Let's Talk About...Sex (Again: The Puberty Mark 2 Edition)

When last we left our intrepid Julie...)

It, like so many things, came to an explosive end as I laid in a hospital bed, having had a heart attack several days before, when I was told she'd be moving back in with her mother as soon as I was discharged. And with no way to handle rent on my own for a 2 bedroom apartment, nor any ability to find a room mate on such short notice, let alone one who would potentially even understand my situation...I moved home too.

And I had no idea what was next...

~~~//||\\~~~

What was next is a series of events many of you have lived through with me, and I can't say a single one of them was at all easy to come to grips with. When I finally reached the point that I was able to completely come to grips with my identity, I thought I could take the time to try and understand the even more complicated thing that was my sexuality. And I would love to sit here and tell you that I sat down and charted everything out and went through things methodically, but the reality of things is, it never even came close to that.

Here were the things I knew:

1. I had major issues with sex.
2. I had major issues considering anything casual.
3. I was WAY into girls.

I found when it came down to it, the more a person fit into a non-compliant category, the greater the chance that they'd understand me, and understanding me was a key part in my being able to move past friendship into something more.

And I began to realise that there were things that still were...weird.

For example:

1. Yes, I watched porn.
2. I had/have specific things that I like more than others.
3. My interest in BD/Ds/SM continued apace and in fact may have deepened.
4. I still REALLY didn't like penis.
5. Mine...
6. Or, well...on a guy.
7. Strap-on, tho? Bring it.
8. Butt stuff?

Butt stuff?

Let me let you in on a little secret.

Only it's not THAT secret.

I kinda always had a thing for butt stuff...even after the horrid 4 minutes of my life I lost when I lost my virginity.

Even after being assaulted.

And I had MAJOR issues reconciling those things. How could I like something that was taken from me without permission?

And I had one of those epiphanies...there is a major difference between something being taken and something being given. And as long as I had control...as long as I had the ability to say 'This is something I choose, and I choose to give it to you,' it was amazing. That doesn't mean that it's at all always easy...but it's better, and it's liberating, and it's good.

And I like it.

Here's another thing...I've never been comfortable with penetrative sex...and by that, I mean I have never been comfortable with being the person doing the penetrating. I'm a bottom. I always have been. It was one of the things that was hardest for someone to accept...maybe even more than accepting the fact that I wasn't going to be a typical guy because GUESS WHAT I'M NOT. Ask me to use my fingers and I will happily until my hand cramps. Ask me to give oral and I promise you that you'll end up having to force me to stop because you'll be wrung out and beyond speech. This is not braggadocio...I'm proud of the fact that I'm good at it.

Pull me on top of you and beg me to take you...

And things go south in a hurry.

I mention all of this to bring up this:

When I started aldactone in November...and estradiol in December, these things became even more defined. My likes and dislikes are even more clearly focused and more easily listed...

1. I really REALLY like girls.
2. Like, 99% totally a lesbian.
3. I totally don't want to use my penis...and it's not really that functional now so...
4. But yes, please with the butt stuff.
5. Also, like...toys are a lot of fun.
6. Especially if they're not shaped like penises.
7. * mutters unintelligibly *

Mostly tho, there are things that are way more important to me...

1. Kissing. Oh god, kissing. Kissing is the best. It's more intimate for me than sex. Sharing breath? Eyes and mind so close to each other? * shudders *
2. Skin on skin contact. Being held. Feeling that warmth. Especially as my skin softens and loses the masculine roughness that guy skin has.

I respond to things in a totally different way.

My body is changing.

And I am essentially going through Second Puberty, and learning how to intimate all over again...or perhaps more accurately, learning how to intimate for the first time. It can get overwhelming in a lot of ways...I'm not only navigating through all of these changes to my body, I'm navigating massive emotional changes and feeling things that I'm totally not familiar with.

It's exciting and terrifying.

~~~//||\\~~~

A lot of things are so very different.

Growing up, masturbation was...it was something I did mostly to get things out of the way and try to minimise my discomfort as much as possible. It was a habit...I'd toss before sleep and hope it'd keep me til the next day. I didn't enjoy it, honestly. It was a chore that had to be done.

Masturbation is...not so much a chore now.

It's also way different.

I am essentially non functional down there, so it's not like I get erections now. I do get aroused, I do get turned on, and I do get wet/leak a lot of what would have been pre-ejaculatory fluid. My orgasms, when I have them, are dry. On the rare occasion that I actually do produce anything, it's exceptionally thin, watery, and if it has any taste it's very mild and almost sweet. I don't feel an urge to bring myself off to completion...a lot of the time, just having twenty or twenty-five minutes where I can block out the world and focus on myself is a billion times better than 5 minutes of furiously trying to get my erection to just disappear.

