"Sophie": In love with myself

It's Monday night and I stand in front of the mirror with my phone in my hand. I've selected my very favourite bra and panties: lavender-colored, shear, lacy and skimpy. Through the fabric you can just discern certain details, leaving little to the imagination. I spend ten minutes trying to decide on a pose, turning my body this way and that, examining every inch of exposed and covered flesh... which curves do I highlight? Straight-cleavage? Sideboob? Arch my back and stick my butt/hips out? Should I try to de-emphasize the belly bumps, lumps and lovehandles, the way my midsection ever so slightly over the waist of my panties, or do I just acknowledge that that's a part of me and present it in its full glory? What angle does the light hit me to play down the veins in my breasts, the stretchmarks that streak across my flesh?


Truth is, it doesn't matter, and I take pictures of myself from every possible angle, puckering my (brightly red-coloured) lips and giving bedroom eyes, twisting this way and that, leaning forward, showing myself in every light, imperfections and all. I feel like I better appreciate myself, because sexy underwear isn't cheap in plus sizes, and I look damn good. In all about thirteen pictures are taken... and sent.

The destination of these photos is a man named Dan Reilly, who lives in Rhode Island... and is, in actuality, the original/real Sophie. As we started conferring months ago, about my plans to forgo getting my previous body back, we got kind of close... not physically close, of course, but she admitted she found herself checking out women who resembled her old body more than women who were stereotypically attractive. This coincided with me getting deep into the body-positivity movement, and as we chatted, I somehow got into the habit of sending her racier and racier pictures of her old body. You can interpret this many different psychologically complex ways, but it's been dynamite for my self-esteem, and hers.

I didn't love this body when I first got it. Beyond being confused and scared at not having the only body I ever remembered, it was far from perfect: I was self-conscious about chubby arms, belly, thighs, butt and frankly unmanageably large boobs. Even as I started to accept, even appreciate, being a woman, there were still those problems with the specific body and I found myself wishing I had become Angie or Mona. This body came with so many caveats... as I'm sure Roy would tell you, sometimes even maintaining your shape as a woman is a chore. Then as months went by, I came to like my new home a lot, seeing a lot of great about it, and I was fortunate enough to meet Sophie's friends, who love her body too, and seem to care a lot for the person inside it, whether it's her or me.

And of course, guys love it. They just do. Girls too ;^P just ask James.

(As a sidenote, I never quite knew what to do with myself, who to aim my affections at as Grant, so this transformation has really brought that side of me out... that certainly doesn't seem like an uncommon trend among people who visit the Inn, but in my case it's especially relieving. But I wouldn't be surprised for people who decide such pursuits aren't a healthy use of time...)

So over the past year, I've gone on a journey from being scared, confused, depressed and resentful, to absolutely celebrating the way I look, to the point where I can't imagine being another way. I've even dropped the "Grant" from this post's title, because... well, that guy is gone. Part of me is nostalgic for being him, but... he's not me, you know? My year as Sophie feels more real to me than my whole life as Grant.

Which is scary, because that's exactly what's going to happen soon. I'll be moving on again. I don't know exactly where I'm going to end up, man or woman, young or old... I can only hope I feel as highly about it as I do this one. Maybe having rebuilt that confidence, it won't be a hard transition, or maybe I'll just collapse again. I don't know. My hope is that someday... maybe next year, maybe further... I'll be able to drop the quotation marks from whatever name I have and just be a person for the rest of my life, however long that is.

But the amount of things that have to happen before I can be satisfied for that... I don't even want to think about it.

Once "Dan" has responded, appreciatively, to my photos - and sent some of his own - I dress up and head out. There's a show to get to, some band or another, and the guys are always waiting on me. Oh, but first I forward those pics to my dropbox, and swing by "Keisha's" place... my friends have been asking about her. She made quite an impression the last time I brought her out.

Only another month.

Tyler/Lauren: Status quo

I don't know why, but I figured I would be the "newbie" on this little blog for at least a while, since it doesn't seem like that many people who stay at the Inn, overall, find it (or bother, if they do.) I told Carrie she could contribute if she liked, but she's not much of a writer. As to those who have recently joined "the club" I don't have much in the way of advice, or even comfort. But, uh, good luck I guess?

(Fact about me: I am bad with sympathy/feelings, just ask anyone who's seen me at a funeral.)

I want to write a lot, but I find myself stuck on the fact that nothing is happening, besides the constant background noise of the family, and Lauren's friends constantly sending her pointless texts that I am obligated to answer back. This generation, I swear, if they can't constantly be in touch with each other they don't know where they are. It's affecting me, too: I'm constantly checking the phone to see if I missed something. Besides that, I think that if I didn't look the way I do, this would almost be a dream existence: all this free time and no responsibility, no job, nobody to look out for. Instead, I'm facing boredom bordering on depression.

Lauren's friends have provided a surrogate entertainment system for me. I've dropped into their lives like one might a soap opera (do those still exist?) It's confusing at first, but once you get to know the characters you become intrigued by their lives. I'm making little diagrams, with Lauren's help, of who's dating who, who dated in the past, who she's on good terms with, who she hates (publicly and privately) who hates her (publicly and assumed) etc etc. Add Seann to that list, who has repeatedly posted the word "whore" on her Facebook wall (although the first time it was "hoar." So there's that.) I find it a little sad that I find this somehow more stimulating than studying for hours on end. I promise not to bore you with the details unless they somehow become relevant. (I mean, what's relevant anymore? Or irrelevant, for that matter?)

More important is what I know about the family. Lauren's mother Susan was married to Paul Sherman for only two years or so - it would seem to be a shotgun wedding, if I've got the timeline right. He moved around a lot, and kept only barely in touch while Susan raised the kid on her own. Sometime later she met Albert Blanchard, who already had a daughter named Tasha  (b. 1992) and was either already divorced, or getting divorced, or maybe still married, Lauren didn't seem to know the full story, and I don't blame her. Tasha and Lauren did grow up together a little bit, because Tasha's mother briefly lost custody to Albert while she was unemployed. Then Tasha turned 18 and moved out on her own.

Susan doesn't really like Tasha, Albert is pretty distant toward Lauren. I think they reckon since she's almost done high school and they've got these other two kids about to hit puberty they can leave Lauren to her own devices... or at least palm her off on her big stepsister. That don't mean they ain't keeping tabs on her - I can't hardly leave the house without them asking where I'll be and who with.

They're not poor - Lauren gets an exorbitant allowance compared to what I got when I was that age (I had an afterschool job, Lauren seems barred from getting one) - but they're not thriving as a one-point-five income family with three mouths to feed, in a bad economy... part of the shrinking middle class, as Meghan pointed out to me.

Susan works part-time as a maid, which counter-intuitively seems to explain why the house isn't overly clean: she doesn't bring her work home with her. She looks permanently exhausted, with bags under her eyes and probably a bit prematurely aged, only in her early 40s but looking a decade older. Albert's a skinny guy who is probably about my old height, and bald except on the sides. He manages a fried chicken place (hello Breaking Bad?) so he's the breadwinner, and brings work home a few nights a week. This is infinitely preferable to Susan's cooking, no offense to her: it's a lot of mac & cheese, hamburger helper, meatloaf... basic meals that remind me of the less pleasant parts of my youth.

I'd kill for a pizza. But anyway, Lauren's constitution and appetite means I don't eat a ton of this stuff anyway. Lauren's skinny, and I know enough about teenage girls to guess why. I don't aim to make a ton of changes to her life, but I would like to get her healthy, enough so that it's not so easy to see her ribs. There's this frustrating clash between what I want to eat and what I can handle eating, which leads to an irritable Tyler.

In fact, speaking of my mood... I don't know, I find myself slightly more emotionally volatile than I am normally. Things that irritate me bother me, that I used to just shrug off as "the way of the world" suddenly strike me down in my core, and I find myself wanting to drop everything and hide in my room. I've become a literal teenager, probably due to swirling hormones mixed with the actual trauma and the fact that, well, there's a lot going on in this life to stress me out and trigger these little moments. I just chafe at being pulled this way and that by Lauren's social group, her family, and my own urge to fuck off and run away. Meghan might be satisfied to know I actually did break down and cry a few times in the last few weeks

Besides the parents, there's also the twins, 11-year-old Kylie and Kevin, running around. Kevin's a little brat (not my first choice of word either) always bringing his friends over and loudly playing XBox. Kid's got a mouth on him, let me tell you. Kylie's at gymnastics three nights a week, so I hardly even saw her until school got out. She's pretty well-behaved, except when she loses her cool, then she wails like a banshee.

She's also got some weird boundary issues. We were at the mall a few weeks ago, and she had me take her into a certain ladies apparel place, where she remarked that she hoped when she grew up she looked more like Tasha than Lauren. Then she puffed out her top with her hands to demonstrate what she meant.

Um... kay. I did not think girls thought much about that before it happened. But it's no different from my friends and I all comparing muscles and pit hair when we were that age (hint: we didn't have much. Yet.)

There's one other thing I've been doing... somewhat reluctantly, somewhat because I'm interested. Lauren was in singing lessons, on Thursday nights, and while I can't exactly pick up where she left off, something tells me Lauren was not that great of a student because nobody seemed all that alarmed by the warbling, self-conscious, off-key rendition of "Do Re Mi" I let off. Still, there are worse hobbies to pursue, I suppose. Beats gymnastics. And slightly easier to fake your way through.

