the third sex

One of the things I enjoy doing when I have time, especially at the weekends, is to tramp around obscure parts of Bangkok looking at the ancient temples. These tend to be off the tourist map, and consequently I very seldom see any other foreigners.

Last weekend I was exploring part of the Thonburi side of the river, walking along the bank of the Bangkok Yai canal where there is a collection of historic but little-known temples and shrines.

Outside one of them, at an open area of land that appears to double as a carpark and a volleyball court, there was a girl selling lotus flowers to devotees entering the temple. She gave me a smile and tried to sell me some, but as I wasn’t planning on entering the temple I politely declined.

I did however realise that she was a ladyboy. I circled around the temple slowly. I had read up on the history of the place, what little I could find, and was looking in particular at the mix of Chinese and Thai architectural elements. But of course, by now my mind was also on the ladyboy at the front of the temple.

As I came round the corner of the building, she was still there. It was just gone 5pm, the light was beginning to go, and there were few visitors. Seeing me, she flashed another smile. I went up to her.

I said, in Thai, that I knew she was a ladyboy. The polite way to do this is to say that you know she is “sao prapet song”, which means “second type of woman”, the courteous Thai phrase. Then I complimented her on her makeup.

She smiled an even bigger smile and asked me why I spoke Thai, and how many years I had been in the country. So we got talking like this, and I asked her where she lived. Only a few minutes away. She asked if I wanted to come back home with her.

Of course I did. She was not outstandingly beautiful but she had a sexuality about her: small, slightly built, a tom-boyish quality that I liked. My only misgiving was that I knew there would be no privacy in her house. I had earlier walked through the community, and it was a mixture of old timber houses and slightly newer brick-built ones. The kind of place where everyone knows everyone else, and where there are probably three generations of extended family all living in the same house together.

But, what the hell, it was yet another opportunity to see Thailand up close and personal.

We left the flower stall to her auntie, who owned it, and walked across the road and into a smaller road and then into an alley. The house was a brick one, shabby on the outside but clean and tidy inside. There was an elderly woman sitting out back, and a couple of kids buzzing around, but otherwise it was all quiet.

We went into her bedroom, where there was just room enough for the two of us to stand between the dressing table and the bed. She was wearing a denim skirt, and I lifted it and slipped my hand down the front of her pants. She gave a little gasp as I felt her cock, which was hot and hard, and her balls, which were full and warm. I tugged her pants down.

Her dick stood out straight: not a particularly long one, but it was heavy and strong. I began tugging it, very gently, and she put her hands on my shoulders and her face against my chest. Then her body stiffened and she gave a little cry, and spurts of hot cum went over my hand and wrist.

I lifted my wet hand to my face and there was the aroma of fresh coconut juice: the warm scent of a clean-living ladyboy. She was concerned that she hadn’t satisfied me, but although we had locked the door I just wasn’t up for it. I had however certainly enjoyed giving her a hand job. I said I would see her again, and that next time I would take her to my apartment where I could explore that tight little body and find out how that hot and fragrant cum tasted.

I had an old friend in town who likes ladyboys but who doesn’t really know Patpong, so I took him for a wander through. We went along Patpong 2, the narrow pedestrian way that runs alongside the main strip, and paused at Pinocchio, an agreeable little pub. The staff here are a mixture of ladyboy and GG, with only about half a dozen of each, and the place is very friendly.

Pushing open the door, I was greeted by a gorgeous ladyboy who seemed vaguely familiar. “Remember me?” she asked. When you meet and photograph as many ladyboys as I do, this is a familiar situation. You may have photographed them with their pants down and shooting a load only a few weeks previously, or maybe a couple of years previously, but there are so many they can become a blur. Besides, when I take their pix I like them to wear minimal makeup. At night, in full regalia, they are often transformed.

“I am Pocky,” she said “Rachel!” Then the penny dropped. Not only had I taken her photograph on a couple of occasions a few years back, I also had even closer knowledge of her.

