It is of course Known that HRT changes sexual function. The way it’s usually described, because of course it is, is in pathological terms—which is dumb. Dumb, and misleading, and potentially harmful for so many reasons. Not everyone’s got the same interests or ideas or life goals, yo. Sometimes things just are what they are, and what meaning they carry is what you read into them.

It’s worth stressing that people are people, that there’s little meaningful difference between the Big Two sexes as popularly defined, and that what little difference there is comes late in natal development (or even after!). Everyone is carrying basically the same hardware. Whereas things get lightly specialized in terms of size, placement, and some high-level utility, they are equivalent in purpose and function—because they’re the same parts; just baked a little differently at the very end. so the real difference isn’t hardware; it’s software.

The penis and the clitoris; same organ. prostate and skein’s gland; same basic structure. The testes have a channel through the prostate—and it turns out that the vestigial equivalents of the vagina and uterus are located in the prostate. It’s all there; just differently specialized. So what specialized their form to suit their mature functions, and what continues to guide that function? Hormones, of course. Your penis knows it’s a penis because of the message it’s sent. Your skein’s gland knows to get lubricating because of a chemical beacon.

And—yes, broadly speaking the feminine parts are gonna be told to focus on lubrication, to keep on going even through orgasm—so there signal there is about a sort of opening of the floodgates (both literally and figuratively, with the ongoing free full-bodied sensations and so on). The masculine parts get the opposite instruction. Their task is all about building up pressure for launch. Most of the fluid and sensation there is reserved for a brief moment, after which the mission is done and it’s not only difficult but sometimes physically painful to continue.

So what happens if your specialized hardware starts receiving a different set of signals? Well, again technically it’s all the same stuff. It’s going to be more or less compatible with whatever commands you throw at it. After a brief reorientation, it will learn to obey the software it’s fed—at least, as well as it can. It’s like, you take a black mage and reclass them as a berserker, you may have a curve to deal with.

So in regard to changed function, it’s also fairly well-recorded how differently the feminine penis will behave, compared to the masculine one. Tou may not get random erections so much, if at all. They may not be as firm or last as long. Orgasms change from this narrow one-and-done thing focused on the genitals to a sort of repeatable, full-bodied scalp-to-toes revelation. What I did not fully understand, though, before going into this was the fluid issue. Because, yo, this is no longer a story about semen—that’s not what the body cares about anymore—and that changes things in some curious ways.

Since they’re the same organ with the same basic purpose, the fluid that the prostate produces is basically the same as the fluid from the skene’s gland. Add estrogen, it’s no longer building up pressure to release and it’s not inclined to stir up a batch of semen; all it wants is to lubricate. That’s what girls do, right? Righto! So there’s going to be oozing: slow, fairly constant. the body thinks it’s doing a thing. When we get to orgasm, again we’re probably not doing the spurting here. There’s this sensation radiating from the chest and the brain sort of melts, but not much likely comes out. If anything does, it’s going to be thin and slick and clear—just more of the same lubricant, right.

Granted everyone’s different, and if you prowl you’ll see some trans women who are, like, playing Splatoon somehow, but that’s not the typical programming.

Now, the upshot of all of this is that—let’s be honest, whatever your predilections may be—semen is pretty gross, and fucking impossible to clean up. It stains anything it touches. It quickly becomes cement. It gets everywhere. Don’t let it near hot water or it will clog your drain forevermore. But, this clear fluid, the lubricant? Water-soluble, baby. A little greasy, but it comes right out of fabric; will not ever clog a drain or cake in some weird place; doesn’t carry a strong odor. It’s so easy to deal with! On a 1-10 scale of gross annoyingness, it’s maybe a 2-3, tops.

For all that the literature likes to demonize sexual changes and hold them up as a warning of what could happen, there are so many things that just work better, to my purposes and sensibilities. No randomly getting turned on! It’s possible to enjoy things, rather than just furiously trying to reach a goal! And best of all, no more gross mess!

I almost never feel the need to indulge anymore, which is a relief of sorts, but in the rare event it does makes sense emotionally, psychologically, it is so much less of a hassle. There’s no more of this ugh, what was that even for; now i need to clean up, but i feel like dying instead. Now it’s just about appreciating my body and its functionality, enjoying an occasional intimate moment with myself. Showing myself some care and consideration. No pressure, no fast destination, and no punishment at the end. I no longer feel gross or ashamed or overly embarrassed. I’m in control of myself at every step. And then, it all just washes away: no evidence, no harm, no foul. Ready to move on—energized, enriched, rather than half-dead and ready to cry.

I just like myself so much now. I like the way i’m coming to think, to feel. I’m starting to like the way I look. I like the way my body behaves. Everything makes sense to me in a way it never did. I am so glad to be the person I am continuing to become. I didn’t know it was possible to feel like this.

Again, everyone’s wired a little different, responds to things in their own way. so this story isn’t gonna apply everywhere—and maybe it’s not what everyone will want. That’s cool. People have their priorities. But, whee. this would have been a selling point if I’d known. And I never would have, because of the way it’s always been pitched—with every bit as much judgment as everything else I find important in life.