The following story is entirely fiction, and any correlation with real people alive or dead is purely happenstance.
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Wilson Lathrop Pickett was on a quest to accomplish the impossible, find something to reverse aging. He had been tinkering with chemical concoctions in his backyard shed turned lab for the last four years; the shed was dual purposed as it also housed the family washer and dryer. Wilson was not formally trained in chemistry but had been voraciously reading everything available on the subject, and like many people, had taken it high school. He was of above-average intellect, as was his wife. Most of his neighbors believed he was cooking methamphetamine in the shed. One, whose backyard butted against his back fence, had even reported him to the police, but since his experiments held ingredients not known for making illegal drugs, the police officers left him alone.
Every morning when he looked in the mirror or kissed his wife, Heather, goodbye before going to work, he felt reminded of the urgency of his experiments. Wilson's jowls sagged slightly with age in the mirror. His once lovely wife was not looking good as she did when he married her thirty-five years before. Every celebrity he had long admired seemed depressingly old, and if their wealth could not hold back the ravages of time, what could his meager families budget do.
He was watching a talk show when a well-known celebrity came on. The former starlet looked good except for her neck. She was supposed to be "valiantly holding back time." The host continued to claim that her genes made the difference, more like the surgeon's knife, he thought. Her neck showed her age; every revitalizing product and method had the same Achilles heel. The throat shows your age, and the high camera angles that work for television do not work in real life. If that is as good as her money could do, there must be a better answer. That is what started his experiments. Wilson, a fifty-two-year-old out of shape forklift driver from Fontana, decided to invent the fountain of youth and save all boomer generations.
He had tried every natural acid and alkali. He was using a litany of bases as a catalyst. After four thousand experiments, he ran out of theories and began mixing random compounds for the last year. He turned to botanical science in the hopes of a breakthrough. He was working with flower DNA, and it did not look that promising. Just plants picked from the neighborhood landscaping. He was, honestly, getting nowhere when he accidentally caused an explosion in his makeshift lab. Wilson used tea brewed from petals and a flower's stamen; he did not even know by name. He had picked it from Mrs. Higgins's yard, and he had felt awkward asking the recent widow if it was alright to do so. She was a delightful woman and even more so regarding Wilson. Wilson knew that Mrs. Higgins found him attractive, but it never was hinted of in her polite conversation. She would often ask him for favors since her husband had passed. Wilson was glad to oblige but still wanted to respect her privacy during her grieving.
Wilson wrote the formula of what would be his final experiment, experiment x. Win or lose; he slowly poured the still warm compounds together; It did not look encouraging, four-plus thousand failures, and four years of wasted time. Wilson mixed the contents with a glass stir stick. He noticed his reflection in the glass and, annoyed by his aged face, slammed his fist onto the home-built lab table. The vibrations sent the chemistry container tumbling into a box of borax detergent additive open on a lower shelf that strange Thursday. The combination exploded as a pale pastel pink fragrant mist filled his lab; he lost consciousness. A piece of the broken glass had scratched his arm, and he was bleeding.
He awoke to his wife, standing over him in the yard. She had dragged him out of the shed, and she too was feeling dizzy from breathing in the strange vapor. She had bandaged his arm. Heather was still laboring for air from dragging his unconscious form, and Wilson feared he had foolishly contaminated her lungs.
"I hope you give this nonsense up before you kill yourself," Heather said when she had recovered enough to speak.
"What happened?" Wilson asked, still feeling out of sorts.
"You almost blew your damn fool self-up," Heather, the now-aging one-time high school cheerleader, said.
"I got to get this right, dear," Wilson, the one-time football hunk, replied.
Life had not turned out the way either of them had expected. Wilson had hurt his arm in his senior year playing baseball. Baseball of all things, he was a star Quarterback at Fontana High. The then sleepy town his great grandfather had settled in during his dust bowl exodus from Illinois. Wilson should not have risked his future by pitching, but he lived for competition. Unfortunately, that injury had cost him his scholarship to UCLA. Heather informed him of her pregnancy just after, and they were married. After two grown kids, the couple was still together as empty nesters, but matrimonial sex was non-existent.
Who could blame them? At fifty-six, they both looked like shit; whoever claims sex gets better with age must either be blind or screw with the light out. Heather's cheeks noticeably sagged, as did everything else. He had fared no better, his face reflected the weight he had gained, and his hairline threatened to part his hair to the back of his neck. To describe the ARP couple as anything but frumpy looking would be inaccurate. They had lost the battle against middle age.
Heather decades earlier, had escaped into her romance novels, and Wilson phased through hobby after hobby. From horticulture to fishing, he tried them all. The kids had kept them together, and now that they were gone, the marriage was ending. It was only a matter of time when the next fight would be their last. The woman he was once so madly in love with, he could not even talk with anymore. The days were all the same, get up and get ready for work, kiss Heather entirely out of habit. Do his eight-hour shift at Dryers and commute home. Putter in the lab for an hour and eat dinner. Dinner was predictably dull as they had been consuming the same menu items for years. Go back to the lab for two and a half hours and then go to bed. Fall asleep without sex and wait for morning to sullenly endure it all over again.
Later that night, as they lay in bed.
"I know you are not happy; I bet you were trying to kill yourself in that lab," Heather said.
