sex, games and transexualism
(disclaimer: i use the term ‘transexualism’ as, to me, it describes the radical and jagged edges of gender, that incapsulates its political and revolutionary potential. for me, ‘transgender’ feels too comfortable, too malleable and too marketable as a term built in response to transness entering public discourse. i am non-binary and my use of this term is not a commentary on anyones identity or others use of the word ‘transgender’)
there is something magical about the game Hardcoded. it’s an indie game by Ghosthug games about fucking trans people, among other things. i first came across it in a Rock Paper Shotgun article, where the amazing Astrid Johnson, wrote a piece exploring trans sex in video games.
you play as HC (an abbreviation of Hardcoded), a trans android on the run from the authorities, who is taken in by a small community of non-android trans femme’s representing different archetypes. around the same time, there is a city wide outbreak of horniness that sets the pretext for why everyone is interested in fucking you in particular.
the structure is episodic with each day giving you a choice of scenes to play through, normally (but not always), including a sex scene or an introduction to another potential sexual partner. in between these scenes you can roam a small city, meeting people, finding casual encounters and customising your outfits and apartment.
each in-game night, you dream
it’s relatively standard fair for the genre, all be it with 90% of the characters being trans (or generally beyond gender binaries), however, its made me cry almost as many times as i’ve gotten off to it. the writings good but i don’t think its solely the writing that’s responsible. something about the combination of trans sex, melancholy and empathy, give it a particular beauty that opens me up.
describing from memory (potentially inaccurately, but intentionally so, as this has lived with me for years now), in one scene you go back to a characters apartment (a cis woman) after being at a convention. you go for a shower and begin making out, but instead of something sexual, you wash each other, interacting tenderly and with a sweetness offset by your characters thoughts about the differences between your two bodies. the way in which her feet are smaller than yours, the texture of your skin. she doesn’t seem to notice, instead looking at you with affection and comfort, seemingly just enjoying being close to you. the first time i saw it, it left me sobbing and naked but without being able to fully articulate why. thinking on it since, it mirrored an interaction i was all too familiar with. the feeling that i’ve had to get over regularly since coming out. of having sex with cis women and finding myself fixated on the ways in which my body didn’t conform or match theirs and scared that they would only be seeing that too.
people don’t often describe the feeling of difference that can crop up during sex when your body is atypical from what is considered conventional. how it locks you out of the experience and can limit your pleasure. left over considering, its hard to really totally give yourself over to the experience, without just focusing on the other persons. the “if they are having fun then i must be”, etc. it’s why i have such a love for Mira Bellwether’s “Fucking Trans Women”, a zine that explains (in detail) how best to go about pleasuring a trans woman. written both for trans women and for our sexual partners. it gives a casual language to trans sex that can help bridge that gap. getting people to think about and navigate their own pleasure, without just falling into fawning.
peak aesthetics
don’t get me wrong, liberation won’t come from solely from depictions of trans sex, but something gets lost when we take that away. while we are capable of more, sex leaves us vulnerable but honest. allowed to cum, our pleasure is allowed to be taken seriously and, in addition, our humanity. it allows us to be voiced outside of the sanitised expectations of a culture that would rather we were sexless, harmless and inert. something that is useful when arguing why we should be given sympathy, but lacking in engaging with a truer sense of empathy.
my favourite piece of trans feminist writing is Julia Serano’s Love Rant. it’s short, but punchy and epitomises the honest, radical and political edge of transsexualism, that made me feel comfortable to embrace the rougher edges of my self. it talks about depression, anger, love, joy and penis’ and acts as a rallying cry for the types of dialogues we should be having. with ourselves, but also with others. please go read it.
love rant
in lack of much of a conclusion, i guess i want to generally rally for more open conversations around trans sex. or just sex in general. and more media brave enough to depict it. i’m bored of seeing these very marketable and ‘family friendly’ takes on trans identity. yes “trans joy is resistance” but only when properly contextualised with everything else. my joy matters because its happening around an understanding of how brutal it can be to wake up nearly everyday to news stories about how dangerous and threatening you are. how that can warp your sense of self. how it can damage your understanding of yourself. that joy becomes radical because its a sign that, despite how i can fear my own body, when given the space and acceptance of those closest to me, i stop feeling dangerous and scary. i feel joy.
16.11.2025 - topping from the lap - sex, games and transexualism