So, I guess this is the good part. There aren’t really updates to living in years past surgery so much as I’m just… living my life in the body that feels right for me. I still have moments when I roll over at night in bed and feel my penis flop over. I smile to myself like things are right. Or I’m getting out of the bath, and I feel the weight and sway of the penis and scrotum while I step— or it bumps my thigh, and I’m reminded that it’s there.
Whereas, before surgery, I used to do everything I could not to think that this present penis was absent… but reminders would strike me suddenly with a pang of distress or grief. I never knew when it was coming exactly, but the sense of being only partly formed would hit like a slap in the face or a punch in the gut. I’d look at my mons and think, “Where is the rest of me? Why are you missing, flesh?” I was ashamed of my phantoms for a very long time. But that knowledge was as real as if any part which should grow there in full health did not. I felt the pain of my penis’ absence for… maybe as long as I could remember, long before I knew of such a thing as being transgender, long before accepted that the word transgender applied to me.
I remember that first sexual awakening to it, which came in a blend of yearning to penetrate and a distress that I could not ‘reach’ my partners when we were pelvis to pelvis. When my boyfriends topped me, I loved it; but I wanted to top them in return. Whatever other tools I used like fingers or toys or prosthetics, they brought some euphoria, but over time, they underscored all the more what I could not do and could not be, in the flesh, to my mates. When I was with women, when I lived as a woman, we would scissor and grind together flesh to flesh or flesh to silicone or glass, but I would move in exquisite agony that my flesh could not extend from there to offer— to extend— to go where every innate instinct compelled my body to be. Where objects moved as my flesh surrogate, I could not feel, and at the end, I would be woken up with discord or storing the severed prosthetic in a drawer, or a trunk, or a travel bag.
It was to be compelled to a prison of penetrating chastity, the limitations of the small erectile bump, lips, and otherwise recessed genitals. I could not have suffered more had a disease eaten an original penis away leaving that phantom, or had an accident severed it from me. My mind knew the outline of me.
In a sense, the update of going past the second year… is really having time to ponder experiences of dysphoria, without their hurting so much that it halts the reflection. I can see better how much I needed all this.
It isn’t that my lover had much preference either way. That part is like the wildcard; I don’t think she thinks about it much either way, my having a penis now. I don’t know if she even really thinks of my penis as much of a sexual part of me, I say with some private disappointment. I mean no, it’s not the key to sexual interaction with me, since I’m a bottom— but when I have sex with men, I yearn to grab after their dicks or suck on them or touch their penis, touch it to me— it might as well not even be there to her 95% of the time. I don’t know— is it her lingering penis dysphoria which led her to vaginoplasty? She likes men, she likes me. I guess by this point I’d just hoped that she would seize on spontaneously going after my penis at least a time or two. I guess she has given me a blow job twice or three times in earnest over these two years— but our sex life is fairly active otherwise?
I need to bring it up with her and talk directly about how she feels about all this. To make a small excuse, it never seems like the most important thing to bring up… And how do you plan that someone should want you spontaneously? I have an idea to let her know I would like it, so that if the fancy or the right moment were to strike she could express it. We are generally game like that. I think I need to finish pouting that she didn’t seize me before I asked to be seized. I’ll be that skeleton sitting there waiting, haha. In the mean time, I do not complain at all that my masturbation sex life is better than it ever has been in my whole life. : ) I am really getting to know the joy of being solo and meeting my own needs, before I go to ask someone else to participate in that.