You start chuckling, which quickly turns in to full blown laughing. Not only is magic real, apparently, but you've accidentally used it to turn into your younger brother – the whole idea just seems absolutely hilarious. But as funny as you find it, you cant shake the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach – even if you do now suspect its just a side effect of the changes happening to your body. After all, your body has literally transformed in front of you, obviously its going feel at least a bit weird.
There’s a beat though as you reconsider that thought, ‘has transformed, or is transforming’. You do still feel weird, wouldn't that have stopped? And the label said the change could take ten minutes - it cant have been that long yet.
You jump up – the plush insoles of Benji’s shoes, designed to take the impact of skateboarding lightly give way to support your newly diminutive socked feet – and beeline for your closet. Pulling open the door, ‘that handle is definitely higher’, and standing to face the mirror mounted to the back - you gawk at the image presented. It isn't you, the version of you you're used to seeing that is - but it isn't Benji either, well maybe an older Benji?
As you study the reflection you notice its minutely changing, you’re changing – you have a front row seat to the apparent transformation happening in real time. Your height is still dropping ever so slightly, your shoulders are narrowing, your hair growing, complexion clearing, cheeks ever so slightly chubbing up – its impossible to keep track of all the changes, but taking it all in its obvious magic is real, and you really are transforming into someone else. That or you’re having the freakiest dream and someone should really wake you up.
For what seems like eons (but's probably only a minute) you stand rooted in place, utterly enraptured. The only movement that of your eyes – flitting in all directions, trying to track as many of the shifting proportions and characteristics as possible. But then it becomes easier to follow, the pace of change slowing, fewer things look different as you check them and recheck them. Eventually the rapid movement slows enough to stop and your vision refocuses – instead of individual body parts, you’re looking at the entire person before you. The image of Benji in your closet mirror, in your room, wearing your clothes.
‘I always thought an out of body experience was like, floating in space above yourself or something’ – but instead it seems to be the feeling of looking out of your own eyes from inside someone else’s body you muse.
It’s almost indescribable, to know the image you are staring at in the slightly blotched sticker covered mirror – small teenage boy, light tan, button nose, messy shoulder length hair – is you. You can feel the movement of your chest as you breathe in and out, see that same movement under the t-shirt of the person in the mirror – all while 'that isn't me' your brain is emphatically saying.
This is the weirdest thing that has ever happened to you, the scariest thing, the most confusing thing – the most awesome thing.
‘I should be crying or something, that would be a normal reaction right?’ you ponder, but in the mirror all you can see is the goofy grin on Benji’s – no, your face now. You experimentally run your tongue around your mouth – over your teeth, particularly aware of the lack of braces – pull your lips back and smile, tongue just poking between the two rows of perfect teeth.
“This is fucking wild” you murmur, pushing yourself up on the balls of your feet – the front section of the shoes bending and digging in to the top of your toes – trying to get a fuller view of yourself in the mirror. You twist your torso, side to side, now oversized t-shirt lightly flapping. You lift your arms out and then up. It’s then something belatedly occurs to you – something isn't quite right. All this time hair has been brushing your shoulders, the kind of long hair Benji used to have. He got a haircut about a month ago, it was almost all cut off.
Reaching up to grab a handful of it – offering the light brown hair up closer to the mirror as you examine it – in your peripheral vision you see the goofy grin has gone, now the grungy boy in the mirror looks dumbfounded.
‘Maybe … maybe you change into the person as they were when they last wore the shoes? That would actually make sense! He got new sneakers on the same trip - right after he, dad, and I got haircuts’.
You twist your ankle to the side as you look down - first at the bright white socks going half way up your hairless calf, and then at the shoes – one of the soles lifted slightly off the ground at an angle so you see the scuffed white banding and worn red material its made of.
“Does that mean if I put baby booties on?” your now higher pitched voice trails off at the thought of becoming someone so young. “Oh my god, I can do so much with these” you realize with audible awe, staring again but now in reverence at the magic socks wrapped around your feet. The possibilities are almost endless – you can become other people, other people at other ages – hell the instructions said something about transforming without even becoming other people, ‘this is amazing’ is all you seem to be able to think.
“Wait!” your eyes narrow on the socks with sudden suspicious, “how long have I been wearing them?”, remembering with alarm that the instructions said the transformation would take ten minutes, and then mental changes would start. The transformation definitely looks like its finished now.
‘I need to get these off before I become an idiot’. You heft your left leg up and grab at the shoe, roughly pulling it off and dropping it to the floor. Then do the same with your right, having to hop in place to keep your balance as you try to get the other one off. ‘The last thing the world needs is two Benjamin Moores’.
Shoes now jettisoned to the floor, you scrunch your toes against the carpet, feeling the socks bunch up between your toes and sole. “Hopefully that’s all I need to do to stop it” you quietly huff, and take a half step back - just in case. But then you're confronted with a new problem, a whole set of new problems – what the hell do you do now? You're stuck like this for a couple of hours.
Your eyes drift back to the image in the mirror - a strand of hair falling in front of your face, on instinct you move to brush it back behind your ear - as you watch the natural looking action you realize that to any outside observer you would simply be seen as Benji.
‘Well, except for the baggy clothes’ you internally grumble, grabbing at the waist of the now over sized shorts through your t-shirt and hike them up.
“Although, that’s actually an easy problem to fix”, your head swivels and stares past your open bedroom door – to the other bedroom that lay across the hall.
