We were kissing softly in bed, and I started to feel that tingle of interest… You know, breathing a little heavier. Our eyes were closed and faces nuzzling, and I put my hand in my pants to pump up the hard on. It takes about three squeezes to make it noticeable, six to make it rock hard. I went all six to see the lift in my pants. When my mate looked up, to see their eyes get wide– the flirtation could not have been better. Having these “spontaneous” erections to communicate with my partner is the stuff I waited my whole life for. I experienced seeing my male lovers go through it, on the other side of the equation, wishing I could be experiencing it, too. I wanted my body to show my interest, in any way other than… Well, the only way it used to, wetness.
Since I didn’t have vaginectomy with my phalloplasty, my bartholin’s glands are still intact just inside the opening, and I can still self lubricate, but it is much less natural lubricant now that I have had a hysterectomy. So, when I don’t want the wetness, I feel like it cannot happen to me against my will. We use store bought lubricant almost all the time my partner penetrates me now, which I don’t mind at all. I don’t know why it feels more queer to me– maybe because you need lube to penetrate an ass?
In my mind, I feel like the hysterectomy and subsequent less lubricant makes my vagina behaves more like an agender organ. It doesn’t feel feminine or masculine. Especially without a cervix, it feels like… A personal and sexual place that is so much more in my control. It doesn’t bleed or threaten fertility. It doesn’t make any cervical mucus, fertility mucus, or as much arousal fluid. It’s so much more polite, well-behaved, and easy to get along with. We have made a peace, my vagina and myself. I cannot look down and see it, but I can feel it inside when I move my pelvic floor just so.
I take the erection– pardon, my erection– out of my pants to see it in my undone fly. I lift up the balls a little for the picture.
I feel so content. It is supposed to be this way. That’s what surgery gave me– I feel like my body is just the way it is supposed to be. I know my erections are not spontaneous in the sense that my penis does not pop up hard like this on its own– it takes a hand fiddling around down there a few seconds– but that’s all true of so many dicks. It’s just right for me. It doesn’t feel like an addition to my body, or something that was stitched on. It just feels like me, as me as any part that ever was here my whole life.
If I had the chance to exchange it for a transplant, in some advice sci fi or future, I do not think I would. I have seen my healed phalloplasty flesh right here. It is my penis, and it could not be better for me.
I am transgender. I marvel at how my body has surpassed its own space boundaries to exist where once only my soul lived. This is the trans, to me. We move from one cultural border to another; we surpass. To the culture, I am a female-to-male transsexual. To myself, it never seems adequate. I just know I feel so at home in my skin’s new boundaries.