A Splash of Michael Kors

Michael Kors Original is my go to fragrance although there are others that I like and wear occasionally. But Michael Kors is special to me because it is the smell of sex, the aroma of forbidden sex.  Nearly 20 years ago, long before I became Eve, long before I even thought I might one day transition, I began an affair with a married work colleague. I will call her Natasha. Michael Kors was her favourite and, for me, it will forever be the smell of her, of the sex we had in cheap and grubby hotel rooms, occasionally in nice hotel rooms, in cars, once, memorable in a train toilet as impatient fellow passengers banged on the door and her loud scream as she climaxed gave the game away.

The affair fizzled out as they often do. The thrill and intensity of taboo sex can’t last for ever, and maintaining a of facade of deception for other people becomes emotionally draining. But after it ended I always felt arousal when I passed a woman who was wearing it. So t was natural that when I began to change my gender role, I would wear it myself. I feel empowered, I feel sexy, I feel confident, confident enough to seduce a man, knowing that I had a window into his soul. It is still the scent of sex. It is part of the sexual person that I am, something that binds the different versions on me in a way that goes beyond gender.

And what of Natsha? She is now a platonic friend, my closest friend actually and our emotional bond is tighter than it ever was back in the days when we ripped each other’s clothes off in hotel rooms under the guise of “working late”. She has been totally supportive of me. And that time when we walked down Oxford Street in our favourite dresses, both wearing our favourite fragrance and she spontaneously took my hand and we walked hand in hand, not giving a toss what anyone thought, remains special. Natasha has done so much for me, she is aware of some of it but I think that she and her fragrance have actually done more for me than she will ever know.  

A post for Quote Quest in conjunction with Kink of the Week. Click on the badges to read what others have to say about scents.

QuoteQuest

A Load of Balls – The U -Turn on Gender Recognition

At the end of what has been a pretty traumatic week for transgender people came the news that most of us had been expecting but still hoping not to hear. This was the announcement that the Government will not be proceeding with plans to amend the Gender Recognition Act to permit self-declaration (as has been permitted in the Republic of Ireland since 2015) despite this having been the policy of previous Conservative administrations (it was originally put forward by the then Equalities Minister Maria Miller, and despite the results of a consultation being largely in favour. The Government has come up with the odd justification that the result was skewed by lots of pro trans gender groups submitting favourable responses. By the same logic one might argue that the result of the 2019 General Election was skewed by lots of people voting Conservative but logic and consistency is not something populists go in for.

For populist is what the Conservative Party now is. It wasn’t always this way. Just fifteen years ago David Cameron became party leader and set out to remodel the party as fiscally conservative and pro-business but socially liberal. The intake of Conservative MPs at the elections of 2005 and 2010 included a number of LGBT people who went on to hold ministerial office, such as Justine Greening, Margot James and Nick Boles. That was before Brexit swung the party in a populist direction and pragmatic, centrist Tories were purged.

With populism come culture wars. And this is what we now have. An internal Conservative Party paper leaked before the General Election suggested using attacks on trans rights as a means of gaining support with socially conservative working class voters, so no one should be surprised by what is happening now. There have been press reports about the Government legislating to protect single sex spaces and this raises the prospect of US style bathroom bans being brought in.  Some transwomen I know are desperately worried.

I just want to consider what a bathroom ban could mean in practice.  It has been suggested that it could apply to “male bodied” transwomen.  Female bodied transmen don’t get a look in, they have been airbrushed out yet again although their presence raises issues that neither the Government nor the noisy and unrepresentative trans-exclusionary radical feminists seem to have considered. But let us stay with transwomen for the moment. What does it actually mean for a transwoman to be male bodied? It can’t just be about surgery because a transwoman who has been taking hormones for an extended period will have a number of characteristics that males do not, notably breasts (plumbed in in exactly the same way as cis female breasts), but also softer skin and hair. After a while the male genitalia even cease to work in the way they used to. And at what point does a transwoman taking hormones cease to be male bodied? How big would her breasts have to be? What testosterone level would she need to be under? These are not debating points if legal definitions of male bodied are to be made.

In practice it is impossible to produce a coherent and consistent definition of male bodied in respect of transwomen. So the fall back will be, I am sure, genitalia, which is effectively saying that women are nothing more or less than vaginas on legs, (a slightly odd position for feminists to be taking). And how could such a ban be policed except by requiring all users of the ladies bathroom (the vast majority of whom of course are cisgendered women) to submit to intrusive questioning or worse. In the US states that have bathroom bans cisgendered woman have been among the victims, humiliated and thrown out for not looking “feminine” enough. The alleged protection of women becomes a means of policing their bodies. It usually does and it is, at first sight, astonishing that women who call them feminists can make common cause with religious conservatives and populist politicians, common cause with people who seek to attack women’s demands for bodily autonomy and reproductive rights. But then few things that radical feminists do surprise me anymore.

