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Jacob had set his sights on the first respectable-looking bar he came across. His instincts served him well, as he ended up drinking at Milo's, on the corner of 6 th and 10th — decent prices, and his fake ID let him get served. A pretty penny and a pretty face went a long way.

He'd only ordered a couple of drinks, but that didn't stop him already feeling like shit once he cleared his glass. The barmaid approached his corner of the bar. “New in town?"

Jacob looked up from his drink. “How'd you guess that?"

“Dunno. Fresh face you got. You like it?"

“This place? Milo's? Yeah. I like it."

“Well," she said, leaning towards him, “d'ya think you could either up your intake or not sit right at the bar? We typically park the usual high-payers here."

“Hmm, am I not drinking enough?"

“Not for my tastes."

He smirked. “Why would I leave after you brightened my corner? Getting all kinds of attention now, most of it welcome — not planning to throw that away."

“Ooh, smooth." She grabbed a couple of dirty glasses and began to wash them behind the counter. Jacob twirled his glass, its base pressed against the musty brown wood. She watched him drag his glass across the surface, deep in thought. “Tell ya what: for your sweet words you get another two minutes..." He was about to speak, but she interrupted him: “no tricks."

“Aww, but you haven't seen my tricks yet."

“Don't have to. I can make an educated guess."

“You're no fun."

“And you're no loyal regular of this bar...c'mon man, you've drunk a grand total of two beers. If you're gonna try an' sweet-talk me proper least you could do is buy more."

Jacob's stomach rumbled. It was a low noise, but through the din of the bar's chattering clientele she heard it faintly. “Uggh...I don't think so. Two drinks seems like my limit tonight."

“Then like I said, beat it elsewhere. Leave room for payin' customers."

“Wait up!" Jacob stammered, raising his hand. “Didn't say I wasn't gonna have more."

The barmaid scrunched her cheek. “Even if you throw up?"

“S-sure, that's how tough I am."

She chuckled at the try-hard approach Jacob took to their conversation. “Whadd'ya having?"

Jacob squinted at the selection and placed his order. The names of the breweries started to blend together into an incomprehensible mush. Strange...he wasn't drunk...not yet...and still he was feeling the effect of the alcohol. Far too early by his reckoning. Something else was afoot.

“Here," she plonked the heady mixture in front of him, foam slopping over the sides and drenching the glass container in strong white/orange tones. “The first of many."

“Night is young," he mused, gripping the drink, “and this gets me more time in your lovely presence."

“Cool it," said the barmaid, sternly wagging her finger. Then tapping the hard wooden bar-top, she gave him an order to last the night: “drink up."

Jacob, left alone for the moment, could ponder. Nursing a drink was all well and good, but his luck with the ladies wasn't developing the way he thought it would.

Where am I going wrong? I've lost my edge. My style.

Ever since...

No, that can't be. That was one time...I...I wouldn't lose it because of that...she's my—

“I want to see you start on this," she interrupted him, motioning towards the beer, “as a mark of good faith."

Jacob chuckled. “You don't believe me when I say I'll keep drinking?"

“Eh, there's a little bit of doubt there, yeah."

“Alright," he said, taking a sip. “Happy?"

“Yep."

Jacob sat on his own with his drink. Not my best work. Girl's clearly put off.

Shit, day one and already I screwed up.

He felt woozy. Trying to check his phone he couldn't make sense of the screen — his eyes had trouble adjusting in the low light. Brilliant, he thought, I'm not even that drunk...

“Sorry, 'scuse me."

“Huh?" The barmaid returned to him.

“Could you tell me the time," he slurred, “I can't read my phone...s'too blurry."

She checked it for him. “10:38 sweetheart, now shut up and drink up."

Another bout of quiet drinking, another indeterminate amount of time passing. Jacob felt ill. It'd crept up on him slowly in the course of the evening, after being so relieved his carsickness had abated. Could be too much to drink...but he wasn't some kind of lightweight, this shouldn't be happening to him. Stumbling from his stool, he sensed his way to the men's room.

I need to piss, and possibly vomit...

* * *

Jacob hopped into a cubicle, declining to take up space at one of the urinals in the bathroom for fear of getting sick in public. With trousers 'round his ankles he relieved himself. Finished, he grabbed a paper towel and cleaned up. “Urrgghh," he grumbled, squinting at the mottled floor tiles, following the pattern of cracks on the ceramic surface. He rubbed his eyes with an unsullied hand. His stomach churned, restless...

