Okay, I'm bad

Thanks for the "please update" comments at the last post. I left the blog unfinished at New Year's, it's been nearly two months. A lot has happened, and yet not as much as you might think.

I had to wrangle around some Google-Blogger stuff, and in the process, lost my account. How lame is that? I've been surfing the web and having various accounts since I was a teenager, and I forgot a single username/password combination (which is not even that different from my standard.)

So here's what you're dying to know: the first order of business was to get James back to manhood. He made for a belligerent woman (read: bitchy) but was quite a looker. I think the medallion had some magic that gave near model-quality looks to its users, but I don't remember getting all that many double takes as a femme (also, my boobs weren't bigger than my head.)

But New Year's morning, James was far from vibrant. Sombrely she approached me and pled, "Please, can you change me back now?"

I had a mouthful of oatmeal, but I muffled "Sure."

"Finally," she nearly whimpered. "Tia and I had a fight last night." I stayed silent.

"And then I let a guy do some very weird and wrong things to me."

I nearly choked.

He proceeds to tell me the story, even though the drunkeness makes his recall shoddy, so the story is kind of twisted in chronology.

"Everything was going fine, and then," she sighed, "I wondered if I could stay this way and just be, I don't know, this being of pure... sex? And I thought, was I a girl so long, that guys were, like, starting to look good? Maybe, like, I was getting tired of the girl on girl thing with Tia?"

I tried to lighten the mood by saying "How could that ever get old?" But she wasn't in the mood.

"So I went behind her back a bit. And I felt terrible. I felt incredible, but it was getting so good that I felt terrible because of what I knew I was doing to Tia. And I never, never, ever, wanted to hurt her, you know?"

It bothered me to know that James had actually considered staying that way, because I was getting rid of that Medallion as soon as everyone I knew was back to normal.

"I never, like, felt emotions like that before. Ever. I can't remember crying ever, it was such a weird sensation." The girl was a mess -- and I'm kinda paraphrasing here because it was so long ago -- "His hands were all over me and I felt so alive, I don't think you have any idea how good it felt. Not real. I mean, it felt too good to be real, but it didn't feel real at all, in, like, the other way. Like, fake." James was hardly a poet, but he was sincere. "So I was crying and he asks me what's wrong and I just pulled up my panties and ran. I ran home."

She ran home (or, to the subway) in what was basically a blizzard at 3 AM on New Year's, partly undressed, hysterical and horny.

"I came home and started beating off -- or whatever girls do, and I passed out, and now I'm up and you're home and I just want my penis back. I want my life back." She's almost in tears again at this point. It was touching. Wordlessly, I went to my jacket and pulled it out of the inside pocket (sealed inside its original Ziploc.)

So I gave him some privacy to transform back. Once he was done, he tore up his girl clothes and passed out in his bed.

Diana, who'd stuck by me this entire time, said she had no idea it could have that kind of effect. I confessed I didn't either. As if on cue, Trish came through the door and, quoting one of my favourite shows, tells me, "I've made a huge mistake."

So she begins her story, telling me that eventually, she told Declan that she wasn't "What she looked like," that a magical medallion had given her that face. Naturally, he was confused and weirded out by her "playful sense of humour." She tried to find me, desperately, to prove her story.

"Wait," I tell her, "You didn't tell him it was me, did you??"

"No, no," she assures me, "But that might have helped, because he started getting weird and distant... I don't think he's going to call me again."

"You mean me?"

"Um, yeah. Can we just..."

So, then she transforms back.

A week later, we're back at school. I'm talking with Trish, Steph and Mary (whom, you might recall, was our editor, who pitched this insane idea in the first place) about our adventures. She seemed most impressed by how badly it screwed up James, who still hadn't heard from Tia by then.

"I guess we should have seen that sort of thing coming," she muses, "Thank you (Alex) for going through this insane situation. It will make a very fine piece of 'fiction,' because absolutely nobody outside this room is going to believe it really happened." (Although I point out that the folks who commented here were rather supportive.)

She nods, then eyes Trish and Steph and, thanking them for their part in helping me, mentions, "You know, in all this, we haven't seen a girl go... you know."

Steph and Trish blush bright red, and say "Thanks but no thanks." Mary hands me the medallion and says that I should probably get rid of it. I couldn't agree more.

So I took a walk down to a pawnbroker. He takes it in his chubby mitt, eyes it, sneers, and humours me by giving me a buck fifty for it. I tell him it's worth every penny.

Flash forward a few months and tonnes of identity drama between Declan and Trish and Tia and James still haven't talked. It's the eve of Valentine's day, and Diana and I decide to do something nice.

I called Declan, who had added me as a friend on Facebook after New Year's in a transparent attempt to keep tabs on my "cousin." I told him Alex wanted to see him. Except "Alex doesn't exist."

