Annette/Benjamin: Sports

It's been a while since I wrote here, but that's mainly because things are going well but not off-the-charts, this-requires-examination well. I mean, it is in some ways - I've got my favorite writer helping me with what I'm working on outside the blog, although I'm not going to mention her name too often lest Google start sending her fans here which leads to another me winding up someone else - but mostly I'm a happy guy for kind of prosaic reasons.  I've got a smart, sexy girlfriend in Marybeth who shares a lot of common interests; I've got good friends who are also doing well; my job isn't great, but it gives me a fair amount of free time, plus it exists, which not everybody can say.  Being Benjamin is good right now, and I feel like I'm handling all the guy stuff quite well.

And the Red Sox just beat the Yankees to pull into first place, which is actually something I care about. I don't think it's a matter of following sports automatically being more appealling because I've got a penis, so much as I'm living with a bunch of guys, and they've been trained to follow the local teams since birth, and it's a very easy thing to pick up. After all, it's fun!  Especially during baseball season, there's a game practically every night that is only predictable in the very vaguest sense, and the stuff which makes it hard to predict is people doing things that are really difficult. I still haven't gotten into football beyond sort of rooting for Tom Brady in his battle with Roger Goodell the same way I would in a story (even when I'm not working Sundays in the winter, there are better things to do with a weekend afternoon), but I am following the Bruins, Celtics, and Red Sox way closer than I ever expected to.

I'm playing more, too. Nothing really organized, but when someone asks if I want to go out and shoot some hoops, I say yes a lot. I almost wonder at times if an affinity for that sort of physical activity and competition is like sexuality - we naturally spend a lot of time on this blog talking about suddenly being attracted to a new opposite sex because our brains have been rewired, and Missy often mentions to me how, even though she will find herself drawn to guys in the same room, she still likes looking at pictures of naked girls more (and I do sometimes look around during movies to see if anybody has noticed me raising my eyebrows when a guy takes his shirt off). But I know Benny was a real jock as a kid - when I went to see his folks over Christmas, there were a lot of trophies in his room - and I wasn't. Oh, sure, I jogged, because I didn't quite have the Rory Gilmore metabolism and (as Missy is discovering) it is not cool at all to be called fat as a young woman, but it didn't feel good the way it does now.

I actually got curious enough about this to email Benny/Jordan the other week.  He's not as obsessively self-examining as some of us, so he hadn't really thought about it, but he says he still enjoys working out even if it's not quite the endorphin-releasing high it was any more, but more the satisfaction of a job well-done. He's got more interests now, although he kind of chalked that up to being with Kareena and picking up what she likes.

It's a little alarming, in some ways; most of the time, most of us like to think of ourselves as the same people in new containers, which may just have different biological imperatives, but if this newfound excitement about the local teams also comes with the change, it really makes me think a bit about just who I am now,

- Annette / Benjamin

Tyler/Alan: Detour in Memphis

As I drove north from Mobile, I knew there was only one place I could end up: Milwaukee. Now that Meghan and I were seemingly over, it only seemed right that I throw in the towel and commit to being Alan Schmidt, at least for a while. I didn't want anything to do with my own identity anyway, I had ruined it so badly. I almost welcomed the idea of wiping Tyler Blake off the slate.

Between Alabama and Wisconsin, I spent about a week in Memphis running what could generously be referred to as a "personal errand," but it could also be considered a farewell to a part of my life that I should've said goodbye to a long time ago, or maybe just indulging in a fantasy.

I found myself in a bar called Billy's. It was kind of a dive, far from Beale St. and the tourist scene. Delta blues were, of course, blaring from the jukebox, and there was a stage for a band but nobody playing tonight. I didn't mind that. I wasn't feeling festive.

The crowd as mostly old men. I saw two waitresses flitting about: a stacked blonde and a more slender African-American girl, both absolutely gorgeous, wearing the customary low-cut black top and tight jeans. Both worked their individual tables pretty much the same, giggling and smiling and bending over whenever they deemed it necessary. It was 10 PM but it might as well have been 4 PM or 3 AM for how empty it as. There was lots of empty tables, but I sat down at the bar.

"What will it be?" asked the server in that inimitable drawl. I say MGD, and, maybe unimpressed with the simplicity of my choice, she pops open a bottle, plunks it on the coaster in front of me and goes back to wiping down the bar.

"So how's Billy?" I ask when I'm sure she can hear.

She stops. "You know Billy?"

I smile, aware that as Alan, my huge moth gives me a wide, earnest grin that seems to charm people. "No, no, heh... I just assumed there was one since his name is on the sign."

"Well," she says, seemingly amused by my gag, "Billy's a she."

"Ah," I say, "Good for her." I take a swig in cheers.

"And she's my mama," the barmaid adds.

"That's interesting," I say.

She seems for a moment like she's going to go back to her cleaning, but then she stops and turns back to me. "Sorry, can I see some ID?"

"You already served me," I point out.

"Yeah, an' I'm regrettin' it," she says. "Put me at ease?" I shrug and pull my wallet out. She takes a look at my license. "Wisconsin, huh? Funny, you don't have the accent."

"What accent?" I ask.

"You know, that funny way'a talkin' they got there? You ever see Fargo?" I say sure. She says, "You sound more Alabama."

I smirk again, "Sorry, uh, I was actually just down there for a visit. Must'a picked it up."

"Well, put it back down, folk'll think you're makin' fun."

"I'll try," I said. I don't even know how to sound like I'm from Wisconsin but I figured it can't be that different from the Pittsburgh accent I occasionally picked up there, and I doubt she'll notice the distinction anyway.

"So Alan," she says, now seemingly more interested in me than her wet bar rag, "What brought you to Alabama?"

"Funeral," I say, "A distant relative. I only went out of guilt."

"I'm sorry to hear that," she says.

"Sorry enough for a free drink?"

"You said distant relative, right?"

"Darn," I say, in the most cutesy Northerner way I can. I take another sip and then tell her a story about how, after the funeral, I decided to go sightseeing. See Graceland. She scoffed. "You got a problem with The King?"

"All due respect, of course," she said, half-embarrassed, half-ready to educate me, "He was a great entertainer, really a legend, and we here in Memphis are real proud. But I always thought music is a kinda livin' thing, you know? Can't live in the past forever."

"That's the truth," I said, raising my glass to her.

I came back the next night. She asked how Graceland was, and I said it was nice enough, but I wouldn't mind having someone to show me the "real, 'living' Memphis." She scoffed a bit. "Lots'a tour guides in a city like this."

I blushed, "Sorry, I had to try. I bet guys hit on you all the time in here."

"Oh yeah, of course," she said, "Not as often as some of my co-workers, but I have a few fans."

"I wasn't really..." I backtracked, "That is, I just got out of something. I'm really not looking."

"Uh huh," she smirked, "That's what they all say."

"No, seriously," I said, and passed her my phone, which at that time featured a lengthy exchange between me and Meghan. It was mostly one-sided (hers) laying into my untrustworthiness and lack of character. I conceded most of her points and stopped defending myself.

As the barmaid scrolled through, eyes bulging out, I wondered if there was anything in there that would reveal the existence of the Inn - yes, the spell does seem to insulate outsiders against understanding its powers, but I might have to come up with and explanation for the whole setup. But the way Meg and I talk about things with each other, ewe hardly talk about the Inn even when we're talking about things that relate to it, so to the untrained eye, we were just a couple having a serious row.

"Wow," she gasped, "You do not come off well in this. What you do to piss her off so bad? Cheat?"

"I wish it was that simple," I sighed, "She is blaming me for something that I didn't do, and I realized that I'd never really have her trust, so... how could we continue?"

"That's a shame," she said, "Now, if it was me, I'd work harder at it, but I never know when to quit at these things."

"I'm the opposite," I said, "As soon as things get hard, I'm gone. It's a fault, but really, shouldn't it be easy?"

"I guess," she said. I could tell I hit a nerve. She changed the subject: "If you're looking for comfort, I might know some girls..."

"Thanks, but, really... I just need a bit of distraction. Sightseeing before I head home."

I could see the thoughts processing in her head. Finally, she concluded, "Okay, you seem harmless enough, as long as you promise you're not trying to pick me up."

"I promise. Seriously, the last thing I need right now is more drama."

The next day, we met up at a restaurant for lunch and she took me for a walk along the riverbank. I tried my best to see the city with new eyes and pretend I didn't know anything, let her give me her perspective on it. It was utterly lovely to hear her describe the city for what she loved about it.

We picked back up on the conversation about my break-up, and she told me that it got her thinking about her first big one. "It was about three years ago. It was a long time coming, but I couldn't see it. I was blinded by love, and I thought if I kept hammering away at this guy, maybe he would love me back. He wasn't really capable of that, though. Not the way I wanted to be loved. I wanted to marry him, and after four years I figured that was only right. But he couldn't commit. Didn't have it in him. And it took a long time after he was gone that I realized, why would I want to give 100% of myself to this person who could never appreciate it? I felt so stupid."

"Well, that's his loss," I could only say.

"I was so angry for so long," she said, "But that breakup was for the best. Sounds cheesy, but that's the kinda thing you only learn after some time has passed. Now I'm on the other side of things. I started seeing this new guy two months ago, and he'd already said 'I love you' after the third week and wanted to introduce me to his parents."

"You ever get the urge to run?"

