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

Christmas Wrapping Up

Hah... puns.
This post courtesy of Bobby Leah on Flickr... I'll admit, I've been raiding Flickr and Wikipedia during this experience for random images to underscore the content of my posts. I thought this was oddly appropriate, even though I switched back over a week before Christmas. Having Christmas dinner with my family made me feel as self-conscious as I did when I first transformed.

I took the taxi down to Mom's on Christmas eve. It was expensive, but a lot safer than riding the train with a garbage bag full of wrapped Christmas presents. I got there just after 8, and when I came through the door, my mom was within eyeline, in the kitchen at the back of the house. She dropped some dishes in the sink and rushed over to me. She threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek, saying "I'm so glad to see you!" My mom's no ice queen, but she's rarely been that affectionate. But because the last time I saw her I had shed my penis, perhaps she was relieved I had come out of the experience alive and no worse for wear. In fact, I'd reset the entropy of my body about 7 days, so maybe I'll live a little longer.

The family... Mom, her boyfriend Tom, and my brother Ross, were already there, watching TBS' "24 Hours of a Christmas Story." Tom (whom I didn't see last time I visisted, for reasons unknown and uninteresting) averted his eyes, and Ross stood up, walked over, put his hand on my shoulder, and could barely contain his laughter as he said, "Heya sis, wanna go help mom with the dishes?"

The most annoying part about this is when he and I shared an apartment, I was always the one doing the dishes. I just swatted him away and called him an asshole.

The night proceded without major incident, but there was always that spectre hanging over my head. Mom is probably secretly wondering how much I experienced as a woman, embarrassed for both herself and for me. Ross has this to taunt me with, but I secretly think he admires my guts. Tom, well, I've always been awkward around Tom, so we didn't speak all night anyway. He's a pretty quiet guy anyway. It can be annoying. I went to bed a bit early, in my old room.

The next day was merry christmas. Some new computer software/hardware, some nifty CD's and DVD's, including some Demitri Martin. The rest of the family came over, Grandma, Aunt Rachel and Uncle Al, their kids, Sara and Robby. Some others. And it was over Christmas dinner that all the questions came out. They all knew what I'd been through, and they wanted the dirt. So began the interrogation.

Questions I was, for the most part, tired of going over. Mostly stuff I've addressed on the blog, some matters I can't even remember, and stuff I'd prefer to forget. I tried to brief them on what I experienced, but I was really tired of talking about it and besides, it had been a week and I could barely remember. That's the truth of it. There is what's in this blog, there are other thingsin more detail in my notepads, and some stuff I might never forget, but altogether I was female for one week of my life and my memory can't place most of it that's not written down, because physically, I no longer have frame of reference. I can barely remember what it feels like to have breasts and as time goes on, I'm sure the memory will keep fading. That's just the truth of it.

Hence, my awkwardness over Christmas dinner. When Aunt Rachel (who is only a handful of years older than me,) actually asked me if I thought sex would be better as a woman or a man, I nearly coughed up a lung in the midst of a mouthful of turkey. Read Tiresias, okay Aunt Rachel?

(The truth is, I almost stopped answering altogether and directed them to this blog, but then I remembered my little business with Declan and decided that would only create more stress.)

Finally the chaos settled down, we relaxed over some trifle for dessert, said our last Merry Christmases and started to leave very slowly. Ross was the only one left with mom and Tom. As I gathered up my haul and slid on my jacket, I kissed mom goodbye, and Ross just shook my hand and told me "Y'know buddy, you're some piece of work." He'd had a bit of hard Egg Nog. "But you're all right, no matter who you are."

I laughed, said goodbye, and headed for the train station.

When I got home, there we two messages on my machine. One was Diana, asking if I was up for anything tomorrow (Of course I am!) and the other... well, I'm not really comfortable saying right yet, so I'll leave it until I really have to address it. Let me just say it certainly is relevant.

Goodnight everyone
-Alex M.

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

Breasts, boobies and tits

I don't use the word "tits" in everyday conversation. My dad said it once years ago not long after he and mom split up, with respect to Britney Spears. Coming from a man of 45-or-so, it sounded irredeemably vulgar and I've just never had it as part of my vocabulary. I've heard a girl use it exactly once, and it didn't come off any better.

