TW transphobia.
_
March 2016
"Mmmmm, you like that?"
I restrained a nervous little laugh. "Could you suck on it?"
Evan did, but just for a minute, then he went back to his awkward, clumsy licking that was more ticklish than arousing. For a brief instant I entertained the idea of grabbing him by the hair - not that he had much of it to grab - and commanding, I SAID, fucking suck on it, but I didn't know how he'd respond to that and in any case, bossing a lover around was less fun if I had to do it because he didn't know what the fuck he was doing and I had to train him. I realised I couldn't expect someone to be a mind-reader and learn my body right away, but I was also bored of Evan not understanding "suck on it" meant suck on it, not suck for a minute and then just keep licking.
I had met Evan in late January at an event at the Metropolitan Museum of Art that Michelle had invited me to. Evan was wearing a tie in Bi Pride colours, and making commentary on an exhibit we were both admiring turned into flirting. He was reasonably cute if a little more clean-cut than I like my men - if I could be said to have a "type" it was either silver daddies or guys who looked like Vikings or grunge rockers - and Evan kind of had Justin Timberlake vibes with his short blond hair and boyishly handsome looks. But I agreed to go on a date with him, and when I disclosed being trans on the date and that didn't put him off, that was a big plus. I hadn't had sex with anyone since Steve - just my hand, a stroker and a suction vibrator, the latter two informing me that my equipment wanted to be treated like a cock - and T made me horny all the time. We were more friends-with-benefits than actual boyfriends, since February we'd been hooking up on the weekends, but it was more sexual than romantic. I liked him, but I wasn't in love with him.
I had needs, though. And unfortunately, sex with Evan was very hit-or-miss.
"Mmmmm, fuck yeah, I love your big clit," Evan groaned, before he lapped at me harder, faster.
I was weirdly proud of the bottom growth I'd had on T, and theoretically being complimented on it would give me gender euphoria, but here and now it felt... uncomfortable rather than euphoric. I didn't quite understand at the moment why I was having an "er, no" reaction, but I was half-tempted to climb down from where I was straddling his shoulders, sitting on his face, and quietly put my clothes back on.
Only half-tempted - while licking wasn't enough to get me off, it was just enough to tease and make me frustrated, aching for relief. So I tried, again, hoping this time it would get through to him. "If you love it so much, show some love and suck on it," I told him.
Evan's lips latched onto it again and the next moment was bliss, feeling that delicious wet suctioning, getting closer, closer, until I was right there, thighs quivering, hearing myself panting.
He let it slip from his mouth and resumed licking it.
I wanted to bloody scream, and not with pleasure. I liked edging myself when I had a wank, but here and now I just wanted to come, and it was apparent he wasn't going to get me there from oral, yet again.
I pulled back and he gave me a wide-eyed look of surprise, his lips and chin glistening from my juices. "Let's fuck," I told him.
"Fuck yeah," Evan said. He started stroking his cock, which was already slick with pre-cum - a bead slid down the shaft, and I gave an appreciative little moan. He had a nice cock. However, I'd learnt from the times he'd penetrated me that I wasn't really into being penetrated, which gave me lingering feelings of dysphoria plus I'd had some vaginal atrophy since I started T and it was painfully tight even when I was wet. "You wanna ride me?"
I shook my head. "No, I thought you could bottom this time."
Evan was versatile, and I'd bought a strap-on after the first time we'd had sex. I had a special combination dildo and stroker, so as I thrust, I would get the feeling of being inside a tight hole. It felt amazing, not just on my dick, but it made me feel like the man that I was.
As I put on the strap-on harness, Evan went to the bathroom to wash up - something I wished he would have done before coming over, and I realised that while he was enthusiastic about me fucking him, his lack of preparedness for bottoming suggested that he had been of the assumption he was going to top. I made a mental note to have a conversation with him after the sex was done, that I was going to have to explain to him I am a top and not interested in bottoming, and if that was a dealbreaker so be it, but I thought I was done having bad sex when Steve and I called it quits; I was thirty-six now and felt like I had spent too much of my life not living, and I was done with that.
Evan came back, got on the bed, and resumed stroking himself. "You look so fucking hot wearing that thing," he purred.
