Simon Woodford: The Conference Day Three, The Curse, and Abe

Yesterday was an incredibly busy day where I discovered the Inn's "curse," namely that it transforms people who stay there into the appearance of the person who had visited before. If I weren't living proof, I would never believe it, but I guess looking at this blog I've got years and years of people backing me up. Frickin' crazy. And fantastic, like I didn't have enough to worry about this weekend???

My plan for the day was to track down Abe Fowler at the last day of the conference and take another swing at getting his business. It was all I could think of overnight until I woke up and noticed... something's different. Namely, my 6'1 male frame has shrunk down into a 5'7 female one. A skinny chick with shoulder-length blonde hair and a pretty face. Really pretty - bright blue eyes, cute little button nose and full pouty lips... she looks like a little bunny rabbit, seriously. Except the problem is she's me. I'm her. Whatever. I'm in this body and I don't like it, but right then I just couldn't care.

Because of my little interaction the day before, I figured I had to at least check on Headscarf Girl next door, because she might know something about it. Not that I thought she was responsible or anything, but I'm feeling pretty aggro and I decided I'd go take it out on her if possible, or at least see if she's in the same boat. So I throw on my swim trunks - they feel like they belong to a basketball player compared to this body but it's the only thing I can tighten enough to fit over my slim little hips - and wrap my upper body in a towel, and knock insistently on her door. And the person who answers is... not who I was expecting.

It's another girl. A little shorter than me and a little curvier (in all the right places, I notice) with one of those cool-girl trendy sideswipe undercut hairdos with a pink (well, fuchsia I later learned) slice of hair brushed over the side of her face. And she gives me this look like she recognizes me, and maybe she's been expecting me but is also surprised to see me?

That stops me a moment but I go on. "Hi... My name's Simon Woodford, I've been staying in the room next door... Do you have any idea... what's going on?"

She sighed. "Yes... come in." I asked if she was the girl with the headscarf, and she said yes... her real name is Treena Savoy, not Nazim Khan, but she had to spend 9 months as an Arab girl after staying here last year. This weekend she had returned because her body was "in limbo" all winter while the Inn was closed.

And me? I now appeared to be her roommate, Joy Kershaw. She huffed about the fact that Joy hadn't made it back from her time as "Brian," as they had lost touch over the course of the year. That explained the side-eye I got when I arrived.

Soon we were joined by another young woman, a black girl. This was Cerise, who had been the "cougar" I described earlier, and was the only other "returning" visitor from last September (so I was right about them being vacation friends...) They start talking about what they're going to tell the poor folks who have also been transformed, and I'm politely following along, taking it all in and squirming in my seat (because I can feel my new, um, gear under me...) when my brain decides it's had enough and that I've got more important things to do. Curse be damned, I have my conference.

I know, that seems totally irrelevant at this point, but I figure there will be time to sort out all this transformation mumbo jumbo later, but if I don't produce some results for Aldine, it's my ass - or I guess whoever winds up with my ass. So forgetting what I look like, all my brain can think of is, "How do I land that Texas account??" I mean, why not? If anything, this is a blessing in disguise. Abe has already seen Simon and dismissed him. Maybe Joy would have better luck.

Of course, they look at me like I've just grown a second head (or, y'know, tits,) but they're willing to help. I don't have shit to wear since Joy was going to return and bring her own clothes, but I'm kind of close in size to Cerise's cougar body, so they hook me up. They go through her clothes for ages, thinking "What about this, does this go with that?" And I'm just thinking, "Give me something that fits and let's go!" How hard can it be??

Is it weird walking around in some strange woman's clothes? You bet your ass. Not to mention I looked all frumpy and middle-aged. Anyone looking at me would be able to tell Joy did not look like she was wearing her own clothes at all, in clunky ill-fitting shoes, beige slacks, a floral top and a blue blazer with shoulderpads... the handful of women I had seen at the conference were all dressed to impress. I was dressed like I was dropping the kids off at Sunday School. But it would have to do. I was going to run right out with my hair all messy, but Cerise stopped me and said that if I was going to do this, I would have to do it right, so she did a quick bun which... the oddness of having your hair pulled back behind your head aside (and long enough to do so) helped give me one less thing to worry about. (I asked, why not a ponytail, and she said those were for laundry day and the gym. Ok...) I grabbed my shoulderbag, which later caused me all sorts of neck pain, and ran to my car. Ugh. Having to adjust the seat and the mirrors was just another reminder that I was now small and dainty...

One thing I did not wear was a bra. They could not supply one small enough to fit over Joy's modest bust, so I went without. The last thing I needed was some tight straightjacket thing irritating me sensitive new skin, and besides, feeling them bounce around under there - ever so slightly - wasn't too bad.

