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New TG: "JayCee" by Vickie Tern, teen femdom

This story contains no unnatural acts only because nothing in

nature is unnatural. But various characters here do uncommon

things with each other, as well as the usual things, always

considerate of each other's feelings. If this offends you, read no

further.

If you're under whatever the age of consent where you live, read no

further. You might learn to do uncommon things while being

considerate, as well as the usual things, and we can't have that.

Vickie Tern's stories are archived at

http://www.nifty.org in transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern

Here and now, on behalf of authors and readers everywhere, she

would like to thank the archivists everywhere who make stories like

these freely available to those who enjoy them. You are high among

the glories of the Internet. Also, she appreciates any kind of

e-mail comment on her stories, VickieTern@AOL.COM, and usually

replies in kind.

JayCee

by Vickie Tern

I made my first really intimate girlfriend just before my last

year in High School, the summer I was nearly seventeen. Strictly

speaking, his mother had already shaped him out, but I put on the

finishing touches, so I guess you can say we both made him my

girlfriend. When I finished with him he loved what I'd done, and

we've been good friends ever since, though since we went away to

different colleges we've hardly seen each other, only when I'm home

on vacation and he is too. He's still a girl and will be for life,

but with a difference. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

When I began with him he thought he was a boy and wanted to

live like one, and I could understand that. I'd wanted to be a boy

too until I hit puberty and my body began to round out and smooth

over, and my tits ripened, and I realized I had no choice. Then I

discovered it's much better to be a girl. Marianne, the boy I'm

talking about, he never had any choice either, not really, but he

didn't know that till later.

I better explain all this. When I was little I hated wearing

frilly dresses and ribbons whenever we went visiting, and sitting

up straight with my Mary Janes dangling off the floor, and

listening to the grownups talk, and always being neat and ladylike.

My boy cousins could stretch out all over the floor and wear torn

jeans and boy-size work boots, and pick their noses, and make

disgusting noises all they wanted. Or they could go out and climb

trees, or throw footballs, but I always had to be a lady, even when

I was still a little girl. It wasn't fair, just because I happened

to be born a girl. I really envied them. So whenever I could I

wore jeans and boots and learned how to swallow air and belch the

same as them. Anything they did, I decided I was going to do too,

better! And I did, too!

My mom despaired, though she never gave up on me. She'd ask

me over and over, "JayCee, why don't you play with dolls like all

the other girls. There are such pretty dolls these days, and whole

wardrobes for them, and even makeup."

I'd answer, "Because I'd rather play with boys, Mom." She

never could figure out how to answer that, so mostly she'd leave me

alone then until the next time.

In fact I was quicker than most boys, and smarter, and

tougher, and more stubborn, and I never refused a dare dodging

traffic or climbing trees. But when we crossed into our teens all

the boys began to develop deep chests and shoulder muscles, and got

so they could swing on branches like apes. Not me. With my thin

arms I could only hang there and then let go. They got bulkier and

stronger and I only got softer and rounder, a lot softer and

rounder on my chest. So I had to quit trying to compete with them.

I bought a bra and took up being a girl as a life sentence.

That pleased my folks, who'd never thought it would happen.

Especially my mom was delighted when she found she had a daughter

to shop for after all. Then once I got some girl clothes and

started wearing them, and got a girl's hairdo, and started wearing

a little makeup, wow, I found out that for my whole life I'd been

absolutely wrong! Talk about dumb? What I found out was that no

way did I ever have to prove I was as good as a boy. I found out

that girls never have to prove anything. They're already better

than boys in every way that matters. And I found that deep down,

boys already know this. Girls don't ever have to do anything boys

do because they can always get boys to do it for them. A girl can

make a boy stumble all over his own feet and fall on his face if

she feels like it, no problem. Girls can even hurt boys real bad,

and if they do it just right the boys'll never complain -- in fact

they'll say thank you. They can't help it. That's how they're

made.

Even my boy cousins couldn't help themselves, I realized. One

day when we were still thirteen or so two of them were showing off

in trees in their back yard, and one of them paraded right off the

end of a branch while looking over his shoulder to see if I was

watching. He broke his collar bone when he hit the ground, but

when his parents hustled him off to the hospital he was still

looking back to see if I'd seen it happen! It's obvious. Boys

want to please girls. They need to. The only choice they get,

maybe, is which girl especially. They'll do anything we say, if we

know how to say it just the right way. And that's how it is.

I.

I guess I was still fourteen when I first found out how far I

could push a boy, and how much fun it was. Our house has a

swimming pool in the back yard. The previous owner used it just to

look at, but our family uses it all the time, and so do a few of my

friends from time to time, when I invite them over.

Well, one day when it was hot and my folks were out, two boys

I knew from school came by, a year or two older than me. They

hoped I'd ask them to hang around and use the pool, and I figured

why not -- they were both cute. They weren't the smartest boys

around, but still, good enough for me to practice being a girl on

them. Ronnie, the tall one, he was into body building, and his

shoulders and legs showed some promising bulges even then. Petey

was short and thin and not too hard to fake out -- I once beat him

at Indian wrestling because he went for a sucker shift-of-weight,

and then he fell for the same move a second time too. It bothered

him, my faking him out, because I was only a girl. He kept asking

me how I did it, and did I knew any other tricks. I told him lots,

but that only girls can get away with using them. That didn't stop

him, so I told him a few. Maybe he's still trying them out.

Anyhow, they were sweaty, and it was hot, so I told them sure,

we'd all use the pool. Then it turned out they already had their

bathing suits and towels with them. That annoyed me, because it

meant they were pretty sure I'd invite them to stay, and I don't

like anybody to feel pretty sure of anything when they're around

me. But I let them think they were right as we splashed each

other, and laughed, and they tried to grope me, and I swam circles

around them.

Then came time for them to change back into their clothes. We

were all three sitting around a big poolside patio table, and I

suggested we play a game. They glanced at each other. Petey

wagged his head at Ronnie, and Ronnie nodded, and then they both

grinned at me, and then there was a pause. They had a plan. I

tried to keep a straight face.

Then Petey asked me if I'd like to play "Show and Tell" with

them. The way we play is, each person gets to ask the others to

show or tell about something personal or embarrassing, or to do

something like that. All the players then have to do that same

thing, even the person doing the asking. That's so no one will ask

for anything too far off the wall.

Well, what they'd want me to do was obvious enough. I mean,

did I have to put on a red riding hood and take a walk through the

woods to figure that one out? But I got this idea I wanted to try,

so I said "Sure."

They stole another quick look at each other, and Ronnie, he

said, "You're sure, now," and I said sharply, "I just said so,

didn't I?" I wanted to get on with it. Then a quick thought: "You

guys too, no chickening out by anyone! And there's two of you, and

you each get to ask one thing, but there's only one of me, so to

even it out I get to ask two things of you guys, right? That's

only fair." Then I added, "You first, I'll go last."

Well, they were so eager to play they didn't think through

whether that was fair or not. I'd be getting two of whatever I

asked for each time, one from each of them each time, four all in

all. But they'd get only one thing from me apiece. So my taking

two turns wasn't really fair. But they were thinking it was

themselves versus me, two boys versus one girl, not each of us

versus each other, so they couldn't add up two and two, so they

just nodded without thinking. In a way they got what they

deserved.

We sat around the big table and just looked at each other,

until finally Ronnie lost it and started to leer, and he said right

on schedule, "Me first. Ok. Stand up and show us your boobs,

JayCee. Naked."

Well, I was wearing a two piece bikini, and I still didn't

have much to show when I was fourteen. My nipples were large and

pointy, but I was only beginning to swell out. Still, given what

I had in mind for them, I had no problem exposing my tits. I sort

of took center stage and started to untie my halter in back. Then

just to make sure there'd be no misunderstandings, not now, not for

the rest of the game, I paused still holding my string ties

together and said, "You too, Ronnie. You too, Petey."

They looked at me as if I'd gone weird, because they were both

already bare chested. But finally they both stood up, and waited,

and then Ronnie thought to say, "Ok, that's how we are."

So I nodded and undid the rest of my bathing suit top, and

then held it out to the side at arm's length, and stood there with

my other hand on my hip. Their eyes followed the top as I held it

out, then shifted back to my exposed nipples and the slightly round

mounds behind them. They stared at me solemnly for a while, and

made whatever they could of what they saw.

Then Pete said, "OK, now my turn. Show us your pussy, JayCee.

Take off your bathing suit bottom." He paused, then added, "You

promised, remember?"

Talk about unsure? He didn't think I'd do it, so he fired off

his reserve argument right off. But he didn't need to worry. "No

chickening out, that's what we said," I said. I untied the two

side bows on my Bikini bottom. Then I paused and waited. "You

too," I said.

Well, they'd been so eager to see what was between my legs

they forgot they'd have to drop their pants too, but they hesitated

only a moment. A little embarrassed but with his eyes on the

prize, me, Ronnie pushed his bathing suit down to his knees, took

a deep breath, and stood up. Then Pete. It was sort of funny.

They both tried to stand up straight like me, shoulders back and

chest out and all, but they hunched over anyhow, as if they could

hide their private parts behind their bellies, and they finished in

a kind of half-crouch. It was pathetic. I let go the strings on

my bikini bottom and then pulled it off straight out from between

my legs. Petey gasped! Then I held the bottom to one side too,

with my other hand.

Now there I was, standing before them completely naked, arms

out, shoulders back, head high, looking straight into their eyes.

Not that I didn't want to check out the scene further down on them.

But in due time. I knew that now, for what I meant to do, they had

to know who was in charge. And it was odd. I didn't feel any way

exposed or vulnerable or immodest, or even naked. In fact the

reverse. It was as if I were fully dressed, only in my skin, like

those nude women in those paintings over at the museum, those Greek

goddesses. As if I were standing in front of a throne.

So I took over. "All the way off," I said. "Put your bathing

suits on the table." And I put my bikini top and bottom down on

the table to set them an example, and then I stepped back a few

steps and put my both hands on my hips, legs a little apart, and I

stared at them again, and my bare tits stared at them too. Still

embarrassed, they stripped down the rest of the way, then picked up

their bathing suits and put them on the table.

Ronnie tried again to pull his shoulders back and stand tall,

like me, but when he straightened up his knees bent. Pete was

having his own problems. He was trying to cover his whole body

with just his hands. "I can't see you," I said to him. "Are you

ashamed? Of what?" I leaned back and cocked one hip at them, my

pelvis thrust forward, my hands still draped on my hips, and I

looked at them sideways amused, like girls I've seen in the movies

when they're playing seductive but hard-to-get. Then when I saw

what I saw, I *was* amused.

There they were, both of them, naked penises at half-dangle,

balls shriveled and trying to hide behind their penises. Pete's

prick had a pointed foreskin, but even with the extra flap it hung

only maybe half way down his balls. It looked maybe only an inch

or so long, soft the way it was. But Ronnie's big purple cock head

hung way down below his balls, maybe six inches down altogether,

maybe more.

I'd already seen my cousins' equipment the previous

Thanksgiving when we were all playing "Show and Tell" together out

in back while the grownups watched football inside, so these were

no big deal. Ronnie's and Petey's cocks looked just as silly,

hanging there between their legs. I hadn't known that cocks could

vary that much in size, so that was something, anyhow. And

Ronnie's was the biggest I'd seen yet, so that was something else.

Meanwhile, they both stared fascinated at the vee of my

crotch, which then was just barely covered with tan fuzz. There

was nothing else for them to see, just my fuzzy mound, and maybe

the beginning of my pussy, where the flat space disappears into the

crease tucked between my legs. But they couldn't take their eyes

off it. I suddenly realized that what they were staring at was for

them the unthinkable. They saw nothing! Nothing at all. A smooth

curved surface unlike anything they'd ever seen between anyone's

legs. No cock sprouting out of it, and no balls. Nothing.

I suddenly realized that in some deep place way down inside

them, they were awed and a little frightened. Here was the place

they'd come from, the same as their mothers', and that was

mysterious in itself. But worse! Here was what their own crotches

would look like if everything hanging there was cut off, missing,

gone. They had cocks and balls, but I had nothing. I had nothing

to lose. They were exposed and at risk, and I wasn't. It was as

if the worst thing they could imagine happening to them had already

happened to me, in some primordial way, yet I wasn't the least bit

bothered by it. In fact I was completely at ease, and that made me

superior beyond their comprehension. Was that why they

instinctively tried to hide themselves, and why I felt so powerful

at that moment?

"Now my turn," I said. "I get two things to ask." I looked at

their eyes. They were both still staring down at my mystery,

silent, coping with their thoughts. "Now, my first show and tell

is, show me how you guys masturbate."

They both stiffened, surprised, and raised their eyes up to

look at me, and found I was already staring back at them steadily,

not even blinking. I sensed in them a sudden tension I could use

if I could tip them the right way, so I decided to go for the gold.

"How you masturbate each other, I mean," I said, as if I were

completing my original sentence. Then I sat down at the table and

waited, never taking my eyes off them, making myself into an

audience of one waiting for them to begin their performance.

Well, as I'd expected, there were delaying tactics and

denials, a stream of "You're kidding, right?" and flat out "We

don't do each other," and "No way, Jose!" and so forth. I gave

them a minute to vent and get used to the idea, even to think

they'd persuaded me, and then I cut them both off with "No

chickening out, remember?" Then I couldn't resist. "Even though

those little pricks do look like chicken skin, the necks when the

heads are chopped off!"

They flinched, but I kept looking at them steadily. They

looked at me a moment longer, then averted their eyes and looked at

each other. I had them! Gently, even seductively, I added, "Just

reach over, you two, and pick up each other's cocks, and then show

me how you do it. Pull very gently. Be nice to each other!"

Then they couldn't resist. It was as if I were doing it to

them. They didn't dare look at each other or say anything, but

they each edged closer, faces fixed in a sort of smiling grimace,

and Ronnie's hand reached out for Petey's little thing. Ronnie

groped too high, so Petey took Ronnie's hand, pulled it further

down, lifted his cock, and placed it on Ronnie's palm. Then Petey

looked at Ron's crotch, reached over, and tenderly cradled Ronnie's

long dingus in his whole hand. Better than I'd hoped, I was

thinking. They both stood still for a few seconds, each hand

getting used to the heft of an unfamiliar penis, each one aware

that the other had custody of his most prized possession. Then

they each closed their hands on the other's cock and began to pull

back and forth, gently. Soon the pricks swelled up to fit their

open fists, and then they had no more problems holding and pulling

or stroking them. They closed their eyes. Ronnie held the whole

of Petey in his hand, now all of four inches, and squeezed it

rhythmically, and Petey slid his palm up and down on Ronnie's long

monster as it got longer, and they each pulled and stroked, over

and over, and a slight smile came over each one's face.

"This doesn't count as my second show and tell," I said. "But

wouldn't it be a little more friendly if you looked into each

others' eyes?"

They opened their eyes and looked at me and then at each

other, a little evasive at first. Then more directly at each

others' faces, as each one tried to concentrate his mind on the

pleasure the other was providing. In a few minutes they were each

lost again in their own sensations, but now they were looking at

each other unashamed, even a little fondly. It was so dear!

Really, precious!

So I decided it was time for me to take care of my own slit,

which by now had gotten pretty slick. There were two guys jerking

each other off under orders, mine, looking like they were in love!

That alone was enough to get me going! Also, I didn't want either

one of them to realize fair is fair, so one of them could do me

next, or I'd have to do both of them.

So I licked my middle finger and pushed it into me, and then

when it was wet and slippery I diddled it back and forth across my

clit, flipping that little button faster and faster. Real nice.

I could feel myself mounting, oooh!, really reaching higher and

higher, and in another minute Oh! Wow! I shuddered into a delicious

orgasm, a tremendous squeezing and expansing of all of me all at

once, a kind of explosive celebration of my pussy by my whole body!

My first one always comes fairly quick, but this was my strongest

ever, and it went on and on! When I opened my eyes I saw that

Ronnie and Pete were still so absorbed with each other they'd never

even noticed. They'd picked up the pace, and their breathing had

gotten faster and deeper, and now their hands were flying across

each other's crotches. Each one's face was twisted as if in pain,

or in concentrated yearning.

"Stop!"

They froze, each one with his hand gripping the other's

swollen dong, and looked at me dazed.

"Before you guys blow each other off, you should know what's

my second Show and Tell. Now, my second one is, I want one of you

to fuck the other in the ass."

They stared at me horrified. Pete swallowed, and swallowed

again, but still couldn't say anything. His eyes avoided mine and

stared into the middle distance. Ronnie swallowed too, then stared

hard straight at me. I noticed neither of them let go the other's

prick. I suppose they were afraid if they did their fun might be

over, and by now they were both desperate to cum. That's why I

thought I could get away with this.

"You're kidding!" Pete said finally. What he meant was,

"You're serious!"

"That's not fair," Ronnie said. "If we did that what would you

do?" He was talking at least, single syllables, and just barely

thinking. Does a boy's brain close down when his cock rises?

Anyhow, he was opening a negotiation! He was seriously considering

my proposal!

I already had my answer. "Whoever gets fucked can fuck me,"

I said. "In the ass. That's fair."

I knew that was the clincher. Ronnie heard me loud and clear.

I could tell by the way he was still staring into my face, his eyes

lit by speculations I couldn't myself imagine! His cock lurched in

Petey's hand. I bet both of these guys are virgins, I thought to

myself. Well, my ass wasn't. The previous Thanksgiving I'd traded

in its virginity to a cousin, for a baseball.

Well, it was a little more complicated, it happened this way.

I'd gone off with that cousin, and had cheated on a game of

forfeits, and had gotten him to kneel between my legs and slide his

tongue in and out of my cunt while I was lounging back in a soft

chair with my thighs resting on his shoulders, reading a book as if

he didn't matter to me at all. He looked so sorrowful and so

earnest, staring over my mound into my eyes from his mouth slurped

and sucked on me, and I felt so good with him down there, that I

let him know it when his tongue brought me off. That was a

mistake, because then he felt good too, and wanted to fuck me. I

told him no way with his prick, I was saving my pussy for my

husband and the father of my children. He bought that argument,

and asked instead for a blow job. Fair's fair, he pointed out, the

way kids always do.

Well, just about then I'd been reading some stupid grownup

woman's magazine that said that cocksucking was servile worship of

the male phallus, and one of the ways men dominate women and keep

them subservient, and stuff. I didn't know then that a phallus is

really like the control stick in an airplane -- once you take hold

of it you can fly a guy anywhere. One lick and he's yours, he'll

do anything. But I didn't know that. I still didn't know it that

day with Ronnie and Petey by the swimming pool, when I was getting

them to play queer with each other.

Anyhow, I'd told my cousin I wouldn't blow him, no way, I was

liberated and wouldn't demean myself. Then with a sudden

inspiration I told him he could push into my asshole instead, if

he'd throw in the baseball with Babe Ruth's signature his father

kept in a little plastic shrine on the mantel. I'd always envied

them that baseball, but mainly I was curious what it felt like to

have a guy inside me moving in and out, what all the fuss was

about. There was no way I'd let him into my cunt, because then

he'd forever after lord it over me that he'd been Number One. Boys

do that. My asshole he'd never boast about, because at that age

most boys still think a back door is a shithole, and yukky. But

he'd just been down there inspecting everything with his mouth and

nose, and he knew that after my pussy my rosebud was the next best

thing. So he agreed.

And he did it. We got him oiled up, and he got in after only

a little bit of trouble, and he felt real good in there, but barely

two swipes in and out and he came into me and then all over my ass.

I was disappointed, but didn't let on. He told me later that his

father really belted his ass over and over for supposedly playing

with that baseball and then losing it, but that getting into me

made it all worth while. I was his first. He was grateful, the

way I like guys to be when they've done what I want them to do.

The way I expected Ronnie and Petey to be when I was finished with

them. I always give satisfaction.

Well, Ronnie just stood there staring at me, his dong still

stiff in Petey's hand, its purple head poking out into the

sunshine, and I could see that wheels were whirring in his brain.

A chance to stick it to a girl at last! Or into Petey? But at

what price?

Petey may not have registered any of it yet, that whoever gets

fucked gets to fuck me. "You haven't whacked off yet, JayCee," he

said, maybe stalling for time. "Or whatever it is girls do."

"Oh, yes I have," I said. "I came. You two lovers were too

busy with each other to notice." I pushed two fingers into my

quim, pulled them out gleaming wet, then stood up, walked over, and

held them under Pete's nose. "What do you think this is? Or

wouldn't you know?" I wiped my juice on his upper lip so the smell

would last and maybe he'd get to like it, and then I gave Ronnie

his chance, drenching my fingers a second time and then holding

them up to his mouth. "Suck on this!" I commanded. He did, as if

he were licking a candy cane. "You can do it, Ronnie," I told him

in a low, sultry voice. "Be Pete's girl, for me."

I won that gamble too. I'd figured that Ronnie would

calculate even in his coma that Pete's little cock shoved into him

was a small price to pay to get his big one into me. I hoped so,

but I didn't want him feeling too macho about it. Now whatever he

did, he'd be following my orders. Better, in his own mind he'd be

the girl who got laid, or he'd think I was thinking that. And once

a girl in your own mind, I was thinking, always a girl. Once

fucked, always fucked. I'll have to remember to call his cock a

clit, I thought, and later I'll have to ask how his pussy felt with

Pete's cum still leaking out of it. Because I had other uses for

him now that I'd seen how obediently he'd licked pussy juice from

my fingers. He'd be handy to have around when I felt like slinging

my legs over someone's shoulders. More manageable than a cousin.

Ronnie finally decided. He pulled a few more times on Pete's

pecker, then leaned in and muttered something to him, and then

turned toward me. "He'll need lube of some kind, or he'll hurt me,

JayCee" he said. His voice sounded very respectful. "How about we

use some more of your juice?"

"I use my juice for me," I said with finality. "You've got a

mouth, Ronnie. Take care of your own needs! Petey'll do the same

for you afterward, blow job for blow job, won't you Petey?" I

flashed him a smile to keep him encouraged, didn't even glance at

Petey, then turned and sat down again to watch. Can you imagine?

I was only fourteen then!

And sure enough, Ronnie looked at Petey, and Petey nodded, a

little overwhelmed by all this wheeling and dealing. So Ronnie

dropped to his knees in front of Petey and took Petey's little cock

into his mouth. He gave it just a few licks all over to coat it

with thick saliva, and only a few sucks and strokes up and down

with his lips to spread the slick stuff around, but it was enough

for Petey to forget himself, and stiffen up all the way, and then

to start fucking his friend's face.

I was ecstatic! Here before my eyes was a boy I'd turned into

a genuine cock sucker, home-made, my very first! I wished I had a

camera. Petey's cock grew as swollen as it would ever get, sliding

in the warm moisture of Ronnie's mouth, and his face again took on

a glazed look. But Ronnie took no chances. He stopped suddenly,

then got down on his hands and knees and lowered his head and chest

onto a towel on the ground, with his butt way up in the air. Petey

mounted him doggy style, spread his cheeks, felt for his asshole,

and pushed at him a few times with that stubby cock.

At first all he did was shove Ron forward. But I could tell

when he finally managed to get it into Ron, because on that stroke,

the third or the fourth, instead of lurching forward when Petey's

cock shoved on him Ron's body held steady. In fact Ronnie wriggled

and snuggled back, and then Petey really began fucking him! Ronnie

was now genuinely queer at both ends! I felt like a Maestro

conducting an orchestra! A few more lunges, and then Petey was

sprawled onto Ronnie, hugging him tight and squeezing his belly

against his ass, and shouting "Hah! Hah! Hah!" Each shout another

spurt of semen squirting into Ronnie's guts! Then Pete softened

and flopped out of Ronnie's ass almost at once, leaving behind a

trail of oozing cum.

Petey may have been small, but he had semen to spare.

Ronnie's asshole was filled to the brim and running over. I bet

he'll still be leaking tonight, I thought to myself idly. I'll try

to remember to lend him a tampon before he goes home, or his

folks'll ask about the stain on his bathing suit. I wondered if

he'd want to fuck himself with the tampon while putting it in, now

he'd had a taste of it, the way I sometimes do. He would if I told

him to. Maybe he would for no reason at all.

