AgiNg-19 - New Story from Ark
Jul 13, 2020 19:58:08 GMT -6
niddlyby43, VioletJames, and 8 more like this
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!
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!