the third sex

It really cannot be that easy, wanking off while someone is standing over you with a camera. That thought occurs to me from time to time, as I stand hunched like Quasimodo over a ladyboy who is pulling and pulling at her cock, trying desperately to reach the elusive point where the reflex is triggered and the semen starts its way through the plumbing system.

“Daeg lao!” she might utter, which translates as “broken now” and I concentrate hard, waiting for the spurts of white cum that will follow over the next few seconds.

But, as I say, it can’t be easy. Especially if the ladyboy in question is taking hormones. Especially if she has spent all night with a demanding customer who is enchanted by the fact that his “girl” can cum more times than he can. Especially if she has no stimulus, and here I often get asked if I have any gay magazines in the house that she can look at to get in the mood. I don’t. It doesn’t occur to me to buy gay magazines, until I get asked by a ladyboy trying to get her dick up and running, and then I think, must do that later. Then of course I forget.

When you are shooting as many photos and videos as I do, you become very finely tuned to the mechanics of masturbation. I can look at a flaccid dick and think, yes, that one will work fine; or, no, that is not going to do very much. I’m not always right, of course. But then again, I’m not often wrong.

I watch very closely, trying not to be too off-putting, as she works herself up to a good hard one. And as she progresses, it is not just her cock that I watch for the signs, it is her body language: the curling of the toes, the movements of her feet, the twitching of her legs, the rippling of her stomach muscles, the biting of her lip. Sometimes the head of her cock will change colour shortly before the spurt. Sometimes, a cock will lose some of its hardness just before shooting: with others, it becomes even bigger and harder. Sometimes the pre-cum will signal the moment, with that inviting squelchy sound made by fluid and foreskin.

Then there is the magnitude and volume of the spurt. Sometimes I am awed by the white fountain and the flying droplets. Or it might be a thin jet, hitting nipples and chin, or even a fine spray, going over tummy and thighs and bed sheets. Other times it is simply a pumping out of thick white fluid onto black pubic hair and brown tummy, and that’s fine by me too. But hormones will reduce the amount and the whiteness, so that maybe it’s only a colourless trickle, or maybe an oozing up of a very small volume, or even just a slight stickiness that I don’t immediately notice, especially if it has emerged into the palm of a hand. 

But sometimes, even I get bored. Especially in the case of shooting a video, and the wanking session goes on and on. I don’t dare relax, because if I missed the event I would spend the rest of the day kicking myself. Afterwards, I sit at the computer and look back at the long minutes of not very much happening, except for the frantic pulling and pumping. Sadly, I discard most of it except for some exceptional clips or angles or facial expressions.

Last weekend I was shooting a video and the model had been working her dick especially hard. Eventually, she stopped. I looked at the poor, reddened thing lying on her tummy. I think you had better have  a rest, I said, and put the camera down. She played listlessly with her cock for a couple of minutes, and it came back up hard. Then with a couple of swift hand movements, while I was still scrambling for the camera and the “on” switch, she came. Not much, but it was something. I just about caught it. 

That was easy, eh? I said. She gave me a sweet little smile. Then she fell asleep. I left her there in bed for half an hour. She  had worked hard. She deserved a snooze.