the third sex

A brief exhibition and conference is now taking place in Leeds on one of the most intriguing characters of 18th century society in England and France, the Chevalier d’Eon, who no one appeared to know whether was a man or woman. The Chevalier, a native of Burgundy, had been posted to London in 1763 by the French diplomatic service and for most of the next half a century was celebrated as a person of truly indeterminate gender. In that bawdy era, such was the fascination that a betting book was opened at the London Stock Exchange with the latest odds posted in the coffee houses. Only at d’Eon’s death was the secret revealed.

What made this more than a story of mere titillation was the world of smoke and mirrors that d’Eon inhabited.

Born in 1728 and baptised as a boy named Charles-GeneviËve-Louis-Auguste-AndrÈ-TimothÈe Eon de Beaumont, he excelled at languages and graduated in law from the CollËge Mazarin in Paris. By 1756, he was inducted into Louis XV’s espionage network, the Secret du Roi.

D’Eon had already proved himself able to pass as a striking looking woman by an appearance he made at a masked ball. This prompted Louis to post him to the Moscow court of Empress Elizabeth I, not as a man but as a woman. If this seems odd to us now, at that time the European upper classes were fascinated by the idea of cross-dressing, particularly for society events, and d’Eon appeared more adept at this than most. Enough to pass as a Mademoiselle Lia de Beaumont and to create a sensation at the cross-dressing salon that Elizabeth held every Thursday. All this was not just whimsy on the part of Louis XV. At that time there had been a diplomatic crisis between Russia and France, and it seems as if d’Eon’s spying and maneuvering helped to restore full relations between the two countries.

Back in France in 1761, d’Eon was assigned to another mission, this time to go to London and see if the British would be prepared to sign peace agreements and also to size up the prospects for a possible French invasion. He dressed initially as a man and hoped for promotion to the position of French ambassador. Assuming his stay would be a long one he used his Burgundy contacts to start importing wine for the English elite. But his plans fell apart when he was passed over for the ambassador posting and he found himself in debt with the wine business.

Refusing demotion and recall to France, d’Eon threatened to reveal Louis XV’s invasion plans. Amidst all this intrigue, around 1770 rumours began to circulate that d’Eon was a woman, possibly initiated by d’Eon himself who would have reasoned that French agents would have been less likely to kill a woman. He slipped easily into female clothing and his genderbending became the talk of London society.

” alt=”historical shemales” align=”left” />This transition is being discussed at the d’Eon conference in Leeds, which is being organised by Dr Simon Burrows, a senior lecturer in Modern European History at Leeds University. He is the author of a forthcoming biography on d’Eon, and will argue that d’Eon’s less admirable qualities should not be discounted, either. “His actions were also connected to his craving for publicity. We can’t ignore that he was also a dubious figure who fabricated stories against his enemies,” he says. The d’Eon exhibition is being held in the Brotherton Library, which has a large collection of d’Eon’s private papers and which is part of Leeds University Library.

Another speaker, Gary Kates, author of Monsieur d’Eon is a Woman, believes d’Eon needed to become a heroic female to “regenerate his soul”. Another d’ Eon authority, Clare Harman, says it was only the psyche of a woman, not the clothes that he craved. D’Eon wanted “to be considered a woman who passed herself off successfully as a man [rather than] to dress per se as a woman”, she says.

Whatever d’Eon’s deepest motives, he became far more famous than he would have had he become French ambassador. He was caricatured in the broadsheets of the day, there was a play named The Female Chevalier, and a financier offered d’Eon £30,000 to disrobe. He wisely refused, and the mystery grew around him.

By now, France had a new king, Louis XVI, who agreed to pay off d’Eon’s debts on the proviso that he return to France and continue dressing as a woman. D’Eon had earned his Chevalier title as a captain in the French Dragoons and his masculine persona stirred on his return to France. He wore the plainest female clothing for a while, and then reverted to wearing his Dragoons’ uniform in his native Burgundy. For this he was imprisoned: a woman dressing as a man was considered indecent under French law at that time. With his father dead, only his mother knew the truth – and she seems to have kept very quiet.

D’Eon himself wrote that “I am humiliated and depraved among men; I am elevated and exalted among women.” He returned to England and resumed his feminine persona. He became a public performer, fencing in skirts for money, on one occasion taking on the Prince of Wales.