In my everyday male life, I have preferred to say "boobies." I guess it's my playful side, or my awkward side, or maybe it's the same side to begin with, trying to deflect the awkwardness of trying to play with these things that, until recently, I had no idea how they worked. Boobies. I wasn't on a first name basis with them. I had to kid around the subject.

Now? Now it's breasts. I've used the words "breasts" however many times on this blog and in conversations throughout the day. I can't draw any attention to them with euphamisms. Got to be formal and mature about them. If I start kidding around about my breasts, God only knows what could happen.

My embarrassment about my mammaries brings to mind the fact about what society expects of men and women, and differently. The expectations for women are complex and loaded with catches and caviats. Men merely have to be presentable when women have to be pretty. Men carry wallets in their pants, but womens' fashions can't afford that convenience. We carry purses, the purses become fashion statements to go with outfits. The culture of "outfits" expands by how many options we have to fit our shapes; pants or skirts? Blouses, camisoles? Hair; up, down, long short? Earrings, necklaces, make-up? A man picks his tie like he picks which $10 he'll pay for his lunch with. A woman might spend twice as much time trying to decide which underwear to put on, and on the average day, nobody else gets to see it. And what's with that little bow?? Never mind. The bow is just irksome to me is all. For no good reason, too.

What I'm driving at, I suppose, is how an entire economy has been built around peer pressure on a global scale. Even as a woman at the moment I think it is weird for a woman not to care about her appearance. But maybe that's because - god willing - I still have a great deal of appreciation for the female form. So with these perpetuated notions of a woman's image being ever-important, women are stuck in this place that men, I suppose, never have to worry about. And then this extends to the way we live our lives. Like I haven't had a good hamburger all week. I'm just saying...

And I think I offended some of my girlfriends when I claimed that the loss of my testicles caused me to lose my "competitive edge." I'm sorry I said that, but I think like a man I'm still mentally trying to tap into my testosterone supply for motivation, and obviously it's not there. That assumes, of course, that subconsciously or otherwise you can mentally pick where your adrenaline comes from. Hrm. This theory doesn't seem to be panning out. But I'm a journalist, not a biologist. So maybe I should go ask someone with some thought.

But then again, I can't think of too many scientists who are interested in the "I was magically transformed into a woman - of my own volition - and I was wondering..." if the magic part doesn't get them laughing, the volition will.

-Alex

"Looking good ace"

I got home and went straight to the computer. But I was tired and hungry, and scarfed down a plate of pizza bagels. Then before bed I felt disgusting. I can't even remember eating so much so quickly when I was a man. I'd better be careful, ladies' clothes apparently don't handle weight gain like men's fashion does. I just don't wanna be a fat chick (with all due respect to the gorgeous plus-sized ladies pictured here.) M wardrobe's on loan.

I didn't wake up with my hand in my panties, although I had a hell of a time getting to sleep. I feel like my breasts have a mind of their own. I think I can understand why women strap them up, although the strain on my shoulders is already, by this point in the evening, leaving marks.

But, dressed in old gradeschool-aged Simpsons pyjamas and a D.A.R.E. t-shirt, I woke up wondering what I had been dreaming about and why I felt so... oh, right. My back was sore and stiff, keeping rigid posture all night, arms barred straight across my lower abdomen. I tossed and turned all night, eventually deciding bras were not meant to be slept in. I don't even know when I actual fell asleep, but it couldn't have been too long before my alarm went off. I sat up and then fell back down, trying to just ignore the radio. Fsst, wasn't going to work. I rolled outta bed and slung the t-shirt away, just letting them hang there in the cool morning air for a second.

It's just... a new sensation in that there is a sensation. New nerves, new receptors, so much more jazz going on here. I don't know.

Not having a lot of time, I wanted to just hop in and out of the shower, but before I hopped in I caught my reflection in the mirror and had to note it.

I'm so slight. I wasn't a bulky, muscley guy by any means, but I had a certain sinew to myself. I flexed my arm and it got virtually no result. My legs are thin, I don't think I could run too fast on them (not that I've run all that much lately.) As for my hips, they're not your stereotypical "hourglass" figure, kind of a gender-neutral. Haha, like a 12-year-old-boy doing a tuck-behind (ew.) The curve is there, just not accentuated in any way.

