#southernization

Danny was never fond of Chick fil A. He always heard about their rampant homophobia and conservative Christian politics. Danny considered himself liberal on most issues and his parents were atheists which means he wasn't circumcised. But today he was feeling extra hungry and decided to give it a shot.

He pulled up to the drive-thru and opened his car window. But before he could start ordering, a strong masculine voice began speaking.

"You are late for work, boy"

Danny was shocked by this. It was an unusual thing to say to a customer.

"You must be mistaken. I'm a custo..."

The masculine voice spoke again.

"SILENCE, BOY"

"Pull up to the employee parking and park your car. Then walk into the building."

Before Danny could protest he found himself mindlessly obeying the command.

"My pleasure, sir" he said in a dull tone of voice

Danny began panicking as he walk into the building. His body was acting against his will. But his mind was still conscious.

The second Danny walked through the door he was greeted by a stern muscular man in a grey polo shirt. His nametag had "General Manager" written on it.

"You are out of uniform" the man said

"Follow me into my office and I will suit you"

"My pleasure, sir" Danny said mindlessly

Danny's boss walk him into the manager's office and locked the door behind him. He then proceeded to undress Danny.

Danny stood there unable to move as his boss pulled off his civilian clothes and dressed him in proper a Chick fil A employee uniform. Danny's muscles began to grow and spasm as each article of clothing was placed on his body.

His chest muscles ballooned up and his abs became much more pronounced. As his boss dressed him he also felt his memories of civilian life slipping away. All those years of voting democrat and liberal beliefs were gone. Replaced by a new conservative Christian worldview.

His boss looked pleased now.

"That's my good boy. You look very dapper now."

He grabbed a nametag from his desk and clipped it onto Samuel's red polo uniform. The nametag read "Samuel- Assistant Manager"

"I'm glad I decided to add you to our growing family" Samuel's boss said

"I'm feeling rather hungry, sir" Samuel said

Samuel's boss handed him a white cup

"This is our signature peach milkshake. Our secret ingredient is what makes it so addictive." He said with a wink

"I don't understand, sir. What is the secret ingredient?"

Samuel's boss unzipped his pants to reveal a thick girthy circumcised penis. He then unzipped Samuel's pants to reveal a similar thick circumcised penis.

"We make the secret ingredient in our ballsacks. The reason we are closed on Sunday is so we can harvest the secret ingredient."

"So we worship the LORD by masturbating?" Asked Samuel

"Yes, my son. Jesus Christ himself blessed our cum. Now it is our duty as devout Christians to spread his blessing through our food."

Samuel felt a thrill run through his penis. He couldn't wait to start spreading the blessings of his LORD Jesus Christ.

The next day he was assigned to work the cash register. "Your pleasure is my pleasure"

Ready to embrace the good ol’ Southern life? 🌾 This subliminal is designed to connect you deeper with your Southern roots—from proudly flying the Stars and Bars to feeling an intense connection with hunting, fishing, and living life out in the great outdoors. 🌲🏞️

Tired of all that Yankee nonsense? This subliminal helps you shed any lingering Northern influences and fully embrace the Southern charm, confidence, and pride that come naturally to you. 🤠

With this subliminal, you’ll start talking the talk and walking the walk of a true Southern man. Whether it’s gettin’ dirty workin’ on your truck, catchin’ a fish, or lovin’ that sweet country music, this will help you feel the pride of being a country boy and showin’ off your Southern heritage with confidence. 💪

Key Benefits:

• Embrace Southern pride in every way—fly the Stars and Bars, the Libertarian flag, and feel proud of your heritage 🇺🇸

• Start speakin’ with a stronger Southern accent and livin’ the Southern way every day 🎤

• Feel a deep love for hunting, fishing, and gettin’ out in the great outdoors 🌲🐟

• Dislike Yankee culture and feel stronger in your pride for Southern traditions 🚫🗽

• Feel proud workin’ on your truck, gettin’ dirty, and lovin’ the lifestyle of a country boy 🛠️🛻

• Enjoy the sound of country and Rock music and make it part of your daily life 🎶

• Rep your country pride with confidence—wear your hats, tanks, and flags proudly 💥 • Feel motivated to get outdoors, enjoy motorsports, rodeos, and love your Southern way of life 🏎️🐴

Out of the clear blue Florida sky, there was a massive bolt of lightning, followed by an earsplitting crack of thunder that boomed for miles. The bolt of blueish lighting was immense, and persisted for a few moments, unlike regular lightning. The literal bolt from the blue shook the ground and left a deep crater, as though something had slammed into the Earth at high speed and with great force. From the smoking crater came a large hand, gripping the lip of the crater and hauling someone up. 

