I walk into the building with a smile that just won’t quit. Uncle Jeff and my Dad had been working non-stop over the past weeks to get it ready—only stopping long enough to attend my graduation last week. It has been a week since my defense and the place looks great—thanks to Mom and Dad, Uncle Jeff and Aunt Janet, and Grandma and Grandpa. I wasn’t much help this past week—between partying and trying to get a handle on intermittent bouts of seeing the world in psychedelic swirls.

Shauna is in her office, messing with a bunch of files—of what, I have no idea. She graduated last week, too—with a pre-law degree. She was accepted into Harvard, Yale, and a few other prestigious law schools, but decided to go to a small, upcoming one that is only about thirty minutes from here. In the meantime, she is going to be my office manager at the center. It is still strange for me to think that I am two years younger than her and my other friends from college—yet I am four years ahead of all of them academically….

Emily is in her office straightening her things. She had just hung her shiny new diploma on the wall—proclaiming her to be a licensed social worker and therapist. I smile as I walk by and into my office. The place is awesome…just minutes from the yoga and ballet studios. Ironically, it is also not far from Zoey’s tattoo parlor and hair salon where Joy first made an unwanted appearance.

I sit down in my pretty office chair and look around… I have made it! Now, all I need are some clients…

Mom makes me get in the car. The past week has been pure hell for me. I continued to work at NYC…longing more to dress like a girl every day. Christi would sneak some light mascara on me—and I had left my toenails blue. But, I was getting more and more depressed—because I couldn’t dress like I wanted. Not because Mom or Ms. M. would not let me—I wouldn’t let myself… Finally, Ms. M. had come across a reference to a new therapist in town that supposedly specialized in problems like mine… That is where we are headed…

Mom parks and we get out. I look at the front door of the new center; it just opened today, it seems. “Joy of Life Center” is proudly painted in rainbow colors on the glass… Mom opens the door and we go in. A pretty young woman comes out of an office and says, “Hi, I am Shauna. Welcome to Joy of Life. Please excuse that we don’t have a receptionist yet, how may I help you?” Mom says, “Well, I received a recommendation to come to your center—even though you have just opened.” Shauna smiles and says, “Yes, it is our first day—but Joy, our primary therapist, is really good at what she does. Would you like to meet her?” Mom says, “Yes, that would be nice. My name is Grace. Grace Kinsley. This is my…child…Terry. I am afraid Terry needs some help that I don’t know how to give.”

A few minutes later, we are sitting in a conference room and a very pretty—and young strawberry blonde comes in. She introduces herself, “Hello, I am Joy. It is nice to meet both of you. How may I be of assistance to you?” Mom has a shocked look on her face when says, “Please don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t look old enough to be a therapist…” Joy laughs and says, “I am sure I don’t, Ms. Kinsley. Actually, I am only eighteen, but I have a Ph.D. in psychology and a few other degrees, as well. I…well…I learn easily—let’s just leave it at that. Do you think it will be a problem for you?” Mom smiles and says, “No. I trust the person that recommended you implicitly. And, please, call me Grace…”

Another pretty girl that Joy introduces as ‘Emily’ brings in a pot of hot tea and says, “I thought you might could use some tea. Or would you rather have coffee?” Mom shakes her head and says, “No, tea is perfect. Terry and I both are tea drinkers.” Emily pours the tea and smiles at me as she leaves the room. I nervously pick up the cup and blow on the hot liquid before taking a small sip.

Joy lets me settle a bit and then asks, “OK, Terry. Would you like to tell me what your problem is? If it is something that we can all agree we can help you with here at the center, then we will work out a plan of action and see if we can’t put whatever your demons are to rest…”

I nervously take a few more sips, then say in a small voice, “Well, I seem to prefer to dress as a girl even though I am a boy.” Joy is quiet, like she was waiting for me to get to the point. I sigh and say, “Don’t you get it? I want to wear girl’s clothes—I like the way they feel. I am learning to love the way they look. I want to be able to wear makeup and heels. I want to wear a dress and tights… I am a freak!” I start to tear up a bit.

