When It Rains, It Pours

Chapter 1
Part I (The Festival)

A few months ago, I was at a large rock and roll festival. They put on this festival once every summer, and I always make time to go to it. However, since it’s during the very peak of the summer, the weather is incredibly hot and dry. I was sitting in a lawn chair, waiting for the next group to take the stage. The way they have the festival set up is this: they have two different stages, one very large and elaborate, and the other smaller and more low-key. The plan is to have one stage setting up the next act while a group performs at the other stage. I was at the smaller stage waiting for a rather obscure band, and the larger stage had a more well-known band currently performing. Naturally, there weren’t a whole lot of people around, so I had a pretty good view. I was wearing the T-shirt I had recently bought (it was a lousy, cheap shirt, but the proceeds went to charity), and a pair of jean shorts. I was also briskly fanning myself, but I was still pretty damn hot. As I sat there, fanning myself, a slightly pudgy young woman in a two-piece walked by me, turned, and pointed something at me. It was one of those water bottles with the sprayer handle and fan on it, designed for a hot day like that day. I flinched, but she didn’t seem to notice, and gave me a liberal spraying with it. I sat upright as though I had been shocked.

“You looked hot,” she said, smiling. She was oblivious. I began to feel the familiar tingling as I watched her turn and walk away. I knew the amount she had doused me with was enough to leave me a third-grader. I stood up, looking for somewhere to hide. Already I could feel my chest hairs disappearing and my muscles thinning. I quickly took off toward the gate, hoping to get back to my campsite. My sandals pounded on the dry, sandy ground as my body slimmed and my facial hair became smoother. I rushed by the sweet-smelling food vendors, feeling lighter and more energetic with each step. As I jogged to hailing distance of the gate, I felt the elastic band of my briefs loosening from my hips. I looked down at my soaked T-shirt and saw it clinging to a skinny torso; I estimated that I was fifteen again.

My point of view was slowly dipping as I reentered my youth. As I walked through the gate, dripping slightly, I grazed a hand across my face. It was as smooth as any girl’s. The arm that just passed by my sight was thin, weak. The arm of a barely-pubescent boy. When I got out of the gate, I quickly looked myself over as I continued to hurry towards my campsite and the privacy of my tent. The meaty chest that had previously stretched my cheap charity shirt out was gone, leaving the shirt’s American flag design to lazily hang on the pole of my thin frame. The shirt’s hem hung past my trunk, while my “shorts” were covering my knees and brushing against my hairless shins. As I pulled my sagging pants and underwear up, I calculated my age to be about thirteen.

I started jogging even faster, hoping I would reach my campsite before I became too conspicuous. Though I was hurrying, my pace was slowing as my shrinking was accelerating. I lost several inches of height in the span of a few moments, and I almost tripped as my sandals became awkwardly large for my feet. My situation was looking dire. I was still a good ways away from my campsite, and puberty had all but left me. I stepped out of my sandals and broke into a full-blown run, holding my pants up with both hands. I must have been quite the sight: a wet young boy dressed in an adult’s summer clothes, rushing madly toward an unknown destination, lacking the mirth with which a child usually undertakes such an action.

I was about eleven years old now, and I was running as fast as I could while still hanging on to my clothes. My goal was within sight. I kept my gaze on it: my truck and the bright blue tent next to it. The only privacy I had here. It moved closer and closer as everything looked taller and taller, and my shrinking legs helped to gradually slow my pace. I had almost made it, then I tripped. I don’t know if it was the giant clothes I had draped over me, my unuse to running in that childish body, or if there was a beer bottle I slipped on. I went down hard, scraping my arm fiercely as I rolled several feet. I just lay there, nursing the pain as I regressed even further. After a little bit, I dimly realized that the regression had stopped. With tears starting to well in my eyes (hey, don’t laugh; kids cry for a reason: everything hurts at least four times as much when your body’s so small and weak), I pulled myself to a sitting position and looked around. My shorts were lying a few feet away, but my shirt was still engulfing my body and I could feel my moist underpants still clinging to my hips.

I wiped my eyes with a chubby arm and looked down at myself. My arm suffered quite a scrape; it was showing a bright red chafe. My cheap shirt, which was like a baggy nightshirt on me, was muddy and torn in a couple areas. My round little arms and legs were also smeared with mud. If I had to guess, I’d say I was about eight. I got to my feet, tugging up my oversized underpants. As I started to make my way to my campsite again, I saw the shadow of a large man looming over me, and I looked up.

He was a large, bearded, biker-looking guy. He was wearing a leather jacket festooned with various patches and insignias, and has his long, dark hair tied in a ponytail. Even if I was normal-sized, he would be huge, so he looked positively gargantuan to me then. He also had a girlfriend, a willowsome, attractive blonde. I didn’t see her at first because she was obscured by this giant.

“Hey there, little guy,” he said to me, in a voice that was as deep as he was huge. “I saw that you took a li’l spill back thar, you alright naw?”

He leaned down to me and cupped a hand around his ear as I replied. “Yes, I’m fine.” I winced a bit when I spoke. You never get used to having such a high voice.

“Where’s yer mommy and daddy?” He asked, looking around as if he might spot them.

“Um, they’re over there,” I lied, gesturing towards my nearby campsite.

