Annette/Ravi: The hell with not writing about it

So, the last time you heard from me was New Year's Eve, and then Jordan asking if anybody knew where I was, then nothing. I've had stuff I wanted to put on the blog, but I was trying to be respectful. I can't say I've got any special reason to talk about it now, but two or three lies stacked up is heavy, and I'm sick of them.

So, anyway, New Year's Eve. Kareena's invited to a party that some of her fellow med school students are having, I'm her plus-one, and it's all going great. Class has been out of session for a few days, so she's actually, you know, around for more than a few hours at a time and even dropping not-so-subtle hints that her roommates are both home for the holidays, so we won't both have a crowded house to deal with. I don't think I've ever seen her frisky in that way, but it's really cute, and I'm really looking forward to the new year.

It's a pretty fun party, although I don't really like parties as much as going out to bars now. It's weird, because although I wasn't a real party girl before, I wasn't shy or anything. Now, though, I always feel like folks will discover I'm seven years younger than I look and really a white girl.  No, that's not right - it's not being found out that scared me, but being found lame. Everybody at parties Ravi would get invited to is his age and has way more life experience than me, and what I do have isn't really usable in conversation.

This one's fun, though I probably am overdoing it with the beer. I like it way more than Kareena finds proper (same with Ravi, for that matter - he doesn't really want a reputation as a drinker when he gets back), and the guys throwing the party have some quality stuff, both in terms of taste and alcohol content. I'm heading off to the kitchen to get another when I try to get through the door at the same time as someone else. We joke about each wanting the last bottle of some brew or other, our eyes lock, and we kiss. It's something I've been missing so it lasts a fair bit longer than a second, and then I spot Kareena out of the corner of my eye, and I run.

To a bar, naturally, because I don't want to talk to Jordan and/or Benny yet, and I don't want to stew. That's when I start drinking enough to forget, and the next thing I know I'm waking up in this guy's bed, both of us very naked, and the sheets sticky.

He's crazy hot - African-American, darker than me, not bulky but really chiseled. He knew whereto find me after Iran off because he'd seen me there before, so we were able to get drunk enough to make a crazy decision together. I said I wished I remembered, he said we could go again, I mentioned my girlfriend, and he gave me one hell of a raised eyebrow. I stuttered, quickly pulled on my pants before he could see that I was starting to get hard again at the suggestion, and ran once more.

I spent most of New Year's Day just wandering the city, never even thinking that Benny, Kareem, and even Jordan might be worried. It was like everything had suddenly come into focus; I would see good-looking guys, and, damn! The lack of urgency to be more than friends with Kareena suddenly made sense.  I whipped out my phone and sent Ravi a text asking why he had left the part about him being gay out of his letter.

THAT got a response, let me tell you!

Ravi vigorously denied it, citing all the sex he was having with Gary's ex-girlfriend, that Jordan didn't seem to be interested in guys, and that I was still just a horny teenage girl inside, and that came out when I was drunk. I said that I really didn't think it worked that way, and would be happy to track this guy down now that I was merely hung over to prove it. Dude did not like that idea, and told me I had better not even think of cheating on Kareena again.

Yeah, in the same exchange as he bragged about banging another girl. I don't know whether that's just him being all-in on living Gary's life or being born a guy.

Still, I did what he asked.  He might have been right, after all, and even if he wasn't, coming out of the closet isn't the sort of thing that you do for someone.  ''Thou shalt not screw up thy identity's life" is kind of an unofficial commandment for Inn guests, and I have tried to do right by Ravi.  So I did what he asked. I kept my mouth shut, my dick in mypants, and when I finally got home that day, I told some story about a dare and my phone being set on silent. Kareena was more upset than either I or Jordan had ever seen her, but nobody became suspicious.

So began the most miserable three months of my life.

I had been lying as a general rule before, I guess, but how I was also lying to the people like Benny and Jordan that I had no reason to be less than honest with. I was worried about my every movement - did I just stare at that guy's butt, and could he tell? Did I walk swishy? Every day that went by, I became more certain that I, as Ravi, was gay, and as a result ever more sure that it was obvious to everyone. It is no way to live.

Being with Kareena was just the worst, because I still thought she was awesome and there wasn't a single way I could behave that wasn't totally unfair to her.  I wanted to tell her but dreaded losing her in my life.  I thought about breaking things off for vague reasons but was scared about what this would mean to her family and Ravi's. For Valentine's Day, I got Jordan and Benny to give me the apartment for the night and then puked as I was hanging decorations. We had a nice dinner and then I took her home.

It was April 7th that I came home from a movie and then just sat in the bathroom crying for a half hour. Jordan, sensitive guy that he is, eventually realized I hadn't looked the door and demanded to know what was going on and if it could wait because he was PMSing and really needed to piss.

So I told him.

He started laughing, so I almost hit him before remembering who was the tiny girl in this situation. He said he was sorry, but did I realize how many times he had wanted to descibe me as "his gay friend" when we were out shopping for some girl thing and I was giving him advice? Not funny, I said, but after a second it was hilarious and I started laughing too.

That didn't actually solve any problems, obviously, although the email I got from Ravi the next day was rather muted in scolding me for telling Jordan; he must have really ripped Ravi a new one. Then, a few days later, he knocked on my door wearing the dress he bought for Christmas, albeit wih sneakers rather than heels, and told me we were going out.

I said no. He ignored me and started digging through Ravi's clothes.  He came up with something hideous. but somehow eventually got me to find something better and dragged me out to the bar I went to after escaping the New Year's Eve party. The guy wasn't there, but he said that it was Friday night, he had a list of bars that catered to the gay and craft-beer crowds on his phone, so we would find him.

By the third bar, he was knocked out and kind of drooling on the-counter; that little body he has as Deirdre is pretty lightweight. But his plan was pretty spot-on, as a familiar face saw me and helped load "Dierdre"into a taxi. We took the next one ourselves, because I wanted to make sure I remembered all of it this time.

I won't give him a name, because it didn't really work out - after about a month he said he couldn't be with me if I was just going to keep stringing Kareena along and wouldn't even tell Benny or anyone but Jordan.  He made a choice not to deal with closet crap, and I wasn't a good enough lay for him to break it.  And, honestly, I respect that; I wouldn't date someone like that either.  But I don't know what I would have done without him, either. There was a tension to being Ravi that I didn't recognize, and I kind of suspect it was the same for the original; a lot of folks just won't face it. I hope, when he gets his life back, he takes a long look at the way he's living and tries to just go with what his body wants. I'm not the first person on this blog to say so, but it really does make things better, if not easier.

-Annette

Jordan/"Deirdre": No avoiding family at the holidays

Don't give me any shit in the comments for not writing this up at the time; I wouldn't be doing it now except that my project for work is done, I don't know what I'm going to do until we go back to the Inn - and that won't be until later in the summer than we'd like, because someone down the line from us wants to finish a school year, like it's their fucking academic career.

Anyway, I don't want the crap that would come from waking Benny and Annette up by playing Xbox, so I might as well do some catching up.  (Yeah, I started this in the morning!)  In some ways, the holiday I missed most was Halloween; it has always been a big thing in our family. Mostly my Dad; the way he tells it, he could be Bruce Lee then and all the kids in his class who gave the Chinese kid shit most of the time would find him cool. It stuck with him, and our family would always host the best Halloween parties. I wanted to go, but I didn't want to dress up in a girl's costume, among other things. Besides, Benny's first idea for a costume was a samurai, and then after that was Jackie Chan, and that would have kicked off an argument with my brother that he wouldn't have understood, and not just because it was in Cantonese. So we skipped it, and then did the same on Thanksgiving, telling my parents that we would be at Deirdre's family, and Deirdre's that we were at mine, which didn't surprise them.

By Christmas, though, it was too much - skipping that many holidays was driving us nuts, and I don't know if I've got some female genes that are pushing to make me like shopping or something, but I was finding things that might make cool gifts for my family and buying them, not necessarily thinking about the actual giving. Eventually, it became obvious that Benny and I were going to have to show up, and I got this weird sort of insecurity because I would be going as my own girlfriend.

That's fucking weird, folks. Most of the time, I don't give a shit how I look; I did all my work on the computer and even when I went out, I would dress in loose outfits because who needs the shit that comes from guys noticing you?  But while I am perfectly content to be that sort of girl for as long as I've got to be any sort of girl, I'd rather not have my family think that I've got to settle for Deirdre if she's like that. It's fucked up, but I needed to look a bit nicer.

Enter Annette. She had probably been waiting for me to ask for some more help ever since convincing me that yeah, even with these little things, a bra helps, but she is thankfully not one to gloat.  Instead, she helped me pick out a green dress that complemented this body's reddish hair well and looked Christmas-y, but which wasn't really that come-hither, at least from inside. She helped out with hair and make-up, too.

Not that anyone noticed, what with Benny looking all sexy.

I should have expected that, but somehow I didn't. Benny hadn't entirely spent the previous few months in the gym, or running, or whatever else has filled his time with the employment situation kind of tricky.  Point being, he'd gotten results, and it's not a "he did it so gradually that I barely even noticed" thing. I fucking noticed!  I noticed when he bought new pants on my credit cards, I noticed when a girl who never would have walked up to talk to me introduced herself to him, and, yeah, I noticed when he came out of the shower with just a towel around his waist and I felt the need to excuse myself and spend some alone time. Getting turned on by someone else looking like you is WEIRD!

Not quite as weird as my mom seeing him and showering him with compliments, though.  I don't think Benny really had any idea of just how weird it was, because the first salvo would be in Cantonese, and when he said ''English, ma, don't be rude to Deirdre", she would tone it down a little. I didn't quite get the impression that "Deirdre" suddenly wasn't good enough for "Jordan", but his physical transformation was the talk of the day, not the first girl that "I'' had brought home for a holiday since college.

It bugged me at first, but I got over it. Part of it was that Benny didn't let me get shuffled off to the side, keeping a tight grip on my hand so that he wouldn't be stranded in the middle of some Cantonese conversation that was over his head, or even an English-language one without me there to interject "oh, he told me about that!" Unlike a lot ofpeople changed by the Inn, he hasn't had to spend a lot of time living my life specifically, so he needed a lot of help there.

Plus, hey, it was Christmas! Everyone liked the gifts I got them, Dad made eggnog, and even if I was seeing it from a new vantage point, it looked good. Better than "real", maybe, because Benny and my brother didn't get into any arguments, Mom couldn't go on about me needing to eat healthier or dropping dead before I gave her any grandchildren, and for a wonder, Max hadn't done anything to piss our parents off either.