And what about the transmen happily using the Gents? Are they to be forced to use the ladies? They  will not be put in danger by this is the way that transwomen being forced to use the gents will, but  will women be necessarily happy to share a bathroom with someone with  male characteristics, a deep voice, possibly a beard, their body bulked up by years of taking testosterone?

However this policy shift is framed, it should be clear that trans rights are the thin end of the wedge. If existing gains for transpeople can be reversed so easily by populist governments, (and Hungary is the most egregious example, the stripping of trans rights the work of a man who also thinks that Hungarian women should be having more babies) , so can gains for women and gains for the rest of the LGBT+ community. I well remember Margaret Thatcher’s chilling speech to the Conservative Party conference in 1987 when she told delegates that there was “no inalienable right to be gay.” Section 28 became law the following year. If we don’t want to go back to those dark days we need to fight now, all of us together. Fight for your trans brothers and sisters, as they have fought for you.

Letter from a Transplainer

I have never met a trans activist. I have met many trans people some of whom I count among my friends but encounters with trans activists continue to elude me.  I am beginning to wonder whether they actually exist, other than as straw men/women to be knocked down by those radical feminists who have an issue with trans people.

I am going to tell you about two trans people I regard as friends.  Allow me to introduce Helen  and Jake (not their real names)

Helen is in her early 50s and has been living as a woman for 3 years. She is not really political, although she was politicised enough by her experiences to attend her first Pride in London in 2019.  Her main interests are music and vintage fashion. It is through the vintage scene that I know Helen. She is very active on the scene and has a number of close female friends. She is socially well networked, something she could not be without. Her network consists mainly of cisgendered women.

Jake is in  his late 30s. I have known him for nearly 15 years, in other words since before he began his transition. Our shared passion is poetry and it is through poetry that we originally met and became friends. Jake is deeply interested in gender politics and I will always be grateful to him  for persuading me that the impenetrable prose of Judith Butler was worth persevering with. Jake is essentially a loner who doesn’t belong to any scenes. He moved to his current job after staring his transition and his new colleagues do not know that he is transgender. He has a deep voice, a beard and is starting to go thin on top. Once they start taking hormones it is much easier for trans men to pass than it is for women.

Helen and Jake live their lives quietly, keeping their heads below the parapet as far as they can. Nonetheless Jake is angry at the way that people like him have been airbrushed out of the debate on gender issues and their rights threatened by the radical feminist obsession with trans women. What their lives show, above all, is that trans people are not a race apart, they are fully integrated members of society, they are brothers, sisters, friends, and work colleagues. Many of them do not identify themselves predominantly in terms of their transness. The only difference between them and cisgendered people is that a vociferous minority hates them solely for who they are.

Which brings us back to the trans activists. They are part of a radical feminist typology of trans people (more specifically trans women as they mainly appear not to recognize the existence of trans men and non binary people.) This is not a trivial debating point. I am informed by a doctor at the London Gender Identity Clinic that F to M transitions now account for over half of new referrals to the GICs nationwide. And yet the rad fems have been able to get the debate framed solely in terms of alleged threats to the rights of women.

According to them trans women are, to put it crudely, blokes in frocks trying to invade women’s spaces (with a suggestion that they do this to sexually assault women), telling women what to do, bullying lesbians into having sex with them, erasing women’s identity as women, demanding rights that adversely affect women, and much much more.

The rad fems have shown themselves to be organised, articulate and very effective campaigners. One of the most pernicious aspects of their activity is that they have been able to persuade many politicians that they speak for women, all women.

They do not. As Helen’s example shows, lots of women do not have an issue with trans women. Quite the opposite, they have trans friends or rather they don’t. For Helen’s female friends, she is not a trans woman. She is a woman.

The issue of transgender is not, of course, the only area where radical feminists are far away from where most women are. The list of things that many women do, and freely choose to do, and which rad fems disapprove of is quite long. So long, in fact,  that you might think they don’t like women very much.  These include

Being friends with trans women

Engaging in sex work in any form.

Engaging in BDSM. It should be noted that women dominating submissive men is as frowned upon as women submitting to  dominant men. .

Using make up

Wearing heels

Liking fashion

Going to the salon for waxing.

Enjoying or producing porn.

Just a few examples taken from radfem social media. On the fringes it gets loopier still.

I was recently told about an academic at a Midlands university  who is trying to have the student Burlesque Society banned as “burlesque objectifies women for the male gaze.” I can only think that she has never actually been to a burlesque performance and studied the gender composition of the audience

And on the far shores it gets even mote bizarre. So I have heard a rad fem argue that freely available contraception and abortion are bad as they give men “a free pass to penetrate women.” Another has criticised lesbians who enjoy strap on play as this replicates “patriarchal phallocentric sexual practices.”

And then there was the radfem who gave advice to lesbians who suspect that a new partner might be a post-op trans woman. There are, she suggested, ways you can tell from a close inspection of the genitalia, including the angle of the slit to the vertical (different in a surgically created neo-vagina apparently) and the distance from the navel to the clit. This conjures up images of radfem lesbians keeping a tape measure on the bedside table just in case. I am not making this up, believe me.