Joy remains perfectly calm and still and asks, “OK, Terry. Why do you say you are a freak? Who is stopping you from wearing the things you want?” She looks at Mom, but is clearly still talking to me, “Your Mom?” I shake my head as the first tear trickles down my cheek. I say, “No, Mom and Ms. M. have been great. My girlfriend is actually encouraging me to dress that way… But I have to go back to school in a couple of weeks and there is no way I can go dressed as a girl…”

Joy takes a few sips of tea and gives me a chance to continue. When it is clear that I have said my piece, she says, “Yes, I see that thought clearly distresses you. I think I can help you, Terry, if you will let me. Grace, you will have to authorize the sessions, since Terry is a minor. I will keep you updated with our progress and get the appropriate permissions for anything that needs it, but our sessions will be private. It will be up to Terry to decide what he wants to share with you. There will however be a few things that I will ask Terry to keep confidential. If that is OK, we can get a few signatures and start tomorrow. Is that OK?”

Mom looks at me and asks, “Terry, are you willing to give it a try?” I nod and Mom looks back at Joy, “I don’t have a huge amount of money that I can spend—I have no idea what the insurance will cover…” Joy smiles and says, “Don’t worry about that. We don’t actually charge anything. Donations are welcome, of course, but this center operates off of some special…grants… It is likely, though, that some time in the future, I will ask Terry to help out on a case. It is not a binding condition, but it is always nice to pay things like this forward…”

After Mom signs several documents, we head home. I actually feel a little better already—but also really nervous about this whole thing. I will be at the center in the mornings and work my usual evening shifts at the mall…

I say, “I will see you in the morning, Terry.” I smile as they leave and take a sip of tea. A few moments after they leave, Shauna, Emily, and to my surprise M.S. come in the conference room and take a seat. Emily has a fresh pot of tea and pours some for everyone…

M.S. smiles and says, “So, you have your first case. Care to tell us about it…and what we can do to help?” I smile and say, “It is so good to have a team like all of you. On the surface, it seems pretty straight forward… We may have a simple cross-dresser; maybe a transvestite… It could be deeper than that, though. I will need to do a few tests to be sure.” M.S. says, “Yes, you need to do your regular tests, but you also will need to explore the energy flows with your vision. We need to practice some more this afternoon…”

And so, an hour later, I am sitting in Eileen’s studio on a mat…next to M.S. who is serenely sitting there, cross-legged and looking as comfy as if she were in a million dollar lounge chair. I force myself into a lotus position and start my breathing routine. Over the past week, it has become increasingly easier to connect to my energy center. It has also become increasingly more difficult to disconnect from it. And, I have had bouts of…an auto-connect…for lack of a better word, where all of a sudden the world goes psychedelic on me. M.S. has patiently explained that I am visualizing different energy streams…different streams have different colors, which is how my brain processes them. The problem is, I seem to visualize the streams in different colors than M.S. does. The other thing is that M.S. has to physically touch someone to visualize their streams…where I just have to be close to them.

I connect and the world is once again a swirl of psychedelic colors. At least I don’t panic anymore…or get nauseous… I focus on the steady form that M.S. projects and describe what I see… That teaches me a couple of things… The neon pink color emanating from her is her feminine energy stream. It is so bright, because she is fully connected with her femininity. It is steady because she is so secure in it. She also has a strong golden stream, which is her power stream—like mine… There are other streams, but those are harder to tease out their meanings…

I look over at Eileen and am not surprised to see a similar pink stream—it is not as bright or steady, but it is a lot steadier than the streams I have picked up from most passers-by when I ‘auto-connect’. I am totally surprised to see a faint golden stream, as well. M.S. explains that everyone has a power stream—that most people cannot connect to it, though, so it won’t be readily visible—more of vapor. Since Eileen is such an accomplished yogi at her age, hers is becoming stronger…and is now clearly visible to those that can sense the streams. She explains that the really powerful yogi can have fairly strong power streams—not anywhere near as strong as mine or M.S.’s, but strong, none-the-less.

