Message-ID: <7451eli$9801181715@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: vickietern@aol.com (VickieTern) Subject: RP JayCee 9/9 Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-Id: <19980117214300.QAA01348@ladder02.news.aol.com> TG: "JayCee" by Vickie Tern, 9/9 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. "But it can't be. I knew instinctively, from the very beginning, that all the wishing in the world would never get him interested in me if I weren't a girl. Even when he was walking me home, that first time, when you first introduced him to me, I knew it. Only a girl can ever get close to him. That's how he is. And really, that's why I agreed to start High School as a girl that summer. Then we started getting really serious, and I knew if we went much further he would have to find out about me, I knew that he'd hate me for deceiving him. And that would break both our hearts. I knew then that I had to break off with him. I cried for days when I realized that. But I did it. Except for Prom night, our one last glorious fling into a fantasy fulfillment of what might have been." "Anyhow, that's why I was such a slut for so much of that year, JayCee. After Jeff, I felt sheer delight that I'd discovered I love boys, and love being fucked by boys, and love pleasing them and being pleasured by them! I'm gay, JayCee, and probably always have been but never knew it. I know it now. And I'm not ashamed to say so." Marianne's confession -- Marion's? -- confounded me utterly. I stared at the gorgeous girl in front of me, my dearest friend from that summer, my own creation in a way, the reason I'd been able to go to the smart college I'd chosen, and meet so many wealthy potential clients, and plan the career for which I was preparing myself. I was speechless, and could barely splutter out, "Wait a minute, Marianne, just wait. You say you're gay? You mean you're not a girl, you're a boy who likes other boys?" She -- no, he -- was patient with me. "That's right, JayCee. And I'm really, truly indebted to you for helping me find that out." "I did? But Marianne, I was teaching you how to be a girl. And teasing you into being a girl. And persuading you how much better it is, being a girl. None of that took?" She -- he -- she -- smiled that absolutely darling half-smile again, wry yet knowing, with that narrow sidelong glance I knew had caused stumbling in corridors and drooling in lots of pants all through our Senior year. "Oh, a lot of it took, JayCee. And you were right. It's a lot better being a girl. I've been willing to let my Mom change my sex to "Female" on my school records, and my birth certificate, and so on. I've gone to college as a girl. I mean to marry as a girl, and live in some respectable neighborhood as a girl. As you see, I still dress like a girl, and I'm deeply grateful you taught me how. But deep down I'm a boy. Always have been. I could never fool myself about that. I tried to be a girl, but I really had no choice in the matter. My gender is "man". And my sexual preference is "other men." I love other men. Some of them, anyhow." I was still baffled!. "But, Marianne! Marion! But John Wayne, for goodness sake! If you're not a girl and you've got no choice in the matter, why are you still dressed like one, and still living like one? Why haven't you changed back?" She leaned forward and took my two hands in hers. Or he did in his. "For two reasons, JayCee. I figured you'd be smart enough to see them without me telling you, but I guess this is a real blow to you. Anyhow, one reason is what you proved to me that first day by your swimming pool. With my big boobs and my little cock, and my shape and my face after all those hormones Mom fed me, I had no future as a boy. It's easy for me to pass as a girl, but there's no way I can pass as a man. Mom meant well, and she meant to lock me in. And she did." "But I don't feel imprisoned in a girl's body. I like looking like a girl. It's fun! It's so much more free than being a man! I don't want to change back. Ah, I can see now by your face you've just suddenly realized why I don't want to change back! You just caught on, huh?" He grinned at me conspiratorially. I was amazed! I grinned back, and then stood up and came around the table and impulsively hugged him. "You sly creature you!" I said, looking him in the face, delighted. "You clever boy, I mean! It's so obvious! Looking the way you do, dressed the way you do, you don't need to go searching for other like-minded gay men when you want sex or companionship! You can date anyone, and looking the way you do when you're all dolled up, you really can date anyone at all! You can sleep with any man you can get into bed with you, straight or crooked! You can stuff your mouth or your ass with any cock in America, if that's what pleases you and you can please whoever's attached to it." Marianne's grin broadened even more. "You've got it, JayCee! Looking like a girl, with everyone thinking that's what I am, my grazing grounds are the whole male population. Most of them low risk as far as AIDS goes, with a huge range of compatible interests and temperaments to choose from. And you taught me how boys really want to do what girls want anyhow, and how to get them to do it, so it's no trick for me to get a guy into bed with me if I like him. And then to get him to please me any way I want him to." I was highly amused by this realization. "And I'll bet I know what you tell them when they want to fuck your pussy, and instead you offer them your