Becca/Sam: I think I like my wife

Having a man's body and being a man are two different things. Every time I put on the suit, I felt like I was playing dress-up. Like I was in drag. That even though I have a muscular chest and a thing between my legs, I'm really a woman inside. And a very bizarre side-effect of taking a trip to the Inn, I was finding, was that I didn't want to feel like a woman. I wanted to feel like a man, be accepted by men, and be among men, even though I don't -- on the top of my head -- think masculinity is better than femininity. I didn't have time to worry about what kind of hormonal drug was coursing through my veins that made me want to get all rough and tumble, I just knew I was a person in crisis -- a hairy, muscular person.

I threw myself into being as good of a man as possible. I don't think most women would be able to Kill It as a guy on day one, but many of us are adaptable and have had to acclimate to things men can hardly even conceive of. Styling short hair? I've never had short hair but it wasn't hard to figure out. Shaving? A necessity now, so let's get good at keeping it neat. Matching a tie and a shirt? I can probably make more out of Sam's wardrobe than he could. Actually tying said tie? Well okay, I needed a few views on a YouTube video for that. But I got there.

I was rocking it, and getting confident, even if, amongst the men at work I felt like an outsider. Everything with them is sports, booze, money, tech and women, and I only know about one of those things, and not from the expected perspective. Still, I needed to gain experience in order to ingratiate myself with my new gender. 

I began to see sex as this weird missing ingredient in who I was supposed to be. I felt locked out of the full male experience by virtue of my lack of sexual experience. I felt like such a strange nothing-person adrift in a world I didn't understand, trying to navigate delicately between my old life and my new one. I knew I had some kind of sex drive -- my anatomy had a curious habit of awakening virtually unprompted. I didn't know what was doing it or what "I" was "into" only that I felt a gaping need for satisfaction.

I thought that I might as well direct this toward my "wife" Shannon. 

I felt icky about it at first. I'm an open-minded person but I've never been attracted to women before so trying to push myself over that hill and see a woman that way was a real barrier, even if Sam's body was telling me that was the way. It felt kind of like I was taking advantage of her, too, because she didn't know I was not her husband. I didn't, and don't, like the lying that goes along with this scenario. That's probably why I'd been distant for the first few months. I tried to convince myself that it would be doing her a favor to play the role of her husband, since he was not here to do so.

I wrestled with it. The first time we made love, it was an awkward affair. I gave her probably more attention than she was used to from the real Sam, which was maybe suspicious. I felt dirty about it and not necessarily in a sexy, fun way. But I am a woman at heart, and women know women, and I think it was probably easier for me to participate in that than a man in a similar situation who finds himself suddenly with a heterosexual woman's confusing and complicated libido.

I did some things that maybe she didn't expect Sam to do, because I knew they would be appreciated even if they were firsts for me. Coming face to face with her privates, I tried to be tender but I think I was a little clinical, but my body was telling me I was on the right path even if I didn't fully understand it. I didn't know what was supposed to be so arousing from where I was standing, but maybe the butterflies were flapping their wings just at being so intimate with another person for the first time in, oh so long.

Once we got to the main event... I didn't love it. It felt like work. It's a lot of motion and activity when you're a man, and I have to give some credit to some of my partners because I can see it takes some time to master the technique. I had this distinct feeling of finally getting "in" there and being like "Oh, shit." I mean, this feels good and all but... now what do I do?

Afterward, I was almost too embarrassed to face her. Having bad sex with her seemed to be worse than having no sex at all, like I had let her down and tipped my hand that something was off. She began to broach the topic of therapy, which normally I'd be all for but in this context was the last thing I wanted to do.

Normally I'm all up for talking through your feelings but I'd been drowning in a sea of unfamiliar thoughts and emotions so I didn't know where to start. I wonder if most emotionally-constipated men feel this way.

Time went by and we kind of tiptoed around it and I somewhat dreaded having to do it again, and somewhat hoped to get another chance.

That's when I started seeing her.

I had seen her from the beginning, of course... she lives in the same house as me. She sleeps in the same bed as me. I've even done her laundry so I have handled her intimates. She has walked around naked in front of me and not expected me to care. In fact she may have even noticed me averting my eyes shyly, asked me annoyedly about it, and I had to come up with some "baby it's not what you think" excuse that I don't think she's unpretty.

And that's true. I don't think Shannon is unpretty at all. She is classically very beautiful -- she works hard to keep herself in good shape, has a pretty conventionally desirable figure, and is obviously great at makeup and aesthetics. My feelings toward her were, at first, mingled bitterness and envy, a gnawing feeling in the pit of My Becca Stomach that she was winning at being a woman, way way better than me, even if I hadn't been transformed into a man. She just had this presence of a roommate that, unfortunately, had some expectations of me that I had a hard time fulfilling. 

And then one day... I saw it.

It was at the most random of moments. She was standing in the kitchen with her reading glasses on looking at some bills on her phone, dressed in a workout outfit and I saw her, like it was for the first time. The curve of her hips, her trim waist, that little sideways smile she does, the way her eyebrows furrowed... the particular size and shape of her breasts. I saw her as a person and a partner and an object of desire. It was like a magic box had opened to reveal a gleaming prize and it could be mine if I wanted it.

Normally I am very shy. I don't know how to approach potential partners, and as a result I usually let them dog me around pretty bad. But here... all the work had been done for me. I was married. I was a man, and this woman liked me, loved me, wanted me, or at least thought she did because of who I looked like. And I was starting to like her. I wanted to take her in my arms.

I realized I could take her in my arms. I wrapped my arms around her waist from behind just to see how it felt. She responded favorably. She nuzzled me, I kissed her, and suddenly it was like we had found our rhythm.

It still took some practice to really find my mojo in the bedroom, but I had found my desire. I began to really appreciate having a woman lay back beneath me, or sit astride me as the case may be, and use my masculine physique for her pleasure -- and mine. It was like woah. Something has changed.

Soon we fell into a honeymoon phase. I'm sure she has questions about what ever inspired it but I just told her I woke up one morning and it was like I was a kid again and we were newlyweds, which is all I can say. Life is stressful, life is hard, as parents of three, but we have that to look forward to, and I've gotten a real charge out of being her partner. I'm a changed person.

And Nevin, or "Corinne," I think, took notice...

Becca/Sam: One of the guys

My early weeks and months as Sam Platter were a complete nightmare. Every day I woke up I felt my stomach eating away at itself with anxiety. Being in a strange body may have carried some amusing novelty under other circumstances, but I'm a simple gal -- all I ever wanted was to live a quiet life. As Sam though, all eyes were on me to be a "hotshot" decision maker, bold and leading edge. I didn't feel like I had any choice -- it was one thing to risk my livelihood, but I had to support a wife and three kids and try to keep things stable until the real Sam could be restored.

I kept it to myself -- such a manly move -- and barely tried to build any trust with Shannon. I barely wanted anything to do with her, I even considered moving into another room to leave her alone. Not out of dislike per se... although it's true, I did feel pretty predisposed against such a pretty, skinny, perky, perfect woman who does Tiktoks with her daughters and everything. I just felt like, we didn't have anything in common and it was weird to try to push myself to be a "husband" to her. I didn't know what that meant or why I should try. I had other important things to do. I didn't, however, change beds, I just kind of kept on the low and focused my energy to the kids.

The kids are great. Obviously "Corinne" was taking up most of my time and energy. She and Sam had taken the trip to Maine as a "bonding" experience and I guess you could say it worked all too well. I took point on her as she headed into her junior year at high school. Being so dedicated to cheer and other activities gave my dad something to focus his newfound energies on. I wouldn't have thought he would take to it, but I think there's something to be said for the influence of one's body: knowing what Corinne-the-body was capable of seemed to stoke Nevin's interest in pursuing it. So we spent August "re-learning" back hand springs and flips and everything, things that people train themselves from childhood to get good at. I covered most of it because I didn't want Shannon to see how far backwards Corinne's development had gone. But 

I asked him about it and he said, in that gruff version of a teenage girl's voice he's got, "When I was Corinne's age, I was taking cars apart to figure out how they worked. I was a star runningback, too. You never saw me then. I was obsessed. When I caught something, I caught it bad. That's how it is today. I can't explain it, but doing all this... it get me going, you know?" Fair enough.

Then there's the two other girls, 12 and 9. They all have their own personalities: the middle-child is a musician and fills the house with the sound of piano practice, and the other is a budding artist. Part of me admires how picture-perfect it all is, and part of me has my stomach turning because life was sure never like this for me and I don't know quite how to process it. So I could only focus on work, and I hated work. My life felt like a nightmare, made worse by the bizarre fact that I felt like my dad was thriving.

(I occasionally thought about what if the situations had been reversed and I had been the young girl and he the dad -- I didn't think I would be any better of a Corinne and I knew he would just mess up as Sam, so I had to comfort myself that this was for the best.)

Being at work every day put me at odds with my body. I was the caretaker of a male anatomy and it was weird. The guys saw me as one of them. It was intoxicating and withering all at once because I felt, deep down inside, like I was a fraud, a fake. And not just because I didn't know what I was doing at work.

Men. I understand men and I'll never understand men. But it's true that so much of who and what they are is filtered through sexuality. It was gross hearing the way some of these guys talk to each other, but I couldn't bring myself to speak up. Maybe I was becoming more sympathetic because my brain was basting in those same hetero-male chemicals, but I couldn't quite spare it with my own sensitivity from years of being a woman. But there was a distance between me and the other guys at work that I yearned to bridge, but I could only do so by plunging further and becoming more of what I appeared to be. I had to be a man. I had to increase my experience.

I had to... sleep with my wife.

Becca/Sam: Tumbling

So where we left off, Nev/dad/Corinne was stumbling in the door, on time but soused. Of course, our deal wasn't that she wouldn't get drunk, only that she would be home on time, and she was, so while I was upset, I couldn't exactly take it out on her. The spirit vs. letter of the deal, you know.