That's pretty much the lowdown on my life, for now, the status quo as it is. When I can, I spend time with Meghan, although with her working nights and me in school there wasn't a lot of time for that until recently. I'll leave it to her to tell you about her life, because for all I know there's things she doesn't want to tell the internet.

I guess all this is my way of defensively wondering if it's a problem how settled I've gotten within a month. I referenced the "Lauren-shaped" dip in the bed, and I feel that's like a perfect metaphor for what's going on. How fucked up it is that this life is all set up for me, and it's not what I'm used to, and even more than a bit uncomfortable, but... it's shaped for me. For Lauren, who I happen to currently be.

Jordan - What is wrong with all of you?

I mean, what the fuck? I turn into a tiny white girl - which is fucked up enough on its own - and Ravi decides to fucking kidnap me because he's afraid we'll lose jobs in some family deli that is not actually owned by his actual family?

Oh, he didn't see it that way, saying he didn't know what else to do after I fainted, and not to worry because he wasn't the one who dressed me (what the fuck?). The actual wedding wasn't planned until next year (WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK?), so we wouldn't have to fake too much in public. He told me that there should be a letter in my luggage for me to read, and then chivalrously helped me get it down from the rack because I was so tiny now.

There was, along with a wallet and a phone, but I only sort of pretended to read it. I'd woken up at some point between Exeter and Haverhill, and I got right off the train at that station. Ravi ran to the door and told me I couldn't just do that, but I gave him the finger and the conductor gave him this stern look asking if "we" had a problem. I said no and walked over to the other side of the platform not even knowing that it was only ten minutes until the next train north. I guess Ravi took his seat without much complaint, and I headed back to Maine.

Not that there was a lot of help to be had - in the three hours since Ravi had loaded me on a train, everyone who knew everything seemed to have gotten on a train or taken a cab to the Portland airport to start their new lives or get back to their old ones, and the few people that were left were just crying about not knowing how to be these people or be a man or a woman or black or whatever. But they seemed to be asking the wrong question, really.

Ravi had left the door locked, and while I might have been able to knock it down a day earlier, that wasn't happening, so I went to the other hotel where we checked in and told the guy at the desk that I was locked out of my room. There was as much confusion as you might imagine - I have no idea how they keep records for who checks in and who checks out, and when he finally allowed that a Jordan Chang might still be checked in, he looked at me weird, but I guess that "Jordan" being a girl's name too is the one bit of luck I've had with that place. Anyway, I was able to get my suitcase, rip up the letter Ravi had written for the next person in the room, and write another one. Then I grabbed my stuff, checked out for real, and waited for the 3:05pm train. I had to buy that ticket with Deirdre's card, because they do check IDs on the train, and that sucker was running low enough that a plane ticket wasn't the best idea. But I eventually got to Boston, took the orange line to Back Bay, and from there got into Penn Station at just past 11pm.

By the time I got back to my apartment and lugged the luggage up all these stupid stairs with this scrawny body, it was midnight, and I was ready to drop. Obviously, I hoped to wake up this morning and find out that yesterday was all some strange nightmare, but that's equally obviously not the case. But that doesn't mean I have to stop being Jordan Chang or start being Deirdre O'Connell - I do a shit-ton online, to the extent where most of my work is done via IM rather than voice calls, and I am not going to be a waitress when there's other, much better-paying work that I've already agreed to do. I may look completely different, and I may have to buy a whole lot of new clothes today because I didn't take Deirdre's bag with me when I got off the train, but I'm still myself, no matter how Ravi or anyone else wants to play it!

-Jordo

Gary (Ravi); "Heading to a New Home"

Long time readers of this blog have probably been waiting for this post a while, expecting something ironic because they probably think it's fictional, but either, way, it's inevitable: I woke up this morning not myself.

It was early, like two-thirty, when people were banging on doors and yelling. It didn't wake Jordan - once he was out in his old body, there was no stirring him, and that doesn't seem to have changed - but I can be a pretty light sleeper. Waking up in the dark, nothing seemed to have changed, but when I got up an answered the door, I thought there was a weird trick of the light going on for how light my skin was. The lady who was at the door asked if it had happened to me, I asked what, and she said turning into someone else, and that the Canadians in the common area said they knew more.

I rushed to the bathroom to look in the mirror, and I was kind of shocked - I was white, had a full beard instead of just a mustache, and... Well, I was someone else! I was half-dazed as I walked away, and took a step toward Jordan's bed, but stopped, figuring I might as well know something before waking the lump under the covers.

Apparently, about half the Inn's capacity this week were returned visitors, and they told me what they knew: That the Inn was cursed somehow, that every couple of weeks it would turn the 13 people inside into copies of the last people to stay there, who had turned into the group before that, and so on back for decades, apparently. They said we weren't stuck like this - there was no rule saying you couldn't come back, and if you co-ordinate with the people who will become you, it's possible to build chains to get your real life back. Then two of them looked at each other and said you had to be really careful, because it's about being near where the other person was when they changed and a matter of inches could be a huge deal. They said that's why there was luggage in the room that the maids didn't clear out, because that was part of the ritual - you leave the next person to have your shape your clothes and a letter. Ours actually weren't in our room any more; they were among the things that had ticked Jordan off when we arrived, and he wound up dumping them in the lobby. Fortunately, they hadn't been stolen, so I opened one and found a letter to "the new Gary Goldstein". It turned out that I was now a couple years older and from a Jewish family in the Baltimore suburbs. The rest of his story was sort of like mine, but different in the details - got through college and even law school, though apparently at the bottom of the class, but hadn't passed the bar in three attempts. Not so different from getting a degree in electrical engineering only to wind up with an internship that didn't lead to a job. Working in the family deli sounded better than a big-box electronics store, especially since it led to--

Well, at that point, I rushed back to the room, pulled the covers off Jordan, and gasped. He'd become Deirdre O'Connell, Gary's fiance. Physically, she's about the most un-Jordan-like person you could imagine - about ten inches shorter, Caucasian, the sort of redhead that gets covered in freckles, heart-shaped face, slender neck... Not a classic beauty, maybe, but cute, and less than half his mass - the tank top he had worn to bed was so oversized that a pert little breast was visible in its entirety through the neck hole. I threw the covers back on and just sat there, although I did go to drag the bags back into the room and finish the letter.

I fished out Gary's phone, which had of course lost its charge over the past couple of weeks, and plugged it into one of the chargers, and started writing my own letter. There wasn't much to put in - my job, my parents, Kareena. I figured arranged marriages probably seemed strange to any non-Hindu who became me, but not to worry - we hadn't even had the formal engagement ceremony yet, and she was much too focused on her career for sex, so just be nice to her. Eventually the phone charged enough to show all the messages that had been left for Gary, most wondering where he had been for the past week, and that if I didn't show up for work on Sunday, I was fired, brother's grandkid or no brother's grandkid.

By that time, the sun was rising and a look at the train schedules suggested we get a move on. I was really uncomfortable shaking "Dierdre" awake, but it had to be done. Eventually, she stirred, slapping at me and wanting to know who I was and what the fuck I wanted, and I told her that I was Ravi, and she was right about this place being terrible, but we had to get going. I pulled her out of bed - she was shockingly light compared to how Jordan had been and dragged her into the bathroom so she could see herself in the mirror while telling her everything I'd heard. She fainted dead away.

It sounds kind of funny, but have you ever had someone faint on you? It may not be as freaky as waking up looking like someone else, but it's not as far off as you might think; you just don't know what to do! I tried splashing some water on her face, but apparently Deirdre faints like Jordan sleeps. I ran back into the lobby, and while nobody else could wake her, one of the nice Canadian girls was able to get her into some sweats when I said we had to take the train. Looked at me kind of funny, but seemed to understand when I said that Gary was in enough trouble already.

We split a cab to the train station rather than drag Deirdre, laughing nervously when the cabbie made a joke about how the redhead seemed to enjoy her last night of vacation a little too much. Thankfully, nobody thought my signature on the receipt was too weird when I bought the two tickets to Baltimore, and we're on our way now.

/Gary

Jordan Chang - Stupid little town

All week, Ravi has been getting on me to have fun.  Which doesn't sound too objectionable, but when people say that, what they really mean I'd to have fun in the way that they want to have fun, which in Ravi's case means finding a bit of sans and just sitting there.  I tried some of that this morning, and it's not nearly as conducive to finding excuses to go somewhere else as you think.  And then, once you finally do get a little bit relaxed, someone asks if you will please move because they're going to be having some sort of sandcastle contest.

Ravi, of course, is cool with it, but then, that's when the first rain of the day comes down.  I'll bet that wound up doing a number on the sand-sculpture thing.   That have is an excuse to walk around a bit and  that led us to the arcade.  It's part of the little amusement park they have by the beach, and not really that big, but it was an okay place to duck into.  Of course, everyone else thought the same thing when in stated raining, so it was hard to get to a machine.

