The shower felt great, and Ian stayed in it longer than he planed. Exiting the shower he grabbed a towel and dried off. Then saw himself in the mirror: fat, tired looking eyes, a thinning spot in his hair he still denied, body hair with spots of white. And his ankle was still hurting. And he felt a headache coming on from the release of tension brought about by the shower. He took two aspirin and brushed his teeth, nearly knocking the jars off the counter.
'What the heck. After all I paid for the stuff and what's the worst which can happen?' Ian reasoned, opening all three jars and experimentally sniffing each in turn. The contents of the blue jar smelled like the air just after a rainstorm: clean, fresh, and maybe some ozone. The red jar smelled spicy, with a hint of cinnamon and copper. The jar covered in green paper had a hard to place smell: somehow it reminded Ian of spring, fresh and new growth. All three seemed appealing
Ian eagerly rubbed all three all over his body, careful not to miss even a millimeter, not even his eyelids. The ointments seemed to soak into his skin almost immediately, leaving a pleasant, warm sensation which both relaxed and invigorated him. Stretching, Ian noticed that he was a little late for bed.
Grimacing, he hurried into his bedroom and grabbed a clean t-shirt and pair of boxers and crawled into bed, falling asleep almost before he turned off the light.
His dreams were clear and vivid. The last one of the night had him back in either college, high school or junior high/middle school. He was in some sort of computer lab, having trouble with some program or another when a girl a little older than him came over to help. Somehow they wound up under some bushes on the edge of the school property (Ian vaguely noted that there were no such bushes at any of the schools he'd attended, then quickly dismissed the thought.) They started kissing each other, hands roaming, clothes coming off, sex---
Ian had a very realistic climax and awoke to his messy apartment.
“Wow!” he breathed. He hadn't had a dream like that since-- he wasn't certain how long. He felt a slowly fading erection and something sticky around his crotch and up his abdomen....
“SHIT!” he swore, throwing the covers off. A stain was on his boxers and up his t-shirt! And when was the last time THAT had happened.
Getting out of bed he stumbled as he suddenly felt light headed, as if his high blood pressure had suddenly reversed itself. Steadying himself, he realized that, somehow, his boxers had fallen to around his ankles, and his still partially erect cock was rubbing his t-shirt, as were his balls.
“Wh-a-at?” Ian asked allowed, his voice growing scratchy in the middle of the word. He tried to repeat the word, and couldn't get his voice to work at all. Now his dick was once more fully erect as, confused, his body triggered the “fight or flight” reflex. He tried one more time to say “What?” and still could talk.
Bending down to grab his boxers, Ian noticed bending was easier, and his stomach wasn't getting in the way. Then he noticed his legs looked skinny, and hairless.
Blinking, he straightened, and pulled off his, now that he noticed, tent-like t-shirt. A sunken chest displaying all its ribs greeted him, a stomach displaying all of its, unimpressive, abdominal muscles. Below that was a bony waist, an almost hairless set of genitalia (which almost looked big, compared to the rest of him, but he quickly realized weren't), then some bony, hairless legs.
Rubbing his face, Ian took another look. He HAD to have been mistaken!
But his second look only confirmed what he'd just seen, and added a pair of thin, vein covered arms, bony shoulders, and delicate looking, bony hands.
Incoherent thoughts raced through Ian's mind, and he hurried to a mirror.
A young kid, barely a teen, showed as his reflection. His youthful face lacked even peach fuzz, and looked nearly feminine. Maybe more than nearly... Bright red hair, bright enough to possibly be dyed, with a dark blue streak through it, fell past his ears, fell well over his left eye to nearly his chin. On the right, bangs came down to just above his eye. His eyes were a clear, vivid green.
“I? What? Huh?” Ian asked, noticing now that his voice even seemed young, as if in the very early stages of changing, and felt like it was going to crack at any moment.
His clock radio came on. Spinning, he stared at it. His dick felt rigid, apparently confusing confusion with arousal.
“I can't go in-to wo-rk like this!” Ian realized, his voice cracking. He couldn't think clearly, and finally headed into the bathroom, and somehow found himself masturbating in front of the toilet, trying to calm himself down enough to think.
Minutes later he came, and felt guilty for masturbating when he should have been figuring out what to do. Also he was very conscious he'd left the door open, even though he lived alone.
'I've got to call in to work,' he decided. That was what should come first-- although he was really, REALLY hungry!
Grabbing some cereal, a disposable spoon and bowl, (fat free) milk and artificial sweetener, Ian sat down in front of the telephone and called the “sick line” for work. He tried to make his voice sound deeper. Luckily it only cracked once while he was on the phone.
He wasn't certain how he was going to get the doctor's note work required whenever someone called in. He'd have to work that out, eventually.
Finishing his third bowl of cereal Ian tried to think what could possibly have happened to him. His eyes grew wide.
THAT'S RIGHT! He'd gone to the weird old Chinese guy's store! He'd rubbed that gunk in those jars on himself.
He went into his bathroom and found the jars where he'd left them. None of them had any writing, Chinese or English, on them. Tentatively, he sniffed each one again. They smelled the way he'd remembered them, although slightly less alluring. Still, they smelled good.
Ian figured he needed to go and see the Chinese guy. He wondered if he could remember where the store was. He also wondered what he'd wear. He wasn't certain he'd EVER been this skinny, and he was really shorter, too. He was pretty sure he had some drawstring swim trunk somewhere..., could they be made small enough?
Digging through his clothes Ian found his smallest pair of swim trunks and put them on. He had an insane amount of extra drawstring when he tied them, a huge amount of material bunched up around his waist, and the legs came down below his knees. Putting on his smallest t-shirt was no better-- it looked like he was wearing a dress and one or the other of his shoulders wanted to slip through the neck opening. Taking a look as his shoes and socks Ian gave up even before putting anything on. It was obvious none of his shoes would fit, and probably not any of his socks, either.
He went to his bathroom and collected the jars.
Looking at them he was struck with a strange thought: What would happen if he rubbed more of the stuff on himself...?