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Nomi Ruiz thought she was leaving pleasure behind, but her post-op experiences shook her mind and body. I began writing this essay months ago and set it aside after feeling it may be too explicit. While the transition process is not an easy one, it is merely a slight portion of the trans experience. One that can be compared to puberty — a time that is confusing, lonely, vulnerable and depressing for all of us, regardless of gender. But for some reason, the sensationalism of a before and after story is what media, journalists, producers and writers seem to focus on as opposed to being progressive and exposing further nuances of our experience.
This may be due to the fact that most media is produced by and for a male gaze that fears the fact that trans women are desired by cis het men — the same men who have fulfilling sexual encounters with us. The sad trans narrative also makes it easier for our oppressors to paint us as mental cases and messes. It validates their confusion and empowers them to continue ostracizing us as well as those who love and desire us. The more these sad stories are told, the more we internalize them and feed them back to our own communities, making it easier to stew in our own sadness than pursue a life of fulfillment.
So now, I'll do my part Beautiful post op counter Beautiful post op narrative by tossing my story into the ether — regardless of how revealing or explicit it may be. Early in my transition, I was fed pessimistic anecdotes by other trans women, and ended up carrying these perspectives with me throughout my trans adolescence. I was told I would never get a job so I should pursue sex work, that I would never be loved because a man would always leave me for a cis person, and that if I pursued reasment surgery I would never experience the true pleasure that cis women experience.
I was told not to be proud of my transness and instead should pursue the cis American dream of white picket fences and fear. I used these ideas to validate my low self-esteem and insecurities and they enabled me from taking responsibility for a darkness that existed within me, beyond gender issues. Thankfully, once I grew past Beautiful post op transition, I took responsibility for the emotions I let dictate my life choices.
I am aware that trans bodies exist on a spectrum. I always wished I could be like girls who embrace their bodies without longing for confirmation surgery. For a long time, I tried, but eventually had to face the fact that I was on another end of the spectrum. But nonetheless, all ro eventually lead to sex and being uncomfortable in your own skin definitely has an affect on one's sex life. It always took time for me to let go with lovers and when I finally did, I still had internal boundaries. I never fully embraced the idea of receiving pleasure. I focused solely on this submissive need to please, which may have been innate, but was further fed by my insecurity.
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 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.
I chose a surgeon in Thailand because he came highly recommended — and his services included a month of supervised recovery. During my consultation, we spoke about my sexual goals and whether I cared more about penetration or clitoral sensation. This would determine where he would focus the redistribution of tissue and nerve endings. 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.
I weighed all the options and decided I was willing to take the risks. And so I creeped toward the edge of that building, looked down at the street beneath, jumped, and never looked back. I was bedridden for a month. I stayed in a hotel affiliated with the surgery center and nurses came to check in on a daily basis. 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.
An integral part of post operative care that while painful at first eventually became somewhat of a pleasure. One night, in the dark chill of my air-conditioned room, I began my dilation routine. Holding the dilator inside me, I decided to explore rather than simply hold it in place as suggested. My fear of injury began to subside and my movements slowly began to accelerate.
I could feel myself pushing at a point of pleasure deep Beautiful post op and what was once a routine requirement became a beautiful moment of self pleasure. Orgasms used to be urgent and violent but this was a rising tide that plateaued and rose higher each time it resurfaced, repeating itself. The moment of release instead became a drawn-out sensation that gave way to an explosive inner orgasm. As 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.
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. There was no blood, but the sheets were indeed wet, and so was I. Could it have been from my orgasm? No one ever spoke to me about orgasms or self-lubricating post surgery.
Self-lubrication was not something I ever expected to experience in my lifetime. My confusion and curiosity led to a second attempt at achieving orgasm — this time with the lights on. Once again my orgasm began to rise and gave way to the tide that rose in me moments before. Much to my delight, a beautiful translucent fluid Beautiful post op to flow from me and down onto the sheets as I came. This was beyond any expectations I had and I was now full of hope and excitement for what my sex life could become. After settling into the idea that receiving pleasure was even an option, I had to then realize there was a huge difference between pleasing myself and being pleased by others.
I began by exploring with lovers I had been with in the past who were eager to show me how they could please me post-op. I went through a phase of blaming myself for every bad sexual experience I had. I was once again using my transness to validate insecurities instead of allowing myself to explore and seek solutions.
One of my first experiences receiving oral sex post-op was a nightmare. It was painful and lasted way too long. At this point I had mastered inner and outer orgasms on my own and assumed it would be just as easy with lovers. My mind and body were finally in synch and I began to expand and even lubricate during peaks of penetrative pleasure. We listened and learned from one another, allowing for a reciprocal exchange of energy and pleasure to flow between us, and I was even able to give into my submissive nature while receiving all that I was giving in return.
I no longer allow myself or others to blame anything on my transness nor do I view it as something that limits me. My transition taught me the value in reaching for my truth. It also showed me that investing in self-confidence is paramount to exploring all the nuances of pleasure that exist within me. It's kept me grounded in joy and pleasure regardless of limits placed on me and my community by those who choose to portray us as lost and broken.
Nomi Ruiz is a writer, singer, songwriter, and producer. Follow her on Instagram nomiruiz. All Rights Reserved. Subscribe To The Advocate. Search form Search. Scroll To Top. Photography: Nicolas Quinteros. I was in shock. Tags: CommentaryTransgenderLove and Sex. Latest News Out Traveler.Beautiful post op
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