Jeff and Chelsea
Chapter 1

Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, TransGender, Shemale, First, Anal Sex, Enema,

Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - College student Jeff finally scores a date with Chelsea, the classmate with whom he has been working on a project. Afterward she confides the reason she rebuffed his earlier advances -- she is transsexual and doubts she can have a relationship with a man. Jeff is stunned by her admission. Curious and unwilling to lose her he convinces her to try sleeping together. This experiment leads to a lusty weekend of more and more adventuresome lovemaking, ending with each pledging love to the other.

Jeff approached her. "Hi," he said. "I understand we'll be working together on this project. My name is Jeff ... Jeff Brooker."

"I'm Chelsea," she replied, "Chelsea Lane."

"Chelsea Lane ... Sounds like the title of a Beatles song." He regarded her. Chelsea wore a sleeveless blouse and cut-off jeans. She was of medium build, small-breasted and with slender arms and shapely legs. Her oval face had a strong jaw line, a chin with a hint of a dimple and was framed by a mane of coarse, chestnut hair parted low on the left. A shock of it covered her forehead and seemingly rested atop her large, black-framed glasses. She wore no makeup -- no eye shadow or liner. Her nose was up-turned and with hints of freckles on either side of her bridge.

Chelsea's full lips turned up in a slight smile. "I hadn't heard that one."

"I've seen you on campus ... last year," he added. "This is the first class we've been in together. We only have a couple of weeks to do this project."

"I've had this prof before," she replied. "I know what she's looking for."

"Maybe we can get together this evening and strategize. Do you live on campus?"

"Yes. I'm in Wheeler House."

"Wheeler? How did you score a room in Wheeler? That's reserved for upperclassmen ... not sophomores."

"I guess I'm lucky. There's a study lounge in Wheeler. Maybe we can meet there."

"Okay ... six? I can do some preliminary investigating on Wikipedia."

"Professor Stumpf won't accept Wiki as a source," Chelsea replied.

"Maybe not but it's a good starting point." I'll see you at six.

Jeff sat in the lounge at Wheeler. "I think we have a good start on references," he said. "Let's divide and conquer. I'll send you a list of papers to hunt down and I'll tackle the rest."


"It would help if I knew your email address."

She reached into her bag. "Here," she said and handed him a card.

"A business card ... Chelsea Lane..."

"It's from when I was working," she explained. "The email and cell numbers still are good."

"Okay..." Jeff composed the email and sent it. He powered down his laptop and closed the lid. "I think we covered a lot of ground tonight. How would you feel about a stroll over to the snack bar in the quad for a malt or something?"

"I'm good," she replied.

"I'll pay." He looked into her blue eyes.

"Maybe some other time."

"Would you be interested in going to see a movie or something? I can see what's playing at the Union this weekend."

"I'm not into the dating scene."

"Already have a boyfriend?" he asked. "Not that it's any of my business."

"I don't and no, it isn't any of your business."

Jeff held up his hands. "Okay, okay ... Message received and understood. Let's reconvene in a couple of days and see what we can put together out of our research. Agreed?"


Jeff packed his laptop into his backpack and headed toward his dorm. He unlocked his door and stepped inside. "Hey, Ted," he said to his roommate.

"You're out late."

"Yeah ... I was working on a project ... team effort for Stumpf's class. I got teamed up with Chelsea Lane."

"Chelsea Lane? Sounds like the title of a Beatles song."

"That's what I said to her."

"What's she like?"

"You must've seen her around campus ... medium build with bushy reddish-brown hair and big, black-rimmed glasses."

"Oh, yeah ... the nerdy-looking one."

"I think she's cute ... and I like nerdy girls."

Jeff sat across from Chelsea in the Union. "I was able to locate all the reference journals except one," she said. "It's not in our library or any on the inter-campus loan."

"Which one?"

She showed him the list. "This one."

"Oh, yeah. The nearest copy of that is at the Bear Mountain Institute."

"What's that?" she asked.

