Post by kingfaraday on Jul 3, 2020 9:50:36 GMT -6
Not my Work
Fran Drescher just wanted to be young again. The year was 2007, and she was about to turn 50. As she headed to Elton John’s sixtieth birthday party, she felt like a woman who was about to turn 50. Her arms were much flabbier than they had been during her days on the Nanny, and she could feel her aging booty jiggling. Her hands were veined (but only she could notice that). The cellulite on her thighs though? She knew the paparazzi cameras would capture that for posterity.
It wasn’t a good feeling for Fran, but she survived the night, and she met a strange man at the party, too. His name was James. She had smiled at him, and he had just walked up to her and given her a business card.
“I know what you want,” he had said smiling back. “Call me whenever you’re ready.”
Fran pulled out the business card hours later in her apartment. She took of her purple frilled dress, and unstrapped the shaper that kept her sagging aging breasts up. Then she removed her underwear (which also had plenty of elastic) and her soon-to-be 50-year-old ass drooped. She stared at her thighs, pockmarked with cellulite in the mirror. Her bush, too, showed her age. She died her hair – yes – but her bush, she didn’t. The years of on-again, off-again movie and comedy jobs after the Nanny had stressed her, and her cunt-hair was all salt-and-pepper.
She smiled, thinking of her time on the Nanny. What a joy it had been.
Then she spotted her burgeoning double-chin and frowned. A naked Fran jiggled all the way over to the business card, and dialed the number: 1-800-ROBBER.
“Yes, Fran,” said the voice. “I knew you’d call.”
“You know what I want, right?” she asked in her nasal voice.
“Yes, Fran, I do. Come to the Sears Tower, floor 22.5 tomorrow, and we’ll work it out.”
The aging beauty nodded silently on the other side of the phone. Then, she headed to bed.
The next day, Fran awoke, and got dressed. Again, she firmed up her sagging middle with a shaper and grabbed an underwire bra for her upper half. She applied light makeup, not bothering to cover her crows feet, and carefully combed her hair to hide her grey roots. She had age spots, too, that she regularly hid. She grabbed a coat to cover the ones by her still-large boobs and headed out the door.
Fran took a taxi to Sears Tower and walked to the elevator. She’d never heard of floor 22.5, but suddenly, in the elevator, with nobody else in the elevator, there she saw it. It was right where it should have been (although it should never have existed) – between 22 and 23. She pressed the button, and closed her eyes nervously.
When she arrived, she was on the 22.5th floor, as planned. She stepped out of the elevator and entered a dark room. There she saw the man she had seen the day before. He looked really hot. She wondered if he could really help her.
“Yes, I can,” he said before she even asked.
“Wow,” she said, taken aback. “I hadn’t even asked yet! Then you really DO know what I want.”
“You want to be young,” came the answer.
She nodded, stunned again. The man continued.
“I’ve watched you for years,” he said. “I remember you on the Nanny. I always thought you were beautiful.”
She wondered who he was.
“I’m an inventor,” he said. “I’ve created a special gift for you. It’s a gun. Once I shoot it at you, you’ll gain a unique power. Every time you touch a woman younger than you, you can steal a year off her age. That’ll make you younger.”
Fran smiled. That’s exactly what she needed. Some other women’s youth.
“But there’s a price,” continued the man. “They’ll age twenty years for every year you get younger.”
“But then they’ll know and everybody will see?” Fran said. “That wouldn’t be good. It would be strange.”
The inventor shook his head.
“No, no, no. I have that built in. Automatically, everybody will assume you’re young, and that other lady is older. IT’s all taken care of.”
He shot her before she could say anything. Then, he smiled.
“It’s my special gift to you,” said the man. “I’ve always been a fan. Only one thing...” he added. “Don’t go below 37 years old. I started watching you when you were 37. If you get younger than that, there’ll be a penalty. I hope to see you on TV again, Fran.”
Then, he pushed her into the elevator. It felt like a dream.
The next morning, Fran woke in her bed again. She ran her hands through her hair and looked at the veins that were present on them, the slightly thinned skin. Then she remembered the man from the day before.
“It’s my special gift to you,” she recalled him saying. “I’ve always been a fan.”
She shook her head. It couldn’t be true.
