I shook my head, struggling to rid myself of the song I'd just heard on the car radio. It wasn't as if David Bowie was one of my favourite artists, but Changes definitely applied to my frame of mind, and I couldn't get the words out of my mind. 

A nervous, secretive smile appeared in the rearview mirror as I checked the highway behind me.

Damn those words; they seemed to be taunting me — and my undertaking.

~o0o~ 

Thirty-six years of age, wed to a bastard, and blessed — if that's the correct term — with two sullen teenagers, my life was in a rut. To them, I'm an unpaid servant: the cook, clothes and bottle washer. Maintaining a dignified silence, I accept the insults and abuse, wondering what went awry in my world. It wasn't always like this. 

Hubby was so handsome when we met; I couldn't believe he fancied me. Tall, well built, and a successful manager, he wined and dined me accordingly, and waited until I was ready to have sex with him. Although I wasn't a virginal bride, he was only the third guy I'd been to bed with, and when we made sweet passionate love, he kept telling me I was the only woman for him. 

But that was a long time ago. 

At first, his rejections hurt, but in time I quit caring. Now, he seldom touches me, unless he thinks I merit a slap for whatever reason, feigned or real. In fact, when I look at him slouching on the couch, his growing beer gut clearly visible, I question what I ever saw in him.

~o0o~

I found a vacant spot in the hotel car park. Switching off the engine, I glanced into the rearview mirror again, and worried eyes looked back at me. Despite the glad rags and sexy lingerie, my stomach was doing backflips. I hadn't done anything like this before, and I wondered whether I could take the next step. I reached into my handbag and clutched my iPhone. To bolster my confidence, I read the last text message he'd sent.

The Red Lion Hotel, tonight; eight o'clock. Ask for Mr Smith's room.

I swear the receptionist knew why I was here. Her smile was a little too polished, and her answers a bit too glib for my liking. When I requested directions to the room, she gave me a haughty look, then pointed to the stairs. As I walked away, I sensed her gaze burning into my back. Could she, like the others, see what a faker I was?

Fucking David Bowie song.

Reaching the stairway — and the hotel exit only yards away — I made my decision: I would not flee, even though it was my natural instinct. The first step is always the hardest. The second wasn't much easier, but I didn't stop. 

With my heart beating frantically, I stared at door number 23. Keycard inserted, I felt a mix of dread and elation when the green light illuminated. The lock released, the door popped open, and after a moment's indecision, I stepped into the room. Tastefully decorated in soft neutral tints, it had contemporary furniture. Nice. I relaxed. 

Walking past the bathroom door, I gazed at the double bed. Another smile split my lips, and I glanced around the room. On the writing desk lay an envelope, addressed to Mrs D. The card inside contained simple instructions. I was to order wine from room service, take a relaxing bath if I wished, and, most importantly, enjoy myself tonight. 

~o0o~

I met Mr Smith on a chat site seeking to help shy, and awkward people make friends. A widower, older than myself by almost a generation, he'd been active for a month. "Hello, Mrs D," — my profile name — "Mr Smith says hi." 

The greeting had appeared only five minutes after I logged on and, without much of a pause, I'd responded. We exchanged pleasantries and introduced ourselves but, before getting any further, I had to stop because I heard hubby returning from the pub. 

The next day my head was still spinning, thinking about Mr Smith. After telling him I had to stop, he'd announced he was already looking forward to our next encounter. "I'm here every night, Mrs D so don't be bashful."

It took me two days to pluck up the courage but, as soon as I logged on, "Welcome back, Mrs D. How are you today?" flitted across my screen. My uncertainty evaporated like snow in sunlight, and after my initial response, Mr Smith suggested we switch to a private chat room. From then, we conversed almost daily, only missing when hubby, for whatever reason, didn't go to the pub. 

Not only did our chats occur frequently, but they also became very intimate. Within a few days, we were discussing our sexual preferences, experiences, and our fantasies, omitting nothing. Well, almost nothing: we didn't reveal our real names. Somehow, using my profile identity helped keep things at a distance, allowed me to pretend none of this was real. I needed that illusion. 

"Do you have a webcam, Mrs D?" 

I didn't. After asking why he wanted to know, I blushed on hearing the answer. Three days later, the boys and hubby having travelled up to Old Trafford soccer ground to support their beloved Gunners against Manchester United, I lay on my bed in just knickers and t-shirt and logged on to my Skype account with my newly-acquired webcam.

