I'm trans, but I have a genital preference. What should I do?

Navigating sexual limits without being transphobic -- or needlessly pressuring yourself.

I got this question in my Tumblr ask box today, and it struck such a personal chord with me that I immediately wanted to dive into it:

Hey Anon, thanks for the question. I think it is good to be asking yourself a bit about what your limits are, what they might mean about your attitudes toward fellow trans people, and how you ought to be navigating them. Whenever someone does have a hardline preference regarding the embodiment of their partners, I think it’s worth at least asking where those biases come from and how they relate to the prevailing prejudices of the day.

That said, I think that even if you were to search your soul and conclude that your attitudes were transphobic, I don't think the solution would be pushing yourself to have sex you didn't want to have, or trying to force yourself to "get over" the associations you have with penises. That won't work, and it's not your fault for having them. Those feelings are neither bad nor good; they merely are, and they’re real, and your life will always have to negotiate the reality of them rather than making them go away.

What matters is how we treat people, not what fleeting thoughts and emotions we might have — which is part of why it is so annoying for cis people to act as if they are persecuted for having a "genital preference" or whatever. The problem isn't their feelings, or their desires. It's their exclusionary, cruel, often violent actions, and the words they express publicly.

I am certain that I scroll past men on Grindr who find my vagina repulsive all the time. So long as they are not in my inbox insulting me, or lobbying for the platform to ban me (or fighting to create transphobic events), I don’t much care. I may not want to hear what they think of my vagina, but they’re allowed to have those thoughts. They’re also allowed to reject me on the basis of them— and frankly, I would usually want for them to. It’s a big ocean of possibilities out there. I get enough attention from men who are genuinely interested in me that I don’t want someone guiltily wasting my time and using my body as a site for their political rehabilitation.

I reject people romantically or sexually for all manner of reasons, most of which they wouldn’t want to hear about. I didn’t like how they smelled, say, or they made too much eye contact. When it’s not helpful to do so, I don’t tell somebody why I don’t find them attractive. They don’t need to be burdened with my judgments. We all have to make peace with being rejected, and with the reasons for our rejection being either unknowable to us, or completely out of our control.

A big problem in the “genital preference” discourse is how much it conflates a person’s anatomy with the sexual activities that they must enjoy. The fact is that many of us experience both an attraction to individual people (which may or may not involve parts of their body), and an interest in particular sexual activities and dynamics. And so, instead of worrying about whether we desire people in the “right” ways, we can simply communicate which activities are sexually enjoyable to us — and whether we’d like to engage in those activities with hands, genitals, other body parts, toys, gear, or our imaginations.

Thinking in this way not only helps us move past transphobic equatings of a person’s sexual interests with their anatomy, it also frees us up to consider entirely novel ways of experiencing sexual connection, many of which might not involve genitals at all.

I do think it is worth contemplating that many trans femme people have absolutely no desire to use their penises during sex, or can't use their penises for penetration. Many trans women also do not produce cum that looks anything like what the average cis man produces. And of course, as you’ve acknowledged, it is possible to have sex with people who have penises that does not involve their penis at all. If you have been able to negotiate such encounters with cis men before, you certainly can with trans women, who are far more likely on average to be open to it or to actively want it.

How would you feel about a trans woman who does have a penis using a strap-on to fuck you? About you two fisting each other? About you using a Hitachi magic wand on her? Or a masturbation sleeve? How do you feel when you see a trans guy with a post-phalloplasty cock? Does that repulse you too? What about a pumped-up, engorged testosterone-dick? Does a human penis still seem fundamentally different from a silicone one when you are blindfolded?

Try to reflect on questions like these with curiosity and not judgement. It’s worth understanding for your own future sexual negotiations and for self-understanding — not to fundamentally change who you are. Our limits and squicks can all be highly particular.

Maybe you will explore your feelings and find that no matter what, there will always be barriers; maybe for example you wouldn't feel comfortable going down on someone's penis, but would be happy to be fucked with a strap-on by someone who has a penis, or to fuck them. That's okay. Lots of trans women want exactly that kind of sexual encounter. And lots more are open-minded and recognize that trans-for-trans sex is experimental, and free-floating, and doesn't have to involve any specific sex acts. Negotiating these things should be done delicately and respectfully, but it is always fine to say "I don't do [xyz]" or "I don't want to do xyz right now."

I relate more to your question that you might know, albeit from a different direction. I have a lot of dysphoria about having a vagina; though penis-in-vagina sex can feel good, when I picture my correct self in my mind’s eye, I have absolutely nothing between my legs. I hate receiving oral, as I've talked about a lot. Somewhat surprisingly, I have to tell gay men to stop trying to eat my hole constantly. Having that part of my body touched in that way makes me sob with displeasure, and seeing a person’s head in between my legs in that position makes me want to kill both of us.

