How Sex is Different

I was never attracted to women sexually. I enjoyed them as friends, as lively, pretty creatures, who spiced the world with colors and their talk. I had no crushes in grammar school. I had one good friend, who happened to be a girl, Monica,  but we got mercilessly teased over innocent play. 

  Somewhere around age 10 I learned to masturbate, and that was like getting a direct link to the life force itself. I was a loner child and this was my principal after school activity. I later found out that my Catholic mentors said it was a bad sin, but this happened too late too care. Somehow my masturbating became fused with my physical/emotional need to clothe myself in soft, colorful sweaters--covering as much as my body as I good . Similarly I loved the idea of total touch represented by stockings and tights, to which I never had access. This photo from a Glamour magazine cover represented my ultimate sexual, masturbatory thrill.

But I did not get sexually aroused. I discovered in my late teens, in porno stores, that I was far more attracted to lesbian depictions of love and relationships. Not at all to raw, brutal heterosexual sex. Somewhat intermediate interest in gay sex amount teens and 20-something's, especially those that told a story, those with erotic fiction, with and without photos.

   My hetero sex experience didn't start until age 22 with my staff assistant at work, a manic-depressive gal who was off her medications.  Then it was in medical school at 26 with a nurse in medical school, spunky short gal with pageboy cut. I did't work, of course, in any of these encounters. And I felt so out of place. What was this all about? What was I looking for here? Why was always more about trying to fill social/parental expectations than about any internal drive, of which I had none. It was all homework--painful exercises in trying to find out what it was all about.

    I went through 3 (inappropriate) marriages between 1779 - 2006. The first had been my therapist and turned out to be 10 years older than

Me (she lied about that) and was focused only on try to have surrogate children. She quit as soon as the surrogacy failed, which was a relief to me. The second woman was sexually robust and dragged me through a number of novel experiences--most notably emy first experience with cross-dressing. While I loved it. It didn't go far since she was too into S&M for me. What held us together for 10 years were her two sons, Ges 3 and 4 when we met. We all fell in love with each other at first site--the best part by far of the marriage. The marriage overall had become quickly painful as she turned out to have classic borderline personality disorder--"I hate you. Don't leave me." Try as I would I could hang on to the boys in such a context, so I left.

   My next marriage was to a poised, sharp looking, assertive woman who was a manager of a division for a Fortune 500 company. We met at a community-building workshop. We came from the same town. I first noticed her in her opening statement in which she tearfully explained her troubles having a child, which is all she ever wanted.

   We started dating right after the workshop and too quickly moved In together. She was very, dry  serious about having a child (left her last husband because he wouldn't cooperate) so first it was natural cycled quit enhanced by clonus, then artificial insemination, and finally the full in vitro program(which she had promised me we would never have to do. 3 attempts cost $100 K, never succeeded, and was followed by a series of adoptions, the first after only 7 months of waiting, the 2nd 16 months. And the third didn't arrive until October 2004, just as we were about to quit. This, of course , was too late. I had moved out of the master bedroom a year earlier after not having any sex since the second year of our marriage. There was no real sex in this marriage. It was all purely instrumental--just a means to an end. In fact she was frigid, and I was more or less neutered.

   So when I left in 2010, my view if heterosexual experience was only that it was a short, object focused (penis) experience that usually ended very quickly after it began. When it was over, it was over. Then to bed. No glow in the morning. If this was it, I sure wasn't going to miss it.

  Having failed 3 highly motivated heterosexual marriages, I felt damaged--like must be in the wrong body. Suspected really that I might be gay. This despite the fact that I had never been sexually attracted to any man, but I had this hunger for a good buddy, a guy like me, who might want to share masturbation and sex.

      I tried. First with a interesting man who was a Chinese priest desperately looking for a male partner. Fizzled our quickly; I never came. Then a month later Michael called me as a new member of the Reno Prime atimer's club. He was about as wounded as I was. He had had a 40 year old marriage to a woman whom he nursed through the final stages of Alzheimer's disease. He had however been always a gay man with a number of long-term male relationships on the side. They were all gone now, so we were in the same place. I was more recently wounded, abs he was sensitive about that. We started very tentatively with the sex, no pressure to perform, I couldn't get really erect, I could get him off with difficulty.?With patience we both got to working quite well, once a day, around 4 pm. We'd watch TV most of the rest of the time. Two very comfortable pees in a pod...for Months. As described below, my sexual needs quckly evolved from simple mutual blow jobs to accommodating a strong and rather feminine sweater fetish, which he put up with. It wasn't until I finally had to tell him that not just did I want to wear feminine clothes, I imagined myself as his woman while we had sex. This turned out to be more than he could cope with, and I was very soon afterwards ushered out.

   Sex with Michael had unquestionably been the best and most satisfying I had ever had. It was very penis centered, but in a direct matter-of-fact way. Nine of that cot "Are you in the mood bullshit?" Our love making went 30-40 minutes, which was longer and more exciting than with any of my female partners. And we lingered afterwards. Both basking in the physical glow of pitocin, which I had never known before. It is very powerful, soul-fulfilling stuff. One of the nice things about me and Mikevwasbthatbweveach could be completely genuine in our awkwardness and trying new things. It was ok. We were both looking for successful new experiences. Of course, he dumped me like a heel, accusing me of using him, and my love letter to him saying I loved him and really wanted to be his girl fell on deaf, and rather offended ears.

