Intimacy with a [trans]woman

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Pixiv original art by touma raito

A friend of many years asked me a question that you really shouldn’t ask a transgender person unless you’re close enough to have laughed about how neither of you are sexually attracted to one another. In other words, I’m really close with them and comfortable with satisfying their curiosity and concern. For the sake of taking a bit of the mystery away from others honestly wondering to understand a little more deeply about a trans female’s mindset, I’m sharing this unique, juicy, and mildly insightful information.

That’s the only reason why you’re here, right? So, the question was:

Will your decision to be intimate with someone be based on how you feel about your genitals? Like…they’re okay with you as you are, but I know you’re not.

Honestly, I had no idea how to answer that. As someone who has virtually shoved nearly all manner of sexual thoughts and hopes into a deep, dark closet, I really didn’t want to care enough to answer. But I gave myself a moment to really think about all the possibilities that immediately separate me from all the typical cisgender females in the world. All these concerns and fears that swam through my mind – if they didn’t know I was trans* and things got heated, or if they knew and somehow had a different expectation of what it would be like, or how uncomfortable I would be regardless because of how viscerally I’d be reminded of my inadequacies in the presence of another…

My answer was simple.

I don’t expect to be sexually intimate with anyone for a very long time. If ever. Whether I am intimate with anyone will depend on so much more than just my body. And if they’re okay with me as I am now, I still don’t think I’d ever be okay with thinking, even for a moment, about the possibility that I am being fetishized.

As a trans* girl, I want to be loved, cared for, and given attention just like any other female. Except for the additional scenarios regarding genitalia and the possibility of being raped or killed out of rage…we are not very different. What it means to be a woman is something I’ll be learning for as long as I live, but lately I’ve been coming to terms that I’ll never be able to bear a child. That I’ll never have a proper period. That I’ll never have to take a pregnancy test. That I very well may never experience and be able to offer the level of intimacy and tactile affection that are typical of being female.

Basic every day things that I thought I’d be able to ignore and shrug off have gradually crept into my heart and left me crying on the inside. I’ll always be this anomaly – passing physically, well attuned to girl talk, stirring the sexual curiosity of various people – but never quite being complete. Accepting the body that I have, yet crushed by the reality of being denied experiences I deserve.

Then I wonder what will I do if my significant other is unable to do the things I should be able to do. A surrogate just…I just wouldn’t want that. Though I make no point to hide that I’m transgender, thoughts like this make me feel like a broken failure. Though I’m strong enough to not allow my emotions to tear me apart, I’m still hurting.

Intimacy in itself remains a strange mystery to me, regardless of who I’ve messed around with. And the thought of someone wanting to be intimate with me is honestly pretty unfathomable at this point, regardless of how much I love myself now more than ever.

Time says it all

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Pixiv @ akeome – 2015 is the year of the Sheep

2014 was far more impressive and progressive than this blog has recorded. Regardless, this truly has been the kind of year I both anticipated and was surprised by.

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Friendship is dead. Long live friendship

renai_1519Tonight, I removed twenty people from my Facebook “friend” list. This usually would not be anything special for me to write about – this isn’t the first time I’ve culled my list. However, tonight…I was angry.

Rather, I am angry, which seems to be the best motivator to bring me back here and get me writing again. Mostly because I refuse to trouble anyone who is actually a friend. The rest comes from me having something valuable to say. Though emotions drive me to write, I still will never take to the keyboard or pick up a pen if I have nothing to say that’s worth reading.

So..why am I angry.

I’m angry because when I look at my list of 300+ “friends”, I objectively know that more than half of them are not my friend. I have quite a few people that I trust and value, but it frustrates me to have so many people that merely hang on a thread of meaning – of sheer justification for me to care about them – simply because of a past memory or shared experience. Those threads bind tougher than anyone would suspect. Those twenty people I cut loose tonight also had tough, relentless threads. They merely weakened and rightfully snapped free.

I’m angry that such threads exist because I care about them. About people, memories, former comradery that we clung so dear to. That maybe, just maybe, they will need me one day. That perhaps – somewhere underneath their cluttered livelihoods, romantic escapades, tightly wound job connections, and group photos with people I’ll never meet – they still give a tiny fuck about me. So many of these “friends” need to be released from the menial obligation that social media in general has so programmed us to depend on. But really, I’m the one who seeks release. While their lives will go on unchanged, I will have to forget.

I’m angry because I only wanted to reach out to my Japanese friends, who I admittedly belittled during my time in Osaka, only to find that only one remains. The one who gave me so much of his time and effort to make me feel welcome in many ways. Who went out of his way to show me friendship when I was too blind and naive to fully embrace it, for I was merely a visitor who would fade away and be replaced. Who gave me a momento from his high school because he valued me so much. And yet…I can’t bring myself to even say hello. I’ve changed so much physically, mentally, and spiritually that to approach him would be to open up so much that I’m not sure he could handle. No matter how strong I’ve become since I’ve transitioned, I would break if the only person left that I’m connected to in Japan from my abroad stay wanted nothing to do with me.

His thread is so very resilient. Yet, I often believe I should just end it with one snip…

I’m angry because the concept of what constitutes “friendship” has become so warped, broken, and fickle. Even I fell into the trap of “friending” those who I believed I’d be able to still connect with after our performance concluded. After the club trip ended. After we parted ways from the party or event. Neither of us had nothing to lose, and everything to gain. Despite the odds being in our favor, so many of us fail miserably to hold up our end of the bargain. The two-way street is never paved and we become connected by the most disgustingly worthless standard of all: Facebook friends.

I’m tired of people taking my ideology and value of friendship for granted. I’m even more tired of me falling for the same trick over and over, thinking something more will come of it. However, to disengage from such an activity would be to revert back to the untrusting, withdrawn person I was for so much of my life. That angry, miserable person is mostly disposed of, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. So many people I’m truly grateful to have in my life wouldn’t be there if I hadn’t given myself a chance to believe anything could come of it.

So what is “friendship” in this day and age if nothing more than a simple button click? So much of our lives have been boiled down to a click using a cursor that children now come out of the womb knowing how to use. Where is the vibrant and fervent pursuit of platonic relationship that used to exist in days merely held in revere within history books? Where is the desire – desperate fear even – that someone may forget about the moment in time spent if one of you never mailed a letter? We allow online services to keep track of our connections, and at the end of year, only one-eighth of them know that we actually gave a damn.

This is what I believe to be the pitiful, meandering, passively acquiescent state of a vast majority of people’s lives as it relates to rapidly declining valuing of the human connection. Maybe it’s time to take active ownership of our lives, not just in the real world, but on social media as well.

Take a good hard look at the people around you–actually no. Don’t waste your time doing that. Take a good hard look at the people you think you have as friends. If you’re anything like me, maybe you’ll see a pattern of people you gave access to you who have no business having access to you. Maybe you’ll find that person you said you’d write back, but never did. Maybe you’ll realize that maybe accepting every friend/follow request isn’t the best way to build meaningful, lasting relationships.

Maybe you too will find yourself angry at how few people among those hundreds on your list you can truly call a friend.