Of Leaf And Lust Arc 02

= ARDEN

I rummaged around the drawers in my room's desk, flinging crap everywhere without a care for the mess it made. Pencils, pens, papers, notebooks and more rained down onto the carpet to join the pillow Amerys had cast aside a lifetime ago. I could clean it up later. Time was limited.

"Where is it? I swore it was in here," I mumbled to myself.

How long had it been since I last used them? I knew they were around here somewhere. My third pencil case rattled on the floor after I chucked it out of the way.

Finally, in the last drawer, because it

always

has to be the last possible location, I picked up a small magnetic compass I used for camping and a protractor I used for geometry class. To think they would be what I needed in this moment blew my mind just a bit.

School being useful? Weird.

I went out the back door into the yard. My magical barrier against the cold asserted itself and kept me cozy warm. A gentle wind kicked up snow flurries and rattled the bare branches on the trees. The sky was clear and bright and blue and beautiful.

Being back outside soothed me. The air was 'dryer' in terms of magic as compared to last night. I guessed the slumber of winter made it so plants released less free essence into the air. But with how much my sisters had drained me for breakfast, my depleted core greedily absorbed the nature essence with little conscious input on my part.

While I trekked across our property barefoot a particularly pointy branch stabbed me in the foot. I winced in pain then lifted my foot to inspect the damage. Thankfully no puncture wound. A quick adjustment to my barrier and my magical onesie gained thicker soles for protection. Gingerly stepping on the branch again proved the efficacy of my spell.

Magic is awesome

. Then my mood soured upon remembering Rhea's revelation.

Some magic is awesome

, I mentally corrected.

I arrived to the corner of our property, staying behind the cover of some shrubs. Having neighbors see my ill-dressed self risked a call to child protection services. Or maybe the cops. The lack of shoes really drove the image home.

Waiting for the compass dial to settle on north, I took a deep breath of crisp air to calm myself. I focused on my inner world. My bonds came to fore.

My slave bonds

, my thoughts provided. I let the errant mental burr pass by as I relaxed into meditation. Now wasn't the time to address that.

My connection to Amerys still projected gentle loving happiness. Esmera had calmed some from her earlier tantrum now that she slept more. At least they both weren't blasting horny at eleven out of ten. Being out of the house helped me, I think.

I guided my consciousness to focus on the last connection, the weakest one. It felt blurry and out of focus. But it was there.

For a long time I stood there, trying to bring clarity to the bond. It resulted in a vague pull sourced from distance unknown. I slowly rotated my head until I got the impression that I faced the direction of the pull. Bringing my arm up to run parallel to where my head aimed, I opened my eyes.

Now came the protractor's job. I measured the deviation from the north provided by the compass and noted it down in my phone along with my location.

I repeated the trick on the opposite side of our property and frowned at the result. The angles were close enough that it could be written off as errors in my measurement. That meant mom was far.

Triangulation required either precise measurements or sufficient distance between every point to give distinct angles. Since I didn't have the former, I needed to acquire the latter.

Rhea assured me that her and Vandis' report for the DMA wrote off the blip of essence as nothing of importance. Just a plant fart or something. Happened all the time, according to her. Unless if some desperate alchemist sought a single mediocre magic ingredient, our home would be ignored. That still left behind two data points in their system pointing to us as persons of interest, even if mildy. Two more than I would have liked to exist.

She lacked access to remove them entirely. And of course requesting such a change would just throw even more red flags. We just had to live with the data existing.

After Rhea left I had swept the house looking for any bugs she planted but found none. That lead me to trust her a smidge more. My prejudice against the fae as well as her own admission that the binding I established was useless made true trust basically impossible. Only her fear of my family's retribution and the treasure I promised seemed to keep her in line.

But finding mom was my current priority. She held the answers I needed. I couldn't sense her weak connection with the twins breathing down my neck and demanding their next injection of Hot Arden Jelly (name pending). Together that spelled solo road trip.

I doubted I could put up any worthwhile resistance if the home was actually attacked. I stuck with that justification for leaving my sisters defenseless. Though Amerys' tail alone could probably kick a lot of ass.

