Cary (and Elaine): One Upset Girl

By now you've probably read that Elaine did not get to become herself again when her turn came up at the Inn; another fellow gets to have that experience, although for what it's worth, I don't think him becoming Elaine, specifically, was not part of his girlfriend's master plan. It could be, but Elaine is inclined to believe it's not, and I'm inclined to believe her.

The way she puts it, she, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend were on track to arrive at Old Orchard on Friday night.  She falls asleep in the car - apparently that's a Mackenzie thing; the rolling wheels just sooth her somehow - and when she wakes up, the car is stopped in a rest area with her by herself.  She gets out to look for her sister and maybe get herself a snack, and when she comes back the car is gone.  She doesn't have her phone, the others don't notice she's gone until they reach the Inn, and then according to Elaine the boyfriend is the one that says she'll be okay and they can get her in the morning.  Everyone changes that night, though.

Meanwhile, a Massachusetts State Police Officer finds her sitting on a park bench, guzzling coffee to keep awake through the night because she knows it's not safe for someone who looks like a ten-year-old to be on her own like this.  She's taken to the station because she can't remember "mom's" or "dad's" phone number, says they were going to the Trading Post Inn, and the night clerk at the place down the street says, yes, the Mahoneys have checked in.  By the time the local police get there, of course, there are no Mahoneys, just a young African-American couple whose story about being in a room with the Mahoneys' luggage makes no sense.

Around noon, I get a call, as Elaine is telling them that they came to Maine to visit me.  Fortunately, more than a few people on the force like hot dogs and know me to say hello at least, and don't seem to seriously think I'm any sort of actual suspect.  They just want to know something about the Mahoneys, and I tell them what I remembered from Elaine talking to them.  I don't suggest that they may show up in a couple of weeks or so; a couple of other Inn guests saw the handbooks I left at the Inn after changing back and have me a call, saying that a wide investigation would just stir things up and make the issues with missing time and the like different for everyone, and since people tend to be changing back this early in the year, maybe we should let the Inn's curse smooth things out, like it seems to do.

Of course, I can't do that entirely; as I'm walking out of the station, Elaine hears somebody call me by name and bolts from the table where she's sitting, running up and leaping at me.  It's such a genuine scared-kid thing that I'm not entirely sure how to respond to it, but she seems okay when I put my arms around her and pick her up, though maybe that's because it gives her a chance to talk to me without someone overhearing.  "You've got to do something, Cary - they're going to put me into foster care and the real Mahoneys don't know what's waiting for them!"

I say I'll think of something, and then ask the officers if she can come home with me.  They shake their heads, saying not while they didn't know what was up, but if I want to fill out some forms, they can start a background check, just in case.  So I tell Elaine to be good, getting a sarcastic look, and start doing some paperwork.

I get Missy's text message, so at least I can tell her that her body is in good hands when she drags her temporary guardian to the truck on Tuesday, though I can't say much more than "Elaine's doing well" without the other little girl and her mother thinking I'm suspicious.  By then, I've talked with Missy a bit and we think we've figured out what's happened, that this Bing-Bing girl must have left the Inn while Max was sleeping, came back in, scoped out where Elaine's suitcase would be and then rushed Max out during one of the moments when there weren't any police.

We got a little more time to talk this afternoon; she does not like what Missy and Max are saying about things being like this for a year, but she was at least able to give me an email address for the Mahoneys along with her own (though she says not to use it, because it's probably monitored).  I haven't heard back from them yet so I don't entirely know what's going to happen, but so far, it seems like everyone is at least safe, and apparently my application to be "Mackenzie's" temporary guardian is hung up on jurisdictional issues as much as anything.  So, hopefully, will be able to figure more out soon.

Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-Wei: Bitches Will Pay for This

I should be in Hong Kong now, fucking my boyfriend and maybe starting to make contacts with film industry people for after when I graduate next year, but what does that matter now?  It's not going to fucking happen because I don't know where and who I'll be, but I don't really have much choice.

I was minding my own business Saturday morning, getting packed and getting other stuff put away because without Benjamin and Jonah around, I don't have as many people to house-sit as I would otherwise.  I had some music blasting, so it took a second, more insistent buzz from the security intercom before I hit pause and went over to the panel.  The image on the screen was Bingbing.  "What do you want?"

She smiled a little too widely.  "Got a girl here who needs a little Inn orientation, Jordo, and I've bumped my flight home to this afternoon and don't have the time."  The monitor showed a little pixelated commotion behind her, and I heard a woman ask if her brother was up there with Yuan-wei.

I got a rock in my stomach and a fire at the base of my neck.  "Max, is that you?  I'll be right down!  Don't you fucking let that bitch leave!"  I grab my keys from the hook and go right out into the hallway without closing the door behind me and race down the stairs without even looking at the elevator, but when I finally cross the lobby and get out the door, she's gotten back into a car and driven off, a suitcase hastily thrown onto the sidewalk and a woman on the walkway next to the door, trying to stop the blood coming from her nose, asking where Bingbing learned to hit like that.  I told her probably close to home, on the streets of Chinatown, but she looked confused.  I sighed, opened the suitcase, and found a t-shirt for her to hold up to her face.   "Let's get you upstairs and cleaned up and I'll explain everything."

I probably shouldn't use "she", since I sure resisted it and you all reading this have probably figured out that "Max" isn't just some gender-neutral nickname.  He still didn't quite get it, though, asking where his brother was.  I dumped some ice cubes in a dishcloth and handed it to him.  He held it to his face and sat down, looking at me for answers for everything from why he was an African-American woman to why his girlfriend had slugged him before driving away.

I squatted down before him and held his free hand.  I've never been any good at this touchy-feely shit, but figured I might need to stop him from running away.  "I'm right here, Max.  I'm Jordan Chang, or at least I started out that way, until I went to the Trading Post Inn with Ravi about three years ago."

He stared at me blankly for a few moments before speaking.  "No, no,  no.  No!  That's not possible!"

"Look at yourself, Max.  There's at least a couple of things that are possible that didn't seem that way before."

"No, I mean, Jordan's back in New York, he's working at a gym, he's on my 9-man team, he's..."

"Doesn't sound like me, does it?  That's Benny.  Not nearly as good at computer stuff as me, but he did a bang-up job getting into shape.  How's his Cantonese coming?"

He had a million questions but got distracted by the one I asked, trying to remember the last time he'd heard his brother speak anything other than English.  So I launched in with the whole story - becoming Deirdre, meeting Annette and Benny, Benny and Kareena falling for each other, discovering that the last person to be Yuan-wei had thrown a wrench into our plans, settling in, finding out that Yuan-wei and Bingbing weren't the originals, and that more or less brought us up to date, except for whatever happened to him.

"So let's see who you are."  I pulled a wallet out of one of the suitcase's compartments and opened it up.  

"Oh no."

"What?"

"You've turned into Elaine Preston.  She was supposed to be getting her own life back this time.  She is not going to be happy."  I handed him the wallet and the compact that was next to it so he could compare his face to the one on the driver's license.

He looked back and forth, astounded.  The first time, it's a little hard to get the hang of having become a specific other person, even though I'd told him about how I'd found the suitcases and actually made choices about who to become.  I don't know how much of what I'd said had really sunken in.  "But... why didn't Bingbing change?  Or did she?  Did she just ditch me because she's not my Bingbing?"

I told him I didn't know, and started opening compartments, looking for a note.  It didn't look like Cary had left one for Elaine - why bother? - but there was a piece of paper filed in half, written in Chinese.  I handed it to him, but his hand was shaking, so he handed it back.

"'Hey, Max, I'm writing this before we even get on the train, so I don't know who or what you've become.  I know you've got a lot of questions, but your brother can answer them.  The important thing is that you relay a simple message:  Carlotta wants to be Yuan-wei again.'"

I stopped there for a second, suddenly feeling like I didn't need to read the rest of it, but Max was looking at me, wanting to know what came next.   "'And while maybe you lucked into a nice life just like Jordan did, and maybe Jordan's just enough of an asshole not to care what happens to you, I'm sure you at least still care about your parents.  And just ask Jordan just how careless we can be where people who think they're Carlotta's father can be.'"

I went pale, and that makes Max even more frightened.  "What's she talking about?"

I'm no good at the vague story that can spare his feelings.  "The original Yuan-wei's father died from a peanut allergy.  I think it was an accident but Carlotta felt guilty, although...  Fuck."

"That's all you've got to say?  My girlfriend just threatened to kill my parents and all you've got is 'fuck'?"

"Of course not!  I'm just trying to think what to do!"

"Well, what's she say?"

"What do you think?  She wants me to check into Room 7 at the Inn on August 31st, not interfere with Carlotta/you checking in mid-September, and then, if nothing's amiss, you'll be able to get your life back when the Inn opens back up in May."

He stopped the ice-pack, looked at his hands, and then brought them to his breasts.  "I've got to be like this for a whole year?"

It started my mind racing.  "Well, we could check and see if there are any other vacancies during the summer, but that's the luck of the draw - the real Elaine was turned into a kid, for instance, although...  Do you still have your key?"

He grabbed at his pockets.  "I...  I don't think so."

"Shit.  Giorgia - that's Bingbing's real name, Giorgia Wong - probably won't turn it in until just before the next two-week block, so that would make camping out and hoping you get a lucky 13 in the next week and a half tough.  I suppose we could try to stop Carlotta from checking in as Sandra and get you back in there instead, but Giorgia will probably be watching us like hawks, and I do not want to mess with them; they've both been in prison.  I really wish we could get ahead of them."