“Yeh?” He said, squinting in the offered direction. “Don’t look like they’re there no more; let’s go see.”

He stood back up and held his hand out to mine. “No, no, that’s okay,” I squeaked. “I’ll be fine, thanks.”

“Naw, naw, they’d be mighty upset with us if we left you all alone, son. We’ll just take care of ya till they get back, okay?”

I nodded, seeing no way out. Maybe I can convince them to leave me alone while I grow back up, I thought. The biker extended his hefty paw toward me and I tentatively placed my soft hand in it. Unexpectedly, in one swift motion, he lifted me clean off the ground and onto his shoulder. He took off at a brisk pace, his girlfriend following behind.

“I’m Dante, and this is Jennifer,” he said. “What’s yer name?”

“Uh, Henry,” I said. Henry was my fake name I gave in situations like this. I always thought I look like a Henry.

“Hi, Henry,” Jennifer said in a sweet voice, waving at me.

Soon we were at my campsite, and Dante let me down. He looked around briefly, and tapped on my tent to see if anyone was in it.

“Well, I guess we’ll just wait till they get back then,” Dante said, taking a seat on the tailgate of my truck. The truck visibly lowered under his weight. He looked me over, his gaze resting on my bare feet, my muddy limbs, and my ill-fitting shirt. “Why you wearin’ that? And where are ya shoes?”

“Uh,” I stammered, fidgeting a bit. “It keeps me cool.”

He nodded, but then said: “It’s all torn up, and it’s mighty dirty too. Let’s get you something else to wear.”

“No, I’m fine,” I protested, unconsciously pulling my underwear back up.

“Yer parent’s’d be mad at us if we let you wear that dirty thing while they was gone. Jennifer! Go look and see if you can find the boy some clothes!”

Jennifer replied an affirmative, and started looking in my tent. Dante grabbed the shoulders of my shirt and started to pull upward. I gave a little yelp and gripped onto it. He smiled, and quickly forced the thing off of me in an instant. I instantly flung my hands down to my briefs, and held them to hide my private parts. Dante looked quizzically at my inappropriate underwear, then turned to Jennifer.

“Found any clothes fer ?im yet, Jen?”

There was a faint rustling noise, then Jennifer’s voice. “No, it’s the darndest thing. There’s a duffel bag full of clothes, but they’re all men’s clothes.”

She stepped out of the tent and towards me. She squatted down so her face was level with mine. “Where are your parents keeping your extra clothes, honey?”

“Uh, well,” I said, fishing for a story. “They didn’t bring any.” I suddenly felt very self-conscious with this beautiful woman leaning down to talk to me, a little boy dressed in nothing but a pair of moist men’s briefs. I turned red and averted my eyes from hers.

“None?” She said sweetly. “Just that big ol’ shirt and some underpants?”

I nodded meekly. She seemed confused, but stood back up and looked to Dante.

“I guess yer parent’s got their reasons. Anyways, you’re all muddy, Henry. Let’s go get you washed off.”

The red on my face turned to white. I backed away quickly. “No!”

“Oh, it’s okay. There’s nothing to be scared of,” Jennifer said in a honeyed voice. She advanced towards me, holding out a hand. I continued to back up, until I ran into the side of my truck. She grabbed my forearm, putting it in the soft but firm grip of her hand. I tried to free myself, but it was no use. I felt a little embarrassed, realizing that this wispy girl, who couldn’t have weighed more than 120 pounds, was easily overpowering me. She started walking, pulling on my arm for me to follow. I followed, but the movement made my underpants slip down my legs, forcing me to pull them back up with one hand. I quickly looked to see if Jennifer saw. I’m kind of sensitive about my private parts when I’m a little kid.

As Jennifer led me towards the showers, I knew I couldn’t let her wash me. I had probably gained back almost a year of age since the couple had found me, but that progress would be lost if she hosed me down.

We arrived at the public showers. They were simple affairs, really, just a few stalls with a showerhead and a green plastic curtain. She herded me into one and stepped in herself.

“Take off your underwear, Henry. We don’t want to get them any wetter than they are.”

I turned red again. She was still holding my hand, but I held onto my underpants even tighter with my other hand.

“Please?” She said, bending over to look at me eye-to-eye. I saw her impressive cleavage through her top right then, and was glad for the curse for the first time in my life. With my gaze focused on that, I didn’t notice when she reached over and yanked my underwear straight down. I gasped, and put my free hand over my crotch.

“Oh my God, that is so cute,” she cooed, patting me on the head. She flashed a smile at me and turned her attention to the showerhead. It was then that I ran for it: when she was distracted, pulling down the showerhead and pulling hard on the rusted valve. It was a few moments until she noticed I had left, and by then it was too late. I dashed off and hid in various places in the campsite until I could sneak back to my campsite to get some clothes. Strangely, the only thing my nude scramblings elicited were a few turned heads, some laughing, and a bit of fodder for onlookers’ conversations. Fortunately, by the time I got to my campsite, Dante had left and there was no sign of Jennifer. I assumed they had gone to look for me, and that was the truth.

And they didn’t come back to the campsite for another hour or so, and by then I was fully grown and ready to fabricate a story about the strange little kid who was there earlier. But that’s a rather boring story, and I won’t detail it here.