Regardless, I think I personally needed some space to breathe. Too many horny hormones were soaking in my brain. I was sure my sisters cheered on the process of turning me into a mindless creature designed to fuck, but I cherished my sense of self.

After leaving a note and a text message telling them of the note, I realized my current clothing choice wouldn't suffice for actually interacting with people. That left me trawling through mom's closet for something more suited towards my new proportions. Part of me derided myself for not thinking of it sooner. Wearing proper clothes would have made the encounter with the siren a little less harrowing.

A different part felt dirty going through mom's drawers. Living in a home with three women got me used to seeing their laundry, but the drawer was different. Something about seeing a whole stack of neatly folded panties just screamed taboo. Not that I would touch them or give them more than a passing glance at their frilly little accents.

Palpable relief came in the form of shedding my current clothing. I could finally take a full breath again without fighting my shirt's constriction. I wiggled on a pair of black leggings. Once again my endowment proved to be a pain to deal with. At least this piece of clothing was designed for someone with thicker thighs and ass. It took some wrangling but I managed to stuff my cock down one of the legs and pile my testicles in the extra room.

I still bulged ridiculously, found it too snug in the groin, and the waistband didn't really sit on my hips well, but after rolling up the cuffs a bit it fit well enough. Hopefully these weren't one of her better pairs because I definitely stretched out the front on this one. Together with a blue long-sleeved shirt and a black jacket I completed my cross-dressing adventure.

Other than the leggings I didn't think they looked particularly feminine in cut. Though I guess the chest on the shirt expected someone with breasts. It sagged loosely on the front.

The saving grace of the outfit was the jacket. It was oversized enough to cover my groin. And it had pockets, a welcome discovery after I noticed the leggings had none. Today I represented the weirdos of the world who wore sandals in the winter since that was the only footwear of my mom's that somewhat fit my feet.

I absentmindedly got into the car my normal way, nearly smashing my head into the door frame. My eyebrows practically touched the metal. This sudden change in stature was going to take a while to feel natural.

"Fuck," I yelped.

I was concentrating so hard on not hitting my head that I sat on my balls again. An arduous amount of adjustment later, I managed to sit with my knees splayed wide. As much as guys had unrealistic dreams of larger endowments, hauling it all around wasn't fun. Well, there was large and then there was whatever weapon swung between my legs.

Wait, if magic exists, then does space magic also exist?

I saw agent Vandis' bracer light up when he cast a spell. That meant enchanting exists. Could someone out there make a pair of underwear with a built-in bag of holding for my cock and balls?

I've decided. If it exists, that's going to be my first magical artifact: dimensional underwear.

For the first time in my life I had to find the lever on the bottom of the seat to move it back. As much as everything else in my life had turned topsy-turvy, I had achieved one fantasy -- to be taller. The dashboard was so easy to see over now. Mirrors needed adjusting too. More than towering over Esmera, all these little things together cemented my change in stature as real. It brought a smile to my face.

It lasted until I recalled mom's illusion of my birth parents. Could my father even fit in a car? Worries for later, I supposed. How many were on the pile now? I had lost count.

The overnight dusting was light enough that most of it had already blown off the roads or melted, making for easy driving. I dreaded the first stop on my trip: shopping for clothes.

My trip out of the boonies where we lived to the thrift store in town took very little time. Sunday traffic was nonexistent. Not that such a small town really knew the definition of traffic or I had ever experienced it outside of the rush to leave the school parking lot. Pictures of Los Angeles in rush hour were the closest I got.

Mom never took us to any big cities. Now I better understood her reasoning behind that decree. To think I had been hiding all my life and didn't even know it. Hide and seek champions for eighteen years. What a record to lose just because I wanted to reassure my mom.

Rhea offered no answers to hiding better than we already did. Most mages preferred to live in larger cities so they had enough populace to form communities. Being a hermit was definitely discouraged, if not actively prevented. But humans known to be under the influence of a succubus? Kill on sight, according to Rhea. Considered too dangerous to live and accomplices of a threat to magekind.

Before I got out of the car in the parking lot I made another triangulation note. Disturbingly, despite having driven westward for several miles, the angle barely changed, if at all. Maybe a smidge more northerly? It spoke to just how far mom traveled. What drove her so far away? Or did someone capture her and move her away afterwards?

