Tuning the Guitar Player
[5]
Yeah, it felt like someone or something watching me. I wasn’t sure whether the someone or something part of that thought was more unsettling. I inspected the changing area carefully, peering underneath the seat and probing the walls.
The mirror garnered the most attention as I squinted close to it and rapped my knuckles on the material.
When studying in the evening, I often put on random podcast recommendations involving musical history, humorous film reviews, esoteric deep dives similar to programs PBS would’ve aired decades ago, and a few scattered scary campfire tales.
That last variety inevitably popped up late into the night at the end of my study sessions. I would have a hard time sleeping, even taking into account Josh’s rumbling snores, which typically lulled me to sleep. I’d absorbed plenty of examples of terrified young women and supposedly safe locations creeped on by greasy, long-haired cretins. One even highlighted a peephole hidden in a woman’s changing room. Pressing my fingers beneath the mirror seam revealed that it was affixed with an adhesive. That didn’t preclude some subtler chicanery, but I wouldn’t be able to know for sure without doing damage to the store.
At this point, the upsetting aura lifted from my senses as inexplicably as it had settled. Like opening an invisible window to clear a stifling miasma and invite fresh air. But it wasn’t my room I was concerned about. I quickly pushed open the drape and went in search of the clerk. She lingered nearby at the entrance to the changing area. I learned that she had put Pars in room number 5 and given her very specific directions.
I found her standing there with a calm smile when I push aside the drape. Her arms were still full of clothes. Closing the drape behind me didn’t feel like it provided us with enough privacy. That watchful presence felt like it shifted over here, pursuing my girl. I clenched my teeth and tightened my grip around the feeling of a growl, even though I held it in, because I didn’t want Pars to get the wrong idea. She still paid attention to my body language and suspected something was wrong.
Quietly, she apologized and meekly responded, “The lady said it’s okay to wear this. I was scared when she led me over here. I know I’m sometimes apart from you but… I haven’t been since I changed…mom. Would it be okay if you stay with me here?”
I hadn’t inspected this room, but the mirror looked about the same. Holding her hand, I led Pars over to my changing room with all the clothes that she had. It was a tight fit and I briefly worried about what the clerk might think. But it was better to have Pars with me. While clearly not comfortable on the rigid bench, she sat obediently and without complaint.
I looked into my reflection. Not my face. I’d seen it in the mirror of the women’s restroom, even though I tried not to dwell on it. Pars have been so wrapped up in everything, that it seemed she barely noticed either. Pleasant features, clear traits. So much of Celestina and nothing of what I woke up with. Smaller nose but still a big honker. Frightened but hardened eyes. A girl moving like some magic overlay of what I should’ve been seeing. Boobs boobs boobs, just a straining mass of boobs. Not historically huge but unmistakable. And jeans around female curves.
I would’ve been perfectly fine leaving this on and just letting the blue top awkwardly cover it. But modeling actions for Pars. The straps went down first and then I endeavored to nudge, shimmy, and twist it in such a way that I didn’t accidentally free the nipple beast. It wasn’t the most expert or clear demonstration, but I got it off and stood there in my black bra, which was covered in lacy roses.
My chest looked both not as big and yet even more enormous with just that flimsy fabric cradling it. My glasses sat off to the side. Swiftly, I yanked the blue top over my head and checked to see if it helped at all. Unfortunately, my dreaded boobs weren’t going anywhere but the color and the fit mercifully made them stand out slightly less. Glasses back on. And that was all the shopping I wanted to do aside from snagging some underwear.
Parsley took swimmingly to my example. She set and folded her leather jacket aside neatly and then did the whole strap thing and wiggle to get out of her top. Underneath was a wood-toned bra which she actually took the initiative of adjusting and fixing gently.
The pink dress looked amazing on her, as did everything else she tried. Those leather pants were still an ordeal and a half, but we managed. She looked adorable in a nice silvery dress with protective, looser pants. It wasn’t the most fashionable combination but she smiled and fluttered the cloth while I felt relief.
We wound up purchasing more clothes than I would’ve preferred but a couple of store discounts helped with the pain. I managed to change into a pair of underwear, after buying it, while the clerk agreed to keep a quick eye on Parsley for me. Whatever sensation and unsettling aura struck me before, was now completely gone from the changing area. The underwear was stiff and slightly irritating in an intimately uncomfortable way, but it was still way better than not having anything against my crotch.
When I returned, I saw that Parsley had gone quiet with her arms tightly folded in the lap of her dress and her eyes shut. The flowing, silver cloth shimmered gently against her pale flesh with matching pants. She seemed to know when I returned, because she eagerly flashed her eyes open and warmly smiled. Her chipper, boundless energy let her surround herself with our bags without complaint as to their weight. I would’ve gladly taken half the load from her, but she was adamant about shouldering it all herself.
This side of the mall, I tended not to bother with but it connected to the food court on the newer section so it was worth following to loop around and eventually head back. That was a long walk though, especially with everything Parsley set on her shoulders. I kept a slow pace, so she didn’t have to push herself. But she more than bested it. I had to try to keep up instead.
She walked exuberantly with the cascade, twirl, shake, and flutter of her outfit. Almost enough energy translated and projected through her motions that I wondered why her crotch didn’t start playing music. Any other day in my life, that would’ve been the most peculiar pondering.
Just walking still had a surreal peculiarity. The immense hip swing was both starting to put a weird strain on my waist while my movement settled into a motion that hopefully wouldn’t make things feel worse. Having that small but essential layer was a huge step towards better walking. It was still a monumentally small assistance against the swollen contour of my ass, the unfamiliar depths of my waist, the shape of my legs, the mysterious balance of my arms, and never to forget those now-contained, but never quite halted jiggle boobs. Simply putting some different layers on a foreign body didn’t make it not foreign but at least toning things down kept my screams from rising to the surface for the time being.