"I was not; I am trying to accomplish something important," Wilson said.
"Make sure your life insurance policy is paid up," Heather said as she rolled over to sleep.
The next morning when he got up, he tried not to look at himself in the mirror as he washed his face. But when he did, something miraculous had happened; he looked slightly younger. His hair was fuller, and his bald spot had shrunk. Heather was still asleep, so he kissed her head in the dark and went to work. He worked his eight and fought the LA freeways 27.7 miles home. When he got back, Heather was waiting for him.
"What did you do to me?" she asked, smiling.
Heather looked ten years younger. He had not looked at his reflection since morning and was not aware of any changes since then.
"You look younger, too," She said.
He rushed into the master bath and looked in the mirror. He, too, looked ten years younger. Heather had followed him in, and he turned to hug her. She hugged him back. It was the first time they had showed their real affection in years.
"I don't know what happened?" Wilson said with a curious look upon his face.
He rushed out to the shed and picked up the spilled powdered 20 mule remnants with his hands. He examined the benign Mohave desert mined mineral, and the mishap seemed to alter the powder chemically. Heather had followed him again while He brushed the dust into an empty vessel. He took a broom to sweep the mess that had fallen on the floor while Heather watched, looking on curiously. The broom exciting the chemical powder caused another small chemical reaction. The shed filled with the same pink smoke, and breathing it in, they both passed out.
They woke still inside the shed early the next morning before the sun was even up. They were both incredibly horny, and they tore each other's clothes off. They screwed as intensely as they had in the back seat of his car in high school. They fornicated like animals in heat right on the painted concrete shed floor. Her body felt smoother in the dark shed. Even in the moonlight, he could see her body was firmer. He was on his back, and she rode his stiff cock. He pumped up at her as she slammed down on him. His penis seemed more sensitive now, and Heather was moaning loudly. Her sex was more sensitized, as well. She had seldom made a sound during sex before; stealth became a necessary habit after having children. Her vaginal muscles gripped his cock tightly as they climaxed together for the first time after over thirty-five years of marriage. Wilson considered that a good omen.
"Your cock feels bigger," she said after they had finished.
They dressed and went into the house. They went into the bathroom to shower together. When they were naked, they stared at one another in disbelief. His plump body was muscular again, and her mom's body was firm once more. They were tone and young. Their faces looked thirty years more youthful. Her eyes sparkled, and her restored blond hair and skin shone youthfully. Saturday was going to be a good day.
"You look twenty-five again," Wilson said.
"So, do you and your hair has come back," Heather said.
They got into the shower and washed each other off. Wilson dropped the soap, and when he reached for it, the soap levitated off the floor. He had received telekinesis power. Wilson levitated the soap around the shower in disbelief. Heather tried to force the soap to fall, but nothing happened. When Wilson took the soap in his hand, Heather decided to mentally wrest it from his grasp, which only caused Wilson's arm to react violently. She mentally prompted him to move around against his will as she stared on in dismay.
"How are you doing that?" Wilson asked.
"I do not know, but it is sure fun," Heather replied.
Heather imagined Wilson hard again, and instantly he was. Wilson had control of objects, but Heather's mind, it seemed it could control people. They finished their shower and went back to bed.
"I bet I can keep you from Cumming as long as I want now," Heather said.
Heather used her mind to hold Wilson spread eagle on the bed, and she climbed on his hard cock again.
"Now I am in control," she said.
Wilson tried to free himself with his mind, but all that did was levitate the bed. He gave up as he realized he was at her mercy. Her power was much more significant than his. She slammed up and down on him until she climaxed again, but she was not about to let Wilson Cum yet.
"Remember when I asked you to fulfill my fantasy of you eating your cum out of my pussy?" Heather asked about a conversation well over ten years past.
"Yes, that sounded disgusting," Wilson said.
"Do you want to cum?" Heather asked.
Wilson refused to answer, suspecting her angle.
"Then you must do what I say now," Heather said.
"Let me up," Wilson bleated.
"Not until you fulfill this fantasy," Heather said as she returned to moving upon his shaft.
Wilson moaned as he felt his balls tighten. He was about to ejaculate. Heather climaxed another time and stopped moving, and she used her mind to see if she could make him squirt. He came as soon as her mind ordered him to. She moved her pussy over his waiting mouth and lowered her cream pie onto his lips.
"Lick it all up, and I will make you cum again," Heather said.
Wilson hesitantly licked as she ground her semen dripping pussy against his lips. Fifty-six-year-old Wilson was more willing to be kinky than his forty-five-year-old former self.
"Oh, that is so hot. Clean me out, Wilson," Heather said.
He licked it all out, and she orgasmed once more. He was shockingly excited to lap up his cum now that she had forced him to. It relieved him of responsibility for what he considered such an unmanly perverse act ten years prior. She released her mental hold on his arms and legs, and his dick was already hard again, not by her doing. Wilson was surprised by how excited cleaning her had made him.
"Cum for me slut," she said as she willed his dick to ejaculate once more.
He spurted all over his stomach; she kept him climaxing for longer than he had ever done. He was out of breath when she released him.
"How can you do that?" He asked.
"I don't know, but you will be my sex toy now," Heather said.
