My vagina just turned 1 month old so I thought I’d introduce her to my dancing boots and we’d all hit the town for New Year’s together. Too soon? Probably.
It was my first night out dancing since the surgery and I vowed I would only dance with my upper body…just say hi to people, have conversations…you know, be social and shit…something I’m not very well known for when I’ve got my dancing boots on. I packed my largest bag with everything I thought that I might need in the few hours or maybe few days that I was going to be out for…and I mean everything, even my dilator…just in case.
It was December 31st and the clock struck midnight….that meant all the ceremonious bullshit was over and it was now time to get on my horse and head out….there was a whole new year ahead! A few blocks away in Times Square there were a gazillion people gathered in sub-zero temperatures to watch an animation of a ball drop on a big screen…so when it was over they could go back to wherever the fuck they came from and watch old re-runs of the ball drop on their big screens at home…fucking people.
I waddled to the subway and arrived at Cityfox around 1am. Those guys are awesome and set me up with everything I needed so I could stay as long as possible…including a nice little spot in the back to lay down whenever my vagina got tired. I was doing great for the first few hours, just socialized and had some random and rare conversations longer than a minute…which was actually quite nice. I only moved my arms and hands to the rhythm a bit…no hips…no legs…just chasing that beat with my right arm up…swinging at the elbow, with my thumb kissing my fingers.
….but my left boot kept twitching.
I was at the small stage most of the time which tends to have fewer yutes in the crowd and the DJs that spin the small stage seem to play with more vigor and heart than the Main Stage. I’ve danced multiple times to every single DJ that was on both stage lineups…except one…Steve Bug. Whoever the fuck that guy is I want to send him a million juicy kisses because he was the one that made my legs and hips fall back into that familiar feeling that makes my head spin and body groove. Thanks Steve, you absolutely ripped it up…you got me dancing again!
It definitely did hurt…but the pain was dull and seemed far away and as I moved more and more…I felt better and better. An occasional small hip swing turned into a steady stream of small hip swings….which turned into wider hip swings. All of a sudden I was improvising my moves in real-time with the beat and changing my dance flow as the music shifted patterns…and I was back!!! Holy fuck it felt good!
After Steve Bug, I made the quick trek over to Members for a few hours (they opened the old spot back up for a hot second!). It was so good to be back there dancing with the system turned up loud and all the familiarities and nostalgia of a thousand awesome mornings past. While I was there I got to pee in a porta-potty for the first time…it of course makes all the sense in the world that this had to happen at Members…which isn’t exactly known for their lavatory upkeep.
I’ve squatted before…or so I thought…but it was tougher to pull off out on the real battle field than I ever imagined. Dealing with all my clothing layers in 0 degree weather…pulling some of them up, some of them down, holding everything in place while I squatted over a treacherous landscape with a leaky vagina and a head full of grass.
Everywhere I wanted to grab onto for support seemed very un-grabbable as soon as tried to grab it. Panic and fear set in when I reached for 1 of the 4 toilet paper rolls that were lounging about…which had a wet side that effected every square on the roll. Was it water? Was it piss? There was snow on the ground so it could have been water….but I was at Members….so it was probably piss….but how did piss get way over there….fuck. I looked at the next of the 4 lounging toilet-paper rolls…that one too….next…fuck…last roll…and…FUCK!
I was still squatting. Legs were on fire. Pussy was freezing. Brain was stuck. My sunglasses fell off my face and landed in a puddle of water piss. A bit of my dress that I had pulled up and tucked under my armpit had slipped out and decided to mop up a bit as well. The 3 active braincells in my head were arguing about what to do next….which is when it happened…
I noticed that my tights, which were currently around my ankles, were also wet….I saw that some water piss was dripping onto them from the seat. I instinctually shuffled my feet forward….banging my head on the porta-potty door, which knocked me straight backwards…onto the wet seat.