"Is that it?  Or do you just not want to give up all of this, assuming anything you've said has been true?"  He gestured vaguely at my nice apartment.

"Hey, I'm just trying to think of a way to get get you back to normal safely.  These bitches scare me, Max - when I go to Hong Kong, there's a cop all up in this ass because of something one of them did, along with a widow who is apparently cold to the person she thinks is her daughter because what if that detective is onto something?  There's a sweet but messed-up gay couple in Montreal because the Wongs were clever and sadistic enough to tell them that they might fucking melt if they tried to get their lives back just days or hours after this happened to them.  I thought Bingbing was a cool best friend to inherit, but as soon as I figured out what was going on, she started taunting me about dating you because she liked watching me squirm.  Carlotta served ten years for manslaughter.  I'm going to call Benny to tell him to look out for Mom and Dad, but do you think he'll be able to convince them that you might mean them harm?  As much as we're fucked if we don't do what they say, we're probably just as fucked if we do.

"I mean, yeah, I'd like to stay Yuan-wei - it's nice having a trust find and having a boyfriend that really digs me and being able to study something that I really find enjoyable.  And for all I know, they've lined up some 90-year-old with cancer to stay in Room 7 before me.  So pardon the fuck out of me for trying to see all the angles here!"

"And if the best angle leaves me stuck like this?"

"Dude."  I grabbed his hand again, squatting so that I was looking up at him.  "I gave up my own fucking life so that Benny could be be worth the girl he liked, do you really think I'd do less for my kid brother?  Like Mom always says, easy come easy go."

I guess he believed I was who I said I was then, because he came down off the chair and hugged me.  He started to pull back a little after a second because the feel of our boobs squishing together was weird, but I pulled him back in.  "Brothers no matter what, even if you are bleeding all over my favorite crop-top."

He laughed at that, and then I laughed, although it only lasted a moment or two as he tried to sniff everything dripping from his nose back in.  "Sorry about that."

"It's okay, I got more.  Now, c'mon, let's get you cleaned up and dressed in something that fits.  I've got a spare room and a credit card that can absorb canceling a first-class flight from Boston to Hong Kong, so let's get you settled."

He did thank you and I said of course, and didn't start texting Benny, René, Benjamin, Ashlyn, and every single person who had ever been to the Inn that I know until he closed the bathroom door.

-Jordo/Yuan-wei  (for now)

Cary Johnson: Back Home

It's kind of peculiar to welcome back pain, a tricky knee, and gray hair back like they're old friends, and I suppose that is possible that in a few weeks I week be waxing nostalgic for those months when I was a young black woman, even if only one one of those things actually made things any easier.  Still, despite how strange it is to feel a rush of gratitude at seeing familiar sights and acquaintances after a year when they feel like it has been only two weeks or so, it is welcome.

I miss Elaine a bit, even if I was not completely free of her when I left Chicago, still having her face and figure.  I asked if maybe she would like to fly out to Maine with me, but she said no; she wants to have a few days on her own, and then her sister was going to meet her, and they would spend a few days driving from Chicago to Old Orchard, doing a sort of an imitation of a regular family vacation.  I understand, a bit; it's been a long time since I went in that sort of trip with my mother and father, but even though she and I never built a sort of mother-daughter thing, I do sort of feel like she is my sister, and I hope she feels the same way about me.  Doesn't even have to think of me as her brother, I'll be her sister even if I'm an old man to her.

I still don't much like flying, although the experience is somewhat less stressful when you don't think the security people are going to see through how your face matches your driver's license and consider you an impostor.  I'm glad there are direct flights to Portland - smaller planes than the ones through Boston or New York (or Atlanta, as one ridiculous flight on the website Elaine visited would have had me using), so probably a bit more nerve-wracking, but there's something to be said for only going through it once.

Getting to the Inn was uneventful - I take the train, stop in at the place down the street where you check in and return your keys, and then just go.  The friendly lady at the first place nervously tries to make conversation about how prompt people are in checking in early in the season compared to late summer, but, despite the grumbling about how rude Millennials are when I just nod, take them, and leave, seems relieved by my not sticking around to chat.  About my real age, she's not exactly used to dealing with black people, I imagine, though it's different than the worst of what I encountered in Chicago, more about how we don't get that much variety in Maine and don't know how to react to it.

The Inn's not bad, considering; I've stayed in worse places as a younger man.  There isn't any luggage for me, since my place is close enough for this to qualify as a "stay-cation", but there is a shipping bag with some new clothes, including an unopened packet of undergarments, just in case I would feel strange about wearing things the other Cary had.  The letter in the bag isn't handwritten, and is in fact rather businesslike, telling me how things went with the truck, what sort of work he did over the winter to make up for it not being a great time and place for a food truck without a brick-and-mortar storefront to find spaces, how rent was paid through the end of May, that sort of thing.  It's courteous, and doesn't ever say that being me was a hardship.

I spend a few days as "Carrie" again, running the truck until we change back early on the 2nd.  I suppose I should be thankful for a little extra stamina on Memorial Day, but it's a bit of a nerve-wracking couple of weeks.  One thing that really gets me is being naked under the covers - I never did that in the rest of my time as Elaine - it doesn't feel proper with someone who looks like a little girl just on the other side of the room even if I were to do it normally - but I don't know just how I'll turn out.  Did the other guy gain some weight, so Elaine's bedclothes would strangle me?  It's not quite warm enough for it, really, and I get worried that someone will just burst into the room, but it doesn't happen.

I wind up myself again, though, and waste no time getting out of the place.  As much as I'm sure the experience was good for me, I don't think I intend to ever park my truck near there again.

Simon/Joy: Can't stop won't stop

Life since Stretch and I cut things off has been... okay. I mean, looking at the big picture, things oughtta be grand. The weather's gorgeous, I'm making tons of cash. I'm still a chick for now, but I've definitely learned to live with it a long time ago and never let that keep me from thriving.


It's a little lonely though. My hookups have become less frequent. Part of that is getting pickier, deciding what I like, saying "no" more when a loser approaches me at the bar. I had to stop seeing one guy because he really wanted to kiss a lot and I wasn't really into that. But I even found myself putting my best guys off when they texted, making excuses or just saying I wasn't in the mood. Eventually I got to the point where I had to wonder: did I really just turn down sex?


I guess there was a honeymoon period (so to speak) where all this sex was new and exciting and now none of these guys have really stepped up their game so it all feels repetitive and boring... I thought, it must be my body getting used to the feeling. How sad.


I was talking about this to Shayla about this, kind of rolling my eyes saying "How can people stand to be in relationships if the sex only takes this long to get bad?" and she basically spit out her drink in shock.


"I can't believe I'm hearing this from you!" she gasped, "You're like, Miss Relationship. I've never heard you act so obsessed with sex."


I sometimes forget that the person whose face I'm wearing did different things with it when she had it. "Well, uh, I've changed a bit. I'm trying to have more fun now."


I should note that I haven't hung out with Shayla much since the Holidays... I was "seeing" Stretch, I guess, so anytime I went out it was either with him, or by myself with the intention of getting picked up. And Shayla, I hate to admit it, is so much hotter than me that it's really hard to get a guy's attention when she's around. When I want to be invisible, I hang out with her.


"Of course you're sick of hook ups though," she laughed, "You want to be in a relationship. You want a guy to get to know your body, and care about your... you know, pleasure. If they don't have to do anything boyfriend-y, they're going to start taking you for granted."


That felt like a cold splash of water in the face. I was laughing to myself about how much fun it was to be "easy" and feel no shame about it I didn't realize that there's a downside to it anyway. I'd been trying to put my finger on why I'd been feeling lousy all month. I didn't realize that the problem might be with them, and not me. I just assumed that all these guys were doing their best to please me every time, but it dawned on me that they really weren't. They were only interested in being with me as long as it took them to ejaculate.


Still, I felt the need to debate the issue. "You can't tell me you'd rather have sex with the same guy for years than meet a new one every week," I huffed.


"Come on Joy, it's like you're forgetting everything you learned in college," Shayla scoffed.


I muttered, "It's been a while..." I guess that's when girls usually go through their trampy phase and come out looking for something more (ugh) "stable" or "deep."


She got this faraway look in her eyes, "I would love to be in a relationship right now... but the only guys I meet treat me like a piece of meat."


I'll admit that I still have a habit of staring at her tremendous breasts from time to time. It's weird knowing that, barring some crazy drunken lesbian experiment between us (fingers crossed, we've still got a few months) I'll never have a chance to get with her. But more than that, I miss having the biological urge to get with her. I just can't help staring because her body is like a work of art. I like the look of it, but I'm sad to say it doesn't turn me on exactly. (Okay, it does a little bit.)


But then I start to feel bad for thinking that way, because even though I still kinda like my newfound status of being objectified, she's had it her whole life and she's clearly a bit sick of it because it's getting in the way of what she wants.


Well, that's her problem if she can't appreciate a good thing. I'm only here for a little while longer so I intend to have my fun. I bet there's tons of chicks out there who would kill to look like Shayla. (And guys too, but they probably wouldn't realize how awesome it can be at first.)


I guess this is all a way of realizing I need to shake things up somehow, but it's not like I want something "relationshippy." In that way, my deal with Stretch was working for me because it was just casual enough to keep me interested, and then I didn't notice so much that my other hookups were bland. Some might say I was stringing him along, but it's still his fault for never making a move. And throwing a tantrum when he found out I was getting with other guys was also a big turnoff.


