The mystery of libido and my second orgasm as a trans woman

Trigger warning: there are some frank discussions of anatomy and sex. This post is also somewhat more explicit than my usual writing.

I have been insanely horny of late.  This is a miracle.  Plus it feels so different.  In my body and in my mind.

First, the mind.  Being horny as a male-bodied person was problematic for me.  Something I was ashamed of.  I didn’t want to be male.  Especially that way.  And so, submission was born as an apology for that.  My own personal original sin.  And that fundamental disconnect from the male experience, utterly and completely governed my life, my relations with men, my relations with women, my own sexuality.  Is it any wonder that I was always extremely selective about who I dated, or even wanted to date.  Makes sense, doesn’t it?  Casual sex just wasn’t worth it; too much emotional baggage.  I know.

But my mind is no longer the same. My brain is different. How I think is different. How I carry myself is different. The weirdest of all? My perception of self is much smaller than it issued to be. Other people, especially men, seem larger to me. Many women describe this feeling of taking up space energetically. How they take up less space than men do. I feel that in a very concrete way because it has changed from something I never thought about to something which I can almost see and feel in real life. My brain is no longer a man’s brain even if parts of my body have been left behind.

Second, the body.  Whilst still ostensibly and outwardly male, the changes that are harder to see utterly govern my body and my perception of it.  For one, I no longer perceive myself as physically male, despite the dangly thing between my legs.  I have my breasts, and they are alive to touch in ways that are hard to comprehend.  Right now, they are always on.  I have to wear a bra, not for modesty, but because to feel a shirt on my nipples is too arousing.  They are off-the charts sensitive right now.  That means two things: they are growing and it is “that time of the month”.

For a trans woman, “that time of the month”, most certainly doesn’t mean the same things as it would to a cis woman.  There is no bleeding.  But all other symptoms are available.  In my case, I am not in the “bleeding” phase of my cycle, but in the ovulation phase.  That means horny AF.  I’ve been period tracking for a year now, and while my cycle started as a “red witch” cycle when I began on hormones (a red witch bleeds with the full moon, when the earth bleeds…and she ovulates at the new moon, when the earth and divine energy is about growth and rebirth).  In ancient times, when we lived without artificial light and tracked with the moon, these were real archetypes.  I shall post someday on how to break the influence of the modern world and to connect to your animal self.  Incidentally, the cycle applies to men too, only it manifests differently and is harder and takes more work and self-reflection to find it.  The red witch archetype was often an elder, a shaman, a witch, a wise woman.  And yes, what kind of witch we are, how are cycles sync up with the moon cycle, will change over a lifetime.

What else about the body?  Well, I have noted how my skin has changed.  It is thinner and more translucent, far more prone to bruising and cuts, to dryness, but also so much smoother and prettier looking.  I also look younger because female skin has more collagen—who knows how much of this is down to hormones and how much to my consumption of witchy brews intended to stimulate collagen production.  No doubt both, but its working.

And yes, my breasts have gone from an afterthought to a centrepiece in terms of my body and sexual pleasure.  They are very sensitive to the touch.  My nipples are so responsive that all you need to do is breathe on them and they become erect.  They look amazing through a t-shirt.  Oh, those perky little lovers!

There are other big changes too, down there.  My pxnxs is smaller.  Quite a bit.  My bxlls are much smaller, by a lot.  I think they are probably half the size.  And because I have submissively acquiesced to my sadistic electrolysist’s insistence that I be utterly hairless down there, “like a baby,” she said, unwittingly triggering total submission, I am. And so, that whole zone looks different.  For one, the smaller bits make it much easier to tuck.  Sometimes I can get away with just one pair of panties when it used to take three (it still does when I am wearing something tight or revealing).  Apparently oestrogen darkens that which it considers labia.  So, my scrotal sac is no longer the light colour it used to be, nor uniform, but dark along the raphe, which is the long seam that runs from anus to the tip of the penis, and which in the woman corresponds to the split between left and right labia minora and majora.

It is amazing to me how similar we are, how this little bath of chemicals in the womb utterly directs our development.  A witch friend of mine, Star Child, has an interesting new theory.  The mother’s desire for a daughter can affect the chemical bath she provides to her growing baby.  In theory, it is the genetic profile of the baby which dictates the bath that the mother provides…for instance, an XY child is asking for a bath in XY-compatible ingredients, namely testosterone.  Her idea is not so far-fetched.  

