Brat-B-Gone

Originally posted on Tumblr: June 16th 2021

 

Jason Dudley rode his bike delivering newspapers to each house in Ryerson St. It was nothing more than a large Cul-de-sac. He dove a hand into his bag, flicking newspapers.  There was one house that sat old and decrepit, that typically people would expect to see at the end of a block with tales of monsters or hauntings surrounding it. However, this house was placed in the middle of the block and all other houses adorned around it. As for monsters, this house had two and they certainly weren’t fictional.

“You can do this,” Jason repeated a mantra in his head preparing to throw the paper at the house. It was summer. All he had to do was deliver the paper then he could go home. Taking a deep breath, Jason flung the paper. Before he could ride off, the door flung open.

“Young man, come here!” Mrs. Spencer stood there in her nightgown although it was well into the morning. Jason sighed. He expected as much, although it didn’t all seem too bad; Mr. Spencer was nowhere in sight. That must have been a small miracle. Walking up the old creaky wooden porch, he tried to avoid the old woman’s gaze.

“Here you are throwing junk at my house again, Jason rolled his eyes so Mrs. Spencer wouldn’t see. “Again Mrs. Spencer, these are papers that you and your husband pay for. My boss says I have to deliver it. If you don’t want the paper just stop ordering it.” It had barely been a week into the summer for Jason. He and this old couple had done this dance repeatedly every day without fail. If they didn’t want the paper, it wasn’t in Jason’s authority to cancel it, even his boss had informed the couple of that. That blowup happened at the end of last summer.

“You know what I think. I think my husband and I have been more than patient with you.” Saying that she pulled a can from her pocket and sprayed Jason’s face. Thinking it was pepper spray the boy cried out.  When his mouth opened, Mrs. Spencer got that too. Jason turned away holding his arms out trying to shoo the lady away. Another spritz and Jason’s arms, hands and back got sprayed. Jason moved towards the steps. “What did you do to me!” He yelled, running away.

“It’s just lemon juice and water.” She smiled. It was not a smile one would see on their grandmother’s face. There was an intent, a glee, that was anything but kind.

Jason was noticing his eyes were no longer hurting. But that first sting?  No way, that was just lemon juice. He ran off the wooden steps, almost falling as Mrs. Spencer continued to spray in his direction. Hopping on his bike he rode off, not even bothering to finish the rest of his paper deliveries.

His feet pedaled fast to get far away from Ryerson St. Coughs escaped his mouth, as he couldn’t clear his throat of whatever had been sprayed into it. “Eff this.” This had been his last year in high school. Summer was supposed to be about fun and here he was getting attacked by old ladies! He didn’t know how he had ended up on this paper route. Previous years other kids had been in charge. It’s not like Jason had requested a switch. Why couldn’t those other guys do it? Maybe they had quit? Jason couldn’t even remember their names anymore. He rode on.

The first thing Jason was going to do was go home and change his clothes. Then he could return the unsent papers, get chewed out, call it a day and see his friends. He was hoping for some leeway once he told them Mrs. Spencer went crazy.

Once he got home, he slammed the front door. He thought he would have cooled off, but the whole situation just made him angrier. He couldn’t get it out of his mind.

“Honey, what’s wrong?” his mom asked from somewhere in the house.

“Nothing.” he stomped up the steps, but his mom appeared with arms folded at the bottom.

“Now Jason Philip Dudley, you know better than to lie to me.” Her voice was firm.

Jason’s shoulder shagged as he let out a sigh and turned around. “Mrs. Spencer sprayed me with something. It looked like a can of air freshener, but it felt more like pepper spray. At least at first, it doesn’t sting anymore.”

A look of shock crossed the mother’s face, “That woman has gone too far, I’m going to go give her a piece of my mind!”

“No mom, please don’t. Everyone’s going to laugh if they found out my mom had to stand up for me.” Jason folded his hands together begging his mom to stay. His friends would give him grief the whole summer until he left for college if his mom retaliated.

“Fine.” Mrs. Dudley pouted. She walked up the steps to her son. “If they keep antagonizing young people someday, they’re going to mess with the wrong person.” She got to the same step as her son. “Now open your eyes and let me get a look at you. “She rolled her son’s head around to look at his eyeballs. “All good.” She stated, “But if you feel bad later let me know, okay?”

“Yeah mom,” Jason nodded as she released his head. He noticed for the first time in his life his mom was looking up into his eyes. That was weird, they were the same height. Then he gave himself a mental slap. They were on the steps, of course their height was off. Looking down he realized that his mom and he were on the same step. A sense of pride filled him. He must have grown during the last part of the school year and hadn’t even taken note of it.

His daydreaming was broken when his mom lightly bopped him on the head. “Don’t ‘yeah mom’ me.” She smiled, fixing her son’s hair before returning downstairs.

Jason went to his room. His clothes still smelled of citrus. He was surprised his mom hadn’t commented on it. Or perhaps Mrs. Spencer had sprayed so much the scent was lingering in his nose? “Ugh!” he grunted, realizing that was possible too. He threw his clothes to the side, throwing on a red polo shirt and some blue shorts. Staring himself in the mirror he grimaced. “I look like a string bean.” His thin legs made him look malnourished with the clothes he was wearing. “Why do I even own these oversized clothes?”

Jason decided the least he could do was finish his route. But he was not going back on Ryerson St. He grabbed his bike and rode off saying goodbye to his mom.

Back on the road, Jason quickly fell into his routine: grab a newspaper, fling it off to the side, and pedal on. He started to get a massive wedgie as he felt his ass not fitting properly on the seat. He tried to adjust himself, but his cheeks spilled over the edges. Instead he stood up on the bike not wanting to stop. He was in the zone. Never once did he notice he was still shooting up in height as he pedaled.

Coming to a stop, Jason relaxed. He had to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He grabbed the bottom of his shirt, lifting it up. In real-time he watched abs rose from his stomach like buns in an oven. His eyes flew down to his thighs, finally he had noticed how he was filling his shorts and how toned his calves had become. The boy’s feet had grown and burst through his tennis shoes, leaving brown dress socks poking out the front.  How had he not noticed that? Jason also wondered when he had put on dress socks.

He hopped off the bike. Something was wrong here. Taking rapid breaths, he tried to calm down, but the kid was scared. As he breathed in and out His chest pushed out. Pecs were coming into play, growing with every breath. Cautiously, Jason lifted a hand grabbing one as it expanded.

 “Jason, Jason!”  A voice cried.

Jason spun to see his friend Porter, running up to him. Porter ran and gave Jason a full body hug. “Kason, it’s so good to see you man. It’s been a while.”

Kason, who the hell was Kason? Porter and he had known each other since they were in diapers. No way Porter got his name wrong. And what did he mean for a while? Graduation was less than two weeks ago. Heck, Porter had gotten his hair all done up, which was new because he had been so notorious for his bed head all throughout school.  Even now the top of his head still had some sheen to it.

Wait for the top of his head? Porter had always been the biggest guy in their friend group. How was Kason seeing his head?  Kason pulled Porter away from him by the shoulders, there was a wet spot on Porter’s shorts. Kason’s eyes went wide as he looked at his own. Trapped beneath his ever tight growing shorts was a huge cock throbbing. Near the outlined tip of Kason’s cock was a wet spot that had soaked into Porter’s clothes.

“What the?” Kason felt beyond embarrassed, he wanted to dig a hole and bury himself.

“No problem, dude. Everyone knows how horny Kason gets when he’s around hot people. Though, don’t you think you should wear something less revealing? I’m a fan of breakfast food too ya know, but that doesn’t mean I want to see your sausage and eggs all the time.” Porter laughed.

Kason couldn’t help it. His clothes were shrinking over his body, clinging to him like plastic wrap. “Porter, can you take a picture of me?” Kason’s voice dropped low even as he tried to mimic his old one back.

 “Sure!” Porter grabbed his cell phone out, backing up to get a full shot.

Meanwhile Kason felt tiny pins and needles pushing up under his skin. They started on his legs and traveled up his body. It was itchy. Damn itch! He scratched his balls as his cock bobbed in response, then brought his hand up to his face. His cheeks were itchy too, rather it was pricky. Tracing his finger along his jawline he felt the undeniable presence of stubble. Was he growing a beard? Honestly it was about time, but not like this!

He heard the camera take the shot. Porter smiled, presenting his phone and the photo, “You look great dude, I think banging all those chicks at your college kept you in shape more than working out.”

 Once again Kason had no idea what Porter was going on about. “We just graduated, man.” Kason said, taking the phone.

Porter snorted. “No need to rub it in, that I just graduated. I know I kind of cried a lot at yours but that’s because I was just going to miss ya so much. Though this year at least we can hang out again,” He patted the stunned Kason’s shoulder.

Kason wanted to refute Porter, but his head was filled with images of Porter crying and clinging to him like a baby. Instead of them growing up together, He was born first and watched out for Porter like a big brother. They were both pretty huge dudes. Kason massaged his head. That still seemed off.  He looked at Porter’s phone. On it was the picture of a young man, a few years older than him, prodding his face.  Kason watched as the hair on his body in the photo began to grow. A full beard popped into place and the Kason in the photo gained a cocky smile. He knew he was hot shit. There were plenty of girls he had left out of commission after a night in bed.

