Queenie and Mirabelle Pt. 02

QUEENIE AND MIRABELLE: PART 2

By Norma Jane

1

In Q&M Part 1 I recounted my initial encounter with Marina, a psychiatrist specialising in the counselling of those with gender-dysphoria. She'd been sent to me by my old friend and lover, Dulcinda, as needing my help. I understood that she was desperately sexually frustrated, and grieving the loss of her long-time partner, Linda. I soon discovered she was physically unlike any other transwoman I'd come across, and apparently capable of multiple orgasms without need of respite. Having assuaged some of her tension, I felt it was time she told me her story, to celebrate her life with Linda, and to express her distress at its ending. I left off with Marina in my arms, about to begin, and one reason for breaking at that point is that I can obviate the complexities of speeches within speeches by simply narrating in Marina's voice. This is my attempt to represent her and Linda's speech and vocabulary.

2

Oh, Norma, this is cosy. I feel much better. I feel like you're listening to me through your tipples. That's what Linda used to call them. She liked word-play. Tips and nipples. You'll probably hear some of her terminology through those lovely tipples.

Well, when I got home after the party where I'd met Linda, I was anxious we'd got so far so soon. After all, I'd never had a conversation like that with a woman, and I wondered if we'd really reached an assignation, an arse-ignation, so quickly. Was she serious or just flirting? We would see tomorrow evening.

After work next day, in my tower-block flat, I changed the sheets, put some towels under the pillow on my single bed, took a shower, dressed and laid a light meal on the kitchen table. And at the appointed hour I opened my door and listened for the lift. It arrived at my floor and there she was, standing on the threshold, smiling expectantly..

We moved together and took hands. I drew her and closed the door. We embraced and kissed, lips to lips, savouring the confirmation that we really were agreed on the sexual nature of this meeting, even if we were not yet certain about what exactly that entailed. Although last night's badinage raised my hopes, and maybe hers, too. We drew apart, hands linked again, and studied each other. We were identically dressed, in blouse, skirt and sandals, not hosiery. 'Ready for action,' she said, laughing.

'What action would that be?' I asked.

' I thought that was agreed last night,' she said, pouting in fun.

'Something to eat first?' I asked, leading her into the kitchen, where we sat to salad, with ham, cheese, coleslaw and cold potatoes, and ate in silence, grinning at each other, as if stoking up for vigorous exercise. We were also surveying each other closely, openly. She was lightly made up, with pale pink lipstick and eyeliner. I lacked the scar I have now, and I've never used cosmetics.

Over coffee we gave a few details of our histories. She was curious about my sexuality, but too well-bred to ask intrusive questions. So, I sketched in the details: 'I was always fascinated by women. I wanted to know every physiological detail, and when I was eighteen my older sister caught me trying to spy on our mother in the bathroom. She said nothing, led me to her bedroom, took off her dressing-gown and nightie, lay on her bed and gestured for me to look. We'd always been close and been naked together, so I was not entirely ignorant. But now I was able to look closely at her vulva, vestibule and anus.

'I was so excited I felt the onset of my first orgasm. She understood and gave me an encouraging smile. I was in dressing-gown and pyjamas, so it was a matter of seconds before I came copiously on her breasts. She gave a little chuckle and rubbed the semen all over her. I guessed she had rendered me the service she was giving her boyfriend.

'The second thing I learned soon after was that I couldn't make myself come, couldn't even get hard without being able to look at a naked woman. Pornography is no use to me. Only physical presence will do. And the third thing I learned was that I wanted to be as female as I could, but wanting, too, to immerse and release myself in and on women.'

I stopped, thinking it was her turn to give some autobiography, but she said, 'You know, we can talk in the intervals. I haven't got all that long this evening.'

We went to my bedroom, and I wasn't sure how to go on. But she was more experienced than me, and, noting my hesitation, she said, 'Would you like to strip me, check my potential for making you awe-spasm.' I could see the derivation of that.

