Post by chronoeclipse on Jul 22, 2020 8:26:29 GMT -6
The New Program
By Nomdreserv (Circa 2001)
Britney was giving a performance at a live show when the machine found her. In one sense, it was frustrating to have her targeted while in front of so many people, since that meant he couldn’t change things too much without causing a sensation he wasn’t ready for. On the other hand, there was something exciting about being able to not only spy on her with such power, but know that any changes might be immediately noticed.
He decided to test the machine for minor physical changes. Now that it had locked onto her as its target, the screen filled with all kinds of readouts and changeable parameters, which could be directly accessed and changed. There was a draw, drag, and drop function that could let him play with her shape, and innumerable subscreens for playing with specific areas, but most importantly, the special blank window for making programmable changes that could be left in place.
Britney was wearing one of her usual tight, belly-baring shirts and some very short shorts, exposing a lot of her sexy body (which more than made up for her limited vocal range in her fans eyes). He accessed her weight screen. Current weight was 125 pounds. Not anorexic by any means, and just about right based on the way she filled out her outfit. He clicked on the weight box and entered 135.
Only people watching for it would have noticed it, but of course, he was, so he did. Her breasts got just a bit bigger and softer, making her shirt bounce a little more with her dance routine. Her belly softened and swelled a little over the waist of her shorts, which now became skin tight. Her legs thickened only slightly, though her bottom became noticeably fuller. Her face rounded out slightly, but not enough to give her a second chin.
Britney herself seemed oblivious to the changes, except for tugging unconsciously at her shorts which had begun to bind her. He watched her full breasts bounce and got another idea. He accessed the weight submenu and right-clicked/dragged the mouse from her breasts to her bottom. The onscreen image began to change, and when he was satisfied, he left-clicked the mouse.
He turned back to the live TV image just in time to watch Britney’s breasts slowly shrink, first going back to their pre-weight gain size, then even smaller until her shirt actually began to deflate against her chest.
Meanwhile, her ass expanded to dominate her lower body, threatening to add a new seam to her shorts, and the cheeks beginning to squeeze into sight below. Her dancing seemed to be affected slightly thanks to her new bottom-heaviness, and she was frankly awkward as she tried to kick low on the floor.
Next, he made a couple of clicks over her face. Britney actually faltered as her voice unaccountable shifted up in register, and she had to fight to maintain a semblance of her normal, throaty tones. She was completely unaware as her nose lengthened and thickened, but people in the front row couldn’t help noticing that Britney actually had quite a schnozzola when you stopped to think about it.
Click. Britney was now 6 inches shorter, dwarfed by her dance partners and chorus. Click. Her right arm developed a prominent biceps bulge, while her left arm thinned like a pipe-stem. Click. She had a faint mustache. Click. A very out-of-place bulge appeared in the front of her shorts.
By this point, he decided to back off, even undo most of the changes, satisfied at the new program’s performance. Just for good measure, he gave her an extra cup size when he restored her breasts, leaving her with truly dramatic cleavage. Then, he remembered the free-style programmable function. What would be appropriate?
An offhand remark about how precocious Britney was came to mind, along with the corollary about how girls were rushed into adulthood, growing up much too fast. He smiled. What if that were literally true? He typed in the special parameters: “current +10, then 2y/hr x 24,” then closed her window. A look to the screen confirmed that Britney’s look had changed slightly, though again, unless you really looked for it, you would miss it. Her breasts were even fuller than before, but hung a little lower. Her legs were noticeably thicker, and the shorts looked too small for her waist and ass. Her face had a more mature look that most people would assume was makeup.
But he wasn’t most people. He smiled at the immediate result, but even more in anticipation. It should be very interesting to check in again tomorrow.
