The Unicorn
on transness, sexuality, our culture of sexual repression, and mistakes
Content Warning - Sex Stuff
This is going to be difficult for me to write, and even harder for me to publish.
I’m traditionally very modest when it comes to talking about sex.
I’m not a prude. I adore a lack of modesty in others. I always get a kick out of folks who are casual about their sexuality and speak openly about such things. They cause my walls to come down. Having long been trained by Christian raised parents that all matters of sexuality were completely taboo, it makes me feel cozy to be around someone free of those stigmas. It encourages me out of my shell.
Humans are sexual beings. Many of us, at least.
For those of us who operate in that spectrum, it’s a part of our most innate nature to long for sexual experience. Yet, there’s nothing we are more hesitant to speak about, nothing we’re more ashamed by.
Fucking Christianity, and its puritanical bullshit. Just like in so many other things, teaching people to deny the most crucial parts of themselves, turning folks against their heart’s most honest desires. Disempowerment for means of control.
It’s my belief this superficial repression encourages distorted expressions of sexuality to emerge. That by pushing the reality of people’s instincts beneath the surface, in a culture simultaneously exploiting and shaming its populace’s natural urges, where the honest expression of healthy sexuality is nearly unheard of — we manifest horror.
That’s why we get crippling layers of institutionalized misogyny. Why broken people are empowered to do terrible things. Why so many are stricken with secret addictions, repressed lifestyles, or over-compensate in unhealthy ways.
I’m a highly sexual person, but I’m also very repressed.
Like I said, this is painful to write. It will be healing, but I’m also going to be fighting through blocks the whole way. To speak about these things plainly triggers me on the deepest of levels.
Those of you who take this journey with me. Especially those of you who do it despite your own triggers of sexual repression or discomfort, I thank you.
Trans People Have Sexuality, And That’s Okay
People are uncomfortable around me in general.
There are a lot of old stigmas which equate transness with sexual kink. We have a very clear history of reducing trans-feminine people, in culture’s eyes, to sexual deviants.
That means people are even more uncomfortable when and if anything remotely sexual emerges while I’m in their presence. God forbid I say anything which illuminates how I have a sexuality myself. When I’ve made this mistake, the panic and discomfort which ensues can be palpable.
Regardless, this stigma which culture has towards trans feminine people has always been a huge internal deterrent to my own self-acceptance, and the reason why is… complicated.
Firstly, and mostly, it’s because my transness is about who I am in my heart and my soul. My first knowings of my own womanhood came from seeing a mother in a movie when I was seven years old.
That’s my heart. It’s not about sex.
It’s complicated though, because my transness is interlinked with my sexuality. It’s my gender. It’s a part of it. They’re intertwined.
So, growing up in a world where trans women are seen as this perversion, created a self-hatred towards myself for my own sexuality. I’ve held an unreasonable amount of shame about my own natural inclinations.
Even now I struggle with it. I feel wounded and shamed when those moments happen, where I express something in the realm of sexuality on accident and people get weirded out. Negative reactions can take me back to feeling like the freak I’d made myself out to be for so long. Back when I was younger and had no context for the things I was discovering myself excited by.
I have so much trouble talking about this. Genuinely, the next thing I feel coming through is going to suck for me. But I’m going to be brave and just say it. Be warned, this is the point of no return.
If you don’t want to read about this transwoman’s sexuality, turn back now.
Okay, here it is: I like… butt-stuff.
Fucking sue me, I always have. For my whole adolescence, this was held as a deeply personal shame, spurring genuine self-hatred. One of the biggest internal blocks to accepting myself for who I am, was the way I looked so down upon this reality of my sexuality. Instead of embracing who I am, I took on the cultural baggage and stigma that it was something rotten within me.
To make matters even more confusing. I love women and people who were AFAB (assigned female at birth).
The Confused Transbian
I hate that word honestly. Transbian. People use it for trans lesbians, obviously. Lots of trans women use it.
To me, it feels like a blatant attempt to placate the more traditional lesbians who would not include us.
While I understand the sentiment, and for some time was very understanding and graceful of lesbians who didn’t include me. Now, I realize I shouldn’t honor the elderhood of people who are actively choosing to not by my elders. I have two mature lesbian friends who see and accept me. Nothing means more to me. They and people like them are my elders. So, people who don’t include me can fuck off. No respect is owed to them from me. I don’t care if the language I use triggers them.
