My Gender is Sex
Written by Mrz Neptune Violet
Photo by Mr King Garcia
TW: There are descriptions in this article that mention sexual assault.
“Am I black or white, am I straight or gay? I'm not your lover. I'm not your friend. I am something that you'll never comprehend.” I was once asked in a kinky sexual DM conversation on FetLife to describe “how I identified myself.” I combined the lyrics of Prince’s songs “Controversy” and “I Would Die 4 U” to attempt a cute response. It didn’t work.
The photo that this potential partner was looking at was of a sparkly bikini-clad, femme-appearing modelesque body with six-pack abs, shoulder-length blonde hair with a swoop bang hiding the right eye. There are loads of cubic zirconium costume jewelry, and the tight, barely-there thong leaves a very obvious erection intentionally prominent in the viewer’s imagination. “You’re not a chick, but you’re clearly unlike any dude I’ve EVER seen on here,” she said. My reply? “I’m sex.” “Sex…” she replied quizzically. “Yes, sex. If you’re still caught up on gender roles, sexual spectrums, and where I am along the binary, you’re missing out. I’m just here for us to please each other in all of the ways,” I replied. “You can’t be real,” was her retort. Well, I’m real. Also, before I’m male, female, queer, or any other identification, I’m sex. Yes, sex. My best human-as-sexual identity is not as the total of my desires but rather as the satisfaction of desire itself.
Here’s why.
Thirteen years ago, three greased, thick, strawberry-scented, and black nitrile-gloved fingers were thrusting into my still relatively virgin anal cavity, exploring my prostate’s orgasmic potential. Then, yet another hand, similarly gloved and lubed -- but with thinner fingers -- grabbed under my bubble-gum pink, tight, latex body-contour dress and held my dripping, stoutly erect cock with a vise-like grip. My thoughts about who I was and why this situation defined my identity felt just beyond the orgasm that was on the cusp of occurring.
In so many ways, on that afternoon, I was born. A decade-plus later, a deluge of civil rights and social awareness evolutions expanded sexual identity and the gender spectrum. This development uniquely impacted me. Instead of tossing myself into an alphabet soup of letters or helping to carve a third path out of the long-established gender binary, I stopped. Given that the first time I regarded myself as my truth was in the afterglow of a mighty orgasm, I knew who I was EXACTLY. However, even within this newly developing language, the words, terms, and community surrounding it did not exist.
Because explaining my self-expression can be confusing to those not so intimately acquainted with my life, I often identify as a femme-curious and genderqueer person (pronouns he/she/them) to simplify matters. However, because COVID-19 has pretty much eradicated most opportunities I’ve had for coupled play, it’s allowed me the opportunity to engage in aggressive solo exploration to understand better how to live life as the embodiment of human sexual desire. Foremost, as noted in the introduction, I’m a crossdresser. I grew up a fatherless only child surrounded by domineering women. Social anxiety from growing up an impoverished, overweight Black nerd made dating girls a nightmare. Instead of getting the girl, I began to feel like it would be easier to be the girl instead. Moreover, on my 19th birthday, I was raped. The reasoning? The woman who assaulted me had never had sex with a Black man. At that point, my future began to crystallize.
Fast forward five years, and while falling down an internet rabbit hole, I saw a video clip of two dominatrices pegging a hastily-dressed and not-so passing crossdresser. I’d seen crossdressers, I’d seen anal play, and I’d seen a dominatrix before. But I’d never seen them in this particular combination. My body stirred. Arousal occurred, and I was transfixed. Within that scene, I saw myself -- appearing more attentively put together and pass as femme -- as a crossdresser. Three years after viewing that clip, the moment -- accompanied by that previously mentioned, blissful, and transformative orgasm -- occurred. At that moment, the grave angst that accompanied the eight years I’d spent attempting to overcome sexual assault began to dissipate. The idea that there was something retroactively fulfilling in experiencing a willful, pleasurable violation of my person emerged. As well, in sublimating my masculinity and embracing my femme-presenting self, I was, in essence, reclaiming myself via a whole other identity.
The past decade has seen me dive longer, deeper, and harder into myself and defining my identity. What’s fascinating is that the closer I keep that to sex, the closer I feel to completing my best human potential. I’m now proudly a solely femme-attracted, male-bodied, and genderfluid person. It’s both personally fulfilling and very dazzlingly erotic about presenting myself to other femmes -- in body and essence -- as an object of desire. I’m not attracted to men because I, too, am a man, and there’s something very potent in the energy of exploring sex as a two-spirited person with another two-spirited person or person by hetero-normative standards is in biological opposition to me.
As well, the joy of being able to so powerfully embody wanton lust to showcase that I’m not here for quiet conversation about struggles with gender and sexuality is incredible. Coupling is driven by not living in search for our needs but rather enjoying our desires. To be able to be a person who can -- by presentation alone, initially -- partner with someone wanting to supersede their confusion, anger, or boredom in living their best life or accepting their best self in achieving rapturous pleasure provides wild fulfillment. There’s a liberation in crossing a metaphorical yet orgasmic “finish line” that is dynamically empowering.
Currently, I’m exploring life as a model, content creator, and “soul-shaking body quake,” as noted in my social media profiles. Living a life primarily defined by sex as a sex-defined person epitomizes me actualizing my best life. Just life Coldplay sings that every teardrop is a waterfall, every orgasm I receive or engender ultimately is a victory for me against my trauma. Every moment I step into my sex-defined self, I discover greater comfort. Over time, the tensions of pain caused by a life once gripped by fear and terror have been released. I’m real, I’m sex, and when I cum, my humanity explodes like a butterfly from a cocoon. It’s my most beautiful expression of my best, healed self, exploring the life -- via struggle -- that I’ve earned and deserve.
Mrz. Neptune Violet bends gender and cultural expectations like a bag of soft pretzels. Moreover, they're a sociopolitically aware and sex-positive binary-shatterer who is going to be "America's Next Thot Model.". You can find their instagram here and twitter here