I smiled. "You talk too much," I said, straddled his shoulders again, and shoved it in his mouth. I gently rocked my hips as he sucked on it, slowly fucking his mouth; each thrust made the stroker pull on my dick, which was hard and aching. As Evan sucked my strap, I reached over and got out the lube from the endtable drawer next to the couch-bed. I worked slick fingers in and out of him, getting him relaxed and lubed up... finding his prostate with my fingers and rubbing it, enjoying the noises he made with his mouth full.
When Evan started fucking my fingers, whimpering around the cock in his mouth, I knew he was ready. I pulled out his mouth, and Evan eagerly got on all fours, sticking his arse out at me. I got on my knees behind him and heard myself grunt as I poured lube down the crack of his arse and watched it drip into his twitching hole. Then I gave my dildo a coating of lube, and moved in closer, guiding the tip of my strap to his hole.
I pushed in slowly, and then I kept the first dozen or so thrusts slow, both to let him get adjusted and so I didn't come right away. But eventually my lust and my arousal got the better of me. I slapped his arse and let my inner beast out, my hips smacking against his as I pounded him. Evan gripped the sheets white-knuckled, howling. "Oh, fuck yeah! Fuck yeah. Fuck yeah," Evan cried out, just like a porn star, which would have been completely off-putting if I wasn't too far gone, too horny to care. "Fuck yeah, baby, pound that ass..."
I slapped his arse again, took hold of his hips, and slammed into him even harder, the motion of the dildo making the stroker end of it tug on me hard and fast, pleasure building and building to frenzied, wild excitement. I could feel myself getting close again, but in my fantasies I made my bottom come first, wanted to watch him lose control. I pulled out. "Turn over," I growled. "On your back."
Evan did as he was told. I propped his legs up on my shoulders and railed him as Evan stroked himself, biting his lip, a desperate look in his eyes as he worked his cock. I loved watching it. I made myself hold back, shaking, sweating, my breath in shuddery gasps, fucking and fucking until Evan whimpered, his eyes feverish.
"That's it. Shoot that load for me," I commanded.
Evan cried out and climaxed, his cum squirting in his face then over his torso, dripping down. The sight of Evan coming sent me over the edge, giving into my own orgasm with a horse shout.
I felt that surge of victory, of conquest, as I always did when I topped. For a brief shining moment I felt goddamn good, like the man I was born to be.
It didn't last long. I snuggled next to him and for a moment we just held each other, coming down from our orgasm. I liked cuddling but Evan wasn't much of a cuddler and he all-too-soon sat up, reached for the tissues, and wiped up the mess on his face and his chest and abs. "You were good," Evan told me.
I smiled. "Thank you."
I thought about how to broach the subject of me realising I'm a top - I didn't care if he wanted to top other people, we weren't exclusive - but with me, I wanted to fuck a bottom, and I needed him to expect that and show up clean and ready from here on out. Before I could find words to tactfully and gently but firmly tell him what was up, Evan leaned in for a quick little kiss and put a hand on my shoulder. "You're a lot of fun. It's like... getting the best of both worlds. The perfect blend of male and female."
My jaw dropped.
Suddenly in my mind it was 2012 again and Steve was groping my tits, Steve was fucking me while I let my mind wander to anywhere but there, the two minutes before he finished dragging on and on. It was as if my tits had grown back, it was as if Steve's seed got me pregnant again. It was as if the firewalk of the last few years of transition - the intense pain as I recovered from top surgery - didn't matter, was all for nothing. Now I knew why I'd had that prickle of discomfort when he said he loved my big clit.
My heart hammered in my ears and the pit of my stomach rose. The room swam for a minute before I gained my bearings and I heard myself say in a flat, icy monotone, "Get out."
Evan's head snapped back as if I'd just backhanded him, even though I hadn't touched him. "What?"
Now I came back to myself. I looked down at the scars from my top surgery, my dark chest hair and hairy arms and thighs, the black fur of my pubic bush visible around the strap-on between my legs... then back up at Evan, feeling nothing but contempt. "You know perfectly damn well what, and you fucking heard me. Put your bloody clothes on and get the fuck out. Now."