Seconds later, Mr Smith appeared on my screen and, as promised, he was similarly clothed. Although we'd exchanged photos, looking at him live, so to speak, was very different. Not that he didn't appear appealing; quite the opposite, he looked splendid. 

Despite being in his early fifties, his rugged good looks and hard, toned body, made it evident that he took care of himself. He had good teeth, a full head of hair — the wisps of grey suited him — and, importantly for me, there was no beer gut. 

However, seeing how good he looked, I felt somewhat inadequate about my soft, untrained body, but Mr Smith didn't seem to care, and we chatted. For the first few minutes, it felt awkward, but I gradually relaxed — until he asked me to touch myself. Even though I'd earlier agreed to this, to say I was self-conscious would be the understatement of the year. 

Because my marital bed had developed into a war zone, figuratively speaking, I'd resorted to masturbation for release. However, that only happened in the shower when I was alone. Now, I was about to perform my most intimate act in front of a relative stranger.

Despite my unease, I started. With gentle guidance and encouragement from my audience, I really began to enjoy it. Then I heard a commanded to raise my t-shirt. I did and received beautiful compliments about my breasts. 

"Now, lose the panties." 

For the first time in years, I was naked in front of someone. I feared a derogatory comment, something I'd become used to over the last few years, and it came as a surprise when Mr Smith told me how gorgeous I looked. Because of my low esteem, I wasn't entirely convinced, but then he showed me the bulge in his boxers. My confidence soared. 

After he revealed his erection, I stroked my pussy and was surprised at my wetness. When he began masturbating, I thought, 'I caused that, me... just me. No page three girl, no porn, just little old me.' 

I followed his example, and we turned each other on until we orgasmed. I came first. My screams reverberated around my bedroom as I sprawled on the bed, shaking uncontrollably, fingers covered in cum while I watched him tug his cock. 

Moments later, he ejaculated, spouting a massive string of semen onto his belly. Seeing him climax like that was mind-blowing, and knowing I was responsible for it, made it even more special. After years of neglect, I felt desirable. Afterwards, in the glow that lovers share, we talked, and that's when I confessed my deepest, darkest, dirtiest little secret. I waited for his condemnation.

"Mrs D, I'd love to do that to you. Do you want me to arrange it?" 

I hesitated before answering. Not because I didn't want it — I surely did — but being unfaithful via the digital highway was one thing; doing it for real was different. There was so much to consider. Flustered, I told Mr Smith I'd think about it, and logged off before he could try to convince me to agree. 

I needed time. Mind you; it didn't take long. The next day, I sent him a short text message: Yes.

~o0o~

Despite the music coming from the television, I heard the click of the lock and held my breath. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and nodded. Although I'm not a beauty queen, my appearance was pleasing. My dark tresses were swept back and held in a loose ponytail, and I'd kept my makeup to a minimum: nothing to alarm him, but enough to enhance my features. However, I was nervous about my outfit, especially my underwear.

To my conservative mind, it was something a slut would wear. Yet, the young, friendly assistant at the Hunkemöller store, had assured me it would set my man on fire. I didn't tell her it wasn't for my husband's benefit — no point in complicating things. Looking at myself dressed in lacy lingerie, stockings, and suspenders, I hoped she was right. Besides, what I had planned was definitely not conservative.

Sitting in a chair, I'd provocatively swung a stockinged leg over the arm. Although we'd quite extensively discussed what would happen, I wanted to impress Mr Smith with my sophisticated ways. I'd practised this pose after seeing it on the internet. 

Mr Smith entered the room, his presence filling the tiny space, and I beamed at him, although behind the smile I shook like a leaf. He was so handsome; I still had trouble believing he wanted me. I tried picturing him as I'd seen him so many times since that first time on Skype; naked and turned on. The adrenaline coursed through my veins. 

Undeterred by my fears, I stroked myself through the tiny lace triangle, eliciting a nod of approval and a wry smile. Although this was our first meeting in the flesh, we knew each other intimately. 

Mr Smith liked his women to be strong and independent, all the things I'm not. He wanted his women to acknowledge and embrace their lust, to initiate, to enjoy their sexuality, and most of all, to explore their limits and quench their desire. Although I was willing, I was none of the above. Instead, I was petrified that he'd see me for the fraud I was. 