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
A card and gaming shop, which appeared new, soon snagged my eye, but if going into the guitar shop like this felt like a questionable endeavor, then going into that one was definitely going to take more than I had. However, my interest level and curiosity overrode my good sense. Along with my desire to rest not only myself but also my guitar, who retained an expression of exuberance while gravity was finally catching up to her. I relieved her of a few of the bags drawing red pressure lines across her gentle flesh.
The store had geeks of the geekiest variety. That wasn’t a surprise. I was a geek, no matter how I may have looked. Not quite of the cardboard flinging and comic art singing variety, but rather guitar stringing and methodical melody mixing sort. Some cred, I had bled. From a shortened D&D campaign, to a set of board game café soirées, and enough video game plays that drained into the morning. Once again, it was mostly Pars I was worried about.
Some sector of my brain envisioned the cliché, cultivated by endless hours of frustrating pop-cultural nonsense. All the squeaky-voiced, nasally nerds with pocket protectors and thick glasses would turn as though something out of a classic western saloon and gasp. Oh my goodness, a strange female human species has broached this quadrant and come aboard! My social anxiety, neuroses, and dungeon-dwelling life don’t know what to do with this!
That was not my expectation, but I did worry a little bit about how close the reality would be. The reality included a significant minority of girls already positioned around a card game. Some of the standard clichés did circle the table but plenty of others appeared absolutely normal. In particular, one dude looked more like the lead singer in a band than what I expected around here. He was nice to gaze at. I just felt brutally embarrassed at the fact I was looking, still looking, and wanted to look even more.
In fact, my brain decided to smack me in the face with a mental image. That image was me without anything on my lower half, my top pulled up, and this dude not only plunging what my brain evaluated to be his massive dick inside of me but also ravenously licking and biting on my hard nipples. What the absolute fuck…
I wasn’t gay. Not that it was a sticking point one way or the other. I just didn’t find the same sex attractive. And, apparently, that still rang as true. I couldn’t say much about my feelings when dealing with Parsley because there were so many things going on with what she represented. Not seeing her in a sexual way made sense because this was my guitar, basically my friend as well, and something like a younger person to take care of. Not one iota of that felt or should’ve felt sexualized.
Looking at my body and all the characteristics that would’ve turned me on before and not quite feeling the same thing also made sense because it’s one thing to be attracted to someone physically and another thing to be physically attracted to things. Clearly, I didn’t have a thing for things. Life wasn’t going to make figuring this out easy.
I wasn’t thinking about sucking him off though. At least, I wasn’t half a thought ago, but now I was. Plunging my mouth over his… Maybe I was actually craving a hotdog?
For the best, I led us over to the side away from the hot guy. Amusingly and terrifyingly enough, Pars noticed him and did a lot of looking with a slightly goofy expression that could be considered verging on a flirty one.
The proprietor of this establishment warmly and politely greeted the two of us and attempted to ascertain our interests. They had options for competitive and casual play along with renting modules and being able to buy computer time. I told him we were just looking around. Christ, it was like some possessed horny ghost was wrapped around my brain and wanted to get her spirit rocks off.
My hair was starting to get uncomfortably sweaty and tracking down one of the salons on this end of the mall sure seemed like a good idea. But Pars bounded curiously towards the table and asked a lot of questions about what everyone was doing. Her vague inkling that this was some sort of game probably came from limited experience before when we played a few things around the common area. Still, I commended her for her sharpness.
One of the guys, who sounded like he didn’t do a lot of talking to a lot of people, still made a nice effort to pass along the details of what they were doing. Pars soon wanted to play this with me. I could only imagine her small, nesting spirit or whatever existed of her before as my guitar with quiet curiosity watching past games and wishing she had an active voice and a seat at the table. With that in mind, there was no way my heart could deny my girl at least a little bit of this game.
We paid for a two-player setup with some house cards and items to get a basic game going. It wasn’t exactly a collectible card game, but it had some elements in that direction. 30 bucks was my limit, but at least that bought us the possibility of winning something nice in a later drawing.
Parsley received a copy of the rules, tightened up her brow, and focused her intense gaze on every single word as she read through and distilled the instructions for each of us. One of the little things that had flown over me amongst all the big things was that she was able to read and pronounce words in a normal fashion. She didn’t have complete comprehension and understanding, but she had a surprising assortment of skills.
Now wasn’t the right time to ask her how she could read, but I assumed that her position on my bed and peeking when I did my work and left a book nearby had been enough for her to get the gist. If you couldn’t move or couldn’t do anything on your own then I suppose that left a lot of time to persistently and curiously absorb every detail possible in your world. I felt a clinging melancholy just imagining what her life must’ve been before all this.
And I also felt that uncomfortable presence that had been with me in the changing rooms. Didn’t feel like it was from any of the guys or girls at the table. No one ogling us from the side. It was something above or behind me when I absolutely knew no one was there. There couldn’t even be a camera placed in that position. Nor an air vent for some secretive mall mole man crawling through the pipes. I had to shake it off as one of those notions I just couldn’t invest any validity in. Random anxiety.
However, when I turned back to the table, it was unmistakable to see that a folded slip of paper was placed right by my hand, almost between the fingers. Looking over, no one was in any position to set it where I had found it. Parsley was still vigorously absorbing the minutia of the rules. I unfolded the scrap of paper and saw neat, penciled-in letters written across it.
The message was, “I am the one who turned you into a girl. I didn’t intend for what happened to your guitar. If you wish, I can restore it to its previous state. Simply write your response in the space provided and leave the paper nearby.”