After getting off the plane, Matt wandered aimlessly amongst the crowd of tourists, until eventually the faint sound of music caught his attention. Intrigued, he followed the sweet melody until he found himself in a small plaza, slightly off the main road. There, in the center, were three men whom Matt recognized as mariachi players, playing for a small audience. They certainly had the look down: they each wore charro suits tailor-made to their proportions, and each sported a sombrero as well. One played the guitar, while the others played the violin and trumpet. They sung songs of revolution; of love; of being a machismo man.
Something about the mariachi music drew Matt in; it spoke to him even though he could barely understand the lyrics, which were in Spanish. On the ground, he noticed a large guitar case, which he assumed the band had put out for donations. Even though it was a bit strange that it was closed, Matt still went up to it as he wanted to support the group. Kneeling down, he undid the latches and opened the case.
Inside was not an empty slot as he expected, but rather a guitar that was a tad larger than the one being played in the band. It was a beautiful instrument, with a mahogany finish that gleamed in the afternoon sunlight. Experimentally, Matt plucked one of the strings, producing a note that harmonized perfectly with the tune that the mariachis were playing. The note resonated in Matt’s mind, compelling him to pick the large guitar up.
The moment he picked it up, his hands began to change, first gaining a darker, rich brown skin tone that spread from his fingers to his wrists, overtaking his pale white skin. As he grasped the instrument, his hands became more weathered and leathery, and his fingers grew tough calluses. Not only that, but his hands swelled in size, becoming all-around thicker and more powerful. Matt was not a hairy person, but you wouldn’t be able to tell from his hands, which began to sprout numerous coarse black follicles of hair.
The changes soon began to spread up his arms, as his pasty complexion gave way to one that revealed his new, Hispanic heritage. The wave of sun-kissed brown washed over his torso next, which also darkened his nipples significantly. From there, the change continued down his legs and feet, until all of Matt’s body below the neck was browned.
Meanwhile, Matt, almost instinctually, began to strum the guitar with his newly old, tough hands. The chord that he played only seemed to hasten his transformation, as curly black hair sprouted everywhere it could, lining his arms, legs, and back. Rings of hair popped out on the edges of his nipples. A tangled forest of hair soon grew not only on his chest, but also on his crotch, where the thick hairs dwarfed his pitiful cock. A distinct treasure trail emerged beneath his belly button.
Matt didn’t even notice the changes. The siren song of the guitar had resulted in his brain being completely overloaded with mariachi music, and as such he didn’t even consider for a second that what was happening to him was abnormal. Again, his instincts guided him as he began the process of strapping on the guitar that he was beginning to think of as his. Matte’s newly-hairy body didn’t show any signs of stopping its transformation, as the man began to pack on muscle. His arms became powerful orbs as they grew to match his thick hands, and his pecs became twin meaty shelves. His previously-unremarkable stomach was chiseled into until a set of abs emerged, the shadowy crevasses highlighting his treasure trail. His hairy legs were next, growing large quads and calves. However, Matt’s destiny was not to become a young Mexican stud, and so the changes continued as his body aged at a rapid rate. His meaty muscles were soon obscured by a layer of fat, and his skin became weathered in an unmistakable sign of his middle age. His abs were lost as his stomach inflated, but the presence of his new musclegut still served as a sign of his power.
One other part of him was also inflating: his cock. Hidden by the curly black forest on his crotch was a pale, three-inch erection, one of the last holdouts of his former self. But it was not immune to the changes its owner was undergoing, and soon the wave of brownness spread to it as well, until it was just as dark as Matt’s nipples. Suddenly, his cock doubled in size, both in terms of length and thickness. Now six inches long, Matt’s cock suddenly softened, but still retained its length and girth, hinting at a true size that was far superior to what it was previously.
Matt finished strapping on his guitar, which prompted a new wave of changes. From the black strap came a flurry of red fabric, which overtook his former clothes. His schlubby white tee shirt was transformed into a red dress shirt with intricate golden embroidery, and soon this was joined by a silk tie and a red coat in a similar style. His cargo shorts met the same fate, becoming long red pants with golden designs running down the sides. Finally, his worn-out sneakers became polished brown dress shoes. He now wore a charro suit that was perfectly fitted to his new body. As one final touch, a simple ring appeared around his thick fourth finger.
From an outsider’s point of view, Matt looked patently ridiculous. From the neck down, he was a thick, powerful, hairy middle-aged Mexican man, dressed in an almost-complete charro suit and holding a large guitar, which his large hands continued to absently strum. However, looking up revealed a pasty white face, barely into adulthood.
But this would soon change. At long last, the changes crept up his neck, until it was just as broad as the rest of him. His Adam’s apple became much more prominent as his vocal chords adapted to the new language he would soon learn to speak. From there, it spread farther upwards. His face was molded into a new form, darkening and gaining numerous wrinkles. His eyes changed from hazel to a deep, welcoming brown; his nose thickened; and his teeth bent themselves just slightly out of shape, although based on the abundance of smile lines on his face it seemed that didn’t stop the new Matt from beaming as much as possible. As his chin and neck had been transforming, they stayed relatively clean-shaven, but the same didn’t apply to his upper lip. Thick black hairs burst forth above his mouth, until he sported a magnificent mustache. Finally, Matt’s blonde hair darkened until it was pitch black, starting at the roots and spreading from there. Even though his new self was middle-aged, he was still blessed with a full head of thick, lustrous hair.
The final change came as a red sombrero, embroidered in the same style as the rest of his charro suit, materialized on his head. It created an insistent pressure on Matt’s head that drowned out every thought that the music had missed - including his name and identity. There was no more Matt, just a man playing guitar.
But from the fog of the music, new thoughts emerged. Me llamo Mateo, was the first thing that he recalled. The man, now Mateo, felt a surge in his head as more details of his life fell into place. He had lived in Mexico City for all 49 years of his life. He only spoke Spanish, and English was nearly incomprehensible to him. He had always had a talent for the guitarron, which had led him to discover his dream job of playing mariachi. It was that fact, along with his prodigious cock, that made him extremely popular with the ladies, and he had met and married the love of his life at age 22, back when his weight came only from his muscles. He and his wife had three beautiful sons together, and he was proud to say that all three of them had his passion for music and mariachi.
Speaking of which, those were Mateo’s sons that were playing the mariachi music! The people who had just been anonymous instrumentalists to the old Matt were in fact the middle-aged father Mateo’s pride and joy. Yes, Mateo recognized each of them: proud Rodrigo on the trumpet, gentle Alejandro on the violin, and his eldest, Felipe, who took the most after him, on the guitar. And judging his small, but noticeable gut, Mateo was delighted to note that Felipe was beginning to take after him in more ways than one. And not only were they his sons, but they were also his bandmates! The four of them came to this little plaza everyday so their wonderful music could bring joy to the tourists who listened to them.
Taking his place in the center of their little group, Mateo burst into song, singing in crooning Spanish and expertly strumming his guitarron as the song that had been reverberating in his head was finally released. His sons joined him on their instruments, and their perfect harmony nearly brought a tear to Mateo’s eye. Matt was gone, and in his place was Mateo, a middle-aged Mexican mariachi and father of three. As the small band played, Mateo couldn’t stop smiling. He knew that this was the only life for him.