I think you all get the picture. And I haven’t even mentioned Cathy Brennan. Look her up if you’re interested. I really haven’t got the stomach for saying anything about her anti-trans crusade.

It is hard to avoid concluding that telling women what to do is more important than actually starting where women are and starting the fight for equality from there. The other aspect to this is that their obsession with trans people eclipses the actual struggles of real women, struggles incidentally in which many trans people have been allies.

So it is that they make common cause with both religious fundamentalists and the far right, neither of who have been conspicuous supporters of women’s’ rights. Take, for example, Posie Parker whose concern for women has led her to the US to address meetings sponsored by the anti-abortion Heritage Foundation and who has had the support of Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, the far right demagogue better known to his intellectually challenged supporters as  “Tommy Robinson.”  She has also called for trans men to be forcibly sterilised. Parker, like others, spew their hatred and when called out on it, protest that they are only exercising freedom of speech.  A bit like Yaxley-Lennon himself. This is a point I will return to.

Trans Exclusionary Radical Feminism is a cult. It is not radical. Neither is it feminist. It has, however, made the whole issue of transgender rights so toxic that I wonder why people who don’t need to, (some of us have no choice of course), venture into it. Some  cisgendered men do take the plunge. One of the most notorious is Graham Linehan, the creator of Father Ted, who has embarked on a side hustle as trans baiter, seeming oblivious to the fact that his home country has for 5 years had gender self certification without the sky falling in, or indeed without Irish women being erased by the befrocked tranny hordes of rad fem mythology.

Then there was the gay man Jonathan Best who wrote a piece that reads more and more like the founding document of the transphobic LGB Alliance and which I discussed here.

One commonality of their expressed views on transgender is the way in which they have uncritically accepted the most pernicious of all the radical feminist sleights of hand. This is the idea that the trans people they bully are in fact the real bullies.

I am not going to say much about Inigo More’s post, (and I still cannot begin to understand why he felt the need to write it), except that it displays evidence of the same thinking, that there are trans people policing language, denying freedom of speech, ready to cry “transphobe” at anyone using the wrong pronouns. I believe this was an attempt at satire. It fell flat and the themes underlying it are so wearily familiar to anyone who follows the sterile gender debates that it was inevitable that people would react as they have. And he really can’t complain.

I am prepared to entertain the thought that Inigo is not a transphobe and that it was not his intention to mock trans people. That, however, is the effect. Context is everything. I have set out the context in the first few paragraphs of this post. And it is deafness to this context and to the lived experience of transgender people that is the real problem here. And reading pieces like this from people on the fringe of the sex blogging community hurts. It really bloody hurts. .

Saying this is not seeking to play the victim, Neither is it demanding special treatment.   Trans people just want to be addressed by the names they have chosen to use and be addressed by the gender pronouns that are appropriate to their identity. This is not a lot to ask. It is, after all, what everyone else expects.

That said, I was deeply uncomfortable with the naming and shaming that went on social media the other week, the calling out of certain people as transphobes. I cannot pass judgement on all of the people named as I don’t know them but there are three people named who I do know. I have spoken to them in the weeks since the controversy erupted.  In fact they all contacted me to check that I was OK. (I was).  I do not regard them as transphobic. I will continue to regard them as friends and I will continue to work with them. I will not be boycotting memes or shunning people. It is surely better to engage with people and talk to them rather than shout.  This is what I have done and  will continue to do.

And what about the wider sex blogging community? My personal experience is wholly positive. I first attended Eroticon as Eve in 2015 and the experience was emotionally overwhelming, not the acceptance (which I had expected) but the positivity, even love, towards me. And I continue to feel that love. In saying this I do not seek to deny the experience of others.  In the same way I have had no negative experiences on the fet scene but am well aware that transphobia, (and misogyny and homophobia) are issues there.

Transphobia has no place in the sex blogging community. It is the responsibility of all of us to make it a a safe space for all of us, regardless of how we identify. All the bars in Birmingham’s Gay Village display posters that say “No TERFS on Our Turf.” Let’s make that our motto too.

Many or most bloggers are members of sexual minorities or subcultures of various kinds, some are members of several. Trans people accept your kink, your queerness, your polyamory or whatever. Accept us in return. We are not strangers. We are family.

