It was more than a little mischief at Woodward High School's Prom this past Tuesday night in Bethesda, MD. Students were eager to forget the stress of their final exams and upcoming graduation and spend the night dancing. Liam Wheeler was there with his date, Deedee Brooks. Wheeler's twin sister, Laura was also there with her boyfriend, valedictorian Jay Stroman.
It was not long into the night when Liam suddenly found himself swapped - leaning over the girl's room sink, fixing his sister's make-up!
"It was embarrassing," she pouts, "And I had to fight off that twerp [Jay's] advances all night!"
The abrupt swap forced the two to call it a night early, despite plans previously arranged by both parties.
"I was gonna take Deedee to Butchie Michaels' party," grins the lipgloss-wearing blonde Liam.
The sister who now inhabits Liam's body sadly admits, "Jay had gotten us a hotel room. I don't know what we would have done in it, I really don't, but obviously I wasn't in much of a mood for it by the end of the night."
Showing posts with label Lifestyles. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lifestyles. Show all posts
Friday, June 29, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Nicki: Answers and questions
I mentioned last week that I had to cut shot my writing because I was getting ready for something. Many people guessed correctly if they thought it was for "a date."
After getting turned down by Cherrie, I had to drown my sorrows. Here I was, this miserable half-girl, just trying to come into her own, and instead getting rejected and more or less out on the street. I had gradually moved more and more of my Nicki stuff into Cherrie's apartment, and now I'm awkwardly back on Traci's couch with whatever I have left. So I needed a drink. Or really, three drinks. To start with.
"Long time no see," as I downed that third pint. Feeling a fuzz around my eyes I figured someone was just mistaking me for Traci (it still happens every now and again.) I turned to enlighten the person, but found I vaguely recognized him.
His name is Chris and he has the distinction of being the first guy to ever actively hit on me since becoming a woman (*let's not get into it, but there had been mix-ups when I was a guy.) Feeling vulnerable and alone that night, I let him walk me home but tried my best not to lead him on. But here I was back at the same bar as that night, throwing them back like nobody's business and with a little bit of tear-smudged make-up. He sat across from me and asked if there was anything wrong. I proceeded to lay it all out, glossing over a few key details, which left him with a few questions.
He attempted to summarize: "You slept with your roommate, a guy, and then tried to go out with your hairdresser, a woman? Wow."
"I guess it makes more sense when you know the whole story," I admitted, laughing a bit to myself. I was getting very good at explaining matters. So I just came out with it. "I was swapped a few months ago, to this body, and I'm finally getting around to not fighting with it."
"With what?" he asked curiously. For a lot of people, the experience of speakingto a swapee is still unknwon.
"With this body! With it's urges and impulses, it's likes and dislikes..." I took a swig of beer, "With its drink preferences! Everything it wants to do and be and for me to do to it, how to eat, how to walk, how to do my hair... I hat eit sometimes, but sometimes..." I cringed imagining my one night with Traci, "Sometimes it feels so god damn right! I used to be a man, Chris. I might as well just let it all out there. I didn't ask for it, but someone made me into it, and I've gotta like it or just sit around hating everything."
With a typical male disbelief, he asked, "So you like being a woman?"
I rolled my head trying to loosed my neck and shoulders, "Man. Woman. If I've learned anything, it's that life's too short to put up a fight, you are who they make you. Whoever they are, I don't know. But somebody's at the switch. It could happen to you, bro. And you know what? Odds are heavy you'd like it after a few months too. And does that make me gay? No sir! It makes me a damn straight woman, or at least bi." Keep in mind this was all drunken rambling. "But I'll tell you a secret. Hope it doesn't weird you out. I kinda like you."
He grinned. "You make a damn smooth woman, Nicki. I'm almost not weirded out."
I smiled at him and leaned back. Then I fondled my tits a bit and told him, "If you wanna take me out some night, I'll let you see."
Given the genuineness of my femininity, I doubted a man could resist. And I was right. A few nights later he called and that night last week, we went out.
In a probably-not-great first date for a man and an ex-male, we saw Knocked up. It made me uncomfortable to see femaleness all out ther eon the screen and know he'd be comparing me, but I tried to put it out of my mind, not hard given how funny it was. At the end of the night, he took me to the door of Traci's building.
I looked at him and read his mind. I told him, "You want to come up."
He admitted, "A little bit. But I don't think we're ready."
I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Just kiss me then." I know that, when I was a man, I'd rather a woman be so straightforward, off-putting as it might be.
So he kissed me. It was nothing special, but not a cold fish either. So we're going out again this weekend. Before long, who knows?
And everytime I think I've got the answers... somebody changes the questions.
After getting turned down by Cherrie, I had to drown my sorrows. Here I was, this miserable half-girl, just trying to come into her own, and instead getting rejected and more or less out on the street. I had gradually moved more and more of my Nicki stuff into Cherrie's apartment, and now I'm awkwardly back on Traci's couch with whatever I have left. So I needed a drink. Or really, three drinks. To start with.
"Long time no see," as I downed that third pint. Feeling a fuzz around my eyes I figured someone was just mistaking me for Traci (it still happens every now and again.) I turned to enlighten the person, but found I vaguely recognized him.
His name is Chris and he has the distinction of being the first guy to ever actively hit on me since becoming a woman (*let's not get into it, but there had been mix-ups when I was a guy.) Feeling vulnerable and alone that night, I let him walk me home but tried my best not to lead him on. But here I was back at the same bar as that night, throwing them back like nobody's business and with a little bit of tear-smudged make-up. He sat across from me and asked if there was anything wrong. I proceeded to lay it all out, glossing over a few key details, which left him with a few questions.
He attempted to summarize: "You slept with your roommate, a guy, and then tried to go out with your hairdresser, a woman? Wow."
"I guess it makes more sense when you know the whole story," I admitted, laughing a bit to myself. I was getting very good at explaining matters. So I just came out with it. "I was swapped a few months ago, to this body, and I'm finally getting around to not fighting with it."
"With what?" he asked curiously. For a lot of people, the experience of speakingto a swapee is still unknwon.
"With this body! With it's urges and impulses, it's likes and dislikes..." I took a swig of beer, "With its drink preferences! Everything it wants to do and be and for me to do to it, how to eat, how to walk, how to do my hair... I hat eit sometimes, but sometimes..." I cringed imagining my one night with Traci, "Sometimes it feels so god damn right! I used to be a man, Chris. I might as well just let it all out there. I didn't ask for it, but someone made me into it, and I've gotta like it or just sit around hating everything."
With a typical male disbelief, he asked, "So you like being a woman?"
I rolled my head trying to loosed my neck and shoulders, "Man. Woman. If I've learned anything, it's that life's too short to put up a fight, you are who they make you. Whoever they are, I don't know. But somebody's at the switch. It could happen to you, bro. And you know what? Odds are heavy you'd like it after a few months too. And does that make me gay? No sir! It makes me a damn straight woman, or at least bi." Keep in mind this was all drunken rambling. "But I'll tell you a secret. Hope it doesn't weird you out. I kinda like you."
He grinned. "You make a damn smooth woman, Nicki. I'm almost not weirded out."
I smiled at him and leaned back. Then I fondled my tits a bit and told him, "If you wanna take me out some night, I'll let you see."
Given the genuineness of my femininity, I doubted a man could resist. And I was right. A few nights later he called and that night last week, we went out.
In a probably-not-great first date for a man and an ex-male, we saw Knocked up. It made me uncomfortable to see femaleness all out ther eon the screen and know he'd be comparing me, but I tried to put it out of my mind, not hard given how funny it was. At the end of the night, he took me to the door of Traci's building.
I looked at him and read his mind. I told him, "You want to come up."
He admitted, "A little bit. But I don't think we're ready."
I put my hand on his shoulder and whispered, "Just kiss me then." I know that, when I was a man, I'd rather a woman be so straightforward, off-putting as it might be.
So he kissed me. It was nothing special, but not a cold fish either. So we're going out again this weekend. Before long, who knows?
And everytime I think I've got the answers... somebody changes the questions.
Friday, June 22, 2007
Strange encounters: An Interview with Q?
Ever since the conference I had made my top priority to score an interview with this enigmatic Q character. She left me a pager number, which I have called numerous times with no response. I was growing frustrated, until early this week when I received an e-mail.
SENDER: Q
SUBJECT: From Q
BODY: In town this week, meet me Tuesday, noon, this address - Q
Following that was the address to a diner. I arrived early, because she would know me but I may not necessarily recognize her. Part of me was expecting to see an African American woman, but based on what she told me at our last meeting, there was no real reason to expect that.
I ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee and sat in wait, examining every person who entered for those hunched shoulders and twisted lips that Q seemed to carry, man or woman. A bald man, a teenage boy, a thirtysomething mother with a stroller... no, no, of course not. An old man, a teenage girl, a pair of businessmen... again, three no's. Most of them glanced at me and shrugged it off, seeing that I was obviously waiting for someone.
I was done my second cup of coffee and most of my sandwich when the someone finally entered. A thin little girl of no more than 12. She wore shorts and sandals and her hair was in pigtails. She sat next to me and tried to flag down a waitress.
"Soup and salad," she ordered, "Diet Pepsi." The waitress siad they had Coke and she said "Whatever" and turned her attention to me, shocked as I was. I don't know why; I shouldn't have been because swaps have a random way about them. Black woman, white preeteen, whatever.
"Q," I assured myself.
She smirked and said, "In the flesh. well, somebody's flesh! Oh, man, you would not believe the week I've been having! I was shacking up with the Richardsons in Colorado... this is Meg Richardson's body, by the way... and they just wouldn't let me go until they were sure their poor daughter was safe! And I told her she was probably fine and I called her on my cell and told her to go to the BISA and make sure everything was kosher. They managed to get her back to Denver and finally, finally I hit the road."
"I'm sure the Richardsons weren't to hpapy to see you take off in their daughter's body," I noted.
"What are they gonna do? I'm not their daughter."
Which is when I asked, "Then who are you?"
She coughed a little and mused, "I need a cigarette. You wanna do this thing quick? I'm not sure how much time I've got here."
I told her she should probably not smoke in that body and she told me bluntly it was not my business. I got out my notebook.
SN: So let's get down to it... who is "Q"?
Q: (Laughs) Well obviously, I am. Aren't I? I don't know anymore.
But where did you come from? Where were you before the swaps?
I'm not really sure, I'm sorry to say. I think I was in a coma or something, or maybe I just didn't exist and came into being just to swap people around.
So you think you are responsible for the swaps?
Maybe! I don't know. I mean, I don't know what's really going on, I'm sad to say. I wish I did, I'm as confused as everyone else, I'm just handling it better.
Could you at least try to explain yourself?
I'll give it a go. It was New Year's Eve, I guess, and I woke up on a beach. nobody knew what a swap was at the time, there was a half-a-handful of swapees. I was in Florida wearing this naughty string bikini and this man comes up and puts his arms around me, fondling me, kissing me.
Your husband?
Somebody's husband. Noreen Daugherty's husband. They were vacationing in Florida, she was catching some rays and he'd turned his back for a moment and pop, we were swapped.
You can't remember anything before that?
Not specifically. I have this personality, so it must've come from somewhere, but I knew I wasn't Noreen. I had just popped into her.
How did you react?
I wanted to sock the guy for touching me. I didn't know what was going on and it felt disgusting, but enticing in a way because he was, you know, stimulating the erogenous zones. So after it felt wrong, it started to feel right. And it was after fooling around a bit that I asked him who he was. At first he thought I had amnesia - that Noreen did anyway, because I didn't know who I was and I was worried that maybe I was Noreen. We were going to go to the doctor and get an MRI. Maybe they did, but I was gone after a few weeks of staying at home.
Where to?
Andrew Holloway, the poor kid from Nebraska was doing a little ice fishing on soem lake. That was January 10.
How did you react to THAT?
With quite a bit of surprise, because it wasn't like the first one. I knew where I'd just come from, and they were on the verge of convincing me I was Noreen.
And what happened to Andrew?
Well, he became Noreen I suppose. And by that, I mean he came back to Nebraska and lived as Andrew in Noreen's body, which has become the tendancy for swapees I suppose.
Did Noreen ever turn up?
No, I believe she just vanished into thin air.
What did you do after becoming Andrew?
I freaked out, because I was suddenly male again.
"Again?"
Well, when I was Noreen, I thought it was wrong to be a woman, so I thuoght I must've been a man. Then I become a man, and that felt wrong too, after being a woman for 10 days. Andrew was a high school football player with an athletic body, compared to Noreen, 5-something-feet, 100-something-pounds. I tried to explain to the Holloways their son was in Florida with Mr. Daugherty and they didn't believe me until he got home. I quietly snuck off.
Where to?
I just had to hit the road, so I went to Kansas City and did a little roadwork. I met a girl and we messed around some. Then one morning, a few days into February... it was after Groundhod Day, so maybe the third or fourth... I'm in Sacramento working a convenience store. That's when I got hooked on the Camels.
You were swapped into a convenience store clerk?
Rajiv Singh, to be precise. That lasted about eighteen days. He never came back, and by the end of February I'm in a first-grade classroom.
You were swapped with a first-grader?
No, just the teacher, Mrs. Pulaski. Diane. By this time I wasn't surprised at all, and I was a woman again, but whatever.
How did Mr. Pulaski react?
I never told him.
What, you just went on being this woman?
Yeah, it was easy enough to fake. So I was now, let's see, a 40-year-old woman with a husband who's almost fifty, teaching 6-year-olds shapes and basic math. Not too hard, basically babysitting. That lasted nearly a month, most of March. I liked it. It was a nice quiet life.
And the real Mrs. Pulaski never called?
Sure she did, but that's what caller-ID is for. I told Singh not to call again and convinced the husband he was just a crazy person. Eventually he gave up I guess.
What about Singh, did he ever try to get his life back?
Not really. He actually thanked me, because I left him a good job and a girlfriend, as Holloway. I told him it was no sweat and went on living. All the while, I horded some cash away for my next swap.