That’s when her maid Katie entered the room. Fran lived in a hi-rise suite in Manhattan, and Katie came once a week to keep the place clean. But Katie was so young – she had just turned 25 a week ago. And she didn’t dress like an old maid. She dressed like a maid from Playboy. Her stunning brunette hair hung in curly locks, framing a sharp-featured face with high cheekbones and big eyes. Her perky breasts were C-cup but looked flawless in the maids outfit, with cleavage peaking out majorly.
And her skirt was way, way too short, revealing silky white legs and hinting at her sexy bubble-butt.
She always flaunted in front of Fran, too. And, whenever Fran was around, Katie would always mention how she was young and Fran was older. Such comments bugged Fran, of course. It’s not like she was geriatric. She wasn’t 60. Sure, she didn’t have her flawless body from her 30s and her Nanny days, but she could get guys.
Katie never let Fran feel that way.
“So, goldie oldie,” she said to Fran as she dipped in front of her to dust something, revealing her milky white cleavage, “what senior you going to try to chase tonight? I guess not Elton…”
Fran wrinkled her nose. “Just clean, Katie.”
Fran patted Katie on the back, and prepared to walk away. But she swore she felt a static shock. Fran didn’t notice the tiny age spot on her left hand disappear. And she didn’t feel some of those hidden white roots turn black again. (Other than that, nothing changed).
Katie felt the static too. She leaped back from the plant she had been dusting. Suddenly, she felt more tired than usual.
“Ms. Drescher, I’m going to sit down quick,” she said.
Katie didn’t even realize she was 45, but, watching, Fran did. Katie placed a slightly veined hand on her forehead, which suddenly had two thin worry lines. Her hair was still jet-black, but it had faded some. Meanwhile, her skin had darkened slightly, and it looked to have leathered a bit. Fran also noticed an age spot on Katie’s hand.
Katie stood up then, and suddenly the skirt looked even shorter than it had before. That’s because Katie had gained a few pounds – 20 to be exact- and much of that spread had gone to her booty and thighs. She moved with a tad of a waddle, and her thighs touched. With each step, there was a little jiggle of cellulite, and her butt was now less bubbly. It was more square and sagging.
Meanwhile, her boobs were in need of an underwire. They were no longer perky. Katie smiled tiredly at Fran, bringing crows feet to her eyes and showing deep smile lines. She didn’t have jowls, but the accumulation of fat around her face lent itself to a double chin when she smiled. Her neck skin had also slackened, and her arms looked chubby in her short-sleeve maid’s outfit.
“Ms. Drescher, can I have the rest of the day off?” she asked tiredly.
Fran nodded her head. She herself was stunned. She didn’t feel any younger – but then again, it had only taken off a year.
After Katie left, Fran ran to her bed, jumped on it, and smiled.
After lying in bed for a few hours, Fran wound up falling asleep, but she woke with a start when her alarm went off at five in the evening.
“O, god,” she thought. “I’m supposed to be at that Hayden girl’s party tonight!”
Fran was referring to Hayden Panitteire, the blonde, perky 18-year-old who was starring in NBC’s Heroes series. The girl had invited Fran to a get-together in a Manhattan penthouse that evening, and Fran had COMPLETELY forgotten!!
Ignoring the jiggles that came with her now-49-year-old body, Fran ran into the bathroom, then to her walk-in closet and chose a cute, green dress. Then, she left her apartment and hailed a cab.
When she arrived at the party, Fran was in for a surprise though. Hayden was annoyed.
“Fran!” she yelled. “I used to be your biggest fan, but you’re late, woman! I guess you’re just a stupid old lady after all!”
Hayden didn’t even give Fran a hug to greet her. Hayden was a bit spoiled. She was 18, but all the success of Heroes had gone to her head. She had grown up watching the Nanny, but seeing the nearly 50-year-old actress arrive so late got Hayden annoyed. How could anybody be late to HER party?
Fran ran over.
“I’m sorry, Hayden,” she said in her trademark nasal voice. “I just overslept.”
Hayden tossed her sexy blond hair and smirked. “How could you be late to see me!! I’m Hayden Panntiere! You – you’re a nobody now!”
Fran was surprised. She pointed a finger at Hayden, who was walking away, and her arm fat jiggled a bit. “How can you say that? You’ve had one hit!”
Hayden laughed. “First of all, you look like a frog in that dress. Second of all, the Nanny wasn’t even a big hit. And third of all…” she pointed at the jiggle on Fran… “you jiggle. Old biddy.”
