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That Friday night, I dug an outfit out of the back of Mari’s closet and his up a bar. Normally, I’d be chatting with old friends or hitting it off with new people, but even with a few beers in my belly, I felt shy.

I could feel the urges of hormones telling me to talk to guys, but there was also an unexpected feeling of caution -- like there was something I shouldn’t trust about them. Almost by instinct, I never put down my drink.

Eventually, I found my way to a group of women. A few, like myself, had been men before the Shift. Unlike me, they seemed to still be interested in women, and couldn’t stop pestering the others for lesbian experiments.

Why did I feel too old for all this shit? Was it another influence of Mari’s body? At least there was something nice and familiar about getting drunk.

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