Then the chorus of Bowie's Changes came back to me. Oh, yes, indeed. It's what I want.

My confidence grew, my smile broadened, and I knew it. I could do this. Emboldened, I slipped fingers inside my panties. "I've been waiting for you, Mr Smith… impatiently, I might add." 

My pussy was very moist. I traced the length of my slit. 

"Yes, I am sorry for my tardiness, but I thought it best to give you time to get ready rather than barge in like some uncouth oaf. Forgive me, my dear, but I will make it worth your while." His warm smile sent the butterflies inside my stomach into overdrive. He moved closer, his cologne competing with my musky scent as a hand drifted along my exposed thigh. "You look incredible, Mrs D. To be honest, I'm having trouble containing myself. All I want to do is rip those delightful garments from your body and ravish you." 

Those words sent a ripple of excitement down my spine. 

"But, first things first. You know what I want."

I looked into his pale blue eyes and nodded. While still caressing my leg, he unfastened his trousers and let them drop to his ankles. He'd gone commando, and I shrieked in delight when his erection sprung toward me. Licking my lips, I wrapped my free hand around the warm shaft and leaned forward. 

As soon as my mouth encompassed his manhood, steady fingers entwined in my dark locks. A low growl filled the room as I teased him with my tongue, something else I'd searched on the internet. While I tried to remember what I'd seen, I bobbed my head up and down. Then, after almost choking when I tried deep-throating, I removed his cock from my mouth and looked up, staring into his eyes.

"Do you want to fuck my face, Mr Smith?" 

His eyes glinted, and he nodded. "Open wide, Mrs D, and I will gladly oblige." 

I knelt in front of him. He closed his eyes and tossed back his head when I again clamped my lips around his throbbing shaft. Holding my head, he thrust his hips. 

"Oooh, you dirty little whore. You don't know how long I've been longing to do this to you." 

His pace quickened, and his fingers squeezed my scalp. It took a few seconds, but he found his rhythm and his cock slid smoothly between my lips. Then, in a surprising move, he withdrew his prick from my hot mouth and slapped my cheek with it. "Come on, slut, tell me how much you want this." 

I'd never been talked to like that, but during one of our chats, I'd confessed that I wondered what it would be like. Now, hearing this urbane man speak like that, I felt so horny. All I wanted to do was please him.

"God, yes. Give it to me," I panted. "Please, let me suck on it until you cum all over my face." 

The nod of approval and the way he pulled me toward his groin, indicated that I was doing this right. 

"Brace yourself, whore," he growled, thrusting his prick into my mouth. I reached behind him, cupped his buttocks, and the grunts and groans grew in intensity. 

"Yes, yes, that's it. Don't stop. Uuugh, I'm cumming."

I felt his semen rise in his thickening, throbbing cock as he withdrew it from my mouth. "Open wide, whore," he ordered and placed his engorged helmet on my bottom lip and stroked his meat. He released a loud, drawn-out groan — then the first salvo of semen splattered over my face, covering my cheek and glasses. He corrected his aim and fired into my open mouth. 

Another loud groan filled the room, and Mr Smith shuddered as even more spunk flew. Some joined the hot, thick deposits decorating my face, like salty frosting, while the rest disappeared down my throat or splashed onto my chest. As the last drops oozed from his little hole, I took over, guiding his pulsating member between my succulent lips. He shuddered again when I flicked my tongue over his swollen glans and lapped away the remnants of his mighty ejaculation. My new lover, unable to take much more of my eager mouth, stepped back to regain control.

"Mrs D, you are a truly gifted blowjob princess. If anyone tries telling you otherwise, send them to me."

The satisfaction I felt at having done something well was more rewarding than I could have imagined. Using fingers and tongue, I cleaned up all the cream I could find, including the dollops on my glasses. When I stood, I'm sure I was glowing. 

Mr Smith looked at me and nodded. "Right, I've had my fun. Now it's time to get down to your dark fantasy, Mrs D… if you're still certain that's what you want?" 

Amid the whirlwind in my mind, David Bowie, singing about my fascination, what changes I'm going through.

Holding my breath, I nodded and moved toward the bed. I looked over my shoulder and flashed Mr Smith, my most becoming smile. Then I leaned forward, rested my hands on the firm mattress, and wiggled my hips before provocatively thrusting my bum at him. 

