Meeting Jenna


Note: This story is a transsexual erotic romance. It involves mild BDSM, with a male dominant and a t-girl submissive. If you think you’ll like that combination, then read on! If not, perhaps it’s time to check out another story. You can’t say I didn’t warn you 😉

* * * *

“Jenna,” I said, with a smile on my face, “could you move out of the way, please? I’d like to get to the kitchen.”

“Err, how about no!” She grinned back, her big brown eyes sparkling at me. As she stood in the hallway, her legs were stretched out, with her toes touching the skirting board on either side. Her arms were positioned likewise, her left hand on one wall, her right one on the other. She was spread out like a star.

I put a stern look on my face and walked toward her purposefully. My strongly built six-foot-one frame towered over her slim five-foot-four body.

“Young lady, I am compelled to inform you that there will be consequences if you don’t move.”

“Oooh, what are you going to do to me, James?” she teased, without budging an inch. “Spank me?”

“That’s an option,” I said.

She giggled and tossed her thick, shoulder-length dark-brown hair.

“You wouldn’t dare; you’re too much of a good boy.”

I crossed my arms and looked her up and down. She looked so sexy I could barely stand it. Her face was cute and imbued with a constant expression of cheekiness. Her stretched position had pushed out her firm little tits, which sat high and round in her short vest top. Her eighteen-year-old skin glowed with a delicious bronzed tan, and her crotch was adorned with a tiny pair of denim shorts, which showed off the full length of her beautiful, toned legs.

“You’re going to regret saying that,” I said, with a grin.

I couldn’t help but notice the thin sliver of exposed flesh around her midriff. It looked so wonderfully, vulnerably, ticklish.

“I’ll give you to the count of five,” I said.

She cocked her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

“One . . .” I said, slowly and deliberately.

“Two . . .”

She didn’t move, so I took a step closer and reached my hands toward her tummy. As my fingers got close, her body started to tense and twist, but she still showed no sign of letting me pass.

“Three . . .”

My fingers hovered just over her exposed skin.

“James!” she squealed. “Don’t tickle me. Don’t you dare tickle me!”

“Four . . .”

She clenched her teeth. “James!” she seethed. “Don’t!”

“Move then,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her. She still didn’t budge.

“Five . . .”

“Time’s up, Jenna.”


I flicked my fingernails across the sides of her bare stomach. She shrieked. Her arms shot back toward her body to protect herself. She grabbed my wrists, but she wasn’t strong enough to stop me. I worked my fingers across her faster.

Her knees buckled. She sank to the floor, squealing and gasping for breath.

“James! Stop!”

Her body bucked and writhed on the carpet as I continued my assault.

“I warned you! You knew exactly what was coming!”

“I know! Stop! I give in! Please!” Her voice sounded desperate. She curled up into a ball, but that didn’t deny me access to her sides.

“Stop!” she begged. “I’m going to wet myself. Seriously. Please.”

I stopped my onslaught.

She remained on the floor, coiled up like a hedgehog, gasping for breath.

“Truce?” I said, still grinning.

“Yeah, truce,” she panted. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you want me to help you get up?”

“No, I’m fine.”

She remained in her bunched position.

“Are you sure you’re OK?” I said, slightly concerned.

“Yeah, do what you need to do in the kitchen, I just need a second to calm down. I’m fine. Really.”

“OK,” I said. I stepped over her and walked down the hall into the kitchen, as my semihard erection throbbed in my jeans.

* * * *

I grabbed some white buns from the cupboard and some fresh lettuce from the fridge. Then I walked back toward the garden. Jenna had removed herself from the corridor and was nowhere to be seen outside either. I guessed she must have gone to the bathroom.

I strode over to the barbecue grill, which was being expertly tended to by my cousin, Verity.

“What took you so long?” she asked.

“I had a little chat with Jenna along the way.”

“Oh cool,” she said with a big grin. “So you two are getting along then?”

“She’s good fun.”

“Awesome!” she exclaimed. “She’s a great girl. I never been able to work out why she’s single. She could do with having a boyfriend.”

“Whoa there!” I said. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I only met her a couple of hours ago.”

“Oh, come on, James, I know you like her. I can see it in your eyes.”

“Verity, I think she’s cool, but don’t pressure it. I just want to get to know her.”

“OK, I’ll shut up . . . I won’t mention how good I think the two of you would be as a couple . . . or how you like all the same music . . . and all the same TV shows . . . or how both your eyes lit up when you saw Kartal Sınırsız Escort each other . . . or how you’ve been laughing and giggling with each other all afternoon. It’s obviously too soon for me to say you like her It’s OK; it’s OK. I won’t say another word. My lips are sealed.”

“They’d better be.”

Verity, pretended to zip her lips closed.

Then she started to hum “The Wedding March.”

“Jesus Christ, Verity!”

* * * *

I turned away from Verity and looked across the garden. Young men and women chatted in little groups, leisurely munching their freshly cooked food. We were at my aunt and uncle’s house in Hampstead, North London. They were away in Cyprus, but Verity, their only daughter, had stayed at home. She was hosting a World Cup-themed barbecue party for some of her friends. Brazil had already beaten Colombia earlier in the day. Uruguay and Chile were next up. The house and garden were full of multicolored balloons. The window frames were adorned with bunting, depicting the flags of the participating nations.

The house itself was Victorian era: large, detached, constructed from faded red brick, and coated with ivy. With prices these days, it must be worth two million pounds, perhaps three, but my aunt and uncle had bought it well before the property boom.

The garden was even larger, and because of its high elevation, it had views across almost the entire city. I’d always loved playing here as a child. It wasn’t just because I could see from Tower Bridge to the Houses of Parliament, but it also was the quality of the garden itself. It was like a maze. Little walls, thick bushes, low-hanging trees. There were so many places to hide; a feature that the younger version of me had taken full advantage of. But, alas, childhood was over. Verity was eighteen, on the verge of going to university. I was twenty-two and had already entered the world of work. I was sure I was the oldest person at the party by three or four years.

I had been glad for the invite. I’d moved to London only a couple of months before and hadn’t made many friends yet. I was also single and keen to find someone I clicked with. I had been quietly hopeful that Verity was going to help me in that regard. She reveled in the role of matchmaker, even if sometimes she played her role a little clumsily.

When I’d last met up with her at Easter, I’d gone out for dinner with her and a few of her friends. She had insisted that I sit next to a girl named Stacey. Stacey was cute, there was no doubt about that, but it appeared that she couldn’t talk about anything other than horses. The first half hour had been fine, but after that I began to get agitated.

“Verity, I don’t give a damn about fetlocks, or types of saddle, or reins,” I had whispered to her, as my “intended” had left to go to the bathroom.

“OK, OK. I messed this one up,” she said. “Just tell me what kind of girl you’d actually like to meet. I promise I’ll do better next time.”

I wasn’t sure whether that was the moment to tell her I liked both girls and boys. I decided to leave it for another day.

“Oh I don’t know,” I replied. “Someone playful, someone who I could be silly with, someone who’s nice and kind, but also has a little impish spark that could keep me on my toes.”

“OK, I’ll have a think,” she said.

* * * *

Jenna padded out through the patio door and into the garden. In her hand she clasped a long sausage-shaped balloon. Under the bright June sky, she shimmered like an angel. I tried to stop myself looking at her, but I couldn’t help it. As she stepped onto the grass, our pupils met.

We both paused for a second.

Her lips pursed into faux anger, but her eyes smiled.

“I’m so mad at you!” she said. “Don’t you dare tickle me again!”

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?” I grinned back at her.

She raised her balloon like a sword and bared her teeth.

“I will slay you, Sir!”

“Try it.”

She swung her inflated weapon and hit me on the head.

I smiled. “Do that one more time. I dare you!”

She smacked me again.


I reached down to the grass and grabbed a long balloon of my own.

She ran.

I chased her and smacked her on the head. We giggled as we jabbed, slashed, and parried around the garden. People were staring at us, but I didn’t care. We battled across the lawn, over the patio, and into the living room. I fought her into a corner, shielded from view from the garden.

We stopped hitting each other and panted, out of breath.

For a second we paused. Then she hit me in the face with her balloon.


I dropped mine to the floor and then pinned her hands against the wall. She gasped and squirmed slightly, but she didn’t try to fight me off.

“That was mean,” I said.

“Sorry, Sir.”

“I need to find some restraints for you.”

“Oooh, Sir. I might like that.”

“It would keep you out of trouble.”

“It wouldn’t shut me up, though.”

“I have other means of doing that.”

“Like Kartal Suriyeli Escort what?”

“Like this.”

I moved forward to kiss her. Her lips parted. Her eyes closed.

“Hey everyone!” Verity cried. “The match is starting!”

Footsteps thudded toward the living room.

I pulled myself upright and took a step back.

Jenna smoothed her clothes.

People piled into the room.

We took places next to each other on the sofa. I focused on the players jogging out onto the pitch, desperately hoping my dick would start to get softer rather than harder. The fact that Jenna’s bare leg was pressed against mine wasn’t helping.

* * * *

Full time: Colombia 2, Uruguay 0.

I looked out of the patio window. The sun had almost set over London. The last bands of red and orange streaked across the horizon, bathing the vista in a final warm good-bye.

Some people were getting up to leave. Others were going to get drinks. People were milling in all directions.

Jenna whispered into my ear, “You have permission to go and get me a drink.”

“Oh, I have permission, do I? How kind. Well, I’d just like to let you know that you have permission to get me a drink too.”

“Smart arse!” she said with a grin, punching me on the arm. “How about we fight for it?”

“Knives?” I suggested.

She laughed.

“No! Thumb war,” she said.

“Pussy!” I grinned at her, holding out my hand.

She grasped it. “We’ll see who the pussy is!”

Our thumbs stood to attention, facing each other, ready to battle to pin the other one down.

I started the introduction, “One, two, three, four, I declare a thumb war.”

“Go!” she squealed.

We wrestled, our arms swinging about, trying to gain advantage. We were laughing, goading each other, falling into our own little world. Then I bluffed, laying my thumb down and waiting for her to go for it. She took the bait. Instantly my thumb looped and pinned hers down to her hand.

“One, two, three . . . and you’re down!” I said, staring into her eyes, as she tried to twist herself free. “Winner!” I declared.

“OK, OK, I’ll get you your drink.”

“I don’t actually want a drink.”

Her mouth dropped. “You’re so cheeky.”

“Let’s go and watch the sun go down,” I said.

She curled her lips into her mouth and smiled, “OK, that sounds good.”

We slipped out into the garden and padded across the lawn. Then we darted behind a rose bush. I took her hand and looked down at her. She looked back up at me. Her lips were parted, and I could see her chest rise and fall. This time it was going to happen.

“If I start blabbing, will you try your special technique to shut me up?” she said.

“Maybe,” I said.

“Because I’ve got a lot of things to say, a lot of little phrases that I could annoy you with all evening. I could just go on and on, yap yap yap yap yap . . .”

I moved my hand up, brushed her hair from her cheek, and gently cupped the soft skin of her face. She breathed in sharply and her lips fell silent.

With my other hand, I held her around the waist. Then I leaned my face down toward her. She lifted herself up on her tiptoes to meet me, and our lips brushed their first electric brush. I softly pressed forward and began to kiss her properly. She murmured in pleasure. Her lips were wonderful: soft, full, and eager. I felt like I could kiss her forever.

“I’ve wanted to do this all afternoon,” she whispered.

“Me too,” I replied.

I drew her closer to me and kissed her deeper. Our lips danced, our bodies pressed together, and her tits squashed against my chest. I couldn’t help but release her face and run my hands down her sides, just grazing the sides of her breasts with my palms. She expelled a little moan of excitement.

Over her clothes, I ran a hand up her back and then slid my fingers through her hair at the base of her skull. Slowly, I balled a thick chunk of her hair into my fist and gently pulled her head back. She took a sharp intake of breath. Then I kissed her neck.

“Oh God,” she whimpered as my lips teased her sensitive skin. I could feel her bare legs rub against each other as she shifted from foot to foot.

“Stop!” she said. “That’s turning me on too much. Please stop. I can’t handle it.”

I pulled back and looked at her beautiful, panting face. Her cheeks were flushed red and her eyes wide. I couldn’t help but tease her some more. Her arousal was just so beautiful. The thought of her pussy getting swollen and wet in her little shorts was too delicious to abandon. I grazed my fingernails down the sides of her bare arms. It made her shudder.

“James,” she whimpered. “Stop it! I really, really can’t handle it.”

Her eyes were locked onto mine as her body shifted awkwardly.

“I want you to feel good,” I said.

“I know, I know,” she said, “and you are . . . it’s just that I feel . . . too good . . . you know?”

She took a deep, juddering breath. “I’m just getting . . . you’re just making me . . . even looking Kartal İranlı Escort at you is . . .” She stopped and then jerked her body around rapidly, so her back was facing me.

I was taken aback.

“Sorry, Jenna,” I said. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You haven’t upset me,” she said. “I just don’t like being seen when I’m . . . so . . . aroused, it’s . . . it’s . . . a hang-up, I guess. It’s embarrassing. Please, can we just sit and watch the sun go down?”

“OK, no problem,” I said, slightly disappointed that our make-out session was coming to an end. I’d met some girls who had issues before, but I hadn’t met one who got upset by being turned on. I didn’t want to press her, though. I liked her, and forcing her too far, too fast could ruin things.

“Sit down,” she suggested, “and I’ll sit between your legs.”

“OK,” I said.

We sank to the grass, looking out toward the sunset. The horizon was nothing but the tiniest sliver of red. Houses and trees were a mere silhouette in front of it.

Jenna sat between my legs. Her back was tight against my chest and her ass grazed against my desperately hard dick. I wanted to thrust against her, but I controlled myself.

As I wrapped my arms around her body, I felt her shaking. I could only begin to imagine why she was reacting like this. Had she had some bad experiences in the past? Had some guy done something to her that stopped her from opening up? I sighed. How terrible that could have been for her. But I shouldn’t make assumptions. I was merely guessing.

“Please don’t think that I’m rejecting you,” she said. “I’m definitely, definitely not rejecting you. It’s just that . . . I’ve been getting carried away flirting with you . . . and I really, really like you. But it’s going so fast . . . and there are things about me that you don’t know.”

I took a deep breath.

“You can tell me,” I said.

“I wish I could,” she said. Then I heard her start to sob. “I just wish my life wasn’t so complicated.”

I held her close, feeling her trembling grow more intense.

“If something has happened to you, I’m not going to push you into doing something you don’t want to do,” I said. “I’m happy just to hold you.”

“No,” she said, wiping her eyes, “it’s not like that. I’ve not been attacked or anything, it’s . . .”

She trailed off.

“It’s what?”

We sat in silence, but not in stillness. The tremors in her body weren’t letting up.

“Well,” she started, then paused. “How do you feel about gay rights?”

I laughed, slightly puzzled about the question. Was she bisexual? Could that be it? Was that even still an issue these days? Or was she a very conservative Christian and worried our views would be too different?

I decided I could only be honest, whatever she was thinking, I wasn’t going to bullshit her.

“I support gay rights, Jenna. I support gay marriage. I believe anyone should be able to live their life as they want so long as they don’t hurt anyone else in the process.”

She gulped and took several deep breaths. Did she approve of my stance? I wasn’t sure. It only seemed to make her trembling worse.

“Well, how about trans rights then, if you know what that means?”

“I’m fine with trans people too. If someone is born into a guy’s body but they know in their heart that they are a girl, I’ve got no problem with that, or if it’s the other way round. Ultimately, I’m happy for anyone to do what they want to do and be who they want to be, provided it doesn’t hurt anyone else-and I can’t see how changing one’s gender hurts anyone.”

She gulped. Again. And again.

“I’m glad you said that,” she said, looking over her shoulder at me. Mascara had run down her cheeks and her eyes were swollen with tears.

“Well . . . would you . . .?”

She stopped mid sentence, scanning my face. I tried to look sympathetic.

She took several deep breaths.

“Would you . . . date a girl who was born into a guy’s body?”

“Yes, Jenna,” I said. I looked over her features. Is that what she was trying to tell me? That she was born a guy? Surely not! She looked as female as it’s possible to be.

“You mean that? Some people say that . . . but they don’t mean it. They get grossed out. They think their friends are going to call them gay. They think the girl isn’t really a girl.”

“I mean it. If I like someone as a person, and I find them attractive, then that’s good enough for me.”

“And you like me?” she said.

“Yes I like you.”

“And you think I’m pretty?”

“You’re beautiful, Jenna.”

“And that wouldn’t change if . . . you found out . . . that I . . .”

“No, Jenna.”

We stared at each other as the seconds ticked by.

“Then kiss me,” she whispered, fresh tears running down her face. “Please.”

Our lips met and I gently kissed her. I couldn’t help but graze my fingernails down her arms again. She groaned. And our lips parted.

“I’m going to turn around!” she said. “Just promise you won’t hate me.”

“I promise,” I said.

She shuffled her ass round and crouched in front of me. I looked her up and down, my eyes absorbing her gorgeous smooth legs, her little waist, her small breasts . .. and an uncontrollable bulge, tenting the material of her denim shorts.

She looked at me, panting, on the verge of yet more tears.