Rodrick had thought that anything would be better than being forced to suffer through another day viewed through his father, but he hadn't counted on how bereft he'd feel without the ability to see through a human pair of eyes.
Rigby had deposited him in the laundry basket, alongside the rest of his dirty, sweat-stained clothes, and Rodrick had quickly become bored. Even with all of his senses turned on, the laundry basket was dark and silent bar the occasional noises echoing from the living room as his parents settled down to watch television. Once the TV had been turned off, Rodrick had nothing to occupy himself with other than his own thoughts.
He found himself wondering what he'd look like if he transformed back now. How much more similar would he be to his dad? Would the transformation brought on by Mr. Grimaldi be reverted, now that Rodrick had found himself in contact with his own father, or would his body change even further from its previously pudgy state?
With mounting horror, Rodrick found himself imagining what he'd look like. Would he have his dad's round gut? His hair? Would he start balding?
So preoccupied was he that he nearly missed the familiar tingling that signaled a change. The swooping feeling of vertigo as he quickly outgrew the laundry basket was hard to ignore, and Rodrick soon found himself toppling over with a muffled curse and a crash. The rubbery feeling in his limbs slowly faded as his body stabilized, but his mouth was slower on the uptake, tasting of old cotton, stale sweat, and a sharp salty tang that Rodrick tried his best not to think hard about.
Stumbling up from where he'd been sprawled on the floor, Rodrick found himself frozen in front of the mirror. He'd thought the changes he'd undergone while worn by Mr. Grimaldi were absolutely horrible, but they didn't even hold a candle to the transformation that being worn by his dad had inspired.
The man staring back at Rodrick from the mirror bore no resemblance to a high schooler - rather, he seemed to be in his thirties, if the jowls, the gray in his hair, and the pronounced receded hairline were any indication. His unkept stubble had grown out even more, into a messy short-length beard speckled with gray, and turning around revealed a pronounced bald spot at the back of his head. The only upside was that his hair had settled back to something more closely resembling his original golden blond, but, in doing so, had apparently decided to bequeath him his father's generous body hair as well as his skintone. Rodrick's even, bronze complexion had been overtaken by the ruddy tan of a labourer, darker on his limbs and face and paler on his torso.
A carpet of sweaty, dark blonde hair on his chest led down to his groin via a thick treasure trail, his pubes overgrown and matted with sweat. His body, too, had been subjected to more changes. Gone were the remnants of the Rodrick's gym-honed, aesthetic proportions; his upper body was now built for pure strength, brawny and massive. A quick flex revealed the impressive muscles of his biceps and triceps, hidden as they were beneath their forest of hair, much larger than the leaner and refined muscles Rodrick had painstakingly honed.
Unflexed, however, his arms were pure mass, completely devoid of definition. The vascularity he'd worked so hard to perfect had been completely covered by Rigby's not insignificant fat, and the same applied to his torso. While his pecs were still square, they drooped noticeably onto his larger gut, only slightly smaller than his father's and just as taut. Rodrick had to fight back shivers of disgust when he felt his whole body jiggle as he shifted around to get a closer look at his changes.
Stepping back to survey his lower body, the last vestiges of Rodrick's hope faded His legs hadn't been exempt, and the same, Rodrick discovered with quickly growing revulsion, applied to his back. Messy whorls of hair covered his broader shoulders, leading down to a set of quite prodigious love handles held up by a pair of tree-trunk thighs. Rodrick nearly gagged when his eyes landed on the sprinkling of hair between his larger, thicker ass cheeks, rounded with muscle yet ever so slightly saggy. Even his endowment had suffered some changes - rather than the medium length, slender organ Rodrick was used to seeing (and screwing girls with), his new appendage was thicker than a beer can and even longer, drooping halfway down his fat-laden thigh with a set of ponderous testicles to match.
Rodrick wanted to throw up.
Righting the overturned laundry basket, he quickly rummaged through it in an attempt to cover up his new bulk, thinking it might be easier to handle if he wasn't immediately confronted with the evidence of his profound changes. Rodrick did his best to ignore the way he could feel every action reverbrating through his body, his gut jiggling ever so slightly from side to side with every movement he made. Much to his disgust, the only clothes in the hamper were Rigby's reeking construction garb, and Rodrick had to settle for his dad's sweat-soaked pants. He had to fight a full-body shudder of disgust at the way the remainders of his father's stale, damp sweat streaked across his skin.
When he surveyed himself in the mirror, Rodrick felt even more disheartened than before. Though his face still looked like his own, his size and his age made him look much more like Rigby's younger brother than his son, with his brawny, hairy arms, his drooping pecs, and the taut gut hanging over his waistband. The illusion was only further perpetuated by his father's clothes, tight over his thicker legs, serving to highlight just how bulky his body now was.
A rumbling of hunger in his stomach told Rodrick that his similarities to Rigby didn't stop at the purely physical. With a sinking feeling in his newly ponderous belly he realized that he couldn't stay in his home and risk being worn again by his father. If the changes weren't limited only to his body, Rodrick knew there was no indication that his mind wouldn't be the next thing affected by the transformation. The dread slowly churning in his gut only mounted when he realized that he couldn't remember what he'd learned in school only the day before, instead being confronted with visions of jackhammers and welding torches that seemed eerily familiar.
With a deep grunt, deeper than Rodrick ever remembered himself making, he opened the window and squeezed his bulky body through. He landed on the ground with an ungraceful thud, unused as he was to carrying around his new mass, and managed to lever himself over the fence and into the neighbours' back yard. Though his body was still a source of revulsion, ungainly and foreign, Rodrick found himself developing a grudging appreciation of his old man's strength. Though now he definitely weighed upwards of 250 pounds, the muscles his father had passed on to him were powerful enough to raise his significant weight without much strain at all.
He absently scratched between his legs, striding around the darkened backyard he found himself in. His sense of direction had been screwed up by the night, but he quickly recognized the house as belonging to Mr. Carver. Rodrick had mowed the lawn there several times when he was in middle school, back when the house had belonged to the elderly couple that were its previous owners.
Still scratching at his larger package, Rodrick crept towards the windows. Mr. Carver lived alone, so if he could sneak in and find a place to hide, during the day he could-
Rodrick tripped over himself, but instead of the resounding thud he was expecting he barely made any noise at all. Much too late he remembered the itching around his groin - a clear sign of an upcoming transformation. Struggle though he might, he couldn't prop himself up anymore. He collapsed onto the ground as his body slowly folded back in on itself, the taste of cotton filling his mouth once more.