I swear I'll change up this weird father/son theme eventually 😅 I seem to have become trapped in a very specific niche these last couple weeks!

-----------------------

It was plastic surgery addiction, though dad was middle aged and already heavily butchered by repeated, unnecessary cosmetic surgery before he finally received a formal diagnosis. Even knowing about his sickness, it did nothing to stop it. In fact it made it worse. Until then, his impulses could be satisfied with a little rhinoplasty or botox. Shortly thereafter, he came out as trans, though we all knew it was nothing more than a thin excuse to delve deeper into his addiction, to open new avenues of alteration. His marriage dissolved soon after. He loved submitting his flesh to the surgeon's scalpel more than he loved his wife.

Growing up with a father with that sort of addiction was weird, especially as science marched on and cosmetic techniques improved. I got older - he stayed the same age. Gradually they reversed the sloppy workmanship that had left him a Mickey Rourke lookalike and slowly they started to sculpt him into a woman. He took his time. Relished it.

In some ways I’m an enabler. The rest of the family turned their backs decades ago so I’m always the one driving him to and from the clinic or helping him sip juice through a straw while bandaged up like an egyptian mummy. Perhaps I’d inherited a bit of his addiction - there was something fascinating about watching the years peel away from him, watching his breasts and ass growing with each procedure.

At some point he decided he wanted to be asian. Ever since the epicanthoplasty, I’m the next-of-kin always roped in to prove his identity whenever anyone starts to query the name ‘Mr Charles White’ attached to the cute little young asian girl before them. Fortunately I kept photographs of his transformation. It’s practically a flipbook.

He’s 67 now, though he doesn’t look a day over 21, but underneath he’s still an old man of course. Actually he loves getting secretly old, turning his medical issues into excuses for more invasive procedures. A problem with his prostate was the push he needed to finally embrace a vaginoplasty, and this week he went in for bilateral joint replacements for his osteoarthritic hips. He opted for the wider alignment to plump out his silicone butt, and a looser fit of implant - the type able to provide the range of motion of a triple-jointed teenage gymnast.

He’ll find any excuse to show off his flat crotch and female-shaped pelvis. His favorite party trick is dislocating his new hip implants and wrapping his legs around his ears.

I’ve let him stay over at the apartment while he heals. God, I wish he’d quit doing his yoga in the living room on a morning. Sure, I know it’s him. My morning wood hasn’t received the memo.

“Time for my stretches again, boy. Why don’t you come on over and help your old man with his rusty old joints, hm?”