groped.  His buns flirted with exposure whenever he bent over.  At
least with that ass visible to the world, I thought, there won't be
any doubt about his sex.  Not that there'd be any doubt anyhow. 
The dress's low scooped back meant that he couldn't wear a bra with
it, but it had a high neck and long sleeves, and was form-fitting
around his torso, so his natural endowments would be on display
even so.  The dress projected the generous curves of his breasts as
if he were naked.  When he first came out of the fitting room
wearing it, they jiggled seductively.  


     He wanted to wear that dress out of the store, but I drew the
line there.  "Only a slut would wear a dress like that during the
day," I told him.  "Nice girls wait until after dark to seduce men
with dresses like that."


     "Well, then," he replied. "Why can't I wear it during the day? 
No time like the present!" 


     I held firm, and he was teasing, but when we left that store
he was wearing his sun dress, scarcely any longer in length, and
with much less on top.  At least it allowed him to keep his bra on. 
 I insisted he buy a cardigan sweater to cover his shoulders,
though his arms were thin enough.  A pair of sandals, and flats,
and heels for the party dress, and a makeup case with just a few
items, and that was the morning.  


     It was odd.  Overnight, he'd gotten ahead of me.  I'd expected
a certain amount of reluctance, and expected to spend some time
wheedling him into girlish attire here and there, even ordering him
into it.  Instead, he was a serious, attentive student, listening
carefully to my lectures on bra styles and on the mixing and
matching of patterns, obviously absorbing it all.  In between he
play-acted different feminine roles, alternatively acting like a
coquette, a harpy, a bimbo, a spinster, whatever came to mind.  I
realized he was trying out various feminine selves, looking for one
he could adopt and become comfortably.  He was into it.


     Just how far into it I didn't realize until just after lunch. 
While we were sharing a burrito it occurred to me that I hadn't
changed his gender in my own mind, and I'd better, or I might give
him away.  Several times I'd asked salespersons which changing room
"he" had disappeared into, or told a cashier that "he" had our
credit card.  They thought they'd misheard me.   But that afternoon
I did it again without thinking.


     This time, a saleswoman responded with, "That friend of yours
is a man?"  I only smiled and lifted my eyebrows, inviting her to
share with me a conspiratorial shrug, as if to say, what can we
women do when men get an idea in their heads?  Instead, she frowned
and looked down, and where she had been making small notations in
her order book, she began slashing at it.  A woman with a problem,
I realized, and went on my guard.  Then when Marianne came out of
the changing room to show me a rather pretty "better" dress, a
cotton print nice enough for a party but usable for daytime wear,
she said to him, "Sir, you should not be using these changing
rooms.  The men's changing rooms are in another part of the store."


     Marianne was a little shocked.  "Are they?" was all he could
say at first.  I think what hit him was the saleswoman's severity,
not his embarrassment at being read.  But he wasn't at all
embarrassed!  I realized that when he had agreed to try living like
a girl, he had decided to go all the way and enjoy it.  He was a
girl, and that was that!  Maybe I was confused about his gender,
but he wasn't!  He meant to enjoy his femininity, at least for the
next three weeks.  He'd play the roles improvisationally.  He felt
liberated.  That was why he'd been such a delightful tease and
mimic.  


     But with one glance at my facial expression, apologetic and
dismayed, he realized what had happened.  I had goofed.  He saw. 
I was dreadfully remorseful.  He saw that.  Then he came through
beautifully.  "My dear young woman," he said to the saleswoman, who
was ten or twenty years older than he was.  "Are you suggesting
that I parade myself half-naked in front of half-naked men in
another part of the store?"  He shook his high-piled, Betty Grable
head in disbelief!


     The saleswoman was momentarily addled, but then she stood her
ground.  "I'm suggesting that you satisfy your taste for trying
on...dresses" -- she spoke the word as if it were foul-tasting --
"in another part of the store." 


     "You're telling me I shouldn't be wearing a dress in this part
of the store?"  Marianne now turned bright-eyed, curious, eager to
understand and to please but not quite grasping the woman's point
just yet.


     "That's correct, sir!"


     In a blur of cloth and elbows Marianne swept off the dress he
was wearing.  He laid it inside-out across a rack of other dresses,
and now there he was, standing on the sales floor in nothing but
his bra and panties -- my bra and panties still, really -- and my
sandals, otherwise altogether naked.   His crotch, I noticed,
looked perfect -- the sanitary napkin I'd loaned him until he could
buy his own must have had tapered edges.  But his breasts spilled
out of my bra on all sides -- we hadn't yet managed to buy him some
better-fitting ones of his own.  He stood there a moment, as
un-selfconscious in his bra and panties as I had been when I'd
stood naked in front of Ronnie and Petey, or Marianne once I'd
begun seducing him.  Then he reached up with one hand and patted
the back of his hairdo, as if flattening a stray curl.


     "Now, where are these men who want to see me trying on dresses
in their part of the store?" he said.  


     And Marianne started to stroll down the aisle wearing only his
bra and panties.  He was prepared to tour the whole store, I was
sure of it.  His eyes were still wide open and round, innocent and
compliant, trying to oblige.  But I could see his jaw was rigid.  