When my little tush hit that cold seat covered in water piss…a mystical gland somewhere deep, down inside of me produced a strange and rare chemical that sent instructions to all my body parts on how to recover instantly and move in total unison and harmony for exactly 15 seconds. I remember none of it. All of a sudden I was outside the porta-potty and back in Members. I guess it didn’t really matter which roll I used….and I guess it didn’t really matter if it was water or piss….and I’m really glad my body knew how to produce that chemical….I’m also glad I don’t really remember what happened during those 15 seconds!
“Welcome to peeing in public with you new vagina Miss Morgan, it takes a bit more effort than a simple shake.” the Universe seemed to say.
After dancing my face off to a killer set by Ray & Nikita I didn’t waddle, but I walked back over to Cityfox to catch Dance Spirit….one of my favorite duos that creates some of grooviest music I’ve moved my boots to. They really make it easy for me to float my moves in and out of their different musical layers and their music super-charges my creative improvisation on the dance floor. If you see them listed on a flyer…go.
I’d been going for 12 hours now and I was pretty wiped so I laid down in the back greenroom and let the sound of Lee Burridge’s set lull me to sleep for a few hours…not all day. I woke up in time to rally hard for M.A.N.D.Y. with a second wind. They kicked ass as always, with hard, driving beats and beautiful, layered melodies.
The 20 hour mark hit and I realized there was still 6.2 hours left in the marathon and I wasn’t going to make it. I had a bad rub-rash on my inner thighs and my new, little vagina was whimpering in the corner…time to take the kids home. My boots were tapping impatiently at me…clearly not happy about the decision. No Finisher’s Medal for me. Boo hoo. I limped off to the side, let myself out the back door and walked over to the subway.
What a fucking night!! What a fucking DAY!! I love a good subway ride home after a great dance session…it gives me time to think and reflect on what happened that night. My favorite parts of sets I danced to; who I spoke with; who I met; the crazy shit that occurred….you know…a nice summing up of sorts so I can half-remember a quasi-truthful version of a blurry moment. Remembering what happens at a party is like making fresh juice. You put in a huge, solid fruit or vegetable and all you get out of it is a tiny amount of liquid that only retains the general essence and flavor of what it was really like.
The train zoomed along and my mind kept wandering…wondering…what is sex going to be like with my new vagina? Who would I have sex with? How would it feel? When would I be ready? Would I be able to have an actual orgasm? What would it be like? More intense? Or just different? Or maybe it would be exactly the same??? After all, they did re-purpose all my nerves to construct my clitoris…I ventured it’ll probably feel the same…hopefully better.
I got home to a freezing apartment, got the heaters going, brushed my choppers, took a quick shower, jumped into double PJs and dove under the covers. My mind was filled with so much filth it would have made Madonna blush. I lay in my cozy bed for an hour…writhing around with only one thing on my mind and not being able to do a thing about it. If I was a man I would have just jerked off, mopped up and started snoring….but I wasn’t a man…although I wasn’t really a fully developed female either. Almost there 😃
I could FEEL the blood moving through my entire vulva…it rushed and surged and almost felt like Phantom Limb syndrome…but it wasn’t…the limb was still there, just re-arranged. That old dusty log had been sliced, folded and sewn into a gorgeous flower. Genital origami. And it was screaming hello to me.
My doc told me it would be at least 3 months before I should have sex…but did I need a man to fill me in order to feel pleasure? I’m guessing not. A good friend of mine who is small, red skinned, has a bifurcated tongue and lives on my shoulder…told me to slip into something silkier, smoke a large joint and see if I could get properly introduced to my new friend Clitoris. Strangely enough the word clitoris is derived from a Greek word for ‘key’ and all I had to do was figure out how to turn it. I was feeling no pain and after a night of dancing and plenty of residual serotonin…I was an eager student.
I woke up to morning pain. Then remembered a few events from the night before…more pain. Got out of bed…more pain…then hobbled to the bathroom like a drunken geriatric that had been riding a horse for 3 days straight.
I pac-man’d a Percocet.
Lit a joint on the toilet.
And pee’d blood.