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In the somber town of Gensville, the people are simple folk. They all do their hard work, love their family, and go to church on Sunday.

The town itself is small enough, and the church is central enough that everyone who goes to worship goes to the same tiny little church—Gensville House of Worship.

Today is a special day in Gensville, for the church has a new pastor, and the people haven’t met him yet.

Among the families are the Kinkcades, your average nuclear family. However, in today’s economy, the adult children, Sandy and her brother Sheldon, remain at home. Even here in a tiny village, people find it challenging to make themselves homeowners.

Papa, who drives every Sunday, pulls up to the parking lot but pauses before he enters.

“Something the matter?” asks Mama.

Papa, a gruff man’s man, grips his steering wheel tightly. “I’m worried, is all.”

“Worried about what?” asks Mama.

“I just don’t like things being different,” he says. “Why can’t everything be as it’s s’posed to be?”

Mama places her hand on Papa’s shoulder and looks over her shoulder to give Sandy an apologetic shrug. “Oh, there ain’t nothing wrong with a little change, Papa. Remember, the Lord loves everyone.”

“Aw, shucks. Let’s just go in. I’m sure it’ll be fine. Just as long as he ain’t one of them fake preachers.”

Sandy frowns, squirming in her seat. She opens her mouth, about to say something about “taking the log out of your eye,” but she quickly stops. After all, no good could come from getting into a fight on the way to church… or after church.

Or ever, really.

Everyone funnels into the seats of the tiny little church, the arrival of a new pastor bringing in more people than usual. There are murmurs about what kind of person this out-of-towner could be and what his first sermon would be about. As the organ plays the hymn to start the day, everyone looks to watch as the man himself enters from the back, walking down the aisle, carrying with him the ornate copy of the Holy Scripture in his hands.

He’s a tall, robust man, broad in shoulder and thick in black curly hair. This includes his beard, piercing brown, nearly red eyes, and those bushy brows. He’s a veritable man’s man, and Papa smirks for a moment before he rubs at his graying arms.

Envy, too, is a sin.

The service begins with the welcome after the initial song, and the new pastor claps his hands together, looking over the people with a big smile. “Hello, everyone. It is a good day, a new day. I’m Pastor Alfred Oz. Not related to the Wizard, I assure you.”

There were a few chuckles but also a few more suspicious looks.

“I’m looking forward to serving this community and leading it to a great new revival, for we all know that Gensville has had a bit of a downturn recently. Young people are moving out, and older people are moving on. I assure you that we can bring new life to this community and spread the message to others. Can I get an Amen?”

On cue, the congregation answers him.

The rest of the ceremony continues as usual, going through the various actions and sacraments until finally, it is time for the sermon.

Pastor Oz stands up and places his hands on the podium, looking over everyone with a bright twinkle in his eye, and then he speaks up, saying. “Today, I will challenge you about a tale we all know so well. So, I hope you listen with open ears and open hearts when I speak to you.

“It is the tale of Sodom and Gomorrah. Yes, we all know the story—about how Lot lived there with his family and how angels visited him. The angels were so fair that the city's men demanded they have their way with those messengers of God.

“But the message that many people take away from this is that this is a condemnation of homosexual love. Now, I’m not going to say that having sex with your fellow man isn’t a sin. It’s listed as such, certainly. But the sin of homosexuality wasn’t the chief sin of Sodom. No, no. Sodom, in actuality, was a place corrupted by greed, envy, and pride, but not lust. No, people think that all sexual desire is lust, but that isn’t the case.

“And people think that all acts of sexuality are acts that are made in lust. That is also not the case.

“My friends, I ask you all to think on it—if it was a sexual attraction, why did they seek to impose their power over the other? No, a bid for power—a craving for dominance- condemned Sodom.

“After all, let us not forget that Lot’s daughters also committed a sexual act that is frowned upon. They drugged and impregnated themselves with their father, Lot, after he had offered them as alternatives to the angels. Still, neither he nor they were punished, but their children, and their children’s children, for the crime of being born.”

There’s a dead quiet among the congregation at his words, followed by confused murmurings. Through it all, Father Oz smiles, taping his fingers, waiting for it to quiet down. When it finally does, he smiles and says. “Well, then… why don’t we have communion?”

The people of Gensville line up to take their holy communion. All is as it is typically, but this time, instead of lining up and sitting at the altar, taking a tiny cup and a small bit of bread, they take it a more ancient way, with a chalice filled with the crimson liquid and a loaf of bread. Each member tears off a chunk of that bread or the body. They dunk it into the wine or the blood, and they consume both together to display their reverence and devotion to the cause.

