Love my love thing, super ride inside my love thing… Laura Nyro
I like my pussy, indeed I love it.
I absolutely hated the things that were there before.
Didn’t like seeing them. Didn’t want to touch them. Certainly didn’t want someone else touching them. Didn’t want them touched while I was having sex.
Their one saving grace is that they were very small and childlike. Once I was on hormones they just lay there like the improper little flaps of skin they were.
Fortunately I had a straight lover, who respected my feelings and ignored those inconvenient flaps of skin.
But even before I got my sex change operation I had to listen to people praise the possessing of a penis and disparage post-transsexual women’s cunts.
Sometimes I could sort of understand it, like the time my boyfriend and I overheard a couple of gay guys in a restaurant going on about someone I actually knew from our counseling center.
Of course these gay men who call each other “Mary and Girlfriend” showed their gay wit and wisdom by calling this friend of mine “he” even though she had been living as a woman from the time she was kicked out of her parents house at 15.
These men were laughing and going on about how this ‘silly queen” was going to “get his dick chopped off” and how they couldn’t imagine why anyone would do that just to have a dead fish smelling hole down there.
Now it might be easy to blow off these gay men as being simply dick fixated, since gay men are attracted to other gay men. Or perhaps bothered by some sort of transphobic fear of somehow being associated with transsexuals.
Oddly enough way back in 1971 transsexual women had pretty much figured out that what separated them from the group that were called “queens” in those days, but would now be called transgenders, was the way queens liked their dicks and didn’t really want to have a pussy between their legs.
Now I know I have a potty mouth and use words like fuck, cunt and pussy rather than the nice polite desexualized proper words, but I hate the politically correct tendency to sanitize discourse about sex, almost as much as I hate racism and the abuse of the environment.
I’m not into politically correct games of pretend which people wedded to identity politics use in the same deceitful way as the right wing uses the flag and Bible.
I don’t have a problem with transgender people keeping their original equipment and using it. I’ve slept with transgender women friends, both before and after I had SRS . Negotiating how we would do it and what our personal boundaries were was part of respecting each other and not wanting to leave the other person feeling hurt.
This is something both transsexual and transgender people shouldn’t have a problem understanding, considering the shit we have gone through.
Certain members of the Transgender Borg seem to have missed the lessons on respecting others as you expect to be respected.
Respect is a two way street. If you don’t want me making snotty comments about your genitals then lose those pet phrases like “vanilla scented choochies” and “inverted penises.”
You are talking about my body in a way that makes you identical to the Reich Wing crazies of the AFA and Focus on the Family. You could be reading a script from Janice Raymond and the “radical feminist” thugs.
If you don’t want to have sex with me, that’s fine by me as there is a good chance that even when I was young and slutty I might not have wanted to have sex with you. After all slutty or not I still had standards.
There is a difference between not wanting to have sex with a particular transsexual woman or man and making the disparaging of their post-SRS genitals a part of your political position.
If you do that then don’t be surprised if post-ops fight back.
But there is something else that is even more hurtful than the verbal disparaging of our genitals that macho assholes, gay men, some lesbians, the religious right, and way too many transgender people engage in.
That is having someone who liked us well enough to go to bed with us recoil in horror and express revulsion regarding our genitals.
Transsexuals develop thick skins as a means of survival. The verbal shit hurts, but we’ve had to deal with that our entire lives and if you’ve avoided suicide and dealt with the substance abuse, you’ve developed coping mechanisms.
I know a number of sisters who went in the opposite direction than I did. While I got validation and pleasure from promiscuity they have never had sex. Not with a man and not with a woman.
That is how vulnerable this shit makes us. Some of us are so afraid of someone recoiling from our bodies and physically or verbally abusing us that we shut ourselves off from sexual relationships.
Not that transsexuals on their way to post-transsexualhood have easy roads to navigate. Those roads are filled with “experts” with clip boards ready to document any sexual activity, arousal or fantasy we might have, to use as a sign of our deep seated perversity.
We’ve had to deal with fear of rejection our entire lives.
Hell many of us have been berated, belittled and disowned by our parents and siblings. We know rejection.
It is soul crushing. It is the reason so many of us engage in substance abuse and lead lonely lives.
I was fifteen when I came out to my parents as transsexual. Two years after being busted for wearing my mother’s clothes.
They found my clippings about April Ashley and the other sisters who worked at Le Carousel.
The told me, “If you do this no one will ever love you or want you. No one, not a normal man or woman, not even a queer man or woman.”
I had a sex change operation for myself. so that when I touched myself, washed or used the toilet I wouldn’t have a part of my body that felt like a deformity.
Telling me I should accept the body I was born with is be like telling some one with a cleft palate they should have accepted that since that was something they were born with.
Is my cunt as perfect as if I had been born with it? The answer is obvious. I had what felt like a major defect repaired through plastic surgery that left me with functioning genitals I feel comfortable with.
They have been part of my body 40 of my 65 years. They are natural to me and no prettier or uglier than other people’s genitals.
If you recoil from my cunt after having gotten to that point of intimacy it is incredibly hurtful. I would rather you had rejected me from the start. It is easier to be rejected as a person than it is to have thought you liked me enough to sleep with me only to recoil in horror because you think my cunt would somehow contaminate you with trannie cooties.
I’ve had a lifetime of being dehumanized and objectified. Oppressed in ways that normborns can’t imagine.
I am not some transsexual goddess with deep insight into the ways of men and what pleases men because I never related to those parts the way men do. I was the transkid who was isolated and abused as a child.
I am not some transsexual monster out to invade and destroy the imaginary solidarity of the sisterhood of lesbian purity.
Life is too short and there are too many people in the world who do not have problems with either my humanity or femaleness for me to want to be part of your abusive Stalinistic cult. There are too many music festivals where I am welcome. Women’s music festivals who put in their advertising that all women are welcome, including women whose lives have been impacted by various trans-prefixed words.
I have the right to use transsexual to describe my life without that being taken as a sign I have given people a license to bad mouth my cunt.
When I had been post-op for ten years I cooperated with Stanford and filled out a survey regarding being a long time post-op. Judy asked me why most of the other sisters refused to return the survey. I said, “Perhaps you would get better results if you didn’t treat us like Replicant escapees from Bladerunner.
We are human beings and our cunts are part of us.
My cunt is not the problem. Your bigotry is the problem.