I just worry. I worried about him when he was a grown man (I had to make sure we were geographically very distant for most of my adult life to make sure I didn't have to worry... which is something I do feel guilty about) and I worry about him doubly now that he's in this body. I worry that he's behaving himself, I worry about falling back into old habits, I worry that other people don't do things to harm him or pressure him into things that he's not ready for, or that Corinne shouldn't be ready for. There's no end to the worry. 

I mean I sure remember what it was like to be a teenage girl. You're both a kid and an adult at the same time. The world sees you as an infant to be protected and a sexually mature being to be exploited, and you yourself probably aren't sure what you are... even before factoring in having lived the life of a grown man. You have no responsibilities, but no say and no freedom, but also a lot of pressure. I get it, I'm sympathetic, but in the specific case of Nevin Moran, I think he needs to be watched.

I mean, this is a guy who has been engaged to three different strippers (he only married one.) That should tell you exactly how much he values the female body and for what. There's a certain amount of fox-in-henhouse concern as far as letting a guy like that walk around with the body of a teenage girl. I want to give him the benefit of the doubt... I described to you the way he appeared to have changed and gotten very clear-headed once the transformation hit, but at the same time, on day 3 he spent several minutes doing jumping jacks just to demonstrate how bouncy his breasts are. The man is predictably unpredictable. At least it helped him burn off some of his energy.

So, back to early days: I put in a call to the original Sam to reassure him that his life was in good hands (and his daughter's...) I won't say exactly who they became (unless it becomes relevant to my story) and to be honest he seemed kind of... unconcerned? I mean, you've got a complete stranger bedding up with your wife, I expected a little bit more pushback. That struck me odd but perhaps it does have something to do with who he became, or maybe just what sort of person Sam Platter is.

With Dad adjusting well to his circumstances, I was free to settle in for a long flight back to the Bay Area. To be honest, I had hardly spared myself much of a thought, given how worried I was about my dad's behavior. But a creeping dread was starting to flower in my gut. I was going to start trying to do a job I had never done before. I was going to have to take the role of provider and partner in a family when I have been painfully single for many years and certainly never close to "married with kids." Truth be told, the work part disturbed me more. I thought that as far as family went, I would simply be "me, but in male form." It was a secondary concern. On the flight, I familiarized myself with my new "wife," Shannon, and "our" other two kids.

She seemed like a perfectly ordinary woman from social media. I hate to admit it, but there was a pang of dislike for her from checking her Instagram. Don't take it personally, but when you see a pretty blonde lady with money who looks youthful and fun, who also has three beautiful kids, it tends to stir something up in me, like I'm not stacking up. I tried to rationalize and say, give her a chance, you have to cohabitate with this person and play the role of their spouse. Don't let petty anti-feminist jealousy get the better of you. Don't compare your lives.

So we got home, and for a few days, I kept my distance. The new school year was starting up and we needed to get "Corinne" set up. This was going to be a laugh... Corinne's life was cheerleading and gymnastics. My dad couldn't even get up out of a reclining chair without assistance. I told him he would be forgiven if he wanted to do something else with his time as Corinne, but he was shockingly gung-ho about the idea. I think he was very taken with the possibilities of his newfound co-ordination, energy and athleticism. At least, I hoped so, because the other alternative was because he wanted to get into a room with a bunch of half-naked underage girls.

But, no, it seemed like a sincere effort. Nevin was very impressed with himself when he found out he could do not only a split, but a standing split, as demonstrated on Corinne's Tiktok. Anything he saw her doing he would attempt, although it's not like he was able to emulate her tumbling, which undoubtedly took years of experience.

So we hired a secret coach who wouldn't be able to tip anyone off that the "girl" had 0 gymnastic experience to try to get her up to par, and by the end of summer, she was passable.

Me, I was focusing on work. Every time I put on the suit, I naturally felt like a fraud, like I would go into the office and be shown the door, but Sam did provide me some long distance guidance that helped set me up for success. The feelings of fraud, the impostor syndrome, abated after a while. It was certainly very weird being spoken to as a man -- getting the baseline respect that most people deserve, along with masculine bro-like camaraderie... the gap between wallflower Becca and expected-bro Sam was pretty wide and hard to bridge, and I hoped nobody at work noticed me being a little more soft-spoken and sensitive to others.

Outside of the office, I spent time at the gym. That was sort of my getaway. Like dad, I did come to relish my new physicality -- not that I'm trying to "get muscular" but it's nice to feel like I can occupy this body with activity... do a few minutes at a high pace on the treadmill, lift weights, etc. It had the benefit of keeping me separate from Shannon and any expectations she might have.

I thought, as long as I stay active enough in "the relationship," nobody would have any reason to say boo about what I was doing. Help with the kids, help around the house, whatever I'm needed for, but maintain a respectful distance between myself and her.

But that could only last for so long...

Becca/Sam: When the child becomes the parent

Okay, it's Saturday night. I've got a verbal promise from "Corinne" that "she'll" be home before midnight. Sandi's gone to bed, as have the other kids, only I am awake to stand guard. I've poured myself a coke with just a little bit of rye in it, let's continue our story.

Like anyone, I've been curious over the course of my life what it would be like to be the opposite sex, but I happen to think it's a particularly male form of ego that suggests a woman would want to be a man. I don't covet big biceps or a handsome jawline for myself. I miss my long, tangle-prone hair, I miss my soft, short, curvy body, I miss my clothes. Knowing there's a potential timeline for a return to my old self -- if I play my cards right? -- helps me face the day to day realities of being Samuel Platter and try to make the most of it.

Naturally, looking at what happened to me and my dad, I thought there was some kind of cosmic intelligence at work here, some divine sense of humor. I woke up in the body of a man close to me in age, and he my daughter, a teenage girl. That doesn't seem like a coincidence to me, but investigating the rest of this blog indicates that it's 90% likely that it was just a roll of the dice, with a 10% possibility that some outside force has manipulated us into this situation for reasons beyond my understanding.

In the moment though, it was panic. I had to give the "kid" some of my Ativan to get through the first day (as opposed to letting him/her drink themself into oblivion.) By day two, I had sourced more information and he was more understanding about it.

So we're the Platters -- a tech investor and his cheerleader daughter. Our task: inhabit these peoples' lives as best we can until such time as we can arrange a return trip to the Inn... next year.

Sam is a good-looking guy. Piercing blue eyes and light hair, a confident grin. He looks like James Marsden, but ten years younger. Cheekbones forever. He's fit -- like I said, he's only a little bit younger than me but not having those same aches and pains makes me feel incredible. He fills out a suit well. I don't want to be a man, but if I have to be one, I would very much like to look like Sam Platter.

I'll admit, I was semi-curious about "the equipment" which I could not ignore hanging between my legs. How does it work? When would I know it was... activated? What do I do when it's idle? I have to admit, it was very distracting. After all these months I still feel like we're getting to know each other.

On day 2, dad went from being perturbed to buying into the whole idea. The same way I was coming to accept the perks of being Sam, he had to admit that if one had to be female, it's better to be young, pretty and nubile. To the real Corinne -- I'm so, so sorry about the current occupant of your body.

In my head, I had a kind of trainwreck fascination with the situation. Here's my dad, a man with zero impulse control, old enough to remember Watergate, who could never be anybody but himself, now wedged into the life of a squeaky-clean female member of the TikTok generation. How was this going to work?

While we processed, he asked me to braid his hair "Like Miesha Tate" It was fun, the nicest bonding moment we've had since I was a teenager. We talked a bit, about anything to get our minds off the situation: old times, work, whatever. For the first time in a long while I got the sense he was hearing what I was saying to him, paying attention and absorbing it.

That's something else that happened. This girl -- who I know inside is my dad, but before we left Maine sure wasn't acting like it -- was very lucid and very clear, very even-tempered. I mean, she still had a mouth like a longshoreman, but I've never known him to be quite so sharp and alert. All his senses were coming back, his faculties that were long since abandoned... he was awake and energetic. Youth is the ultimate drug, I suppose. High on life. And a heady cocktail of estrogen and progesterone, among other hormones.

I don't think we fully understand the mind-body connection, because before long it felt like I was not dealing with a "grown man in a child's body" but a child with the mind of a grown man. This was not simply my dad, looking different, this was almost an entirely different person: whereas before he was grouchy and lethargic, he was manic and optimistic. It was like talking to a different person who happened to have all the knowledge and memory of my father. 

Now he was in a body that wasn't permanently piss-drunk and stoned, that hadn't been destroyed by abuse. Part of the reason my dad can't get sober is that he can't stand withdrawal, but here he was with not a drop in his system and feeling fine. I think when he realized that, something switched in him. He went from shock and horror to acceptance and even enthusiasm for the situation in freakishly record time.

His outlook and demeanor had changed. He dug back in his brain for some of the religious platitudes they tell you in meetings about how this is his second chance by the grace of God. By day three, he was fully on board with this scenario: clothes, makeup, body, he was ready to accept it all, ready to devour the life of Corinne Platter.

Which was a little eerie, and certainly not my experience of transformation, but I had to go along with it.

I don't know that this is everybody's experience when they get de-aged or gender-changed through this magic. From reading through this it sounds like it's not, but maybe people are just sheepish about it. But my dad has an addictive personality, obviously, and in the present I could see that taking hold in the form of an addiction to being Corinne. Only I didn't really have time to process it. Having someone who is surprisingly accepting of this situation is infinitely preferable to someone who is going to fight you all the way (which is what I kind of thought would happen.) So my dad became my daughter, and we traveled back to California to meet the rest of the family, and to beg forgiveness for the delay and pretend like we belonged.

