Tuning the Guitar Player

[10]

Even though I felt monumentally exhausted, I managed to stay up and watch Parsley as she slept. Did this feel normal for her? A guitar doesn’t have eyes. Does it just experience everything without a lull or a break?

My mind then swung the other way, and I hoped that the absence and darkness weren’t disquieting for her. She didn’t need me worrying about her every single moment though. Plenty of other things pressed for my fret time. The shadow presence needed to be far, far away from her, or it would soon realize that none of the things I put in my response to the invisible bitch were idle threats. Or perhaps that was her.

Standing up cautiously from the bed, so as not to shake the cushion, I sharply scrutinized every quiet corner. Any sign of coldness or discomfort earned my clenched teeth and ruthless glower. Whatever had been here felt like it left, with only a trace like ominous smoke remaining. Nothing I did felt like it was actually helping, so I grabbed some cleaning materials from the closet and tidied up the sections my aunt missed. I could slay some spiders at least.

Unfortunately, going after the dust bunnies stirred up grossness from my weird body. The bathroom was nearby. Wash my face, rinse my hands, and splash a little. Was there any deodorant? Despite all that, I felt itchy. Nerves. Or just the sweaty remnants of all that walking, along with our floor tumble.

The shower looked even better than usual. It was the same white tub with a black curtain and a skylight. But a sharp cleanser's aroma filled the space, along with a radiant glow and a swath of products on a recessed ledge. Before I seriously considered stripping and scrubbing, I returned to the bedroom to make sure Pars was still napping peacefully. She looked so comfortably cozy.

The closet with our freshly hung items was empty aside from the new acquisitions. However, a dresser over by the bathroom contained not only a couple changes of clothes but also underwear and a handful of swimsuits. Pieces of Celestina‘s life that she left here.

Now my life and what had become of it. Big soft tits. Hips that spread way the heck out there. Even though, if I were really honest with myself, they weren’t megalithically wide. They vaguely ached though. Like standing was exercising a muscle that I never bothered to use.

Toward the back of the lowest dresser, I found a collection of recently cleaned hair brushes. How did this magic… stuff decide how things should shake out? Does it throw a random generator in the air? Does it somehow simulate the primary possibilities of what would’ve happened if I was born with two X chromosomes? How many different things have to line up to put me in exactly the same place as a fundamentally different person? What logically led to Celestina taking a bus at the same time as me?

Celestina is obviously also a guitarist. She has relatives who still decided to move here. In fact, it seems like her aunt was keen on her niece living in the area. I suppose it wasn’t a huge stretch when you think about it like that. Elements outside my control led me here. If I didn’t have my memories though, would I recognize an actual Celestina in the wild? Would Anthony Me think she was hot or treat her like a sibling? Not a comfortable thought.

My immediate inkling was that a me, who didn’t know better, would absolutely check her out. And a she who didn’t know me might reciprocate. Anthony and Celestina would be so freaking horny for one another. Yet, I didn’t feel the lure of narcissism. Would that have happened without Parsley?

“…Mom? Where are you?”

I swung around and hurried back to her voice. She said it softly, but a hot flare of concern still ricocheted inside me that my relatives might hear and have too many of the wrong type of questions for me to comfortably answer.

“I’m here. How do you feel? Did you have a good nap?” The pitch of my voice rose while it flooded with softness. It didn’t sound anything like my normal voice. Just a total mom voice. Should’ve bothered me, but I was far more concerned about how Pars was feeling.

“Oh…” she responded. “ A nap? Was I supposed to do that? I don’t really remember anything. I was just gone for a while. At first, it was fine because I heard you singing, and I thought maybe things had gone back to the way they used to be and my time to talk to you was over. But it didn’t feel like before. It was a void. There was nothing. And I felt spread thin in it. My hope lingered in the darkness, along with wishing you all the joy that I can bring.”

I had so far managed to hold in the wildest emotions and restrain most of my tears, but her soft words punched fresh holes in that weakened dam. The only remedy was to grab several of the brushes from the dresser and show them off. She only had vague notions of what they were from window-gazing during our mall trek.

She sat up, with her hands in her lap, and I started gently brushing at her hair.

