Change In A Small Town

Sand Valley, TX


By Aardvark2

The sun beat down on Sand Valley mercilessly. It was so hot that the normal residents, all eight hundred of them, wouldn't go outside during the peak sun hours during the day, but the cowboys and farmers had no choice, and to make their living, they had to brave the heat or die trying.

Bobby Spencer, Jr. was one of those cowboys, or at least he wanted to be. He was as far away from becoming one as possible, though. First, he was only ten years old, and second, he was a good one hundred and fifty pounds. The fat on him was excused as baby fat for the first years of his life, but as he got older, it never went away, and he was as chubby and round as a ripe tomato. It was only one problem in a sea of them for poor Bobby. To be ten years old and have your father hate you wasn't an easy life. There was no mother to protect Bobby from his father's angry outbursts or cruel treatment of his son, because his mother had died giving birth to little Robert James Spencer. That was actually the main reason for his father's treatment - he blamed Bobby for her loss. Bobby had two brothers, who, of course, were perfect. Chris was smart, tall, and thin, and helped his father balance the checkbooks and manage the ranch. Dave was also tall, but stockier and more muscular than his older brother, and he helped out in the physical labor, which was no easy task. Both of the teenagers taunted their chubby sibling freely.

Bobby basically wished he was dead. He was mad at the mother he had never met for leaving him, he hated his father and brothers, and in a town of eight hundred people, friendships are scarce. He probably wouldn't have had any friends anyway. He had a crush on Chelsea Morgan, but she was the most popular girl in school, and if he wanted to ask her out, he'd have to take a number. The only other good looking girl in the whole town was Chelsea's sister Summer, and she was almost twenty. The future was bleak.


Margaret Price was getting up there in years. She was nearly sixty-five, but she didn't look it. Her husband Harold was eight years her senior, and he did look it. For every wrinkle Madge (for that was what everyone knew her as) didn't have, Harry did. Madge didn't mind, though, and she loved her husband for all it was worth. He hadn't turned her in when he found out she was a witch, and didn't hesitate a second when she made herself look younger. His only requirement was that she never regress him. She had no idea why, but she agreed. Life went on for the Prices as usual. Madge would go shopping and tend to her garden and Harold would watch TV. Dinner was always at 6:30 sharp, and when it was over, Madge would do a three-way telephone call with her sisters, Marjorie and Marilyn, also witches. Every night for ten years they did this, sharing the ups and downs of life and talking about all the spicy events of the day.

Madge was getting concerned about the young boy who lived down the road from them. Bobby clearly had no friends and was being physically abused by his father. She had seen it happen, so she knew. The boy had wanted to help herd cattle, and his father had answered with a stinging backhand. He must have flown ten feet. She didn't know what to do. She waited until Harold finished his pasta, and then she cleared the dishes and went to the phone. Pretty soon her sisters where both on too, and the conversation began. Madge broke the ice by telling the women about Bobby. They were sympathetic, and offered some suggestions. "Well, you should melt a few pounds off that boy's frame," said Marilyn. " That should fix things right up." "Oh, Mary!" Marjorie squealed. "His father's a psychopath! Madge has to get him out of there!" Marilyn and Marjorie argued until Madge broke in and changed the subject to her azaleas. Bobby wasn't mentioned again.



Bobby's cheap, old alarm clock roared the call, and the child's eyes snapped open, wide with anticipation. Today was the day! It was town day! His father and brothers went into town once a month for supplies and food, and when his brothers turned ten, they were allowed to go, so he could too! He had turned ten two weeks ago and was ready. He jumped out of his cot, ran to his closet and opened the door. He pulled on his best blue jeans - filthy, because laundry was only done once a month as well - and buttoned up his favorite flannel shirt. The shirt was actually a hideously ugly plaid travesty, but to a child, rainbow color is intruiging.

His father and brothers were leaving soon! He had to hurry. Breakfast could wait. He ran down the stairs and out the door.