I'd like to say this was a "reversal" of our roles, but the truth is, it's just a solidification of the way it's been for years. I've been more mature and ready to handle the world than my dad since I was in high school. This just makes it official.

But does it make it right?

Hold on, I hear the door.

-Becks

Becca/Sam: How did we get here?

Well, I already broke the seal and put myself on this blog, I might as well tell you a bit more about myself.

My name is Becca Moran. I like to describe myself as a mousy redhead, and the fact that I like to describe myself that way should tell you pretty nuch everything you need. Up until last summer I was working in insurance in Boston. I wouldn't say it was my passion, but it was a tidy little living. I had a very ordinary, quiet, perennially-single life. Some good girlfriends and some red wine was as exciting as it ever got for me on a Saturday night.

Then one night, I get a call from my dad. He's in the area. Normally he's down in Clearwater, Florida, where he ended up after years of drifting around with no particular agenda. I love my dad, and I want to believe there's good in him, but the most dependable thing about him is screwing up. He's the kind of guy who would sell the car right before you needed to go buy groceries, you know? Just poor decision-making skills. He was in and out of my life forever, but I go through phases where I forgive him and I try to mend fences, whether he's changed or not, until it becomes all too apparent that he is way too much the same man he always was.

So one night he calls. He's in the area. Actually, he's headed to Maine. Maine is not that close to Boston, but it's closer than Florida, sure. His latest sponsor, Bill -- I've never heard of Bill before, but what I don't know about my dad's life could fill a textbook -- has gotten him a room at this nice little place by the beach. You'd think he gets enough of the beach in Florida, but this is all the way up in Maine away from his usual haunts. Only Bill had to back out at the last moment. How convenient for Bill. So I've got a room waiting for me if I want to spend some time with dad, and sure, I've got a big heart -- I was going to spend my summer vacation weeks vacuuming and binge-watching TLC Reality Shows, so this seemed equally as healthy. Why not.

So, we go, and it's clear that dad is not keeping up on the program. And it's disappointing, but at this point it's not my job to keep him on the straight and narrow, I simply do not have the emotional energy to make that my responsibility. I'll keep him from killing himself in the immediate present if possible, that's all I can manage. Mostly he sleeps during the day, wakes up at 4, goes to the bar, pesters younger women, then comes home to crash. That leaves me plenty of time during the daylight hours to read, work on my tan, and ogle younger men on the beach (darn, I am my father's daughter, except I didn't drink.) Our paths didn't even cross that much in the waking world, except one day when he saw me heading out in my bikini, and he said I was too fat to be wearing a bikini (I'm not -- yeah, my jelly has a little wiggle to it, a bit of a belly and thunder thighs, but I liked my body just fine.) I'm not even bothered by these comments the way I would have been in my teens or 20's or even early 30's. That's just Nevin Moran being Nevin Moran. He can't keep his mouth shut. I happened to think a high-waisted and tastefully-topped bikini did a lot more for me than a one-piece would. Wait, why am I even having this argument with you/him?

So I roll my eyes, I dismiss him, I don't care. Once the week is over, we'll part ways and he'll miss my birthday and I won't spare him a thought. And it'll hurt a little, but everyone has baggage and I've accepted that this is mine.

Nothing too interesting happens on the trip. I see the town, I put my feet in the water, I shop, I sip coffees outside while it's nice. It's not like I'm going to meet anyone while I'm rooming with my father, not that I had expectations of that anyway -- I look pretty good but the phrase "no spring chicken" does come to mind. At night I sleep until dad crashes into the room and then I pretend I'm still asleep because it's easier than acknowledging we're both awake at the same time. You know, healthy family stuff.

And then one morning I awake to screaming. A big loud scream in a high little voice. A stream of expletives the likes of which a should not be issued so confidently from the mouth of such a young girl. I wake up dazed, I don't know what's going on, especially since it sounds like the girl is in our room -- which I desperately hope is not true because I'm not ready to face what that would mean.

But of course it's worse. Well -- it's bad in a different way.

Because I sit up and there's little Corinne, all of 16 years old, my father's faded PJ pants and giveaway Budweiser tee-shirt hanging off of her, her hair a matted, tangled mess, her face an expression of utter distraught, bewildered panic.

"What the f---?!" she says. Among other sailor-like epithets.

I'm confused. And scared. And, I'm realizing, not feeling like myself. My own PJ's are feeling extremely, extremely constrictive. "Who are you?" I murmur. "Where's my--?"

I sit up and... rip.

The back of my top, the back of my pants, torn, like I was the Hulk.

I look down at my hands. Rough, mannish. Hairy arms way outgrown the sleeves

I look up at her. She's staring me, and hyperventilating.

"Becca?" she asks through desperate sobs.

I feel the top of my head. Mane of wild curls, gone. My chin... rough, hard jawline.

My chest, flat. Not too flat, either. This guy works out.

I can barely gulp... I don't even want to say it, to ask if it's true, because to admit that I thought it might be possible would make me feel insane but in that moment I had no other conclusion but to ask... "Dad?"

Becca/Sam: Parenting Advice?

Hey everybody, longtime reader, first time writer. I don't know if anybody's paying attention or has anything to help me with, but I thought I would reach out anyway. You see, I could really use some parenting advice as a first-time parent of a very willful child. Normally, I don't think my parenting philosophy would be quite so strict, but it's fair to say that there are extreme circumstances here.

See, I never expected to be a father. Hell, I never expected to be a man. I was a 38-year-old woman who had long since accepted that she was riding the one-way train to cat ladyhood. Then I took a trip to the Trading Post and wound up as Sam Platter: big shot tech investor.

Tech? I like knitting for crying out loud! If you could see my Tiktok algorithm, it's all stitches, and "Do Gen Z's even know these 90s songs?"

But whatever. I adjusted. And I read this blog as much as I could during my busy days, only I didn't have the nerve to post anything. I guess I didn't feel like my problems were up to par... oh, poor you, all that money, beautiful home, fancy cars, and an admittedly sexy wife, plus three kids. Straight teeth, great hair, people actually take you seriously, wah, wah, wah. But now I think I'm ready to step up and announce myself. I have problems too.

So, back to my kid. That's Corinne. 16 years old, a Junior. Cute girl, popular, cheerleader. But see, she's been acting out lately. Running with the wrong crowd. Staying out late, drinking, partying, I'm worried she might even be having sex, or at least thinking about it. I'm at my wit's end and my "wife" doesn't seem ready to face the problems. Probably because she doesn't know the half of it.

Because my wife was here when I got here. So were two of the kids.

But Corinne?

Corinne is my dad.

My no-good, boozehound, frequently-arrested, thrice-divorced 61-year-old father.

So like... any advice?

How do you convince a guy who's already thrown away one life not to do the same to another?

I'll hang up and listen.

-B/S (it sure is!)

Jonah/Krystle: Settling In, Part Two

Moira and I have been down here almost a month now, and we're almost set in our routine.  I only got as far as actually moving in last time, but obviously there has more to it than that.  I'd been able to get Moira registered for kindergarten on the phone and online, so the next morning, we called a Lyft and went to her new school, signed the last of the paperwork that needed to be done in person, and then waited in the hall while the principal brought her into her new classroom and introduced her.  I kind of wanted to stay there all day, but I had to do all the shopping for stuff I didn't have.

It dawned on me as I left the school that I kind of had no idea where the best place to do this was, especially if you can't really afford Crate & Barrel or anyplace similarly fancy.  I searched furniture and housewares on my phone, but I didn't really know which ones were respectable local places and which ones were kind of shady.  I'd made a list the night before of what we needed, and whistled at the amount of it.  Not just the cost, but I really should have kept the moving van for an extra day rather than renting a car.

And what is the right amount, anyway?  I knew that I couldn't really get away with two plates, two cereal bowls, etc., especially since I can get kind of lazy in terms of doing dishes when things are busy, but eight kind of seems like overkill - although, once I thought about "what if my parents and Momma Kamen and Karla and her boyfriend and her kids and maybe some neighbors all showed up at once", I started to panic.  I went with boxes of four and made a note to buy some plasticware for emergencies when I went grocery shopping, with the idea that I could go buy some more matching good stuff if I knew I'd have visitors a few days in advance.  It seemed like a weirdly grown-up and responsible thought for someone who sometimes kind of still thinks of herself as the teenage boy she was before the Inn.

(On the other hand, I got a text from Gabriel asking how the move was going while I was shopping, and I may have responded with a comment like "you know, if we got married, other people would buy us all this shit as wedding gifts" and he may have texted back "hahahahaha u srs?", leaving me wondering what I would have done if he'd replied "deal!")

I kind of punted on some things, since I only had so many hours to work with before school let out and I didn't want to buy actual furniture on short notice, but did want a place to sit and eat.  It felt kind of wasteful to buy chairs and tables that folded up that I hopefully wouldn't use for more than a week, especially before my first new, higher paycheck, but I wasn't going to have Moira telling her new friends that we were just sitting on the floor for a couple weeks and have people think we were really poor rather than just starting out.  I especially don't want her being told she was poor.  Like, okay, I kind of felt poor a lot when I first took Krystle's life, and it sucks.  It's a big part of why I've been kind of slow to move out of Momma Kamen's apartment even when I'd saved a bit; I didn't want her to ever feel like she didn't have everything she needed.

Anyway, once all that got done, I sat on the steps outside the building and waited.  Moira had been taking school buses at pre-kindergarten in Cambridge before summer, but I still worried about her getting on the wrong one on her first day, especially if she got distracted or forgot her new address, so I sat out there and waited, barely able to pay attention to the book I was reading on my phone.  She and a boy the same age got off at the same time, though, and they were really cute introducing each other when they realized they were neighbors and pointing at their respective apartments.  Then she ran over to me, and I picked her up and asked how her first day went.

"It was kind of neat!  There's a lot of kids in my class, but most of them seem nice.  The girl who sits next to me, Josie, speaks English and French!  Can I speak French?"

