Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-wei: Play-acting Part II : There

It's amazing how quickly the memory of long school breaks goes. It hasn't been that long since my first college graduation, but looking at the school calendar and seeing three whole weeks between the end of fall term and the start of spring term kind of blew my mind. I mean, sure, it's not all that time without any responsibilities for a lot of folks at school - they've got jobs and the like - but it still seems like an absurdly long amount of unscheduled time.

Of course, it wasn't completely mine. Even if I wasn't a little prepared for a change of scenery after that play and finals, it was probably past time to really get to know "my" family and friends. The only ones who really made an impression on me back in August and September were my mother Chen-ai and grandmother Yu-ling, with everything else kind of a jet-lagged blur.

This time would be different, sort of like meeting people that one has become friends with online in person for the first time. It was literally that in a lot of cases for me, or very close to it, considering how many words I might have exchanged with people at the birthday party. I've been keeping up with most of Yuan-wei's old friends on-line and spent a lot of time digging deep into their online histories in my last week at Boston University before break - it was actually kind of a good way to take a break from studying for a certain subject but not totally putting my brain into another gear - and felt pretty good about it.

And with reason! Without "must get to party right fucking now!" going on, and just being generally more relaxed in this less-unfamiliar skin, I was able to panic less and just deal with situations at my own speed. It was still weird shifting into Cantonese-mode - binge-watching John Woo movies on the flights only helped so much - but I wasn't a complete deer in the headlights. I'm doing better with Mandarin, too - weekly classes and new movies from Beijing playing in Boston have helped.

I could sort of feel how it had grown easier as certain parts of the trip repeated - get off the plane, not strain so much listening to announcements, smile and maybe even flirt a little going through immigration, recognize the driver and engage in more authentic small talk on the way "home". There's something really assuring about the second time through; "they're gonna catch me" is still in the back of your head, but you can tell that voice to shut up, because the Inn doesn't work that way.

The fancy parts of the city looked fucking amazing as I rode by; though there are a fair number of foreigners and Christians there, Christmas blends into winter solstice celebrations and nobody gets too worked up about religious authenticity or whether things are too commercial, so decorations can be ridiculous and ostentatious and nobody cares. "My" family home had a monster-sized tree, and it was decorated with the careful balance and symmetry that says someone was hired to do it, but, hey, it's not like I need to be worried about some lost family tradition.

Chen-ai seemed a bit warmer this time around, although it's still kind of a weird relationship, maybe. Only having a brother, I don't know what sort of things mothers and daughters do together, but she seemed more curious about my life in America than anything, asking if I'd met any nice boys, being kind of teasingly naughty about how attractive they were. Maybe I should have been grossed out, but I wasn't, at least no more than when when I thought about how much I enjoyed being on the receiving end these days.

Not that I really get attracted to guys yet - I met one of the original Yuan-wei's high school boyfriends, and I liked the guy for hanging out with, but his twin sister was the one where my brain said ''that's attractive", though not with the "I want to fuck her" kick to it. which is good, because Bingbing is one of the best friends I inherited, and I'm guessing she wouldn't be down for that.

I wound up spending a lot of time with Chen Bingbing, both because she thinks we've been besties since the age of six and because she is transferring to an American college for this semester and wanted to practice her English. It's really good - she and Yuan-wei, along with the other friends I spent time hanging out with, went to English-language schools, although their good English isn't my good English.

We partied a lot - Bingbing seemed kind of horrified to hear that most places in America have a minimum drinking age of 21, so we kind of made up for that in advance. I highly recommend a weekend in Macau at one of the big hotel/casino luxury suites if you're ever young, Chinese, and of means.

That would have been a great New Year's Eve, but I felt a bit weird about partying big that night. We'd had a ceremony to commemorate the one-year anniversary of the death of Lee Siu-wong, Chen-ai's husband, who I guess would be my biological father now, the previous night, and it would have been weird to go nuts the next day.

That memorial was a bit strange, one of the times I really tried to act outside of school stuff. I mostly try to just be myself in day-to-day life, because even if I'm not much like the original Yuan-wei in certain respects, folks are going to have to get used to the new me because I'm not going to spend the rest of my life pretending to like things I don't or shit like that. This, though, was really specific and unavoidable, and as much as I don't really miss "Daddy", I don't think I'm quite such a jackass to disrupt things by acting that way.

So I tried to do what they teach in class, reaching into myself for something that brings out the same kind of feelings. I don't know whether I'd say it was hard or easy, because I spend enough time trying not to think about how I'm not likely to see my own Dad again except by some sort of co-incidence where he won't fucking know who I am that it takes a bit of effort to let that out, even without considering how much it's going to hurt. I guess I did all right - I was crying as I lit the joss-sticks and bowed toward Siu-Wong's picture - but it did make me question the idea of making a living doing this, even if the movie-star part looks awesome.

And then... well, fuck, it's why I took a break from writing this for a bit.

It was a few days later. I had stayed the night at one of Yuan-wei's high- school boy-friends' when I got a call asking me to come down to the police station. I had no idea what to expect - had Chen-ai been pulled over or had I inherited parking tickets of some kind? - until they took me to see a detective named Yee who made a little small-talk and then showed me a video.

It was taken on a phone - I've apparently been taking enough film & television classes that the vertical aspect ratio was the first thing that bothered me - and it showed the original Yuan-wei (or me, as far as the cops were concerned) going into some sort of sweet shop and telling the other person (the voice was distorted enough that I couldn't tell if it was male or female) all about the sort of candies and stuff they had in America that this store imported. At first, it was just weird - I kind of felt like a guy again, watching some girl who would never actually talk to me be knowingly cute in a YouTube video, and I kept having to remind myself that I shouldn't feel angry or turned on because I could do all that now.

Until she got to the Fluff.

Marshmallow Fluff is a pretty solidly northeastern thing. I think. It's what it sounds like, a gooey marshmallow paste that you can spread on bread. The Yuan-Wei in the video was talking about how one of her local classmates had dragged her to Somerville's ''Fluff Festival" in the fall, and the most popular use of the stuff was the "Fluffernutter", a dead simple sandwich of Fluff and peanut butter on white bread. She was saying that it's the most bland-but-too-sweet and thus the most American thing you can imagine - "but so good!"

Then the off-screen voice said that was too bad, because it meant I couldn't have one in the house because of my dad, and "I" joked that at least he would die happy. Then the Yuan-wei on the screen bought a jar of the stuff and some Reese's Cups which she said she would have to finish before she got home, and it was the end of the video.

I didn't really need Inspector Yee to do the "obviously, you knew that your father had a severe peanut allergy" exposition straight out of a fucking episode of Law & Order to see what was coming. And let me tell you, I didn't need to draw on any other sort of scary experience to be terrified.

"Inspector Yee, I would never-" I actually found myself stumbling for the right Cantonese words for what I would never do, but he seemed to be able to infer it.

"Not even by accident, just forgetting something was in your purse?"

I yelled "no!", but then something started rolling around in my brain. What if this was the wrong answer, and Yee was asking the question just so that I'd trip up?  Cops do that, right? What if anything I said contradicted anything else they had learned, or even what Yuan-wei had said during any original investigation of Siu-wong's death?

So I went on the offensive. "Who sent you this?"

"Don't you remember?"

I was able to think quick. "No! I hung out with a lot of folks after coming back from my first semester abroad last year, and probably showed weird American things to most of them!"

I guess you could say I successfully sold the performance, because Inspector Yee did back off a bit. I pressed a little, saying that the only reason that somebody would send them this is because they wanted to hurt me, and I deserve to know who is trying to stab me in the back.

The law doesn't exactly look at it this way, of course, and even though the family I've become a part of is pretty well-off, it doesn't appear that we're quite so connected that the cops' first thought when things look suspicious is to try to sweep it under the rug.

Or maybe it is and I just haven't learned how to pick up signals that a public official is fishing for a bribe like I can recognize a guy being interested in me.  There's a fucking one-percenter problem.

It put a bit of a pall over the rest of the trip, as you might imagine, as my brain went into overdrive looking for any sign that the people I hung out with didn't really like "me". I felt a little relief when I saw Bingbing hold her phone horizontally when taking a video a few days later, but worried about Chin when she didn't. It's a really stupid thing to try to parse, but there you go.

I'm not even really sure I should be writing about this now.  I denied having anything to do with Siu-wong's death, but I can't help but wonder - what if that's not the case?  What if the original Yuan-wei made a mistake and that's why she's so willing to live out a life that is such a step down from all this?  I may just be speculating about this, but if Inspector Yee or someone else at the HKPD stumbles over me saying that, it reads like some sort of confession from a girl who has had some sort of fucking breakdown.

Still...  The video.  I went to The Changeling a few days ago and mentioned this to Ashlyn, and she told me about her own stalker/"influencer", the one they called Pygmalion.  She says it's been a few years since she felt she could chalk up anything happening in her life to that, but that he isn't the only one out there who likes fucking with us.  So this is just a question - does it sound like anybody any of you know, or do I just have some sort of enemy on the other side of the world?

- Jordo / Yuan-wei

Innbox: J. and M.

Hey guys, Tori here once more. Sorr I haven't posted lately. Life has actually been kind of crazy and I will have to update you soon. For now, here's a letter from the Innbox. I hesitated before offering to post this person's story because it concerns people who are also posting here, but they're okay with it as it turns out. Another reason I hesitated to post it because it was Valentine's day recently, and well... you'll see :(

And remember, if you've got a story to share, please don't hesitate to e-mail us at tradingpoststories@outlook.com - include your name and "Trading Post Story" in the subject to make sure it stands out!

-Tori

Dear Trading Post,

It hasn't been easy finding my way through this situation but I'm doing my best. My name is J_____ (name withheld on request). Back in the summer, I visited the Trading Post with my girlfriend, M_____. The reservation was a surprise for our first anniversary, as she had told me that the beaches of Maine were the most beautiful part of the country. I was skeptical but booked the trip because, well, that's the kind of guy I am.