And then when you do, it's like people resent it.  Like, I found a Mario Brothers one, and while Ravi went through his lives pretty quickly, I did okay.  It's actually a lot tougher in the arcade than it is at home, because you're standing and those big sticks cause your hands to cramp up way faster than a D-pad.  Some little kid seemed kind of impressed, but as soon as he says so, his bitch of a babysitter or older sister says something like "of course he is, that's probably all he does every night."

Ravi drags me out before I can say what I really want, which is along the lines of fuck you, what the hell are you doing that's so much more important?  Being a little teenage slut for your jock boyfriends who aren't ever going to amount to shit?  It's probably a good thing I didn't, because the place was filled with middle-aged losers who probably would have passed out and/or called the cops at the thought of their little angels hearing such language (!), like they don't hear it on TV and in games all the time.

It put me in a kind of spur mood for the rest of the day, and I sure as hell want going back to the beach to see all the sand things, because beaches are just full of jerks like that girl, whether they're other girls out guys flaunting how they can walk around in public with their shirts off without people pointing and laughing and probably thinking some racist shit on top of that.  Why couldn't Ravi and Kareena have booked themselves a vacation in a proper city if I was going to wind up using it?

And now Ravi's saying we should head out to the beach, because they do fireworks every Thursday and they'll probably be even bigger for the Fourth of July.  Like they wouldn't have even bigger fireworks at home.  No, I'll just stay in here with my takeout and setting if maybe all the other sheeple going to the beach will actually let me get a decent connection for World of Warcraft.

-Jordo

Ravi Kapoor; "So you've met Jordan."

As you can probably see from the other night's post, Jordan and I didn't exactly have the smoothest trip up here, and he didn't think the one bed in our room was terribly amusing.  I sort of get where he's coming from; he's probably doing the work of two as a contractor for his old employer and hasn't taken a vacation since that transition.

We got stuff worked out with the folks at the other inn, though, and while the place may not be the most luxurious hotel room I've ever stayed in, it's like my dad always says:  If you're spending enough time in your room to care about the amenities, you're doing vacation wrong.  Honeymoons accepted, of course.

Speaking of those, this vacation wasn't originally supposed to be a honeymoon, but it was going to be me and my fiancee Kareena, who I'm sure even Jordan would about would make much better company, especially if I could get her into a bikini!  I think we really could have used it, too - our parents have had things arranged since practically before mine came to the U.S., and we really didn't get to spend any time together until she started medical school at Columbia.  I sometimes think she's trying to figure a way out of this without offending our parents - we like each other well enough, and I know I certainly get excited whenever she's around, but what does it say when a woman tells her husband-to-be not to come with her to Mumbai for her grandmother's last days?  She says it's not to burden me with an expensive flight and an unknown time away from my job, but I want to be there for her, and think that maybe it would have brought us closer.

Hopefully that's not too selfish a thought.  It at least explains why I'm here in Maine with my roommate rather than a beautiful girl.  And speaking of THAT, I think I'll try and see if I can get him to join me for some of the local seafood now.  He's been holed up in the room coding god knows what all day, and he might as well get some benefit from a couple weeks in New England!

/Ravi

Tyler/Lauren: School's out...

I had a hard enough time passing high school the first time, so it was a relief that I managed to do it again... squeaking through Lauren's 11th Grade Science final with a 64. That wasn't the only class I had to contend with, but it was the one I found most frustrating. And now, as one commenter asked, I'm looking down the barrel of one more school year as this girl.

It seems like the worst possible option, compared to dropping out and working, and letting Lauren get her GED when she comes back. What's the point in me absorbing an education and earning a diploma that Lauren won't have the relevant knowledge for when she gets back? Even if she never does get back, what's the point in wasting my time?

But that's what it's like being someone else... choices like that are kinda taken away. I have to live under her mom and stepdad's roof and live by their rules. I haven't asked, but saying "Hey guys, I'm gonna drop out of high school for a year but also take a vacation to Maine again in the summer" might take convincing. What I've already discovered is that people don't take teenage girls seriously when they express opinions.

After exams, the big thing was prom. As I told Meg, I wanted to skip it, but Lauren was on the planning committee and my absence would have been noticed. Not that I care, but I was pressed into service keeping things on schedule. That was harrowing, especially when you consider how much I've bungled her personal life already, and what I was wearing.

God almighty. The week before I was called in for a fitting. I've been walking around in this body for a little while now. As the temperature climbs I'm trying to limit my wardrobe to shorts and tanks, but in a 17-year-old girl's wardrobe those shorts tend to be very short and those tanks tend to dip very low across my chest. So no matter what, unless I'm picking the exact frumpiest things in Lauren's wardrobe (which I have) I am dressing "girly." This, though, was a whole other level: a light blue strapless chiffon number that I was constantly tugging up over my "girls" and worrying about tripping over or stepping on it in the four-inch stilettos. The fact that it only took a day or so of practice to get used to walking in them is a horrifying metaphor for my entire experience so far. On the night itself, I only wore them for a few minutes, then went barefoot. Some of the other girls brought slip-ons for dancing. My plan was to just not dance, especially because I was deep in menstrual pain. And it would have worked (I was doing a good job enduring repeated requests from guys) but the girls all wanted to drag me out on the dancefloor for the fast numbers, because apparently Lauren is a hilarious dancer. I'm sure I lived up to that: I definitely have no innate sense of rhythm, and I was constantly fussing with my dress. It was, admittedly, a little sleeker than the foofy numbers some of the others wore. I was just very aware of the way it draped around my legs when I moved, and then it gave me more than a moment's pause in the restroom.

Then there was the hair and makeup: hours and hours spent in the chair being fussed with every which way, and for what purpose? There is definitely a prom-industrial complex at work here.

It was a pretty terrible night. I sat at the table, picked anxiously at my food, watched teenagers slobber all over each other... got pulled aside every few minutes to check on something or other. I kept noticing Seann, Lauren's prom date who I dumped unceremoniously in my first week at school, casting glances at me from across the room, but even though we still had to share a limo he didn't have the balls to talk to me. Good.

I'm kind of jumping all over the place. I really wish I'd had time and energy to explain what happened at the time, but it's as simple as this: as soon as I got to school, I identified who Lauren's boyfriend was, and I told him I was going through some stuff and it was over. He asked for some further information, but another thing about being a teenage girl is that people kind of expect you to be emotionally volatile, and I know for a fact that teenage boys can't deal with that. It was all an act, of course, motivated by reality, but the tears and the screams of "YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND! I CAN'T KEEP DOING THIS!" were fake. I think.

Anyway, this sent a bit of a shock through the group, but it's not like they were some legendary couple. They'd only been together for a few months, so all that meant was that Seann and his friends were less keen to eat lunch at the table with Lauren and her friends. The girls were pretty supportive, even if I slightly, perhaps rudely, brushed them off and said I was fine. Anyway, by prom he seemed to be over it, aside from those glances... he was dancing with all the girls. Maybe he got some pity sex.

I skipped the after-party, but because I had permission to be out late I decided to go to one of Lauren's friends' place. That would be Karlee. She's a cute, short brunette, kinda spunky and not too much of an airhead for me to deal with. Of all Lauren's friends, she's the one I've gravitated toward the most. Plus, she had a bottle of wine for us to split, which I was in favor of. She lent me some of her clothes to change into, because we were both tired of the gowns by this point. I shouldn't say it felt odd, since I've been wearing someone else's cloths for a month by that point, but it did feel oddly intimate to be borrowing her clothes. She even changed in front of me, and I took care not to look, because again, she's 17. We sat in her bedroom, and I bluffed my way through a conversation about old times, letting her do the talking. The drunker I got, the more I complained about my period, and she sympathized but I think I really came off as a "first-timer," which surely confused her. This led, somewhat appropriately, about how much easier guys have it, and I asked if she thought it would be better to be a guy, and she said she wasn't sure.

And maybe I'm just coming at this from a certain position, but how could you not be sure?

Then she got a text from her boyfriend, who is a few years older and out of high school (yikes, but can I really judge?) and left me at her place before returning at 4 AM. I'd judge her for that, but it was nice to be alone. We slept head to toe in her little bed. Well, I couldn't sleep. I was too wigged out sharing the bed with this person who thinks she knows me, and has this insane level of comfort around me, but is basically a stranger, and a young girl at that. Also she snored. Also-also, I felt totally shitty from the booze, getting up a few times to puke in her upstairs bathroom. I need to work on upping this girl's tolerance. Practice makes perfect.

The next morning, we got the lowdown from another girl, Ginnifer, about who hooked up with who at the party, who was disappointed I didn't go, and who was kind of glad. Teenage gossip. I guess I've got some enemies, or at least people who aren't fans, which is fair. People hold grudges over stupid things all the time, and this isn't limited to high school. As long as they don't make it a problem, it won't be one in the future.

Now that I can unclench a little, you might hear a bit from me. I have to admit, going out and making appearances as Lauren was kind of therapeutic. It got me out of the funk that settles in whenever I have a moment to think about how fucked-up my situation is, and how I still don't know much about the person who's got my body, besides one cryptic text: "Don't worry, I can handle it." Uh, right. But who are you, pal?

