"As it happens, I did see her," said my mother, quickly
distracted, "That's a lovely dress, dear.  Green is certainly your
color.  I wish JayCee would dress herself as attractively.  But to
each her own I suppose."


     "I think we're lucky," Marianne answered thoughtfully.  "Girls
can wear anything we want.  We can play with who we are.  Boys and
men don't get much chance even to find out what they might enjoy
wearing if they could."


     So there we were.  Marianne was one of "we" girls in front of
my mother.  If Marianne was ever going to be a boy again, she'd
certainly have a lot to explain to my mother, who now thought she'd
been wrong when she first met him and thought he was a boy.  Or
else she'd have to leave town.  Marianne seemed unworried by the
prospect. 


     Then after the movie when we were walking home from the mall,
two guys I knew showed up.  It was a hot night, and Marianne
happened to be wearing not much at all.  Some sandals with three
inch heels, because it was one of her "heel" days, when she wanted
to practice walking in heels as she'd been taught, with a really
provocative sway to her rump, and short shorts, and the barest
see-through blouse with her prettiest lace bra altogether visible. 
Her hair was piled high off her neck, and held there with a darling
little gold comb.  And she'd slathered on the eye makeup, because
I'd commented that at night in dark places you can't wear too much
eye makeup, and for a joke she'd been trying to prove I was wrong. 
Seductive?  She looked scorching!  And who should happen by?


     "Hi JayCee. Arent you going to introduce us?"  


     I looked, and immediately saw manna from heaven!  Money in the
bank.  "Hi, Jeff, Will.  This is Jeffrey and Wilmott, Marianne," 
I said.  "Jeff is President of the Senior Class this coming year. 
He bought the votes with Wilmott's money.  They do things like that
together."


     They were paying no attention to me.  "Hi, Marianne," they
both said together, each one taking one of her hands, and then
realizing they were being ridiculous, but neither one wanting to
let go.  We walked four abreast for a while, bumping into each
other, and finally we split off, Marianne with Jeff and me with
Wilmott, talking about how our summer had gone as they walked each
of us home.  


     Willmot was already on my string -- we'd already dated a few
times, and he had graduated from only licking my pussy to my
jacking him off if he said sweet things to me, though he was still
a long way from my ass.  I began scouting him in a new way, though. 
His parents had maybe even more money than Jane seemed to have, and
I was thinking I should know more about what rich boys like, if I'd
be going to college where they went.  I later found out rich boys
want the same things any boy wants, only they think they're
entitled.  That gave me special pleasure later on, when I'd make
someone especially wealthy beg permission to humiliate himself, and
then refuse him. 


     Soon after I got home from our movie date my bedroom phone
rang.  It was Marianne of course, just delivered to her house by
Jeff.


     "Wasn't that wonderful, JayCee, running into those two boys. 
Are all the boys in the senior class that nice?  And handsome?"


     "No, Marianne.  But lots are.  Why are you so excited now
about two more guys in your life. You were one yourself not long
ago, remember?"    


     "One thing at a time, JayCee.  First, Jeff wants to take me to
the RamaRama concert a week from Saturday.  He's got tickets! 
JayCee, no one can get tickets to that concert, not for weeks now! 
I told him Yes!  I'm so excited!  Can I borrow that embroidered
jumper of yours?  I'm sure it would fit, maybe it would be a little
short, but for a concert that's fine, and with a boy like Jeff,
better than fine.  Or would you go shopping with me to help me buy
something like it?"


     I checked and doublechecked the calendar in my head, then
looked at the one on my desk.


     "Marianne, slow down.  Listen carefully.  You accepted a date
with Jeff for a week from Saturday?"


     "Yes.  Is there something about him I should know?"


     "No.  Something about yourself.  The previous Wednesday you
and your mother will be registering for the Fall term at the High
School.  As what?  That's when our agreement ends.  You'll have
tried out what it's like to be a girl, in order to make up your own
mind which you prefer."


     "So?"


     "So?" I mimicked her.  "You sound as if you've made up your
mind."


     "JayCee, how can I ever go back to being Marion?  Jeff knows
where I live.  He thinks he knows who I am.   He thinks I'm a girl. 
So does your mother.  And you know something, so do I, most of the
time these days.  It's *so* much more fun!"


     "Marianne, listen to me.  Do you want to be Marion in school?"


     "I'd thought that was what I wanted.  I mean, playing Marianne
for the summer was a good idea, certainly, but....  Well, if all
the kids think that's who I am, I can't be anyone else, can I?"  


     "No, you can't.  But Marianne can disappear, and Marion can
replace her.  Who'd suspect foul play?  This is a small town. 
Decision time.  Who would you rather be?"


     "JayCee" -- she was still playing hard to get to decide --  "I
have more fun as Marianne.  I look more like Marianne.  With you I
feel more like Marianne.  As Marianne, I felt like kissing Jeff
goodnight just now, so I did.  It was so sweet, JayCee!  Don't
worry, only on the cheek.  But how could I do that as Marion?"  


     "Talk it over with your Mom."


     Now her voice changed.  I realized that she'd been riding the
high wave of her excitement over dating Jeff, a charmer and the
class President, a kind of signature on her success as a girl.  
But all the while, she knew there were serious things going on.  