The figure stepping from the crater was a huge man. No, not a man; a god. Standing at 6 foot 3 inches, he stood tall and strong, and would have loomed over many a mortal. He wore a suit of armored plate that weighed as much as an Abrams main battle tank, yet he barely felt it. His armor covered his chest, leaving his massive biceps free, ready to swing the immense hammer in his right hand. His long blonde hair fell down over his bright blue eyes, and he swept it away. Thor, Son of Odin, frowned in confusion. This was…definitely not Midgard. Or, not the Midgard he remembered. Where was the snow? The “big” and “strong” Viking warriors -small to him, like all mortals- come to offer him tribute and mead? The small mortals bowing before the mighty God of Thunder? And why was it so hot?!? It was hot and humid, like the fires of Muspelheim! In the far distance, he saw strange clusters of steel and glass, rising into the horizon. Ah, mortals! He begin to swing his hammer, before slingshotting himself far into the distance.

It was a fine day in Jacksonville, Florida. There was going to be a Gators game later that day and people were getting ready for tailgates; buying beers, brats, and Yankees to worship them as they enjoyed the game. Huge trucks drove through the streets, blaring both the AC from the vents and bro country from the speakers. That changed abruptly when something came slamming into the pavement, leaving a small indentation where it landed. A huge Ford slammed on the breaks, narrowly avoiding toppling into the hole, front wheels hanging into the hole. Baffled passersby got close, only to see a tall and muscular figure with long blonde hair standing in the hole, climbing out. He was tall, very muscular, and was already sweaty from the heat as he rose and took a look around, surveying the mortals. 

“Ah, mortals! I have found you, at last. I am Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, Lord of Asgard, and this land is mine to claim!”

Thor looked around, confused when they did not kneel before him in stunned worship. These mortals were quite tall, some even taller than him. They must be giants? Their words had a strange accent as they whispered.

“Who is he?”

“One of the Avengers?”

“Claim? This is Florida, not California!”

Thor had no idea of where he had landed; one of northern Florida’s biggest cities and the birthplace of Tim Tebow, Jacksonville was full of Southern men who did not take kindly to the idea of being “claimed”. He knew it was hot, and he was sweaty. 

“Mortals! Bow before-“

Before he could finish his sentence, a booming voice cut through the crowd.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Thor turned to see a trio of men, each standing at least 7 feet tall, looming over even the Mighty Thor. One of them was a tall and thin -relatively, he was still quite muscular- figure with a scruffy beard, wearing an armored jumpsuit in grey and dark red. His hair and beard was dark brown, and a pair of intense green eyes peered at Thor as he hefted a heavy shield; it was clearly very sturdy, strong, and bore a red, white, and blue emblem Thor did not recognize. It was pointed at one end, enabling it to be used offensively and defensively. 

The man next to him was not a man at all, at least Thor didn’t think so. Its flesh was shining in the Florida sun as though made of metal, and was red and blue. A central sphere glowed, as did the creature’s eyes. The only way Thor knew it was alive was that it spoke. 

“Getting impressive energy readouts Cap.”

The first man nodded curtly. The third figure loomed over even his comrades; he was a bulky behemoth of a man, huge and beefy, with muscles that made even Thor look small. This impressed and confused Thor. He wore a tight-fitting shirt that hugged his arms, and a pair of mesh-like pants that did little to conceal his beefy ass. It was a mix of red and grey and blue and orange, an odd mix that managed to work surprisingly well. He said nothing, but his blue eyes roved over Thor. He folded his arms over his pecs and smirked, satisfied that he was bigger. The first man spoke again.

