My intention for this platform is that it is almost always NSFW! I’m also a busy girl in grad school, so it may only be updated from time to time. I’ve been writing another blog that covers my international transition from “male” to female for almost two years now. It is an autoethnographic thing. It occasionally dabbles in poetry, my haphazard attempts to apply gender theory to my own situation, and just plain venting. Though I don’t share that blog with people I know, I know that some people I know have access to it — but that’s another story. So, I often feel unable to explore all the themes and topics I would like to, like sex, or some of my darker poetry.
I want to be able to write about sex, not because I’m a sex fiend, quite the opposite in fact. But for some reason, writing helps me explore myself and I need an anonymous space to discuss this stuff. I want to examine what it means to be a sexually active non-opt transexual woman. It’s often not a very straightforward ordeal — pun perhaps intended.
So in the inaugural post (story?) — hopefully not the only one — I’ll outline a little bit of my ars erotica. Let’s start by exploring how false that last statement, I do not have an erotic art, if anything I have a scientia sexualis. I never got sex, I always got that there was something that I wasn’t getting, though. The first time I masturbated it was a truly scientific affair. In fact, it took a number of failed attempts — which I thought were successful — to really get there, then I got that small piece of sex. I mean, I was 14 and tragically flooded with testosterone, so once I started I didn’t stop. I approached the problem thenceforth as a kind of empirical study of things I thought I ought to be interested in. From 15 on I felt queer, but I didn’t like men, I tried, a few times: see, science. One thing I did know is I liked being chased. I don’t want to cast female sexuality as submissive, but we are blind if we don’t think that much of mainstream heterosexual sex involves boys hitting on girls. I always felt horribly uncomfortable in that role. It was a welcome relief when I was pursued by women, but then the bedroom happened and I felt miserable, small, and wrong.
Like seemingly so many of us, I did find opportunities to incorporate crossdressing into sexy time. It’s surprising how many women are genuinely willing to engage in cross-sex play with little or no encouragement. I mean, I was always kind of feminine looking, not androgynous mind you, so it often came up organically: “You know what,” she said, her eyes glinting with naughtiness. “Let’s try something…” Cue makeup and clothes. This type of situation led me into some of the best sex I ever had with a partner I came out to early on, something about me in panties really fired her up. But I soon realized that this sustained interest was merely a combination of kink and open-mindedness on her part (maybe not it that order). It led to a pretty caging five and a half year relationship ( I started transitioning as that relationship collapsed).
To this point, sex was always an exercise, a mystery, something I thought I should be getting and not getting. I went into transitioning thinking that I was probably toward asexual with a sometimes interest in fem spectrum people, I knew I like putting things in my butt, occasionally. When my body started became flooded with estrogen, I could detect the positive directions in which my body was changing. Best of all, being in a female on female relationship totally altered the dynamic of sexual encounters. Things were discussed, more mutual, with lots of role reversals and blurring of lines. But still, it wasn’t easy. I started to feel more and more dysphoric about my body, especially my genitals, which I had previously felt ambivalent towards. I still can’t touch my lady rocks, they gross me out. I hated getting hard, but still could only really cum when I was inside a vagina, only now in a slow and magically diffused way. But it made me dysphoric all the same.
As my body has changed more dramatically over the 16 months I’ve been on HRT, I feel less dysphoric about topping, as my body feels female. I can feel the new volume of my ass jiggling and bouncing, my boobs press against my lover in handfuls. But it often doesn’t work, doesn’t stay hard, or gets sore from atrophy. It’s complicated. And to be honest, I still don’t like my junk. My plan is to get my jewels removed, but I don’t think I want SRS. It’s invasive, and the results vary greatly. Power to anyone who thinks it’s right for them. So what I need is to develop an ars erotica. Because I don’t want sex to be an empirical exercise. I want to enjoy it, I know it’s almost there, I just need to learn how to maneuver my fuck buttons. I get turned on and function in a whole plethora of new, more female-typical ways, but I still have a penis. It’s a female penis — I like to call her my lady bit — but how she works isn’t always obvious. So, I want to tackle this self-exploration and write about it here. Because why not? The hallowed Julia Serano has a Medium blog, so what better place to put my auto-voyeuristic exploration of my transexual body? I’m in good company. And honestly, Julia, you published that poem about your lady-junk in Whipping Girl, I know you don’t mind the company.