But Kason knew he was a virgin? He’d never admit that to his little bro Porter though. Then again, hadn’t Kason told Porter about the first chick he banged at college? Of course, he had! Kason was hot shit and couldn’t keep it in his pants. Sure, people had tried to call him a male slut, but with all that forward thinking in a college campus that never stuck. Girls loved to feel his hair rub against them. His body was simply a record of his ascension into manhood.

There were puffs of chest hairs beginning to poke out of his shirt. Kason was finally getting in tune with the changes. Though his picture did make him look like a college frat bro. Not that he’d ever join a frat. The brothers would get too jealous of his conquests.

 Kason patted Porter on the back, “That’s a great photo of me. Send it to me so I can upload it on my dating apps.” He got back on his bike. He needed to get to work. “Look forward to banging chicks with you on campus.” Ridding off he didn’t realize that day would never come to fruition.

 “Bye Karlson,” Porter shouted.

 Kason’s jaw began to stretch into a boxy shape as his eyes sank in slightly. His eyebrows grew more hair to give him a fuller look. The shorts he wore began to flow down his legs growing into long khaki pants. His body grew even larger as his neck thickened. Growing large his shoulders moved further away, stretching the polo to its limit. A blazer popped into existence, blowing in the wind as Jason sped down the road.

 Finally, Karlson arrived at the News office. He walked in. The first thing he heard was. “Good morning, Karl.” He spun around to find Mr. Pelgri walking to him holding two coffees. “Wake up good this morning?”  Mr. Pelgri handed him a coffee. The man was in his forties and was in charge of all the paper routes. Essentially, he was Jason’s boss. But why was he acting so casually? Taking a sip of coffee, Jason couldn’t notice that his own face was aging with years of experience in the news business.  He walked to his office with Mr. Pelgri.

 He stopped at the door, “Wait, I have an office?”

 Mr. Pelgri nudged him, “Well you are the boss around these parts. Don’t tell me you’re getting old?” The man laughed.

 Jason had an awkward smile but what he heard was right. Even if the name on the glass read Mr. Karl Dolson, this was his office no doubt. He had run this paper for years. Building it from scratch since he was a boy. Of course, he had to bring his best friend Mr. Ronald Pelgri into it as well. Money was no longer an issue for him, but perhaps he could consider starting a family?

Karl stepped into the office. It was such a huge room, Then again, he was a huge guy. Maybe he needed all this room to stretch out his legs. He had always been 6’2 but for some reason his body felt strange at his height. Sitting down at the desk Karl made sure Not to bang his knees against it.

There were so many objects on his desk. A rubber band ball, a Newton’s cradle, and a paperclip holder. Okay, the last one wasn’t too interesting, but it was magnetized so the clips flew to it. Karl continued to search the desk pulling out drawers. What was he supposed to do now?

He looked up and there was his reflection on the computer monitor. Karl ran his hands over the beard he had grown. His face looked so much older and mature now. He wasn’t the college student that had said goodbye to Porter moments ago. He was a man, face squared and strong. A smirk crossed his lips. Not the cocky one that Kason wore, after all Karl had long grown out of a young man’s cockiness. Karl’s smirk was a self-acknowledgement of his good looks that didn’t seek validation or other’s appraisal. 

Deciding it was time to do some work Karl turned the computer on. He never wondered how he knew the passcode. The background screen of the computer popped up. It was of him and some lady. Eyes drifting to his hand Karl rolled his eyes that was his lovely wife. After learning to grow more serious about relationships. He finally settled down with the woman for him. Then they were blessed with a child. The thought entered Karl’s head although he knew it shouldn’t have been there. However, the small picture of him and his wife with their child told a different story. Karl reached over and scooted the photo closer.

 Karl smiled. Life was good. 

—

Siddharth Patel was hot shit and he knew it. Freshly 21 and moving into his last year of college after the summer. The Indian man could charm the clothes off a nun. His warm brown skin, kind brown eyes, and award-winning smile were only enhanced by the body he’d perfected playing basketball. Unlike so many others on his team, Siddharth had the brains to match it. That’s why he was on Ryerson St, a large Cul-de-sac that had kids playing around. He was working on his dissertation trying to get people in his hometown to think about green renewable energy and ways to reduce energy consumption. He pulled out his comb, styling his hair to perfection. His short sleeve dress shirt was freshly pressed, and his blue jeans hugged his ass nicely. Grabbing his notepad in hand he walked up to the first house. The couple welcomed him inside their home to talk, moving off the lawn. His first stop was Mr. And Mrs. Wilkins. Easy, since there were a few parents sitting out and watching the kids play.

 The young man laid the charm on thick. Judging by the hot flashes Mrs. Wilkins kept getting and how many times Mr. Wilkins had to arrange his crotch it was working. By the time he left Mr. Wilkins cock was tenting out his pants. Even as the dad tried to hide behind his wife Siddharth could tell. He thanked them for their dedication to green energy, knowing the moment they shut that door that man was going to plow his wife. 

They did offer one piece of advice: the dilapidated brown wooden house in the center should be saved last or skipped all together. They said the Spencers were inherently disagreeable people. Siddharth took kindly to it. He lived in the town, so he had a vague understanding about the Spencers from the rumors he heard growing up. Hearing their actual neighbors confirm it was another thing though.

“Did you know they stopped delivering the paper to our neighborhood about a week ago?” Mrs. Wilkins stated. “All because of them.” She pointed to the house as if it was just a simple fact. 

“What did they do, specifically? Siddharth asked

“Who knows, what haven’t they done?” Mr. Wilkins stated. “I tried talking to the head of the paper, Mr. Karl and he would just not hear it. Said he wouldn’t put up with the couple and their rotten mood.”

Doing as recommended, he visited all the other neighbors before the Spencers. He was able to get almost everyone. Though not many of the dads were as entranced by Siddharth’s looks as Mr. Wilkins was. No matter, he was still able to use his natural charisma. He knocked on the house to the left of the Spencers. He had it listed as the Mercer household. 

“Daddy’s not home.” A little black boy said near the sidewalk. Siddharth sighed. He’d have to come back later then. Writing a note on the list Siddharth saw there was only one house left. The Wilkins had suggested he skip it, but he was not a quitter. He’d win this old couple over yet. It was nighttime by now and the kids were being called inside. Mr. Mercer’s son went into a house with the Wilkins family. That left Siddharth alone staring down the Spencer’s house.

He strutted up the steps and knocked on the door. It was slightly opened, with a chain lock holding it in place an old white man was staring at the young with piercing blue eyes. 

“What do you want?”  The old man asked, agitated.

That was understandable, the young man thought. He probably interrupted something. Still he had a dissertation to work on. “Hi sir, my name is Siddharth. Call me Sid, I wanted to talk to you about green energy.” 

“How old are you, kid?”

“21,” Siddharth stated proudly. He hardly thought he should have been called a kid. Young man was more the proper term. It was a soft blow to his ego. He pushed his chest out trying to appear more adult-like. 

“How long ago?” The old man asked.

“What,” Siddharth leaned closer. 

“I said how freaking long ago was your birthday?” The old man yelled.

“Oh a few days ago, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to come in and— “Perfect.” The old man slammed the door in Siddharth’s face. The young man listened to the chain being unlocked as Mr. Spencer opened the door. The old man reached onto a stand, by the door and was shaking a can. Siddharth prayed the old man hadn’t passed gas or anything. He was more than surprised when the old man sneered and launched a spritz right at him. 

“What the fuck!” Siddharth covered his eyes, but the old man was relentless, spraying along his body.

“Now maybe you’ll listen and realize we don’t want whatever you’re selling.” The old man pushed Siddharth down the steps and the young man fell on his ass. His notepad and pen dropped to the ground. Mr. Spencer stepped back inside shaking the can, “Hey Margret we’re going to need to order more of this stuff soon.” With that Mr. Spencer slammed the door. 

“FUCK YOU!” Siddharth yelled. He had never gotten angry before. Sure, he was used to getting his way, but even the rare times he didn’t never would have imagined physical violence would occur. To be treated so dismissively. No wonder people hated Spencer’s. The rumors of them being disliked were probably far nicer than they deserved.

He didn’t need them anyway. It was a little dark, but maybe he could stop by one more house. Instead of gambling with another neighborhood, he headed back to his own. Any of his actual neighbors would be more welcoming than whatever that was. Once in his home block he headed to Ms. O’ Donell’s place. She was a widow of 20 years. Only in her mid-60’s. Her husband’s death had been hard on her and she hadn’t wanted to remarry, instead she became more of a kind grandmotherly figure to everyone on the block. Her own children having moved off to their own lives.

 

The first thing Siddharth smelled were freshly baked cookies as Mrs. O’Donnell opened the door. A smile grew on her face when she saw the young man “Siddharth look at you. Off to college and you come back all grown.”  She pinched his cheeks with a hand.

“Hi, Mrs. O’ Donell I actually wanted to talk to you about a project I was doing for school— 

“Hush now, you know no one comes to my house when I’m cooking and leaves without eating.” The old lady dragged the young man inside. Her house was pastel crazy, light blues and pinks, imitating an eternal easter vibe. She had China cabinets filled with Barbie dolls and stuffed toy animals. Family pictures on the mantle. One photo of her husband in his old war clothes. Next to it a photo of her and children. A grown son and daughter, neither of which were smiling in the portrait.