 

 

 

 

See Emily Play

One day I knew I would. On that day she would play with me. I would join her in the bath over the edge of which she dangled a booted leg. I would take a deep breath, dive into the scented depths and feel her pubic hair, velvet against my face. I would lick her, tongue her, before coming up for air. Then I would run my fingers over the exuberant flowers of her sleeve tattoo, kiss her and take her under with me. When we surfaced, I would take a sponge and wash her and this would be the most sensual of all, to push the sponge against her back, squeeze until the water ran in rivulets down her skin. Then I would rub her down, quickly, slowly, quickly, remembering each inch, the shades of her skin, the blemishes, the undulating highway of her spine, absorbing it all for the future. I was a cartographer of lust, even as I lay and fantasised.
I promised Emily that, come the day, she would be the first to fuck me. I am into men, sure, I love cock more than most things, and putting a length in my mouth, feeling it harden as I worked the bellend with my tongue, swallowing the warm ejaculation, was one of life’s greater pleasures. But to be penetrated by a cock? That would surely come, and I had a few volunteers to be the first. But I really want Emily, dream of a mutual fucking with a double-ended dildo. Or maybe not. I want her with the strap on, holding my wrists as she comes down, feeling my fear and feasting on it. Then I want it hard, hard.
“This time” she will say “You will know you’ve been fucked. ”
The next time her lover, the one I have cut out of the main picture will be there. They will both have strap-ons, they will spit roast me, and when I am spent I will be made to watch them making love, not roughly as they have treated me but gently, watch them kiss, watch them finger each other.
And if we can’t do that, she will plunge a wand down on my brand-new clit and bring me quickly to orgasm. Or maybe I will do it myself, imagine she is there with me. That time will come, a year and painful surgery away. It will come. For now, I say good night to Emily, put her back in the drawer, Emily and the dark-haired lover whose name I do not know and masturbate to completion as I surf the crested waves of my still too large bed.

This is a little story for Masturbation Monday. You can find links to more stories to get yoir juices flowing here

 

Masturbation Monday

 

A FEW THOUGHTS ON STONEWALL AND WHY THE T BELONGS IN LGBT

The recent announcement that Stonewall Chief Executive Ruth Hunt will be leaving in the summer has sparked a fair bit of comment. It has been argued that the organisation has lost its way and that it took a wrong turn by deciding to campaign for trans rights. This piece by Jonathan Best in Medium sets out the arguments cogently. I want to look at some of the claims made, in the light of my own experience.
This year marks the 50th anniversary of the fightback against police oppression that began in New York’s Stonewall Inn. Prominent in the fightback that night were two trans women of colour, Marsha Johnson and Sylvia Rivera. I am going to argue that trans people are not a dispensable bolt on to the LGBT movement but have always been an integral part of it just as they were that night at the Stonewall Inn. It is both that logical and necessary that Stonewall should fight for the rights of transgender people.
Best argues that being trans is essentially different from being lesbian or gay or bi. Clearly, being trans is different from having a specific sexual orientation but I think there are three reasons for disputing the argument that it is basically a thing bolted on to the LGB.
Firstly, many trans people identify as lesbian, gay or bisexual, so they are not a discrete and separate group within the community. I identify as bisexual,. For many this is, of course, a matter of logic; a straight man transitioning will identify as lesbian, a straight woman as gay.
But there is a deeper argument. The very process of transitioning, exploring gender, and embarking on the journey of self-discovery this entails, can lead to discovering sexual fluidity and new forms of sexual attraction. This is my experience. I identify as bisexual but I did not do so before beginning my transition. Sexual attraction to men is actually a function of my transition. Yes, that means I like cock. I actually like pussy more and I will return to this later. But the point is that my transness and my bisexuality are not separate from each other so that can be put in separate boxes, they are intimately linked aspects of who I am.
And haven’t trans people always been part of the queer scene? And not only trans people but genderqueer and non-binary people too, all of whom featured in the Tate Gallery exhibition Queer Britain 2 years ago. This, I fact, was one of the things that most struck me. Exploring gender fluidity and swapping gender roles has been seen as subversive as actual gay and lesbian sex. I find this fascinating and attractive. It is not by chance that I have a tattoo of Marlene Dietrich in a man’s suit on my right arm.
Best also claims that being trans is nothing to do with sexual attraction. I don’t agree. In my case it has everything to do with it. Since transitioning I have become attracted to men, attracted too to different kinds of women. Straight men in some cases are attracted to me, yes, I had to pinch myself too, but it is the case. The way I do sex with both men and women has changed, the way that I engage sexually too, and also the way in which sexual partners engage with me. I have experienced this in a powerful way as I have had sex with two women who were sexual partners before my transition and seen who their perceptions and sexual engagement with me changed.
Best argues that Stonewell’s redefinition of gays and lesbians as “people sexually attracted to the same gender” rather than the same biological sex has the effect of making gays and lebians “transphobic”. He seems to imply that trans people generally see gays and lesbians who won’t sleep with them as transphobic. He even suggests that some male bodied trans women have browbeaten lesbians into having sex with them. I take consent very seriously and would never browbeat anyone into having sex with me. And, let’s face it exercising undue pressure on people to have sex is hardly the preserve of trans people.
I want to tell a couple of stories to illustrate my point here.
On a warm summer night two years ago, I sat in the garden of a pub in Birmingham’s Gay Village drinking beer with a young lesbian friend. I asked her whether she would consider a relationship with a trans woman. I asked this out of curiosity, not because I was looking to make out with her, as I hope I made clear.
“With a post op woman may be but preop definitely not, it’s all about the body for me.”
“So you are saying that you prefer pussy to cock?”
“Every time!” She laughed. “Cock is just so not my thing.”
“I totally get that” I replied. “I am bi but, yeah, I do have a preference for pussy.”
And then there was the time I asked my closest girl friend for sex. She is a woman I have known for 20 years and with whom I was in a 10 year sexual relationship. But she turned me down.
“Eve I am straight and for me you are a woman. So it simply wouldn’t work for me.”
Neither of these friends is remotely transphobic and both have been loving and supportive friends. I have many other dear friends who, I guess, don’t want to have sex with me. This is for a variety of reasons, them being in monogamous relationships, my body, or maybe I just don’t float their boat sexually in terms of looks and personality. There is potentially a whole range of reasons why anyone would not want to have sex with a concrete other person. I wild never be so presumptuous as to accuse someone not wanting to make out with me as transphobia and neither would any other trans person I know.
Neither can I imagine any of the several trans women I know browbeating lesbians into sex they don’t really want. I can’t actually imagine them browbeating anyone into sex. For trans people sex is deeply problematic, for obvious reasons, and also because they are potentially negotiating a legal minefield where they could be accused of sexual assault if they do not make clear to potential partners what they have between their legs. For many trans people this is all too problematic and they resign themselves to living without sex and relationships because living an authentic life, as they see it, is more important.
I think the issue of gender probably needs a post in its own right. I do not believe, as Best asserts “the trans ideology” (whatever that is) holds, that gender is innate and internal. I believe that gender is fluid, believe that this very fluidity can be a response to external influences and our response as individuals to those influences. I grew up as a boy and has a happy childhood. No gender dysphoria for me and I can still bore for England about rush back goalkeepers!
Gender is complex and endlessly fascinating and the critique of gender by radical or if you prefer “gender critical feminists” is pretty thin gruel. Sexual stereotypes imposed externally and lived as oppression is part of the picture but only part. It leaves questions unanswered. What, for examples are the mechanisms of imposition? Where does patriarchy come from? Some commentators treat it as being sui generis, an ahistorical approach that I have difficulty with. How do concepts of gender change over time? When and where did the whole idea of gender originate? How is gender linked to biological facts? How does it link to concrete social formations? Is the woman queuing up at the department store beauty counter to buy a new foundation oppressed? Is she oppressed if she subjectively enjoys her femininity? There are those who would say that she is but this takes us into the territory of false consciousness which I think I think is deeply problematical for feminism.
As a socialist feminist I see gender in the light of concrete social formations, and in the modern world as something shaped by the needs of industrial capitalism. Gender, like class is not only a terrain of oppression, but also a locus of struggle, and a source of strategies for liberation. I do not find it progressive to see all men as a class oppressing all women. At some point class and race have to come into it. I think future generations will see Sheila Rowbotham as a rather more significant feminist thinker than Sheila Jefferies.

