ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Aug 26, 2020 8:47:36 GMT -6
Hi all,
By request, here's a story I wrote 8(!) years ago that was on the old yahoo group. It's a 8 part epic, covering all kinds of AP and AR. I'll post it one chapter at a time over the next week, just to spread the love.
Let me know if you enjoy it!
Ark
The Time Witch By Ark
Chapter 1 – The Storm in Time
The rain pummelled down relentlessly as Holly trudged up the road. This was a truly miserable Sunday morning if ever there was one. They sky was thick with dark purple clouds as far the eye could see, and there was an odd, heavy smell in the air.
Holly swiped herself into the grey, featureless building which was her local gym. She switched on the lights; clearly she was the first person here. That wasn’t uncommon on a Sunday, Holly had 24-hour access and she preferred to swim alone whenever possible.
She moved into the dressing rooms and began her least favourite part of the whole miserable routine, she took her clothes off. In her youth, Holly had been a bit of a looker. She had never really made the most of her slender figure. Now in her late 30’s, she bitterly regretted those lost opportunities. Taking off her top and bra, she felt the familiar sensation of her unsupported breasts drooping down her chest. As she bent down to remove her jeans, she couldn’t help but lament her belly rolls and love handles. Cellulite marred her legs and her bum had been expanding steadily for the last decade. All this combined with her growing collection of grey hair and wrinkles had turned the lithe young girl from Holly’s memory into the flabby middle-aged matron she now saw in the mirror.
She squeezed herself into a one-piece swimsuit that emphasised her every bulge. Holly felt hideous, but it had been years since she had dared wear a bikini. She glanced over her shoulder to check out her ass in the mirror. She knew this would only bring her heartache, but it had been part of her routine forever. Her ass looked like a burlap sack full of apple sauce (to her critical eyes at least). She audibly sighed, if only she could purge the world of mirrors, maybe then her self esteem would pick up?
She moved through into the deserted pool, and lowered herself in. She wasn’t always this maudlin, but today she was just feeling nostalgic for her fading youth. She missed the carless agility she had once had. Now her body was plagued by little aches and pains, and her stamina was a shadow of its former self. These days she even got cramp during sex! How unsexy must that be her lovers! It was bad enough that they had to look at her wrinkled face, and rub their hands across her flabby stretch marked hips, but cramp? Holly had nearly died of embarrassment the first time it happened, and the sex kitten inside her certainly had.
Not that her lovers had been much to write home about recently. Being an out of shape, 38 year old receptionist hardly made her irresistible to the opposite sex, so her partners tended to be balding, ambitionless failures. She found it hard to makes any connection with any of them, so it tended to be awkward one-night stands, and Holly would always feel a bit dirty afterwards. She missed the days where she would be turning away hot young men, or even slightly skinny nerds/one-day-millionaires. God knows she had turned away one or two guys who had gone onto to greatness in her prime. Now those same geeks were married to supermodels and living in mansions. Just another of the many missed opportunities.
As she breaststroked across the pool, the storm outside kicked off and thunder boomed in the distance. Lightning lit up the pool through the glass panelled ceiling above her. The storm was unseasonable, it had been a scorching summer week up till now, and no storm had been forecast, but Holly was too caught up in her body issues today to really care.
As she considered the pros and cons of dying her greying, once fiery red hair, the thunder got closer. So much so the building started to rattle. Holly stopped and looked up at the rather frail looking ceiling over her. Treading water she started to think that maybe swimming wasn’t such a good...
The ceiling exploded. A bolt of lightning crashed into Holly and the pool erupted in brief purple glow. Holly’s world went black.
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She awoke floating face up in the pool. She just lay there for a few seconds, trying to remember how she got there. She saw the shattered windowpanes above her and it all came flooding back. She had been struck by lightning. Inside. In a swimming pool. Was that even possible? How was she still alive? She started to swim very cautiously back towards the pools edge, dodging the shards of broken glass as she went. It was only when she eased herself out of the water that she realised something had changed.
Normally, pulling herself out of the pool would have been an ungraceful heaving act. However, this time it was smooth and effortless. She flowed out of the pool and on to her feet in one seamless act. She was lighter. Much lighter. She glanced down at her body.
“What the actual fuck!” she exclaimed to no one in particular.
In place of the dumpy frame she had possessed mere minutes before was a svelte figure. Her too-tight bathing suit now looked oversized on her slim new body. She looked open mouthed at her hands. They looked much smoother and more delicate than she was used to. In shock she ran back to the changing rooms to get a better look at herself.
She stood in opened mouth awe at the woman that stared back at her. Her suspicions were confirmed. She was young again.
Holy admired a reflection she hadn’t seen for twenty years. Her face was slimmer, the spectre of her double chin had vanished, and the effect was staggering. Had she really gained that much weight over the years? Her wrinkles had gone. Not just faded, but completely vanished. She possessed the velvet smooth skin of a teenager, decorated only with a light smattering of freckles. Her emerald eyes shone youthfully, they even looked bigger without the sags and bags. Her lips were a deep red and had a natural pout the oozed sexiness. Holly was in awe. Had she ever really been this beautiful?
She ran her smooth hands through her vibrant red hair. Gone were the greys that had tormented her for the last 5 years. Gone were the split ends and frizz. In their place was flowing shoulder length red-gold hair that looked like it belonged in a shampoo advert, although it was still dripping wet.
Almost giggling with glee, Holly slipped out of her loose swimsuit and tossed it aside to admire herself in all her naked glory. It had been ages since she had dared look at herself full frontal without the risk of imminent tears, but she was new woman now. Or should that be her old self? Holly didn’t really care about the semantics; she was too fixated on her breasts. She had always been full breasted, a D cup at 17, but by the time she 25 they had already started to sag. Subtly at first of course, but by the time she celebrated her 38th birthday they hung down her chest and were covered in stretch marks. It had been years since she had let any man see her floppy boobs with the bedroom lights on for fear they would run away screaming. However these orbs were a different matter entirely. They stood around proudly on her chest, round and firm. She caressed their smooth full flesh and grinned in delight.
The rest of her body was in similar flawless condition. Her belly and love handles had been replaced by a toned navel and a cinched waist. Her hips still has a womanly shape, but now her curves were smooth and tight rather than bubbling. Holly’s legs were fabulous, they seemed much longer without the flab, and were shapely all the way down.
She looked over her shoulder at her ass and started to laugh. Her apple sauce backside was gone, and it its place was a pert, heart shaped masterpiece of an ass. She gave it a quick pinch to make sure it was real, and was suitably satisfied with its springy texture.
How had this happened? She had her 18 year old body back in pristine condition. Was that even possible? She must be going mad. Maybe she was dead? That was a possibility; she had been hit by the Godzilla of thunder bolts mere minutes before after all. Did she care? Real or not, dead or not, Holly was not going to look a gift horse in the mouth.
She dried herself off as quickly as she could, and pulled on her elasticated jogging bottoms. They were hilariously too big for her now, but were pretty flattering in the ass department. She pulled on her equally baggy sweater and admired the prominent shapes of her unfettered breasts underneath. Her hefty underwire bra and white granny pants she threw in the bin with a gleeful flourish.
She felt amazing. Sure she had looked this good before, maybe for the one split second 20 years ago that was her peak, but she could never remember feeling this good. She felt like every inch of her was supercharged. She could run a mile, climb a mountain. Holly felt like she could do the splits... so she did. It was effortless. She had NEVER been able to do the splits before! She sprang back up with her heart pounding. She had to test this body out, so she decided to sprint home. She flew out of the leisure centre and down the road back to her house. The odd storm had faded now and the sun was peaking back out. Holly covered the half mile to her front door in 2 minutes flat, and had barely broken a sweat. This was incredible!
She ran up the stairs and tore off her unflattering attire, cast an excited eye over her fabulous new body, and then started rummaging though her wardrobe for any sexy clothes. She settled on some red lingerie bottoms, and a white mid thigh summer dress that she had never been able to squeeze into before today, but was at least a size too big for her now. A bra seemed pretty pointless given her perky new assets, so she went without. Holly strapped on some lacy high heels and set out to hit the town. Sure it was barley midday, on a Sunday, but she had wasted her youth once before, and she would be damned if she would do it again!
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Holly woke the next ache with the dull headache that always followed a night of excess. She groaned and tried to make sense of the blurry half memories that comprised the previous evening. She remembered hitting her first wine bar in the early afternoon; she had some vague recollection of flirting shamelessly with some very attractive young men and ending up with them in a nearby casino. How she had gotten home was a mystery. One thing she clearly remembered was how much fun she’d had! She had been inundated with male suitors all night, and it had been amazing to be the centre of attention again. She had flirted, flounced and teased all evening. Crossing her long legs at every opportunity to show off a scandalous amount of smooth thigh, tossing her hair around like a salad, she hadn’t bought a drink or placed a bet all evening. It had been such a rush.
While she felt a little guilty about using her enhanced sex appeal for such petty ends, she could at least be proud of herself for not ending up in someone else’s bed last night. One drunken bloke had put and unwelcome hand on her knee, so she had shoved him halfway across the room in response. Her new body was unbelievably strong. She smiled and ran her hands up her body under the covers, but what she found under her fingers was sobering.
Underneath her summer dress (which she had slept in, Holly had been two plastered to get in off the night before. How she had managed to unlace her strappy heels would remain a mystery till the end of time) Holly’s hands did not feel perfect 18 year old breasts. Instead they found softer, slightly limp boobs.
“Shit!” Holly sat bolt upright and threw away the covers, her mild hangover forced to the back of her mind by panic. She was old again.
She scrambled out of bed and ran to the bathroom. If the ache in her lower back from sleeping funny didn’t confirm her suspicions, her reflection certainly did. If last night she had looked like a goddess, this morning she looked like mutton dressed as lamb. The outlines of her breasts underneath her dress showed they were now tear drop shaped and gravitating away from each other. Her hips and waist had clearly expanded again as her figure was decidedly more pear than hour glass. Her exposed thighs were now flabbier, and her cellulite had made an unwelcome return. She leaned in to inspect her face and noted with resignation the myriad of lines around her eyes. There was less definition around her jaw and her lips had lost that natural pout. As a final insult, she spotted one coarse grey hair in her tousled red hair.
Holly was devastated. Maybe she had no right to have suspected her miraculous transformation to last, but still her flabby reflection was hard to take. Suddenly, her mirror image was joined by another, as her roommate Kimmy rushed into the bathroom.
“Oh hi Hols” she chirped. “Sorry for barging in, just got to grab my sun cream”. Holly owned her large town house, but a few years ago had decided to rent out some rooms to a few students. Not so much for the money, but hoping some young company would make her feel younger. Not that it had worked, being surrounded by perky perfect bodied youngsters had only served to highlight her own fading charms. Kimmy was wearing nothing but a bikini; no doubt she would be off down the local park to sunbathe with her friends imminently. She was nothing short of stunning. Petit at 5’2, she had a tiny waist , perky c cup boobs and a pert bubble bum. Her bright eyed face was framed by long blonde hair that hung in lazy ringlets. Kimmy’s luscious looks had been a constant cause of silent envy from her middle aged landlady since the 20 year old has moved in.
Kimmy gave Holly a second glance. “Hey, looking good boss, did you get a new hair cut or something?” Holly looked back in the mirror and had to admit Kim had a point. While she was miles away from the perfection of yesterday, she still looked much better that she had for a good few years. Her waist still had a bit of definition, there were a few less wrinkles and her face looked fresher. And besides, she only had that one pesky grey hair. That lightened Holly’s mood dramatically.
“Thanks Kimmy” Holly smiled and put her hand on Kim’s shoulder, but her hand was hit by a strange sensation the second she touched Kim’s skin. It felt a bit like she was touching a vacuum. She quickly pulled it away in shock. Kimmy showed no signs of noticing anything odd.
“You will have to tell me your secret, I would kill to look as good as you when I am your age” Kimmy posed briefly in front of the large full length mirror. “Hey, do you think this bikini makes my bum look bi....”
It was a stupid question that Kim was always asking. Her bum never looked anything less than perfect. However saying that, holly matched Kim’s gaze and only just managed to muffle a gasp. Her bum DID look a smidge bigger in those barley-there bikini bottoms. A bit softer too? There was just a hint of uneven texture. Kim had a look of unbridled horror on her face. Holly noticed as well that the students bikini seemed to be cutting into her stomach and hips ever so slightly. As she stared, Holly felt her own midriff tighten. What the hell?
Kim regained her composure. “Humm, ok maybe I will rock a sarong today.” Her confidence was really shaken, it was written all over her face. Her slightly older looking face. Holly was still speechless as she watched that one bastard grey hair fade away in her own red mane.
Kim rushed a goodbye and hurried away, Holly watching her slightly wobblier ass in the mirror as she went. What the hell had just happened? Had Holly really just sucked a few years from her tenant? It certainly felt that way. She locked the bathroom door and pulled off her summer dress. Holly guessed she had been 30, maybe 31 years old this morning. Now she must have been three or four years younger. Those years either side of thirty were clearly a big deal, she looked a LOT better now. Her breasts had risen up a bit her chest and seemed firmer, her waist was more defined and her legs blissfully less flabby. To boot there were notably less wrinkles on her fresher looking face. Sure she wasn’t perfect again, her double d’s still had a bit of droop and her ass was still flaunting some soft cellulite, but she was a good looking late 20s woman. Holly smiled a slightly wicked grin.
She could drain youth! She had a superpower! She needed to test out the limits of her new ability as soon as possible. And more importantly, she needed to decide what she would use it for. Would she be a superhero, or a supervillain?
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Aug 19, 2020 8:13:38 GMT -6
Hi all!
Here's a brand new story I've written, inspired and kindly commissioned by thetreerollins.
It's a slow burn, middle aged AP story - so my apologies for those of you who like your AP a little older -this probably won't be one for you. For me, the critical years between a woman's twenties and late thirties are the most interesting to write, as the first little signs of aging start to disturb a beautiful woman's looks.
It was commissioned to be a short, 3000 word story, but it got away from me a bit and ended up three times as long!
This was my first commission, and I quite enjoyed it. I'll be taking a little break but I'll probably be open to commissions again in the future. Let me know if you're interested.
