![]() I was finally comfortable enough with my body to let go and allow myself to receive pleasure but I soon realized that when a lover tries to please you without actually paying attention to what does or does not bring you pleasure, it just doesn't work. At this point I had mastered inner and outer orgasms on my own and assumed it would be just as easy with lovers. I was confused as to why it wasn't the same as when I masturbated. One of my first experiences receiving oral sex post-op was a nightmare. But I hadn't come this far to give up now, and I was determined to break through my pessimism, even if it meant kissing a lot of frogs before doing so, or in this case, being eaten out by them. This was beyond any expectations I had and I was now full of hope and excitement for what my sex life could become.īlaming things on your transness is a self-fulfilling prophecy: you decide "it is what it is" and settle into a false but inevitable demise. Much to my delight, a beautiful translucent fluid began to flow from me and down onto the sheets as I came. ![]() Once again my orgasm began to rise and gave way to the tide that rose in me moments before. My confusion and curiosity led to a second attempt at achieving orgasm - this time with the lights on. Self-lubrication was not something I ever expected to experience in my lifetime. There was no blood, but the sheets were indeed wet, and so was I.Ĭould it have been from my orgasm? No one ever spoke to me about orgasms or self-lubricating post surgery. Fearful I had torn something and was bleeding, I snapped out of my state of bliss, reached for the nightstand, switched on the light and pulled back the comforter to investigate. The moment of release instead became a drawn-out sensation that gave way to an explosive inner orgasm.Īs I began to catch my breath and wrap my head around what had occurred, my delight turned to terror when I realized my bed sheets were soaking wet. Orgasms used to be urgent and violent but this was a rising tide that plateaued and rose higher each time it resurfaced, repeating itself. ![]() To my surprise a quavering wave of ecstasy began rising within me - a feeling I'd never experienced before. I could feel myself pushing at a point of pleasure deep within and what was once a routine requirement became a beautiful moment of self pleasure. My fear of injury began to subside and my movements slowly began to accelerate. Holding the dilator inside me, I decided to explore rather than simply hold it in place as suggested. One night, in the dark chill of my air-conditioned room, I began my dilation routine. An integral part of post operative care that while painful at first eventually became somewhat of a pleasure. They assured me I was healing when I thought I was ruined and helped me face my fear of vaginal dilation, the process of maintaining neo vaginal depth and width. I stayed in a hotel affiliated with the surgery center and nurses came to check in on a daily basis. And so I creeped toward the edge of that building, looked down at the street beneath, jumped, and never looked back. I weighed all the options and decided I was willing to take the risks. I answered that both were a priority for me, but there was always a voice inside telling me to forget pleasure and simply hope to get beyond the pain. This would determine where he would focus the redistribution of tissue and nerve endings. I chose a surgeon in Thailand because he came highly recommended - and his services included a month of supervised recovery.ĭuring my consultation, we spoke about my sexual goals and whether I cared more about penetration or clitoral sensation. I knew once I made the decision and let that morphine lull me to sleep, there would be no turning back and I had to accept whatever the consequences may be. ![]() Making the decision to undergo confirmation surgery felt like I was standing on the edge of a building, wondering whether or not I should jump. I wasn't able to let go and fully connect with partners, and therefore there was a limit to my love. I focused solely on this submissive need to please, which may have been innate, but was further fed by my insecurity. I never fully embraced the idea of receiving pleasure.
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