Evan's mouth continued to hang open and then he rolled his eyes and exploded with laughter as if I'd said something hilarious. "Wow. Overly sensitive much? I meant it as a compliment, you stupid bitch. You know, you'd think you'd be happy anyone wants to fuck a tranny -"
That was it. I felt like a nuke went off in my head. I shoved him off the bed onto the floor - since it was a sofa bed, he didn't have far to go. Then I got up, scooped up his clothes on the floor, yanked him to his feet, and march-shoved him to the door, my strap-on bobbing ridiculously with each step, as if it were mocking me about the penis I didn't have, the lack thereof meaning that even if I could pass for male in public, nobody would take me seriously as male once my clothes were off.
Once we got to the door of my studio apartment, Evan made a "give it here" gesture with his clothes. I gave him a menacing smile, then I opened the door, tossed his clothes down the stairs, and shoved him out the door. "Lose my number," I told him, then added an "Arsehole," before I slammed the door in his face and locked the deadbolt.
I stood there for a moment, feeling my mind disconnect from my body, going blank, and when I came back I felt myself shaking, saw my hands shaking. I took off the strap-on, threw it down on the living room floor, and then I stripped the sofa bed and threw the sheets in the wash - though I was just tempted to burn them or throw them away. On my way to the bathroom, my peripheral vision caught the site of something shiny and black on the floor. I glanced over and saw it was Evan's cell phone, which had slipped out of his jeans pocket.
Suddenly there was banging on the door. "Tony, my phone."
That was another thing I didn't like. Being called Tony reminded me too much of when everyone called me Toni, short for Antonia. It wasn't quite the same as being deadnamed but it still made me uncomfortable. Just as going forward, I was only going to top, I was also only going to let my uncles Nigel and Steve get away with calling me Tony. Everyone else was going to call me Anthony - most people did, including Michelle and her girlfriend, including my mum.
Even though I knew it was irrational and a total "bitch eating crackers" response, being called "Tony" made my rage flare back to an inferno all over again. "You're not bloody coming in here," I shouted towards the door. "Go wait outside."
I heard Evan's footsteps down the stairs, and I rubbed my face. I really badly wanted a shower - if I put on clothes with his... stink... all over me, I was going to want to launder them even if I only had them on for five minutes and the laundromat was enough of a pain in the arse that I tried to avoid unnecessarily "wasting" clothes like that.
I threw on a bathrobe, and then I picked up Evan's phone off the floor. On impulse, I also picked up the strap-on that had been inside him. Even though the strap-on was more expensive than the average, and I could clean it, I never wanted to wear it again. I could buy a new one.
If I had the opportunity. Something told me those were going to be few and far between, considering it had taken me this long to find someone willing to have sex with me and they still turned out to be like... this.
My studio apartment had sliding glass doors that led out to a small balcony where sometimes I liked to grill out the terrace or watch the sunset. But now, in my bathrobe, I saw Evan pacing around outside the building. I placed his phone down on the rail, stuck my fingers in my mouth and whistled. Evan looked up, and then I waved the dildo at him.
"Catch, you piece of shit," I yelled, and tossed his phone off the balcony. If he caught it, or if it smashed on the sidewalk - well, that wasn't my problem anymore.
Then I threw the strap-on off the balcony, and just as Evan dove down to catch the phone, the dildo smacked him in the head.
I went inside laughing, and after I closed and locked the glass doors behind me and drew the curtains, I leaned against the wall and felt the tears come on. It was much, much harder to cry on T than it used to be, but I started to half-cry, feeling humiliated.
Feeling defeated. And alone.
"Oh honey. Shhhh honey, it's OK. Everything's going to be all right."
After my shower I'd called Michelle to ask if it was OK to come over - I hated feeling like I was intruding, but she practically demanded I come when she heard the waver in my voice. So I'd thrown on some clothes and headed over and now I was sitting on her couch, letting her hold and rock and pet me, while Michelle's new girlfriend Kim puttered around in the kitchen. Kim was a nice Italian girl and she decided she was going to feed me, so she was making a big batch of lasagne.
Once the lasagne was in the oven, Kim sat on the other side of me and hugged and fussed over me too. "That asshole doesn't deserve you," Kim said; I'd told them about what happened.
"He sure doesn't," Michelle said. Her nostrils flared and her brown eyes sparked with anger. "The nerve of him, saying that!"
