Trans Kissing

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Trans Kissing
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My kiss with Amanda would weigh on me for 21 years, well after I had gotten into the right body.
Mar 20, 2015, 03:00 PM EDT | Updated Dec 6, 2017
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My kiss with Amanda would weigh on me for 21 years, well after I had gotten into the right body.
Oh I had such a crush on her. We met in preschool at the YMCA, where one morning my dad taught all the kids how to make paper airplanes, and the air filled with white sheets folded down to the nose.
We did not see each other again until water polo games twelve years later, when Amanda played for the team at the high school across town. Coupling up under the rivalry was in vogue among our friends.
It would be another year or so before I started dating guys, let alone gender transitioned. Maybe Amanda was a little bit of a tomboy, maybe it was the chumminess of water polo or just the gleam in her face, whatever it was smote me all the more.
I invited her to go down to the river; I wanted to kiss her there. In the years since, the growth of the subdivision out by our spot -- where someone tied up a rope swing that a generation had used to fling themselves into the water -- would transform the walk along the railroad tracks and down through the wooded grove into a series of backyards.
That afternoon it was still no man's land, it was everyone's and ours alone and we were the only ones there.
Of course the couple hours Amanda and I spent chatting at the water's edge with our toes in the mud amounted to torture. Each minute that passed meant another minute that I had frittered away. I hung onto every word she said, mostly because each one came from her lips. I wanted to kiss her more than anything.
The day started to wind down, and still I had yet to make a move. The next thing I knew, the sun was making its way toward the horizon beyond the bluffs. It would get dark eventually. The time had come to go home.
I walked as slowly as I could. We made our way up the hill and toward the trees. Soon we would be past the grove and out in the open by the railroad tracks again. It would be too late then, I could not wait another second.
So I clasped her wrist, and I kissed her. She sort of kissed me back, but she also sort of twisted away.
Amanda had not wanted to kiss me. I had made her unhappy.
I dropped her off at home. We did not really speak again for the rest of high school.
Two decades passed, over which I felt horrible whenever I thought of what happened.
Once we became Facebook friends, I kept meaning to message her an apology. But just as I dallied in kissing her when we were young, so I fell short in working up the courage all these years later.
Until she posted her senior photo!! There was the Amanda I had crushed out on, smiling and gleaming and cuter than ever in reminiscence.
I wrote to say how sorry I was for mucking up our friendship, kissing her when she wasn't into it.
Oh no, girl, she wrote back, she had wanted me to!! If things had seemed weird, it was only because I was... her first kiss.
I bet I wrote about it in my journal, she said. And 15 minutes later, I was reading a PDF of a piece of lined paper from 1993, with a description of how the sunlight bled across the sky and dappled the world through the trees as I kissed her.
So after all this time, the memory she took away was the moment I had wanted to give her, and more.
I threw all caution to the wind and asked about that morning in preschool with the paper airplanes. She remembered.
Today, with the weight of the past having turned to a feather, only the unbearable lightness of being human still lingers: how many other moments did the insecurity of living in the wrong body cause me to miss?
Perhaps just as many as the memories that being transgender has yielded. My life would not be mine if I could change how it happened.
And besides, after my sex change I got to have some of my own first times all over again -- and then experience them once more in writing a memoir I am working on.
Inhabiting the right body is no guarantee that anything will else will follow. All it means is that now life may work in the correct medium -- like a study for a portrait that the future will paint:
But that is another story, to be continued...
This post concludes Part One of Being Transgender -- Naked , a project in multiple media examining personal identity in society today. Thank you for reading, and please stay tuned for more.