And as always, I hope you enjoy the story! Drop a like if you do.
Ark
The Age of Social Media
Written by Ark, commissioned by thetreerollins
Mason Green sipped his beer, half watching the game, lost in thought.
His colleague from the phone factory, Konrad, pulled up the stool next to him. “Buddy, I gotta say, your girl is fineeee!” he slapped Mason on the back, and showed his phone. Instagram was open, and showed Mason's girlfriends account.
Leigh was undeniably stunning. Only 19 years old, in her latest photo she was stretched out across the base of a fountain, flashing her smooth shapely legs and tossing back her cascade of long dark curls. At 5’4, she was quite curvy for her petit frame, but every inch of her was flawlessly tight and toned.
The photo was adorned, as always, with a vapid comment and an inane selection of hashtags.
Seizing the day and living my best life! #summer #brunette #me #liveyourlife #hot #tanned #legs #booty #girl #sexy
Mason sighed, and swigged his drink.
Konrad read the room. “Hey, what’s wrong buddy? Having a hot 19 year old girlfriend not everything dreamed? Trouble in paradise?”
“It’s just this social media crap. She’s obsessed. Everyday without fail she's posting some exhibitionist photo with these bloody hashtags. She’s fixated on becoming an influencer, hung up on her metrics – followers and likes and everything. It’s maddening.”
“No time for you, huh?”
“Yea, but it’s not just that. She’s a law major at college, she’s smart! But now she’s just totally addicted to Instagram, she’s neglecting her studies as well as me, convinced she can make a living off this nonsense.”
“Well, can she? There is money in being an influencer, and like I said, she is fineeee. I’d buy whatever she’s selling, if you know what I mean?”
Mason slapped his mate round the back of the head. “Well sure, she’s making some money already. And companies keep sending her stuff to review, swimsuits and make up and all kindsa stuff. But how long can this last? She’s not going to be Instagram famous in her 40s. I don’t want her to waste her life.”
“Plus, you wanna get laid, right? No time for candle lit evenings when she’s teaching herself photoshop?” Konrad raised his eyebrows suggestively.
Mason was resigned. “Yes, I want to get laid.”
“Ha!” Konrad leaned in and started whispering in a conspiratorial manner. “Well, buddy, you know, I might have something that can help.”
Mason ordered a round of beers. “You have my attention.”
“So, you know at work, there was that accounting ‘error’, and R&D get’s like 10x the funding it needs?” Mason nodded. “So yea, things down in the basement have gotten weird. Like, really weird. They’re hiring tech geniuses from all over, on seven figure salaries, poaching from everywhere you can think of. It’s some proper mad scientist shit down there now, I’m miles out of my depth. You know what I mean?”
“How’s that going to help with Leigh?”
“Well, you gave me an idea. She won’t want to be flashing so much flesh when she’s 40? Right? Influencing is a young girls game. What is she was a little older?”
“Older? What are you on about?” Mason had no idea where this was heading.
Konrad rummaged around in his rucksack and produced a new looking smart phone. “So this is a prototype of one of the G8s. The camara is state of the art, and it’s interlinked with Instagram with some kind of quantum… temporal… thing. I don’t know how it works, like I said, I’m out of my depth and they’ve gone all twilight zone on us. Long story short, give this phone to your Mrs, and she’ll age a couple of years each time she posts to Instagram.”
“She’ll…age? Like her photos will age, like a FaceApp filter? That’s not that revolutionary.”
But Konrad was shaking his head. “No no man, well, yes, but it’s way more than that. When she clicks “post”, her photo will age two years - BUT - she will age two years as well in real life. She’ll sync up, and age to match the photo yo. It’s trippy shit.”
This couldn’t be real, Konrad was clearly messing with him. “Why, Konrad, would anyone want a phone app that makes you look older?”
“It doesn’t make her look older – it makes her older for real! The tech guys are messing with quantum entanglement to make an app that would make you younger – like some real fountain of youth shit. But, you know, you gotta break some eggs to make an omelette, and they ended up making something that did the exact opposite. They’re still working on it, but for now, their loss, your gain.”
Mason took the phone. He had zero faith that this would actually work. “So say this does work. Why would I want to make my smoking hot girlfriend older? If I wanted to date women my own age, I would.”
“You want her to quit Instagram?” Mason nodded. “Then perhaps a little bit of maturity will do the trick?”
Unconvinced, but curious, Mason took the phone home with him
Leigh excitedly opened this phone box, and gave Mason a huge hug. “This is amazing! Thank you!” she kissed him passionately with her full, young lips. “I can’t believe it! The G8 isn’t even supposed to be out yet, and you said you couldn’t get freebies from work? I didn’t think you even liked me focusing in my social media presence?” Mason was always moaning that Leigh spent too much time getting the perfect picture and researching the tending hashtags. This new phone was totally out of the blue.
“Anything for you babe. I know this is important to you, he smiled his handsome smile. (Inside, he was grimacing and hoping Konrad's plan worked, and that this new phone didn’t just make the whole social media thing worse!)
“The camera on this is supposed to be amazing! I’ve got to set everything up and give it a go.”
After a few painful minutes of remembering passwords and entering settings, Leigh was ready to give her new toy a try. She pulled off her hoodie and started posing in just her sports bra and leggings. She didn't like to think of herself as vain, but Leigh was hot and she knew it. Any residual teenage insecurity she might have been hanging onto had been eroded away by the constant barrage off validation her burgeoning Instagram followers showed her with every day. She was curvy in the hips and ass, tight in the waist, wielded sleek had legs, and had superb tear-drop C cup breasts in her arsenal. Her skin flaunted an even bronze tan that she dutifully maintained in long tanning sessions. Her USP in the Instagram world though was her pretty, dark features. Everyone in her family said she got her long dark curly hair from her mother, but given her mom had been going grey since her thirties, Leigh didn’t see the comparison. Big brown eyes, soft facial features, and a Victoria’s Secret jawline, rounded her off so that overall she combined the stunning face of a “real” model and the voluptuous yet fit, girl-next-door, body of on Instagram girl.
She took a few practices poses, angling her face correctly in the light and the thrusting out her chest (just so subtly that it would make a difference to her already flawless figure without being obvious that she was trying). She snapped a couple of pics, and was amazed at how good the camera was. “Jesus, the auto-focus on this think is amazzzing. Her, Mace, take a pic of me side on.”
Mason reluctantly obliged – playing photographer was part of his life now. Under Leigh's instruction, he’d gotten pretty good – if he did say so himself.
After an interminable number of photos, Leigh took the phone back and started the painful process of picking the right photo for her daily post. Her ass looked amazing in these leggings side on she decided. “All those squats are really paying off, don’t you think? This is the pic.”
Mason, who’d typically lost interest by this point, perked up, and watched his 19 year old sexpot girlfriend as she typed out her hashtags.
#newphone #bestBFever #brunette #me #liveyourlife #hot #tanned #legs #booty #girl #sexy #ass #peach #leggings #smoulder #19
Then she hit “Share".
Mason might have been imagining it, but Leigh kinda shimmered for a fraction of a second. Could this actually have worked? She didn’t look noticeably different. But on second glance, maybe something was slightly different. Her jawline looked slightly more defined perhaps, like the last of her baby fat had melted away. It could just have been Mason’s wishful thinking, but Leigh had a slightly more adult sensuality about her. It seemed to him that Leigh was even more breath-taking than normal.
Leigh herself hadn’t felt anything. She checked her Insta profile to make sure the photo had uploaded properly, as she always did out of habit. She nodded approvingly. “The camera on this phone is great! I look really sophisticated in this one, don’t you think?” She hadn’t noticed when screening the pics, but know that the pic was posted it was clear the new camera really heightened the contract and shapes of her face in a really pleasing manner. She was sure her followers would love this one – she looked classy. Sort of… mature.
The next day, Leigh had a regular day at college, completely unaware that she now had the body of a 21 year old rather. She just looked like a senior rather than a freshman, and not even her friends would have noticed the difference. Her photo from the day before had done well on Insta, her followers were digging the high rez camara and her sultry new look, so she was buzzing. She snapped another pic, this time of her posing in front of the campus bookshop:
#young #blonde #collegegirl #gunnabealawyerifmodellingdoesn’tworkout #butitwill #brunette #19 #sexy #smart #fountain
Hit share, then unknowingly aged to 23 without batting an eyelid.
The following day, Leigh went about her normal routine at college. First thing in the morning, she checked all her Insta metrics. As expected, her sexy pics from the last two days, had gone down a storm. Nearly 2000 likes, and 200 new followers! A bumper day. This new camara was worth every penny that she assumed Mason had paid for it. She was approaching 50k followers – which would be a big threshold for her. With 200 extra followers a day, she’d be there within the week!
She skimmed through the comments section.
“Beautiful!”
“Stunning!”
“I could bounce pennies off that ass <3”
All par for the course for Leigh. A great way to start the day, basking in the adoration of her followers. She’d also gotten an offer from a local clothing company, offering her some free samples bikinis and leggings if she’d feature them on her feed. She gladly excepted and sent them her address and measurements.
Enthused, she hopped out of bed, and stretched out her nude “19 “ year old body. Unbeknownst to her, she was now actually 23 years old, but four years had had no real affect on the radient perfection of her figure. If anything, she looked better than ever. She rubbed her hands down her svelte sides to her hips and gave them a little shake. She glanced over at her ass, popping her heel to really accentuate her booty. “Like two soccer balls in a pillowcase”. Satisfied she looked as great as she felt, Leigh slipped into her gym gear and went out for her morning run. She smashed 2k in record time, shocking herself by how powerful she felt. “All that hard work is paying off,” she whispered to herself.
In the shower, she spent a good few minutes lathering up her perky boobs with moisturiser, something her aunt Mable had encouraged her to do in the fight against the “family crinkled décolletage”, which her busty aunt always claimed had wrecked her wrack at too young an age. Not that leigh had anything to worry about in that regard. She snapped a quick photo, topless apart from shower suds just barely covering her nipples, and sent it to Mason. She liked to tease him that she’d share nudes on social media one day to boost her following, but she had no intention of doing so. The world could see her almost nude, but she’d keep the pièce de résistance for Mason alone. She knew sending him a nude would drive him wild all day. Knowing he was thinking about her body all day really turned her on, and she’d be waiting for him later than night.
In the meantime, she wrapped herself a towel, sorted out her hair, and took her Insta photo for the day. Looking up at the camara, she gave a tantalising glimpse of her perky moisturised cleavage, her smooth shoulders, and her flawless face.
#2krecordtime #smashedit #morningshower #fitness #newphone #brunette #me #hot #booty #girl #sexy #ass #peach #shower #19 #towel
The second she hit Share, she could have sworn she felt a shock go through her, like a tiny shiver. She shook it off and though nothing of it though.
Checking the photo as it appeared on her feed, she frowned ever so slightly. Clearly the angle hadn’t been as great as she thought, her jawline looked a bit off, a tiny bit softer and less defined. Still, her boobs and hair looked great, so it would do.
She hurriedly dressed and dashed to class, where she ignored most of lectures to watch those sweet likes come flooding in.
Later that day, as expected, Mason tuned up at Leigh’s dorm room. He’d brought chocolates and flowers – a tell tale sign that he was horny. After a bit of heavy petting in front of Netflix, she led him to bed.
She straddled him, slowly taking off her t-shirt to reveal her unfettered breasts. She rarely wore a bra inside the house, there was no need, as gravity had no power over her perfect c-cups. She let Mason bite them, squeling in enjoyment. She loved being with an older man, it made her feel powerful, desirable. She could tell how much he lusted after her body with every caress. She could hadly blame him – the women his own age were all in their thirties now, battling bingo wings and cellulite, or whatever middle aged women worried about. Who could blame any red-blooded man for wanting her tight body over theirs? Leigh felt truly sexually appreciated when she was with Mason, much more so then when she’s been with boys her own age who’d never had to see a saggy boob in their lives, and thus didn’t worship her gravity defying orbs with the awe they deserved.
The couple ripped off the rest of their clothes, and got down to business, and Leigh set her mind to rocking his world like she always did.
Mason was in dreamland. This was why he hated Leigh’s social media obsession – too many evening scrolling mindlessly through Influencer’s feeds for photo inspiration, not enough time knocking boots. Leigh’s body was fucking perfect, a total 10/10, hotter than any woman he’d been with before. He grabbed her hips, as she rode him reverse-cowgirl style.
Only as an afterthought did he notice those hips were a tiny bit softer than normal. He tried to ignore the waves of ecstasy – easier said than done -and focus on Leigh’s body. She’d now posted three photos, which would mean her body was now 25. He’d hardly noticed any changes during the evening, and Leigh clearly hadn’t noticed anything herself, but now, with her totally naked and on top of him, Mason thought her body seemed almost imperceptibly softer. His fingers roamed, as innocently as he could manage. Her hips did have a little bit more give than he was used to her, and her normally toned thighs were a smidge more yielding to his fingers. It was hardly anything, but Leigh had gained some weight. Not much, but certainly some. Mason was quickly driven back to distraction – nothing had changed with leigh’s stamina, and her ass was still totally magnificent.
Afterwards, Leigh dosed off, and Mason inspected her sleeping face in the half-darkness. She did look a little different, more mature, more womanly and less girlish. She was still unbelievably hot – but she was definitely a woman in her twenties now, not a teenage freshman.
Mason suddenly felt a little bit worried. This magic – sorry, quantum – phone was clearly working. He better hope she’d get turned off social media soon, he’d never intended her to get old. The whole point was he wanted more sex with a 10/10 hottie, not less. He dozed off himself, quickly forgetting his concern.
The following day, a package arrived for Leigh containing the Bikini’s shed been sent by the local fashion designer. There were dozens, so she bunked off her criminal law lecture to try them all on and find the perfect pic for her feed.
Leigh loved days like this – free designer clothes for her to try on sent right to her door. She normally kept the ones she liked and sold the others to friends or on eBay. All part of the influencer sider hustle.
She slipped in and out of the skimpy garments, taking dozens of photos – even using a tripod to get the full body look. No point having these sexy pins if she didn’t flaunt them, right?