You knew it was going to happen?
You'd have to be stupid, after four of the damn things, not to know. It was around that time they were becoming more public. I laid low, I wanted to see what was going on. By Easter I wsa a waitress/student in Philly. Louise Chau.
You just take these people's lives?
Not by choice, but I don't have one of my own to go back to.
And you leave behind you a trail of unrelated swapees?
Sure. Not by choice, I told you, I'm just some kind of pawn in this I swear. After that, I was 8-year-old Billy MacKay for about a week, and then I was Lou Albini, the man you met in Canton.
And who were you in Bethesda?
Carrie Jackson.
How long do you spend in each body?
A couple weeks or so, but I'm getting better at estimating it, so I know I might not be here at the end of the day. I'm trying to learn to oconcentrate and control where I swap to.
Do you think you can do that?
When I was swapping out of Carrie, I thought abuot the mountains, and suddenly I was in Denver. You tell me.
Who are you going to be next?
Not sure. I wanted you to interview me because I'm going to go undergorund. Going to hide in plain sight.
Why?
The scientists want to dissect me, but it's not my body, they'd be hurting an innocent person. The Church of Redeemer wants to deify me, and that ain't cool. And everyone will want to ask me what the swaps are, but I don't know. All I know is that there is more to them than they know, and they know more than they are saying.
Do you think it's alien technology?
No, I think alien technology wouldn't fuck up as badly as this. Believe me, this is man-made, probably in America; you can tell because it doesn't work properly.
And you've only ever been swapped into Americans.
I know, that's so weird, isn't it? People get swapped to France or England or Japan all the time. I'm stuck in the Land of the (uses finger-quotes) "Free." Connect the dots, bro.
(She finished her meal.)
I think I'm going soon.
Going where?
Going to be swapped. I can tell. I'll stay in touch. But listen, as soon as I do, just play along, okay?
With that, she stared off in space for a moment...
"Bill?" The little girl looked around frantically. I didn't know what to say. "Bill, am-- oh, damn, I've been swapped?"
I almost answered when in barged a young lady, maybe in her late 20's. She wore sunglasses, a light top, a black skirt and had straight dark hair. I had never seen her before but she zoomed over to our table.
"Thanks for watching Meg, Alex," she told me as she grabbed Meg's shoulder, "Come on, honey."
The little girl pled, "Lady, I'm sorry I'm not your--- daughter? Aw, man. Listen, I'm a grown man, I--" she tried to explain as the woman cut her off.
"Oh, we're not playing this game." She smirked, "You let the girl watch one 20/20 special and suddenly she's swapped twice a day."
"Lady, I'm telling you, I'm not--"
"Shh," again she interrupted. The girl - probably some kind of businessman it seemed - was probably intimidated by how much larger the woman looked, even though she stood between 5'4-and-7. I couold only watch as the young lady scolded, "Your mommy is getting tired of this game."
Whatever Q had set up, it was a pretty flimsy cover and would probably only get him so far, wherever he now was. The little girl will likely get to a BISA soon and alert the authorities. I don't think Q can run for ever... just that there won't be a prison to hold him.
SENDER: Q
SUBJECT: From Q
BODY: In town this week, meet me Tuesday, noon, this address - Q
Following that was the address to a diner. I arrived early, because she would know me but I may not necessarily recognize her. Part of me was expecting to see an African American woman, but based on what she told me at our last meeting, there was no real reason to expect that.
I ordered a sandwich and a cup of coffee and sat in wait, examining every person who entered for those hunched shoulders and twisted lips that Q seemed to carry, man or woman. A bald man, a teenage boy, a thirtysomething mother with a stroller... no, no, of course not. An old man, a teenage girl, a pair of businessmen... again, three no's. Most of them glanced at me and shrugged it off, seeing that I was obviously waiting for someone.
I was done my second cup of coffee and most of my sandwich when the someone finally entered. A thin little girl of no more than 12. She wore shorts and sandals and her hair was in pigtails. She sat next to me and tried to flag down a waitress.
"Soup and salad," she ordered, "Diet Pepsi." The waitress siad they had Coke and she said "Whatever" and turned her attention to me, shocked as I was. I don't know why; I shouldn't have been because swaps have a random way about them. Black woman, white preeteen, whatever.
"Q," I assured myself.
She smirked and said, "In the flesh. well, somebody's flesh! Oh, man, you would not believe the week I've been having! I was shacking up with the Richardsons in Colorado... this is Meg Richardson's body, by the way... and they just wouldn't let me go until they were sure their poor daughter was safe! And I told her she was probably fine and I called her on my cell and told her to go to the BISA and make sure everything was kosher. They managed to get her back to Denver and finally, finally I hit the road."
"I'm sure the Richardsons weren't to hpapy to see you take off in their daughter's body," I noted.
"What are they gonna do? I'm not their daughter."
Which is when I asked, "Then who are you?"
She coughed a little and mused, "I need a cigarette. You wanna do this thing quick? I'm not sure how much time I've got here."
I told her she should probably not smoke in that body and she told me bluntly it was not my business. I got out my notebook.
SN: So let's get down to it... who is "Q"?
Q: (Laughs) Well obviously, I am. Aren't I? I don't know anymore.
But where did you come from? Where were you before the swaps?
I'm not really sure, I'm sorry to say. I think I was in a coma or something, or maybe I just didn't exist and came into being just to swap people around.
So you think you are responsible for the swaps?
Maybe! I don't know. I mean, I don't know what's really going on, I'm sad to say. I wish I did, I'm as confused as everyone else, I'm just handling it better.
Could you at least try to explain yourself?
I'll give it a go. It was New Year's Eve, I guess, and I woke up on a beach. nobody knew what a swap was at the time, there was a half-a-handful of swapees. I was in Florida wearing this naughty string bikini and this man comes up and puts his arms around me, fondling me, kissing me.
Your husband?
Somebody's husband. Noreen Daugherty's husband. They were vacationing in Florida, she was catching some rays and he'd turned his back for a moment and pop, we were swapped.
You can't remember anything before that?
Not specifically. I have this personality, so it must've come from somewhere, but I knew I wasn't Noreen. I had just popped into her.
How did you react?
I wanted to sock the guy for touching me. I didn't know what was going on and it felt disgusting, but enticing in a way because he was, you know, stimulating the erogenous zones. So after it felt wrong, it started to feel right. And it was after fooling around a bit that I asked him who he was. At first he thought I had amnesia - that Noreen did anyway, because I didn't know who I was and I was worried that maybe I was Noreen. We were going to go to the doctor and get an MRI. Maybe they did, but I was gone after a few weeks of staying at home.
Where to?
Andrew Holloway, the poor kid from Nebraska was doing a little ice fishing on soem lake. That was January 10.
How did you react to THAT?
With quite a bit of surprise, because it wasn't like the first one. I knew where I'd just come from, and they were on the verge of convincing me I was Noreen.
And what happened to Andrew?
Well, he became Noreen I suppose. And by that, I mean he came back to Nebraska and lived as Andrew in Noreen's body, which has become the tendancy for swapees I suppose.
Did Noreen ever turn up?
No, I believe she just vanished into thin air.
What did you do after becoming Andrew?
I freaked out, because I was suddenly male again.
"Again?"
Well, when I was Noreen, I thought it was wrong to be a woman, so I thuoght I must've been a man. Then I become a man, and that felt wrong too, after being a woman for 10 days. Andrew was a high school football player with an athletic body, compared to Noreen, 5-something-feet, 100-something-pounds. I tried to explain to the Holloways their son was in Florida with Mr. Daugherty and they didn't believe me until he got home. I quietly snuck off.
Where to?
I just had to hit the road, so I went to Kansas City and did a little roadwork. I met a girl and we messed around some. Then one morning, a few days into February... it was after Groundhod Day, so maybe the third or fourth... I'm in Sacramento working a convenience store. That's when I got hooked on the Camels.
You were swapped into a convenience store clerk?
Rajiv Singh, to be precise. That lasted about eighteen days. He never came back, and by the end of February I'm in a first-grade classroom.
You were swapped with a first-grader?
No, just the teacher, Mrs. Pulaski. Diane. By this time I wasn't surprised at all, and I was a woman again, but whatever.
How did Mr. Pulaski react?
I never told him.
What, you just went on being this woman?
Yeah, it was easy enough to fake. So I was now, let's see, a 40-year-old woman with a husband who's almost fifty, teaching 6-year-olds shapes and basic math. Not too hard, basically babysitting. That lasted nearly a month, most of March. I liked it. It was a nice quiet life.
And the real Mrs. Pulaski never called?
Sure she did, but that's what caller-ID is for. I told Singh not to call again and convinced the husband he was just a crazy person. Eventually he gave up I guess.
What about Singh, did he ever try to get his life back?
Not really. He actually thanked me, because I left him a good job and a girlfriend, as Holloway. I told him it was no sweat and went on living. All the while, I horded some cash away for my next swap.
You knew it was going to happen?
You'd have to be stupid, after four of the damn things, not to know. It was around that time they were becoming more public. I laid low, I wanted to see what was going on. By Easter I wsa a waitress/student in Philly. Louise Chau.
You just take these people's lives?
Not by choice, but I don't have one of my own to go back to.
And you leave behind you a trail of unrelated swapees?
Sure. Not by choice, I told you, I'm just some kind of pawn in this I swear. After that, I was 8-year-old Billy MacKay for about a week, and then I was Lou Albini, the man you met in Canton.
And who were you in Bethesda?
Carrie Jackson.
How long do you spend in each body?
A couple weeks or so, but I'm getting better at estimating it, so I know I might not be here at the end of the day. I'm trying to learn to oconcentrate and control where I swap to.
Do you think you can do that?
When I was swapping out of Carrie, I thought abuot the mountains, and suddenly I was in Denver. You tell me.
Who are you going to be next?
Not sure. I wanted you to interview me because I'm going to go undergorund. Going to hide in plain sight.
Why?
The scientists want to dissect me, but it's not my body, they'd be hurting an innocent person. The Church of Redeemer wants to deify me, and that ain't cool. And everyone will want to ask me what the swaps are, but I don't know. All I know is that there is more to them than they know, and they know more than they are saying.
Do you think it's alien technology?
No, I think alien technology wouldn't fuck up as badly as this. Believe me, this is man-made, probably in America; you can tell because it doesn't work properly.
And you've only ever been swapped into Americans.
I know, that's so weird, isn't it? People get swapped to France or England or Japan all the time. I'm stuck in the Land of the (uses finger-quotes) "Free." Connect the dots, bro.
(She finished her meal.)
I think I'm going soon.
Going where?
Going to be swapped. I can tell. I'll stay in touch. But listen, as soon as I do, just play along, okay?
With that, she stared off in space for a moment...
"Bill?" The little girl looked around frantically. I didn't know what to say. "Bill, am-- oh, damn, I've been swapped?"
I almost answered when in barged a young lady, maybe in her late 20's. She wore sunglasses, a light top, a black skirt and had straight dark hair. I had never seen her before but she zoomed over to our table.
"Thanks for watching Meg, Alex," she told me as she grabbed Meg's shoulder, "Come on, honey."
The little girl pled, "Lady, I'm sorry I'm not your--- daughter? Aw, man. Listen, I'm a grown man, I--" she tried to explain as the woman cut her off.
"Oh, we're not playing this game." She smirked, "You let the girl watch one 20/20 special and suddenly she's swapped twice a day."
"Lady, I'm telling you, I'm not--"
"Shh," again she interrupted. The girl - probably some kind of businessman it seemed - was probably intimidated by how much larger the woman looked, even though she stood between 5'4-and-7. I couold only watch as the young lady scolded, "Your mommy is getting tired of this game."
Whatever Q had set up, it was a pretty flimsy cover and would probably only get him so far, wherever he now was. The little girl will likely get to a BISA soon and alert the authorities. I don't think Q can run for ever... just that there won't be a prison to hold him.
Monday, June 18, 2007
Nicki: Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes
Hey all. Long time no post. Um, a lot's been going on. For the past several weeks I've been going by Nicki. It was something I toyed with ever since becoming a woman, but I didn't want to give in that way. But things change.
It started one evening while I was sitting in the tub shaving my legs. I cut myself pretty bad and it stung. My eyes started to water, and then I ended up full-on crying. I sobbed for like five minutes and something occurred to me. A few things, actually.
First, I hadn't cried since getting a concussion from an errant softball in the fifth grade. Second, I was sitting in a bathtub shaving my legs. Third, I didn't have a penis. Fourth, all of this seemed okay.
Until recently, I had identified myself, if not biologically then at least mentally, as a man. My identity was all tied to boyhood memories, sports, chasing girls, and most importantly, whether or not I had a penis. Even without one, I thought often "I wish I still had my penis" but as I wiped my eyes I thought "It's okay." I was realizing, maybe it's okay not to be a man.
I've been living as a woman for months now. No matter how I tried to spin it, ever since that chilly spring morning, I've been a woman, dealing with tight underthings, various areas of extreme sensitivity (example: I hear like a bat now and get a ton of headaches,) cycles, leering men I have no interest in touching, and the physical limitations of being shorter, weaker, and more vulnerable. And less and less I resent what I see in the mirror, because more and more it becomes mine. For better or worse. Which brings me to this post.
I'm sitting here half-dressed with crumpled up tissues all around. I should be getting ready to go out, but I needed to make this point. It's about knowing what you want.
Not long after I slept with Traci I had to tell Cherrie about it. I wanted to get her feeling on it. We met in a cafe for lunch.
"Well there it is," she said with a sighing smirk, "Now you know the secret."
I laughed and shrugged, "Well it really just confused me more because I wasn't sure if I liked it."
She nodded, "Well, that makes sense, all things considered."
"I think," I leaned in closer and whispered, "I'm a woman - let's get that out there, I'm a woman - who is interested in women."
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe you're just afraid of men because you used to be--"
"That's not it!" I whisper-hissed, "It felt fine. It didn't feel... you know, gay or anything. If that was it, why would I be so comfortable dressing myself like a woman rather than like a man? Why did I do it in the first place?"