"It was founded in the thirties as a tuberculosis sanitarium back when the thought was that clean, fresh mountain air would help cure the disease. Now it's a private research lab. This journal is pretty obscure but they have a copy."

"Can we get it on loan?"

"No, they don't let material out of their library."

She gave him an exasperated look. "Can they make a copy of that one paper for us?"

"They can't get it to us in time to help us."

"Then, what do you suggest?"

"I suggest we take an afternoon and drive down there."

"Do you have a car? Because I don't."

"Neither do I, but my roommate does. If I ask him nicely maybe he'll let us borrow it."

"Why WE, Jeff?"

"I thought we were partners on this project. Chelsea -- having that one reference means a letter grade on this project. I don't know if a letter grade makes a difference to you, but it does to me. I have a scholarship to protect."

She regarded him. "I think you're right. And, I do care about a letter grade."

"My afternoons are free on Wednesdays. We can drive down after lunch and be back for dinner."

"I have a math recitation then ... but I can probably cut it once without any serious consequences."

"Then, Wednesday. I'll check with Ted and see what he needs from me in order to use his car."

Jeff powered down his laptop and packed it in his backpack. He made the walk across campus to his dorm and climbed the stairs to his room. "Hey, Ted," he said upon entering.

"Working with Chelsea again?"

"Yeah. We were wondering ... Can we borrow your car on Wednesday?"

"Wednesday? Where are you going on Wednesday?"

"Bear Mountain."

"What's at Bear Mountain? It's too early for skiing."

"Bear Mountain Institute -- the old sanitarium."

"Are you visiting an inmate or checking in as one?" Ted asked.

"It's not that kind of sanitarium. It used to be where they treated TB patients. Now it's a research center. Their library has a journal we need and they're not part of the interlibrary loan. I figure we'll leave after lunch and be back by dinner. I'll pay for the gas, Ted."

"You'll bring it back with a full tank."

"Why? How much is in it now?"

"About half. It's that or no deal."

"All right ... agreed."

"I'll put the keys on my hook. By the way -- how are things going with you and Chelsea?"

"We're fine as partners on this project. Whenever I try to approach her socially ... zoom, her shields go up. I don't know how many times I've offered to buy her a snack after one of our sessions. She always says no."

"Maybe she's one of those chicks with serious guy issues," Ted remarked. "If that's the case, you're better off forgetting about her."

"That's why I have an ulterior motive on this road trip. She'll be a captive audience for three hours. Maybe I'll have a chance to break down her shell."

Chelsea walked with Jeff to a small, older Kia in the parking lot. She sat in the passenger seat. Jeff sat behind the wheel. From under the seat he procured a folded-up packet. "Here."

"What's this for?"

"It's called a road map. I'll drive, you can navigate."

"I know it's a road map. We don't need this."

"Oh. Do you know the route?"

"No." She took her cell from her bag -- a new model Galaxy. "I have this -- full GPS." She manipulated the phone. "Where are we going?"

"Bear Mountain Institute."

"Ah ... Here it is. We head south on Route fifty-eight."

"That much I know already." He put the key in the ignition and started the motor. Jeff backed out of the stall and headed down the highway. "What's next?"

"Turn left onto Route Three at Killworth Corners."

"Okay ... Got it."

He headed down the highway. Jeff glanced at Chelsea. She sat, her hands folded in her lap and staring straight ahead. "Relax -- we have a long drive ahead."

"How long?"

"What did your GPS say?"

"I didn't ask it."

"It's about a hundred miles ... figure an hour and a half or so."

"So, it'll be nearly three when we get there."

"That's about how I figure it."

He glanced at her again. Her eyelids were drooping and her chin was resting on her chest. Jeff saw the sign for Route Three. He slowed, put on his turn signal and turned left. Chelsea leaned against the passenger door.

He drove for about forty-five minutes and saw a sign for the village of Prescott ahead. "Chelsea? Chelsea?"

"Mmmpf ... I must've dozed off. I'm sorry -- didn't mean to. I was up late last night."

"Prescott is three miles ahead. Do we turn there?"