"So what's her name?"

"It's more complicated than that," I tell him, "What did you like best about her?"

He opens up, "She was just so great to talk to. I don't know, I guess she was nervous the first night, she didn't even seem to know how pretty she was." My stomach heaves, "But when I saw her again, she was so open, so alive, she really came out of her shell. Then she makes up this story, and ditches me. I don't think I can be with a girl like that."

"Would it bother you if she was a little shorter, had a different hair colour, and a very different face? Better, I'd say?"

Silence.

"And her name's Trish, and she's not my cousin?"

Silence.

"And yet she's the exact same girl you spoke to on New Year's."

Silence, followed by, "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Call it an identity crisis. Do you want to have dinner with her or not?"

He groans, the obvious groan of a man who is still infatuated, and finally relents "Tell her to meet me at my restaurant, whoever she is."

The dude's a chef? I had no idea.

After seeing me play matchmaker, James decided to be a bit romantic by calling Tia up. They had a long talk. Long. Like, I left the house when he called her, spent a few hours with Diana doing errands, and came back to hear the last 20 minutes of their conversation long.

But it ended with "I love you."

He hangs up and tells me he's got a date tomorrow.

So, happy ending, right? For now, anyway. I have no idea how long Trish and Declan are going to last, but Tia and James are on the mend and Diana and I are happy.

But there's something else... something that has nothing to do with any of this, but looks like it's going to be my next blog, at some new URL... something that's somehow even harder to believe than magic medallion romance... if it's true.

And if it's true, you'll be hearing about it from me.

That's it. I'm done.

-The Artist Formerly Known as Alex Manson.

New year's resolution? (Plus... comparative assessments at last)

My new year's resolution is to chuck that effing medallion into the lake.

Okay, that's a bit extreme, but no lie, it's starting to get under my skin. It started when James staggered home, blouse unbuttoned under a man's coat unzipped so that her bra was showing, hair tousled, already drunk before the festivities would begin. Her girlfriend comes in and lays her down on the couch.

"He's always overdoing it," she complains.

I take a look at the pair of breasts she wrangled herself. "You're telling me."

"Baby I love you," the half-conscious girl on the couch mutters. She says she can't take it anymore and she wants me to turn her back. I tell her she'll have to wait a few minutes, the medallion is in use. Groan... it's a long story.

When Trish read on the blog that Declan had called me, she apparently got really excited. I can't believe it, but she actually tried to convince me to go out with the guy. That's unbelievable. I'm not a female anymore and, oh yeah, I wasn't into him to begin with. But she swears, having seen him, that he's some kind of catch. I don't see him as being too much different from me, and I've never had such great luck with women, so how great can he be? And if he is such a great catch, he'll find a girl in no time.

"Come on," she pleads, "How would you feel if you met this great girl and she left you hanging with nothing to do on New Year's Eve when everyone's celebrating?"

I think about Diana. It makes me grit my teeth a little.

Well, I tell her, if you're so keen on this guy, why don't you date him? And she says, because he's into Alex Manson, not her. I argue that Alex Manson doesn't really exist. She tells me that she could if I really wanted her to, and I say, "well yeah, but anyone could be her." I look at her and I think she sees what I'm thinking. "You're not serious?" she laughs modestly to herself.

"Well, you're not really doing anything are you?" I ask with a glint of half-serious madness in my eye.

She shakes her head and walks off. But an hour later I get a phone call. It's Trish; "You're lucky Declan's so hot. I'll be over in ten."

So she shows up and heads into my bedroom where she's had me lay out my old "girl-Alex" clothes so she can transform into her. That's when James and her girlfriend came over. After about ten minutes, she realizes they're running late and will have to spend one more night with "girl-on-girl" action, because their ride is leaving. It'll be weird, too, because they'll be at some rave where people know her and James, and s/he's not exactly in stable condition at this point, you know?

Not long after they left, Trish emerges, or should I say, girl-Alex emerges. Although I'd seen her face in the mirror a few dozen times, it doesn't compare to seeing it on someone else. A chill goes up my spine knowing that that modest yet still-curvy form is what I was projecting to society for a whole week. But it's not jsut that, it's what Trish did with the face... she was wearing some gorgeous new year's eve dress and make-up and jewellery... (no earrings) all kinds of stuff she probably wanted to get me into. I had her make arrangements with Declan to meet at this party Diana and I were going to be at... Trish had said she might show up, but was now roped into it. I wanted her within my sights for the evening.

So we get there and I greet Diana with a kiss, and introduce her to girl-Alex, my "cousin" for the evening. She says that seeing us side by side, we look more like twins. Genetically, I guess that's true. Declan showed up not long after we did, and what does Trish do? Plants a kiss square on his lips. Talk about mixed messages -- I hardly gave the guy time of day!

