Bing bing bing! The bell at the top of the door rang out.

I walked into The Narrows a little after 8:30 P.M. on Friday night. It was this tiny bar off
M Street, rectangular with really only three features: a long polished wooden bar on the left wall;
a pale purple door at the back of the rectangular, maybe an office; and seven tables for two
people lining the right wall—I think this type of place is called an alley bar.
I sit at the bar and order a Tito’s and Soda, my dad’s signature drink. The barstools here
are more comfortable than any other with patent red leather seats and backs that easily conform
to the fit of my butt and back.
I turn my head to survey the room. There’s five other men sitting at the bar like me and at
the tables four couples and one pair of men in suits, talking in hushed tones about something too
confidential for the rest of us to hear. The thirteen normal people are all eyeing me distractedly
with a mild interest … as if they know something I don’t. My drink comes; it’s a little stiff, but I
don’t mind because the bartender smiles at me and says, “On the house.” He must know it too.
“Are you new here?”
I glance over to check out my questioner, one of the five men from the bar, he’d be called
an objective type of handsome with sweeping long dark hair, a chiseled face, and toned muscles
all over a slightly-taller-than-average body which I could see through his shirt. I’m not interested
though; I’m a basic straight white male. I answer, “I’ve been here once before.”
The man seems a little confused but takes it in stride. “What brought you back?”
“The bartender’s heavy hand and the comfy barstools.”
He chuckles and looks me up and down. The pale purple door’s handle twists loudly.
“Enjoy your night” the man curtly cut off our brief conversation and walked a few steps away to
his original barstool. From the pale purple door emerged a very different looking man, much
more interesting to my eyes. He was very tall and thin, whip-like with light hair buzzed around
the sides and slightly longer on top. His face was much sharper than my questioner’s with
tightly-pursed, long lips and searching blue eyes, eyes that eventually fall on me and remain
there. His gaze captures my own eyes and locks me in. I’m stuck there sliding into his eyes, but
suddenly he breaks his gaze and walks my way.
That was weird. I rub my eyes and look around the room. Everyone, even the
businessmen, was looking at me silently; some of them try to hide it and look away quickly, but I
know. I face perfectly forwards to avoid everyone’s watchful eyes and stare straight ahead at a
clock above the rows of alcohol behind the bar. The man takes the barstool to the right of me.
His eyes are slightly higher than my eye-level, and he wore a drab plaid shirt with jeans. “Jimmy,
can I get a scotch, and a second one for my friend here?”
“Sure thing, boss. Comin’ right up.”
“Friend? Boss?” I question the tall man. My eyes shift to glance at him, but my head
remains trained on the clock.
“We will be friends in a minute, and yes, I own and run this place … and a few others.
Heard of Lucky Sevens or New Town?”
I choose not to question him; talking to this man is easy. “Yeah, New Town is around the
corner from my apartment.”
“No way! Small world. I’m Gil, by the way.”
“Good to meet you, Gil. I’m Peter.” I turn my head from the clock—it’s 9:07—and raise
my hand from the bar to shake his hand, but then his eyes rise to meet mine again. They are like
twin pools of oil, and I’m slipping into them for the second time. It’s easier the second time
around. I’m just falling farther and farther down into the eyes, and it’s like an eternity down here.
But … I can breathe, like it’s my first breath of fresh air in weeks; my breathing is even and
deep. It’s in time with Gil’s breathing too. In and out, in and out, in and out. And then my
thoughts range elsewhere. Almost like I’m looking for a certain string of thoughts. This barstool
is a little wobbly; my drink is almost empty; I like that shade of purple—I should paint my
bedroom door that color … … … I bet falling love is like this, falling into someone’s eyes.
“Holy crap that was quick.” I escape the pools of oil. I turn my head to the left, my gaze
passing over the clock which now read 9:12. One of the five barmen breathed out that whispered
exclamation, and now he stood with a look of horror in his eyes and his right hand over his
mouth. Because I was turned to my left to look at this incredulous man, I did not see Gil tip his
chin icily at the man. The starstruck man immediately left the bar. Bing bing bing!