Disappointingly though, some of the bikini’s weren’t particularly flattering. A few were clearly miss sized as they cut into her hips, and one or two made her thighs look a bit chunkier than the svelte teenager was used to. She cast them aside into the sell pile – a shame, this designer was normally pretty great. Some of the others were suitably flattering though, so she took her photos and started browsing through for the pic of the day.
She settled on a sleek dark orange set that complimented her tan, and opted for a cross legged, side-on pose -that showed the best of what the bikini, and her body, had to offer.
#bikini #hot #brunette #swimwear #buylocal #sexy #curves #legs #orangebikini
As soon as she hit share, she felt that strange shiver again. Must just be the thrill of posting – every photo got her closer to Instagram fame after all.
But when she checked the photo on her feed she gasped. “What the hell?” Her thigh was dimpled in the photo. Cellulite. Nothing major, but a clear couple of dimples. She could have sworn they weren’t there when she selected the photo. She’d never have posted it otherwise. More importantly – Leigh did not have cellulite. She was 19! And she was hot! This couldn’t be happening.
She dashed to her full length mirror and checked out her ass. To her relief, it was still pert, full and flawless. Peachy as ever. Her thighs however did look different, a bit wider, a bit softer. And crucially, less smooth. She pinched her thigh and silently screamed as the yielding flesh dimpled around her fingers. It was true! She had cellulite.
Panicking, she sat back on her bed and crossed her legs. True enough, her upper leg took on the appearance of cottage cheese as soon as she applied some pressure. Leigh was horrified. How had this happened? She was 19 and in great shape. She was in great shape, right?
She started probing her body for other changes. Was her stomach a bit softer? Her upper arms wider? It was hard to tell. Probably not? But her legs certainly looked a bit chunkier than they should.
She quickly grabbed her phone and went to delete the photo from her Instagram feed. However, to her surprise, she already had some likes. A lot of likes actually, and some comments from her female followers.
“So brave! Real women have curves”
“You’re my hero! #normalisecellulite”
“Gorgeous as always! #womenempoweringwomen”
Leigh paused. This could actually be good for her metrics. Sure, she was going down the fashion side of influencing, which normally required physical perfection at all time, but plenty of Instagram models did some body-positivity stuff. It normalised them, and made their beauty more authentic. And judging by her likes, it was working a charm. She decided she’d keep the pic up, and pretend the orange peel thigh hadn’t been a shock. She edited her hashtags to add.
#cellulite #dimples #embreaceingmyflaws #realwomen #bodypositivity
But inside, she was really unsettled by how alien her legs looked. She’d never felt betrayed by her body like this before. Tomorrow, she’d hit the gym and tone these babies back up to perfection.
The next day, Leigh sprang out of bed, determined to smash her aerobics session and whip her body back into shape. She was cross with herself for letting it come to this, she’d clearly become a bit complacent in her fitness regime. Although, her soft thighs had really crept up on her, she could have sworn her legs had looked perfectly toned until yesterday.
She pulled on some leggings and a gym top, stubbornly ignoring her reflection, and dashed over to catch the 8am class she’d hurriedly booked herself onto. She’d done this class a few times already this semester, it was intense but nothing she couldn’t handle.
10 minutes into the session and Leigh felt great. Full of youthful determination and energy, she stretched the high kicks and nailed the star jumps.
20 minutes in, and she was covered in sweat. Had they forgotten to turn the AC on? It was boiling in here.
30 minutes in, and Leigh was really struggling. She’d had to abandon the planking after only a few seconds, the squats had been agony and now they were pounding out crunches. Leigh was miles off the pace, and was distressed to see her normally flat stomach forming little rolls with each laboured rep.
She looked around, hoping to see the others struggling, but alas, the rest of the class of student women looked fine, most of them had barely broken a sweat. What was wrong with her?
Leigh glanced up at the big mirror in front of the class, and did a double take at her sweaty, red face, tights digging into her hips and making her look just a smidge heavy. All the other girls looked stunning, like models. To Leigh they looked so perfect, so...young? Had they always looked so fresh faced and dewy? She was the same age, only a freshman. Why did she seem to look like the only adult in the room today? And a slightly out of shape adult at that.
She tried to focus and give her all the rest of the session. By the end, she’d have made a pact with the devil himself for the torment to be over. That had been the toughest session of her life.
In the changing room, Leigh felt unusually self-conscious. Just a couple of days ago she’d have bet on her body to hold it’s own against any other girl on campus, but yesterdays cellulite revelation and today’s laboured performance in class had her feeling shy. A blonde walked past towards the showers, totally naked and so radiant Leigh couldn’t look away. The blonde’s ass was a pert, flawlessly smooth peach, sitting above two sleek toned thighs that goose-pimpled slightly in the open air. 10/10. Leigh used to have a body like that, she though to herself.
What was she saying. She still did have a body like that! One bad photo and a tough gym session didn’t make her passed it. And hadn’t used #bodypositivity only yesterday. She confidently stripped off her sweaty kit. Her ass could take that blondes any day of the week...
She took an risqué, over the shoulder ass shot (strategically avoiding her treacherous thighs for now) for Instragram. She quickly checked the pic – her ass did indeed look bootilicious, there was a hint of her ample side boob, and while her face was still flushed – post work out selfies always tested well. She hit Share, then confidently strode away towards the shower, head held high and hips swaying.
#young #sexy #confident #curvy #bodypositivity #squats #workhardplayhard #gymbuny #sideboob #asstastic #brunette peach emoji
Leigh couldn’t see the view of course. Her ass still did look magnificent, but sitting above those dimpled thighs and incipient bulges at her hips, her bum instantly developed a doughy texture and a subtle sag. Her sassy, confident walk caused her rear to slosh about a bit, warping its shape with every step. Nothing major, nothing obscene, but the overall effect lacked the overt wow factor of the svelte blonde who’d walked by seconds before. Leigh’s rear view was hot, sure, but it was no longer perfect.
Unbeknownst to her, she now had the body of a 29 year old woman, teetering on the edge of her prime
The following morning, Leigh ached all over. Her back, her hamstrings, her core – all of it ached. She’d had tough gym sessions before, but she’s never felt this stiff the morning after. Hell, she’d never felt stiff the morning after at all.
Grumpy after a demoralising couple of days, she bunked off class and stayed in bed till noon. Her mood wasn’t improved when she checked Instagram. Her photo from the day before looked wayyy less flattering than she’d imagined. The angle gave her a little double chin, and her ass looked enormous – or last bigger than she’d have liked, and the cottage cheese from her thighs had clearly migrated onto her buns.
How did this keep happening? She’d have sworn the photo looked better than this before she hit share. More importantly, she knew she looked better than these photos would have someone believe. Or at least, she’d looked better than this a few days ago.
Leigh probed her aching body beneath the bedsheets. There was no denying it – she’d gained weight, and it wasn’t sitting on her 19 year old body the way it used to. Could her metabolism be slipping already? God that was a depressing thought.
Much less depressing was her metrics – her followers were still flying up, likes and comments from the last two days were nearly record highs. She couldn’t believe that these photos showing soft thighs and a dimpled ass were getting as much love as her normally banging bikini snaps.
She’d have no choice to embrace the body positivity approach, at least for a little while until she toned herself up again. Which she had no doubt she would. She was 19, hot, and driven. She’d be a perfect 10 again in no time.
But in the shower she couldn’t help wobbling her new thighs, and hefting her ass. Even her normally flat stomach seemed less taut. Leigh had never felt so down about hew own appearance.
Needing a self esteem pick me up, she texted Mason with an urgent booty call. Being worshiped by her man would make her feel a bit better, and besides, sex was great cardio.
She waited in just her dressing gown, and threw it open the moment Mason stepped through the door. The lust in his eyes was intense, and he swooped in to caress her perfect, teardrop shaped c-cups. He picked her up and she wrapped her naked legs around his torso as he carried her to bed. He lost his footing slightly, which was unusual, and plopped her down with a bang onto the bed, but the hot couple just laughed it off and continued their hasty exploration of each other’s bodies.
Leigh cried out in ecstasy as Mason had his way with her, holding one of her ankles in each hand, gyrating in a powerful rhythm. God they were a fit couple, Leigh loved to think about how perfect they must look together, all tight curves and muscles. All worries about her weight fluctuations were soon forgotten.
Or at least, by Leigh they were forgotten. Mason was starting to notice how much she’d changed over the last few days. He’d noticed she’d felt noticeably heavier when he carried her to bed, and from this vantage point above her he could see more of the changes. Her hips were wider, and her thighs had lost some tone. Even her stomach, normally flat as a washboard, had a tiny little roll with her folded like this. Mason was shocked how quickly the changes had affected Leigh’s lithe body, but the supposed it had had 10 years piled upon it in five days. He wasn’t deterred though; a tiny bit of extra padding didn’t make Leigh any less sexy. Well, maybe it did make her a little less sexy. But not enough to bother him. Moments later they both collapsed, totally satisfied.
After a few minutes of cuddling, Leigh decided she needed to take her next photo.
“Do you really have to do that babe?” Mason was concerned – the addiction showed no sigh of abating, and Leigh was only a photo away from her thirties.
“You know I do M, this is important to me. Don’t worry, I’ll be quick.” 15 minutes of selfies later, Leigh finally got a headshot where her bed-head looked just artsy enough. Given the results of the last two days, she’d decided to go for a headshot. No risk of flashing some cellulite this way…
“Leigh, babe, please. Just for me. Don’t post today.” But Leigh ignored him, and pressed Share.
#19 #brunette #bedhead #young #sexy #bootycall #cheeky *shocked emoji* *love heart emoji*
Then she hopped out of bed. “Right, I’m going to clean myself up and head out. I might still catch my afternoon lecture. You can see yourself out, right? Love you!”
The nude Leigh walked away, and Mason was drawn to her once mighty ass. It shimmered, then sort of…spread. Dropping down a bit. Her thighs filled out a smidge more, and her tight waist looked a bit softer from behind. Mason was agog. He’d literally just watched her age a couple of years. She was now 31 years old! In her thirties, and she had no idea.
Mason opened Insta on his own photo and went to Leigh’s account. Sure enough, the selfie was there, and looked at first glance exactly as it had when leigh had snapped in moments earlier. But on closer inspection, there were now tiny, hardly noticeable lines around her eyes and mouth. The glow of her skin had diminished, and her eyes looked tired with shadows beneath them. And her hair? Her luxurious black cascade of curls? Mason could see one obvious grey hair right in the middle. “Holy shit.” he whispered to himself. What had he done? Leigh was getting old – like actually old – and there was no sign of her giving up the social media addiction. He quickly got dressed and left in a hurry, hoping he wouldn’t be here when Leigh spotted her first grey herself and had a total meltdown.
Maybe the greys and those starter wrinkles would finally make her think twice about chasing the influencer dream? Mason could only hope. This was getting out of hand, and he didn’t have an end game.
Leigh sat in bed stunned, staring at her phone open mouthed at yesterday's picture. She had a grey hair. Clear as day, right in the middle of her head. “What the fuck is happening to me?” she exclaimed. Her first cellulite and her first grey hair within days of each other. It was every teenagers worst nightmare.
Even her skin looked worse, the new camera had picked up some fine lines around her eyes and across her forehead that she’d never noticed before. It must just be the insane resolution of this new camera. Wrinkles didn’t appear magically overnight after all. But that didn’t make Leigh feel any better. She felt out of shape and ugly. This must be what it felt like to be middle aged. God, she really did look like some washed up thirty year old. Gross.
On the bright side though, her follower numbers will still flying up. She’d clearly struck a chord with young(ish) women who struggled with their weight and early signs of aging. She’d be lying if she said that was the demographic she’d hoped to reach when she started flashing her perfect ass on social media, but you couldn’t lie with the metric. Plus, it was nice to get called “brave" by hundreds of women. She spent the morning researching Instagram trends and movements before posting another snap.
“Overwhelmed with the support from my fellow women for my snaps over the last few days. But you shouldn’t have to be ‘brave' to show your real self.” #bodypositive #youngandgrey #grombe #silversisters #realwomenhavecurves #cellulite #nofilter
The photo itself was a whole body affair of her in her favourite purple lingerie. She was mortified by how the bottoms cut into her hips. Her thighs looked huge, like tree trunks compared to their normal svelte shape. She even had a tiny pooch on her normally flat stomach. She’d always had curves but she’d never before carried any weight on her midriff. This was so demoralising. What had happened to her? In a matter of days, her tight figure had really started to look pear shaped. Leigh really had to work hard on her poses to make her body look shapely rather than frumpy, but she gave it her best shot.
Felling more nervous than ever, she hesitated before hitting share. Was she really ready to share this version of her body with the whole world? With the dimples and bulges and creases that she’d not even accepted as real herself yet? Into the Instagram world full of perfection? But she had no choice – her followers demanded content, and she was determined not to be deterred. She hit share.
Unbeknownst to her, her body synced up to 33 years old, and both her photo and her physical form changed rapidly. Dozens more greys popped up through her dark hair, the skin on her stomach and legs became noticeably uneven, and her knees and ankles swelled ever so slightly. Her upper half, up to now untouched by time, didn’t care so well this time. Tiny creases appeared between her breasts as the family creepy décolletage her aunt had always bemoaned spring into existence. He c-cups themselves swelled in their purple casing, growing heftier. And her toned young upper arms expanded into a doughier form. She was now firmly in her thirties, and not aging well. But she still didn’t have the foggiest idea what was happening to her as she dragged herself on a laboured run round the block.
“Positive body image" she muttered to herself as she ran, “positive body image". But her hashtags and mantras felt hollow. Leigh was losing “it", and she didn’t know what to do. She wasn’t ready to feel old and fat. She was 19 years old! She was a Instagram model right at the start of her career. Whatever was happening, it shouldn’t have been happening to her. And she was determined to ride it out.
Leigh bunker off uni the next say. Her calves were killing her from her run the day before (her slowest ever 5k, she’d deleted it from Strava in a huff), and she needed time to do some Insta research on the various sub-cultures she had unintentionally been forced to join over the last week. She’d spotted dozens of extra greys this morning, dozens. The stress of finding the first had clearly caused more to sprout up.