"Let me check..." She consulted her phone. "There's no signal."

"Of course not. We're heading into the mountains. Cell towers are few and far between. Aren't you getting GPS?"

"Yeah ... but the maps are at Google ... Where's that roadmap?"

He pulled it from under his seat. "Here ... Looks like we needed it after all."

"You don't have to rub it in." She opened the map onto her lap. "Route three..."

"Prescott ... destination Bear Mountain."

"Right. Yeah -- we turn right onto Route Thirty and follow that to Bear Mountain." She folded up the map.

"So -- you going to go back to sleep?"

"No. I told you -- I didn't mean to."

"Up ahead are the high peaks. It should be some pretty scenery."


"So ... What do you like to do for fun? Are you into sports? Tennis, golf?"

"I'm not very athletic," she replied.

"Neither am I. Do you like going to the movies?"

"I haven't been in years."

"Watch television?"

"Not too much other than the news once in a while."

"Listen to music?"

"Not really..."

"Then, what DO you do?"

"What's it to you?" she asked.

"I dunno ... I thought maybe we had some interests in common."

"What if we do?"

"I thought then, maybe we could be friends," he said.

"I don't make friends," she replied tartly.

"Oh, snap..." He rounded a turn and crested a hill. "Look -- up ahead. Those are the highest peaks in the state."

"Wow ... That is a view."

"Over there is Bear Mountain Lake. The institute is located on the lakeshore. I figure another twenty minutes and we'll be there."

"We're making good time," she remarked.

"Yeah ... Time flies when you're asleep."

Jeff headed the car north on Route Thirty as they headed back to campus. "I am really amped about this project," Chelsea said. "The paper in that journal really filled in all the blanks. I'll be astonished if we don't ace it."

"So, you think driving down here was a good idea after all?"

"Yes, Jeff. It was an excellent idea."

"A good enough one for you to pay for half the gas?"


"These cars don't run on a wish and a prayer you know. Ted's condition was we return it with a full tank. I topped it up before we left but we'll need to add more when we get home."

She opened her bag. "How much?"

"I figure twenty will cover it."

She reached in and retrieved a ten-dollar bill. "Here."

"Twenty should cover your share."

She dug into her bag and handed him a five. "That's all I have. I'll owe you the rest."

"Forget the rest." He stuffed the fifteen into his shirt pocket. "Every bit helps, though."

They approached Prescott and Jeff turned onto Route Three. "So, what else do we have in common?" he asked.

"We don't have anything in common."

"Oh, sure we do. We're both not athletic, we don't go to the movies, we don't watch much television and we don't listen to music. I'll bet you don't hunt, camp, fish or canoe."

"No, I don't."

"Why did I think you wouldn't? There must be something we do that's in common. Do you like to read?"

"Yes. I read quite a bit."

"So do I. What sort of stuff do you like?"

"Fantasy ... science fiction. But it has to be good science fiction."

"I like good sci-fi, too," he replied. "What do you think makes good sci-fi?"

"It has to explore the human condition. I'm not into guys with ray guns shooting monsters."

"Like Starship Troopers?"

"For example."

"Ever read any of DL Strykor's stuff?"

She turned toward him. "Oh, I love DL Strykor. When they made a series out of Starbase 101 I watched every episode.

"Yeah," he replied. "I pestered my parents to put in basic cable just so I could see that series. I thought they did a good job for the most part."

"Oh, I agree."

"The main complaint I have is the actress they cast as Leanna. In the books she's much more..."

"Vulnerable," Chelsea interjected.

"Yeah, you're right. I was going to say virginal."

"Oh, yeah. That, too."

"I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this," he said, "but I was such a fan of that show I have the action figures. Pretty geeky, huh?"

"Now it's in reruns. It's turned into a cult thing." She bit her lip. "I'm a bit embarrassed to admit this, but I'm such a fan I write fan fiction."

"You write fanfic?"

"I've posted some stories on the big Starbase fan site. I've even been complimented by DL Strykor herself."