I work at disconnecting my consciousness from my center and M.S. sends me to ballet. She has explained that if I don’t build up the mental and physical discipline to separate my consciousness from my center—and keep it separated—I will eventually ‘auto-connect’ and lose myself in the streams. She says it is hard to explain, but I will understand with time. At any rate, the routines in ballet require dedication and discipline—both of which I will need. I sigh, knowing I will be in need of a healing session with M.S. tonight to ease the muscle aches…

Mom brings me back to the center the next morning. She has an appointment with Joy…and I have to take a bunch of tests…oh, joy… (No pun intended…)

Emily leads me into a room with a computer and loads a program with a bunch of questions. She runs me through the basics…it seems pretty straightforward… She leaves me to it with a pot of hot tea and says she will check in on me in a bit…

I bring Grace into my office and sit next to her at the table. I pour her some tea and settle in. Then, when we are comfortable, I ask, “OK, Grace. I just need to get your perspective on things. Terry is taking a few tests that will give me a better read, psychologically, with what we are dealing, but I never discount a mother’s intuition. Can you give me a little background on this? It seems like a fairly fresh issue?”

Grace sips the tea and grimaces. She adds a little more sugar and says, “Yes, a little over two weeks ago, this would have been a non-issue. At that point, I just wanted Terry to get a summer job. He is old enough to start learning those ethics… It is not about the money, at all. Anyway, he procrastinated. I think he thought I would give in and let him just bum away the summer like last year. I talked to Cheryl, a really good friend and the owner of the New York and Company franchise at the mall. She needed some help, so it seemed like a win-win-win. Terry would get a job, Cheryl would get help, and maybe Terry would learn not to procrastinate next time and wind up working in a women’s clothing store.”

She pauses and takes a sip of the tea. Seemingly satisfied with the sugar content, she continues, “That is where things start going south, so to say. I brought Terry in after school to get him signed up for the job. Cheryl needed help that day and so I agreed to let Terry start right away. Only, he wasn’t dressed for the part. I would have taken him to one of the stores in the mall, but one of the employees brought up that she could outfit him with some clothes at the store—at the employee discount—and no one would know, since they would really look like men’s clothing with the right accessories… That had in no way been a part of my plan, but when it came up, it seemed perfect—another nail in the coffin of procrastination. I know shaming someone is not always the best course of action—and I am ashamed of myself as a mother right now—but at the time it seemed like a good idea.”

Another sip of tea and she continues, “It gets worse from there. Terry had been badgering me to let his hair grow out. I don’t have any problems with that at all, to be honest, except I knew that he would not want to put in the work that long hair requires to look good—especially over the summer. But I had no real grounds to object once he showed that he could be responsible on the job. I decided to take a chance…I checked with his usual barber—he said that he did not do long hair. With no other place to turn, I asked my stylist and she agreed to do his hair—even though she really did not have any experience to speak of with guy’s hair. Well, you see the results… I think she did a really good job, considering… His nails were born that day, too. I blame myself for not paying attention to how neglected they had become. Anyway, my stylist told me that they really needed some protection to grow out healthy and look decent while some vitamins she recommended did their magic. She left them on the upper end of acceptable length for a guy because she said it would help with the strength. I have no idea about that, but I trust her…”

She is quiet—I don’t say anything…just waiting. Finally, she continues, “This next part is really embarrassing… Terry needed underwear to go with the new clothes he got from the store. You know how women’s pants are. They show any little thing through them. He needed something that would not show a panty line. Cheryl had told me the other girls were worried that Terry would be…well…a guy in the bathroom… So, I got him girl’s panties to kill two birds with one stone. No panty lines that would be doubly embarrassing for him…and no front opening to encourage him to sit in the bathroom. I have since found out that I could have gotten some nylon underwear for boys that would have served the same purpose, but I honestly had no idea about that at the time… I have no excuse for the camisoles over say generic undershirts—except I just wanted to shame him into buttoning up the shirt—and it seemed like a crime to put an itchy old boy’s undershirt under such a nice soft blouse…”

