and I stop paying attention to how loud I'm being.

Outside, I hear the jangling of keys. The door opens. Two sets of footprints, the voices of my roommate and her boyfriend. They pop something in the microwave. I start getting really upset but I can't stop so I just... keep going as long as I can until...

Oh.

Oh...

OH.

OH!

And then I just laid there thinking about how I spent the whole night basically doing that... maybe not the whole night, but a lot longer than I used to. And I was just left with this lingering feeling of goodness. I was still thinking about it the next day... worrying about the person I imagined myself with, worrying about what would happen if they knew. Trying not to feel so guilty abut the pleasure. Making plans to do it again...

Tori: Missed me?

I'd apologize for neglecting my place on this blog, but from the looks of it there's been a lot more interesting stuff going on on the opposite coast. To all of you out there in Vancouver, I wish you the best, whatever happens this year.

As for me, things have settled over the last few months into an almost uncomfortably tight status quo. I work, I hang out with Raine & her guy, I watch Walking Dead or American Horror Story... I see friends, and I date a little.

A little. I don't know if there's something wrong with me, if I'm actively afraid of romantic success at this point, but the last year or so has totally wrecked me for commitment. I go weeks between dates, I have a brief fling, and even if I get a little comfy or intimate, I find a reason to cool off on them. So I've been pretty silent on here because I didn't want to start writing about another guy and have it come to nothing. I wanted to come back with big news, but it still hasn't happened. After all these years of being out there and flitting around trying to enjoy being Tori, I've become accustomed to a certain level of company that I'm just not finding from any of the guys I've met. 

Except...

Well, this is awful. For the last few months I've been grappling with a bit of a crush I've developed on a co-worker. He's in one of the departments I deal with most frequently and we've developed a good shorthand with each other, bonding over shared jokes and weird obscure references. It helps that he's closer to my original age, so our experience more or less lines up.

Except he's married. And he has a newborn son.

I don't feel good about myself, and to be fair I have been doing everything to forget him, but I can't avoid him at work, and I wouldn't want to, because his friendship means something to me. He's one of the first male friends I've had, my own actual friend not just second hand ones... who wasn't gay, and who I couldn't date, since I became Tori. I want that to stay pure, because pursuing it in any way would be an absolutely shitty thing to do.

It started out just as a work thing, but then one day back in November I was saying how I wanted to go see Thor: The Dark World, and he said he'd be up for it, since his wife hates going to the movies. "Really?" I said, "She'd be okay with you going to the movies with another woman?"

"Yes," he said, "Because my wife is an extremely cool person. Not much of a comic fan, but a cool person nonetheless."

We ended up talking about the Marvel cinematic universe and a whole bunch of other stuff for over an hour afterwards over coffee. A little later we had the company Christmas party and the wife left early. Part of me worried that I might get so drunk I'd lose my inhibitions and say something I shouldn't. As near as I can tell this did not occur.

These things happen. People get attached. They get crushes. Innocent thoughts. As long as I don't do anything, it shouldn't be a problem. I just need to double my efforts to find an available man who fills this same niche. Shouldn't be hard, right? Come on, Philly!

Cal/Angie: New year, new... friends

I'm trying to spend less time feeling sorry for myself. I think that might be the reason I don't post a lot lately is because I can't resist the urge just to think "I suck." Like I suck as a human being, a man and a woman simultaneously. I was feeling really bad for the holidays, until New Years.

So basically, the fallout from this burglary thing is that it's kind of cut me off from the others. I still text with Trish/Robbie some, and she's been very insistent that she's not taking sides in this, but the three of them (Keisha, Mona and Robbie, aka James, Derek and Trish) spent new years together and it's just too awkward for me to even consider trying to go back with them. I thought about seeing if Grant/Sophie had anything going on (I'm sure it was wild) or maybe if Roy/Christine wasn't doing anything too coupley... but no, I decided I was just going to stay home, have one drink, and go to bed early.

Then around 7 I got a text from my coworker David. A bunch of people from Angie's circle of friends, the friends I've basically been neglecting, were having a thing and I had to come. I resisted, but he just wouldn't take no for an answer and wore me down. I didn't even pretty myself up or anything, I just threw on some tights and a top and went over to his place expecting to basically suck the fun out of the party with my presence.

The opposite happened. The whole thing really lifted me up... they all made it really clear that for better or worse they are my friends - or Angie's anyway, and whatever I'm going through I can count on them.

And if I doubted they were serious... they took up a collection and bought a bunch of replacement stuff that got stolen, including the same model of laptop that Derek lost. Like... holy shit. I nearly bawled. Half of these people I don't even really know. But for a night I forgot that I'm not Angie, and I took all their love for my own.

After a few drinks, they started passing a joint around... and I was resistant at first, but I saw all these people basically being smart, functioning people, not insane stoner cliches (well some of them were) or messed-up druggies, just really smart, individualistic people, and if they can handle it, why couldn't I?

I didn't feel it too much, but it made me really want to touch people. Like, it made me feel really secure if I just... wrapped my arms around someone. I spent half the night sitting on the couch with my arms around a girl named Jen. And In my head, it's like "If I was a guy, I'd have such a boner right now... I can feel her breathing." But it was such a reminder that I'm not a guy... not that it wasn't nice, but there was no real lady-boner that I could tell.

Then Jen disappeared, and David took her place, and... well, it got a little complicated. He was very comfortable with his arms around me, and I felt so nice and compact in his arms, and I realized that he really likes me, or Angie, and... I mean, between him and Jen, it was almost the same. Almost. But I would give the edge a bit more to David, and I thought "I could kiss him. Right now. Just move my face a little closer..."

No harm in that. The others have all talked about how they have, or would, and I don't want to be a dumb prude anymore.

But I didn't. And the feeling wore off. And now it's super awkward, I just can't stop thinking about what if he made a move, what if I made a move... was it just for the night, or could I go back to it? Should we talk about it?

Do I want that? Is it smart for me to try? No, right? It's only a few weeks until I make a reservation to the Inn. I don't need to go complicating things at all.

But this issue isn't going to go away... sleepless nights and weird dreams about a handsome guy with a beard make that pretty clear.

Keisha/James: Christmas and a bunch of other stuff

So I guess the last time I posted was right before my date with AJ.

I dunno what happened. I mean, I know what went on... we went out for drinks, it was kinda dumb, and at the end of the night he got a kiss and then I wasn't sure if I ever wanted to see him again. I just don't know what happened. I mean, I've seen this guy's penis, thanks to his very enthusiastic texting. And the part of me that's a chick could totally dseal with it, so I was ready. My idea going in was that I was gonna let this guy have it if he wanted it, and then I dunno... he didn't make much of a move and I was really okay with that.

It's weird. When I see guys now, I get this feeling... and it's not totally like when I would see hot girls when I was a guy. It's just this, like... warmth, and I don't mean downstairs, but inside. And then they start talking, and they're boring and dumb, and I'm just like "Dude, just be cool enough so that I can bring myself to nude up with you." But I think he blew it. It's hard to even say when. He just didn't do it for me.

So I ask myself, why do I bother? Because I'm bored of not being out there. That was how I lived, and it's how I still want to live. And I don't see myself getting into the girl-on-girl scene, so I tried to get okay with this real quick. I came this close and then something just totally deflated me. It's like... wanting to have sex with someone, and not wanting to have sex with them at the same time.

So I'm still on the lookout. Meanwhile, Derek and I are handling this apartment-switch thing, because they aren't seeing eye to eye over there after the robbery and Derek and I get along better anyway. Angie can have fun with my roommate, neat-freak Lindsay and her stupid boyfriend. She blew it.

She thinks it was some kinda conspiracy... maybe, but we can't figure it out. We figure it was probably the stolen keys, because there was no broken window or forced entry or anything, but we can't really get our heads around who is behind this or why. And I don't care. I'm just gonna watch my back from now on.

Then there was Christmas, which was a huge crazy thing. I avoided helping Keisha's mom cook anything, mainly babysitting and talking to some of the distant relatives. I mainly got gift cards for clothing stores because I want to choose more of my own clothes, because Keisha's wardrobe is frumpy as hell. I drank a whole bunch, which became a problem when I was helping Keisha's grandma get into the car, and we slipped on some ice... and I broke her fall. And that basically broke my wrist. Ow, fuck.

Trish/Robbie was there, and he offered to help, but I guess I thought hey, it's a one-man job, I can do it. I should've asked. But fuck it. I don't like feeling so weak. It was one moment.

All that's left now is to make some plans for new years. I was thinking of just doing a Lowell Crew thing, but things the way they are it could be awkward to get Derek and Cal together, plus I still kinda want to meet people. Maybe Sophie can hook me up.

