Comments (3) I’ve been thinking about sex. With men.
This isn’t something I’m sure I want to do – now or ever – but it’s something thathas been on my mind for a long time. And, as my transition had progressed and I’ve moved from being perceived as a man to being perceived as a woman, the idea has seemed less and less outlandish.
It’s kind of like being a vegetrarian.
The obligatory 'queer sexuality' symbol
A while back, beo_shaffer asked how I feel (sexually) about “people with non-binary gender [and] about other transsexuals?” I’ve been thinking a lot about it since then, and realized I don’t have a quick-and-easy answer. So I’m going to use this post to talk about beo’s question, but also to more broadly consider my own sexuality.
I identify as a lesbian. And I think, to some extent, that means I’m saying that binary genders are important to me sexually. Or, at the very least, that I perceive people within binary gender categories, even though politically I don’t think we should see people that way and it’s something I’ve tried to overcome when I notice myself doing it.
At the same time, I do find the idea of penetration to be a turn on. I know penetration is not an inherently heterosexual act, but I’ve been exposed to 25+ years of heteronormative culture and I do associate the two to some extent. While I’m coming to understand a much wider (and healthier) concept of sexuality – one not so penis-in-vagina-centric – most erotica I’ve read has been heterosexual. Mainly because I can’t find reliably good lesbian erotica. (Suggestions welcome!) And while I’ve never found a specific man to be attractive, the theoretical idea of being with a man sexually is interesting to me. (Probably due in no small part to the copious amounts of erotica I’ve read over the years…)
To put it another way, I feel like I’d probably be a five on the Kinsey Scale – I could imagine having fun in a heterosexual sexual experience, but it’s not what primarily ‘does it’ for me.
Continue reading 'Sex and sensibility: thinking about attraction'»
Enter your password to view comments. I’ve been thinking recently about a topic I haven’t really touched on at The Thang Blog: Porn. More broadly, sex in general. I’ve talked about it a bit – and obviously have been thinking about it – but I’ve sort of danced around writing any specific posts
On the one hand, this blog has been helpful in my own processing of my transition and experiences as a trans woman; that’s one of the reasons I originally started this blog. Likewise, a discussion of trans sexuality is something I’ve looked for (hence the Feministing advice write-in) and a part of me feels like, “Well, if I can’t find it I should just write it myself!”
On the other hand, I know friends of mine – not to mention significant others – read this blog. I put this blog on show materials to try and generate interest. I’m not thrilled of the idea that friends, coworkers, family, might read a post on porn preferences or sexual positions. And I do think there are ethical issues of discussing sex without first talking to the people who I’ve had sex with…would you want to read a friend’s blog and see an explicit description of a time you had sex? (Or implicit, for that matter.)
I’ve also thought of starting a separate blog to discuss exclusively that, but I’m not dying to deal with the additional work (and website registration fee) that would require. I also would obviously like to use the readers I already have, rather than say, “Oh, I just happened to stumble across this new blog about trans sexuality! It’s a total coincidence that the author has a writing style very similar to mine…”
Has anyone out there in reader-land had any similar experiences with their own writings? How did you deal with it? Any general thoughts on why posting about sex might or might not be a good idea?
Twice in the last twenty-four hours I had an experience that really reminded me how awesome my friends are.
First, last night, I was talking with both of my roommates. We had one of those long, meandering conversations, and it came up that a girl we all knew in highschool was engaged. This was particularly noteworthy because she’d dated another girl in highschool for about a year, and explicitly identified herself as a lesbian at the time.
One of my roommates said something along the lines of, “So she was gay then, but is straight now.” I was about to speak up and point out that sexual identity doesn’t need to be so simple, that A) bi people exist, and B) there are other possibilities as well (that she only publicly identified as a lesbian but never really felt it, that she only now publicly identifies as straight but doesn’t really feel it, that she doesn’t identify with any mainstream sexuality, and so on).
But, before I could, my other roommate said almost exactly that.
As I’ve mentioned before, I’m in a liberal group of friends to begin with. But there’s a big difference between being liberal-and-well-meaning-but-still-ignorant and absorbing all of the identity politics I sometimes feel like I spew. So it felt really good to hear one of my roommates speak up against making assumptions about identity and, on top of that, point out that sexuality doesn’t need to be a binary.