Toys are my second best friend...and I say second because my first best friend is in another castle (wink wink).

There's a stereotype in the trans femme community that the Hitachi wand is the one thing all of us own at least one of. While I may not have the cat ears headband or the chokers, I do in fact own one, and the stories are very true. It's honestly one of the most amazing things I have ever owned and has made it so much easier for me to self care (and I mean that holistically as well as specifically). There's the degree of separation, of course...I'm not touching myself with my own hand. There's the fact that the sensation is more easily directed...and with multiple speeds and patterns, there's loads of flex here.

And, well...

It's intense.

If I've had a really bad day, I can crank things up as high as possible and bite a pillow until I feel myself finally breaking and loosening. I can put on some quiet music if I'm relaxed, wrap up in my blankets and a fan on me to make me snuggle under, and just take things slow and easy. It's nice. It makes me feel good. It makes me feel comfortable. It makes me feel I have control over how I am able to interact with my body. It makes me feel human. And really, isn't self care one of the most human things we can do...in fact, need to do...for ourselves?

And ever since starting on contra-hormonal therapy, my enjoyment of butt stuff has gone approximately through the roof. Anecdotally, I know a few people who have said and can... say the same thing...and yes, I know the plural of anecdote is never data, but it's a neat little bit of info for you to chew on. I struggled for the longest time to actually spoil myself and buy a few things to use...often with disastrous results...but having a cadre of people around me who have gone or are going through the same things I am going through has helped me get better informed ideas of what things I should look at and how to best shop for them.

Basically, it's like having a bunch of big sisters walk me through things...a bunch of big sisters I never had growing up.

Again, like puberty mark two.

(As an addendum cum side note...

Toy in butt + Hitachi on base of toy = Julie goes into orbit in app. 9 seconds.

Side note ends)

The other thing I've discovered...and I am sure at this point, you see it here in full focus...I've basically shucked off all the shame I had about discussing sex.

Even two years ago if you'd asked me about sex I'd have done a few things in quick succession:

1. I'd blush like a beet
2. I'd start stuttering
3. I'd try and change the subject to anything
4. Dear god please let's not talk about this
5. Sex is...it's a thing
6. No really please I don't want to have this talk
7. ...halp?
8. * cries*

I'm not ashamed by my sexuality, mostly because I'm actually starting to understand it, accept it, and love myself for it. I'm not ashamed to say that I'm a lesbian, that I love sex with women, that I like stuff in my butt and that I like giving over control. All these things are part of me and telling my story without talking about those things would be telling only part of the story. It'd be an incomplete picture of me...and I've spent too long displaying an incomplete false image of myself.

I came to this point through a lot of work...

...and a lot of women having very open, very frank talks with me. And having them explain to me, slowly and in small words, that there's not a single thing to be ashamed of when it came to sex..that talking about it is normal and healthy and good, and that if I didn't talk to them about the good sex I was having or hoped to have that they'd have to find out in other ways. That was hella awkward for me until I realised that it was less about being prying and more about making sure I was taking care of myself and getting what I needed to be complete. That kind of frankness was something I never had growing up, mostly because I was so terrified about who I was and what I was that there were times that holding hands and a chaste kiss on the cheek or closed mouth kiss on the lips would send me into paroxysms of abject terror.

And now today I talk about sticking 12 ounces of stainless steel in my butt.