“Again, who the fuck are you?”

Thor hefted his hammer.

“I am Thor, Son of Odin, God of Thunder, Lord of Asgard! And yes, I am quite impressive, metallic imp. Who are you? It is clear that you are the lords of this land, aye? You must be related to Frost Giants! But this land is not yours; Midgard rightfully belongs to me. Do you intend to deny my righteous claim as Lord of the Nine Realms?”

The first man almost laughed.

“I’m Captain Confederate, and you seem to be lost; this ain't a damn renn fair…and is that a goddamn hammer?”

The metal man spoke to Cap, evidently the team lead.

“Uh, Cap; Thor was the Norse god of thunder, lightning, fertility, and trees. I think that’s Mjolnir, his hammer.” 

Thor brightened.

“So you have heard of me. Good, the mortals still worship me!”

The third man unfolded his arms and strode forward.

“Thor, huh? God of Thunder? I’m Tim fucking Tebow, but you can call me Stonewall. Yer lookin pretty puny for a god, and you sure as hell ain't from here, so you ain't a god. Put down your toy before I have to break it.”

Thor grew irritated and indignant. 

“You dare challenge my might, ogre? I shall claim this land for Asgard, and you shall kneel before your rightful Lord. Now, feel the wrath of the Mighty Thor!”

Thor aimed Mjolnir at Stonewall, and there was a huge blast of lightning, arcing from the mighty hammer and into the humungous football players beefy chest. To Thor’s astonishment, the hulking brute was knocked back maybe half a step, but was otherwise unharmed when the smoke cleared. Stonewall glared at Thor.

“That tickled. Now I get to break you.”

Taking two steps forward, Stonewall swung his huge fist at Thor, hitting him right in the chest and sending him flying into a wall. Thor was dazzled, but stood from the wall and charged forth. Just as this occurred, the tall Texan, Captain Confederate, took a running leap, vaulting up a truck and leaping from the roof, coming down as fast and hard as surely as a shell on Fort Sumter, his shield with the battle flag slamming down hard into Thor. The shield itself weighed several hundred pounds, and there were several hundred pounds of Texan muscle behind it as well, propelling the pointing shield down onto his head, a single tiny drop of divine blood falling from his forehead as he was propelled backwards by the impact. Thor roared and emitted a mighty blast of lightning all around him, throwing Captain Confederate back, though he swiftly converted the tumble into a deft roll backwards, already kneeling and using his shield for cover as he fired on Thor with his custom 1911. The bullets compacted into tiny metal discs upon impact with Thor’s massive muscles, completely useless. Cap frowned, concerned by this, as Iron Rebel hovered overhead, blasting Thor with his energy weapons.

The Alabama billionaire hovered in his armored suit, blasting Thor with his repulsors, but was confused. They didn’t seem to be having much impact. His AI, Jaxon, chimed to life. 

“Sir, energy levels rising in the target.”

“Explain.”

Colin replied as he kept blasting Thor, pumping up the energy in the blasts, hoping they might prove more effective.

Thor grinned below, and locked eyes with him.

“Energy levels increasing dramatically s-"

Before he could finish his sentence, Thor emitted a burst of lightning directly at him, thunder rumbling through the cloudless Jacksonville sky. The suit was of course, fully insulated, but the sheer power behind the blast shut down his armor, and he dropped like a rock, slamming into the ground and attempting to reactivate his systems, cursing loudly as he did so. 

The clang of Iron Rebel against the ground drew Cap’s gaze, and he rushed to his aid, still firing with one hand at Thor. Stonewall gave his partners a quick glance, and, almost sensing that Colin was ok despite having fallen from the sky, strode towards Thor. The bulky footballer walked forward casually, as though walking out to the middle of Gators stadium for the coin toss. He reeled back to punch Thor again, casually ignoring another blast of lighting as he drew closer. Thor, frustrated that nothing seemed to be hurting the Florida football colossus, hefted a nearby truck that had been abandoned, and hurled it at Stonewall. That caught his attention, eyes widening as it came hurtling towards him. Tim put out his arms, and, to Thor’s astonishment, he caught the truck and simply set it down, gingerly, as though he wanted to avoid breaking a fellow Southerners property. He continued to stride towards Thor, steps leaving small divots in the asphalt as he grew himself slightly bigger with casual ease, gaining two more feet in a few strides, looming over Thor. The thunder god hurled Mjolnir at Tebow’s head, which actually seemed to have an impact; the force behind the throw seemed to hurt, knocking his head back on his neck as though he had just received a strong punch to the face. His casual grin was now an irritated frown. 