It reminds me of this guy who accosted me at some gas station in the middle of the night into a conversation I wanted absolutely no part of, calling himself an ‘old school gay’ who was ‘conservative’. He was literally pestering me about trans suicide rates and asking what I thought of them. Asked me what I thought of Trump. Told me he liked to have real discussions.
Clearly, for me, just because someone is on the LGBTQ+ spectrum, does not an ally make.
All of this griping aside. The truth is I’ve always felt like a lesbian. Even when it seemed weird to me because I was rooting firmly into a place of gender denial. I just knew I liked girls a lot. More than the boys did, different-like. A way that was far less gross to me. Rooted in respect.
Men oft dehumanize the very women they are pursuing romantically. If not openly, behind closed doors to other men. That’s the opposite of how I work. I was always crushing hard on girls and thinking the world of them. That’s why I like people, because they’re fucking rad.
Knowing I liked girls, but feeling how I wanted to be treated like one myself, put me in a confusing spot. Mind you, I don’t have any idea trans people exist yet, except within my heart.
So, I’ve got no idea what’s happening inside me for years running, even when faced with the most overt parts of my heart and soul calling out to embody the woman I have within me. Now a teenager, discovering these sexual tendencies which I have no context to understand, I assume they’re more related to male homosexuality, because that’s the only thing I’d ever heard of remotely in the realm of queerness which could perhaps be an answer to these internal clashes with my prescribed role as a boy.
That’s one of the things that confused me the very most though. I knew I wasn’t into boys. It was always just not the thing for me. A big NO when pondered. So, what’s the deal with also feeling like a woman?
Without any concept of transness, I was lost. I literally had no idea what was happening with myself. The first time I heard of a trans woman was in a bad TV show, which I still remember distinctly. They had a trans woman character in the Jessica Alba show Dark Angel, who literally turned down this guy because she was into girls. My heart was geeking out so hard at the simple existence of this trans woman in the show, who was being treated as a person, and not some crossdressing hooker. I was bewildered at the thought of someone existing with a modicum of self-respect, and expressing fully how I felt inside. For her to then be a lesbian — I couldn’t handle it, my heart went completely bonkers.
The feelings I had watching that episode were insane. It was like a dream I didn’t want to end. My chest was thumping so hard.
I also remember these times through my life making friends with lesbian girls. Clearly picking up a kind of bewildered surprise coming back at me. Them, seeing me as the cisgendered boy I was presenting as, confused at why we were getting along so well.
I remember two times in particular, where a couple of those relationships got flirty. Not even at my own intention, just naturally. In both I recognized this distinctive kind of double-take thing happening. Where they’d caught themselves flirting with me, and then looked at me like, ‘who the fuck are you’.
Surprise! Closeted trans-lesbian. That’s me.
Even now, reaching a real precipice of transition, it’s hard to match with people who also identify as lesbian. I’m a big girl, I didn’t start hormones until I was 34 years old. Despite all the beautification I’ve done, with my voice and the equipment I have down below, there are a very limited number of lesbians who are interested in me.
Most people who are into me are bisexual. And it works in their head because they think. Hey, this is perfect! A girl in the streets and a boy in the sheets.
But yeah, no.
I’m looking for an even rarer breed. That sees me as a woman. And syncs up with the full diaspora of things I like to do in the bedroom.
To say the search has been challenging is an understatement.
The people I’m into, by and large, have no interest in those things I‘d traditionally been so ashamed of.
Even in this newfound portion of my life, where opportunity abounds to explore and try all the things, to finally experience what’s been repressed for so long — there’s nobody to do it with.
Lots of men interested. But I’ve always been into women exclusively. Only since transitioning, and feeling myself a woman from the inside out, have I begun to find any kind of openness to exploring the possibility of being with a man.
Take It Where You Can Get It?
Going round and round with romantic interests, casual to serious, yet never getting to experience sex the way I’d imagined it best. Almost always to feel thrust into a more traditionally masculine role in the bedroom. Having only once found genuinely synchronous vibes, but still never truly in the form my heart most desired. Simultaneously, grappling with this newfound bisexual curiosity. I broke.
Well shit. I’m going to get mine.
