Trans Joy: Jen to Euphoria
Ahead of Smutathon 2021, we’re publishing a series of Trans Joy posts. We want to flip the script on trans people being asked to perform their pain over and over again to prove that they deserve human rights. Instead, we want to celebrate trans joy and gender euphoria. We’ve teamed up with Quenby Creatives, whose Trans Joy series highlights the positive side of trans experiences to bring some balance to trans discourses.
Today’s Trans Joy post comes from the brilliant Jen – a sex blogger and fetish model based near Nottingham. She can be found cataloguing her smutty exploits on her blog JenDragon, or on Twitter at @JenetalTorture, and has guested for Girl on the Net and Hot Octopuss, as well as placing in the Top 100 Sex Blogs 2020.
Jen to Euphoria
I love my body.
I love the softness of my tum, where once there was a reluctant six-pack.
I love my pert, round breasts, the way they feel when my partners grope them, squeeze them, or suckle them just that bit too hard.
I love the newfound smoothness of the skin of my face as it encroaches on the thickets of stubble being felled by laser, cutting literal swathes through my insecurities.
I love my eyes. Dear god I love my eyes.
There’s nothing about me hormones haven’t improved. I barely even suffer dysphoria around my junk these days. Sure, I’ll probably take leave of my balls soon for reasons of health and convenience, but to be honest the word ‘girldick’ is just too fun not to be able to apply to what’s under my skirt.
My appetite’s improved. My sleep. Obviously my self-esteem. Even my height. Those three impossible centimetres the doctors maintain I cannot conceivably have lost have given me a literal spring in my step (I need it to be able to kiss my Master now).
But that still isn’t the most surprising gift of my transition.
I used to hate domming. Back when I was an egg being perceived as a man was one thing, but a dominant man? Nothing squicked me more. Then when the world finally started seeing me as female, something shifted. This dyed-in-the-wool submissive started picking up the odd paddle, purely out of service to other needy subs at first, but before I knew what was happening I found myself starting to enjoy it.
Suddenly I was staring at myself in my Miss’s mirror, clad in heels, latex stockings and a long-sleeve, high-necked latex dress (all in jet black), feeling my every curve being hugged tight.
As Miss turned me around to admire their doll, that dress flipped a switch deep inside me, and I needed this cute queer at my feet more than anything in the world.
Pulling them close, I whispered in their ear ‘you’re a fan of latex; why don’t you give it a kiss?’
I’ve never seen anyone melt faster. With a moan my erstwhile dom sank to their knees in worship of the glistening fetish vision before them, tongue extended. A smile spreading over my lips, I planted a stiletto on their back to keep them in place as they hungrily worked my rubberised foot, still not quite able to believe it.
That the body of this dominant woman beneath me – this goddess – was mine. All mine.
I love my body.
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