Britney finished her concert, did the usual post performance interviews, and gratefully collapsed in her dressing room. She felt exhausted, and couldn’t understand why tonight’s concert had taken so much out of her. She lay now in a loose robe and tried to isolate the strange feelings from her body. She’d never felt so winded from her dancing, and her mood hadn’t improved when she’d had trouble fitting into some of her costumes. She undid her robe and looked at herself critically in the mirror, frowning at the result. Yes, she did look heavier, and would have to start a new diet tomorrow, but it was more than that. The weight was distributed differently. Usually, it was just her breasts getting bigger (good) and a tummy that bulged a little more (bad) when she gained a few pounds, but tonight, her thighs looked thicker, and the skin a bit dimpled, which really made them look different. Her breasts did look bigger, but they really seemed to sag as a result this time, drooping into pear-shapes rather than the rounded mounds she was used to. Even her face looked different – fuller but…looser, allowing a very slight sag at her chin and under her eyes that really made her look…
Tired, she decided. Yes, tired. It was ridiculous to think a 20 year old could really look old.
And she was tired. She put on her T-shirt for bed and almost immediately closed her eyes for sleep. A few hours sleep would fix her up, and tomorrow she’d start her quick weight loss and a more rigorous exercise regimen.
The sun was already bright when she awoke, having slept a longer than usual 7 hours. She stretched and yawned, wondering why she felt so stiff, and noticing the cracking sounds her joints made. Must have slept in a funny position. She winced as she got out of bed, feeling twinges of pain in her knees and hips, apparently from overexerting herself during last night’s performance. That would make her exercise regimen even harder today.
She pulled off her shirt, and walked towards the bathroom, barely glancing at the mirror, and not noticing the way her even bigger and softer breasts drooped across her chest, the way her noticeable tummy sagged over her too tight panties, or the way her sagging ass jiggled. Her hair looked disheveled and dull, almost like it had lost its color and luster, but it least it hid her face from casual inspection. After losing her binding panties and using the toilet, she went straight into the shower.
She was still fighting her morning stiffness, and was grateful for the flow of hot water. Her breasts did feel a little funny as she soaped up, softer and heavier than normal, but she ignored it and the prominent bulge of her stomach as she finished up. She stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel and started to dry her hair.
The mirror slowly cleared its shower fog, though Britney was reading a magazine while she worked on her hair, so she didn’t notice. It wasn’t until her hair was half-dry and she needed to actually start styling it that she looked up.
She did a double take and stared. At first, she spun around, thinking some other woman had come up behind her, but found herself alone. Slowly, she turned back to the mirror in shock.
She barely recognized herself. Her face was….was…old! She looked in disbelief at the way the slight sags of last night had progressed, leaving her with noticeable bags under her eyes and chin, and sagging cheeks. Closer inspection revealed lines around her eyes and mouth, and a slight wrinkling of her lips that left almost no hint of the teen sex goddess she expected. Only now did she notice how odd her hair looked – dry and lifeless, as though from innumerable dye jobs. Looking closely at her roots, where she could normally see a little of her natural brunette showing through, she was chilled to see a much lighter color. Unfortunately, it wasn’t blond, it was gray!
In her shock, she dropped her towel, and almost screamed. Her breasts hung down like some matron’s, drooping and low. Her stomach rounded out in a small paunch, accentuated by her looser skin and weaker muscles. Her thighs were almost chunky, and now showed definite dimples of cellulite, while her lower legs were marred by obvious, spidery veins visible under the thinner skin.
She barely suppressed a scream and ran from the bathroom, her larger, softer ass jiggling comically. A frantic call later brought her personal assistant running, followed by panicked screams and questions, then a whole parade of additional assistants, followed by a doctor, and then security people to whisk her to the hospital. There, a whole bevy of specialists poked, prodded and stuck her.
Two hours later, there was a conference. The doctors were baffled. Britney showed every sign of authentic premature senescence – she literally seemed to be much older than her true age, even down to her bone density and neurological tests. (Her bones were weaker, and her reaction and thinking times were delayed.) And everyone was completely baffled. She refused to stay and let them experiment on her any more, so left in her assistant’s care.
