Jennifer’s mind drifted away into sexual fantasies. Men of countless sizes and shapes danced through her mind. Some were well outside her normal tastes, but they all seemed hot as hell in that moment. With shaped physiques, dashing faces, generous packages, and smooth voices; they teased her, held her, caressed her, whispered sweet nothings in her ears… she began wiggling around in her bed, hands tracing phantom touches as her hedonistic delirium deepened.
The wet daydream gave way to something very different, yet no less exciting. A woman appeared in her mind’s eye, and Jennifer was overcome with awe as much as lust. Jen considered herself basically straight, she’d caught herself getting aroused at a teammate or a photo of a supermodel a couple times in her life, and if her boyfriend proposed a threesome with the right woman she wouldn’t object, but she’d never felt the need to pursue a relationship with another woman.
Jennifer was convinced this was perfectly normal. Heck, she figured straight guys felt the same way around especially handsome men.
The woman in Jennifer’s daydream was not like those women. This woman was perfect. This woman couldn’t be denied. Jennifer wanted her like she never wanted anyone before, man or woman. Her skin was a flawless golden tan, smooth and soft as silk. Her breasts and butt were perfect spheres of fat sitting atop her chest and hips, they sat pert and perky in defiance of gravity, yet they betrayed a heft as they bounced and squished under the woman’s touch.
Jennifer heard a series of cracks and pops from lower on her body, but paid them no mind.
The dream woman’s lips, both upper and lower, were impossibly soft and pillowy for their size, they pulled her eyes in competing directions. Her hips swayed with each movement of her towering legs, turning a jiggling rear into a hypnotic pendulum. A waterfall of wavy, dark brown hair flowed to her mid-back, gleaming in unseen sunlight like lacquered wood.
Jennifer’s feet dangled off the edge of her mattress.
Jennifer looked into the woman’s eyes, a brilliant emerald green with hints of amber, and realized something. The woman’s eyes were Jennifer’s eyes, but more vibrant. The woman’s face was Jennifer’s face, but more beautiful. The woman smiled at Jennifer as if she could see her, and it was Jennifer’s smile, but warmer. This woman was Jennifer, made perfect in a way a real human being could never quite live up to.
Jennifer sunk deeper into her bed.
An outfit appeared on this perfect Jennifer, and it was something she had, but far more risque. The top crept both upward and downward, exposing as much midriff and cleavage as she could possibly get away with. Her skirt hugged every curve of her hips and butt as if it was sprayed on, yet the hemline swished naturally as she moved. All the while, accents appeared and shifted on the material, each accentuating and drawing the eye to her figure.
Why shouldn’t it? Sure, she wouldn’t normally risk coming off as a slut, but Perfect Jen’s body was fashionable even in the nude. Modesty felt like something Perfect Jen merely tolerated, and if people thought less of Perfect Jen for it? That was their problem.
The Real Jen mumbled the word “slut” in a singsong voice a few times and giggled. The word seemed to roll differently off the tongue now.