in place.  Gradually, his breathing slowed.  No doubt about it, he
would be the first boy to probe my pussy with his penis, and the
first girl too.  If it felt right. 


     With that thought, I pulled his head back from mine, my
fingers linked now around the back of his neck, and looked at him
with the brightest smile I could find in me, as if I had suddenly
discovered in him the love of my life.  I suppose in a way I had. 
I looked delighted at his face, as if I couldn't get enough of
seeing it.  He really was a dear, my Marianne!  I kissed each of
his eyes, and then his mouth, and then his closed and waiting
eyelids again.  Then I let go of his neck and again let my hands
drift down to the tips of his nipples, and gently, daintily, I
caressed them again.  His eyes opened as new sensations coiled down
into his groin, and I lowered my own eylids demurely, looking down
at my own breasts.  He reached for them and tenderly touched my
nipples, then fondled them as delicately as I caressed his.  Just
for a moment -- I wanted him to feel that we were similar and
desireable, no more than that.  But I felt it down below too.  I
lifted my eyes to his.  He was studying my face so seriously,
looking a little puzzled, though his mouth was contented enough. 
He kissed me tenderly.


     He was still kneeling at my feet, leaning across my lap, now
finally calm.  No new paroxysms of sobbing, nor of shame at having
let go so desperately earlier.  He really did have strength of
character!  I really did like him!  I kissed him again on the
mouth, gently, this time for myself, and then with both my hands I
lightly tugged him up by his elbows, reminding him to sit back in
his chair.  He reluctantly abandoned his position at my feet, and
his hands left my breasts, and he sat down.  He did have the
longest, darkest eyelashes!  He was going to look just gorgeous! 
I began planning his makeup.


     When he had calmed down all the way I handed him a sandwich
and a can of soda, and took one of each myself.  I said nothing,
but just looked at him with a kind of bright curiosity, as if I
really couldn't understand why he was so miserable.  He took my
cue.


     "Why did you call me the luckiest boy in the world just now,"
he asked timidly.


     "Because they're beautiful," I replied calmly and reasonably. 
"They're bigger and better shaped than mine, and they're
beautifully proportioned to your figure."  He probably doesn't know
that he has a girl's figure as well as a girl's breasts, I thought,
more feminine than most girls' figures.  "And you have a beautiful
figure too."  I looked at his cheeks. I saw not a whisker and
figured he probably thinks he's a late bloomer.  He doesn't know
he's already in full bloom.


     "And there's another reason, too.  I've read about people like
you.  Most people have to be whatever they're born.  Boys have to
be boys and girls have to be girls.  But some people are lucky. 
Some people get a choice when they get to be your age.  You've got
a choice.  You can be a boy or a girl.  Have you figured out yet
how you're going to decide which you'd rather be?"


     "I'm a boy!" he said.  "I was born a boy."


     "So you say.  But you coulda fooled me," I smiled at him.  I
decided to take a chance.  I'd read a lot about hormones last
night, and thought it was worth putting it to him now, while he was
still vulnerable, because he was also still malleable.  


     "Think about it.  Obviously you're both at the moment.  You
were raised to think you're a boy.  But you have great breasts.  A
wonderful figure.  A pretty face.  You're a terrific girl.  Are you
also a terrific boy?  How well are you hung?"  


     I was pretty sure that with the kinds of hormones he had taken
to grow those boobs, his penis and testicles were still
pre-pubescent, a small boy's.  "Never mind," he said, obviously
embarrassed.  Piece of cake, I thought to myself.


     "You know what your friend John Wayne once said," I said,
reaching for an unlikely authority. "'A man should be what he can
do.'  You can do being a girl a lot better than most girls can do,
I'll bet."  I looked more closely at his face.  The same almond
shaped eyes and high cheekbones I'd noticed when I first saw him. 
And a small, rounded chin.  A doll!  "You're beautiful," I told
him.  "you really are!"  I meant it.  I kissed him again.


     He was silent.


     "Let's think about it together.  How are you with girls?  How
often do you date?  Are you popular?"  The questions were cruel,
because any answers were obvious enough.  With those boobs I knew
he'd never allowed a girl near him.  For sure.  Until me, today. 
And though he thought he was a boy, probably he felt he had nothing
to offer a girl, and maybe he didn't.  


     "I've never dated," he said.  Tears were starting up again. 
"I've been too ashamed."  Then he added, "I don't even have friends
who are boys.  They'd laugh at me if they saw what I really look
like.  Or worse!"


     "Most of them, maybe," I said, thinking about Ronnie and
thinking I should get him involved in this conversion project. 
"But anyhow, Marianne dear, you're dating me.  Right now.  We're
going to see lots of each other.  We're going to straighten this
out.  And I'm going to help you get lots of other dates.  I'm going
to fix you up so this fall you'll be with the prettiest girls in
our class, girls who'll love being with you, and I promise you'll
never lack for dates!  OK?"   Every word was true.  He didn't have
to know just yet that he'd be with the prettiest girls as one of
them, and that his dates would all be with boys.  "OK?"


     He nodded, baffled but trusting.


     One more nudge and then I'd leave the subject alone.  Let him
think he has a choice.  Of course he doesn't, I knew, but I didn't
feel sorry for him at all.  He really is lucky, I thought.  Who'd
want to be a boy, given a choice?   