As a 16-year-old boy, Pocky had worked as a waiter at a restaurant near where I live. He was making pocket-money after school. Clearly gay and naturally effeminate, he always looked uneasy and self-conscious. Not a happy looking young man, I thought to myself. But at this time, of course, the only thing I had to do with him was to order my dinner.

Over the next couple of years I watched as Pocky morphed into a ladyboy. Not a particularly feminine one at first, but gradually the “he” disappeared and I began to think of Pocky as a “she”. When she turned 18, I invited her back to my place. She was painfully, embarrassingly shy. For a few months, she became a regular visitor, creeping in and snuggling up under the bedclothes. I took a couple of photosets, and thought she looked good. She liked the name Rachel, so that’s how she appears on the site. Then she went to college, and moved away. We lost touch until I entered Pinocchio.

“I not shy now!” she said, as we sat down, and she proceeded right there in the bar to pull her cock out of her panties and massage it up to full strength. It was a lot more impressive than it had been. “I not take hormones now,” she explained. Then, for good measure, she turned round on the bench seat and hoisted up her skirt and pulled down her pants, showing me (and the rest of the pub) her cute little bottom.

Apart from this boldness, the most remarkable thing was Rachel’s beauty. She had blossomed into a beautiful girl. Great makeup, lustrous hair, a slender figure, cute boobs, and a natural dimple in her left cheek that she must always have had, but I had not noticed. Above all, she looked happy. A bouncy, sparkly personality, and a confidence that I don’t think she would have had if she had remained male.

I turned round to see my friend sitting on the bench seat next to me, and his eyes were popping out like gobstoppers. Even the GGs in the pub were looking on bemused. I thought back to the time when little Pocky would lay on her back in my bed, her stiff little cock in the air, her eyes shut with the sheer embarrassment of it all. My, how you’ve changed.

One evening during the week I was taking some photographs of a ladyboy friend. We had just started. She was wearing shorts and I realised that underneath she was wearing two pairs of knickers. One pair was the usual small bikini briefs and the other a thicker, outer pair rather like cycling shorts. Ladyboys often do this. The heavy pair helps to hide unladylike bumps and bulges, and also adds to the fullness in appearance of the hips and bum. Anyway, I asked my girl if she would take off the heavy pair and then put her shorts back on.

Modestly, she retired into the bathroom to do this. I had to have a quiet laugh to myself. Not only was I about to take my lens to her bare bottom and then photograph her wanking off, I already knew her very closely indeed, as we had spent a few evenings together and I knew exactly how she looked and tasted. Yet she was diving into the bathroom to remove an outer pair of knickers.

Ladyboys can actually be extremely shy. They may not appear so if you are meeting one in a bar or on the street, but get them into a one-on-one situation, and they can almost faint away out of embarrassment.

I remember taking a video of a ladyboy once. There was one other person in the room with us, namely my assistant Ek, who is a femboy. The girl I was trying to video had a good big cock and I wanted to get some shots of it standing up. But she kept putting her hands in front of it, because Ek was looking. This is a video, I pointed out. I need your hands right out of the way. I may as well have been talking to myself. I had to send Ek out of the room.

Then again, if I have two ladyboys round to photograph during the course of an afternoon, I usually have to send one right out of the room and downstairs to the cafeteria, because the other one will be afraid of being seen. I explain that I shall shut the bedroom door while the pictures are being taken. But the bathroom has a door to the bedroom, and the girl being photographed will get paranoid that her friend will come out of the wrong door if she uses the loo. So, out she goes.

I think this shyness is often because ladyboys can be extremely bitchy. If you have ever heard them talking amongst themselves about another ladyboy, you will realise they can be far more catty than genetic girls. So they get shy about the size of their dick, because it will become a big joke amongst their friends, whether it be big or small. They get shy about skin blemishes, particularly on their bottoms. I was taking a set of pictures last week, and the girl put her hand across her bum when she took her pants down.

What’s up, I asked. “Have black,” she said. Gently, I removed her hand, expecting to find the black markings you sometimes find with dark-skinned people. It’s usually around the area where the bottom cheeks meet the tops of the thighs. But I looked, and told her that her bum looked fine. Very nice indeed. I took a few pictures and she studied them, frowning. “Yes, look nice,” she said at last, and gave a beaming smile. Then she relaxed. So I made someone happy that evening.

