One Night at Magee's
by Ellie Dauber

This is the first of three stories about Magee’s, a neighborhood bar with a most unusual owner. When Dutch Blucher comes in, looking for a fight, he finds out just how unusual.

One Night at Magee's
by Ellie Dauber

It was your typical Thursday at Magee's Irish Pub. About a dozen guys -- regulars mostly -- were standing at the bar, nursing their beers and arguing about the game on the TV. A few more, some couples, some alone, were sitting in the booths or at tables drinking or talking or both. Simon, the owner, was over in the corner booth playing his weekly chess game with Larry Steinburg, one of the regulars. Sally, the waitress had just brought a pitcher to four guys at one table. She was flirting with one of them, a tall, skinny guy with brown hair.

"I'm Dutch Blucher, and I can lick any man in this bar!" The challenge was given in a bellow that even managed to be heard above the TV. Just about everything stopped as we watched the challenger walk across the room. He stood about 6 foot 5, most of it muscle, all of it mean. He had black hair, cut short like a soldier's; two bushy eyebrows scrunched together over half-closed eyes. His nose looked like it was broken at least a couple of times, and his lips were curled in a snarl. He was wearing a camouflage jacket with cut off sleeves and an old pair of jeans, frayed here or there and with a hole near one knee. A couple of the guys near the bar recognized his work boots -- the kind with a reinforced steel toe.

The crowd by the bar parted and let him through. He pulled an old crumbled up twenty dollar bill out of his pocket and slammed it on the bar. "Pitcher of beer," he said. "And none of that pansy light crap either." Matt was bartender on duty. He drew a pitcher and put it on the bar; took the twenty and gave his change. Blucher wrapped fingers the size of sausages around the handle of the pitcher and hefted it like a regular glass. He drank about a third, set it down on the bar, and let out a belch that drown out the TV. The guys closest to him could smell the garlic from whatever he'd had for lunch that day.

"I say it again. I can lick any guy in this bar. Anybody here think he wants to try me."

Matt put on house smile #7, the one he reserved for calming fights. "Look -- Dutch, is it? -- look, Dutch, this is just your friendly corner bar. We don't go in too much for that sort of stuff. If you're looking for a bar to pick a fight at, I know a couple of places. Be glad to give you directions. Call a cab maybe."

Dutch got a look on him like he'd just sucked a lemon. "Well, I didn't know this was that kind of a bar." He made a sweeping gesture with one arm, his wrist overtly limp. "So, none of you pussies want to fight. Maybe this'll change your minds." He picked up somebody’s glass and threw it at the TV. It bounced off something in front of the set and crashed at Matt's feet. We do get a little rowdy at times at Magee's. When he put in the new color TV, Simon had said he'd paid too much for the set to let it get wrecked because somebody didn't like a show. Then he set up something to protect it.

"Damn," Dutch said and drank another third out of the pitcher. He looked at the crowd at the bar, sizing each man up as a possible victim. He picked Arnie Keller, and pushed aside the men in between with a sweep of his arm. Arnie's about 6 foot 2. He lifts weights, and it shows. "How about you, ‘Nancy'; you looking for a fight?"

"I haven't looked for much of anything in years," Arnie said, lifting his white cane from where it rested on the bar and holding it up for Dutch to see. "Not since that explosion over in Desert Storm got me out of the Army."

Dutch didn't say a word. He tried to grab Jack Kaplan, the guy next to Arnie, but Jack was too fast and wriggled away. Nobody else said a word either, but Dutch knew for sure that they were all laughing at him.

Sally made the mistake of walking too close trying to take some empty glasses back to be washed. Dutch grabbed her arm, knocking the tray with the glasses to the floor. "Since none of you pansies want to fight, maybe I'll just take this little trick back to my place and show her what a real man can do." Still holding her arm, he began walking towards the door, pulling Sally with him.

"That is enough." Every head turned toward the sound of that voice. Simon was mad. He got up slowly and walked over to Dutch. "You have interrupted my patrons, tried to wreck my television, and now you propose to do harm to this woman. I will not tolerate such behavior, and I will ask you this one time to apologize and leave my bar."