She had a point, it was quite impressive scenery... the ocean air, the hiking, walking along hand in hand on the beach. And even if the Inn had a spooky, cold "mysterious secret" vibe, we were enjoying our trip immensely, especially since we didn't have much to do except go for long walks and spend hours and hours in bed. That spooky vibe actually helped us feel a little naughtier, if you catch my drift.

I also just realized... what is it about that place? From the second you step foot in there, you can feel the hairs standing on the back of your neck, some voice deep inside saying "Get out of here!" but you never do. Is that part of the magic? Does it "need" victims? Or am I just too lazy to book another room someplace else?

Then it happened. The thing that happens to everyone who stays there, the thing you all know about. I woke up one morning and rolled over to find a stranger in bed with me. Instead of my petite, blonde girlfriend there was a rather larger person, just lying there asleep on her side, as if nothing was wrong.

She was naked, too - draped only in the tatters of my girlfriend's sexy lace nightie.

I panicked, and let out a scream - only to find my voice had gone up a register. I covered my mouth in a truly bizarre "did that come outta me???" moment, and began noticing all the other strange things. The long reddish brown hair. The slender fingers. The fact that my t-shirt was now several sizes too big... even if it was tented by a pair of petite, perky breasts.

To make a long story short, we realized we had become two different people than we had gone to sleep as - I had become Erin Hanley, and my girlfriend had become Rosie Montand. You've met them through this blog, but if you were wondering what had happened to their bodies, it was us.

So, if you've been reading this blog long enough, you can fill in the blanks: "What the? Are you? Did we? We can't... but we have to!" Believe me, I don't think anyone considers it an easy transition to make. nobody in our group seemed to have experienced it before, so we figured it out together.

Erin was out of work. Rosie worked for the school board and as on summer break. There was a silver lining there... we had time to adjust, I guessed, to figure out a plan and work through it together. But then reality reared its ugly head.

M. was not happy. Yes, she obviously felt bad for me, but she was also very focussed on herself. She was... let's say proud of her appearance. She was gorgeous. If she was taller she could have modeled. She was skinny, sexy, a knockout. Now, she was huge. Tall, heavy-set, unkempt-looking. I told her "I still love you no matter what." It was true. She was hard to comfort, though.

It felt strange trying to wrap my now-shorter arms around her now-larger frame, and talk to her like she was still the woman I loved, but she was.

On the last night before we had to check out - when the Inn was mostly vacant - M. sat me down. Tears in her eyes. I had a whole speech prepared about being brave and seeing it through together. I was going to be the strong boyfriend even though I was secretly terrified (and embarrassed and emasculated and everything.)

She told me she had to do this, no matter what. That she was already thinking of breaking up with me once our trip was over, that she had been having doubts for a long time, and now was probably the time to just admit it and go our separate ways. She felt she couldn't possibly continue "faking it" in this form, and didn't want to use me just to feel good, because she knew it wouldn't last in the long run.

I was shocked. After all that had happened to shake our lives up that week, and now this? The ground just dropped out beneath me. I asked why, couldn't we work it out? Shouldn't we be there for each other?

She said no, if she had to pretend to be Rosie, she was going to do it "right," on her own, and make a clean slate. There was no saving us.

So. She went to Rosie's place in Maine, and I went to Erin's in Indiana. And I just... sat, and moped, and tried to get on with the business of being Erin with nobody by my side who knew who I was. I tried to forget M. ever existed., and in the process I almost forgot that J. existed too. But now it's a new year and I have my reservation for the Trading Post. I am doing fine, and I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. I will put things right the best I can.

M. hasn't answered me to confirm if she is going back too, but I can't see why she wouldn't want to. She was so horrified at the thought of being a plus-sized woman that she locked herself in the bathroom to cry for an hour once we knew there was no way back. She's convinced her old body is so perfect that anyone who wound up in it would "steal" it, but even though that's a possibility, I believe what most people want is to put things right.

I don't know. After all she did to me, I feel like I would have a right to say "To hell with her" and not care what happens either way, but I do care, because it involves other people - good people who deserve better than having their body inhabited by a bitter, self-hating, image-obsessed immature woman like my ex.

-J_____.

Glenn (Peter Malinowski): A visit with my son

When I became "Peter Malinowski," in Maine, my 17-year-old son ("Mason" for the purposes of this blog,) became a 15-year-old girl from around the area I will call "Brooke Shaner." I only had a brief time with him to digest what had happened to us before Brooke's parents came to collect her. She had disappeared weeks earlier, initially to spend the night with Trevor, and then simply vanished (into whatever limbo where bodies are held... a question I don't want to ponder) until Mason's transformation. That's two weeks without knowing where their daughter was. I'm told she concocted some kind of flimsy cover story that was starting to grow suspicious by the time Mason was transformed. Mason's shellshocked appearance upon "rescue" was likely not helpful.

The way they arrived very quickly after the change leads me to believe someone tipped them off, who would have knowledge of the Inn's magic (Mason doesn't seem to think they have a clue.)

As a result, while I've been Peter Malinowski of Dover, Delaware, my son has been living in Maine for the past several months, as a girl somewhat younger than himself, and I have been tearing my hair out (which I shouldn't do since I gained a good amount of it) trying to keep tabs on him from a distance.

Understand, I hadn't been a full-time parent in years before my wife left him with me to go "do good" in Central America. So I'm a little protective of him, and the idea of leaving him with strangers, to play this new role, was frustrating to me, but I had no choice. I wished I could have been there, especially in those scary early weeks. It might have brought us closer together. Instead, we are further apart than ever.

I contact him often, to ask how he is feeling. Mostly he dodges the question by giving simple answers. He tells me things are fine, and I wonder how that can possibly be.

So I told him, over the Christmas holiday, I was going to use some vacation time to go to Maine and see him. He seemed reluctant, but I told him it was non-negotiable. It was a time for family, and he was important to me. All I asked for was one day of his time. By then, he had behaved himself as Brooke to where his disappearance was forgiven and he was getting a bit more leeway with the Shaners to do as he pleased.

I met Mason at a café not far from his house. I was very early. I kept my eyes fixed on the door. I knew what he looked like, but was not used to seeing it in person, so every young lady who walked through the door got an unfortunate once-over from me before proceeding to the counter to order. I had sent a recent photo so that he wouldn't mistake me for someone else. I was being very cautious.

The last time I had seen my son in person, he was very much traumatized, so the mental image I had was of a tense, shuffling, awkward girl. I had to look twice when a comparatively poised, confident young lady breezed into the coffee shop and, after a moment's glance of recognition, took her seat across from me. I didn't know how to react.

She was wearing a green scarf and a dark coat, undone. She had her dark brown hair pulled back in a ponytail. She didn't appear to be wearing any makeup, that I could tell - a few spots of acne dotted her face, which made me wonder if Mason would be more or less self-conscious from wearing cover-up (as I believe many teenage girls and grown women do) than letting blemishes show.

"Hey," she said softly. Then, collecting herself, she added "Dad" more softly.

"Hi... Brooke." We were in public, so "Mason" wouldn't do, but his new name stuck in my throat awkwardly. I went in for a hug, and he leaned forward only slightly in his seat to allow it.

"Sorry, I didn't know how I should..." he said, before trailing off.

"I understand," I said - even in our normal form our hugs were perhaps not as comfrotable as they could have been. "Are you going to have anything?" Maybe later, he said.

I asked how things had been. I had asked often enough over text, but there he was able to be evasive. I hoped in person he would be forthcoming.

"It's okay," he said. We weren't off to a good start. "School is easy since I took a lot of these classes already, but I get a little tired of repeating stuff. Brooke's friends are good people."

"Interesting," I said, "Do you feel like... you fit in?"

"Sure," he said.

"Is it strange?" I asked, "Having a body so different? Are you okay with it?"

"Yeah, it's fine," he said, "It took some getting used to, but, like, it's been months, so whatever."

I guess I didn't expect him to tell me if he spent his nights crying about it. But his phrasing, that it "took some getting used to," suggested he was now officially "used to it." This would be in line with what I knew about Leon, and Cathy for that matter. The implication that he was as used to it as they were, or most of the people who go through this blog, unsettled my stomach.

"Tell me about your new friends, then, what are they like?"

"They're ok. They make fun of me because they think Brooke is going through a serious tomboy phase, not to mention becoming a total amnesiac about her own life, but they're still nice to me. That part is really reassuring. We hang out a lot. I was afraid to ask for girl tips from them but I get a lot of info just from listening to them talk."

"Okay, that's good."

"It's better than when I was living with you, because I didn't have any friends in Illinois."

Ouch. But at least he was finding silver linings. And it didn't really sound like he was blaming me for that...

He named off a few friends... Katies, Melissas, Lauras. They sounded like typical teenage girls, discovering make-up and fashion and, yes, boys.

Then he started naming boys who were friends of Brooke's - Dereks and Lukes and Brads. "Brad and I watched a few football games together. Luke's into Xbox, so we stay up late playing over the headset. Derek is always the first to sit next to me at lunch."

To write it out, it might sound very innocent, but as he described it, he was practically swooning.

I took my time formulating a response to this. I wanted to be fair to this but I also wanted information.

"And how do you feel about the way these boys treat you? Is it... different from how it used to be?"

He scoffed a perfect teenage girl huff. "Obviously."

"And... do you like it?"

"I don't know, kinda," he said, shifting in his seat. "Are you asking if I like boys now?"

"No, well... I would like to know if you have thoughts on it. You don't have to hide that from me."

"I don't know. I don't want to talk about it. It's weird."

