Added: Rosalina Prevost - Date: 21.12.2021 05:57 - Views: 16233 - Clicks: 3523
Before I went to college, I was closeted. I barely count those eighteen years as part of life. Why would I? That wasn't me — not really. The most interesting places I've lived — Zambia, South Africa, London — happened during that time, and those experiences were wasted on someone with no cognizance, no words yet. In high school, the only person I knew who was like me was a punk — a mean lesbian with spike collars and pink hair. She teased me outside the lunchroom. I know she had to be tough — ours was a private Christian school with students, and she was out. In time, she softened.
She said hey to me. Then she graduated and disappeared. A few years later, I learned that she transitioned. Dae found his truth, came out as transgender and found his queer family in a city not far from there.
We are still friends today. While our journeys are different, we both more or less found the things we needed — the right words to call ourselves, the chosen families we belonged in — at the same time. Dae has become a remarkably handsome man, and in many ways, he was my first that others were out there — back when I simply knew I was "other" and that was all I had.
Other sexy trans men came later — casual hookups and kinky playmates — who taught me some of my most important lessons about being queer. Here are some of them. Always ask for a person's preferred pronouns at the beginning of conversations. After a hot sex session, I once asked a trans man what his name was before he transitioned. He said, "No, sorry. I don't say that. It's my deadname. He said it was OK and told me something I'll never forget: "You know when you look back at old photos of yourself and remember how miserable you felt?
That's what it's like to think about that name. That life is behind me. I can barely look back through those photos. I see me, a lanky pipsqueak squinting through big teeth, someone with no clue how to live in my body, no understanding of what it was feeling, and no words to describe it.
I'm so grateful to be here now, to have moved into a better life. Sometimes you have to cut your timeline and never look back. This should be obvious, but apparently not. I talked to some transmasculine friends while writing this piece, and several explained that many people assume trans men are only interested in women.
When we talk about gay and bi men, that includes gay and bi trans men, too. Assuming anyone is straight because of how their gender is presented is an unhealthy hetero projection — one we don't need. My ability to detect whether or not someone is gay or bi what some call gaydar is faulty, so unless I meet someone on a sex app or at a queer-heavy bar, I face the task of expressing interest and seeing if they're interested back.
Thankfully, hookup apps usually do the work for me. Having a penis doesn't make you a man — nor does having top surgery. Having a vagina doesn't make you a woman. Sex, too, is not all about parts and anatomy, and focusing too much on physical acts ignores the powerful mental, tactile, romantic, and explorative sides of human sexuality.
During a great early sexual encounter with a trans man, I told him I didn't know what to do for his body or how to make him feel good. This seems to be another common misconception. Many trans men are tops! I am a bottom and have only ever bottomed for trans men. A good top, in my opinion, knows how to listen, take charge, and deliver pleasure at the right speed and intensity.
The sexual tools at his disposal are endless — he has his hands, mouth, fingers, strength, breath, and body weight, along with a myriad of sex toys, strap-ons, insertables, and more that exist. I told him that when I get in submissive hepace, I like when guys call my hole a pussy or cunt. I also know some cis gay guys who hate the word "cock" and bristle at its use.
Everyone has words they prefer, and those words may change depending on the kind of sex they're having or who they're with. Some trans men say "vagina," others say "front hole" and "back hole. As a cis gay man, I will never know what being trans is like. But I do know there are commonalities among us — family isolation and rejection, hunting for our people, discovering sex on a different timeline than our peers, living in shame and denial, coming out, exploring our first queer spaces, trying on labels, and finding words that fit. These are the beautiful milestones of queerness that most of us share.
Listen to his experience and share yours, and I promise that by the end of the night, you'll be closer.
You know the common Grindr script: Sup? These days, guys seem to dislike one-word messages because they're economical and efficient and no one likes to be reminded of how they're one of many options. But you are — everyone is. Maybe it's brisk and to-the-point, but I ask "Into? Someone can reply with what sex role they like, list their kinks, or say they're looking for love.