Cal/Angie: Not what I needed a week before Christmas!!!

Thursday night both me and Derek were working late shifts. This isn't that unusual, in fact I kind of prefer it because by the time we both get home we're both too tired to snipe at each other and we just kinda peacefully coexist. That's good because I kind of needed my "home" such as it is to be a sanctuary now that I just don't feel like I gel with the people I'm working with and it's becoming more and more frustrating. I thought working with a bunch of easygoing hippie types would be no problems, but it turns out they can tell when you're not really one of them and... I dunno they judge me. Or I feel like they do.

So Thursday night, I was ready to come home and just flop down when I walk through the door and... the place has been ransacked. Like, okay, Derek and I aren't the two neatest guys-slash-chicks in the world, but shit was everywhere and I realized soon that someone had broken in and gone through our stuff. Dumped out drawers, stolen things out of our rooms... I had my computer with me at work, luckily, but Derek left Mona's laptop out in the open so that's gone. I wasn't even able to totally figure out what all they got, because I don't know everything in the apartment. A lot of jewelry, clothes, appliances, the TV, DVD player, DVDs... the gifts I was going to give my friends and family... all sorts of random items from around the apartment that I had no real understanding of.

As soon as I realized what happened I just stomped through the apartment screaming. It was the worst I've felt since waking up this way. Maybe even worse... that was a shock but it didn't all come to me at once. This was just immediate anxiety and fear and panic. I screamed myself hoarse and the neighbors came to see what happened and I was hysterical with tears when I explained that we got robbed... I couldn't even call the cops, I couldn't pull myself together. When the cops showed up they seemed mad at me for not being able to explain myself. Or maybe that was just my interpretation.

I was too embarrassed to call Angie and tell her. When Derek got home she said she'd figure out a way to explain it, but she was pissed at me.

She reminded me that I left our apartment keys in Maine. Even though they got sent back quickly, that was plenty of time of them to be copied.

Which means... one of the people in our bodies is a thief?

Like... how could they even get all the way to Vancouver from Boston, find the time when neither of us was home, get into our apartment and out with all that stuff?

Who are these people?

I've had the locks changed, but I still don't feel safe here. I can't exactly move, but James and I have talked about switching apartments at least for a little while. She hates her roommate and gets along better with Derek (who, again, fucking hates me now) so maybe it's for the best.

Here's the most upsetting part... they took my guy clothes.

I kept a few articles of clothing from my Cal wardrobe. It doesn't fit great, but girls wear their old boyfriends' clothes all the time, right? A pair of boxers, some shorts, a t-shirt. I slept in it sometimes, or wear it on laundry day. It made me feel connected to who I really am... and they fucking took them. Out of the laundry hamper.

I ask again... who are these people?

I'm so fucking scared right now.

Keisha/James: My new hobby

There's nothing wrong with wanting a little action. But going out and getting it sometimes feels weird.

After meeting A.J. I put off texting him for a while. I know what it's like to be the guy in that situation... basically you're leaving it up to the girl, and if she texts you, she wants it. If she doesn't, no big loss. And I figured, if I didn't text him, I was no big loss to him. But me? If I didn't at least try this, I'd probably never get the balls to do something like that again.

So I texted him a friendly "Hey, it's Keisha, sorry I didn't text you sooner, things have just been crazy."

And he said "Cool what's up?"

And I had no fucking clue what to say. Like... what WAS up? I was just sitting on my ass trying to work up the nerve to text him. "Just unwinding after a long day at work."

"Yeah me too."

"What do you do again?"

"I fix cars."

"Oh cool."

And then a little later, I decided fuck it, and just went for it and texted him "I'm naked right now."

I wasn't... I wasn't even really turned on or anything. I just thought it would be funny. I was bored. And suddenly it was like I hit the on switch. The texts quickly got sexual, like "I wanna let u ride my cock, I'm so hard now." Like, it was scary how easy it was to get him to say shit like that.

And just to prove he wasn't kidding, he sent me a dick pic.

I never laughed so hard in my life! Like, yeah, I've seen an erect dick before in my life. I dunno what he thought it was gonna do for me, but okay. Sure. I was up for it. I was flattered, I guess? Like "Cool... I actually got this guy hard just by texting him some stuff."

And I guess I took a really long time to respond to that, because a while later he texted me "Do u like it? Where'd u go?"

And I just kinda lied and said "Yeah I'm so turned on, I started fingering myself."

And he texted back "Aw yeah, get wet 4 me hon"

And then I figured "Hell, I guess I could masturbate right now." Like, I wasn't actually hot for him or anything, but it's really just a matter of getting yourself into that mindspace.

Then he asked me to send him a picture for proof, and I did... but I didn't show my face.

Then he texted me he was keeping that "for future use." Sigh.

Anyway, that was like a month ago, and we've done that routine a few times since then, and he keeps asking when we're actually going to meet up. I keep getting out of it, because I guess I don't want to set his expectations too high... I mean it's good for a laugh, but I don't really like him that way. Every time I try to ignore him though, I end up getting bored and giving in. So we're meeting up tomorrow night. We'll see what happens. I doubt it will be much.

Cal / Angie: Outsider

I hope you don't expect me to start telling any stories like James. He can have all the fun he wants. I'm not in the mood. I work and work and work some more, and when I get home, I just shut myself up in my room and stay quiet, lie still, sometimes cry. I still find it all so frustrating.

Not the being a girl thing. I don't love it, but I can live with it. I hate that I can live with it, at least parts of it, but it's the whole package. The add-ons. Being Angie.

If I could, I'd quit her job. I hate it, and I'm not good at it, and I think people notice. My co-worker Dave definitely thinks it's odd that I've lost my knack for talking up the new holistic products, my "enthusiasm for life." Like somebody ripped my spirit out. And I can't tell him that it's because somebody literally did just that. I don't believe in this hippie stuff, I believe more in science and actual medicine. It's one thing to sell someone a dreamcatcher because they think it's cool-looking. It's something else when they say they totally feel it focussing their consciousness when they sleep.

But can I really make a decision like that? Part of me thinks it's smarter to gut it out for 6 more months, even though I'm pulling my hair out. Finding a job isn't impossible, and if I do it right I can quit on good terms and keep the door open for Angie to get her job back when she returns. And despite the hippies being supposedly chill, I can see their eyes drift downward to my chest. But I guess I'd get that anywhere. The good news is that their focus returns to my face when they realize there isn't anything special there. Not nothing, just nothing on display. I just realized over the last few months that as a guy, I totally had that reflex, but as a girl not so much.

I do sometimes check girls out. Not necessarily the way I used to when I was a guy (boobs-face-boobs,) but I watch girls, look at their face, watch their eyes as they shop with their boyfriends, watch their hips sway when we're playing folk music or whatever. I get a little angry. I see the boyfriends glancing around at other girls and I get angrier, especially if it's at me. I feel like I'm completely outside the boy-girl dynamic now. And it's so lonely here.

David asked me out. I turned him down, obviously... I was so embarrassed and even hurt that he didn't just want to be my friend, because I guess guys and girls can't be friends like that. I know I didn't have any "just friends" girls, and that's another fact I'm embarrassed about. I tried to be nice about it, but now there's that
awkwardness. I don't want to be around him. He's so nice, but now everything's changed, wrecked. Every time I see him I see the guy who probably had fantasies about me, and he probably sees me as the bitch who turned him down. He seems less interested in me now, just short of being outright mean to me, but it's still immature. I should probably just get out of all this.

James/Keisha: Night out

After I posted last weekend about wanting to go out every now and again I got a text from Grant - like immediately - asking if she could help me out.

For those of you who haven't been paying much attention, Grant became Sophie, the punky, curvy cute girl in this random mix of chicks. And then he disappeared. I mean, not literally, we had a pretty good idea where he/she was, and occasionally we'd let her know we were doing something and she'd come along, but we all figured she was super busy or else... well, I dunno, super into being Sophie.

It was a little of both. I don't know all the details, but Sophie has two jobs, one in an office and one as a waitress on weekends, and she has a pretty big circle of friends that bring her all sorts of places. She says to me "I thought, I could be like you guys and mope about the situation or I could take advantage and dive in."

So I say "Hey, I haven't exactly been moping. Drinking a little, but not moping. I'm ready for this girly shit. I just had nobody to hang out with."

I had no idea how much further along she was, though. When she showed up at my place she was in a strapless minidress under a badass leather jacket. When she removed it all of Sophie's tattoos were on display. No bra. She was quite a hottie. Girls haven't been doing much for me lately, but I had to at least stop and stare.

