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"

Just a quick note

Big New Year's post is forthcoming. I had it all written up, with a sign-off and everything. Then I hit the magic "FUCK UP YOUR MACINTOSH keystroke" and it all fucking went away. Blogger's "Recover post" function only covers like the first third of it. So I have to re-write a lot and at this hour I'm not in the mood.

I don't want to get into too big of a rant, although the material is there because I've heard women prefer Macs because they rely less on the user I guess, but I have never had this problem on a PC where all I could do is scrap the damn program.

So now I'm not only exhausted from having typed one of the longer posts I've done, and frustrated at it just being gone, but also annoyed and cautious... like if I hit "tab" twice or something, it'll all happen again. Better not make this too long...

Sigh... like I said, New Year's post soon.

-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

Intermission

I haven't kept up in the blog, which is insane, given its nature. It hasn't got anything to do with my transformation, just the act of blogging itself. and the holidays. I made a pretty self-conscious girl who didn't like shopping any more than she did as a man. so I've been doing all my holiday shopping this week.

As for the blog, I've mostly been culling posts together from hand-written notes I've made, so the delay is that I've already written it so I'm sluggish to record in onto the web. The last post was dated sunday but actually not posted until yesterday, so you can see how behind I am. I've still got a few left before I show how the whole story shakes out.

We eventually did find the medallion (thank GOD!) I was scared and nervous to be stuck without it (more on that later,) but I also really had to pee. I go into the washroom and there it is with a note taped to it.

"Alex--

Ok so I know this is gonna sound queer, but Tia wanted me to come to her parents' place for Christmas, but they don't approve of her bringing a boy home, so... i guess you can guess where this is going. this is pretty fucked up, is all i can say. just don't lose this thing before i get home for new years!

--james"

I recognized his handwriting, although, like I've noticed with mine, it's a little more determined. As a girl, he's probably being careful about how he does things... she does things. moving slowly around rooms, taking pauses when speaking, and writing just a little neater. I know I did the first day. It clears up once you get more comfortable in a new step size.

Finally relaxed, I took a bath. I haven't ha a bath since I was in grade... lord knows when, but I'll bet my body was hairless. Speaking of which, the bath's function was to give me a little time to take care of some of the stubble I'd been left with on my legs. I wasn't male again yet.

By this point, Diana still hasn't left and I'm clean. But I won't be changing back until the exact hour I changed in the first place...

...to be continued...
-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