"Well, I'm sure you can learn."  I had actually been trying to find a way to get her into the classes where they teach her Chinese back in Cambridge, but I suppose French would be more practical here.

She got on the bus by herself the next morning, and then I went to the gym.  It wasn't exactly in the same neighborhood, but I left early and it's not hard to figure out buses with a smartphone.

The guy I was replacing got there about ten minutes after me, and looked me up and down as he unlocked the door.  I probably wasn't dressed the way he thought I should be, but I'd kind of had to guess what "proper" was.  The manager back at the old location was a guy, and tended to dress casual in khakis and short-sleeved button-up shirts, stuff where he even if he doesn't have to change out of it quickly if he needs to help on the floor, he's still giving the impression of someone fit and active as you'd expect in a gym.  My body isn't exactly built for that sort of thing even when a sports bra is doing its best to keep the girls under control, so I went with a loose camisole that still covered my shoulder, plus a skirt over black yoga pants.  Not quite "casual management", but I'm not really sure how that works for me yet, even a month or two later later.

Not that this guy looked like he was likely to help out on the floor.  I've been kind of lucky in most of my bosses as Krystle, who have more or less been either folks who started the business and shared the load or had been promoted from the same sort of position I have been, but this guy looked like he'd gone to college to be management.  A month or so in, I'm not exactly ridiculing it - it's a skill I'm still learning - but he sure seemed both happy that he'd be able to get back to spending all of his time managing a location in a nice white suburb and to suspect that I'd slept with someone and was either being rewarded or sent far away (or some combination of the two).

He gave me the quick tour, showing where everything is.  Chain places like this are kind of weird; it had all of the walls the location back in Massachusetts did but rearranged because the space is a different shape, with offices and the employee changing areas and break rooms in the back rather than downstairs.  I kind of wonder if there's someone at the main headquarters whose job it is to adapt stuff to the location or if that's contract work.

He seemed eager to get out before the regular employees arrived, and I wonder if there was some bad blood there.  I wouldn't exactly be surprised - both of the guys I met on that first day were a head and a half taller than me, and a little googling says they were big-deal high-school basketball players who wound up not being such a big deal in college and apparently gyms are where you apply when you've got a degree in physical education but your hometown doesn't need a gym teacher.  Indeed, five of the six people doing my old job are guys like that.  The other is a 19-year-old girl who goes to Tulane.

It's kind of weird; a lot of the guys don't look at me as an authority figure at all, and a lot of the time they are not shy about staring at my tits and ass at all, but - and this is only paraphrased a bit from an overheard conversation - I'm also not that white nerd who thought I was better than them, and maybe subconsciously they pick up on how there's a guy their age under this skin and that smooths things over a bit.  There haven't been any real problems where I've had to cut someone's hours or warn them about being inappropriate with the clients yet, but I'm kind of dreading the first.

I'm kind of running first-day and so-far stuff together there, but I guess I've fallen into enough of a pattern to remember exactly what I was feeling those first few days.  I am still kind of keenly aware of the day-to-day with Moira after school.  The elementary school in our area doesn't have the same sort of after-school extracurricular activities the one in Cambridge did, and I still really don't know anybody I trust as much as Momma Kamen to babysit yet.  She's made some friends and often goes to their places after school, but I feel kind of weird asking other parents to look after my kid on top of theirs, especially when it comes to ask which neighborhood teenager or granny is worth paying.

Still - my apartment is looking more like a home, I haven't fallen flat on my face at work yet, and Moira has made a bunch of new friends.  This may just work out!

-Jonah/Krystle

Daryl/Zee: People Think I'm Crazy

Well, they think Zee's crazy, coming back from vacation, giving two week's notice, and saying she's going to up and move to New York because she met a guy on vacation.  Nope, don't want to stay on as remote after that, either - just making a clean start!  Which surprises them a little, as previous-Zee apparently liked working from home during the pandemic.  I can kind of see why - there are cheat sheets right next to her monitor about who everyone is - but it's kind of not exactly an ideal workplace.  None of her co-workers are surprised by the desire to move on, even if previous-Dee didn't exactly strike them as the romantic type, though the management seems to think giving notice right after coming back from a long vacation is the sort of thing an asshole does.  Can't say they're exactly wrong, but, again, there are a lot of co-workers who think giving the finger as you depart is the stuff of legend.

I was able to pack fairly light for the move - previous-Zee started downsizing almost two years ago, and I told her that she could keep whatever she had come to grow fond of from Zee's apartment, not realizing just how much she'd take me up on.  But that's fine.  She became Zee in her mid-twenties and had been her for three years, and as much as she wasn't looking back, there was a lot of things she was used to, and which I wouldn't know I was missing.

So I went to New York, put some things in a storage unit that J.T. had arranged, and then made my way to Flushing, because the new Magda was insisting that I stay with her and tell her everything she needs to know before completely diving into her new life, which was a surprise, but a welcome one.  Short-term situations in New York are at least one of hard to find and expensive, and J.T. and I didn't want to do the "new girlfriend immediately moves in" thing again, even if it would look less weird with me not appearing old enough to be his mother.  Hopefully I won't be here long, but it's nice to be somewhere kind of familiar while I get on my feet.

I was a bit surprised when I got buzzed up that first time and new-Magda opened the door; she looked younger than I had looked as her and I told her so.  She accepted the compliment and said that she'd spent some time as a make-up artist back before she got married, and had all sorts of experience with shaving a few years off a middle-aged woman even before she'd been one, and "Magda" was aging quite gracefully to begin with - although she said I obviously knew that, of course, because I'd been Magda not long before.

She ran through all that quickly before saying that I'd certainly found myself a nice little landing spot and I said, yeah, I feel a little more like me while still being someone my boyfriend would enjoy having sex with.  She turned a bit red at that - she's actually in her mid-sixties and sort of aspires to be as sex-positive as a Golden Girls character but still defaults hard to cis-het in her thinking, and the idea that I could start out as a "normal" man and get to a point where I was looking for a just-right female body even with magic involved is hard for her to get her brain around.  It's going to be fun the next time that Harmon arrives if she starts thinking of him as entirely Alicia the way she seems to treat me as entirely Zee because she doesn't know what to think about me as Daryl.

Still, she's a pretty apt pupil for someone who initially worried about teaching an old dog new tricks, seemingly excited to learn all the goings-on at the airport.  I asked if she thought she was going to be Magda long-term, and she says it's tempting, depending on what happens with her husband, who has become someone fairly age-appropriate for Magda but...  Well, his real identity is ten or fifteen years older than her, so there's a very real possibility that it won't be there to come back to in the spring, and he doesn't want to stick someone else with so few days.  Apparently, he says she should stay Magda whatever happens, rather than be a widow everyone takes pity on, but they've been together for decades and she can't imagine abandoning him like that.

It was a sobering thing that I brought up with J.T. on our "welcome (back) to New York" date that evening.  We've known kids who became adults via the Inn and vice versa, and I've certainly given some thought to having potentially lost twenty years while living as Magda, but the other end of things is scary.  Just imagine becoming Magda's husband as a teenager and not knowing if your heart will make it to the next Inn booking!

Fortunately, we've got that behind us, and he figures that in time, once I've found a place of my own and a new job, we'll eventually get to a point where we can just look forward.  Easy for him to say - he was only someone else for one year, almost five years ago!

-Darzee (nah)

Jonah/Krystle: Settling In

You ever feel like you have a moment when every adult responsibility you've got doubles in intensity?  That's what the last few weeks have been like.  I thought getting pregnant and having Moira would be as big a jump as it gets, but then I got the promotion, and it has been absolutely crazy since.

Part of it's me.  The Inn sort of has a tendency to freeze your idea of who you "should" be at the point where you changed, and somewhere underneath all of this, I think of myself as still a kid having to fake being an adult, but I'm not - "Junah" graduated from college, so there's no going back to that status quo.  I'm in my mid-twenties and folks think I'm in my late twenties, so I'm not some sort of teen mom, but a grown-ass woman.

Still, it's been a lot.  After getting the promotion, I had to find a place to live in New Orleans remotely, and once I had that more or less figured out, I had an idea of Moira's new school district, so I could go through the process of getting her enrolled, and also out of Cambridge's system.  That's when I told my five-year-old that, no, she didn't have to start school the same day as her friends, because we were going to be moving, far away from Grand-Momma and Aunt Karla and her cousins and her friends, and, boy, did that lead to a lot of screaming and abject refusal to help me pack, even if I did point out that she'd be able to go swimming even in the winter.  Momma Kamen and Karla tried to help, saying that we could do video calls and we'd try to see each other at Christmas and other holidays, and that they were actually jealous, but that just meant that when we put our boxes in the truck, she was sad-crying instead of screaming.

I'd said a private goodbye to my friends in Boston, with "Big Moira" making me promise to keep in touch and Ashlyn and Penny again telling me that starting fresh would really be the best thing for me.  She also asked if I was okay to drive the next day, and I'm not going to lie, that had me nervous as well.  Living in a city like Cambridge, I really only have to drive once or twice a year - mostly when somebody is not good to drive home - and though I'm past the "I never actually took my driver's test!" nervousness, it's still kind of a lie and driving 1,500 miles with a five-year-old who has never been in a car for that long is a lot different than running an errand!  Google will tell you that it's a 24-hour drive, but it took us four days, with one spent going into some of the Smithsonian museums in Washington and another stop to sleep somewhere in Tennessee.  I must admit, I kind of feel like I'm a traitor to my status of being a guy deep down in that, while I'm not nearly as anti-car as Jordan, I can't see why someone would want to drive all the time when there are perfectly good trains and buses.