 Siddharth realized he’d never met her kids. Well maybe as a baby. He’d heard the brother used to babysit him. Though no actual memories he could recollect.  Walking into the dining room he sat down. More pictures of their family across the wall. Siddharth had never taken time to notice how sad the photos got when Mr. O’Donnell passed on. 

“What have you been up to dear?” Mrs. O’Donnell sat across from him at the dining room table.

“Well, I’m just trying to see if people are into going green. You know wind power, solar power but it doesn’t have to be drastic as installing all that. Even taking shorter showers, reducing one’s carbon footprint and recycling are important… At least in my eyes.” There was a whole spiel he could go into about how corporations needed to do most of the work, but he wasn’t going to bore his neighbor,

“That’s very commendable, dear.” Mrs. O’Donnell smiled. 

Siddharth snorted, “Yeah well, Mr. Spencer didn’t agree. He pushed me down his front steps.”

 Mrs. O’ Donnell shook her head. “That old coot and his wife never liked children, or young people for that matter. Even when my kids were little and had friends that lived on that block, the Spencer’s gave them the willies.”

 “I don’t get why they don’t move,” Siddharth shared.

 The old lady sighed looking around at the photos, “Well sometimes a house can mean more to you than just a place to lay your head. It can be chocked full of memories. Walking away may not always be so easy.” She leaned forward, “But if it was up to me, I would have kicked those old fogies to the curb,” Both she and Siddharth laughed.

 DING

 “Those are the cookies.” The old lady was fast on her feet disappearing into her kitchen. In 5 minutes, she was back dumping plates on the table all filled. “Goodness me, don’t be shy, eat as many as you’d like. I have more on.” She looked at Siddharth expectantly.

The young man reached for a chocolate cookie and bit in. Glorious. The sugary goodness was perfect. More and more found their way into Siddharth’s stomach. There was a small problem though, the more he ate the hungrier he seemed to get. Cookies were pushed into his maw, but not once did his stomach stop it’s gurgling.  What caused Siddharth to stop was catching sight of his stomach sticking out under his T-shirt. His gut was massive and jiggling. That wasn’t right. He was a college stud going to the gym every day, no matter how many cookies he ate the sugar in it couldn’t make him this big.

As if to test his theory he shoved a few cookies into his mouth. His gut grew out pushing the table back.

“You sure do love cookies.” Mrs. O’ Donnell smiled.

 “Yeah, I’ve always loved your baking,” He replied. “…Mrs. O’ Donnell,” he quickly added. He slapped his gut and the belly jiggled but quickly hardened like concrete as thicker abs began to grow.  She slid over another plate of cookies, “Have some more. I can’t for the life of me wonder why I made so much. I usually share them of course, but this is ridiculous for just me.”

 

 Instead of fleeing the young man dove in on the next batch. As his teeth sunk in, his pecs responded pushing from under his shirt. His ravenous sweet tooth only made his pecs swell bigger, till his shirt was functioning as a makeshift bra. Fat and muscles graciously packed on the chest. Huge muscle tits blocked the college student’s view.  He reached a hand and scratched his pectorals, there were wiry black hairs poking out and taking over his pounds of flesh. Finally, the deltoids saw their opportunity and spread out, rewarding Siddharth a wide back.

“Mrs. O'Donnell, I have to use the restroom!” He got up from the table, his big belly making things difficult, and scurried away. He had been in her house before, but never long enough to use the bathroom. Regardless he rushed up the stairs into the main bathroom, bypassing the smaller one downstairs.

Siddharth saw himself in the mirror. Horror crossed his face; the formerly fit man was now carrying an excess of muscle on his upper body. At the sight of himself his chest grew into a shelf, destroying the short as his nipples enlarged. The young man couldn’t deny how hot watching that had been his cock poked the underside of his great gut, getting hefty in his underwear.

“No, no this isn’t you.” Siddharth said, leaning over the sink. He looked himself in the eye. His view drifted up. Was that gray hair in his beautiful mane? Not just on his head either his eyebrows joined in on it. “What the fuck is happening?”

While he was bent over, his ass began enlarging. His legs spread apart as his balls got heavier, sagged down, and pressed against the inside of his pants. The body parts were competing with each other; growth being passed back and forth.

Ass.

Balls.

Ass.

Balls.

His ass got so big it began to “eat” his boxers, so much of it was getting packed between the juicy cheeks.  That allowed his underwear to ride up and his balls to spill out the leg hole. Now his sack was touching his jeans.  Looking down he saw a prominent moose knuckle paired with a long pipe against the side of his leg. However, it all kept growing. He heard the seams of his pants began to give out. “Don’t you dare!” he gripped the sides of the sink. His ass popped out and jiggled as the jeans split, In the front his cock spilled out the side of the pants leg.

Siddharth’s breath was taken away. That was not his cock hanging between his legs. It was a monster; the girth must have been wider than a baby’s wrist. The college kid had never been ashamed of his size, but this just wasn’t him. Literally like someone copied and pasted an ogre’s cock on his body. A surge of growth got pushed from his ass and privates into his thighs and arms.

The expanding muscle on his lower body continued to ruin his jeans. It wasn’t built to contain such a masculine form. His forearms and biceps responded just as positive, ripping through his sleeves. Hair erupted in turn, from his elbows down to his hands. His slim and nimble fingers turned into fat sausages. The bones around his knuckles cracked, his palms were becoming larger. His boxers shifted into huge briefs able to contain his enormous equipment and ample ass.

Neck now bulging with growth, Siddharth tried to contain it, but it was to no avail. Whatever it was it shot into his stomach, keeping him hunched over until it fired out his ass as a loud fart.

“Oh shit!” Siddharth shocked himself. He had lost his concentration of trying not to change, now he couldn’t remember what he was doing. He scratched his belly absentmindedly, then caught sight of his new cotton pants around his ankles. Pulling them up he made sure he was all tucked in. But he had no shirt. “Oh well” he shrugged. Nothing Mrs. O’ Donell hadn’t seen before.

Stomach grumbling, Siddharth realized he was still hungry. He marched down the stairs for some more cookies letting his strong muscle gut lead the way. When his body came down on the chair the wooden seat groaned filled with the massive ass.

“You look different? Did you gain weight?” Mrs. O’Donnell asked, grabbing her head.

“If I did it’s from all these cookies you’ve been feeding me.” Siddharth took a bite out of another cookie adding it to his gut. He noticed there was a glass of milk waiting on the table for him. Taking a sip, he looked around the room again.  “Mrs. O'Donnell, did you change your pictures?”

“No,” the woman stated, turning her head to check and make sure everything was fine.

There weren’t any major changes to the picture, it’s just the children looked happy. They had smiles where previously they did not. A miniscule change that even Siddharth would have overlooked had he not studied the portraits earlier.  He pulled the milk from his mouth and licked at the burgeoning whiskers of his moustache. The moment his tongue danced over the area; each strand of hair grew stronger as more sprouted.  Didn’t stop there. The hair branched its way out around his cheeks and down his neck.

“Goodness heavens!” Mrs. Donnell turned around and put her hands over her mouth. “Siddharth, your face! When did you grow a beard?”

“I’ve always had this. You are going senile or something?” The college student hadn’t meant to be that cavalier, the words just fell out of his mouth. He tried to cover it up by taking another swig of milk. This time his moustache got in the way as he swallowed. With each gulp his beard and moustache grew another inch. It turned into a forest of hair in a short time. Siddharth’s neck was no longer visible under the dense brush.

“Of course, you must be right.” Mrs. O’Donnell shook her head at how silly of her. “ Back on the force you must have been used to old people giving you confused testimonials.”

Siddharth arched his eyebrow to show he had no idea what the lady was going on about.

“The police force,” She clarified.

Almost choking on his milk Siddharth spat out, “The police force?! I’m still in college.” He coughed and tried to get the milk out of his lungs. It had made his voice come out sounding heavier. He swallowed another glass but that only coated his throat further as his vocal cords changed register.

“Well, you were in college a long time ago, but I haven’t forgotten about when you told me about you joining the police force. I’m not that senile. “She laughed.

“Yeah? … That’s right. When I walked into those doors, the men at the precinct didn’t know what to do. They’d never seen a man as big as me. Same thing at the academy.  Everyone use to call me Sugar Jugs when they thought I wasn’t listening, due to my sweet tooth and these.” Siddharth gripped at his pecs, “Heck half the hallways were almost too small for these puppies.” He patted his strapping shoulders. “But those were the good old days. I’m retired now.”

“Are you?” Mrs. Donnell said surprised. “You’re so young for that.”

“Thank you for saying that, but I’m not so young anymore.” As he said those words, the gray hairs on his head started to appear over his body. Crow’s feet appeared at the edges of his eyes as age piled on.  Siddharth once again turned his attention to the photos on the wall.

“Mrs. O’Donnell, who are those kids?” He pointed.

“Those are my children, you know that.” The old lady laughed.

“Not them. The others.” In the same photos three new kids had popped into place. All boys, all wearing huge smiles in every photo. Photos containing the new kids appeared on the walls. Pictures of them swimming, playing soccer, at the beach, and much more.

“I don’t …” The old lady started, “Ah, those are my sons.” She quickly cut herself off.

“But didn’t your husband?”

 Mrs. O Donnell smiled, “Oh, I see the confusion. my second husband is my three boys’ father.”

“Mrs. O'Donnell, I’ve been your neighbor since I was a kid. I’ve never heard of your second husband or these sons.”

“Well, I’m sure I must have mentioned them.” She retorted. “Maybe you forgot.”