Sadly many gender critical feminists make common cause with evangelical Christians, the most reactionary elements of the Roman Catholic Church (yes the same people who blame clerical child abuse on some mythical “gay agenda”) and even the far right. I will just mention Posy Parker’s recent endorsement of “Tommy Robinson.” This, I have to say, is not the basis for a constructive and progressive politics either.
I think, too, that Best’s piece sets up straw men (women) in the shape of unnamed “trans activists” or a “trans lobby” allegedly saying or doing things which few, if any, trans people can relate to their own experience. I don’t recognise any of this in my lived experience. This is simply not a basis for arguing that Stonewall is wrong to campaign for trans rights. Most trans people just want to keep their heads down and get on with their often difficult lives. And knowing that Stonewall is fighting their corner is surely a help.
So why don’t we all, those of who identify as LGBT, pull together and fight our cause side by side, for it is a common cause, just as it was in Stonewall on that New York summer’s evening in 1969 when 2 brave transwomen helped lead the fightback.

Of Hot Tubs and Body Love

I guess we all suffer varying degrees of body shame. This is probably even more of a problem for trans people than for others. I mean we are all, according to a certain narrative, supposed to suffer from body dysmorphia and   believe that we are trapped I the wrong body. I have talked before about why this narrative is deeply problematic but whilst I can feel happy in my body as such there is still the matter of showing my body to people other than sexual partners. And this is all to do with having a body that in certain important respects doesn’t correspond to my identified gender.

Yet I am active in scenes like the fet scene, the swinging scene and also the very much interconnected sex blogging scene where being naked in front of people is actually no big deal. And  the swingers clubs I go to  have jacuzzis because, getting into a bath with a load of other people is part of what it’s about. So if I was not going to get my kit off at some point I was going to miss out.   Smutathon has brought this to a head because the plan was to rent a house for the weekend with an outdoor hot tub. This was the big attraction of the house and something I could not miss out on. Would I  be able to overcome my hesitation and enjoy this with the others?

