My change happened months ago, I still don’t feel like going into the specifics of it. All I know is that I was once a man, and then something happened, and now I’m a woman. Those are the facts, let us live by them and move on. I’ve come to terms with my new life, as have my friends and family. They understand that in order for me to be a healthy, happy and well adjusted member of society, I was going to need as much help as possible. They’ve given me that, but now it’s time to continue on my own.
The continuing issue of ‘me’ going forward is how to confront my newfound sexuality. Even if I was still inclined solely toward women, which I am starting to feel I am not, there has been a fundamental change in the dynamics of a relationship, should I decide to embark on one. That’s what keeps me up at night, and has thus far kept my nights lonely. As a man I had not been the physical kind, but I had enjoyed an active sex life. That meant I took charge in the act of love making. It was I who disrobed my partner, it was I who did most of the work, before and during, and it was I who had all of the power.
When I had sex, the woman was a target for my love, but never a true partner in all senses of the word. Perhaps I was doing it wrong, but in all my sexual encounters, it played out like that. Maybe the girl would push back occasionally, or be the one to instigate, but I would still be the thruster, and she the thrustee.
Being a girl myself changes that now. Even from a masturbatory standpoint. As a man it had been such a throwaway gesture. Wake up, jerk off, greet the day. Climb into bed, jerk off, go to sleep. Watch tv, jerk off, watch tv. It all went a little like that. But the power dynamic was the same as sex, I was doing something, I was polishing my sword, as it were. Everything I needed was right at hand, and fit my personal definition of a sexual experience.
But now, now I am the gate keeper, and no longer the keymaster. My body is built for sex to happen to. My body is built for invasion, no matter how kindly I should put it. In order for my to indulge my frequent bouts of arousal, as I am a healthy young woman, I need to put something inside myself. Sure I can flick my bean, I can remain an exterior kind of girl, but when I do that, the hole is so close. The emptiness, waiting to be filled. I could move a finger toward the entrance, but the fear consumes me. I just don’t know what’s going to happen, what it might feel like. Whether I might like it, and by doing so, tacitly lose some more of my manhood in the process.
I suppose it’s due to my ill dated conception of masculinity. Real men don’t invade themselves, even for the purposes of pleasure. I understand that’s an outdated concept, I know it doesn’t matter in real life, but still, I can’t bring myself to do it.
It all just meant that one unexpected night, when those unkind stars aligned to put me alone in another man’s room. Candles burning, music playing, swimming in alcohol, that I hadn’t prepared myself. The flesh was willing but the spirit was weak. I was so weak. Had I been in my right mind, I would have parted our lips, climbed from the chair and escaped into the night, skirt swishing behind me, leaving my jacket behind in the rush. A sacrifice.
But I remained still, I remained a part of the night, I clung to him, until the moment came. When it was my turn to discover just what it felt like to relinquish the power, relinquish my manhood. Climb between the sheets. Feel the weight of him above me, the warmth welling within myself, the point of contact. The last moment of misguided denial.
Shut my eyes.
Find out…
What it is…
To be a woman.