"Well where do ya think you're goin'?"

His father's gruff voice ripped into him. He knew he couldn't go, but he was going to fight for it this time.

"I...I want to go with you."

"I want to go with you WHAT?!"

"I want to go with you, sir."

His father chuckled, turned to his brothers, and pointed and Bobby. Chris and Dave laughed.

"He wants to come with us, boys! Should we let him?"

Dave laughed heartily. "No, sir!" "And why not?" asked his father. Chris answered, with words that echoed in Bobby's ears:

"Because he's too fat and stupid!"

Bobby couldn't cry there, his family would never forgive him. His mouth dropped open and he just stared, struck dumb with horror and emberassment. His father knelt down in front of him. "Sorry, kid. You heard Chris." Then he cackled, stood up, took a puff from his cigarette, and stepped in the truck. Dave and Chris followed. "See ya later, shorty!" Dave yelled as the drove down the road.


Madge had seen the whole thing. Something had to be done. She walked up the stairs, her jaw set with determination, right past their bedroom, where Harold was reading "Field and Stream."

"Madge? What're you doing?" Harold yelled down the hall. There was no answer. "Madge?!" Harold stood up and walked to the attic. He opened the door, and there was Madge, tears streaming down her face.

"They're so cruel to him, Harry! I have to do something! No child should be treated like that!"

"Baby, that's fine with me if you help him out, but don't turn him into a raccoon or anything."

"Hon, I have bigger fish to fry. His father's going to get it."

"You sure that's the right thing to do, Madge?"

"Positive. Now go back to your magazine, I need to be alone."


Bobby ran into the house and slammed the door. He exploded in a torrent of choking sobs, his face turned red with rage and sorrow, and he bolted up the stairs and into the bedroom. He lay down on his bed and stuck his face in his ratty old pillow, soaking it with salty tears and crying himself dry. He got up, walked into his closet, and then noticed his pants were a little too short.

"What the..." His eyes widened. Not only were they too short, but his shirt sleeves only reached two inches above his wrist now. He was sure they fit this morning. "What's going on?" He walked into the bathroom and hit his head on the door, a door that had been a foot above him half an hour before. Bobby flipped out, and ran into the bathroom, where there was a mirror. The sight that greeted him was shocking.

His whole body looked stretched; he had sprouted from five foot to six-foot-two. Then he noticed - he was still growing! His body began to change - the fat melting away, his face suddenly changing and the features tightening. His jiggly belly expanded, the fat changing to muscle, as an eight-pack developed. His shoulders were broadening, and his chubby arms were hardening and growing into the muscled arms of a fully grown man. His flannel shirt couldn't take the strain, it had long since stretched tight over his newly ripped torso, and it exploded, bits and pieces of fabric flying all over the wooden room. Bobby was screaming now, the pain was horrific, but somehow, it felt amazing. He felt free, like a huge weight had been lifted from his now looming shoulders. As he watched, his blue jeans stretched to the breaking point, the cuffs now barely reaching his knees as his legs sprouted hair and muscle. His calves were diamond-shaped and his bare feet were enormous. His underwear was riding up into an awful wedgie, now that his butt and package had grown to manhood as well. He started laughing. The pain had changed into ecstacy. He watched as his eyebrows thickened and his brown eyes changed to a sparkling green. His newly-lantern jaw set itself off, strong and square. His shaggy black hair lightened to a bright brown, and regressed into his head until only a half-inch military-style crew cut was left. His chubby chipmunk cheeks melted away and revealed two highly set cheekbones. Last, a light shade of stubble, the same color as his hair, sprouted and grew. He needed a shave. He loved the idea of shaving like a grown-up.

Then the idea started coming into reality...he didn't realize it, but his mind was beginning to change too. Adult thoughts streamed into his head, things he wouldn't have learned in school for five years were suddenly there. He knew how to fight. He wasn't naive and innocent anymore. But two things remained - the hatred for his father and brothers, and a memory of a transformation from boyhood to manhood.

