The Differences Between Us

The moment the door to my bedroom was closed behind me it was like a weight just lifted off my shoulders and drifted away.

The decisions and the choices were gone now. I didn’t have to worry about them. I didn’t have to think about what I would or wouldn’t do or what was right for me or for her.

Well… that’s not entirely true.

Virginity is a state of being a choice to make and while I’d been in this body for less than twenty-four hours, the frequency and number of encounters I’d had made one thing clear to me: this wouldn’t be the only time I’d be tested.

Chances are that with the rising of the sun would come more people showing interest in me. That the ones who had already shown interest would have their interest renewed.

The chances were high that I had a choice to make here, and that the time for it would come sooner rather than later.

But that was a problem for tomorrow. For tonight I didn’t have to worry about that anymore. I didn’t have the pressing insistence of it breathing down my neck, making it night impossible for me to do anything but face up to it and beg for an answer.

Fuck or don’t fuck? I didn’t know what to do. And all I had right now was a reprieve that let me kick the can down the road.

Pushing forward into the room I walk until I’m standing, swaying a little, in the middle of it. The place is a scattered mess and I figure the best time to take care of that is now, when I’ve got the power of **** to fuel me a little forward and give me the motivation to get this all put away.

Trying to keep as quiet as I can and well aware that we are almost certainly into the ‘middle of the night’ territory here I unpack my stuff piece by piece and item by item and get it away, moving with methodical focus as I store clothes and unpack every little thing that I decided and brought with me. Or rather all the things that she brought with her.

There are bits and pieces, don’t get me wrong, that I recognize. But even in the parts that made the move it is clear there is a difference between the two of us, between Emily and me.

We both had the same ratty stuffed bear growing up, but mine wound up tucked away in a corner and forgotten in that home I left while hers had a place of prominence in a box of treasured memories. Notes and old journals I burned before I left but she squirreled away and took with her. Old books that I figured I could get newer copies of were brought by her because she wanted not just the stories themselves but the memories she had with the actual material object itself.

All of it told me that I wanted to move forward, that I wanted to become someone new. But more than that it told me that I wanted to forget who I was, and Emily didn’t have that same inclination.

There was a level of sentimentality that she had which was absent in me, but as I stood in my newly setup room and found it so much cozier than the one that I remembered during my first go around, I thought that maybe of the two of us she had it more right.

Or maybe I was just drunk.

Certainly I needed a good nights rest.

Sighing I hooked my fingers into the long dry towel and tugged it, pulling it away from me and tossing it into the laundry bin in the corner. I padded, naked but warm by the open air of the home, over to my wardrobe and started sorting through it to find something I’d put away that would suit me, that would do me for the night.

I settled on a baggy old t-shirt and a pair of boy shorts that, while snugger than I’d like, were worn in enough that they were soft and comforting and I plucked both items out of the wardrobe fully intending to put them on, truly, before I caught sight of myself in the mirror.

Before I caught sight of Emily, standing in the moonlight, more beautiful than I could have imagined or anticipated.

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