“I don’t think…” but as Siddharth looked, he felt he did recognize the kids. Each and every smile the brown boys had played in his memory banks. He could recall the pictures as if he had been there himself. No wait, he had been there. Those boys, they were his boys! Something about the images was still off though. In every photo the boys looked like…well boys. Made sense for the early pictures, but even in ones where Mrs. O’Donnell’s children had obviously aged his boys had not. The most egregious example was the family portrait, which now housed three little Indian boys smiling with an old Mrs. O’Donnell and her grown son and daughter.

 No, that definitely wasn’t right. His boys had grown up with Mrs. O’ Donnell’s kids. Pat and Trish had been amazing older siblings. After their dad died there had been a sadness clinging to the family. But Mr. Patel swooped in and changed their lives. He gave them little brothers who they loved.

 So why were they still boys in the photos?

 Siddharth’s balls began to quake and tingle. He looked from photo to photo. The boys began to age, morphing in their pictures. Siddharth landed on the family photo. His boys were rising, growing into their teenage years.  They began to show signs of developing muscle. By the time his eldest was a freshman in high school he was already taller than his 18-year-old older brother. Just a difference in the Patel and O’Donnell genes. Didn’t matter to Siddharth he treated all the kids like they were his own. And he would never ask any of them, especially his wife to change their last names. It was a name to be proud of.

He taught young Patrick how to work out. And encouraged young Patrick to take the reins when teaching his brothers. The three Patel boys were bundles of energy and needed to learn how to put it into something productive.

Siddharth’s balls were rumbling now, He wasn’t a college boy anymore, he was a man. And boy was he sweating like one. He continued to stare at the photos. Mrs. O’Donnell seemed at a loss also looking as the young boys grew all around in every picture where they shouldn’t have been children.

The big man gripped the table bucking his huge hips. Judging by the family photo All his boys had entered high school. They had each started to put on significant muscle mass. Patrick went  off to college and Siddharth had to handle working out with the boys on his own. He could remember all the times they spent there in the gym. But at this moment, it felt like they were sucking testosterone from his balls.

The Patel boys began to grow wider as they all reached the end of high school and entered college. From eldest to youngest it was the bodybuilder, the wrestler, and the rugby player. Their boyish looks and charms were fading away. Some part of Siddharth begged it not to go away. Where had that time with his boys gone? Closing his eyes his nuts were sapped and pumped into the young men, birthing hardened and rugged features. His boys accelerated into college.

When they’d come home from break it was like having wild animals. Specifically, bears. Siddharth smiled to himself at the double meaning. No doubt it was his genes that made them grow nice pelts of chest hair. Though none of his boys were as hairy as him. He was still king of this castle.  His cock was practically dripping in his pants at this point. He peeked an eye open, realizing somewhere in the back of his head, he had caused his boys to change. They wouldn’t be “boys’’ in the family photo anymore but still Siddharth had to look. What damage had he unleashed.

Staring back at him were all smiling faces of beautifully sculpted Indian men from his loins, even Patrick’s new pose carried more muscle. The sight was mind numbing; Siddharth came in his pants. The first shot volleyed out and disappeared. In its place the eldest Patel grew a beard. The next shot was just as powerful, evaporating as the middle child grew hairy arms. The last shots were 2 rapid successions vanishing in the underwear as the youngest Patel’s muscles grew larger than his older brothers.

“FUCK!!!” The man cried out; balls sapped for the moment. For a man like him though, they’d be full again in no time.

 “Siddharth!”  Mrs. O’ Donnell, turned around from the photos. She had witnessed the strange transformation but had no clue it was thanks to Siddharth’s bull balls being emptied. Now her mind was trying to organize the new changes.

 “Sorry Honey.” Siddharth wiped his brow, then questioned himself Honey? Why did he call her that? They had kids together but ….That’s right she said those boys were her sons, but Siddharth knew they were his. Though that made sense they were married after all.  He met her when Pat had just turned 5. The beautiful years they’d spent together with their kids.

Now they’d get to do it all over again with the grandkids. There was a resurgence of photos, only this time the new photos held a new grandchild. Trish and Pat both had one, but it was the Patel boys that were causing the wall to fill up. From Sid’s balls to theirs, potent seed was another genetic trait passed down. Photos fell off the wall unable to keep up with the abundance. Frames on the mantel spilled over and were knocked to the floor by another new memory.

 The house shook as if an earthquake had homed in solely on this living space. The pastel colors didn’t fade completely but began to incorporate Siddharth’s new ‘old’ sensibilities. The house’s carpentry was replaced with wood flooring. The chair he sat in morphed into a brown wingback chair as a matching ottoman materialized into place. Siddharth propped his feet up on it resting his ginormous hands against his belly.

Life was good.

—

Khalil Mercer was the youngest kid on Ryerson St. It was always easy to spot him because he was the small black boy often not playing. Not by his own choice, rather circumstance, the other kids on the block were just older and faster than him. If they played tag, hide-and-go seek, or capture the flag, catching Khalil was a given.

The kids weren’t doing it to be mean. In fact, they saw it as a rite of passage. At some point all of them had been smaller or the slowest.  Khalil was more like a collective younger brother. He had moved into the neighborhood with his dad at the beginning of the fall. Though passing Khalil a controller that wasn’t even hooked up when they played video games, was very much the older siblings in the neighborhood idea.

Besides that, Khalil was fitting in nicely. He had met Liam Wilkins at school, one of his many neighbors. The Wilkins’ boy was only a year older than him but clung to Khalil because he finally had someone younger than him. Liam had an older brother on the block, but they only hung out when all the kids in the neighborhood were doing something.

And today, they were playing kick ball. ‘Twas a rare day. Everybody was out watching the kids, talking, and having fun, even Khalil’s dad Mr. Mercer didn’t go to work. The mountain of a black man sat back laughing and having a good time talking to Mr.& Mrs. Wilkins. Khalil smiled. He liked having his dad around.

Unfortunately, the special occasion also meant the Spencer’s were out sitting on their front lawn in chairs, judging everyone. However, the kids knew better than to talk or even mess with them

“Khalil, your turn!” Henry Wilkins shouted. The small boy walked up to the plate. The whole circle of the Cul-de-sac had been converted into their area.  He was trying to remember the rules. Ever since he moved here the kids always had games or video games to play. He couldn’t always remember everything, but Liam said this was like baseball but with feet.  Henry as the pitcher would roll the ball and it was up to Khalil to kick it. From there he had to run to first base, unless he kicked it way out, then that was a home run, he could run all their bases.

Henry Wilkins was not like his brother; the high school sophomore was a bit more refined where Liam was erratic. It’s not that Henry pretended to be mature. He just was, even compared to the High schoolers on the block. The kid was a lacrosse player and was certainly shaping up to be a better jock every day. The older boy curled up the ball in his hand and let it fly out on the ground.”

The ball zoomed past Khalil into the street that led into the main road. Not a smart way to lay out the game, but they were trying to avoid anything that would cause the ball to go in Spencer’s yard. The old couple would probably claim the ball was theirs even with all the parents watching.

“Dude what the heck! How was the kid supposed to hit that? ” said Porter, the captain of Khalil’s team. Porter was 18 and didn’t live on their block, but he did visit Nasir often. “Probably to talk about girls” Was all Henry would ever say about it.

“Shit, sorry” Henry said. Once he got in the zone it was hard to pull him out.

“Language,” His mom called out from the sidelines. Henry sighed. “Sorry mom,” He retrieved the ball and gave a slower, gentler serve. However, the opposing team tagged him out before he got to base.

Khalil groaned, walking over to his father until his next turn. While his father was talking Khalil simply hopped in his dad’s lap. Mr. Mercer rubbed his son’s head , with a smile. Khalil wanted to complain, but he knew his dad would just say it was growing pains, until he got bigger. Khalil would have to deal with being the first one out or, the “rotten egg” in whatever games they did.

The boy watched the older kids play, their speed, the way they moved, and their bodies so much better than his. The guys  in high school always would say if Khalil is like his dad, he’d grow up to be a beast, but that just made Khalil sad he couldn’t do anything now.

When his turn came up against Khalil, hopped out of his dad’s lap.

 “Let’s go Khalil!” Mr. Mercer cheered.

Standing at the base, Khalil waited as the ball was served. He watched it roll towards him. Then just like the other kids had done he kicked with all it might.

His foot connected, and mouths dropped. The ball didn’t fly far but it did go. It flew directly into Spencer’s yard. The couple looked at each other, as a smile crossed the old man’s face. The lady reached into her purse and pulled out a can handing it to her husband. Mr. Spencer got up. ”Okay, who wants to claim the ball?”

All the children were frozen. They could tell the Spencer’s were plotting something. However as for the malicious intent they had no idea. All the parents were on edge as well ready to end the game. Mr. Mercer was confused seeing Mrs. Wilkins pull out her phone.  He’d heard about the unpleasantness of the old couple, but he’d never witness it. Due to working so much he hadn’t even gotten much neighborhood gossip. His son was less confused. From Liam and through school Khalil knew the Spencer’s were mean people. Some kids said they were witches, others said demons.

“Hey kid you kicked this ball, didn’t you? Come and get it.” Mr. Spencer held out the light blue sphere. Khalil began walking. “Don’t,” Henry said, “The last time one of us went into his yard he sicked ol’ Lucky on us.”