After successfully negotiating my way in to the conference without photo ID, I searched the floor for Abe (not too many people are looking to crash trade shows.) Obviously he wouldn't recognize me, but that was hopefully to my advantage. Any intimidation factor I felt while walking the floor as this petite female disappeared once I started mentally preparing m pitch, which I was sure this time I could nail. Abe was hard to miss - at 6'5 he had already towered over me in my natural look. I shadowed him a while, losing myself in the crowd, really noticing how small I had become. I felt like I was disappearing, but I knew I didn't have the luxury of giving in. I was about to make my big move when... woosh. Some jerk spilled his coffee on my top.

I screeched at him, "Watch it asshole!" - Usually I'm more tactful than that but today I just wasn't up to it - And he responded, "You watch it, crazy bitch!" That made me hot under the collar.

I went to the restroom to settle down. That was my next strange feeling... crossing the threshold to the Ladies' and nobody batting an eye. If I can be honest, it was surreal... public restroom, no urinals, extra stalls... a little shelf for purses and whatnot. A lot of my experience that day was defined by "Close but not quite what I'm used to." I took the opportunity to sit on the toilet seat lid, catch my breath, and count to ten before splashing some water on my face in the sink.

I was a mess. My face was puffy, I had noticeable blemishes that make-up probably would have hidden. The top was not salvageable, so I made a command decision just to chuck it in my bag and button my blazer all the way up. Now I was basically topless. If the button on that jacket failed, it was hello world.

The other women passed me by and I could hear them audibly scoffing at the hot mess staring at herself in the mirror, and tried to ignore their opinions. But they had a point. I didn't look like, or feel like, I belonged. But Simon Woodford isn't a quitter, and I wasn't gonna skulk away in defeat. This was still manageable.

I saw a woman at the next mirror over applying some lipstick. I took a chance and asked if I could borrow some, and she said sure. Then she took a look at me and asked if there was anything else I needed. I gave a smile, "Whatever you've got... a new wardrobe if possible, my... um, bags got lost and these are loaners. And now my top is soaked in coffee"

"Yeah honey, I can tell," she smirked back. "But I think you can work it. Here." She dug some stuff out of her purse... lipstick, foundation, mascara, and eyebrow pencil. I asked if she minded lending a hand, since I "don't normally" wear makeup. She was happy to oblige and I was honestly a little touched.

We chatted a bit, and she asked a few questions about myself... I gave short, mostly truthful answers and turned them around on her in case we had a chance to network. It was the first time I had said my new name out loud, which came out in a weird stammer, like I was guessing: "S'J...oy. Kershaw? Aldine Solutions." Her name was Mary, and she was selling office supplies... nothing much I could do with that but you never know. It was a friendly conversation while I was receiving this 5-minute makeover. I definitely never expected myself to be the recipient of the beauty treatment, but the whole time I'm thinking Eyes on the prize, worry about freaking out later.

Once that was settled I felt like a new man... woman... person. I strode out onto the conference floor with a bit of confidence and found Abe in a circle of men all laughing it up. I was about to barge right in, but I felt like I'd be overpowered. Better to wait for a moment, and finally like 20 minutes later I had my opening when Abe broke off to hit the Men's room.

I met him on the way out. "Abe Fowler right? TexWest Energy?"

He peered down me and furrowed his brow, like he couldn't quite decide what I was supposed to be. I guess I couldn't either, but at least he seemed intrigued enough by how much skin I was showing. His eyes seemed to land on the area just above my chest.

"That's right," he said in his southern drawl, "And who might you be?" The way he said it had this biting sense of condescension that prickled the back of my neck but I fought through it.

I said my new name with more confidence than when I had met Mary. "Joy... Kershaw, Aldis Solutions. I believe one of my colleagues spoke to you yesterday about your supply needs."

"I seem to recall a reedy feller who thought he was real slick."

Again I secretly bristled, but I had to free myself of my ego. "Yeah," I said self-deprecatingly, "He can be a real cocky son of a gun," I said with a smirk, trying to imitate his speech patterns to butter him up.

"Son of a bitch is more like it," he guffawed, "I checked around and the prices he offered were way above what some of the local vendors can promise."

He was bluffing. I'd researched the local vendors. I knew their rates. Lower, but not much lower than ours.

I had to think quick, but luckily my mouth seems to know better than my brain sometimes, because it had a plan, "What if I told you I could waive some service charges for you for your first year, and offer a bulk order discount of 25%, way lower than our usual rate?"

He smiled, "Now why didn't your friend say as much?" Because he hadn't thought of it, and wasn't sure he was able to pull it off. "I'm still a trifle nervous about getting into bed with you folks..." he said, looking me up and down, "But if you're on the up and up I could see us forming a relationship."

The way he looked at me made me feel like a meal on a plate to him. But the sale was everything: "We would love that," I said, only afterward realizing that that wording probably implied more than I meant.

