I was tired of hearing it and said the wrong thing while my sadistic Fairy God Mother was hanging around. That taught me to pay more attention to my use of the English language.
“I just wish that sometimes I could be thin and beautiful,” I’d said, and she took me at my word: just, meaning that it was to be my only wish, and my misplacement of sometimes meant that sometimes I am now thin and beautiful. I was 15 when I made that fateful wish.
Now, 2-4 days per week, I am a C-cup beauty, thin, trim and perfectly formed. The other days – well, at first – I was my usual bovine self, fat (a G-cup at 15!), pimply, and with thick horn-rimmed glasses that invited derision from my classmates. I say “at first” because it was like I was two different girls. At school, they wouldn’t believe I was the same person, in spite of my separate grades – Fat Janet was a straight-A student, regardless of the fact that she attended school only 2-4 days a week. Thin Janet fared only slightly worse, in that she was only at school 1-3 days per week. Thin Janet’s teachers weren’t so forgiving of her absences on test days. Fat Janet always got make-up tests. It meant that I usually got to take the tests twice, however.
My parents never quite understood. They didn’t believe my Fairy God Mother explanation, and I couldn’t produce her to prove my point. After my “last” wish, she left, mentioning the Costa del Sol. My mistake had freed her from her duties. In time, my parents became willing to facilitate my separate identities, providing the required sick notes and enrolling us separately at the same university. Thin Janet won a scholarship, so tuition was free, and Fat Jan (as she came to be known) earned grants for academic excellence. Janet was the President of the Delta Zetas, while Jan was President of the Honor Society. I improved at scheduling classes, so that my grades didn’t suffer from my duality. Janet took several self-study modules, and Jan got her usual pity from her professors.
Sex was a whole different ballgame – one that my FGM must have taken into account when granting my wish. Every boy on campus wanted to sleep with the nearly-frigid Janet. As Janet, I had to fake about 99% of my orgasms. A boy had to work hard to get me excited, regardless of how horny I was. Jan, on the other hand, got so little sex that I could almost orgasm at will, and if a boy was intent on braving my folds of flesh to fondle my enormous breasts, I could give him the best sex of his life. While Janet suffered an endless string of boring admirers, Jan quickly got a reputation for being a giant firecracker in bed and soon found a steady boyfriend of similar size and inclination.
Choreographing it all was tricky. Janet and Jan had to be room-mates for it to work, even in our senior year, when most of us had single rooms. Janet had to be certain that her lovers never stayed past midnight, or they might get a scare in the morning. Jan’s boyfriend, Ben, got the occasional morning treat of seeing Janet in a nightdress, while Jan was “in the shower.” He was embarrassed to be caught and slipped out before Jan’s “return.” The change happened by 3 am, and I usually jolted awake, especially when becoming the beautiful Janet. I had to be careful, sort of like Cinderella and her chariot (i.e pumpkin).
After I graduated with my two honors degrees, Business (Janet) and English (Jan), I knew that I could never get a job, which I would quickly lose through my unpredictable “absences.” I had come to that decision earlier and had resolved to have Jan diet to make her more similar to Janet, but Ben “loved her just the way she was.” When I tried to prove my duel existence to him, I stayed Jan every night for six straight nights – until we completely sated our sexual appetites, and he went back to his room. In punishment, I remained frigid Janet for the next week.
I soon dumped Ben and continued as “normal” until graduation. Dieting was difficult. As Janet, I could eat a truckload and not gain a pound, but as Jan, if I but looked at a chocolate brownie, I gained weight. I even tried exercising. Janet could run a world-class 10K, while Jan had difficulty walking around the block. After a while, I realized that starving Janet helped Jan lose weight, but that made things worse. Janet, while maintaining a perfect 98 lbs, became weak and tired – and so did Jan.
Over the course of the next two years, Jan shrank from 256 lb to 206 lb. Most women lose their first weight in the breasts and last in their hips and thighs, but at I was still an H-cup. Having lost 50 lbs, I dared not stop there. I needed Jan and Janet to be able to pass as the same person. Hence, more starvation and rigorous exercise. It was only when Jan began lifting weights, that it had some effect on her – our – breasts, though none on Janet’s. Soon fat was turning to muscle, and I had shrunk to a svelte F-cup. I could even jog a mile without collapsing in a heap. Fat Jan was turning into a shot-putter.
