Chapter 142: [2] Tuning the Guitar Player 2 [Transform the Dorm Arc]

[This chapter is from an alternate perspective than Goth Girl. It contains some adult content and language.]

Tuning the Guitar Guy

[2]

There was a modest bus switching station at the other end of the main road that divided the campus. I wished Drew the best of luck as I pulled on my big satchel full of random dogeared paperbacks, what textbooks I could be bothered to take with me, and my pitiful little cell phone attached to its emergency battery backup life support.

We took the elevator downstairs to the first level and I swiftly dipped out to the door to avoid chatting with Brian, while Drew naively indulged. Swinging around North Hall, I briefly considered warning the guys I knew in there. Or at least telling someone. This felt like the kind of thing you had to tell somebody. One artist guy I knew with a somber vibe had been spontaneously transformed into a petite adorable little goth girl. And then a geek dude got huge whoppers…and everything else.

If only I managed to somehow record it. But I left my phone back at my dorm charging because it held such a pitiful charge and I just wanted to wander around and figure out what I wanted my music to say, if anything.

What would I do with a recording of two guys turning into girls though? Maybe I could sell it online to folks who were into that sort of thing. Too late now. Besides, it would’ve been weird to try to capture it and possibly put me at risk from interacting with whatever phenomenon was involved.

The idea of what could’ve happened to me triggered a rush of flutters. Naturally, the broad concept was a turn on but also terrifying. It was enough to make me woozy from the blood migrating and multitasking in all directions.

Putting the main section of campus behind me by crossing the pedestrian walkway over the road was a helpful psychological separation. This end included the aquatic complex, early construction for the larger, replacement football stadium, a bunch of other sports stuff, and the art center. I never bothered going over here.

It was relatively simple to use the self-service station to purchase a ticket to get me to the center of town. Waiting for the bus was the harder part because nothing happened, and nothing continued happening for a good while. Faint hints of screaming occasionally drew my attention but that were easily explained as stray kids from the youth development building or practicing cheerleaders around the half-finished stadium.

When the big orange civic bus rolled up, I cradled Parsley and edged away. It tilted so far towards me that it gave the nervous illusion that it was about to roll over and crush me. The little machine on the side punched my card and I slowly ambled between assorted clusters of old ladies to the back.

No matter how comfortable the seat in the back felt and no matter how much cushioning wrapped around me, my legs still trembled and that nervous feeling translated to my back. Shifting over towards the right corner with my guitar resting against me helped a little.

Checking the schedule on my phone while leaving the brightness on the lowest setting revealed that this route circled around to the municipal library, made a stop in Old Town, and eventually went as far as the mall before circling back to the college. Far enough away for me. At least I didn’t have to bother with classes today.

Some of the old ladies and a couple of the gentlemen eyeballed Parsley as though it were more of a weapon than an instrument. I made no overtures to actually play anything, although I gently brushed my hands against the strings enough to make the faintest twangs. It was comforting.

No one complained about this faint, quiet interaction, especially as the bus rumbled, shook, and squealed down the dips and rises flanked by heavy oak trees on each side. Exhaustion rushed in to fill the void of my thoughts as the bus pressed between fancy apartment complexes and million-dollar houses. I set a location alarm on my phone to make sure that it would rouse me when the bus arrived at the mall. Once that was settled, I slumped against the seat and did everything I could not to think about all the craziness that had filled this day.

It was exceedingly challenging to nap on something as recklessly chaotic as a bus, but I at least shut my eyes for a span.

Somehow, I manage to find restful ease with a chaotic subconscious and that jostling ride. No dreams followed, just the vague inkling that the position of my neck and the rigid indifference of the bench was building up a ball of discolored phlegm in my throat.

I woke to a thick, gurgly cough and my phone alerting me that I was in the vicinity of the mall. It didn’t take more than a few moments of disheveled awareness to tell me something was wrong.

My brain made the snap deduction that I’d clearly tripped in the wrong direction from waking and instead settled deeper into an actual dream state with conflicting and confusing stimuli. Foremost among those stimuli was the weird way that I breathed through my nostrils while clearing my throat. It was like my nostrils were being smushed downwards and closer together without anything pressing on them. My glasses were still there, but they weren’t the perpetrator. My hair felt a little shaggy but no worse than any normal time when I needed to get it cut. The sleeves of my shirt were gone.

There wasn’t anything to spit the nap time phlegm on, and I didn’t want to swallow it, so I fumbled for my satchel and some of the older tissues I left in there. My satchel wasn’t beside me anymore though. Instead, I found a pink and black large purse with rhinestones along the side and high-energy doodling expressing a rocker girl aesthetic. Something large and fleshy hindered me in my confused fumbling as I wielded unfamiliar hands to dig around in that purse for something to wipe my mouth with. Only once I hacked up what felt as dense as a hairball into a tissue, did all the incongruent warning signs slide into position.