We got into New Orleans at around two in the afternoon, and met the realtor at the apartment.  Moira had been napping, and when I woke her up, she didn't know what was going on.  I told her we were at her new home, and while I think she kind of wanted to be grumpy, she looked at the building - a very basic one-story with steps up from the sidewalk to two doors, really - and her eyes went wide.  "Is that whole thing just for us?"

"Well, not the whole thing - just the part on the left - but yes, it's just for us."  Once I opened the door she ran in and through the empty living area to the back, and then back to me.  "Mommy!  We each get our own bedroom!"  I said I knew, but she pulled me in to show me anyway, then raced to try and look out every window, find the bathroom, look around the kitchen, very excited about what a big circuit she could run.  At one point she stopped in the entryway and pointed up.  "Why's there a door in the ceiling?"  I said that was the attic, but we didn't need to go up there yet.

After a bit, we walked back outside, and I told her we had to get everything from the van into the house, and it was going to be tricky because we were kind of on our own here.  The fact that everyone else she knew was far away hit her again at that moment, but she started trying to help with some of the smaller boxes.  I managed to wrangle the bed frame in and assembled okay - real-Krystle may not like my arms, but they come in handy for more than just hanging from a fake rock, but the box spring and mattress was going to be trickier.

I admit - I looked down the street and saw some people hanging out on stoops and figured I might as well use what I had, unbuttoning my loose-fitting top and using it to wipe the sweat off my brow.  I was wearing a sports bra underneath, but it was the sort that didn't exactly disguise my rack.  I kept one eye on the open door as a couple young men decided to stir and walk over, hoping I wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Well, well, well," one of them said, "ain't nobody told us a fine-looking lady like yourself was moving into Eddie Grant's place."

I smiled, trying to remember everything Ashlyn - who, longtime readers of this blog may recall, got over any qualms about big breasts making a lot of men eager-to-please very quickly - had told me about flirting:  First and foremost, don't promise anything.  Wear something where you can get noticed, but downplay it; of course you wore the sports bra on moving day.  No innuendo unless you are sure you want to get laid, because they'll lead you down a path you don't want to go.  Just try and show you're smart and fun enough for them to want to be around you generally.

Anyway, I smiled, not too wide, and pulled my hair back in a ponytail, being practical but also letting my breasts ride higher for a second.  "I bet you say that to all the sweaty messes."

The one who hadn't spoken stifled a laugh, and I admit I kind of liked him the best in that moment.  He and his friend each grabbed an end of the box spring, though, and asked where to.  I guided them to Moira's room, where she had emptied out a box and was playing happily, and got them to lay it on the frame.  As we left, the first one took his phone out of his pocket, checked it, and dashed off, saying I had to give him a chance to introduce himself properly, and he might have really had a message rather than deciding a single mom wasn't quite so hot.  Whatever; I could handle the mattress with just one other person to help.  He got it there and we walked back out to the van where he raised his eyes at how little was left.  "Just the one bed?"

I shrugged a little, the sort that didn't set everything moving, and made a face.  "The thing about moving out of your Momma's apartment is that you realize how little you have that's yours alone.  She said I could take the other bed, but did I really want to haul a twin all the way there when I'd have enough room for something bigger?"

I hoped I wasn't implying too much with that, but he just nodded.  "Your Momma's got a point."  He grabbed a box and helped me bring it in.  "And, apparently, your Momma's also got all the chairs, the kitchen table, the TV, the dishes..."

I put my own box down next to his.  "Yeah.  Hopefully Moira doesn't mind roughing it for a while.  I didn't realize it would look this empty."

He raised an eyebrow.  "Moira?"

"Look, there were reasons not to give her a name that was in the family, and my best girlfriend was all that came to mind at the time."  I chuckled a bit, thinking of some of the confusion it's caused.  "If I ever do that again, I'll be more prepared."

He nodded, looking around the place, seeming pretty well aware that, cute anecdote aside, I hadn't really volunteered much.  "Well, if you need anything, I'm Leroy Watkins, my brother is Larry, and we obviously can't complain too much about how people choose their babies' names."

I reached out a hand.  "Krystle."  I was about to spell it out, then didn't.  No need to make it easy for two guys I'd just met to Google it and judge me by the footprint that the original Krystle Kamen left.  Heck, I thought, maybe I could do something along the same lines as Jordan and find a way to be "Joanna" or even just "Crystal" or "Kris" here.

Seeing he wasn't going to get a last name, he shook my hand, either content to play the long game or seeing that I had a lot of other things to check off on the list before "lover".  I saw him out and waved as he walked back down the street toward the place he and Larry share with their own Momma.  The back of the truck was empty, so I reached up and pulled the door shut, then walked in.

Moira walked into the living room shyly until she saw that I was alone.  "Is that your new boyfriend?"

I laughed, pulling the Celtics jersey that was on top of one of the boxes out and putting it on.  "Oh, no, honey, at most he's a boy who might be a friend.  We've got enough else to do with all the other new things!"  I picked her up and spun around.  "Look at all this empty space!  Just a blank canvas to make our own!  And there's going to be new friends and new places to visit and new things to see!  I know it's kind of scary, but I'm also really excited!  Are you excited?"

She hugged me and whispered in my ear.  "I'm kind of scared but also kind of excited."

I kissed her forehead.  "Well, I can't ask for more than that."  We looked around again.  "So, what do you say we put our clothes on the hangers and hang them in the closet, then put your shelves together so you can put your books and toys on them, and then it'll be just about time to return the truck and get some supper!"

"Yay!  Can we get pizza?"

"Baby, we're in a new city, with all sorts of food it's known for!  Your Grandmomma and Aunt Karla and everybody said we've got to try po'boys, red beans and rice, jambalaya, beignets, alligator sausage..."

"Ew!"

We got pizza, of course, and she nodded off just as soon as we got her bed made afterward.

Anyway, so that part of the move went okay.  Obviously we've been busy with a lot more since, but, yeah, we got here, at least!

-Jonah/Krystle

Marc/Chantelle: Down to the last play

Okay, this is almost the last you'll hear from me about softball, now that the season is over.

Our 5-4 record was actually enough to make it to the playoff, which was exciting, even though I had nothing to do with it (and actively harmed the team more than helped.) Word got around and some of the associates and external partners wanted to come watch us play... which included Damon, aka my wife Laura, who I was surprised to see at the diamond.

As if that wasn't bad enough, he brought his wife, meaning there was basically a forcefield around him meaning I couldn't talk to him all night besides a cordial hello, nice to see you here at the beginning of the game (where I did my best to stifle my surprise, disappointment and mild delight at seeing her.)

I was so put off I decided to put my energy elsewhere, focusing on talking to Daisy and, once the game got going, my friend Djuro. I don't know if Djuro is trying to start a "thing" with me, maybe it's in my head and I'm being paranoid but the signs are there. He's always quick to offer me a high five and a congratulations and sit with me on the bench. I, weirdly enough, have kind of encouraged it and probably even crossed a line by offering him a shoulder rub when he said he was tight (he took me up on it and I got about three seconds in before deciding it was weird, but I kept going nonetheless.) We're kind of flirty, and to my own surprise I kind of like being flirty but I don't really know that there's more to it than that.

The game was good, close but a losing effort at 12-10, although I did manage to get on base nearly every at bat, batted a runner in, and didn't completely embarrass myself on the field. After the game, a bunch of the guys went out for drinks, but I went home alone, claiming to be tired but really just unable to cope with the presence of my wife and... her wife.

I got home and put on my PJs and poured myself a glass of wine, and checked my phone to find a string of texts from throughout the night.

From Damon.

"You've got great form."

"Great hit babe."

"Love to watch you run... especially in those shorts" (for the last few games it's been so hot that I've been wearing extremely short and form-fitting red athletic shorts that definitely highlight my posterior and thighs.)

"I'm loving seeing you out there, so confident."

"Chantelle's body looks so good on you."

I felt a rush. This is what I wanted. Attention from Laura. It occurred to me that maybe seeing me having a good time with Djuro from afar fired up her jealousy and made her want to try to win my attention back. We're still in sort of an ambiguous place but it was already seeming like Laura was ready to maybe work on resolving it.

As I was reading and processing all of this, I got another text:

"Janessa wanting to go home early but saying I should stay out with "the gang". Want me to come over?"

My heart skipped a beat. Despite everything, I did want that.

I took a breath and texted... "Sure."

He was there in 40 minutes (which sucked because I was waiting but... beggars can't be choosers I guess.)

I welcomed him in and we did some small talk. I said I enjoyed his texts and he said I enjoyed watching me play, that this all was unlocking a side of me that he liked seeing.

"I feel like, if we were to do something, I would be getting the Marc I love back... and I started to think, how could that be wrong?"

I looked up at him, feeling so small and womanly and vulnerable, my lips trembling as I assured him it couldn't.

We locked eyes, his lips moved toward mine and we kissed.

I...

I had to sort of push myself to realize that kissing a guy isn't that different from kissing a woman, lips are lips, and inside this is the person I love, and I think this body really seems to enjoy (much to my bemusement) Damon's physical presence. It's more startling to kiss as a woman, being small, being held, having his hands search you. I think Laura is really embracing the masculine side of the equation as he started to feel my hips and down my leg and up my arms.

I couldn't let it end. We kissed and kissed and kissed. We kissed on the couch, we kissed on the floor, we kissed with me on top, with him looming over me, side by side. He ran his hands over my hair, I held his bald scalp. There was this element of danger and newness that made me forget all my reservations.

Then I noticed he started unfastening his belt and I put the brakes on.

"Woah-oh" I said abruptly, "I... I don't think I'm ready for that yet."

He kind of looked at me for a while, maybe trying to decide if he should argue his point or let it be, but ultimately he came down on the side of understanding, saying "Sorry, sorry, I was just getting carried away."

"Yeah," I stammered, flustered, "I mean, I could be ready eventually, just... not tonight, you know? Zero to 100..."

"Of course."