Oh, and Max didn't leer at me or anything.I wasn't really worried about it - he generally only goes for Chinese girls - but I was having a hard time thinking of a worse nightmare scenario than "kid brother finds me hot and tries to steal me away from guy he thinks is me."  Did not even come close to happening; I guess his own last breakup was too recent.

It wound up one of the better days since I got back from the Inn, even if I was damn ready to take the shoes off when I got home. I could see that Annette was really envious, too - Ravi's family exchanges presents on Christmas but it's not as big a deal as Diwali, and on top of that, it was her first holiday away from home and she missed her mom something fierce.

Things got pretty quiet for Benny and me after that, but Annette sure made up for it. But that's her story to tell.

-Jordo

Meg/Tasha: Fresh laundry

Memorial Day: Wade is working, Tyler is over keeping me company. He's dressed down in a tank top whose low sides reveal a lacy bralette and denim short shorts. I asked him if he dresses this way at school and he just shrugs, "When the mood strikes." Fair enough, but I'm always surprised by his occasional - erratic, even - fits of femininity.

"Just sampling from the buffet of life," he'll say, reverting to a hint of his native southern accent, which has all but totally faded except when we're alone. He's actually quite a talented mimic, or perhaps just too immersed in the world of Yinzer teens to notice the shift in his pronunciations. I wonder about that.

Besides, on the question of fashion, the weather is skyrocketing lately, so full coverage is not really tenable. Looking down, to where my own flesh is amply exposed, I don't disagree. I guess after all this time I still expect some modesty, or embarrassment, or something - not that that would be better than just living openly however he wants.

he's sitting on my couch, propped up against the arm, legs crooked under his little body. They appear to be shaved, but a quick brush with the palm of my hand reveals a noticeable bristling of hair. Nothing wrong with that, I smile.

He's channel surfing, occasionally making stray observations about daytime TV, while I'm back and forth from the basement laundry room. When I've got my final clean load, he follows me into the bedroom to help me fold the piles I've been collecting on the bed.

A moment of awkward silence passes as he folds Wade's third pair of skinny jeans in a row. I hear him sigh. I ask - trying as hard as I can to be casual about it - "So... how are you doing?"

"I'm good," he says, the expected answer. I've known Tyler Blake for a year, and female body or no, he won't tell you something's wrong until he's decided it's time. I begrudgingly accept this about him, but it gets to me now and again. I fumed for weeks when I found out how long he had been sitting on the story about meeting his body-thief. That's his business, I know, but sometimes his refusal to let me "in" is... well, irritating.

Still, he acts like the question was directed at Lauren, not Tyler, and starts to tell me about school. Just like with girly clothes, he shows flashes of being invested in Lauren's schooling. A sincere desire not just to spin his wheels, but to actually get work done... maybe even learn a bit. As distractions go, it's a pretty innocuous one. Takes me back to our first weeks here, when he threw himself into cramming for Lauren's exams.

I cut him off as he starts to idly recount the recent gossip from the school hallways. Hearing how hard he's working on a presentation is one thing, but I don't have the patience for this.

"You know what I mean," I sigh, "We've been here for a year. You just revealed you're not going home. Are you OK? Do you have any thoughts?"

"Some, yeah," he says, "I'm not thrilled, but I said I didn't want to go home anyway and now I don't have to. I dunno what he thought my life was worth, but trust me, he overestimated."

"I guess I'm just worried. I don't like the idea of you floating around for the rest of your life. You could be anyone."

"When you put it that way, doesn't it sound kinda exciting?"

"No, it sounds terrifying," I say, shoving some of my intimates into the top drawer and rolling over onto the bed. Ty joins me.

"I ain't worried a bit," he wraps his arms around me. "Nothing can hurt me anymore."

"You say that," I tell him, "Then watch you wake up in the body of a 70-year-old with a heart problem."

"Heart attack prone seniors don't hump it all the way to a beach house in Maine," he says with totally unearned sincerity. "They move to Miami or go on cruises or just stay put."

"So who goes to Maine?" I say, "Families. Couples."

"The occasional unlucky single guy," he answers back, whispering coyly into my ear.

"Counting on that, are you?" I smirk.

"I'm not counting on anything," he says. "Hoping, maybe, but I'll take what I can get at this point."

I can feel his heart beat, starting to race.

His pretty blue eyes meet mine. "I'm not anybody anymore, Meg. I just... am. And that's so freeing I can't even describe it."

We hold our gazes a moment. And then I don't know how, but it happens. Our lips meet. It might have been him pressing his into mine, but I feel like I pressed at the same moment, too. It's really just a peck, but it lingers a while. Only after a moment do I consider that we're "stepsisters," both ostensibly straight women, one of us in a relationship, the other not done high school, that to anyone looking in this would seem utterly shocking. I remember all the things that have kept me from even letting myself think about Tyler as anything but a "sister."

Eventually he pulls away - either because he senses my awkwardness or because that was all he wanted. We don't even discuss it. He just rolls over and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

"What do you want to do about lunch?" he asks. "I feel like making a grilled cheese."

Tyler/Lauren: Cutting class

I've thought about this over the last month. I'm still Tyler inside, no matter what. The fact that I will never be able to look my old face in the mirror again is insignificant. Maybe someday I'll take a new name, but that day is far off.

My life resembles Lauren's a lot more than Tyler's, of course. But most of all since Spring Break it's mostly resembled one of those zombies from the Walking Dead. Shuffling around, not really paying attention, just barely surviving.

After unloading to Meghan, and then to you guys, I feel a fair bit better.

I'm on track to pass, and would technically graduate if Lauren wasn't already registered for next year. She needs biology to get into nursing school - still her objective - and there was no way I was taking it for her. The parents are of course baffled that I didn't just take it this year. I lied and said there was a scheduling error. They said I should fight to correct it, then I said it felt more sensible to come back for an extra semester when "I" could focus on it more.

Just because I'm going to pass doesn't mean I'm doing well. I'm doing the bare minimum in some of these courses, skipping classes when it feels convenient to do so.

One day last week, when I was still somewhat in a funk, I went all the way to school, signed myself out - as is my right as a now-18-year-old - and came home. I laid in bed, just thinking about what as going to become of me in the next months, when I heard the door open downstairs. What the hell? I thought. Both the parents were supposed to be out. Phil had moved out at the end of April. I should have had a few more hours alone.

I heard a voice - a soft, girlish one - "Hello? Laur, you here?"

I poked my head out.

It was Karlee, Lauren's friend from school.

"What are you doing here?"

"We've got that history presentation due on Friday," she said. This would have been Wednesday, I guess.

"Oh my God," I sighed, "I'm so sorry for bailing. I've been feeling really rough lately."

"I got that," she said a bit solemnly, "I'm not gonna pretend I'm not mad that you've been ditching school so much lately, but I know things aren't always easy for you."

That's true. In junior year, Lauren was in the full brunt of an eating disorder - it was an open secret, and something I had to deal with when I got here. To most onlookers, she's made quite a rebound. In reality, down in Houston, things have gotten better for her, so I'm hoping she doesn't relapse upon getting her body back.

Obviously, that has nothing to do with why I skip school so much, but if it helps her understand my issues, I don't correct her.

"We're all pretty stressed out here, Lauren," she said, "If you need help, all you have to do is ask. I didn't really come to work on homework."

"I appreciate that," I said. "I'll be fine, I just... I can't deal some days."

I've never been good at admitting when I need help. At relying on others. Even Meghan. But I was really glad to see her.

I wrapped my arms around her. I didn't tell her I was going through some stuff she couldn't understand.

We didn't talk about it. We didn't talk about my problems or even that much about our history project. We gabbed like a couple of girls - she dished on Seann, Lauren's ex I set her up with months ago, who she's been on and off with since. I let her dow most of the talking, about summer, about the future, about girls a school who think I'm just a fake bitch but who are, themselves, pretty fake.

I didn't feel like Tyler, or Tyler pretending to be Lauren, I felt like this third person that I'm gonna become.

The day wore on. I walked her home. She spilled that she thinks Mark is still planning to ask me to Prom, even though our communication has been low since I quit drama club this semester.

"There's no quit in that kid," I smiled, "Gotta admire that."

As we got to her place, she took me by the hand. "Don't disappear on me again, okay? If you need to talk, I'm always just a text away."

"I'll remember that," I said. We hugged and parted ways.

I passed the school on the way home. There was a flyer up for the school play. The Importance of Being Earnest, on June 4-6.

Tyler/Lauren: Out with it

So you guys haven't heard from me in a while. It was back in March during my Spring Break excursion to the south that I last checked in, and things were all hunky dory then. Then some stuff went down and it made me not want to post so much anymore.

I didn't think it was affecting my mood all that much, but Meghan noticed. She said she'd always given me the right to feel bad about my situation, and she respected me no matter what, especially since I rarely seemed to let it get to me, but all through March and April, something was clearly nagging at me.

At first I was dismissive, just saying "Oh, it's nearly the end, I'm just getting antsy." But she saw through me. So I finally relented and told her.

When I did, she admitted it was heavy stuff, and she gave me the whole "I'm there for you" stuff. Then she said I ought to talk about it on the blog. I said no way, it's too embarrassing, too personal, too upsetting. She said, maybe, but it'll be therapeutic. And you never know, there might be people out there reading this who care what happens to me. I doubted it, but I've come around on that.

So here's the story.

I'm not gonna be Tyler Blake ever again.

I'm not crying, I'm not whining, it's just a fact and I'm taking it seriously. In fact, I knew from the first that this was possible. I ain't stupid. I know the whole "getting your body back" plan hinged on a lot of variables. And one of those variables is the other person's willingness to co-operate.

From the start, I had a hard time bringing this guy to the table. "Why worry about it now," he said, "We'll talk later." Months would pass and I didn't hear from him and I tried not to let my concern show. "It's November, we can't even make a reservation until January." Uh huh, he kept putting me off. Meanwhile, I was stewing up here, grinding away keeping Lauren's grades up and trying to keep her family happy with her, never getting a moment to myself, while fending off the boys at school and the college kid downstairs.

So back in March, I figure, screw it. I had gone ahead and rented the extra stay at the Inn at my on expense. I had to track this guy down and convince him to give me my body back. After leaving Houston early, I went to Alabama.

And then things went sideways.

I found out where he was working - a restaurant I vaguely knew - and surprised him. It looked so alien, seeing someone milling about in my skin. I never felt my height when I had it, but now I was looking up at myself. I felt as weak and as frail as I ever have.

