Ace at Bass

 My Gloria Honeypot captions are in no particular order but they now have their own section on my index page

“That's it, Babe, just lean your arse back on the sofa and strum the guitar a bit. That's it! Lovely!” The record company scout barked orders at Finn and the photographer simultaneously – his grating British accent spreading around the penthouse apartment like a rash.

“It's a bass,” wanted to scream. “It's a fucking bass.” Not that there was any love lost with his instrument. He wanted to throw that cursed thing through the 47^th floor apartment's floor-to-ceiling windows even more than he wanted to do the same to the indomitable Mr. Gilbert. Yet, it sat glued to his grasp as it always did – inseparable from its prize.

Looks will get you a long way in the music industry. Even before what followed, Finn was an attractive specimen. His slender build and delicate features captured the attention of women every time he took the stage. It didn't matter that he couldn't play for shit and that the rest of his band only kept him around because his ability to draw in the local ladies was 90% of what got them booked. Two songs of him fumbling awkwardly around with his bass and you could bet your life a pair of panties would be thrown. Now the panties are already on stage, Finn thought bitterly...

The problem started when Finn made the foolish decision to try to improve his musical skills. Like any bad workman, he blamed his tools, and set out in search of a new bass. Gloria Honeypot's Emporium of Fun and Folly had seemed like as ideal a place as any – its endless shelves holding a menagerie of treasures to be discovered. The bass guitar had hung from the back wall and Finn had bought it without even a test drive.

He did actually improve at bass. However, the instrument wanted so much more. He couldn't explain why, but he felt compelled to have it with him at all times – or maybe it was the other way around. Yet, the bass was not just satisfied with a dedicated player, it demanded magnificence. Finn didn't remember when he started to wear the makeup, or to wear mini-dresses while he practised. He didn't even remember when he started the hormone treatment. His instrument demanded perfection of its craft and it was sculpting the musician it wanted to play it. By the time he got the breast implants, lip fillers and hair extensions, his bandmates were too caught up with all their new-found male fans to care. So, what if Finn was a woman now. He was hot and that was making them money. They didn't see that their bassist had been enslaved by his cursed instrument.

“We're almost finished here,” Mr. Gilbert waved his hands. “I almost have everything I need to the team and make my recommendation. Almost...” The man started to unbuckle his pants. Finn felt the bass hum in his hands and he knew then it would have him do whatever it took to get to right to the top.