Well the answer is yes. I broke the barrier last weekend at a fet event at a swingers club in the Midlands. I went along feeling tired and run down. It was a hot day too and really I felt I had no energy. The plan was to sit and chill with a few ice cold soft drinks. But I wasn’t on my own, I went with my submissive male partner and I had to take his needs into account. So we sat and chilled foe a bit before going upstairs for some very satisfying sex.  After the buffet was served we had a little CP play on the lawn where the spanking bench had been set up for us to take advantage of the sunshine. After that my partner wanted to go to the Jacuzzi as he usually does when we visit this club.  I had always resisted persuasion before but this time, well, it was a hot day and that Jacuzzi suddenly seemed rather enticing. So I threw away my inhibitions and went in. I loved it. I suppose I should have expected that no-one would give me a second glance. or that no one would engage with me any differently when they saw me with my clothes on again. No oe there really gave a damn what I looked like. So, I thought. Why should I?

And so to the Smutathon weekend. I had an hour in the outdoor hot tub last night under the stars. I also had half an hour this afternoon between blog posts. It was fun. I am so glad I took the plunge, , you know, not the one into warm bubbling water,

 

The Trial Run

I had been trying for a number of years to have my proposal for a talk at Blog Fest accepted.   And now, to my delight,  I had been invited to speak at SexBlogFest 2020 on the topic of Sex – The Transgender Experience. I had a lot of experience if this as you might imagine, and also plenty of things to say on the legal aspects, and how to get it all on the page in convincing prose. I knew this would be an interesting talk and I had another surprise: I had had the operation. My sex life was about to head off in new and exciting directions.
I got to the room in the Conference Centre early and set up my laptop, selected the Powerpoint presentation I had prepared, ran through my notes and waited. How many would come I wondered?  Anxiously I looked to see who was presenting in parallel with me.
“Good news Eve”.
I started. The conference organiser had walked in.  
“The other session is cancelled. At quite short notice actually.  So we’re all coming to see you and I am sure it will be fun.” 
She gave me a conspiratorial wink and left the room.
Soon delegates began drifting in from lunch and taking their seats. I smiled weakly at them. I was really beginning to feel nervous.  Then the double doors were opened and a bed was wheeled in. For the demo later I assumed. As the clock ticked round to two o’clock three burly security guards came in and stood by the door.
The organiser stood up and began to introduce me.   As she uttered the words
“I am sure we are all going to enjoy Eve’s transgender experiences. A warm round of applause please for the best sex show in town.”
Before I could pick up my notes to start speaking the security men rushed across, grabbed me took me down and bound me with ropes before dragging me roughly across to the bed to which I was secured with cuffs , by the arms and by both legs,  leaving me spread-eagled and helpless. A hood was placed over my head and I was plunged into darkness.
“Eve had just recently had the op. She now has a neo-vagina, a proper little trans fanny. Who wants to see what a trans fanny looks like?”
I felt cold metal against my thigh and heard my panties being cut and whipped off me. Hands pushed against the thighs to force my legs further apart and I felt cold lube around my new opening before fingers went in. 
“Well ladies and gentlemen this is a fine piece of surgical work, a tribute to the NHS, a marvel of modern medicine. Ladies and gentlemen, a warm round of applause for Eve’s c….,”
As the applause rippled round the room I felt more fingers go in, then the hand which balled into a fist.  In my excitement I so wanted to play with my new clit but I was fastened tight to the bed post. Even so I could feel the excitement and erotic tension mounting until she said, withdrawing slowly,
“And now let’s try out her clit”
I heard buzzing and let out a sigh as a vibrator was pushed against my clit, then pushed in harder as it was turned up a setting. Waves of pleasure rushed through me and brought me to orgasm, them to another and another until I had had enough and asked her to stop.
“Stop darling? You are joking? I am enjoying this far too much.”
She laughed and turned up the intensity again. the vibrator up a notch. I came again and this time the sensations that pulsed through me were too intense. I writhed and moaned pulling hard against the straps but they were solidly made and unyielding.
Again the fierce buzz landed on me and brought me to the edge until she removed it, just for a few seconds before plunging it down hard to make me orgasm with a painful intensity that made me scream. I began to cry. 
“Please stop it, please stop.”
I arched my back, rose up as far as the straps would allow, before sinking back  onto the mattress, panting and exhausted. She then announced brightly.
“I can confirm that this is a fuckable a pussy as any I have seen.  And we didn’t tell Eve this but we have had a little raffle and the winner gets to enjoy her.”
I said nothing. 
“Are you alright Eve? “
Again I remained silent.
“I think you will enjoy it too.”
There was a rustling of paper and then the announcement.
“On the yellow ticket, number 473.”
There was a whoop of triumph.
“Please don’t say who you are. We want to surprise Eve. Make her first time with a vagina special. Will it be a woman, will it be a man? Will she get cock ..or not?”
There were cheers as the winner undressed. I knew at once this was a man, the hair, the hard angularity of the body, the cock that was placed in my mouth. The man said nothing as he lay across me and I sucked greedily, licked as he moved the shaft smoothly in and out. He was not abnormally well endowed but he was soon hard. But I was not to swallow his come much as I would have liked that. He knelt up and I heard what seemed like a fumbling with a condom packet. He rolled the condom over his gorged member and he came down on me, a splash of lube and he was in, the first man to fuck me. 
It was quick and brutal, the kind of sex I had long fantasised about. Half a dozen violent thrusts and I came with a scream.
I woke up, hot and wet. I reached down and brought myself quickly to the orgasm that  had been eluding me for days. I showered and dressed. Outside Camden was bitterly cold. Flurries of snow whirled about in the cutting wind. The final day of BlogFest 2018 awaited. First, a cigarette and then breakfast, definitely in that order.
 
