On your way home, you take a closer look at the socks you've purchased. At first glance they appear to be ordinary, white, crew socks with a green seam at the toe. However, what attracted you to them in the first place was what appeared to be green pinstripes running vertically down the neck of the sock. You'd never seen anything quite like them. So, even if they turned out to be ordinary socks, you wouldn't mind just having them as they were.
It wasn't long before you arrived home. Your little brother was at home watching TV and, judging by the lack of vehicles in the driveway, both your parents were out.
"Hey, Tim!" you call out to your brother. "Have you seen Dad's shoes anywhere?"
Your brother brother pokes his head out of the living room. "No. He's probably wearing them. Why?
You shrug. "Oh, no reason." You try to brush him off and make your way to your parents room, when Tim snatches the back with the socks out of your hands. "Hey!"
Tim peers into the sack. "What'd you get? Is it for me?"
You put your kid brother into a headlock and pry the back from his hands. "No, idiot! Hands off my things!" At 15, you can't help but find your 10 year old brother to be the most annoying person you know.
"Alright, alright! Lemme go!"
You release your brother, who scowls at you before going back to the living room. "I just wanted to see what it was..."
You hear a thump and see the socks have fallen out of a newly formed hole in the plastic bag and onto the floor. Sighing, you pick them up and make your way to your parents' bedroom. Brothers can be so aggravating sometimes.
Once there, you feel around under your parents' bed. When you were Tim's age, you used to search around like this looking for early Christmas presents. Your parents were always too smart for you, though. You never did find out where they hid the things.
Your hand brushes against something suede. You pull out one loafer, then the other. Jackpot! You recognized these as your dad's shoes he wore when going to family get-togethers. You quickly go into your parents' bathroom and lock the door behind you so your annoying brother can't butt in. You quickly pry off your own shoes and socks and slip on your new socks. They have that wonderful new sock feel, nice and soft. They almost feel like they were perfectly sized just for your feet, odd since they had no indication of what size they were meant for on them.
You pull on your dad's loafers, feeling a little excited. You try and remind yourself that these were almost definitely fake and you shouldn't get your hopes up. But there's still that little glimmer of excitement. As a teen, you've begun thinking about what it was like being at adult. Your dad had just turned 40, so he seemed like a good target to test the socks on.
You sit on the toilet lid, your besocked feet in your dad's over-sized, tan suede shoes. About a minute goes by, and your excitement begins to drop. Of course nothing would happen. There were no such thing as magic socks. You were foolish to even begin believing such a thing. Disappointed, you reach down to remove your dad's shoes. You freeze.
You notice the hair on the back of your arms seems darker and thicker than before. Could it just be your imagination? You are in the midst of puberty, after all. Your dad was a hairy enough guy, it stood to reason you would be, too. But still, you don't recall your arm hair being quite this dark and thick earlier that day. You stand up and walk to your parents' bathroom mirror. As you do, you note the loafers don't slip and slide around on your feet as much as they had before. You see yourself in the mirror. You don't look any different than from that morning. Maybe you were only imagining things. Although, perhaps your hair was a few shades darker? You got your hair color form your mom, a light, sandy brown. Your dad had dark, black hair, with some grey peppered at his temples. You look down at your hands. They seem bigger to you, and hair seems to have coated the backs of them, the hair on your arms looking even darker and thicker than before. They ground appears to slowly be moving away from you and you realize you're actually growing in height. You feel your pulse begin to race. You're actually changing!
Your clothes begin to feel constricting as your frame enlarges. Your dad had a fair amount of muscle on him and it begins to show on you as your pecs begin pushing out and biceps enlarge. With some difficulty, you manage to tug off your shirt, not wanting it to get destroyed. You liked that shirt. Your pants were another matter, though. You could feel them constricting, but you don't think you'll be able to pull them off over your father's shoes, which now fit perfectly, or at least as perfectly as they fit your dad. Looking back at the mirror, you can see your chest get swept up in a coating of hair, which also blanketed your stomach. The hair on your arms reached its peak thickness and spread up to lightly coat your upper arms and then down to touch upon your back. You could see your facial features begin to shift ever so slightly. Your ears shrink a bit, you nose elongates ever slightly, and your jawline becomes more square-ish. Stubble coates your jaw and a goatee and mustache grace your face. You almost look the very picture of your father. Your hands roughen and weather and callouses cover your palms, faint lines etch themselves into your forehead and around your eyes, and grey begins to sprinkle in on you chin and at your temples. You notice your hairline recede a good few inches, enlarging you forehead. Your pants finally give up the ghost, the button snapping and zipper ripping and your stomach bloats out some, giving your a beer belly. A thin layer of softness spreads long your body and your jawline softens some, almost giving you a second chin.
You can't believe your eyes as you look into the mirror. You look exactly like your father!
"Woah..."
You're startled by your own voice. You even sound like your father. You turn a circle in front of the mirror, trying your best to look at yourself from all angles. You cup your new beer belly, stroke you facial and chest hair, and run a hand through your receded hairline. This was unreal. You were your dad!
Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and closing.
"I'm home!" your hear your dad call out.