I think if he had pressed his case a little harder I may have gone along with it. I could definitely feel my body getting revved up and it was just a snap return to consciousness that made me stop. I think I do want to try it by the time my time here is done, but obviously I have a certain discomfort with that going there. There's the argument that if I want it, and this body is built for it (and I have a partner I can trust) I should go for it, but... would you say that to a 16-year-old? Because that's kind of how I feel as far as my development as a woman. Not quite ready to take control of all that.

I decided to head off some disappointment by offering something else. "If you want I could..." I made a little hand motion.

"You would?" he asked, skeptically.

"Sure," I said, pushing myself to be accommodating. "I mean, I know the territory a bit."

I didn't have to offer twice.

It was... I mean, a little weird doing it from this angle, with a hand that doesn't "match" the equipment, not quite knowing what pressure and speed he would enjoy, but I think I made a good go of it. I felt silly at certain points, but it was nice to de-mystify that part of it, to acquaint myself with "Little Damon." Take some of the fear out of it.

Partway through he asked, politely, if I could go topless.

"Oh," I said blushing, "Curious about what I've got going on here?"

"I'll admit to having a certain admiration for it..." he replied coyly.

I already didn't have a bra on due to being in my pajamas, so I just slipped my top off. I let him feel them a little bit, which was... really nice. Very intimate to let my boobs hang out for him like that. It's nice to have a body that people enjoy touching, that seems so ready for it. They're so jiggly and squishy and just fun, so it's nice to be able to share them with him. 

Anyway, we finished our activity, cleaned up, and rested a moment before I let him get back home.

After he was gone I felt a lot of conflicting feelings... sadness, regret I hadn't gone further, dismay that my wife was still going home to another woman... pride that I had done what I had done, crossed a threshold that I didn't know I was ready to do but also set my limits... hope that this is the beginning of getting back on solid ground between us, and fear that we wouldn't get the opportunity again.

Edit: I've just re-read this and realized at some point I started referring to Laura as "him." So be it... what we did was very physical and she has a "he" body, so... why not. It's not wrong to call me "she," I guess.

Marc/Chantelle: Some crying in baseball

Sometimes I just can't cope with what this body is doing to me.

I was a pretty stoic guy. I may have felt things but I didn't exactly wear my heart on my sleeve. But this body is changing me inside and out, and it's hard to be comfortable with it.

A few weeks ago during one of our softball games, I failed pretty badly. I got put in a position to make a make a big play, playing the outfield where I could have caught a pop fly and then maybe made a double play. Instead I let it drop in front of me and completely botched the throw and let two runs in, blowing our lead and ultimately causing us to lose.

Nobody really expects much from me. I'm just there to be "a girl on the team" after all, but as a man my pride was wounded and it didn't help that Michelle -- who's more serious than most of the guys -- had some huffy words for me afterwards. I took it to heart and went home crying.

It's stupid, it's so stupid, it doesn't mean anything in the long run since it's just a game, and even Michelle's husband Tomas assured me that she was over the line because it's just beer league, but I took it hard because of how much it surprised me. I don't know how I would have reacted in my old life -- laughed it off, thrown some shade back at her, whatever, because again, it's not like I fancy myself some big softball star but I do want to pull my weight. All these female hormones have really put me on my back foot because I realize they're doing the driving. Emotional reactions, snap decisions, and even personal opinions are being influenced by brainwaves that I don't fully understand and am not totally comfortable with.

In the end it's not really about baseball, it's about wishing I could shut it all off and go back to being a man, even though there are things about this life that kind of work for me.

Anyway, the season's almost over and I'm going to have to find some other way to distract myself besides sitting around the house and petting my kitty.

I mean, you guys remember I have a cat, right? That's not a euphemism.

Andi/Andy: Considering College

For the past year, if you asked me, Andy, most of our friends, our parents, and on out, about college, we'd all make some sort of groaning noise, like uuuggghhhh.   Obviously, the two of us had bigger things to consider about our futures, but even aside from wanting to put off anything that we could really mess up for each other, it's just such a pain, and both our parents and our friends with older siblings say it's more messed up than it was in their days, with Covid making campus visits and taking SATs and Achievements more of an effort, although they're apparently not so important for a lot of places.

Enough still look at them to be a pain, though.  Andy says he wants to major in something like history or pre-law, and those aren't really things I'm going to test well for when I show up for the test with his driver's license; my ideas for my future are even more vague - I don't know if electrical engineering with a minor in theater is a thing you can do, but Andy's scores are not going to get me into a good program for that, no matter how terrific my essays are.

(We both can kind of write, but a lot of our teachers who had us for freshman and sophomore years raised eyebrows at the beginning of last year about how, while our homework assignments seemed the same, our in-person essay tests were odd, with "Andi" turning in better-structured arguments while "Andy" had regressed but had what they called "a livelier style" when I was writing but signing his name.)

Anyway, we talked about delaying, making plans to take a gap year, and I think that still may be the best idea, but Shawna, Cyndi, Len, and a few other people said that sounded nice, but also talked about how we were all planning to apply to some of the same schools and being roommates, and so didn't want us to be a year behind.  And it's not like we want that either.  So we're doing a lot of what we've been doing for the past year, trying to set things up so that we're acting normal and can jump back in when we switch back, although we're doing more to acknowledge that things can go wrong like our friends wouldn't believe and planning for that as well.

So in the meantime, we're kind of trying to split the middle or find some overlap.  We visited a few in-state places the week before our senior year started, both state schools and others that have decent programs in science and what they call "the humanities", and nobody seems to think it's particularly weird if your twin tags along for every stop even if it doesn't seem to be their thing.  Exceptions were made for the place that had separate boys' & girls' dorm buildings, rather than mixed ones, and it was kind of a relief that this was still kind of weird for us - we've been in and out of locker rooms and other spaces where there isn't much overlap, and they were mostly empty with just a few summer students hanging around before the next semester, but it was still something like 10% of the smell of a locker room permeating the entire floor.

All that makes it sound awful, but Andy and I were really excited!  We met some cool people our age on the tours, there were real labs in the science departments as opposed to just a few things in the back of a classroom, a couple places had cool sports arenas, and okay, being in a boy's dorm was kind of weird, but the ones where there were co-ed floors seemed awesome.  You've got your own place, but there's also the cafeteria and the quad and game rooms and quiet rooms and it all feels like yours.  I mean, I love Mom & Dad & Andy, but especially for the last year-plus, we've had so much "you should be doing this!" even as they're supposedly trying to let go makes it feel really appealing.

Mom & Dad have also been pretty good about giving Andy and I some space on this sort of thing.  Like, I know Dad wasn't really going to go to bed at 7pm while we were at the hotel back on the 18th, but just giving Andy and I some time to sort of hang out and talk about stuff that most folks were just pondering themselves but which we really couldn't.  We weren't really super-serious about it - we had spotted a place that had weird Mexican ice cream flavors and decided to stop there before wandering around downtown, but we didn't wander long.  It's partly my fault; back when I was shorter than him, I'd sort of developed a tendency to walk fast when we were together to keep up and I haven't quite shaken it, so he has to try and practically jog to keep up with me.  Anyway, we wound up sitting by the hotel pool, crossing our fingers that nobody was going to show up and be weird.

I admit, I took off my shirt/socks/shoes and jumped in for a bit, because it was still hot even at 9pm.  Andy didn't, but he'd conceded to the heat a bit with a tank top and shorts that didn't get close to his knees, and sat by the edge sticking his feet in.  "You're going to miss going topless, aren't you?"

"Nah.  I mean, a bikini's not that far off, and I do feel kind of naked like this, still.  And, like, watching guys walking around between their dorm rooms with their shirts off and having conversations while one is at a urinal with the restroom doors open is a good reminder that you can take this sort of thing too far."

He stuck out his tongue.  "Ew.  Was I that gross?"

I shrugged.  "Sometimes?  I mean, you could be, but if the last year has shown me anything, it's that a lot of guys don't have sisters telling them something isn't cool."

"Well, sorry for what I did do."  He laughed.  "If it's any consolation, I think some of the girls on the floor I visited were sort of doing a skit where one ran into another's room wearing workout clothes and asked if she had a spare tampon, to show how on your own you were and that there was nobody around treating you like a kid.  Worse actors than Shawna."

"Hey, not cool!  I don't talk shit about Len!"

He didn't respond right away.  "You can, if you want.  I think that I'm going to break up with him before he can invite me to Homecoming."  He paused again.  "He's not a bad guy, but you know how he was trying to talk his way onto this trip, right, like he's got some sort of duty to scope out where his girlfriend might go to school?"

"Yeah."

"I don't know that he thinks I'm going to hook up with someone while you're not looking or anything, but he whines whenever I'm doing something with Shawna where he's not invited, and had a lot of opinions about our classes for the fall, and, you know, always tries to sit a little bit closer."

"Duh, he's a guy.  No offense."

"None taken, but I don't think I'd be like that, and not just because I've got you to slap me upside the head."  I must have looked kind of concerned, because he backed off a bit.  "Hey, I don't think he'd attack me or you or whatever, or try to make us do things we don't want to do, but he needs to learn some boundaries, and maybe it should be an actual girl teaching him.  I dunno."

I pulled myself out of the pool and gave him a side hug.  "Hey, it's okay, but I wish you'd told me.  I know we've never done the 'defend your honor' thing, but we always stuck up for each other, even before this!"

He playfully pushed me away and irritably pulled at his top, trying to shake it dry so it wasn't clinging to his right boob where I got it wet without taking it off.  "Cut that out!"

"Sorry."  I scooted over and turned my head.  "You're not worried he won't want to be friends with either of us if you do that?"

He shrugged.  "Yeah, I am, but it's not like we're turning back before graduation, and after that, who knows when we'll see each other again after that?  We may not even get accepted into the same places, so maybe we shouldn't worry about anything from high school carrying over."