“Oh! Ow ow ow!” Parsley quickly attempted to lean away when the brush caught in a snag, but her hair was still snared. I urged her to hold still as I carefully slipped the brush loose. She turned to look at me with wide eyes. Even though I fortified my thoughts, it was awful to see such an expression of discomfort on her face. I caused her that pain.

Fervent apologies spilled out of my mouth as I sat down next to her. She squeezed close to me. I could feel and hear the quick pace of her heartbeats slow to an easy, sedate rhythm.

Pars looked me in the eye without fear. “It’s okay, mom. It was more surprising than painful. And some of it actually felt good.”

That was a relief, but a slim one. My emotions rattled around, and I carefully wielded the brush once again. This time, I moved delicately. It didn’t matter. Parsley clearly did her best to restrain sounds of yelping, but the pain in her expression radiated in quiet, twisting waves. No matter what I did, she hurt.

Why did I even start doing this in the first place? I woke her up and put her through this. Maybe if I actually were Celestina, then I would have the pre-existing experience of growing up as a little girl with lots of hair along with the experimentation of brushing dolls or whatever. My real experience stopped with a comb.

“Can I try?” Parsley bent a hand towards the brush with her fingers slightly bent back, as though wary that the prongs might slice out at her.

It wasn’t dangerous though, neither scissors nor a knife, but I still hesitated in handing it over. Perhaps the dresser had a better brush or a beginner's brush? Most of them looked about the same. Ultimately, there was no reason not to let her try.

I gave her the brush, and she examined it for a moment before testing it on a side patch of her hair. The discomfort she brought upon herself both felt not as painful to my soul, yet just as desperately concerning. A remarkable thing swiftly followed though: she was figuring it out.

The initial hesitancy fell away, replaced by her carefully but confidently running the brush through her dark, silken locks. She even started to get playful with it as the hair puffed up with static electricity. Guiding her over to the bathroom mirror helped immeasurably with the pace and nuance of her brushing. Once she was satisfied with her own work, she actually passed the brush back to me and requested a special motion.

I still sucked, but following her instructions allowed me to scratch what turned out to be an itchy spot. She released a long, happy breath as I ran the brush through territory she’d prepared for me. My girl was amazing. And her hair shimmered like precious, spun obsidian.

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Once all that was done, she bounced and jiggled in place while proposing the possibility of brushing my hair. I had much less of a problem with her experimenting on me. Her deft hands and already-learned motions didn’t require me to cloak much discomfort of my own. She was already really good at this.

At the relaxed conclusion, she surprised me with a kiss on the cheek as delicate and fluttery as the touch of a butterfly’s wing. All words left me. She had exuberant ones to share: “I love you, mom."

Where did those words come from? Had we even discussed ‘love’? I used it not too long ago, but I didn’t really understand it. It wasn’t as though the songs we shared before avoided the term. Much the opposite. What was her context?

I asked. She scrunched up her forehead and worked on her answer for a good while. “Love is one of those things that overwhelm me. The full, too-big human things. Flowing out. Every time you’re around or you hold me, I feel like I can do more than I can ever imagine. No matter how many things and people there are beyond the two of us, you’re what matters most to me. You complete me, mom. And every word I wish for still feels too small to share in what it means to be with you.”

That sentiment pushed beyond what I was expecting. Less mother and daughter and more something different. Something I was embarrassed to even try thinking about, let alone clarify for her. But then that was me and my weirdo brain. But then the whole mom thing was just her observing stuff in the bathroom and trying to make sense of it. Not that I had any more of a sense of all this than she did.

She watched me as I struggled for a response and fluttered a second kiss on the opposite cheek, this one lingering. It felt nice and traditionally Italian. She didn’t stop there though, seeking out my lips with curiosity.

First proper kiss with a girl in a long time, and my emotions were all over the place from it. Parsley maintained a cheerful, playful expression. She was so innocent, so pure. I returned her kiss on each cheek. And that was all I did before leading her back to the bedroom.

The open dresser with the extra brushes drew her attention, and it wasn’t long before her delight passed over all the different clothes contained within. When it came time to explain the swimsuits, her first reaction was lingering uncertainty about water, especially being immersed. A little from a sink and a sip to drink was one thing, but this was an overwhelming amount.