And so the evening continued. Di and I hung around and every so often i'd glance over and see them pawing each other. I wanted to gag, knowing that he was probably imagining himself doing that when I looked like that.

So that's when I had my big little epiphany about the male and female experience (and what consequently frustrated me to lose last night.) The comparison can be as simple as men hunt and women gather. It's a stand-up joke as old as time itself that can be applied, quite frankly, to most aspects of life. Why to men traditionally work (not that I agree with "tradition") and women traditionally stay at home? Why do women stand around at clubs and wait for men to ask them to dance? Why does a man put his thing in, and the woman gets pregnant? It's not just a cultural thing, it's biological. It's as basic as our gentials, I'm saying. And I put it much more eloquently last night, too, but my motherloving MacBook saw fit to destroy my precious words. Still bitter, yeah.

Psychologically, women could be said to be inwardly drawn and men outward. It can explain why little girls exceed in english (thinking about and expressing oneself,) and boys at science (searching external factors for meaning.) Why women gossip and men don't ask directions. It's a balance. And not saying that one style is any better than the other, just that they depend on one another. Feminists have been injecting themselves with male psychological "outgoing" aspects for years, and men often need to be coached at "female" aspects like expression and sensitivity.

I'm not saying these are absolute truths, or that this is some brilliant breakthrough. I know, frankly, I was disappointed that I spent a week as a woman and then thought about it for a few weeks, and this basic fact is what I came up with, but in that moment, when Declan was sticking his tongue down girl-Alex's throat, it all seemed so clear. When I was a woman, I couldn't see myself or any of my female friends really approaching any guys, even though I've asked plenty of women out (and even gotten to date a few.) And as a man, I would honestly be weirded out to get treated the way men treat women. To be standing around innocently and have a woman get close and say something like, "Hey, you wanna go do something?" (please note, that's a horrendously lame pick-up line,) would seriously weird me out. Yet women expect and appreciate it. All they ask is to be cared for.

Satisfied with that little thought, I turned my thoughts back to Di. Steph, whose friend's house it was (and thus was drafted into co-hoestessing,) came by with a few glasses of champagne. "hey guys. You msut be Diana? I'm Steph. It's not midnight yet, but I wanted to get my friends some champagne first, before all the randoms show up." note that by 11:45, the house was full of party-hopping frats and sorority girls, even despite the disgusting freezing rain that'd keep one indoors.

So we held it close until at last, "5... 4... 3... 2... 1... Happy New Year!" and the rest of the night faded into a blur of tongue, alcohol, and blankets. You can imagine for yourself what Diana and I did after a certain point as the party wound down, and I won't confirm or deny. In the meantime, I lost track of Dec and girl-Alex. I'm imagining that, figuring this to be some kind of fun masquerade, Trish did something she might not have with her own face... which is embarrassing, especially since Declan is probably going to be calling my number looking for another date.

...ough.

As for what's become of James and Trish? Well, at the risk of losing this post again, I'd better not go on. Gotta keep something for later...

Boy-"Alex"

Comparative assessments, prologue

I keep trying to sit down to smmarize my female experience and give some closeure to the experiment. But every time I try to verbalize the conclusions I've drawn I just reject them and scrap it. When I have something big like this, I'm such an awful procrastinator.

I'll tease you with this, though.... the similarities between men and women are as numerous as the differences, just a lot less obvious. and there's a connection between why things are the same and why things are different. It's complicated...

All I can say is that my experience was what it was because I became, at my own discretion, a female variant of myself, living my own life on my terms. Just a random girl for a week. Things would have been different if I had been forced to start over or pick up where someone else left off in her life. My situation was so much less chaotic, and more organized. That probably helped my experiment in sme ways, and hurt in others, and my heart goes out to those women out there who are still trying to reconcile their ex-lives with their new ones. If the former link is any indication, the gals at the latter link will find their way sooner than later...

I was at work on Boxing day. Sam, a guy in his 50's who is a regular customer asked where I had been, and I combined two alibis by saying I went on vacation and got sick. I had actually seen him, as girl-Alex, and made conversation with him about the new Bob Dylan album, which I liked but he didn't. "The chick who filled in, nice little girl," he said with a dirty little glint in his eye, "But she's got no taste in music."