     It struck me that he was indignant!  He was not in the
slightest ashamed that he'd been caught masquerading as a girl.  He
was defending his right to wear dresses as if it were a birthright! 
 He resented that this saleswoman had intruded into our fragile
agreement that he would be a girl for a while to see how it felt. 
Now he was outraged!  Of course he was a girl!  But how far would
this conviction carry him?  
                                                   
"Marianne!  Please!"  


     I was shocked, and had to let him know it.  I certainly didn't
want him arrested -- publicity would do neither of us any good.  I
was also deeply unhappy, because I knew I was responsible for this
scene, and I had to let him know that too, that I wanted out the
easiest way available.  He heard me, and turned to look at me.  He
was still posturing for effect, his eyes barely aimed in my
direction.  But I know he saw me even so.


     The saleswoman, however, was staring at his chest, his
undersized bra with its billowing spillover titflesh, horrified! 
She'd blundered terribly!  "Sir!" she cried out.  "I mean Ma'am! 
Miss!  Please!  I...uh...please, can you return to your changing
room, and ...please, Miss?"  Now she was pleading.  She glanced
nervously down the aisle at a few customers looking up from some
discount racks at the far end.  


     Marianne took pity on her, and walked back into the changing
room without another word, and emerged a moment later wearing her
familiar blouse and flouncy skirt, the ones I had loaned
her...him...only yesterday.  The saleswoman almost fell on her
knees in thankfulness.  I realized that before my very eyes
Marianne had indeed changed gender.  By an act of insolent
assertion she had bluffed out the saleswoman's indignation and had
intimidated me out of feeling that this was only... a game, that
Marianne's femininity was only pretend.  Marianne had become a
woman.  She was now in her own mind and mine no less than she
claimed to be!  


     I was subdued as we continued down the mall, and not at all
surprised when Marianne asked, as we passed an ear ring kiosk,
"Shall I get my ears pierced?" 


     "Are you sure you want to?"  I asked cautiously.


     "A girl with my eyebrows and my tits should have pierced
ears," she replied.


     Again I couldn't argue, and fifteen minutes later Marianne
displayed a pretty gold stud on each ear.  It was as if she had to
prove something to herself.  This was the boy I'd been consoling
only yesterday, so miserable because he looked so much like a girl
he'd never be a normal boy.  And shouldn't try to be a boy any
longer, I'd tried to persuade him.  And now she wasn't.


     We passed a hair salon.  Two hours later Marianne's blonde
hair was a shade lighter, crimped and curled the way we were all
wearing our hair that year, pinned up but with a crinkly fall down
her back, a style so feminine I'd never try it myself.  And her
fingernails were groomed and polished a glossy pink.  She was
wearing pale green eye shadow, and I envied her that drama, because
with my dark hair I could only wear brown or purple.  A few more
shops, and then as we headed back to the bus stop I realized that
there were only a few more things left to do to complete Marianne's
conversion.  Well, more thn a few, maybe.  She still walked like a
boy, shoulders moving from side to side, legs a little wide-set. 
And she had no delicate gestures at all, no little feminine moves
like flipping her hands loose-wristed, or tossing her head back as
if to clear hair from her eyes, or looking at you sideways with a
slight smile.  That modeling course was coming up none too soon, in
just a few more days.


     Even so, at worst Marianne looked like a girl who was still
something of a tomboy.  Like what I'd wanted to be before I'd
caught on to the way things really are.  Maybe it was time Marianne
caught on too?  She had a few things to learn.  


     When we left the mall late that afternoon I decided to invite
her back up to my room for another session of lovemaking.  Being
intimate again had distinct appeal, especially because this time I
could enjoy her to the full.  Not very full, I thought with a small
smile.  But snuggling with her, caressing her, kissing her, that
might be nice.  I began to daydream about seeing her crinkly hair
nuzzling between my legs.


     We linked arms as we walked toward our houses, the way girls
do, affectionately.  My heart melted toward Marianne, and I glanced
over at her clear profile, and saw her satisfied expression as she
looked straight ahead.  I realized that here might well be my
dearest girlfriend.  She saw me looking at her, stopped walking,
turned toward me, leaned over, and we kissed each other, daintily,
just once.  Then without a word spoken, when we arrived at my house
we set down our packages and went straight up into my room.  


     There we made love girl style.  It was heavenly!  We looked
lovingly into each other's eyes as we slowly unbuttoned each
other's blouses and unhooked each other's brassieres.  Marianne's
eyes began to gleam, and I saw she had the same faint half-smile
I'd seen on her mother.  We touched and stroked each other with
infinite tenderness, on our shoulders and arms, and finally on our
breasts.  When I leaned in to kiss her nipple she gasped and
clutched my head tight to her breast with both arms for a moment,
while I suckled her, passion growing.  Then we slid out of our
skirts and panties and tumbled together into bed, eager to feel our
skin pressing on each other's skin along the entire length of our
bodies, our hands roaming freely, then our mouths, all with
exquisite gentleness.  It was magical.  


