Don't Marry a Magician : part two

by Vaughan

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Oh, you're back. Are you after more reasons why I reckon that marrying a magician was the worst mistake of my life? Or are you after more details of how extreme the magic my husband did to me was?

Oh well. It doesn't much matter. I said that if you had time, I'd tell you more.

You're wondering what could be worse than being told to climb a rope, be floated invisibly, then being hacked to bits and your pieces dropped from a height on a concrete stage. Well, I'll tell you; just about everything else he did to me. Over the next year or so, after the talent show, Roger changed our act, replacing the grand illusion effects with their real equivalents. He didn't even warn me when he replaced both the thin model sawing and the head chopper on Halloween night. I don't know what effect it had on the audience, who of course were expecting these things to look realer than usual because of Halloween, but both those effects hurt like hell.

After a year of being exposed to such extreme pain and several dismemberments a week, my pain threshold was sky-high. I was not immune to pain; I could feel all the pain that was inflicted on me, but so long as the pain was expected, I could withstand it without screaming. If I accidentally shut a door on my hand, I will squeal from the shock rather than the pain.

I suppose it was fortunate that Roger's magic seemed to remake my costumes as well as me, otherwise we would have been spending a large fortune replacing the costumes each night, rather than the small fortune we spent getting the blood stains out.

After the show reached fifty per-cent real magic, I began to feel very lethargic, so I went to the doctor to find out what was going on. I did not tell the doctor the whole story, but I got him to give me a full physical exam. You do not tell medical people that you are sawed in half on a regular basis if you don't want to end up in some mental institution or other. He told me that I was in perfect physical health, except that I was anemic. This of course made a lot of sense to me, although the doc was mystified. So instead of asking what caused it, I asked what I could do to encourage my blood back to normal. He suggested something, which I tried and found quite effective.

Sixteen months after that talent show a talent agency offered us the opportunity to go professional, promising us five gigs a week, more if we wanted them and enough money to cover all our expenses and save for retirement. I did not want to do it but the nearest Roger came to making any concession to my concerns was that he arranged for us both to take three months leave of absence to see how it went. Of course, Roger got hooked and I never went back to the job I enjoyed.

Probably the worse incident before we went professional, happened at a dinner party which he gave me very little notice of. He invited two couples of his acquaintance, Bill and Michelle, and Jeff and Sarah. The beginning of the evening went as you might expect; Roger playing the gracious host, while I slaved in the kitchen producing a meal that I hoped would be memorable. What a waste. In between stirring sauces and looking after the other delicacies I was preparing, I also had to put in several appearances to chat to the guests, none of whom I knew. Over the meal the men and Michelle told about their work and Sarah expounded on the infinitely dull topic of her three children. After the meal and coffee the subject of the conversation inevitably turned to our magic act, except they obviously thought of it as Roger's magic act. With further inevitability someone, I forget who, asked if they could see some magic. I said that I did not feel like it, but Roger insisted and asked what they would like to see. I hate him for that, because of the three suggestions he picked the sawing in half and said I should go and change into my Greek outfit.

I went to our bedroom to change, because I did not dare to protest, because when I made a fuss Roger usually got back at me by doing extra tricks on me, thus extending the time I had to bear the pain.

The Greek costume consisted a simple tunic, modest enough really, but it was open at the sides so I could not wear a bra and short enough that the white panties I wore with it were easily glimpsed. With a gold braid belt and brooch on the shoulder seeming to keep it together, I think I might have felt quite sexy in it, if it hadn't been associated with performing some of the more painful mutilations in our act. I dithered with makeup and putting my hair up in a sort of Greek style, until Roger sent the baby-bore Sarah to roust me out. When we got to the den, Bill, Michelle and Jeff had just finished inspecting the thin-model sawing box, the dividing blades and the saw. Bill and Jeff looked me up and down then decided that there was nothing of a gimmicked nature under my short tunic, but commented that they liked want they saw. Bill went on to speculate whether they would get to see more than they already saw and earned himself a sharp elbow-prod from Michelle.

"Alright, Mimi, in you get! So we can demonstrate the most famous magical effect in the world to my skeptical colleagues."

Resigned that this was going to happen, I stepped smoothly up and lowered myself into the box. I took some care to try and arrange the skimpy costume to best cover my modesty but it was in vain. As I lay back the costume rode up exposing the panties, but not for long because as soon as I was flat out, Roger closed the lids. He handed the foot stock to Bill, instructing him to fit them and check that my feet were real. To this end Bill slipped off one of my gold-colored ballet slippers and tickled the exposed foot, which I hate. Of course, I laughed involuntarily and cursed Roger to get on with it. I hate the preliminaries almost as much as I hate the actual magic. Meanwhile Michelle was fitting the headstocks and much to my surprise kissed me on the lips as she fitted it (I now know why, but I didn't then). He then opened the doors on both sides of the box and invited his guests to hold a limb each. Michelle and Jeff took hold of an arm each, while Sarah gently rested a hand on a shin and Bill placed his hand on the other thigh and began to stroke my inner thigh. Needless to say I objected and his hand moved closer to my knee.