There was no escaping it, Leigh was going prematurely grey. She’d planned to dye it immediately of course, her dark hair had always been an important part of her personality, and she was mortified to see it slipping away before she’d even turned 20. But she drew solace from the hundreds of young women on insta using hashtags like #youngandgrey. Beautiful women, embracing their greys and growing them out, and looking fabulous while they did it. Leigh was genuinely inspired, and wondered if she too would suit the silver look.
Leigh wondered if maybe this was what being an influencer was really about. Not just looking hot and selling designer jeans’ for some corporation, but being a source of solace for people just like you. Showing women that they weren’t the only ones with some cottage cheese on their thighs, or some premature greys. That they weren’t alone.
Leigh could be an inspiration. And that was much more wholesome that being just another skinny model.
This chain of thought was broken when a package arrived for her – some complimentary jeans from a local designer. Delighted, Leigh began the fashion show.
20 minutes later, Mason let himself into Leigh’s dorm room, to see his “19” year old girlfriend wrestling with some jeans. They were stuck mid thigh, squashing folds of flesh upward to her chunky hips. Mason gasped in surprise.
Leigh looked up, red faced and flushed with embarrassment and frustration. “Oh shit, don’t you knock any more?” she snapped, mortified to have been caught in such a compromising position. “They must have sent the wrong size, I can't get any off them on.”
Mason was totally shocked. Leigh looked so out of shape, stuck as she was, belly folded over her chunky thighs. It had been, what, a week? She’d posted 7 photos since he’d given her Konrad’s new camara phone, so she’d have aged 14 years. That would make her 33. Not old by any stretch of the imagination, not even middle aged, but she was no longer “young”. She was his age now, and like so many women Mason had gone to school who were now in their thirties – she’d lost her youthful glow, was well on her way to losing her figure completely, and looked irredeemably past her best already. There was a reason Mason dated college girls, and it was precisely to avoid scenes like this! A major turn off.
Mason predictably did a terrible job of hiding his shock. Leigh bristled at his obvious display of revulsion, and gave up on the jeans, tossing them aside and standing there just in her pants and strappy top. “What’s the matter M? Don’t like what you see?” gesticulating to her loser chubbier body.
“No! No, it’s not that!” mason fumbled, unable to look away from his girlfriend’s new tree trunk thighs. She’d had such great legs only a week ago! What had he done…
“So what, I gain a little weight and a grey hair or two…” (it was more than a little weight, and more than a couple of greys) “…and you don’t want me anymore? Is that it? Is that why you don’t date women your own age, because you only like us young and perfect?
“Leigh, honey, I still want you. It’s just…” Mason decided it was now or never. “…don’t you think you’re embarrassing yourself with all this social media, Instagram bollocks? Posting pictures of your cellulite? I mean come on. Don’t you think you’re a little old to be flashing flesh to strangers? I mean you spend all of your time…”
“Old!” Leigh threw a pair of too-small jeans at him. “Old! I’m not OLD, I’m 19! And this isn’t about social media! It’s about you being shallow and misogynistic. You want me all to yourself, until I start to look a bit out of shape, then you’ll trade me in for a younger model at the first sign of cellulite?” She pinched her doughy thigh to underline her point, and sure enough, dimples burst into existence along her leg. “Or maybe you’ll wait until my boobs start to sag?” Leigh hefted her breasts up in each hand, clearly braless beneath her strappy top, and then let go.
Both mason and Leigh noticed the tear-dropped c-cups drop a little bit further down then they both remembered. Leigh paused her rant in shock. Were her fucking boobs saggy as well now? What the hell was happening to her body! “Get out!” she screamed “get out! If you don’t want me when I’m fat and saggy, you don’t deserve me when I’m hot! Get out.”
Mason panicked now. “Ok, fine, but give me that phone back.”
“NO! This was a gift you asshole, get out! Go!” she shoed him out of the dorm.
Fuelled by her fury, she immediately pulled her top off splayed out on her mattress surrounded by jeans that didn’t fit, and took a picture – and a damn good one too, emphasising all her new curves to perfection, with her black-grey hair splayed around her tired, but still good looking, face.
“Spent the morning trying on jeans that don’t fit and arguing with my boyfriend who can’t handle a real woman’s body. Our bodies change, and they are beautiful, and WE are beautiful.”
#realwomenhavecurves #grombe #youngandgrey #saggyboobsmatter #jeansdon’tfit #don’tcare #booytlicious #brunette #19 #realwoman
They she smashed share, unknowingly aged herself to 35, and got ready to head to class.
Leigh sat in the university library, law books open, wearing her biggest sweat pants and hoodie. She was trying to work, honestly she was, but she was too distracted. Too angry with Mason, too upset with how she looked, upset that her influencer dreams were in tatters.
Did she really post “saggy boobs matter” yesterday? Had it really come to that. She’d expected her breasts this morning in the shower and they did feel a bit limp, a bit floppy. A bit shit, like the rest of her suddenly pear-shaped body.
Her face was no better, the incipient fine lines around her eyes had multiplied and the bags had grown deeper. Combined with the greys which she’d lost count of, there was no denying it. Leigh looked old.
Or at least, older. Like one of those sad sack “mature students” who come back to uni in their mid-thirties after their lives didn’t turn out the way they wanted. Hanging around with teenagers to give their wayward lives meaning. Wearing uni-branded hoodies to fit in and simultaneously hide their middle aged spread. That was her life now, somehow.
She slammed her textbook and opened her phone. Surprisingly, the likes and new followers kept flooding in. In fact, she was more popular than ever.
Unfortunately, all the messages were from other women calling her “brave", and all the products she was being PM'd to promote were cellulite scrubs and hair dyes.
Leigh didn't want to be called “brave". She wanted to be called “sexy". And she wanted to get sent free lingerie rather than free underwired shape wear and diet supplements. Where was the glamour in those? Sure if she was in her thirties, it would have been fine to be a body-positive, age-positive roll model. But she was 19! How had she ended up old before her time?
Deeply uninspired to try and take a sexy shot today, she opted to take a snap of her “hard at work". Hood up to hide the greys, she arched her back and took a pic that showed off her cheekbones (she may be looking tired this week, but she was still hot god damn it).
#hardatwork #allnighter #smartwomen #nofilter #sexy #studyingagesyou #nomakeup
She was lying about the no makeup- she just hadn’t been able to make it work properly today. Her skin was all dried out. But her followers didn’t have to know that. She hit share.
The moment she did, her back seized up. “Ouch! Oh shit!” she shouted, only to be hushed by the librarian.
Bugger that hurt, she tried to stretch her aching spine out, her whole body suddenly felt stiffer than she could ever remember feeling. Perfect, she thought. Not only did she have to look old, she had to feel old too? This was the worst week ever.
Maybe she was coming down with something? She’d make an appointment when she got home.
Anyway, she took her back ache as proof that she’d spent too long in the library, and headed off the student bar instead, she needed a drink.
Leigh was hungover. This was bullshit , she never got hungover, at least not after a comparatively tame night out.
And had been a shit evening. Some of her mates hadn’t ever recognised her, and when they did said how tired she looked (rude). Plus, she’d had to buy all her own drinks. Normally a bit of light bar flirting would get her a few drinks here and there, but last night there had been nothing – not even a stiff of male attention. That had just spurred the slightly tipsy Leigh to try harder. She could vividly remember telling one hot guy “I’m an Instagram model you know”. Urgh. Cringe.
After a few beers it had been easy to forget she was all bloated and saggy at the moment , and so she’d tried and failed to use her feminine wiles to lure men in all evening.
She wasn’t an “Instagram model” anymore, she was a “Instagram body positivity activist”, and the later didn’t get anywhere near as many free drinks.
This must be how those mid-thirties mature students felt on nights out. Invisible. A whale lost in a sea of nubile young bodies.
She sat up in bed, her back still aching from whatever she’d done to it in the library yesterday. That was weird, she was never normally stiff in the mornings, and even if she’d twisted an ankle or something, it never normally bothered her the following day. She heaved herself upright and checked her phone.
She had a dozen missed calls and texts from Mason, which she ignored. She was still mad at him. It was OK for her to be annoyed at the state of her body, but not Mason. She’d needed his support, and he’d just made her feel worst about herself.
She had some new followers in Insta, but not that many. Turns out a selfie of a tired looking woman in a library doesn’t appeal to either the body positivity or beauty crowds. She’d never have posted such a dull photo a week ago, but that’s where she was now.
She also had a message from one of her fellow local Insta Models, reminding her that they had planned a photoshoot at the beach today. Leigh’s heart sank. They’d agreed to this shoot months ago, back when Leigh still had a teenager’s figure. Madi Bird was a big deal, locally at least, and she was *stunning*. Alabaster skin and dark red hair, svelte body, she had 100k+ followers and was Leigh’s role model for how to manage an Instagram persona. She’d been delighted when they agreed to do a joint shoot. But that was back when Leigh had a body to match Madi’s, which she sure as hell didn’t right now. Leigh would look like a walrus next to her now! But it was too late to pull out. She rummaged through her complimentary bikini collection and set out to the beach.
Leigh was standing around feeling really awkward. She’d squeezed into a string bikini (the only one she could get to fit…), but it felt so uncomfortable. Even at their loosest, the bottoms still cut into her doughy hips, giving her bulges she’d had to hide with a sarong, and the top didn’t offer enough support for her heavier, less perky chest, so she was wearing a t-shirt while she waited for Madi. She felt so self conscious. She normally spent so much time at the beach keeping her tan even, but even her skin looked paler than normal. And blotchier to boot.
She was just thinking about ghosting Madi and running away, when she saw the gorgeous redhead flagging her down. Leigh drew a sharp breath – this women was so beautiful, her figure perfect, her skin glowing. Her boobs huge and round, sitting high on her chest despite the flimsiest of bikini tops. Madi was coating her fair skin with sunscreen as she approached. It almost looked like she was walking in slow motion.
“Oh hi darling, I almost didn’t recognise you!” Madi embraced Leigh, and either by accident gave Leighs new low handles a good squish. In return, Leigh could only find immaculately toned flesh on her mentor/rival. “You look…”
“Tired, I know.” Leigh said with a scowl.
“I was going to say well darling; you look well! I’ve been so impressed with the body-pos posts you’ve done this week. So brave! Great for your metrics I bet?”
“Thanks, It sort of happened by accident. I’m not sure I like it…”
“Nonsense! It’s great for expanding your audience, and besides, we can’t be relying on our looks alone forever! There’s always somebody younger coming along to steal our mantles after all.” Leigh winced to think that technically, she should have been that “somebody younger” coming after Madi, who was perhaps 23-24 years old. She certainly didn’t feel like much of a threat to this goddess right now though. “Right, said Madi, “let’s get you out of those clothes and get our posing on. I brought a tripod!”
Very reluctantly, Leigh pulled off her t-shirt and sarong, and stood their in all her pear shaped glory. Next to Madi, she felt hideous. The sunlight ruthlessly highlighting all her new lumps and bumps. Her normally caramel skin looked terrible, bunching up around her joins a bit. This was not the smooth young body of a 19 year old who took care of herself.
Madi couldn’t hide her shock at just how old Leigh looked. Hadn’t this girl claimed to be 19? She must have been lying, and she must have been *great* with photoshop, because until this week, Madi had been crazy jealous of Leigh’s long legged, curvy beauty. She’d have killed to have Leigh’s ass, but now she could see that her derriere in person she could see that it was bigger, wider, and saggier that it had ever looked in the photos. Madi shuddered to thing of her own deft behind ever becoming that flabby. Her days as an model would be over, as she suspected Leigh’s were as soon as the bod-pos crazy died out. And strangely, Leigh looked really uncomfortable, as if she wasn’t used to being so, well, old and out of shape. But she must have been. This kind of change didn’t happen overnight…
Indeed, leigh did feel really uncomfortable. Away from the comforting embrace of her supportive Insta followers, here in the real world, next to a toned goddess, she felt every extra pound and every crease weighing on her.
“I shouldn’t be here, she said suddenly, picking her sarong back up. “I’m sorry, I’m really out of shape at the moment, I’ll just ruin your pics. Nobody wants to see my fat ass next to yours…”
“Nonsense! You’re beautiful, and besides, I want to get a to in with the positivity audience myself. If I can show I’m all about “real beauty” before I get wrinkles, then I’ll have an easy time joining in when my time comes!”
Leigh balked slightly at the wrinkle comment. She had fine lines, sure, and bags under her eyes from the stress of this week, but wrinkles? That was a bit much surely wasn’t it. Wasn’t it? Anyway, she put her sarong back down and joined Madi for some poses. It was good to be seen with a pillar of the local Insta community, even if the photos would be an unflattering comparison? Right?
They spent about an hour posing and getting pictures. Madi looking incredible, Leigh looking...well, less than incredible. She tried to copy Madi's best poses, but what worked perfectly for the redhead didn't seem to work at all for her. Gravity seemed to affect her differently, while Newtonian forces ignored Madi entirely. By the end of the session, Leigh's back ached, her feet were tired, and she'd never felt uglier. Every single part of her body had been photographed in direct comparison to a goddess. She couldn't blame the lighting, she couldn't even blame her bikini, there was no denying it. Leigh looked like a middle-aged women sadly pretending to be some hot lithe young thing, and instead just making a spectacle of herself.
She had to hold back the tears when Madi scrolled through the photo real to pick their best pic. They all looked equally terrible. Madi was keen on an over the shoulder shot, where her tight waist, pert ass, and ample perky side-boob we’re on display. Half a meter to the left, Leigh's shapeless waist (complete with rolls of back fat), wet bread ass, and droopy boobs sat as horrifying contrast. Leigh had never seen so much cellulite flaunted in public before, and it was on her own legs!
Resigned, she agreed to a shared post.
#sexy #young #beach #summer #bikini #bodypositivity #localhotties #cellulite #realwomen #normalizenormalbodies #instasisters #saggyboobdmatter
Leigh hit share, and was already making her excuses to get as far away from Madi and her perfect skin as possible. This had been a mistake. Seeing those photos had confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt how old her body now appeared. She had no idea how, but it was undeniable, and she'd have to stop this exhibitionist stuff. A tear dropped down the lines on her face.