"You know who I am?" I asked. He looked me up and down. I saw his tongue fleck over his lips like I was a dessert plate - I felt more disgusted in that moment than I ever have in my life - and said "Yeah, I was wondering when I'd finally get to see you."

I tried to play it cool. "Fun is fun, but being me isn't all it's cracked up to be. We can put things right."

He smirked. "Look friend, I know where you're coming from, but here's where I'm at." He had a really bad, probably affected southern accent that sounded nothing like the me I recognized. "I was 68 years old, with angina and a prostate the size of a softball. Why should I just hand this body back to you?"

I'm guessing he didn't want to hear Because it's the right thing to do.

"What do you want?" I asked, not that I had much to give.

He snorted a dismissive chuckle. "I got a buyer."

"Excuse me?"

"$15,000, cash on the barrel, if I go to the Inn when they say, not when you say."

"No..." I said, whispererd in shock.

"Yeah," he flashed a toothy grin. I wanted to reach up and punch him in my old face.

"Don't do this."

"It's done, kid."

"You can't."

"It's not a choice, are you shittin' me? If I play ball, who knows how far I could ride this pony. I might live forever!" He just laughed the more I pled. I felt pathetic. Helpless. Then he turned to me and said "I mean... I guess, if I get a better offer... I'd consider it."

I fumed. "You want me to get you $15,000 in three months?"

"No," he snorted again, "I want you to get me $30,000 in three months. How much is your life worth to you?"

I didn't answer. I stormed out and went straight home.

I wanted to yell and scream, but I kept my reaction subdued. "You know what, fine, whatever," I huffed to myself, "I'll go to that Inn every year of my miserable life if I have to. Nobody's shaking me down."

When I got off the plane in PA, I got my phone out. I scrolled past a few texts wishing me a safe flight from Lauren's family members, down past exchanges with schoolmates, to the last conversation "Tyler" and I had had.

I texted him, "Big mistake." I doubt he believed me. There never was any response.

I didn't cry until later.

Tori: Our thing

Now, where was I?

Oh, yes, standing outside of Chuck and Julia's house in the cold February air. My heart is racing. Beneath my clothes I'm wearing a pair of lacey pink panties and a push-up bra. I wonder what the hell I'm about to do. It happens to be Valentine's Day. I think to myself, "I shouldn't be here, I shouldn't be part of this." But I don't have anywhere else to be, anyone else to be with. I think about guys that I've dated and could have tried harder to make it work, but that thought quickly dissipates, because I know it's a fantasy. Things don't work out for a reason.

Instead of ringing the doorbell, I simply text "I'm here." I don't know why.

She answers, and for a moment I'm disappointed it's not him, but she is looking gorgeous, ten years younger in a little black dress. She smiles and wraps me up in a warm hug that feels more sisterly than romantic. "I'm so glad you're here," she says into my ear, "We're going to have a lot of fun tonight."

Like I said, it's Valentine's. I initially objected to imposing on them, but they insisted. It's one of the few nights of the year when her mother expects to babysit the kid, so we are guaranteed privacy. I try to be reassured by that, but instead it just pulls me back to reality.

We also had the awkward conversation about whether I should come over for dinner, and I was pretty adamant about not doing so. So I arrived promptly at 9.

Julia took my coat and Chuck came to see me, giving me a light hug and a polite kiss on the cheek. They're just finishing dinner and enjoying some drinks, and as soon as they offer I blurt out that yes, I would love a glass of wine.

We drink in silence for a moment, I don't think any of us is really sure what we want to say. Eventually Chuck says, "Isn't my wife stunning?"

Without hesitation, I look dreamily at her and say "She's gorgeous." I'm used to openly appreciating other girls' looks just on an aesthetic level, but I'm trying to dig back down into the part of my psyche that lusted after them. The alcohol helps. I smile at her, "I can't wait to see more of her."

She leans into me. I stay still. She places her hand gently on my leg. I feel a shiver at being touched. She moved her hand back and forth. I place my hand on her arm and do the same. Before I know it, I have placed my lips on hers.

It's a nice kiss, soft and a bit timid. we only hold there for a second before parting. I look over at Chuck. He's looking at me, too. I touch his hand. He smiles at me.

Something is wrong. My heart is palpitating. I want him, in a way that is not necessarily acceptible, given our agreement. I'm not here to steal him away, I remind myself. He stays here tonight, with his wife.

They take me to the bedroom and we all share kisses. I let myself get swept up in the fantasy, pushing Chuck down on the bed while Julia massages me from behind, her hand searching my butt and breasts, kissing my neck. I feel incredibly alive.

Out of guilt, I turn to her and we begin to kiss. I don't know why I was expecting it to be bad, but it wasn't. I start to find her a better, more willing partner than the uptight Chuck. We gradually undress each other, carelessly tossing out clothes into a heap. I reach behin me to where I know Chuck's crotch is, and pet it, feeling for his belt buckle, signifying I want him in this huddle too. My hand sweeps around his midsection, undoing his fly and letting his cock stand erect. At this point, Julia has been kissing me and fondling my breasts to the point where I am unbearably wet. I have my hand wrapped around Chuck's stiff manhood, while Julia busies herself by petting my crotch.

"Yes, yes!" I moan, leaning back to kiss Chuck's lips as his wife lets her tongue trace a path between my breasts down past my bellybutton. My nipples stiffen at the sensation as she caresses them. I'm having buttons pressed that I never imagined I had. Then she cries out, "Somebody fuck me!" and Chuck immediately snaps to, positioning himself behind her to put himself inside her while she buries her face in my crotch.

Looking up at him, thrusting away on her, I wish she and I could switch places, but she's the hostess. An besides, she's doing an excellent job eating my pussy. I feel incredibly alive.

She hums her pleasure moans into me as Chuck grunts and I feel myself rapidly approaching climax. I can tell from the look on Chuck's face that he's almost ready to pop too, despite her urging "Don't stop, babe!"

Well, as we all know, it's not really up to him. Luckily, I'm there, and ready to reciprocate what she has done for me, spinning us so that she's beneath me as soon as he pulls out of her. I keep a firm hand on her breast while putting to good use all he knowledge of a woman's anatomy I've gained in the last six years.

"Oh my GOD!" she cries out, "You're so good at this, have you done it before?"

I stop just a moment and poke my head up at her. "No..."

"Don't stop!" she cries out. I go as long as I possibly can. I feel my jaw locking up and my tongue losing feeling, but I press on. It become almost a joke as she keeps begging me to continue, "Please don't stop, don't ever stop!"

Just as I feel like I can't go any longer, Chuck returns and pulls me away from his wife. He lays me down on top of him, and pulls Julia on as well, beginning to fondle her. He's hard again and directs me to ride him. I do so, bouncing as rapidly as I can, too swept up in the momentum to slow myself down. Waves of electric pleasure as surging through me. Julia sits up and starts to kiss me. I don't want to make her jealous, so I climb off as soon as I'm satisfied and let her finish her husband.

I lie between them in the bed, arms and legs all pretzeled up. We're all out of breath, and it's a while before anybody speaks, and Julia says "We're doing that again."

"Yeah," I huff, "Best workout ever."

"Tori, I love your tits," she says, "Doesn't she have great tits, Chuck?"

"Almost as good as yours," he says, kissing her. Which annoys me, because mine are way better, but I know why he said it. I feel the jealousy bubbling back up inside me and withstand the situation as long as I can before gathering my clothes.

Chuck drives me home and there's a palpable awkwardness. "You're great," I say, "You both are. I mean, wow."

"It's not usually like that," he laughs, "So you must have really brought out the best in us."

For the rest of the night, once I'm alone again, I'm lost in thought. I feel like I'm cheating at life whenever I have meaningless sex. It used to feel impossible, and now it feels all too easy. Why can't I just accept something good?

Meg/Tasha: The Wade and Tasha Of It All

You can probably imagine how I feel, even after all this time. Stressed out and guilty to have to keep up the act, day after day, of a loving girlfriend. At first, I was full of resentment. He would roll over in the night and kiss me, and I would wish I were anywhere else, preferably in my own bed, alone. I wasn't exactly in a position to enjoy having his arms wrapped around me because I know they don't belong to me. He had all this misplaced love for the person he thought I was, and I just wanted to be gone.

I write to Tasha frequently. She's pretty protective of her man and was reluctant to give her blessing to us sleeping together. She understood the necessity, if her relationship was to survive this ordeal, that I step in for her, and I assured her I wasn't thrilled by the idea.

"I miss him so much," she'll tell me. "When he gets home tonight, can you tell him I love him? That I've been waiting all day for him?"

"I'll be happy to," I tell her.

I've said those words, "I love you" to him a lot. I try to say it every time I see him, in fact. I used to avoid it, waiting until he said it first and offering a pretty weak response. He could tell from my voice that something was off, and he'd ask what, and I'd pause and make up some story about something that happened at work that was often an exaggerated version of the truth. I don't think he ever bought that was the whole deal, but it held things over until I got better at acting.

Now when I say it, I can really sell it and it hardly makes me feel guilty. This is because I know I'm speaking for her. And even though I don't love him, I like him and I want him to be happy. When I look at him and say, as naturally as anything, "Hey, I love you," he lights up, and it's a good feeling, to be able to make someone feel that way, bittersweet as it is. I've grown weirdly accustomed to being the middlewoman in this relationship. It brings me almost as much happiness as any of my real relationships. That's kind of sad, but selfless at least.

I act like I'm so noble for not breaking Tasha and Wade up immediately, like I haven't risked it for stupid reasons, or found my own ways to enjoy it. Yes, I get stressed out from playing the part, but at the end of the night, I have company, devotion, I have physical attention in a way I have almost never had in my life. And I almost fucked it up because I was a little bored. Well, that's a simplistic rationale for why I did what I did with Mykal.

When I had my little flap with Myk, I thought it would be easier to confess to Tasha, assuming she would understand. But she took it hard, too. After all this time she had come to think of me as part of the relationship, and it was as though I had cheated on her as well. Maybe in a way I had. I felt the urge to defend myself, but as much as I think I should be allowed to think of my own desires, this was the wrong way to go about it.

I have worked hard to restore Wade's good faith. I have channelled every ounce of energy and guilt into making him happy and reminding him that there's a woman who really truly cares about him and wants him to feel loved. I text him lovenotes frequently, and it inspires him to do the same. I feel like I shocked this relationship out of a sense of complacency, if there's a silver lining here.