"I wonder what he'd make of me, and if he'd tell me I'm not really a lesbian," Kim said - she was cisgender. "And sorry excuses for men like him just make me glad I'm one."
I snorted, then I sighed. "Yeah. Like, my life would probably be easier if I dated women but I just..." I shook my head and pulled a face. "No offence, but girls don't do it for me." I related to women more like a big brother or a father; I could appreciate them aesthetically but I didn't feel that same lust and passion I did with men.
"Well, there are some shitty transphobic women too," Michelle said. "I don't know if you'd have an easier time, Anthony. I could tell you some things about what I've dealt with."
"OK, point," I said, nodding - I knew about TERFs, I'd already encountered some since I came out, including Judith's mother Angela, who called me a "traitor to feminism with your shiny new male privilege" to my face not long after my top surgery. Judith and I were still friends, and she was supportive, but I knew it was awkward for her with her mother, and they agreed not to discuss me.
Kim nodded, then she reached out to touch Michelle's cheek; Michelle leaned into her touch with a fond smile.
I was happy for them - I thought of Michelle like the sister I never had, I would have taken a bullet for her, I wanted her to have good things, she deserved them - but I couldn't help feeling a little envious. I tried not to let it show, but as the evening wore on and I observed all the little touches and glances, it made me wistful.
Over tiramisu for dessert, I heard myself say, "I don't need him. ...I don't need anyone."
That did it. Michelle waved her fork at me. "Anthony, that's bullshit."
Michelle and Kim looked at each other and seemed to communicate some sort of understanding without words. Kim got up to give us some space, and I knew Michelle was going to lecture me.
"OK, look," Michelle said. "Some people can go through life alone and have a perfectly happy, meaningful life without a partner. But I don't think you're one of them. You can keep telling yourself that you're 'better off alone' but that doesn't make it true. You are not only cheating yourself out of happiness, but you're spitting in the eye of every trans person who's been rejected or had our feelings hurt by someone, to insist that it's impossible for us to find happiness with someone, somehow, somewhere."
"You should have been a lawyer," I quipped, before shoveling a forkful of tiramisu in my mouth.
Michelle chuckled. "Nah. I may be mentally ill, but I'm not crazy."
I almost choked on my dessert, laughing along with the good-natured ribbing.
Then Michelle said, "OK. This is probably getting into TMI, but I didn't tell you how Kim and I actually met."
She hadn't, and I didn't want to pry - we might have been best friends but that didn't mean we had to tell each other everything.
Michelle went on, "We have profiles on a site called FetLife, which is like... Facebook for kinky people. She and I had a nice conversation on one of the forums, and then we chatted privately, then she invited me to be her plus-one at a BDSM munch - that's the word we use for a social gathering at a place like a coffee shop or restaurant. And, I think you might have better luck finding someone on FetLife. You don't have to be into hardcore stuff like whips and chains. There's people on there who are just a little kinky, like maybe they like to get spanked once in awhile, or they like dudes in leather pants, or..."
My eyebrows shot up and then I tried to put my poker face back on. I hadn't told Michelle about the one-night-stand I'd had the night I left Steve, where I picked up a random guy at the bar of the hotel I was staying at, and after he enjoyed my manhandling, my alcohol-fueled lack of inhibition made me ask if he would let me tie him up and rough him up a bit. I'd scared myself with how much I'd enjoyed it, even as I felt dirty from going there under the influence.
But now, it felt like gears were locking into place, bells and whistles were going off in my head. I'd tried not to explore that side of myself - the glorification of rape in Fifty Shades of Grey reinforced the feeling that there was something wrong with me - but Michelle and Kim seemed to have a perfectly loving, healthy relationship. Maybe there was a way to have my cake and eat it too.
"But anyway," Michelle said, "The reason why I'm suggesting this to you is because people who are self-aware enough to know what they like, and have the emotional maturity to let themselves like what they like without shame, usually are less judgmental of others, and more open-minded about exploring new things - like the possibility of dating a trans person if they haven't. That doesn't mean there aren't any bigots around but I've run into fewer of them in the kink community than I have on dating apps or at LGBT clubs."
That made a lot of sense. I nodded. "Sounds interesting." I didn't want to tell her how interesting - my mind went right to my go-to fantasy of spanking Jon Snow and making him call me Daddy while I fucked him senseless.
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