Struggling to find the big “O”

One woman’s quest for her orgasm

The surgeon I chose for my bottom surgery, an appropriately named operation called Sex Reassignment Surgery (SRS) has the best stats in the world for one particular outcome.  Orgasm within one year post op.  Well, I am now one of the people that is dragging down their statistics.

My libido is intact.  Or should I say, it is there, it exists.  Intact implies unchanged.  I can’t tell if it is unchanged.  Why? You’d think that was easy.

My experience of life as a sexual being has never been conventional.  Perhaps this is shared with all trans women, but as a man, my desire, the nature of arousal, how I felt in my body, struck me then and now as not classically male.  Of course one cannot know this.  But I could observe outcomes, and what I observed is that my stated desire was not the same as any other man I knew.

I have described myself as an intensely sexual being.  You don’t write erotica for decades as a meas of getting off if you aren’t a sexual being.  My testosterone levels were low for a man, at the very, very bottom of the range for a “normal” male.  Our perception is that testosterone drives libido, but clearly it is more complex than that.

What is libido?  I think of it as hunger.  And hunger is horniness.  In other words, our sex hormones drive how badly we want it, but they aren’t telling us exactly what it is that we want.  That comes from somewhere else.

A complex of learned and genetic places, the weird and wonderful place that makes each of us unique in the nature of our desire.

As a man, despite not being attracted to men, one of my most common fantasies was to be overpowered by a man and made to submit sexually.  This was profoundly problematic to me.  I have never been physically attracted to men.  Indeed, being sexual with a man, inspires a kind of revulsion.  Like kissing or touching a man with intimacy.  I have a physical feeling of illness just thinking about it.

Another issue were my own feelings of what it meant to be a man in our world.  It was a role which disgusted me, and I have to say that as much as any other force, the idea of having to exist as a man was a big part of why I had to transition, not just socially, but also physically.  A major part of how this thought formed in me was in relation to how men exist sexually.

What do I mean?  Predatory.  Aggressive.  Taking.  And I can best sum it up by thinking of that moment where male desire goes from silent arousal to something which affects how a man expresses his needs and desires sexually.  It is all around us to see, how a man will manipulate and cajole to see his desire fulfilled, and that horrified me.

It lies at the root of my mistrust of men.  This idea that men are skunks and will do anything to get off.  And I think many women feel that and ecperience it.  I did, with a lifetime of inappropriate touch in public places growing up and into early adulthood.  Being androgynous meant predatory male behaviour parked itself on my front lawn.

And this confused me.  Because I often wondered, “do they think I’m a girl?”  And of course, the part of that answer which was ‘yes’ was profoundly affirming.  The rest was ‘eww’.

What kind of sexual experience do I like best?  What I love is a tender and endlessly connection to a woman’s body.  To gentle and mutual touch.  One which is not necessarily explicit, for even today, I am overwhelmed by things which feel “vulgar” or overtly sexual.  This is my favourite way to slip into my body.  And thankfully, I have had so many beautiful experiences of this kind.

But I also cannot help but thinking something which even some of my dyke friends express…the desire for a fucking never goes away.  One of my dear dyke friends is now marrying a man, for what, as she explains, her bodies insane hunger for dick, which is hitting her in her early 30’s, even though she has no desire to have children.  Despite her impending marriage, she still describes herself as bi, primarily Sapphic.

I have been using a strap-on with various partners.  I am referring to using a strap-on for PIV (penis-in-vagina) sex.  The verdict is that it doesn’t feel the same for her.  Whether I am good with a strap-on or not, if it can be described as that, is a matter of blind faith.  As someone who has had a cock and used it, a strap-on feels natural to me.  Ironically, I really love it.  It allows me to revel in the power of having a dick without all the psychological baggage I had when it was a real one.

So when she says to me, “it’s not the same,” and it is not a question of texture of the dildo, I am naturally curious.  I have a vagina.  I have been penetrated with a strap-on.  It is ho-hum.  That may be a function of the psychological milieu.  But when she said that to me I realised that it is inevitable that I will take a man in.

Will PIV with a man do it for me?  Will this trigger all the forbidden feelings and finally push me over the edge.  I doubt it.

My surgeon has coached me on turning my dilation sessions into masturbation sessions.  That I learn to associate this chore with pleasure.  Ironically, I find it more exhausting to have to think of it as masturbation than as a mechanical exercise in keeping my vaginal canal healthy.

In a world of good news, all of my scar tissue is gone, faded away all by itself.  My gynaecologist is super happy.  A mixture of applying topical testosterone to break up the scar tissue, and daily massage has seen it all go.  The only place I had scar tissue is the worst place for it, on the introitus.  This is the “o-ring” entrance to the vaginal canal, and where your vulva connects to the canal.

This is where a trans wonan becomes.  The connection is sewn, stitched.  With a penile-inversion operation, there is less need for a seam here as the scrotal tissue also lines the start of the canal, so any seams of this nature are further inside.  My operation was different, and involved fashioning a vaginal canal from tissue already inside me, already epithelial, and therefore much closer in what it looks like and feels like to natal vaginal tissue.  

I have started seeing a pelvic floor therapist who is helping me to relax and to open my vaginal canal for receptive sex (and dilation) with a mixture of breathing exercises and muscle contractions and relaxation.  She has also taught me how to use a vibrator in a way that is much more pleasurable.  I will share about my experiences with vibrators soon.

I have also joined a women’s masturbation group.  We get together online once a month on a video call, say hi, light candles, lie back, and pleasure ourselves.  The shared moans are quite mood-enhancing.  And I just love the comfort of being with women.

But with all this, I can’t get there.  With my explorations of tantric sex, I can’t get there.  With my lesbian partners, including one who is a self-proclaimed Goddess of cunnilingus, I cannot get there.  It all feels wonderful, but the issue is somewhere else.

In my head.  How do I know?  Well, the physical sensations are great.  Really great.  I can feel how great they are for about 30 seconds if I touch myself, or am touched, in a way that my body really likes.  Very gently.

But then my mind kicks in and wonders somewhere else, or places pressure—‘oh wow, that feels good, maybe it’ll be this time.’

What I am saying is that physically, my surgeon delivered the goods.  I know that.  What isn’t working is how my mind participates.  The nature of female and male arousal are totally different.  Even if the fantasy that goes off in my head is unchanged, and still produces the same general arousal, it is what happens next that my experiences in a male and female body diverge.

My female brain is much more easily distracted, thrown off, pushed away from the mood.  In other words, my brain needs more, much more, than I ever needed as a man.

I was at a party recently and a dominatrix walked up to me and said, “I have to ask.”

“What?” I answered.

“Do you still have a cock?”

“No.”

“What a pity.  You are so hot, I would want you.”

“I’m even hotter now.”

“May I?” she asked, raising her hand.

“Yes.”  She put her hand right on my vulva.  I felt instantly aroused.

“I can feel how aroused you are,” she said, “tempting.  I can almost hear you whimper.”  I just looked at her and loved that owning touch.  All night that night, whenever we passed each other or ran into each other, she put her hand on my vulva and delighted in her power, her apparent ownership of my desire.

And what was wild for me was how quickly and profoundly my body responded.  My pussy is alive.  It quivered and contracted and wanted her touch.

Would I feel like this if it were a man?  I don’t think so.

But I do now that the big “o” lives there somewhere, and I believe that it is in a place where a silence the distractions of a monkey-brain mind, have the touch of a woman, have the feeling of surrender that I feel safe to have with a woman, and for me to learn to just surrender to my own body.

I’ll let you know how it goes.