James (my roommate, who is currently visiting his girlfriend's family, under the guise of a girl) called to wish me a happy boxing day and let me know she was doing okay. I'm not going to lie, it annoyed as much as amused me that she used the medallion to transform into a woman without making me aware first. I could very well have gotten rid of it once I'd changed back, and then where would she be? Getting a much more complete experience than I ever did. So I asked how "Jamie" was doing, and she tells me that aside from the discomfort her breasts are causing her, she was having a blast, going back to her high school Improv comedy days to portray this little deception. I ask about the breast issue, and it seems that he was a bit overzealous in choosing what to use for the transformation (I had only vaguely explained the medallion to him in passing after my own transformation,) and he found himself the owner (renter? Leaser?) of a pair of 36C's. My own were in the neighbourhood of a full B, so they were fairly substantial breasts, but not obtrusive. In high school, I knew a guy who boasted he could eyeball a girl's breast size. Another girl... well endowed at that... at the lunch table balked, and challenged him. He studied her for a moment before declaring "34-C" to her astonishment. Not long after, they started dating, and went out for nearly 3 years. Even having worn bras for a week I'm no expert, but the girl I knew had some unweildly large breasts (for a high school girl at least,) and if James are in that neighbourhood, I could see that causing some... issues.

But apparently, she and her girlfriend are having wild sex since it's all this taboo girl-on-girl stuff that her parents "can't know about or they'd freak." James is blessed to have such an understanding girlfriend. Diana would hardly touch me when I was girl-Alex.

Yes, Diana and I are officially an item, as though her sleeping in my bed didn't confirm that, regardless of gender. We have plans for New Year's, but we're not sure what they are yet.

Speaking of New Years, I might as well admit the "mystery call" I got a while back. It was Declan, calling for Alex. I don't even know how he got my number, which is embarrassing and frustrating. He wanted to know if Alex was free for New Year's. For obvious reasons, I haven't called back. I hope he just thinks he got a wrong number... that's not a conversation I'm looking forward to.

Stupid magical medallions make life too complicated. Stay warm.

-Alex

Return trip

"Thank god I am male again!" I wrote on Sunday evening. Maybe I sounded too enthusiastic... I don't mean to slight the other half, but one should always feel more comfortable in one's own gender.

That said, I'd like to thank all the women out there for letting me, um, visit their gender for the week. It was an experience that certainly shed some light on the culture women share that is a mystery to men.

But okay. You can't learn everything about a gender by being it for a mere week, but there are things you maybe never would have guessed or thought about that you learn over the course of the first day, and accumulate throughout the experience. but I never got a period, didn't have sex, I didn't have to work a day job or go through the high school system with hormone-driven boys thinking through their pants... lots of other stuff.

Diana and I left the house just a little bit on Sunday, she still wanted to spend an afternoon with me in my feminized state. We didn't go too far from the house, either, just to a little jewellery shop to pick something out for her. I think she had a wedding or something she wanted earrings for. Jewellery, I didn't get into (Trish asked me to get my ears pierced once at the beginning of the week. I just stood up and left the room. The subject didn't come up again.)

We went home and had a little take-out dinner from Swiss Chalet. Then it was time. The transformation happened in reverse. The first thing that happened was my muscles became tighter and thicker. I began getting a lot of my bulk back. My bone structure underwent those subtle changes. My face suffered the unsubtle, unpleasant feeling of being re-molded, like being punched in reverse. Hair shranky back into my head re-sprouted from my chest and legs. And then... the ograsmically awkward and totally painful feeling of having one's genitals resculpted.

I'll admit, having gone from a clean, fresh, even nubile young female body to a more muscly (but not all that much) and hairy male, it doesn't seem so good on paper. But I was never so relieved to have an erection as when I finally saw my little buddy from under my slowly-retracting breasts.

Dressed in a bathrobe, I opened the door to my bedroom when it was done. Diana was waiting for me.

"Enjoying the show?"

She came over to me and lay a finger on my chin. She looked up at me instead of over for the first time since whenever. I blushed.

"Now that it's over," she said, "I'd better get home. There's unpacking to do, and with any luck, i'll be staying in town for the foreseeable future."

I walked her to the subway. She kissed me on the cheek and told me to call her. I'm pretty whipped already, I guess.

So that's the story. Once I gather my final summary, I'll post it, and if there's any medallion news (with James running around his girlfriend's place with a set of breasts of his own, I imagine there will be,) I'll post that too. It's been a weird week, man, but it's not all neatly wrapped up yet.

-Alex

An affair to remember?

I woke up yesterday morning, heading for a brief shift at the record store. There's not much communication between those of us that work there so nobody really asked why this strange girl was taking shifts. Holiday help, perhaps?

Before I got out, there was a very short letter in my inbox. The sender name was ominous. Diana.

I hold my breath and click it in. In the instant I realized I was determined to remain female until at least after our date, i freaked a bit and sent her a manically-typed email explaining very awkwardly my situation and asking about three or five times what we were gonna do and if she was still up for anything and saying I'd understand if she weren't. The letter read virtually as follows...

"Got in this morning.

"Read your e-mail.

"So, wanna meet somewhere first or just go to the movies?

