One Thing At A Time

You stand there in the hallway of the girl's dorm taking slow, deep breaths. You don't want to think about what's happened. How you've been transformed. But you can feel it. Every inch of you feels it. It's not like it used to be when you turned into Doe. Before, no matter how much time you spent as her, it never felt real. But now, it feels like you.

You're uncomfortably aware of the weight of your breasts beneath the polo shirt you're wearing. The sway of your hips. The slight weight of your long, blonde hair upon your shoulders as it spills down your back. It's all you.

You head for the exit. A few girls give you odd looks as you pass them in the hall. Music is coming out of a few open doors. One of the girls from the locker room is within, but she doesn't notice you as you walk by. And then you're outside. The sun is going down. You wish you had your cell phone. Nothing else for it but to walk back to your dorm.

The walk back feels like it takes forever. One foot in front of the other. Time blending together. You pass people, but you don't really seem them. You aren't really there: you're still in Gemma's room. Still with her. Even now.

The splash of cold water on your face brings you out of your daze. Brings you back to yourself. For a second, you're almost overwhelmed by the sensations of the body you're going to spend the rest of your life in. Everything feels intense. Everything feels new. Everything...

You're in your own bathroom, in your own dorm room. The sink is still running. For a moment, you stare you stare at the gorgeous, intensely fuckable blonde girl you see in the mirror. Intensely fuckable pregnant blonde girl, your mind amends. You vaguely recall the walk. Sneaking into the dorm. Getting into your room. Is your room mate still out? You think so.

You've got a few outfits for Doe in your dresser, hidden away beneath John's clothes. Nothing major, just a few t-shirts, a few pairs of jeans. You never figured you'd need more than that and you're pregnant. You were supposed to knock HER up, and it's hard to hate her for doing what you were going to do to her. What you still kind of wish you'd done to her, if only to get **** for what she did to you. If only to show that you can want something other than to be hers, and God but you do.

You need a shower.

You take one. You strip, and as you step into the stream of hot water, a thought occurs to you: your parents. You could call them. They might be able to help, somehow. They know about your female self. They took you to all sorts of doctors when you hit puberty, trying to find an answer. But if you called them now, they'd know that you're pregnant. That thought keeps coming back. Keeps interrupting you. Tomorrow is Friday and you're pregnant. Your favorite TV show is on tonight and you're pregnant. You finish. You step out of the shower, drying yourself, drying your hair. "I have class in twenty minutes and I'm pregnant," you say to the mirror, and you can't quite stop from giggling at just how absurd that reality is. Part of you likes it.

... what are you going to do now?