     We rolled into each other's laps, then into a 69 when we found
ourselves unable to stop kissing and licking.  I lifted my knees
and opened my legs to welcome her mouth to my lips.  Her tongue
found my slit and began to stroke up toward my clit, just along the
inside of my pussy lips, and I turned to jelly as she found my clit
and began to nurse on it as if it were a teeny nipple.  I reached
around her plump ass cheeks and pulled her mound firmly into my
face, and took her big clit and balls and all into my mouth, then
sucked and licked and tongued them in a frenzy, moaning because I
couldn't pull her deeper into me, and all the while her tongue made
the sweetest tensions rise and flow from my pussy to suffuse my
whole body.  Desire rose, and grew, higher, and filled me full, and
finally overflowed and overwhelmed me as I orgasmed, and she came
at that same moment into my mouth.  I loved it, and swallowed it
all.  So very creamy!  So very much like my own cum!  I licked
wherever I could taste its sweet silky salt, and then pressed
frenzied kisses all over her clit and her balls while she continued
to lick me with long, sweet strokes of her satin tongue.  I
realized she was trying to sip up and lick up all of my juices down
there in my crotch,  trying to take my liquids in to become a part
of herself.  A wonderfully feminine instinct!


     "Lick my face too, darling," she said in a low, throaty voice
when our breathing had quieted down.  We were both drenched with
each other.  So we uncurled and turned, and then cuddled against
each other the whole length of our bodies, and writhed to feel each
other's pillowy softness and bony solidity.  We ran our hands over
our various billows and hollows and crevices wherever we could
reach, and we licked each other's faces.  Hers was soaked with me! 
I'd never ever gotten so wet before when someone was eating me. 
But then, I'd never before eaten anyone while she was eating me. 
Usually I preferred seeing boys on their knees in front of me,
worshipping my cunt while my thighs clamped their heads and pulled
their faces into the altar.  But this was different.  This was
affectionate, loving, spontaneous, beautiful.  Passionate.  Just
gorgeous.  I kissed her face with all my heart!


     "Time to go," she said finally.  We reluctantly untangled
ourselves.


     "That was beautiful, Marianne," I said to her from deep in my
own throat.


     "Yes," she said.  "It was.  Now I know how girls make love. 
And we'll do it some more, I hope.  Lots more."  She smiled.


     Then while she was clasping her bra over her breasts again,
she added thoughtfully.  "I could be happy being a lesbian with
you, JayCee.  But I do need to know how it feels to be a girl
making love with a boy, too, I think.  The idea was just awful at
first, when you first mentioned it, but it's a little more
attractive now that I'm getting into what girls do and how they
feel about things.  Now that I feel more attractive.  Can you
arrange something like that?"


     I told her, no problem.  This was a new, 'Take Charge'
Marianne.  Eager to get on with it.  And I was curious myself how
she'd get on with a real boy.  Would she feel attracted at all? 
How deep were her new feminine feelings, and how sincere?  How far
would her role-playing carry her?


     We arranged to meet tomorrow to spend the day together again.
Standing just outside our front door, Marianne suddenly remembered
to fix her face before going on home.  I knew why -- she wanted to
look as lovely as she could when her mother saw her new hairdo, and
her piereced ears.  With a compact mirror in one hand and a
lipstick in the other, it took her a moment to figure where to tuck
her purse.  Under her arm.  Then she made some deft strokes, as
though she'd been fixing her lipstick all her life, snapped shut
her compact, slipped her makeup into her purse, snapped the purse
shut, and looked up at me as she bent to gather her parcels.


     "Today was the nicest day of my life, JayCee," she said. "The
nicest ever.  I love you." 


     The late afternoon sun glinted on her ear ring studs, and she
reached up to pat her new hairdo, checking that every crimp and
curl was in place.  I could see she was getting excited,
anticipating the moment he mother saw the new Marianne.  Then the
sun gleamed off her long pink fingernails too.  It had been quite
a day.  As I handed her more of the mountain of boxes and packages,
she added, "Yesterday was the best I'd had till then, but also one
of my most awful ever."


     "I know.  I'm very glad for today, Marianne," I replied. 
"Your decision to try being a girl seems so right!  I think we both
learned a few things."


     "I think so too," she said.  "I certainly surprised myself
today!"  


     "And me," I said.  There's no doubting that, I thought to
myself. I wondered if it was always this easy.  Then I wondered why
I was wondering that.  "Ten tomorrow morning again?"


     She nodded and went *kiss* with her lips, then headed off
doing a balancing act, packages held high.  I watched with genuine
affection as she stepped down the street toward her own home, a
cheery lilt in her walk.  Such a lovely, lovely girl!  Now she
really and truly was my best girlfriend.  We'd now made love two
different ways I'd never made love before, and I realized that both
of them were the ways most people make love most of the time.  On
both occasions I'd wanted to do it that way to share the experience
with her, not merely because it empowered me, put me in a dominant
position, gave me a leg up.  Though that too.


     I wondered if I should try out my new dildo on her, or save it
for me, now that I was finally rid of my hymen.  Then I got a much
better idea.  Before I went to bed that night I called Ronnie.  


     
                              VI.


     Ronnie wasn't leaving for Cape Cod for another two weeks.  I
asked him about Petey, and he told me that both of them were now
seeing other people, though they still sometimes got together, and
they'd be seeing a lot more of each other pretty soon for old
times' sake.  Neither of them had anybody special right now, he
said, though Petey had been through a really heartbreaking affair,
hard on the other guy too, because Petey had called it off when his
partner decided he was really bi and wanted to date real girls too. 
Ronnie didn't have that problem, but he'd do just fine to help
accustom Marianne to the feel of real guys.  I asked Ronnie over to
the house the next day for lunch and a dip, to meet someone I'd
just met.


