the third sex

Watching a boy morph into a ladyboy is a fascinating experience. I have seen it happen many times. I can remember one spectacular example of a young boy who worked at a Patpong bar I used to visit. He was clearly effeminate, but was regarded as manly enough to heave the beer crates around and do other work that the GGs didn’t want to do, such as swabbing the floor.

I watched with great interest over the months how he grew his hair and began to wear makeup. He was good looking as a male, but not strikingly so. You would have looked at him as being an everyday sort, about five-eight, strongly built, and pleasant to speak to. The makeup began with a little eyeshadow and lipstick, but was not overwhelming.

The bar was a large open-sided one, and the attraction for me was the band that came on at 8 o’clock and opened up with some classic twangy rock’n'roll instrumentals. I would call in on my way home from the office a few evenings during the week and have a couple of drinks while I listened to the music. But as my young friend transformed I started coming in a little earlier, so that I could watch him.

The makeup became a little more elaborate and the hair became longer, the mannerisms and gestures became more feminine. I decided to switch the relationship from being on smiling terms to a conversational level. It was easier, because the bar operator switched him from doing odd jobs into serving drinks. I asked if he was taking female hormones and he said no, he wasn’t. The change was an inner one. He had wanted to be a ladyboy but while he was at school it wasn’t possible. This was his first job, and his first opportunity to become the person he wanted to be.

Gradually, I found that he was turning from being a person I could watch with an observer’s eye into somebody increasingly desirable.

He had only ever worn the routine uniform of t-shirt and jeans, but one evening she (at this point the sexual orientation seemed to change) arrived wearing a short little black dress. I pounced.

Within 15 minutes we were inside a short-time hotel and it was an explosive experience. Afterwards, she said “you the first farang man for me.” And we continued with an affair that even know makes me hot and bothered when I think about it.

Still the transformation continued. She developed a preference for kinky wear, such as long black boots and black leather. I didn’t mind, although even I found it a little disconcerting to walk through Patpong with her on our way to another evening of frenzy. After all, I do know a lot of people in this town, and a lot of people know me.

In her high heels she was almost six foot. The makeup now had become distinctive, pale with bright lipstick. She wore little dresses with fishnet stockings, or tight leather pants with chains around the waist. After several months she had outgrown the rather homely bar she worked for, and went onto cabaret. I imagine that she did well. She was classic cabaret material. I lost track of her, unfortunately. I would love to know what eventually happened to her.

So, at what point did she cease to be a boy and become a ladyboy? It was the little black dress. I can remember it now. It came to just below the knicker-line. In my mind that was the trigger-point.

At this stage she was still quite boyish. In the hotel room I lifted the dress to see white knickers underneath, and then the dress came off slowly to reveal a taught body with a tight bottom and an enormous erection. She radiated sex, yet the signals were so mixed: the beautifully made-up face and thick black hair, the girlish gestures and the boyish body. She was a boy who wanted to be a girl. A girl with the sexual drive of a boy. A boy with a girl’s face. A girl with something huge and thick and hot that a girl shouldn’t have.

For me, it was lust. Lust is not always a respecter of sexual boundaries. But I suppose it does sometimes need some pretty packaging.