Unknown to her, Leigh was now 39 years old and even saggier than she'd been when she arrived at the beach. But if she'd paid closer attention, she might have taken some solace I’m noticing a couple of tiny, almost invisible lines appear on Madi’s perfect skin, and one solitary divot phase into existence in her firm ass, as the sexy redhead slipped to the wrong side of 25 herself.
Later that evening, Mason heard a knock on his door. It was Leigh- she'd been crying, which didn't help her look any better given she'd aged another 6 years since their fight. Mason had been watching the results on her feet for the last few days with the horrified fascination of someone slowing down to watch a car crash.
“Leigh. Look, I'm so sorr...”
“You were right. Can I come in?” Leigh demanded and Mason beaconed her in. She stood at the end his bed and kept talking. “I thought you were being rude, but you were right. I'm too old for this Instagram shit. Or at least, by body is. I don't look good anymore. I look frumpy and tried and my back hurts, and my boobs are saggy, and I shouldn't be embarrassing myself on social media anymore. You were right.” While she was talking, Leigh had quickly removed all her clothes and stood at the end of Masons bed totally naked. She pinched her doughy hips, hefted her slightly droopy breasts, and jiggled her soft belly pooch.
Mason was stunned by the vision in front of him. It was Leigh, it was still her body. He recognised the tear-drop shape of her boobs, and proportions of her figure, but only just. It was like Leigh's body had been put in a microwave for just a few minutes too long and had started to melt. The firmness of her body, which they'd both taken for granted, had been replaced with a general softness. The sag of her boobs was so devastating to their overall appearance that Mason felt like he was witnessing the aftermath of a war crime. This was Leigh right on the edge of middle age, clinging to the last remnants of her youthful glow.
“so this is me, as I am. I'm still yours if you want me, though I can't imagine why you would. But first, I'm going to delete this fucking app, and give up on this influencer stuff. It's a girls game, and I'm a woman now, like it or not.” Leigh opened her phone, when into her Insta account and deleted her account.
A rush went through Leigh's body the moment she clicked delete, and everything started to change.
Leigh's C-cup breasts rose up her chest with a bounce, re-forming into their round, firm shape – like a time-lapse of fruit ripening. The softness of her stomach melted away as her waist tightened, as if sinched by an invisible corset. Her little love handles melted away, and the outline of abs replaced her pooch. The wrinkles on her face faded to fine lines, and then vanished entirely, as her jawline tightened, the bags under her eyes receded, and her eyes brightened. Her face was now stunningly radiant, and was framed by a cascade of dark curls as every single grey vanished and her mane regained it's lost lustre.
The saddlebags on Leigh's thighs vanished, sucked into the restored curve of her tight hips. Weight melted of her legs like magic, as her chunky pins re-forged themselves into slender, shapely stems. Leigh looked over her shoulder to see the cellulite vanish for her thighs, dimple by dimple, like dents popped out of a car hood. Her ass, such a sad sack of flesh when she'd stripped, re-inflated like two balloons in a pillowcase, until it stood out loud, round and proud. A firm, gravity defying peach. Her figure had shed its pear shaped, and returned to a tight, tiny waisted hourglass.
Last but not least, her skin brightened up. Her even than returning, blemishes vanishing, as her youthful glow was fully restored.
Leigh was 19 again, and looked absolutely incredible.
Mason looked on open mouthed and incredibly turned on.
“What the fuck!” exclaimed Leigh, delighted that her body had bounced back, but agog at the magical transformation she'd just experienced. Her back felt great, in fact all of her joints felt amazing. She was strong l, flexible and lithe again. She'd hardly noticed had stiff and achy she'd become over the last fortnight, but feeling young again was amazing in contrast.
“You're young again!” Mason grabbed her into an embrace, feeling her firm smooth skin beneath his fingers. She hugged him back for a moment, then pushed him away.
“Wait, what do you mean young again?”
Mason realised he'd perhaps said to much but decided to talk his way out of the hole. “I just mean, you looked all old, and now you're young again. Like magic, it's a miracle.”
“Yea, but why was I old in the first place? I just thought my metabolism has shifted, or my hormones or something, but you...you thought I was older? Did you know about this?” Leigh thought back on the last fortnight, as she'd gradually gotten older and fatter, ever since...ever since Mason gave her the new phone... “Oh my god. Did you do this to me?”
“Leigh, babe, I can explain...”
She slapped him hard across the face. “Oh my god! You did! You made me old and and fat! Why!”
“I didn't want to make you old! I just wanted you to be a bit more mature, so you'd give up on this ridiculous Instagram influencer bullshit so you'd spend more time with me!”
“Oh you bastard! You absolute bastard! You gave me cellulite you ass! How old was I!”
“Well, the camera and app aged you two years for every photo you Shared, so 20 years. You were 39...”
“Oh my god. I was nearly 40.” She slapped him again. “I could have been stuck like that! Stuck in a fucking MILFs body with no idea why! Oh Jesus, I shared photos of bloody grey hair to the world!”
“See what I mean? You're too old for all that nonsense, I was just showing you how vapid it is. Things only got out of hand because you wouldn't stop posting! I thought at the first sign of cellulite you'd stop.”
“I can't believe you'd victim blame me for magically aging me! I'm not too old for social media, I’m 19! I was only too old because you stole my bloody youth.” She grabbed her clothes and got dressed in a hurry. “We are done, done! I never want to see you again! And you are never seeing this body again. You are way too old for me anyway.” She stormed towards the door, “Good luck finding an ass like this again, and she slapped her once again magnificent derriere before slamming the door.
A few weeks later, Mason sat in a bar drinking a beer and sadly flicking through Leigh's Instagram photos. She'd reactivated her account shortly after they'd split (using her old, non quantum entangled phone), and started posting like crazy. Fitness videos, skin care regimes, all kinds if new stuff. She'd clearly been scared by how fat and haggard she'd become in her thirties, and was using her second chance to develop some good habits. Besides, she had some incredible before and after photos that showed amazing changes in an unbelievable short space of time. She had more than doubled her followers, and was getting more popular everyday. Mason looked at a before and after pic of her on the beach from the shoot with Madi the day before she'd got her youth back, and her today. She looked half the size, more toned, more vibrant. All in all, she looked twenty years younger...
#young #brunette #summer #sexy #binki #weightloss #skincare #bodypositivity #naturalhairdye #exercise #fitness #results #goodbyecellulite #defyinggravity
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Aug 16, 2020 17:49:11 GMT -6
I do! Watch this space and I'll repost them soon.
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jul 26, 2020 4:56:16 GMT -6
Great stuff - loved the originiality!
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jul 25, 2020 13:29:11 GMT -6
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jul 22, 2020 2:57:29 GMT -6
Freak out
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jul 17, 2020 17:35:24 GMT -6
Jennifer and Alana
(great work on this!)
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jul 13, 2020 19:58:08 GMT -6
So, in a not particularly original move, I've been writing a story inspired by the virus during lockdown. It's ended up LOOOONG. But I'm pretty pleased with it. It's mostly middle aged AP, with various changes, and a little bit of older stuff here and there.
Shout out Spyguy for inspiring the method of aging in the AP Victim Support group. Loved that mechanic, so have borrowed it here. Hope you don't mind!
Hope you enjoy it - give us a like if you do!
AgiNg-19 By Ark
Ana de Armas dashed around her hotel room, getting ready for a fancy Hollywood soiree. Her itinerary had been tight – finishing off her press tour of Asia, then flying straight to LA for this shindig. She’d managed to sleep a little on the plane but was still feeling a bit wiped out – still, she was sure she’d get a second wind once she got to the party.
Having just stepped out of the shower and finished drying her luxurious dark hair and its blonde tips, Ana tossed off her dressing gown and gave her nude reflection a quick appraisal. She was at the peak of her powers and she knew it –she’d stared in the sleeper hit Knives Out, was about to be the latest Bond girl, and was rocketing up the lists of most beautiful actresses on earth. It was a good time to be Ana de Armas. However, she knew that she’d hit peak stardom a little later in her career than she’d have liked. Having just turned 32, she was nearly a decade older that some of her rivals had been when they’d gotten their big breaks. Scarlett Johansson had only been 19 when she’d become a household name in Lost in Translation, and Ana was conscious that she’d likely have a short shelf life at the top in comparison, and since she’d hit the big 3-0 a couple of years back she’d payed a lot closer attention to her reflection, looking for those dreaded early signs of aging. The plan was at the first hint of trouble, she’d change her diet or adjust her beauty regimen to counter the ravages of time.
There was nothing to worry about on that front for now though, she noted with satisfaction. Her petit 5’6 figure was tight and trim, her modest 32C breasts were as high and round as they’d been when she’d revealed them to the world in Knock Knock five years previous, her stomach was firm and flat, her waist sleek and defined, and her deft ass rounded off the package of her Cuban beauty.
She leaned in to inspect her make-up-free face. She was perhaps a bit more mature looking that she’s been at 21, but there was blissfully still no sign of lines around her soft brown eyes and her skincare regime had kept her face supple.
Satisfied that she only felt tired and didn’t look it, she continued to get ready.
She plucked out a pair of lacy panties and slid them up her silky legs. She suddenly felt a sneeze coming – “Achoo!”.
The breath rushed from her lungs and Ana was momentarily dizzy. She’s never felt a sneeze like that – it seemed to suck the life out her. She hoped she wasn’t coming down with something.
Returning to her panties, Ana noticed something was wrong. Her tummy pooched over frilly fabric. She pinched an inch to confirm it was real. She had a pooch - a pooch that hadn’t been there seconds before. In fact, her underwear cut into a thin layer of fat at her hips as well. She poked and prodded in disarray; she’d definitely gained some weight. Even more worrying was that the weight had drifted down from her hips – notoriously the closest she had to a “problem area” – to her normally infallible thighs, giving them the merest hint of a bulge.
Her hands quickly slid round to her ass, and was relieved to find it still pert and peachy as ever. Or at least, nearly as pert as ever. On closer expectation her bum seemed to have a bit more heft that normal, as if gravity had finally been notified about its location. And if gravity had finally reached her derriere then…
She clutched her hands to her chest, cuddling her boobs close as if to hide them from the gravitational forces that she feared had suddenly locked onto her body. Fearing the worst, she reluctantly let them go and, as expected, they settled ever so slightly lower than they belonged.
She scurried back over to the mirror, heart in her mouth, so see a … very familiar reflection of a young, beautiful woman. At first at least. After a second of staring, the changes she’d felt beneath her fingers started to jump out at her. Her abs had lost their definition, her hips had bulged, and her 32Cs did have a subtle droop to them.
“What the fuck?” she cursed silently and leant in to expect her face. It was definitely “her” face, she wasn’t unrecognisable or anything, but there were changes everywhere she looked. Prominent smile lines framed her mouth, curving from her nose downwards, dividing her face. Two permanent uneven frown lines had appeared between her eyebrows like a badly drawn “11”. There were bags under her eyes and faint crow’s feet etched to their sides. Worst of all, her skin had visibly lost some elasticity, giving her cheeks a bit of sag and messing up her formerly deft jawline.
The overall picture was a tired, slightly out of shape woman. There was no denying it.
Ana was older.
She’d sneezed, and she’d gotten older.
She wouldn’t have believed it if she had literally just watched it happen.
Ana stared at her shitty reflection in silence for what felt likes hours before shaking herself out of it. She sat down on the edge of her bed in nothing but her slightly overtaxed panties, her new tummy pooched out and her breasts sagged as she slouched over her phone, furiously Googling what might be wrong with her.
After a few dead ends, she came across a WHO bulletin published in the last week about a previously unknown respiratory virus that had been appeared in China. Highly contagious with range of dramatic effects on the metabolism and cellular structure. The early data still required verification, but eye witness reports suggested the virus was causing victims to physically age, 5 years at a time each time they sneezed. No cure or treatment thus far, and the symptoms seemed permanent. They were calling it AgiNg-19. 5 years older. That’d make Ana 37 years old. “Thirty-seven…” she whispered to herself. 37 was basically Hollywood 40, and Hollywood 40 was basically dead. She’d descended down from her physical peak in a mere instant and was now borderline obsolete. This was unbelievable – all those hours watching for fine lines in the mirror so she could adjust her skin care regime, all that time watching her weight so that she could adjust her diet the second her metabolism started to slip – totally wasted. She’s never had a chance to react and now here she was, carrying some excess pounds and stuck with dry, cracking skin. Her alarm buzzed to say her limo would be here in 15 minutes. Well obviously, she’d have to cancel. Her heart sank – tonight had been a big deal. A huge party with the biggest names in Hollywood, right at the point in here career when she could truly count herself among them. She couldn’t go like this; the tabloids would have a field day about how she’d let herself go. One paparazzi photo catching a flash of cellulite on her now yielding thighs and she’s be off the “super heroes’ love interest” casting boards and onto the “super heroes’ moms” list for the rest of her career.
Although.
Although maybe that was an overreaction. 37 was basically mid thirties, and mid thirties wasn’t so bad. 5 years was only 5 years, that was an obstacle she could overcome. It would be a shame to have worked this far only to vanish - beaten by some silly virus.
Ana went back over to the mirror fuelled by a new determination. She arched her back to give her bust a bit of a lift, sucked in her new stomach, and adopted a few tried and tested Instagram poses to maximise the remaining curve of her ass. She could work with this, she resolved, she’d have to work with it for tonight at least.
And tomorrow, she’d hit the gym, drop the carbs, and spend a fortune on moisturiser. She might not be a perfect 10 anymore, but when had reality meant anything in Hollywood? She could fake it until she got some semblance her body back. Yes, she could work with this. As long as she didn’t…
She felt the sneeze coming this time and panic rushed through her. Aging another 5 years would be a disaster, at 42 Ana may as well be dead. Flushed with adrenaline and dread, she desperately tried to repress the sneeze, pinching her nose and tossing her head back like an old teacher had told her to do to avoid sneezing backstage. “Ahhhhhh…” …but nothing came. After an agonising second, she released her nose in relief. She checked her body and confirmed nothing had sagged any lower. She could repress the sneezes – she’d be fine.
