Craig gives Jonas his tips The New World of SwapTech chapter 7 by deleted_user

Tip One: The Eyes

"First thing you need to understand," Craig said, holding up a silver-nailed finger, "is that you are now a walking dopamine dispenser for straight men. Every time they look at you, their brain releases a little squirt of happy juice. That's not your fault, and it's not your responsibility. But you need to know it's happening, because it changes how you move through the world."

Jonas frowned. "So I'm just supposed to accept that every guy I meet is going to objectify me?"

"No. You're supposed to accept that every guy you meet is objectifying you, and then decide what you want to do about it. Some guys are harmless—they'll look, they'll appreciate, they'll move on. Some guys are the ones who follow you and ask for a drink. And some guys—" Craig's voice hardened. "Some guys will try to touch you. Grab you. Press up against you in a crowd. Those guys are the ones you need to watch for."

"How do I tell the difference?"

"Experience. But a shortcut: if a guy's eyes are on your chest instead of your face, he's in the first category. If his eyes are on your chest and he's moving toward you, he's in the second. If his eyes are on your chest and he's already reaching out, he's in the third, and you shut that shit down immediately."

Jonas thought about the Deadpool hoodie group. The way they'd crowded in, touched him without asking. "What do I do?"

"Loud voice. Eye contact. 'Back off.' Don't apologize, don't smile, don't try to be nice. You're a six-foot-tall Kryptonian in this body. You have more muscle mass than most of the guys here. Use it."

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Tip Two: The Walk

"You're walking like a man," Craig said. "I don't mean that as an insult. I mean you're walking with your shoulders forward and your hips locked. That's a male gait. It's efficient, but it doesn't work in a female body, because your center of gravity is different."

Jonas looked down at himself. "I noticed that. I almost fell over when I first got out of the pod."

"Exactly. You need to find your new balance. Your hips are wider, your chest is heavier, your thighs are built differently. Walk like you own the space you're in. Shoulders back, head up, stride long. You'll look confident, and confident people get harassed less."

"Really?"

"Really. Predators look for easy targets. Someone who's clearly uncomfortable, looking at the ground, trying to be invisible—that's who they go for. Someone who walks like they're ready to throw hands? They think twice."

Jonas tried to adjust his posture. He pulled his shoulders back, lifted his chin, and immediately felt the weight of his chest shift forward. The boob window seemed to gape wider.

"Better," Craig said. "You still look like you're about to shit yourself, but it's a start."

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Tip Three: The Hands

"You're going to get touched. A lot. It's going to happen, and it's going to make you want to scream." Craig's voice was matter-of-fact. "Hands on your shoulder. Hands on your waist. Hands on your lower back. Someone 'accidentally' brushing against your ass in a crowd. It's going to happen."

Jonas felt sick. "How do you deal with it?"

"Two ways. First: you set boundaries early. If someone touches you without permission, you say 'don't touch me' loud enough for people nearby to hear. Most guys will back off if they're being publicly called out. Second: you develop a resting bitch face that would make a Vulcan flinch."

Jonas tried to arrange his face into something stern. It came out looking constipated.

"Work on it," Craig said dryly. "You'll need it."

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Tip Four: The Bathroom

"Okay, this one's important." Craig lowered his voice. "You're in a woman's body. You're going to need to use the bathroom. And the women's bathroom at a convention is a completely different world from the men's."

Jonas raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

"First, there's a line. Always. Second, no one talks. Women don't chat in the bathroom at cons the way guys do. They're in and out, fast, because they don't want to be in there longer than necessary. Third—" Craig paused. "You're going to have to figure out how to wipe with this body's anatomy. It's different. I won't go into details, but trust me, give yourself extra time."

Jonas blinked. "I hadn't thought about that."

"No one does. Until they're standing in a stall with a leotard around their ankles, trying to remember which direction to wipe."

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Tip Five: The Boob Window

"Now, about your specific situation." Craig gestured at Jonas's chest. "That cutout is a magnet. It's designed to be a magnet. The Power Girl costume is a classic for a reason—it's absurdly sexualized and the boob window is the centerpiece. You're going to get comments about it. You're going to get people asking to 'verify the accuracy' by touching. You're going to get people taking photos without asking, specifically zoomed in on that area."

Jonas crossed his arms over his chest, feeling suddenly exposed. "What do I do?"

"Option one: embrace it. Own it. Make it clear that you chose this look and you're confident in it. Some guys will be intimidated by that. Option two: cover it up. Find a jacket or a shawl or something to throw over yourself. Option three: lean into the role. Power Girl is a confident, powerful character. Act like her. If someone says something gross, you respond like a superhero would—with sarcasm and a raised eyebrow."

Jonas considered this. "I don't think I can pull off option three."

"Then start with option two. There's a vendor two rows over selling cheap cloaks. Grab one. It'll help you feel less exposed while you figure out your footing."

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Tip Six: The Other Women

"Here's the thing no one tells you," Craig said, his voice softening. "The other women at this con are your allies. Not your competition. Not your enemies. The women who cosplay—especially the ones in sexy costumes—they know exactly what you're going through. They've been through it themselves. If you see another woman getting harassed, step in. If you're getting harassed, look for another woman to stand near. We look out for each other."

Jonas thought about the Wonder Woman cosplayer who'd given him a sympathetic look earlier. "There was a woman—Wonder Woman—she saw me. She looked like she wanted to help."

"Then find her. She'll probably be happy to have someone to hang out with. Women at cons tend to form packs. It's safer that way."

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Tip Seven: The Fun Part

"All that said—" Craig's grin returned, wider now. "Being a hot woman at a con isn't all terrible. There are perks."

Jonas raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"Like free stuff. Guys will buy you drinks, food, merch, just for the chance to talk to you. You don't have to sleep with them. You don't even have to be nice. Just exist and look good, and some of them will throw money at you."

"That feels kind of exploit-y."

"It is. But it's also nice to get a free hot dog when you're broke. Use it wisely."

Craig paused, then added: "Also, you can get into any panel you want. Just stand near the front and look lost. Someone will offer to let you cut in line."

Jonas snorted. "Really?"

"Really. I got front-row seats to a voice actor panel last year just by standing there with my tits out and looking confused. It's a superpower."

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The Parting Gift

Craig reached into his jacket and pulled out a small card, handing it to Jonas. It was a business card, plain white, with a phone number written in pen.

"That's my SwapPort number," Craig said. "I'm in this body for another two days. If you need help, or just need someone to talk to, text me. I'll come find you."

Jonas took the card, staring at it. "Why are you doing this?"

Craig shrugged. "Because no one did it for me. And because seeing another guy in over his head brings back memories." He clapped Jonas on the shoulder. "You'll be fine. You just need to learn to swim."

He turned and walked back toward the main hall, his hips swaying with practiced confidence, the silver nails catching the light one last time before he disappeared around the corner.

Jonas stood alone in the corridor, holding the card, feeling the weight of his new body and the strange, unexpected gift of solidarity.

Okay, he thought. Maybe I can do this.

He unfolded the card and pocketed it, then squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and walked back into the convention.