the third sex

“Hi, remember me!”

It’s a phrase I hear fairly often on my travels amongst the ladyboy community. The fact is, I didn’t. The girl standing in front of me was mid-twenties, and clearly had an awful lot of silicon in her face. Her eyes glittered deep down amongst plastic cheeks and forehead, and her nose could have opened a bottle of beer.

Yes, I replied politely. But I haven’t seen you for a long time…

“Two year,” she replied. “You photo me two year ago!”

Two years is a long time in ladyboyland. For me, it means a lot of people being photographed, and a lot of personal encounters. For the ladyboy in question, a lot of adventures I would rather not know about, and several changes in appearance so that she will bear little resemblance to the girl I photographed all that time ago.

To be honest, I did not remember her at all. There is a certain ladyboy “look” that so many acquire through going to the same clinics and undergoing the same operations. I remember seeing recently a picture of Hugh Hefner with three of his current bunny loves, and the girls all looked exactly the same. Like clones, or blow-up dolls. Sometimes, with ladyboys, it is just the same.

So we started the shoot. Plastic boobs, no, they didn’t seem familiar, and quite frankly I find plastic boobs as exciting as party balloons. But then down came her pants. Her cock, despite all the hormones, stood out straight, with a bit of encouragement. As her foreskin slid back, I remembered. There was a small freckle on her glans. Nothing odd, nothing freakish: just a tiny brown patch. And yes, I remembered that from the previous shoot, because it was unusual, and I’m always fascinated by the shape, size and colouring of cocks.

Whatever you do to your face, you cannot change your cock. Unless you opt for a circumcision, or you have the thing cut off entirely.

I even remembered that she was able to cum. I simply remembered that freckle jigging about, and then a nice covering of sticky white semen. I do like to watch ladyboy cocks in all their glorious forms, and as so many are standard-issue, those that are a little different, even in having a small freckle, do tend to stay in my mind.

So this time I watched, and after much tugging, gasping and grimacing, she came. It was pretty good: despite the hormones, she still managed a neat little spurt and a sticky puddle in the palm of her hand.

Later, I went back and found that original set. My memories of her cock and its freckle were pretty accurate. In fact, there were some good shots there. But as to her face, I could see very little resemblance.