     "I did talk with my Mom, JayCee.  She says I can date boys
through the first term, and enlarge my circle of friends among the
girls in the class.  I can giggle and be one of the girls easily
now, ever since the modeling class, thanks to you, and I'm sure
I'll get on fine with the other girls.  The other girls, JayCee,
that's how I feel about them."  


     "Marion never had a social life, and never will, he's so
self-conscious about his body.  You were right all along, JayCee. 
I love being Marianne.  I really have no choice anymore anyhow. 
But if being Marianne doesn't work out, my Mom says, we'll move
again to another school at mid year.  If it does work out, then
I'll be Marianne through the whole of next year, and that'll mean
through college and for life.  I like the idea."


     "You've helped me wonderfully, JayCee.  I hope you still will. 
Now I know how to make love to a girl because of you, and how girls
can make love to each other.  I know how to satisfy boys with my
mouth and my ass, and how to satisfy my mind by making them jump
through hoops too if I feel like it.  I know how to tell boys not
to use my pussy because I'm not on the pill (even though I am), but
that if they want to push into my ass I'd love it.  And I do.  I do
love it.  So will they too, I expect.  Marianne hasn't got a pussy
for them to lick, the way you do, but you can't have everything,
and there's really no choice any more."


     "Think about it.  The way I move and talk, and the things I
like talking about these days, how can I ever be a boy again?  I'd
look and sound like the most flaming nancy anyone ever saw.  And
with tits?  I'd be a real freak!  You made the point weeks ago, but
I didn't want to believe it them.  I've got no choice."  She
paused.  "JayCee, will you lend me that jumper?  Please?  Or else
come shopping with me?"
 
"Come over tomorrow, and we'll try it on you," I said.  "But while
we're on the topic, will you take one more word of advice?"


     "As many as you have, JayCee."


     "After the concert, you should try to swallow all of it when
he cums.  Boys like that.  For them it's kind of like cumming
inside you.  I don't know if you ever did blow Ronnie all the way
or if you mostly let him cum only when he was fucking Mary Fist,
but that's the way it is with boys like Jeff." 


     "I appreciate that, JayCee.  I really do.  Thank you."


     A half hour later Jane called to thank me as well, and to find
out how she should address her firm's letter of congratulations to
me on my being granted a four year full scholarship to any college
of my choice.  And to ask my opinion about various ways to set up
the trust fund, before she spoke to my folks about it.  Part way
through, she started crying.  So did I.  And ten minutes later,
neither of us had managed to stop crying, so we said we'd talk
together again real soon and hung up.


     
                              VIII.


     Well, our two Senior years went about how you'd expect.  We
saw a lot of each other, as girls will, and double-dated sometimes,
but we each had our own separate lives to get on with too.  I got
into interscholastic Brain Trust competitions, and wiped up the
floor with competing teams from lots of other different high
schools, not because I knew more than they did, but because I knew
how to look at the boys on the other teams when they thought they
knew more -- sometimes an injured look, sometimes furious, I could
always tell what would fluster them.  I won a Thousand Dollar
Scholarship from the competition's sponsors for the highest scores
in the All-State division, but that was scarcely noticeable when it
went into the trust fund Jane set up for me.  I got good grades,
but that's never been a problem for me, and I got into just the
right kind of college too, and I'm about to graduate this year. 
But wait, I'll get there.  


     My sex life that last Senior year also went the way you'd
expect.  I enlarged the number of guys I had on my string, and they
kept me plenty satisfied.  Five of them earned rear end privileges
that year.  I took in guys with wealthy parents and big allowances,
who bought me the nicest presents whenever I gave them the
opportunity, and took me to terrific shows and concerts.  Gradually
I refined my ways of dealing with them, and even now they
appreciate it when I give them a call and let them do things for
me.  


     I finally allowed two real dolts to fuck me properly in the
cunt, the way Marianne had done it with her little clit when she
took my virginity.  I could let them because they were both big,
tough, and nasty, so it was easy for me to threaten each of them
with quick retribution from the other if he ever said anything
about me and word got around.  It was OK.  Guys are guys, I
decided, no big deal.


     Way better were my sessions with Marianne.  She was so sweet! 
So all-girl!  Somehow, whatever we ever did together, go to the
beauty parlor, cheer the hunks at a football game, shop, check out
a movie or a concert, share our homework assignments, we always
ended up in bed together, and it was always just lovely.  Toward
the end, I got a feeling that Marianne was less passionate than I
was, even a little absent-minded when we were making love.  But my
own desires more than made up for it! 


     Marianne looked like she was having a blast, and it turned out
she was.  She auditioned for the role of Viola in our class play,
Shakespeare's *Twelfth Night*, Viola being a girl who pretends to
be a boy, usually played by a boy actor in SHakespeare's time, only
Marianne was a boy no longer pretending to be a girl but pretending
to be a boy.  She got a standing ovation -- no one had ever seen as
dainty and feminine a girl become as noble and gallant a gentleman,
and then change back again.  She dated Jeff a few times more, and
they really looked like an Item for Keeps, but one sad evening she
told him she wasn't really ready for him, and she started dating
lots of other guys.  Lots.  I lost count.  Ronnie told me they
still saw each other now and then, I figured probably for the same
reasons we still saw each other, for the sake of old times and
present friendship.  