     "You've been trying to be a boy, but you haven't got much
talent for it, and you don't have a boy's body.  You're ashamed
you're a boy, in fact, because you've got a girl's body.  Except
for that one little thing down there between your legs.  You've
been trying to be a boy, and you're not very good at it.  Are you?"


     I paused.  He nodded, reluctantly.


     So here's what I propose.  Till near the end of the summer
when you have to register for school, you forget you're a boy. 
Let's see what kind of a girl you can be.  See which you can do
better.  See if you can be proud of your body just the way it is. 
I'll help."


     He looked up at me peculiarly, started to say something, then
looked down at the ground, frowning.  "JayCee, I'd be ashamed," he
said.  "I'm not a girl.  No way!"


     "More ashamed than you are now?"


     He said nothing.


     "After the summer you can be a boy again if you want, and no
harm done, and you can decide which is better.  Which you really
are.  When you've been a girl for a while, you'll know what you're
better at.  What you really should be.  What's more fun.  OK?"  


     He didn't answer.


     "The next few weeks we'll spend lots of time together, and
I'll help you, if you'll promise to go along with anything I ask
you to do that girls do.  Then we'll see what we'll see.  Of course
any final decision is yours.  OK?"   I put my hand on his knee, and
left it there, and looked up at him.  Of course no decision of his
would ever be final in my own mind until it was the right one.


     "Right now try out being a girl, and no one will know.  Change
back if you want when kids start to come home from the summer, and
noone'll know any different.  There's a pretty rough crowd of boys
lives around here, if that's what you think you are, and you don't
mind getting punched around a little, the way boys do."


     Still, he delayed.  Was he worth my bothering with at all? 
The money was, I reminded myself.


     "What'll I tell my Mom?" he asked.  "If I go with your plan,
that is."


     He'd decided!  "Don't worry about your Mom.  She wants you to
be happy.  Just tell her we're playing a game kids play around
here, to help boys learn to respect girls.  She won't say anything. 
I guarantee it."


     "No one else will see me looking like a girl?"


     "No one," I said.  Except for every clerk and shopper in every
mall inside of ten miles, I thought.  And every boy I introduce you
to later on, all of them trying to feel you up and get into your
panties.  "And then we'll be able to see a lot of each other.  My
folks don't care how much time I spend with my girlfriends."  As if
they'd ever object to my boyfriends, if I ever brought one home. 
As if I'd listen if they did!.


     "OK," he said finally.  "For a few weeks, anyhow."  


     It was mostly to placate me, I knew.  But now he'd pledged it. 
to try it my way.   The rest was a matter of time.


     "Starting today!" I said.  "Today you're mine until I send you
home.  This'll be so cool!"  Now he got my most dazzling smile.  He
looked uneasy but half-smiled back.


     I passed the plate of sandwiches, and he took another, and we
talked about what it was like growing up in this town.  He'd lived
with his mother in lots of different places, early on following his
father's different engineering projects, then wherever his mother
went while she attended different schools and training institutes,
until she'd set up her own mail-order training business and it
succeeded.  Now she was making very good money at it, he said, with
lots of employees.  She had an office with a large staff, he said,
but a good office manager, so she herself could work out of her
house whenever she wanted.  She had a knack for hiring people who
could figure out whatever needed to be done and could do it without
needing to consult her.


     I nodded.  


     They'd moved this time, he said, mainly because she wanted him
to make a fresh start with people his own age, to find himself and
live up to his best potential.  Whatever that means, he added.


     I nodded.  We'd always lived here, and I'd always been eager
to live somewhere else.  But he'd lived nowhere really, and that's
why he was so much a loner.  He'd had no close friends all the
while he was growing up.  I'd had plenty, more than I wanted, which
is why I didn't feel I needed any more I suppose, except maybe to
play mind games with them.  Boy friends, that is.  I told him I
needed a good friend, a really close friend, if he'd be willing. 
I'd never had a really close girlfriend, someone who'd share
everything with me.  More boys I didn't need.  He didn't answer.


     Then I went back to work.  "Marianne," I said.  "Why don't you
put on your bathing suit, and then we'll go back into the water."


     "I'm wearing my bathing suit," he said.


     "No, you're wearing a half a bathing suit," I said.  "That's
why you're so ashamed, with your tits hanging out like that. 
Breasts are private.  You should let only your dearest friends see
them.  Other girls.  Yours are very attractive, and shouldn't be
just flaunted out in the open like that.  People might think you're
a tease.  What would your mother think?  Put on the bathing suit
she gave you."


     "It's a girl's bathing suit," he said.  As I'd suspected and
assumed.


     "Do you think she's been trying to tell you something?.  You
want to look nice, don't you?  You've been a boy who's ashamed of
his tits.  Now be a girl and be proud of them.  Go.  I'll wait for
you."


     He was still uncertain.  I had to use Petey's dumb line.  "You
promised, remember?"  I sounded reasonable and confident.  The fact
was, he didn't have a choice.  He went in.


     A few minutes later he came out wearing the bathing suit his
mother had selected.  It was a an irridescent blue Maillot with
flowery front panels, one piece with supported cups -- and he
really did need them -- and a draped detachable skirt gathered to
one side.  With the skirt clipped on I couldn't see how his male
parts or his female-shaped buttocks fit the suit's bottom, but one
thing at a time.


