It need not even be said that Glenn, Roger, Tony and Chester were nasty, horrible people.
You could gather that just by looking at them. The four of them drove out along the countryside road in a white SUV "decorated" in the back window with a number of statements as to the beliefs of the young drivers. Among them were "NO VAXXES HERE", "BETA MALES VERBOTEN", "YOUR PUSSY IS OURS", and "ALEX JONES WAS RIGHT". The four were on their way to party in Washington DC - deciding to conduct a roadtrip across the country - thinking they would see wall to wall TRUMP 2024 flags and displays. After all, they would be heading out into the American heartland. Surely everyone here agreed with them, not like those city folk they derisively joked about on their way out.
The fact they were themselves "city folk" was lost on them. But then, self reflection was as unwelcome in that car as "beta males" were. They blared loud, angry music - including Rage Against the Machine, ironically enough. They did see themselves as raging against a machine. Even if people saw them as the very cogs of that machine. So who are these four uncouth young people?
Glenn Sotherfield was an upper-middle class white boy from the suburbs upset that women were starting to tell him "no". Masculinity was a very important thing to Glenn, even though the perpetual bulk he was on left him big and muscular in some areas, but fat and chunky in others. Sure, his chest and shoulders looked reasonably good, but there was little tone to his arms, his belly was thick and starting to get a little big, and his ass filled out his seat. His legs likewise were more brawny looking - not given much of an impressive appearance. He had his brown hair styled in a cut he insisted was a Patrick Bateman cut, and his blue eyes were usually covered by sunglasses. Glenn always dressed in a white tank top and cargo shorts, the best to show off his "ripped fucking bod" (his words, not mine).
Roger Hennesby was the Evangelical of the group - a blond haired, brown eyed young man, leaner and more athletic than the stocky Glenn, dressed in a blue button up and dress pants, and a sneering hypocrite. Roger believed that America was veering away from its "Christian Roots", and voted accordingly. He didn't drink, and he claimed he didn't curse - though it didn't take him long usually to show what a lie that last one was. As far as he was concerned, women and "the gays" had been given too much of a free ride. And going by the fact he fixated so much on the purported freewheeling and freely sexual life style of the "homosexualists", there was perhaps some jealousy there that Roger would never in his life evaluate. Officially, he harshly judged Tony and his "lazy faire" lifestyle. Officially.
Tony Macevedo was a "masculinist" podcaster - a would be player who saw the world in terms of controlling the females, and asserting his "dominance". Tony as far as he was concerned had "made it", and so had his folks - so he as a Hispanic saw nothing wrong with hurting any other Hispanics who weren't "alpha enough" to assert their power. Though even the other guys in their group found the incessant filming, posturing and podcasting rather annoying. Tony claimed no woman had ever managed to "avoid my powers of seduction"...though there were rumors his mods quashed in chat that Tony's cock was...not exactly that big.
And lastly, Chester Halben. Chester was, plainly, a racist - well, he'd never admit to that. He just believed utterly in "gangs bringing drugs, bringing crime". And his parents had sheltered him enough that he never exactly knew that meth and crime were not exactly new to the area. Light brown haired Chester had a messy cut, green eyes, and a distinct sense of envy. His older brother Louis was three things that irritated Chester. Bisexual, Progressive and Vastly More Successful With Family Money Than Chester - not to mention that Chester's parents obviously preferred Louis, and tried to speak as little as possible to their youngest. Despite his beliefs, he and Tony had perhaps the easiest friendship among the group - and Tony promised to help Chester shed his skinny, thin form and assume the masculine body that Chester saw as his due.
As the car drove on, the guys initially were pleased by the displays of fealty being made to their figure of damn near worship. They would stop up near some trucker or family of country folk, and they would do a photo op. And this would go on, gloating and crooning about their big win - usually up until Tony irritated people enough by constantly promoting his podcast. It was never a bad time, it seemed, to promote the podcast.
But then, as they kept driving further along, they found fewer and fewer homes, and the reality of the vast swathes of "Red Land" they had championed began to sink in.
They had referred to these places as Trump Country, but then as they drove through it, they found utterly few people. At most, they would be able to find abandoned old farms and derelict ghost towns - devoid of any population beyond the occasional sign of explorers likely poking around the old towns with weird little machines looking for ghosts. And as much as those four wanted to affirm their status as "actually the majority", they weren't in a hurry to socialize with ghost hunters.
As the drive continued, Glenn cupped his chin as he watched Roger calmly handling the wheel. In the second row of seats, Tony and Chester were chattering about something. Presumably they were discussing Chester's masculinity, and tips for how he can "dominate" and "control" women. Which, honestly, Glenn found himself thinking as he reclined, was kinda a lost cause at least until Chester managed to power through his skinny boy genes.