By the age of 25, I had trimmed down to 165 lbs and could bench nearly 200. Working out still didn’t change Ms Perfect (Janet) at all. Most of my Fat Jan weight had become muscle, and my breasts were still enormous. That’s when I bought contact-lenses and dyed my hair blond. Oddly, Janet had always had perfect eyesight and blond hair, instead of my natural red. At one point, I tried dying Janet’s hair red, but the next time I changed into her, it was back to blond. My FGM had made Janet perfect, and there was no way to change that. Even now, in my 40’s Janet could easily pass for 25 – but I’m getting ahead of myself.
Getting my weight down to 145 was another five-year struggle, with thin, muscular arms and legs and still huge breasts. I decided then that they would never get any smaller, since they had begun bulking up with muscle. I was a top-heavy muscle-bound behemoth. I supported myself by writing as a freelance business journalist. I could sit at home writing, while making infrequent appearances at the offices of my clients – as Jan! My reclusive lifestyle didn’t allow me much socialization, and if I was going to get laid, I was going to enjoy it. Janet wouldn’t, of course.
That elicited punishment, however. Janet became even more attractive to men with age and had them drooling at her as she walked past – and I’m not making that up. She caused more havoc on a single trip to the supermarket than all of Jan’s nights sleeping with married men. By smiling at the wrong man, Janet could break a marriage, either by breaking the man or causing unbelievable jealousy in his wife. Janet was equally loved and hated to an extreme.
When I decided that Janet could never again leave the house, I became Janet for long stretches – periods lasting until I had no food left in the fridge. When I tried to have food delivered, the delivery boy made a pass at me – no, he did more than that – but I won’t go into it in detail. That at least reminded me that Janet needed sex as much as Jan, even if she found it as boring as hell.
I couldn’t put my finger on it, but Janet craved being desired as much as Jan craved being touched. Men couldn’t get enough of those enormous mammaries – to see them, to touch them, to taste them. Jan let them, as long as they satisfied her lower down. Jan’s firm melons were just a means to an end, whereas Janet’s apples were ripe and desperate to be plucked. As Janet, I wanted men to want those breasts as much as they wanted Jan’s. I had become more jealous of Jan than the Fat Cow was of all the other girls in their school all those years ago. The new Jan was popular, had as many men as she wanted, when she wanted them – and with no consequences in the morning. Jan was also infertile.
Janet was not. Jan didn’t even notice when Janet got pregnant. It was as if Janet were a completely different person that Jan didn’t even know. Around that time, I started spending more time as Janet, as many as 5 days a week. Being Perfect Janet, I had no doubt that my son would come to term – a son, because perfect women only have sons, i.e. heirs, first.
I so wanted a daughter. If my FGM had come to visit, I would have begged her for one.
Jan thought nothing of it. The pregnancy was out of her control – and out of her body. At 8 months Janet looked about to explode, while Jan looked as fit and muscular as ever – with as healthy a sex life as she had ever had.
Janet then got what she had always wanted – the desire to be touched. Along with all the other cravings, the perfect pregnant woman wants her man to touch her, and Janet felt it most in her swelling breasts and tummy. Unfortunately, the delivery boy was long gone – and Jan’s lovers weren’t around on the right days for her.
As both Janet and Jan, I became quite conscious of the future. How would Jan cope with a daughter around the house, and how would she nurse her? When I was young, I always envied Janet (as Jan), but now (as Janet) I couldn’t stand Jan’s sordid lifestyle. She didn’t want to settle down, and she had no desire for children. I began to dread the day that Eric was to be born. He would have no father, a loving part-time mother, and a mother who didn’t care who would take care of him most of the time.
The closer I got to term, the more I stayed Janet – for a full 10 days before I gave birth to my beautiful son. Those days were difficult. Having hidden herself away, Janet had no close friends and my parents had died 2 years earlier.
As Jan, any resolutions Janet had made about our lifestyle were soon forgotten. I knew I had to take care of her kid, but that would eat into a lifestyle that I had earned through my own hard work. She was perfect and had everything she wanted handed to her on a plate – smart, beautiful and desired – desired even more while she was pregnant, but even more off the shelf.
My two selves hated each other then, and only Janet seemed aware of it. She feared it. If one of them was to win, it would be the no-longer-fat Jan – skinny Jan with the giant udders. That’s what she called them. Men just wanted to squeeze them like they were milking a cow. Jan was the “original” free from enchantment. Janet thought her days were numbered. Eric would lose his mother and she couldn’t stomach that.
Fortunately, after Eric’s birth I remained Janet for another week, dutifully pumping breast milk every night just in case I would wake up as Jan in the morning. I love Eric as any perfect mother would love her perfect son. Jan was like any father would be, fumbling and jealous of the bond between mother and child, but because I was really both of them, I held it together. I had no choice.