     "A really cute guy?" Ronnie asked.


     "You'd be surprised," I answered. "And even if you knew, you'd
be surprised!" 


     Well, the next day, there was Ronnie.  I hadn't seen him for
a while.  He still wasn't in the least flouncy, though I noticed a
lilt had developed in his voice.  He explained that his new friends
talked like that too.  It was one way they recognized and reassured
each other in a world of straight women and men alike, and also it
sounded a little bit bitchy when he felt that way.


     "So where's this guy?  Do we get to play Show and Tell with
him?  You and me against him this time?"


     He looked disappointed when Marianne showed up wearing her
Maillot bathing suit under a gauzy wraparound barely suitable for
walking down the street, hair pinned up curled as cute as could be,
and of course wearing lipstick and mascara.  She wasn't surprised
to see a stranger standing there, just curious, and I looked again
at Ronnie through her eyes. He was taller than when he and Petey
had jerked each other off and decided on a lifetime of buggery in
this very place.  And more heavily muscled -- he still worked out. 
In fact he'd sent in a picture of his oiled, pumped up torso to a
gay men's magazine, where it had been published, and he'd gotten a
number of letters from readers, he'd told me, and even met a couple
of them. They didn't go away disappointed. 


     I didn't really formally introduce Ronnie to Marianne -- kids
our age can still survive without social graces.  I wanted to keep
it all cool and casual.  But I was real curious to see what they'd
see in each other, and how soon.


     "Hi, Marianne," I said.  "My old friend Ronnie's come over
today -- he gets to use the pool whenever."   


     Marianne looked at him and just said "Hi, Ronnie."  She nodded
at me.  "JayCee!"


     "Pleased to meet you, Marianne," Ronnie said in his lilting
voice, looking at her a little more closely than he usually looks
at girls.


     I watched Marianne.  She heard the lilt and I could tell from
the way her eyes suddenly focussed that she understood instantly
what I had planned for today.  Today sex with a man.  A man not
interested in girls but one who'd never object to sex with another
man, once he found it, which seemed inevitable given Marianne's
inexperience.  Marianne could test out this part of her passage
into full girlhood undistracted by problems with some boy who would
loathe her if he knew she was still a boy.  Ronnie by now had done
it many times with other men, but not before that I knew of with a
chick with a dick.  But would Marianne agree to let a boy actually
fuck her?


     It didn't look that way at first.  "Likewise," said Marianne,
and she settled into a lounge chair and wriggled her shoulders to
settle them in comfortably, then her hips.  Then twisted her pelvis
to cross her legs, and arched her instep.  It was the most
provocative set of moves I'd ever seen a girl perform.  I even felt
like jumping her bones myself!  I was about to ask her where she'd
learned to do that, but remembered just in time that there was a
more interesting drama going on.   


     Then when Marianne got comfy she reached back to the nape of
her neck in that feminine gesture I'd taught her and began to pin
up imaginary loose hair back there.  Her breasts bobbed and thrust
themselves at whoever was watching, as her elbows rose and fell.
"Are you an old friend of JayCee's?" she asked innocently, in a
higher, more girlish voice than I'd ever heard her use.  Heard him
use!  Today, I realized, it would be better not to think of
Marianne as a girl, or I could blow this arrangement the way I
nearly blew yesterday's.  I tried to remember that she -- HE! -- 
had been a boy just a few days ago, a fit partner for Ronnie.  


     Marianne continued to play the minx.  "I've just moved to this
town," he said with a satisfied smile, "But JayCee and I are
already loving friends."


     "JayCee is one of my dearest friends, for a long time now,"
Ronnie replied.  "In a way, she made me what I am today, and I'm
very satisfied.  And grateful."


     "She likes to do that, doesn't she," said Marianne, as if I
weren't here.  "To me too.  'A man should be what he can do,' she
told me once.  John Wayne said it first.  Did she say that to you
too?"


     'A man.' Ronnie looked at this catlike babe preening herself
on the lounge chair, and began to understand.  A smile started on
his face, and I noticed his arm and shoulder muscles, his biceps
and triceps and latissimas and stuff, all started to swell up, as
if his muscles were like his cock, the bigger they got, the more
irresistible.


     "How good are you at being what you can do?," Marianne went
on.  "Can you rub sun tan lotion on my back?"


     He amazed me!  What a slut!  But Marianne really was using
this opportunity to try his skills at naked seduction.  He slipped
off his shoulder straps and lowered the front of his bathing suit
down to his navel, and flashed his huge tits at Ronnie for a moment
as he turned over onto his stomach.  Now that luscious ass was up
in the air, and his bare back open to Ronnie's hands.  "JayCee,
would you hand Ronnie that sun block?  I don't want to be too
exposed to the sun this time, not after last time."