     "Now you're decent.  Stop trying to hide your boobs by
slumping -- it won't work.  Be proud.  Shoulders back.  That's it. 
Whether you're a boy or a girl, be proud.  It's easier for girls." 
I decided to go further. "And you're a very pretty girl, Marianne. 
Let's swim some more, and then we'll see what kind of a girl you
can be when you really try.  So far you haven't been trying. 
Another time maybe I'll help you become the best boy you can be,
though I'll be frank, you don't look like much of a boy to me. 
Then we'll be able to see which one of you is more you."


     I stood up and walked over to the edge of the pool.  He did
the same, a little awkwardly.  I decided he was going to learn to
walk with mincing little steps, like some cutie pie who's a little
timid but thinks her ass is made of candy.  That would be
attractive.  A bimbo walk is always reassuring to guys who are
unsure of themselves.  I watched him unhook the skirt and drape it
over a chair.  His bathing suit was severely hi-leg, and it left
bare the lower globes of his rounded rear end.  They were gorgeous. 
I saw that he needed a Bikini shave, and added that to my agenda
for later this afternoon.  I also saw that whatever grew there
between his legs barely disturbed the neat V line of his bathing
suit's crotch.  His genitals weren't very consequential.  They'd
tuck, and a sanitary napkin would give him a smooth mound, and then
any boy could grind his groin into him while dancing, or could feel
him up during a heavy petting session, without suspecting anything. 
As long as the boy doesn't try to dig his fingers in.  


     Off and running, at $225 a week and expenses, and my college
money pretty much assured.  I began to think about which expensive
private colleges attract the most expensive boys, boys who like
doing things girls ask them to do, boys who can afford to indulge
girls that way.  But first things first.


     I was careful to keep him out in the hot noonday sun and the
broiling early afternoon sun too.  We splashed, and lay around, and
talked some more.  I showed him how to sit down on the side of the
pool and pose, and stand up again, and lie around, without ever
spreading his legs or being caught looking awkward, how to keep his
elbows high when he reached behind his neck with both hands to lift
his long hair off his back, and how to spread it over his breasts
to dry. I decided that we'd both take the two-week modeling course
being offered at the high school next week, so he could learn more
girlish poses, and how to walk like a lady.  He reluctantly agreed. 
I didn't tell him that posture was only part of what they'd teach
him, that makeup and appropriate clothes and attitudes toward boys
was much of it, not only "Tips on Travel" but also "Manners and
Men" it said in the catalogue.  I expected that ten days of
enforced sociability with girls who thought he was a girl would
have its effect on a lonely, ungainly, embarrassed boy.  I figured
he'd come out of it happy for the companionship, glad to be one of
them.  He was so desperate to belong!


     By mid-afternoon, his scoop back and bra top and V-shaped
bottom were outlined in a pretty pink sunburn.  When his mother saw
those shoulder strap marks there'd be no question I'd earned my
money today, I thought to myself.  But we had more to do yet. 
Though we'd talked about this tryout lasting only a few weeks I
wanted to set things up so there'd be  no turning back.  So he
wouldn't want to turn back.  


     
                           IV.


     I took him up to my room and sat him down, and studied his
face a while, and decided first of all to pluck his eyebrows
severely.  Girls these days can have wide eyebrows, if they're not
too thick but look neat and refined, and taper to the outside
edges.  Mine are like that.  But I wanted Marianne's to be high and
arched and thin like my Mom's, a real lady's, no way a boy's, no
mistaking them.  He objected, but I told him these three weeks were
mine, he'd promised.  Before he could think through how thin,
feminine eyebrows would ever pass for a boy's when the three weeks
were up, they were shaped, and before he could see them I told him
to take off his bathing suit and get naked, so I could check out
his proportions.  


     That gave him new feelings to deal with.  This time not that
he was ashamed -- I'd already seen his most shameful feature, those
glorious boobs -- but that his modesty was violated.  I just said
a little angrily, "Now you're supposed to be a girl, so be one! 
Here, we're girls together!  Strip down the same as me!"   And I
whipped off my Bikini and stood before him altogether in the buff. 
Like a few years earlier with Ronnie and Petey, and sometimes
since, on certain special occasions when I needed to intimidate
some guy with my goddess pose.  So he did the same.


     When he was bare, cringing in different directions with his
hands fluttering to try to hide his nipples, and his legs crossed
to try to hide his cock, I proposed five minutes of calisthenics. 
Not enough for a workout, but enough for him to quit being
ridiculous trying to hide his body, and to notice that even when I
was bent way over with my legs apart, and he could see way up my
slit, I was never troubled by the fact.  We were just two girls
together.  So he began trying to be one of them.


     I then made him stand up and practice standing perfectly
erect, shoulders far back, hands gathering his hair at the nape of
his neck, his lovely breasts lifted as he raised his elbows up as
high as they'd go.  Then I had him clasp his hands against his buns
and pull his arms straight down, pulling his shoulders back and
thrusting his boobs even further forward.  Then back to gathering
his hair behind his neck again.  Then to clasp hands on his elbows
behind his back -- that really pulled back his shoulders and pushed
his breasts into the middle of next week.  A few more repetitions,
and he no longer seemed self-conscious about them.  They were more
prominent than ever, but he seemed now to be taking them for
granted.   Better still, he'd finally forgot about hiding his cock
and balls.  There they were, though I seemed to take no notice at
all!  