So now it was weird. A minute ago he kinda liked it. I'm trying to remember what it was like been a teenager and having lots of confusing feelings.

"I don't want you to judge me," he said, "If I'm not some all American super boy like you want."

"I don't care about that. Who told you I did?"

"Trevor," he said. "He told me you were really rooting for him when he went out for the football team."

"You talked to Cathy?" I said, using 'Trevor's' proper/original name.

"Sure, we have lots in common." I supposed that was true, in a sense. Their experience is... closer to each other's than mine. But it still felt like a betrayal because neither mentioned it before now and I had no idea what they were saying to one another.

"Did you know that she's dating?" I said, maybe a little spitefully.

"Yeah," Mason said. "It's not really dating though. Nothing official."

That didn't make me feel more at ease.

"You should be careful, Mase," I said firmly, "These boys probably are interested in you, at least some of them."

"So?" he sneered petulantly, "I can make my own decisions."

"So... I don't want you to do something you'll regret."

"You don't trust me," Mason said, crossing his arms under his breasts and looking away.

"It's not that. I just don't trust... other people."

"If I was a boy, you would never talk to me this way. You're a sexist."

"You don't know what you're saying!" I snapped back. "It's different for girls and boys, okay? You at least know that much, right?"

"I can handle it. Don't talk to me like I'm an idiot. You don't even know me."

"Apparently I don't."

We sat there silently for a moment, then he murmured, "You're hooking up with Leon, for God's sake, and that guy is digusting. Don't talk to me about urges okay?"

I was aghast. Finally, I sputtered, "What I do, what adults do, is none of your concern. You're still a child, you're my child, and that makes you my responsibility."

"Oh yeah?" he said, standing up to leave, He leaned in and hissed "Why should I listen to you? I'm not your son anymore."

"You think it's that easy?" I said, frustrated, "That some magic curse overrides my parental responsibility? Poof, you're a stranger to me?"

"Why not? You had no problem handing me over to them - and they're way nicer than you anyway."

"I was never mean to you! Don't make a scene. Is this... just your hormones or something?"

That, admittedly, was the wrong thing to say. He left, saying only "Don't follow me."

I felt very bad after he left, especially for the hormones remark. I was very bothered by the fact that my timid, introverted son would never have spoken to me that way. Had estrogen warped his brain, or was he finally about to really let out what he really felt, emboldened by the fact that he no longer had to rely on me for parental support, and no longer had an identity that was tied to mine. That he can declare me a stranger so quickly was startling.

I sent a very carefully worded e-mail to him afterwards, acknowledging that things had not always been perfect between us - I stopped short of outright apologizing because 1) I firmly believe I did my best, and 2) I think it is a sign of weakness for a parent to apologize to his child so quickly. I told him that no matter his feelings, I had his best interests in mind 100% of the time, and that, with nobody nearby who knows his situation, it is incumbent on me to help him get his normal body back.

Assuming that is what he wants.

If he would rather be a girl? Well, I suppose the chips will fall where they may, but there is a woman in upstate New York who lived the first 16 years of Brooke's life, and I doubt she would be pleased about being cut off from it, and I told him so.

Mason sent me a lengthy e-mail in response, in which he also did not apologize for his behavior but hinted at admitting wrongdoing. He defended his attitude and admitted things "had been difficult" to figure out (re: identity and sexuality, I guessed) and that I hit a nerve by suggesting he was somehow wrong to feel that way.

I told him I didn't mean to give that impression, only to give the advice I would want to give a daughter, if I had one, about boys' intentions. I guess that was both stupid (because he was a boy and knew their intentions) and  a double-standard, because I had never warned him off of girls and in fact encouraged him to do his best to win them over.

Mea culpa on that one.

The last part of my response concerned Cathy/Trevor, who I assured him was NOT the son I wanted. I wanted him, no matter who he is - athletic or nerdy (apparently that's a cool thing to be called now?) boy or girl.

He appreciated my saying so. Once that was smoothed over, we agreed to meet again before I left town. This time he arrived wearing pre-ripped jeans (I had no idea those were back in style, yuck.) I asked if his legs got cold, and he laughed it off. I complimented his hair, which was up in a messy bun.

"Thanks... it's not that hard once you learn the basics."

Things were a lot more warm between us this time. He told me that no matter what, he did want to go back to being himself. He didn't know how to make it work, given that the Shaners were going to be watching their daughter like a hawk come summertime, considering her disappearance last year. He thought maybe he could get one of the girls to claim they were going on vacation together. I don't like the idea of a child having to lie to parents, but obviously we have limited options. I told him to let me know.

Lane/Kari: The Last Person to Know

I use this blog partly as a way to tell my story and get feedback from others in a similar situation, and partly to organize my thoughts regarding being in someone else's body and life in a place where they won't seem like gobbledygook to anyone who reads it. (Although I'm sure all of you unaffected by the curse think of this as some sort of very well written work of fiction). Anyway looking back at my writing and the comments it seems most of you were able to put together what I wasn't willing to admit to myself, that I was attracted to Darius.

My last post was a few hours before going out with him, I literally hit "publish" and then went to take a shower. My thoughts from that entry were swimming in my mind, especially the last part. Being in this body is literally a curse, but it's also an opportunity in some ways. In the last 6 months I haven't just learned what it's like to be a woman but also a mother, Latina, and a high school dropout. Sometimes, on VERY rare occasions, I'm a little grateful for the perspective I've gained from the unique situation I've been in. Most people only get one lens to view the world from in their life time, now I've got two. It was this appreciation for experiences that could only be had as Kari that took the evening where it went.

It was an unseasonably warm day, with a high in the 50s, something I was really grateful for after what can be a bitter cold Michigan winter (which has since continued) so that evening I wasn't all bundled up in Kari's faux-fur lined parka but rather a cute little black jacket that paired well with a skirt and a set of leggings. (I am going to miss leggings, there is no male equivalent and they are so much warmer than slacks.) We had driven out to Royal Oak, which is one of the larger suburbs to this cool little bar that had just opened up. This was the weekend before the Super Bowl and I think it might have been the first time in awhile that we were together for non-sports-related reasons.

We sat across from each other, while he drank beers that I suggested while I drank soda. My decision not to drink was probably a clear sign that I was going to go through with this, that I wanted to make the decision sober. We talked about politics, and he was surprised at some of mine since I appear to be a single mother but am in reality an investment banker (We won't go full into details, to avoid alienating the audience). We talked about our childhoods, or rather we talked about his and I made stuff up based on what I pieced together from photos and stories Pilar tells. We talked about work and the weather and anything else, but we just talked. No awkward pauses in the conversation and definite chemistry.

After his third beer I suggested we take a walk, not only because I didn't want HIM to be too drunk but also because the bar was on this nice little main street that Royal Oak has. The snow had partially melted during the day before freezing again when the sun went down. This created a partially dangerous driving condition but it also made for a very pretty sight on all the trees with the streetlights twinkling off the ice. We held our gloved hands together as we looked at all the store windows shut for the night.

He complimented my hair, which was a good move. If I could give you men one piece of advice on how to talk to women that I've learned from my time as one it would be to compliment their hair. Half a dozen guys every day compliment me on my ass, which is amazing but it's a bit crass and very off putting. The ones who try to seem not creepy but are actually still creepy will always compliment my eyes, even when I'm not wearing any makeup and have bags under them, because they read on some pick up artist website that it works like a charm.

I was born with....I mean Kari was born with pretty eyes and a big butt, but the hair takes effort. I had to wash and tease and style for 30 minutes that afternoon to get it to have just the right amount of curls in just the right places. Darius complimenting my hair was basically saying "Your effort paid off". That got me feeling confident enough that when we got to where his car was parked I pulled him down to eye level at kissed him.

"Took you long enough" He said with this confident smirk that is just maddening

"Would you rather I wait a little longer?" I asked coyly with a twirl of the hair that looks equally maddening

"I was just letting you make the first move"

"My car is parked all the way at the other end of the street"

"I could give you a ride down to it"

"Or we could just go back to your place"

Car rides after lines like that are always a bit weird. Like, we both knew there was going to be some physicality but talking about it would break the mood and seatbelts were preventing us from getting an early start. I guess I could have rubbed his thigh or something, but I didn't think of that in the moment. I still don't know all the right things to do as a girl.

We got back to his apartment, which was just as nice as I remembered and he offered a drink but I headed straight to the bedroom with him following eagerly. I took off my skirt, blouse, and parka and climbed on top of his bed in my bra and ran into the one major drawback of leggings, and that's that there is no way to look sexy taking them off, especially if you have thick thighs. I wiggled out of them as gracefully as I could and looked up to see him standing there in just his boxer briefs. I've seen him in a tank top before and I knew he had nice abs and arms, and even when I was a man I knew what a nice looking male aesthetic was, but now it was sending all sorts of signals all over my body. I stared up at him with my legs half open and a look on my face that said "Get inside me now."

Darius had other ideas, initially. The few dozen times I've had sex with Latherman over the last three months it's basically been "lay back and let him do what he wants as quick as possible". Darius, he started with kissing. Not slobbering like a horny animal but kissing me in just the right spots to make my arousal slowly build. I was so wrapped up in it all that I didn't notice when he had gotten my bra and panties off, just that I was soaking wet and the air felt cool between my legs. Darius did a sort of cocky laugh as he moved his head there and went to work. He was right to be confident because in seconds had me squirming and moaning. He somehow could tell when I was close because he stopped with me right on the edge and took his underwear off.

It's taken me awhile to come to terms with how I feel about the male anatomy. Years of kind of looking past them in porn and not paying attention to Latherman's if I could help it gave way to noticing bulges and eventually appreciation. I audibly appreciated Darius' when I let out a little whimper at the sight of it. That was his cue to climb on top of me.