Within six months, I was back to normal: Janet, 2-3 days a week as a recluse and perfect loving mother, and Jan, humping every guy she could fit in on her nights, while Eric slept.
In May, when Eric was nearly a year old, Janet decided to take him to the beach. Our body was back to being perfect, and still needing to be desired, I wore my skimpiest bikini. I enjoyed watching men drool that day, even more than before, and I could have had any one of them. I think I had more fun playing with Eric as the focus of every man, than I had enjoyed in my entire life. I resolved to take Eric to the beach as often as I could, and Jan couldn’t stop me.
Instead, Jan started spending time on the beach as well, as if competing with me. Eric proved to be the perfect man-magnet – and Jan was wearing my bikinis! They didn’t cover much upstairs. As Janet, I cringed with embarrassment whenever I thought about it.
Although other women on the beach feared Janet’s perfect body, they came to love Eric, and several privately confided what they thought about how my “sister” paraded herself with my child. Janet soon surrounded herself with other women as friends, as opposed to rivals, and they even learned to tolerate their husbands drooling over me. Jan, conversely, spent her time on the beach surrounded by men, each vying to be the one allowed to massage her with sunscreen.
In October I met … well, that will have to wait. I recognized him, especially his face and his large hands, but I couldn’t place him. Although it was too cold to spend a day on the beach in a bathing suit, Eric and I went anyway. We had new friends there, and Eric loved the beach, almost as a second home. Jan had stopped going, since the population of male flesh had dwindled. That was when I met him – him! I was in love instantly – a perfect love, a love that could only be loved by a perfect woman. He was perfect – well, not exactly; he was perfect for me. He was tall, thin, long-ago divorced, and the same age as me.
It turned out that we had gone to university together, and that he was in Jan’s department. He was more than in Jan’s department – he’d spent more time in Jan than anyone else had.
It was Ben – a now thin, confident Ben. A Ben that was now an English Literature Professor at the University of Chicago. He had recognized me and couldn’t believe how little I had changed in twenty years. Eric took to him immediately, as quickly as I had. I was smitten.
Ben gave me his card, and as a nervous afterthought, asked for my number. He couldn’t wait to phone me later that evening to invite me over. I feared that I would stay the night, and wake up as Jan, so I turned the tables on him, explaining that Eric kept me from going out at night and that I didn’t have a regular babysitter.
It didn’t take long for him to confess to me that he had been in love with me since university and went almost as far as saying that he only slept with Jan hoping to get a glimpse of me. Jan was too hot for him, too dangerous, but I was too beautiful, and he thought that I would never be interested in him – I was too perfect and too in demand by more handsome men.
What did I think of him then? Does it matter? I thought he was brave to stay with Jan so long, but he was addicted to her, and she to him. I was addicted to him now. As Jan, he gave me everything I wanted: devotion, and the physical love that I’d missed out on in high school. As Janet, I was too worried about getting in the way of my real self – my real self!
That’s hard to believe, now that I’m pregnant with my daughter – our daughter. It will be a daughter, since the perfect woman will have a perfect daughter after she has her perfect son. A third will be … I don’t care. I love children, and I love Ben, my husband.
Ben almost hit the ceiling when he first woke up with Jan – thin Jan with the giant udders. I don’t blame him for what he did. It kept Jan happy, and gave Ben the most sublime morning after the most sublime night we’d had together. He still finds it hard to believe that we are the same person, with two different bodies and personalities. It is fortunate that I wake up as Jan much less than before. Whether I am Janet or Jan, Ben is still the same: my perfect lover who adapts perfectly for me. He’s confessed to preferring my apple-sized breasts and softer musculature, but Jan will always be his dynamite, and he is dynamite enough himself to keep her happy at home. While I am pregnant, however, she is almost never here.
“Do you still call it your fateful mistake?” asked a familiar voice, startling me.
“You finally back from the Costa del Sol?” I asked cynically, as my daughter kicked inside my belly.
“I’ve come to look after your new one,” she said, “if you will let me, after what I put you through.”
“I wouldn’t change anything,” I answered.
“I am glad to hear it.”
“Will Jan ever come back?” I asked.
“She’s part of you and will never leave. She is all the sordid thoughts and desires you’ve ever had, all rolled into one.”
“It complicates things with Ben.”
“It doesn’t matter, he loves big breasts.”
“But he said …”
“All men love big breasts … Yours appreciate his hands more.”
“As tiny as they are?”
“Don’t mock my workmanship! They are perfect – and his hands are perfect for them.” She reached over and stroked my belly.
“I don’t care what you say; I’m not going to name her Cinderella!”
“Maybe Cindy, but only if Ben agrees.”
“He will. He’s your perfect husband.”