Thor held out his hand for Mjolnir, waiting for it to come back to him. It came racing back to him, but then, at the last second, the red and grey figure of Iron Rebel rocketed past, snatching Mjolnir from the sky. Iron Rebel was surprised by how easy it had been to chart the hammers course and arrange an intercept pattern. His systems had rebooted and he was eager to do something, so upon seeing him hurl his mighty hammer, he decided he could at the very least take away Thor’s weapon. The hammer strained, exerting force, trying to return to Thor, but Colin’s armor -and his muscles under it- was strong enough to keep it firmly held in his gauntlet. Thor was about to fry the iron pest when Tim Tebow slammed into him with all the force of fifteen freight trains, propelling him backward. His legs, which had driven even other Southern Gods back with their sheer driving force on the gridiron, pumped, combat cleats tearing into the asphalt, muscled arms pushing Thor back, and then pinning him. Thor fell onto his back, and felt an impossibly heavy weight on his chest; Stonewall’s huge combat cleat, pinning him to the ground as if he was a magnet stuck to it. He struggled, but couldn’t move. 

“Unhand me, ogre!”

Captain Confederate strode forth, glaring down at Thor, and placed his shield against his throat, the pointed tip like a guillotine blade. 

“I should kill you right now for what you’ve done. Challenging us, hurting my friends, causing so much damage. For challenging our honor…”

He pressed the tip into Thor’s neck, a tiny pinprick of blood oozing forth. He did not press it further, thinking. Stonewall spoke up.

“Thanks for that. First real fight I’ve had in ages. That hammer a yers packs a punch.”

Speaking of the hammer, Iron Rebel strode up, still holding Mjolnir, effortlessly keeping it from Thor’s hands.

“Please just cut his head off Jensen. I’m going to have to completely redesign the suit now.”

Thor let out an indignant roar, struggling anew against the combat cleat. Stonewall frowned.

“Naw, that’d be a waste. He’s big, strong, hot, just needs a haircut to get rid of that damn hippy hair and a Rebel Brew to become a real God. Let’s Southernize ‘im.”

Colin was alarmed by the idea.

“WHAT? No! I am NOT being partners with a walking Tesla coil! You saw what he did!”

Jensen paused, seeming to consider this. 

“You recovered. Tim’s right.”

He pulled the shield back, resting it beside him, as he reached into a small pouch on his belt. Between his fingers rested a small metal vial, marked “SS-004 CONCENTRATE.” A heavily concentrated form of Southernizing agent, he kept a few vials on his person if he ever ran across someone worthy of ascension during a field op. He opened the vial’s lid.

“I heard ya like beer? Get ready for the best beer of your life. Yer about to become one of us.”

As Thor continued to protest, he leaned down and poured the vial right down his throat. The god spluttered, almost gagging on the substance. 

Thor continued to protest the mortals when the scruffy one with a heavy shield poured something right down his throat. He spluttered as it splashed down, the intense taste of hops too much even for him. Almost immediately, a strange heat washed over him. Then, his eyes almost rolled back in his head from the sudden explosion of power blasting through his body. The warmth washed over every inch of his body, every atom suffused with energy and power. His biceps and triceps, already impressive, began to grow before the eyes of the Southerners. Thor’s muscles, be it in his boulder biceps, thunder thighs, princely pecs, or elsewhere, grew hundreds of times denser and stronger in moments, flooded with strength, strong as white titanium. His muscles and sinews stretched, bones popping as they expanded. Sweat covered his body anew, glistening in the hot Southern sun as he kept growing. His cock would be an impressive eight inches when completely soft, balls churning with superior seed as his DNA was augmented and remade into a hybrid of Southern strength and Norse divinity. 

