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PrettyQueer.com | January 31, 2015

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The Man Who Couldn’t Have Sex With A Tranny

The Man Who Couldn’t Have Sex With A Tranny
Cyd Nova

I have just returned from my annual trip to New York, where I make it my job to get laid.  Last year’s visit had been kind of a shit show. I’d arrived direct from IDA, where I’d been fucked fairly unhygenically in the woods, resulting in a two week bout of hypochondria-inspired celibacy.

This year, free from infection and sexual anxiety, I was ready to let loose.  I fantasized about setting up shop in the Christopher Street Piers bathroom, giving blowjobs on piss-covered toilets, but I would have settled for finding myself in bed next to someone who would grind against my leg while we each pretend to be sleeping.

Earlier in the evening I was certain that I had eliminated all hope of adult companionship when I accidentally-on-purpose smacked the boyfriend of an old hook-up in the face, all the while hoping for an invite home for a threesome.

With all of this focus and energy, I got what I was looking for.

My entire visit rolled by with nary a nibble from the local population of perverts and homosexuals until my final night in town, in the final moments of the Original Plumbing party.  Earlier in the evening I was certain that I had eliminated all hope of adult companionship when I accidentally-on-purpose smacked the boyfriend of an old hook-up in the face, all the while hoping for an invite home for a threesome.  As the night drew to a close, my host, Tuck, kept clicking his fingernail on the face of his watch, reminding me that his dog was at home, and likely suffering from heat stroke. He wanted to go home but I couldn’t give up hope just yet.

I was about to go with him, when I turn around and there is this guy. He’s not super cute, but he has pretty eyes and he looks very available.  So available that within 30 seconds of smiling at him we are grinding and sloppily making out on the dance floor.

Instantly, he turned into a complete and utter bottom, and began treating him accordingly.  Immediately, I shoved one hand into his mouth, holding the palm of the other across his neck.  Gasping for breath and slurring his words, he leaned towards my ear.

“Come home with me.  I’ll get us a hotel room and we’ll do some Adderall.”

Even though I was already finding him kind of irritating, it was better an striking out in Gotham, so I agreed and we hailed a cab.  As we sailed through the empty Brooklyn streets, he ran his hands up and down my legs.  It doesn’t take very long before he hissed “Sir, can I call you sir, sir?” I responded by grabbing his crotch hard and sneering for him to keep his hands to himself.

We made a pit stop at his apartment so that he could scurry upstairs and collect our supplies for the evening.  While we idled outside, the driver started talking to me,  “Well, you certainly caught a live one ” he said.

Once settled in our $170-hotel room, he immediately commenced the task of crushing up his Adderall.  As he pounded away, I asked him why he kept so much money in envelopes.  He explained that he is some university person and had just been paid a large amount of cash for tutoring.  At the time, this all made sense, considering the academic PNP vibe I had picked up on.

He took a couple big snorts of the blue powder and then turned to me, asking if I remembered his name.  I didn’t.  I made a new one for him, Dwayne, even though he looked nothing like a Dwayne.  Still, I was tired and it was all I could think of in the moment.  Visually, “Dwayne” was uninspiring.  He was skinny and dark with watery blue eyes; fragile, with bony limbs I wanted to snap.

After watching him snort two more giant lines, I told him I had to take a piss.  He took off his clothes and I signaled for him to lie down in the bathtub.  He did as I said, but left his black socks on, which really made me want to beat the shit out of him.  I undressed slowly, with my back to him; all the while, he was running his mouth about all the things he hoped I wouldn’t do to him, but explaining that but that I am ultimately free to do if I really want–he would never presume to challenge my authority.  Once he was done running his mouth, I balance myself on the side of the bathtub, towering over him and starting to piss on his face. He turned his face to the side and when I turned the stream onto his dick he covered it with both hands.  I slipped back onto the floor and turned the shower on.

“It’s too cold,” he whined.  As the water warms up he folds over himself and covers his face with his hands.