     Next I sent him into the shower with a depillatory and a razor
to get rid of all his body hair, especially that dense mat around
his genitals.  I suppose his boy hormones and girl hormones
together had grown it.  No objection from him.  Then when he came
out as hairless as a baby, I could see that if it were fully erect,
his cock might reach three or four inches, like Petey's, long
enough to pleasure himself but touch when it came to pleasuring a
grown woman.  It was a boy's cock, not a man's.  It had no real
future.  His testicles were little more than marbles -- there'd be
no problem stowing them to make a smooth girls' crotch whenever he
needed to hide his sex.  Obviously his prick would never get past
an average girl's buttocks to reach into her ass.  It was cunt or
nothing, probably nothing when girls saw that pitiable thing.  He
had no future as a man.


     Which returned me to my earlier idea.  The more I thought
about it, the better I liked it.  In fact, I *loved* it.  I'd do
it!  It was past time.  Here was a prick ideally designed to take
my virginity.


     But fucking me had to be a reward for obedience.  I went into
my lingerie drawer.  "Here, put these on," I told him, handing him
my prettiest bra and panty set, the bra size larger than any I
usually wore, and underwired for support.  I'd been keeping it in
a kind of hope chest, though my own figure hadn't changed much
during the past year.  It would fit him, I figured, and once
dressed in my undies, he'd feel he was mine in a way, sort of gift
wrapped.


     "I can't," he said.  "These are girl things!"


     "Well, duh!" I said, and turned to find him a blouse and a
pair of shorts.  I took out a full cut white satin blouse buttoned
along one shoulder, draped from the neck and sure to cling and then
drape from those boobs of his.  Perfect.  And I found shorts with
elastic to fit him at the waist, flared way out at the legs to look
practically like a mini-skirt.  And thin-strapped sandals, delicate
looking.  


     When I turned back holding his new outfit, I saw he'd slipped
into the panties, but otherwise he hadn't moved.  "Marianne, you
need dry clothes," I told him firmly.  "You can't walk down the
street wearing that soaking wet shirt.  And your bathing suit's wet
too.  And you can't walk bare-chested!  It wouldn't be decent! 
With that body you'd stop cars!"  


     Before he could object I slipped the bra over his arms and
clipped the band snug behind his back,  where I knew he couldn't
reach the catch.  Boys never can.  It'll take him a while to figure
out how to get it off without cutting it off, I thought. 


     "Well, OK, but why this?  Why a brassiere?" 


     "Tuck yourself into those cups," I told him firmly.  "So you
don't bobble.  Because girls with titties wear brassieres, that's
why.  And boys with titties should too.  It isn't healthy to have
those things jouncing around loose.  After a while, they'll sag." 
I paused.  "And besides, girls who don't wear bras always seem to
be asking for something.  If you go without a bra, everyone will
think you want to get laid.  Do you want to get laid?"


     He blushed and looked down, reaching for some flaw in my
argument but unable to find any.  I suppose he never noticed that
yesterday, when we first met, I wasn't wearing a bra.  He knew he
needed one, but he had to put up one last rear guard defense.  


     "I stick way out, JayCee," was all he replied.  His voice
sounded a little mournful.  "How'm I supposed to look like a boy
sometimes if I look like this?"  He was staring down at what were
now obviously a great pair of knockers held firmly supported far
out in front of him.  I didn't answer.  There was no answer. 
"JayCee, these'll stop cars too," he then said.   And he flashed me
his first smile of the day.  A joke!  It was so utterly endearing. 
Then he added, "I bet I could charge money if anyone wanted to cop
a feel!"


     Well, that was true enough.  And before I could say so he
stood up wearing only his bra and panties -- his now, though he
didn't know it yet -- and struck a girly-girly pose with one hand
tucked into the hair at the nape of his beck, and the other planted
on his hip.  He waggled those great breasts and his round tush and
added, "I wonder how much?" 


     I smiled back.  I understood.  He was scared.  His identity as
a boy was slipping away.  So he was getting a grip on his fear by
joking with me, by pretending to be a loose woman.  He thought he
was joking.  I smiled even more broadly as I wondered seriously
whether to include a week as a real streetwalker in his summer's
curriculum.  A week spent patrolling the freight station area 
would teach him more about being a girl than any of us knew, for
sure, including his own mother.  No, I thought.  When school begins
there'll be plenty of guys hitting on him, and we'll deal with
those problems then.  He was now moving down the track his mother
had laid out when she'd started feeding him those knockout doses of
vitamins: if his body looked like a girl's, and it couldn't be
changed, then he shouldn't be ashamed of it.  As I'd been telling
him, he should accept that he looked like a girl, and he could
begin to work out for himself what kind of girl he'd like to be.


     "How does the bra feel, Marianne?  Nice?  It doesn't bind of
pinch?"


     "Better than I thought it might," Marianne said, a little
uncertain.  No, it was a little shy.  "I like the support.  It's
like being held and hugged, and when I move my chest doesn't seem
so...floppy."


     "Well, wait till you feel this on your skin."  I handed him a
satin blouse.


