This choice: Someone you know, but not well • Go Back...Chapter #4Someone you know, but not well by: JR   "...Dean Hughes, I believe that you both went to the same school? Though from his age, he must have been a few years younger than you. He happened to be in a car accident too. Entire family was killed except for him. Poor kid was barely clinging on, well his brain was fine. Body was a mangled mess." Dr. Kerry explained in the doctoral manner, cold and distant, but also oddly reassuring.
Your mind was trying to deal with the more pressuring issue at hand to bother to notice Dr. Kerry's delivery of the news. Dean Hughes? The school nerd? Everyone at your school knew of Dean, but for all the wrong reasons. Being one of the smartest kids at school made me a target for the school bullies. On top of it his scrawny, small frame, pimpled-covered face, and thick-rimmed, coke bottle glasses just begged him to be picked on. He seemed like an alright kid from your limited interactions with, a little obnoxious, but Dean definitely didn't deserve the hazing he got a school. You winced as you remembered Dean getting wedgie'd in the school main's quad, hard enough were his underwear ripped in half. A part of you had wanted to help him, but you rather not face the wrath of the school bully. Now the same fourteen year old was residing in your mother's body. Not taking the news very well, you started to dry heave. You wanted to throw up, but nothing was in your stomach. Dr. Kerry called for a nurse and your dad rushed in to console you.
Some hours later, you had calmed down and eaten some saltines with water. At least something was in your stomach now. First you had been angry with your dad, how could he let some stranger be in your mother's body? Though he broke down and said he couldn't let go of your mother. It had been too much and this operation seemed like a way out. In your father's shoes, you would have done the same. Since then your father had left you alone, so you could think things over yourself. Slowly you started to accept that your mother was dead, or at least the mother you knew. Now Dean Hughes had a new lease on life, though that lease came with your mother's body.
A few days later, you were discharged from the hospital. You asked when Dean, or your mother, you still hadn't made up your mind, would be released from the hospital. Since Dean's family had been killed, he would be staying with your family for the time being, mostly to keep up appearances that your mother was still herself after the car accident. He explained that your mother would be there for a couple of weeks. She was still recovering from the operation and the hospital staff wanted to make sure that your mother could acclimate to the world. You sighed and stared outside the window. "Acclimate", meaning teaching Dean all of those womanly things that no teenage boy would know. He had lost 26 years of his life and was a woman.
The weeks passed without much fanfare. You fell back into your normal routine of school and soccer practice. At school it was bizarre to attend a memorial for Dean, even though you knew the truth. Your father asked you several times if you wanted to join him on his daily trips to hospital to check up on Jennifer/Dean, but you dodged the question by saying you were busy. Though he knew the excuses were flimsy, he didn't want to push you. Randall, your best friend, stopped by multiple times a week after school to cheer you. Several times you thought about telling him of what happened to your mother, especially when you brought up Dean and his family's death, but you couldn't. Your mother/Dean should have the final say.
Finally a month after the accident, your father said the day had finally arrived for your mother to return home. Once again you said were too busy to go with him to the hospital, had to stay after school for some reason or another. Arriving to your house after school ended, you paced in front a clock on your dresser. The problem you had ignored for the better part of a month was rearing its head right at you. You jumped as you heard the garage door open and the close. Nervously you crept outside your room and peaked down the stairs. What met your eyes was nothing out of the ordinary.
Your father was talking to your mother, pointing to various things around the first floor. Your heart stopped for a moment. Your mother living and breathing, even though she was dead. You wanted to call out to her, but knew the woman you loved was gone. Instead what laid before you was only her body. The force that controlled her was a nerdy, fourteen boy, Dean Hughes. Nervously your eyes followed her as your father showed her around.
The first thing you noticed was the body language. She appeared very out of place, especially with that slouch. Like she didn't know quite what to do with herself. That slouch was the dead giveaway, your mother always nagged you about your posture and lead by example. Not the prim and graceful mother you once knew. Next was her attire, a baggy t-shirt, a pair of jeans, and some nondescript tennis shoes. Not very ladylike. Clothes to hide her body. You remembered how your Randall said that your mother was a milf. Randall had a crush on your mother for years, droning on and on about her gigantic breasts, but you did agree, though would never agree to it in person.