He was an object of curiosity amongst the most serious minded people. British prime minister Horace Walpole said “she” was a “noisy and vulgar individual whose hands and arms… are fitter to carry a chair than a fan”. Dr Johnson’s biographer James Boswell observed, “she seemed to me to be a man in woman’s clothes”. Mary Wollstonecraft considered d’Eon to be one of the pioneers of the feminist movement, articulating views about the female perspective from a unique position. D’Eon muddied the waters by saying, “God created man and woman, the one for doing good, the other for doing bad. So long as a man is a man, the earth is his; so long as a woman is a woman, virtue is hers.”

The Chevalier d’Eon died in a London apartment at the age of 81. A post mortem was held and the doctor, accompanied by 12 witnesses, recorded: “the male organs in every respect perfectly formed”. But as to whether Monsieur d’Eon found life enriched by crossing the gender divide, or whether he found himself occupying a no-man’s and no-woman’s land, is not really known. The conference is aiming to come to some conclusions on this.

Documentary evidence does however indicate that d’Eon died a virgin.

I received this e-mail the other day from Michelle in Spokane, USA:

Your piece, “Coming in Cardiff,” immediately triggered personal feelings invoked when I began to dissect Beardsly’s fantasia imagery of the early 1900s when I was an art student during the 1970s: androgynous boys and girls. The grand illusion of undeveloped bodies occupied by non-formed innocent minds.

To males but not females, there exists a level of sexual excitement in viewing such persons. Females prefer either males or females; sometimes both and sometimes both in the same body, but wholly functional with minds that understand sex.

For males, it would seem that the more innocent appearing, the greater the sexual excitement. Perhaps that’s the primordial thing of conquering; certainly it has a lot to do with controlling.

Of course I must also examine my own feelings and rememberances of when I began to venture into sexuality as a quasi-ladyboy myself. It seemed that my minimal makeup and only a hint at breasts (tissue paper stuffed into a bra!), long bare legs in a short skirt and heels, along with painted nails and a wig, turned guys on more than when I paid attention to my makeup – sometimes though like a drag queen or female impersonator – with long-sleeve blouses and longer skirts. And I found that high heels were mandatory or no matter how I was dressed, men wouldn’t pay attention to me.

A curious thing though that I have noticed in your personal experience postings as well as the postings of others here at third-sex.org: participation of the ladyboy as an active partner. Here in America, TGs and TSs rarely get into that role as the men who have sex with us prefer that our erections not interfere with their sexual pleasures (not that I have that ability anymore and even when I had that organ, it was quite infrequent that it ever rose to any input).

I guess one of the reasons I wish that you could come here to visit, is to see and experience for yourself how different American male perspectives are regarding gender and sexual identity.

I recently listened to a black American male describe his experiences in Bangkok with the ladyboys. Derision was paramount in his tone! Finally I ventured that his comparisons with American drag queens, female impersonators, transgendered and transsexuals, was skewed due to his inability to separate in his mind the vast differences in the gender and sexual identity apparent and those implied, in this country and that applying those standards to Bangkok was wholly unfair to all concerned.

You could almost literally hear the gears grinding and clashing in his mind! You could certainly see it in his face! Finally he blurted out, “who … what are you?”

I told him that I was a post-op transsexual (I hate that term! Transsexual! It was created by the news media and not the medical or legal community!) and that I had made the acquaintance of many ladyboys in Bangkok before and after my SRS, and that I had a good friend who had two web sites devoted to Thai ladyboys. I went on to say that in Thailand and for most of Asia, the concept of ladyboy was less the phenomena it is here in America and more of the day-to-day reality of both ancient and present day societies in Asia as a whole.

Of course during his rant and then during my own dissertation, I was watching his body language; especially his crotch, which was a little hard to miss as he grew a great bulge as he was busy putting down ladyboys!

And therein lays the crux of the whole matter from an American viewpoint: sex isn’t any fun unless one can feel guilty about it! To minimise the guilt, one then is compelled to put down the things that bring both pleasure and guilt. We can blame religion for this. But I think that’s enough from me for now!

I receive so many emails asking me if I know of ladyboys in the sender’s vicinity. Usually, I don’t. Well, I do get asked about some odd places. However, the email below, quoted with the sender’s permission, is heartening! If you live in an area where you are sure there are no ladyboys but you are desperate to find one, I suggest you carry out a systematic search. You are never sure what you may find.

“I have become increasingly curious about Thai ladyboys but I had never met one. I surfed the net and found your site. Many of the ladyboys are so pretty and feminine, often prettier than normal women and so much nicer than the Western transsexual.