 

 Mr. Spencer laughed. A dry cackle, “Old Lucky passed away. You know that. We don’t have a dog anymore.” While that much was true, they had far more cruel intentions.

Khalil didn’t hear any dog, and he felt bad that he had kicked the ball in their yard. Though he did spot the can wondering if it was silly string. A prank like that happened at his old school. The little boy stepped forward walking onto their lawn. The ball the old man held out was quickly snatched away as the can was sprayed in Khalil’s face.

 There was only one good blast. The old man couldn’t get any more. Khalil fell back on the ground and started crying, holding his eyes. Mr. Spencer shook the can, no more stuff left.  “Margaret, it’s empty. I told you we needed to buy more.” Everyone else, but the couple was watching speechless at what happened.

They were so focused that no one noticed Mr. Mercer charging like a raging bull. He gripped the man’s hand and forced him to drop the can. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing to my son! “His grip got tighter. Unlike every other adult Mr. Mercer held no fear of the couple and if they wanted to harm his son, they had another thing coming.

The old man cried out, trying to pry his arm out of the giant black man’s grasp. Mrs. Spencer got up and tried beating on Mr. Mercer’s back, but it was clear she wasn’t doing anything.

 “Get off of him you brute.” She screamed.

“If I see you or hear you do anything like this to my son or anyone else’s kid, we’re going to have problems.” He released the man’s wrist. Mr. Mercer pocketed the empty can then swooped up his son in his gigantic arms, like the superhero he was, and walked back to his home.

 All the while everyone watching the scene take place gave a silent cheer. Though no one said it, things were about to change. The long and terrible reign of the Spencers had finally come to an end. The old couple grumbled, folding up their chairs and walking back inside. “That was elder abuse!” Mr. Spencer shouted to his neighbors.

In the Mercer household, the father was washing out his son’s eyes. He couldn’t find a single thing the can contained that made any sense except for lemon scented and testosterone. On the bright side he hoped that meant no allergic reactions. Khalil said he was feeling better so Mr. Mercer let it drop, but he’d be paying close attention if reactions occurred.

Mr. Mercer was a single father choosing to go the surrogate route. That wasn’t the initial plan, but things hadn’t worked out with his previous partner. Now he was the overprotective dad. No doubt his neighbors viewed him in a different light, now. The angry black gay guy that assaulted the old people.

It wasn’t till after dinner, when he had put Khalil to sleep, Mr. Mercer studied the can further. “Brat-B-Gone” What kind of BS stuff was this? Had the Spencers actually bought into this crap. This was stupid as Shark repellent.  He typed in the company name. Surprisingly it did pop up, but it wasn’t first on the list. Just how had the Spencer’s found this.

Clicking on the website, Mr. Mercer found a video. A very cheaply made 1950’s-esque video. However, based on the dates it was clear the video was made this century. He played it curious to see what would happen. A man in a suit stepped out.

“Are you tired of having kids around? Messing up your rose bushes, getting into your business? Then you need ‘Brat-B-Gone’ douse the brats of your choice in this and watch them scurry away. They’ll fade from your memories like butter.”

 Mr. Mercer chuckled; this was ridiculous. The guy walked onto a fake lawn set.

 “Hey Little Timmy, are you messing with Old Smithers again?”

 “Sure, Uncle Dan!” The kid, who couldn’t have been more than 10, seemed over excited to be in the video.

“That’s not good, what if he used ‘Brat-B-Gone’ on you?”

“What’s that Uncle Dan?” The kid asked, cocking his head to the side.

 “I’ll show you.” The man winked at the camera, pulling out a can. Without hesitating he sprayed his nephew. “Now, one shot will get the job done. but the more you spray the quicker the effects. Also, it will help prevent less confusion in others.” He spun his nephew around still spraying, while the young boy spat the stuff out.

Little Timmy stopped spinning, almost falling over. “Uncle Dan, I feel strange.”

 Mr. Mercer backed up. That last line certainly didn’t sound like acting. The kid looked like he was about to puke. All of a sudden, the kid grew, first a few inches then more. A ridiculous amount of muscle pushed up from under his body as the kid left childhood behind entering teenage years. He grabbed onto his uncle for security. The boy had turned into quite the jock as his little clothes were reduced to tatters. Too bad he’d never get to enjoy that version of himself.

 “Don’t worry, almost done Timmy,” Dan kissed his nephew’s head.

The kid turned young man barreled his way up in height, soaring past his uncle to landing on a 6’5 height. His chest exploded along with his arms packed with hard forged muscles of years he had not earned. The same happened to his legs with his pants fading into nothingness. There was now a grown man in very tight underwear.

“I’d like to introduce you all to Tim.” The announcer smiled, wrapping an arm around the very large, confused man’s neck.

 Mr. Mercer understood the trick behind it immediately. Dan had a brother with 2 sons that were willing to do this ridiculous commercial. Mr. Mercer had watched young Timmy’s face sharpen, but that had to be video manipulation. Also, maybe Timmy’s father had strong genes, that’s why they looked so similar.  There was no way a kid could just grow up.

He scrolled through the website. There were different versions of the stuff. This had to be a hoax. The can in the video was the most basic, but the website listed a variety. As for the Spencer’s can, it seemed they picked up the lemon scent which promised reality blah blah blah…. Mr. Mercer laughed out loud, this was completely absurd. They were obviously selling water in a can.

The father did consider using it on himself, but it was very clear adults were not affected, and you could not reuse the spray on someone already sprayed. That’s why if one wanted a kid to change quickly one would have to douse them in that initial contact. No returning to speed it up. Mr. Mercer closed his laptop shaking his head. Hilarious. That’s all he could think. Before heading to bed, he peeked in on his son’s room. A nightlight desk lamp kept the room aglow, while Khalil slept peacefully in his blue race car bed. Mr. Mercer closed the door, a smile on his face.

The next morning when Khalil woke up, he was constricted. He moved around not wanting to open his eyes yet. That didn’t solve anything. He threw his covers off the constriction was still there. Upset now, he sat up. His eyes went wide, seeing his fire truck pajamas no longer reached his ankles or wrists. Pulling on the collar he tried to make room to breathe, but to no avail. Luckily his dad came knocking.

“Morning Khalil,” Mr. Mercer walked in, yawning, and rubbing an eye. The massive black man was in his usual sleep outfit, shirtless with pajama bottoms.

“Daddy, my clothes hurt.” Khalil whimpered.

“I can see why,” Mr. Mercer’s voice rose, noticing his son standing in the smaller pajamas, He rubbed his eyes. Perhaps he wasn’t fully awake. Had he really put his son in that last night? His poor boy must have been choking.  Though he could have sworn the clothes fit perfectly.  He apologized to his son and got him dressed in clothes for the day.

Khalil didn’t think it was much better, but he didn’t want to hurt his dad’s feelings, His dad had him in a striped shirt with three buttons at the top and shorts, Mr. Mercer. picked Khalil up in his arms and carried him down to breakfast like always. Being as dedicated to physical fitness as he was, he didn’t notice his son’s slight change in weight size. Him and his son shared a laugh as he playful bounded them down the stairs.

Today was going to be a great day, Khalil could tell. That’s because his dad wasn’t going to work today either, which meant they could spend the whole morning playing together. And they certainly did with Khalil’s toys all over the living room.

By 2:00pm a knock came at the door. The duo knew who that was. Khalil rushed over. “Who is it?” He asked like he’d been taught. Of course, they knew it was Liam. He was here to pull Khalil into whatever game the neighborhood kids had cooked up.

“Can I go?” Khalil asked like always.

“Sure, you can, but toys away, first.” The last thing the dad wanted to do was step on, or trip over Khalil’s action figures. Liam came inside to help speed up the process. Then the boys were off to play. Mr. Mercer followed them outside A little later. The truth is he wasn’t looking forward to confronting the other parents after yesterday’s debacle. No doubt all eyes would be in him.

He stepped out and was surprised to hear cheering coming from the kids. They were all standing in the middle of the street doing Eeny, meeny, miny, moe to figure out who it was. It was one of the older kids that caught sight of him first. They all began hootin’ and hollerin’ and then the younger kids joined in. Mr. Mercer was shocked at the cheers he was getting. Then he heard the parents claps and yelling.

“You hear that?” Mr. Wilkins walked up smiling, holding two beers in his hands, “That’s for our hero.” Mr. Mercer said Thanks but declined. Alcohol wasn’t his thing. Fully expecting to be ostracized he was excited when many parents would walk over to talk to him before heading back to their own houses.

“So, my husband and I are holding a Barbeque next weekend. We were intending to invite you regardless, but now I guess we’ll be holding it in your honor. It was so good to get vindication. You wouldn’t believe what the couple put us through.”

“Well, that dog story sounded pretty terrible.” Mr. Mercer stated.

 She shook her head, “Not even the worst of it…” She paused then smiled, “Don’t try to change the subject I didn’t hear you agree to come.”

“Of course, he’s coming honey?” Mr. Wilkins stated.

 Before Mr. Mercer could answer Khalil and Liam were walking up to them. Apparently the two kids were out of the game for now. They decided just to wait with their parents. Khalil was fidgeting with his shoes.

“Wait, Khalil, can you stand closer to Liam?” Mrs. Wilkins asked, and the boys listened.

 “Would you look at that,” Mr. Mercer leaned forward in his seat, “Looks like you’re getting big, son.”