He gets home from work and I have dinner cooking. I'm not the world's greatest chef - it's a lot of pasta but cooking for two has really improved my skills - but it's clear he appreciates the effort. He opens the door to the apartment and sees me standing, apron over my yoga pants and tank top, hair in a messy bun, and he declares himself the luckiest man ever.

I tell him he's not lucky, just very good.

He wraps his arms around me from behind me and I feel warm inside. There's that ambiguous feeling... am I happy for him, or for myself, at this point? He rests his chin on my shoulder. He says I don't have to do this so much, and I remind him that it's not every night - much of the week I work the dinner shift at the bar, so we don't even cross paths until I get home, and so I like giving him the special treatment when I can. We kiss.

He brings me over to the couch and I let myself fall on him. He wraps his arms around me, and it's not like it was in June, July, where I was itching for him to release me. I rest my head on his chest and I can feel him smelling my hair. I can also feel his cock stiffening beneath his jeans just by my nearness. It's flattering, but I'm not really in the mood to do much more than fool around.

We say nothing, but exchange long, deep kisses. I try to keep Tasha in my mind when we do this. A long time passes and we just lie there in contented silence, until I remember there's sauce on the stove that's almost ready. We eat the meal with our lovers' gazes fixed on each other, making polite conversation. This is the part of the relationship that bothers me the most - it's not overly stimulating, although I know Wade can sometimes be very observational and philosophical. Sometimes when I have tried to pull that side of him out by acting a bit more like Meg, he finds me difficult and we fight.

I resent that, but I'm fine suppressing that side of me. I have Tyler to be myself with.

After dinner we flop onto the couch for channelsurfing, Netflixing, whatever crummy old movie he feels like watching. Occasionally we watch something with artistic merit, but he just assumes I'm not into it. I made the mistake of telling him I loved Wes Anderson when Grand Budapest started winning all those awards, and he looked at me like, well, like an impostor. "You told me you couldn't stand him."

"Oh, uh, I guess he's growing on me." Embarrassed emoji.

When things are going well, I feel like I have to keep it to myself. Tyler is usually pretty encouraging but if I lay it on too thick I worry about rubbing it in, alienating him because his experience as Lauren is so different from mine as Tasha. I can tell Tasha, of course, but I have to choose my words carefully to remind her I am not angling to steal her man. I sometimes inquire what she's been up to in her substitute body in Houston, which helps keep things in perspective.

Inevitably, he and I start to kiss, more and more, hands searching each other's bodies. He loves Tasha's breasts. I don't blame him, they're an ample size to play with. Tasha evidently liked letting him get rough with them, which I'm not partial to. Spending too much time on them has the unfortunate side-effect of reminding me they are not something I was born into.

Sex is, believe it or not, quite different as Tasha than it is in my normal body. I was very sensitive, but my injury affected my enjoyment and ability to take on a many different positions. I could get off in a matter of minutes, but Tasha takes so much longer, it often feels like just as we're getting going, he has to stop.

I'd be lying if I said that didn't affect my emotional state as well: if I want true satisfaction I need, like, an entire afternoon to myself. It's probably good that I don't love the sex. It's generally good enough that I don't avoid it. Tasha says she never had much problem. I wonder if the transformation somehow broke something inside of her.

The man is happy, and since I'm doing a penance, that's all that matters. If this were my relationship, there would be more give and take. Hell, if it were my relationship, it would be over by now.

We lie in each other's arms, but I still find it tough to fall asleep with another person in the bed - honestly the weeks when I was on the couch were some of the best nights of my time as Tasha. We talk about what we're going to do tomorrow, or on the weekend, until the conversation drifts off and one or both of us is asleep.

I never asked, never wanted to, why Wade stayed with me after my transgression. Tasha assured me he would and I thought it was weird he would be so forgiving. "He loves me," she said, "He'll do anything to make it work, and if you work with him things will be back to normal in no time."

"Normal sounds nice," I text back, hoping my scoff is implied, "Whatever normal is."

"You're my favorite person," she texts back, "I couldn't have asked for a better substitute me."

"I'm doing my best :)"

I look over at the clock. It's 3 AM. I'm not really able to sleep. I roll over to get up. I hear him moan or mutter "Huh? Babe?"

I tell him I have to get the dishes scrubbed and the leftovers put away.

"Leave it," he says, patting my place on the mattress.

"I won't be long," I say, leaning over to kiss him before walking out to the kitchen.

Once that's done, I take another moment to look out the window. We have a balcony. I used to smoke in college, and I would almost kill for one right now, but smoking in another person's body seems like almost as big of a faux-pas as cheating on their boyfriend for them. Besides, it's still cold in Western PA, and I didn't get dressed.

I go back to bed. He's still awake. "Took you long enough," he whispers into his pillow, playfully. We kiss. "Tomorrow night," he says, "We'll get takeout."

"Sounds lovely," I say softly, wrapping my arms around him, feeling him press his body into mine.

In my head, I think about how much longer it is until I'm back in Maine. It's tough, but I think I can do this.

Tyler/Lauren: Spring Break Part 2 - Fun With Bert and Stef

I was deep in thought the entire flight, with a bit of concern over how to present myself when I finally got to Florida. I had barely ever communicated with this man, except to confirm that I would be visiting him. I guess I could have taken a pass on the whole thing and just stayed at home, made up some excuse, but I the idea of taking a break from PA appealed to me. Much as I was looking forward to never going back to the South, the weather and the crowd has gotten me down, and this was my best bet for a brief escape.

I dunno what I was worried about: I jumped into this whole Lauren thing with hardly a second thought. 'Course, I knew I didn't have much of a choice. I took my marching orders knowing that if I felt shitty about it, it didn't make a bit of difference. I trusted it would work out fine, and it did.

considering what I've been through lately, I set the bar low for comfort anyway. Worst case scenario for the vacation: I have a less than pleasurable week but still get to enjoy good weather.

When I arrived in Florida, Bert and his girlfriend Stef were there to pick me up. I almost didn't recognize him: the photos Lauren has of him he is balding, but since then he's shaved his head completely and grown a greying goatee. His entire aesthetic screams "midlife crisis," right down to the bosomy, slightly younger woman on his arm.

Stef is very boisterous. She wraps me up in a hug, saying she's excited to finally meet me, and we're just going to be the best of friends. Uh huh. I have a hard time resisting playing the bratty teenage daughter as I push her to arms length (when I catch myself acting like that I wonder if the lifestyle has rubbed off on me, or if it's me being me - if grown men sometimes act the same as teenage girls without realizing it.) Bert and Stef go on and on about all the kinds of stuff we can do while I'm here, repeatedly assuring me that it's all up to me. I tell them I don't have much of an opinion. All I really want is to be alone, but that doesn't look like it's on the menu.

I don't want to be ungrateful for their hospitality, but I break it to them quickly that I'm not staying the whole week. I tell them I'm taking a college tour at the end of the week, so I have to leave a few days early. It's in Texas, too, and mom is real skittish about me moving out of state, so it's a secret, and I don't want her to know until I've made up my mind and heard the pitch. Bert says he understands - maybe he's a bit disappointed, but I think he's relieved I trust him enough to tell him something I'm keeping from Sue.

It's a lie, of course, the kind of bald-faced one I've gotten real used to telling. Lauren's not even going to graduate high school this year: Even if I pass every course, she won't have the academic pre-requisites to qualify for a diploma. I made a decision that I wasn't going to rob this girl of an education, so I've been treading water all year.

What I'm actually doing on Thursday is heading to Houston to see the real Lauren and Tasha in their current bodies. We have everything confirmed for July, and it's not as though I don't trust that they want their bodies back, but we agreed it would be nice to visit while I had time. Kind of a show of good faith.

I've learned from reading this blog that sometimes you can't trust people when they say they're going to do something.

When we got to Bert and Stef's house, it felt very spacious, but that's maybe because the Blanchard house is such cramped quarters. I wandered the halls of this sparsely-decorated two-storey detached home feeling like I was in an art gallery or something: from what I could tell, Stef was starting to influence the design, and she later told me she was interested in interior decorating. I made the mistake of asking her about the sofa and she went on and on about the relative merits of leather versus fabric and I completely blanked out. She also has a huge thing for vases, the more exotic-looking the better, but she says she's never traveled.

Stef is definitely a very feminine woman: never leaves her bedroom in the morning without full makeup, loves to cook and clean. It's not hard to see why Bert is attracted to her, but she represents a kind of womanhood I've gotten really uncomfortable with since being on this side of the fence.

Bert works weekends at a boat dealership, so I wound up spending a lot of time with Stef at first. She got me up at 8 saying that just because I was on vacation didn't mean she was going to let me sleep my life away. I said, "What if that's what I want to do?" and she said the was a whole world out there for me, and you only live once.

Hm.

She boasted that their backyard opened right to the beach, and asked if I had brought my bikini. Of course I had - it's Florida after all. She said that if I wanted to I could spend all day lying around in the sand, but she was determined to get me out of the house. I felt like that was an acceptable compromise.

The new swimsuit I had bought as modest but form-fitting - not showy, but not exactly a burqa. It was high-waisted, which I imagined might make me look like Taylor Swift, but conceals the weight gain around my midsection, which is more noticeable than my butt or thighs, which have also increased in size in the last 8 months. I wore it under a tanktop and a light see-through wrap around my waist.

Stef accompanied me to the beach. As soon as we arrived she removed her cutoff jeans and hoodie to reveal a very miniscule bikini. I suppressed a gasp - for a woman her age and physique, it was pretty daring, letting her breasts hang out, as well as her lovehandles and belly. I wouldn't have called her fat, but her suit didn't hide anything at all. I wondered if I should be embarrassed for her or impressed by her.

She began to apply sunscreen and I removed my top layer to do the same. She remarked "Wow girl, you're a fox! Don't let your dad find out what you're hiding under there, he'll never let you leave the house!"

"Um, thanks." I got uncomfortable in a way I don't when men compliment me. It's praise from women I can't seem to shrug off. "You look good too..." I added, not-very-convincingly.

She smiled, "I like to think I'm still a 17-year-old hottie inside," she sighed, "Let this be a warning, it can all go south on you quick."

I honestly didn't know if she was fishing for compliments or what, but I had already said she looked good so I just laughed lightly.

As we laid out on blankets, she asked, "So, you got a boyfriend? Maybe we can find you a fling while we're here. Hah, just kidding." Except I think maybe she wasn't.

"I'm not really looking," I sighed.

"Of course you are," she said smugly, "Everyone's always looking, even if they say they're not."

