When Grant heard the knock, his first thought was that Aaron was early for their date that evening, but the knock wasn’t familiar, and when he opened it, he instead found himself facing a package handler from UPS, bearing a small box that needed his signature. He hadn’t been expecting anything, and it wasn’t something he’d ordered online and forgotten about, so he took it in and opened it. On top were two sheets of paper–the top one was a short letter from a lawyer, the executor of his Great Uncle Reid’s estate over in Scotland. He remembered a couple weeks before, that his mother had mentioned him passing away, but none of them had been able to afford a ticket overseas to the funeral. Grant had only met him a few times, when the big, burly scotsman had visited the family when he was a kid and teenager. He’d always seemed especially interested in Grant when he came, but he’d never really thought much of it, and he certainly hadn’t expected to receive anything from his estate. The letter was merely informing him that this was the first of a set of packages he would be receiving, as per Reid’s instructions, as well as a list of what the package contained: one blank piece of paper aside from the number one written on one side, one tartan kilt, one smoking pipe, one bag of pipe tobacco, and one pipe lighter.

Grant had no idea why he’d received these things–he looked at the paper, but it was indeed blank, aside from a small circled number one in one corner. He’d never smoked a pipe, but the tobacco reminded him of dim memories from when he was a kid, sitting on Uncle Reid’s knee, tugging at his big red beard while he laughed, and while he hadn’t thought of him in years, he suddenly missed him very deeply. He remembered the last time he’d seen him, when he was a teenager, over a decade earlier, he’d taken him aside, and told him in a serious tone, with that heavy accent and smoke curling out his nose, he’d said:

“You ‘n me, we’re special guys, you know. Well, you may not know yet, but ye will. Just wish I was closer, so I could keep a better eye out. Still, you’ll understand one day, don’ worry, mah boy.”

And this was it? A pipe and a kilt? He looked down and saw that the blank page wasn’t blank any longer—rather, writing had appeared on it, the words, “Put it on and have a smoke–you’ll see.”

He set the pipe to one side, stripped down (after all, Uncle Reid had been adamant that the only way to wear a kilt was completely “bare arsed”) and pulled it on, but on his slimmer frame, he had to tighten the belt as much as possible just to keep it on him. And then…without really knowing why, he took the old, well worn pipe, packed it with tobacco, doing his best to remember how his uncle had done it, and gave it a light, sucking in smoke, trying not to cough. Almost immediately, he felt something strange–an itch all over his body. At first he didn’t think much of it, and just kept smoking, but it only got worse. He ran his hand over his other arm, and it felt furry–because it was. Where his arm had been mostly smooth moments before, now it was suddenly covered with dark red hairs.

He didn’t know what to do, but something else was wrong. His shirt was too tight, and the waist of the kilt too. He let out the belt a notch, and then another, trying to keep up with his body. Was he growing? He had to be, that was the only explanation. His shirt was becoming tighter and tighter, the collar biting into his neck, and he started tugging at it with both hands until it finally started ripping away, revealing a massive barrel chest covered with red fur, and a thick, muscular gut. He ran his rough hands over it, the terror still there, but now…now he starting to get horny. This was no time to jack off, and yet he reached under the kilt and grasped his cock–his…much larger cock–and gave it a few strokes, groaning and grunting as he did, feeling his balls slap against his thighs as they grew large and swung lower. He bit his lip and shot his load of cum against the underside of the kilt and across the floor in front of him.

He stood there, panting, for a few moments, and then rushed to the bathroom to see what had happened for himself. In the mirror, he still looked like himself…kind of. Like himself if he’d picked up the scottish red in his family, and his hair had grown everywhere. If he’d spent most of his time lifting weights and eating like a horse. He looked to be a few years older as well…or maybe it was just that his skin looked a bit more weathered than before. Strangest of all, the more he looked at himself, the more…normal he felt. In fact, he was having a hard time even remembering what he’d looked like before, and he took a few puffs off his pipe, letting the smoke billow through his mustache and beard like he’d seen his uncle do countless times, and his cock started hardening all over again. Had his uncle planned this whole thing? What was even happening to him?

He tromped back to the box, and discovered that the blank sheet of paper was now covered with writing on both sides–a letter from his uncle letting him know that Grant was the next in line to become the family warlock. This first box was merely a little gift from his uncle to prepare him, but in the next few weeks he would be receiving more packages full of various magical equipment. If he hadn’t just changed right before his own eyes, Grant never would have believed a single word. He was rereading the letter when someone knocked at the door, and he walked over and answered it, revealing Aaron.

Grant’s mind went blank. He tried to stutter some explanation, but Aaron just smiled and stepped inside like everything was normal, joking at his boyfriend for wanting to show off his body around the house. Grant shot some wit back, easing into his new accent like he’d been speaking that way his whole life, and it was only a few minutes later that he had Aaron on his knees under his kilt, licking as his “knob and bawbag”, and Grant smiled to himself, wondering what sorts of things might be coming arriving from his uncle’s estate in a few more weeks.