I tamped down the rampant speculation. I felt like my mind had been going in circles ever since Rhea upended my world view.

I have a plan. Stick with it.

My heart hammered away at the thought of being seen out in public. It was a small town. Odds were high someone would recognize me and ask more questions than I wanted to answer. Namely, any. Zero was the correct amount of questions, thank you.

I looked at myself in the rearview mirror. My wavy black hair was already messy but I frizzed it up even more before putting on a beanie. The result was my bangs partially shielding my eyes. A facemask covered my nose and mouth. Earbuds, secretly connected to nothing, hopefully signaled to others to leave me alone.

Trying my hardest to not think about how I was wearing women's clothing while still doing my best to casually block view of my crotch underneath the oversized jacket, I entered the store. It was a local thrift shop, not one of the name-brand ones since those were all closed on Sunday. The little bell mounted on the door frame jingled to signal my arrival.

My eyes passed over the cashier, an older salt-and-pepper-haired man, who looked up from his phone. He gave me a "hello," which I returned with a nod. I avoided eye contact and pretended to study the hand baskets and carts, eventually deciding to go with neither. I could just carry everything on my own. It wasn't like I needed much. Just a couple shirts and pants that fit would tide me over for now.

Rows upon rows of clothing racks took up a significant portion of the display space. The store was pretty much devoid of customers. The first Sunday into Spring Break didn't exactly scream 'go to the thift store.' Some old white-haired lady was browsing through ancient-style blouses or something.

An employee of the shop trundled around with a cart, occasionally re-racking clothing back in their appropriate spots. Their back was to me at the moment and they wore a loose clothing so I couldn't tell if they were a guy or girl.

By habit I almost sought out the kids' section of clothing. A small spark of joy hit me when I remembered they were too small for me now. I made my way over to the mens' section only to frown at the selection available. Jeans. Everywhere my eye tracked it was jeans except for the racks dedicated to dress clothing.

It made sense for a small town thrift store bordering farming country in the United States. Jeans were durable and universally popular. Of course people would outgrow their waistlines before the jeans frayed to uselessness -- the Wisconsin diet of beer and cheese tended to do that to a person. Unfortunately that didn't help my whole 'I can't fit into pants' situation. Denim wasn't exactly known to be a stretchy material and I definitely needed something with stretch.

Though upon thinking about it more, maybe it was a good thing I didn't find any sweatpants on the racks. This was a thrift store, after all. When mens' sweatpants came to mind, slovenly behavior pushed to the forefront. Days of never leaving the couch while food and grease built up in ever-thicker crusts.

That left buying larger sizes and using a belt to keep them up. The big and tall section. To be seriously considering such clothing dimensions struck me as a surreal experience. Years of unchanging size upended in a couple days after exposure to magic. The legs could be rolled up, so I gravitated towards the biggest they carried. If I was anything like my dad, then custom sizing was on my horizon anyways.

The pants in this area couldn't be clipped onto the hangers the same way as the others were. Their length would have dragged against the floor. I unfurled one to measure it against myself. The cuffs touched the floor when the beltline hung nearly at chest height. A monster of a man must have owned these pants. Even with my increased size I think I could fit myself down just one of the pant legs.

"Can I help you find anything?"

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Some pitiful yelp of alarm came out of me. My whole body twitched by reflex, reorienting myself in a short turning hop towards the one who spooked me. Muscle memory had my gaze tilted upwards. Only after blinking did I realize she was shorter than me. Someone other than Esmera was shorter than me. It wasn't much but having her eyebrows level with my eye line felt like a novel experience, one I hadn't relished since middle school.

I blinked away the shock.

As soon as I laid eyes on her without flight-or-fight clouding my mind I recognized her as the one restocking the shelves. But realizing it was Sandra, my classmate at least some of the time since elementary school, alarmed me more. Well, she was more often Esmera's classmate, part of the turbo nerds acing all the advanced classes.

Her brown hair frizzed from a lack of sufficient hair conditioner. A frumpy sweater hid any semblance of her figure. At least we held that in common, shame of our bodies.