At least two men have listed their hanky code colors, which I appreciated. Start there. This is the same script you'd use to flirt with anyone because trans men are men. I still remember the few times I slipped up and wrongly assumed a trans person's pronouns. The memories still fill me with shame and embarrassment. That's good — now I remember to ask. Before you have a chance to do so, get comfortable with 'they' and 'them. Doing so might feel awkward at first, but after you get into the practice it will get easier.
Doing so is not only respectful of a person's pronouns you don't know — it's also one small step in a massive social movement to challenge binarism and take down archaic notions of gender. Using gender-neutral pronouns, at least until someone's pronouns are confirmed, is not hard and is something you can do every day. Every 'they' and 'them,' even for people whose gender identity you think is obvious, is a small, vital step in a better direction — one that carves space for genderqueer and nonbinary people.
I start talking about sex quickly because I'm bad at flirting. But if asking what words he uses to describe his parts seem a little aggressive, take it down a notch and just flirt. Compliments about a great smile or beautiful eyes are less threatening and genial.
Before having sex with anyone, you probably have a pre-built script about how it's going to go. Lose that. I had to learn sex with trans men through their patient teaching. One past playmate, in particular, taught me more about my kinks than I knew and pushed me to new levels of understanding with my body. Getting there requires opening your mind and your body to new sensations and silencing the mental playbook you thought you'd use.
Every sexual encounter is different because every person is different. You know the three common sex roles — top, bottom, and versatile — that everyone not just cis gay men can be grouped into.
There's also a fourth. A couple years ago, The Huffington Post ran a piece by sexpert Joe Kort on gay "sides" — gay men who enjoy sex but do not, for various reasons, like anal penetration. Gay cis men tend to focus on anal sex as the base requirement of sex — many do not consider other sex acts, like oral sex, to be "sex" at all.
As a result, sides often feel embarrassed, ashamed, or left out. But the fact is, anal sex is just one kind of sex, and there are a variety of reasons why one might not find it fun.
Some people have health conditions that keep them from enjoying anal sex — others simply don't enjoy it. I'm not a big fan of oral sex, and could happily cut it from my repertoire without much concern. Some guys feel the same about anal. Thankfully there is massage, rubbing, mutual masturbation, rimming, licking, fingering, and literally endless non-penetrative kinky sex acts you can do. Sex is a miles-long buffet table — why choose only one thing? A majority of my experiences with trans men have been dominant-submissive with me as the sub.
In none of these encounters did a penis go in my butt — and they were all fun. Some trans men don't want you to play with their vaginas, others do. Everyone has certain kinds of touch they like and certain kinds they don't. You're always allowed to ask what feels good — and you should communicate what feels good to you, too. If you meet a sexy trans guy in a bathhouse or sex club, you don't have to have a long, sit-down discussion of preferred words, permissible sex acts, and so on. Like everyone else, many trans guys just want to get laid, not have a lengthy conversation beforehand.
Keep it casual — play and be willing to change course if something doesn't feel right. I know many dominant trans men and have played with some of them. Suggesting a man with a vagina wants to be dominated is like assuming every cis gay muscle guy wants to top. If those are your assumptions, good luck.
Fetishizing trans men is problematic for the same reason that fetishizing black men and HIV-positive men are problematic. All three fetishes can lead to harmful stereotypes and misconceptions, and all three can actually reinforce stigma and prejudice.
Guys who fetishize black men generally proliferate the negative, racist image of men of color as 'sexual beasts' ready to dominate white men with their massive penises — a dangerous idea that goes back to colonialism and claims made by racist pseudoscientists that black men are more attuned to baser, animalistic impulses like sex because they are less intelligent, less human than white people.
People who fetishize HIV-positive folks think we're all infectious sex maniacs eagerly spreading our "toxic" seed to anyone unfortunate enough to have sex with us — a concept that contributes to the demonization and criminalization of HIV and adds to HIV stigma. And people who fetishize trans men tend to fetishize a false, trans-negative image — the subservient man with a pussy, eager to bottom for a dominant alpha-top.Old un still have naughty chat holes
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