This happened in the middle of the Summer last year. While I was in the thrust of a chaotic, heartbreaking, tease of a “relationship” with an alcoholic. A lesbian who talked a very big game about delivering to me experiences so sought. Who is still too chicken-shit, because of their own internalized transphobia, to climb out of the bottle and face the fact that they are more into trans women than perhaps anyone I’ve ever met. Deep down, they are a trans man, almost certainly. Someone’s identity is theirs and theirs alone to define. Still, many times, they’ve told me in plain. The masculine inverse of words I would have heard from my own mouth years ago, if I’d ever had a trans friend to confide in.
There’s a boy inside that girl dying to get out.
Not only am I sure they get triggered by the way I make them feel like a boy. Stated, and felt in reverse on my end, in how much they make me feel like a woman. They’ve told me plainly, the biggest reason they’re afraid to fully embrace how they feel about me and get their shit together, is because they’d have to deal with bigoted parents who already delegitimize their lesbian relationships. They can’t imagine telling them about me.
Truthfully, if they weren’t a closeted trans person themself, this would be an immediate dealbreaker. I’d just be like, cool, well fuck off.
Somehow though, with them being who they are, it’s just really sad. I see them so clearly. And frankly, I’ve never felt more beautiful in someone’s eyes. But they’re ashamed of who they are and what they like, because of the same stigmas I struggled under my whole life.
So, after the fifth go-round of getting ghosted for alcohol. I’m done. And I’m going to finally just get with a guy.
Six months earlier, in another lull of romantic action. When an off-and-on, casual lesbian relationship was kicking around in my life but in one of its off-phases. Feeling similarly fed up with waiting around for someone to rail me. I downloaded fucking Grindr.
I know, gross! I hate it. Really… so much. It’s the worst thing in the world. The premier place to get immediately and repeatedly spammed with dick picks. But also, somehow, the one dating platform where trans women can find the most people who are actually into them. Dating apps have people who swipe without reading and then unmatch me as soon as they’ve realized I’m a trans person. It’s a defeating process.
My best matches have been with people who didn’t know I was trans when they swiped me. Yet were like — sure, fuck it.
So, I get why there is a need for a more trans friendly dating space. But Grindr is filled with predominantly gay men. It’s not the vibe. Still, one day, I got on there. I immediately matched with a guy that was less than a mile away. And he asks to video chat, just to see if I’m real.
He’s very kind! His name is Jose. He’s super handsome. And he’s straight.
Always purely identifying as a straight man, but discovering himself into trans women, he was on Grindr specifically to make this kind of connection. Which I liked a lot. It was affirming. His sexual orientation affirmed my gender. This was a straight man who included trans women, meaning, he sees me as a woman.
Then I meet him. It’s very felt in the way he treats me, that he sees me as a lady. Also, I’m actually intrigued physically. He’s one of the rare men that kind of does it for me. And he’s clearly very attracted to me.
I’m nervous and waffling about it, when my on-and-off friend re-emerges and reminds me how much of a lesbian I am in one phone call. Literally cancelled on him to go see her a couple of nights later. Had maybe the best night of my life, truthfully. I made very good fish and chips.
After that, I reached out to Jose and told him maybe someday, admitting that I’m just not ready yet to try anything with a guy. There’s lots of trauma there.
Again, he’s so incredibly kind and gracious. It makes me respect the guy. He had been very excited about me, but totally understood with no pretense, no stress. It gave me a very positive impression of his character. Which is my biggest worry with men, having known so many who are dastardly in the way they objectify and treat their romantic interests.
So, six months later, in the summer. A fucking torturous relationship going on with an alcoholic. Completely fed up. I reach out to Jose.
He’s chilling. Dating a girl now, life’s going well.
I’m feeling myself adventurous, and just straight up tell him that if he and his lady are ever interested in a third. Then… hey.
Apparently, they’ve already discussed that possibility. So, he’ll get back to me.
A couple weeks later, the morning after a night where the drunk, closeted trans-boy I was seeing sent me three-hundred belligerent text messages about how gross I looked and dressed. How terrible my voice sounded, etc. Because I had bought them an air conditioner for their apartment so they didn’t die in the sweltering heat, and that somehow set their drunk ass off, saying it was such a ‘man’ thing to do.
I digress… the morning after all that, I’m like, “So, Jose, have you talked to your lady?“
He had in fact. She was into it. And I’m feeling reckless.
So, we plan a date that next weekend.
The Unicorn
‘Unicorn’ is a slang term used for a person who joins a couple in the bedroom.