ass." Marianne glanced at me sideways again, still grinning. "That's right! And I really am saving it for the man I love and will one day marry. I can marry a man now, you know. Legally." She stood up and posed, placed her whole body on display, arms extended, the way we'd been taught. "And after I'm married, I can always get a vagina installed surgically if my husband wants me to have one. Though Ronnie says he's happy with me the way I am." We had gotten to it. "Yes," I said. "Ronnie's a sweet boy and all that, Marianne. But we both know that he has certain ... limits, as a companion for someone as clever as you are. You could have your pick of the whole straight or gay population, it seems. Why Ronnie?" "JayCee, I can't pick from the straight population except for one-nighters or brief affairs. I'm not a transsexual, a man who feels he's a woman and wants to be treated like one, and perhaps live with a man. I'm gay, a man who finds it convenient to look like a woman, inescapable really, but who wants to live with a man. Ronnie's the only man who knows this. He's so wonderfully understanding. He's there for me whenever I need him. I adore him! And he loves me, too! He's even letting me sow all the wild oats I want, until I'm ready to settle down, whenever that happens. I guess I should say, he's letting me encourage all the men I find attractive to sow their wild oats in me. And it happens that after all, I did save my pussy for the man I may most likely marry. As you know, Ronnie really was my first." "We've exchanged little tokens, and we think it'll happen some day, but there's no hurry. And it's convenient for Ronnie, too. He's never been flamboyant about being homosexual, not since you started him with Petey, way back. Not too many people outside this town know about him. And once we're married there'll be no reason for anyone ever to know. We can both seem utterly respectable to the outside world. We both find that prospect amusing." Marianne went into the living room and started mixing cocktails for both of us, Margaritas with salt frosting on the rim of the glass. He then carried them back into the kitchen and we sat there sipping them. The kitchen seemed more familiar, more intimate ground. I complimented him on his lovely outfit, and he complimented me on my hair again. I'd finally decided to wear it straight, cropped at earlobe length, with bangs, blow-dried but nothing else. A 1920's flapper style. No more Betty Grable. He smiled, and asked me if I'd been waving my ass at very many men in college the way I waved at him when we first met. I was about to tell him no, and why, when his mother walked in, and looked at me disbelieving. "JayCee! That *is* you! It seems like years! It *is* years!" We practically shouted our joy at seeing each other. And we rushed into each other's arms and hugged as close as we could. "Jane! It *has* been too long! Much too long!" When our delight had calmed down, and we'd asked all the usual questions, and exulted together in each other's triumphs in the interim since we'd last met, the ones we knew about, a key question occurred to me. "Jane, you remember one of the reasons you gave me in this very kitchen for why we have Marianne with us today, and not Marion, was that that you wanted to thwart your husband, and maybe spite him too? Whatever happened with him?" Jane and Marianne glanced at each other and broke out laughing. Marianne leaned forward, eager to tell me, but Jane touched his arm. "No, let me. It was my plan, after all!" Marianne assented, just barely. "It was later than we'd expected, only a year ago last January. He'd been busy stirring up misery and discord in other parts of the world I suppose, but finally he served notice that he'd be coming here, ready to pull Marion out of college and take him into his company and teach him the ways of the world, and that Marion should pack his things and stand ready. He had his lawyer deliver the message to forestall my throwing up barriers. I suppose he'd lost track of the years, and it didn't occur to him that Marion was over 18, no longer a minor, and could now make decisions about his own life whatever our original divorce agreement." "Well, it was then that Marion and Ronnie were first talking about perhaps getting engaged, and that gave us an idea. I wrote that bastard inviting him to dinner on New Year's Day, to discuss arrangements for shipping Marion's things to him if Marion wanted to go, and for him to explain to Marion what he had in mind, and to explain it to Marion's fiance -- I told him Marion was now engaged, and he would need to speak to the two of them. That's 'fiance' with one 'e' not two, the French word for an engaged man, not 'fiancee,' the word for a woman. So I was scrupulously honest with him, as well as thoroughly deceitful. But he's an ignoramous as well as a snake, and I suppose he never noticed. "Marion came home from college especially to take part in this reunion with his father, and Ronnie was invited as his fiance. Marion bought himself an especially lovely dress to wear, all tulle and lace and chiffon, and I must say, dear you looked exquisite. Like a fairy princess! And Ronnie got himself a new dinner jacket to wear, because nothing he owned fit properly once he began pumping iron in earnest for the statewide Mr. Muscle contest. I must say, he looked great, as if he were built out of granite. He took second place, you know." "Third, mother," Marion interrupted. "He deserved first, but the entire board of judges had