The only problem now was finding something to wear.
Ana swung open her massive wardrobe, a magical array of dresses stood before her in every colour, and she suddenly realised with horror, not a single one in her size.
She grabbed the slinky black number she’d planned to wear but couldn’t get it past her thickened hips. It was a least two sizes too small – at least at the waist. Her figure was a bit more pear shaped than in her “youth”. She picked out a billowier cream option, but while she could get the dress on, it relied on a firm bust to hold it steady. A firm bust that Ana had just so carelessly sneezed away.
Losing faith, she grabbed a figure-hugging red number in desperation. It was much shorter than she’d ideally have liked, but the elastic (designed to suck the garment to a waif like figure) had just enough stretch for her to wiggle into it, and the scandalous thigh slit gave it a bit extra give. “Basically just a cellulite viewing slit” she grumbled, polishing up her thigh as if to remove the dents. But it would have to do.
She applied liberal make up to cover the cracks and blemishes on her formerly flawless face, and dashed downstairs to her already waiting limo driver.
“Zip me up, will you?” Ana asked the driver as he opened her door. He obliged, somewhat bewilderedly. “It’s stuck miss” he said, after a few awkward pulls.
“It’ll go.” Ana said, with much more confidence than she felt. She took a massive breath in to suck in her belly, and finally the zip slid up. “Thanks!” she whispered, barely able to breathe. The dress was like a corset, her face was coated in make-up, but to the casual observer, Ana could pass for her 32-year-old self. As long as she didn’t breathe all night...
She arrived at the party and dashed through the red carpet with only cursory waves at the gathered paparazzi, not daring to get too close in case her close up revealed her crow’s feet to the world. She’s never felt so nervous under the spot light.
Once inside the party, it was even worse. Everywhere she looked were stunning actresses, with impossible figures and youthful faces. She sucked in her new belly and tried to ignore how amazingly intimidated by these goddesses she now was.
She slipped through the crowds and straight to the bar – “JD and coke” she ordered.
“Diet or regular miss?” the barman asked.
“Regular – I mean, diet”. She corrected herself with great reluctance. At her age, she’d have to start watching the calories. Full fat anything was a thing of the past.
“Watching your figure, are you?” Margot Robbie sidled up to Ana so silently it made her jump.
“Oh, hi. Didn’t see you there.” Ana replied, tensing up. Margot had help a serious grudge about missing out on the Bond girl casting, and had been vocal in private circles that Ana has “just been an diversity hire”, and never would have won the part on acting ability or looks alone. She’d made a point at previous parties of trying to embarrass Ana, but she had a particularly cruel look on her face tonight.
“We’ll you have nothing to worry about, you look stunning tonight.” The blonde actress pinched the side of Ana’s belly. In shock, Ana gasped and stopped holding her breath. He little tummy pooched out, a clearly visible protrusion on her slender frame. Margot’s eyes bulged in shock, and then a vicious smile crept onto her red lips. “Although perhaps I see what you mean.” Sensing weakness, she scanned Ana’s body for further signs of decay – her eyes lingering on the newly acquired lines on Ana’s face. “You look tired love? I do hope you’re not over stretching yourself. These big roles aren’t for everyone, especially not your age.”
Her age! Ana fumed; she was only 3 years older than Margot – at least as far as the blonde knew. In reality her body was now 8 years older then the leggy blonde who now sauntered away into the crowd, grin on her face, no doubt about to spread the word that Ana de Armas was looking a bit rough around the edges and watching her weight. “Don’t worry about her,” another voice had snuck up on her at the bar, this time the beautiful Scarlett Johansson. If there were two women you didn’t want to be seen standing next to just after gaining 5 years and god knows how many pounds, they were Margot Robbie and Scarlett Johansson. It really wasn’t Ana’s day. “She hasn’t turned 30 yet, and she’s in for a nasty surprise when she does.” The stunning blonde ordered a drink.
Scarlett was 35, only a few years older than Ana’s “true” age, and looked fantastic as always. Simultaneously petit and curvy, she’d been the Marilyn Monroe of her generation, and while she no longer looked girlish, she was an absolutely stunning woman – and had been duelling Ana on the various tabloid most beautiful women lists for a few years now.
Scarlett continued. “Moment I turned 30, I’ve had to work out twice as hard to look half as good. And don’t get my started on my post-baby boobs – I wish I’d done a few more topless scenes back when they were in their buoyant prime. You come along to these things in your 20’s and all eyes are on you, but once you reach our age, you really have to up your game to compete with every wide eyed, dewy skinned, perky 19 year old starlet fresh off the conveyor belt. Give Margot a couple of years, and she’ll be over here with us, ordering diet coke and grumbling about her cellulite.” Scarlett laughed, and helped herself to a swing of Ana’s drink.
A second too late, Ana reacted. “Wait, don’t!” but it was too late, Scarlett had taken a sip.
“Oh sorry, I didn’t think you’d mind...” apologised a slightly surprise Scarlett.
“It’s just, it’s just I’ve not been well.” Ana suddenly had a horrible feeling that coming here was a mistake. Just because she could hold back her sneezes, didn’t mean she wasn’t infectious...
“Oh, sick how? Nothing serious I hope.....” and then suddenly...ACHOO!....ACHOO!
Two quick fire sneezes, and it was immediately apparent what had happened. Ana looked on horrified as Scarlett Johansson aged a decade in a second.
The seams of her golden figure-hugging dress split as her figure expanded in every direction, and the now-45-year-old woman stared at her crinkled hands in shock.
“Come on, let’s get you out of sight,” said Ana, consumed with guilt as she herded Scarlett through a side door, in what turned out to be the staff changing rooms.
“What the hell just happened?” asked Scarlett, still staring at her unnaturally weathered hands open mouthed. “I’m so so sorry. I think I have that aging virus, when I sneezed earlier, I swear I aged 5 years – that’s where this pooch came from.” Ana grabbed her own little starter belly for emphasis. “You must have caught it from me when you took a sip from my drink.”
“Oh god, I sneezed twice so I’m…45?” realisation dawned upon the actresses older looking face. “Get me out of this dress, I need to inspect the damage.”
Together, Ana and Scarlett ripped off the rest of the blonde’s ruined dress, and then Scarlett dashed over to the full-length mirror.
“Fuck me.” She whispered in awe, as her middle-aged reflection looked back at her in youthful lingerie stretched too it’s limit, still in her strappy high heels. She had gained a lot of weight – the tight hourglass of her midriff had been replaced by a doughy expanse, with little rolls at her sides above her hips. Her thighs were soft and uneven, as if wrapped in bubble wrap, and the overall shape of her legs had been distorted by wrinkled knees and swollen ankles. Her famous ass had expanded and sagged, merging into her uneven thighs. Her frilly bra just about kept her chest afloat, but she could tell her breasts had lost some firmness, and her décolletage was marred with a network of wrinkles. Her upper arms had expanded substantially into toneless bingo wings above the crinkled skin of her elbows. Her famous face had fared no better, with deep bags under her eyes, and wrinkles across her forehead and to the side of her mouth. Her jawline has softened and her cheeks had sagged, and her face was framed by greying blonde hair, which was noticeably thinner and less luxurious that it had been only moments ago. The overall impression was a matronly woman, well past her prime.
“What have you done?” Scarlett uttered, poking and prodding at the new bulges and sags of her figure. “I’m ruined.” “I’m so sorry – I didn’t think. I never meant to infect anyone else, I was just scared, I thought I’d be irrelevant if I didn’t come. Every actress who’s anything in Hollywood is here today…”
Scarlett seemed to pull herself together with a sign. “Well, it’s happened now. I was getting tired of constantly watching my figure to try and compete with 22 year olds anyway...” then a lightbulb seemed to go off. “You know, you’re right about every actress in Hollywood being here. Wouldn’t it be a shame if this little virus spread a little further tonight…”
Ana clocked on to what Scarlett was proposing. “You can’t mean we infect other girls, deliberately can you? No way, that’s horrible. We can’t do that!”
“Look, who are you kidding. Your body is, what, 37 now? You think anyone is going to cast you with those smile lines and saggy boobs? You’re kidding yourself. But if every actress in this generation suddenly had similar age issues, you’d be back on the menu. Besides,” she jabbed a finger at Ana, “You just cost me ten years of my life and gave me a fat ass – you owe me big time.”
Ana frowned, creases marring her once smooth forehead. Scarlett was right – she was kidding herself to think she could stay relevant competing against the goddesses in the room next door while pushing 40. She was done. Unless. Unless they levelled the playing field.
“So, what do we do? Just go around and make out with strangers, spit in their drinks?”
“First, we need to find me something to wear. I can't get back in that,” Scarlett gestured to her torn up dress, “And I'm not going out there in a younger woman's underwear.”
The two women rummaged around the changing room until they found a waitress’s uniform that looked close enough to Scarlett’s new bulkier frame.
“Perfect, I can mingle around and nobody will even notice me.”
Scarlett unclipped her overtaxed bra, With some difficulty. Her once magnificent boobs dropped heavily down, deflated like balloons a couple of days after the party. She sighed. And to think, she'd complained about their subtle sag when they were ten years younger. How she’d love to have those comparatively perfect breasts back now. She wiggled into the black waitress skirt, which was still a little too small, and it took some effort to heave it past her middle-aged ass.
As she struggled, so glanced up at her reflection, and was shocked to see an overweight tired woman gracelessly wrestling with her clothes. Rolls of flab around her shapeless middle, floppy boobs hanging down, dumpy legs. How could this be her body? Was she really trapped in this form now? Never looking truly attractive again – her years of being a sex symbol lost forever, buried under loose skin and wrinkles.
But now wasn't the time to give into despair. This was their only chance to drag their rivals down with them. She finished squeezing into her bland waitress uniform, and moved over to the sink.
Her tired, lined face looked back at her. She poked and pulled at the lines and sags that desecrated her once beautiful face. She was still wearing a lot of glamourous make up – not enough to hide her wrinkles, but too much for a waitress to be wearing without attracting attention. Ana leant her some make up remover and she took as much of it off as she could manage. The end result left her looking even older, worn out, but most overwhelmingly just bland. Nondescript. Unrecognisable.
Scarlett tied her hair up into a professional bun, noticing how much of its lustre it had lost, and sporting more than a few grey hairs.
Meanwhile, Ana was inspecting her own hair, and spotted her own first grey with utter dismay. She plucked it out and threw it away.
“Oh please,” said Scarlett. “You won't get any sympathy from me, young lady.” She spoke was sarcasm, but there was a tinge of real jealousy. Ana may have looked a bit older, but Scarlett had really tipped over the threshold into past-it territory. “So how do I look?”
Ana struggled to find some diplomatic words – but Scarlett looked terrible. Overweight, no make-up, dishevelled hair, and an wearing an ill fitting waitresses uniform – the former queen of Hollywood looked every inch a washed up Hollywood has been/never was... She didn't even look good for her age. “Unrecognisable.” Ana offered tamely.
“Perfect. Right, I'll spit in a few drinks and you, I don’t know, whisper in some ears, stroke sone faces, I don't know. Just mingle and spread.”
“Who are we aiming for?” Ana asked.
“Anyone who looks younger and hotter than us – so basically anyone. Oh, I'll get Margot Robbie for you, and you can get Blake Lively for me.”
“Blake Lively?”
“Yea, that vapid cow married my ex husband before he was even cold. Let's see if he's interested in her once he can't bounce quarters off her ass. Doubt she's much fun as a scramble partner...”
And so, 37-year-old Ana de Armas, sucking in her little pouched belly within her cocktail dress, and 45-year-old Scarlett Johansson disguised as an aging waitress, went back into the party to spread the AgIn19 virus to an unsuspecting Hollywood.
Scarlett made a beeline for Margot, who was still gathering small groups to spread the news that Ana was looking “her age".
“Can I get you another drink Ms Robbie?” she put on an English accent to disguise herself, the blonde starlet hardly glanced her way. “Champagne, no ice, one half strawberry.” She replied without a hint of civility. A few of the gossips she was with thrust empty glasses at Scarlett and bombarded her with pretentious drinks offers. More the merrier, though Scarlett mischievously as she slipped off the bar to get and corrupt their drinks.
Meanwhile, Ana sidled up to Blake Lively and started making small talk. The 32-year-old blonde was absolutely stunning, she didn't look a day over 25. A flawless porcelain face, and an impossibly tight body, flaunted in a skin-tight purple dress. Ana had been this age only this morning – her skin had been as smooth and blemish free, her figure as tight. She couldn't help but feel a fierce loathing, a bitter jealousy at this monument to beauty before her eyes. Was this how all older women felt when talking to their younger counterparts? Smiling through the resentment and the sense of loss. Knowing they had once looked as wonderful, but no longer, and never again? Was this how middle-aged women had felt talking to Ana herself before today? Would they treat her differently now that she had lines around her eyes? Now she was less of a threat- less a reminder of their own fading charms? Ana made the most of her acting talents and smiled all the way through this cascade of emotions. She offered to buy Blake a drink, then asked for a sip – doing her best to leave as much saliva on the rim as she could. Then she abruptly made her departure, leaving Blake to her fate, and began looking for other victims.
A sort of giddy rush was growing in her. She knew what she was doing was wrong, monstrous even. Spreading such a cruel disease deliberately. But there was a trill in it. A guilty exhilaration in condemning youth to decay.
She slid up to Barbara Palvin, the stunningly curvy Hungarian model/actress had one of the best figures in Hollywood. She was like a Greek statue, carved straight out of male fantasy. The 26 year old brunette wore a sheer dress, basically transparent, leaving very little to the imagination. Voluptuous hips, perfectly toned stomach, and an intensely beautiful face – she was a goddess. Ana greeted her with a sloppy kiss on both cheeks, and wondered how many sneezes it would take for Barbara’s perky ass to droop...
Meanwhile, Scarlett was at the bar pouring the drinks. “Could you make me a tom Collins?” she asked the handsome 20-something barman. “I can never remember the ingredients?”
The man gave her a half glance. “Gin, lemon, sugar, soda. Make it yourself.”