"Hell no," she smiled, "It's just overwhelming. I never expected to be with a guy like this. Never expected a guy like this existed. I want to love him as much as he loves me. Sorry, I'm rambling."

"It's okay, I enjoy it," I said, "Makes me feel better about my situation. Although I wonder if maybe I'm a bit like your ex... can't appreciate a good thing."

"Naw," she said, "I think you're a nicer guy than him. And it seems like you and your ex have some pretty legit problems. Maybe you could work them out, but maybe it ended for a reason."

My "ex." It was the first time I thought of it that way.

I came to her bar again the next night. Her boyfriend was there. Handsome guy, a little older than my real self.  He's a family doctor. I have to admit they make a nice couple. But when before I left, I took the opportunity to say goodbye.

"Say, how did you know I was doing an Alabama accent when I got here?"

"Well it's a funny coincidence," she said, half smiling, "My ex was from there. Gulf coast. You sounded just like him. But I don't hear it anymore."

"Oh, I hope that didn't bring back any unpleasant memories..."

"Naw," she said, "I mean, if he was here right now you'd probably have to watch I didn't pick up any sharp objects, but there's still some positive associations too."

I left, tipped her well, and went to my car to map out the route to Milwaukee.

Tyler/Alan: It's a long story.

Here and Now...

It's rainy out this morning, but I a stray bolt of sunshine breaks through the window and hits me in the eye. I roll over and take a look at the clock - 7:05 AM. I didn't get to sleep until probably 2 last night. Groggy and disoriented, I roll over and look at her, murmuring "Meg..." as I do so. She doesn't budge. If I drape my arm around her, she might wake up and be ticked at me that roused her. For half a moment I try to roll over and fall back asleep, but then I realize this is pointless. My stomach is grumbling. So I do what any self-respecting boyfriend does in this situation, I get up and make some breakfast - cooking here is pretty pleasurable since I've spent the last few weeks setting the kitchen up to my liking, and it's no longer what I do for a living. I crack the eggs and make what I consider to be a perfect over-easy, while the bacon sizzles in a separate skillet. She's not really an early riser, but I'm hoping the scent of breakfast will inspire her to get up.

She told me that before me, she really only liked eggs in an omelette with a ton of fresh ingredients. I feel like I've shown her that there's good food you can make on a budget.

I've got the meal prepared and set on a tray to bring to her bedside, when she appears in the doorway. "Mmm, is that for me?" she moans hungrily, stretching her arms over her head so that her shrunken gray tee-shirt rides up her abdomen, exposing her underwear and middrift. This is definitely on purpose for my benefit.

"I thought breakfast in bed would be nice," I smile, offering her the tray.

"Uh huh," she says, taking a piece of bacon. "I hope you're ready to vacuum the crumbs off the sheets, then."

I sigh, "Table it is, then."

The kitchen table has a nice view of the Milwaukee skyline and Lake Michigan behind it, the sun kinda-sorta rising behind rainclouds. With every bite she compliments my cooking, when really it's just the basic skillset from working at one diner after another for a decade. I'm not exactly Top Chef. But I can do eggs.

As she finishes her (probably over-acted for my benefit) foodgasm, she looks over to me and notes, "Did I dream it, or did you call me Meg this morning?"

I'm a little embarrassed but I have nothing to feel guilty about. "I must've been half-asleep, sorry," I say.

"Well, you're with me now," she says, walking over to my side of the table to plant a kiss on my lips.

"I know, Kitty." I say, mustering up as much affection as I can feel in this moment. She knows she's a rebound, and I am for her too, but neither of us care. We're making the best of a pretty rotten situation.

Alabama

Things have changed a lot since the last time I posted here. That was earlier this year, when I was living in Vermont and deeply in love with Meghan. I was happy. She was happy, I'm pretty sure. We seemed to have a future ahead of us, even if it was a bit murky. But you never know how shaky these things are until they really get put to the test.

We were a good pair. We fought now and again - I'm not a perfect person or a saint. I could get drunk and rant about how much I disliked living with her roommate, Gene. I could quit my job on a whim, which was always disappointing to her because she preferred stability and continuity (I never went without one for long, I promise.) I could be a slob or break plans on short notice. I was chaos and she was order. I could even complain a bit about how uptight she could be about our living situation, but all in all I tried to be appreciative and respectful and courteous and work as hard as I ever have at anything to make that relationship work. We understood each other in the way that only people who have been through something as crazy as what we have, and she seemed to have a lot of patience for me, all things considered. More than I deserved.

I wanted it to work because I waited a year for it, suffered through the humiliations of being a teenage girl and watching her with both Wade and Mikal from a distance, knowing that just the possibility that she might return my feelings would make the whole ordeal worth it. She never promised anything, but when we made our return to the Inn, the stars kind of aligned for us. If we had rigged it, we couldn't have gotten a better hand. Someone up there loved me...

But since there were no promises and no guarantees I wanted to show I was worth taking a chance. I wanted to become better and show her I was worthy of her love. And for a while I was. But thinking now, I suspect there's things about me that were always going to sabotage the relationship. In another life, maybe it would have been perfect.

What's this got to do with Alabama? Well. That's her fault. I didn't want to go. I made it my life's mission to never step foot in the state of Alabama again. In fact I was done with pretty much the whole South if I could help it. It was nothing but trouble for me my whole life.

Except that one time last year when I did go back to Alabama, and met the man who stole my face.

I remember, sitting there, across the table from him and feeling so helpless, so small. I was in Lauren's little body, so he dwarfed me. He wore this shit-eating grin, trying to cut a deal with me for more money than I could have scared up babysitting and mowing the lawn. It felt perverse and demoralizing, and - as I alluded earlier, humiliating. It was one of a few times during that year that I cried - outright bawled  - at my situation, and pitied myself. But what could I do? There were forces at play here much bigger than me. As my dad would say, sometimes you just suck the shit.

So why did I go back? Because I was guilted into it. Because my sister Carrie spent a year living as Meghan, and did such a nice job that they became long-distance BFF's, so when Carrie asked her to ask me to come visit home, because our father was on his deathbed, I had basically no choice in the matter.

My relationship with my father is... complicated. Or I should say it was complicated, because he's not my father anymore, both because as far as the world is concerned Tyler Blake is someone else, and because he's gone now.

But since I still carry some baggage from it, I guess it always will be complicated. He was a tough, drunk, Vietnam Vet who was not real easy to live with even at the best of times. The user-friendly version is that I was never who he wanted me to be - I had two older, more athletic, traditionally "Good Ole Boy" brothers. The three of them were Duck Dynasty without the beards and money. I was the smart-ass youngest son. We all caused trouble at various times - staying out late, drinking, vandalizing, screwing around with girls in the gas station bathroom and such - but they had the good fortune of doing those things while also playing football and hunting. I hated all of that, their whole lifestyle, their attitude. I wanted out from an early age. And I also had the bad luck to have my mother die of cancer when I was a toddler. I was just too big a problem for him to handle on his own. He hit the bottle, went on disability and lost what little we had.

By the time my dad re-married and Carrie was born, I was well on my way to being the black sheep. I was a lot closer in age to Carrie than I was to my older brothers, so I bonded with her... but I guess the difference was that my dad got his new lease on life when he met Carrie's mom (who is a very nice woman, but has since divorced him) so she got a "good dad." He still treated me like a whipping boy, but I never resented her for being Daddy's little girl. One of life's little shit-sucking moments. I knew it wasn't her fault, and she was a good sister to me.

So with Pa on death's door, Carrie was having an emotional meltdown - she had just gotten back from a year in the North, so she was realizing she had basically lost her last precious moments with him. This was it. And no matter what my feelings were for that man, or my home region, or anything, I would be a terrible brother to let that get in the way of consoling my sister.

Meg and I sat in the back of the funeral. My brothers and their families were up front, They gave cursory attention to Carrie but had their own broods to worry about. I didn't talk to any of them - we get along decently now but it's not like I can go catch up with them. But whenever someone did ask who I was and why I was at this funeral, I claimed to be the son of some long-forgotten acquaintance from one of our many moves around the county, paying my respects.

My Skeletons

The event that led to my breakup with Meg happened after the funeral. Once everything had cleared, we met up for drinks with Carrie and started seriously catching up and talking about old times, telling anecdotes, trying to remember the positive memories I had of my father, etc etc.

Then the subject turned to... him. You know, Fake-Tyler. And the air got sucked right out of the room.

"What if he had shown up?" Meghan asked. None of us thought it was likely, and as far as I knew the man who had occupied my body the last time I saw it had moved on later in the summer - supposedly he was paid to do so.

"I would'a made him regret it," I said. Whether or not I can back that up, beanpole that Alan Schmidt is, I'm glad I don't have to. Meg looked mortified that I would even consider it.

"Truth is, I don't even know where he went," Carrie sighed, "After the hospital, I mean."

That brought the conversation the an abrupt halt. Meg's eyebrow raised: "The hospital? What hospital?"

"You didn't tell her about it?" my sister asked.

"Tell me what?"

"No, I... didn't really see the point."

I won't attempt to transcribe the exact conversation, because I would hate to misrepresent Meghan (or myself) so here's the summary.

What Carrie was talking about is that, at some point last summer, the man in my old body was attacked outside a bar and beaten within inches of his life. What little information we had at the time wound its way from the person in Carrie's body, to Carrie, to me, and I was still so shaken up from my meeting with him that I kept it to myself. He was beaten so badly that he spent a month or more convalescing and rehabilitating, and then disappeared. Maybe he made his trip to the Inn, maybe he didn't.