I didn't respond, so she continued trying to engage me in girl talk. "Who's your ideal guy?"

"I don't really have one," I said, "I mean, I thought I did, but... I really don't."

"Come on, give me something!" she laughed, "If you could date any actor, who would it be?"

I sighed and started to recount a conversation the girls at school had had about Liam Hemsworth from the Hunger Games movies, pretending I was part of it. I felt like Stef could sense my apathy, so she interjected by saying she would date any of the guys on Game of Thrones, "Even the little guy," but not to tell my dad because they all have luxurious hair.

I laughed and had to admit that Jon Snow guy is a bit cute. Maybe it's the accent.

Despite myself, I started really thinking about it. I like to pretend otherwise, but I do have a straight girl's hormones rushing around inside of me, and there have been moments I've been overtaken by some pretty serious desires. But they aren't tied to looks. It's more personalities that I respond to, moments where I feel genuinely charmed by someone, looked at as an equal and a human being. That's probably why all the guys at school bug me. Having to square these feelings with the person I believe myself to be inside, as well as keeping Lauren's life drama-free as possible, is pretty torturous, so it becomes convenient to ignore it altogether.

"There's one guy back home," I finally admitted, "He's cocky and a bit of a jerk, but I can talk to him a bit, so that's nice. It just... it wouldn't work." I think about Phil sometimes, how he's right there under my roof if I ever want him, but I know it would end badly.

"Well, you never know," she said, elbowing me suggestively. "Is he cute at least?"

"Yeah," I admitted, "But I would never tell him that." That got a laugh.

I also think of Mark once in a while. Poor kid. He really liked me, and I just had to push him away, and now we're not even really friends. I went back to the Drama Club and his entire attitude toward me had changed as if overnight. That's more guilt than regret, because I played that one exactly right.

I abruptly changed the subject. "There's one person I like more, but... it can't happen. They're with someone else."

"See, that's why I never say never," she winked, "What's he like?"

"A good friend. Really understanding. Sometimes frustrating. And I feel pretty bad for having these feelings." I didn't mention it was a she. "We both know about it, but pretend we don't because it's easier."

"You can't be afraid to take what you want," she said. She seemed very eager to provide these little fortune cookie sayings.

I quickly got used to Stef's strong personality and it even brought out some really repressed sense of fun in me. It was the first time since my pageant adventures that I played girly-girl -- she took me to her favorite nail place to get pedicures, and even though I was uncomfortable being fussed over, I was pretty pleased with the results.

We met Bert for dinner that night at a French restaurant so nice it made me uncomfortable (and underdressed compared to the elegant dresses on the ladies nearby.)

"You know I'm not exactly loaded," Bert said, "But my daughter doesn't come to town very often, so you deserve a bit of spoiling." He leaned in to give me a peck on the cheek and I tried to feel grateful, but all I could think of was having waffles for dinner in the mobile home where I used to live -- or more recently, bringing a plate of chicken to my room because I just need to get away from the family for a while. I told him I appreciated it.

We spent the next few days sightseeing, and I did end up getting a fair amount of "me-"time and R&R. We had BBQs with the neighbors, and I was invited to play cards with Stef's lady friends. It was a pretty full few days.

Once I was feeling comfortable after a few days, I vented some of my frustrations about living with Sue and Paul, which Bert was all too happy to hear and it felt like we were almost bonding. On my last day there he took me to a Grapefruit League game, which was nice.

Thursday morning he drove me to the airport, and he reminded me that it was a secret between him and me that I as going to Texas. I smiled and hugged him, "Thanks for everything."

Tyler/Lauren: Spring Break Part One - Airport

Sue drove me to the airport Friday afternoon, dropping me off by the entrance. As I was pulling my luggage out of the trunk, she must have sensed my desire to ask why she wasn't accompanying my as far as she could, shrugging, "I'll let you off here. You know how much I hate those places. So busy and complicated. It stresses me out."

I couldn't help but chuckle at that, and she probably wondered why. I guess after everything I've been through it seems like such a luxury to be stressed out by something as mundane as a crowd. I mean, even in my old life I would have found that quaint, but now it feels downright absurd.

"Plus..." she added, "I trust you."

"Thanks, mom," I said, offering her the type of warm hug I've gotten very used to dishing out in order to reassure her that I am her loving daughter and not a total stranger - the kind of hug that used to send a shiver up my spine because it felt so forced, and even now leaves me feeling pangs of guilt. I even kissed her cheek, which I do sometimes when I feel the need to be extra comforting because I'm feeling worse than usual about my deception. It must have looked like something out of a commercial as she watched me go through the doors into the terminal, wheeling my luggage behind me.

Then I was alone.

Not alone-alone, of course. There was hundreds of people rushing this way and that, but I was invisible to them. As invisible as a pretty attractive blonde 18-year-old girl ever gets to be. As I stood in line to check my luggage, I felt this rush of anonymity as I realized that for the first time in a long while I wasn't around anyone who knew my name: either of them. None of my family members, or schoolmates, or even Meghan were coming with me on this trip. And that would end soon enough, in a few hours I would land in Florida, where I would meet Lauren's father and his girlfriend, and I would have to play the daughter again. Even that, I felt, would entail a certain amount of freedom... Bert Sherman doesn't see his daughter often, so I doubt he even has that strong of an idea of who she is. I could be myself, a bit.

I was happiest in the airport, though, where I suddenly felt very comfortable being nobody. Some random traveler. I was so used to travelling on my own before I went to Maine, and since then nearly every moment of my life has been lived in close proximity to all these people who came with the life I was thrown into. Before then I was feeling apprehensive about travelling on my own: I was used to doing it as a grown man, who knows what horrors might await me as a teenage girl on her own?

The answer: teenage boys. As I was sitting in the gate waiting for my flight to board, a boy came up and sat next to me. He was about Lauren's age, drenched in body spray, with the faint remnants of acne but generally okay skin. I'll admit that he was attractive, but don't mistake that for me saying I was attracted to him.

I played a game on my phone until he finally made his move: "Hey, you on this flight to Florida?"

"Yep," I said, not looking up.

"Spring break?"

"Uh huh."

"By yourself?"

"I'm visiting my boyfriend," I said flatly. "Goes to U. Miami."

"Oh, cool," he sighed, "He's a lucky guy."

"Yeah?" I half-asked.

"Sure, you're really hot."

"Yeah, I know," I said.

He seemed put off, doing a bit of a double take as if to say 'Excuse me?' "What do you mean you know?"

"I mean, you're not the first person who's noticed. I know what I look like. People don't stop reminding me."

He seemed very challenged by this bit of self-confidence, and immediately changed seats, muttering "Bitch" under his breath. I smiled to myself. I know a lot of you guys out there are hoping I'll embrace the lifestyle of a heterosexual woman, but I much prefer to leverage that into messing with their heads: it's so easy and fun. Sorry bud, I don't kneed your opinions to validate my self-worth.

I mean, I wasn't even done up: I was dressed comfortably in sweats and a hoodie with my hair hidden under a wool hat, and no make-up, minding my own business.

Tori: The Arrangement

So I hinted that I would tell you what my situation was like lately, but I had to wait and see if it lasted at least a little while. It's also somewhat controversial. I know I shouldn't expect any judgment from you fine people, although if you wanted to, I wouldn't blame you. I'm not entirely sure how I feel about it myself.

That's a lie, I actually kind of like it. It's not a perfect arrangement, but for now, it's fun.

It started sometime in the New Year when things were definitely, for sure, completely done with Boy-X. Actually that's a lie, it started years ago when I met Chuck at work and started to hit it off with him. The big problem was, and is, that he's married, so as much as we got along, I knew he was off limits. He and his wife Julia make a great couple and I would never want to do anything to stand between them, especially because they have a 16-month-old, an adorable son Tommy.

Anyway. Chuck got promoted out of his department and I was promoted into his, and that came with a bunch of stresses that caused us to lose touch a bit - I had been regularly talking to him when I was in IT but now work didn't bring us much into contact. So we made a point to get a coffee after the Holidays when things quieted down.

Chuck is older, even moreso than I originally was. He's nearly 40, with dignified salt-and-pepper hair. He has a pretty commanding presence that really does something for me, but I always figured I had hidden it. I was actually a little embarrassed to be so attracted to him, because he was such a "man" in the classic sense, that it really brought to mind how unsophisticated the guys I'd dated are, even the ones I really loved. It was intimidating, and having been through what I have, I don't intimidate easily.

So we went for a beverage, and he got me venting about my latest romantic messes, kind of egging me on as I spouted off about how I couldn't meet a solid guy, et cetera et cetera. I had to stop abruptly, redfaced when I realized how long I had been talking without much of a point.

"No, no, it's fine," he said, "This is like TV for me."

"Oh, glad I can entertain!" I laughed.

"So, are you looking to settle down?" he asked.

"I don't know," I sighed, "I look at what my brother has with his wife, or what you have with yours, and I think 'I want that.' But I'm not done having fun yet, either."

"Settling down doesn't necessarily mean the end of fun," he said with a knowing smile.

I cocked an eyebrow, saying I'd take his word for it. "Every guy I meet starts by saying 'I'm not looking to get into anything serious,' which is usually just code for 'I'll screw around with you if I don't have to call you later.' And that would be fine if I was meeting any quality guys, guys I felt were worth the risk of disappointment. But I keep encountering these barely-grown fratboys who I wouldn't ever want to get serious with."

He nodded and I continued, "I'm not saying my next guy has to be my husband. I'm not even saying I want a husband. I just think I should raise my standards. If I can meet a guy who actually already has his shit together, that's one less thing for me to worry about, and it's more of a turn-on."

"You don't mind just having a one-night stand as long as the guy wears a suit to work," he smirked.

"It sounds so shallow when you put it like that!" I said, embarrassed again. Chuck has this way of just calling me out.

"Look, it's okay not to want to settle down," he said. "That just might not be who you are."

I wondered if he was alluding to something with his wife, so I asked if things were okay. "Yeah, they're great," he said, and I decided to trust him.

It was later that night when I started getting some texts from him.

"Okay. This is stupid, and I needed half a bottle of scotch to psych myself into this so sorry if my spelling is a little rough." (It was immaculate.)

He went on. "You asked if things were okay with me and Julia. And they are. But we've been together for a very long time and we had a conversation not that long ago

"About missed opportunities, things we might have done if we hadn't gotten together when we did.

"Jules brought up the idea of being with women. She said she had been on the cusp of her 'experimental phase' in college when we met.

