Glen or Mikiko? I was Teenage Asian Girl

February 14, 2011

This is a story I wrote in 2005 and it appears along with other various stories, journals and poetry in my book called Dangers of a Confessional Mind published by LuLu books.

 

Friday, February 04, 2005

 

Glen or Mikiko?

I felt like the dude in Kafka’s Metamorphosis. I awoke this morning on my bed in a different form. I wasn’t a bug or caterpillar or anything like that. I looked down at my tan body and my small frame with shock and terror. As I started my morning ritual of scratching my balls and giving my dick a few quick tugs, I couldn’t find them. I looked down and there was a black mound of hair with a slit between my legs. My chest hair was gone and I had small petite breasts with brownish nipples. I closed my eyes and opened them again. I tried to go back to sleep assuming this was just another nightmare from watching another Katashi Miike movie before I fell asleep. I couldn’t sleep.

 

I sat up on my bed and lit a cigarette with my little thin fingers. I took a few drags and ran to the bathroom. I looked in the mirror. My face changed too. My eyes were slanted and brown. My lips were full and my nose was wider and flatter. I ran my fingers through my long black hair. I was looking at a beautiful young Asian girl in the mirror and it was me. I remembered that story I read in National Lampoon magazine when I was thirteen about the guy who woke up one morning and he was girl. I remember wishing it was me. I wanted to feel what it was like to be a woman. I wanted to feel my breasts and vagina and look in the mirror. That was when I was thirteen.

 

I thought about my friend Harry telling me last night that he thinks that our friend Robert should live his life as a woman. I thought of the countless times my friend Kevin has said “If I had a clit, I’d never leave the house.” I thought of how jealous I was that my friend Dave looked really good in drag.

 

Here I am. I’m a  hot young Asian girl. How am I going to explain this to everyone at work. I’ll have to call out. What will I do for money? What will I tell my girlfriend, Stacy? I hope she’ll still love me as girl. I hope she likes Asian girls. I hope my cousins (roommates) don’t want to fuck me. I’m going to have to get a new drivers license. I thought about going to a doctor. I don’t have any insurance. Will anyone believe me? I wonder if my parents will still love me. I don’t have any clothes to wear either.

 

When I fantasized about this as a kid, it was a sexual thing. As an adult, reality is overwhelming me. Sex was the last thing on my mind until I decided to just stay in my room all day with a mirror. I called out from work. They said my voice sounded funny. I said I was really sick and tried to speak in the lowest tone available to my new body. I called Harry first because he was the only one who would actually believe what happened.

 

“You should enjoy it first. Then see how you feel tomorrow and maybe see a doctor.” he said.

 

Ok. That’s what I’ll do. I called Stacy next and told her I need to speak with her as soon as possible.

 

“What’s wrong with your voice?” she asked.

 

“I’m still sick. You’ll see when you get here tonight.”

 

I took care of the immediate. I needed cigarettes. I had to sneak out without my cousin’s seeing me. I put on some pants and a hoody. Neither of which fit. My clothes were double my size now. I walked to the corner store and tried not to draw any attention to myself. It was run by Koreans. The small teenage girl at the register said something to me in Korean. I didn’t understand her.

 

“Sorry. I thought you were Korean.” she said.

 

“I am Italian.” I said. She laughed.

 

I actually had no idea what I was. I mean I know what I was not what I am now. The boy in the back of the store was staring at me. When I looked at him he winked at me. I felt scared and I felt kind of good. I got my cigarettes and a cup of coffee and walked home fast. I went up to my room and avoided my cousins. I lay on my bed and prayed. I was calmer. Ready to accept this. For now anyway.

 

I took off my jeans and hoody and examined my self thoroughly. I relaxed some more. I gently touched myself everywhere. My nipples were more sensitive than ever. My stomach was flat. I touched my vagina and it was wonderful. I’ve never felt anything like it in my whole life. Just the slightest touch on my new clitoris and my body surged with excitement. I felt like I did the first time I ever masturbated. I looked down at my tiny frame. My small breasts. My skinny legs. I watched my hand rub and stroke. Within minutes I exploded in an orgasm better than any I’d felt before. I collapsed and laid there for about five minutes I was ready for more.

 

Wow. I can orgasm over and over. I did. I finally fell asleep from sexual exhaustion. I slept for the next six hours. I awoke with a knock on my bedroom door. It was Stacy. Fuck. I wasn’t ready to tell her. Show her my new body. I was in a panic. I sat up and felt something against my thigh. I looked and it was my penis hanging under my flabby hairy belly. I was myself again. I sighed in relief and lit a cigarette as Stacy walked in my bedroom.

 

“Hey, what did you want to tell me?” she asked.

 

“You wouldn’t believe the dream I just had.”


What is Your Problem??

December 28, 2010

Monday night. Monday nights were unlike any other night in my life for the last 19 years. I’m not supposed to break my anonymity but everyone that has read my blogs even semi-regularly or even knows me as a person knows that I go to AA. I have been going for over 19 years even during my relapse in 2008. The Monday night meeting has been my “home group” the entire time. A home group is that one place that a person commits to being there every week and takes responsibilities like setting up the room and making the coffee etc.

