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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: RP JayCee 6/9
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TG: "JayCee" by Vickie Tern, 1/9 teen femdom, m/f etc

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://library.gaycafe.com/nifty/transgender/by_authors/Vickie_Tern 

To archivists everywhere who make stories like these freely available 
to those who enjoy them, thanks.  You are among the glories of the Net.

Also, I appreciate any kind of e-mail comment on my stories, 
VickieTern@AOL.COM, and I usually reply in kind.




     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.  

end 6/9
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM

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