Western feminists, for over half a century, have argued that gender itself has been the fundamental agent of women’s oppression. The solution often claimed, is to establish a matriarchy. But very few understand what a matriarchy really is.
Where society was based on forms of meritocracy — often on the power to make financial profit — artificial barriers that might exist in less fluid societies could be broken down by women excelling and so they could rise in the culture.
Boracay is a bouquet of impressions. Triangular sails silhouetted against the sunset, tropical forest all around, an avenue of palms along the beach. Pure white sand, clear, unpolluted tropical water, adventure excursions, fun night-life and a laid-back atmosphere—not to mention exotic dancing girls. All this at prices that remain very reasonable. Does this appeal? Well, instead of Phuket or Bali, consider a trip to Boracay instead.
Boracay (pronounced bor-AH-cay) is an island in the Western Visayas region of the Philippines. It’s a popular resort amongst Filipinos and other Asians. It has an amazing beach, lots of eco-tourism and adventure sport, and great night-life. However it is relatively unknown by Western tourists, and remains fairly unspoiled and friendly. Plus, for Brits and other anglophones, English is almost universally understood and very widely spoken in the Philippines.
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In the recent past I have been asked about my definition of homosexuality. This appears to be mainly from people who erroneously use the term ‘gay’ to mean ‘homosexual’. As I have already stated in articles, ‘gay’ is a lifestyle that encompasses many who are not homosexuals. Homosexuals may be a subset of ‘gays’, but they are not the same.
Until the intervention of Alfred Kinsey in 1946, the definition of homosexuality — Karl Maria Kertbeny (1824-1882) coined the term “homosexuality” in 1869 — was understood to apply to a feminine male, often stylish and artistic, who desired to be the receptive partner in sex with conventionally masculine males. ‘Homosexual’ was intended to replace terms like ‘sodomite’, ‘catamite’ and so on.
Well it’s been quite a couple of weeks here at the fun factory, so if I didn’t wish it before, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year — and if you are one of those miserable cunts who insist on saying ‘Happy Holidays’ well, fuck that, Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. See, I’m not vindictive.
Anyway, it has been quite the Festive Season. Here I am in sunny Pampanga, Philippines, with the delightful Sam Villasencio and we are getting along just fine. On Christmas Eve we went to see friends of hers who live nearby, which turned into a typically Filipino party with Red Horse shots and much music and dancing.
We men were treated to a twerking display by the girls and I am happy to say
Twerk it baby
that Sam help up the side very well. Food was courtesy of Renz and his wife Joanna but Renz did most of the cooking while Joanna, a classic Pinay beauty, entertained.
On the 25th of February 2017, my then girlfriend Sammi and I went to Malolos, the capital of Bulacan, to see a ladyboy parade; but it never appeared. Ladyboy levels of disorganisation are, of course, legendary, in addition to which, they were probably working on Filipino time, which makes ‘manana’ sound urgent. Still, a couple of nice cold Red Horses and some good pictures.
March 2016. Jelly I are sharing a studio condo in Maybunga, in Pasig City, Metro Manila. Previously we were in a larger condo and things were much easier. Now the place is like a pressure-cooker.
As ever the television goes on after our morning sex session. This is when I usually try to work and it appears that Jelly has hearing difficulties.
The diet is monotonous. At noon, it’s Showtime, a variety revue hosted by Vice Ganda, a well-known gay performer. Needless to say, Jelly is mesmerised, smiling. There is nothing coming out of the television – even though the volume is full blast. It’s like an anaesthetic.
Curiously, I am reminded of Grampian Television’s ‘One o’Clock Gang’, hosted by Larry Marshall, that was the daily accompaniment to lunch when I was a child. It shows the depth of the penetration; that was 50 years ago and I can still see the faces of Marshall and Andy Stewart in flickering 405-line black and white.
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Nothing has changed; The One o’Clock Gang has emigrated and transmogrified into ‘Eat Bulaga’ and ‘Showtime’. But Showtime has a trans anchor. It’s a killer selling point.
The real televisual clue to the lives of ladyboys, however, is in the ‘tele-series’.
Autogynephilia is ‘a man’s propensity to be sexually aroused at the thought or image of himself as a woman’. For many practical purposes we might restate that as ‘a man’s overwhelming desire to be a woman’, to ‘become that which he loves’ and so on. It is a man’s deeply-felt identification with the object of his desire. So what might social autogynephilia be?
Kumusta! Hello from the Philippines! I must apologise to my regular fans, because for the last six weeks my life has been in upheaval. I had much to do to prepare to come to the Philippines this year and it occupied nearly all of my time. As a result my regular blog posting and YouTube uploads were in temporary hiatus.
I actually left my home in France on the 29th of November, and, after a comedy of errors that will surely find its way into a memoir, made it to Paris Charles de Gaulle. Further comedic excellence followed, in which I was obliged to repack my bags beside the check-in desk and ended up carrying hand luggage that must have weighed 15 kilos.
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.
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