Boracay Beach, Philippines Blog Nine.
We’re at Nigis, and he’s showing us risqué photos on his iPhone of the Lady-boys he’s been with.
Wait, let me “back up” a bit. (And forewarn My Little Mom about the adult content of this blog.)
Earlier (like fifteen minutes ago) …
I’m at Nigis. Blue Eyes is here along with an array of expats and tourists. I meet the aforementioned lady-boy lover. We’ll call him Frank, because he is. He’s been in the Philippines since 2006. He’s a consultant—for whom I don’t know—for finding missing persons with a hotel and hospitality background. And now he lives here. In Boracay. (Not at Nigis, though he is a regular.)
Then Kite Boarder—aka flutter, swoon, drool—comes over, and Blue Eyes introduces us. He’s from Canada (!), the City of Victoria (!!) even, which is on the same island where I come from! Yay, someone from home. 🙂
Kite Boarder is mid-thirties-ish, tall, blonde, chiselled, and charming in a straight-brim ball cap and in a hang-loose-extreme-sports-hippy kind of way. Totally not my type. Though he is yummy to look at, he has a girlfriend and shaves his chest (dealbreakers).
A few cheap beer swigging saloon expats are in the immediate vicinity as we discuss my prospects for settling down and meeting a man in Boracay.
I tell Kite Boarder, Well, first, it’s too hot for me—look at me, the sun is down and I’m still sweating. Anyway, not only can’t I handle the heat but also I’d be single forever here. I mean, I want to be single right now but not forever. The guys that come here are either cheap, poor or boozers …uh, present company excluded—a couple guys frown—or they’re interested in Filipino girls or lady-boys! The men relax. Or they’re Filipino men, which I’m not attracted to. They nod.
Frank appears. I’ve been with at least twenty, I recon. Lady-boys. He tells us in his Australian accent.
You’ve been around the Lady-boy block—or should I say cock? I laugh.
He feigns serious deliberation: Yeah, you could say that.
Kite Boarder crosses his arms.
Oh, you should see some of them. Top models, Frank tells us.
When Kite Boarder recovers from his surprise, he asks, So, do you consider yourself gay?
Without offence or hesitation, Frank replies, No. I just like beautiful women.
Kite Boarder says with curiosity, But they’re men.
Frank flips through his iPhone and shows us photos of exotic, sexy specimens in various VS poses and lacy things.
I’d feel inadequate next to any of them, look at her butt, I say, though I actually wouldn’t feel less than because I’ve got an authentic, born-with-it va-jay-jay. But the models are stunning.
Kite Boarder relaxes and peers closely at the screen, Yeah, gotta admit, she’s gorgeous. Wow. Hot.
Frank says, And they know what they’re doing … a golf ball through a—
Garden hose! Oh, oh, or a calamansi1 through a straw! I pipe in, entertained by my own wit.
Kite Boarder is more focussed: But what about their … He tries to find the right words.
Where do they hide their junk? I interject. Do they still have their junk? Frank knows we mean “man privates” (i.e., cocks and balls).
It’s there. Frank confirms and describes the position he engages in to keep it out of the way.
Oh my! I’m laughing. But do they get a boner? Then what?
Yeah, Kite Boarder frowns but is intrigued.
Frank nonchalantly answers, Well, you know, sometimes I help them out. He makes a motion with his hand.
I can’t help but say, The reach-around!
We all laugh.
Frank tells us how he likes women as well, but lady-boys have a higher sex drive because they’re men and it’s not as easy to find women who are as beautiful “who are interested.” I’m not sure if he means interested in him or interested in a lot of sex2.
Plus it’s kind of erotic, you know. He shrugs casually.
Kite Boarder and I nod, thoughtfully pondering, and then Frank puts out his hand for Kite Boarder to shake, I’m [Frank], by the way. You?
*
A few days later I see Frank at Nigis again and hop up on the bar stool next to him. I have to tell you up front, I’m a writer and you offer writeable material. This is some interesting shit we’ve been talking about. Don’t worry, I’ll give you a nickname.