Unfortunately, her mood didn’t improve when she tried to get dressed to leave. The jeans she’d asked for didn’t come close to fitting, and she struggled in vain to get them past her thick upper thighs and expanded waist. Even a pair a couple of sizes up didn’t fit right, since they weren’t designed for a more mature woman’s curves, and they were so tight they emphasized her heavier thighs rather than her ass. Her shirt gaped due to the extra size and weight of her boobs and tummy, leaving the soft belly hanging out underneath in a decidedly unattractive way over the too-tight jeans.
While they rode back to her rented home in her limousine, she tried to raise her own spirits.
“It has to be from being overtired, right? Some exercise, a little extra rest, and I’ll be back to normal, right?”
Her friends and flunkies said nothing, worried not only for her but their own security.
“The doctor said exercise would help!” she insisted.
“Only the way it helps everyone,” someone finally blurted. “They said you could live a very good, completely normal life just like any 30 or 40 year old, and…”
“40!” she screamed, her eyes blazing. “I am not 40!”
There was silence. To be honest, she didn’t look 40. More like 50, but no one was going to say that. Even while they’d been at the hospital, it seemed as though the lines had deepened on her face, and her hair now showed actual gray streaks through its color.
“Um, about tonight’s concert…” someone hazarded.
“What about it?” Britney demanded, determined to keep her privileged life. “It goes on as normal.”
There were horrified glances around.
“Maybe with the right makeup and lighting…” someone offered.
There were nervous nods, then silence while they rode.
Back at home, Britney dismissed them and went to her room. She practically tore off the bulging shirt and overstretched jeans, breathing a sigh of relief at being free. Unfortunately, the picture that met her in the mirror was shocking. Her face looked so old! She actually looked older than her mother. And her sagging figure made her look as bad as her grandmother in her own eyes. She just had to do something.
She changed into exercise gear and went to work. First, she tried sit-ups to firm her drooping tummy, but found she barely had enough strength to do ten. It was as though she’d lost muscle as well as gaining fat. Her aerobic exercise were a joke. She became quickly winded, with barely a fraction of her normal stamina.
She thought a walk would improve her mood. She grabbed a pair of shorts, but couldn’t wiggle into them, getting stuck at her thighs again. Same for her jeans. Even her skirts were too tight around the waist. She finally remembered a pair of exercise shorts with an elastic waist that would work. They were a little short and tight, emphasizing her dimpled thighs and soft ass, but they would work.
She still insisted on a belly shirt, determined to prove she looked as good as ever, but her drooping wrinkled tummy was hardly her best feature now. The winking ring in her navel mocked her as it glinted through the loose skin. Her breasts barely fit in her bra, but at least it kept them from sagging so much. She had to wear sneakers since her feet had started to hurt with anything tight or arched.
Her face was a bigger problem. She applied liberal amounts of makeup, but couldn’t entirely hide the wrinkles and lines that were beginning to dominate it. Her hair seemed even lighter, but she managed to convince herself it still looked blond. Even so, she set out in her car with a sense that she looked darned good.
She stopped at a youth clothing store to buy some new things, convinced that she’d look fine again if her clothes fit better. The teenagers and staff stared aghast as the old woman browsed the racks, then exchanged snickers and pointed comments when she went to change. Britney changed into a miniskirt and danced as one of her own songs played on the sound system, practicing her familiar moves. Unfortunately, the exertion made her hip go out, and she almost cried out. Hobbled, she tried to convince herself the skirt still looked good, though all it did was emphasize how old her legs looked – dimpled thighs with sagging skin and leathery lower legs with varicose veins becoming more and more obvious.
She limped back out to open laughs of scorn and disbelief. The clerks could barely suppress their disdain as they sold her the new clothes, and she could hear the whispered comment “Pathetic!” as she walked stiffly away. Just wait until she was herself again! She’d buy the store and have them all fired.
A boy bumped into her outside. She flashed him her sexiest smile, but he just looked at her as though she was from another planet.
“Sorry, grandma,” he offered as he hurried away.
His friend looked her up and down in open surprise and revulsion as he turned away to join him. “Weird,” he muttered about the absurdly dressed matron.