 

Body Love

In the first five days of #30DayOrgasmFun I have only managed two orgasms. This was not unexpected and does not make me the West Bromwich Albion of wanking.    As I wrote earlier, Citalopram is doing its thing on me, and , I know, a couple of other participants. Failing to come is, however, not failure. For each time, I have pleasured myself with the vibrator, wallowed in my fantasies, helped myself along with the odd visual aid, I have enjoyed my body and reconnected with it. And this is massively important.

There is a thing called body dysmorphia which many transgender people suffer from, or are diagnosed with (not quite the same thing)  and  the man/woman born in the wrong body is a common trope as much as that of little boys who knew at the age of 3 they were really girls and longed for pink dresses and dolls rather than the toy cars they were actually given. If this is the experience of some trans people it is not the experience of everyone. It is certainly not mine.

I really enjoyed being a boy, I loved the rough and tumble of the games I played. I loved climbing trees, I loved playing football at the recreation ground using jumpers as goal posts and I can bore for England about rush back goalkeepers. Oh and I had a pair of  ball of white Alan Ball football boots which were THE thing to have in 1971/ Neither do I believe I am trapped in the wrong body. I have a body. It is the one I was born with, it has performed reliably enough to get me to the age of 56 in good health, it responds well to my mad urge to run half marathons. It is the body with which I have had great sex with some lovely men and women, it is the body from which my lovers have derived great pleasure. It is not the wrong body. If I believed that I would either have to deny myself or embrace mind-body dualism and make more than a nod in the direction of gender essentialism. Emotionally and intellectually I cannot do any of these things.

It is true that I have a complex relationship with my body and there have been times when I have hated it more than I have loved it. But this is not an exclusively trans experience. I guess most people are unhappy with their bodies at various times in their lives and negative body image is particularly an issue for many women . We all need to learn to love our bodies. And masturbation, particularly slow extended session of self love are a great way to do this. I remember a few years ago BUPA ran a series on ads on television, focusing on a remarkable fact about the human body with the slogan “You are amazing”. Solo sex leads to the same conclusion and, unlike BUPA, it’s free.

I had planned to be a bit adventurous but all my sessions this week have actually been in bed. No matter. I began on Sunday with the scented bath and the lingerie and came to a filthy fantasy I will write about in a future post, suffice it to say it involved me being used as a sexual plaything.  On Monday even Marlene couldn’t’ help me and I fell asleep, vibrator in hand. Come Tuesday it was an old sex issue of DIVA that came to the rescue (why do they no longer do them?). Since then I have not come but have explored my body in new and enjoyable ways.

Of course I am looking to change my body. My tattoos are part of the feminisation .as is laser hair removal. Further changes lie ahead. But these are not a rejection of my body. For it is my body. The right body. The body I am learning to love.

Down to a T

I recently read a piece (I can’t remember where so can’t provide a reference) in which it was argued that the T in LGBT I was out of place since gender is a distinct phenomenon from sexual orientation. On one level this is true although we might point out that if a change of gender does not entail a change in sexual orientation this would mean that the act of transitioning the T actually entails the L or G since a straight man transitioning becomes a lesbian.

But there is a deeper problem with this way of thinking. It simply has an excessively narrow view  both of gender and sexuality and  ignores the ways in which they have been intertwined in gay and lesbian subcultures.

I began to think about this whilst at Tate Britain last week,  visiting the exhibition Queer British Art 1861 to 1967, held to commemorate the 50th anniversary of the partial decriminalisation of male homosexuality in England and Wales.

For, from the Victorian era, experiments with gender fluidity were part of the artistic expression of gay and lesbian identity. Everywhere where there is androgyny and this was something that was clear to contemporary observers.   Clothes, make up, hair,  the use of beautiful young men as models for female figures from  classical mythology, this even before we get onto pantomime dames and  drag queens. In short, those who identified with alternative and stigmatised sexualities, sought to perform their sexuality in ways that also challenged gender stereotypes. Look, for example, at the photograph of Quentin Crisp in the exhibition or the iconic portrait of Radclyffe Hall.