"Herself? DL's a guy."

"No, she's a woman. What makes you think she's a he?" Chelsea asked.

"The writing style. The books are done in a man's style."

"What, exactly, is a man's writing style?"

"Well ... A woman's style is more diffuse."

"Diffuse? What do you mean?"

"It's the difference between how men and women think. A man's brain is like waffles, with nice, regular compartments ... a place for everything and everything in its place. A woman's brain is like a plate of spaghetti. One strand touches another and another and so on. Strykor's writing has a man's clarity to it."

"That's absurd. You do know that DL Strykor is a pen name? That she keeps her true identity a secret?"

"Yes I know that HE keeps HIS true identity a secret."

"I'll let you know," she retorted, "that I have met DL Strykor in person."

"In person? When? Where?"

"She was at a book signing at the local Barnes and Noble ... and she was definitely a woman."

"If DL Strykor is so secretive, maybe who you met was a ringer."

"Believe what you want."

"So, ... SHE has complimented your fanfic."

"That's right. That's one thing I like about her -- she's supportive of her fan base. Imitation is flattery and she actively supports fan fiction. Not all authors do, you know. Some are so protective of their characters..."

"So if I Google Chelsea Lane I'll find your fanfic?"

"No, you won't. I use a pen name also."

"What is it?"

"I'm not gonna tell you."

"You don't want me reading your work?"

"No, I don't. You'll be pestering me about my ... diffuse writing style."

"Most fanfic I've read ... not that I read much of it ... is mainly adolescent sexual fantasies where some junior officer proxy for the author ends up saving the day and in bed with the commander or with whomever else they have a crush."

"I can assure you that's not the kind of fiction I write. I try to emulate the layers and texture of Strykor's original works. It's hard. She has the ability to use a few sentences to describe a scene and I can visualize it so vividly. As a writer I'm envious of that talent."

Jeff turned onto Route 58. "We're almost there. I'll stop at a filling station near campus. Want to have dinner together?"

"I am so amped about this project I'm going to skip dinner and start in on it."

"What can I do to help? I mean, if you want to take the lead doing the writing ... seeing as you're a writer who's work has been complimented by DL Strykor HERself -- the last thing I want to do is stand on your air hose."

"I think we have all the detail we need. If you could finalize the figures..."

"Right. I'll email them to you tonight ... and I'll call if I have any questions." He approached the outskirts of town. "Chelsea?"


"Now do you think we can be friends?"

"I told you -- I don't make friends."

"Well ... Maybe you already have. I'm going to pull in here and get some gas."

Jeff topped up the tank at a Citgo near campus. He dropped Chelsea off outside Wheeler and then parked in the lot adjacent to his dorm building. He headed inside.

"Here," he said, handing the keys to his roommate. "Tank is full and otherwise no worse for wear."

"Mission accomplished?"

"We got the material we need for that report," Jeff replied.

"Did you make any inroads with her?"

Jeff sighed. "I dunno ... It seems the closer I get to establishing some sort of rapport, the stronger she resists. I did learn we have something in common."

"What's that?"

"We're both big Starbase 101 fans."

"That crappy show? To each I guess ... I tell you, Jeff -- if she's a chick with guy issues you're better off dropping her. There are lots of girls on campus dying for a relationship."

"I don't want an air-headed bimbo. Chelsea's smart and interesting. We have chemistry. I can feel it. I think she feels it, too."

"She just won't admit it?"

"She flat-out resists it," Jeff replied. "I have some figures for that report to finish up."

Jeff sat in a classroom presided over by a stocky, gray-haired woman. The bell rang. She opened a folder and set a pile of papers on a table. "Ladies and gentlemen," she announced. "Before you go, please pick up your graded reports. If you don't find your paper in the stack, please see me."

Chelsea headed for the table along with other students and began rifling through the stack. Jeff approached and looked through the pile. "I don't see it here."

"Neither do I. We better go talk to her."

"Professor Stumpf is a formidable woman," he remarked.

"Yeah but I've had her before. I'll go talk to her."