Only last week in the small ads section of the escort listing in my local newspaper I came across an ad from a Thai ladyboy. I decided to call the number and find out more!!

The ladyboy spoke very poor English and could not give directions so a local guy came to the phone and told me how to get there. The area is not a nice one and the idea of a guy being in the house worried me a bit but I decided to go for it.

Upon arrival the local guy opened the door and smiled and showed me to a room. Inside was a Thai ladyboy with long black hair, tall, very slim, nice face and wearing long black boots and kinky black leather gear. We had a small chat and then got down to sex.

I asked her to strip naked…nice body, no boobs and normal sized in the downstairs department. She asked me what position I wanted her, and then we were off for a mind-blowing experience. For me, it was a fantasy come true.

My first time ever with a ladyboy. Gone are the nerves or hang ups…so Thailand here I come for rounds 2, 3, 4, 5, and more.

RJ, Cardiff, Wales”

So, if you can find a Thai ladyboy in Welsh Wales, I am sure you can find one anywhere. Check out the escorts section of your local press, or better still search the internet. Find the special interest groups. Get to know a Thai or two, because the network will reach to everyone in your country.

There is a footnote to this brief story. Mr Jones actually made it to Thailand. I met up with him in the coffee shop of his hotel. “Where do you suggest I go first?” he asked. I said Obsession, in Nana Plaza, was his best bet. There is a good selection of girls, and you don’t get the usual pestering of a group of LBs when you walk in.

So Jones the Bonk went there that very evening. Next day he called me, goggle-eyed even over the phone.

“I cannot believe it,” he lilted. “I have just had a life-altering experience!”

That’s what ladyboys do for you.

Ladyboys, as anyone who has spent any time with them will know, tend to exist in a different time zone to the rest of us.

I mention this because a few nights ago I was woken up at 2:30am by a ladyboy friend knocking at my door. She had recently come up from the South of Thailand to take a job with one of the cabaret shows in Bangkok, and was having trouble with sleeping accommodation. There was no phone call first: she suddenly appeared complete with suitcase, serene in the knowledge that I would probably be wide-awake and ready for a meal and gossip.

She got the accommodation but other than that my response was a grumpy one, especially when an hour later she woke me again demanding I help her look for her script.

Some years ago I fulfilled a fantasy by installing a ladyboy friend, for whom I really had the hots, in a small apartment, keeping her as a mistress, as it were. The apartment was in a little soi near the Chinese embassy, a neat bolthole that I planned to use for afternoon trysts when I could get away from the daily routine.

After she had settled in and I had supplied all the necessities like a TV and a mobile phone, I decided to spend my first night with her. I had visions of a comfortable cuddle and the sheer pleasure of a warm body next to mine, wonderful lazy sex in the morning, and then setting off dutifully for a day in the office.

By 1am, I was ready to go to sleep, and turned off the light. As if on cue, the phone rang. It was two of my girl’s ladyboy friends, who turned up a few minutes later. “Is it okay I go with them eating?” she asked me, and off they went for noodles and gossip. She arrived back at about 4am and decided to listen to some music. By 6am she was ready for bed and I was thinking about getting up. Needless to say, there was no wonderful lazy sex.

Thinking that this might have been just an odd night, I tried sleeping over again a couple of nights later. Just as I was settling down, the phone rang. A few minutes later there came a tap-tap at the door. Her friends had actually been downstairs in the lobby. They had brought food with them. A mat was spread on the floor and the food laid out. I retreated under the bedclothes and tried to sleep while they ate and gossiped.

I did try sleeping over several times afterwards and each time it was the same, with variations. Of course, this had a corollary. Because my girl was awake all night, it followed that she was asleep most of the day. I quickly found that calling from the office before lunchtime was pointless. The afternoons were a bit hit and miss, too. Sometimes she would fall asleep while she was on the phone to me, and I’m not that boring.

When I tried to break the cycle by suggesting she go to beauty school, she pouted. It was too far away. Why not get a job working in a beauty salon? “They wouldn’t pay me enough.” I pointed out it didn’t matter because I already gave her an allowance. Why didn’t she go and see her friends during the daytime? “They asleep.”

The relationship eventually soured, much to my disappointment, because I really liked her. She couldn’t understand why. She simply saw nothing odd about staying up all night and sleeping all day. The fact that other people, me for example, worked daytimes was a foreign notion to her, if she ever thought about it.