Dutch looked Simon over. He saw a man who looked to be in his early fifties, slender with salt and pepper hair, a good six inches shorter than he was, wearing a brown sports jacket and tan slacks. "This'll be fun," Dutch said. "I can lick you in five minutes and still have plenty left for this doll." He let go of Sally's arm and curled his hand into a fist.

"In the alley, if you don't mind?" Simon said. "I'd prefer to let my patrons get back to the game."

"Fine by me. Lead the way."

Simon walked over to the side door and opened it. "After you," he said.

Dutch walked through and stepped a few feet into the alley. He looked around to see if there was anything he could use for a weapon. The alley was dark, darker than he expected. With the buildings all around, it seemed more like a room than an alley. Simon walked out and closed the door behind him. He waved his arm, and the room -- for that was what it really was -- was lit by the glow of torched hanging ten feet up on all four walls. "What the hell," Dutch said, staring for a moment at the torches. When he looked back at Simon, he saw that Simon's clothes were changed. His jacket and slacks were replaced by a long dark blue robe with stars, moons, and a bunch of weird symbols Dutch didn't recognize embroidered all over it.

Dutch had enough sense to know that something really strange was about to happen, and he wanted no part of it. He started back for the door to the bar. Gone. And there seemed to be no other way in or out. For the first time in a very long time, Dutch was scared.

Simon was standing about six feet away from Dutch who was now in a circle that had somehow appeared on the brick pavement of the alley. "You are an irritant, Dutch Blucher," Simon was saying. "I have known of you for some time, and I knew that you would eventually come to my bar, if you were not stopped by more normal means. Now you will get the fate that you deserve."

Dutch somehow knew that his only chance was to hurt this man before he could do anything. He tried to take a step toward Simon, ready to beat him into the ground. But Dutch discovered that he couldn't step out of the circle. And when he tried to reach out for Simon, Dutch found that his arms wouldn't move out from it either.

Simon began muttering in some strange language that Dutch didn't recognize. A glow began to form in the space between his two hands. It formed into a ball of light that shimmered purple and red. Then it shot out of his hands flying directly towards Dutch. Dutch tried to dodge it, but he could hardly move. The ball of light hit him in the chest and spread out covering his entire body. Then it seemed to sink into him.

Dutch began to tingle all over. Simon and the room seemed to grow. No, Dutch realized that he was shrinking. He looked at his hands, watching them get smaller. They seemed to get thinner, too, the fingers growing longer and more delicate. His nails were also growing longer, turning a lacquered red as they did so. As Dutch stared at his hands, he realized that his scalp was tingling. He felt something tickle the back of his neck and reached up to touch his head. His hair was growing, faster and faster. He felt it slide down past his neck and finally stop somewhere around the middle of his back. He moved his head, feeling the weight of the hair. He pulled some of his hair around and saw that it had changed from black to brown and was getting lighter even as he held it.

Now the tingling spread down through his body. Dutch looked down and saw that he was no longer the well-muscled man he had been. He had become much thinner. The muscles on his arms were fading away. So, he saw suddenly, was the hair on his arms. His arms were soon hairless and now looked slender and feminine.

Feminine! He looked down at his chest to see two breasts growing there, pushing his jacket far out from his chest. He felt his nipples pressing against his t-shirt. In fear, he stuck one hand down into his jeans, which now hung loosely at his smaller waist. His prick was still there, but it was getting smaller as he held it. He reached in with the other hand and felt for his balls. They weren't there, and his scrotum was getting smaller, too. In a few moments, his prick was too small to try to hold onto. He felt it settle down as the remnants of his scrotum formed lips around it. He felt a sudden twinge within his groin just below what was left of his prick. His fingers found an opening. One slipped inside to discover his new vagina. At the same time, he felt his hips and ass growing out pulling his jeans tight around them. The small beer belly that he'd grown in the past year melted away leaving a narrow waist and flat stomach.