She reasoned "Because you wanted to find out if--"
"Exactly." I cut her off. "As a man, I never wanted to find out, because I knew I liked girls. Now I'm a woman and I had to find out, and I know. Cherrie, I know. I like girls."
She squirmed a bit, not knowing what to say, but probably fearing what I was about to say. I put my hand on hers.
"I like you, Cherrie."
A tear trickled down her cheek and she pulled her hand away from me. "Don't..." she whimpered. It was too late. I said it and I meant it.
All she said was, "I'm sorry" as she dug through her purse, put a few bucks on the counter, and left, repeating, "I'm so sorry Nick."
I felt bad. Really heartbroken, like a teenager again. It was the exact same feeling whenever a girl would turn me down in high school, in college, in life. That's how I knew that was what I wanted.
Now I'm sitting here, minus one friend, and I have something I should be dressing for. That's the second part of the story but I really am low on time so I'll tell you how it turns out on Friday.
It started one evening while I was sitting in the tub shaving my legs. I cut myself pretty bad and it stung. My eyes started to water, and then I ended up full-on crying. I sobbed for like five minutes and something occurred to me. A few things, actually.
First, I hadn't cried since getting a concussion from an errant softball in the fifth grade. Second, I was sitting in a bathtub shaving my legs. Third, I didn't have a penis. Fourth, all of this seemed okay.
Until recently, I had identified myself, if not biologically then at least mentally, as a man. My identity was all tied to boyhood memories, sports, chasing girls, and most importantly, whether or not I had a penis. Even without one, I thought often "I wish I still had my penis" but as I wiped my eyes I thought "It's okay." I was realizing, maybe it's okay not to be a man.
I've been living as a woman for months now. No matter how I tried to spin it, ever since that chilly spring morning, I've been a woman, dealing with tight underthings, various areas of extreme sensitivity (example: I hear like a bat now and get a ton of headaches,) cycles, leering men I have no interest in touching, and the physical limitations of being shorter, weaker, and more vulnerable. And less and less I resent what I see in the mirror, because more and more it becomes mine. For better or worse. Which brings me to this post.
I'm sitting here half-dressed with crumpled up tissues all around. I should be getting ready to go out, but I needed to make this point. It's about knowing what you want.
Not long after I slept with Traci I had to tell Cherrie about it. I wanted to get her feeling on it. We met in a cafe for lunch.
"Well there it is," she said with a sighing smirk, "Now you know the secret."
I laughed and shrugged, "Well it really just confused me more because I wasn't sure if I liked it."
She nodded, "Well, that makes sense, all things considered."
"I think," I leaned in closer and whispered, "I'm a woman - let's get that out there, I'm a woman - who is interested in women."
She rolled her eyes. "Maybe you're just afraid of men because you used to be--"
"That's not it!" I whisper-hissed, "It felt fine. It didn't feel... you know, gay or anything. If that was it, why would I be so comfortable dressing myself like a woman rather than like a man? Why did I do it in the first place?"
She reasoned "Because you wanted to find out if--"
"Exactly." I cut her off. "As a man, I never wanted to find out, because I knew I liked girls. Now I'm a woman and I had to find out, and I know. Cherrie, I know. I like girls."
She squirmed a bit, not knowing what to say, but probably fearing what I was about to say. I put my hand on hers.
"I like you, Cherrie."
A tear trickled down her cheek and she pulled her hand away from me. "Don't..." she whimpered. It was too late. I said it and I meant it.
All she said was, "I'm sorry" as she dug through her purse, put a few bucks on the counter, and left, repeating, "I'm so sorry Nick."
I felt bad. Really heartbroken, like a teenager again. It was the exact same feeling whenever a girl would turn me down in high school, in college, in life. That's how I knew that was what I wanted.
Now I'm sitting here, minus one friend, and I have something I should be dressing for. That's the second part of the story but I really am low on time so I'll tell you how it turns out on Friday.
Friday, June 8, 2007
Brief: Swap halts plans for spring wedding
Donald Terry, 27, of Greenwich, CT, was heartbroken this past weekend to have to put his wedding plans on hold indefinitely. He had planned to wed his longtime fiancee, Marlene Darrick, 24, but is now completely unable to due to an untimely swap.
As final preparations were being made - Darrick was already in her dress for the cereminy later that afternoon - the bride felt dizzy and tried to sit down, only to regain her vision, a middle-pew view of the altar, in the seat occupied by Terry's own cousin, Frances Terry, 31.
Donald and Marlene are now legally unable to wed, as Ms. Darrick is biologically Donald's cousin.
"It's damn frustrating," complains Donald, "To look at the woman I love and in fact be seeing my cousin."
Donald hopes that the swap may soon someday be undone, as he is eager to resume life as normal.
"Plus," he quipped, "We couldn't get the deposit back on the Reception Hall."
As final preparations were being made - Darrick was already in her dress for the cereminy later that afternoon - the bride felt dizzy and tried to sit down, only to regain her vision, a middle-pew view of the altar, in the seat occupied by Terry's own cousin, Frances Terry, 31.
Donald and Marlene are now legally unable to wed, as Ms. Darrick is biologically Donald's cousin.
"It's damn frustrating," complains Donald, "To look at the woman I love and in fact be seeing my cousin."
Donald hopes that the swap may soon someday be undone, as he is eager to resume life as normal.
"Plus," he quipped, "We couldn't get the deposit back on the Reception Hall."
Friday, June 1, 2007
Nick: Small Steps
In his last column, Alex alluded to seeing me at the Bethesda Conference and seeming to have a chip on my shoulder. Well, wouldn't you? It's been two months and I still don't have a handle on my life.
I lashed out at him a little bit, which afterward made me feel like a bit of a bitch. I guess I felt he didn't understand anything about what I was going through since he hasn't been swapped (yet) and in my opinion has a limited understanding of what we go through, even he's spend all these months talking to every swapee he can possibly get in touch with. There's nothing like first-hand experience.
And then Dr. Bergman drops this bomb, casting doubt on my identity. I wonder if she really believes that she's just a little Mexican girl with a scientist's brain. If she doesn't miss the touch of his wife or being able to lift his kids up. And if he really, really thinks it's temporary, if he's really not worried about spending years of his life growing into a young girl's body. Because I know I am.
I didn't want to be anything. For the longest time, my biggest ambition as a swapee was to keep my head down, make a living, stay independant and just coast. But months go by and make it seem impossible. Every morning I wake up on the couch, wait for a body that's rightfully mine to get out of the shower, change into a fresh pair of panties, and feel so damn lonely. Even my new best friend doesn't understand, and for a long time, I didn't think Traci was willing to listen.
I was feeling crappy already when I finally sat down to have a talk about it with Traci. I didn't know who to turn to. I thought about Cherrie, but she was occupied and I didn't want to lay the trip on her (plus, it'd open up other issues I'd rather keep bottled for now.) All my old friends are in Chicago, and they're men so I don't even think they think about me the same way they used to. I needed someone I could trust. So I called Traci over to the table on Tuesday before the conference and just bared my soul. At first I didn't even think he was listening. Then he starts breaking down and for the first time in my life, I see my grown male (former) body crying.
"I'm sorry," he sobs, "Oh God, I'm a mess." He wipes his eyes and tells me that he and Rose had split up, that he had become the kind of man he hated, who was concerned mostly with sex and a good time and didn't understand what was going on until it was too late. That he'd pushed away a woman who was a good friend and patient girlfriend because of his newfound male stupidity. I thought it was a cop-out to blame the body, but I guess that without being raised that way it doesn't come with training wheels.
And there we were, two lonely swapped people commiserating in the night, sharing tears and stories when something unexpected happened... he kissed me, or I kissed him, or somebody kissed the other anyway. And it was seriously the first intimate contact I'd had in all my time as a woman and, despite the nagging guilt at the back of my mind, I didn't want it to let up.
And that's the story of how I lost my female virginity.
Trust me, I felt awful afterward, and he did too - especially because from his perspective he was committing the very crime he'd just confessed. But I admitted that, at the time, I wanted it, and even felt better for having had it, but didn't think we should continue that. It was just, a big step. I don't know, maybe now I'll be less afraid of intimacy, of opening up and being a person again, not just an employee and citizen.
Which is why I took Bergman's revelation badly. Because I'm not her, I'm not Traci at all, and I don't want things to change, because I want to believe that I, Nick Blanchard, am growing as a person, as a woman.
But, having told that story, there is still one very important chapter to write...
-Nick
I lashed out at him a little bit, which afterward made me feel like a bit of a bitch. I guess I felt he didn't understand anything about what I was going through since he hasn't been swapped (yet) and in my opinion has a limited understanding of what we go through, even he's spend all these months talking to every swapee he can possibly get in touch with. There's nothing like first-hand experience.
And then Dr. Bergman drops this bomb, casting doubt on my identity. I wonder if she really believes that she's just a little Mexican girl with a scientist's brain. If she doesn't miss the touch of his wife or being able to lift his kids up. And if he really, really thinks it's temporary, if he's really not worried about spending years of his life growing into a young girl's body. Because I know I am.
I didn't want to be anything. For the longest time, my biggest ambition as a swapee was to keep my head down, make a living, stay independant and just coast. But months go by and make it seem impossible. Every morning I wake up on the couch, wait for a body that's rightfully mine to get out of the shower, change into a fresh pair of panties, and feel so damn lonely. Even my new best friend doesn't understand, and for a long time, I didn't think Traci was willing to listen.
I was feeling crappy already when I finally sat down to have a talk about it with Traci. I didn't know who to turn to. I thought about Cherrie, but she was occupied and I didn't want to lay the trip on her (plus, it'd open up other issues I'd rather keep bottled for now.) All my old friends are in Chicago, and they're men so I don't even think they think about me the same way they used to. I needed someone I could trust. So I called Traci over to the table on Tuesday before the conference and just bared my soul. At first I didn't even think he was listening. Then he starts breaking down and for the first time in my life, I see my grown male (former) body crying.
"I'm sorry," he sobs, "Oh God, I'm a mess." He wipes his eyes and tells me that he and Rose had split up, that he had become the kind of man he hated, who was concerned mostly with sex and a good time and didn't understand what was going on until it was too late. That he'd pushed away a woman who was a good friend and patient girlfriend because of his newfound male stupidity. I thought it was a cop-out to blame the body, but I guess that without being raised that way it doesn't come with training wheels.
And there we were, two lonely swapped people commiserating in the night, sharing tears and stories when something unexpected happened... he kissed me, or I kissed him, or somebody kissed the other anyway. And it was seriously the first intimate contact I'd had in all my time as a woman and, despite the nagging guilt at the back of my mind, I didn't want it to let up.
And that's the story of how I lost my female virginity.
Trust me, I felt awful afterward, and he did too - especially because from his perspective he was committing the very crime he'd just confessed. But I admitted that, at the time, I wanted it, and even felt better for having had it, but didn't think we should continue that. It was just, a big step. I don't know, maybe now I'll be less afraid of intimacy, of opening up and being a person again, not just an employee and citizen.
Which is why I took Bergman's revelation badly. Because I'm not her, I'm not Traci at all, and I don't want things to change, because I want to believe that I, Nick Blanchard, am growing as a person, as a woman.
But, having told that story, there is still one very important chapter to write...
-Nick
Tuesday, May 29, 2007
Bethesda Swap Conference Spring 2007 Report
I arrived early last tuesday morning at the Bethesda BISA complex, which has grown over the past month to include numerous surrounding buildings as well as new construction. Trolling the grounds were people of all demographics, many of whom swapees, but all seeking answers. The directorial staff of BISA, including Drs. Arthur Gulf and Howard Bergman, would hopefully provide.
When Dr. Arthur Gulf took the podium alongside a small latin girl, I could virtually immediately sense what the first item of discussion would be. The girl stepped up to the podium and spoke.
Earlier this month, she explained, the bodies of Dr. Howard Bergman and 12-year-old Manuella Perez of Mexico City, Mexico, were swapped. At this time, the mind of Dr. Bergman, in the body of Miss Perez, would be fulfilling Bergman's duties at BISA.
The wording seemed odd to me, and they were pressed to explain. "We have reason to believe that the swaps are, in fact, a temporary inversion of psyches. That through some yet-unknown catalyst, one person's identity is temporarily washed onto another's and vice versa, but will very likely become supressed and negated."
This got a generally positive reaction from the crowd, except for a few Church of the Holy Redeemer supporters, who booed audibly.
Questioned as to when this would occur, Bergman explained they had no idea. Their most conservative estimate was that within a year of the first swap, early swapees might be restored. However, a more likely scenario is that it could take many years for all or most of the swaps to be reversed, and that's assuming they reach a "breaking point" after which they slow or stop altogether.
"Much is still not known," Gulf explained, "but we are expanding our knowledge by leaps and bounds each and every day."
Now that the BISA infrastructure is in place on five continents, about 20 major cities with offices established or in development, swaps should be accepted as a very normal part of life, albeit one that brings numerous surprises and inconveniences.
Bergman said she did not know at this time what would become of swapees whose original bodies had died. They may stay as they are, or it is quite possible they will revert, depending on the still-unknown nature of the "de-swap" process. If it involves a maintained connection between the two, then severing that conncetion may prevent de-swapping. If it involves the swapee merely "remembering" his or her original identity, there is not much to worry about.
Beyond that, there were a number of roundtable discussions, panels, workshops for people who had been swapped. Most notably, a group for those who had inherited addictions from their swap-partner, whether to cigarettes or heroin. Many of those people were in bad shape.
The Church was attempting to recruit. There was a preview trailer, met with thunderous applause, for an upcoming film about the swaps featuring numerous actors who have been swapped, including America Ferrera and Matt Damon (who will take on Ferrera's role on ABC's "Ugly Betty" this fall.)
I saw my friend Nick at the conference, and we got a cup of coffee. She has been absent from the blog recently, and told me it was because she was "dealing with stuff, and some of what I'm hearing here is only making me feel worse." She also asked I keep our conversation private and off-the-record, which I am only slightly ignoring.