I caught a glimpse of Petey's softened cock, and marveled that

anything that small had even gotten past Ron's ass cheeks. But

he'd done it! They both stood up. Pete's cum leaked down Ron's

legs and glistened in his crack, and Pete looked like any boy who's

just blown his wad, complacent and a little arrogant. Ron looked

disturbed. I knew why, of course. He did feel more like a girl

than he'd meant to feel, now he'd been irrevocably fucked by a

stiff prick up the ass. But he wasn't a girl. Not with that cock,

he wasn't. And he still hadn't managed to cum yet himself. It was

time.

"Sit here under the umbrella, Little Peter," I said to him.

"I'll give Ronnie back to you so you can be his girl next time, now

that he's yours. Put your bathing suit back on now. If you can't

find it I'll lend you some panties to wear home."

I don't know, I suppose I was just teasing these would-be

macho studs who'd come by my house cocksure that any girl's

swimming pool was theirs for the asking. But Pete turned bright

red, and when I looked I saw Ron was red too. Well, well! A

discovery of some kind! Had they done each other previously, or

dreamed of it, these buddies? Had they just now been girls in

their own minds, while they jerked each other off with such loving

affection? Had I just ordered them to enact a really secret

desire? Maybe that's how boys use each other sexually and yet keep

their self-respect, by pretending one of them at least is a girl.

Were guys so ashamed to do it with other guys that they'd rather

pretend they're the other sex, to avoid thinking they must be gay?

Do gays do that too, pretend they're girls when they're really only

guys who prefer each other? All interesting to look into later,

but I said nothing. Pete put on his bathing suit and sat down

without another word.

Well, this time I let Ron lubricate himself on the outside of

my pussy. It was my ass, after all. "Now go easy," I said to him.

"Remember how Little Petey felt in you when he was moving in and

out of your ass? Did he stretch you out first, and then feel real

good? Delicious? Yummy? Could you feel his cock pulse when he

came, and did his cum feel hot when it splashed inside you? At

that moment did you think to yourself, now at last I'm a real

woman? Remember that my ass isn't slippery like yours is right now

with that cum leaking all over, so go slow!"

Then I got down the way he'd done it, and let him slowly push

that long cock of his into my rear, a little at a time. I

instructed him inch by inch, like a steelworker signalling how to

work a girder into position. It took a while. This was only my

second ass-fuck, so mainly I was comparing it to my first, to see

what new sensations were available -- I don't like expecting

something and ending up disappointed. Well, Ron's cock was really

huge compared to my cousin's, and it did feel tremendous when he

finally got it all in. I felt full. Complete. It's nice,

something that swollen way down deep inside you, I decided. School

would begin again before too long, and this was something I could

use to reward boys who were especially obedient, or as they liked

to think of it, especially gentlemanly and courteous with me. I'd

let them put their most prized possession into my shithole.

But that was the best of it. Ron began thrusting, and it

seemed to me that each stroke in and out was like a slow commute to

the suburbs and then back into the city. Each one took a while,

and together they got repetitious. He pumped me, and my mind

drifted to the magazine I'd been flipping through a couple of hours

earlier, when the two of them first came by looking for a free ride

and I'd taken them for one. For sure, from now on, I decided,

whoever's doing my ass will at least diddle my clit at the same

time, unless they've gotten me excited some other way. If he isn't

Mr. Right.

When finally Ron came I let him stay in me a minute longer,

and then I wriggled out from under him. He looked so grateful I

almost laughed. But instead I turned and kissed him on the cheek,

thanked him, and told him that now he was my favorite stud as well

as my favorite girlfriend. Then I asked him to let me know the

next time he and Petey jerk each other off or fuck each other,

because I'd enjoy knowing I was the one who'd helped them find

themselves.

That reminded Ronnie. He stood up and went over to where

Petey was sitting and watching the two of us. His cock was still

half-engorged, and still slick with semen and who knows what from

my bowels. He walked over where Petey was sitting and just stood

there with it touching Petey's nose, and didn't say a word.

Feeling macho? Too embarrassed to ask? But after only a second's

hesitation Petey took it into his hand, then dropped his mouth onto

the big purple knob and plunged his head all the way down onto it.

All the way down! It swelled up full even as I watched, and then

disappeared down Petey's throat! Petey bobbed his head up and down

on it several times! Had I discovered something about their

relationship they'd rather have kept to themselves? Had Petey done

this before? He took in Ron's cock like a master sword swallower!

Ronnie then leaned back slightly with his hands on his hips, and

Little Petey dropped his hands to his sides, headfucking Ron

unassisted in long, easy, comfortable strokes. Then Ron grunted,

clasped Petey's head tight to his crotch, squirted his load

straight down his throat, and reached over and lifted Petey's head

off his cock by both ears.

When they left I told them I'd love to have a picture of Petey

sucking on Ronnie as a souvenir of the afternoon, and Ron nodded

his agreement absent-mindedly while looking for one of his sandals.

Apparently nothing even to think about. So maybe I was right about

them. They may or may not have done it before, but they surely

were going to do it again. Ronnie would see to that.

A few days later, three Polaroid pictures arrived in the mail:

Little Peter cocksucking Big Ron the way I'd seen, and another of

Petey grinning at the camera while wiping a blob of cloudy glop off

his lips, and last of all the two of them blowing each other in a

classic 69. On the back of that last one was written "Here's how

we learned to swim at your place!" These were pictures with their

faces fully visible! Talk about trust? The next three or four

times they got together to do each other they phoned to tell me.

I congratulated them each time, and wished them a long and happy

life together.

They often invited me to come watch once they were well into

it, and I took them up on it just often enough to keep them eager

to see me. They liked doing whatever I told them, and I never ever

had to remind them about the pictures they'd sent me. I sent them

on lots of little missions to keep them busy and happy. For

example, it turned out after a while that they weren't really

girlish, they were gay. They even preferred sex with each other

dressed normal, like guys. Even so I made Ron buy Petey a full

girl's outfit from K-Mart, from a bra on out, one item each day,

the two of them livid with embarrassment each time Ron had to ask

the salesgirl if Petey could use a changing room to try the item

on. I told Petey to dress up for Ron for a big date out at least

once a month. And to wear makeup, and to make himself as pretty as

he could. And to send me a picture now and then of Ron lifting his

skirt to ream him in the rear. During the next year those pictures

got more and more elaborate as Petey got more and more into

dressing up, and spent more money on costumes. He turned out to be

a real Drag Queen, no mistake about it, a real contest-winner.

Of course other kids at school caught on in no time at all.

The two of them got careless, and sometimes they were seen holding

hands, and there was talk. The clincher came when they were seen

together in a pizza parlor on the other side of town, Petey dressed

like a girl, though in bad taste, another girl told me. Well, I'd

seen that outfit and thought he looked rather cute in it, a

low-neck peasant blouse and a teeny denim mini-skirt, with sort of

clunky shoes and big bold eye makeup. I liked it on him. Anyhow,

after that, girls lost interest in dating them, though some girls

felt especially comfortable with them and invited them to slumber

parties, and gave them advice how to use makeup with more

restraint, and asked them how it felt, doing each other. Girls are

curious about things like that.

Boys wanted no part of them of course, and called them all the

usual names. So they got more and more dependent on each other for

their social lives, and by the end of the year they were living

practically in each others' pockets. Petey's parents caught on

eventually, and when the school year ended the family moved across

the state to another town, so Petey could get a fresh start. But

by then he didn't want one. Petey soon found some new boyfriends,

and Ron knew where he lived, and they visited each other now and

then.

I dated lots of guys the next few years. A girl with my kind

of self-confidence who isn't afraid to tell boys what to do

attracts certain kinds of boys. I'd let them do my homework for me

if they were smart enough, or drive me to school mornings, and I'd

reward them by letting them perform little services for me. They

got to be known as "JayCee's nursery school," and it turned out

they were real popular with other girls when I was finished with

them. They had all kinds of special skills.

The jocks took me on as a personal challenge, and of course

got nowhere. None of them ever got into my pussy, because I was

still saving it for the boy I would one day marry, I told them.

Also because they were boastful adolescents who still thought a

fuck was a conquest, even the smart ones. It was easy to outthink

them. They were never sincere with me, so I saw no reason to be

sincere with them when I put them through hoops.

The other boys at our high school all knew that my pussy was

out of bounds except to their mouths. But they knew I expected

that much lip service from them at least, and they looked forward

to offering it. They knew that if I really liked them, or if I was

in just the right mood, or if I wanted something special from them,

they knew that I might even use my mouth on them too, to help

persuade them to do whatever it was I wanted.

And they knew that if they were really attentive and

submissive and grateful and courteous, and if I was especially

turned on, and if they were willing to do certain especially

humiliating things while I watched, they knew I might actually

allow them to fuck my ass, enter me near that sacred place where my

eventual husband's semen would eventually unite with my own

eventual egg. Knowing all these things, they'd all try extra hard

to please me as soon as their faces got down to business. I had no

complaints, and I heard none.

Ron never got into my ass again -- despite its size his cock

was just plain boring, and it turned out to be mutual, because he'd

discovered girls just didn't interest him. He liked Petey and a

few other boys he hung out with, and that was it. He'd let me put

my legs on his shoulders when I wasn't going with anyone else and

wanted someone down there, though he confessed once that he did it

only because I asked him. In return I let him use our swimming

pool without his ever having to ask. Oh yes, I also got good

grades in school, very good grades, though that was never what

school was really about as far as I was concerned.

II.

So along came that summer when I was nearly seventeen, and had

half the boys in my class, practically, under my pussy or my thumb.

But that summer nearly every boy I knew left town. They went to be

camp counselors, or for sports training, or to learn mountain

climbing, what they called "Leadership School." What a joke! Some

wimp hangs from a rope between some rock and nowhere, and that's

how he learns how to be a leader. Really! Any girl who can't get

a guy to do that any time she wants ought to turn in her tits.

Anyhow, some guys went out of town because there weren't too many

summer jobs that year, or else they were farmed out to relatives in

other cities to broaden their experience. Ronnie talked his

parents into letting him spend part of the summer with an Uncle who

lives in Provincetown, on Cape Cod, and then talked Petey's parents

into letting Petey go there too. Some families moved out of town,

the way families do. It's sad when that happens, just before a kid

finally get to be a Senior in High School and can do anything. But

it happens.

It also happens that families move in. In fact it happened

just down the street from us. Right after school ended I noticed

how dull everything got suddenly, how the place emptied out. There

were still a few guys around, of course, not my usual crowd, though

you make do with what you've got. I almost took up my mother's

idea I should find summer work of some kind to earn money for

college. In fact, that's what my family still thinks I did do,

that that's where I got all that money I saved up that summer, that

that's how I won that whopping scholarship that's paid my way

through college mostly. I guess in a way I did find summer work.

For sure I found what I wanted to do when I graduated.

This new family that moved in down the street a block away

wasn't really a family. Just two people, a mother and a son. The

day the movers came I saw him outside cutting the grass. He looked

to be about my age, a little taller but not much, and real thin,

though it was hard to tell from a distance because he favored loose

clothes. He had long hair worn straight and loose the way all the

guys did that year, when only geeks wore pony tails. A girl's hair

that year had to be long too, but mainly it had to be as crimped

and curly as rollers and hot irons and drug store permanent waves

could get it. Slaves to fashion, that's what we all are, all of

us. The guys too. But this guy checked out OK on that score.

My mother went over with a tray of sandwiches the day they

moved in, and stayed about an hour. "Nice people," she reported to

my father and me at dinner. "At least she's very nice. Jane is

her name. She runs some kind of merchandising by mail thing, and

is very successful at it to judge by the furniture and china

they've got. Spode, service for twelve, she was unpacking and

putting away -- beautiful -- it must be priceless! I don't know

why she didn't buy a bigger house on the other side of town, but

she says this one is ample for the two of them, and she likes the

location. She was divorced when her son was just starting

kindergarten, she tells me -- her husband ran off, or ran off once

too often, or something. The boy seems a little quiet, maybe even

shy, but he's very polite, very well brought up. He'll be a Senior

when school begins again, same as you, JayCee. I told them you'd

come over some time and introduce yourself, and maybe show him

around a little, where you kids hang out, things like that. With

school out and so many families away, he's got no way to meet

people his own age. His name's Marion."

I didn't say anything. My Mom was always trying to fix me up

with boys she thought she could trust, our cousins for example,

which is how my ass lost its cherry and my Uncle lost his baseball.

Or with boys from families that belong to our church -- she thinks

they're respectable because they call her "ma'am." I tell her

they're the worst, because by the time she quits talking me up they

think she's already guaranteed them a piece of my ass, and they

expect me to hand them the rest on a platter. That's why so often

I hand them their own asses, not always as nicely as I did it that

time with Ronnie and Petey. I stay away from polite creeps.

They're the worst.

What I was actually thinking was, with a name like 'Marion'

this kid better be a fighter, with a nickname like "Spike" or

"Crusher," something to slow the guys down when they want to lean

on him a little. Polite won't cut it. Boys like to push each

other. Nice boys in our neighborhood don't stay that way.

Anyhow, a week later I happened to be out front getting ready

to visit my friend Marcie, when I saw this Marion kid coming down

the sidewalk toward me wearing his oversized shirt and baggy pants,

carrying a plastic bag from that drugstore in the mall on the

highway two blocks south of us. Sort of hip-hop, his clothes, I

saw, acceptable enough, big, everything out and hanging loose. I

checked myself. Just the reverse -- real tight jeans and a black

stretch sleeveless pullover with a turtle neck, no bra, fresh

lipstick I'd just put on to show Marcie the shade I think goes with

a jumper she just bought. My hair up in the Betty Grable forties

look I'm trying out. I'm OK, I decided. If I smile at him he'll

fall over.

So I crouched down pretending to do something with a flower

bed alongside the sidewalk, and when he got nearer I wiggled my

tail at him a little. Looking him over sideways, I could see he

was trying hard not to notice me, the way polite boys do, but he

couldn't help himself. Then when he was just about to pass by I

suddenly stood up in front of him and faced him down and smiled.

I gave him both barrels at close range. I can be devastating when

I want to be, and I can be mean, too, and sometimes it's the same

thing. I didn't know which it was yet myself, in this case.

He stopped walking as if he'd hit a wall, and then he stared

at me with no change of expression.

"Hi!" I said brightly. "I'm JayCee, the girl who lives here?

My mother was over to your house the other day, a week ago? When

you were moving in, and she met you and your mother?" I saw he had

huge almond-shaped eyes and long black lashes and high cheekbones.

Close up he looked real cute! In fact he was a living doll!

Stroke him the right way, and he'll purr like a cat I'll bet. Or

a tiger. He might be worth getting to know after all!

He smiled just a bit, a little nervous, and he passed the bag

he was carrying over to his other hand, then half-hid it behind his

leg. I'd already seen through the plastic that it had some big

bottles of pills, and a big blue and purple package with "Kotex

OverNite Maxi Pads" in white letters. No mystery -- he was on an

errand for his mother. But at his age mothers can seem an

embarrassment. "Sure," he said. "JayCee. Your mother said you

might be coming by real soon. I'm pleased to meet you."

"I'll walk you," I said. "Then I'll have come by." No sense

letting anyone get any advantage over you, any time. I started

down the sidewalk. But he kept standing there, so I stopped and

looked back at him over my shoulder, and I gave him my slow steady

inquiring look with one eyebrow raised real high. I once turned

two football players into drooling mush with that look.

"No, I didn't mean that," he said, now altogether flustered.

"I mean I'm very pleased to meet you. I was looking forward to

it." Now he clutched his shopping bag in front of him with both

hands.

I realized that he was one of those boys who have a hard time

speaking to girls, a late bloomer or something. He wasn't just

jockeying for position when he'd said that about me supposed to

come by and I didn't, trying to hang a guilt trip on me. He'd said

it because that was all he could think to say. He understood that

I misunderstood him and that I was miffed, and now he was trying to

apologize and be nice! Now that was something! The other boys I

knew wouldn't have had a clue to anything that had already happened

in this little conversation, and if they could have figured it out

they couldn't have cared less!

"Likewise," I said, and this time I gave him my special smile.

Sincere. I really do have one, though there isn't much call for

it. "I'll walk you. I'd like to." Should I tell him I've seen

him cutting the grass? No, too relaxed and neighborly. Keep the

initiative. Stay on him.

"Your name's Marion, isn't it," I noted.

He realized he'd forgotten to say so, and felt further

disadvantaged, which was my intention. "Yes." he said. "'Marion'

spelled with an 'O.' That was John Wayne's name, too, before he

was John Wayne."

The poor boy was belly up! So sensitive about having a name

that sounds like a girl's that he had a canned speech prepared to

prove he's really a man's man like John Wayne. Who'd doubted it?

Obviously he was first in line!

I decided to keep after him. "Marion with an 'O," I said.

"That's pronounced 'Marianne,' right? Then you won't mind if I

call you 'Marianne'? 'Mary' for short, maybe?" Then the clincher

so he wouldn't dare object. "It sounds more friendly that way.

You don't mind, do you?" Now let him hang himself. What's in a

name?

He surrendered. "No, not at all," he said. "Whatever you

like." I had him. He was outclassed. But he *knew* he was

outclassed, and that showed more intelligence than ever glimmered

in any of the boys I knew. I decided that I liked him. Maybe I

should have come by after all? I decided that this could be a

prize fish, so I should reel him in. Keep up the pressure so he

won't throw the hook.

"Mary," I said to him, taking his arm real comfy, so he'd know

I wasn't being sarcastic or threatening, but also so he wouldn't

spook and run off, "Why did you buy Kotex at the mall? Are you

having your period now?"

I hung on tight until he could get a grip on himself. Now his

doll face was bright red. "Oh, JayCee," he said finally. "Quit

teasing me, OK?"

Terrific! I loved it! He respected himself after all! He

didn't fall all over himself to explain the obvious, that it was

for his mother. He was uneasy about his name, but he didn't feel

totally apologetic about everything, as if everyone's opinion but

his own mattered. He knew I was mocking and testing him, maybe

even insulting him, but he took off the edge by calling it teasing.

And it worked! All of a sudden, I'd only been teasing him, in a

friendly way, the way girls do when they meet an interesting guy.

I liked that. I squeezed his arm to tell him, and I knew he knew

that too. His blush faded, not altogether. "OK, Marianne," I

said. No reason to back off just because I was beginning to like

him. "Deal!"

"What're the pills?" I asked him, now just making

conversation. We were only about halfway to his house from mine.

"Vitamins," he said. "I had asthma and such when I was

little, and I took a lot of pills. Now my mother feels better when

I take them."

"Prescription vitamins? Let's see!" I could see the typed RX

labels through the translucent plastic bag, so I reached over and

took the bag from him before he could pull back and be embarrassed

into playing tug of war, and I reached in and started reading the

bottles. They had his mother's name on them, not his.

"These pills are for your mother too," I said, to put my Kotex

taunt behind us once and for all.

"She's got the health insurance policy," he said, "So she gets

the prescriptions, even the ones for me."

Was he kidding me now? About asthma and vitamin pills? I

could read, and I saw that these were birth control pills. Female

hormones of some kind. One was "Estynil Estradiol" and the other

was "Progesterone." The same stuff the doctor started me on last

year, to make my period more regular, and as Mom said, to forestall

any little problems. Only mine come in a cute little pill wheel

inside a compact, so I won't forget to take one each day, or forget

which one. And mine are a lot smaller. These were big pills, like

the kind my Mom started taking after her hysterectomy, massive

doses of female hormones to keep her in womanly trim. I checked

again in the bag. It was Kotex all right. No hysterectomy. A

mystery. I decided he was kidding me but wasn't very good at it.

"Well, here we are, Mary," I said. We stopped for a moment on

the sidewalk in front of his house. And I added sincerely, because

he needed all the encouragement he could get, obviously, "It's nice

that we live near each other, Marianne." He smiled. "I like you.

You stop by. We have a pool."

He hesitated, and then asked if I'd like to come in and meet

his mother. Meaning he wanted me to meet her. Meaning, he really

liked me too. He led the way into the kitchen, and there she was

standing by the window, cutting vegetables.

Marion's mother was thin too, like him, with a nice figure,

and though she wore no makeup at all it was obvious that she could

look stunning whenever she chose -- she had the same high

cheekbones as her son, and the same almond-shaped eyes, and she had

the same black lashes, though on a woman you can never tell. She

carried herself like a dancer -- there was something poised and

formally gracious even in the way she turned to greet me. Her hair

was fairly long for a woman her age, and piled high up on her head,

the way mine was pinned up. She made pleased and surprised noises

to see the two of us together, looking from one of us to the other

and saying something about my mother's visit the day they first

moved in. So she knew who I was already, without being introduced.

I saw that the kitchen window in front of her cutting board on the

counter gave her a full view of our entire promenade, from my

calculated crouch in front of my own house practically to their

front steps. I glanced out that window, then at his mother again.

She was watching me, and we saw we understood each other perfectly.

She smiled. Marion put the bag on the kitchen table between them.

"JayCee, isn't it," his mother said wiping a hand on her

apron, and offering it. "I'm Jane. Just 'Jane' please. No

formalities here. I'm delighted to meet you, I'm sure you know

that." Then to her son, "You got the prescriptions too, Marion?

The vitamins? Yes, here they are." She opened the pill bottles

and took two from one, then one from the other, huge as pills go,

and handed them to him. "Take these now," she told him. "Then if

you don't mind, that washing machine isn't hooked up right. Would

you mind going down and reversing the hoses, and put it up on its

blocks, and check it over, then holler to me when you think it's

finally installed right, so I can bring down some washing and we

can test it out?"

"Sure, Mom," he said. "I'll see you, JayCee!"

"When you come up. I'll look after your friend meanwhile.

I'd like to get to know JayCee a little, if she doesn't mind, now

that she's here. You go down and we'll talk, and we'll be here

when you've done what you need to do."

He went down to the cellar to fix the washing machine or

whatever. I looked at her expectantly. She hadn't gotten rid of

her son just to pass the time of day with me. "Your mother told me

you were a nice girl," his mother said to me when we were out of

his hearing. "She didn't tell me you were also clever. I see that

for myself. I'm pleased to know you."

"Likewise," I said, not much into formalities myself. I

looked her straight in the eye, and she looked straight into mine.

I liked her immediately. "Mrs....um, Jane, you have a nice son.

I like him."

"Yes, I just heard you tell him that," she commented with a

small smile. Meaning she'd also heard me call him Mary. She

didn't seem to mind. Also meaning, she didn't want secrets between

us.

This emboldened me, but I remembered my manners. "Can I ask

you something, Mrs...Jane, I mean? Right out, with no 'I know its

really none of my business, but...' stuff?"

I had never spoken to anyone like that before. Not so blunt.

But Marion's mother seemed to invite it. I could sense that, and

I wanted her respect, and I sensed this was how to get it.

"Absolutely, JayCee! No 'none of my business stuff...'

between us ever, OK?"

"Great!" I said thinking to myself that there were certainly

some secrets around here, if she's that open about being open with

me. "I guess I've got two questions, really. The first is, why

did you name your son 'Marion'? That was asking for trouble for

him."

She looked at me steadily, then sat down at the table and

leaned on her elbows, and twined her wrists together and clasped

her hands. It was a graceful gesture, like an actress or a model,

and I thought I might try that some time myself. It might be

useful. She found it useful, obviously. She nodded for me to sit

too, so I did.

"You ask without preliminaries, so I'll answer the same way.

By the time Marion was born I knew I was going to divorce his

father. His father is a real shit, a vicious man with no respect

for anyone he can't control, especially women, and a foul-mouthed

wife-beater. I'd wanted a daughter of my very own, so at least I

could carry something good away from my years with him, not a son

who might look up to that bastard and maybe some day choose to

live with him, and to think and behave like him. And a daughter

he'd never contest during a divorce. He'd want all kinds of rights

over a son."