-Diana"

And gave her cell number. It slowly dawned on me that she showed no hint that she was not considering coming. Sensing this, I damn well nearly skipped to work despite considerable stiffness and hung-overness.

But as the day goes by, I'm overcome with nervousness. Okay, so she's "accepting." that's fine, in theory, but are she and I gonna be on the same page? I'd done a lot of thinking since I kissed Declan last night. While I wasn't into it, what if I wasn't into Diana either? what if the pleasure receptors in my brain just shut off after spending so much time as a woman? Okay, I can pleasure myself (not that I've spent more than a session on that...) but what if nobody does it for me? in high school, I knew a girl named anne, and tried to ask her out. She told me this long story aobut how she didn't want to date - not just me, but anybody... she wondered what the term was... and settled on non-sexual (after I told her "asexual" would mean she would reproduce with herself.) We didn't speak much after that.

I'm a woman now (or rather, right now.) The mystery is gone. After all tihs time, I don't think there's anything about boobs and butts that arouses me right now. And I keep thinking down to this hole I'm sitting on and wondering if maybe... god forbid maybe... what i want is someone who can fill it.

I was having a fit all day, hyperventilting and looking for someone to lash out at. after getting home from work I threw all my borrowed clothes on the floor, coming to the brink of tears for the second time since my term as a female.

Then, as luck would have it, in walks Steph. She throws her arms aorund me and asks what's wrong. I try to tell her. She doesn't say anything, jsut holds me, and tell me, "It's okay."

I realize that, but can't get the rational part of my brain to agree. But her saying it out loud helped some. We cleaned me up and she laid me out some clothes while I showered. as much as I don't want this to be a fashion blog, I can't re-iterate enough what a big part of being female that is. Fashion is "girly." It's "not acceptable" for boys to be into fashion. I know I never was. But what a girl wears reflects her state inside; or rather, the idealized state. i can't maybe calm myself down, but I'm thinking what I wear can at least be laid back.

Steph and I agreed it would be best not to confront Diana by girling it up too much. She pulled my hair back in a ponytail and handed me some androgynous-looking blouses (button-up jobs that are not unlike what I wear as a guy,) and some hiphuggers. Are they still called that? I'm sorry, I zoned out when Trish told me specifically what all her clothes were named.

an hour before we were supposed to meet, I called Diana.

"Hello?"

My breath stopped in my lungs as I heard her voice. Out of... embarrassment, maybe... I tried to deepen mine, to cartoonish effect.

"Hey, Diana, it's me... (Alex.)"

"Oh my God, Alex..." she laughed, I guess with astonishment. "You're really not screwing with me, are you? Like, this is you? You sound so..."

"Believe me," I laughed awkwardly, "I look like it, too."

"Well cool, anyway," she seemingly shrugged it off, "I'm at Union station, what stop is closest to you?"

"St. Andrew," I said... it's not really that, but I'm still trying to hide my geographic location from readers here. It's not really ethical journalism, but you understand I hope. "There's a Tim's and a movie theatre nearby..."

"Oh, cool," she said, "I think there's a poetry reading actually, not far from there. I kinda wanted to go. You up for that? I know it maybe sounds kinda girly..."

"Believe me..." I mutter-laughed, "Looking girly is the least of my concerns these days."

We said a goodbye, see you soon, whatever, and hung up the phone. Steph had eavesdropped. Hanging off my slender little shoulders, she gave me a kiss on the cheek and said "Sweetie, that's so cute. You've got a little girlfriend!"

"Quit it," I swatted at her.

"Maybe you can borrow her clothes and let me get mine back?" I groaned. Steph's not as funny as she thinks she is.

We met at a Tim Hortons. For those of you reading from outside Canada, Tim Horton was an NHL player who lent his name to a coffee & doughnut place that has dug its claws so far into Canadian culture, they opened one for the troops in Afghanistan because of the demand. The coffee is different from other places like Starbucks or Second Cup (another Canadian place, like our version of Starbucks I guess,) in that it's like halfway between fast food/diner and legit cafe. And the coffee is extremely addictive and comparatively cheap. I'm pretty sure there's nicotine in it, but I've heard it's not enough that they have to say how much. An odd loophole.

sidebar: I didn't used to to drink coffee every day. Only once in a while when I needed a jolt. Thanks to my magically physiologically altered sleeping habit, i'm up to two a day, usually from Tim's.

It took me a little while to recognize her, but I doubt she was going to recognize me. I didn't tower over her anymore but was still nearly a head above her. I tap her on the shoulder.

"...Alex?" she asks, nervously. I blush and not.

"Heya Diana. Good to see you again."

She hugs me. I might never get over the awkwardness of a four-breasted, dickless hug. It's too intimate, but maybe that's what she wanted. I spent much the evening trying to suss out the meanings in what she said and did.