There was no doubt. Khalil, who was a year younger, had been a few inches shorter than Liam. but looking at them, now Khalil was surpassing Liam. Only by breath but for a kid that was a jump.

Khalil winced “Daddy, my feet hurt.” Mr. Mercer motioned for Khalil to lift a foot. When Mr. Mercer pressed down on the tip, no wonder Khalil’s feet were hurting, they were filling up the shoe. That was impossible. Mr. Mercer knew for a fact, he had bought the shoes a few weeks ago to celebrate the summer.

“I guess this is your growth spurt,” Mr. Mercer said, not really convinced himself. His face was struggling to convey anything except confusion. He patted his lap and Khalil hopped on him. Taking off his son’s shoes Mr. Mercer rubbed his son’s aching feet.  Liam also decided to hop on his mom’s chair, falling asleep in her arms. The parents continued on with their talking, As Khalil rested his head against his dad’s wide chest. Even as Mr. Mercer continued the soothing foot rub, no one noticed Khalil continuing to grow. His change was ever so slight with the minutes that passed, but by the time the game was back on the boy the hopped hop of Mr. Mercer’s lap was larger than before. Liam also woke up and headed back to the game.

Liam was only at Khalil’s shoulders now. Mr. Mercer’s mouth drops. Was he crazy, seeing things? He turned to Mrs. Wilkins, but she carried on like everything was natural, and as a result so did he. But in the back of his mind, he screamed against it.

Things were okay until Wednesday, Khalil’s body had continued on with its slow progression, Father and son stuck to their morning routine with Mr. Mercer knocking on his son’s door to wake him up. Khalil lifted his head off the twin bed. Gone was the child race car bed, Mr. Mercer had been so proud to get his son. The boy stumbled over to his dad until Mr. Mercer lifted Khalil up in his arms.

There was a difference today though. Today Mr. Mercer grunted. A short release of breath that didn’t last long, but the father recognized it. His son wasn’t weightless, now there was heft when he lifted. Khalil was developing muscles. The boy wrapped his arms around his dad’s large neck, trying to go back to sleep at least until they got downstairs.

Mr. Mercer stared at his son. The father’s mind was wrestling with reality. Khalil was just a boy, but he was getting big. Unreasonably so, but whenever Mr. Mercer tried to think about it his mind got kind of fuzzy. Then he would remember stuff like his son being a preteen, getting rid of the race car bed Khalil didn’t want to be seen as a “baby”. But then why was Mr. Mercer carrying his son now?

Well, because he could. His muscles were a testament to his strength, though carrying around a preteen was not something parents normally did, right? That’s where the conflict in his mind appeared. He knew Khalil was a preteen but also had memories of him being just a little kid. How old was too old for a kid to be picked up? The father guessed whenever the child decided. He was going to ask his son about it, but Khalil had dosed back off. Mr. Mercer gently carried his son downstairs, holding him close.

Once on the first floor, Mr. Mercer stood still unsure of what to do. His mind was a mess. Memories were not gelling together well. He actually stood there for a solid 20 minutes giving his son a nice nap. When Khalil finally was reawakened for breakfast the situation in Mr. Mercer’s mind hadn’t improved much.

Khalil munched on cereal shoving the sugary goodness into his mouth. His dad sat across reading a book as the morning news played. He only lifted his head when he heard sounds of ripping and tearing. His eyes flew immediately to his son. The father just knew it was Khalil.

And it was! The pajamas were ripping as his shoulders inched away from each other to become broader, the first peek at manhood. His height climbed upwards yet again.

“Khalil, how old are you?” Mr. Mercer asked. It was a question he used to ask his son in the past. So proud when his boy learned how to count. But now the man felt like he was going senile. He wanted, rather NEEDED reassurance he wasn’t crazy.

 Khalil didn’t swallow his food; he simply put the spoon down and held up his fingers.  Mr. Mercer counted 7 and relief washed over him. That’s right His son was just a 7-year-old boy. A big 7 seven though. Parents often mistook him for older. The boy being in middle school didn’t help much with that either. Right after breakfast Khalil wanted to play with his toys. He dumped his toys on the floor. Mr. Mercer watched him play, sitting on the couch.

Eventually there was a knock at the door. Mr. Mercer stood up and answered the door. He was expecting to see Liam without fail but was at a loss when he saw Henry instead.

“Can Khalil come out and play today?” The high schooler asked

 “Hello Henry,” Mr. Mercer looked around, “Is Liam sick?” Wasn’t every day the older kids came to get a younger one. Then again, Khalil was in middle school, and he had more in common with Henry than Liam. Khalil often spent his time hanging around the older kids than the little ones.

“Liam? He’s fine.”  Henry was confused as to how his little brother came up.

That’s when Khalil came racing up to the door in his ripping pajamas. “Can I go out dad, Please?”

“Toys away first.” Mr. Mercer said.

Khalil sighed but didn’t hesitate to pick up all his toys and put them away. Henry stood outside waiting. Mr. Mercer took his son upstairs; the boy needed an outfit before going outside. A quick lesson the duo learned was that none of the clothes in Khalil’s closet fit. Khalil’s ruined pajamas were lying on the bed, while Mr. Mercer frantically searched. He threw clothes on the bed seeing all sizes too small for his son. Something had to fit. Khalil says in his under clothes waiting for his dad to find something. Neither of them were looking when the pajamas began to reshape, turning into a pair of jeans and a short sleeve shirt.

“Dad, I want to wear this!” Khalil showed his dad the new clothes on the bed. Mr. Mercer Walked closer; he didn’t remember throwing those on the bed. Everything had been the same children’s size so far there’s no way he’d overlook the bigger clothes. Regardless, he let his son put the new clothes on. They were quite stylish, not something he’d typically buy for his son. The father asked no questions even though his son put on the same shoes that hurt a few days ago.

Khalil slipped his foot in, and the shoe just seemed to expand with it this time. When Khalil was finally dressed. Mr. Mercer hoisted him up and carried him downstairs. Once on the first floor Khalil hopped out of his dad’s arms and ran to play.

Mr. Mercer’s trust in reality didn’t waver again until the next day. He drove to the store first thing in the morning to get Khalil some new clothes since all he had was that one outfit. That was absurd! How could he, as a father, only have a single outfit for his son? Khalil had no pajamas and slept in his underwear the previous night.  Unforgivable. But Mr. Mercer knew he was not a neglectful parent. Someone…something was playing tricks on him and Khalil.

When they got to the clothing store Mr. Mercer picked his son up out of the car. He was beginning to accept perhaps his son was too big for this, but at this moment, he needed his little boy close. To hear his heartbeat, feel his chest rising with every breath; Things that Mr. Mercer could cling on to hold his reality in check.

Khalil couldn’t wait to explore the store. His father said it was time he started choosing his own clothes, so the kid went wild. Though the father did step in to veto some very terrible choices, for the most part he was pleased by his son’s growing independence… Or was he? Mr. Mercer stopped looking through clothes on the rack. Independence? Wasn’t Khalil 7, What 7-year-old needed independence?

Carrying a bundle of clothes, Khalil hopped over to his dad. “I want these!”

“Some of these clothes look too big. How about you try them on, and I’ll see how you look?” Mr. Mercer said.

His son rushed into one of the changing rooms. Khalil’s mind was adjusting to the sudden changes well for the most part, but just like his dad he still had holes that didn’t make sense. He saw himself in the mirror and the huge clothes he chose. A loose black tank top and jeans that hung off his feet like molted snakeskin.

That just didn’t look right to the boy. Kahlil had no idea why, but his mind was telling him he should be fitting well in these clothes. It was his left leg that responded first, pumping pounds into his hamstrings. His lower leg began to stretch, until his foot popped out of the bottom hole. His right foot was next, repeating the performance. Energy built up from within his chest and spread out. The first stop was his shoulders developing to support his biceps. Next Khalil’s neck bulged out with the thickness of a man.

The ascent into manhood had a very important stage. The development of the testicles. Khalil’s dropped hard and heavy, already producing sperm and flooding his system with testosterone. The cum tanks doubled, then tripled in size. Glorious nutrition for the young male, his pecs swelled, heavy and well trained. His nipples poked right against the edge of the fabric. He reached up a hand that was morphing to cup his left pec. There was no place on his new body for a child or preteen anything. The features of his skull cracked reshaping his face to one more fit of someone approaching young adulthood.

 Mr. Mercer knocked on the door to the changing room his son had been in there for quite a while. “You okay in there, bud? “ The father was praying his son hadn’t tripped over anything. It had happened once before, and Khalil had knocked himself out.  The door creaked open; it was unlocked. Fearing the worst Mr. Mercer stepped inside, however beyond that door was not a boy he recognized. There was a young black man feeling up his own body.

“I am so sorry excuse me,” Mr. Mercer covered his eyes.

“Dad it’s me. It’s fine.” Khalil’s voice was calm and relaxed but so much deeper than anything Mr. Mercer had heard his son utter before. The father cautiously stepped closer to the young male and cupped his face. Khalil was at his chest now, and at 6 ‘4 Mr. Mercer knew that wasn’t a small feat. He could see the clothes the male was wearing were the ones his son had picked out. There was a huge leap in logic his mind was trying to mend. A kid walks into a clothing room and a young man walks out, that didn’t make any sense.

“Khalil, you’re 7, right?” Mr. Mercer winced, waiting to hear the answer.