"What'd you do --" Dutch stopped. That wasn't his voice. That was some dame's voice, high and soft. It couldn't be him. Could it?

Simon was smiling now. "That's much better. You look very nice, Ms. Blucher, but the clothes are all wrong." Simon gestured again.

Dutch felt his clothes moving along his body. His t-shirt slide up around his breasts, the material becoming soft and clinging. The same thing seemed to be happening to his undershorts. He felt himself lifting slightly and looked down. His work shoes had become a pair of woman's pumps and were growing a four inch heel. His jeans merged into a single tube of cloth, turned bright pink andmoved up his legs, past his knees, to become a miniskirt that clung to his much wider hips. His socks followed, becoming sheerer and sheerer. Dutch saw garters, red and lacy, slide out from below his dress and attach themselves to the stockings. They retreated back under the skirt, pulling the stockings taut against his thighs. Dutch was surprised at the feel of the nylon sliding against his bare legs. His camouflage jacket became a loose pink blouse, the top two buttons undone to show a good bit of his pillowy breasts and a little red lace trim from his bra. His heavy man's watch changed into a slender woman's watch with a matching gold bracelet somehow appearing on the other wrist. He felt a pinch in both ears, and when he shook his head, he could feel something dangling there. When he nervously licked his lips, he tasted the sticky sweetness of lipstick on them.

"Perhaps, you'd like to see the results of my work?" Simon gestured again, and a full length mirror appeared floating in the air in front of Dutch. The woman reflected in it was hot. Long curly blonde hair down her back, a moon-shaped face with big blue eyes -- Dutch remembered that his eyes had been brown -- and full pouty lips. His nose wasn't broken now, and it was much smaller. Besides the lipstick, he was wearing eye shadow and mascara.

The woman's blouse was sheer. She could almost see her – yes, her -- bra through it, and her nipples pushed against the material showing themselves to the world. Her skirt stopped far above her knees and clung to her hips and ass like it was painted on. Her legs were long and shapely, covered with patterned black stockings that stopped low enough on her legs to show a good bit of creamy thigh.

"Why -- why did you do this to me?" Dutch was pleading now. She was truly terrified, and she wanted to cry for the first time in many years. Like the woman she now knew herself to be.

"Because you annoyed me. And because you deserved it."

"But I was just minding my own business. Just trying to have some fun."

"Minding your own business? Looking for somebody to -- as you said -- lick in a fight. Well, in a moment that will be your business. By the way, what is your real name?"

"Rich… Richard Blucher. What do you mean?"

"You will always remember who you were and what you were, but you will only answer to the name of Rachel Block. Richard Blucher no longer exists, and no one besides the two of us remembers that he ever did. Your body is the body of a woman now, and you will crave what a woman's body craves. Only those cravings will be much stronger than those of most women. When I free you, you will be compelled to go downtown, to seek out a House that can use your talents. And to work there for the rest of your days. You can try to resist, but the cravings, the compulsion, will only grow stronger. Now go."

Simon gestured a final time, and Dutch, now Rachel, saw a door form in the wall near her. She found that she could move her legs, and she hurried through it. When she passed through, she found herself on the street outside Magee's. She wanted to go home, but her mind was suddenly filled with thoughts of men's cocks. Instinctively she licked her lips at the thought, tasting the sticky sweetness of her lipstick for the second time. She felt a warmth and an emptiness that she had never known in her groin, and her nipples rubbed enticingly against the satin of her bra. Without thinking, she caught the downtown bus, paying her fare from a purse that suddenly dangled by a strap from her shoulder. Without a second thought, she was heading for the new life Simon had decreed.

Simon watched her leave from the alley, smiling. "You will keep on looking from somebody to lick, my dear Dutch. Only they will enjoy the licking a lot more now, even if they have to pay you for the privilege." With that thought, Simon Trimagestes, once sorcerer to the Pharaoh Ramses and now owner of Magee's Irish Pub, went back inside to resume his chess game. The night was young, and he was up by a Rook and two Pawns.