He picked me up in a restaurant.
I say girl because thats how I presented and how I saw myself.
They often liked what they saw.
Jonathan Knowles / Getty Images
My circumstances were pretty dire.
I inclined toward heterosexuality despite being generally frightened of men.
Id learned that they would feed me and buy me things.
There were of course expectations, which were challenging to manage at best, dangerous at worst.
But it was clear where all this was going were I to continue to feed myself in this fashion.
After several awkwardly-ended evenings, I gave in to the inevitable.
There is always a first time.
The first first time had been with a woman, a year or so earlier.
This, the second first time, was different.
The man from the restaurant was attractive, very charming, well-spoken, maybe 20 years older than I.
He bought me dinner and drinks, then we headed to his place.
Then he closes it, passes round the back as you stare ahead.
You tell yourself itll be fine.
I follow him up stairs and wait as he unlocks the door to his flat.
His eyes are bright.
Turning, he steps through the doorway, turns back and reaches a hand toward me.
A slight hesitation and I take his hand and enter his home.
Without preamble he leads me directly to his bedroom.
The directness reminds me that this is transactional.
He exposes me, runs his fingers through my hair, drapes it as if to frame his view.
You are so…beautiful.
He moves in close, cradles my face in his hands, kisses me very, very gently.
He guides me over and lays me out on his bed.
Very deeply, waking my entire body in a flush.
My fear is forgotten, my focus now on his hand, his mouth.
I am a heterosexual woman going to bed with a man for the first time.
My anatomy notwithstanding, I have always been female.
Physical gender dysphoriathe disconnect between sexual anatomy and the gendered mindcan be agony.
It requires mental gymnastics to hold onto a sense of ones female body whilst everything happens.
One must maintain certain boundaries; so no touchingthat.
He is experienced and prepared; he withdraws his hand for a moment, then I feel himlubricatingme.
This is my first time, and in my feminine imagination I spread my legs and close my eyes.
I struggle to reconnect my female self to her body.
He finds me beautiful; thats the main thing.
Estrogen had been good to me.
High-femme in presentation and with the grace of years of ballet in my youth, I turned heads.
The anxieties of a second puberty and the trauma of physical and social gender transition largely faded into memory.
I was secure in the life, body, and career of a mature woman.
My challenges were no longer those of a trans woman, they were simply those of a woman.
As I approached 40, lines were beginning to show in my face and my life felt incomplete.
I was single and lonely.
It was the late 1990s and internet dating was becoming a reality.
Newly invented social practices had appearedlike ghostingand wow, did I get some duds.
What a delight when Jim and I met for coffee and it was good.
It felt…normal.
At long last those disconnects were…connected.
It is our fourth date.
Jim picks me up and there is a sweet kiss as he holds the car door.
I already know him well enough that I feel relaxed and completely safe.
Its a very nice restaurant.
Afterward, we shift to the sofa in the fireside lounge for port and snuggles.
The kiss that comes now is magical, and I know this evening is far from over.
It is late as he drives me back to my place.
Searching eyes, and after a long moment I reach out my hand.
Reseated, this time on my sofa, there is no longer any need for conversation.
He smells so good.
He slips his leg between mine as he moves inward to lay me back.
But I break the kiss, place a hand on his chest to push him away, and rise.
Our eyes connect and I smile, turn away, and walk to the bedroom without a word.
This is when you discover an experience like no other.
We are standing next to my bed, our hips touching, my breasts pressed against him.
I cradle his face in my hands as we kiss.
As he steps out of his trousers, I unclasp my skirt and bra and let them drop.
I slide my fingers into his hair, grasping.
At its best,the female orgasmis an astonishing thing.
It begins tentatively, shyly, requires concentration, needs focus.
Sometimes this illuminated state can linger for quite some time.
Sometimes there will be a second condensation and a second explosion, and more lingering.
Sometimes your toes cramp.
His pelvis is still pressed against mine, his entire relaxed weight anchoring me.
Worth everything I went through for one minute of that.
Allison Washington is an author and trans woman who crossed over a long time ago.
Read more of her workhere.
Watch: Model Carmen Carrera on What It Feels Like to Transition