Even though he'd just ejaculated so powerfully, his cock was still standing at attention and twitched at my display. A deep Neanderthal growl rumbled around the room, feeding my growing expectations.

"Hmm, it definitely looks like you're ready to play, Andrea." 

He came closer and hooked fingers into the waistband of my panties. I waited, praying, and my excitement rose when he tugged my panties over my buttocks and down my stocking-clad thighs until they bunched at my ankles. Behind me, another caveman groan erupted, boosting my ego. I desperately needed this encouragement. I was so nervous; I feared I might vomit and spoil everything.

"Spread your legs, my dear. I want to look at your juicy cunt." The vulgarity of his command sent another shiver down my spine, and I eagerly tried to obey, but my knickers tangled around my high heels and almost sent me tumbling. When I muttered apologies for being so clumsy, his quiet words of encouragement — and strong hands gently caressing my butt — helped me keep it together. 

It was the sort of incident that kept me on edge, along with the fear of him realising I was a fraud. Mentally, I was on the verge of losing it: everything I'd done until then, wasn't the real me. I wasn't an expert cock sucker or porn princess ready to please her audience. I was me, dull old Mrs D. 

Everything I'd done so far, was courtesy of the internet. I'd spent every spare moment watching porn video clips to learn what I should wear and how I needed to behave. Although my research had been extensive and sometimes scary — cocks can be that big? — I was crapping myself in case I did or said something that revealed me as a charlatan. What if he did something I hadn't foreseen? What would I do then?

Chewing my bottom lip, I looked behind and saw Mr Smith kneel. Before my uncertainty could betray me, he beamed at me, and I saw the lust in his eyes. No man had ever looked at me like that. Now he directed his gaze at my sex, and I felt my pussy opening to him. 

"You are beautiful, Mrs D. Truly magnificent." 

He pressed a thumb against my wet entrance and traced the length of my slit. It wasn't uncertainty that caused me to bite my bottom lip then. And a soft moan escaped my mouth when he plunged into my hole. 

"Hmmm, your cunt smells so good, I can't resist it," he said, withdrawing his thumb and replacing it with two fingers. They penetrated deeper and allowed him to press his thumb against my other orifice. He spat. Warm saliva landed where he wanted it and, after rubbing the spittle into my dark ring, his thumb also disappeared from sight. 

The way he fingered me was like nothing I'd experienced, and I was soon gasping for breath. My squeals must have pleased him because, at the point when I thought it couldn't get any better, his tongue joined the fray. In one sweet movement, he withdrew his thumb, stabbed his tongue between my nether lips and licked up the length of my opening and beyond. My moans now competed with obscene slurping sounds, and I knew this was what I wanted.

When the tip pressed into my puckered arsehole, he pushed against my sphincter, and a whole new sensation swept over me. It was one of the things I'd asked him to do, but I was unprepared for the physical responses that crashed through my body at this oral invasion. He ignored my cries and twirled his tongue inside me. This analingus almost sent me rocketing to another planet. He kept up the onslaught for longer than I expected — but shorter than I craved. When he relented, I was very close to orgasm.

"Here you are, Mrs D get this nice and wet so we can play with it." 

Like a magician, Mr Smith produced a cute butt plug and held it in front of my face. Although the shiny, chrome business end shone brightly, it was overshadowed by the pink crystal top. I was in uncharted territory now. 

In all the clips I'd watched, not one featured a butt plug, chrome or otherwise. But, what Mr Smith wanted me to do wasn't exactly rocket science. I gazed at the toy for what seemed an age, unable to suppress the childlike thrill coursing through my body. From my first view of anal sex, I'd wondered what it would be like but had never dared try it. Certainly not with my pig of a husband. Many times I'd wavered a finger over the 'buy' button as I looked at butt plugs on internet sites. However, the fear of what would happen if hubby found them, stopped me making a purchase.

I took the cute shiny anal toy from Mr Smith and sucked it into my mouth. Turning to face him — and despite my insecurities — I made a production of what I was doing, pretending the butt plug was a tasty lollipop. He watched with distinct pleasure as I sucked and licked it obscenely, only stopping me when there was enough lubrication.

