JayCee free porn video

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. 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, [email protected], 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 expanding 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 while 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 doi