Nick: Foreseen problems

Let me just say that I firmly believe that, whatever gender you belong to, sex is supposed to feel good. But, for the first time since I was 12, I don't want any.

The reason should be obvious. Mentally, I'm still a guy, even though the tampax under the bathroom sink suggests otherwise. I don't know what sex feels like for a woman, I don't know when I'll find out, if ever. It's not even that I have a problem with the notion of some force invading my female parts. The problem lies in determining when, under what circumstances, and most importantly with whom.

As a man, I would have given Traci a good look walking down the streets. A lot of other guys feel the same way, and that's something I've noticed as time goes on and is bothering me more and more. At first I shrugged it off, but it's getting really irksome because it reminds me what I present to the world now. Simply put... I hate guys.

I've had exactly one sexual experience since being in this body, and it was a minor one. I wasn't even sure what it was until days later. It was during my first appointment with Cherie, the hairdresser Traci sent me to. She had my neck bent over the sink, soaking my hair, and her breast brushed up against me.

I havn't been with a woman in a very long time, and I'm talking about before I became one. Since that incident, I've had plenty of contact with breasts, not all of it sexual. The female body is becoming commonplace for me, I'm falling in to a sort of non-sexuality. I can't date guys, I can't screw girls.

I hadn't even thought about my romantic predicament because I'd been so busy working, trying to get my personal life in order. I had an interview for a PR position today, and I wanted to look nice. Traci seemed to think I accomplished it.

"Whoo, are those my legs?" he cheers before seeing my leave this morning, wearing a knee-length skirt, my first time in one. It's really warm today and my thinking is, it'll breathe well, plus make me appear professional. My hair's done up in some kind of ponytail with strands falling down the side of my face. I even got the make-up kit out.

My appointment was with the BISA Toronto, who were looking for swapees to staff the centre. It's not great pay, but I at least have a leg up. Ever since I told Traci's co-workers about what happened, I've been really eager to get out of there.

Traci, meanwhile, has been working in the mailroom of the office, so we commute together. We don't see one another during the day, though, so it's not that awkward. After all, we have to hang out at night, and it's already incredibly, incredibly awkward. I'm not going to lie, he's taking the swap way more easily than I have. I guess that's just some peoples' lot.

-Nick