She looked to be straining to keep a straight face over my little freak out. I placed all my hopes on my mask and eclectic outfit to carry me through this potentially deadly situation. Normal humans didn't grow eight inches in two days and I wasn't smart enough to come up with a clever excuse beforehand. I cleared my throat and suppressed my cowardice.

Taking out a single ear bud and mustering my best fake deep voice I responded, "Where are belts and do you have a changing room?"

Also, what are you doing here? I'm a creepy guy in a mask with headphones in.

She rolled with my awkwardness, "Belts are at the end of the aisle with dress clothes and fitting rooms are on the far wall."

She pointed to each one. I said my thanks then pretended to be inspecting the pants again.

"So, pretty big pair, eh?"

What. Did she see? The black leggings conceal me and I don't think the jacket rode up too much.

I risked looking where her eyes tracked. Relief unstitched my heart when she was focused on the

pair

of pants in my hands. Not another prominently big pair.

I threw out the first dumb excuse I conjured, "Yeah, it's for a clown costume. Can't be a clown without oversized pants."

She looked confused and a little weirded out. I secretly agreed. Clowns were weird.

"Halloween's a bit far out."

"Gotta plan ahead. Never know what's going to pop up."

Stupid. Stop making conversation. Just tell her to go away. You're gonna blow it.

She took on a pensive look. "Ah, but you can't be a clown with a belt. Clowns use suspenders!"

"Do they?"

I found myself automatically putting away my ear buds into my jacket pocket.

What are you doing? Are you that starved for normal human interaction?

She nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah, it helps with the bagginess since they stay up but they're still loose."

"How do you know so much about suspenders?"

I give up. This is the sane part of you trying to keep you alive signing out, chief.

"Oh, my dad wears 'em all the time."

"Did you just call your dad a clown?"

She giggled. "I suppose I did. Oh, you need to watch out. Suspenders need special buttons on the inside of the belt line. Lemme see."

Her hands brushed over mine while she flipped the beltline inside-out. They were warm and soft.

"Ah, too bad. There's supposed to be buttons on the inside of the belt line to attach the suspenders through braces. To be fair, clip-on suspenders do exist. Though my dad insists only riff-raff use those."

"Does he seriously use the word 'riff-raff' like a sixties Scooby-Doo villain?"

"He is always ranting about meddling kids. Mostly me."

Hearing a stranger be self-deprecating threw me for a loop, even if she seemed to be joking. I never knew how to respond to that kind of humor. I couldn't agree with her since I didn't know her. Nor could I reject her statement for the same reason. Was she hinting at a truth? Or blithely playing off my reference?

I went with a stiff chuckle and swiftly routed the conversation elsewhere. "Do you even carry clip-on suspenders here? Sounds like a specialty item."

"I'd have to check, but I think we carry a few next to the belts. Anything in particular you're looking for? Color? Size?"

"Black and as big as possible."

"That's what she said." She immediately started giggling.

This time I gave her a much more genuine laugh. The joke was so unexpected I nearly slipped my voice out of its artificial depth. "Nice. I walked into that."

The compliment caused a smile to spread across her face, dimpling her cheeks.

"Are you sure you can search for me? You've got a lot of stuff in your cart."

"There's always more things to stock. A whole warehouse out back, in fact. Helping people is also part of my job."

"Alright. I'm gonna look for some baggy long-sleeves to match. Thanks for the help."

"Yeah, no problem." She trundled off with her cart towards the belts. The wheels sqeaked with every rotation.

I grabbed another oversized pair of pants before heading to the shirt section. On the way I spied the sweatshirts and took a detour. Tons of sports paraphernalia filled the racks, mostly state teams. And true to beer-and-cheese-loving Wisconsin most of them were huge. It didn't fit my fake clown motif but another large baggy piece of clothing to hide me couldn't hurt.

Once again I simply took the largest piece of clothing off the rack and moved on. Go Badgers, I guess. With the bagginess for the top covered, I actually went about searching for a shirt that fit me. Holding them up to compare to my torso suggested men's medium. A medium! To get out of kids' sizing and jump all the way to a medium felt surreal.