I don't know. It's a smarter play just to knock it off and stay on my own until it's time to get back to the Inn, but I look at myself in the mirror and think about how intoxicating it is to have a guy fawn over me, our hormones interplaying, hands on each other's bodies... and other parts... I can't quit that!


'Scuze me, I need to make a call...

Annette/Benjamin: Windy City Life

Four months in Chicago today, and in some ways it's been weirder for me than some of my past big moves because I'm not used to the continuity.  New York and Boston came with changing axes and ethnicities and orientations, meant catching up on who my new identity's friends and family were, and otherwise just jumping into a situation that required a lot of catch-up.

This didn't.  Marybeth was here waiting for me, I still know who everyone in my phone is, and I came here at lose ends rather than trying to catch up.  It doesn't leave me with that much free time - I still needed to find a job, help get everything settled in place after the move, all that - but a different question.  In New York and Boston, I was trying to figure out how to adapt myself to Ravi's and Benny's lives, and here in trying to figure out how to adapt my life to new circumstances.  I wonder if it would be easier if I'd done this before, like if Mom and I had moved when I was old enough to remember it or if I'd been able to move into a dorm room as myself three years ago.

It's getting easier, though, and I may have it better than a lot of guys moving halfway across the country for their girlfriends' jobs.  I don't think anybody consists me particularly feminine, but I'm pretty cool with a living room that isn't built around the big TV and video game system, decoration that involves a lot of plants, that sort of thing.  My shifts at an office-supply store are just offset enough from Marybeth's hours that were not fighting over the bathroom or always on our own.

I'm missing Cary already, though.  Even though he doesn't look old enough to grump about Millennials as Elaine, I can always tell from talking to him that were part of the same secret club, and on top of that, both of us being Mainers, and, beyond that, both spending a fair amount of non-Inn time in Old Orchard over the past few years (mostly brief visits to Benny's family for me).  It's also really fun to watch him and Elaine together; it looks like a kid who has her patents well-trained, even though her demeanor in no way matches her form.  She also knows all the best places to eat.

Marybeth is, understandably, a little uncertain about my first non-her friendship here being with an attractive woman with whom I don't have very much in common with, if you go by cover story.  It's even weirder to her, when we met up with "Elaine" without "Mackenzie", that they don't get along that all.  They've got a lot of the same taste in clothes, Marybeth loves the song that serves as ringtone on Elaine's phone, and they even go to the same gym on occasion.  That they seem to have so much in common, but "Elaine" gets on so much better than me, gets her a bit nervous, especially since I still keep in touch with Missy.

I'm making guy friends slowly but surely, though; there's a couple folks at work who figure we're bros because the same general manager got both our baseball teams World Series championships, which seems like the dumbest thing to bond over, but it's something.  One of Marybeth's co-workers has a boyfriend who seems like he'd be a really fun trivia-team member.  And who knows, maybe when Elaine comes back herself, she and Marybeth will click, Elaine will find a boyfriend who can make it not weird if we do couples stuff together.

-Annette/Benjamin

Tyler/Judith: Aftermath

While it felt like a big deal at the time, I don't think I could have reckoned exactly how much the pregnancy scare would rattle me. As a man, I had never experienced anything like it. Now, there have been one or two occasions where a girlfriend of mine had to use a pee-stick, but in those cases it was always so distant. That was probably why I was able to be so confident we would get through at those times, compared to this. It would be nice if things were equal between the sexes, but it's the woman whose body is on the line, so it's so much more real for her, more scary if things don't go how she's hoping.

When I did tell Kit, he as pretty understanding about it, said all the right things: "I hope you're okay, I'm glad we dodged that bullet," et cetera.

Things didn't really go back to "normal" after.

It feels like a shame to basically quit our sex life just as it was getting momentum but... how could I go back and do that again? I feel so paranoid that even if we take every available precaution, it's just not worth the risk. I was coming to enjoy the experience, and yet...I can go without. I don't know if that's my male psyche or Judith's body being kinda cold or what, but there you have it. Kit was... not thrilled about that declaration.

Things got tense.

We started having regular conversations about the future. Things like... how would I feel about having kids? Settling down, if possible? Sure, now wasn't the right time, but when will it be? Where "are" we in our relationship?

One came on Mother's Day. What a confusing dang time to be me. I'm being lauded for something I never particularly wanted, and while I do my best I still often feel like a failure. Like I'm seriously not cut out for this. A lot of the time Mother's day is to assure the mom that she is appreciated but it my case it was as much about reassuring me that I'm doing okay and I haven't screwed up. Emotions were running high after the kid crashed for the night. We were feeling good, but then the conversation started up again.

My line is always... we can't. We can't plan the future because we don't know what's next. We're at the mercy of luck, as far as whether we'll ever be in a position to have kids, so I don't want to think about it.

Kit scowls at that. He goes on and on about how many years he wasted with a husband who didn't want kids, and now, is a second chance ever going to come?

Probably, I say.

With me? Maybe not.

It just sort of fell out of my mouth without meaning to. I've sort of towed the line during this relationship that, yes, I'm trying to turn over a new leaf and not make the kind of rash decisions that led me to the Inn and to many other troubles. I claim to want stability and, I don't know, a "normal" life but...I could see it not happening. I have to acknowledge that it's a possibility.

That hurt him.

I think it's entirely possible that I never get to settle down because I don't have it in me to take another person's life for my own.

"That's so convenient for you," he hisses. "You get to make the grand sacrifice of never living a full life because someone else will need theirs back."

I tried to backpedal. You never know - someday, the stars might align and I get my happy ending.

"And by then I'm long in the past, huh?" Kit sniffs.

"I don't want to do that to you..." I say, taking him by the shoulders. "I have really loved our time together. And part of my 'new leaf' is not bolting at the first sign of trouble. I want this to work." I mentally try to forget every stupid minor spat we've ever had and every reason I might have left in the past, and remember that this is the person I am with and this is the person who is my chance to prove I have what it takes to make it work.

He grew quiet. He averted his eyes. I had no idea what was going to happen next.

He got down on one knee and took my hand in his. My stomach sank.

Oh no.

"Tyler Blake," he said, "Will you marry me?"

I froze. This was the last thing I wanted. I had just said I would want to make "us" work, basically promising more commitment than I had any right to, given the circumstances. I was not prepared to be called on it.

My mind raced. Married? What would marriage even mean to us?

All I could say was, "I don't know."

"You... you don't know?"

"Who knows what the future holds? We could get stuck somewhere where we can't be true to each other, and... I don't know! Anything could happen!"

He stood up and walked away. He left the house and didn't come back all night.

I cried myself to sleep, I don't even know why. I was mad - at myself for being the same commitment-phobe I always was, but also at him for pushing too hard when things were going well. We had... equilibrium until I wrecked it. But I couldn't help my honesty. That's just how I see things.

When I saw him the next evening, he apologized for walking out like that, and explained that he had spent the night at Adrian's brother's place and done a lot of thinking.

"I fooled myself into thinking this was real," he sighed, "You, me, Livy, playing house. You're a good wife and a good mom, and that made me love you, but it's not real."

"Kit, I'm real," I insisted, "You just... shocked me, that's all."

"I thought I saw a future here, but you're right, we don't know what's coming, and honestly I think I'll be happier if I make a clean break."

His eyes were starting to well up with tears. I could tell he didn't really want to be doing this, but somehow he felt he had no choice.

"Kit, don't..." I said, "We can... we can work this out." I had my doubts, but I genuinely had wanted to make things work, for Kit to be the person I actually became better for.

"I used to think that you just hated being a woman," he sniffed, "But I realized, you hate being stuck. You're afraid of not knowing where the exits are. You'll probably go back to that Inn every year of your life whether it makes sense to or not."

"Hey..." I said, trying to ease things. That remark had wounded me though.

"You let it ruin things between you and Meghan, and you loved her more than you'll ever love me."

Ouch.

And that's how it ended. Eventually we cooled down - it pained me, a bit, to try to remember all the details considering we're on better terms now - but yeah, the Kitty-Tyler relationship has ended. I've even modified our Inn reservation so that we are sure not to become a couple again (don't worry, I straightened it out with Judith, too.)

As far as breakups go... I wouldn't say it was good, but... maybe it had to happen. He's pretty right about my fear of commitment, and if what we had was real, it would have been a great opportunity to prove to myself, and Kit, I'm capable of being serious. But as much affection as I had for him, he's just... not the one. And I'm not doing either of us any favours if I married him (whatever version of marriage he had in mind) just to prove I could.

I'm a different person from when I first went to the Inn, years ago. I'm a different person, even, from when I woke up as Judith. That guy was scared and thought there was no way he could be a "wife" and raise a kid.

Now, when the time comes, when it's real... I'm ready. And I'll know.

The search continues...

-Tyler/Judith

Cary (and Elaine): Sometimes it's like I've learned nothing

So the last time I wrote something here, a few months back, it was all about Elaine teaching me how to be her so that I could get a job and keep her career going, which incidentally would keep a roof over our heads.  I seem to do all right, although the interviews are difficult.  I usually do jobs that most anybody can do, so the interview about kinda technical things would be tough even if I'm not doing it in a miniskirt and heels.  It takes a few tries before Elaine and I find a job that both will take us and looks likely to wrap up before the end of May.  It's a near thing, but today was the last day.

Elaine tells me that's good, which I'm thankful to hear, because I don't feel like I've learned anything specific on this job.  I started out not knowing much about computers, and I really don't know much about computers now.  I don't even know much about running a hotel, and yet I've somehow earned Elaine a bonus for spearheading a local group's development of a system to track everything about that.  It's bizarre.  I feel like I've gone into an office every day for months, running a lot of meetings, moving a bunch of sticky notes around a wall, but not actually doing anything.