As much as they disliked "modern women", Glenn in particular had entertained a fantasy. Of meeting fellow believer women on the road to the capital, and getting to enjoy a spicy fuck sesh on the third row of seats. Let her enjoy his big fuckin' body and his huge dick, and she'd never have to be satisfied by some loser again. One might expect Roger to pitch a fit if anything happened, but Glenn knew his friend well enough to know Roger only really objected when it was the wrong kinds of folks.
And Glenn had known Roger enough to know the Evangelical was privately not shy about his sexual desires. At least, whatever he felt like sharing.
As one, the guys felt their stomachs rumble as they crested another mile on the road.
Glenn moaned, "Fuck...how long's it been since the last fucking diner...?" He clutched his stomach, breathing. They'd gotten up bright and early to continue the road trip, and that had included a trip to a local diner at their last stop. The owner seemed at least like their kind of guy, at least going by appearances, but he was awful eager to have them off and gone.
Roger kept trying to drive, biting his lip as his own aching stomach brought him a similar sense of discomfort, "Phil---Phil---Philippians 4:19: And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus..." Roger huffed, and shook his head, "But it'd be so gosh dern nice if---if we could just get something nice to eat pretty soon. I've been driving this whole day..."
Tony leaned up against the headrest and said, "Yeah, and you drove us all the way out into the boonies, Bible Boy."
"I've been driving as my faith demands - namely, in accordance with the map." Roger retorted, but it was clear that the map they had for this was...less than well informed. For one thing, this area wasn't supposed to be as fucking empty as it was. But Roger kept trying to focus on the road. "As you may recall, Tony, the last time you drove us anywhere, it almost ended in a collision and you trying to make Chester keep recording---"
"A fluke! Fluke fluke fluke! I was just getting excited cuz of all the new subscribers!"
And then Glenn turned and hissed, "Stop...fucking shouting...in my damn ear, you shithead..."
Roger just rolled his eyes and then saw something along the road. A great big fence, keeping in a bunch of cows. And in the distance, as he kept driving by the fence, he found himself looking at the shape of a farmhouse and barn off in the distance. Roger smirked, "And my fellows, God provides." He gestured with his free hand, "We have civilization. And most likely, whoever it is will be more than happy to help four wholesome guys on their way to celebrate the biggest win in western civilization."
Roger then hastily added, "A-Aside from the resurrection of Jesus Christ of COURSE."
-----
Following the road, the four guys found their way to the old farm - one of the only ones left in this area. All the others seemed to be entirely abandoned, yet this one flourished inexplicably. They were not about, however, to look a gift horse in the mouth. Even if doing so might expose rancid teeth. They continued all the way up to a long dirt road leading up to the entrance to the farm. Not a single flag in sight, but with how they expected people to be out here, they didn't really question it.
As they parked the car and got out, pulling on their relevant hats and jackets to best convey their "team", they surveyed their environment.
It was almost a typically old fashioned American Farm. A rustic sensibility that flew in the face of the modern day. A big old barn with a bunch of visible horses, sections for pigs, cows, chickens and all. There was a little path from the main farmhouse leading to the barn, and several storage areas most likely for feed and items relevant to the animals. The farmhouse itself stretched tall above the area. Its tan and white walls looming - but never seeming exactly too imposing.
It cast a long, heavy shadow over the surroundings, and when the sun hit right, that shadow extended over most of the field.
None of them saw a thing wrong with this. Glenn figured this would just be some fellow traveler country folk, and Roger imagined they would be a good, generous Christian eager to feed four hungry souls on their way through the countryside. Tony for his part had never exactly been involved in farm stuff...and Chester? Chester quietly sneered at the rustic sensibilities.
He crossed his arms and muttered, "...Course we gotta hinge on hicks..."
"What was that, bro?" Glenn asked as he, Roger and Tony began to approach the door, to knock. Chester for his part shook his head and ran along, deciding to just...make use of this for now, but go along knowing that he would probably at least not have to deal with it for very long. Chester could appreciate the voting habits of these folks, but it didn't mean he had to like them.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock.
The foursome stood at the front door, waiting for an answer. They then heard something like a fake leg hitting the floor, and the sound of an older woman's voice shouting, "Clara, Clara go get the door! It seems we have guests!" Awkwardly, they stood there for a moment, wondering what kind of family lived here.
And then a girl, dressed in overalls, boots and a white shirt, answered the door. She had cherry red hair, blue eyes, and some cute freckles, not to mention some very generously sized breasts. And she looked healthy - not a whit of the signs of city life. No tattoos, no piercings, nothing to indicate to the guys she was anything but a wholesome farm girl. Glenn admitted she was probably exactly his type. He was already imposing ideas on who and what she was before she even spoke a word.
"Oh. Oh, oh uh." Clara stood there awkwardly for a moment. Registering the growing stares from the MAGA faithful. The hungry, overeager smirk of Glenn, the snide sneer of Chester, and the denied erotic desire of Roger. And most obvious was Tony, who leaned against the doorframe. "Can I...help you? Uh, Gentlemen...?"