All the while, I was thinking: What’s going on? In my mind, I was back in time and sitting in a feminist discussion group where the kind of sex I was having then, the kind of sex that I routinely have, would be branded EXTREMELY NON-CONSENSUAL.   I’m about to get branded with a scarlet P for starting to engage in sexual activity with someone while they were drunk, especially sans safe word.

As these self-defeating and shameful thoughts went through my head, I notice that Dwayne, still lying in the tub, was crying like a baby.  I got in the bathtub with him and started stroking his leg: “Are you alright?”

“I just can’t do it,” he said.

At this point, I was ready for any excuse he had to offer: repressed memories of childhood rape, gay Republican, anything.

“I just can’t have sex with a tranny.”

Now, I know that I pass relatively well, but for fucks sake, he picked me up at an Original Plumbing release party – a magazine for trans men – and he ran his hand over the front of my daisy dukes enough times that I really didn’t feel like further disclosure was necessary.  Apparently it was.  Transitioning to crisis de-escalation mode, I rubbed his hand and told him it was okay, though I didn’t understand why he was crying.  A hook up that is a bust isn’t really that dramatic, or uncommon, in my book.  I at least wait to process my drunk regrets until we’ve parted ways and I then I text ex-boyfriends on the way home – but not him.

With waterfalls of yellow and blue snot cascading out of his nose, Dwayne looked even more pitiful than before. Like a toddler, I wiped the mucous off of his face and let the water from the still-running shower wash my fingers.

He started blabbering again, this time about the disappointment he has in himself–that as an academic who studies queer theory he couldn’t understand his inability to cross the cis-trans gay man desire divide.  I’m still not sure what reading books has to do with having boners, but I let the man talk.  His mouth kept moving, saying something about  Andy Warhol movies and he mentioned that he had studied under Judith Butler, all while I continued to wipe the snot and the tears from his sad, unremarkable face. It’s okay to not be attracted to someone because they are trans, I wanted to tell him. I’m not sure that I think it’s true, but I know it’s real.

“I’m so sorry – it must be so difficult to be a trans person, it’s so unfair.”

“It’s not about fairness,” I  told him, explaining that it would be nice if attraction happened regardless of their race or size or HIV status or whether or not they were trans, but that, according to a small but in-depth survey of Adam4Adam profiles, that isn’t what happens.  I personally thought it was morally acceptable for him to not be attracted to me, even if he didn’t think I was hot sans the 8 inch dick he’d previously anticipated me having.  I have fucked and dated and loved gay men who did, and I would again.

“Well, that’s very optimistic of you,” he says, “I mean, if I can’t do it, then who could?”

At this point, I was longer listening to anything he was blabbering about.  I wasn’t thinking of murdering him for considering fucking me as a social service.  Or thinking about the guilt I sometimes feel for being trans, of the fact that my body is a burden, or that I have to compensate for being trans by giving hour-long blow jobs and no questions asked unprotected sex.   Instead, my mind drifted back to my childhood, back to the mountains of New Mexico where I spent my life as a child–separate from people and immune to all this complicated bullshit.  I thought of summers of climbing up fallen, mossy, tree trunks and dropping into the river below; of a world I was the master of, before my life seemed to be a body and identity game of trying to guess what unspoken self is be unquestionably worthy of love and affection.

I got out of the bathtub.  He followed me, saying: “You could stay here alone tonight.”  I knew that if I took him up on the offer, he would make it not worth it.  I called my friend Stephen who picked up the phone drunk at some bar in Manhattan and told him that I went home with some guy who freaked out about me being trans.  Stephen misunderstood and started talking to me in code, like he knew he was supposed to if I was on a bad trick, but I was too exhausted to explain.

He sounded like a drunk post from Courtney Love on Twitter.

After I hung up, Dwayne, who reminded me that his name was Romi-not-Dwayne, asked me for a cigarette.  We smoked together in the bed of the non-smoking room while I clicked through the contact list on my cell phone, hoping one of my friends would give me a reason to get out of here and a better place to spend what was left of the night.  Dwayne turned on the television and flipped through the channels looking for porn.  He asked me if I wanted to masturbate next to him and when I said no, asked  if I knew any ‘guy’ hookers who would come over. It was now 4:30 in the morning.  He thought that I might enjoy watching someone else fuck the shit out of him.