"And maybe neither of us wants to admit it but since Tommy was born there hasn't been a lot going on in the bedroom

"So we started seriously kicking around the idea of a threesome.

"And I immediately thought of you just because you're someone I trust and hold very closely,

"And you've never been shy about pointing out when you think a woman is hot

"Including Julia... so while I don't now I you would be into it I know you're at least pretty confident in yourself and open.

"And unless I've missed my guess you've always seemed to have a little bit of a thing for me.

"Maybe I'm an idiot for asking. If you never want to speak to me again I'll understand."

I couldn't believe my eyes. My jaw just hit the floor with every new text that arrived, until finally I figured he was done. I had to think very long and very carefully about how I wanted to respond. Yes, he was correct that I had an attraction to him - he is everything I've never had in a man: mature, established, confident, really himself... but I was always ashamed of myself for even having a notion of attraction, so I never really pined. But this? Was it something I anted to act on? It seemed fraught with obvious complications.

I finally texted back 20 minutes later, "A threesome isn't going to save your marriage..." I said, careful not to say either yes or no.

The response came back five minutes later. "My marriage isn't in trouble. I just feel like we're in a unique position to make this work, but only if every party is amenable to the terms."

He added, "I love my wife. I want to do this for her."

I sighed and texted back "This is for her, and not for you?"

Not long after, he responded, "It's for me too a little bit, sure. For all of us, if you're in."

I laid back on my bed. "I need time to think about this." My rational side was 100% against it, but my sense of adventure and curiosity - which has done me very well in the years since I became Tori - was pulling me toward it. If nothing else it felt like a once in a lifetime opportunity. It had the potential to destroy a very meaningful friendship and/or a marriage. The last thing I wanted to be was the Other Woman, even if the wife was in the same room.

Finally, I said the three of us had to discuss it.

A few days later I went to their place for drinks. I sat at the island in their kitchen while Julia poured three glasses of wine. I nervously looked between the three of them: Jules, Chuck, and Tommy in his playpen.

I paid particular attention to Julia. She's very beautiful, a couple inches taller than me, with a slight frame and long light brown hair. I sensed she was sizing me up, too.

"First, um, thanks a lot for thinking of me for this. If nothing else, it's flattering."

"Thanks for not cursing me out immediately," Chuck laughed.

"Julia," I said, "We don't know each other very well, but Chuck says this is more your idea than his. Is that true? Because if he's just trying to convince you--"

"No, no," Julia said, "Believe me, Chuck knows better than to suggest something like that without me taking the lead. He suggested you, and I felt very comfortable with that."

"Do you mind if I ask why?"

"I feel like I can trust you," she said, "You and Chuck have been friends for a long time, and whenever I see you two together, I never get that... you know, bolt of jealousy sometimes we get when a significant other is close to a member of the opposite sex."

"So if I admit I find your husband very attractive, you won't want to punch me?"

"Well he is," she smiled and looked over at him, trying to hide his face, "And you haven't ever made any kind of move, so... you have character. That's impressive."

"Thank you," I sighed.

"You're very attractive," she said, leaning in to me.

"Um, thanks." Part of me never gets tired of hearing that, so I blushed hard. "So are you."

"If I was going to do this, it would be with a girl like you, if you don't mind me saying."

"If I was going to do this, it would be with Salma Hayek," I joked nervously, "But she's not available."

Julia smiled, "Well, I hope I'm an acceptable substitute."

Julia does not look like Salma Hayek, but she's very pretty. I looked her over again. I thought she was a little hotter when she was still breastfeeding, but I've got my own boobs to play with if I want to. I smiled and told her she was.

"I have one suggestion," I said, "We can discuss this but I feel pretty strongly about it. I really, really don't want this to get out of hand. It's just sex, right?"

"Right," said Chuck quickly. Julia listened intently.

"Well," I said, "I think it's important to set some boundaries. Chuck, we're going to have to limit the amount of time we spend together on our own."

Chuck's mouth was a straight line, his face blank. Julia insisted, "That's not necessary, I trust him."

"It's for my own peace of mind," I said, looking back and forth between them. "Things can change. I'm not saying I'm such a good lay that it might destroy your marriage - although I'm very good, you guys should know that - but you never know what might happen. Chuck, you and I already don't interact much at work anymore, we only really hang out when we make a point to do so. There's not much point in you and I just hanging out together without Julia in this scenario. It's for transparency's sake."

They took a moment to chew it over.

"I don't like the idea of bossing who my husband can and can't see," Julia said with a sigh.

"No, Jules, it's okay," Chuck said. "She makes a good point. I want it all out on the table. If that's our rule, it will work."

"Good," I said, taking a deep breath and sipping my red wine. "Now, I wasn't really thinking of doing this tonight, I'm on my period... do you mind if we hold off for a bit?"

"Of course, of course," Julia said. "We'll find a time that's good for all of us. Give it a while to mentally prepare."

"Right. Um, okay then. I look forward to it."

I finished my drink and hugged them both goodbye. It was a weird moment, unsure what kind of hug or handshake or whatever I should give.

As I put my boots on, I turned back and laughed, "This is insane. I can't believe this is going to happen." And here I thought there were no more lines for me to cross.

It was a little while before we were finally able to make it work... and that's a whole other story.

Meg/Tasha: Corvettes

He sits across the table of the food court with me, in the body of an 18-year-old girl, frail, light-skinned, shoulders slumped in a way that disguises the fact that he was briefly in the military. An almost cartoonishly large pair of Aviators cover his girlish face, the same pair he immediately donned when we hit the road from Maine to Pittsburgh all those months ago. His sandy-blonde hair is pulled back in a deceptively intricate bun, his winter coat slung over the seat behind him to reveal a navy blue polo shirt that does tellingly little for his figure.

I don't let myself think of this person, Tyler Blake, as a "she" or "her" even though that's how the world sees him, and likely the words that the readers of this blog would like to think of him. Just because he lacks a penis or a stubbly face or an I.D. card that bears his original name does not mean I have the right to call him by anything but the words he has specifically asked me to. Besides, as soon as he talks, it becomes impossible to think of him as anything but the person inside.

"You know what we call grilled chicken breast in Alabama?" he says, picking with plastic cutlery at the Ceasar wrap he has unfolded onto a tray rather than attempt to stuff directly into his face, "A side dish."

I smirk. I'm eating pasta salad, trying to curb the inevitable winter pounds. Size and weight are an inevitable, if uncomfortable, topic we always discuss. This is because he inherited this bony ghost of a physique, proceeded to immediately put about twenty pounds on it, then felt incredibly guilty when "none" of the clothes in Lauren's dresser fit anymore. This is an exaggeration, but a lot of the nicest items are patently Size 0's.

I've fared better, fluctuating less, thanks to being on my feet every night at the bar and doing Yoga until recently (looking for a new studio currently.)

"I've warned her she isn't coming back to the same body she left," he sighs, "I don't want it to shock her or trigger something bad in her."

"You're doing your best," I assure him.

He glances up from the table to my eyeline, and he knows I notice his eyes briefly pausing at my breasts before completing the route. At first I thought it was amusing, then I wondered why they still seemed so appealing to him when he had a pair of his own to worry about. Surely, I thought, he knows enough about what it's like to be objectified. "Sure," he told me, "But it's like if I have a Smart car and you've got a Corvette. Nothing wrong with peeking in the neighbor's garage if she leaves the door open."

I told him not to sell himself short, especially since I know he secretly takes pride in his appearance as Lauren. But I guess yeah, Corvettes are pretty great if you're not responsible for the upkeep. The fantasy is preferable to the reality. On some level, Tyler senses that. To a lot of girls, Lauren is the Corvette.

"It used to frustrate me," Ty confessed about objectification, "Boys thinking they liked me without really knowing anything about me. Wanting to be my best friend on the off chance..." (The off-chance of what he does not specify.) "Mark, Phil, other guys. Now it's just, like, a fact."

"You handle it better than I do," I told him.

That got a laugh. His cheeks are flush with a bright, self-effacing smile as he giggles and assures me "I doubt very much I handle ennathang better'n you." He lapses into his natural southern accent from time to time. Neither of us has mastered the local Pittsburgh dialect, but he has found a comfortably neutral fake "northern" voice. I've never told him out loud how adorable I find his laugh as Lauren, I get to hear it pretty rarely. It's very musical, feminine, and oddly natural considering the man inside. But he was a contradiction from the moment I met him.

I say it'll be nice for all this to be done soon. He shrugs. "Still got a lotta shit to wade through to get there."

I ask a bit about school and he shrugs, giving noncommittal, disinterested answers. He mentions spring break: "Lauren usually spends it with her dad down in Tampa, so that's where I'll be." He gets this faraway look that the shades don't mask. "Thought I was done with the south, but after this winter I'm itchin' to get some sun."

I specifically do not ask if he's heard from the man in his body, but mentioning the south brings it to my mind. The lack of certainty in that regard is a sore point for him. He's told me not to worry about it, but I do.

"I need a new swimsuit," he says, "Since I went and made Lauren's obsolete."

Numerically, the amount of weight and size Tyler has gained as Lauren is perfectly manageable, but when your wardrobe is tight tops and jeans and leggings, every inch, lump and fold makes the difference. And yeah, a new swimsuit is probably in order.

"You got money for that?"

"I got some money," he says as if there's some wicked secret he's not telling me.

We go and shop a while. I pretend not to notice when Tyler gets distracted by outfits, jewelry, purses. He says he likes that men can carry bags around now, as if that should affect whether he uses one. He favours bags worn over the shoulder across the chest, although it causes him to fiddle with the strap underneath his breasts.

He picks a modest blue bikini, rolling his eyes as the total reaches $90 for only two garments but paying with a bank card anyway. I look for myself, but as I don't need anything, I don't buy. I'm trying to save because I suspect I will need it later. I wonder about his bank account, but it's none of my business.

"That reminds me, I need some new bras," he says, as casually as anything. "Let's go to that store I like."

"Can you believe you're the type of person who has opinions about bras?"

"I always had opinions about bras," he smiles, "They've just changed."

After twenty minutes of shopping, another couple hundred or so dropped, I tell him I think we should both write more on the blog. People want to hear from us, and once we're back to normal - I inadvertently pause after that word because we both know it could not be the case - we might just disappear back into our lives. He answers back that it's simply not interesting. I disagree, and I tell him I find it a nice exercise, especially when I am not pouring my heart out and confessing my sins. He says that's up to me but the life of a high school girl is really not as exciting as TV makes it seem, and he writes plenty when there's something to write about. I remind him that just us being us is interesting enough.