On the last day, a Volkswagen pulled up to me on the street, driven by a young African-American woman. She got out of the car, leaned against it and told me, "You're a tough guy to track down."
I looked at her and asked her if I knew her (because at these events you never know,) and she said we had met once before, at a support group on Ohio. I thought back and told her I didn't remember her (and my entry seems to confirm this, since I described everyone there and no African-American woman was among them.) She pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes, which I remembered seeing a man there smoke.
"I've been in this body for almost a week and I still can't smoke these sumbitches without coughing," she said as she lit the cigarette in her lips.
She could not be the man I had met there; he'd told me he had already swapped, and I see no reason why he would have lied. There has not been a documented case of a person swapping twice, but this woman carried herself, with the same hunched shoulders, titled head and curled lips of the man I had met in Canton who refused to tell his name.
"Just who are you?" I asked her.
"You want to interview me, right?" she smiled. I told her I was actually on my way to the airport, so she took out a business card (which read "Mary Patton Designs") and scribbled something on the back; a pager number and the letter Q.
"Let me know when you wanna talk, 'kay sugar?"
With that, she flicked her cigarette down and coughed, extinguishing it with her open-toed shoe and got back in to drive away.
On the plane-ride home, I furiously scribbled my notes and about a dozen question I thought this Q person might be able to answer. I have yet to hear back.
When Dr. Arthur Gulf took the podium alongside a small latin girl, I could virtually immediately sense what the first item of discussion would be. The girl stepped up to the podium and spoke.
Earlier this month, she explained, the bodies of Dr. Howard Bergman and 12-year-old Manuella Perez of Mexico City, Mexico, were swapped. At this time, the mind of Dr. Bergman, in the body of Miss Perez, would be fulfilling Bergman's duties at BISA.
The wording seemed odd to me, and they were pressed to explain. "We have reason to believe that the swaps are, in fact, a temporary inversion of psyches. That through some yet-unknown catalyst, one person's identity is temporarily washed onto another's and vice versa, but will very likely become supressed and negated."
This got a generally positive reaction from the crowd, except for a few Church of the Holy Redeemer supporters, who booed audibly.
Questioned as to when this would occur, Bergman explained they had no idea. Their most conservative estimate was that within a year of the first swap, early swapees might be restored. However, a more likely scenario is that it could take many years for all or most of the swaps to be reversed, and that's assuming they reach a "breaking point" after which they slow or stop altogether.
"Much is still not known," Gulf explained, "but we are expanding our knowledge by leaps and bounds each and every day."
Now that the BISA infrastructure is in place on five continents, about 20 major cities with offices established or in development, swaps should be accepted as a very normal part of life, albeit one that brings numerous surprises and inconveniences.
Bergman said she did not know at this time what would become of swapees whose original bodies had died. They may stay as they are, or it is quite possible they will revert, depending on the still-unknown nature of the "de-swap" process. If it involves a maintained connection between the two, then severing that conncetion may prevent de-swapping. If it involves the swapee merely "remembering" his or her original identity, there is not much to worry about.
Beyond that, there were a number of roundtable discussions, panels, workshops for people who had been swapped. Most notably, a group for those who had inherited addictions from their swap-partner, whether to cigarettes or heroin. Many of those people were in bad shape.
The Church was attempting to recruit. There was a preview trailer, met with thunderous applause, for an upcoming film about the swaps featuring numerous actors who have been swapped, including America Ferrera and Matt Damon (who will take on Ferrera's role on ABC's "Ugly Betty" this fall.)
I saw my friend Nick at the conference, and we got a cup of coffee. She has been absent from the blog recently, and told me it was because she was "dealing with stuff, and some of what I'm hearing here is only making me feel worse." She also asked I keep our conversation private and off-the-record, which I am only slightly ignoring.
On the last day, a Volkswagen pulled up to me on the street, driven by a young African-American woman. She got out of the car, leaned against it and told me, "You're a tough guy to track down."
I looked at her and asked her if I knew her (because at these events you never know,) and she said we had met once before, at a support group on Ohio. I thought back and told her I didn't remember her (and my entry seems to confirm this, since I described everyone there and no African-American woman was among them.) She pulled out a pack of Camel cigarettes, which I remembered seeing a man there smoke.
"I've been in this body for almost a week and I still can't smoke these sumbitches without coughing," she said as she lit the cigarette in her lips.
She could not be the man I had met there; he'd told me he had already swapped, and I see no reason why he would have lied. There has not been a documented case of a person swapping twice, but this woman carried herself, with the same hunched shoulders, titled head and curled lips of the man I had met in Canton who refused to tell his name.
"Just who are you?" I asked her.
"You want to interview me, right?" she smiled. I told her I was actually on my way to the airport, so she took out a business card (which read "Mary Patton Designs") and scribbled something on the back; a pager number and the letter Q.
"Let me know when you wanna talk, 'kay sugar?"
With that, she flicked her cigarette down and coughed, extinguishing it with her open-toed shoe and got back in to drive away.
On the plane-ride home, I furiously scribbled my notes and about a dozen question I thought this Q person might be able to answer. I have yet to hear back.
Friday, May 18, 2007
No news is good news
There will not be a real update until Tuesday, or maybe next Friday. Nick might send in another blog entry, but she's been kind of a recluse lately. The reason for this is that I'm going on a brief "summer vacation" (although I know it's still spring.) First, down to Bethesda for a conference at BISA, then a little R&R getaway. It's a Canadian long weekend, and I'm making it longer.
Still, there's always something going on. I have a few stories lined up for later once I get back. I'm sure Dr. Gulf and Dr. Bergman will have plenty to tell me. And of course, if you're dying to get in touch, you can leave a comment or e-mail your questions/swap stories to Ken Moorehead (who has very graciously allowed me to drop his personal e-mail on here for weeks now and has gotten very little of the credit he deserves.)
The last thing I wanted to say was that Newsweek recently did a cover story on gender. They actually contacted me and I spoke briefly to their reporter, because of my previous project but nothing I said was too relevant to the angle of the article. One of the unsolved mysteries of the Swap phenomenon is that 70% of them occur across gender lines (a number which has held consistent as the swaps have increased.) Most puzzling, to me especially, has been that the reaction has not been... consistent. And why should it be?
You have the Frickmans, an early swap case, a husband and wife who had the fortune to be swapped when in the throes of passion. Apparently, the lingering effect was that the new Mrs. Frickman took very enthusiastically to her wifely duties. Then of course there is Nick, who has been a woman for about two months now and yet wouldn't consider herself as such if you spoke to her (and remains quite convincing as "gender neutral.") Meanwhile, the person in Nick's body, Traci, has very gradually toughened up and become "male," but it was gradual. So you've got a number of alternative possibilities for when these swaps occur.
If gender is, as the article postulates (and I agree) hardwired into the brain by physiology and environment, I wonder what effect it truly has on the swapees? Do the hormones of the new body overrule the old instincts? And what about everyone looking at you and talking to you differently? You would certainly think, wouldn't you, that the swaps would be creating transgendered individuals - crossdressers, people on the waiting list of surgery, etc - but by and large, people are just getting on with their lives.
Hopefully I'll be able to pick Dr. Bergman's brain about it.
Still, there's always something going on. I have a few stories lined up for later once I get back. I'm sure Dr. Gulf and Dr. Bergman will have plenty to tell me. And of course, if you're dying to get in touch, you can leave a comment or e-mail your questions/swap stories to Ken Moorehead (who has very graciously allowed me to drop his personal e-mail on here for weeks now and has gotten very little of the credit he deserves.)
The last thing I wanted to say was that Newsweek recently did a cover story on gender. They actually contacted me and I spoke briefly to their reporter, because of my previous project but nothing I said was too relevant to the angle of the article. One of the unsolved mysteries of the Swap phenomenon is that 70% of them occur across gender lines (a number which has held consistent as the swaps have increased.) Most puzzling, to me especially, has been that the reaction has not been... consistent. And why should it be?
You have the Frickmans, an early swap case, a husband and wife who had the fortune to be swapped when in the throes of passion. Apparently, the lingering effect was that the new Mrs. Frickman took very enthusiastically to her wifely duties. Then of course there is Nick, who has been a woman for about two months now and yet wouldn't consider herself as such if you spoke to her (and remains quite convincing as "gender neutral.") Meanwhile, the person in Nick's body, Traci, has very gradually toughened up and become "male," but it was gradual. So you've got a number of alternative possibilities for when these swaps occur.
If gender is, as the article postulates (and I agree) hardwired into the brain by physiology and environment, I wonder what effect it truly has on the swapees? Do the hormones of the new body overrule the old instincts? And what about everyone looking at you and talking to you differently? You would certainly think, wouldn't you, that the swaps would be creating transgendered individuals - crossdressers, people on the waiting list of surgery, etc - but by and large, people are just getting on with their lives.
Hopefully I'll be able to pick Dr. Bergman's brain about it.
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
Swapee wins 2007 Wii Playoff Championship
Kyle Walchuk, 23, won this past weekend's National Wii playoff in Bethesda, MD. Six weeks ago, Detroit native Walchuk was swapped with 17-year-old Maria Cassini, a native of St. Louis, MO but whose parents emigrated from Rome, Italy shortly before her birth.
"After the swap I didn't really want to go out," said Walchuk, whose profession is listed as 'poker player.' "Didn't want the world to see me, so I stayed in and practiced my Wii. [Cassini's] body has pretty good co-ordination, and I was doing even better than I had before."
Walchuk's intense practising helped, as she had already signed up for the Spring Tournament for the Nintendo console. The year before, Walchuk had placed third in the National Guitar Hero tournament after placing second in the Detroit regionals.
In this 3-day tournament, Walchuk's crowning achievement was finishing the Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess in only 64 hours of play, a remarkable achievement given that its own programmers took an average of 70.
"Maybe the swap helped improve my game," laughs Walchuk, "I don't know, but I can tell you that playing non-stop helped me. It reminded me that I can still do all the things I like doing."
The win was a little surprising to Cassini who says that he had "Little to no talent" in video games as a kid, although he modestly admits, "It was something my brothers liked doing and I kind of wished I could get into."
Cassini has also been embarrassed by the media attention received by his former body. "Kyle is a skinny guy, but in my old body I'd been putting on the pounds. [She] looks okay, probably after sitting around, playing and not eating much, but I was up near 160 Lbs before the swap and [she's] still got my gut."
Walchuk doesn't seem to mind, laughing, "I'm not here to be a model or a beauty queen. I'm here to kick ass," also noting that having a shapely figure helps fend off otherwise sex-starved gamers. "I know how those guys can be - I'm one of them!"
"After the swap I didn't really want to go out," said Walchuk, whose profession is listed as 'poker player.' "Didn't want the world to see me, so I stayed in and practiced my Wii. [Cassini's] body has pretty good co-ordination, and I was doing even better than I had before."
Walchuk's intense practising helped, as she had already signed up for the Spring Tournament for the Nintendo console. The year before, Walchuk had placed third in the National Guitar Hero tournament after placing second in the Detroit regionals.
In this 3-day tournament, Walchuk's crowning achievement was finishing the Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess in only 64 hours of play, a remarkable achievement given that its own programmers took an average of 70.
"Maybe the swap helped improve my game," laughs Walchuk, "I don't know, but I can tell you that playing non-stop helped me. It reminded me that I can still do all the things I like doing."
The win was a little surprising to Cassini who says that he had "Little to no talent" in video games as a kid, although he modestly admits, "It was something my brothers liked doing and I kind of wished I could get into."
Cassini has also been embarrassed by the media attention received by his former body. "Kyle is a skinny guy, but in my old body I'd been putting on the pounds. [She] looks okay, probably after sitting around, playing and not eating much, but I was up near 160 Lbs before the swap and [she's] still got my gut."
Walchuk doesn't seem to mind, laughing, "I'm not here to be a model or a beauty queen. I'm here to kick ass," also noting that having a shapely figure helps fend off otherwise sex-starved gamers. "I know how those guys can be - I'm one of them!"
Tuesday, May 8, 2007
Nick: Testosterone...
Must be a very powerful thing. Without it, I've been a much more docile person, whereas Terri has been going full-throttle on this whole "man" thing.
On the weekend, we went down to the theatre to see Spider-Man 3. It was sort of a double-date you could say, because I brought Cherie and Traci brought Rose, this girl from his work. It was, in a word, awwwwwwkward.
The story there goes that they knew each other just a little bit when Traci was the receptionist, but weren't on much more than a "Hello, good morning, cute top" basis. Then Traci got my body and moved to the mail room where he sees her more and the conversations increased to what neither of them realized was flirting. Then Traci realized he liked girls and, after screwing around just a little bit, decided to take the big step. Rose decided to enter our weird little world.
So they're holding hands, and Cherrie and I are walking behind them kind of making fun because we're both single. It's mid-afternoon on Saturday and the Bloor area is full of construction workers, because the Ontario Museum has been undergoing renovations, like, forever. And these guys see me and Cherie and start this lame slow clap and a few wolf whistles. I didn't realize the cliche about construction guys was a fact. I guess they get to see a lot of women walk by every day. I'm not even sure I would have condoned this behaviour when I was a man, let alone now that I'm receiving it. Cherie just shrugged it off but I was nauseated and couldn't concentrate on the movie. Still though, I thought they did a decent enough job even if it didn't live up tot he second one. topher Grce needed more screen time, but you know James Franco really had some good scenes (even if the amnesia bit was totally hokey.)
I've been staying with Cherie more and more, as Traci's place becomes less and less girl-friendly. Maybe it's not even that, but it's just not roommate-friendly, as he keeps having Rose over to all hours. Cherie's a bigger place, too, with a comfier sofa.
But I do still live with Traci and the morning after that I sat down and had a serious talk with him.
"So how do you like Rose?" I asked, affecting the tone of a gossipy girl.
"Oh she's great," he beamed, "Smart, funny, and so pretty. God, she's great. She's everything I ever looked for in a person, even though..."
He paused and I finished the thought, "She's a woman."