A few years ago I was at a party where two girls debated their breasts. One, a little on the small side, envied another, more fully-endowed girl. She in turn complained of the hassles she had to endure. At the time, I was lost, but now I'm understanding. Maybe nobody's ever really satisfied with their breasts. And how can they be? I don't know, at this point I've spent less than 24 hours with them.

Also this morning I got debunked for me several of the more... esoteric erotic images men have of women. Yes, a woman in the shower is hot. A woman undressing is attractive. A woman spending an extended amount of time on the toilet... not exactly beauty queen stuff.

My hair grew, I have no idea what that's about. It's longer than it was when I first changed last night. I can't prove it, I didn't measure, but it's nearly to my jaw, so I can tell I've got a few more inches. In fact, Steph pulled it back for me (leaving the front parts to dangle down the sides of my face.) I walked to school, and it took longer than usual. I'm not walking at my same stride as usual, which is something I didn't notice at first.

Disheavelled though I was, Trish told me I was "looking good," called me "ace" (?) and insisted we go do make-up. I declined. She begged. I refused. She demanded....... I got up and left.

First girl's room experience... hrm. I had to get over my long-held male fear of sitting, because I'm guessing women just deal with it and treat their facilities more delicately. That's my experience anyway. And there was a potted plant in there! For obvious reasons, I've never before seen a potted plant in a washroom. That'd be disgusting.

Trish cornered me and gave me an ultimatum: a little make-up today, or she pins me down and slathers it on tomorrow. Defeated, I told her to get it over with.

I don't like it. I've been on stage in high school plays, and I didn't like it much then. I feel like I'm just wearing a mask over my mask now. No make-up tomorrow. Makes my coffee taste nasty.

I got a couple -- not many -- noticable look from strangers, and mostly before the make-up. I wonder if I was so obvious when I would eyeball a girl in the hallway. I'm trying not to be grossed out, because if they're like me, the thoughts are mostly innocuous. I'm just afraid of that one guy who I make stop in his tracks and come after me..........

So I keep my eyes down, occasionally eyeballing a girl myself. I'm under cover. Maybe they won't know. I'm just admiring their top... sure....

Haha, I'm gross.

-Alex

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

Idle hands...

I woke up this morning with my hands on my balls. It's not something that usually happens although it's hardly a startling occurence. sometimes sleep will just put you in that way. I can't even remember what I was dreaming about.

However, I can't help but wonder/fear what my body may do in its transformed state without my knowing. being at the mercy of my physiology and subconscious is a little unsettling.

I think I've figured out a plan for tonight. I'm gonna take the train down to mom's in East Nowheresville, and explain everything to her. assuming this doesn't provoke a heart attack, I'll just get it done there and take the train back home, the disguise in place.

I guess the next time I sit down to write here, I'll be a girl (you have no idea how long I just paused before typing the last word of that sentence.)

wish me luck...
-Alex

Plans change

(Just like everything else, I suppose.)

My mother called me this morning and asked if I'd come over for dinner tomorrow night. I'm not some mama's boy but I haven't seen her since Thanksgiving (which was in October, for you international readers.) This puts a crimp in my plans, because I was hoping to be transformed tomorrow night. It seems a little unfair just to show up at my mom's place and be like "Oh by the way, I'm a girl for now. Don't worry, I can change back, but I won't for a week." Um... right.

And I almost told her that when we spoke, but it doesn't seem appropriate to say over the phone. It sounds like a joke, and not a very funny one. So I guess I should go over and explain it to her...

That's gonna be a pain. I don't know what I was planning to do about my family. I'm out on my own so I was kinda hoping I could just not let them know and keep a low profile until it was over with. Guess that's not possible now.

So I gotta tell my mom. (Groan...) what'll probably end up happening is mom's gonna tell my aunts, my aunts are gonna tell my cousins, my cousins are gonna tell my brother, and maybe somewhere in the line somebody might let my dad know his youngest son is wearing panties.