This was all getting very irritating.  I propped myself up on my elbows and said “So, if I was a bio boy and came in here – beat the shit out of you, dosed you with GHB.  Started fucking you without lube or a condom then robbed you after leaving you laying in a pile of vomit – how would you have felt about that?”

“I probably would have loved it,” he whined,  “I’m sick, I just want people to do bad things to me.”  He sounded like a drunk post from Courtney Love on Twitter.  I asked, “Do you think you went to the Original Plumbing party looking for degradation, looking to pick up someone who would make you feel like a bad person, and that on some level you knew I was trans?”

Since I was no longer performing absolution duties, Dwayne stopped responding to me.  I put my clothes on, which were still wet from the bathtub situation. I then riffled through his stuff and emptied the contents of his wallet: $64 and the two remaining Adderall capsules.  I told him,
“I’m taking this as cab fare.”

Still starring at the TV, he spoke to me in flat tone,
“Leave me something to work with he says don’t be a bad person like I am.”

I let one of the pills roll out of my hand and walked back out into the sticky, quickly fading, New York City night.

This essay was originally read as part of the Formerly Known As series on June 2, 2011, and was published on Cyd’s website at http://cydnova.wordpress.com

Comments

  1. Oli

    Damn Cyd yes!

    • Cyd

      Thanks oli!

  2. Gauge

    Wow. Fuck that guy.(no pun intended)

  3. Plasmo

    Look I’ve gotta stand up for this guy. Not that how he acted in this situation was right. BUT subby guys can be insecure as fuck.

    First off, I really doubt that breaking his intellecto PC code of fucking had any sort of fantasy element to it. He was probably just under the impression he didn’t have any limits or boundaries. He clearly didn’t have the communication skills to assert boundaries or to even fully understand and articulate what he wanted, because in his head he wanted to be used. So when he wound up crying in the bathtub, that was just him acting in his nature. He didn’t know how to say no, and was probably very disappointed in himself for letting down someone he was just calling sir. Sure that has an interplay with SM behavior, but not necessarily fantasy or desire.

    You get this in badly made dominatrix porn, where subby straight guys watch some unrealistically violent scene, then go out to a IRL dominatrix expecting to be taking hour long whippings and 12″ cocks, then end up getting 5 minute long light whippings and maybe a buttplug (i don’t even know if pro doms practice pegging). That simply isn’t how people work.

    Dwyne’s desire to sleep with a transguy could have something to do with the sissy hate in gay male circles. He could have been looking for someone who understood gender in a more layered sense. But until he stops considering himself sick and starts being more positive in his kinkiness (he’s in NY ffs, probably one of the best places to be kinky) he was clearly not going to find that in a transguy.

    Maybe I’m not getting the entire situation, but he could have known you were trans but expected to just straight out get fucked. That has more to say about the language of power dynamics and tranny sex than this guy being a twat. He clearly was a twat, but come on? You’ve painted him to be virtually subhuman. That’s what he wants you to believe, really he’s just submissive.

    • Cyd

      I’m not sure if you understand the concept of ‘telling a story’ – it isn’t ‘fair and balanced coverage’ – it comes from a perspective. I don’t think it’s my responsibility to create sympathetic characters – which apparently I did because you obviously feel a sense of empathy with him, which had I painted him as subhuman you wouldn’t have (and it wasn’t what I was trying to convey – I found him annoying and rude and very human).

      I doubt he was crying because of some sub bottoming out – he was crying because he was drunk, tweaked out, had an idea of things going a certain way and that idea was wrong. But the story isn’t about him, it’s about me. So hence, how it’s written

      • Plasmo

        That’s legit. Of course this is just a story, a good one at that. I’m just trying to throw in a different perspective on wtf could have been going down in Dwyne’s head.

