Margaret "Mags" Miller 46F [Sex Work, MF, FF, Cuckold, More]

You looked at the avatar you'd designed with pleasure. It was you. Mostly. You'd never been a fan of anime, not having had time for it when it first came out, as you were working your way through med school when the Japanese shows started coming to the US. You thought you were preparing for your future. And, for a while, you had been. Twenty years as a heart surgeon had been good to you. You had a husband, a psychologist, and a son who had just turned 18 and was about to head off to college. And then the end came and you had to take a crash course in the new future. Your son helped a bit, having grown up with anime.

But, in the end, it was up to you to choose your future. Your husband was lucky, his services likely to be in high demand as people struggled to grasp just what the end of the world and life, as you knew it, entailed. But you? Years practicing fine motor skills. Decades of medical experience. All of it worthless in a simulation bereft of injury, sickness, or even pain.

So when you went in to design your avatar, you went simple. You designed it, her, you? to look mostly like yourself. You shaved a few years off, sure. What woman wouldn't, when given the opportunity, and fixed some things you never liked about yourself. You even indulged a whim and changed your hair color to a wine-red burgundy. But she, you, were going to be pretty. You and your husband had designed a nice three level apartment with a beautiful view of the ocean to live in, using a bit of your hefty severance to buy amenities and creature comforts. There was a pool and hot tub on the top floor, bedrooms on the second floor, and living room, kitchens, and offices on the first. It was opulent, but you could afford it.

But that was all beside the point. You needed to finish your avatar and, hopefully, find a new career. When you got to the bottom of the page, you saw a drop-down box for employment status. You knew this was coming, but for the first time, it felt real. Your husband had a code from his practice that he could enter but you, having been rendered professionally obsolete, had two choices. 'Unemployed' or 'Unemployed due to Obsolescence.' Holding back tears, you made your choice.

When you selected 'Unemployed due to Obsolescence,' a new radio box appeared under it, to your surprise. "I would like assistance in new career training and placement?" You checked the radio box and finished up, giving your new avatar one last look over.

Side-by-side, the new avatar compared to your scanned one from a couple of weeks prior was more shocking than you're expected, and you made the changes. Your real hair, brown with some grey streaks showing contrasted sharply with the lustrous burgundy hair of the designed avatar. The bodies, too, were quite different. Your original, real, one was trim and fit, a result of careful diet and exercise, but the skin had age blemishes and your once-proud C-Cup breasts were sagging. The new you was different. A few marks of age and blemishes, as you didn't want to appear young, but tight, no sag. And the breasts sat higher, like a woman in her prime. As a treat for your husband, and knowing that you wouldn't have to worry about back pain, you'd bumped them up a size, opting for a natural look with just a bit of sag. You'd kept the trim waist but given your lower figure a few more curves, too. In a secret pique of vanity, you'd color matched your pubic hair and shaped it into a little heart. You blushed looking at it, but didn't change it.

With a final sigh, you hit save and headed out of the building. Most people designed their avatars on their phones, but you'd never bothered with a fancy phone, opting for simplicity and durability over function. Luckily, the scanning facilities also offered private cubicles for avatar design for people like you, so all you had to do was go in.

As you walked towards the parking garage, your nose wrinkled in disgust as the smell of cigarette smoke wafted by. The habit was wasteful and self-destructive, one of the leading causes of people needing to see you. But you supposed it didn't matter anymore. Maybe you'd try it in the simulation, see what the fuss was all about. It's not like you could get cancer. You'd read they even had it designed so that pregnant women could smoke, and drink for that matter. So, if the cost of healthy babies was your job, you could live with it.

You walked up the stairs in the parking garage, checking your phone to verify what level you'd parked on-even your cheap phone had a camera, after all- and see a text from your bank notifying you that a large purchase had been made with the company doing the upload. Your husband was working on his that afternoon, too, so he must have bought something. Since he used the joint account and not his personal, he clearly wanted you to know and just as clearly wanted it to make your curious, since he didn't saying anything about it. You shook your head wryly as you approached your car.

While your phone was functional and nothing much more, your car was another matter. Everyone has their vices, and yours was old German sheet metal. The first purchase you made with your surgeon's salary was a fully restored cherry red 1967 Volkswagen Karmann Ghia. Over the years, you're made changes to it, having the suspension fully modernized and lowered slightly, the engine tuned for more horsepower, and eventually, in a fit of empty nest syndrome when your son started applying for college, having the frame reinforced with a full cage and swapping out the power train entirely for an air cooled Porsche engine making a neat 300 horsepower. You had a more practical VW SUV at home, but the Ghia was your baby, and you'd driven her that day. Smiling, you started her up and headed home.