I was all set to dress in something similar but she stopped me. "You're not ready."

And I said "Fuck off, when we were guys I was the one who actually had a life."

And she says "Trust me, you are not ready for the kind of attention you get when you look like this." She tells me to wear a plain white tank top and a cardigan and jeans. Like, are we going to a club, or a library?

"Neither," she says, "We're going to a party. Don't dress like you're there to get laid unless you're actually there to get laid."

I looked at her cleavage, then back up at her face. She gave me a little nod. "Holy shit," I said. "You've got some secrets." Then she helped me do my makeup. "Don't overdo it, but don't do nothing."

On the way, I asked if this was okay to post on the blog, since I know she never posted on here, and she said she doesn't mind if everyone knows certain things, but she doesn't want to sit around writing about herself because thinking too hard about it hurts.

I kinda get that.

The party ended up being at some college guys' house that she met at a punk show. Some of the girls were dressed like her, but plenty were dressed like me. I walked around just kind of looking at how all the girls were and I suddenly got very freaked out. Pretty much every girl there was sitting or standing near a guy.

I started to get really nervous. Like, this was happening. I've been around guys as a girl, on the street or in a the store... and they're not always subtle about checking me out... but now I was in it with no safety net. This was down and dirty girlness.

I started to question why I even came. I reminded myself that as a guy I partied all the time, and I missed it. But almost literally the moment I got in there, I realized how different the situation was from what I was used to. I was suddenly thankful that Sophie got me to dress down.

I watched her. She got into "Sophie" mode immediately, of course, greeting the people she knew, introducing me around. She seemed happy and comfortable. Guys were leering right down her top when she wasn't looking (or maybe even when she could see, I know I didn't bother hiding it half the time.) And she just played it off like it was nothing. I found myself slouching, trying to lean against the wall or in a corner so people wouldn't look at me.

All the guys made me nervous. When I was a guy, if I compared myself to other guys, I'd say I was average sized, regular shoulders, tall but not too tall. As Keisha I am so small that even the "average size" guys kind of have to lean down to look at me.

I went over to the couch and sat down alone. Before I knew it, a guy sat right next to me and started chatting me up. I wanted to tell him to buzz off, but I didn't want to be rude. I was just suddenly not in the mood at all. And I know that when I was a guy, if a girl blew me off like that, it would have hurt.

He was fat. And not like "party animal athlete" fat, but just a regular, boring chubby guy. I took a look at him and realized that he probably approached me because most of the other girls at the party were too good for him and he knew it.

I used him as my shield. His name was AJ. I let him tell me about Canadian Football, which... I mean, I'm a lifelong Pats fan, but Keisha probably doesn't know anything about any football so I could play dumb and let him think I was interested. After forty minutes or so, he put his arm around me, and I took his wrist and put his hand on his own knee. "Hey, I'm sorry... it's not happening, man."

He got really annoyed and walked off, and then came back a while later. By this point I was talking to girls only. I don't think I give off a lesbian vibe or anything, but I'm getting good at "girl talk." I said that I was basically new in town (which is true) and I didn't know any good shops (also true) and talked fashion, which is admittedly kind of boring, but the fun part was getting to talk to girls about their favourite places to buy sexy underwear. And even though I couldn't get a boner right now if I wanted to, I made sure to bank that info away for later. I felt like I was really passing as one of them.

So AJ comes back and he's even drunker, and he starts apologizing and I say it's okay, I know guys do stuff like that, I'm just not that kind of girl. So he asks what kind of girl I am, and I say I don't know yet.

So he says "How about we go upstairs and find out?"

And I just started laughing. And I apologized but told him that just wasn't what I was looking for tonight. So he asked if he could get my number for when I am looking for that, and I still said no. Then he tried to give me his number in case I changed my mind, and... I took it, because it made him go away.

On the way home, Sophie and I slipped back into Grant and James and she asked me why I wanted to go out so bad when it was just smarter to stay at home and wait for this all to blow over.

I told her that sometimes, back in Mass, I used to speed at night. Run red lights. Whatever. Race, if I could. Just because I wanted to see the worst shit I could do and still live through it. Come as close as I could to totally wrecking myself. My life just doesn't feel like it's worth it if I'm not testing the limits. Then I became a girl and I got scared. Scared of my own shadow. Scared people would look at me and see a guy in girl's clothing, trapped in this body, so I didn't do anything. And I hated it. I wanted to run, but I can't. So I have to blast through it. I have to start speeding again, doing dangerous shit and seeing how far this goes. I don't let anyone tel me not to do something, I don't stay in bounds. Fuck that.

And she looked at me and shrugged and said "Yeah, but when you speed, you put other people's lives at risk too."

And I just said whatever because she missed the point.

So I've got AJ's number in my phone. And for the past few weeks, I've looked at it in my contacts and thought about running that red light.

James/Keisha

Wow, I don't want to say that my life as a guy in a girl's body got boring quickly, but man.

Like, first it was stressful, then it was kind of exciting, and now it's like... what. Now I just want it to be over, even though, shit, I dunno what I'm gonna do when I get my body back. Assuming I do.

Same goes for all of us. Like, these girls had lives that were all nicely set up. When we dove in, we, like, made a bit of a splash... I nearly got fired and kicked out of Keisha's apartment, but mostly it's just "do as you're told and don't piss anyone off." And here's the thing... I hate that, but I get it.

I read some of where Roy was complaining about me at work. Nothing she hasn't said to me in person, don't worry. And it's all true. I could give a fuck if I get Keisha fired, no offense to her. This is probably not her dream job. I don't know what would be, because I feel like I've said three sentences to her since I became her, but I doubt it's this. Pushing books. Like, who reads? (A lot of Canadians, apparently, the store seems to be doing ok.) I show up on time, I try not to be too much of a bitch, they can't fire me.

Then in October it was randomly Canadian "Thanksgiving," which was surprising, but Trish gave me a head's up on that.

The roommate... look, I don't know her story. If I asked, she would probably look at me like "I already told you this when we met." Sometimes she wants to be my friend, sometimes she hates my guts. So long as I pay my half of the rent, again, she's practically a ghost.

I've been asking Roy for details about his sex life, but she says she won't tell me because she doesn't want to encourage any bad behavior "I have to partake in some activities because I inherited a situation," she says. with her nose in the air. "You're better off not upsetting the apple cart." I say fuck that.

Convenient excuse. I'm not saying I want to get out there and get some action or anything: I still shudder at the idea of a dude touching me like that, but I can see the appeal. Yeah, I said it. Some dudes are attractive. And some girls want sex. I'm not sure if I'm one of them yet, but I can't totally say I'm not.

Know how I know? Because I know. We all have needs. I'm speaking for all of us. They don't have to tell me, I just know. Trish was dead-on right when he said to Cal that three of us have definitely gone downtown on the new bodies. Four if he was including himself. Cal might be too uptight to try it, but you can see in her eyes she's dying to break the seal. The rest of us are a little more "in touch" with ourselves. And hey, there's no harm done.

What guy wouldn't, given the chance? If we're stuck in these bodies, and we knew there was something fun we could do with them, why wouldn't we?

But what it comes down to is, I'm just bored. I've got to pass the time somehow. I want to meet people who aren't from the Lowell Crew, because I none of them are ready to venture out beyond movie nights or the occasional group hangout. We're legal age in a city where streets close down for pub crawls... I want to mix it the fuck up!

For god's sake, we spent Halloween watching the movie Halloween. We wasted the one night of the year where it's acceptable for us to wear ridiculous costumes, you know, even though we're kind of always in disguise.

It's not about sex. It's about living. Drinking, fighting, fucking, meeting randos -- and maybe hooking up -- that's life, man, and I'm not cancelling it just because I look like some uptight Canadian chick. So tonight, I'm gonna cut loose, head out on my own, see what happens. Peace, nerds.

James / Keisha: Alone with myself

I'm in my own personal hell right now. Not because I'm in a girl's body, mind you... I'm pretty OK with that a lot of the time. But nights like these I'm going outta my fuckin mind.

Start with the fact that I'm on my period. I'm not saying it hurts to move, but I am definitely not in a mood to do anything. So I decided I'd spend the night at home, in my sweats, with a movie. Maybe Die Hard or Taken or something. Then I find out that my dumbass roommate and her boyfriend are also spending the night in, which means they've taken the living room.

