George grumbles and gestures for you go follow him. He leads you to a bathroom just across the hall from his room. You see, sitting prominently on the counter next to the sink, a fresh can of shaving cream and a razor.
George glowers at you. "Colby's not the only one who can grow facial hair, you know."
You glance between the shaving supplies and George. "But, your dad said."
George rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I know what my dad said. He didn't want to to think you were the last one to be able to grow facial hair."
You peer closer at your friends jawline, looking for any sign of stubble.
George notices your attempt at finding his facial hair. "It's not that dark and I only need to shave it, like, once a week, but it's there. Look, are you really surprised? I mean, you know who my dad is, right?"
You nod, conceding the point. It really wasn't surprising given the evidence. Still, as hairy as your dad was you'd have hoped your weedy teen body could develop hair on its own without magical assisstance. When you look into the bathroom mirror, you have to suppress a grin at seeing the thickening stubble adorning your chin. You know your accelerated development is bad, but you can't help but feel it as fitting.
You expertly spritz some of the shaving cream only your hand and lather it onto your cheeks. George heads back to his room to give you some privacy. After a few strokes, you clear away the stubble on your cheeks and jawline, leaving it on your chin. As you admire your face, you think it might look a little more mature since you were in George's room a few minutes ago. Perhaps you were imagining it. Your hair looks like it might be a little darker. You think you can make out a shadow of stubble on your upper lip. You hadn't shaved your upper lip. Perhaps you ought to? No time for that, now. The longer you waited, the worse it got.
"I'm ready, George." You're surprised, and secretly pleased, at how deep your voice sounds. Tim was right, you were sounding just like your dad.
George steps in and studies your face. "Alright, that'll have to do. Let's go. Just stand behind me and Colby and let me do all the talking."
The three of you clamber down the stairs into the kitchen, where George's mom is reading the newspaper, away from the noise of the television playing cartoons. You bend your knees and hunch over a little, trying to look shorter and smaller. She looks up form her paper at the three of you.
George smiles sweetly at his mother. "Hi, Mom." You cringe a little inside. If you were his parent, you would immediately know something was wrong.
His mom slowly raises a single eyebrow. "Yes...?"
"Er, where's Dad?"
She lowers her newspaper, glancing between the three of you. "He's in the shop working on some project of his. Is something wrong?"
George feigns ignorance. Badly. "What? Wrong? No! Why would you think that?"
You decide to step in before things could get worse. "I was wondering if I could head home and fetch a video game of mine so we could all play it together. We'll be really quick, I promise."
She gives you an odd look before glancing at George. "Oh, I don't know. George is still grounded from coming home so late last night..."
George decides to give it another go. "Please, mom? We'll for, like, 20 minutes. 30, tops."
She eyes him suspiciously. "I suppose it can't hurt anything."
George visibly relaxes.
"On one condition. You take your father with you."
George's eyebrows shoot up, his mouth agape. "But, mom!"
She glowers at him, a technique you are quite familiar with, and have successfully pulled off on many occasions. Well, your father did, anyway. "No arguments, George."
He sighs and looks at the two of you. You shrug. "As long as we're quick it shouldn't matter."
George grimaces. "Alright..."
The three of you head out to the shop George's dad keeps out back. Inside is a myriad of woodworking tools of varying sizes. Mounted on the walls are beautiful, wooden decorations of all shapes, sizes, and colors. All the different colors were form the various woods George's father used in his crafting, bringing out the natural beauty of the materials he worked with.
The large man looks up from his current project. It's still in its early stages so it's difficult to tell what it's supposed to be, but it's fairly tall. George explains the situation which, of course, illicit a boisterous laugh from the man. Seriously, you were pretty sure there wasn't anything this man wouldn't find funny. He agrees to accompany you all to your house.
The three of you immediately go to his car. At least this would speed things up a little. Any time that you can manage to save would sure help in the long run.
George's dad laughs as he lumbers toward the three of you. "What do you three think yer doin'?"
George, confused, looks back at his father. "Aren't we taking the car?"
George's dad laughs again and pats his large belly. "Do I look like I need to ride in a car? Nah, we're gonna walk if that's fine with you. I need all the exercise I can get I my age."
George, wide-eyed, glances between you and his father. "W-walk? Can't we just drive there?"
You give George a reassuring pat on the shoulder. "It's fine, George. We can walk."
-----------------------------------
You're beginning to wonder if the universe was purposefully having fun with you. Even when things look like they're going your way, they don't. Needless to say, taking the large man with you was slowing you guys down by a lot. You'd tried walking ahead, but the big man chastised you, warning you from getting too far away from him. It was only supposed to take 15 minutes to get to your house. It had been 15 minutes and you were only a little past halfway there.
You can feel George's clothes are beginning to feel tight on you. Your dad was no bodybuilder, but he was certainly muscular. You can feel your frame slowly growing, filling your friend's clothes to capacity. You nervously rub your arms, feeling the hair on them, thicker than it had been since you'd left George's house. You also experimentally rub your cheeks. You're surprised to find much of the stubble you shaved away has already grown back, thicker than before. You feel your chin, feeling the prickly beginnings of a goatee. Even you mustache is beginning to grow out. You're careful to walk in front of George's dad and not let him see your face. Something else you've noticed is an odd tightness in the shirt's midsection. You can see a slight curve in your abdomen where there hadn't been one before. You experimentally pinch at it. While it's still firm with muscle, there is a subtle softness to it, the beginnings of your dad's beer gut.
Thankfully, you can just make out your house in the distance, at the end of the street. In about 10 or so minutes you would be there, and you can finally put on those socks.