     But Jeff was her date for her Senior Prom after all, and just
as her mother had wanted, it was magical for her.  He'd carried the
torch for her the whole time, all through that year, and when he
asked her late that Spring, he looked so sorrowful, she told me,
she had to accept.  I remember her well, the specially chosen date
of the President of the Senior Class making her grand entrance on
his arm.  She was radiant.  True, she wasn't voted Queen of the
Prom, but as Jeff's date she got to crown the Prom Queen, a twit we
all knew was already pregnant by the son of the local bookmaker. 
She did it as if she herself were made of whipped cream, parfait,
and air, and no one looked at the Queen.  Wherever Marianne went in
her floating white gown, that night she seemed suspended from the
heavens.


     That night was Jeff's night too.  She told me that Jeff's
prick was even bigger than Ronnie's, and a lot fatter, she knew
that from blowing him after the RamaRama concert, and that she
wanted to make his Prom night with her unforgettable.  She owed him
so much.  He had been her first real crush, one of the most
important reasons why she had become what she was, and she couldn't
ever forget it.  So during the weeks preceding their big night
together we worked systematically to enlarge Marianne's rosebud,
with bigger and bigger butt plugs, and before she started to get
dressed for her Prom -- she looked absolutely angelic, have I
mentioned that? -- we gave her four successive enemas, so she would
be clean and sweet for him.  And she was.


     She danced every dance, with Jeff more than with any other
guy, but also with lots of the guys she'd dated during the year,
who kept coming back to her the way mine did when I'd let them. 
For Marianne though, that night, Jeff was special.  When the dance
ended at two in the morning we all went together to Burger Bob's,
and then afterward we each went withour dates our own separate
ways.  


     I was feeling nostalgic, and arranged to play Show and Tell
with two utterly straight arrows I wanted to see blow each other
before my high school years ended -- my date and another girl's
date, a girl who bet me I couldn't get either of them to do it, and
who thereby lost a double forfeit.  They looked beautiful, 69ing
together on the grass with their eyes tight shut, like hungry
nursing infants.  The other guy's date, the girl who lost her bet
with me, was just amazed to watch my techniques as I persuaded them
to go ahead and suck each other off.  As tuition alone she got her
money's worth 


     But Marianne's was the real romantic adventure.  As she told
me afterward, at four in the morning when the early dawn light in
the sky was just enough visible to keep the street lamps from
seeming lonely, she and Jeff parked on High Ridge Hill and looked
down on all the gleaming and twinkling lights of the city below. 
Marianne blew Jeff twice, and the second time when they kissed, he
sipped his own semen from her lips, lost in a delicious erotic
trance.  Then he wanted desperately to do something for her,
anything, as she knew he would.  So she bent way over in the car
seat, on her back with her legs high in the air, and with what she
later described as an imaginary blare of trumpets, Jeff entered her
rear with his enormous cock.  She was absolutely rapturous, telling
me about it a few days later, when she could again think about it
without choking up for joy.  He fucked her for nearly an hour
before she came finally into her Kotex pad, delerious with pleasure
for the last half-hour of it and hoarse from screaming, and then
finally he came deep inside her.  They solemnly traded class rings,
which was just as well as a gesture Marianne told me, because their
fingers were each the same size and the rings were identical.  She
had stars in her eyes the whole time, Marianne said, and when she
got home and woke up the following afternoon, she found her mother
had already pressed her corsage into the family Bible.  It was
perfect!


     We went to different colleges that fall, and we stayed in
touch during the next few years.  Marianne majored in business to
prepare herself to take over some of her mother's spinoff
companies, and she means to do just that now that she's graduating. 
I majored in psychology, developmental psych because I wanted to
know everything that's known about bringing people from one concept
of themselves to another, and abnormal because as I already knew,
people's kinks are their most interesting features, the ones where
they find their greatest joys, and I wanted to teach them how to
accept them.  The world could do with more more accepting of
oddity.


     
                                   IX.


     Not long ago I returned home for the Easter break just before
graduation from college.  I'd already been admitted for graduate
training in Clinical Psychology, and decided to specialize in
gender identity transformation, a core area of concern to me.  It
seemed to me that there's an enormous need for specialists to help
men convert to become the women they wish to be, or women the men. 
My own experience with Marianne I found was in no way unique.  But
I had an idea I wanted to float past Jane.  I had plans for the
future, and I wanted to see if she was interested in a partnership.


     It was old home week.  I ran into Ronnie almost immediately --
he'd tried different things and had finally become a hairdresser,
with his massive, muscled physique the most fashionable and
successful one in town.  He smiled wickedly when he told me that
two of his seven employees, his cute little manicurist and his
vivacious curling assistant, were both really boys under their
short-skirted smocks and impeccable makeup, and that in fact they
were going steady with each other.  We chatted about different
people we'd known.  I asked him about Petey, and Ron shook his
head.  "Petey never straightened himself out," Ronnie said.  "He
went with a couple of tops like me for a while, then with an s/m
motorcycle gang, and lately he's taken up with a little girl way
below the age of consent.  He says he prefers her to anyone he's
ever met, because she doesn't boss him around.  But the FBI are
already watching him, and I don't think that relationship has a
future."


