2
Life, well, after the cheerleaders found out that I was going to be living full-time as a woman but in a male dorm at a University, they, the cheerleaders, set things up for me to take a room at the ΘΣΡ House, in English, that is Theta Sigma Rho Sorority House at Mercer University;
then things went south.
It was next found out that I was attending class in femme, and that caused the Religious Wrong to rebel, which caused me to come into contact with the administration, which had already been in contact with my mother, who, remember, understands this University system, and she was making calls,
and one thing led to another and then I was enrolled as a transgender Co-ed at Mercer so I could have a place to pee, and that meant I had to give up my room at Mercer and move into the Rho house permanently, which meant that a potential pledge to Rho found out,
which meant that she contacted national, which meant that Rho house had to evict me unless I joined the sorority, which my mother found out.
It turned out that she was a Rho sister and a faculty advisor for Rho in Slippery Rock, which meant that she got to pin her daughter into her sorority, the one who had been raised as a boy.
And my mother was thrilled over all of this.
For the record, that was a run-on sentence. Yes, I know it, but that is what it felt like. And this is a memoir, not a dissertation, OK?
And then Fashion Week happened. I ended up with an exclusive offer from a design firm in Europe, along with my sister Angel, whom they wanted, so that we, Angel and I, could play twins, identical twins, in some of the campaigns.
Then I walked four commercial and one charity benefit runway in three days and ended up with the cover of the fall fashion copy of Vogue.
And I was officially a baby supermodel.
You know, like a supermodel? The ones who make more money than a lot of third-world countries do all together?
Yeah, one of those.
And then my father, the one so proud of his son, remember that one?
Found out that I was leaving about six million on the table over the contract for the design group in England, because they had no difficulty with my being male, but that their summer lines needed real boobs,
so I was leaving six million over four years sail off to another model because I did not have implants.
So my dear old dad convinced little ole me to have them done.
And 24 hours later, I had boobs of my own.
And that all led to Mom’s family, from Florida and Alabama, and redneck Appalachian white trash types came north to cleanse the world of the devil within me, but Dad’s family fell in love with me.
And I did some more modeling and met some really helpful people, and that is how we got to where we are right now.
I have been told that, apparently, I stopped my story, my memoir, before it became interesting. This chick named Lorie told me that. Yup.
Yup. She ripped me a ripe new one for ending the book where I did.
So, I decided to write this one.
Excuse me? In four bloody months I went from a cisgender heterosexual lost male at a small University into a baby supermodel with a multi-million dollar set of contracts and a career that could span twenty to thirty years and then I could move into fashion management of some level with an
anticipated worth of one hundred to two hundred million before agent fees, taxes, expenses, etc., and all of the high-end clothing I could ever eat.
And I stopped the story short of where it gets interesting?
Oh yes, I guess I did leave out that Carmine did ask me to marry her, I acceded, but that Carmine’s decision that I wear white, as in a white gown, and she wears the tuxedo, also white. I did leave that out, didn’t I?
I repeat, for the umpteenth time in this series of stories, I am a male. I am cisgendered. I am heterosexual. I am in a male and female heterosexual relationship, and all of my parts do indeed work. That defines me.
Oh, I have a C cup size chest now. I had the boobs over-inflated; they were only supposed to go to B cups, but Carmine…
And I only wear female clothing. And I have a British, Northern Ireland passport as Shannon O’Conner, Female, and I really am some type of non-binary thing going on that I really do not understand.
But that's OK, the University has me seeing a University gender specialist so she can keep me straightened out.
And I am taking twelve hours on an independent study so I can do more modeling for the spring.
And my legal address is a sorority house.
Yeah, I am a cisgender heterosexual male student at a small Northwestern Pennsylvania University called Mercer.
That is me.
And that brings me to the start of this part of the story.
Now, as I sit here thinking about what I need to share with you, whomever you are, I want to make one thing clear: I do not know where this story is going to go.
I thought I had told them that it was all done.
But no, I was told that I left my characters, that is myself, remember this is a memoir, not a novel, whatever.
I left everyone kind of hanging. I thought I told what was important, how I got to the place where I changed from becoming a model to performing as a model, and there is a massive difference between the story of becoming and the story of being.
But that is what I am going to try to tell you. What is it like to be me, Shannon, not sure if I am now male or female. Not sure it matters, except when it does. And no longer sure how much I care.
What I can tell you is that girl Shannon has a hell of a lot more interesting life to lead than boy Shannon.
I mean, think about this: do you really think that boy Shannon loves to shop until she drops as girl Shannon does?
And let’s be honest, talking boy talk in a dorm filled with stinking jocks or talking girl in a sorority house?
Come on, that is an easy choice if there ever was one.
You have to admit that.
And clothes, look, yeah, dressing in femme all of the time is a pain when the heel requirement for the day is four inches. But what man gets the clothes I do, given to him?
Not that I haven't met a few that would die for that privilege.
Yes, I have made some major sacrifices, let me tell you. Some major sacrifices.