In the dim light of the bathroom, you have trouble at first figuring out what animal your tail belongs to. But, gradually, you recognize the long, thick, rope-like shape, the tawny fur, and the dark brown tassel on the end. Now you know what that old bag had done to you: she had somehow caused you to grow a lion's tail.
You can only assume it caused the pricking sensation and the coiling feeling in your underwear. You stare at in in disbelief, running your hands over it. It feels extremely strange, feeling a new part of your body. It's like a fifth limb or something. The fur runs between your fingers and you flip the tassel at the end, causing a slight tickling sensation.
The tail drops and resumes it's place over your rear. You decide to see if you can move it. With a bit of practice, you can cause it to stand up, curve into an S shape, and even sway behind you. "Shit..." you mumble, looking back at it again. "What the hell am I supposed to do now?' you wonder aloud. Maybe if you tuck the tail into your pants, stuffing down your pant leg, you can walk back to the crash site relatively unnoticed and try to get the lady to fix this.
More thoughts invade your mind. Is the tail temporary? Did she mean this as a short punishment for being so rude? Are the changes done? If not, how fast will they come? Will you become a full lion, or an anthro one? And male or female, for that matter? Male, you hoped. After being forced to grow a lion's tail, the last thing you wanted was a sex change.
You bury your face in your hands in frustration but your bit of self-pity is interrupted by a knock on the bathroom door. "Hey, man, don't think I didn't see you go in there! There's a five buck charge for using the bathroom if you're not getting gas!" a voice yells from the other side. You assume it's the clerk from inside the convenience store. You're about to freak out about the fact that maybe he saw your new tail, but realize he would have said something if he did.
'Just a minute!" you call. You pick your pants up off the floor and slip them on, stuffing your tail down your right pantleg. It feels uncomfortable, making an awkward pressure that feels like you're sitting on a rock. Sighing, you fling open the door to the bathroom, but see no one. The clerk must have gone inside.
You walk around the corner and enter the store. The bright white lights sting your eyes as you stand near the shelves filled to the brim with chips, candy bars, and cookies. The clerk, an apathetic guy with red hair and a Twenty One Pilots shirt, stares at you. "That'll be $5, buddy." He says.
You feel your tail squirming in your pants, trying to flick around naturally but unable to due to the fabric confinement it's trapped in. You reach into your wallet, fish out $5, and give it to the clerk. He opens the cash register and puts it inside, then stares at you again.