Crushed, Britney considered going straight home, but thought instead she’d try the CD and music store nearby. Normally, she’d avoid them like death for fear of being swarmed by her fans, but right now, the thought of being recognized was a real lure. Signing some autographs and hearing flattery from her fans was just what she needed. After all, she might look a little older, but she was still herself, and her hair and clothes were the same style.
Her own picture on a poster in the store mocked her as she walked in. There was another round of surprised and disgusted glances that had begun to haunt her. One girl nudged her friend and they giggled while stealing glances at her. Britney pretended to look through her own albums, hoping proximity would make her identity more obvious.
“Get the Britney wannabe,” she snickered.
“Like, I’m sure. How totally pathetic.”
They giggled and whispered, then exchanged comments of “No way” and “Go ahead.” and then one walked up shyly.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she began. “Has anyone ever told you that you looked like…”
“Yes?” Britney prompted hopefully.
“Well, you probably wouldn’t know her. She’s a singer.”
“You mean, her?” Britney asked, holding up one of her own CDs next to her face.
“I knew it,” the girl enthused. “So, are you, like, her grandmother or maybe her great-grandmother?” The other girl broke up.
Britney’s face fell, the makeup cracking around her deepening wrinkles.
“No, seriously,” the girl continued. “I think it’s so cool that you like her. And even try to dress like her.” Another round of stifled laughs. “I mean, I would never want to embarrass myself in public like this. I just hope when I’m 80 or whatever, I can be as brave as you.”
Britney ran out of the store – well, hobbled was more like it, since her hip was giving her trouble even with normal walking – and fled back to her car. Abandoning her plan, and driving home, she had more trouble. The signs had become blurred, and she couldn’t make out the landmarks as readily, as though her memory was deteriorating along with her vision. She ended up running a stop sign.
The inevitable police siren completed the disaster. The policeman found an old woman, dressed absurdly in teenaged fashions, with her flabby, wrinkled legs exposed by a shockingly short skirt, and her sagging breasts and stomach showcased by a too-tight belly shirt.
“Is there a problem, officer?” she asked in a quavering voice, trying vainly to flirt with him. Usually, just a couple of sexy pouts and a wink would get her off with male officers.
He stared at the thinning, gray hair, lined, sagging face and thick, caked makeup and shuddered when she winked salaciously. When he checked the license, he looked at her with real concern. Carefully walking back to his car without taking his eyes off her, he called in that he had stopped a possibly dangerous and obviously deranged woman. An hour later, Britney found herself at the station, being interviewed by the station’s psychiatrist.
“So, how long have you had delusions about being Britney Spears?”
Only the eventual arrival of her personal assistant and a call from the hospital confirming their story managed to extricate her. By then, it was early evening, and she was a trembling, white-haired woman and had to walk with support. Her legs had started to get thinner, but they were so flabby from muscle atrophy, with the skin sagging, loose and splotched, that it was hardly an improvement. Her breasts hung to her navel, since they were now so soft and drooping that not even her bra could keep them up, and her slumping posture emphasized that. Her belly ring was almost lost in the wrinkled skin of her sagging tummy.
“Is it time for my concert?” she asked in her quavering, breaking voice.
“Yes, dear,” her assistant lied, the concert long cancelled.
“Let me just change into something sexy first,” Britney suggested.
They quailed at the thought, but pretended to agree, wanting to humor her. It was also obvious that she was becoming increasingly confused and unsure about where she was and what she looked like. They took her back to a studio, where some bright lights and taped crowd noises fooled her into thinking she was at the concert. And just on time, Britney shuffled onto the stage – frail, stooped, and a little confused where she was. She was wearing platform sandals that pained her terribly and showed off her gnarled feet and toes, short-shorts that emphasized her flabby, thin legs and pathetically drooping ass, and a belly shirt without a bra. Unfortunately, this allowed her slack, sagging and wrinkled breasts to peek out beneath it, making anyone who noticed almost physically ill.
She picked up a microphone with her palsied hands and began to sing tremulously in her cracking voice.
“Not a girllllllll, not yet a wom-ANNNNN!”