"I'm not signing anything just yet," he said, "And it's real crowded in here. What do you say you and me meet up for dinner tonight at 8?"

For a second I was silent, my breath caught in my throat. I'd had dinner with clients and potential clients hundreds of times, but I knew the guy meant something... else. It had totally escaped my imagination that if I left the Inn that morning I might be propositioned, even though I know women in this line often get that treatment. And I had no idea how they deal with it.

"Thaaaat... would be nice..." I said, my reluctance clearly audible in my voice, "But I'm afraid I've got an early flight back to Cleveland right after we wrap up here." To salvage it, I blamed outside forces, "The stupid airline lost my luggage and I really can't stay any longer. I hope you understand?"

"Uh huh," he said, losing interest. I handed him our information packet and a contract to bring back to his people in Texas. He left me with a really vague "We'll see." He asked for a card and I said I didn't have one - again my "bags" were lost - but Simon did, and "he" could put Abe right in touch with me.

And then what? I guess we'll see.

I slunk out early, my only reason for leaving the Inn having been completed... successfully or not.

It was chaos there as everyone had awoke to find their changes. I'm sure some people got it worse than I did, I even spotted a few old-looking folks, so it sucks to be them I guess.

I just went right to my room, kicked off Cerise's cougar shoes - which had left my tender feet blistered and sore, for all my troubles - slipped off my jacket and laid face down on my bed to rest. I castigated myself for not trying harder - finding some way to convince myself to go to dinner with Abe and worrying about the repercussions of that later. But I was seriously pushing my comfort zone there and I frankly just wanted to be done for the day, as the reality of my situation set in.

I made a few good business contacts on the first few days, with some loose agreements for new business so overall I would say it was still a productive weekend. But landing TexWest would have pretty much ensured the success of Aldine on the East Coast, and I would be the responsible one. Okay, some other bozo is going to get my body and he'd get the credit and probably a promotion, but if he can keep things steady for me when I can get my body back (as Treena and Cerise assure me I can, only next fall...) I'd be set with that company for life, or at least have a nice little plus for me resume. I would hate to think I wasted that chance just because I couldn't play nice with Abe.

I mean, as Simon I've made deals like that hundreds of times and I never had to have them slobber over me at dinner. Why should Joy's life be so much harder?

The rest of the weekend was a blur. I caught up on sleep an soothed my aching feet, head, neck and back. Treena provided me some more info, which I'll share later. Right now I've got to plot my next move.

Regards,
Simon... aka "Joy" for now

Simon Woodford: Conference Day Two

Okay, no strip club for me tonight. Got in at 3 AM this morning and couldn't sleep. New Englanders can drink! It was a wild time, for sure... I managed to hook up with this college girl who was there with her friends (I love it when chicks go to strip clubs, they think it makes them so badass!) She was a bit on the chubby side so she wouldn't have been my first choice, but she was all over me so how could I resist?  (And besides, I was wingmanning for my potential clients, so they got dibs on the hottest ones... though I think they struck out.) She asked me to stay at her hotel in Portland, but I needed to get back to OOB. Still, I've got her number...

The downside is, I was feeling like hot garbage all day today and I could barely focus. The worst part is, I met our potential biggest fish and I barely had enough energy to bait my hook.

His name's Abe Fowler, tough good ole boy in his 50's from a Texas energy company. They're also looking to expand operations into the Northeast... which means they don't have any local contacts either, at least nothing set in ink. Problem is I was just so unfocused my pitch was a total miss. I feel like if I approach it fresh tomorrow I can win him over, but my boss is gonna be ticked if I spend the rest of my time on this one guy and walk away empty handed. I need a strategy. I need all the charm I've got. I may need hookers (that's a last resort.)

When I got back to the Inn, I ran into headscarf girl. I gave her a polite nod, and she gave me a similar look to the way the cougar looked at me on Thursday... suspicious, I guess. So I ask, "can I help you?" and she says, "Is that your room?"

I say of course it is. She asks, "Sorry, I thought it was booked by someone else."

Nope, just me. But if she's looking for someone in particular, I say, I've seen most of the people staying here this weekend.

So she says "Yeah, kind of an older gentleman, maybe 60. Goes by the name Brian."

Nope, haven't seen him. She said a quick "thanks" and turned to go into her room. Weird, I thought, but I just went on my way.

I was feeling so beat up, all I want to do is bring some dinner back to my room... I was hoping the rain would clear up enough that something would be happening at the beach, but that doesn't look to be the case.

Cheers,
Simon

Lane Kari: Unexpected Day

I had planned to make my next post about going out last Friday night, but it really wasn't all that eventful. Just going out with Rosita, drinking a little to a lot, dancing, and not driving home. I've gotten a lot less nervous about doing that lately, and I probably deep down enjoy the attention. I think it has something to do with no longer being afraid of my body, if that makes any sense. Friday and Saturday nights were mostly just people in outfits that might have been mildly offensive wishing me a happy Cinco de Mayo on "my" holiday. Either way I didn't pay for a shot of tequila once.