     A pity, I thought, and Ronnie agreed.  And what of Marianne? 
I hadn't seen her for several years.  


     Ronnie brightened.  "JayCee, I thought you knew.  We're going
steady, in a way.  We're even thinking we might get engaged. 
Marianne often comes home to learn more about taking over a big
chunk of his mother's business.  I see him all the time.  Didn't he
write you?"


     "No," I said.  "Marianne didn't write me.  Why do you call her
'he' when you speak of her?  You're thinking about an engagement? 
To each other?  I'm confused."


     Ronnie moved to the edge of the streetcorner where we'd just
run into each other.  "I have to go.  Why don't you phone ahead,
then show up for cocktails this afternoon at Marianne's mother's
house.  He's home from college just before graduation, just like
you.  I know they'll both be overjoyed to see you.  They always
speak of you with love and respect and admiration, even a little
awe.  And Jane mentioned you need to talk business with her anyow,
isn't that so?"


     I did.  But Ronnie and Marianne, a couple?  This was
bewildering!  Had Marianne reverted back to being a boy?


     When I came to the front door, there was Marianne looking as
beautiful as ever.  We immediately fell into each other's arms and
hugged each other, and kissed each other with deep affection,
immediately back in our old relationship.  It was so wonderful!  It
was as if years and separate lives had never come between us, and
there we were about to complete our last year in High School all
over again.  


     "My dearest JayCee!  Do come in!  Mom'll be here shortly --
she stepped out only a minute ago.  We've got so much to tell each
other!"  Our cheeks were wet, and Marianne's eyes were as brimfull
as mine, pools of mascara beginning to flow from them as she pulled
me into the house and sat me down in the kitchen, in the very same
chair where nearly five years earlier I'd discussed her
transformation with her mother.  I'm sure my face looked a mess
too, but it was a terribly moving moment for both of us.  We
couldn't let go of each other, or stop kissing each other's cheeks
and hair.


     When I could recover. I just looked at her.  "Marianne, you
haven't changed at all.  You look just the same."


     "And you too, JayCee!  It's so good to see you haven't really
changed either!  Despite how you do your hair now.  That's lovely
too, incidentally!"  


     "But you've changed in other ways, just a little, haven't you,
Marianne?  When we were still close,  you were dating straight men,
the prize studs in our high school  And delighted to be the
attractive girl you'd decided to become."


     She nodded, still looking so very pleased to see me she seemed
scarcely to be listening.


     "Now Ronnie tells me you two are thinking of getting engaged?" 



     She smiled her half-smile, and nodded.


     "That's wonderful news, but a little puzzling.  I'm sure you
know that.  Everything I've learned tells me that physical sex can
be changed surgically, and gender identity sometimes, as in your
case, but sexual preferences rarely.  Maybe never.  Isn't Ronnie
still gay?  Gay, and planning to marry a gorgeous woman like you? 
How can that be?  He'd never marry just to go stealth with his
homosexuality.  He's proud of it."


     Marianne looked at me with kindly affection.   


     "This may shock you, JayCee, but I know you'll understand.  I
haven't changed.  I'm not a woman.  I've never been a woman.  That
summer we met I was a boy with tits, and now deep in my heart I'm
a man with tits."


     I stared at her speechless.


     "I'm gay, JayCee.  Like Ronnie.  And I'm proud of it too.  My
mother never knew it.  I didn't know it when you started teaching
me how to become a girl, a woman, the woman I seem to be even now. 
But I knew it soon after that last year of High School began, and
I accepted it, and I've never looked back.  I don't really regret
it.  I am what I am.  It's been just wonderful!  It will be for the
rest of my life, I just know it."


     I tried to smile with her.  I was happy for her.  She was
happy, and she always looked especially beautiful when she was
happy, and she looked especially beautiful.  She?  Ronnie had
called her "he."  And she had just called herself a man.  A man
with tits.  A man with tits in a beautifully cut Chanel type suit
and a silk, scoop-necked blouse.  And diamond drop earrings.  And
trim, elegant 3" heels.


     She saw me looking her up and down, struggling with this
revelation.


     "That time I made it with you as a man was nice, JayCee, and
I appreciate what you did for me that day especially, and that I
was your first man where it mattered, and all.  I'll never forget
it.  And we've had some beautiful times together, making love as
women.  But Ronnie really opened me out to what I am, that time by
your swimming pool.  And then that night with Jeff after the
concert, our first date, when dawn came and I was still making love
to his cock, and couldn't stop myself, and he was still able to get
hard and cum in my mouth yet again, as I so wanted him to do -- I
didn't understand it.  I couldn't come near him without feeling my
own cock start to drool."  