"But we take what we get. I got a boy. So I gave him a boy's

name I could imagine was a girl's name, and everyone else could

think was a girl's name if they wanted to. That way I saw to it

that I was asking for the right kind of trouble for him. He's

still a little defensive, the way adolescent boys are, but you must

have noticed, he doesn't feel it's al all demeaning to be carrying

what sounds like a girl's name. You can call him 'Mary' to tease

him, if you like, or even 'Marianne' all the time, and it doesn't

bother him at all. He takes no notice. He's not insulted that his

name sounds like a girl's. He respects girls. He's had to learn

to respect them in order to respect himself, and not go through

life cringing and apologizing for things that aren't his fault."

She sat back and smiled. "Then when his father came home from some

long overseas engineering and whoring trip and got infuriated to

learn that he now had a son named Marion, well, that was another

plus."

"Ok, Mrs. ... uh, ma'am, fair enough. Just now I...."

"'Jane,' please, JayCee, if you don't mind."

"No, Jane, I don't mind at all. I like it. I like you too."

I really did. Why did I want her to know right off? "That

explains why he didn't mind my calling him 'Marianne' or 'Mary.'

I didn't get anywhere near him with that."

"Closer than you'd think, but not the way you'd think, JayCee.

'Marianne's' a lovely version of 'Marion.' And so is he. I wish

I'd thought of it! I'm glad you did. You had another question?"

"Yes, ma'am. Yes, Jane. This one's a little more serious."

I really hesitated, then I just blurted it out. "Why are you

feeding your son female hormones and telling him they're vitamins?"

Jane glanced at the bottles between us on the table, then

looked at me mildly but steadily. "When he was a boy he had

asthma," she said, "And he got accustomed to taking vitamin

supplements and allergy shots. He thinks he still is."

That wasn't really relevant, except that now I knew that he

was also shooting up female hormones, and didn't know that either.

Pretty heavy duty stuff. I sat there waiting.

"May I ask how you know what these are?" She picked one up

and held it as if to read the label, but didn't bother looking at

it.

I told her. And how I knew they weren't for her.

She glanced at the Kotex package when I mentioned it, with a

quick smile. Then she resumed looking straight at me. She added

gently, as if reminiscing, "Yes, I saw you reading the labels

earlier while you two were walking here. I knew you knew. And I

notice that neither then nor just now did you say anything to him.

You saw as soon as you both walked in here that he didn't even

blink when I called them vitamins and handed him some. He still

thinks they're vitamins. "

Now I felt like a co-conspirator. Was that was how she wanted

me to feel?

"He also gets hormone shots, as I've just told you, and I have

his blood monitored carefully each month. I love him, and I take

no chances with him. He needs to overcome his body's natural

production of male hormones, so he needs heavy doses of estrogen

and so forth. If he'd had an arranged accident when he was

younger, and lost his testicles, he could have gone on much smaller

doses to complete his puberty. But it's too late now -- now he'd

think it was a disaster if it happened, and I don't want him to

suffer anything traumatic like that ever!"

But she still wasn't answering my question.

She looked steadily at me a moment longer, then she suddenly

straightened up. "JayCee," she said. "Can I talk to you frankly,

woman to woman? No 'stuff' at all?"

Now she really wanted to make me a co-conspirator, no question

about it. What she wanted to say was not to be known even by her

own son. It could be a barrier between me and Marion, if we ever

got close. I hesitated, but I'd never known anyone like this

woman. She was elegant and yet down-to-earth, direct yet extremely

tactful, gracious, smart, and she knew her own mind. She was

already some of the things I realized I wanted to be. "Yes, of

course, ah, Jane," I said. She knew I knew what she was really

asking. But that wasn't good enough for her. She had to underline

it.

"What I say now never leaves this room. And Marion or

'Marianne' is never to hear of it. Are you willing to agree to

that?"

"Sure," I said. I love mysteries, and a big one was about to

be unfolded.

"I just told you that when Marion was born I wanted a girl,

didn't I?"

I nodded.

"Well, in a nutshell, I'm getting one. Marion is becoming a

girl. I've arranged for him to have a girl's puberty instead of a

boy's puberty. He doesn't know it himself yet, but this summer

coming up is a crucial one for his development. I want to use it

to ease his transition to living as a girl full time by the time

school begins again, not merely so he'll accept it, but so he'll

enjoy it. So he'll love it! So he can start school this Fall as

a girl, and never again be anything else, and for the rest of his

life never look back. Never wish to be anything else. That's one

reason why we moved here, where no one knows him. No questions, no

curiosity, no mockery. A whole new beginning."

I was dumbfounded. I leaned forward and asked her yet again.

"Jane, why are you doing this to him."

"Not to him, with him," his mother said. "For him. For

different reasons. Let me list a few, and let's see if they don't

make sense to you."

"First, girls are nicer than boys. If you don't know that

yet, you will. But I think you do. Also, girls have more

character than boys. They can endure and survive more, and once

they understand how boys tick they can put themselves in charge

without even seeming to be there at all. Because most boys really

want girls to be in charge. I think you've already found that out

too, haven't you, JayCee?"

"Yes, I suppose I have," I said evenly, wondering how she

knew.

"Well, that's what I want for my baby. To be what you are.

To know what you know. To live the life you'll live. You be the

judge, JayCee. Which would you rather be? A girl or a boy? For

the rest of your life."

A girl, of course. For the rest of my life? Why should

anyone ever want to be a boy? But I didn't answer her. There was

really nothing for me to say. She didn't mean for me to answer.

I waited.

"Secondly, I'm still young. Still in my thirties. I go out,

and I invite friends back to the house now and then, and sometimes

I'll ask them to dinner here, and sometimes a special friend'll

stay overnight. It sounds selfish, I know, but it isn't. Now, I

am not a storybook mother whose whole life is dedicated to her

child. I wouldn't want to burden any child of mine with the notion

that I sacrificed my life for him. For her. That's a terrible

burden for any child to bear. So I have my friends over. I enjoy

their companionship and the sex, and so on, and I expect my child

to understand. It's my life too."

"Well, responses to a parent's sexuality are fairly standard

according to a child's gender. At Marion's age boys resent their

mothers' sexuality. Girls don't. A girl may even admire their

mother's boyfriends, though usually they resent their father's

girlfriends. Well, I don't need a resentful adolescent son

implying to any of my guests that they're not welcome, or moping

about unhappy because my life and my affections aren't exclusively

devoted to him. I love Marion dearly, but I'd love to fall in love

again with someone I can take to bed and dedicate to my own

pleasure, and I'd never want Marion to be in the way. I'm still

looking."

I thought, I should be feeling embarrassed to hear that. But

I wasn't. I understood well enough.

"On the other hand, it's nice for everyone when a woman is

living with a teenage daughter. Daughters understand how their

mothers' feel, and don't feel threatened themselves. In fact,

sometimes a pretty daughter somewhere in the house can't help but

enrich a guest's fantasy and intensify any romantic moods. Even a

decent person who'd never touch her. You're a daughter. Don't the

older men who come into your house sometimes seem to feel a

compulsion to turn on the charm when they look at you? Even though

you're your father and mother's child, and untouchable?"

"More often than sometimes," I said. I grinned to myself, and

she saw and grinned back at me.

"You're a real pet, JayCee. You hear me perfectly, I can

tell. Now, so far what I've described are the advantages of having

a daughter instead of a son. My third reason is why it's necessary

for Marion to be my daughter, not my son. Not just advantageous,

but necessary. Crucial. It's this. His father comes back now and

then to claim his unlimited visitation rights over Marion. That

was the price I paid to get a decent child support allotment when

he first abandoned us. I make plenty of money now, but I didn't

then. I needed every penny, and the price I paid for it was, any

time after Marion turns 16, and he's just done that, his father can

take him away from me for as long as he likes, and keep him as far

away as he likes."

"Well, that man resents me. In fact he has contempt for all

the women who have ever associated themselves with him. He's

boasted to me that he means to come back and take Marion away and

keep him away for good. He said he was going to turn Marion into

his kind of man, which means a self-gratifying, conceited, sexist

boor like himself. A calculating rapist who'll never get caught.

And he could do it. At Marion's age a young man is attracted to

the idea that women exist only for his pleasure. It solves all of

his problems, of relationship, and responsibility, and adequacy,

and respect, everything, all at once. Marion will want to believe

it, and his father can be persuasive. Already there've been times

when Marion came home from a week's visit with his father with his

mouth spewing filth, arrogant, for weeks useless around the house,

because he'd adopted his father's belief that women are lower forms

of life placed on earth to serve men."

"Well, I mean to put Marion beyond his reach, beyond the

slightest interest his father might ever have in him. That bastard

is overseas now, and means to take Marion away from me when he

returns next year. He's told me that repeatedly, to upset me and

then gloat. Well, when he gets back next year I want him to

discover that his son is the sweetest, loveliest daughter any man

ever disowned. A lovely girl and a respectable young woman. And

I'll confess it to you, JayCee, I'll get a lot of personal

satisfaction from seeing my ex when he sees he's lost a son and

gained a daughter. That'll fix him once and for all!"

Changing her son's sex just to get back at her ex struck me as

a little harsh, but I saw she wasn't really doing that. She was

protecting him from her ex, and protecting a lot of women from what

he might become after her ex corrupted him. I really couldn't

quarrel with that. In fact I decided to enter even deeper into our

conspiracy by asking some more questions.

"Marianne knows nothing of any of this?"

"Nothing, JayCee. Well, he knows he's having an odd

adolescence, but I've assured him he'll get over it. As he will."

"When are you going to tell him?"

She stood up and went to the fridge, and took out a Coke.

Then she looked at me with one eyebrow raised, and I nodded. She

took out a second coke, handed it over, and sat down again. I

cracked the can open.

"Obviously, some time this summer, he'll have to know that he

isn't going to get over it. Not ever. That he isn't a peculiar

boy. That like it or not he's a transsexual girl. That he'll have

to be a girl for the rest of his life. That his body is already a

girl's, except for his genitals, and that he needs to change his

gender in his own mind and become a she. That she can enjoy being

a girl. But I'm hoping it won't be necessary to tell him."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. I'm hoping he'll want it to happen all by

himself, and accept what's happened, so we don't have to tell him

anything. That he'll help it happen."

"How do you plan to do that?"

"By making each step in becoming a girl delightful. As

attractive as possible. More desireable than remaining the kind of

boy he is now." She paused and then looked directly at me. "Will

you help me, JayCee? Will you help him? Will you help Marianne

become herself?"

I took a swig from my coke can and considered the matter. "If

he knew, he'd never agree," I said, avoiding a direct answer.

"No, of course not. It has to happen because he wants it, not

merely because he agrees to it. I don't mind if he thinks he has

no choice, and only reconciles himself to it, because I know that

in the long run he'll be grateful. But back to my question. Will

you help Marianne become the daughter I want him to be? The

daughter she should be? For the rest of this summer? It would be

so much easier with your help. You know you'd be doing him a huge

favor, really. And I can make it well worth your trouble.

I thought about it. I didn't have a summer job yet. "I was

going to work ten or fifteen hours a week at Chicken Licken or

Burger Bob's," I said. "Evenings. I figured on earning maybe $75

a week through Labor Day."

"This is irregular work, but it's a lot more than ten or

fifteen hours," she said. "It can be a lot of most days. It's

whatever it takes. Whatever it costs. It's my son's life. My

daughter's life, for the rest of her life."

She paused, near tears, swallowed, and recovered herself.

Then she listened to my silence. Encouraged, she then went on.

"JayCee, we can tell your parents you're working for me. I'm now

setting up training courses for various businesses, the kind they

need when they bring in new computer software to teach to beginning

employees. I can tell them honestly that at your educational

level you're a typical targeted client and customer who for that

reason can be a very persuasive sales representative. That's all

true enough. Each week for the rest of the summer I'll pay you

three times whatever you'd have earned at Burger Bob's. And if we

accomplish what we wish to accomplish by the end of the summer, and

Marion begins her Senior year in High School as Marianne, and

enjoys being Marianne, I'll see to it that you win my firm's annual

employee full scholarship to any four-year college of your choice,

the money to be held in trust for you by your parents until you can

use it. That will be a bonus that will need no explanation."

I just stared at her.

"Moreover, I'll pay whatever your expenses all summer. And

that includes clothes. You'll be enormously helpful going on

buying excursions with him, two girls together deciding on skirts

and things. You know what girls are wearing these days. You can

build his confidence by assuring him he'll fit right in with the

other girls. Her confidence, I should say. Does that seem fair?"

I still couldn't speak.

"She'll be on her own once school begins, of course, because

you'll have prepared her for that. But I'll want to keep you on

retainer through all of next year, just in case something comes up

that only you can handle. For my own peace of mind."

This was beginning to sound like all the money I'd ever need

for college. My parents want the best for me, but they aren't well

off, and I'd been expecting to work my way through State, and then

take a job to pay off the loans and debts, leaving graduate school

a long way down the road.

"JayCee? Will you help me? She doesn't have to be the Prom

Queen when she graduates. Just an ordinary girl. I'd be so happy

for her if only there's some boy she likes who'll take her to her

prom, and if she's beautiful in her prom dress, and she can feel

the magic I remember from that time of my life, when I was pretty

and young and desireable, with everything ahead of me. I loved my

own high school prom. That was the last time in my life I felt

happy and alive when I woke up each morning, before that lying

bastard I married swept away my girlhood, and all my beautiful

dreams." She blinked and turned her face away from me, and took

several deep breaths. Then she just kept looking away from me,

looking out of her own kitchen window past my house. And waited.

Was I being bought? Yes. Well, I thought, also no. His

mother was right. What she was asking matched my own deepest

feelings about boys and girls and what's most desireable. I would

be doing Marianne a favor. I liked him. I could help him. I

would be helping her too. And the money I'd earn would be real

money. If it worked, if I could bring it off, I could go to any

college or university that would have me, anywhere in the whole

country.

Well, I stood up to shake her hand. As she saw me reach out

toward her, her whole body suddenly shook with a great sob, and

then she opened her arms to me and rushed around the table. Then

as we hugged each other she really began to cry, and I did too. I

couldn't help it. She kissed my cheek and my neck, and I could

feel her wet eyelashes. My eyes were wet too. I really was a

co-conspirator, but it felt good. All in Marianne's best interest.

I knew that when the dust settled she'd thank us for what we'd

done.

We broke our embrace and separated a little. Now we were two

women conspiring together, but we still clasped each other like two

girls dancing. She was so pleased! "Invite him over to use your

pool tomorrow, would you?" his mother said. "And to spend the day?

He'll say 'No,' of course, but be sure to leave quickly before you

can hear him say it, and I'll see that he gets there. Then you'll

see soon enough what his problem is, what our problems are. And

I'm sure you'll begin to cope."

His voice came from the cellar. "Mom? It's all set up now!

Let's try it!"

The two of us grinned at each other. I never saw a woman so

happy.

"JayCee? Please sit for a moment more, dear. At least tell

me how you got your name."

"It's what my Dad said when he first saw me, right after I was

born. Or it's the initials, anyhow. He'd wanted a boy, and the

nurse just held me up new born and naked for him to see, and when

he saw my cunt he just said it out loud without thinking. My Mom

liked what he'd said, what she thought he'd named me, but she

didn't think a girl should have a boy's name. Not that boy's name,

anyhow. So they settled for the initals, spelled out sort of. I

like it."

Jane smiled at me, and nodded some more. "I'm very lucky to

know you, JayCee. I can't believe how lucky I am! You know, we

used to live across the state in another town about this size, and

I've got a client there with a son named Petey, and Petey once told

me an extraordinary tale about a teenage girl in this town who

helped him discover himself, and how cleverly she did it. I've

been hoping to meet her so she could help me too. In fact, that's

why I bought this house in this neighborhood, near you. To create

opportunities. I can tell you that, now that we understand each

other, and now that you're on the payroll. No secrets, right?"

I just stared at her. What an extraordinary businesswoman!

If she was as resourceful and persuasive with her clients as she'd

just been with me, she must be very wealthy by now, I thought. No

wonder she can afford to hire me, and even pay my full college

costs for four years, and probably her daughter's too when Marion

becomes her daughter, and yet here she is living in a small house

in a modest part of town, where most kids can't afford college at

all. She really does love her son. Her daughter.

"Jane," I said. "I'm very lucky to know you too. I hope

we'll become very good friends. There's so much you can teach me."

She beamed. "I just may end up with two daughters," she said

happily, "Where I've had none. That's just lovely! So very

lovely!" Then she shouted down the cellar stairs. "Marianne!

Come on up now! JayCee wants to ask you something!"

I stood up to deliver my invitation and then make my getaway as

she'd suggested, before Marianne could say "No!" And that's what

I did.

III.

He arrived wearing his usual loose shirt and a pair of

swimming trunks, and also a sour expression, carrying a bag no

doubt with something dry to change to later on.

"Hi, Jaycee."

"Hi yourself, Marianne." He was acting as if someone had

condemned him to death.

Well, I'd already figured out what his problem was, and how I

was going to deal with it. After all, now I was his mother's chief

assistant in charge of his transition, and she expected me to cope.

He may have been gloomy, but I'd put on a bright yellow string

Bikini under a short orange terry cover up, and there I was, all

brilliant colors in full sunlight. Why not? Girls have

advantages, and should use them.

"What's in the bag?" I asked him, ignoring his tone of voice

altogether.

The answer was interesting. "Another bathing suit my mother

wants me to wear. She says it's more proper and decent and

fitting."

"Well, if it is, why don't you."

"JayCee," he said exasperatedly. "I just don't want to!"

This was not the moment to push him, so I just pulled off my

cover up, pushed my chest way out, stretched up on tiptoe, and dove

in. I knew I looked terrific at that moment, like a girl on the

cover of "Seventeen" preparing herself for the cover of "Sports

Illustrated," and I wanted him to admire girls like us. There's

only a thin line between desiring a beautiful girl and envying her.

I felt glamorous and natural, and did three quick laps, and then

climbed out again. Marion was looking at my figure and my

glistening skin rather mournfully while I arched my neck and bent

way over sideways and wrung out my hair and began to towel-dry it,

and smiled at him.

"What's wrong?" I asked. "Can't you swim?"

"Of course I can. I just don't want to."

"Well, at least get in the pool. That's the polite thing to

do, you know."

Seeing there was nothing for it, he stepped down into the

shallow end still wearing his shirt, and waded around in water up

to his hips.

"That's not how to swim," I shouted. Then just when he was on

tiptoe on the edge where the shallow end suddenly gets a lot

deeper, I dove in, came up next to him under water, took his arm,

and pulled him under. He splashed off balance and even his head

went under for a moment. I was pleased to see he was at home in

deep water -- at least now I wouldn't need to rescue him. He

lifted his head and shook the water out of his eyes in a reflexive

gesture, swam toward the deep end, did a racing turn, and swam

back. He could swim all right! I could see that his shirt's

heavy, loose fabric was waterlogged, weighing him down, and his

sleeves were clinging to his arms. But he stayed on top easily,

and paused a little distance away from me, looking concerned about

something while absent-mindedly treading water. It was time for

him to face a moment of truth. The first of many.

I hopped out of the pool and went over to the big patio table

where I'd already set out a tray full of sandwiches and a cooler

with cans of soda. "Lunch time," I shouted. "C'mon out"

"No, I'll swim around a while more," Marion said.

I went over to the edge of the pool and looked down at him.

This time I wasn't thinking I was a cute young thing on the cover

of "Seventeen." I was thinking I was Shalimar the Jungle Queen

looking down on her subjects from a high cliff. I stood with my

legs wide apart and my knuckles against on my hips, elbows squared,

and my chin high up even though I was looking down on him.

"Marianne," I said. "Get out of the pool. Now!"

He looked up at me.

"I know why you didn't want to go in and get wet. I know why

you don't want to come out and get dry. It's obvious, Marianne!

But you've got to come out of the pool sooner or later, so come out

now and we'll talk about it. We're supposed to be friends, aren't

we? And it isn't as if I've never seen anything like them before,

is it? Lots of my friends have them." I hesitated, then said it.

"I've got them too, you know. You shouldn't feel the least bit

ashamed. Its insulting to girls everywhere that you're ashamed of

what they're proud they have." I stood up straight, head high, and

ran my hands up my sides to caress the sides of my breasts, then

just stood there cupping them in my palms. "Out!" I added, as

impatiently as I could.

Marianne looked at me with an anguished expression. I felt

sorry for him, really, but I knew I had to be firm. For both of

our sakes. Then he swam to the shallow end, walked up the steps

out of the pool with his back to me, and then with a cry of

exasperation, fury, and despair said "All right, then!" He turned

suddenly to face me, and then started striding toward the table

with the umbrella and the sandwiches, as if sandwiches were the

only thing on his mind.

When he got close I told him, "Unbutton your shirt and dry

off. What's that underneath?" I saw he'd wrapped some Ace

bandages tightly around his chest as if he'd broken some ribs.

"Oh, sure. Take that off too, or you'll catch cold."

"JayCee, I'm going home now." He turned to leave.

"Marianne!" My voice was as abrupt and forceful and as stern

as I could make it. He turned back astonished, and just stared.

"Don't you wimp out on me! Ever! You hear? I know what

you've got under there. I know lots of things. If you want a

friend, the only friend you'll ever have who can really help you,

you'll be straight with me and do what I say! Now take off your

shirt and unwrap that bandage and tell me the story!" I was sharp,

but I really was a little angry, and I let it show. No one with

Marianne's potential should ever be allowed to run away from

himself.

Like some whipped puppy, slowly, he turned back and unwrapped

the bandage. Then he slipped his shirt back on unbuttoned, unable

to bear being completely naked while I was looking him over.

They were impressive! How long was it now he'd been on

hormones? His mother'd said since puberty. Years! I must say,

they were bigger than mine, and mine create suspense whether my

bikinis can hold them in! His wet shirt clung to his curves,

wrapped form-fitting around those two huge melons jutting way out

in front of his chest, each one punctuated by a thick dark nipple

poking through the soaked fabric. He was stacked! When his shirt

was dry I'd noticed he hunched his shoulders way forward, so he

wouldn't bulge too noticeably. But now there was no hiding them!

At least a C Cup, maybe bigger! A pair of stunning knockers,

thrust out and self-supported. He didn't really need a brassiere

yet to hold them up, I saw, though I knew he'd be wearing one

before this day ended, and wearing one for all the days of his life

after today. Were they freakish, breasts on a boy's body? No, I

saw that he had narrow shoulders and a very narrow waist, and thin

arms, and wide hips, and even a well-rounded bottom. A beautiful

girl's figure! Those hormones had been everywhere in him for years

and years, doing their things. He had a girl's body, no mistaking

it! He'd said very little yesterday, I suddenly realized, and

today he'd spoken only in a low, grumpy voice. Did he also have a

girl's voice? I tried to remember.

But this was not a moment for remembering. I had to respond

immediately, and pretend there was nothing wrong, that everything

was the way it should be.

"Why Marianne! They're beautiful! How can you want to hide

them? They're just gorgeous! You must feel very proud!"

This was not at all the reaction he'd expected. He'd gotten

used to thinking he was a freak, and he looked at me as if I were

crazy to think he was anything else. I suppose I would have been,

except that I knew what I was doing. And actually, his problem

wasn't that he was a boy with huge tits. It was that he had a

girl's body, a beautiful one at that, but thought he was a boy.

This will be easier than I thought, I said to myself, and a lot

easier than his mother thinks.

"Come over here and let me see! Oh, Marianne, you are so

lucky!"

My enthusiasm bewildered him. He came toward me baffled. I

could see through the open shirt that the upper halves of the round

globes of his wonderful tits were gleaming, smooth, white, and wet

in the sunlight! In a way I really did envy him. My boobs were

OK, nothing much. But his?

"Come sit down right here," I said, patting his chair, which

was snugged up against mine so our knees would interlock. I'd set

it up that way first thing this morning.

Dazed, he sat down. I sat too, one knee between his, one of

his between mine. I reached over, and before he could pull back,

I ran my fingertips delicately over his nipples, one hand across

each. They immediately stiffened. I saw that that his nipples

were those of a mature woman, practically of a nursing mother,

sticking out a half-inch or more like the tip of a finger, longer

and thicker even than mine. But he didn't know that, of course.