This wasn't my first time having sex as a woman, but it was my first time having sex with a man face to face, or rather face to chest, stomach, or whatever part of his body was at eye level since he moved around a lot. This was a whole new level of intimacy that enhanced the physical feeling. At least we started out in missionary, before I somehow wound up on my hands and knees with my ass in the air. I was too blissed out to complain though, and there is a lot more friction and a good angle in that position. He was getting good and deep when my whole body tensed up and squeezed him tight in waves of pleasure, causing me to hear a "Oh Shit" from behind me as I felt him twitch inside me. He had put on a condom, which was thoughtful of him even though I've been taking Kari's birth control since August.

We both started laughing as we cuddled close. I said something to him, I think, but it was probably unintelligible. There's something about a really good female orgasm that makes you almost drunk for a few minutes afterwards. Darius seemed to tired to care, and fell asleep withing too minutes, but I wont' hold that against him since I knew what a workout it could be for a guy.

****************

I wrote most of that post on Saturday, and stopped in the middle of it because of how much of a slut it made me sound. This afternoon I was reflecting on that word and how it's used. It literally means a woman who has too much sex, as if there is some arbitrary limit on how much sex a woman is allowed to have before it reflects poorly on her.

I also had some sort of internal hangup about just how much sex a man changed into a woman is allowed to have before it reflects poorly on him. Most of the former men on this blog didn't begin having sex regularly or enjoy having sex until it was clear to them that they weren't going to be men ever again. I'm going to be a man again in a few months and I'm going to have to deal with all the weird baggage that memories of those feelings and sensations for the rest of my life, and I knew that going in.

The best part out of all this was re-claiming some sort of sexual independence. It's not that I've been coerced into having sex with Latherman, but I wouldn't do it if there was another way to keep a roof over Ashley's head. Everything about Darius, from the moment I met him, was something I chose. Whatever memories I have of female sexuality won't be from something I don't fully enjoy, but also something that I REALLY enjoyed.

And will probably do again.

Lane/Kari: Having Reservations

It took a few weeks longer than I would have liked, thanks to a higher than anticipated heating bill, but I've got my reservations for the middle of June in room 7 at the Trading Post Inn! Even better, the reservations right before mine are in the name of "Lane Van Hoekstra", meaning that I'll get my real body back, Jennifer will get hers back with little more debt than she had wanted and Kari will stay after me to get back to her own life. I don't know much about the chain after that, just because I didn't have time to organize it completely.

I've read every post on this blog. I know about the best made plans of men-turned-women when the Inn is involved. I know nothing is guaranteed and I'm not taking anything for granted, but all I can think about these past few days is that I'm going to be me again soon and it's starting to affect how I live my life. Kari's life. I need to remember to think of it like that.

There is still five months until I go back, so I can't just sit on the couch until I'm me again, but I'm closer to my return date than I am to my initial visit so it feels kind of downhill. That's begun to weigh on my decisions that I make. I ask myself "Could I do this and not have to be around for the consequences?" as well as "Should I do this even though I'm going to be gone in a few months".

I am so tempted just to eat like a pig. Whatever fast food I want whenever I want. Not to mention the homecooked recipes that Pilar makes. Ashley and I head over there some Sundays for dinner and her homemade tortillas are amazing but they, like most of her food, is basically a fried carb. If I ate that every day I'd have to buy a whole new wardrobe for June. I don't particularly want to be fat though, even for a few weeks, and whatever I eat Ashley eats as well for the most part and I wouldn't want to make the childhood obesity epidemic any worse in this country.

The same thing goes for drugs. The other night we were at the bar and someone offered me and Rosita some Molly, and I kinda really just wanted to swallow a pill and ignore all my problems for awhile. Then I remembered that I'd have to deal with the hangover and dehydration as well looking like the world's biggest hypocrite after the speech I just gave Ashley a few weeks ago.

One thing I have started mailing in is work. It has become clear that I could be a bad receptionist or a good receptionist but it wouldn't matter as long as I kept screwing the boss, and yes I'm still doing that no I would not like to talk about it. It's a lot easier to be a bad receptionist than a good one, so I may take extended breaks and let phones ring longer than they should while I'm texting. It's not making me a lot of friends around the office, but the rumors are flying again and the ones that don't hate me for sleeping with Latherman are the ones who want me to screw them as well. Oh well, it's not like there's a lot of promotion possibilities at that company for a girl without her GED.

Speaking of academic achievement, one thing I've kept at was my promise to help Ashley in that regard. She takes the ACT in April and I've bought her test books and prep materials. I've even been helping her with the math portions she struggles with, leading her to wonder where I learned algebra when I couldn't be bothered to help her freshman year. I kept quiet and didn't mention that I knew calculus.

My impending departure is also making me overthink things with Darius. I've said before that I was setting things up with him so that Kari could date a guy like him when she got back. Some of you doubted that that was my long term goal, and the more I think about it the less I think it's doable. Darius never met the real Kari, only me in her body, so he doesn't know what she's like or even if they have anything in common. One of thing things I love about being around him is that I can be me, or at least as much of me as I can be in this body, because I don't a history to live up to. If we switch back and Kari is what, as far as I can tell, her standoffish and rude self, he's going to be in a for a big surprise. He might even get his feelings hurt.

We're going out for drinks this evening, maybe our first time doing something that doesn't revolve around sports, and I'm wondering if I should de-escalate with him. But if I did, I wouldn't have his friendship and that's something I'd really miss over the next few months.

Glenn (Peter Malinowski): My first date with my "wife"

Because our "family" is just a loosely organized group of unrelated transformed people, Leon, Cathy and I felt free to not stress out too badly over the holidays. We did make visits to both Peter's and Meredith's parents, but at the risk of being a bit rude, we didn't stay very long. Cathy spent Christmas Day with his "girlfriend" while Leon and I slept in.

Peter's job as an executive with a financial institution keeps me pretty busy and causes me to work long hours, so we had to put off our first "date" until the week of Christmas. Leon didn't seem to mind: even though we had agreed we were going to try to be some kind of "couple," whenever I brought up the subject he became very dodgy, like he was having second thoughts. I don't blame him, but in the time it took me to get used to the idea I started to become very intrigued.

Leon, for all his rough edges, is a nice person, and like me, deserves some love. I feel for him. If he could keep on the straight and narrow, he would make some woman very happy, I'm sure. Strangely, even though it drove him to drink, the transformation has really curbed his more self-destructive qualities. I guess seeming to be part of a family is better than no family at all.

So, that first date. Leon didn't want anything fancy, despite my ability to pay for it. We went into the city to a pub. He wore "mom" jeans and a flannel overshirt. I was just going to wear my suit from work but he insisted I get more casual, so I wore a polo shirt and jeans of my own.

"You look like such a dad," he snickered, with this weird smile. It was... cute, actually.

"Sorry, I don't know how to dress for this. I haven't been on a date in a while," I mumbled.

"Oh yeah and I'm a real pro at this lipstick and shit," he said, crossing his arms.

"You don't have to wear any makeup," I said.

"Thanks for your permission," he sighed, "Do I look like I'm wearing any?" He didn't. He had also cut his hair short like Jamie Lee Curtis. It's not how I usually like women, but nothing about this is "usual." From Leon's account, he doesn't like that look on (other) women either since he said he looked like a lesbian... actually using a "d"-word I would rather not repeat.

We got to the bar and were seated. I wasn't sure what to say so I started with small talk: "So... how's it going?"

Leon immediately shut me down, "Jesus, Glenn, we live together, you know how it's going."

"Sorry, I'm just trying to strike up a conversation!"

"Nah I'm sorry," he said, "Let's just have some drinks and we'll talk." It seemed like he might have started already, but I didn't say anything.

We were served a couple of Buds and I think just having a drink to hold loosened him up. I began to ask about less current things: "When was the last time you had a first date?"

"Depends what you mean by date," he laughed, "I've banged a lotta chicks, mostly I pick 'em up at bars like this."

"Okay, but when was the last time you met someone and wanted to impress them? Really spend time with them?"

"It'll take a few more drinks before I pour my heart out to you, Stevenson," he said, "Nice try, though."

"It's been three years for me," I volunteered, "I took her to the museum."

"Pfft," he said, "Bet you didn't get any afterward."

"Eventually," I insisted, "Just not that night. I wasn't planning on it. I was taking my time."

"Chicks like a guy who takes charge. You take your time, that's just more time for her to decide she don't like you. Get in and get out."

"Guessing you weren't looking to re-marry," I surmised.

"Fuck no," he said. "Maybe if I met the right girl. If she was young and hot."

"I'm more of a romantic, I guess," I said, "But I haven't been as interested lately. I stopped trying."

"Well, you don't have to try with me," he said, "We're going home together anyway, so relax. Worst case scenario... we have one bad screw and I never ask you again."

"So you really want to do this," I said.

"I said I did, didn't I? Stop asking," he snapped, "You gotta learn to take yes for an answer, Glennbo."

"Yeah, but I wouldn't think you would just... I mean, you basically just guaranteed it."

"Look at it this way," he said, "I'm doing you a favor no other woman ever would. No games. I fuckin' want it, all right? So don't doubt it, just relax and be yourself and we'll have a good time... and don't fuck this up for yourself by being a clownshoe about it."

They were pretty harsh words, and he must have noticed, because his attitude softened. "ugh, sorry about that, bro... I'm just feeling really gross. Bloated and gassy and shit. Got the red visitor yesterday, know what I mean?"

"You're on your period?" I asked, "Do you want to... postpone?"

"Fuck that..." he said, "What are you, some kinda pussy that never fucked a chick on the rag? Just man up and do it. No wonder you're divorced."

I was beginning to think this was a bad idea, but things went a little better. As "promised" Leon opened up a bit more the more drinks we had. We shot some pool, which I won and he blamed on his short arms. As we drank a bit more, we started brushing our hands against each other, trying eke towards some more intimate contact. Even with his assurances about the outcome, I didn't want to get too far ahead of myself, but I knew things were going well when he whispered in my ear that he thought I smelled good. We took a cab home around 11.

