NEW SEX.

Gay Times Magazine - - New Sex - Words Juno Roche

The last time I had any words in Gay Times, it was a clas­si­fied ad placed with my dear de­parted friend, ad­ver­tis­ing that we were both avail­able for hire for mas­sage ser­vices. Truth­fully, trad­ing stan­dards should re­ally have pulled the ad. We were the lazi­est masseurs ever and would re­ally only coun­te­nance jobs if there was noth­ing bet­ter to do. We were, ef­fec­tively, sub­sis­tence work­ers. Both of us knew we were trans and nei­ther of us re­ally en­joyed sex at the time, so flo©ing mas­sage on the side seemed like it should be easy. It wasn't. We ended up very poor, on drugs, danc­ing at Kinky Ger­linky and soon af­ter, my dear friend died of an over­dose. I miss them and I'm still the lazi­est masseuse in town.

Fast for­ward twenty-five years and here I am writ­ing about sex in Gay Times - sex which still con­fuses me as much as it ever did when I pre­sented as gay but was, in fact, a wo­man in the body of a gay man. Back then, my part­ners al­ways told me it was hard to be faith­ful to me but they didn't know why. I did. I never wanted my pe­nis and I never wanted any­one to touch it, so I was a strangely un­ful­fill­ing prospect: a per­son who pre­sented as gay, wanted to be loved, said they loved sex with men, could com­mit and do Christ­mas with gusto, but who would spend their whole time hid­ing the parts of their body that were male. Love me but don't touch me there.

Re­la­tion­ships were tough, no mat­ter how many baubles were hang­ing on my tree. Sex was phys­i­cally com­pli­cated and emo­tion­ally com­plex; I could do ev­ery­thing that in­volved a body part that wasn't gen­dered. I imag­ined that if only I had a vagina, my whole life would make log­i­cal, sex­ual and maybe even spir­i­tual sense.

Many years later, I'm happy to re­port that I am the proud owner of a beau­ti­ful pussy. She - with­out doubt - rocks, and nes­tled there be­tween my legs for the past few years, she has been locked and loaded for ac­tion like a newly buzz-cut re­cruit, although in true retro styling, she wears a full 70s mop. But, and this is tough to ad­mit, she hasn't led me to an eas­ier sex­ual place. I think I ex­pected too much of her. Look­ing back, I imag­ined all my gen­der would be lo­cated in my vagina. I ac­cept my naivety in this; I went about this process with a bi­nary mind­set, and trav­el­ling through the dat­ing and sex scene post vagi­nal land­ing, I have found knit­ting and poetry far more ac­ces­si­ble than easy-breezy sex.

A very good look­ing man very re­cently con­tacted me via a dat­ing app (I love the pretence of ro­mance) and asked me if I was “pre- or post-op.” I replied that, “I am post” and there­fore had a beau­ti­ful vagina com­plete with ea­ger lips. “Fan­tas­tic,” he replied, “I'm def­i­nitely straight, so only in­ter­ested in fuck­ing.” “Fab­u­lous,” I replied. We then had a se­ries of those mes­sages: the ones which al­ways ap­pear to up the sex­ual ante, and of­ten em­ploy mild, play­ful kink to in­ten­sify the sex­ual con­tent. A few ex­changes later:

“You must do as I tell you,” he said

“Fine.”

“So, when I tell you,” he con­tin­ued, “to put on a strap-on, you must do it.”

“What hap­pened to fuck­ing me?” I thought. My first re­ac­tion was to block and move on, but then I thought about the courage it had taken him to cre­ate the sce­nario in which he could in­tro­duce his de­sire and I felt - strangely - car­ing to­wards him. He some­how trusted me, as if my be­ing trans had al­lowed him the space to ad­mit to some­thing he couldn’t else­where in his life. Here was a man who wants to be fucked, but has to go on a con­vo­luted jour­ney to ask for it. I re­alised that if my process had opened up pos­si­bil­i­ties and space for me then I should get bet­ter at do­ing that for oth­ers. And he's got a great arse.

For far too long, we've been ashamed to talk openly about our de­sires, which is per­haps linked to our bod­ies be­ing de­scribed as wrong in the first place: born into the wrong body, for ex­am­ple. But, as en­coun­ters and ex­pe­ri­ences like mine show, it's be­gin­ning to feel safe enough to both talk about and cel­e­brate how our lives in­ter­sect and weave on so many dif­fer­ent level: sex­u­ally, spir­i­tu­ally and per­son­ally. Trans lives are mak­ing their way out of the shad­ows. There are spa­ces where trans lives are de­sired and cher­ished.

All the neg­a­tive press and me­dia at­tacks tar­get­ing the trans com­mu­nity make it easy to for­get quite how brave trans folk are and how we are cre­at­ing new spa­ces within other com­mu­ni­ties and cre­at­ing new spa­ces of ex­plo­ration within sex. I just need to re­mem­ber that as spa­ces open up for me that I can open up spa­ces for other peo­ple. Now, where is that man and his strap on?

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