I pour some more tea as she continues, “Then he wanted his ears pierced… Again, I really had no big problem with it… I know that that is becoming more acceptable and probably a lot of guys in his class may have them. It is just that he has never been the popular guy at school… Our family history…on his dad’s side…has often resulted in delayed puberty. Terry is afflicted with this, like his dad was—he passed away three years ago.” I make my sincere regrets known and she continues, “Anyway, I agreed to let him get them done. He had hooked up with Christi, Cheryl’s daughter—and she was encouraging him to get it done. He had been pining after her for years…and this job made it happen…little did I know the real reason… Anyway, I agreed. We met up at the store and Christi convinced him to get a double-piercing. I tried to discourage it…but I figured that it was easier to let him do it and then just let the hole grow closed when he couldn’t handle the pressure than create a scene. It gave him another connection to Christi if that is what he wanted… When I saw the placement of the piercings later…” She breaks down and starts crying. I hand her a box of tissues and gently ask her to continue…

She takes a shaky breath and a sip of tea; then continues, “When I came over to Cheryl’s and saw him…her(?)…all made up and dressed really girly…I just did not know how to react… Is it all my fault…? Have I messed my boy up?” She breaks down even more.

I give her quiet support and wait for her to settle down, then say, “Let’s wait for the results of the tests. I don’t think you are to blame for this. I think you may have accelerated the outcome a bit. It is almost like an accidental conspiracy. Thank you for being so honest with me, Grace. This will be immensely helpful as I navigate the waters with Terry…or Terri—whichever the case may be… Are you OK to drive? We will make sure that Terry gets to the mall on time…and safely.”

I groan… Question #300 flashes up on the screen… It is the last one…and it is free text… It is a simple question…or so it would seem… “What is your name?” I hesitate. I enter “Terry”…then hit backspace…and correct it to “Terri”…then hit backspace…and sit there… I am so confused…what do I put? Finally, I quickly hit “i” and and click “Submit” before I can change my mind…

I look at Emily and ask, “So?” Emily says, “Well, I am still evaluating the results, but I can say that early polling says that Terri, with an ‘i’, is not a simple cross-dresser—there is more to it than that. He is also not a transvestite…there is no sexual thrill involved… The hesitation quotient in giving his/her name is meaningful…I need more time…” I sigh and smile at her frustration. I kiss her and say…work your magic—if anyone can tease this out—it is you—miss ‘top of her class’… I leave her frowning over her monitor…

I smile as Terri comes in. I simply ask, “I have tea…tell me if you would rather have something else…” He/she says, “No, tea is fine…really. I like it…” I nod and say, “OK, so…in your test, you responded that your name is Terri…with an ‘i’… That is how you want it?” A hesitant nod… “I smile and say, “OK, Terri. Now…I have not seen the results of your tests…Emily is looking over those right now… Can you tell me why you want to use that spelling?”

A couple of nervous blowings on hot tea…and a little nervous procrastination… Then, finally, an answer, “I don’t know…it just feels right?” I nod and say, “OK, we will leave it at that, for now. Is there anything else you would like to say before I try and map out where we go from here?”

There is dead silence for several minutes. Then, slowly, Terri opens up, “I don’t know where to begin. A few weeks ago, I was a normal guy…now, I don’t know what I am… I am terrified about these feelings…that I am some sort of pervert…” I sit there…quietly waiting…

Terri senses that I am not going to react and sighs, then says, “OK, that is maybe a bit overly dramatic…but…I really am worried. It is like I fell into some sort of feminization conspiracy…and went for it… What does that make me?” I smile and say, “OK, now we are getting somewhere. You feel like this was a conspiracy? To what end?”