Fran Drescher just wanted to be young again. The year was 2007, and she was about to turn 50. As she headed to Elton John’s sixtieth birthday party, she felt like a woman who was about to turn 50. Her arms were much flabbier than they had been during her days on the Nanny, and she could feel her aging booty jiggling. Her hands were veined (but only she could notice that). The cellulite on her thighs though? She knew the paparazzi cameras would capture that for posterity.
It wasn’t a good feeling for Fran, but she survived the night, and she met a strange man at the party, too. His name was James. She had smiled at him, and he had just walked up to her and given her a business card.
“I know what you want,” he had said smiling back. “Call me whenever you’re ready.”
Fran pulled out the business card hours later in her apartment. She took of her purple frilled dress, and unstrapped the shaper that kept her sagging aging breasts up. Then she removed her underwear (which also had plenty of elastic) and her soon-to-be 50-year-old ass drooped. She stared at her thighs, pockmarked with cellulite in the mirror. Her bush, too, showed her age. She died her hair – yes – but her bush, she didn’t. The years of on-again, off-again movie and comedy jobs after the Nanny had stressed her, and her cunt-hair was all salt-and-pepper.
She smiled, thinking of her time on the Nanny. What a joy it had been.
Then she spotted her burgeoning double-chin and frowned. A naked Fran jiggled all the way over to the business card, and dialed the number: 1-800-ROBBER.
“Yes, Fran,” said the voice. “I knew you’d call.”
“You know what I want, right?” she asked in her nasal voice.
“Yes, Fran, I do. Come to the Sears Tower, floor 22.5 tomorrow, and we’ll work it out.”
The aging beauty nodded silently on the other side of the phone. Then, she headed to bed.
The next day, Fran awoke, and got dressed. Again, she firmed up her sagging middle with a shaper and grabbed an underwire bra for her upper half. She applied light makeup, not bothering to cover her crows feet, and carefully combed her hair to hide her grey roots. She had age spots, too, that she regularly hid. She grabbed a coat to cover the ones by her still-large boobs and headed out the door.
Fran took a taxi to Sears Tower and walked to the elevator. She’d never heard of floor 22.5, but suddenly, in the elevator, with nobody else in the elevator, there she saw it. It was right where it should have been (although it should never have existed) – between 22 and 23. She pressed the button, and closed her eyes nervously.
When she arrived, she was on the 22.5th floor, as planned. She stepped out of the elevator and entered a dark room. There she saw the man she had seen the day before. He looked really hot. She wondered if he could really help her.
“Yes, I can,” he said before she even asked.
“Wow,” she said, taken aback. “I hadn’t even asked yet! Then you really DO know what I want.”
“You want to be young,” came the answer.
She nodded, stunned again. The man continued.
“I’ve watched you for years,” he said. “I remember you on the Nanny. I always thought you were beautiful.”
She wondered who he was.
“I’m an inventor,” he said. “I’ve created a special gift for you. It’s a gun. Once I shoot it at you, you’ll gain a unique power. Every time you touch a woman younger than you, you can steal a year off her age. That’ll make you younger.”
Fran smiled. That’s exactly what she needed. Some other women’s youth.
“But there’s a price,” continued the man. “They’ll age twenty years for every year you get younger.”
“But then they’ll know and everybody will see?” Fran said. “That wouldn’t be good. It would be strange.”
The inventor shook his head.
“No, no, no. I have that built in. Automatically, everybody will assume you’re young, and that other lady is older. IT’s all taken care of.”
He shot her before she could say anything. Then, he smiled.
“It’s my special gift to you,” said the man. “I’ve always been a fan. Only one thing...” he added. “Don’t go below 37 years old. I started watching you when you were 37. If you get younger than that, there’ll be a penalty. I hope to see you on TV again, Fran.”
Then, he pushed her into the elevator. It felt like a dream.
The next morning, Fran woke in her bed again. She ran her hands through her hair and looked at the veins that were present on them, the slightly thinned skin. Then she remembered the man from the day before.
“It’s my special gift to you,” she recalled him saying. “I’ve always been a fan.”
She shook her head. It couldn’t be true.