"Yeah." He looked a little ashamed. "Do you think it's weird that I'm, dating a girl?"
I had to think. "I don't know. Because I know that's my old body and I guess it liked girls that much."
"But I wouldn't be doing it unless I really wanted to do, right?" he seemed really unsure of himself, for perhaps the first time, "I mean, your body isn't controlling me, I just want a different thing, don't I? Do you think?"
"I can't say," I told him, "I mean, I wore at the BISA but I'm not one of their scientists. I'm as clueless as you are."
He changed his tone back to the fond faraway one. "She makes me so happy."
"Then shouldn't that be all that matters?"
He nodded. "It's not just in my pants, either. I don't think so, anyway."
I rolled my eyes. Contrary to some women's beliefs, men are capable of having feelings elsewhere. Traci's learning this firsthand. Still though, the pants are a good place to start.
"So you're really attracted to her," I asked.
"Well yeah, aren't you? I mean... wouldn't you be?"
"I think so. It's hard to remember." I sighed. It was time to ask a really tough question. "When you're a woman... how do you know you're attracted to someone?"
"I guess it's not so obvious," he laughed. "But it's still easy to tell, Nick. You just get this feeling. Like your blood rushing faster. You just like to be near that person. They make you feel good and you think about them a lot. You just... know."
Blood runs faster? Like to be near? Just know?
Oh God... I think I'm in trouble.
On the weekend, we went down to the theatre to see Spider-Man 3. It was sort of a double-date you could say, because I brought Cherie and Traci brought Rose, this girl from his work. It was, in a word, awwwwwwkward.
The story there goes that they knew each other just a little bit when Traci was the receptionist, but weren't on much more than a "Hello, good morning, cute top" basis. Then Traci got my body and moved to the mail room where he sees her more and the conversations increased to what neither of them realized was flirting. Then Traci realized he liked girls and, after screwing around just a little bit, decided to take the big step. Rose decided to enter our weird little world.
So they're holding hands, and Cherrie and I are walking behind them kind of making fun because we're both single. It's mid-afternoon on Saturday and the Bloor area is full of construction workers, because the Ontario Museum has been undergoing renovations, like, forever. And these guys see me and Cherie and start this lame slow clap and a few wolf whistles. I didn't realize the cliche about construction guys was a fact. I guess they get to see a lot of women walk by every day. I'm not even sure I would have condoned this behaviour when I was a man, let alone now that I'm receiving it. Cherie just shrugged it off but I was nauseated and couldn't concentrate on the movie. Still though, I thought they did a decent enough job even if it didn't live up tot he second one. topher Grce needed more screen time, but you know James Franco really had some good scenes (even if the amnesia bit was totally hokey.)
I've been staying with Cherie more and more, as Traci's place becomes less and less girl-friendly. Maybe it's not even that, but it's just not roommate-friendly, as he keeps having Rose over to all hours. Cherie's a bigger place, too, with a comfier sofa.
But I do still live with Traci and the morning after that I sat down and had a serious talk with him.
"So how do you like Rose?" I asked, affecting the tone of a gossipy girl.
"Oh she's great," he beamed, "Smart, funny, and so pretty. God, she's great. She's everything I ever looked for in a person, even though..."
He paused and I finished the thought, "She's a woman."
"Yeah." He looked a little ashamed. "Do you think it's weird that I'm, dating a girl?"
I had to think. "I don't know. Because I know that's my old body and I guess it liked girls that much."
"But I wouldn't be doing it unless I really wanted to do, right?" he seemed really unsure of himself, for perhaps the first time, "I mean, your body isn't controlling me, I just want a different thing, don't I? Do you think?"
"I can't say," I told him, "I mean, I wore at the BISA but I'm not one of their scientists. I'm as clueless as you are."
He changed his tone back to the fond faraway one. "She makes me so happy."
"Then shouldn't that be all that matters?"
He nodded. "It's not just in my pants, either. I don't think so, anyway."
I rolled my eyes. Contrary to some women's beliefs, men are capable of having feelings elsewhere. Traci's learning this firsthand. Still though, the pants are a good place to start.
"So you're really attracted to her," I asked.
"Well yeah, aren't you? I mean... wouldn't you be?"
"I think so. It's hard to remember." I sighed. It was time to ask a really tough question. "When you're a woman... how do you know you're attracted to someone?"
"I guess it's not so obvious," he laughed. "But it's still easy to tell, Nick. You just get this feeling. Like your blood rushing faster. You just like to be near that person. They make you feel good and you think about them a lot. You just... know."
Blood runs faster? Like to be near? Just know?
Oh God... I think I'm in trouble.
Tuesday, May 1, 2007
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
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
Friday, April 27, 2007
Support groups offer swapees forum, advice without pressure
Nick Blanchard and I were recently invited to a Swap Support Group in Canton, Ohio. It has been running since prior to the advent of the BISA or the Church run by Evelyn Trimble, and offers swapees a less formal medium to vent their frustrations at adjusting their entire lives. Small groups like these have cropped up all over the nation, loosely-associated and subtly but not expressly supported by BISA. They meet in church basements, community centres, rec halls, auditoriums, wherever they can rent out. Nick and I enter and are greeted quite heartily.
"Well hello," one young man, Cassandra Davis, a 14-year-old Ohio girl in the body of a 10-year-old boy, greets us, shaking Nick's hand first and telling her, "Wow, you're very lucky," he turns to me and says, "You were so pretty."
Nick blushes and explains that she and I are not connected in that way, the original occupant of her body just opted not to take the road trip (as Nick had yet to start her new job but Traci was getting used to his.)
There are ten people present apart from us. They encourage people to come with their swap-partners, but this isn't always possible. Shaun Speedman and Marie DiManno, two University Students, sit across from each other. Victoria Worth, a St. Paul, MN single mother who was swapped into the body of a Vancouver teen, came alone, as did William Trenton, originally from Oklahoma. Also present are Lew and Donna Frickman.
Darren Chau and Brad Eidelman, from San Diego, CA and Canton, OH respectively, set the pace of the meeting. They were swapped in December. Chau, a fireman, and Eidelman, a Kindergarten teacher, agreed to start running support meetings after discussing Chau's unfortunate inability to face fires the way he previously had, owing strangely to a recurring dream Eidelman had as a child.
"There will always be pressure, be it from your family, co-workers, even the BISA, for you to adopt the identity of the body you have been given," begins Eidelman, "But you can't forget it is you who dictates your identity. Not society, not a piece of paper, not the face you wear. What's under it."
There are rumblings of agreement as the floor is opened. Trenton stands first. Originally a high school student, he was swapped into the body of Melissa Belleville-Adams, a 29-year-old French/American widowed teacher just a week before his seventeenth birthday in March. After it happened, she tearfully explained, her mother, Noelle Trenton, was in dire need of gallbladder surgery, a procedure the lower-middle class family could ill afford. At her darkest moment, the younger Trenton nearly accepted a role in a pornographic film series, "New Confessions of a Window Washer" to pay for the procedure.
Belleville-Adams was a onetime contender for the title of Miss France before moving to the United States with her husband (a native of Louisiana,) and giving up modelling to become a teacher. Trenton was very afraid for her mother's life, but was disgusted at the proposition, saying her mother would never forgive her if she even knew the offer had been considered.
I watched Nick's face through that story. Having had some personal, physical and romantic adjustments to make for herself, it appeared to affect her. William Trenton never said whether she actually performed in the adult film, but sobbingly informed us that they did indeed raise the money needed for the procedure.
There was a bald older man with a goatee sitting in the corner playing with a cigarette throughout the story. He never introduced himself, and before I could ask him, he left the building. The meeting continued.
Cassandra Davis attempts to express his frustration at being a prepubescent male, but words appear to fail him and he doesn't seem to find the words he is looking for. So he re-takes his seat. Nick indulges in a few lighthearted anecdotes about living with his former body.
The meeting becomes more of a debate as the Frickmans expound the virtues of the Church of the Holy Redeemer, as they'd recently joined. Having thought enough about the Church that week, I stepped out, where the mystery man was waiting.
"Need a light?" he says, emerging from the shadows lit only by the orange bead of light from his Camel cigarette.
"No, I'm not here to smoke, I just needed some... air," I told him.
He chuckled and went back to the shadows.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
He asked me in return, "you're the news guy, right? From the website?"
"Yeah."
Again, he chuckled. "I think you'll find out soon enough."
"But... you've been swapped, right?"
He nods.
More than a little perplexed, I return to the meeting.
Speedman and DiManno are arguing, which often seems to happen. They share a common ground: DiManno, a studious girl, was a star on the University of Sydney Women's Basketball Team, and Speedman, originally an African-American, was attending the University of Alabama on a basketball scholarship. however, as University of Alabama does not have a women's basketball team, Speedman has met difficulty and may not return to the school next year. There is, you might imagine, some hostility between the two.
Speedman, who in DiManno's body dresses like the gangsta she once was, looks somewhat ridiclous in the baggy jeans and chains. Having grown frustrated with her current life, Speedman, in contrast to many swapees, has become aggressively sexual toward both genders. DiManno, meanwhile, dresses like a proper gentlemen and retains an Aussie accent, and seriously disapproves of Speedman's actions.
Chau and Eidleman break the argument off as best they can, telling people that an hour is about up and they can check the website if they want to come to another meeting. Speedman leaves in a huff, DiManno exits the other way. I get contact information for as many people as possible.
I remain most curious, however, about the smoking man. He told me I'd find out soon enough. I don't think I can wait that long.
"Well hello," one young man, Cassandra Davis, a 14-year-old Ohio girl in the body of a 10-year-old boy, greets us, shaking Nick's hand first and telling her, "Wow, you're very lucky," he turns to me and says, "You were so pretty."
Nick blushes and explains that she and I are not connected in that way, the original occupant of her body just opted not to take the road trip (as Nick had yet to start her new job but Traci was getting used to his.)
There are ten people present apart from us. They encourage people to come with their swap-partners, but this isn't always possible. Shaun Speedman and Marie DiManno, two University Students, sit across from each other. Victoria Worth, a St. Paul, MN single mother who was swapped into the body of a Vancouver teen, came alone, as did William Trenton, originally from Oklahoma. Also present are Lew and Donna Frickman.
Darren Chau and Brad Eidelman, from San Diego, CA and Canton, OH respectively, set the pace of the meeting. They were swapped in December. Chau, a fireman, and Eidelman, a Kindergarten teacher, agreed to start running support meetings after discussing Chau's unfortunate inability to face fires the way he previously had, owing strangely to a recurring dream Eidelman had as a child.
"There will always be pressure, be it from your family, co-workers, even the BISA, for you to adopt the identity of the body you have been given," begins Eidelman, "But you can't forget it is you who dictates your identity. Not society, not a piece of paper, not the face you wear. What's under it."
There are rumblings of agreement as the floor is opened. Trenton stands first. Originally a high school student, he was swapped into the body of Melissa Belleville-Adams, a 29-year-old French/American widowed teacher just a week before his seventeenth birthday in March. After it happened, she tearfully explained, her mother, Noelle Trenton, was in dire need of gallbladder surgery, a procedure the lower-middle class family could ill afford. At her darkest moment, the younger Trenton nearly accepted a role in a pornographic film series, "New Confessions of a Window Washer" to pay for the procedure.
Belleville-Adams was a onetime contender for the title of Miss France before moving to the United States with her husband (a native of Louisiana,) and giving up modelling to become a teacher. Trenton was very afraid for her mother's life, but was disgusted at the proposition, saying her mother would never forgive her if she even knew the offer had been considered.
I watched Nick's face through that story. Having had some personal, physical and romantic adjustments to make for herself, it appeared to affect her. William Trenton never said whether she actually performed in the adult film, but sobbingly informed us that they did indeed raise the money needed for the procedure.
There was a bald older man with a goatee sitting in the corner playing with a cigarette throughout the story. He never introduced himself, and before I could ask him, he left the building. The meeting continued.
Cassandra Davis attempts to express his frustration at being a prepubescent male, but words appear to fail him and he doesn't seem to find the words he is looking for. So he re-takes his seat. Nick indulges in a few lighthearted anecdotes about living with his former body.
The meeting becomes more of a debate as the Frickmans expound the virtues of the Church of the Holy Redeemer, as they'd recently joined. Having thought enough about the Church that week, I stepped out, where the mystery man was waiting.
"Need a light?" he says, emerging from the shadows lit only by the orange bead of light from his Camel cigarette.
"No, I'm not here to smoke, I just needed some... air," I told him.
He chuckled and went back to the shadows.
"Who are you?" I asked him.
He asked me in return, "you're the news guy, right? From the website?"
"Yeah."
Again, he chuckled. "I think you'll find out soon enough."
"But... you've been swapped, right?"
He nods.
More than a little perplexed, I return to the meeting.
Speedman and DiManno are arguing, which often seems to happen. They share a common ground: DiManno, a studious girl, was a star on the University of Sydney Women's Basketball Team, and Speedman, originally an African-American, was attending the University of Alabama on a basketball scholarship. however, as University of Alabama does not have a women's basketball team, Speedman has met difficulty and may not return to the school next year. There is, you might imagine, some hostility between the two.
Speedman, who in DiManno's body dresses like the gangsta she once was, looks somewhat ridiclous in the baggy jeans and chains. Having grown frustrated with her current life, Speedman, in contrast to many swapees, has become aggressively sexual toward both genders. DiManno, meanwhile, dresses like a proper gentlemen and retains an Aussie accent, and seriously disapproves of Speedman's actions.
Chau and Eidleman break the argument off as best they can, telling people that an hour is about up and they can check the website if they want to come to another meeting. Speedman leaves in a huff, DiManno exits the other way. I get contact information for as many people as possible.
I remain most curious, however, about the smoking man. He told me I'd find out soon enough. I don't think I can wait that long.
Tuesday, April 24, 2007
Nick: Getting it on
(Written Sunday night.)