"Better you than me."

Jeff hung back and watched as Chelsea approached their prof. This is either good or bad news, he thought. Then, Chelsea approached him holding up the paper, folded lengthwise. "Well?"

"Let's go to the Union"

"What did she say?"

Chelsea walked briskly toward the union. They entered and found a table.

"You're killing me -- what did she say?" Chelsea unfolded the paper. A big, red A+ was inked and circled on the first page. "YES!" he exclaimed.

"I told you we'd ace it," she said.

"I'm going to get a soda," he said. "Want anything?"

"I'm good."

He returned with his drink. "Now ... What did she say to you in person?"

"She said she remembered me from last term and that she always enjoys reading my papers. She wanted to know how you and I divided the work. I told her it truly was a joint effort and that you located that one obscure reference. She complimented us on the clarity of the writing."

"It must be all that fanfic you write. You've honed some skills. Chelsea -- I wish I could partner with you on every project. I wish I could write like you do."

She smiled and looked down. "Thanks, Jeff. That was sweet. I did enjoy this project."

"So -- do you think we can be friends, now?"

She extended her hand. "Friends."

He grasped hers. "Friends." Jeff sipped from his soda. "Say -- since we're friends and since we both like good scifi ... The SciFi club is showing a classic Doctor Who here at the Union this Friday. It's one of the Tom Baker episodes. Interested in going?" Chelsea propped her elbows on the table and held her forehead. "Is it that difficult a question? Do you already have plans -- rearrange you sock drawer or something?"

She drew in a breath and released it as an exasperated sigh. "I'm not in the habit of going out on dates, Jeff."

"Jeezus, Chelsea ... It's not a date. It's ... it's that I like scifi and I like you and I like sharing things I like with people I like. It's not a quote-unquote date." She continued to hold her forehead and stare at the table. "I don't know if you've had trouble with some guy in the past but I assure you I'm not like that. I respect you too much. I respect your intellect. And, we're friends."

She looked up at him. "All right. I'll go see Doctor Who with you. What time and where shall we meet?"

"At the risk of overplaying my hand ... How about we have dinner together at the Quad cafeteria beforehand?"

"Okay, fine."

"Good. Let's meet at the cafeteria at five. We can have dinner and then walk down here."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Outstanding..." He drained his soda. "By the way ... Do you by chance know someone named Quinn Vergennes?"

Chelsea's eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Where did you come up with that name?"

"I happened to be on the Starbase 102 site -- that's the big Starbase 101 fan wiki..."

"Yes I know what it is."

"I went to the fanfic section and found a story posted around the middle of July. The title was 'The Gene Vortex' by Quinn Vergennes and I saw a nice comment signed by DLS. I remember you saying that DL Strykor had complimented your stories. I put two and two together and thought maybe..." He regarded the expression of distress on her face. "What's wrong?"

"Yes ... yes, Jeff. Quinn Vergennes is my pseudonym. Have you read anything else of hers ... mine?"

"No. Just the one story. That site isn't too easy to navigate and I was kinda lucky to find it in the first place. Your story is very good, by the way -- very well written -- not diffuse at all. A product of a creative and sophisticated imagination is what DLS called it, and I agree a hundred percent. You're quite skilled at your craft, Chelsea. I'm in awe of your ability."

"You haven't told anyone, have you? You haven't told anyone that Quinn and I are the same..."

"No. It's your 'nym, Chelsea, and it's none of my business."

"You won't tell anyone. Please tell me you won't."

"I'm not going to out you, if that's your wish."


"Of course." She breathed a sigh of relief. "But, you don't have anything to be ashamed or embarassed about. It's a really good story and you write very well. If I could write like that I'd want the world to know."

"Quinn Vergennes values her privacy, the same way DL Strykor does. Please respect that."

"Oh, I will. Like I said, it's your 'nym."

"Thanks, Jeff."

"Are we still on for Friday?"

"Yes, Jeff. When I agree to something I follow through."

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / TransGender / Shemale / First / Anal Sex / Enema /