Supposedly, according to Elaine, all the programmers would have just play video games all day long, never schedule a meeting with their "subject matter experts" or getting anything done.  I don't know that this is necessarily the case - they all seem to be good kids, more enthused about their work than I was when I was their age.  I guess maybe that's something I'm taking with me to my real life - whenever friends talk about the lazy younger generation, I can say that I don't really believe them.

I don't really know them, though.  A lot of Elaine's teaching me to live her life was so that I could go out with her friends.  I don't do it that much - like the ones at work, they're nice kids, but even with Elaine's drilling, I can be a few seconds behind in any conversation.  Dancing can be fun, but people get kind of grabby, and guys tend to take a step back when I start to talk about sports or anything.  Mostly, though, it's a matter of feeling uncomfortable leaving Elaine at home.  We spend more of our paycheck on home video equipment and the like so that she can watch movies while I'm at work or out, and most of the time I would rather stay home and watch something with her than go out with her friends.   We've got a few shows we're watching together, so sometimes she's kind of pleased that I'm letting her social life slide.

Not always, though.  The other day, I take a picture of myself with the team so that, when she's back in her own life, Elaine will recognize the people "she" worked with for these months, making sure to tag all the faces, and when I get home, she points her little fingers at the screen and asks why I've been holding out on her.  I kind of shrug.  I guess he's kind of handsome - tall, black, bright white teeth, only hair a close-cropped goatee, in good shape but not super-muscular - but not exactly distracting to me.  I tell her that I didn't think it was a big deal to mention it, because I think I handled telling him I don't date co-workers fairly well and I didn't want her to worry.

"HE ASKED ME OUT?"

Kind of, I say, but it would be unprofessional.  Besides, I wasn't feeling anything.  She says that's ridiculous, that everyone else with a functioning sex drive is starting to go along with what their bodies want, and he is exactly her type.  I say he's evidently not mine.  She looks at me curiously, and then asks if there are any guys there that do make me tingle.  I say no, but then I remember how I jumped a couple days before when another co-worker made it right to my desk without me noticing.  I point to him - white, a little closer to my real age, shaggy hair - and she just looks away, shaking her head, saying it's a good thing that I'm so professional.

I have to admit, I was kind of tempted to ask one of them out on the last day, maybe have one actual date before going back to the Inn next week.  I chickened out, though, so I guess I didn't learn anything about what the next lady I ask out will be feeling, either.

Tyler/Judith: Hold your breath

It's Sunday night. I'm in a situation that still feels unreal to me: desperately trying to pick an outfit for dinner. It used to be so easy, and Kit knows it. He's on the bed, dressed in his shirt and tie, his black socks wafting in the air while I'm charging back and forth. Is it too cold out for this? Am I gonna be comfortable?

"The purple dress," he says. "I always love you in that."

"Yeah, and I know why," I snicker. "Look at this neckline. That's a good reason to put it back."

"Aw, why?"

"Because Kip is gonna spend the whole night ogling my chest, no matter what. I don't to give him more ammo."

Kip is Adrian's brother who most definitely has a crush on Judith. It's incredibly sad and upsetting and a big contributor to why we haven't exactly kept things cozy with that side of the family. But tonight it's a big family dinner and we've got to go.

"I'll sit between you two," he huffs, half-jokingly I think. "He'll behave. And I'll get the show."

"You get the show no matter what," I snap back.

He has a retort of his own, "Not always. You make me work for it."

"Damn right I do," I say. I slip it on over my head. Predictably, my boobs come falling out, my bra is visible. You get so used to seeing women in movies and TV and magazines who have their outfits perfectly chosen for them, you don't think about how sometimes nothing just goes together. You need a goddamned masters degree in fashion sometimes to put together an outfit - a really nice one - that "goes."

I slip it off. I prefer a more modest light blue top. It's silky, so I like the fabric, it covers everything and goes with everything. Kit makes a face. "What?" I ask.

"I've never liked that one," he sighs, "Simply not flattering, I don't know what Judith was thinking when she bought it."

I huff dejectedly, "She didn't. I bought this one."

She reaches into the closet and pulls out a shear dark green top. I roll my eyes. We're back to square one, because everyone can see my bra in it.

"That's what the blazer is for," he says with a smile. I nod, okay, that will work. He adds, "There's a really nice knee-length knee-length skirt in there to finish it off."

I don't particularly feel like wearing the skirt. I haven't shaved my legs. I don't have anything against the garment in general. I'm over any kind of male-born aversion to girly clothes. Bring it all on, but make it comfortable. Instead, I opt for slacks.

Kitty gives me that face and says I look like I'm going to a job interview. I roll my eyes and insist I look fine, but a look in the mirror makes me doubt that.

I can't believe I'm about to utter these words but I do: "I feel fat."

I feel up my belly. I twist and look at the way my hips balloon out and project into a big round butt. I'm used to looking this way, and honestly it's not so bad, but I don't feel "fat" until my clothes don't fit right. Make no mistake, if I had been incarnated as a huge lumberjack of a woman I would have made due without shame, I think. But there's something about this situation that makes you feel the pounds and inches you gain after you get here, and Judith's body is pretty prone to fluctuations. Basically, I want my clothes to fit. It's a real kick in the tits when you have that notification that you're getting bigger, you're having an effect on this body. It feels unforgiving. I suck in as best I can. This isn't going to work.

"I'm sure you have something more forgiving," Kitty says. He's trying to be reassuring, but he's not.

"No, never mind, I'll wear the damn spanx," I grumble, dropping trow so that I can put on something restrictive that will keep me from breathing properly all night but at least allow me to fit in these damn pants. Then I have to find shoes to wear with it. Two-inch black pumps. Why does everything have to suck?

We go out, and it's a nice enough time. Nobody notices I'm being quiet. I order the salmon because it seems light. The Kid wants to order off the adult menu but I remind her that she wasn't able to finish the steak she ordered last time we tried that. Kitty says there's no shame in the doggie bag, and I say fine, knock yourself out.

Kip is ogling me no matter what I wear. I wonder if Judith ever felt flattered and encouraged it.

We get home. I'm definitely too tired to have sex, but we do kiss and cuddle a bit. I think about what an ordeal just going out for a night is sometimes. I toss and turn, and then I'm up half the night re-living my salmon. Not on purpose - I'm not trying to slim down, I just can't keep it down. Kitty sleeps through the whole thing. Between retches I pull my hair back into a ponytail so it doesn't get chunks in it.

On monday morning a thought occurs to me and I can't get it out of my head. I'm gaining weight, I'm getting sick, I'm a bit moodier maybe. I'm trying to remember when was my last period. I'm not on the pill and they tend to be erratic. I swear it's been less than a month. Once I went over 5 weeks between them, but that was before Kit and I were even doing it so I didn't think twice.

I happen to check the blog and see Jonah's post about his/her little baby girl.

I find myself at the pharmacy in the "Family planning" aisle. The pregnancy test seems like an unnecessary expense, right? My period will come any day now. So much grief and embarrassment in bringing it to the cashier, it's not worth it. I'm worrying about nothing.

I buy it and take it home. I couldn't even look the cashier in the eye as I did so, I can't even pretend I'm hoping for a positive to decrease the awkwardness. I drink two glasses of water, more than necessary. I'm shaking. This can't be happening. I'm only months away from getting out of here. I can't screw this up, for me and Judith and everybody. I can't get stuck here like Jonah. Even if what Kitty and I have is for real, we are not meant to stay in these bodies.

I pee on the stick. The two minutes it takes to reveal the result are the worst I have felt in years. Worse than waiting to find out how your body is transforming. Worse than whatever it was that drove me to walk out on Meg. Every problem I've ever had seems so small in this moment.

It's negative.

I breathe a sigh of relief. I feel like I've just been found not guilty of a federal crime. I look again. Still negative. Breathe. My heart and stomach settle back out of my throat.

I put the test back in the box, and put the box in a bag and I walk to a nearby park and throw it out. I think about what, if anything, to tell Kitty. I do plan on saying something about it, but I had to get rid of the evidence just so that he wouldn't find it first and ask about it. I need to control this.

I'm still very shaken. I walk home, sit down, breathe for twenty minutes, then look at the calendar and count the days until we go back... again.

Tyler/Judith: Spring lull

I woke up this morning and turned over the "Mom's Planner" calendar over to May. My heart skipped a little - we're that much closer to D-Day, or should that be M-Day, for Maine? Or T-Day for Transformation? Well, we haven't named it. Besides, it could be any of a several-day stretch we expect to be in Old Orchard Beach.

I haven't put much thought to what comes next. How could I? I don't know who or where I'll be, or who I'll be with. Everything will be up in the air. And I'm so stuck in the morass of being Mom and Wifey that I can't really afford the luxury of snapping back to "Tyler-Wanderlust" mode even in my dreams.

Besides, things are... and I hate to say it because things are just aching to be jinxed, but... things are good. Kit and I are vibing like we never have before, even when we were Alan and Greta. We've gotten into a good routine. There's me at home, cooking and cleaning, ready to kiss him hello when he returns from work. I listen to his - admittedly dull - office anecdotes. I ask the Kid about homework and friends. We watch TV, we fall asleep in each other's arms. If you didn't know better you'd think we had been doing this for years.

Which makes me feel like T-Day, whatever we wanna call it, is something to be a bit worried about it, rather than celebrated. Anything could happen and for once that feels like a bad thing, if it puts an end to me and Kitty before we're, I dunno, ready to end it. I try not to dwell on it too much.