It crossed my mind he might still be a virgin, that he'd never seen

any girl's figure naked, perhaps not even his mother's. He might

not know his breasts were exceptionally well-developed even for a

mature young woman, and that the shape of his whole body was also

female, not male. To him his breasts were just an embarrassment.

"How long have you had these, Marianne ?" I asked gently. I

ran my fingertips back over those huge nipples again, this time

pausing while still touching them, then ever so lightly I started

to caress them. I noticed that he didn't back off at all. In fact

he seemed to lean in ever so slightly, and a slight sigh escaped.

So they felt the way mine do whenever I caress them, or gave a boy

permission to touch them. Delicious. Melting. I saw his eyes had

gone slightly distant, and that his mouth was a little open, his

lips parted. If I keep this up, I thought, he might dissolve into

a puddle. I decided then and there that I would seduce him this

very day. It would be like seducing a girl. I'd never tried that,

never even vaguely thought of doing something like that. I

wondered if he had a little boy's cock, or a man's. Lowering my

eyelids, I saw a bulge in his bathing suit, and saw it throb once

as I tweaked one nipple and then resumed a gentle circular caress.

Not much there, but something.

"Four years ago they started growing," he answered, his voice

a little resentful, as if in long-standing disapproval. I noticed

that his tone was a little thin, but also gruff. Probably he's

been habitually faking a boy's resonance, I thought. I'll have him

practice sounding like a girl, just being himself. "I asked my

mother if it was normal, and she said yes, it happens to some boys

when they reach puberty. One or two other guys said they'd had

lumps in their nipples too for a few months, but they went away.

So I figured these would go away too."

Now his voice got very quiet, and began to quaver. "But they

haven't gone away, JayCee. They've gotten huge. They bounce, so

I can't run any more. They're heavy, amd sometimes they hurt. I

don't dare take my shirt off in school, so Mom gets me medical

excuses from Gym. She keeps saying it's nothing, it's normal, she

has big breasts too so it's probably hereditary. She says it's not

necessary for me to see a doctor to get them fixed."

He paused. Then he looked up at the sky, as if he couldn't

bear to look directly at me. "JayCee, it isn't normal! Boys

shouldn't have tits. Not like these tits. I'm so ashamed!"

And he started crying. At first his eyes teared up, and then

a strange keening whine came from the back of his throat, his

pent-up misery squeezing under tremendous pressure through a crack

in his impassivity. Then a wail. Then the dam burst, and he began

crying out aloud in great wrenching sobs. His face contorted, and

he surrendered himself to his anguish. The years of uncertainty

and embarrassment had finally found an outlet, someone listening,

and he couldn't suppress his feelings any longer. He practically

howled out his grief.

My heart reached toward him, pitying so much terrible

suffering. If his mother had known he'd feel like this, would she

have done it to him? Probably. She'd felt she had to do it. I

tried to remember that there were enormous advantages to his being

the way he was, though he didn't know that yet. That it was my job

to show him he was better off. But right now what he needed was

sympathy.

"Oh, my poor baby!" I held out my arms. He lurched forward

out of his chair and fell to his knees in front of me, reaching out

and wrapping his arms around my waist with his fists still

clenched, and he buried his face in my breasts, still sobbing. I

folded my arms around his head and hugged it tight. It was that

easy! "My poor, poor baby," I crooned. "Marianne, my dear, dear

Marianne!" I stroked his hair and hugged him close. "The luckiest

boy in the world, and yet you're miserable! Why? Why?"

I kept hugging him and stroking his hair, and I kissed his

face repeatedly, tasting real salt tears. Over and over I kept

making comforting sounds, until finally he began to get a grip on

himself. His wails softened into sobs. Then I kissed him. Not

too gently, and not too consolingly, either. His manhood needed

reassurance that he wasn't ruined, that he could still be

attractive to a girl his own age. I knew he needed that

reassurance while he changed slowly into an attractive girl his own

age, with an attractive girl's desires.

I held his face in my two hands and pulled it up to mine, and

plastered my mouth against his, and pushed my tongue as deep into

his mouth as it could go. Down in those dark, moist recesses, I

felt his own tongue press back against mine and then maintain the

pressure, as if mine might disappear if he eased off even for a

moment. His fists opened and his palms turned, and he pulled my

body toward his, timidly, tenderly, holding me the way a shy young

girl might hold another ... another girl. Our mouths stayed locked

in place. Gradually, his breathing slowed. No doubt about it, he

would be the first boy to probe my pussy with his penis, and the

first girl too. If it felt right.

With that thought, I pulled his head back from mine, my

fingers linked now around the back of his neck, and looked at him

with the brightest smile I could find in me, as if I had suddenly

discovered in him the love of my life. I suppose in a way I had.

I looked delighted at his face, as if I couldn't get enough of

seeing it. He really was a dear, my Marianne! I kissed each of

his eyes, and then his mouth, and then his closed and waiting

eyelids again. Then I let go of his neck and again let my hands

drift down to the tips of his nipples, and gently, daintily, I

caressed them again. His eyes opened as new sensations coiled down

into his groin, and I lowered my own eylids demurely, looking down

at my own breasts. He reached for them and tenderly touched my

nipples, then fondled them as delicately as I caressed his. Just

for a moment -- I wanted him to feel that we were similar and

desireable, no more than that. But I felt it down below too. I

lifted my eyes to his. He was studying my face so seriously,

looking a little puzzled, though his mouth was contented enough.

He kissed me tenderly.

He was still kneeling at my feet, leaning across my lap, now

finally calm. No new paroxysms of sobbing, nor of shame at having

let go so desperately earlier. He really did have strength of

character! I really did like him! I kissed him again on the

mouth, gently, this time for myself, and then with both my hands I

lightly tugged him up by his elbows, reminding him to sit back in

his chair. He reluctantly abandoned his position at my feet, and

his hands left my breasts, and he sat down. He did have the

longest, darkest eyelashes! He was going to look just gorgeous!

I began planning his makeup.

When he had calmed down all the way I handed him a sandwich

and a can of soda, and took one of each myself. I said nothing,

but just looked at him with a kind of bright curiosity, as if I

really couldn't understand why he was so miserable. He took my

cue.

"Why did you call me the luckiest boy in the world just now,"

he asked timidly.

"Because they're beautiful," I replied calmly and reasonably.

"They're bigger and better shaped than mine, and they're

beautifully proportioned to your figure." He probably doesn't know

that he has a girl's figure as well as a girl's breasts, I thought,

more feminine than most girls' figures. "And you have a beautiful

figure too." I looked at his cheeks. I saw not a whisker and

figured he probably thinks he's a late bloomer. He doesn't know

he's already in full bloom.

"And there's another reason, too. I've read about people like

you. Most people have to be whatever they're born. Boys have to

be boys and girls have to be girls. But some people are lucky.

Some people get a choice when they get to be your age. You've got

a choice. You can be a boy or a girl. Have you figured out yet

how you're going to decide which you'd rather be?"

"I'm a boy!" he said. "I was born a boy."

"So you say. But you coulda fooled me," I smiled at him. I

decided to take a chance. I'd read a lot about hormones last

night, and thought it was worth putting it to him now, while he was

still vulnerable, because he was also still malleable.

"Think about it. Obviously you're both at the moment. You

were raised to think you're a boy. But you have great breasts. A

wonderful figure. A pretty face. You're a terrific girl. Are you

also a terrific boy? How well are you hung?"

I was pretty sure that with the kinds of hormones he had taken

to grow those boobs, his penis and testicles were still

pre-pubescent, a small boy's. "Never mind," he said, obviously

embarrassed. Piece of cake, I thought to myself.

"You know what your friend John Wayne once said," I said,

reaching for an unlikely authority. "'A man should be what he can

do.' You can do being a girl a lot better than most girls can do,

I'll bet." I looked more closely at his face. The same almond

shaped eyes and high cheekbones I'd noticed when I first saw him.

And a small, rounded chin. A doll! "You're beautiful," I told

him. "you really are!" I meant it. I kissed him again.

He was silent.

"Let's think about it together. How are you with girls? How

often do you date? Are you popular?" The questions were cruel,

because any answers were obvious enough. With those boobs I knew

he'd never allowed a girl near him. For sure. Until me, today.

And though he thought he was a boy, probably he felt he had nothing

to offer a girl, and maybe he didn't.

"I've never dated," he said. Tears were starting up again.

"I've been too ashamed." Then he added, "I don't even have friends

who are boys. They'd laugh at me if they saw what I really look

like. Or worse!"

"Most of them, maybe," I said, thinking about Ronnie and

thinking I should get him involved in this conversion project.

"But anyhow, Marianne dear, you're dating me. Right now. We're

going to see lots of each other. We're going to straighten this

out. And I'm going to help you get lots of other dates. I'm going

to fix you up so this fall you'll be with the prettiest girls in

our class, girls who'll love being with you, and I promise you'll

never lack for dates! OK?" Every word was true. He didn't have

to know just yet that he'd be with the prettiest girls as one of

them, and that his dates would all be with boys. "OK?"

He nodded, baffled but trusting.

One more nudge and then I'd leave the subject alone. Let him

think he has a choice. Of course he doesn't, I knew, but I didn't

feel sorry for him at all. He really is lucky, I thought. Who'd

want to be a boy, given a choice?

"You've been trying to be a boy, but you haven't got much

talent for it, and you don't have a boy's body. You're ashamed

you're a boy, in fact, because you've got a girl's body. Except

for that one little thing down there between your legs. You've

been trying to be a boy, and you're not very good at it. Are you?"

I paused. He nodded, reluctantly.

So here's what I propose. Till near the end of the summer

when you have to register for school, you forget you're a boy.

Let's see what kind of a girl you can be. See which you can do

better. See if you can be proud of your body just the way it is.

I'll help."

He looked up at me peculiarly, started to say something, then

looked down at the ground, frowning. "JayCee, I'd be ashamed," he

said. "I'm not a girl. No way!"

"More ashamed than you are now?"

He said nothing.

"After the summer you can be a boy again if you want, and no

harm done, and you can decide which is better. Which you really

are. When you've been a girl for a while, you'll know what you're

better at. What you really should be. What's more fun. OK?"

He didn't answer.

"The next few weeks we'll spend lots of time together, and

I'll help you, if you'll promise to go along with anything I ask

you to do that girls do. Then we'll see what we'll see. Of course

any final decision is yours. OK?" I put my hand on his knee, and

left it there, and looked up at him. Of course no decision of his

would ever be final in my own mind until it was the right one.

"Right now try out being a girl, and no one will know. Change

back if you want when kids start to come home from the summer, and

noone'll know any different. There's a pretty rough crowd of boys

lives around here, if that's what you think you are, and you don't

mind getting punched around a little, the way boys do."

Still, he delayed. Was he worth my bothering with at all?

The money was, I reminded myself.

"What'll I tell my Mom?" he asked. "If I go with your plan,

that is."

He'd decided! "Don't worry about your Mom. She wants you to

be happy. Just tell her we're playing a game kids play around

here, to help boys learn to respect girls. She won't say anything.

I guarantee it."

"No one else will see me looking like a girl?"

"No one," I said. Except for every clerk and shopper in every

mall inside of ten miles, I thought. And every boy I introduce you

to later on, all of them trying to feel you up and get into your

panties. "And then we'll be able to see a lot of each other. My

folks don't care how much time I spend with my girlfriends." As if

they'd ever object to my boyfriends, if I ever brought one home.

As if I'd listen if they did!.

"OK," he said finally. "For a few weeks, anyhow."

It was mostly to placate me, I knew. But now he'd pledged it.

to try it my way. The rest was a matter of time.

"Starting today!" I said. "Today you're mine until I send you

home. This'll be so cool!" Now he got my most dazzling smile. He

looked uneasy but half-smiled back.

I passed the plate of sandwiches, and he took another, and we

talked about what it was like growing up in this town. He'd lived

with his mother in lots of different places, early on following his

father's different engineering projects, then wherever his mother

went while she attended different schools and training institutes,

until she'd set up her own mail-order training business and it

succeeded. Now she was making very good money at it, he said, with

lots of employees. She had an office with a large staff, he said,

but a good office manager, so she herself could work out of her

house whenever she wanted. She had a knack for hiring people who

could figure out whatever needed to be done and could do it without

needing to consult her.

I nodded.

They'd moved this time, he said, mainly because she wanted him

to make a fresh start with people his own age, to find himself and

live up to his best potential. Whatever that means, he added.

I nodded. We'd always lived here, and I'd always been eager

to live somewhere else. But he'd lived nowhere really, and that's

why he was so much a loner. He'd had no close friends all the

while he was growing up. I'd had plenty, more than I wanted, which

is why I didn't feel I needed any more I suppose, except maybe to

play mind games with them. Boy friends, that is. I told him I

needed a good friend, a really close friend, if he'd be willing.

I'd never had a really close girlfriend, someone who'd share

everything with me. More boys I didn't need. He didn't answer.

Then I went back to work. "Marianne," I said. "Why don't you

put on your bathing suit, and then we'll go back into the water."

"I'm wearing my bathing suit," he said.

"No, you're wearing a half a bathing suit," I said. "That's

why you're so ashamed, with your tits hanging out like that.

Breasts are private. You should let only your dearest friends see

them. Other girls. Yours are very attractive, and shouldn't be

just flaunted out in the open like that. People might think you're

a tease. What would your mother think? Put on the bathing suit

she gave you."

"It's a girl's bathing suit," he said. As I'd suspected and

assumed.

"Do you think she's been trying to tell you something?. You

want to look nice, don't you? You've been a boy who's ashamed of

his tits. Now be a girl and be proud of them. Go. I'll wait for

you."

He was still uncertain. I had to use Petey's dumb line. "You

promised, remember?" I sounded reasonable and confident. The fact

was, he didn't have a choice. He went in.

A few minutes later he came out wearing the bathing suit his

mother had selected. It was a an irridescent blue Maillot with

flowery front panels, one piece with supported cups -- and he

really did need them -- and a draped detachable skirt gathered to

one side. With the skirt clipped on I couldn't see how his male

parts or his female-shaped buttocks fit the suit's bottom, but one

thing at a time.

"Now you're decent. Stop trying to hide your boobs by

slumping -- it won't work. Be proud. Shoulders back. That's it.

Whether you're a boy or a girl, be proud. It's easier for girls."

I decided to go further. "And you're a very pretty girl, Marianne.

Let's swim some more, and then we'll see what kind of a girl you

can be when you really try. So far you haven't been trying.

Another time maybe I'll help you become the best boy you can be,

though I'll be frank, you don't look like much of a boy to me.

Then we'll be able to see which one of you is more you."

I stood up and walked over to the edge of the pool. He did

the same, a little awkwardly. I decided he was going to learn to

walk with mincing little steps, like some cutie pie who's a little

timid but thinks her ass is made of candy. That would be

attractive. A bimbo walk is always reassuring to guys who are

unsure of themselves. I watched him unhook the skirt and drape it

over a chair. His bathing suit was severely hi-leg, and it left

bare the lower globes of his rounded rear end. They were gorgeous.

I saw that he needed a Bikini shave, and added that to my agenda

for later this afternoon. I also saw that whatever grew there

between his legs barely disturbed the neat V line of his bathing

suit's crotch. His genitals weren't very consequential. They'd

tuck, and a sanitary napkin would give him a smooth mound, and then

any boy could grind his groin into him while dancing, or could feel

him up during a heavy petting session, without suspecting anything.

As long as the boy doesn't try to dig his fingers in.

Off and running, at $225 a week and expenses, and my college

money pretty much assured. I began to think about which expensive

private colleges attract the most expensive boys, boys who like

doing things girls ask them to do, boys who can afford to indulge

girls that way. But first things first.

I was careful to keep him out in the hot noonday sun and the

broiling early afternoon sun too. We splashed, and lay around, and

talked some more. I showed him how to sit down on the side of the

pool and pose, and stand up again, and lie around, without ever

spreading his legs or being caught looking awkward, how to keep his

elbows high when he reached behind his neck with both hands to lift

his long hair off his back, and how to spread it over his breasts

to dry. I decided that we'd both take the two-week modeling course

being offered at the high school next week, so he could learn more

girlish poses, and how to walk like a lady. He reluctantly agreed.

I didn't tell him that posture was only part of what they'd teach

him, that makeup and appropriate clothes and attitudes toward boys

was much of it, not only "Tips on Travel" but also "Manners and

Men" it said in the catalogue. I expected that ten days of

enforced sociability with girls who thought he was a girl would

have its effect on a lonely, ungainly, embarrassed boy. I figured

he'd come out of it happy for the companionship, glad to be one of

them. He was so desperate to belong!

By mid-afternoon, his scoop back and bra top and V-shaped

bottom were outlined in a pretty pink sunburn. When his mother saw

those shoulder strap marks there'd be no question I'd earned my

money today, I thought to myself. But we had more to do yet.

Though we'd talked about this tryout lasting only a few weeks I

wanted to set things up so there'd be no turning back. So he

wouldn't want to turn back.

IV.

I took him up to my room and sat him down, and studied his

face a while, and decided first of all to pluck his eyebrows

severely. Girls these days can have wide eyebrows, if they're not

too thick but look neat and refined, and taper to the outside

edges. Mine are like that. But I wanted Marianne's to be high and

arched and thin like my Mom's, a real lady's, no way a boy's, no

mistaking them. He objected, but I told him these three weeks were

mine, he'd promised. Before he could think through how thin,

feminine eyebrows would ever pass for a boy's when the three weeks

were up, they were shaped, and before he could see them I told him

to take off his bathing suit and get naked, so I could check out

his proportions.

That gave him new feelings to deal with. This time not that

he was ashamed -- I'd already seen his most shameful feature, those

glorious boobs -- but that his modesty was violated. I just said

a little angrily, "Now you're supposed to be a girl, so be one!

Here, we're girls together! Strip down the same as me!" And I

whipped off my Bikini and stood before him altogether in the buff.

Like a few years earlier with Ronnie and Petey, and sometimes

since, on certain special occasions when I needed to intimidate

some guy with my goddess pose. So he did the same.

When he was bare, cringing in different directions with his

hands fluttering to try to hide his nipples, and his legs crossed

to try to hide his cock, I proposed five minutes of calisthenics.

Not enough for a workout, but enough for him to quit being

ridiculous trying to hide his body, and to notice that even when I

was bent way over with my legs apart, and he could see way up my

slit, I was never troubled by the fact. We were just two girls

together. So he began trying to be one of them.

I then made him stand up and practice standing perfectly

erect, shoulders far back, hands gathering his hair at the nape of

his neck, his lovely breasts lifted as he raised his elbows up as

high as they'd go. Then I had him clasp his hands against his buns

and pull his arms straight down, pulling his shoulders back and

thrusting his boobs even further forward. Then back to gathering

his hair behind his neck again. Then to clasp hands on his elbows

behind his back -- that really pulled back his shoulders and pushed

his breasts into the middle of next week. A few more repetitions,

and he no longer seemed self-conscious about them. They were more

prominent than ever, but he seemed now to be taking them for

granted. Better still, he'd finally forgot about hiding his cock

and balls. There they were, though I seemed to take no notice at

all!

Next I sent him into the shower with a depillatory and a razor

to get rid of all his body hair, especially that dense mat around

his genitals. I suppose his boy hormones and girl hormones

together had grown it. No objection from him. Then when he came

out as hairless as a baby, I could see that if it were fully erect,

his cock might reach three or four inches, like Petey's, long

enough to pleasure himself but touch when it came to pleasuring a

grown woman. It was a boy's cock, not a man's. It had no real

future. His testicles were little more than marbles -- there'd be

no problem stowing them to make a smooth girls' crotch whenever he

needed to hide his sex. Obviously his prick would never get past

an average girl's buttocks to reach into her ass. It was cunt or

nothing, probably nothing when girls saw that pitiable thing. He

had no future as a man.

Which returned me to my earlier idea. The more I thought

about it, the better I liked it. In fact, I *loved* it. I'd do

it! It was past time. Here was a prick ideally designed to take

my virginity.

But fucking me had to be a reward for obedience. I went into

my lingerie drawer. "Here, put these on," I told him, handing him

my prettiest bra and panty set, the bra size larger than any I

usually wore, and underwired for support. I'd been keeping it in

a kind of hope chest, though my own figure hadn't changed much

during the past year. It would fit him, I figured, and once

dressed in my undies, he'd feel he was mine in a way, sort of gift

wrapped.

"I can't," he said. "These are girl things!"

"Well, duh!" I said, and turned to find him a blouse and a

pair of shorts. I took out a full cut white satin blouse buttoned

along one shoulder, draped from the neck and sure to cling and then

drape from those boobs of his. Perfect. And I found shorts with

elastic to fit him at the waist, flared way out at the legs to look

practically like a mini-skirt. And thin-strapped sandals, delicate

looking.

When I turned back holding his new outfit, I saw he'd slipped

into the panties, but otherwise he hadn't moved. "Marianne, you

need dry clothes," I told him firmly. "You can't walk down the

street wearing that soaking wet shirt. And your bathing suit's wet

too. And you can't walk bare-chested! It wouldn't be decent!

With that body you'd stop cars!"

Before he could object I slipped the bra over his arms and

clipped the band snug behind his back, where I knew he couldn't

reach the catch. Boys never can. It'll take him a while to figure

out how to get it off without cutting it off, I thought.

"Well, OK, but why this? Why a brassiere?"

"Tuck yourself into those cups," I told him firmly. "So you

don't bobble. Because girls with titties wear brassieres, that's

why. And boys with titties should too. It isn't healthy to have

those things jouncing around loose. After a while, they'll sag."

I paused. "And besides, girls who don't wear bras always seem to

be asking for something. If you go without a bra, everyone will

think you want to get laid. Do you want to get laid?"

He blushed and looked down, reaching for some flaw in my

argument but unable to find any. I suppose he never noticed that

yesterday, when we first met, I wasn't wearing a bra. He knew he

needed one, but he had to put up one last rear guard defense.

"I stick way out, JayCee," was all he replied. His voice

sounded a little mournful. "How'm I supposed to look like a boy

sometimes if I look like this?" He was staring down at what were

now obviously a great pair of knockers held firmly supported far

out in front of him. I didn't answer. There was no answer.

"JayCee, these'll stop cars too," he then said. And he flashed me

his first smile of the day. A joke! It was so utterly endearing.

Then he added, "I bet I could charge money if anyone wanted to cop

a feel!"

Well, that was true enough. And before I could say so he

stood up wearing only his bra and panties -- his now, though he

didn't know it yet -- and struck a girly-girly pose with one hand

tucked into the hair at the nape of his beck, and the other planted

on his hip. He waggled those great breasts and his round tush and

added, "I wonder how much?"

I smiled back. I understood. He was scared. His identity as

a boy was slipping away. So he was getting a grip on his fear by

joking with me, by pretending to be a loose woman. He thought he

was joking. I smiled even more broadly as I wondered seriously

whether to include a week as a real streetwalker in his summer's

curriculum. A week spent patrolling the freight station area

would teach him more about being a girl than any of us knew, for

sure, including his own mother. No, I thought. When school begins

there'll be plenty of guys hitting on him, and we'll deal with

those problems then. He was now moving down the track his mother

had laid out when she'd started feeding him those knockout doses of

vitamins: if his body looked like a girl's, and it couldn't be

changed, then he shouldn't be ashamed of it. As I'd been telling

him, he should accept that he looked like a girl, and he could

begin to work out for himself what kind of girl he'd like to be.

"How does the bra feel, Marianne? Nice? It doesn't bind of

pinch?"

"Better than I thought it might," Marianne said, a little

uncertain. No, it was a little shy. "I like the support. It's

like being held and hugged, and when I move my chest doesn't seem

so...floppy."

"Well, wait till you feel this on your skin." I handed him a

satin blouse.

When he slipped on the blouse, there came another moment of

truth. If anything, the shiny fabric draped across his breasts in

a way that accentuated them. Now even his nipples jutted way

forward. In fact they stiffened and poked through to form two

pointed tips accentuating the effect. He looked sexy, downright

provocative, indecent. It was no longer a joke.

"I can't wear this," he said. "Don't you have a loose shirt?"