But I could see the thought process behind Meg's eyes as she analyzed the information and posed a simple question: "But... why?" It couldn't just be a coincidence, a random act of violence. Maybe it had something to do with the Inn, with these people who paid him to run off with my body? "Who would do that?"

"Some old friends of yours, I assume," Carrie said flatly.

I bristled, angry that she would bring it up in front of Meghan, knowing full well how hard I tried to put that part of my life behind me. Meghan knew I wasn't exactly a saint, but I never really wanted her to find out exactly how many skeletons I had in my closet.

Through gritted teeth, I admitted, "It's possible I owe a lot of money... or Tyler Blake does... to some people who... break legs. Among other things."

I couldn't look Meghan in the eye at that point, but I could see from the edge of my vision that she was hurt, shocked, aghast at my revelation of just how deep my shadows ran. I continued, hoping not to dig myself deeper, "There's a part of my life that... it was a long time ago, and I've moved past it, but... some people have long memories." That, more than my own negative associations or baggage, is why I never wanted to go back to the South in general, and Mobile in particular.

My guess is that Fake Tyler had no idea, or else he would have stayed clear of Mobile. I have no idea if that's something the people who paid him - The "Agency," I assume - would have known about that. It's not like there's a Local Gang Newsletter they can subscribe to. But apparently they have enough resources to have this international extortion network, so who knows what they know.

Meghan fell silent and we called it a night shortly after that. When we got to the hotel, there was still an awkward silence, and whenever Meghan would look at me there was this confused searching look in her eyes, like she didn't know who I was anymore... or like she was just finding out.

She told me she didn't understand why I didn't tell her about this: about my activities (most of which took place more than 5 years ago) or that I knew that had happened to the Fake Tyler. I told her I didn't think it mattered, and she asserted that it did - that if I was in danger, then so was she.

"But I'm not in danger - Tyler Blake is."

"What if these people come looking for you, the Agency?"

"Why would they?"

She sighed heavily. "Tyler, be honest with me. Did you have anything to do with this?"

"With what?"

"With the attack. Did you... I don't know... tell some people where they could find him? Because you were angry you weren't getting your body back?"

"Meghan, what kind of person do you think I am?"

"I don't know. That's not an answer."

"No, of course not. That was just a hazard of being Tyler Blake that he was unprepared for."

"I don't believe you."

"Well, you should."

"I don't know what you're capable of!" she said tearfully. "I don't know you!"

"You know me, Meghan."

"Why did you get so lucky, Ty? You ended up in this handsome young man's body, and... what are the odds? Did you make this happen?"

"Meghan..."

"Are you even going to give Alan his body back?"

"Meghan, don't talk like that." I was insulted.

Tears were streaming down her face. She seemed exasperated. I was angry at her for the accusations - they seemed to be coming out of nowhere, even if months later I can admit I don't exactly look good in this scenario. I felt attacked.

But I still loved her. I still wanted to comfort and reassure her. I sat next to her on the bed.

"Of course I'm giving Alan his body back. No matter what. I'm not... I would never take from someone like that."

She sniffled. "And then what? Just hope you get a lucky draw again? Or you become a married man, or a woman, or a child... the possibilities are endless, and that's assuming nobody is out to get you.. It was so easy last time to wait, to not let myself get attached to the idea of being with you because I had no idea how it would all turn out. I feel like an idiot for being with you. For believing this could turn out well. This was fucking doomed."

"Don't say that," I growled, "Every second of it was worth it... worth the risk, the stress, the heartache. And if you love me, you'll see it through to the end with me."

She was quiet a long time, thinking, until she finally said, "I don't think I can. Not now, not knowing what I know about you now. Thinking you're this sort of person."

"I'm telling you, it's not the way you think it is."

"I wish I could believe that."

It sounded like her mind was all made up in the subject, so I started to gather my things.

She said, "You don't have to go right now."

Yeah, I did.

"Do you want to come back to Vermont and get your things?"

I didn't need them.

I went to a car rental place and just started driving. In the morning there were numerous text messages I didn't feel like answering. By then I had reached Memphis. I stayed there for a week or so to get my bearings before I made the decision to make my way almost as far north as north goes... Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Hometown of Alan Schmidt.

Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-wei: Spring Break

Given the amount of "Jordo really likes being a sexy bitch" content I put up here, it might seem like my going on spring break was a given, but it was kind of a last-minute decision. That stuff is a lot more exciting than "Yuan-wei's classes are a bunch of things I didn't study the first time I was in college", but it's not all easy As because I've done it before and have a bunch of essays stored on my old laptop.  If anything, I was thinking of another trip to China - maybe not Hong Kong, but Beijing, because Yuan-wei did spend some time there and it might be smart to bone up on something that a young Chinese woman of means would be expected to be familiar with.

That was before I got an email from Chen Bingbing, one of the original Yuan-wei's best friends from Hong Kong, asking what I was doing for Spring Break. She's going to school at Columbia right now, and thought this would be a great way to hang out with me since neither of us has had time to take the train to the other's city over the weekend yet. So, with appropriately exaggerated sighing, I said fine, I'll fly south out of this cold and go party for a week, if you insist.

(Benjamin and Jonah would later tell me it got really nice in Boston while I was away, although not quite ''fearlessly walking around in a bikini" nice.)

The credit card I inherited along with my new passport is pretty nice - even though I booked my flight and hotel pretty late in the game and therefore had to deal with prices I would have considered gouging in my original life, it absorbed them like a champ and asked if I would like to use my points for an upgrade. Fuck yes!

The hotel I booked wasn't exactly five stars - as much as luxury is nice, being in some classy place far from where the other college kids were would have been missing out - it was pretty nice, with breakfast and laundry and a pool. Since Bingbing wasn't due to arrive until the next day, I decided to spend the afternoon by the pool.

After a New England winter, it was really nice to pull off my t-shirt, drop my shorts, and just feel the sun on my skin. I put on some lotion, pulled the music and Kindle apps up on my tablet, and just enjoyed the moment.

I've been starting to actively notice guys lately. I don't know how it works with other guys that the Inn turned to girls, but I didn't really find guys attractive visually until I started screwing them.  I've got a theory that it's about my brain building associations, but that's kind of beside the point, which is that I only noticed the skinny-but-not-bad-looking white dude who walked by me with his phone at a kind of weird angle after the third time he passed or so.  Then, my brain was still a little behind in processing that he had a bit of a chub and was kind of handsome - I was actually focused on the tech a bit.

''Hey, buddy, what kind of phone are you using to creepshot me?"

Probably not the way he usually hears that question. "What? I, uh--"

I made the "over here" motion with my hand.  "C'mon, dude, hand it over." Ashlyn told me later that this sort of confrontation was usually a pretty bad idea, but I sort of sensed that he'd fold. It's not any sort of former-male-nerd thing; it's more that he seemed to want to be caught, like the bikini pics were a consolation prize, and having me notice him was first.

He handed me the phone, I swiped through his pics, made a comment about the camera and how the hotel had free wi-fi and he didn't need to burn the data plan, and then started tapping away before handing it back. He was pretty shocked to see the pics still there. Doubly so when mine vibrated!

"What's so weird? You can't get the whole body in a selfie!"

He seemed all right, but he kind of beat a hasty retreat when some of his fraternity bothers showed up.  I didn't take it personal.

Bingbing showed up the next day and said to meet her at the beach, at that sounded like a great plan.  I put on another bikini, some flip-flops, sunglasses, and a purse just big enough to hold my phone and wallet and headed out.

Walking along the beach, it's kind of hard for me to believe how much I freaked out at going to the beach as Deirdre, and whether I would have been this cool with it if I'd wound up staying like that rather than becoming Yuan-wei.  I think so - she's a different kind of sexy but there's still a lot of reason to be self-confident there, and I think I just fucking like being attractive, and didn't realize just how angry people not having a good first reaction got me.  Not everybody likes being whistled at, but it makes me feel good.

Chen Bingbing didn't whistle at me - she's not into that so far as I know - but I was glad to see her.   She's awful cute, is really into fashion, and seems to really dig that I defer to her a lot on that now.   I never really liked chatty girls before, probably because I often just took it for granted that they didn't want much to do with me, but even if listening to her go on want filling me in on stuff I could do with knowing, she's actually really funny, especially since she'll occasionally drop thoroughly unexpected Cantonese swearing into something innocuous.

We hugged - is it weird to both enjoy feeling boobs pressing against you and also feel gratified that yours are bigger? - and she talked stuff off about how America was so much fun, especially New York, although she also got really homesick.  I told her it passes, trying to draw on becoming a stranger rather than moving away.  Ironic, that, because that when she decided to introduce me to he new boyfriend.

You know that thing where a girl will get caught less dressed than she probably should be and then suddenly starts trying to cover up with her hands, even if they're way too small and she's wearing something anyway, just in case?  I don't do that, because, like I said, I like people liking what they see and don't want to start things off by cowering - at least most of the time.  Still, I made an exception at that moment, crossing my arms in such a way add to make sure my nipples weren't showing and quickly glancing down to make sure that nothing was perking out from beyond my bikini bottom.  What can I say; Max's eyes went straight to my chest and I was suddenly really uncomfortable with my fucking kid brother staring at my tits.

I felt stupid right away, and reached out my hand.  "Hi, Max.  Small world, huh?"