There's, haha, sandwiches to make.

I still do some work for the Event Agency, but I haven't accepted any projects on my own since the Anniversary I did months ago. Judith would probably kill me if she knew what a fib it is that I've kept her career going strong. I mean, she wouldn't kill me, because she wants her body back, but maybe if she waits until after I've been to Maine... better watch my back.

It pains me to admit, Kit was a little right about de-emphasizing work. We've had to tighten our belts a little bit but it's not like we depended on my income too strongly, and I'm at peace with things as they are now. It's strange to think, this is maybe the first time I've ever not wanted to leave a situation but had to.

Simon/Joy: Well, that's over.

I guess it wasn't meant to be between me and Stretch.

He comes up to me the other day and says "We need to talk." I say okay, talk, and he shows me his phone, which shows my Facebook profile, and there's a post on my wall from one of my hookups saying sorry he wasn't going to make our date tonight and he would have to rain check me.

"What's this about?"

I told him it looked like I was free tonight. He didn't laugh.

"Are you seeing other guys?"

"Um, yeah," I said, "I told you I wasn't ready to be exclusive."

"I didn't think that meant you were actually out there seeing other guys."

I sneered, "God, read between the lines here, Stretch. I told you lots of times I was busy, what did you think?"

"I thought that meant work," he huffed.

"Sometimes it did..." I said, "Sometimes it started out that way and developed."

"How many guys are you sleeping with?"

I didn't like his tone but I decided to answer. "Right now?" I rolled my eyes up to do some mental math. "Two." I didn't tell him I had recently been narrowing it down from... well, it depends on how you count, but maybe five.

"And neither of them is me."

"I guess not," I shrugged, "You know, the timing was never right. I kept thinking you were gonna make a move but you seemed fine with what we were doing."

"This is bullshit," he huffed. "You shouldn't do that."

"If it helps, I didn't really go out with any of them," I said, "You're practically the only guy I go out to dinner with."

"But you won't fuck me."

"Woah, I didn't say I wouldn't fuck you, I was waiting to fuck you."

"Well, why should you fuck me, when you've got all these other guys going?"

"That's a good question," I hissed back. "Look, if you don't want to paly anymore, it's fine by me."

"I'm just confused," he said, now shouting loud enough for the office to hear, "What are we doing?"

Me: "Having a good time, I thought."

Him: "I didn't think I was gonna have to share you. I didn't think you were like that."

That pissed me off, I think I've got everyone fooled into thinking I'm real nice and virginal because I've got a petite body and pretty blonde hair and a nice smile. I don't look "nasty" but looks can be deceiving can't they?
Yadda yadda, we went back and forth a while but I could see where it was going. He wanted to be all judgmental with me because he was hurt, but that's his problem.

I told him I was gonna make the call for him, we were done. He was nice and all, but I can get better than him.

Don't look at me like I'm the bad guy. I am operating the same way I always did with chicks, I told them the deal upfront, including telling them I was gonna keep my other action discreet, so if there was a problem with that, there's the door. A lot of them took it.


The only difference I can see is that as a chick, I'm not being rejected... like, ever. If I want to have sex with someone I get to have sex with them when I want to. And they'll keep wanting to come back to me, because I've turned out to be a pretty good lay, so.. the guys add up, until I get bored of them.


And on the flip side, if I want to make them wait and impress me, something I never would have bothered doing as a guy (Like, "Are you hot? OK I'm impressed") I get to, like I did with Stretch. I get to make my own rules, because I'm a hot girl, so suck it.


I'm not here to fall in love so I don't owe anybody anything. I'm here for fun and to kill time until I get to be Simon again. Don't hate the player, hate the game. End of story.


-S/J

Jonah/Krystle: Moira Ashlyn Kamen

January 22, 2017, 20.5 inches, 8 pounds.  Beautiful.  That last part is still true even if the middle seems like it didn't last very long at all.

Contractions started during church, and while I've tried to move on from thinking that God is trying to make some sort of object lesson out of me, there are times when you can't help but think that.  The Reverend wasn't doing a sermon on premarital sex or deadbeat dads or anything today, but, still, when you cry out because suddenly your body has decided to loudly announce a new way to hurt in the middle of a crowd of people who don't think they would ever let things come to this, the embarrassment is almost just as painful.

Krystle, bless her, recognized what was going on practically before I did, and quickly got me out to the car and was almost on the way to the hospital before my parents caught up.  That was actually kind of surprising; she had been reluctant to be much of a part of getting ready, not really wanting "Jonah" to be seem as too feminine or tagged as the father.  It's a weird thing that none of us really figured out how to approach, because Krystle isn't, the whole "cousin" story is meant to keep me from having this in my background later, and the actual guy who knocked me up has basically said "try and prove it".  But, when the moment came, she was there, even for the actual birth.  I guess she decided she wanted to see it.

I kind of wish I could have skipped out on experiencing it.  As bizarre as the previous months of being pregnant were, being hyper-aware of this other person inside you, that eventually started moving on her own while your body does all these weird hormone things that make no sense, suddenly having her want OUT, but still needing you to push...?  It's all that plus really terrifying, like something out of a horror movie.  And that's regular-girl stuff - halfway to the hospital, I looked at Krystle and asked what would happen if I didn't know how.  Like, I still have a guy's brain, and what if it didn't come pre-wired to push a baby out?  She looked kind of horrified for a second, then said that couldn't be the case, because I was able to do what was necessary to get knocked up in the first place, but I said I mostly just lied there.  We were about two minutes from calling Penny to find out if she'd had to have a c-section when another contraction came and bearing down seemed like the thing to do.

I can't really describe the feeling of it - I don't know if regular women find the whole thing unreal their first (or ONLY) time, but it was like I wasn't in the real world for a while.  The bits of me that I just thought of as hurting when I had my menstrual cramps suddenly needed to be used, Krystle and my parents were frantic, and then I pushed someone out and there was just a while bunch of stuff I wasn't ready for:  The placenta, the sight of the umbilical cord coming out of me along with her, little bits of unexpected hair...  They don't show that stuff when someone has a baby on TV, and I guess I missed health class being a grown woman for the past couple years!

And then she started to cry and I snapped out of it, really looking at her when the doctor put her in my arms, and kind of feeling amazed that she was alive and beautiful, and that I hasn't screwed her up.

* * *

Names were kind of a hot potato for a while leading up to the big day.  It's kind of due to us not really knowing what was going to happen after the baby was born, just having strong opinions on what wasn't going to.  When I asked Krystle about names, she said she didn't want to have anything to do with that, although Mom said she should, because she was going to be the baby's mother.  On the other hand, she didn't want a name from her family tree, because that would taint it or something.  I bought a couple of baby-name books - one kind of generic, one more African-American - but nothing spoke to me.

So when the nurses asked, it was another quick decision, but I decided to go with the names of the two ladies who had looked out for me whether they knew the whole truth or not.  "Moira Ashlyn" seems like an absolutely ridiculous name for a girl who seems to have gotten all the genes for dark skin that Krystle and I have between us, but in that moment, I wanted to give her a name that really represented that sort of love, and none of the ones that did mean that seemed to mean it as much as that one.

* * *

It meant Moira and Ashlyn had to visit and see their namesake, of course.  Ashlyn had to come up for the baptism, since I'd asked her to be the Godmother, but it was not exactly a hardship from the way they cooed and tickled and asked if they could hold her.  We'd never really had a shower, so Ashlyn took the opportunity to bring Changeling onesies, teddy bears, and a big box of diapers from the other waitresses.

She admittedly wasn't sure about the whole Godmother thing.  I don't know what she believed before visiting the Inn, but she's not really a churchgoer these days - as much as the experience shows you that there's some sort of greater force out there, Ashlyn had met a lot of Inn visitors, including a creepy stalker, so it's hard for her to see it as part of God's Plan.  She's not quite a non-believer, I don't think, but she's not devoted.  Still, I can't think of anyone is trust to raise this little girl more if anything happened to me, Krystle, my folks, her folks...  Putting it that way seemed to take a load off her mind.

They were the easy visitors.  Momma Kamen and Karla also came up for the baptism, and it was uncomfortable.  Krystle's mom really was not keen on being presented as some sort of distant relative so that "Jonah" could have his reputation intact, and that disdain clearly hurt Krystle.  She also REALLY doesn't get along with Karla, no matter who she looks like.  The good news is that babies can magically smooth over a lot.  Moira's cousins were really excited to meet her, so Karla put a happier face on for them, and "Momma" may have been upset at my family, but she seemed to feel good when she got to hold Moira, and privately suggested that maybe being in this new place was good for me, keeping me from falling back into old habits.  

The funny thing is, she kind of doesn't know how right she is, in that Krystle is doing real well being me.

* * *

I've never been as popular with the girls in my class as I was a a pregnant woman and now as a new mother.

Part of "me" being popular is Krystle, of course.  She hooked up with a couple of the girls that went to the Inn, they spread the word that "Jonah" was a terrific lover who really knew how to please a girl, and things happened from there.  I didn't exactly like the reputation as a player he was building for me, but it's difficult to argue too much when you've got a baby on the way.

Still, all the girls who went to the Inn with me have gotten even nicer since Moira was born.  All the complicated stuff seems to have been replaced with "OMG BABY!!!!"  Maybe it wouldn't quite be the same with the other girls at school - if you were taking a trip with your church youth group, your probably a bit more traditional - but they seem to enjoy hanging around and helping out when they can.