I nodded, thinking of Shawna and Cyndi and a few other folks.  "I guess."

It had gotten dark, so I tried to scrape as much water off me with my hands as I could and got dress so we could go back to our rooms.  The next morning, Dad asked what we talked about and we told him the tampon story, and that was enough for him to look like he regretted asking.

Then, the next Monday, we started Senior Year, which so far is a lot like Junior Year with a little extra "hey, this might be our last..." to it.

-Andi-with-an-i

Daryl/Zee: Meet-Cute

J.T. put on a pretty darn good performance Thursday night, acting like I just randomly caught his eye across the bar, buying me a drink, pretending like he didn't expect me to recognize him but would be hurt if I didn't.  It's a funny thing, our lives - if you've been to the Inn, you're eventually going to get into a position where you've got to perform as someone else, and it's different from what he does in that you don't really have to be convincing, because there's no reason for anyone to actually doubt you, but there are so many ways to be "off" that make it harder for people to follow their own part of the script, so to speak.  When you throw a professional actor like J.T. into it, though, it's something else.

At times, I'm not so sure that's a great thing - he was so convincingly Elaine that I fell for her, and hasn't that made my life crazy over the past few years?  Everyone else either just tries to keep their heads down or commits to living their new life, and while that inevitably makes a mess, because humans are messy, it's usually a clumsy mess that we can stumble out of awkwardly.  But he was just too good.

On the other hand - that night was exciting.  Like, we've kind of been doing some performances together for a while, like our "breakup" in June that got me a bunch of sympathy from the friends and co-workers I had as Magda but which left him a fair amount of time to have his friends start pushing him to find someone new, while I've been sort of laying the groundwork to leave the next Magda able to do whatever she wants without it seeming weird.

Still - it was kind of surprising to see just how well he was selling it.  I mean, I know J.T. well already, and I never really thought of myself as a woman who wanted a man to pay attention to me.  Sometimes I don't even think of myself as a woman, but a guy who has wound up in a woman's body because the girl I liked was really a man and this worked out easier.  But here's J.T., doing that, and it's kind of working on me.  I mean, I've never been a single girl looking for a guy's attention, but I did kind of worry that maybe with this new shape and voice and smell or whatever, we might lose chemistry, but, nah, he's interested and I'm excited by that.

He calls a taxi and we get back to his/our apartment, and we kiss for a long time, letting us get used to how my new lips feel before we do much else.  He's really excited to undress me, though, and I let him, not letting him touch anything until he's got me completely naked, and even then kind of making him look me all over, starting from how I've actually got pretty nice toes (I don't think prior Zees have crammed them into the sort of shoes that squish them together than much) to the shape of my legs.  Then he's laying hands on my firmer ass, and from there it's not far to my tits, and he's kissing those and being kind of cute in how he's not sure whether I want to hear how much better they are or if I'll take that as him saying that he didn't enjoy what I had as Magda.

Eventually, we get to the bed, and for all that it's exciting, I'm tighter down there than I was, and he likes it but it's also a little harder than he's had to work before.  We both get a little surprised when something that had always brought be to orgasm before feels good but isn't quite the same, although we get there eventually, and it's good enough to leave us both lying there, panting.

We hang out as much as we can over the weekend - he is in a show, after all - and most of today, before I get on a plane (ugh, paying for airline tickets!) and head back "home", where I will act so spacey and distracted for the next couple of weeks that everybody will hopefully take my not knowing who they are as being head over heels in love.

--Daryah (maybe? I'm pronouncing it dare-ee-yah in my head)

Daryl/Zee: I can hardly believe this is FINALLY me

Of all the folks posting on this blog, I suspect that Jordan is the only one who really gets how nice it is to wake up in the Inn, look in the mirror, and feel like things are finally right, even if being white was easier in a lot of ways.  Two nights ago, I went to sleep as Magda for the last time, having intending to be awake to watch my body change in the mirror, but one's mid-fifties are no joke, and I eventually flopped down on the bed, only to wake up, see the sun on my darker legs, and suddenly feel energized to bounce up and run into the bathroom.

I'd seen the face already, but it was great to be able to make it smile in the mirror; this may be my fourth face, but I don't know that you ever get used to this.  It twirled my hair, thinking I'd probably braid it, because while it's not super-nappy, it's also not the fine, silky stuff they make wigs out of, so it would take a lot more combing than Magda's did for the same effect.  I said a couple test sentences, and my voice felt a little closer to right.  "Hi!  I'm Zariyah Andrews!  Call me Zee!"

Though I'd grown an inch and a half, it wasn't enough to make the shorts and tee I had slept in as Magda feel tight.  Heck, with the weight off my chest, it was probably a wash up top.  Not that I'm flat-chested now, but Magda had always been busty and had a kid besides, so being perky maybe didn't look quite so impressive, although I remembered from being Elaine that you can do a lot with the right bra.  My legs and butt looked pretty good, and a quick look inside the shorts indicated nothing unexpected.

(I feel bad about reducing this to a bunch of body parts, but apparently four years isn't quite enough not to be waking up a new woman by taking inventory of the sort of thing guys look for)

Soon after that, folks started yelling, so I threw some daytime clothes on and went to help folks out.  After that, it was the obligatory trip to Cary's hot dog truck.  I must have been smiling like an extra-special goofball or maybe nobody else orders a Chicago-style dog - or maybe both - but he sort of held it in the air for a second, considering what a fool he'd look like if asking "Daryl?" was the wrong call, before I busted out "call me Zee!" for the first real time.

He told me I looked really good, and I thanked him, and then he did me the favor of asking how dropping twenty years overnight felt because I wanted to say it was great, thank you very much, without acting like I pitied him for taking those years back after his time as Elaine.  Us having both had the same identity at different times gave us a bit more room to talk about how things were going with the original (and never being anyone else again) Elaine.  She and the guy living as me found each other and are getting married next spring, which is crazy, especially when you think that neither of them were using those names the last time "Daryl & Elaine" was a thing.

Anyway, he seemed genuinely happy that this had finally worked out for me.  I was planning to take over this life a year ago, but then the original Zee's father died, and even if it didn't mean much to the last person living that life, being in it meant responsibilities she couldn't get out of without feeling awful, so we put everything off a year.  I haven't posted about it because I didn't want to jinx this time, which feels stupid but I can't exactly say that there's no chance of jinxes being real, can I?

I spent most of yesterday afternoon making sure that new-Magda would be in good shape - doing laundry, buying a couple new underwear sets, finding a spot where you could print things out so that she had a bunch of maps and diagrams (and making sure they were all stored in her phone), attaching names to a bunch of people at the airport.

There was also a big section in the binder on Harmon/Alicia, more than I might have expected a year ago, but fake family's fake family, and maybe the new Magda would want to spend more time with him.  We never really got on, but ever since I got my own place in Flushing in preparation for this whole switch a year ago, he's kind of made himself at home there whenever his schedule takes him to New York, because after all, Magda wouldn't expect her daughter to stay in a hotel or crash pad, would she?  We aren't actually roommates that often - I still stayed over at J.T.'s a lot - but, we do go through the motions of playing mother and daughter more than we used to.

In fact, she was there when I got into town this morning, and you'll pardon if I switch pronouns up, but you would have to look very hard to see a man eligible to collect social security in the 27-year-old woman sitting on my couch in a miniskirt and a top that was little more than a bra, feet on my coffee table in high-heeled knee-high boots, hair back in a ponytail, barely looking up at me from her phone (where she was probably looking to see if anybody had tagged photos of her from the night before) as I came in using a spare key.  There's something about her that I don't like, maybe because I feel like it's a reflection of me switching lives for my own ends and not looking back.

That and the dismissive compliments, like "yes, I guess that's at least a lateral move" upon looking at me, which probably wasn't actually racist, but sort of felt that way, like being younger and taller and tighter maybe didn't entirely compensate for not being white anymore (I'm not proud that I've worried about that myself).  I shrugged it off and said I was going to take a shower and a nap, because I'd wound up taking the train after a flight or two was canceled.

It hit me as I saw myself in the bathroom mirror that my new face didn't match what I was expecting in this place - by now I expect the Inn to be random, I guess - and I started thinking about what I'd like to keep from this apartment/phase of my life to bring into the next one.  Should I want to bring more mementos, or physical things, than I was planning?  Given that J.T. and I figure to pick right back up where we left off it doesn't seem like I should be leaving as clean of a slate.

Of course, to do that, he's got to "meet" Zee, which is why I've spent an hour or so after getting up from my hap working on my hair and make-up and making sure I chose just the right outfit so that nobody would be surprised when this "tourist" catches his eye at the bar tonight.

It's funny - I've been with him for longer than I have been with any girl, but we've switched our shapes so often that it doesn't necessarily feel like that.  Heck, I almost wonder if we'll start joking about it if we hit a rut in a couple of years.

But let's not get ahead of ourselves - tonight, I'm seeing a play and finding out what these taste buds think of gin!

-Zariyaryl (Hmm, maybe not)

Jonah/Krystle: Just Like That

It's no secret around the gym that I've been looking for another job; they've seen me come to work right from interviews wearing skirts and heels and other stuff I don't generally go for, and besides, everyone who gets paid by the hour is looking for a new job.  Heck, a lot of people higher up are.  Low unemployment, but lots of bosses who don't realize people have options.  It's a lot easier if you've got a college degree, though, so I've come up short a lot.

I hadn't been on an interview the day I got called into the manager's office at the end of shift, so I wasn't dressed up, unless you consider lycra dressy.  I'm worried about getting fired, of course, but my boss just looks at me like he hasn't really done that since I was hired.  He wasn't alone, though - there was a guy in a suit from the corporate office.  "So, I gather you've been looking for new work?"

