The Coma Girl Brain TransplantbyCara_Elaine©
Thankfully, the trial was little more than a formality. I walked from the courthouse a free man, albeit a man with a heavy cloud over his head. I was cleared of the grievous bodily harm of my girlfriend by a jury of five men, four women and three non-binaries. The accusation levelled at me by the prosecution was that I had set out to purposely and maliciously cause traumatic head injuries to my girlfriend. My defence was that it was a sex game gone wrong, accidental injury by misadventure.
Luckily for me there was no way that the jury could have avoided my story in the media before the trial. Let me start by explaining a little about myself. I'd reunited with and started dating my childhood sweetheart back in 2035 and had four relatively happy years living together. I say 'happy', there were the usual ups and downs, she'd had three affairs already which I was less than enthused about. In fact, if I were pushed, I might go as so far as to call her bit of a hussy, if you'd pardon my French. I'm sorry for using such profane language but sometimes my anger issues get the better of me.
Even more annoyingly, she did little to hide her indiscretions. It almost felt as if she'd wanted to get caught. The last time I caught her, she was in bed with a man on a Saturday afternoon, when I wasn't even at work! Obviously, I apologised for bursting in the door and disturbing them, then swiftly left the room in embarrassment. Outside the door, I'd had a second thought and politely knocked my way back in to ask if I could watch...
"No!" she snapped, "Get the fuck out!"
"Okay, sorry," I said, rather peeved, and went to the kitchen to bake some blueberry muffins. 'Freshly baked muffins would be lovely,' I thought, 'but I hope HE doesn't hang around too long afterwards.'
That night I confronted my girlfriend in the strongest possible terms and asked her why she felt the need to have repeated affairs. She told me that I wasn't sexually adventurous enough and that she was bored and would leave me unless I changed. I took heed of this warning and hatched a plan to spice up our marriage. I am a big, big fan of classic literature so obviously, I'd read all fifty books of the '50 Shades' series. I decided to work in some of that excitement into our conjugal relations. When she arrived home from work the following Friday I had everything in place. I had purchased a ball gag for her and a blindfold for myself. I'd set up a camera to record our exhilarating tryst and perhaps, hopefully one day, show our grandchildren how I met their grandmother.
After the formalities of foreplay which consisted of me performing cunnilingus on her while she flicked herself off watching gay porn (that was her thing), I introduced the ball-gag and blindfold. I fornicated her from behind while she was on all-fours, in what I now know to be termed the 'doggy style'. Everything was going tickety-boo until I suddenly realised that her body had gone limp and I felt like I was shagging a bag of potatoes. I instantly took off my blindfold and, to my horror, witnessed what looked like an axe attack crime scene.
Blood from my girlfriend's head covered the wall and the bed. In my over-zealous enthusiasm, and with all my love, I had been slamming her head-first into the brick wall. I did hear her muffled moans through the gag but I thought those were moans of pleasure, not agony. 'Oh, my God, what have I done?' I took the gag out, cleared her airways and called 9119991120145145 for an ambulance. Luckily, the ambulance arrived before I'd finished dialling.
Tipped off by the ambulance crew, the police came to investigate. They treated my house like a crime scene and I was in hot water for interfering with potential evidence. It was a nightmare and I thought that things couldn't get any worse. The police took, as evidence, the video of our sexual misadventure. 'At least that will save me', I thought to myself. Somehow... and I don't want to point fingers at the police because, despite the fact that they held me for a week, beat me and clearly tried to stitch me up, despite all of that, I still believe the police do a remarkable job... but somehow, someone at the police station released the video of what had happened onto the web.
I watched it myself for the first time and was quite pleased with how slim I looked from the side, which was some consolation out of this tragic event, I suppose. It was a spectacle to behold mind you, my girlfriend on all-fours and gagged, me behind her pumping her ass, blind-folded with my head moving in the air like a blind keyboard player as I tried to 'see' what was happening with my ears. I genuinely thought she was moaning and groaning in pleasure, even though the only moaning I'd ever experienced from her was the annoying type of, daily basis, moaning. Perhaps, in retrospect I should have been a little more cautious. What I had thought was an orgasmic leg shake, was in fact, as I was later told by a medical professional, actually a reaction of the spinal cord triggered when the brain was shutting down. Her leg kick was not a sexual climax but, rather ironically, the biggest anti-climax of her life as her brain was dying. I was so bad in bed that I had literally put her into a coma.