Not for him I didn't. "No," I said. "You look fine. You

have nothing to be ashamed of."

He was looking down again, and his manly pride struggled with

what I'd just said. Not to feel ashamed. But I was reminded again

that he was no fool. He just said very quietly, "JayCee, now I do

look like a boy with breasts. I look like a freak."

"No," I said. "You look hot. No one will ever believe you're

a boy." I eyed him, and realized that with that cute face and

those globes on his chest, that was true. Was I myself responding

to him as a boy or as a girl? Why worry about it?

"Just wait," I said. I saw now that I could move very fast.

"Put these on and sit down," I said, handing him his flared shorts.

He did quickly, without noticing that just off his hips they

swirled out to form a cute, flirty mini. Then in no time at all I

had his hair pinned up into one of my Betty Grable styles, and he'd

slipped into those delicate sandals with just a little heel, and

before he realized what I was doing I'd given him just a touch of

mascara and lipstick. When he saw the lipstick in my hand coming

at his face he tried to object, but I just ordered him to stop

fussing. I was thinking to myself that from now on, for the rest

of his life, he'll be wearing at least this much makeup, because

that's what girls do, and that's what he was. Another first.

And that's all it took. "Now you don't look at all like a boy

with breasts," I said. I gave him my hand mirror, and busied

myself as if with other things. But I kept an eye on him..

"No, I don't," he said, as he stared at the face staring back

at him from the mirror, obviously uncertain what to think. He

couldn't quite say what he saw, a passable teenage girl. So I said

it for him.

"You look like a girl with breasts. Enjoy it! A girl should

be what she can do. From now on those knockers of yours belong to

the world, and that face over them. They're your best features.

No more trying to hide them! Bras and a little makeup from now

on!"

"Are you telling me I should look like this from now on?" he

asked, As if somehow I hadn't just said it.

"For the summer," I said. "That's the deal. After that, it's your

choice. You can look like a pretty girl, or like a freaky boy with

breasts. I'm telling you nothing. You figure it out. But for the

next few weeks anyhow, you're what you see. Now sit down on the

bed. I want you to know there are certain advantages."

He sat down on the bed. He seemed a little resentful, still

trying to think of someone or something to blame that the boy he'd

thought he was was getting more difficut to locate. I sat down

next to him, and before he could realize what I was doing, I

reached for his nearest hand, and placed it squarely on my naked

breast. It felt warm on my cool skin.

"Feel this," I said to him. "What do you feel?"

'Your breast, JayCee." He turned very quiet, very solemn all

of a sudden. I guessed mine were the first he had ever touched,

apart from his own.

"A girl's breast, Marianne. Like yours. Caress them, please.

Kiss them, please. Both of them."

I lay back and he leaned over me, bringing up his other hand

too. Now each hand held one of my breasts for a moment, cupping

them underneath with the finger tips fondling my nipples ever so

lightly. I began again to feel a stirring down under, Probably

like what he was feeling under his panties and flared shorts at

this moment. I reached for his breasts as he leaned over me, and

began to touch and squeeze his jutting nipples in their satin

enclosure, and run my fingers around them, and stroke them. He

shivered.

"Oooohhhhh" he said in a delicious, high pitched sigh. He

closed his eyes, though his hands were still busy on me.

"Kiss them," I whispered. He did. Tenderly, one kiss on the

nipple of each. Then gently he put his mouth over one and began to

suckle on me, lapping the tips of my nipples with his tongue.

"Mmmmmmmm" he sighed again, in that same flutelike tone of voice.

I reminded myself to train him to use that voice from now on. It

was so very seductive! I cupped both his breasts and then again

gently tweaked each nipple. Each grew stiffly erect inside his bra

and blouse. His mouth now firmly planted on one of my boobs, he

started to breath more rapidly.

"These are mine now, aren't they, Marianne?" I said in a tense

voice.

He wasn't sure which pair I meant, of course, but he was in an

exquisite trance and he wanted to stay there. "Mmmmmmmmm" he

moaned again, and his lips took in more of me more ferociously, his

tongue tip now flicking my nipples, first on one breast, then on

the other, then back to the first.

"You'll wear a bra until I tell you it isn't necessary," I

continued. "And you'll feel proud of your breasts, always!" I

began kneading them with my thumb and forefinger, delicately

pinching the tip of each. "Because they're beautiful and they're

a woman's breasts. And because they're mine and I'm proud of them.

Promise me!"

"Mmmmmmmmmm!" was all he said. My nipples are small, much

smaller than his, but he was slurping and sucking on the one in his

mouth like a starved infant. His first since he'd been an infant,

I suppose.

"Promise!" I repeated. I stopped moving my hands for a

moment.

He lifted his head. "I promise!" he whispered intensely, and

began to lower his head again.

"Promise what?" I asked.

He raised his head and held his face just above mine, and

looked into my eyes. "I promise not to be ashamed of my breasts,

JayCee," he said quite seriously. His breathing slowed down.

"Because they're a woman's breasts. And because they're yours."

Such a lovely boy! Already my lovely girl! It was time to

raise the ante. I knew I hadn't made a mistake about him earlier!

I smiled up at him, looking deep into his eyes. "Now take off

your shorts and panties, Marianne. Then lie back down on the bed.

Right where I am. It's all warm and snug right here."

I slipped to one side and stood up, and he stripped and

replaced me on the bed, his little prick pointing straight up,

stiff as a clothes pin, swollen thicker than I'd thought it could

get, but really not much longer. Long enough. I quickly hopped

back onto the bed and straddled his crotch, my wet pussy now an

inch or two above that jutting boy-cock of his. It would never get

bigger.

"I've never done this with any boy," I told him. "You'll see

I'm telling the truth. And I won't do it again until I meet the

boy I'll marry, if I ever do. But I want to do it with you.

You're special. You're not a boy. You're a girl who can put her

cock into me and fuck me. Aren't you?"

He drew in his breath sharply and nodded, obviously unable to

believe his extraordinary luck. It was happening! At last! He

closed his eyes and held his breath, unsure what to expect next.

I was about to lose my cherry too, and not just as a figure of

speech. But I'd had lots of chances before, so it wasn't as big a

deal for me. I started to fondle his breasts and his nipples

again, and he let out his breath in a sweet sigh. He was already

in paradise!

"Say it," I said. "Aren't you?"

"Yessssss!" My fingertips were rubbing the tips of his

satin-tipped boobs again, and he could think of nothing else. He

lifted his chest into my hands, ecstatic.

"Yes what? What are you?"

"I'm a girl who can fuck you, JayCee," he whispered,

distracted from his pleasure by the need to speak, eager to relax

into those delcious feelings. I let him.

"Yes," I repeated. "You're a girl. You're my girl now." And

I lowered my pussy until my outer lips touched his little cock. He

felt them and held his breath again. I lowered myself a little

more, and felt myself gripping his cock head. Just like my small

vibrator he felt, but a lot warmer! He lifted his hips as high as

he could and held himself absolutely still. I lowered onto him a

little more and felt more of him inside me, and finally felt his

prick press on an obstruction further in. I stopped for a moment.

"Look at me, Marianne!"

He opened his eyes. They were filled with so much happiness

they glistened! He was such a darling dear! My very first boy!

With his hair piled on his head, and his mascara'd eyes, and traces

of lipstick still on his lips, and above all those women's breasts

rising high over his chest, he was also my very first girl! So

wonderful! I looked tenderly and steadily into his eyes as more

tears welled up in them, smiling at him, and he smiled back. "My

sweet girl!" I whispered when his eyes looked just right, and I

felt just right, and it all felt just right, the two of us felt

clasped intimately by each other in full sight of each other. Then

I closed my eyes and thrust my pussy all the way down on him.

There wasn't much left to go on that prick, but enough. I was

very tight, and I'd felt him pressing on me on all sides, but then

something inside me popped with a sudden sharp sensation, not

really a pain, and suddenly I felt much more wet than I'd been.

Blood, I decided. My virginity was gone. And, I supposed, that

was the moment wwe could say he lost his too.

"Are you all right?" he whispered. I opened my eyes. He was

looking at me, worried that my face had suddenly gone serious. I

smiled.

"Yes," I said. "My darling girl. I'm just fine. Come when

you can, my sweet darling girl. I won't this time. Some other

time!"

He closed his eyes, and I resumed caressing his breasts. He

reached for mine, and began to roll his hips. I rocked with him,

and decided not to ride up and down on him. Even so, after a

minute or maybe less, he reached up and pulled my body toward him,

and sucked one of my breasts into his mouth as it deep as it would

go, and pushed his little cock into my pussy with a single great

thrust upward as far as it would go, and I felt him suddenly begin

to pulse. It felt odd but delicious, better than a prick pulsing

in my ass, and suddenly I felt very wet! Really slippery! He was

breathing almost frantically.

When his breath steadied down, I raised myself off him and

tucked a towel between us, to blot up some of the blood and semen

I was leaking all over his groin. I leaned forward and kissed him

on the mouth. He raised his chin to meet my mouth, and kissed me.

Our tongues tangled. So tenderly. There was no question here who

was the dominant partner. From the way he nibbled on my mouth I

knew he felt like a shy, compliant young girl who has just been

fucked and feels humble and grateful. He'll be easy to break in

for boys to use, I thought. Even now I bet he'll kneel down and

blow any stud who has the good sense to caress those breasts of his

first. I allowed Marianne another moment to grow softer in me,

then slowly climbed off him.

"There you are, my girl," I said. "I've used you. Now you're

a sex object. A fallen woman! We just gave each other our

virginity, didn't we? So we've just used each other to become two

fallen women, haven't we?"

He nodded, overwhelmed by the enormity of the gift he'd just

received.

"Now you're a lesbian," I went on. "Your little clit has

been inside a girl. You've been kissed and caressed by a girl.

Some day you'll be kissed and caressed by a boy, and that'll feel

nice too." He nodded again in his trance, eyes still shut. I bent

over and kissed him on his sweet mouth. Did he understand what I'd

just said? He kissed me back ever so gently, only his lips moving.

Then more briskly I said, "Now into the bathroom and clean

up, sweetheart, then put your panties and shorts back on. Look at

that! You didn't even take your sandals off, you were so eager to

put out for me! What a slut!"

I grinned at him, and after a moment he opened his eyes and

grinned back. His eyes were beautiful, with those long, dark, wet

lashes, and they were gleaming. He glanced down at the pink

splotches on his groin.

"JayCee, you've made me so very happy," he tried to say, and

he finally got it out the third time. Then he started to cry.

"I know," I said. I felt moved too. "But hurry, my mother's

due home about now."

When we came downstairs about ten minutes later, there was my

Mom already in the kitchen putting away groceries. I hadn't even

heard her come in. I glanced at Marianne, and saw that with all

the color in his face from all that unaccustomed sun and sex, he'd

turned pale, and his eyes were just a little wild. He was trying

not to panic. I knew what he was thinking. He was the boy who had

just taken her daughter's cherry! He was a boy with breasts who

was wearing her daughter's bra and blouse, a boy who had just

freshened up his lipstick at my insistence. Could she guess it?!

What must she think of him?!

"Hi, Mom," I said. "I didn't hear you. This is Marianne. I

don't remember if you've met. We've been swimming and talking and

stuff. We're getting to be really good friends, I think."

Marianne's politeness overcame his fear, and he spoke the

scenario drilled into him since childhood, in a low voice, "Hi!

Thank you for your hospitality today. I've had a lovely time.

JayCee loaned me these clothes to get home in, I hope you don't

mind."

"Not at all, Marianne," my mother said. "You're very welcome.

Now if you two girls will excuse me...." She gestured vaguely

toward some pots and pans, and more packages of food. She was

hardly paying any attention to us at all!

"Sure, Mom," I said. We left by the back door so Marianne

could pick up his damp shirt and other things he'd left by the

pool.

"See?" I said when we were just out of earshot. "You're a

girl. Parent-certified. You really don't have a choice, sweetie."

"I was so frightened!" he said in his small, high voice.

"For no reason." Then I added, "I'm proud of you. You're a

brave girl. And we are getting to be dear friends after all,

aren't we."

"I hope so," Marianne replied. Then suddenly he grabbed my

arm, his eyes staring desperately into mine. Yes, I thought,

staring back at his, that's just about the right amont of mascara

for daytime. "JayCee!" he said. "My mother! What'll I tell her

now, dressed like this? What'll she think?"

I took hold of his arms, both of them, and leaned toward him

until my face was only inches from his, and said to him forcefully,

"Nothing, Marianne! You'll tell your mother nothing! What I told

you to tell her! She's a loving mother, and she knows you've been

having ... problems, and if she asks you anything you just tell her

I'm helping you with things, and we're doing things together. And

that's all you need to tell her. Then she won't question you more

than that, because she trusts me. Do you understand me?"

He didn't, I thought, but he nodded. I have that affect on

boys when I'm being firm.

"Are you proud to be you? Are you proud to be my girlfriend?"

He nodded again. I wanted it, and he was too much a gentleman

to deny me!

"Good! Let your mother see that you're proud. You have every

reason to feel proud of yourself now especially, don't you?"

He nodded and grinned a little.

"Tomorrow we'll go shopping for girl clothes for you. You

need a few outfits. Wear what you're wearing now. Ten in the

morning?"

He nodded again, not fully comprehending. It would dawn on

him on the way home. Then it wouldn't matter.

"Here. Fix your lipstick again. You'll want to look your

very best for your mom. Shoulders back, remember!"

He was so throughly addled that he did just that!

That night his mother called, and chatted with my mother about

some Church arrangement, then asked to speak to me. When I got on,

I heard her take a deep breath, and then say it all in a rush.

"JayCee, you've performed a miracle! Marion looked just

lovely when he got home. He just glanced at me with those breasts

of his held way out in front of him in that bra, and his skirt

flipping off his hips, and his hair piled up on his head, and he

didn't say anything except 'Hi, Mom.' So I didn't either, and he

went straight up to his room. But that isn't the miracle! The

miracle is, he still hadn't changed his clothes when he came down

later for dinner! And his hair was still up! I had to say

something, so I told him that was a very pretty blouse, and all he

said was 'Thank you,' and then he told me you'd loaned it to him

until he could get some things of his own. 'I'll need some blouses

and skirts of my own to wear now for a while,' he said. "So JayCee

and I intend to go shopping tomorrow." So very calmly! So all I

said was, 'Oh! That's nice.'"

"JayCee, he looks so ... so developed, now. He has such a

beautiful figure! You know, he hasn't let me see him completely

naked for over a year now. His breasts, of course, because he was

worried about them, and I had to tell him they were nothing, when

obviously they're not. Oh, JayCee, he really does look like the

daughter I've always dreamed of having!"

"Then he added, quite matter-of-factly, 'JayCee thinks I

should try to see how girls feel about everything, have lots of

girl days this summer, to see what it's like.' So I decided I

could push him just a little. I asked as casually as I could, 'Oh?

You mean days you'll play with girls, or days you'll play at being

a girl?' And he answered 'Both, until I find I'm not playing any

more.'"

"So what could I say? 'Do you like that idea, dear?' He

answered, 'I think JayCee's right. Every boy should know what it's

like. So that's what I'll do.' I said, 'That's nice. JayCee

sounds like a very thoughtful girl.' And you know what he replied?

It almost broke my heart! He said, 'Yes, we're getting to be good

friends, me and JayCee. My very first really good friend. In a

way I'm hers, too, I think. I know I'm special for her. I know

it.' Then he added, 'She wants me to be her special girlfriend.

What do you think?'"

"I told him, 'Whatever makes you happy, dear. I want you to

be happy!'"

"Well, JayCee, he's upstairs now playing his CD for the first

time since we moved here. Loud. Madonna, I think, of all things,

and he's singing along with her! But I don't care! He's happy!

JayCee, I just called to tell you and to thank you. For

everything. You're wonderful."

"You're very welcome, Jane," was all I could say. Then I

added, "I'm sure he's goimg to make a marvelous daughter." She

said a few more things like be sure to use Marion's credit card

until she could get me a company credit card of my own, and then we

hung up.

Well, Marion wasn't ashamed to tell his mother. He saw how it

all made sense, and he'd accepted it. He's really a dear person,

I decided. A really special girlfriend.

V.

Well, that was most of it, getting Marion willing to try.

The next few weeks went quickly, much more quickly than I'd have

expected, and as I'd figured, by the end I had him hooked. Let me

tell you how.

The next day he showed up in the same outfit I'd sent him away

wearing, and I re-pinned his hair and instructed him in the uses of

mascara and lipstick, light touches of each. He put on his own,

several times, and took them off again, until he found he was

putting them on neatly without really paying any attention, just

chatting away with me.

"Always that much makeup," I said. "Never less. More when

you learn how to use more. Here, keep them here, and take your

wallet." He clipped the lipstick and mascara and his wallet into

a purse I gave him to use, and off we went.

First I bought him some shorts and blouses of his own, and

together we selected a sun dress, and then from another store a

better dress for summer evenings, and then a nice slinky clingy

party dress, green, sparkling with sequins. I figured his own

jeans were good enough for now, even though I supposed they were as

oversized as everything else he owned, but I made a mental note to

size him for slacks and minis that would make proper display of

that curvacious tush. If boys are always eager to poke into my

ass, I was thinking, how will they feel when they see Marianne's?

In every store we bought him more bras and panties, drawers

full, enough to last through his whole Senior year. He kept asking

what this or that style was for, and how it would fit and feel, and

when he tried each one on he had to have it. I only own a few bras

myself, but I realized for him bras were special. They were what

girls wore closest to themselves. Wearing one was like having a

girl wrapped around him. If it was true that every man has a girl

inside him afraid to come out and be seen, the way I'd read,

Marianne's girl sure had her man hooked on undies.

We did a lot of teasing about the party dress. I wanted him

to start sedate, with the kind of dress his mother would want him

to wear on a first date, any respectable mother who would want her

teen age son wear to look pretty. A dress in good taste, high and

flouncy, maybe even tulle, with a hem at least half way down his

thighs. But Marianne got fascinated by the little green clingy

number, though it barely covered her ass, and he wanted to try it

on, so he did. Then he claimed that he loved it, that he just

adored it, that it was just too precious and he had to have it.

I thought he was putting me on with talk like that, but when

I looked at him to signal "Enough, already," he just said, "JayCee,

if it attracts me, and it does, it'll certainly attract the boys,

won't it?" That sounded reasonable until I realized that now he

was certainly putting me on. I looked at him quickly and saw he

was watching me and grinning. I grinned back. He still had no

idea yet how attractive boys were going to find him, that what we

were really discussing was whether he'd be a demure young lady who

ends her big dates with a sweet good night kiss, or a hot dish who

finishes with her date's semen still dribbling out of her mouth.

"If you buy that dress," I said, "You'll never be able to keep it

on through a whole evening." He grinned again, but I noticed he

didn't return it to the rack.

Well, he did have good legs, really, and I knew that with a

Kotex napkin snugged down on it, his mound under that clingy dress

would be something any girl could envy and no boy could ignore, so

I suggested he go for it. I knew of at least one house party

coming up where he'd get groped all evening long in that dress.

But that would provide useful initiation, I realized, and if he was

going to be that kind of girl he'd better get used to getting

groped. His buns flirted with exposure whenever he bent over. At

least with that ass visible to the world, I thought, there won't be

any doubt about his sex. Not that there'd be any doubt anyhow.

The dress's low scooped back meant that he couldn't wear a bra with

it, but it had a high neck and long sleeves, and was form-fitting

around his torso, so his natural endowments would be on display

even so. The dress projected the generous curves of his breasts as

if he were naked. When he first came out of the fitting room

wearing it, they jiggled seductively.

He wanted to wear that dress out of the store, but I drew the

line there. "Only a slut would wear a dress like that during the

day," I told him. "Nice girls wait until after dark to seduce men

with dresses like that."

"Well, then," he replied. "Why can't I wear it during the day?

No time like the present!"

I held firm, and he was teasing, but when we left that store

he was wearing his sun dress, scarcely any longer in length, and

with much less on top. At least it allowed him to keep his bra on.

I insisted he buy a cardigan sweater to cover his shoulders,

though his arms were thin enough. A pair of sandals, and flats,

and heels for the party dress, and a makeup case with just a few

items, and that was the morning.

It was odd. Overnight, he'd gotten ahead of me. I'd expected

a certain amount of reluctance, and expected to spend some time

wheedling him into girlish attire here and there, even ordering him

into it. Instead, he was a serious, attentive student, listening

carefully to my lectures on bra styles and on the mixing and

matching of patterns, obviously absorbing it all. In between he

play-acted different feminine roles, alternatively acting like a

coquette, a harpy, a bimbo, a spinster, whatever came to mind. I

realized he was trying out various feminine selves, looking for one

he could adopt and become comfortably. He was into it.

Just how far into it I didn't realize until just after lunch.

While we were sharing a burrito it occurred to me that I hadn't

changed his gender in my own mind, and I'd better, or I might give

him away. Several times I'd asked salespersons which changing room

"he" had disappeared into, or told a cashier that "he" had our

credit card. They thought they'd misheard me. But that afternoon

I did it again without thinking.

This time, a saleswoman responded with, "That friend of yours

is a man?" I only smiled and lifted my eyebrows, inviting her to

share with me a conspiratorial shrug, as if to say, what can we

women do when men get an idea in their heads? Instead, she frowned

and looked down, and where she had been making small notations in

her order book, she began slashing at it. A woman with a problem,

I realized, and went on my guard. Then when Marianne came out of

the changing room to show me a rather pretty "better" dress, a

cotton print nice enough for a party but usable for daytime wear,

she said to him, "Sir, you should not be using these changing

rooms. The men's changing rooms are in another part of the store."

Marianne was a little shocked. "Are they?" was all he could

say at first. I think what hit him was the saleswoman's severity,

not his embarrassment at being read. But he wasn't at all

embarrassed! I realized that when he had agreed to try living like

a girl, he had decided to go all the way and enjoy it. He was a

girl, and that was that! Maybe I was confused about his gender,

but he wasn't! He meant to enjoy his femininity, at least for the

next three weeks. He'd play the roles improvisationally. He felt

liberated. That was why he'd been such a delightful tease and

mimic.

But with one glance at my facial expression, apologetic and

dismayed, he realized what had happened. I had goofed. He saw.

I was dreadfully remorseful. He saw that. Then he came through

beautifully. "My dear young woman," he said to the saleswoman, who

was ten or twenty years older than he was. "Are you suggesting

that I parade myself half-naked in front of half-naked men in

another part of the store?" He shook his high-piled, Betty Grable

head in disbelief!

The saleswoman was momentarily addled, but then she stood her

ground. "I'm suggesting that you satisfy your taste for trying

on...dresses" -- she spoke the word as if it were foul-tasting --

"in another part of the store."

"You're telling me I shouldn't be wearing a dress in this part

of the store?" Marianne now turned bright-eyed, curious, eager to

understand and to please but not quite grasping the woman's point

just yet.

"That's correct, sir!"

In a blur of cloth and elbows Marianne swept off the dress he

was wearing. He laid it inside-out across a rack of other dresses,

and now there he was, standing on the sales floor in nothing but

his bra and panties -- my bra and panties still, really -- and my

sandals, otherwise altogether naked. His crotch, I noticed,

looked perfect -- the sanitary napkin I'd loaned him until he could

buy his own must have had tapered edges. But his breasts spilled

out of my bra on all sides -- we hadn't yet managed to buy him some

better-fitting ones of his own. He stood there a moment, as

un-selfconscious in his bra and panties as I had been when I'd

stood naked in front of Ronnie and Petey, or Marianne once I'd

begun seducing him. Then he reached up with one hand and patted

the back of his hairdo, as if flattening a stray curl.

"Now, where are these men who want to see me trying on dresses

in their part of the store?" he said.

And Marianne started to stroll down the aisle wearing only his

bra and panties. He was prepared to tour the whole store, I was

sure of it. His eyes were still wide open and round, innocent and

compliant, trying to oblige. But I could see his jaw was rigid.

It struck me that he was indignant! He was not in the

slightest ashamed that he'd been caught masquerading as a girl. He

was defending his right to wear dresses as if it were a birthright!

