By Aardvark2

“Wake up, Trav.”

Gary shook his son’s shoulder. The big blob under the sheets moved slightly.

“C’mon. Wake up.”

Travis groaned. “Augh, I’m up, I’m up.”

“Good. I have to go to a meeting, but there’s cereal in the kitchen. Enjoy your Saturday, and if you go anywhere, just go to Kory’s.”

Travis was still completely under the sheets. “Mmmmph. ‘k.”

He waited an hour before he finally rolled out of bed, long after hearing his Dad’s Corolla roll out of the one-car garage. He dragged his feet down the hall to the kitchen and reached into the drawer to get a spoon.

He felt a sensation, but it wasn’t pain. When he pulled his hand out of the drawer, he saw that he had sliced his palm – where he could still see a slight silver spot – with an unseen knife in the drawer.

The blood was flowing, and yet, he felt no pain. And as he watched, the wound began to stitch itself up, the very skin engulfing the wound until all that was left was a spot of blood without a gash.

“Oh my God.”

He could only stare at his hand. What he noticed about it, and his entire right arm, in fact, was how smooth the skin was. The hair was gone, and so, apparently, were all of the pores.

So, he could heal himself now? This was new.

He looked at scab he’d gotten from scraping his left elbow against the court during a game of basketball at his church. And, as he focused on it, the scab disappeared, covered over by new, fresh – darker? – skin.

Maybe he should tell his Dad. Was he sick or something? What was happening?

Travis’ mind raced to think of something. It wasn’t like he was growing scales, or fangs, or anything. He just was developing beautifully smooth skin, like one of those sun-kissed bikini models he saw smiling at him in “Sports Illustrated.”

God, he was hungry. He really wanted some cereal. Really bad. Unbelievably bad.

Completely forgetting his skin, Travis opened the cabinet and knocked all of the boxes out of it, tearing right through the cardboard and shoving bits of cereal into his mouth. The more he ate, the more food he wanted. And the more he ate, the less he remembered anything else. He engorged himself, smacking and munching, sounding not unlike a pig. He went into a consumption blackout, eating and eating until he just collapsed from exhaustion.

Travis woke up feeling completely full. His belly felt like it had a boulder in it – the room spun for a few seconds before he finally snapped awake at what he saw.

The kitchen was completely trashed. There were remains of fruit and vegetables everywhere, wrappers and cardboard containers of food, spilled drinks, the works.

He had to get this clean before his Dad got home. He leapt up and immediately heard a huge rip.

Instinctively, he grabbed at the butt of his pajama bottoms. Sure enough, he felt a rip. It wasn’t just a little seam pop, it was huge, almost the entire length of his butt.

And when he looked down, he saw his legs sticking out of the bottom of his PJs by at least three inches – bare, hairless, tanned skin.

His breathing quickened. Hadn’t his pajamas fit this morning? Had he really grown that taller in the span of a morning?

His shirt didn’t fit either, he noticed. His little belly poked through – also bronze and smooth – and his shirt had bunched up over it. Pulling it down, he heard another rip – this time, the shirt’s collar.

He tore off his clothes and saw that his fleshy little body was now completely covered with that new skin – tan, smooth, flawless. He had no scars, moles, or scrapes. Even his face, when he felt it, was clear.

He had to clean. His Dad was going to kill him anyway for eating all of the food – how had he done that, he wondered – but at least the kitchen wouldn’t be a dump.

So, for the next hour, he cleaned. And finally, it was spotless. Better, actually, than before he’d started.

But he was still hungry. Starving, in fact. How could he be? He’d just eaten a feast!

Maybe some of the jerky out in the garage would tide him over…

He jogged out into the garage, feeling chilly due to his only wearing socks and undies. He found the beef jerky bag, although it was carefully hidden, tore the wrapper off with his teeth and went to work consuming it.

“Mmmmmph,” he moaned orgasmically as he ate.

Travis’ stomach groaned and he hunched forward, compacting his whole body. “Mmmmmmppphhh…”

There was a gurgling noise, and his belly started to pull inward, the skin tightening and the fat melting. “Oh…h-h-help…Daaaaad…”

Pretty soon, Travis’ belly was completely flat. There were no muscles, just a flat stomach under tan skin.

“No! No, no, no…”

He spun around and ran into the house, then tripped and fell in the hallway.

“Something’s really wrong with me! Help!”

There was a gross sound, like the sound of elastic being stretched, and Travis realized he had just grown another inch. He screamed, but kept his mouth shut and made a guttural moan. “MMMMMRGGGH!”

He was sweating a lot because he was so scared. His testosterone and adrenaline were pumping. He felt jacked, like he’d just worked out for hours. Scrambling off of the floor, Travis’ flailed his limbs and rocketed to his bedroom.

He pulled on a pair of pants, but nothing he had would fit a six-footer. He’d been about five-five before, and everything was ripping. He started to figure that his butt had gotten bigger, since the seam of all the pants he tried on would burst.

His Dad was about six-one, so he grabbed a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants from Gary’s closet. The pants fit with room to spare, but the shirt was surprisingly tight – had his chest gotten bigger? It hung appropriately loose around his flat stomach, but his nipples pressed against the fabric and, after a quick grope, he felt that his little boobs had gotten slightly harder. Not smaller, just harder – was it muscle, maybe?

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the garage door opening. Oh, shit.

Gary was home. •

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