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“How do I end this?” – A piece of writing from a trans sex worker.

The lovely lady in question allowed me to publish this on her behalf.

The Transsexual Stereotype

I do kind of feel like I’m fitting some kind of “true transsexual” stereotype by getting SRS and getting it so soon. And it’s true that I am getting it to “be a real woman”. And I feel guilty about this. I am a real woman and I feel guilty that I would say otherwise and compromise my identity and by extension other trans female identities.

I always thought SRS would be the last thing I got. That I would be a more modern transsexual woman, sporting a girlcock underneath the femme business suit and subverting genital biological essentialism. But nope. I am just reaffirming it.

Penile Privileges
As I have discovered this year, having a penis and looking like a girl (and there is a reason I say girl here and not woman), can be an incredible money-making asset. Transsexual porn is widely known and hence men have grown to increasingly sexualize us but at the same time our occurence in nature is minute. This means the supply and demand curve is in our favor. As a transsexual sex worker there is a lot of money to be made.

My only regret is that I didn’t make more money. Instead I divided my time between my girlfriend and work and put up with diminishing returns by not touring. If the relationship had a happy ending then this might have been ok. Instead I have the history of 6mths of an unhappy relationship AND dysphoria, when I could have just had the dysphoria by itself and for a lesser period of time due to the lucrative income skyrocketing me to surgery. I would have been miserable, but I was miserable anyway.
Another bonus of having a penis is that it makes for tactile sensations whilst penetrating. It’s ideal for penetrative sex with another woman. I’m also very forutnate in that I am in the minority of trans women who have lower than detectable levels of testosterone, yet can get it up on command.

Unfortunately, PIV sex with another woman triggers me. It still feels good but it feels bad. I also get very jealous (I would rather switch roles!) and penile stimulation doesn’t feel anywhere as near as good to compensate; it’s as if my penis has been injected with local aneasthetic.

In short, my penis is pretty useless at it’s job of giving me pleasure, but it is a lucrative little organ.

Socially Triggered Dysphoria
I have well meaning cis friends and acquaintances who do trigger me, but by far the main source of my distress is my job.

I think I could be a cis sex worker and be content doing so. Trans sex work is just a constant assault on my identity. On busy days the money feels so good and sometimes I will even end the night smiling. But more often than not I will finish the night feeling soulless and empty. It’s not the sex. It’s what my clients say…
• “I have never been with a tranny before”
• “I have never been with a shemale before”
• “I have never been with a man before”
• “I have a girlfriend but she is a real woman”
• “So when are you getting the operation to become a woman?”
• “Yeah it’s not my first time, I saw this other tranny a few months ago and he was really good”
• Just checking but, you are a bloke right? Like, you still have a penis?

The first time it happens I am angry… By the umpteenth time it happens, I don’t feel like a woman anymore. And it is the worst feeling. Because when I don’t feel like a woman, I feel dead. An empty shell. With no purpose, no strength, no willpower, no drive, no personality. Just a husk.

I go through jobs on autopilot, but clients do pick up on the mood. The sessions are short and unsatisfying and they often put their feelings of discomfort (a direct result of my poor quality of work) down to transsexual women just not being as good as the real thing.
Sometimes I have the strength in me to fight it. But aggression isn’t conducive to work either. The only option is to repress and grit my teeth.

This needs to end. I can’t do this indefinitely. I’m worry that the soulless emptiness will dominate me forever until I die. I worry that eventually I will just accept my fate as being a “tranny” and not a woman and lose myself and my very essence of being. It’s like pre transition all over again.

How do I end this?
I could go with my original plan and get FFS etc and then get a straight job. But I won’t have a fallback plan and that pesky girl penis is still a liability. Or I could get SRS. It’s the last remaining solid bit of evidence that I’m trans. And once it is gone it doesn’t matter what I do, as long as I’m not outed (and I’m pretty sure I can bluff anyone who does suspect) my identity will be sacrosanct. I can try putting my degree to good use. Or I can continue sex work. I may have to endure being an ugly butch girl (not that they are mutually inclusive) but at least I will be a girl.

Furthermore, disclosure will no longer plague me. I can go out to gay or straight bars and flirt and dance as much as I like, comfortably knowing that I have nothing to worry about if a stray hand goes down there… As opposed to crying myself to sleep after a night out.

Perceived Biologically-derived Dysphoria
I have issues with having a penis. Sometimes it feels okay, but these occasions are rare. More often than not I find my hand gravitating between my legs and gripping my cock as if to crush it out of existence. It’s completely subconscious and has been going on ever since I can remember. In fact there are photos of me when I was 4 years old with my with one hand in my pants and another in my nose. I’m not sure what the significance of the nose-picking was but when I look at it, the feelings associated with that dick-death-grip are visceral. It’s like a hardware incompatibility. It’s just not meant to be.
I kind of wish it was. It would make my life easier.

As for vaginas, they seem incredibly appealing and I am incredibly jealous of individuals who have them. I have no justification other than the thought of one feels natural. This of course is in direct conflict with patriarchal discourse which is inherently phallocentric and sees vaginas as nothing more than fuckholes. To the patriarchy I say this: fuck you and fuck your phallus, I will gladly trade mine in for a “fuck-hole”, because no matter how disgusting it is seen, no matter how crude or inferior, to me the ugliest and worst vagina in the world is still superior to the biggest, hardest cock in existence. I’m sorry but vaginas are just better.

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One thought on ““How do I end this?” – A piece of writing from a trans sex worker.

  1. And as it turns out that was the best decision I ever made.

    The surgery left me broke and homeless (which has happened before). The recovery was brutal. I bled. a lot.

    I had several fallouts among “friends” who did not help me in my vulnerable state but I had others who shone through.

    When the last girl I was reliant on, kicked me out back onto the streets, I took the last $100 in my bank account and got a room in a cheap motel and put out an ad. I turned that 100 into a thousand in the first night and then the rest was history.

    I find it ironic when I hear of cis (people who identify with the sex they were assigned at birth) working ladies who get accused of being transsexuals. Since getting the operation I haven’t had one accusation.

    Life felt hard and brutal and not at all worth living. But now it feels too good to be true. I keep wondering when the dream will end. When will I wake up from this utopia and back to the hell I knew as “life” for all those years? I hope it never happens. For the first time in my life I feel real. And no It’s not even the vagina. It’s because for the first time ever I am being treated like a human being.

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