He resented that this saleswoman had intruded into our fragile

agreement that he would be a girl for a while to see how it felt.

Now he was outraged! Of course he was a girl! But how far would

this conviction carry him?

"Marianne! Please!"

I was shocked, and had to let him know it. I certainly didn't

want him arrested -- publicity would do neither of us any good. I

was also deeply unhappy, because I knew I was responsible for this

scene, and I had to let him know that too, that I wanted out the

easiest way available. He heard me, and turned to look at me. He

was still posturing for effect, his eyes barely aimed in my

direction. But I know he saw me even so.

The saleswoman, however, was staring at his chest, his

undersized bra with its billowing spillover titflesh, horrified!

She'd blundered terribly! "Sir!" she cried out. "I mean Ma'am!

Miss! Please! I...uh...please, can you return to your changing

room, and ...please, Miss?" Now she was pleading. She glanced

nervously down the aisle at a few customers looking up from some

discount racks at the far end.

Marianne took pity on her, and walked back into the changing

room without another word, and emerged a moment later wearing her

familiar blouse and flouncy skirt, the ones I had loaned

her...him...only yesterday. The saleswoman almost fell on her

knees in thankfulness. I realized that before my very eyes

Marianne had indeed changed gender. By an act of insolent

assertion she had bluffed out the saleswoman's indignation and had

intimidated me out of feeling that this was only... a game, that

Marianne's femininity was only pretend. Marianne had become a

woman. She was now in her own mind and mine no less than she

claimed to be!

I was subdued as we continued down the mall, and not at all

surprised when Marianne asked, as we passed an ear ring kiosk,

"Shall I get my ears pierced?"

"Are you sure you want to?" I asked cautiously.

"A girl with my eyebrows and my tits should have pierced

ears," she replied.

Again I couldn't argue, and fifteen minutes later Marianne

displayed a pretty gold stud on each ear. It was as if she had to

prove something to herself. This was the boy I'd been consoling

only yesterday, so miserable because he looked so much like a girl

he'd never be a normal boy. And shouldn't try to be a boy any

longer, I'd tried to persuade him. And now she wasn't.

We passed a hair salon. Two hours later Marianne's blonde

hair was a shade lighter, crimped and curled the way we were all

wearing our hair that year, pinned up but with a crinkly fall down

her back, a style so feminine I'd never try it myself. And her

fingernails were groomed and polished a glossy pink. She was

wearing pale green eye shadow, and I envied her that drama, because

with my dark hair I could only wear brown or purple. A few more

shops, and then as we headed back to the bus stop I realized that

there were only a few more things left to do to complete Marianne's

conversion. Well, more thn a few, maybe. She still walked like a

boy, shoulders moving from side to side, legs a little wide-set.

And she had no delicate gestures at all, no little feminine moves

like flipping her hands loose-wristed, or tossing her head back as

if to clear hair from her eyes, or looking at you sideways with a

slight smile. That modeling course was coming up none too soon, in

just a few more days.

Even so, at worst Marianne looked like a girl who was still

something of a tomboy. Like what I'd wanted to be before I'd

caught on to the way things really are. Maybe it was time Marianne

caught on too? She had a few things to learn.

When we left the mall late that afternoon I decided to invite

her back up to my room for another session of lovemaking. Being

intimate again had distinct appeal, especially because this time I

could enjoy her to the full. Not very full, I thought with a small

smile. But snuggling with her, caressing her, kissing her, that

might be nice. I began to daydream about seeing her crinkly hair

nuzzling between my legs.

We linked arms as we walked toward our houses, the way girls

do, affectionately. My heart melted toward Marianne, and I glanced

over at her clear profile, and saw her satisfied expression as she

looked straight ahead. I realized that here might well be my

dearest girlfriend. She saw me looking at her, stopped walking,

turned toward me, leaned over, and we kissed each other, daintily,

just once. Then without a word spoken, when we arrived at my house

we set down our packages and went straight up into my room.

There we made love girl style. It was heavenly! We looked

lovingly into each other's eyes as we slowly unbuttoned each

other's blouses and unhooked each other's brassieres. Marianne's

eyes began to gleam, and I saw she had the same faint half-smile

I'd seen on her mother. We touched and stroked each other with

infinite tenderness, on our shoulders and arms, and finally on our

breasts. When I leaned in to kiss her nipple she gasped and

clutched my head tight to her breast with both arms for a moment,

while I suckled her, passion growing. Then we slid out of our

skirts and panties and tumbled together into bed, eager to feel our

skin pressing on each other's skin along the entire length of our

bodies, our hands roaming freely, then our mouths, all with

exquisite gentleness. It was magical.

We rolled into each other's laps, then into a 69 when we found

ourselves unable to stop kissing and licking. I lifted my knees

and opened my legs to welcome her mouth to my lips. Her tongue

found my slit and began to stroke up toward my clit, just along the

inside of my pussy lips, and I turned to jelly as she found my clit

and began to nurse on it as if it were a teeny nipple. I reached

around her plump ass cheeks and pulled her mound firmly into my

face, and took her big clit and balls and all into my mouth, then

sucked and licked and tongued them in a frenzy, moaning because I

couldn't pull her deeper into me, and all the while her tongue made

the sweetest tensions rise and flow from my pussy to suffuse my

whole body. Desire rose, and grew, higher, and filled me full, and

finally overflowed and overwhelmed me as I orgasmed, and she came

at that same moment into my mouth. I loved it, and swallowed it

all. So very creamy! So very much like my own cum! I licked

wherever I could taste its sweet silky salt, and then pressed

frenzied kisses all over her clit and her balls while she continued

to lick me with long, sweet strokes of her satin tongue. I

realized she was trying to sip up and lick up all of my juices down

there in my crotch, trying to take my liquids in to become a part

of herself. A wonderfully feminine instinct!

"Lick my face too, darling," she said in a low, throaty voice

when our breathing had quieted down. We were both drenched with

each other. So we uncurled and turned, and then cuddled against

each other the whole length of our bodies, and writhed to feel each

other's pillowy softness and bony solidity. We ran our hands over

our various billows and hollows and crevices wherever we could

reach, and we licked each other's faces. Hers was soaked with me!

I'd never ever gotten so wet before when someone was eating me.

But then, I'd never before eaten anyone while she was eating me.

Usually I preferred seeing boys on their knees in front of me,

worshipping my cunt while my thighs clamped their heads and pulled

their faces into the altar. But this was different. This was

affectionate, loving, spontaneous, beautiful. Passionate. Just

gorgeous. I kissed her face with all my heart!

"Time to go," she said finally. We reluctantly untangled

ourselves.

"That was beautiful, Marianne," I said to her from deep in my

own throat.

"Yes," she said. "It was. Now I know how girls make love.

And we'll do it some more, I hope. Lots more." She smiled.

Then while she was clasping her bra over her breasts again,

she added thoughtfully. "I could be happy being a lesbian with

you, JayCee. But I do need to know how it feels to be a girl

making love with a boy, too, I think. The idea was just awful at

first, when you first mentioned it, but it's a little more

attractive now that I'm getting into what girls do and how they

feel about things. Now that I feel more attractive. Can you

arrange something like that?"

I told her, no problem. This was a new, 'Take Charge'

Marianne. Eager to get on with it. And I was curious myself how

she'd get on with a real boy. Would she feel attracted at all?

How deep were her new feminine feelings, and how sincere? How far

would her role-playing carry her?

We arranged to meet tomorrow to spend the day together again.

Standing just outside our front door, Marianne suddenly remembered

to fix her face before going on home. I knew why -- she wanted to

look as lovely as she could when her mother saw her new hairdo, and

her piereced ears. With a compact mirror in one hand and a

lipstick in the other, it took her a moment to figure where to tuck

her purse. Under her arm. Then she made some deft strokes, as

though she'd been fixing her lipstick all her life, snapped shut

her compact, slipped her makeup into her purse, snapped the purse

shut, and looked up at me as she bent to gather her parcels.

"Today was the nicest day of my life, JayCee," she said. "The

nicest ever. I love you."

The late afternoon sun glinted on her ear ring studs, and she

reached up to pat her new hairdo, checking that every crimp and

curl was in place. I could see she was getting excited,

anticipating the moment he mother saw the new Marianne. Then the

sun gleamed off her long pink fingernails too. It had been quite

a day. As I handed her more of the mountain of boxes and packages,

she added, "Yesterday was the best I'd had till then, but also one

of my most awful ever."

"I know. I'm very glad for today, Marianne," I replied.

"Your decision to try being a girl seems so right! I think we both

learned a few things."

"I think so too," she said. "I certainly surprised myself

today!"

"And me," I said. There's no doubting that, I thought to

myself. I wondered if it was always this easy. Then I wondered why

I was wondering that. "Ten tomorrow morning again?"

She nodded and went *kiss* with her lips, then headed off

doing a balancing act, packages held high. I watched with genuine

affection as she stepped down the street toward her own home, a

cheery lilt in her walk. Such a lovely, lovely girl! Now she

really and truly was my best girlfriend. We'd now made love two

different ways I'd never made love before, and I realized that both

of them were the ways most people make love most of the time. On

both occasions I'd wanted to do it that way to share the experience

with her, not merely because it empowered me, put me in a dominant

position, gave me a leg up. Though that too.

I wondered if I should try out my new dildo on her, or save it

for me, now that I was finally rid of my hymen. Then I got a much

better idea. Before I went to bed that night I called Ronnie.

VI.

Ronnie wasn't leaving for Cape Cod for another two weeks. I

asked him about Petey, and he told me that both of them were now

seeing other people, though they still sometimes got together, and

they'd be seeing a lot more of each other pretty soon for old

times' sake. Neither of them had anybody special right now, he

said, though Petey had been through a really heartbreaking affair,

hard on the other guy too, because Petey had called it off when his

partner decided he was really bi and wanted to date real girls too.

Ronnie didn't have that problem, but he'd do just fine to help

accustom Marianne to the feel of real guys. I asked Ronnie over to

the house the next day for lunch and a dip, to meet someone I'd

just met.

"A really cute guy?" Ronnie asked.

"You'd be surprised," I answered. "And even if you knew, you'd

be surprised!"

Well, the next day, there was Ronnie. I hadn't seen him for

a while. He still wasn't in the least flouncy, though I noticed a

lilt had developed in his voice. He explained that his new friends

talked like that too. It was one way they recognized and reassured

each other in a world of straight women and men alike, and also it

sounded a little bit bitchy when he felt that way.

"So where's this guy? Do we get to play Show and Tell with

him? You and me against him this time?"

He looked disappointed when Marianne showed up wearing her

Maillot bathing suit under a gauzy wraparound barely suitable for

walking down the street, hair pinned up curled as cute as could be,

and of course wearing lipstick and mascara. She wasn't surprised

to see a stranger standing there, just curious, and I looked again

at Ronnie through her eyes. He was taller than when he and Petey

had jerked each other off and decided on a lifetime of buggery in

this very place. And more heavily muscled -- he still worked out.

In fact he'd sent in a picture of his oiled, pumped up torso to a

gay men's magazine, where it had been published, and he'd gotten a

number of letters from readers, he'd told me, and even met a couple

of them. They didn't go away disappointed.

I didn't really formally introduce Ronnie to Marianne -- kids

our age can still survive without social graces. I wanted to keep

it all cool and casual. But I was real curious to see what they'd

see in each other, and how soon.

"Hi, Marianne," I said. "My old friend Ronnie's come over

today -- he gets to use the pool whenever."

Marianne looked at him and just said "Hi, Ronnie." She nodded

at me. "JayCee!"

"Pleased to meet you, Marianne," Ronnie said in his lilting

voice, looking at her a little more closely than he usually looks

at girls.

I watched Marianne. She heard the lilt and I could tell from

the way her eyes suddenly focussed that she understood instantly

what I had planned for today. Today sex with a man. A man not

interested in girls but one who'd never object to sex with another

man, once he found it, which seemed inevitable given Marianne's

inexperience. Marianne could test out this part of her passage

into full girlhood undistracted by problems with some boy who would

loathe her if he knew she was still a boy. Ronnie by now had done

it many times with other men, but not before that I knew of with a

chick with a dick. But would Marianne agree to let a boy actually

fuck her?

It didn't look that way at first. "Likewise," said Marianne,

and she settled into a lounge chair and wriggled her shoulders to

settle them in comfortably, then her hips. Then twisted her pelvis

to cross her legs, and arched her instep. It was the most

provocative set of moves I'd ever seen a girl perform. I even felt

like jumping her bones myself! I was about to ask her where she'd

learned to do that, but remembered just in time that there was a

more interesting drama going on.

Then when Marianne got comfy she reached back to the nape of

her neck in that feminine gesture I'd taught her and began to pin

up imaginary loose hair back there. Her breasts bobbed and thrust

themselves at whoever was watching, as her elbows rose and fell.

"Are you an old friend of JayCee's?" she asked innocently, in a

higher, more girlish voice than I'd ever heard her use. Heard him

use! Today, I realized, it would be better not to think of

Marianne as a girl, or I could blow this arrangement the way I

nearly blew yesterday's. I tried to remember that she -- HE! --

had been a boy just a few days ago, a fit partner for Ronnie.

Marianne continued to play the minx. "I've just moved to this

town," he said with a satisfied smile, "But JayCee and I are

already loving friends."

"JayCee is one of my dearest friends, for a long time now,"

Ronnie replied. "In a way, she made me what I am today, and I'm

very satisfied. And grateful."

"She likes to do that, doesn't she," said Marianne, as if I

weren't here. "To me too. 'A man should be what he can do,' she

told me once. John Wayne said it first. Did she say that to you

too?"

'A man.' Ronnie looked at this catlike babe preening herself

on the lounge chair, and began to understand. A smile started on

his face, and I noticed his arm and shoulder muscles, his biceps

and triceps and latissimas and stuff, all started to swell up, as

if his muscles were like his cock, the bigger they got, the more

irresistible.

"How good are you at being what you can do?," Marianne went

on. "Can you rub sun tan lotion on my back?"

He amazed me! What a slut! But Marianne really was using

this opportunity to try his skills at naked seduction. He slipped

off his shoulder straps and lowered the front of his bathing suit

down to his navel, and flashed his huge tits at Ronnie for a moment

as he turned over onto his stomach. Now that luscious ass was up

in the air, and his bare back open to Ronnie's hands. "JayCee,

would you hand Ronnie that sun block? I don't want to be too

exposed to the sun this time, not after last time."

Now Ronnie looked addled. He'd decided that Marianne was a

gay transvestite femme, more persuasive even than Petey. But with

those tits? His muscles didn't deflate, exactly, though his

shoulders came forward again, just a bit. I'd trained Ronnie to

serve well, however, and when I handed him the little plastic

bottle without a word, he dutifully began to massage lotion onto

Marianne's back.

Marianne really was something! He knew what I was up to, and

had made up his own mind about it. If sex with a man was the

agenda, he was going to have that first experience as straight sex,

as a girl with a guy, not as a guy in drag in a homosexual

encounter. If I was using Ronnie to initiate Marianne into the

pleasures of sex with boys, Marianne would use Ronnie to practice

being attractive, even seductive with boys. He would begin

twisting a boy into love knots as only a girl can.

"You do that very well," came muffled from where Marianne was

face down on her arms. "Do you do everything as well?"

"Some things," Ronnie said, still uncertain, in the most

bitchy lilt imaginable. "With some people. It depends." He was

sending a warning signal to this girl under his hands, if that's

what she was, not to play teasing games with him.

Marianne got the message. He lifted his head and looked

Ronnie straight in the eye. "I'll bet you say that to all the

boys," he said. Then he lowered his head again. "A little to the

left, honeybun." he said. "And much lower down. Ooooh, that feels

just scrumptious! JayCee, do you think you might be getting a

little too much sun now yourself?"

"Sure," I said. "I guess so. I'd better go in for a bit. I

need to fix lunch. And it looks like we'll need more towels,

anyhow." I was a little annoyed to be asked to leave my own

swimming pool, but had to be amused by that fact, because it was

just what I had wanted to see happening. Marianne getting it on

with a boy, and better, enjoying the pleasures of being in charge

while getting it on with a boy.

I hung out inside for about a half hour, looking out the back

window now and then to see what was happening. Marianne has a real

vixen's instinct for this kind of thing, I thought. The first time

I looked, Marianne was on his back and Ronnie had his hand on

Marianne's crotch, massaging whatever he felt there. Marianne

meanwhile had his arms clasped and extended around Ronnie's neck

and shoulders, experimenting with different holds and grips. He

settled finally on one hand on the back of Ronnie's neck and the

other arm draped across Ronnie's shoulders so his hand could caress

the hills and valleys of Ronnie's back muscles. As I watched, the

hand on Ronnie's neck pulled him down into a kiss, and held him

there for a long time. I turned away to look in the fridge.

When I next looked Ronnie was on his knees in front of

Marianne while Marianne sat regally on the lounge, one leg forward,

looking down at him. He had taken off his bathing suit, and was

now every boy's wet dream of a girl. No way could I think of her

as a boy. SHE was now naked, and her tits curved questioningly up

into the sunlight as she leaned back on one hand, playfully

caressing and ruffling Ronnie's hair with the other, that same

half-smile on her face. Ronnie's face was in her lap, bobbing and

sucking away on Marianne's cock. Then both of her hands pressed

Ronnie's head close onto her as she pumped her hips up repeatedly

to meet his mouth, a blissful smile on her face. Ronnie seemed to

be swallowing as fast as he could.

Chile and crackers this time, I decided, and cans of soft

drinks. I began heating it -- it would take a few minutes. Now

Marianne was lying langorously back on the lounge chair, arms and

hair strewn in casual relaxation, while Ronnie was straddling her

chest and -- I had to say it -- servicing her mouth with his prick,

offering his goddess that impressive long sausage. Cocksucking an

act demeaning women? No way here. She lay there as if the head of

his penis was a peeled grape offered for her delectation, licking

it, feeling the whole of it with full, rounded lips for just a

moment, tugging on it with those lips only, enjoying its velvety

texture. Marianne's first cock! With a royal wave of her hand,

she commanded Ronnie to sit higher over her neck so she could reach

and lick his balls without raising her head, then lower down again

so she could taste a delicate pearl of pre-cum she saw formed on

the tip of his penis. I'd left the chile on the stove a bit longer

than I'd intended, and turned away.

Then when I glanced out again I saw history repeating itself.

On a towel on the ground, Marianne was crouched on her knees, her

head thrown back, and through the double-glass window I could hear

her shouting a muffled "Yes! Yes! Yes!" with every thrust of

Ronnie's long cock, now lunging deep into her, over and over and

over, in and out and in. Ronnie was gripping her around her waist

with both arms as if holding on for dear life, and Marianne bucked

and pitched and heaved, that beautiful round ass grinding and

pushing back into Ronnie's cock and balls as if trying to wipe them

off his body. I could see Ronnie's dong sliding and lurching in

and out, and Ronnie half hysterical with desire, and as I watched

I saw Marianne's face twist into ecstasy as she threw her head far,

far back, then began shaking it from side to side violently. She

shouted "Ohhhhhhhh, yesssssss, ohhhhhhh, yessssssss!" in a voice

audible through the whole neighborhood I'm sure, and her own little

prick began spurting into the towel under her.

Then to my amazement she turned and said something to Ronnie,

who hesitated. She said it more firmly. Ronnie looked bewildered,

disbelieving. But he then pulled out of Marianne, and with his

purple-headed cock with its long white shank now glistening in the

sun, he lay down on his side on the towel. She lay down facing

him, and took hold of his shoulders with both hands. Then while

she held him at arm's length, she watched him jerk himself off

until he came into the towel! Just where Marianne had just cum!

I couldn't believe what I was seeing! Her first fuck, and she was

already taking charge of her stud's climaxes! She allowed Ronnie

to cum only as it pleased her, not as he might wish and she might

too, inside her. She said something else, and Ronnie then bent

down to lick up the towel's mix of sweat amd cum. I decided it was

time for me to bring out the chile and soda.

Marianne's ass was now no more virginal than mine, and she'd

spared herself the indignity of cum dripping out of it while we ate

lunch. I looked at her carefully as I set down the tray and the

two of them put their bathing suits back on. Her face was hard to

read, but there was no mistaking her spraddle-legged gait as she

came over to the poolside table and sat down in a chair, carefully.

She had been well and truly fucked.

Did she like it? She looked over at me earnestly and sent me

a kiss, to reassure me, and I realized, to thank me. Was she now

addicted to sex with penetration, as a girl with her guy? If so,

I might need to haul out that dildo after all, a pity in a way,

because sex with Marianne was so...natural, so lovely, just the way

we'd done it, as two girls together who cared for each other. I

smiled, but Marianne wasn't sure yet whether to smile back. In the

end she did, just enough to be reassuring. She reached for my hand

and held it a minute. It was so quick, so overwhelming, all of

this. She needed time to process it.

Ronnie came forward and sat down, picked up a bowl and ladled

out his own chile. "Ah," he said. "As Marianne keeps saying, just

lovely! Is there ketchup too?"

We ate and splashed and joked with each other through much of

the afternoon, and as the sun began to lose its warmth Ronnie said

"I'll have to go soon, Marianne. Will we see each other again?"

"I don't see why not," Marianne replied, flashing him a smile

and a cute little wriggle of her rump. "In fact, I don't see why

not now. May we use your room, JayCee?" I nodded, and off they

went.

I felt a twinge of jealousy I guess, despite the fact that the

day was working out perfectly. Marianne was getting laid by a

good-sized prick, her curiosity about that part of being a girl

satisfied and piqued, getting it out of her system or getting it

into her system, whichever. Whichever, it seemed to me that her

boyhood was fading further and further behind her, and would soon

be over the horizon. She'd now fucked a girl and a boy, and

obviously there was more in it for her fucking a boy. I'd seen and

heard that through the window, and she still hadn't gotten enough.

When Ronnie finally left with a promise to phone her, I looked

over to Marianne with my eyebrows raised to say, 'You don't have to

tell me everything, but you have to tell me something.'

"JayCee," Marianne said. "Thank you. Three days ago I had

no friends. I've never had any friends. Now I have two dear

friends, and I love you both, really, truly, and passionately. And

you're the person who introduced me to both of them. Maybe to

three wonderful people, if we count Marianne too."

"Just doing my job, ma'am," I said in my best Sergeant Joe

Friday imitation. Then I nudged her again. "The facts, ma'am?"

"The facts are, we fucked, and I love having a prick up my

ass. I love sucking on cock when it's me doing the sucking, not

the prick getting itself sucked. Now what do you think of that?"

"You're quite a girl, Marianne," is all I could say. "More a

girl than I'd ever imagined!"

"I guess," she said, beaming at me. "Everything I am today I

owe to you," she said. "And, of course, to my mother." She did

an elaborate, ungainly but theatrical bow after delivering that

line, her arms wide apart. One part of my mind registered that she

certainly does need those modeling classes, but another wondered

what she really meant by that last remark.

"More than you'd think," I said. It was a broad hint, a

little stupid I guess, but I was curious to find out if she knew

anything, and I don't know, I was feeling a little catty. I'd

wanted Ronnie and Marianne to hit it off, no question, but they'd

flowed into each other like maple syrup into pancakes.

But Marianne answered, "No. Not more than I'd think. I think

I know what there is to know, JayCee. I saw those books you've got

up in your bedroom, the ones you took out of the library a few days

ago, after you had that long talk with my Mom while I was down in

the basement. Books about hormones, and transsexuals, and things

like that. I can read, and I can add things up."

I just stared at her. Those books! Mostly hidden, but I'd

hauled them out again only this morning. My bedside reading!

She went on. "What's done is done, JayCee, and there's no use

crying over spilt mother's milk. I know you both think it's for

the best. Maybe it is. I promised you I'd try it out, and that's

what I'm doing. You said that Modeling School begins next Monday?"

I went over and kissed her. Marion had been my first real

lover, and Marianne was my first real girlfriend for sure. I

couldn't speak. She kissed me back.

