Michael Grey, a 24-year old photographer (female)

The tall, athletic woman who's you smirks back at you from the mirror. Well, at a meter and three quarters, plenty of the men are taller than you are, but ideally you don't get close enough to them for it to particularly matter. Getting close to the women is always welcome, though.

Blue-eyed and naturally blonde, you've always kept your hair in a short pixie cut ever since you were old enough to be the decision-maker on that. Long hair on other girls is always nice, you'd just rather not have to deal with it on yourself. You don't usually have to bother with much makeup, being blessed with clear skin and a pretty face, and your clothes are simple and comfortable for traveling in, just a white T-shirt with a Swiss flag and a pair of jeans that show off your toned hips without being so tight as to be uncomfortable. When you're working, your photo-equipment vest would go on next, but that's rolled up in your carry-on for the flight; you'll be wearing your black leather halter-jacket on the plane, the one with all the studs and other chrome hardware on it. Your boots are knee-high with low heels, since you really don't need to be any taller. It's an ensemble which, along with the hair and your general demeanor, sends the message you want to send: that you're more interested in the girls than the guys.

Truthfully, you've always felt something like a man trapped in a woman's body. Of course, part of it is that you like sex with women, though of course not every lesbian or bisexual woman feels like that - and a good thing too, because the really femme girls are your favorites! It's just that you've always felt an affinity for traditionally "guy" things, and situations where you have to act all feminine are really uncomfortable. That's one reason why you switched to the other side of the camera after a very brief shot at modeling; you definitely had the figure and the poise for the runway, it was just so irritating going through makeup sessions and having to wear those dresses and gowns (the lingerie wasn't so bad, though). The worst part was having to deal with the horny men who seemed to think that the models were acting sexy and alluring specifically for their benefit. You could tell that it was only a matter of time before some designer or sponsor decided that you owed him a BJ in exchange for a career boost, and that more than anything else made you hang up the dresses and pick up the Nikon. You've found that there's a significant subset of girls who love working with you because they feel the same way about the lecherous men in the industry... and you've always maintained a strict rule that you NEVER try to hit on the models (well, unless they make the first move, of course!).

Even though your career has been doing reasonably well, it feels like time for a major change of scenery, and America certainly has plenty of that. Switzerland is gorgeous, of course, but America has a scale and variety that appeals to you as a photographer if not as a human being. Besides, since a lot of your photos end up advertising in American publications, it only makes sense to get a better look at that market; maybe you can learn how to tailor your work more towards what Americans like to see - besides tits, of course, because everyone knows that Americans are obsessed with tits. You have a few appointments set up to see publishers and models, and of course you'll be bringing your camera with you everywhere you go, but this really is mostly a vacation.

The ride to the airport is fine, the flight is long and dull, and while the New York City skyline looks amazing from the window of the plane, La Guardia Airport has to be about the ugliest place you've ever been in - it's really unfortunate that this is the first impression that so many people get of the U.S.A. (Of course, it could be worse - you might have been that poor sap with the guitar you saw getting mugged in the rental car lot!) It was a nine-hour flight but you've arrived only three hours later by the clock, thanks to the time change. Since your connecting flight isn't until the next morning and you didn't really want to shell out for a hotel room in New York, your plan was to just enjoy the nightlife until the next morning, and catch up on sleep later. The bulk of your luggage is still checked, and so all you've got on you is your backpack with the essentials and your basic photo gear.

"Ma'am?" the cabbie says. "That right there is the Queensboro bridge, so real soon I'm gonna need to know exactly where I'm takin' you."

"Right," you say, sitting up a bit in the back seat. You'd asked the driver to just head for Manhattan and you'd figure out exactly where you wanted to go on the way, and now it's time to decide where exactly is Michael's New York debut.