Sunday morning Ashley jiggled me awake gently, which was weird because usually if I'm hungover and she's annoyed and needs something she'll either yell to wake me up or violently shake me.

"What time is it?" I asked groggily

"12:30" She said opening the curtains "I'd let you sleep in more but our reservations are at 1:30"

I lifted my head up in curiosity "Reservations?"

"IHOP. I thought about making you pancakes but I forgot how, so brunch will have to do." With that she climbed onto the bed and gave me a big hug.

"Happy Mother's Day"

If you haven't noticed the pattern yet I'm bad with dates, especially ones that aren't etched in stone in my brain. I forgot day of the dead, cinco de mayo, and if it weren't for constant calendar reminders Ashley's birthday would have been forgotten.

I haven't lived with my Mom for years, so most Mother's days I'm reminded shortly after waking up what day it is. That leads to overpaying for same day flower delivery and a two hour phone conversation. Today my reminder came with a hug and some very bright sunlight before being told to hurry up and shower.

When I was clean and dressed Ashley drove us to the pancake house. Did I mention she can drive now? I think somewhere in my various gaps in posting she passed her driver's test with a perfect score and can now drive, which I make her do often. Now she's the one who goes to the grocery store when I forget something, or grabs some shampoo at Walmart when we run out, or buys her own emergency school supplies. The novelty of driving hasn't worn off yet so she hasn't complained. After a quick trip that involved a tricky but perfectly executed "Michigan Left" turn we were there.

Like all restaurants on Mother's Day, IHOP was packed for brunch. There was a line out the door of people who hadn't thought to call ahead like Ashley, and thanks to her foresight we were seated quickly, although the service was understandably slow.

While we waited, she was talkative and engaging, asking me questions about boring things like work, or movies, or TV...how she's glad I'm finally into Game of Thrones. It was kind of weird seeing her like that.

Many Teenage girls are, have always been, and will always be talkative. I went to high school just before the ubiquity of cell phones and I remember the constant chatter in our high school halls. Girls these days can be just as chatty, they're just doing it digitally. Ashley is constantly texting, several thousand a month, so she's only quiet in the audio sense. Today she had turned her phone off and we sat and had breakfast face to face and it was kind of refreshing.

When the check came I reached for my purse but she waved me off.

"I'll pay"

"Where did you get money?" I asked. She doesn't have a job or an allowance. I briefly though she might have been selling drugs at school but there were no signs of that in her behavior.

"You know how you send me places? I always tell you things cost a little more and keep the change"

I was actually a little proud of her cleverness. I couldn't really faulting her for skimming money when because even though I earned it was Kari's money for the purposes of taking care of her.

When we got to the car she surprised me with a big hug.

"Happy Mother's Day"

"Thank you. It was very thoughtful"

"I know I forget it some years, and others I kind of blow it off. But I wanted to make sure I did something nice this year. To say thank you. You know, for all you've done this last year."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been...I dunno....better somehow? You don't go out drinking on weeknights, you always go into work, you've stopped smoking pot, and I haven't woken up to a strange guy in the bathroom in ages. It's like you've become a whole nother person."

She was absolutely right. She had no idea, nor would she ever, that her mother's body was currently being occupied by someone else but I'm different enough that she had guessed it.

"These last few months have meant a lot to me" She continued "Helping with the driving, letting me hang out with dad, learning math so you could help me with ACT studying. I've noticed the effort"

I hugged her partially because it was a nice thing to say, partially for her to avoid the guilty confused look on my face. This was someone else's daughter, and her she was saying how great a mom I've suddenly become now that the original wasn't there. I was proud of myself and heartbroken for Kari. Ugh, these emotions.

That was obviously almost 3 weeks ago but I wanted to write it down, even though I've had almost no motivation to do so. But with all the other poster's keeping their stories alive, as well as poor Simon who can't know what's about to happen to him, I wanted to make sure I shared it. It was just a bit of a profound moment for me. That was a day I'd never thought I'd have, a Mother's day, and I got to experience the kind of gratitude few men ever will. My time in Detroit is winding down, I head to the Inn next month, and I have to say that of all the horrible things I've had to endure in this life, that day kind of justified my whole approach and the feelings I felt are going to stay with me forever.

-Lane

Simon Woodford: The Conference Day One

Woof, I am exhausted. I can barely even muster up the energy to go out and grab a post-convention beer. But okay, if you insist...

