Nick: Living in three dimensions

Although I've been living as a woman for over a month and a half now, I'm only aware of it 70% of the time. Most of these occur in the washroom, dressing room, or in serious social situations (such as bars.) The rest of the time, I'm just a guy, hanging out, who just happens to have a pair of breasts.

For what it's worth, the breasts I inherited from Traci aren't that big. A healthy B cup. There are times when I get really into my work or a video game or something and I forget they're there (which, given what I said in my first blog is a little troubling.) And then there are times when I pass guys by and I'll get the glance. I'm not offended, so long as there's no action or commentary toward them, I'm just uncomfortable being reminded what I look like now. given that the sun is starting to appear more and more, and my clothing has to reflect that, it's not going to get any better.

But for now, it's not even the breasts that are troubling me. It's something else. Prior to being a woman, I hadn't ever given much of a good goddamn about my diet. But I had to wonder what was going on when I sat down to lunch at my desk at work with a salad and Coke Zero.

Suddenly, I'm scared that my ass will get fat and I'll have to buy new clothes (which would mean shopping.) It's this indirect impetus for women to diet and keep fit so that they can stay fashionable and comfortable and stuff. It's unfair tht the garment industry is very specific when it comes to sizes. All I can do is shake my head and wonder why I was dragged into this.

So after I drop a piece of salad (complete with lo-cal dressing) on my blouse, a pink number that indicates I have to do the washing soon, I turn to my co-worker Dorothy and mutter, "You're lucky."

She eyeballs me and says, "Honey I could say the same thing about you."

Dorothy, who works at a desk in the same small office with me in a Data Management and Schedule Consulting (whatever THAT is) looks like a very sweet 11-year-old Chinese girl but is in fact well into her 50's. She proceeds to tell me that she was very close to retiring when she was dropped into a brand new, young, vital body to maintain, and had to take this job because nothing in her savings prepares her for the possibility of living another potential 60 years or more (should the swaps never be reversed, which I always hope they can around the 20th of the month.) She had to leave her boyfriend, a 61-year-old Stock executive who didn't want anything to do with such a little girl, even though they were living together. She's more hormonal than she'd been in years or decades and she gets absolutely no respect from people younger than her. She takes the glasses off her face and leans back, musing if it's wrong for her to go scope out the boys at the local middle school.

Most days, I hate being a woman, all the cosmetic and physiological inconviences it brings the male mind. But at least my life wasn't turned upside down like that. Those are some serious problems. I quietly finished eating my salad and continued to type up the weekly press briefing.

I was telling Cherrie, during our semi-daily coffee meeting, that swapees, in general, don't get to spend a lot of time trying to undo what's happened to them or mourn the loss of their old bodies. The more we learn day by day about the nature of swaps, the less we can think "OH what is this thing that's happening to me??" and the more we wonder, "How do I go about my life now?" That, I told her, might explain what Traci has been doing in my body... or rather, who.

He's been seeing a few girls, but not seriously. I hear him on the phone a lot because it makes my stomach turn. Sometimes it's because I wonder where these women were when that was my body. Sometimes, it's because it makes me afraid that I should, should want to, or will eventually, want to get into the scene. I haven't talked to him about how uncomfortable that makes me feel. "Excuse me, Traci, but could you please not have so much sex?" If he really is a guy now, he'll just laugh at me.

Cherrie, for her part, is reminding me that I don't need to compare myself to him. Maybe the male instincts of my old body are more overpowering than the female instincts of hers. That would probably be more terrifying than having to choose - being subject to the whims of foreign impulses. "Think of how scared he must have been the first time he got an erection," she reasons, speculating how confusing it must be to have your body overrule you like that. She's right, too - as near as I can figure, there's nothing about being a woman that grabs you in that way. Yessir, there's nothing quite like an erection.

-Nick