The video went viral and within a week practically everyone on the planet had seen it. I was an international laughing stock. People were selling t-shirts which said 'Shag her like Sherman' and 'This is what you get for moaning, you bitch'.
'Not tonight Dear, I've got a bloody headache' was another one I read on a t-shirt, which I thought was particularly unnecessary. Daily life was becoming unbearable as people on the street would do an exaggerated hip thrust gesture at me and laugh when they recognised me so I stayed indoors until the trial.
The trial was not stressful because of the legalities and my possible incarceration but it was stressful because of the sniggering and innuendo which the judiciary seemed all too willing to indulge in. Whatever about the process, the outcome was a good result for me as I was cleared of any wrongdoing. I had cleared my name in the eyes of the law but to everyone else I was known as 'Shag 'er Hard Sherman.' It was not a pleasant situation to have been in but I felt even sorrier for my girlfriend who was lying in intensive care for the past year.
One of the conditions of my bail, before and during the trial, was that I was not allowed to visit my girlfriend or to even set foot in the hospital. Once I was cleared, my lawyer told me that the ban was lifted and I was free to visit her. The day after the trial I went to the hospital. Ironically, before this life-changing event this was the hospital where she worked as a nurse. Now she was a patient in the intensive care unit along with the other 'braindead mongs' as she would have so eloquently put it herself, were she still alive. Well, she was alive, but couldn't talk...or think...probably... One of us was at peace though, and I felt very guilty for feeling that way, under the circumstances.
My personal ID card gained me as far as the intensive care wing but I was stopped and confronted at reception by the matron who had recognised me from my viral video and refused to let me pass any further. An altercation started as I attempted to burst my way in and the matron ended up falling back onto her arse and screaming so loudly that I'm surprise she didn't wake any of the patients up from their comas. She obviously had thought the worst about me having heard my reputation. I paused to help her to her feet and I was suddenly grabbed from behind by hospital security. A male voice addressed me:
"What the devil is going on here?"
I recognised the handsome fellow's face as the man who had been having sex with my girlfriend, in our bed that time I'd walked in on her. He looked more modest than the time I'd seen him naked in my bed and, by the way he was dressed, I deduced that he was probably a doctor, although that was mostly based on the stethoscope around his neck. I instantly realised what was going on and that my girlfriend had been having an affair with her colleague, the doctor. 'A doctor?' I thought, 'well done you!', inexplicably proud of her high standards. But I wasn't surprised, she did always like to aim high.
"I'm Julia's husband. I want to see her. I've cleared my name. The court says I can see her now," I pleaded.
"I know bloody well who you are. You're the blasted wretch who put her in this condition. If I had my way you'd be swinging from a lamppost!" he passionately retorted with his finger pointed right in my face.
"But the court has lifted the ban," I stammered.
"Sod the court! I am in charge of this unit and you are a security threat in here. Get him out of my hospital," he said with all the authority of a man of his position, which I must admit I admired him for on some level, and I could see why Julia had been attracted to him.
This still left me with a problem though. With my girlfriend locked in the hospital and I locked out, how would I ever see her again. I just wanted to see her and talk to her. I wanted to apologise to her for what I had done. I wanted to talk to her in case that there was any brain activity and maybe my voice could soothe her. It was more likely though, that if she could hear me, she would get so angry that she would have woken up just to scream at me. Whatever reaction I would provoke, even none, I simply had to get in to see her.
I knew her old hospital ID pass would get me access to the ICU around the clock. I could go at night when the place was quieter and with no matron or doctor around I could slip in and out virtually unnoticed. The only thing about it was my interminable fear about running into that doctor again. I was a peaceful and gentle soul who avoided confrontation and aggression, despite what my arrest and trial for GBH and attempted murder might, otherwise, have suggested.