     Now Ronnie looked addled.  He'd decided that Marianne was a
gay transvestite femme, more persuasive even than Petey.  But with
those tits?  His muscles didn't deflate, exactly, though his
shoulders came forward again, just a bit.  I'd trained Ronnie to
serve well, however, and when I handed him the little plastic
bottle without a word, he dutifully began to massage lotion onto
Marianne's back.


     Marianne really was something!  He knew what I was up to, and
had made up his own mind about it.  If sex with a man was the
agenda, he was going to have that first experience as straight sex, 
as a girl with a guy, not as a guy in drag in a homosexual
encounter.  If I was using Ronnie to initiate Marianne into the
pleasures of sex with boys, Marianne would use Ronnie to practice
being attractive, even seductive with boys.  He would begin
twisting a boy into love knots as only a girl can.     


     "You do that very well," came muffled from where Marianne was
face down on her arms.  "Do you do everything as well?"


     "Some things," Ronnie said, still uncertain, in the most
bitchy lilt imaginable.  "With some people.  It depends."  He was
sending a warning signal to this girl under his hands, if that's
what she was, not to play teasing games with him. 


     Marianne got the message.  He lifted his head and looked
Ronnie straight in the eye.  "I'll bet you say that to all the
boys," he said.  Then he lowered his head again.  "A little to the
left, honeybun." he said.  "And much lower down.  Ooooh, that feels
just scrumptious!  JayCee, do you think you might be getting a
little too much sun now yourself?"


     "Sure," I said.  "I guess so.  I'd better go in for a bit.  I
need to fix lunch.  And it looks like we'll need more towels,
anyhow."  I was a little annoyed to be asked to leave my own
swimming pool, but had to be amused by that fact, because it was
just what I had wanted to see happening.   Marianne getting it on
with a boy, and better, enjoying the pleasures of being in charge
while getting it on with a boy.  


     I hung out inside for about a half hour, looking out the back
window now and then to see what was happening.  Marianne has a real
vixen's instinct for this kind of thing, I thought.  The first time
I looked, Marianne was on his back and Ronnie had his hand on
Marianne's crotch, massaging whatever he felt there.  Marianne
meanwhile had his arms clasped and extended around Ronnie's neck
and shoulders, experimenting with different holds and grips.  He
settled finally on one hand on the back of Ronnie's neck and the
other arm draped across Ronnie's shoulders so his hand could caress
the hills and valleys of Ronnie's back muscles.  As I watched, the
hand on Ronnie's neck pulled him down into a kiss, and held him
there for a long time.  I turned away to look in the fridge.


     When I next looked Ronnie was on his knees in front of
Marianne while Marianne sat regally on the lounge, one leg forward,
looking down at him.  He had taken off his bathing suit, and was
now every boy's wet dream of a girl.  No way could I think of her
as a boy.  SHE was now naked, and her tits curved questioningly up
into the sunlight as she leaned back on one hand, playfully
caressing and ruffling Ronnie's hair with the other, that same
half-smile on her face.  Ronnie's face was in her lap, bobbing and
sucking away on Marianne's cock.  Then both of her hands pressed
Ronnie's head close onto her as she pumped her hips up repeatedly
to meet his mouth,  a blissful smile on her face.  Ronnie seemed to
be swallowing as fast as he could.


     Chile and crackers this time, I decided, and cans of soft
drinks.  I began heating it -- it would take a few minutes.  Now
Marianne was lying langorously back on the lounge chair, arms and
hair strewn in casual relaxation, while Ronnie was straddling her
chest and -- I had to say it -- servicing her mouth with his prick,
offering his goddess that impressive long sausage.  Cocksucking an
act demeaning women?  No way here.  She lay there as if the head of
his penis was a peeled grape offered for her delectation, licking
it, feeling the whole of it with full, rounded lips for just a
moment, tugging on it with those lips only, enjoying its velvety
texture.  Marianne's first cock!  With a royal wave of her hand,
she commanded Ronnie to sit higher over her neck so she could reach
and lick his balls without raising her head, then lower down again
so she could taste a delicate pearl of pre-cum she saw formed on
the tip of his penis.  I'd left the chile on the stove a bit longer
than I'd intended, and turned away.


     Then when I glanced out again I saw history repeating itself. 
On a towel on the ground, Marianne was crouched on her knees, her
head thrown back, and through the double-glass window I could hear
her shouting a muffled "Yes! Yes! Yes!" with every thrust of
Ronnie's long cock, now lunging deep into her, over and over and
over, in and out and in.  Ronnie was gripping her around her waist
with both arms as if holding on for dear life, and Marianne bucked
and pitched and heaved, that beautiful round ass grinding and
pushing back into Ronnie's cock and balls as if trying to wipe them
off his body.  I could see Ronnie's dong sliding and lurching in
and out, and Ronnie half hysterical with desire, and as I watched
I saw Marianne's face twist into ecstasy as she threw her head far,
far back, then began shaking it from side to side violently.  She
shouted "Ohhhhhhhh, yesssssss, ohhhhhhh, yessssssss!" in a voice
audible through the whole neighborhood I'm sure, and her own little
prick began spurting into the towel under her.