We got to the front door and he stopped me. "Hey," he said. "Kiss me already."

I wanted to ask if he was sure, but of course he was. I put my arms around him and leaned in and pressed my lips to his.

They were... well, a bit chapped and rough and thin, but it was a kiss. A nice long one.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he said when it was done.

"No, no," I said, a bit speechless. "Pretty good. I liked it."

"Then you're gonna like this," he said, slowly disrobing. Conventionally, Meredith doesn't have the kind of body you fantasize about, but here I was in the presence of a naked woman, bare breasts and all, pressing herself into me, letting me fondle and touch everything I wanted.

Maybe it was beer goggles, maybe because he was seriously laying on the flirtation and I was falling for it and having fun with a member of the opposite sex for the first time in years, but at that point in the night, I was very willing and ready to follow through with the idea.

Well, most of me was.

A lot of guys in their 40s don't perform the way they used to. I don't remember having any trouble in my normal life, but it has been a while... the only time I "used" that function of my body was for my own benefit, so I haven't had to perform on command in a long while. I don't know if it's Peter's problem or mine.

We proceeded for a while, and even made a tentative start, but I couldn't go through with it. I felt really ashamed and embarrassed and it was clear Leon wasn't pleased, either, taking it personally despite my assurances that he looked very good.

I was ready to slink off to my own bed for the night, when Leon stopped me. "Just... fuckin' stay a while, ok? I don't wanna be alone right now and you're the only thing I got."

It wasn't the most romantic, but I agreed I would be just too sad to go to bed alone at that point so I stayed and lay down next to him.

We laid there quietly for a minute, spooning, my arms around him until my left arm fell asleep beneath him. I began to run my right hand over his hips and butt. He moaned, sleepily, "that feels good... keep doing it." I did, expanding my radius to include the breasts and shoulders.

Suddenly, I felt something. I moved my hand over to between his legs. Coyly, he asked, "Wha tare you up to, back there?"

I took a deep breath. I didn't want to jinx it. "Leon, I think I'm ready."

He rolled over and placed his hand on my groin to verify. He enclosed his hand around, and smirked in the darkness, "Is that for me?"

"Yeah... I think it is."

He rolled me over so that I was on top. Our parts teased each other. My heartbeat quickened.

He whispered in my ear, "When we do it... call me Meredith."

"Ok."

We finally started and I did my best to forget that this was a person who, several months ago, was wearing denim jackets with the sleeves cut off and rocking a dirty trucker mustache. I tried not to watch her face too judgmentally as she felt all these new sensations come over her and determine whether they were good or not. All I wanted was to perform my role as best I could.

It lasted only a couple of minutes... embarrassingly, even as I attempted to pace myself, the sensation overloaded me and just as Meredith's grunts of awkwardness seemed to morph into moans of pleasure, I was done.

We didn't talk for minutes on end afterward. Eventually after we had untangled ourselves, he said with a shrug, "That wasn't too bad I guess. I could see it being good. Think you can do better next time?"

"I really hope so."

"You better."

That sounded like a bit of a threat - like he would actually "cheat" on me, which would feel very unfair after having started this. But I'm happy to report that when we revisited the issue, most of my performance issues started to fade away. I feel like it could be better for "Meredith," but I know I've gotten better than that first time.

Rosie/Ahmir: My life so far

So, since Erin is opening up about her - sorry, his - attempts at dating, I guess I will too: There haven't been any.

It was kind of disappointing when Saraya told me she was going to start dating other people, that whatever we were doing as just a bit of fun and that she wanted "a real man." She saw me more like a "gay friend" even if I'm not "officially" gay - being around me is apparently too much like being with a woman, which is fair enough since I am one. But she didn't have to lead me on so much. She didn't seem to think very much of it, and that sort of hurts. It's not like I was in love with her, and I definitely wasn't looking for a relationship, but I think I was having a lot of fun being alone together.

She helped get me out of my head and made me feel pretty normal. Erin tries to do that, too, but I think when we're around each other we spend too much time thinking about our situation. Saraya barely seems to think about it. Being in a new skin is like she just changed her wardrobe: she's still relatively attractive, and young, she just has a different color palette.

She also doesn't think about race stuff as much as I do, even though I feel like it's shoved in our faces a lot of the time.

I feel so uncomfortable around everyone. I feel uncomfortable around white people because they make me feel like I'm something else. I'm uncomfortable around black people because I feel like they can tell I'm not one of them. I wouldn't say my life as a white woman is (was?) cushy... they're both tough, and most days I would give anything to switch places with Erin and have the freedom to just worry about living my life and "having a good time." It took me three months to get a haircut because Ahmir uses a "black" barber shop and I was petrified to go in because I felt like I was violating their space. In the meantime my "afro" got very out of control.

In the short time I've been here I've been called the n-word a few times, both by meanspirited white people (while I was just standing around on the street minding my own business) and Ahmir's friends, using the friendly version with no R on the end... and in respond I just say "Man" or "Buddy" because I'm not comfortable using that kind of language no matter how I look.

Out of everyone else writing on this blog, I think only Jonah/Krystle gets what I'm going through and even he seems to have very different take on it than I do (maybe I've become a bit like he used to be in his original life?)

What's that show called? "Black-ish?" That's how I feel now... except my skin is very dark so to the rest of the world I'm just "black."

It's freaky. It's been 6 months and I still get surprised sometimes at seeing these massive dark hands in front of my face.

There's some advantages. I like being big... I was already pretty large (5'10 and weighing more than you need to know) and the world hated me, pitied me for it, because I wasn't a dainty gal. I didn't look good, didn't feel good... the men who were interested in me thought I should feel lucky to have their attention. Now I take up almost the same amount of space (less, actually, since my booty shrunk quite a bit) but it's like I'm supposed to. Men are "supposed" to be big and brawny. Take all the space they need. Finding clothes isn't a problem. I have muscles... although not as many as I did when I started since I don't go to the gym or anything. I like looking men in the eyes or shaking their hands and feeling like they see me as something of an equal.

In my normal life I was working as a school receptionist. They don't usually hire men for those jobs so I didn't bother applying. Ahmir was working construction, and even if I have the body for it I'm not really interested in that sort of thing, so I hooked up with a temp agency and have had a few contract jobs, nothing consistent or fulfilling but it mostly pays the bills. It's strange to keep having to meet new people and get their impression of me (soft-spoken large black man who is secretly a 30-year-old white woman?) and I haven't had the chance to get comfortable anywhere. That's what my life is... a constant cycle of learning the ropes and counting the days until I "get to" go back to normal.

I don't want to judge Erin for "having it easy." S/he's aware of the difference in our situations and tries not to rub it in my face. I'm really happy if she can find ways to enjoy this. Maybe I will too.

Erin/Chris: SEX. Now that I have your attention...

I know I shouldn't, but I can't help myself. I started an online dating profile.

The smart thing to do, if you're me, is to sit on your butt and let life pass you by. You are in an art gallery. Looking is permitted, but you can't actually touch the installations. You don't own them. Respect the velvet rope.

I've been struggling with that line of thinking since I got here. I couldn't avoid making an impact on Chris' life: he lost his job between the transformation, and the lack of finances coming in from my custodian job means I'm going to have to find a new place to live soon, probably. So I've already made a small mess, but no biggie. He can recover when he comes back.

It clicked for me one day last month. I was on the subway, watching this beautiful blonde girl take her seat, maybe 22 or so. Long legs, wearing yoga pants... I tried not to stare too long, but I did despite myself. I kept finding my eyes flickering in her direction, between looking at the ads and watching the stations speed by. I admired her subtle makeup job, the way her hair fell casually, her cute nose... even under the winter apparel I could somewhat admire her figure, too. I felt really crummy, like I was on the brink of becoming one of those sleazy guys who whips it out on the train, or follows the woman around.

The worst part was, I thought I noticed her glancing my way. Repeatedly, intentionally... not negatively.

As a man... which I am at least 60% at this point... you yearn for that. Attention, being noticed... someone noticing you noticing them and not hating it. I feel crappy doing it because I know how paranoid women have to be when strangers take an interest in them. I don't want to be that way, but this overwhelming urge pulls me, and I just have to keep a grip on myself. It could even have been just my imagination, but it stoked my fires a bit.

I tried not to look her way again until I got to my stop. I stood to go to the door, and she go up too. What a coincidence! I was aware of her behind me, and considered letting her pass me on the steps, but then I worried that I might end up following her accidentally, so I went on my way and lost track of her. That night, I posted a missed connection, alluding to the stops where I she got on and off and a description of myself, but nothing happened.

It was disappointing, but I knew it was a longshot. Still, I was left with an impression. I wasn't exactly in denial about being attracted to ladies: my fixation on Andrea proved that to me. But I felt like I had it under control and it was smarter to ignore it. But gradually, it dawned on me that I wanted it more than I wanted not to make trouble. I wanted to feel a full range of things while in this body. I've been a timid little house mouse my whole life. Time to get out there.

That ache of jealousy I felt when I read some of my Blog-compatriots posts about their romantic entanglements - positive or not - confirmed that.

So far, however, the results have been... ho hum. I haven't even been on a date. Mostly I just glance at photos of women and give myself reasons to write them off, whether based on their appearance (mostly style, I mean... I'm trying to keep an open mind when it comes to looks!) or their interests, or the way they answer the profile questions about sex and dating. Too much experience and I get intimidated, too little and I think she's a prude.

I hate myself. But if I'm going to mess up my life for the sake of a little fun, it had better meet my standards.

