Fucking Like There's No Tomorrow

I was recently approached by a friend to write for one of those political-social justicey type blogs. For days I pondered over what to write. I searched the depths of my various identities. Pooled together my recent experiences of life-fucked-up-ness. Many frustrating attempts later I resigned myself to the reality of my writing interests. I have no energy to delve into the many reasons life is much more complicated for us trans folks or us queers or us people of color. These days my mind is on other things. Like fucking and the many reasons life is much more complicated for us trans men who like to fuck bio-men. It's weird how this may in some ways be the focus of my life currently: sex. I spent many years afraid of what my body liked and desired. Shying away from any encounter that sexualized me (in the ways that I'd like). Now I seek out those encounters, almost relentlessly. My fellow TQ contributor says the appeal in the hook-up scene lies in the adventurousness of it all. Sure adventure is nice. Me? I just like to fuck. I like the pleasure of it. The anticipation leading up the moment when you first lay eyes on your fuck du jour. When your eyes take all of him in, compare the real thing to the photo that made everything kinda pretty or at least appealing enough to get you off your behind and board a train and a bus or head out to the middle of nowhere. Yes, the lure of the perfect fuck is what keeps me hitting those sites again and again. The disappointment of a bad fuck is merely collateral damage, because when you do find a great lay, it's like being reborn into a gentler, calmer you. A you that's able to breath and exhale unimpeded again. I like to refer to this particular moment as the post-fuck haze. I never allow myself to feel slutty for fucking or wanting to fuck as often as I can. Even saying, writing the word "fuck" is liberating. It represents the stark difference between where I was, the frigid fearful place I was anchored in for years, and where I stand now- able to look at my pussy and like it, able to drive pleasure from my engorged clit and boast about it, where before I might have felt shame. Able to say and get turned on by words like "cock", "cum", "wet", "horny".

How do you write about these things, people, in a social justice-y type blog like the one my friend approached me about? How do I show the empowerment that comes about from sleeping around? How do I also show the pain and befuddlement it also offers? The many nights of logging onto sites and waiting for a bite and nothing comes, because the ideas of a "guy with a pussy" is just too "kinky" for some. The many attempts at putting feelers out there, wanting someone to grab hold of something and give it a gentle tug. Having to explain over and over and over to gay men who haven't even so much as heard the word "trans" before that I have a pussy not a cock, that the only cock I do have comes with my strap and it's an impressive 9x5 inches, that when I'm fucking you with said strap you would hardly know the difference.

I'll admit the hook up scene can be a painful, lonely place for a trans man. When I first started exploring the scene, it certainly wasn't all milk and cookies. Like that night when I couldn't host, and me and that dude traipsed all over downtown trying to find a motel to fuck in. The last place we tried was the men's bath-house that barred me entry because I had "F" on my license. I was so eager to bust a nut by the end of that evening, so ready for shit that never even went down. Luckily, not long after, my roommate and I brokered a deal and my hosting situation changed. I celebrated by having a weeklong fuckfest. That was a damn good week.

So what else can I write about but these stories? So much needs to be said about trans guys fucking. I haven't even unpacked the many conversations I had with the men I have had sex with. Why they like the idea of a guy with a pussy. How many of them refuse to accept their complicated sexualities or sexual appetites. Now that's a good topic to explore in another journal entry...

hasidic DL

This guy was textin me the previous eve – hot texts about how he’s gonna suck me off and fuck me hard so I hopped on my bike and headed over. I walked over to the spot in the heart of the Hasidic neighborhood.

Called him and he tried to direct me to the right door – he wouldn’t just come out to meet me...took about ten minutes for me to find the right door, all the while with him giving me directions and refusing to come out.

Finally got inside and it was a real family home, kids toys all over the place, he’s a tall Hasidic guy, not bad looking, he offers me water then takes me down to the basement which is some kind of work studio littered with random shit. He apologizes saying the other place he had planned to take me was much nicer with a bed and shower we could have used.

He kisses me, he’s a bad kisser, we strip and kiss and he picks me up, which I’m into, i wrap my legs around his waist and we kiss and grind. he lies down on the basement floor and I suck him off.

then I put a condom over his dick, at which point he says, 'this condom is for black people', in my head i simultaneously laugh and think 'racist fuck', at this point though whatever, i'm not here to help him unlearn his racism.

he turns me on my back and we fuck, he fucks me hard, but he cums really fast, afterwards I jerk myself off with him inside me - pretty hot.

We get dressed and he tells me he’s been with trans women and had a trans girl friend but i'm his first trans guy. He says he has a few places that he uses to do this all over the neighborhood. I collect my shit, we go back up stairs, he goes to use the bathroom and tells me that if anyone comes in I should tell them I’m here for his business.

He offers to drive me to my bike, I decline so we leave the apt, he heads left and I head right as if we’ve never met. Later, he texts me to say I’m amazing…