     Then to my amazement she turned and said something to Ronnie,
who hesitated.  She said it more firmly.  Ronnie looked bewildered,
disbelieving.  But he then pulled out of Marianne, and with his
purple-headed cock with its long white shank now glistening in the
sun, he lay down on his side on the towel.  She lay down facing
him, and took hold of his shoulders with both hands.  Then while
she held him at arm's length, she watched him jerk himself off
until he came into the towel!  Just where Marianne had just cum! 
I couldn't believe what I was seeing!  Her first fuck, and she was
already taking charge of her stud's climaxes!  She allowed Ronnie
to cum only as it pleased her, not as he might wish and she might
too, inside her.  She said something else, and Ronnie then bent
down to lick up the towel's mix of sweat amd cum.  I decided it was
time for me to bring out the chile and soda.  


     Marianne's ass was now no more virginal than mine, and she'd
spared herself the indignity of cum dripping out of it while we ate
lunch.  I looked at her carefully as I set down the tray and the
two of them put their bathing suits back on.  Her face was hard to
read, but there was no mistaking her spraddle-legged gait as she
came over to the poolside table and sat down in a chair, carefully. 
She had been well and truly fucked.  


     Did she like it?   She looked over at me earnestly and sent me
a kiss, to reassure me, and I realized, to thank me.  Was she now
addicted to sex with penetration, as a girl with her guy?  If so,
I might need to haul out that dildo after all, a pity in a way,
because sex with Marianne was so...natural, so lovely, just the way
we'd done it, as two girls together who cared for each other.  I
smiled, but Marianne wasn't sure yet whether to smile back.  In the
end she did, just enough to be reassuring.  She reached for my hand
and held it a minute.  It was so quick, so overwhelming, all of
this.  She needed time to process it.


     Ronnie came forward and sat down, picked up a bowl and ladled
out his own chile.  "Ah," he said.  "As Marianne keeps saying, just
lovely!  Is there ketchup too?"  


     We ate and splashed and joked with each other through much of
the afternoon, and as the sun began to lose its warmth Ronnie said
"I'll have to go soon, Marianne.  Will we see each other again?"


     "I don't see why not," Marianne replied, flashing him a smile
and a cute little wriggle of her rump.  "In fact, I don't see why
not now.  May we use your room, JayCee?"  I nodded, and off they
went.  


     I felt a twinge of jealousy I guess, despite the fact that the
day was working out perfectly.  Marianne was getting laid by a
good-sized prick, her curiosity about that part of being a girl
satisfied and piqued, getting it out of her system or getting it
into her system, whichever.  Whichever, it seemed to me that her
boyhood was fading further and further behind her, and would soon
be over the horizon.  She'd now fucked a girl and a boy, and
obviously there was more in it for her fucking a boy.  I'd seen and
heard that through the window, and she still hadn't gotten enough. 


     When Ronnie finally left with a promise to phone her, I looked
over to Marianne with my eyebrows raised to say, 'You don't have to
tell me everything, but you have to tell me something.'  


     "JayCee,"  Marianne said.  "Thank you.  Three days ago I had
no friends.  I've never had any friends.  Now I have two dear
friends, and I love you both, really, truly, and passionately.  And
you're the person who introduced me to both of them.  Maybe to
three wonderful people, if we count Marianne too."


     "Just doing my job, ma'am," I said in my best Sergeant Joe
Friday imitation.  Then I nudged her again.  "The facts, ma'am?"


     "The facts are, we fucked, and I love having a prick up my
ass.  I love sucking on cock when it's me doing the sucking, not
the prick getting itself sucked.  Now what do you think of that?"


     "You're quite a girl, Marianne," is all I could say.  "More a
girl than I'd ever imagined!"


     "I guess," she said, beaming at me.  "Everything I am today I
owe to you," she said.  "And, of course, to my mother."   She did
an elaborate, ungainly but theatrical bow after delivering that
line, her arms wide apart.  One part of my mind registered that she
certainly does need those modeling classes, but another wondered
what she really meant by that last remark. 


     "More than you'd think," I said.  It was a broad hint, a
little stupid I guess, but I was curious to find out if she knew
anything, and I don't know, I was feeling a little catty.  I'd
wanted Ronnie and Marianne to hit it off, no question, but they'd
flowed into each other like maple syrup into pancakes.  


     But Marianne answered, "No.  Not more than I'd think.  I think
I know what there is to know, JayCee.  I saw those books you've got
up in your bedroom, the ones you took out of the library a few days
ago, after you had that long talk with my Mom while I was down in
the basement.  Books about hormones, and transsexuals, and things
like that.  I can read, and I can add things up."  


     I just stared at her.  Those books!  Mostly hidden, but I'd
hauled them out again only this morning.  My bedside reading! 


     She went on.  "What's done is done, JayCee, and there's no use
crying over spilt mother's milk.  I know you both think it's for
the best.  Maybe it is.  I promised you I'd try it out, and that's
what I'm doing.  You said that Modeling School begins next Monday?"


     I went over and kissed her.  Marion had been my first real
lover, and Marianne was my first real girlfriend for sure.  I
couldn't speak.  She kissed me back.


     "JayCee," she said quietly, but not at all shyly.  "Do you
think we could go back to your room now for a little bit?  Ronnie
doesn't understand anything about breasts.  I suppose it's because
he's never had any himself, or desired any, so he has no feel for
people who do have them.   He's a great lay, but I have feelings
for you he'll never come near."