It's not like I'm stuck at home, but Derek, who is usually my lady-bro in these situations, works nights at the coffee shop. Cal is is a nice kid, but we don't always get along. Grant, or should I say "Sophie" (whoopdeedoo, she's the first one of us to start going by her new name permanently,) is MIA as usual. Roy is off seeing family for the Canadian holiday, plus we see enough of each other at work. That leaves Trish, who I think hates me.

But honestly, I don't feel like seeing anyone right now, not in the doubled-over-in-pain state I'm in... except that all these hormones are making me lonely as hell so that I'm practically crying for no good reason... and here's a wonderful fact you might like to know... I'm horny. Like, super horny!

I can't explain it, and I wish it weren't the case, but I can totally tell that Keisha's body is pushing me to go get laid. It's a period thing, I've read up on it. It's totally scientific. Some women just get super DTF on their periods.

Now, I'm doing an okay job taking care of myself... seriously, at this point, it's basically all I do all day, but I don't think I'm really getting the job done. It's like feeling like you have to sneeze, but the sneeze never comes. No matter how hard I rub, the genie never comes out, so I get tired and quit.

Right now, I am not open to the idea of involving an object, or another person. Nothing goes in there that isn't already part of me, or a tampon.

But I'm getting really confused. Like, I'm as straight as they get, as a dude. I love pussy, and the fact that I've been paying so much attention to my own should attest to that. But everything's all flip-flopped around in my head right now, where I could almost, almost see myself caving in and giving a dude a throw. But I don't want any guys seeing me naked or touching me. The idea makes me cringe.

It's just that... I don't respond much to girls, either, anymore. Like, I'll see a hot chick in the store and for a second I'll check out her cleavage, and then I'll think "God, what an attention whore." Like.. no shit, I'm glad to give her attention, or at least normally I would be.  But suddenly I'll look at girls that I would have hit on in my real body, and I'll just think, "I don't approve of you." And I hate that.

So that's how I'm in hell. I want all the sex, but I don't want any of it. I just want to want it the way I'm used to it, but my body has other ideas. Bad, bad ideas.

Cal / Angie: Girly

I never used to think much about what I put on my body. As long as it fit okay, I didn't care much about color or fabric or anything. All I had to do was pull on a pair of boxers in the morning, some jeans or shorts, a t-shirt and some deodorant and that was that. I had one pair of shoes, and I wore socks with em.

Now... oh boy.

At the risk of sounding like a slob, I wore the same pair of underwear for weeks on end as a guy, and now that's just not possible. A couple of days maybe but even then I become so aware of it that I feel like everyone can basically read my panties. So I've gotten very familiar with the laundromat on the corner. In fact, until she got a job, Derek was doing the laundry, and to my surprise, was very good at it, in that I never heard her complain and I'm constantly wondering if I'm doing it right, stressing out (I've ruined a couple of perfectly good bras, and am currently wondering if I should track down exact replacements as a courtesy to Angie.)

So every day begins with the selection of a fresh pair. Sometimes, to save time in the morning, I jump ahead by changing the night before, but if I think I might be on my period this is a waste, so I don't normally bother. Panties. I've written the word a few times in this post already and it still gives me a chill, let alone trying to say it out loud. It sounds so girly and cutesy... which is what they are. I was a plain white or black underwear kind of guy, since it's not like anybody was seeing them except me. They gave me room to let my "guys" breathe but not feel like they were flopping around. Now it's like... all a "piece" down there, packed in tight.

Tight is the word. Women come in all sorts of shapes - mine happens to be very, very slender, so I guess their clothes are designed to conform. I remember my first impression, digging through this girl's underthings, besides feeling like a totally perverted invasion of privacy, was that how could anybody risk cutting off circulation like that? I haven't worn briefs since I hit the fifth grade. But it all works differently for girls. There are a couple of pairs of "girl boxers" in the selection, but I find the breezyness... unsettling. Like I'm more aware that there's nothing down there when the area isn't clamped tightly. It doesn't mean I have to give myself a wedgie, but it means that the whole real estate is different in ways I wouldn't have guessed.

So as to the rest of the selection... there's a lot. Maybe it's average for a girl but it seems excessive to me. Even the "granny panties" seem slinky in their way, barely coming up to my belly button and firmly wrapping around my butt. My favorite ones aren't lacey, silky, satin, or shear, just regular cotton, but they are still petite, because I guess that means they're out of sight/out of mind and can go with everything. Sometimes I have worn those "date night" ones under my regular clothes, because 1) they're there, and 2) I'm probably not going to have a "date night" to wear them to anyway, so they might as well be for me.

Angie does not own any of those complicated lingerie things. Corsets and nylons. I don't know if I would try them on.

Not every pair of panties has a corresponding bra, and vice versa. That's weird to me. I guess stores have panties sales and you just buy them like you would socks, and wear them as you like. My boobs are modest enough that if I wear a couple of layers - two tops and a cardigan I don't intend on taking off - I can go without a bra. But I do find the firmness reassuring. If they're bobbing around, even if I don't think anyone can tell, I still feel exposed. Besides, the more fabric between the world and my nipples, the better.

The chilly fall weather, and rain to boot, has been a blessing on the fashionable front. In that there is a lot of layering to do, so I can wear top over top over top and nobody will think that's weird. And jeans, God yes, jeans. So what if they're low-rise and skin-tight, they're jeans. And I look good in them. I bought more for myself, when I realized that a lot of Angie's disposable income was mine to do as I please. I'm trying to be reasonable.

I haven't fully embraced girlyness... I still wear skater shoes most of the time, but sometimes I opt for slip-ons/moccasins/hippie shoes. I have a few times painted my nails and worn lip gloss, but I won't try eye makeup or too much face stuff. I have toyed with the idea of skin cream, because I like the idea of having soft skin in this body, and it makes me smell nice (in the sense of "I like when girls smell this way, so maybe I should.") The best thing about working in this granola environment is that nobody says anything if I don't wash my hair. So that's good. I'm still one of the least-girly of those of us who got turned this way in Maine.

I'm starting to feel fascinated by this body. How long I can stand in place before I get sore. How much sleep I need (6.5 hours minimum, 10 hours maximum[!]) how long it takes my leg and underarm hair to grow before I need to shave it again... you'd think the hippie environment would support this, but for my own comfort I came into this body with clean-shaven parts and I intend to keep them as best I can. With one exception... I had one really disastrous experience trying to clip my "bikini area" that resulted in the other of all skin irritations. So I'm going to let that be, unless I want to pay some stranger to do it for me (shudder.)

So in the last few weeks I've kind of done a 180 on this... from being afraid to think about it to being totally engrossed. I should probably hit "submit" on this post before I realize how self-conscious I am about it all.

It's like puberty though. First you're scared of it, feeling gross and grimy, and then suddenly you want to know everything you can. I remember staring at myself in the mirror trying to figure out when I'd grow facial hair or if I'd grow pecs. Instead, I got boobs.

And I'm not saying I like it, but... there's a neat feeling, looking yourself in the mirror when you start to like what you see. I don't love being a girl, but after sitting with the situation a while, I no longer think this is the worst thing ever.

Famous last words, I guess.

Roy / Christine: Women's work

I hate to sound like a stereotype, but I don't have a lot of monogamous experience. I've co-habitated before, sure, but the guys I was living with always felt more like roommates-with-benefits than true partners. I'm a pretty independent person, and when I get tired of something, I have no problem leaving it. This isn't a luxury I have as Christine. Terry is here whether I like him or not, and lately it's more "not."

I don't have a lot of privacy, something that I feel I desperately need in this state. I wake up and he's there. I go to work, and I'm "in character" as the assistant manager of the bookstore, and when I come home he's still there. And pardon me for not subscribing to traditional gender roles, but I don't think I should be expected to do all the cooking and cleaning just because I happen to have the vagina. After all, he's the one who works from home, he should be expected to do his part.

But I don't have a lot of experience confronting issues like these. I'm more accustomed to parting with my problems than with resolving them. It's why I haven't spoken to my parents in a decade, moved out of the south for New England, and had more partners than I care to reveal.

There's something to be said for consistency... routine, familiarity, comfort. I get it. I like it, to a degree. Having someone's arms wrapped around me at night does not suck, even if that closeness is a lie. It's a lie that isn't my fault, I just happen to be the beneficiary.

I started taking the pill so that I could have sex with him. It's a bit of an expense, although less so than if we were still in America thank god. Christine and Terry's attitude toward pregnancy was to just let it happen if it was going to be the case - hey, they're married, and they're not trying but they're not avoiding it. I, however, am decidedly not trying. I couldn't ask him to wear a condom, and I didn't think it was fair to not have sex with him.

