#owenthefarmhand

[guysgetbigger]

Owen the Farmhand: Chapter 1

Chapter 1: The First Day on the Farm

The old farmhouse stood tall against the endless stretch of fields, its weathered planks and creaking roof whispering secrets of years long past. It was here that I, Owen, a slender 17-year-old boy of mere 5'6" and a hundred pounds, had come to work. The farmer, Mr. Thompson, towered over me at 6'0" and a strong, hefty 220 pounds. His size suited his role as the man in charge on the farm.

On my first day, Mr. Thompson couldn't help but jest at my small stature. "You're a bit on the scrawny side, aren't ya?" he chortled, his deep voice resonating across the yard. His son, Rick, 5'10" and 180 pounds, joined in the mockery. It was clear I was going to be the target of their jabs.

With every task, every moment of standing in crowded corridors with these larger folks, I felt increasingly out of place amidst the brawny laborers. My insecurities gnawed at me, but I was determined to prove myself. With each duty, I put my heart into it, hoping that one day I might be considered more than just the "small kid" on the farm.

The Thompsons fed me breakfast, lunch and dinner every day in their cozy kitchen. Mrs. Thompson, a kind and soft-spoken woman, prepared the meals with love and care. She was a keenly observant woman, well aware of the teasing I endured, and her empathy showed in the small, reassuring smiles she offered me.

Noticing how small I was and how much smaller I felt, Mrs. Thompson began sneaking something special into my meals. The flavor was subtle, a touch of something earthy and sweet that I couldn't quite place, and I didn't realize until much later that she was only sprinkling it into my plates. It wasn't just a unique flavor: the real magic lay in its effects. It made me hungrier, and with a few extra bites of Mrs. Thompson's cooking I could feel my body changing, gradually and imperceptibly feeling stronger and sturdier with every meal.

In the privacy of my room each night, I'd scrutinize my reflection in the dim candlelight. Every day, I seemed to gain a pound or two. My clothes became a bit snug, my muscles just a little more defined. I marveled at the subtle growth, feeling a swell of excitement and pride. I was becoming more than just the "small kid." My smooth skin was starting to gain some body hair, and I was gaining a nice shape to my pecs. I was finally starting to look like a man!

As the weeks passed, I started to notice new little milestones as Mrs Thompson tailored larger fits for me and I found myself not feeling quite as small around the others. The farmer and his son remained oblivious, too preoccupied with their own duties and preconceived ideas of how small I was to them. But I reveled in the small triumphs, feeling my insecurities melt away with every new pound I gained.

Not only was I adding pounds to my frame, I was also growing slightly taller every few days! This was thrilling to me, as I'd been waiting since middle school for a growth spurt to kick in. Whatever was happening to me, I was delighted and here for it.

One sunny morning, I stood next to Mr. Thompson while we inspected the crops. His broad shoulders loomed over me, but I couldn't help but notice that the gap between our heights had lessened. It was subtle, and I don't think he noticed, but it was progress. I held my head a little higher that day.

Rick, too, couldn't resist a sly grin when he saw me lifting a bale of hay with more ease than before. "Looks like the little man is finally becoming useful," he teased. I wondered if he noticed I wasn't so little any more. Our four inch gap had lessened, as I was probably standing at 5'8" now.

Unbeknownst to them, and with the silent support of Mrs. Thompson, I was slowly growing into my own. The transformation was quiet, almost unnoticeable, but it was happening. And with each subtle change, I took another step toward proving that I was a bigger than they realized.