And watching remotely through his computer, he smiled at his private concert.
By Nomdreserv (Circa 2001)
Britney was giving a performance at a live show when the machine found her. In one sense, it was frustrating to have her targeted while in front of so many people, since that meant he couldn’t change things too much without causing a sensation he wasn’t ready for. On the other hand, there was something exciting about being able to not only spy on her with such power, but know that any changes might be immediately noticed.
He decided to test the machine for minor physical changes. Now that it had locked onto her as its target, the screen filled with all kinds of readouts and changeable parameters, which could be directly accessed and changed. There was a draw, drag, and drop function that could let him play with her shape, and innumerable subscreens for playing with specific areas, but most importantly, the special blank window for making programmable changes that could be left in place.
Britney was wearing one of her usual tight, belly-baring shirts and some very short shorts, exposing a lot of her sexy body (which more than made up for her limited vocal range in her fans eyes). He accessed her weight screen. Current weight was 125 pounds. Not anorexic by any means, and just about right based on the way she filled out her outfit. He clicked on the weight box and entered 135.
Only people watching for it would have noticed it, but of course, he was, so he did. Her breasts got just a bit bigger and softer, making her shirt bounce a little more with her dance routine. Her belly softened and swelled a little over the waist of her shorts, which now became skin tight. Her legs thickened only slightly, though her bottom became noticeably fuller. Her face rounded out slightly, but not enough to give her a second chin.
Britney herself seemed oblivious to the changes, except for tugging unconsciously at her shorts which had begun to bind her. He watched her full breasts bounce and got another idea. He accessed the weight submenu and right-clicked/dragged the mouse from her breasts to her bottom. The onscreen image began to change, and when he was satisfied, he left-clicked the mouse.
He turned back to the live TV image just in time to watch Britney’s breasts slowly shrink, first going back to their pre-weight gain size, then even smaller until her shirt actually began to deflate against her chest.
Meanwhile, her ass expanded to dominate her lower body, threatening to add a new seam to her shorts, and the cheeks beginning to squeeze into sight below. Her dancing seemed to be affected slightly thanks to her new bottom-heaviness, and she was frankly awkward as she tried to kick low on the floor.
Next, he made a couple of clicks over her face. Britney actually faltered as her voice unaccountable shifted up in register, and she had to fight to maintain a semblance of her normal, throaty tones. She was completely unaware as her nose lengthened and thickened, but people in the front row couldn’t help noticing that Britney actually had quite a schnozzola when you stopped to think about it.
Click. Britney was now 6 inches shorter, dwarfed by her dance partners and chorus. Click. Her right arm developed a prominent biceps bulge, while her left arm thinned like a pipe-stem. Click. She had a faint mustache. Click. A very out-of-place bulge appeared in the front of her shorts.
By this point, he decided to back off, even undo most of the changes, satisfied at the new program’s performance. Just for good measure, he gave her an extra cup size when he restored her breasts, leaving her with truly dramatic cleavage. Then, he remembered the free-style programmable function. What would be appropriate?
An offhand remark about how precocious Britney was came to mind, along with the corollary about how girls were rushed into adulthood, growing up much too fast. He smiled. What if that were literally true? He typed in the special parameters: “current +10, then 2y/hr x 24,” then closed her window. A look to the screen confirmed that Britney’s look had changed slightly, though again, unless you really looked for it, you would miss it. Her breasts were even fuller than before, but hung a little lower. Her legs were noticeably thicker, and the shorts looked too small for her waist and ass. Her face had a more mature look that most people would assume was makeup.
But he wasn’t most people. He smiled at the immediate result, but even more in anticipation. It should be very interesting to check in again tomorrow.