 Khalil bit his lip considering it, “Seventeen maybe, but I haven’t been seven in 10 years, dad.” He fixed his shirt as the tag disappeared off his clothes. The smaller clothes he had worn into the room disappeared,

“But…but the other day. You were a kid, and I was holding you.” The exact images eluded his mind, but he knew it had happened.

“You think you can lift this dad?” Khalil did a double bicep pose. He was nowhere near as huge, but he could get there someday if he kept eating right. Memories of being a high school athlete popped into both of the men’s heads. Khalil was a star soccer, wrestling, and lacrosse player. People on the field worshipped him, his skill at commanding the other boys. And yet…And yet. Mr. Mercer Still couldn’t shake the fact Khalil was just a kid.

“Yeah, yeah I think I can,” His voice was very far away as he approached his teenage son. Then the father picked up his son and Khalil hopped on to him like he was expecting him to do it. They caught sight of themselves in the mirror. The scene didn’t fit. Mr. Mercer could for the first time feel his arms getting tired. That’s because Khalil had meat on his bones. Muscles that were hard to support.

“Uh, dad why did you….” ‘ Pick me up’ is what Khalil wanted to say, but wasn’t he just as eager to hop in his dad’s arms?

A thought crossed Mr. Mercer’s mind. He began to bounce his son. Khalil grew a smile and started laughing as Mr. Mercer tickled him. Somehow this felt more right, for both of them. A boyish laughter escaped Khalil as Mr. Mercer goaded him on.

But then in defiance Khalil’s body grew thicker. His chest jutted out, like two carved slabs of stone as his ass got bigger to generate more strength from the legs. Mr. Mercer almost dropped his son at the speed he grew but thankfully, Khalil landed on his feet. Now the father had his large arms wrapped around Khalil’s’ mid torso and ass.

The two men looked at each other. Both had realized what happened, but their minds tried to tell them it’s always been that way. And maybe it’d have been enough to work, If Khalil hadn’t tried to grab his dad’s hand in the parking lot. The boy knew he was always supposed to hold his dad’s or an adult’s hand when crossing the street. Being the good son, he was, he always tried his best to follow his dad’s rules.

Mr. Mercer was shocked at first. Why was his son grabbing his hand? He could remember going to Khalil’s high school games, watching him take the field or mat and coming out on top. People loved Khalil the stud. Regardless, they walked to the car and Kahlil hopped in the front seat. Tilting his head, “Doesn’t he sit in the back,” Mr. Mercer thought. The two went home.

The next morning carried a sense of dread; Mr. Mercer knew things were changing in his household. The problem was he couldn’t put a finger on ‘what’ every time. A slight off feeling. No different than if a person had come into the house and slightly rearranged a few items in the kitchen cabinet. That kind of off. He knew a mystery surrounded his son, except the how and why. The father paused before knocking on his son’s door. Though he could hear music blaring from the other side. He didn’t want his son to change. The problem is he was slated to go into work today. How much would his son change in that time?

Kahlil opened the door, almost bumping into his dad. The young man was solely in black nylon shorts that he had been using as pajamas. A habit he’d picked up from his father. They said good morning and started making their way downstairs. So, drab. So boring. Wasn’t their morning routine usually livelier, filled with a boy laughing?

“Do you want to hop on my back?” Mr. Mercer asked on the third step leading down. His son was still at the top. He didn’t know why he said it. His son was going to laugh in his face or give some teenage angst.

“You mean like a piggyback ride? Sure.”  Kahlil hopped on his father’s back. The young man was much too heavy to be carried any amount of good distance in his father’s arms, but on Mr. Mercer’s back. That was a whole lot easier, Khalil hooked his legs over his dad’s arms while locking his arms around his dad’s neck.

That was when Mr. Mercer had learned his son had been freeballing. There was a large piece of equipment that could only be attached to a man. The thing was so hot Mr. Mercer felt like he had a slight burn mark on his lower back. He trotted down the stairs.

Khalil let out a laugh that only got heavy with each step down his father took. He couldn’t believe his dad was doing this. They hadn’t done anything like this since he was a kid. But then again wasn’t he a kid? He was Seven…teen, but just a big seventeen. His body proved it. No, he had the unmistakable body of a teenager. He was a teen. If he liked to act like a kid sometimes or had childish tendencies so what?

Once downstairs the two ate breakfast together. And like clockwork Khalil left the table to go play with his toys in the living room.  However, there was a knock around 10.am. Earlier than usual, for Henry to be knocking. Mr. Mercer got up walking into the living room he tripped.

“Khalil for god sake’s how many times have I told you to clean up when you’re done in the living room.” Mr. Mercer looked down where his foot had got caught over a dumbbell, not to mention wires from Khalil’s game controllers were lying around and tangled up. Controllers were wireless these days which meant Khalil obviously hadn’t charged them up.

“I’ll clean it up soon dad,” Khalil had walked to the door to open it. Nasir was standing there with a grin on his face.

“Come on dude, we gotta get to the gym. Porter won’t let us hear the end of it if we’re late.”  The young man had a bag slung over his shoulder and was in workout gear.

Mr. Mercer sighed. Getting up, it was time for him to leave for work. Khalil went to get dressed. It was taking his son a while, So Mr. Mercer checked on him. Khalil was standing at the edge of his bed looking at the small under clothes he had. Mr. Mercer smacked his head. They didn’t get new underwear, or socks. That had totally slipped his mind. He was stunned when Khalil still tried to put on the clothes anyway, the briefs expanded to contain his new equipment, albeit struggling, while the socks weren’t faring any better with the larger feet.

Mr. Mercer had been stalling as long as he could, but work needed him. After getting dressed he kissed Khalil’s forehead and said goodbye, while Khalil prepared to leave with Nasir. Driving home Mr. Mercer went slower, than ever trying to delay the inevitable. When he got home it was easy to deduce the kids were playing capture the flag.

A simple game. In this case, two teams separate the block in half, always excluding the Spencer house. As each team is given a side, they each have a “flag” (the kids used basketballs) that the opposite team must try to steal. Crossing over to the wrong side leaves a player liable to be tagged and put in jail unless another teammate can free them without getting tagged themselves.

However, today something caught his attention. Mr. Mercer was used to coming home and finding his son sitting in jail. As a small kid it was inevitable, but today what Mr. Mercer found was A shirtless Khalil having a standoff with Porter in the middle of the street. Nothing serious, just a part of the game. But it was clear they were sizing each other up. Trying to gauge if they were fast enough to break past the others. There were other players out, but it was clear attention was on them.

There were girls in the neighborhood drooling at the sight of them. Didn’t help that Khalil was standing shirtless in a small pair of shorts. Honestly Mr. Mercer didn’t know what his son was thinking wearing those? The top portion of Khalil’s superhero underwear was on display. His thick black pubic hairs were spilling over the top, all coming from a treasure trail from the center of his pecs.

When had Khalil started growing hair? And not just on his pecs and torso either, leg hair too, or Mr. Mercer was sure he caught sight of Khalil scratching at the beginnings of a beard. Khalil zoomed past Porter. As his legs came off the pavement, they’d force themselves larger as. Porter took off after Khalil, but the young black man’s expanding body ensured Porter would never catch up. Even though he was running the rest of Khalil wasn’t neglected either and packed on muscle to stay in proportion to the rest of him. His rib cage pushed out as his new powerful lungs needed to take in more air. Ass cheeks inflated and firmed until the cheeks were straining the shorts. The shorts inched towards the legs, looking like a second pair of briefs. His original pair of underwear stretched downward over the new muscles. The fabric became blue as the elastic waistband turned black. The briefs had become compression shorts.

Khalil freed his team and managed to snatch the “flag”. The kids erupted in cheers., congratulating him. Khalil spotted his dad, ran up and jumped on his father, happy to have him back home. Father and son were happily reunited, but both seemed to realize Khalil was pounds heavier than he had been before.

Mr. Mercer set his son down. They were shocked to find once on his feet, Khalil was taller than his dad. That definitely wasn’t right. Khalil lifted his hands studying them, He asked for his dad’s hands, pressing them together Khalil’s were slightly bigger, even Khalil’s pecs were larger than his dad and they had hair. The two would realize this was the case for his whole body.

 “Dad, I don’t think I should be this big?” Khalil said, still enthralled as to what had happened to him. He was supposed to be smaller and more innocent, but there was nothing innocent about his body, definitely nothing innocent about him with the memories he had accrued. This version of Khalil had used his body to do some big boy things.

“Let’s head inside.” Mr. Mercer grabbed his son’s hand, leading the big lug away. They could figure this out once they were alone. Unfortunately, he never looked back to notice his son was still growing. Everything on Khalil was getting bigger, muscles mass expanding thicker. Denser. His dark muscles glistened with sweat beautifully. His face was up next undergoing a harsh reconstruction to help exude his alpha essence on sight. He was leaving young adulthood behind for good. There was nothing to stop his facial hair from overtaking his cheeks and chin, connecting with a full formed moustache.

With all these changes Khalil couldn’t just think of himself as a boy, teen, or even young adult any longer he was undeniably a man. In fact, he wasn’t even feeling like Khalil Mercer all that much rather Rashad Modine. A grown ass black man that didn’t need to run to his Dad to solve his problems. A man more massive than Mr. Mercer. And Mr. Mercer sure as hell wasn’t Rashad’s dad. Though even as Rashad’s immaterial existence overtook Khalil, the man’s face still retained former traces of his younger alternate self. A part of him refusing to relinquish his Mercer DNA from his body.