I haven't gone through with it yet. I've come close several times, but I can't decide whether it's my conscience or nerves that stop me. I do other things for him - just a guy helping another guy out, as one of my first playmates used to say - and he hardly seems to mind. What can I say, I'm good at what I do. But I haven't felt up to it because I look at him and I think "God, you are ALWAYS here."

It's nice to know he finds Christine sexy, even if I don't. There's a prettiness to her, I think, but I can't help but fixate on the way I feel bloated and tired most of the time. I've been trying to launch a workout regimen, but I'm feeling the lack of a reserve of energy that I had in my real body. Christine's body is clearly not used to pushing itself, and though she's by no means obese, it's very hard to train it to go the speed that I'm used to. I end up over-exerting myself and quitting, and that's a feeling I do not like. It took years of discipline to get myself into shape the first time, and that was starting from being a wiry young man, not a chubby woman in her late twenties.

I used to like running at night, as a way to clear my head at the end of the night, but Terry has expressed discomfort with me staying out late when it's dark. I think that's immature of him, but this is still an unfamiliar neighborhood to me so I don't really know if there might be Canadian gangs out there. All the same, in the mornings I just really don't feel like running. So the cycle perpetuates itself.

Then I get to work and I have to deal with both micromanaging head offices who are impatient with me for not knowing how to do "my" job, and immature teenage employees who treat that place as a hangout, not the least of whom is James, who clearly doesn't care if she gets fired. I've stopped trying to protect her, and I told her that she's on her own. I say "her" because, although I know she was a man, I didn't know her that way. To my eyes she's just a bratty 22-year-old girl named Keisha.

Still, she's the closest thing I have to a friend right now, as this situation has found us all clinging to whatever stability we have. I'm not that tight with the other Lowell kids, and Keisha just happens to work a lot of the same shifts as me, so we confer and share notes. She can be quite charming when she wants, but that doesn't stop her from getting on my nerves. Basically, I'd like it a lot better if she treated me like the authority figure I'm supposed to be. It can only help both of us.

Cal / Angie: Bored and angry

I need some hobbies.

Since we've gotten here, I've just been so "in the moment." I'm working, or I'm cleaning the apartment or I'm fighting with Derek, or I'm, like, asleep. Sometimes I went for walks around the city, which was nice, but I'm getting bored of that. Today, I'm home from work, and Derek is out at his job, so I've got the apartment to myself. All I've done was clean a little, do some laundry, and walk around the place. I tried watching TV, but there's nothing on. I tried going on the internet and reading articles, but nothing holds my attention.

Suddenly I'm starting to realize what James and Roy and all them are talking about when they say we've changed.

I used to be more interested in things. I used to live for the next issue of Spider-Man or the X-Men. Now it all feels stupid. Right now, Spidey isn't even Spidey... Doc Ock has taken over his body. And you know what? I know what that's like, and if I can just say, the way they're writing it is very unrealistic. You don't just become someone else, roll up your sleeves and get on with it. It sucks. But I guess Doc Ock got to be a cool superhero guy, and I'm just a girl. Our experiences are different. He also chose it.

I was talking to James last week, about a lot of different stuff. How he seems to enjoy parts of this, the dressing up, the girly act. He pointed out that Tori, who's been on this blog a lot longer than we have, said being a girl was like having a superpower. Well it's not something I want to deal with. A lot of the girls on this site have called it a curse and that's exactly what it is. It's ruined my life. I want to be me again.

James laughed at me. He said I was miserable when I was a guy. Kept to myself, never went out, never got laid. That's not true. I had a girlfriend a year ago. We did it twice, and then she broke up with me. I wasn't good at being a boyfriend, and now I'm not good at being a girl. James thinks I could enjoy it if I try to. I shouldn't have to try, and I don't want to enjoy it. I just want it to be over.

I looked up where there's a comic shop in Van City (that's what they call this place.) I stood outside and tried to build up my courage, but I know how they treat girls in those places. I know the kind of guys that are in there. I was that kind of guy and I don't want to be gawked at just for having tits. I can't play video games either, although that's partly because we don't have an XBox here. Maybe GTA V would ease my mind, but something tells me I wouldn't enjoy it either.

Shit, shit, shit, I just went down to check on my laundry. How come I didn't know you couldn't put bras in the dryer??? FUCK! Because I'm NOT a girl! Even after three months of this crap. Ugh.

I'm gonna spend the rest of the day looking up recipes. Maybe I'll start learning to cook more. I've been on my own for a few months with only Derek to help out, so I'm sick of making the same pasta dishes over and over. I'll Google some vegetarian recipes, maybe try to start weaning this body onto meat, put on some weight. Hopefully, by the end of the day one of my friends will answer my text and decide to come hang out. Looking at this screen is giving me a headache. I'm PMSing.

#tmi

Trish / Robbie: Beach day

Our lives are utterly insane. A few months ago we were just normal teenagers. Most of us were going to college in the fall. Now it's September and I have this anxiety in my chest because I feel like I should be going to school. All that preparation I was expecting to do, registering for classes, buying textbooks, moving out of my parents house I do not have to do. I don't have to do anything, except find a new job.

Robbie's job painting houses officially ended last week. It was bittersweet. I was okay at the work but I didn't love it. I didn't find it stimulating or anything. Some of the crew were the exact sorts of obnoxious jerks that used to hit on me regularly at parties, except now they were trying to drag me to parties to hit on girls.

I did go out a few times with them, against my better judgment, sitting quietly at the bar while they struck out time and again at the club. I'll admit, it would've been nice to get "into" the spirit of things and join the dancefloor, but I feel so gangly and awkward as a man. I'm not sure how men are supposed to dance, even though I've never believe them when they told me "guys don't dance." I've seen them do it. I just don't like how they do.

The girls are another thing. It's amazing to watch these girls just cut loose. I wish I could be like that, or if I could have when I was a girl. Right now, I've decided, I'm nothing.

Which is to say, please don't read too deeply into it when I say the one member of the crew I'll miss is the only girl I worked with, Lauren. She is blonde and short and quite cute, and she probably has a better sense of humor than I do, to be able to put up with the guys ogling her.

She asked me, on our last day working together, what I was planning on doing for the fall. I said I had no plans. I'm not going back to school. I don't have a new job lined up yet. I can scrape by for a little bit on savings.

She said it would be a shame if we never saw each other again, and said to keep in touch if I ever wanted to hang out at her University campus. (It's weird the way Canadians say "University" the way we say "College." They say "College" when they talk about community college.) I thought it might be nice to have a female friend who isn't secretly a boy.

Speaking of the boy-girls, we had one little meetup to celebrate the end of summer. Vancouver has a few really great beaches and I managed to get them all to come along, basically daring them to wear swimsuits. It took a lot of convincing.

James was the easiest to convince, of course. Out of the three, he is the least skittish about "flaunting" it. Which I'm a bit uncomfortable with, because with Keisha being "my" sister, I kind of feel that level of brotherly familiarity with her.

Cal and Derek came too, wearing their swimsuits under shorts and tees in case they felt too embarrassed. However, I think being in a crowd of hot (and not) girls and guys in swimwear gave them a bit of confidence. Cal wore a red bikini that fell loosely over his slim little body. Derek wore a black one-piece, which seemed modest, but actually highlighted his curves. Compared to those other two, he's a goddess. Now, it's obvious that he's let Mona's body "go" a little bit through inactivity and overeating, but the girl is still hot.

However, the real surprise was Grant, who none of us has had much contact with since we got here. He's been kind of a recluse and we were all starting to worry (although when texted, he does reply quickly.) Grant's "host" body, Sophie, is a bit of a bombshell in her own way... short, but curvacious in just the right way (big hips and butt) and quite bosomy. He was spilling out of his strapless bikini top like it was no big deal.


For my part, I wore baggy shorts - guys' swimwear is so boring and functional, like everything about them.

This weekend was the most fun I've had with these guys. They let their guards down just a little bit. I kept my eye on them to see which beachgoers turned their heads, and while they definitely paid attention to the other girls, I saw some glances cast at guys, too... quickly and embarrassedly. Okay, I don't want to make them feel too awkward about it.

But really, is it such a crime? If what Roy has said is true, that's basically how these bodies are wired. It's just physical. It's just attraction. It's scary to let your body do the driving when it's taking you in an unfamiliar direction, but if that's what's going to happen, can we fight it? Are we just making ourselves miserable by not admitting that if, for example, if Robbie liked girls, then I might too now? The evidence is... pretty convincing.

But why does it have to be about who I like? It's not like I plan on doing anything, and I don't think the others are either. The only one I'm having "fun" with is myself, and I guarantee you three out of those four boys have done the same.