So, I unbuttoned the blouse and took it off. Beneath, the bra was minimal, just enough to restrain the good-sized breasts while offering maximum cleavage. She leant forward, and said, 'How do you like my cleavale? Could you let go your custard in there?'

I assured her I could and took off the bra. Her nipples began to erect at once, little stalks. 'Look at those tipples,' she said, 'Suck 'em and see.' So, I did and she began to breathe hard and tremble. 'Keep going,' she said, 'Queenie and Mirabelle are waiting. Presumably pet names for other openings.

Her skirt was soon off, and there she was in shiny, mauve panties. At which point she said, 'Your turn.' And I quickly removed blouse and bra.

She studied my breasts, and said, 'Bigger than mine and scrumptious.' She clamped her hands round them, squeezed gently and lifted them to her mouth, and licked around the areolas and nipples, which, needless to say, were standing out like organ-stops. She said, 'Go on,' and I took off the skirt. She looked at my all-enclosing black knickers, and said, 'I've never seen a girly-cock. Show me.' She was trembling harder by now, well aroused.

When I pushed down and stepped out of the knickers and sandals, she came close and gazed. 'Is she hiding in that bush? Will she come out to play? Aren't my titbits enough to tempt her?'

'I'm a bit nervous,' I said. 'But if I saw your bottom - '

'Well now,' she said, 'I debated a while about which knick-knacks to wear. The schoolgirl navy-blues I've kept all these years. Some folks like those. Or the skimpy pantsies with open gussy and botty-cleavery. But I chose these,' and she turned round. I had heard of, and possibly seen open-back panties online, but now there they were, exposing and framing that beautiful bottom. I began to erect at once, and she looked round and said, 'Aha, she seems to like my bumbum. So, the pantsies have done the trick, and off they come!' She threw them at me, and bade me, 'Suck and see.'

I'd quite often taken my mother's and sister's knickers out of the laundry basket and sniffed them, but I'd never put them in my mouth. Now I found myself tucking the gusset between my lips and licking at it. As she had not been wearing them very long there was not much of her secretions to savour, but what there was I relished. She laughed to see me enjoying it, and said, 'Never tasted a gussy before? How many women have you been with?'

'Five,' I said, 'Three before and two after.'

She shifted her gaze, and said, 'Are all girly cocks like that?'

'I think they're all different, though I've only seen two others,' I said.

'I think you should see everything, since you haven't seen many women,' and she lay on the bed, opened her legs, and said, 'My husband hates them, wants me to have them reduced, but I love them, my swishy curtains.'

She was talking about her inner labia, which protruded several inches from the outer ones. They were much longer, or deeper, than any others I's seen, beginning with my sister's, but I fell in love with them at once. They were so female, so inviting, promising sweet sensations when I slipped between them.

'You like them,' she said. 'That's good, means we can go ahead. Open them up. Find my cocklet and Queenie.' Noticing my puzzlement, she went on, 'She does look like a little cock, you know. I call her "pricket" and "cockspur," too, because she has like a little claw' like a cat's cock when she's up. She nearly is, but she's going to need you to bring her off.'

She meant her clitoris, of course, and it was not hard to find, though it was hard to the touch, when I folded open those luscious lips. They gathered into what did, indeed, look like a little cock, its tip curled downward. Without conscious decision I found myself kneeling on the floor and lapping at it, as if expecting it to exude some special milk.

She said, 'Lovely! Feels so good. Don't stop, I'm going to spasm.' She went rigid, let out a long gasp and gurgled into a laugh.

She lay still, with my temple resting on her mons, crushing the fine hairs. Her pubic hair was delightful, dense, soft, forming a semi-circle and creeping into her groin. Later, when we were living together, she loved it when I combed it, which often led on to my fingering or tonguing her to orgasm, 'awe-spasm' or 'ah-spasm,' as she called it.