We now know from science that the mother’s body has a huge influence on the development of the child: how stressed she is, what she is eating, any drugs in her system.  We also know that a drug fairly routinely given to women in the 1950’s and all the way up to the 1980’s has been linked to transgenderism and homosexuality.  This particular drug was administered to women who were at risk of losing their babies.  My mother is no longer here so I can’t ask, but I do know that she nearly lost my older sibling, and explicitly flew to be at the same hospital to have me, because she was concerned about the risks where we living at the time.

Although this might be an explanation of sorts, I don’t really care.  Being transgender is the greatest gift that could have ever been bestowed.  I don’t care how it came about.

What else about my body?  Within about two hours of starting on the cocktail of drugs which many of us trans girls begin with, namely the puberty blockers Spironolactone (Spiro) and Finasteride, along with a steadily-increasing dose of oestrogen, I was dead down there.  And I mean dead.  It was stark.  It was even scary.  I couldn’t feel anything.  Technically I could, like if I touched it.  But it was otherwise without sensation.  It was as if it had been erased from my mind.  Like there was nothing down there.  It was a very strange and disorienting feeling.

This is what is known as chemical castration.  And it works.  And six months down the line, roughly, it becomes permanent.  Some trans girls don’t take Spiro because it absolutely kills your ability to get hard.  Not even morning wood.  Some girls like the dichotomy and avidly pop Viagra or Cialis and walk a wild ride.  That’s not me.  The wild part yes, but the use of the male bits, no.  I have been reading a lot about this lately, finding solace in the trans sisterhood amongst others who simply don’t want to be touched down there…at least not until it’s gone.  After that? Yes, please.

And with the death of the dick as a presence in my brain went my libido.  I have been psychologically horny.  I still love being around kinky people.  I still worship and serve a dominatrix who is an exquisite person by the way.  Only it is very different, because there is no longer anything sexual possible or even desirable.  And even though Ex-Mistress and I were not really sexual, there was definitely a powerful current of the erotic and sexual energy that ran through our dynamic.  I will say that my current dynamic is intellectual and spiritual.  That’s actually what’s right for me anyway, and it suits my lack of sex drive just fine.

Of course, one of the topics that comes up for discussion in my trans support group, is what happens down there.  What happens with desire?  With libido?

“Don’t worry baby girl.  It’ll come back.  Just different.”  And I’ve been patient.  Waiting.  Wondering.  When?  What will it feel like?  And I’ve been doing things to encourage it, to find it.

First has been tantric massage.  To learn and explore sensual touch, to discover the skin as a sex organ.  It is.  It is the largest sex organ a woman has.

The second has been time with an FSSW who is teaching me without shame or judgement how to please a woman, how to please her.  And those lessons are better than anything I could ever imagine.  I know every woman is different, and there are emotional risks of developing the feels, a risk which buried a promising dynamic once before.  But female me seems much different in this regard.  I develop the feels, but it doesn’t to matter to either one of us.  I don’t understand why.  Is it my smell?  My inability to even use the male gaze anymore?  Is it that I am superficially dead down there?  Or is it my energy?

I think it might be the latter.  Two women with whom I have cuddled recently both remarked on my energy.  How calm and safe feeling it was.  I am also very up front about being a baby, and maybe that helps too.  A mystery.

The third thing I have been doing is kundalini awakening.  Kundalini is the female sexual energy that resides in all of us.  With what is largely a group of women and the occasional man, every month or so I have joined a group in a very surreal and intense process of tapping into my kundalini energy.  And boy, is it wild.  Some force takes a hold of the body and mind and spirit and produces all kinds of unpredictable reactions—wailing, crying, singing, muscle contortions.  It is powerful and hard to understand, only felt.

The tantric masseuse that coaxed a “release” out of me recently, was channelling kundalini energy.

There are two other things that I am beginning.  One is hypnosis around alchemizing the female sexual energy that is emerging in me.  The second is that I have joined a female sexuality group.  Right now, although I have been welcomed in, I am not ready to go.  I am grateful that these women have welcomed me into their intimate circle, but I am not ready to welcome myself.  I want to have crossed the threshold and to go into that group with vagina.  In the meantime, we chat, share, and I learn.