I considered that maybe I could push her towards being less afraid with a shower preceding a swim. That’s what my aunt and uncle always recommended because it maintained the chlorine level. We’d have to shower together though. Naked. I’d be naked. This body… Naked. With someone else.

It’s fine. This was going to happen sooner or later, and the matters in the restroom had already broken down several barriers. Nothing to be stressed about. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been naked in front of my guitar before. The only wrinkle was that I hadn’t been completely naked in front of this version of myself yet.

I had to be resilient for her though, and I explained that it was something that humans did at least once a day. Totally normal, like everything with the restroom. She listened attentively and had no problem stripping naked. Off came the silvery dress and pants, as she was down to that mysterious, wood-toned underwear. I made it to my black bra with lacy roses and those store-grabbed panties. I made sure the door to the hallway got locked before we finished the job.

Nothing surprising was revealed with the last layer. She didn’t have mahogany or anything artificial underneath. Just normal human flesh. She gave a quick shiver, and I wrapped her in a massive lime green towel, with a silver one snagged for myself.

Walking around like this was monumentally unnerving. None of the pretense of clothing remained. Just fleshy humans with jiggly parts and so much uncertainty. The boobs on my chest had an inescapable weight without support. Gravity insisted upon their presence and exacted a toll from my shoulder muscles to my pits and all around my neck. Parsley actually shifted and adjusted all her stuff. Her hands went everywhere around her body as though her flesh were just another outfit that she needed to make sure was adjusted properly.

I dragged my flabby form over to the bathroom. Everything felt openly fat, even though I still had a good shape. But the softness of my belly and the fullness of my legs piled on uncertain curves. Just so bizarre from a male perspective. My brain refused to parse anything sexually and simply screamed that I had fatted up like a pale pig. Seeing Parsley differently also didn’t enter into my consciousness. She was my girl.

Her curves definitely loaned hints from her guitar shape. She wasn’t so much a pear though. I turned on the water first and made sure the pressure and warmth developed a sharp mist. Once in the water, Pars gasped a few times before settling into the sensation. Surprise circulated through me as the water provided a twisting drumbeat to my senses. This shit was wild. I had to let that one expletive out.

The sensation was surreal and yet intimately human. This wasn’t my body. All the familiar contours carved out from previous showers blasted away. Putting soap on the nearby sponge allowed me to model for my girl and also delicately approach the unfamiliar terrain. Even though this wasn’t my body, I felt everything and was in control of it all. As much as I wanted to block things out, it was impossible. I could feel the sensitive separation in so many ways. The shadow outline whenever I asked my brain to think of what my body was like, and the cacophony of feelings announced by every living moment discordantly clashed.

It was also illuminating. This was a girl body. I knew it. No other man in the world could say that. Well, possibly several thousand other men on campus could. But things changed today. Different organs, different chemicals throughout my body, and maybe my brain existed differently. I started out this change still certain of who I was, but time as Celestina acted upon me like the wind around here constantly acted upon the land.

I still felt like Anthony, yet I also understood how many things about me felt strikingly different. My cynicism retreated like a quiet rumble beneath the surface. My sharp tongue softened. My bitterness didn’t feel necessary. All of that could be attributed to the presence of Parsley. She literally changed my life. That was true when I got her so many years ago after training myself on borrowed guitars. The money for her came solely from me. I weighed the decision of which one to get for quite a while, and her perfect shape seemed to complement every aspect of my own body. It was love, even back then.

She giggled and delighted in the touch of the suds on her body. She relished the stream. No more fear about water warping her. I cleaned where she couldn’t get and leaned into her without fear or expectation. Faint, energetic melodies played between her legs as the sponge danced across her being. It was ridiculous, but also the most beautiful thing I could imagine.

The shower started to wind down with rinsing and poking into all the little nooks and crannies. The Slime That Boobed Metro City, all slippery and soaked on my chest, wiggled and wriggled from my ministrations as I hoped I wasn’t giving myself any sort of skin rash. Dealing with all that hair was the main struggle.

Just about done, I motioned for the knob when Parsley hunched over and clung to the wall. Before I could ask her what was wrong, her plaintive whimpers dug into my soul as she softly said, “It’s happening again. Like what happened when I fell. Why…?”