"Uh, yeah - don't misunderstand, I love it here, but my daughter's getting big enough that Momma's apartment is starting to feel small, plus she needs school clothes and supplies, and, well, there have been a lot of weeks when it's not close to full time unless someone gets sick.  I mean, I get it - lots of folks in Cambridge still not ready to come inside and exert themselves around people breathing heavy --"

He seizes on that.  "But you haven't missed any time, have you?"

"I've been lucky."  I smile, realizing he probably can't see it under my mask.  "And, you know, I'm careful."

He nods.  "I see that.  It's got you cross-trained pretty well, too."  I shrug.  "So.  How would you like to have a manager's job?"

My eyes go wide.  "Is Bob leaving?"

He laughs.  "No, not yet.  Here's where it gets tricky.  The opening isn't here.  We've opened a few new locations over the past few months, and they've had some staffing issues.  Hiring folks who don't know the day-to-day business, others who do but leave after a few weeks.  Others who, uh, aren't a good fit for the community.  That's where we need you, at one of the new locations."

I racked my brains.  "You need me in Salem?"

He stared at me, the hardest a man has looked me in the eyes since I became Krystle.  "No.  We want you in New Orleans."

I'd like to say I did something cool or funny like laughing, but instead I just stared back, trying to see if this was a test.  "New Orleans, Louisiana?"

"I don't know that there's another one."

I let out the breath I didn't remember holding.  "That's a big move."

He nodded.  "It is.  But your performance reports have been excellent, you are clearly looking for better things, and, like you said, we would lose you soon anyway."  He slid a folder with various papers in it over the desk.  "We will need to have a formal interview, of course, but we can do that on Friday.  As I said, the previous person we hired for the role has quit, and we need the position filled quickly."

I take the folder.  "Okay.  Let me, uh, let me just talk to some folks."

"Of course.  I look forward to talking with you again."

He gets up and leaves.  Bob raises a hand for a high five, and respond, though not really a hard slap.  I'm not sure I really say anything to him on the way out before getting on the T.  When I get to Alewife, instead of walking back home, I head to the buses and go up Mass Ave a bit, getting off at the stop closest to The Changeling.  They've moved it in the past couple years.

As I walk in, Moira - the original - squeals.  "Krystle!  What a surprise!"  She quickly cleans off a spot near the end of the bar.  "What can I get you?"

"Uh...  Heh.  A bourbon, I guess."

She raises her eyebrows, since I don't drink a lot, especially while I'm still wearing a t-shirt over spandex, but she pours one anyway.  I take a sip and wince.  "So what's wrong."

"Nothing.  It's just... this." I show her the papers.

Her eyes go wide and she shrieks a little, getting looks from the customers, and even getting Ashlyn to walk in from out of the back and see what's going on.  "Oh, hey, Krystle.  Coming crawling back?"

We both know she's joking, but Moira's accent triples in strength.  "She is not!"  She shoves my papers in Ashlyn's face and I mumble something about how that's kind of private.

She looks it over and beams.  "Oh, man, congratualtions.  You are going to love NOLA.  It's amazing!"

Moira looked up at her.  "When have you ever been there?"

Ashlyn's been at this so long that she doesn't even get rattled when someone sees something inconsistent with her being girl who grew up in Providence and has seldom been west of Manhattan.  "Hey, I was a real party girl in college, and where's a better place to party?"

I interrupt before Moira has more questions.  "I haven't accepted yet.  Heck, I could still blow the interview!"

"Come on, be reasonable.  There have to be plenty of people closer to the area they could go to if you weren't a lock."  She came around the bar and sat on the stool next to mine, putting her hand on top of mine.  "Besides, it would be really good for you.  Sometimes we really need a new start.  A place that's ours and not, you know, just where life put you."

Moira chimed in, not aware of the context, but talking about how leaving Ireland was like that for her.  We spent the next hour or so talking, and then I got back on the bus because Momma Kamen was looking after Little Moira and had a night shift.  She looked a little concerned when she smelled alcohol on my breath - it was probably some warning flag with Krystle in the before-me times - but I said I was fine and put another stick of gum in my mouth.  I spent the evening playing with my daughter, watched Frozen again, and then stayed up, plugging the New Orleans location's address into Google Maps and then looking at what apartments cost to rent in that area.

Momma Kamen saw what I was doing when she got in.  "Something I should know about?"

I told her the whole thing, and she got kind of quiet before smiling.  "Well, I've always wanted to visit New Orleans, and visiting my granddaughter sounds like as good an excuse as any."

I think it was this that unlocked something that I couldn't identify that had been feeling more strongly all day.  "Does everybody want me gone?"

She chuckled and hugged me.  "Oh, Kryssy, no.  But I've been in your shoes - a baby, no man to rely on, barely a high school diploma, feeling like I was a burden on my momma - and I want so much more for you and Karla.  There were days I didn't think it would happen, especially when you were getting into so much trouble, but look at you - you've grown so much, and I'm so proud of you.  You deserve this opportunity."

Her being proud of me always felt strange and made me feel more guilty - I've taken her daughter's life and now she's a white teenager - so it didn't hit as she expected.  "But what about Moira, and her friends?"

"Honey, she's five.  She'll be mad at you for a few weeks, and then she'll make a lot of new friends, and if you stay down there, she'll never remember anyone from here but her cousins.  Do you remember anybody from Roxbury?"

No, I didn't.  I had no idea that the Kamens had lived anywhere but this Cambridge apartment block.  But I didn't exactly remember a lot of people from when I was five, either.  Heck, I'd lost touch with most of the other people who were at the Inn with me.

I still had a hard time sleeping, though, so when I woke up early, I went out to the fire escape and made a video call to my real parents, who would already be up and getting ready for work.  They were obviously worried that it was some sort of an emergency, and they weren't nearly as enthusiastic when I laid everything out.

Mom was especially not-quite-happy.  "Just when I thought I couldn't lose my son more, that we were getting closer."

"It's not like that, I just - I mean, I'm a Black single parent in an expensive city where I never know when I'm going to run into someone who had a problem with Krystle ten years ago and holds a grudge, and a clean slate kind of sounds nice.  Not totally clean, just..."

I didn't have an end to that sentence, but Dad nodded.  "I understand.  We moved a few times back when we were younger, too.  Every one does, and their parents all have a hard time with it."

We chatted a little more - Mom expressed worries about Moira and Dad tried to give me practical advice for moving - and then they had to leave for work.  I had to get Moira ready for pre-K and then run some errands.

On that Friday, I showed up to work two hours early, in my interview uniform, hair straightened, worrying about whether I look like I'm trying to lean too hard on my looks while still wanting to show I care about how I present myself (men who have never been women have no idea how much this bounces around your head), but I handle it professionally.  I get the offer.  I say yes.

I'm going to New Orleans.

-Jonah/Krystle

Andi/Andy: Busy summer

As weird as it is to be Andy during the school year, summer has almost been stranger.  You wouldn't think that would be the case, but for as much as I didn't really want to take his classes and do his activities, it's something I can kind of put my head down and do.  Once we got back from the Inn, though, summer was wide open, we've got folks who want to spend time with us, and there's only so much time we can spend on summer jobs (I'm working in a movie theater, he's at an ice cream stand).

Mom and Dad don't really want me talking too much about locations on this blog - we're obviously not close to Maine - but I don't know that saying it's been hot as heck this summer really narrows where we are down in any way.  We don't really have beaches, but there are ponds nearby, and folks do go there to cool off, which throws me sometimes.  I still feel a little weird going shirtless, but I also kind of want to look good that way.  I'm not doing a ridiculous amount of sit-ups or anything, but sometimes I kind of feel like I should be watching what I eat more than I do as myself, which makes Mom shake her head.

I'll often find myself hanging at the pond with Cindi and she certainly has her body in good shape.  I'm not sure exactly what I think about that, sometimes.  I felt jealous the first time I saw her strip down to a bikini, but I feel a little less that way each time.  This hottie wants to spend time with me, and it's kind of fun to have her on my shoulders while she's trying to knock another girl of some boy's back in the water.  Even when she's not down to swimsuits, her summer wardrobe is crazy hot, and if anything, I kind of envy how comfortable she seems to be in her body.  I don't think I ever felt that way as myself, let alone as Andy, and in some ways it lights up the straight-boy bits in the front of my brain even more than her actual body.

(Dad's a doctor, and that's how he explains it - even if the Inn doesn't change most of a person's brain structure, that bit which is really tied in with the nose and glands is affected.  Makes as much sense as anything, I guess.)

Andy's kind of in the same boat.  He's not as flat as I was back when Cindi was awful to me in junior high, but he's got a tendency to try to minimize that part of his body with sports bras and tops that offer a lot of coverage even if they leave his midriff bare.  I kind of think things are starting to get uncomfortable between him and Len; Len wants to make out way more than Andy does, and he's in a rough position where he doesn't want to push his friend away but he also seems really uncomfortable with how this is going, wondering if he's going to try and slide back into his life next year and mostly look at Len and think of the pressure to do things he felt uncomfortable with as opposed to all the good times from before that first date.

I'm kind of glad to see Cindi and him getting along, though it was kind of weird getting there - I had to tell him that she'd been a bitch to me before, and to his credit he did feel annoyed on my behalf, and maybe even annoyed at me for "dating" her after all that, but she actually did apologize when reminded, saying she did not handle getting a lot of attention well at all, and that she likes me for not acting like she owes me anything.  I guess at some point they talked about how touchy Len could get and Cindi said her last boyfriend was like that, it was the worst, and she's cool with me not trying to push her until something happens spontaneously.  There was a "don't tell Andy" on that, but, obviously, we share everything.

So that's weird but also kind of comfortable.  As much as pretending to be my brother is like being on alert all the time, it's funny that the stuff most tied up with being a guy is kind of the easiest?  Like, next week's college visits are going to be a whole lot weirder!

-Andi-with-an-i