     When he slipped on the blouse, there came another moment of
truth.  If anything, the shiny fabric draped across his breasts in
a way that accentuated them.  Now even his nipples jutted way
forward.  In fact they stiffened and poked through to form two
pointed tips accentuating the effect.  He looked sexy, downright
provocative, indecent.  It was no longer a joke.


     "I can't wear this," he said.  "Don't you have a loose shirt?"


     Not for him I didn't.  "No," I said.  "You look fine.  You
have nothing to be ashamed of."


     He was looking down again, and his manly pride struggled with
what I'd just said.  Not to feel ashamed.  But I was reminded again
that he was no fool.  He just said very quietly, "JayCee, now I do
look like a boy with breasts.  I look like a freak."  


     "No," I said.  "You look hot.  No one will ever believe you're
a boy."  I eyed him, and realized that with that cute face and
those globes on his chest, that was true.  Was I myself responding
to him as a boy or as a girl?  Why worry about it? 


     "Just wait," I said.  I saw now that I could move very fast. 
"Put these on and sit down," I said, handing him his flared shorts. 
He did quickly, without noticing that just off his hips they
swirled out to form a cute, flirty mini.  Then in no time at all I
had his hair pinned up into one of my Betty Grable styles, and he'd
slipped into those delicate sandals with just a little heel,  and
before he realized what I was doing I'd given him just a touch of
mascara and lipstick.  When he saw the lipstick in my hand coming
at his face he tried to object, but I just ordered him to stop
fussing.  I was thinking to myself that from now on, for the rest
of his life, he'll be wearing at least this much makeup, because
that's what girls do, and that's what he was.  Another first.


     And that's all it took.  "Now you don't look at all like a boy
with breasts," I said.  I gave him my hand mirror, and busied
myself as if with other things.  But I kept an eye on him..


     "No, I don't," he said, as he stared at the face staring back
at him from the mirror, obviously uncertain what to think.  He
couldn't quite say what he saw, a passable teenage girl.  So I said
it for him.


     "You look like a girl with breasts.  Enjoy it!  A girl should
be what she can do.  From now on those knockers of yours belong to
the world, and that face over them.  They're your best features. 
No more trying to hide them!  Bras and a little makeup from now
on!"


     "Are you telling me I should look like this from now on?"  he
asked,   As if somehow I hadn't just said it.
      
"For the summer," I said.  "That's the deal.  After that, it's your
choice.  You can look like a pretty girl, or like a freaky boy with
breasts.  I'm telling you nothing.  You figure it out.  But for the
next few weeks anyhow, you're what you see.  Now sit down on the
bed.  I want you to know there are certain advantages."


     He sat down on the bed.  He seemed a little resentful, still
trying to think of someone or something to blame that the boy he'd
thought he was was getting more difficut to locate.  I sat down
next to him, and before he could realize what I was doing, I
reached for his nearest hand, and placed it squarely on my naked
breast.  It felt warm on my cool skin.


     "Feel this," I said to him.  "What do you feel?"


     'Your breast, JayCee."  He turned very quiet, very solemn all
of a sudden.  I guessed mine were the first he had ever touched,
apart from his own.


     "A girl's breast, Marianne.  Like yours.  Caress them, please. 
Kiss them, please.  Both of them."


     I lay back and he leaned over me, bringing up his other hand
too.  Now each hand held one of my breasts for a moment, cupping
them underneath with the finger tips fondling my nipples ever so
lightly.  I began again to feel a stirring down under,  Probably
like what he was feeling under his panties and flared shorts at
this moment.  I reached for his breasts as he leaned over me, and
began to touch and squeeze his jutting nipples in their satin
enclosure, and run my fingers around them, and stroke them.  He
shivered.


     "Oooohhhhh" he said in a delicious, high pitched sigh.  He
closed his eyes, though his hands were still busy on me.


     "Kiss them," I whispered.  He did.  Tenderly, one kiss on the
nipple of each.  Then gently he put his mouth over one and began to
suckle on me, lapping the tips of my nipples with his tongue. 
"Mmmmmmmm" he sighed again, in that same flutelike tone of voice. 
I reminded myself to train him to use that voice from now on.  It
was so very seductive!  I cupped both his breasts and then again
gently tweaked each nipple.  Each grew stiffly erect inside his bra
and blouse.  His mouth now firmly planted on one of my boobs, he
started to breath more rapidly.


     "These are mine now, aren't they, Marianne?" I said in a tense
voice.


     He wasn't sure which pair I meant, of course, but he was in an
exquisite trance and he wanted to stay there.  "Mmmmmmmmm" he
moaned again, and his lips took in more of me more ferociously, his
tongue tip now flicking my nipples, first on one breast, then on
the other, then back to the first.


     "You'll wear a bra until I tell you it isn't necessary," I
continued.  "And you'll feel proud of your breasts, always!"  I
began kneading them with my thumb and forefinger, delicately
pinching the tip of each.  "Because they're beautiful and they're
a woman's breasts.  And because they're mine and I'm proud of them. 
Promise me!"


     "Mmmmmmmmmm!" was all he said.  My nipples are small, much
smaller than his, but he was slurping and sucking on the one in his
mouth like a starved infant.  His first since he'd been an infant,
I suppose.


     "Promise!"  I repeated.  I stopped moving my hands for a
moment.  