Well, the equivalent.

Cal/Angie: One thing leads to another

After my little snit with Derek, I went into work the next day feeling totally drained.

I arrived at 10:00 to find a nice hot cup of tea waiting for me, courtesy of David, my co-worker.

It's some kind of berry concoction, I don't know the exact ingredients. It's Angie's favourite, and apparently David is under standing orders to bring one in whenever they are working together. I have to admit, it's grown on me, and the gesture is nice, but I feel like I'm taking advantage of him. He's refused my offers to pay him back.

I lifted it to my lips, which were still sore and sensitive from the night before, so I drank gingerly. David noticed my odd behavior and quickly asked me what was wrong.

I sighed, "Nothing, trust me. Just roommate problems."

"I see. You and princess perfect aren't getting along. What a surprise."

"Tch. She's definitely not perfect."

"I told you it was a mistake to move in with her," he said.

"You have no idea. She's just so entitled, she thinks the whole world revolves around her and she doesn't have to work for anything. She just really pushes my buttons lately."

I pointed out my bruised lip. He clasped his hands over my shoulders to get a closer look. "Wow, Ang, that's really not like you."

I couldn't focus on what he was saying. He's not that big of a guy, but he's tall enough that he had to slouch down to get eye-to-eye with me, and his mannish proportions reminded me how small everything about me currently is. Plus, he has a pretty rugged look that makes me feel embarrassed for dressing even somewhat daintily. He has a full beard!

We got to talking some more and he kind of went off about how "out of sorts" I've been lately. "You've lost your spark, you know? You lack energy, you lack focus and optimism, you're just not you. Everything you do is so withdrawn and tentative. Like you're worried about something all the time."

"Yeah, you could say that."

"It's just like you to worry all the time. I think Mona's become a toxic presence in your life. That's just my opinion, from the outside, but you really don't seem enthusiastic about the arrangement. And I hate to see you like that."

"Well thanks for your concern," I said, "There's just nothing I can do about it."

"Well there is one thing," he said, "And it seems like you haven't done it in a while."

My eyes bugged out. He wasn't suggesting--

No, he put his fingers to his lips to signify smoking marijuana. I breathed a sigh of relief, although this is also not something I'm up for. I mean, I hate to sound like a total prude or whatever, but I've never done drugs, I've barely even drank. But all this seems like a pretty big part of Angie's life.

So what to do... it's not like partaking in these habits ruined Angie's life, at least not visibly from where I'm standing. I know PSAs tend to exaggerate things, but I still have no urge. But either I keep on not doing it and people take note of how out of character it is, or I do it and I take another step in the direction of being "Angie" instead of Cal.

But maybe he has a point. There's a reason people start doing this right? And doesn't "suddenly turning into the opposite sex and being far from home" fit the bill? People smoke and drink to get away from their shitty life, so if anyone's got a good reason it's me.

I haven't taken him up on his offer - apparently there is a regular group from the store and friends that meet up for this sort of thing, so I'm guessing it would be okay just to tag along sometime, if I'm ever willing.

Talk about peer pressure, though.

Tori: Talking through it

I've been having these weirdly intense FB chat and text conversations with Sara lately. I guess it kind of dawned on both of us that I'm all she has right now. Everyone she knows from her old life thinks she's happily married and living in Delaware. Everyone she knows now thinks she's Cliff. Thom ran off back to the inn and has yet to be heard from. If she needs to vent to someone about what's really going on in her life, all she has is me. I've told her that if she wants, she's free to contribute to the blog, but she hasn't yet. She doesn't see herself as a writer, I suppose. She's not uncomfortable with me updating you guys on her situation, though, so hopefully I don't overstep my bounds. You already know plenty about everything anyway.

It's weird to have to talk her through this. To be someone's rock. She and Thom were together as long as I've known them, and while it hasn't always been smooth sailing, the idea that they were in it for the long haul, meant to be together, that was firm in my mind. But the Inn does strange things to people.

I guess you just need a deeper connection than your bodies. Even when it's not just "physical," that change in roles really does change everything, as we've seen. From what I understand, the breakup was a protracted process, even before I "discovered" them in Buffalo. They were just keeping it together long enough to get back to the Inn, and when I convinced Sara not to go back, that was it. Part of me feels responsible but I don't doubt that I did the right thing. In the end it was Sara's decision and I have nothing to apologize for. I'm worried about Thom, but if the fact that we haven't heard from him is any indication, I did the right thing.

Thom, if you're reading this... being "the woman" can't really have been that bad, can it? I hope wherever you are now, that you're satisfied. You lost a good thing.

I guess I just have that rational "male" side to me leftover, to where I can convince myself it's okay, and move on, and just don't know what to say to someone, a friend, a person I care about, who is still mourning that loss months later, still wishing things could be different even though there were reasons it all ended. I try to understand, Thom was a huge part of her life. You can't just close that off... but I guess I've never had that. As much as I miss Buddy or Alex, I know why it ended with both of them and I'm fine with it.

Which I guess means that I've still never really been in love, not to that extent... and that's really sad to me. But it's the hard truth, and far from the hardest thing any of us has had to face in life.

*Looks at "Forward" tattoo* Yep, this thing is paying for itself.

I just hope I'm doing a good job being "there for her." I want her to know her feelings count and that everything that's happened isn't her fault and... I don't know. See? No good at this.

Cal / Angie: Enough is enough

I don't know how much longer I can live like this.

Not necessarily "as a girl," although a look at the calendar shows that I'm going to have to brace myself in the next couple days, but as this way in particular. See, I don't know what kind of arrangement Mona and Angie had before Derek and I became them, but Mona hardly has a cent to her name and that means that the entire rent bill comes out of my measly paycheck. Groceries too. I'm basically feeding and housing this girl who does nothing but sit on the couch and watch reality TV and cartoons while I'm out there trying to pick up extra shifts at a not-very-busy holistic store.

I was going over my/Angie's bank account online and let out a grunt of frustration. Derek's response to this was "Don't do that, you're not sexy when you make that noise."

"I'm not trying to be sexy," I said, "I'm trying to scrape together enough money to keep us afloat. You need to find a job."

"Don't tell me what to do," he snapped back.

"I'm not telling you what to do, I'm telling you what we need. We can't survive like this. We're not at home with our parents paying for every little thing. I work my ass off for 45 hours a week and we can barely make rent. You do nothing, I'm sick of it!"

"Well it's not easy, there's no jobs," he whined. I called bullshit on that. We went back and forth for a while, I said he had to basically take the next thing that came up.

"God what are you, on your period already?"

My face got hot, my heart started pounding. I just couldn't take it anymore. The last thing I needed was him to start condescending and getting all sexist on me when he's on the same boat as I am AND making it worse for us by not working.

"Get up," I said walking over to him.

He did. He stood straight up and puffed his ample chest out. As we currently stand, I am about 5'4 and he's closer to 5'11 so he basically towers over me. My eye level is basically his chest.

"See something you like?" he quipped.

I balled my hand up into a fist, I clenched my teeth with rage, and I took a swing.

I missed, fell over and busted my lip on the coffee table. He laughed his ass off and I started to cry uncontrollably. I felt like shit.

"It's not fair," I whimpered, "I'm the one who has to do all the work and you expect to just sit on your ass, for what, a year? Are you mental? That's not how it works, Derek."

"I'm sorry," he cackled, "I just can't take you seriously! It's like fighting my little sister!"

"Don't call me that!" I screeched, "It's not funny! We're fucked! WE. ARE. FUCKED."

I took a breath and then added "And I'm not on my period... but I guess I'm PMS-ing pretty hard. I'm really stressed out right now and I don't know what do to."

"All right," he said, calming himself down, "Don't cry. Please. I'm sorry." He sat next to me. "I'm not used to this, I didn't think... I guess I thought it was okay. I'll find something."

Then he kissed me on my head like I was his fucking pet, and sat back down on the couch. He's got a job interview tomorrow, but somehow I still feel like the loser in all this.

Tori: Another night in.

After my last few attempts at dating, it feels like the universe just wants me to be alone.

I like to think I've grown, that I'm strong enough now that I won't date people just to keep from being alone. Part of me views solitude as a waste of a good body and youth - a return to old habits, comfort and extreme introversion. But for years I was so caught up with the men in my life that I almost used the mas a distraction: I became a girlfriend so I wouldn't have to learn how to really be Tori on my own. Now I am, and I look over at my closet and think "I could put on something sexy and go out and meet boys," and instead I think "Nah, let's have a Netflix night instead."