A couple of college guys pass us going the other direction. I can see their heads swiveling. I try to ignore it but Tyler stops in his tracks, stares directly at them, catching them mid-glance, folds his arms under his chest and shoots them this glance, as if daring them to approach. I die of embarrassment, and have absolutely no idea what either of us would have said or done had they returned.

I text Wade to let him know that I'll be home soon, then drop Tyler off at home. In the car I get the feeling there's something he wants to tell me, but he just won't come out with it. I get this feeling from him often. He's become one of my closest friends in the world, but he's still a mystery to me.

Tyler/Lauren: My Crappy Valentine

I was in a pretty dark place on Valentine's Day.

Don't get me wrong, I'm not depressed. There's just nothing good in my life right now. We're between productions with the Drama club, my friends are drifting away from me (or me with them) Meg and I are working through our differences, but far from the best we've been. I'm behind on my homework. I've got cramps pretty bad. I'm rooming with a messy 11-year-old girl and suppressing the desire to scream at her to get her shit put away because it's so inconsiderate and I work pretty hard to keep my little corner of the house neat and tidy.

I don't know whether it's the weather, the lack of a social life, the pressure of school or the female hormones, but I am about to snap.

Lauren turned 18 on January 23. I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about it. In the eyes of the law I am an adult, but to the world, and myself. Lauren's still a "kid." 17 and a half is just a stone's throw from 18. I don't look or feel any different, but I know in my bones, this body exists in the world differently than it did a month ago and that's weird. some kind of protective bubble of "childhood" has disappeared.

I asked for gift cards, so Lauren could get some new clothes once she came back to her body, but ended up getting a lot of clothes anyway: clothes had had to be exchanged because family members estimated my size wrong, on account of what I've done to Lauren. For the record, I don't think I did anything wrong, merely took her from emaciated to skinny. At least, what is considered very skinny in the land of Paula Deen butter-fried bacon. I joke, but I do miss biscuits and gravy.

Saturday night was Valentine's Day, of course, and it felt pretty brutal knowing that Meghan was out there rekindling Tasha's romance with Wade. I don't like admitting I can't get over her. I feel like my body is betraying me by pushing all these hormones through me. Whatever I feel for her feels pretty unhealthy, and yes a little wrong, but consider the alternative - and I know there are alternatives.

It was 3 AM that night and I couldn't sleep. I was lying up in bed, listening to Kylie wheeze, when I heard Phil stumble through the door and into his room. I waited about twenty minutes, then crept down there to see the light peeking out from beneath the door.

I stood in front of it for probably a minute or so, my lungs shaking with each breath. I knew there was a huge risk in what I was about to do. No part of me thought it was smart or sane. But I needed to do something. It was like being a smoker again and lying up thinking about getting a cigarette. At a certain point you just need it.

I knocked. He answered quickly and seemed pleasantly surprised it was me.

"Sorry," he said, "Was I loud?"

"No, no, not really," I said. "I just... I saw you were still up... and this is gonna sound really stupid, but I need a friend right now, and you're the only one around. Would you mind if we talk?"

He looked at me for a second like I'd grown a third arm straight outta the back of my head, but he let me in and shut the door behind us.

He laid down on his bed, and I sat against the wall on the far side of the room. He patted the bed next to him, but it was a pretty unappealing option.

"Come on," he beckoned, "You're the one who wants to be friendly."

"Not like that," I said.

"I know, but I can't hear you from back there."

So I went and sat on his bed, back against the headboard, knees up to my chest in a protective position.

"What's on your mind?" he asked.

"It's hard to say," I said, coming ever so close to blurting out the facts about me before realizing how insane it would sound. "How was your night?"

"Shitty," he said, "Almost hooked up, but the girl was a tease. I'm pretty drunk though."

I shrugged at that. As a guy I would have been rooting for him, but in my current position I can see her reasons.

"Do you feel bad that you're not seeing anyone on Valentine's Day?"

"Meh. It's just another day," he said as if it was insane of me to ask.

"Yeah, I used to think so too," I said, "I guess I'm becoming a real... girl." I stopped and snorted a laugh at how I must've sounded.

"Yeah you are," he said, giving me uncomprehending, narrow eyes.

I decided to try to explain. "I had a fight with my best friend. I dunno how to explain it. It was about a guy."

"She stole him from you?"

"More like he stole her from me," I muttered.

"Friend gets in a relationship, you never see friend again," he surmised. "I got it."

"Yeah, basically," I said. "It's more complicated than that... but not really."

"Well, if she's your friend, you be happy for her," he said, lying back on his bed with his eyes closed, as if in a zen trance, "And if you're her friend she'll come back."

"I guess," I said, "I really don't know why I feel so bad. I just always pictured... something different."

"With who?" he asked, clearly confused.

"I don't think he's right for her," I said. "That's all."

"Okay," he said, "I see it now. No offense, but that's weak. Like, let her decide for herself."

"You don't--" I started to say, "Whatever."

There was a silence for a while. He was still lying there, not looking at me. He reached up and put his hand on my knee.

I asked, "Do you have many female friends?"

"Sure," he said, "A couple."

"And were they all just girls you wanted to date but couldn't?"

He paused for a while then answered "Mostly."

"Any girls who wanted to date you, but you didn't want to date them?"

He looked at me with a smirk and said "That's not how guys work."

I grimaced.

Another silence passed between us, until I broke it by asking, "Could you date somebody if it meant never having sex with them?"

"What?" he winced, "What would be the point?"

"Company," I sighed, "Companionship. Shared interests."

He sat up, "Sorry, but no. When you get a bit older you'll see that sex has to be part of a relationship."

I got really annoyed by that "When you get older" bit, but it's not the first time I've heard that. I didn't like his take on relationships, either, but as much as I wanted to believe the opposite I have a hard time doing so too.

"I don't think I'm gonna ever have sex again," I sighed.

"You'll find somebody," he said quickly, looking over at me with a smile that suggested he'd be open to being that somebody.

"You're a good dude, Phil," I begrudgingly admitted, "Sometimes you're annoying, but you mean well. You should probably know this can't happen though." I gestured between the two of us.

He scoffed, "Whatever," and rolled over on the bed. I quietly excused myself.

I went back to my room and turned my phone on. I started scrolling through the old text messages. There were several from Meg, random conversations with Lauren's friends, and Mark. There were a bunch of one-off "Happy Birthday" texts, including one from Wade, which would've been right after he and Meg were having those problems, which I found weird at the time because I didn't think he and I were that close. Still nice, though. I hate that I consider him my enemy, because he is basically a good dude.

Scrolling back a ways, I found texts with the real Lauren, and then, my sister Carrie, coordinating our return to the Inn and checking in on how she's doing with Meg's body.

And then just before that, sitting like a brick at the bottom of the list, is a conversation with "New Tyler."

But I really don't want to get into that right now.

Meg/Tasha: On the couch

Have I ever told you I've screwed up every relationship I've ever had? Of course not. I guess I've been pretty guarded about myself. Sure, I've had some good ones, but in the end it always goes bad and it always feels like my fault. Dating all the way back to the seventh grade when I liked Tommy Fitzgerald but I was afraid to dance with him, so he danced with Ashley Cooper instead and they ended up dating for two years. She was 5'7 and blonde, how could I compete??

(Checks mirror) Oh, yeah. Well, fat lot of good it's doing me. I mean "careful what you wish for," right?

Then there was high school - the garden variety "he's just not that into you" spiel. I always felt too brainy, too snarky, not approachable enough. I was basically April from Parks & Recreation but with cat's eye glasses and a Kurt Vonnegut book tucked in my backpack. Sometimes guys would think I was their dream girl, then get disappointed with the reality of a testy, introverted bookworm. Sometimes I would just fall for the wrong guy.

I was in a relationship for a year and a half when I had the car accident that left me using a cane. Emotionally, I was a wreck afterwards and I really let it get between us. But I think I just used it as an excuse to push him away. After that I had a few disastrous dates - usually I blamed the cane - and then I stopped trying. Then eventually I went to Maine.

In the past month I feel like I've wrecked three relationships simultaneously, as if that's even possible.


Let's start with Wade. When I first met him, he seemed like, well, not my type to put it mildly. Goofy, boyish, bit of a sophomoric sense of humor (and an immature worldview) I thought I was going to be pulling my hair out the entire way. I could not date this person, and I could definitely not pretend to be some airhead just to make him happy. But a shocking thing happens when you plop yourself into a relationship that has already lasted years: comfort. We bickered, but ultimately he let me have my way on things that I was pretty unflexible about (that Tasha probably wouldn't have.) He saw this seismic change in his girlfriend and decided "She's still my girlfriend and I want to make her happy" and that was touching. It made me want to be a good girlfriend to him.

There was a period, from September to December, when I could fake my way through things with Wade. I was happy and comfortable and the sex was fine. (I should note that as Tasha, I'm less sensitive than I am as myself which was actually quite a hurdle to get over.) I was getting almost exactly what I needed, and my best friend was my stepsister who was a man inside. Okay that wasn't ideal but whatever. It was working.

Then came Mykal, the yoga instructor. I got into the habit of going out for coffee with him, since he makes his own schedule and I work nights. We had a lot of really great chats, although his passion for Eastern medicine and spirituality is a bit cheesy. He's still a well-read, worldly guy. But I told myself that there was a line and I would not cross it. As Tasha, I owe it to her, myself and Wade not to screw things up. But if I was smart I would have stayed the hell away. I thought I could have my cake and eat it too. After all, I've had plenty of male friends, and they never had trouble not making a pass at me (see: introverted, not approachable.) Sometimes I forget what I look like, what a smile or a friendly touch on the shoulder could mean to a guy.

And it didn't help matters that the more he turned on the charm, the more I felt butterflies.

And the more I noticed how I didn't feel butterflies with Wade. And then I felt bad about that.

Then one night in January, Mykal was driving me home from the bar, where he had popped in to see me, and we got to my building, and we just kind of looked at each other and decided to do what we both wanted.

We kissed.

And we just couldn't stop kissing.

And I was just so excited to be there that I started playing with his, well, you-know-what... and let him spurt all over the place.

Including, I later noticed, a little spatter that had traveled from his crotch to my pant leg.

Then I crawled into bed with Wade, but I couldn't sleep. I had this anxiety attack that Wade would wake up and decide to look in the hamper for some reason. Or that there was more that I hadn't seen. Or that Wade could smell it on me. So I got up and just started pacing around the living room in tears.

