This choice: Dean Hughes, a 14 year old nerd. • Go Back...Chapter #6Dean Hughes, a 14 year old nerd. by: Wassel   "...Dean Hughes. I believe that you both went to the same school, though he would have been a few years younger. He was in the same car accident too. Entire family was killed except for him. Poor kid, he was barely clinging on. His brain was fine of course, but his body was a mangled mess." Dr. Kerry explained in a very matter-of-fact manner. Cold and distant, but also oddly reassuring.
Not that you paid much notice to his delivery. You had more pressing matters to try and get your head round. Dean Hughes? ...The School nerd? Pretty much everyone knew of Dean. Unfortunately for all the wrong reasons. He was incredibly smart, but not very popular. Being a target for bullies with his small, scrawny frame, pimpled-covered face and thick-rimmed, coke bottle glasses. He seemed alright to you though, from what limited interaction you'd had. Perhaps a little obnoxious at times, but he definitely wasn't deserving of the hazing he received. Wincing at a memory of him getting wedgie'd in the school's main quad. Hard enough where his underwear ripped in half. A part of you had even wanted to help, but you didn't really want to face the wrath of the school bullies either. Not exactly being much of a tough guy yourself. Now though, that same fourteen year old was residing in your mother's body, and not taking this news very well at all, 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. Initially you had been angry with your dad. How could he let some stranger take over your mother's body? Though he later broke down and told you that he just couldn't let her go. It had all been too much and this operation seemed like the only way out. In your father's shoes, you guessed you probably 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 her body.
A few days later after you were discharged, you asked your dad when Dean, or your mother (you still hadn't made up your mind on what to call him) would be coming home. Seeing as his own family had been killed, he would be staying with you for the foreseeable future. Mostly for appearances sake and to convince everyone that he was really her. He told you it wouldn't be for another few weeks at least as he was still recovering from the operation and the doctors wanted to make sure that he was properly acclimatized to your mother's body. You sighed at this and stared out the window. "Acclimatized". Meaning Dean would be taught all sorts of things that a teenage boy simply would not know. Having lost 27 years of his life and being very much a woman now.
The weeks passed then 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 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 a few times to try and cheer you up, and on several of those occasions you actually thought about telling him what had really happened to your mother, especially when he brought up Dean and his family's death. But in the end you couldn't. This being Dean's decision to make.
Finally a month after the accident, the day had finally arrived for Dean to be released, and although you'd made up yet another excuse as to why you could not go with your father to collect him, you still waited with baited breath for them to return. Pacing back and forth in your room. The problem you had ignored for the better part of a month having at last reared its ugly head. Jumping then as you heard the garage door open, you very nervously crept outside your bedroom door 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 14 year old boy named Dean Hughes. Nervously your eyes followed after them as your father showed him around.
The first thing you noticed was the body language. He appeared very out of place, like he didn't know quite what to do with himself. His slouch being a dead giveaway, seeing how your real mother had always nagged you about your posture and had led by example. This was definitely 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 friend Randall always called her a MILF. Having had a crush on her for years and frequently droning on and on about how gigantic her breasts were. A fact that he never failed to tease you with.
Watching them turn around, you quickly ducked behind the corner, making sure neither of them got a glimpse of you. Though you could not clearly see her face, her shoulder length, blonde hair was tied back in a simple ponytail. Those blue eyes, which you had also inherited, were slightly wide eyed and bleary. No makeup adorned her face, a thing your mother would never be caught without. Not even simple lipstick. Absentmindedly, he lifted one of her dainty fingers, of course no nail polish, to pick her nose, but stopped himself short. Perfectly normal for Dean, but not for your mother. Your father seemed to control much of the conversation and lead him then into a different room.
Slinking back into your room, you buried your head 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 suddenly hit you.
An hour later, there was a knock on your door. Your heart was beating so fast that it felt like it might explode.
"Ahhh...I thought you were home," he said, as you let him in. "I spied you peaking down from upstairs when I showed Dean around." Sitting back down on your bed while your dad pulled your desk chair. "Well he's 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?"
You shook your head. How could you be hungry?
"Tim, can you promise me you'll give him a chance? Imagine how it must be for Dean. Losing his entire family and waking up to find himself in a completely foreign body. On top of that, the opposite sex. Sure things are tough for us, but he has no one."
Telling him, "Sure", your father patted you on the back then gave you a hug. Leaving you then to your own devices.
Guest room? you thought, figuring that even for him, sleeping next to his own dead wife was just too much, at least for now. Plus Dean would need his own space too.
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 Dean and your father had both gone to bed, you decided to venture downstairs to make yourself a sandwich. Carefully tiptoeing down the stairs so not to wake 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. Being as quiet as you could, you made your sandwich and tiptoed back again. Hearing an odd, muffled sound coming from the guest room as you did. Intrigued by this, you set your sandwich down on a nearby table and crept toward the guest room. The door was slightly ajar and there was a light coming from through 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.
Inside, the bed was empty and you could clearly see the light coming from the en-suite bathroom. The sound of the TV somewhat hampering the noises coming from inside. A cold sweat was starting to form on your forehead, the sound was starting to become more audible, at least to an extent. You couldn't make out words, but panting, your mother panting. Suddenly the sound stopped and you hit the ground. Spotting directly in front of you one of your mother's bras, a simple black one. Grabbing it, you threw it out your way. Crawling then rolling, you finally got a good look on what was happening in the bathroom, though a part of you already knew.
Your mother, or at least her body, was sitting on the toilet. A matching pair of panties were pulled down around her ankles. Her face was flushed and her blonde locks were now messy and loose around her shoulders. She was biting her lower lip to keep herself from screaming, while below, one of her hands was greedily kneading and toying with her shapely, well-endowed boobs, occasionally giving a large pink nipple a squeeze. Each one glistening from the obvious fact they had recently been sucked on. Of course further down was were the real action was. Her other hand furiously pumping in and out of her pussy. Which, from what you could see of it was also soaking wet with moisture. Making all kinds of lewd squishy sounds.
It was more than obvious though that the person controlling your mother's body was all too inexperienced. The movements and gestures seeming clumsy and greedy. Exactly what a horny, 14 year old would do given the chance to manipulate a mature woman's body.
© Copyright JR (UN: reidye at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.   indicates the next chapter needs to be written. |
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