Again, dead silence. I watch him…her(?)…sip some of the hot herbal tea… A shrug and a response, “I don’t know… It doesn’t make sense…that is one of my problems… One day, I am a happy guy… a few days later, I am addicted to girl’s clothes… What am I supposed to think…?” I carefully smile and ask, “OK, so, what is it about the girl’s clothing that you are ‘addicted’ to?”

More dead silence…and more… I am just as silent… Another sip of tea…and a response…, “I don’t know. It started out with me just liking the feel—girl’s clothes are…softer…nicer… you know?” I nod…I genuinely understand… Terri continues, “That was it, at first…then, I don’t know…Christi encouraged me to…let loose…and I found that I like how I look in them…and in…other feminine ways…”

I wait…nothing else comes. I wait a moment longer and ask, “Other things? Does all of this make you…tingle…?” He pales…then blushes…and says…in no particular hurry, sort of pensively, “No…I don’t get a…thrill…in the sense that I think you are asking… Just an awesome feeling that I look…great…and it is comfortable to boot…” Another sip of tea…and a question, “Why is it that girls can wear guy’s clothing and it is not a big deal… BUT, if a guy wears a girl’s clothing…or makeup…or has nice nails…he is a sissy…or…worse? That is so unfair…”

I don’t smile…I have no intention of demeaning his question. I simply say, “I don’t know, Terri. I guess girls have just done a better job over the past decades at social marketing. So, you think guys should have the same right? Let’s not debate fairness—or equality—between guys and gals…OK? But, if it is important to you to be able to wear girl’s stuff…as a guy, then are you willing to fight for that right? I think that is the question of the day… So? Hmmm?”

All of these questions… What DO I want? The right to wear girl’s stuff… Yes!” I sigh… I answer, “Yes. I want to be able to wear things that girls do… I want to be able to wear a dress. I want to be able to wear makeup. I want to be able to show my feminine side—the same as a girl can show a masculine side…and not be ridiculed—or persecuted.”

I am surprised at Joy’s next question—I guess I shouldn’t have been…I just wasn’t prepared… She asks, “So…what are you prepared to do about it? It is in your hands what you do…what are you prepared to do? Become a girl?”

I sit there… How do I answer that? I shrug and turn it back on her… I ask, “Well, I don’t know I guess… Isn’t that why you are here? To help me figure that out?” She actually giggles and smiles as she says, “Yes. I guess I am… OK, Terri…hang out here a few minutes… I will be back.”

M.S. says, “OK, Child, connect to your center and tell me what you see…” I take a deep breath and…the world goes psychedelic… I look in on Terri… I see…lots of flickery electric blue…and fringes of really unstable pink intertwined… I look at M.S. after I disconnect and say, “I don’t know. My instincts tell me Terri is a pretty solid on the male side…but with a strong overlay of femininity. I don’t get that he is overtly female…just that he wants to be like a girl… Although…it seems like he is unsure, too.” Emily comes in and says, “That is exactly what I get from his tests. He is not a transvestite…he is much more than just a cross-dresser, though. He…believes it is…right… I don’t think I have ever really seen this before. He is also really conflicted about it…” I nod and go back into the room.

I look at Terri and ask, “Terri, when I look at those pretty studs in your ears, I can’t help but notice that they are placed where a girl would have them that prefers pretty, dangly earrings over large studs like a boy would want. Was that on purpose?” He gives me a really strange look and says, “Well, no…not really. Christi showed Emily, the girl that pierced my ears, where to put them. I had no idea… But, why do you ask?” I smile and ask, “If I were to get you a nice pair of danglies, would you wear them to work today for me?”

He gets a shocked look on his face, but then smiles and says, “Well…I would if I could, but my holes have not healed yet, so I can’t. Too bad, huh?” I say, “What I am about to do needs to stay between you and me… Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.” I get up and gently take hold of his ears. He flinches a bit and I say, “Trust me…” I concentrate a little…but it does not take much effort…I feel the flow of the energy from my center go through my hands and into his ears… I say, “Now come with me…we need to pick out those danglies and surprise Christi with them. Remember…a promise is a promise…”