Life is weird, isn't it?

~~~//||\\~~~

I've learned a lot about myself in the past almost three years that I've been out...

1. I've owned my being trans.
2. I've owned my being queer and gay as fuck.
3. I've discovered that there's this thing called demisexuality and it is amazing and it is me in every way.
4. Discovering that helped me to understand why I can't just have sex...that there has to be more to it than that.
5. I've discovered that there's not a single thing wrong with me sexually.
6. I've discovered that toys that are shaped like they belong on a sculpture by HR Giger are really really hot.

And learning all these things has helped me not only start to occasionally almost tolerate me...it's helped me be able to open up to others. I'd never have written any of the essays I've written without this happening. I'd never have moved into some strange kind of advocacy/activism. I'd never have taken ownership of my shortcomings and started to work actively to overcome them...

...I'd never have opened up to someone that I really kinda liked them, to find out they felt the same...an adventure that continues on apace and is one of the wildest, most difficult and most amazing things I have ever done in my life.

The sainted philosopher slash LGBT activist Georgios Kyriacos Panayiotou once sang, in a simple song he wrote, the following words:

Sex is natural

Sex is fun

And it only took me 40 years to figure this out.

I can only imagine what the next 40 years will teach me now that I overcame THAT hurdle.

Thanks for reading, friends. Stay frosty.

See you in a few weeks.

Trans 101 With Julie: Let's Talk About...Sex (Again)

Hello and welcome back to Trans 101 With Julie.

If I learned anything, it's that including the word SEX in the header of one of these essays is (not necessarily) a sure way to drive views and responses (I don't actually know because I'm writing this installment before I post the previous one) (I love random access essay writing) (it's like the random access myth of Imaginos) (which was only random access cos Columbia screwed up the track order).

Last time around I talked about sex as a means of addressing some of the common misconceptions and false narratives that surround the trans community...gender vs. sex vs. orientation, 'trans panic,' et cetera. This time, like so many of my more recent pieces, I'm going to be exceptionally personal...and honestly, perhaps uncomfortably so. I'd apologise, but...I really don't much feel like it. The plain and simple fact of the matter here is this: I am a human being. I may not be exceptionally sexually driven, but being human, feeling good is something that I'd actually like to experience. And as such, having good, fulfilling sex, even if it's just with me, is something that is worth it.

As I change due to HRT, that changes.

And as candor and honesty are two things I have worked very hard to exemplify in these (plus, in like a billion years, I'd like to be able to look back at this point in my life and laugh at my stupidity and childishness), I need to be honest and open about this too.

So, like...buckle in, I guess?

~~~//||\\~~~

Sex is weird.

Like, you have no idea how weird it is.

You think you're going along, as vanilla and bog standard average as possible, and then suddenly life tosses you a giant eephus pitch and you sit there frozen in the box wondering if you should hold and look like a fool or swing and offer no doubt that you are.

And that's sex.

Sex is that big huge curving eephus pitch. Fight me.

We go through life thinking we know ourselves, that we understand ourselves, and then we're suddenly introduced to something we've never experienced before, and suddenly up is down, left is right, cats and dogs are living together in perfect harmony, and we realise that we're not the 'normal' person we think we are. Better yet, hopefully we realise that there's no bloody such thing as normal. It may be a picture, it may be a scene in a movie, it may be one of so many disparate things, and we gain some internal realisation that can be mind expanding...and a little scary.

I've had a lot of those events in my life...things like realising when I tied my hands together I really enjoyed it...like realising that certain parts of the body make me tingle (ankles and calves, I am looking at you. No, I am really looking at you)...like realising that certain smells and tastes make me want to engage in unspeakable acts of desperate passion on the parlour floor. I will admit fully that there are dozens of these, and they have ranged the gamut from 'oh that's neat' to 'my god what is wrong with me' in intensity.

Now, take those realisations and look at them through the prism of someone with a fluxing gender identity (only it wasn't really fluxing but you know at this point what I hopefully mean).

Hitting first puberty was a horrific experience for me. Instead of my hair growing I had to get it cut. Instead of breasts I got body hair. I started to smell bad. I woke up one night with something standing at full attention, and when I touched it to see what was going on I shot stuff out of it and I was sure I was dying. Loads of y'all had your first period and freaked...I had my first orgasm and was sure I'd be dead before morning.

I'm not the least bit exaggerating.

This wasn't how this was supposed to go.

By this point in my life I was already hiding a lot of things...like the knickers in my night stand, the little sample sized lipsticks I'd snuck...I'd tried to convince myself that this was all part of an act, that I was trying to pretend I'd been with someone and the lipstick was from their lips when we'd kissed (which obviously shows just how well I understood kissing at that point) (and by how well I obviously mean not well at all)...but I knew it was something else.

I lost my virginity to a guy.

Because I figured, despite KNOWING what was going on, that it all had to mean I was really actually gay. Gay at least made some kind of sense, I hoped...and maybe it'd hurt less when I got beat up, I don't know. I lived in Nowhere, Middle of and it's not like anyone had any language for what any of this meant.

So I KNEW I was gay...and sex with a guy was horrific.

