Red, White, and Redemption
Noah knew he shouldn’t have come to Lexi’s Fourth of July cookout. He didn’t belong here. The smell of hot dogs, Bud Light, and overcooked burgers made him nauseous. Bro after bro stomped around shirtless in board shorts with tribal tattoos, slamming beers like cavemen. Country music screamed out of a cheap Bluetooth speaker: Morgan Wallen, naturally.
Noah adjusted his cute pink mesh tank top and sipped from his skinny can of hard seltzer, standing awkwardly near the pool. He was skinny. Pale. Smooth. His hair was soft and flopped perfectly. Designer sneakers. A bracelet he bought on Etsy.
And Lexi—God, she was thriving here. Her blonde hair curled perfectly into that slightly trashy hot look, USA bikini top spilling cleavage, denim shorts frayed just right. Lip gloss thick. She looked like an Instagram thirst trap sponsored by Monster Energy and regret.
“Nooooh,” she cooed, sauntering over, drunk and glowing. “You look like a fucking baby. Jesus. You need meat on your bones.”
He tried to laugh, but it came out weak.
“Not really my vibe here, babe.”
Lexi rolled her eyes hard. “Yeah. No shit. It’s all dudes here. Dudes who want me. But nooo, I bring my gay bestie and he’s—what? Gonna sit in the corner drinking cucumber seltzer? Christ.”
She was smiling, but it was mean. Her eyes were sharp.
She pulled something from her pocket. A cheap, crumpled plastic package. Patriot Poppers. They looked like cheap firework toys you’d buy at a gas station.
“D’you know these grant wishes? No cap. My cousin got ‘em from some freak in Tennessee. Said they only work on July Fourth.”
She toyed with it in her fingers, staring at him. Her glossy lips curled in a wicked grin.
“Y’know what I wish for, babe? I wish I had a real boyfriend tonight. Not some limp-wristed twink with Etsy bracelets. I want a guy with arms, with a truck, with an attitude. Someone I could drag home to piss off my dad.”
The firecracker burst at Noah’s feet in a little flash of greasy, yellowish smoke—not white, yellow, sulfurous, rank like gym socks and propane.
“What the fuck was that—” He coughed, gagging. His nose burned. It smelled like sweat and Axe body spray mixed with something metallic, like a weight rack in a cheap gym.
It was deep. Not just skin, not just muscle—his bones ached, like they were thickening, swelling. His forearms itched first, hair prickling out coarser, darker, angrier. His thin wrists cracked, joints bulking, veins writhing like angry blue ropes.
“Lexi… w-what the fuck is happening—I don’t… I don’t feel right…”
“Oh, you don’t look right either, babe,” she said sweetly, brushing her fingers across his bubbling biceps. “Getting some meat on those bird arms now, huh?”
He watched in horror as his cute mesh tank creaked at the seams. His collarbone popped outward. His chest started swelling—pecs ballooning like someone stuffed two steaks under his skin, nipples fattening, pressing the mesh out indecently. The seltzer can slipped from his shaking fingers.
“No. Nononono. I’m not—I’m not like—”
“Like what?” Lexi teased. She dragged her nails down his abs as his stomach warped under her touch—going from soft and pale to slabbed, bricks of muscle forming like they’d always belonged there. “Not like them? Not like me?”
A loud rip. His jeans split at the thighs. His legs—smooth, soft—were swelling into thick trunks of muscle, hair sprouting up coarser and blacker, thighs pushing out his pockets.
“Oh fuck—” Noah’s voice broke, deeper, raspier. His cute voice was gone, dropping like a bad signal. His dick was stuffing the crotch of his boxers, the fabric tenting, stretching indecently.
“Babe,” Lexi giggled, biting her lip. “I don’t know how you tucked that thing before, but you’re not hiding it now.”
He looked down. His cute, Etsy bracelets looked wrong on his thick, sweaty forearms. His dainty sneakers? Stretched at the seams from his thicker feet. His styled hair? Greasing down under the weight of sweat, curling into that classic gym douche fade, overgrown on top, shaved on the sides.
Noah glanced down. His smooth, pale chest was swelling — pecs inflating like balloons filling with air. The pink mesh stretched and shredded, torn apart by new, thick muscles pushing against his skin. His nipples darkened, becoming swollen and taut beneath the rip.
His arms bulged suddenly, biceps knotting into thick ropes, veins pulsing like constricting snakes beneath his skin. The soft tan lines around his wrists vanished as the rainbow bracelet snapped and beads clattered on the ground.
Lexi’s grin widened, teeth flashing white. “You’re getting there, babe. Look at those guns.”
His breath hitched as a coarse scruff spread across his cheeks and jawline—scratchy, patchy, but growing fast into a dark beard. His bleached hair was slicking back, molding into an awkward, greasy fade with a backward red “Make America Great Again” cap that suddenly felt like it belonged there.
“Holy fuck,” he muttered, voice deeper and raspier, vowels stretched out with a lazy Southern drawl. “Lexi… what the fuck did you do to me?”
His thoughts were breaking. Pop songs he liked melted into bass drops and TikTok gym edits. Drag Race trivia dripping out his ears, replaced with… what?
Lexi reached out, poking his now hair-covered chest, laughing. “Saved your ass, dumbass. You’re gonna be the kind of man my mama can brag about. No more of that soft-ass rainbow shit.”
“Who the fuck is Dylan Mulvaney?” he blurted suddenly, confused, sweating harder. “Why the fuck would I drink Bud Light? That shit’s gay.”