“What was that about?” I turn back to Gil whose round brown eyes had narrowed to slits
and full, short lips had puckered up. I can’t seem to get used to his pale purple polo shirt, and
long curly dark hair.
“Not sure …” His eyes stayed planted firmly on the door as though he wanted to make
sure Mr. Holy Crap was gone for good. “What do you do for a living, Peter?”
 “Corporate law. It’s boring, but the pay is fine. Enough for me to own an apartment in
downtown D.C., I guess.”
“What firm are you with?”
“GreenRim Tech.”
“Aren’t they doing some weird stuff in A.I. right now?”
“Yeah that’s right. How did you know?”
“Oh, I’m friends with this girl named Julia down there.”
“Seriously, Julia Dreiden? You know Julia Dreiden. The Chief Technology Officer, Julia
Dreiden.” I’m a little skeptical.
“Yeah, we went to George Washington University together.” I’m less skeptical. “Her
kids, Ray and Mary, call me Uncle Gil.” He sounds honest, but … Maybe I should ask around. I
look up away from the clock where my gaze had fallen again; it’s 9:15. I check out Gil to see if I
can tell whether he’s lying. The pools catch me again.
Julia Dreiden, gosh that woman hates me now. I really messed up meeting her this week.
… … … I wonder if Gil could help me out with that.
Bing bing bing! The pools dry up again. Another couple walked into the bar and
approached the open table nearest to the window before looking at Gil and me. Again I don’t see
Gil tip his chin icily. The couple’s eyes widen in surprise, and they walk away just like the
starstruck man, but I don’t make that connection.
“Weird.”
“Yeah, it was” Gil agrees quickly. I turn back to him, my gaze again catching the clock;
it’s 9:21. His eyes at eyelevel with mine are again slits staring down the door. His khaki pants are
tight against bulging leg muscles like he’s ready to spring up and lock the door himself.
“Anyways, I can’t believe you know Julia Freakin’ Dreiden.”
“Yeah, does she know you?”
“A little. We met this week, but I screwed up this massive contract, so she kinda hates my
guts.” Gil’s hand reaches over for mine; I should think it’s weird that he’s reaching for my hand
like a friend, but I barely notice.
“You know why don’t you come back to my office, and we can call up Julia for a ‘Come
to Jesus’ meeting. We can clear this right up.”
 I’m not sure I should be going into some random guy’s office at … 9:25 at night. My sad
eyes meet the pools again … almost as if I craved their calming effect. Gil’s hand finally touches
mine; he took a long time moving it over there. This time my thoughts are clear. “Really?
Thanks so much, Gil.”
Then suddenly, Gil is leading me to the pale purple door. The pools are gone, but the
spell remains. It must be his hand tugging at mine. On my way I see some of the couples
exchanging money like they were betting on something. It’s 9:31.
Gil closes the door. “Sit down” he commands me. I comply. Gil releases my hand, and
the spell falls away, but I want the spell—no, I need the spell. My eyes burn holes into the back
of Gil’s head as he rounds the desk to sit in his own chair. He busies himself at the desk as if he
doesn’t want to meet my gaze just yet … as if he’s testing me.
“Peter, I haven’t met someone like you in a while.” Gil’s hand opens a screeching desk
drawer. “You are quite special, my friend.” I hang onto every word. “I’d like to help you, Peter.
Even more than just at GreenRim. I think I can help you so much more than that. I want to make
you happy, Peter.”
“How?” I longingly moan.
“By fixing you” he says matter-of-factly. I don’t even question it. I even wonder how
he’s going to fix me.
“Peter, did you see those guys at the bar out there?” My face turns down; I was hoping
me would stay on me, not move on to someone else. “Those guys are also friends of mine. They
are all single and looking for partners. Once, they each came into this bar like you, and I
befriended them like you, but they managed to resist my charms and not to come into this office
after thirty minutes for any reason.” I get a little confused; how long were Gil and I talking, but I
forget that thought. I’m in this office, so I must have lost. “So, I promised to help them out. I
made them a little more handsome, a little richer, and little smoother. Now you will fulfill my
promises to one of those men.”