        In the piece you suggested he was getting some sort of pleasure from his i can’t fuck a transguy apparent failure as a queer studies blah blah blah. What I’m putting forth is that he was just acting in his nature. Was it the booze and drugs? Probably a bit, but most people still have some basic emotional response even when completely out of it. Just because his response to the situation was childish to no end, doesn’t mean he wasn’t genuinely bummed out, in an absolute no SM sort of way. That said, you were there, not me, so this is really is blind shooting.

        Should you change the story for “representation”, fuck no. The story is great, amusing as hell and deliciously truthful. You owe nothing to Dwyne, he was a shithouse hookup and basically transphobic. But maybe I vaguely do.

        • Ha, I didn’t actually believe he was fetishizing as a way of experiencing degradation – hooking up with a trans guy and not being able to follow through with it – at least not on a conscious level. At that point I was just trying to be mean and fuck with his head like he was doing with mine, I hope that – in the interest of honesty – I did portray that accurately.

      • Abbie Cohen

        I don’t know, Cyd, the narrator gets annoyed, but Dwayne is the one going through all the changes. Your narrator is more of an observer, like the Hussy, because he never loses control of the situation. In any case, fascinating material. I enjoyed reading this.

    • Ollie

      I think that anyone who comes out with such bullshit as the whole ‘if me, being *so* enlightened and politically correct and generally awesome can’t fuck a trans person then how could aaaanybody’ the problem your dealing with is arrogance, rather than clueless and overly eager to please submission.

      Submission just isn’t routed in the idea that you’re doing a dom a huge favour by giving them your attention, neither does it come from having a low self esteem…. its all privilege and entitlement.

  4. Wow, thanks for this story. I’m not sure I would characterize your portrayal of Dwyne as “subhuman” at all. Kinda douchy and not great at dealing with his own emotions and guilt, but very very human.

    I feel can relate really intensely to both characters in your story and, in some ways, feel like it pretty much sums up some of the complicated struggle I have with my own sexuality.

    On the one hand, being a trans man and often feeling like my being trans ends up being the thing that pushes guys who would otherwise be attracted to me (or ARE attracted to me) away, often at inconvenient times like when we’re about to have sex and they get weirded out or suddenly in touch with what they want and what they want is not a trans guy. It is frustrating and never helps my self esteem to be in that situation because on the one hand, it sucks, and on the other hand, people are attracted to who they are attracted to and can’t blame someone for not being attracted to me. There’s this back and forth of wanting to “take care of” the person who feels guilty for not being attracted to me and wanting to be like, “screw you, I’m gonna take care of myself and my own feelings of inadequacy, you can deal with your own feelings yourself”

    Then the part where I can relate to Dwayne comes from partially really wanting to believe that a guy being trans or cis “should” not be a factor in being attracted to him, but then having feelings/desires/lackthereof surrounding how I actually feel when I sleep with a trans guy (like, the flirting and makeout part might be kinda fun, then I usually get bored/uncomfortable when clothes come off cause it’s not my thing), so the difference between trans guys and cis guys becomes really glaringly obviously painfully real when faced with a situation where I am not attracted to someone for the exact reasons that tons of guys end up not being attracted to me that makes me feel super bad about myself. Intellectually deciding I should be attracted to someone doesn’t work if there’s no sexual attraction and it’s hard to swallow the way this applies to folks who aren’t into me too.

    Anyway, your post really spoke to me and brought things up for me that I really appreciate you for sharing (including your very human portrayal of Dwayne and his mis-directed/fucked up outlet of very real feelings)

    • Oh! Always an interesting subject – trans folks (who often exist in cis – peoples sexualities as an ‘other’) having discriminating sexualities themselves. The reality is that most people, even those people pleasing pansexuals, have characteristics that they are sexually attracted to, and sometimes those things are gender identities and sometimes they are body parts. I’m interested in talking about that in a way that doesn’t cast that as inherently problematic. Because the question: Why do you not want to fuck me? being answered with “because you do or don’t have a dick” is hard to say gracefully, regardless of who is saying it, but it is reality as you said. And I wont say that I don’t identify with you in having a sexuality that is primarily aimed towards cis men.

