Pussy Pondering Produces Penetrating Perception

She moves towards me, seeking my warmth and skin. My heat, a low simmer, moves closer to a full boil and it is almost too much. Almost.

How has this beautiful woman come to be in my bed? It seems impossible, too good to be true, but here she is, straining to be closer to me. I trace the line of time that leads to this moment as I trace her curves from chin to crotch and it seems so absurd I almost laugh out loud. I channel it instead into a cross between a moan and a growl. She moans in return and presses against my hand.

She has something I don’t yet have and for a moment I am unsure of myself because of it. Worse, I feel I have entered a temporary delusion and I struggle to ground myself. Like a turbine, the steam in me drives these unbidden and unwanted thoughts, and my desire wanes as thinking overtakes feeling.

Am I woman enough now? Will I feel emotionally different after my anatomy changes? How will what I feel with my body change? Will things be better, or worse, or the same, or all of them? Will I feel more womanly to this or some other partner in the future?

There are so many questions I ask of myself about the future. It’s folly to expect they’ll even be answered but I still ask. And right now the answer to a question I’ve had for decades is at my fingertips and I almost laugh again when it hits me that its been the wrong question all along; I’ve been looking through the wrong end of the telescope.

The dysphoria and misogyny of it is monstrous in its implications. It shatters some beliefs I held about myself and I bifurcate into before and after realizations. But the now demands my attention. This is no time for reflective contemplation. This woman deserves and demands my presence.

Later, when my fingers and mind are not frenzied but lazy and float randomly where they will, the shape of the real question emerges. They’re really two questions.

What do I want? and, What will I do with it once I have it?

The first is the straightforward question with a ready answer: a vagina. It’s a simple matter to concretize with money and insurance though either isn’t simple to attain.

The other question defies an answer.

Everything? Nothing? Something in between?

Being trans for me has been an almost-continual stepping off into the unknown. When I still thought I was a cishet guy, things were clear in a way. There were scripts I was given on how to act and what the expectations and possibilities were. I was told what I was expected to desire.

But there was no script for this closeted trans girl who couldn’t reconcile her body with her fantasy desires. Being of small imagination I couldn’t see beyond the cishet narrative. I was the fish who didn’t know they were in water.

Dimly, I knew there were other scripts but it took years, hormones, and talking with and reading others to realize we can write our own, stealing from the masters as we please and rejecting whole canon if we so wish. Or, just hang the script and go improv.

When I was young, I fantasized about being the woman in the heterosexual and lesbian porn I saw. I wanted to be the objectified woman who was desired and dispensed pleasure and had big tits and a picture-perfect pussy and had toe-curling orgasms.

I didn’t learn about the male gaze and how ridiculously far from reality all of that was until I was older. And it wasn’t until recently I realized those distortions, even though I knew they were ridiculous and had seen, and read, and had experienced other scripts, still influenced my thinking.

Of the many thoughts and fantasies I’ve had through the years about what I’ll do with my own pussy after I get it, it turned out most were still centered on the male gaze, no matter the equipment of the partner I imagined. I elevated how it would look and feel to others as Most Important and how it would feel to me as Least Important.

How silly in retrospect! How sad in a way. But I’m free now. Free to feel instead of think. Free to fully enjoy the person I’m with and I am. Free to go back and re-write my scripts, putting me at the center. And all that feels good.


©Heather Coldstream

I’m on Twitter @cistotrans

Please consider supporting my writing by sharing it with others with attribution and linking back or buying one of my poetry collections from the Kindle store. Thank you!

2016: Poems from a Year of Change

Uncertain: Poems About Gender Transition

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About cistotrans

A Seattle-area trans woman seeking a happy spot to stay at along the path of transition.
This entry was posted in dating, gender transition, LGBT, observations, personal history, transgender, transition and tagged , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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