     I tried to say something, but nothing came out.  "Sure,
Marianne," I finally managed to whisper. "Whatever you say."


     
                            VII.


     Modeling school was a blast.  There were fifteen other girls
besides us, half of them genuine dyed-in-the-hair bubbleheads, the
other half in a range from feline to friendly to efficient.  The
teacher read Marianne right off, from the way she moved, or didn't
move, or something, and called her over.  Then after a moment she
called me over.


     "Uh, JayCee," she said.  "Marianne says I should speak to you
about this.  She puzzles me.  She has the lines and hips and height
of a high fashion model, but also of a man, and frankly, she moves
like a man.  I don't mean she's klutzy, and I don't even mean she
isn't gracious or dainty sometimes -- that doesn't matter -- I can
teach anyone that.  I mean she doesn't walk and move like someone
who holds herself in, someone who's spent a lifetime taking up no
more space than she must.  Like a woman.  She's far too open.  Is
there something I should know?"


     "Tell her, Marianne."


     Marianne hesitated and then squared her shoulders.  "I was
born a boy, and my mother's given me a girl's puberty without
telling me.  Why I don't know, and I won't ask her until I've
become as much what she wants as I can be.  She loves me and has
her reasons, I'm sure, and I love her.  What she wants is for me to
live like a girl.  So I'm giving it my best shot, and we'll see. 
JayCee's my dearest friend, and has been helping me.  She thinks
you can help me too." 


     "I think Marianne needs to learn to walk with cute, short
steps," I blurted out.  It had been on my mind.  "Not the long
stride of a high fashion model.  We want her to be attractive to
boys, and a long stride would intimidate them, I think."  


     The teacher looked at me.  "Straight to the point, aren't you,
JayCee."  She considered a moment.  "All right!  I just don't want
any ringers in here, any peeping Toms taking advantage of my girls. 
You'll all be seeing a lot of each other, and I don't mean just in
terms of time, though that too.  We have a single common dressing
room here."


     "There'll be no problem, ma'am," Marianne said.  "You'll see
soon enough.  None."


     She looked over at Marianne.  "Those are real then?  They'd
better be, or we'll all know straight away, the first time we
change clothes, and we do a lot of that.  Around 36 C, aren't you? 
Too large for high fashion anyhow.  All right, I'll teach you how
to make boys' pricks drool into their pants whenever they see you.
So they'll want to fuck the air you've set in motion after you've
passed by. You know what I mean, don't you?  Do you drool into your
pants now when a girl goes by?"


     A trick question.  She was asking Marianne how  she was
equipped, and warning her there'd be no fucking around with the
other girls.  Marianne caught on right away, "No ma'am," she said. 
"I get a little wet there sometimes, the way girls do when the
right kind of guy goes by."


     Hearing that evasion, the teacher just looked at Marianne and
said nothing. Then "All right, let's get started!"


     Right off we both learned that a girl is always on display,
and that walking around with books on your head is old hat.  "You
are mannequins, suspended from the top of your head by a cord
fastened to the ceiling," she began.  "Whenever you stand, whenever
you walk, even when you are bending over to get into a car, you are
suspended by the tops of your heads, lighter and more fragile than
you have ever imagined yourself!"  And so it went.  By the end of
the two weeks we had relearned every gesture, even how to use a
knife and fork, and how to chew.  And lots more about makeup, and
clothes, and how to say "yes" and "no" without giving a guy any
more ideas than we want him to have.


     I suppose lots of girls actually live and move and think the
way the teacher taught us to live, move, and think, but lots don't. 
I didn't worry it, because everything I do is what a girl does
whatever I may do.  But Marianne carefully learned everything, each
move and posture and gesture, and practiced them all the time,
because for her that was all there was.  The weekend between the
first and second week of classes, she never let down.  Not even
when her face was in my pussy and mine was sucking her clitty cock
and licking her crotch, and we were both stroking each others'
breasts and bursting out of our skins with passionate feeling, her
hands always stayed arched, so her fingers seemed longer and more
delicate, and her neck always stayed swanlike.  When she left my
house to walk to her own, it was always with the tight little short
steps she had learned, and the cutest sway of her hips and wiggle
in her ass, a real busybody blonde walk that attracted men as if
she were walking stark naked.  She loved it, and told me how cars
passing on the street had started honking at her even when she was
wearing a respectable A-line skirt ending well past her knees.


     She learned even more from being with all the other girls. 
The talk was boys and sex and clothes, and sex and boys, and
because we weren't going to see each other again it was altogether
uninhibited.  Marianne told some wicked stories, partly true and
partly not, and became a favorite -- some of the girls even
developed girl-crushes on her, and they hugged and kissed their
greetings each morning before classes began.  We found out
everyone's kinks, who liked leather, who pulled trains, who swung
both ways, and who were swingers.  


     I told them once that I told every boy I dated that I was
keeping my vagina for the boy I'd marry.  Clara asked, "You mean
you're a virgin?"  Clara was a frail wisp of a girl, all blonde
lace with pale, dreamy eyes, teeny, weighing not even 100 pounds,
seemingly helpless, a doll.  But don't believe it.  Underneath her
delicate appearance she was a tough dyke who loved using whips on
boys or girls, and loved people who loved whips.  