That’s when her maid Katie entered the room. Fran lived in a hi-rise suite in Manhattan, and Katie came once a week to keep the place clean. But Katie was so young – she had just turned 25 a week ago. And she didn’t dress like an old maid. She dressed like a maid from Playboy. Her stunning brunette hair hung in curly locks, framing a sharp-featured face with high cheekbones and big eyes. Her perky breasts were C-cup but looked flawless in the maids outfit, with cleavage peaking out majorly.
And her skirt was way, way too short, revealing silky white legs and hinting at her sexy bubble-butt.
She always flaunted in front of Fran, too. And, whenever Fran was around, Katie would always mention how she was young and Fran was older. Such comments bugged Fran, of course. It’s not like she was geriatric. She wasn’t 60. Sure, she didn’t have her flawless body from her 30s and her Nanny days, but she could get guys.
Katie never let Fran feel that way.
“So, goldie oldie,” she said to Fran as she dipped in front of her to dust something, revealing her milky white cleavage, “what senior you going to try to chase tonight? I guess not Elton…”
Fran wrinkled her nose. “Just clean, Katie.”
Fran patted Katie on the back, and prepared to walk away. But she swore she felt a static shock. Fran didn’t notice the tiny age spot on her left hand disappear. And she didn’t feel some of those hidden white roots turn black again. (Other than that, nothing changed).
Katie felt the static too. She leaped back from the plant she had been dusting. Suddenly, she felt more tired than usual.
“Ms. Drescher, I’m going to sit down quick,” she said.
Katie didn’t even realize she was 45, but, watching, Fran did. Katie placed a slightly veined hand on her forehead, which suddenly had two thin worry lines. Her hair was still jet-black, but it had faded some. Meanwhile, her skin had darkened slightly, and it looked to have leathered a bit. Fran also noticed an age spot on Katie’s hand.
Katie stood up then, and suddenly the skirt looked even shorter than it had before. That’s because Katie had gained a few pounds – 20 to be exact- and much of that spread had gone to her booty and thighs. She moved with a tad of a waddle, and her thighs touched. With each step, there was a little jiggle of cellulite, and her butt was now less bubbly. It was more square and sagging.
Meanwhile, her boobs were in need of an underwire. They were no longer perky. Katie smiled tiredly at Fran, bringing crows feet to her eyes and showing deep smile lines. She didn’t have jowls, but the accumulation of fat around her face lent itself to a double chin when she smiled. Her neck skin had also slackened, and her arms looked chubby in her short-sleeve maid’s outfit.
“Ms. Drescher, can I have the rest of the day off?” she asked tiredly.
Fran nodded her head. She herself was stunned. She didn’t feel any younger – but then again, it had only taken off a year.
After Katie left, Fran ran to her bed, jumped on it, and smiled.
After lying in bed for a few hours, Fran wound up falling asleep, but she woke with a start when her alarm went off at five in the evening.
“O, god,” she thought. “I’m supposed to be at that Hayden girl’s party tonight!”
Fran was referring to Hayden Panitteire, the blonde, perky 18-year-old who was starring in NBC’s Heroes series. The girl had invited Fran to a get-together in a Manhattan penthouse that evening, and Fran had COMPLETELY forgotten!!
Ignoring the jiggles that came with her now-49-year-old body, Fran ran into the bathroom, then to her walk-in closet and chose a cute, green dress. Then, she left her apartment and hailed a cab.
When she arrived at the party, Fran was in for a surprise though. Hayden was annoyed.
“Fran!” she yelled. “I used to be your biggest fan, but you’re late, woman! I guess you’re just a stupid old lady after all!”
Hayden didn’t even give Fran a hug to greet her. Hayden was a bit spoiled. She was 18, but all the success of Heroes had gone to her head. She had grown up watching the Nanny, but seeing the nearly 50-year-old actress arrive so late got Hayden annoyed. How could anybody be late to HER party?
Fran ran over.
“I’m sorry, Hayden,” she said in her trademark nasal voice. “I just overslept.”
Hayden tossed her sexy blond hair and smirked. “How could you be late to see me!! I’m Hayden Panntiere! You – you’re a nobody now!”
Fran was surprised. She pointed a finger at Hayden, who was walking away, and her arm fat jiggled a bit. “How can you say that? You’ve had one hit!”
Hayden laughed. “First of all, you look like a frog in that dress. Second of all, the Nanny wasn’t even a big hit. And third of all…” she pointed at the jiggle on Fran… “you jiggle. Old biddy.”