Earlier, I mentioned my ladyboy friend from the South. She found a room a couple of days later, and I heaved a sigh of relief when she moved out. But that night, at 1:30am, there was a knock on my door. She had left her hair dryer behind. No, she didn’t think it odd to turn up in the middle of the night to retrieve it.

Despite all the years I have been involved in Thailand’s ladyboy scene, every so often it bowls me a googly.

Recently I did a photoshoot of a ladyboy named Bee. I really liked her, as she was cheeky and funny and urchin-like and pretty. She had taken my phone number and a couple of days later rang to suggest I do a shoot of one of her friends. That’s the way it so often works, friends of friends, so I said sure, yes.

The date and time was arranged and Bee rang me a couple more times, full of excitement, to confirm. And as I suggested, she also rang from the taxi on the appointed day, so I could go down and meet them.

The taxi pulled up and out stepped three people: a ladyboy friend named Ann, who often comes along when I’m doing shoots, and the new model, and a small young guy with cropped hair.

“Where’s Bee?” I asked, mystified.

“I’m Bee!” said the young guy.

I looked, and I looked, and my mouth must have hung open in astonishment. I simply did not recognise the Bee I had so eagerly undressed and photographed a few days previously. The face looked different without makeup, only the smile was the same, and the cropped hair of course changed everything.

“Turn round.” I said. Bee was still wearing the same low-cut jeans she (he?!) had arrived in before, and which had so turned me on because I could see the top of her bottom cleft above them. I could see it now. Just to be sure, when we got to the room I pulled Bee’s jeans down and saw the heart tattooed on her (his!) bum.

Bee, who is 20, explained that he had reverted to being a boy for now, because he has gone back to college and it is one of the few that doesn’t allow female dress by its ladyboy students. “Later I be girl again,” he said.

All this reminded me of an experience of a few years back. I had been sitting having an innocent drink in Patpong when I saw a young ladyboy going up the steps to one of the upstairs bars. She had a cute little smile and a ponytail, and she wore a little tennis skirt, white ankle socks and trainers. Just my type. She saw me looking, flipped up her skirt to show her knickers, and then fled up the steps giggling. I went after her.

That was the beginning of an intense relationship. Kwan was a little sex fiend, all the more irresistible because of her Lolita looks and her knock-knee’d schoolgirl stance. I couldn’t get enough of her, and the affair went on for months. But then we drifted, as these things do, and eventually she disappeared.

Early one evening about a year later I was walking up Silom Road to Patpong and as I was passing the bus stop two young guys, obviously gays, got off a bus. One of them, a weedy looking boy with a rabbity grin, approached me and greeted me by name. I was totally mystified until he said, “It’s me – Kwan!”

There was no trace of the Kwan I had known. He told me he had decided to go back to being a boy, and that he was now working in a gay bar in Soi Twilight. He told me the name of the place and invited me to go along later. But the sexual heat had gone along with the ladyboy illusion, and I never did take up the offer.

There is more to someone becoming a ladyboy than simply donning female clothes and putting on makeup. I was photographing a ladyboy the other afternoon and although she was well madeup, and a nice enough person, she still had a distinct masculinity about her. As I worked at the pictures, I tried to analyse it.

She was shapely, and slim, and had almost no body hair. So it wasn’t her size and build that was causing it. She moved well, in a feminine and non-exaggerated way, so it wasn’t that. Her voice was pleasantly pitched, so it wasn’t that.

Somehow she had not managed to shed her masculine aura. I can’t define it. At what point does a person cease to be male and become a member of the third sex?

I have said it here before, that being with a ladyboy, the best of them anyway, is not like being with a guy. It really is almost, but not quite, like being with a genetic girl. Unless you have tried being with a ladyboy, it is very hard to explain.

I remember being at a beach resort in Phuket late last year, sitting at the beachfront bar. There was a ladyboy working there, and also a gay guy. The guy, who was very effeminate, was actually better looking than the ladyboy. But I had no interest in him at all – it was her I couldn’t take my eyes off.

There is an uncanny way that ladyboys have of losing their masculinity. It just somehow slips away. But they can get it back again. I have seen Bee several times since the transformation. Each time, he was becoming more masculine. The first time after the haircut he had still been very effeminate, but inside the space of two months he has become almost like any other young guy, too loud, too pushy, and with a distinctly unfeminine swagger.

Whereas I had found Bee a real turn-on as a girl, as a guy I find him, to be perfectly honest with you, just another guy.