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From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern)
Subject: RP JayCee 7/9
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TG: "JayCee" by Vickie Tern, 7/9 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.




     
                              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?

end 7/9
Vickie Tern@AOL.COM

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