One, in particular, has gotten real close.  She doesn't really like to talk about it, but I think she had a near miss on having to make the sort of choice I did.  At any rate, she's around a lot, speaks up to defend me when someone suggests that they think there must have been another way, that sort of thing.

It really feels like there could be something there when things get back to normal, and that's a wonderful feeling, since most of the time, even with Mom and Dad and Krystle and everyone helping, Little Moira takes up enough of my life that "back to normal" seems impossible to conceive.

-Jonah/Krystle

Tyler/Judith: Low Pressure

It's Sunday morning. The sun is beaming through the master bedroom. I'm sitting on the cushiony bench by the windowsill - the nook, I guess - reading a book that Meaghan recommended. I'm wearing only a bathrobe and a pair of beige underwear - "granny panties" with a lace trim.

I hear a voice clearing its throat from across the room. "Ahem," I look over at Kit. He's sitting up in bed, gesturing to look down at my chest. I've allowed my robe to fall open and have been idly running my fingers down the length of my hair and along the soft inner curve of my breast. This is a little habit I've picked up when I'm deep in thought - Kit finds it a bit embarrassing but is more amused by it than anything. I can't help that, after 30-odd years as mostly a man, I still carry a fixation on breasts, even if I face them in the mirror every day of my life. Believe me, they're not always easy to ignore.

"Steamy book?" he says with a raised eyebrow.

"Not particularly," I sigh, "It's about World War One."

He walks over and begins to rub my shoulders. "I think we won that one."

"Shh," I say, "No spoilers."

He places his lips to the top of my head and pecks a light kiss. It feels nice.

"You thinking about seeing a hairdresser soon?" he asks, indicating my frayed-looking locks.

At times, this kind of suggestion - that he knows best - rankles me. But it's not like the thought hadn't occurred. "I don't feel like it." I hate sitting still for the female equivalent of a barber, never like the result, and always feel overcharged.

"Your call," he shrugs, rubbing my narrow shoulders.

It's been a bit since the flap over the Kid's suspension. He apologized and admitted I wasn't to blame. I vented about the Chernobeks' parenting style and he talked me out of going over there with a carton of eggs for their windows (I had a pretty good arm in my youth.)

"What should we do today?" he asks.

"Hmm, I don't know," I tease, "Clean the bathroom? I've noticed some yellow specks around the rim of the toilet..."

"Pfft, and you had perfect aim when you were a guy? And besides, what about the clumps of hair in the bathtub sink?"

"Hey, I bought that little strainer thing," I defend myself, "Take it up with the manufacturer."

"How about we go for a walk this afternoon?" he asks. "Find a nice café or something."

There's not much else to do around town. But this is the first good weather we've had on a weekend all year. Being able to get out of the house at will seems like a godsend, really takes the pressure off our situation.

We often take the time on weekend mornings to have sex. Dylan is sleeping over with Meadow today so it's a perfect opportunity to let loose. I don't want to let him assume it's a sure-thing, though. I don't want to toy with him, but it's good to play a little hard-to-get. I like it being up to me. I like him having to win me over, again and again.

I give him the nod of approval. He scoops me up in his arms - I can hear him struggle a bit, because my bod is a little bottom-heavy these days and Adrian isn't exactly in top form. But he really likes being able to do this trick and I don't mind letting him.

He lays me down on the bed and slips my panties off. I don't have many specific instructions because I don't really care. I let my mind wander, leave my body while he uses it as his playground. I've found that if I think too much while we're in the moment I'll get self-conscious about what's being done to me and I can't enjoy it at all. I still don't know that I do, but I like everything around it. It feels weirdly normal and good and if letting "that" get done to me helps keep things stable, I'm cool with it. I swear.

Simon/Joy: Work with me here

So, here's my argument in favor of casual sex: the more you get to know someone, a lot of the time, the less you want to bone them.


At least when I was a guy, I could ignore a bland personality by staring at her tits and just counting the minutes until they were in my hands. If they wanted a drink or five first, I could wait.


But guys? Let me tell you... guys suck. They are boring as hell company. None of them matches my wits or intelligence, so I feel like I'm wasting my time. Everything they want to tell me, that I'm supposed to find so impressive, they want to think it's the first time I've heard it. Like I'm some precious empty-headed bimbo just waiting to be filled up. Mostly they want to talk about their boring job or their boring car or the lame places they've traveled or their season as a defensive lineman in the NFL. Who cares, he didn't even make the playoffs, and I'm Browns all the way anyway.


Because of this sudden repulsion to the male psyche, I've narrowed my roster down a lot, and this has given me a chance to explore things with Stretch. Stretch is cute, as I've admitted, and he can hold a conversation, but he does get a little mawkish when the topic strays from work. Every so often he'll openly flirt with me and it'll warm me up inside a bit, but then he goes back into his shell. Problem is, I feel like by even going out with him this much, it's opened up a Pandora's box... people at work are gonna talk, and if it ends badly that could screw up the dynamic.


I took him dancing on Friday, but he mainly hung out by the bar while I hit the dancefloor. His loss - I hope he wasn't too jealous watching me practice my twerking. That's right, I can shake it pretty hard when I want to - I just wish I had a little more to shake. Instead of joining, he leaves early and just gives me a quick goodbye.


Honestly, if that doesn't light a fire under him I don't know what will. I think it just made him feel bad, and if that's the case, I'm probably not the gal for him.


Look, I could be the guy here. I could take him by the hand and lead him through life and be the first to say "I want you, let's do this." But I don't want him until he shows he wants me. He has to cut the meek shit and man up if he wants this.


Maybe I'm a tease, maybe I'm leading him on, but I don't care. I'm leading the life I want and if he's a good boy I'll let him be a part of it for the remainder of my time here. He's lucky. There's other guys I could be pursuing. I mean, besides the other ones I actually am with.


Why am I doing this you ask? It feels good. To have power over men - as many or as few men as I choose, with as little effort as I want to expend. To pursue pleasure with no guilt. What a gift. I'm not worried about compromising my manhood at all. Someday I'll be me again, and this will all be some hot, sexy, mildly perverse dream I can look back on fondly on my lonely nights.


But for now... Joy doesn't chase.

Tyler/Judith: How to Parent

I feel like I've gotten the hang of parenting, although I've had it easy... my "child" is a 13-year-old boy in an 11-year-old girl's body, so his maturity outstrips his appearance and place in life, and a lot of the groundwork was already laid by his real parents. All I gotta do is keep him on the right track and encourage him when he has doubts. I don't even feel like him getting suspended is a failure on my part, it's just part of growing up. No, I don't want Dylan to go around thinking it's ok to pick fights, but telling someone "don't do that" isn't as effective in my book as showing them the consequences of fighting.

Apparently, the kids at school are already calling Olivia "Psycho Girl" which... I mean, Dylan seems to be wearing it as a badge of honor, and to be honest I can't blame him... that's a killer nickname. But anyway, fighting is wrong, two wrongs don't make a right, and all that.

Kitty is pushing hard for a stronger punishment. Can't say I blame him... suspension is basically a weeklong vacation. But what can you do? Not what my daddy used to do to me, that's for damned sure. So the kid is spending some time with me at work, and some time with Kit at the office, and some time with her grandma - the old Portuguese one who will make her work in the garden.

The ladies at the office all love "Livie" of course, she's such a little angel. So again this is not much of a punishment since we're not exactly making her answer phones or do filing or anything. But she does have to sit quietly for long expanses, which is prison for a kid, so I guess we won this one. Maybe the other gals shouldn't be slipping her M&Ms from the vending machine but hey, in prison you get access to a library.

This whole situation has inspired too many long late-night conversations between me and Kitty, exhausting ones where we go round and round about what the best course of action is... about how we should get on the same page and all that. At least he's got the decency not to refer to my upbringing anymore.

I also got some unsolicited advice from an outside source... Mrs. Chernobek called me to follow-up on my conversation with her husband. And she was not happy. Apparently, according to him, I lectured about how they should be raising their son, and "What right do I have," "Where do I get off" and all that shit.

I was surprised to hear this from the mom - I thought she'd be a bit more sensitive to the way her son is treating girls, so I tried to explain, "What Tyler did really hurt Olivia, and if you had a daughter, wouldn't you feel like she had been wronged?"

"Well as a matter of fact," she said, "I do have a daughter and she would never get into that situation because she doesn't let boys in her room and wouldn't let them take her personal property. Maybe you should reconsider the lessons you're teaching yours."

I wanted to scream. You blame Olivia for this? Shit, lady, it was your son she let into her room, doesn't it bother you how he behaved? The boy's a perv, own up to it! She's innocent, and as far as you know, she's a lot younger than him so she doesn't have the defenses... and frankly "she" shouldn't be expected to have her defenses up anyway because she thought she had a friend, not a panty-thief.

Basically, the lesson they're sending is: boys can be assholes and get away with it, especially to girls. And she's going to be a boy again soon, so I'm hoping she doesn't take that lesson back with her, and instead remembers the hurt that caused and vows never to put it on someone of the opposite gender. Or anyone for any reason.

Now I'm getting all worked up. We ended the conversation abruptly because otherwise I felt like I might go over there and throw a rock at her myself. Okay, so I do seem to still have a lot of growing to do, but the fact that I didn't do any of that, just took an angry lap around the block and cooled off shows I've grown as a person.

I got shamed for trying to tell someone else how to be a parent, and then I got shamed for how I parent. It seems like there's no right way to parent any more than there's a right way to be a woman... which is to say there isn't one, everyone's always going to be telling you you're doing it wrong.