     I told her "No, not a virgin."  Marianne caught my eye, and we
grinned at each other, and Clara saw..


     Then she said, "My mother was a professional dominatrix, and
I mean to be just like her.  She told me she used that line too,
all the time, when she was in High School.  It gets guys' attention
and respect, and then you've got them by the balls."  


     "But in her case it was true, enough, until she got married to
my Dad and got pregnant with me.  Then she reversed field.  After
that my father became the only man in her life who was never
allowed into her cunt.  The postman could fuck her silly, while he
listened, and on rare occasions might be allowed to watch, and
never to come nearer.  For the next twelve years he slept in their
bedroom closet, lying on her soiled linens from whatever her
previous day's bedroom activity, her panties from her previous day
always stuffed in his mouth, listening through the door to 
whatever Mom was doing with her clients.  He never again shared her
bed, and she told me he wore a cock cage for the rest of his life,
so he could never masturbate and of course could never cum himself. 
  He just lay there and listened all night to other men screaming
and moaning and pleading, their cries of joy and their grunting and
sighing."  


     "That was his gift to her, self-denial, and he knew she loved
him above all the others because of that gift.  He told me when he
was already terminally ill, near the end, that he wouldn't have
changed a thing, and I know he died happy.  Mom was inconsolable. 
That's the kind of boy I'll marry some day, when I can find one. 
I use that line too, I'm saving myself, and so on.  But meanwhile
I fuck whoever pleases me." 


     I told her I felt the same way sometimes, but didn't know what
kind of boy I'd marry, if any.  She glanced at Marianne and said
nothing.


     Mostly wearing only our bras and panties, getting in and out
of different dresses and outfits with all those other girls all the
time, always poised and hanging from a cord suspended from the
heavens, then from a string, then a thread, then from nothing at
all, wearing perfect makeup every moment no matter what, everything
we did got to be second nature.  My mother commented on how refined
I'd become all of a sudden, even in my table manners, and I smiled
at her in a wearied woman-of-the-world way.  


     Marianne saw Ron a few more times, so it wasn't necessary for
me to haul out my dildo ever when we made love together.  The
second weekend of modeling classes, in fact, Ronnie called to ask
me why Marianne was being so dainty, so utterly feminine. "She's
almost no fun to fuck any more," he said. "She's getting to be too
much like a girl.  She even makes those delighted squeals girls in
porn movies make, whenever I pump her just right.  My other
boyfriends never do that.  It's kind of sweet, but doesn't she ever
let down?  When I mentioned it she told me that if I complain
again, she'll order me to sleep in my own bedroom closet.  Can you
imagine?"  


     I told him not to worry about it.  Marianne had a moment of
decision coming up in another week or two and was giving being a
girl her all now.  I thought it was a foregone conclusion.  But
Marianne had to realize that herself.


     A while later, a friend phoned as expected to say she was
throwing that house party now that her folks were going out of
town, and she was short a few girls.  Would I come, and did I know
who else to bring?


     Well, it happens I did.  Marianne got wonderfully excited, and
got herself up in that slinky green dress and high, high heels. 
With her delicate air and her brilliant smile outlined in bright
crimson, she was a smashing success.  


     The day before the party we practiced dancing while suspended
by a cord.  Our slow dancing got so amorous we never managed to
finish a set.  Marianne got so hot that she told me whatever we'd
done with each other, and that was a lot, she always had to go over
to Ron's for a good fucking afterward to finish her off.  She
kissed me in case I needed reassurance, but she told me she now
thought a hot cock spurting into her bowels was one of God's
greatest gifts.  I wasn't sure about that myself, but I couldn't
disagree.


     I warned her that during this first night of partying she
should put out for no one no matter how badly she might feel
tempted, or she'd get a reputation for being easy, and that meant
she'd have to put out for everyone.  Especially, she'd be bothered
all year by nerds who could only get dates with sluts no one else
wanted.  


     I doubt she needed to be told that.  During the party she
played games.  She got one guy groveling on the floor looking for
an earring for her, and then she straddled his head with her high
heels, and looked down at him, and flashed her panties at him, and
asked if he'd found what he was looking for.  He must have creamed
in his jeans right then and there.  During every dance, she brushed
her breasts against her partners unrelentingly, with noticeable
effect on the size of the bulge in their pants.  Then, the way she
glanced at their swollen crotches and pursed her mouth the way we'd
been taught, then smiled at them, she seemed to promise every guy
she met a fabulous cocksucking.  Shameless?  Guys drooling in their
pants?  There wasn't a dry pair of drawers in the house, I'm sure.


     The next night after the house party Marianne had dinner with
my family so we could get an early start on a movie together. 
Registration time for the school year was approaching, and she'd
need soon to make up her mind, was she Marianne, a tease who had
lots of fun, or was she Marion, a boy with tits.  That was the
deal.  


     When we were both of us were using our best modeling school
manners to butter bread and scoop up salad, my mother said, "You
know, it's strange, dear.  When I first met you the day you moved
in, I thought you were a boy.  I suppose it was those loose clothes
you were wearing to help with the move."


     "Marianne?" I said surprised  "A boy?  Did you see her in that
green dress yesterday?"