You move towards your brothers bedroom - experiencing for the first time in a long time shorter strides - but stop before entering, remembering the state you found it in earlier, the mess, the food on the floor. You decide its probably best to take the socks off – apart from not wanting to take any chances with them touching something and triggering some sort of magic, you also don’t want to get them filthy – so squeezing them firmly in hand (they really are very soft) you move in to the room and survey your options.
Nothing you’re wearing fits properly, so your going to need to borrow a whole new outfit. You move to his dresser, pulling open the top drawer and reach in to remove a pair of what seem to be generically branded long length boxer briefs. Pausing, hand resting on the smooth undergarment you second guess yourself, ‘am I really going to wear someone else's underwear? my brothers underwear?’, you gingerly lift them up to your face and sniff twice, ‘they smell clean at least'. With a small sigh the decision is made - you pick them up and close the drawer.
Continuing on, from the next drawer you grab a pair of mismatched ankle socks, ‘typical Ben’ you think with an almost fond sigh - he's made being an uncoordinated mess his style. From the third draw in the stack you pluck a plain white short sleeve t-shirt, a smaller equivalent to the one you're already wearing.
Initially planning to root around in his closet you stop when you almost stand on a small pile of clothing – sat on the top are a pair of black cargo shorts – a small mumble of “eh - they’ll do”. As you lift them a basketball jersey tangled inside one of the legs falls out – royal blue with bright yellow trim – you know its design, both you and Benji have the same top.
Both purchased as gifts by your dad, hoping his boys would follow suit and support his team – no such luck in your case, and actually you weren't sure if Benji wore it for any reason other than fashion. He didn’t seem to have any interest in basketball the sport.
‘I’ve never really worn mine … now or never I guess?’, you pick it up and add it to the pile of clothing you've collected, and then carefully navigate through the mess, heading back across the hall.
You aren't sure quite when it started, but you seem to have developed a strange sense of excitement - as you grab your t-shirt and pull it up over your head you’re almost giddy. You don't think you've ever worn anyone else's clothes before - even if you technically aren't you right now.
You tug the waistband of the shorts down slightly, then leave it to gravity to do the rest, the material falling down your thinner shorter legs on their own. You give your wrinkled, slightly damp boxers the same treatment, and they too descend to the floor.
Staring down the length of your body, you take in the sight of a much younger person than you saw not even an hour ago in the shower. The most obvious thing is the lack of hair – you weren't exactly a gorilla normally, but there was a bit in the center of your chest, a treasure trail, at your groin, and your legs were modestly covered. Now all there seemed to be was wisps around your dick and at your ankles.
‘Is this weird? Yes this is weird. Am I weird?’ you almost feel like you should be chastising yourself for enjoying this, for finding it interesting, maybe even fun. It isn't your body after all – you cant imagine your younger brother would appreciate you evaluating quite how far into puberty he was, how small his dick is.
It's not quite standing to full attention (you don't think), but it isn't disinterested in what's going on either. You grab it lightly and give an experimental tug, a few small pumps in quick succession - and a full body shiver is your reward. Taking a moment to recover, you then look down and chuckle to yourself, “no wonder he’s been so obsessed”.
You enjoy masturbating, every guy enjoys masturbating, but maybe its time or hormones or whatever but after a while it stops feeling quite like that.
In your head there's a battle over what to do – get dressed, or go to the mirror to take a closer look – this is such a weird situation to be in, is it so wrong to almost be enjoying it? Then you hear the door slamming closed downstairs, and the decision has been abruptly made for you.
“Shit” you hiss to yourself, Benji must have finally come home. How is it younger siblings always seem to have the worst timing?
You quickly grab at the pile of clothes you’ve borrowed, pulling the boxers on first; then putting your head in the neck hole of the t-shirt and flailing in your urgency to get your arms placed through and out their own designated openings.
You roughly smooth the wrinkled cotton down your stomach before stepping into the shorts laying crumpled on the floor. You yank them up, the material is tough and slightly rough as it brushes up your legs, but then you involuntarily wince and have to shake your leg slightly to free your trapped balls from where in your haste you’d caught them.
Finally you grab the socks, one two tone gray at the toes and heel, the other plain black – holding them between thumb and index finger with both hands, balancing as carefully as you can, you slip each in turn on to your feet.
In record time you've managed to dress yourself – you can hear movement downstairs, but it doesn’t seem like Benji is trying to find you, so perhaps you have a few moments.
‘How the hell do I explain this? Hey, bro, I’m you now!’ a mental image of Benji staring at you slack jawed is both amusing and unhelpful.
‘Maybe I can hide…’ you first look at your closet, then under your bed – neither represent good options, but more importantly if he cant find you, he’ll call your mom, and then you'll have a whole new problem. ‘I’m just going to have to talk to him’, as the thought settles firmly in your mind you hear shouting from downstairs.
“Hey! Hey, uh Nate? You here?” there’s a pause and the sound of further movement “I need your help with something … but you have to promise not to tell mom and dad!” that last part sounded slightly panicked – never a good sign. You draw yourself up (as much as you can, now being maybe 5’1) and prepare to face your brother.
As you turn to leave the room, you spot the jersey still on the floor – you really did want to try it on – so you grab it quickly and shove your arms through, then pull it over your head, heading out the door into the hallway.
“I’m here! I wont tell them - if you promise not to freak out” you shout from the top of the stairs, trying your best to sound calm and authoritative, whilst pensively peering down to see if you can spot him below.
“You sound weird - can you come here real quick?” comes the confused reply, slightly muffled, so he’s in maybe the living room, or the kitchen.
‘You don’t know the half of it’ is all you can think as you grimace and slowly decent the stairs – apparently trying to lower your voice doesn’t really work if your voice hasn't actually dropped yet.