Bilateral Dysphoria

What I don’t mention nearly as often is that I also get massive dysphoria from giving oral to a person with a vagina. Being up close to a vagina, tasting its wetness, inhaling its scent — it puts me off. I’ve tried plenty of times, and have felt guilty about my disgust, but it just puts me off. It’s just a fact about me. And so I don’t do it. No one with a vagina should have to endure cunnilingus from a guy who’s nearly retching and crying over it.

I have also experienced a lot of sexual trauma that involved a (typically cis male) partner forcing or pressuring me to have sex with cis women. Being forced to be sexual with women has happened to me many times over the course of my life, starting when I was very young. It's made facing any sexual contact with women (either cis or trans!) deeply triggering and upsetting to me.

All of my own personal hang-ups and traumas have left me feeling funnily very much like Rosamund Pike’s character in Saltburn: "[Women are] all just too wet for me in the end. Men are so lovely and dry."

Sometimes, I do get into my head about this all being super transphobic. But I have also had fun, carefree, experimental, gratifying, hot sex with trans men with vaginas. I might not be able to eat them out, but there's lots I can do. I can finger them, put my hands in them, eat their asshole, take their strap-on, suck it, kiss them, fondle them, play with their nipples, be fucked alongside them, writhe atop a single vibrator together with them, slap their ass, put a dildo in them, whatever. I just don't want to eat them out or have them eat me out, for the most part.

It would be highly understandable if a trans guy felt invalidated by my feeling the way I do, and didn’t want to have sex with me given my limits. That's fine. I understand this subject is fraught and sucks to speak about, and that sharing my feelings might even cause their own dysphoria to spike. I don't speak about this topic publicly very often because it is so contentious and I don't want feelings to be hurt.

But in my heart, I'm comfortable with where I am at. I know which of my limits seem to be immovable and I don't really want to push them ever again. Having those limits pushed is what traumatized me. At the same time, I know my “genital preferences” are not connected in any way to seeing trans men as lesser than cis men, or as less attractive. I know they are not a barrier to me having sex with trans men if the moment and our interests both align. It stands to reason that a fair number of trans guys feel the exact same way as I do — and we can have a lot of fun together in dark latex outfits, plugging each other’s obscured holes with rubber monster cocks and never touching each other’s pussies.

I'm not a bad person for feeling this way. And I don’t think I’ve abnegated any responsibility to the trans community by allowing these feelings to simply exist. It's really hard to be trans and be wired this way. But I'm doing the best I can to grow into myself, and not be an asshole, and also find fulfillment. I would encourage you, Anon, to do much the same thing.

Recently, I have accepted I have zero interest in vanilla sex. For a long time I wanted gay and bisexual men to want me, to validate my trans male identity, and in the service of finding that validation, I had a lot of sex I didn’t much like. I walked around steam rooms and let people touch me, I bent over in the back rooms of bars, I brought home strangers from Grindr and smoked weed and asked them to wear condoms — and I virtually always felt empty.

I believed that because my actual kinky desires are so rare and extreme that I “owed” other people more basic forms of sex as some kind of consolation. It was as if I thought every single sex act existed on a single continuum, from “basic” to “intense,” and that if I wanted to work my way over to the activities at the intense end, I’d have to put in my time and accept all the basic shit first. And so I kept putting myself out there generically, mentioning that sure, I liked power dynamics and all, but blowjobs and anal and PIV and jerking each other off was all fine. (It wasn’t fine. It made me feel dead inside).

The Asexual Fetishist

And then I met a guy in my neighborhood who advertised himself as a “bondage side.” We met up and he showed off an impressive collection of handcuffs and psychiatric restraints. He explained to me that he was completely disinterested in physical penetration, or oral, or anything else that typically gets called “sex.” All he wanted to do was find cute boys to tie up in various stress positions and watch struggle to get free. I was absolutely delighted to get to fill that role for him.

We spent hours together that evening, him tying me up and cuffing me with all kinds of implements, me rolling around on his floor trying to find my way out with twists of my wrists and my toes and my teeth. A few times, he idly stimulated himself with a vibrator as he watched me struggle, or he’d sic his Hitachi on me as a distraction, when I got close unraveling his ropes with my tongue. We even cuddled and showered afterward. But we never touched genitals — our own or each other’s — at all.

