In the one corner of the restaurant were three married couples sitting together, all six of them in the midst of a jovial transformation. At one end of the semi-circle bench was Gina Schmidt, in the midst of an uncomfortable-looking transformation into a lobster. Her husband Brock beside her had the beak of a goose coming in. On the other end of the bench across from Gina was Treena Beovule, who was still feeling great halfway of her transformation into a pig. Her husband sat beside her, Greg, the soon-to-be bull. His transformation was the most obvious so far. Between the Schmidt's and Beovule's was Sloan and Peter Marion. Both of them were turning more and more into pigs with every mouthful of the slop in front of them.
"Well..." Brock said with his quacking voice, "This grass is magnificent."
Greg nodded his horned head, "I agree." He ducked back down into the trough to devour more vegetation.
As he ate, a funny feeling came upon Greg. He had to urinate. There were still little parts of his humanity left in him so he fiddled around with his pants to pull them down, letting out his bovine penis into the open air, all while still gobbling down grass.
It took a few seconds, but a stream of urine fired out of Greg's bovine member and sprayed all over the top of the table. It made a deep liquid sound, but no one seemed to notice. The urine dripped off the top of the table and onto the floor, soaking the carpet under his developing hooves. The stream urine of urine weakened, and it receded back down to his penis, sprinkling a little of his pants. Then, it stopped.
Greg reached down and pulled his pants back up. No one seemed to notice.