just been fucked in their singular and collective asses by the first and second place winners, and I suppose the board felt an obligation to reward them. Ronnie'd been invited to join in and make it a gang bang, but I'd told him to decline." "Anyhow," Jane resumed, "When Ronnie's father showed up, he was more vicious than ever. He thought Ronnie was his son, of course, because Ronnie looked overwhelmingly like the man in the family, and he then took over the conversation so we couldn't correct him. His real son, my gay transvestite daughter over here, gave him the most affectionate daughterly kiss, as was his due, but he merely wiped it off while admiring Ronnie's physique and saying how proud he felt to have sired it. He then made insulting remarks about women in general, and me and Marianne in particular. Finally he looked directly into Marion's eyes, our dear little fairy princess here, his son, sitting there as demure as right now, in her pretty dress and fresh-from-the-salon hairdo, and that son of a bitch had the gall to advise Ronnie -- his son, supposedly -- to break off the engagement, because she didn't look fit even to suck cock." "At that Marion piped up with a flat denial. He said that he was as fit as any girl or any man at sucking cock. He had sucked hundreds of them, and was ready to be put to the test. He said he hoped some day to be as good at it as Ronnie was. Well, this addled my ex a bit, who turned to Ronnie, and asked what she meant, his supposed fiancee. Ronnie said, 'Sit down and we'll show you.' The miserable prick of a man sat down, and Ronnie and Marion immediately handcuffed his hands to the chair behind him, and his legs to the chair legs. Then before the shit's horrified eyes, Ronnie lifted Marion's skirt and dipped under it while Marion unzipped Ronnie's fly, and in another moment the two of them were slurping and humping away on each other, sprawled over the couch. They deep throat each other now, you know, so it was a moment or two before all the cloth and crinoline was to one side, and that vicious animal could see that there were two dicks involved, that they were cocksucking each other. He could't see Marion's at all at first -- it *is* rather small. 'Marion,' he called out to Ronnie, 'Take your mouth away from that filthy woman's cunt this instant! Real men don't lap a woman's pussy! Disgusting! Women are here on earth to serve us, not the other way around!'" "'Sorry, Dad,' Marion said, with his beautiful lipsticked mouth sliding up and down Ronnie's long cock, pausing to lick it now and then. 'I knew you felt that way, so Ronnie and I decided to leave women out of our lovemaking altogether. Disgusting creatures, women. Except for Mom, of course. Ready to cum, Ronnie?' Ronnie answered from deep inside Marion's muff, 'Ready!' and then the two of them spritzed their goo all over each other's faces. And then rearranged themselves and stood up. "Then Marion stepped over to his father and said, 'Welcome to the family gene pool, Dad. I'm your son. Ronnie here's my fiance, maybe. Here's how to tell us apart. We're different. Taste us.' And then he wiped some of his own cum off Ronnie's face with his hand, and smeared it on his father's mouth, and then Ronnie's cum off his own face, and did the same. 'See?' he said." "Then we left that miserable shit there and went back into the dining room for desert and coffee. When we went back out to see how he was doing, he wasn't there. Neither was the chair. It turned out later he'd gotten a hand and a leg loose, and managed to drive to a police station, where he claimed that his son who was dressed like a woman and his son's ponce who looked like Arnold Schwartzenegger had handcuffed him and then sucked each other's cocks and then subjected him to unspeakable perversions. Well, the cops know that handcuffs on a civilian mean bondage and domination games, and cum on the face means only one thing when bondage and domination's involved, so they charged him with sodomy and other unnatural acts and threw him into the clink. His lawyer got him out, and advised him to jump bail and never return to the State. We're rid of him." "Can you stay for dinner, JayCee? I promise you, no cocksucking unless you really want to." I told Jane sure, and the three of us together started to prepare dinner. For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, that there were three women in the kitchen cutting and chopping and lining the broiler pan. That's what I saw, and that's what we were at that moment. It was a lovely moment. Marion may have felt himself to be unalterably a man, but he had all the virtues and graces of a woman. All of the easy superiority. I guess I'd taught him well. Jane asked me what I was planning to do when I graduated. I'd left her that message about some kind of partnership, she said, and she'd like to hear more. So I told her. After graduate work and licensing I mean to set up as a professional sex therapist. It seemed to me to be the life'e work I was destined to perform. I meant to specialize in gender conversions. Sometimes of a husband at a wife's request, if she wants control over her husband's will, or his money, or is just plain kinky. Or at a man's mistress's request, for her own reasons. Sometimes at a man's request, if he has the money to indulge a secret desire to be a woman, or to look like a women. That's often all they want, usually, the guys I've worked with already, but if they look worth the effort I always see to it that they end up buffing their