Mostly I'm walking around town, trying to find things that amuse me, and then find my way back home. Getting a lot of sun, unevenly tanning (which I've heard a fair bit from "mom" about.) Thinking about doing some running, something active, but it's too hot to do afternoons, I sleep too late to do mornings, and you won't catch me leaving the house un-escorted after dark in this body. Meg and I have plans to check out the city of Pittsburgh proper, but our schedules haven't lined up until now. Other than that, I guess blogging will have to figure into my coping. I'm sure I'll have plenty to say.

Tori: Tuesday Night is Date Night

The weather is nice, so I figured the least I could do was try to get back into the dating game. I've dabbled a little in online dating... I must really hate myself to go through it, because it's a neverending string of "hey cuties" and "sups" and unsolicited dickpics. Newsflash: There is nothing special about your dick. I'd know.

But I did end up chatting with a nice guy, let's call him Boy-X for now. I still doesn't know if there's someone reading this who might use this information to somehow manipulate the situation against me. I wonder if I should warn him that people who get close to me tend to... get messed with. (Admittedly, Buddy got it in a pretty good way, if he was moved to Houston to get him away from me, since he seems happy. Sigh.) He's a bit younger than me, which is weird because that means he's a fair bit younger than my actual age, but I try not to think about that anymore.

He's freshly out of college, looking at grad school, still trying to figure out who he is. I told him I related, and took longer than average to figure it out. I've developed this joking way of admitting what happened to me, this way of explaining it in a way that feels like it could be true, but isn't.

Anyway, this is the first serious date I've had in a while. It feels weird and stressful, picking a nice dress, picking nice underwear even though I don't intend to let him see it, eternally fussing with my hair. I know guys don't notice these things, like at all, but at the same time if I show up looking like I just came from work I don't think I'll make a good impression either.

Is it weird that I'm writing this? I know you nice readers are always very supportive and interested in what's going on with me, but it feels so... irrelevant, with it being summer and wave after wave of new people getting zapped into wrong bodies, and I always feels so ashamed for caring about my own life and not reaching out to them. I almost don't fit in anymore, I'm so far beyond beginner status on this blog. I worry about this every year.

After my last post, I actually heard from an old friend who objected to my assertion that I have no male friends. "What do you call me?" Sara asked over Facebook.

"A brother, maybe :)" I told him. After all, he's in my old body, my only link to my past, my old family, and Buffalo. It really is important that I keep up with him, more than I have sometimes. Which is why it somewhat shocked me when he said he had some news for me.

"I'm thinking of moving."

Jaw dropped. What?

He explained, "I met this girl a while back, and she lives in California, and it dawned on me during one of our late night texting sessions... what am I staying East for? My ex is long gone. I don't delude myself by thinking I'll go back to the Inn and get my old body back or even a new one. It's time for me to start thinking about what I want, right? You understand, don't you?"

I hesitated for a moment and thought about times I made my own decisions. "Of course..." I remembered vacillating about whether to go to Houston with Buddy or stay in Philly. I stayed because I love Philly, I loved my friends and family here, and I'll admit I was at least partly motivated by interest in Alex, for all that got me. If Sara, as Cliff, doesn't love Buffalo (and being from Buffalo I could hardly argue) then why not?

"It's not like we see each other a lot in person anyway," he said.

"You're right," I admitted, "You're just taking that body--" I initially wrote "my body" but I had to delete it and rephrase "--somewhere else where we can still be Facebook friends."

"Exactly."

"And you like this girl?"

"I really do."

"How long have you known her?"

"Three months."

Wow... and already thinking of moving? Okay, no judgment, I swear.

"Good for you," I said. "Get far away from Maine."

"Thanks," he said. "I'm glad I have your blessing. I still don't know for sure, but it's cool you're cool."

"Oh yeah, I'm cool baby."

"Hah. Sure. I can't believe I never noticed you weren't the real Tori."

I wasn't sure if I was stung or pleased by that remark. I just said "Well I am now :)"

Then he said "You're doing great. I know how hard it is."

"That's what she said!"

Laughter, applause, you're welcome.

The conversation made me want to see if I could get in touch with the former Tori, who I think is still down in Louisville doing local TV. It's so weird how time goes by and life gets in the way so you lose track of these people. Sorry again if any of this is upsetting to recent Inn people, but hey, it's life.

Now then. time to stop sitting around in my undies and make a decision about my wardrobe. I really want to knock this guy out so I don't have to keep meeting guys!

Jordan Chang - Not my sort of vacation

First off, I don't know if any of the actual people who run this place read posts on this "community diary" (and, whoever runs out, it looks like your well-intentioned but stupid idea to make this hotel more than just a place to sleep has been overrun by some really weird shit), but what's the deal with the sleeping arrangements?  I get that you guys might be screw-ups enough to have lost whatever note you made when Ravi called to say he needed two queens rather than one king-sized bed, but wouldn't it be much easier to switch is into a new room than to send a bunch of janitors to shuffle beds from our room to the basement and vice versa?  Even they were joking about that, although one of them told the others not to bitch about free overtime just because some of the repeat visitors are particular about which room they stay in.

That would make sense, I guess, if there are other rooms here better than this one, because it's pretty darn basic.  Just the beds, a dresser, and freaking folding chairs and tray tables.  There's also a seriously inadequate number of outlets; was this place built long enough ago that nobody imagined a need to plug anything other than the lamps that were already here in?  Ravi and I are each plugging a phone, a tablet, and a camera into one USB adapter in shifts, which means everything is going to take forever to charge.  And what outlets there are aren't even grounded, which means I'm going to need to find an adapter for this laptop tomorrow so that I can work on this project with the tight deadlines.  That'll be hard enough, since i think this whole inn's Wi-Fi network is being run off of one old wireless-b router that still has "linksys" as its name.  I swear, I could get a better connection on the train (and do not get me started about taking the train from New York to Maine, specifically how fucked-up Boston is!).

I wouldn't have even come to this rinky-dink imitation of Atlantic City (minus, of course, the gambling) if Ravi hadn't given me the whole "come on, you can work anywhere" spiel after Kareena said she couldn't make it, but either he didn't know anything about what the place they were staying was like or he wants to get me in a position so I can't pay my part of the rent and have to move out.  Not sure why he would unless his "fiancee" suddenly defrosts, but that hasn't stopped people from screwing me over before.

At least I'm not sharing a bed with Ravi anymore.  That would just be gross.

-Jordo

Cal: It happens.

I'm still a little speechless. Part of me didn't think it was going to happen. I'm back. We're back. Well, those of us who made it to the Inn, anyway. I'm having a hard time writing this because I don't want to rub it in or anything but... it happened. It really happened. Part of me thought I'd get screwed out of it at the last minute. Was convinced.

Later that day of my last post, she arrived toting a large bag. Gorgeous, tall, thin, blonde, wearing a wispy yellow sundress and flat sandals. Part of me was already back in Cal mode, afraid to approach her, even though I've been talking to girls, sometimes incredibly attractive ones, as one of their own for a year. I'm just getting ready for her to pass without noticing me when she looks over and smiles.

"Don't tell me... Angie? Cal? Right?"

And then I realize I know this girl. I had to search my mind for a minute and stammer like a fool, but I remember. She was at the Inn at the same time as us. She can tell I'm struggling, so she reminds me: Her real name is Mike, and he's in the body of his sister Lila.

"Right!" my eyes go wide, "Oh my GOD, I can't believe I forgot about you, how have you been?"

"Ups and downs, my friend," she says with a warm charm that gives me the sense she's working to hide some of those lows. "It took me forever to get a flight out here, but I'm glad I didn't miss the show."

"The show?" I say "Oh right. The... um. Yeah."

"I kind of had a... financial shortfall this year," she said as she led me to her room, "And I was really worrying that I wasn't going to make it back. Lila, in my body, was all set, and I wanted to get here to give it back to her. Then a while back I got a call from your friend Sophie. I can't believe she's just leaving her old body like that."

"To you?"

"Yes," she smiled, beautifully, "I'm going to be Grant. If this all goes as planned."

It did, that night in fact. I was too excited to sleep so I felt it all happen, because... well, I'm NEVER coming back here again. The experience of changing your skin, from soft, plush female to slightly rougher, coarse male skin, feeling millions of tiny hairs growing out of you while the hair on top of your head somehow just... vanishes? I felt myself getting heavier and heavier and dizzy as I grew. I laid down, and by the time I sat back up again, I had a nice flat chest and a set of equipment limply dangling between my legs.

I laughed. I cried. I kind of wanted to throw up.

The next hours - days, even - were a blur. Trish, Roy, Derek and I all rushed to meet each other. "You?" "Yeah, you too?" "Good, yes!" We didn't get Mike, but eventually found out that he had gotten Grant's body just as he'd planned. Meanwhile, there were a few new transformees with us, and I didn't want to leave them in the lurch, including the person who became James. I regret I wasn't able to answer all their questions... I feel like I got so wrapped up in actually living as Angie that I didn't ask while I was caught up in it, but in my defense who would I have asked? I only have my own observations, and the kinda spotty records in this blog.

It's been a whirlwind, from excitedly standing to pee for the first time in a year, to dressing in a t-shirt and shorts and walking the beach like an invisible, well, man, not being eyed by every beach bum out there.

