The curse had trouble finding its next victim; the crowd of onlookers didn't have a homosexual among them now that so many had been changed already. The criteria had to shift in order for it to spread. If there were no gay victims to be had, it would find a straight one to at least spread it further.
Payden Scott was a good young man. He did well in school, obeyed his parents, and had lots of friends. He wasn't the type to condone bigotry, but he happened upon Carter's rally and stopped to figure out what it was. Once he heard the words "filthy homos," though, he left. Even if he wasn't gay himself, he was for equality.
So Payden was confused when an older woman spat on the sidewalk in front of him and snarled "bigot" as he walked by. He stopped and looked at the spit on the ground, his sneakers having just missed it, then turned to ask her why she'd done that - but she was already walking away. She had to have him confused for someone else. Or maybe she'd seen him walking away from the rally and thought he'd been attending - that was probably it. "I'm not a bad guy," he grumbled, walking on with his hands in his jean pockets to stop them from trembling.
The incident sparked a paranoia in Payden. It felt like people were glaring at him. Every time he looked up, he swore he saw a scowl being aimed his way, before the person looked elsewhere. What was going on today? People here were usually so nice and friendly, and Payden was too. It was the kind of town where you made small talk with the cashier while you got your change, and nodded pleasantly as you walked by people. Payden tried just that with a man who was sitting on a bench: he smiled and said "afternoon!" to the guy. The man flipped him off.
Payden didn't realize it, but the man's action had an immediate effect. A piece of stiff fabric sprang up like a jack-in-the-box from the top of his t-shirt, surrounding his neck with the sturdy, unbuttoned collar of a businessman's dress shirt. The fabric was shiny white and tall enough to touch the underside of Payden's chin. "Why did you do that?" Payden asked the man. It was unusually confrontational for him, but he needed to know why everyone was being so mean to him.
"Because you're an asshole who forces your beliefs on everyone. You aren't welcome here."
"I don't force my beliefs on anyone," Payden said, as his t-shirt sleeves began slowly creeping down his arms, turning white as they went. "I don't even know what I believe."
"That's not what the papers say," the man said, waving his hand dismissively. "You're an embarrassment. I don't want to be seen talking to you."
"Yeah, well, the papers are...they're...fake news," Payden responded, as his sleeves reached his wrists and the ends bloomed into French cuffs as big as his hands, clasped with gaudy cufflinks that reflected onto the sidewalk. "I'm a good guy!"
"Tcheh, your record says otherwise. Fuck off."
Payden was upset as he walked away. He couldn't think of anything he'd done that justified this kind of treatment. He always walked around with a smile on his face, because that was how he was raised, but the smile was fading now, twisting into the same scowl everyone else was aiming his way. His eyes darkened. He chalked it up to a bad mood due to the cruelty of strangers, but the gloom was dripping into his soul bit by bit.
The same couldn't be said for his shirt, which was becoming whiter and more radiant with each step, the fabric now glossy and expensive. A row of buttons spread down the center of the shirt, forcing the shirttails to extend down to Payden's thighs to make more space for them. When he felt the fabric rubbing against him, Payden tucked his new white business shirt into his jeans, revealing a formal leather belt looped around his waist. The jeans stretched higher on him, up to his true waist, as they reformed into a pair of glossy black formal trousers. The hems extended along with Payden's legs, as he pumped up to an imposing six-foot-three. His dress shirt got bigger too, tailoring itself to his longer torso. He slid his hands back into his pockets and angled his wrists out to show off his expensive cufflinks.
Payden's mean expression brightened when he saw one of his dad's friends coming toward him. Mr. McCarthy was a friendly guy who always razzed Payden about not liking golf. But he, too, was frowning at Payden as he approached, until Payden stopped him. "Hi Mr. McCarthy!"
Mr. McCarthy stopped. "You know who I am?"
"Of course I do!" Payden said brightly, as his voice began descending in pitch. "You're friends with my dad! It's me, Payden Scott!"
"Payten! Of course." Mr. McCarthy extended his hand, which Payten shook. "Nice firm grip there, kid."
Payten puffed up proudly at the compliment, pulling the button below his collar open to reveal the top of his chest. "How's everything?"
"Good, good," Mr. McCarthy said. "You?"
"Well...did you notice people are in a bad mood today? Everyone's been scowling at me."
"No offense, Parten, but it's probably because of your beliefs and voting record. You're...polarizing, to say the least. I'm a pretty conservative guy, and you make me look moderate."
Parten's hair was getting shorter now, the bangs over his forehead pulling upward as he furrowed his brow. "My...beliefs?" He cleared his throat - his voice sounded deep. "But how does everyone know my beliefs?"
Mr. McCarthy chuckled. "Well, you certainly aren't shy about them. The TV appearances, the op-eds, the tweets, and like I said, your voting record certainly gets a lot of attention. Weren't you ranked the most conservative member of Congress?"
"Congress!" Parten laughed, his voice twisting and deepening into a cold, harsh baritone that failed at sounding mirthful. "That sounds like the fake news media spreading lies about me again. I'm not in Congress! I'm just a kid!"