Raine came back from her trip a while ago, and we've been bonding. She's eager to get back into the dating game so I've been drafted into the wingwoman role, but I'm not overly comfortable with that. Dudes use wingmen because they're uncomfortable or insecure (I speak from experience) and Raine doesn't have that problem. Really, she just doesn't want to go out alone. I guess that makes her feel too easy or something. Not that I judge.

But there's something in the back of my mind... the "real" Alex (or maybe he wasn't the real one!) who dated Raine while in the body of our gay friend Danny told me he'd be back to try to get a second chance with her. I'm not sure how I feel about that, to be honest. For all I know he's a good guy (really, what do I actually know about him?) with honest intentions, but he's still involved with those Agency people, the ones who "my" Alex worked for. To my knowledge he hasn't made his return yet, and I doubt he'll make himself known when he does. I feel better off not knowing. It's better than lying. But that just makes me paranoid.

At least I've got Sara to talk to. Weird to think of her living up there in Buffalo, in the body that used to be mine. S/he's grateful, I think, to have me to talk to about her experience (and the feeling is mutual.) Especially now that Thom/Randi... well.

He went back, without her.

I told them what I knew, and I tried to convince them it was not a great idea, that they were basically walking into it. They had a disagreement over how to handle this information. He went, she stayed. We haven't heard from him since. Thom, that is - I say "him" even though the last time I saw him, he was a she. Now who knows what he is.


"I'm worried sick," Sara told me, "The fact that he hasn't even reached out to me is really worrying."

I wish I had words to comfort her, some assurance that he was in a good way, but I'm just as freaked. When I was spilling my guts about all my paranoid theories about the Agency or whatever, part of me really did not want to believe it went that far. Now, though...

Maybe a night out would do me good. Clear my head.

Trish / Robbie: The Deep End

On Sunday night, "Keisha" and I went to dinner with "our" parents. I hadn't seen James in some time, and from his last post I half expected him to show up with his face garishly painted with makeup wearing a low cut top and stripper heels. But no, he seems to have this "feminine" thing down, at least reasonably enough that an outsider wouldn't ask questions. You could nitpick the details, but he actually looked quite swqeet.

It was an awkward dinner, though. I have not spent much time talking to any of the "Lowell Crew" since we got here, besides occasionally advisory texts to the "gals." The girl in me wants to gossip and swap stories, but the guys kinda backpedal when I ask how they feel about being girls. And at a family dinner where we're "in character" there's not much opportunity to do so. James actually performed well, he's a very outgoing, charismatic guy when he wants to be, even though he had to account for hwy Keisha wasn't "looking for work in her field" at the moment. He was still very vibrant and easygoing, the opposite of me.

Since we got to Vancouver, I've been working Robbie's job, painting houses. It's really just a summer job, and while Rob's in University I managed to get his courses deferred. There was some bureaucracy there but really it's just a matter of pushing the right buttons and waiting for confirmation. Working from 7 til 6 some days, I come home exhausted so I don't socialize much, but driving to different work sites every day has given me both an appreciation for the city here, and a lot more comfort driving than I used to have. It's all about diving in the deep end, I suppose.

I drove James home after dinner and we got to talking. He had this grin on his face as the conversation turned to certain sensitive subjects. I won't say what he's asking about (you can probably guess!) but it's not anything I felt comfortable talking about with him, let alone revealing on this blog. Not just because it's personal, but because I don't even know how to put it. It's like losing one sense and gaining another.

I think being a girl has mellowed him out a bit. He's toned down his "player" persona and really comes across as a caring, thoughtful person. That might just be his feminine tone of voice, though. I've had to remind myself several times while talking with him that this is an 18-year-old guy trapped in a woman's body. He's really leaned in to the act.

As for me... well, I don't know. I'm not trying to be a "guy" but I guess I'm not being that girly, either. All the physical labor helps. A level of activity that would have made me cringe back then is now basically all I do, and then I get home and I feel a little sore but I wake up in the morning and I'm ready to go. I feel resilient and powerful.

Cal / Angie: Day in day out

It's already become freakishly normal. I crawl out of bed at 7:30 in the morning, stretch, and slink to the washroom. I sit on the toilet. I brush my teeth. I undress from the tank top and shorts I use as pjs. I run a brush through my hair because I've learned that if I don't, it gets all tangled in the shower and then it's impossible to un-knot. I'm thinking abut cutting it... the way I see it, even if I just get it cut once, it will mostly grow out by the time I give this body back. Assuming I get the chance to. It's only August. It feels like an eternity will pass between now and next spring... and who knows what might happen by then.

That's usually what I'm thinking of, every single morning, see. How whether I like it or not, I'm stuck for now, and if I don't make peace with it soon, it's really going to kill if I can't get back where I belong. I breathe a deep sigh then step into the shower, fussing with the knobs to get the heat just where I want it.

I just stand in there for a while, letting the water fall over me. I used to clamp my eyes shut but there's no point. I already know every inch of skin on this girl, you know? Every hair and mole. The one thing that still kind of excites me is when I soap up, because hey, even if I'm the naked girl, it's still a naked soapy girl. I feel the weight of my dripping wet breasts in my hands and lather them in a circular motion. I'd be lying if I said I didn't at least like that. I get my own private show every morning if I like it or not. And if I'm not in the mood, I just put it out of my mind.

Horrifying, then exciting, then normal, and then sometimes exciting again.

After I turn the water off, I take a moment to try to wring out my hair. If I'm in a hurry, which I usually am, I give it at least a blast with the dryer and wrap it in a towel. Then I slip into a nice warm fuzzy bathrobe and tiptoe back to my room.

I've already talked a bit about what it's like to get dressed, to choose from my options when it comes to clothes. I prefer to cover as much as possible, but Angie seems to have favoured loose, skin-baring clothes. I try to make it so that at least my bra is covered. I think it's weird that so many girls are just cool letting guys see their brastraps. Like, to me, that counts as underwear. But Angie doesn't own a lot of t-shirts and hoodies, which is what I mostly wore as a guy, so I just choose something that looks okay and layer a cardigan over it, despite the heat. (Actually, Vancouver's climate is quite breezy.)

Once I'm sure I've got everything fitted properly and in place, I take one last moment to breathe. That's because I know Derek's out there. He's such a couch potato it's almost revolting. I don't know what he does all day, besides watch TV and maybe play with himself. Must be nice, but we're going to have a PROBLEM soon.

He's just ALWAYS there. Usually he falls asleep on the couch at night, so when I get up it wakes him up. And when I get home in the evening, he's still there. I'm trying to get him to clean the place, do dishes, maybe even cook and do laundry, but I think he just thinks of this as a vacation and he doesn't have to do anything. I hate that kind of self-important attitude. I just feel so intimidated by him, and maybe it's because of the way he looks. For one, he's way taller than me, so anytime I get upset he just stands up and stares me down and basically dares me to challenge him. I'm not going to attack someone who's 6 inches taller than me and a girl - even if I'm technically one too.

I think maybe I'm just conditioned to be forgiving to attractive women, which Derek sadly is, and he's aware of it.

I've heard otherwise, but I'm not willing to accept the idea that I might be one too. Sometimes when Derek's feeling nice, he'll call me "Bright Eyes" in a really sweet tone on voice. The other day I was running around picking up garbage and he said "Hey, you know your butt really jiggles when you walk around like that."

I froze and turned to him. "Don't tell me that."

"Maybe it's just because you're so clenched tight. Get the stick out of there."

And I was just burning with anger because if he thinks that, then guys I work with, or see in the store, probably noticed and think even worse things. Every time I think I'm getting comfortable and acting like myself, I notice some guy give me the "look" and it sends a chill up my spine. Like, no thank you, I'm not interested. Gluh. Can't I just be? Or maybe it's my fault, and I need to learn to take a compliment about this body.

I just need a break, a little privacy and space. I'm starting to get edgy here with this routine.

Roy / Christine: What men want

It was Friday night and I was done work for the weekend. I got home, kicked off my shoes and went upstairs to change. I heard his voice through the door: "I ordered Chinese for dinner, hope that's okay."

I sigh. Eating take-out as often as we do is not good for the body. The poor guy can't cook and I don't always have the energy when I get home, so this is our compromise. I just try not too eat too much of it. So after a quiet sigh to myself, I call back, "Okay!"

He cracks the door open and I can see him peek at me. I turn, throwing my arms over my half-dressed body, as if he hasn't seen this body naked hundreds of times over their years together. Maybe so, but it's not my choice to let him see. After a month, he's hardly a stranger to me, though. I've had relationships move much faster than this.