The Kinkcade family approaches. First, Sheldon approaches. The jocky young man pauses as he reaches for the bread, his eyes turning toward Pastor Oz, locking gaze upon one another.

“Something bothering you, my son?” asks the faith leader.

Sheldon blinks and shakes his head. “No, sir. I just… I had a strange feeling, is all.”

“It’ll pass if you let the communion take you where you need.”

“Right. Thanks, sir.”

He takes the bread, dips it, and stuffs it into his mouth, turning away and walking, shuddering.

Next is Mama, who reaches out for the bread only to pause momentarily, hesitating. There’s a spark in her—something that fills her with uncertainty and maybe dread? It’s a feeling she hasn’t felt before. Still, she quickly takes it, dunks it, and leaves, holding the bread out in front of her momentarily, her hand cupping the dripping thing before she finally takes it.

Next is Sandy. As she approaches, she takes the bread with no problem, but when she dunks it, Father Oz says, “You have some trouble, miss?”

She pauses, just about to dunk, and looks him in the eye. “Excuse me?”

“You’re not quite sure about something. Was it the sermon?”

“It was… atypical,” she responds.

“Many have said that about me,” he responds, nodding. “But you strike me as atypical as well.”

She takes the bread and ponders a moment. “Shouldn’t we not hold up the line so much?”

“It is of no consequence. The others won’t even notice, I assure you.”

Not thinking much about it, Sandy takes the bread and wine, and she speaks up. “Well, this town could use a bit of a wake-up call. There are so many backward-thinkers here.”

“I agree,” says the preacher. “There needs to be a new way.”

She nods and leaves, chewing thoughtfully.

Finally comes Papa, who approaches the man and shakes his head. “I don’t know what you think you’re doin’ talking about that stuff,” he says, “But you’re the preacher, and I’m just a parishioner.”

“My dear friend,” Pastor Oz says, touching Papa’s arm. “We are all the same in the end. Do not forget that you and I are on the same level.”

Chills run up Papa’s arm, but not the kind of fear. He gasps, feeling the agitation, no, the arousal, going down to his loins. Is it because of what the preacher said? Or how he said it? Or could it simply be that touch that awakens something in Papa? Either way, he swipes the bread fast and stomps away, hanging his head low in shame, hoping no one could see him, especially that boner that somehow got its way to him in the church of all places!

All is well and good at the closing moments of the ceremony. As the final words of benediction are said, Papa stands up immediately and puts on his hat. “Alright, folks. It’s time to hit the old dusty trail.”

Mama frowns. “We’re not going to chit-chat?”

“No,” Papa says, a stern growl in his voice. “We’re going home.”

Sheldon and Shelly look at each other. It’s that voice again. There’s gonna be a family talk.

It doesn’t happen in the car, nor does it happen at the fast-food joint where they get their food, but as soon as they breach the entryway, Papa tosses off his hat and stomps on inside, pacing through the living room. “What do you think about the new preacher?” he asks.

“He seems like a lovely young man,” says Mama, her voice a little gravely. She coughs, and it returns to normal. “Plus, no one ever talks about Lot’s Daughters like that.”

Sheldon pipes in, adjusting his shirt. It’s tight on him, and he tries to tug the thing down, keeping it away from his soft but flat tummy.

Sandy remains quiet, sitting in the corner, crossing her arms over her chest. With a gruff huff, she shrugs.

Papa runs a hand through his hair, doing it a few times. “Man could make a move with any lady ‘round these parts, but he chooses to be a pastor. Woulda thunk it?”

Mama coughs, raising her hand, her voice a bit more hoarse. “Oh my stars, I think I’m comin’ down with something. Excuse me.”

Mama picks herself up and heads to the bathroom. There, she washes her face off and even gargles some warm salt water to help her throat. “Oh lord, I hope I’m not coming down with something,” she laments, spitting out the water and gripping the sink. She lifts her head and stares at herself, only to frown. Rubbing her hand over her chin, she can feel some stubble over her chin and lip.

“Oh, Gradman warned me about this happenin’ with menopause,” she says, lamenting.”

Sandy gulps, finding herself agitated. She stands up and passes by the two men, stomping off.

“W-where are you going?” Squeaks papa.

“My room,” she grunts. I’m fuckin’ tired.”

Sheldon raises a hand to his mouth, making a dramatic motion and a long, languid yawn. “Awwwh, yes, I think I, too, should take a nap.

Papa nodded. “Guess it’s that sort of day. Gonna get under the covers and get nice and warm. Hehe… that’d be so nice.”

