It doesn’t matter whether it’s with a man or woman — in my sex dreams, I almost always have a tiny little penis. Sometimes I wish I had one in real life. Don’t get me wrong! I love my vagina, and I fully believe in its strength and power. My vulva, vagina and uterus bring me incredible pleasure, and also have the ability to bring new life into the world. It is amazing. I’ve never felt that my vagina was unwanted or misplaced. But in spite of that, I sometimes feel as if I’m missing a penis.
Although I typically present as feminine, I’ve always felt that I don’t fit society’s strict definition of a woman. It’s hard to put words to exactly why I’ve felt that way, but the definition never seemed to capture the full scope of who I am. I’ve always identified as a woman, but there has also been a part of me that felt decidedly masculine. I get the sense that other people have felt this way about me, too. Although I’ve only ever dated men, I’ve been asked if I’m a lesbian a lot throughout my life. My mother even once had a talk with me, in the car on the way to school, about how she would still love me if I ever decided to come out. It’s not that having masculine qualities makes you a lesbian or that being a lesbian means you have masculine qualities, but I think that’s the only paradigm most people have for women who function, at least partially, outside of the heteronormative idea of womanhood.
I don’t always miss my non-existent penis. Most of the time, most days, I feel complete just as I am, with all my masculine and feminine aspects entwined within me. I don’t usually feel like I need to represent my masculinity with a phallus in my everyday life. I am who I am. I have also been blessed with a facial structure and body frame that lends itself well to androgyny for when I do feel the need to express my masculine self. And let me tell you, I am a handsome woman.
It’s during sex that I’ve most felt that my body doesn’t always represent me. It wasn’t until I started using a strap-on as part of sex that I realized how much I had been missing a part of myself. After a year of using bright, colorful dildos during sex, I finally broke down and spent a good chunk of money on a penis that looks and feels incredibly real. It even matches my skin tone. I tasted it to make sure it didn’t have a weird chemical flavor, and I’ll be damned if it didn’t feel like a real dick in my mouth. When I put it on and it looked real, looked like part of me, it was a revelation. This was the part of me that I hadn’t realized I sometimes missed.
The first day I had my penis, I stood and looked at myself in the mirror with it on for a long time. I took pictures of myself in it, admired how beautiful it looked. It’s not something I wear all the time, or even very often. I still feel that most of the time I’m complete just as I am, without a physical penis. I mostly only wear it during sex, because let’s be honest, walking around with an erect penis is not very practical. Even during sex, I only wear it when I’m feeling especially masculine. Sometimes I only feel feminine, and the last thing I want is a penis.
It’s kind of amazing how discovering who you are in one facet of your life leads to feeling more like your true self in others. Recognizing and accepting myself as gender-fluid has led to me better understanding my whole self. I feel more complete, more confident and slightly less lost on my journey through life. That version of me in my sex dreams was trying to tell me something, and I only recently started listening. My journey has only begun, and I’m very excited to see where it takes me.