     He lifted his head.  "I promise!" he whispered intensely, and
began to lower his head again.


     "Promise what?"  I asked.  


     He raised his head and held his face just above mine, and
looked into my eyes.  "I promise not to be ashamed of my breasts,
JayCee," he said quite seriously.  His breathing slowed down. 
"Because they're a woman's breasts.  And because they're yours."


     Such a lovely boy!  Already my lovely girl!  It was time to
raise the ante.  I knew I hadn't made a mistake about him earlier!


     I smiled up at him, looking deep into his eyes.  "Now take off
your shorts and panties, Marianne.  Then lie back down on the bed. 
Right where I am.  It's all warm and snug right here."


     I slipped to one side and stood up, and he stripped and
replaced me on the bed, his little prick pointing straight up,
stiff as a clothes pin, swollen thicker than I'd thought it could
get, but really not much longer.  Long enough.  I quickly hopped
back onto the bed and straddled his crotch, my wet pussy now an
inch or two above that jutting boy-cock of his.  It would never get
bigger.


     "I've never done this with any boy," I told him.  "You'll see
I'm telling the truth.  And I won't do it again until I meet the
boy I'll marry, if I ever do.  But I want to do it with you. 
You're special.  You're not a boy.  You're a girl who can put her
cock into me and fuck me.  Aren't you?"


     He drew in his breath sharply and nodded, obviously unable to
believe his extraordinary luck.  It was happening!  At last!  He
closed his eyes and held his breath, unsure what to expect next.


     I was about to lose my cherry too, and not just as a figure of
speech.  But I'd had lots of chances before, so it wasn't as big a
deal for me.  I started to fondle his breasts and his nipples
again, and he let out his breath in a sweet sigh.  He was already
in paradise!


     "Say it," I said.  "Aren't you?"


     "Yessssss!"  My fingertips were rubbing the tips of his
satin-tipped boobs again, and he could think of nothing else.  He
lifted his chest into my hands, ecstatic.  


     "Yes what?  What are you?"


     "I'm a girl who can fuck you, JayCee," he whispered,
distracted from his pleasure by the need to speak, eager to relax
into those delcious feelings.  I let him.


     "Yes," I repeated.  "You're a girl.  You're my girl now."  And
I lowered my pussy until my outer lips touched his little cock.  He
felt them and held his breath again.  I lowered myself a little
more, and felt myself gripping his cock head.  Just like my small
vibrator he felt, but a lot warmer!  He lifted his hips as high as
he could and held himself absolutely still.  I lowered onto him a
little more and felt more of him inside me, and finally felt his
prick press on an obstruction further in.  I stopped for a moment.


     "Look at me, Marianne!"  


     He opened his eyes.  They were filled with so much happiness
they glistened!  He was such a darling dear!  My very first boy! 
With his hair piled on his head, and his mascara'd eyes, and traces
of lipstick still on his lips, and above all those women's breasts
rising high over his chest, he was also my very first girl!  So
wonderful!  I looked tenderly and steadily into his eyes as more
tears welled up in them, smiling at him, and he smiled back.  "My
sweet girl!" I whispered when his eyes looked just right, and I
felt just right, and it all felt just right, the two of us felt
clasped intimately by each other in full sight of each other.  Then
I closed my eyes and thrust my pussy all the way down on him.  


     There wasn't much left to go on that prick, but enough.  I was
very tight, and I'd felt him pressing on me on all sides, but then
something inside me popped with a sudden sharp sensation, not
really a pain, and suddenly I felt much more wet than I'd been. 
Blood, I decided.  My virginity was gone.  And, I supposed, that
was the moment wwe could say he lost his too.


     "Are you all right?" he whispered.  I opened my eyes.  He was
looking at me, worried that my face had suddenly gone serious.  I
smiled.


     "Yes," I said.  "My darling girl.  I'm just fine.  Come when
you can, my sweet darling girl.  I won't this time.  Some other
time!"


     He closed his eyes, and I resumed caressing his breasts.  He
reached for mine, and began to roll his hips.  I rocked with him,
and decided not to ride up and down on him.  Even so, after a
minute or maybe less, he reached up and pulled my body toward him,
and sucked one of my breasts into his mouth as it deep as it would
go, and pushed his little cock into my pussy with a single great
thrust upward as far as it would go, and I felt him suddenly begin
to pulse.  It felt odd but delicious, better than a prick pulsing
in my ass, and suddenly I felt very wet!  Really slippery!  He was
breathing almost frantically.


     When his breath steadied down, I raised myself off him and
tucked a towel between us, to blot up some of the blood and semen
I was leaking all over his groin. I leaned forward and kissed him
on the mouth.  He raised his chin to meet my mouth, and kissed me. 
Our tongues tangled.  So tenderly.  There was no question here who
was the dominant partner.  From the way he nibbled on my mouth I
knew he felt like a shy, compliant young girl who has just been
fucked and feels humble and grateful.   He'll be easy to break in
for boys to use, I thought.  Even now I bet he'll kneel down and
blow any stud who has the good sense to caress those breasts of his
first.  I allowed Marianne another moment to grow softer in me,
then slowly climbed off him.  


     "There you are, my girl," I said.  "I've used you.  Now you're
a sex object.  A fallen woman!  We just gave each other our
virginity, didn't we?  So we've just used each other to become two
fallen women, haven't we?"