Roger stepped forward to speak, tipping his red hat, "Well missy, we're just really, really hungry and we couldn't help but note your nice, big farm. So me and the boys here were wondering if you had any---"
"We have some extra food, food enough to share." And with that, the guys saw another woman step into view. An older lady, slightly bent forward, dressed in a blue and white summer dress, her wrinkled skin and declining hairline telling that she was very likely in her older years.
Clara turned and said, "Oh, grandmama...I---I uh, they---" She seemed to glance deferentially toward this older woman, wordlessly inquiring after some sort of guidance. Clara for her part tried to make it less obvious. Make it less easily seen. She could very well turn up the naive farm girl as much as she needed to. But she couldn't help but find herself reacting to their...attire and obvious tendencies. When it came to men like this, Clara would choose dealing with the simple, easy affair of fending off a bear any day.
"Oh, welcome in, welcome in, boys." The older woman gestured for them to enter, and toward a certain room. As soon as they were given leave, the four of them entered, stomping right on by a concerned Clara. And the girl winced as she felt a hand almost touching her rear. She didn't know which of them did that, but the smirk and wink from the tall Hispanic told her all she needed to know.
Stepping into the farmhouse's kitchen, Clara saw that the four brutes were all seated at the table in short order.
Glenn sighed in relief as he settled into the wooden seat. They'd get to stay at a place like this, a testament to what America once was, AND they'd get a nice hot meal. Probably something from the fields. Yet as the old woman fetched a series of bowls, placing them in front of each at the table, they didn't notice that Clara was approaching her grandma and talking to her.
"One of them..."
"I know, I know," the old woman responded in a hushed whisper, "Don't gotta be magical to know these things. Gimme a minute to get em served." She sighed, and began serving the four of them some food. As she knew what went on and what she planned to go on from there, she figured it would be good to set things up. She poured up several kinds of stew for each man. A beef stew for the Evangelical, pork for the big boy, goat for the podcaster, and mutton for the rich boy.
They thought nothing of the specificity, and in the difference in their meals, let alone that there might be anything wrong. As far as they saw things, their hosts were pure and good American women. The kind of people they assumed voted based on traditions and preserving how the America they loved just always was.
And they'd be right, to a degree.
Just not in the way they expected.
The little old grandma then gripped the younger girl's hand and led her out of the room, once she was sure those four had their food all sorted out and were at least a little ways into eating it. The two of them watching the four men sitting there. Watching the two women leave - and in particular, watching poor Clara hurry on our. Trying not to show anything overtly sexual in her posture or even in how she moved.
Once the two of them were alone in the living room, the older woman said, "I know. I know what that brute did. That piece of garbage touched you, and if we brought it up, they'd close ranks." She then grinned, thinking about the food she just gave them, "And you know, I would've given them all that fine food if they just came in and behaved themselves - and there wouldn't even be no catch!"
Clara - who had been in the know about what her grandma could do ever since her parents got chased on outta here - crossed her arms, looking at the walkway heading back into the kitchen, whispering, "So you're gonna---?"
"Change em?" A hooting laugh from the old dame, "Oh, definitely. And it won't be quick. That food they ate? It's gonna be the inspiration for what I'm gonna do to their wretched, hateful little selves. They didn't have to push that kinda behavior on you, Clara. But they did. So I'm gonna show em what happens when I can take their mean little statements...and throw em in reverse."
"Are---are we gonna...? Are they gonna be butchered for the---?" Clara asked, shaking.
"Oh, heavens and hells no! No!" The little old grandma said with a smile and kept whispering, "I'm not them! I don't override people's right to their body entirely. I just...abridge it for right now. I'll keep feeding em through the day. Give em the thought they can stay. Then they'll change. They stay here, they change. Into whatever they just ate."
"So how long...?"
"Six months." The old woman nodded, grinning, "Oh, it's more than long enough to make em question how long I'm doing this. But it doesn't fall into me just completely revoking everything about their lives. I just hope they learn a little something by the end of this. I know any other witch wouldn't be half as merciful."
...
Meanwhile, as the guys continued eating, each of them started to feel a bit warmer in their seat.
Glenn bit his lip and clenched his chair's armrest with one hand as he ate the hefty bits of pork in his stew. He didn't want to make it too terribly obvious that for some reason he was starting to spring up a boner. He just told himself it was that sexy farm girl. Clara, right? Clara. She really was something else. Honestly, he wondered how that girl came about from any degree of commonality with the elderly hag. As much as they owed her, that didn't exactly stop them from judging the older lady as surely as they judged anyone.
And as much as Glenn was aroused, everyone else at the table was quietly nursing their own erections. In particular, Roger was trying to ignore his. Just shove it off to the side, don't acknowledge it. That's for marriage. That's for the wedding bed. Roger breathed - not knowing what in all was due to happen the longer those four stayed at the seemingly wholesome old farmhouse.