Nobody else was present. No tell-tale steps on the outside, nor the swing and creak of the heavy door to announce one's entry. He was alone, and able to afford a bit more volume. He groaned loudly as pangs of discomfort shot through him. His innards swelled — leading to a belch. The aftertaste of beer remained in his mouth; the slightly clinical flavour burned his taste-buds.

Please no vomiting, please no vomiting, he pleaded with his digestive system. Jacob did not want to spew all over the bathroom floor, not after starting something with the barmaid. Well...a very faint something, but he could build upon that.

He slammed his hand against the wall, propping up his ailing body.

Shit, he realised, I don't have her name!

The pain continued, growing worse with each passing minute. His exposed lower half experienced a strange feeling. Jacob grimaced when his dick throbbed, becoming erect — painfully so. It swelled, far beyond his usual size. He stared at his member, worry written 'cross his face.

“What the—?"

The queasiness subsided. Jacob felt like his stomach had just collapsed, spreading its ill sensation throughout him. That feeling merged with his pains, producing something new — his body responding to unknown stimuli. His penis, now hardened, engorged itself. Pressing against his skin and forcing his flesh to grow, it lengthened and widened. He looked on in horror as it expanded, growing meatier, his balls swelling too. The feeling was now pleasurable, beginning to overwhelm the uncertain agony that wracked him. His let out a moan, still safeguarded by his solitude.

“Mmmppffff..." Through clamped lips his ordeal was signalled. Muffled moans accompanied transforming flesh.

His cock went from six inches to a whopping eleven-and-a-half! Jacob watched his massive member flop nakedly as he craned over the toilet seat. He felt his balls tingle. They grew from small orbs to elephantine weights dangling from his impressive endowment. He didn't know how to respond. How could he? He just saw his dick get bigger — in plain sight!

Even if he was dreaming...that this was some delirious effect of his semi-drunken state...it felt too real to disbelieve. Tentatively, he reached his other hand downward, navigating around his newfound girth. His skin felt smooth. Hair follicles had vanished from his pillar, leaving the length and base with a tangible consistency. The enormous shaft felt warm to the touch, the energy of the change still buzzing within. Jacob sensed this. He ran his hand along his penis, gripping the thick meaty rod, as rivulets of pre emerged. Pleasure was taking over. He straightened his posture, standing properly, sending a second hand to assist his fondling. Palms held heavy testes, the swollen sac creating a noticeable downward pull whenever he loosened his support.

It was surreal, and sort of surprising. Jacob liked it.

The family jewels weren't the only thing due for a change, as he would soon find out...

* * *

“Millie, another please!"

The barmaid obliged the thirsty customer, topping up his glass with ease while she talked to her manager. “I think we should change the seating," she said, nodding to the gentleman she'd refilled, who thanked her with a frothy shake of his glass.

Her manager — an older man, pot-bellied and going grey — disagreed. “The way it's set up now is how I like it. It's tried and true."

“Just...maybe you could fit a few more tables in here. Less directly at the bar." Millie poured herself a shot of whiskey. Staff weren't supposed to drink during paid hours, but her boss enforced that quite leniently. A new hire might land themselves in hot water, but she had earned it. He joined her. “Pour one for me."

They both downed the shots, clinking their glasses together. “Hassle from the plebs?" asked her manager, his sentence gurgling with the remnant of strong liquor sloshing down his throat.

“The usual ruckus."

“Really? You sound more pissed than usual."

“Ah, nothing," she brushed off his concern, “just some folks tryin' to sweet-talk me."

“Did it work?"

“Hm? Pfft! No! I'm not putting any more charm than necessary into the kinda creep who leers after the people workin' at a bar."

“Sure about that? Might bring in the customers if they thought they had a chance with you." His eyes diverted away from her, knowing the inappropriateness of his words.

“If I didn't know you...you might've gotten a different response to that offer," she replied, while serving a young couple chatting between themselves.

“Leave you to it," he said, returning to his own duties. He wandered from sight. Millie continued to keep the patrons happy, and her dignity intact.

As the minutes passed by, she forgot the boisterous guy trying to put the moves on her, and kept her mind on the job. Occasionally she passed an empty spot along the counter, two-thirds of a beer remaining, its ambrosia soaking into the coaster. She paid it no mind, except for the nasty worry that its owner bailed without paying. Oh well, guess he'll owe us a tab.

* * *

A surge of growth barrelled through whatever meek resistance Jacob's body offered. Crushing his reluctance to change...forcing him to revel in the transformation. He issued a strained cry as his figure expanded, bones and sinew twisting and turning, like a great storm one must weather to see a new day. He held his arms apart, forming a T-pose, pressing against the cubicle walls, hoping he could hold himself firm as the torrential transformation washed over him.