Over double-doubles (that's two cream and sugars,) she told me, briefly, about Montreal. Apparently, she "scrounges up paychecks" for a living, going wherever she hears about opportunities, and was in Montreal doing fill-in work at an office. She says she's never been one to stay in place too long. I believe it.

She hammered me with questions, trying to fill in the blanks about what she read on this site. There's not much else i'd like to say, I told her, in fact in some places I think I said too much. She nearly spits out her coffee and tells me she nearly died laughing when she read I had... "taken care of myself" a few days ago.

"Which is better?" she asks. I don't have much of an answer. It depends entirely on your sensibilities. She corrects herself into asking what the difference is, and again, I can't say... that is, I haven't got a frame of reference to explain it to her. It's night and day... there are some similarities, and many, many fundamental differences. I tell her this, "As a man, it's a really good steak. As a woman, it's the best dessert you ever had."

"I never liked steak," she tells me.

"And I've never been much of a dessert man."

She thinks again, and tells me, "That doesn't make any sense." Well, we're talking aobut sex here; none of it ever seems to make sense when you talk about it.

We go to the poetry reading. I'm not really a poetry guy and went unfazed through much of it. One of the readers, however, Sonnet L'Abbe, really got through to me... not with what she wrote, but how she was writing it... sound poetry, I guess it's called.

Uh
by Sonnet L'Abbe

The shyness, the delay to say
I'm thinking, I'm processing,
the silence before the words
string into coherence I can't leave
unfulfilled, all my ignorence,
the mice scurrying in the maze,
please wait while the images
load, sound saying I'm not
dumb

or the coyness, the delay to say
I'm answering, when I'm processing
the first thought into a string of words
less hurtful, less assessing,
less revealing of the blunt fact
of my unkindness, all my interiority,
the scurry to hide it behind my back
please wait while I remember
your heart, sound the safety on a sharp
tongue

That sort of thing. We walked and talked some more, about less gender-specific things. we were, after all, still getting to know each other. She convinced me to take her to see a movie. The issue of paying came up. She looked at me expectantly. "What are the odds of me getting any tonight?" I asked her.

"A lot better if you pay for my ticket," she notes. I paid. I'm such a sucker. We say The Holiday. Not my type of movie. Not great, not half bad. Made me think some about the way women are depicted in movies. Our shoulders started to lean up against one another about halfway through. up to this point, I'm half in and half out about whether or not this is a date. I like her. It goes beyond physical, I like being around her. She's a lot of fun. She told me she could never beat the pipe maze world of Mario 3, which is adorable. I've noticed her body, but only casually. I find myself, maybe, listening more to waht she says about herself. I don't just want to nail her. I really, really like her.

After the movie, she drops it on me. "My place is a mess."

"My life is a mess," I playfully respond.

"Don't, um, I mean, this doesn't mean anything, like, don't get all 'guyish' on me for saying this, but I was wondering if I could stay at your place tonight?"

Gu-ulp. I thought I was "all guyish?" Never mind. She wants to stay at my place. "I've only got the one bed."

"That's fine." She pauses and adds, "I don't think I have too much to be worried about at this point. No offense."

"None taken," I think about a half second, "Sure, let's go." My heart starts to beat faster. Parts of my body that didn't even respond to the physical touch are really starting to get heated. I don't know what to do with myself and I'm trying just to play it cool. We hit the subway and ride back to my place where I dug out the old SNES and we played Mario All-Stars (I showed her all my tricks, including the third warp whistle. Doesn't anybody know about that?) and had a few beers until nearly 3:00, when we passed out, I in my pyjamas, she in her bra and panties. She went to sleep first. I turned out the light and kissed her on the forehead. She didn't flinch.

I woke up the next morning, however, and she was practically draped on me. The bed's not all that big, so maybe she just needed so sprawl. Still though, I could've done without her interpretation of a mammogram.

She peels off me and stretches out, evidently awaking just as I had. "Morning," she coos. I couldn't help myself. I kissed her.

Full and deeply on the mouth. And?

She kissed back. YES, she kissed back. She even brushed her hand up against my breast a little. But when our lips parted, she just said.

"You're really good. I can't wait until you turn back into a man, because we are not even close to doing that again until you do."

Which, of course, sent me on a rampant rush to find the medallion. I'm getting a little distressed, because I can't seem to find it, but I know it's around somewhere. Should I be worried? My manhood's in that thing, and my future with Diana is hanging in the balance...

Errgh...

Sorry to leave you hanging like that, but until I get back to hanging of my own (yes, that's a penis pun,) that's all I've got.

Alex

Thinking about sex...

Not that I could ignore it, try though I might. i was just in that mood when I woke up this morning. Of course, coming from being a man, I was never used to not being in that mood. So my lack of interest in either gender was new and strangely refreshing. Not having it on my mind allowed me to get a lot more work done (with leeway for spending time acclimating myself to my new role.)