"Alright folks, here goes," said Roger attacking my body with the saw and his usual vigor. I just gritted my teeth, thinking that the only lasting consequence would be a blood stain across the waist of my Greek tunic. In a matter of moments the blades had been inserted in the slots and through my waist. He asked Michelle to unclip the connection between the two halves on her side, while he unclipped his side. Then instead of the usual dividing me by pushing about the blades, he asked his guests to pull in the appropriate directions, which they did. The feeling of being pulled apart, instead of pushed, was a new experience for me. It felt different but not much worse. Once more Bill took the opportunity to slide his hand further up my thigh and once more I objected, resulting in Bill moved his hand back towards my knee, but not quite so far. Bill seemed to be getting blatantly familiar and while Michelle watched. (I now know why, but I didn't then)

Unusually, Roger did not put me back together immediately, but instead opened and removed the box lids so that his guests could gape at my divided predicament and how the tunic hem just covered my groin. Bill once more took the liberty of tickling my feet, and gave up only when Michelle demanded that he stop.

Michelle then asked if Roger could saw anyone in half or whether the person had to be specially trained. He told them that he could saw anyone into any number of pieces, providing the victim did not run away first. Immediately, Michelle asked to be divided in two. Jeff, Sarah and I were totally surprised, but Roger and Bill seemed not to be particularly taken aback. Bill and Roger only made a token effort to dissuade her, while Jeff and Sarah seemed intrigued by the possibility and I was the only one trying to make her aware of the excruciating pain involved. The reason Michelle suggested for wanting to be bisected was that this would probably be the only chance she would ever have and she did not want to pass it up.

When Roger seemed to convinced that Michelle was firm in her intention of allowing him to sever her, I suggested that Roger put me back together so Michelle could take over in the box. I was once more surprised and in addition worried when instead of reassembling me, he brought out the box we used for performances, saying that there was no need. I know something more than he was telling was in the air, because the box he brought out normally stayed in the van, because it was too much effort to unload and reload between shows.

With a little help from Bill, Michelle was soon lying flat in the box, having the stocks fitted. The other guests were again verifying that what appeared to be happening was just that. The lids were closed and the side doors opened to show Michelle's pale white arms against her knee-length black dress. After a final check that Michelle wanted to go ahead, Roger attacked the box with the same saw he had divided me with. The second that the cruelly toothed blade made contact with Michelle's flesh, she began to scream, but fortunately this only lasted about ten seconds, because she soon passed out. Bill was looking terrified and the others were worried, but Roger completed sawing through Michelle's middle. With no wasted effort the separation blades were inserted and a quick push put her head several feet more than her height from her heels. Then from nowhere Roger produced a small bottle of pungent smelling salts.

It took longer than I expected for him to revive Michelle to consciousness, but after the initial grimace at the smelling salts, she seemed to be smiling through the intense pain that being sawn in two parts results in. She wanted to do the usual things (is 'usual' the right word here?) seeing her feet and checking out her legs. When she was satisfied, and probably feared passing out again, she said that she wanted her legs back where they belonged, attached at the waist. I know if I had made such a demand in such a domineering tone Roger would have take great delight in delaying the rejoining as long as humanly possible and adding a bout of foot tickling, into the bargain (He said he was fascinated by the difference between the way I laughed when I was whole and when I was in two)

Roger took hold of the box with Michelle's upper half in, while Bill grabbed a box with a pair of feet sticking out of the end. The two of them guided the two halves together and efficiently hooked the catches. It was not until Roger took hold of the blade handles that I noticed that the legs held from Michelle's upper portion by two thin steel sheets were not hers but mine. By the time I had given voice to this state of affairs, it was too late as the blades were out and on the way to there accustomed resting places on the shelves under the boxes.

I can only guess what Michelle felt in the few moments before she passed out again, but I felt very odd indeed (yes even more odd than usual). The pain I was feeling had suddenly halved and this masked for a while the fact that I could not feel my legs at all.

I did not think about this particularly at the time, because I was berating Roger for having made such a stupid and elementary mistake. He was trying to explain to me why he could not undo it. So while I objected vehemently, he and the others were putting Michelle's legs on my body. Once the blade were out and the (to me) now familiar feeling that a second had been edited clumsily from my life had happened, Roger kissed me, banished the residue of pain then he went to Michelle while I struggled out of the box.

By the time I was sitting up in the box and removing the foot stocks from Michelle's ankles, they had got Michelle resting on the couch and were once more wafting the smelling salts under her nose. She regained consciousness as I finally climbed out of the box and slowly let myself down to the floor, because I was unsure of whether I had complete control of the legs. Roger had kissed Michelle to remove the residue of pain she might have felt, so as she became fully aware of her surroundings she looked at me standing uncertainly still supporting some weight by leaning against the table. Her reaction amazed everyone; she began to laugh.