It's going to take a while, I think, to really adjust back... I wish it was as simple as just dusting off the old body and sliding back into my real life and forgetting the past year ever happened to me, but it did, and I... I don't really know what to do with it for now. So I'm going to leave it at that. For now I'm... on my way home.

Finally.

Cal/Angie: Facepalm! (Among other things.)

I mentioned to Trish today that the last time we stayed here it didn't take so long to transform us. The whole thing was starting to bug me. Then she mentioned that she remembered reading that it seemed like the "power" of the Inn was only unleashed when all the vacancies were filled: that's 13 beds.

We have 12. Specifically, all of us and one extra room that was supposed to go to James. But he can't come because he can't fly yet after his appendectomy.

And our reservations are almost up.

Um, PROBLEM.

What if we don't get a 13th? Will it just change some random passerby while we're all asleep? Will it shake up the order of who goes where? I don't wanna be Derek or Trish or Roy! What if it just doesn't work in the time we have paid to be here, and we have to go home unchanged, and I have to keep being Angie? What happens to my body? Does it go to the next person to stay in the room - the real Angie? That just tangles things up further. I'm really stressing out.

There's only one thing I can do to get my mind off it. See, every morning since we got here, I've checked the most obvious regions of my body to see if it was still Angie's. This has had the odd side-effect of re-awakening certain urges that I lost after my debacle with David.

And I got those urges back hard.

It's like, there's nothing else to do, and I'm not going to be a woman much longer, why not just spend as much time as possible totally wrapped up in myself? If the life I'm going back to is anything like I left it, it could be a long time before I see a real live naked girl (sadly.) For the time being, these are still my curves, my flesh, my parts... I don't think I need to convince you.

Maybe I went a little too hot and heavy, going for hours on end to start the day, probably reaching volumes loud enough for the whole beach to hear, but there's really nothing else to do here but wait and, well, playing with ourselves.

And then something happened to make it weird. He popped into my head.

I was so angry but I couldn't stop flashing back to the way he used to touch me, the way I liked it - it's really my only significant experience with another person in this body, so it's a very strong image. And I couldn't bring myself to stop, and by the time I finished, I was practically crying because of all the bad feelings wrapped up in my memories of him...

And then I just laid there and thought about it. How am I so wrapped up in this guy? A year ago, I didn't ever like guys that way. A few months ago I told myself it was just because it was easier. Now I'm more confused than ever about who I am and what I like. Can I go back to liking girls as easily as I switched to guys? When I'm Callum again - if that happens - am I going to sit around moping heartbroken over him again? Will I find it easy to just go back to being "the guy" in a relationship, knowing I was the woman, the one who got played and heartbroken, the one who was, ever so briefly, hungry for c--k?

I'm embarrassed and ashamed and I hate myself. I want this to end now.

A well-meaning commenter mentioned it would be nice if we could trick David into coming to the Inn. I suppose that would help our current predicament. And if someone has to transform, it might as well be someone I loathe. Maybe I could show him all the pain he's caused. Maybe he'd wind up as a girl and get the same experience I had all year. Truth is, that's just wishful thinking and I doubt I would wish this experience on my worst enemy... at its worst, it's unbearable, and yet at its best it's shockingly great, so how is that satisfying? I dunno.

I just hope it ends soon.

Tyler/Lauren: 28 Days Later...

That's 28 days bumbling around as a man in a girl's body, 28 days of forgetting to answer when I hear "my" name, 28 days of homework, 28 days of avoiding non-essential human contact.

I make it seem all like gloom and doom, but shockingly, the school aspect has at least given me something to focus on. It's frustrating and soul-crushing, sure, but it gives me a reason not to be seen with the family or visit Lauren's friends. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself during the summer, although I hear summer school has open enrollment beyond being a punishment for failing, which at this rate is also on the table. I'm doing my best to make sure that doesn't happen, though, going over the textbooks as closely as I can manage. It's giving me a headache, although that, along with the bloating and spate of acne dotting my hairline, may just be symptoms of PMS. "Sadface," as they say.

28 days as it turns out is just long enough to stop the sirens that go off in my head every morning. Less and less as I head out into the world for the day, do I tense up and think "I AM SO FUCKED!" Instead, I just make sure I've got all my notebooks, othe ressential items, make sure I'm dressed appropriately. (I don't think this is something I need to worry about but I've heard of girls being sent home for wearing things that are otherwise considered normal fashion - slightly cleavage-baring or low-rising jeans, but I'm erring on the side of safety.)

With regards to the new me, I'll admit that this is the first thing that has made me a true nervous wreck. Be a teenager? Fine. Be a girl? Whatever. Give control of my life over to some random individual, who now hasn't contacted me for over a week? Concerned. So I sink a little further into my schoolwork. And I text my sister and Meghan constantly.

I'm also 28 days without a drink - the last time I tasted alcohol was the night I lost my body. There are a few sixpacks of Coors in the garage that I wonder if anyone wouldn't miss a few. Lord knows Lauren wasn't no saint, I found an empty bottle of Captain Morgan under her bed, among other damning items that I may or may not discuss later.

28 days. Long enough to start having to take some ownership of this body. Not only am I furtively investigating the cabinet under the bathroom sink, but wondering when I should do something about the light stubble that has emerged from my legs and armpits. It's not that I want to be a gorgeous girl, but I wonder what level of grooming I would put into myself if I had always been one.

When I get a bit more time - ie when I'm using this blog for more than just procrastinating, once the semester's over - I'll tell you more about Lauren's life and how to live it. For now I just needed to take a breather.

Lauren's mom pokes her head into my room, finding me still in my pj's, lying with the laptop resting on my abdomen. She looked confused, like this position is utterly unknown to her daughter.

"Honey, we're going to the mall today, are you coming?"

"No," I almost say, then I look over at the pile of textbooks I was intending to peruse for the tenth time. "Sure. Couldn't hurt."

"Grant" / "Sophie": Putting things back together

I'll start by saying I put both of my names in quotation marks up there because neither of them feels like they belong to me. The person who was most recently "Grant" has already returned to the Inn and gotten his life back... leaving my old body in limbo. I opted not to pick it back up for personal reasons, partly because I was lied to about my own background, and wherever I go next, it can't be backwards. But you knew that. I think that whoever becomes Grant... look, there's worse things than being a slightly awkward young white male in America. They'll cope. My plan is to go back later in the summer. I've got a reservation for late July. The original Sophie managed to modify her plans to go along with this. We're (knock on wood) set.

I've enjoyed being Sophie. I look at the woman in the mirror and I like her. I like dressing as her, wearing make-up as her. I like waiting tables as her, even if it's not always a picnic. Being a girl with a few extra pounds, especially one with a punky look, you get hit on by a lot of suspect guys who assume that just because you're not a 5'10 skinny-legged goddess you are desperate for anyone's attention. Living her life - not just dropping out of it and doing my own thing, but taking up some of her hobbies and social circle, has been really opened me up in a way that my buttoned-down life as Grant never could. I wish I had had more romance, but as Cal found out, that just doesn't work with our lifestyle. My experiences were... not as traumatic as his, but they were disappointing all the same.

But I know I can't keep it. It was a rental, and I assume my next one will be, too. Unless something unthinkable happens, or someone reaches a similar conclusion as me, I might be in for a long life of bouncing around, seat-filler in other peoples' existences. And I'm fine with that. I want to see the world, and not just other locations, but other lives. I have actively gotten excited for this journey since I decided it was how I was going to play this.

And then there's James.

Just as they were all gearing up to go back, James got struck with a bout of appendicitis. Really nasty, from what I heard, and he was rushed into emergency surgery. He's fine now, but he won't be traveling for a while. That leaves the fate of his body, as well as Keisha's, up in the air.

I went to see him at his apartment, because I figured he could use a cheering-up.

"Thought about what you're gonna do next?"

"Yeah, I thought about staying," he said, lying under a blanket, "Just saying, sorry, maybe next year... like, who cares if Keisha's pissed, I'm the one who's really getting screwed. But I don't wanna. I hate it here."

"It's not so bad..." I started to say.

"It's not bad when you got friends," he interrupted sharply, "You, Derek, Trish... even Cal, it was fuckin fun hanging out with you guys all year. Yeah, we got into some shit we shouldn't have... but it was cool. Without you guys? I'm just some asshole in a chick's body without any friends. All of Keisha's friends are gonna hate me. Mona, Robbie..." He started to get choked up.

"Yeah, I know that feeling," I said. Maybe I don't exactly, but I felt my entire life that nobody liked me because nobody knew who I really was. As it turns out, it was because I didn't know who I really was. I still don't. Sorry, this isn't about me.

I wrapped my arms around her and she rested her head on my chest. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

"Your boobs are like pillows," he said looking up at me with a cute little smile.

"Thanks," I blushed. "We're having a moment, don't ruin it."

We ended up having a pretty good hang-out session. The next day I rang up the booking agency and tried to see if there were any vacancies left for my week. I think it's far enough out that he'll be clear for travel.

Cal/Angie: Another round

What is it about a girl alone at a bar that makes her irresistible to guys?

Don't answer that, I know what I look like. Not gorgeous or anything, but attainable, and certainly (shudder) "doable" by the end of the night. I sit on the barstool with nobody around, no forcefield to put the guys off, because Trish is running late.

