Hey, I needed a new costume for the next Halloween and ended up in your shop.. I know it’s not the best costume for Halloween but the Hippie costume has catched my eyes..
Im an introvert nerd (typical DnD and video games night), very slim. With brown eyes and brown hairs. Usually in jeans and shirts.
In our gray, rain-gray city, where the most interesting event is the arrival of a new coffee van, something happened. Something not bright and flashy, something lurking like a cat on a windowsill. The old "Hexed Magic Shop," its faded sign seemingly reminiscent of Victorian England. They said it had always been there, but no one had noticed it. Until then, it had been left to chance.
The first victim, as usual, was the one who most yearned for change. Don't take it, no. I just wanted to stop being myself for a night alone.
You walked in here late one evening – thin, like a reed, wearing thick-rimmed glasses and a T-shirt with a print of a forgotten game. Your world was limited to comic book pages, D&D character sheets, and the quiet tap of a keyboard. Your chestnut hair lay flat like the aftermath of a pandemic, and your brown eyes looked at the world with an intelligent yet detached kindness.
You looked down as you entered the store. The air smelled of dust, old leather, and something else—sweet, like sandalwood smoke. The shelves were filled with trinkets whose purpose was unknown, and suits hung on hangers. Not those cheap plastic abominations you find in the supermarket, but hard to find. Clearly, they were waiting for someone to try them on.
And you spotted one. It wasn't a superhero costume or a dark vampire. It was a stereotypical, almost cartoonish hippie outfit: faded flared jeans, a fringed vest, and a brightly colored tunic, complete with a bandana and rose-colored glasses.
"Why not?" you wondered. Just be a guy, free from convention. The salesman, a young man in a green suit, watched silently from behind the counter. I took the set and sold it in the darkened fitting room.
You quickly shed your clothes and put on the suit, and instantly a warmth spread through your body. Not just warmth—a living fire, splashing beneath your skin. You looked in the mirror and couldn't believe it.
Your body, always so angular and fragile, was beginning to change. The muscles in your shoulders and arms were gaining strength, not bulky, but smooth and confident. Your chest became broader and firmer, your stomach, always soft, was covered in sculpted abs, as if you'd been working out rather than playing games.
Your vision cleared. The world became crystal clear. And your eyes... Your brown eyes became brighter, more golden, with depth and a languid, lazy confidence. Your thighs grew firmer, more powerful, and a new, significant tension appeared between your legs, causing the fabric to stretch. You blushed, but it wasn't a blush of shame, but the flush of awareness of your new, animalistic appeal. A wave of languid arousal washed over you, and your new member twitched, disappearing into precum.
Then your hair. You ran your hand through your chestnut locks, and they came to life. They grew thicker, longer, falling over your shoulders in lush, shiny waves. And they smelled. Rich, intoxicating—patchouli, herbs, and freedom. Another scent was added. The air smelled of musk, sweat, and leather.
You looked in the mirror at the final image and didn't recognize the one staring back.
Os, not a geek, emerged from the fitting room. Apollo, dressed as a flower child, emerged. Your shoulders were squared, your gait the lazy, seductive gait of a predator.
You approached the counter, and the young man smiled.
"The suit fits perfectly, I see," he said.
You ran your hand over his flat, firm stomach and grinned. It was a slow, lustful grin, full of promise.
"Yes," he said, his voice an octave lower, velvety and warm. "I think I've found my true self. At least for tonight."
You left the store, and Fringe in the vest danced in a new, uninhibited gait. Suddenly, a clear intention formed in your head. You need to go to the Crimson Club. To a party everyone will remember.
And in the store, the next suit was quietly swaying on a hanger, patiently awaiting a new guest ready to stop being himself.
