What Becomes of an Old Slut?

Now, past her prime, she sits alone after having her last date cancel on her. Another night and a failed attempt at trolling the bars brought her back to her apartment. Her empty small apartment is dark and lonely. There sits on the mantle a faded photo of her family, back when they were all happy and together. It's so faded and old that her image has almost faded away.

It was funny to her how all those cocks, the big ones, the long ones, and the thick ones had all merged together. She only really remembered two of them: Joe's, god that thing was magnificent, and her husbands.

"Funny, how I can't remember anything else about Joe...was he blond? What did he do for a living? Just that cock is burned into my mind. All those others? They all just blend together. Did I really give everything up for something I can't even remember?" she pondered.

Those parties and events. The trips and cruises. So many to keep track of. Arm candy for those men.

"Why can't I remember them as clearly as the car trip to the Grand Canyon with my husband and children? I traveled in private jets and limos, but what does my mind linger on? The frayed edge of that vinyl seat in the Oldsmobile Vista cruiser that irritated my leg the entire trip with him and the kids. We had fun that trip, even when the car broke down and we had to stay an extra night in that crappy motel with no air conditioning. It was awkward but exciting when we fooled around in the same room as the kids, after they were asleep."

She looks in the mirror as she cleans the ever thickening pancake makeup off her face. The war paint from yet another failed recon mission of the evening. The wrinkles cannot be concealed anymore. What started her on this road of selfish insecurity were the first signs of a wrinkle. He didn't notice it, proclaiming that she was just as beautiful to his eyes as when they first met. She had thought it a lie as he said it, but the look on his face told her that he was telling her the truth. He did not see the flaws in her, and because she could see them in herself, she thought lesser of him. This idiot was blind to her, and in that moment, her respect for him started to die.

Most of all she felt cheated. Was this how her life was supposed to turn out? Used up? Would she be discarded for someone younger, with less wrinkles and a tighter pussy? Sure she had some stretch marks on her, sure her tits sagged, but damn it she showed him! She could still attract whomever she wanted.

Looking back it was unclear as to how fulfilled she was from it. What had she learned and gained from all those lascivious experiences? Basically when you got right down to it, her life for the last twenty years had been spent in different beds, only the scenery outside those bedrooms had changed, and of that scenery, she had a cursory interest in experiencing it.

How fulfilled was she?

What new experiences had she gained from all that sex?

Sex, sex and more sex. Sure she learned how to handle three dicks in her body at once. Sure she had tried every single sex position there was. Was that the extent of her knowledge? Even now, if she had been able to keep a relationship with her children, if they came to her to get her advice, what could she advise them on? What life experiences did she have, what 'wisdom' had she gleaned from her life experience could she pass on to them, to make them better in their lives? Could she teach her daughter how to suck a foot-long dick without chocking to death? Would that be useful, good parenting? How about showing her son how he should engage in getting his wife to try anal?

It was clear to her now, that long ago, her children had leapfrogged over her in maturity and wisdom.

She glanced down at her jewelry box, fingering the gold and platinum settings. Sighing, she remembered the day she threw her wedding ring at her husband, holding up her hand in triumph showing off the obscene 4 Karat diamond ring that replaced it, along with matching earrings. The hurt on his face which once turned her on, now made her sad.

She had accumulated more ostentatious items since then. Her quest for fun and the good life led her to richer men than her husband, powerful men that could drop thousands of dollars on her trinkets without feeling a dent in the wallet.

Saddened by this she finally realized that all those gems and precious metals meant nothing to her suitors. Where was the sacrifice they made to earn that jewelry? Remembering back, that half-karat diamond ring her husband gave her amounted to a year of payments for him. Not once did he complain, but she knew and saw the hardship he endured as he sacrificed a large portion of his pay-check each month to pay off that ring.

She remembered every nook and cranny of that ring. There was a time once, when she was happy, that she would just finger and study that ring all evening long, while he worked that second job to make ends meet. Glancing at the jewels before her in the present, she envisioned herself as a Magpie, attracted to the shiny bits, she had forgone the other stuff to accumulate a nest of trinkets. The jewelry meant nothing to the men that gave it to her. To them, they had money to burn. Which was the more valuable item? The 4 karat ring that was bought as easily as a gallon of milk from the grocery store, or the half-karat ring that took a man a year to pay off?

The bin filled with trinkets had grown smaller over the years as she hunted through the pile and picked out a platinum and diamond tennis bracelet. She had made an appointment with the jeweler for tomorrow to sell yet another piece of her collection. Bills were due and with no real income, her nest egg consisted of these baubles and castoffs she had accumulated like said Magpie.

She fingered the bracelet and for one last time she wrapped it around her wrist and stared at it. The dark spots that populated her arms and hands were mostly ignored by her, but she did notice another chick in her nail polish. Hastily she touched it up, like a surgeon with practiced hands. The nails gleamed almost as brightly as the diamonds.

All this flash, attracting and alluring as it was, seemed cheap and tawdry. Surface flash, like a thin sheet of ice covering a sidewalk, shiny and new was a contrast to a dark dull covering that hid the blue depths of a deep pond. One step on the sidewalk ice would crack it, while in the winter, people were known to drive their cars out over the icy dull pond that had the strength to carry a load.

She wrapped the bracelet up in a silk cloth, and made ready for bed. The sheets were satin. Clean, in hopes of a man to luxuriate with. That happened fewer and fewer times now, as she glanced at the clock which read 11:21. There was a time when she complained that this king sized bed was too small. All the men and herself struggling to stay in it as her acrobatic sex feats treated the bed like her own stage. The gangbangs, the threesomes, both men and women who had played and fucked in that bed were beyond count. The walls of the bedroom needed soundproofing as the neighbors would complain. Now, in the cold dark, she was aware of how large it really was.

It was times like these where she resolved herself to go out and buy a smaller bed. She had visited the stores before, but in the end, she held out hope that her glorious past would rear its head a few more times before she officially retired. She still could play the game. Trading beds would be the end for her. No hope of seducing another man, eager to sample the delights she had spent so many years training for. Yes it was true; youth was wasted on the youth. If only she had the knowledge and skills back when her body was tight and pert... ah well, tomorrow brings another day, another hunt.

As she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, her mind wandered over the countless men she had bedded. They all looked the same, and in her mind their perfect features made it hard for her to tell them apart. Who was who? The men grouped around her as she drifted to sleep, their images faded away, replaced by her husbands face and build. Tall and lanky, his one eye was a little higher than the other and his nose had a slight bend to it. In the past she always felt that he was hindered by that. Now as she drifted off, the irony hit her that it was those imperfections that made him stand out, made him the one man she truly remembered. It made her realize that her life would have been so much more different if she had applied the knowledge that she now had to her young immature self back then when they had their troubles.

It was true...youth really is wasted on the youth.