Embarrassingly enough, once I imagined a chat with a guy I liked, in a bedroom in Denmark. I’ll never see him again but at the time I liked him very much.
I was in my rented-bedroom, completely alone.
Almost nothing in that room belonged to me, and that bothered me as a woman then in her later twenties.
I was actually quite depressed because I had no nice things of my own and I said, in my head, as though addressing the person I fancied “I have a very big lamp”. I was pretending to be speaking to him, there was no one else in that flat.
He later visited at the invitation of a mutual friend, he had not been in the room with me when I had that confined-to-thought dialogue with myself but he mentioned some appreciation for the big lamp.
I got PTSD. I considered all of the things he had seen me do. Oh the things. I coped with the PTSD though, because I have never ever not had PTSD.
Ofcourse if you are held back by feelings of embarrassment you won’t go that far. In life, you need a personal glossary of emotions. I am not embarrassed as such but I am mourning my femininity and that involves rejecting obnoxious and offensive solutions, amongst those the suggestion of having a sex change.