Turning around, you ducked behind the corner, making sure neither of them got a glimpse of you. Though you could not clearly see her face. Shoulder length, blonde hair that was put into a simple ponytail. Those blue eyes, which you had inherited from her. No makeup, a thing your mother would never be caught without. Not even simple lipstick. Absentmindedly, she lifted one of her dainty fingers, of course no nail polish, to pick her nose, but stopped herself short. Perfectly normal for Dean, but not your mother. Your father seemed to control much of the conversation and lead her into a different room.
Slinking back to your room, you buried yourself into your pillow. That was all the proof that you needed that your mother was truly gone. Silently you wept, as the full nature of what had happened came to you. A hour later, there was a knock on your door. Your heart was beating so fast that it felt like it might explode. Luckily, the voice behind it was your father's. You let him in before returning to sit on your bed.
"Ahhh...I thought you were home. I spied you peaking down from upstairs when I showed Dean around." Your father pulled your desk chair up right in front of you and sat down. "Well she is laying down in the guest room. Today has been an exhausting day for all us. You hungry, because I am going to cook some dinner for Dean and I?"
You shook your head. How could you be hungry?
"Tim, can you promise you will give her a chance? Imagine how it must be for Dean. Lose your entire family and wake up to find yourself in a completely, foreign body. On top of that, one of the opposite gender. Sure things are tough for us, but he has no one."
"Sure." Your father patted you on the back then gave you a hug.
He thanked you then left you to your own devices. Guest room? Guess even for him, sleeping next to your dead wife was too much, at least for now. Plus Dean needed his own space you thought. Shaking your head, you needed to occupy yourself, naturally you turned your Xbox and hoped Randall was on.
Around midnight, your stomach grumbled. Not hearing anything for the last few hours, assuming that your mother/Dean and father had gone to bed early, you decided to venture downstairs to make yourself a sandwich. Carefully you tiptoed down the stairs, as to not wake up anyone. Though the real challenge would be in the kitchen. Your parent's bedroom was down the hallway from your room, but the guest room was on the first floor. Somehow, your sandwich making did not wake anyone. Tiptoeing back to your room with a sandwich in hand, you heard an odd, muffled sound coming from the guestroom. This intrigued you. Setting the sandwich on a nearby table, you crept toward the guest room. The door was slightly ajar and there some light coming from the crack. Making your way to the door, the muffled sound started to get a little louder. Did you dare enter the bedroom? What if Dean was having a seizure or some other side effect from the operation? Your curiosity got the better of you and entered the room.
In the guest room, you could clearly see the light was coming from the attached bathroom. The bed was empty and the tv was on, somewhat hampering the sound coming from the bathroom. A cold sweat was starting to form on your forehead, the sound was starting to become more audible, to extent. Not words, but panting, clearly from your mother's voice. Suddenly the sound stopped and you hit the ground. Suddenly you realized what was right in front of you, one of your mother's bras, a simple black one. Grabbing it, you threw it out of your way. Crawling, then rolling you finally got a good look on what was happening in the bathroom, though a part of you knew exactly what was happening.
Your mother, or at least her body, was sitting on the toilet. The matching pair of panties were pulled down to her ankles. Her face was flushed and that neat ponytail had been replaced by messy pairs of blonde locks. She was biting her lower lip to keep herself from screaming. Your attention was elsewhere to notice this facts. One of her was greedily, kneading and toying with her one erect pink nipples,g glistening from the obvious fact they had been sucked on, occasionally giving your mother's shapely and well-endowed boobs a squeeze. Going down further was where the real action was happening. The other hand was furiously playing with your mother's pussy. Getting a glimpse, you could see her vagina and hand glistened too. The person controlling your mother's body was all too inexperienced. The movements and gestures seemed clumsy and greedy, exactly what a horny, fourteen year old would do given the chance to manipulate a mature woman's body.
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