So that survey said I could continue to post my thoughts. Again, I doubt that 1) anyone is reading and 2) anyone cares but yes, as I said before, I'm a sales rep with an industrial goods company from Cleveland looking to expand our business northeast. The top sales rep, to be exact. Am I an expert in tool and die or HVAC or any of the things I'm selling? Maybe not, but I do consider myself an expert in people... in convincing them they need what I'm selling.

It can be exhausting, pressing the flesh, delivering spiel after spiel about what a great thing it will be to have Aldine in this neck of the woods, and please consider us for all your construction and manufacturing needs. I think I come across as a real honest, upstanding guy... exactly what I want them to think!

Okay, seriously. I just want to do right by my company, and I'm willing to do a lot to make clients... and potential clients... happy. Which is why I'm just about to hit a 3.6-star topless joint down in Portland, to show some of these pigeons a good time. Well, an okay time, since I'm not really sanctioned to go much further than that.

More people have arrived at the Inn, so that noise concern I had is starting to come true. The girl in the room next door arrived today, seemed to be acquainted with the cougar down the hall. They hugged when they saw each other. Guess they were vacation-friends from last year. Facebook and Twitter and whatnot makes it pretty easy to keep in touch with such people, I suppose. She appears to be Middle Eastern, in her 20's (wearing a pink head scarf. She's actually kinda cute besides that) and alone so I'm hoping she doesn't make a lot of noise... but I'm also hoping that if I happen to bring someone back to my room, she won't complain about any noise I make.

I should be so lucky. I'll probably have one drink, followed by water disguised as vodka, then crawl into bed as early as possible so I can get up and start the whole process over tomorrow.

Peace and love,
Simon

Simon Woodford: I found this survey on the floor of my hotel room

"We invite you to post your responses to this survey at any time during your stay, to our online guestbook at the e-mail address provided. The more detail the better, but please note that your responses will be publicly viewable." Ok... seems legit...

Name? Simon Woodford


Age? 31

Place of Origin? Cleveland, OH

Occupation: Sales and marketing, Aldine Solutions... we sell industrial goods (machine parts, construction, etc etc.) Not exactly exciting, and it's not a huge company but we're looking to expand and right now I'm the top representative. Not that I'd say I have a passion for the product, I just like selling whatever gets put in front of me, you know?

Relationship status? I have a few girls I can text back in The Cleve, but nothing serious or long term...

How would you describe your physical appearance? Weird question for a customer service survey. Um... I'm 6'1, short brown hair, brown eyes, stubble... I wear glasses when I drive... if I'm being hard on myself, I have days where I seriously feel the need to measure my hairline, and maybe my abs could be firmer and I could shed a pound or ten, but I do OK with the ladies so I don't really feel the need to worry about it.

Have You Visited The Trading Post Inn Before? Nope


How Did You Hear About Us? Was booked by my company, basically wasn't given a choice... like, "Here's the cheapest room we could find in Maine on short notice, have fun!"


Reason For Visit? Sales convention, networking, and a good old fashioned vacay if I can fit one in. Basically, my company is looking to expand its presence nationally, and guess who got tapped on the shoulder to make that happen. But hey, it's a free week of sun and fun by the beach... if it stays warm.

Are you traveling alone? Yes, the company put all this trust in me... what a big shot I am!

How would you describe your experience with the Inn so far? A little rustic, I don't usually go in for the whole "spooky ancient hunting lodge" vibe... but I guess I could see it as romantic, in a certain light... if I had anyone to bring back here. A lot of rooms jammed into a pretty small space, so I'm worried about noise but so far it appears I'm the third or fourth one here and we're all keeping to ourselves.

Have you interacted with any of the other visitors? See above... except the middle-aged lady two doors down gave me the side-eye as I was heading into my room. She looked like there was something she wanted to say to me, but couldn't bring herself to. Methinks I've spotted a cougar in the wild...



Upon arriving at the Inn, did you discover any luggage left behind by previous visitors? I take it back, that is a weird question. This happens often enough that they need to ask about it? How about a cloak room, guys. No, I've now searched my room from top to bottom and there's nothing there. It's just as well. I'm the kind of guy who will totally skim money from a wallet if I find it. (Should I be admitting that? Pfft, who cares. Nobody's reading this I bet.)

Tyler/Alan: Milwaukee and a fresh(ish) start

Shacking Up

There was some hostility between me and Kitty when I arrived in Milwaukee, mostly stemming from the fact that neither of us expected to see the other. As far as I knew, when Kitty became Greta (and her husband became a 10-year-old boy) they had packed up and gone to Providence, and stayed there. So when I opened the door to "our" apartment and saw her there, I just stood in the doorway, surprised. And she was surprised too, because she was in the middle of a make-out session with some guy - I think his name was Zane or Zack or something.

At first, all she could do was blurt out a panicked "You!" While Zane peeled himself off her and turned to face me. I'm a tall guy as Alan, but I'm lanky and haven't exactly bulked up. This guy looked like he hit the gym often enough, and while I can fight, I have never thrown a punch or attempted a takedown in this body so I don't really know my own (lack of ) strength in that area.