And maybe the words gay and lesbian are out of place here too. At the start of the period represented by the exhibition medical science had still to invent and define hetero- and homosexuality as concepts. As categories they can be restricting too. Science seeks to define and classify. Art doesn’t.  Art like this serves to undermine the neat order of science’s categories. It points the way to which allow us can live art through our sexuality and through our performance of gender. Queer art is saying that sexuality is elusive, a range of possibilities, a range of pleasures, and gender a stage for our self-representation. Seen through the prism of art, rigid definitions of gender are as constraining as heteronormative binary views of sexuality and, in a sense, underpin them.

There were parts of this exhibition I found deeply erotic. Some of the exhibition was wickedly funny. Take a look at the library book covers doctored by Joe Orton and Kenneth Halliwell, an act for which the state exacted vicious revenge with six month prison sentences.  All of it was empowering, much of it beautiful. I left, thinking that sexuality and gender form a space where can express ourselves, a space where we can be free.

O Tannenbaum

Over the years Birmingham’s German Christmas market has always seemed the ideal place to meet those old school friends, and old school acquaintances,  who have got in touch through social media  and whose curiosity, or sometimes mine, led to the suggestion that we should meet up for a drink. Usually we do only meet on the one occasion. It is nice to chat, nicer to be recognised after so many years, but clear as well that we have both moved on and that we have neither the time, nor enough in common, to sustain a friendship. I was hoping tonight might be different but not expecting too much. .

I was standing in the cold, in front of the bar above which an elk’s head repeated “O Tannenbaum O Tannenbaum” over and over again without ever getting to the verse. I stood looking around for my friend, sipping at my wheat beer when I noticed a woman looking at me, as if trying to place me.  We made eye contact and I walked over to where she stood at one of the tables in front of the Council House. I was glad to be able to put my drink down.

I looked at her closely. She was dressed in a waterproof jacket, denim skirt and boots. She was in full make up and her hair was a stylish asymmetrical bob with a big splash of red.

“I’m Karen” she said in a voice that was a little deeper than I had expected.  “I am sure we have met before somewhere.”

I wasn’t so sure, and really I have never known cross dressing men, or transsexuals or whatever you ae supposed to call them. Such people had always seemed rather weird to me. I realise that my schooling in the very masculine environment of the single sex King Edgar’s Grammar School and my lack of exposure to the opposite sex until I went to university, had coloured y attitudes. You can call me old-fashioned, a bigot, if you like,   but I am a straight guy who well……

Karen smiled again. I did find her attractive and this was a little disconcerting. At the same time her features were beginning to look familiar.

“I’m Paul” I said  and sipped again at my beer  as the moose sang again

“O Tannebaum”

“I know” said Karen with what seemed a conscious effort to take the bass tones out of her voice.

I put my glass down and reached out to touch her face. I ran a finger down her cheek, feeling the smoothness of her skin underneath the expertly applied foundation. I ran it back up, against the grain, and felt the stubble, the sort that even two close shaves could not remove. I stroked her again and as I withdrew my hand she took out a packet of cigarettes, out one in her mouth. She handed me a lighter.

“A lady should never have to light her own cigarette” she said in a very matter of fact way.

“It’s Tim isn’t it?”  I said, feeling my heart race and my armpits start to sweat.

“Karen….these days.”

She took  a deep drag on her cigarette and leant her head back to expel the smoke upwards into the cold Birmingham night.

The smoke, the relentless singing of the elk, the snatches of other people’s conversations,  the clink of glasses, all seemed to freeze in the moment. I was 16 again, with Tim who was becoming Karen, and I realised we can never step into the same river twice.

Tim has smelt of sweat, polo mints and testosterone. Sometimes I could detect orange peel on his breath, Karen was Opium, mulled wine and Marlboro  Llghts.

“Did you want this meeting as much as I did?”

“I don’t know” she replied. “I just wasn’t sure how..”

“But you’re still you.”

I took a step forward, it my hand round the back of her head and drew her towards me. She did not resist and opened her mouth, just a little,   teasingly little, for me to push my tongue inside and feast on her new flavours. No more orange peel, no more mints, but this was a more enticing prospect, cigarettes and wines, a softer, more voluptuous body that pushed back, thrust a tongue deep into my mouth and then went limp in my arms as our tongues intertwined.  .

As we kissed I was aware of nothing but the song

“O Tannenbaum O Tannenbaum”  And then the next verse that I knew from school

“Wie treu sind deine Blatter”

How faithful……..and how we were rekindling an adolescent passion……. We had  kept the faith for 30 years, hadn’t we?

I felt precome damp on my boxers. Pushing my leg p against her thigh to shield my hand, I reached up inside the denim skirt and fumbled inside her panties to touch a cock, that was as stiff as mine, yet bigger. I pulled myself free of her and said, panting,

“Come on Karen, let’s go and find somewhere quieter.”

THE END