I fumed for a moment and then asked her what she thought was so funny. Eventually, she calmed down enough to say that she was laughing at my costume. I looked down and realized that the white of my tunic ended at my waist and abruptly became the black of the skirt of her dress. For a short while, I forget my situation and laughed along, particularly when I realized that she was wearing a black dress with a split white hem that barely covered her knickers. I was soon reminded that the legs that were exposed by that white hem were mine and over the other side of the room and attached to another woman. Rather than embarrass our guests by exploding with rage, I ran off and slammed the bedroom door and locked it.

While I waited for someone to come to try and calm me down, I literally ripped off the mismade costume. I stood there in front of the mirror wearing only Michelle's shoes, panties and pantyhose. I looked at the line where what had been her joined to what was me; there was not much to see. The line of the join, once I had washed away the line of dried blood, was only noticeable because Michelle had been in the sun more recently than I had. It seemed to me that the difference would not be at all obvious to anyone who did not know. I decided that I had better get dressed in something, so I dressed in my jogging outfit, which fitted a bit better than it had before, but when I tried to put on my running shoes, I found that they were loose; Michelle's feet were a few sizes smaller than mine. As I don't hang on to my old clothes I did not have any shoes that would fit so I had to resort to putting Michelle's shoes back on.

A knock sounded against the closed bedroom door. I knew it was not Roger because he would have tried to barge in first, but the door handle had not been tried.

"Who is it?" I asked.

"It's Michelle," said an uncertain voice. "I've come to explain."

"And what, pray, is there to explain?" I demanded.

"If you'll let me in I'll tell you."

Lacking any alternative, other than sulking until I became hungry, I let her in. She started by apologizing for what had happened, so I told it was not her fault. I told her not to be so silly; it was the fault of our careless husbands, who had mixed up the leg boxes from the two sawing boxes. Michelle corrected me, by telling me that the mix-up had been deliberate and originally her idea. If a strange combination of common-sense and curiosity had not got the better of me, I would be telling this story to you in prison, having murdered the little bitch. Instead I kept calm and asked her what she was talking about.

"Well it started a couple of months ago, when I noticed Roger looking at my legs. Of course I was flattered, but a bit annoyed. Have you ever noticed that in business the men check out your chest and your legs and if either of them distract, they just don't seem to even try to take you seriously." I nodded. "So I challenged Roger to explain why he was eyeing my legs. He said something like, 'I wish Mimi had legs like yours, elegant and well-toned they would be an asset in the magic act.' I'd seen you about at parties and things, so I knew your legs weren't as shapely as mine. No offense intended. So, in an attempt to defuse a tricky situation I offered to do a swap. He said that he would arrange it, which at the time I took to be a joke."

"Over the next month, whenever we met, in meetings or in the lift or corridor, he would ask if I was serious about wanting to swap legs, each time I took it as good-natured banter just taken a little too far, but it did not really step over the line into sexual harassment. It wasn't until I saw you in the act at that annual awards dinner that I realized that Roger might actually be serious."

"Once the real possibility of swapping legs with you became more that a topic for idle banter I gave it much thought. Was the prospect of gaining a pair of legs that would be less noticed and as such help me in my career, worth the worry of how it might be done and the possible disappointment if it turned out to be a trick. The next time I saw Roger, I told him I was willing if you were. The time after that he told me that you had said yes. You did didn't you?"

My first thought was that I had said no such thing, but then I cast my mind back. I remembered Roger asking me if I would be up for a double sawing if a suitable second person could be found. I had said, that I supposed so, partly because I thought he would never find another person and partly because I assumed that he meant the illusion of the double sawing not the real magic. Glumly I nodded at Michelle, not letting her know the depths of Roger's duplicity, which I think she was getting a feel for without my saying a word.

"When I mentioned it to Bill he seemed all for it. I think he likes more buttock than I had. So we arranged with Roger that it should happen. I didn't know, it didn't occur to me, until it was too late that you did not know what was planned, I'm really sorry."

I let her hug me and cry on my shoulder while I tried to sort out this story and work out who had been fooling who.

In time I realized that whoever was to blame, it was too late to do anything about it. I decided that Roger was to blame, because he had enjoyed it too much and he had not warned me. So, I asked her whether she like me legs now that she had them. She said she liked the way they looked on her, besides which she did not want to go through the ordeal of the pain involved in swapping back. This confirmed me in the decision to blame Roger, because he should have told Michelle of the extreme pain involved; although I feel sure that he has absolutely no concept of the pain I endure. I admitted that her legs seemed to suit me quite well too. I then offered her a dress to change into because she looked ridiculous in the black dress with the over-short white hem. I also gave her a pair of shoes that fitted, explaining that while our legs were near enough the same size our feet weren't.

The following day we swapped shoes and Michelle told me about how she had kept her legs so well-toned, despite her desk job. We have been friends ever since.

As to Roger, I would not let him near me for six weeks, expect on stage. I finally relented on our wedding anniversary. It was soon after that the scout from the agency came to see the act and gave us the opportunity to turn professional. Perhaps I'll tell you about some of the incidents that happened during that time, which convinced me that marrying a magician was about the worse thing a woman can do, if she wishes to maintain anything approaching a normal life.


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