     "It was hopeless, of course.  Jeff is as straight as a man can
be, which is why he was attracted to me in the first place, and
even fell in love with me, a little.  I did try to cool it with him
and take up other guys.  All through that last year, with lots of
other guys.  And I loved sex with them, the same way I love it with
Ronnie.  I used your line about saving your cunt for the father of
your children, and I used them to pleasure me the way you use men,
but I didn't love any of them.  If anyone, I loved Jeff.  I truly
loved Jeff."


     "That's only natural, Marianne.  You were a girl.  A woman. 
Women love men."


     "No, JayCee, just listen.  Women love men.  But so do gay men. 
I loved Jeff as a gay man.  That Prom night is still the happiest
night of my life.  I was back with Jeff one last time, kissing and
sucking and licking him the way I'd always wanted ever since we
first met at the movies and he first walked me home.  I wanted to
eat him up.  It was just marvelous!  And then when finally I was
ready, and had to have him, for the first time to feel his meat
crammed deep into me, to feel him pump his juices deep into me --
heaven!  And when he fell asleep in my arms as dawn came on High
Ridge Hill, and the sun rose and woke him, and I looked at his face
and held him all the while he slept?  Ecstasy!  Beyond belief! 
He's the man I was born for, JayCee.  His is the penis destined to
enter my vagina, if I had one, and it's his sperm I'd want to have
share in the creation of my children, if I could have any."  


     "But it can't be.  I knew instinctively, from the very
beginning, that all the wishing in the world would never get him
interested in me if I weren't a girl.  Even when he was walking me
home, that first time, when you first introduced him to me,  I knew
it.  Only a girl can ever get close to him.  That's how he is.  And
really, that's why I agreed to start High School as a girl that
summer.  Then we started getting really serious, and I knew if we
went much further he would have to find out about me, I knew that
he'd hate me for deceiving him.  And that would break both our
hearts.  I knew then that I had to break off with him.  I cried for
days when I realized that.  But I did it.  Except for Prom night,
our one last glorious fling into a fantasy fulfillment of what
might have been."


     "Anyhow, that's why I was such a slut for so much of that
year, JayCee.  After Jeff, I felt sheer delight that I'd discovered
I love boys, and love being fucked by boys, and love pleasing them
and being pleasured by them!  I'm gay, JayCee, and probably always
have been but never knew it.  I know it now.  And I'm not ashamed
to say so."


     Marianne's confession -- Marion's? -- confounded me utterly. 
I stared at the gorgeous girl in front of me, my dearest friend
from that summer, my own creation in a way, the reason I'd been
able to go to the smart college I'd chosen, and meet so many
wealthy potential clients, and plan the career for which I was
preparing myself.  I was speechless, and could barely splutter out,
"Wait a minute, Marianne, just wait.  You say you're gay?  You mean
you're not a girl, you're a boy who likes other boys?"


     She -- no, he -- was patient with me.  "That's right, JayCee. 
And I'm really, truly indebted to you for helping me find that
out."


     "I did?  But Marianne, I was teaching you how to be a girl. 
And teasing you into being a girl.  And persuading you how much
better it is, being a girl.  None of that took?"


     She -- he -- she -- smiled that absolutely darling half-smile
again, wry yet knowing, with that narrow sidelong glance I knew had
caused stumbling in corridors and drooling in lots of pants all
through our Senior year.


     "Oh, a lot of it took, JayCee.  And you were right.  It's a
lot better being a girl.  I've been willing to let my Mom change my
sex to "Female" on my school records, and my birth certificate, and
so on.  I've gone to college as a girl.  I mean to marry as a girl,
and live in some respectable neighborhood as a girl.  As you see,
I still dress like a girl, and I'm deeply grateful you taught me
how.  But deep down I'm a boy.  Always have been.  I could never
fool myself about that.  I tried to be a girl, but I really had no
choice in the matter.  My gender is "man".  And my sexual
preference is "other men."  I love other men.  Some of them,
anyhow."


     I was still baffled!.  "But, Marianne!  Marion!  But John
Wayne, for goodness sake!  If you're not a girl and you've got no
choice in the matter, why are you still dressed like one, and still
living like one?  Why haven't you changed back?"


     She leaned forward and took my two hands in hers.  Or he did
in his.  "For two reasons, JayCee.  I figured you'd be smart enough
to see them without me telling you, but I guess this is a real blow
to you.  Anyhow, one reason is what you proved to me that first day
by your swimming pool.  With my big boobs and my little cock, and
my shape and my face after all those hormones Mom fed me, I had no
future as a boy.  It's easy for me to pass as a girl, but there's
no way I can pass as a man.  Mom meant well, and she meant to lock
me in.  And she did."


     "But I don't feel imprisoned in a girl's body.  I like looking
like a girl.  It's fun!   It's so much more free than being a man! 
I don't want to change back.  Ah, I can see now by your face you've
just suddenly realized why I don't want to change back!  You just
caught on, huh?"  He grinned at me conspiratorially.


     I  was amazed!  I grinned back, and then stood up and came
around the table and impulsively hugged him.  "You sly creature
you!" I said, looking him in the face, delighted.  "You clever boy,
I mean!  It's so obvious!  Looking the way you do, dressed the way
you do, you don't need to go searching for other like-minded gay
men when you want sex or companionship!  You can date anyone, and
looking the way you do when you're all dolled up, you really can
date anyone at all!  You can sleep with any man you can get into
bed with you, straight or crooked!  You can stuff your mouth or
your ass with any cock in America, if that's what pleases you and
you can please whoever's attached to it."