This bondage side and me didn’t have “sex,” not in most people’s view of the term. But it felt more like real sex to me than any random hookup I’ve had. I was buzzing with satisfaction and possibility afterward. I could identify as a bondage side myself, if I wanted! I could list my specific fetishes boldly on my profile and turn down anyone who wasn’t interested. I could find people with their own specific constellation of sexual needs and limitations and we could concoct something satisfying together that no other two people might ever do.

At one point during our evening together, I was handcuffed spread-eagle on the bondage side’s bed, and he was tickling me while we traded Grindr stories. “I’ve pressured myself to have sex that meant nothing to me,” I admitted, “Because it seems like there’s so few people out there who want what I want.”

He let out a sigh of recognition. “I’ve been there.”

“I didn’t really realize until recently that ‘no vanilla’ can be a limit,” I offered, “just as much as someone can say they’re a top or a bottom or need to use condoms.”

He rested his head on my chest, and flicked playfully at the chain that held my arms up. “‘No vanilla’ is absolutely a limit you can have. It’s one of mine.”

Anon, I confess that I used to approach all social interactions from a mentality of scarcity and guilt. I was friends with whomever approached me, no matter how much they made me uncomfortable; I dated the guys whose dorm rooms were next to mine, or had a desk next to me in class or at work. Even after transition, I still believed I had to move with desperation. Would gay guys really accept me as one of their own? Would anybody find this strange transexual body desirable? I thought I had to take what I could get.

All of this resulted in me entertaining all attention, even when it was a bad fit. I hung out with lots of people who annoyed me or didn’t respect me, and hurt their feelings by pretending to like them when I didn’t. I loved and lived with straight guys who had no idea who I actually was. And after I transitioned and started putting myself out into the gay world, I discovered that lots of guys are interested in being with trans men: far too many for me to keep up with replying to.

I’m not just tolerated, or fetishized in the abstract. There are a lot of people who find me compelling in the specific. They like my scars. My physique. My messy self-cut hair. My pretty-sad eyes that make me very difficult to categorize in terms of age or background or whether I’m a man or a woman. My pathetic awkward moments. People want me, just as people no doubt want you, but if you waste your time entertaining every expression of interest, you won’t get what you want. You deserve to be picky, and specific, to put what you like and dislike on the line.

I revised my Grindr and Fetlife profiles to list my specific fetishes as requirements, and “no vanilla” as a limit. I’ve been having a much better time connecting to people ever since. The men who message me are far more likely to actually harbor dark, intense desires, and view kink as a requirement rather than a bit of fun set-dressing for otherwise pretty typical sex.

My hookups don’t move me through three or four very standard sexual positions anymore, reenacting porn without ever feeling present. Instead, we talk about what it is we are going to do, and each encounter is unique. If someone starts trying to go down on me, or does this awkward thing where they dip their fingers into my front hole and then taste it and tell me how much they want to go down on me, I throw them out.

Anon, I’m sharing all of this because I want you to feel empowered to share exactly what it is that you are looking for, too. And the more that you focus on specific desires and behaviors, the less you have to worry about tweaking any trans person’s dysphoria, or of coming across as bigoted or a chaser.

You don’t have to tell anybody that penises repulse you. You can just say that you’re into penetration with toys, and receiving oral. Maybe you’re into giving cunnilingus or fisting someone’s ass as well too, for all I know. Maybe you need your partners to be holding a rubber duck. You get to choose.

And no matter what your stated preferences are, each encounter can be allowed to be its own thing. With the bondage side, I don’t have any intercourse. But I’m getting to know a Dominant right now who very well might decide he wants to penetrate me, and I’ll be enthused as hell about it if he does choose to, because it will be happening within a power dynamic we have built. For some people in some moments, sex is just trading massages. For others, its being locked in a basement for a weekend with their cock in a cage. Anything goes.

(Actually now that I mention it, Anon, have you thought about cock cages? Would you feel more comfortable fooling around with a partner who has a penis if that penis were locked up? You’ll find no shortage of both trans women and cis men interested in rolling around with you with their cock behind bars, let me tell you. It’s a long-beloved kink that only seems to be rising in popularity. Just something to ponder.)

Anon, I know how it feels to harbor feelings that can seem inconvenient, or uncomfortable to voice, or that even might feel like a betrayal to transness sometimes. But your feelings exist, and they have a real influence on you, and you are allowed to accept the reality of them and make decisions accordingly.

I have learned that my distaste and desire both equally matter, and when I allow my sexual life to be shaped by them, I’m a lot happier, and my connections are far more rich. I hope that you can continue pursuing what makes you feel good, and avoiding what you don’t — and seeing how much your life can grow when you foster a deep, intimate acceptance of all that.

Have fun out there! Let me know how it goes!