As if being diverted from one part of him to another, Thor’s long blonde locks receded back, becoming a much more conservative cut, as a beard grew out, thicker and mightier. His feet strained against his boots, growing several sizes in moments, stinking and sweaty. Thors mind began to change. He felt a haziness wash over him, clouding his memories. No longer had he been entirely Asgardian. No, his father had had some fling with a mortal from the South, and he was the result. A mighty hybrid, raised to take over when his father passed. He felt an immensely strong attachment to the South, having visited it and fallen in love, and now he fought alongside the Southern Avengers when he was not expanding the Asgardian Empire, which he ruled as God-Emperor. Thor looked around, wondering why he was on his back. His armor had expanded to accommodate his new size, but now bore motifs of miniature battle flags alongside norse runes, his dual heritages reflected in his armor and his accent when he spoke. Standing up, he opened his mouth to speak, but something else came out. 

“BBBBBUUUUUUURRRRPPPP!”

The thundering beer-heavy shockwave of his burp shook the ground under his feet, and shattered windows already weakened by their fight. He flexed his immense white biceps, soaked in sweat, and proudly proclaimed.

“I am Thor - Son of Dixie!”

He smirked as he flexed, feeling absolutely at home in the Jacksonville sun. The others watched him in awe, and Thor was puzzled. 

“What’s wrong my friends?”

Jensen spoke first, improvising quickly. He was pleasantly surprised by the results of the vial. Perhaps because Thor was a god to begin with, the results were especially impressive, making him into a very literal Southern God.

“Nothin Thor. That was just…a damn good burp.”

“Of course it was! What has happened here?”

Tebow spoke up now, clapping Thor on the back; he was delighted by the new stud, his muscles rivaling his own beefy muscles. 

“Oh, we took down some terrorists. Made a real mess, but nobody got hurt. Ya did good today Thor. Now, let’s help em fix things up, then we all go out for some dinner?”

Thor nodded enthusiastically, and began effortlessly hefting vehicles that had been turned over. 

Two Days Later:

The ground shook as the Yankees prayed, invoking their precious God, imploring him to save them, to deliver them from evil, to watch over them in their hour of need. The ground shaking was itself not unusual; Southerners frequently made the ground shake for one reason or another; walking, burping, farting, rumbling by in their huge trucks. But now the stained glass windows shook dangerously, quaking in their frames as if the saints themselves feared what was coming. They prayed harder. Then, a huge hand ripped apart the church steeple, massive fingers ripping apart the roof and steeple, sending beams falling down into the church and onto the terrified parishioners. The hand pulled away and the remains of the roof and steeple were casually tossed over the titan’s shoulder as if it were merely a beer can. A huge face bent down to peer at the puny Yankees; it was huge, filling the sky, a scruffy dirty blonde beard taking up a lot of the view, each hair easily three times the size of the largest man north of the Mason-Dixon. They didn’t recognize him, but that, again, wasn’t unusual. Southerners came and went, sowing havoc in their wake as surely as ozone follows lightning. He smirked down at the tiny Yankees, and chuckled, voice shaking the ground when he spoke.

“HELLO YANTS! ARE YOU PRAYING TO YOUR RIGHTFUL SOUTHERN GODS?”

The accent was not one they recognized; it was kinda Southern, but there was something else. This was confusing. He peered closer, and his huge lips pursed into an irritated frown. 

“ANSWER ME, KNAVES.”

Knaves? What sort of person called someone a knave?

The terrified father seemed to regain some small measure of faith and stood, trembling but still standing.

“N-no, we are worshipping the one true God-“

He was cut off by an amused guwaff from the titanic stud looming over them.

“GOD? THERE IS NOT ONE GOD, PUNY BUGS, BUT AN ENTIRE RACE OF THEM LIKE ME. BOW BEFORE THE MIGHTY THOR, GOD OF THUNDER, PATHETIC YANTS, AND PERHAPS I SHALL TAKE YOU AS MY PLAYTHINGS.”