Bingbing seeing her head between us in surprise.  "You two know each other?"

Max was silently trying to figure out where he knew that chest from - really fucking concentrating, if you get my drift - so I told Bingbing the story we used back in September about how "his brother Jordan" and I played Call of Duty together until he got in shape and found other hobbies.

That rang a bell with Max, or at least he put on a good show of it.  It gave me a chance to ask what Benny was doing with my life.  Apparently he disapproved of "Jordo" just tossing everything he'd always done away to work in a gym and date a Hindu girl much more than our parents, although Bingbing defended him, saying that love and happiness were the most important things.  Max kind of grunted, but didn't argue with the pretty girl.

It made for a kind of interesting week. It was kind of mortifying at first to not just have Max looking me up and down when he thought Bingbing wasn't looking, but he was also the one buying us drinks when we found a bartender who wasn't carding entire parties too diligently. Having the world think I'm younger than him is weird.

It also made one kind of a third wheel, and while I really didn't mind it - I was a whole hell of a lot more interested in what was going on with Max and Bingbing, together and separately, then whatever random guy got attached to us in order to even the numbers out. Some of them were Max's friends, which was kind of creepy. Not half as gross as Max clearly wanting to fuck me, but about a third of the way there. They probably thought I was a stuck-up bitch for how quickly I seemed to write them off, but whatever. I just can't see Max's friends as potential lovers.

Easy enough for me, but it leaves Bingbing with a friend who seemed way too interested in her boyfriend and Max with a hottie who is weirdly keen on just being friends. I'd be lying if I said it didn't create some friction, including this weird thing where Bingbing said she understood Max's attention, because as a Chinese-American he was raised with a lot of white standards of beauty, so his eye is drawn to girls with a few extra pounds, you know, in the chest and such. I try not to get too freaked out about being called fat - I know that's the most direct way to get at a girl's self-confidence and as much as I'd like to be immune to it because I have actually been flabby, I do worry about whether a New England winter has pushed me toward that.

I'm making this seem like a whole lot less fun than it actually was. I mean, it was a fucking blast! 

Bingbing is awesome, and I'm not going to lie - I enjoyed sharing a changing room with her a few times. My brother got damn lucky the day he stumbled on her having a bit of trouble communicating in the campus bookstore, and I'm happy for him. I know that most of what I've written about Max hasn't exactly been complimentary, but I do love the little brat.

And, you know, it was spring break!  Even considering that a huge chunk of the guys there were white fraternity assholes who might lose interest in Asian girls once they realize that their evening isn't going to turn into a fucking fetish video, there were still enough people worth a bit of attention that I want always bothering Max & Bingbing.  And while I don't go out of my way to be a bitch, it is kind of fun to identify the sort of guy who decided to treat me like shit in school, get them to but you an expensive drink, and then go off with my friends.

And, hey, I got laid a fair amount too.  It wasn't always great - I'd apparently been riding a lucky streak in terms of actually being brought to orgasm my first for times, and discovering what it's like to deal with a guy who just slurps at your tits before monotonously thrusting until he comes and then just rolls over isn't great.  But, hey, I certainly kept one phone number for if I happened to be in Los Angeles over the summer!

Anyway, I was really glad I did it, even if I did really find myself missing my real family when I got back to Boston.  Still, I did feel kind of refreshed when I got back here (just in time for the weather to sort of sick again), and it does kind of make me feel more like I am a college kid again rather than just playing one.

- Jordo/"Missy" Yuan-wei

Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-wei: We made a movie!

It's not a feature or anything, and I don't really know what it will look like when all the past-production stuff is done, but that thing Ernesto asked me to work on was actually a ton of fun!

I have to admit, I was kind of thinking of backing out.  Ernesto is the first guy I've fucked where I would be seeing him again whether I liked it or not, and based upon how hook-ups with people I know went for me in my original life - usually terrible, both during and after - I want sure that spending that much time with him was something I wanted to do, especially since that last week or two of fall term was uncomfortable.  That time in Hong Kong was a good reset, though - the fun pays were crazy and intense enough to make me certain that I could handle anything friggin' Boston could throw at me, and the scary parts...  Well, shit, what's hanging out with a guy you've had sex with compared to that?

It was a fun thing to bring to life. Ernesto had written a script about a guy and a girl on a date that's not going well, so as things go on, Ernesto (he played the leading man) starts to see me as some sort of vampire succubus and I start to see him as a zombie.  Something seemed a bit off about it to me at first, so I asked Benjamin to take a look at it, and he said that the cynicism was too simple, that we should still see each other as tempting and desirable. We could still wind up fighting, but it would be more interesting.

Ernesto wound up liking the idea, although the director took some convincing, telling him something about not letting his little head do the thinking. Ernesto and Cesar have been friends since they were kids and I get the impression that I'm not the first girl whose opinions he's dismissed, especially when they arrived via Ernesto. That this advice was coming from a girl who used to be a man after consulting with a man who used to be a girl would probably melt his brain.

Once we got Cesar onboard, it was a lot of fun. Really hard work, though in a completely different way from the play:  Where that was a nerve-wracking marathon for me even though my part was tiny, this was an often-frustrating series of long nights and weekends and afternoons when enough of us didn't have class, doing the same thing until Cesar thought it was good enough, then doing it from another angle. Then, the next day, we do it with one or both of us wearing prosthetic makeup, then switch it up. There are folks on set making sure that all the little details match from day to day, right down to how tight the corset I had stupidly agreed to wear when I was supposed to be a complete sex demon by the end was.

I kind of loved it.

I fucking get the whole deal where you run something, get the bugs out when it fails, and then run it again. And the tech was so much damn fun - one of the producers somehow got a Red camera on loan, and while that made the shoot really tight - along with basically only being able to shoot the restaurant scenes from nine to midnight and the other restrictions - We could only shoot the restaurant scenes from nine to midnight along with other restrictions - it was amazing how good everything looked.

There's still a lot more work to do - Cesar and Ernesto are still editing a month or so later, someone's writing a score, and I've used some of Yuan-wei's money to buy a pretty killer graphics workstation so that we can add some more blood to a few scenes. I usually hate CGI blood, but it's kind of fun to work on, and apparently restaurant owners' charity only goes so far, and they don't like arterial spray all over the place.

Hopefully I can get that finished soon - Cesar was kind of upset that I didn't get it done by spring break, and now Ernesto is already teasing me about how Cesar's going to want to oversee the rest of the effects work personally, and use my new machine to work on the editing, saying he'd have to keep an eye on me to make sure I didn't fuck my way into a bigger role.  Not really bitter, but kind of poking at me to see just how much my brain runs in that direction.

Or maybe jealous.  Kind of neat, that.

-Jordo/Missy/Yuan-wei

Jonah/Krystle: The Changeling

1. Ashlyn

Like Missy, I've been a little nervous about posting here, though for me it's more about someone getting the wrong idea of how okay I am with living Krystle's life, but I'm feeling fairly confident right now, and I want to make sure that I let everyone know how grateful I am.

As you might expect, the toy shop where I was working closed up after Christmas, and while I was given a very nice recommendation, looking for work is very difficult for someone with Krystle's history, even if she did keep it together for a couple of months. I don't know whether it's more than her history, but it certainly feels like it took me longer to find work than Benjanin did as a white man. Maybe I'm just impatient.

If so, I'm not the only one; as you might have guessed, Karla started talking a lot about me not pulling my weight about ten minutes after the store closed. I know Momma Kamen isn't going to throw me out, but it's stressful.

One night, I decided I had had enough, stormed out, and caught a bus to Arlington. I don't think I really wanted to drink, but that seems to be what people do when they're this frustrated, and The Changeling was the only bar I'd ever been to.

Fortunately, Ashlyn was working that night and recognized me, and while I was annoyed by that at first - I don't know whether it's me or being in Krystle's body, but I really wanted SOMETHING, and I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn't going to help me do something I would regret. Instead, she got me a plate of the Texas special - beef brisket and corn bread - and waited until I had filled my stomach (I thought I knew what feeling hungry was like before the Inn, but I didn't) and then let me spill.

"Okay," she said, "can you start tomorrow night?"

"Uh... Sure?"

She laughed at that. "Man, you are young! You do know that most adults would be 'just like that?' or something, right?"

I felt kind of embarrassed by that. "I guess. It's just... I don't know, I was feeling kind of desperate. I mean, why did you offer"?

''Hey, you heard that thing about how there's apparently a special place in Hell for women who don't help other women? I don't necessarily agree with the folks peddling it, but I figure it's double-plus true for men-who've-been-turned-into-women." She gave the bar a quick scan for anybody who might think we were nuts or, I don't know, "conventional" people who might say that, and continued. "You wouldn't be the first Inn person I gave a job since opening this place, okay? Heck, it's one of the reasons I wanted it, aside from missing being my own boss."

She briefly looked like an angel, until I thought about where I was sitting. "I can't tend bar! It's not even legal for me to drink, even if folks think it is!"

She said not to worry. "Either Moira or I will be here most nights, and we're good at tending bar. I just need someone to wait tables, especially during the busy periods."

"Oh." I said. "I guess I can do that."

Needless to say, I felt pretty good when I got back to Momma Kamen's apartment that night, especially since it seemed like she and Karla were expecting me to be drunk or worse.