Maybe my time in Canada really did something to me because it made me too dang polite to tell these guys to fuck off. You really get the sense of how rude Americans naturally are to each other when you spend a year among people who apologize every time they breathe on each other. That's something I didn't mention much about Canada, I guess because it became so normal. All these things about sweet, hippie-infused Van City that just became part of my day-to-day life.

Makes me wonder why those girls flew all the way across the country for their vacation a year ago.

So, since I can't seem to shoo them away right off the bat, I let them in. I size them up. I don't like what I see.

The first guy tells me right off the bat what kind of car he drives. He can't tell from looking at me - rocking the flower-child skirt and braids that, in character as Angie, I'm not all that materialistic. It's funny how that's become true. I tell him I'm going to the bathroom and don't return for twenty minutes.

The second guy asks me about Canada. I tell him Vancouver's nicer than Boston, and he says but Boston's got the Pats, and I say I don't care about the Pats. He takes this as his cue to drone on and on because he loves educating women about sports. Barf.

Eventually he asks what I do and I tell him I used to work in a holistic supply store, and I start telling him everything I've learned about naturopathy - most of which I don't believe, myself, but Angie does. He makes like he's interested for a while, then finds someone else to bother.

Third guy doesn't even get a chance when Trish finally shows up. By now I'm drunk and I talk her into pretending she's my boyfriend. The key is, as Robbie she's very tall. Guys don't want to mess with her.

We grab a table, Derek and Roy join us. We drink a toast to our absent friends, and muse about how if we're lucky, this might be the last night any of us has to wear the wrong face out in public. We ask Roy how his last month of married life was, and he grunts "Hell on wheels, kids. Do you know what I had to go through to make sure Christine's deadbeat husband didn't join us on this trip?"

"Maybe you should have let him," I chuckle, "If he's as bad as you say, it might do him some good."

"Funny," he says, "But you can't go messing with peoples' lives. Christine wants to come back to him and I'm not gonna stand in their way, even if I don't understand. The sex was adequate, though. I think I blew his mind."

"Just his mind?" Trish said. I high fived her.

Being a guy has been good for her, I think. She seems oddly comfortable as "one of the guys" both biologically and socially. I look at her and I see a pal. And yeah, I've made it clear that at times I'd like more but I'm lucky to have her as a friend, and I hope going back doesn't change that.

I think out loud, "Wish I could have brought David... stuffed him in some weird body, like a grandma or a porn star and said hey, how do you like it?"

Trish pats my back and says I don't mean that, and I admit I don't, but... I just wish I could have gotten some measure of revenge. I hate the way I left things for Angie.

 We stumble home and I flop down in bed... in the morning, I'll probably feel it, since Angie's body doesn't seem to handle hangovers well. I'm going to be 19 soon. I'm going to miss being able to drink legally.

Meg/Tasha: Coffee and catching up

I met up with Tyler on Sunday afternoon for coffee.

I want to say she's handling things well, although you wouldn't think it from the looks of her. At least for our little meeting, she was looking a fair bit unkempt, wearing baggy clothes and letting her hair just kind of go wild. I don't mean to judge her, it's just notable compared to the way most girls Lauren's age look when they leave the house, obsessed with their hair and make-up. On the contrary, it would be weirder if Tyler put much effort into that stuff, at least yet.

Still, Tyler was his usual snarky, wisecracking self under Lauren's skin. I think having the world look at him like a young girl has only toughened his resolve against authority. When I asked how the school situation was, he just shrugged and said he was remembering why the military seemed like such a good option when he was 18.

"You're not unintelligent," I insisted, "I haven't known you long, but I know that much about you."

"Sure, I know a few things," he said, "But you get in a classroom, at the end of the semester where everyone is expecting you to have this shit pounded into you after five months, and... you just feel inadequate. The weird thing is, Lauren isn't an idiot. All the homework she left me to hand in got her B's, which compared to how I used to do in high school..."

"Don't get down on yourself," I interrupted. "You're a grown up but you're still capable of learning."

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," he rolled his eyes. I ordered a regular coffee and he ordered some kind of foamy latte that I doubt would have been his style as a man. "One of Lauren's friends got me one of these once, and now I've got a craving for it. Don't judge me."

"Hey, whatever you want to do," I said, "Guys drink blended drinks."

"I think it's more about being a kid than being a guy," he said. "Maybe young tastebuds have stronger sweetness receptors."

"See?" I smirked, "Science."

"Yeah, somehow I doubt that'll help me on my final," he snorted a bit, "It's funny, out of everything that's going on with me, right now school is kicking my ass the worst. Seriously. I could handle just being a girl for a while, I think... if it was just like my old life. It's freaky how quickly this all became regular. But school? Rolling out of bed every day at 7, in a body that desperately requires sleep, and sitting still for all these subjects that I either know nothing about, or forgot... and if I fail, I'm not the one who gets fucked, Lauren is. I have to learn for her. That's stressful."

"You're not used to looking out for others," I surmised.

"Not really," he sipped.

"And the social aspect, being out among Lauren's friends?"

"A different hell," he said, "They all demand, like, 100% of my attention, and I know nothing about them. I keep texting Lauren to say this girl said this, or this other girl asked if I remembered that. I can't just go home and forget about them, because it's constant texting and snapchatting and all that shit. Kids today."

"You sound like such an old man," I stifled a laugh, much to her annoyance.

"Then there's the guys."

I straightened my expression. "Tell me about the guys."

"Well, they're guys," he said knowingly. He paused and rolled his eyes. "Lauren was pretty popular with them. Like, they all hang out in these huge mixed groups and it's hard to tell who's exclusive with who and who's just... around. A lot of them feel pretty comfortable getting in close with her. With me."

"And how do you feel about this?"

"I don't like it," he said, "The first thing I did when I met Lauren's friends was to find out which one of these guys she was dating and end it with him."

"Just like that?"

"Yeah, just like that," he snapped his little fingers, producing a weak sound, "This isn't like your situation, where you're living with a guy that has a history with Tasha and there's a kind of responsibility there, whatever you've decided... this is a high school romance, they come and go with the wind. Sure, everyone was ticked that I screwed up their prom plans a bit, but they'll get over with."

"Prom?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Don't get me started. Lauren's expected to be there. She was on the planning committee."

I could sense he wanted to change the subject, so I asked "Any word from you-know-who?"

"Not yet," he said, sitting back dejectedly, pushing his straw around his drink with his finger.

You-know-who is the hypothetical "New Tyler." We got word earlier this week that our original bodies had both turned up.

"You know, it was probably just a hectic week," I reasoned. "When we changed, our heads weren't exactly in a place to confront it... not to this degree."

"Didn't take me long, though," he huffed, eying his cell in its light purple case. "I had nothing urgent going on. It's not like there was much to distract him."

"Maybe it was an old man who just doesn't get technology," I shrugged, "Maybe it was a kid! You don't know."

"You know, though. With yours."

A beat of silence passed between us.

It happened Wednesday. I got a call from my old number that day. I eagerly picked up to hear what I took a moment to realize was my original voice asking, "Is this Meghan? Meghan Reis?"

She pronounced it "Ree-is," I corrected her, "Rice," almost as a reflex before realizing I was essentially dealing with a trauma victim. "Sorry, I'm here for you. Are you okay?"

"I think so," she said. "My name's Carrie. Um, I came looking for my brother. Tyler Blake. Do you know what happened to him?"

I got a lump in my throat. "He's fine..." I started to say, "Well, not exactly. But he's here, in once piece, in someone else's body."

"So he was transformed too?" I cold now hear a similar Alabammy twang to Ty's.

"Yes," I said, "Into a teenage girl named Lauren. He's... stressed, but coping." I rightly guessed he would not enjoy hearing that his sister had come to Maine on his pre-transformation recommendation. ("I can't believe I forgot I said she should come up!" he excoriated himself, "Fucking idiot, Ty!" But in his defense it was a busy few days afterward, no time to cancel the invite.)

"Carrie," I said to her, "Everything's going to be okay. I'm sorry this happened, really, but we had no way of knowing... do you know what happened to Ty's body?"

"'Scuse me?"

"Have you seen him? Have you seen someone who looks like your brother?"

"Not yet, no."

"Let us know if you do. Please."

By Sunday, it had been four days since the transformation and the lack of communication was clearly getting to Ty. Now it's been almost a week and we're starting to worry.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat some more and we changed the subject again. "What about you? How about Tasha's boyfriend?"

"Wade?" I said, "It's... fine. He works days, and I'm working nights mostly, so I can easily just play the no-time together card. I've managed to stop pulling away instinctively when he goes to kiss me."

"How far are you willing to take this little charade?" he asked with fairly obvious intent.

"We're in the trenches right now, Ty," I sighed, "Long term, I don't know how I'm going to stick it out, but day to day, whatever happens happens. And that's whatever I allow to happen. And if I do, I assure you it won't be because I can't resist."

Tyler exhaled, unimpressed, then finished his drink, "Imagine if Tasha had gone to Maine with her boyfriend instead of her stepsister."

I smiled, then said teasingly, "Yeah. Then it would be easier to avoid having to sleep with someone."

I don't think he appreciated the joke.