I e-mailed Christine after a while, saying "What about sex?" And her response amounted to "I don't want to think about it." Hardly encouraging, but not a bitter opposition. I try to psych myself into it as he approaches, and I let my arms fall from covering my breasts. He wraps his arms around my waist, letting them sit just above my butt. My hands press against his soft, hairy chest.

He tilts his head down and kisses me. I like being kissed. It's kissing back that I've had to get used to, in all honesty. Our tongues dance around each other and he pushes me toward the bed. I can feel his hardness poking into me. What's more, I can feel the wheels turning in my own body. I'm getting wet.

I don't want to have sex with him, though. I still just can't get used to the idea, as much as I've grown accustomed to his presence, and the physical reality of being a woman. My whole anatomy down there still features a part that I've never used, that I just don't feel right about sharing with him yet. But there is something else I can do, and I suspect he'll prefer it. I slide his pants off him, boxers and all, and begin to lower my head to his lap. He practically squeals with joy. I really think most married men would rather get a blowjob than sex. They don't have to do anything. And personally, I'm a bit of a pro at this. If I like someone, I'm all too happy to provide this service. For my own sake, too, the more conventional position isn't something I'm ready for yet. I wouldn't know what to expect and I'm not eager to take that liberty with Christine's body. Yet.

He's not used to this kind of treatment and it shows. He lasts barely a minute, leaving me to tend to the mess. It's just as well, because the food will be here soon. We lie side by side and he wraps his arms around me. I breathe a deep sigh of contentment. He whispers a "thank you" in my ear and I get a little tingle. That comfort I spoke of has already turned to something else. I tentatively slip my fingers down the front of my panties, possibly without him even knowing, but before I can get more than a vague sense of what I'm feeling down there, the doorbell rings. He gets up and pulls on his pants to answer it, and I consider continuing without him, but think better of it.

We eat quietly, with almost no comment on what has just happened. He's afraid to ask questions, because he doesn't want to undo the spell I'm under, whatever possessed his wife to add that to their usual routine. For the rest of the night I was pretty pleased with myself.

The next morning was a different story, as I regarded my body sadly in the mirror. I inherited a body full of bumps and lumps and while a lot of people might be okay with that, including Terry, I'm just not. I don't like the way my gut sags and love-handles bulge, the way I get tired just standing around all day. I'm not THAT far overweight for Christine's body type but it's enough to make a difference and certainly not up to the standards I set for myself. Being fine with yourself is one thing but being truly happy with your body is another. I can't go on like this, falling into Christine's patterns just because it's what she did. I need to take care of this body in a way she didn't. I wouldn't be happy with myself if I didn't try. Call it a project. I know women's fitness is a lot different from men's, and it might not even necessarily be about losing pounds as much as it is about firming and toning up, eating right and improving conditioning. This is who I am, and for the duration of my time as Christine, it's going to be who she is, too. That's final. Time to get to work.

Tori: Forward

It's been sort of quiet here, lately. I've been working in the background, offering my sympathies to Matt and Lila for their mix-up, advising the folks out in Vancouver as much as I can... dealing with Thom and Sara.

Meanwhile, I've just kind of knuckled into the single working gal lifestyle. After those recent dating debacles, I kind of gave into the idea that my romantic life is currently at a low. As much as I want a little something, I can't force it, I can't try to make it work with someone that won't fit my life. All I can do is keep looking.

So imagine my surprise, and slight exasperation, when I got a text from an old flame. Buddy.

He and I left things on kind of a sour noted, you may remember... I broke up with him pretty much specifically to be with Alex. Yeah, that worked out great for me. But it wouldn't have happened if I didn't already have doubts about our relationship. Sometimes it felt like he really got me, and sometimes he seemed totally mystified by me. Hard to blame him. He was my first boyfriend, my training wheels. It was like dating my old self, and sometimes that probably tripped him up. I was attuned to him in a way he couldn't quite be with me, because there will always, always be something he doesn't know about me. That hasn't changed. But that doesn't mean I have a clear conscience.

We've mended things somewhat since then. It starts with a "Happy birthday" on Facebook. It moves on to become a text conversation about a recent movie we both liked. Then occasional catch-ups... "How's Texas," "Good, still working, how's Philly" "Good, just got a new job." And it just kind of snowballs.

So maybe I shouldn't have been shocked when he texted me the other week saying "I'm gonna be in Philly soon. We should get drinks." But all I could think was, "I do not want to deal with this right now."

Plus, I'm not going to lie, part of me thought he was going to come out and say he too was an Inn victim. Hell, he traveled enough. But no.

I needed a treat, though. I've been so good and quiet the past few months, since Nameless Boy and me had our last tryst (boy, that did not end cleanly though.) Buddy will always represent a certain time in my life, and the way things ended does not erase the good times. I like him. I thought I loved him. If it was closure, or healing, or whatever he needed, I could give it. I think we're both mature. That said, I couldn't help but compliment him on his beard, and when he told me I looked great too, I felt myself blush.

It got off to a very awkward start. He asked how Alex was, and I admitted we weren't together anymore. And he kind of screwed his face into this judgmental smirk like "Oh, I would have thought that since you dumped me for him, you two would have to be soulmates." That's not what he said, obviously, but it feels like that's what he was thinking.

I told him that since we've been getting along really well lately, I would rather we not delve into any bitterness, and he agreed that would be wise. He asked if I missed him, and I said that was a really complicated question. He could be difficult, stubborn, frustrating at times... but that's men. Hell, that's women, too. We butted heads. That's natural.

But there was a lot of good that went along with that. Probably more good than bad, overall, it's just that things became unworkable near the end. Him in Houston, me in Philly.

"Was that it?" he asked. "If I stayed in Philly, would we still be together?"

"Probably not," I admitted shamefully. "Because I already met Alex, and he..." I stopped myself. I've learned that pretty much my entire relationship with Alex was pretty much a con, an attempt to induct me into the Agency, the people that use bodies like currency. Everything he was was just designed to win me over, and he had a lot of resources to put toward that. I finally settled on, "It was complicated. And honestly, at the time, Alex seemed like the better choice. I regret that."

And then I felt it. That twinge of release. Admitting that I made a mistake, years ago, when I dumped Buddy for Alex. That sort of opened the floodgates and all my memories of being attracted, being enthralled by Buddy came back. I learned forward and propped up my cleavage. Alex sat up and took notice. It was a lapse in judgment, but a quick one.

"I'm engaged," he said. "Well, I'm getting engaged. I'm planning on proposing when I get back to Houston."

"Oh wow," I said, sitting back. "Um, congratulations. That seems quick... um, I mean, how long have you..."

"Like a year," he said. "Yeah, maybe that is quick, but we're not getting any younger, and we're just... crazy about each other."

"That's amazing," I said, feigning sincerity, "Congratulations again. What's her name? Tell me all about her."

"Her name's Victoria. But she goes by Vicky. She's blonde, short, so cute... 23."

"Okay, you can stop," I said. "That's great to hear, but I've gotta ask... if you're so crazy in love, why are we having drinks right now?"

"Well, I'm here in Philly on a job interview. Actually it's in Trenton, but that's 40 minutes away. And she's a Houston girl, and I'm worried that history's going to repeat itself. So I thought, I don't know, if I take this job, and she doesn't want to move... what are the odds you and I could pick up where we left off?"

Ohhhhhhhhh no.

"Let me tell you," I said with a sigh, "If there's someone you would leave your girlfriend for, given the chance... you should not propose to her. If you really want to marry her, and she doesn't want to leave Houston, don't leave Houston. Don't make the same mistake twice. You and I had great times, but that's the past. There were reasons we broke up, beyond Houston, beyond Alex, beyond anything either of us could comprehend. Trust me on this, Buddy. I don't go backwards. That's something I've learned over the past few years."

He took a moment to take this all in, then he kind of smirked. "I like that. You don't go backwards. Smart. Don't know that I agree, but whatever works." He then waved over the waitress and we paid our separate checks and parted ways.

And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a twinge of doubt when I watched him go, about whether that was the right thing to say. Maybe I could've just played his game and told him I'd be there for him and get a happy ending. But I'm so sick all this drama and I don't want to be his escape clause. If he leaves that Vicky chick, it's going to be because he doesn't love her as much as he thinks, and hopefully if he stays with her it's not because he doesn't have a backup lined up.

A few days later I booked an appointment at a tattoo parlor. I've wanted to get a tattoo off and on over the years but I could never decide what, until that conversation hit me, and I decided I could use an ever-present reminder of it. So I drew up a design and had them ink the inside of my right forearm with the word FORWARD and two triangles. I've been in this body for four years, and gosh darnit I want to feel like I left my mark on it. Har har.