The Masturbational

When it comes to masturbation, transsexuals are obsessed with rediscovery. It's not just a physical release; it's a desperate, joyful act of cartography. For so many of us, our bodies were alien landscapes we were forced to inhabit, maps drawn by someone else's expectations. Masturbation becomes the process of redrawing those borders, of claiming every inch of territory as our own.

For trans men, it's often about finding pleasure in a body that feels both new and ancient. It's about learning how the pressure of a hand against a flat chest can send electricity through veins that once fed breasts. It's about the specific, triumphant ache of binding, and the secret pleasure of rubbing against that pressure, finding a new epicenter of sensation where none was supposed to exist. It's a declaration: "This is mine now. I make the rules here."

For trans women, it's an act of validation, of worshiping a form they fought so hard to create. It's about the smooth glide of skin on newly-shaved thighs, the delicate weight of budding breasts in their own palms. It's about learning to respond to new hormones, new sensitivities, and finding that the touch that once brought dysphoria now brings a profound, healing pleasure. It's a ritual of affirmation, a silent prayer whispered in gasps: "Finally. This is real. This is me."

We're obsessed because it's the one space where we are utterly, completely in control. It's a private laboratory where we test the limits of our own bodies and desires, free from the judgment, confusion, or expectations of others. It's not just about getting off; it's about getting home. It's the most intimate, powerful way of saying, "This body is not a mistake. This body is a masterpiece, and I am both the artist and the art."