Chapter 10

Chelsea turned her laptop so Jeff could see its screen. “This is my coming-out post,” she said. “Could you look it over?”

Jeff read the screen. “The Real Me ... That’s a gorgeous photo of you, if I say so myself. I’ll bet my folks would like a copy.”

“Sure, go ahead and send them a copy.”

He read from her text:

I started this blog four years ago. I was sixteen at the time. The therapist who was managing my male-to-female reassignment treatment decided it was time to discontinue the puberty blocker I had been on since age eleven and to start hormone therapy. She gave me an estrogen implant and a prescription for spironolactone, a testosterone blocker.

My original intent was to chronicle the changes in my body under hormone therapy. Under histrelin therapy I had grown to be a rather androgynous looking sixteen-year-old. My hair was long and I wore girls’ clothing, but I was gawky and eager for female features to develop.

By age eighteen I had developed breasts, my hips were fuller and my legs softer. I looked then pretty much how I look today. Along the way this blog changed as I began writing about my emotional development along with various life events I experienced.

I wrote using a pen name of Quinn Vergennes, to protect my privacy. Over time my zeal for privacy became an obsession and then a sort of phobia. I was terrified that if my identity were known, someone could harm me or my family. A recent event in which I feared my true identity had slipped out triggered a full-blown panic attack. I hyperventilated nearly to the point of passing out.

It was my wonderful and loving fiance J, who convinced me that I would not succeed by cowering in the closet, and I realized I had nearly become a recluse.

I have decided to come out publicly to ease my anxiety. This is who I really am. My name is Chelsea Lane and I am a sophomore pre-med student...

“I think that pretty much covers it,” Jeff said, “without over-sharing. Are you ready to post it?”

“I am. Feel my pulse.”

Jeff reached for her left wrist. “Wow ... Palpitations?”

“Almost...” She reached for the mouse connected to her laptop and positioned the cursor over the button labeled Update. She clicked the button. “Done.” `

“Your pulse just dropped forty beats.” She stood and embraced him and they kissed. “I’m proud of you,” he said.

“I couldn’t have done it without you ... your support and your tough love. I feel like a boulder has been lifted.”

“You okay?”

“I am, now. I feel calm. This was the right thing to do.”

“We need to have dinner and head over to State for that Twin Campus Pride group.”

“I had forgotten about that. I need to finish that assignment for Creative Writing that’s due tomorrow. I’ll probably be up late.”

“So you want me to be scarce so I don’t distract you.”

“I’m sorry, Jeff. Creative writing is something I need to do by myself. My dad is coming tomorrow to scout out some real estate investment opportunities. He wants us to join him for dinner.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

“Then on Saturday we’ll look at some properties.”

Holding hands, Jeff and Chelsea began the hike to the Tech dorms.

“It is a long walk from State to Tech,” he remarked.

“I’m glad we could catch the last shuttle to the Tech union on our way there. That saved some time.”

“What did you think of the Pride group?”

“Seemed more of a social thing than anything else. I got some definite negative vibes from that older woman. I’m assuming she’s a State prof.”

“You have said that much of Quinn’s hate mail is sent by women.”

“Most of it, actually. I’m assuming it’s from radical lesbian feminists or other TERFs.”

“What’s a TERF?” he asked.

“Trans excluding radical feminist.”

“Why such animosity against you? All you are is a woman wanting to lead your life as a woman.”

“Dr Wolfe tried to explain it to me. I want to enroll in her class next term, assuming it’s open to Tech students. I think I can learn a lot from it. Being trans doesn’t mean I know or understand all the nuances of sexual politics.”

“Maybe I should enroll in it, too. I have a vested interest in trans-sexual politics.”

“This is a simplification,” Chelsea explained, “but radical lesbian feminists believe women are oppressed due the patriarchal nature of human society. They believe lesbianism counters patriarchy.”

“What does that have to do with you?”

“They believe that cis-hetero sex perpetuates patriarchy.”

“So, what does that have to do with you?”

“The radical feminists believe that assigned gender is all that matters.”

“By assigned do you mean birth gender?”

“Yes. That puts pre-op trans women in a lose-lose situation. Since I’m straight and since I’m participating in hetero sex with you, then I am perpetuating patriarchy. On the other hand, if I were a trans-lesbian, since my assigned gender is male, I am perpetuating patriarchy if I engage in sex with a woman.”