I stammered, trying to cover, "Greta! I'm back!"

"Greta?" said her beau, "I thought you said your name was Kitty."

"That's... what I like to be called," she said, covering embarrassedly, "And this is..."

"Alan," I said, "I'm the... ex, I guess. Roommate."

"You live with your ex?" said the guy.

"No... I live alone," she said rather curtly. "He lives... somewhere else."

"My name's still on the lease, isn't it?" I asked - part rhetorically, part genuinely. I had been paying the full rent while I was in Vermont. "Anyway. Key still works. I'm surprised to see you here."

"I could say the same thing," Kitty sneered. "You won't be staying long, will you?"

I had planned on dropping right into bed, but the last thing I wanted was to deal with this after a long day on the road. "No, just... stopping by..." I sighed, "I see you're busy, I'll come back tomorrow."

"Call first," she said sharply.

It was late, and I didn't know any of Alan's friends or relatives so I stayed in a motel. The next morning I called. She must have seen Alan's name on the call display because instead of Hello, she said "What do you want? I thought you were in Virginia."

"Vermont," I corrected, "And things... went bad for me there. I needed to refresh."

"Well good luck," she said, and then she hung up.

I could see she was being difficult, but I had been paying rent on that apartment for months, and as far as I knew it was unoccupied. I had a right to it, and if I couldn't use it I wasn't going to let her squat for free.

I went over and went right in, dropping my stuff by the door. Zane or Zack's shoes were gone. I called out, "Honey, I'm home."

"Get out of here, you idiot!" she said, storming out from the bedroom in a huff.

"Easy, easy," I said, "Let's just talk. I've been paying your rent apparently, so you owe me that much. Money, too, but we'll get to that."

She sunk down to the couch. "Fine, cut me off, I don't care. It doesn't matter."

"Okay, let's not... look, what happened, how did you end up here?"

The story went basically how I expected. She and Chet stayed in Providence for a short while before the police arrived - apparently they had gotten a tip that someone may have been squatting at their house, and lo and behold it's a grown woman with a minor from out of state. Chet agreed to go back to the "Jenkinses," against Kitty's wishes, because he felt Wisconsin was too far from the Inn, and the brush with the cops left him skittish.

"Things were bad before we went to the Inn, and the transformation didn't exactly help," she said bitterly. "I guess we're still technically married - we even e-mail sometimes... but it's starting to feel like it's all in the past. Like it's for the best if we go our separate ways. I'm realizing that we both knew the marriage was in trouble, but we didn't know the other person knew."

"And does he know about this? About Zane, or Zack or whatever?"

"He knows a bit," she said. "He doesn't care about me, He's having the time of his life out there. He's got a ton of little girlfriends, I see them on Facebook and Insta-whatever..."

"Instagram," I said, embarrassed that I both knew and felt the need to correct that. "He doesn't... actually date them, does he?"

"Maybe, I don't know," she scoffed. "It's perverse." (More perverse than whatever they were doing together in Providence? Who knows.) "He's scum and most of the time I want nothing to do with him."

"What about the rest of the time?"

"The rest of the time I cry myself to sleep wondering how I let him get away."

This conversation took almost all day, I'm just paraphrasing and cutting it down. I shared my story, too and we bonded over our break-ups, how badly the Inn had screwed up our (already borderline, in both cases) lives.

She had been living there since October, rent-free thanks to me. She made some money here and there by taking temp jobs that she was not well-suited for but never staying long enough to get really established. "It was just the easiest way, the apartment was just sitting here..." she said, "Don't make me leave."

Begrudgingly, I admitted it would be cruel of me to cast her out, but it wasn't fair to me to have to pay for an apartment I couldn't use. I told her I would take the couch, and that she would have to work hard to find work she could do. Of course, I didn't take into account exactly how long Alan's freakish legs are, so the couch wasn't exactly... ideal.

Weeks pass. True to form, I'm working already, but the only restaurant job I could find was bussing (I had just missed the hiring period for most restaurants heading into summer, and I think I got a bad reference out of one of my Vermont jobs.) To fill things out, I took up Alan's old driving job for Threo, an Uber-knockoff, and Kitty, well... like she said, she doesn't really have many skills, except access to a bit of rainy day savings she and Chet divvied up and kept from the new-them.

What Friends Are For


As to how we went from reluctant roommates to something more, well... it didn't all happen at once. Kitty is a very social animal, so she had already ingrained herself with Greta's friends. Naturally, they all had questions about where I was. Her answer was that I "just vanished with some woman." That definitely didn't make me/Alan sound good and leaves a lot of questions. Still, apparently they weren't so scandalized that I was Public Enemy #1 when Kitty let it slip that Alan was back in town. They wanted to see how I was and get some more details.