2. Moira

I got to The Changeling early the next day, telling the guy behind the bar that I was the new waitress, only to be told that Moira would deal with me, and she was always late.  So, I sat around the bar for nearly an hour before the loud Irish girl from the first time I visited arrived, and cringed a little as she looked around and asked if the new girl was here yet, looking right at me a couple of times before I raised my hand, and then rolling her eyes. "Of course. C'mon, let's get ye set up."

She pulled me into the back room and pulled a box of t-shirts off a shelf. "'It'll be just like back home', she said! Well, so long as ye ignore the tacos on the menu and the darkie serving them!"

My jaw dropped. "Excuse me!?" I'm not entirely a stranger to people breaking out slurs to describe me, even before the Inn, but I wasn't expecting it that night. If nothing else, I feel like Ashlyn would have warned me.

"What? Oh, fuck." The girl - Moira - banged her head against the nearest wall. "I don't mean anything by it, I just grew up in a town where ev'ryone is this white--" she pointed at herself, the part of her chest above the neckline of her t-shirt, which was in fact pretty pale even for winter in New England, "--and they all say that shit so's you don't think it's a big deal, and then the new neighborhood in America was just like that except that people look both ways after." I must have looted kind of unimpressed because she looked down at the floor and then backup at me. "You know what? That's a feckin' shite apology." Then she reached out her hand. "Hi. I'm Moira Shelley, doing my absolute best not to be a horrible person."

I took it. "Krystle Kamen. So... Shelly? That's kind of a coincidence."

"Not really; Lyn's a distant cousin. Some of her cousins took me in a few years back, we got along, we went into business together." She finished rooting around in the bin and held a t-shirt up to my chest. "There, that looks about right."

I couldn't say I agreed, and asked if there were something without such a scoop neckline, maybe a size up.

She looked at me like I was nuts. "Ye do know that although Lyn pays a decent wage, ye'll mostly be workin' for tips, right? I do well enough off my charming personality, but if I were sportin' what you and my cousin have, I'd be in a higher tax bracket."  She got me the bigger shirt, though she smirked when I turned around to change.

That first night went all right, though. It was pretty quiet, and the other girl working was helpful whenever I found myself not knowing the menu or when I didn't know which table was which.

She was right about the tips, but I couldn't justify dressing or acting like some sort of slut just to make a little more money. I tried not to be to overt or preachy about it, but I guess Karla is hardly unique in not having a lot of patience with me when I don't live down to expectations. A lot of the ladies working at The Changeling - and it is almost entirely ladies upfront, though sometimes a man will tend bar when Ashlyn or Moira isn't there, and the cook is usually a guy - act like I'n being ostentatious for not showing cleavage, although Moira says it's all in my head.

And, somehow, Moira has become the person I trust on this.  I don't know if she's become my best friend here, but she's someone who looks at me and doesn't see the mess that Krystle is expected to be and doesn't feel sorry for me because I'm not in my right body. She sees someone who is about her age (she obviously doesn't know I'm actually 17) who is also kind of different. Aside from being an immigrant, she's actually the bar's co-owner, though that's a story for another time, and some of the others there resent her for it.

Maybe I've got a bit of a crush on her; Benjamin says that same-sex crushes are actually pretty common for us. I just know she's easily my favorite person to work with, especially after a day of dealing with Karla or visiting Joseph.  We at least enjoy working together, and we've hung out on days off when her boyfriend flakes on her. I kind of don't think he appreciates that she doesn't just work here and doesn't want to just leave everything to Ashlyn, but I can't exactly criticize her boyfriend when I'm visiting what everyone thinks is mine in jail.

3. "Jonah" & "Joseph"

I feel a little more confident actually putting this down because I've actually met the guy living my life, and I knew he doesn't want to keep it. Given the other stories I've read and heard, and even taking into account that they're not a perfect sample, that wasn't a given.

The current "Jonah" and "Joseph" came down for a visit over February vactation, and I met them for lunch at The Changeling. It was, as you might imagine, kind of weird, but seeing the guy living my life was kind of encouraging, because he hated it.

My first instinct is that he's wrong on that count, but I guess it makes sense considering where he was coming from. Without getting too specific on his name or other details about his real life, we're talking about a white stockbroker in his late twenties or early thirties who has made a fair chunk of money already, likes to party, and just finds something to dislike coming at him from every direction as me: He thinks Mom & Dad are too strict with curfews and church attendance, finds high school boring and unchallenging, and really doesn't like the guy on the next street over who apparently still greets my family with the n-word. He's pretty comfortable about not liking his skin color, too - he's shaved his head because he can't handle my hair (sure, I've done something similar, but I'm not acting like this is some sort of hardship), and after ''Joe" caught him staring at my chest, said he was sorry because he usually "doesn't like black chicks."

That got him a nudge from "Joe", who it turns out was his girlfriend. She seems to be having fun with the situation, flirting with her boyfriend in a way that made him squirm because she was now a guy a couple inches taller than he is.  That height has apparently helped the school's basketball team; she said she always thought she was pretty good for a short person - she was about 5'1" the first time through high school but still got minutes on the girls' JV team before being encouraged to switch to cheerleading - and it was kind of fun to be the surprise star.

Not that I got any impression that she wanted to stay "Joe"; she talked a lot about missing her sisters and how the closest she's gotten to really shopping properly was replacing the clothes she'd grown out of.  15-year-old girls trying to get her attention was kind of creeping her out, too. 

We went out to visit Joseph after lunch, and I have to admit, it was kind of the least nervous I've felt on one of those visits.  Lamont isn't considered a particularly dangerous criminal, especially since Joseph has been a model prisoner, so we get to visit in a fairly open room rather than on either side of a glass partition.  A lot of time, though, I kind of want the glass; "Lamont" may avoid looking directly at me, but a lot of other people there, whether inmates, guards, or other visitors, look hard, even though I don't do anything to provoke them.  Having a young man on either side of me makes me feel a bit safer, even if the one with my face could really stand to be a few inches further away. 

The two Josephs seemed to bond quickly, at least, with the one telling the other that she didn't think she could have handled jail time, and being able to share mostly good news.  I wonder what the guards thought about this nicely-dressed white teenager from a New Hampshire suburb telling Lamont about family stuff, but I suppose they've seen stranger things. 

They weren't completely on the same page, though, with "Joe" rolling her eyes and asking me if this was the first time Joseph said I got the rawest deal.  I said it wasn't, and I wasn't usually inclined to disagree with him, and she said she was sorry to hear that, but with all of us getting our rooms at the Inn booked, I should try to find ways to see that's not the case.

I don't think I'll be doing that, but I am thankful that at least one of us is finding the experience rewarding as well as educational. 

-Jonah/Krystle

Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-wei: Play-acting Part II : There

It's amazing how quickly the memory of long school breaks goes. It hasn't been that long since my first college graduation, but looking at the school calendar and seeing three whole weeks between the end of fall term and the start of spring term kind of blew my mind. I mean, sure, it's not all that time without any responsibilities for a lot of folks at school - they've got jobs and the like - but it still seems like an absurdly long amount of unscheduled time.

Of course, it wasn't completely mine. Even if I wasn't a little prepared for a change of scenery after that play and finals, it was probably past time to really get to know "my" family and friends. The only ones who really made an impression on me back in August and September were my mother Chen-ai and grandmother Yu-ling, with everything else kind of a jet-lagged blur.

This time would be different, sort of like meeting people that one has become friends with online in person for the first time. It was literally that in a lot of cases for me, or very close to it, considering how many words I might have exchanged with people at the birthday party. I've been keeping up with most of Yuan-wei's old friends on-line and spent a lot of time digging deep into their online histories in my last week at Boston University before break - it was actually kind of a good way to take a break from studying for a certain subject but not totally putting my brain into another gear - and felt pretty good about it.

And with reason! Without "must get to party right fucking now!" going on, and just being generally more relaxed in this less-unfamiliar skin, I was able to panic less and just deal with situations at my own speed. It was still weird shifting into Cantonese-mode - binge-watching John Woo movies on the flights only helped so much - but I wasn't a complete deer in the headlights. I'm doing better with Mandarin, too - weekly classes and new movies from Beijing playing in Boston have helped.

I could sort of feel how it had grown easier as certain parts of the trip repeated - get off the plane, not strain so much listening to announcements, smile and maybe even flirt a little going through immigration, recognize the driver and engage in more authentic small talk on the way "home". There's something really assuring about the second time through; "they're gonna catch me" is still in the back of your head, but you can tell that voice to shut up, because the Inn doesn't work that way.

The fancy parts of the city looked fucking amazing as I rode by; though there are a fair number of foreigners and Christians there, Christmas blends into winter solstice celebrations and nobody gets too worked up about religious authenticity or whether things are too commercial, so decorations can be ridiculous and ostentatious and nobody cares. "My" family home had a monster-sized tree, and it was decorated with the careful balance and symmetry that says someone was hired to do it, but, hey, it's not like I need to be worried about some lost family tradition.

Chen-ai seemed a bit warmer this time around, although it's still kind of a weird relationship, maybe. Only having a brother, I don't know what sort of things mothers and daughters do together, but she seemed more curious about my life in America than anything, asking if I'd met any nice boys, being kind of teasingly naughty about how attractive they were. Maybe I should have been grossed out, but I wasn't, at least no more than when when I thought about how much I enjoyed being on the receiving end these days.

Not that I really get attracted to guys yet - I met one of the original Yuan-wei's high school boyfriends, and I liked the guy for hanging out with, but his twin sister was the one where my brain said ''that's attractive", though not with the "I want to fuck her" kick to it. which is good, because Bingbing is one of the best friends I inherited, and I'm guessing she wouldn't be down for that.