“So the penis is the all-powerful force behind patriarchal oppression.”

“That’s a succinct way of putting it.”

“What about post-op trans women?” he asked.

“We didn’t go into that, but I assume their belief that assigned gender is all that matters applies to post-ops as well.”

“Wait a minute ... These TERFs believe that birth gender is all that matters. That’s the same as the fundamentalist conservatives.”

“That’s right. Many of the right-wing attitudes about trans folk derive from TERF doctrine.”

“This is nuts,” he remarked. “You’re a pawn in both the radical feminist movement to tear down patriarchy AND the MAGA crowd that wants to preserve it.”

“Welcome to my world.”

“We’re almost home ... The final climb to Wheeler.”

They reached the Wheeler House lobby. “Thanks again for coming tonight,” she said.

“I would not have missed it. And our talk on the way back ... wow. When I first wanted to date you I thought I was merely chasing a cute chick. I had no idea all this political baggage was part of the package. I am beginning to understand the animosity against you and your ilk. Both the far left and far right have their finely tuned political machinery, and you are the monkey wrench thrown into the works. Their defense is to demonize trans people and the more of a human face we put on the trans movement the more it shows their arguments are lies.”

“You do get it.” She embraced and kissed him. “Now I must work on that assignment. I do not dare miss turning this in.”

“Keep your hands out of the slush pile,” he replied.

“Oh, I will. See you tomorrow.”

Jeff walked to his dorm and let himself into his room.

“Hey, what are you doing here?” Ted asked. “Did you check your calendar? It’s Thursday.”

“Chelsea has an important assignment to complete. She’ll probably be up all night. I’m not disrupting any of your plans by being here, am I?”

“No, not tonight. Unfortunately.”

“By the way ... Chelsea has come out of the closet, publicly and officially. So, go ahead and spread the news.”

“It’s none of my business ... Jeff ... I’ve been thinking about what you said about her. You’re doing okay by her.”

“Well ... Thank you for your seal of approval.”

“I mean it. I was trying to put myself in her place. If I were trapped inside a woman’s body. What would it be like? What would I do? It really got me thinking.”

“Good. I’m glad.”

“Bottom line is -- if you two are happy that’s all that matters and who am I to criticize?”

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Jeff replied. “If you don’t give a shit about my love life I won’t give a shit about yours. Deal?”

“Deal. What do you have going for this weekend?”

“Chelsea’s dad is coming to look at real estate for investment purposes. We’re going to help.”

“Real estate?”

“Yeah -- he thinks improving the off-campus housing inventory is a good investment.”

Jeff reached for his phone on Chelsea’s nightstand to check the time. It read 8:03. He rolled over and kissed her cheek. “Wake up, sleepy-head.” She murmured. He grasped her shoulder and gave it a gentle shake. “Wake up! We need to get ready to meet your dad.”

“Mmmph ... I was in the middle of a strange but absorbing dream.”

“What was it about?”

“I can’t remember. It’s as if something in my brain clicked Close, Don’t Save. I was so tired last night. Night before last I was up ‘til four working on that assignment for Dr Wolfe and then last night we were out late having dinner with Daddy.”

“You definitely were riding the Zonkersville Express,” he remarked.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t much of a bed partner. What time is it?”

“Five after eight.”

“I had better get my shower started.”

“I’ll join you.”

“Okay, but no monkey business. We don’t have time.”

Jeff ran the water and started the shower. Chelsea stepped in and he joined her. Squirting some bath gel into his palm he lathered her body, running soapy hands up and down her legs and buttocks. Chelsea reciprocated by soaping his body. He ducked his head under the shower and quickly shampooed his hair before rinsing off.

“I have to do my hair now,” she said.

He turned to her and leaned back, displaying his stiffly erect manhood. “What am I supposed to do with this? It’s been since Sunday.”

“You can take another shower -- a cold one -- while I’m drying my hair. Now, excuse me.”

Jeff toweled off and retrieved fresh socks and briefs from the corner of a dresser drawer. The sound of running water ceased.

He poked his head into the en suite. “I’m going to run over to the cafeteria and grab a donut. Want anything?”