The terrified Yankees stared up in horror at the colossus. Since when did the so-called gods have dominions? Some were already on their knees, knocked down by falling debris, the quakes from his footfalls or the beer-scented wind from his booming voice. Others, however, refused to kneel, secure in their faith, albeit still alarmed. Thor titan waited for a few moments, before opening his mouth to speak again, only for a hurricane-force burp to rumble forth from his mega stomach. There was an ominous rumble and then when his lips parted, hell burst forth into the sanctuary. 

The beer-and-protien-scented shockwave of gas and heat obliterated all the remaining stained glass windows as if purging the land of false idols in an act of masculine potency and southern rage, leaving not a trace remaining. The doors flew off their hinges, one door slamming into and through the store across the street, the other door reducing a passing Yankee to a bloody smear on the sidewalk. The walls bulged and strained, bulging out in crazy angles in some places, completely destroyed in some places. The inhabitants fared worst of all. 

The sheer heat of Thor’s massive burp seared them, their screams utterly inaudible as they were cooked to a crisp, burned and charred in a few mercifully quick seconds before death supervened. They had literally been fried by the heat, skin forming a crust-like texture of flash-hardened burns. 

A low whistle came from beside Thor. Stonewall towered beside him, having been watching beside Thor as he exercised his power.

“DAMN! YOU COOKED EM!”

Thor grinned with pride.

“DIDN’T KNOW I COULD DO THAT! I WONDER…”

He trailed off and grabbed one of the petrified Yankee bodies, still kneeling in terrified supplication, and tossed it into his gaping maw.

“NOT BAD! CRISPY AND WARM.”

He reached down and grabbed more, as Stonewall just laughed, thunderous laughter shaking the ground. This had been quite a fun way to see Thor in action, allowing Tim to gauge how he was acclimating to his powers. Evidently he was adapting quite well. He knew it had been a good idea to Southernize the colossal Nordic hunk, and this casual display of power and dominance seemed to confirm it. He smiled and patted his friend on the back. 

“WANNA GO FIND SOME DUMB PROTESTERS TO STOMP ON, MAKE SOME YANTS BOW DOWN?”

Thor grinned. 

“OF COURSE! MAYBE I CAN FRY SOME MORE!”

With that, the two stomped off, Cap joining them, having been busy stomping out a minor disturbance under his boots. The trio of titans stomped off to find more Yants to have fun with, knowing that they would tremble at the sight of the newest member of the Southern Avengers: Thor, Son of Dixie.

-

Wolverine -> Red Neck Mechanic

Going down South on a mission, Logan had to make a pitstop. He couldn't let his Harley Davidson get too damaged from a long ride.

However, when the Southern Mechanic saw what a Man's man Logan was, he couldn't let him get away.

He quickly got some of that Southernisation into him and he quickly became the Mechanic's best friend and worker.

Wolverine -> Cowboy

People don't know what it means to be ranchers now-a-days. They don't know about hospitality and masculinity. But The Cowboy does and he likes to share it with anyone he finds and anyone who meets him always seems to come around to the idea of being just like him.

As you returned home from work, a package waited for you outside your apartment door. It was addressed to you, but there was no return address listed. 

You opened it and were surprised to find an old-fashioned tape recorder and a pair of headphones, a brochure for some guided meditation thing. 

Curious, you decided to try it. You found meditation calming, and a guided meditation experience sounded potentially interesting. You slipped on the headphones and pressed play. 

“Welcome to Guided Meditation. I will be your guide through this guided meditation experience, Dr. William Greyson.”

The man’s voice was calm and quiet, possessing a refined Southern accent, the quiet dignity of a gentleman. It was soothing to listen to. He continued. 

“Close your eyes and attempt to clear your mind. Remove any distracting thoughts. Politics, sports, pre-conceived notions. Take a deep breath in. Count to 5. 1…2…3…4…5. Exhale. Good.”

You took a few deep breaths, counted to five, and exhaled, trying not to think about politics or sports or anything else, to clear your mind, as you did with all meditation. The smooth voice continued. 

“Picture a pristine, babbling creek, full of fish, winding its way through the forest. Hear the soft babbling of the water, the sounds of birds around you. You are fishing in the stream. Feel the rod in your big, strong, calloused hands. Feel the cool air against your tough, sun-burnt skin, hardened from years of hard work on the farm. Your hairs stand on end from the cool wind, your skin prickling. Remain in this calming space for a few moments, listening to the water and feeling the cool wind on your skin.” 