manicures in some secretarial pool somewhere, or wearing suits with short skirts and pantyhose and cutting deals in whatever their former business, out in the open as women with their manhood lost and gone and irretrievable. I told Jane I wanted to offer a complete service, with fashion consultants living with them, for example, until they can manage their new lives as women altogether on their own. Jane thought I was thinking too narrowly. Why not open a chain of therapeutic clinics where men who wish to be feminized, humiliated, or dominated by women may have their wishes fulfilled for a fee covered by routine medical insurance. Replace the amateur dommes who dominate the market with well-trained and seasoned professionals. Franchised mental health clinics are already everywhere, she pointed out. Franchised sexual fulfillment clinics of all kinds may well be only just over the next horizon. We talked about it, and new ideas emerged. Chains of different kinds of Gender Change Clinics. "Femme Incorporated" for example could be for genuine transsexuals and for dominant women who want to place their men permanently under them, offering a one-stop service from the necessary psychological counselling through cosmetic modifications such as beard electrolysis, all the way to Sex Reassignment Surgery. Then there were other services we could offer. The "TLC" or "Tough Love Corporation" could set up franchised dungeons around the country, to train husbands and wives how to achieve the most meaningful relationships available to them, and offer a full line of whips, chains, leather goods, rubber and vinyl, stocks, and other apparatus under the "TLC" rubric. There were other possibilities, too. Jane said she was ready to commit to a partnership just as soon as I had the necessary professional credentials, in another two or three years, because she had no doubt whatever that I would succeed at something like this. Meanwhile, she would look into the advantages over a partnership of issuing Stock and going to the public for the necessary capital. We decided we would make an excellent team, with me in charge of the gender change services themselves, and Jane managing the business end. We shook hands on it. Conversation then relaxed, and I decided to share with the two of them an observation I'd made only a couple of years earlier. I had realized that the best part of my sex with Marianne had been that it was sex with a woman, or at least with someone I thought was becoming a woman. I had found that men were far too easy, too easily manipulated. The main reason why it's more desireable to be a woman than a man, I'd learned, is simple. Women are more desireable than men. Just as Marianne had learned that she's gay, I'd learned during the past few years that I'm by preference a lesbian. I've used men, I commented, but I can't say I've enjoyed them as men. Both Marianne and I have probably been homosexual since birth, I pointed out, though it takes a while to find out things like that, and meanwhile we do a lot of things we think we're choosing to do, even though we're not really. "Really," Jane said, looking at me with new respect. Suddenly she broke off and stood up, and turned her back to me and went to the kitchen window and looked out, down the street back toward our house, where she'd first seen me waggle my ass at her son by way of introduction, five years ago. "You know, after Marion's father left me, and good riddance, I was so turned off men I lost all interest in them. I tried one or two, and I still mean to do so, especially when Marion's entry into the firm gives me more free time. But mainly, I've been bringing home more women. I prefer sex with women now. Women are so much more...sensuous, if you know what I mean. More sensually aware, more artful. More tender and caring. Men are crude. It seems almost demeaning now for me to have sex with men." She seemed a bit embarrassed by that confession. "I think we must be about ready to serve dinner now." I stood to help carry out dishes and help set the table, and I looked at Jane with renewed interest. "I know what you mean," I said. "How interesting that you feel that way too. I mean about men. About dinner too, of course." I looked her over more carefully. She was still trim, a slender woman with clear smooth skin, and she still had nice curves top front and bottom rear. Previously it had seemed to me that she moved like a dancer or at least an aerobics instructor, but now for some reason she also reminded me of a cat. She saw me checking her out, and she looked back at me, and smiled. "Yes, isn't it," she said. "No 'stuff' between us, ever, JayCee? Same as before, five years ago?" I nodded, and held out my hand, same as before, and she started to take it but instead began to hug me, same as before, and I hugged her. She smiled even more broadly at me. We both started to giggle, then to laugh, still looking steadily into each other's eyes. I'm sure mine started to gleam, and I know hers did. "What's so funny?" Marianne asked, looking from one to the other of us. "You wouldn't understand," I told him. "You'd have to be a woman to understand!" **************** end 9/9 (c) 1997 by Vickie Tern  Vickie Tern@AOL.COM -- +--------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `------------+ | story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us | story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us | | Archive site +--------------------+------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ |