I Is for Irene


A series of stories with transgender themes which I hope will be of interest to those who like women, or would like to be a woman. Which includes me!

It was all down to ‘Jennie’, really. If she hadn’t reacted so clearly and positively when I’d suggested we should meet, things could have – indeed would have – turned out oh-do differently.

I’d actually been in touch with her for several months by that time, chatting and sending emails and pictures and so on. You know the sort of thing. Oh, and doing role-plays too in a chat-room, sometimes me being the woman, sometimes her. Occasionally with both of us dressed up, wanking off in a pseudo-lesbian role-play where I virtually fondled her legs, slid my fingers up her virtual thigh while we virtually kissed and fondled each other’s virtual bodies. The one I liked best was when I played the housewife and when Jennie, or rather John, was some sort of salesman visiting and being attracted by my bulging voluptuous figure and my feminine charms, and ….

Anyway, it was Jennie who suggested the meeting one day when we were ‘chatting’ online. We’d vaguely tried to arrange it two or three times before, always hitting the two-wife problem. When her wife, John’s that is, was away from home, Carol wasn’t and indeed needed my attention, for decorating or entertaining or going to the cinema or whatever. And when Carol was maybe at her Mum’s for a night or two, Mary wasn’t. John’s wife, that is, if that’s her real name. I think it probably is.

Then when I’d mentioned something about Carol being away for three nights in a couple of weeks time, we realised that for two of those nights her absence coincided with Mary’s college course meetings for a whole week. Two nights. Overlapping. Friday and Saturday. We could meet.

Right at that time, what with work and Carol’s preparations and me helping her I didn’t have much chance to contact Jennie or sort things out until the night before. We met up in ‘our’ chat-room and made the final arrangements. She had met problems trying to visit me, basically she – or rather he – had to meet a client the next day and really didn’t want to risk anything feminine-related occurring. So we decided, for this first meeting, that he would come to my house in male mode, and just meet ‘Irene’ rather than Ben. We’d both agreed, several limes in our chats, that meeting either M-F or F-M would be most fun.

**-Irene**- What shall I call you, then?

Since Jennie would be in male mode, I’d obviously need to use a male name for her. Him, I mean. I’d clearly picked a femme name a bit similar to my male name, I just didn’t know about Jennie. I’d always called her Jennie. Was he really John? James? Or Jeffrey? Even Joshua?

**-Jennie**- Call me John. OK?

Maybe that was his real name, but it didn’t matter, did it? John was fine by me.

**-Jennie**- And how are we going to do this? How about some role-play, IRL this time?

**-Irene**- OK then, what do you suggest?

**-Jennie**- How about I be the salesman? OK?

**-Irene**- OK, sounds good to me.

**-Jennie**- Got to go. W.

Jennie’s name disappeared from the chat-room. W. That meant wife. So Mary had interrupted him, or more likely he’d heard her on the stairs and off-clicked the chat-room straight away, maximising something else, a letter to his mother or something.

OK, so we’re both trannies and both rather devious. After all what was I about to do? Entertain a man in my own home, someone Carol didn’t know about, and someone she’d be very upset about if she knew. Specially if she knew what I’d be wearing to entertain him.

I closed down myself, then sat there for a few minutes thinking. The role-play, in real life, the thought did excite me. It’s one thing doing it on-line if you don’t use video. You can lie about all sorts of stuff or rather just pretend. To be wearing something sexy like fishnet stockings, or even go on about how big your boobs are and how you’re feeling your vagina and so on. But to do it in real life, the rules would have to be a bit different. If I was to be the housewife I was going to go for the sexy housewife, short skirt and high heels and so on, and flirt massively with the ‘salesman’. I shivered at the thought.

Because something sexual was almost bound to happen. I’d always thought of myself as ‘bi-curious’, that’s the phrase everyone used, not exactly gay but …. I’d never actually done anything about it. I never needed to, in fact I’d never even been out of the front door in femme mode. Just minced around and posed and so on in front of the mirror and so on. OK so I wouldn’t need to go out since – John – was coming to visit me. But I was determined to do as good a job as I could.

And when the due day arrived I did just that. I pulled out all the stops, as it were. You know the sort of thing, ultra-short and indecently tight skirt, very high heels, heavy make-up, all the features of the caricature tart. At last I was ready. I did one final inspection in the mirror, turning and urfa escort twisting to inspect my hourglass figure as best I could in the big mirror in the hall. I noticed the clock. Ten to. I shivered. I was nervous, of course I was.

I crept into the kitchen and took the bottle of white wine I’d opened out of the fridge. I poured myself a tall glass and sat at the kitchen table, legs crossed in typical tranny fashion, sipping it, trying to breathe calmly. Was I really going through with this? It was too late now, ‘John’ would be here in a few minutes if he got the directions I’d given him right. It was nearly five-to on the clock, I took another deep gulp of the wine.

The doorbell rang. He was early. I very quickly looked out of the kitchen window, carefully. Yes, a red car parked just outside the gate. He was here. I didn’t have time to check in the mirror. I opened the front door.

John was stood there. He opened his mouth to say something, then really saw who he was visiting. He ‘froze’. Not surprising really given the circumstances. I had to jerk myself into action. OK, so I was the housewife.

“Yes? Can I help you?”

“Er – yes. I’m John Green. Er – I notice you have full double-glazing here, I was just wondering – have you a conservatory already? We’re doing a special offer in the area.”

Conservatory. Nice touch, John!

“Er – no, we haven’t. Do come in. Mr Green.”

I moved to one side to allow John to pass, then shut the door behind him, making sure the little lock engaged. Not that anyone was going to come in, of course, but I needed to be sure.

“Come on through into the lounge. I’m Irene. Irene Jacques.”

I held out a hand, John shook it gently. I had to smile when I saw John’s large male hand take my own, with its long, long red nails, it really had been great doing them.

“Please sit down” I said, offering him the sofa. “Can I get you a drink? I’ve just opened a bottle of wine, or would you prefer beer, Mr Green.”

“Er – no, wine will be fine thanks. And it’s John.”

Of course it was. I smiled at him, maybe a little conspiratorially as I handed him the wine.

“So, John, come and have a look out of the lounge window. What about this conservatory, then?”

We stood side by side looking out at the rain. I thought John would go into some sort of spiel about letting light in or something like that but he didn’t. He just stood in silence, apparently staring out of the window. After a minute or so of this rather strained silence I sat down facing him and finished my glass. I crossed my legs – like you do. And he almost choked on his wine.

“Look, Mrs Jacques. It is ‘Mrs’, is it?”

I showed him my left hand, with my imitation wedding ring on the third finger. I decided the silence had to be broken. I reached out a hand towards him.

“But my husband isn’t going to be back for a couple of days. So, John, come and sit here, beside me. You seem ever-so quiet.”

“It’s just – Irene – you’re not quite what I expected.”

“In what way?” I asked quietly.

“Well, on your own at home, Irene, and looking so attractive. I mean …”

Afterwards, a couple of days later, I got to wondering just how things might have turned out differently. He seemed to be about to embark on quite a long speech about what he expected and so on. But I interrupted him. Like any tranny in that situation I wanted him to tell me just what he did think, in what way he found me attractive.

I mean, at that moment, I myself had no doubt at all what I looked like. Of course I’d have preferred to look convincing rather than attractive. Many trannies want both, just the first would have done me. Just so long as convincing didn’t have to include ugly, of course.

“Attractive? What do you mean?”

John changed tack. Maybe the wine was getting to him, just a little.

“Well you really do have a very nice figure – that tight top is very revealing.”

I realised I’d not really explained my obsession with breasts to John in our online chats. I’d been so thrilled to find such a well-shaped pair of breast-forms in a flesh colour which so closely matched my own on-line, and also to find on a web-site somewhere – I think it was ‘Terri’s TV Times.’ I’d found some very clear and simple instructions on how to use just a small amount of make-up to blend in the edges of the falsies.

But the wine was getting to me too.

“Do you like them? My breasts, I mean, do you think the cleavage looks good?”

By which I meant ‘convincing’. Again, later, I realised he had interpreted ‘good’ differently.

“Oh, Irene, they look totally gorgeous.”

And his hand moved. Just a little, towards them. I didn’t realise then why he was hesitating. It had been clear to me from our online chats that this afternoon may include some sort of sexual involvement. I really did expect him at that stage to reach out and cup them, maybe to see just how realistic my boobs felt. But he didn’t, balıkesir escort maybe he was shy.

I realised again I was going to have to make the running. I re-crossed my legs, allowing my red-tipped fingers to push the hem of my short skirt up just a little to provocatively reveal just a little of my stocking tops. I didn’t say anything yet, but John just gulped. I decided to take the role-play forward, to maybe tease him a little in the way I had done when we’d acted out a scene very like this online, when he’d ‘visited’ me as a horny, lonely housewife.

“And my legs, John, do they appeal to you too?”

“Oh my, yes they do. Certainly.”

“Tell me John, when you’ve been out selling your double-glazing, do you often come across women alone in the house, dressed in tight tops and mini-skirts?”

“Well, not usually….”

I cut him short again. He really was being rather slow, this wasn’t just shyness. Still I continued our theme. I reached across and took his hand and placed it on my thigh, well above my exposed knee.

“And do the women you meet ever make advances at you? After all, you’re a very handsome man, John.”

“Really, Irene. I don’t think ….. Oh hell!”

And he kissed me. Basically he snapped. He’d clearly been wanting to go on, to carry on the role-play or so I thought. But suddenly he’d had enough. Basic animal instincts took over. And as soon as my lips touched his, at the moment I felt his hand slide up my skirt, I snapped too.

“Oh my God, John, my darling, I want you. So much, you really must – ooooooooh!”

His hand had slid round the back and was clutching my arse as his lips worked on mine.

‘OK so this may well have be the first time he’s done this with a guy’, I thought, ‘but he’s up for it now, whatever was slowing him down earlier.’

And within seconds, there on the sofa in the living room we were at it. On the way to my first taste of sex with a guy, I knew I was going to enjoy myself. OK, so he was about to cheat on Mary, and I was going to be unfaithful to Carol. But for the moment neither of those seemed to matter. Right then I was playing at being a woman, and a horny woman at that, eager to get screwed by any salesman or visitor who I could get onto my sofa.

I realised it would be better not to mention either Carol or Mary at that point. Maybe he was having similar thoughts but I didn’t want to spoil the illusion we’d created. I was the horny housewife, so …

I slid my hand down to the waistband of his trousers and undid the zip, sliding my hand in to grab his now-fully-erect cock.

“John, please, I want to – well, you know.”

Clearly John wanted to too. Within seconds he’d undone the small buttons down the front of my blouse, and was fumbling round at the back to undo my bra. As it fell off he cupped my right breast, oh-so gently at first and then more firmly.

“Oh Jeez, Irene…”

I was amazed, John was doing so well. I grinned at him, OK so if he could be the randy salesman I could be the willing wanton wife. I smiled a knowing smile at him.

“Well, John – er – since my husband isn’t going to be back for such a long time …… “

I left it to him to carry on with the role-play, maybe to say something like ‘No, I can’t, I’ll lose my job’ or ‘but Irene, I’m a married man’ or something like that. But as I slid my hand down again to stroke, for the first time, a man’s engorged prick – he just groaned as he buried his head in my neck. Maybe he didn’t want to carry on the role-play any further. Maybe he just wanted to fuck.

But as he got more and more into it, as I nearly ripped his shirt off and his hands groped higher and higher up my thighs, he got back into it.

“Are you sure, I mean, if he comes back, I could get the – OH!”

I’d just gone the final step, just finished undressing him, just leaned down towards the bulging crown in front of me. He had huge, heavy balls and a long, thick cock. I stared. This was a tranny dream – it was such a gorgeous penis. I reached out my red-nailed hand and started slowly sliding my hand up and down. His erection shot up to an even more gorgeous-looking eight inches. My own cock was rock hard in my panties but I knew it had to stay there for the moment. I didn’t want anything to spoil what was turning into an amazing IRL role-play. I don’t think I have ever been that hard before in my life. I have to admit I was enjoying my girly role even more than I’d expected.

Some pre-cum had begun to leak out of his piss hole and was trailing down the head of his dick. I gave him one last look, and lowered myself down to John’s fat, beautiful cock. I kissed the head and licked off the pre-cum, then in one mighty swoop I took the whole head of his cock into my mouth. He tasted salty, hard, soft, warm, and smooth in my mouth. It was a wonderful feeling.

“Oh! Oh! Wow! Mrs Jacques, that is so ….”

He was good. He was giving a brilliant, Oscar-deserving performance!

I trabzon escort lowered myself further down, feeling every thick vein that lined the sides of that gorgeous throbbing cock until I could feel it poking the back of my throat. I raised back up, sucking hard, tracing my tongue all the way along the underside of his shaft. Once back at the top, I began to tease his cockhead with my tongue, trying to get into his piss slit. I lowered myself back down .Mr Smith’s moaning was loud and getting louder. I teased and grabbed his balls while I sucked away. I then pulled off of his cock and licked it, tracing the veins from the base to the head and back down again.

“Oh god, Mrs Jacques! You are so fucking good!” moaned Mr Smith – John – loudly.

I backed off briefly to breathe, then wrapped my glossy red lips around his penis again and took him as deep into my mouth as I could. After a minute or so I again pulled away slowly, squeezing his cock with my lips as I did so.

“Oh wow, you are amazing! You are so much better my wife! Oh. Mmmm.”

John was clearly having fun – I started moaning and groaning as I sucked his cock up and down. I began to slide more quickly, then I reached my other hand between my legs and began stroking my own cock, rapped in the black silky pocket within my thong. Needless to say I swelled up somewhat, but I managed to ease my own erection into a more comfortable position.

Once that was settled, I returned to John’s organ. I kissed it up and down with small, soft caresses. Then I moved down to his balls, sucking on each one, slowly rolling it around in my mouth. He really enjoyed this and started squirming.

“Oh my God, Irene. You love my cock, don’t you?” he said.

‘Irene.’ At last we were on first name terms!

I managed to lift my head and raised my heavily-made-up eyes to look my companion in the face. With a mouth full of his I stared at him and smiled.

“Mmmm,” was all I managed to say.

“Oh my God, Irene. That is so good. You really are one hell of a cock-sucker.”

John seemed to be produced more pre-cum than previously. I really didn’t properly know what that meant, this was such new territory for me. For ‘Irene’. For the ‘woman’ sucking John’s thick shaft. I pulled my smooth glossy lips back up to the crown of his cock and allowed it to slip out of my mouth. John was clearly disappointed, and let me know in no uncertain term.

“Oh no, you bitch! Don’t stop now, I’m so close.”

I leaned down again and stuck my tongue in his piss slit, working my tongue all the way around it, then I moved to the underside of his fat, blood-engorged crown and licked it hard. With only his cock-head in my mouth I carried on teasing him while my red-taloned fingers rubbed the base of his cock.

I managed to look up again. John was staring at me.

“Oh my god! This is fucking amazing. Oh! Oh! I’m really close, baby. I NEED TO CUM!!”

He climaxed. His entire body jerked, as I felt my own cock pulsing within its silky prison. John’s body arched upward and his cock squirted an enormous spurt of hot sticky semen into my throat.

In that situation, not surprisingly, he just couldn’t stay quiet.

“Oh hell, baby. Yes. YES. YES!!”

The first wave hit the back of my throat. Followed by a second, which seemed larger. And a third, larger still. I swallowed as the cum gushed out, determined to do myself justice as a quality cock-sucker, and cum swallower. John just kept on cumming until, after almost a minute of continuous spurting, his shaft began to wilt in my mouth.

I swallowed the last of the semen, then eased myself up to a sitting position. I turned to look at the man who had, in some sense, become my lover. John looked at me..

“Mrs Jacques – Irene! That was the best blowjob I have ever had. You are amazing!”

I managed to stand up, and to ease my skirt down to cover my thong and my stocking tops. I realised – I hadn’t finished.

“Hang on a minute, baby,” I said, picking up my handbag and turning to head for the downstairs cloakroom just off the hall. I’m pretty sure it took me less than a minute. I slid off my thong, and dropped the condom into the loo. I grabbed my bag, took out my lipstick, and did the best job I could under the circumstances in refreshing that part of my make-up. I re-tucked my blouse into my skirt, turned, and walked somewhat unsteadily on my high heels back to the living room. John was there, still not dressed, he was teasing his cock.

I sat down again, almost next to him, anticipating that I might be horizontal soon. I reached over and began to stroke his cock with my red nails. It began to react.

“Don’t worry, my love, you’ll soon be back to full strength. So, you want to fuck me?”

It was at that point that I realised something was about to go wrong with the role-play. When John saw what was under my skirt, now thong-less, we couldn’t pretend any more that I was a real housewife. Hell, by then it wouldn’t matter. The role-play had been to make us both feel a bit more comfortable in the initial stages of what was, after all, the first gay meeting for the both of us. And by the time we were both naked or nearly naked – for some reason I desperately wanted to keep my stockings and heels on – the role-play really wouldn’t be relevant any more. My excitement was mounting.

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