I wound up spending a lot of time with Chen Bingbing, both because she thinks we've been besties since the age of six and because she is transferring to an American college for this semester and wanted to practice her English. It's really good - she and Yuan-wei, along with the other friends I spent time hanging out with, went to English-language schools, although their good English isn't my good English.

We partied a lot - Bingbing seemed kind of horrified to hear that most places in America have a minimum drinking age of 21, so we kind of made up for that in advance. I highly recommend a weekend in Macau at one of the big hotel/casino luxury suites if you're ever young, Chinese, and of means.

That would have been a great New Year's Eve, but I felt a bit weird about partying big that night. We'd had a ceremony to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the death of Lee Siu-wong, Chen-ai's husband, who I guess would be my biological father now, the previous night, and it would have been weird to go nuts the next day.

That memorial was a bit strange, one of the times I really tried to act outside of school stuff. I mostly try to just be myself in day-to-day life, because even if I'm not much like the original Yuan-wei in certain respects, folks are going to have to get used to the new me because I'm not going to spend the rest of my life pretending to like things I don't or shit like that. This, though, was really specific and unavoidable, and as much as I don't really miss "Daddy", I don't think I'm quite such a jackass to disrupt things by acting that way.

So I tried to do what they teach in class, reaching into myself for something that brings out the same kind of feelings. I don't know whether I'd say it was hard or easy, because I spend enough time trying not to think about how I'm not likely to see my own Dad again except by some sort of co-incidence where he won't fucking know who I am that it takes a bit of effort to let that out, even without considering how much it's going to hurt. I guess I did all right - I was crying as I lit the joss-sticks and bowed toward Siu-Wong's picture - but it did make me question the idea of making a living doing this, even if the movie-star part looks awesome.

And then... well, fuck, it's why I took a break from writing this for a bit.

It was a few days later. I had stayed the night at one of Yuan-wei's high- school boy-friends' when I got a call asking me to come down to the police station. I had no idea what to expect - had Chen-ai been pulled over or had I inherited parking tickets of some kind? - until they took me to see a detective named Yee who made a little small-talk and then showed me a video.

It was taken on a phone - I've apparently been taking enough film & television classes that the vertical aspect ratio was the first thing that bothered me - and it showed the original Yuan-wei (or me, as far as the cops were concerned) going into some sort of sweet shop and telling the other person (the voice was distorted enough that I couldn't tell if it was male or female) all about the sort of candies and stuff they had in America that this store imported. At first, it was just weird - I kind of felt like a guy again, watching some girl who would never actually talk to me be knowingly cute in a YouTube video, and I kept having to remind myself that I shouldn't feel angry or turned on because I could do all that now.

Until she got to the Fluff.

Marshmallow Fluff is a pretty solidly northeastern thing. I think. It's what it sounds like, a gooey marshmallow paste that you can spread on bread. The Yuan-Wei in the video was talking about how one of her local classmates had dragged her to Somerville's ''Fluff Festival" in the fall, and the most popular use of the stuff was the "Fluffernutter", a dead simple sandwich of Fluff and peanut butter on white bread. She was saying that it's the most bland-but-too-sweet and thus the most American thing you can imagine - "but so good!"

Then the off-screen voice said that was too bad, because it meant I couldn't have one in the house because of my dad, and "I" joked that at least he would die happy. Then the Yuan-wei on the screen bought a jar of the stuff and some Reese's Cups which she said she would have to finish before she got home, and it was the end of the video.

I didn't really need Inspector Yee to do the "obviously, you knew that your father had a severe peanut allergy" exposition straight out of a fucking episode of Law & Order to see what was coming. And let me tell you, I didn't need to draw on any other sort of scary experience to be terrified.

"Inspector Yee, I would never-" I actually found myself stumbling for the right Cantonese words for what I would never do, but he seemed to be able to infer it.

"Not even by accident, just forgetting something was in your purse?"

I yelled "no!", but then something started rolling around in my brain. What if this was the wrong answer, and Yee was asking the question just so that I'd trip up?  Cops do that, right? What if anything I said contradicted anything else they had learned, or even what Yuan-wei had said during any original investigation of Siu-wong's death?

So I went on the offensive. "Who sent you this?"

"Don't you remember?"

I was able to think quick. "No! I hung out with a lot of folks after coming back from my first semester abroad last year, and probably showed weird American things to most of them!"

I guess you could say I successfully sold the performance, because Inspector Yee did back off a bit. I pressed a little, saying that the only reason that somebody would send them this is because they wanted to hurt me, and I deserve to know who is trying to stab me in the back.

The law doesn't exactly look at it this way, of course, and even though the family I've become a part of is pretty well-off, it doesn't appear that we're quite so connected that the cops' first thought when things look suspicious is to try to sweep it under the rug.

Or maybe it is and I just haven't learned how to pick up signals that a public official is fishing for a bribe like I can recognize a guy being interested in me.  There's a fucking one-percenter problem.

It put a bit of a pall over the rest of the trip, as you might imagine, as my brain went into overdrive looking for any sign that the people I hung out with didn't really like "me". I felt a little relief when I saw Bingbing hold her phone horizontally when taking a video a few days later, but worried about Chin when she didn't. It's a really stupid thing to try to parse, but there you go.

I'm not even really sure I should be writing about this now.  I denied having anything to do with Siu-wong's death, but I can't help but wonder - what if that's not the case?  What if the original Yuan-wei made a mistake and that's why she's so willing to live out a life that is such a step down from all this?  I may just be speculating about this, but if Inspector Yee or someone else at the HKPD stumbles over me saying that, it reads like some sort of confession from a girl who has had some sort of fucking breakdown.

Still...  The video.  I went to The Changeling a few days ago and mentioned this to Ashlyn, and she told me about her own stalker/"influencer", the one they called Pygmalion.  She says it's been a few years since she felt she could chalk up anything happening in her life to that, but that he isn't the only one out there who likes fucking with us.  So this is just a question - does it sound like anybody any of you know, or do I just have some sort of enemy on the other side of the world?

- Jordo / Yuan-wei

Innbox: J. and M.

Hey guys, Tori here once more. Sorr I haven't posted lately. Life has actually been kind of crazy and I will have to update you soon. For now, here's a letter from the Innbox. I hesitated before offering to post this person's story because it concerns people who are also posting here, but they're okay with it as it turns out. Another reason I hesitated to post it because it was Valentine's day recently, and well... you'll see :(

And remember, if you've got a story to share, please don't hesitate to e-mail us at tradingpoststories@outlook.com - include your name and "Trading Post Story" in the subject to make sure it stands out!

-Tori

Dear Trading Post,

It hasn't been easy finding my way through this situation but I'm doing my best. My name is J_____ (name withheld on request). Back in the summer, I visited the Trading Post with my girlfriend, M_____. The reservation was a surprise for our first anniversary, as she had told me that the beaches of Maine were the most beautiful part of the country. I was skeptical but booked the trip because, well, that's the kind of guy I am.

She had a point, it was quite impressive scenery... the ocean air, the hiking, walking along hand in hand on the beach. And even if the Inn had a spooky, cold "mysterious secret" vibe, we were enjoying our trip immensely, especially since we didn't have much to do except go for long walks and spend hours and hours in bed. That spooky vibe actually helped us feel a little naughtier, if you catch my drift.

I also just realized... what is it about that place? From the second you step foot in there, you can feel the hairs standing on the back of your neck, some voice deep inside saying "Get out of here!" but you never do. Is that part of the magic? Does it "need" victims? Or am I just too lazy to book another room someplace else?

Then it happened. The thing that happens to everyone who stays there, the thing you all know about. I woke up one morning and rolled over to find a stranger in bed with me. Instead of my petite, blonde girlfriend there was a rather larger person, just lying there asleep on her side, as if nothing was wrong.

She was naked, too - draped only in the tatters of my girlfriend's sexy lace nightie.

I panicked, and let out a scream - only to find my voice had gone up a register. I covered my mouth in a truly bizarre "did that come outta me???" moment, and began noticing all the other strange things. The long reddish brown hair. The slender fingers. The fact that my t-shirt was now several sizes too big... even if it was tented by a pair of petite, perky breasts.

To make a long story short, we realized we had become two different people than we had gone to sleep as - I had become Erin Hanley, and my girlfriend had become Rosie Montand. You've met them through this blog, but if you were wondering what had happened to their bodies, it was us.

So, if you've been reading this blog long enough, you can fill in the blanks: "What the? Are you? Did we? We can't... but we have to!" Believe me, I don't think anyone considers it an easy transition to make. nobody in our group seemed to have experienced it before, so we figured it out together.

Erin was out of work. Rosie worked for the school board and as on summer break. There was a silver lining there... we had time to adjust, I guessed, to figure out a plan and work through it together. But then reality reared its ugly head.

M. was not happy. Yes, she obviously felt bad for me, but she was also very focussed on herself. She was... let's say proud of her appearance. She was gorgeous. If she was taller she could have modeled. She was skinny, sexy, a knockout. Now, she was huge. Tall, heavy-set, unkempt-looking. I told her "I still love you no matter what." It was true. She was hard to comfort, though.

It felt strange trying to wrap my now-shorter arms around her now-larger frame, and talk to her like she was still the woman I loved, but she was.