I don't even know when I'm gonna do it now. I can't drive out to mom's, since I don't technically have a car these days. I wanted to get it over with before bed, but with all the time it takes to get out there.......

Crappy. I'll have to work something out.

mom, you're lucky I love your lasagna.

-Alex

"No I am not going to wear that."

Who has pictures of clothes on their computer anyhow? Steph apparently, using me as a little project, like a paper doll or something. Well here's what I knew about women's clothes before today:

-They wear skirts sometimes
-The buttons are the wrong way around on their shirts for some reason
-They have bras
-Their shoes don't look particularly comfortable.

And now? well I probably didn't retain it, but there was a whole bunch of stuff about fabrics and colours and styles I could potentially be investigating. I guess it's sort of cheating the project if I dress as the über-tomboy. So I have to just sit there and be patient. If Steph dresses me and Trish does my make-up, those are two less things that I have to worry about.

Mary delivered me the item today. I've called it a necklace, but Trish, jewellery aficianado she is, told me it was more of a pendant or a medallion, and not something you'd see someone wear in this day and age. It looks like a cheap piece of tin. costume jewellery. I held it, in a plastic bag, ran my fingers over its edges. Something may have been engraved on it at one point, but it's long worn off. It just has a bunch of scratches and a blurred design. I felt it, and I wondered if I was being taken for a joke, and why I was entrusting my dignity to this shitty (hey look, I swore again) piece of metal.

Mary gave me a rundown on the medallion. When you wear it, it transforms you, apparently sensing nearby items, or people. So to control it, I'll have to isolate myself with items of clothing that have never been worn before in order to initiate the transformation into someone who would be the size of those clothes. If the clothes had already been worn, I'd become the last person who wore them. So I guess we'll be able to "design" my new body around that. I guess I'm supposed to keep it on while I'm being transformed, or I'll stop transforming right then and there. I don't know how my mind could be altered, and I'm not a fan of the notion that it might. Mary says she doesn't know if or how it works, and she brought up the point that for all she knows, the whole thing is an elaborate practical joke. But she seemed convinced, and being a journalist for the last 15 or so years she seems to have a keen sense of skepticism.

The reason it's important that I make sure the transformation is complete is that you can only transform once ever 12 hours or so, because I guess your body just can't handle any more than that. Really that makes sense. It's a lot to ask your body to "magically" (or at least using some unknown science) transform into someone else's, it must be exhausting. So I think I'll do it not long before bed.

And that's that. My curiousity kind of wants me to open the bag right now, but for organization's sake I should probably just wait until Sunday, like I planned.

But damn it's tempting...

-Alex

Doing it for the portfolio...

So Steph and Trish hounded me all day asking why I wanted to be a girl. I told thme I didn't want to be a girl (My mantra for the next week and a half I suppose) but I wanted to get a story nobody else could ever possibly mirror. Okay maybe I won't be dazzling too many people at parties with my tales from behind the ovaries, but a chance like this doesn't come around very often. Why do I keep having to defend myself? Why does this feel so wrong?

Maybe because Trish looked at me and said "I'll bet you'll be like, so hot."

So they start asking me if I want to borrow some clothes or something, and I tell thme I don't even know what size I'll be. They tell me not to sweat it. I've never really thought about borrowing another person's clothes before.

"Hey Bill, sweet jersey. Can I borrow it sometime?" uh... no.

I don't want this whole experience to be about the fashion, but right now that's all I can think about (since I haven't got the equipment set up yet.) So I relented and decided to let them be my style managers for the week.

I felt awkward with all the whispers in the newsroom as I walked past. They all know, and they all think it's because I'm weird. So Mary gets up in front of everyone and delivers a speech.

"You may know by now that (Alex) has undertaken a strange assignment. It's not something he asked for or was very excited about doing, but the fact that he's going along with it shows he has a willingness to go the distance and I'm commending him for that. So I don't want anybody getting weird around Alex whatever happens in the next week or so. He'll still be the same Alex. And no matter what happens, the resultiung story will look great in his portfolio."

Ah... yeah. Red with embarrassment, I sat down to arrange a few interviews. Just because I'm vacationing from my gender doesn't mean I get to vacation from being a journalist.