 

I rarely missed my Monday night home group until the past 4 months or so. Maybe more. I can’t remember. I started getting anxiety attacks really bad close to meeting time for several weeks in a row. Then I would find other excuses not to go. I would get sick or something. Even last night I should have been at my home group meeting and I had a bit of anxiety and depression then I had a bad allergy attack to top it off. I just discovered I have a shellfish allergy. I ate an egg roll without thinking tonight. My roommate has also been doing a lot of cleaning lately and I am allergic to every product he uses. I really appreciate the cleaning but I can’t breathe and my throat is closed up. I took some Benadryl and it worked but that wasn’t my point.

 

I love to go on tangents.

 

The point is that the anxiety and hesitance of going to my home group meeting has bled into the rest of the week and I rarely go to a meeting at all. I still pray and meditate and maintain a semi-spiritual state of mind but I’m not actively helping others in the way of going to meetings and sharing.

 

Of course this leads me to judgment on my recovery from alcohol and drugs and working the 12 steps. It’s a known fact that people with addictions like mine have little success on their own. Even though I feel like being alone most of the time, I rarely feel lonely. I am comfortable with where I am at despite the occasional anxiety attack. I pray every day. I am overall productive and creative with the various projects I am involved in.

 

I am ultra self-aware a lot of the times. I can’t figure out my aversion to going to meetings. I’m not consciously working the 12 steps but when I look at my life I am doing what’s in front of me and living a decent life doing the right thing.

 

Sometimes I rack my brain as to why I don’t want to go or get anxiety from the idea of going. I have a few concepts but they might not hold up in court. I thought it might be the increase in the number of people in the home group. It could be the girl I secretly like but won’t admit to myself or anyone else that it’s true.

 

I feel disconnection with the people I’ve known for years, Some I can even call family. It could be the recent return of an ex best friend after a close to a 5 year hiatus. I feel uncomfortable around him sometimes and he jumps right back into his role of “king” AA, which gets on my nerves.

 

 

I do force myself to go to a meeting every now and then but I either get anxiety or I get really bored with it. I get nothing out of it. Then again that describes many social situations for me lately except for the events that I have to be at. Most of the time anyway.

 

I’ve come to accept this new me. The loner. The isolator. The writer. I just have problems when it comes to going to meetings for some reason.

 

It could be that although I am comfortable with the new private me, I am not comfortable with the social me yet.

 

Maybe it’s not a problem at all and I am over analyzing like always. Maybe I’m just temporarily uncomfortable with going out and it will pass or maybe my new life is just that- “new” and I have to adjust and maybe I won’t go to meetings.

 

I still don’t drink and I still believe in the 12-step program as a way of life. I am living it in my own “loner” way.

 

I am positive that whatever the problem is that I will be fine. I will survive. (Cue Gloria Gaynor)

 


Heat

July 7, 2010

I always have an obsession or obsessions with various topics or things. Usually topics that bore other people or they find uninteresting. One time I was obsessed with being obsessed. It’s had it’s good points and bad. Too much of anything is bad for a guy like me so over all it’s not good. This brings me to my new obsession. The heat. High temperatures and their effects on me.

As far back as I can remember I have always hated the extreme heat and especially hate to sweat. I hate that dirty nasty feeling I get from sweating. I even hate to sweat during sex. I don’t like to exercise because I don’t like to sweat. I’ve avoided the heat as much as I could through most of my life. Once I discovered air-conditioning I was hooked.

About fifteen years ago I discovered that it might not be the heat. It might only be the humidity. I traveled to the west coast for the first time in 1997. Actually, it was the second time. It was my first time as an adult. Throughout Washington, Oregon, California Arizona and Nevada I didn’t sweat and found that the heat didn’t bother me that much. I remember one day in Phoenix, Arizona it was 113 degrees outside and I didn’t break a sweat. It was hot and bothered me a little but it was nothing compared to an 83 degree day in New Jersey. Up until then I wondered if my problem with the heat was in my head.

Part of it is in my head too I’m sure. I also have extreme allergies in the summer and can’t be around fresh cut grass, trees, plants etc without having a reaction. I subconsciously associate the heat with my allergies.

Top it off I’m on some medications that are not a great combination with the heat. They make me really tired if I’m in the heat too long and I also can’t eat. I end up eating later in the evening when it’s cooler out. I know this is no good for me.

This year I swore that I was not going to complain about the heat. I was going to deal with it and not say a word. Easier said than done this year. I lost my job six weeks ago and I am home more and spend more time on my porch outside so I can smoke while I write. This is also the worst year for record high temperatures in years. It was 103 degrees today. Of course I am inside more than outside when it gets this hot but I feel tired and lethargic and sick from the heat.

I started looking up articles online to see the heat’s effects on various types of people. It affects people with mental illnesses the elderly, the young, the obese, and people with different medical conditions taking different medications. So, it’s not entirely in my head.

Even so, I am still obsessed with the heat and I keep reading articles all day. I keep checking the weather on and off all day and reading the warnings on the news. Meanwhile, I am writing this on my 91 degree porch at 10:44 pm.  I am 89 % tired, 5% miserable, 4% grateful and 2% sick.


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