Well, here I am.

Take it or leave it, I'm female. I have absolutely no idea how to elaborate upon it except to just go through the whole damn day.

Before heading out I caught up with my roommate James. Over the course of the week we don't see each other much and don't usually have too much to say to each other. He's a decent guy, but he works much more than I do so we tend not to bump into each other. Anyway, I asked for a moment before he headed out and he asked me what was up. I took a deep breath and explained it to him. I don't remember the words I used precisely, but I tried to put it out there like I did on this blog, careful to note I'm still not gay and this won't impact his life at all.

So once I'm done talking, like a maniac I suppose, he just stares blankly for a second, then lowers his eyes to think, and then just shrugs and says "whatever, I guess. Have fun." He laughs. Don't think he believes me, but he also seemed to be in a hurry.

I got on the 45 minute trainride at about 4:00 (please note the clock on this blog is extremely inaccurate and I've no idea how to fix it. It should be in tune with my own comp but it's not) and arrived at mom's house with a suitcase to the scent of some veal dish (which was fantastic.) We sit down a minute and she asks me what the suitcase is about.

"Mom, before I leave here tonight I'm going to change myself. Um, not just my clothes, per se, but my whole...self. It's for school. This medallion here..." the spiel. Keep in mind at this point I still haven't seen the damn thing work for myself so it's a hard sell no matter whom I'm talking to.

Once I finish, she just looks at me with eyes of ice and subtly shakes her head. He question was barely a whisper "...why?"

I can't impress on her how important it has become to me to finally answer the question of exactly what this can be, what it could do and how it feels. Not just to be a... woman... but to have been both sexes at some point. I don't know. Curiosity. You were the one who suggested I accept Journalism over advertising anyway, Mom. we sit down and eat in near-silence. Once you've told your mom you are going to sit in your old room for twenty minutes and change your sex with a magical artefact, there's not a whole lot left to say. "Cousin Terri is in another art show" seems irrelevant.

We cleared our plates and she looked at me expectantly. "Well there's no time like the present, I guess," I muttered to myself. She nodded, filling the sink with soapy water.

I went into my old room with the suitcase. There's not a whole lot in there. Some posters I didn't want after high school, a bunch of old photos, a bed I didn't like using, and my old dresser. I guess, using that, if I wanted to go back to being awkward, pimply, 16-year-old boy Alex Manson, I probably could be. That seems somehow even more wrong than being female Alex Manson. That would be going back when all I'm really trying for is to go... sideways? hrm.

I looked at the old photos of young Alex. There are things about yourself you always recognize. Eyes, jawline, that scar I got right on the inside crease of my left eye in grade 3... stuff you don't think about I guess, that makes your face what it is. I zipped open the suitcase and began fishing through it for what I needed; underwear and the medallion, still sealed tightly in the plastic bag.

I slipped my t-shirt off and unbuckled my belt. A chill went down my spine - the room wasn't well-heated. I took a breath and finished stripping. I unzipped the bag and pulled the medallion out by the chain, slipping it over my head. I bunched the underwear set in my left hand and held it to the medallion. I held my breath again and... well, nothing. Not at first, anyway.

My guess is that the medallion takes whatever garment is being held to it and makes some kind of magical educated guess (assuming "magic" is the true cause, which I doubt) about the garment in question. It transmits this to the body of the wearer and... unendurably slowly... transforms that person into the hypothetical "wearer" of the medallion. There's a lot of questions raised but I'll get to them some other day. The point is, after about a minute of lying naked and cold on my bed clutching a tin medallion and a pair of girl's underwear, my knees started to knock. Like my muscles had randomly contracted there. The shocks continued to occur in different places. My neck twinged. My back controted. My hands shook as I kept my grip, clenching my teeth.

It was kind of like, when I was a kid and my brother would have me in the Sharpshooter (Bret Hart's finishing move.) It bends your legs and your back and basically, when you're a kid, it's like every muscle in your body is being stretched. I don't know how pro wrestlers do it, really. Anyway I was being stretched to my limit even though I was lying flat on my back. I folded over to my side in the fetal position and just let the changes happen.

While this was happening, two invisible hands seemed to mold my face smoothly. I felt waves eminate from the bridge of my nose down my cheekbokes. The bristles of stubble on my face (left from that morning's shave,) just faded.

The big change was that my body massaged my, erm, privates, into itself. I wasn't watching, and I imagine the sight was utterly disgusting (akin to the video I saw in science class of an open heart surgery, or worse, the liposuction in "Super Size Me,") but involving my genitals. The worst part was the whole process was inadvertantly erotic and I may have ever so slightly orgasmed both as a male and female at once, if that's possible (well, none of this should be, strictly speaking.)