      • Ollie

        There’s two things that I’d like to put out there in regards to this comment…

        1) I totally agree with the fact that People Do Not Owe Anyone Sex, Or Sexual Attraction. Courtesy and Respect are generally things which people deserve, but your bits are all your own, and no one should feel pressured to have sex with another person.

        2) There *is* often something inherently problematic about using “because you do or don’t have a dick” to tell someone you don’t want to have sex with them in many circumstances.
        It often relies on cissexist ideas to determine who does or doesn’t have a dick*, and at the point when someone thinks that they’re qualified to tell someone what body parts they have then that has crossed a line – It’s one thing to tell a trans guy that you don’t want his dick anywhere near you, or even “You don’t have the kind of dick I’m after” but another, decidedly less okay thing to deny that his peen even exists, when he’s pretty damn sure that it does.

        *Also, I have a big feminist rant I could go off on about the fact that so many people use absence or presence of a penis to describe their sexual preferences, and to define people in general, in a distinctly phallocentric way that completely fails to realise that there’s more than empty space between someone’s legs if they happen to have a cunt, but that’s for another time…

        • Point well taken – I was referencing the story in the ‘because one does or doesn’t have a dick’ as a sexual desire qualifier, but as a general statement I do think that is a pretty unthoughtful concept. Although I don’t personally, I know most trans men talk about parts of their bodies as being dicks, and rightfully so – as the deviation in the world of penis’ should definitely include trans guy cocks.

          I do think your point about phallocentrism is interesting. When I think on it, some guys I’ve slept with have talked about how good it feels to fuck me but usually not specifically about loving my pussy/front hole/whatev’s – and when I think about gay guys talking about vagina, when they do at all, it’s been in the ‘I hate….’ vein.

          • I like both of your comments, all stuff I think about/struggle with a lot.

            I think it’s important to use positive language when talking about body parts, as in, I try to talk about what folks have, not what they don’t. I never fully know what to say about not being attracted to trans men though. I try and think about it in terms of what would feel good to hear, but it always feels almost equally shitty to hear (i mean, assuming the person makes an attempt to be tactful). I usually use kinda vague language like, “i’m not really into trans guys for sex, it just doesn’t work for me” or something, which doesn’t really feel like the right way to say it.

            it’s weird how, on a lot of levels, I know it’s not messed up to not be attracted to someone (and it’s not even attraction in general, I think all different types(and genders) of people are hot and would love to make out with all types of folks, but just have not desire to sleep with anyone who is not a cis man) but I still feel guilty, like it’s not fair, or like I am contributing trans guys feeling undesirable/inadequate like I often feel. It would be so awesome to just be like, “screw them” and just date other trans guys–like you said in your post, Cyd, I totally feel like my trans body is a burden that I need to compensate for in ways that are kinda shitty and being with trans guys would feel like a way to avoid those feelings, only it just doesn’t work.

            Anyway, it’s good to see you guys talking about stuff that I think about/deal with all the time

  5. Jillian Weiss

    I really liked this story. I laughed and felt the pathetic tug of my earlier similars dissolve from tragedy into comedy.

  6. Morgan M Page

    So powerful. Holy shit, can I relate to this.

    ~M

  7. I’ve also had experiences with cis gays who decided to use me as their “omg trans gays exist” therapist, when of course I was totally bored by their thoughts on the subject. A former good friend of mine spent the first 3 months of my transition giving me unsolicited explanations of why he would never fuck a trans guy even though he supported us politically — and I wasn’t even attracted to him! Not to mention the 2-night-stand who was obsessed with both his own total gayness and asking me unnecessary/awkward questions about my internal organs. Yawn/huh?

    I think this shit is about passive-aggressively asserting dominance. If you’re not on a power trip and you don’t want to fuck a trans guy, it’s super easy to just refrain from hitting on one and/or simply say “no thanks.”

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