This is going to be an embarrassing blog. A little x-rated, too, if your mind turns in that sort of direction. Should I start to age-rate my posts? Nah.
But health warning, all the same, to those easily ick-ed by physical stuff. This may not be for you.
Anyway , this is a sort of catch-up, both for those who have expressed a certain… indecorous curiosity … about where I am up to with the hormones and the, you know, “doing it”. Also for those who have asked about stuff going on “down there”.
Oh, what wondrous euphemisms we reach for when we start to talk the s-word. Yep. S-E-X. What’s it feel like, Jane? Are you getting any? What effect do the hormones have? And so on.
To which I answer: peaceful, no, and joy… in that order.
There is definitely a certain incendiary quality to my new hormone-saturated self. I cry more, feel sadder, happier, wholler. Loads of comparatives. But I also feel very much more at peace. The rushing, the testosterone-fuelled drive that was once there is gone and… in its place a much calmer, more measured approach to the world.
I am loving closeness, intimacy and shopping and coffee. Especially the last two…and I am smiling as I think how clichéd that must sound…my preferring coffee with a girlfriend to hot girl-on-anything action. But there it is.
That probably part explains why I’m “not getting any” – though that, too, is a plus. I feel free of the previous masculine imperative to DO things to other people. I don’t need to any more. So I don’t – and that removes one major source of nagging discomfort from my life.
Too, I doubt that I could much any more. Six months of oestrogen leaves one somewhat deflated and – we are about to pass the point of no return – with some degree of tissue deterioration. Oh, how I love the US moral madge, who see this trans stuff as some sort of sexual kink. Funny sort of kink, that leaves you incapable of doing anything about it.
Not that that bothers at all. Because over everything is this growing sense of joy. I am looking ahead to the op…and to a new beginning, post-op. Like Christmas and birthday and anniversary rolled into one. I remain happy, happy, happy…and that feeling is growing all the time.
So. Is that it? Is nothing at all happening as regards the s-thing? Er, not quite. The new boobs got taken out for a test drive the other night. No. That’s all the detail you’re getting! 🙂
But omg! OMG!!!
Talk about rabbit in headlights time. They’re still sore from all the recent tissue changes. Not quite so painful, but sensitive…so, so sensitive.
No-one warned me quite how sensitive they can be! Suffice it to say that blokes really don’t know what they are missing; and just as well, too, or they’d ALL be wanting them. Let’s just say I lay back and thought patriotic thoughts, paralysed by the sheer intensity of feeling a simple touch could bring. Did I say omg?
Think I could happily spend an entire night being pampered that way. Only drawback…next morning, they were sore. Utterly, screamingly so. Twas followed by a day or two of tight vests and crop tops – and still I winced every time I bent over or stretched.
There is, it seems, a price to pay for over-indulgence. Still, it was worth it at the time…and hopefully the downside will get less down, whilst the up-side remains.
So there you have it. Ick-ed? Serves you right…cause that means you ignored the warning and read all the way thru.
And now you can all stop asking.