My bra too, had I been wearing one. Some glittery makeup and polish and some bangles and cheap jewelry, and I was pretty much done. Hey, at least I didn’t dress up as a hooker. It was a pretty cool place, really. Big farmhouse, a real actual barn like the ones you see in picture books. People running all over the place in costumes. Must have been close to two hundred partygoers, I was guessing, and at least half of them much older than me, like early thirties. The couple I’d gotten the ride with? Shannon and Brian? Like thirty-five or so. Really nice couple. Funny and clever and sexy as hell. I felt like a kid riding in back, but really, that’s kind of what I was. All of eighteen. And now? I was a horny kid candy-flipping while wandering out the front door to where the real action was, or at least where I hoped it was; within the barn, a place that I had yet to explore, having just arrived less than an hour ago. In my defense, it was up a bit of a hill, and, in my mind, fairies. I guessed my cup size as B. I was a woman. I had come back into the world as a homeless woman wearing smelly clothes who slept in an abandoned house. I couldn't have imagined a more uncanny fate for a dying man. Was this a sort of hell, an eternity of homeless misery as a member of the opposite sex? No, I couldn't believe I'd been a bad enough man to warrant eternal damnation. This wasn't an afterlife. It was real life, which I'd reentered from a doorway I hadn't know was there.If I was a woman, then, I must be a woman "down there" as well. I unzipped my pants and pushed them down. I was wearing no panties. Between my legs I saw hair, only hair, a thick triangle of hair. A shudder went through me, a shudder of horror at my vulnerability to the crime that every woman fears. In my new body, I could be raped. To me, that was more terrible than not having a penis.Me, a woman? How absurd. I might as well be a cockroach named Gregor Samsa. I didn't feel like a woman. I felt like a man.
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