Britney finished her concert, did the usual post performance interviews, and gratefully collapsed in her dressing room. She felt exhausted, and couldn’t understand why tonight’s concert had taken so much out of her. She lay now in a loose robe and tried to isolate the strange feelings from her body. She’d never felt so winded from her dancing, and her mood hadn’t improved when she’d had trouble fitting into some of her costumes. She undid her robe and looked at herself critically in the mirror, frowning at the result. Yes, she did look heavier, and would have to start a new diet tomorrow, but it was more than that. The weight was distributed differently. Usually, it was just her breasts getting bigger (good) and a tummy that bulged a little more (bad) when she gained a few pounds, but tonight, her thighs looked thicker, and the skin a bit dimpled, which really made them look different. Her breasts did look bigger, but they really seemed to sag as a result this time, drooping into pear-shapes rather than the rounded mounds she was used to. Even her face looked different – fuller but…looser, allowing a very slight sag at her chin and under her eyes that really made her look…
Tired, she decided. Yes, tired. It was ridiculous to think a 20 year old could really look old.
And she was tired. She put on her T-shirt for bed and almost immediately closed her eyes for sleep. A few hours sleep would fix her up, and tomorrow she’d start her quick weight loss and a more rigorous exercise regimen.
The sun was already bright when she awoke, having slept a longer than usual 7 hours. She stretched and yawned, wondering why she felt so stiff, and noticing the cracking sounds her joints made. Must have slept in a funny position. She winced as she got out of bed, feeling twinges of pain in her knees and hips, apparently from overexerting herself during last night’s performance. That would make her exercise regimen even harder today.
She pulled off her shirt, and walked towards the bathroom, barely glancing at the mirror, and not noticing the way her even bigger and softer breasts drooped across her chest, the way her noticeable tummy sagged over her too tight panties, or the way her sagging ass jiggled. Her hair looked disheveled and dull, almost like it had lost its color and luster, but it least it hid her face from casual inspection. After losing her binding panties and using the toilet, she went straight into the shower.
She was still fighting her morning stiffness, and was grateful for the flow of hot water. Her breasts did feel a little funny as she soaped up, softer and heavier than normal, but she ignored it and the prominent bulge of her stomach as she finished up. She stepped out, wrapped herself in a towel and started to dry her hair.
The mirror slowly cleared its shower fog, though Britney was reading a magazine while she worked on her hair, so she didn’t notice. It wasn’t until her hair was half-dry and she needed to actually start styling it that she looked up.
She did a double take and stared. At first, she spun around, thinking some other woman had come up behind her, but found herself alone. Slowly, she turned back to the mirror in shock.
She barely recognized herself. Her face was….was…old! She looked in disbelief at the way the slight sags of last night had progressed, leaving her with noticeable bags under her eyes and chin, and sagging cheeks. Closer inspection revealed lines around her eyes and mouth, and a slight wrinkling of her lips that left almost no hint of the teen sex goddess she expected. Only now did she notice how odd her hair looked – dry and lifeless, as though from innumerable dye jobs. Looking closely at her roots, where she could normally see a little of her natural brunette showing through, she was chilled to see a much lighter color. Unfortunately, it wasn’t blond, it was gray!
In her shock, she dropped her towel, and almost screamed. Her breasts hung down like some matron’s, drooping and low. Her stomach rounded out in a small paunch, accentuated by her looser skin and weaker muscles. Her thighs were almost chunky, and now showed definite dimples of cellulite, while her lower legs were marred by obvious, spidery veins visible under the thinner skin.
She barely suppressed a scream and ran from the bathroom, her larger, softer ass jiggling comically. A frantic call later brought her personal assistant running, followed by panicked screams and questions, then a whole parade of additional assistants, followed by a doctor, and then security people to whisk her to the hospital. There, a whole bevy of specialists poked, prodded and stuck her.
Two hours later, there was a conference. The doctors were baffled. Britney showed every sign of authentic premature senescence – she literally seemed to be much older than her true age, even down to her bone density and neurological tests. (Her bones were weaker, and her reaction and thinking times were delayed.) And everyone was completely baffled. She refused to stay and let them experiment on her any more, so left in her assistant’s care.