Scarlett was shocked. Nobody had talked to her like that, not since before she'd “made it”. Maybe never. Certainly not any red-blooded man. She leant on the bar and stuck out her chest. “Pretty please?” She realised too late that without a bra on, her newly aged breasts hung down low, and even with some manoeuvring of body shape they couldn't be coaxed into cleavage.
He gave her another glance, but wasn’t swayed. “I said make it yourself, I'm busy here.” And he returned to serving some svelte starlet Scarlett has never seen before.
Scarlett's face turned red. She couldn't remember ever striking out before. Every man she'd ever hit on or flirted with had been helpless to resist her. It was like she’d had a superpower all her life and now, poof, she was powerless. Invisible. Sexless.
Something about the challenge turned her on. She'd just have to try a bit harder than she was used to, that was all... Ana floated over towards Jennifer Lawrence and Gal Gadot – two true members of Hollywood royalty. Jennifer’s smooth skin and soft features made up one of the most famous faces in the world, still the right side if 30 and radiating a youthful glow.
Gal was a little older, having just turned 35, she was only a couple of years younger than Ana in her unnaturally aged state. The Wonder Woman actress wore it well, but up close you could see a few small lines on her forehead and between her brow. The first cracks in her perfection. Ana directed the small talk to how Gal did her make up – now that Ana was burdened with frown lines of her own, she would take any advice she could get on concealing them. Jennifer just laughed along, as if they were all too young to be worrying about wrinkles – and to be fair, she was – for now at least. Ana suppressed a wicked smile at the though that blasé skincare attitude wouldn't last much longer as she kissed the two goddesses goodbye.
Back on the other side of the room, Scarlett delivered her drinks to Margot and her cronies. She'd covertly spat in each one, but her subservient waitress face gave nothing away.
Nearby she spotted Florence Pugh, and heart sank. Pugh looked stunning, as she always did. Only 24 years old, Scarlett and Florence had started together in Black Widow- a film where Scarlett was nominally the Star, but Florence was clearly being groomed by the studio as her replacement. Scarlett had aged out of the super hero leading lady, and that was before she'd sneezed a couple of times and burdened herself with an additional decade. Even when she’s been her 35-year-old self, the 11-year age gap between the two women had shown on set. Florence had had greater stamina, never out if breath when they filmed action sequences, her costumes were a size smaller, and she'd needed far less time in make-up. Scarlett had resented her from day one, for no fault other than her youth holding a mirror up to Scarlett's fading charms. And here she was, still looking incredible, while Scarlett was trapped in a 45-year-old husk. 21 years older than her now. 21 years! She was almost double this woman's age, and she felt and looked it.
She approached cautiously, worried that Florence might recognise her, but she needn't have worried. A dumpy middle-aged waitress at this kind of party was as good as invisible. Scarlett offered her a corrupted G&T, and slipped away. She wondered if Florence would still look so good in the clingy Black Window costume once a middle-aged spread kicked in...
Scarlett looked around the room and caught sight of Ana making small talk with Emma Stone, laughing casually and touching the other actress’s arm. “Atta girl” she said to herself. Ana was clearly doing her part to spread the virus. Scarlett wondered how long it would be until people started sneez…
“ACHOO!”
Scarlett shocked herself with the sneeze, it had come over her so quickly she hadn’t even had the chance to try and hold it back, she dropped her silver tray with a cacophonous clatter. She felt, literally felt, 5 years more fall onto her body. Her stolen clothes felt tighter, her joints ached a bit, and her eyesight had gotten suddenly worse.
“Hey!” a voice shouted at her from the direction of the bar. That handsome barman was scowling at her, more of a smoulder really… “What are you doing? Pick then up and get back to work! Jesus, daft old bat.”
Old! Scarlett fumed. How dare he call her old, she was only…the penny dropped…she was 50. 50 years old. “Fuck.” She muttered. God if he wasn’t handsome though, this rude barman. Even if he was a little blurrier now in her fading vision. She’d have ruined him in her youth. In her youth. The words stung even in her internal dialogue. Fuck that she thought. She’d have him anyway, youthful body or not. The thrill of trying to seduce a man with a genuine risk of failure for the first time in her life was exhilarating.
She was thinking how best to approach the task as she bent down to pick up the tray. There was pop in her lower back and she gasped at the pain. “Mother fucker!” she exclaimed as quietly as she could. Jesus that hurt, her whole back throbbed, unusually stiff and inflexible. She scooped up the tray and hobbled away, hand on the base of her spine. What was this BS? Not only had her physical appearance all but vanished, but her mobility was on the fritz too. She really wasn’t as young as she used to be…
Ana kissed Emma Stone goodbye and looked around for her next victim, when she felt a tap on her shoulder. “Ana darling!” it was bloody Margot Robbie again. “Are you having a good evening? You look tired sweetheart. Shall I get you a coffee? You have bags under your eyes and everything.”
Ana fumed, but kept it inside. She couldn't wait until she could wipe that smug smile off Margot's face.
“ACHOO!” Margot sneezed suddenly, catching both women by surprise. Ana’s eyes widened in repressed glee, scanning her rival for changes. To her delight, Margot began to transform. Tiny creases snaked out from her eyes, and fine lines cracked across her forehead. Her blonde hair lost a smidge of its lustre, and her décolletage shifted to look a little less smooth, the top of her breasts deflating ever so slightly. To Ana's slight disappointment, Margot didn't seem to gain much weight. She was only 34 she supposed, still pretty young. But perhaps her stomach did look a little less concave, her hips a little less svelte. Overall, Margot looked basically the same, almost imperceptibly older. Almost. But under Ana's gaze, those early signs of aging were blissfully apparent.
Margot looked shocked at her unexpected sneeze, it had knocked the wind out of her, but crucially she didn't seem to have noticed her physical changes yet.
Ana seized the opportunity to turn the tables. “Are you felling alright? I hear there’s something going around, I hope it’s nothing serious?”
“Just a cold” snapped Margot, hating to show weakness in front of her perceived rival.
“Are you sure? Your face looks a little puffy.” Ana jibed - her face did look puffier, the sharp angles softened ever so slightly. “You should let the next sneezes come. It’s good for you, clears the sinuses.”
Margot scowled, still trying to work out why she suddenly felt so rubbish.
“ACHOO!” she sneezed again. Ana greedily absorbed the changes as Margot hit 39-years-old in an instant. The creases by her eyes deepened into permanent wrinkles, her jawline softened a touch, and a couple grey streaks flashed up in her golden hair. A few pounds finally latched onto her famous figure as a couple of small love handles bulged into existence above her hips, with her waist thickening just enough to lose its hourglass cinch. Ana couldn’t get a good look at her rival’s ass without being rude, but even a little peak showed it to be noticeably less firm under her dress. Margot was now starting to look her age, her fabulous genetics starting to give into time’s relentless abuse. She was older than Ana now, the petit brunette thought with glee.
“ACHOO!” she sneezed again – Ana couldn’t believe her luck! 5 more years appeared on Margot in an instant, more grey strands appeared in her mane, and her breasts – once prominently displayed in her revealing outfit- sagged further into her dress. She still wasn’t fat by any means, but a few more pounds appeared here and there, messing up her curves and putting to bed her formerly svelte figure. Margot Robbie was 44 years old.
“ACHOO!” Her skin dimmed – the golden glow of youth fading like a sunset to a pale, blemished parody of what came before. The lines on her face became wrinkles, and her eyes were heavily bagged. Her hair was now entirely a dark grey.
Margot, feeling suddenly terrible – her body feeling achy and stiff in way she wasn’t used to at all. She took a second glance at her hands. Something was amiss – the skin was bunched up, the knuckles knobbly – these weren’t the hands of young woman. These weren’t her hands. Worried now, she quickly probed her body, finding yielding flesh where none had once resided. She cupped her face, did it feel different, looser? “Do I look…old. Do I look older?” she asked Ana in a panic, forgetting she was talking to her sworn rival.
Ana did her absolute best to keep a straight face. “Older?” she made a show of peering at the now 49-year-old version of Margot, her sharp features now softened and tired. Her face looked haggard, and her body had almost entirely lost its firm shape. “I don’t know, maybe. You’re just tired sweetheart. Maybe I should get you a coffee?”
Margot ignored her, instead stopping as she grabbed her own ass for reassurance, only to find her firm bum replaced by something soft and doughy. Like a pillowcase full of apple sauce. “Oh my god. Oh my god oh my god…” Margot ran towards the bathroom, dreading what she’d find in the mirror.
Ana could not believe her luck! That had been incredible – seeing her biggest rival age 20 years in just 4 sneezes! She had to find Scarlett and tell her the plan was working.
Scarlett was back in the staff changing room, rubbing some deep-heat she’d found in a locker into her aching, seized up back. She’d taken her borrowed white shirt off to so, and had revealed the damage to her body in the process. She was blob, folds and bulges of pasty old skin, blemishes and wrinkles. Every inch a middle-aged woman.
If at 45 her body had already been past it, at 50 her youth was so far gone it was barely a memory. She was stuck inside a pathetic parody of the sexy body she’d taken for granted all those years. It was overwhelmingly depressing. And yet, as she sat there trying to rub some life back into her aching spine, she couldn’t help think about that barman. She wanted him, needed him. To not even make a move would be admitting that her sex life as she knew it was over, relegated to desperate tubby old men, watching partners she desired pass her over in favour of younger, prettier women for the rest of her life. That was the reality her 50 year old body suggested, but she’d be damned if she was going to accept it.
She heaved herself up, wincing at the amount of effort that took, and went over to the mirrors by the sink. She’d deliberately washed off all her make up, and tied her hair in the worst possible style in order to blend in as a waitress. But that wouldn’t do now she was on the prowl. Sure, she’d lost some – most – of her natural charms, but that was no excuse to give up the maintenance. On the contrary, she’d have to bring her A-game in order to work with considerably smaller number of assets.
She shook her hair free or the bun. It was thinner, scragglier, and maybe 40% grey. The blonde that was left had faded to a less luxuriant, mousey yellow brown. It was not an optimal situation. There was nothing she could do about the colour right now, but she readjusted the style as best she could with a few well-placed clips and pins. Her locks draped down to her shoulders again, and few waves and ringlets took shape, and most of the greys were coaxed into steaks so they looked almost deliberate. It was a bodge job, but already a big improvement.
Next Scarlett addressed her make-up free face. Up close and undisguised, she inspected the lines and wrinkles that adorned her vaguely familiar features. There were deep, purple bags under her smaller seeming eyes, crevaces across her brow, and sallow blotchy skin everywhere. The youthful glow of her famous face was gone. She was going to have to bring her make-up A game to make her haggard visage alluring. Easier said than done given her total lack of experience working with such an old face. Her normal make-up mantra was to enhance what nature had given her, but that wouldn't work here. Instead she'd have to focus on hiding what time had done to her. She caked on the concealer, went heavy on the eye shadow to give her eyes a semblance of their previous smoky charm, and lathered on dark lipstick to plump up her thinning lips. She even attempted some contouring to fix her sagging cheeks. The end result was a vast improvement. She didn't look young – there was no hiding the wrinkles and sags. She didn’t look like Scarlett Johansson. But she looked sexier. She had a bit of vitality, a bit of smoulder. She looked good for her age, and that would have to do.
So, all that was left was her body. Topless, she looked awful. Her boobs were a wreck, saggy and deflated sacks hanging down onto her gut. They looked way worse than she'd hoped they'd look at 50, but that was the price she was clearly paying for being well endowed in her youth. She'd deliberately abandoned her ill-fitting bra to avoid drawing the eye as a waitress, but that had clearly been a mistake – her braless days were well and truly over. She collected her discarded frilly purple bra and loosened the straps as much as possible, then struggled back into it. Her breasts seemed to have deflated a bit with the last sneeze and its five additional years if decay, so she was at least able to squish her bust into the absurdly youthful garment. Once in, she adjusted the straps as best she could to heave her bosom up her chest – noticing with despair that the clasp sat uncomfortably atop a roll of pudgy back fat. But her boobs were in, and hosted up to something closer to their usual height. She may not have been pert or full anymore, but her boobs were at least big – and that was an asset she'd have to focus on.
Next on the hit list was her doughy middle. She didn't have waist anymore, and her flabby mom pooch stuck out over her stolen skirt. Barring a corset, there wasn't much she could do about that. She hitched the skirt up so it sat above her waist, hiding the worst of her belly rolls. That was an improvement, but it had the side effect of turning the skirt onto a mini skirt, flashing much more leg that Scarlett would have liked. Her new knees looked swollen and her thighs had no tone. She looked over her shoulder and gasped when she realised her saggy ass peaked out. It would have been scandalous when she was hot, but it was obscene now she was middle aged. Her pasty thighs were marred with cellulite and sporadic blue veins, making her all and all a sad sight from behind. Still, she had to choose between the belly and flashing some cellulite, and if she was going for the boob angle to seduce her pray, then she'd rather look good from the front than behind. She'd just have to keep him in front of her was all.
She put her white waitress shirt back on, the undid a few buttons to flash a bit of her bra enhanced cleavage. However, the effect was far less appealing than she’d hoped, as her décolletage was heavily wrinkled, and her boobs were obviously sagging within the bra’s cups. She sadly did the buttons back up – resigning herself to the fact she’d have to hope leaving more to the imagination would do her more favours that flashing the flesh in her 50 year old form.
She appraised her full reflection. She looked much better than she had before the makeover. Her hair and makeup looked almost sexy, in a Helen Mirren kinda way, and her hoisted chest looked far better then the deflated sacks she’d flaunted without a bra. The hiked skirt slightly sculpted her stomach and waist, and while her legs weren’t svelte, the flash of flesh showed a bit of sexual confidence if nothing else.
Overall, she looked like a busty MILF – from the front at least. A glance over her shoulder displayed cellulite, varicose veins, back fat and the majority of her grey hair. She’d have to seduce her prey head on.
Ana burst into the changing room. “Scarlett, you’ve got to see this, it’s happening! Everyone’s getting old!”
Scarlett sauntered out to join Ana, trying not to let her more sluggish gait dent her newly revitalized self esteem. “You look great, did you redo your hair?” Ana asked, giving Scar Jo the once over.