-Alex

Word travels fast.

no sooner had I announced my intentions than calls flood in from many of my classmates. "Are you serious?" (yes) "What are you, gay?" (no) "how the hell do you expect to do this?" (see below) and so forth. But the one I liked best was "how can I help?"

Trish and Steph (aliases hooray) have been hounding me for the details on my little investigation and wht I intend to do about... well whatever I've gotta do. I tell them I'm not sure, and they get this look.

What have I gotten myself into...?

-Alex

Introductions are in order...

My name is #$%^ @#$%^&. But for the purposes of this blog I've taken the alias of Alex Manson. Let's start at the beginning...

I'm a journalism student at a college in a town that will be called "Nowheresville, Ontario." I'm a pretty average guy to begin with, but maybe you'll learn more and decide after all this writing is done. I'll reveal more details as they become relevant, but for now I'm trying to keep my identity hidden to the world at large, partially out embarrassment, partly because it helps the project. See, I'm about to embark upon what is probably going to be looked at as a landmark of investigative journalism. I, Alex Manson (I've really gotta get into the habit of typing that instead of my name,) am going to spend one week as a woman, and document it here on this blog.

I know what you're thinking. That's bullshit. I saw that stupid episode of "Boy Meets World." If you just want to walk around in a dress for a week, that's fine, but don't pretend it's for the sake of real journalism. No, really. I am physically going to transform into a woman this Sunday night, walk around in the skin of a woman until next sunday (that's teh tenth to the 17th, for the record,) and make notes. I'm nervous and terrified just typing it. When I think about doing it... the fact that I'm going through with it anyway... it makes me want to vomit with fear. But there's a method to my madness.

Part of it was that it was just too good an idea to pass up when it landed on my plate. My editor, Mary, (not real name, like all names here,) was telling me this facinating story that sounded like pure nonsense. At the end of the summer, she'd picked up this little trinket at a garage sale. They were an old couple down her street and they looked like they could use her patronage, so she bought some jazz records and a few small items of jewellery. When she handed this one rusty-looking necklace to the woman, she smiled and said, "Let me tell you about this..." The woman leaves and goes inside to get a piece of paper, and returns with a (somewhat illegible, from what I've seen) list of rules and hypthetical explanations, that outline the magic properties of the necklace.

Um... yeah. Now, as journalists (or in my case, journalism student,) the general rule is that you don't believe in the supernatural. But even as a skeptic, Mary was completely sold on it when she told me what she'd seen the damn thing do. "If only," she said to me with a gleam in her eye, "We could use this power to get some story out of it." Then she smiled and added, "Hint, hint."

Okay, I told her, I'll play along. And we decided who I'd go around being by looking at me and trying to find the most radical transformation that was do-able. Gender was floated early on but I dismissed it out of embarrassment. But a good story is a good story.

I'd had a conversation with Nav, an immigrant friend of mine, earlier that day. He'd observed jokingly how men dress more casually than women, and they must spend a fortune on clothes. He, on the other hand (and come to think of it, I as well) mostly just wears band t-shirts and jeans to class. Girls spend hours on make-up and hair and we just rush out of the shower into our pants. Okay that simplifies it, but still. The difference is an obvious one that bears examination.

So I sat down to outline my project. For one week, while in the form of a woman, I will behave as a woman in today's society. I'll dress as a woman, speak like a woman (whatever that means,) eat like a woman, sleep like a woman, and most importantly, do this in the process of observing women as a from the vantage point of a woman.

So I'm taking on a new identity. I chose Alex Manson after much deliberation as to what I should be called (since most people don't get to decide their own names.) I was originally thinking Amanda, since I love puns and that would be "A man, duh," but on second thought that sounded stupid. Alex is a good gender-neutral na,e that I'm comfortable with. Manson ia a very masculine surname. Man-son. See? I'm already feeling insecure about my gender.

I'll be filling the report on this blog, because as a student I've been assured that blogs are "the medium of the future." Whatever that means, it works for me.

I don't know how I'm going to let this affect my daily life. It's going to throw a lot of shit outta whack.

Oh, should I just have sworn? I mean, this isn't really a "school" site, but it's one my teachers will be looking at, so maybe I shouldn't be.

Fuck it.

-Alex