Lexi squealed. “THERE he is.”
He felt hungry. But not for food.
His cock throbbed, a fat obscene curve down one leg, the mesh tank tearing across his barrel chest. His pits smelled like a high school football locker room in August.
“I’m gonna fuckin’ nut,” he growled, stunned by his own filthy, brutish voice. “Fuck, babe. I’m gonna fucking wreck that pussy.”
“Good,” she hissed, pulling him down by the neck into a kiss, her nails digging into his traps. “Let’s go make some fireworks.”
Around him, the party sounds warped—the country music slowed, then sped up, replaced by the booming voice of a televangelist sermon echoing in his head: “Manhood is a sacred duty! The strong shall inherit the earth!”
His cock throbbed painfully, tenting the front of his shredded boxers. He scratched himself awkwardly, feeling a burning heat grow between his legs.
“Fuck,” he groaned. “I gotta fuck someone. Like, now.”
Lexi grabbed his bicep, flexing it hard. “That’s the spirit. You’re my big dumb straight meathead now. Ready to show everyone what a real man looks like.”
Noah—no, Cody now—slurred a grin, sweat rolling down his thick neck. “Hell yeah, babe. Let’s go find some chicks to fuck. Gotta celebrate America right.”
By dusk, Cody was shirtless, gleaming with cheap tanning oil, in the bed of a lifted pickup truck. His MAGA hat crooked low, red plastic cup full of Bud Light in one hand, the other wrapped possessively around Lexi’s slim waist.
Fireworks exploded overhead, but Cody’s brain was a hazy fog of testosterone, Christian fervor, and vapid patriotism.
The soft, kind boy Noah used to be? Buried beneath layers of muscle, hate, and an ego as big as the flag waving behind them.
“God bless America,” Cody muttered, grinning dumbly as Lexi pressed her lips to his, their bodies slick with sweat and promise.
The truck bed creaked beneath him as Cody shoved Lexi against the side, his thick, veiny hands grabbing at her hips like he owned her. His breath was heavy, smelling like stale beer and sweat mixed with the faint sharp tang of chewing tobacco he’d stolen from some old guy’s cooler.
“Damn, Lexi, you’re lookin’ like a goddamn smokeshow tonight,” he slurred, his voice a gravelly growl that wasn’t there before. “Bet any chick here wishes they could get some of this patriotic pipe.”
He laughed loud, a bark that rattled his thick throat, before grabbing the hem of his trucker tank and ripping it off with one brutal yank. His chest was a landscape of veins bulging like twisted ropes under rippling muscles. The skin was mottled with fresh red marks—probably from his own nails digging in earlier.
Lexi smirked, biting her lip, eyes glittering with a mix of excitement and danger. “You’re such a dumbass, Cody. Bet you don’t even know half the shit you’re talkin’ about.”
“Hell no,” he grinned, flashing a mouthful of yellow-stained teeth with a cigarette dangling from the corner. “But that’s what makes me real. I don’t need no fancy college degree or that soyboy crap. I’m the American dream, baby. Strong, straight, and ready to fuck.”
His hands slid down, cupping her ass hard, fingers digging in rough enough to leave bruises. He pressed his crotch to her backside, and she could feel the hard, throbbing weight of his cock tenting his worn-out jeans.
“You think Callum ever made you feel like this? Like you’re owned? Like you’re a real woman who needs a real man to keep her in line?” His words were harsh, his breath hot and rancid with whiskey and Marlboro Reds.
Lexi chuckled, biting her thumbnail as she leaned back against the truck’s cold metal. “Nah, he just wanted to play dress-up and watch RuPaul. I want a man who can hunt, who can build shit, who’s not afraid to shout the Lord’s name when he’s blowing his load.”
Cody’s grin turned nasty, a cruel gleam in his bloodshot eyes. “You got it, babe. I’m gonna pound you so hard your preacher friends won’t recognize you. They’ll know what real salvation looks like.”
He ripped her shorts halfway down her thighs, exposing smooth skin that seemed too delicate for his heavy hands. His fingers dragged down, nails scratching the backs of her legs as he yanked her closer.
The firework booms echoed like thunder overhead as Cody’s hands and mouth roamed, leaving bruises and bite marks like war paint on his conquest.
Between rough kisses, he snarled, “You’re mine now. Mine to fuck, mine to show off at every damn cookout and church picnic. No more prancing around with your stupid rainbow flags and queer bullshit.”
Lexi moaned, arching into him, her breath hitching as his hands dug harder, his words cutting like knives wrapped in gasoline-soaked rags.
Cody pulled back just enough to glare into her eyes, his voice a harsh rasp. “And you better believe, if any of those faggots come near you, I’m gonna wreck them.”
He flexed an arm, veins popping as he hissed through clenched teeth, “They don’t stand a chance against me. I’m the alpha. The Christian warrior. The goddamn future of this country.”
Lexi giggled, licking her lips. “Damn right you are.”
Cody grunted, slapping her ass one last time before collapsing back against the truck bed, chest heaving, a red-white-and-blue bandana tied around his forehead soaked with sweat.
The old Noah—soft, nervous, caring—was gone, buried beneath layers of muscle, hate, and an ego as thick and loud as the Make America Great Again flags fluttering behind them.
And Cody? He was ready to tear the world apart, one Bud Light, Bible verse, and smashmouth pickup line at a time.
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