“I’m good.”

“Can I borrow your ID so I can get back in the building?”

“It’s in my bag.”

Jeff heard the whir of her hair dryer as he stepped into the hallway, making sure the door was unlocked.

He headed back from his mission, using her ID to gain entrance to the Wheeler residence hall. He found Chelsea sitting in her robe at her desk using her laptop.

“They actually had cheese Danish,” he reported. “I brought one for you.”

“I love cheese Danish. Put it in the fridge and I’ll have it later. What’s it like outside?”

“Mild, for late February. I’m not wearing my coat, just my hoodie.”

“I think I’ll wear my woolen skirt and knee socks.”

“What are you looking at?”

“Quinn’s blog. I’m looking at responses to my coming-out post. Most of them are positive. Here’s one you need to see while I’m getting dressed.”

He sat in her chair. “Who is Michaela?”

“Another T-girl. She’s been a blog regular for the past couple of years.”

He read from her screen.

Quinn/Chelsea. I admire your courage in outing yourself and I can imagine the relief you’re feeling. I’m sure you will do fine and I wish I was at your point of life. Unfortunately I am not. I was pleased to see you are enrolled at Tech. I live here in town and would love the opportunity to meet you in person. You have inspired me and enriched me through your blog. I would like to discuss transitioning with you one-on-one rather than through your blog. I understand you must be busy with your class load and all. If there’s a way we could get together for even fifteen minutes or so I would be very grateful. Michaela.

“Local girl,” Jeff remarked. “Do you think this is on the level?”

“I think so. How do I look?”

Jeff turned around and she modeled her costume. “You look great. That’s the vest sweater you posed in. Looks good on you.”

“How are the streets?”

“Clear and dry.”

“Then I won’t need my Doc Martens ... I’ll wear these black sneakers.”

“So, are you going to meet with Michaela?”

“I’ll see what we can set up. I would like it if you could be with me.”

“What for?”

“Just for backup. I’m still shy and cautious with strangers and new situations.”

“I get it. Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean someone’s not out to get you.”

Chelsea’s phone chimed. “Daddy’s downstairs,” she said. “Do you have my ID?”

Jeff fished it from his shirt pocket and handed to her. Together they headed to the lobby. He spotted Chelsea’s father along with a younger man.

“Chelsea, Jeff -- this is Ray Brach, Realtor and architect. Ray, my daughter Chelsea and future son-in-law Jeff. Ray gave me the nickel tour of the campuses and now we’re going to look at some properties.”

They followed Ray to a Jeep Cherokee. Jeff sat beside Chelsea in back with Chet in front and Ray behind the wheel. “The first two properties are being sold off by Tech. They are being sold by sealed bids.” Ray pulled into a drive leading to a large three-story foursquare dating to the late nineteenth century. “This is the old Griswold House. Originally it was the home of the spinster sisters who founded the college.”

“I’ve heard about it,” Jeff said, “from Tech history. This was the original virgin vault. Tech was male-only until the mid fifties, when they started admitting co-eds. Originally there were about a hundred women in a student body of three thousand. About fifty, mainly freshmen and sophomores, were housed here. There was a strictly enforced curfew as well as mandatory sign-out and sign-in. Visitors in the rooms were forbidden but permitted in the common lounge.”

“Sounds more like work-release than a dorm,” Chelsea observed.

“That’s right,” Ray added. “The top two floors were converted into a dozen double and triple dorm rooms with a communal bathroom on each floor. I can let us in and we can walk the place.”

They stepped through a dark wood and glass double front door. “This was the lounge. There’s a kitchen and an apartment for the matron who kept watch over the place.”

“Looks like it’s been deserted for years,” Chet observed.

“When the dorms went co-ed in the seventies the place was converted into offices. Those were abandoned in the eighties when the administration building opened.”

They headed up the stairs into a dark hallway lined with doors. “What are we looking at?” Chet asked. “We could probably combine three dorm rooms into one apartment -- one or two bedrooms, bathroom and kitchenette. That would give us four apartments on each floor.”

“And maybe two or three on the first floor,” Ray added.

“What rent could we get?” Chet asked.

“I checked with the housing office for Tech married student housing,” Jeff remarked. “They are asking five hundred for a one-bedroom and eight for two beds.”