I decided I was done transforming after 23 minutes of lying and shivering. I tossed the undies aside and ripped the medallion off from my neck. I felt claustrophobic. Maybe it was the feeling of being confined in a strange gender.

Whatever. Peering down over my own breasts, I saw no trace of maleness and just sat there, I guess trying to find it (like a magic eye?) I ran my hand down my leg, smoother than usual but not the level typical for an average girl (I imagine.)

I stepped into the panties, letting the elastic slap my waist. The leverage situation is different from the usual. For obvious reasons I don't feel bundled up (like I did when I was a briefs guy) just... somewhat less exposes, I suppose. Then came the Chinese boobie cuff... err, bra. No, haha it wasn't that bad I guess. I mean, I was never one of those guys who could snap a girl's bra off with two fingers over her shirt, but I know the physics. It just took me a minute to remember having seen a girl do it in the front and slip it around back. I don't know if that's a typical thing or if most girls are used to twisting their arms around like stretch armstrong, but I think that, as a guy vacationing in this skin, I can be forgiven for that.

So I'm half-dressed. The suitcase has some girl-jeans in it, which go up to like two inches below my navel, and a camisole that falls just above that level itself. The blouse I buttoned up over it doesn't go much lower. I don't know why women wear (or have marketed toward them?) clothes that leave like an inch and a half of flesh exposed for no good reason. I remember in high school some prudish teachers enforced their dress codes on girls with long upper bodies who couldn't help that a good chunk of their lower-middle torso was revealed. Like it was so scandalous? What's so sexy about belly-button lint?

So, wrestling the top on over my boobs, I finally make my grand exit. Mom was, understandably, sitting by, waiting. In fact, the first thing I heard was a rumbling, "where's that damn camera?"

"Mom, no pictures, please."

"Come on, I know it's around here."

Mom bought a digital camera a few years ago but has never really gotten the hang of it. Plus she keeps feeding it these cheap batteries that die after a few rounds of pictures and she got lazy about replacing them.

"Mom seriously, I'd rather you didn't. Steph and Trish are probably gonna..."

*Flash*

Damnit. I didn't even look at the result. I just went straight to the washroom for the mirror. And...?

Well, the same, I guess. I mean, I definitely still look like me. My twin sister, I guess. I've got that same curl to my lips when I force myself to smile. Same swoosh in my eyebrow. Forehead and jawline have softened up a bit I guess, nose got less angled, but everything is basically how it used to be. especially the teeth. That's a big giveway. Same jagged canines and relatively straight front teeth. But I'm me, with a softer, more... (rolls eyes, groans,) feminine look.

My hair didn't grow much, which I guess I'm somewhat surprised about. It's got a little more body (is that the word?) to it. It curls more. My hair was curly when I was young and it straightened over time. I guess in my female form, that never took effect.

And oddly enough, that's when I suddenly realize, this is real, this is me, I'm standing here, looking into this girl's reflection... my own reflection. Me. Alex Manson. Girl.

"I think I'm ready to go now mom," I step out to give her a hug goodbye. my chin just rests on her shoulder. I must've lost four inches. I was a couple inches below 6', and she hovered just about 5, so now I'm in the middle of that.

"So soon?"

"It takes so long to get home and I've got studying to do tonight," I tell her. I really just want to go home and go to bed, I have no intention of studying (after I write this up, that is.)

"You're right. And it can be dangerous out there late at night."

Well I wasn't worried about that. Then again, at the time, I was still thinking of myself in terms of a guy of average height, weight and strength that wouldn't be an ideal target. A little woman with a suitcase, well... hrm.

So I pack up my shit and throw on my (now uncomfortably big) jacket. The trainride home was an uncomfortable one. I had a christmas playlist on my iPod (which doesn't exclusively contain Xmas songs but whatever) so I was into that, but I kept giving everyone the shift eye to make sure nobody was looking sketchy at me.

The last song as I pulled into Nowheresville Central station was Bruce Springsteen's Santa Claus is Coming to Town. I was nearly unconscious, so the boss' hoarse caroling was the only thing keeping me up.

James must've crashed before I got in, or else he never got home, I never know what's up with his schedule.

Tomorrow it all begins. I'm sitting here in my boy-pyjamas, ready to just fall under the covers. It's been a long day, and I suspect it's gonna be a long night. Long week.

~Alex