I’m a curious bird. What can I say? (Fairly certain that’s not a sin.)
In short order, Frank sits back in his seat and pokes away at his phone, evidently searching for something while I take a sip of my vodka/water/calamansi beverage. (I’ve been here all of two weeks and I’m a boozer. When in Rome Boracay … Just kidding, I drink two, which barely counts.)
A moment later he shows me his phone again. On it there’s what seems to be a handheld video of a lovely lingerie-clad lady-lad moving into various seductive poses for the cameraman. I’m not being sexist here; I know it’s not a camera person because soon enough the viewpoint stops wobbling, and the videographer—a man—emerges from behind the screen and into frame. I can’t see his face so I have no idea if it’s Frank but, whoever it is, he’s clothed thank god.
Meanwhile, I’m totally in the moment gawking and curious of what will happen next, totally oblivious to my current surroundings, which is a public bar, people!
On Frank’s phone, the lady-boy takes off her bra revealing tastefully appropriate sized surgically enhanced breasts.
Nice boob job, I say without looking up.
The she removes her panties. I can’t help but blurt out, Holy shit, she’s well hung! Where did that come from?
Frank laughs.
I jolt from the shock of “it all” but stare intently at the screen. I mean, I knew there was going to be bits, but somehow I still wasn’t expecting them and thought they’d be insignificant in size—a sort of genetic afterthought. My prejudice wasn’t just because the bits are attached to someone who I assumed should’ve been born a woman, but that, in my innocent ignorance, I had also thought Filipino men were hung like … well, like how a whole lot of us might presume all Asian men are hung: hardly at all. (Hey, I didn’t create the stereotype, I just bought into it.)
But this lady-man is hardly “hardly” and is getting hard and—Holy moly Molly!
I’m blinking furiously but don’t take my eyes off the screen. I’m shocked. Shocked, I tell you.
It’s like a fricken car accident, I can’t look away. Frank laughs but says nothing.
I continue watching as the action unfolds, which in short order makes me blush. I instinctively put my hands to my cheeks. I’m flushed with embarrassment. I glance around the bar. Oh my God, I can’t watch this here. I mean, at all! …Send me the link. Just kidding!
Frank laughs and shuts his phone off. Meanwhile I fan my face and look around to see if I’ve been caught in a bar watching gay male porn.
Later I go home and Google “lady-boys” and then click on “images”—I don’t need to see more motion pictures, thank you so much. Plus I might get a porn virus on my iPad, and I’m not that curious. Oh, and by the way, I’m pretty sure I’m not breaking any bible rules. (Though it could be a gray area.)
My screen fills with he-she-gender-question-mark photos in various degrees of undress. I will save you the trouble and possible IT costs and just tell you—Asian men are hung. Whoooo knew? (And for some—Woohoo!)
Okay, certainly not all of them but enough to shatter the stereotype—at least by my limited research. I scroll through three pages, max. Honest. (Sideways glance.) Anyway …moving on!
What have I (re)learned?
Once again I am reminded that physical and sexual attraction comes in all shapes (and sizes), and thank god we don’t all want the same thing.
Even though this is all titillatingly, it does nothing to arouse my libido. I’m not into the kinky stuff.
I must question my ingrained beliefs of stereotypes that I’ve ignorantly, if innocently, bought into without first-hand investigation. Though there will be no hands involved in future investigations—other than typing. And Googling.
Homework: Research! Research is half the fun. Actually, for me, it’s all the fun. Ask questions with the curiosity of a child. Accept others’ persuasions (perversions?) with the attitude of a child. That is: without judgment. (As long as no children are involved.) Check.
1Calamansi: tiny citrus fruit, sort of a cross between a lemon/lime/orange but the size of a mini-mini lime.
2A Few days later I meet a “special friend” of Frank. She is stunning and has authentic bits so I assume he meant lady-boys have higher sex drives than women.
