Grandad has endured Mutable Morphology Syndrome all his life. One of my earliest memories is being bounced on his knee as a kid, looking up to discover a totally unknown man in his place. I’d cried for hours at that.
He never let it slow him down or dictate what he could and couldn't do, and lived a long and full life. He was even able to serve in the army for a time, though was ultimately discharged after turning into a vietnamese woman in the middle of the barracks, and nearly getting shot. After living 90 years with the condition, it’s just an aspect of himself that he’s grown to accept. One moment he’ll be doing his usual thing, pottering around the garden or snoozing in his favourite armchair, when something will give startle his MMS reflex, and he’ll change into someone else.
And then he’ll simply continue on with what he was doing, barely breaking step. He’ll just remove his spectacles and continue with his crossword puzzle, or what have you. By allowing it to simply wash over him and staying calm, the episodes last only a few minutes, and he can go through a dozen or more of these micro-episodes in a day, unfazed, each a difference face and figure. Some are people he’s seen, his carers or nurses, while some are faces from so far back in his memory he doesn’t even recall their names.
Recently he’s had health issues, and after his last heart attack they put him on some strong beta-blockers to keep his heart rate down - so low he hasn’t had a case of MMS in months. His physician, Dr Amelia Lang, said one more and that would be it, it would be curtains for him. She even implemented a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’. Mom was furious about that, though he took it in his stride, like everything. If it happens, it happens, he said.
It happened.
It’s at a family get together, all the relatives gathered around, when suddenly he lurches up from his chair, clutching his chest in agony, his face turning purple. “I think this is the big one,” he groans, staring around wide-eyed. I run to grab him as he stumbles forward and then suddenly…
… Dr Lang is clutched in my arms. Granddad takes in his female form with an air of resigned sadness. Slowly he stands to his feet - stable and healthy, for now. His face is white as a sheet. “That was it,” he says morosely. “I’m a dead man.”
“You’re fine, grandpa. Look!”
He shakes his head. “Only for as long as this body lasts. I’ve perhaps a few minutes at most. Still, that's more warning than most get. At least I have a chance to say goodbye to you all.” He turns and smiles at his family. “This wasn’t how or who I imagined I’d be saying my farewells but I just wanted to tell you all, from the bottom of my heart, that I lo-”
He is caught off guard by mom leaping up and slapping him across his pretty face, her rosy red palm print glowing on his cheek.
“You’re not dead yet! I’m calling an ambulance,” she screams at him, jabbing a finger at me. “You! Keep his heart rate up! Don’t let him calm down for even a moment!”
“H-how?”
“Figure it out!” she yells, sprinting for the house phone.
I didn’t know what else to do. When mom comes running back in ten minutes later, I’m there with my pants around my ankles, pinning the Dr Lang’s lithe, naked form over the kitchen countertop, my cock pistoning in and out of granddad’s tight pussy.
“What the heck do you call this?!” mom shrieks.
“It was all I could think of,” I sob.
She shakes her head. “No, I mean you can fuck him harder than that! Put your back into it! His life depends on it.”
I fuck him harder, ravishing his beautiful little body until he groans with pleasure and pain, not letting up for even a second even as my back starts to ache with the intensity and speed of thrusting. “This is… aaahhh… a really… ooohhh… sweet gesture,” he says to me with a thankful smile through the moans. “You always were a dutiful grandohmywooordson. But it’s really -ohhhgodyesssss- not necessary. I’m afraid it’s just mmmnnguhh it’s just mmmmy tiiiime.”
“Don’t listen to him. Fuck him till it hurts. The paramedics will be here in forty minutes," mom snaps at me.
Forty minutes?! By the time they arrive, my body aches but I still can’t stop. After some explaining, they load us onto a stretcher, still entwined together, rutting hard as we’re carried into the ambulance. One of the paramedics slip me a few blue pills to keep me going and keep my dick keeping him alive, even if the swerving of the ambulance around the corners makes me slip out of him a few times.
I’ll never forget the look on Dr Lang’s face as they wheel me into the Emergency Room, fucking the beautiful brains out of her doppelganger. She's absolutely furious, yet constrained by her oath, professionally assuring me that I’ve done everything I can to keep him alive. Even still, I continue. I can’t just let him go. We fuck for hours until, ultimately, my body gives out and fatigue overwhelms me.
I awake 12 hours later. A nurse had been kind enough to apply cream to my rather sore manhood and my relatives are gathered around the bed. I expect the news to be bad. To my surprise, granddad is standing among them, smiling down at me. Female still, but alive.
“They’re keeping him in under observation,” mom says, patting my shoulder proudly. “He hasn’t changed back yet. They’re not sure why.”
For two weeks, he doesn't change back. Finally we're called in to see Dr Lang. Her attitude is frosty to say the least. “We’ve run a test. I hope you’re proud of yourself,” she says curtly, laying a pregnancy test on the table before me. “You’ve bought your grandfather nine months…”