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Miss Hardcock lay on the bed next to me. I had given her the nickname because she looked just like a teenage Thai girl. Oh, I nearly forget to mention the other reason, which is that she had a cock that never seemed to subside.

She would arrive at my place, and we would go straight into the bedroom. She usually wore a little dress, and I would lift the hem and slowly pull down her knickers. Her cock would be tucked back between her legs but, seeing the light of day (or evening, to be precise), it would struggle to burst free, emerging as a huge banana shape that rose up to touch her belly.

And like that it would stay. No matter what we did. She would shoot a great big hot sticky load and then lay down, and her dick would still be curving back towards her belly button. Eventually it would soften up a little but I only had to look at the thing and it would stir with fresh interest.

Miss Hardcock came from the province of Khon Kaen, in Issan. She was tiny, about five-four, and there was something slightly Khmer about her, as she had the darker skin that you often find amongst those of Cambodian extraction. The border is not that far away.

But what I really liked about her, apart from the obvious, was her face. She had the face of a little tigress: narrow slanted eyes, a watchful expression, and the demeanor of someone with a whole lot of pent-up energy. Which of course she had in abundance.

She was laying there next to me. She had a particularly cute little bottom, brown-skinned and flawless, and I had just been up it with considerable energy.

“You like?”, she had asked breathlessly, as I had been deep inside her. “You like my bottom?”

The fact was, I loved her bottom. When she lay on her tummy, smiling at me over her shoulder, she looked just like a teenage girl. The kind of girl you fantasise about: brown-skinned, small, slight, and with an utterly lascivious expression. When she turned over and lay on her back, she still looked like a teenage girl. Except for one thing, of course.

Now she lay on her back, her enormous dick yet to shoot its first load of the evening, hard and shining and twitching slightly. She rolled onto her side, and gave me her tigress smile. Reaching for the lubricant, she smeared a great handful over her cock so that it glistened.

“Now your turn,” she said, and got onto her knees, still smiling.

An American friend of mine has recently taken an apartment in Bangkok and aims to spend a few months of the year here. He has installed his ladyboy companion in the place to take care of it while he isn’t there. He contacted me the other day in a state of some agitation to say that she had been seen in one of the red-light areas looking for business. What should he do? Should he turn up unexpectedly with the idea of catching her out?

I said that, no, he shouldn’t do that because it would probably wreck the relationship. The best thing would be, on the next visit, to let his girl know that he knew. Do it indirectly, and be nice and understanding about it.

The thing is, that a teenage ladyboy is going to want to enjoy herself. She is probably just coming to terms with how attractive she is, and finding that she can seduce men. And if that means foreign men, then that means money. The ladyboy in question, like the majority of them, comes from a dirt-poor background. The usual thing…little village in Issan, father disappeared, mother scraping by. Making money from tourists to send back home, and with a bit of luck earn enough to buy a decent house and maybe later set up in a small business is what drives so many youngsters to become ladyboys in the first place.

As my friend said that he was not keeping the ladyboy, only giving her accommodation and a little money, the latter usually when he was in town, then I really felt he hadn’t a leg to stand on.

But I also told him that she was probably being extremely loyal to him. She would consider she was keeping her side of the bargain, and if she thought that she was upsetting him, she would be mortified. The thing is, that Thais are extremely loyal, particularly when money is involved. I don’t mean that in an overly cynical way: it comes from years of personal experience in the front line. They are able to compartmentalise their lives. Even now, there are Thai people that I know really well, and suddenly something will occur and I’ll realise that I knew only a fragment of their life. The side that they wanted me to see. Everything else was a mystery.

One more thing I told my friend: don’t be confrontational. It is part of the Western manner to tackle problems and arguments head on. But it is simply not like that in Thailand. Thais hate disputes, and will generally go to any length to avoid them. Confront a ladyboy with accusations of infidelity, and you have one seriously damaged relationship. Even if it is true.