Ugh, screw all this. It's wine-in-the-bath time.

Tyler/Judith: Suspension

Friday, I got a call from the school that Olivia had been taken to the Principal's Office and that I would have to come pick her up. I guess the upside of only working 2.5 days per week is that you don't necessarily have to interrupt anything important to do that. But it was a shock, since the Kid has only gotten more docile and well-behaved since being Olivia. Restless to get back to the Inn, sure, but a model student.

So I got to the office and found her and her friend Tyler being watched by the secretary. They were several seats apart, unwilling to look at each other. I could tell pretty much what had happened but I needed the details. When I arrived, she looked up, I could tell she'd been crying: "Mom!" She ran over and hugged me, burying her face in my chest.

Normally, the Kid just calls me Ty (to Kitty's consternation). Obviously, we're out in the world so she has to call me "mom," but I felt the emotion behind it. Something had happened that was going to require me to be very motherly. My stomach churned. I hoped I could handle it. I also felt a hot hatred for Tyler, if he did something to hurt my kid.

The Vice Principal, a stout black woman, opened the door to her office. "Come right in, Mrs. Walker. Bring Livie with you." Livie? That's what she goes by at school? Oh well.

I steeled myself. "So, what exactly happened?"

"There was a fight," the VP, Mrs. Thompkins said. "Between Livie and that boy out there, Tyler Chernobek."

"WHAT?" My eyes went wide at that. I looked over at "Livie." She was hanging her head.

"Livie was the aggressor," Mrs. Thompkins said, "But it was... in response to... hmm... well, Tyler stole some property of your daughter's."

I pursed my lips. "What did he steal?"

"He stole a pair of her underwear."

I felt sick to my stomach. That kid is two years older than "Livie," no matter how old Dylan is mentally. He's been in my house, he's been in her room.

"When she found out, instead of telling a teacher, she threw a rock at him and chased him down and bit him."

"You bit him?"

The Kid shrugged.

"We have to issue your daughter a one-week suspension."

"Oh, come on..." I rolled my eyes. "She's like eighty pounds, she's two years younger, this wasn't a fight it was..."

"There are policies in place, Mrs. Walker," she said. "Honestly, if it weren't for the mitigating circumstances, it could be a lot worse."

"Well, fine," I huffed, "Are you punishing that little punk out there?"

"The theft occurred off school property, and he didn't instigate the fight, but he will be forced to issue a formal apology."

"Great," I rolled my eyes. "He types out a note and you guys just... I, I'm sorry, this is a bit stressful, I know you're just doing your job." The words sounded like bitter defeat as I said them.

"I'm sure you're blindsided," she said, "Livie is a model student, her instances of acting out have really decreased lately."

I didn't want to say that seemed to be because she was making friends. I guess that's all over now.

I signed off on some stuff - trying to remember how to do my "Judith" signature - and walked Judith out of the building, past a very unapologetic-looking Tyler Chernobek.

In the car I mustered up a half-hearted lecture about using your words and not lashing out like that, but I was so worked up and offended by that brat's actions that I really couldn't justify it to myself.

At the end of it, all I could say was, "You really bit him?"

She shrugged and said bitterly, "When I was punching him it just made him laugh."

Savage, as the kids say.

At dinner, I had to update Kit about it, and I honestly dreaded it. Kit is so... ugh. He really tries to get everything to his specifications and to mold us into his model little family, I could tell he was not going to like this. And I was right. So first he offered a much more fiery version of the same lecture I already gave (ignoring me when I cut in with "I already said that, she already knows.") Then we sent her to bed early.

Then Kitty turned on me.

He wasn't angry, he didn't yell, but... man, was he pissed. "This is you," he said, "Your influence. You're like that, totally temperamental, won't let anything get in your way, don't know how to deal with pressure..."

I was insulted, but I tried not to let it show - contrary to the picture he was painting of me. Hey, I said, don't blame me, I've been a good woman. Nice, patient, calm. I'm different and I impart that on her. You're the one ranting and raving.

He went on and on about letting my upbringing influence my "parenting" more than I know. I clenched my teeth and told him he didn't know what he was talking about and I'd be sleeping in the spare room tonight. He said I misunderstood and was taking it all the wrong way, but I told him it was too late and I needed to be alone anyway.

In the spare room, Dylan/Olivia came to me saying she couldn't sleep and she had something to say. She asked if I was mad at her, and I said no... honestly I couldn't blame her but I couldn't tell her that was the right thing to do. Then she said she heard what Kit was saying to me and said it wasn't fair...

"It's like he forgets you guys aren't my real parents. I've been like this for a while, sometimes I just... lose it. I've got my own shit going on. None of this is your fault."

"Thanks."

"It's my fault."

I said not to take it too hard.

Then she elaborated: "I knew he took it. I didn't say anything because he was my friend and I didn't want to make him mad, and the more I thought about it the more I thought it was kinda cool. I didn't know he was going to show them to everyone at school. All the boys I mean. Suddenly, it was not so cool."

I groaned. "Dylan... did you have a crush on Tyler? Were you trying to... entice him somehow?"

"Ew, no," she scoffed. "I don't want that. This body and him? Me? I don't like anybody, boys or girls. I just wanted to like, be friends. Honestly, if he likes me that way in this body there's probably something wrong with him."

"Well, I can tell you," I said, barely able to hold back a laugh - despite being confused, exhausted, angry and annoyed at this revelation, "That's not how you make friends. OK?"

"Yeah," she said. "OK."

We hugged it out, and she went to bed, and the mood improved between us. It took longer for me and Kit to hash things out. I basically just said "Forget about it, it's over, let's move on." If we can, of course.

I mean, part of being in a relationship is getting through these little flare-ups, right?

The last thing I had to do over the weekend was to call Mr. Chernobek and let him know what his son was up to (of course he did hear all about it) and that his son wouldn't be welcome over here in the future. He said of course, that makes sense.

He said he was going to have a talk with his son about other people's property and privacy, and I said that was good, and hopefully he can improve his respect for women.

He was a bit more dismissive about that, just saying "Mmhm, well, you know, boys will be boys."

That tensed me up, and I told him that this was a serious violation and the whole "boys will be boys" attitude needed to change where these matters were concerned. He curtly thanked me for my opinion and cut our conversation short.

After the conversation, that really stuck with me. How much shit did I get away with as a kid because "boys will be boys?" Maybe in the grand scheme of things, that's how I wound up here to begin with...

Kari: Worldviews

The decisions that I’ve made in the last year could only be made by someone who was 100% certain that they’d never return to the Trading Post Inn. I’ve said before my long layoffs from writing are due to the fact that I don’t like to focus on my old life and just want to plow forward into the future. And yet here I am again, having recently thought about the inn. Not seriously, but I did think about it. While my reasons for staying Kari are still there, the world in which we live has changed a lot in the last few months, I think.
Maybe the election of Donald Trump was a sign that the country has become more intolerant. Maybe it was that he just gave intolerant people a voice. Either way those attitudes are inescapable these days, especially now that I’m the target of that intolerance.
I haven’t been the victim of a hate crime, thank goodness, but I am now fully aware of just how differently Latina women are viewed by some in society than white men. How people automatically assume I speak Spanish, or that I have a husband and a giant family. If I get annoyed with someone they call me “fiery” and think I’m overreacting. It’s been almost two years since I woke up as Kari and I probably noticed sooner just didn’t realize it.
I was raised 45 minutes north of New York City and moved to the city after college. Everything about my life could be described as privileged. My hometown wasn’t the most diverse place in the world but my birth parents, bless them, raised me not to judge others who were different. I carried that mindset into adulthood and from my point of view America was well on its way to a “post racial” society.
I took that mindset with me when I became Kari, and was fairly oblivious to the minor prejudices around me. I guess I was too focused on the difference experiences of men and women that I never really took in the different experiences of whites and people of color in society. Because of that I didn’t really grasp the importance of the election while it was happening. Being from New York I was pretty familiar with both Hillary Clinton and Donald Trump. As Lane I my politics could be described as a fairly centrist, pro-business Republican. Like many Americans I felt we were moving towards a Clinton administration and was just casually laughing at the circus it had become.
Ashley was the opposite (and I’m really proud of her for it). She got into the election and participated as much as someone who can’t vote could participate. She joined the “Students for Hillary” and blogged, tweeted, snapchatted and did everything she could for her campaign. This included putting a “H” sticker on our car (which is still there) and pestering me at 7 in the morning to go vote so I wouldn’t have to stand in line after work.
On election night her enthusiasm slowly melted into worry and then finally despair when Pennsylvania was called. As she sobbed into her hands I reassured her that things were going to be OK, my obliviousness being mistaken for stoicism.
After that night…something changed. I work in a fairly diverse part of Detroit but I live “down river” in Trenton MI which is less diverse and less progressive. I don’t want to say redneck but it’s full of the working class types who flocked to Trump when he blamed their economic misfortunes on Mexico.
Most people are still too polite to say or do anything to my face, but when you see some of the things that Trump supporters write online and then realize that quite a few of his voters live in Michigan…you start to get a little paranoid. You start to vaguely worry if the guy in a red trucker hat at the grocery store staring at you might make an anonymous tip to ICE. Or if crossing the bridge into Canada one day could result in you not being able to go home without a giant hassle. That’s the worst part about this. The fear.
That fear made me wonder the other day, briefly, about the idea of going back to the inn to avoid the prejudice. I would never do it obviously, but the thought entered my head. And then the lightbulb came on. That’s how discrimination made people feel. To want to shed their skin and take on a new body that didn’t have stigma attached to it. Societally inflicted self-loathing.
I can’t help but wonder about pre-internet Inn victims. From a time when racism was even more of an issue than it is today. Of bigots turning into people of color and seeing some sort of karmic justice. Or the other way around. The sad reality of people so unhappy with their heritage that they leave it for the social advantages of another.
For the record I don’t think fate sent me to the Inn to teach me a lesson. Fate sent me to the Inn so that Ashley would have a better parenting situation. But I have learned so much about the way America is for different groups and that some days it would be so much easier if I was white again.
I don’t feel particularly attached to Kari’s Mexican heritage. In fact I sometimes feel awkward about it, like an imposter putting on a costume mimicking something that’s meaningful to other people. To me heritage always mean honoring and preserving the traditions of your family and people. My new parents are great people and I suppose I should be more proud and participatory not only for their sake, but also for Ashley’s so she doesn’t feel ashamed about who she is. Especially for the next 4 years.

