I’m going to become a Hedonist. No really, I am. Seriously. I am going to join the Church of Hedonism. Yup. Before this happens to me.
Of course, no such church actually exists, and most religions seem to be mainly concerned with stopping people having fun. But anyway. If there isn’t one, I think it’s time we started one.
I am rapidly approaching that watershed in life, the dawn of my seventh decade. I don’t have that much time to waste any more. I quick demographic of my parents’ families suggests that if I remain a non-smoker, keep the drink to a moderate level and eat reasonably healthy food, I have maybe another fifteen years of active life, and another five or so of winding down, before parting the mortal coil and becoming one with the Earth again.
That is not an awful lot of time. And I am beginning to resent every moment of it that is not spent, basically, having fun.
I see a lot of immature, childish videos and web posts denigrating ladyboys and telling men how to spot — and so avoid — them. But why would anybody want to avoid them? Here are ten reasons why dating ladyboys is a really good idea.
Croutons and Cheese: French Onion Soup 2 is the second in Rod Fleming’s hilarious series of memoirs about his life in France. Filled with anecdotes about aviating cats, the Bull in the Back Passage, what to do about ex-pats, transporting the cheese to Scotland, it’s a laugh a minute.
With the lovable and roguish characters you first met in French Onion Soup!, this book will keep you entertained all right, so much you’ll come back for a second read!
Available now in paperback: ISBN: 978-0-9572612-4-2
They’re the elephant in the room, where relations between transwomen and men are concerned.
Elephant, you say? Well, almost without exception, the assertion is made that the men who like transwomen are straight. Yet when you talk to transwomen in private, a very different picture appears. Half at least of men who seek out transwomen far from being straight or anything close, are closet autogynephiliacs (AGP) (and homophobic to boot). They’re not homosexual, but they are gay.
We would not expect honesty from these men about this; after all, look at the lengths they go just to deny their own sexuality and maintain a false façade of hetero-normativity. The elephant must be hidden. Their words may be taken with a moderately-sized bucket of salt. But what about the girls? Why do transwomen ever lend credibility to this falsehood? Why don’t they just call out these guys as closet queens from the get-go?
Life certainly has an interesting tapestry here in P’tit Moulin. This morning I was awakened at some ungodly hour—well, just before ten actually, but I am semi-nocturnal—by an excessively enthusiastic clangour (good word that) of my front door bell, of which more later.
Well, I threw on a pair of jeans and a T and went to see who had disturbed the peace in this manner, and there on my doorstep was a rather scruffy individual, definitely of the traditional French horny-handed persuasion. Behind him was a truck that looked, to my bleary and unaided vision, even older and more dilapidated than my Isuzu, and that’s saying something.
He must have recognised my absence of recognition. ‘Sir,’ he said (in French of course, I’m just trying to make it easy for you. Do keep up.) ‘Sir, the last time I passed you said you had some scrap.’
Well, so there you are. You find yourself with an attraction to ladyboys, traps. transsexuals, whatever. These are not your Western autogynephilic transvestites a la Bruce ‘Caitlyn’ Jenner.
We’re talking about sex crazy, man-obsessed homosexual males who live as women. They are wonderful, beautiful, so sexy that just watching a ladyboy walking down the street will get your dick hard. And they are the Ladyboy Trap. Yes. Those ones right there.
A long time ago, when I was a young lad, I had the acquaintance of a dog called Seumus.
Now Seumus was of, shall we say, indeterminate lineage. There seemed to be a fair bit of black Labrador in there, but it was mixed with some distinctly non-pedigree characteristics, including a tail that curled over his back. When Seumus was feeling full of himself, he carried this high and showed to the world his anal sphincter. I’m sure that’s not in the Labrador breed book.
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