I have contacted a few women, usually including a joke or reference to something they put in their profile. Occasionally I get a response but usually it peters out... I decide she isn't so exciting after all, or she ghosts me. One time I gave a girl my number and we texted for a solid day and that was very exciting, but then she turned around and said she had met someone else and it was getting serious (apparently they had met before I even contacted her.) Out of 22 women I've messaged, 10 have answered back, and three I would have met in person. A few women have messaged me (but I had to tinker with my profile endlessly to get to that point) and I try to give them the benefit of the doubt, but they've all gone nowhere too. women aren't exactly falling over themselves to date young janitors.

Even if I met someone, I psych myself out by wondering what the long term plan is: hookups until we have to have an uncomfortable conversation about getting serious, where I somehow explain that I can't be in a relationship past June? Do I just shrug my shoulders and let someone get hurt? Chris has made it clear he doesn't mind if I have some fun... apparently, he figures he would just slide into my role when he gets back... I would rather break up with someone than do that. Which sucks, but one thing at a time, I guess.

And let's face it... I know what I really want. Andrea. I still think about her, text her... every so often she asks me out for drinks or some other activity, but I have to resist because that was the one request Chris made of me. No delving into the past.

Lastly, there's that huge snowstorm barrelling down on the East coast, so I hope everyone else on the blog (those of us located here) stays safe and warm. You're all so kind and helpful.

Tyler/Alan: I don't live in the past, but sometimes I have to visit there.

I found myself in a Starbucks today. Generally, I only drink coffee at work and home, and if I had my pick I wouldn't set foot in a place that charges more than a buck for a cup, but there I was. Back when I was Lauren, I used to get dragged into those places fairly regularly. It was a favorite escape for Lauren's friends as a teenage girl, and it wasn't surprising that while inside I saw a table full of 15 or 16-year-old girls giggling together, passing their phones around looking at Vines and Instagrams and all the other apps I wish I didn't know about.

I remember being part of groups like that, mostly melting into the background and feeling very much like an outsider, but I also remember a lot of one-on-one times, like helping Karlee decode texts from Seann and try to boost her confidence. I remember helping Ginny phrase a breakup text to a boy she had only been out with once and wouldn't leave her alone ("Get tough, tell him you'll cut his balls off!") I remember study nights that featured almost no studying (for that we would have had to actually carry our textbooks around "Lol ew.") I remember being made fun of for being the only one to just get a regular plain coffee and not something ending on "-cino" or "-iato." Those were moments that helped, I dunno, normalize the whole experience in a way that commiserating with Meg didn't. Not constantly being looked at like pitiful Tyler stuck in Lauren's body was strangely relieving.

It was this weird feeling, like a flashback. Meghan has pointed out that a lot of the time I act like last year never happened, and maybe that's easier for me than facing it. To pretend like I went from being Tyler Blake to being Alan Schmidt with nothing in between, like the rest is just some movie I saw rather than something I lived through. But it's still there in the back of my head, and I had the weirdest feeling of nostalgia being in that place (do they all smell the same or what?) It's not like I treasured my time as Lauren, but it wasn't all bad. Given the crappy circumstances, I feel I made the best of it.

Generally, I prefer to focus on the present, where I'm going and what I'm doing next. Which has its own difficulties.

It's kind of the big sticking point between me and Meg. She wants to know what's next and I honestly don't have it all worked out. I have ideas, but I don't want to discuss them until I know what's going on. But that's not enough for her, I guess, and she hates how I change the subject every time she asks who, exactly, she can expect to be dating this summer. If I'm going to make any arrangements, I'd better work on them soon. That Inn probably fills up fast.

Complicating matters: last week I got a call from my sister, Carrie. Carrie was already the person in the family I was closest to, and her having been through the Inn experience with us has only increased that, but usually talk about "back home" is kept brief, since I did a lot of work to leave Mobile.

She gave me some pretty serious news, and said now might be a good time to come visit. Our father appears to be on his deathbed, and if I ever wanted to see him again I would hurry. I mulled it over. Meg seemed to support the idea: that it might give me some peace to be face to face with him, and I said it didn't matter because he wouldn't recognize me. Like I said, I don't dwell on the past too much. But I think Carrie could use the support, since she was a lot closer with him than I was, and she's going to take it pretty hard when he goes.

If I go, it's for her, and to satisfy Meg's need to be "let in" to my past, to see where I came from. I argued that it's easier for the two of us if we just pretend I have no background at all, but she wasn't having that.

Glenn (Peter Malinowski): Driving me crazy

Originally I was going to entitle this post "Women are crazy," but that seemed sexist given that just about everyone else writing here has been a woman at one point or another. I'm just trying to stay sane, surrounded by mixed-up people. And those people, to some degree or other, all seem to be women. I don't want to say one has to do with the other, but...

To refresh your memory, going back to the letter I had Tori post several months ago, my name is Glenn Stevenson. I visited the Inn this summer with my son, Mason, and a friend of mine named Leon. When I left, I was Peter Malinowski, Leon was Peter's wife Meredith, and a woman named Cathy became their son Trevor, while my own son became a girl named Brooke, who had been reported as missing after she snuck out to have a tryst with Trevor and never returned.

It has been hard to maintain contact with Mason since then, as Brooke's parents have kept a close watch on "her." It didn't help matters that she was native to Maine, and the Malinowskis were based out of Delaware. I was obligated to take my makeshift family, leave my own son behind, and go live Peter's life... for a while anyway.

Leon, understandably, handled the change less than gracefully, complaining about becoming "my bitch" (his words, not mine!!) because Meredith was a housewife and Peter made enough money to support them both. I told him things could be worse, and if he wouldn't mind just taking care of the house, he could have as much of Peter's money as he wanted. He decided to hire a maid while he slept until 11, hung around the house in a bathrobe, and drank constantly.

I was dismayed at the cost, but I didn't give him too much of a hard time about it. He's not exactly a Domestic, I've seen the place where he really lives. The arrangement was going fine, with us more or less just continuing as some kind of roommates until mid-November, when one night Leon called me into his room (the master bedroom - I'm sleeping in the guest room.) I came to see what the fuss was. And he was just lying there on top of the covers in some sexy underwear, propped up on his arm in a seductive posture. I was confused until I noticed the empty bottle of wine next to the bed.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said, "I just thought we could have some fun tonight. We've waited long enough."

"Waited for what?" I said.

"Come on..." he said, crossing the room to stand in front of me, "I've seen the way you look at me. How long's it been, Glenn? A year? Two? I know you want it. You know you think about it."

"You're drunk."

"So what?" he scoffed, "I'm about to let myself get violated, I needed to loosen up."

"I didn't ask for this," I calmly replied.

"You didn't have to!" he said. "I'm giving it to you! I've been an asshole to you and it's the least I can do."

"I don't know what to say..." I said.

"I'm not hearing a no..." Leon said, unbuckling my belt.

I took a step back. "Wait a minute, let me think." I was very flustered. "We've never talked about this."

"Come on Glenn," he said, "I don't have all night."

"What brought this on?" I asked.

"Don't ask," he said impatiently, "Don't ask any more questions, just fuck me, or get out."

I looked him up and down. It was a sad mess. He had even tried some makeup, and really botched it bad. I didn't feel like I could possibly perform in that condition. I told him good night, and he responded with a lengthy stream of epithets, mostly questioning my manhood and sexuality.

I couldn't sleep, so I went downstairs to have a snack. It as around midnight when I heard the car pull up - it was Cathy. When he passed by the kitchen, I asked where he'd been.

"Where've you been?" I asked.

"None of your business," he snapped back.

"Woah, woah," I said, following after, "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound judgmental or anything. Sometimes I forget you're not my real son and I get protective. Let's try this, one adult to another. How was your evening, what did you get up to?"

He lightened up a little. He explained he was on a "group meetup" with some of Trevor's friends.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked, "Do you feel like you're fitting in?"

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know," I groaned, "Do you like it? Being a kid again? Being a boy? Do you feel weird about it or does it seem natural?"

"It feels all right," he said, "I feel more confident in myself than the first time around, obviously. The kids seem to be accepting me. The more I act like I belong, the more I do. It's classic high school."

"Uh huh,"  I said, taking a bite of my baloney sandwich, "Do you have a girlfriend?"

He paused. I know he does have one, but he may have thought I didn't notice. I wanted to hear him say it.

"There's a girl," he finally admitted. "We... do stuff."

"Have you two... you know? Been together?"

"No, she's not ready."

"But you're ready?" I asked, "If she wanted to, would you?"

"Keep in mind, you're not really my dad," Cathy said, "But yeah. If she wanted to, I would. I like her."

"What do you mean you like her? You're a 42-year-old woman, for God's sakes."

"Nobody knows that but you and me and Drunky up there," he said. "I won't take advantage of her, but I wouldn't reject her either. She could do a lot worse than me."

"What makes you want to do this?" I asked.

"Because I'm a guy now, and I'm loaded with testosterone, and it would feel good. Physically and emotionally." He paused, "Why are you asking about all this? If you're trying to talk me out of it..."

"No, no," I said, "This is about me, and, well... Leon, I guess."

Cathy smiled. "Oh, did he come onto you?"

"You knew he was going to do that?"

"I thought he might," he snickered, "He bent my ear all night last Thursday about the way you look at Lila, and how gross it was and how if you wanted some action he was right there and you never even asked. I think he's feeling really gross about his body, and honestly, I think if you were into him, that would really reassure him."

"I see..." I said. (Lila is the housekeeper, and while she is a rather attractive young woman I didn't see myself as "looking" at her any particular way.)

"Would you? Get with Leon?"

I thought for a minute. I honestly didn't know.

It never occurred to me. You read about the kind of rewiring the transformation does to people, but Leon was such a "guy" to me that I didn't think he would see me as a potential partner.