Unfortunately, her mood didn’t improve when she tried to get dressed to leave. The jeans she’d asked for didn’t come close to fitting, and she struggled in vain to get them past her thick upper thighs and expanded waist. Even a pair a couple of sizes up didn’t fit right, since they weren’t designed for a more mature woman’s curves, and they were so tight they emphasized her heavier thighs rather than her ass. Her shirt gaped due to the extra size and weight of her boobs and tummy, leaving the soft belly hanging out underneath in a decidedly unattractive way over the too-tight jeans.
While they rode back to her rented home in her limousine, she tried to raise her own spirits.
“It has to be from being overtired, right? Some exercise, a little extra rest, and I’ll be back to normal, right?”
Her friends and flunkies said nothing, worried not only for her but their own security.
“The doctor said exercise would help!” she insisted.
“Only the way it helps everyone,” someone finally blurted. “They said you could live a very good, completely normal life just like any 30 or 40 year old, and…”
“40!” she screamed, her eyes blazing. “I am not 40!”
There was silence. To be honest, she didn’t look 40. More like 50, but no one was going to say that. Even while they’d been at the hospital, it seemed as though the lines had deepened on her face, and her hair now showed actual gray streaks through its color.
“Um, about tonight’s concert…” someone hazarded.
“What about it?” Britney demanded, determined to keep her privileged life. “It goes on as normal.”
There were horrified glances around.
“Maybe with the right makeup and lighting…” someone offered.
There were nervous nods, then silence while they rode.
Back at home, Britney dismissed them and went to her room. She practically tore off the bulging shirt and overstretched jeans, breathing a sigh of relief at being free. Unfortunately, the picture that met her in the mirror was shocking. Her face looked so old! She actually looked older than her mother. And her sagging figure made her look as bad as her grandmother in her own eyes. She just had to do something.
She changed into exercise gear and went to work. First, she tried sit-ups to firm her drooping tummy, but found she barely had enough strength to do ten. It was as though she’d lost muscle as well as gaining fat. Her aerobic exercise were a joke. She became quickly winded, with barely a fraction of her normal stamina.
She thought a walk would improve her mood. She grabbed a pair of shorts, but couldn’t wiggle into them, getting stuck at her thighs again. Same for her jeans. Even her skirts were too tight around the waist. She finally remembered a pair of exercise shorts with an elastic waist that would work. They were a little short and tight, emphasizing her dimpled thighs and soft ass, but they would work.
She still insisted on a belly shirt, determined to prove she looked as good as ever, but her drooping wrinkled tummy was hardly her best feature now. The winking ring in her navel mocked her as it glinted through the loose skin. Her breasts barely fit in her bra, but at least it kept them from sagging so much. She had to wear sneakers since her feet had started to hurt with anything tight or arched.
Her face was a bigger problem. She applied liberal amounts of makeup, but couldn’t entirely hide the wrinkles and lines that were beginning to dominate it. Her hair seemed even lighter, but she managed to convince herself it still looked blond. Even so, she set out in her car with a sense that she looked darned good.
She stopped at a youth clothing store to buy some new things, convinced that she’d look fine again if her clothes fit better. The teenagers and staff stared aghast as the old woman browsed the racks, then exchanged snickers and pointed comments when she went to change. Britney changed into a miniskirt and danced as one of her own songs played on the sound system, practicing her familiar moves. Unfortunately, the exertion made her hip go out, and she almost cried out. Hobbled, she tried to convince herself the skirt still looked good, though all it did was emphasize how old her legs looked – dimpled thighs with sagging skin and leathery lower legs with varicose veins becoming more and more obvious.
She limped back out to open laughs of scorn and disbelief. The clerks could barely suppress their disdain as they sold her the new clothes, and she could hear the whispered comment “Pathetic!” as she walked stiffly away. Just wait until she was herself again! She’d buy the store and have them all fired.
A boy bumped into her outside. She flashed him her sexiest smile, but he just looked at her as though she was from another planet.
“Sorry, grandma,” he offered as he hurried away.
His friend looked her up and down in open surprise and revulsion as he turned away to join him. “Weird,” he muttered about the absurdly dressed matron.