For a few moments, you could swear you felt a cool breeze rush over you and hear water rushing nearby. Not the sound of waves crashing against the hot beaches of Oahu, but water like in a creek or a stream. Must be the power of suggestion, you thought. 

“Now, let us transition to another scene. It is fall, and as the leaves are falling, you are getting busier. Busy hunting and of course, playing football. Feel the adrenaline pumping through your body, the sweat after a hard-won game. Feel the energy coursing through your veins, through your big, strong muscles, solid and strong like white titanium. Feel the heat radiating from your body, the sweat and musk wafting from you. Feel your size 16 cleats crunching through fallen leaves, feel the sweat drying on your body. Smell the smoke of a bonfire, taste the ice-cold beer on your lips before you rumble out a burp.”

This was getting…weirder, you thought. Adrenaline and heat, energy? This was supposed to be meditation, not pumping you up! And what kind of a meditation tape would ever talk about beers and burps and bonfires? Maybe you should stop listening, you think, before a hot warmth swells up inside you. You felt sweaty, but you did have a hard day at work, and it was hot, like always. 

“Feel the pride welling up inside you. The pride from winning a game, winning a game against a weak team from up north, showing them Southern power and strength. Utterly dominating them, as you should. Feel your mighty muscles. Your huge boulder biceps, mighty pecs, your hard abs. This is the power within and without. It is your power. You are strong. You are mighty. You are powerful. Feel your white titanium muscles slowly swelling up bigger and bigger, getting stronger as you embrace your heritage.”

You had no idea what was going on at this point, and tried to reach for the headphones, only to feel the warmth inside you abruptly move, to your pecs. Your pecs began to grow and swell, swelling out into mighty slabs of muscle. Your abs became chiseled like thick cobblestones of muscle. You couldn’t bring yourself to open your eyes, and it felt so good. It burned, but it was a good kind of burning, like a purifying flame. 

“Feel your arms and legs growing. Your cock becoming worthy of you, rather than the old, inferior you.” 

The heat shot out in several directions. Your arms and legs began to burn; you could feel muscles swelling up from nothing, being molded by the heat like clay being fired in a kiln, hardening into strong mounds of muscle, huge biceps, triceps, calves. As the heat spread to your cock, you nearly doubled over with pleasure as you felt your balls balloon in size, your cock growing, becoming a long, thick cock worthy of a man of your size. 

“You may feel disoriented as you adjust to your new reality. Feel your skin burn as you become a true Southerner, a Son of Dixie. Cast aside your old identify and be born anew."

You were finally able to open your eyes and felt an intense itching all over your body. You looked down in awe and horror at your new muscles. They were so big and strong, but slowly seeping across your body was a wave of white, almost like oil seeping across your body, climbing like kudzu vines up a trellis. Wherever it passed, your skin itched furiously for a moment before becoming pure white titanium, unblemished and nothing like the darker tone over what was left of your body. You frantically tried rubbing it off, and tried reaching up for the headphones, only for a wave of confusion to wash over you. Why were you trying to take off the headphones? This was helping you become a new, better you, a bigger you, a stronger you. 

"The process of acquiring new memories may be confusing, disorienting, traumatic. You are a proudly Southern country boy, you have always been a proudly Southern boy. You are a big, strong, cocky football player. You have always been a football player. Let go, give in, give up, surrender to who you are now." 

You shook your head vigorously, looking down at your body. Why had you ever thought you were Asian? Fuck that, you were a country boy through and through. Nah, the only thing Asian about you was the fried rice and egg rolls you ate at that cheap Chinese place on the corner. You and your team members had once eaten literally everything in the restaurant, forcing them to close early. After all, big muscles like yours needed big fuel. You were a big strong country boy, Will Hayes, a player for the Nocturne City Rebels. 

"Feel your memories slipping away. Do not be afraid, they are the remnants of your past life being erased so you may start anew, so you may be reborn. You will be a Southern country boy through and through, with no memory of your past life."