I went back up to the bedroom, unsure what I'd find. Leon was there, naked and sobbing. When he noticed me standing in the doorway, he yelled "Get away, creep!" Except instead of "creep" he used a homophobic slur.

"Leon," I said, "I had no idea what you were going through."

"Shut the fuck up, I'm not going through anything."

I considered wrapping my arms around him,  He didn't push me away. Eventually, through his sobs, he said, "I don't know what the fuck's wrong with me. This body sucks so much."

"Look, man," I said, "I never thought about... doing that with you. I'm... I guess I'm not against it, if it's something you want. I'm just not ready yet."

"You expect me to just sit here and wait?" he said bitterly.

"You can do whatever you want," I said, "You're your own person. We're not married. Not really. But I could be ready... sometime soon, if this is seriously what you want. It was just really surprising tonight, that's all."

"Whatever... I wasn't really feeling like it anyway," he said, leaning his head on my shoulder. "You smell good, though. That's so weird." I didn't know what to say, so I pecked him on top of the head and let him fall asleep.

And that's the strange story of how Leon and I became a sort of a real couple.

It's not like this was something I initiated from the start and actively worked toward. It took several weeks of consideration before I could properly revisit the issue in December, and even now we're still trying to figure out what this all means... we've both got a long history of failed relationships, and so I'm trying to be reasonable and manage expectations and maybe, I don't know, negotiate to get a "deal" that both of us will enjoy. And yes, that actually does involve some physical intimacy, but I'm a bit uncomfortable talking too much about that because I know my son is likely going to read this.

I guess, when you think about it... after all this, and despite our burgeoning relationship, I still call Leon a "him" but I also call Cathy, who has equally assimilated the role of a teenage boy, "him" as well. So maybe it's inaccurate to say women are the crazy ones. Maybe it's men. And hey, maybe it's me.

Lane/Kari: Do As I Say, Not As I Do

I got three comments on my last post, all of along the lines of how I probably have a crush on Darius. Let me set the record straight: I do NOT have a crush on Darius. Crushes are something 11 years olds get on pop stars. They write their names in hearts all over their school notebooks and spend time thinking about what their initials will be and what they'll name their kids. I'm leaving this life in a few months and any sort of boyfriend thing is probably not my decision to make. I do not have a crush.

What I DO have is a brain that has spent the last 6 months soaking in estrogen and the body of a heterosexual woman with what I think might be a higher than average sex drive. So when an objectively attractive man like Darius shows me positive attention I can get a little giddy and woozy and it might just show through in my writing. I thought that maybe having sex regularly and handling things on my own would make that stop a little, but if anything that seems to be making it a little worse.

I'm not here to blog about sex (for the first time in awhile), I'm here because I had an incident with Ashley over the weekend. When I first got here she wasn't exactly hanging out with the most upstanding citizens, but getting her on cross country seemed to have her burn off any trouble making energy she might have had. But now it's winter and too cold to run, and we've almost done enough hours to qualify for her license she's got the carrot and I'm without a stick. This means she's back to hanging out with old friends. To her credit she is respecting curfew, I think it's because I'm home most nights to enforce it when her real mother typically wasn't. But she and her friends cut class the other day and there was a confrontation.

Latherman had let me off of work early on Tuesday (Don't ask what I did to earn that), and I was ready to come home and nap when I found the door unlocked. I froze for a moment with the door ajar, having learned by now that in this body a burglar isn't something to be battled, but to run from. I had my cell phone halfway ready to call the cops when I smelled a mildly familiar smell...marijuana.

I walked back to Ashley's room and opened that door to find her on the bed with a boy and a joint. She was slightly shocked to see me, and I must have had a look on my face because he was fucking terrified.

"OUT. NOW." I said in a voice firmer than I thought possible with this voice.

The kid jumped up, grabbed his coat, muttered "Sorry" and headed out the door. Ashley was less shocked and contrite and just kinda waved goodbye before turning to me and asking "Why are you home early?"

"Is that what you have to say? Why are YOU home early?" I asked back "And why are you doing drugs in your room"

"Really?" She raised her eyebrows "You're going to lecture me about smoking a little pot?"

"Uh, Yeah" I said "I didn't think I needed to tell you that was a bad idea"

"You and Aunt Rosita smoke it all the time"

Oh we do, do we?

Yeah, I figured Kari did it occasionally because I've been around Rosita when she does it and she offers, but I didn't know how frequent it was and I DEFINITELY didn't think she did it around Ashley.

I'm gonna pause a moment here and lay out my thoughts on drugs, since I might be sounding like a cheesy government PSA on after school. I know that a lot of writers on here before have lax attitudes towards pot, hell those guys Todd and Brian were like Cheech and Chong, and that's fine. I worked on Wall Street, remember, I've been around people who were able to live functioning lives on stuff WAY worse than pot. I think the war on drugs is a massive waste of time and resources that has way more negative effects than good. I personally never enjoyed the stuff but I don't think it's worth the effort to keep it illegal.

But it is illegal. And it's especially illegal for poor minorities like Ashley. If she got busted possessing or buying the stuff I don't have the resources to keep her record clean. I once knew a guy who got caught with a moderate amount of cocaine and had it disappear the next day buy calling a good lawyer who was in his frat. Kari doesn't have those kinds of connections so Ashley would be at the mercy of the law. It's a shitty reality in this country but it's reality nonetheless

"But we're adults" I begin carefully "You're and your friends could make a mistake that might mess up your whole future. I can't afford a good attorney, if you go to jail...even juvie you'd miss a lot of school. Plus a drug conviction means you won't get any federal financial aid for college.

"Since when do you care about me getting into college?" She asked, with that same disrespectful eye roll

"Ashley, you're going to need to go to college to have a shot at a decent job these days" I say, not because I fully believed it but you kinda have to say it to high schoolers, plus I don't see Ashley working an oil rig.

"You didn't go to college" she retorted "Hell, you didn't even graduate high school. You do fine"

If only she knew just how far from fine her mom's job situation was. How much of a struggle it is to raise a kid on a receptionist's salary which is probably higher than industry average because the unofficial job description includes sleeping with the boss.

"We survive" I tell her, trying to make sure I give this kid a positive message or at the very least don't screw things up too badly "But it's really difficult. It would be a lot easier if I had an education. I don't want you to have to go through the same struggles in life, I want you to avoid some of my mistakes"

Bad choice of words.

"Mistakes like getting pregnant at 14" She said icily

Kari's feet are size 6, which is way small enough to jam right in my mouth. Of course having a kid at 14 is a TERRIBLE life decision, but you really shouldn't say exactly that in front of the kid. Ashley isn't stupid, I think she knows that her mom's teen pregnancy made things difficult, and she might even have a little bit of unneeded guilt about that.

She looked like she was near crying so I sat next to her on the bed and wrapped my arm around her tightly. "You're the best thing in my life" And after living in this life for 6 months I can say that without having to lie "It's just...if you had come a few years later things would be better for both of us."

She sniffled a bit and gave me a hug. I think teenagers appreciate honesty, which makes my life difficult because every day I lie about being her mom.

"Do you really think I could go to college? She asked

"I get your report cards, I KNOW you can go to college" I replied encouragingly. I'm not wrong. The kid's no genius but B's and C's will get you into a low to mid level state school. "You just need to stay out of trouble. When is your ACT anyway?"

"March" she said breaking the hug "And I'm totally gonna bomb it. There's a lot of math."

"I could help you study" I said feeling extra helpful for some reason

"Thanks Mom but" She said with a pause after the but "Do you even know high school math"

"We use it all the time at work" I lied. There's a lot of math in finance, yes, but as the receptionist the most I really use it for is to calculate how much to tip the guy who delivers lunch. "I've picked up enough of it"

With that there were more hugs and a promise to avoid marijuana until she was able to do it in a less precarious situation. I thought about calling the real Kari and filling her in, but I'm not sure I'd like her response. She'd probably accuse me of judging her.

Which I kinda do

-Lane

Jonah/Krystle: Holidays and After

Lane talked about the difficulty of finding a good dress to wear to church for Christmas services, and I can sympathize - Krystle seemed to also mainly buy dresses of the tight and low-cut variety, and truth be told even the ones that don't really seem designed that way sure seem to wind up like that thanks to her proportions. The others tell me that I'm over-thinking this, and that it's just me thinking my chest should be flat. I guess that could be the case, but I feel guilty all the time, like just standing there is an invitation.

I did find something fairly modest to wear to Christmas Mass, although there were moments when I wondered if I really was overly worried, because a lot of the women there were wearing kind of showy dresses. I kind of always thought that was just something that happened on TV and in the movies, although my grandfather once mentioned that it was kind of a thing at the church in his hometown - that because it was the community's main gathering place, men and women were always trying to get each other's attention there without exactly undermining the fact that it was a place of worship.

I was reminded of that when Pastor William came up to me after the service and said it had been too long since they'd seen "me" there, and asked if I would be attending services regularly. I must admit, I was ashamed of how easily that seemed to fall by the wayside after visiting the Inn. I don't know whether it was because I always went to church with my family and just got lazy being on my own (or with Krystle's family, who are not regular church-goers) or if I felt forsaken afterwards. I know this man was asking about Krystle, who had been stripping and living with some man who was not her husband and maybe doing drugs, but it was a reminder of how nobody is beyond saving, no matter what circumstances bring you to a low place.

I said I probably would, and it felt good. I have been going beat every Sunday and enjoying it, especially since this was the first time I really remember going to a church whose congregation was primarily African-American on a regular basis - I've been to my other grandfather's church every once in a while when we visit, and when I was a really little kid, but it has been something different from the mostly-white places where I've lived most of my life. It's a little strange to have spent all your life as "the black kid" in school and have to kind of get used to not being the only black person around.

My going to Mass had the family a little surprised. Karla's kids had questions about it, and she injected a lot of suspicion into her answers. I guess I can't really blame her - I probably don't act much like the Krystle she knows - but it's frustrating. Who needs to explain going to church on Christmas?

