You awoke again to pain. Not physical pain (you were too drugged up for that), but emotional pain as you saw your mother and siblings for the first time. The three of them looking extremely happy to see you, but at the same time, completely devastated by what had happened and what you had now become. At first it was hard for them to look at you, your mother especially, but she assured you that you'd all get through this together "as a family". Wishing there had been some other way, but knowing fine well that there wasn't.
She also informed you, along with the two doctors that due to the experimental nature of the procedure, as well with the risk involved, nobody other than the six of you could ever know of what transpired here. There being too many legal, ethical and moral implications that would not be simply overlooked. Not to mention the fact that you would be forever hounded by the media if word of this ever got out. The world's first ever successful brain transplant, involving a father and his son.
Reluctantly you all agreed, because you had to. Because there was no other way. The doctors offering financial compensation in return, seeing as it would be a while until you would be ready to return to your father's work. Not that you thought that you'd ever be ready. Having no idea how you were going to cope with any of that stuff. Being little more than a video game, movie obsessed 16 year old with no work ethic and little attention span. What did you know about bills and mortgages and all the rest of it? Never mind the fact that your own mother was now your wife
"It's just for show. Just in front of other people, sweetheart," your mother had said on seeing your discomfort, holding up remarkably well in the face of all this. "You just have to be strong and make the most of this second chance. It's what your father would have wanted."
Ah, yes. Your father. Donald Richard Connors, 44 years old. Married for over twenty years to your mother. A property developer by trade. He was a kind man who wasn't quick to speak, or overly showy about his emotions, but he'd loved you dearly. You and your brother and sister. Facing life without him...as him was terrifying, and you weren't entirely sure those shoes could be filled, but you were going to have to. You were going to have to no matter what that meant, or how much your life would change. No more school, no more being friends with Randall, or spending time with Allison. You'd have to act like a grown up now and do grown up things, at least in public. At home, the doctors and your mother assured you, you would still be Tim. Even if, as far as everyone else was aware, Tim was now gone.
And so, after three weeks of lying in bed, getting all kinds of tests performed on you while you healed (the doctors apparently being very happy with how well your brain was handling the transplant), it was time to return home. Though Saunders wasn't entirely sure of the long term effects of part of your brain now coexisting with a larger part of your father's, they did theorize that over time you might find yourself gaining access to his memories, or subconsciously finding yourself able to do things that he could do. Which would certainly help with the transition, and with helping to fool people into thinking that you were now Don Connors.
Don. That's my name now. Not Tim, but Don. It being a difficult thought to get used to. Having been so used to going by your own name for 16 years, that suddenly having to use your father's was almost unthinkable.
And so, finally getting out of that pale green hospital gown into the clothes your mother had brought (your own no longer fitting), you looked at yourself in the mirror as you got changed, still after all this time having difficulty recognizing that the reflection was of you. Where as you had been slim and not particularly muscular, standing at around 5 '11" with shaggy light brown hair, your father was big and broad. He had retained the physique of his youth quite well, due to frequent visits to the gym, as well as a love of running, and was taller than you by several inches. Standing at 6' 2". He was also a lot hairier than you had been on the chest and arms, and the less said about downstairs the better. Still having great difficulty 'handling' your father's equipment every time you went to the bathroom. It being too weird a thought knowing that it was actually his penis.
Once dressed, and after signing the relevant paper work, your mother helped you out into the car where David and Tabitha were waiting and you were then driven home. It was very strange to walk back into your house after nearly a month away, feeling in a lot of ways like an intruder. Like you no longer belonged there. Even your room no longer seemed quite the same. Not now you were inhabiting it inside your father's body. On your mother's suggestion moving some of his clothes into your closet, to save forever having to go back and forth. There of course being absolutely no discussion whatsoever of actually sharing a room with her. Thank goodness!
Over the next two weeks you did your best to try and acclimatize. Your mother assisting you whenever a friend came to the door to share their sympathies over your 'son's' death. Using the excuse that the head trauma you suffered (of which you still had a tiny scar) had left you a little out of sorts. Most people thankfully seemed to accept this, and even though you continued to fear that you would be seen through, nobody questioned that you were anything but what they saw. The funeral, when it came and went was an incredibly tough thing to deal with. Using it as a platform to secretly say goodbye to your father, even though it was your own body being buried that day.
You managed to get through it though, somehow and a pattern began to form. Still being off work for the time being while your siblings returned to school. Making use of your days by helping your mother when you could, with housework, as well as learning the odd little thing here and there about how to better imitate your father. Finding that soon enough, the doctors had been right, and little bits and piece of information did seem to just pop right out. Managing to fix a leaking pipe in the bathroom, even though you'd never done it before. As well as various other handy things that would certainly come in useful.
"That's good. At least this means I won't have to call out a plumber, or an electrician, or a mechanic whenever something goes wrong," your mother smiled. Having been solid as a rock throughout all this. With only the occasional teary eye she sometimes got when glancing at you revealing her inner hurt at having lost her husband. Something which you wished you could do or say to make her feel better, but of course knowing that it was impossible. You were a walking talking reminder of everything she'd lost. Everything you'd all lost.
One thing that you rather surprisingly hadn't lost however, was you libido. Unsure whether or not it was to do with the part of your brain that still survived, or if like you, your father had a pretty overactive sex drive also (not that you really liked to think about that all that much). But it did mean having to confront something that you were extremely loath to do... and that was, to properly acquaint yourself with his penis. Up until now, you'd avoided as much contact as you could, but as the days went on it was getting increasingly harder. As a teenage boy, you'd been obsessed with sex and getting your end away. Having unfortunately not been able to get much further than making out and the odd little groping session with Allison. Whacking off had been part of your daily routine, and though the drugs you'd been given had helped you to take the edge of, now that you no longer had the need for them, you were finding it hard to resist.
On one such occasion, after having not long woken up (on a bed that was now ever so slightly too small), you decided to bite the bullet and finally release your frustration. Staring down at the penis now hanging between your much thicker, more muscular legs. It admittedly not looking all that much different from your own truth be told. Alright then. Here goes nothing, you said to yourself. Adding rather guiltily, Sorry, dad, as you sat there in front of your computer, with various photos of large breasted, naked woman filling the screen, and pulled down your shorts. Watching then as your father's already hardening penis suddenly sprung up from between your legs.
Whoa, you thought, looking at it there. Damn things gotta be bigger than mine, by at least an inch!
Ignoring this though, not wanting to get into comparing dicks with your now dead father, you nervously wrapped your hands around it and focused on the screen. Your almost overpowering hornyness trumping any nerves or ill feelings you might have, as you quickly set to work, jerking yourself off and releasing a great deal of pent up tension.
Less than five minutes later, and after a whole load of grunting and a hell of a lot of mouse clicking, you felt yourself orgasm. Your father's cock shooting out rather a hefty load into the previously prepared sock. Appearing to be rather backed up as you came for nearly a full five seconds.
"Oh, fuck me!" you groaned, leaning back in your chair and releasing your new member. "I really needed that." It definitely having been weird, but it was something that you were really going to have to get used to. After all, what were your chances of getting into a girl's panties now? Allison was a good 27 years younger than you and your were married to your own mom. The thought of anything happening there being too icky for words!
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