On the last night before we had to check out - when the Inn was mostly vacant - M. sat me down. Tears in her eyes. I had a whole speech prepared about being brave and seeing it through together. I was going to be the strong boyfriend even though I was secretly terrified (and embarrassed and emasculated and everything.)

She told me she had to do this, no matter what. That she was already thinking of breaking up with me once our trip was over, that she had been having doubts for a long time, and now was probably the time to just admit it and go our separate ways. She felt she couldn't possibly continue "faking it" in this form, and didn't want to use me just to feel good, because she knew it wouldn't last in the long run.

I was shocked. After all that had happened to shake our lives up that week, and now this? The ground just dropped out beneath me. I asked why, couldn't we work it out? Shouldn't we be there for each other?

She said no, if she had to pretend to be Rosie, she was going to do it "right," on her own, and make a clean slate. There was no saving us.

So. She went to Rosie's place in Maine, and I went to Erin's in Indiana. And I just... sat, and moped, and tried to get on with the business of being Erin with nobody by my side who knew who I was. I tried to forget M. ever existed., and in the process I almost forgot that J. existed too. But now it's a new year and I have my reservation for the Trading Post. I am doing fine, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I will put things right the best I can.

M. hasn't answered me to confirm if she is going back too, but I can't see why she wouldn't want to. She was so horrified at the thought of being a plus-sized woman that she locked herself in the bathroom to cry for an hour once we knew there was no way back. She's convinced her old body is so perfect that anyone who wound up in it would "steal" it, but even though that's a possibility, I believe what most people want is to put things right.

I don't know. After all she did to me, I feel like I would have a right to say "To hell with her" and not care what happens either way, but I do care, because it involves other people - good people who deserve better than having their body inhabited by a bitter, self-hating, image-obsessed immature woman like my ex.

-J_____.

Glenn (Peter Malinowski): A visit with my son

When I became "Peter Malinowski," in Maine, my 17-year-old son ("Mason" for the purposes of this blog,) became a 15-year-old girl from around the area I will call "Brooke Shaner." I only had a brief time with him to digest what had happened to us before Brooke's parents came to collect her. She had disappeared weeks earlier, initially to spend the night with Trevor, and then simply vanished (into whatever limbo where bodies are held... a question I don't want to ponder) until Mason's transformation. That's two weeks without knowing where their daughter was. I'm told she concocted some kind of flimsy cover story that was starting to grow suspicious by the time Mason was transformed. Mason's shellshocked appearance upon "rescue" was likely not helpful.

The way they arrived very quickly after the change leads me to believe someone tipped them off, who would have knowledge of the Inn's magic (Mason doesn't seem to think they have a clue.)

As a result, while I've been Peter Malinowski of Dover, Delaware, my son has been living in Maine for the past several months, as a girl somewhat younger than himself, and I have been tearing my hair out (which I shouldn't do since I gained a good amount of it) trying to keep tabs on him from a distance.

Understand, I hadn't been a full-time parent in years before my wife left him with me to go "do good" in Central America. So I'm a little protective of him, and the idea of leaving him with strangers, to play this new role, was frustrating to me, but I had no choice. I wished I could have been there, especially in those scary early weeks. It might have brought us closer together. Instead, we are further apart than ever.

I contact him often, to ask how he is feeling. Mostly he dodges the question by giving simple answers. He tells me things are fine, and I wonder how that can possibly be.

So I told him, over the Christmas holiday, I was going to use some vacation time to go to Maine and see him. He seemed reluctant, but I told him it was non-negotiable. It was a time for family, and he was important to me. All I asked for was one day of his time. By then, he had behaved himself as Brooke to where his disappearance was forgiven and he was getting a bit more leeway with the Shaners to do as he pleased.

I met Mason at a café not far from his house. I was very early. I kept my eyes fixed on the door. I knew what he looked like, but was not used to seeing it in person, so every young lady who walked through the door got an unfortunate once-over from me before proceeding to the counter to order. I had sent a recent photo so that he wouldn't mistake me for someone else. I was being very cautious.

The last time I had seen my son in person, he was very much traumatized, so the mental image I had was of a tense, shuffling, awkward girl. I had to look twice when a comparatively poised, confident young lady breezed into the coffee shop and, after a moment's glance of recognition, took her seat across from me. I didn't know how to react.

She was wearing a green scarf and a dark coat, undone. She had her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She didn't appear to be wearing any makeup, that I could tell - a few spots of acne dotted her face, which made me wonder if Mason would be more or less self-conscious from wearing cover-up (as I believe many teenage girls and grown women do) than letting blemishes show.

"Hey," she said softly. Then, collecting herself, she added "Dad" more softly.

"Hi... Brooke." We were in public, so "Mason" wouldn't do, but his new name stuck in my throat awkwardly. I went in for a hug, and he leaned forward only slightly in his seat to allow it.

"Sorry, I didn't know how I should..." he said, before trailing off.

"I understand," I said - even in our normal form our hugs were perhaps not as comfrotable as they could have been. "Are you going to have anything?" Maybe later, he said.

I asked how things had been. I had asked often enough over text, but there he was able to be evasive. I hoped in person he would be forthcoming.

"It's okay," he said. We weren't off to a good start. "School is easy since I took a lot of these classes already, but I get a little tired of repeating stuff. Brooke's friends are good people."

"Interesting," I said, "Do you feel like... you fit in?"

"Sure," he said.

"Is it strange?" I asked, "Having a body so different? Are you okay with it?"

"Yeah, it's fine," he said, "It took some getting used to, but, like, it's been months, so whatever."

I guess I didn't expect him to tell me if he spent his nights crying about it. But his phrasing, that it "took some getting used to," suggested he was now officially "used to it." This would be in line with what I knew about Leon, and Cathy for that matter. The implication that he was as used to it as they were, or most of the people who go through this blog, unsettled my stomach.

"Tell me about your new friends, then, what are they like?"

"They're ok. They make fun of me because they think Brooke is going through a serious tomboy phase, not to mention becoming a total amnesiac about her own life, but they're still nice to me. That part is really reassuring. We hang out a lot. I was afraid to ask for girl tips from them but I get a lot of info just from listening to them talk."

"Okay, that's good."

"It's better than when I was living with you, because I didn't have any friends in Illinois."

Ouch. But at least he was finding silver linings. And it didn't really sound like he was blaming me for that...

He named off a few friends... Katies, Melissas, Lauras. They sounded like typical teenage girls, discovering make-up and fashion and, yes, boys.

Then he started naming boys who were friends of Brooke's - Dereks and Lukes and Brads. "Brad and I watched a few football games together. Luke's into Xbox, so we stay up late playing over the headset. Derek is always the first to sit next to me at lunch."

To write it out, it might sound very innocent, but as he described it, he was practically swooning.

I took my time formulating a response to this. I wanted to be fair to this but I also wanted information.

"And how do you feel about the way these boys treat you? Is it... different from how it used to be?"

He scoffed a perfect teenage girl huff. "Obviously."

"And... do you like it?"

"I don't know, kinda," he said, shifting in his seat. "Are you asking if I like boys now?"

"No, well... I would like to know if you have thoughts on it. You don't have to hide that from me."

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. It's weird."

So now it was weird. A minute ago he kinda liked it. I'm trying to remember what it was like been a teenager and having lots of confusing feelings.

"I don't want you to judge me," he said, "If I'm not some all American super boy like you want."

"I don't care about that. Who told you I did?"

"Trevor," he said. "He told me you were really rooting for him when he went out for the football team."

"You talked to Cathy?" I said, using 'Trevor's' proper/original name.

"Sure, we have lots in common." I supposed that was true, in a sense. Their experience is... closer to each other's than mine. But it still felt like a betrayal because neither mentioned it before now and I had no idea what they were saying to one another.

"Did you know that she's dating?" I said, maybe a little spitefully.

"Yeah," Mason said. "It's not really dating though. Nothing official."

That didn't make me feel more at ease.

"You should be careful, Mase," I said firmly, "These boys probably are interested in you, at least some of them."

"So?" he sneered petulantly, "I can make my own decisions."

"So... I don't want you to do something you'll regret."

"You don't trust me," Mason said, crossing his arms under his breasts and looking away.

"It's not that. I just don't trust... other people."

"If I was a boy, you would never talk to me this way. You're a sexist."

"You don't know what you're saying!" I snapped back. "It's different for girls and boys, okay? You at least know that much, right?"

"I can handle it. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. You don't even know me."

"Apparently I don't."

We sat there silently for a moment, then he murmured, "You're hooking up with Leon, for God's sake, and that guy is digusting. Don't talk to me about urges okay?"

I was aghast. Finally, I sputtered, "What I do, what adults do, is none of your concern. You're still a child, you're my child, and that makes you my responsibility."

"Oh yeah?" he said, standing up to leave, He leaned in and hissed "Why should I listen to you? I'm not your son anymore."

"You think it's that easy?" I said, frustrated, "That some magic curse overrides my parental responsibility? Poof, you're a stranger to me?"

"Why not? You had no problem handing me over to them - and they're way nicer than you anyway."

"I was never mean to you! Don't make a scene. Is this... just your hormones or something?"

That, admittedly, was the wrong thing to say. He left, saying only "Don't follow me."

I felt very bad after he left, especially for the hormones remark. I was very bothered by the fact that my timid, introverted son would never have spoken to me that way. Had estrogen warped his brain, or was he finally about to really let out what he really felt, emboldened by the fact that he no longer had to rely on me for parental support, and no longer had an identity that was tied to mine. That he can declare me a stranger so quickly was startling.