Simon/Joy: March Madness!

Things are going well for me. I'm making tons of money, keeping busy, and having tons of sex. Sometimes I feel guilty about it, like I shouldn't like having a guy stick his prick in me, but I'm stuck in Joy's body wired to like having my pussy poked so why fight it? You gotta live your life, it's no different from playing with myself except at its best it's like 1000x hotter (at its worst it's a pretty big disappointment but I just don't call those guys again.)

So yeah, I get laid like two or three times a week, whenever I'm feeling it. It's nice just to be able to text a guy and be like "Hey come over" without having to specify what it's for, but he knows. It's all very casual, I make that clear up front.

Except things have gotten complicated lately.

I went out on a date with Stretch. I was putting vibes out at work just to see if I could add one of those guys to my regular rotation, and Stretch finally picked up on it. I know he's been nursing a crush on me since at least Christmas. Except I have a rule never to ask a guy out, that's beneath me. If they want me they have to come get me.

It took him a while to pick up on that, though. He gets really flustered when I'm around, which is... cute. And I remember when I first had that thought - "That guy's cute." That's different from knowing a man is attractive and feeling he'd be a suitable sex partner. That's when I knew things were getting a bit weird.

I got scared and almost called it off but that's not my style. I went along with pleasuring myself when I wanted to try that, and I went along with exploring with Joey and all those other guys, and that worked out great. So I figured why pussy out now? I look like a chick, obviously I have some of the tastes of a chick. If I'm gonna like guys, so be it. Life is too short to deny yourself anything.

So we went out and it was... nice. Different from having a quick drink as a preliminary for sex, with a muscle-bound dude who is going to be fun in bed. We had to make conversation, share stories, be a bit more open... and to be honest that is not my strong suit. I think I excel at hookups because it's a transaction, like sales. This is true when I'm a guy, too - I've dated and hooked up a lot but I'm not really a "meet the parents" kind of guy (I've already met his parents! How messed up!) And as a chick I've gravitated more toward guys who remind me of me, alphas, go-getters and takers, and Stretch is... even though we work in the same biz, he's more soft and sensitive (kind of like a woman??) We're very different, and it was awkward, but he appeals to me, sooo...

We've been out a few times this month, when schedules permit, but I haven't fucked him yet. It feels weird to broach the subject, like I shouldn't be giving it away with him even though I have no problem doing that with other guys. I'm still not sure if I like the idea of committing to just one guy and if I do if it should be him, but I'm, I dunno, open minded I guess about it. I still have all summer since I booked my return trip to the Inn for August.

It's weird. Suddenly I feel weird talking about it. This is different.

PS!! He does not know about my other hook-ups except I have told him we are not exclusive. The rest is my business and my business only. He seems okay with it, albeit reluctantly.

Tyler/Judith: Our bodies and us

This morning I woke up to find Kit examining himself in the mirror, naked. He seemed embarrassed when he noticed I could see him but I told him to carry on by all means. Even after all these months we have every right to admire, or gawk as the mood strikes. He was also prone to this behaviour when he was Greta, since he had gone from being her old over-the-hill self to being young, slim and foxy.

He doesn't complain much... after all, he's gained a lot of privilege and opportunity, so his looks are maybe a fair compromise. But I've heard him bemoan them once or twice.

"Why do I have to be so fat?" he moped.

"You're not fat," I said. If anything, Kitty has decreased Adrian's beer gut by, well, not drinking much beer, and watching what he eats. Is he a bit doughy? Sure. Is his jaw a little soft, his hairline a bit far back? Yeah. He's no Ryan Gosling, okay? Might as well face it. But it's ok.

"How can you like what you're seeing here?" he fretted over that hairline, recently shaved down.

"I don't know," I sleepily laughed to myself, "But I do."

I have a weird perspective on it, because I still don't consider men to be "attractive." I mean, I guess there's some added appeal there compared to when I was one, and my attraction to women has definitely decreased in response. But I don't sit around thinking about guys who are attractive to me. I don't sleep with him because his looks are irresistible, or because his scent has an animal magnetism - although I'm a bit embarrassed to find that I do get a little warmer when he leans in close and I can take in the full scent of the body wash he uses. But it's more about the person inside and what the face means to me than the quality of the face or body itself. It feels comfortable and safe, and at this point in my life, that's sexy.

I crawled out of bed and stood next to him, wrapping my arms around that gut, resting the side of my face on his back shoulder. I was wearing flannel pj's. I freed one hand and unbuttoned my top, revealing my saggy, stretchmarked breasts and belly, my lovehandles. I don't care about any of that, honestly - it can be hidden and I don't feel "fat" except when I'm bloated with water weight a few times a month. I'm more concerned, personally, by my flimsy arms, neck and shoulders, which remind me that if I gain or lose weight, if I didn't have these breasts and hips and bum, I'd be a physically weak woman, and... I mean, being "strong" isn't the be-all end-all but I must have been brainwashed by my upbringing to value that, same as Kitty was brainwashed by hers to value cosmetics and a lean figure.

We reversed positions and he wrapped his big thick arms down my torso, then ran his hands up my front to cup my breasts - taking the open invitation to feel me up.

"Do you like what you see?" I asked him coyly.

"How could I not?" was his reply.

I held his arms close to my body. "Somehow, we work." I leaned up and planted a kiss on his lips. "Crazy, isn't it?"

He nodded and we kissed again, then he said "Sometimes I wish we could freeze things like this... but I know we can't."

He ran his fingers over his chest hair in demonstration, "And I am pretty happy about that, too."

Using my hands to press my boobs together playfully, I smiled teasingly at him: "Well, all we can do for now is make the best of it."

Ladies and gets, you'd best believe he took the hint and carried me back to the bed. And while I also have mixed feelings about taking the woman's role in sex - it hasn't yielded life-changing results for me, I'm sad to say - I don't mind having such an enthusiastic partner.

Tyler/Judith: Handiwork

I've been bored.

I knew this was going to happen when I agreed to not keep pursuing work opportunities at the event planning company. I don't feel good about just sitting still and doing what Kitty says. I'm starting to feel like this relationship is strained. I needed and outlet.

I remember a few years ago when Lauren's stepdad wanted to finish their basement and I offered to help, but of course, I was just a "teenage girl" what could I know about hands-on work like that? Nevermind that, if I was really Lauren, it could be valuable knowledge or, you know, bonding experience or whatever. I was dismissed.

Judith and Adrian's basement looks like they had some plans to finish it some years ago but life got in the way, and it's been in a half-done state since we got here. Every time I go went there to do laundry I considered the possibilities, and as February crept on I thought "Shit, I should do something about this." It'd keep me from going insane.

Kitty, predictably, didn't want me to fuss over it - that's money and energy and attention that could be elsewhere. But it would be a favor to J & A, a thank-you for giving us a safe life to land in when our fates were tossed to the wind or whatever. I know how to keep it under budget and the labor wouldn't be hard - It's mostly just me doing the drywall, nothing too fancy about it. I even invited him to help out if he so desired, if he wanted to do something "manly" around the house. He accepted, begrudgingly, but I think he felt he was just getting in the way and excused himself after a short time. I was getting lots done during the day anyway.

Despite his protests, it's been good for us... puts me in a good mood, and he's been pretty impressed with my skill (it's really nothing, I spent a few months on a construction crew years ago and can remember this and that.) I think seeing me with a hammer in my hands is a bit of a turn-on for him.

Once the basement was ready, we invited Samantha over for a painting party. She was impressed too and very surprised when I said I'd done the work myself. She asked if I did bathrooms, because she needs some retiling done. I told her sure, which Kitty grumbled about since Judith isn't supposed to be super handywoman, and what if I give her a reputation she can't live up to? But whatever, Sam and I need to bury the hatchet after I thought she wanted to seduce Kitty. It ended up taking a few days, and in the process I got to know Samantha on a one-on-one basis. It was really nice.

I think something's bugging Kitty. Maybe it's because we're getting to the end of this, and neither of us really knows what's going to happen except that we won't be "Judith and Adrian" anymore. I think we both have mixed feelings about it, since we've just recently found the right balance for us... or we're starting to. Maybe she sees me doing this kind of stuff as trying to say I want to be male again, which... let's face it, would be nice, but is out of my control. Male or female, I like to work with my hands, whether that's cooking, driving or fixing stuff. Would I rather be a female drywaller or a male office drone? I don't know.

It should be enough for him that I'm on record as saying that I'm committed to this relationship and I'm past the point where I'm just here because it's easy or necessary. I want to make this work. For once, I'm actually not screwing something up.

-T/J