But yeah, I had some time on my hands this morning and... well, turn that into whatever double entendre you want. And? Hrm. I liked it. It was new, it was fun, and even though the idea of having someone do that to me is repulsive, the genie's out of the bottle by now. And most beneficially, once it was over, I felt like I could go again, unlike my usual experience where my resources are literally depleted.

I don't have to justify this to you. I knew from the start that I was in this to learn. I've learned. And by no means do I have to share any more than I'm comfortable with. I'll say this: would that be part of the sales pitch if genders had to recruit? Hmm... (smiles.)

"The world would be a happier place," says Trish, "If everyone had just one good orgasm per day."

From Wikipedia: "Some can reach orgasm merely by crossing their legs tightly and clenching the muscles in their legs, which creates pressure on the genitals. This can potentially be done in public without observers noticing." I don't think this is something I will be trying...

Wikipedia also summarizes a key part of the myth of Tiresias: "Tiresias was a priest of Zeus. The myth begins in the country, near Mount Kyllene in the Peloponnese, as Tiresias came upon a pair of snakes lustfully intertwined. He hit the copulating couple a smart blow with his stick - presumably striking a blow for animal decency. But Hera was not pleased: as the sensuous seductress of Zeus, she heartily approved of sex - even for the lower creatures. Her punishment was cruel - the worst a man could imagine. He was then transformed into a woman. As a woman, Tiresias became a priestess of Hera, married and had children, including Manto, who also possessed the gift of prophecy. According to some versions of the tale, Lady Tiresias was a prostitute of great renown. After seven years as a woman, Tiresias again found mating snakes; he made sure to leave the snakes alone this time. As a result of his experiences and lesson learnt Tiresias was released from his sentence, and permitted to regain his masculinity. All could then have been well, but Tiresias was drawn into an argument between Hera and her husband Zeus. A common area for marital discussion - who has more pleasure in sex - the man or the woman? Hera was clever enough to let Zeus believe that men were superior in this as in everything else. However Zeus and Hera asked him to settle the question of which sex, male or female, experienced more pleasure during intercourse, as Tiresias had experienced both. Zeus claimed it was women; Hera claimed it was men. As a dastardly man, he revealed woman's greatest secret: on a scale of ten, she gets nine parts of the pleasure to his one. Hera was furious, and instantly struck him blind - Zeus couldn't do anything to stop her - but he did give Tiresias the gift of second sight." I won't speak on this, but I'll say that as a man, I've certainly done my part to risk my own eyesight.

Nah, that's an urban legend.

I was riding home with Trish after a late exam. She mentioned she'd read the blog last night and told me not to worry about Diana (the girl from the record store.) So long as she could get over the magical gender switching I'm engaging in we should be fine. If I'm any good to hang out with (which, she assures me, I probably am,) she won't care, because even though my language is getting a bit more flowery and my attitude is a little less aggressive, I'm still less girly than most girls, so it can be a kind of "chaste date."

"I mean," she says, "it's not like you were going to get laid anyway."

Okay, I groan. I know it's true, but as a man, you've gotta hold out hope. But I laugh it off anyway.

Then, on the 80's and 90's hour on the radio just as we pull onto the QEW, I hear a fiddle strike up. I get a little more quiet. It's "Come On Eileen" by Dexy's Midnight Runners. I just kinda stare out the window while Trish drives. It gets to the middle of the song and I haven't spoken in a while. "Is something wrong?"

I wince and turn toward her. My eyes are puffy and there's a swelling in my throat. The feeling is almost alien, because I've almost completely managed to supress any real emotion ever since I was in grade school. But suddenly I'm reminded of a girl who dumped me in the car while that song was playing, and I don't know. Maybe I was just feeling vulnerable or not bowing to the pressure to be a man and just swallow it, but I actually start to cry a little.

"Shit dude, you're freaking me out," Trish says, "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you should cancel your date."

"Maybe I should," I sniffle a bit, "but I'm not gonna."

With all these clichés about femininity - from fashion to emotions to that whole wife-and-mother image - it's not hard to see why so many girls, especially these days, rebel with their style and attitudes getting a bit more boyish (not even "feminist.") If I had to do this full time... and if there's a God I won't... I'd probably be one of them.

But I only have to spend three more days in this body, so it's a free pass to all the female crap, so I might as well take advantage, while enduring Dave Kiniski's "hey there's goes the queer" remarks. I don't care, Dave should hear the way people talk about him. He's constantly interjecting into girls' conversations and trying to hit on them.

Besides, I'd like to see him try. I bet he's not man enough.

--Alex

Work sucks.

