Hm, intriguing. You take the jar and stroll over to the shopman.
"Say, does this stuff really work?"
The guy answers without looking up from his job taking inventory, "'course it works. Truth in advertising laws, you know. We couldn't say it, if it wasn't so." He harumphs, as if he's always being asked this same question and is tired of the answer.
"So this Age Cream will make me young again? Guaranteed?"
"Huh? Let's see if you've got the right stuff," the man says turning to take the jar from you and adjusting his black horn-rimmed glasses to read the label. "Uh, huh, when used by a human male, it does exactly what it says. Guaranteed results, don't guarantee you'll like the results."
You eye him suspiciously, "Say, if this stuff really works, why haven't you tried it, old man?"
"Who says I haven't? And I'm not that old, and well," he looked down sadly, and pointed at the name badge on his white lab jacket. It read "Matilda Hapsburg", "But there are side effects if you don't obey the instructions to the letter."
"Whoa! Oh, sorry, ma'am," you answer with a start looking at the jar on the glass counter. "Uh, if you have side effects are they reversible?"
"It depends. I'm waiting on a shipment of Age Cream for women to see if that might work for me," she answered, "So do you want it or not? $25.95 with tax," she added.
You glance at your weathered hand, and pull out a wad of bills. "It's worth a shot, I'll take it."
She/he gives you your change and a black paper bag containing your jar of Age Cream. The bag is embossed paper black on black with the logo for the Ointment Store. You grab the bag and eagerly exit the store. The tinkling of the shop bell is lost in the hub bub of shoppers, and you wade through the crowd to get to your car. You set the bag down in the passenger seat of your sedan. You adjust the rearview mirror, examining at the grey hair on your temples. You steal a glance behind you, the car seat is in the backseat for the weekends when you get your son. You recall your aching joints from last weekend at the park. You glance around, you're alone in the parking structure for the moment.
You open the bag, and unscew the jar lid. The contents have an oddly translucent blue quality reminiscent of Dep hair gel. You steal another glance around, and unzip, and pull it out. It seems so wrong to do it in public, but you're parked in a distant corner, and no one will know, right?
You scoop a dab out with your index finger and frown, a little dab will hardly do you. You use all your fingers and scoop a handful of cream into your palm and squish it around your cock. It is cold, sticky and gooey. It oozes between your fingers as you begin to rub it in. You tilt back the car seat, and lean back. You adjust the rear view mirror to give you a view of your face. You cock has sprung to life and as you rub back and forth, it already looks like you have fewer grey hairs. Soon you're vigorously at work massaging in the youth cream. You realize that you're suddenly super horny like a teenager again, and you spew all over your shirt and tie. You open your eyes and sit up.
You jump in your seat with a start as you look at your smooth unwrinkled skin. You're young allright. All the grey hair is gone, but you look like you're 16 again.
"Dang, looks like I overdid it," you say softly. Then you grin and say, "But being a teenager again offers a lot of possibilities..."