If you took a look at the info post this week, you know that the blanket topic “Transgender” is multifaceted and not just a little bit controversial. I will say only that on tuesday I attended the University of Arizona’s event for Transgender Day of Remembrance and some of the things I heard that night were not only disturbing, but disheartening as well. I’ll not spend a lot of time on this, but when there are over 200 transgendered men and women that have been killed THIS YEAR worldwide, there is a major problem. We were asked if we would like to read a name of a trans person who had been killed, I heard ages of murdered individuals ranging from 13-50. The person who’s name I was asked to read was Thapelo Makutle who in June of 2012 was killed by having her throat slit, being partially decapitated, and having her genitals stuffed into her mouth. This needs to stop.
Alright, now that I have my public service announcement out of the way lets talk Transgendered folks and sex, because that is what this blog is about after all. Until this year I never thought of myself as the kind of guy who would ever find himself attracted to anyone that wasn’t a Cis-man. If you notice, I used that word ‘until’ in that last sentence, meaning that this last semester my views on the subject have changed radically.
This is the first time that I’m publicly stating the rather recently discovered shift in my sexual and romantic orientations. Sexually speaking I would call myself Pansexual, meaning that I can find myself sexually attracted to just about anyone regardless of their sex (which means the anatomy they were born with), if you’d like some more information on pansexuality, we did a whole week on the subject! (Him Her Info). Romantically I’ve discovered that I’m Bi-romantic, a term I’d never heard before this last semester. I’m still predominately attracted to, both romantically and sexually, cis-men (which means male men who identify as male). That being said, I’m currently very much into pants at the moment, which won’t mean a whole lot to most of you, but that’s none of your business now is it?
Now, I know what you’re asking yourself right now, how does any of that relate to this weeks topic? The answer is very simple, as this semester I’ve found myself intensely sexually attracted to both FtoM and MtoF individuals. I came to the realization that I could care less what their bodies were physically, it was all about the emotional connection. At this point I’ve not yet slept with a transgendered person, but when I do, I know it’ll be an amazing experience…as nearly all sexual forays should be.
Now you might be asking yourself the same kinds of questions I was asking myself when I came to the realization that there was a very real chance that I could end up being sexually intimate with a trans, in this case, man. If you would like a very nice primer on the basics of bring in a relationship with a trans anything in a sexual way, read this: Splat!. If you are one of those people who read this blog but don’t much feel like looking at that link, that took me forever to find I’ll have you know, then the basics are this:
1. Call his “top” his Chest. That’s what it will be both before and after surgery should they decide to have said surgery.
2. Call his genitals as his “Junk” or his “Package” the author recommends avoiding the use of “sex talk”, I on the other hand recommend asking your partner what he/she wants his/her genitals to be referred as.
3. TALK TO YOUR PARTNER ABOUT WHAT IS, AND ISN’T, OK IN BED!
If you follow those three rules, you’ll be golden. If those three are just too hard to remember, only remember number three, it being the most important one up there.
The last thing I would like to leave you with is a poem by Gabe Moses called “How to make love to a Trans Person”: If you would like to see the poet perform this piece, you can find it here (it made me cry): Beautypersonified
Forget the images you’ve learned to attach
To words like cock and clit,
Chest and breasts.
Break those words open
Like a paramedic cracking ribs
To pump blood through a failing heart.
Push your hands inside.
Get them messy.
Scratch new definitions on the bones.
Get rid of the old words altogether.
Make up new words.
Call it a click or a ditto.
Call it the sound he makes
When you brush your hand against it through his jeans,
When you can hear his heart knocking on the back of his teeth
And every cell in his body is breathing.
Make the arch of her back a language
Name the hollows of each of her vertebrae
When they catch pools of sweat
Like rainwater in a row of paper cups
Align your teeth with this alphabet of her spine
So every word is weighted with the salt of her.
When you peel layers of clothing from his skin
Do not act as though you are changing dressings on a trauma patient
Even though it’s highly likely that you are.
Do not ask if she’s “had the surgery.”
Do not tell him that the needlepoint bruises on his thighs look like they hurt
If you are being offered a body
That has already been laid upon an altar of surgical steel
A sacrifice to whatever gods govern bodies
That come with some assembly required
Whatever you do,
Do not say that the carefully sculpted landscape
Bordered by rocky ridges of scar tissue
Looks almost natural.
If she offers you breastbone
Aching to carve soft fruit from its branches
Though there may be more tissue in the lining of her bra
Than the flesh that rises to meet itLet her ripen in your hands.
Imagine if she’d lost those swells to cancer,
A car accident instead of an accident of genetics
Would you think of her as less a woman then?
Then think of her as no less one now.
If he offers you a thumb-sized sprout of muscle
Reaching toward you when you kiss him
Like it wants to go deep enough inside you
To scratch his name on the bottom of your heart
Hold it as if it can-
In your hand, in your mouth
Inside the nest of your pelvic bones.
Though his skin may hardly do more than brush yours,
You will feel him deeper than you think.
Realize that bodies are only a fraction of who we are
They’re just oddly-shaped vessels for hearts
And honestly, they can barely contain us
We strain at their seams with every breath we take
We are all pulse and sweat,
Tissue and nerve ending
We are programmed to grope and fumble until we get it right.
Bodies have been learning each other forever.
It’s what bodies do.
They are grab bags of parts
And half the fun is figuring out
All the different ways we can fit them together;
All the different uses for hipbones and hands,
Tongues and teeth;
All the ways to car-crash our bodies beautiful.
But we could never forget how to use our hearts
Even if we tried.
That’s the important part.
Don’t worry about the bodies.
They’ve got this.
Have a great Thanksgiving y’all,