Throwing his head back, gasping feverishly, he became taller, more muscular, more...chiselled. He felt the creeping of power possess him, and with it came knowledge — vague and fleeting — about how to utilise the results of this transformation. Yes, he murmured, yes! Demonic strength flowed through his burgeoning form, pushing his clothes to the limit. Jacob's feet burst out of his shoes, his mass increasing to match his cock and balls. The scraps of footwear littered the floor around him. He looked down, there he saw (past his free-standing member) his legs bulge and press against his trousers. Another second, and they'd torn through the weak material, splitting his pants as they lay hitched half-way up his legs. Knees cracked. Muscles bunched. His hips widened as his new stature continued to emerge — a testament to the majesty of the unknown magic that filled him.

He growled as forces beyond took hold of him.

Time slowed in the presence of this otherworldly influence. From the distance he made out a voice. No words...not speaking...but somebody's voice. It sounded inviting, soothing his aches as the changes rippled through him. A fair, motherly voice. Come to me, it said, a divine coo lingering in the back of his mind. Come to mommy.

Jacob shut his eyes, focusing on the source of the voice. He ignored the whirlwind of events surrounding him, and the implications they held when all his clothes were destroyed. For now, he was content to listen. Hear the distant call. The clamour for his attention.

He knew who was calling. He knew why she yearned.

Velvet tones escorted his once-normal presence as it crossed into perfection. His tight chest broadened. The sensation of his organs filling the expanded cavity made him shiver and shriek. Shoulders, arms, and hands came next — then a thick neck and refined jaw. Everything changed. Everything got improved. He'd increased in height by a full foot, and his body now matched the scale of his genitalia appropriately. Dear God, he wondered, in awe of what he could see below, I'm...I'm...

“I'm ripped."

A thousand hours of gym time flooded his mind. All those press-ups, lunges, traction machines...hours upon hours of work, and he had been gifted decades' worth in mere minutes. Naked in the toilet stall, he ran his hands over his sculpted form. Old scars had vanished, and unruly hairs had been tamed. His fingertips lacked a history of nail-biting, those crevice-ridden strips of skin had smoothened — a great do-over of his physical appearance. He bet if he saw himself in the mirror it would be same everywhere. He had been renewed. And made better.

“FUCK!"

The last vestiges of pleasure fled his frame, pain returning to ruin his admiration. Jacob frowned. He wanted to feel good again. The air irritated his skin. Biting cold made itself known in the rigidly sanitised environment of the bathroom. He sniffed. A sharp tinge of soap sizzled his sinuses. His senses had been boosted. What else was he capable of? He pondered that question, his nude body experiencing fatigue. An enormous amount of energy must have been expended to reshape him...whatever happened was worth it!

Jacob casually stroked his belly — enjoying the luxurious feel of his flesh. He could extract more pleasure from this moment, he realised. Those powerful hands returned to his member, gripping and stroking his cock, balls swinging at each motion. Horny. Yes, he was horny. He needed relief. Picking up speed as he stroked himself, he was lost in the moment. He would go quickly, it could be sensed that his orgasm was approaching soon. As much as he wanted this to last, it wouldn't. His body was one of lust, and it needed feeding. Right now it was famished. That didn't matter, there would be many opportunities to sate his lust. His future was in the arms of one like him — the one who called.

“Nnnnggh!" A whimper was audible amid the slapping of heavy flesh.

“GAH!"

With a lurch he came, his body leaning forward as he sprayed all over the bowl and surrounding walls. Copious volumes of seed spewed forth, his hands grasping, milking his shaft. “Grr-augh!!!" Shivering — feeling the last great gasp of his climax — he released his rod, letting it dangle. Dripping. He was spent.

Once the afterglow subsided, Jacob was left with the reality of the situation. His heart fell. No clothes — they'd all been utterly destroyed. And here he was, stuck in the bathroom of a bar that previous saw a much smaller and less muscled man enter the lavatory. How in God's name was he going to get home? He was needed there...he sensed it.

With a significant amount of trepidation, he slid back the lock on the cubicle door. A single wary eye peeked out through the crack, flicking to-and-for as he checked for others. Empty.

Thank fuck!

Attempting to sneak away, Jacob stepped from the bathroom stall. His feet plodded on the dirty tiles, gathering grit and bleached residue, blackening his soles. His escape was stopped by the door opening. Another customer entered. Shit! he swore under his breath; he appeared to the new entrant as a hunched-over man, nude and mid-sneak.