I protested at first - these people aren't my friends, and in the long run I wasn't going to be here very long, so why get attached? But she was insistent and brought them around the apartment to run into me.

The first meeting - there was six or seven people there, a few couples and some single friends - was rough, because I was supposed to know these people well and had no prep time. They grilled me about my missing months, but I deflected - a skill I learned well from my time as Lauren. Basically, I alluded to the idea that something (and yes, someone) had gotten between me and Greta, but we were moving past it... and we weren't sure where we stood. When you talk in cryptic terms like that, people don't tend to pry for further details, (if they're polite.)

Of course in reality, I was pretty sure where we stood. Roommates. Fellow Inn Victims. Maybe even uneasy friends, given the fact that I didn't particularly care for her when we first met, but my sympathy for her situation had grown. I wasn't looking for more and although I knew she was right man-hungry, I didn't really see myself as filling that position. But a few things happened over the course of time.

I think having to talk to her friends as though we were "Alan & Greta" (instead of "Alan" and "Greta") made her hungry to establish something concrete between us. I started noticing signals. First I thought they were in my head: a lingering gaze at me, a text to see how my day (or night, if I was out driving) was going. Little signs. I didn't know how to feel about that. First I thought it was in my mind, and then I felt like I didn't want the attention, and then... I kinda did, because hey. I can't deny that looking the way Kitty does... a tall, svelte, cute-faced young woman... getting positive attention from her felt good on a primal level. But still I played it off.

Then we started talking. Really talking. About our lives before the Inn, about my experiences since. I think the conversation that did it for me was when she asked me about the year I spent as Lauren. I wanted to help her understand what her husband might be going through, being a teenager with the mind and experience of an adult. "It's not exactly like being a teen... you know so much more, everything isn't so life-and-death. I kind of had to laugh and roll my eyes at my friends who were constantly coming to pieces over boys and the like. But there's this rush and excitement when things are going well. You're still in a body that's a little out of control, and that's intoxicating."

"What was that like for you? Did you make any... mistakes?"

"No, no... I was good. I had lots of opportunities, and at times... like, when you want to blow off steam because things are just so crummy, and there's no... goodness. You're still human. You want sex, and you want love and attention and it's like... where are you going to get it? Not grown-ups. But the people who look like you, what they have to offer, you don't want exactly that either. I... don't envy your husband right now."

Being Lauren brought with it a ton of contradictions for me. It sucked feeling so trapped between places, second-guessing every thought I had and wondering if it was coming from my mind or my body. If I had landed in a grown woman's body I might have behaved very differently, relaxed more... but the way things were, I had to be definitely on guard. I wanted attention but I didn't want to want it. Because all my available options were unappealing to me, I focused on the one least realistic but most sought: Meg. Maybe I did idealize her, but the thought that we were meant to be together after all that crap, that I had to keep my slate clean for when I could finally declare my feelings for her, kept me from doing a lot of stupid things.

As I revealed these things, and she didn't judge me for any of them, I felt closer and closer to her. And there was even a moment when I thought "I could kiss this person right now." But I didn't want my actions to be confused by the intimacy of the moment.

It was two days later, after rolling it around in my head for a while, that I phrased it this way, over take-out: "I'm going to come right out and say what I think we're both thinking. You and I should sleep together."

She came off as stunned, but I think she was just playing. "Wow that was very forward of you, Tyler... I don't know what to say."

"Think it over," I said, playing along with her coyness, "I think it would be good for both'a us to have the outlet. If either of us is going to have somebody, it should be... each other."

"You mean like... no strings attached?"

I smirked, "Well... we already got the strings, don't we? Out there, we're Alan and Greta, a couple, but in here, we can just be Tyler and Kitty, two folks having a good time. We didn't ask for this. But I think... well look, I just think it could be good. It will help us both get over what we've been through."

She leaned in and pressed her lips to mine for a moment. Pulling back, she smirked, "You're not a very good kisser."

"I'll be more ready next time."

And so it began.

I'm not going to pretend I don't still feel guilty about things. Meghan might be reading this, and the story of me admitting to her that Kitty and I were having a fling (ahead of revealing it on this blog) was not one of the best feelings I've ever experienced, sure as shit, but it was a necessary awkward conversation so that we could all get on with our lives and maybe I could feel free to talk about things on this blog again.

Sometimes I feel regret, when I'm lying in bed with Greta, because I know it should be someone else. I shouldn't have even gotten here, but things happened how they did and I... I responded the way I did. You can't un-ring that bell.

I'm just someone trying to find the most comfort he can in a shitty life. That may be all I have left, for as long as my days.