To start off with, it's hard enough getting used to a new city, let alone a new physiology. I've been tossing and turning on the couch most nights. It would be more convenient (and plainly sensible) for Traci and I to just sleep together - not do anything, but sleep in the same bed - because it's hardly like we've got anything to hide from each other.
The other night, I was kept awake, as I often am, by the general city noises that float up and penetrate the window, when I heard a scream. A woman's scream, not a block from my place. Suddenly I can't sleep at all. Suddenly I don't ever even want to leave the apartment, because it dawns on me, that I can't be safe walking by myself anymore, a confidence I had, rightly, taken for granted. Not that men are never victims, just that they rarely consider themselves such. Suddenly, this woman's scream will haunt my every moment, at least at night. Toronto seemed like a nice place, but like any city, it has its dangers.
Traci tried to allay this fear by handing me a can of mase to carry in my purse. It's a sensible tool, yeah, but having it around just reminds me - "You're small and weak now, Nicky-boy. This is all you've got."
Fortunately, I don't go out much anyway.
The good news is - I got the job!
Starting monday, I will be working in the PR department of Toronto's BISA chapter. It looks like it will be a steady gig, which is what I need, since my life hasn't exactly been steady lately. It feels good to finally be getting on track. In fact, it's more on track now than it was when I was a man.... which is just a little sad, to me.
Traci, in a rare showing of appreciation for me living in his body/apartment/life, suggested we hit the town and celebrate. I was leery - read: uncomfortable with the world seeing me attempt to "cut loose" in this body - but his insistence and my hidden desire to enjoy myself won over. I wanted to prove that all those fearsome elements of the city at night were nothing to me.
Traci, for his part, has been taking a very casual approach to the situation. He's turned me (my old body) into some kind of metrosexual icon, a woman's dream project. I guess that's fine - I have'nt given her body the same treatment, because dressing how a man would like to see a woman is a different matter, and hardly appropriate, let alone comfortable.
After changing my outfit about three times (and I may never get used to the idea that I have "outfits," but that's comparatively small I suppose) and going with a regular tee (well, one of those deals with the sleeves that barely pull over the shoulders, and lets the navel area peek out) and a pair of jeans (minus back pockets - I never got that.) He hands me a purse - something I have forgotten at least three times a week when leaving the house - and we head down to this Irish Pub, Monahan's.
It was a saturday night, and so it was fairly hopping. I was hoping to just sink into the corwd, get a nice buzz on, have a laugh, and stumble home. Traci, for his part, had other ideas.
We ordered a few drinks and some bar food. I had a beer, he had a rum and coke. "Dude," I told him in a voice not used to using that word, "Rum's a drink for women and pirates."
He looks at me, smiles, winks, and says "Yarr, matey!"
We drank a toast. "To new beginnings!" he cheered. I clinked his glass and felt uneasy. New beginnings indeed. I saw his eyes dart around the room.
"Looking for someone?" I asked him.
"I guess so, yeah..." he kept looking.
Eventually, he spotted a table of girls and told me that, after "another one of these things," (meaning drinks,) he was going to go talk to them.
"What, you mean talk?"
"To start, yeah," he grinned and a little blush came over my old face.
"You're not serious!" I cried out. "There's no way you are going to do that. I wouldn't even have done that when I was you!" the girls were gorgeous.
"I can't help it," he reasoned, "Ever since, well, I saw the way you looked in my skirt... it's done something uncontrollable to me. I can't stop myself. More importantly, I can't stop your... thingy..."
"Stop right there," I told him, "No need to explain. Just be careful. Those things can do as much bad as good."
"Believe me," he sighed, probably remembering something from his prior life, "I know."
With this sudden revelation shaking me to the core, I didn't drink so fast anymore, and began to nurse my pint of (whatever the local beer is, Molson something.) If Traci was ready to start being a guy, did that mean I should start being a girl? I sunk low and slouched my shoulders. If I was real quiet, maybe nobody would notice me.
Eventually, however, that wasn't the case. I was bored, having been foresaken by my drinking buddy on his chase for bar chicks, and started to roam the place, eventually coming to the billiards table.
"You play?" some guy asked me. If I'm about 5'3, (I don't know for sure,) he looked to be maybe 6'. He had a goatee and an earring, and wore a dress shirt with black jeans.
I didn't acknowledge him at first. He repeated, "Do you want to play a game?"
It was a fairly obvious come-on, but the implication was innocent enough. I like pool, I don't suck at it, I'll give it a go. "Sure," I told him, as I thought, crap, what am I getting myself into?
I kept the game friendly, um, as in platonic. We only made small chit-chat between shots. He asked where I was from, I told him I was new in town. Don't ask why, but I was reluctant to admit I was a swapee. I know the counsellors say to be open, but this didn't seem appropriate. So I played the role of mystery girl, all the while wary that I might fall too far into the roll.
He won the game - pretty handily actually, which in the end didn't surprise me. He asked if he could buy me a drink. I didn't want another one. "I think I'm gonna head home, soon."
"Well, look, let me walk you home," he says. I don't want him to, but I keep thinking about the scream.
"Fine."
I wanted to tell Traci, except I couldn't find him. So I grabbed my coat and purse and let this guy take me to the subway.
"I think I can go from here," I told him.
There's a pause. I'm waiting for him to say goodbye, or, uh, something, when he starts to lean in.
I step back. "Er, no. Sorry. I'm really sorry." (I wasn't, but I felt bad.) "Maybe if you got to know me, you'd decide..." I can't find the words. "You wouldn't want to."
"I doubt that," he shrugs. "Can I at least call you?"
This is probably the worst situation I've ever been in, by this point. Finally I tell him, "Maybe I'll call you." Maybe. Huuuge maybe.
He gives me his number, and as he walks away and I'm getting on the subway, I crumple it up and shove it in the purse.
"But you didn't throw it out?" asked Cherie the next day. I decided I wanted a more professional look for my new job - short. Not boyish, because I don't think that looks good, and while I'd like my masculinity back, not having it makes the whole affair seem pointless. So I want my hair to just go down to my chin. Think Lisa Miller on NewsRadio (does anybody remember that awesome show?) Before it started thinning out, I had my hair about that length in high school (it was, after all, the grunge era.) I just wanted to stop having to pull it back.
"Well, no, I didn't," I told her, my hair dunked, neck resting on the sink. "That would be rude."
"But are you going to call him?" she asked.
"Probably not," I said it more for my own benefit than for hers. "But I'll tell you, if I don't get some soon, I'm gonna explode. I just have to figure out what it is I want!"
"Well," she started to say, in what was probably supposed to be comforting, "Don't tell any guys I said this, but you should know. When they do it right, it feels amazing."
Flatly, I tell her, "That doesn't help."
"So, whatever happened to Traci?"
"Oh, that's the worst part," I tell her, "I wake up this morning and he's got some girl using our shower! I can't believe it. Already. And in my body. My body, which hasn't been with a woman in... frankly, I'd rather not say how long. And he looks all proud and tells me, 'Well, looks like I'm a man, now.' I tell him, 'Great. That makes one of us, I guess.'"
She laughed at that little bit of self-deprecating humour, and then sighed, "Oh honey, don't worry." Women always say that. "It'll all work out."
Hmp. As she starts to dry me off, I muse, "I just can't believe he went through with it."
After she was done - and mde me, quite honestly, gorgeous, we took a lunch and browsed some of her favourite stores. I didn't take an interest. In light of what happened last night, it's never been more obvious to me that I just don't fit in this body, even if Traci seems to be fitting into mine.
-Nick
To start off with, it's hard enough getting used to a new city, let alone a new physiology. I've been tossing and turning on the couch most nights. It would be more convenient (and plainly sensible) for Traci and I to just sleep together - not do anything, but sleep in the same bed - because it's hardly like we've got anything to hide from each other.
The other night, I was kept awake, as I often am, by the general city noises that float up and penetrate the window, when I heard a scream. A woman's scream, not a block from my place. Suddenly I can't sleep at all. Suddenly I don't ever even want to leave the apartment, because it dawns on me, that I can't be safe walking by myself anymore, a confidence I had, rightly, taken for granted. Not that men are never victims, just that they rarely consider themselves such. Suddenly, this woman's scream will haunt my every moment, at least at night. Toronto seemed like a nice place, but like any city, it has its dangers.
Traci tried to allay this fear by handing me a can of mase to carry in my purse. It's a sensible tool, yeah, but having it around just reminds me - "You're small and weak now, Nicky-boy. This is all you've got."
Fortunately, I don't go out much anyway.
The good news is - I got the job!
Starting monday, I will be working in the PR department of Toronto's BISA chapter. It looks like it will be a steady gig, which is what I need, since my life hasn't exactly been steady lately. It feels good to finally be getting on track. In fact, it's more on track now than it was when I was a man.... which is just a little sad, to me.
Traci, in a rare showing of appreciation for me living in his body/apartment/life, suggested we hit the town and celebrate. I was leery - read: uncomfortable with the world seeing me attempt to "cut loose" in this body - but his insistence and my hidden desire to enjoy myself won over. I wanted to prove that all those fearsome elements of the city at night were nothing to me.
Traci, for his part, has been taking a very casual approach to the situation. He's turned me (my old body) into some kind of metrosexual icon, a woman's dream project. I guess that's fine - I have'nt given her body the same treatment, because dressing how a man would like to see a woman is a different matter, and hardly appropriate, let alone comfortable.
After changing my outfit about three times (and I may never get used to the idea that I have "outfits," but that's comparatively small I suppose) and going with a regular tee (well, one of those deals with the sleeves that barely pull over the shoulders, and lets the navel area peek out) and a pair of jeans (minus back pockets - I never got that.) He hands me a purse - something I have forgotten at least three times a week when leaving the house - and we head down to this Irish Pub, Monahan's.
It was a saturday night, and so it was fairly hopping. I was hoping to just sink into the corwd, get a nice buzz on, have a laugh, and stumble home. Traci, for his part, had other ideas.
We ordered a few drinks and some bar food. I had a beer, he had a rum and coke. "Dude," I told him in a voice not used to using that word, "Rum's a drink for women and pirates."
He looks at me, smiles, winks, and says "Yarr, matey!"
We drank a toast. "To new beginnings!" he cheered. I clinked his glass and felt uneasy. New beginnings indeed. I saw his eyes dart around the room.
"Looking for someone?" I asked him.
"I guess so, yeah..." he kept looking.
Eventually, he spotted a table of girls and told me that, after "another one of these things," (meaning drinks,) he was going to go talk to them.
"What, you mean talk?"
"To start, yeah," he grinned and a little blush came over my old face.
"You're not serious!" I cried out. "There's no way you are going to do that. I wouldn't even have done that when I was you!" the girls were gorgeous.
"I can't help it," he reasoned, "Ever since, well, I saw the way you looked in my skirt... it's done something uncontrollable to me. I can't stop myself. More importantly, I can't stop your... thingy..."
"Stop right there," I told him, "No need to explain. Just be careful. Those things can do as much bad as good."
"Believe me," he sighed, probably remembering something from his prior life, "I know."
With this sudden revelation shaking me to the core, I didn't drink so fast anymore, and began to nurse my pint of (whatever the local beer is, Molson something.) If Traci was ready to start being a guy, did that mean I should start being a girl? I sunk low and slouched my shoulders. If I was real quiet, maybe nobody would notice me.
Eventually, however, that wasn't the case. I was bored, having been foresaken by my drinking buddy on his chase for bar chicks, and started to roam the place, eventually coming to the billiards table.
"You play?" some guy asked me. If I'm about 5'3, (I don't know for sure,) he looked to be maybe 6'. He had a goatee and an earring, and wore a dress shirt with black jeans.
I didn't acknowledge him at first. He repeated, "Do you want to play a game?"
It was a fairly obvious come-on, but the implication was innocent enough. I like pool, I don't suck at it, I'll give it a go. "Sure," I told him, as I thought, crap, what am I getting myself into?
I kept the game friendly, um, as in platonic. We only made small chit-chat between shots. He asked where I was from, I told him I was new in town. Don't ask why, but I was reluctant to admit I was a swapee. I know the counsellors say to be open, but this didn't seem appropriate. So I played the role of mystery girl, all the while wary that I might fall too far into the roll.
He won the game - pretty handily actually, which in the end didn't surprise me. He asked if he could buy me a drink. I didn't want another one. "I think I'm gonna head home, soon."
"Well, look, let me walk you home," he says. I don't want him to, but I keep thinking about the scream.
"Fine."
I wanted to tell Traci, except I couldn't find him. So I grabbed my coat and purse and let this guy take me to the subway.
"I think I can go from here," I told him.
There's a pause. I'm waiting for him to say goodbye, or, uh, something, when he starts to lean in.
I step back. "Er, no. Sorry. I'm really sorry." (I wasn't, but I felt bad.) "Maybe if you got to know me, you'd decide..." I can't find the words. "You wouldn't want to."
"I doubt that," he shrugs. "Can I at least call you?"
This is probably the worst situation I've ever been in, by this point. Finally I tell him, "Maybe I'll call you." Maybe. Huuuge maybe.
He gives me his number, and as he walks away and I'm getting on the subway, I crumple it up and shove it in the purse.
"But you didn't throw it out?" asked Cherie the next day. I decided I wanted a more professional look for my new job - short. Not boyish, because I don't think that looks good, and while I'd like my masculinity back, not having it makes the whole affair seem pointless. So I want my hair to just go down to my chin. Think Lisa Miller on NewsRadio (does anybody remember that awesome show?) Before it started thinning out, I had my hair about that length in high school (it was, after all, the grunge era.) I just wanted to stop having to pull it back.
"Well, no, I didn't," I told her, my hair dunked, neck resting on the sink. "That would be rude."
"But are you going to call him?" she asked.
"Probably not," I said it more for my own benefit than for hers. "But I'll tell you, if I don't get some soon, I'm gonna explode. I just have to figure out what it is I want!"
"Well," she started to say, in what was probably supposed to be comforting, "Don't tell any guys I said this, but you should know. When they do it right, it feels amazing."
Flatly, I tell her, "That doesn't help."
"So, whatever happened to Traci?"