But I was gay.

~~~//||\\~~~

My sexuality has always been a complicated thing.

I've never exactly been good at the whole sex thing in general, and I'll expand on that by saying that I enjoy sex, I enjoy how it feels, but the mechanics are wickedly difficult and it takes a great deal for me to actually get to a place where sex is something I would consider as an option for me with someone. I can't say that I look at people who can have casual sex in any bad way, but I can't personally understand it because I'm not programmed like that. Maybe that's why I'd basically had absolutely ZERO satisfying fulfilling sexual experiences for most of the first...oh...35 years of my life? And I had sex. Not a lot, but I had sex.

And there was a spouse, but that is not a story for these essays.

In high school I developed a first crush. She was nice, and pretty, and blonde, and I thought she was pretty damned nifty. I went to my first prom with her. And everyone knew I had a mad crush on her. But I don't know if anything would have come of it. And yes, I know I'm saying this through the 20/20 vision of hindsight, but what had always been complicated (ref., my sexuality and my ability to consider physical intimacy as viewed through the prism of knowing my identity but rejecting it) was becoming more so. I had my first realisation that not only did I want to be a girl, I wanted to be with a girl. And that meant that I was straight...or was I? Guys were already making the 'but I'm a lesbian trapped in a straight man's body!' joke, and do you have any idea how that fucked me up in the head?

I was already stealthing certain things under the premise that obviously this was just a fetish type thing (yes at 16 I understood fetishes and the like) and how would I explain that if I ever even got to bat let alone actually touched a base? But girls were...like, they were pretty and smelled nice and I envied how they dressed and god in heaven what is wrong with me.

But hey...I can just call myself bi. And totally totally a guy.

Even tho...umm...I have to explain to you why you found a bottle of your nail polish in my room, parental unit of mine.

But that's OK cos I can bring up the guys in Aerosmith or Lou Reed and that makes it totally OK cos I'm emulating rock stars that's totally it!

Just...don't ask me to explain why those ankle straps are not the way they were, OK?

I still barely tolerated my penis, tossed off basically so it'd just shut up and go away, and I'd toss and turn at night hoping that if I just through strong enough all of this would just straighten out and I'd wake up fixed.

And I wasn't even remotely sure what that'd mean for me.

But at least I liked girls, and that meant I wasn't gay.

~~~//||\\~~~

After I graduated high school, I went to my first performance of the Rocky Horror Picture Show.

Any illusions I had that I'd eventually grow out of things were exploded into so much particulate.

I saw and met women who were confident in their sexuality, and who terrified me because I wanted to BE them so badly, and wanted to be who they were kissing.

I saw and met men who were assured in their presence, who blurred or obliterated binary gender roles so fully that I had a moment of realisation that there never was a 0-1 system, but rather a gradient that shifted fluidly and imperceptibly subtly from point to point. I already had extreme difficulty reconciling who I was and how I presented and how I defined and described myself and now any possible clue I had that I knew anything was gone.

I went to 100 performances.

I ended up joining the cast as the Criminologist.

Understudied Rocky.

And on one memorable night, got to play Janet.

And that last one is the one I remember most of all.

I still had no idea who I was or what I was...or rather, despite all of this I had no way to accept that who I was was who I was because of upbringing and my life to this point and so on.

And when someone ended up crossing paths, the conservative staid side of me leaped for what I figured people wanted/needed/accepted, and entered into my first real relationship.

We had sex.

It wasn't great.

I found the voice to say there were certain things about me...'Listen I like cross dressing but I am totally a guy and totally like you know I just like it, so ok?'...in the hopes that the lie would be enough to allow me to go on.

And maybe for a while it was.

Only it never is for long.

And you...I...need to be honest. And you...I...need to come to grips with the truth you've been fighting all your life, because even though you've known yourself you've rejected yourself for so long that you're not even sure what the truth is anymore. You just know that it hurts like fire and ice and it burns and chills and if you don't say something soon it'll continue to rot you from the inside out until you can't do it anymore.

So you say it, finally.

You explain that you're a woman. You explain that you're submissive, that you like handing over control. You explain that there's no sexual thrill in wearing those clothes, they're just right.

And you get silence.

Uncomfortable silence.

Had I been honest...had I been strong...I'd have done the right thing and found a way to stop things sooner than they ended up exploding. But I got sick, got diagnosed with cancer, and that has a way of drawing people together at first. And we did draw together...even when there was obvious discomfort in the fact that as weight kept melting off me (I lost close to 75 pounds in a month thanks to chemo and vomiting) the only clothes I could wear that stayed on were dresses. The truth came out in little ways...the sigh as I cried over my hair coming out, even after cropping it...the looks when I'd be sitting cross legged and my toe nail polish was visible...and by truth I obviously mean for more than one person.

I tried going out once or twice as me.

That didn't go well at all.

And it carried along...Julie straight...and by straight I obviously mean totally a lesbian but considering I was still feeling forced to be a man...well, you get the picture, doing all the house stuff (cooking/cleaning/dishes/vacuuming/laundry/etc.) and trying to muddle through, with each day hurting more than the one before.

Sex became infrequent.

I didn't care.

It, like so many things, came to an explosive end as I laid in a hospital bed, having had a heart attack several days before, when I was told she'd be moving back in with her mother as soon as I was discharged. And with no way to handle rent on my own for a 2 bedroom apartment, nor any ability to find a room mate on such short notice, let alone one who would potentially even understand my situation...I moved home too.

And I had no idea what was next...

TO BE CONTINUED...