You had strange memories. Memories of someone else...someone who you thought was you. An Asian boy, living in Hawaii. Milestones of his life flashed by; a birthday party on the beach, learning to swim in the salty Pacific, his first car, attending a Harry Potter screening with friends. But these brief flickers faded quickly, like embers in a dying fire, struggling to survive. You shook your head, new old memories flooding in. You were born to a small family in rural Virginia, outside Nocturne City. You spent your childhood hunting, fishing, helping dad out on the farm. You had never left the continent, let alone been to Hawaii. You remembered the first time you shot a deer, your father proudly helping you mount it on the wall where it remained to this day. You remembered getting your truck, a big, lifted Ford that had speakers that could shake the ground when you blared Dierks Bentley and Florida Georgia Line. You remembered your first football game, the rush you felt when your team won against the pathetic little team from up north. 

"Now, clear your mind of any lingering elements of your old self. Interests, hobbies, all need to be destroyed that you may be born anew as a Son of Dixie."

Despite your country upbringing, you had weird tastes. A fondness for Harry Potter, Magic The Gathering, and musicals. All that needed to be erased. Within seconds, your knowledge of Magic cards and spells was replaced by a hard-won knowledge of how to fish and hunt. Your encyclopedic knowledge of lyrics from the songs of Wicked was replaced with knowing how to change a tire, fix an engine, and fix a leak. Your love of fictional British wizards was replaced with a love of all things football. Your favorite movies were now the Southern Avengers movies; you even had a framed poster for the original Captain Confederate on your bedroom wall. 

"Good. Now, there are just one more thing left to do. I assure you; it will come quite naturally to you. Explore your new body, and then jerk off. Purge yourself of your remaining impurities."

You looked down. Your work clothes were incredibly tight, unable to handle your new size, and looking comically undersized on your mighty body. Absolutely nothing remained of your previous appearance, aside from the clothes. You ran a hand through your scruffy facial hair, feeling the short brown hairs tickling your fingers. You felt your bulging biceps, flexing and feeling your immense muscles bulge with every flex. The sleeve of your work shirt tore, unable to handle your new biceps flexing. Your hands ran down, rubbing your huge pecs, massive slabs of beef topping your chest. You ran your hands down your abs, like rock hard bricks of white marble. Your hands found their way down to your immense cock; eight inches soft. You reached down and felt your balls, churning up seed. Normally you'd be fucking or being sucked off by a weak Yankee, or having sex with your boyfriend, Ryan, but you needed release now. You stroked your mighty country boy cock, and felt it harden. You slowly began to stroke it, feeling your cock quickly harden in response to your touch. As you stroked, more memories came to you. You remembered meeting Ryan in high school, the two of you falling in love on the football team; you were a running back, he was a tight end. You remembered your first time dominating a Yankee; making some weak Yankee nerd lick your cleats clean, get you beers, and suck you off. You stroked harder, cock lengthening to a ten-inch monster of country boy meat. 

"Purge yourself of what remains."

The voice was accompanied by the intense heat returning, concentrated in your cock and balls, and you groaned, stroking faster. Whatever this was, it felt incredible. You moaned loudly as you came, all traces of your previous existence being blasted out along with your load of thick salty cum. Your underwear and pants were soaked, and so was your chest and work shirt. This didn't last long through. The heat shot up to over your heart, and began to burn, more intensely than it had before. You nearly doubled over in pain and pleasure, as a battle flag tattoo formed over your heart. As you saw it forming, an intense wave of pride came over you. You were proud to be gay, proud to be Southern, proud of being a real man, proud of where you were from, and eager to show off your superiority to puny Yankees. You closed your eyes for a moment, reflecting. When you opened them, you looked down. Your work clothes were gone, replaced by a tank top and a pair of jeans, a pair of boots on your feet, which had grown to a solid size 16. A ball cap rested on your head. Despite the chill of the Virginia winter outside, you felt fine wearing just a wifebeater. You were no longer in Hawaii, you were at home in Virginia, about to go meet up with Ryan for a date; burgers, beers, and dominating a pair of Yankees he had caught. You grinned and took a pic before heading out to your truck.