The intentions of this meetup were pretty clear. But still, the idea of actually breaking the ice and going through with it seemed pretty unrealistic to me beforehand.
We met at a poolhall in Seattle.
It was a very interesting vibe to be there with the two of them. She was a trans woman, who would pass as cisgendered far easier than I ever would. The conversation was flowing. We were having fun playing pool.
I was really coming into myself physically over the summer. And would have been wholly uncomfortable with the amount of attention we were drawing in that poolhall if it had just been her and I alone. I catch plenty of people checking me out, it happens every day. But I’d never before turned my head in any kind of establishment to see every man looking my way. Looking good and obviously trans while bending over pool tables is apparently the trick to paralyze men.
In all honesty though, Jose is kind of a badass. Like, I would pray for an American-born guy who fucked with him. He’s Puerto Rican, and a sailor. He immigrated on a little boat to Florida, through storms, like a cyborg. So, it didn’t vibe as a scary threat, like it normally would, to have men looking like that. It was actually nice to feel that genuinely protective masculine energy around. It’s what I like so much in the women I fall for. They all have that in them naturally. Some innate masculine strength I feel comforted by.
On top of all that, we’re vibing as a group. She was hot. We had a couple drinks and I don’t shy away from being forthright nowadays.
Finally, we finish our games of pool, and they ask if I want to go to another bar. I’m game. Though, a part of me has already made up my mind to do this.
So, we’re walking around looking at these bars which have lines out the door. The prospect of going to one of them on a Saturday night sounds awful.
I put on my big girl pants. And I drape my arms over their shoulders. I’m like, “Hey, there are all these bars. But there’s also a grocery store right there. What if we got some drinks and went back to your place?”
They’re both very excited. I’m feeling bold and determined.
He asks her how she’s feeling. She looks over to me and says, “gay.”
So, yeah. That was a yes.
I will spare y’all the gory details. It went quite well. All three of us felt very lucky to be a part of something so precious. That much was spoken. We all were kind of blown away be how synchronous it felt. It made me feel amazing to be so wanted and feel so extremely seen as a woman. Incredibly affirming.
The night ended with me pulling them both in and giving them each a really soft and sweet kiss in succession. I honestly felt like a fucking goddess.
Then, I left, all jazzed up. Going home with this newfound sense of falsely earned feminine affirmation. I felt such a lady.
The problem was when the alcohol began to wear off.
That’s when I started to feel sick.
Not from the booze. From the whole thing. Particularly, his smell which I could not seem to shower off my body for couple days.
I felt nauseas for like a week.
There were wisdoms in my body which were ignored for the sake of exploration, and impatience that were not happy.
Despite enjoying myself in the moment. Despite finally experiencing something very close to what I’d wanted most for the longest of times. I am just very, very not into cis men. Even really lovely open-hearted ones. Even handsome, affirming, and protective ones. They simply do not work on a pheromonal level for me.
I became very depressed that I had lowered myself to that.
Even more sadly, after having had a really sweet night with the two of them, and talking with Jose’s girlfriend about being buddies and going dancing together. I was ghosted and not responded to except once, in a super cold way.
I feel quite sure it’s because of his insecurities — considering the way he repeatedly ignored me asking for her phone number — which I had only been doing so I could set-up the friend date her and I had been talking about.
I’d sensed that briefly in person too. Him being weirdly possessive of her. A look of worry on his face when she was having a little too much fun for his liking.
No matter the reason behind it, the way I was treated afterwards made me feel used. It made me wonder if I was crazy thinking I’d really been wanted like that. Tainting the parts of the experience which hadn’t already been, and the parts of me which were still holding onto for how I’d felt honored in my femininity.
I’m not interested in doing that again.
I fall for people when I get intimate. My body literally rejects contact with people who I don’t care for. The only reason I was able to with these folks was because we had forged a heartfelt connection, even in that short time, and I was drinking.
Casual encounters are just not something I would sign up for anymore. Unless someone could be chill with me falling for them, and I trusted them to not disappear afterwards because of it.
I’m also a capital ‘L’ Lesbian. No matter who thinks I do or don’t deserve to be included in that group.
The bigots in America who so despise me. That ‘old-school-gay’ who accosted me with his anti-trans rhetoric. They often call out trans women as confused gay men who have been brainwashed.
That literally couldn’t be more wrong.
I’m a woman, I’m a lesbian, I’m trans, I’m a sexual being.
And that’s okay.
