Arron's got issues

If there were a god out there, somewhere, he/she/it/the divine would not have let Arron open his eyes. He decided that was a given at this point in time.

Hangovers were not a missed thing before he had kids and now, after pounding back 4 tall glasses of beer, they were most definitely no longer even welcome in his nightmares. The sun was shining brightly and the light was what woke him up, though the groans coming from the living room was a very close second. A muffled "daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhdddddddddd" caught his attention and, try as it might to confuse and deny him, Arron somehow found the ability to get up off the bed and slowly stagger to his feet. Each and every step he took reminded him of his stupidity the night before but, come what may, he managed to make it to the doorway. A few more moments, he made it to the stairwell. He contemplated the meaning of existence at that point, what with the room spinning and the Earth seemingly tilting at all weird angles, but the groan came again and he soldiered on.

On the couch lay a jangled, mangled mess of a young woman, her body was definitely not in any shape or form to resemble human from any angle. He paused for a moment, thinking of many things, all of which would end him up the river in some correctional facility for the rest of his life, but instead of argue or say anything, he tapped what appeared to be a leg. "You alive there..." he muttered.

"Mrph..."

Arron gave up at that point, satisfied his daughter was remotely considered breathing, before he stumbled/staggered/limped into the kitchen. A few softly and delicate moves later, he had his cup being filled with some of the strongest European coffee he had. Where the idea that Americans believed they had some of the world's best tasting coffee had come from was beyond him. Nothing came close to good, solid, dark European Roast and when that first sip hit his lips, he immediately thanked the other gods responsible for coffee. Screw the God of Hangovers, that little shit could go sit and spin...

"Mornph..."

He ignored the sound of the living dead walking, mumbling, whatever zombies did, standing by the coffee machine and drinking more of the glorious liquid. His daughter appeared disheveled in front of him, her cup grasped between two outstretched hands, the best puppy dog eyes look possible behind a fringe of hair and a messed up face. "Morning."

"Coffee...please..."

He thought about arguing then about the fact that a 19 year-old should not be hung over but decided the fact she felt, and looked, like shit was enough of a lesson until the next time and poured her a cup. The two of them stood there, drinking in luxurious silence, before she turned to him. "Late night?"

"Drunk night." He sipped. "You?"

"Same." She sipped. "Had fun?"

He nodded. "Blast. You?"

She shrugged. "He came too quickly."

"That happens." Arron finished his cup. "Poor thing. Did that cause the drinking?"

"Yeah."

"Try not to kill him if there's a next time."

Sarah laughed bitterly at that. "Won't be a next time. Little shit..."

Arron stepped out of the shower and after still somewhat slowly moving, managed to get his hair dry and brushed decently enough. He wasn't sure exactly what to wear for a coffee/lunch meeting with a coworker outside of work, especially one that was young enough to be his son, though it wasn't so much a date as he knew, from outward appearances, no one would guess a gay guy would try to hook up with an older woman, MiLFy she may be. It bothered him that people still believed he was a woman and treated him like a woman, especially every single guy he walked by. They were either checking out his ass (Which, he had to admit begrudgingly, looked pretty awesome for a "woman" of his age) or the slightly smaller than watermelon rack he was sporting.

It wasn't all bad, though, he supposed as he walked over to the dresser and opened it up, pulling out a pair of boyshort panties he had picked up a few days ago and did his best to tuck himself. Of course he hated the fact he had to tuck his penis carefully to avoid unseemly bulges, especially with wearing a dress or the tight flat front of a woman's jeans. It was a bother the first few times too given the hair and how the tape he used often ripped them out painfully. Finally, he took Tom's advice and used Nair down there. It burned and itched like mad the first two days but it did the trick.

It also bothered him that, as he fixed the breasts after applying the adhesive and allowing them time to settle in, there were cosmetic things like this he had to wear now, there was no escaping the basic need to wear the prosthetic breasts and hip pads whenever he left the house. Too many people knew of him and had a mind's image of him with these aspects to go without them. The change would be dramatic enough to cause people to ask many uncomfortable questions.

Still, he had made a good friend in Cynthia and even Brooke, after spending several days with her, was becoming someone interesting to talk and hang around with. Hannah was a bit too nosey for his sentiments but she was also good for chatting and talking with. In a manner of weeks, he had made more friends here as a woman than he did for the past year as a man back east.(Was that pathetic of him? He couldn't decide.)

In the back of the closet where there were dresses, Arron decided to try and take things up a notch and picked out one that he remembered Erin loved to wear when she went out with coworkers. It took him a few moments to figure out how it went on exactly and another few moments to try and make sure it fit him (it did, though the tightness in the chest told him that he was perhaps a bit more than she was.)

He walked out of the bedroom and slipped on a pair of heels just as Sarah came around the corner. "Lunch with a coworker?"

He nodded. "You remembered?"

"Mom always wore that for her 'power lunches'."