Cal/Angie: Objective Incomplete

I should be happy. I should be carefree. I'm here, I'm back in Maine just waiting for my number to get called. If all goes according to plan (fingers crossed) I'll be back in my regular boring old life in a few days and won't have to deal with periods, long hair, or boys ever again in my life.

It was a nail biter to get here, saving every spare penny from my job, which became especially important after David and I broke up and I quit. It was the sensible act... "Angie" is guaranteed not to be back for weeks, maybe a month, and I feel like the bridge is totally burned anyway. They all hate me/her, even though I did nothing wrong. Aside from the girls here in Maine, I feel like I've torched Angie's social life.

Maine itself is... different this time. The air feels different on my skin than I remember. The Inn is slightly more spooky-feeling. Maybe it's because I know what goes on here. I got this intense nausea, like vertigo, when I was walking up to the front door.

"It'll be over soon," Trish said to me.

I smiled back. "Or maybe it'll just be a new adventure."

Trish chuckled a bit. "Just make sure you're in the right room and you'll be fine."

I can't help but think about the others, though. I can't believe Grant - not his name anymore, I guess - delayed his return so that he could specifically avoid getting his old body back. I guess I just don't relate. Maybe he does feel more like a woman, but I just... I'm the type of person who wants everything to go back neat and tidy. He, or she, will be back in a few weeks to turn Sophie's body back to her.

And then there's James.

I don't even know the whole story, but something happened a few nights before our flight and he was too sick to come. I don't know if he's going to make it. And if he doesn't, I don't know what happens after that. Does he stay as Keisha? Does he roll the dice?

I feel bad. We may not have been good friends before all this... and hell, we weren't even that close during the whole experience, since I had my falling out with Derek, but I think he deserves to get his chance, same as me. I really hope things turn out okay for him.

Cal/Angie: SOON.

The past month has been a nightmare. Worst break-up of my life, if you can call it that (either a break-up or my life.) I've had so many angry phone calls to David to get him to take those videos off the internet, and he goes on about his rights and his feelings and blah blah blah, total bullshit. He's impossible. On the other hand, I've had more than a few irate communications from the real Angie, who was pretty understanding about me using David to blow off some steam, but is appalled I let him take video of me, even though I made it clear I never consented to those videos. I feel like I've failed her, even though I'm a victim here as well.

For me, all that goes away in less than two weeks. I'm headed to Maine on SATURDAY, and I could not be more excited. This nightmare - even if something fucks up, this particular nightmare is over and I can finally be where I belong. I hope. And if not, I'll make do but at least it won't be here.

And once that's looked after, I intend to have at least one more serious talk with Trish, who has been an amazing friend this entire time.

Tori: Updates

I was meaning to write more in here, but a couple of things happened: for one, we started seeing an influx of new people for the summer, and I always feel shy about crowding them out with tales of my (now-)regular life. But even before that, the realities of my job had me worn out to the point where I didn't have a ton of energy for blogging about it.

I was going to say that this was the first job I've ever had where I had to put so much work into my appearance, but that isn't entirely true. I worked for quite a while in fashion retail, so obviously I had to really put a focus on my appearance, if I was going to have any women (at that time I often still thought of them as "real women") trust my advice on what to wear. When I was just the IT gal, I dressed in plain pants and a white blouse with minimal makeup my hair functionally tied back: not gorgeous, not homely, a good cross between the white-collar office environment and my hands-on troubleshooting agent role within it. But now, being a woman as part of an office environment, especially in management, is a minefield in itself. Just as much as when I was walking a sales floor, I find myself checking my reflection, putting stray hairs into place, touching up make-up, straightening my clothes. It's the double-edged sword of women's fashion: if you're so inclined, there are a hundred ways you can express yourself with your appearance (as opposed to the more uniform men's wear) but it requires that much upkeep. And people judging.

I'm trying to get a bunch of men working beneath me (huh huh) to respect me as a boss. Considering I've never really bossed anyone around before, I was hoping they'd just do whatever I said without question. It didn't occur to me I'd have to give them a reason to follow instructions. I find myself talking to them like kindergarteners, like "If you don't do X, then Y can't happen. That's your responsibility." I shouldn't have to. But that's what managing is, I guess. I'm really aware that if I lose my temper, they'll think I'm just being emotional or "a bitch." But guess what, this bitch is in charge. If I have to turn into a ball-buster, maybe I will.

The really annoying thing is that even when you're in charge - even when their continued employment is contingent on me thinking they did a good job (I may be overstating this, but in the long run it kind of is,) it's still all about sex. It's still all about whether I'm fuckable, like this whole get-up and attitude is for them, to win their approval. I don't care what they think about me on that score, especially since on their best day I wouldn't give a second look to a one of them (mostly married guys approaching 40.) Still, they think it's all right to comment on how I stomp around like a dude sometimes (just because my natural footstep isn't a discreet ladylike pitter-patter,) and how I roll my eyes at their leers and elevator eyes. Maybe I should tease them about it more, ask "Hey how's the wife?" when I see their gaze drift a few inches below my chin.

It's kind of why I don't have any (unmarried) guy friends anymore. Since I've been Tori, every straight guy I've met has either been dating a friend of mine, or a boyfriend, or wanted to be a boyfriend. I miss the camaraderie of just being a dude hanging out with the guys, but I guess I'm just being nostalgic. Besides, it's been replaced with ladies' nights. And ladies' nights are way preferable.

Besides Raine, who is long-term coupling again, I've got a few girlfriends: two of the other women in my office, Peggy a 40-something divorcee who likes to cut loose with the younger girls, Jenny, a married lady a few years older than me, and two other single girls in their social circle that kind of welcomed me in, Tiffany and Aileen. I'm the youngest, although I wouldn't be when you consider my years of experience as Cliff. We go out, we dance, we get hit on, it's... fun, usually. Or we stay in and watch movies and the girls comment on my complete inability to cry (yes, I've been a woman this long and I still don't love Nicholas Sparks movies.)

After all that, it's not hard to see why it feels like something's missing. I almost feel like I've gotten too okay being on my own. I miss the comfort of a relationship, but after my last big one shattered my trust (literally any guy who walks up to me could be an "Agency" person!) In terms of dating, I've kind of gone back to my old introvert ways. It sucks.

Tori can't win.

Tyler/Lauren: Bare truths

The First Night

One thing I have to say about Lauren's room is that it was neat. It was a study in how many ways there are to store clothes, because there are two dressers, a loaded closet, shelves, a shoe rack, a cosmetic table, and bins that contain her winter clothes. The fact that she even differentiates between winter clothes and summer clothes boggles my mind. The only non-wearable possessions she seems to have are technology: a laptop and of course her phone. This girl seems to own no books, no CDs, no DVDs... although in a day and age where iTunes and Netflix are the norm, I can see why she wouldn't. People just don't own things anymore.

I haven't sorted through the entire wardrobe yet, having carved out a small number of items I feel comfortable wearing: t-shirts and pants. It's too hot for long sleeves, and this body seems to react to extreme heat something fierce. From what I've seen, most of Lauren's clothes are designed to free up as much skin as possible, highlighting her figure.

The overprotective brother in me thinks this is not okay, and girls that young shouldn't show off their bodies so much, but the part of me that is dying of heat exhaustion thinks it's fine. I wish there were some middle-ground between "loose, breathable summer clothes" and "modest coverage" for this girl. But there isn't: I'm looking at a summer in pairs of shorts that are smaller than what I used to wear for underwear.

When I first got here, I finally came to grips with the fact that three days of just living had made me grimy as hell. This issue was already lurking in the back of my mind from the time I read Lauren's letter, but I made efforts to rationalize it: I'm a caretaker of this body. I'm going to have to look sometimes, to touch.

The sliding door of her closet is a wall-sized mirror, so no matter where I go in the room, if I don't have my back to that wall I can see myself. Have to see myself. I walked close to look myself in the pretty blue eyes.

"Hi Lauren," I said to my reflection, "My name's Tyler, I'll be... you, for a while. Sorry about this."

Closing my eyes, I pulled my t-shirt over my head at the neck - I reckon sooner or later I'll get used to the extra drag created by my hair. Then I slipped my thumbs under the waist of my sweats and pushed them down to my ankles - beneath, I had actually been wearing a pair of my own jockey shorts, which slipped off on their own, being that there was enough room for two Laurens in there.

I clasped my arms around the delicate regions and pointed my eyes at the ceiling to open them. Slowly, slowly I brought them down until I was staring myself in the eye. Then I let my gaze scan from my reflection's bare feet up along my legs, crotch, torso, breasts, and neck until finally I was looking myself in the face again. Modestly, I cupped my breasts with my hands and, in a vain attempt to complete the coverage, tried to crook one leg over the other to guard my, er, lower half.

I know this has been my body for a few days, but I couldn't get over how frail and helpless I looked under my clothes. I started to shiver and shake.

You've never seen something so pretty looking so unpleasant.

I decided to focus on little details. The freckle above her lip, her perfectly straight, white teeth, the little intents where she has her ears pierced, the little crown of eyelashes encircling her baby blues. I tried to force my grimace into a pained smile. The girl looking back at me was pretty, but you could tell she was sad and not hiding it all that well.