     He nodded, overwhelmed by the enormity of the gift he'd just
received.


     "Now you're a lesbian,"  I went on.  "Your little clit has
been inside a girl.  You've been kissed and caressed by a girl. 
Some day you'll be kissed and caressed by a boy, and that'll feel
nice too."  He nodded again in his trance, eyes still shut.  I bent
over and kissed him on his sweet mouth.  Did he understand what I'd
just said?  He kissed me back ever so gently, only his lips moving.


     Then more briskly I said,  "Now into the bathroom and clean
up, sweetheart, then put your panties and shorts back on.  Look at
that!  You didn't even take your sandals off, you were so eager to
put out for me!  What a slut!"  


     I grinned at him, and after a moment he opened his eyes and
grinned back.  His eyes were beautiful, with those long, dark, wet
lashes, and they were gleaming.  He glanced down at the pink
splotches on his groin.


     "JayCee, you've made me so ery happy," he tried to say, and
he finally got it out the third time.  Then he started to cry.


     "I know," I said. I felt moved too.  "But hurry, my mother's
due home about now."  


     When we came downstairs about ten minutes later, there was my
Mom already in the kitchen putting away groceries.  I hadn't even
heard her come in.  I glanced at Marianne, and saw that with all
the color in his face from all that unaccustomed sun and sex, he'd
turned pale, and his eyes were just a little wild.  He was trying
not to panic.  I knew what he was thinking.  He was the boy who had
just taken her daughter's cherry!  He was a boy with breasts who
was wearing her daughter's bra and blouse, a boy who had just
freshened up his lipstick at my insistence.  Could she guess it?! 
What must she think of him?!


     "Hi, Mom," I said.  "I didn't hear you.  This is Marianne.  I
don't remember if you've met.  We've been swimming and talking and
stuff.  We're getting to be really good friends, I think."


     Marianne's politeness overcame his fear, and he spoke the
scenario drilled into him since childhood, in a low voice, "Hi! 
Thank you for your hospitality today.  I've had a lovely time. 
JayCee loaned me these clothes to get home in, I hope you don't
mind."


     "Not at all, Marianne," my mother said.  "You're very welcome. 
Now if you two girls will excuse me...."  She gestured vaguely
toward some pots and pans, and more packages of food.  She was
hardly paying any attention to us at all!


     "Sure, Mom," I said.  We left by the back door so Marianne
could pick up his damp shirt and other things he'd left by the
pool.  


     "See?" I said when we were just out of earshot.  "You're a
girl.  Parent-certified.  You really don't have a choice, sweetie."


     "I was so frightened!" he said in his small, high voice.  


     "For no reason."  Then I added, "I'm proud of you.  You're a
brave girl.  And we are getting to be dear friends after all,
aren't we."


     "I hope so," Marianne replied.  Then suddenly he grabbed my
arm, his eyes staring desperately into mine.  Yes, I thought,
staring back at his, that's just about the right amont of mascara
for daytime.  "JayCee!" he said.  "My mother!  What'll I tell her
now, dressed like this?  What'll she think?"


     I took hold of his arms, both of them, and leaned toward him
until my face was only inches from his, and said to him forcefully,
"Nothing, Marianne!  You'll tell your mother nothing!  What I told
you to tell her!  She's a loving mother, and she knows you've been
having ... problems, and if she asks you anything you just tell her
I'm helping you with things, and we're doing things together.  And
that's all you need to tell her.  Then she won't question you more
than that, because she trusts me.  Do you understand me?"


     He didn't, I thought, but he nodded.  I have that affect on
boys when I'm being firm.  


     "Are you proud to be you?  Are you proud to be my girlfriend?"


     He nodded again.  I wanted it, and he was too much a gentleman
to deny me!


     "Good!  Let your mother see that you're proud.  You have every
reason to feel proud of yourself now especially, don't you?"


     He nodded and grinned a little.


     "Tomorrow we'll go shopping for girl clothes for you.  You
need a few outfits.  Wear what you're wearing now.  Ten in the
morning?"


     He nodded again, not fully comprehending.  It would dawn on
him on the way home.  Then it wouldn't matter.


     "Here.  Fix your lipstick again.  You'll want to look your
very best for your mom.  Shoulders back, remember!"


     He was so throughly addled that he did just that!


     That night his mother called, and chatted with my mother about
some Church arrangement, then asked to speak to me.  When I got on,
I heard her take a deep breath, and then say it all in a rush.


     "JayCee, you've performed a miracle!  Marion looked just
lovely when he got home.  He just glanced at me with those breasts
of his held way out in front of him in that bra, and his skirt
flipping off his hips, and his hair piled up on his head, and he
didn't say anything except 'Hi, Mom.'   So I didn't either, and he
went straight up to his room.  But that isn't the miracle!  The
miracle is, he still hadn't changed his clothes when he came down
later for dinner!  And his hair was still up!  I had to say
something, so I told him that was a very pretty blouse, and all he
said was 'Thank you,' and then he told me you'd loaned it to him
until he could get some things of his own.  'I'll need some blouses
and skirts of my own to wear now for a while,' he said.  "So JayCee
and I intend to go shopping tomorrow."  So very calmly!  So all I
said was, 'Oh!  That's nice.'"