And so the Kinkcade family all find themselves heading to sit down or lie in bed and drift off to dreamland, but what they will discover upon awakening shall be stranger than any dream.

All except Sandy find themselves easily able to sleep, for the eldest daughter of the Kinkcade clan can’t shake the feeling that something is off. No matter what the pastor said, there was a problem with his feelings, even if it felt right at the time. After a time tossing and turning, she gets up from her sleep and pulls out her phone. Sitting cross-legged on the bed, she types in his name and begins to scroll.

Charitable donations, mission trips, and glowing reviews from previous churches make Father Oz practically a saint. Everywhere he goes, he experiences a revival, with many claiming such things as “He’s made me a new man” and “I’ve never felt so alive in the Spirit.”

Sandy coughs and grunts, shifting in her seat. Her tank top rides up slightly, and she scratches her midriff. Maybe there’s something on the preacher and his time in seminary? Oh, but such things aren’t easy to find. It’s all just newspapers from small towns like Gensville and social media posts from people twice her age and then some.

She lies on her stomach, kicking her feet in the air. Absentmindedly, she scratches at her arm, coughing and clearing her throat again. Her legs kick back and forth, and suddenly, she feels a warmth bubbling up into her.

She passes by a picture of a relatively robust man shaking hands with Pastor Oz, and she bites her lip as she looks at the guy. He’s the manly dude she’d often imagine in her alone-time sessions. She would, on everyday occasions, imagine this man pinning her down against the bed and roughly pushing his cock deep inside of her, pounding away as she played with her dildo, keeping her voice soft so as not to disturb the family as she fucked herself.

That’s what she would typically have done. But for some reason, her fantasies traverse to a completely different locale. Instead, she sees this man, big, muscular, and hairy, bent over himself, and now it is her at the reigns. She’s the one thrusting into him. She’s the one pressing her chest to his back. She’s the one calling him a ‘good girl’ for taking it like a champ right before the two of them blow their collective loads.

Sandy adjusts her top. She’s pretty sweaty, and the top has started to cling to her. It doesn't want to move when she pulls to get it to unstick. She blinks, shifting, but as she does, she places a big paw of a hand on the bed to push herself up. She wobbles, but not for long. There’s something much more sturdy about herself, broad. She begins to move, but she stumbles forward, her shorts so tight, and her movements are so effortless. When she crashes toward her vanity, she grips the chair so hard that the back cracks.

“What the fuck…?” she groans in a deep voice. Coughing, she tries to clear her throat, but she can’t seem to get whatever’s stuck in there out of her. She’s so itchy, too, and she scratches at her hairy, hairy arm. She looks at it and yelps in that same deep voice, stumbling back and falling onto her well-toned butt, her legs spread. They were so itchy, and no wonder! They’re basically forests of hair, almost like fur! And they’re so right against her shorts that they tingle. Because the muscles are so developed and immense, she might as well be the Incredible Hulk!”

Clasping her hands to her mouth, Sandy scoots herself back up against the bed and pushes her way up. Then, slowly, all so slowly, she turns her gaze toward the mirror.

The eyes that greet her are her eyes. Of that, there is no doubt. But the rest of the face there as she lowers those manly hands is not her face. Her nose is big, her jaw is broad, and her lower face is covered in a perfect-length beard. Had she not waved her hand in front of her face, she would have thought some gigachad had come to mess with her in her house.

“The fuck…” Sandy grumbles in her new masculine voice. She stumbles up to the mirror, touching the glass and her visage.

And the daydream hits her again. It wasn’t Sandy, as she was fucking that man. It was another man, manly as can be. A chill hits her, running throughout her body, tears running down her eyes.

What has happened? She cannot say! She wishes to scream, but a low chuckle comes from her throat. Does she want to scream? No, she wishes she could enjoy this new form. Become this new man. A brand new man for a new day sounds like the right thing now.

And besides, there’s the little matter of the raging arousal coursing through her. She steps back and looks at her tight tight shorts where inside, a massive bulge fights not to break itself or her garment apart. With deep, heavy, gorilla-like breaths, Sandy grabs her button, undoes it, and the thing pops open, providing significant relief to this new man’s broad, muscular frame.

He grabs the edges of his shorts and pushes them down. They are tough to get off, but once they are entirely down to her knees, the thing that she had seen only as a bulge shoots up and tall, a massive, throbbing member, veiny and with low-hanging balls connected to it. Sweaty and ready for action, Sandy licks her lips as she stares at herself and himself in the mirror.

Whatever has happened—it is so fucking HOT.