     Marianne's grin broadened even more.  "You've got it, JayCee! 
Looking like a girl, with everyone thinking that's what I am, my
grazing grounds are the whole male population.  Most of them low
risk as far as AIDS goes, with a huge range of compatible interests
and temperaments to choose from.  And you taught me how boys really
want to do what girls want anyhow, and how to get them to do it, so
it's no trick for me to get a guy into bed with me if I like him. 
And then to get him to please me any way I want him to."


     I was highly amused by this realization.  "And I'll bet I know
what you tell them when they want to fuck your pussy, and instead
you offer them your ass."  


     Marianne glanced at me sideways again, still grinning. 
"That's right!  And I really am saving it for the man I love and
will one day marry.  I can marry a man now, you know.  Legally." 
She stood up and posed, placed her whole body on display, arms
extended, the way we'd been taught. "And after I'm married, I can
always get a vagina installed surgically if my husband wants me to
have one.  Though Ronnie says he's happy with me the way I am." 


     We had gotten to it.  


     "Yes," I said.  "Ronnie's a sweet boy and all that, Marianne. 
But we both know that he has certain ... limits, as a companion for
someone as clever as you are.  You could have your pick of the
whole straight or gay population, it seems.  Why Ronnie?"


     "JayCee, I can't pick from the straight population except for
one-nighters or brief affairs.  I'm not a transsexual, a man who
feels he's a woman and wants to be treated like one, and perhaps
live with a man.  I'm gay, a man who finds it convenient to look
like a woman, inescapable really, but who wants to live with a man. 
Ronnie's the only man who knows this.  He's so wonderfully
understanding.  He's there for me whenever I need him.  I adore
him!  And he loves me, too!  He's even letting me sow all the wild
oats I want, until I'm ready to settle down, whenever that happens. 
I guess I should say, he's letting me encourage all the men I find
attractive to sow their wild oats in me.  And it happens that after
all, I did save my pussy for the man I may most likely marry.  As
you know, Ronnie really was my first."


     "We've exchanged little tokens, and we think it'll happen some
day, but there's no hurry.  And it's convenient for Ronnie, too. 
He's never been flamboyant about being homosexual, not since you
started him with Petey, way back.  Not too many people outside this
town know about him.  And once we're married there'll be no reason
for anyone ever to know. We can both seem utterly respectable to
the outside world.  We both find that prospect amusing." 


     Marianne went into the living room and started mixing
cocktails for both of us, Margaritas with salt frosting on the rim
of the glass.  He then carried them back into the kitchen and we
sat there sipping them.  The kitchen seemed more familiar, more
intimate ground.  I complimented him on his lovely outfit, and he
complimented me on my hair again.  I'd finally decided to wear it
straight, cropped at earlobe length, with bangs, blow-dried but
nothing else.  A 1920's flapper style.  No more Betty Grable.  He
smiled, and asked me if I'd been waving my ass at very many men in
college the way I waved at him when we first met.  I was about to
tell him no, and why, when his mother walked in, and looked at me
disbelieving.


     "JayCee!  That *is* you!  It seems like years!  It *is*
years!"  We practically shouted our joy at seeing each other.  And
we rushed into each other's arms and hugged as close as we could. 
"Jane!  It *has* been too long!  Much too long!"


     When our delight had calmed down, and we'd asked all the usual
questions, and exulted together in each other's triumphs in the
interim since we'd last met, the ones we knew about, a key question
occurred to me.


     "Jane, you remember one of the reasons you gave me in this
very kitchen for why we have Marianne with us today, and not
Marion, was that that you wanted to thwart your husband, and maybe
spite him too?  Whatever happened with him?"


     Jane and Marianne glanced at each other and broke out
laughing.  Marianne leaned forward, eager to tell me, but Jane
touched his arm. "No, let me. It was my plan, after all!"  Marianne
assented, just barely.  


     "It was later than we'd expected, only a year ago last
January.  He'd been busy stirring up misery and discord in other
parts of the world I suppose, but finally he served notice that
he'd be coming here, ready to pull Marion out of college and take
him into his company and teach him the ways of the world, and that
Marion should pack his things and stand ready.  He had his lawyer
deliver the message to forestall my throwing up barriers.  I
suppose he'd lost track of the years, and it didn't occur to him
that Marion was over 18, no longer a minor, and could now make
decisions about his own life whatever our original divorce
agreement."


     "Well, it was then that Marion and Ronnie were first talking
about perhaps getting engaged, and that gave us an idea.  I wrote
that bastard inviting him to dinner on New Year's Day, to discuss
arrangements for shipping Marion's things to him if Marion wanted 
to go, and for him to explain to Marion what he had in mind, and to
explain it to Marion's fiance -- I told him Marion was now engaged,
and he would need to speak to the two of them.  That's 'fiance'
with one 'e' not two, the French word for an engaged man, not
'fiancee,' the word for a woman.  So I was scrupulously honest with
him, as well as thoroughly deceitful.  But he's an ignoramous as
well as a snake, and I suppose he never noticed.