"Oh, that's the worst part," I tell her, "I wake up this morning and he's got some girl using our shower! I can't believe it. Already. And in my body. My body, which hasn't been with a woman in... frankly, I'd rather not say how long. And he looks all proud and tells me, 'Well, looks like I'm a man, now.' I tell him, 'Great. That makes one of us, I guess.'"
She laughed at that little bit of self-deprecating humour, and then sighed, "Oh honey, don't worry." Women always say that. "It'll all work out."
Hmp. As she starts to dry me off, I muse, "I just can't believe he went through with it."
After she was done - and mde me, quite honestly, gorgeous, we took a lunch and browsed some of her favourite stores. I didn't take an interest. In light of what happened last night, it's never been more obvious to me that I just don't fit in this body, even if Traci seems to be fitting into mine.
-Nick
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
New Church Sings Swap Gospel
Confusion and fear are among the more prominent after-effects of a swap. Many swapees devoid of direction are turning to an alternative establishment founded by a swapee who goes by the name of Pastor Evelyn Trimble.
Evelyn, a roundish, salt-and-pepper haired lady in her mid-40's was, until earlier this spring, working as a janitor for a chemical company based in Dallas, TX. The man who was born Charles von Erich "Erik" Trimble found himself lying, dressed in rags, outside a church in Mobile, AL.
"I was an alcoholic, a loser, a worthless peon," Trimble explains. "I'd squirrelled away a small fortune for the purpose of gambling, but when I found myself outside of Our Lady of Mercy, I was inspired."
Trimble, who took her swap as a cue to completely reform her life, spent her few thousand dollars on a small chapel outside of Macon, GA where she could gather with fellow swapees.
"I wanted to share with people my revelation," the Pastor explains, "It's about helping people understand what has happened do them, or learn what may happen to those who have not yet been blessed."
The Church of the Holy Redeemer preaches that the swaps are a form of divine intervention. "We are all sinners, and in our ow way, we are all destitute, wanting for a path," Trimble says in one of her sermons. "Whether we understand or not, our holy moment comes to show us a path we ca nfollow, a way we can make ammends."
Trimble says there is not a trace of the old Charles in her. She does not gamble, imbibe alcohol, or "consort with whores" the way Charles von Erich Trimble did. She speaks of him in the third person as though he were a past acquaintence.
"Charles did not know where he belonged," she notes the one picture of her former self in her office. She gave me a tour, dressed in a conservative blue dress-suit, with her hair tightly wrapped in a bun, pale red lipstick on her lips, wearing matching heeled shoes. She is exceedingly matronly in her demeanor, which is surprising compared to the roguish bounder von Erich Trimble's acquaintences describe.
According to one of Trimble's ex-wives, who asked not to be named, when they were married he would often disappear for days at a time. "Sometimes he'd come back after losing a fortune, sometimes he'd try to convince us to all come out for pancakes to celebrate, even though he wouldn't tell us what. I couldn't stand living with the man."
The person who inherited Trimble's body, Faye Reingould, has been living quietly in Mobile, and asked not to be interviewed.
"She's very uplifting," says Donna Frickman, who has attended many sermons with his wife Lew. "We also enjoy the camraderie of our fellow swapees."
The Bureau for International Swap Affairs does not necessarily approve of Trimble's sect. "Though her sermons are often uplifting and healthy, we're very leery of her motives, and the information she spreads is not scientifically-based at all," explains Dr. Arthur Gulf of BISA Maryland.
Sources who knew Trimble explain he often remarked of his desire to start a church, according to one former friend, "Like that L. Ron guy." However, the Pastor insists she has changed her ways.
She tells a congregation of swapees, "The soul is a commodity, like any material in the universe, even like your body. You would recycle a bottle, or a can, or paper, to save these resources, and your souls are no different. The body it was housed in was no good to it, and it had to be recycled. Science cannot explain it, because it is bigger than science. It is redemption within this lifetime of ours, and you must seize this second chance and make it better than your first. Amen."
Thre is no charge to join the church, although donations are welcome. Services are held on Saturday nights and Sunday Mornings.
Evelyn, a roundish, salt-and-pepper haired lady in her mid-40's was, until earlier this spring, working as a janitor for a chemical company based in Dallas, TX. The man who was born Charles von Erich "Erik" Trimble found himself lying, dressed in rags, outside a church in Mobile, AL.
"I was an alcoholic, a loser, a worthless peon," Trimble explains. "I'd squirrelled away a small fortune for the purpose of gambling, but when I found myself outside of Our Lady of Mercy, I was inspired."
Trimble, who took her swap as a cue to completely reform her life, spent her few thousand dollars on a small chapel outside of Macon, GA where she could gather with fellow swapees.
"I wanted to share with people my revelation," the Pastor explains, "It's about helping people understand what has happened do them, or learn what may happen to those who have not yet been blessed."
The Church of the Holy Redeemer preaches that the swaps are a form of divine intervention. "We are all sinners, and in our ow way, we are all destitute, wanting for a path," Trimble says in one of her sermons. "Whether we understand or not, our holy moment comes to show us a path we ca nfollow, a way we can make ammends."
Trimble says there is not a trace of the old Charles in her. She does not gamble, imbibe alcohol, or "consort with whores" the way Charles von Erich Trimble did. She speaks of him in the third person as though he were a past acquaintence.
"Charles did not know where he belonged," she notes the one picture of her former self in her office. She gave me a tour, dressed in a conservative blue dress-suit, with her hair tightly wrapped in a bun, pale red lipstick on her lips, wearing matching heeled shoes. She is exceedingly matronly in her demeanor, which is surprising compared to the roguish bounder von Erich Trimble's acquaintences describe.
According to one of Trimble's ex-wives, who asked not to be named, when they were married he would often disappear for days at a time. "Sometimes he'd come back after losing a fortune, sometimes he'd try to convince us to all come out for pancakes to celebrate, even though he wouldn't tell us what. I couldn't stand living with the man."
The person who inherited Trimble's body, Faye Reingould, has been living quietly in Mobile, and asked not to be interviewed.
"She's very uplifting," says Donna Frickman, who has attended many sermons with his wife Lew. "We also enjoy the camraderie of our fellow swapees."
The Bureau for International Swap Affairs does not necessarily approve of Trimble's sect. "Though her sermons are often uplifting and healthy, we're very leery of her motives, and the information she spreads is not scientifically-based at all," explains Dr. Arthur Gulf of BISA Maryland.
Sources who knew Trimble explain he often remarked of his desire to start a church, according to one former friend, "Like that L. Ron guy." However, the Pastor insists she has changed her ways.
She tells a congregation of swapees, "The soul is a commodity, like any material in the universe, even like your body. You would recycle a bottle, or a can, or paper, to save these resources, and your souls are no different. The body it was housed in was no good to it, and it had to be recycled. Science cannot explain it, because it is bigger than science. It is redemption within this lifetime of ours, and you must seize this second chance and make it better than your first. Amen."
Thre is no charge to join the church, although donations are welcome. Services are held on Saturday nights and Sunday Mornings.
Tuesday, April 3, 2007
Nick: Inside a swapped mind
My name's Nick Blanchard. That much I know. Until one day in March, I was a 32-year-old man living in Chicago under the same roof as his parents. Then one morning... well, you've read the interview.
What's uncomfortable to me is how comfortable I actually am. Anytime I settle down and just be, I suddenly get a chill up my spine; I think "Oh God, what's happening?" If it ever becomes not weird to be a woman, that would be weird.
It sucks not being yourself, that's something we can all agree about, no matter what body you get swapped into. I read on this site and in some of Alex's other files (stories he's been working on) where physically fit people become overweight or unhealthy, people lose decades off their lives, lose their livelihoods, or get life-threatening diseases. So I've considered it a comfort to simply have found myself walking down the street for the last few weeks in the sensible shoes of a physically average woman in her mid-20's, knowing the potential alternatives.
As we, the swapped, grow in numbers, we rely on our segment's growth for support. The idea that this has not merely happened to me, but is happening all the time, has kept me sane. So I'm coping. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't intend on getting my body back. I can't accept that this is the rest of my life.
I don't intend on being a woman. I've been dressing in the most tomboyish clothes available, keeping my hair modest and not using make-up. But I walk with confindence as best I can, because hey, I know I can't hide.
The real Traci Moore is packing up as many of my things as possible at this very moment, ready to move back here to Toronto from my parents' house in Chicago. I've already told her (I haven't had to look her in the eyes - my eyes - yet, so she's still a her to me,) I'm not moving back to Chicago. I had nothing going on there and wanted the means to move. I guess the swap gave me that.
She didn't like the idea of us living together, but with one of us out of work, we don't have much of a choice. I've applied through the provisional Toronto BISA (operating without a HQ) for a work visa.
I had really hit the skids (was being a 32-year-old man living with his parents not clue enough?) after losing my job (PR flack) and not finding new employment. The job market was crud in Chicago; maybe I'll have better luck here. While I handle Traci's secretarial job, I've got resumés out to a few different firms and organizations. I mention in my cover letter that, as a recent swapee, there's no danger in a future incident (I'm assured evidence suggests swaps only happen once to a person. Here's hoping.) The danger is that maybe they'll read that sentence and be afraid that I'll weird everyone out. Well, I worked for 2 and a half weeks as a secretary without anyone even noticing I was different. Maleness out of sight, out of mind.
It's not a well-hidden fact that PR is an industry that skews female anyway; my replacement in Chicago was a woman, as were most of my office-mates (I had a short fling with one before leaving, spurring a bit of drama in the office.) People would just rather be represented by a woman's face and voice, and I understand that. It made me feel like crap (when I was male,) but I couldn't disagree.
The thing I regret most about the swap - more than the new body, the discomfort of the clothes, the more-than-occasional glances on the street - is letting it throw my life into general disarray. But I'm taking a hold. I'm being me.
As my counsellor said during a short chat on the phone last wednesday... swaps teach people not to take things at face value.
Ha ha ha.
-Nick
Nick Blanchard graduated from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign with a Bachelors degree in Communications. After spending the last month as a secretary, she is glad to have it. She e-mails her blog entries to Alex on an irregular basis.
What's uncomfortable to me is how comfortable I actually am. Anytime I settle down and just be, I suddenly get a chill up my spine; I think "Oh God, what's happening?" If it ever becomes not weird to be a woman, that would be weird.
It sucks not being yourself, that's something we can all agree about, no matter what body you get swapped into. I read on this site and in some of Alex's other files (stories he's been working on) where physically fit people become overweight or unhealthy, people lose decades off their lives, lose their livelihoods, or get life-threatening diseases. So I've considered it a comfort to simply have found myself walking down the street for the last few weeks in the sensible shoes of a physically average woman in her mid-20's, knowing the potential alternatives.
As we, the swapped, grow in numbers, we rely on our segment's growth for support. The idea that this has not merely happened to me, but is happening all the time, has kept me sane. So I'm coping. Of course, that doesn't mean I don't intend on getting my body back. I can't accept that this is the rest of my life.
I don't intend on being a woman. I've been dressing in the most tomboyish clothes available, keeping my hair modest and not using make-up. But I walk with confindence as best I can, because hey, I know I can't hide.
The real Traci Moore is packing up as many of my things as possible at this very moment, ready to move back here to Toronto from my parents' house in Chicago. I've already told her (I haven't had to look her in the eyes - my eyes - yet, so she's still a her to me,) I'm not moving back to Chicago. I had nothing going on there and wanted the means to move. I guess the swap gave me that.
She didn't like the idea of us living together, but with one of us out of work, we don't have much of a choice. I've applied through the provisional Toronto BISA (operating without a HQ) for a work visa.
I had really hit the skids (was being a 32-year-old man living with his parents not clue enough?) after losing my job (PR flack) and not finding new employment. The job market was crud in Chicago; maybe I'll have better luck here. While I handle Traci's secretarial job, I've got resumés out to a few different firms and organizations. I mention in my cover letter that, as a recent swapee, there's no danger in a future incident (I'm assured evidence suggests swaps only happen once to a person. Here's hoping.) The danger is that maybe they'll read that sentence and be afraid that I'll weird everyone out. Well, I worked for 2 and a half weeks as a secretary without anyone even noticing I was different. Maleness out of sight, out of mind.
It's not a well-hidden fact that PR is an industry that skews female anyway; my replacement in Chicago was a woman, as were most of my office-mates (I had a short fling with one before leaving, spurring a bit of drama in the office.) People would just rather be represented by a woman's face and voice, and I understand that. It made me feel like crap (when I was male,) but I couldn't disagree.
The thing I regret most about the swap - more than the new body, the discomfort of the clothes, the more-than-occasional glances on the street - is letting it throw my life into general disarray. But I'm taking a hold. I'm being me.
As my counsellor said during a short chat on the phone last wednesday... swaps teach people not to take things at face value.
Ha ha ha.
-Nick
Nick Blanchard graduated from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign with a Bachelors degree in Communications. After spending the last month as a secretary, she is glad to have it. She e-mails her blog entries to Alex on an irregular basis.
Friday, March 16, 2007
Vancouver teen ponders future in wake of swap
On a lazy Saturday afternoon, all Brian Keller, 16, really wanted to do was to relax in his room and play video games. Unfortunately, the mysterious force behind swaps had other plans as Brian found himself transported away from the world of Super Mario, and into a supermarket, where he was suddenly pushing a cart full of groceries.
Victoria Worth, a 36-year-old single mother, found herself dressed in Brian's grungy System of a Down t-shirt clutching his Nintendo controller.
"I didn't understand it, and then I remembered... the first news report of a swap had just aired the week before and everyone was talking about it," remembers Victoria.
"I didn't know where I was or what I was doing," says Brian, "I was holding onto the cart and my hands weren't my own. I couldn't breathe. Something was wrong. It was like I was having a panic attack."
Supermarket patrons saw the brown-haired mother of one fall to her knees and begin rifling through her purse. as she sorted through her things, her cellphone started to ring.
"Well what would you do?" Brian asked rhetorically, "I answered it."