Sandy, or could this figure standing in front of the mirror actually be considered Sandy anymore, stares at herself, no, himself in the mirror. Hands move over the rough stubble of his face and down to the broad pectorals of his chest. Clothing is tight over his massive frame to the point where he swears he can hear some of them rip, and his cock, which throbs with want, hangs out over his pulled-down shorts.

“Fuck… fuck…” he repeats, shaking his head, running a hand through his much shorter hair. “I’m… I’m a…” he can’t say it out loud. He doesn’t have to say it. Instead, he collapses onto his bed, the thing creaking gently under his newfound strength and weight. He lifts his legs and rips his shorts off, throwing them aside and then sitting, legs spread, his cock and balls flopping free. The balls dangle between his legs, sitting on the bed’s edge while his cock sits up high, hard and ready, as the thoughts of men being emasculated by his dick run through his mind.

“Yeah... That’s what I want,” he groans to himself. The newly-minted male grabs his shirt and lifts it up over his head, tossing the ruined thing aside, leaving himself to stare at his new form, his new incredible body—so manly and hairy and strong. He’s just like the kind of men he used to admire—back when he was a woman, but now that he has that testosterone pumping through him. All that’s really left to get rid of are those all-too-small shoes. And when he does, he groans in delight, falling back on his bed, letting the cold sheets caress his tough and rugged form.

He picks himself up by the shoulders and stares at that towering cock before him, his eyes transfixed on the pillar of manliness that he now possesses. He licks his lips and places his hands on his chest, running them down along his expansive pectorals to trace the muscles hidden under the forest of hair. He then teases over that wild bush, chuckling to himself as he thinks about how he’ll never have to worry about shaving that shit again now that he’s a dude. Fuck. Things are so much easier, aren’t they? Was this something he had always wanted? It’s hard to think about what his life could have been if this strange transformation hadn’t happened, but he concentrates, trying to get past this haze of sex and desire.

He squeezes his eyes shut, groaning as his need fights his will to want to think. He rolls onto his side, running a hand through his hair, and another hand moves down past his pubic mound and touches the root of his dick. Immediately, a surge of feeling shoots up straight to his brain stem, triggering that monkey brain neuron activation. Holy fuck, is this what dudes feel when they touch themselves? And it can happen all the fucking time?

He wraps his hand around the thick cock, his breaths coming out as panting groans now as he looks down over his body. He hardly even touches the thing and already feels the immediate results of delight. What if he presses his palm to the thing and strokes slowly upward.

“O… oh … ha… ah… fuck…” His eyes roll back. Just from the stroke, he’s feeling delight. It would have taken him so much longer to feel before. Was it because this was a novel experience, or is this because this is just how men feel. Few, if any, would be able to answer this question. But he’s sure that he can one day, and perhaps one day soon.

The speed at which he jerks slowly increases, and his mind wanders away from the task. Instead, it moves toward thinking about what he could do with this thing. In his mind, he isn’t lying on the side of his bed, pumping away. Instead, he’s found a guy, and not just any guy, oh, a guy just as manly as him. He has this man bent over a table, and he has this cock shoved up that guy’s ass, and he is pounding him over and over again!

Sandy stops stroking himself, and instead, he holds his hand still. He thrusts forward, letting his hips do the work, making his fingers a facsimile of the holes he fantasizes about.

And does it have to just be fantasy? Indeed, now that he’s a dude, he can find people to plow? But wait….

He slows down, panting, a dollop of precum pearling at the tip. His breath quickens as he thinks about it. How can he find people here in the middle of Genville, where everyone is super fucking conservative? Everyone here is homophobic, right?”

“Well… I’m not,” he resolves. “I’m gonna find some bottom, and I’m gonna blast his ass!” With that resolve, he picks back up his pace, fucking his hand, squeezing tighter to make it feel better, letting the oozing precum provide better lubrication and making his thrusting go faster and faster.

Soon, he throws his head back and lets out a groaning cry. Arching his back, he shoots out stream and stream of cum, the stuff falling onto his bed in a pool of pearly wonderfulness.

Sandy collapses, sweating, his heart beating a mile a minute. He pushes himself off and rolls off the bed, sitting there, taking a deep breath, and calming himself down. Soon, he can pick himself up and roll his neck. Stepping into his closet, he looks for what he can wear to try and make his way through town to get to the store. After all, if he’s gonna be a guy, he must dress the part.

A pair of sweatpants were always baggy on her. They’re pretty tight on him, showing off his package. Guess he’ll have to worry about “no shirt, no shoes, no service” later. Still, for now, he has to get going and hope he doesn’t get a raging hard-on or run into anyone he knows, so he steps out of his room, not even thinking about the fact that his family is still in the house, sound asleep.

Or so they said…”