People would often mistake the two huge black men for brothers, though always thinking Rashad was the older of the two due to his size. Truth is they weren’t related, but when they met in college, they were surprised by how well they clicked. Though Rashad was a real wild child, mellowed out by Matthew Mercer’s maturity.  Wasn’t odd in those college halls to hear Rashad referring to Matthew as ‘Dad’.  It started out as an insult because Matthew was very protective and always in Rashad’s business. But as they spent time together Rashad saw it as a blessing. His parents had been real free spirits. One with nature and all that. knowing that someone was worried about him and wanted to see him was a comfort to Rashad.

Mr. Mercer had let go of Khalil’s hand to turn the door and open it. He stepped inside. There was nothing of Khalil’s on the floor, No toys, no weights, or even gaming systems. Turning around, Mr. Mercer greeted Rashad.

“I know it’s not much, but the guest room is upstairs.” Was Mr. Mercer surprised when his best friend from college said he was in town and asked for a place to stay? Yes. Was Mr. Mercer dying to see Rashad again? Also, yes. He just hoped the man wouldn’t jog on any strange trails and hurt himself. In college Rashad was notorious for it and Mr. Mercer always had to patch him up.

Walking upstairs, the two stepped into Khalil’s former room. Gone was everything that once signified a child, or anyone with personality lived there. It was just a huge white room, with a king-size bed, big enough to fit Rashad. At least it was fully furnished, but it was mostly cream and tan colors.

Rashad had planned on telling his best friend he was getting a divorce. Things between him and Debbie just weren’t working out even after 18 years of marriage. But he could save their conversation for later. He was tired from the drive and sleepily plopped on to the bed.

A warm, comfortable, and homely feeling overtook him.

Life was…

Life was not good. Mr. Mercer’s eyes snapped open. That was his first thought of the day. He dragged himself out of bed. He thought about knocking on the guest room door to wake Rashad, but he decided to let the man sleep. Mr. Mercer wandered downstairs and made some coffee. It was quiet. That wasn’t right. Somewhere in the back of his mind Matthew Mercer felt he should have heard a child’s laughter. A nagging feeling that just wouldn’t go away. Getting up to wash his mug, he spotted a strange spray can.

“Brat-B-Gone?” Slowly but surely the memories of his research into his mind trickled back.  Though it was strange to him it only happened when he had actively thought about it. The can must have been here all week, but know he just happened to notice? No. Something was up with that.

Rashad came walking into the kitchen shirtless. Scratching his abs as he let out a yawn. Waving to his friend Rashad went in the fridge and pulled out some juice. “I can’t believe you didn’t wake me up?” Rashad was fully expecting the usual comeback but was concerned when his buddy Matt stayed quiet.

“You okay?” Rashad rested a hand on Matt’s shoulder.

 “There should be a kid here.”  Matt stood up walking into her living room, and Rashad followed him concerned. Matt tapped Rashad’s chest. There should be toys, weights, or even game controllers on the floor. Finally, it was brief, but flashes were coming to Mr. Mercer. He raced upstairs with Rashad behind him.

“What’s going on?” Rashad tailed after him.

Mr. Mercer barged his way into the guest room. Rashad wanted to protest but it wasn’t his house. Matt stood in the center of the room turning around.

 “I remember a kid in this room. A boy. No. Maybe a preteen, or older,” Matt grabbed his head. “Shit, I can’t.” No matter how much he demanded, the image of the boy’s face would not come to him. He opened his eyes, and they fell on Rashad.

“Dude, what kid would be in your house?” Rashad asked. However, even he was convinced Matt was telling the truth. None of it sounded crazy to him, but what explanation was there? He closed his eyes as images flashed in his head. He could see something too, but it was all hidden by a fog. Rashad never noticed his body pulsing bigger as gray hairs that snuck onto him.

A crash came from downstairs. The men looked at each other. Was someone trying to break in? They rushed down into the kitchen. Standing in the middle of the kitchen with cereal spilled all around him was a black preteen.

“Sorry Uncle Matt, But Kai left one of his toys in the kitchen and I slipped.” The boy stated.

“Um, who are you?” Mr. Mercer questioned. He looked to Rashad and his friend was just as confused. The boy chuckled, ignoring him and grabbed the broom and dustpan.

“He asked you a question.” Rashad said stern and commanding. He hadn’t meant to be, but it slipped out when dealing with kid.

The boy froze like a deer in headlights. “Sorry dad, I thought Uncle Matt was making a joke.”

The two men looked at each other mouthing ‘Dad’. The whole house began to shake and the men’s world along with it. Rooms were reshaping as the house’s structure changed to suit a new reality. When the men got their bearings, it looked like the kid hadn’t even been affected.

“Hey, Leon, did you feel that?” Rashad asked the boy. The preteen shook his head no. Matt pulled his friend aside, “How do you know that kid’s name?” Before Rashad could answer, the TV in the living room turned on. The men stepped into the living room and found two young men. Mr. Mercer had to rub his eyes because he was seeing double. The teenagers had the same face. Both were shirtless and doing separate activities. The first, doing arm curls, the second on the couch playing video games. Mr. Mercer stared and realized he knew these strangers. The twins were Rashad’s firstborns.

“Ray Jay no one wants to see you working out. Go to your guest room and do that.” Rashad stated. The boy grunted, taking his weights with him. Ray Jay shorthand for Rashad Junior was on the track to becoming just as big as his dad someday keeping his muscles in tip top shape. His twin, Austin on the other hand had no such aspiration to rely on his good genetics to keep him in shape.

“Hey Austin, could you turn the TV down?” Mr. Mercer said

“Sure, thing Uncle Matt!” Austin did it without question.

There was a thump from upstairs. Matt and Rashad looked at each other. This was getting ridiculous. Stepping back into Rashad’s guestroom, a kid laid on the middle of the floor. Had Khalil Mercer still existed, anyone would have said this other boy was his spitting image.  The boy lay motionless with a smile on his face.

Rashad leaned closer to Matt, “You think he’s pretending to be asleep or dead?”

“I don’t know but sleeping or dead boys can’t get breakfast.” Mr. Mercer laughed. The boy hopped up rushing to Mr. Mercer and Rashad.

“I’m awake!” The boy hugged both their legs, “So, I get to eat right.”

“Sure, Sure Kai,” Mr. Mercer lifted Kai up into his arms. For a split second a pang of jealousy shot through Rashad, but it died, leaving the man confused as to why it even appeared in the first place.

Rashad talked to Kai as they all walked back downstairs, “You gotta clean up your toys, your brother slipped this morning. I don’t want that happening again you hear me.” Rashad had slipped into tough dad mode, but Kai ignored him, burying his face in Mr. Mercer’s neck.

“Go easy on him. Leon’s fine, right?” Mr. Mercer said.

Rashad rolled his eyes. Matthew Mercer was the only person he allowed to talk to him like that when it came to his sons. Too bad his sons knew it too and often used it to their advantage, When the twins were kids that was a nightmare. All of Rashad’s boys loved their Uncle Matt. Always wanting to show off for him, workout with him, play video games, or play toys with him. Rashard couldn’t even blame them, he liked Matt a whole bunch too. No doubt, lingering traces of Khalil shared with his boys.

After his divorce, Rashad wasn’t sure how he’d make it, especially with the boys in his care. Moving to this city was the best thing. Though, he and his boys were over at Matt’s place more than they were at their own house. Matt had three spare rooms, so the boys always bunked together, while their dad got his own room. He needed it; he was a large guy after all.

After Breakfast, Mr. Mercer was getting ready for work while the Modine clan chilled in his living room. A knock came at the door. Porter, Henry, and Liam were all standing there.

“Is Kai here!” Liam asked excitedly.

“Actually,” Porter patted the boy on the head. “We were wondering if all the guys could come out today.”

The Modine boys rushed past, saying goodbye to their dad and uncle Matt. The two men exchanged smirks.

Life was good.

—

Mr. & Mrs. Spencer were having a terrible time. No one in the neighborhood seemed to respect them anymore. The proper word choice should have been fear. Mr. Mercer had made it crumble when he stepped in to save little Kai. The Spencer’s, however, didn’t care if they were feared or not. The problem was the children were no longer playing quietly or even pretending to avoid the couple. The old couple would walk outside and the first thing he’d hear was “good morning!”

 Children’s laughing and smiling faces. If that wasn’t bad enough, they were out of Brat-B-Gone. And at a terrible time too, there seemed to be more brats in the neighborhood every day. The Modine boys certainly attracted attention when they were at Mr. Mercer’s house. Then there was the barrage of Mrs. O’ Donell and Mr. Patel’s Grandchildren. Not to mention the owner of the newspaper had kids delivering to the neighborhood in pairs and avoiding the Spencer house. The couple would have to listen to the kid’s mouths run. Why did children talk so loudly?

 Mrs. Spencer sat at their old computer typing away, while her husband stood over her shoulder.

 “There, press it,” he pointed at a link on the Brat-B-Gone website.

 “I am, you old fart! It’s not working.” She retorted. Then a message popped up.

 Sorry to inform you but Brat-B-Gone is no longer delivered to this area.

The old couple’s face grew red, as the sounds of children playing beyond the walls came into their house.

Life was terrible.