Break the taboo: lets talk about trans sex

Talking about trans sex is taboo, but I ache to break the rules. I’m tired of cis people talking about trans people with disgust or pity and think it’s high time we claim a more complete sexual well-being. So let’s get talking! 

I’ve found myself in a juicy professional niche: trans-affirmative sexology. It’s something I could talk about all day. As a nonbinary trans woman therapist working in community, reflecting on empowerment, pleasure and sex is a part of my job. Non-monogamy inclusive, BDSM informed, Queer, feminist, liberationist sex—there’s a whole new world beyond Dan Savage!

The gender binary reduces us to our genitals and how we fuck (anti-trans bigots even talk about ‘large gamete people’ like that’s a thing and not something they made up). This reductive idea is why cis people are fascinated with affirmation surgery but also why pegging is so titillating; it transgresses the binary. The societal anxiety over trans people confusing the gender binary by jumping categories or erasing boundaries looms large in trans communities. We bear the brunt of it in doctor’s offices when they ask us, yet again, ‘But what if you want kids someday?’. We feel the tension when, on a date with a cis person, we’re unsure how they’ll react when we get under the covers, and we stress over the unfair scrutiny others place on our bodies.

Growing up, my first glimpse of a trans person was Miriam from There’s Something About Miriam, a reality television show from 2004. The dating show's drama hinged on the 'big reveal' that Miriam was trans. The contestants reacted with disgust and betrayal, mimicking the dangers of disclosure in real-life dating (see: ‘trans panic defence’ where courts reduce the sentence if a cis man murders a trans person after learning they are trans). It was also the era of NCIS, Law and Order: SVU and other procedural crime shows, where showrunners showed trans women as murdered sex workers or serial killers. For trans mascs, representation was and remains scant, except for the occasional desexualised or traumatised t-boy. 

TV aside, the other place I saw trans people was in porn, most of which consisted of hypersexualised trans women with giant penises and breast augmentations. Things haven’t changed much since then. Studios continue to make ‘trans’ fetish porn for chasers, mostly cis men who are attracted to trans people because of their gender experience rather than their individuality. Reality TV punchline, murder victim, sex object; with only these portrayals on offer, it was tough to envision a safe or pleasurable future for myself. I’ve worked to reject those one-dimensional stereotypes but, more importantly, to find my way towards a positive sexuality.

My quest for sexual well-being started simply: connecting to my desire and pursuing it. I started telling myself that I was worthy of pleasure and began asking partners for what I wanted. This meant accepting my desirability, something I’d thought about only abstractly. Oh, my partner says I’m hot, so they must be attracted to me, I would think to myself. I needed to believe in my own beauty, a belief that I cultivated through playing with cosmetics, fashion and photography. Doctors and lawmakers medicalise transition so much that the experience becomes desexualised and sterile. 

It’s a headfuck to go from being disconnected from my own body, a mere brain in a vat, to living in a body that I like, that my wife and lovers desire, and that people see as pretty (my social privileges notwithstanding). At the same time, I live in a society where some people are so disgusted by trans people that they turn to bigotry and violence. Discussions about trans people and transness centre discrimination and trauma, but pleasure is worth spending time on, too. Without it, we trap ourselves in a language of problems that can lead us to despair. With pleasure, we gain access to euphoria and desirable futures. 

In a recent workshop that I facilitated, a participant raised Audre Lorde’s The Erotic as Power, a text that I read often. As I wade into work and navigate trauma, I also make time for pleasure, including the erotic. I want that for my trans siblings. The trans people I know are having adventurous, ethical and empowered sex, perhaps because we’ve already overcome barriers to live our lives authentically, moving from shame to self-expression, and that’s advantageous to satisfying sex. Trans people can be sexy, and we should be able to talk about it without fear of discrimination or fetishisation.