Cheryl Ann Sanders |



Jul 2, 2018


| 1 Reply




About the Author ( Author Profile )
Cheryl Ann Sanders was a frequent contributor to Transgender Forum in the past. She has been absent for several years while writing and publishing a (quite successful) straight novel under another name.
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Back in the 1990s, TGForum was more interactive. The bulletin board bristled with challenges and responses. One was: describe your first kiss as a woman. Below is my response. What’s yours?
Me? How old was I? Old. Probably 28 or 29, maybe 30. I was long passed the time when the clothes were an end in themselves; and being Cassie in the world, in public, was the wonderful pleasure. I had long since decided that I wasn’t a transsexual, but that the occasional woman that was Cassie was quite entirely a woman during those occasions. But, it wasn’t until then, the first time that she, that is I, was kissed as a woman by a man that I realized how quite entirely that entirely was.
Until that kiss, I considered myself comfortably heterosexual. I was studiously not homophobic; but I just couldn’t imagine a romance and a physical relationship with a man to be of interest.
He was a trim, good-looking man in jeans and a button-down shirt, long-sleeved, but with the cuffs turned up a couple of folds, maybe ten years older than me, smart, funny, and sweet from the first words. He bought me a drink. I knew he knew from the first, if for no other reason than the club in which we met.
We wound up that very first night talking for a very long time, alone together at a quiet table. We got up to dance several times. But mostly we just talked.
Then, suddenly, towards the end of the evening, during a sweet, slow dance in a shadowy part of the dance floor, it happened. The first kiss was actually more a nuzzle than a kiss, an extended nuzzle at the place where my neck met my shoulder, right there on the shadowy dance floor. The power of my instantaneous reaction if not quite shocked, then definitely surprised me; it was so immediately, so completely feminine, so natural, so total, so hotttttt! I all but melted into his arms on the dance floor.
It was, by far, the most absolutely female I had ever felt to that moment.
I had felt particularly pretty that night from the time I had left with my friends to go out. (I think to this day that the dress I was wearing that night will be my favorite of all time. I have it somewhere still, I think.)
I think, unlike a man, a woman’s sense of her own attractiveness at a given moment is very important to her own sexual response, so I believe that the lucky coincidence of my feeling good about myself and the way I looked that night had a lot to do with my own reaction to this man’s obvious interest in me as a woman, the kind of interest a man is anticipated to have in a woman, made it seem only as it should be, only natural.
The real kiss was a little while later that same evening, under the stars, in a little park about a half block from the club.
As Regina Leigh posted on this topic, being held instead of holding. Being kissed instead of kissing. Wow!
A warm summer evening, in my pretty off-the-shoulder dress and wedge sandals, enveloped in the arms of a man, a man a decade older than me, physically much bigger, gentle but strong, his arms around me, my eyes closed, focusing on the feeling of his soft lips sliding over my lip gloss, then settling into a quiet moment of incredible intimacy, the sensation of my breasts caught between us, flattened against his solid chest; and through the soft folds of my skirt, the bulk of his thigh feeling warm and strong pressed against the inside of my own right thigh: years later the memory of that kiss and that hug and those quiet whispers against my ear still makes me breathe in short shallow gulps as I type this.
The first kiss. The first kiss. Is there anything quite like it? Well, there is, but, as Roberta said in her reaction to this topic, that’s another story.
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Cheryl Ann Sanders was a frequent contributor to Transgender Forum in the past. She has been absent for several years while writing and publishing a (quite successful) straight novel under another name.
Many also know her TG novel A Woman’s Passion written under the name Alan Barrie. It was at one time the bestselling TG novel of all times. Although more than 15 years old, it still sells in dribs and drabs on Amazon . Still others remember her essay that appeared here several years ago: …And What I Wore . An “occasional woman” at that time, this was a memoir of a weekend she actually spent as a woman with a man in New York City. That memoir can still be found in our archives. Unfortunately, the photographs that illustrate that archived version have been lost. A safe PDF version with its photographs still intact is available for download here . Cassie can be reached via email .
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I am a trans girl myself and I remember my firstn kiss how it was, It was with a blackman I had met at a bar , He kept looking at me and then he came over and ask me to dance! He was tall and handsome and I was so nervous , we ended up at a drive in movie. He parked in the back and ask me to come closer and I was breathing so hard , then he gave me the wettest kiss it was great, we kissed for 2 hrs and then we got a motel room, he fucked me for 2 hrs it was so wonderful, ill never forget it!

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"It should be ok for men to experiment."
Sep 10, 2016, 11:15 AM EDT | Updated Sep 11, 2016
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Four straight men French kissed four gay men on camera to experiment with their sexuality and challenge societal notions of masculinity.
The video, by lesbian couple Bria and Chrissy , also seeks to comment on the lack of space men have to be sexually fluid in society.
The pair told The Huffington Post that women seem to have more room to experiment with a spectrum of sexuality, whereas expectations of masculinity don’t give men quite the same leeway
“It’s OK and that it should be OK for men to experiment,” Bria told The Huffington Post. “Also, there are men out there ― and here are 4 of them ― who are secure enough in their sexuality to defy societal norms, who are models of how people should be able to act without being called ‘fags’ or being told ‘there is no way they’re straight,’ to name just a few of the comments we have received.”
Check out the video above to see the results, and head here for more from Bria and Chrissy.

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