He suddenly realized he was near-naked in his bathroom. He quickly walked to his father's closet and pulled out a white t-shirt. He barely pulled it over his muscular, perfect physique, and it stretched so thin it was nearly translucent. He loved the feel of it, the cloth rubbing against his hard, calloused skin, rough from years on the ranch. He went to Chris' closet - Chris was the tallest - and pulled out a pair of denim jeans. They barely fit, accentuating his thighs and butt, and he loved it just as much as the shirt. He looked in the mirror for the first time. There he was, and he was gorgeous. His lantern jaw - was that a cleft in his chin? Nice. His ran his large hands through his gritty, dirty hair and smiled. He had nice teeth, too. This was going to be great. He stole $200 from his Dad's room, took his credit card - this was gonna be easy to pretend, they had the same name! - and waited for his family to return. He stretched out on the sofa, his huge frame now impossibly large for the cheap seat. He quickly fell asleep, exhausted from his rapid growth.

He awoke to the sound of tires squealing into the driveway and gravel flying. He quickly stood up, nearly hitting his head on the lamp above the sofa. He must be about six-foot-five, he thought, the ceiling's only seven foot. He snapped out of his sleepiness and went to the door and waited.

Right when his father was opening the door, he stepped in front of it. He loved this - he now towered over his once tall father.

His father, to his credit, didn't show any signs of retreat. "Who in the name of God are you?"

The muscular male opened his mouth, and a deep baritone emanated from it. "Guess."

"No one I know, that's for sure. You can take my money, you can take my youngest son for all I care, but leave my house alone."

The idea that his father would give him up infuriated Bobby, and he ripped the door right from it's rusty hinges. He grabbed his shocked father's neck, kicked him in the stomach, and hurled him to the ground. Strong knuckles cracked against the elder Spencer's jaw, continuously, and the blood flowed. Chris and Dave watched dumbstruck.

Bobby stopped the attack. "Look at me! You know who I am!"

Bob Spencer looked into his attacker's handsome face, and Bobby smiled when his father's look turned to absolute horror.


"That's Rob to you, Dad. I'd never have the same name as you. So you can call me Rob when you file that police report that no one will pay any attention to."

Rob stood up and spat on the porch. "I'm leavin', Dad. And you can't stop me." He pushed past his brothers, knocking them to the ground, and stepped into the brand new truck his father had purchased just months before, with all the supplies from town in it. He turned the ignition and drove down the road, onto a new life and new dreams, never to see his father again.


The woman adjusted her bra and put on some more make-up. What was she doing in a small town like this? As soon as she was done with college, she was off to Houston. A knock on the door snapped her out of her daydreams.

She opened the door. Standing there was the most handsome man she'd ever seen. His white t-shirt was tight across his muscular chest, and his stubble added just the right hunk factor. She was amazed.

He spoke first. "Summer?" His voice was smooth and deep. She was already in love with him. She managed to stammer out a reply: "Y-yes?"

He continued, flashing a perfect, white smile. "I'm Rob Spencer. Can I come in?"

She was thrilled. "Of course!"

He stepped in, ducking to avoid the low doorframe. "Nice place you've got here, Summer. It's very..." He searched for the right word. "...welcoming."

"Thanks, Rob... I... hope..." She was cut short as he moved in closer, bending down to her level. "I meant to say..." He made his move, and she kissed back. It lasted, and lasted, and lasted.

And as they say in fairy tales, they lived happily ever after.


The three sisters were deep in conversation. Marjorie brought up the subject first. "Madge, what did you do about that Bobby, poor thing?" Madge replied, "Oh, I took care of that, dear. His father was put in his place and everything worked out just fine." She smiled, took a sip of her coffee, and read the latest wedding announcement in the paper. Spencer-Morgan. The bride's parents are Larry and Sue Morgan, and the groom did not disclose his relations. She smiled again. •

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