By Xeph Kalma cross posted with permission from Guerilla Feminism

I’m not in the habit of disclosing what lies within my pants, but for this piece it’s going to be necessary. I am a woman, and I have a penis.  I am on a waitlist for GCS (gender confirming surgery) but I’m no longer sure if I really want to go through with it.  Aside from the massive risks that come with any kind of surgery like stroke, complications, dying on the table, I just don’t really know anymore.  For a time I was dead certain that that was what I wanted, but I’m no longer sure, and I’m going to explain why.  However, it is important for readers to bear in mind that by no means are trans folx a monolith, and just because I have gone through these thoughts and feelings, reached certain conclusions, I am by no means trying to speak for anyone other than myself. I am the only person I can speak for.

Before coming out, and before learning the language to even understand myself, I was once engaged to a cis woman back in 2010.  It was a tumultuous relationship.  We loved each other but something was terribly wrong.  “Aren’t you a man?!” she would exclaim during our arguments.  “I don’t know” was the best response I had to offer.  We got a pomeranian that I named Lexi with the hopes that this tiny creature would help be the glue to keep us together.  Sadly, Lexi was prone to sickness and died within eight months of her life.  In my arms.  Her urn still sits on my shelf. After her, ignoring the pleas of my partner, I purchased a Japanese Spitz, which I named Bear. He turned out to be the best companion ever as he followed me all over the world after our breakup, through good times and bad, sheltered and homeless. The breakup was amicable. One of those “I love you, but ya, you go that way and I’ll go this way” kind of things. In any case, the question of me being a man or not stuck with me for years.

After the breakup I didn’t date for years, about five or six years. I was abstinent and it didn’t bother me at all, as I was too busy hating myself and trying to figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. This was around 2012 and I still lacked the language I needed to define who I am. Luckily I found feminism, Guerrilla Feminism in particular (not a all a plug, a true story). I started reading about the lived experiences of trans women and was like, “Fuck! That’s me!” I had a very good friend, my first girlfriend actually, Mei, help me through the process and it was so amazing. Once I figured it out and had the words to express it, I was overjoyed. Anyone who knew me before, and still knows me, knows that my life is about joy now. I’m still a dark cynicist, as I am a goth with a twisted sense of humor, but regardless, everything is a million times better than it used to be. It’s been a rough path, with multiple suicide attempts, but I’m coming out stronger.

Part of coming out of that lull has been re-entering the dating scene. I ’m still too self conscious to use online dating so I go out to a bar near my house and cross my fingers that I’ll meet someone who 1) isn’t an asshole and 2) is queer. Apparently those criteria are very difficult to reach, but one night a very nice and most beautiful queer lady started chatting me up. The conversation led to the fact that she has a dog and I said that I would love to go with her while she walks her dog, as we live very near each other. We followed through on the idea and I asked her out to lunch, and ya, the stars aligned and it feels like I’ve known this person for a thousand years, in different bodies and forms, but it’s just there.

So… As humans who have a strong attraction to each other, this thing about physical closeness was bearing in.  And, I wanted it.  I was nervous, after all it had been five or six years, but I knew that I wanted her next to me, pressed against me, inside me. It was certainly awkward at first, sort of.  There was a lot of me keeping my pants on and just pleasing her until she could take no more, but I could tell that she wanted to return the favour. So, as our trust became stronger, I adapted and could disrobe as well. At first, I still didn’t want to be touched or even looked at, but the closeness felt amazing. It was something I had been missing for ages and released so many chemicals in my brain that it made me drunk. Still does. I’m high just thinking about it.

We wanted to make it work. We do things like calling my genitals a pussy instead of a dick, which helps immensely. We do engage in penetrative sex, but it’s not all aggressive and rabbit-poundy. It’s more just about feeling each other and enjoying being that close and it lasts for hours. It’s wet, it’s messy, it’s glorious. I’ve never felt this way about sex in my life, ever. Lots of heavy breathing, slapping, biting, bruising, bleeding, just completely losing ourselves, and taking momentary breaks to drink water because gotta stay hydrated, yo. It’s amazing and I don’t know if I would want it any other way.  Like, being on hormones it can be extremely difficult for me to cum, but when my Ma’am sets her mind to it she can get it done. But for me, I love investing so much time in her, and maybe not physically, but mentally when she cums, so do I.

These newfound feelings have left me questioning whether or not I want to risk my life and deal with the pain of GCS. Finding this one amazing partner has really changed my life. I enjoy sex again. I’m learning to be more comfortable with my body. I get to walk a dog (yay!). Things are looking up. All of this is to say to my siblings, I hope you all find your peace and path. You are loved and loveable. I know how it feels, but try to remember that someone out there loves your body. You just haven’t met them yet.

Xeph Kalma is a bi-racial Indian girl living in Canada. She likes the simple things: fluffy puppies, nice weather, good food, and not taking shit from assholes. She works in tech, and in her free time, looks at/shares pictures of dogs, sleeps, and works on dismantling the patriarchy whenever possible.