Alone again. Naturally. Now what. I had learned. However oddly it may have evolved, this coming together of a female persona who loved dressing up was palpably real. I needed to find a way to get this. The odds weren't good. Gays wanted men. Lesbians wanted lesbians. There were too few transgender folk who could embrace both gender identities. Most of them (mtf) wanted to be women and were looking for a basic guy without ever addressing their transgender or transsexual experience.

   I identified as bigender. My male experience was successful at work, just not personally. I was good at what I did. I liked sports. My feminine side was a new and hungry being that was far more tied into sexual urges than any other part of my life. Since I was mostly in the world as a male, I thought it likely that I would first encounter a woman, a woman , who if at all interested , would immediately be told that I was a hormone-taking transgender person.

   What do you know, on my first time out I found a woman with a big crush on

Me the man, and who when I disclosed Colleen as the more important part of the two of, she immediately embraced--"Oh gosh, this is getting the best of both worlds."

We did not waste much time before making love. It was different. First just lying there was so much fun. Stroking and kissing suddenly demanded a lot of time. When I stroked here genitals, there was an immediate hyper responsiveness that came of ca;"36 year old sexless marriage. It was such a relief to me not to have to worry about erections or penetration. For the first month or two we had to use a vibrator to bring me to release. I range all the way from soft to fully erect, being semi -erect most of the time. It feels good all the time. It is very responsive to her mouth and tongue, and my breasts and nipples are even more responsive. They are where my true girl resides and comes alive.  My orgasms mostly come when she is sucking my nipples and I am manually stroking my prnis--an ecstatic space to be in.  My orgasms are longer. Whole body in location, with prolonged and numerous aftershocks. Her orgasms are usually multiple and prolonged. The real climax is the pitocin flush afterwards that relaxes us both and sends us to sleep in each other's arms. As a man I had never experienced anything with even a tenth of the power. My lesbian lover and I are truly happy. And so many if the little things we do for each other can be done during so many ordinary activities at home. My conclusion is that Lesbians definitely have more fun.

Can clothing Really be that Important?

I grew up one of twin boys, non identical to be sure, but enough alike that my mother dressed us in the same clothes until age 5.  I personally did not care about clothes at all except for noticing some of the cashmere sweaters my mother wore. Probably for that reason (it felt so heavenly soft on our cheeks when she held us to her chest) I developed my collection of favorite sweaters--navy, green, red, light blue, white, striped, orange and brown. I wanted a pink one like my mother's but that was not to be.

   Boys clothes just covered nakedness. There was absolutely no secondary gain to be achieved. That's where girls get it so much righter. They create splashes and splatters of colors and textures and accessories everywhere. The differences and distinctions are critical to status, and being, and self satisfaction. A few rebellious teen males and rock groups get this, but by and large the mass of men have not. Muddy shoes, dirty t-shirts, torn jeans do anonymously fine. I went through both grade school and highschool without questioning these norms. 

It wasn't till college, where I was very alone, had a little money to spend, with ready access to stores, that my quest for self at least asserted that I am someone who loves sweaters , the more exotic, (and the more feminine) the better. I would spend weeks planning a buy, imagining at night in the upper bunk of a dorm bed, how it would look and feel on me. And, yes, I would usually masturbate, as quietly as one could in such circumstances. As soon as one sweater was caught and added to the sweater drawer, the quest was on for the next sweater. Nothing brought me more to life in college than this little ritual.

After college I worked in the community as a youth program director for a while before going pre-med for 2 years and finally getting into Penn Medical  school . School had me so busy I didn't think of much other than the curriculum for most of the time. There was neither enough time or interest to ever go dating. My standard outfit was just khakis and a polo shirt. My goal was NOT to stand out.

Much time and many marriages later my third wife took an interest in how I looked. She was especially interested in sweaters, and thus began a quality new collection that soon became as exciting as in my college years. This marriage too, alas, wasn't going anywhere, but when I left I had both a great sweater collection and a sexual identity disorder.  Having failed dramatically at 3 separate marriages, I considered myself a failure as a man, at least as a hetero-man.

As described in another essay below, I turned out not to be a great success as a gay guy, although it was a step better than what I had known. The most important thing I learned from Michael is that what I wear is very important to ME, that sweaters expressed me best when I thought of myself a man, but that I was both open to and in fact desperately wanted alternative ways of dressing--like a woman. I remember my first 'crossing the line' purchase for myself was the decision over Thanksgiving 2010 to use my iPhone to order a gray-green knit large-collared sweater dress from Old Navy costing $36. It was an immediate and fantastic hit. Next I got myself some tights to go with it. My new sleeping uniform became my sweater dress and tights. Oh, I loved the total body sensation from the clothes extending toes to neckline. I felt more peaceful and secure going to sleep. I felt more magical and alive waking up as a woman. I was always sad to take them off for plain old chinos and polos for work over the next few years.

This first plain but elegantly soft sweater dress was soon joined by more expensive red one and a jeweled red plum dress. I felt like a Queen--the way I wanted to feel. The depth of the sensation for me even prompted me to some crude poetry--the new language of my feminizing life.

Now, as I dress, I d so not for any erotic pleasure, but just to celebrate a right way of feeling. I had no inkling that I might be transgender until age 63, and it was the clothes--my sweaters, tights, dresses, and yes, ultimately panties that found me and led the way. Clothes can make the man, and clothes made this man into a woman.