Trent sighed. None of this was working out the way he thought. He didn’t know anything about being a woman, let alone about being Tracy. And that damn headache wouldn’t go away. He needed to clear his head. His lunch break had passed, so he couldn’t leave the building for another three hours. The next best thing was the break room; coffee usually settled his nerves.
Trent excused himself and walked to the breakroom. “Tried to walk” was more appropriate. He wavered drunkenly as his headache became more and more painful, strange looks from his more observant coworkers. Nausea had set in; he righted himself by leaning against the left glass wall. Pressing his head against it, he could just make out the water cooler past his long strawberry blonde hair. He continued on, relying on the glass for support, shuffling his legs as much as his skirt would allow. He felt his new breasts rub against the glass as he moved. The sensation left much to be desired.
At last he made it in. He shambled past the tables, grabbing hold of a chair for support, and took hold of a coffee pot. With shaking fingers he placed it in the machine and let it brew. There was a water cooler at his side, but he needed stronger stuff.
He counted to ten several times as the drink percolated. A few coworkers came in to check up on him, but he could do little more than hiss at them until they shut up and left. Finally, his coffee was ready. He lifted it up, barely remembering to avoid his shoulder-length hair, and put it to his lips.
He hated it.
Why? He thought. I’ve always enjoyed...no, no I haven’t. I’ve hated coffee since I was a little girl. The thought broke through his nauseous haze and filled him with panic. Was Kirsty still in this body? Was she fighting for control? He couldn’t understand...no, she couldn’t...
Trent put a hand to her forehead. She didn’t feel like a he anymore. She knew she was, once, but she remembered being a woman too. Her brain rushed with memories, and she knew she had four parents, eight grandparents, a total of four siblings...no, that wasn’t right either. She had two parents. Their names were Trent and Kirsty, and they gave everything they were to make her.
Tracy sat down at the table. The headache didn’t hurt as much, but the nausea remained. She stared at the coffee in front of her,, and wished it was a kale shake. But she remembered hating those too. She sat there, alone, for some time, until she came to her first decision as a new woman. Kale shakes are disgusting. Apple, pear, beets...those she was about. And she never wanted to drink black coffee again. Soy milk lattes? Now that was another story.
Men were still hot, that much she knew. She remembered having a penis, and using it...she missed it, but that was Trent’s, not hers. This was her body; it may have come from theirs, but it was all hers. And though her components disagreed on a lot, there was one thing they could agree on.
She could really use a good dicking.