"Don't know many kids who dress like that."
Parten looked down just after a pair of dress shoes burst through his sneakers, the new leather so polished he could see his reflection. He tapped the pointed toe of the shoes as he inspected himself. Mr. McCarthy was right, his clothes did seem off, but Parten couldn't think of why. He always wore business shirts with cufflinks, and tailored pants, and polished shoes. He didn't have a tie on, but it was hot today. As Parten itemized his wardrobe, blotches of black appeared all over the back of his shirt, convalescing into thick, heavy material that spread around his arms and chest and turned into a fitted suit jacket. A bright red pocket square cropped up on the front, along with an American flag pin stuck in the lapel. "Kids my age don't know how to dress anyway," Parten sniffed, looking down with pride at his expensive suit. "Stupid little liberals with their TikToks and whatnot. They should put on a suit and get to work."
"Nice talking with you, Partin," Mr. McCarthy said tightly, and he left the changing young man behind.
"So he's a jerk too," Partin grumbled as he walked on, his face falling back into its scowl. He'd always liked Mr. McCarthy, and now he didn't anymore. It was a shame. And what was all that silliness about him being in Congress? Partin laughed at the very idea, though he liked the idea of himself in the Congressional chambers in his custom suits, pissing off the liberals...
...but wasn't he...kind of a Democrat...? Partin stopped in his tracks and tried to think. He was scared, and he hated being scared. Big strong American men didn't get scared! But he felt so out of sorts, like when he reached up to toss his bangs like he always did and instead felt a tightly gelled swoop of hair, connected to a precise side-part. His hairline started further back than he remembered, and the top of his crown was noticeably thinner. And as he inspected all these changes, he was taunted by his giant shirt cuffs in front of his face. The fading Payden side of him surged back in realization that he never dressed like this, and he wasn't supposed to be this tall...
His face lit up when he saw a guy from school - Cam, that was his name. Maybe he could do something! "Cam," Partin boomed, his voice now a bass. "I need your help!"
Cam turned and looked up at the suited frame topped by an incongruously young face. "Uhhh..."
"It's me! Partin Scoll!" Partin but his hands in his pockets and slouched, trying to look young. His body responded by stiffening his spine back into perfect posture and puffing out his chest, which began broadening along with his shoulders. A tuft of chest hair sprouted out from his open shirt collar.
"O...kay?" Cam was backing up. "I don't have any money, man..."
"What do I look like, a socialist? I just need to ask you some questions. We go to school together, remember?" Partin flashed a white, pearly smile. His chin lurched outward, bringing rougher skin with it that spread over his lower face and hardened into a day's worth of five o'clock shadow. The area around his eyes crinkled, and three lines embedded themselves in his forehead. Cam was still looking up at him confused, so Partin plowed on. "I know it sounds crazy, but I think I'm...I'm...changing!"
"Changing how?"
In response, Partin's youthful frame filled out with age, his waist spreading to match the new power of his shoulders and chest, as his stomach rounded out to tighten the buttons of his dress shirt. More hair piled onto his firm pecs, spreading down over his belly and filling his underwear with dense, itchy pubes. Around them, his suit pants tightened against thicker thighs and a meatier butt. He'd taken on the form of a grown man, and his face raced to catch up, eyebrows thickening while his jaw hardened and expanded into a big, blunt weapon that he could thrust forward whenever he was making a point. But since Partin's mind was rapidly adapting to that of a 54-year-old man's, he didn't quite realize any of this, even as he scratched thick fingers against his beard area, rough from his daily morning shaves. "You seem like a smart young man," Partin muttered, his worried eyes darting back and forth as he tried to remember who he was. "Tell me about myself...when I was in school with you..."
Cam looked around to check if he was on a prank show. "Well, no one really liked you when you came and talked, except a few of the Young Republican kids that no one likes either-"
"Future leaders!" Partin heard himself say, as more of the man he was becoming sneaked into his brain.
"-people said you were a nationalist-"
Color shot through Partin's thinning hair, turning the sides gray. "America is the greatest country in the world, and I intend on restoring the Constitution to the founders' intent!" Cam was still speaking, but Partin wasn't listening anymore...he didn't care what anyone had to say about him. He knew better than everyone. Payden was insisting he wanted to be well-liked, but Partin was overruling him, a sneer spreading across his handsome face. "It's time to change," Partin chuckled darkly, as his brain filled with his new beliefs and drowned out Payden. "This country must...change..."
Deep within, Payden suddenly realized who he was: Martin Sewell, the asshole Republican Congressman always on TV saying the most offensive things possible and making the conservative ladies swoon with his good looks and callous charm. But by then, it was too late - he WAS Martin now. And Martin was pounding Payden down further and further, until the teen was tucked safely away, and Rep. Martin Sewell was staring down in disgust at another stupid TikTok teen rambling nervously at him. "Stop bothering me," he rumbled to Cam, who quieted instantly. "You need to change. This country needs to change."
With a huff and a mean smile, Martin buttoned his suit jacket and clomped off toward his local offices, each insult aimed his way making him prouder than ever.