My arm bumped into something soft spilling out on the side of my top. Boob. Breast. On my chest. Looking down, I saw enough cleavage to lose myself in. So much. too much. They absolutely dominated and swelled beyond my lightly tanned chest. An overwhelming percentage of me had to be just straight-up boobflesh. Ohhh, I was gonna throw up…

Relax relax relax relax…relax…relax. Breathe. Don’t lose your shit in the back of a bus. But look at it! I was wearing…the hell was I even wearing?! God, I had on a black bra with skinny straps, and it looked and felt like twin-headed Boobzilla wanted to tear out of it and rampage across town! I knew that girls did this thing where you could see their bra straps but seeing a bra strap and it’s my bra strap felt like…why, what…what am I doing?

My white, normal shirt had been transfigured into a girl top thing with spaghetti straps that felt more like angel hair straps about to rip off. And, if that weren’t bad enough, had a freaking midriff because the thing was too small for my girly ass form. Tugging didn’t help, it just invited the wrath of the delicate fabric holding Gargantits down. My jean pants had an entirely different cut to them and felt like I was wrapped in constriction fabric. At least I had some normal but smaller sneakers on my feet. The hips I’d been granted felt more like a guiding boat than a waistline. Just looking at the feminine thighs and slim legs vividly traced through the material got something going between my legs, even though it felt like nothing I should’ve felt. Oh God, no underwear.

The bus soon pulled to a stop with the announcement that this was the mall. Several people slowly got to their feet and shuffled towards the front. I would’ve been fine just sitting back and letting the bus take me in a loop, but I also urgently needed to get off.

Those seated and getting up inspected me with quick, dismissive scrutiny. Some of the looks appeared scrunched and puzzled, as though they were internally debating about whether they had seen a young man or a young… someone else get on the bus and sit in the back. That visible confusion just floated about in the exhaust-tinted atmosphere and never coalesced into a question or an outright concern.

The purse, that this mysterious force had swapped my preferred satchel for, provided the loosest approximation of a bulkhead against the most glaringly obvious and jiggly parts of my body. I couldn’t bring myself to use Parsley as a shield though.

I was not prepared for walking in this way. Fortunately, most everyone needed to move awkwardly and grab onto benches while filtering out of the door as well.

There were many terrible parts to this entire situation, but the one that struck me with the most enveloping horror, was the daunting realization of tight jeans and the lack of a layer underneath. Damn panties! Even though, I didn’t want to wear them and apparently whatever transformed me didn’t want me to wear them either. But there were strange and delicate features below that felt like they were getting the most embarrassing iteration of a wedgy. It wasn’t that I had a gratuitous camel toe developing around parts I never should’ve had. It was the icy, soul-stealing fear with every movement that I was about to showcase one for all to see.

Every suitable profanity whipped around my brain like a hurricane and emerged as a clenched teeth incomprehensible grunt as I cartoonishly waffled between a cowboy crab walk and a grandma shuffle. I couldn’t deal with this!

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As an extra little point of embarrassment, while I kept my head down harder than a penitent monk ready to whip themselves for sins against the Almighty, it was impossible to juggle everything and not notice riders both my age and well beyond my age, resting their eyes on places around me that were not my eyes. Someone totally checked out my ass. And several got a better gander at my bust than I’d even taken in so far. Why couldn’t this fucking thing go after them so they had something else to look at?! All I did was play billiards and fail at writing a single damn song.

Clinging to Parsley helped take my mind off this embarrassing situation. It felt like an absolute eternity to work my way to the front and finally off the bus. I took the final steps gingerly. Once I was clear, there was no looking back. Or looking to the sides or looking to any of the other ambling former passengers. I just walked carefully but persistently away from everyone.

Walking was so absolutely weird. I felt like I needed to pull up my pants, even though they were quite snug. So much of my flesh was exposed and it was no longer my flesh in any recognizable form. I eventually managed to get that tiny tank top balanced enough that it didn’t feel like I was about to fire off double-action boobs or expose my belly button. My ass was still totally swaying, shifting, jiggling, and going in all sorts of directions.

Mercifully, on the quiet end of the new theater they recently finished attached to the mall, I found a concrete bench to take a moment. This was absolutely insane. I was sitting with my legs together and nothing familiar pushing out between them. They trembled, as though I just stopped atop a polar ice sheet. I was a girl! Gosh, friggin dang girl! What was I supposed to do about this?

There were probably people out there in the world, maybe even in the region, who would be singing hallelujah and praising Jesus to be in my slightly smaller sneakers. I just felt like I was perpetually stuck in a state like a wobbly top to never correct itself or fall over. This was temporary, right? 24-hour condition? What if it wasn’t? The nausea came back.