After taking it from me, I waited with bated breath for my first real anal experience. Mr Smith knew how much this meant to me, and he didn't tease. He held the shiny chrome point against my puckered hole. 

"Spread your cheeks," he said. I rested my head on the mattress and reached back, my fingers pressing into my buttocks. I couldn't help closing my eyes while he pushed the plug further inside, turning it slowly. And that's when I felt his erection nudging between my pussy lips. I gasped as the thickest part of the plug pushed past my sphincter, and Mr Smith's cock surged into my silky tunnel. 

It was an evening of firsts. It was the first time anything more substantial then a finger had entered my ass, and it was the first time since being married that I had a stranger's cock inside me. For years I'd desired both, but never had the nerve to do either.

Now I didn't know which I was enjoying the most: the way my older, new friend's big prick was fucking the life out of me, or the way the plug nestled delightfully inside my bum. Mr Smith's cock was not only longer than my hubby's, but it was also much thicker. With each steady thrust, he stretched my cunt deliciously, and I felt every prominent vein on his manhood when I squeezed my abdominal muscles around the delicious, thrilling intrusion.

I wasn't the only one having a good time. My date emitted a primaeval growl whenever he ground his pelvis against my preachy ass, and the sound sent shivers down my spine. It was all so delightful; I didn't want it to end. When he stopped thrusting, I shoved my ass back into his wiry pubic hair, willing him to keep pounding me. I couldn't help it; I was insatiable.

"Mr Smith…" I croaked as my throat dried in anticipation. "Mr Smith, I think it's time, don't you?" 

A chuckle came from behind, followed by a playful slap on my rump. "Oh, yes … you're ready, my dear," he said and withdrew his cock from my warm, silk sheath. Next, he removed the plug. 

"Hmm, I wish you could see your ass gaping like this," he said, his smooth, aristocratic demeanour showing rough edges. Suddenly, there was a flash and a clicking sound. Then he handed me his phone. "Here, look."

The image was of my open holes, both glistening with my juices. It was utterly shameless and incredibly horny. As I studied my wanton anatomy, Mr Smith steered his prick to my rear entrance and entered me. He must have heard me gasp or saw how I tossed the smartphone aside because his next question was unexpected.

"This is what you wanted, wasn't it?" he asked, a touch uncertain.

"Oh yes," I screamed, enthusiastically nodding my head. I flashed him an eager smile and watched the concern in his eyes morph into heady lust. His helmet pressed harder and knowing what to expect, I relaxed. At last, the large, mushroom-shaped dome passed through my sphincter and slowly up my back passage. I whimpered. 

My Smith, ever the considerate gentleman, stopped moving and waited for me. Although the burning sensation was more pronounced than with the butt plug — considering the size difference, it was understandable — it wasn't unbearable. In fact, it felt amazing. I gave him another curt nod, his signal to continue. He resumed feeding his cock into me and, despite having to bite my bottom lip to keep from crying out, it was everything I'd expected and more. 

I lost track of time as I closed my eyes and surrendered to Mr Smith's perfect handling. His hands roamed over my lower body while his prick kept invading my ass. I reached between my legs and thrust two fingers inside myself. Touching his hardness through the thin barrier separating us, caused another electric-shock reaction to course through my body. 

Then Mr Smith offered a discreet cough. "Mrs D, you've taken my cock all the way." 

Uh? That can't be right. 

My mind recoiled at his statement before I realised it was true. His wiry pubic hair was wedged between our heaving bodies, tickling my sensitive skin, and that meant...

An enormous sense of pride swamped me. During all my research, it was remarkable how many of these porn queens had trouble doing anal. It was apparent most of them didn't like it. Only a minority showed enthusiasm for it, and few of those took the really huge cocks all the way. Mind you, when I remembered the size of some pricks, a shiver ran down my spine. Although Mr Smith's manhood couldn't be called small, it certainly appeared undersized compared to those I'd seen on my computer. 

"You are a natural, Mrs D," he continued when I gave him a small wiggle with my hips. His hands rested on my bum, and he slowly withdrew. To tease me more, he then thrust forward, then out a bit more before pushing forward again, although not quite so far as the previous time. This, he kept up until only his engorged helmet was inside me. Even though I'd enjoyed his little game, I wanted the real thing — and I wanted it now. 

"Stop playing with me, Mr Smith, fuck me." 