'Your turn now,' she said. 'I promised you Queenie and Mirabelle, if you're ready, and it looks like you are. I've not had a cocky-girl in there, so I'll get into position.' She lay on her side, legs drawn up towards her breasts, bottom on the edge of the bed. 'She's good and slippy, so in you go.' She reached back to lift the upper cheek to reveal vestibule, and I knelt and moved to lodge my cock-bulb between those crinkly lips and feel for her entry.

'That's it,' she said, 'Go in, and if you finger cocklet I'll probably spasm, too.'

As soon as my glans was inside I began to come, and she felt it at once, and said, 'That's quick. Go on in, flood me. I've never had cocky-girl cream in there.'

I had my finger-tips round her clit, of course, and she said, 'Oh, quick for me, too. Spasm coming. Yes, yes!'

We shook with the climax, the greater for the mutuality, the sharing, and then were still, my stomach against her bottom, she having released the uplifted cheek, so that the two cushions were together, with my cock engulfed within vagina, buttocks and labia.

'That was good,' she said, 'Queenie liked that. Can you please Mirabelle, too?'

This was clearly an invitation to enter her anus, fulfilling the promise of last evening, and offering the height of my desires for sex with women. I slowly withdrew from her cunt, myself lifted the uppermost cheek to see what I needed to see, brought to bear my well-lubed cock and eased my way in. I came at once and pushed all the way home. She said, 'Quick again! Can you move in and out? That's right. Oh, yes, quick for me, too. Oh, the bummy-spasm, the bummy-spasm.'

We stayed like that for some minutes, until she said, 'You're still hard, aren't you? Can you go again? I think you can, so I'll squeeze you off, and she began rhythmically clenching her bottom, gripping and releasing me. 'Yes,' she said, 'I can feel you going harder again. Flood me again, and I'm going to spasm. Lovely, lovely.'

Again she gripped me in her rectum, gasping and laughing, and I spilled myself again, scarcely believing this whole, amazing sequence of events could be happening. After this, she expected me to shrink and slide out of that wondrous bottom, but was reluctantly forced to say, 'I'm sorry, marvellous Marina, but I have to go. I hope you're not stuck in Mirabelle. Can you pull out? Yes, that's right. Oh, "flood" is the right word. I'll need a shower, but first I can see there's more girly-cock cream in there. I know you can't make it flow yourself, but maybe I can do it. Lie on your back. That's right, and I wrap my fingers round her and stroke up and down and squeeze a little. Is that good? I can feel it is, you're stiffening. Spasm for me, sweetheart, let me see your jessamine. Ah, there it is, flowing. It doesn't look like semen¸ at all, more like yoghourt. But now I must rush. Through here?'

She was not gone long. When she returned, still naked, of course, she said, 'Gallons of it out of both. We both need much more of that, don't we? If you're free I'll come Saturday afternoon,' and after I nodded in delight she hastily dressed, without the backless panties, instead putting on some plain black knickers from her skirt pocket. 'Be prepared,' she said. 'But, oh dear, you're still up. Let's try the hand again. All slippy with our juicing. But I think you can make some more. Yes, like that.' She wiped her hand on the discarded panties, kissed me, and opened the door. As she began to close it behind her, she said, 'Remember your Latin - your "ginas,' and what we schoolgirls thought was our "annus." Then she was gone.

All right, I was half-way there already. 'Vagina' and 'regina' - cunt and queen, so Queenie. 'Anus' mistaken for 'annus' - as in 'annus marabilis,' so Mirabelle.

3

She fell silent and nuzzled into my breasts. Then, 'I've never told anyone that. Not even Dulcinda, though I let her know how sexually attuned Linda and I were, and I think she must have understood that we made love in every possible way.'

'Time for some sleep,' I said. 'More in the morning.'

'Yes,' she said, 'I can do with you what we did to help us sleep, can't I?' She drew a nipple between her lips and sucked gently, and I knew to stroke her bottom until she slept.

Which is a suitable moment to pause the story.