     "Marion came home from college especially to take part in this
reunion with his father, and Ronnie was invited as his fiance.
Marion bought himself an especially lovely dress to wear, all tulle
and lace and chiffon, and I must say, dear you looked exquisite. 
Like a fairy princess!  And Ronnie got himself a new dinner jacket
to wear, because nothing he owned fit properly once he began
pumping iron in earnest for the statewide Mr. Muscle contest.  I
must say, he looked great, as if he were built out of granite.  He
took second place, you know."


     "Third, mother," Marion interrupted.  "He deserved first, but
the entire board of judges had just been fucked in their singular
and collective asses by the first and second place winners, and I
suppose the board felt an obligation to reward them.  Ronnie'd been
invited to join in and make it a gang bang, but I'd told him to
decline."


     "Anyhow," Jane resumed, "When Ronnie's father showed up, he
was more vicious than ever. He thought Ronnie was his son, of
course, because Ronnie looked overwhelmingly like the man in the
family, and he then took over the conversation so we couldn't
correct him.  His real son, my gay transvestite daughter over here,
gave him the most affectionate daughterly kiss, as was his due, but
he merely wiped it off while admiring Ronnie's physique and saying
how proud he felt to have sired it.  He then made insulting remarks
about women in general, and me and Marianne in particular.  Finally
he looked directly into Marion's eyes, our dear little fairy
princess here, his son,  sitting there as demure as right now, in
her pretty dress and fresh-from-the-salon hairdo, and that son of
a bitch had the gall to advise Ronnie -- his son, supposedly -- to
break off the engagement, because she didn't look fit even to suck
cock."


     "At that Marion piped up with a flat denial.  He said that he
was as fit as any girl or any man at sucking cock.  He had sucked
hundreds of them, and was ready to be put to the test.  He said he
hoped some day to be as good at it as Ronnie was.  Well, this
addled my ex a bit, who turned to Ronnie, and asked what she meant,
his supposed fiancee.  Ronnie said, 'Sit down and we'll show you.' 
  
The miserable prick of a man sat down, and Ronnie and Marion
immediately handcuffed his hands to the chair behind him, and his
legs to the chair legs.  


     Then before the shit's horrified eyes, Ronnie lifted Marion's
skirt and dipped under it while Marion unzipped Ronnie's fly, and
in another moment the two of them were slurping and humping away on
each other, sprawled over the  couch. They deep throat each other
now, you know, so it was a moment or two before all the cloth and
crinoline was to one side, and that vicious animal could see that
there were two dicks involved, that they were cocksucking each
other.  He could't see Marion's at all at first -- it *is* rather
small.  'Marion,' he called out to Ronnie, 'Take your mouth away
from that filthy woman's cunt this instant!  Real men don't lap a
woman's pussy!  Disgusting!  Women are here on earth to serve us,
not the other way around!'"


     "'Sorry, Dad,' Marion said, with his beautiful lipsticked
mouth sliding up and down Ronnie's long cock, pausing to lick it
now and then. 'I knew you felt that way, so Ronnie and I decided to
leave women out of our lovemaking altogether.  Disgusting
creatures, women.  Except for Mom, of course.  Ready to cum,
Ronnie?'  Ronnie answered from deep inside Marion's muff, 'Ready!'
and then the two of them spritzed their goo all over each other's
faces.  And then rearranged themselves and stood up.


     "Then Marion stepped over to his father and said, 'Welcome to
the family gene pool, Dad.  I'm your son.  Ronnie here's my fiance,
maybe.  Here's how to tell us apart.  We're different.  Taste us.' 
And then he wiped some of his own cum off Ronnie's face with his
hand, and smeared it on his father's mouth, and then Ronnie's cum
off his own face, and did the same. 'See?' he said."


     "Then we left that miserable shit there and went back into the
dining room for desert and coffee.  When we went back out to see
how he was doing, he wasn't there.  Neither was the chair.  It
turned out later he'd gotten a hand and a leg loose, and managed to
drive to a police station, where he claimed that his son who was
dressed like a woman and his son's ponce who looked like Arnold
Schwartzenegger had handcuffed him and then sucked each other's
cocks and then subjected him to unspeakable perversions.  Well, the
cops know that handcuffs on a civilian mean bondage and domination
games, and cum on the face means only one thing when bondage and
domination's involved, so they charged him with sodomy and other
unnatural acts and threw him into the clink.  His lawyer got him
out, and advised him to jump bail and never return to the State. 
We're rid of him."


     "Can you stay for dinner, JayCee?  I promise you, no
cocksucking unless you really want to."


     I told Jane sure, and the three of us together started to
prepare dinner.  For a moment I thought I was hallucinating, that
there were three women in the kitchen cutting and chopping and
lining the broiler pan.  That's what I saw, and that's what we were
at that moment.  It was a lovely moment.  Marion may have felt
himself to be unalterably a man, but he had all the virtues and
graces of a woman.  All of the easy superiority.  I guess I'd
taught him well.
    
Jane asked me what I was planning to do when I graduated.  I'd left
her that message about some kind of partnership, she said, and
she'd like to hear more.