I pressed Parsley around my neck and tried to find a decent position in case I lost what remained of my lunch. Holding my breath allowed me to blot out everything but the sounds of a light breeze and the warmth of the late-day sun worming its way through my overgrown locks. I also felt the comforting presence of my guitar. My head throbbed as an echo seem to carry over to it. The entire world went woozy for a moment with a strange, energetic golden string feeling like it connected me and my beautiful instrument.

A sensation passed through my entire body like scrunching your eyes up too hard. As I recovered from it, I heard a strange and melodious voice whisper in my ear, “Are you okay, Master?”

I sprawled back on the bench with a wince and opened my eyes wide to glimpse who spoke those words. A girl with wide eyes and fanned jet-black hair peered around the hard armrest of the bench, squeezing her hands in front of her dainty chin. She barely wore a black, leather jacket with her slim shoulders exposed and a white tank top with better straps than mine. Fumbling with her limbs, she awkwardly advanced to the edge of the bench and squeezed in next to me.

This strange girl echoed and challenged the swath of my burdensome cleavage. She wore skintight, glossy black leather pants that squeaked with every movement and a shiny pair of matching flats.

I asked the most obvious and important question, “Who are you?”

She smiled calmly and answered confidently, “Parsley! I’m Parsley. I feel a little weird right now though, Master. Everything is all squishy when it should be hard. And I can’t feel my strings. How do I make music now?” She pouted with concern.

This was fucking nuts. Parsley? This was Parsley? Even my guitar had a pair of tits now? Was that about the shape of things? No way, no freaking way, no! I’m done.

But my guitar vanished, even though I had a very firm grip on it. And now there was this girl, right where it would’ve been. I had to hold myself, even though I didn’t want to get close to what I was now.

“You can’t be. Who are you? Why are you messing with me?!” I said the last part a little bit louder than I intended and with a jagged harshness. The strange girl flinched and drew her arms back.

“…But…Master. I really…really am…Parsley. I’m sorry if I look weird. I don’t know what happened. I’m so sorry, Master… please forgive me.”

Tears streamed down her soft, rounded cheeks. She mournfully whimpered and lamented, “Oh no no no… I’m getting wet. I’m gonna warp and corrode. My strings. What happened to my strings? I’m useless…” Her voice was so small, and so desperately frail that it was hard to hear her.

All of this was crazy. Every single bit. But it didn’t matter if the strange girl sitting next to me was somehow my six-string brought to human life or just a crazy lady who snuck over and was pretending to be my guitar. I couldn’t let her be sad like that.

I wrapped my insubstantial arms around her and mashed the megaboobs against her side. It was disconcerting to maneuver my way around our curves and features, but I figured something out. Her crying lessened and shifted to a soft, faintly cheerful sound.

“Oh, Master. When you hold me, it feels like all my worries vibrate away with a harmony playing deep inside me. Thank you, Master.”

Everything about this current situation felt desperately awkward and that was with my sex change somehow receding into the background from the assault of greater craziness. Before I could cobble together any sort of excuse to let go of her, the weird girl fervently, loudly mentioned how happy she felt when I didn’t have any clothes on and “played with” her.

I furiously scanned in all directions to see if there was anyone within earshot. She kept talking and spilled out that I had a particular moment in the buff involving Lexi Rose and St. Vincent images. She described them vaguely but with enough accuracy that I understood and urged her to stop there.

That clinched it for me. My friggin’ guitar was a girl too. What next? Was my weakling-ass little phone going to turn into a pint-sized lady? God, don’t even think about it, don’t even get close to invoking it. Or the universe will probably take it personally. On top of everything, there was a pinprick but radiating pain on the right side of my forehead which was threatening to colonize as far up as the top of my head somewhere and as low as this bewildering nose. I let out a long, slow breath. Parsley mimicked me with wide-eyed curiosity.

Was I responsible for her? Standing up from the bench, she followed me in sync and even moved her legs the same way, like she was my little sister shadow, even though we were basically the same size and she was possibly even bigger in a chesticular fashion I didn’t want to compete in or even be eligible.

She hesitantly, nervously reached for my arm with wide eyes and a desperate plea for me to hold her. I couldn’t grab her by the neck and slipping too close to her girlish waist was a terrifying reminder that I possessed something similar. I shifted her hands around and gripped one hand between my fingers. Her dark but vibrant eyes got bigger with her mouth slightly open. The expression gradually morphed into a cheerful smile as she responded, “This is nice! You always find the best ways to hold and play with me!” Still no one around, fortunately.

Yeah, I appeared to be responsible for her. Just one more thing. But it was hard to be upset at her, whatever she was now. Gently, I led her around the sidewalk and over to the main part of the mall. 

[I have a question at the end of the chapter again to help with suggestions for where the story should go. I'm actually not that far ahead this time and I am wide open to all possibilities for this particular story. Feel free to add an idea which doesn't show up in the options. Also, if you see any random typos or uncapitalized starts of sentences, please pass them along. I have to cut down on my editing due to release speed and my programs don't seem to be catching lowercase sentences. Thank you for reading!]

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