Lane/Kari: Facing Myself

Hi.
It's been a long time sinceI posted last. I tried to write a couple of posts a few times but the words just wouldn't come out right and I couldn't get into the correct headspace. But Tyler's last couple of posts have given me a bit of courage to share the traumatizing event that happened to me last week.

I got dumped.

That must be a big shock to you all, considering I never made any mention of me being in a relationship. Let me back up a little.

My last entry recounted the first time that Darius and I had sex, and it still makes me blush thinking about writing it despite the dozens of subsequent times it happened. My outlook and plan at the time was to keep things casual and exploratory with Darius, but not to get too attached since I was leaving in June. That plan lasted about 3 days.

It was a Friday night and we had just finished seeing a movie and we went back to his place. We we had finished with the sex I was still sorta seeing stars with my head curled up under his arm while he kissed the top of my hair and stroked my side.

"Babe, I know you said you wanted to take things slow" he said soft of voice and firm of tone "But this thing that we got...I want it to be more. I think we should be exclusive"

I was about to recite my practiced and planned response of how I needed to take things slowly and yadda yadda yadda when the words "I'd love that" escaped my lips.

There's this thing I do when trying to pass myself off as someone else where I just sit back sometimes and let my subconscious do the talking or reacting. On some level my brain is swimming in Kari's hormones so I feel like Kari does, so sometimes I just go with my gut instinct. This came in really handy when I first started having sex with Latherman but I've used it in other situations. I'm 99% certain women's/mother's intuition is real.

So just like that I had a boyfriend. A kind, courteous, charming boyfriend who texted me everyday and called me beautiful and gave a self conscious guy in a woman's body a major ego boost and pick me up. This was major news and definitely blog worthy.

But I couldn't write.

I'd sit down, ready to break the news and I would suddenly be rather embarrassed. Writing in this blog is when I'm Lane. Whenever I speak to someone else or am out in the world, I have to be Kari. When I spill my guts here, I'm Lane again. And Lane would never even think about doing some of the things that I did to and with Darius. I'm blushing a little just thinking about them. I know I shouldn't be worried about what you guys think, this blog is filled with the chronicles of former men in women's bodies having sex with men, but even after all these months there's the tiniest bit of ick factor that this blog activates. I had no trouble writing about the affair with Latherman because that was something that I feel I have to do. Darius was something that I wanted to do. That I chose to do. That I kept doing.

So why did I get dumped?

One fine morning a couple of weeks ago me and Darius were tangled up under his covers when we heard a phone vibrating from underneath our pile of clothes. Darius has a busy job and often gets important texts and we weren't sure whose phone was buzzing so he checked. It was mine and he accidentally saw the text.

"Who's Nick L.?" He asked, sounding slightly pissed off

I froze. I stammered a bit but I don't think I said any actual words

"And why is he buying you panties?"

The text he had read said. "Bought you some sexy panties to replace the ones I ripped."

I should explain. I never stopped having sex Kari's boss, even after me and Darius were official. That meant I cheated on him about a dozen times over the course of our short relationship, which was a shitty thing for me to do. I justified it with some serious mental gymnastics and compartmentalizing. I told myself that Latherman was a Kari thing, and not me. It wasn't cheating if my emotions weren't in it. It was purely physical.

But no amount of explanation would make Darius believe that Latherman was having sex with Kari's body, but he was dating the man's mind inside of it at the time.

"Isn't that your boss?!" He asked after he put it together "Are you fucking your boss?"

"Yes." I said softly. Unable to lie. "But it means nothing. It's just..."

"Is he fucking you at work?" Darius said with a look of disgust that still haunts me "Like, is that what your job is there? Is he pressuring you?"

"It's just that with Ashley--"

"That's illegal Kari"

"I'm not forced to..."

"You need to get going" He said sternly. He didn't yell at me. He could have and he should have but he didn't yell at me. This man was in control at all times and that's one of my favorite things about him. "I need to think about this."

While he thought I sat in the bedroom back at Kari's apartment, wringing my hands waiting for the phone to wring. It took about 12 hours before he called.

"We need to take a break" He said coldly and firmly "I'm not trying to fault you or shame you, but I can't trust you right now. So you need to get your shit in order, and you need to do it by yourself."

I sniffled a goodbye but the second he hung up I cried. For hours. And then I stopped. And then cried some more. Did anyone else on this blog ever mention that estrogen makes crying easier? Because I've been dumped before by women who I'd liked more and dated longer than I've been with Darius but I was reduced to a blubbering mess for awhile.

I'm not over it per se, but writing this has helped. I've immersed myself into other aspects of this life and I'll probably write about them now that I've cracked my writer's block. It's just before midnight on Cinco de Mayo, which apparently Kari's family doesn't celebrate because they aren't from the Pueblo State in Mexico and it's really more of a commercialized holiday here in the States. But is a Thursday and me and Rosita will be going out so maybe I'll update on that.

Until then

-Lane

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