I’ve mentioned before that I live in the same city in which I grew up. (Well, the larger city imediately south of the city in which I grew up.) I’m living with friends from highschool, working with organizations where I was involved pre-transition, and so on. So it shouldn’t be a surprise to me at this point that A) I’m going to run into people at parties who I haven’t seen since highschool and B) most of my friends (and their friends) are not queer.
Feministing has a regular sex advice column called Ask Professor Foxy. I submitted a question about sexuality changing over the course of the transition, which was posted – along with a response – earlier today. The basis of the question was this: I’m a trans woman in the process of transitioning, and having a lot of frustration in figuring out how to deal with my ever-changing sexuality.
And from the resposne:
Part of this process is also going to have to be exploring your new body and your new desires and not judging yourself during this process. You can even think of it as a burden or as an extra gift during transition. Unlike cisgendered women, who typically have to get used to things on their body, you are going to be able to explore things on your body that you very much want: the breasts, the hips you will likely develop. Enjoy it!
It’s definitely worth reading, but what’s a lot more interesting is the comments…
theory, trans, transitioning
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blogs, feminism, meta, sex, sexuality, theory, transitioning
Trans blogger Rebecca, over at Rebecca’s Thoughts recently had a post, Heat, about how her experience being sexual has changed recently as part of the transition. Obviously, everyone’s transition is different, unique experiences, my transition doesn’t mirror hers, bla bla bla standard disclaimers. That said, I certainly identified with many moments in her post, and if you’re curious how trans womens’ sexuality can change (not will change, but can) you should read it. From her post:
And the orgasms? Well, they are now better and worse, to be honest. Worse in that they are no longer quite as pleasurable in many ways, due to the arousal and sensitivity issues, and because any arousal now causes that intense pain. But much better in that the actual orgasm, if achievable, is completely different, and quite awesome, now. In addition to there being virtually no discharge anymore (yeah!), the orgasm presents itself as a growing warmth in my groin, and upon release floods my entire body in intense waves of pleasure. I’ve actually found myself having to really watch my volume! and I usually end up giggling afterward. Anyway, not having grown up with a female body, I’m not sure what exactly to make of this. But from what I’ve read and been told by my girlfriends, it sounds like I’m well on my way to having full-on female orgasms.
Check it out.
-R
Just had an interesting discussion with PW and AR on the back from bowling, inspired by the Kate Perry (according to Google) song ‘I Kissed a Girl.’ I was saying that the part of me which has been reading too much feminist/trans/gender theory wants to say the song is reinforcing negative stereotypes about homosexuality by saying kissing a girl is ‘naughty’ and ‘not what nice girls do.’
The conversation also sort of turned to why kissing a girl is OK (for men and women) but a similar song about kissing a guy, by a guy, would most certainly be viewed as too ‘gay’ to make it mainstream (and be played at a bowling alley on a Friday night).
I was wondering why that was, and why (for example) in our group of friends there were girls who were okay making out with each other while drunk but no guys who felt the same way. We talked about how that’s culturally true, but that’s not really an explanation, just restating that it is true. PW suggested that there’s an aspect of arrogance in it, that guys think two girls kissing is just because they don’t have a guy there to ‘really’ satisfy them. (Leading to the common fantasies by guys, about having multiple female partners.) AR also suggested that it might have to do with penetration being seen as such a feminine act and while two women (who are ‘allowed’ to be penetrated) can make out without changing that ‘penetratable’ quality, if two guys make out it takes them both from ‘penetrator’ to ‘potentially penetrated.’
Now, I am firmly of the opinion that penetration of a man does not need to be an inherently heterosexual or homosexual act. Likewise, specifically anal penetration doesn’t automatically need to be gay or dirty; if AR wants to find a strap on and fuck her boyfriend silly, that doesn’t change his sexuality any more than if he then rolls over and fucks her silly, even if culturally it might not be seen that way….
-R
Today we focused more on stories from the body. We each had a big sheet of butcher paper and were told to draw the metaphors of our body. My ended up with a balloon head tied with string to balloon boobs and string arms, all attached to a weight keeping the balloons from floating away. Hanging from the weight was a bucket filled with perscription pill bottles, and at the crotch was a bunsen burner heating a thermometer to the bursting point. (Can you tell I have body and sexuality issues right now?)
We performed a semi-improvised piece based on an action. Mine was awkwardly rubbing my crotch, as if wiping something off your hand. The (general idea of the) text, with changes/additions/subtractions made on things I think would work better, didn’t work well, or I just forgot:
Mmmmmmm.
MMmmmmmmmmm.
MMmmmmasturbation.
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