I decided that I should disguise myself and serendipitously gain entry to the hospital. I still had Julia's nurse's uniform hanging up in the wardrobe. I ordered a brown wig, female shapewear and breast forms online and they were delivered to me within a couple of hours. I played around with make up all evening until I got what I felt was a plausible female look. I pulled on some black tights, padded underwear and the blue dress uniform and comfortable shoes to complete the disguise. The results were quite dramatic. I thought I made quite the pretty nurse in fact, and I must confess that I had a little private moment of self-love for the first time in a year. I had been so stressed about the case and worried about my girlfriend that I had neglected my sexual needs. This was a good opportunity to blow off that steam. Five blows of steam, whilst looking at myself in the mirror, to be more precise.
I composed myself and took a bus to the hospital. It was a relief to be able to be disguised in public and not have to put up with the daily abuse which I was now used to receiving from the general public. Julia's hospital ID pass worked a treat to gain me access to all areas of the hospital even after normal visiting hours. I ghosted past the ICU reception with a pleasant smile to the girl behind the desk and I looked for the door with Julia's name on it. I took a deep breath and opened the door.
Inside, she lay on the bed trussed up with every type of tube and wire you could imagine. Her face was peaceful. The frown lines which normally furrowed her forehead had subsided. Dare I say that she looked relaxed? Well, I was certainly more relaxed than I normally had been in her company but I still felt a slight pang of guilt knowing that I had been somewhat to blame for this catastrophic injury.
Before I had the chance to even speak to my vegetable of a girlfriend, the door swung open, startling me. It was that doctor again and I was so shocked to see him that a little bit of wee came out into my knickers. I avoided eye contact and went to leave the room.
"Well, well...what dooo we have here?" he sleazily asked, with a demeaning slap on my bottom.
"I'm agency, just filling in for the night," I piped up in a terrible falsetto voice.
"Really? Which one? I though all the nurse agencies had blacklisted this unit because of my infamous reputation as a rather sporting lover," he said with his face so close to mine I could almost taste what he'd eaten for his supper. 'Steak with garlic mushrooms,' I thought to myself, 'and I'd bet he'd had an expensive drop of wine with that too.' Was there no end to my envy and admiration for this man? From the moment when I'd first encountered him screwing my girlfriend in my bed I couldn't make eye contact with him. He was my girlfriend's lover and his passion for her had led to him banishing me from the hospital. Yet he was such a rogue that he had already forgotten all about her and was hitting on every new nurse he could see. I wish I'd had his balls. 'What a dashing man!' I thought, '...and how flattering!'
He blocked my exit from the room by closing the door in front of me. I turned around to face him and it didn't take much imagination to guess what he wanted. I shook in fear, partly from the prospect of his discovering my real identity and partly because I had never done anything even vaguely homosexual before. I had seen two homosexual dogs copulating before and, I have to admit, I found it a real turn-on. I can't say for sure that they were both homosexual dogs, but one of them definitely was and the other one was certainly complicit, if nothing else. Either way, I didn't really know what to do and, even though the mechanics of what I saw those two dogs get up to that day could have been replicated by humans, I didn't think that it would have made a very dignified introduction to this fine gentleman doctor.
In the end, he pulled his cock out from his pants and I ended up licking his bone like a dog so, perhaps not as dignified an introduction as one might have hoped, but at least employing something of my knowledge of dogs. I licked and sucked his cock, jerking its shaft like I was playing a fat kazoo, albeit one which tasted like it was found in the skip behind a fishmonger's shop. I was wondering how many other nurses he'd 'stirred the porridge' in already that night when I realised that this had been as close as I had gotten to a pussy in a year, so I was actually quite thankful to him for shoving his cock into my mouth.
Then he told me to get up and I wondered if my ordeal was over. He bent me over the side of the bed over my girlfriend's comatose body and I might have felt slightly shameful if it wasn't for the fact that I felt more guilty for enjoying the experience. Oh, how I wished that she would wake up right now, to discover that her lover had moved on to another piece of ass.