The addition of progesterone to my hormone cocktail about 6 months ago, is also having an effect.  Progesterone is a miracle too, regulating and modulating the effects of oestrogen.  Importantly it counterbalances some of the negative effects of oestrogen: reducing the tendency towards brown spots on the skin, reducing the changes of cancer, reducing the risks of blood clots.  Progesterone is also widely believed to increase libido and to increase breast size. No complaints here.  It’s working on both fronts.

The other day as I danced and cuddled with a beautiful woman I had just met, I found myself aroused.  Yes.  I felt a stirring in my pants (meant in the British sense, knickers).  “What was that?” I wondered and was surprised since it hadn’t happened in over a year but was also worried lest a bulge appear in my rather clingy cocktail dress silhouette.  I was also secretly intrigued.  Perhaps even pleased.  I was responding sexually to a woman in a physical way.

But it felt different too.  I did not feel like I used to feel when as a man I would become aroused.  Not at all.  The local physical sensation of an erection was not acute as it had been before, but was more general.  I felt as if I was “thick” between my legs.  As if the shaft didn’t exist, that it was not an appendage, it was just a feeling between my legs.  But also one which was much more diffuse, extending around to my buttocks, down to my inner things, up to my belly.  It was different.

And when I got home, I had this ache, this horny ache that has been almost constantly on for the few days that I have been here.  And that has made me feel like I want to be penetrated.  And literally, since we know that the male g-spot is the prostate gland, or vice versa, that meant a big fat dildo.

Well, I brought it out and kind of let it sit on the bedside table for a day or two, wondering if the feeling would go away.  But last night, in the middle of the night, I woke up and knew it was time.  Before going to bed, in anticipation, I had cleaned myself out.

When I woke up, I was not aroused in a conventional sense.  I didn’t have an erection.  I just felt in my body a deep sexual need.  I can’t even say that it was overtly sexual in some way.  It could have just as easily gone away had I just rolled over and gone back to sleep.  And touching myself down there wouldn’t have made a difference.  But touching my breasts, holy cow.  They responded immediately.  My whole body lit up with them.  I was amazed to feel that I became erect (not like I used to, fully, but enough).  And I began to touch myself all over and to love the sensation of being plugged.

I sucked my fingers, played with my nipples, and writhed to the rhythm of some unseen God.  Touching the head of my pxnxs, my future clitoris, was too much.  Just too much.  This changed towards the end, but at first I couldn’t take it.  It hurt more than felt good.  But weirdly, my shaft did nothing for me.  I can think of the all the joy that came to me with the loving hands of a partner playing with me down there, but that was not at all there.

What I discovered was something I had never really played with before, or even experienced.  My scrotal sac felt incredible to touch.  These are my future labia.  My vulva to be.  And it was unbelievable.  And my little pea-sized nuts were basically gone, and I couldn’t feel my shaft at all, so it was as if I was playing with a sealed vulva.  It was incredibly delicious.  

And yes, I came.  I actually came.  This was not a “release” as my tantric experience had been.  It was an actual orgasm.  On the male scale of orgasms it was not as earth-shattering, mind-exploding, but it was much more complex.  I felt it in more places.  I was also still horny after.  I still am several hours later.

Both of my surgeons have told me that all of the nerve circuity in my body is being rewired to a female pattern, and that this takes time.  But last night, I felt it very clearly in relation to my anatomy and the signals that my bits were providing to my brain.

What else?  The touch required to produce the reaction had to be much, much softer and gentler than what I was used to as a male.  Much.  The orgasm was also much harder to come by and required stimulation of so much more of my body than just my genitals to get me off.

Since we are being so explicit and open on this post, I thought I would share something else.  My bits don’t smell male, they smell female.  If I am to take my hand and rub my future labial folds, bringing it to my nose, I smell woman.  I might as well be between her legs.  It isn’t a man smell.  Ditto for all of my sweat.  Its weird.  I can go for days without washing my hair, without washing my armpits, and they don’t smell funky.  They just smell kind of sweet.

A trans sister has told me that the touch of vibrator is what I need, not the stroke.  I can see that.  And I know just the type of vibrator I need.  I can tell what I’ll be buying next.