"JayCee," she said quietly, but not at all shyly. "Do you

think we could go back to your room now for a little bit? Ronnie

doesn't understand anything about breasts. I suppose it's because

he's never had any himself, or desired any, so he has no feel for

people who do have them. He's a great lay, but I have feelings

for you he'll never come near."

I tried to say something, but nothing came out. "Sure,

Marianne," I finally managed to whisper. "Whatever you say."

VII.

Modeling school was a blast. There were fifteen other girls

besides us, half of them genuine dyed-in-the-hair bubbleheads, the

other half in a range from feline to friendly to efficient. The

teacher read Marianne right off, from the way she moved, or didn't

move, or something, and called her over. Then after a moment she

called me over.

"Uh, JayCee," she said. "Marianne says I should speak to you

about this. She puzzles me. She has the lines and hips and height

of a high fashion model, but also of a man, and frankly, she moves

like a man. I don't mean she's klutzy, and I don't even mean she

isn't gracious or dainty sometimes -- that doesn't matter -- I can

teach anyone that. I mean she doesn't walk and move like someone

who holds herself in, someone who's spent a lifetime taking up no

more space than she must. Like a woman. She's far too open. Is

there something I should know?"

"Tell her, Marianne."

Marianne hesitated and then squared her shoulders. "I was

born a boy, and my mother's given me a girl's puberty without

telling me. Why I don't know, and I won't ask her until I've

become as much what she wants as I can be. She loves me and has

her reasons, I'm sure, and I love her. What she wants is for me to

live like a girl. So I'm giving it my best shot, and we'll see.

JayCee's my dearest friend, and has been helping me. She thinks

you can help me too."

"I think Marianne needs to learn to walk with cute, short

steps," I blurted out. It had been on my mind. "Not the long

stride of a high fashion model. We want her to be attractive to

boys, and a long stride would intimidate them, I think."

The teacher looked at me. "Straight to the point, aren't you,

JayCee." She considered a moment. "All right! I just don't want

any ringers in here, any peeping Toms taking advantage of my girls.

You'll all be seeing a lot of each other, and I don't mean just in

terms of time, though that too. We have a single common dressing

room here."

"There'll be no problem, ma'am," Marianne said. "You'll see

soon enough. None."

She looked over at Marianne. "Those are real then? They'd

better be, or we'll all know straight away, the first time we

change clothes, and we do a lot of that. Around 36 C, aren't you?

Too large for high fashion anyhow. All right, I'll teach you how

to make boys' pricks drool into their pants whenever they see you.

So they'll want to fuck the air you've set in motion after you've

passed by. You know what I mean, don't you? Do you drool into your

pants now when a girl goes by?"

A trick question. She was asking Marianne how she was

equipped, and warning her there'd be no fucking around with the

other girls. Marianne caught on right away, "No ma'am," she said.

"I get a little wet there sometimes, the way girls do when the

right kind of guy goes by."

Hearing that evasion, the teacher just looked at Marianne and

said nothing. Then "All right, let's get started!"

Right off we both learned that a girl is always on display,

and that walking around with books on your head is old hat. "You

are mannequins, suspended from the top of your head by a cord

fastened to the ceiling," she began. "Whenever you stand, whenever

you walk, even when you are bending over to get into a car, you are

suspended by the tops of your heads, lighter and more fragile than

you have ever imagined yourself!" And so it went. By the end of

the two weeks we had relearned every gesture, even how to use a

knife and fork, and how to chew. And lots more about makeup, and

clothes, and how to say "yes" and "no" without giving a guy any

more ideas than we want him to have.

I suppose lots of girls actually live and move and think the

way the teacher taught us to live, move, and think, but lots don't.

I didn't worry it, because everything I do is what a girl does

whatever I may do. But Marianne carefully learned everything, each

move and posture and gesture, and practiced them all the time,

because for her that was all there was. The weekend between the

first and second week of classes, she never let down. Not even

when her face was in my pussy and mine was sucking her clitty cock

and licking her crotch, and we were both stroking each others'

breasts and bursting out of our skins with passionate feeling, her

hands always stayed arched, so her fingers seemed longer and more

delicate, and her neck always stayed swanlike. When she left my

house to walk to her own, it was always with the tight little short

steps she had learned, and the cutest sway of her hips and wiggle

in her ass, a real busybody blonde walk that attracted men as if

she were walking stark naked. She loved it, and told me how cars

passing on the street had started honking at her even when she was

wearing a respectable A-line skirt ending well past her knees.

She learned even more from being with all the other girls.

The talk was boys and sex and clothes, and sex and boys, and

because we weren't going to see each other again it was altogether

uninhibited. Marianne told some wicked stories, partly true and

partly not, and became a favorite -- some of the girls even

developed girl-crushes on her, and they hugged and kissed their

greetings each morning before classes began. We found out

everyone's kinks, who liked leather, who pulled trains, who swung

both ways, and who were swingers.

I told them once that I told every boy I dated that I was

keeping my vagina for the boy I'd marry. Clara asked, "You mean

you're a virgin?" Clara was a frail wisp of a girl, all blonde

lace with pale, dreamy eyes, teeny, weighing not even 100 pounds,

seemingly helpless, a doll. But don't believe it. Underneath her

delicate appearance she was a tough dyke who loved using whips on

boys or girls, and loved people who loved whips.

I told her "No, not a virgin." Marianne caught my eye, and we

grinned at each other, and Clara saw..

Then she said, "My mother was a professional dominatrix, and

I mean to be just like her. She told me she used that line too,

all the time, when she was in High School. It gets guys' attention

and respect, and then you've got them by the balls."

"But in her case it was true, enough, until she got married to

my Dad and got pregnant with me. Then she reversed field. After

that my father became the only man in her life who was never

allowed into her cunt. The postman could fuck her silly, while he

listened, and on rare occasions might be allowed to watch, and

never to come nearer. For the next twelve years he slept in their

bedroom closet, lying on her soiled linens from whatever her

previous day's bedroom activity, her panties from her previous day

always stuffed in his mouth, listening through the door to

whatever Mom was doing with her clients. He never again shared her

bed, and she told me he wore a cock cage for the rest of his life,

so he could never masturbate and of course could never cum himself.

He just lay there and listened all night to other men screaming

and moaning and pleading, their cries of joy and their grunting and

sighing."

"That was his gift to her, self-denial, and he knew she loved

him above all the others because of that gift. He told me when he

was already terminally ill, near the end, that he wouldn't have

changed a thing, and I know he died happy. Mom was inconsolable.

That's the kind of boy I'll marry some day, when I can find one.

I use that line too, I'm saving myself, and so on. But meanwhile

I fuck whoever pleases me."

I told her I felt the same way sometimes, but didn't know what

kind of boy I'd marry, if any. She glanced at Marianne and said

nothing.

Mostly wearing only our bras and panties, getting in and out

of different dresses and outfits with all those other girls all the

time, always poised and hanging from a cord suspended from the

heavens, then from a string, then a thread, then from nothing at

all, wearing perfect makeup every moment no matter what, everything

we did got to be second nature. My mother commented on how refined

I'd become all of a sudden, even in my table manners, and I smiled

at her in a wearied woman-of-the-world way.

Marianne saw Ron a few more times, so it wasn't necessary for

me to haul out my dildo ever when we made love together. The

second weekend of modeling classes, in fact, Ronnie called to ask

me why Marianne was being so dainty, so utterly feminine. "She's

almost no fun to fuck any more," he said. "She's getting to be too

much like a girl. She even makes those delighted squeals girls in

porn movies make, whenever I pump her just right. My other

boyfriends never do that. It's kind of sweet, but doesn't she ever

let down? When I mentioned it she told me that if I complain

again, she'll order me to sleep in my own bedroom closet. Can you

imagine?"

I told him not to worry about it. Marianne had a moment of

decision coming up in another week or two and was giving being a

girl her all now. I thought it was a foregone conclusion. But

Marianne had to realize that herself.

A while later, a friend phoned as expected to say she was

throwing that house party now that her folks were going out of

town, and she was short a few girls. Would I come, and did I know

who else to bring?

Well, it happens I did. Marianne got wonderfully excited, and

got herself up in that slinky green dress and high, high heels.

With her delicate air and her brilliant smile outlined in bright

crimson, she was a smashing success.

The day before the party we practiced dancing while suspended

by a cord. Our slow dancing got so amorous we never managed to

finish a set. Marianne got so hot that she told me whatever we'd

done with each other, and that was a lot, she always had to go over

to Ron's for a good fucking afterward to finish her off. She

kissed me in case I needed reassurance, but she told me she now

thought a hot cock spurting into her bowels was one of God's

greatest gifts. I wasn't sure about that myself, but I couldn't

disagree.

I warned her that during this first night of partying she

should put out for no one no matter how badly she might feel

tempted, or she'd get a reputation for being easy, and that meant

she'd have to put out for everyone. Especially, she'd be bothered

all year by nerds who could only get dates with sluts no one else

wanted.

I doubt she needed to be told that. During the party she

played games. She got one guy groveling on the floor looking for

an earring for her, and then she straddled his head with her high

heels, and looked down at him, and flashed her panties at him, and

asked if he'd found what he was looking for. He must have creamed

in his jeans right then and there. During every dance, she brushed

her breasts against her partners unrelentingly, with noticeable

effect on the size of the bulge in their pants. Then, the way she

glanced at their swollen crotches and pursed her mouth the way we'd

been taught, then smiled at them, she seemed to promise every guy

she met a fabulous cocksucking. Shameless? Guys drooling in their

pants? There wasn't a dry pair of drawers in the house, I'm sure.

The next night after the house party Marianne had dinner with

my family so we could get an early start on a movie together.

Registration time for the school year was approaching, and she'd

need soon to make up her mind, was she Marianne, a tease who had

lots of fun, or was she Marion, a boy with tits. That was the

deal.

When we were both of us were using our best modeling school

manners to butter bread and scoop up salad, my mother said, "You

know, it's strange, dear. When I first met you the day you moved

in, I thought you were a boy. I suppose it was those loose clothes

you were wearing to help with the move."

"Marianne?" I said surprised "A boy? Did you see her in that

green dress yesterday?"

"As it happens, I did see her," said my mother, quickly

distracted, "That's a lovely dress, dear. Green is certainly your

color. I wish JayCee would dress herself as attractively. But to

each her own I suppose."

"I think we're lucky," Marianne answered thoughtfully. "Girls

can wear anything we want. We can play with who we are. Boys and

men don't get much chance even to find out what they might enjoy

wearing if they could."

So there we were. Marianne was one of "we" girls in front of

my mother. If Marianne was ever going to be a boy again, she'd

certainly have a lot to explain to my mother, who now thought she'd

been wrong when she first met him and thought he was a boy. Or

else she'd have to leave town. Marianne seemed unworried by the

prospect.

Then after the movie when we were walking home from the mall,

two guys I knew showed up. It was a hot night, and Marianne

happened to be wearing not much at all. Some sandals with three

inch heels, because it was one of her "heel" days, when she wanted

to practice walking in heels as she'd been taught, with a really

provocative sway to her rump, and short shorts, and the barest

see-through blouse with her prettiest lace bra altogether visible.

Her hair was piled high off her neck, and held there with a darling

little gold comb. And she'd slathered on the eye makeup, because

I'd commented that at night in dark places you can't wear too much

eye makeup, and for a joke she'd been trying to prove I was wrong.

Seductive? She looked scorching! And who should happen by?

"Hi JayCee. Arent you going to introduce us?"

I looked, and immediately saw manna from heaven! Money in the

bank. "Hi, Jeff, Will. This is Jeffrey and Wilmott, Marianne,"

I said. "Jeff is President of the Senior Class this coming year.

He bought the votes with Wilmott's money. They do things like that

together."

They were paying no attention to me. "Hi, Marianne," they

both said together, each one taking one of her hands, and then

realizing they were being ridiculous, but neither one wanting to

let go. We walked four abreast for a while, bumping into each

other, and finally we split off, Marianne with Jeff and me with

Wilmott, talking about how our summer had gone as they walked each

of us home.

Willmot was already on my string -- we'd already dated a few

times, and he had graduated from only licking my pussy to my

jacking him off if he said sweet things to me, though he was still

a long way from my ass. I began scouting him in a new way, though.

His parents had maybe even more money than Jane seemed to have, and

I was thinking I should know more about what rich boys like, if I'd

be going to college where they went. I later found out rich boys

want the same things any boy wants, only they think they're

entitled. That gave me special pleasure later on, when I'd make

someone especially wealthy beg permission to humiliate himself, and

then refuse him.

Soon after I got home from our movie date my bedroom phone

rang. It was Marianne of course, just delivered to her house by

Jeff.

"Wasn't that wonderful, JayCee, running into those two boys.

Are all the boys in the senior class that nice? And handsome?"

"No, Marianne. But lots are. Why are you so excited now

about two more guys in your life. You were one yourself not long

ago, remember?"

"One thing at a time, JayCee. First, Jeff wants to take me to

the RamaRama concert a week from Saturday. He's got tickets!

JayCee, no one can get tickets to that concert, not for weeks now!

I told him Yes! I'm so excited! Can I borrow that embroidered

jumper of yours? I'm sure it would fit, maybe it would be a little

short, but for a concert that's fine, and with a boy like Jeff,

better than fine. Or would you go shopping with me to help me buy

something like it?"

I checked and doublechecked the calendar in my head, then

looked at the one on my desk.

"Marianne, slow down. Listen carefully. You accepted a date

with Jeff for a week from Saturday?"

"Yes. Is there something about him I should know?"

"No. Something about yourself. The previous Wednesday you

and your mother will be registering for the Fall term at the High

School. As what? That's when our agreement ends. You'll have

tried out what it's like to be a girl, in order to make up your own

mind which you prefer."

"So?"

"So?" I mimicked her. "You sound as if you've made up your

mind."

"JayCee, how can I ever go back to being Marion? Jeff knows

where I live. He thinks he knows who I am. He thinks I'm a girl.

So does your mother. And you know something, so do I, most of the

time these days. It's *so* much more fun!"

"Marianne, listen to me. Do you want to be Marion in school?"

"I'd thought that was what I wanted. I mean, playing Marianne

for the summer was a good idea, certainly, but.... Well, if all

the kids think that's who I am, I can't be anyone else, can I?"

"No, you can't. But Marianne can disappear, and Marion can

replace her. Who'd suspect foul play? This is a small town.

Decision time. Who would you rather be?"

"JayCee" -- she was still playing hard to get to decide -- "I

have more fun as Marianne. I look more like Marianne. With you I

feel more like Marianne. As Marianne, I felt like kissing Jeff

goodnight just now, so I did. It was so sweet, JayCee! Don't

worry, only on the cheek. But how could I do that as Marion?"

"Talk it over with your Mom."

Now her voice changed. I realized that she'd been riding the

high wave of her excitement over dating Jeff, a charmer and the

class President, a kind of signature on her success as a girl.

But all the while, she knew there were serious things going on.

"I did talk with my Mom, JayCee. She says I can date boys

through the first term, and enlarge my circle of friends among the

girls in the class. I can giggle and be one of the girls easily

now, ever since the modeling class, thanks to you, and I'm sure

I'll get on fine with the other girls. The other girls, JayCee,

that's how I feel about them."

"Marion never had a social life, and never will, he's so

self-conscious about his body. You were right all along, JayCee.

I love being Marianne. I really have no choice anymore anyhow.

But if being Marianne doesn't work out, my Mom says, we'll move

again to another school at mid year. If it does work out, then

I'll be Marianne through the whole of next year, and that'll mean

through college and for life. I like the idea."

"You've helped me wonderfully, JayCee. I hope you still will.

Now I know how to make love to a girl because of you, and how girls

can make love to each other. I know how to satisfy boys with my

mouth and my ass, and how to satisfy my mind by making them jump

through hoops too if I feel like it. I know how to tell boys not

to use my pussy because I'm not on the pill (even though I am), but

that if they want to push into my ass I'd love it. And I do. I do

love it. So will they too, I expect. Marianne hasn't got a pussy

for them to lick, the way you do, but you can't have everything,

and there's really no choice any more."

"Think about it. The way I move and talk, and the things I

like talking about these days, how can I ever be a boy again? I'd

look and sound like the most flaming nancy anyone ever saw. And

with tits? I'd be a real freak! You made the point weeks ago, but

I didn't want to believe it them. I've got no choice." She

paused. "JayCee, will you lend me that jumper? Please? Or else

come shopping with me?"

"Come over tomorrow, and we'll try it on you," I said. "But while

we're on the topic, will you take one more word of advice?"

"As many as you have, JayCee."

"After the concert, you should try to swallow all of it when

he cums. Boys like that. For them it's kind of like cumming

inside you. I don't know if you ever did blow Ronnie all the way

or if you mostly let him cum only when he was fucking Mary Fist,

but that's the way it is with boys like Jeff."

"I appreciate that, JayCee. I really do. Thank you."

A half hour later Jane called to thank me as well, and to find

out how she should address her firm's letter of congratulations to

me on my being granted a four year full scholarship to any college

of my choice. And to ask my opinion about various ways to set up

the trust fund, before she spoke to my folks about it. Part way

through, she started crying. So did I. And ten minutes later,

neither of us had managed to stop crying, so we said we'd talk

together again real soon and hung up.

VIII.

Well, our two Senior years went about how you'd expect. We

saw a lot of each other, as girls will, and double-dated sometimes,

but we each had our own separate lives to get on with too. I got

into interscholastic Brain Trust competitions, and wiped up the

floor with competing teams from lots of other different high

schools, not because I knew more than they did, but because I knew

how to look at the boys on the other teams when they thought they

knew more -- sometimes an injured look, sometimes furious, I could

always tell what would fluster them. I won a Thousand Dollar

Scholarship from the competition's sponsors for the highest scores

in the All-State division, but that was scarcely noticeable when it

went into the trust fund Jane set up for me. I got good grades,

but that's never been a problem for me, and I got into just the

right kind of college too, and I'm about to graduate this year.

But wait, I'll get there.

My sex life that last Senior year also went the way you'd

expect. I enlarged the number of guys I had on my string, and they

kept me plenty satisfied. Five of them earned rear end privileges

that year. I took in guys with wealthy parents and big allowances,

who bought me the nicest presents whenever I gave them the

opportunity, and took me to terrific shows and concerts. Gradually

I refined my ways of dealing with them, and even now they

appreciate it when I give them a call and let them do things for

me.

I finally allowed two real dolts to fuck me properly in the

cunt, the way Marianne had done it with her little clit when she

took my virginity. I could let them because they were both big,

tough, and nasty, so it was easy for me to threaten each of them

with quick retribution from the other if he ever said anything

about me and word got around. It was OK. Guys are guys, I

decided, no big deal.

Way better were my sessions with Marianne. She was so sweet!

So all-girl! Somehow, whatever we ever did together, go to the

beauty parlor, cheer the hunks at a football game, shop, check out

a movie or a concert, share our homework assignments, we always

ended up in bed together, and it was always just lovely. Toward

the end, I got a feeling that Marianne was less passionate than I

was, even a little absent-minded when we were making love. But my

own desires more than made up for it!

Marianne looked like she was having a blast, and it turned out

she was. She auditioned for the role of Viola in our class play,

Shakespeare's *Twelfth Night*, Viola being a girl who pretends to

be a boy, usually played by a boy actor in SHakespeare's time, only

Marianne was a boy no longer pretending to be a girl but pretending

to be a boy. She got a standing ovation -- no one had ever seen as

dainty and feminine a girl become as noble and gallant a gentleman,

and then change back again. She dated Jeff a few times more, and

they really looked like an Item for Keeps, but one sad evening she

told him she wasn't really ready for him, and she started dating

lots of other guys. Lots. I lost count. Ronnie told me they

still saw each other now and then, I figured probably for the same

reasons we still saw each other, for the sake of old times and

present friendship.

But Jeff was her date for her Senior Prom after all, and just

as her mother had wanted, it was magical for her. He'd carried the

torch for her the whole time, all through that year, and when he

asked her late that Spring, he looked so sorrowful, she told me,

she had to accept. I remember her well, the specially chosen date

of the President of the Senior Class making her grand entrance on

his arm. She was radiant. True, she wasn't voted Queen of the

Prom, but as Jeff's date she got to crown the Prom Queen, a twit we

all knew was already pregnant by the son of the local bookmaker.

She did it as if she herself were made of whipped cream, parfait,

and air, and no one looked at the Queen. Wherever Marianne went in

her floating white gown, that night she seemed suspended from the

heavens.

That night was Jeff's night too. She told me that Jeff's

prick was even bigger than Ronnie's, and a lot fatter, she knew

that from blowing him after the RamaRama concert, and that she

wanted to make his Prom night with her unforgettable. She owed him

so much. He had been her first real crush, one of the most

important reasons why she had become what she was, and she couldn't

ever forget it. So during the weeks preceding their big night

together we worked systematically to enlarge Marianne's rosebud,

with bigger and bigger butt plugs, and before she started to get

dressed for her Prom -- she looked absolutely angelic, have I

mentioned that? -- we gave her four successive enemas, so she would

be clean and sweet for him. And she was.

She danced every dance, with Jeff more than with any other

guy, but also with lots of the guys she'd dated during the year,

who kept coming back to her the way mine did when I'd let them.

For Marianne though, that night, Jeff was special. When the dance

ended at two in the morning we all went together to Burger Bob's,

and then afterward we each went withour dates our own separate

ways.

I was feeling nostalgic, and arranged to play Show and Tell

with two utterly straight arrows I wanted to see blow each other

before my high school years ended -- my date and another girl's

date, a girl who bet me I couldn't get either of them to do it, and

who thereby lost a double forfeit. They looked beautiful, 69ing

together on the grass with their eyes tight shut, like hungry

nursing infants. The other guy's date, the girl who lost her bet

with me, was just amazed to watch my techniques as I persuaded them

to go ahead and suck each other off. As tuition alone she got her

money's worth

But Marianne's was the real romantic adventure. As she told

me afterward, at four in the morning when the early dawn light in

the sky was just enough visible to keep the street lamps from

seeming lonely, she and Jeff parked on High Ridge Hill and looked

down on all the gleaming and twinkling lights of the city below.

Marianne blew Jeff twice, and the second time when they kissed, he

sipped his own semen from her lips, lost in a delicious erotic

trance. Then he wanted desperately to do something for her,

anything, as she knew he would. So she bent way over in the car

seat, on her back with her legs high in the air, and with what she

later described as an imaginary blare of trumpets, Jeff entered her

rear with his enormous cock. She was absolutely rapturous, telling

me about it a few days later, when she could again think about it

without choking up for joy. He fucked her for nearly an hour

before she came finally into her Kotex pad, delerious with pleasure

for the last half-hour of it and hoarse from screaming, and then

finally he came deep inside her. They solemnly traded class rings,

which was just as well as a gesture Marianne told me, because their

fingers were each the same size and the rings were identical. She

had stars in her eyes the whole time, Marianne said, and when she

got home and woke up the following afternoon, she found her mother

had already pressed her corsage into the family Bible. It was

perfect!

We went to different colleges that fall, and we stayed in

touch during the next few years. Marianne majored in business to

prepare herself to take over some of her mother's spinoff

companies, and she means to do just that now that she's graduating.

I majored in psychology, developmental psych because I wanted to

know everything that's known about bringing people from one concept

of themselves to another, and abnormal because as I already knew,

people's kinks are their most interesting features, the ones where

they find their greatest joys, and I wanted to teach them how to

accept them. The world could do with more more accepting of

oddity.

IX.

Not long ago I returned home for the Easter break just before

graduation from college. I'd already been admitted for graduate

training in Clinical Psychology, and decided to specialize in

gender identity transformation, a core area of concern to me. It

seemed to me that there's an enormous need for specialists to help

men convert to become the women they wish to be, or women the men.

My own experience with Marianne I found was in no way unique. But

I had an idea I wanted to float past Jane. I had plans for the

future, and I wanted to see if she was interested in a partnership.

