Being The Feast

Discovering, and delighting in, the genderqueer body

Leah Blooms
Nov 21, 2019 · 10 min read
Image for post
Image for post
// Finger Suck by The Shared Experience
Image for post
Image for post

I loved the warm sun on my back while I worked in the family garden pulling weeds. I alarmed my parents who doubled-down on their efforts to help me understand what it meant to be a female — you need to be modest and wary at all times and resist arousing any men in the vicinity because “they wouldn’t be able to help themselves.” I think it’s accurate to say I was the single most confusing thing my parents ever experienced.

I am the seventh of eight kids and all my siblings seemed to have their shit together and were happy in my family. I stuck out like a sore thumb with all my rebelling and weird trying-to-think-for-myself. At church I ended up in the hallway after exasperating the teacher of the children’s class. I kept asking for deeper explanations because the theology of the religion confused me and I was sincerely trying to figure it out. Turns out no one likes an inquisitive kid who won’t take, “We’ll know that someday. Just have faith,” as an answer. The next week I refused to go to church and in an utterly traumatizing event, my dad forced a dress on me while telling me that there was something seriously wrong with me because everyone else was happy to go to church. After breaking my spirit, I dutifully walked towards the car to join my family, and I realized when I got there that my dad was right. They were all happily waiting to go to church and they actually liked it. As a teen, I’d hear my mom talking with her mom, my grandma, sniffling into the phone about how I’d snuck out of the house again last night, wondering what she’d done to deserve this from one of her kids. I was the odd man out. I was bad. And I never felt right in my body or in my family or in my community.

Image for post
Image for post

With my second husband, we tried real hard to be good partners to each other and we still love each other, but we weren’t sexually compatible. He didn’t have the words to explain to me why he wasn’t sexually attracted to me and I didn’t yet know that I was queer. So, while sometimes sweet and tender, I never felt desired and I’d wager he didn’t either.

Image for post
Image for post

As a queer, genderfluid person, I’ve found with recent personal partners that they want me to show up as something — butch, femme — and my genderfluidity can be confusing. My partner might not know how to approach me. Are my breasts in play? Am I feeling like a man or a woman or some other gender? Does my clit exist at the moment? Has my phantom penis shown up?

Good questions. I’m the first to admit it can be a minefield and hard to navigate. And I think I’ve been content to let it go, not think about it too hard, and not let myself want too much or care too deeply that the feelings of disgust and vileness about my body persist. I turn the attention away from me and on to them. I make my partners feel beautiful and desirable because I experience them that way and don’t ask for that in return.

Having sex with most people feels like they don’t really see me. They’re seeing who they wish I was for them. Maybe we all do that to some extent to each other. But, for a genderfluid person, I wonder if I get a heavier dose of that than some others. The variety of folks I’ve been with meet me when I’m at one intersection of gender or another and are attracted to that, hope I’m that, and try to only see me as that and cultivate “that” in me from then on.

But, back to now. With her mouth on me, the verbal compliments are less, um, wordy, let’s say. But, in no way has her appreciation for me diminished. There is no doubt in my mind or my body that this woman is not only enjoying herself, but is trying to communicate to me that she finds my body irresistible and sexy and delicious, a word she’s used several times in the last hour. I feel like the dish at the buffet that is so yummy, people keep coming back for another helping. And another.

Image for post
Image for post
Image for post
Image for post

PULPMAG

For and of the body.

Sign up for PULP MAGAZINE !!!

By PULPMAG

Each week we'll send you a round-up of stories so you can read, rage, radicalize, and get randy. Take a look.

By signing up, you will create a Medium account if you don’t already have one. Review our Privacy Policy for more information about our privacy practices.

Check your inbox
Medium sent you an email at to complete your subscription.

Leah Blooms

Written by

Genderfluid, Queer (she/they/he) Sex Positive Writer, Health & Wellness Mentor, committed to cultural humility & equity. leahblooms.com IG:@leahblooms

PULPMAG

PULPMAG

PULP is a multimedia sex, sexuality, and reproductive rights publication celebrating this human coil hurtling through time and space.

Leah Blooms

Written by

Genderfluid, Queer (she/they/he) Sex Positive Writer, Health & Wellness Mentor, committed to cultural humility & equity. leahblooms.com IG:@leahblooms

PULPMAG

PULPMAG

PULP is a multimedia sex, sexuality, and reproductive rights publication celebrating this human coil hurtling through time and space.

Medium is an open platform where 170 million readers come to find insightful and dynamic thinking. Here, expert and undiscovered voices alike dive into the heart of any topic and bring new ideas to the surface. Learn more

Follow the writers, publications, and topics that matter to you, and you’ll see them on your homepage and in your inbox. Explore

If you have a story to tell, knowledge to share, or a perspective to offer — welcome home. It’s easy and free to post your thinking on any topic. Write on Medium

Get the Medium app

A button that says 'Download on the App Store', and if clicked it will lead you to the iOS App store
A button that says 'Get it on, Google Play', and if clicked it will lead you to the Google Play store