Not that I usually mind, but see, relinquishing your gender isn't exactly a good excuse to call in sick. Besides, I'm the only one who works most weekdays.

I didn't mention this before, but I work at a small record store (well, music store) that is often busy around the holidays. I was utterly exhausted after I got home yesterday, so naturally, I didn't blog. I just went to bed and met my muscles lock themselves into stiffness.

But I bring this up because about a week ago, a girl comes into the store looking for The Coral. I don't know why, but they never seem to have hit it big on this side of the Atlantic, but their output is phenomenal, so I've been a fan since I first heard "Dreaming of You." So I was thrilled when this cute girl with blonde hair and a ripped t-shirt comes in and asks for a band I've been pushing on my friends for years. I start chatting her up, and we make dinner plans. Except she tells me she's leaving town so we have to meet up when she gets back... which I just found out was this weekend. She wants to meet me saturday night, in fact. And I can't exactly tell her "Saturday's no good, my penis won't be outta the shop until Sunday at the earliest." She's in Montréal and doesn't have a phone right at the moment, and her e-mail is sketch. So I have to sit tight until she calls me and says "Hey I'm back in town." I'm just kinda stewing right now.

As far as music goes, I'm noticing the gender slant in the music I like. Take for instance, the album I had on in the store last night, Aerosmith's Pump. So, I love Aerosmith. I think they're the finest rock and roll band America ever produced. Their blues instrumentation is irresistable, their lyrics always smartass and at their best, filthy in a subtle kind of way. But when a song like "Young Lust" opens the album, as a man in a girl's body, lyrics like "Better keep your daughter inside/Or she's gonna get a dose of my pride" aren't totally comforting. And the album basically continues in that vein through "F.I.N.E.," "Love in an Elevator," "My Girl," and "Don't Get Mad, Get Even." Not to mention "What It Takes" becomes a different ordeal when you imagine a guy singing to you about that. Aerosmith has thousands, millions of female fans, I've been to their concerts. I'm assuming that means real women are better at dealing with whatever my hang up is.

I'm comfortable with my physiology. I'm comfortable with my fashion. i'm even comfortable with the slight change in my speech patterns (to everyone I've spoken to in the last three days: I really am sorry for saying "like" so much!) But it would take much more than a week, I think, to be any sort of comfortable with anything to do with sex. And that's time I hope not to have.

But I'm learning about sex, albeit from a very hypothetical point of view. The girls are being pretty sketchy on the details, joking that I should just "try it for myself," but all I'm interested right now is the dynamic - the chase rather than the, erm... act. For years I couldn't escape the notion that, as a man, I wanted sex, and women didn't; so it was my job to convince them.

The dirty little secret has been staring us in the face for years, men. The difference between men and women's attitudes toward sex is only the same as the distinction between their parts. That meaning, different on the outset, but with the same basic function. Women want sex. They do. Traditionally, it's the man, with his penis, will make the aggressive moves toward sex. The woman, with her inwardly-turned biology and psychology, wants to be chased. Wants to be shown the attention. Not convinced, per se, but at least shown she's not an object. And even though a guy like me doesn't think of women like that, words are cheap. Like I said, I can't say for sure, I've only been renting mine for half a week, and I have no intention of finding out beyond whatever I do behind closed doors with myself, if and when I decide the curiosity is killing me too bad.

I...can't type to much more in this vein... must keep focus... it's only by the grace of God and too much homework that I haven't caved already.

On that note, I came across this...

SUBTLE PASSION
(Ruth Weal, pictured)

I would have you show me the subtle passion that I have always known in your arms, I would have you strip away my calm and erode my resolve, beneath your deft fingers I long to dissolve. In promise my whole frame arches for you, in my passion I would have you pass through. Hypnotised by your hunger for me, silently begging for you to release me.

I would have you worship at the altar of my flesh; bringing our bodies together as our souls’ enmesh. I would have you fulfil my every debased secret and want. Let me see the soul that I can free with my words and my touch, I have never wanted anything or anyone ever this much. Yours is a hunger that cannot be assuaged, in my love for you I will never be swayed.

I would have you deliver the poet in me; she worships you and only thee. She was bereft when you were not in my life, in her endless grief she did weep. Broken without you in my arms, bereft of hope when I lost you from my sight, without your presence there was no light. I would own your flesh and deliver your soul, do anything to know your whole.

I would go everywhere you do, just to see your face, to see you smile for me. I would have you let me see that I can cause you more than just passion, guilt and pain. I would know that this road we travel is not in vain. I would have you know the rapture of my flesh enfolded around yours, have you know the passion in me to which you are the cause.

I would have you here this very moment, to lie here by my side, stroking my hair, dispelling my fears and owning my tears. I fear the power you have over me and how I will ever let you leave. Seeing you has changed everything, nothing now will ever be the same.

-Alex