“Yea I sneezed again, so now I’m 50 and ancient, but I’m going to seduce that kid barman anyway.” That sounded desperate at loud. “Don’t judge me.”
“No judgement here!” laughed Ana. They slid out the changing room door. “Look, it’s happening...”
At first glance, it looked like a regular party. But the longer they watched, more strange scenes started to catch their eyes.
Gal Gadot was sat on a stool massaging her heel, looking distraught and bewildered that her foot looked callused and misshapen. As they watched, Gal sneezed again, and more lines burst into existence across her furrowed brow, and the former goddess gasped as her foot withered even more. She must have been pushing 50 already.
On the dance floor, Florence Pugh sneezed a couple of times mid song, then slut-dropped only to find she couldn’t bounce back up as easily as she expected. Laughing nervously, she caressed her suddenly tender back, her upper arms now looking very fleshy. Scarlett was delighted.
Barbara Palvin was still mingling obliviously, but she was drawing a few stares as her semi-transparent dress was revealing a much doughier figure. Her statuesque curves had softened and sagged, and her flawless ass had expanded and dropped – cellulite abundantly visible on her once smooth thighs. Saddle bags bulged beneath her hips, and her stomach had an obvious pooch. She looked hopelessly out of shape, but if Ana had to guess she’d have only placed her in her mid to late thirties, maybe only a sneeze or two worse for wear. Clearly that kind of voluptuous figure couldn’t survive the big 3-0...
The room was surrounded by mirrored walls, and here and there a few actresses lingered, mouths agape at slightly different – slightly older reflections. Jennifer Lawrence had seemingly frozen mid conversation to poke and prod at her visage, which seemed to have developed a slight double chin and puffy bags under her eyes. The youthful glow had finally started to waver, with Ana placing her at a mere 34. The worst was yet to come, but unlike her fellow victims she’d already started to guess something was wrong.
All throughout the room sneezes started to ring out.
ACHOO!
Blake Lively was adjusting her dress, not quite able to make it flatten over her stomach.
ACHOO!
Zendaya suddenly looked like even more of a goddess, maturing into both her face and body, the last wisps of girlhood vanishing.
ACHOO!
Amber Heard limped off the dance floor, clutching her swollen looking knees, lines etched across her worried, 39-year-old brow.
ACHOO!
Karen Gillen did a double take at her reflection, famous red mane suddenly dull and inexplicably riddled with grey hair.
ACHOO!
Bryce Dallas-Howard gasped as her tight dress ripped at the seams – her curvaceous body expanding dramatically. She waddled off in shock and extreme embarrassment.
“Holy shit,” whispered Scarlett – the gravity of their deed hitting home. This whole room was a time bomb, youth was vanishing in a flurry of seemingly innocent sneezes.
“Better go seduce your barman while you still can – things are going to get crazy in here soon...” Ana gave Scarlett a push towards the bar. “Go, now is your chance!”
The aging blonde approached the bar, trying to put on a sexy strut, but being all to aware of the bulk of her middle-aged frame. She felt so nervous – this had always come so naturally when she knew she was beautiful, but now she had to fake that confidence – bluffing when she knew she had nothing of value in her hand. Still, she was determined to go all in.
She put her hand on the small of his back and leaned in close, shocking him with her proximity. “Hey,” she said seductively, using the voice she'd used in the movie Her. “What's your name?”
“Uh Matt,” he answered, clearly a little uncomfortable. He gave her the once over, eyes lingering here and there, before returning to cleaning glasses. God this would be so much easier if she'd had some creamy young cleavage to draw his eye.
“I'm Scarlett,” she sidled up against him, whispering in his ear. “Fancy getting out of here?”
“Uh, I still have to work.” Said the young man. Clearly uncomfortable, but not repulsed, and clearly now a little bit off his guard.
“I’ll make it worth you while.” Scarlett pushed her luck, hand on his thigh, practically whispering in his ear. She was so close he’d surely be able to smell her expensive designer perfume. She softly rubbed her breasts up against him, hoping her wouldn’t be able to tell that they were long past their prime.
Scarlett was shocked at herself. She’d never have been this forward normally, not in a million years. But then, she’d never had to be forward before. Her sex life had always been a seller’s marker before today. She tugged at his arm, pulling him towards the changing rooms, careful not to reveal her port side to him. He pulled his arm away.
“Look, mam…miss…Scarlett. I’m very flattered but…” he’d pulled away far enough to get a good look at her now, and his eyes lingered on Scar Jo’s new soccer-mom figure.
Last roll of the dice time. She arched her back, stuck out her chest, popped a hip out. Maximising all the power of her remaining curves. Bit her lip, raised an eyebrow, tossed her hair. “Come on young man. A woman can teach you things a girl never could.” A cheesy line that she was sure she’d seen once in a script she’d rejected. Desperate times.
Matt’s eyes lingered on her ample chest. The cogs were turning in his head. From the right angle, this older broad still had some sex appear about her. She was kinda hot in a mature sort of way, and she looked sort of familiar in a way she couldn’t quite place. And after all, she was stacked. He wondered what her boobs would look like out of that tight shirt…
Matt took and her hand and let her lead the way.
Meanwhile, Ana de Armas was mingling in the chaos, and things were getting vastly out of hand. The room was now a cacophony of sneezes, and more and more people were starting to panic as their youth and beauty vanished with every gesundheit.
Jennifer Lawrence had clearly sneezed a few more times and was stuck staring open mouthed at her middle-aged reflection. She was positively pudgy, and without youth on her side her doughy face looked bland and forgettable. Her hands roamed silently a she poked and prodded at flabby hips and her flat, deflated ass.
Alexandra Daddario sneezed and her mighty breasts collapsed right before her eyes. The ligaments that had strained to keep those might orbs afloat through her 20’s and early 30’s finally giving way to whims of gravity.
In a single sneeze, Emma Watson’s hair turned from brown to shock grey, causing the men she was talking with to recoil in surprise.
Gal Gadot sneezed again while still inspecting her inexplicably aged feet. Her ankles swelled up, her knees bobbled, and the tone vanished from her thighs. Shock writ large over Wonder Woman’s crinkled, middle aged face.
Blake Lively was grabbing her tummy bulge, not unlike Ana’s own pooch, in confusion when she noticed her bony aging hand and let out a yelp.
Florence Pugh – Scarlett Johansson’s appointed successor at marvel – had now sneezed her way into her late 40s. Her fresh face had vanished, and she’d turned decidedly pair shaped, with wide hips and an ample stomach bulge. She did look a bit like Scarlett herself had done at 45, but with smaller boobs and much more pronounced bingo wings. She continued to mingle and flirt, oblivious to her faded charms. The effect was that of a sad mommy type, trying to punch way her above her weight with hot guys.
Blokes themselves weren’t immune, as the virus had clearly spread. George Clooney sneezed twice in quick succession, and all his hair fell out, leaving him bald as a coot. Adam Driver had gone salt and pepper grey, and while Ana watched, Dwayne the Rock Johnson sneezed himself into a beer belly.
By now, the more liberal sneezers were leaving middle age behind them as they raced into their golden years. Amber Heard looked to be in her 60s. She’d piled on weight and then lost it again, giving her face and body the vibe of a deflated balloon. Her hair was shock white, and she was shuffling across the room, her swollen knees clearly giving her trouble. She certainly wouldn’t be doing her own stunts in Aquaman 2. Emma Stone seemed to have shrunk a few inches and had totally lost her figure. Perhaps pushing 70, she was a pasty barrel of a woman, unrecognisable as the svelte Hollywood darling she’d been mere hours earlier. She was stood just off the dance floor, trying in vain to stretch out her back, bright eyes still shining through her pudgy, wrinkled face.
Zendaya was even older, almost unrecognisable and clearly nearing 90. Her previously flawless skin was collapsed with wrinkles everywhere, her eyes sunken and glassy, and she stooped over. She’d seemingly remained thin her whole “life”, but that left her impossibly frail in her dotage. She was trying to communicate with a shocked looking friend who couldn’t have been older that 25 – but Zendaya’s hearing was clearly causing her problems. The young woman led the shrivelled husk of her friend away. From behind, the contrast between the 20 year olds pert ass and Zen's collapsed behind and spindly legs was stark, only for the young starlet to sneeze herself and her ass rapidly expand and sag. Still, it looked much better than a 90 year olds...
Margot Robbie re-emerged from the ladies room. Ana gasped – her rival must have been pushing 70. She was hardly recognisable beneath the mass of wrinkles on her once flawless face. Her lean toned body had vanished, replaced with a frail husk. Blemished skin was stretched thinly over her arms hands, her bra-less breasts had collapsed into sad deflated sacks, and her once strong legs were desecrated with varicose veins. Only her tell-tale scowl gave her away. She looked furious, screaming at the top her voice. “THERE’S A PLAGUE! AN AGING PLAGUE! SOMEONE HAS INFECETD US.” Her voice cracked and she started coughing, having lost most of the command and power of her youthful vocal cords, but she was still loud enough to silent the room. The various stars and starlets who were trying to work out why they suddenly looked and felt older looked worried as the penny dropped that they themselves had already been infected. Margot composed herself. “EVERYTIME I SNEEZE, I AGE 5 FUCKING YEARS!” right on cue, she sneezed yet again. Her already shrivelled form visibly crinkled, and her posture gave way to a stoop, as she hunched ever so slightly. She was every inch an angry old woman, forever to be typecast as the wicked witch.
Panic descended in an instant. Those who were still young bolted for the doors, while the newly-middle-aged followed with more heavy breathing. Dozens of beautiful young things rushed to the mirrored walls to either reassure themselves or scream in despair at the damage a few sneezes had done. The truly elderly shuffled along, confused and aching.
Barbara Palvin, who’d continued to sag and expand, finally caught sight of her corpulent, 56 year reflection and screamed.
The penny finally dropped for Florence Pugh, who stood in front of the mirror, hypnotised by her own pendulous bingo wings.
Alexandra Daddario tried to run to the door, her now dangling boobs messing with her gait, forcing her to cradle them like grocery bags.
Ana couldn’t help but giggle. Her own fine lines, tiny belly, and solitary grey hair didn’t seem so bad anymore. Still, it was time to grab Scarlett and get out of here.
She dashed back into the staff changing room. “Scar Jo, we gotta go! Let’s get out of here before they quarantine this place with us stuck inside. Oh my…”
50-year-old Scarlett was pulling her youthful panties back up her pudgy white thighs and over a frankly obscenely flabby ass, she looked flushed and dishevelled, sweat dripping off her newly wrinkled forehead. She also looked delighted with herself. Behind her on the bench, was a stark naked 20 something covered in muscles who looked similarly elated, if a bit shocked to be caught nude by a famous celebrity.
“Uh, are you Ana de Armas?” Matt asked, covering his dignity with his discarded shirt. He looked back at Scarlett, who was wiggling into her stolen shirt and skirt. “How do you know Ana de Armas? Did she call you…Scar Jo?” the penny slowly dropping on where he recognised this middle-aged woman from.
“So long kid.” Scarlett gave him a big, passionate goodbye kiss. “Nobody will ever believe you.”
Ana and Scarlett dashed out the fire exit like naughty school girls.
“Get you! You’re old enough to be his mother. How was that?” Ana asked, grabbing Scarlett’s arms as they escaped.
“Amazing! The thrill of the chase! I never thought he’d go for me looking like this. He took some convincing to let me keep my bra on, and I had to pin him down to keep his hands away from my wobbly bits, but that seemed to work a treat! How was it back in there?”
“Chaos. Margot is in her 70’s, Blake has a muffin top and old lady hands, and Florence has aged wayyyy worse than you.”
“I knew she would!”
They stopped a few blocks away, in earshot of the sirens as the ambulances arrived. “Scar, what have we done?” the adrenaline faded away, the guilt game back. “Are we like, bio terrorists now?”
“Naaa, we’re fine. We’re just raising some hell. Besides, now everybody is in the same boat as us, I bet the race for the cure will get a lot more attention. They’ll be back to their young, perky, bitchy selves in no time. And so will we!” “I hope you’re right. What’ll you do in the meantime?”
“Figure I’ll go incognito. Find some more fit young waiters and try my luck. If all else fails, I’ll claim I’m Scarlett Johnson’s hot aunt! I’m sure that’ll work. I’ll be a regular cougar cliché for a bit. It’ll be fun. How about you?”
“Oh, I’ll probably hit the gym and get a facelift. 37 isn’t old enough to vanish from public life, but I’m not hot enough anymore to cut it without some heavy maintenance. Even with some of our competitors facing early retirement,” she signed. None of that sounded much fun.
“Or,” offered Scarlett. “Or, you sneeze another couple of times and come away with me? We’ll be like a sexier, pudgier Cagney and Lacey. Go on! It’ll be fun! More fun than plastic surgery and crunches, that’s for sure.
For some reason, that idea sounded kind of fun to Ana. Scarlett certainly looked invigorated. “You know what? Ok. Sure. Let’s do it. I’m staying younger than you are though. I still don’t want to compete with the Scarlett Johansson on level terms.”
“Fair enough,” said Scarlett, her thinning lips in a wrinkled pout.
“Here goes nothing…” said Ana. “ACHOO!” “ACHOO!”
The end!
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jun 30, 2020 10:41:02 GMT -6
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jun 27, 2020 9:57:51 GMT -6
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jun 27, 2020 9:46:05 GMT -6
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Kisekae
Jun 25, 2020 5:48:15 GMT -6
via mobile
Post by ark on Jun 25, 2020 5:48:15 GMT -6
It's not your image Keith, what are you talking about? Pardon me. I meant to ask you.
Id like to try adding wrinkles and age spots. Maybe morph her a little fatter. Sure, knock yourself out!
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Kisekae
Jun 24, 2020 16:41:35 GMT -6
via mobile
Post by ark on Jun 24, 2020 16:41:35 GMT -6
It's not your image Keith, what are you talking about?
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jun 23, 2020 9:55:04 GMT -6
Thanks for this - great to read it again. One of the all time classics.
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ark
Elder Member
Posts: 163
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Post by ark on Jun 17, 2020 10:37:39 GMT -6
Shower for sure
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