I sent a very carefully worded e-mail to him afterwards, acknowledging that things had not always been perfect between us - I stopped short of outright apologizing because 1) I firmly believe I did my best, and 2) I think it is a sign of weakness for a parent to apologize to his child so quickly. I told him that no matter his feelings, I had his best interests in mind 100% of the time, and that, with nobody nearby who knows his situation, it is incumbent on me to help him get his normal body back.

Assuming that is what he wants.

If he would rather be a girl? Well, I suppose the chips will fall where they may, but there is a woman in upstate New York who lived the first 16 years of Brooke's life, and I doubt she would be pleased about being cut off from it, and I told him so.

Mason sent me a lengthy e-mail in response, in which he also did not apologize for his behavior but hinted at admitting wrongdoing. He defended his attitude and admitted things "had been difficult" to figure out (re: identity and sexuality, I guessed) and that I hit a nerve by suggesting he was somehow wrong to feel that way.

I told him I didn't mean to give that impression, only to give the advice I would want to give a daughter, if I had one, about boys' intentions. I guess that was both stupid (because he was a boy and knew their intentions) and  a double-standard, because I had never warned him off of girls and in fact encouraged him to do his best to win them over.

Mea culpa on that one.

The last part of my response concerned Cathy/Trevor, who I assured him was NOT the son I wanted. I wanted him, no matter who he is - athletic or nerdy (apparently that's a cool thing to be called now?) boy or girl.

He appreciated my saying so. Once that was smoothed over, we agreed to meet again before I left town. This time he arrived wearing pre-ripped jeans (I had no idea those were back in style, yuck.) I asked if his legs got cold, and he laughed it off. I complimented his hair, which was up in a messy bun.

"Thanks... it's not that hard once you learn the basics."

Things were a lot more warm between us this time. He told me that no matter what, he did want to go back to being himself. He didn't know how to make it work, given that the Shaners were going to be watching their daughter like a hawk come summertime, considering her disappearance last year. He thought maybe he could get one of the girls to claim they were going on vacation together. I don't like the idea of a child having to lie to parents, but obviously we have limited options. I told him to let me know.

Lane/Kari: The Last Person to Know

I use this blog partly as a way to tell my story and get feedback from others in a similar situation, and partly to organize my thoughts regarding being in someone else's body and life in a place where they won't seem like gobbledygook to anyone who reads it. (Although I'm sure all of you unaffected by the curse think of this as some sort of very well written work of fiction). Anyway looking back at my writing and the comments it seems most of you were able to put together what I wasn't willing to admit to myself, that I was attracted to Darius.

My last post was a few hours before going out with him, I literally hit "publish" and then went to take a shower. My thoughts from that entry were swimming in my mind, especially the last part. Being in this body is literally a curse, but it's also an opportunity in some ways. In the last 6 months I haven't just learned what it's like to be a woman but also a mother, Latina, and a high school dropout. Sometimes, on VERY rare occasions, I'm a little grateful for the perspective I've gained from the unique situation I've been in. Most people only get one lens to view the world from in their life time, now I've got two. It was this appreciation for experiences that could only be had as Kari that took the evening where it went.

It was an unseasonably warm day, with a high in the 50s, something I was really grateful for after what can be a bitter cold Michigan winter (which has since continued) so that evening I wasn't all bundled up in Kari's faux-fur lined parka but rather a cute little black jacket that paired well with a skirt and a set of leggings. (I am going to miss leggings, there is no male equivalent and they are so much warmer than slacks.) We had driven out to Royal Oak, which is one of the larger suburbs to this cool little bar that had just opened up. This was the weekend before the Super Bowl and I think it might have been the first time in awhile that we were together for non-sports-related reasons.

We sat across from each other, while he drank beers that I suggested while I drank soda. My decision not to drink was probably a clear sign that I was going to go through with this, that I wanted to make the decision sober. We talked about politics, and he was surprised at some of mine since I appear to be a single mother but am in reality an investment banker (We won't go full into details, to avoid alienating the audience). We talked about our childhoods, or rather we talked about his and I made stuff up based on what I pieced together from photos and stories Pilar tells. We talked about work and the weather and anything else, but we just talked. No awkward pauses in the conversation and definite chemistry.

After his third beer I suggested we take a walk, not only because I didn't want HIM to be too drunk but also because the bar was on this nice little main street that Royal Oak has. The snow had partially melted during the day before freezing again when the sun went down. This created a partially dangerous driving condition but it also made for a very pretty sight on all the trees with the streetlights twinkling off the ice. We held our gloved hands together as we looked at all the store windows shut for the night.

He complimented my hair, which was a good move. If I could give you men one piece of advice on how to talk to women that I've learned from my time as one it would be to compliment their hair. Half a dozen guys every day compliment me on my ass, which is amazing but it's a bit crass and very off putting. The ones who try to seem not creepy but are actually still creepy will always compliment my eyes, even when I'm not wearing any makeup and have bags under them, because they read on some pick up artist website that it works like a charm.

I was born with....I mean Kari was born with pretty eyes and a big butt, but the hair takes effort. I had to wash and tease and style for 30 minutes that afternoon to get it to have just the right amount of curls in just the right places. Darius complimenting my hair was basically saying "Your effort paid off". That got me feeling confident enough that when we got to where his car was parked I pulled him down to eye level at kissed him.

"Took you long enough" He said with this confident smirk that is just maddening

"Would you rather I wait a little longer?" I asked coyly with a twirl of the hair that looks equally maddening

"I was just letting you make the first move"

"My car is parked all the way at the other end of the street"

"I could give you a ride down to it"

"Or we could just go back to your place"

Car rides after lines like that are always a bit weird. Like, we both knew there was going to be some physicality but talking about it would break the mood and seatbelts were preventing us from getting an early start. I guess I could have rubbed his thigh or something, but I didn't think of that in the moment. I still don't know all the right things to do as a girl.

We got back to his apartment, which was just as nice as I remembered and he offered a drink but I headed straight to the bedroom with him following eagerly. I took off my skirt, blouse, and parka and climbed on top of his bed in my bra and ran into the one major drawback of leggings, and that's that there is no way to look sexy taking them off, especially if you have thick thighs. I wiggled out of them as gracefully as I could and looked up to see him standing there in just his boxer briefs. I've seen him in a tank top before and I knew he had nice abs and arms, and even when I was a man I knew what a nice looking male aesthetic was, but now it was sending all sorts of signals all over my body. I stared up at him with my legs half open and a look on my face that said "Get inside me now."

Darius had other ideas, initially. The few dozen times I've had sex with Latherman over the last three months it's basically been "lay back and let him do what he wants as quick as possible". Darius, he started with kissing. Not slobbering like a horny animal but kissing me in just the right spots to make my arousal slowly build. I was so wrapped up in it all that I didn't notice when he had gotten my bra and panties off, just that I was soaking wet and the air felt cool between my legs. Darius did a sort of cocky laugh as he moved his head there and went to work. He was right to be confident because in seconds had me squirming and moaning. He somehow could tell when I was close because he stopped with me right on the edge and took his underwear off.

It's taken me awhile to come to terms with how I feel about the male anatomy. Years of kind of looking past them in porn and not paying attention to Latherman's if I could help it gave way to noticing bulges and eventually appreciation. I audibly appreciated Darius' when I let out a little whimper at the sight of it. That was his cue to climb on top of me.

This wasn't my first time having sex as a woman, but it was my first time having sex with a man face to face, or rather face to chest, stomach, or whatever part of his body was at eye level since he moved around a lot. This was a whole new level of intimacy that enhanced the physical feeling. At least we started out in missionary, before I somehow wound up on my hands and knees with my ass in the air. I was too blissed out to complain though, and there is a lot more friction and a good angle in that position. He was getting good and deep when my whole body tensed up and squeezed him tight in waves of pleasure, causing me to hear a "Oh Shit" from behind me as I felt him twitch inside me. He had put on a condom, which was thoughtful of him even though I've been taking Kari's birth control since August.

We both started laughing as we cuddled close. I said something to him, I think, but it was probably unintelligible. There's something about a really good female orgasm that makes you almost drunk for a few minutes afterwards. Darius seemed to tired to care, and fell asleep withing too minutes, but I wont' hold that against him since I knew what a workout it could be for a guy.

****************

I wrote most of that post on Saturday, and stopped in the middle of it because of how much of a slut it made me sound. This afternoon I was reflecting on that word and how it's used. It literally means a woman who has too much sex, as if there is some arbitrary limit on how much sex a woman is allowed to have before it reflects poorly on her.

I also had some sort of internal hangup about just how much sex a man changed into a woman is allowed to have before it reflects poorly on him. Most of the former men on this blog didn't begin having sex regularly or enjoy having sex until it was clear to them that they weren't going to be men ever again. I'm going to be a man again in a few months and I'm going to have to deal with all the weird baggage that memories of those feelings and sensations for the rest of my life, and I knew that going in.

The best part out of all this was re-claiming some sort of sexual independence. It's not that I've been coerced into having sex with Latherman, but I wouldn't do it if there was another way to keep a roof over Ashley's head. Everything about Darius, from the moment I met him, was something I chose. Whatever memories I have of female sexuality won't be from something I don't fully enjoy, but also something that I REALLY enjoyed.

And will probably do again.