Days passed. Wade didn't seem to suspect anything, but I was pretty reluctant to see Mykal. I was texting Ty every ten minutes, which of course is a no-no because he was in school, and honestly I was abusing his goodwill anyway because, if you've been reading this since the beginning, you might know that Tyler has some pretty serious feelings for me that we've just agreed never to address... which was foolish because I needed some emotional support and he was my only option and that was so, so, so unfair of me.

So I had Tyler getting impatient with my BS, which was fair, and I had Mykal tapping his foot wondering if we were going to become anything, and I had Wade who I couldn't even look in the eye anymore.

So I cracked one night, when Wade and I were both off. I sat him down and started by asking how he felt about "us." He said he thought things were fine. I said I'd been having some doubts. He sat up... he knew exactly what that meant, because he had been suspicious of Mykal for some time.

He flew into a rage, throwing around words like "duplicitous" and "untrustworthy" and spouting off about what he assumed my defenses would have been if I were the real Tasha. I said I had no defense, and he said "No shit."

He told me to get out. I didn't want to go to Paul and Sue's -- there are enough people under that roof and I couldn't face Tyler either -- so I went to Mykal's. The only person I thought would have me.

He let me sleep on his couch, thankfully holding back his obvious curiosity about where that left us, because I simply could not handle any more drama at the time.

The next day he made me breakfast and we talked about what we wanted. I wondered how mad Tasha would be at me if I left her life with a new boyfriend she had never met before. Mykal made a very compelling case for "us," but I told him I owed it to "myself" to try to make it work with Wade.

And he said "Well if you go back to him and it doesn't work, don't bother trying to come back here."

I don't really care for ultimatums, so I told him I would see him around.

I got back to the apartment and stopped at the door. I had to remind myself what I was trying to rescue, not for me, but for Tasha. She obviously loved Wade, she had been with him for years and had a home with him. I couldn't believed I had put it in jeopardy with one careless night. I hoped it was strong enough to withstand this.

I went in and found a bunch of my clothes piled carelessly in the living room. We were not off to a good start.

When I found him, we were both in more of a state of mind to talk, but not by much. I chose my words very carefully. I told him things had been weird with me lately, and he asked why.

I said I couldn't put my finger on it.


He said that wasn't good enough.

I asked if there was any way he could forgive me, anything I could say or do.

He took a long breath and stared off into space. Like he was doing some mental math.

Finally he spoke.

"It was only once?"

I nodded and said an almost inaudible "Yes."

"And you told me right away?"

I shrugged a guilt-ridden "Couple of days."

He nodded slowly. Adding it all up.

"Sleep on the couch for a while, I guess," he said in this wounded whisper. "We'll work on it."

I wiped the tears from my eyes and I reached out to hug him. He hesitated but let me.

He went to work, and I spent the day at home cursing at myself, pacing, excoriating myself because I have more character than that, I'm supposed to be better than that.

The word "Why" rang in my ears for days afterward. That look on his face when I told him things were weird and he asked "Why." Not "why couldn't I put my finger on it," because that goes into the whole backstory of what happened to me and Tasha. But "Why did I do it?"

Why couldn't I just be happy with Wade? Just for a few months? I'm so used to being on my own, and being in this relationship doesn't take that much work, so why couldn't I resist the urge to screw it all up for one measly year?

But I felt that pain of confessing and talking it out with him... suddenly I felt closer to him than I ever had before, as guilty and self-hating as I was. I couldn't stand that I had hurt such a nice guy who was very accommodating to me. I felt the urge to make it work stronger than I had in my entire time in Pittsburgh.

I tested myself, and failed, and became determined not to do so again.

Then I needed to ask... why did he take me back? Why didn't he do the right thing and punish me for my wrongdoing? Why does he think this relationship is strong enough to survive it?

Is it because he doesn't think he can do better? Because of how I look? Is it because he loves Tasha?

Is it because he... loves me?

Maybe?

I don't know, I don't know. Maybe I'm crazy. I'm definitely sick with guilt and still onthe couch after 2 weeks, but we're rebuilding. And Tasha I'm sorry.

As far as wrecking this with Tyler, that's a related issue. I feel like I've taken his friendship for granted with my drama when he's got more serious things going on. When you find yourself fighting with your friend about how to be friends with them, there's a problem. There are things since the new year that he hasn't shared with you, and he hasn't even told me the depths of it, but even so, it's not mine to share.

And now, I haven't seen him almost since this thing went down, and I suspect he's in a lot of trouble but I really don't know what's going on.

But since it could potentially affect me, and the return trip to the Inn, I need him to reach out and tell me what he's got going on. We're in this together, pal. Never forget that.

Tori: Holiday Report

The last you heard from me, things were not great with Boy-X. The relationship, compared to the passion I have felt in the past, felt like a flatline. It was nice to have someone to think of, to look forward to seeing, and to be intimate with, but I didn't feel special about him. I took a stand, let him know I wasn't feeling it, and walked away. He was hurt, he tried everything to convince me to stay, but I was back to the single life. I felt both strong for sticking up for what I wanted, and guilty for hurting him.

Then I spent the holidays single, decided I didn't want to be alone, and texted him, got back to square one, and had to break up with him all over again.

It was a pretty rough couple of months and I probably wasn't in any place to be attempting to force a relationship. Let me tell you about it.

It was Thanksgiving, and Mae was back from college. She brought her new boyfriend, who is a clean-cut little darling. I say new, only in that I haven't seen them together much, but they've been together a while and are living together. (Perhaps jealousy of my little sister is a factor.) Also present were my older brother Ken, his darling wife, and their two (yes now two!) kids. Suddenly I'm feeling like the screwup in the middle, made worse by the fact that I happen to be, in terms of real life experience, older than either of them.

But okay. That's fleeting. No big deal. I'm a pretty-together chick, I've got a fulfilling job and some friends, I still felt relatively stable in my identity despite being surrounded by happy couples.

Then there was this moment that gutted me. And I'm gonna try to explain it as best I can, because I've been spinning it over in my head since it happened.

While Mae was over, we went through some of her old stuff, looking for boxes and knickknacks she wanted to bring to her new home. We started making piles of keeps and donates. Pretty much all the clothes wound up in the donate pile, because she was chubby in high school and has lost a good amount of weight while away from home (she did get the Freshman 15, but worked hard to lose it, plus an extra 20 or 30. Now she's fricking gorgeous.) She marveled at how much had changed in a few years as she tossed aside gifts I had given her back when I worked in intimate apparels and I looked sadly at it as a physical manifestation of the passage of time.

She examined this worn out pair of jeans, calling them "fat pants." I assured her she wasn't "fat" then and she said that standing next to me she felt like a cow, and how I never used to let her forget that I was the hot one.

She started referring to it as my "old personality." My "old self."

I asked if the change was that noticeable. She said yeah, we used to fight a lot, but around the time she turned 17 I started to respect her more and that let her mature too. I said I was glad to have a positive impact on her, and she said "Yeah, you did, eventually."

Then she said "I just wish I knew why that happened."

I looked at her for what must have seemed like an hour, but probably was just a minute, trying to formulate an answer. I knew the truth of course, but I was trying to come up with a response that would make sense to her.

"I just saw what a good person you were becoming and decided to grow up a bit myself," I said.

She gave my this narrow-eyed stare. "It's like you don't even remember how things were. How bad you and I didn't get along when I was 12, 13, 14. Things you did to me, things you said."

"I remember," I said, which was a lie since I only remembered the side Tori shared with her diary, which I hadn't read in years. (Obviously it was skewed towards her but you could tell it was a lot of petty sisterly sniping.) "I feel too guilty to talk about it. I'm embarrassed. I like to pretend I was never like that."

"Sure, yeah," she sighed. "I guess I don't like that you act like it never happened, like we've always been bff's."

"I know we haven't," I said, feeling like I was on slippery ground myself. "There's no reason why it changed, people just do that sometimes. They get over themselves."

I couldn't let go, though, so I had to ask: "Why do you think something happened?"

"It's stupid," she laughed at herself a bit, "I don't even know if you'd remember this, but one time you took this trip up to New England, with some older guy you were seeing, and when you came back, you were... I dunno, in a daze or something. I didn't notice at the time, but years later, when I tried to think of when and why we became close, it came back to around that time, and how you started changing things about your life after that. I always wondered what happened up there? You never saw that guy again and never talked about it. And if it's nothing, or if you really don't want to talk about it, it's fine, I just thought I'd let you know that I saw something in you there that seems... odd. I guess, now that I look back. I don't know, forget I brought it up."

I felt like I had been hit in the face. All these years later, Mae had put the evidence together and drawn the conclusion that Rob Garcia had done something to me - done something to her sister - and while I don't know much about the real Rob Garcia, I know that wasn't the case. I felt like I had to correct her, but...

Well, when this first happened to me, I was told that I couldn't tell anybody, that they wouldn't believe me. I never tested it, because I had nothing to gain. If they didn't believe me, I'd seem crazy. If they did, I'd feel guilty for stealing Tori's old life, for giving up my male one when I did eventually have the chance to get it back, for lying to everyone every day. The idea that I couldn't tell anyone the truth was a comfortable excuse, but now... with Mae starting to put it together, and reaching this troubling conclusion, I felt like not only I could tell her, I had to. I remember reading about that Jessica person, and how eventually she managed to convince her mom, and for a long time I have both feared and hoped I would reach that point. I wondered what I would do if the truth did come out.

It's something I've thought about a lot since that whole business with Alex.

"It wasn't like that," I started to say. "It was just a confusing time in my life, and I'm glad it's over."

She smiled at me and said that whatever happened, she was glad. Tori/Karen, in the off chance you're reading this, I hope you don't take that the wrong way. I like to think you and Mae would have come to terms eventually.

I told her I was glad too, and that felt like the first honest statement I had made all night. If nothing else, I really love and value the sisterly relationship I have forged with her.

Anyway, that scene kind of rolled around in my head all through December... it's been forever since I felt guilty about not being the original Tori, but with Mae apparently eking closer to the truth, suddenly I feel like a thief again. I could hardly look her in the eye around Christmas, and by New Years, I did something drastic with Boy-X. That was a mistake, it didn't work out, it's over now.

So over that I've gotten into something new.

Guys, I got into a bit of a situation. I'm not comfortable explaining it right now, but it's something I feel very strange and guilty about, in a way I haven't since the first times I ever dated men. With Valentine's Day coming up, I may feel the need to spill.

If I can get back to blogging regularly, I will get around to sharing the details, because as private and personal as it is I know you are always there for me. Mwah.