     So I told her.  After graduate work and licensing I mean to
set up as a professional sex therapist.  It seemed to me to be the
life'e work I was destined to perform. I meant to specialize in
gender conversions.  Sometimes of a husband at a wife's request, if
she wants control over her husband's will, or his money, or is just
plain kinky.  Or at a man's mistress's request, for her own
reasons.  Sometimes at a man's request, if he has the money to
indulge a secret desire to be a woman, or to look like a women. 
That's often all they want, usually, the guys I've worked with
already, but if they look worth the effort I always see to it that
they end up buffing their manicures in some secretarial pool
somewhere, or wearing suits with short skirts and pantyhose and
cutting deals in whatever their former business, out in the open as
women with their manhood lost and gone and irretrievable.  I told
Jane I wanted to offer a complete service, with fashion consultants
living with them, for example, until they can manage their new
lives as women altogether on their own.


     Jane thought I was thinking too narrowly.  Why not open a
chain of therapeutic clinics where men who wish to be feminized,
humiliated, or dominated by women may have their wishes fulfilled
for a fee covered by routine medical insurance.  Replace the
amateur dommes who dominate the market with well-trained and
seasoned professionals.  Franchised mental health clinics are
already everywhere, she pointed out.  Franchised sexual fulfillment
clinics of all kinds may well be only just over the next horizon.
  
We talked about it, and new ideas emerged.  Chains of different
kinds of Gender Change Clinics.  "Femme Incorporated" for example
could be for genuine transsexuals and for dominant women who want
to place their men permanently under them, offering a one-stop
service from the necessary psychological counselling through
cosmetic modifications such as beard electrolysis, all the way to
Sex Reassignment Surgery.  Then there were other services we could
offer.  The "TLC" or "Tough Love Corporation" could set up
franchised dungeons around the country, to train husbands and wives
how to achieve the most meaningful relationships available to them,
and offer a full line of whips, chains, leather goods, rubber and
vinyl, stocks, and other apparatus under the "TLC" rubric.  


     There were other possibilities, too.  Jane said she was ready
to commit to a partnership just as soon as I had the necessary
professional credentials, in another two or three years, because
she had no doubt whatever that I would succeed at something like
this.  Meanwhile, she would look into the advantages over a
partnership of issuing Stock and going to the public for the
necessary capital.  We decided we would make an excellent team,
with me in charge of the gender change services themselves, and
Jane managing the business end.  We shook hands on it.


     Conversation then relaxed, and I decided to share with the two
of them an observation I'd made only a couple of years earlier.  I
had realized that the best part of my sex with Marianne had been
that it was sex with a woman, or at least with someone I thought
was becoming a woman.  I had found that men were far too easy, too
easily manipulated.  The main reason why it's more desireable to be
a woman than a man, I'd learned, is simple.  Women are more
desireable than men.  Just as Marianne had learned that she's gay,
I'd learned during the past few years that I'm by preference a
lesbian. I've used men, I commented, but I can't say I've enjoyed
them as men.  Both Marianne and I have probably been homosexual
since birth, I pointed out, though it takes a while to find out
things like that, and meanwhile we do a lot of things we think
we're choosing to do, even though we're not really.


     "Really," Jane said, looking at me with new respect.  Suddenly
she broke off and stood up, and turned her back to me and went to
the kitchen window and looked out, down the street back toward our
house, where she'd first seen me waggle my ass at her son by way of
introduction, five years ago.  "You know, after Marion's father
left me, and good riddance, I was so turned off men I lost all
interest in them.  I tried one or two, and I still mean to do so,
especially when Marion's entry into the firm gives me more free
time.  But mainly, I've been bringing home more women.  I prefer
sex with women now.  Women are so much more...sensuous, if you know
what I mean.  More sensually aware, more artful.  More tender and
caring.  Men are crude.  It seems almost demeaning now for me to
have sex with men."  She seemed a bit embarrassed by that
confession.  "I think we must be about ready to serve dinner now."


     I stood to help carry out dishes and help set the table, and
I looked at Jane with renewed interest.  "I know what you mean," 
I said.  "How interesting that you feel that way too.  I mean about
men.  About dinner too, of course."  


     I looked her over more carefully.  She was still trim, a
slender woman with clear smooth skin, and she still had nice curves
top front and bottom rear.  Previously it had seemed to me that she
moved like a dancer or at least an aerobics instructor, but now for
some reason she also reminded me of a cat.  She saw me checking her
out, and she looked back at me, and smiled. 


     "Yes, isn't it," she said.  "No 'stuff' between us, ever,
JayCee?  Same as before, five years ago?"  I nodded, and held out
my hand, same as before, and she started to take it but instead
began to hug me, same as before, and I hugged her.  She smiled even
more broadly at me.  We both started to giggle, then to laugh,
still looking steadily into each other's eyes.  I'm sure mine
started to gleam, and I know hers did.


     "What's so funny?" Marianne asked, looking from one to the
other of us.


     "You wouldn't understand,"  I told him.  "You'd have to be a
woman to understand!"                


     
     ****************


     END


     (c) 1997 by Vickie Tern