Eerie quiet ensued. The man stared at Jacob.

He had to think fast...think smart...

Time ground to a halt as he worked on a way out. Rotten luck had left the path ahead fraught with danger. Suddenly — as if from nowhere — an idea jumped into his head.

He stood firmly, and spoke:

“Not. A. Word."

His eyes flashed purple, corrupting their brown colouring, stained from the power he'd just exercised. The man froze, mouth clamping shut. His command was obeyed.

“Leave and forget what you saw," he barked, voice laden with hypnotic undertones.

The intruder looked bewitched; he seemed to hang on every word. Following his instruction, he turned and walked away.

“Wait!" a second cry from the panicked Jacob pulled him back from the brink. The man stopped, his hand shaking as it grasped the doorknob.

He had to be careful, he had only one chance to get away unseen — no sense spoiling it by letting his one asset slip from his fingers. Jacob ran through possible scenarios, none satisfying his desperation. Until...a plan formed. He commanded the mesmerised patron: “ring the fire alarm when you leave, then forget everything."

His captive nodded, absent of all expression on his face. It irked Jacob, seeing this person show no signs of surprise, no lingering shock from the first seconds of their encounter. Hell, nothing at all could be discerned past the empty eyes of an enslaved mind.

What had he done? The answer was plain as day: he'd taken control. He knew (though could not tell how) that if he wished he could command that poor man to do anything. Literally anything. It wouldn't last though...he sensed his hold on him fading. His tether coming loose. He'd need to practice, yes...practice...maybe the whole town could be his to boss around. Caught in his thoughts, he missed the hypnotised stranger close the door behind him as he went. Jacob was only brought back to reality by the shrill scream of the fire alarm going off, and the commotion beyond the bathroom wall — shouts, the smash of glass as someone knocked a drink from a table by accident, and the barmaid's voice, among others, calling for an orderly exit.

Another thought: would they check the bathrooms?

Oh shit! he realised, panic spoiling his triumph. Shit shit shit! In a flighty mood, he threw himself back into the stall, slamming the door and sitting down, legs raised above the gap between the cubicle structure and the floor. Was that enough? Yeah, that should cover him...

No! God-dammit no! He looked in horror at the mess of shredded clothing, strewn in messy clumps around the toilet. There was too much to hide in time! He had nothing...no ideas...no tricks or backup plan...he had sweet fuck-all.

The jig was up. Someone was opening the door.

He slapped his face. C'mon, c'mon! Again he was put under pressure to deliver himself from danger. Again he worried he wouldn't be able to fix things.

Concentrating, he focused on the torn clothes, letting instinct guide him. Disappear, he commanded the shreds, disappear!

They burst into flames, a rapid blaze consuming them. Stunned, he pulled back from the burning mess he'd created, looking helplessly as he conjured fire from nothing. The flames licked the floor, embers receding, eradicating any trace of his clothes. Ashen piles were all that remained. And Jacob leaned forward and breathed strongly, dispersing the last pieces of evidence. On the inhale the pungent scent of singed material made him recoil. Without hesitation, he stopped himself making too much noise, lest he be discovered.

The door opened. One of the bartenders stepped inside (the girl? no...a guy), who sniffed the air, detecting the smell of burning.

“Must be coming from this side of the building," they said. Jacob heard footsteps. Two, then three, then they stopped. He heard a heel turn, the shoe scratching the floor, and the steps continued in the opposite direction. “Better shut the door," the bartender said, closing it behind him to prevent the fire's spread.

Jacob sighed. His actions added credence to the fire scare, something he didn't expect to happen. Jesus, he swore, what did I just do?

It doesn't matter, he told himself, he's gone, they're all gone...

For the last time, he emerged from the stall. His head ached, so did his joints. The aftermath of his transformation would not settle easy. Nor did the realisation that he possessed supernatural powers do anything to calm his nerves. His fingers rubbed together, fidgeting as he thought of his next move. The bar was quiet. Whole place had been evacuated, and Jacob reckoned everyone was standing out front in the chilly night. Cold. Cold!?

“Aw shit! I've got no clothes." He stared at a mid-height mirror on one of the bathroom walls. Sure, glimpsing his handsome self let him know the lasting effects of his change — a supple, masculine figure — but that was secondary to his need to get out of dodge, and fast.

Jacob narrowed his gaze, testing his power. Purple hues consumed more of his irises. A spark erupted from the wall, followed by a short-lived flame. It extinguished itself, having no fuel within reach.

Well...if I need heat I got it right here. Let's hope I don't set the whole town on fire!

Now I need to find a way home.