He pulled my tights down no further than my knees, followed by my knickers and, without ceremony, he forced his manhood into my backside in a move very reminiscent of what I had witnessed with the gay dogs. I whimpered with the initial discomfort but soon began to relish the only sexual contact I'd had since the night of the accident. Perhaps it was karma and I was getting what I deserved? I avoided looking at the sleeping brute that was my girlfriend for fear that she would suddenly spring to life and catch me in the act. I imagined that she was listening to our illicit encounter and that wouldn't have been hard because I was moaning load enough to wake the dead.
He shagged me harder and harder and with a gush I could feel his semen shoot into my tender rectum. He grunted as he came inside me and I placed my chest on the bed for support with my ass in the air as the doctor withdrew his penis.
"Dr Finch. Pleased to meet you," he jovially announced, in a manner that indicated that this was somewhat of a catchphrase of his in this familiar scenario.
"Ah, um, Rosie, Sir, Doctor, Sir," I muttered as I pulled up my knickers and tights and felt his semen dribble out of my ass and down my leg.
"Rosie? Rosie?! Don't play games with me 'Rosie' I know exactly who you are!" he said threateningly.
He grabbed me by the throat and I almost collapsed with fear.
"You are the bastard who is responsible for all of this! Look at yourself. How can you even call yourself a man?" he said and, under the circumstances, I tended to agree. He slapped me across the face, let go of me and then turned to the bedridden patient.
"Look at my dearest Julia. Twenty-five years of age and she was the hottest nurse in this wing of the hospital. Now, she is merely a vegetable," he said regretfully.
"No, she is the prettiest little vegetable in this wing of the hospital!" I said defensively, to a scornful raised eyebrow from Dr Finch.
"We should have turned the life support off ages ago. There is zero brain activity and zero hope of recovery. I was keeping her here in the hope that we might find a donor," he admitted.
"A donor? What kind of donor?"
"A brain donor. Colleagues from my former institute have pioneered a new method of brain transplant and have had 99% success rate," he explained, dramatically taking her limp hand in his, "but the ethics committee have very strict criteria and it's hard to fulfil all the requirements to give the required permission to go ahead."
I knew that medical and scientific ethics had taken a knock a few years previous when it was discovered that the Israeli government had used DNA to clone a couple of hundred Hitlers and were systematically torturing them in camps. Although the United Nations disagreed with the morality of the camps they stopped short of demanding the release of the Hitler clones and instead the reality gameshow 'Camp Hitler' was born. Even the harshest of ethical critics softened their stance when they saw the crazy weekly challenges facing the Hitler clones and it was universally credited as 'the show which saved television'. This led to a further ethical backlash and a tightening of the rules for even the simplest of scientific procedures, such as brain transplants.
"So, you need someone who's brain is in good order but who's body is not?" I asked.
"Yes, for a start. Then the next of kin needs to sign the body over to the owner of the brain allowing euthanasia and body reuse donation. It's all terribly complicated and highly rare, but still I hope," he confided, and proceeded to change the subject matter.
"I work nights on Tuesdays and Thursdays, so I expect to see you here again in two days' time. Next time wear some perfume and use a breath mint," he ordered and made an abrupt exit from the room.
"Yes, Doctor Finch. Sorry, Doctor Finch," I uttered apologetically. Why was I the one to apologise? He was the one who'd had the affair with my girlfriend. He was the one who had sprung a surprise attack on me... although, I did like it when he grabbed my bottom...and sucking his cock sure was an interesting experience... and, gosh, that feeling of his cock in my ass was the nicest feeling I'd had in some time. I would be sure to return in two nights' time for some more hanky-panky with this extraordinary gent. I left the hospital and caught the night bus home, more than aware of The Doctor's cold wet semen slowly drying onto my inner leg.
The grim reality of life as an alleged notorious sex fiend had hit home. I'd lost my job and spent most of my savings on rent and outgoings over the previous year leaving me broke and now facing homelessness. I had contemplated suicide but I was too afraid that I would screw up and maybe end up in the same place as my girlfriend probably was, somewhere in limbo, and have to listen to her going on, and on, at me about how much of a failure I was. Come to think about it, I wasn't in such a bad place as long as I was still alive. If there ever was such a place as Hell, then she would surely be found there and for that reason alone, I would have thought Hell was a place best avoided.