The phone call was from Victoria, now many thousands of miles from her body in St. Paul, MN, calling from Brian's room. "Who is this?" the now-teenager asked.
"It's... Brian," she replied, uttering her first syllables in a new voice.
"Brian, have you heard of swapping?" he asked. Brian hadn't. "Well I think that's what's happened to us."
Brian says, "When Vick explained it to me, my first thought is, 'This isn't fair!' I'm only a kid, I've got my life ahead of me. She's got a 13-year-old daughter, and a career. Then I took a little liberty with whatever alcohol Vick had lying around, followed by, oh, maybe six hours of vomitting."
As they made their arrangements to return to their normal identities, Victoria muses, "She gets my silk blouses, leather shirts and lace panties, and I have to wear ugly loose jeans, old faded t-shirts, and grungy boxer shorts. Who really comes comes out on top here?"
Over the long-distance call, Worth directed the boy in his former body home, and directed her on what to pack. More than somewhat overwhelmed at the situation, Keller followed the suggestions of the voice on the line, packing up every article of clothing from the woman's dresser, and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
Says Keller, "I remember picking up a pair of panties and thinking... it's not the boxers I'll miss, it's what I kept in them."
Brian also recalls the moment something very startling happened. "I remember nearly dropping the phone and saying... 'A girl just walked in.'"
The girl in question was Worth's daughter Sabrina, 15, and who had some very serious questions about what was going on.
"I ended up having to stay until finally Vick got home," Brian says, "It was awkward, but at least she wasn't married or anything."
"We still keep contact, I talked her through her first period, just like I did my daughter," Victoria says with an impish teenage smile, "Sabrina didn't take the swap so well, she doesn't think I'm her mom anymore."
While Brian got a very scholarly lecture on her biology, she had less enlightened advice to offer when Victoria came to face his own physiology.
"He calls me up," laughs Brian, "And says, 'I'm at the office, and I just saw the receptionist straighten her leggings and your thing - my thing won't go down!' When I finally stopped laughing, I told him he's got too choices. Take care of it, or don't."
"Once I accepted I'm not who I used to be, I began to fall quite willingly into the role," Victoria muses cheerfully, "I'm definitely hormonal, and I'm definitely out there. Looking. Sabrina can't bring her little friends over, I made her promise!"
While Victoria has assumed the role of teenage boy, Brian's new body is giving her mixed signals.
"Nothing seems more revolting to me now than the idea of sex," she says, "I'm sick of looking at a naked woman in the mirror, and I hate the idea of some clumsy, hairy, sweaty guy putting his hands on me. And I think dad's happy about that."
Since Brian's mother left six years ago, the young man has been cared for by his father, Theo, who says "[Brian's] whole persona hasn't changed much. He used to squrim a lot, and he still does that, always tugging at those blouses, trying to stay loose. I don't think [she] is very comfortable dressed like that. But it's so funny to see [her] get carried away at a Canucks game."
He adds, "It's also very uncomfortable watching your teenage son sort bras. I'm really not prepared for this."
When Theo asked what she intended to do in the body of a 36-year-old mother, Brian was evasive.
"I want to keep going to school," she mused, "But I guess I'm kind of old now, so how much time do I really have? If I'm a woman now, do I want children? Do I want a career? Things are different now. I just want to be me. [The swap] has made things so much more complicated."
Untilt he swaps become reversible, young Victoria continues to work in St. Paul as a data processor, and provide for his daughter. In Vancouver, there's a grown woman in a Rolling Stones t-shirt sitting in the back of History class, trying to keep to herself.
Victoria Worth, a 36-year-old single mother, found herself dressed in Brian's grungy System of a Down t-shirt clutching his Nintendo controller.
"I didn't understand it, and then I remembered... the first news report of a swap had just aired the week before and everyone was talking about it," remembers Victoria.
"I didn't know where I was or what I was doing," says Brian, "I was holding onto the cart and my hands weren't my own. I couldn't breathe. Something was wrong. It was like I was having a panic attack."
Supermarket patrons saw the brown-haired mother of one fall to her knees and begin rifling through her purse. as she sorted through her things, her cellphone started to ring.
"Well what would you do?" Brian asked rhetorically, "I answered it."
The phone call was from Victoria, now many thousands of miles from her body in St. Paul, MN, calling from Brian's room. "Who is this?" the now-teenager asked.
"It's... Brian," she replied, uttering her first syllables in a new voice.
"Brian, have you heard of swapping?" he asked. Brian hadn't. "Well I think that's what's happened to us."
Brian says, "When Vick explained it to me, my first thought is, 'This isn't fair!' I'm only a kid, I've got my life ahead of me. She's got a 13-year-old daughter, and a career. Then I took a little liberty with whatever alcohol Vick had lying around, followed by, oh, maybe six hours of vomitting."
As they made their arrangements to return to their normal identities, Victoria muses, "She gets my silk blouses, leather shirts and lace panties, and I have to wear ugly loose jeans, old faded t-shirts, and grungy boxer shorts. Who really comes comes out on top here?"
Over the long-distance call, Worth directed the boy in his former body home, and directed her on what to pack. More than somewhat overwhelmed at the situation, Keller followed the suggestions of the voice on the line, packing up every article of clothing from the woman's dresser, and trying to ignore the sinking feeling in her stomach.
Says Keller, "I remember picking up a pair of panties and thinking... it's not the boxers I'll miss, it's what I kept in them."
Brian also recalls the moment something very startling happened. "I remember nearly dropping the phone and saying... 'A girl just walked in.'"
The girl in question was Worth's daughter Sabrina, 15, and who had some very serious questions about what was going on.
"I ended up having to stay until finally Vick got home," Brian says, "It was awkward, but at least she wasn't married or anything."
"We still keep contact, I talked her through her first period, just like I did my daughter," Victoria says with an impish teenage smile, "Sabrina didn't take the swap so well, she doesn't think I'm her mom anymore."
While Brian got a very scholarly lecture on her biology, she had less enlightened advice to offer when Victoria came to face his own physiology.
"He calls me up," laughs Brian, "And says, 'I'm at the office, and I just saw the receptionist straighten her leggings and your thing - my thing won't go down!' When I finally stopped laughing, I told him he's got too choices. Take care of it, or don't."
"Once I accepted I'm not who I used to be, I began to fall quite willingly into the role," Victoria muses cheerfully, "I'm definitely hormonal, and I'm definitely out there. Looking. Sabrina can't bring her little friends over, I made her promise!"
While Victoria has assumed the role of teenage boy, Brian's new body is giving her mixed signals.
"Nothing seems more revolting to me now than the idea of sex," she says, "I'm sick of looking at a naked woman in the mirror, and I hate the idea of some clumsy, hairy, sweaty guy putting his hands on me. And I think dad's happy about that."
Since Brian's mother left six years ago, the young man has been cared for by his father, Theo, who says "[Brian's] whole persona hasn't changed much. He used to squrim a lot, and he still does that, always tugging at those blouses, trying to stay loose. I don't think [she] is very comfortable dressed like that. But it's so funny to see [her] get carried away at a Canucks game."
He adds, "It's also very uncomfortable watching your teenage son sort bras. I'm really not prepared for this."
When Theo asked what she intended to do in the body of a 36-year-old mother, Brian was evasive.
"I want to keep going to school," she mused, "But I guess I'm kind of old now, so how much time do I really have? If I'm a woman now, do I want children? Do I want a career? Things are different now. I just want to be me. [The swap] has made things so much more complicated."
Untilt he swaps become reversible, young Victoria continues to work in St. Paul as a data processor, and provide for his daughter. In Vancouver, there's a grown woman in a Rolling Stones t-shirt sitting in the back of History class, trying to keep to herself.
Friday, March 9, 2007
Unlikely "wife-swap" causes more healing than hurt
An appropriate Valentine's Day swap may have been the medicine that Mr. and Mrs. Lewis Frickman's relationship needed.
It was a gruelling day at the office for Lew, 32, who had to contend with a lengthy commute after a record-setting snowfall. He had hoped only to spend the evening on the couch with his wife and nod off in peace. She, however, had other plans.
"I've been unfaithful to my wife," confesses Lew, "But I admitted that to her long ago and we separated. It was our first Valentine's Day back together and we had no idea how we were going to spend it, relaxed or formal.
"I came home in my untucked shirt and loose tie and just wanted to collapse. And then she comes out of the kitchen with the lights low, dressed like a temptress or something."
With a playfulness, Lew recounts how they moved to the bedroom without even having dinner, split a bottle of red wine, and "Got down to some serious business."
It was in the midst of this business that the swap occurred.
Says Lew, "I hadn't even heard of them, it was just tabloid nonsense that the papers weren't even reporting yet, so why should I pay attention? So my wife and I are having sex, and I can feel it, you know, I'm about to come when all of a sudden, it's like nothing I've ever experienced. And I don't mean to sound, you know, experienced but i thought I'd seen and felt it all." Lew laughs.
The room was dimly lit, and Lew's eyes were clenched shut by this point, but at the moment of climax, Lew Frickman was swapped, into the body of his own wife.
"I've been to support groups," she sighs, "There are a few men who have gotten this treatment, and they mostly hate it. I guess they didn't have the fortune of coming into it the same way I did."
Lew and her now-husband, Donna, lay beside each other in bed, out of breath, unsure of what had happened. "Did you feel that?" Lew recalls Donna asking in a softened baritone. "All I could tell her... him, was, it was wonderful."
Donna, 30, was a housewife whose experience had been in the advertising industry. Lew is a PR representative for a publishing house. Once she realized what had happened, the notion of simply claiming the other's life was floated, but rejected.
"We wanted to ease into this, once we started to learn more about what was going on," Donna explains, "I can't be Lew Frickman, but whoever I am now, I like. And I like her very much."
There is a very warm look between the two of them as they sit together, hands clasped, Lew in a necklace and white turtleneck, Donna in a plain green shirt and blazer. Lew took a leave of absence for a week before finally explaining the situation with her boss.
David Worth, the publisher for whom Lew works, said that "The adjustment was fine, it was like having a new employee who knew everything and everybody. I've seen an improvement in Lew's attitude, like a weight has been lifted off his [her] shoulders."
Having already become a woman in private, Lew said it was not hard to adjust to that role in the professional world. "I'm still who I am, and sometimes I'm very difficult with my husband. But out in the world, I want to feel like a woman. It's so odd to say, but I don't want any part of this to feel unnatural. The change has been sweeping for me."
Donna loves the change in dynamic between him and his wife. "Maybe my husband and I didn't have to swap bodies for this to happen, but something did have to change. He wasn't going to change, so something, I guess, forced it on him."
Meanwhile, he is looking for work in his previous field. "I have a unique perspective on things that is a skill I plan to bring to any new job I have. Hopefully, I will get one soon. We're planning to make an addition to our little mixed-up family soon."
Donna and Lew have a standing apointment at the soon-to-be established International Centre for Swap Treatment, here they plan to hammer out the legality of their identities.
It was a gruelling day at the office for Lew, 32, who had to contend with a lengthy commute after a record-setting snowfall. He had hoped only to spend the evening on the couch with his wife and nod off in peace. She, however, had other plans.
"I've been unfaithful to my wife," confesses Lew, "But I admitted that to her long ago and we separated. It was our first Valentine's Day back together and we had no idea how we were going to spend it, relaxed or formal.
"I came home in my untucked shirt and loose tie and just wanted to collapse. And then she comes out of the kitchen with the lights low, dressed like a temptress or something."
With a playfulness, Lew recounts how they moved to the bedroom without even having dinner, split a bottle of red wine, and "Got down to some serious business."
It was in the midst of this business that the swap occurred.
Says Lew, "I hadn't even heard of them, it was just tabloid nonsense that the papers weren't even reporting yet, so why should I pay attention? So my wife and I are having sex, and I can feel it, you know, I'm about to come when all of a sudden, it's like nothing I've ever experienced. And I don't mean to sound, you know, experienced but i thought I'd seen and felt it all." Lew laughs.
The room was dimly lit, and Lew's eyes were clenched shut by this point, but at the moment of climax, Lew Frickman was swapped, into the body of his own wife.
"I've been to support groups," she sighs, "There are a few men who have gotten this treatment, and they mostly hate it. I guess they didn't have the fortune of coming into it the same way I did."
Lew and her now-husband, Donna, lay beside each other in bed, out of breath, unsure of what had happened. "Did you feel that?" Lew recalls Donna asking in a softened baritone. "All I could tell her... him, was, it was wonderful."
Donna, 30, was a housewife whose experience had been in the advertising industry. Lew is a PR representative for a publishing house. Once she realized what had happened, the notion of simply claiming the other's life was floated, but rejected.
"We wanted to ease into this, once we started to learn more about what was going on," Donna explains, "I can't be Lew Frickman, but whoever I am now, I like. And I like her very much."
There is a very warm look between the two of them as they sit together, hands clasped, Lew in a necklace and white turtleneck, Donna in a plain green shirt and blazer. Lew took a leave of absence for a week before finally explaining the situation with her boss.
David Worth, the publisher for whom Lew works, said that "The adjustment was fine, it was like having a new employee who knew everything and everybody. I've seen an improvement in Lew's attitude, like a weight has been lifted off his [her] shoulders."
Having already become a woman in private, Lew said it was not hard to adjust to that role in the professional world. "I'm still who I am, and sometimes I'm very difficult with my husband. But out in the world, I want to feel like a woman. It's so odd to say, but I don't want any part of this to feel unnatural. The change has been sweeping for me."
Donna loves the change in dynamic between him and his wife. "Maybe my husband and I didn't have to swap bodies for this to happen, but something did have to change. He wasn't going to change, so something, I guess, forced it on him."
Meanwhile, he is looking for work in his previous field. "I have a unique perspective on things that is a skill I plan to bring to any new job I have. Hopefully, I will get one soon. We're planning to make an addition to our little mixed-up family soon."
Donna and Lew have a standing apointment at the soon-to-be established International Centre for Swap Treatment, here they plan to hammer out the legality of their identities.
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