I wrapped myself in a bathrobe and headed for the shower, which did not have the finest pressure I've ever felt, but I get it. I took my sweet time, rinsing my sweaty parts, hairless legs and underarms, behind my knees and ears, dumping loads of shampoo into my hair. I was trying so hard to be thorough and functional about it that I must have spent forty minutes in there before turning the knob off. I feel like someone should have checked to make sure I was still alive, but that's the benefit of being a teenage girl: nobody thinks twice if you're in the bathroom forever.

I made the mistake of trying to dry my hair in the washroom, which took way, way longer than I'm used to, which is when the door opened on me... and I met Lauren's 11-year-old half-brother Kevin.

So, I guess those locks on the bathroom are just decorative.

I stood there slack-jawed. I probably could have covered up better, because at that point I was still buck naked with a shower casually slung over my shoulder, not particularly covering anything. I could have shrieked at him for not knocking, pushed him out, done anything, but I guess I was still deep in self-absorption that I waited for him to back hurriedly out, after presumably getting way more of an eyeful of his sister than he ever expected.

Wet hair and all, I slumped back to "my" room to comb out the tangles. I changed into some pajamas, laid on my side and curled up into a ball, feeling like I could use a drink.

That's the moment I've been thinking of since I got here. Less than an hour in, I had already embarrassed myself and potentially traumatized a member of Lauren's family.

School

One of the first things I did after discerning what had happened to me and Meghan was to notify the real Lauren that we had "landed" so to speak in their bodies. This was accomplished by leaving her a lengthy, rambling, disoriented message swearing up and down that her life was in good hands, and then confessing it was probably odd to hear all this in her own voice and maybe it would be best to communicate through e-mails.

As it happened, she and her stepsister had wound up in the body of a couple from Austen, Texas - what's with people coming from all over to go to Maine? (Well, I guess I did.) So I guess making a visit is out of the question. As Alice Delacroix, she's supposed to be a personal chef, but is more suited for dishwashing. Her husband, Clay, aka Tasha, is an investor of some kind, which seems like a high pressure job, but I don't know what's needed to make a go at that.

She gave me the passwords to her various online accounts, and told me she would e-mail herself all the relevant homework she had been sent on vacation with, which she had special dispensation to turn in late. That was lucky, but that leaves the final exams for the year, which I have no idea how I'm going to tackle in her place. Cram hard, I suppose. Then, if I pass all those, I still have to live through her senior year.

So Tuesday morning, I woke up in my little Lauren-shaped divot in bed to the sound of an insistent knocking on the door. I slumped downstairs to find a busy breakfast scene, with Susan, her husband Albert, and the twins Kevin and Kylie, having a free-for-all. Susan looked at my ragged sleepclothes and immediately noticed something off: "Honey, you're usually up for hours by now, are you ok?"

I thought about telling them that no, I wasn't okay, but Lauren had missed plenty of school and it fell to me to sit in her place. I sucked it up and said I was just wiped after the vacay.

"Sounds like you've got a frog in your throat," Al piped up, commenting on my conscious attempts to grumble my way through having a girl's voice with a southern accent.

"It'll pass," I said, pouring myself some corn flakes, to the astonishment of the rest of the party.

"Since when did you eat breakfast?" Susan asked.

I shrugged. The old Lauren may have starved herself, but I don't intend to. I ate quickly, then dressed once again as grungily as I felt like I could get away with. To wit: I still didn't touch Lauren's underwear drawer.

I walked the kids to their school, which was on the way to mine, which I found only through the magic of GPS.

At 8:30, I made it to the doors of Eisenhower High. 12 minutes later I was 12 minutes late for Biology. Something about my first class in my newly de-aged now-female body being biology feels like it should be delightfully ironic instead of just sad.

After taking the only remaining seat and getting a strong talking-to from the teacher, I settled in for 40 of the boringest minutes of my recent existence.

And so it begins... more to come.

Meghan/Tasha: First steps

I swore up and down to Tyler that if at any point during this experience - the 11 hours trip from Maine to Pittsburgh or any of the ensuing days - he wanted to completely freak out, I wouldn't blame him. I've had moments of panic and anxiety at having to drop my entire life overnight and assume someone else's. That's going to happen no matter who you become, but his change was so drastic that I would expect him to have more than a minimal reaction. But no, he's being such a man about it: "don't worry, I'm fine." Uh huh.

There were more than a few stray details I caught during our trip that he didn't share. One was that when we set out, he had a pair of giant aviator shades pulled over his face and his hood drawn up, like a celebrity going to the landromat. I saw him glance over at the side-view mirror now and again, testing the waters of his own reflection, then snap back to attention. After removing the hood, his hair started whipping about everywhere. I told him he would probably find an elastic in Lauren's purse, and that it would be a good tip to learn how to do a basic bun. He pointed out that there were going to be a lot of things he'd have to learn.

Lauren Sherman is a pretty girl, but definitely a girl rather than a woman, with a youthful face, bright blue eyes and round cheeks, with a tiny upturn nose and little chin. Little elfin ears are hidden under her long, straight brown hair. But there are hints of reaching beyond her age, with perfectly sculpted eyebrows, a consciously bronzed (ie with tanning bed) skintone and a very full makeup kid amongst her belongings. Tyler, for his part, wears her face interestingly: understandably, I haven't seen him smile since, but he has this "thinking" face that is very... expressive. He slouches more than Lauren probably would, sat low in the car with his legs crooked out like a man would. It's interesting to see such a petite, feminine figure carrying itself like a man would, without the learned traits of femininity. Tyler's probably not going to be really dainty. I applaud that, but I wouldn't shame him if he finds it just easier to pick up where the girl left off, if for nothing more than camouflage.

I can tell it is bothering him from the way he squirms in his seat, the way he puts off going to the bathroom until the very last moment - he didn't mention we actually had to stop several times besides lunch in Jersey. And that: well, I could see him virtually shaking with rage on my behalf. I'd be flattered if I weren't annoyed at his overreaction.

So yeah, anytime I told him it was okay to yell, scream, complain or cry, he brushed me off. This isn't something either of us chose, we got a raw deal, we have a right to be upset. He doesn't even have to complain about being a girl, per se: he had a life of his own that is now taken away from him. Feel free to show some resentment. I told him I didn't buy that he has that little attachment in life that he doesn't mind being dragged away from it. He said he never said he wasn't upset, this is just not something he wants to "cry over." Sure, but some guy hitting on me in a diner, that's worth a possible assault charge.

In spite of that, I consider Tyler a friend and I hated to leave him at the Lauren's house alone like that, especially knowing what I was going home to. Lauren and Tasha are step-sisters: Tasha's father married Lauren's mother something like a decade ago. They didn't grow up close, per se - Tasha lived with her mother, but I guess the familial bond was still forged. Lauren's only 17, Tasha is 22, meaning that while Tyler has reverted over a decade, I haven't even backtracked two years. In theory.

In reality, Natasha Blanchard and I are very different women. I don't want to make like I'm so much better than her, but I lived my life a certain way, going through school, working towards my Masters in History, enjoyed travelling to Europe and Asia. Tasha doesn't appear to have much going on: she was/is a waitress, went to community college, and lives with her boyfriend of 2 years, Wade. I'm not that "into" propping her relationship up for her, but we'll see how it goes I guess.

I went to Tasha's apartment, fumbling with her keys until I found the right one, and found it empty. I breathed a sigh of relief as I headed to the bedroom to start unpacking Tash's things. She and I have different taste in clothes, but then again she has a very different body from mine, and clearly a different attitude about it. I've never been one to show off "the goods," but compared to Tasha, my goods weren't that worth noting. Some would consider it a boon, but I never asked for it.

Being able to stand or walk for long periods unassisted, I don't hate.

The apartment itself was filthy. I decided to turn that negative into a positive, using the cleaning to learn the lay of the land, what items were in regular use, where the dishes go. I've lived with guys before: there's something in their genes, I think, that tolerates filth much more than most women. That's just a theory, of course, but it's borne out pretty well, to my frustration. I know men can be trained to clean, but most of them just don't have that instinct. I could sense this was going to be a source of frustration.

After all that, I sprawled out on the couch to channel surf, looking for anything familiar. I fell asleep quickly, and was awoken around one by the sound of the door open, and a man's heavy footsteps.

"Hey babe, when'd you get back?"

"Around ten I guess," I muttered, rolling over onto my stomach and - much like I'm sure Ty already had - feeling oppressed by my newly oversized boobs.

"Have a good trip?"

"Meh."

"Wanna fuck?"

I rolled over and sat up. My heart raced. Of course he would be that forward, they've been together two years. That's, I guess, where they are.

I stammered out a queasy "No, I'm... too tired."

"Yeah, okay," he said, with a note of bitterness - I guess he hasn't seen his girlfriend in a month, so he probably has the itch, but he was going to have to wait at least a while longer. I'm not sure what Tash's feeling is on me bedding her boyfriend - whether I have a choice or not - but I definitely wasn't looking to hop into the sack with him on the first night.

This shouldn't matter, but he's pretty attractive, I guess, with an oddly clean-cut look, short dirty-blond hair, offset by tattoos up and down his arms and a few days' growth of facial hair. He may not be the kind of guy I would go for, but... oh, I don't know.

I slept on the couch, tossing and turning. This is it. This is my life now.