CeeCee
New Yorker
New Thread!
Sure, you're used to seeing people sitting around in the sun, playing guitar. Some days you can't go a block without running into one. It's like Starbucks. So why do you stop to look at the man in the black shorts and sunglasses? What is it about his slow, thoughtfull playing that makes you actually stop and back up to watch?
His toes curl away from the heat of the concrete, and he aimlessly plays. You wince when he hits a sour chord. "You're g-string is off."
"Pardon?" He asks, his voice soft, warm. Ther'es a hint of accent in there too. Something British perhaps.
You point to his black acoustic. "You're g-string. It's the weather. Messes with the strings. The G-string is particularly vulnerable."
His forehead wrinkles as he looks at you, despite the sunglasses. "Mine does it all the time, when I play outside."
"Do you play well?"
You grin broadly. "I know how to play a few chords. How to get a nice whine by... stroking the neck."
He smirks at you, getting to his feet and offering his hand. "Want to come back to my hotel? I have a spare. Maybe we can play together."
You giggle, taking his hand. "Okay, but first... we have to do something about your G-string."
"Mine... or yours?" He asks, drawing you into the cool interior of the hotel and along to the elevator.
You pretend to think, but that only lasts as long as it takes for the elevator doors to close. Then he's kissing you and it's all you can do to hold on as your hands slide, a little too quickly thanks to sunscreen, over his shoulders. He smells of sun, ozone, sand... and coconut oil.
When the doors open he takes your hand and pulls you down the hall, into the room. As he shuts the door you can hear Adam down the hall. "They're playing 'g-string' again..."
Sure, you're used to seeing people sitting around in the sun, playing guitar. Some days you can't go a block without running into one. It's like Starbucks. So why do you stop to look at the man in the black shorts and sunglasses? What is it about his slow, thoughtfull playing that makes you actually stop and back up to watch?
His toes curl away from the heat of the concrete, and he aimlessly plays. You wince when he hits a sour chord. "You're g-string is off."
"Pardon?" He asks, his voice soft, warm. Ther'es a hint of accent in there too. Something British perhaps.
You point to his black acoustic. "You're g-string. It's the weather. Messes with the strings. The G-string is particularly vulnerable."
His forehead wrinkles as he looks at you, despite the sunglasses. "Mine does it all the time, when I play outside."
"Do you play well?"
You grin broadly. "I know how to play a few chords. How to get a nice whine by... stroking the neck."
He smirks at you, getting to his feet and offering his hand. "Want to come back to my hotel? I have a spare. Maybe we can play together."
You giggle, taking his hand. "Okay, but first... we have to do something about your G-string."
"Mine... or yours?" He asks, drawing you into the cool interior of the hotel and along to the elevator.
You pretend to think, but that only lasts as long as it takes for the elevator doors to close. Then he's kissing you and it's all you can do to hold on as your hands slide, a little too quickly thanks to sunscreen, over his shoulders. He smells of sun, ozone, sand... and coconut oil.
When the doors open he takes your hand and pulls you down the hall, into the room. As he shuts the door you can hear Adam down the hall. "They're playing 'g-string' again..."
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! You should've kept the cap with it 
to anyone who is here
my brilliant Lilsis
I will ward them off wiht my powers too for you
My parents aren't arriving till 3pm - yay, I can sleep in tomorrow!! 
Last year proved that even after 20 years, her curse is still going 