I jammed fingers into my cunt and waited impatiently. As I heard, "You asked for it, bitch," his cock slammed deep into my ass, the force almost pushing me into the bed. 

"Yesss," I hissed. It's what I wanted. With every fibre of my body screaming for more, I pushed back against my new lover and squeezed my abdominal muscles. He responded in kind and his prick pulsed powerfully inside me. Then he pulled back, not slowly but with authority and deliberation, before pile-driving his prick into my ass. That was the real beginning. His cock moved back and forth, stretching me, filling me, making me cry with delight. He grabbed my hair, pulling my head back while fucking me, increasing my pleasure a hundredfold.

"You like the rough stuff, do you, Mrs D?"

Hearing my strangled whimpers each time he shoved his dick inside me, obviously turned him on, and when I nodded, his onslaught became more intense. Then he almost sent me crazy by withdrawing his cock entirely. 

"Nooo," I screamed, but there was nothing I could do. 

"Get on the bed, bitch," he ordered, before changing his mind. "No, turn around and face me." 

I complied and came face-to-face with his raging hard-on. "Suck it. Show me how badly you want me to go on, or else…" Grinning nastily, I pretended I wasn't going to do it, but it was an empty threat; and we both knew it. 

My new lover couldn't stop himself, because he was enjoying this equally as much as me but... Sham over, I nodded and finally opened my beautifully made-up lips. Mr Smith grinned triumphantly down at me and grabbed my head as I swallowed the thick, purple dome. I'd seen this ass-to-mouth on video, and I thought, 'Euughh' the first time — but that was a long time ago. The more I watched it, the more curious I became until I decided to try it... if I ever got the chance. 

Mr Smith's cock filled my mouth, and I twirled my tongue around his flesh. The tangy flavour was a pleasant surprise, and it didn't take long before I was drooling. When he was satisfied with my efforts, he removed his saliva covered shaft and told me to stay exactly where I was.

"This way, slut, you can watch yourself being fucked in the mirror." He was right. Although I'd used it when getting ready, I'd forgotten about the mirror being there, not that it occurred to me to watch myself being taken, in the ass or otherwise. Although I'm not an exhibitionist, seeing Mr Smith moved into position behind me, gave the experience a whole new dimension.

He dispensed with all the niceties. This time he merely placed his cock at the entrance to my back passage and slammed home. The ferocity took me by surprise — but didn't disappoint me in the slightest. Then he fucked me, hard and relentless. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head so that I had a good view in the mirror. Our reflection was both shocking and a huge turn on.

The face staring at me, contorted by lust and depravity, was my own, but so unfamiliar. My eyes were half-open, or half-closed, depending on your outlook on life, and the corners of my mouth curled downward, the expression of a wanton slut. 

Hearing Mr Smith's crude obscenities, the things he called me, while he —well, you get the picture — just made the whole experience incredible. When I whimpered, he asked if I liked having my ass fucked. And when I moaned in reply, a stinging slap resounded around the room. With each violent thrust, my body shuddered, and I was glad he held onto my hips. Otherwise, we might have landed on the floor. 

"Oh, God, I'm gonna cum, Mrs D." 

"Don't stop," I begged and reached between my legs. I fingered myself, moving my hand as violently as Mr Smith's cock plunged into me. "Please, don't stop," I cried, "I'm so close." 

A grunt came from behind me, and I increased both the pressure and speed of my hand, but it was no good. It doesn't matter how hard or often you push the button, the lift won't come any quicker.

"I can't help it, you slut. Fuck, I'm cumming." 

I closed my eyes and surrendered to his climax. In a smartly-executed move, Mr Smith buried his prick deep inside me while pulling me against his pelvis. He tensed, his cock expanded, and then his hot spunk scalded my insides. I clenched my teeth and abdominal muscles, feeling his manhood pulsating, spewing his thick cream into my ass. His body jolted, forcing his cock even deeper for a split second, and I felt invincible. I gazed at my reflection in the mirror — tousled hair, lust-filled eyes, smudged lipstick — and knew life could never be the same.

Whatever happened after tonight, I couldn't go back to being Andrea, mother of two sullen teenagers, the down-trodden, browbeaten, and unloved wife. 

I was now Mrs D, unfaithful fornicator, blowjob princess, and anal slut extraordinaire.

And David Bowie's words about time and change continued to flow through my mind….