If I Were a Woman

You’re born with these meat differences between your legs that basically decide your entire life before you’re old enough to argue. What color your room gets painted. What toys you’re supposed to want. The moment in puberty when you can’t go shirtless without getting stared at. And then the sex part.

One side puts it in, one side takes it in. Unless you’re into both, you only ever get to know one. And on the putting-in side? We’re useless. Everything we think we understand comes from porn that’s basically a nightmare, stories that are seventy percent lie, whatever fumbling happened with someone just as lost. We’re out there blind and drooling, poking at you like we know what we’re doing when we obviously don’t.

Sometimes I think about it. If I could be a woman for one day—just that part, just the sex—I’d want to actually feel it. The clit. A dick inside. What that orgasm feels like from in there. Not as some fantasy tourist thing. Just to know.

Because if every guy actually understood what that felt like, everything changes. You can’t go back to guessing. You can’t keep treating someone like a puzzle you’ll never solve. You’d know something real instead of running on porn and myth and your own failure.

I’m probably being naive. But that’s what I’d ask for.

So what about you? What would you do if you woke up in a body that wasn’t yours?