It had the kids impatient about opening presents, but they knew that they were going to have to wait for Momma Kamen anyway. Krystle's mother works for the MBTA, and she takes a lot of weekend and holiday shifts so that her schedule doesn't duplicate Karla's and so that she can get overtime pay. It helped make Christmas a little less meager for the kids, as did my being able to get an employee discount at the toy store. There was no "big present" like I got used to, and I felt bad about that. I may have wound up having too much the same relationship with Karla as her real sister, but her kids are great and deserve more than they have.

Speaking of Christmas, I had the hardest time figuring out what to get Karla and her mother.  Well, Karla; I got Momma Kamen a nice set of gloves that you can use a phone while wearing, since she's outside a lot and texts back and forth with Karla, me, and a lot of other people, so it seemed pretty practical. It didn't seem entirely like a surprise that Krystle would get her something like that, so I guess I did okay.

I had a little more trouble with Karla, and not just because everything seemed like it would be taken as a challenge, and it seemed like every person I might ask wouldn't really know - my friends are all men who used to be women, women who used to be men, folks too young to have perspective on what a single mother values, or just more well-off than us, not really getting how much is out of reach. I wound up kind of giving up and getting her a gift card from Sears.

She got me something lacy from Victoria's Secret, and I still haven't even tried it on to see if it fits in case the real Krystle still wants to wear stuff like this when she gets her body back. I feel guilty just feeling the fabric on my fingertips.

Of course, Christmas coming and going meant that the temporary toy store where I was working closed down, and while the manager gave me a good reference, I probably should have been looking ahead to the next job even while this one was winding down.

I didn't quite go unemployed for the past couple of weeks - Yuan-wei/Missy/Jordan gave me way too much to come by her place every few days while she was in Hong Kong for Christmas break and make sure that the mail got brought in and that her plants were watered (no, she doesn't really strike me as someone who would have plants either, but I didn't ask what the story was). I've tidied up a bit and shivered at the thought of taking a job as a maid before thinking that the only people who would hire someone with Krystle's history for that would probably just want to see her in (and out of) a uniform.

I don't really get Yuan-wei. I've only met her a few times and she's been a real jerk about my believing in God, she's totally shameless about being with men, even though you can tell from just being around her that she's still one at heart. She will talk about how much she misses her family after just a couple of drinks - either she or Benjamin really shouldn't be drinking when he brings a six-pack over, right? - but she basically gave that family away.

And she also remembered my real birthday, December 28th, making sure that when I arrived at her place that day, there was a package waiting for me, with a pair of Nike Air LeBron XIII basketball shoes, with a promise for another pair when I "outgrew" them this summer. I put them on right away and they're fantastic; I wanted to go out and find a game despite it being really cold and not wanting to imagine what sort of attention I'd get without an industrial-strength sports bra (just running for the bus without one is no fun at all).

Still, they're great and I'm so grateful, even if Karla's reaction on seeing them was to wonder who I'd slept with for them and to ask since when I cared about basketball. That just makes me appreciate them more, though - they reflect me, not her, and they mean that someone understands I'm a now-17-year-old guy rather than a 23-year-old woman, and I really can't wait until I am again.

-Jonah

Jordan/"Missy" Yuan-Wei: Play-acting Part I: Here

I wasn't really inclined to write much about the play I was in because it was kind of anticlimactic at the end.  You spend weeks getting together with a bunch of people, reading, rehearsing building shit, working on costumes, and for what?  For three nights, you go out on stage, say your line, run backstage and get into another costume, stand around in the background, maybe say another line, and so on, and then you're just done and the whole thing is gone.  Maybe someone has mounted a camera in the back of the audience area, but it's one hell of a lot of work to just vanish into the ether.

So I was just going to skip ahead, but Benjamin told me I had to blog about it.  If you're going to live Missy's life and be a movie star, she says, you're going to have to learn how stories work, and you can't keep mentioning something like this play and then not have it pay off.

So, fine.  I was in a play, even if it was a tiny part.  And, okay, that didn't make it any less stressful.  In fact, the first time I went our on stage, I nearly pissed myself, because for all that the rehearsal and shit is supposed to make everything second nature, standing in the wings and seeing that there's a fucking audience out there made me suddenly realize that while the original Yuan-wei had probably been doing this all her life, I hadn't done anything like it since, I don't know, junior high?

I mean, shit, was this the reason she decided to give up all of this and stay with Ronan?  Wanting something all your life and realizing that not only does it mean standing in front of a whole bunch of strangers and trying not to screw up, but knowing that even if you completely kick ass, you'll still be judged in large part based upon what a while bunch of other people do?  I didn't quite freeze like I thought I was going to, but even though there was a lot to do backstage, I did have just enough time to wonder if I was going to make it through.

I did, three times, and I probably got better as I went.  The thing that kind of sucks about acting is that you almost always feel the same way no matter how you actually do.  Even as I was nervous, I was still kind of like, yeah, I fucking did that, whereas some of the other folks were sure they sucked even when those of us in the wings could see that the audience was just goddamned living it.  It's not like working with computers, where you can tell whether the routine you built was giving the right output or whether the change you made ran faster or used fewer resources.  Your feedback is mostly subjective and sometimes kind of indirect.

Not always.  What my adviser said at the end of term was pretty direct - that most of my instructors said I was performing a bit below the standards the original Yuan-wei had established the previous academic year, and what she saw from me during the play kind of confirmed it. Heck, she said, the very fact that I had such a small role was disappointing; someone with my talent and ambition should really be winning leads or at least strong supporting roles in auditions. This is a very competitive program, she pointed out, and a lot of my follow students who had to rely on financial aid might be looking at moving to a new school or major after two semesters like the one I just had.

Of course, this wasn't entirely news to me; I'd heard a lot of the same shit whispered at the wrap party. Sure, it was mostly dancing, drinking, laughing about how disaster had nearly been averted or stuff like that. But every once in a while, I'd be walking by a group and they'd stop talking. For most of the night I tried to put it out of my head, all too aware of how a pretty girl who thinks everybody is talking about her behind the back they're planning to stab is a cliche and even when it wasn't, I'd always hated those bitches.  But eventually there comes a point where it gets just quiet enough to overhear conversations, and I heard one about how for someone who wants to be a Pan-Pacific movie star, I had better start showing something, then another joked that even that wouldn't help, because they blur your boobs out in China.  Then Amelia, the one who helped me with my Halloween costumes, called me a helpless princess who didn't know how to do anything, and it was a kick in the gut, especially since I didn't think it was like I started ignoring her once I'd gotten what I needed, but clearly she felt that way or was just trying to make nice with one or another of the others, figuring that other Americans are going to be able to do more for her in the future than a woman in China (we'll see about that), but it soured the evening pretty well, and I headed to the bedroom to retrieve my coat. I was rooting through the pile on the bed when Ernesto found me and said he'd been trying to get me alone.

I asked why, and he said it was because everything had finally clicked into place for the short film, which would be shooting in late January if I was still interested. I'd have to work on makeup and effects as well as play the lead...

It was just what I wanted to hear without knowing it, and I hugged him. Shocked the hell out of me; I know is done something similar at that ballgame with Benjamin, and wondered if like it was some hormonal thing with Yuan-wei's body or if I might have been like that if I ever got drunk enough as a guy.  All that bulk maybe made me not react so demonstratively to alcohol, or something.

Especially since I didn't feel that drunk, although I did start acting a bit again, letting myself go weak in the knees. "Ooh," I said, "I think it might be a good idea if you walked me home."

I kind of want the order of events clear: I got the part, and then I led Ernesto to my place and asked him if he wanted to come up.  I suppose he may have been hoping for this response, but apparently I'm not exactly noted for my gratitude. Anyway, he got nervous when he saw just how nice my place was, initially not following me into the bedroom until I said I needed help getting my boots off.

That wasn't entirely a lie; I fumble with tiny zippers under seams even though I now have fingers more suited to them.  It gave me a chance shuffle forward on the bed and let my dress ride way up and then, when he had gotten the second one off but hadn't yet stood, I could fall forward so that I was straddling him on my knees while he fell back.

He knew what to do with that situation, unzipping my dress and helping me pull it over my head and off, then doing the same with my bra.  He then did some of the bra's work, spring my breasts and then going after my nipple with thumb and forefinger, which felt pretty great.  I decided to do my part, not-quite-sitting and sort of trading him with my ass, making contact right around his waist, just above the groin.  It seemed kind of silly, but he apparently liked it, because I could feel him getting hard.  I slid down his body, pulled down his pants, and then kind of stopped four a moment because his dick was right there.

It would have been stupid to chicken out at this point - I was wet and knew what I was in for - but with David and Sam, it had all been happening "down there"; I wasn't ever positioned so as to have the fact of some guy's unit right in my face, as it were, and though it's been over a year since I've had one, the "dude, what do you want with another man's cock?" reaction is still there.  That's when he tossed me the condom.

What am I supposed to do there, kill the mood by telling him to do it, or back off?  So I put it on, as fast as possible, and then moved up so he could put it in my pussy and I could just think of it as kind of an abstract good feeling, although it was kind of harder, since Ernesto is a much hairier guy than the others and I could feel his beard as he was kissing me.  It was kind of unnerving, really, and when he asked me to see if I could get him up for another, I decided to be the hot girl who sets the terms and tell him I was ready to knock off for the night.

And he was cool about that, but I couldn't fucking sleep at all that night, and was on edge for the next couple of weeks all through finals, since he's in a few of my classes, and while he hasn't acted like it was more than some really physical fun,  It certainly made spending the holidays on another continent more appealing, although it's going to be kind of weird when we start shooting his short film in a couple of weeks.

-Jordan/Yuan-wei