Crushed, Britney considered going straight home, but thought instead she’d try the CD and music store nearby. Normally, she’d avoid them like death for fear of being swarmed by her fans, but right now, the thought of being recognized was a real lure. Signing some autographs and hearing flattery from her fans was just what she needed. After all, she might look a little older, but she was still herself, and her hair and clothes were the same style.
Her own picture on a poster in the store mocked her as she walked in. There was another round of surprised and disgusted glances that had begun to haunt her. One girl nudged her friend and they giggled while stealing glances at her. Britney pretended to look through her own albums, hoping proximity would make her identity more obvious.
“Get the Britney wannabe,” she snickered.
“Like, I’m sure. How totally pathetic.”
They giggled and whispered, then exchanged comments of “No way” and “Go ahead.” and then one walked up shyly.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” she began. “Has anyone ever told you that you looked like…”
“Yes?” Britney prompted hopefully.
“Well, you probably wouldn’t know her. She’s a singer.”
“You mean, her?” Britney asked, holding up one of her own CDs next to her face.
“I knew it,” the girl enthused. “So, are you, like, her grandmother or maybe her great-grandmother?” The other girl broke up.
Britney’s face fell, the makeup cracking around her deepening wrinkles.
“No, seriously,” the girl continued. “I think it’s so cool that you like her. And even try to dress like her.” Another round of stifled laughs. “I mean, I would never want to embarrass myself in public like this. I just hope when I’m 80 or whatever, I can be as brave as you.”
Britney ran out of the store – well, hobbled was more like it, since her hip was giving her trouble even with normal walking – and fled back to her car. Abandoning her plan, and driving home, she had more trouble. The signs had become blurred, and she couldn’t make out the landmarks as readily, as though her memory was deteriorating along with her vision. She ended up running a stop sign.
The inevitable police siren completed the disaster. The policeman found an old woman, dressed absurdly in teenaged fashions, with her flabby, wrinkled legs exposed by a shockingly short skirt, and her sagging breasts and stomach showcased by a too-tight belly shirt.
“Is there a problem, officer?” she asked in a quavering voice, trying vainly to flirt with him. Usually, just a couple of sexy pouts and a wink would get her off with male officers.
He stared at the thinning, gray hair, lined, sagging face and thick, caked makeup and shuddered when she winked salaciously. When he checked the license, he looked at her with real concern. Carefully walking back to his car without taking his eyes off her, he called in that he had stopped a possibly dangerous and obviously deranged woman. An hour later, Britney found herself at the station, being interviewed by the station’s psychiatrist.
“So, how long have you had delusions about being Britney Spears?”
Only the eventual arrival of her personal assistant and a call from the hospital confirming their story managed to extricate her. By then, it was early evening, and she was a trembling, white-haired woman and had to walk with support. Her legs had started to get thinner, but they were so flabby from muscle atrophy, with the skin sagging, loose and splotched, that it was hardly an improvement. Her breasts hung to her navel, since they were now so soft and drooping that not even her bra could keep them up, and her slumping posture emphasized that. Her belly ring was almost lost in the wrinkled skin of her sagging tummy.
“Is it time for my concert?” she asked in her quavering, breaking voice.
“Yes, dear,” her assistant lied, the concert long cancelled.
“Let me just change into something sexy first,” Britney suggested.
They quailed at the thought, but pretended to agree, wanting to humor her. It was also obvious that she was becoming increasingly confused and unsure about where she was and what she looked like. They took her back to a studio, where some bright lights and taped crowd noises fooled her into thinking she was at the concert. And just on time, Britney shuffled onto the stage – frail, stooped, and a little confused where she was. She was wearing platform sandals that pained her terribly and showed off her gnarled feet and toes, short-shorts that emphasized her flabby, thin legs and pathetically drooping ass, and a belly shirt without a bra. Unfortunately, this allowed her slack, sagging and wrinkled breasts to peek out beneath it, making anyone who noticed almost physically ill.
She picked up a microphone with her palsied hands and began to sing tremulously in her cracking voice.
“Not a girllllllll, not yet a wom-ANNNNN!”
And watching remotely through his computer, he smiled at his private concert.