It was old home week. I ran into Ronnie almost immediately --

he'd tried different things and had finally become a hairdresser,

with his massive, muscled physique the most fashionable and

successful one in town. He smiled wickedly when he told me that

two of his seven employees, his cute little manicurist and his

vivacious curling assistant, were both really boys under their

short-skirted smocks and impeccable makeup, and that in fact they

were going steady with each other. We chatted about different

people we'd known. I asked him about Petey, and Ron shook his

head. "Petey never straightened himself out," Ronnie said. "He

went with a couple of tops like me for a while, then with an s/m

motorcycle gang, and lately he's taken up with a little girl way

below the age of consent. He says he prefers her to anyone he's

ever met, because she doesn't boss him around. But the FBI are

already watching him, and I don't think that relationship has a

future."

A pity, I thought, and Ronnie agreed. And what of Marianne?

I hadn't seen her for several years.

Ronnie brightened. "JayCee, I thought you knew. We're going

steady, in a way. We're even thinking we might get engaged.

Marianne often comes home to learn more about taking over a big

chunk of his mother's business. I see him all the time. Didn't he

write you?"

"No," I said. "Marianne didn't write me. Why do you call her

'he' when you speak of her? You're thinking about an engagement?

To each other? I'm confused."

Ronnie moved to the edge of the streetcorner where we'd just

run into each other. "I have to go. Why don't you phone ahead,

then show up for cocktails this afternoon at Marianne's mother's

house. He's home from college just before graduation, just like

you. I know they'll both be overjoyed to see you. They always

speak of you with love and respect and admiration, even a little

awe. And Jane mentioned you need to talk business with her anyow,

isn't that so?"

I did. But Ronnie and Marianne, a couple? This was

bewildering! Had Marianne reverted back to being a boy?

When I came to the front door, there was Marianne looking as

beautiful as ever. We immediately fell into each other's arms and

hugged each other, and kissed each other with deep affection,

immediately back in our old relationship. It was so wonderful! It

was as if years and separate lives had never come between us, and

there we were about to complete our last year in High School all

over again.

"My dearest JayCee! Do come in! Mom'll be here shortly --

she stepped out only a minute ago. We've got so much to tell each

other!" Our cheeks were wet, and Marianne's eyes were as brimfull

as mine, pools of mascara beginning to flow from them as she pulled

me into the house and sat me down in the kitchen, in the very same

chair where nearly five years earlier I'd discussed her

transformation with her mother. I'm sure my face looked a mess

too, but it was a terribly moving moment for both of us. We

couldn't let go of each other, or stop kissing each other's cheeks

and hair.

When I could recover. I just looked at her. "Marianne, you

haven't changed at all. You look just the same."

"And you too, JayCee! It's so good to see you haven't really

changed either! Despite how you do your hair now. That's lovely

too, incidentally!"

"But you've changed in other ways, just a little, haven't you,

Marianne? When we were still close, you were dating straight men,

the prize studs in our high school And delighted to be the

attractive girl you'd decided to become."

She nodded, still looking so very pleased to see me she seemed

scarcely to be listening.

"Now Ronnie tells me you two are thinking of getting engaged?"

She smiled her half-smile, and nodded.

"That's wonderful news, but a little puzzling. I'm sure you

know that. Everything I've learned tells me that physical sex can

be changed surgically, and gender identity sometimes, as in your

case, but sexual preferences rarely. Maybe never. Isn't Ronnie

still gay? Gay, and planning to marry a gorgeous woman like you?

How can that be? He'd never marry just to go stealth with his

homosexuality. He's proud of it."

Marianne looked at me with kindly affection.

"This may shock you, JayCee, but I know you'll understand. I

haven't changed. I'm not a woman. I've never been a woman. That

summer we met I was a boy with tits, and now deep in my heart I'm

a man with tits."

I stared at her speechless.

"I'm gay, JayCee. Like Ronnie. And I'm proud of it too. My

mother never knew it. I didn't know it when you started teaching

me how to become a girl, a woman, the woman I seem to be even now.

But I knew it soon after that last year of High School began, and

I accepted it, and I've never looked back. I don't really regret

it. I am what I am. It's been just wonderful! It will be for the

rest of my life, I just know it."

I tried to smile with her. I was happy for her. She was

happy, and she always looked especially beautiful when she was

happy, and she looked especially beautiful. She? Ronnie had

called her "he." And she had just called herself a man. A man

with tits. A man with tits in a beautifully cut Chanel type suit

and a silk, scoop-necked blouse. And diamond drop earrings. And

trim, elegant 3" heels.

She saw me looking her up and down, struggling with this

revelation.

"That time I made it with you as a man was nice, JayCee, and

I appreciate what you did for me that day especially, and that I

was your first man where it mattered, and all. I'll never forget

it. And we've had some beautiful times together, making love as

women. But Ronnie really opened me out to what I am, that time by

your swimming pool. And then that night with Jeff after the

concert, our first date, when dawn came and I was still making love

to his cock, and couldn't stop myself, and he was still able to get

hard and cum in my mouth yet again, as I so wanted him to do -- I

didn't understand it. I couldn't come near him without feeling my

own cock start to drool."

"It was hopeless, of course. Jeff is as straight as a man can

be, which is why he was attracted to me in the first place, and

even fell in love with me, a little. I did try to cool it with him

and take up other guys. All through that last year, with lots of

other guys. And I loved sex with them, the same way I love it with

Ronnie. I used your line about saving your cunt for the father of

your children, and I used them to pleasure me the way you use men,

but I didn't love any of them. If anyone, I loved Jeff. I truly

loved Jeff."

"That's only natural, Marianne. You were a girl. A woman.

Women love men."

"No, JayCee, just listen. Women love men. But so do gay men.

I loved Jeff as a gay man. That Prom night is still the happiest

night of my life. I was back with Jeff one last time, kissing and

sucking and licking him the way I'd always wanted ever since we

first met at the movies and he first walked me home. I wanted to

eat him up. It was just marvelous! And then when finally I was

ready, and had to have him, for the first time to feel his meat

crammed deep into me, to feel him pump his juices deep into me --

heaven! And when he fell asleep in my arms as dawn came on High

Ridge Hill, and the sun rose and woke him, and I looked at his face

and held him all the while he slept? Ecstasy! Beyond belief!

He's the man I was born for, JayCee. His is the penis destined to

enter my vagina, if I had one, and it's his sperm I'd want to have

share in the creation of my children, if I could have any."

"But it can't be. I knew instinctively, from the very

beginning, that all the wishing in the world would never get him

interested in me if I weren't a girl. Even when he was walking me

home, that first time, when you first introduced him to me, I knew

it. Only a girl can ever get close to him. That's how he is. And

really, that's why I agreed to start High School as a girl that

summer. Then we started getting really serious, and I knew if we

went much further he would have to find out about me, I knew that

he'd hate me for deceiving him. And that would break both our

hearts. I knew then that I had to break off with him. I cried for

days when I realized that. But I did it. Except for Prom night,

our one last glorious fling into a fantasy fulfillment of what

might have been."

"Anyhow, that's why I was such a slut for so much of that

year, JayCee. After Jeff, I felt sheer delight that I'd discovered

I love boys, and love being fucked by boys, and love pleasing them

and being pleasured by them! I'm gay, JayCee, and probably always

have been but never knew it. I know it now. And I'm not ashamed

to say so."

Marianne's confession -- Marion's? -- confounded me utterly.

I stared at the gorgeous girl in front of me, my dearest friend

from that summer, my own creation in a way, the reason I'd been

able to go to the smart college I'd chosen, and meet so many

wealthy potential clients, and plan the career for which I was

preparing myself. I was speechless, and could barely splutter out,

"Wait a minute, Marianne, just wait. You say you're gay? You mean

you're not a girl, you're a boy who likes other boys?"

She -- no, he -- was patient with me. "That's right, JayCee.

And I'm really, truly indebted to you for helping me find that

out."

"I did? But Marianne, I was teaching you how to be a girl.

And teasing you into being a girl. And persuading you how much

better it is, being a girl. None of that took?"

She -- he -- she -- smiled that absolutely darling half-smile

again, wry yet knowing, with that narrow sidelong glance I knew had

caused stumbling in corridors and drooling in lots of pants all

through our Senior year.

"Oh, a lot of it took, JayCee. And you were right. It's a

lot better being a girl. I've been willing to let my Mom change my

sex to "Female" on my school records, and my birth certificate, and

so on. I've gone to college as a girl. I mean to marry as a girl,

and live in some respectable neighborhood as a girl. As you see,

I still dress like a girl, and I'm deeply grateful you taught me

how. But deep down I'm a boy. Always have been. I could never

fool myself about that. I tried to be a girl, but I really had no

choice in the matter. My gender is "man". And my sexual

preference is "other men." I love other men. Some of them,

anyhow."

I was still baffled!. "But, Marianne! Marion! But John

Wayne, for goodness sake! If you're not a girl and you've got no

choice in the matter, why are you still dressed like one, and still

living like one? Why haven't you changed back?"

She leaned forward and took my two hands in hers. Or he did

in his. "For two reasons, JayCee. I figured you'd be smart enough

to see them without me telling you, but I guess this is a real blow

to you. Anyhow, one reason is what you proved to me that first day

by your swimming pool. With my big boobs and my little cock, and

my shape and my face after all those hormones Mom fed me, I had no

future as a boy. It's easy for me to pass as a girl, but there's

no way I can pass as a man. Mom meant well, and she meant to lock

me in. And she did."

"But I don't feel imprisoned in a girl's body. I like looking

like a girl. It's fun! It's so much more free than being a man!

I don't want to change back. Ah, I can see now by your face you've

just suddenly realized why I don't want to change back! You just

caught on, huh?" He grinned at me conspiratorially.

I was amazed! I grinned back, and then stood up and came

around the table and impulsively hugged him. "You sly creature

you!" I said, looking him in the face, delighted. "You clever boy,

I mean! It's so obvious! Looking the way you do, dressed the way

you do, you don't need to go searching for other like-minded gay

men when you want sex or companionship! You can date anyone, and

looking the way you do when you're all dolled up, you really can

date anyone at all! You can sleep with any man you can get into

bed with you, straight or crooked! You can stuff your mouth or

your ass with any cock in America, if that's what pleases you and

you can please whoever's attached to it."

Marianne's grin broadened even more. "You've got it, JayCee!

Looking like a girl, with everyone thinking that's what I am, my

grazing grounds are the whole male population. Most of them low

risk as far as AIDS goes, with a huge range of compatible interests

and temperaments to choose from. And you taught me how boys really

want to do what girls want anyhow, and how to get them to do it, so

it's no trick for me to get a guy into bed with me if I like him.

And then to get him to please me any way I want him to."

I was highly amused by this realization. "And I'll bet I know

what you tell them when they want to fuck your pussy, and instead

you offer them your ass."

Marianne glanced at me sideways again, still grinning.

"That's right! And I really am saving it for the man I love and

will one day marry. I can marry a man now, you know. Legally."

She stood up and posed, placed her whole body on display, arms

extended, the way we'd been taught. "And after I'm married, I can

always get a vagina installed surgically if my husband wants me to

have one. Though Ronnie says he's happy with me the way I am."

We had gotten to it.

"Yes," I said. "Ronnie's a sweet boy and all that, Marianne.

But we both know that he has certain ... limits, as a companion for

someone as clever as you are. You could have your pick of the

whole straight or gay population, it seems. Why Ronnie?"

"JayCee, I can't pick from the straight population except for

one-nighters or brief affairs. I'm not a transsexual, a man who

feels he's a woman and wants to be treated like one, and perhaps

live with a man. I'm gay, a man who finds it convenient to look

like a woman, inescapable really, but who wants to live with a man.

Ronnie's the only man who knows this. He's so wonderfully

understanding. He's there for me whenever I need him. I adore

him! And he loves me, too! He's even letting me sow all the wild

oats I want, until I'm ready to settle down, whenever that happens.

I guess I should say, he's letting me encourage all the men I find

attractive to sow their wild oats in me. And it happens that after

all, I did save my pussy for the man I may most likely marry. As

you know, Ronnie really was my first."

"We've exchanged little tokens, and we think it'll happen some

day, but there's no hurry. And it's convenient for Ronnie, too.

He's never been flamboyant about being homosexual, not since you

started him with Petey, way back. Not too many people outside this

town know about him. And once we're married there'll be no reason

for anyone ever to know. We can both seem utterly respectable to

the outside world. We both find that prospect amusing."

Marianne went into the living room and started mixing

cocktails for both of us, Margaritas with salt frosting on the rim

of the glass. He then carried them back into the kitchen and we

sat there sipping them. The kitchen seemed more familiar, more

intimate ground. I complimented him on his lovely outfit, and he

complimented me on my hair again. I'd finally decided to wear it

straight, cropped at earlobe length, with bangs, blow-dried but

nothing else. A 1920's flapper style. No more Betty Grable. He

smiled, and asked me if I'd been waving my ass at very many men in

college the way I waved at him when we first met. I was about to

tell him no, and why, when his mother walked in, and looked at me

disbelieving.

"JayCee! That *is* you! It seems like years! It *is*

years!" We practically shouted our joy at seeing each other. And

we rushed into each other's arms and hugged as close as we could.

"Jane! It *has* been too long! Much too long!"

When our delight had calmed down, and we'd asked all the usual

questions, and exulted together in each other's triumphs in the

interim since we'd last met, the ones we knew about, a key question

occurred to me.

"Jane, you remember one of the reasons you gave me in this

very kitchen for why we have Marianne with us today, and not

Marion, was that that you wanted to thwart your husband, and maybe

spite him too? Whatever happened with him?"

Jane and Marianne glanced at each other and broke out

laughing. Marianne leaned forward, eager to tell me, but Jane

touched his arm. "No, let me. It was my plan, after all!" Marianne

assented, just barely.

"It was later than we'd expected, only a year ago last

January. He'd been busy stirring up misery and discord in other

parts of the world I suppose, but finally he served notice that

he'd be coming here, ready to pull Marion out of college and take

him into his company and teach him the ways of the world, and that

Marion should pack his things and stand ready. He had his lawyer

deliver the message to forestall my throwing up barriers. I

suppose he'd lost track of the years, and it didn't occur to him

that Marion was over 18, no longer a minor, and could now make

decisions about his own life whatever our original divorce

agreement."

"Well, it was then that Marion and Ronnie were first talking

about perhaps getting engaged, and that gave us an idea. I wrote

that bastard inviting him to dinner on New Year's Day, to discuss

arrangements for shipping Marion's things to him if Marion wanted

to go, and for him to explain to Marion what he had in mind, and to

explain it to Marion's fiance -- I told him Marion was now engaged,

and he would need to speak to the two of them. That's 'fiance'

with one 'e' not two, the French word for an engaged man, not

'fiancee,' the word for a woman. So I was scrupulously honest with

him, as well as thoroughly deceitful. But he's an ignoramous as

well as a snake, and I suppose he never noticed.

"Marion came home from college especially to take part in this

reunion with his father, and Ronnie was invited as his fiance.

Marion bought himself an especially lovely dress to wear, all tulle

and lace and chiffon, and I must say, dear you looked exquisite.

Like a fairy princess! And Ronnie got himself a new dinner jacket

to wear, because nothing he owned fit properly once he began

pumping iron in earnest for the statewide Mr. Muscle contest. I

must say, he looked great, as if he were built out of granite. He

took second place, you know."

"Third, mother," Marion interrupted. "He deserved first, but

the entire board of judges had just been fucked in their singular

and collective asses by the first and second place winners, and I

suppose the board felt an obligation to reward them. Ronnie'd been

invited to join in and make it a gang bang, but I'd told him to

decline."

"Anyhow," Jane resumed, "When Ronnie's father showed up, he

was more vicious than ever. He thought Ronnie was his son, of

course, because Ronnie looked overwhelmingly like the man in the

family, and he then took over the conversation so we couldn't

correct him. His real son, my gay transvestite daughter over here,

gave him the most affectionate daughterly kiss, as was his due, but

he merely wiped it off while admiring Ronnie's physique and saying

how proud he felt to have sired it. He then made insulting remarks

about women in general, and me and Marianne in particular. Finally

he looked directly into Marion's eyes, our dear little fairy

princess here, his son, sitting there as demure as right now, in

her pretty dress and fresh-from-the-salon hairdo, and that son of

a bitch had the gall to advise Ronnie -- his son, supposedly -- to

break off the engagement, because she didn't look fit even to suck

cock."

"At that Marion piped up with a flat denial. He said that he

was as fit as any girl or any man at sucking cock. He had sucked

hundreds of them, and was ready to be put to the test. He said he

hoped some day to be as good at it as Ronnie was. Well, this

addled my ex a bit, who turned to Ronnie, and asked what she meant,

his supposed fiancee. Ronnie said, 'Sit down and we'll show you.'

The miserable prick of a man sat down, and Ronnie and Marion

immediately handcuffed his hands to the chair behind him, and his

legs to the chair legs.

Then before the shit's horrified eyes, Ronnie lifted Marion's

skirt and dipped under it while Marion unzipped Ronnie's fly, and

in another moment the two of them were slurping and humping away on

each other, sprawled over the couch. They deep throat each other

now, you know, so it was a moment or two before all the cloth and

crinoline was to one side, and that vicious animal could see that

there were two dicks involved, that they were cocksucking each

other. He could't see Marion's at all at first -- it *is* rather

small. 'Marion,' he called out to Ronnie, 'Take your mouth away

from that filthy woman's cunt this instant! Real men don't lap a

woman's pussy! Disgusting! Women are here on earth to serve us,

not the other way around!'"

"'Sorry, Dad,' Marion said, with his beautiful lipsticked

mouth sliding up and down Ronnie's long cock, pausing to lick it

now and then. 'I knew you felt that way, so Ronnie and I decided to

leave women out of our lovemaking altogether. Disgusting

creatures, women. Except for Mom, of course. Ready to cum,

Ronnie?' Ronnie answered from deep inside Marion's muff, 'Ready!'

and then the two of them spritzed their goo all over each other's

faces. And then rearranged themselves and stood up.

"Then Marion stepped over to his father and said, 'Welcome to

the family gene pool, Dad. I'm your son. Ronnie here's my fiance,

maybe. Here's how to tell us apart. We're different. Taste us.'

And then he wiped some of his own cum off Ronnie's face with his

hand, and smeared it on his father's mouth, and then Ronnie's cum

off his own face, and did the same. 'See?' he said."

"Then we left that miserable shit there and went back into the

dining room for desert and coffee. When we went back out to see

how he was doing, he wasn't there. Neither was the chair. It

turned out later he'd gotten a hand and a leg loose, and managed to

drive to a police station, where he claimed that his son who was

dressed like a woman and his son's ponce who looked like Arnold

Schwartzenegger had handcuffed him and then sucked each other's

cocks and then subjected him to unspeakable perversions. Well, the

cops know that handcuffs on a civilian mean bondage and domination

games, and cum on the face means only one thing when bondage and

domination's involved, so they charged him with sodomy and other

unnatural acts and threw him into the clink. His lawyer got him

out, and advised him to jump bail and never return to the State.

We're rid of him."

"Can you stay for dinner, JayCee? I promise you, no

cocksucking unless you really want to."

I told Jane sure, and the three of us together started to

prepare dinner. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, that

there were three women in the kitchen cutting and chopping and

lining the broiler pan. That's what I saw, and that's what we were

at that moment. It was a lovely moment. Marion may have felt

himself to be unalterably a man, but he had all the virtues and

graces of a woman. All of the easy superiority. I guess I'd

taught him well.

Jane asked me what I was planning to do when I graduated. I'd left

her that message about some kind of partnership, she said, and

she'd like to hear more.

So I told her. After graduate work and licensing I mean to

set up as a professional sex therapist. It seemed to me to be the

life'e work I was destined to perform. I meant to specialize in

gender conversions. Sometimes of a husband at a wife's request, if

she wants control over her husband's will, or his money, or is just

plain kinky. Or at a man's mistress's request, for her own

reasons. Sometimes at a man's request, if he has the money to

indulge a secret desire to be a woman, or to look like a women.

That's often all they want, usually, the guys I've worked with

already, but if they look worth the effort I always see to it that

they end up buffing their manicures in some secretarial pool

somewhere, or wearing suits with short skirts and pantyhose and

cutting deals in whatever their former business, out in the open as

women with their manhood lost and gone and irretrievable. I told

Jane I wanted to offer a complete service, with fashion consultants

living with them, for example, until they can manage their new

lives as women altogether on their own.

Jane thought I was thinking too narrowly. Why not open a

chain of therapeutic clinics where men who wish to be feminized,

humiliated, or dominated by women may have their wishes fulfilled

for a fee covered by routine medical insurance. Replace the

amateur dommes who dominate the market with well-trained and

seasoned professionals. Franchised mental health clinics are

already everywhere, she pointed out. Franchised sexual fulfillment

clinics of all kinds may well be only just over the next horizon.

We talked about it, and new ideas emerged. Chains of different

kinds of Gender Change Clinics. "Femme Incorporated" for example

could be for genuine transsexuals and for dominant women who want

to place their men permanently under them, offering a one-stop

service from the necessary psychological counselling through

cosmetic modifications such as beard electrolysis, all the way to

Sex Reassignment Surgery. Then there were other services we could

offer. The "TLC" or "Tough Love Corporation" could set up

franchised dungeons around the country, to train husbands and wives

how to achieve the most meaningful relationships available to them,

and offer a full line of whips, chains, leather goods, rubber and

vinyl, stocks, and other apparatus under the "TLC" rubric.

There were other possibilities, too. Jane said she was ready

to commit to a partnership just as soon as I had the necessary

professional credentials, in another two or three years, because

she had no doubt whatever that I would succeed at something like

this. Meanwhile, she would look into the advantages over a

partnership of issuing Stock and going to the public for the

necessary capital. We decided we would make an excellent team,

with me in charge of the gender change services themselves, and

Jane managing the business end. We shook hands on it.

Conversation then relaxed, and I decided to share with the two

of them an observation I'd made only a couple of years earlier. I

had realized that the best part of my sex with Marianne had been

that it was sex with a woman, or at least with someone I thought

was becoming a woman. I had found that men were far too easy, too

easily manipulated. The main reason why it's more desireable to be

a woman than a man, I'd learned, is simple. Women are more

desireable than men. Just as Marianne had learned that she's gay,

I'd learned during the past few years that I'm by preference a

lesbian. I've used men, I commented, but I can't say I've enjoyed

them as men. Both Marianne and I have probably been homosexual

since birth, I pointed out, though it takes a while to find out

things like that, and meanwhile we do a lot of things we think

we're choosing to do, even though we're not really.

"Really," Jane said, looking at me with new respect. Suddenly

she broke off and stood up, and turned her back to me and went to

the kitchen window and looked out, down the street back toward our

house, where she'd first seen me waggle my ass at her son by way of

introduction, five years ago. "You know, after Marion's father

left me, and good riddance, I was so turned off men I lost all

interest in them. I tried one or two, and I still mean to do so,

especially when Marion's entry into the firm gives me more free

time. But mainly, I've been bringing home more women. I prefer

sex with women now. Women are so much more...sensuous, if you know

what I mean. More sensually aware, more artful. More tender and

caring. Men are crude. It seems almost demeaning now for me to

have sex with men." She seemed a bit embarrassed by that

confession. "I think we must be about ready to serve dinner now."

I stood to help carry out dishes and help set the table, and

I looked at Jane with renewed interest. "I know what you mean,"

I said. "How interesting that you feel that way too. I mean about

men. About dinner too, of course."

I looked her over more carefully. She was still trim, a

slender woman with clear smooth skin, and she still had nice curves

top front and bottom rear. Previously it had seemed to me that she

moved like a dancer or at least an aerobics instructor, but now for

some reason she also reminded me of a cat. She saw me checking her

out, and she looked back at me, and smiled.

"Yes, isn't it," she said. "No 'stuff' between us, ever,

JayCee? Same as before, five years ago?" I nodded, and held out

my hand, same as before, and she started to take it but instead

began to hug me, same as before, and I hugged her. She smiled even

more broadly at me. We both started to giggle, then to laugh,

still looking steadily into each other's eyes. I'm sure mine

started to gleam, and I know hers did.

"What's so funny?" Marianne asked, looking from one to the

other of us.

"You wouldn't understand," I told him. "You'd have to be a

woman to understand!"

****************

END

(c) 1997 by Vickie Tern