Dad's Cigars

You shouldn't have gotten into your dad's cigar stash.

Your dad had always been a huge man, overweight with a huge ball gut, carrying it in front of him everywhere he went. He didn't try to hide it either, even wearing tight shirts that pronounced it, his midriff visible in all of them. A huge cigar couldn't look more at home in his mouth, surrounded by a thick beard the color of the clouds he constantly emmited. His shirts had gained permanent ash stains right under where the tip of the constant stogie hanging in front of him.

It seemed he'd always liked being big: big body, big beard, big cigars. It was something you didn't understand, a question you held with you until you returned home to visit one time. As you watched your dad go through his ritual of taking out a cigar and lighting it, the thought of trying one began to grow. You were of age, after all, why couldn't you try it? You could hear his voice in your head, however, criticizing you for wanting to smoke. You knew you had to do it in secret.

You managed to steal a thick one from where he kept them, sneaking out back to try it. You had cut off the tip in the kitchen already, now holding a lighter to it away from the windows of the house, hidden from your parents. You knew not to breathe the smoke into your lungs as you drew the clouds into your mouth, an unfamiliar numbness beginning to spread into your gums as the smog rolled in.

You couldn't help but crack a smile. A giddyness was spreading to your head, reminding you of laughing gas. You stayed conscious though as the sensation spread to the rest of your figure, covering you with a fuzzy tickling sensation. A pressure built under your skin as if your body were filling with the smoke, reminding you of a balloon.

You chuckled enjoying the feeling, laughing when you looked down and realized it did look like there was a balloon under your shirt. Then your smile broke. Your clothes were feeling tighter and tighter, pressing in around you, the belt of your pants cutting further and further into your skin. The round ball that was your stomach only kept growing.

You managed to shuck your pants fast once you realized your body wasn't going to stop. You watched helplessly as your waist filled out wider and wider before the sight was cut off by the tight belly wrapping your midsection, pressing into the buttons of your shirt before bursting through. You could feel your undershirt had already ridden up your midriff, exposing itself hanging over your underwear, the view hidden below the crest of your new tire.

Dark curls at the very bottom of your vision distracted you, causing you to realize fur had spread down from your cheeks and now lay on your chest. You couldn't think to do anything but stand and watch as it all grew in, surrounding your face with a fuzzy curtain hanging above a giant round body. You watched as your form settled into its new shape, several cloth sizes larger.

You couldn't think for the few moments after it stopped, trying to clear your head of the foggy fuzzy feeling. You cringed seeing an ash stain on the front of your undershirt. That definitely would give away that you had snuck a smoke, you thought, before realizing your entire body would have given it away too.

The image of your dad popped back into your head- you would have bet anything you looked like a mini version of him, and had a sneaking suspicion that if you continued smoking you'd end up at his size. There seemed to be no going back, however, your body having outgrown all your existing clothes. If you had to wear any clothes, they would need to be your dads. After making your decision, you raised the cigar back to your mouth, drawing in the smoke once again.