“What do you mean?” I can barely breath it out; the spell is dragging me into a hypnotic
trance. My thoughts are hardly my own anymore.
“Well, because you failed, you will be a partner to one of them.”
“Ohh …” I moan, this time sadly rather than longingly.
 “You were a tough one to crack though, I must admit. I kept having to sift through your
thoughts and change myself to be more appealing to you, and all those distractions kept getting
in the way of us. Anyways let’s get started. Stand up.” My body wasn’t my own either anymore.
I stood up.
“Strip your clothes off.” While I complied, he disappeared into a backroom to look for
something. Even without his touch or gaze, I couldn’t bring myself to escape. It was hopeless.
He emerged holding a short piece of pink fabric. “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Boxers too, my friend.” I
had no choice. He handed me the fabric; it was the smallest dress I had ever seen. It was this
strapless satin tube with a deep neckline for a clearly well-endowed and proud woman. My eyes
must have bulged because Gil spoke up, “Yeah, Eric likes his girls small, I guess. He picked that
dress out himself. All the men that I do this for choose their partner’s first piece of clothing.”
There have been others like this I think to myself.
“Yes, there are others to answer your question.” He can definitely hear my thoughts.
“You know those four women at the tables all with partners?” Holy shit, this guy is crazy.
“Just a visionary” he answers.
As I’m struggling to pull the dress over my head, my body contorts to fit in its limited
space. It rips as I finally pull the hem down as low as it will go, which still won’t even cover
Gil’s view of my dick. Now I’m just a guy in a dress in Gil’s office. Gil comes around me to zip
it up, and even though that ought to be impossible, he does it with ease.
“And so it begins.”
Then my skin bubbles from within starting at my toes. My nails get painted bright pink;
my legs get toned and go for miles under this dress; my body hair smooths over; my dicks
shrivels up and reverts inside me to a pussy; my hips and butt explode filling out the dress while
my waist thins out to better fit the dress; boobs pop into dress’s loose waiting front; my arms thin
out as what little muscles fade away; my fingernails get the same shade of pink nail polish; my
Adam’s Apple dissipates, and I breath out a high-pitched sultry moan. But then it stops.
“How do you feel?” I forgot Gil was here. The change felt better than anything I’ve ever
felt before. It was so … sexual.
“Like I really want something inside of me right now.” I reach a hand down to my new
pussy and realize I have control again. Gil seizes control back though before I can pleasure
myself in front of Gil without shame.
 “All in good time. We have two things to do first. Your face and my dick.” Gil then pulls
a mirror, makeup, and a hairbrush from a desk drawer.
“What am I supposed to do with these?”
“Use them, duh.” My hand then acts with a mind of its own and expertly cakes on the
makeup as the bubbling feeling returns. Hoop earrings pierce my ears. I pick up the brush and
pull it through my short dark red hair. It gets longer and lighter until it’s baby blonde, soft, and
wavy.
“God, you are a beautiful one. Eric has the right idea. Now one last thing. Suck my dick.”
“Wha—” Gil snaps my full luscious pink lips.
“So you can forget being Peter to become Petra and be happy with your new man.”
Then I’m on my knees, and the whole world just falls away. The only thing on my mind
right now is how to fastest remove the belt from Gil’s pants. I’m ferocious, not gentle. Gil even
chides me for being a little rough on his semi-hard dick at first, but soon I correct myself as if I
was a natural at this. And then there’s a second person in my head. She, Petra, is leading me
through this and pushing Peter out. No, not pushing, more like destroying him completely. Until
he’s just not there anymore and Petra tease Gil into a shocking climax.
“Ahh, Petra … thank you, my sweet. Now forget about me and go back to Eric.”
Petra licked her lips trying to suck up every last drop of Gil’s cum. “But … just one more
time. Eric’s being a little bitch today.”
“I know. I made him that way. Have fun turning him into your doll, my sweet little
mistress.”