     "JayCee, he looks so ... so developed, now.  He has such a
beautiful figure!  You know, he hasn't let me see him completely
naked for over a year now.  His breasts, of course, because he was
worried about them, and I had to tell him they were nothing, when
obviously they're not.  Oh, JayCee, he really does look like the
daughter I've always dreamed of having!"  


     "Then he added, quite matter-of-factly, 'JayCee thinks I
should try to see how girls feel about everything, have lots of
girl days this summer, to see what it's like.'  So I decided I
could push him just a little.  I asked as casually as I could, 'Oh? 
You mean days you'll play with girls, or days you'll play at being
a girl?'  And he answered 'Both, until I find I'm not playing any
more.'"  


     "So what could I say? 'Do you like that idea, dear?'  He
answered, 'I think JayCee's right.  Every boy should know what it's
like.  So that's what I'll do.'  I said, 'That's nice.  JayCee
sounds like a very thoughtful girl.'  And you know what he replied? 
It almost broke my heart!  He said, 'Yes, we're getting to be good
friends, me and JayCee.  My very first really good friend.  In a
way I'm hers, too, I think.  I know I'm special for her.  I know
it.'  Then he added,  'She wants me to be her special girlfriend. 
What do you think?'"


     "I told him, 'Whatever makes you happy, dear.  I want you to
be happy!'"  


     "Well, JayCee, he's upstairs now playing his CD for the first
time since we moved here.  Loud.  Madonna, I think, of all things,
and he's singing along with her!  But I don't care!  He's happy! 
JayCee, I just called to tell you and to thank you.  For
everything.  You're wonderful."


     "You're very welcome, Jane," was all I could say.  Then I
added, "I'm sure he's goimg to make a marvelous daughter."  She
said a few more things like be sure to use Marion's credit card
until she could get me a company credit card of my own, and then we
hung up.


     Well, Marion wasn't ashamed to tell his mother.  He saw how it
all made sense, and he'd accepted it.  He's really a dear person,
I decided.  A really special girlfriend.


     


                                    V.


     Well, that was most of it, getting Marion willing to try.  
The next few weeks went quickly, much more quickly than I'd have
expected, and as I'd figured, by the end I had him hooked.  Let me
tell you how.  


     The next day he showed up in the same outfit I'd sent him away
wearing, and I re-pinned his hair and instructed him in the uses of
mascara and lipstick, light touches of each.  He put on his own,
several times, and took them off again, until he found he was
putting them on neatly without really paying any attention, just
chatting away with me. 


     "Always that much makeup," I said.  "Never less.  More when
you learn how to use more.  Here, keep them here, and take your
wallet."  He clipped the lipstick and mascara and his wallet into
a purse I gave him to use, and off we went. 


     First I bought him some shorts and blouses of his own, and
together we selected a sun dress, and then from another store a
better dress for summer evenings, and then a nice slinky clingy
party dress, green, sparkling with sequins.  I figured his own
jeans were good enough for now, even though I supposed they were as
oversized as everything else he owned, but I made a mental note to
size him for slacks and minis that would make proper display of
that curvacious tush.  If boys are always eager to poke into my
ass, I was thinking, how will they feel when they see Marianne's? 



     In every store we bought him more bras and panties, drawers
full, enough to last through his whole Senior year.  He kept asking
what this or that style was for, and how it would fit and feel, and
when he tried each one on he had to have it.  I only own a few bras
myself, but I realized for him bras were special.  They were what
girls wore closest to themselves.  Wearing one was like having a
girl wrapped around him. If it was true that every man has a girl
inside him afraid to come out and be seen, the way I'd read,
Marianne's girl sure had her man hooked on undies. 


     We did a lot of teasing about the party dress.  I wanted him
to start sedate, with the kind of dress his mother would want him
to wear on a first date, any respectable mother who would want her
teen age son wear to look pretty.  A dress in good taste, high and
flouncy, maybe even tulle, with a hem at least half way down his
thighs.  But Marianne got fascinated by the little green clingy
number, though it barely covered her ass, and he wanted to try it
on, so he did.  Then he claimed that he loved it, that he just
adored it, that it was just too precious and he had to have it.  


     I thought he was putting me on with talk like that, but when
I looked at him to signal "Enough, already," he just said, "JayCee,
if it attracts me, and it does, it'll certainly attract the boys,
won't it?"  That sounded reasonable until I realized that now he
was certainly putting me on.  I looked at him quickly and saw he
was watching me and grinning.  I grinned back.  He still had no
idea yet how attractive boys were going to find him, that what we
were really discussing was whether he'd be a demure young lady who
ends her big dates with a sweet good night kiss, or a hot dish who
finishes with her date's semen still dribbling out of her mouth. 
"If you buy that dress," I said, "You'll never be able to keep it
on through a whole evening."  He grinned again, but I noticed he
didn't return it to the rack.   


     Well, he did have good legs, really, and I knew that with a
Kotex napkin snugged down on it, his mound under that clingy dress
would be something any girl could envy and no boy could ignore, so
I suggested he go for it.  I knew of at least one house party
coming up where he'd get groped all evening long in that dress. 
But that would provide useful initiation, I realized, and if he was
going to be that kind of girl he'd better get used to getting
[